ã€ŠHIKARIã€‹


 Chapter 1

    Time always slows at the very apex of a jump, stretching out with the height of your fall. Each jump, braver than the one before¡ªtime dilates more and more¡ªuntil it stops. It is at that moment your life flashes before your eyes¡ªwhere every single thing you¡¯ve ever regretted burns the brightest¡ªright before it all goes dark.

    Those moments always start with a step.

    Before they end with a leap of faith.

    ¡°Argh!¡±

    Fuck that hurt. Skewing it into a roll didn¡¯t do jack shit, either.

    ¡°Still kinda sloppy, kid.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, lying limbs splayed on the white and flat rooftop of the sugar-cube apartment. ¡°You get what you pay, for, Ji.¡±

    ¡°Aw, come on, Kumori,¡± Jiji says, his voice tinny through the comms device in my ear. ¡°Don¡¯t sell yourself short, kid.¡±

    Dusting off my scuffed elbows, I press myself to a stand.

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I say, staring at the sun that gave me no shadow. ¡°You¡¯re already doing that with the amount I¡¯m getting for this, kono-oyaji-yarou.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right. I¡¯m too generous. In fact, I stave off a few £¤ennies for calling me an old bastard.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget the fact that I kinda smushed the package, too.¡±

    ¡°You did what?!¡±

    Shit¡ªthis guy is too easy. I¡¯m barely able to stifle a laugh, let alone stop grinning.

    ¡°Come on, Jiji-san¡ªit¡¯s not my fault your block¡¯s designed by some skezzhead with a diploma. Damn place looks like a Mario level!¡±

    ¡°Kumori, I swear to God, if that package has¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just fucking messing with you, Ji. You take me for an amateur?¡±

    His breath crackles the comms. ¡°I¡¯m starting to wonder that myself.¡±

    ¡°Says the guy giving the microphone a blowjob.¡±

    ¡°Oh, sorry about that.¡±

    He blows hard into the microphone¡ªI rip out the earbud.

    ¡°Fuck sake, oyaji-yarou!¡±

    His cackling fades in and still continues even after I¡¯ve pressed the earbud back into my ear.

    ¡°Dude, what are you, ten years old?¡±

    ¡°Nah, just showcasing why the hell you ought¡¯a chip a cranial comms device.¡±

    ¡°Got it, Jiji. Will do it moment you¡¯ve paid me for this gig. Maybe I¡¯ll be able to afford an ear-lobe.¡±

    ¡°Ah, come on kid. Your value lies in the fact that you¡¯re not chipped.¡±

    ¡°Really now?¡±

    ¡°Sure. You¡¯re the economic option.¡±

    ¡°Just like the rest of your cyberware.¡±

    The fucking line flatlined.

    Roppongi midcasters. Easiest, loudest, and pettiest people Tokyo.

    The kind that loves to dish, but not to take. The kind that sees the inheritance of debt they¡¯re going to pass on to their next offspring as wealth. The kind that hates it when you shut them up with a reality check that relates to their cyberware, which they¡¯ve literally given an arm and a leg for.

    Fucking buyers remorse probably sending them crashing through the ten stages of grief, all because they¡¯re buying second hand ¡®creme-de-la-chrome¡¯ that¡¯s as reputable as my mom¡¯s parenthood.

    ¡°Funny,¡± he says with a droning and dry voice. ¡°See if you can keep up the humor when you get the delivery on time to the client.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Client¡¯s at the Tokyo National Art Center.¡±

    I look to the side of the sugar cube apartments, the tracks of the tram connecting the different districts

    ¡°You¡¯ve got about four minutes, take or give.¡±

    ¡°Oh, word?¡±

    ¡°Tokyo¡¯s Target¡¯s 15 minutes away.¡±

    ¡°Oh, word!¡±

    Hand goes for the comms¡ª

    ¡°One last thing, Kumori,¡±

    ¡ªbut stop millimeters shy of it.

    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°Next time you call me Jiji-san,¡± his voice got too damn confident, ¡°will be the last.¡±

    Really, Jiji? Now is suddenly the best time for this kind of pep talk?

    ¡°Got it?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I got¡ª¡±

    ¡°And fix your damn landings.¡±

    Click

    ¡°¡­ Ryokai, motherfucker.¡±

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    The wind combs through my hair, flowing it into an inverted white-tousled umbrella. The usual runner hair-do. Short, bobbed, and makes you look hella cute when it¡¯s done right. Looks like shit when I do it, but that¡¯s besides the point.

    Tokyo, Roppongi. The place where your midcaster hopes to rub shoulders with someone who¡¯s not neck-deep in debt trying to live the high life. The best place to be for that newly minted corpo who¡¯s scouting for their next entourage victim. Midcasters best bet when it comes to luxury. Cheap enough to bankrupt them three lineages, fancy enough to brag about it.

    Rondello smack dab in the middle anchored the whole vibe of the district.  Voxelated white sugar cube apartments with poppable panels that make a window, or if you wanna be fancy about it, trickle a few of them down with kuroko wires, and you¡¯ll have slivering stagehands making it look like it¡¯s falling apart. Just so you are getting a cube so fresh it¡¯s dripping. Or bleeding. Stack them together for an apartment - shish-kabob the stacks and you¡¯ve got a ¡®where does the mouth start and ass end¡¯ kind of deal.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Who knew voxelated cubes could look like a pixel nightmare.

    ¡°Six minutes left, Kumori.¡±

    Deep breath through the nose, eyes open on out. Roof ahead cutting dead.

    The shack of an AC-unit in front of me looks like the same box of fresh air Jiji-san had when we first met.

    It was a cold summers day, and I had leapt¡ªnay, soared like a fucking eagle¡ªand crash-landed into it. The damn thing had crumpled like it sponsored free-runner fall-insurance. I pace my steps to the momentum of its pipes¡ªleft foot, right foot on the rows¡ªcatch the ledge.

    Easy come, easy goes.

    ¡®Catch up to the future. Enhance your evolution¡¯,

    The usual PneuRes Lungs ad plays in the background¡ªwith speakers, no less¡ªas I run across the rooftop. Same AC-unit meets me as the one before. Guessing it¡¯s a neighborhood deal. Midcasters thinking they¡¯re pinching pennies, when in reality they¡¯re pinching a bigger hole in their pockets. Same deal with this one.

    Sprint, momentum fits the pipe¡ªone step¡ªtwo¡ªstep three¡ªand four.

