《The Pawn's Game: Theatre of Death》


 Chapter 1: A Dark Clich茅

    The irregular echo of time, tracked by the hands of a broken clock, and the tang of something metallic, drifting through my clouded mind. In a dimly lit room where dust swirled like mist, slurring and melding with the stabbing pain in my skull, they were the last weight that tipped the scale.


    Tipped against me, a sharp sensation following, as if something had been forcibly ripped from me.


    It hurts¡­


    My own ragged breath echoed in my ear as I keeled over, gasping for breath.


    "Argh.." I groaned, the sound barely audible to my ears as the clock continued to echo, despite its unimportant place somewhere in the darkness.


    My eyes squeezed shut as a wave of nausea swept through me, accompanied by a pain akin to multiple nails being driven straight through my skull and into my brain. The gruesome image conjured up at that thought only worsened the need to regurgitate my breakfast onto the hardwood floor, but surprisingly, I didn''t have enough in my stomach to throw back up.


    Ah...bloody hells...


    Everything felt wrong, the dim room that I had no recollection of, the darkness beyond the eerily still curtains, and the fact that my hasty convenience store breakfast wasn''t falling onto the floor as I heaved from an invisible pressure in my lungs.


    I could feel it, there was a disconnect, an unsettling sensation of my breaths and efforts to move being delayed. I stared down at my shaking hands, which seemed foreign and distorted as my vision swam.


    Knotty joints and claw-like fingers, singed black, sharp, unnatural. One hand dug into the polished hardwood, leaving a light gouge on its pristine surface. The other clutched a revolver, brass and embellished with a symbol that took a moment for my sluggish brain to recognize.


    It was the kanji character for eclipse.


    Residual threads of smoke followed the flow of dust as a light air draft crept through the only window in the room, bringing with it the heightened sense of that metallic stench. My eyes flicked to the source, a large mahogany desk to the right of the window, illuminated by the faint moonlight and a singular gas lamp. My gaze fixed on the red speckles splattered on the beige white wall behind it, following the path of dark crimson as it seeped through the array of documents and books neatly arranged on the desk, as if to retain a normalcy it could no longer grasp.


    My head hung as I clawed at my chest, attempting to rip away the pain that emanated, right from my very core. Something akin to the growl of an animal echoing within my ears until the pain eventually ebbed away. Drops of red trickled down my left arm, dotting the floor like a crimson galaxy. My only wish, for a shooting star that never came, was for it to be paint.


    My shaking eyes focusing on those mangled hands, which I refused to believe were mine. Singed, ashen, tendrils of ink, spreading up my arm like a parasite.


    I wanted to rip it all away.


    The lamplight glowed warm and inviting as I stumbled to my feet, the revolver in my hand clattering to the ground. My clawed hands falling to my sides, limp, exhausted. My body froze as my eyes found the source of the crimson which had splattered like a burst ink cartridge. The smell of blood intensified, burning into my nostrils as my body forced me to face reality, my eyes glued to the slumped body on the desk chair. The upper body had followed gravity to hang precariously close to the floor as one arm snagged limply to the desktop, leaving a trail of blood along the wood. A flash of dark crimson flickered into view as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, a pool of blood directly below the head, seemingly white hair drenched in red.


    I staggered back, by feet moving instinctively as my voice died in my throat. Ragged breaths replaced any scream I could muster, while my mind temporarily went blank.


    A man in a gray haori, and a white dress shirt that was no longer white; a lifeless body present like a dark stain against the incongruently warm lamplight. Until my back pressed against the cold brass of a doorknob, my hazed vision could only focus on the scene in front of me.


    I moved slightly to the side, my back pressed against the door frame as my hand grasped for the doorknob. One swift turn of my wrist, and nothing. Beyond a few millimeters of rotation, it would not move.


    Whirling around to face the door, I rattled the door knob in a blind panic, my own shadow blocking out the weak lamplight. The door hinges creaked, unoiled and stiff, but the door itself would not budge. It was locked. I glanced down at my hands, noticing two things.


    One, my hands were back to normal, tan and with the residue of a scar near the right wrist, like they''ve always been. No claws. No parasitic inky flesh.


    Second, was the absence of a keyhole on the knob that I grappled with.


    It was locked. From the outside.


    I stared at the door knob for a moment, my hands falling back to my sides. It was still too dark to see clearly, but the simplistic but detailed molding on the brass shone slightly as the curtains fluttered, a gust of wind allowing passage to faint moonlight. A bloody fingerprint lay smudged into brass as the only thing I could focus on, for a moment more, before my shaking hand wiped it away.


    A stifled chuckle left my lips.


    There''s no way¡­


    My own laughter echoed alongside that incessant clock, hesitant and low, almost inaudible but there nevertheless. I didn''t know what I was laughing at, the ridiculousness of this situation, or my own naivety.


    "What¡­is this?" My own dry laugh echoed back at me as I turned, and walked forward, crouching in front of the body. I tilted my head, staring at the face of the dead man in maniacal disbelief. A young face of a man in his late twenties, hair white as snow straight from the roots, and a gruesome bullet hole through the back of the head. Dark red blood trickled from the mess of red, obscured greatly by the hair which the blood had crusted onto.


    Rigor mortis had not set in, the lightly tanned skin holding its color, no grey complexion to be observed. Muscle stiffness was next on my mind but I couldn''t muster up the will to touch the dead man.


    A fresh wound, by all accounts. A fresh kill.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    " Haha¡­a nightmare..?" My voice shook as I glanced away, focusing on the blood pooling underneath. It was dark, deoxygenated, contradicting my prior observations. My eyes narrowed, and soon, I couldn''t look anymore. Unsurprisingly, a few field days at the ICU did not reduce the shock, it never really could. The professor had been quite clear with that warning. One year into my degree, I was not prepared, not for death, not for a crime scene.


    I stood up, a hand over my mouth, then shifted my attention to the desk, taking care to avoid the blood on the floor. Official looking documents, a letter, a black and gold fountain pen, and an inkwell that had tipped over, splattering onto the papers and the wood underneath. From what I could glimpse, the documents were a mix of English and Japanese. The letter was in English, albeit messier and harder to read then all the rest.


    "Moriarty¡­" was the name the letter was signed by, earning a faint snort from me in my state of stubborn dissociation. "As in, the Dr. Moriarty?"


    Is this¡­some sort of set up? An elaborate prank? A...sick recreation¡­? Was there a case like this in the Holmes books...?


    No way. That''s not it.


    I traced the dark ink of the letter, its handwritten words somehow both messy and concise.


    The letter was an invitation to a private meeting, at a location simply stated as a ''teahouse''. The rest of the letter was purely curtesy, a simple thank you for a previous conversation, upon which specifics were not alluded to. The only other thing of note was the mention of a chess game, almost unprompted.


    "You rule the board with knights'' and bishops, a simple, effective strategy...but you, dear advisor, fail to see the potential of one good pawn..?" I read out, my voice a tired whisper as my eyebrows furrowed.


    "...?" I stared at the loose handwriting, only to retract my hand as a drop of red splattered onto the white paper, trickling down from somewhere up my arm.


    I winced and craned my neck, noticing a tear in the coat I wore, and the tinge of red on the fabric near my left shoulder. I reached my fingers towards it, but stopped.


    ...What was that?


    The hair on the back of my neck bristled, as the faint sound of footsteps entered my ears, in rhythm with the clock that was positioned on the desk. The small ornate clock face was set in a wooden base. Dashes stood in place of the number format, and from what I could discern, it read to be half past ten, although the hands jittered back and forth, as if jammed. The clock had stopped at that time, trapped in a loop in which it could only a few millimeters before falling back to place.


    My eyes widened, flickering to the splatter of blood on my hands, the doorknob, then to the revolver on the floor only a few feet away.


    A gun was fired. A person was killed. I can''t deny it. That...that gun looks like an old model, aside from old noir movies I''ve never seen...


    From a revolver like that¡­a gunshot even with a silencer...There''s no way no one heard it. It should have been loud, unmissable in close proximity¡­Is that why my ears are ringing..?


    I took a shaky breath, my hands clamping into fists.


    ...Whoever''s outside, they¡­should have heard...


    I could hear the footsteps approaching, my mind going into a panic as it stopped, just in front of the door.


    They did.


    A moment of silence passed as I forgot to breathe. My paralysis was broken by the soft rap of a knock, and I inadvertently grabbed the revolver, pushing it into my coat pocket, before dashing to the window; the only exit my eyes found. My forehead pressed against the cold glass as I pushed the curtains aside, fumbling with the latch. A floorboard creaked beneath me, but I paid it no mind as my frantic breath fogged the glass, my view of the dark street below being enveloped in a white haze.


    Another knock, followed by a concerned voice. "Mr. Watanabe¡­?"


    The window latch opened with a click, and silence followed. The footsteps receded, for a moment it was as if the woman had left, but the jingle of keys dashed that hope. The door creaked open, faint footsteps trailing inside, then again, silence.


    I clenched my teeth, stalling even my ragged breaths as I clung to the windowsill, my arms straining as the cold wind bit at my fingers. My feet scrambled to stay on the barely viable footing provided by the window pane of the room below, my knuckles white as I pressed myself against the side of the building.


    Are they still there..? I can''t tell. They didn''t scream. Just silence¡­did they faint..? No, I didn''t hear a thud.


    The wind picked up, much to my disdain as my coat began to flap like a flag, along with my hair which fluttered over my vision, making it increasingly hard to hold on. I glanced to the side of the building, where a drain pipe was visible in the darkness, seemingly running along the length of the building.


    Following the window pane¡­its a bit of a jump from the edge, but if I can just¡­


    Shuffling my feet along the wooden pane, I inched towards the pipe, biting back a yelp as my inflexible shoes slipped for a moment before I could scramble back to the safety of what felt like a swaying tightrope. I froze there, my fingers desperately gripping the window ledge as I pressed myself against the wall, trying not to focus on what seemed like a three story drop to the dark cobblestone street below. I took a shaky breath, the cold air biting at my nostrils alongside the acidic tang of blood that clung to me like a curse. Even still, my only reliable light source was that lamp, glowing faintly through the windows that I had shut in haste. They creaked slightly in the wind, left ajar, the latch still unlocked.


    One window swung open, and I stopped in place, feeling the shadow cast by a hand as it blocked the precious little light I had. I glanced up as a older woman propped her head out of the window above me. Her features were obscured by the shadows, but the moonlight shone on her white hair, which was pulled back into a tight bun.


    "Guests do have a habit of leaving their windows unlocked¡­how unfortunate," She sighed somewhat flatly, before pulling the windows shut with a clack.


    I heard the footsteps as I hung there, long after they had fallen silent to the whistling howl of the winds. My hands shook with strain, a numbness starting to spread as the temperature only seemed to drop with every agonizing minute in the darkness. My breath came in puffs of smoke as I tried to focus my eyes on the pipe to my left, the opposite direction from the darkened closed window, and the horror that lay within it. With only the moonlight as my guidance, it wasn''t an easy task, but I managed to edge my way in reach of the pipe, my body leaning as far towards it as it could while keeping my tip toes planted on the precarious footing. While one hand clung to the edge of the windowsill, my right arm stretched as far as it could, the tips of my fingers gracing the cold iron.


    My fingers strained, stretching as far as its joints would allow, all to loose its chance at grasping the rusted iron if loosing my footing and freefalling into the darkness wasn''t part of my plan. It was mere inches out of reach, making getting a good hold of it impossible, if I didn''t throw myself off the ledge at it that is.


    My impulses screamed to jump for it, and my rational mind agreed wholeheartedly, because as of right now, it was not very rational. My so called rational mind was a mess of screaming and panicked rationalizations. My options had long since run out.


    Fuck it


    For a moment, all I felt was a falling sensation, before my hand caught the iron vine. The metal groaned under my weight as the pipe bowed slightly. My body hugged the pipe in a frantic movement, the rust flacking off under my palms as gravity began to pull me downwards, strands of rusted metal digging into my sweaty fingers. Beads of blood trickled down the rusted metal, the acidic smell hitting my nostrils once again. My eyes trembled, and in that moment, my grip failed, and I fell.


    A sharp intake of breath, and the cut off of all light as my eyes locked themselves shut, bracing for an impact that never came. Instead, there was a distinct feel of a sharp tug at the collar of my coat, momentarily strangling me as my fall came to an abrupt stop.


    My gasping breaths rang in my ears, but it was accompanied by another. A strained voice that wasn''t mine.


