"Basara… report! Basara!"
Yamada's voice cracked as he pressed the button, ducked low behind an overturned sofa. Dust and shards of plaster rained from the ceiling as the building groaned from the blast above. The static that answered was hollow, empty. No reply came.
The boss crouched beside him, jaw clenched, scar tight against his skin. He didn't need the report. He already knew. The rooftop team was gone.
Then the second walkie-talkie in his grip crackled to life.
"You fired on me," Riku's voice growled, low and edged with fire. It was calm in the way only fury could be calm every word, sharpened like a blade. The sound of the helicopter's rotors bled through the transmission, a constant reminder that death was circling above them.
"You think you can scare me?" the boss spat back, lifting the walkie to his lips. His tone carried bravado, but sweat beaded on his forehead.
"I'm not here to scare you," Riku answered coldly. "I gave you a chance. You wasted it. You fired first. Now I'll return the favor."
"How about we kill your precious girls instead?" the boss snarled into the radio, venom plain in his voice.
Riku did not answer with words. He answered with metal.
On the HUD the 30 millimeter reticle steadied, a fine red crosshair layered over the resort façade. The Shipunov cannon hummed as its gearing spooled. Riku's finger found the trigger and squeezed.
The first burst tore into the concrete above the main entrance. Stone and rebar exploded outward in a gout of gray and flame. Windows shattered inward, showering the lobby with glass that glittered like confetti as it fell. A balcony above collapsed, throwing men into the courtyard. Screams filled the night. The Black Shark recoiled on the recoil of the chain gun, the vibration running up through Riku's arms like an animal's growl.
He watched the target feed. Men who had been huddled behind low parapets were suddenly visible in the open, flung into the light of muzzle flashes. Precision was cold and steady. Single bursts, three rounds, aimed at weapon emplacements, at knees, at the bases of tripods. He did not aim at doorways where he suspected the girls were held. He aimed at the hands that held rifles.
Another burst chewed a great hole through the stairwell wall, concrete blooming like a wound. Men tumbled, dragged by a wash of dust. One figure tried to sprint across a rooftop terrace and vanished beneath a spatter of lead. The killcams marked them, one by one, as threats neutralized.
On the ground the boss dropped the radio and backed away from the glass. Blood had started to run cold through his veins. He had imagined coercion as a blunt instrument. He had not imagined that someone with a single-seat gunship would answer threats with immediate.
"Cease fire now!" he shouted, though his voice came out thin. He barked orders to his men, a scatter of shouts and curses that could not fill the hole the cannon had carved. "Get the girls. Bring them to the front. Now. Move!"
Someone by the desk started to open the door. Boots pounded the corridor. Men ran, hauling terrified captives. The boss's thumb hovered over the radio, trying to keep a brave face. His mind ran calculations the way it had once plotted unit movements on maps. Every second that passed lengthened the list of casualties. Every new hole in the façade narrowed his options.
Riku breathed out. He toggled the feed to a narrow zoom and watched the exits. Men were moving through smoke toward the main stair, dragging three silhouettes. The small shape of Hana was harder to make out among the throng. Riku did not fire again. He did not need to. He had carved enough panic into the resort to make his point.
"Two minutes," he said into the channel, voice flat and ice calm. "Get them to the front entrance. If any weapon is leveled at my aircraft or if anyone comes into the open with a launch tube, I will remove your building from the map. You have two minutes before I stop counting. And I want them on a vehicle, preferably automatic transmission."
The boss swallowed. He had staked everything on power and terror. He had counted on obedience. Now he had to make a different count. He barked the last of his orders.
Down in the lobby, the atmosphere was suffocating. Dust hung heavy in the air, smoke curling from shattered walls as the men scrambled to follow orders. They didn't bark this time; they whispered harshly, fear edging every word. None of them dared to be rough not with the Ka-50 circling above, its rotors pounding like a war drum that promised death if they slipped.
"Keep them moving," one hissed, shoving his rifle toward the stairwell instead of the girls. "Careful don't let him think we're hurting them."
Miko stumbled on the cracked marble, her knees buckling, but the man beside her caught her under the arm before she fell. His grip was firm, not cruel more out of desperation than dominance. Ichika shot him a venomous glare, but even her captor only urged her forward with a tense hand at her back, eyes darting nervously to the shattered windows.
Suzune's cheeks were streaked with tears and soot. She reached back, clutching Hana's trembling hand. "Stay close," she whispered, voice shaking. Hana nodded, clinging tight, her small face pale but determined.
The front doors groaned open, letting in a rush of cold night air and the thunder of rotors above. Outside, a battered van sat idling, headlights cutting weak beams through the smoke. Two men hurriedly pulled the sliding door wide, glancing up at the sky as if expecting fire to rain down on them at any second.
"Inside," one muttered, low and urgent. "Quickly now. Don't make him wait."
The girls were ushered across the threshold, more guided than shoved. Miko was helped up the step first, her arms trembling as she pulled herself inside. Suzune followed, tugging Hana with her, while Ichika climbed in last, her jaw tight, still glaring daggers but keeping silent.
The door slammed shut with a metallic thud. The sound echoed in the courtyard, swallowed immediately by the thrum of the helicopter above.
Riku finally saw them and heaved a sigh of relief. They are safe now.