January 15th, 2044
07:30 AM
Central Ward
Horizon District
Nanbu Naoya
Naoya sat on the couch, his back to the window that was streaked with countless drops of falling rain. He was dressed in a simple white undershirt and a pair of black sweatpants, unable to summon up any more energy to get dressed and face the day. Instead, he was partially slumped in his seat, one arm hanging over the back of the chair as he stared at nothing in particular.
Hurricane Izumi let her clouds swallow up the sky, creating a barrier that blocked out the rising sun, making it appear as though night had yet to leave. Lightning flashed in the window, and thunder rolled afterward, booming throughout the city. Despite the tumult outside, Naoya couldn’t be bothered to move from his seat.
He hadn’t slept since the night before. After Hideki’s garage collapsed, Naoya had come straight home. He spent the entire day in a nervous state, trying to understand what had happened to him, reliving the encounter with the Towers over and over again. It wasn’t the first time Naoya had gotten into a fight, far from it, but it was the first time he’d ever been so seriously injured.
“I was mutilated, wasn’t I?” Naoya asked himself that question, again and again. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, running his hand over the left half of his face. He remembered the pain of blades running across his eye, blinding him before gouging open the side of his jaw. But of those wounds, no trace remained, not even a scar.
His laminate jacket, which had been torn open by the flashing blades, had sown itself back up, leaving it without a mark, but the shirt beneath the jacket told the tale. The grey sweater Naoya had been wearing was shredded and stained with trace amounts of blood. Holding the torn article of clothing in his hands, Naoya stared at it, observing it as the only proof that he hadn’t lost his mind. He’d been forced to hide it before Suzume came home; he couldn’t risk letting her suspect what happened, but she seemed to know that something was wrong.
Before Naoya had even gotten home, Suzume had been calling him, but Naoya was in far too frantic a state to answer. When he finally picked up, he assured her that he was back home and that he was fine, but she continued to pester him with questions for as long as she could. When she came home late at night, she didn’t ask any more questions, but she kept a keen eye on him, watching for anything strange.
The rest of the night was a blur, and Naoya spent it simply staring up at the ceiling while Suzume slept beside him. He tried to wrap his head around everything that he’d experienced; the battle with the Towers, the wounds that disappeared, his supernatural strength, the lightning that wrapped around him. He spent so long thinking about it that he wished it never happened, and that it was all just a dream, but it was true. Even worse, the more he thought about it, the more the answers to his questions became clear.
“I’m a monster, aren’t I?” Naoya couldn’t evade that thought, but he couldn’t dare ask it aloud. It was like actually saying it would make it real.
Even as Naoya sat in silence, his mind turned entirely inward, Suzume was busy getting ready for work. He listened to the sound of Suzume step into the shower and turn on the water. Suzume’s presence made Naoya feel more at ease, and he wished she didn’t have to leave. He wanted to shut out the world for a day and pretend that his problems didn’t exist. He wanted to share that seclusion with Suzume, to just be with her, but he couldn’t do that. Besides, being with Suzume brought its own sense of uncertainty, as well. If anyone knew the answers to Naoya’s questions, it was Suzume.
“What am I?” Naoya wanted to ask the question when he heard the sound of Suzume opening the washroom door, but he bit his tongue. He remained silent as she crossed into the living room, shrugging on her uniform jacket. She stopped near the couch, standing in her black suit with its silver zippers, blue blouse, and red tie. She tugged on her gloves and then tightened the straps of the holster on her right thigh.
“Are you staying in today?” she asked, her crystal-blue eyes evaluating him while her porcelain features remained smooth and stoic. She ran a gloved hand over her blue-black hair, and small sparks of electricity danced between her fingers, provoking her long hair to sway and then lay flat.
“I’m, uh,” Naoya struggled to answer, having not even thought about working, being so absorbed in his own thoughts. “Not feeling too great, right now.”
“I see,” Suzume stood looking at Naoya silently, and the two held each other’s gazes for several seconds. “Well, try and get some rest. It’s no use working yourself to the bone in this weather.”
And just like that, the moment was over. Naoya almost wanted to protest, expecting Suzume to grill him about the day before, and his sudden change of attitude. He was behind on rent, and he was staying home, and she had nothing to say about that? It bothered him, and it made him realize that Suzume had questions of her own, things she was scared to ask. Naoya’s fears, and hers, together made a wall of silence that neither could cross.
“Well, I’m off,” Suzume stepped towards the front door.
“Suzu!” Naoya called out to her, feeling an urge to dare the border that had come between them.
“Yes?” she turned to look back and Naoya froze.
“What am I?” that was the question that Naoya wanted to ask, but the words refused to come out. He wanted the truth, but if he had the truth, the answer threatened to change his world forever.
“Have a good day,” Naoya said instead, his fear burying the question.
“You, too,” Suzume smiled back at him and then left, the sound of the door closing behind her seemed louder than the thunder. Naoya was left alone with the pouring rain, trying to contemplate his own existence.
“Human Calamities are monsters made from exposure to random accidents, right?” Naoya tried to summon everything he’d ever heard about the monsters that plagued Yōgai-shima that he could, but he could only stand in awe of the cavernous gaps in his knowledge. “What are Human Calamities?”
