Detainment (Kohaku and Aida’s Relationship Charts)

Fukuzawa Kohaku

First thing to come into focus is the light. Just off to the left, painting flashes off color that dance and slay one another for dominance behind the eyelids. Next is the chapped, dry feeling of Kohaku’s lips. His tongue, like a dried out slug, feels around the inside of his mouth. The sharp points of his canines dig into the cracked flesh. Pain gives a little more shape to the inside of his mouth.

One numb arm reaches over his body, and Kohaku tumbles out of whatever he was lying in. A lump of half-alive flesh crumpled on a cold, painted metal floor. Somewhere, a machine beeps twice.

“Good, you’re awake. Take a drink, it will help clear the sedatives from your system.” A disembodied voice from somewhere to Kohaku’s right, backed by a crackling synthetic him. He cracks his drooping eyelids open, looking across a painted-black room. There’s a speaker in the corner, next to a television whose white static is the only source of light in the room. Beside him, there’s a plain metal cot with a spartan military mattress.

“Hh,” Kohaku breathes out through his cheek, smushed against the metal tile. Underneath the television screen are a simple metal-legged, plastic table and an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair. Heaving the weight of his bottom forward, Kohaku tumbles from his face onto his side. It takes a whole damn century to squeeze his abdominals through the pins and needles necessary to sit up.

Before he can walk, Kohaku is forced to crawl. Inching like a worm to the foot of the plastic chair and heaving himself into it like a sack of trash into a dumpster. “Hwe, hw, wherem I?”

The voice from the speaker instructs, “Drink first, Fukuzawa-san.”

Wrapping his hand around the glass, Kohaku drags it towards him. The water inside is misty-white, like something was dissolved in it. Leaning forward, he rests his mouth on the lip of the glass and tilts it forward until he can drink. Lifting the glass becomes possible only after the impossible weight of the water has been drained, each milliliter a centimeter of progress upwards until he gulps down the last of the liquid. He tries to set it down. He does. Instead, it slips from his hand and smashes on the floor.

“Pay it no mind, we’ll have it cleaned.” A second voice, now. The lights dancing beyond Kohaku’s eyelids (when did they close again?) changes. He cracks them open, to see a blurry pair of figures on the television screen. They’re seated at a wide, gray table inside another pitch-black, featureless room. “You can call me Agent Blue.” A man’s voice, young and sympathetic. The nice cop.

“And you will refer to me as Agent Red,” there’s bad cop. A woman’s voice, older, sharper.

Their bodies come into view, wearing dark suits. Blue tie, red shirt. Their faces though, they’re still fuzzy-

No, that’s not him. The video is blurred. Hides what they look like. All Kohaku can make out is short dark hair on the man, long lighter hair on the woman- but she has a sprinkle of gray. “What do you want?” be it the moisture or the medicine, Kohaku’s miserable slug tongue finally manages to form some coherent words.

”Some of your activities have come to our attention, Fukuzawa-san.”

”We represent the Bureau of Anomalous Events. We have some questions we would like to ask you about your anomalous abilities, and those of other individuals you may be familiar with.” Blue leans forward. There’s nothing to see, but his voice suggests an empathetic expression. ”You’re not in trouble, Fukuzawa-kun. We’re hoping that we’ll be able to work with you going forward.”

Curling his lips, Kohaku feels a rising bile in his throat. Those words bring back foggy, painful memories. A tribunal. A- Kohaku clenches his hand, searching for something. “Y-you,” he stutters, “Never, you’ll never understand. You- you’re too old to… to understand.”

”I would like to, Fukuzawa-kun.”

“You want to get rid of them,” mouth gaping open in a wild snarl, Kohaku reaches out for the screen. The table’s too wide. Fuckers made it too wide for him to reach out and- and throttle them. “I won’t let you. My… my Tai. My Idolon.”

”Idolon refers to a creature from the,” the woman looks down at a paper in front of her, ”Idea World, is that correct?” In spite of himself, Kohaku finds himself drearily nodding his head along.

”We don’t want to get rid of them,” the soothing voice again. ”At least, we don’t know if we do. You can’t judge someone before you understand them right?” Nodding along. Nodding… nodding off. ”Stay with me a little longer, Fukuzawa-kun, then you can get some rest. We’ve noticed students like yourself are getting involved with unusual situations- ones we don’t have any reliable reports or witnesses for. And, when you students get involved, things have a tendency to calm down,” behind the blur, Kohaku can almost make out the shape of a kind smile. ”Does your Idolon, Tai, help you solve problems like that?”

“Yeah. We’re… partners. Partners against the yokai, and the…” staring into the screen, Kohaku sucks in a deep breathe. He’d nearly forgotten to pull in more air. “The ones who would ff, fuck with us.”

Red laughs. ”That’s what we were hoping to hear,” her voice is a little less sharp now, too. ”Get some rest, Fukuzawa-san. Some sleep should have you feeling lucid, and we’ll be back to talk then.”

”And rest assured, getting rid of your Idolon is the last thing we want,” Blue tries to reassure.

Kohaku sets a hand against the table and pushes himself groggily to his feet. Everything is stiff and heavy, like his bones are made of lead pipes. Beats being a sack of garbage though, so that’s an improvement. Lugging himself to his bed, Kohaku falls into it. Into blissful, black, drugged, dreamless sleep…

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Everything is clear now. Kohaku sits across a table and a television screen from two agents of the BAE. Who knows how far away they really are. Are they in the same building, or halfway across Japan, in Tokyo?

”We’re glad you’ve chosen to cooperate, Kohaku-san,” the woman starts, pulling a stack of folders onto the table. For the past hour or so, Kohaku has been giving the two of them a crash course in Idea World metaphysics, from the perspective of the Awakened. He takes a drink of water- clean and clear this time- while he waits for her to sort out her shit. ”Now that we have some groundwork laid, we want to know more about some of these individuals. And their Idolons, if possible.”

Shu Jinko

Half of the television screen changes to a display of the top of the agents’ table. Red slides an open file folder under the camera feed, a photograph of Shu Jinko accompanied by vital statistics like his age, weight, all useless shit Kohaku glazes over.

”We are most interested in any information on this individual.”

Shu Jinko. The perfect student, the Student Council President. Impossible to hate, if you asked just about anyone. If you asked Kohaku, then… even now, it’s hard to hold onto a negative thought about his kohai. The man who helped Kohaku to the hospital, who goes around treating Spirit World denizens like people. One of the most faithful members of the volunteer kitchen, second only to-

No. Kohaku lost the right to call himself the most dedicated after he walked out on them for his own shit. There’s no question, Shu Jinko is the one with that honor now. “Shu Jinko… is a good man,” Kohaku starts. He probably hates me now. It’s too bad that Shu Jinko will need to kill me to accomplish his goals. “Everything you’ve heard, it’s probably true. He worked with me in the school’s soup kitchen.”

”We’ve heard a lot of interesting things,” Red raises a hand, spinning her fingers in the air. ”Most of it sounds like nonsense, but our business is making sense of nonsense. Is it true that he has the devil’s own luck?”

Kohaku recalls certain incidents from their time together in the volunteer kitchen. Appliances shorting out before food can burn by accident, saves with the food tray straight out of an anime. He nods his head. “Awakened share some of their Idolon’s abilities, even in the real world. If it looks like Jinko is managing stupid shit like he’s blessed by a kami, it’s because he probably is.”

”What we’d like to know more about is his Idolon,” leaning on the back of his hand, Blue reaches out and taps an empty section of the file.

“Geistzer,” Kohaku starts, but something about it feels wrong in his mouth. “… The Underworld Hero, Geistzer. He’s got this tokusatsu theme going on in the Idea World. A black suit with bone blades growing out of it. A set of bone stingers that grow out of his back, too.”

”So he’s an undead, like in Final Fantasy?” Blue rubs his chin, intrigued. ”He must be an attacking kind of Idolon then. And healing would damage him?”

”It’s not a video game,” chides the man’s partner, dryly.

“Sometimes it can be like a video game,” Kohaku corrects her. “But no. Geistzer supports others. He can fight, but he also heals his allies. And himself.”

”I wouldn’t have guessed that,” tone conversational, Blue tilts his head. ”Do you know anything else about him? Where he used to live, or anything like that?”

“We worked together but we weren’t exactly friends. I don’t know much, except he was famous for some big rescue before he transferred in.” The two agents exchange a look. It’s hard to read them past that facial blur.

”Thank you. That should be enough.”

Madoka Onguuchi

When Red switches out the folder for a new one, Kohaku’s eyes lock onto the face in the photograph. His heart pounds, and the world feels more distant. Taken back into that moment, hand clenched. Clenched so tight his nails dig into his palm, and- and he can feel the blood on his hand again. It feels good. It feels terrible. Kohaku clutches his arm to his chest to stop the trembling.

”Onguuchi, now that’s a big name around Kageoka,” with a sociable laugh, Blue holds out his hand towards the folder. ”Both of your parents are pretty big names, actually. Did you know each other at all outside of Higan?”

Kohaku remains locked on place, staring at the Onguuchi girl’s eyes. Tearing himself out of the staring contest with the photograph takes his eyes flicking shut on their own, irritated by dust in the air. Kohaku looks down into his lap instead.

Know is a strong word. Kohaku has been with his dad to networking events now and then, but the Onguuchi don’t really run in the business circles. They’re more like old nobles. Rat bastard traditionalists, who hide their bitchy sides behind a mask of honor and other bullshit. Not that the business sharks are any better.

“Being rich doesn’t mean we know each other,” Kohaku rumbles, from his chin into his chest. “Can you get her photo off the screen?” He can’t stand it. Looking at her stupid, doe-eyed face. Rat bastard. She thinks she can dictate the fate of the world, thinks she’s fucking special because god told her to do it or some shit. That’s how traditionalists think.

