Canned Souls 7

Button Street was a renowned melting pot where you could find firearms, ammunition, entertainment clubs, bars, and casinos—everything under the sun.

It was the most bustling, chaotic, and strangely rule-bound place around.

They set out at noon and arrived just as Gina's shop was opening.

She wore a gray tank top with dark green cargo pants, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. A tattoo of a bird peeked out from her bare waist, only half a wing visible, the rest hidden beneath her clothes.

"Business on arrival—what can I get you?" Gina leaned on the counter, her eyes lifting like a cat's.

Her right hand was a prosthetic, sleek and domestic-looking, with no heavy weaponry attached.

Yan Xianchuan glanced at Tan Yiyuan, who looked back, signaling she should decide.

Yan Xianchuan: ...She didn't have a clue.

"The best and most expensive. For guns, nothing too loud, but with enough stopping power..." She paused, deciding to be direct. "We're two people taking on a whole gang. Any recommendations?"

Gina sized them up for a moment, then let out a whistle. "Impressive!"

"Let me think... Gilver handgun, best penetration. Orange handgun, fastest fire rate. And this one—essential," Gina bent down and pulled out a round grenade, tossing it in her palm. "Apple Pie. Besides the usual explosion, it releases an electric arc that disrupts communications."

The black grenade looked like a child's toy in her hand. "For quiet work, a dagger is your best bet. A stab from behind—one hit, one kill."

She turned and picked out a knife from a wall of blades. It had a serrated spine and a blood groove along the side, and with a flick of her finger, the little knife spun a flourish in her hand. "The Reaper. My favorite."

She set it on the counter, its blade gleaming silver and sharp.

"I don't know much about this. You choose," Yan Xianchuan said.

"Alright," Tan Yiyuan, sensing she wasn't just being polite, struck up a discussion with the shop owner. They haggled back and forth, and he proved to be a surprisingly skilled negotiator, turning Gina's face pale and nearly provoking a fight.

Each of them equipped a handgun, two grenades, and a knife, plus a few smoke bombs. Carrying too much would slow them down—taking the enemy's weapons was the smarter play.

Yan Xianchuan paid, and the goods would be delivered that evening, though she tucked the dagger into her belt and took it with her.

It felt familiar. Back in the lower tiers, she always carried a dagger, useful in every situation, until she'd become one of the best and broken the habit.

The pressure at her lower back seemed to drag her back to those days, to that desperate struggle for survival. Yan Xianchuan narrowed her eyes, and suddenly, a surge of excitement rose within her.

When she'd first decided to help Tan Yiyuan, she thought she was doing what any decent person would—proving she was still human, not some numb psychopath numbed by escape games.

So she'd maintained an attitude of "could take it or leave it" throughout, figuring that if this failed, she could always find another poor soul to help, doing another "good deed."

But now, a thrill swelled in Yan Xianchuan's chest—the pounding heartbeat of near-death, the spike of adrenaline, the spray of blood on a counterattack, the wild laughter of survival.

Her brow twitched, a subtle shift that turned her from a cold wooden doll into a living person.

Yan Xianchuan curved her lips slightly, savoring this hard-won emotional stir.

She'd known it—she was normal. The numbness was just a mask to fit in. Why else would the thought of helping others make her so excited?

"Let's go to Reincarnation," Yan Xianchuan said, taking the initiative for once.

****

Outside a small building on Peace Street, two fully armed figures crouched in the back alley, confirming their sole objective—take out Gasco.

Without their leader, the rest of the Black Claw Gang would scatter and flee. They were all desperadoes, without honor, and would harbor no thoughts of revenge.

Once Gasco was dead, Tan Yiyuan could finally find true peace.

Gasco was easy to spot: a burly bald man with a mechanical leg and a fondness for black leather jackets.

The Black Claw Gang was holed up in a four-story mini-mall.

In Yan Xianchuan's mind, she could handle it alone, but Tan Yiyuan refused to let her risk herself for his sake. He couldn't accept watching someone else save his life while he hid in the shadows.

Before leaving, Yan Xianchuan stopped by the shooting range to familiarize herself with her weapons. Now, she climbed the roof of the neighboring building with silent grace, aimed her grenade at the fourth-floor window, counted three seconds, and tossed it in.

The explosion crackled with electric sparks, and in the next moment, Yan Xianchuan pushed off with her rear leg, leaping easily, shattering the glass as she landed on the balcony.

The electromagnetic wave from the grenade did its job, disrupting the brain chips and damaging communications.

