Another Day, Another Problem Case File #1, “All we can do is try to keep our heads above water.”

January 14^th, 2044

10:20 AM

Central Ward

Sunset District

Nanbu Naoya

A mechanical chime rang out, startling Naoya. He was in a position he already didn’t like; being flat on his back in a dark cramped environment, and the sudden noise made him flinch, banging his head on one of the metal pipes above him. He groaned and forced himself to lay back down, his head ringing as the chime continued to echo into the dark space. Laying on a creeper, Naoya rolled out from beneath the car he was working on.

He sat in a small concrete garage that was barely large enough to contain the van Naoya lay beneath. Standing over six foot, the tall and widely built Naoya didn’t enjoy being trapped in tight spaces, but today that was unavoidable. Raised above the floor was an orange industrial van, with a set of various tools laid out on the floor around Naoya’s workspace. His grey sweatshirt and tan pants were thoroughly stained with sweat and oil; the product of the last hour he spent working on the unresponsive vehicle.

 Naoya sat up, resisting the urge to run a hand across his sweaty face and messy brown-black hair so as not to leave a streak of grease across his features. Instead, he laid aside the chunk of metal in his hands to pick up a rag lying on the floor nearby, which he used to wipe his oily fingers. The phone continued to ring, but Naoya made no haste to answer, already knowing who the likely caller was. When he was ready, Naoya dug his Augur, Slate, out of his pocket, but by the time he held it up, the call had rung its last ring. A small bronze screen appeared in the air over the Augur, with the words “Missed Call” displayed over a phone number Naoya didn’t recognize. Naoya sat on the creeper, hunched over his phone, glaring at the device with his pair of amber eyes as he waited expectantly. A moment later, Slate rang again, just as Naoya expected.

“Who is this?” Naoya spoke in an irritated drawl after he tapped the Augur to connect the call.

“Naoya? Naoya! Hey, how’s it going?” a familiar voice answered, a nasal voice, and a nervous one at that.

“I told you to stop calling me, Ichinose,” Naoya reminded the other man.

“Listen!” Ichinose implored him. “Just listen! I—!”

Ichinose’s pleas were cut off by a dull tone, signaling that Naoya had ended the call.

“How many different phones does he have?” Naoya wondered as he immediately blocked the number, preventing Ichinose from calling him back. For the past week, Naoya had been getting calls from Ichinose, and no matter how much Naoya insisted that he didn’t want to speak with him, Ichinose didn’t seem to take no for an answer. When Naoya blocked his primary number, Ichinose started calling him through a number of different burner phones, all of which Naoya blocked afterward.

For what reason Ichinose was calling him, he didn’t know, and he had no desire to find out. After what happened with Nishijima, Naoya had decided to cut ties with the soapland manager that had roped him into that debacle. He’d taken part against his better judgement, and he’d ended up in a brutal fight, and also wrecked his own ride. Nothing had gone right that night, and Naoya blamed it all on the conniving Ichinose, whether or not it was fair. He’d already made the decision to never work with that man again, and he’d decided to avoid Decadence District in its entirety. No matter what job he was offered, Naoya decided to stick to cleaner streets for a while.

The sound of voices had drawn attention, and Naoya turned to look over his shoulder as another man entered the garage. Dressed in a yellow rain parka, the van’s owner stepped inside, holding a pair of coffee cups in either hand, and Naoya stood up to greet him. The man in the rain parka held out a coffee cup for Naoya and he gratefully took it.

“Welcome back, Toya-san,” Naoya greeted him, and raised the coffee cup to take a sip.

“So, what’s the damage?” Toya reached up to pull back his hood, exposing a head of neatly combed brown hair streaked with lines of grey. The other man had a dark pair of eyes and a long face, age creeping in to leave small wrinkles near his mouth and eyes.

“Your alternator,” Naoya scooped up the grease covered part for the other man to see. “It’s defective.”

“Defective?” the other man’s face fell, and he reached up to gingerly pluck the part from Naoya’s hand. “It can’t be. I just had that replaced.”

Toya looked at the large orange van sitting beside them, the side of which was emblazoned with the logo of Toya’s business. The banner depicted the white king from a chess game, along with the name “Royal Cleaning.” Naoya had never been sure how the imagery was meant to evoke cleanliness, but it was Toya’s right to run his business how he wanted.

“It’s bad,” Naoya was entirely certain about that statement, even if he couldn’t give a more thorough explanation. “Trust me.”

“You’ve got that feeling about it?” Toya’s expression twisted into a frown, knowing better than to question Naoya’s judgement about the part. He turned the metal device over in his hand, giving a light shake of his head. “I can’t believe it’s cracked already.”

“Cracked?” Naoya looked at the broken device again and saw that Toya was right. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed that, and he tried to hide the surprise on his face.

“I don’t suppose it can be fixed?” Toya asked the question with a weary expectation of the answer.

“Not with the tools I have here,” Naoya confirmed, taking another sip of his coffee. “To be honest, it would probably be cheaper just to get a new one. Not to mention quicker.”

“I’m gonna have to take it into the shop,” Toya cast his eyes on the van with clear reticence.

“Maybe not,” Naoya interjected, seeing an opportunity to make himself a little more money. “Look, this is a pre-Downfall machine; chances are any shop you that you take it to won’t have the parts you need right away. They’ll have to order the part, and by the time you get it back, the working day will be done, and you’ll be looking at paying for work done and the new part.”

“And what are you offering?” Toya prompted, knowing the grind of a gig-worker.

“Give me a chance to run down the part myself,” Naoya made his pitch. “If I can find it, I’ll buy it and install it myself. I’ll eat the cost of the part, and you pay me for finding the problem, and fixing it.”

“You want me to pay you double?” Toya seemed doubtful.

“You’re not doing any business in this van today, regardless of what choice you make,” Naoya didn’t back down; he couldn’t afford to. “If you have this thing towed across town, you’ll need to pay the truck driver, you’ll need to pay the auto shop, and you’ll still need to pay me for the work I’ve done. I’m the cheapest, quickest option you’ve got. If I can get the part and get the van running before the end of the day, you pay me double. If not, you pay me only what we agreed.”

Toya sighed, clearly not convinced, and Naoya knew he needed to sweeten the deal even more.

“And if I can’t get the part, I’ll pay for the tow truck, too,” it hurt Naoya to keep cutting himself, but the risk was necessary for the inflated reward. Toya looked at Naoya, hard, trying to decide, still seeming reluctant.

“If you can find the part before the end of the day,” each word seemed as though it was dragged out of Toya’s mouth. “And if you can install it, and the van runs. If you can do all of that, I’ll pay you double.”

“I can do it!” a broad smile spread across Naoya’s face.

“It has to run, Naoya,” Toya insisted, betraying a clear doubt in his capabilities. “You have a nose for trouble; I’ll give you that. But solving problems doesn’t agree with you.”

“Then this will be an opportunity for me to show you what I can do,” feeling a surge of adrenaline, Naoya took a mouthful of hot coffee and then set it down atop one of the garage’s cabinets. He found his grey sweater and tugged it on, followed by his black and bronze smart-fabric jacket. Zipping up his coat, he held his hand out for the broken alternator while Toya gave Naoya a look that told him he was already regretting his decision.

“Don’t mess this up,” Toya implored, handing the broken car part to him.

“I won’t.”

The broken alternator in one hand, Naoya scooped up his increasingly battered helmet and slipped it on before striding out of the roll up garage door and out into the rain. Waiting for him was his bike, the Bridge-Runner, repaired after the accident that had wrecked it the week prior. Though Naoya had thought the bike was unsalvageable, Suzume had been as good as her word.

The black bike had been put back together, piece by piece, to the point that Naoya wondered if the motorcycle sitting before him was even the same vehicle. The wide dark grey wheels were entirely new, lacking the battle-scars of Naoya’s year-old tires. The black frame was polished and smooth, but numerous cracks ran along the surface of the bike, marking where it had been shredded apart. The gaps were filled in with reflective bronze material, which Naoya assumed Suzume must have requested to match his usual attire. He took it as a warning sign; a reminder of how fragile the world around him was.

Where once the Bridge-Runner was a symbol of Naoya’s independence, something he cherished, now, he felt uncomfortable even sitting on it. The bike had been put back together, piece by painstaking piece, and Naoya could only guess how much Suzume had spent to get the job done. There was undoubtedly an act of empathy intended on Suzume’s part, but Naoya could only look at it as a harsh reminder of how little control he actually had over his life.

Suzume had told him that she owned the bike, and her willingness to pay whatever cost was necessary to have it fixed only hammered the sentiment deeper. It no longer felt like he owned it, but rather that he was borrowing it. The machine was built for endurance, but he felt like he needed to be careful with the bike, lest he break it. Over the past few days, the feeling of strangeness hadn’t subsided, and he wondered if it ever would.

“Not until I pay Suzume back,” in Naoya’s mind, that was the only way he could ever reclaim the bike, and with it, his sense of independence.

“Slate, scan this and give me the nearest match,” Naoya lifted the broken alternator in his left hand and raised his Augur over it in his right. The device scanned the alternator, committing the broken part to memory, then he opened the box seated at the back of his bike and dropped it inside. Securing the broken part, Naoya turned his attention to the Augur, which showed a yellow screen.

On the righthand side, Slate showed the image taken of the part, while the lefthand side revealed a slideshow of images which scrolled across the Augur as the machine searched the Yōgai-shima Net for a replacement. The Augur scrolled through the dozen different websites and listings for similar parts, but none of them matched precisely. Naoya looked through the different items on sale, seeking the nearest possible substitute, but all of the parts listed on the net were much more recent than the alternator he was looking to replace.

Machinery from before the foundation of Yōgai-shima was rare, these days. A decade after the Downfall, Yōgai-shima had become a city of innovation, breaking away from the technology of the twentieth century. Even Naoya’s Bridge-Runner was a piece of technology that was developed after Yōgai-shima was founded; by contrast, Toya’s van was a fossil.

Scanning the list, Naoya tried to discern if any of the newer motivators might function in the older one’s place, but he quickly dismissed that idea. Even if any of those newer motivators would work, they would be too expensive for Naoya to make any profit. He needed twenty-thousand yen by the end of the month just to make rent, and Naoya imagined he needed a hell of a lot more than that to pay off what he owed Suzu. However, if he managed to install a new alternator, Toya was only going to pay him five-thousand yen. Some of the new motivators listed were twice as much as what Naoya hoped to gain, which put the kibosh on that idea.

With the easy solution off the table, Naoya was momentarily stonewalled, and he decided to start moving. He held his Augur, Slate, in both hands and bent it between his fingers, pressing both thumbs into the center of the nanite brick, causing it to create a loud crack. In response, a thousand small cracks ran through the black device, and it broke apart into a collage of sharp shards that eventually settled into the shape of a pair of black goggles with yellow faceted lenses. He attached them to his face and mounted the bike and turned on the engine, and the machine whined to life. The heavy wheels got to spinning, and Naoya rode the machine out of the parking lot through the pouring rain.