If Kohaku had the chance, he’d do it again. That’s what he keeps telling himself. It was right. It was necessary. It was for us. A mantra tamping down the human vestiges of guilt, the fingers clinging to the edge of the ravine.

So why can’t I look her in the eye?

”Of course,” the sound of paper sliding across a surface, just out of view. ”We heard about what happened. Could you give us your side of the story?” Kohaku blinks away a stinging in the edges of his vision and looks up at the two agents.

“She’s one of their leaders,” speaking in a detached voice, Kohaku skirts around the subject. “I think she speaks to a kami or something. Her Idolon is Kukurihime.”

”The goddess?”

“Could be the real goddess, or she just thinks it’s a goddess, I dunno. It’s the Idea World, you think it so it it’s there, get it?” Releasing his clenched fist, Kohaku sits up straighter in his seat. “She takes on the form there, with a fox mask and these little paper charm shits,” resting his arms on the table, Kohaku struggles not to let the emotional turmoil bleed into his speech. “I think she called them shikigami.”

”It’s a kind of familiar on onmyodo,” Red explains for the benefit of her partner, who nods along. ”You said she takes on the form of Kukuri-hime? How does that work? I was under the impression that Idolons were separate entities.”

“She’s Incarnate,” maybe he’d neglected to mention earlier. “Jinko is too- all the Council are, I think. They take on the form of their Idolon.” Leaning forward onto his fingers, Kohaku notices the blood from his cut palm on the table. Some of it runs down his forehead. The agents must see, too, but nobody says anything. “I used to think Incarnates can’t talk to their Idolon, but she talked about Kukurihime like, a guide or something. I guess they talk in her head.” What if Tai was only in his head? Kohaku can’t stand the thought. Being so close to someone and never able to touch them.

”You never answered the question.”

“What?”

”Why did you do it?” Red’s hands are folded in front of her, on top of the folder stack. Patiently insistent that they won’t be moving on until he answers. ”This information will be important for our psych evaluation. We need to know if we can work with you.”

Freedom dangled like a carrot. It works. “This kami thing,” he repeats, “I think it’s the School Council’s patron. She was going on and on about how it’s gonna separate the worlds, and how they’re gonna be the saviors for helping it,” pressing his face into his palm, Kohaku bares his teeth.

The man’s voice is sympathetic. Calculatedly sympathetic. ”That’s why you were so worried about us trying to take your Idolon away,” he recalls.

“Now that you know all of this,” sliding his hand aside, Kohaku looks out at them with one eye. Into their blurry, censored faces. He can’t see their eyes, but he’s pretty damn sure they can see his looking right at them. “Could you go back? What if you could touch it? Touch magic? Could you go back to a world where it doesn’t exist?”

”I can’t imagine what you must be going through, but, even so,” like a snake oil salesman, he wheels his words around, trying to twist the world to suit his point. ”It’s going to place you in a tough situation-”

”I’d have done the same.”

”Red!” there’s no techno-wizardry that could hide the reprimand in his voice.

”I’m just saying, I get why he did it,” the woman folds her arms. ”Why did you join the Bureau? Can’t be for the benefits. I wanted to know. I wanted to know if it’s real. And, if it is,” the woman stops.

Sighing, Blue shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. ”Look. Fukuzawa-kun,” the man diplomatically uses his name, ”She ended up in the hospital. Your principal has notified the police and your parents of a violent incident at school. They’re out there looking for you right now, and there’s going to be consequences. Juvie is on the table, but they may try you as an adult since you’re eighteen.” My parents. Kohaku stares through the faceless man, through the screen, imagining their faces. ”The Onguuchi are not enemies you want to have, kid.”

”Someone like you is useful to us,” Kohaku likes her, she’s to the point. ”We can help, but you’re going to need to cooperate. There will be a leash. It’s going to be tight. And that means following orders,” the female agent leans forward, holding her hand towards the screen between them. ”Think it over. We can iron out the details after questioning.”

“Fine. I got nothing more to say about Onguuchi, so get on with it.”

Ran Nejima

It’s a whiplash of social strata between the Onguuchi girl and the next face to pop up on the screen. Kohaku looks up at the mean, scarred mug of Ran Nejima. Notorious primary and middle school shithead, apparently trying to turn it around. Kohaku wasn’t really around the delinquent scene, then. Aida didn’t think it was cool yet. Neither of them had been exposed to the Idea World yet. Those were simpler times, easier, maybe.

Kohaku wouldn’t go back. Not for anything.

“Ran’s been on the cops’ shitlist since before he could read,” scratching at his eyebrow, Kohaku barks a single, small laugh. “If he can read.” Never was clear if Ran was the dumb muscle type, or secretly a fuckin’ warrior poet. It’s a tiny dose of endorphins, but the laugh helps Kohaku get out of his funk.

Tearing a bit of fabric off of his shirt, Kohaku ties a simple bandage around the nail-wounds on his palm. Red leans back in her chair and makes a quiet noise, like she’s mildly impressed. ”He ever have any dealings with your gang?”

“Not really. He was into bikes- bikers. Used to follow them around gawking at the chrome. He’s been turning it around ever since he joined the School Council, though.” No doubt, the man’s going to want to smash Kohaku’s face in now. Kohaku doesn’t bear a particular grudge against him, apart from being attached to his enemies. “I haven’t seen him in action, but he’s Awakened. I know that.”

”That’s fine. We’ll move on to the next one,” Blue reaches over and takes the folder back.

Yae Zennami

There she is. That face, that damn smug smile, even in whatever photo the feds pulled out of their ass for this file. Kohaku’s lip twitches into a sneer. He hates being looked down on by superior assholes.

He has to admit, though. She was capable. “Zennami,” he says, drawing his tongue over his teeth. “Jinko’s the glue, but I get the sense she’s the real leader. A strategist, presiding over her lessers, sending the hero in with a plan,” Kohaku voices his thoughts of her aloud to the agents. “If you’re worried about the Council causing problems for your operation, she’ll be the reason.”

”We already knew she was going to be a problem. Too much intelligence, too little respect for authority. Otherwise we might have tried to bring her on already. Do you know her Idolon?”

“A French name, I think,” Kohaku tries to recall. He never stopped thinking of her as Zennami, so the name failed to stick. “Doesn’t matter. She’s another Incarnate, she takes on a black and white noir appearance.”

”She hasn’t been shy about her ambitions to become a detective.”

”Tough road ahead of her, even if she goes private,” there’s some personal resentment there. ”What does she do?”

“She’s a sorceress. Able to change things into other things. Not simple shit either, she’d play a mean game of the floor is lava,” the endless talking is starting to grate. Kohaku would rather be doing just about anything else. “Hey.”

”Hm?”

“I know some information that’ll be worth something to you. But I want you to promise me kitchen access,” the young man points a finger at the screen. The two agents look at each other.

”Sure. After the School Council discussion. You’ll be under guard.”

“I don’t care, that’s fine,” letting his hand fall, Kohaku watches them, searching for signs of anticipation. “I saw her nearly wrest control of a Flooding Zone from a Greater Yokai. They’re some of the strongest things out there, the generals. It was like watching her claw at the edges of godhood. I’d watch out for her. I think if you let her survive to be too strong, she’ll be the most dangerous thing out there.”

”We don’t intend to kill children, Fukuzawa-san-”

”Unless we have to.”

”Only,” the man glares at his partner, the tension in his broad neck unmistakable. ”In the event that they become a mass-casualty threat.”

”If these phenomenon spread, I would rate a budding god as a mass-casualty threat,” Red fires back without looking at him. ”… Also unless we can cover it up.” There’s a subtly unspoken threat in the way she looks at Kohaku as she says that. If she thinks she can disappear the heir to the Tamagokawa Noodle Company-

No. She doesn’t mean him. Kohaku narrows his eyes, feeling his hackles raise again.

Meliaya Mihama

Damn. Seeing the little gnome’s face is like a punch in the gut. Kohaku did it right in front of her. St- struck one of her best friends. Fuck, she’s probably still crying about it.

”Meliaya Mihama,” Blue introduces her, when Kohaku fails to say anything. ”As I understand it, you two have worked together-”

“In the volunteer kitchen, yeah,” voice dripping with reactionary venom, Kohaku cuts the agent off. Like Jinko, that makes her one of his. It makes the guilt more… palatable. Onguuchi doesn’t matter, she’s nobody. Feeling guilty about her is weakness. Mihama, though? “I…” regret she had to see me like that. The words are there, but they don’t quite reach Kohaku’s mouth. These agents don’t need to know. “I guess we got along. She gets along with everyone. Anyone.”

”The number of grades she skipped is remarkable. Do you know what her fields of interest are?”

Study sessions come rushing back. Even though he’d never accept help, Kohaku found it easier to focus when she was… keeping him on track. Little breaks, here and there, when he needed it. Talking about her interests. “She’s interested in languages and cultures,” he says, absently. “I guess, not really cultures. More like philosophy.” Kohaku notices Red look away, as if rolling her eyes. “What? Thinking of recruiting her?”

”We can find translators that aren’t poisoned by a philosophy major.”

”It’s actually a useful field in our line of work, if the Idea World works on-”

”Yeah, yeah. Idolon?”

“An android,” Kohaku answers, curtly. He wants this subject of conversation to be over. “Probably has weapons. Her main thing seems to be sensor arrays.”

”Part of their opsec, then.”

“What?”

”They’re kids, Red, not a professional organization.”

Kaoru Nagamine

Taking the photograph of Mihima away, Blue places the last one from the Student Council’s stack in Kohaku’s view. “Pff,” the boy releases a dismissive puff of air before the agents can introduce her. “Her? She isn’t even Awakened.”