    Kick off, and pitter-patter up the wall¡ªleft hand thrown, beckons the ledge¡ªslip.

    I shotgun my other hand, scatter-blasting the edge. Agony tazing through my tips deep to the marrow. Weight shifts the second I try to reach for a break with my left hand.

    This same old paradox again. Too slow and I¡¯ll lose the grip. Too fast and I¡¯ll rock-a-bye fuck-off to the ground. Taste of iron at the back of my throat, my whole body screaming bloody murder. Trying to pull myself up, the pull cramping down to my diaphragm. Should just let go. Why am I not just letting go? Because¡ªI¡¯ve done this before. A million times at least. With a final reach¡ªand I could feel the sweet mercy of a proper fucking grip. Easy come, easy go, right?

    Honestly, moments like this have a tendency of giving you a mortality-check. They make you realize how fucking fragile you really are. Especially if you¡¯re unchipped, like me. You can¡¯t just go by them and pull yourself up like it was another Tuesday, or else it will sow this parasitic seed that grows, and cultivates into this endless debate of self doubt and self sabotage.

    ¡®Is the ledge close enough?¡¯

    ¡®What if I don¡¯t jump high enough?¡¯

    It caps the knees of any runner. It breaks the will of a free man. So you need to thrive in the moment by hanging on, and feeling the echo of death trying to pull you down as your muscles tremble from panic and exhaustion. Feed the insecurities of your mind. Give them the free headspace to fucking compete until the different varying degrees of ¡®what ifs¡¯ and ¡®how ifs¡¯ blend into static. Finally, you turn around¡ªlook your maker in the fucking eyes - and hone in the fact that you¡¯re gonna keep on running by giving them the fucking middle fing¡ª

    ¡°Woah!¡±

    Nearly lost my grip there. I¡¯m really fucking high up, aren¡¯t I?

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    I pull myself up to the sudden warmth of the sun.

    Japan. One of the few countries in the world with clear, smog-less, sootless, filth-less sunsets. A love-letter from the government in the form of annihilating anything that blows cancer right into your lungs¡ªall so the country of the rising sun can also see it set.

    ¡°Kid? Sitrep. Kumori? Are you there¡ª¡±

    I take a deep breath.

    ¡°Two mins left, kid.¡±

    I exhale.

    No time to waste, I guess.

    Place is two streets away. Stuff in between is your typical shtick of trying to make motifs fit with one another. This street? Pixelated, snow-white cubes. The other? Architectural bismuth centipede nightmares. Stepping down and getting a cab is out of the question since, ¡®the roads have eyes!¡¯ according to the demented old bastard Jiji-san.

    So I¡¯ve got to settle for the monorail-track tunneling through the buildings seeing as it lead directly to the marks location.

    As long as I don¡¯t get run over by the tram¡ªwait, the tram!

    Usually that damn thing stops

    I could just hitch a fucking ride on the damn thing. Just gotta get past these four leveled rooftops¡ªwoah holy shit it¡¯s fast.

    It burned through the corner

    The moment it burned through the corner and hauled ass towards its next stop turn and twist in the distance just to haul ass towards a stop that was right at this block, I realized that jogging a steady pace wasn¡¯t much of an option since the fucking thing was in a damn hurry. Gotta go full blast if I want to catch up to it.

    ¡­ I mean, imagine that.

    A girl with no cyberware ¨C catching a speeding intercity monorail-tram.

    Should be impossible, right?

    Well, with a ¡®Gambare!! Kumori-ch¡ª¡¯

    Of course it¡¯s fucking impossible. But so is losing out on this gig, and potentially being out of a job.

    So, I blast into a full sprint, hitting the pavement so hard it feels like my bones might crack. The tram screams ahead of me, a metal banshee tearing through the city.

    I can easily land on the ceiling using an overlay over my vision which shows the correct trajectory of the tram, along with calculations of speed and momentum. Couple that with a degree in fucking physics and you¡¯ve got yourself a surefire deal of me getting on top of that thing¡ªsike!

    Got no tech, and no overlay.

    Got no degree, unless you count a diploma in guesswork.

    But I was almost there. Just three more steps¡ªichi-ni-san! And leap!

    ¡°GAH!¡±

    Agony exploded in my chest, stabbing like I¡¯d inhaled boiling caustic soda. I couldn¡¯t tell if I was screaming. The tram¡¯s clattering burst my hearing into a high-pitched daze¡ªsearing pain swallowing everything. Like a smoldering iron worm squirming in my lungs. I had fucking slammed the edge and rolled along.

    ¡°Ow.¡±

    Could really use those fucking PneurRes Lungs right about now. I try to sit up, fighting the air trying to strip my face of its skin as the tram careens into the rectangular shaped bismuthian structures. Within their dark bodies the colors shift like shades of oil in water¡ªuntil the interior lights up. A sudden burst of seizure-inducing colors emerged from the darkness of the rectangular-tunnel walls. The echo of high-pitched voices¡ªgiggly and relentlessly happy¡ªcomplimenting the abhorrent crying of the tram.

    The tram screeches¡ªand throws me to the front. It was braking. Hard.

    I twist¡ªsharp pain filling my mouth with blood¡ªclawing the ceiling for support¡ªnails fold and snap clean off. Fingers draw four lines of blood to the jovial arpeggio shrieks of the girls, their voices echoing like rats in a burning pot.

    Wish I¡¯d gone a different way. I wonder how mom¡¯s gonna take it. My little tama usagi is the only reason okaa-san is alive. Bet a £¤ennie okaa-san¡¯s gonna credit herself for the reason I¡¯m dead.

    ¡­ Which is fucking hilarious.

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    Fingers slip right into a slim vent, and I¡¯m holding on for dear fucking life. The painful stretch swells my cheeks full with blood, making me gag as the tram took its sweet-ass time to get to the fucking point. Should honestly just indulge in the extra boost of iron and swallow. I spit it out ¡®graffitiing¡¯ the tram.

    ¡°Fuck your ¡®clean and pristine¡¯.¡±

    Before the tram finally panspermed itself into my destination. The Tokyo National Art Center. The glass walls that emerge from the edges of the museum¡¯s double doors served as guardrails for the throng of ¡®connoisseurs¡¯ that were about to vomit out of this metal vomitorium. The hush and hiss of the tram doors declare them opening¡ª

    Shit. Expats. I can¡¯t let them see me. Not unless I want to attract the biggest fucking pity-party known to earth. Just hope they don¡¯t notice the tram looking like a used tampon up here. The voices die down eventually with the hissing and hushing of the closing tram doors. Slowly it rolls forward. Slowly, I roll off of it.

