The mansion's infirmary was quiet—like a library, except for the hum of the air conditioner and the steady beep of the heart monitor.
Hollist lay still on the bed, unconscious. Sunlight slipped through the curtains, painting his bandaged arm in a soft, pale glow.
Fighting the Street Dogs' founder wasn't exactly his smartest move—especially with that drug, Encyclophin, in play. The stuff's known to boost strength and endurance beyond normal limits.
Was it over? Not even close. Hollist didn't know it yet, but his bruises told the story—Marquez really messed him up.
Two black eyes made him look like a giant panda, or maybe someone who just got jumped by the whole Justice League.
Suddenly his eyes slowly opened as he watched a random figure standing on top of him, it went from blurry to clear as his eyes adjusts—it was a familiar man.
Derek.
"You look like the dragon warrior from that one animated movie," he smugged.
"Whoa, shit!" Hollist's body jerked. "What the hell are you doing here!? We got a Street Dog founder to pay!" Hollist barked.
Hollist shot up from the bed, ripping the ECG leads off his chest. The monitor flatlined with a sharp beep.
He clenched his fists, teeth gritted. "I'm gonna make that bastard pay!" he barked, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.
On the couch, Derek wheezed with laughter, slapping the cushion beside him. Thud!
"I should've told him," he said between laughs, sitting up straight. "No, no—good idea, Derek, let's join the angry panda."
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The metallic door of the X18 gear room slid open with a harsh screech.
Inside, Shinji Tasaki was busy tapping away at his laptop, his glasses reflecting the glow of multiple screens. He looked up the second Hollist and Derek entered—Hollist stomping in like a soldier ready for war, and Derek following behind, looking more like a kid caught stealing snacks.
"Hollist, you're awake—" Shinji started, but the sound of the protective barrier humming to life drowned him out.
"Hey! What the hell are you two doing?!" Shinji snapped, standing up from his chair.
"We got a man to pay a visit to—no time to rest," Derek said, grabbing a rifle from the weapons rack.
"Are you two high or something?!" Shinji yelled, exasperated. "No, seriously—what the hell is wrong with you both!?"
Hollist paused halfway through strapping his vest. "What do you mean?"
Shinji blinked, sighed, and rubbed his temples. "Marquez is dead. He was killed by that idiot right beside you." He pointed at Derek.
Hollist turned to Derek, his jaw dropping. Derek was already on the floor, laughing like a maniac—his laugh wheezy, like an angry goose.
"Oh—you caught me good there," Derek said, half-laughing as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "Guess I should've told you sooner."
"And yet, you still decided to join me like an idiot," Hollist replied in a flat tone. "Oh my god."
Shinji just shook his head and turned back to his laptop. Derek, meanwhile, was still laughing like he just inhaled a whole tank of laughing gas.
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After a few minutes, the room finally quieted down. Shinji kept typing away, the sound of the keyboard echoing softly while Hollist unrolled the bandage wrapped around his arm.
The place had never felt this quiet—like a house party that ended at 2 a.m. Hollist stood there, looking lost, like a kid who missed the memo.
"How did Marquez die?" he asked, his voice cutting through the silence.
"Hanged outside his penthouse window," Shinji said casually, eyes still glued to the screen.
Hollist blinked. "Where's everyone?" he asked, glancing around.
"Speaking of everyone, why are you still here?" Shinji said, finally looking up. "They all went out—streets are packed with our guys enjoying their day off like it's the end of the world. You and Derek should go too."
"And you?"
"I'm fixing X18's comm system. After that, I'm heading to the casino at Wood Valley." Shinji grabbed a cable and plugged it into the USB port.
"Well, avoid getting into trouble with other mafias this time," Hollist said, arms crossed. "Last thing we need is another conflict—or another killing spree from Derek."
Shinji chuckled. "Don't worry, I won't. Just go already. Time's ticking—you'll be busy again soon."
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Another day for The Phantoms after the chaos.
Fred sat at a café, sipping tea and eating pastries with a brown-haired girl who looked about twenty—his daughter, apparently. The café buzzed with small talk and the faint clink of cups.
Riles, on the other hand, was chilling nearby, watching people walk their dogs and kids playing in the park while his music played softly through his earphones.
Others, like Shinji's maid, were spending time with family—some hitting the zoo, others eating out, taking photos at amusement parks.
Wood Valley was alive—bright, busy, loud during the day… but dangerous when night falls.
And there they were—Derek and Hollist, standing on the sidewalk, heat pressing down like an oven.
"Shit," Hollist groaned, sweat sliding down his neck. "Go pick a place. Make sure it's got air-conditioning."
"Actually, we're not here to do stuff," Derek said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. "We're waiting for someone."
"Waiting for someone?" Hollist groaned again. "Don't tell me you're about to cause chaos here."