    "Damn idiot...!" The voice hissed, and I felt a tug, the knuckles of a hand gracing the back of my neck. The only thing that stood between my face and the terrible notion of it kissing the cobblestone street below, was a hand clearly struggling to hold my weight. Before I even had time to react, an arm wrapped around my midriff, and I was yanked upwards, a yelp escaping me as I was pulled through an open window.


    My momentum send me tumbling into a heap onto the floor, knocking over a small table, my fall cushioned by something that I didn''t care to name. A stack of papers fluttered to the floor, flashed of white in the darkness as my vision itself began to stain with black. Refusing to handle the shock that hit as the adrenaline drained, my consciousness cut off, like a weak radio signal.

 Chapter 2: Mundane Threats

    "--don''t you faint on me..!" A strained voice grunted as I was pushed off onto the cold floor, my jaw smacking against the wood with a clack. I curled onto my side, the pain causing my consciousness to click back in like a rusty gear. My ragged breaths had finally quieted, allowing the sounds of wind and the rustle of clothes to register, as footsteps tapped beside me. The strike of a match, the soft glow of a candle, and the crouching shadow that fell over me. I froze where I was, propped onto my hands and knees, a sense of dread grounding my attempt to right myself.


    "You caught me by surprise..."


    My eyes flicked to the stranger, a sharp breath leaving my clenched jaw as I realized the gravity of the situation.


    Illuminated by the soft flame of a candle was a face that could be described as both aged but undoubtedly young. His gaze was unreadable, but his expression was calm, even as he crouched far too close for comfort. His eyes squinted slightly, stark black hair falling loose as murky eyes of the same shade scrutinized me.


    I had just jumped out of the window, from the room were a man was murdered. In any bystanders mind, I was the culprit. Having a witness was a death sentence.


    Lit by the flickering flame, shadows danced across the man''s features, but there were two spots the light never reached, the scar-like lines of black bordering his eyebags and eyelids, and his eyes themselves.


    "Or should I say, I caught you?" His cheery voice felt out of place as he spoke, inching a bit closer in the process.


    The candle shifted closer, and I flinched back and to my feet, before the candle light revealed my face in full.


    "Honestly..!" The stranger barked out a chuckle, raising to his feet only a moment later. "Where were you sneaking off to? The tea house? At midnight..? You do know how bad the nightlife is, right?"


    I blinked, my mind still reeling as the man continued, not paying any mind to my stunned silence, or the look of incredulousness that crept across my features.


    "In all honesty, you''ve got guts, scaling the wall like some newt! I admit, I got up from my midnight reading alcove here-" He gestures to a stool, and the desk that had been knocked over, scattering the assortment of books it held onto the floor. "-because I found it funny, but, are you daft? That pipe seemed ready to break any second..." The overfriendly man sauntered over to the window, rolling a shoulder which had likely bruised from either hitting the fall or cushioning my weight.


    "...Daft..?" I croaked out, my flingers twitching over the outline of the revolver in my coat pocket, cold sweat starting to form on my back. I watched as the man propped his elbows on the window sill, looking out into the darkness as howling wind darted into the room, sending papers swirling around us. His eyes were closed, letting the wind sweep through his hair as I stood there, my panic pounding in my ears. While my eyes frantically searched for a way out, he seemed strangely nonchalant about the stranger in his room. Turning his back to a potential murderer, like it was nothing.


    He was watching me? So he knows. He knows more than I do. Fuck. Who is this guy..? Why did he...catch me?


    After a moment, he turned his murky eyes to me, smiling with a odd look in his eyes. "Daft. Not all there up here." He pointed to his temple, his smile pulling into a small smirk. "You''re one of the guests right? Or an employee..? Either way, you really shouldn''t be sneaking around at night."


    "...Wanting a bit of fresh air doesn''t make me...daft." I snarked without thinking, a flare of annoyance taking over, any care for maintaining anonymity lost to my ego. I was digging my own grave and I knew it. But the feeling that I was being played with was digging at my nerves.


    He already knew my face, my voice, and from the tone in his voice, something more about the crime I found myself tangled in.


    If he was to give a witness testimony, it was over. He must know that. The revolver alone would be self incriminating, and the finger prints...


    Whether I did or didn''t do it didn''t matter.


    Better yet, what if he was some kind of kidnapper? Isn''t this room directly below where I was? Is that how I got here? Kidnapping?


    HAHA. Is he a Holmes fanatic? Someone crazy enough to recreate a crime... Aren''t I screwed?


    My jaw clenched, my vision beginning to swim as I drove myself off the cliff of panic.


    Bloody hell.


    Shut up brain.


    I locked gazes with him, the sharp sensation of pain shooting up as I clenched my fists, pulling my mind back from the precipice of panic. I couldn''t stop my eyes from flicking to the door, scanning the brass knob for signs of being locked. The gears in my mind churned, faulty and clogged with numbness as his responding chuckle faded into the background.


    If that door is unlocked, if I could get out, could I exit the building? I don''t know the layout. If I was kidnapped, would it really be that easy? Am I here for ransom? Did I take a loan..? But I didn''t. I''m not that desperate yet.


    Some sort of...Yakuza deal...? Human trafficking? By the looks of this place...it wouldn''t be an impossibility. Bloody hells...Its dark out...


    Is...that auntie still out there..? She saw the...the...


    My hands began to tremble, jerking away from outline of the revolver as if repulsed.


    Not acknowledging my skittish mannerisms, the nonchalant man leaned out of the window slightly, seeming to stare at the cobblestone street below. "Luckily I caught you, or else your breath of fresh air would have left you quite breathless I assume, from this height." He adjusted the collar of his white shirt, glancing up to where I had fallen from.


    "Lucky for me as well, or we would likely go without running water for two to three days, until the plumbers are called that is. Although...perhaps a few more days should be added to that estimate, Mrs. Masamoto does despise such expenses."


    "I...what? What exactly are you on about..." I glanced out the window, noticing nothing but the outline of a moon, shrouded by murk, and the silhouettes of buildings from this building''s apparent higher vantage point.


    He gave a light sigh, turning away from the window. "The pipe, its connected to the water main. If it broke, it would have damaged it. And the old lady doesn''t like to spend money on repairmen."


    My eyes flicked up, following the path of the pipe as it ran up the wall, before disappearing into the roof.


    "Ah. Right" I leaned on the window sill as well, staring down at the street below, which became sparsely lit the further it snaked away from the building. The streetlights were spaced apart, like fireflies in the darkness, offered a semblance of life. The man''s gaze followed mine, and for a moment, we stood in silence.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Either he''s na?ve, an actual lunatic, or he already called the cops. I don''t see a phone in here...or a light switch. No electrical wiring, plug ins, nothing....What kind of rundown motel doesn''t have electricity...?


    "I''m not daft." I broke the silence, my ego not willing to let it go just yet. More so, it was the silence getting to me, it left room for thought, and my mind was something to fear, as irrational as that may seem.


    He let out a laugh, turning back towards the room, where the candle still burned. "Alright, alright. Whatever you say!" He shifted slightly, stretching his arms and letting out a small yawn. "So...care to tell me why you were sneaking around at this hour? I doubt it was the sudden manly urge to drink tea, at midnight no less."


    I tensed slightly, but I couldn''t help chuckling at his last comment, likely due to the panic, or was it because I laugh to cope? My gaze remained on the street below, my hands gripping the windowsill as I tried to appear relaxed.


    "Just...had a bad dream, I guess."


    "A bad dream? You were sleep walking? Or more specifically, sleep crawling along the side of the building?" He chuckled, setting the candlestick on the bedside table. "Were your newt instincts calling you?"


    "Yeah. Something like that." I muttered, my eyes scanning the brick wall below the window ledge.


    "Huh. How unlucky."


    Unlucky...isn''t that the word. I really am...f**king unlucky.


    "I wonder...did you hear something..? To make you jump out a window like that? Sleepwalking doesn''t exactly work like that, as far as my ''expertise'' on the subject goes."


    "Hear...?" I trailed off, my eyes fixed on the ground below.


    "A gunshot"


    I froze in place, my eyes widening as they flicked to the young man''s smiling face. His eyes were closed, not particularly looking in my direction, but the hair on the back of my neck bristled. Seconds stretched into minutes as I stood there, my fingers digging into the window ledge.


    "Hm...? Are you still there? You''re being awfully quiet."


    "No." I stared back down at the two story drop, deciding whether or not I can make it down far enough to not break something from the jump.


    "No? So you''re not here? Good to know." He snickered, nodding slightly as he moved towards the candle on the desk, the only light in the room. There was a tapping sound very time he took a step, echoing within the confines of my panicked mind.


    "It...was a revolver...a six shot type. So approximately, four, no, three bullets left?" He tapped his chin, his dark eyes staring straight at me.


    "...What?" My voice came out gravely, mixing with the scraping of my nails on the wooden ledge.


    "Two shots, in succession, and another...shortly after, If remember correctly." His fingers grazed the candle light, casting a dancing shadow on the wall opposite to him. "Perhaps it was someone firing at crows...the ones in the vicinity are quite large..."


    My jaws clenched, a chill running through my spine as he glanced back at me, that same smile plastered on his face.


    "...Does it happen often? Shooting at crows?" I forced my voice to sound neutral, my eyes shifting to the street below as I leaned out of the window slightly.


    The young man chuckled, shaking his head. "Not particularly. But...it is quite the odd thing to do, isn''t it?" He blinked and tilted his head, not seeming to notice my form leaning halfway out of the window. "Not that I mind, crows are such nasty birds."


    "...Nasty..?" I muttered, my gaze flickering to my own bloodstained hands, the cuts from pipe rust stinging as I gripped the wood, blood trickling down from a wound on my left arm, my eyes fixing on the window ledge of the room below.


    "Yes, nasty. I''m surprised you haven''t seen any. They''re everywhere, and quite the nuisance. They make such a fuss when you feed them."


    "....huh." I swung a leg over the window ledge, the cuts stinging as my grip on the smooth wood tightened. My arm ached, the remnants of a gash that went deeper than I assumed.


    "They are quite the gluttons you see. I''ve tried shooing them away, but they keep coming back. As if they don''t know I''m feeding them out of spite."


    A snort left me before I could get my bearings on the ledge below, and I froze, half of my body dangling out of the window. "I...think you''ve misunderstood them.." I continued, trying to play it off, hoping to distract him from looking this way. It was a futile attempt, as stupid as jumping out the window for a second time. But I could see no other options.


    "Misunderstood..? How so?" He raised an eyebrow, looking away from the candle and turning to me. His expression didn''t shift in the slightest, his murky eyes looking at me, but not noticing my precarious position on the window.


    Is he...? Can he not see me...?


    My eyes widened with the realization but I kept my voice steady. "Well...I''m not a bird expert or anything, but they seem pretty smart." I continued, my voice straining as I shifted my weight onto the ledge below, slowly, sitting on the edge of the window as I tried to gauge the distance. "If you...feed them out of spite, they''ll keep coming back. And you''ll be stuck...feeding them out of spite..."


    I leaned forward, my hands gripping the windowsill above as my legs dangled over the drop.


    "Essentially, you''re...perpetuating a cycle...inadvertently."


    "...Ah." His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, I thought he had caught on. But the man just nodded, letting out a laugh. "Then...how would you recommend I get rid of them? I doubt a gunshot would do the trick." His smile widened as he spoke, his eyed darkening in a way that felt like he wasn''t referring to crows anymore.


    I grit my teeth, my hands straining as I leaned farther down. "A scarecrow...? Maybe?"


    "A scarecrow..?" He tapped his chin, glancing towards the candle again. "I don''t think that would work..."


    "...Huh."


    How many second would it take to fall, assuming I could keep my body facing downwards. If I can grab onto the ledge below, I can stop myself, but if I can''t...its a two story drop. Can I land on my feet? I can''t tell how far away the ground is...its too dark...


    "You aren''t thinking of jumping out the window, are you? You don''t have wings."


    I tensed, my gaze snapping back to him. He was staring at me, his eyes narrowed, face shadowed by his inky hair.


    "No...I''m not a bird."


    "Exactly my point. What do you thing you''re doing, Mr. Imori?"


    "....I''m not a newt either. Don''t call me that"


    His eyes narrowed further, his hand cupping the candle flame, dimming it, almost as if threatening to snuff it out completely. "You didn''t answer my question. What are you doing?" For a brief moment, I thought I saw the glow gold eyes, four more than the two that were closed, resembling a spider. Glaring at me, as if finally registering my lies.


