The Hard Route

  Fujikawa Corp. Tower, Tokyo, Japan

  25th Floor, Event Hall "The Garden"Maintenance Corridor

  8:10 p.m.

  I burst out of the service corridor at full speed. I was now in another room, but it wasn't far enough away for me to feel safe. I found a staircase and climbed it as quickly as possible. I quickly saw a door with the number 31 beside it and opened it as quickly as the emergency demanded. However, I saw two men moving boxes of coffee and pointing guns at other workers. They appeared to be taking the workers to the elevators to join the others. I couldn't stop. I kept going up the stairs. I had to put a safe distance between us. I couldn't let them capture me, too.

  I kept climbing the endless stairs. Now, the door read 40. When I opened it, I hesitated about my next step at the sight of men lying on the floor, bleeding; pistols scattered about; bullet holes in the walls; broken vases; and two metal doors blown apart with explosives. Clearly, there had been a shootout here earlier. Were these men throughout the building? I can’t stay here either. I have to go higher.

  Sixtieth floor, My legs already hurt from climbing so many stairs. Maybe I can finally think about what to do now that I'm far enough away. As my hand touches the lock to open the emergency door, I stop dead in my tracks. I can hear gunfire on the other side—automatic rifles, two sides facing off. The fighting inside is fierce. I hear screams, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. This place is not safe. I’m getting fed up with it.

  The eightieth floor. I try to open the door, but it has a heavy security mechanism and won’t open from this side. Since the emergency is urgent, I transform my hand into a dragon’s claw. With my fingers extended, I slam it hard against the lock. The metal twists instantly, and the padlock falls apart on the other side. I finally opened the door. This place should be safe this time—there’s enough security that it would take terrorists some time to get up here.

  I step into a room—it looks like an office. I frantically search through my clothes for my smartphone and dial 911 as quickly as possible, but the call never goes through. My phone shows no signal. I'm in the middle of Tokyo, on the top floor of a skyscraper. How can it say there's no signal? I grab the landline phone in the room, but the line is dead. This isn't a coincidence. These terrorists know exactly what they’re doing. They’ve cut the communication lines and placed jammers at key points of the complex to isolate the building. They have a plan and a schedule. I have nothing.

  *Ding!*

  The elevator chime rang out like a gunshot, probably just my nerves at the thought of being discovered. I dropped to the floor as quickly as I could, crouched low, and tried to hide while listening to whoever had just come in and figuring out their intentions. A group of more than six men entered. I could hear the metal of their weapons. A couple of them were swapping magazines. I could hear the charging handle of one. These are big guns.

  "All right, Mr. Fujikawa."

  "I won't ask twice."

  “Please provide your access key for your cold wallet.”

  “Access key?”

  "That's for cryptocurrencies! Without the access computer, it’s useless.”

  “I don’t have access to the computer with the necessary permissions. It's useless."

  "All the more reason not to give it to us."

  "On the count of three, Mr. Fujikawa—please, let's not reenact that scene from that movie."

  “Three.”

  “Two.”

  “One.”

  “I already told you. I don’t have access to the computer.”

  "I can't believe this is all for a little money."

  “Fine. Then we’ll take the hard route.”

  *Bang!*

  "You, search the corpse for the access key."

  "After that, get rid of the body."

  I can’t believe Mr. Fujikawa is dead, murdered in cold blood. I can still see the blood smearing the glass in the office a few meters away. Sharon doesn't know yet, but she's a widow again. I can barely contain my happiness at someone else's tragedy. That bitch deserves it, but poor Fujikawa probably doesn't. Putting that aside, this floor isn’t safe either. I need to find another one.