Unable to answer that question himself, Naoya posed it to his Augur, hoping to find the answers to his questions on the Yōgai-shima Net. He scooped up his Augur and held the nanite device in front of his face and stared into the holographic screen that came up. A million people across the island had asked the same question, and a hundred thousand answers had been provided. Unfortunately, the vast majority weren’t useful.
“Yokai, Ayakashi, and Saigaijin: how Human Calamities connect to Japanese mythology.”
“Series of arsons in Remembrance Ward linked to Human Calamity; ‘perpetrator or victim?’ authorities unsure.”
“Exclusive! Evidence that Human Calamities were created by the US military!”
“Human Calamities: evolution, intelligent design, or alien interference?”
“How I brought down Tokyo; confessions of a Human Calamity from the Downfall.”
“The Science of Saigaijin, by Kiyotaka Emon.”
Naoya scrolled through the list, seeing countless articles and social media posts that all promised the truth, most of them contradicting one another. Conspiracy theories, puff pieces, and pseudo-scientific articles dominated the holographic display, and Naoya scrolled down, going through a list of countless more articles that had been penned in the last decade. The truth, if it was among the endless assortment, would be hard to find.
After several minutes of exposing himself to the madness of the island’s internet, Naoya threw down his Augur onto the table in front of the couch and slouched in his seat again, the momentary surge of energy entirely expended. He returned to staring up at the ceiling, trying to find the codex that would unravel the mystery standing in front of his face, but the apartment held no answers. Instead, staring up at the roof above him only reminded Naoya that he was alone in the all too little living space.
The reminder filled Naoya with anxious energy that provoked him to finally get up out of his seat. While self-doubt and confusion sapped Naoya’s reserves of energy, he found the thought of waiting the next twelve hours for Suzume to come home to be unbearable. He decided to get outside, somewhere open and free, and solve the riddle of what he was going to do later.
He went into the bedroom to get changed, tossing his clothes into a hamper before he retrieved a black sweater from his closet alongside a pair of jeans. Last of all, he withdrew his black laminate bike jacket, its leather-like surface hiding all trace of the damage it suffered the day before. Despite knowing better, Naoya still held the object up by the shoulders and looked over it, looking for some reminder of the blades that had cut through it. Though he predictably found nothing, looking at his jacket reminded him of something else.
Naoya reached into the lining of his jacket and unzipped an interior pocket. His fingers groped into the small fold, and they brushed a thin piece of paper. He gently pulled it out, holding up a small sheaf of paper as long as his hand and as wide as two fingers. Runes were written on the piece of paper in a deft hand using dark blue ink. It was one of the many talismans that Suzume foisted on him under the promise of combating his perennial bad luck, but his lover’s random superstition now took on a new light.
His thoughts returned to the week before, when he confronted Nishijima and was nearly hit by a truck shortly thereafter. He remembered the talisman that he’d had with him on that day, and how it had become scorched and twisted. Burnt. It reminded him of the fire he had in his chest when he faced Sakai, and the lightning that coursed around him. That same lightning coursed around that Suzume so very often.
“What are these really for?” another question Naoya couldn’t answer or even bring himself to ask. Another lie by omission. A defiant part of him wanted to crumple the thin piece of paper into a ball and toss it aside, finding an instant distaste for the amulet, but he stopped himself. Another part of his mind reminded him that Suzume had given him the talisman, and he trusted that her reasons were kind. Replacing the talisman, Naoya shrugged his jacket on and headed for the door, tugging on his boots before he stepped out into the hallway.
He impatiently took the elevator down to the garage, trying to tell himself that the shaking metal box wasn’t closing in on him, and that the muffled sound of thunder wasn’t the clamor of the building around him slowly rattling itself apart. When he emerged into the underground garage with its low concrete ceiling, his anxiety only increased as he searched for his bike. Only when he climbed on it and rode the bike outside did he feel any relief, despite the storm endlessly rolling overhead.
Driving through the streets in the early morning darkness, Naoya aimlessly wandered across Central, trying to discern what his next course of action should be. He found himself going around in circles through the early morning darkness, lacking any direction. Despite the looming threat of not being able to pay rent this month, the question of his own identity took precedence over anything else.
He stopped and started, torn between a restless desire to keep moving and finding a spot to stop and think. He pulled out his Augur and scanned through it again, skimming through the numerous articles that it pulled up about Human Calamities, but they quickly lost his attention once they descended into conjecture and conspiracy. He wasn’t discouraged, however; instead, he felt a budding desire to find out the truth, wherever it was. There had to be someone who knew the answers. There had to be someone who could explain to Naoya what he was.
He parked his bike on the side of the road next to the outdoor seating area of a café, though the half a dozen tables set up were left unused on account of the storm. Like a madman, Naoya continued to search through the Yōgai-shima Net, looking for a single ray of truth amidst a sea false information and rumors. So focused was he, that Naoya forgot his surroundings.
He didn’t notice the other rider creeping up on him until they were already on top of him. The newcomer drove her bike into Naoya’s space with a deliberate, provocative intent, driving up at an angle to park her front wheel ahead of his bike, preventing him from pulling away. Naoya looked up in surprise, looking down at the smaller rider and her bike, knowing that he could easily bowl both over if he needed to, but that thought vanished when he recognized her.
