Old Fushira Scrap Yard — Monday — 4:57 PM
Rust ruled here.
The Fushira Scrap Yard was a forgotten wasteland of steel corpses—car frames stacked like bones, busted vending machines, ancient TVs with glass screens shattered like spiderwebs. No cameras. No snitches. No parents. It was the kind of place the city would rather pretend didn't exist.
Which made it the perfect hideout.
Hidden deep in the back behind a wall of crushed buses and wrecked motorcycles was The Den—an underground bunker built from old shipping containers welded together with stolen blueprints and some illegal labor from a biker gang that now owed the crew favors they'd never cash in. The place was laced with neon lights, stolen couches, and the faint stench of motor oil and sin.
Inside, all hell was already breaking loose.
"YOU ABSOLUTE TESTICLE-SIZED MORON!!" Haruna roared, driving her knee up again into Joshua's groin.
"GHRAAH— Why twice?!" Joshua cried, collapsing like a ragdoll, clutching his broken soul. "Why always twice?!"
"Because the first one's to get your attention," Haruna hissed, eyes glowing with feral amusement. "The second's for pleasure."
Reiketsuna, unbothered, sat on the corner couch with Jean straddling his lap, her lipstick smearing his neck like a kill mark. Their kisses were slow, sinful, and made the air feel thick. Jean pulled back, eyes wild, and whispered something in his ear that made even him blush—and Reiketsuna didn't blush.
And then—
"Yo."
Came a voice like a cracked bell.
Kikidori Tenka strolled in through the rusted entrance, slurping from a convenience store soda, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. Hair a mess, buttons undone, socks mismatched. Not a single thought behind those pretty eyes.
Nobody looked up. They didn't have to.
That voice? That swagger?
That was their boss.
"Well," Kikidori said, stepping over Joshua's twitching body like he was roadkill. "Glad I didn't miss anything too important."
Haruna turned and smiled—and it wasn't a schoolgirl smile. It was a predator's grin.
"Late again, Ki," she purred, sauntering over. Her blazer was off, shirt knotted up to expose her midriff, fishnet under the school skirt she hadn't bothered to change out of. Her finger slid down Kikidori's chest, then stopped just above his belt.
"You know what happens to bad boys who make mommy wait?"
Kikidori blinked. "Do I get a sticker?"
"You get punished," she whispered against his ear, biting the air with a low chuckle.
Kikidori snorted. "I just got here and I'm already horny and terrified."
"That's the idea."
She twirled away and collapsed into a beanbag chair made of stitched leather jackets, sipping from a flask that definitely wasn't apple juice. Kikidori flopped beside her, flipping a playing card between his fingers—an ace of spades, edges worn, bloodstained.
This was them.
The BloodMoon. The Ring of Fire. The Crimson Den.
Three names. One crew.
Each one whispered in fear by politicians, corporations, and the criminal elite. No one knew what they were. Terrorists? Hacktivists? Assassins?
Truth was...
They were chaos.
And Kikidori was the architect.
Out there in public, he was a joke. The goofy ADHD kid. The class clown. The pervert with a heart of gold and a diet of instant noodles and porn magazines.
But in here?
Kikidori was the Devil who smiled.
"Status?" he said now, finally sitting upright, voice dropping that playfulness for a colder tone that didn't belong in a teenager's throat.
"Shipment came in," Reiketsuna said, voice smooth as ice. "Crates from Sector-3. Bio-supplements, blueprints, and a few encrypted drives we haven't cracked."
"Yet," Haruna added, tossing a drive in the air and catching it. "Give me an hour and a Red Bull, and I'll make this drive confess everything it's ever seen."
"And the mayor?" Kikidori asked, eyes sharp.
"On the list," Jean said, pulling away from Reiketsuna, licking his neck clean like a damn cat. "We just need the green light, baby."
"Not yet," Kikidori muttered, rolling the die in his palm. It clicked softly—an old, chipped six-sider. The number facing up glowed 2.
"...Two weeks," he muttered.
"Ugh," Haruna groaned, sitting upright and stretching in a way that would've made a priest sin. "I need blood, carnage, and chaos. Or at least a goddamn third orgasm this week."
"Not from me," Kikidori said, hands up. "I've got limits. And they all have to do with bodily fluids."
"Lame."
Joshua finally dragged himself up, groaning. "Can we kill someone soon? I'm getting bored."
Kikidori stood.
"No one moves," he said.
Everyone froze. All play vanished.
His voice cut through the air like a blade.
"We don't just kill to kill. We hit targets. We break systems. We burn roots. No chaos without control."
They all nodded. Even Jean.
That was their boss.
Goofy, yes.
Perverted, sure.
ADHD disaster? Absolutely.
But also?
The most dangerous mind they'd ever met.
And if you ever really looked into his eyes—you'd see it.
The truth.
The Gamble wasn't just a power. It was a curse.
One that Kikidori controlled.
But one day, it would roll a one.
And that's when the world would truly burn.
End of Chapter 2