The January storm continued to roll on overhead, but the novelty of its appearance and the power of its menace had long since faded. The people of Yōgai-shima didn’t fear the howling wind or the flashing lightning; instead, the hurricane was regarded as nothing more than a daily nuisance. Life continued on in Yōgai-shima, uninterrupted.

Naoya pulled out of the parking lot and into the streets of Sunset. Ever since he got the bike back, he drove far more carefully, keeping his eyes on the road around him, watching for any and all road signs that could communicate danger. He kept his speed low, and avoided busy streets, hoping to forestall future accidents. No matter how cautious he was, Naoya knew at the back of his mind that he couldn’t stop history if it chose to repeat itself. His predilection for misfortune turned the ride into an exercise in anxiety. He focused his mind on the city around him, hoping to distract himself from a tragedy that felt inevitable.

In contrast to Horizon, Sunset had shorter buildings, raising up only a dozen or so stories each. While Horizon embraced the garish possibilities that nanite laminates offered in terms of exterior decoration, Sunset seemed to have settled into fairly benign coatings for their buildings. All of the buildings Naoya passed were coated in skins that emulated brick, stone, or they left the concrete plain. Where Sunset differed from Horizon was in the holographic displays.

Holograms lined the streets, not just marking crosswalks or flooded roadways, but also as advertisements. Colorful prismatic displays were displayed across entire buildings, which blurred and buzzed in the constant rain. Drones hovered in the sky, bending beams of light around them to appear as dragons dragging banners through the air. Demons and goblins rendered in soft, plump, cartoonish forms crouched on rooftops or stood next to open doorways, buzzing and flickering as the constant rain disrupted the projectors that created them. Among the countless neon distractions that were poised on every street corner were glowing signs and arrows that pointed towards the Magic Hour Shopping Arcade, the centerpiece of Sunset. The Shopping Arcade was an extensive slice of the city that ran between Central and its eastern neighbor, with over a thousand businesses all vying for customers.

Pausing at a red light, Naoya watched as a glowing arrow larger than he was pointed down the street to his right and considered the possibility of following it. Out of the countless storefronts and peddlers gathering in the arcade, someone had to be peddling machine parts. But finding a mechanic with the right part in the middle of that mess would be difficult, and Naoya had plenty of experience running into would be scammers in those parts.

No, he decided. He wouldn’t go into the Magic Hour right away. He had a few different methods to run down before he tried that. Naoya reached up and tapped his goggles, signaling to his Augur.

“Call Hideki,” Naoya ordered and Slate did as it was bid. A small window appeared in the corner of Naoya’s right eye, with the words “SENDING CALL” flashing in the box. It took three rings before the call was picked up.

“Hello?” came a deep, rough voice that brought to mind a heavyset man wearing a pair of grease covered overalls, but Hideki’s face didn’t show up in the Augur’s call window.

“Hideki, it’s me. Naoya.”

“Oh, uhh. . ..” the other man trailed off, suddenly.

“Are you busy?” Naoya asked, sensing some discomfort in the other man.

“No, no,” Hideki laughed, awkwardly trying to cover up the lapse in the conversation. “I just didn’t think you’d call me, that’s all.”

“It’s been a while,” Naoya observed. “Did I miss your birthday or something?”

“Haha, no, no,” Hideki assured him. “It’s nothing. What did you want?”

“I was hoping you could help me with something,” Naoya reached up and tapped his goggles again, bringing up the image of the alternator. “I’m looking for a car part; a Chiyaki Model 310A alternator.”

“That’s a relic,” Hideki grunted, voicing Naoya’s own thoughts. “What do you need it for?”

“A customer,” Naoya slowly began heading east, moving out of Sunset and towards the southern reaches of Iron District. “He’s running a cleaning company out of a fleet of vans, and one of them crapped out on him.”

“He’s better off just buying a new van,” Hideki sighed, and Naoya could imagine him spreading his hands. “It’ll save him money in the long run.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have a spare box truck on hand I can sell, so if he decides to replace the van, I lose money.”

“Still working the gig grind, huh?” Hideki chuckled.

“Better than the alternative.”

“Well, digging up a part for a van that old isn’t going to be easy,” Hideki murmured, and Naoya could faintly hear the other man scratch his chin. “Anything you find is going to have years of mileage on it if they’re even usable. In a pinch, you could try picking through a junkyard over in Foundation. There have to be one or a dozen different vans that have been scrapped over the years.”

“Yeah, I’d rather not cross the Sanzu,” Naoya shut down that idea immediately, remembering the last time he’d visited that quarter of the city.

“Well, if you’re going to be picky about it, then you’ll have to try getting it fixed,” Hideki aired out a resigned sigh. “How bad is it?”

“It’s malfunctioning,” Naoya answered, though the ruefully added: “It’s cracked, too.”

“Cracked?” the other man chuckled over the line. “Did it get broken before or after you touched it?”

“Before,” Naoya insisted, defiantly, but Hideki just laughed. “Look, I don’t have the tools to fix it—,”

“And you’ll stay the hell away from mine!” the mechanic interjected, and Naoya sighed.

“What about nanite?” Naoya tried running down any lead he could think of. “I could patch the crack with some smart-metal. If I had enough, I could even create a replica alternator.”

“Unless you’ve got a nanite smelter, that’s out of the question,” Hideki shot down the suggestion.

“Didn’t Goya have one?”

“He used to,” Hideki agreed. “He got busted by Civil a few months back. He started printing dead metal blades for the Towers. They may not be made of nanite, but a mono-molecular blade still raises a lot of questions.”

“That idiot,” Naoya bemoaned his luck, which was once again turning against him.

“Look,” Hideki spoke slowly, then paused, letting silence fill the call for a moment. “I might know someone who can get me the part you’re looking for.”

“Really? Who?”

“Just a guy I know; someone that owes me a favor.”

“Give me a name already,” Naoya demanded, suspecting that the other man was simply trying to work out how much money he could get out of the situation. “If he’s got a functioning replacement, I’ll give you a finder’s fee.”

“I don’t want to over promise, Nao,” Hideki continued. “Give me a few hours and I’ll make a few calls. If I get anything that seems promising, I’ll call you back.”

“And what are you expecting to get out of it?”

“I don’t like talking business unless I’ve got something to deal,” Hideki continued to dance around the topic. “Let me see if I can hook you up, and then we’ll discuss what you owe me.”

“Well, the way things are, you’re my best chance at getting this alternator,” Naoya reluctantly agreed. “If this friend of yours comes through, you let me know ASAP.”

“Consider it a deal,” Hideki wasted no time in hanging up, leaving Naoya to drive in silence for a few moments. He’d known Hideki for a few years, but something about their conversation just now bothered him, though he couldn’t explain why. He tried to trace his memory back, looking for a time when he might have insulted Hideki or driven a wedge between them, but he couldn’t think of one. Despite the foreboding feeling, Naoya had little option but to trust Hideki, for the moment.

“Open the Yōgai-shima Maverick,” Naoya ordered aloud as he drove eastward across Central Ward, the grey wall of corporate offices rising on his left over the tops of smaller buildings. Slate responded to Naoya’s order, and a small screen displaying the digital job board appeared in the corner of his vision. Before looking through the tasks on offer, Naoya decided to put a bounty out on a new alternator. After some internal deliberation, Naoya decided to attach a fifteen-hundred-yen price tag on it, hoping that would be enough to generate interest. With the bounty put up on the board, and Hideki running down leads on his end, Naoya felt it was best to put the search on the back burner for a few moments and wait to see what came up.

He turned his attention to the job board, deciding to try and make some money elsewhere for an hour or two while he waited for leads on the replacement alternator. He scrolled through the list of available jobs from people all across the island who needed help. There were a couple of odd jobs Naoya thought he could handle, but the pay was too low, along with some sketchy delivery jobs across Sin Ward, which Naoya had sworn off. A few dog-walking jobs were scattered among the list, but Naoya had no interest in picking up crap. Pickings seemed slim for the moment, until a familiar client’s name appeared on the screen.

“FAIR Insurance Agency Office, Lunch Pickup.”

“I’ll take it.”

Naoya’s Augur marked the job as taken, and a marker appeared in his goggles to guide him to the location of the restaurant. On today’s menu was Tartarus Noodles, a quaint red shop on the bottom floor of a ten-story building. A black awning was stretched over a handful of vacant tables outside the restaurant, and a neon sign flashed in the window, which featured a hooded figure rowing a boat across a river of ramen. Naoya went through the familiar process of parking his bike outside and waiting for one of the employees to bring out the food to him. As soon as the food was stuffed into the box at the back of his bike beside the broken alternator, Naoya took off, heading into the Iron District.

Fair Insurance’s office building was on the north-eastern side of the Iron District near the border with Horizon. Naoya was still on the south side of the island where Sunset, Horizon, Iron, and the Lunar District all met. Rather than circle around through Horizon, Naoya decided to travel north, cutting through the innards of the Iron District. In short order, Naoya found himself riding through the border of grey office buildings, and for several minutes, he couldn’t see anything except a parade of uniform structures. Then, a break appeared in the metropolis as Naoya emerged into a part of the city that seemed entirely alien.

Beyond the boundary of ordinary, plain grey concrete rectangles was a forest of black buildings. The metropolis of the Iron District was unlike any other place in the city; the buildings were tall, thin, and made of a sable metal that seemed to drink in the meager light that passed through the storm clouds overhead, and made the world seem that much darker. Whatever design philosophy the architects of the Iron District subscribed to, it was a worldview beyond Naoya’s understanding.

The spires of the Iron District made Naoya think of a graveyard of black swords that aimed their blades towards the heavens. The street level had no doors, no windows, no signs, just endless rows of sharp, malicious architecture. About twenty stories over Naoya’s head, tunnels and above ground roads snaked between the endless branches of the black forest, and he realized that the true city was above him. There was no onramp that led up into that elevated metropolis, and even if there was, Naoya doubted that he would be allowed to reach it. Beyond the ring of office buildings, the corporate overlords of the Iron District strived to keep their world beyond the reach of people like Naoya. Even the roads that ran around and between the buildings was likely nothing more than a holdover from Yōgai-shima’s founding, not something the district’s rulers considered necessary.

Naoya drove forward through the rain, listening to the storm and the sound of noises echoing down from above. He could hear engines and wheels on the highways out of reach, along with the whistling of sirens and the groaning of esoteric machinery that Naoya had never heard before. Meanwhile, the Bridge-Runner ran through the streets below, traveling in complete solitude.

There wasn’t a single vehicle on the streets with Naoya, be they private vehicles or automated delivery trucks. At the same time, Naoya still had the unshakeable feeling that he was being watched. Although he saw no security, he knew that there had to be a thousand mechanical eyes watching him at any given moment. He was an outsider, a nuisance, and his presence was not welcomed, but merely tolerated.