    ¡°Argh!¡±

    Heavily, I crash on the bridge like a dirty sports bag. I sure hope nobody fucking heard me. The wall-glass starts retracting, easing in the gentle lulling of a 40-meter high breeze that almost canters me into the sickest fucking free-fall I¡¯d ever have for the rest of my life¡ª

    ¡°Unauthorized Personnel are not to tread the docking bay area.¡±

    Holy fucking shit. Bitch almost made it a reality with her volume cranked up to eleven.

    ¡°Unauthorized Personnel are not to tread the docking bay area¡ª¡±

    ¡°Lady! I¡¯d be inside already if these damn doors weren¡¯t fucking ¡®open-upon-arrival¡¯!¡±

    Where the hell is the fucking mark? I should ping Jiji, but I can¡¯t. Ditched the comms unit during a patriotic moment a few paces back.

    ¡°Unauthorized Personnel are not to tread the docking¡ª¡±

    I smash my fists against the glass.

    ¡°Ah!! Ow!¡±

    This is so fucking ironic. Getting beaten by two inanimate objects in a single day. Wish I could give it another wallop. Maybe that way I¡¯d get¡ª

    ¡°There you are Kumori-san!¡±

    ¡ªhim¡­ to notice me.

    How long has this scophead been standing there? Bastard¡¯s looking around and behind himself like he¡¯s smuggling drugs.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Shit. Could barely talk without slurring.

    ¡°The hell you got in here?¡± I say swaying in a rhythm with the case I held up. ¡°Drugs?¡±

    Frantic fucker turning frantic-er tells me it definitely is.

    Don¡¯t get why the hell he won¡¯t just take the packaging though. Is he honestly expecting decorum right now? I mean kudos to the fuckheap for having the fucking balls for even insinuating that. Problem is that it¡¯s kinda hard keeping a straight and ¡®formal tone¡¯ when my whole ensemble of ¡®gutter punk shway¡¯ is blood laced.

    Maybe I misheard him though, considering I could barely hear him from the whining pitch in my ear. Fuck it. One step at a time, I guess.

    ¡°Konnichiwa¡ªKumori-desu. Douz-.. I mean¡ªhere you go, s-sir.¡±

    Now, to give a little bow ¨C like a fucking business-card trade-off. A good way to get noticed. Come on, girl. Just a little hunch. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and let yourself gently ease into a bow¡ª

    ¡°My goodness, child! Are you alright!?¡±

    ¡­ Presto.

    I opened my eyes to a world covered in fog that smeared whatever moved. Muffled sounds roiled and reverberated in an echoing staccato. There was a big dark red splotch on the black museum floor before me. The client seemed frantic ¨C especially since his arms and legs smeared his form into a standing snow-angel. Don¡¯t get what the deal is.

    He got the package.

    ¡­ He just¡­ Has to¡­ Ping Jiji.

 Chapter 2

    You deserve to look pretty, mama.

    ¡°Oh I don¡¯t know know, dear. It¡¯s¡­ Oh wow, it is way¡­ way too expensive.¡±

    She looked at the window, then back at her mother. Everything her mother wore always flowed on her like they belonged. Like it loved her.

    ¡°But it¡¯s so starry!¡± she says, her dough-brown eyes reflecting the sparkle of the black, galactic dress. ¡°Like the milky way galaxy, mama!¡±

    Her mother smiles, the plastic corners of her lips nearly cracking, before her eyes fall to her daughters.

    Her smile rubberbands back to nothing.

    ¡°¡­ Mama?¡±

    The girls mother ushers a soft tuft, words fizzling out into a soft whisper of a hiss as her eyes stare a thousand miles beyond her daughter. They linger, searching for something in the sudden vacancy of thoughts, before she closes her eyes, and opens them down at her daughter with a smile that made the cold winter night bearable.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that mean¡­ you would have more than one Kira?¡±

    The girl giggles.

    ¡°More mama!¡±

    She kneels to her daughters height, her white-puffed edge coat splitting in the middle. She wore dark, translucent stockings with wide unevenly placed rips that had been patched over. She reached her hands above her daughters shoulders, her fingertips curdling ever so gently. She pulls her daughter in, the hesitation trembling her slow and methodical embrace into an imbalanced stagger. Her daughter, on the other hand, had closed her eyes already, and lulled herself into her mama¡¯s caressing warmth.

    The girl felt the uneven rise and fall of her mothers chest. She could hear her mothers shuddered, and uneven breath. She knew mama wasn¡¯t cold, thanks to that beautiful coat she wore. Mama¡¯s fists balled on the girls back, arms shaking, the embrace tightening. Then she felt it¡ªthe warmth of her mothers breathing past her hair to her scalp. With a soft click, she felt her mothers lips part, before resting back on her daughters hair. The girl peers up, and saw the snowflakes that pittered her mothers brown robe with white, glittering specks.

    ¡°My galaxy, mama.¡± she said, her unevenly grown teeth giving her a jagged grin.

    Her mother¡¯s head rises, her red-cracked eyes teeming.

    She smiles.

    ¡°You are the only reason I am still alive.¡±

    ***

    ¡°There you are sweetie.¡±

    The darkness didn¡¯t let me see who spoke. The headache¡ªas if my brainstem¡¯s being pulled down by my clenching jaw muscles¡ªsends electric arcs across the darkness.

    There¡¯s a warm touch on my cheek.

    ¡°Would you like something to eat? Something to drink?¡±

    ¡°W¡ªwater.¡±

    I heard the shuffling of feet growing more distant, before becoming silent. Tried to open my eyes, but they seemed glued shut with gunk. Couldn¡¯t rub it off either. Sleep paralysis making it hard. At least the cackling witch riding my ass wasn¡¯t here to drink my spinal fluid this time.

    I pry open my eyes, barely pulling them ajar, light bleeding through my crusty lashes, sunlight cracking into sharp, gleaming glints. The dryness turning my sights opaque like grease on paper. It stings, but I couldn¡¯t reach up to scrub it off. So I squint, squeezing the grime out, before opening my eyes to gunk strands. I squint again, squeezing them harder, before opening them up to the blinds of the panoramic window splitting the sun into thin beams that illuminated the tingling little dust motes. They stretched across the longside of the room like translucent fluorescent light boards that slowly trailed upwards with the setting sun. They cross the closets golden door handle, sending the beams straight to my corneas¡ªlike a sundial at ¡®fuck-you¡¯o¡¯clock. The light slowly trails, before shutting lower-eyelid-up, as the sun sets.