The slender woman on the black sport bike was dressed in a laminate rider suit with triangular spikes across side of her boots and midriff. Over her black suit, the woman wore a black suit jacket cropped up to her ribs, and she kept the sleeves rolled up to wear a pair of motorcycle gloves. The woman had a head of wild hair gathered into a messy ponytail and her face was concealed behind a bright pink oni mask.
“The Inspector from the other day,” Naoya stared at the smaller figure that had abruptly crossed his path. Despite the vast size difference between the two riders, Naoya didn’t feel like throwing his weight around. An aura of danger surrounded the slim woman, and that was more than enough to put Naoya on the backfoot.
“Nanbu Naoya?” the woman looked up at Naoya as she switched her bike off, keeping him penned in against the fencing of the café to his left. The woman’s voice was a growl augmented by the mask she wore, deep and rasping, though undeniably female.
“Uhh, yes,” Naoya responded slowly, unsure how to react in this situation. He slowly lowered his Augur and tucked it into a pocket on his thigh. “Can I help you?”
The Inspector reached up to touch the chin of her mask with her right hand, and the nanite surface produced several folds across the mask’s face. Raising her hand, the mask collapsed as she pushed upward, transforming into a horned hairband across the top of her forehead. The woman beneath the mask had a young face, and Naoya gauged that she was barely in her twenties. She had a heart-shaped face with ruddy skin and a pair of thick eyebrows over large pink eyes. Despite her evident youth, the young woman carried herself with a far more confident stature than Naoya had seen most men, and her eyes were sharp and serious.
“Senior Inspector Ayame of the Human Calamity Response Bureau,” the Inspector reached into her jacket and withdrew a leather wallet and let it fall open, revealing her ID and a silver badge that featured a Cheshire moon whose horns wrapped around a black void. “I’d like to speak with you about something that happened across the river in Sin Ward, the other day.”
“In Sin Ward, huh?” Naoya immediately felt a pang of anxiety, but he tried to cover it with a smile. “You’re a little out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?”
“My authority allows me to go anywhere on this island as long as it’s relevant to the case at hand,” the small Inspector fixed Naoya with a keen eye as she tucked the wallet back into her coat. “Today, that means you, big guy. Consider yourself lucky.”
“I can’t imagine what you’d want to talk to me about,” Naoya raised his hands, trying to play it cool. “Are you here to give me a parking ticket or something?”
“Don’t get cute; it’s not a good look for you,” the Inspector advised with a stern look.
“Sorry, I tend to get flippant when I’m nervous,” Naoya did his best to keep a jovial smile and attitude. “It’s a self-defense mechanism.”
“As long as you answer my questions, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” the Inspector folded her arms as she balanced on her bike. “I’m in the habit of getting things done in a hurry; you be honest, and this can be done in thirty seconds.”
“Alright, but I have to warn you,” Naoya gently reached out and took hold of his bike’s handle with his left hand. “If I get any more nervous, I might try to run.”
It was a playful joke that would have gotten a stern reaction from any typical law enforcement officer, but the Inspector’s face split into a sharp, predatory smile.
“That might be fun,” Ayame considered, her eyes venturing over Naoya’s ride. “But it would be over too quickly.”
“Oof,” Naoya laid a hand over his chest and feigned being wounded. “That double entendre cut deep.”
“Alright, tough guy,” the Inspector rolled her eyes, a wry grin lingering on her face. “That’s enough flirting for now.”
“Who’s flirting?” Naoya asked innocently, but Ayame ignored him.
“There was an auto shop down in Decadence District,” the Inspector regained her brusque demeanor, returning to the matter at hand. “21st Autoboys, or something: you know it?”
“21st Century Autoboys,” Naoya corrected her. “I used to work there.”
Naoya knew better than to deny the fact; he imagined the Inspector knew everything that happened the day before.
“Is that all?” the Inspector challenged him. “Did you know it collapsed the other day?”
Naoya reached up to rub the back of his neck, a display of nervousness that the Inspector couldn’t miss. As much as he wanted to distance himself from what had happened, it was clear that he couldn’t. He’d likely been spotted leaving the garage on traffic cams between there and Central. Honestly, he was just thankful that the Inspector hadn’t come to his apartment.
“I may have been there around that time,” Naoya admitted, his smile a much less bright.
“I’m not here to arrest you in regard to any criminal or civil violation,” Ayame read Naoya’s hesitant response and tried to allay any fears he had about answering. “All I want to know is what happened.”
Naoya looked away for a moment, trying to decide what to say; his survival instinct told him to lie, or at the least, stay quiet, but that didn’t sit well with him. He was tired of lies; tired of hearing them, and tired of speaking them.
“I was doing a job for a friend,” Naoya began, deciding to tell some of the truth to start with. “I needed a car part to do a little vehicle maintenance, and I figured I’d give Hideki a call; he’s been in the car business for a while, and if anyone could help me track down the item I was looking for, it was him.”
“And how did the Towers get involved?” the question cut to the heart of the matter, and Naoya’s commitment to honesty was tested.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Naoya rolled his shoulders, fidgeting beneath the gaze of the Inspector. “I went inside to pick up the part, and they followed me in. They threatened us. I’m not sure what they really wanted.”
“I’m not seeing how that led to them knocking down a building,” the Inspector clearly saw through Naoya’s lackluster falsehoods.
“It was all kind of a blur,” though it was given to distract from uncomfortable truths, the answer was still partially honest; everything Naoya remembered from his encounter with the Towers was spotty, at best.
