January 4th, 2044
09:45 AM
Sin Ward
Desire District
Nanbu Naoya
Sin Ward closed its hands around Naoya like a dark embrace, blocking out the view of the world outside as buildings pressed in around him. Above him was a roof that filtered out the meager sunlight and the sound of the rain, replacing the weather with the image of twinkling stars in a dark sky. The illusion was so real, it was easy to forget what time it was outside of Sin Ward’s many “dark spots.” Racing through the manmade night, Naoya wondered what kind of people chose to live beneath the tenebrous dome, but then, he quickly remembered the obvious answer to his foolish question.
From the buildings on either side of him, flashed signs of all sizes and types, promising every sort of carnal pleasure a man could ask for. Gambling, alcohol, female companionship; a thousand shops seemed to be advertising on each block he passed. Each establishment of sin promised that they had the most premium liquor, the hottest tables, and the youngest girls in town, all to compete for what Naoya thought had to be a vanishingly small market share. Afterall, Sin Ward had to be filled with innumerable businesses just the same as these. But all the blaring signs and digital displays of beautiful women pouring drinks held no allure for Naoya, no matter how many times they reminded him of their “quality service at low prices.”
Naoya sped by on his bike, ignoring the constant advertisements and the stifling darkness, bracing himself to leave the shelter of the tenebrous roof above him before he emerged back out under the dreary grey sky and the ever-present rain. Naoya’s bike was a Black Mountain brand “Bridge-Runner,” a heavy motorcycle that had been developed nearly a decade prior when Yōgai-shima was founded. It didn’t have the nanite structure of more recent and costly automobiles, but the Bridge-Runner was still a machine built for endurance, as everything on Yōgai-shima was.
The wheels of the Bridge-Runner were thick and round, so much so that Naoya didn’t need a kickstand to keep the vehicle balanced when he wasn’t on it. The wheels themselves were made of a complex fusion of materials to make them difficult to puncture, and their insides were filled with a special aerosol rather than air. If the wheels were compromised, the gas inside would leak out and rapidly harden into a light grey scab to maintain the wheel’s pressure. Naoya’s own wheels, worn as they were, were battle-scarred and covered in countless grey wounds from the long time he’d spent riding it.
The rims of the wheels, the suspension, and the frame of the bike were solid black with an angular, multi-faceted design. The fuel tank had been replaced with a self-contained fuel cell that had a decade long guarantee of service and a compact engine housed behind a sharp shell. The bike had a single cyclopean eye to serve as a headlight, though the device was currently hidden behind a mechanical eyelid. Behind Naoya’s seat was a large container, fixed to the frame of the bike, the only addition to its original layout. The square silver box stood out against the jet black bike, unlike the heavy rider on it.
Naoya was a tall man; he was reminded of that daily here in Yōgai-shima. Standing over six-foot-three, Naoya towered over most of the people he met, and his height was only matched by his broad shoulders and frame. He hadn’t chosen the Bridge-Runner just because he liked the look of it, but because smaller bikes were just too uncomfortable for him. But he emulated the bike in more than just size.
Naoya wore a jet black nanite coat, the most expensive bit of clothing he owned, which appeared as a leather biker jacket. The jacket had bronze zippers on its wrists, and an off-center zipper ran up the left side of his chest. Across the sleeves of the synthetic leather ran burnished bronze lines that were reminiscent of the sharp and jagged lines of circuitry, along with bronze pentahedrons among the linework. Beneath the jacket, Naoya wore a slate grey pair of cargo pants for utility, and brown boots. Shielding his head was a battered brown helmet that had seen its fair share of accidents, and he protected his eyes with a pair of goggles.
Looking through the smart-lenses of his goggles, the device displayed a digital path through the flooded streets of Sin Ward, cutting through the constant visual noise of the city beyond, and directed him to climb onto the ramp that led to the city’s southernmost highway which ran from east to west. Naoya obeyed the directions he was given, though he didn’t need them, as he’d run this route a dozen times. Up onto the ramp, he climbed, gaining a momentary vantage through allowed him to see more of Sin Ward.
To the north, the larger-than-life towers of Temptation District stood tall, inviting and gregarious even in the daylight. Skyscrapers shaped like embracing goddesses, or champagne bottles, or volcanoes, shined and glowed in the dismal morning, inviting travelers to partake in an escape from the dreary world. Above all the other towers was Tsukuyomi, a private city condensed into one of the tallest towers on the island, which was surrounded by another private city of much small buildings clustered around its base. A black sky stretched out over the peak of the massive spire, casting it into permanent night. The false darkness was lit only by a lying moon; a pale orb that shined over the parapets of Tsukuyomi, allowing the building to be seen from any point in Yōgai-shima.
Tens of thousands of men and women frequented Temptation District every day, and perhaps hundreds of thousands came at night. Naoya never did, though; at least not to drink or gamble. Somewhere in the city, someone needed something, and Naoya’s job was to provide.
As convenient as Yōgai-shima was made to be, the people on it still needed help in a million small ways. Sometimes, that meant doing some on the spot maintenance. Other times, it was a little extra physical labor. Today, it was a delivery. Deliveries were what Naoya had been doing since the start of the year, once Hurricane Izumi rolled in. As stalwart as the people of the city appeared in the face of natural disasters, no one liked facing the wrath of the typhoon head on if they could help it. However, that did leave plenty of work for Naoya, so he couldn’t complain, despite the depressing weather.
Soon, the time came for Naoya to break from the highway as his journey east neared its end. He took the exit ramp that forced him down, back into the city’s gullet, where tightly packed buildings crowded out the sky, denying him any view of the city’s distant corners. He slowed the bike as he rolled through the busy streets, where men and woman crossed the streets without care for traffic or the howling wind. More digital displays beamed advertisements into the streets, creating a visual and audible noise that was blunted only by Naoya’s helmet. He tuned out all the distractions out with learned practice, keeping his attention fixed on the road ahead.
He saw his destination out of the corner of his eye; a five-story oval-shaped building sitting among an assortment of taller neighbors on all sides. A red holographic banner made the stunted building stand out against its compatriots, tempting passersby with the silhouette of a nude woman being entangled by a serpentine crimson dragon that licked its hostage’s cheek with a forked tongue. The coils of the wyrm wrapped around the captive’s breasts and hips, carefully censoring any nudity, while still leaving plenty of flesh bare for the world to see. Beneath the provocative display, the establishment displayed its name: “The Virgin Sacrifice.”
Naoya brought the Bridge-Runner to a halt alongside the street and parked it, and the machine played a deep tone to signal that its whisper-quiet engine had shut off. Taking hold of his goggles, Naoya tugged at them once, and they broke apart. He held the lenses out in his hand as they dissolved and reshaped themselves, transforming into a black Augur with a yellow screen that displayed a map of the city. A soft blue blinking beacon represented Naoya’s current location, juxtaposed with red marker that signaled his destination. Naoya tapped the screen to signal he’d arrived and climbed off the bike.
“Amazing,” commented a wry voice from the sidewalk as Naoya stepped around the bike to open the box on the back. Naoya looked up to see a man standing on the sidewalk, dressed in a translucent red rain parka, who was shaking his head in disbelief and holding a lit cigarette in his right hand. “I can’t believe you’re still doing this gig shit in the middle of a rainstorm.”
“Well, it beats being trapped inside all day, Ichinose-san,” Naoya countered, and pulled a brown parcel out of the box before he slammed it shut.