    "...Sitting."


    "On the ledge?"


    My eyes flicked to the candle, straining to see with the dimming light it offered.


    "Yes"


    "Why?"


    I took in a sharp breath, looking back at his face, two murky eyes returning my gaze. The gold was gone, like it was never there. "...To think"


    "About?"


    I grit my teeth, my grip slipping as my hands began to sweat. "About birds."


    "Birds?"


    "And crows"


    "Ah. About how to help me get rid of them?" He chuckled, the candle light dancing as a gust of wind swept through my hair, the white strands fluttering about. Seeing the color, I inhaled sharply, but chose to ignore it.


    "...I guess so" I stared at the street below, my eyes catching on the outline of a crow in the darkness. It was perched on the lamp post, looking up at me with beady eyes that seemed to shine almost red in the darkness.


    "...And.."


    "And?"


    "Why I''m here." I blurted out, before swinging my legs and letting go of the ledge. I heard him shout something, but I couldn''t make out the words as the wind whipped by my ears, and the ground came into view. My body twisted in midair and my hands shot out in front of me, grabbing on to the ledge of the window below with a clatter.


    "Damn it..." I hissed under my breath, the cuts on my hands stinging and my arms protesting as my weight pulled on them. I glanced down, noticing the cobblestone street only a few feet below me, and the crow that was perched on a lightless lantern, watching me with its beady eyes. I felt my grip falter for a moment, but I quickly regained it, hanging on by my fingertips as I tried to find my footing.


    "You really are daft. Or are you just a fool?" His voice came from above me. It had a low but amused tone to it, an annoying type of amusement that was hinged on my misery.


    "Shut it..!" I hissed, my jaw clenching as I glared up at his face, now obscured by shadow, the candle left discarded somewhere inside the room.


    The crow cawed, and I flinched, my gaze snapping back to the bird. It hopped off of the post, flapping its wings as it landed on the windowsill, staring at me with a curious look. I grit my teeth, my eyes narrowing as my grip slipped, and I fell.


    The ground came rushing to meet me, and I rolled to lessen the impact, my shoulder slamming into the cobblestone street as I tumbled across it.


    "Shit..." I groaned, rolling over onto my back and staring up at the building. The crow was gone, but the window I had jumped out of was still open.


    Is he...still there? Did he go to call someone? security? I can''t tell.


    Arg...My arm...


    I pushed myself to my feet, stumbling slightly as my shoulder protested. I rolled it back, wincing as I turned away from the inn and towards the street, where the crow was hopping along the side walk.


    "I should...get out of here..." I muttered, pulling my coat closer as I started walking, blind into the darkness.

 Chapter 3: A Monster of Ink

    Footsteps in the desolate darkness, tapping against the cobblestone path towards the only light that could be grasped. Like a moth drawn to the pinpricks of lamp light floating up from an area of lower elevation, the glimpse of life that I had seen from that window, is what I followed.


    I made haste, my mind numb as I fell into a half sprint, wobbly, uneven, clutching my arm as the pain spread upwards, no distractions left to keep it at bay. I couldn''t know what followed after me, a security guard, that eerie man, a gold eyed monster, a ghost of a man covered in red. Or a killer. Or nothing at all. I didn''t know, so I ran. Away from the inn, away from that room, that crime scene, and into the darkness of the unknown, unfurling before me like the mist that danced across the cold air.


    I glanced back at the inn, which seemed to grow in size the farther I ran, revealing level after level of dimmed windows, at a grand total of six, it loomed from atop its hilltop, fog drifting away like curtains to a stage lit by the faintest of moonlight. Under that stage, only one window was lit, and I had no intention of finding out who, or why.


    Choking down my ragged breaths, and willing the crow to not make another sound as it fluttered to perch on a fence beside me, I felt my way down a precarious set of stairs, seemingly not built to be a entrance to a grand inn, nor to last. The metal steps creaked as it took an almost cliff-like incline, and I clung to the railing, my only guide being the scarce moonlight that illuminated my path, my destination being the lights below, like fireflies that danced just out of reach.


    If I were to reach for it, what would that prove? My innocence? What kind of magical fireflies did I think they were?


    You''ve dug too deep into a metaphor that isn''t even there.


    You bloody idiot.


    I stumbled, tripping on the final step, my pace slowing to a brisk walk as the crow cawed, startling me out of a haze I hadn''t noticed I was in.


    "Ah...the crow..."


    My grip tightened on the last of the railing, and my eyes flicked back, tracing the dented claw mark that snaked the metal. Then I chose to look away, keeping my eyes straight ahead as I made my way to my first source of light, a lantern, hung by the wood plated wall of a shed.


    What it''s flicker illuminated was a narrow alleyway, of clustered pipelines that jutted out of the walls, of buildings worn with either age or storm brought water damage. Of cobblestone pathways, cracked and upturned, the distinct sound of dripping water echoing, notifying me of a plumbing problem that this town likely had plenty of.


    A choked laugh left my throat, like the croak of a dying frog, although frogs were surely more dignified then I was. I leaned against the wooden wall, my back pressing against the coarse grooves as I tilted my head back. The itchy sensation that ran through my face, a prophecy of rains to come, and the stinging pain near my heart. For a moment, I closed my eyes, numb to it all, numb like the arm that I clutched still.


    I...really wish this was a dream. A messed up dream that said more about my over consumption of mystery novels and thrillers....then whatever this is.


    What is this...?


    The cold of raindrops fell against my closed lids, and the grip on my wounded arm tightened, sharp nails digging into the bloodied coat.


    "What am I...a monster?"


    "And him. What is he?"


    Monsters. And death. Fitting, but revolting.


    Opening my eyes, a blink later, a crow stared back at me, meeting my gaze head on, beady eyes unblinking. The crow flapped its wings, causing a start, a startle that shook my senses back as rain began to patter, soft, but insistent, as if urging me to move, to continue on.


    I averted my gaze, tearing it away from the crow as I glanced to the end of the alleyway, the start of a wider cobblestone path, that snaked away into the shroud of mist and drizzling rain.


    I...need to find a bus top. A train station. Anything to get out. To get back to the dorm. I just need to get back, before figuring anything out. It''s fine. It''s all fine.


    I''m fine.


    Taking in a sharp breath, my I let go of my injured arm, and I straightened, breaking away from the shed wall as I trudged onwards, the crow fluttering off into the darkness overhead. A single feather landed on a puddle, drifting serenely before it was sunk like a old ship, crushed under the weight of my sole.


    ***


    The rain continued, my pace quickened, and my surroundings seemed to shift, a town filled with the scarce gleam of light from faraway windows, and not much else.


    Buildings lined the path, from wooden walls, to brick, rusted gates, scattered crates. On the hillside clutter of houses and shops, the silhouette of what resembled a shrine, overlooking the murky area from its slight vantage point. Nothing much else was discernable, the outline of the moon vanishing in a dark raincloud, which dropped its contents like an open faucet.


    "Damn it"


    My pace slowed, the rooftops overhead did little to protect, rusty pipes leaking a consistent stream, that pattered against my hunched form. Snow white strands clung to my face, the excess dripping down to my nose, prompting a sneeze.


    I grit my teeth, the noise making my skin crawl as a new wave of paranoia hit.


    I couldn''t be caught. Not now. Not like this.


    The chances of me being a murderer, without personal bias, was above fifty percent. I don''t have the memories, but I have the murder weapon. In a locked room case, I was the only other person present. I myself was injured, meaning there was a struggle, the victim must have fought back...but...isn''t this a bullet wound? A bullet must have grazed my arm...then what? Where did it land?


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    Was I framed...? That guy could have been involved. Locked room case in reality don''t occur...unless orchestrated...but, I have no memory of how I got there...does that mean I have no alibi...?


    I gripped my arm, my gaze flicking down to survey the damage for the first time, having refused to look the entire time I wandered, my eyes glued forward, and nowhere else.


    My coat sleeve was torn, stained with a mixture of fresh and dried blood, it''s previous color indiscernible in the darkness. Shuffling up to a nearby lamplight, I hesitantly peeled it back, the coat sticking to my skin, a type of tacky sensation that sent shivers up my spine.


    My black clawed fingers, that same inky monstrosity, was not what caught my attention. Beneath the layer of beige overcoat, was a mess of festering flesh, a scar that seemed to wriggle, stitching itself back together in front of my eyes.


    I recoiled, a gag leaving my throat as I stumbled back, my back colliding with a streetlight, a store sign toppling over in the process. The crow cawed in surprise from it''s place overhead, perched on a nearby fence.


    An image of a similarly mangled wound flashed through my mind, as whatever little that was left in my stomach emptied itself onto the cobblestone. The bullet hole through the head of white, a pool of blood, and the stench, it was only accentuated by my own vomit.


    My breaths quickened, my free hand clinging to the streetlamp, my claws digging into the rusted iron, the crow continuing its cawing, like an unwelcome audience member to a unwanted show.


    "Shut. Up." I snapped, my voice coming out in a growl that echoed within the alley, snapping me back to my senses out of nothing but guilty fear.


    The crow went quiet, tilting it''s head, and I let out a sigh, slumping against the streetlamp, my trembling form huddling into a corner, where the roof overhead offered some shelter, but not enough.


    "I should...cover this...but it could get infected...I don''t have any way to stitch it, no pain killers, saline, gauze...or sewing needle... " I muttered, rambling on to myself as I tried to rationalize the situation, staring at my arm, where the crusted blood melted away with the pelting rains. I stood there silently for a moment before lifting it out into the rain, wincing as water slid through the writhing scar and down into my shirt.


    I held it there, until any sign of red had all but washed away. Then I glanced down at my white collared shirt, which was tucked into my trousers, in that tacky way I was always nagged me to fix my uniform into, back then.


    I pulled it free, then ripped a strip off of it, wrapping it around my injury, covering it up as best I could. Having claws did not make it easy, but at this moment, I refused to acknowledge them.


    "...There" I huffed, tying the cloth off, my arm stinging as I moved it, although less then it should have.


    It''s healing...unnaturally fast...its...revolting.


    I grit my teeth and glanced away, my gaze fixed on the cobblestone as I leaned back into roof shelter, my hands went to my coat pockets. As odd as suddenly owning a trench coat was, I couldn''t help the habit.


    My fingers grazed the revolver, the slick texture causing me to flinch, but I forced my hand to still, to pull it out, and examine it. The rain pattering down onto the sleek metal, tracing its form then cascading down my clawed hand.


    Prominent veins, black masses that were indistinguishable from claws or fingers, scale-like tendrils that met the tan skin of my wrist. I would have said it was receding, that it was closer to normal than it was a half hour ago, but that would be wishful thinking. A simple delusion.


    I flipped the revolver in my hands, the rain droplets flicking off as the lamplight highlighted the dirtied surface. My gaze surveyed its aged but pristine state, a six shot type, the handle made of wood, with the design of a brass rose engraved on the side. Three chambers were empty, another had a broken bullet, and the last two...


    Usable. Although I didn''t want to test the validity of that statement.


    "Eclipse..." I read out, tracing a finger over the silver kanji, engraved next to the rose. "Must be a brand name."


    "..." I turned it in my hand, watching the warm light flicker off of the metal.


    What if I left this here...? Just throw it in a puddle. Leave it to rust. They won''t know. I''ll be rid of it.


    I glanced down at a puddle, seeping through the cobblestones and into a pile of wooden crates. This was narrow street, and anything beside those crates would be relatively out of sight.


    Before I could do much else, the crow cawed, its voice shrill, echoing. My gaze snapped to its almost invisible form, blending with the darkness from where it seemed to laugh at me.


    I would have hurled a curse at it, but the sound of a window clacking open above me stopped me in my tracks.


    "Those cursed birds..!" An voice grumbled, audible even though the pelting rain. "Always cawing at midnight..! Scoundrels....the darn sign got knocked...." The voice trailed off, and I froze, listening as footsteps retreated from the window, and into a building, the sound of curtains closing following shortly after.


    Just as I let out the breath I was holding, a door opened beside me.


    "Oi"


    I tensed, the revolver almost slipping out of my rain soaked hands. I scrambled to hide it within the trench coat, my claws digging into the damp fabric, cold sweat trickling down my neck as my gaze remained on the puddle, refusing to move.