    My tongue nearly cracked from the thirst, and I could taste the salt from the fissures of my dry-cracked tongue. How long is that fucking lady going to be now? Where is my fucking water?

    ¡°Here you go, sweetheart.¡±

    It was dark yet again, obscuring whoever the voice belonged to.

    ¡°One moment,¡±

    Click¡ªa searing blindness forces me to squint shut, the pain nearly rupturing my eyes.

    ¡°Forgot to turn on the light.¡±

    It takes a moment before I can see a lady clad in green pajamas holding a closed bottle before me. Brand hidden by her hand. Not that it mattered, really since I couldn¡¯t exactly take it from her to inspect it.

    ¡°Sorry. Couldn¡¯t find the chip for the vending machine.¡±

    Bottle remained exactly where the lady held it. Made no efforts prop it up to me. Plus, even if she did¡ªthe fucking cap was still on.

    ¡°P¡­ please¡­¡± my shout pisses into hissy whispers. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ thirsty.¡±

    ¡°Gambare îBˆ¤ì, Kumori-chan. You can do it.¡±

    She guides my arms before molding my fingers around the bottle.

    ¡°Gambare îBˆ¤ì, Kumori-chan. You can do it.¡± she says before she lets go.

    My arms might as well be held aloft by a scaffolding with parkinsons. The water, swirling, shaking and stirring all at once in the bottle, the cap being the only thing keeping it from spilling.

    Seemed to be good enough for the lady, as she reaches in and unscrews the cap.

    ¡°Slowly now,¡± she says, motioning her hands like a fucking aircraft marshal. My arms push and pull at once as I try to keep it steady. Bottles mouth nearly meets mine¡ªbut the scaffolding fucking breaks, the water see-sawing allover my lap¡ªbut the nurse catches me.

    The drink washes away the chalk from my tongue and throat. It was glorious, until I ended up choking and coughing.

    Eugh¡­ Mizuhana.

    I barely had time to meet the ladies eyes, when suddenly she reaches for my legs.

    Muscles suddenly cramp into solid steel, the aggrevating tension increasing density until I can feel my muscles snapping like braided overburdened steel wires.

    ¡°Ah, s-stop!¡±

    She glasps, grasps, and clamps¡ªher grip shearing the bristles of my bone. I feel the marrow squirming out¡ªwhen suddenly she spikes the underside of my foot with her knuckle. My arms surge reflexively to slam her fucking hands away, sending my water straight to the fucking ground.

    ¡°D-don¡¯t fucking¡­ touch¡­ me!!¡±

    Nearly decked her¡ªshe barely dodged the swing. She¡¯s sporting the look of an otaku that¡¯s denied the attention of his favorite fucking idol. Damn arms lethal despite being dead weight. Try me when they¡¯re not, bitch.

    ¡°¡­ I am sorry, but it was necessary, Kumori-chan.¡±

    She slowly picks up the bottle.

    ¡°Try moving your feet.¡±

    ¡°W¡­what!?¡±

    ¡°Try to see if you can move your feet.¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    No way I¡¯m breaking sights with her. Arms were limp before¡ªbut now they¡¯ve got that sting and tingle, meaning she¡¯s one wrong move from finding out what happens when these hands clock in.

    ¡°Go ahead,¡± she says, glancing at my legs, then at me.

    You daring me, lady?

    She¡¯s still smiling. As if she thinks I¡¯m this fucking dumb to take the bait¡ª

    ¡­ My toes are moving again.

    ¡°Is that a little smile I see, Kumo-chan?¡±

    Shit¡ªI was caught up with my feet fucking working again that I didn¡¯t realize how close rain girl had suddenly gotten. I inch away¡ªonly way to get the distance for to land a good one. But she just got closer, holding a piece of paper¡ª

    ¡°N-no, no, please¡ªwait, why are you¡ª¡°

    ¡ªwhich she wipes my cheek with.

    Then my eyes. Then my chin. She cups my cheek, her finger tips a tufty tickle that didn¡¯t itch, her thumb kneading soft circles.

    ¡°I know it¡¯s painful, sweetie.¡± she says, dabbing the handkerchief underneath my eye. ¡°But it was the only way to get the circulation going.¡±

    My legs felt warm. I don¡¯t know why it¡¯s such a big deal. But shit, it¡¯s as if she fucking pulled them back to life. And I was about to fucking deck her for it. I try to look at her, but all I¡¯m given is a church-glass blur. So I close my eyes, lean into her hand. And I feel my body weighing against the bed again.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, kangofu-chan.¡±

    The light blares red onto my closed lids. I don¡¯t know if she pulled me in or if I dug my face into her embrace¡ªbut it blocked out the light at least.

    I don¡¯t understand.

    I don¡¯t know who this lady is. I don¡¯t know why she¡¯s caressing my shoulder. I don¡¯t know why I don¡¯t want her to stop, even if I couldn¡¯t breathe. The slung weight of my body turned to weightless foam, the same sensation I get between jumps.

    I wish this moment lasted forever.

    ***

    The door slides up, weight weight draping wet coats over my body again.

    ¡°Hikari, Kumori.¡± It¡¯s the doctor. ¡°Fractured ribs. Punctured lungs. Extensive blood loss¡­¡±

    He walks in, door hushes shut behind him. Buckling his knees, a chair floats from underneath my bed to prop into a seat as he floats to me. The nurse gives a curt bow, and he returns it with a dimpled smirk, before she leaves.

    Moment the nurse left he radiod in on me all shifty-eyed, Sherlock Holmes in a white coat. Then Mr. Holmes fucking peek-a-boos me.

    ¡°Peek-a-fuck-you too, doc.¡±

    ¡°There you are!¡± he said, as he pointed at my face. ¡°A cute blush with that cute smile, Kumo-chan!¡±

    Hands teflexively shot to cover my face¡ªribs stop me mid-way. Thought the pain had gone.

    ¡°Woah! Bone-meds haven¡¯t fully developed in your system yet,¡± he says, carefully guiding me and my hands against the bedrest. Good cardio on him. Heart¡¯s beating slow. Selling that hotshot, main star of the ER role.

    ¡°Heartrate¡¯s a bit high¡± he said as he noticed it on the ¡®digital panel footboard¡¯ to my bed. ¡°Can¡¯t say I blame you, though.¡±

    He throws his sparkling white grin at me.

