Tajiri had found a way of life in crime. Unlike his superiors and opponents, he had vision, just like any ambitious man. He understood more than anyone how the street worked. His cronies said he had a few crooked ideas. He had more schooling than the others and expressed himself well.

He had been born into an urban middle-class family in the textile trade. In his country, it was a traditional trade with great social value. However, it was in decline due to the growing industrialization of the sector. His family soon fell into debt with bank loans.

But Tajiri didn't want to spend the rest of his life with a protruding belly behind the counter of a failing business. He dropped out of school before studying business administration at university. He was pragmatic and decided to join a local criminal gang. His parents disagreed with his stance and kicked him out of the house.

With a height of one meter ninety and one hundred and fifty kilos, he was ironically nicknamed Bird Small by his comrades. He began his criminal career running bank robberies. He progressed to cargo theft and then to arms trafficking. From there he understood an even faster way to get to the top without being bothered.

He legalized the business. He turned his gang into a private army and began offering his services to states in wars. There were a lot of them. The business proved lucrative. The money paid off so much that he bought real estate, started electing candidates to lobby, and extended his tentacles into other sectors of the economy.

The gangster became a CEO over the years. All he did was sign contracts and watch the cryptocurrencies fall into his digital account. He spent his days smoking expensive cigars and drinking the best money could buy. Inside, he felt that he had softened. He wasn't the same anymore, everyone knew that, including him.

Sitting behind his mahogany desk on the roof of his company building, he lit a cigar. The smoke was expelled in a hoarse coughing fit. The large room ended in a double wooden door with gilded details. An extensive embroidered carpet reminded him of his days in the family store.

On the outside, he didn't allow himself to express any tension. But inside, he was plagued by fear of the shadow of the valley of death. The double doors opened with a bang. The head of security came towards him with uneasy steps. He stopped in front of him, nodded and said:

"Mr. Big Small, I've just checked security. All the men are in place and armed. Monitoring cameras with thermo-optical vision, night vision and infrared are activated. There are at least ten well-trained men with injected combat drugs. They are armed with heavy weapons on each of the hundred floors. Machine-gun turrets with biometric identification have been installed in the stairwells, on the roof and in the service elevators. If necessary, there's a helicopter ready and fueled at the helipad. I will monitor the security of this room with you via holoprojection. Activate images."

A projector on the ceiling emitted a bluish light, and a huge sphere appeared floating in the air. It was divided by several oval screens. In a slight, continuous rotation, it showed floor by floor.

"Don't call me... cof-cof, Big Small. I'm Mr. Tajiri now. Learn that, Paradzanai. You're my head of security. Don't pull a stunt like that at this time of the season. Ouch, ouch! Those youngsters wouldn't last a day in my time."

The security chief sucked in a breath. He ran his hands through his shoulder-length straight hair. It was shaved at the left temple and dyed various colors. His eyebrows were stylized; he was a professional gangster. A piercing adorned his right nostril. His only advantage was that he was qualified for the job.

With his plump fingers, he picked up the cigar cutter and gave it a cheer. Another cigar was lit. There were already three in the ashtray. Big Small turned his chair around and stood in profile. He crossed his left leg over his right with difficulty. He put one elbow on the table. With his free hand, he smoothed the collar of his jacket. His white shirt was soaked with sweat.

"Even though I know I'm in my last moments, I don't regret a thing."

"Don't talk like that, sir... Tajiri. Whoever was hired to kill you, they won't succeed. Not while I'm here."

"I admire your confidence, my boy. I'm an old fox, and an old fox knows very well the danger of a Hunting Dog. It's just one of those that's after me now. He doesn't growl, he doesn't bark, he just lurks and bites with his sharp fangs. He was raised in a very dangerous pack. He's loyal to his owner. Paradzanai, have you ever heard of the tale of the Hunting Dog?"

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"No sir, I'd like to hear it."

"Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, a little mangy dog was born. It had been abandoned by its parents, or orphaned, I don't know. He was co-opted by a professional trainer..."

"What was he hunting, sir?"

"Take it easy, Paradzanai. You deconstructed youths of today have no patience for anything!"

"Sorry, sir, go on."

