Rem left the restaurant and headed steadily toward the curb, where a white delivery van was parked. People avoided it, giving it a wide berth as though it contained something that no one should be near.
Rem stopped at the side door, yanked it open and found two men who looked like bums inside evident by their greasy and grimey they looked—one seated on the floor, the other standing by the entrance as if waiting for him.
The standing man asked in a low voice, eyes empty: "You have the thing?"
Rem shoved the man aside and stepped in without a word, closing the door behind him with a quick kick. He sat on the single rusty folding seat at the back of the van and glanced around with thin mockery.
"Tell me—did your boss send you? I expected something fancier. A limousine, maybe. Yes—now that would've looked good instead of this ...make me thing you guys led me here rape me....you're not gonna rape me right ?? Were buddies right ? " The seated man slowly raised his head, his voice thick with arrogance as he reached for his coat.
"We just ...don't want anyone seeing what will happens inside this van" the man added.
A crooked smile played at Rem's lips ,when his eyes slid to the worn seat and the old shackles attached to the floor. "Oh, really?" he said quietly. Then he looked up at the man and smiled wider. "And what will happen, exactly?"
He already knew the answer—the smell of rust, the gouges on the metal , the smell of semen and blood , the whole scene told him this was a place for torture, not honest transport.
In a flash the seated man drew a handgun. He raised it at Rem—but the gun didn't fire; the trigger wouldn't pull.
The man lowered his gaze in shock and saw his fingers burning, crushed and mangled—then comprehension hit: when he had moved to fire, Rem's boot had lashed out and struck his hand at the exact moment he pulled the trigger. He hadn't even see rem leg move it just blurred
Rem wore a sardonic smile on his lips as he shrugged "What? Shoot me no ?" he mocked
"Filthy bastard!" the man snarled, reaching for the gun with his other hand—only to find the foot of his colleague pressed down on it. He looked up to meet his eyes
"What are you doing, aono? Don't you see the bullet hanging around his neck? This is our chance—" the first man began.
Aono cut him off with a cold, flat "Shut up."
Rem toyed with a loose thread on his suit and said dryly, ignoring the tension: "You actually torture people in this van? How amateurish."
aono stared back coolly. "Why does that matter to you?"
Rem's voice dripped with scorn. "It doesn't— I just find it funny. The Yakuza don't even know the basics of their own business." He pointed with his bare toe to a corner where old dark blood stains crusted the metal. "First of all—you didn't even bother using plastic sheets or anything to contain the blood. I can tell from the filthy floor alone. Scuff marks on the windows, inside and out... even a child could tell someone was tortured here. Which, by the way, isn't how this is supposed to go. Kids usually walk into vans willingly. And no soundproofing? Not even a cheap sponge to muffle the noise? Just who the hell do you guys think you are? Do you really think you can afford to be this careless? Judging by the look of this place, I doubt you could even afford a decent face wash "
The two men stared at each other with shocked expressions
The van suddenly stopped. "We're here," the driver said, halting before an abandoned factory.
Everyone climbed out of the van—Rem was the last to step down. A cluster of men in dark suits and polished shoes waited near the entrance, their presence alone enough to mark them as Yakuza. At the front stood a short man with a greasy beard and a hat he was standing with his back slouched—a man who looked, in every possible way, like what every sane person tries not to look like.
. He nodded toward Rem and spoke in a rough voice: "You're the Devil Hunter I spoke with yesterday—the guy who ran the auction on the dark web, right?"
Rem nodded slowly. "You could say that."
The old man turned and led the way toward the factory. "Then come—follow me."
Rem didn't move. The old man turned in surprise. "why arent you following?"
Rem replied coldly, "I don't see a reason to."
One Yakuza stepped forward angrily. "You bastard—don't waste our time—"
The old man raised a hand and the man retreated under that look. "Fine. If he wants to make the deal here, so be it." He then said to one of his men, "Bring the money."
"Right away, boss!" the man answered.
He ran toward the factory at top speed—only to collide with something and tumble, screaming, onto the pavement.
"Aaah! My leg!!" he howled in pain, clutching at himself.
"What the hell—?" someone muttered, and everyone turned toward the disturbance.
In the middle of the road lay a blond boy, clothes dusty from falling on the sand. The unfortunate Yakuza had a strange creature lodged in his leg—like a dog, but in the front of its head was a chainsaw, the chainsaw blade buried in the man's thigh.
The blond boy groaned and clutched his head as he got up. "Ugh… my head." He looked up and, seeing the man and the his, shouted, "Pochita!!" and charged toward them. "Hey, get away from him!" he shouted as he ran towards him unsteadily
" Get it off me—please someone help!" the wounded man begged his companions, but none moved they only watched him in silence. Tears ran into his eyes as hate began to surface. Then the boy appeared, holding the dog by its rear.
"Pochita! Are you okay?" the boy called.
"Woof!" Pochita barked.
" DAMN IT KID YOU SHOULD BE ASKING ME THAT ! THIS IS YO-
"All right, let's get you out." The boy yanked at the dog, but it didn't budge. The man screamed again, "Someone help! It's moving—the chainsaw IS MOVING! BOSS !!, HELP!" The chainsaw in the dog began to churn " GAAAAAAAH ! "slicing into the man's leg until it turned into it into a nasty mess of flesh and muscle. The man collapsed, unconscious
"Hah…" the boss sighed, eyeing the boy coldly. "What are you doing here, Denji? Don't you see we're in the middle of business? Get out before I get angry."
The boy wiped the man's blood from Boshita's saw. "But I brought you demon corpses and ive been standing here since yesterday —where's my reward?"
' chainsaw ...didnt lil D mention something about this ? Chainsaw man was it ?'Rem watched the boy with a strange smile, then asked the boss, "Who is this boy?"
The boss shrugged and replied coldly, scratching his beard. "The kid's father—some filthy man who owed us money—killed himself before he could pay, so the debt passed to the boy. But that doesn't matter anymore Kill him." He nodded to one of his men.
Rem lifted a hand. "Wait," he said, eyes locked on the boy.
"What now?" the boss snapped irritably.
"Forget the money… I want this kid instead of the money" Rem stepped slowly toward Denji.
The men all shouted in astonishment: "What?!" Faces split between shock and disbelief, while the boss remained composed.
"Are you sure? May I ask why?" the boss asked coldly. "A Gun Devil bullet can fetch tens of millions on the black market. It's hard to believe you'd trade it for a stray kid."
Rem smiled faintly and put a hand on Denji's shoulder, the mockery in his voice softening. "Let's say I… like kids in alot of ways. Does that answer you?" he said, making Denji flinch and Pochita growl. Rem winked at Denji to calm him only for it to make him more uneased which made rem sigh. "So—deal or continue asking questions?" he said turning his head to meet the boss gaze