“You’re absolutely insane,” the bystander disagreed, as he had done every time Naoya came by. Standing a head shorter than Naoya, Ichinose had a head of cropped brown hair atop a lean face with a thin smattering of hair on his chin that was supposed to pass for a goatee. Beneath his wet parka, Ichinose wore a light grey sweater and light blue sweatpants, with a pair of sandals that couldn’t have possibly kept his feet dry. His puffy clothing made the man seem wider than he actually was, as Naoya knew Ichinose to be bone-thin.
“One delivery for Ichinose Morio, proprietor of the Virgin Sacrifice,” Naoya held up the cardboard box for Ichinose to inspect, and the manager snatched it from his gloved hands with his bony fingers.
“One delivery, huh?” the man asked, eyeing Naoya skeptically as he raised the box to his left ear and shook it. “But how many pieces is it in?”
“Come on,” Naoya folded his arms over his chest, fixing the other man with a stern look. “Give me a little more credit than that.”
“The first package you ever brought me was smashed to bits, you recall,” Ichinose countered, lowering the package to look at the label.
“That was over a year ago, and I haven’t broken anything since.”
“Not for me, anyway,” Ichinose reluctantly agreed, tucking the parcel under his arm. “Alright, Accident-kun, I suppose a ‘good job’ is in order.”
“You keep calling me that, and I’m going to start charging you extra,” Naoya warned, but Ichinose simply grew a wide smile.
“Yeah, yeah, tough guy,” Ichinose turned a half-step away and motioned towards the building behind him. “Come on in; I’ll pay you inside.”
“Come on, man,” Naoya glanced up at the glowing crimson banner above them, then fixed Ichinose with a disapproving look. “Would it kill you to have my money waiting for me outside?”
“Oh, don’t be such a prude,” Ichinose waved him off. “Besides, carrying hard cash on you in this city is asking for trouble.”
“Every time I set foot in there, my girlfriend gives me grief,” Naoya objected, pointing up at the sign.
“Then don’t tell her you came by!” Ichinose sneered, as though his answer to Naoya’s problem was the simplest thing in the world.
“Oh, I don’t need to tell her,” Naoya shook his head and sighed. “She always knows.”
Nonetheless, Naoya stepped away from his bike and followed the skinny soapland owner through the doors of his establishment. Through the open doors, they came into a small square lobby with a counter nestled into the far righthand corner. A surly looking man dressed in a button up shirt and vest far too professional for the establishment’s clientele slouched in a seat behind the desk. He clutched an Augur in his hands, and every tap of his finger elicited a note or sound effect as he wiled the day away. Ichinose shot the slacking worker a scathing look, but it did little to rouse the man from his stupor.
The floors were a brownish-orange tile, and the walls were painted red in keeping with the red dragon logo of the business. Across the walls were digital portraits placed a foot and a half apart, each one rotating through a gallery of girls who worked at the Sacrifice. They were all in various states of undress, and all shot from alluring or voyeuristic camera angles so that potential customers could get an idea of the service the girls could provide. On the right-hand corner of each photo was the woman’s working name and a list of their “specialties.”
Naoya tried to avoid looking at any of the photos, though he did pause long enough to catch his own reflection when one of the digital frames darkened for a moment to switch pictures. Tugging off his helmet, Naoya found a young man with black-brown messy hair staring back at him. He had a strong chin and a pair of thick eyebrows over a pair of amber eyes that glowed back at him. He found himself glowering back at his reflection, and he had to remember to soften his expression: people often found him more intimidating than he wanted them to. He paused a second longer to try and smooth his unkempt hair and then tucked his helmet under his arm before following Ichinose.
The building seemed empty this early in the morning, which was what Naoya expected. He followed at Ichinose’s heels as they passed by rows of doors, each one leading into a private room. Occasionally, a woman would step out into the hallway, sometimes wearing clothes, sometimes not, and they often distracted Ichinose with a number of complaints, be it about the business or their customers, and every time it would end with Ichinose saying something very ungentlemanly and brushing them off.
Though he disapproved, Naoya bit his tongue; he knew that Sin Ward wasn’t the place for white knights, and both Ichinose and his staff would likely be more offended by his interjection, regardless of which side he took. People came to Sin Ward precisely because they didn’t want others telling them how to live, and, for all Naoya’s reservations, Ichinose was at least a consistent client.
“I don’t know why you’re still doing this,” Ichinose repeated the same sentiment he’d had outside. “This is Yōgai-shima: there isn’t anyone on this island who really knows if there’ll even be a tomorrow. You can’t work like it’s the year two-thousand. The long-suffering employee gimmick just doesn’t make sense anymore. Whether its private or personal, business or pleasure, you need instant gratification in this town.”
“What’s your point?” Naoya prompted the other man, although he already knew where the conversation was headed.
“I mean all this stuff you do,” Ichinose waved a hand in Naoya’s general direction. “Schlepping all over town to do a little of this, and a sprinkle of that. It must be exhausting, and you can’t tell me that it pays well.”
“I get my returns in other ways,” Naoya deflected from the subject of money. “Personal freedom being chief among them. I’m my own man, not some company or government stooge.”
“Yeah!” the soap manager scoffed, openly ashing his cigarette on his own floor. “Instead of being owned by just one company, you sell yourself to anyone with two coins to rub together. You’ve probably had as many customers as any of the girls here.”
Naoya didn’t find the comparison particularly flattering, but he held his tongue again.
“Look,” Ichinose continued, softening to a more diplomatic tone. “All I’m saying is, there are a thousand easier ways to make cash at a time like this. Trust me.”
“Easier or illegal?” Naoya wondered aloud and Ichinose rolled his eyes.
“Illegal!” he repeated the word as though it was the punchline of a joke. “Tell me, when did I say anything about doing anything illegal?”
“It was implied,” Naoya brushed off the question, but the retort seemed to strike a nerve with the flesh peddler.
“Look here, Accident-kun,” Ichinose turned to face Naoya, and he jabbed an accusing finger up under his chin. “Never tell me what I meant, or what I implied. I get enough of that passive-aggressive crap from the girls. I’m a straight-shooter; I say what I mean, and I mean what I say.”
“Sir, yessir,” Naoya held up his hands to signal his retreat, and Ichinose seemed mollified, for the moment.
“Illegal’s got nothing to do with it,” Ichinose insisted, his mouth twisted into a sour frown. “It’s about doing what’s best for you in the here and now. No one’s asking you to break the law. I’m just encouraging you to put all that energy to better use.”
“And where’s that?” Naoya looked around, gesturing towards the empty halls around them. “Here? This place is dead. Honestly, I bet I’m busier than you are.”
“And you’d have bet wrong,” Ichinose wagged a finger at him with his cigarette hand. “It may seem quiet now, but when the sun goes down again? This place will be busy, monsoon be damned.”
“I have a hard time believing that,” Naoya couldn’t bite his tongue on this subject.
“That girlfriend of yours must keep you happy,” Ichinose mused, taking another drag of his cigarette while he considered Naoya.
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t get it,” Ichinose exhaled as he spoke. “You don’t understand the desperation that other men feel. That storm out there? That won’t stop a single one of my regulars. The touch of a woman produces a thirst in most men that no drink can quench. Once you start feeling it, you can’t get rid of it, and once you’ve had your first taste, you’re hooked.”
“You make it sound like you cater to zombies, not people,” Naoya chuckled, and though Ichinose smiled, the good humor didn’t reach his eyes.