"Seriously?" Derek shot him a sharp look."I'm not ruining my day off by causing trouble out here."
"Alright, alright—my bad for doubting you," Hollist muttered. "So… who's this someone you're waiting for?"
"Hey, Derek!"
A voice called out from the distance.
Both Derek and Hollist turned toward the sound. A man was walking closer, his figure slowly coming into view.
He wore a black sleeveless shirt, tattoos of roses and skulls crawling up his right arm. A couple of piercings sat under his nose and across his eyebrows, and his hair was dyed bright red.
"There's my man! Axel… Axel Raze!" Derek said, grinning as he pointed at him.
"Yo!" Axel swung his arm lazily for a dap, looking half-drunk. "Thought you were dead after joining the military!"
"The military?" Hollist muttered under his breath, confused.
"Dead? Oh, come on—Derek Jones never dies." Derek smirked before turning his gaze to Hollist, who stood silently beside him.
"Hey, I want you to meet my crewmate."
Axel smiled and reached out his hand. "Axel Raze," he said.
"Oh… uh—Hollist. Hollist Kane." He shook Axel's hand awkwardly.
Axel laughed. "You know, I hope my friend here doesn't annoy you too much while you're on duty. He can be real teasing sometimes."
"Sometimes a psychopath," Hollist muttered.
"What?" Axel blinked.
"I-It's a figure of speech!" Hollist forced a laugh. "I mean, he's a psycho when it comes to annoying someone, haha…"
Derek just smirked, clearly enjoying the moment.
"By the way, my apartment's right there down the street," Axel said, pointing at the narrow road beside a small commercial building.
"We're getting cooked out here like food in an oven."
"Yeah, sure," Hollist replied, wiping the sweat off his forehead.
They crossed the busy street, weaving through parked motorcycles and vendors selling grilled food. Derek walked silently beside them, sunglasses on, blending into the noise of the afternoon.
After a few minutes, Axel stopped in front of a four-story building that looked like it had seen better days. The walls were faded, the gate crooked, and someone had scribbled a big "Pay Rent!" message on the metal door.
Hollist squinted. "This your place?"
"Home sweet home," Axel said, kicking the gate open.
The inside smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and fried oil. They climbed two flights of creaky stairs before Axel unlocked a door with a keychain shaped like a bullet.
"Come on in," he said.
Hollist stepped through the doorway — and immediately froze.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
He thought they were just visiting a friend, maybe hanging out, grabbing a drink or something. But the moment his eyes scanned the room, his entire mood flipped.
There were guns. Everywhere.
Rifles stacked in a corner, boxes labeled "7.62mm" under the table, a half-disassembled pistol sitting next to a plate of half-eaten noodles. The air smelled like gun oil and burnt metal.
"Bro…" Hollist muttered under his breath.
"What kind of hangout is this?"
Axel threw his jacket onto the couch and smirked. "Relax, man. I keep my hobbies close."
"Hobbies?" Hollist said, pointing at a rocket launcher leaning against the fridge. "That thing can blow up a car!"
"Yeah," Axel said casually, "but it's not loaded."
"That's not the comforting part!" Hollist snapped.
Derek laughed, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "Don't mind him, Hollist. This is just Axel's version of interior design."
"Don't act like this is normal, Derek," Hollist said, glaring at him. "I thought we were gonna grab a drink or something, not walk into an arms deal."
"Technically," Axel said, rummaging through a cabinet, "you're both doing me a favor. I just finished a batch of custom mods. Figured Derek might want to see them in person."
Hollist blinked. "Wait, mods?"
Axel dropped a heavy black duffel bag onto the table. It hit with a loud thud, shaking the empty bottles beside it.
"Check it out," Axel said proudly.
Derek stepped forward and unzipped it. Inside was a collection of weapons — rifles, pistols, magazines, even a few grenades wrapped neatly in cloth. Everything looked new, polished, clean.
"Damn," Derek muttered, pulling out a matte-black rifle. "You really know how to treat her right."
"Of course," Axel said, grinning. "I made sure to polish your baby right there. My business runs on quality and satisfaction, you know?"
Hollist rubbed his temple. "You're seriously doing a weapon trade in broad daylight?"
Axel shrugged. "It's fine. Nobody checks this building. Half the tenants here are criminals anyway."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Hollist shot back.
"C'mon, man," Derek said, chuckling. "Axel's trustworthy. He's been my guy since the military days."
"Oh yeah, that makes it way less illegal," Hollist said dryly.
Axel waved a hand. "Don't be so uptight. You should've seen us back in the day — Derek here once stole a whole truck of ammo just because someone bet him he couldn't."
"That was a training truck," Derek said.
"It was still a truck," Axel grinned. "And it exploded later, so technically, you made history."
"Yeah, almost died in it too," Derek said with a laugh.
Hollist sighed. "You two are insane."