“What did they say to you?” the Inspector continued her interrogation, her eyes narrowing on Naoya with suspicion.
“I don’t really recall,” Naoya spread his hands, trying to seem nonchalant, but he knew he was foundering. “The leader of the group was a tall guy; he threatened us with a knife, and he. . .,”
“And?” the Inspector prompted him.
“He stabbed himself with a knife,” Naoya mimed the act by pressing a balled fist to his chest. “And then, blades started coming out of his body.”
“Blades?” the Inspector repeated, a little surprise on her face. “What did he look like?”
“He had his hair falling down over his face,” Naoya swept his hand over his head to emulate the lieutenant’s hairstyle. “Beneath it, he had a tattoo across his right cheek. He said his name was Sakai, I think? And he was from Nishi-Shinjuku; whatever that means.”
In response, the Inspector reached up to her horned headband and pulled it down, unfurling the smart-metal mask partway to cover her eyes. From inside the mask, Naoya could see lights flashing against the young woman’s cheeks as her Omen relayed some kind of information to her. A few seconds later, Ayame lifted the mask back up, her eyes still full of suspicion, but slightly softer.
“What about the other guys with him?” the Inspector was unable to hide the keen interest in her question. “Did any of them do anything strange?”
“Like what?”
“Cause an earthquake strong enough to shatter a small building?” the Inspector prompted him, and Naoya felt a jolt of fear. He felt the Inspector’s eyes on him, studying his features with intensity, and Naoya struggled to remain calm.
“There were over twelve guys there,” Naoya answered, trying desperately to seem casual. “And things got pretty crazy. When stuff got wild, I just ran.”
“I see,” the Inspector agreed in a manner that reminded him of Suzume, an answer that betrayed nothing about whether or not she believed him. Naoya sat on his bike under the probing gaze of the Inspector for several long seconds. Then, the Inspector backed her bike several steps away, signifying her retreat.
“Well, whatever happened yesterday, it sounds like you’ve made some powerful enemies,” the Inspector warned, and she pulled down her mask over her face. “Do yourself a favor; stay out of Sin Ward from now on. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Naoya agreed, feeling a pressure slowly be lifted off his shoulders.
“Good boy,” the Inspector leaned down on her bike, and kicked it back into motion. Less than a second later, the bike burst into motion, becoming a black shadow zipping away through the rain. Long after the woman on the bike had departed, Naoya continued to stare after her.
“Inspectors hunt Human Calamities,” Naoya glanced down at his own hands, trying to understand everything. “And if I’m a Human Calamity, what does that mean for me?”
“Suzume. . ., are we enemies?”
The thought terrified Naoya all the way down to his soul, creating a deeper and more profound anguish than any he’d ever felt. In that moment, Naoya wanted to deny everything he’d experienced since the year began, and to desperately believe that it was nothing more than a delusion he’d allowed himself to fall into, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore when the truth was staring at him.
Lacking any recourse, Naoya spurred his bike into motion again. He drove through the rain, letting the storm strike him with all its fury, wanting to distract himself from the turmoil inside, but it was little use. The traffic in Central was omnipresent, and Naoya could scarcely vent his frustration when he could barely even reach the speed limit.
“If I’m a Human Calamity, when did it happen?” Naoya wondered as he sat in traffic behind a bus, waiting for a light ahead to change. “Why did I never notice it until now?”
The answer to the second question was obvious: Suzume. Naoya thought back to the paper talismans she’d often given him, claiming that they’d bring him good luck. It was a practice that had never really made sense to Naoya: Suzume was many things, but superstitious wasn’t one of them. If those little shifts of paper had actually been used to exert some kind of power over him, that would put some things into perspective.
A horn honked behind Naoya, and he looked up and realized that the bus had already started moving again. Naoya hastily began driving forward, unable to fully escape his inner doubt.
“Now that I know, I can’t just rely on Suzume,” Naoya looked up towards the sky, which had brightened as the sun rose. “I need to be able to stand on my own two feet. But how do I do that?”
The thought gave birth to a new course of action; one Naoya wasn’t entirely certain he liked, but if he wanted to learn how to be a Human Calamity that could live in normal society, he didn’t have very many options. Naoya continued to drive across Central Ward, working his way up to the north side of Horizon. As the early morning hours went by, Naoya kept his eye on the Yōgai-shima Maverick, checking the job board every few minutes. It was shortly after eleven when the job Naoya was expecting finally appeared.
“FAIR Insurance Agency – Lunch Delivery.”
Naoya accepted the job without hesitation and quickly followed the beacon placed on his back. He wound his way south towards the northern edge of the Golden Mile where he picked up an order of sandwiches from a small shop called “Ragnarok Café,” and hastily turned about. Once more, he plunged into the wall of grey concrete office buildings in the east. By this point, the path through Iron District’s buildings was almost familiar to Naoya, but he still didn’t trust himself enough to try navigating the maze without guidance.
He hurried to park the bike in the parking garage and was so quick to get into the building that he nearly forgot the food. Taking the delivery in with him, Naoya walked down the corridors of the office building, filled with an anxiety he’d never felt before. He turned into the FAIR Insurance lobby, its peaceful and bright décor emulating the sunny sky at odds not just with the storm outside, but the turmoil inside Naoya.
