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TacticalBacon wrote:
I support this fic.

Nice writing, no noticeable errors, great concept, and all those good stuff. Subbed!

Thanks, I aim to please. And misbehave . So does Helbereth, from what I've heard, and this recent update marks his return as an in depth editor.

If only I could get him to work on that ebook. Alas, the double-edged sword that is having an editor who also writes. Ah well, such is life.

Hoitash wrote:And misbehave . So does Helbereth, from what I've heard

LIES! I'm a perfect angel! It's only my thoughts that follow dark paths...

this recent update marks his return as an in depth editor.

Yeah, this is more familiar.

Y'all can blame any errors in here on me, probably--I can't acount for what he might have changed after I sent back my last few suggestions. This and the following chapters spent days or more on my desktop being meticulously browsed and altered whenever the fancy struck me--all reviewed and re-edited per the author's instructions, sometimes repeatedly.

I now know what it's like to haunt the dangerously unassuming, yet willfully unhinged dark corridors of Yamaku's most illustrious future private detective, and I'm here to say: beware! What you think you know is naught but the scribblings of demented men, woven in tongues best left forgotten by history. I have peered into the eyes of the beast, and found myself staring back, frightened and cowering in wanton dementia, my thoughts scattered and broken as they crash against an unforgiving tide.

Weep not, and instead heed my warning: go back! Back, I say! Return to the small lives from whence you came, and revel in their simplicity, for the view from atop the twisted pile of human incongruity is dire indeed, and will leave you a hollow shell, no longer able to feel simple pleasures, or great injustices... lost forever and alone.

Too much?

...Been reading Friedrich Nietzsche? You might wanna lay off him, he gets to you, man .

I need to remember that Firefly references go over your head, as you are not familiar with the show.

Oh sweet, a new Hoitash-verse story! Consider me subbed.

Hoitash wrote:...Been reading Friedrich Nietzsche? You might wanna lay off him, he gets to you, man .

I've heard that name, but I couldn't tell you who they are. In terms of reading, my scope of experience is frightfully limited. The only authors I can readily name whose works I've read are JRR Tolkien, RA Salvatore, some Shakespeare, and Samuel Clemens(Mark Twain). All others are few and their names mostly escape my memory--as with music, I recall book titles better than their authors.

I need to remember that Firefly references go over your head, as you are not familiar with the show.

I'm used to your references going over my head, though. The Warhammer stuff doesn't even register on my awareness meter, I usually have to Google the historical references, and the rest are hit or miss; I know a little bit about Predator lore, but then you allude to things from Warehouse 13, and all I know about that show is its title.

Come to think of it, I'm not sure how I make sense of your stories sometimes... I think it's mostly guesswork through context.

Anyway, I'll get back in my hole now...

Dumanios wrote:Oh sweet, a new Hoitash-verse story! Consider me subbed.

Glad you like it, and thanks for reading

Helbereth wrote: Come to think of it, I'm not sure how I make sense of your stories sometimes... I think it's mostly guesswork through context.

Well, at least I'm good at conveying context

And, as my Dad says whenever he digs himself a hole: "I like this hole. I even added a widescreen TV."

“Oh Lord, save this lost lamb.” –Sariel, The Devil is a Part-Timer!

Previous Chapter

Chapter Three: Dashed Upon the Rocks


I’ve never liked hospitals, though not for the same reasons as most Yamaku graduates; it's because they’re too artificial, and too filled with death and decay. Granted, I’ve experienced and inflicted my fair share of both, but the bureaucratic coldness of a hospital compounds it, slaps you across the face, then steals your wallet—all from an institution based on mercy. As someone who’s grounded firmly in the land of the living, and worked tooth and nail to fight for it, facing the border between this life and its end can be unsettling. For someone who doesn’t believe in anything after this world, seeing the fragile line between living and dying through the eyes of a cancer patient or stabbing victim can be outright disturbing.

It’s one of the parts of this job that I can truly say I detest, not that I have any right to complain; it’s not like I spent four months in a hospital recovering from a heart attack, or however long in the burn ward, or having what was left of my legs fitted for prosthesis. I was born legally blind, and that was that—I'm not even totally impaired, and I didn't actually experience it being taken away. The fact that I seem to end up in hospitals as often as I do is perhaps the universe’s attempt to trick me into believing in karma. Well, the jokes on the universe: anti-Nihilists don’t believe in any fate except what we make for ourselves.

But I digress; Yukari had told me the hospital, but not the actual room—a fine line that I respected, even if it made my job harder. Fortunately I was well acquainted with the Head Nurse of the rehab/recovery section of the hospital in question, and she believed in altruism. However, she still had to be convinced that I had her patient’s best interests in mind, and she was still just as likely to lop my head off and mount it on a broom as a warning to other impertinent private investigators—we got along famously.

The hospital itself was much like any other: beige and white walls with tile floors, white doors, and wide hallways to accommodate gurneys. Everywhere in between there were white and blue clad personnel wandering to and fro, along with patients in various states of despair and anxiety—it's not a homey place. I made it a point to wander through the maternity ward on my way, as seeing a place of life in a building dedicated to death helped keep me sane—or as sane as I ever was, at least.

Once I made it to the proper floor, finding the Head Nurse wasn’t too hard; I just followed the wails of despair from student nurses and disgruntled janitors. I also made sure to avoid getting too close to the addicts; they tended to get jumpy around me, for some reason. The Head Nurse turned out to be in the main hall, which was fortunate for me, as witnesses would make her resorting to violence much less likely—she wasn’t above chasing me out of the hospital herself, since I had long ago bribed security to leave me alone.

