Bzzzzzzzzzt!

Ethan sat in the cramped room, the hum of fluorescent lights above feeling louder than usual, like an ominous soundtrack to his growing paranoia. He couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on him, even in the station. The walls were supposed to keep him safe, but they felt more like a cage.

“Can I really trust the police?”

The question gnawed at Ethan’s mind, each passing second sharpening the doubt.

“Sato?”

Ethan rubbed his bruised ribs, the pain flaring up again.

“The man has good intentions, or at least he seems to. But intentions won’t stop bullets, and they certainly won’t stop the Yakuza. What if this whole thing — the rescue, the protection — was just a way to confirm what I know? To draw out my source of information, make me vulnerable, expose me?”

The Yakuza had shown no mercy in his books. If the police hadn’t intervened, he knew they would have finished the job.

“So maybe the police did rescue me.”

There was no denying that.

“But what if it wasn’t out of pure altruism? What if there were other motives at play?”

His mind churned.

Maybe they’re just another side of the same coin.

He winced, his muscles aching, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the gnawing fear that the next move the Yakuza made wouldn’t be outside these walls — it would be inside them.

“If the Yakuza have a mole here, staying put makes me a sitting duck.”

The outside world wasn’t safe either. He knew that. But at least out there, he had a chance to make his own decisions, not wait for someone else to fail him. He couldn’t let the police's uncertain protection be his only lifeline.

The answers weren’t coming fast enough.

“I can’t stay here forever.”

Peeping through the door, he spotted two officers talking in hushed tones near a desk. They seemed relaxed, but Ethan’s instincts flared. Something about their demeanor bothered him. The casual way they looked over at the interrogation room from time to time, then back to each other — like there was a part of some unspoken plan.

“They’re waiting for something.”

Realizing the police detail inside the station was stretched thin, Ethan slipped out of the room, crouching low to stay out of sight.

“Their focus must be outside,” he thought, “waiting for the Yakuza to make a move. They have no idea when or where it'll come. Perfect.”

He inched forward, heart racing, each step a calculated risk.

“If only I had access to my AI... it could guide me through this mess. But all it knows is Yakuza data — not exactly what I need for a police station escape.”

The irony wasn’t lost on him. He made his way slowly toward the hallway, each step measured. He needed a moment alone, away from prying eyes. His mind was screaming at him to take action, to stop relying solely on the police.

“Sato might have good intentions, but that won’t keep me safe from the people within.”

As he passed a desk, Ethan spotted an unattended cellphone and picked it up without thinking. Weighing the risk, he quickly put it back — getting caught wasn’t worth it. Instead, he moved toward the quieter part of the station, drawn to the faint voices coming from a meeting room with the door slightly ajar. Ethan crept closer to the slightly ajar door, straining to catch the conversation inside the meeting room.

“You sure about keeping him here?” a gruff voice asked. “With everything going on, it doesn’t feel right.”

“Yeah, but we’re under orders,” came the softer reply, tinged with uncertainty. “Sato thinks it’s safer... but does it really feel safe? I mean, look around.”

“You really think we’re ready for this? To stop the Yaks? You think they’ll come bursting in here?”

“SWAT’s outside.”

“Like that’ll help.”

“I hope you’re kidding.”

“Does it matter? If they’re coming, they’re coming. If they wanted him, you know they’d take him, just like that. It’s only a matter of time. Besides, we won’t know more until Sato returns from H.O.”

Ethan’s stomach tightened. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air, each pause pregnant with implication.

“If they wanted him…”

“Orders are orders,” the first voice replied, but the doubt lingered. “Just keep your eyes open, alright? This isn’t a game.”

Ethan’s eyes darted toward the nearest exit, the door leading to the underground garage. He knew security was tight, but there had to be a gap. Somewhere.

“I can’t just wait for the next blow to come. I need to do something.”

His breathing grew shallow as he turned the corner, stepping quickly down the hallway toward the exit. Just as his hand reached the door handle, he froze.

“Mr. Russ?”