  I watch the armed men head back to the elevator and ride to another floor. It’s my chance to move again. The lobby probably has men holed up with weapons. They're likely wearing building staff suits to appear normal from the outside, but they have assault rifles behind the counter. There are hostages on the 25th floor. There was a big shootout on the 40th floor, leaving more guards dead. The 60th floor has a military-style assault in progress. The 80th floor was Mr. Fujikawa’s office. The 90th floor has the revolving restaurant, “The Spire,” which is publicly accessible, so it has lax entry security. However, it should be closed today, so it’s probably not a primary target. Maybe I can try to get help there somehow. My legs hurt from climbing stairs. Nearly a hundred floors would destroy anyone—even me. No one should have to face the same hell twice. I threw caution to the wind and took the elevator to the 90th floor this time—I'll deal with the consequences later.

  Floor 90.

  The doors open. Gun in hand, I start running inside and methodically check the floor, the corners, the blind spots, and the choke points, but I find nothing. There’s no one on the floor. I finally lost them. Still, I can’t relax. I made a mistake and have no idea if my enemies noticed. I check my phone, but there's still no signal. There's a landline phone near the kitchen entrance, but it's dead too.

  I have to notify the police about the problems here. I need to make sure that people outside know what’s happening inside. On top of that, I have to figure out how to get my Aunt Damaris out of here alive. Otherwise, my mother will kill me.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  There’s a fire extinguisher near me — not that it matters much — but the emergency lever beside it is another story. Pulling it will trigger the emergency alarm and force emergency services to respond. Thanks to redundant safety measures, a couple of cut wires won’t be enough to stop it. However, it's dangerous because it will alert the building's security system that the alarm was activated on the 90th floor, where I am. Still, the risk is worth it. I'm no rookie when it comes to shootouts. Here, I had to rely on my knack for getting into trouble to get myself out of it.

  I yank the lever with all my strength.

  I turn back to look out the restaurant windows, hoping to see something with sirens blaring. A couple of long minutes pass, but I still can’t see anything. Worried that the elevator might open without warning, I constantly glance over my shoulder to check. After what feels like forever, I finally spot three fire trucks with their lights flashing, heading toward the building. I hoped the cavalry had arrived, but that hope was crushed the next second when I saw the fire trucks turn off their lights and veer away, heading back the way they came.

  "Motherfuckers! That's not the way!"

  "What the hell are you doing? The emergency is here!"

  *Ding dong!*

  The elevator chime interrupted me. What used to be a simple, functional sound announcing its arrival now carried a different meaning—the terrifying scream of death itself, warning that someone would surely die in the next few seconds. That someone wasn’t going to be me. I moved to escape my fate, turned off the lights on part of the floor, and hid under a table cloaked in darkness.

  I see two armed men rush out from between the Maker's doors at full speed. They sweep the floor methodically, just as I had done before.

  But this time, I am ready for them. From inside the darkness, I threw a few pieces of cutlery with all my strength to the other side of the room, making a strange clatter as they fell. The two men instinctively looked back, raised their weapons, and started shooting. They make so much noise with their shots that they don’t see me approaching silently. I stab one of them in the throat with a knife, and shoot the other in the head with my pistol — a quick movement. One of them falls; the other convulses from the knife stuck in his neck. I shoot him, and it's all over.

  Now, they clearly treat me as a serious threat. Those two didn’t hesitate to waste bullets on something that could have simply been another hostage. However, my objective remains the same: I must warn the people outside and gather as much information as possible about these individuals.

  This whole scene reminds me of a movie I loved as a child. Remembering a scene from the movie, I decide to collect information the same way.

  I searched the bodies of the men I had killed for anything useful. I found two AK-12 assault rifles, but I only need one. One of their bags contains several magazines for the weapons, which is excellent. I also found explosives and detonators. I couldn't believe they had gone back to the bad idea from the movie and sent people with explosives after the fugitive. There’s also a military radio set with headphones. They’ll probably be able to get through the jammer; those will definitely be useful. Since all of this reminded me of the movie, I decided to write a message to my rivals. I took a chair and put one of the corpses on it. I wrote on his shirt, but it was too similar to the movie. I didn't want my rivals to be bored, so I ripped the corpse's head off with my dragon claws and put it between his legs. I tried to give it my own personal touch to tell them, "Your ass is mine now," in a friendly manner.

