Chapter 1 - Mafia of Mafia City (Ruined)
‘The world's most vicious man, the final leader of the last remaining Lawless Thieves, Mikhail, lies here at rest.’
That's probably the bullshit epitaph that'd end up on my tombstone. And all around it, there'd be spit and trash scattered everywhere. No one left to tend my grave anymore, after all.
"Fuck...."
I mutter a curse and scan my surroundings. This is the depths of an abandoned factory, long forsaken. Here and there lie the corpses of my beloved brothers. Did they all get taken out by the explosives that Inspector bitch tossed earlier? I screamed at them to scatter, but the idiots shielded me instead and ended up like this.
"In the end, I'm the only one left alive again...."
A surge of resentment boils up from deep inside. I slam the floor hard to vent it, but my bones must be shattered—my arm won't move. Once more, I lose my family right in front of me and can't do a damn thing about it.
Yeah, this isn't the first time I've lost family. Back when I was a kid—around fourteen, I think—those things showed up. The TV news called them superhumans, right? Later, that word got labeled discriminatory or some shit, but that's not my problem.
Anyway, those superhumans' powers were insane. Spewing fire from their hands, blasting electricity, whipping up waves with a gesture, smashing concrete buildings with a punch. Stronger than all the science humanity had built up, so they were above the law. They ignored the authorities without a care and slaughtered countless innocents.
Among them... my family. My first family, bound by blood. My father, stronger than anyone; my kind mother; my adorable little sister—they all vanished into the flames spewed by some superhuman.
‘I swore after that...’
The fourteen-year-old boy vowed deep in his heart: I'll never lose family again. And I'll kill those superhuman bastards who showed me hell.
So I started stealing. Gathered comrades who shared my cause, formed an organization. Took down those invincible superhumans with bullets, one by one. Exacting revenge.
‘And I lost spectacularly, like a badass in some movie.’
It all failed. I dragged the family I barely rebuilt into hell and got crushed by the very superhumans I swore to kill.
"Haa...."
A bitter, shitty taste creeps up my throat. Damn it all—I fish a cigar from my suit pocket to wash it away.
"Ah, fuck."
Just as I'm about to light the cigar clenched in my teeth, I realize I've lost something else besides my family and crew. My log-thick left arm... the one that took after my dad, packed with solid muscle... it's gone without a trace.
"Talk about salt in the wound. My left arm, of all things."
No wonder my shoulder was throbbing. Must've gotten blown off with the explosives earlier. What a curse. I'm left-handed, you know. Dying without smoking this premium cigar...
"Mikhail Kabrachi Kurilpski."
As I slump against the filthy factory wall, staring blankly at the ceiling, heels click toward me—tap-tap-tap. She's wearing some ridiculous white full-body tights, the kind only goofy Americans would sport. It hugs her impressive tits and hips, making them pop. What a joke. Looks like a virgin, but dressed like a whore. Who the hell's she planning to jump?
Tsk, this is why modern women suck.
"You have committed terrorism against the World Central Government and harmed innocent lives, so you have no right to remain silent."
A dry voice spills from her soft-looking lips. Not human—more like a machine. That explains the bullshit about not respecting human rights.
"Everything you say can and will be used as evidence against you, and you have no right to an attorney. That's all—no questions."
What kind of psycho bitch is this? Toying with me? After butchering my brothers...
Spouting some warped Miranda rights now won't touch me.
"You fucking cunt."
I glare daggers and hurl the insult straight at her face. She twitches her brow—my profanity must've gotten under her skin.
"...I clearly warned you it would count as a crime."
"My sentence is already death, isn't it? Then quit yapping your bullshit and just fucking kill me!"
I bellow at the loathsome bitch with all my rage. Dry coughs rack me, chest aching, but I push on.
"You goddamn superhuman scum... how much more do you have to take from me before you're satisfied?!"
"You committed crimes."
"Shut your trap! I just delivered rightful judgment to those who escaped punishment! You superhumans deserve to die miserable deaths!"
I can't hold back anymore. I snatch a nearby gun and aim at the damn bitch.
"Won't work, you know."
"Shut up!"
Bang!
I target her pale skin and fire. My grip's shaky without both hands, but at this range, no miss.
"Still haven't grasped your place."
My faint hope crumbles. The bullet doesn't pierce her skin—instead, it hits some invisible wall, spins lazily in midair, and drops limply to the floor.