"Pretty much," Axel replied, tossing Derek a can of beer. "Anyway, how's life treating you, soldier boy? Still running missions or whatever you call it these days?"
"Not really," Derek said casually. "Just… freelance work. Keeps me busy."
Hollist shot him a look — the kind that silently said don't say too much. Derek caught it and quickly changed the topic.
"Still with that blonde chick?" Derek teased.
Axel smirked. "She dumped me for a cop."
Hollist choked. "A cop?"
"Yup," Axel said, opening a beer. "Irony's funny, huh?"
"Maybe she was tired of dodging grenades in the kitchen," Hollist muttered.
Derek laughed hard at that. "He's got a point."
Axel leaned back in his chair. "At least I got the apartment in the breakup."
"Pretty sure that's because she didn't want to live near an armory," Hollist said.
The three of them laughed, the tension finally breaking. Despite the mess, the weapons, and the chaos, there was an odd comfort in it — the kind that only old war buddies could share.
After a few more minutes of banter and jokes, Axel zipped the bag shut and patted it. "All clean and ready. Same deal as last time, right?"
"Yeah," Derek said, pulling out an envelope from his jacket and tossing it over. "Same deal."
Axel peeked inside, whistling softly. "Always a pleasure doing business with you, Jones."
"Don't mention it," Derek said, slinging the bag over his shoulder.
Hollist sighed again. "So this is your idea of hanging out?"
"Hey," Derek said with a grin, "you got free beer, didn't you?"
"That's not the point—"
"Then it's a win," Derek interrupted, heading for the door.
Axel raised his can in farewell. "Try not to get shot on the way back, alright?"
"No promises," Derek said over his shoulder.
"Seriously," Hollist muttered as they walked out of the apartment, "you drag me into the weirdest situations."
Derek smirked. "Welcome to my world, partner."
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The sun had already slipped below the horizon by the time their boat reached the island. The water shimmered with the last bits of orange light, fading into deep blue. The island stood quiet — no traffic, no noise, just the steady hum of cicadas and the distant crash of waves.
Derek hopped off the boat first, tossing the duffel bag onto the wooden dock. Hollist followed behind, stretching his arms with a groan.
"I swear," Hollist muttered, "you owe me for today. That apartment smelled like gunpowder and ramen."
Derek smirked. "Could've been worse — he could've offered you some."
The two laughed softly as they walked the narrow dirt path leading to the mansion. The place stood tall at the center of the island, half-hidden by thick trees. It wasn't the fancy kind of mansion you'd see in magazines — it was old, fortress-like, a mix between luxury and survival base. The lights from the windows flickered faintly against the sea breeze.
When they reached the entrance, the heavy steel door slid open with a buzz. Shinji stood there, wearing his usual black shirt, one hand still holding a tablet glowing with schematics.
"You're back," he said calmly, stepping aside to let them in. "How was Wood Valley?"
"Hot," Hollist replied, dropping onto the nearest couch. "And your boy here nearly got me caught up in an arms deal."
"Relax," Derek said, waving him off. "It was just Axel."
Shinji looked at him with a flat expression. "Axel?"
"Old buddy," Derek explained. "Still has a thing for illegal rifles."
"Of course he does." Shinji set his tablet down on the glass table, eyeing the duffel bag. "That the equipment?"
"Yeah," Derek said, placing it beside him.
"Polished and ready. Just like before."
Shinji unzipped it slightly, scanning the contents. "You are really nuts, put this on the weapons rack you guys wanna help me fix X18."
"Man, can we not talk about work for one night?" Hollist groaned, leaning back and closing his eyes. "It's peaceful here. No sirens, no shouting, no blood."
Derek chuckled. "You'd hate it if it were too quiet."
"Maybe," Hollist said. "But for now, I'll take the silence."
The sound of the ocean filled the pause between them. Through the wide glass wall behind the couch, waves shimmered under the moonlight. The air smelled faintly of salt and pine, drifting through the open vents.
Shinji sat down across from them, finally letting his shoulders drop.
"No missions tonight," he said. "Everyone deserves a rest. You should rest too."
"Music to my ears," Hollist murmured, half-asleep already.
Derek looked toward the window — the night sky clear, stars scattered across the dark horizon. For a moment, he almost forgot the kind of world they lived in.
"It's calm tonight," Derek muttered quietly.
Shinji glanced at him. "That's what worries me."
Derek gave a faint grin. "You think too much."
"Someone has to," Shinji said, standing up and heading for the hallway.
The lights dimmed one by one until only the soft blue glow of the monitors remained. Hollist was already snoring lightly on the couch, and Derek stayed there a moment longer, watching the waves crash against the dark shore.
He leaned his head back, letting out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
Peace — even on a remote island — never really lasted for people like them.
"Peace today, chaos tommorow," Derek muttered under his breath before smiling like a maniac. "I feel something."