    ¡°¡­ he said to a 14 year old girl?¡±

    Boom, lips fold like a noosed bag. Bye-bye, sparkleshine.

    ¡°Guilty as charged,¡± he said, shutterblinds wrinkles forming on his forehead from his raised brows.

    ¡°Rather stick to boy bands and idols, doc.¡±

    Got him cracking up again. Even his fucking crows feet glimmer when he laughs.

    ¡°ICE-contact says here,¡± he says as he slowly breathes in through his teeth. ¡°Hikari, Kira.¡±

    He looks up at me with this pensive yet apprehensive look. Makes sense the fucker felt awkward. Don¡¯t remember giving them moms name. Never told them I was homeless, either.

    ¡°Cool.¡± I say, which will hopefully be enough.

    He nods, each bob of his head a note of thought. He sways to the foot-end and pulls out nothing to hold in front of himself. At least nothing I could see. Judging by the glimmering azure from his eyes, he was reading an AR chart.

    ¡°Yo,¡± he whistles lowly. ¡°Got quite a rap sheet here with us, Hikari Kumori.¡±

    He looks at me past the nothing rectangle, his face already showing him the answer.

    ¡°You sure you can¡¯t break moms heart just a little bit at least?¡±

    ¡°What, and have Mama know her Tama Usagi isn¡¯t as lucky as she thinks?¡±

    ¡°Think mama¡¯d rather have her ¡®Tama Usagi¡¯ back home alive.¡±

    I wave my hand dismissively¡ªrealizing I can move my arms again.

    ¡°Trust me on this one, doc,¡± I say, holding a beat, then taking a breath. ¡°Last thing mom needs is another existential crisis to choke on.¡±

    The moment lingered. The doc, having nothing more to add, just looks at me, but he was absent. Probably rummaging through the wrinkles of his brain, trying to figure out how to get through to this ¡®lost cause¡¯ he¡¯s looking at.

    And I? Well, I stared back. Rummaging through fuck-all. The moon-light rows from the blinds fade into orange beams. The soft night dissipates, and the room is bathed in the warm light from the rising sun.

    ¡°Kumori.¡±

    I look at the Doctor.

    ¡°I wish I could say, ¡®I hope to never see you here again¡¯.¡±

    He stops for a beat, takes a deep breath¡ªeyes reddening. Sure knows how to make a gal lucky.

    ¡°Oh stop. You¡¯ll make me blush¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious, Kumori.¡±

    We remain quiet another beat. As in ¡®bad vibes¡¯ quiet.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you do it, whatever it is that you do. But know that everytime you come back here¡­ you always end up looking worse off than before.¡±

    I scoff loudly and he slowly shakes his head.

    ¡°We¡¯re skilled, no doubt, and the free healthcare for children undoubtedly is to your favor.¡±

    He rises, hoverchair archs down and under the bed, and walks to the window.

    ¡°But this time, Kumori? Considering the states you¡¯ve been in previously.¡±

    Teeth barely clenching, a mere gap where he drew short, pausing breaths.

    ¡°Kira Hikari does not know,¡± he says, voice running through the words with a tremble. ¡°What strong will exists within you.¡±

    His steps are slow as he walks to my bedside again. He leans in. His eyes reddening by the moment, but spilling no tears.

    ¡°Do not let her be the reason for that will to extinguish.¡±

    Does he really have to get this fucking dramatic about it all?

    ¡°So, no more battering myself up is what you¡¯re trying to say?¡±

    He cracks a smile.

    ¡°¡­ If it¡¯s not too much to ask.¡±

    His smile was feeble. Looked like he was trying to joke, but just couldn¡¯t. He pulls a napkin from its box and offers it to me. I look at it. Then at him. He carefully dabs my eyes with it.

    ¡°You know I can do it myself, right?¡± I say, raising my hands to showcase.

    He stops dabbing, before throwing it in the trash with a smile. Pulling out a new one, he offers it to me¡ªI wave a no¡ªso he pockets it.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t take this the wrong way,¡± he says, his eyes pacing to the ceiling after a slow blink. ¡°But out of all patients,¡± he scoffs and grins. ¡°You¡¯re the only one I am afraid of letting go.¡±

    ¡°Keeping a tally with the nurse, huh?¡±

    He grins, his gaze longing for something more than just a stifled laughter. He finally gives in¡ªa snort-chuckle¡ªthat hushed into nothing. He shakes his head, before walking over to my footboard with bated steps. My hoodie was lying on the footboard bench. He grabs it, before slowly unfolding it¡ªsights landing on the rabbit ears Kira had sutured on the hoodie¡¯s hem.

    He slowly shakes his head before exhaling a hushed breath.

    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t get this sentimental about you.¡± he says, scoffing, and grinning widely. ¡°You¡¯re not even my kid.¡±

    He takes the rest of my clothes off of the footboard bench, and walks back to my bedside and places them there. I glance at them, then up at him. He¡¯s looking at the heart rate monitor, his faded eyes wrung dry of life.

    ¡°The pills seem to have done their usual wonder,¡± he murmurs, before his eyes glow again. ¡°All systems nominal. Bones back in place. Lungs sealed. Hemodynamic stability holding. Hemoglobin and hematocrit within range.¡±

    With a deep breath, he looks at me, his brows pressing onto his blood-cracked eyes. His twitching lips can¡¯t decide whether to smile or mope¡ªdribbling between whatever emotional firewalls he thinks I¡¯ve shot up.

    ¡°Freshly cleaned, freshly pressed, neatly folded¡ªnurse Kanoko delivering the special treatment for you, kid.¡± he says, glancing at the folded clothes on my bedside.

    ¡°Sure,¡± I say, tugging them closer to myself. ¡°Just like when she folded my fucking legs.¡±

    He snorts, shaking his head with yet another grin before avoiding my gaze. Instead, his eyes linger on the rain-blurred, featureless skyscrapers beyond the panoramic window. The drumming of the downpour, the shape of the droplets, the daft lighting of the room¡ªit was probably as much of a respite for him as it was for me.

    He swallows, Adam¡¯s apple bobbing taut before lowering his gaze.

    ¡°You¡¯re clear for checking out, kid.¡±

    He remains quiet for a while longer, before he almost faces me with a smirk. ¡°You can stay for as long as you need¡ªwell, at least until other patients need the room.¡±

    He presses off the bed and heads for the door, which hushes up, then down, sealing him out. He hadn¡¯t even bothered to remove the heartrate monitor tags on me, the tone of the machine still as stable.

