Fly Me to the Moon
"Boss!"
"You okay?!"
The shotgun barrel pressed right against his forehead.
But these dimwit underlings thought their boss was in danger and were charging in blindly.
This is why I hate dealing with idiots. Gotta spell everything out for them.
I slowly wiggled the finger on the trigger, flashing a smile as I spoke.
"Soon you'll be calling a dullahan 'boss,' huh? Why don't you back the hell off?"
Finally getting the picture, Baldy flinched and waved frantically at his crew around him.
"Don't come closer! Stay back, you idiots! This guy's seriously gonna shoot!"
After unleashing that much killing intent, anyone who thought I was bluffing would just disappoint me.
With him out front as my shield, I headed toward the club entrance, catching the guards' stunned expressions.
"Baldy. The invitation."
"Eek! G-get out of the way! I'm gonna die—move it!"
His scream-like shout finally swung the club doors open.
Damn, this invitation's the real deal.
The goons hesitated, parting to the sides. As I cautiously stepped inside—
"You little punk with no blood dried on your head!"
One of the guards I'd thought had backed off lunged at me, fist cocked back.
"...Was I joking or something?"
I whipped the shotgun behind my head and pulled the trigger.
──BOOM!!
A deafening roar echoed as the guard flew backward.
Aura exploded out, filling the air with a smell like gunpowder smoke that tickled my nose.
Baldy collapsed to his knees with a thud.
He'd been in denial until he saw the power for himself.
"Where do you think you're going? You're coming with me."
I hauled his limp ass up and shoved him forward.
"Don't worry. Play nice, and you won't die."
Yeah, he wouldn't die. Not after what he'd done—I had zero intention of letting him off that easy with just death.
These scum deserved pain equal to their crimes.
"Alright, let's keep moving, Baldy."
"Hng... huwaaa..."
Baldy wailed like a newborn, but a nudge from the barrel got him stumbling ahead.
His sobs mixed with the thumping EDM from below, creating some bizarre harmony.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Soon the pounding bass drowned out his whining entirely, and a stage packed with dancing crowds unfolded before me.
White fog blanketed the ceiling, strobe lights flashed endlessly, lasers swept the room, and the amps vibrated right through my ears.
That's when my hostage started bellowing at me.
"You saw it! There's nothing here! Let me go already!"
Oh, really?
"VIPs aren't hanging out down here. So where could they be?"
I scanned the club, spotting stairs leading underground, guarded by more goons.
That had to be it.
"Alright, let's see if your invitation works again, Baldy."
"Nooo...! Please, nooo...!"
We pushed through the crowd—people half-closing their eyes, shaking to the beat.
Not a single one batted an eye at a guy with a hostage and a shotgun wedged between them, like it was none of their business.
Hell, they seemed to think it was some event, grinning at us.
"Help! Somebody help! This guy's for real!"
"Wooo!"
Yeah, definitely buying the event angle.
Finally at the basement stairs, the guards eyed us suspiciously.
"Baldy, why are you—"
──BANG!
──BANG!
"Skipping the boring routine."
The blaring club music masked the shots nicely—handy perk of the place.
Nice and clean.
"Good work, Baldy."
I smashed the buttstock into the nape of his neck for a tearful goodbye.
Pity, but from here on, I'd need to move fast against whatever VIP protectors were waiting.
No more baggage slowing me down.
You were a solid invitation.
"Oh, right."
Before heading down, I grabbed a bottle of top-shelf booze from an empty table and splashed it over the bodies.
"Now it'll look like they just passed out drunk."
Saw that in movies all the time—should fly here too.
With that, I descended the stairs into a long hallway packed wall-to-wall with dozens of guys.
They'd caught on, huh?
"Whoa, quite the welcome party. You sure you can all move crammed in like that?"
Every one gripped a gleaming cleaver like they'd coordinated it.
Faint mana flows here and there, but nothing but minnow-level power.
No real threat.
Especially since...
"Bunching up like that? You'll regret it."
Forces my hand.
I stowed the shotgun in my cube and pulled out Al Capone's Tommy.
Perfect for trash mobs like these.
"Charge him!"
"Kill him—that's the order!"
Dozens of bruisers rushed me at once. Fine by me.
Thanks to them, Bloodline: Calione surged through my veins, aura amplifying wildly.
"This is overkill—I'd rather you didn't die."
A heavier recoil than usual slammed my arm as bullets rained on the charging mob.
──! / ──! / ──! / ──! / ──! / ──! / ──! / ──! / ──! / ──! / ──! / ──!
"What the—?!"
"That's no normal gun!"
"Gah, arghhh!"
The hallway turned to hell in seconds.
Before Al Capone's Tommy and the Berserker's Ring, the goons panicked, turning tail to flee.