“Oh, that’s exactly what they are,” Ichinose assured him. “Slavering, drooling piles of human crap hungering after what they can’t really have. They’re losers, Naoya, all of them. Men who are too damn ugly, way too creepy, or just too poor to afford women in the long-term, so they save up what little cash they have to buy for a moment what they can’t have for real. Let me tell you, long before opiates, sex was mankind’s first addiction, and these suckers prove it every day. But don’t get me wrong; the women are no different.
“Bunch of girls with daddy issues striving to stick it their parents,” the manager waved a hand dismissively towards one of the rotating images of the soap girls displayed on the wall. “Some of them have higher ambitions, though; they think they’ll just do dirty work for a little while, save up some scratch and go to college or something. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred it doesn’t work out. If alcohol doesn’t get them, and they don’t end up on the business end of a dirty needle, then they end up falling for some piece of shit guy who ruins their fragile plans. The ones that stay never get out of the business until they get too fat or too old. After that, it’s the streets. There’s no retirement scheme in the world’s oldest profession.”
“If I can be honest, it sounds to me like you hate this place,” Naoya couldn’t resist pointing out the obvious.
“It’s a trial, sometimes,” Ichinose admitted, trying to avoid overt agreement. The pair stopped outside Ichinose’s office door, which was coated in a light brown wood laminate and a sign that said, “No interruptions.”
“Aren’t you the one who just gave me a speech about not slaving away for a better tomorrow?” Naoya pressed on the other man’s momentary weakness. “If this place doesn’t make you happy, if you hate your own customers, why do it? Why not close the doors and try and make something of yourself before time runs out? Give yourself and the girls a chance to live a life a little more meaningful.”
“Meaningful,” the manager swept his hand through the air with disdain, as though he were swatting it down with his bare hand. “I had a chance at a meaningful life, once upon a time. Look at me and tell me what you see, Nanbu-san,” Ichinose, still wearing his see-through red parka and baggy clothes, held out his hands, inviting the other man’s scrutiny. “A nobody, that’s who you see. But I could have had something more. I could have been a lawyer.”
“Really?” Naoya couldn’t hide his skepticism. “What happened?”
“Tokyo happened,” the man snapped with a matter-of-fact tone. “What do you think?”
“Right,” Naoya agreed, feeling foolish for not immediately thinking of it. The Downfall of Tokyo was still foremost in many people’s minds, but to Naoya it was more of an idea than a concrete memory.
“I was studying at the University of Tokyo,” Ichinose stared into the past, taking a deep drag of his cigarette as he relieved memories of another time. “I had a scholarship, and a friend of a friend promised me an internship at a bigtime practice. I was set, Nanbu-san. I had it all figured out. My future was laid out in front of me. Then, one day, Tokyo goes up in smoke. My friend gets turned to ash, his friend burns up, too. Whole damn law firm burns down. Not to mention the university. Everything’s just gone overnight. Honestly, I don’t know how I made it out, much less how I got here,” Ichinose rubbed his temple as he looked down at the floor, trying to fish up a detail from a recollection he’d deemed unimportant. “It was my grades, I think; that stupid scholarship, if you can believe it. All my studying, and whoever’s in charge of migration pulls my name out of a hat and decides that I look like a benefit to society. What a jackass.”
“Why didn’t you finish studying law?”
“Everything was chaos, right from the start,” Ichinose shook his head. “Once the Cabinet swept into power, they and all their cronies couldn’t wait to start tearing up the old legislature so they could stick it back together the way they wanted. I couldn’t rely on anything I thought I knew about the justice system before, and every other day, there was some knew order from our rulers on high that changed everything we were trying to build. I couldn’t take it. No sense in practicing law when the law doesn’t mean anything. I quit.”
“And somehow you end up running a soapland?” Naoya chose to skim over the no doubt strange circumstances that brought the other man to this place.
“Life’s a bitch,” Ichinose chuckled, finding his own life to be little more than a dark joke in the moment. He turned away from Naoya to push his office door open, and Naoya waited patiently outside. The wait dragged on for a few minutes, and Naoya fished out his Augur to begin looking at other jobs.
The device connected to the Yōgai-shima Maverick, an online job board for freelance problem-solvers. The digital display was split in half, the left side showing a list of available jobs posted by citizens across the island, while the right side of the screen revealed a map of the city. Across the eastern side of Sin Ward and the western parts of Horizon, numerous little beacons had been placed, each representing the location of a listed job or a client. Naoya scrolled through the list, highlighting a handful of jobs that he thought looked easy or promising. Somewhere, he heard the sound of a door opening, but he didn’t pay it any mind.
“Hey, is the boss in?” a young woman’s voice intruded on Naoya’s thoughts and he looked up. Standing in front of him was a young woman with dyed blonde hair dressed in a long dark blue puffy jacket with white fur lining. She wore a pair of boots that were still wet with rainwater, but her legs were bare, suggesting that she was wearing a revealing dress or a pair of shorts beneath her coat, despite the weather. The young lady had the hood of her coat pulled down, and she was running a comb through her hair absent-mindedly.
“Yeah,” Naoya gestured at the door. “He’s getting something from his office.”
“Oh!” the young woman’s eyes brightened, and she smiled at Naoya. “You’re that delivery guy! You come here all the time! What was your name, again?”
“It’s Nanbu. I’m just here on business,” Naoya assured her, but he knew she already understood that.
“Oh, that’s right,” the young woman twisted and turned on the spot. “That’s the weirdest thing, when you think about it,” she mused, looking at Naoya sideways. “What kind of guy comes here every day but never actually. . ., you know?” she didn’t finish her statement, choosing to let implication speak for her.
“Gets his back washed?” Naoya offered, sidestepping the actual nature of the business, and the young woman tittered at that, placing a hand politely over her mouth.
“Something like that,” the soapgirl agreed, playfully.
“Well, I have a girlfriend, so I have someone to rely on if I forget to wash behind my ears,” Naoya explained, hoping that it would end the line of inquiry.
“Oh, really?” the young woman pretended that was the first time she’d been told that. “Does she work here?”
“No,” Naoya tried not to deny the fact too quickly, and risk sounding disdainful or superior.
“Well, then how would she know if you got someone to help you wash your back?” the young woman questioned, asking her question in a low, inviting voice.
“Oh, she always knows,” the door to Ichinose’s office swung open and the manager stood in the doorway. “Or so I hear.”
“You got my money?” Naoya asked and the manager scowled at him.
“‘My money,’ he asks me,” the manager rolled his eyes. “Of course I have it.”
Ichinose held up a small card in his hand and Naoya raised his Augur to scan it. There was a brief blip and the Augur’s screen changed, displaying a reading that said: “Transaction Complete.”
“Thank you for your business,” Naoya expressed his gratitude, hoping that it signaled the end of their interaction. Ichinose, however, wasn’t finished.
“Speaking of business,” Ichinose leapt on the word. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Uh, boss?” the young woman tried to step in.
“What are you doing here?” Ichinose waved her off, barely remembering she was still there. “Go find a customer.”
“There’s only one guy here, and you’re keeping him all to yourself,” she protested.
“Please don’t drag me into this,” Naoya quietly prayed, but Yōgai-shima’s mercurial gods already had him in their sights.
“You think if my boy Naoya needs his undercarriage soaped up, I’d have you do it?” the manager balked. “I’d cut this guy a deal with one of my premium ladies, not you.”