    "I said Oi." The woman repeated, harsher this time. "The place doesn''t open until six in the mornin. Doesn''t look like its six yet, does it?"


    "Ah...ye- no ma''am..." I stuttered out before clearing my throat. I hid my hands further in my pockets as I looked over at the woman with the noticeable dialect. She seemed to be in her thirties, but you would think older, wearing a yukata and a full head of white hair. Of course, I wasn''t stupid to not know that my own hair seemed brazenly white, but I had no intention of acknowledging that.


    "Then scram kid. Can''t ya read the sign?" Her footsteps tapped against the cobblestone, followed by the clang of a fence, being kicked shut. "Its late, and a storm no less. Now a lad like you''s out galivanting about. Ridiculous!" She huffed, nudging me aside as she picked up the sign and sat it straight again.


    Noticing the small but visible puddle of vomit, she scoffed, like it was a just a hindrance, a daily occurrence, even.


    "Uh...I apologize, for um...that." I shifted by feet, the paranoia trumping my embarrassment, my skin crawling at the notion of standing still, here, in the open, an easy target.


    She clicked her tongue, grabbing a fist full of sand from a flowerbed and chucking it over the vomit.


    "Ya don''t look drunk, so I''ll give it a pass. The rain will wash it away in no time."


    "Haha...thank you?" I tilted my head, distracted by what was illuminated by the light of her lantern. It was the sign I knocked over, the words now visible. It read, ''Horse Cloud pub''.


    "....Horse Cloud...?" I couldn''t help but be a bit taken aback, the kanji characters on the sign reading to be something nonsensical.


    "Noon Cloud." She scowled, correcting me. "Tsk. Foreigners..."


    "Ah...Sorry ma''am..." I muttered, standing, ducking my head as rain continued to trickle onto me. "I''ll...be on my way"


    "Yeah yeah. Don''t make it a habit to be out in storms would ya?"


    I gave a quick bow, heading back into the rain, and the darkness beyond.


    "You don''t want to catch your death" She called after me, and I flinched, increasing my pace as the crow cawed, decidedly having regained its courage, or lost its sympathy for me.


    "Was that a threat..?" I muttered, glaring at the crow, who had gotten me in this situation. It sat on the same fence, preening itself with an almost smug look in its eyes.


    Either way, I don''t plan to stick around here.


    As ridiculous as it was, every person I met felt like a threat. Like an clown running around in a cage full of killers, all I could muster up was a laugh.

 Chapter 4: Identity Thief

    I could hear the drizzle of rain, and the ripple of puddles that splashed beneath my footsteps, scattered across the foggy streets like a cracked mirror. The soft glow of a occasional lit streetlamp filtered through the reflective surface, drifting within it like liquid gold, muddied only by my disheveled figure, drenched from the idiocy of wandering in a storm. I trudged forwards, the soles of my shoes clicking against the wet cobblestone as my eyes flitted across the street, from the dark windows of peddler stores to market signs left in the rain. I kept to the side, ducking under any roof cover I could find as I wandered the narrow streets, which seemed to weave every which way like a cobweb. The buildings were cluttered together as if competing for space, but the infrastructure was neat enough for it to pass as an intentional choice.


    The architecture was quaint, and was seemingly built with the simplicity and homeliness of a village. The paint was chipped, and the wood was rotting in some places, but the intricate molding carved into the the plaster and the decorative shoji paneling of some storefronts suggested a delicate touch. Despite the fog and rain, the sight was almost picturesque, not one store light was lit, and aside from the occasional light sleeper or concerningly early riser, no person was present.


    Luckily for me, no one else bothered to be nosy about the drenched stranger, wandering like some stray dog.


    I stopped under the riveted tile roof of what seemed like an antique store, stocked in intricate vases and cheap porcelain, as far as my hesitant peek inside could discern. Rain spilled from the slanted roofing like flowing ribbons, miniature waterfalls that seeped through the fabric on my coat. I ran a hand through my hair, ruffling the rain out of it to no avail as I looked towards the faint outline of a structure peeking through the fog. I squinted at the clock face, a round shape of metal. It was decorated with a relief of flowers and vines, carved into the silver. While the ornate design stood out, the time was what caught my attention.


    The black masses of crows roosted on the clock hands, around three or four on the hour hand alone. The slight ridge of the tower sheltered them from the rain, which they repaid with stone like stillness, guarding the space like living gargoyles.


    I tilted my head, straining to see the thin roman numerals that represented the hours through the rain and foggy darkness.


    Four...forty..? No forty five? Its almost five in the morning...


    I let out a sigh, leaning against the damp wooden storefront as I averted my gaze to the crow beside me, perched on the roofing and peering at me with shiny beady eyes.


    "...Couldn''t find a bus stop, and now you''re drenched. You damn useless fu-...ugh.. " I muttered, raising a hand to the back of my neck, my fingers gracing the fabric of the coat. I narrowed my eyes at the crow that craned its neck at me, letting out a coo of what seemed like frustration. It had been following me for over two hours, occasionally wandering off on its own and cawing at me, as if it telling me to follow its lead. I had not followed, and in fact avoided all streets it lead me to.


    I sighed, pushing my hands into my coat pockets. I already knew there was nothing to be found in them, no wallet, no phone, transit pass, nothing. Instead, there was a crumpled piece of paper, a key I didn''t recognize, and some sort of identification that was clearly not mine. In fact, none of the contents were mine. My fingers grazed the revolver that weighed me down like an anchor, stalling my steps occasionally as paranoia built up over the hours I had spent putting distance between me and the inn.


    I got far enough away, but at the same time...it feels like I''ve been walking in circles. Where in the bleeding hells is this? Was I actually kidnapped? Or...some kind of schizophrenia..? Killing another in an schizophrenic episode, without intent...the lack of memories after the act...Its possible. There was one thriller like that...the hero was the killer, a surgeon with undiagnosed schizophrenia.


    Is it possible?


    ....Clinically undiagnosed schizophrenia..? Can it exhibit in an otherwise healthy person? With no prior signs? Is it stress induced..? Can that explain my claw...hands? The gold eyes?


    The slumped image of the dead man flashed through my mind, contorted like a ragdoll, dark blood seeping through the ground, like the puddles at my feet. The two images overlapped, for only a moment, my foot flinching away from the puddles of crimson, before the image dissipated.


    "..." I began to tap my finger on the wooden beam which I had retreated against. A nervous tick.


    I didn''t. I didn''t kill him...I didn''t kill anyone...


    I didn''t. I can''t have...


    My fingers traced the outline of the revolver, trembling against the damp fabric. I could feel my mind going blank, drifting into a haze as my ears became a vacuum, where sounds muted and shifted as they pleased.


    ...I didn''t...


    The grating, raucous sound shot through my ears, snapping me out of delirium. I flinched, looking up at the source. The dark eyes of a crow stared back at me.


    "...What kind of crow are you..?" I let out a stiff laugh, shifting my attention back to the creature, whose feathers were glossy with rain. The rhythmic patter of rain return like a burst sound bubble, my hand falling back to my side. "Is it that hard for you to piss off and be done with it?"


    The crow tilting its head and blinking back at me, its small form seeming to puff up, a feathery display of pride, likely trying to say that it was better than me.


    "...The rain...smells like fish." I mused, ignoring the crows apparent ego trip as I returned to sanity, deciding not to converse with a bird.


    " When will it stop...?"


    The crow let out a frustrated caw, flapping its damp wings as if it understood me.


    "Hey. What the hell do you want?" I muttered, raising an eyebrow as the bird fluttered its wings, taking flight and landing a building away, cooing at me expectantly. "Why are you following me? Gonna eat my carcass once I fall from fatigue? Is that it?"


    "Or...Leading me somewhere..?" I let out a sigh, turning away and glancing down the street, the crow cawing again behind me, more frantically.


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    It doesn''t matter where I go...I don''t have my wallet, meaning I can''t use any public transit. I still...haven''t figured out where this is. There''s no map, no landmark. Its like I''ve been kicked into some tear in time.


    Is it stupid to suspect time travel just because my sense of direction is dogshit? Maybe.


    I ran a hand through my rain drenched hair, pulling out a strand as I stared at the pale color that fell back into place. It was thin, and pure white, and no matter how I looked at it, it wasn''t just some trick of the light.


    My appearance was foreign, like a strangers reflection in the rain, warped and distorted, if not unfamiliar. I couldn''t remember dyeing my hair, or buying some trench coat. Looking like some discount Holmes. I glanced down at the ribbon tied around the collar, letting out a stiff chuckle as the crow cooed again, fluttering its damp wings as if becoming frantic.


    "Shut it" I snapped at the crow, pushing the drenched and overgrown hair out of my face. My fingers fiddled with the black ribbon around my collar, before tugging it off and using it to tie my hair back.


    The crow let out a louder caw, hopping off of the building and taking flight, its small form fluttering in my direction. I dodged the approaching mass of wet feathers, snorting as it whizzed by, cawing indignantly.


    "..Stubborn little guy.." I stared after the crow as it turned a corner, disappearing into the fog before its caws were audible. I hesitated, but let out a sigh, trailing after it as I ducked under roof cover as the rain picked up.


    The fog grew denser, prompting me to squint through it as my shoes clicked against the wet cobblestone, the light reflected off of the puddles becoming my only guide as I followed the sound of flapping wings. The narrow, winding streets became empty alley ways, with no stores and no lights, just wood and metal structures, which seemed to be erected within the alleys themselves. I glanced at the piping that lined the walls, and the water heaters and wiring that were strewn about like spiderwebs.


    Where is this thing leading me..? They don''t train crows in organ trafficking do they?


    I could see the crow up ahead, perched on a railing as it peered down an alley. It was narrow, and the cobblestone was replaced by concrete, giving off an industrial feel, along with the emergence of western architecture. I approached the crow, which promptly hopped off of the railings, flying towards me and circling me as if celebrating its success.


    A nervous laugh escaped me as I looked down the alleyway.


    "...I''m no better than those dumbass jocks in every horror movie..." I muttered, leaning on the rusting railing as I peered into the fog, and the shadowed shapes within it. Wooden crates stacked into precarious towers, scrap metal, construction material, strewn against the brick alley walls, snug against the occasional door.


    "Walking into an obvious death flag..."


    I glanced downwards, noticing the stairs that lead into the alley. The crow perched itself on the metal rod of the railing, cooing at me with apparent expectation. I glanced at the foggy alley, and then at the street, which was equally as barren, and wet.


    "...Oh I''m going to loose a kidney..." I snickered, running a hand through my damp hair as the crow cawed, as if offended. I ignored it, my eyes narrowing they scanned the scarce numbers and words that adorned the backdoors.


    133. 247. Oliver''s Garden. Asaki. Sake.


    The wooden door labeled ''Oliver''s Garden'' was adorned with the symbol of a rose, etched into a metal plaque next to the noticeably English words.


    From the shuttered window of the same establishment, a dark, stocky silhouette came into view, red eyes locking with mine.


    I turned on my heel, walking away with some speed to my steps. Keeping the panic to a down low before I broke into a jog.


    I ducked into an adjacent alley, taking a turn every chance I got as I wandered back onto the cobblestone streets, glancing at the foggy outline of the clocktower in the distance, trying to use it as a location marker. I picked up the pace, walking briskly as I glanced over my shoulder, the crow nowhere to be seen. I ducked under roof cover, preferring a dryer option of path in the downpour as I continued on, my shoes clicking against the cobblestone and sending ripples through the puddles underfoot.


    I let out a breath I had been holding, crouching down when I got to a lit area, a store, although I didn''t check what.


    "What am I doing..." I felt exhausted, drenched to the bone, my legs aching from hours of wandering.


    Before this idiocy, I had managed to find some sort of town central, where the clocktower was situated, and the trail of rail tracks dug into the cobblestone. Following it had led me in circles. Nothing but a few nonfunctioning trams, parked in a side street. The design was ancient, with gears, copper, with no conductor in sight.


    I should have waited there. Damn it.


    "Following crows...you idiot. Stupid. Fu--What if they followed me back...?"


    I leaned my head back, resting it against the wood column behind me, and closed my eyes.


    What''s the worst that can happen? Loosing my kidney? Or being outright murdered? Not a single person I''ve seen was normal. What kind of freak show is this?


    Did I get cast for a prank show? Period drama themed?


    Should I be looking for a hidden camera?


    "I''m tired..."