“Good morning, Nanbu-san,” Sakura was there to greet him once again, dressed in a light-yellow sweater and a darker floor length skirt. She smiled at him, her violet eyes bright behind her large glasses.
“Good morning, Sakura-san,” Naoya flashed her a tight smile as he held up the plastic bag that held the new delivery.
“You’re as consistent as the sunrise these days,” Sakura got up from her seat and stepped around the desk, taking the bags from Naoya as he stepped closer.
“Hey, uh, is Yamato-san in today?” Naoya’s question was far from elegant, and Sakura couldn’t help but notice.
“He is,” Sakura cocked her head to one side as she considered him. “Why?”
“I’d like to speak to him,” Naoya provided a partial truth. “I had an accident on my bike not too long ago, and I’d like to talk to someone about getting a new insurance policy.”
“Oh, Nanbu-san!” Sakura fixed him with a concerned look. “There’s a hurricane outside and you men still can’t help but drive like maniacs! You need to be more careful!”
“I know, I know,” Naoya agreed, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s why I decided I need to take another look at my options for insurance. My old policy wouldn’t cover me at all.”
“Well, it’s not really normal to have customers come into the office directly. . .,” Sakura tapped her chin as she thought about it for a moment. “But you’re practically a regular around the office, so as long as Yamato-san is willing to talk, it should be fine.”
The secretary turned around a half step to her right and led the way into the interior of the building. Past the bright and sunny furnishings of the exterior lobby was the drab confines of FAIR’s reality. The interior carpet was a dark grey-blue color and the walls were a bland grey, though the view of them was obstructed by the center of the floorspace being taken up with dark walls that divided room into small cubicles that deprived their occupants of any view besides the work set in front of them. Here, a small number of men were forced to work like bees in a hive, deprived of space, leisure, and humor, and Naoya was immediately reminded why he disliked this place.
“Go down to the end of the hall and take a right,” Sakura gestured with one hand as she direction Naoya. “After that, Yamato-san’s office will be the third door on the left.”
“Thank you,” Naoya hastily stepped away and followed Sakura’s directions, marching down the passage between the grey wall of the building and the dark plastic walls of the cubicle hive. There was more than enough space for two of Naoya to walk abreast, but his mind played tricks on him, and the walls on either side of him quietly threatened to pin him between them, pressing in from the corners of his eyes.
“I don’t care what you’ve gotta do!” a familiar raised voice met Naoya’s ears as he rounded the corner. Two doors down, an office door was open, and a heavyset man stood in the doorway, leaning in to shout at the occupant. “Witchcraft! Voodoo! Whatever you need to do to get your sales up, you do it! If you can meet quota today, you’d best make an appointment with the unemployment office.”
With his warning delivered, the heavyset man stepped back into the hall and slammed the door behind him. The rotund manager was dressed in a light pink button-up shirt pitted with sweat stains and pair of wrinkled khaki pants. The large man waved a small fan in his right hand against his perpetually perspiring wide, jowled face and with his left hand, the obese manager reached up to pat the top of his bald head, which looked like an island of skin surrounded by a sea of oily unkempt brown hair.
As soon as Naoya heard the other man’s voice, he froze. He stood at the corner, staring at the heavyset man, and it took a second for his survival instinct to tell him to retreat, but by the time it took hold, it was already too late. The heavy-set man looked in Naoya’s direction, and their eyes met. Immediately, the fat man’s face split into a scowl of anger.
“You!” the big man lumbered down the hallway, shouting as he raised his fan to point at Naoya. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m just making a delivery, Adachi-san,” Naoya raised his hands in a submissive gesture as the fat man grew closer, for all the good it did.
“Those hands look real empty to me,” Adachi’s voice rose as he drew closer, his features turning red. “That means your job is done. Now get the hell out of my building!”
“I’m only—!”
“About to break something, aren’t you!?” Adachi demanded, shaking his angry finger in Naoya’s face. Naoya pressed his lips together as Adachi’s bad breath washed over his face, and he resisted the impulse to turn his face away from the fat man upbraiding him. “Every time you stop by, I need to replace something!”
“Printers! Doors! An entire toilet!” Adachi counted off each transgression on his thick fingers, and his skin moved beyond red and quickly turned people. “What are you gonna break next, huh? The whole building?”
“I just want to talk to—,” Naoya tried to keep calm and play the peacemaker, but he knew that it was useless.
“And I don’t want to replace the coffee pot in the breakroom every time you come through, and only one of us is going to get what they want!” Adachi simply couldn’t be reasoned with, and his voice grew louder and louder, echoing off the walls. Anger stirred in Naoya’s chest, and he knew he was only a few moments away from losing his own temper. Rather than let that happen, Naoya had decided to simply turn away and allowed Adachi to run him out of the building, but before that could happen, a shadow, tall and lean, appeared at the fat man’s elbow.
“Adachi-san?” the spindly tenebrous figure loomed over the portly manager like a dark omen. The figure was hunched over, a pair of eyes shining in the light of the hallway, holding a pair of gloved hands intertwined.
“Oh, Kenji-kun,” Adachi started, clearly just as surprised by the appearance of the third man as Naoya was. The heavy man wiped his forehead, wicking away a sheet of sweat. He glanced up at the black-cloaked salesman, who was standing at his side with his shoulders hunched demurely with an eager smile on his face.
