OF DEBT BONDAGE AND DETERMINATION

A/N: Sequel to The Hellhound of Billion.

All disclaimers apply.

The crimson patches on his t-shirt and pants widened as he clambered up the staircase. Those nasty gashes. Fortunately, necrolyzation had dulled the pain. But it didn't prevent the blood loss from taking a toll on his body; he still had to rely on his gut to trudge through the blurred and spinning environment.

As he took another step, his ears registered a thump from below. And his body smashed against the stairs, shattering the ceramic beneath. Darn. But remembering the Millennion agents behind him and their unspoken request, he refused to succumb. They still needed him to clear the path.

Gripping the metal railing tightly, he pulled himself up. The handrail couldn't cope with his strength; one of the iron bars gave way with a loud snap. He rolled back down with the metal rod in his hand, further staining his clothes red.

"Mr. Brandon!" a man's voice called out. "You'd better go back to the tower. You can no longer explore the lab like this."

However, Brandon simply struck the ground with the iron rod and rose to his feet.

No. I can't repay Millennion if I give up now.

If Millennion hadn't existed, he'd have spent the rest of his life on a bed or a wheelchair. Without the money to buy some refined necrolyzation serum, his sound leg wouldn't have regained its strength that fast.

With a four-pronged cane in his hand and Mika beside him, Brandon wandered around the maze of cars. As they roamed the less crowded area of the basement, the little girl suggested, "Hey, let's see who's faster."

Stopping in his tracks, he looked down to see Mika's smiling face. Well, he wouldn't stand a chance against her in a race, but losing against his own family wouldn't hurt anyway.

He nodded at her.

"Okay." Mika pointed at the elevator area. Two guardsmen sat on the steel bench beside the lift, their eyes fixed upon the hanging TV.

What's so interesting? Brandon wondered, storming towards the guards with a frown. Not that he wanted to make a fuss with those guys, but seriously, Biscoe paid them to watch over the basement, not the TV.

When he approached them, though, he learnt why they couldn't take their eyes off the screen. He couldn't see what they watched by standing under the TV, but his ears had picked up something interesting from the program.

"Thanks, Mrs. Amy," a man's voice said. "I was on my way home from work last night. Then, a green-skinned giant appeared and blocked my path."

Someone has just ingested some necrolyzation serum, Brandon concluded, limping ahead. But where had that person found that vile green liquid?

Shifting his gaze to the TV, he saw the words "Danny Chang" and "Owner of Jade Dragon Restaurant" below a bespectacled black-haired man. The labels brought him back to the moment Biscoe signed a business contract with Gatou Gang, in which the organization's leader, Richard Wong, had invited the old mob boss to Danny's restaurant for the meeting.

Brandon smiled at the memory. That night, one of Biscoe's escorts had fallen ill, so the mob boss had asked him to replace the sick bodyguard. Accepting that side job had earned him a large portion of braised sea cucumber with pork. Since his digestive system had long died, Brandon had given all the food to Mika. For once, the little girl finally had the chance to eat something exquisite.

A man's voice snapped him out of his reverie. "Hey, Mr. Brandon. Take a seat."

Brandon returned his focus to the bench and the guardsmen - Daniel and Nick. As he headed towards the space beside Daniel, a girl's voice from behind stopped him. He glanced over his shoulder to see a sprinting Mika.

"You're fast!" Mika said, trotting past him. "You're getting even better today."

Brandon only grinned. That burst of speed had actually stemmed from his annoyance; at the sight of these sloths, he couldn't help but forget about his unsteady ankle. He did feel a little uneasy after knowing why they kept staring at the TV, though, because the guards just wanted to stay up-to-date.

But still, being able to walk this fast felt great. He could soon retire his cane and start repaying Millennion for restoring his mobility.

"He's eager to rough up those stubborn clients already." Daniel laughed. "Or maybe he wants to hunt down this stray necrolyzer." He nudged Nick, whose gaze hadn't left the hanging TV. "Am I right?"

"Another necrolyzer?" Mika asked.

"He attacked a wealthy Gatou guy last night."

Brandon growled; thoughts of Gatou breaking their contract with Millennion plagued his mind. Whenever a stray necrolyzer terrorized the town, Millennion would always take the heat. "Because only that organization knows about reanimating the dead!" they always said.

Without giving a second thought, Brandon turned around and hurried to the trailer. He had to stop this necrolyzer before it caused a bigger problem to Millennion. Biscoe's command - if it did exist anyway - be damned; that sentimental mob boss would only harm the organization if he forced him to stay inside the building.

He pulled the trailer's door open and leapt into the long, narrow room. Placing his walking stick on the computer desk, he yanked the drawer open and revealed the twin pair of Cerberus handguns - Right Head and Left Head - in it. With a barrel length of sixty centimeters, these 15mm caliber guns could bring even the biggest necrolyzer to its knees.

