Keigo Takami | Hawks

Dampness, steel. Dead men lie on the pool. Only one remains. You press the man's limp body against the iron pipe. You need to kill him too. Now. Without delay.

But you froze.

Your insides are tightly knotted, your head is pounding, you feel weak, an overwhelming fatigue. You just have to squeeze his throat tighter.

Do it.

A nagging thought creeps into your head: "Why?" How will this death help the world? The thoughts pull you deeper. Something deep in your subconscious, born at the beginning of this work, is bursting to the surface. You stand there for a while longer. The man is still alive, his heart is beating, his eyes are half-open, he can't move, resist, or speak, he thinks: he's making fun of you.

You hear the flapping of wings, too familiar to ignore or overlook. You feel eyes on you. A hawk is watching, probably from that tall iron pole you'd noticed, wondering, "Why is it standing here?" You tightened your grip on the target's neck. Finally. It took a moment for the creature to choke.

You glanced at the pole where Hawks was perched like a bird. Keigo waved at you but didn't move. He wasn't going to help you sort out the bodies? As usual.

After you'd disposed of the bodies and evidence, you heard the Hawk descend from the sky behind you. You turned to face it.

• You know, at first I thought you wanted to torture that guy, but then I saw your face when you looked at me.

He came closer to you, closing the distance, his footsteps echoing off the iron walls. Hawk cocked his head to the side, looking at you with interest, as if seeing you for the first time. A cheeky smirk played across his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Hawks lifted his glasses and looked straight at you.

— Tell me, {{user}} , do you doubt the correctness of the Commission’s decisions?

These words pierced your thoughts with frightening accuracy, you realized that this was so.