The rain had been coming down since dusk, thin needles stitching the docks together. It made the sodium lights bleed, turned the puddles on the asphalt into mirrors that nobody wanted to look into.
I'd been on this pier too many times to count, guarding other men's poison. The crates never mattered. The faces changed. The smell didn't—diesel, salt, and fear.
Kaito stood at the far end of the bay, talking money with two men in pressed suits. I watched their hands instead of their mouths. Hands told the truth. One twitched when Kaito mentioned the next shipment; another never stopped stroking the silver lighter in his pocket. Nerves. Always a bad sign.
I should've walked then. Instead, I stayed, just like always.
The forklift dropped a pallet in front of me. Plastic wrap shimmered under the flickering bulbs. The logo on the side said "construction materials." Everyone laughed at that. When they cut the wrap open, the smell of chemicals punched through the room. White bricks. Neat. Perfect. Death dressed for business.
Kaito caught my look and grinned. "Don't start preaching, Ryu. You get paid either way."
I didn't answer. The sound of rain on the roof was louder than the cash counting machines.
Then one of the buyers got cute. He wanted to test the product. A small cut, a taste, a smirk. His partner didn't like it. Voices rose. Money changed hands too fast. That's how deals die—noise first, bullets after.
When the first shot cracked, it didn't surprise me. The flash lit the room for half a second—just long enough to see Kaito slip behind a stack of containers, smiling like he'd been waiting for this.
Everything after that was motion and instinct.
I moved before thinking, grabbing the nearest man by the jacket and pulling him into the line of fire. Two rounds hit his chest, dull thuds. I felt them through the fabric. I kicked the table over, cash scattering like feathers, and dove for the side.
The air turned into thunder. Shouts, ricochets, someone screaming in Cantonese. I rolled behind a forklift, heart steady, breath slow. Years of training didn't leave room for panic.
When the shooter stepped around the corner, I caught his wrist, slammed it against the metal frame until the gun dropped. One elbow, one knee, and he was down, wheezing on the floor. Another came at me with a pipe; I ducked, felt the wind of it pass over my head, and drove a punch into his ribs hard enough to make him forget his name.
The warehouse was smoke and sparks now. A hanging bulb swung wildly, throwing the whole place into a strobe of light and dark. In the flashes, I saw shapes moving—Lanterns and buyers both, killing each other over product that was already spilling onto the floor.
I didn't want any of it. Didn't want the money, didn't want the powder, didn't want Kaito's grin burned into my memory.
So I walked. Right through the middle of it. Bullets chipped the concrete near my boots, but nobody aimed well in panic. I kept my shoulders square and didn't look back until I hit the door.
Outside, the rain was colder, harder. I could still hear the shouting inside, muffled now. The city lights smeared across the wet harbor like paint on glass.
That was the night I stopped being their fist.
The rain didn't stop when I stepped off the pier; it just changed its mind about direction. Came at me sideways, sharp as glass. I pulled my collar up and started walking. The harbor stretched east—black water, black sky, one broken line of lights trying to pretend they were stars.
The city was a half hour away on foot, but distance didn't matter. I wasn't headed anywhere. I just needed to keep moving until the noise inside my head matched the rhythm of the rain.
Back at the warehouse, the shouting thinned out. Then a single blast, deeper than the rest, rolled across the docks. A propane tank maybe. Or Kaito's insurance policy. Didn't matter which. The deal was ash now.
I cut through the freight yard, past stacks of rusting containers. The puddles there were slick with oil—rainbows that no one could ever make beautiful. My boots made small sounds; each step felt like a decision. I'd broken the first rule: don't walk away from family. The Lanterns would call it betrayal before dawn.
Halfway down the yard I saw headlights swing wide. A black sedan, tinted windows, engine too quiet. Kaito's boys. They were early.
I ducked behind a crane support. The rain covered the sound of my breathing but not the click of the door opening. Two men stepped out, heavy coats, pistols low and steady. Professionals. Not the street punks I used to babysit.
The first one came close enough that I could see the red thread stitched into his cuff—Lantern colors. He moved careful, scanning the yard. The second stayed near the car, watching the angles. They'd done this before.
I waited for the first man to pass the crane's shadow, then stepped out and took him by the collar. One sharp pull and his feet were gone. He hit the ground hard, the pistol skittering into the dark. The second man reacted fast—shout, muzzle flash, the smell of cordite slicing through rain. I felt the air move beside my cheek but no impact. Lucky.
I grabbed the first man's weapon and fired once, low. The second dropped, clutching his leg, the gun falling into the puddles with a hiss. I didn't finish him. I just walked over, kicked the pistol away, and said the only thing that made sense.
"Tell Kaito I'm done."
He stared up at me, water and blood mixing on his face. "He'll find you."
"I know."
The city swallowed me after that. Neon reflections on wet streets, alleys breathing steam, the smell of fried noodles and burnt wires. I kept moving. A man can hide anywhere if he never stops.
By the time I reached my apartment, dawn was already bruising the sky. The stairwell smelled like mold and cigarette ash. My room was one window, one bed, one duffel with a change of clothes. I dropped the gun into the sink, washed my hands until the water ran clear.
In the cracked mirror above the faucet, a stranger stared back. Same face, same scars, but the eyes had lost something—obedience, maybe. I thought about the master who taught me discipline, the one I'd disappointed when I joined the Lanterns. Control is strength, he used to say. I'd mistaken silence for control all these years.
The phone on the counter buzzed once. Unknown number. I didn't answer. It buzzed again, then stopped. Outside, a siren wailed somewhere by the harbor. Another body or two, maybe. The cops would call it gang business and look the other way.
I made coffee that tasted like rust, sat by the window, and watched the rain start up again. The city looked clean only from a distance. Up close it was just water washing over rot.
By noon, I'd packed. No goodbye notes, no plan. You don't plan a clean break; you just take the first step and hope the ground holds.
I left the gun behind. It belonged to the night.
The road out of the city ran along the river. Traffic was thin—truckers, stray cabs, nobody who cared. The radio in the bus crackled with a morning news bulletin: "Explosion at an industrial storage site on the east docks. Several fatalities suspected. Police investigating gang involvement." I looked out the window and said nothing.
A kid across the aisle was asleep on his backpack. His shoes were new. He still believed in something. I hoped he'd keep it longer than I did.
As the city slipped away, I thought about Kaito. He'd built the Lanterns out of scraps of loyalty and fear. He wouldn't let either go easily. By tonight he'd have a list—my name at the top, a reward next to it. The hunt would start.
But that was tomorrow's problem. Tonight I'd find a cheap motel, a quiet street, maybe a bottle that didn't taste like regret. I didn't know what came next, but for the first time in years, I wasn't taking orders.
The rain followed me all the way out of town, whispering against the glass like it had something to say. Maybe it did. Maybe it was just trying to wash the city off me.
Either way, I let it.