"Baka yarou! Who let you in?! Get out!"
Noda Shinseki roared in Japanese as Ryan kicked the door open.
Ryan's eyes narrowed, radiating a deadly killing intent.
He hadn't gotten the chance to vent his rage on that Black cop earlier—so taking it out on this stubby little Japanese punk? Even better!
Killian massaged his temple in frustration at Ryan's entrance. He quickly stood up and said:
"Mr. Noda Shinseki, please don't be angry!"
"He's a DHS undercover, but he's joined our side now. He's working with us."
Killian tried to calm Noda first, then turned to Ryan and added in English:
"Ryan, this is Noda Shinseki, the financial controller sent from HQ."
Ryan's expression shifted darkly.
"Killian… what did you say his name was?"
"Noda Shinseki."
Ryan strode forward and grabbed the squat man by the collar, lifting him off the ground.
"What's your relation to Noda Takeshi?!"
he demanded.
Shinseki didn't answer—he understood English, but chose only to speak Japanese, out of arrogance.
He stared at Ryan with both disdain and burning rage, refusing to say a word.
Killian watched the two of them, utterly confused.
Fuck! Who the hell is Noda Takeshi?!
Still, he couldn't let Ryan kill the organization's financial controller. Without Shinseki's approval, the funding for their "Flame Project" wouldn't go through.
"Officer Ryan, stop! He controls all of our funding. We need him for the operation!"
Ryan turned to Killian, and the look in his eyes made Killian break out in a cold sweat.
"Fuck, Ryan, don't do anything crazy!"
But Ryan responded coldly:
"I'll get the account and password out of him myself. Don't you want to control the funds personally?"
"I'm a DHS agent. If I kill him, it's technically a lawful act of enforcement. Your organization can't hold you responsible."
Killian froze.
And damn it, he was tempted.
He was the head of Prometheus' L.A. division—but unlike other cell leaders who were totally autonomous, he had no control over the money. Every time he needed funding, he had to grovel to this arrogant little Japanese man.
He'd wanted to kill Shinseki for a while.
Shinseki thought he was untouchable because he controlled the cash flow and figured Killian wouldn't dare.
But seeing the look in Killian's eyes, panic surged in Shinseki.
"Baka!"
"Killian, I'm HQ-appointed!"
"If I die, you'll be in deep shit!"
"Kill this undercover agent now and I'll get you your money immediately!"
Shinseki blurted out, desperate.
But for Killian, this was a golden opportunity.
"You can use the basement," he told Ryan. "There's a secure room there, do whatever you want."
Then he looked at Shinseki with a smug, satisfied smile.
"Take me there," Ryan said coolly.
Before Shinseki could protest, Ryan struck him in the neck and knocked him out cold.
Soon, Ryan had dragged him into the soundproof interrogation room in the basement.
"There are tools and chemicals here. Take your pick," Killian said, then left the two of them alone.
He didn't care what personal vendetta Ryan had—he just wanted the damn money.
And if HQ asked, he'd just blame it on the undercover.
Ryan glanced around and spotted a special chemical compound—one commonly seen in spy movies. It enhanced pain perception by a factor of 100.
Even a pinprick would feel like having your genitals seared with a red-hot iron rod.
Many men who could withstand physical torture would break under this.
Ryan strapped Shinseki to a chair bolted into the concrete floor and injected him with 10 milliliters of the compound.
Soon, the drug took effect. Every tiny discomfort became unbearable agony.
Shinseki let out an unholy scream.
"AHHH! IT HURTS! STOP, YOU DAMN BASTARD! LET ME GO!"
Ryan smiled faintly as he slid thin steel needles under Shinseki's fingernails.
Ten fingers—ten nails.
Shinseki's face contorted in horror.
Even without the drug, this was a cruel torment. With his nerves screaming at 100 times the usual intensity, it was pure hell.
His wails filled the basement like the cries of a man being skinned alive.
At the top of the stairs, Killian was smoking and flinched at the scream.
Fuck! Is he really LAPD?
Shit! He's more brutal than we are—and we're terrorists!
He slammed the basement door shut and walked away.
"Please! I'll talk! I'll say everything!"
Shinseki's face was soaked with sweat, tears, and snot.
"Please, just stop hurting me!"
"What's your connection to Noda Takeshi?" Ryan asked coldly.
"He… he's my grandfather!"
Damn you, Grandpa! What the hell did you do?! Now I'm paying the price!
Ryan's eyes narrowed. Shinseki had no idea that if he'd kept quiet, he might've gotten a quick death.
But saying he was Noda Takeshi's grandson sealed his fate.
"And your bank account and password?"
Shinseki sputtered it out immediately.
He looked up at Ryan, pleading.
"I told you everything… You'll let me go, right? I won't come after you, I swear!"
But Ryan's smile turned ice-cold.
"Noda Shinseki… your grandfather's debts are yours to repay."
"Li Xiuying. Xia Shuqin. She Wenbin…"
He recited a list of names, each one driving home the horror of history.
Shinseki's eyes filled with despair.
Screams echoed through the basement.
With expert-level medical training, Ryan made sure Shinseki endured three hours of pure, unrelenting agony before his mind finally shattered and he died.