Райм-Сити проснулся тяжелым, как старик, ворчащий на скрипучие косяки. Над серыми крышами и шпилями еще висели струйки утреннего тумана, а холодный воздух пах сыростью, бензином и чем-то едва уловимым, напоминая запах дождя, который то ли прошел, то ли вот-вот прольет. Дворники лениво подметали тротуар, сметая вчерашнюю ночь в кучи грязного снега вперемешку с мусором. В такие утра город казался усталым и недовольным, как будто он был лишен сна.
Но для кого-то утро было временем работы.
В центре города, на одной из парадных улиц, стояло добротное здание банка – массивное, с колоннами и зеркальными окнами. Утро только начиналось, поэтому поток посетителей был редким, но именно эта регулярность и предсказуемость сделали банк идеальной мишенью для тех, кто решил рискнуть.
Внутри пахло лаком и бумагой. Просторный зал с высоким потолком и мраморными колоннами почти пустовал: несколько клиентов заполняли бланки за столиками, молодая мама держала за руку ребенка, старик в длинном пальто ждал своей очереди. Сотрудники за стойками перебирали бумаги, проверяли счета, изредка переговаривались друг с другом. Все выглядело так, как должно выглядеть в обычный банковский день.
Именно эта обыденность стала идеальным экраном для того, что должно было произойти.
Двери распахнулись. Первым вошел высокий мужчина в спортивной куртке. Он держал в руках телефон, как будто просто проверял сообщение, но его глаза тут же начали изучать комнату. Еще трое шагнули за ним. Их движения были синхронными, уверенными. Один из них достал из-под куртки дробовик. Другой — черный чемодан.
«Всем остановиться!» Прогремел первый голос. Он отдавал приказ так, как будто привык к власти. «Это ограбление!»
Женщины закричали. Старик уронил шапку, ребенок заплакал. Один из грабителей выстрелил в потолок, и звук эхом разнесся по мраморному залу. Штукатурка и пыль рассыпались. Люди падали на пол, закрывая головы руками.
«Лицом вниз!» Быстро! — закричал тот, у кого был дробовик.
In a moment, order collapsed. Bank employees hid behind the counters. Customers lay down on the floor, some trembled, some prayed silently.
The leader, a strong man in a balaclava, headed for the ticket office. His eyes burned with greed.
"Money in your bag!" Quickly, while I'm kind!
The cashiers, pale as paper, obediently began to fill the suitcase with bundles of bills. The one standing next to them watched without lifting the barrel from their faces.
A young and nervous man remained at the door. His fingers trembled on the trigger. He looked around the room, but his gaze betrayed fear. Such are the most dangerous.
Takeshi Ryujin Gentered the bank as if he had come here for a change - to pay a receipt or clarify the balance. Stooped, in a shabby coat, with habitually squinted eyes. He didn't even seem to notice the panic. But he noticed everything.
He assessed the situation in a couple of seconds: four, armed, discipline shaky. Shotgun, pistol, suitcase, fear. The main thing is to prevent them from taking hostages.
"Guys," Ryujin's voice sounded lazy, almost mocking. He glanced at the nearest robber. "Maybe you'll change your mind?" The morning had just begun. It is not good to do such things in the morning.
The voices stopped. Even the baby's crying was interrupted for a second. All eyes turned to him.
"Who are you?" The leader barked.
"Me?" Ryujin shrugged. "Someone who spoils your mood.
He took a step forward. Bewilderment flashed in the eyes of the bandits: the hostages were lying, the cashiers were at gunpoint, and this one was walking as if nothing was happening.
The leader drew a pistol.
"On your knees, quickly!"
Ryujin grinned.
"I don't like to get on my knees. My back hurts.
At that moment, everything fell into place.
The first to rush was the one who was nervous. He raised his shotgun, but Takeshi rushed to meet him. The movement was precise and fast: elbow to the chest, palm strike on the shaft. The shotgun crashed onto the marble. Thunder turned around, pushed the guy face down to the floor.
"Lie down, rest.
Screams, panic. The leader fired. A bullet whizzed past, shattering the glass of the window. Takeshi dived behind the column, grabbing a downed shotgun on the way.
"Kill him!" The leader barked.
Two rushed to the column. But Ryujin had already jumped out from the side. The shotgun hit one of them in the face with the butt. The other got a knee in the stomach, bent over, and Ryujin threw him on the marble floor.
The hall exploded with noise. People screamed, froze with horror and hope at the same time.