Slightly taller than your average Asian woman, and built like a tank, Momo Yazawa reminded me less of a nurse and more like an Imperial Army sergeant: brutish, thuggish, and had the common sense beaten out of her in basic training. All in all she was a terrible leader, though she was good at keeping the books juggled and the patients cared for. She was also good with the addicts, likely because she had a family history of alcoholism and opiate use—I do my research.

“Setou!” she spat upon noticing my presence.

As she glared at me from the other end of the hall, the only reason I was able to recognize her—aside from her shrill, overly loud voice—was because a young nurse was huddling against the nearby wall, whimpering loudly.

After a long, hard silence, the brutish woman barked, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Such language from an elder woman,” I chided, carefully keeping as far away from her as I reasonably could, “how unbecoming of a lady.”

“Get closer and I’ll show you how unladylike I can be,” she snapped back. While she snarled something in a low voice I didn’t catch, I noticed a blur of movement as the young nurse bolted for safety. When I had lost track of her movement, Yazawa snapped, “Now... what do you want?”

Reluctantly stepping closer, so we were at least within half the length of the hallway itself, I replied, “I’m here to talk to the girl the cops sent in.”

Yazawa snorted, reminding me of an irritated bull. “And... I’m going to let you do that, why?”

“Because you’re not a heartless bitch?” I guessed.

Sputtering in irritation, the thuggish nurse marched toward me. I stood my ground and looked her as close in the eye as I could manage, all the while doing a mental inventory of my clothing to make sure I wasn't wearing red. Had she been working in a mental hospital, I would compare her to Nurse Ratched, but that might be insulting toward that particular fictional character.

When she was close enough that I could distinguish the streaks of her white hair interwoven with the jet black, she stopped and snarled, “You have some nerve, you know that?”

“Yes. Yes I do,” I replied, folding my arms, “Now, are you gonna help the girl, or do you honestly think she’s going to tell the cops a damn thing about what happened?”

“And what makes you think she’d say anything to you?” she asked, matching my crossed arms.

Grinning deviously, I tapped one of my pockets. “For one, I have the Ultimate Secret Weapon no girl can resist. For another, if you don’t tell me, I’m going to find out anyway," I teased, sending a speculative glance around at the various patients and nurses who had gathered to witness our pleasant conversation, "and that’ll just make a scene.”

Yazawa stared at me for a good minute, I think, careful not to give any of the bystanders any acknowledgment, before sighing and snarling the room number at me. As I bowed and turned to head for the room, she added, “Good luck getting past the cops.”

“I’ll do my best, and thank you very much,” I replied, taking one last look around at the crowd as I made my exit—it wasn't often they saw someone get in a confrontation with her and not run off in tears, or with murder in their eyes.

Up the hall behind me, then a right took me to the hallway in question, and the room itself was easy to spot—it was the only one with a uniformed officer sitting in a chair next to the door. As I stepped closer, I started to recognize him; Senior Police Officer Aito Sonoda was a stocky fellow with a goatee that reminded me of a manor lord from the Kamakura Period, which was ironic considering he was a Communist. He was a decent cop, a good conversationalist, and, if he could help it, he never let politics get in the way of anything. Since he was reading a newspaper, I was able to get up to the door without him noticing me.

“Officer,” I greeted.

Sonoda glanced up from his newspaper and nodded, then glanced toward the door he was guarding and said, “Yukari said you were comin’—I won't stop you.”

Relieved that I wouldn't get stonewalled by the last obstacle, I looked into the tiny window on the door, but found the curtain was obscuring the bed, and the girl. Turning back to Sonoda, I inquired, “Anything you can tell me, so I know what to expect?”

The officer sighed, nodded, and set down his paper. “Unfortunately, yes,” he replied, setting a somber stare on me as he described, “Sexual abuse was confirmed by a medical exam, but... no surprise there,” he paused to shrug and shake his head, “Best guess is she’s sixteen. Though, without any documents, and given her malnourished state, it’s hard to be sure.”

“So she is a Korean resident?” I pressed, making another futile attempt to see into the room.

Nodding slowly, he explained, “She’s not in any system, and there’s no missing person’s reports abroad matching her description—not that that necessarily proves anything, but her ramblings before she got here were fluent Japanese, according to the report, so it makes sense she was born here.”

“So she is a Zainichi,” I remarked, then mentally slapped myself for using the word, “She say anything useful?”

“Just that there was a ghost,” he said, sighing lightly, “and then she started crying and begging us not to hurt her—she thought we were gonna hack her up and harvest her organs… being here hasn’t helped that, but we had no choice.”

Nodding, and realizing the ghost comment probably meant more than he knew, I asked for confirmation, “She mentioned a ghost?”

Seeming surprised by the query for a moment, he slowly nodded and replied, “It’s the only really coherent thing she said, but... she hasn’t spoken since she was sedated and the docs went to work.”

Well, that was certainly a good starting point; Hunters had a cloaking field that obscured them into a shimmering figure when it was working. A delirious kid could easily mistake that for a ghost.

Wanting to confirm something else Yukari had said, I asked, “I was told she was drugged?”

“Heavily,” Sonoda confirmed, “They flushed her system and have her hooked up to an IV now. Oh, and here’s the best part: she was doped up enough to kill an adult first time user.”