    My eyelids felt heavy, the drizzle of rain, white noise that pulled my consciousness away, until a coo snapped my eyes open. I flinched, staring at the crow, perched on the store display a few meters from me. It tilted its head, hopping off of the display and fluttering over to me, its small form halting a few inches away from my crouched figure.


    I kept silent, willing it to leave, willing all of this to be a dream, hallucinated up as I slammed my head into textbooks to cram bio chemistry into my already at capacity brain. The endless studying, only to scrape by in the minimum percentile to keep the scholarship going.


    I was taping my life together, barely managing my relationships with friends, my parents who I hadn''t called in weeks, and the part time job I could barely cram into the schedule.


    That was my life, the one I struggled for. If all that goes down the drain...


    "I''d loose my mind." I laughed weakly, rubbing my eyes.


    The crow cooed, perching itself on my knee and staring at me with its beady eyes, which caught the gleam of street lamps like glass.


    "...I''m not a post box" I stared at the crow, my laugh bubbling up again at the oddity of a crow perching on my leg.


    "..Ack.." I grunted, feeling something metallic bump into my leg as the crow got comfy. It was a sort of cylindrical tube, clamped to the crows leg.


    The crow tilted its head, cooing as its wet feathers ruffled. I let out a stifled laugh, raising a hand to my temple as my exhaustion caught up to me, not knowing what to think anymore. I just let the crow perch there, on my knee, for a bit, too tired to saying anything more, letting myself rest, even if only briefly as the rain continued to fall around me.


    Seconds turns to minutes, as I sat there, my eyes fluttering open as my curiosity got the best of me. I reached out for the tube, a sort of message carrier, and the crow ruffled its feathers, content.


    "How do you open this..." I muttered to myself as I fiddled with it, afraid to be scratched by the crows talons. "Ah." My fingertips found a groove and tugged, sliding a cap like cover off, revealing a small rolled paper inside.


    I pinched the paper, pulling it out as the crow ruffled its feathers, unaffected.


    "...Eh?" I unfurled the paper, holding it out in the dim light as I tried to make sense of the words scrawled onto it, in cursive.


    ''Return the damn revolver. Remember what we agreed to, Jun.''


    My eyes widened, the paper slipping from my hands as my mind went blank, staring at the crow, and then the piece of paper, which was soaked by the puddle it landed in. The ink began to bleed, obscuring the message further as the I processed the contents, and my situation as a whole.


    "Jun...?" I barked out a laugh. "Who the hell..?" Then I stopped, remembering the contents of the ID I had only glanced at. The ID that was resting in my coat pocket, along with the revolver that the message had demanded I return.


    I fished the ID out of my pocket, staring at the small passport like booklet, my eyes widening. It showed a black and white headshot of a man, who looked startlingly like me. The only visual difference discernable from the small photograph was swept back white hair, and a slightly different eye and jaw shape. Beside it was a name and birthdate, printed in black, blocky typewritten letters.


    ''Watanabe Jun''


    ''06/20/1887''

 Chapter 5: An Act or a Lie

    "...June...twenty? 1887...?" I stared at the ID, flipping through the booklet only to find the same black blocky letters, listing a family name, occupation, and address, the last of which I couldn''t make out fully, due to the rain bleeding through. Droplets dripped from my hair and onto the weak paper, even as I leaned myself further under the roof shelter.


    "That''s my birthday except...what''s with the 1887..?" I tilted my head, trying to get a better look at the blocky words in the darkness. The faint gold hue of dawn was staring to streak through the sky, but the rain clouds remained stubborn, blocking out the light as far as they could. One glance up could tell you that the town was beginning to stir, soft glows of candle light flickering behind shoji paneled windows, and the western equivalent alike. Silhouettes began to shift about, the distant clang of metal and clatter of products being moved for the morning sales within the cobblestone streets.


    I paid no mind to it, the ID occupying my thoughts as I flipped through it again, The first page was that of endorsement, specified to be from the ministry of internal and foreign affairs, stamped with the seal of a snake, circling around to eat its own tail. It outlined citizenship status as born in, but an additional stamp in red and fresher ink declared that fact viable to change due to parental ancestry. The second page held a supposed birth year, the vague occupation of ''consulting assistant'', and the address of residence as Building 8756, Dreary Lane, Arashi, Hyogo Prefecture.


    "...The 18 hundreds? Hyogo prefecture...? What is this? A fake ID?" I ran a hand through my rain drenched hair at subconscious tendency, only to remember the ribbon I had used to tie my hair back. I stopped, and brought my hand back to my chin, glaring at the typewritten letters as if that could scare them into changing, into something that would make any lick of sense.


    Nothing of the sort happened, and my eyes simply scanned the words over and over again.


    Jun Watanabe. Consulting assistant. June 20th 1887. Arashi, Hyogo prefecture.


    Consulting?....Like...private investigator? Or a consultant for some business company...? Its not helpful. This Jun guy could have been a therapist for all I know.


    "...The rain is letting up." I muttered, my gaze shifting to the crow, which had fallen asleep on my knee after being patient for a considerable amount of time, although I was certain that I had lost track of it. I tilted my head, my eyes narrowing as I glanced at the cylinder strapped to the bird''s leg, and then at the ID still clutched in my hand.


    "....Are you Jun''s pet or something..?" I rubbed my temple, the feel of the black claws against my my face chilling but normal by the lack of energy to fight the odd reality, my exhaustion catching up to me again as I slumped against the wooden storefront.


    "Aaah.." My nose scrunched, feeling a sneeze incoming, but it just became a sniffle, leaving an itchy feeling in my nostrils.


    "Damn rain..." I muttered, shifting my gaze to the crow, which woke up, its small form ruffling its wet feathers.


    "...Hey." I stared at the ID, and then at the message carrier on the crow''s leg. The paper which had the threatening message was left discarded in the puddle, illegible.


    I could have sworn that wasn''t on its leg earlier...That alley...the red eyes...? No. Lets think about this.


    I don''t want to think about this.


    "Mind getting off my knee?" I wriggled my leg slightly, prompting the roosting crow to caw indignantly. I shushed it, my ears picking up on opening doors and windows, across the street, to the side, and the second story of the building in front of me. From my peripheral vision I could see a woman sliding a window open, spectating from her vantage point with a cup of what looks like tea in her hand.


    I couldn''t help feeling embarrassed, sitting in front of a store, still partially drenched, with a crow on my knee.


    "..Off" I nudged the crow again, and it cooed, flapping its damp wings and landing a building away, on the sill of an opened shoji paneled window. It stared at me expectantly, letting out a coo as a the silhouette of a person shifted about in the second story window. The fog had cleared slightly, allowing me to discern the store sign which was carved into the plaster.


    Groaning as I got to my feet, I stared at the sign which said nothing of particular interest. What gave me pause was not bolstered sales prices or the blatant lie about the quality of the products, but the weight of the revolver shifted in my coat pocket.


    "...." I traced the revolver through the damp fabric, my gaze flitting from the crow, perched on the windowsill, to the ID, open to the face of a doppelganger I never knew existed.


    Caught in a unexplainable situations, with the lack of memories leading up to the incident. Just my luck.


    I grit my teeth, leaning against the store column as the crow cawed.


    The rain had subsided, the fog beginning to lift, as if a curtain was being drawn, unveiling a town which seemed out of place, like a set taken out of a historical play.


    Noticing movement out of the corner of my eye, I stuffed the ID into my coat pocket, glancing towards the street, which had began to stir. Figures walked about, oddly fancy umbrellas and the occasional newspaper in hand. Their kimonos were mostly a blur of colors, with some occasional pattern and the stray western dress peeking through, foreign compared to the traditional clothing of the others. They talked among themselves, and for a moment, my head swam, my sight blurring.


    White haired. Every single one of them. Every man, woman, old lady. Even the little girl that tugged at their mothers kimono, pointing at a toy stall that an man in jester clothing wheeled through the streets. Even she had pure white hair, pulled back into a braid and tied with a blue ribbon.


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    I paused, the fliers that the lanky jester handed out catching my eye. An advertisement for a show printed in bold ink: The Royale Charade.


    "Okaasan! Can I have one? Please! Its the funny man from the marionettes!" She pleaded as other children ran to the jester, picking out toys of various vibrant colors as the jester performed a few magic tricks with each coin the children exchanged for toys. The girl tugged free from her mother, ignoring the stern look she received as she joined the giggling children, clapping as the jester made a coin appear from behind her ear. Handing the little girl her prize, a small teddy bear, the jester looked around at the gathered crowd, giving a theatrical bow as one of his hands reached behind to pull at a string on the toy cart, releasing a burst of paper confetti, along with more flyers that fluttered in the wind. All timed for maximum dramatic effect, it seemed.


    " Ladies and gentlemen! Its my great privilege to enounce this years show, the fantastical Royale Charade!" He declared, his voice projecting in the intersection as the enthusiastic crowd caught the fliers, some boys even jumping to catch the colorful paper, hand painted, as I could tell from the one I plucked from the air.


    "For this year''s show, we bring you a tale of a detective in disguise, a nobleman in peril, a thief in the night, a charlatan, a princess, and a servant of the divine!"


    "Featuring the one and only, the legendary puppeteer, Mr. Marion!" He declared, throwing his arm up into the air as his gaze swept the crowd, his eyes locking with mine for a split second before he continued his speech.


    "An adventure in a tale, where the actors play as themselves and the audience, the royal judges! For the low price of a ticket, you too can experience the charade, as the Royale Court and the cast play the greatest mystery!"


    He paused, surveying the crowd, the painted smile on his face widening. The crowd was chatting amongst each other, excitement evident, especially the children who jumped up and down, staring at the jester with bated breath. As a gust of wind swept through, blowing a few hats off heads, and fliers out of hands and the cart, the jester snapped his fingers, every single flier turning into a bird that flew through the crowd, white feathers fluttering as the crowd gasped.


    My eyes widened, gaping as I ducked out of the way of a white pigeon, craning my neck to stare on at the cloud of birds that circled above us. A flock of white against the grey sky, breathing life into the gloom of fog and smog that hugged the crowded skyline.


    "And remember folks! No one knows a good show like you do, and no one knows a good judge, but you! So spread the word and come vote, for your favorite character in the charade!" He declared, the flurry of birds dispersing as they disappeared into the clouds, the jester giving a deep bow. The crowd erupted into applause as I stared at the sky, squinting my eyes as the paper fliers fell back down, drifting to the ground, not a bird in sight.


    What the fu--


    "Okaasan!" A boy pointed to me, his dark eyes wide with excitement. "A crow landed on his shoulder!"


    I flinched, glancing towards the crow, perched on my shoulder, its feathers puffed out like a ball of fluff.


    "Not you again..." I muttered, trying to shrug it off of me as I felt the stares start to be directed at me. The crow let out a ear grating caw in protest, earning confused stares, and a glare from a official looking passerby. The man in a black uniform, a gold insignia indicating some sort of government affiliation, stopped in his steps. His eyes narrowed, and I could see the flash of metal against his belt.


    A pistol.


    "You there, Halt." He raised his voice, his eyes flicking to the jester who was caught trying to use the distraction to slink off with the cart, the chattering crowd quieting as they turned to stare at the officer, and the crow, which had begun to groom itself, unbothered.


    "Do you have a permit for the commercial use of Bleak skills? Specifically that trick of yours, number 0021: illusion. Permit-less use is a public disturbance, classified as deceit and ignorance of the law as per the shogun''s decree."


    The jester stopped dead in his tracks, the crowd parting as they stared at the officer. The atmosphere changed, the once cheerful crowd looking uncomfortable and uncertain.


    "S-Sir...That''s a misdemeanor, not an offense..." He stammered, his voice cracking, revealing how young he actually was in comparison to the older officer. He cleared his throat, and a nervous chuckle as his gaze darted about, as if looking for a quick escape. " Royale Charade is a legitimate production! We marionettes have the right to promote our show, sir. "


    "The permit less use of illusion is still illegal." The officer retorted, his tone firm and authoritative. "Especially for a public trick such as that."


    "B-but...I can''t do any tricks without that...it comes naturally to me..." He mumbled, fiddling with the jester hat, pulling it further over his white hair, covering up a glimpse of black.


    Using the lack of attention on me, I began to back away, turning away from the scene with one last glance at the jester boy. A caw stopped me in my steps, a muttered swear leaving my lips. The crow cooed, tugging at my hair, refusing to move from my shoulder as the officer''s gaze flickered towards me, my hands, the claws that I had forgotten about, the crow, then back at the jester, as if deciding who to deal with first.