The woman’s jaw dropped in shock, and Ichinose reached up around Naoya’s shoulders to guide him out. Naoya shifted uncomfortably, but if Ichinose noticed that he tried to pull away, the soapland manager pretended not to notice. Ichinose led Naoya for a few steps, lowering his voice so that no one could overhear them.
“Look, Nanbu-kun, I got this thing I need help with,” Ichinose began.
“And what’s that?” Naoya demanded, lacking a gentle way to exit from the situation.
“I’ve got this customer,” the manager launched into his proposition. “He’s a real perv, this guy. Man, if I told you even half the things the girls said about him, you’d need three showers. You know what it means when a guy asks for a ‘shelter in place?’”
“No, and I don’t want to,” Naoya raised his hands, rushing to stop Ichinose from going further.
“I’m telling you, this guy’s a real piece of work,” Ichinose went on, mercifully avoiding any details. “He’s always coming around here with IOU’s, claiming his ship is coming in, and whenever we try and throw him out, he claims he knows powerful people and we have to back down.”
“What kind of people?” Naoya couldn’t resist asking.
“Let’s just say, they’re men who are fond of tattoos and classical Japanese architecture,” Ichinose gave Naoya a knowing look.
“If this has anything to do with the Towers—,”
“Relax, buddy, relax!” Ichinose placed a hand on Naoya’s chest, but the gesture was far from reassuring. “Who said anything about the Towers? Not me. Besides, turns out everything he said was bullshit, and his friends, if he ever had any, have cut him loose. He’s got a debt, and it’s got to be paid.”
“I’m not sure I want to get involved in this kind of thing,” Naoya disentangled himself from the smaller man. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to hire Naoya to work as muscle, but he’d done everything he could to avoid that line of work. People were often intimidated by him, and Naoya never relished that.
“I’ve been cheated, Nanbu-kun!” Ichinose protested, affecting a betrayed town. “My girls have had their pussies robbed! And a hundred thousand yen, besides!” despite his mock affront, it was clear what Ichinose valued more.
“And they say pimps don’t trade in promises,” Naoya observed, unable to stop himself from smiling.
“Laugh it up,” Ichinose snapped, lightly shoving Naoya with one hand, but the larger man was hardly moved. “But if I don’t get the money back from this guy, I gotta find some way to write it off. That means pay cuts, man. I might even have to fire some of the girls.”
“I don’t know,” Naoya kept trying to signal his disinterest, but Ichinose was implacable. “Can’t you hire a professional for this kind of thing?”
“Believe me, I’ve tried!” Ichinose continued to bemoan his fate. “But this guy’s been dining and dashing all up and down, hitting every establishment he can. Every business owner in Sin Ward has a bullseye on this guy’s back, and he sees all the regular collectors coming before they get close to him. It’s like he’s got ESP, or something, Nanbu-san; if anyone within three miles of him wants money, he knows it, and he runs.”
“If this guy is that slippery, I don’t think I can help you,” Naoya shrugged.
“That’s the thing though, Nanbu-san!” Ichinose insisted, a broad, mischievous smile spreading across his face. “He doesn’t know you! You’re an outsider. You can get close to him and he won’t suspect a thing!”
“I still don’t like this.”
“C’mon, Nanbu-kun!” Ichinose was nearly begging. “You’re my last chance at getting this money back! I’ll tell you what: you get this guy, you get half the money.”
Fifty grand? That was nothing to sneeze at.
“It’s not just the money,” Naoya felt his patience wearing very thin, but he was still determined to try and drag himself free in the most polite way possible.
“If you won’t do it for the money, or me, do it for the girls, Nanbu-san!” the manager finally resorted to cupping his hands in a display of complete contrition. “Do it for the women who don’t have anywhere else to go!”
“These wouldn’t be the women you were slagging off a few minutes ago, would they?” Naoya asked innocently, brushing a hand through his matted hair.
“Oh, you remembered that,” Ichinose was clearly taken aback, and he looked away, caught off guard. He wasn’t the first person to think that Naoya was slow on the uptake, or to be made to look foolish when they underestimated him. “Still, I-uh, I. . .—,”
“I’ll think about it, okay?” Naoya cut him off, his patience exhausted. “That’s all I can promise.”
Naoya turned to leave, and, thankfully, Ichinose didn’t follow.
“You think about it, Nanbu-san!” the manager called after him. “You think about the money! And the girls!”
But Naoya did his best to tune the other man out, crossing the lobby with quickness as he headed for the door. He pushed out the door and stepped back into the howling rain, momentarily happy to be outside again, no matter how onerous the storm seemed, but then, as he laid his eyes on his bike parked on the curb, he realized things were about to get worse.
The rain dropped an endless shifting curtain down on Yōgai-shima; a rippling translucent screen that was painted in a thousand colors by the lights of passing cars and neon signs. Through the screen of falling water, Naoya could clearly see the shape of his bike still standing along the street, but it wasn’t alone. Three figures had joined the motorcycle, one of them going so far as to sit on it.
“Get off my bike,” Naoya barked as he stalked towards the figures through the rain, however, his words only elicited laughter from the three men.
“I told you!” the man on the bike sat on it sideways, facing the doors of the Virgin Sacrifice, and he pointed at Naoya as the big man walked towards them. “The delivery boy is here!”
The three men were all wearing raincoats to shelter them from the weather, which covered them from head to toe, but Naoya recognized them, regardless. The man on the bike continued to laugh, and the other two men flanking him seemed obliged to join in, although nothing about the situation could be described as humorous. Naoya kept his eyes fixed on the interloper seated on his ride, ignoring the two flunkies that stood on either side.
“He looks pissed, Juzo,” spoke the man standing on Naoya’s right. He was the tallest of the three, even eclipsing Naoya by a half-inch, but he was so skinny that he made Ichinose seem like a specimen. He wore a yellow parka with the hood pulled over his face, though Naoya remembered a wide face with high cheek bones, a pierced nose, and a headful of numerous microbraids.
“You don’t remember the last lesson we taught you?” the question was directed at Naoya from the man on his left, though Naoya didn’t answer. Dressed in a dark green raincoat, he was only as tall as Naoya’s chin, but he had a stout build that promised some level of strength. He wore a bucket hat to protect his shaved head from the downpour, and a balaclava covered the lower half of his face.
“Guy’s dumber than a rock,” the man sitting on the bike sneered, reclining on his stolen seat. Juzo, the ringleader of the trio, was the shortest of the three, his head barely clearing Naoya’s collarbone. Dressed in an ostentatious pink raincoat, Juzo had long, stringy hair and pointy ears with numerous studs in them. Unlike the other two, Juzo kept his hood down, allowing the rain to soak into his hair and mat it to the sides of his face.
“Man, you’re a real loser,” the tall one commented, looking over Naoya’s shoulder to look at the building he just came out of. “It’s not even noon and you’re already getting a scrub down. You just can’t wait to get your dick wet, can you?”
“I don’t need to pay for sex,” Naoya answered, still not looking away from Juzo, who glared back at him with a toothy smile. “Unlike some people.”
“Who the fuck are you talking about? Better not be talking shit about me,” Juzo burst onto his feet, standing and crossing the distance between himself and Naoya in the blink of an eye. He entered Naoya’s space with hesitation, standing chest to chest with the taller man as he continued to hold eye contact. “You think you’re a badass, delivery boy? You’re not.”