”You’re certain about that?”

“Yeah. The Student Council left her behind, ‘cause all she’s good for is manning the phone.” To him, there’s no point in paying much attention to someone who hasn’t Awakened. They’re either a bystander or a victim until they work up the strength to seize the damn reins and stop being a soul-dead slack-jaw. “Guess she might Awaken if she keeps hanging around them,” Kohaku shrugs.

”You’re not rushing this to get to a break?” she sounds so self-satisfied, like she’s caught him in a trap.

“No.”

”Fine. We’ll have the kitchen prepared.”

”I’ll see if your friends can join you there.”

“Thanks,” for once, Kohaku means it genuinely. It feels better to cook for other people.

Intermission: Uesugi Aida and Okabe Takeo

It’s like a blessing. Steam rises from the sizzling pan, tickling Kohaku’s nose with the scent of grilling fish and butter. He sways from side to side, dancing to an unheard rhythm as he flips the fillets to their other side. With a spoon and a brush, Kohaku takes a spicy gob of yuzu kosho and rubs it gently into each of the fish. Three plates await on the counter beside him, already doled out with cold-served pickled cabbage on the side.

The Bureau’s break room kitchen is nothing special. A basic table and chairs, mismatched couches that look as though they were stolen from yard sales, wooden counters, a refrigerator (which was woefully undersupplied), and a microwave. Kohaku was forced to bring out his own portable cookware, since all. They. Had. Was a microwave- a microwave. It’s sickening how the supposed defenders of Japan subside on reheated, prepackaged slop. Thankfully, Agent Blue had been willing to out and fetch some fresh ingredients… after enough hounding.

With a creak, the door opens. A burly man with a large mustache shepherds Aida and Okabe inside. Aida looks like he’s shaken off the lingering effects of the tranquilizers already, while Okabe yawns and scratches his large gut. Kohaku imagines he took a double dose based on size alone. “What the hell, man? They’re letting you cook?” Aida slumps onto one of the overly puffy couches, watching Kohaku over the backrest. Okabe grabs a glass of tap water and wanders into a seat at the table. “They must really be tryin’ a butter us up.”

“I’ve been cooperating.”

“What?!” Aida grabs the fabric and rears up like a startled snake. “No! No, I don’t believe that shit for a second- you’re feeding them bullshit, right?“

“No?” looking over his shoulder, Kohaku looks at his friend, expression deadpan. “Why would I lie?”

Wearing a coy expression, Okabe glances over at Aida. “I have been, how do you say it, singing like a bird as well. After all, why bother resisting? Ahaha. They’ll only dump you in a ditch by the roadside. Cooperate and we’ll get out of here quicker, with our hands open and free.”

“They’re The Man, man!” throwing his hands up, Aida animatedly waves them back and forth. “Are you both outta your damn minds?”

Cracking into a grin at his antics, Okabe holds up one hand, “They’ve also offered us employment if we cooperate. Why not hear them out? With their resources our goals would be more easily attained.”

“Their-” eyes wide, Aida blinks, as if trying to wake up from a bad dream. “These are the people our goals are to get free from, guys! Out from under the thumb of the corrupt shitheads like them who run the system! Right? So why would we want whatever handouts they’re offering? Fuck ‘em! We ain’t no snitches!”

Sliding his spatula beneath each of the grilled fish, Kohaku slides them carefully onto their plates. “I think what we really want has diverged somewhere along the way, Aida,” he says, keeping his voice level and calm. There was a time when Aida’s idealistic worldview felt good, felt right. But in the end, only one fight matters to Kohaku. “All I want is a world where Tai and I can be together. The bureau wants to research Idolons, and,” face becoming serious, Kohaku grimly recounts, “I have been told that we will lose our Idolons as we get older. These people are my best chance at avoiding that.”

“Who the hell told you that?!” Despite Aida’s plea, Kohaku remains silent. The Bureau seem to favor metal utensils, so Kohaku uses a fork and knife to pick at the contents of his plate. It’s distasteful to use such barbaric western instruments, and stain his food with the taste of stainless steel.

Beside him, Okabe dines far more easily, savoring the first bite. The rough-faced boy closes his eyes and leans his head back. “Excellent as always, Fukuzawa-san.”

“Thanks,” Kohaku replies, insincerely. Measuring this slop up to his usual meals is nearly an insult, but he recognizes that others merely go through life repeating such bland platitudes instead of truly appreciating the world around them.

Leaping over the couch, Aida slams his hand on the table, rattling their plates. Neither of the other boys flinch. “Wake up, and stop ignoring me! Idolon research? They’re going to- to fuckin’ dissect you, or Tai, or something!”

“If they try, I’ll kill them,” Kohaku answers flatly. “Come and eat.”

“They’re probably listening right now, you dumbfuck!”

“Good, it will save me from having to repeat it,” lowering his knife, Kohaku lays it across his plate. “Eat.”

“I don’t need any food from a fascist,” petulantly, Aida turns away on the break room couch and folds his arms. Kohaku’s fingers curl against the table, nails scraping the surface. At the edges of his vision, the world narrows in, and he leaps at the back of the sofa, grabbing Aida by the ear. “Hey! Fuck, ow, that hurts!” The thin boy’s hands claw at Kohaku’s, before surrendering to his iron grip and stabilizing the seized ear instead lest it be torn from his ungrateful skull.

Jerking Aida out of the couch, Kohaku drags him across the break room and forcefully slams him into one of the seats, then tenderly slides the third plate in front of him. Finally releasing Aida’s ear, Kohaku leans over his shoulder and rap his knuckles on the table in time with each word, “In. This. House. We. Do. Not. Waste. Food.”

Rubbing the sore ear with one hand, Aida meekly takes the fork in the other and spears a piece of fish, sticking it in his mouth. Content, Kohaku returns to his own seat. A little catharsis has done wonders for his appetite, as has the reminder of his values, so he finally digs into the woefully subpar meal.

Momofuku Chikata

Glaring daggers into the table while he begrudgingly chews, Aida mutters, “What would Momofuu-ki think of you now?” He invokes the name as though it were some sort of deity or boogeyman, a creature out of myth and legend.

As well he should, for she is.

Though Kohaku does not spare the whinging a response, it does bring to mind the inevitability of a future confrontation with the Wind Demon of Fujiwara. In his righteous anger, Kohaku has struck her kin. Not kin by the water of the womb, but by the blood of the battlefield. Now, they are enemies. It’s regrettable. Despite being his underclasswoman, Momofuu-ki has accomplished far more for the betterment and order of the Fujiwara Ward and, to a lesser extent, the other forbidden zones. Were the sides of this war in which they now fight painted differently, Kohaku would feel honored to call her a comrade.

It seems he must be content to honor her as a foe, and give her a good death.

“We’ve each made our choice and drawn the lines where we stand,” Kohaku finally says. “As my enemy, she is free to hate me. I would not fault her that.”

Silence is his response. Aida was never very good at proper debate, at navigating the point when all the fire and fury fizzle out and he must articulate himself like a man. The rest of the IDs’ meal carries on in silence, until Kohaku collects and washes the dishes, and agents arrive to escort each of them back to their rooms.

Che Ngiem

With a new day- or so Kohaku assumes, in the indistinguishable hours of the blacksite- comes new questions. This time, Kohaku is escorted to an in-person interview room, seated across from Agent Red and Agent Blue. It’s not much different from where they were before. This could be the same room. Clearly, they no longer feel the need to maintain the illusion of distance.

Without the shield of anonymity, the two agent’s faces are unveiled. Both are as drab and unspeakably plain as the uniforms they wear.

”Now that we have your information on the Student Council and their objective, we are fairly certain their goals are incompatible with our own,” the female agent begins, folding her hands on the desk. ”We would much rather understand what we are dealing with. How it can help us help humanity.”

“You mean bring Japan onto the world stage,” Kohaku intuits. “A tool or a weapon that can make us a superpower. Something no one else has.”

Red cocks her head and shrugs her shoulders. ”No use beating around the bush. Yes, we want to learn how to use it. Control it.”

”We’re working on developing tools for ourselves. Your teacher, Che Ngiem, is one researcher whose work we have been investing in, and it’s beginning to bear fruit,” the man says, his chin jutting out humorously from his face like a brick attached to a man’s body by the neck.

“So Ngiem-sensei is the one who sold me out.”

”We’ve been keeping an eye on him. Discovering you was incidental,” Blue excuses, but Kohaku isn’t so sure. Not that it matters. Ending up in federal custody has turned out to be a decent arrangement. Now Kohaku might secure the resources and allies to really fight this war. If they ever see each other again, Kohaku will need to cook his sensei a nice meal as thanks. ”What we’re interested in now is discovering other potential recruits. We have some candidates and persons of interest not directly affiliated with the Student Council- at least, not to our knowledge.”

“Then we are of one mind. Show me.”

Alyona Rodionova

Letting out a quiet sound of disgust, Kohaku looks down at the image of the Russian slide across the table to him. Picking up her file, he flips through it. ”Daughter of a Bratva bigshot. She’s connected overseas, and has a sizeable set of guards and assets in Japan. We believe she was sent to school here to avoid the dangers of rival criminals back in Russia.”

”We’re not certain she’s Awakened yet,” the male agent begins to clarify, but Kohaku cuts him off.

“She is. I saw her with some fancy guns, but that’s about it.”

”… Well, our interest in recruiting her in that case is the ability to keep eyes on her. As a connected foreign Awakened, she’s a dangerous wildcard who could disrupt Japanese interests.”

Slowly raising his eyes from the page, Kohaku looks flatly at the two agents across the table. “Recruit her how? Money? I wager from your pitiful food situation that she has more pocket money than your entire budget.” A snort from Red doesn’t do anything to distract from the way she glances away at the wall, or the way Blue rubs the back of his neck.