Naoya made haste in racing northward through the forest of black knives, which he surmised must be Black Mountain’s domain. Black Mountain Heavy Machinery was the city’s go-to provider for vehicles, construction, and, if the tabloids could be believed, weaponry. One of the three members of the Conglomerate, Black Mountain shared the Iron District with its competitors, White Field Agriculture and Grey Sky Energy. The corporate headquarters of all three megacorporation’s met in the center of the District, where all three super towers were locked in a stare down. Naoya had seen the landmark from a distance, and part of him wanted to see it up close, but the sense of foreboding told Naoya that wasn’t a good idea. He kept his eyes on his goal, driving across the city without regard for the speed limit in Iron District’s ungoverned undercity.

When he neared his destination, Naoya was once again forced to rely on his Augur to guide him through the bland maze of corporate concrete constructs where FAIR Insurance was nestled. He only felt a sense of familiarity when he pulled off the street and entered the parking garage the was connected to FAIR’s building. Driving up to the fifth floor, Naoya parked his bike and climbed off, feeling a profound sense of déjà vu as he pulled the two bags of food out of the box and carried them across the skybridge that led into the building. The familiarity only continued to build as Naoya walked down the same halls, heading towards the same office. He stepped into FAIR’s lobby with its sky-blue walls and its bright colors, and immediately, the sense of repetition ended.

Standing behind the desk where Sakura usually greeted him was a tall dark shadow. The slender figure, surrounded by the baby blue walls and cartoonish white clouds, might almost seem comical if Naoya was viewing the scene from a distance, but the whimsical background only made the eerily tall and slender figure seem entirely out of place, like a malevolent specter that had decided to make its presence known. Naoya paused in the doorway, an instinctive reaction, and the irrational part of his mind expected the evil spirit to disappear now that someone had seen it, but the shadow lingered behind the desk.

“Good morning,” a drawling voice greeted Naoya, and the silhouette reached up to adjust his glasses, the crystalline lenses flashing. The spell was instantly broken, and Naoya realized the phantom wasn’t a phantom at all, but a tall man wearing a jet-black suit. The strange set of clothes mirrored the typical imagery of a Japanese salaryman and strayed from it at the same time. The suit lacked lapels, a collar, and buttons, instead being a construct of smart-fabric inlaid with thin dark grey wires, and a pair of gloves and shoes that seamlessly blended with the sleeves of the jacket and pants. He felt momentarily silly that he mistook the other man for anything other than a human being, but somehow, a sense of trepidation still lingered in the back of Naoya’s mind.

“I’m here to make a delivery,” Naoya’s announcement was awkward, as he tried to regain his footing.

“Obviously,” the other man agreed, though his voice was drenched with sarcasm. Naoya crossed over to the desk and placed the pair of bags down in front of the dark dressed man, but the man in black clearly didn’t intend to pick them up. Instead, he merely glanced down at them from the corner of his red eyes before returning his stare to Naoya.

“It’s Yamato, isn’t it?” Naoya tried to greet the other man amicably, but the red-eyed man appraised Naoya from behind the black mask that covered the lower half of his face without a hint of emotion. The salesman didn’t confirm or deny Naoya’s question, instead simply raising a hand to adjust his glasses again.

The man Naoya had been introduced to as “Yamato” was a nearly as tall as Naoya, a rare sight in Yōgai-shima, but that didn’t suggest any feeling of kinship on Naoya’s part. The salesman had an almost handsome face with porcelain pale skin and crow-black hair that was neatly parted on the right side, though he had a series of stray hairs that defied any attempts to pomade them. Yamato’s features were a little too long and a smidgen too pointed to be truly dashing, but it was his leering ruby red eyes that truly stood in the way of him being good-looking. The pair of seamless frameless crystalline glasses he wore did nothing to dampen the intensity of Yamato’s eyes, even though the man himself seemed entirely disinterested.

“So, is Sakura-chan here today?” Naoya was eager to be done with the delivery, and he did little to hide it.

“She is. I’m just watching the front desk while she powders her nose,” the other man barely raised his voice to speak, leaving his intonation scarcely louder than a whisper. “Is that a problem?”

“She’s the one on the delivery request, so I kind of need her to be here to accept the food,” Naoya explained, and the dark suited man glanced down at the bags again.

“I see,” was the only comment the other man made before he went back to ignoring the food. Silence fell between them as they both waited for the appearance of the insurance agency’s secretary to free them from their perdition of awkwardness. Naoya tucked his hands into his pockets and tried to seem nonchalant, while the man in black stood stalk still.

“So, shouldn’t you be out selling insurance, or something?” Naoya wondered aloud, desperate to break the silence.

“It’s hard to sell insurance in the middle of a hurricane,” Yamato mused, his dry sarcasm returning.

“Right, right,” Naoya felt foolish for even bringing it up. “Can’t be making much money that way, huh?”

“What about you?” Yamato looked down towards the pair of plastic bags holding the noodles Sakura ordered. With careful, methodical precision, Yamato untied the knot in the handles of the plastic bags and reached down with his gloved hand, tenderly pulling out a white plastic cup of noodles. “I can’t imagine you’re making much money picking up takeout.”

“Well, it pays more than you think,” Naoya lied outright, not wanting to admit his money troubles to a stranger, though a sense of irony reminded him that the uncomfortable subject was something he brought up.

“I doubt it,” in defiance of all social conversational norms, Yamato dismissed Naoya’s paper-thin lie out of hand. “I wonder why you do jobs like these considering the opportunities at your disposal.”

“Pardon?” Naoya fixed the other man with an intense glare, unsure if he was being insulted, but Yamato didn’t take any notice of his expression.

“You have a particular talent, Nanbu-san,” Yamato set the cup of noodles back down into the bag.

“And what do you know about me?” Naoya grew more heated and confrontational, eschewing societal niceties just as Yamato did.

“Oh, there are quite a bit of stories going on around the office about you, Accident-kun,” Yamato’s mouth quirked into a smile barely visible behind his mask and Naoya grimaced in response, feeling fresh embarrassment from the nickname given him. “You’ve broken two printers, a door, a toilet, and a small collection of ceramics. It’s small wonder Adachi-san doesn’t want you around.”

“Not all of those were my fault,” Naoya tried to defend his own honor. “Adachi-san just likes blaming me when something goes wrong.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Yamato waved his hand in front of his face, as if brushing away Naoya’s comment. “As I said, it’s a talent.”

“Breaking things is a talent?” Naoya scoffed, but Yamato’s smile widened behind the mask.

“Of course it is,” Yamato assured him, contrary to Naoya’s own expectations. “If you can break whatever you touch, well. . .,” Yamato spread his hands, inviting Naoya to imagine the possibilities. “You could stand to make quite a bit of money.”

“If only I could make it happen whenever I wanted,” Naoya spoke the words with a mocking, wistful tone, as if to dismiss the notion, but then he saw a look appear in Yamato’s eyes.

“What if you could?” Yamato asked, his stoic façade peeling away to reveal a keen interest.

“What if I could what?” Naoya put up an obstinate wall, but Yamato wasn’t deterred.

“What if you could break something whenever you wanted to?” Yamato pressed, his voice sharp and sly.

“I suppose it would be a great icebreaker at parties,” Naoya shot back smarmily, and Yamato’s smile tightened, becoming equal part grin and frustrated grimace.

“Come now, Nanbu-kun,” the salesman reached up to adjust his glasses again. “Try exercising your imagination. You could learn to make some real money if you simply tried to harness that gift of yours.”

“How?” the moment he made the demand, Naoya realized he’d miss-stepped again. Yamato had been trying to provoke him into humoring the idea he possessed some kind of gift, and the moment he had, Yamato launched into his true proposal.

“What if I could show you how to use that talent of yours?” Yamato asked, his voice becoming low and conspiratorial. “If you and I worked together—,”

“You’re full of shit,” Naoya didn’t like Yamato; he hadn’t liked the man from the moment he’d met him, and every word out of his mouth made Naoya like him less. It reminded him of Ichinose; a bottom-feeder in Yōgai-shima who nonetheless felt the need to look down on Naoya, while at the same time trying to ply him with grunt work he promised would make him rich. Despite Naoya dropping all pretense of courtesy, Yamato continued to smile behind his mask.

“Give me a single day,” Yamato raised a slim, black-gloved finger. “You work with me for a day, and I guarantee I can teach you how to control that gift of yours.”

“That, and a one-time down payment of a hundred thousand yen, I’m guessing?” Naoya shook his head, feeling as though he’d heard everything Yamato was trying to say as thousand times before.

“Nanbu-san, please—,” Yamato didn’t back down, but their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of another actor.

“Yamato-san, is the delivery order—?” the door behind Yamato opened, revealing Sakura, her dark hair falling across the shoulders of a violet blouse. Her eyes brightened behind her glasses when she saw Naoya and she stepped into the lobby, her dark skirt ruffling.

“Nanbu-san, I didn’t realize you were delivering again,” the receptionist greeted him, stepping up to the desk to take hold of the two bags of noodles.

“Well, the work here is consistent, if nothing else,” Naoya smiled awkwardly, trying to shift gears from his tense conversation with Yamato to the genuinely affable Sakura.

“Well, thank you very much for bringing this,” Sakura smiled, hefting one of the two bags.

“Do you need any help?” Naoya asked, but Sakura quickly waved him away.

“Don’t worry; Yamato-san can help me,” she assured him, handing the other bag to the dark-suited figure. Naoya stepped backward, and he traded looks with Yamato, whose smile was now missing. The strange salesman continued to peer at Naoya with his ruby red eyes until Sakura beckoned him away and Naoya swiftly made his exit. He hastened back to the parking garage, eager to put the strange conversation behind him, but he found Yamato’s voice had somehow followed him.

“What if I can control it?” Naoya asked himself the question as he mounted his bike. It was an absurd idea born of Yamato’s delusions, but it struck a chord with Naoya that he couldn’t deny.

He wasn’t stupid; he knew that trouble followed him wherever he went. He knew that things just happened to break around him, but never once did it cross Naoya’s mind that he could control it. He always preferred to look at his streak of ill-luck as something outside of him, as though it was the will of some chimeric god or the universe itself.

But if it was something he could control, didn’t that also mean that he was the one who was really responsible for all the mayhem that life threw his way?

Naoya spurred his bike into motion, making a quick escape from the parking garage, as if to outrun the question that so disturbed him. He drove back into the rain, now finding a reason to avoid FAIR in the near future. Still nursing the anger and resentment he felt for Ichinose, Naoya projected those feelings onto Yamato without batting an eye. FAIR had been a consistent customer, but the work they needed from him had been menial at best, and the pay was commensurate. He’d miss Sakura, who was always in good cheer, but the likes of Adachi and Yamato were easy to forget.