The leader raised his pistol, but Takeshi was faster. From a turn, he hit him on the arm, the pistol flew aside. Thunder's fist slammed into the bandit's jaw. He staggered, but did not fall.
"Who the hell are you?!" He growled.
Takeshi narrowed his eyes.
"I'm someone who doesn't like honest people to be hindered from living.
Their fight turned into a fierce fight. The blows flew one after another. The leader turned out to be hardy: he blocked, responded, growled with anger. But doubt flashed in his eyes: this opponent was not a random passerby.
The cashiers, trembling, continued to put down the money, but now they looked more at the fight than at the bills. The people on the floor held their breath.
And in this tense moment, the door swung open again. The police burst into the hall.
"Everyone on the ground!" Weapons on the floor! One of them commanded, raising his submachine gun.
The robbers, already beaten and demoralized, did not resist. The leader, breathing heavily, collapsed to his knees. He was knocked face down on the floor and handcuffed.
Takeshi Ryujin, shaking off his coat, picked up a pistol from the floor and handed it to the policeman.
"Here you go." You'll need it more than I do.
The policeman frowned.
"Are you again?"
Takeshi smiled at the corner of his lips.
"And who, if not me?"
A ringing silence hung in the hall. Only the hoarse breathing of the hostages and the hoarse orders of the bandits violated it. The robbers acted in unison, as if they had trained in advance. One checked the hostages, walking along the rows, another carried money in bags, the third held the cashiers at gunpoint. Their leader, the one in the skull mask, was nervous but determined: his eyes darted, his fingers on the handle of the pistol trembled slightly.
Takeshi Ryujin sat in the same way as everyone else. Hunched over, with his hands behind his head, like an obedient citizen. But his eyes were open, sharp, attentive. He saw everything: how the leg of one of the robbers trembled with fatigue, how the second was increasingly distracted by the screams of a woman, how the third was too carried away by counting bills to notice trifles.
Inside Takeshi, an inner voice spoke as usual, dry and calm:
"Two on the right. The weapon is old, the magazine is incomplete. This masked man is the leader, but his hands are shaking. It is based on fear, not on confidence. If you distract him even for a second, control of the gang will crumble."
He turned his gaze to the cashier, a girl of about twenty-five, with dark hair tied up in a strict bun. She desperately pressed the panic button under the counter, unaware that the same "nervous" leader had already noticed her movement.
"What are you doing there?!" He roared and took off, pointing a gun at her.
The woman screamed, her hands went up. People in the hall froze, someone cried quietly.
Ryujin, straining, grinned inwardly.
"Well, here we go. Frustration. Now the main thing is to seize the moment."
"I... I'm fine," muttered the cashier, pale as chalk. "It's just... I'm just sitting.
"You're lying!" The leader shouted, coming closer. "Do you think I can't see?" Do you think I'm a fool?!
He was a stone's throw away from the girl when Ryujin raised his head. He did it slowly, as if reluctantly, but in his eyes there was already that fire that always appeared before a fight.
"Listen, buddy," he said quietly, as if in between, "maybe you should stop yelling?" Your voice is already broken.
The bandit turned sharply. For a moment he was confused: did any of the hostages dare to speak?
"You... What did he say? He said.
Ryujin shrugged his shoulders slightly.
"He said you had a bad voice. And you hold the gun crookedly.
The leader cursed angrily and stepped closer.
"Oh, you...!"
Takeshi acted at the same moment. One short movement and he stood up abruptly, grabbing the nearest chair. A swing - and the heavy wooden back crashed into the hand with the pistol. The weapon fell to the floor with a crash.
The hall froze for a second, as if the whole world held its breath.
And then it began.
The nearest bandit rushed towards Ryujin, picking up the sawn-off shotgun. But Takeshi was already in motion: knee to the stomach, elbow to the jaw. The man collapsed like a sandbag.
The second tried to shoot, but Ryujin slid forward and knocked his arm aside. The bullet hit the ceiling, showering the hall with plaster. The policeman hit the opponent's wrist with the edge of his palm, twisted his arm, and the weapon fell right at his feet.
Thunder did not pick him up. He didn't need a weapon.
"Lie down, he said!" The gang leader yelled, pulling out a second pistol.
But Takeshi was already there. The blow to the hull is fast, calibrated, like a hammer in a blacksmith's shop. The pistol flew out of his hands, and the bandit himself bent in half.
"Calm down," Ryujin threw in his face. "It's worse for you.
The hall came to life. Someone screamed, someone crawled to the side, trying to take cover. The hostages could not believe their eyes: the man sitting among them suddenly stood up and began to knock out the bandits one by one.