“…How long had they been drugging her?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

The officer sighed, “Best guess, four or five years.”

“Fuck,” I breathed, “It’ll be a miracle if she’s sane.”

“She’s not talking now,” he said, shrugging heavily, “Won’t even tell us her name. Minami’s in there with her with a notepad, so anything you can get out of her would be appreciated. Just... be gentle.”

“Fortunately, I’m good with kids,” I quipped with a nod, “Thanks, man.”

Picking his paper back up, Sonoda nodded slowly and said, “Good luck, Setou.”

Peering into the window again, I looked for the officer Sonoda mentioned and managed to see the outline of a glossy black shoe to the right of the door. Nodding at Sonoda once more, I reached up and knocked a few times before stepping through. As I closed the door behind me, I looked toward Officer Miho Minami, sitting in a chair with a newspaper over her lap, a notepad and pen held loosely in her right hand. She watched as I stepped in, and nodded once in acknowledgment, but remained silent.

The room was private, which didn’t surprise me; the witness to a massacre would be the first liability a killer would try to remove, so keeping her isolated and guarded was for her own protection. It didn't hurt that she was traumatized, and would probably need isolation to recover. The room itself was painted a light green with some landscape portraits along the walls—one I recognized as a piece my wife did for a travel agency. A door to the left led to a bathroom, and most of the room was filled by a large bed, which remained partially obscured.

Reminding myself that her tormentors were already dead, apart from the Hunter—which is small solace, really—I slowly stepped over to the bedside. The thrum of machinery and the incessant beep of a heart monitor filled my ears, and, though I lack visual acuity, as I drew back the curtain, it wasn't difficult to see she had been through hell. The worst of it looked like minor cuts and bruises, though most of those looked less than recent—likely from her captors—and her dull black hair was matted to the pillow by a mix of blood and sweat—more of the latter, thankfully. I couldn't fathom what internal injuries she may have suffered, physical or mental, but she was alive—head and spine intact.

“Hello, Young Lady,” I said in as soothing a voice as I could muster, “Please pardon the intrusion.”

You don’t get far in my line of work without being able to read and react to a situation; perhaps the only good thing about her demeanor was that she hadn't gone catatonic. The look in her saucer-like, dark brown eyes was not unlike a caged animal, reminding me of Hanako just before a panic attack—which is a comparison I don't make lightly. Having seen that first hand, though not in a long time, I knew I had to take things slow and cautiously if I wanted to get anywhere—the last thing I wanted was to make the poor girl feel worse.

Standing up straight, I smiled and nodded at the girl. “Is it alright if I sit?” I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on hers, and only gesturing with my hand as I added, “You can say no if you want.”

She didn't realize I was speaking to her right away, I think, because it took a while for her to start nodding. Her eyes were wide with a mix of fear and confusion, and she was still tense, but it was a start. Being careful not to move quickly, I stepped forward, making sure she could see my hands as I edged over to the bed. She drew back as I sat down, and I heard metal clanking as she shrunk away. Glancing at her right arm, I noticed it was handcuffed to the bed; while necessary, it probably had her even more freaked out.

“So, you’re probably wondering who I am,” I stated, trying my best to sound cheerful for her sake.

The young woman nodded stiffly, her eyes darting from my face, to my hands, and then to the handcuffs—no doubt the instinct to run was making things worse. As threatening looks go, I've never been told I have one, though Hisao complains I have a number of disturbing ones. Having had a child of my own, I'd learned a few things about expressions, and I used that knowledge to keep a gentle, uncharacteristically optimistic smile on my face as I shifted my position slightly to get comfortable on the hard mattress.

After a short silence, I shrugged and added, “Fair enough. I’m kinda curious who you are, as well. The officer’s here said you haven’t told anyone your name.”

The girl nodded again, and I maintained that smile.

“A wise precaution, seems to me,” I stated, offering a sagely nod, “Names are powerful…. You know, there’s an old American novel that starts out with the narrator stating call me Ishmael. Not my name is Ishmael, but call me Ishmael. I didn’t like to give out my name when I was younger, and, considering my line of work, I’m not too fond of it still... But, these days there’s not much point in hiding it, so: my name is Kenji, and I was hoping I could ask you some questions.”

Part II:

The young woman tilted her head at me; apparently I had overwhelmed her a bit. After a few moments I heard a weak, raspy noise that I eventually realized was her speaking, “Are you a cop?”

Minami snorted and I glanced at her, chuckling along myself as I answered, “Nope. I’m a writer by trade, and a private detective by inclination and schooling.”

“…Why do you want to ask me questions?” she rasped, and my heart twinged a little at the sound—Minami looked on with her notepad ready, no longer snickering.

Not letting the girl's glimmer of understanding break my stride, I shrugged and explained, “I’m naturally curious, and sometimes I like to help people. Asking you questions helps people.”

“I don’t want to answer any questions,” she declared.

“Understandable,” I stated, realizing that just getting her to talk at all was good enough for the moment, “so, how ‘bout we just chat a bit?”

She was still a ball of tension, and had good reason to mistrust people after what she'd gone though—which I could certainly relate to—so I was willing to take it slow. When she shrugged and nodded again, I took it as a cue to continue talking, though I guessed she wasn't ready to discuss what happened at that gruesome crime scene. Figuring that she wouldn't want to talk about the past considering the likely chain of events that led her here, I decided to focus on the present.