Naoya tried to hammer that foreign mindset into his head as he roamed the familiar streets of Horizon, winding his way slowly southward. In the distance, a ray of sunlight pierced through the clouds, and it bounced off the quartet of heavenly spears that marked the faraway peaks of the Dawn Spires. It almost appeared to Naoya like it was a sign from heaven telling him to return home, and in doing so, to abandon his defiance, and accept the life Suzume dictated for him. Though a part of him wanted to reject the notion out of hand, Naoya found it a little harder than usual to simply ignore it.

With each passing day, it became clearer how much Suzume sacrificed for their relationship. She was the bread-earner, she was the responsible one. Of the two of them, Suzume was the one with her head on straight. She knew what she wanted, and she knew what she needed to do to get it. Suzume was the kind of person that had her entire life planned out in minute detail, but Naoya. . ., Naoya was the wrench thrown into her grand scheme.

He’d thrown off her plans, time and again, and every time, she’d worked around it. At any point, Suzume could have shrugged him off, but she accommodated his weaknesses. Thinking about it like that, Naoya felt foolish, and a little of the fire inside him seemed to go out.

He pulled over to the side of the road, parking the Bridge-Runner beneath an awning as Naoya struggled with himself. He pulled off his helmet and goggles and looked down at the machine softly humming beneath him. With forlorn eyes, Naoya’s eyes traced the bronze fissures that snaked through the chassis, reminding himself of the damage he’d put the machine through.

“Maybe I should give this up,” Naoya seriously considered his own future for the first time in what felt like an eternity. “I can’t even say I’m treading water; the only reason I’m not in debt up to my eyeballs is because of Suzu. Why am I still doing this?”

Before Naoya could consider the issue any further, his musings were interrupted when his Augur buzzed in his hand. Hastily, Naoya set his helmet down on the bike and pressed the goggles back onto his face. No sooner than he had, a window appeared in the corner of Naoya’s eyes as the call connected.

“Hey, hey, Nao!” came the voice of Hideki over the line. “You there?”

“Hideki? Did you happen to track down that part I asked you for?”

“Listen kid, you’re not going to believe this,” Hideki chuckled, though there was something off about it. “An old friend of mine happened to have one on hand.”

“Oh really?” Naoya knew better than to trust that luck had suddenly decided to favor him. “Where’s he at?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Hideki quickly brushed that subject away. “I bought it from him at a steal. He said he couldn’t find a truck that even used parts that old anymore.”

“So, you’ve got it?”

“Sure do,” Hideki assured him.

“And what do you want for it?”

“We can talk about that in person,” the mechanic tried to seem uncharacteristically nonchalant. “It looks pristine, but I figure I’ll let you take a look at it before we discuss a price. But you can’t touch it until money changes hands, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Naoya understood Hideki’s sense of caution; the older man had seen Naoya’s gift for destruction firsthand.

“I’m over at the garage in Decadence,” Hideki paused for a second, and Naoya listened to him breathe for a second as he tried to phrase his next few words. “Uhhh, what time can you swing by?”

“In Decadence? I can be there in the next thirty minutes,” Naoya slowly tugged his helmet back on, his resolve returning with the opportunity placed in front of him.

“Great! Great!” Hideki chuckled again, though it was high-pitched and hollow. “Just get here as soon as you can.”

It was impossible not to notice the strangeness in Hideki’s voice, but Naoya had little choice but to trust in his old boss. He could only imagine what got the mechanic rattled, but he assumed that the alternator he bought was more expensive than he said, or that it was a nanite smelted copy with a sketchy track record. None of that mattered; what mattered was that the part worked, and how much Hideki thought he could fleece Naoya for. Another time. Naoya would have bought the part at a loss to preserve their friendship, but not today. He couldn’t afford it.

“How much time have I spent working chump jobs, getting paid with a handshake and a smile?” Naoya laid into himself as he drove out of Iron District, emerging back into Horizon on the eastern side of Central. “I’ve spent years trying to be a nice guy, breaking my back just to scrounge up change, and all the while Suzume’s been bearing the burden. I’ve lost so much time and so many opportunities and I have nothing. I can’t say I own the roof over my head, the food I eat; I don’t even own my own bike anymore. I need to zero in on what I need, and what I need is money. I need to be aggressive. I need to be cutthroat.”

Naoya surged back into motion atop his bike, turning away from the Dawn Towers and heading back towards Sin Ward in the east. He crossed through the Golden Mile, ignoring the parade of advertisements and billboards that tried to direct traffic towards businesses that weren’t yet open, and drove over the bridge into Temptation District. No sooner than he entered Sin Ward, did Naoya orient himself southward, turning a blind eye to the countless super towers that dotted Gambler’s Row.

He left Temptation behind and entered Decadence, retracing a familiar path through its cloistered civic planning. Whenever Sin Ward was mentioned, it was all too easy for Naoya to think only of the bright lights, the gaudy décor, and the promise of earthly delights that had come to dictate its perception. The fact that Sin Ward was a city like any other part of Yōgai-shima and not simply a sprawling den of vice was something he needed to be reminded of on occasion.

Sin Ward still needed homes; it still needed people. All the glamour and riches that flowed through Sin Ward still needed a million men and women to make it all happen, whether they were dealing the cards or cleaning toilets. Sin Ward still needed mechanics, too, and a familiar road led Naoya down the weathered alleys of Decadence to a familiar garage.

“21^st Century Autoboys,” a dim fluorescent sign hung on the side of a small two story building nestled among the concrete jungle of Decadence. The small building was longer than it was tall and shaped like a rectangle, with a set of three corrugated metal bay doors that led into the garage on its east and west sides, while a small parking lot sat on the north side. The parking lot was vacant as Naoya pulled up, and most of the lights inside the building were dim, but a small neon “OPEN” sign over the doorway still flickered. Naoya parked near the doors and switched off his bike.

He found the front door unlocked, and he pushed it open, stepping into the lobby of the garage. A small chime rang overhead as he tripped the store’s motion sensor and lights flicked on, revealing the waiting area. Across from Naoya was a small counter and a computer, with an open door behind it that led into the garage. A number of cheap wooden chairs were arrayed to either side of the door, and a series of small tables had been put beside them, with magazines laid out to keep customers entertained during their interminable wait. But there were no customers today.

The garage seemed long abandoned. There was dust on floors, tables, and chairs, and the garage was eerily silent. There was a nostalgic scent of rubber and cleaning chemicals in the air, but the smell was faded, and the sound of loud music, voices, and whirring machinery were entirely absent. Naoya stepped towards the counter, the sound of his heavy footfalls seeming to echo in the quiet.

“Hideki-san?” Naoya called out, and immediately there was a rustling coming from the garage. A moment later, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway behind the counter. Hideki was five and a half feet tall, and nearly as wide as he was large. He had a wide acne covered face with a head of thinning black hair that was tied into a ponytail. The mechanic wasn’t dressed for work, instead wearing a black t-shirt with the silhouette of a curvaceous woman across the front and a pair of blue jeans.

“Nao!” the big man’s face spread into a smile when he laid eyes on him. “As big as ever!”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Naoya reached up and slid off his helmet, laying it down on the counter before he pried off his goggles. “You’re looking well. Have you lost weight?”

“Lost some, and found more,” Hideki laughed, patting his wide stomach. “What’s it been, Nao; a year? Two?”

“Two and a half, give or take a month,” Naoya glanced over his shoulders at the empty chairs, then looked back at Hideki. “Slow day?”

“Slow day. Slow month. Slow year,” Hideki agreed with a short, bitter scoff. “I’m barely keeping the lights on in this place.”

“What happened?”

“Yōgai-shima happened,” Hideki gave a shrug of his shoulders, as if he were helpless to say more. “It’s a thousand little things, Nao. People don’t come to chop shops like this anymore. The only cars in this city that need work are the last century models. All the newer stuff is smart metal, or nanite smelted. Things just don’t break down when they used to. And when they do, people take them into automated stations; they get their cars diagnosed by AI, disassembled by automated machinery, and then put back together. It takes minutes if you’ve got the money for it. Us little guys just can’t compete. All we can do is try to keep our heads above water.”

“I know a thing or two about that,” Naoya commiserated, taking another look around the empty lobby to remember better times.

“Oh, really?” Hideki’s challenge came with a playful smile. “That girl of yours finally dump you?”

“No,” Naoya denied the notion sharply, provoking a laugh from Hideki.

“A man who’s got a girl like that doesn’t know the first thing about treading water,” the fat mechanic laughed, and Naoya looked away, his mouth twisting with chagrin.

“Yeah, yeah,” Naoya shook his head, the other man’s words having struck a sensitive nerve.

“Oh, come on, Nao!” Hideki slapped him across the left forearm. “Don’t be like that. It was just a joke.”

“Look, have you got the part, or not?” Naoya straightened and folded his arms.

“I’ve got it, Nao, relax,” Hideki held up his hands. “Just give me a second.”

The wide man stepped away from the counter and disappeared through the doorway behind him. Naoya was left alone again in the lobby, and he tapped his foot impatiently as he waited. He listened to the sound of rain tapping against the windows, and he could faintly hear Hideki rummaging through the back. Then, there was the sound of a chime, and a blast of cold air entered the room.

Naoya turned to look over his shoulder as a man in a rain parka stepped into the lobby. He let the door swing shut behind him and stepped to the side, looking at Naoya. As he watched, the man pulled down the hood of his raincoat, revealing a man with a bony face, a shaved head, and various studs in his nose and ears.

“Good morning,” Naoya greeted the new arrival casually, and the other man simply smiled back at him, revealing a set of gold-plated teeth. Naoya looked back towards the door into the garage and leaned against the counter.

“Hey, Hideki! You’ve got a customer!”

“I heard!” the mechanic called back. A few moments later, the fat man shuffled back into view, carrying a small cardboard box in his hands. Hideki glanced at the newcomer, and his sweaty face seemed to pale for a second before he looked back at Naoya, plastering a thin smile across his face.

“Here it is!” Hideki laid the box out on the counter and opened the top, turning the parcel around to see the packaged alternator inside.

“Where did you get this?” Naoya asked, resisting the urge to try and inspect it with his own two hands.

“I called in a favor or two,” Hideki pulled a cloth from beneath the counter to wipe nervous sweat from his face. “What’s it matter?”

“And what’s it going to cost me?” Naoya asked, watching as Hideki shifted back and forth in clear discomfort.

The chime rang again, and Naoya turned to look over his shoulder to see who was coming in. Another man dressed in a raincoat was stepping through the entryway, but he wasn’t the only one. A crowd of a dozen different men was standing outside in clear view of the lobby windows. They came in, one by one, and formed a wall, standing between Naoya and the door.

At the tail end of the pack was a tall man, so tall he needed to stoop to get under the doorframe. The tall man was as thin as a rake and dressed in a deep brown overcoat with the left lapel smoothed down while his right lapel and collar stood sharply upward at a jagged angle. Beneath his coat, he wore a dark satin shirt which he left unbuttoned to reveal the top of his chest. The man in the brown coat wore a wide brimmed hat to shield his head from the rain, which he plucked off and casually tossed to the side, revealing a mane of dark brown hair that fell across his face, shielding the rest of his features while his left eye peered out from the tangled locks.