"The little dog became a big, robust hunting dog. The trainer would say: 'Go on, get it, dog!' And the dog would bite and kill, even though he didn't know why. It just wagged its tail and hunted another prey, and another, and another. One day the flea dog saw his reflection in a pool of blood from a victim. Both he and his prey looked the same. He didn't care and carried on hunting. He had gotten used to the taste and smell of blood."

"What a frightening tale, Mr. Tajiri."

The conversation was interrupted by the emergency signal. The unwelcome visitor had arrived. All that could be seen was his figure. A large shadow that consumed the life of everyone in front of it. It was the destructive wind that was shaking the structures of powerful men.

On each of the screens of the spherical holoprojection, all that could be seen was a bloodbath. Everything was destroyed by gunfire. Tajiri's guards died from a double shot to the head. Blood and brain matter splattered the floor and walls. The machine-gun turrets were rendered useless by a single shot that exploded them.

The guards were dropping like flies. The cameras also received a bullet, and the screens blacked out in a glitch-filled display. What reached Paradzanai's communicator was a cacophony of distress calls, bangs and cries of pain. The security chief didn't give up.

"Don't worry, sir. He won't even make it to the fifth floor."

"Oh! But he's already on the tenth, no, seventeenth."

"Damn it, Mr. Tajiri, come with me. The helicopter has already been prepared in case our plan fails."

"Argh! My gout is killing me today, Paradzanai. I don't have cyberware in my legs like you."

"Don't say that, you can't give yourself up."

"And where am I going to run off to, you idiot? You of the new generation don't understand. You can't run away from a Hunting Dog sent by..."

The doors were riddled with bullets until they burst open. Paradzanai pointed his submachine gun at the enemy. That didn't stop the invader. In fact, he didn't even see the silhouette of his attacker. He turned back. A tall, bald man with a slim build was pointing a nickel-plated double-barrel vertical pistol at Big Small's forehead.

His aura was terrifying. He was six feet tall and wore a dark matte slim suit with a navy-blue tie. The collar was embroidered with arabesque patterns. His eyes were covered with dark glasses with narrow rectangular frames. The temples were transparent, giving the effect that the frame floated in front of her nose.

Between his thick lips was a lit incense herb cigarette. The cigarette went from one corner of his mouth to the other.

"Fadala, the 'Hunting Dog' of Ilê Apanyan. Thank you for your unwelcome visit. Can I at least finish my cigar?"

"It's bad luck to deny a dead man his last request."

The killer's voice came out low and cadenced. Big Small felt as if his spine had been thrown into a freezer. He reached into the drawer. Instead of taking out a cigar, he pulled out a small revolver. A shot thundered through the room. Big Small fell backwards. His eyes were ecstatic. His mouth wore a wide smile. He had died at the top.

"Big Small, you have been silenced by Ilê Apanyan. May God call you, if he wishes."

"You, you killed the boss! Don't move, or I'll..."

"That was my last shot. My mission is complete. If you try to shoot me, I'll kill you with my gun butts."

"Don't move another step, Fadala, whoever you are."

"I'll go out the way I came in. You won't have the courage to shoot me in the back. Your bones are rattling. Even if you shoot, you'll miss and hit the floor or the ceiling."

Fadala put the two pistols in the holster under his jacket. He closed the buttons and walked out the door. No shots were fired in his direction. He walked down the corridor towards the elevator. He was careful not to step in the pools of blood and bullet-riddled bodies along the way.

He called the elevator. When he opened the doors, a corpse tumbled out. Fadala entered and pressed the first-floor button. He smoothed his bald head and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a finger shaped like a windshield wiper. Ambient music began to play on the loudspeaker. His smartphone vibrated. He took it out of his pocket and answered the call:

"My Babu, the target has been silenced."

"You honor the Ilê Apanyan, my son! Now, a new and more difficult mission will be offered to you. There will be a war between the Central Command of Chrome Hill and the Fourth Estate of the Burned Circuit Complex. The Chief of the Drug Trafficking Division, Juta, wants to eliminate the Fourth Estate and take power for himself. Head there and wait for the riots to start. Be quick and silent. Once you've silenced the target, wait for further instructions. I will offer you a great mission that could redefine the fate of Ilê Apanyan."

"Yes, my Babu. Consider it done."

"God smooth your path, and remove your difficulties, my son."