Ethan spun around, his heart in his throat. A young detective in a sharp suit stood a few feet away, his face set in an unreadable mask. Despite the years that had passed, Ethan recognized him immediately — Detective Takahashi, the man who once fed him the gritty details for his stories.

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The detective waited for an answer, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation, his body language tensed, coiled with alertness. Ethan hadn’t seen him in years — not since those early days when he was scrambling for details to make his stories realistic. Back then, Takahashi had been a lifeline, providing invaluable information about police work. But once Ethan’s AI began spitting out research with cold efficiency, he’d stopped answering Takahashi’s calls. The young officer had always been friendly, maybe too much so. But now there was an edge to his voice Ethan hadn’t heard before.

“What are you doing back here?” Takahashi asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. He stepped closer, arms crossed.

“I needed some air,” Ethan lied, keeping his voice steady. His heart pounded in his chest.

Takahashi’s eyes flicked toward the door, then back to Ethan. “Air? In the middle of all this? You’re not planning to disappear on us, are you? You know you’re not supposed to leave the room. Where’s Detective Sato?”

“I wasn’t leaving,” Ethan blurted out, his voice a little too fast, his mind racing to decide which question to answer first. “Just... clearing my head.”

For a moment, Takahashi said nothing, his gaze lingering on Ethan with unsettling intensity. Then, with a slow nod, he stepped back.

“Alright,” he said, his voice soft. “You know you’ve got a lot of eyes on you, Ethan. I’d hate to see you end up in a place you can’t write your way out of.” Detective Takahashi let him pass with a lingering stare, signaling that this isn’t over and he’ll be keeping tabs on his every move.

Ethan forced a tight smile, turning away from the exit. Takahashi watched him as he moved back toward the interrogation room, his footsteps feeling heavier with every step. He had been close to making a mistake — one that might have cost him everything.

Back in the interrogation room, he sat down heavily at the table, his head spinning. He needed a new plan. Something that wouldn’t involve risking his life in the middle of a police station.

That’s when it hit him.

If there was a mole, maybe Ethan could turn the tables. He just needed to listen, to watch more carefully. Information was power, and right now, it was the only thing keeping him alive.

He peeped through the door once more, this time, spotting Takahashi again. The young detective was talking to another officer now, his body language calm and relaxed. But Ethan saw it differently now — there was something off. The way Takahashi had appeared so suddenly, the way he’d let Ethan go without much of a fight. Too easy.

Ethan’s jaw tightened. He needed to play the long game now. If the police weren’t entirely safe, then he needed to be smarter, sharper. He would find the mole, but he would do it without anyone realizing he was hunting them.

Each time Takahashi’s gaze flicked toward the exit door, a tight knot formed in Ethan’s stomach. It was subtle, but the way Takahashi kept checking his phone only added to the tension.

Ethan’s mind raced, piecing together the clues in the detective’s demeanor. Something was brewing, and Ethan could feel it in his bones.

“Where could Sato be?” he thought, gnawing on his lip.

Detective Sato had promised he wouldn’t leave Ethan unguarded, but the absence of his presence was gnawing at him. The memories of his abduction flashed through his mind, and he pushed them aside. He needed to focus.

“I really should have just gotten that cellphone,” he muttered under his breath.

Ethan watched as Takahashi walked briskly toward the exit, the way he moved filled with a purpose that only heightened Ethan’s anxiety.

His instincts screamed at him that something was wrong. His gaze darted to the door, every second stretching painfully long. The world outside felt both close and impossibly far away, a reality that could change in an instant.

With his heart racing, he fought the urge to follow Takahashi. Instead, he focused on the small details—the distant murmurs of other officers, the clattering of paperwork, the way the shadows flickered in the harsh light. He needed to stay put. He needed to wait for Sato.

But deep down, a fear gripped him.

“What if Detective Sato was in trouble? What if the Yakuza had found a way to infiltrate the station? I can’t let myself be another target.”

Ethan clenched his fists, his thoughts spiraling. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, each heartbeat echoing in his ears. The exit door loomed before him, and for a fleeting moment, he contemplated making a break for it.