All thirteen men stood silently watching Naoya, saying nothing, and Naoya turned to look at Hideki. The fat man didn’t have the courtesy to look Naoya in the eye; instead, Hideki kept his eyes on the countertop. Without being prompted, Hideki closed the cardboard box and pressed it towards Naoya.

“You don’t gotta worry about paying me,” Hideki confessed in a small voice. “You can just take it.”

Naoya looked down at the box, then back at Hideki, and finally to the group of men standing behind him.

“Is this him?” the tall man asked, his voice quiet, but sharp and commanding. Hideki said nothing, but by now, his assent was unnecessary.

“I’m sorry, Nao,” Hideki’s eyes briefly darted up to Naoya’s face, then back down in shame. “They’ve been asking everyone up and down the district about you for the last week, and when you called I . . .,”

Naoya stared hard at the fat man as he realized what was happening. He’d been sold out; used as neatly as Ichinose or Yamato ever wanted to. He felt his hands tighten into fists as indignation fought to rise to the surface, but the fire inside was held back as he looked at the shame on Hideki’s face, and a sense of sympathy blossomed.

“Anything to keep your head above water, huh?” Naoya flashed a wry smile and reached down to place his hand on the box. Hideki looked up, surprised at Naoya’s reaction, but before he could say anything, the tall man was standing next to Naoya, looming over the both of them. The man in the brown coat reached down with his left hand, hooking his fingers into the box holding the alternator.

He pulled the box upward and Naoya held onto it, leading to a momentary struggle. He glared up into the face of the stranger, and the man peered at him through his veil of hair, his left eye squinting, though Naoya couldn’t tell whether his opponent was smiling or grimacing. Though Naoya felt confident he could win a contest of strength, his better judgement told him that wasn’t the best choice. Reluctantly, Naoya let the stranger pry the box out of his hand.

“Smart,” the tall man sneered, seeing Naoya’s conciliation.

“Who are you?” Naoya demanded, glancing away from the man standing over him to the dozen men that were now pressing closer. Instead of an answer, the tall man slapped Naoya across the side of his head with his right hand.

“That’s a dumb question,” the tall man hissed, casually tossing the small box in his other hand. “Don’t ask another one.”

The tall man straightened up and glanced out the front window, scanning the street still being drenched by the pouring rain, and then he turned to look towards to the door that led to the dark garage.

“Let’s take this to the back,” the tall man raised his hand, gesturing to his men. The group crowded forward, forming a wall that pressed in on Naoya. Hideki’s face paled and he raised his hands.

“Look, whatever you’ve got to do, do it somewhere else!” Hideki stepped in front of the tall man as the stranger lifted a hinged portion of the countertop to step to the other side and he was rewarded with a knee to the stomach that happened faster than Naoya could react to it. Hideki bent double, wheezing as he fell backward, his gut rippling. The thin man grabbed the stumbling mechanic and shoved him to the side, sending Hideki tumbling to the floor.

“Touch him again—!” Naoya snapped, taking a step towards the tall man, but he was prevented from intervening by numerous rough hands that took hold of him from behind, wrapping around his arms and shoulders.

“Jiji,” the tall man looked down at the fallen Hideki, considering him. “Bring the piggy with us; he’s earned a front row seat.”

The group of men began pushing Naoya forward as the thin man led the way into the dark garage, and Naoya instinctively snatched hold of his helmet. As he was forced towards the back, he looked down at Hideki, making eye contact with his former friend. Hideki’s face was flushed and sweat poured across his face, and upon his features fear and regret were writ large. One of the gangsters, a man with a mohawk and a face full of metal studs, reached down, lifting the fat man back to his feet.

“Just stay calm, alright?” Naoya tried to console the other man. “Don’t try anything. It’ll be okay.”

A second later, Naoya was forced into the garage. The garage was a forty-foot-long space inside the building with three separate bays for vehicle maintenance. On the left side of the room were a trio of doors for cars to enter the garage, and another set were on the right side of the room. The thin man led Naoya and his group of minders towards the back of the shop, stepping around a rusted red truck and a baby-blue sedan that had been abandoned in the garage.

After stepping around the last of the three scaffolds, the thin man stepped to the side, and the group pressed Naoya forward, throwing him to the ground. Naoya rolled across the dust-covered concrete floor and collided with a rack of unused tools, losing his grip on his helmet which skidded away across the dusty cement floor. A growl escaped between his clenched teeth as he crawled up on his hands and knees. A part of Naoya, a large part, wanted to fight back, sensing that violence was inevitable, but caution held him back. He knew who these men were: the Tokyo Towers, and Naoya didn’t want to exchange blows with members of the largest criminal syndicate on the island if he could help it.

“I have a few questions for you, Nanbu Naoya,” the thin man took possession of Hideki from his underling, forcing the fat man to sit down on the hood of the blue sedan, which sagged under his weight. “What happens after that depends on you.”

The thin man reached into his coat and withdrew a small object. He held it up, revealing a small knife with blue cloth wrapped around its hilt. The weapon’s sheath was rectangular, scarcely shaped to match the construction of the blade and the front of sheath had a long slit down the front, preventing the container from touching the edge of the blade. The thin man touched a small button on the edge of the sheath and there was a soft hum and a spark of electricity, suggesting some kind of magnetic lock switching off. With the protections removed, the thin man withdrew the knife, and he brandished it with obvious glee.

The thin man held up the knife, making sure that Naoya could clearly see it, then swiped it through the air, slashing through the front end of the sedan. The impossibly sharp knife parted metal and glass without even a hint of resistance. With the knife’s potency demonstrated, the tall man twisted it around, bringing the blade to Hideki’s throat. With the slightest touch, the knife cut through Hideki’s skin, and a small trail of blood began to dribble down his neck. The thin man placed his left hand across the back of Hideki’s head, preventing the fat man from moving in a panic and cutting himself further on the incredibly sharp knife.

“Now, Mister Nanbu, I have a question for you,” the thin man glared at Naoya with his one visible eye. “What happened to Nishijima?”

“Nishijima?” Naoya couldn’t hide his surprise. “Is that what this is about?”

“Jiji,” rather than answer the question, the thin man directed his attention to his subordinate. “Hit him.”

The man with the blue mohawk and metal implants smiled, revealing a set of sharpened teeth. He stripped off his rain parka as the other gang members cheered, revealing that Jiji was bare-chested beneath, wearing only a set of black cargo pants and heavy-steel toed boots. Across the gangbangers chest was a laminate sculpture of a single building, though Naoya didn’t understand the significance. Jiji cracked his knuckles and broke from the group, and Naoya instinctively raised his fists, but he was interrupted when the tall man whistled.

“Stop right there!” the tall man raised his knife, pointing the bloody blade in Naoya’s direction. “You defend yourself, and Mr. Piggy loses an eye or two. You just sit there and take your medicine, you understand?”

“Aww, boss!” Jiji turned around, holding his arms out, affecting a mock pathetic tone. “You don’t gotta worry about me! I could take this fucking prick!”

“Do as you’re told,” the thin man nodded in the direction of Naoya, his voice becoming a sharp hiss once more.

Jiji spun back in Naoya’s direction again, a confident smile plastered across his features as he danced across the garage floor. The gangbanger moved painfully slowly, taking one step forward before dancing backward two more, and then to the side, building an unbearable tension as Naoya waited for the beating to start. With both hands raised, Jiji dipped from side to side in a sloppy emulation of a Dempsey roll, before coming to a stop in front of Naoya. He stood in front of Naoya, miming slow exaggerated punches towards his face and abdomen for several seconds, but his hands never made contact.

“Well, well,” the thug put one hand on his chin, and looked Naoya up and down. “There’s so much on offer, I don’t even know where to start.” The gangster lifted one foot and tapped the toe of his boot against Naoya’s knee. “Maybe I should break your kneecaps, huh? Might bring a big son of a bitch like you down to size?”

Naoya didn’t answer; he knew that he was being goaded, but resisting in any way would only make things worse, for both him and Hideki.

“You ain’t got anything to say?” Jiji asked, looking up at Naoya’s face with annoyance, seeing that he got no reaction. “What’s the matter, big guy? You haven’t got any balls? Why don’t we find out?”

Jiji raised his right hand, hooking his index finger and thumb like a pincer.

“How ‘bout I bust one of those nuts of yours?” Jiji asked, his threat eliciting jeers from his comrades watching the scene play out. “Huh? Would you like that? It’s easy enough to do.” Jiji lowered his hand towards Naoya’s groin, and he instinctively bent lower and pressed his thighs together to try and protect himself, earning laughter from the Towers.

“What’s the matter?” Jiji held his hand away. “Am I moving too fast for you? If you don’t want me to rip your nuts off, you just gotta ask.” Jiji stepped forward, placing a finger against the back of his right ear. “Go ahead. I’m listening. Beg me. Beg me to let you keep being a man.”

Naoya didn’t say anything, which only seemed to anger Jiji.

“What’s the matter?” the other man moved even closer, his breath wafting over Naoya’s face along with flecks of spittle. “You suddenly fucking mute? Beg me! Get on your knees!”

Jiji slapped Naoya across the face, the sound echoing through the garage.

“Do it!”

Another slap, more forceful this time, the clap even louder.

“Not pussy enough to beg, but not man enough to fight, huh?”

A third slap, strong enough to cause stars to flash in Naoya’s eyes.

“Okay, okay,” Jiji raised his hands again and stepped back several steps, a sinister smile on his face. “I see how it is.”

In a move that Jiji must have thought was clever, he half-turned away, presenting his left side to Naoya as if the gangbanger had given up and was about to rejoin the onlooking group of thugs. Instead, Jiji darted back towards Naoya, driving his elbow up towards Naoya’s face. It was a telegraphed move and Naoya had to fight his own instincts to let the attack land.

The elbow hit Naoya at the corner of his mouth, and he fell backward, as Jiji launched into a flurry of blows. The smaller man hit Naoya in the stomach and the chest, before sneaking fists around Naoya’s arms when he tried to protect his face and head. The attack ended suddenly with a single sharp intonation.

“Stop,” the thin man hissed and Jiji obeyed without a second thought, holding up his hands to show that he was following orders. Naoya struggled to stand straight, blood flowing from a busted lip while pain flashed from a dozen new bruises across his upper body. He watched with palpable rage as Jiji danced back to his place in the lineup of thugs, licking some of Naoya’s blood off his knuckles.

He hadn’t asked for trouble today; since the fight with Nishijima, Naoya had strived to keep his nose clean. His memories of that night were spotty at best, but sometimes, he found himself remembering the feeling of his fists bashing the skull of a beaten man while a familiar voice snarled like a beast in his ears. There was something vicious inside him; Naoya couldn’t deny that anymore. Not now, when the Towers had woken it up again.

