Chapter 43
The quiet hum of the Subaru’s engine was the only sound on the deserted frontage road, its headlights slicing through the darkness like twin blades. The trees and fields on either side blurred into obscurity as Zorro navigated the narrow path with practiced precision. Without warning, the tires screeched, the car skidding to a halt in front of the warehouse, sending a spray of dirt and gravel into the air. For a moment, everything was still, the world seeming to hold its breath. The driver’s door swung open, and Zorro stepped out, his figure a dark silhouette against the faint glow of the moon. The soft light caught the edges of his leather vest and the faint shimmer of silver embroidery, but most of him remained cloaked in shadow. His face was hidden beneath the wide brim of his hat, and the long black silk sash around his waist moved slightly in the breeze. Silent and purposeful, he stood there for a beat, a figure born of shadow and intent. Then, without a word, he moved forward, disappearing into the darkened entrance of the warehouse.
Inside the warehouse, the air was thick with a familiar stillness, broken only by the soft echo of Zorro’s footsteps. The moonlight barely touched the interior, leaving much of the space in shadow. Zorro moved swiftly through the dark toward a row of stands where the weapons rested, sheathed and ready. His hand reached first for his rapier, lifting both the blade and its sheath in a single motion, feeling the balance and weight that had always felt like a part of him. He fastened it with a smooth, practiced gesture. Next came the main-gauche, its slim blade resting in its sheath alongside the rapier. Zorro then turned to Kitsune’s ninjatō, the long, sleek weapon sheathed in black, designed for swift, deadly precision. He tested its weight briefly before taking it with him. As his eyes drifted to the 1911 pistol nearby, he paused. His gloved hand hovered over the firearm, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the low light. For a moment, he considered it—then, with a silent decision, turned away, leaving it untouched. Tonight, tradition would be his weapon of choice.
Zorro emerged from the warehouse, the cold night air greeting him as he stepped back into the shadows. Kitsune stood by the Subaru, her form barely visible in the moonlight, save for the glint in her eyes. Without a word, Zorro approached, holding her ninjatō by the sheath, the weapon ready in his hand. Kitsune turned toward him as he offered it, her movements deliberate and fluid. She accepted the sword with a nod of thanks, gripping it with quiet precision. In one smooth motion, she slid the weapon onto her back, the hilt positioned just above her shoulder, easily within reach. The dark blade and its sheath seemed to disappear against the black of her outfit, an extension of herself, ready to strike when needed. She adjusted it slightly, her fingers brushing the hilt before she settled into stillness again, eyes meeting Zorro’s in silent understanding. They were both armed now—prepared for whatever awaited them.
With their weapons secured and the night stretching ahead, Zorro and Kitsune moved silently back to the Subaru, the low hum of the engine filling the quiet air. Zorro slipped into the driver’s seat, his movements fluid and controlled, while Kitsune, as quiet as ever, took her place beside him. The car's interior was bathed in shadow, their faces lit only by the faint glow of the dashboard. Zorro gripped the steering wheel, eyes forward, every muscle tensed with purpose. The moment the doors shut, he pressed his foot down, and the engine roared to life with newfound intensity. The tires screeched as the Subaru peeled out, leaving a trail of dust and gravel in its wake. The car shot forward, cutting through the darkness as it sped down the empty road, the headlights slicing through the night like blades. The world around them blurred, and in the silence of the car, there was only the sound of the road beneath them and the tension of the mission ahead.
The road stretched endlessly ahead as the Subaru ate up the distance, the darkened cityscape looming closer with every passing second. Zorro’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon, his hand moving to the comms device as he dialed Grayson’s secure line. The faint crackle of connection hummed through the car, cutting the silence. "Pull your men back, Grayson," Zorro ordered, his voice sharp and unwavering. "They’re not ready for this." His tone left no room for negotiation, the command hanging in the air like a challenge. A moment of static followed before Grayson’s voice broke through, tight with restrained frustration. "You’re rushing in, Andreas. This isn’t the time." Zorro’s jaw clenched, his focus locked on the road, his mind already set.
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Zorro’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles pale beneath his gloves. The city lights flickered in the distance, but his thoughts were far from the road. "It’s been a month, Grayson," he said, his voice low but simmering with restrained anger. "How many more have died while we’ve waited for the perfect moment?" His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of each death unspoken but felt. "I'm done waiting." Zorro’s gaze flickered to the rearview mirror, his face partially shadowed, eyes hard with purpose. He wasn’t just talking about the civilians, the ones caught in the crossfire. He was talking about Zorro too—the part of him that had been forced into hiding, waiting for the perfect opportunity that never seemed to come. The silence on the other end of the line was deafening, but Zorro wasn’t about to relent.
Grayson’s voice came through the comms again, a mix of frustration and desperation. "We’re close, Andreas. I can feel it. We just need more time." His words were steady, but beneath them, there was a hint of pleading, as if he could hold Zorro back with sheer conviction. "The bigger players are starting to make moves. If you go in now, you’ll force them back underground, and everything we’ve worked for will fall apart." There was a pause, as though Grayson hoped his words would sink in, that Zorro would relent. "You have to trust me on this. We’ve waited this long—just a little longer, and we can finally take them down." The tension hung thick in the air between them, the hum of the car’s engine the only response from Zorro.
Zorro’s eyes narrowed as the city lights grew closer, the shadows of towering buildings just beginning to rise on the horizon. His voice, when it came, was cold and final. "No, Grayson. I’ve waited long enough. I’m done sitting in the dark, waiting for them to emerge." His words carried the weight of months spent watching, waiting, and losing people. "They’re not coming out on their own. I’m going to drag them out, chase them from their holes if I have to." There was a quiet determination in his tone, the kind that left no room for argument. His grip on the wheel tightened as the Subaru sped faster, his mind made up. "I’m not giving them the chance to slip away again."
Grayson’s voice came back, more urgent now, almost pleading. "Just a little more time, Andreas. We’re so close, I can feel it. You’re going to blow everything we’ve worked for if you move now." There was a desperation to his words, as if he could still pull Zorro back from the brink. "Just give me the chance to—" Zorro cut him off, his voice steely and unyielding. "Your men are going to be in the way, Grayson." His eyes flicked toward the flashing police lights in the distance, already knowing what was coming. "I’m going in, and if they’re not clear, they’ll get caught up in something they can’t handle."
Zorro’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone as the police lights loomed closer, flickering in the distance. "Move your men out of the way, Grayson," he said, his patience gone. "Or be ready to arrest me. But know this—you won’t take me in quietly." There was a finality in his words, an unspoken promise that if it came down to it, Zorro would stand alone. Without waiting for a response, Zorro cut the line, the comms going silent. The weight of his decision settled over the car like a storm about to break, but there was no hesitation in his eyes. It was done.
Zorro’s hand moved to the NOS switch on the shifter, his fingers brushing over it for only a second before flipping it decisively. The engine roared in response, the sudden burst of power sending the Subaru surging forward, tires screeching as they bit into the asphalt. The city lights blurred as they sped down the road, the world outside rushing past in streaks of black and silver. Kitsune sat beside him, silent and focused, ready for the storm they were about to bring. The car shot forward, a force of nature barreling toward the chaos. Behind them, in the moonlight, the license plate flashed briefly—a single word in kanji: "typhoon" (台風). The car disappeared into the night, a silent tempest racing toward the scene, unstoppable and unforgiving.