And chaos like that? Tommy's playground.
"W-wait! Why turn b—gurk!"
"Run! How the hell are we supposed to beat that?!"
The corridor devolved into pandemonium as gunfire blazed for what felt like ages.
When the typewriter rattle finally stopped, nothing remained but the gloriously shredded remains of Tommy's feast.
Well, "glorious" might be a stretch—they'd just tap-danced in terror before dropping.
"Nothing beats this for farming."
Vibration and smoke still poured from Al Capone's Tommy in my hand.
I blew the barrel clean with a quick phoo, then trampled the carpet of bodies onward.
Aura Sonar
According to Aura Sonar, the real ambush waited beyond that door—each aura signature clear.
They'd planned to wear me down before the VIPs cleaned up.
"After I've already powered up."
I cracked my neck side to side—crack, crack.
With bodies littering the floor, my footsteps were silent.
Pushing open the door at the hall's end swapped thumping EDM for upbeat jazz.
Fly me to the moon
(Fly me to the moon)
And let me play among the stars
(Let me play among the stars)
"Fly Me to the Moon—classic. Even scum like you have taste."
Inside: three scenes.
Goons huddled terrified in corners.
Others gripping weapons, glaring like they might pounce.
And kids bound head to toe, eyes wide with fear, scanning the room.
"Your destination's hell, not the moon."
Though hey, no more Earth for any of you—same difference.
"Who the hell are you?"
A cig-chomping guy stepped forward from the armed pack.
Sunglasses hiding his eyes, straight scar visible behind them, Hawaiian shirt, brass knuckles.
Textbook street thug.
"That important?"
"Damn right it is. You trash our turf and think we'll let it slide? Mark my words—you and your family will live in fear forever."
He lit up with a click-click, leaning in with a smirk.
Our family in fear?
"That's hilarious."
Best joke I'd heard lately.
"What are you chatting about?! Kill him! Kill that bastard! You know my dad's gonna bury you all if he finds out?!"
A yellow-suited clown from the hiders pointed and screamed.
Yeah, that daddy's boy was the big shot here.
"You asked where I'm from?"
Fine, time to brag about my old man.
"Enforcer of the Calione Family executive branch. Eugene Han Calione."
I flashed the notepad symbolizing my Calione enforcer status.
"My dad's the Calione boss. Think your dads outrank mine?"
Plop—Scarface's cig hit the floor.
"C-Calione?"
Sunglasses hid his eyes, but his face had gone ghost-white, far from his initial smugness.
"Told you my affiliation like you wanted. Now, my business: simple. This turf's Calione territory from today. Unless you wanna die for real, kiss the floor."
I scanned the room after the warning.
The bound kids were all prone, but most goons still stood dazed, staring.
"What can ya do? They wanna go to the moon. Gotta grant their wish."
I clenched and unclenched my fist—creak, creak from Midas' Gloves.
"Hurry up and rush me. Wanna live? Run before the main force arrives."
"Rrrgh—get him!"
"Kill him!"
"There we go."
Coming at me first kept the kids safe.
* * *
The metallic tang of blood mixed with smoke curling from a still-smoldering ashtray.
I grabbed a champagne from the ice bucket nearby, gulping it down for a cool, sweet refresh.
"...Non-alcoholic. Loaded as you are, why skimp on this crap?"
I wiped my mouth and surveyed the room.
Goons foaming at the mouth on the floor.
Others bleeding and whimpering.
And the rest just sprawled lifeless.
Catching my breath, I headed for the bound kids when—
The door burst open, Han Seojun leading a pack of black-suited men inside.
"Ah, Young Master!"
Han Seojun, blood on his face, waved at me.
"You made it."
"Yes. Ran into a few boys on the way—took time to handle them. All done here?"
"As you see."
I took another sip of cocktail.
Growing on me, kinda?
"Take those tied-up kids to a nearby center for treatment, check family ties and how they ended up here."
"Victims? Got it. And... them?"
Han Seojun eyed the sprawled trash.
Easy call.
"Cart the rest to the warehouse. Human traffickers and drug peddlers."
"...Trafficking. Figures."
And the real prizes were those.
"The yellow suit and the ones nearby. They bragged about their big-shot parents—make sure their folks know exactly what happened to their kids, and handle it to Calione's benefit."
"Understood."
Most of the cleanup was done; Han Seojun could wrap the rest.
"Heading out first to rest."
"Good work, Young Master."
I left Han Seojun bowing behind me, sighing as I exited the club.
"Man. I'm busting my ass out here—hope Latte's doing fine too."
Time to check how well the Niflheim-style moral education stuck tomorrow morning.
...Should I bring someone along? Someone the kids might actually listen to.
Trudging toward the car, a wistful tune drifted from behind.
Fly me to the moon
Yeah, total classic.