    I didn¡¯t mind it, I guess. There was a cadence to it that fit the raindrops.

 Chapter 3

    A marble floor meets me the moment I step outside the hospital. Polished with a sanitized perfection that finally gets that extra percentage from the 99-boasters, it even reflects the featureless tombstone-skyscrapers that stand a twenty-meter arms-length from the hospital. Faces blank, as if they¡¯re hellbent on looking like dead stones, staring at nothing and everything at once.

    Bet their lack of windows is remedied with the bullshit ¡®one-way-video-feed¡¯ Iike those I¡¯ve seen inside of patrol vehicles. Corpo paranoia paying off in the form of complete isolation. Just so those inside can feel safe while witnessing the stillborn beauty of their district.

    Looking down, I could see myself. Tama Usagi. Moms lucky white rabbit.

    Bitch could¡¯ve been more creative. Instead, she went and lowkey dissed my look by nicking me after a fucking albino rabbit from Japanese folklore. Guess she didn¡¯t go far for inspiration. Got white hair, sure. Missing the bloodshots. One out of two¡ªclose, but no cigar, Kira.

    Never noticed it until now, but the monolithic skyscrapers, and these marble tiles¡­ As if you¡¯re leaving purgatory and stepping on the clouds before the pearly gates. That¡¯s gotta be good PR.

    ¡®Welcome to heaven! Hopefully! Guess you¡¯ll find out once we call the ToD.¡¯

    Moment they zap you back to life, though? Back to purgatory you go. Sorry we couldn¡¯t repair your plastic arm or leg. Next time, just die instead.

    Honestly, what is the deal with these scrapers? They have that ¡®brutalistic finesse¡¯ tapped straight from the motherland. I walk closer up to them and it¡¯s the same dark-purple grey wall promises it¡¯ll look like this forever. Maybe it¡¯s in the details, like an eye-exam done right up to the board¡­ Wait¡­

    ¡®Brought to you by HypoVision¡¯.

    An AR-wall.

    ¥Û¥ó¥È¤Ë¥Ó¥å©`¥Æ¥£¥Õ¥ë (Hontoni By¨±tifuru) shit for the clankers with digital eyes. Slavic treatment for the rest of us.

    Screw it, gotta get back to Jiji-san for my payment. Looking to the right and I see nothing but unwalked sidewalks. To the left, the hospital. Up the wall? My fucking nerves for not being able to remember where his crib is at ground level. Can¡¯t get a grip on the panels in front of me to chimney, since they were as wide as a closed car-door.

    ¡­ Wouldn¡¯t hurt to try. I squeeze my fingers between them¡ªand immediately pull out, blood trickle trailing down.

    ¡°¡­ It apparently hurt to try.¡±

    Folded a thousand times to fuck you up if you ever try to finger the building. I head towards the empty street, the pavement feeling good under my feet. Hope that¡¯s not a sign of my early retirement. Honestly, it could be that it just feels good that I can actually walk again. Moment the roads split, I see civilization to the left, and the police department to the right (no doubt protecting that civilization to the left).

    So we most definitely go left.

    I¡¯m met with a district that¡¯s shaped after a music wave. Damn if it didn¡¯t look tacky. Damn it if didn¡¯t fucking look brilliant. Panels with bendable surfaces basked the district with their warm light-motifs. A slow RGB-flow color-change on the seamlessly molded walls. The structure was whole. Nothing splitting one apartment from the other - just simply ¡®whatever fucking vibe you went for¡¯.

    ¡°Woah¡­¡±

    To think ganics get a treat every now and then. The way the light blooms through the dark glass¡ªlike it wants me to take a bite. It¡¯s so subtle, doesn¡¯t hurt the eyes, yet is so starkly visible. Holy crap it even uses the smallest pixels. How the hell is this behind purgatory!?

    ¡°And they say perfectionism kills¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­ Well it leads to a raised suicide rate.¡±

    Slicked-back blonde, flashing drilled-in canines. Vampire-cosplayer, or a fucking kid with a complex.

    ¡°Gotta say, girl. Don¡¯t know if I dig the granny-look. The fuck¡¯s up with the white do?¡±

    Run down, loose tie. Chest not having a single peck to it, as seen by the unbuttoned shirt to a v-ring.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± don¡¯t even know why the hell I¡¯m giving them the time of day. ¡°Getting tired of putting up with prep-punks who gang up on ganics for an easy kill.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s feisty!¡± the second fella chimes in. ¡°Who¡¯d you steal the hoodie from, chica?¡±

    ¡°Your mom.¡±

    Easiest fucking come back ever, always gets preppy fucking kids like him.

    ¡°The fuck you say about my moms, esse?!¡±

    Holy fuck. All of them are Japanese.

    ¡°You took a nosedive in cultural appropriation, chico? Or you that ashamed of being the sad scop of your family?¡±

    He growls. Momma¡¯s the one beating the shit out of them. Dad¡¯s off at work legally fucking a prostitute because, ¡®there are no emotions involved!¡¯

    So when you isult her, it¡¯s as if the strongest thing they know is being destroyed.

    Can¡¯t have that, now can we.

    ¡°Bro! Bro, bro, bro!¡± he fucking orates like an ape. ¡°She¡¯s totally chipped the fuck out! Why else would she bark like a bitch!?¡±

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°Because I can fuck you up even if I¡¯m not.¡±

    The three of them all stare at once.

    ¡°HA-HA-HA!¡± the three of them all laugh at once¡ª

    SNAP¡ªa chilling numbness surges through my face¡ªpulsating ache, ears ringing. A fucking snap-dashing cheap-shot piece of shit.

    ¡°Yeah, pimpslapped you,¡± blondie says. ¡°Learn your manners, rat.¡±

    Blood spit, and a grin.

    ¡°Shit, might need another good whack to get the deets down. Mind¡ª¡±

    Heard the snap¡ªnot up all the way yet.

    Intentional.

    My whole fucking being tremored as his diaphragm almost punctures against my well-aimed fist. Don¡¯t need to see the fucker if you can tell where he¡¯s going to end up.

    His eyes - those beautiful little baby-blue-blots¡­ actually bloodshot.

    ¡°More ¡®ganic than you¡¯d like to be, eh b¨­ya!?¡±

    Heave the fucker off, surging the rest of whatever the fuck he had in his lungs out in a wheeze.

