deciphered

rescuing sly fox II

"What is he talking—"

Boom.

Oikawa had been cut off by a loud gust of gunshots echoing throughout the air, shooting in all directions of the warehouse. Both Oikawa and Kuroo instantly dropped down to the floor, placing their hands over their heads to protect their ears.

Kuroo winced as Kita crushed over his figure, the weight of Kita's body pushing down onto his lungs. His cough was overshadowed by the rounds of gunfire shooting throughout the air. He glanced at Oikawa, begging for his help as Kita fell unconscious again.

Oikawa noticed Kita's gun holstered around his calf, sticking out from the bottom of his black jeans. He shuffled on the ground, pulling his body up by his forearms before he scrunched back the hem of his jeans on Kita's left leg. He reached his hand up and grabbed the gun from the strap, pulling out a clean and sleek all-black pistol.

Kita's gun was heavy and loaded with his moniker initials "S.F." engraved in the front. Oikawa pushed it across the floor with his leg and watched it spin on the concrete floor, letting Kuroo grab the handle as he quickly placed it in between his black tank top and red cargo pants.

"Give me your blade, now!" Oikawa loudly whispered, placing his hand out in front of Kuroo's face. He obliged and twirled the switchblade from his hand on the concrete towards Oikawa's direction. Before he grabbed the handle and locked the blade back, Oikawa shoved it into his back pocket and placed his hands back onto his head.

The gunshots stopped for a moment before Oikawa noticed seven men step out of the darkness behind a stack of shipment boxes in the corner of the warehouse. They all wore dark green suits and black shades—a wretched aura wafting from their crooked smirks.

The one in the middle stepped up forward and removed his black sunglasses, slicking back his dark hair to reveal his thin, snake-like eyes. Oikawa couldn't believe it, he was so sure he'd never see him again—

"Tooru Oikawa. Tetsurou Kuroo. You fuckers."

Oikawa furrowed his eyebrows as he looked up to see Suguru Daishou of the yakuza Nohebi clan—a.k.a. Fangs —hovering above him, hissing under his breath while placing his hands in his pockets. At the snap of his fingers, two of the men beside Daishou instantly rushed to Oikawa, Kuroo and Kita on the floor.

"Fangs, you son of a bitch—fuck!" Oikawa groaned as one of the men stomped directly on his back, digging the bottom of his heel against the crook of his lumbar, firmly placing all of his weight on Oikawa's body beneath him. He closed his eyes and winced when the man tied his hands together with rough-textured rope, deliberately scratching the fabric against his wrists.

He looked over at Kuroo, who was already restrained by one of the other men—his hands tied behind his back with the exact same rope. Kita laid unconscious on the floor beside him, his cheek pressed against the concrete with his limbs twisted in multiple directions.

"After all these years, I've finally caught you both." Daishou slowly made his way over to Oikawa struggling underneath the yakuza henchman's grip on his body. He looked down at Oikawa, giving an ominous smirk before kicking him straight in the face. "You thought you guys could get away with what you fucking did?"

The tip of Daishou's shoe slammed against the edge of Oikawa's jaw, dislodging a joint on the left side of his mandible. Oikawa closed his eyes and groaned, ejecting bloodied phlegm from his mouth.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself before coughing profusely, struggling underneath Daishou's grip before looking up at him grin from ear to ear.

"You both make me sick. After what you guys did to Mika, you both deserve more than death itself." Daishou kicked Oikawa in the jaw again, instantly satisfied by the wails of anguish underneath his foot.