“I hate to interrupt you, Adachi-san, but I must protest; you can’t speak to a customer that way,” Yamato’s voice was soft and submissive.
“Customer?” Adachi glanced at Naoya, clearly baffled.
“Yes,” Yamato nodded vigorously, rubbing his folded hands together for emphasis. “Nanbu-san came in today to discuss a new insurance plan.”
“Him? This guy?” the fat man couldn’t hide his incredulity, but Yamato continued to nod. “There’s no way; he breaks everything he touches.”
“Ah! But it’s rule number one at FAIR that we never turn down a customer for coverage!” Yamato raised his right hand, extending his slender finger. “We only adjust our coverage as necessary.”
“But he—,” Adachi stammered, looking back and forth between Yamato and the hated deliveryman.
“Don’t worry, Adachi-san,” Yamato stepped away from his boss and crossed over to Naoya. As Yamato leaned forward and wrapped his arm around Naoya’s shoulders, Naoya felt the urge to pull away, but he was forced to allow it, as the salesman was the only thing protecting him from the irate Adachi. “I’m positive that Nanbu-kun and I can come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement.”
Yamato guided Naoya forward and Adachi was forced to step aside to allow them to pass. Naoya cast a side eye at the salesman, but Yamato ignored him and continued to herd Naoya forward towards an open door on their left. The pair had only made it a few steps before Adachi began to follow, the fire inside stoked again.
“You make sure you get everything on this guy before you offer him any kind of plan,” Adachi barked as he followed at their heels. “I guarantee you this guy has more broken cars behind him that a scrapyard. I refuse to be on the hook for this idiot unless—.”
When the pair entered Yamato’s office, the salesman wasted no time in slamming the door behind them. Not deterred, Adachi pushed the door open, and Yamato blocked him from coming in, pressing the door closed even as he promised to agree to Adachi’s every request. Despite his slender frame, Yamato was able to shut the burly Adachi out into the hall. As soon as Adachi was out of the office, Yamato hastily locked the door. For several long seconds, Adachi continued to pound on the door, shouting the whole time before he eventually gave up and stomped down the hall.
“That didn’t seem like the smartest thing to do,” Naoya spoke only after the sound of Adachi’s rampage finally faded.
“He’ll find someone else to take his anger out on,” Yamato seemed entirely nonchalant, as he straightened up and adjusted his tie. “As long as I bring him something profitable, that is.”
The tall man gestured towards a wooden seat in front of the desk and Naoya obligingly sat down. The chair seemed small for a man of his size, and the wood cried out as he tried to settle into it. Yamato rounded the other side of the desk and took his own seat, which was a tall leather backed office chair. As the salesman reached down to retrieve something from inside one of his desk drawers, Naoya took the opportunity to glance around Yamato’s workspace.
The office had sparse décor; it wasn’t simply utilitarian, but it had a sense of emptiness, like a vacant room that no one had ever lived in. The walls had the same grey walls and dark carpet. Outside of the pair of chairs and the desk, there was little in the way of furnishings, with only a tall wooden laminate wardrobe place against the wall opposite Naoya. The top of the desk had a small lamp made redundant by the fluorescent light in the ceiling, along with a stack of neatly piled paperwork and an assortment of pens. On Yamato’s right hand was a monitor which he could use to search the Yōgai-shima Net, but it was kept to the side to prevent anything from coming between Yamato and whomever sat across from him.
“Sakura-chan called me and said you wanted to talk about an insurance plan for your bike,” Yamato commented as he sat up in his seat, retrieving an enamel cup from his desk. “It’s a good thing she did; otherwise, Adachi-san would have torn your throat out.”
“I suppose I should thank her,” Naoya flashed a weak smile. “Although, I have to admit, I’m not really here about insurance.”
“Oh, Nanbu-kun,” Yamato adjusted his glasses, his bloodless lips parting to reveal an ivory smile. “Give me some credit.”
The salesman placed the enamel cup on the desk and left it there for Naoya to inspect.
“What’s that for?” Naoya pointed down at the cup.
“You’ll see,” Yamato leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table before indenting his fingers. “Now, let’s set aside any formalities and get down to business and talk about how we can help each other.”
“Look,” Naoya shifted in his seat, causing it to groan. “You said that you could teach me to control my ‘gift.’ Is that true?”
“Of course I can,” Yamato quickly seized on the opportunity. “So, you want my help, and, in exchange, you’ll use that gift to help me.”
“Hold on a minute,” Naoya raised a hand up, his brows furrowing together in confusion. “I don’t want to get caught up in anything sketchy.”
“Sketchy,” Yamato repeated the word with a sense of amusement, as though he was repeating the words of a child. “When did I ask you to do anything of the sort? You’re leaping to conclusions.”
“I’m having a hard time thinking of a legitimate use for breaking things,” Naoya grumbled with a suspicious eye.
“Then I would suggest you suffer from a severe lack of imagination. All I’m asking is that you help me just one time. If you can’t agree to that, then why should I help you?” Yamato gestured towards Naoya with an open hand. “What do I gain from it?”
“Well,” Naoya sighed and tried to avoid shifting in his seat, so as not to break it. “I can pay you.”
“Look at me, Nanbu-kun,” Yamato laid his hands down on the desk, his pale face losing all affected affability and becoming a stony visage. “Do I look like a friendly neighbor offering to teach your children to play the piano?”