    He¡¯s reeling on the ground, and friend pops a whip out of his index.

    ¡°Seriously? You¡¯re actually going to¡ªAIIE!¡±

    Whip-cracked me. Piece of shit.

    ¡°Seriously, esse!?¡± I culturally appropriate back to him.

    He slurs a grin, somehow, before he whips at me¡ªcrack!

    It instantly wraps and spins around my arm. It fucking burns and hurts like hell¡ª

    ¡°S-shit! Let go!¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    Instead, I pull.

    ¡°W-woah, what the fu¡ª¡±

    And heave, and pull, and the fucking ape shrieks¡ª

    ¡°S-Stop! Let go you fucking cyberpsycho-bitch!¡±

    With one more pull, we¡¯re face to face. Hell, we¡¯re nose to nose.

    ¡°¡­ Romantic, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    He blushes.

    I crack his nose with a headbutt, blood trickling from my forehead because of his fucking clankiness.

    ¡°G-guys!¡± It¡¯s the fucking wizkid of the bunch. ¡°We ought to perhaps be a bit more tender with her?!¡±

    Glasses as thick as his hindsight.

    ¡°Ora! Come at me, b¨­ya!!¡±

    Arms out, fucking ¡®ganic gladiatress. Bask in my fucking gutterpunkness, you fucking¡ª

    Get a hand on my fucking shoulder. Head down, duck, backing off. Arms raised, ready to fucking knock you out¡ª

    ¡°Heard you stirring up quite a ruckus here.¡±

    Oh no.

    A permanent dress-vest, etched straight into his shirt. Sleeves blend into his gloves¡ªnothing textile, all tactical. Bulletproof.

    It¡¯s a fucking Civvie.

    Midfuckers probably snitched on me. I hear them scampering away, but can¡¯t take my eyes off the Civvy.

    ¡°What¡¯s it to you, ¥µ¥Ä¤ä¤í¤¦ (Satsuyarou)?¡±

    His eyes shimmered copfuck blue, before dullying.

    ¡°The iron in my blood might pop up as cyberware.¡± I say, taking two steps back, shoulders raised, elbows tucked, looking like the biggest fucking fool on earth.

    He snickers, as he kneels, despite me being 164cm.

    ¡°Got a report of a little run-away runt.¡±

    ¡°Cool.¡±

    He rises and just fucking laughs.

    ¡°Kinda short on my bagging quota¡­¡±

    Bridge crossing the high way, a quick sprint ontop and he won¡¯t dare to fire a single PulpRocket. If he does, he¡¯ll raze the bridge crossing the underpass highway, just for a kill. Alleyway behind the ¡®waves¡¯ could net me the same protection¡ªI just have to be anywhere but fucking out here where there¡¯s nothing stopping him except for the glare of the sun.

    It all starts with a step, and then fucking freezing on the spot. The way his hair, buzzed on the sides, slicked back in an off-lefted wave, bely his vacant fucking stare. Who the fuck sports black-eyeballs with demon-blue-pupils as a cop?

    No point in negotiating.

    I jack my heel to the ground¡ªhe catches my arm mid-spin, and pulls me back.

    I stare him right in the fucking eyes, and he stares right back. No. Fucker just looks right back. Shit, he isn¡¯t even a part of this standoff, is he?

    His hand goes past his gun on the hip for a white pouch.

    Oh fuck no.

    This psychopath¡¯s gonna wrap me up in a COSY.

    Gotta get the fuck out of here.

    ¡°Hey!¡± I get his attention. ¡°This guy¡¯s trying to COSY a high-schooler!¡±

    Two connotations. One fucking reaction - surprised confusion.

    I twist, despite his deadlock. Heel surged to skewer him on the inner thigh¡ªCivvie-weak spot. Didn¡¯t release yet, so we give it another proper press.

    Still nothing, so we fucking stand, air-planking with my leg on that fucking artery, which that asshole Jiji-san told me would be a surefire way of fucking getting them to¡ª

    ¡°You¡¯re doing it wrong, kid.¡±

    I body-check the fucking ground as he lets go.

    ¡°¡­ Urgh.¡±

    ¡°Foot one on the side of the cap, the other on the artery. Ain¡¯t rocket science.¡±

    How the fuck does he know that?

    I turn, ignoring the blood trickling from my nose.

    ¡°How the fu¡ª¡±

    He¡¯s offering something to me that has three golden teeth peeking out of the dark blue, gold-latticed body.

    Credchip. A.k.a, undigitized £¤endo.

    ¡­ Given to me by a civvie.

    ¡°Nice fake you¡¯ve got there.¡±

    He rolls his eyes before he juts it to me again.

    ¡°It¡¯s your payment, kid.¡±

    Heard that one before.

    These fucks know ¡®ganics do off-hand jobs that clankers can¡¯t because their bucketware screams ¡®I¡¯m a fucking microwave oven!¡¯ wherever they go.

    ¡°No idea what you¡¯re talking about.¡±

    He sighs, shaking his head.

    ¡°Next time, maybe you want to actually sit inside of the tram, rather than be on it.¡±

    ¡­ Wait a fucking minute.

    ¡°Motherfucker¡­ Jiji?¡±

    ¡°Hey,¡± he says, pointing and smirking. ¡°Told you not to call me that.¡±

    ¡°Jiji!¡± I burpee up. ¡°Fucking crusty-ass Oyaji-geezer-yarou! You¡¯re a Civvie!?¡±

    Can¡¯t fucking believe it!

    ¡°Feds shoved your old body in a blender, huh?! Tell me, which fast-food joint do I gotta avoid?¡±

    He rolls his eyes.

    ¡°Your favorite ones.¡±

    ¡°Oh no! Not K¨­gozen!¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± he says, arms crossing and nose raised to look down upon me. ¡°As if you¡¯ve ever dined there.¡±

    ¡°Hey, a girl can dream, right?¡±

    He brims his narrowed eyes with a sharp blue glow¡ªtwin blue suns against the darkness of space.

    ¡°¡­ Of eating the liquid-remains of an old persons body?¡±

    ¡°Just drown it in food oil¡ªcan¡¯t tell the difference then.¡±

    He rolls his eyes with a little itty-bitty sigh.

    ¡°Look, kid. You¡¯re coming with me.¡±

    He reaches for me¡ªI pop a step back.

