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However, as I walk past the galvanized iron outer walls of a maintenance depot, I suddenly hear the sound of glass shattering coming from inside.
—Is Dazai fighting with the enemy?
Pressing my back against the wall, I get into stance with my pistol. I plunge through the entrance with the muzzle aimed inside, searching for the enemy. It appears the first floor was used for storing armored cars and aircrafts, but now it is nothing more than a vacant lot of exposed earth. I guess that leaves an office and the operations room for the second floor. If the communicator is anywhere, it would be on the second floor.
At that moment, I get a terrible feeling that something is wrong. A chill shoots down my spine, and it feels as if swarms of insects are crawling under my skin. Unable to endure it, I fall to my knees. That’s when I notice some sort of patterns drawn into the ground: circles and lines along with various diagrams and letters. The illegible letters seem to be ancient symbols. It resembles a magic circle for rituals using a grimoire, but…my spine has been tingling with chills ever since I stepped on it. Which means—
I roll up my sleeve, an unbearable itching pain overtaking my arm.
The number “39” surfaces on my skin.
I check my entire body. Arms, chest, ankles: nine brands, resembling tattoos, cover me. I know for a fact these weren’t there a few seconds ago.
“Gimme … Gimme your number.”
I instinctively point my pistol in the direction of the fragile voice, where I find a boy—rather, a short young man—staggering in my direction. I aim my gun at him.
“Stop right there! We’re with the Armed Detective—”
Before I can finish my sentence, I take an invisible blow from the side, which knocks me to the floor. I am slammed into the ground only to bounce back up and collide with the galvanized iron wall hard enough to warp it. My head is spinning, my vision swirling. I have no sense of balance after all that spinning from the hit. I have to fight back.
I’m somehow able to pick up my pistol lying on the ground by my side, but immediately, my arm is struck by another invisible blow that knocks it into the air and bends me backward. My bones creak as the pistol soars through the air.
“A feisty one, ain’tcha? How excellent. You must have a wonderful number.”
The skinny young man picks up the pistol and curiously peeks into the muzzle.
Obviously he’s a skill user, and one with a battle-oriented ability, at that. They appear to be some kind of long-range attacks. I look at the marking on my skin: the number “32.”
Impossible—
“I’m impressed you found the place. That’s the Armed Detective Agency for ya. That’s the amazing Armed Detective Agency for ya.”
The slender man points my gun in my direction, then empties the magazine until not a single bullet remains and the firing pin takes to the sky. The bullets pierce the ground before me.
“C’mon—I wouldn’t shoot ya. It’s a very important number, after all. I couldn’t shoot ya.”
A morbid smile runs across the slim figure’s lips as he walks toward me.
“Every time you take damage, that number gets smaller. It even gets smaller as time passes. And when it reaches zero—”
“You… You’re the skill user who killed the taxi driver and Alamta?”
“Heh-heh… Ha-ha… Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha! Oh, of course a detective would ask that. Ha-ha-ha!”
I fix my eyes on the young blond man dressed in a threadbare hooded jacket. Judging by appearance alone, he doesn’t seem to have an aptitude for fighting. However, there is one thing I am sure of.
—This skill user is the enemy’s boss.
Dazai operates the communicator.
“Yeesh, how old is this thing?! So if this is the frequency and this is the direction—”
A shadow moves behind him.
“It’s no use! I can’t input the final command— Hang on, do I need the control key to change the settings?!”
Colossal fists rain down from behind, smashing into Dazai’s temple and spinning him across the floor like a rag doll. There’s a dull thud when he collides with the desk.