“When I ask a question, you answer,” the thin man tapped the flat of his knife against Hideki’s head. “If you ask me a question, one of you gets punished. If you don’t answer, one of you gets punished. If I don’t like the answer, well, I think you can solve the equation at this point.”

Naoya said nothing, instead wiping blood from his busted lip with a shaking hand as he struggled to hold himself back. Taking his silence as assent, the thin man went on.

“Nishijima: who hired you to look for him?”

“A guy who runs a soapland across town,” Naoya didn’t really want to give any details about Ichinose; as much as he didn’t like the slimy little man, he didn’t want the Towers paying him a visit.

“Keep talking,” the thin man insisted, and Naoya struggled to find more to say, not being certain what would set the man off.

“He told me Nishijima was some kind of super perv that hit up every establishment in town,” Naoya held a hand to his face to stem the blood, struggling to continue to talk at the same time. “He said he owed a tab worth a small fortune. He told me I’d get a cut if I managed to turn the guy in.”

“And you found him,” it wasn’t a question, but the thin man’s statement clearly invited a reply.

“In Foundation,” Naoya agreed, speaking slowly and calmly to avoid antagonizing the gang leader. “I tracked him down there.”

“What happened then?”

“I tried to talk to him, and he pulled out a weapon,” Naoya struggled to remember precisely what happened that night, and the hits to the head he’d just received didn’t help. “We fought. I won.”

“And then?” the thin man leaned forward, craning his neck around the captive Hideki to peer at Naoya.

“I let him go,” Naoya held up his hands, and the thin man quietly peered at him for several long seconds.

“Why?” the question was quiet, but sharp and clearly heard.

“I. . .,” Naoya paused and looked down, knowing he had no good answer to that question. Not one that the gangbanger would respect. “I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“Ida,” the thin man raised his voice, clear irritation being broadcast. “Hit him.”

Naoya braced himself, having expected another punishment to be headed his way. Ida stepped forward, still dressed in his slick dark grey parka. All Naoya could see of him was a broad scarred face of brown skin with a pair of wide lips curled into a frown. Naoya almost considered it a mercy when Ida didn’t make a show of the beating, as Jiji did, instead running across the room to hit Naoya with speed.

Ida used his short sprint to launch a flying knee which collided with Naoya’s chest. Naoya tumbled backwards again, slamming into the wall behind him before he tumbled to the floor. Struggling to catch his breath, Naoya lacked the strength to do anything other than curl into a ball as Ida began kicking him viciously, driving his boots into Naoya’s stomach and ribs.

“Stop,” the order came thirty seconds after the attack commenced.

Ida’s footsteps retreated and Naoya rolled onto his hands and knees, trying to pull himself up. It took over a minute for Naoya to get upright again, and it required him to lean against the wall behind him to manage it. He couldn’t imagine what the Towers expected to get out of the situation, but it was clear that the questioning wasn’t going to stop.

“Why did you let Nishijima go?” Naoya barely realized the question had been asked, as he floated in and out of consciousness. He struggled to breathe, feeling some kind of warm pressure on his sternum, and as he tried to answer, he coughed up blood and it spilled down his chin.

The pain was swiftly swallowed up by the monster inside. It drank up the hurt and the fear, and it gave back wrath tenfold. Naoya’s head pounded and energy seemed to flood through him, starting in his skull and traveling down through his limbs. The overwhelming tide filled Naoya with an urge to avenge himself and he powered up to his feet, his teeth bared in a snarl. He ignored the small fish, looking past the low-level gangbangers to glare murder at the ringleader. Naoya had raised one boot to begin advancing when his eyes locked onto Hideki’s features, and he remembered what was happening.

“I can’t move,” Naoya struggled to force the beast in his head back into its box, even as his head pounded. He reached up to rub his throbbing temples, knowing that no amount of anger could make him fast enough to save Hideki if the tall man decided to cut his throat.

“It was. . . was. . . the right thing,” Naoya answered, giving a shake of his head.

“Jiji, Ida, Hide,” the thin man gave the order again. “Hit him until he changes his answer.” The three men stepped forward, Jiji taking the lead with clear relish. Naoya’s eyes ran back and forth between the three men, wondering if the beast would come out to Hideki’s detriment, or if he’d end up being beaten to death.

“Oh, and Mister Nanbu?” the thin man’s voice called out and Naoya looked up at him. “You can fight back this time.”

Jiji turned to look at his boss, his features wrinkling with confusion. As a result, he didn’t see Naoya’s fist before it collided with his jaw. In an instant, Naoya had crossed the room and launched his own attack, and the first strike shattered Jiji’s mandible, sending blood and teeth spraying from between his lips. Jiji fell backward onto the floor, clutching his broken mouth as he writhed in pain, yowling and shedding tears of agony.

The collection of Towers, with their dyed hair, gregarious tattoos and countless piercings, fell backward at the sight of Naoya seeming to cross the room in an instant. Naoya, tall, burly, and dressed in black coat that was decorated with his own blood, snarled from between his clenched bloody teeth like an animal. A switch had been flipped in his brain, and all his reservations were gone. The sight of Naoya charging into their midst made half of the Towers break and run. Ida, perhaps acting on well-ingrained instinct, aimed a kick at the left side of Naoya’s head.

The attack was stopped short as Naoya reached out to catch Ida’s leg by the ankle. Then, with a simple twist of his wrist, there came a gut-wrenching sound of the bones in Ida’s foot breaking. Ida screamed and reached up to clutch towards his leg, dancing around off-balance as Naoya continued to hold his ankle in the air. He tugged on Ida’s leg and pulled the man towards him, then released his grip to clothesline the other man with his forearm. Ida’s head whipped back and he fell to the floor, cracking his head against the concrete.

Hide, the third man, seemed to have the idea to treat the raging Naoya like a bull, as the gangster ripped off his parka and threw it over Naoya’s head in an attempt to blind him. Before the parka even fell across Naoya’s face, he lashed out with a right jab. Naoya’s fist punched into the center of the wet raincoat, dragging it through the air until his hand slammed into Hide’s face. The raincoat fell back over its owner’s head, preventing Naoya from seeing Hide’s reaction, but from the way he fell backward, Naoya gathered that he was out of the fight.

With the first three contenders down, the rest of the gang didn’t wait for the thin man to order them to engage. Drawing weapons out of their coats, or picking up abandoned tools, the rest of the Towers formed themselves into a circle that tightened as they slowly walked closer. Naoya held his right fist up against his chest while he kept his left hand low with his fingers spread. He kept his head on a swivel, glancing from one side to another as he tried to anticipate the next attack. Fortunately for him, one of the gangsters behind him decided it was a good idea to let out a Neanderthalic bellow as he charged.

Naoya side-stepped to his right just as a stolen wrench came swinging down where the back of his skull would have been. The tattooed and pierced gangster stumbled forward a few steps, thrown off balance by over-extending himself, and Naoya used the opportunity to thrust out his left elbow and drive it into the side of the gangbanger’s head. The man stumbled to the floor, but his quick defeat only served as a signal to his comrades, who charged as one.

The next few seconds were a blur of sights, sound, and sensation as attacks came at Naoya from all sides. The world shattered as the monster escaped his cage, and everything became a kaleidoscope of broken shapes in Naoya’s mind, even though his eyes tried to tell him everything was intact. The monster, the beast of his anger, pain, and the need to survive, unleashed its fury on the men around him.

He ducked, dodged, and weaved through the onslaught, not pausing for a single moment among the frenzied melee. A thrusting knife was slapped aside, and the blade broke apart into a dozen pieces which sprayed across the floor. The offending gangster received a jab directly to his nose before he could fully process that his weapon had been broken, and blood burst from his nostrils as his head snapped backward. A haymaker aimed for the side of Naoya’s head hit nothing but air; he ducked under the attack and drove his right hand into the other man’s solar plexus, sending his attacker stumbling backward breathlessly.

For any ordinary person, Naoya’s situation would have been hopeless. He was outnumbered and facing down a gang of hardened criminals wielding weapons, all of whom had a thirst for blood, but in defiance of conventional sense, none of them could lay a finger on Naoya. Power seemed to flow through Naoya’s chest, and the world seemed to slow, enabling him to effortlessly dance around his attackers.

He slid between attack after attack, lashing out at each person the threatened him. With every punch and kick, Naoya felt bones fracture and the gangster on the receiving end stumbled away, quitting the fight. Blood spattered across the ground as Naoya rained down blows, and the jeers and hollers of the bloodthirsty Towers were replaced with anguished cries.

Each attack Naoya launched was faster, stronger, and more vicious than the last. Naoya took no notice of niceties or fair play: he kicked a fleeing man in the back, sending him slamming face first into a metal pole, and kicked another man in the groin. Life in Yōgai-shima was a constant battle to survive, and the winner was justified in using any method if it meant the difference between life and death. The monster in Naoya accepted those terms, and it would have gladly fell on his fallen opponents to continue its savage beating, but Naoya was able to direct the fury within towards only those that were still standing.

“Enough!” a voice called out across the garage, though it was less of a shout and more of a hiss. Even so, it was powerful enough to get everyone’s attention, and its source was unmistakable. The last handful of gangsters standing had backed away from Naoya, staying out of his range, and they held up a set of knives and tire irons defensively to ward off his approach. A half-dozen of their number were laid out on the concrete floor of the garage, while the wounded had scampered away to take shelter behind the cars and stacks of tires. At the sound of the tall man’s voice, Naoya slowly lowered his hands, no longer seeing the gangsters as a threat.

“It’s time for you bitches to run home,” the tall man shoved Hideki to the floor, letting the mechanic scramble away on all fours. He pointed his knife at Naoya, his one clear eye beaming at the animalistic man. “All you ordinary humans better get the fuck out! This is a place for calamities, now!”

The remaining members of the Towers scattered in all directions. Some fled back out towards the main entrance, while others took hold of the chains attached to the corrugated doors and hoisted them open to flee into the rain. Some of the more conscientious members of the gang took the liberty of dragging their wounded outside, leaving the thin man and Naoya alone inside the building.

The thin man stepped away from the broken-down car he’d been sitting on, still holding his knife at Naoya from across the room. With his left hand, the tall man swept back his hair to reveal his face. The thin man had a long face with a thin beard across his jaw and a pointed nose with wide nostrils. In a certain light, he might have appeared handsome, but fiendish, if it wasn’t for the laminate effigy that was molded across the right half of his face. Three buildings with the texture of concrete ran from the bottom of the gangsters jaw up to the top of his forehead.

“Sakai Satoshi,” the man introduced himself, his toothy smile causing the buildings on his face to contort, the windows on them shining from the lights of the garage. “Lieutenant of the Nishi-Shinjuku Towers.”

The gracious introduction wasn’t returned in kind; Naoya stood glowering at the Tower, snarling under the impulse of the monster. The twin visions of the world continued to struggle for dominance in his eyes: one broken, and one whole. From the monster’s perspective, Sakai was a broken jumble of human glass only vaguely shaped into anthropic form. From the numerous divides into Sakai’s body, Naoya could see light flash and darkness seep out, but the meaning of the vision was unknown to him.