    Fu-- He saw it. The claws.


    My clawed hands flexed unconsciously, feeling a cold sweat break out on my back.


    So they''re...real. No one noticed yet but...maybe they just didn''t point it out?


    I''m a monster.


    And that''s an officer.


    The crow let out another ear grating screech, earning a groan from the crowd as it ruffled its feathers, hopping down from my shoulder, and swooped towards the jester.


    "Watch it!" I heard someone yell, as I slipped off in the opposite direction, ducking under crowd cover, and out of the street.


    "I said, stop!" The voice of the officer was muffled as I rounded a corner, and the sound of footsteps behind me came into focus. I sped up, rounding another corner, into an alleyway, ducking under a jutting pipe as I tried to keep momentum, eyes focused on a small gap between two building in the alley.


    If I could fit...


    My feet slipped against the wet cobblestone as I made a break for it, sliding between the buildings with minimal damage, the fabric of my coat snagging on a nail. I pulled through, causing a tare as I hurtled into a busy street, only getting a glimpse of the startled faces of two foreigners, a lady and gent, before I collided with them. We fell in a heap, the foreign men cursing at me in English, their accents thick and awfully familiar.


    "You goddamn...!" He hissed, anger that I ignored as I scrambled to my feet.


    "Sorr-- Um, my apologies. I''m in a rush!" I switched to English, my accent snapping back into place like a curse as I swerved past them. Before I could get any further, I found myself on the ground, momentarily stunned, my arm twisted behind my back.


    "Oi! Let go!" I grunted, struggling under the weight, the leather clad grip on my wrist tightening. My face was shoved into the pavement, stopping me to identifying my assailant.


    "I suggest you shut your trap, mutt. Thievery isn''t foreign to your type, I''m sure, but this a different level altogether..." The blond brit was leaning over me, a scowl adorning his face. "Withdraw the claws. Now. Don''t make this harder for yourself."


    I let out a scoff, turning my head as far as I could, the weight keeping me firmly on the ground. My mind was a mess of paranoia, fear, and the sinking feeling of being caught, helpless again. The fear of being unable to do anything.


    "I didn''t steal. I swear it, so please act civil." I tried to breath, pushing my panic aside as I stopped struggling.


    It had just occurred to me that perhaps getting searched right now wouldn''t end well, not with my tattered state, the claws, and the revolver that sat snuggly in my coat pocket.

 Chapter 6: Guilty Meal

    "That accent of yours...are you mocking me?"


    The Blonds accusation was laughable, understandable, because I did sound like some posh British lad while looking nothing like one. I got this often enough, even back in London.


    I couldn''t help but let out a dry laugh. "It''s natural, should I apologize for it?"


    "Oh no, please don''t feel the need to. William here is on edge today...I do apologize for his...well, gruff reaction." The lady chimed in, her accent posh, but friendly enough. She gave William a firm look, to which he yielded, his grip on my wrist loosened, his weight shifting as he got off of me, but his hands were still firm on my shoulder, keeping me in place.


    "Thank you for...speaking some sense, Miss" I retorted sarcastically, ignoring the hole I had just dug for myself.


    "You should be grateful. If it were me, I''d have cut your hand off, and tossed it in a gutter." William growled, his grip on my shoulder becoming crushing. I clenched my jaw, glancing down at my inky black and clawed hands, flexing them, my mind in turmoil as I was forced to accept their existence, at least in part.


    "William, don''t be ridiculous, that''s barbaric." The lady snapped, crossing her arms. She was of equal, if not higher standing, from the look of her intricately embroidered dress, casual enough in design but very obviously expensive. What stood out more than that however was her ash colored hair, and the faint trail of dark hair that were woven into the braided style, as if to hide it. The first non white hair I had seen, besides the blond nutcase, and that black haired guy.


    The unsettling man with gold eyes, multiple more than human, witness to my crime.


    Jun''s crime.


    Not mine.


    Not mine.


    I snapped out of the vacuum of panic as the lady spoke again.


    "We needn''t stir up more trouble, not with the Shogun''s men roaming about." She shot a warning look at the officer, the same one that had chased me, who was approaching us now with an polite smile on his face.


    I bristled, my first instinct being to take a step back, before I realized I couldn''t.


    She said...shogun''s men? The...military...?


    "Madam, I do apologize. I will handle the situation." The official stepped forward, a bow of respect aimed at the two. His accent was thickly Japanese, but his words were clear. William let go, and the pressure on my shoulder dissipated, and for a moment, I contemplated bolting. But instead, I took a deep breath, and turned around, staring up at the official with a strained smile.


    "There is nothing to handle, Sir. Just a simple misunderstanding."


    The military officer narrowed his eyes, a scowl twisting his lips as he took a step forward.


    "Is that so?"


    "Yes, Sir. I bumped into these...lovely folk purely accidently." I kept my smile firm, my hands flicked, the claws disappearing like a misty mirage. The official did not seem to take notice. And I refused to take notice, out of fear of drawing attention to it, as well as overwhelming confusion.


    "Then why exactly did you run, Jun?"


    My heart sank. The uttering of that name giving me whiplash.


    How does he know that name...? Why is he addressing me with it...I''m not...


    Am I..?


    "I was running late to a meeting, you see." I forced a laugh, lieing on the spot, my palms clammy, as if sweating, despite the fact that it had started to rain again. A faint drizzle, hitting my eyelashes am I struggled to keep my eye from twitching.


    "Best we continue this conversation somewhere else, preferably with a roof over our heads?" The lady chimed in, giving a glance towards the sky.


    "William, stop glowering, lets hurry up."


    "..." I grit my teeth, keeping my smile firmly in place as William muttered a ''yes ma''am''. The official gave a curt nod, conceding with the seemingly high class lady''s suggestion. He then grabbed my shoulder, pulling me along, his grip stiff, painful.


    ...Bloody hells...damn it...


    I couldn''t help feeling a sense of dread, the feeling that I had gotten myself into something much deeper than I had anticipated. I was stupid enough to run, now I was trapped, like a mouse caught from its own desire for cheese. My captors were worse than any cat who would have snapped a poor rodents neck in half. My gut told me they could do far worse.


    ***


    The ornate border of a clock, the pendulum swinging back and forth, every tick of the gears moving the minute hand further, counting down my time as a free man. My eyes flicked from the wall mounted clock to the window next to our table. The rain clouds had persisted, although at a lesser degree, joining the smog that hung over the rows and rows of buildings, expanding out into a compact cobweb of streets and alleyways.


    I could glimpse the outline of the inn from where we were, on the second floor of a caf¨¦, as if our seating was chosen specifically for such a view. I could discern the clock tower, but the inn itself was hidden by narrow lines of buildings, parts reminiscent of old London, while others followed the structural properties of historic landmarks in Kyoto. The fog which had had wrapped the city in an opaque mystery, had given way to a light drizzle, a dripping faucet from the earlier downpour.


    As I sat there, felt like I was being watched, like some sort of animal. I was being scrutinized, by the official who sat beside me, his cap neatly on the table, sleek, black, and government issued by the look of the insignia that matched vaguely with the stamp in Jun''s ID. It sat rather innocently next to his tea cup, while blonde man named William sitting across from me did quit the opposite. His gaze flitting to and fro, as if expecting trouble to appear, from any and every shadow. It seemed to him that every worker and customer was suspect in his plight to guard his charge: the ash haired lady Annabeth of the Montgomery estate, as she had put it.


    I swirled the cup of tea in my own hand, glancing away from Annabeth who smiled as she caught my gaze, opting instead to watch the golden brown liquid in the porcelain cup. My fidgeting movements created a miniature whirlpool within it, matching the state of my mind to a certain degree. Steam plumed form it, whirling about before vanishing into the cold air.


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    It was chilly, and I couldn''t help the shivers that went down my spine, the dampness of my clothing doing me no favors.


    "So...Let me apologize for the inconvenience, and continue on my way perhaps? " I tried, looking up at the bemused lady Annabeth with a smile, to push for my innocence in the thievery accusations. "I did not steal from you. I wouldn''t have had the time to, even if we assume that my intentions were to steal, and that your...friend''s reaction was justified. It''s an unfair assumption. This whole incident was purely accidental. Uh... and for my lack of spatial awareness, I apologize. I didn''t mean to bump into you, Ms. Annabeth" I rambled on, cringing internally as my mouth ran on by itself. Even my cards were against me, quickly draining that false bravado that kept me afloat most of my life.


    I felt the officers gaze burning into me. I couldn''t read him, his expression, or what his deal was, other than the fact that he knew the name ''Jun''. And that I would likely get arrested at the end of this conversation. My fingers clamped around the porcelain cup, normal, human, but what confused me was why.


    Why it changed back randomly. The question of whether I could control it, or if it was a figment of my tired imagination.


    "Ah, please, just Anna is fine. You don''t need to address me so formally." Annabeth chuckled, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup, her tone light, yet I felt a slight unease. She glanced at William, the look they exchanged going over my head.


    "Well...I suppose we could just let this whole ordeal slide...but, we should have a bit of discussion beforehand." She smiled, as if her company was not comprised of a police officer and a man her bodyguard wannabe had tackled to the ground, then dragged here for a light dose of interrogation.


    "Jun, Right?" She continued, sending a waitress off to fetch her something from the breakfast menu, from the look of it, it was a modified version of a ''Real English breakfast'': Bacon, eggs, sausages, bread maybe. My stomach grumbled at the thought of even a basic meal, the stomach acids screaming for something to burn other than the walls of my own stomach.


    I tried to ignore the embarrassment as I responded cautiously, holding in the impulse to just blurt out my own name. " Yes...It''s Jun. Jun Watanabe."


    "Oh." Annabeth''s eyebrows rose slightly, a faint grin gracing her lips as she glanced at the officer, who nodded in response. She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table as her eyes locked with mine, the pale green hue reminding me of vomit.


    Maybe because I felt queasy.


    "Uh...what is it?" I leaned back, trying my best not to frown.


    "Oh nothing, you just don''t really have the typical...look." She smiled, her gaze darting between my face and hands. "And...your accent, did you always have it? Have you visited Avalon perhaps?"


    "Avalon...?" I repeated, my eyebrows furrowing. It didn''t ring a bell, although I it was a word familiar enough to tug at my brain matter.


    "The island in the mist? The Greater Isles? " She clarified, her smile faltering. "My homeland, the empire for which the sun never sets."


    "I''m...afraid I haven''t." I smiled politely, ignoring the look the official was giving me. She was clearly talking about Britain, although I didn''t know what the Avalon was about. It took all my self control not to blurt out that I was born there, considering the fact that Jun very clearly wasn''t.


    "Hm.." She pursed her lips, tapping her fingers on the table. The waitress returned, with a plate, steaming hot. Eggs, bacon, sausages, toast, all topped off with a sprig of parsley, the classic English breakfast. The savory scent hit my nose, another grumble of complaint leaving my stomach.


    "I...picked up the accent from a friend of mine." I lied, to distract from the awkward attention my growling stomach had gotten.


    A small laugh came from William " A mutt trying to sound sophisticated? Funny."


    I laughed as well, resisting the urge to accidently stomp on his foot under the table. "Sounding sophisticated? I wouldn''t dream of it."


    "William, leave him be." Annabeth sighed, waving a fork at him. She cut a piece of the bacon, eating it daintily as the officer sipped his tea. "The laws are different here. You can''t just call a mutt a mutt, remember that."


    William frowned, turning his gaze away. "I''m just saying, they''re no better than animals."


    "But they''re no worse than them either." She retorted, and then turned her gaze to me. "So, Jun, you''re acquainted with the officer here, I presume?"


    Wow. The hell did they just say?


    I nodded stiffly, not knowing what to think or say as I took a sip of my tea, then sat it back down, holding back the wince from by brunt tongue. It was bitter, but I wasn''t one to complain.


    "Yes. A colleague of sorts"


    I gave a side glance at the man who finally spoke, having had ordered some sort of soup, or stew. It had arrived in a large bowl, and it had smelled of miso and pork, from where I sat. The savory sent wafted towards me, making the growls of my stomach more insistent.


    Colleague?? Wasn''t I about to be arrested?


    "He''s an associate of mine. A troublesome one." The man added, taking a sip of his tea, shifting a firm look in my direction.


    Annabeth looked surprised, the expression on her face telling me she didn''t quite expect that answer.