”We were sort of hoping you would know something.”

“She’s a brat,” wearing a dismissive sneer, Kohaku tosses the file folder back onto the desk. “Spent several weeks extorting every club in the school. Heard she bribed a bunch of staff too. Money-grubbing criminal trash larping as a woman of the people, just like very fake pseudo-socialist piece of communist garbage throughout history.”

”Do you consider yourself a socialist, Fukuzawa-san?”

“I dunno,” tirade derailed by the sudden question, Kohaku scrambles for purchase on a subject he’s never really considered before. He believes that the rich should be sharing their wealth with the underprivileged. Soup kitchens, homeless shelters, places for animals that are lost and alone. Is that socialist? Would the Russian bitch call it whatever warped idea of communism she ascribes to? “I…” running his tongue alongside the edges of his teeth, Kohaku finally settles on, “I don’t really care who’s in charge as long as they keep me happy.”

”Most honest people would say the same,” the woman deadpans. ”Continue your rant. Apologies for interrupting.”

Where was he? “It was a mess until Momofuu-ki set her straight,” he explains. “Pretty sure the only reason they stayed away from the soup kitchen was ‘cause Mihama works there. They hang out sometimes. Not that it would’ve mattered. I would have bankrolled the kitchen myself if she tried.” Momofuu-ki was too soft on her ‘punishment’. Kohaku wouldn’t have settled for less than some broken limbs. Let the Russian gangsters come. He and Tai would slaughter the lot of them. … Kohaku has lost his train of thought, and twiddles with his thumbs waiting for the agents to move on.

”So she has Student Council connections,” the male agent sighs in disappointment.

“Guess so. Don’t bother with her. If you want to do anything about her, it’s poach her Awakened associates.”

Red sits up straighter in her seat. ”We know little about her friends and associates. Tell us.”

“The first one is…”

Archibald Florence

“Archie, the brit. Full name’s Archibald or something. I’m not sure how he ended up here. He looks and acts like a street thug, but somehow he moved to Japan and settled in here,” leaning on his fist, Kohaku purses his lips. “Fancy name. Maybe he is rich, and just ugly.” Thinking back to the way his porcine incarnation tore into the enemies in the Idea World, Kohaku adds, “His Idolon is a brute. A giant monster.” There was a certain joy in the pig’s eyes as it did its work. “Hungry. Something like that must reflect a soul born for violence, for ambition? Or maybe it’s just base gluttony, and none of that fancy philosophical shit. I think he attached himself to Rodionova because of her money and power, so he could be untouchable.”

”Could he be bought?”

“She has more money,” Kohaku reminds, shaking his head. “Stop thinking only about money. Appeal to the vices his Idolon embodies. Power, hunger, sensation, ambition? That stuff. Right now, he has a place where he can shed his humanity for a day, for a night, indulge himself, and then go back to the easy life tomorrow. What the Idea World offers him, he won’t want to give it up.”

”And the Student Council’s agenda inevitably means he will need to,” the larger man drums his fingers on the desk. ”We don’t need to turn him against the Russian, just drive a wedge between the causes they support.”

“Sure. Something like that. As for the other one…”

Renka Cho

“Renka Cho. She’s like you, I think,” through narrowed eyes, Kohaku looks at Red. “A true believer. Someone who never doubted magic. She wears a pendant shaped like a dreamcatcher. And I see her perform strange rites often. No idea what all the things she does mean, but they mean something to her.”

”The goddess girl sounded like a believer,” Red responds, flatly. ”Why else would she be attached to a goddess? What if this one is the same?”

“I don’t think so. Her Idolon was regal, with a queenly bearing,” voice growing more distant as he focuses on his memories of the girl, Kohaku feels a curious… closeness. They never interacted too much, but he remembers feeling this static in the air whenever she was in the same room. Not emotional static, but this real, tangible energy. Something between them. In a way, she feels like kin. “But not holy… something else.”

”Is she an enemy?”

Only if I am. “No. She fought the Yokai with us,” Kohaku says, instead. There’s some doubt in the male agent’s eyes, and Red’s expression remains as cold as ever. “What’s important is what she believes is sacred. Will she abide by purging the world of its magic a second time? I don’t know. Maybe not. I think offering her an alternative to the erasure of magic or enslavement by demons is your angle.”

”Noted. If we can, we should set up a chance for you to speak to these two, but it will be tricky.”

Looking aside at one of the four equally bland, black walls, Kohaku admits, “They both saw me stab Onguuchi and…” lash out at Marisa. Shit. “I doubt they have much faith in my… me.”

”Unfortunately, you are one of our only assets their age. Okabe-kun may be useful for this, we’ll see. Now, we have a few other names…”

Tomaki Warumachi

Eyes widening at the image that comes across the table, Kohaku sits up. It’s Warumachi-san. Photographs from school photos before and after he started… changing. In the obvious ways, and the subtler ways. It’s even more prominent looking at them side-by-side, the tusks, the wilder hair, like he’s turning into something not entirely human.

The guy’s got a good heart, and a good head on his shoulders when you can understand what the hell he’s saying. Kohaku hates seeing people like him isolated. It’s a good thing Shu tries to reach out to him, too… maybe not such a good thing for recruitment prospects. If he was implicated as council-tied, would the agents target him?

Kohaku looks up. Both are analyzing him. ”You looked like you recognize him,” Blue says, like a father asking about his son’s friends. Kohaku can imagine him unironically using the word champ. ”His physical alterations drew our attention to him. Is that due to something involving the Idea World?”

Opening his mouth, Kohaku clams up for a moment. “We’re… friends at school. I could see about recruiting him,” the phrase comes out flatly. Red twirls her pen between her fingers, and Blue quirks an eyebrow. “His family are odd. They live in the mountains, I think they’re probably traditionalists taking care of a shrine.”

”Thought you didn’t like traditionalists.”

“He’s never tried to shove his shit down anyone’s throat,” Kohaku fires back, defensively. “Anyways… dude struggles academically. Maybe you could get him a scholarship or something, or… advanced prosthetics?”

”I’ll see what we can do. What do you know about his Idolon? Is it tied to his transformation?” Blue smiles aggravatingly.

Nothing. “It’s a brute,” Kohaku guesses, based on the ways it’s affecting Tomaki’s body. “Some Awakened can tap into a few of their powers in the real world. Me, I get stronger than a normal man after a good, hearty meal,” he boasts, puffing out his chest. “Warumachi-san’s must be the cause.”

”Hm,” the agent runs a finger along the sharp jut of his chin.

“What?”

”That’s the first time I’ve heard you refer to someone with an honorific.”

Something about the smug way he says it makes Kohaku’s hair prickle in indignation. Fucker thinks he’s cracked some kind of code, does he? Kohaku stares the man down until he casually withdraws Tomaki’s folder and sets it with one of their sorts, replacing it with another.

Ai Suishi

Now there’s a face Kohaku rarely sees. Yet it’s ingrained into his memory. Wide eyes, wild hair, blades in her hand, standing between him and his prey. The sight of her uncanny face sets off his fight or flight response all over again, and he clutches at the edge of the table. “Suishi.”

”Another friend of yours’?”

“Friend of Kaoru’s. Obsessed with Shu. Make a move against the council and you’ll have to deal with her,” laying one hand across the other, Kohaku calms his nerves. “She’s nuts. Heard rumors her whole family’s nuts. Not sure if she’s Awakened, but even if she’s not, you should keep an eye on her. Or better yet, just get rid of her.”

”Cold.”

”We don’t just kill children,” Blue repeats himself. ”We were interested because of security camera footage placing her at the site of a major anomaly before it happened. It seems likely that she is Awakened, as you call it. But if she is aligned with the Student Council, we can assume she will be an obstacle to our investigations.” The man closes his eyes and nods. ”Self-appointed vigilante groups rarely care much for government involvement in their business.”

The comment feels a little too pointed. “If you feel that way, why approach me?”

”We’ll elaborate on that more later. Suffice to say, I’m glad to be proven wrong in your case. And I’m willing to be proven wrong about the Student Council,” Blue looks at Red, and then back at Kohaku. ”I think plenty of them could see things our way, if we make enough progress to present them an alternative to this ‘kami’ plan.”

Kohaku feels aggression prickling up his spine, until the agent wisely backs himself up. “Whatever. Next file.”

Liu Mei

”This girl,” Red slaps down a new file on the table, opening it to a photograph of an energetic-looking Chinese girl, ”Is involved in the sale of mystically-inclined materials and reagents. We have eyes on several such shops, but this girl in particular happens to attend Higan Academy. Do you know here?”

With a faint frown, Kohaku shrugs his shoulders. “Seen her around. Always looked cheerful, in an annoying way. You know what I mean. Some people have an infectious smile, and others just make you wanna go somewhere else.” Red barks out a laugh, and waves a hand for him to continue. “I don’t have much to say about her. She never got involved with the Census Club like all the other foreigners, so I guess there’s that.”

”That’s fine. We’ll move along.”

Tetsuya Abe

“Oh yeah,” upon seeing the next folder on the pile, Kohaku lets out a snort. “Him.”

”His reputation precedes him,” the man says, with obvious distaste.

With a tap of her finger on the file, Red adds, ”But we’d be willing to work with him if he can be kept on a leash.”

“I doubt he can manage even that,” with a curled lip, Kohaku shakes his head. “Doesn’t listen in class, when he bothers to show up. Doesn’t eat right. As far as I can tell, his mind is mush and his body is trash,” he relays dismissively. “If you want to know more, I suggest you ask Okabe. They’re cousins.”

”Will do. Thanks for the tip.”