"A cop!" He's a cop! One of the robbers shrieked, jumping to the exit.
But it was too late to escape.
***
Takeshi moved at such a speed that it seemed that time flowed differently for him. His every step was precise, every movement without unnecessary gestures. He struck quickly and hard, but without fury: there was no unnecessary malice in his blows, only cold calculation.
The third bandit tried to shield himself with a female hostage, pressing her to him. But Ryujin only grinned out of the corner of his mouth.
"Bad idea," he said quietly.
A jerk - and he is already near. A grip on the hand, a sharp turn – the woman falls to the side, freed, and her "shield" receives a fist on the temple and settles on the floor.
The gang leader staggered to his feet. His eyes burned with fury.
"I'll tell you... I'll tell you... Kill! He shouted and rushed ahead.
Ryujin didn't even answer. He simply stepped to the side, letting a furious lunge pass by, and with a short punch to the stomach, deprived his opponent of air. He bent over, panting, and collapsed next to his accomplices.
Silence.
It was all over in a matter of seconds.
***
Takeshi looked around the room. The hostages sat with their mouths open, some applauded quietly, some crossed themselves, some simply did not believe in what was happening. The cashier pressed her hands to her chest, tears streaming down her face.
"It's all right," Ryujin said. "The police will be here soon."
He walked over to the counter, felt for the phone, and briefly dictated into the receiver:
— Severny Bank. Five. Everyone is alive. Come.
After that, he hung up the phone and sighed.
An inner voice gave itself up again.
"You're involved again. Again a fight. How many times did the authorities say: don't be a hero, don't get ahead. But you can't do otherwise, can you, Ryujin?"
He grinned out of the corner of his lips.
Yes, it cannot.
***
A few minutes later, the bank was filled with sirens and policemen. People in uniform quickly surrounded the building, ran inside, and only then it became clear that everything was really over. The robbers were lying unconscious, the money had been collected, the hostages were intact.
The officers looked at the picture with disbelief: as if a hurricane swept through the hall, leaving a neat silence behind it.
"You're the same as always, Takeshi," said one of the patrol officers he knew, shaking his head. "All by yourself?"
"Well, almost," Ryujin replied with a tired smile. "They helped.
He nodded at the hostages, and they nodded in response, although they were well aware that they had done nothing.
***
But inside, behind that slight smile, Ryujin felt a familiar heavy feeling. Not adrenaline, not the joy of victory, but fatigue. Everything was repeated: crime, fight, victory. And then? No changes. Some are imprisoned, others come out. And so on in a circle.
He went outside, breathed in the cold St. Ryme-city air and looked at the gray sky.
"The city lives by its own rules. And you're just a cog. But sometimes, in order for this screw to work, you have to spin faster than the others."
He pulled out a cigarette, lit a cigarette, and walked away, leaving behind the howl of sirens and the screams of journalists already flocking to the bank.
***
At the other end of town, in the deep shadow of an old building, someone was watching the news on the phone. Footage from the scene flashed on the screen: the bank, the police, the hostages. And the face of Takeshi Ryujin .
The man in the dark cloak and bird mask chuckled softly.
"Major Ryujin..." it sounded muffled, as if from afar. — Not a bad start.
The buzzing in my ears subsided gradually. Like a radio tuned to a stray wave, where the noise goes away and a clear signal begins to appear. Ryujin blinked, took a couple of deep breaths. The air reeked of dust and fumes.
The bank, which had recently been plunged into chaos, now looked as if a tornado had passed through it. The ceiling tiles were huddled together, shards of glass glittered in the light of flashing lights. People who had recently huddled to the floor cautiously stood up, as if waking up from a bad dream.
"Are you alive?" Ryujin asked in a muffled voice, addressing the hostages who were closest to the epicenter of the fight.
The middle-aged woman who was holding the teenager close to her nodded. Her face was as white as a sheet of paper, but her eyes already shone with the realization that the danger had passed.
"Alive," she repeated, and it was as if she had exhaled years of tension.
Stunned robbers were lying on the floor. Someone moaned, someone tried to get up, but fell back down - they got too much. The masks were knocked off, and now they were not terrible anonymous monsters, but ordinary people. Frightened, exhausted, cornered by their own greed.
Ryujin got up and straightened his jacket. Somewhere on the side, the fabric crunched - the seam parted after the blow. It's okay, you can patch it up. He glanced at his watch. Only a few minutes had passed since he had entered the bank. Minutes - and the feeling that there is a whole battle behind your back.