“I know being here must suck,” I joked, pointing toward the mess of machines, “Especially when you've got more tubes in you than an old TV...”

Unsure whether it was the bad joke or something else, I thought I saw her face twitch to form a smile for a second, which informed me she was relaxing a little. When she didn't reply otherwise, I decided to implement Operation Treat and remarked, “I actually brought you a get well present, since I heard you’re in some rough shape.”

“I’m fine,” she claimed, her voice carrying the indignant tone of a self-assured teenager behind the shaky rasp.

“I’m sure you are,” I replied, nodding complicitly, “You’re certainly more fine than some people might be in your place. You’re a very brave, strong young woman, whether you believe it or not.”

As she shrugged weakly, I patted my jacket lightly and added, “I’m going to reach for the present now, okay?”

With a mildly suspicious squint, she gave a quick nod, and I grinned; as abused and weak as she was, the sparks of child-like innocence remained, sputtering within her. Both encouraging and tragic, it seemed she hadn't completely given up hope yet, and, given the chance, she would likely recover. If I could do anything to speed that along, I would, and I'd consider it a good day on the job.

Deciding not to get ahead of myself, I slowly slipped my hand into the pocket and revealed the wrapped chocolate bar I had grabbed from a vending machine. It wasn’t badly melted thanks to the ice pack I kept for emergencies—one can never be too prepared—but I still held it carefully. She stared at it warily as I lifted it up for her to see, and I could see her eyes moving as she read the label.

“Hmm,” I mused, turning it over to inspect the expiration date, “I wonder if this is still any good; the machines around here aren’t stocked very often.”

Shrugging, I slowly opened the wrapper and revealed the solid chocolate bar inside. Breaking a piece off, I tossed it in my mouth and chewed slowly. It was a bit stale, which I expected, and a bit soft, too, but the important thing was that it was solid, and she had seen me eat it.

“It’s a little stale,” I declared, “but still good. Your stomach’s probably a little queasy from the medications, so I’ll just leave this on the nightstand, okay?”

Gingerly, I handed the bar to Officer Minami, who carefully placed it behind her on the drawer by the bed. The girl kept her gaze focused on the bar the entire time, and I’m pretty sure I saw her lick her lips once.

Minami smiled at the girl as she set down the chocolate and whispered, “You should be able to have that soon, Sweetie.”

The girl nodded, then slowly shifted to face me again before rasping, “Thank you, sir.”

Chuckling lightly, I chided, “Sir was my father’s name.” In her somewhat agitated state, my unintentionally curt reply made her tense, so I smiled and added, “Like I said, my name is Kenji, so call me that—please?”

After a moment spent staring, she slowly nodded, and I breathed a sigh of relief—her mental state was teetering more than I had thought. Gesturing toward the officer, I remarked, “I’m sure Miho already introduced herself...”

A brief smile crossed the girl's face, accompanied by a slight nod, which told me she probably didn't mind Miho's presence as much as it seemed. Considering they would likely end up spending a lot of time together, that was probably a good thing, but I was getting ahead of myself again. My purpose for visiting was of paramount importance, and I decided it was time to get back on track, as it were.

“The police said they found you in a closet,” I said, gauging her stoic reaction, which was suddenly filled with trepidation. Figuring I needed to take a more circuitous route, I continued by explaining, “I have a niece. She’s about five, and she likes to wander around a lot... and, for some reason, has a fondness for closets. Drove her parents nearly hysterical more than once trying to find her, actually...”

Though I couldn't be sure, from the wandering look in her eyes, it seemed like she was reliving a similar experience, so I continued, “It's easy to hide in a closet when you’re small, if you know where to do it... say, if there was a loose board or panel that opened to more room, like a bit of wall that was hollowed out.” For a moment I paused to let the idea sink in, then tilted my head and asked, “Was there anything like that back at the hideout?”

The young woman slowly nodded as she recounted, “If I hid in the closet, I could get away for a while... And, if I wasn’t gone too long, they wouldn’t get too upset… usually..."

While she trailed off, I tried not to think about the bruises I could see—some of which may have resulted from her hiding—or how many dozens of other injuries and assaults she likely endured while in captivity. For a moment I considered the Hunter’s code of honor, and how it always made a strong division between combatants and non-combatants.

Looking over the girl and imagining the carnage that she had most likely heard and maybe even witnessed, the cynical part of me wondered if it would have been more merciful for the alien to have just killed her. Maybe some other girl had been caught in the crossfire; a stray bullet or spear granting her the cruel mercy of death in a place where the price of mercy was much, much too high.

Overwhelmed by my own thoughts, I barely noticed when the girl continued talking, "...But, they never found where I would go, and they never bothered to look, because I was never gone for long...”

Nodding, and taking a moment to shake away my internal monologue, I smiled and mused, “I bet it was nice in there; quiet, secluded… serene, even.”

The girl nodded, seeming blissfully unaware of my wandering thoughts as she replied, “Kind of... I kept some old manga and a flashlight in there... to read sometimes, when I could hide there for a while, or sneak off at night...”

“Sounds cozy,” I remarked. Deciding it was time to move things along a bit, I added, “When things went down, did you stay in there? Or did you maybe leave, just for a peek?”

Suddenly unsure of herself, she shifted uncomfortably, her head turning between Minami and myself. While I continued to smile passively, Minami gave her an encouraging nod, her hand holding a pen, poised to take notes. The girl sighed and shook lightly, as if merely trying to tell us what happened upset her—which was perfectly understandable, of course.