Cato

The next file is anemic, lacking any details whatsoever, and features only a blurry photograph of a figure in an alley. Kohaku leans in and picks it up, taking a closer look. A pair of spiral horns poking out from behind a bombed out brick wall. Head falling forward in a slow nod, Kohaku only has one word: “Cato.”

”A figure from urban legends who rescues children from danger.”

”Also attributed to several abductions of children from their homes.”

“All true,” Kohaku confirms. He’s worked… nearby the young vigilante from time to time. Kohaku is at the very edge of the age Cato stops trusting people. Or even tolerating them. “He fancies himself a savior to abused kids. Punisher to abusive adults. Like some kind of Peter Pan, I think he’s got it in his head that they can achieve eternal youth somehow using the Idea World”

Holding up a hand, Blue suggests, ”Do you think we could be swayed into cooperating?”

Kohaku laughs, once. “You? No. Hates adults, hates the government even more. Might’ve been in the system. I don’t know him all that well. Our relationship goes as far as a tentative agreement to leave each other alone.”

”That concludes our list of persons of interest right now. Is there anyone you’d like to add?”

Folding his arms across his chest, Kohaku raises his chin. “There are a few students I think you could recruit. Some show signs of being Awakened, others, I’m not sure. But there should be potential there if they aren’t already.”

Matsunaga Kei

“You may recall a Guidebook you confiscated from me,” Kohaku begins.

”The one with illustrations of yokai-like creatures? I have it here somewhere,” standing up, Blue walks to a cabinet at the side of the room and turns his key in one of the doors, creaking it open. Withdrawing the book, he sets it on the table in front of Kohaku. ”Is this the one you mean?”

“It’s more than just a book, and there are more than just the one,” flipping it open, Kohaku turns it to the Yukimarimo page. Currently only empty silhouettes are displayed, the tiny creatures still in the fridges back at the hangout. “It’s possible to capture spirits inside. The weaker ones like ghosts, minor yokai, or manifested urban myths. Once captured, they are subjugated to your will.” He can immediately see a fiery hunger in Red’s eyes, twinkling behind her glasses.

She wastes on time in pouncing. ”Are there more? Where might these books be found?”

“I found this one in an old curio shop,” Kohaku answers, “It was the only one there, but I’ve seen others. Maybe if we study it you could replicate the effects.”

The woman’s eyes are wild, intense. ”You read my mind,” she says, reaching out. Kohaku allows her to take the book and brows it, exploring as far as the blank pages. ”So more pages are filled as you capture more of these anomalous entities.”

“And when defeated, they return to the pages. Able to be summoned again once their colors return fully,” smiling now that he sees he’s hooked her, Kohaku offers, “It would be interesting to see if an unawakened can use it. Should we test that sometime?”

”Absolutely.”

”I believe you were suggesting Awakened recruits,” Blue gently nudges them back on track.

“Right. Context is, I was hunting stories of some useful captures. Ran into this other guy out there, who’s also hunting down rogue spirits. Matsunaga Kei, another Awakened from Higan,” Kohaku explains. “We’ve argued over captures more than once. He’s got a real stick up his ass. Former kendo prodigy, out of the hospital recently after a car accident last year,” he recalls. “His Idolon is a samurai, calls itself Takemikazuchi.”

”The thunder god.”

“Right. Well, they’re quite a pair. Like me, they took it upon themselves to subjugate slay or wayward spirits to keep the peace. I think if you sold him on it, he’d be willing to join up. A modern samurai needs a modern daimyo.”

”A good idea. We’ll have the boys in recruiting do some vetting.”

”He’s the boys. He’s going to stay up tonight manually fact checking all of your suggestions.”

”… Yes. I am the BAE’s entire recruitment department.”

Takumi Wright

“Another person you might want me to pass along the invite to is Wright Takumi,” lounging back in his chair, Kohaku enjoys the feeling of being more in control now. Dictating something about the way things will proceed. He wipes away the remnants of sweat from his forehead. “There’s this social circle of drag racers who run down in the far zones, where me and the gang used to squat out. We’d always know when they’re out. Engines roaring, modded up cars, motorcycles, even this one nutjob in a motorized wheelchair. Wright’s one of them, and I’m pretty sure he’s the guy who souped up that wheelchair.”

With a small chuckle, Blue cocks his head. ”Doesn’t exactly sound like the agency type.”

“Depends,” leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table, Kohaku gently takes his guidebook back from a reluctant Red. “He’s a jackass. But as far as I heard, he souped up that wheelchair for free. You either do that ‘cause you’re a nice guy, and Wright’s not what I’d call a nice guy, or you do it for the love of the game. I’m sure he’d be bribed easily with access to wherever your garages and hangars are.”

”Is he even Awakened?” Red asks, curtly, still sour about having her new book taken away. Kohaku makes note of the carrot to dangle.

“If he’s not, it shouldn’t be hard to get an adrenaline junkie to sign up for experimental superpowers.”

”Fair point.”

”I’ll take him into consideration.”

Kazu Morino

“The next one I’m not sure is Awakened, but he’s willing to pay to get his hands on Idea World materials,” Kohaku continues with the next potential recruit. “Morino Kazu. Some of the meatheads trade in materials to him in exchange for him doing their homework. He doesn’t have enough money to pony up cash every time.”

As he goes over the details, Blue takes out a notebook and starts jotting down names and point form memoes. ”What would an ‘unawakened’ be doing with those materials?”

“He’s an amateur pharmaceutical entrepreneur, or something to that effect. Very interested in chemistry and medicine, and always eager to have someone willing to be experimented on. I imagine he would leap at the chance to help you with your Idea World research.”

”With due respect, what do some of the brightest minds in science have to learn from some kid?”

“I was under the impression none of the brightest minds in science gave you the time of day, besides maybe Ngiem-sensei.”

Jutting out his lower lip, Blue lets out a sigh through his nose. ”Fine. If you can confirm he’s Awakened, or help him Awaken, we might be interested. But I don’t think I can sell the supervisory agencies on letting in a normal kid who likes mixing chemicals.”

Giving a small shrug, Kohaku admits, “He’s not the cream of the crop, sure. But whatever. The next one…”

Sarah Rhee

“… I’m not sure how useful she’ll be, either. Rhee Sarah, or Sarah Rhee- I’m not sure if she’s foreign or not,” Kohaku continues. “Nothing stands out about her. She’s horribly plain, and unremarkable. But I see her talking to herself sometimes, or listening to and reacting to things that aren’t there. I suspect she may be Awakened.”

”Or she’s simply suffering from a disorder.”

“Yeah. I don’t think she’s even on the Council’s radar,” raising a hand, Kohaku points it at the larger man. “But that’s exactly why I’m suggesting her. You can get your hooks in before anyone else, and mold her to your needs.”

”A cutthroat attitude. I approve.”

”It’s an iffy suggestion. We’ll discuss possible avenues of contact later.”

Kusanagi Itsuki

“I don’t know where exactly he is now, but there’s one member of the old School Council still kicking around,” Kohaku mentions. “Kusanagi Itsuki,” the moment he says the name, he notices a shift in the two agents. “They were involved in this Idea World stuff before. He’s probably Awakened.” Kohaku remembers him as a happy-go-lucky kid, always chasing after people like a lost puppy. Making eyes at that girl, never man enough to make a move.

Then he disappeared, after what happened.

”We are aware of Kusanagi,” the woman says, which Kohaku raises a brow at. ”We didn’t mention him, because his father has connections to this site. Not directly affiliated with the BAE, but, well.”

“Going behind his back to recruit his kid could cause problems.”

”Leave Kusanagi business to the Kusanagis,” Blue confirms.

Liren Shimizu

“If you want someone as an answer to Zennami, there’s this guy named Shimizu Liren. He’s got a reputation as a sleuth, but he’s not affiliated with the Student Council yet. I’ve run into him a few times, he has the same book,” Kohaku taps the Urban Guidebook under his hands. “Insufferable bastard, and his Idolon is cracked in the head. But if you can get his attention on a mystery or a puzzle, he’ll chase it down to the end.”

”Less of a trained dog and more of a wild animal, then. I’m not sure how well we can make use of someone like that, but maybe we don’t need to work with him directly.”

”I would be worried about him getting too involved in prying into our business if we keep him on the outs,” Red adds. ”Too much curiosity. Get him in on the ground floor, maybe we’ll be less mysterious and less interesting.”

”Maybe…”

Kenji Kurosawa

“Then,” there’s a silence that comes. Kohaku finds himself hesitating.

Kurosawa Kenji. In his own words, the other boy had sold his soul to the Yokai for a promise of a future where he could keep his Idolon.

”Then?”

Maybe if there were an alternative answer, Kurosawa would be willing to accept help. Help to get his soul back. It’s a stupid as hell decision to have made in the first place, but… if Tai had been less opposed, Kohaku may have taken that path himself. “He’s not exactly soldier material,” Kohaku says quietly, mostly to himself.

”Someone you’re uncertain about?”

Finally, Kohaku decides. Even if it’s taking a snake into the BAE’s breast… it was never Kohaku’s breast. They’re only a means to an end. If Kurosawa can see it the same way, no reason they can’t cooperate. “There’s a boy who runs the Film Appreciation Club at Higan, name Kurosawa Kenji. Not exactly a fighter, but he has a powerful Idolon capable of manipulating time in small areas… and his interests give him a keen eye for detail.”

”Sounds like an arthouse loser.”

Eyebrow twitching, Kohaku glares at the woman. “He’s also a friend of mine.”

”That could make it an easier sell.”

”Fine. So long as he doesn’t think he’s here to make a documentary about our operation.”

Kentaro Tachibana

Having already mentioned one of the two, Kohaku’s thoughts turn to Tachibana. There’s no doubt that he’s going to be a problem, and with backup Kohaku could name him as a target immediately… but what would Kurosawa do about it?