Naoya remained cool as Juzo bounced back and forth on his feet, clearly feeling the anxious thrill of adrenaline. The small man was like a badger, an animal that had to make up for its lack of power with pure viciousness. Whenever Naoya had the misfortune of encountering the would-be street tough, Juzo often threatened to escalate to violence on a moment’s notice, trying to come across as crazed and unpredictable to keep Naoya off-guard. The put-on insanity, however, had long since lost its charm along with any hope of intimidating him.
“Maybe he needs another lesson, Juzo?” the wide-one stepped forward and cracked his knuckles, trying to emulate his “leader’s” tough-guy persona, for all the good it did.
“Keep back, Kubo,” Juzo raised his right hand, motioning for his lackey not to interfere, before lifting his right leg. “This sack of shit is—,” but Juzo didn’t get a chance to finish. He tried to kick Naoya in the stomach to add emphasis to his declaration, but the attack barely budged Naoya, while Juzo tumbled backward across the slick ground. The small man hit the back of his head on the bike, and he openly winced and clutched his skull.
“You think this is funny?” Juzo demanded in a strained voice, looking up at Naoya, who was smiling down at him.
“A little,” Naoya admitted, absently brushing his coat where Juzo’s dirty shoe had touched it. “But if you did any damage to my bike, you’re paying for it.”
“Paying for this piece of shit?” the tall one asked, chortling in derision as he considered Naoya’s ride, before aiming a swift kick at the front tire. “Forget fixing it; you’d have to pay to get rid of it.”
“Don’t do that,” Naoya growled at the tall thug, who smiled back mockingly, thinking himself untouchable.
“Do what?” he asked, innocently, before aiming another kick at the bike. “This?”
The smile fell from his face as Naoya took a step forward, and the grin was replaced by wide-eyed panic. Evidently, he believed that Naoya couldn’t be cowed into fighting back, and the moment he was proven wrong, he tried to retreat. He managed to take one step back into the street before Naoya caught him by the lapel of his parka and dragged him around, making the lanky man stumble as he tried to keep to his feet.
“Woah, woah!” the man cried out as Naoya pulled him around. “Kubo, get this guy off me!”
The heaviest of the three was already stepping over their fallen leader to protect his friend, but Naoya wasn’t having it. Dropping his helmet, Naoya’s left hand shot out without even a glance in Kubo’s direction, and he took hold of the man’s throat. With one arm, he lifted the group’s enforcer off the ground and then threw him back, depositing him roughly on the concrete some five feet away.
“Fucking piece of shit!” Juzo came up from the ground, and he reached into his parka, and Naoya sensed that he was going for a weapon. The moment Naoya turned his head to observe whatever it was the badger was going to whip out, Naoya felt something collide with his cheek and stars momentarily flashed in his eyes. His right cheek stinging, but otherwise unharmed, Naoya looked towards the tall man again, who’d only been brave enough to hit him when he wasn’t looking.
Naoya felt his left-hand balling into a fist as an almost reflexive reaction, and the man struggling in his grasp went white, terrified of his imminent comeuppance. Juzo stepped closer, so angry he was blind, every bit the wolverine Naoya imagined him to be. Beyond him, Kubo closed ranks, circling around Naoya to trap him between the three men. The tall-man’s inarticulate sputtering melded with Kubo’s barking orders for Naoya to put his friend down, which then blended with the sound of Juzo growling. All the noise, combined with the howling wind and the blood pounding in Naoya’s ears made for a chaotic clamor that made it impossible to hear anything. However, all four men could still see, and the sudden flash of red and white lights was impossible to mistake.
All four men froze in an instant and then turned their heads as one to Naoya’s left. Sitting at the end of the street was a white patrol car marked with a red stripe. Atop the vehicle was a set of lights, which flashed alternating colors. The vehicle’s engine purred quietly in the rain, sending up soft trails of steam into the already damp air, but it made no move to come closer. There was a brief pause as the four men stared into the opaque windshield, trying to gauge the intentions of the officers hidden behind it.
Naoya relaxed his fingers and the tall thug stepped away, hastily retreating. Kubo awkwardly patted Naoya on the back, as though congratulating him before ambling away. Juzo affixed a false smile to his face and reached up to Naoya’s left shoulder to mime brushing dirt from his jacket. His eyes never left Naoya’s though, even as he tucked whatever tool he had stashed in his coat back into its hiding place.
“Next time, asshole,” the small man promised, his voice sharp and eager despite the sweet smile on his face. A moment later, it was over. The three men crossed the street, leaving Naoya to stand alone in the rain under the flashing red and white lights. He looked away from the retreating trio and stared back at the squad car. The lights flicked off a moment later, and the patrol car spurred itself into motion, leaving the scene behind.
Naoya watched until the white vehicle disappeared behind a building down the street, pondering the motives of the Civil Police Officers inside. Were they just too lazy to do their jobs, or were they simply too busy to handle something as small scale as an assault? Whatever their reasons, Naoya tried to convince himself that it was for the best. Afterall, he’d allowed himself to be goaded into starting the fight, and if the Civil Police actually enforced the laws, Naoya knew he’d receive the worst punishment.
He climbed back onto his bike and tugged on his helmet. The bike came to life with a whisper-quiet hiss as the engine turned on. He drove the bike away from the scene of the confrontation and the leering eyes of the Virgin Sacrifice’s lewd banner, heading back into the confines of the concrete jungle.
For a long time, he just drove. He wasn’t heading anywhere in particular; the lingering adrenaline in his system took time to dissipate, and Naoya focused on calming himself down. He pushed the near brawl to the back of his mind, and tried to forget it there, focusing on the feel of the wind and the rain as it collided with him at top speed.
Eventually, he found himself sitting at a red light as the rain poured down around him. Vehicles waited patiently at each corner, their headlights casting broad beams through the deluge. As the wait grew longer and longer, Naoya felt his adrenaline turn impatience to frustration, and in a moment of self-awareness, he tried to prevent his upset emotions from seething any further.
He tugged off his helmet and let the rain fall on him. He whipped his head back and forth, spraying water as he tried to cool off, figuratively and literally. He placed his helmet onto the top of the bike as he took several deep breaths to steady himself. When he felt his heart rate slowly begin to fall back to its calmer range, Naoya lifted his helmet again, prepared to slip it on, but paused on catching sight of another vehicle pulling up on his left.
Another motorcycle joined him at the light, both the vehicle and the rider were so dark they made Naoya’s bike seem drab in comparison. The new motorcycle was a sport bike; sleek, small, and lean with a black polished frame and small white lights across the suspension and tire rims. Though it was dwarfed by Naoya’s ride, he was certain that the smaller machine was much more advanced, though he couldn’t place the model of the vehicle. His eyes left the bike as it came to a stop, and the driver put her feet down to balance herself as she waited at the light.
The rider was dressed in a black riding suit that looked like leather, though something about the texture made Naoya believe it was the product of nanite-infused smart fabric rather than animal hide. The fabric bristled into triangular spikes across the woman’s legs where there would ordinarily be a zipper to separate the rest of the suit from her boots, and again across her midriff, and vertically down her chest. She wore high-heeled boots that blended with the rest of her outfit, though instead of stiletto spikes, the shoes balanced on round, wheel-like heels. Over her riding suit, the woman wore a jet-black suit jacket cropped to reach her ribs, with its sleeves rolled up to the elbow so that she could wear a long pair of motorcycle gloves. The jacket was an odd touch, and it seemed to Naoya that the article of clothing was at odds with the rest of her apparel, but then, Naoya realized who the woman was.