    "A bleak spawn, in the police force? I didn''t count the new shogun to be so...lax." She commented, earning a snort from William, and a disapproving frown from the officer.


    Bleak. I heard the term used by the officer before, towards the jester boy. Something about the magic trick that made no sense in practice...


    What do they mean? My claws..? Is that it? The word for monsters?


    "That, is not for a foreigner to question." The officer set down his tea cup with a clink. His voice was even, unemotional, adding to the hostile atmosphere. "Much less a young lady. You are a Foreign student, correct?"


    Annabeth''s eyes narrowed, but she let out a sigh, giving a polite nod. " Yes. I am studying here, at Arashi University. Under the recommendation of my father."


    "Then it is only fair to be cautious of the law. I would advise you not to concern yourself with our methods, or our Bleak population."


    "Your...methods are questionable, Sir." William interjected, leaning forward, his gaze flicking from the officer to the window.


    "I can''t imagine why you would recruit someone like...that." He gave a pointed look at me, earning a scowl from the officer, and an exasperated sigh from Annabeth.


    "We recruit whoever is capable. And Watanabe here is is an exceptional student, graduated from the same university you attend, Mr. William." The officer snapped, a sharp edge in his tone. "And his abilities, are very much welcomed in the force."


    "I have heard rumors..." Annabeth murmured, a slight smile on her lips. "The alchemy department of Arashi University was very secretive about the matter, even to us students of that department."


    "Yes, the alchemists are very...proud of their work." The officer agreed, his tone a little forced, as if he was annoyed. He glanced at me, and a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth.


    "Proud of the fact that they have official support for the program! My professor was ecstatic, to say the least." Annabeth added, her gaze drifting towards the clock. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she took a quick sip of her tea. "She thought it was a shame, that all their prior funding was going towards the military."


    My eyes twitched as I tried to keep my mouth shut, a variety of questions buzzing in my head. I stared Annabeth who was still smiling, as if this was a pleasant exchange. She casually dismissed the waitress that nervously placed down a slice of cake, an expensive dessert that she had ordered. Her gaze shifting to me as the waitress came back around to place a plate of crisp fried eggs and bacon in front of me.


    "Go on." Annabeth smiled, grabbing a fork and poking her own Sunnyside egg, sprinkled with the slightest of pepper. "As an apology for the inconvenience, and for the rude behavior of my companion here."


    "Oh. Just...tell him to put a hold on the ''cutting off arms'' threats next time?" I chuckled a bit, laughing off the tension that could easily be cut with a knife, eyeing the offered meal, then the volatile blond. "I''d say I need em, my arms."


    "I would be careful of how you speak to Miss Annabeth, mutt." William snarled, the edge of the silverware glinting as he held it. His hand had a death grip on it, as if ready to impale someone.


    I look a slow breath, my jaw clenching as I tried to keep the smile on my face.


    "You know what? Piss off. And shut up."


    "Do I look like a bloody dog to you?" My smile strained as I snapped back, holding in the urge to punch him. But of course, I had to play it civil. If a fight were to break out, the one who''ll be getting the short end of the stick was me.


    "A mutt is a mutt. What else could you possibly be, other than a filthy cross breed?" He spat, leaning forward, the silverware clattering onto the table as he gripped the collar of my damp coat, a murderous glare on his face.


    "Your bloodline is clearly tainted, bleached."

 Chapter 7: Dead Mans Alibi

    "We suspect it to be a murder. Although suicide...isn''t completely disregarded as a possibility. Yet." The officer continued, laying out the facts as just that, facts, and nothing more. His voice held no apparent emotion, by his eyes said otherwise.


    The words struck me like a freight train. My eyes flicking down to the fountain pen in my hand, Jun''s brothers pen, as the initials so clearly declared. It shook slightly in my palm, effected by my trembling fingers.


    The nameless was corpse no longer nameless in my conscience, and that, made bile rise to my throat.


    Watanabe Hitoshi, was dead. And I had the murder weapon, sitting snugly in my coat pocket.


    The realization hung over my head, a heavy fog that seemed to wrap my mind in a numbness, a disbelief that didn''t quite settle. I felt sick, nausea, guilt, and self-loathing mixing into an unbearable concoction, the kind that would poison anyone that was exposed to it.


    The officer looked at me, the look on his face telling me that he was waiting, expecting something.


    Instead of a sob or the bile I tasted on my tongue, what bubbled out of me was a laugh, a chuckle. My head hung, a hand covering my mouth, holding back a hysterical giggle.


    "Ha....ha.." I breathed, a bitter smile on my lips as I looked up, the officer staring back with a look of pure shock, or concern, I couldn''t tell.


    "...What...are you laughing at?"


    "Ah..." I shook my head, holding my hand up as if to wave his question away.


    "I''m just...really tired, officer. All day, every person has been playing me for a fool. Isn''t this enough? Why...why would you lie?" I looked down at the pen, a half smile half grimace tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Is this...funny to you?"


    That bish blond, some girl acting like this is some political drama, and that guy at the inn, playing Moriarty to a Sherlock I definitely wasn''t. Why in the hells am I being played like a fiddle? Why do I feel like a damn pawn in a game I know nothing about?


    I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my composure as I shoved the pen back into the officer''s hands.


    The officer didn''t budge, the pen still held out to me. He was quiet, the silence stretching until he finally spoke, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I know this is a painful truth. But it is, the truth."


    The truth? This. Is the truth? If I could slap myself out of this ''truth'', I would.


    "Aha. Alright. So this is all true? Then what? What exactly do you want me to do...??" I hissed, my voice coming out gravely, hoarser, more aggressive than I intended.


    The officer said nothing, a steely edge to his gaze as he regarded me. He adjusted the fedora that sat on his white locks, grey eyes falling under shadow as I took a step forward.


    "Want me to bring him back from the dead??" I snarled, my claws flexing out with the disgusting sound of joints cracking.


    "Watanabe Jun." He snapped, his voice stern like a command. I froze, tasting the blood in my mouth, the sting mixing with the cold air that entered my nostrils.


    "You need to calm down. Breath." The officer sighed, his tone soft, yet stern, and the way he spoke reminded me of my own father. His gaze was firm, and his expression held a semblance of compassion. Or was it hypocrisy, like my dad''s usual schtick.? The impatience of a parent, and the lack of care for emotions, both when it came to themselves, as well as their children.


    It pissed me off, that he was trying to act like he cared. That he was acting like I was someone he knew, someone who was the brother of his friend, who was now dead. I didn''t even know his bloody name. My acting skills were starting to run on very thin ice.


    "..." I didn''t say anything, instead taking a deep breath, the anger hanging over me like the fog strangling the skyline. I looked away, down at the street, at a puddle, reflecting the light of the sun, and my own face.


    No, not mine. It was the face of Jun.


    A droplet fell from a roof above, sending a ripple through the crude mirror, distorting the near crimson eyes, the white hair, and for a moment, I saw a glimpse of my face, a gentle brown and black replacing the crimson and the white. It seemed to stare back at me, tired, disappointed...Smug?


    It''s mouth moved, jittering and unstable, mouthing a simple word.


    "Idiot" I echoed, squeezing my eyes shut, heaving a breath.


    I can''t...I''m being an idiot. I''m digging myself into a hole I won''t be able to crawl out of. This whole deal with the identities, it seems straight out of a novel. I couldn''t wrap my head around it...or rather, I refused to.


    "I understand. Sorry." I breathed, letting the tension in my body relax, my shoulders slumping as the officer patted me on the shoulder, a gesture I could only assume was meant to comfort. I paused, glancing up, a question at the tip of my tongue. Considering Jun''s occupation, I made the assumption that I could ask it.


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    "Can I ask...what was the initial assessment of the crime scene?"


    "...Suicide, as far as the Shogun''s officials are concerned. The body was found on the floor, a gunshot wound through the skull. There is a single bullet lodged into the wall, but there are no signs of struggle, and no witnesses." He stated, his eyes scanning the surrounding area as he leaned back against the wall.


    What?


    No witnesses..? There should have been. What about the inn staff? And that lunatic just a floor below, he heard it. He said it plain and clear, straight to my face.


    Who lied? F***k. They''re drowning the case on purpose...


    "No sign of forced entry, no sign of forced resistance. No sign of a second person. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except the body of a man, who has no reason to kill himself."


    The officer gave me a firm look, taking a step forward to slide the fountain pen into my jacket pocket. "Which is why I believe it to be a murder case. I will not allow them to stop the investigation, I promise you that."


    Liar. My finger print was there. My blood was there. Unless someone tampered with the...crime scene?


    I nodded, averting my gaze, staring at the puddle. Another drop fell, shattering the reflection.


    I wished for it. It didn''t align with my morals, or my field of study, but I couldn''t help the thoughts that wished for it all to be swept under the rug as a suicide. To sweep the evidence away, and let it return to dust, like his body.


    It was the easy way out. A coward''s way. But if I got caught, then all I would be, was a coward. A murderous coward.


    I shouldn''t feel this way. I know I didn''t kill him. I can''t have. I was walking, from the bus stop to the campus, with a couple of friends, on a regular Tuesday. A irregularly windy day, but normal on all other accounts. I was sleep deprived as usual, complaining about a law major''s work load. But then what? I woke up in a murder''s body? Watanabe Jun, who could have been my long lost twin from how bloody similar we look?


    I let out a huff of breath, my eyes shutting for a brief moment, before opening them, to find the officer still staring at me, his gaze questioning, but I had no answer for him.


    "Now, I suggest you return to work, keep your mind busy." He took a step back. "I do have questions, particularly to do with the words that Mr. William used, and that little display of yours." He added, his expression hardening as his gaze flicked to my clawed hands.


    "Mutt...bleac spawn...you and I both know what that means, and it is in no way something an officer can ignore. But, you need time, and I have work to attend to." He let out a sigh, adjusting his fedora. "But Jun, please. You can trust me. Do not try to hide anything. Not again. You''ll find that I won''t be able to help a liar."


    "Not again...?" I repeated, the words not quite clicking into place in my mind.


    Jun...He did something. But what? Damn it...


    He was quiet, his eyes flicking away, the air thick with silence. "Just don''t do anything rash, Watanabe Jun. And try to get in contact with your mother, she should receive the message of your brother''s passing in around two days time."


    "Two days?"


    "The mail service is rather slow these days, and we have no way to reach the village in a timely manner, unfortunately."


    He paused, letting out a disgruntled sigh as he gestured to my hands. "I suggest you withdraw those. The ground officers won''t respond kindly, not with the recent...spike in work."


    A chill ran down my spine, my gaze shifting down, at the flexing black that snaked from pointed claws, running up my arms like a parasite. My eyes shook slightly, forced to acknowledge them, the abnormality.


    "Hah. Of course they''re retractable...!" I muttered, a venom to my voice, my hands clenching into fists, the claws digging into my palm.


    "I''m not a goddamn monster."


    "Jun." The officer''s voice was sharp, his hand gripping my shoulder, an iron grip that sent a itch of pain through my arm. "Calm down."


    "I am calm. I''m fine. Just peachy." I hissed, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, forced into place like a malleable mask. "Positively jovial"


    "I''m not stupid, Jun. I can see that you''re not fine. But you''re not a monster. You''re a man, a human being, and you''re allowed to grieve."


    "Grieve?" I scoffed, the smile dropping from my face as I shrugged his hand off. "What is there to grieve? He was a stranger."


    The officer''s expression twitched, his eyes narrowing, the air around him becoming colder, his grip on my shoulder tightening to an almost agonizing degree. "A stranger? Jun, he was your brother."


    "Was." I spat, my tone biting, and the words coming out before I could stop them. It jumped out from the recesses of my mind, a single word that seemed as it were not my own.


    "Was." I repeated, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "He was a stranger, and now he''s dead. That''s all."


    "And you know what? I''m alive." I laughed, a bitter sound that was more like a bark. "And I''m not about to waste my time, or energy, on a stranger, a dead one at that. I''m not a damn charity, and I''m not a fool."


    "I''m not a fool." I hissed, the words coming out as a growl. The sound startled me, but I didn''t relent, the pain of both my claws and the officers tightening grip seeping into the abyss of my mind. The officer''s expression was unreadable, He took in a sharp breath and his grip loosened, his hand dropping to his side.


    "No. You''re not."


    He paused, his eyes flicking away, his gaze distant, and his expression, unreadable.


    "But you''re a fool for thinking you can handle this alone."