Time to work.

"You go out to hunt that necrolyzer without telling Boss." Albert steered the wheel. "That's a bad idea. I heard you still can't walk properly without a cane."

"When the situation calls for it, I can just push my body beyond its limit." Brandon lifted the flap of his greatcoat, revealing the holstered Right Head. "And I'm prepared."

Albert looked at the gun. "But you only bring one of them."

Releasing the flap, he remained silent. His new driver wouldn't understand him even if he told him his plan anyway. In the fight, he would use Right Head first. Once his foe knocked it out of his hand, he would draw Left Head. Hidden near where his left arm used to be, it made a perfect weapon for a surprise attack.

With their car speeding along the road, Brandon looked through the window. Various vehicles and livings roamed the streets, which resulted in a raised eyebrow. The news didn't seem to terrify people, or maybe everybody just wanted to earn a living.

Suddenly, Brandon felt an intermittent vibration around his thigh. He sighed at the feeling; did Biscoe want him to turn back? But he decided to answer the call anyway; one had to treat a mob boss with respect.

"Good afternoon, Brandon," Biscoe said. "I heard you were searching for that stray necrolyzer."

"Yeah." He looked around for the signs of a green-skinned giant. Unfortunately, he only saw people and vehicles passing by.

"Can't you just stay inside your trailer for the rest of the summer holiday?" the mob boss grumbled. "Nobody will call you a lazy bum."

It's a matter of debt, he replied in his mind, continuing his observation, not laziness. Still, his visual field only caught passersby and speeding cars.

"I doubt I can convince you to go back. Miss Mika couldn't even stop you, so I wouldn't bother." A pause. "Anyway, I've sent a few Anti-Necrolyze squads to help you out. But remember. When things aren't going well, there's nothing wrong with falling back. That's all." The call went out with a click.

Brandon returned his phone to his pants pocket with a frown. Retreating? No. People just had to put more effort in order to succeed.

Albert's voice snapped him out of his reverie. "Was it Boss?" Brandon nodded at that, and the driver continued, "He didn't ask you to go back?" Brandon shook his head. "How odd."

"That's very wise of him." Except that he still sent some people to help me out. He needs to learn the value of his men's lives.

"Wise? I don't think so. He shouldn't have allowed you to go out and fight a necrolyzer. It's too risky."

Whatever. Brandon remained still. After all, Albert lived a different life; he didn't need Millennion so badly to stay alive and healthy.

Signs of life gradually diminished as the car went further ahead. Broken glass windows and peeling wall paints marked the buildings around. Nobody wandered around the pavement either.

"We're about to reach West District," Albert noted, driving more slowly. "Honestly, I think it's better known as Ghost District. But hobos like that place. And it's also a good shortcut to many areas in Billion." He chuckled. "No traffic jam."

The lack of people nearby drew Brandon's attention. However, it didn't interest him more than the bloody corpse on the sidewalk. It had lost a leg.

"Stop," Brandon commanded, unlocking the car door. "You go find a safe place."

"What is it?"

"You go find a safe place," Brandon reiterated very firmly, stepping out. Weakness immediately haunted his sound ankle, though. And he smashed into the concrete face first.

A thud echoed, followed by a set of booming footsteps. Getting up, Brandon spotted a headless corpse at the intersection.

The target must be nearby. He pulled Right Head out of its holster and dashed towards the junction. The heavy footsteps drew closer, closer, and...

Bang!

A roar exploded across the desolate streets. Brandon turned around; further in front of his smoking gun, a green-skinned giant charged at him with his large, knife-like claws at front. One of the bloodstained fingernails had nothing but jagged edges of red.

Those claws... This doesn't look like a normal necrolyzer. But he had no time to waste. Trigger pulled. An ear torn off. Another howl.

As he attempted another shot, the behemoth's palm struck the muzzle. Brandon tumbled, but his trigger finger remained steady. His bullet punched clean through the giant's hand. Didn't stop the unexpected claws to his stomach, though.

The ogre pulled away before slashing down. A swing of Right Head deflected the gigantic blades, and Brandon used the interval to fire. A barrage of bullets pummeled the giant in his chest, pushing him back while carving holes on his bloodied torso.

However, the green-skinned giant decided to walk through the assault. The change of move prompted Brandon to aim at the necrolyzer's head. But a kick to his wrist foiled the killing blow. And the ogre launched his claws at him.

Brandon rolled to his right side. But still, those blades grazed his back. Another slash came, and he rolled again. The huge nails hit nothing but the solid ground, sending small slabs of concrete into the air.

Draw Left Head now!

He listened to his heart. But the green-skinned giant had regained his composure and shot his claws into his left thigh. He dragged them down, ripping the sinew asunder.