“An Inspector,” the epiphany suddenly made everything about the other rider crystal clear. The entirely custom vehicle, the endlessly expensive nanite bodysuit, and the black jacket all made perfect sense if she was a member of the Human Calamity Response Bureau. She was a short woman, likely reaching only the top of Naoya’s chest if that, but the idea that she could be an Inspector instantly gave her a sense of mystery.
He’d heard strange things about Inspectors; that they were more than human. Inspectors were dangerous and cutthroat and didn’t obey the laws the rest of the island was saddled with. They hunted monsters, it was said; monsters in human form. The reality of Human Calamities was something everyone in Yōgai-shima had to become acquainted with, though Naoya had never seen one in person, and he’d never gotten a satisfactory answer about what they really were. Suzume always had a way of avoiding questions she didn’t want to address.
The thought of Suzume reminded Naoya that Inspectors weren’t the rogue agents they were so often portrayed as. Afterall, Suzume counted among their number, and she wasn’t some crazy super-powered enforcer. If anything, Suzume was the most detailed and rule-oriented person he’d ever met. That thought, in turn, dispelled some of the aura that the rider next to him had acquired in his mind, and Naoya revved his engine to salute his fellow motorcyclist.
The rider turned her head to consider him. She had a head of wild black hair that was tied up into a ponytail, but Naoya couldn’t see her face. She wore a hot pink mask that had the appearance of an oni, complete with curving fangs and horns. He couldn’t see her eyes, either, hidden as they were behind the mask’s lenses, but he could see the skin of the woman’s neck and her ears, which had a ruddy brown color. There was a second of silence as the two looked at each other, and Naoya realized that something was wrong.
The other rider was completely dry.
He noticed it first when he saw her hair, which wasn’t wet at all despite being exposed to the weather, and then, he noticed that the female Inspector’s glossy driving suit and polished motorcycle didn’t have a single raindrop on them. Looking down at the street, Naoya watched as the rain fell around the other motorcycle, never daring to cross an oval-shaped perimeter that shielded the rider. Ignoring the curious instinct to reach across the street and stick his hands into the rainless gap, it occurred to Naoya that maybe, just maybe, the Inspectors were more mysterious than he gave them credit for.
The rider revved her own engine, and Naoya detected a hint of playfulness in the response. The light changed less than a second later, and the Inspector looked back towards the road. She was gone almost immediately, her ride carrying her away with a thunderous roar. Somehow, her machine seemed to go from standing still to moving at top speed in the span of a second, and it took off faster than any machine Naoya had ever seen before. The Inspector appeared to vanish, becoming a dark blur with white lights trailing from its wheels before Naoya lost sight of her.
He stared into the empty space where the woman had been for a few seconds before a honking car horn behind him reminded him of where he was. He quickly tugged his helmet back on and kicked his bike into gear, racing to match the speed of traffic already in motion. He returned to driving with a clearer mind, the momentary distraction helping to put distance between Naoya and his prior confrontation. His headspace free of anger and frustration, Naoya turned his focus back to the goal of the day: making money.
Reaching into his pocket, Naoya withdrew his Augur and raised it towards his face. The device shifted back into a set of strapless goggles before they were halfway to his head, and when he pressed the smart-device to his skin, they compressed themselves against the shape of his brows and cheek bones to find purchase. The lenses immediately began feeding Naoya a stream of information as he drove down the street. On reflex he guided his bike while his concentration was fixated on the digital map that was displayed in the corner of his eye. Once more, the city was recreated by strands of light and small beacons were placed across it.
“Emergency drainage needed,” Naoya read aloud as he raced down the street, while beacons on the map nearest to him unfurled into small flags that detailed the jobs that had been posted. “Freelance plumbing isn’t my thing.”
Naoya road on, passing by a dozen different beacons as he headed west, leaving behind the glitz of Sin Ward as he returned to Central. Once he was well beyond the Golden Mile, the austere grey confines of Central closed in on him. He hadn’t intended to return to Horizon, but in the blur after leaving Ichinose’s “bathhouse,” he supposed instinct brought him back. He wheeled down familiar streets, mentally sorting through the various jobs on offer, brushing aside potential jobs that were either too time-consuming, too technical, or didn’t pay enough for the effort. However, a job posting from a familiar company caught Naoya’s eye.
“FAIR Insurance Agency: Lunch pickup for the office.”
“Lunch at this time in the morning?” Naoya spoke to himself as he read the banner. It wasn’t out of his way, but the job paid little more than a tip. Still, he decided the easy money was worth the fifteen minutes in exchange. “Might as well take it.”
The small beacon turned red, signaling that Naoya had taken the job. A digital route appeared on Naoya’s map of the city, and he dutifully followed it, heading north. At the end of his road was “Apocalypse Curry,” a fairly tame eatery despite the fatalistic naming convention that had become common in Yōgai-shima. Naoya parked outside the ground story restaurant, recognizing it instantly from its logo, which portrayed a large bowl filled with fiery curry and a burning cityscape. Upon his arrival, Naoya’s Augur sent an alert to the employees inside, and Naoya sat on his bike as he waited for them to bring the food, and he once more began scrolling through the list of available jobs.
He idly marked a few prospects, mostly those that needed a courier across the windswept island, or a little manual labor, along with some light maintenance on a car or two. The storm brought an uptick in business, which Naoya was thankful for, but the extra income wasn’t nearly enough. He needed more money; he was already at a deficit for last month’s rent, and he needed to make up the difference this month, and there was no telling when the city would finish absorbing the storm overhead and things would go back to normal. It was a selfish thought, but Naoya could only pray that the storm lasted long enough for him to earn what he needed, and, until then, he could only work as hard and as long as he could.
An employee dressed in a black rain parka brought out the food in bags, and Naoya helped them to fit it snuggly into the box on the back of his bike. He took off again, driving back into the city’s busy streets under the rain as he headed for his destination. He continued west, heading for the heart of Central.
Central, like every ward in the city, was broken up into several smaller boroughs. It’s eastern and western segments were called Horizon and Sunset, respectively, while its northern district at the base of Yōgai-shima was the Sun District, the seat of governmental power on the island, and its counterpart, the Lunar District, was on the southernmost reach of the island that dominated the coastline. The middle of Central was called the Iron District, the downtown and industrial center of the island.
Iron District was dominated by the Conglomerate, the three most powerful corporations in Yōgai-shima and their numerous subsidiaries. With their nearly endless wealth, the Conglomerate had created their own private city, filled with hundreds of thousands of employees living inside company owned towers with all the luxuries and amenities that modern life could afford. At the center of the Iron District, three massive city-towers stretched into the sky, each of them a stronghold and a corporate headquarters. The grey, black, and white towers stood in an endless deadlock, signifying their ambition to conquer not just the rest of the island, but each other. The titanic corporate fortresses were constantly being remodeled in an attempt to make them taller than their competition, with no clear victor in sight. Fortunately, Naoya wasn’t heading that far into the Conglomerate’s territory.
The smaller businesses that had somehow managed to escape the Conglomerate’s hold, or that had been deemed inconsequential, weren’t allowed to share the heart of the island with its most powerful businesses. Instead, they were forced to the outside and made to occupy a perimeter of grey office buildings that wrapped around the exterior of the Iron District like the world’s largest and blandest fence. It was there, among a thousand identical buildings, that Naoya was headed.