    "I can, and I will." I snapped, a growl in my voice, the sound of a dog, a beast, a monster.


    He pinched the bridge of hi nose, letting out a breath that swirled across the icy air like cigar smoke. It mixed with the murky smoke of the real deal as he pulled out a pack of cigars from his front pocket, and lit it with a small metal box, a click echoing in the all but silent alleyway as it created a spark.


    "Give me your hands. Now." He commanded, the cigar held between his teeth, the smoke pluming out from his mouth.


    "What?"


    "Your hands."


    I hesitated, the claws flexing, the joints cracking, as if taunting me. His glare sent a cold feeling down my spine, one born of guilt, fear, and the slightest bit of shame.


    "Fine." I muttered, holding them out, the claws flexing out.


    The officer took my hand, thumb pressing painfully near my pulse as if to check something. He then took hi cigar in one hand, not giving me even a second to process the pain as he pushed the smoldering end on top of my pulsing vein.


    "Agh!!"


    I flinched, a hiss of pain escaping my lips, the smell of burnt flesh filling my nose. Alongside that was the smell of ink, stinging my nose, and my eyes.


    "What the hell are you doing?!" I snapped, the claws flexing, except they weren''t there. They were gone, the black having retreated, leaving behind only a faint outline, a tattoo, on my knuckle. A small, black symbol, a snake, reminiscent of the symbol used by medical services.


    "What the hell...?"


    "You''re not the only one cast to play the part of a monster, Watanabe Jun." The officer''s voice was low, his eyes steeled as he dropped the cigar to the ground, and crushed it under his heel.

 Chapter 8: Blood Brand

    So I''m not the only one? If there''s others then...this isn''t schizophrenia?


    this fix it? My hands. When you burned them? "


    treatment." He


    A hound...and unusual traits. Like my claws? My eyes? Or the fact that I''m not an actual bloody hound...?


    Alright, I made that last one up, although there was a street by that name in Tokyo. I didn''t have the boast of visiting that particular one, but there was another one close to my old neighborhood in London.


    Piss would be a great description of my current mood. As in it was piss poor.


    As in I was pissed.At everything, and everyone, and I wanted to punch something, someone, or maybe just yell, and curse, and scream. Maybe throw a couple chairs, smash a few tables, and then burn some shit down.


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    Is this a port city? I see some seagulls...


    Why would he want 5...? That''s nothing. What can you buy with 5 yen?


    It seems to be a trend to blame the bleak...Well, there''s no mentions of any murder, at least.So Jun isn''t public enemy number one...as far as I can tell.


    Radio huh...they seem to be more ahead of the times than I expected, relatively speaking. Or maybe not, I''m not a history buff.


    Does this bloody thing need a refuel? Really? It''s only been around a hour...


    Bloody tram. Damn rusty bucket.

 Chapter 9: Harboring Suspicions

    I exited the tram, a huff of breath melding with cascade of steam as I glanced at the building beside the tram track, a couple of residential units, and a warehouse. There was a dock beyond it, the silhouettes of a number of boats moored in the distance, although they were small, and sparse. Not at all the grandeur of a port city that I had expected, what with the talks of the SS Albatross reaching port only weeks before.


    A great giant of metal and ingenuity, the largest passenger ship to grace the seas, as the newspaper a had so proudly declared.


    Maybe it''ll meet an iceberg and live to tell the tale. Or it''ll get a rom-com made out of it. Both tragic fates for a great metal giant.


    I blinked, brought back from by thoughts as a puff of steam hit my face, jutting out of a pipe on the side of the tram. There were a couple of men wrestling with the tram, hoisting up a rusted tire which seemed to have derailed. Passengers and passerby''s stood around them, chatting as if this was a daily ordeal.


    "Don''t suppose it''ll be up and running soon?" I asked a nearby worker, earning a scoff, and a shake of the head.


    "You kidding, pal? This rust bucket broke down last week too, barely runs on a good day." He let out a huff, swatting the tram''s tire rim with his wrench, a clang ringing out as if to declare his frustration.


    I grimaced, before letting out a hum, taking a few steps back to join the passenger crowd.


    "Wonderful." I muttered my eyes scanning the warehouses, and residential units, a number of shipping crates scattered about.


    "Is it? I would say it''s an inconvenience, more so a failure of the transport department." A voice chimed, a man stepping beside me, arms crossed. I gave a sideway glance, keeping a clam demeanor as the familiar soldier surveyed the scene with a frown.


    "Transport department huh? Or a failure of the tram manufacturer." I replied, earning a raised brow.


    "I would say both."


    I glanced at him, a man only a few years older than me, the usual white hair, but for a few areas of black, and a stern expression. He reminded me of a badger, the ones I''d seen squaring off against lions in nature documentaries.


    He had the build of a badger too, a bit stocky, comparatively short, and a firm gaze, a posture that screamed ''authority''. Military officer, or something of the sort.


    "Sure. But this here seems like a maintenance issue. Lack of allocated funding from the looks of the thing." I shrugged, crossing my arms, the newspaper sticking out awkwardly, like a broken bone. My finger began to tap against my arm, my bodies way of telling me that it sensed a threat, a discomfort.


    "Funding huh...seems to be the case." He scoffed as if personally offended, his eyes flicking to the tram, before settling on me.


    I flashed a polite smile, hoping that it''d end the conversation as I looked back at the tram, watching the workers attempt to refuel the iron beast, steam hissing out of pipes, and valves.


    It wasn''t working, the tram looking more like a lizard who had attempted to soak in the last rays of sunlight, the sun having disappeared behind a layer of clouds. Two other soldiers were present, conversing with the workers, as if telling them to fix it faster, although it seemed like a useless endeavor. From the sakura shaped insignia on their uniform, I could assume they were of the same unit as the soldier beside me.


    Why...is he sniffing me out? No reason to talk to me specifically, unless, he feels something off.


    Kato mentioned the ''blood bland'' burned on me was a treatment for soldiers...?


    The soldier let out a huff, uncrossing his arms, before clasping his hands behind his back. "I''m Ishikawa, corporal 24 of the Soyokaze regiment. Who might you be, sir?"


    I blinked, glancing at him, the corners of my smile twitching, the polite fa?ade faltering. "Watanabe Jun. Occupationally a consultation assistant, and currently a tram passenger."


    Ishikawa nodded slightly, as if mulling it over. "Watanabe huh...? The surname is familiar."


    I tensed, the tapping of my fingers becoming more fervent as I let out a laugh, hoping to brush it off. "It''s a common surname."


    If my assumption is correct, the soldiers are ''Bleak'' Spawn, as Annabeth call it. If we are similar...does that mean they can sense it? Is that a basis for arrest here?


    Damn it. I don''t know.


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    "Common yes, but the combination of Watanabe and Jun is not." Ishikawa stated, his tone flat and unrelenting, probing for a reaction, from the looks of the direction he was steering the conversation in.


    "I know. But is it a nuisance to have a unique name?" I countered, my smile strained as I attempted to deflect.


    "Not a nuisance no, however, unusual names typically indicate foreign heritage."


    "Foreign heritage huh...? And that warrants suspicion?" I scoffed, letting out a huff of air, my finger having picked up the pace, drumming against my sleeve.


    I don''t know the political climate of this place, but this is typical. The issue is that it strikes a nerve. If I engaged, I would be facing worse case scenarios before I''ve even figured anything out for myself.


    If a ''hound'' is so dangerous by their definition, then the law won''t be kind. Especially if Mr. Badger here is Bleak spawn too.


    Ishikawa pursed his lips, his brows furrowed as he shifted his stance. "No...no it does not." He stated, as if hesitant, the statement seeming to not sit well with him.


    I gave a slight bow, a polite but silent end to the conversation as I turned, starting to walk down a somewhat rundown side street through the residential area, deciding to try my luck at finding the office myself. Ishikawa didn''t follow, and I could feel his gaze, sharp and inquiring, although not an outright malicious intent.


    From the looks of it, bleak spawn can sense other spawn, but I couldn''t be sure of that. It was all a simple speculation based on the words of individuals that I can''t say that I trust.


    How much of what Officer Kato said can I really believe? He implied that bleak spawn are treated as monsters, criminals at best.


    I stopped walking, a sigh escaping my lips, the white mist melding into the trails of smoke that swirled down the alley from the rooftops. The smell of charcoal, and wood, burnt for heating purposes, staving off the chill of an irregularly cold spring.


    Trusting officers, strangers, and people I have no means of trusting. I can''t allow myself that luxury. I need to figure this out on my own.


    And get back home quickly. So that no one has the time to worry.


    I inhaled, before continuing down the alley, passing by the occasional individual, a worker, or two children playing in the streets, rolling an iron ball down the cobblestone, and cheering, a game akin to marbles.


    There were many narrow streets that wormed along the hilly sea side region, complimented by various staircases, some of which functioning as shortcuts while others led to private residences and dead ends.


    I passed by a woman, carrying what seemed to be a fishing net, giving a slight bow, and earning a curt nod as she continued on her way, up a staircase, a garden growing beside it, a patch of color in the grey morning.


    "Ah. Miss!" I called out, earning a pause as the woman looked back, her brow raised.


    "Do you happen to know where building 8756, or 8765 is? Dreary Lane? " I flashed a polite smile. Met with a confused stare, I tried again, realizing the foolishness for expecting her to understand my slip of accent, especially for a English street name. "D-Durary...?"


    She blinked, before letting out a huff, shifting the fishing net onto her shoulder. "Durary Lane? It''s on the hill, past ¨­sugi intersection, by the harbor." She stated, before turning, continuing up the stairs, disappearing behind the gate of a traditional residence.


    Most of the residents of this area seemed on edge, especially with strangers, more specifically, me. It could have something to do with the arson case, which took place in their harbor. The suspicion of outsiders, fear of a repeat of the same event.


    Or it was just simple distaste for my messy accent, the product of mixed ethnicities and too many languages floating around in my brain.


    "Its a bloody confusing name. " I huffed, a puff of breath swirling into the frigid ocean wind. The smile dropped from my face as I shoved my hands in my pockets, picking up the pace.


    The road sloped upwards, a gradual incline as I climbed up the stairs, pausing at the ¨­sugi intersection the woman had mentioned. It was the crossroads between multiple small shops, artisan crafts and old noodle shops alike, overlooking the scene of a harbor that stretched across the shoreline. I leaned against the wooden post that separated me from a plummet to the rocky cliffs below, unable the help my awe at the sight of the iron ships in the distance.


    "Wow..." I let out a chuckle, not minding the biting winds as it tousled my hair violently. "Hiro would have killed to see this..."


    I reminisced about my ship obsessed younger brother, spending months on a Lego build of the titanic as a kid, only to have to leave it behind when we moved again. I felt the sting of guilt, and fear. The fear that I won''t even be there, as support or to annoy.


    It hurt, until I decided to wipe it from my thoughts. A temporary solution.


    I squinted, glancing at most gargantuan of the ships, the SS albatross, a steam powered behemoth in the distance. It was large, and sported a number of propellers, the ship rocking ever so slightly, the product of the churning waves. Almost as if proving the name, a number of seagulls circled the ship, their cries echoing across the peninsula.


    The SS Albatross...1,700 ft of modern ingenuity huh...I wonder if I''m far enough in time period to find the name cool.


    It''s named after a seagull, for some reason. Or is that a last name somewhere? I mean, it has a nice ring to it.


    I let out a scoff, leaning away from the cliffside, and crossing the intersection, headed towards Durary lane, up the winding street, which lead to a business square of sorts.


    A chess shop, a fortune teller, an apothecary, and a clock repair shop, all which seemed to be Japanese, with a British flare. The square was rustic, brick, and decorated with a variety of flower beds, its cobblestone floors and lanterns casting a sort of nostalgic air, with a familiarity I couldn''t quite grasp.


    Tucked away in a corner, beside all of this, building 8756, Madara Consultation Office. A quaint two story building, with the silhouette of a sparrow engraved onto its sign, which swayed in the wind, creaking at the hinges.


    I look a deep breath, the exhale that came after seeming to rid me of a weight on my shoulders.


    I found it. Finally.


    The Morning Glory inn was far in the distance, out of sight like a stain of shadow overlooking the scene, while the same clock tower that recorded my crime pierced through the clouds to the east, its pendulum swinging back and forth.


    I stared at the building, before pulling the ID out of my pocket, glancing at the address once more.


    Madara consultation office, building 8756 Dreary Lane...


    So Jun worked here...