While the enemies were still deaf from the close-range blast, Yan Xianchuan rolled on the ground, using a sofa as cover, and drew her handgun, picking off each person in the room with precise headshots—each round blooming a crimson flower.

It felt like her blood was flowing through her body for the first time, sending heat to every limb.

As flames licked forward, the Black Claw members finally reacted, shouting, "Shit! We're under attack!"

"Fourth floor! Fourth floor!"

Dozens more rushed up the stairs, brandishing machine guns for a spray of fire. Yan Xianchuan remained calm, rolling a smoke grenade out from her right hand.

It lived up to its price tag of tens of thousands of credits. The smoke it belched out obscured visibility better than the harshest snowstorm.

The Black Claw members halted their fire, fearing friendly fire, and resorted to the slow manual search.

For Yan Xianchuan, though, this environment was the perfect killing field. No need to tell friend from foe—every soul she met was a target to harvest.

Gripping her dagger, she listened intently to each set of footsteps, circling behind them, covering mouths and noses, and slicing throats with silent precision.

She moved with swift, cool efficiency, the spreading coppery scent the only harbinger of the slaughter.

She thought of herself as a precise calculator, mapping out the optimal route in the obscured field.

If a mirror had been before her to reflect her face, she would have seen the hunter's glee in her eyes—a gaze devoid of humanity, only a rising bloodlust.

Even now, she chalked up her racing heart to the joy of impending success and the pleasure of doing good.

Tan Yiyuan wasn't making as much noise. He wore a mask, posing as a shopper, and when the guards were drawn upstairs and onlookers scattered in panic, he slipped into the surveillance room, dispatched the operator, and scanned the monitors for Gasco.

This was his closest brush with a new life.

Tan Yiyuan took a deep breath, eyes locked on the big screen as he searched for the target.

Finally, Gasco appeared, and he seized on him instantly.

Second floor. He was on the second-floor stairwell, with dozens of men around him, heading up to the third—presumably to deal with Yan Xianchuan.

Of course, Yan Xianchuan wasn't about to stick to that tiny fourth-floor room. If they lobbed in a few grenades, would she be walking into her own death?

Catching the enemy off guard, she slipped away after reaping a wave. The mall's layout was complex, with many shops and blind spots, and with surveillance and communications down, the Black Claw members could only rely on their numbers for a sweeping search.

That was her chance to pick them off one by one.

The dagger in her hand remained gleaming silver, untouched by blood, but Yan Xianchuan's clothes weren't so clean—large patches of crimson stained them, someone else's blood.

Using the visual blind spots created by the uneven terrain, Yan Xianchuan easily dealt with an approaching enemy, snapping his neck before dragging the body back and stashing it in a dumpling shop.

It didn't need to be meticulous—just ensuring no one noticed a missing man right away.

She moved through the crowd, the quietest of hunters.

With communications blocked, neither Yan Xianchuan nor Tan Yiyuan could reach each other, and if anything went off plan, they'd have to improvise.

So far, so good.

Gasco, however, was starting to feel uneasy. His men kept dropping, yet he had no idea if the attacker was male or female, or what they looked like.

Sitting idle wasn't his style. Gasco had his men set up speakers and bellowed, "Hey, friend! You're slaughtering on my turf without a word. There's got to be a reason."

"Whatever it is, let's talk it out and bury the hatchet. If not, my Black Claw has a hundred men, and we're not pushovers."

As he spoke, he signaled his men. More filed in with guns, two by two, nearly filling the fourth floor.

Gasco stood at the back, near the staircase, ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

Yan Xianchuan paid his words no mind, but the denser crowd did pose a greater threat. She couldn't pick them off one by one anymore—her only option was to face them head-on.

And killing was exactly what she did best.

Bright white lines traced the paths of bullets, the acrid stench of gunpowder filled the air, and gunfire thundered like a storm.

In an instant, a row of people fell. Severed limbs flew, amid shouts of panic and rage, Yan Xianchuan dove behind another counter, swapped her cover, then popped out for another spray.

The scene descended into chaos. Black Claw members surged forward like waves, determined to take down the intruder, their dense gunfire tearing the counter apart like a hailstorm.

As she shifted positions again, a bullet tore through her left leg with a soft pop, sending up a spray of blood. Yan Xianchuan's brow didn't even twitch. She threw a grenade in retaliation.

"Everyone, stop!"

Amid the explosions, a loud shout echoed through the speakers. All firing ceased as everyone turned to see Gasco's bald head pinned under a gun barrel, sweat dripping down his temples.

"Tan Yiyuan," he snarled between gritted teeth.