The rain hammered down, a relentless curtain of water that blurred the world outside Kamiko's house. Inside, the air crackled with tension, the kind that precedes a storm of violence. Kamiko's eyes blazed with fury as he faced Johnson, the man who had brought chaos to their doorstep. "Oh shit, why are you even here?" he spat, his voice thick with anger, memories of Michelle's cruelty toward Alan fueling his defiance.
Johnson's face twisted with rage. "And what are you doing with my son?" he roared, his voice a low growl that seemed to shake the walls.
Alan stepped forward, his voice steady despite the fear in his gut. "I may be your son, but I don't share your ideology. You have a murderer's mindset. I choose peace."
Johnson's lips curled into a mocking smile. "Oh, so you know how to answer now? That's interesting. Do you know I can defeat you all in two minutes?"
Kamiko's eyes narrowed. "Actually, we're not alone. Five others are on their way to take you down once and for all."
Johnson's smirk didn't falter. "Exactly how many are you?"
"Five," Kamiko said, his voice steady but laced with defiance.
"Five minutes, then," Johnson replied, his tone dripping with confidence.
"Don't overestimate yourself," Kamiko shot back.
Johnson's expression darkened. "Can I explain why I'm here?"
"Go ahead, you insensitive fool," Kamiko said, his words sharp as a blade.
"Give me Alan," Johnson demanded. "I'll take him to be with me and Michelle."
Kamiko's laugh was bitter. "Michelle? That psychopath? She's dead."
Johnson's eyes glinted with something unreadable. "You're too young to understand, boy."
"We'll see, you ruthless psychopath," Kamiko retorted.
Without warning, Johnson lunged at Kamiko, his fist a blur. Kamiko dodged, his reflexes honed by adrenaline. Alan, quick to act, darted to the kitchen and grabbed a frying pan, swinging it at Johnson with all his might. The pan connected, but Johnson caught it with one hand, snapping it in two as if it were brittle candy. The room fell silent for a moment, the broken pan clattering to the floor, as Kamiko and Alan stared in shock at Johnson's raw strength.
Kamiko recovered first, his voice trembling but defiant. "How did you get that kind of power?"
Johnson's gaze was cold, his voice steady. "I was a slave, recruited to fight in wars. My childhood was suffering, constant and unrelenting. From that pain, I forged myself."
Alan swallowed hard. "I… I guess."
Together, Kamiko and Alan launched a coordinated attack, splitting apart to flank Johnson from opposite sides. Their plan was simple: confuse him, overwhelm him, strike from unexpected angles. But Johnson was no ordinary foe. His eyes tracked their movements with predatory precision, reading their strategy as if it were written on the walls. He countered with a vicious punch, catching Kamiko in the chest and sending him sprawling. Alan lunged, but Johnson's fist met him too, and both boys hit the ground, bruised but not broken.
The Situation Elsewhere
Miles away, Kaguro's mind was unraveling. The news of Johnson's arrival had sent him spiraling, memories of past traumas clawing at his sanity. He was on his way to Kamiko's house, but the journey felt endless, each step heavy with dread. Bachi, meanwhile, was steeling himself, his mind a fortress of psychological preparation. He hadn't yet reached the house, but his resolve was unshaken. He carried a plan, a flicker of hope that they could end this nightmare.
Kashimo's Arrival
Kashimo burst through the door, his heart pounding as he took in the scene: Kamiko and Alan on the floor, dazed and battered, looking like fallen soldiers. Johnson stood over them, a satisfied glint in his eyes. He knelt beside Alan, his hand reaching for his son's throat, ready to choke the life from him. Kashimo acted on instinct, charging forward and delivering a brutal kick to Johnson's head—a move so forceful it could've been mistaken for a football play. Johnson staggered, collapsing to the ground, but he was up in less than a minute, his resilience terrifying.
"Are you worthy enough to entertain me?" Johnson taunted, brushing off the blow.
Kashimo's voice was steady, his humor a shield against fear. "What do you mean by 'entertain'? Gambling with people's lives? Or piling on so much psychological pressure they break?"
Johnson's smirk was menacing. "How did you figure that out?"
"Because of the crimes you've committed," Kashimo said, his tone sharp. "They speak for themselves."
Johnson's laugh was cold. "Those are the most entertaining things to do in my free time."
Kashimo's eyes glinted with dark humor. "You really didn't have a good childhood, did you?"
At that moment, Kaguro arrived, his face pale but determined. Kamiko, stirring from his daze, seized the opportunity. He lunged at Johnson, wrapping his arms around his throat in a desperate chokehold. For five seconds, it seemed to work—Johnson's face reddened, his movements slowed. But then he broke free, his strength overwhelming, and delivered a punch that sent Kamiko crashing into the television, the screen shattering under the impact.
The House
Kamiko's home was modest but functional, a single-story structure with six rooms. The living room was the heart of the house, with two comfortable sofas that could seat four, a dining table in one corner, and a television mounted on the opposite wall. An air conditioning unit hummed softly above. The kitchen nestled in one corner of the living room, while two bedrooms and two bathrooms branched off from the main space. The house belonged to Kamiko's father, a man whose absence tonight left the kids vulnerable.
The Fight Continues
Kaguro and Kashimo rallied, throwing themselves at Johnson to protect their friends. Kashimo, gripping a knife, aimed for Johnson's stomach, but the blade met resistance—a stab-proof vest hidden beneath Johnson's clothing. The knife skittered uselessly across the surface, and Johnson retaliated, hurling Kaguro and Kashimo across the room. They landed hard, their bodies bruised but their spirits unbroken.
Kamiko, undeterred, launched a series of surprise attacks, darting in and out like a shadow. His strikes were quick, unpredictable, but Johnson was learning. He anticipated each move, dodging with unnerving ease. In one swift motion, he caught Kamiko mid-attack, lifting him off the ground and hurling him across the room. Kamiko landed heavily, blood trickling from a cut on his arm, but the attack had left its mark—Johnson's side was grazed, a shallow wound seeping red.
Alan saw his chance. He grabbed Johnson's leg, yanking it with all his strength. Johnson stumbled, his balance faltering, but he recovered quickly, kicking Alan away with a force that sent him skidding across the floor. Turning his attention to Kaguro and Kashimo, Johnson unleashed a barrage of punches, his fists a blur. The two boys fought valiantly, but Johnson's strength was overwhelming. One by one, they fell, unconscious, their bodies slumped against the shattered remnants of the living room.
Bachi's Approach
Outside, the rain showed no mercy, soaking Bachi as he raced toward Kamiko's house. He was two minutes away, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. He knew the odds were against them, but he clung to a single, unshakable belief: they would win. They had to. The lives of his friends depended on it.
Johnson stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving, his eyes scanning the carnage he'd wrought. Kamiko, Alan, Kaguro, and Kashimo lay scattered, battered but alive. He was a force of nature, a man forged in pain and hardened by violence, but the fight was far from over. Bachi was coming, and with him, the final person who was missing to end Johnson
Chapter 21 ends
To be continued…