Sakai, tall as he was, moved in a stooped crouch, limiting his silhouette while continuing to wave the knife back and forth, mimicking a serpent dancing from side to side. Naoya glanced down at the knife and Sakai’s smiling face, his attention constantly shifting between his opponent and his weapon. He was reminded of his battle with Nishijima, who had also been armed, but Naoya knew he couldn’t afford to take a single blow from Sakai’s knife.

Sakai crept forward, slowly pushing Naoya back towards the wall, using the threat of the knife as equal parts sword and shield to keep Naoya on the defensive. Naoya tried to imagine what counterattacks he could throw against the knife-wielding gangster, but no matter what kind of punch or kick he tried to conceive of launching, he always ended up with a missing limb afterward. With instinct and rage bearing no fruit, Naoya’s reason reasserted itself.

“When fighting bare-handed against an opponent with a weapon, retreat is always the best option,” it was the same advice that came to mind when he faced Nishijima, and Naoya was quick to disregard it again. “If retreat is not an option, then the best method of defense to control the weapon. Deprive your enemy of the ability to use it against them and disarm them.”

Naoya stopped retreating and altered his stance. He planted his feet and let his hands hang open, holding them up in a loose guard. He held his left hand closer to his chest, while he let his right-hand venture further towards Sakai. As Sakai waved his knife back and forth, Naoya mirrored the movements of the weapon with his right hand, keeping his fingers ready to intercept an attack and catch the gangster’s wrist within a split second.

Sakai swiped and jabbed at Naoya’s fingers, trying to discourage him, but Naoya was always fast enough to withdraw his hand before Sakai could take a finger or two. Sakai’s smile wavered as Naoya persistently threatened his space with his outstretched hand, and Naoya realized that between the two of them, he was faster. It was the gangster that was now considering his options, trying to decide how best to launch his attack.

The two men stared each other down, and neither man moved from their place, both waiting for some kind of signal to begin the melee. The sound of rain roared in through the open garage doors and bounced off the walls of the garage, becoming a deafening clamor like the cheers of an anxious crowd waiting for the festivities to begin. Then, lightning flashed, as if the powers in heaven had declared it was time for the battle to begin.

Sakai swept his knife in a right to left slash towards Naoya’s sternum and Naoya swept his hand downward, striking Sakai across the top of the hand to deflect the knife downward. Another slash followed, and Naoya stopped it short by catching Sakai’s wrist with his fingers. Before he could disarm him, Naoya felt a flash of pain as Sakai twisted the knife up to slash against Naoya’s underarm, and Naoya let his arm go.

The pain vanished a moment after it had come, but Sakai held up the knife in front of his eyes, admiring the red coating that proved it had struck home. Naoya felt sweat bead on his face as his confidence wavered, and the monster rattled the bars in its cage of reason, demanding that blind rage be used when strategy failed. By contrast, Sakai was clearly galvanized by his momentary victory, and he chuckled darkly under his breath as he looked to renew his attack.

The gangster feinted a thrust with his right hand and then tossed the blade into his left hand. Naoya flinched away from the false thrust and was caught off-guard by the switch. He tilted his head to his right as the knife slashed through his left cheek, and he wept a red trail down the side of his face. Sakai continued his onslaught of blade thrusts, and he seemed to grow faster with each strike. The invisible cracks in his flesh flashed with white light, and the luminescence empowered the gangster. More slashes and stabs struck home, each one a light wound that Naoya narrowly evaded or turned aside, but the momentum was clearly in Sakai’s favor.

Another feint, and the blade switched hands again. Sakai’s knife thrust towards Naoya’s right eye, threatening to skewer him through the skull. Cracks surged through Sakai’s right hand, revealing small particles of white light that flowed through his limb. Naoya gaped, unable to discern what the vision meant, but something stranger still occurred afterward. The shining white light split Sakai’s right forearm into five separate copies, each one holding a deadly instrument between their fingers. The quintet of blades thrust in unison towards Naoya’s face, neck, and head. Unable to rationalize what he was seeing, Naoya’s instinct took over.

Naoya didn’t consciously understand the meaning of the light shining out of Sakai’s body, but the monster inside him did. Guided by reflex and the desire to survive, Naoya’s left hand leapt forward, weaving between the identical limbs to take hold of Sakai’s arm where the five thrusting appendages split. In his imagination, Naoya’s own reaching arm was also cracked and fragmented, and from its fissures, black oily particles poured forth in a multitude. Naoya’s hand brought Sakai’s arm to a stop and the flow of black particles poured from his limb onto the gangster’s.

The black flow met the shining particles and a strange intercourse followed. The white particles paired individually with their black counterparts, and they collided with one another before bursting apart. The flow of darkness pouring out of Naoya swallowed up the light flowing from Sakai and the gangster’s arm was completely painted black. The instant the light went out, the multiple limbs that forked out of Sakai’s body disappeared, leaving him with only one right hand once more.

In response, Sakai’s freehand darted towards the inside of his coat, seeking another weapon, but it was too late. Naoya balled his left hand into a fist and threw a ferocious punch which collided with Sakai’s jaw. The impact created a clap of thunder, and Sakai was sent tumbling across the room. The gangster soared over the rusted blue sedan and then fell across the hood of the wheelless red truck, striking it with his shoulders and the back of his head.

Naoya felt his heart beating in his chest, violently, but the high of the adrenaline began to wane after the exchange. Sakai was out of sight behind the truck on the other side of the garage, and Naoya struggled to imagine the man remain conscious after that blow. Cautiously, Naoya began to creep forward, moving to his left to try and see where Sakai landed.

“Did I seriously launch him that far?” Naoya questioned himself, glancing between the place where he’d been standing and the dented hood of the truck where Sakai had landed, meaning the gangster had been thrown the better part of the forty-foot length of the garage. “How did I do that?”

The mystery of his own strength encouraged Naoya to move with greater speed. Rounding the vehicle, Naoya saw the tall, skinny Sakai laying face down on the floor while a pool of blood blossomed beneath him. Momentarily abandoning his own safety, Naoya rushed forward, terrified by the thought that he’d mortally wounded the gangster, but he froze when Sakai began to rise.

Sakai pushed himself upward with his hands, slowly crawling up to his knees. As Sakai looked up at him, Naoya saw that the gangster’s jaw had been torn off. The skin of the man’s face was horrifically ripped and what was left of his mandible dangled from the corner of his mouth. Blood spilled down the man’s open throat and chest in a red tide, and Naoya could only imagine that Sakai would be dead in seconds. But there was a sense of profound danger, despite the outpouring of blood, and, somehow, Naoya imagined that Sakai was still smiling even with half of his face missing.

Sakai climbed to his feet, casually reaching up to press his broken jaw back into place. In moments, his bloody bones fused back together, and a new coating of flesh knitted itself over the wound, leaving only the clinging blood as evidence that Sakai had ever been harmed. The gangster worked his jaw for several seconds, making sure that his mouth was working properly before returning his attention to Naoya.

“You’ve got one hell of a right hook,” the gangster raised his left hand in imitation of a punch. “I’ll give you that much.”

“There’s no need to take this any further,” Naoya held out his hands, trying to negotiate during the brief lull in the fighting. “I don’t know anything more about Nishijima than what I told you.”

“Don’t be a bitch,” Sakai turned and spat blood down onto the concrete. “This isn’t just about Nishijima, anymore. Besides, Mister Nanbu; I’m not going to just run away with my tail between my legs after getting clocked like that. Not on your life.”

Sakai held his knife out towards Naoya, pointing the blade towards him again, and Naoya dropped into his defensive stance in kind. But rather than advance, Sakai spun the blade around with a flourish, reversing his grip before plunging the knife into his own chest. Naoya stood stunned, unable to believe that Sakai had done anything other than kill himself, but the gangster was far from mortally wounded.

Sakai held up both hands, his fingers spasming, and blood spurted from his digits. From the middle of all five fingers, blades emerged, splitting each digit in two from the first knuckle down. Sakai raised his hands, brandishing his bladed fingers, all of them a replica of the knife thrust into his chest.

“Enough playing around,” Sakai smiled again, his teeth appearing narrower and sharper. “Time for the real shit.”

Naoya stood stunned, trying to wrap his head around the threat in front of him. It was the first time in his life that Naoya had ever seen a Human Calamity in person before, excepting Suzume. Now, one of those almost mythical beings was standing in front of him, and that living disaster wanted him dead. The idea of fleeing for his life once again shouted in his mind, but Naoya doubted he’d manage to get far, and knowing he’d die with his back turned left a bitter taste in Naoya’s mouth. But, if he didn’t run, what was he supposed to do?

Sakai wasn’t keen on giving Naoya the chance to think. The tall man rushed forward, his claws extended, eager to bite deep into Naoya’s flesh. Naoya backpedaled as the barrage of attacks came his way. Like before, Naoya tried to sweep aside Sakai’s attacks by striking their forearms together and pushing aside the bladed hands without directly touching them, but blocking both of Sakai’s arms was nearly impossible. Attack after attack came Naoya’s way, and Sakai never let up the pace.

A flurry of three raking claw swipes followed, one after another, and he desperately tried to bat them aside, retreating all the while. The first two slashes Naoya successfully turned away, but Sakai feinted the third, pulling back on the third strike before Naoya could intercept it, then dragged his claws down Naoya’s outstretched right arm. The blades protruding from Sakai’s fingers carved through Naoya’s laminate jacket without resistance and shredded his arm beneath.

Pain shot through Naoya like a bullet, and he screamed through his clenched teeth, trying to hold back the agony. Blood poured down his arm as Naoya struggled to hold it up to maintain his defenses, but it was a lost cause. Sakai landed a roundhouse kick on Naoya’s right side, causing Naoya to stumble, before then plunging his right hand into Naoya’s left clavicle. The six-inch daggers stabbed through flesh and bone as though they weren’t there, and Naoya screamed, unable to contain the pain.

The blades in Naoya’s shoulder were violently twisted, and then pulled out, sending Naoya’s blood spurting. Losing the strength to stand, Naoya sank to his knees, and Sakai towered over him. With a disdainful swipe of his claws, Sakai dragged his blades across Naoya’s face. Half of Naoya’s vision went dark as his left eye was gouged, and the blades tore through his left cheek and part of his mouth.

Sakai looked down at his mutilated victim with a mocking sneer, and he said something, though Naoya couldn’t hear it. Naoya’s entire mind was consumed by pain and fear, which heralded the return of the vicious, instinctive feral mind. Pain and fear were subsumed by inarticulate, indiscriminate rage, and Naoya howled through his torn mouth.