Claws still shredding Brandon's thigh, the behemoth dived in with a roar. His jagged teeth, dripping with gore and saliva, hung just a few centimeters away from Brandon's face. The droplets of foul fluid hit his only eye, but he refused to submit to the darkness.

As the green-skinned giant went for the kill, Brandon slapped the ogre with the barrel of his gun. The blow stunned him, and Brandon pressed the muzzle against the behemoth's forehead. Several gunshots rang before the stray necrolyzer fell.

Rising to a sitting position, Brandon studied the motionless body. Patches of blood - old and new, big and small - covered the giant's chiseled torso. How many had he killed since last night? And those big, pointy nails... As far as he knew, someone who had ingested the necrolyzation serum never grew those things.

He'd better tell Biscoe about this, as the research facility would provide a better answer. But still, where did the serum come from? Was there a lab nearby?

Holstering Left Head and taking out his phone, he heard the scamper of many legs. Another incoming? A hellhound? Impossible. Those dogs couldn't live for more than five days, while a week had passed since they first appeared in the town.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Albert with a group of men in helmets and body armors. The Anti-Necrolyze squads had come, their rifles in hands. Good thing he'd dispatched the green-skinned giant, so those armed humans didn't have to risk their well-being.

"You killed it already?" one of the men asked. "Well, leave the clean-up to us."

"Yes, we should go home," Albert added, pointing at Brandon's bleeding thigh and stomach. "You need to have those wounds treated ASAP."

However, Brandon only stood up. "There must be a lab nearby."

As he limped away, he could hear Albert say, "The Anti-Necrolyze squads can handle it." A pause. "Hey, you hear me?" Brandon pressed on, bringing about a question from Albert, "Why do you insist on investigating the matter?"

"Because," he answered, "I'm indebted to Millennion."

Supporting himself with the iron rod, Brandon finally reached the top. Wrecked steel cages and metallic scraps lay everywhere in the small rectangular room. Fiberglass tables leant against the wall in front of him, with broken test tubes and syringes scattered across the bloodstained tabletop.

"This place makes me wish for an impaired sense of smell like you, Sir," a man said from behind. "It smells rotten."

Dying necrolyzed beings also produced that odor, so Brandon looked around with his ears perked up. He didn't catch anything in his blurred and half-black visual field, but something squeaked. A rat? A necrolyzed rat perhaps?

Breathing felt like swimming against the raging currents as he hobbled around the lab. The fabric around his wounds clung to his skin with each step. Suddenly, his sound leg lost its strength and sent him tumbling. But he forced himself back up with the iron rod.

"You'd better go back now," one of the agents advised. "Your condition is worsening."

Brandon stood still, gasping for breath. I won't leave until you've checked the whole lab. Seconds later, he heard light footsteps and rustles. But those squeaks hadn't vanished.

"Found something!"

He turned. An armored man ran towards them with sheets of tattered paper. Looks like someone's research, he thought.

The agent stared at the documents. "Dr. Charles Goh? This is his lab then."

"Seize every document and-" Breathlessness cut him short, but his ears remained alert. Those squeaks drew closer, prompting him to look around frantically.

"Relax, Sir," the agent told him. "We know. We'll look for the necrolyzation-" The batch of paper suddenly slipped out of his hands as he let out a loud, "Ouch!"

"A rat?"

Brandon looked down to see a big black furball clinging to the agent's armored thigh. And he spotted a smudge of red around its head. A necrolyzed rat, he concluded, thrusting his rod to its right side. The tailed fuzzball fell off with a piece of fabric and flesh in its jaws.

"That's not an ordinary rat!" Clicks echoed. "Prepare yourselves!"

However, upon landing on the floor, the rodent gnawed at the man's shoe. Unless the agents wanted to risk their comrade's safety, no bullet would harm it.

Brandon was their last hope.

With a swing of the rod, he sent the rat flying. And a hail of anti-necrolyze rounds reduced the rodent to shreds.

"Never thought there would be a necrolyzed rat." He felt a pat on his back. "Thank you, Sir."

He smiled and nodded, standing still with his watchful ears and eye. Although the high-pitched cries had disappeared, his job wasn't over. Something might just pop out of the blue.

Minutes flew by, and his work was finally over. The agents had hauled every batch of documents and vial of green liquid into their truck. Those items, too, had spawned various theories about the stray necrolyzer. Brandon preferred Albert's guess, though.

"A hobo must've found the serum here," Albert said, supporting Brandon to the car from his right side. "But those claws? I think it's the serum's quality talking. Considering many days had passed since Dr. Charles turned into a necrolyzer, that hobo might have consumed some expired serum."

Once Albert shut the door for him, his body submitted to the gentle darkness. He'd done Millennion a favor and paid a little of his debt for today.