"...Attempted murder of an Inspector on top. No chance of a trial now."
"Wasn't it a death sentence anyway?"
So this is it. Couldn't land one last hit before dying. Damn. My eyelids grow heavy. Too much blood dripping from my severed arm.
"Fucking bitch."
Doesn't hurt. Haven't felt pain in this body for ages. Not scared. My brothers and family are waiting. Just pissed. Wanted to punch that bitch's lights out...
"Mikhail, you are sentenced to summary execution under Inspector supervision. Execution begins now."
Why bother with the formalities on a dead man walking? Her stiff, robotic tone just pities me.
"Heal."
Whoosh—something like a warm spring breeze wraps my arm. Feels like hot steam from a bath enveloping it. I blank out for a second.
"What the...?"
The breeze fades, and blood from my arm stops like it's been sutured. My drooping eyes clear up like they've been splashed with water.
"Mikhail, you must face strict legal judgment and die. Escaping via death is not permitted."
Shimmer—purple light blooms from her hand, rippling like hot summer asphalt.
"Create."
She mutters, and flash—a massive transparent glass tank materializes on the filthy factory floor.
"Create?"
Playing god? How the hell does she conjure something that size? No materials, no time—impossible.
I knew superhuman powers weren't just fire-spitting parlor tricks, but this kind?
And I picked a fight with her?
‘So the explosives... she made those the same way....’
Vile as hell.
"Telekinesis."
Whoosh—my 80kg-plus bulk floats into the air. I thrash like a cat by the scruff, but can't stop her guiding me into the tank.
She steps lightly forward, peers into my face, and speaks.
"Any last words?"
"What the fuck is this...?"
"Execution now."
Splash! Water pours from nowhere, drenching me. Drowning me like this? Just dump me in the ocean—why bother?
Gurgle-gurgle!
The water rises to my chest. Pressure squeezes my lungs, hard to breathe, but not lethal yet.
"Ugh!"
Then the water heats up. Like a pot on the stove, slowly simmering to bath temperature.
They say a frog in boiling water doesn't notice till it's cooked. But I'm human—not that dumb.
"About ten hours till it's done."
"...What?"
"You've been questioning me nonstop. No obligation to answer, but I'll tell you. That's your execution method, Mikhail."
Hot tub water, sealed tank, me trapped inside.
"You crazy bitch—you're gonna boil me alive?!"
Sous-vide style...
"This... cruel...!"
"Fitting punishment for your crimes. Closing the lid now. There's a hole, but no heat or water will escape."
Her cold, mechanical face cracks a smile for the first time. Suffer and die in agony.
‘Damn...’
One punch to that grinning face would feel so good. But the transparent bars won't allow it.
‘Die like this...? Like the frog in the pot, but aware my flesh is cooking. No difference.’
‘...Just once.’
If I got one chance. If someone gave me the power to rise again.
I'd never lose to them. Never again...
‘...Enough. No more pointless regrets.’
I dunk my head under. Hot water floods my nose and throat relentlessly. Seems the water's infinite, like she said.
"Tch."
Disappointed she won't watch me writhe? She clicks her tongue, face openly disappointed.
Ha, got her. Should've restrained me if you wanted a show. Bitches are dumb.
‘Air...’
Endless water chokes me in seconds. Lungs filling up. Vision blurs, fading...
Dying alone is a bit scary. Sinking into an unseen riverbed.
Gurgle...
Thus ends my wretched life, in pathetic defeat.
Status Window loading...
"Hieeek...!"
I bolt upright, gasping ragged breaths. Jump too hard—body pitches forward.
Thud—head flops into bedsheets. Wait, these are bedsheets...
‘What? Heaven? Nah, not going there...’
This body's sensations scream alive—vibrant, full of energy.
‘Did that bitch revive me? Couldn't kill on a whim?’
Her psycho face fits that theory.
‘First, where am I...? No cuffs, weirdly.’
I ease off the bed cautiously, then feel off.
‘Eye level's low.’
Everything towers: shoes, bed, door. Like Jack climbing the beanstalk.
‘Wait—my arm!’
Left side: the arm blown off by her explosives is back. Prosthetic? Feels natural. Skin's pale, almost Irish...
‘Hold up!’
I hunt for the bathroom. Step into what looks like the living room—spot it easy.
Bolt in, check the mirror—and freeze in shock.
"I've... turned into a kid?!"
Something out of a cheesy old flick just happened to me.