And would Kohaku give up the chance to take the bastard down personally, for the embarrassment of that beatdown?

No. Tachibana will be mine, “That’s all. I guess we’re done here.”

”We’ve been very pleased with your cooperation. Now, we’ll get you set up with a better room than your temporary accommodations.”

Taiyo o Korosu Mimizu

At last, the questions are over. As per his agreement to act as an operative for BAE, Kohaku is transferred to a new, more comfortable room. Through a sliding door indistinguishable from the wall, down a set of painfully stark hallways. Kohaku can appreciate the black aesthetic, but they need some serious work on the decorating.

At least his new room isn’t too bad. Kohaku steps inside to a room, lushly carpeted in a red and black checker-pattern. The bed is massive, just as he specified. A luxurious tatami mat, practically a nest made out of immaculately fluffed pillows. Kohaku can already imagine lying in that cloud with Tai by his side, reading a good book by lamplight.

There’s a tall armoire, white wood against the black wall. Kohaku opens it up, and inwardly cringes at the suits inside. “They don’t actually expect me to wear that dorky G-man crap, do they?” he mutters to himself, shutting the cabinet with extreme prejudice. “Uniforms better be fuckin’ negotiable.”

The Ouija Board and Tamagotchi are there on a low table, just like the one from the old hangout- only newer. Kohaku makes a beeline for them as soon as he spots them, taking the device and setting it in the center of the planchette. That familiar hum across his skin, the momentary taste of copper in his mouth. Kohaku leans back, drinking in the contact with the Idea World. “Tai. I’m so glad I can see you again,” turning around, Kohaku looks at the worm coiled in the tatami nest. Tai has already removed its mask, laid it by the wall. In the layers of eyes peering back at him, in the layers of deeper connection that bind them to one another, Kohaku can feel his Idolon’s… disappointment. “Tai?”

”You hurt that girl, Haku,” the worm speaks, voice soft and plaintive. The reproach in those words punctures a lung, and Kohaku struggles for a moment to breathe. ”You would have hurt another.”

“They were going to take you from me. They want to split us apart!” marching across the room, Kohaku takes the Idolon by the face and lays his forehead against its upper jaw. Each exhale from the fearsome jaws in front of him smells of fresh potting soil and summer rain.

”You promised yourself that you would never use your blade on a human.”

“So what?” the boy gasps- a boy again, possessed by the whirlwind of teenage emotion. “It’s just a promise to myself. Not to anybody else.”

”Those promises are the most important,” leaning back, away from Kohaku’s grasp, Tai raises its head to look at the ceiling. Black, like the rest of the room, lit by another television against the wall and a series of lamps rather than ceiling lights. Kohaku doesn’t mind. He hates fluorescents. ”You said once,” his partner speaks, and Kohaku looks up in rapturous attention. ”It is an Idolon’s duty to help their Awakened to become their best self. Haku, my dearest. This is not your best self.”

A lump, black and heavy like a dying star, sits in Kohaku’s stomach.

”The you that promised yourself… would be disappointed in the you that now dismisses that promise. Please,” shining red eyes finally look down from whatever Tai is imagining in the dark abyss of their ceiling. Their weight on Kohaku’s body makes it a Herculean effort to remain standing. ”Bring back that you that I love.”

“I…” Kohaku stares into his Idolon’s eyes. “What am I supposed to do, apologize?” Hurting hearts arm themselves with defensiveness, and Kohaku turns away from those eyes, too full of shame and hurt to look at them any longer. “What’s done is done. They’re the enemy now.”

”How you fight an enemy… matters,” the worm insists. ”Remember...” Kohaku remembers. He remembers the kappa, who he was ready to tear into. Even a past version of himself. One standing over Yuki Hajime, threatening to slit the delinquent’s throat. Would he have done it? The Kohaku of that moment thought it impossible. Just a threat to make his point known, an image to uphold. Now… Kohaku finds himself afraid to face the answer- what would he have done if it came time to follow through on that threat? ”If your promise to yourself means so little, then promise me, now. No more killing.”

Kohaku sucks in a deep breath. “I’m a soldier now,” he says, softly. “I can’t promise that.”

Silence, for a dozen sluggish heartbeats. ”Then tonight… you will sleep alone.” A jolt runs through Kohaku’s body. He turns, looking into the shimmering outline of his Idolon vanishing into the aether. Kohaku reaches out and tries to pull Tai back, force the worm to show itself, but it resists. Finally, he surrenders and lets go.

The connection is still there… strained, but there. “I’m sorry,” Kohaku says, to nobody.

Uesugi Aida

Another day in a cell. Lying on a shitty military cot, Aida stares at the ceiling, stewing in his frustration. Both Kohaku and Okabe are willingly working with these federal block ops fucks. Everyone has completely lost the plot. “I gotta get out of here.” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Aida stands and starts pacing around the room, examining the walls, the television screen, the door. All over again, like he’s searched them for the past… two days? Time’s impossible to tell in this place. Two sleeps.

”Getting out is pretty easy,” a female voice sounds through a hidden speaker somewhere near the television screen. ”All you have to do is sign.”

“Shut up, Asmobitchus,” Aida points at the television. “When I get outta here, I’m coming for you!“ Winding up towards the back of the room, Aida charges the door and leaps into the air, planting both of his feet against it in a jarring impact. His knees buckle before the door is, and he falls in a crumpled heap at the foot of the doorway.

”I’m shaking in my boots. Need us to send a medic?”

“I’m fine!” rolling onto his side, Aida sucks in his breath, bearing through the jolt the impact sent through his system. Planting his hands on the floor, he hauls himself back to his feet. Marching up to the television, he looks into the small camera he’d found at the bottom, trying to look intimidating. Grabbing onto the bolted-down chair, Aida attempts to heave it off of the floor, to no success at all.

”Great. Call again when you’re done with your tantrum.”

“I am never, ever going to sell my soul to you bastards! So do us both a favor and just let-” Aida tugs on the chair, “Me-” he bends his knees and strains every muscle in his body, “Go---!” Aida’s hands slip, and he falls backwards onto the floor, his head clanging into the thin metal sheet flooring. “Fuck!”

Lying there for several minutes, Aida pants from the exertion of his failed efforts. If he had his Tamagotchi, this would be totally different.

Opening his eyes, Aida turns them towards the television. I haven’t tried with many other kinds of electronics… Aida crawls back up and looks at the blank, black screen. Maybe if he charges it with Idea Energy, he can use it as a portal and crawl out of here, or something. No. If it doesn’t do what I need it to do and they learn what I can do, they’ll never let me go… It’d be like Deadpool, getting experimented on by the government and stuff. Except Aida is already a cool self-aware anti-hero, so he doesn’t need them to give him superpowers.

Instead, Aida grabs the mattress from his bed, a new act of defiance brewing in his head. Hauling it to the television screen, he props it up against the wall. “You think I can’t do anything?!” he shouts. “Well, I can still cost you your TV budget!”

Winding up, Aida punches through the thin, shitty mattress. There’s a tangible impact on the other side, but no audible crack. ”Kid, cut it out.” The fucker’s words only spur Aida onwards. He winds up and lets out a wildman scream, pounding his fest repeatedly into the softened surface. Finally, there’s a crack. ”For Pete’s sake, get somebody in there!”

Feeling empowered, Aida keeps going. He smashes his fist into the television until he can feel the glass cutting at his knuckles through the cloth. Tiny cuts streak red onto the old white fabric, soaking into the cheap spongy material below. The door behind him opens, and Aida tosses the mattress aside, turning to face them.

A man and a woman wearing balaclavas, one of them holding something a syringe. “Bring it on, Asmobitch!” Aida declares, charging at the two of them.

A powerful arm slams into Aida’s stomach and he crumples over it. A second hand grabs at his collar and-
and then a stinging feeling, and-
that’s about all he experiences.

Shu Jinko

Existence is weightless. Only the white noise hums in Aida’s ears, fuzzy black and white pixels dancing like ants, rendered into audio. He sees nothing. He feels less than nothing. It’s vertigo, his stomach leaping up his throat at the idea of motion, in a world denied motion and inertia.

”We’re dying.”

Tsuchinoko’s voice slithers between the swarming pixels. What he’s saying should make Aida’s chest pound. Instead, he just feels a distant, cold brick in his chest. ”I don’t want to die,” he says, with impossible nonchalance. The parts of him capable of worrying aren’t working right now. It’s just him and…

”That’s right, Aida! Dying is for losers!”

His deepest voice. ”Why am I dying?”

”Remember yesterday when you found that tablet in your pocket?”

”No.”

”That’s probably because whatever you took to take the edge off is now reacting with the amnestics the Feds injected you with. You’re dying to a bad drug interaction.”

”Oh. Damn.”

”Damn,” Tsuchinoko echoes.

Spinning nausea hits Aida, and he struggles not to vomit. It’s not from nerves. Just another side-effect, probably. ”What should we do?”

”Your body is forgetting to do the things it does automatically. We just need to remind it to be doing those things.”

”Whoa. We can do that?”

”We won’t know until we try!”

First, the heart. That’s important. No heart is no oxygen and brain can’t think good. Aida is already happening that, maybe. What makes heart beat? Got to squeeze it to make it go. CPR? Aida can’t remember what that stands for. Chest compressions is words he knows. Someone who can do chest compressions. Think that.

The white noise compresses in front of Aida. Tiny ants become colors and shapes, pushing on Aida’s chest. He flops and flails. Need a…

There’s a wall behind him now. For the hands to push on. Ribs aching with each press, Aida feels a thump in his chest and sucks in oxygen using his mouth. Breathing through his mouth, loudly. Then, he feels pins and needles in his entire body. The world is still gone. “Ah… c…” ”I can’t see.”