The doors finally swung open. SOBR officers and ordinary patrol officers broke into the room. A little late, as always.
"Everyone stop!" One of them shouted habitually, raising his submachine gun. But after a second I noticed the picture: the bandits were neutralized, people were alive, only a pile of shapeless bodies in black jackets lay on the floor. "Damn...
"It's too late, boys," Ryujin said calmly. He turned to them and added with feigned indifference: "The work has already been done for you.
"Ryujin, damn it," the sergeant gasped at the door, lowering his weapon. "You're the only one who climbed up here, aren't you?"
"Did you have to wait until you drowned in the protocols?" Takeshi shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
The sergeant wanted to object to something, but met a heavy look and fell silent.
The police began to analyze the situation, take testimony, and help the hostages go outside. Those who had been shaking with terror now thanked Ryujin in a whisper, uncertainly, as if they were afraid that their words would upset the delicate balance.
He did not answer. He just nodded.
***
On the street I met the usual February Ryme - city. Gray, unfriendly. The sky hung like a lead dome, from which it smelled of snow and rain at the same time. The air hurt his lungs, but Ryujin liked it. Here, in the cold wind, everything became clearer.
The flashing lights of the cars painted the square with red and blue flashes. Journalists have already pulled themselves up, as if they have grown out of the ground. The cameras clicked, the lenses caught his every step.
"Major Ryujin!" Someone shouted. — How did you manage to neutralize the robbers alone?
"Major, is it true that you disobeyed orders and broke in without reinforcements?"
"What can you say about the risk to the hostages?"
Ryujin rolled his eyes. These questions always sounded the same. And they don't need answers — they need a picture. Here he is, the hero of the day, covered in dust and blood.
"No comment," he muttered and stepped past.
Flash lamps flashed in his face. He closed his eyes for a second and thought that perhaps he should learn how to smile for the press. But he immediately dismissed this thought. Smiles are not his tool.
***
A couple of hours later, Ryujin was sitting in the office. Papers, reports, signatures. Everything is as usual after any of his "tricks".
"Do you understand what you've done?" Stein's voice sounded both angry and tired at the same time. The head of the department, a man who had seen everything, sat opposite, staring at Takeshi. "I violated the instructions again. Again!
"If I were waiting for your instructions, half of the jar would be in the morgue right now," Ryujin retorted, leaning back in his chair.
"You're a hero, and then we all become extremes!" Stein slammed his palm on the table. "Do you think I have no job to do but cover up for your exploits?"
Takeshi grinned. He was already used to these conversations. Everything was repeated over and over again.
"People are alive," he said quietly but firmly. "That's the main thing.
Stein closed his eyes, rubbed the bridge of his nose. He seemed to be fighting the urge to swear.
"Damn it, Ryujin..." he finally exhaled. "You're a good cop. But one day your stubbornness will ruin us all.
Takeshi did not answer. He understood that the boss was right in his own way. But he could not act in any other way. That would be a betrayal of himself.
***
Late in the evening, Ryujin left the control building. The sky was already completely dark, the city plunged into the usual darkness. Puddles reflected the dim lights of the lanterns. People were in a hurry to go about their business, no one paid attention to the man in a shabby jacket who was walking along the pavement.
And it was for the best. Ryujin didn't need looks.
He stopped on the bridge and looked at the Neva. The water, thick and dark, rolled under the ice crust, dragging pieces of snow with it.
Screams, shots, rumbling sounded in my head again. He shook his head, trying to push them away.
And yet there was a feeling of satisfaction inside. Today he did what he had to do. People are alive. That will do.
Though... Somewhere deep in his chest lurked a shadow of doubt. How many more times can he go against orders like this? How many times will it be possible to get away with it?
He didn't know. And, to tell the truth, he did not want to think. Tomorrow will be a new day. A new challenge.
In the meantime... For now, you can afford one short respite.
Ryujin lit a cigarette. The light of the match illuminated his stern face, turning it into a stone mask for a moment. He took a long drag, blew the smoke into the night air, and smiled faintly.
And the city around him began to make noise as indifferently as always. Ryme-city lived its own life, not noticing that one stubborn major had again saved its inhabitants.
***
This is how this story began. With a story in which the law collided with chaos, and a cold mind with a cruel reality. Where justice was not on paper, but in fists and decisions made in a split second.
История о том, как один человек бросил вызов не только преступникам, но и самому миру, в котором он жил.
И это был только пролог.