“…I had gone in there because it was cooler, and then… I heard… things…”

“What kind of things?” I asked.

“There were voices, and... fireworks? It wasn't fireworks, though,” she recounted, her eyes aiming downward. “It was so loud for a long time, and I thought it would just keep going on and on, but… then it suddenly stopped...” she trailed off, her voice sinking down into a whisper, “After a while, the silence started freaking me out, so I… I…”

“You peeked?” I asked.

The girl sniffed and nodded. “Just for a second,” she sobbed, “It was horrible! There were bodies and blood everywhere, and this… ghost… thing... was doing… terrible things to the bodies. They were… bad men, but…”

“It’s okay,” Minami declared, and she edged over to put an arm around the girl as she started sniffling and whimpering.

“Whatever did that... it wasn’t human!” she rasped.

“No,” I stated, “it wasn’t. And the police and I are going to make sure it doesn’t hurt anyone again, no matter how much they may deserve it.”

“And we won’t let anything happen to you,” Minami added.

The girl broke down at that point, clutching to Minami and softly crying. While she wept and whimpered, Minami carefully undid the handcuff, and the girl quickly glommed onto her even tighter, probably painfully even, as she likely stretched some of the tubes in her.

Standing, I bowed deeply to the young woman and said, “Thank you very much, Young Lady. You have been very helpful. I’ll be going now, but... if you want, I can visit again tomorrow.”

The girl sniffed and glanced over to me, trying to smile through a sniffle as she requested, “Will you bring more chocolate? I’m not supposed to leave the bed for a while.”

“Maybe,” I chuckled, “or maybe something a little healthier, but just as sweet. Okay?”

The girl nodded, still sniffling and fighting back tears. It was reassuring seeing that she possessed that kind of resilience; it's something she would need in order to find her way back into society. For now she was safe, but I still had a job to do, so I donned my hat and adjusted it, then nodded to the girl again.

“Until then, Young Lady, and don’t worry; Miho will keep an eye on you,” I stated.

“I’ll be here for you, Sweetie,” she declared.

As I moved across the room, I heard the girl rasp, “…Soon-hee.”

Stopping at the door, I turned back to face her and asked, “Pardon?”

“…My name is Kim Soon-hee…” the girl stated, which made me smile. Her tear-rimmed eyes sobered that reaction as she meekly inquired, “…What will happen to me now?”

“Nothing bad,” I declared, offering a quick nod toward Minami, “We’ll both make sure of that.”

With that, I left the room because I honestly doubt I could have kept my composure for much longer. Once I was safely in the hallway, I sniffed and reached for my emergency flask, because holy shit did I need it. Gulping a healthy swig of poorly distilled and far too young whiskey, I glanced down to meet Sonoda's curious gaze, and nearly choked.

“No judgments here,” he stated, pointing at the flask, then he aimed a thumb toward the room and asked, “How'd it go?”

“Better than it had any right to,” I replied, slipping the flask back in its place. “I got what I wanted, but Yamato’s Ballsack that kid is fucked. I got a name for you, but I doubt you’ll find anything—odds are good the thugs offed her family when they nabbed her.”

“That was our theory,” Sonoda stated, shaking his head soberly, “Sad but true—a few missing residents won’t raise too many eyebrows, especially if they’re residents.”

Glowering and nodding, I remarked, “Which means her future is royally screwed.”

“As long as the case is active, the government will foot the bill,” he stated, which didn't exactly offer me—or the girl—much comfort, “but, if it goes cold like the last series of murders…”

Nodding again, I reached for my overused wallet. “I think I have an idea,” I remarked, rifling through the contents until I found the right item. Handing a company card to the officer, I added, “Here... a family friend might be able to help.”

Sonoda read the card and raised an eyebrow—a reaction I expected. “You know Hakamichi?” he asked.

Rolling my eyes, I shrugged and explained, “Friend of Hisao’s family, not mine. Either way, her Foundation should be able to do something when the Feds ultimately stop giving a fuck.”

The officer nodded, took another look at the card, then replied, “Thanks; I’ll let Yukari know you did good.”

As I bowed lightly in thanks and prepared to leave, Sonoda’s radio went off, and I paused to eavesdrop. The message mentioned a suspected gunfight in progress, and advised any nearby officer’s to respond. That wasn't out of the ordinary necessarily, but the timing was suspicious, and the location sounded familiar; I recognized the given address as belonging to one of the local petty gangs—sad little kings of a sad little hill, as it were.

“That's a Roamin’ Ronin’s front,” I said when the broadcast ended.

“Yeah, but we’re too far to worry,” Sonoda replied with a casual nod, then noticed I was turning to leave and added, “Wait, where’re you going?”

Stopping briefly, I shrugged and responded, “Considering that address is on Yukari’s patrol route, and I have a lead on the murderer... where do you think?”

“Leave it alone, and let us do our job,” Sonoda advised. When I started walking again he sighed and added, “Fine, but be careful... don’t get caught!” As I rounded a corner and waved lazily, I heard him bark, “And don’t get shot!”

Dashing for the elevator as quickly as I dared, I considered his words. Getting shot would be easy enough to avoid, and I was always careful. The tricky part, then, was not getting caught; if the cops caught me, my permits would probably get suspended, and if the alien got me I'd really be in trouble. Either way, I had the confirmation I had been dreading; a Hunter was the culprit, and Hisao and I were the only two who knew enough to do anything about it—that sounds more crazy than I thought, in retrospect.