Though he’d been to the FAIR Insurance Agency a dozen times or more, it was one of few locations that Naoya couldn’t reach when guided by memory alone. The border wall of featureless, indistinct offices that surrounded the Iron District were dizzyingly uniform in appearance, and once you were among them, they formed an unintentional labyrinth whose twists and turns baffled the eye. Thankfully, Naoya had his Augur to mark the path for him.
The streets that webbed between the border buildings were no less packed than the rest of Central, but they seemed somehow more chaotic. The traffic lights were sparsely placed, and row after row of identical buildings passed by without markers or personalization. Adding to the situation were the various alleys and side streets that joined with the flow of traffic at random, and commuters that had become lost in the shuffle of mirroring buildings would often take sudden turns to try and get back onto a route through the maze they’d nearly missed. At intermittent intervals, pools of standing water filled the roads when the decade-old drainage system failed to match the excessive volume of rain that persisted day and night. Naoya had the good sense to slow down around the occasional water hazard, mostly out of fear for incurring damage to his bike that he couldn’t afford, but the other drivers on the streets didn’t seem so cautious. More than once, he saw a reckless driver nearly cause an accident.
At the end of his designated route, Naoya turned into a parking garage; a rare structure that stood out from the forest of concrete walls around it. He followed the spiraling ramps of the garage upward to the fifth floor, where a sky bridge connected the structure to the nearest office building. Parking his bike, Naoya tried to convince himself that the fifteen-story office building marked on his map was familiar, but it was in vain. Even so, he unloaded the bags of hot food and carried them in either hand.
He carried them across the skybridge and through the sliding doors of the office building’s above ground entrance. Stepping out of the howling wind, Naoya was confronted by a display inside the doors that showed the layout of the building and listed the various companies that leased floor space inside. It was only then that Naoya felt a genuine sense of familiarity. The white walls and spackled linoleum floors weren’t particularly inviting, but they were a trade up from the constant dour grey of the cloud-covered sky.
“FAIR Insurance Agency: Suite 510.”
Naoya’s eyes found the company’s address, and he swiftly headed down the white, quiet halls to his destination. When he reached the FAIR office, he awkwardly turned the nob while still carrying one of the bags in his hands, and he used his shoulder to push the door open. He stepped into the lobby of the insurance agency, which was patterned to imitate a bright sunny sky. The walls were a blue color with clouds spaced at regular intervals in a way that almost seemed childish to Naoya. At the back of the office was door that led deeper into the building, and in front of it was a light, yellow-brown polished desk and behind it sat a young woman.
“Oh, Nanbu-san!” the receptionist looked up and greeted him with a familiar smile. “I can’t believe you’re still working in this weather!”
She had a cute round face with a head of long dark hair that hung to her back with her bangs neatly trimmed across her forehead. She had a pair of large, violet-colored eyes behind a pair of large round glasses. She was dressed in a bright set of clothes to match the sunny theme of the office, with a bright orange sweater that featured small yellow suns sowed down the sleeves, and a soft yellow skirt that reached her ankles.
“Oh, you know me, Sakura-chan: the work never stops,” Naoya came to a stop in front of the desk, holding up the pair of bags.
“I appreciate you bringing this to us in the middle of this awful weather,” Sakura stood up from her desk, and folded her hands.
“It was an easy thing to deliver,” Naoya shrugged. “Besides, this is the one thing I can bring that you never have to worry about arriving broken.”
“I suppose so,” Sakura agreed hesitantly, ignoring the levity in Naoya’s voice. Perhaps she was too preoccupied with memories of all the times he’d brought their deliveries in less than pristine condition. “Even you can’t break a bowl of curry, can you? Unless you break the bowl, itself. . .”
“Where do you want these?” Naoya hefted the two bags, interrupting Sakura’s reminiscing about his numerous mistakes.
“Oh, right!” she smiled again as she was summoned back to the present. “Can you help me by bringing those into the break room?”
Sakura turned and stepped away from the desk, opening the door that led into the offices beyond, and Naoya made haste to follow. Past the lobby, FAIR’s limited rented space consisted of a large, square interior room that was subdivided by cubicle walls to create separate workspaces. Around the edges of the room were small private offices with windows that looked into the central room.
Sakura led the way around the exterior of the cubicle maze, humming a tune to herself while Naoya followed obediently behind her. He glanced into the open offices and cubicles as he passed, unable to hide his curiosity. Every other seat he passed seemed unoccupied and unused, suggesting that FAIR was far from operating at optimum capacity. The rest of the work stations were occupied by men of various ages, but Naoya recognized a quiet desperation on their features as they worked their lives away in a sunless, cloistered prison. Or at least, he imagined he did.
He wondered if this was the kind of job Suzume would prefer he had; safe, contained, predictable, away from the rest of the world. Naoya couldn’t entertain the idea even for a moment. Being cooped up like an animal all day, only working for the benefit of someone else didn’t agree with him. But what really bothered him were the walls; the cubicle walls extended up to the ceiling, but their actual width was very short, leaving little space beyond a seat and a small desk.
The mental image of being in one of those chairs gave Naoya goosebumps, and the offices weren’t much better. Anxiety began to take root as Naoya couldn’t help but notice how cramped and tight the walls of FAIR’s offices were. They felt close. Suffocating.
“Breathe in your problems,” Naoya began repeating words he used to try and calm himself. “Breathe them out. Just like that, they’re gone.”
He chided himself for letting something so small and easy to ignore to set off his claustrophobia, but it was too late to cut off the chain of events set into motion. Sakura continued to walk ahead, ignorant to Naoya’s discomfort, while his steps gradually became slower and more tentative. At any moment, he expected to feel the walls on either side of him to start pressing in, and to feel the pressure of the ceiling pressing down on the back of his head. It was at times like this that he hated he was as tall as he was, a fact that only served to remind him how cramped and uncomfortable his surroundings were.
The short walk was made to feel like an eternity by Naoya’s anxiety, but mercifully, Sakura finally took a turn to her right, stepping into a side office that had been converted into a communal break room. Naoya followed at her heels, eager to complete the delivery and get back outside. When he stepped through the doorway behind her, Naoya found the bright young woman speaking to a man dressed in black.
The small break room had two small tables at either side of the doorway, with the wall opposite the entrance having been fitted with a sink and a set of cupboards. Sitting at one of the tables to the right of the door with his back to it was a man Naoya didn’t recognize. He was dressed in a black suit that reminded Naoya of the Japanese salary men of decades past, though the salesman sitting at the table wore clothes of smart fabric as opposed to twentieth century textiles. He had a head of black hair combed into a left-hand part, with a series of unruly hairs sticking up along the divide. The man’s pale lower face was obscured by a black mask, and he wore a pair of glasses on the tip of his nose. Though Naoya couldn’t gauge his height immediately, the sitting man had very long legs and arms, which made him appear almost comically bundled up in the small low to the ground chair.
“Excuse me, Yamato-san,” Sakura apologized to the man. “I didn’t realize you were already taking your break.”
“It’s fine,” the man in black answered in a soft, nasal voice, and barely bothered to look up at the young woman. “I just wanted to find a quiet spot to go over some files.”
“Wouldn’t your office be a better place for that?” the receptionist offered in an attempt to be helpful.
“Adachi-san is having a phone call with the main office,” Yamato’s answer meant nothing to Naoya, but Sakura seemed to immediately understand what he meant.
