Psycho Pass: Redemption (UPDATING)

1 (UPDATED)

In the shrouded embrace of the night, the building's floors lay steeped in forlorn slumber. Moonlight and sparse streetlamps cast a dim glow, barely enough to dispel the darkness. Footsteps reverberated through the desolate corridors as an enforcer moved with calculated caution. His grip on the dominator was unwavering, senses heightened in vigilant anticipation.

"I've heard rumors. Did you really lead the police to us, Makishima? Why help us, only to unleash death's hounds now?" a gruff voice pierced the silence, accompanied by the sound of a knife grazing wood. "No matter. We'll handle things as always."

The imposing figure of the man materialized before him, and the enforcer's arms swung slowly into position. The mechanized, feminine voice of the dominator whispered, its parts whirring and sliding into place, morphing the weapon's form.

Crime Coefficient is 324. Enforcement mode is Lethal Eliminator. Aim carefully and eliminate the target.

With narrowed eyes and a soft exhale, the enforcer pulled the trigger after a brief pause. The shot reverberated, energy colliding with the man's form, instantaneously affecting all organic matter. In seconds, the mass expanded, culminating in a grisly explosion that turned a human into mere fragments drenched in blood.

As he advanced, darkness enveloped him, its cold embrace seeping into his bones. Beside the remnants of humanity, he scanned his surroundings. The glint of a knife's blade parting from its hilt caught his attention, but his dominator remained locked—unable to target the figure. Time escaped him as swift footsteps tinged his veins with ice, a piercing blow diverting his weapon's trajectory. The blade hissed through the air, lethal and fluid, evading his defenses.

A sharp pain jolted through his forearm, blood spurting. Stumbling back, he clutched the wound, his world swaying. With steady patience, his adversary awaited his recovery, granting him respite.

The enforcer lunged forward, launching a barrage of kicks and punches in an attempt to wrest the knife from his adversary. A sardonic smile danced on the man's lips, casting a shadow that flickered. A forceful blow landed on the enforcer's nose, a jolt of pain that sent his senses reeling, a swirling dizziness enveloping him. The unmistakable crunch confirmed his fear—he had broken it. His world started to spin, shadows morphing into grotesque shapes, the gleam of the knife a searing streak of light slashing through his disoriented vision.

Undeterred, he unleashed another kick, only to find the man's swift maneuver as he ducked down and seized both leg and neck. In a blur of motion, the enforcer found himself tumbling to the ground, a pang of agony radiating from the back of his neck, his mind swimming in a vortex of sharp dizziness. Vision blurred, he could discern the contours of the man's lips curling into a smile, the pale flash of his teeth. As the world threatened to descend into obscurity, a distant female voice pierced the haze.

"Daiki-san!"

The young woman's cry hung in the air, a lifeline in the darkness. Her gaze settled on the figure stooped over the fallen enforcer, a gleaming knife poised above his motionless form, intent on delivering a deadly blow. A frustrated click of her tongue reverberated as she sensed her dominator's readiness. A shot fired in haste could risk injuring the enforcer. Determination etched into her every step, she advanced towards the man in the shadows. Swift as an echo, he sprang to his feet, knife poised in readiness.

The dance resumed—swift, lethal, and eerily synchronized. Evading, dodging, and striking, they moved through the darkness. The knife's gleaming blade flickered, threatening to rend flesh. She seized his forearm, her blow precise and calculated, driving him to his knees with a dry cough.

She wrested the knife, its edge a breath away from his skin. Breathless, she stood behind him, eyes wide and wary. In the shadows, his coughs ceased, silence enveloping them both. His head lifted slightly, a satisfied smile curving his lips.

"A pleasure to meet death by your hand, Yashiro," he taunted, a tantalizing defiance in his tone. "And yet I would never allow you to replace me."

Her frown deepened, the voice familiar yet unsettling. She relaxed her grip on the knife, her stance easing.

"Makishima."

With fluid precision, he turned, lunging forward, his grip closing around her police jacket. She squeezed her eyes shut, the impact jarring her neck against the ground. When her gaze met his, amber eyes bore into hers, breaths intermingling. The knife pressed against her skin, poised to strike.

Gradually, his grip softened, and he straightened. A cloth wiped the blade clean, and the knife vanished into his pocket. He extended a hand, a fleeting shadow of warmth in the darkness. As their hands met, he helped her rise.

"You've improved since we last met," he observed, his grip lingering as he studied her. "But there's more you can learn."