”Your optic nerves are no longer sending the right signals to your brain. Let me make up new signals instead!”

“Hha.”

Eyelids don’t exist anymore. Color floods into an unblinking world, bleeding shapes of nonsense like the memories of input after closing your eyes in really bright light. Among the swimming colors is a boy kneeling next to Aida. He’s really tiny, but his hair is thick and wavy. ”Who are you?”

”I’m da hewo,” the boy burbles. There are abnormally long, adult-sized arms attached to the baby’s shoulders, poised above Aida’s chest. The hands that were giving compressions. Only in the span of one second, they deflate like balloons down to normal size.

“What’s your name?”

”Shu Jinko.”

Something clicks in the back of Aida’s head. Something else sputters and sparks, a connection that isn’t reaching the other port. ”Shu… ji…” Distantly, Aida shakes his head, but his view doesn’t change. The world remains static around him. His body is paralyzed, unable to move, hanging in the air against a metal wall. Arms out, dangling where things are underneath him holding him up.

Shu Jinko falls down onto the floor from where he was kneeling on the wall, soon falling behind as Aida is dragged forward. Then, the baby toddles after him.

”Why are you like, three years old?”

”Cause am twee yeaws owld!”

”No. I haven’t known you that long. I don’t know… you as a baby.”

Suddenly, a tall, teenage boy is walking beside Aida. A second-year, one year his junior. ”Oh yeah, that’s right. I never was a baby!” Shu throws back his head and laughs. Somehow, Aida knows that he can trust this person implicitly. Fabric unfolds around Shu’s shoulders, running down like waterfalls of pink and white and beige, into a housecoat. Looking down, the student examines his arms. ”Snazzy.”

”Mind if I use you as a focus?” the coat asks, pink snake eyes on either side of the collar peering up at his wearer.

”Sure thing, I don’t mind at all,” agreeably, Shu stuffs his hands into the coat’s pockets and strolls alongside Aida, who is dragged invisibly through space. ”Where are we headed?”

“I…dn…” ”I don’t know.”

”I gave the dweeb a full dose this time, and he’s still mumbling.”

”Heh, was pretty funny when he socked you one while he was under last time.”

”Laugh it up, Janny. Remember whose toilet you have to clean.”

Bickering voices echo in Aida’s ears. As soon as they come, they fade away again. There’s something coming up ahead, that captures the entirety of his attention.

Inku

Wandering through crooked hallways of misshapen sensory input, a black blot the size of a basketball. Deep certainty strikes a chord in Aida’s mind, the certainty that among this drug-induced fever dream, this is real. More real, at least. “Inku?” he asks. Memories, dredged to the surface like substrate sand beneath a lake, cloud the waters of his amnesticized clarity. “What are you doing here?”

Rushing towards him, the Shade slams into his chest, splattering there like a paintball. Sticky protoplasm pulls away, reforming back into a ball. %Dark Gray%”Ai-ai!”%% the sphere of Nightmare matter warbles in his distorted voice. %Dark Gray%”This place is so bleak and it was making me lost. I was happy to see your shapes and colors!”%%

Smiling dopily, Aida pats the orb on top of his head. Which is all of him. “Why did you come here?”

“He came to be a hero,” says the apparition of Shu. “But the road to heaven is long and winding.”

%Dark Gray%”You were all gone missing!”%% the entity calls out, body swirling like gelatin on a spinning plate. %Dark Gray%”So I come to look for you! For you and Ko-ko and everybody!”%% As Aida is dragged on through the halls of the place that he’s in that he’s having trouble remembering at this moment, Inku bounces in the air beside him.

Bubbling concern upsets Aida’s stomach. He lurches, trying to hold back from vomiting. ”Ugh, I hope he doesn’t puke.”

“This place,” Aida murmurs, “It isn’t safe for you. If they catch you,” they’ll do all sorts of bad experiments on something like Inku. Can they catch him? Can they detect him? Aida just doesn’t know. “We have to go. Kohaku is lost.”

%Dark Gray%”Then I will find him!”%% the Shade cheerfully volunteers.

“No- wait!” but Aida’s plea is ignored, as the Shade zips away, behind him, deeper into the heart of the federal machine.

%Dark Gray%”I will come find you again after! I can always find you, so shiny Ai-Ai!”%%

Aida struggles helplessly against the unseen grip of the agents holding him. Shu places a hand on his shoulder. “Your winding paths will cross again. Be not afraid.” Swallowing, Aida looks up at the apparition. Its face doesn’t look right. The eyes are like pits, falling into a distant golden fire. Then he blinks, and it’s Shu again.

Kaoru Nagamine

Parting ahead of them as if it were a fog, the warped colors roll off of the skin of a girl. A few years Aida’s younger, with a pair of bright spectacles. Striding out of the chaos with purpose, she winds up and slaps Aida across the face. Hanging, stunned, he stares down at her feet. They glide backwards, the world within keeping pace flawlessly with the world without. The more Aida thinks about it, the more it feels like his brains is being dragged backwards along a conveyor belt.

Closing his eyes does nothing, so Aida looks up. Looks her in the eye. “What’d I do?”

“You really have the audacity to ask that?” the girl snaps, her pale skin flushing pink. “If you still have the gall to call him brother, then his crimes obviously mean nothing to you.”

Googley-eyed, Aida boggles at her. “I don’t even know who you are.”

Eyes narrowing, the girl’s skin turns an even angrier red. It deepens, saturates, until she looks like a glistening human lobster. ”History is full,” she says, though her voice sounds distinctly deeper, now. It’s a different sort of red from the eavesdropped echoes of reality. ”Full to the brim and spilling over, with would-be revolutionaries whose reactionary methods cut the innocent as the guilty. Forever staining their souls, and their message.” With gravity, but more gentleness than the girl’s fiery slap, the lobster-woman reaches out and supports Aida’s head to look up and meet her gaze properly. ”What virtues you profess will forever be tainted by the sins of Fukuzawa Kohaku. If you truly wish to fight for a better future, if you wish to stake your purpose upon something greater than yourself, then you must renounce him. Wash his stain from your name.”

Swallowing, Aida finds his throat dry and heavy, as if coated in cracking, sun-baked mud. Another slap strikes him across the face, but not her this time, no. A memory. Aida feels the table flat against his face, feels Kohaku’s hand pressing him down. Face vicious, voice cold. Not at all like the man he’d known.

“What did he do?”

Madoka Onguuchi and Fukuzawa Kohaku

Aida is heaped into something, laid down on his side. He distantly hears a sliding van door closing with a swoosh, and then a click. Lying across from Aida on the swirling kaleidoscope of the van’s dirty rubber floor, another girl. This one, so awash with color that she blends into the background of the fever dream. ”This is what he did.” What stands out among the pastel shades is a deep, bloody crimson. It leaks out of her chest, around a knife sticking out. His knife. Kohaku’s knife.

Head swimming, Aida feels dizzy. He tries to shut it out, to ignore or deny what he’s seeing. Just let the amnestics take it and forget. Let him forget. Someone sits down beside Aida and rests his head on their knee. It’s Shu. “I know it’s hard, but try to look. You’ll need to accept it eventually. There’s no way to move forward if you don’t.”

The lobster girl’s voice repeats: ”This is what he did.”

“And I’d do it again,” leaning in from above, Kohaku’s arm comes into view. He grabs the weapon and rips it from the wound. When Aida looks into his face, there’s a wicked grin. Utterly inhuman. That’s the only thing that comes to mind. Has he always smiled like that? “Only when we’re killing,” Kohaku says, tongue dragging across his pearly teeth. “You’ve never thought to look under the mask.”

“We don’t kill…”

“Humans,” Kohaku corrects, eyes wide and wild like a feral animal. “But we’ve killed plenty of monsters. Haven’t we?”

Aida has nothing to say, so he just stares.

Then, the girl sits up. Her face is gone, replaced with that of a shining golden fox. “Greater demons than that possessing your friend… your brother, worse is yet to come,” her voice is cool and calm. Madoka.

“Your name is Madoka, like the anime.”

“What anime?” Shu asks.

“… I dunno. I wasn’t really thinking before I spoke.”

“All the world’s sins cannot rest on one girl’s shoulders,” the fox-girl says, solemnly. “Nor can the burden of its freedom rest on a few, governed by power. Not when greater tyrants with greater power are waiting in the wings.” Her eyes close, and she says softly, consolingly, “Your dream is doomed in its naivete, Uesagi Aida.”

“She thinks she can save humanity by neutering it,” Kohaku’s face shudders. Aida gags as he watches the skin tear apart at invisible seams and peel back perfectly. A ghoulish mask of exposed veins, muscles and bone where Kohaku’s face was. “Not a mask. This is what was underneath.” His old friend’s eyes are ringed with gilded flame. “Make no mistake. This girl would shelter the world in a bubble, praying it never pops. But when it does, those within will be left defenseless. Do not let her steal your convictions with fear.”

“All I am doing,” the golden fox snaps at the thing hiding behind Kohaku’s eyes, “Is restoring the world to its natural state!”

Their argument is interrupted by distant, cawing laughter.

Okabe Takeo?

Belly bulging, face cracked down a long scar, the pallid face of Takeo Okabe looks in through the van window. Stepping forward, he phases through the many-colored door. He is draped in the vestments of a Shinto priest. His headdress phases through the ceiling. “Why are you wearing that?” Aida asks, but Okabe ignores his question.

When he speaks, his voice is croaking, like that of an old crow. “Only a human being would delude themselves,” he says, in the sardonic tone of a court jester, “That caging half the world is stewardship of nature.”

“These things were never meant to mingle,” the fox insists, but Okabe only shakes his head in a demeaning fashion.