“Oh, I see,” the young woman seemed momentarily crestfallen. “Well, once we have lunch served, he’ll get off the phone right away, and you can go back to work in your office.”
“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Yamato commented with a glance towards Sakura. He acknowledged the company’s secretary, but the man in black hadn’t bothered to even look in Naoya’s direction, though his presence could hardly be missed.
“I’ll just put this here, if that’s alright,” Naoya interjected himself into the conversation, then turned away to lay the bags of made to order food on the break table to his right.
“Oh, yes, Nanbu-kun,” Sakura seemed to finally remember that he was standing there, and she turned to face him. “That’s fine. Have you met Yamato-san? He’s the best salesman we have here at the company.”
Naoya turned around and found Yamato looking in his direction for the first time. From behind the pair of glasses, Yamato peered at the delivery boy with a set of ruby red eyes. Naoya felt unnerved and naked as the stranger’s eyes appraised him without even a hint of surreptitiousness.
“Yamato Kenji,” the man abruptly introduced himself, not bothering to rise from his cramped seat, though he did acknowledge him with a small nod. “A pleasure.”
“Nanbu Naoya,” the delivery boy introduced himself, giving a more respectful bow of his head than he’d received. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nanbu?” Yamato ruminated on the name for a moment. “Where have I heard that name before?”
“Well, I do deliveries here from—,” Naoya began to answer, but Yamato didn’t let him finish.
“Accident-kun,” Yamato arrived at his conclusion, cutting Naoya off. “That’s what Adachi-san calls you.”
“He’s the one who gave me the nickname,” Naoya thought bitterly. “I have no idea how it got spread across half the city.”
“Well, when I was getting started with the gig job angle, I may have dropped a package or two,” Naoya tried to play the embarrassing nom de guerre off. “But that was forever ago.”
“Didn’t you break that new printer last week?” Sakura wondered aloud, tapping her chin thoughtfully.
“No,” Naoya immediately deflected, shooting a glare in the young woman’s direction, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“I see,” Yamato turned back to the black Augur in his hands and idly began flipping through holographic screens with a swipe of a gloved finger, his momentary curiosity in Naoya thoroughly satisfied.
“Aren’t salesmen supposed to be good with people?” Naoya asked Sakura in a low voice, but the young woman shook her head.
“Yamato-san is the very best we have on offer,” Sakura assured him again, her voice as stern as her gentle demeanor could make it. “His sales record speaks for itself.”
“Really?” Naoya glanced at the surly man in black, who seemed to be pointedly ignoring them. “I can’t think of someone I’d want to buy something from less.”
The strange man seemed to only enhance Naoya’s prior anxiety, and he quickly decided that it was best to make his exit.
“Are you alright, Nanbu-san?” Sakura asked and Naoya looked at her for a moment, then he reached up to brush sweat from his forehead. “You don’t look so good.”
“Oh, no,” Naoya shook his head and tried at a reassuring smile. “It’s just working in the weather can be kind of draining.”
He wanted to just shrug off his anxious nervousness, not wanting to confide his phobia in Sakura, but the moment he admitted weakness, he realized he’d stepped wrong.
“You aren’t coming down with something, are you?” Sakura’s lips curled down into a concerned frown, and her eyes became large with worry. “All that rain isn’t good for the body.”
“It’s nothing!” Naoya hastily tried to hold the young woman off from mothering him. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m going to get you some tea,” Sakura decided, ignoring Naoya’s protestations. “You need something to keep you warm when you’re out in this weather.”
“I don’t really—!” Sakura was opening the cabinets along the wall before Naoya could stop her, and she had pulled out an enamel cup, along with a box of tea leaves. Knowing that continuing to fight was fruitless, Naoya surrendered and seated himself at the table across from Yamato while Sakura fixed him a drink. Naoya fidgeted at the table, tapping his foot on the floor with impatience, his mind torn between thoughts of other work he could be doing at that moment, and a primal need to reach an open space. He fought to keep his desire in check, determined to quaff the tea Sakura gave him as quickly as possible and then leave with equal speed.
“Here you are,” Sakura eventually returned with her tea, which she poured into a cup she placed in front of Naoya. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a stove here to boil the water, so I had to use the microwave to heat it. It’s a shame, as I think a teapot adds something to the flavor.”
“That’s alright,” Naoya assured her, raising the teacup to his lips.
“But don’t worry,” the young woman went on. “I made sure it was extra hot this time to keep your chest warm when you’re on the road.”
Naoya took a sip and had to fight to swallow it. Sakura wasn’t lying; the tea was near to scalding. Nonetheless, Naoya forced himself to smile in the face of her efforts.
“Thank you,” he managed and the girl smiled, blind to his obvious pain.
“You’re very welcome!”
The next few minutes followed with Naoya blowing on the hot tea, trying to cool the hot liquid between sips while he drank as quickly as he dared. At the same time, Sakura stood over him like a warden, passively ensuring that he finished his carefully prepared drink before he even thought of leaving. The secretary tried to make idle conversation with Yamato, but the man in black hardly answered her with more than two words, though his disinterest in conversation seemed lost on Sakura.
Wind howled outside and thunder rumbled, and Naoya thought he saw the walls of the office begin to shake. He forced himself to drink more and more, risking burning his throat in his haste to escape the well-intentioned captivity he’d fallen into. It was just after he’d finished half the drink when there came the sound of tires squealing and horns honking from somewhere outside the building. Then, there came a tremendous crash, and the building really did shake, though only for just a moment.
The world broke in Naoya’s eyes: golden fractures snaked through the room and everything in it. The tables, the chairs, the cabinets, everything appeared to be cracked and broken, held together only by shining golden seams that chaotically coursed through reality. Even Sakura and Yamato broke apart, becoming vaguely recognizable piles of human glass.
“Nanbu-kun!” one of two human beings made of broken shards spoke to Naoya in a woman’s voice. “Are you okay?”
The golden fractures in the world vanished as quickly as they had appeared, and Naoya found himself looking into Sakura’s eyes. He was hot, covered in a veneer of sweat, and he found himself shaking, slightly. A few seconds later, and the dwindling adrenaline allowed Naoya to feel a sense of painful heat in his right hand. He looked down and realized that the teacup in his hands had broken completely between his fingers and countless shards had fallen to the floor, along with the remaining tea.
“I’m so sorry!” the receptionist apologized profusely. “I must have made it too hot! I didn’t think the cup would break like that! That must have been quite a fright.”
Sakura immediately retrieved some paper towels to begin wiping the hot tea from Naoya’s fingers, ignoring his protests. When she was momentarily satisfied, she stepped out of the room to go and get something to mop up the broken cup. Still reeling, Naoya leaned against the table as he tried to steady himself.
“How did you do that?” a voice asked, and Naoya looked up to see that Yamato was staring at him with those red eyes again. The man in black’s interest was apparently rekindled, and the salesman had placed his Augur aside and shifted in his seat to face Naoya this time, his shoulders pointed in his direction. Yamato cocked his head to one side, looking at Naoya like a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.
“Do what?” Naoya asked, innocently.
“The cup,” Yamato pointed at the broken mess on the floor between them. “How did you break it like that?”
“I didn’t,” Naoya protested, awkwardly brushing a hand through his hair. “It was too hot; you heard Sakura.”
“No,” Yamato shook his head, his red eyes lingering on Naoya’s face. “That’s not what happened. I know what I saw.”
Soon, the World Will End 