Inside the washroom of 15 Minsk Street, Cherwood Borough, Backlund, a deep blue radiance rippled across the mirror set into the wall, and a "door" silently took shape.
Bang!
Cyril's body was stiff as he tumbled out from behind the "door" in an extremely awkward posture, landing heavily on the floor.
Whoosh~
Smack! Smack!
A small black-feathered bone arrow brushed past his hair and embedded itself in the washstand behind him. Another landed on his petrified pant leg before bouncing away.
He instinctively tried to get up and dodge, but the stiffness in his body had yet to fade, leaving him unable to make any large movements. He could only awkwardly, blankly, and helplessly look up at the two people outside the washroom, whose battle had paused because of his sudden appearance.
He knew one of them and had met him before. As for the other, he roughly knew who he was too:
Klein, whose disguise was still rather crude at present—or rather, Detective Sherlock Moriarty—and Momsor, the Zimang Party's "Punisher," who would likely be coming to assassinate him around this time.
After roughly figuring out the situation, he symbolically raised a hand.
"Uh, should I say good afternoon, or surrender first?"
Neither of the two vigilant men outside the washroom paid him any attention. The next second, the battle resumed.
The Zimang Party's black-clad "Punisher," Momsor, rapidly closed in on Klein. Klein reacted, but his body could not keep up with his mind. He took a punch to the chest and was sent flying backward.
In midair, Klein twisted his body aside to evade the Punisher's pursuit. Relying on the Clown's instinctive precognition, he repeatedly dodged the other man's punches and kicks.
Bang!
A bright silver arc flashed past. The Punisher pursuing Klein paused mid-motion. He had been shot.