“Says who? Says you? Let us see… what this vaunted stewardship of the natural order has beget.”

To the north. Aida feels it is the north, even if that isn’t the real direction. The walls of the van peel away like corroded metal, and beyond them a great tower rises in the distance. Concrete, glass and steel. It is Kurobane Tower. Aida would know it anywhere. A city unfolding around it, like the petals of an artificial flower, so large it sucks up all the nutrients from those below.

It is the modern expression of primal evil.

Reiji Kurobane

Boiling and melting from within, the glass and steel flow down from their pockets. They form a blazing face, wavy hair framing it on either side. Handsome, in the way of the upper crust, who smear beauty cream over their blemishes and call it perfection. When the metal cools it is a deep, dark black. The face of the Kurobane heir looks down at the domain he will inherit.

“Trust me,” the Kurobane voice booms, resonating with a metallic ring. “I will deliver you. I will save you. The people need a steward.”

“I feel so shielded from tyrants,” Okabe says, sneering down at the seated fox woman. She remains unbothered, so his gaze turns to Aida, eyes softening. “The world is full of those who would cage it. Precious few still trust the world to be free. Fewer still are as absolutely confident as I am,” the large boy smiles knowingly. “It’s too big for anyone to cage.”

“Sic semper tyrannis,” Kohaku’s face folds shut around his bare skull. “You taught me that phrase, Aida.”

”As if he doesn’t now serve the very tyrants his serpent tongue twists against,” the lobster-girl spits at his words.

“I…” right. The feds. Aida was trying to remember that the feds are involved. Kohaku and Okabe are with the feds now.

“Nothing is ever so simple,” reaching down, Okabe helps Aida to his feet. Shakily, Aida looks back behind himself, and nearly falls over again. His body, lying there on the floor of the van.

“That’s… me. Am I…”

“Don’t worry,” Shu smiles. Tsuchinoko swirls off of the Student Council president’s shoulders and slithers up Aida’s. His ghost. His astral-self. When the Idolon presses in on his shoulders, Aida feels less weightless, less like the winds of the beyond will drag him away like a leaf. “Your body will be safe. I’ll watch over you,” Shu promises. “If anything happened, you know I’d intervene.” Something about his unabashed smile feels like a rock in a storm.

Okabe guides Aida to the edge of the van, where the wall was torn open. “Your chariot awaits. There are more things that you must see.”

Takumi Wright

Outside, a man in red armor sits atop of a thundering motorcycle. He reaches out, and Aida takes his hand, swinging onto the seat behind him. “Who are you?!”

“We haven’t met yet,” the mysterious man says. “I haven’t met the world yet, either. Pretty sure they forgot who I am already. Don’t worry about it.”

“Where are we going?”

“Ah, now that’s a better question,” the rider revs his engine. “We’re goin’ all the way to the edge.” With a roar, he puts the pedal to the metal, and their vehicle screams ahead down the street.

Satou Rin

On, and on. To the city limits and beyond. To the greater boundary. Where the Kageoka and surrounding townships ends and the rest of the world begins. There, instead of more road, there’s a great yawning abyss. Aida’s stomach turns. “Hey,” he says, shaking the rider’s shoulder. “Hey, we gotta stop!”

“We haven’t moved anywhere,” Tsuchinoko says helpfully.

“Not funny!” Aida screams, shutting his astral eyes and pressing his face into the rider’s back. With a gut-wrenching swerve, the motorcycle skids to a stop. Only when Aida stops shaking can he pull his face away and look.

They’re at the end of the road. Below them, a bottomless nothing.

Beside them, a girl. She’s unremarkable, in a way that’s different from the others. Dark hair hangs down her back, matching the chasm below. The way she stands, like the entire world is just passing by around her. The girl stares down into the abyss. “I could be somebody,” she says, to herself more than anyone. “I just need to get in on the ground floor. What would it feel like?” Turning her head, she looks up at Aida on the motorcycle’s back. Even as unremarkable as she is, something about her dark, hollow eyes is familiar.

“You’re…” he tries, the name is on the tip of his tongue.

“Uesugi, I envy you sometimes,” she says. “Even though you fell off the edge and got expelled. Even though you’ll never amount to anything more than a cautionary tale.” Then, she looks away, back into the dark beyond. “When you fell, everybody knew who you were. If only just for a moment.”

“Satou Rin,” Tsuchinoko whispers in his ear.

“Rin-chan,” with the name in hand, Aida slides uncertainly off of the vehicle, his legs having forgotten the feeling of the ground. There’s a word swimming around his head, attached to the name. Tsuchinoko’s tongue flits out over his shoulder and snares it in place. Partners. But… they’re not dating. It’s the other kind. Business partners. “I know you.”

“Not really,” she says, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “You know my face, but we’ve barely talked. Already you act like you can just call me by my given name. And I see that look in your eye.”

“Don’t do this! You don’t need to do… whatever you’re doing!” the words free themselves from Aida’s lips reflexively.

“See,” she says, turning away from him. Looks out into the endless chasm. “You don’t really care. You just don’t want to see a tragedy. You don’t even want to see me.” The darkness shifts. From behind, the rider grabs Tsuchinoko by the scruff of the neck, and drags Aida back aboard with it. “Besides.” Rin looks at them one more time, her smile sad and distant. “I already did it,” she confesses. Behind her, a colossal toad-shaped smear across the world waddles out of the abyss.

“Guess that’s our cue to jet!” twisting them around with one deft spin, the rider guns it back down the highway into Kageoka. A dark tongue launches through the air just behind where they were, and a series of croaking hops shakes the ground beneath their feet. Aida doesn’t dare look back.

Tomaki Warumachi

Rolling fields transmute into mountains around Aida and the rider. They pass by a stone where a boy sits, drawing on a piece of paper in his lap. The boy looks up, and slides alongside them through the flowing world.

The toad is far behind them now, somewhere else.

“Tomaki-san!” Aida recognizes the boy immediately. “… Didn’t you lose your arms?”

In an instant, the young man’s arms are gone. His drawing paper floats down to the ground, and without missing a beat he picks it up between his toes and keeps going. “Nithe for a bit,” he grunts, lisping around a pair of large tusks jutting out of his lip. “What you dreaming bout?” looking up from his drawing, Tomaki smiles at Aida.

“We were too late to save Rin,” Aida distantly answers, his mouth moving uncertainly around details he’s not sure were real. “What were you dreaming about?”

“Hands.”

“Oh, right. Uh, sorry.”

“Is okay.”

“Are you real?”

“Am I?” flexibly raising the foot holding his sketch pencil, Tomaki taps it against his chin. “Mebbe. You real?”

“Nope, just a figment of your imagination,” the rider quips. “Not much of an imagination, either! As if this city needed two red motorcycle riding vigilantes.”

“I’m… Uesugi Aida,” the name helps Aida center himself. “Just tripping balls.”

“Mhm,” Tomaki nods his head and shrugs his shoulders. “Mebbe real then. What shou need?”

Licking his chapped lips, Aida tries to find what he was going to ask in the prismatic slurry of his mind. Tracing the train of thought back to the van, Aida pictures a raw, skinless face in his head. “Can you look out for Kohaku for me? …I think he’s in danger from something.”

Face falling into a serious line, Tomaki nods his head one more time. “Hm. Warumachi honor. Safe ride.”

Already, the armless boy is falling behind them. Aida screams again as his chariot sails off of the edge of the mountain, flying through the air. He looks down as distance falls away towards the city below. Impossibly, their vehicle lands on sloping power lines that float up in the air above the city, like spiraling railings.

Belladonna Sola

“What the hell are we riding on?!” Aida shouts.

“Welcome to the internet,” the rider yells back.

All around them, the city below is swallowed by shapes and sounds. Crackling cubes forming distorted images Aida can’t make out. They’re blasting through too fast to stop and analyze anything. “How are we in the internet?!”

“We’re not, we’re on the internet, see,” the rider looks back, a smug grin under his visor as he points to the rails of light and information they’re skating on top of. “It’s pretty easy with that wifi router you’ve got in that head of yours’.” The finger suddenly jabs Aida in the forehead.

“Just- watch where you’re going!”

“Does it matter where we’re going, when we’re just browsing,” the motorcyclist glibly suggests. “That’s the beauty of it. A whole world of ideas. Never know what you might find!”

From the line of connection they’re riding, a clearer image starts to form around them. Whoever’s internet this is, they’ve got a pretty strong rig to make it this clear and stable. Aida peers into the pixelated image. It’s gloomy, dimly lit. Someone’s room. A knight in shining armor hunches over a computer desk, armored fingers moving across the keyboard, unhindered by their gauntlets. Two other shadows stand in the room behind the knight, but they’re just silhouettes now.

“Is that…” One of the shapes is short, with long, straight hair hanging from its head. “Rin… Satou-chan?”

“Could be,” his motorized chauffer replies dismissively. “Look sharp. We’re getting close to where you need to be.”

Kusanagi Itsuki

Speeding down the track, the rider pulls his motorcycle into a wheelie and spirals off. Images from the net vanish, replaced with more city lights. Day and night blow past them, running forward, then in reverse, then moving up the sky together into a solar eclipse. High above them, a black disc surrounded by a corona of light.

Aida can make out a shape. A human figure, standing inside the moon’s shadow, within the swallowed sun. And another, lying beneath him. One with a sword in hand, the other surrounded by a pool of dark blood. The shadows of the moon expand, the flow bleeding out around it. Under its twilight, reality starts to come together into saner colors. From the abyss of psychedelics, into the clashing currents of a Bleeding Zone.

They descend towards a mall parking lot. And unceremoniously, the rider phases into the ground, leaving Aida to slam into what’s lying there.