The only problem I still had—or the major one aside from actually finding the creature—was that I didn't quite know how we were going to deal with it yet. Listening to The Girl From Ipanema on the ride down wasn't exactly helping me think either, but, where Hunters are concerned, perhaps the best way to think was in the moment. As someone who meticulously investigates, analyzes, deconstructs and tests every problem, Hisao never understood that kind of impromptu planning, but that's why we're a team.

He still wasn't going to like the plan.

+++
Next Chapter

Uh…



…Yeah. Kim, obviously, is her surname; like in Japanese, the family name is first, and since it just sounds and reads weird in Korean to Anglicize the order like people tend to do with Japanese names, I left it alone.

Oh, the “niece” Kenji is referring to is Refia, who tends to wander. She seems to be referenced a lot in this fic, oddly enough.

Something tells me this installment made people so uncomfortable that they're afraid to comment...

Helbereth wrote:Something tells me this installment made people so uncomfortable that they're afraid to comment...

Yeah, I was afraid of that.

I was going for a major noire feeling with this fic, and I think I succeeded a bit too well.

Hoitash wrote:

Helbereth wrote:Something tells me this installment made people so uncomfortable that they're afraid to comment...

Yeah, I was afraid of that.

I was going for a major noire feeling with this fic, and I think I succeeded a bit too well.

Admittedly, this is even more outside the realm of stuff I generally enjoy than your other writings. That said, it's very well-written, and so far I'm more in tune with it than I was with Road to Tokyo, and I'm not yet sure why that is. I especially liked the interplay between Kenji and the girl -- it felt real. So...so far, so good, for me anyway.

dewelar wrote: I especially liked the interplay between Kenji and the girl -- it felt real. So...so far, so good, for me anyway.

Thanks; their interaction was pivotal for this chapter to work, so I'm glad it paid off (I know Helbereth put a lot of thought and planning into it, but then again, he does that with everything.)

Hoitash wrote:I know Helbereth put a lot of thought and planning into it, but then again, he does that with everything.

Often to my personal detriment.

“It's bows and arrows against the lightning, anyhow. They 'aven't seen that fire-beam yet." –The Artilleryman, HG Wells’ War of the Worlds

Previous Chapter

Chapter Four: The Walls of Jericho


Getting to the crime scene wasn’t terribly difficult on foot, though it took longer than I would've liked—still faster than dealing with a bus or taxi during a murder spree, though. Besides, all I had to do was get close; by the time I got there all the murdering would be done anyway. Most likely, the area would be cordoned off and barred by uniformed officers long before I arrived, but all I wanted to do was snoop around. If I could, I wanted to find out whether the Hunter was stalking the cops as future targets, or sticking to its itinerary—which I admit wasn't necessarily clear at the time.

Following the trail of bodies made tracking the Hunter easier, but each glut of murders painted a larger target on the police, and brought it closer to Jigoro. The prospect of having to fend off an enraged Shizune Hakamichi in the event of her father's untimely demise kept me in a state of hypervigilance. What I didn't realize at the time was that I'd failed to grasp a minor flaw in my logic, but I was focused on keeping the cops from becoming gruesome trophies, and Jigoro along with them, so there were bound to be faults.

As I suspected, by the time I finally reached the crime scene—an old worn down three story apartment complex—it, and the surrounding block, had been swarmed by police and circled by news vans—like a wagon train following a stampede of buffalo. When I recognized Yukari’s figure near the building, leaning against the brick wall and most likely throwing up at what she had seen inside, I relaxed a little. That didn’t mean she and the other cops were out of the woods yet, and, probably later then I should have, I realized there wasn’t a whole lot I could do at the moment.

“Fuck,” I muttered to myself.

Even carrying two Tesla grenades, a Tesla pistol, and the six shots in my Nambu’s clip, I couldn't be of much use against the alien if it were still lurking nearby. Considering the arsenal and technology the average Hunter brought along, I may as well have tried fighting him with a broken chair leg. There was no help for it, though, so I ducked into the nearest alley to catch my breath and think things through.

As it turned out, the alley was a poor choice; the only cover was an old dumpster on the left side, roughly a third of the way down the alley. Trying to find someplace with better cover risked me getting spotted, though, so I ducked behind the dumpster and started thinking—and watching the sky. Seeming to mock the spree of death and destruction being rained upon the city, the night sky was pleasantly clear, starry, and, of course, hot and humid.

“Where are you, xeno?” I asked of the still night air.

While I checked the alley in more detail, looking for a way to reach the roof, I dug my Tesla pistol out of my pocket, and unfastened one of the grenades—they were the only real choices I had in dealing with the Hunter. If I could stun him, maybe I could plug him in the head and hide the body somewhere out of sight until one of his friends picked him up; if David could take down Goliath with his slingshot, maybe I had a chance, and, besides, I did have a knack for hitting my targets while under pressure.

The alley was unfortunately void of fire escapes or ladders, so I was stuck on the ground for the time being. Deciding to look for another alleyway with better roof access, I slowly slunk my way toward the other end, hoping it exited far enough from the commotion to give me a shot at ducking into a different alley unseen. As I made my way along the brick wall, I felt the familiar twinge of my spleen, which stopped my feet and drew my gaze upward.