Sakai had his hand halfway raised over his head for another blow when Naoya punched him in the sternum with his left hand. The gangster wheezed as the mighty blow caught him unawares, and he was sent flying again, slamming into the hood of the baby blue sedan, crumpling it. Naoya was back on his feet in an instant, growling and snarling like a beast, the pain vanishing in seconds. His strength returned, and he blinked blood from his left eye as his vision cleared.

Sakai struggled to stand and Naoya pounced on his fallen foe, abandoning any semblance of mercy. Naoya raised his left hand and slammed it downward, intent on smashing Sakai’s head to pulp between his fist and the hood of the car, but Sakai rolled to the right, evading the blow. Naoya’s hand plunged through the head of the car and through the engine block as easily as any of Sakai’s knives.

Golden fractures spiderwebbed out from where Naoya’s arm impaled the machine, and as he withdrew his arm, the hood and the engine of the vehicle violently shattered into thousands of pieces and spilled across the floor. Sakai rolled to his feet, but before he could do much more, Naoya grabbed hold of the car with his right hand, hooking his fingers in the front lefthand wheel well. Lifting the stripped-down car chassis with one hand, Naoya swung the massive hunk of metal like a club, and it struck Sakai across the chest with a crunching sound.

Sakai was thrown backward into the side of the truck, smashing in its driver’s side door. Naoya shifted his grip on the sedan, hefting it over his head with both hands before throwing the vehicle at Sakai. The sedan tumbled through the air, blocking out Naoya’s view of the gangster and the truck, but Sakai reappeared as he slashed the hunk of metal to pieces before it could crush him. Large chunks of the car sailed past the gangster and struck the side of the truck, toppling it to the floor with a thunderous crash.

Sakai lunged back towards Naoya, undeterred by his renewed strength. The two men brawled in the center of the garage, both throwing wild attacks at one another. Sakai’s blades tore through Naoya’s flesh with abandon, but his body healed itself in a matter of moments, making the numerous slashes ineffective. Naoya, by contrast, laid into Sakai with a wild flurry of punches, abandoning defense except to evade slashes intent on decapitating him.

As Naoya’s right hand collided with Sakai’s ribs, he felt the bones break beneath his knuckles. Darting and ducking in and out of Sakai’s range, Naoya’s powerful hands gored flesh, tore cartilage, and shattered bones. Though Sakai continued to heal, his regeneration was sluggish compared to Naoya, and the numerous wounds began to mount, slowing his movements. Despite this, Sakai continued to fight, and in the span of seconds, they’d exchanged a thousand blows that soaked the floor around them with blood. A kick to Sakai’s chest sent the gangster tumbling to the floor, and fragments of his shattered claws were sent skittering across the cement.

As the brutalized thug struggled to rise, Naoya felt energy surge through his body. Unable to contain it, Naoya threw his head back and screamed. The sound that came from his throat was inhuman, beyond the range and power of human vocal cords. The roar sent a shockwave through the air, and countless golden ribbons of light began to flow through the floor around his feet.

The fissures snaked across the floor, up across tool shelves, across the wreckage of the toppled vehicles and through the walls. Where the golden lines spread, division came after, and the entire building began to fall apart around them. Chunks of the ceiling collapsed to the floor, and the earth began to shake. Amid the tumult, another heat burned against Naoya’s chest, and he felt an alien surge suddenly hit him, causing the brilliant faultlines spreading around him to vanish.

Static crackled in Naoya’s ears, and he felt electricity run across his chest. Something burned against Naoya’s breast, and his left hand clutched at his jacket, seeking the origin of the intense energy. The powerful but familiar current of electricity reminded Naoya of his humanity, and he realized what was inside his coat.

“Suzume’s talisman?” Naoya remembered the small charms that his paramour foisted on him, and the sight of the last one being burnt and blackened the night he fought Nishijima came to mind. Despite the emergence of his reason, the energy coursing around Naoya continued to swell and small fragments of metal began to swirl around him as though they were caught in his orbit.

Pressure too intense for words fell on Naoya’s shoulders, and he felt as though he was going to be crushed on the spot. He felt his strength leaving him, and he had to fight just to remain standing. Lightning coursed around Naoya, trying to hold him down. Over the crackling in his ears, a peal of laughter echoed off the broken walls of the garage.

“So, you want to go all out, huh!?” Sakai climbed to his feet; a mad grin plastered across his features as his wounds healed. “Then, let’s do it!”

Sakai raised his arms out to his sides, and his sleeves tore apart as a hundred blades emerged from beneath his skin, covering his arms from his shoulders down to his wrists. Raising his hands over his head, Sakai brought them down, flapping the metal sleeves across his arms like they were wings. The countless knives scraped together, creating a cacophony of grinding metal as the gangster’s wide grin grew even wider. The Towers capo lunged at the immobile Naoya, spreading his arms out to either side to scissor his foe’s head off when he brought them together.

Still unable to move, and barely able to even stand, Naoya realized he was staring death in the face. Gathering all of his strength in his right hand, he was determined to throw one last blow, but what would it accomplish? Maybe, if he used everything he had, he could punch Sakai’s head off, but that might not stop the man’s bladed arms from closing on his throat. He clenched his fist, raising it upward, not certain precisely what he was going to do.

The final moments of the battle seemed to slow down to a snail’s pace; Sakai soared through the air, droplets of blood trailing from his grisly pinions. Naoya stood in his shadow as the wicked raptor descended, his left arm hanging at his side while his right hand was curled into a fist. In that interminable moment, Naoya’s eyes wandered to Sakai’s bloody chest, and he realized that he still had one last chance.

Sakai’s arms swept together, the countless blades rattling their death wail and Naoya thrust his hand forward. Blood spattered across the garage floor, and Naoya felt Sakai’s fingers touch the sides of his neck. Naoya stood stock still, his hand held out, trying to discern whether or not he was still alive.

Naoya’s arm had penetrated Sakai’s chest and punched through up to the middle of his right bicep. Sticking through Sakai’s back, Naoya’s right hand triumphantly clutched the hilt of the monomolecular knife that Sakai had stabbed himself with. The moment the blade had been removed, the countless replicas sprouting from Sakai’s body disappeared. Realizing he was still breathing, Naoya felt a surge of dopamine knowing that his gamble had paid off. It was only a guess that whatever power the gangster possessed would cease to function if the knife was removed; if Naoya had been wrong, he’d be dead.

The crackling and buzzing in Naoya’s ears had ceased, along with the pressure, and Naoya took hold of Sakai’s shoulder with his left hand and shoved him backwards. Naoya’s arm pulled free from the gangster’s body with a disgusting slurping sound, and Sakai stumbled away, clutching at the hole in his stomach. Sakai glared at Naoya, blood flowing from his lips as the hole in his torso was filled in.

Naoya held up the bloody knife with a determined glare in his eyes, then, he snapped the knife in two before casting both parts to the floor of the garage. Sakai glared back as rain poured in through the gaps in the roof, bringing down more chunks of concrete, and auguring the imminent collapse of the building. A small chime broke the silence, and Sakai straightened.

The gangster took hold of his left lapel and pulled his coat open, revealing a dozen or so knives attached to the inside of his jacket. The sight made Naoya’s stomach drop, but the gangster didn’t reach for one of his weapons, instead reaching into an inside pocket to withdraw a small phone. Sakai looked down at the Augur as its screen reflected across the small windows on his face, a scowl forming on his features.

“That’s all for today: an Inspector’s heading towards us,” the gangster announced, his voice returning to its sharp, quiet hiss. He reached up with both hands and raked his mane of bloody hair forward to dangle over his face once more. “I’ll be seeing you again, Mister Nanbu. The boss is going to love you.”

With a sharp kick of his foot, Sakai sent something small skittering towards Naoya across the floor. Instinctively, Naoya stopped it with the toe of his right boot, wary it was some kind of new attack. Looking down at it, Naoya realized that it was the small cardboard box that held the alternator.

With that, Sakai turned away as the roof began to collapse, and Naoya scrambled to scoop up the box with the alternator and his helmet before he rushed outside through one of the open garage doors on his left. Outside, the rest of the Towers scattered in all directions as the building fell in on itself, sending up plumes of dust. Sirens wailed in the distance, and Naoya thought of nothing except fleeing for his life.

The heavy rain washed the blood from his stainless laminate jacket, hiding the evidence of his wounds. Naoya raced around the crumbling building, tugging his helmet on before tucking the alternator into his jacket and climbing onto his parked bike. No sooner than he mounted the vehicle than he took off, racing away as the garage crumbled into a pile of slag.

In a frenzy, Naoya rode away, the city around him blurring thanks to the speed and the rain pouring through his eyes. The sirens continued to wail and Naoya pulled off into a side street as they drew closer. He sat on his bike, near the border between Temptation and Decadence, waiting for the sounds to pass. His Augur chimed in his pocket, but he ignored it. Thunder boomed overhead, momentarily hiding the sound of the sirens. Naoya raised his hands and turned them over as he stared at them. His fingers shook and he tried to force himself to relax.

Feeling the pressure of the small cardboard box against his chest, Naoya reached into his coat pocket and withdrew it. With his trembling fingers, Naoya slid the lid open and reached down to pull out the alternator. Hideki was as good as his word: the part was the exact make and model he needed, and it seemed hardly used. As he turned it over, however, Naoya could see numerous cracks in the alternator’s finish. He stared at the damage, trying to wish it away with disbelief, but the truth was unavoidable.

“Fuck.”

Dossier

Subject Name: Sakai Satoshi (堺 鋭)

Subject Status: Human Calamity (Survivor)

An officer in the Tokyo Towers that’s had run-ins with the Bureau a time or two. The subject has been positively identified as a Survivor since 2040 and has remained under surveillance since that time. Sakai has shown a modicum of skill in utilizing his Crisis and Karma, but his mediocre Exigency and his status as a member of the Towers makes him a low-priority target for apprehension and recruitment.

Crisis

Stabbing Emergency, “Knife-Block”

Sakai possesses the ability to replicate the features of knife or bladed weapon thrust into his body by transforming his own matter. The blades created from Sakai’s body exactly copy whatever implement he was stabbed with, mirroring their sharpness, durability, and material. If the blade(s) impaling Sakai’s body are removed, he loses the ability to create and maintain the weapons within his body.

Parameters

Exigency: 5

Sakai sits firmly in the middle of the Human Calamity spectrum as seen by the Bureau. He possesses physical durability sufficient to withstand forces that would kill an ordinary human being, but concentrated conventional weaponry could likely bring him down. He does possess the ability to regenerate most wounds and trauma within a few seconds, which is noteworthy for a Human Calamity of his level.

Runaway: 4

As his body draws in Hazard Energy from his environment, Sakai can generate more knives from his body.

Forecasting: Unknown

Sakai has not demonstrated any significant moments of prescience, but the limitation of available data inhibits an accurate analysis.

Account: 50%

Sakai has demonstrated a modest capability for utilizing his Karma.

Precision: 8

Sakai’s Crisis is small in scope, prohibiting acts of mass destruction.

Karma: 7

The subject possesses Positive Karma.