  I took the elevator with the corpse and sent it up to the 25th floor. During the elevator ride I removed the hatch in the ceiling to escape and stayed up high to listen to the conversation they would have when they discovered the body. When the elevator stopped I changed my position so I wouldn't be near it and instead took up a spot among the scaffolding on the nearby walls.

  A deranged scream was heard right after — some woman saw the body and was terrified. The terrorists came rushing over at full speed; the footsteps came first: quick, heavy, furious. They’ve seen one of their own dead and they’re mourning his loss.

  “Zima, it’s Volkov!”

  “He’s... he’s dead. Sokolov. They fucked him up. They... they ripped his head off, damn it. They ripped his head off and shoved it between his legs.

  “There’s a message on his shirt, it says... it says ‘Your ass is mine now’ written in blood, his own blood.”

  “Goddamn, this isn’t some idiot trying to run — this is another wolf, a lone one.”

  “The idiot has his weapons. He has his magazines. He probably has his radios too, so assume he’s listening to us.”

  “Let’s switch to speaking Russian.”

  ?Нет сообщений о других агентах в здании. Это один человек, без сомнений.?

  ?Ещё один охранник, может быть? Может, он просто отдохнуть вышел и натолкнулся на них лицом к лицу.?

  (There are no reports of other agents in the building. It's a single person, without a doubt.)

  (Another guard maybe? Maybe he was taking his break and ran into them head on.)

  ?Один человек нейтрализовал двоих моих лучших людей, забрал их снаряжение и прислал нам эту дерьмовую открытку,?

  ?Нет, они пошли проверить пожарную сигнализацию на 90-м этаже.?

  ?Это была засада, я уже их ждал — так он их и убил.?

  (One person has taken out two of my best men, taken their gear and sent us a shitty postcard)

  (No, they went to check the fire alarm triggered on the 90th floor.)

  (It was an ambush, He was already waiting for them — that's how he managed to kill them.).

  ?Джон МакКлейн становится целью немедленной нейтрализации. Она опаснее, чем десять этих плачущих заложников.?

  (John McClane becomes a target for immediate neutralization. He's more dangerous than ten of those crying hostages.)

  ?Меняем план, Зима??

  (Do we change the plan, Zima?)

  Отрицательно. Основной план остаётся. Фудзикава мёртв, у нас есть ключ. Тек?ла, держи блокаду. Рон, держи периметр. Но Виски... разверни охотников. Группа Альфа и Бета. Прочёсывайте здание. Начинайте от точки происхождения лифта, 90-го этажа. Чистите этаж за этажом, вентиляционные каналы, фальшпотолки. Найдите мне эту суку-ковбойшу и выньте у неё внутренности. Хочу её голову как трофей до того, как мы откроем хранилище.

  (Negative. Main plan stands. Fujikawa is dead, we have the key. Tequila, maintain the lock. Ron, hold the perimeter. But Whiskey... deploy the hunters. Alpha and Beta teams. Sweep the building. Start from the elevator origin, the 90th floor. Clear floor by floor, ventilation ducts, drop ceilings. Find me that Motherfucker cowboy and gut him. I want his head as a trophy before we open the vault.)

  I knew what was coming: A brutal manhunt, a game of cat and mouse. But now, I had an advantage they didn't know about. I spoke their language. Every order, every movement, and every frustrated whisper their radios picked up would be mine to hear.

  I slipped off the scaffolding, my feet finding quiet footing on the ground. I grabbed the AK-12 I'd taken, feeling its familiar, comforting weight. I had weapons and ammo. Most importantly, I had ears inside their network. The game had changed. I was no longer the fleeing prey. Now, I was the predator lurking in the shadows, having just learned my prey's language. They thought they were hunting me.

  They were wrong—the real hunter here is me.