The blurry sky and shadowy buildings didn't look any different, but the feeling remained. After a few silent moments, I thought I heard something rattling above me somewhere, so I started slowly backtracking toward the dumpster.

“Come on down, xeno,” I muttered, “It's just you, me, and our fancy toys. No need to get the police involved.”

Another noise caught my attention, and this time I thought I saw something above me twitch, like a part of the sky rippling in excitement or agitation. Fully aware of how exposed I was, I eased back against the dumpster, constantly checking the open alley to my front, and the slit of sky overhead.

“What? Can't get to Jigoro, and Hisao's under protection, so you’re settling for me?” I asked the seemingly empty air, “I don’t know whether I should be flattered... or insulted.”

Although I'd like to claim I was goading the alien into revealing itself, all I was really trying to do is retain my tenuous grasp on sanity, and talking seemed to be doing the trick—for both problems. The echo from my speech hadn't completely petered out when I caught a glimpse of movement and barely managed to leap away as something slammed into the dumpster. Following the loud bang and the screech of sheering metal, I whirled around and fired the Tesla, sending arcs of purple-blue electricity at whatever had made the noise.

The arcs focused on a long metal staff—a Combi Stick, one of the Hunter’s weapons—and the collapsible metal spear seemed to absorb the energy, causing the spear to retract and fall with a clatter atop the dented dumpster. Examining the place where the spear fell, I realized if I hadn't leaped forward, it probably would have skewered me like a wild boar. Luckily, I was alive, though I only had four shots left in my pistol for the trouble, and the alien was nowhere in sight.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I barked, then sighed and quickly thought through my options.

The sound of the staff hitting the dumpster, and my shot, would likely attract the cops' attention, which meant I had to move, and fast. Doing so meant exposing myself even more, but it beat explaining things to the police, and I didn't want to waste shots stunning them. Looking on the bright side, I had a way to make the alien follow me, though the prospect of being stalked by a Hunter was almost as terrifying as being hunted by a Hakamichi.

Gritting my teeth, I shoved my grenade back into a pocket, and with a grunt I jumped up to grab the collapsed spear from the top of the thankfully closed dumpster. Its shortened shaft felt strangely warm and surprisingly light, which made the damage it did to the dumpster seem all the more terrifying. Carrying the spear in one hand and brandishing the pistol in the other, I bolted out the opposite end of the alley I had entered.

“Come and get your toy back, xeno,” I goaded, holding it up toward the empty night sky, “so I can skewer your corpse with it.” My intention was not to keep the thing, of course; Hunters are extremely protective about their technology—violently so—which was the cornerstone of my plan, naturally.

Glancing down the street, I searched for another alley, one with a fire escape or some other rooftop access. Pausing for a moment to let my eyes focus as best they could, I found such a route a few buildings to my left and across the street. The road was deserted apart from a few parked cars, so I ran straight across and towards the alley.

Upon reaching the sidewalk I heard an odd whirring sound that activated my spleen sense. Ducking quickly, I felt the rush of air from the alien's death Frisbee—or smartdisc, its technical term in human nomenclature—lift the hairs on the back of my head as it nearly decapitated me. Keeping my senses, I listened as the device circled and started returning to its source. Meanwhile, I readied my Tesla pistol and focused on the sound.

As the noise echoed around the buildings, I listened in a way the layperson can't comprehend. For those who need their ears more than their eyes—or grew up in the underhive, like a certain Hero of the Imperium—tracking something by sound is second nature. In that tiny window of time, I managed to follow the disc as it headed for the first stairway on the fire escape. One could call it a blind shot- or a legally blind shot, in this case- but I grinned and fired my Tesla, and even I could see the spectacular light show that followed.

The jolts of electrical energy split into several bolts, bouncing off the railings and crashing through the flying disc. Blinking dark blue for a moment, the disc went dark and bounced off the brick wall before limply falling to the ground. The other bolts danced and jolted, snaking around the metal spindles and finding their way into the dark figure refracting weirdly atop the fire escape—the alien itself. Illuminated in the darkness, the Hunter formed an almost comically purple-green florescent silhouette as the scattered bolts rippled over its thick reptilian hide.

Like a stun gun, the Tesla bolt is intended to incapacitate its target, but, whether from resilience, a differently designed nervous system, or most likely both, the Hunter was still moving. It roared painfully, then leaped upward, kicking off the other building’s wall and seeming to levitate up onto the roof. As it did so, I caught a glimpse of the shadowy, dark green figure and realized I had taken a great stride toward surviving the evening; it seemed that I had disabled its cloaking device, and, if I was lucky, his shoulder mounted plasma gun and targeting computer were also fried in the process.

If I'd managed to disable his energy weapons and computer, we were much closer to equal footing, though not by much; I’ve faced a lot of shit in my day, but I’ll admit a spry alien with advanced technology was a bit beyond my capabilities. Granted, with the right equipment and support, I could take on most anything, but there hadn't been enough time to prepare. That made my job a lot more complicated because I was tasked with tracking the damn Hunter, keeping it from going after anyone else, and at the same time trying not to die until I could find a way to contact Hisao so he could get me the shotgun without getting directly involved as voiding his own protection; a fine line if ever there was one.

The first thing I had to do, though, was flee the scene before the cops showed up; undoubtedly, the ruckus my new alien friend and I had just caused would attract their attention. Fortunately I still had the spear, so it wouldn’t go far, or at least I hoped as much. Recalling a decently obscure alley in that part of town a few blocks away, I ran towards it, making a quick stop to grab the disabled smartdisc as I did so; the more incentive it had to follow me, the more likely I could draw it away from potential massacre sites.

