Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 002
Chapter Title: Judicial Deal
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A week ago, the Hawk-nosed Old Man running his brokerage had told me,
"Scorpion tattoos mean the Rorione Family. They hired a few hackers recently for that MegaCorp hack job. Your sister was one of them."
He pulled a cigarette from his pack and stuck it between his lips.
I asked the old man,
"Then that's weird. Why would the Rorione Family, their employers..."
"Tail-cutting, obviously."
Tak. Cigarette smoke curled up from the lighter.
"The job itself was flawless, but they wanted to bury the fact that MegaCorp got hacked in the first place. Guess they didn't trust freelance hackers... Turns out, yesterday, your sister wasn't the only one—all the hackers on that job were murdered or went missing."
The old man glanced at me.
"Don't give me that look, kid. This line of work? Stuff like this happens all the time."
What a rotten world.
"......"
I left the obliterated front door behind me.
Top-notch security, reinforced concrete and steel—none of it meant a damn thing against that many bombs, piled up enough to make the place sweltering hot.
Thanks to them, my body had been blown to bits too. But that was fine.
Even if it was, I wouldn't die—a fact proven over the past week.
Immortality.
That seemed to be the one and only 'ability' granted to me in this world.
As I grabbed the clothes and weapons I'd stashed nearby beforehand, I spotted suited goons rushing down from upstairs in shock.
"Wh-what the hell?!"
"Shit, who the fu—!"
Before they could finish, the mafia thugs crumpled, spraying blood.
I'd just shot at anything that moved.
"Damn it...!"
"Ambush... Gahk!"
I squeezed the machine gun's trigger mercilessly at those scrambling back.
Their frantic counterfire riddled my body amid the hail of bullets.
My right shoulder got blasted off, but I ignored it.
I knew it'd regenerate once I died and came back anyway.
I ruthlessly drew the pistol from my waistband and pressed it to my temple, pulling the trigger.
Bang!!
The gunshot rang out, and my right arm regenerated instantly.
"Wh-what the fuck...!"
"H-his arm!"
They forgot to shoot back at the surreal sight. I calmly aimed and fired.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!!
And I definitely felt it.
The more I died, the more numb I grew to the pain.
In the week since my first death, I hadn't just prepared for revenge.
Most of my time went into testing this immortality ability.
To put it bluntly, I tested it by dying.
And I learned a few things.
For one, the moment I revived, any injury from before death— no matter what—fully healed like it never happened.
For another, each death dulled my pain and the fear that came with it, to a terrifying degree.
And a human who keeps coming no matter how many times you kill him? That's terror incarnate.
"Sp-spare...!!"
I shot the fleeing mafia thug's legs out from under him.
"Aaaagh!"
Grabbing his hair, I shoved his face toward the keypad by the door.
"Hey, mister. The code."
"Pl-please spare me."
"Fine, just the code."
Trembling, he reached shaky fingers toward the heavily locked office security door.
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. Click.
The lock opened. I released his neck.
"Now go."
"H-heeek!"
The mafia thug bolted.
The moment I turned from him and opened the security door,
bullets poured out like they'd been waiting.
"Eeeek!"
Tsking at the sight of the thug killed by his own ally's fire, I yanked a grenade from my belt and lobbed it inside.
Then slammed the thick security door shut and leaned against it.
"Well played, old man."
BOOM!! The explosion rocked everything as I muttered.
"This thing's a beast."
In this world, money could buy anything.
The broker dealt in guns, sure—but top-shelf explosives too.
"......"
Once things quieted inside, I opened the door again.
Gunpowder stung my nose.
The office was a slaughterhouse. Almost no one left alive.
Except one.
"Cough! Cough, cough! Fuck...!"
A middle-aged man in light loungewear.
'That him?'
I pulled a photo from my inner pocket and compared.
Tilting my head, I asked,
"You Ronus Rorione?"
"You fucking bastard...!"
The spacious office screamed luxury at a glance.
Hell, there was even an indoor pool off the terrace behind his desk.
'Mafia life sure beats the grind.'
I approached Rorione, sprawled and dazed on the floor.
"That's you, right? Ronus Rorione."
"Wh-which family sent you? Or was it those damn corporate dogs!? Huh?!"
"Lena Clark."
"What...?"
"The hacker you ordered killed a week ago. Ring any bells?"
"N-no way."
Rorione's face twisted in disbelief.
"You caused all this hell over a few hackers from back then?"
"A few hackers?"
Yeah, to scum like you, Lena Clark's worth was that low.
Just disposable pawns.
But to me, her life weighed far heavier.
"Yeah. Those few."
I shoved the gun barrel in his face, contempt dripping.
"And you're dying because of those few."
"W-wait a sec! Okay! My bad! I'll make it right! Compensation! Yeah, whatever it takes! Money? Drugs? Name it. Anything you want, I'll get it! R-right. Citizenship! How about citizenship? I can even snag you that!"
Citizenship.
That word jogged a memory.
'Remember. Ronus Rorione's a citizen.'
The Hawk-nosed Old Man had warned me.
'You know what happens if a non-citizen kills a citizen, right?'
I might see some ugly fallout.
