CHAPTER 56: SCUFFLE PART 2

That stalled them. Just for a breath. Then movement on the far end—more bodies filtering in. Fifteen, maybe twenty now. Some faces he recognized from the basement crowd. Others were new. Fear had curdled into aggression; someone had stoked it.

"We’re taking that rifle," a woman said, voice shaking as she held the chair leg like a spear. "You don’t belong here."

Riku’s gaze cut past her, into the deeper shadows. He didn’t see Murata. That made his jaw tighten.

"Riku," Miko said quietly, "permission to escalate if they try again."

"Negative," he said. "No headshots. No kills. We’re not turning this place into a war."

"Then what?" Ichika whispered. "They won’t stop."

"They will," Riku said, "when someone’s shoulder gives out."

They came again, scattered this time, probing. Riku broke them where they were weakest. He jammed weapons, stripped grips, twisted wrists until bones threatened to grind, and threw each attacker into the next. Jiu-jitsu in tight aisles, short and precise, all leverage and angles. Every takedown deposited a body between him and the next threat. Every shove re-shaped the crowd into the choke points he wanted. He moved like the floor was mapped on his skull.

A hand snaked from his blind side and caught the delta ring of his M4, hard. Riku rolled with it, hooked the wrist with his own forearm, and spun inside, smashing a short buttstroke to the collarbone. The man screamed and sagged. Two more reached for the sling; he dropped to a knee and the sling went taut, their fingers sliding off as the rifle sank with his body weight. He rose with a violent shrug that broke their grips.

"Back up," he warned, voice low and mean. "I’m three moves away from starting to break things."

"Thief!" someone yelled. "You took our food!"

"We cleaned your dead and closed your gate," Riku shot back. "Where’s your gratitude?"

The answer came in motion—a kid barely older than Hana, charging with a knife held out like a talisman. Riku’s heart cinched; he stepped aside, caught the wrist, and rotated gently but irresistibly, disarming him with a painless strip before guiding him down and away. "Go," he snapped at the boy, shoving him back toward the shelves. "This isn’t for you."

"Riku," Miko said again, lower now. "They’re building to it."

"I see it."

The crowd swelled, those in the back pressing the front without committing, a wave with no crest yet. The fear smelled like vinegar. He could ride it... or break it.

He chose to break it.

Riku stepped forward two strides, straight into the middle distance, and let his voice crack like a rifle shot. "Murata!" he barked, eyes raking the edges. "Quit hiding behind civilians and get out here!"

The name rippled through them. Several flinched. Heads turned. Doubt flickered.

"Murata said lock the doors!" the woman with the chair leg yelled, but her voice had lost half its heat.

Riku lifted a hand, palm toward her. "And did he say, ’Leave a child to die against the dock door’? Because that’s what almost happened out there." He jerked his chin toward Hana, who peeked from behind Suzune’s coat, eyes wide. "You want to tell her why the door was barred?"

Silence cracked open down the aisle.

Riku took that inch. "You’re scared. I get it. But you picked the wrong target. We fought to keep you alive this morning. We burned your dead. We cleaned your floors. And we came back." His stare hardened. "We didn’t bring a horde with us. We brought more hands."

A man near the middle swallowed. His bat lowered an inch. "If... if you’re not here to take over..."

"I’m here so none of you starve," Riku said. "So kids sleep without counting screams. That starts with discipline. Put the bats down."

They wavered. Front to back, little shifts and glances. No one committed.

"Last chance," Riku said quietly. "Because if you take one more step at me, I stop being polite."

Footsteps clicked on tile beyond the group, steady, unhurried. A path opened in the crowd almost against their will.

Murata stepped into the light.

He looked older than he had that afternoon—same weathered face, but drawn tight, eyes flat. No weapon in his hands. He scanned Riku, then Miko, then the girls behind, then returned to Riku’s eyes and held them.

"Enough," Murata said. Not loud, but it carried. "Back off."

The bats drifted down, uncertain. The circle loosened but didn’t break.

Riku didn’t lower his hands. "You barred the dock," he said, voice clipped.

Murata’s jaw flexed once. "I told them to if you didn’t return by midnight."

"It’s not midnight."

"I heard engines," Murata said. "I saw the street at the front. Do you know what else I heard? Groans. And gunfire. You bring that to my door, I bar it."

"You almost barred us out for good," Riku said. "With a child at that door."

A muscle jumped in Murata’s cheek. He looked at Hana. Something flickered behind his eyes—regret, maybe—but it was gone too fast to hold.

"This isn’t the place to argue," he said. "Put the rifle down, and we’ll talk."

Riku’s stare didn’t move. "I’m not putting anything down."

A quiet span stretched between them—breaths, distant metal creaks, the soft slide of bats settling on tile as a few more hands gave up the fight. The mob’s heat bled away in slow degrees.

Murata exhaled. "Then talk," he said. "Because if you intend to stay... we need rules."

Riku’s fingers flexed once on the sling. He didn’t smile. "Good," he said. "I’ve got a few."

The words hung in the air like the snap of a trigger. For a moment, no one moved—the crowd caught between fear and obedience, the moans of the dead outside still faintly leaking through the barricades. Murata’s eyes narrowed, but he gave a slow nod, conceding the floor.

Riku’s stance didn’t relax. His gaze swept the mob, daring anyone to raise a weapon again. "From now on," he said coldly, "things change. You wanted rules? You’ll hear mine."

The tension shifted, not gone, but waiting. The next battle wasn’t with the dead—it was with the living.