“No,” Naoya quickly denied the idea; even if he had kids, he wouldn’t let Yamato look after them.
“That’s right,” Yamato leaned back in his seat, and his posture changed. He leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers again as he assumed a relaxed, yet still dominating demeanor. He shifted his seat forty-five degrees away from Naoya and looked towards the wall, as if not to give him the satisfaction of looking him in the eye.
“I don’t know what illusions you might have conjured up about this little office building,” Yamato loftily gestured towards the walls of his workspace and the structure beyond. “But the FAIR Insurance is one of the largest insurance agencies in Yōgai-shima, and by that token, one of the largest left in the world. We have offices and buildings in every ward of the city, not just here in the Iron District and our clientele is just as diverse.
“We have customers up in Solar District who work directly for the Cabinet,” Yamato continued on with a high and mighty air. “We insure buildings on Gambler’s Row in Sin Ward. There’s nowhere on Yōgai-shima we don’t do business.”
“So, what is this?” Naoya scoffed, his patience running thin. “Are you trying to give me a job?”
“No, Nanbu-kun,” Yamato swung back to face him and leaned forward with sudden intensity, placing both hands down on the table again. “It means that I’m already in a position where the gleanings of a fast-food delivery boy hold no interest for me.”
“This was a waste of time,” Naoya shook his head, and he made to rise.
“Leave, and you’ll be just what Adachi thinks of you,” Yamato goaded him, his red eyes glowering from behind his glasses. “You’ll be just what you think of yourself; a fool that destroys everything he touches.”
“You don’t know the first thing about me!” Naoya shot back.
“You came here today because learning what I have to teach you matters to you,” Yamato spelled out the obvious in a way Naoya couldn’t deny. “If it didn’t, or you had any other option, you wouldn’t be here.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ve got to get in bed with you and whatever it is you’re planning,” Naoya couldn’t hide his scorn.
“Nanbu-kun, please,” Yamato’s features softened and he cocked his head to one side, a soft smile on his face. “What do you think I am? Mephistopheles? There’s no need to be so dramatic; I’m not going to ask you to sell your soul to me. All I want is a mutual exchange. I teach you to control your gift, and you use it to help me.”
“Help you do what?” Naoya demanded, fixing the salesman with a stern look.
“Do what you do best; break something,” Yamato answered, making it sound as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ll tell you what; if I teach you how to control your special little ability, in exchange, you’ll use it for me exactly once. That’s all it will take in order to pay me back.”
“I hope you’re not thinking of having me break through a bank vault,” Naoya commented wryly, which provoked a mirthless laugh from Yamato.
“Oh, what I have in mind is nothing so overt or illegal,” Yamato assured him, his ivory smile returning. “Trust me when I say, I don’t intend to have you hurt anyone, directly or indirectly. All I want is your help for one single job. After that, if everything goes well, I get paid, you get paid, and we see where our friendship goes from there.”
“Friendship,” Naoya scoffed again, though Yamato hardly smiled this time. “I’ll do it. But just once, and only if I don’t have to hurt anyone or commit a crime or something.”
“Perfect,” Yamato laid his right arm across the table and held up his hand, pinky finger extended. “Let’s make it official.”
“What are you doing?” Naoya stared down at the other man’s hand.
“Let’s make a promise,” Yamato encouraged him, a knowing smile on his face.
“What are you, five years old?”
“The way things are, I have no reason to trust you,” Yamato observed without a trace of self-awareness. “If I can teach you to use your power, what then? You could just turn around and leave, and I’d have nothing. Before anything else, I’d like you to give me your word that you’ll pay me back for my services.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” Naoya reluctantly extended his own hand, extending his small right finger. Yamato quickly extended his own hand to catch Naoya’s finger with his own.
“I hereby swear to teach you how to use your Crisis, and in exchange, you’ll use your Crisis when I ask you to one time,” Yamato spoke each word clearly and with authority. “Do you agree?”
“I agree,” Naoya quickly acquiesced to the idea, hoping to get the bizarre ritual over with.
“Both of us swear then to uphold this deal, and neither of us will speak of it to anyone else,” Yamato’s smile became a wide, cruel grin containing a certain malevolence. “If either of us fails to keep their word, then they’ll choke on their broken promise.”
As soon as Yamato finished intoning his words, Naoya felt a shiver pass through him as though he’d been splashed with a bucket of ice-water. He flinched in his seat and reflexively pulled his hand back as the sensation lingered. A tightness across his neck drew Naoya’s hand to his throat, his fingers seeking a noose that wasn’t there.
“Shall we get started?” Yamato invited him and took hold of the enamel cup to push it forward towards Naoya. Naoya, rather than take the item, leaned back in his chair, the strange sensation lingering on his mind. The small cup on the desk appeared entirely normal, but Naoya was on his guard, now.
“What do you want me to do with this?” Naoya glanced back and forth between the innocuous item sitting on the desk in front of him and the smiling expectant Yamato.
“Break it, of course,” Yamato leaned back in his seat. “You didn’t have any trouble breaking the one in the break room the other day. This should be an easy test for your Crisis.”
“You keep using that word,” Naoya observed.
“It’s a term for powers like yours,” Yamato explained hastily, eager to move past it. “Don’t worry about the details.”