'Still doing it?'
No need to answer.
"Wh-what do you say? Huh? With citizenship, you could escape this shithole, start a new life...!"
"One thing I remembered."
"Wh-what?"
"Before coming here."
Past life.
Most memories were gone, but one just surfaced.
I pressed the muzzle to his mouth and muttered,
"I fucking hate chatty bastards."
"N-nooo...!!"
My finger yanked the trigger without mercy.
Bang!!
"......"
A pitiful end for a mafia boss.
As I looked up and took a small breath,
[Freeze!!]
[Drop the weapon! Hands up!!]
A piercing siren blared as a black helicopter crested over the pool.
Its side read 'ESPD (8th Special District Police Department)'.
Bam! Cops burst in, immediately firing a taser at me.
I took it like an idiot, just like always. Sparks erupted violently across my body.
Crackle!
'Right.'
Sprawled pathetically on the floor, I thought,
'Immortality means immunity to death.'
Not so much to tasers, though.
Definitely feedback needed there.
"Target down!"
"Restrain him!!"
I felt cops piling on, roughly pinning me as they yelled.
Then, a message unlike any before floated in my vision.
Beep.
'What?'
The electric baton jammed into my neck snapped my consciousness with a crunch!
News of the Rorione Family spread like wildfire across the entire 8th Special District.
No matter the surprise attack, a mid-tier mafia family's stronghold getting wiped out was big news.
Who ordered it? Who pulled it off? Everyone was buzzing.
Ronus Rorione died without naming a successor, and the remnants—convinced the others were behind it—erupted into civil war over leadership.
TL;DR: The Rorione Family was done.
"Unbelievable."
A sharp-featured beauty with short hair scanned the profile, her face incredulous.
"All this from one guy?"
The photo showed a kid who looked barely twenty.
Even crazier: This was his first offense.
A first-timer solo-wiping dozens of mafia.
Joseph Howard, Alpha Team Leader of the 8th Special District Police Department's Special Forces, shrugged as they walked the hall.
"And get this—no visible injuries when they nabbed him."
No wounds after a shootout with dozens?
"What kind of freak is this?" she muttered unconsciously.
What ability could do that?
Either way, a powerhouse like that going down to one lucky taser shot? Hard to buy.
'Or maybe he just gave up...'
With no intel, that's all they could guess.
"Either way, it's good for us. Exactly the talent we need."
This skilled, no dangerous priors, psych eval clean? Rare find.
She nodded.
"Yeah, true."
They were all discards anyway.
Whatever his ability, didn't matter—as long as he served his purpose.
Clang! The interrogation room unlocked.
As they approached, the guarding officers stepped aside.
"Coming in with me?"
Joseph asked. She shook her head.
"No. I'll watch from the other side. Easier for you that way, right?"
He shrugged and gripped the handle, entering the interrogation room.
In the dim solitary cell's center sat the suspect, arms shackled.
A brief silence.
Finally, Joseph flipped open the file and spoke.
"Name: Kyle Clark. Prisoner number 43471..."
Kyle looked up at the unfamiliar voice.
"Non-citizen. One week ago, single-handedly assaulted Ronus Rorione's villa in the 8th Special District's upper levels. Killed or injured Rorione and his men. Then captured."
"......"
"That right?"
"Yes. But."
"Hm. Honestly, I don't quite believe it, so I'm asking."
He dragged a metal chair from the corner and sat opposite.
"You really did it alone? No accomplices?"
"Personal grudge. No accomplices."
"Personal grudge?"
"Rorione killed my sister."
"So revenge?"
Kyle nodded. Joseph jotted something in the file.
"Haven't had someone this cooperative in ages."
"Heard cooperating right after arrest looks good legally. Isn't that right?"
Joseph chuckled dryly.
'Legally advantageous.'
Not the line you'd expect from alley trash.
Joseph narrowed his eyes, intrigued.
"Not wrong. But this case is the exception."
"Ah, figured."
"Killing a citizen as a non-citizen? Gulag forced labor, minimum 40 years. You know this city hates illegals."
"Even if that citizen was a scumbag mafia boss?"
"Scumbag mafia boss or not."
"......Too bad."
"Hahaha."
Honestly, considering the headaches Ronus Rorione gave cops over the years, Joseph personally wanted to award the kid.
Hell, the city should thank him.
One untouchable pest—backed by councilmen—wiped out easy.
But reality wasn't so kind.
"Still, wasting that skill on plain labor would be a shame."
Above all, the guy solo'd dozens of mafia.
Everyone had their perfect spot.
"So, how about a different offer?"
"Knew this interrogation felt too humane."
Kyle looked up.
"You want something from me, huh?"
'Sharp kid.'
Impressed, Joseph nodded.
"Right. But it won't be bad for you either."
"Not bad for me?"
"Yeah. Otherwise, you're rotting half your life in Gulag hell, right?"
"Sure."
"So since it's come to this, how about sentence reduction and putting that talent to use?"
He pulled a yellow envelope from the file and set it on the table.
"In other words."
Stamped on it: '141 Security Stabilization Unit'.
"Call it a judicial deal."
Joseph smirked.
"What do you say? Interested?"