“You can have these back when I’ve shot you full of explosive rounds,” I declared.

“You… can… try…” the Hunter replied, its gravelly, poorly enunciated voice sounding far too close for comfort.

Suppressing a chill, I slowly turned to look out toward the street. Even being unable to fully see the Hunter, its looming figure was enough to create a primeval sense of foreboding deep within me. Standing on the sidewalk, it’s sharp, jagged wrist-blades glinting in the starlight, its body was a dark green blur of tensed and readied menace, and I could've sworn I saw the dull white of preserved bones along its neck and waist. Of all the things I’ve seen, or nearly seen, that was probably the first one in a long time that had made me feel legitimate fear.

My immediate instinct was to run and keep running, so I did. Fervently hoping I had disabled all his ranged weapons, I picked up my pace and dashed through the darkened back alleys, hoping I didn't run headlong into a fence or some other dead end. If it weren’t for the impending arrival of the police, I could’ve tried to stun him, but, with things going the way they were, I settled for making him give chase.

“You want me,” I called back, noting its blurry form was still following, “come and get me!”

The Hunter growled and jumped, and a chill settled in my stomach as I lost track of the blur. No doubt he was heading for the rooftops, probably planning to head me off or try corralling me into one of the aforementioned dead ends. Either way, the alien was definitely following me, though I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that fact at the time. Being unable to see him, or do anything even if I did, I just kept running. As I did so, I heard the distant clatter of thudding footsteps echoing above me, matching my direction changes with sadistic precision.

My pursuer had the high ground, speed, a relentless disposition, and, most annoying of all, vision—in a broader spectrum than any human, no less. Meanwhile, all I really had was better than average hearing and decent leg muscles. At least he didn’t seem to be attacking me, but for how long that would last, I had no idea; probably until we were far enough from the cops not to attract their attention. It occurred to me that I could skirt that problem by staying close to the flashing lights, but my assumption about the alien's desire for secrecy wasn't enough to risk any other lives.

As I rounded another blind corner and looked ahead to check for obstacles, my cell phone—my family phone—started vibrating, and I swore under my breath at the lousy timing. Still, I couldn’t very well let my wife worry about me, especially after what a pain in the ass I was about that kind of thing, so I shoved the alien weapons into my belt and grabbed for my phone.

“Sorry,” I called over my shoulder, more from nerves than anything, “but, I gotta take this...”

As I drew out the phone, I heard the thudding footsteps change direction, and realized the Hunter was dashing ahead of me, moving in the same direction I had been going. It seemed to know where I was headed, which meant things might get more complicated than I anticipated, but I'd have to worry about that later—in the end, it just made keeping track of the Hunter easier.

Once I had the device in hand, I raised an eyebrow at the lit screen. Instead of my wife calling, Hisao was sending a text message, which was less of a relief than it sounds—it meant our flimsy plan was probably disintegrating. Despite the starry sky, it was pretty dark in that part of town, so I ducked into the nearest alley for some privacy. After making sure no one was around—especially the cops and a certain alien—I flipped the phone open and raised the screen to my face so I could read the text.

It took a moment, but I managed to focus enough to read the screen. All the message contained was an address and a single word, [URGENT.] Sensing something had gone wrong with our already precarious plan, I mentally mapped out the area, trying to figure out where I could find that address—it turned out I wasn't far away. Making sure the coast was clear, I pocketed the phone and stuck the Tesla into my inside jacket pocket, my hand still holding the grip tightly as I started jogging toward the new destination.

The address was an old mochi shop slightly Southeast of where the alien and I had been heading, near the crossroads of two small roads, relatively far from any main streets, and less than a dozen blocks from my office. None of those things reassured me in the slightest, so I was even more on edge when I rounded a street corner and the location came into view. As I drew nearer, I was slowly able to make out the scene before me, which filled me with an unsettling sense of dread—there stood Hisao by the front of the shop.

Obscured by darkness, staying out from under the street lights, Hisao was waiting near the side alley. That wouldn't be a problem normally, but standing behind him, just barely in view, was an all too-familiar, hulking, Hawaiian-shirted figure. Apparently his attempt to guard the Hakamichi patriarch hadn't gone as planned, and the only word Hisao had for the situation was urgent. When they saw me, the two stepped back into the alley, and I slowed my pace to a brisk walk as I followed them inside.

While I paused to catch my breath, the bulk of Jigoro Hakamichi seemed to be glaring down on me, his indignant grimace highlighted by the shadowy moonlight. Meanwhile, standing out in front, Hisao rubbed his temple with one hand, the other inside his jacket, probably palming his pistol like myself. Clearly something had gone wrong, and Hisao shifted uncomfortably, turning slightly to glance at Jigoro before sighing and looking at me squarely.

Rather unnecessarily, he intoned, “We’ve hit a bit of a snag...”

Hisao always was talented when it came to understatement.

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Next Chapter

Gee, I wonder what could have possibly gone wrong with a plan that hinged on a hyper masculine man NOT facing a challenge head-on with his sword in one hand and his massive… ego, in the other.

“Sorry,” I called over my shoulder, more from nerves than anything, “but, I gotta take this...”

Best. Line. Ever. In this chapter.
(I try to avoid exaggeration whenever possible.)