“So, what am I supposed to do?” Naoya tentatively reached towards the small cup, looking back and forth between it and Yamato, as if expecting some kind of trap. His fingers brushed the smooth, cold polished exterior and he gently lifted the object up, keeping his cautious eye on Yamato as he did so.
“Think back to how you broke that cup the other day,” Yamato prompted him. “How did you feel at that time?”
“I felt. . .,” Naoya trailed off, not exactly wanting to open up to the strange salesman, but he saw no recourse. “Anxious; I guess that’s how I’d put it.”
“Good,” Yamato smiled, his red eyes alight. “You must have already sensed it then. There’s power nestled deep in your subconscious, Nanbu-kun, and it only comes out when you feel truly pressured. It’s a primal thing, that gift of yours, and it responds to fear. Master your fear, and you can make that power come forth whenever you need it to.”
“Great,” Naoya held the cup in his lap, both hands wrapped around it. “How do I do that?”
“You need to learn to put yourself in the right headspace,” Yamato leaned back in his seat and gestured idly with his hands as he looked up at the ceiling, trying to conjure the words he needed. “You need to grasp something that makes you anxious or nervous and force yourself to feel those emotions. Then, the power will come.”
“So, I just need to think about something that makes me uncomfortable?” Naoya couldn’t hide his skepticism. It couldn’t be that easy, right?
“It has to be something that provokes a true feeling of fear,” Yamato leaned forward again, an earnest tone in his voice. “What made you upset last week?”
“I was going through a lot of stuff,” Naoya avoided the topic.
“Alright,” Yamato didn’t sound as though he believed Naoya, but he didn’t argue the point. Instead, he straightened in his seat and fixed Naoya with a keen look. “Let’s try and find something that can provoke your sense of danger. Tell me, have you ever broken the law?”
“No,” Naoya answered, reflexively.
“Really?” Yamato seemed surprised. “You’ve never stolen anything? Not once?”
“No,” Naoya denied it again, more forcefully.
“Have you ever hurt anyone, Naoya?” Yamato leaned closer over his desk, his voice a conspiratorial hiss. “Have you ever wanted to?”
“No!” Naoya’s thoughts immediately went back to the day before, and his clash with the Towers, and he inwardly recoiled.
“Nanbu-kun,” Yamato affected a disappointed tone and cocked his head as he peered at Naoya. “How can we do this if you don’t actually try?”
“Do what?” Naoya lifted the cup, and the ridiculousness of the situation seemed unavoidable. “Use my magic powers triggered by nervousness to break a teacup? This is insane.”
“Nanbu-kun,” Yamato tried to speak, but Naoya was past the point of listening.
“I can’t believe I ever came here,” Naoya stood and slapped the cup down on the desk in front of a disapproving Yamato. “I’m done.”
“You made a promise,” Yamato reminded him keenly.
“To hell with tha—,” before Naoya could finish speaking, his words seemed to catch in his throat as an unseen vice wrapped around his neck. The fingers of his left hand traced his windpipe, searching for an invisible noose that his digits couldn’t feel. Alarm turned into an outright panic, and he tried to bring both hands to his throat, to desperately seek whatever was choking him, but he found his right hand was fastened to the desktop. He desperately tried to lift his hand from the desk, but something held his fingers to the cup, preventing him from pulling away. His fingers, instead, were wrapped around the enamel cup, and they couldn’t break free.
Naoya tried to speak, but his words came out only as hoarse rasps. He tried to breathe, but his throat wouldn’t open. He looked to Yamato, trying to communicate his distress, and the salesman simply looked back at him with that ivory smile. The grip on his throat only intensified, and Naoya saw black spots forming in the corners of his eyes. He pulled and tore at the unseen tethers, clawing into his own throat with his left hand while desperately trying to pry away his other hand from the top of the desk.
The noose wrapped tighter, and Naoya felt all of the muscles in his neck seize, trying desperately to breathe through the choking pressure. His teeth ground together and his lips pulled back into a snarl, the last of his air escaping his mouth in a wheezing grunt. Black dots swam in his vision and then, the world cracked.
Fractures ran through the world, turning Yamato and his desk into a pile of multicolored glass. As soon as the fractures appeared, the pressure on Naoya’s throat vanished and his desperate attempts to escape the unseen trap caused him to fall backward. He crashed through the wooden chair behind him and collapsed to the floor.
He lay on his back for several seconds, coughing and sputtering as the imaginary breakages in his vision sealed themselves shut. A few moments later, Yamato appeared over him, looking down at Naoya with a satisfied smile. Naoya reached a hand up to his throat, rubbing his sore neck before sitting up. He placed his hand down into the pile of splinters that the chair had been reduced to.
“That’s quite a talent you have,” Yamato considered the heap of wood scraps and metal that had been shattered beneath Naoya like glass. “We’re lucky you didn’t fall through the floor.”
Naoya opened his mouth and tried to say something, but his throat burned, and he decided not to say anything. As Naoya tried to regain his bearings, Yamato leaned against the front of his desk and then turned to look down at something on top that Naoya couldn’t see. The salesman swept his right hand over the top of the desk and balled something in his fist.
“You see, Nanbu-kun?” Yamato held his fist towards him, and Naoya held his hand out, letting Yamato pour a handful of pulverized enamel into his palm. “All you need is a little fear.”
Soon, the World Will End 