“I need to wait for Sato,” he muttered, a sense of resignation washing over him. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes for a moment before returning to his seat, anxiety still gnawing at him.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Ethan held his breath. Takahashi stepped inside, his expression more serious than ever. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, and it felt charged with an impending confrontation.

“Ethan, we need to move,” Takahashi said, his voice low but urgent. If you don’t want to end up like that warehouse mess again, we need to move.”

“What do you mean? Where’s Sato?” Ethan asked, his heart pounding. The fear he felt then rushed back in morphing into a potent mix of confusion and adrenaline.

“They’re coming,” Takahashi said, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes sharp as if sensing unseen threats closing in. “We don’t have much time.”

Ethan sprang to his feet, instincts kicking in.

“If Takahashi is the mole, then he’s just leading me straight back to the Yakuza. If he was working with the Yakuza... no, I couldn’t think like that. Not Takahashi. But what if I’m wrong?”

Something was about to happen, and now he had no choice but to face it head-on.

“Confronting him could lead to disaster. What if I make a move and it backfires? But if I go with him, I might be able to gather more evidence, learn what I need to know before I take action. This could be my only chance to find out what’s really going on, to see if he’s playing both sides. I can’t afford to let my fears dictate my choices. I need to be smart about this. It’s a risk, but in this game, knowledge is power. I just hope I’m not walking into a trap.”

Ethan could almost feel the stares of unseen eyes boring into him, a prickling sensation at the nape of his neck. They moved quickly through the narrow hallway, the exit door looming ahead. But instead of leading him outside, Takahashi veered toward the back rooms, pushing through a door marked “Custodial Storage.”

“This doesn’t feel right. None of it does. But staying here... staying here meant waiting for the Yakuza to find me. If Takahashi was lying, at least I’d know it soon enough. But if I stayed, I’d be as good as dead. I had to take the chance.”

Ethan’s heart raced as he followed, a sense of foreboding creeping in. The station felt eerily quiet, the usual hum of activity replaced by an unsettling silence.

“Where did everyone go?”

Panic clawed at his insides.

Takahashi glanced at his phone, tapping the screen impatiently, his brow furrowed as if he were waiting for some unseen signal. Ethan studied him closely, trying to gauge the situation, but all he could see was fear etched across Takahashi's face — faint, but unmistakable.

“Trust him or not, I wasn’t about to walk blindly into whatever trap might be waiting. If Takahashi made one wrong move, I’d be ready.”

Then, from beyond the walls, he heard it — a commotion outside. It started as a distant murmur, escalating into chaos. His heart dropped as gunfire erupted, a sharp crack echoing in the confined space. Memories of the warehouse flooded back, the sounds of violence mixing with the scent of blood and betrayal. He could feel the panic rising, threatening to engulf him.

“Quick!” Takahashi yanked him back to the present, his voice urgent. Ethan’s legs felt heavy, and for a moment, he hesitated, weighing the risk of moving against the fear of remaining a sitting duck. The door exploded open, and the detective yanked Ethan through with a violent jerk. The roar of gunfire filled the air, every shot like a punch to his senses. Ethan stumbled, arms flailing as the world seemed to tilt beneath him. BANG! The gunshot ripped through the chaos like the crack of doom, and time stretched, every heartbeat an eternity.

Ethan's eyes widened in slow horror as Takahashi's body crumpled before him, collapsing in a sickening, almost graceful fall. The detective hit the ground just as Ethan’s knees buckled beneath him, collapsing before he could catch himself. Ethan looked up, his gaze locked on the barrel of a gun just outside the door, smoke curling lazily from the muzzle, the sound of the shot still echoing in his ears. Everything around him seemed to stop as the cold reality of the weapon, aimed straight at him, loomed in his frozen mind.

“Let’s go, gaijin,” a voice sneered, dripping with malice.

Ethan’s stomach plummeted as recognition struck him like a punch to the gut.

“Oshima!”

The very name sent shivers down his spine, awakening an all-too-familiar dread. The Yakuza lieutenant was back to finish what he started!