    ¡°Fuck no!¡± Shoulders and fists level to my cheeks. ¡°Hontoni bakadane! Ain¡¯t getting your quota without a fight¡ª!¡±

    No, wait¡ªthat means he¡¯ll get it

    ¡°I-I mean¡ªat all!¡±

    He plants his hands on his hips, as he looks around with exasperation. Guess homeboy doesn¡¯t like it when others see him duking it out with a kid.

    ¡°Don¡¯t even think of using the fucking COS!¡±

    He widens his eyes, a baffled glare trunching his brows.

    ¡°You mean this bloody thing?¡±

    He shows the white pouch from before.

    ¡°It¡¯s not a goddamn cozy-wrap. It¡¯s just the pouch I held your credchip in.¡±

    ¡°Until you click it up and fucking instantly mummify me¡ªAIIE!¡±

    The pouch thuds on me and makes me showcase just how much the human body can look like an overcharged Tesla coil when freaking the fuck out. Jiji bursts into cackles, face turning fucking red. Didn¡¯t think Civvies had any blood to blush with.

    ¡°Damn it, kid!¡± he says, barely recovering, apparently. ¡°You bodied a fucking tram, but a COS:y is where your grit draws the line?¡±

    I slowly shake my head, narrowing my eyes on him.

    ¡°Yeah, well,¡± I deadlock his eyes. ¡°A tram doesn¡¯t lie about killing you.¡±

    His smile suddenly fizzled, twitches of hesitation drowning it to a frown. Lips parted, but only a dry whisper ushers out. He folds his arms, looking like he¡¯s giving himself a self-hug moping his face to the ground, before lets go the breath he didn¡¯t realize he was holding with a breath. shakes his head with a breath.

    ¡°Look, Kumori, we¡¯ve got to talk.¡±

    ¡°¡­ About what?¡±

    ¡°Not here,¡± he says, as he clicks his thumb.

    The loud glory of a howling funnel thruster orates its presence from above, before it whiplashes me with its tempest, stretching my hair by the roots from the force. When it all stopped, I looked again from my cowering stance, and saw a hover-craft.

    Aapproaching the mirror-tinted windows, I could see my hair still standing, so I pat it down. The door opens, and a staircase clicks like clockwork, one step rolling in front of the other.

    They literally looked like golden chocolate bars.

    ¡°After you, kid.¡±

 Chapter 4

    Jiji¡¯s Mimosa Table. Sitting between the front and back facing seats. Pamphlets advertising the different transmission-fluid cocktails these clanks drunk.

    Sake, vodka, rum.

    The usual alcoholic beverages, I guess.

    What a beaut it is, though. Like its daring you to ask why it¡¯s a drop-shaped wooden statue that drips up with a ¡®fuck you¡¯ to gravity.

    ¡°GRR! Underage matrons are not to be served alcohol beverages¡ª¡±

    Shit!

    Jiji¡¯s glaring shifty-eyed daggers at me. Damn rear view mirrors!

    ¡°Don¡¯t fault a girl for trying ¡­¡± I say, sheepishly sheeping into my chair.

    He rolls his eyes before looking ahead.

    I guess reading those pamphlets is my only way to kill time.

    So, I crumple one., and I wonder how many can I throw at him before he reacts?

    ¡°You want me to crash this plane?¡±

    Damn rear-view mirrors. I slowly lower the pamphlet projectile.

    ¡°It¡¯s not every day you get to see the city this high up. Why not take a look¡ª¡±

    Holy fucking shit the madman opened up the fucking floor, is he out of his mind¡ªoh. One-way floor-monitors. Crustiest of geezer flash-ware¡ªwoah.

    The buildings are speckless mirrors. The cars driving upon the black glass arteries of Tokyo¡¯s highway glow a creamy chromatic of peach, pink and blue from the braggers. A dark speck blasting full brights from the laggers. We were so high up that no amount of squinting could tell me the brands. Towers shaped like bone cabinets, or cola-dark blocks that are drowning a glowing mascot, or product.

    ¡°That¡¯s so ¡­ pretty.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Jiji says. ¡°Especially for you, kid.¡±

    I look up at him at him.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    He glances up at the mirror to meet my eyes.

    ¡°You get the corpo-preem treatment.¡±

    I mean it looks really fucking cool, with the floor open and all that, but to call this preem?

    ¡°You know what I see when I look down there?¡±

    My eyes land on an adorably grumpy scraper¡ªits body curved into an upside-down U, two blocky ¡®eyebrows¡¯ locked in a frown.

    ¡°A  workplace, I guess?¡±

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    He¡¯s quiet for a beat, and I see his eyes scanning the face of Tokyo.

    ¡°Wish I could see that. Sounded  cute.¡±

    I try stand slightly to point down to the right, but the belt holds me down.

    ¡°Right there, Ji! Look! Crank those eyes up, oyaji-yarou! The building that looks like it¡¯s frowning.¡±

    He takes a deep breath before he looks ahead again.

    ¡°Not according to my eyes.¡±

    ¡°Dude, like¡­ look sorta below-right of you. Can¡¯t miss it. Buildings around it looking like cabinets.¡±

    ¡°I see whales.¡± he says, a soft smile in the rear view mirror.

    ¡°The city, or the animal?¡± I say, no beats missed.

    ¡°¡­ You mean the country?¡± he says, eyebrow raised like a smug a-hole.

    ¡°How the fuck can you see a country down there?¡±

    ¡°No, I mean¡ª.¡±

    That¡¯s on Jiji for thinking I¡¯m fucking dumb.

    ¡°No, Kumori. I hear a whale crooning,¡± he says, slowly looking over his shoulder at me. ¡°It¡¯s whale song¡¯s about ¡®¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    He nods as he turns forward again.

    ¡°Brag-ware claiming it can reach frequencies that not even ¡®whales can¡¯.¡±

    ¡°You mean¡­ ?¡±

    He snores a slurp from his mimosa-ware. ¡°Adware targeted at me.¡±

    ¡°Designed for the crustiest .¡±

    He snort-spat his drink with a grin.

    ¡°It¡¯s strange how I hear the least expected things coming from you,¡± he says, looking ahead again. ¡°Thought you said moms couldn¡¯t foot the bill for school.¡±

    I roll my eyes.

    ¡°School¡¯s free in Japan, Ji. Even the ¡®fancy¡¯ ones. Just based on proximity.¡±

    ¡°And they all are way past yours?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    Getting off the pilots chair, he takes a seat before Jiji¡¯s Mimosa Table. Knocking on wood, a glass pops down from the three prongs spewing into it. He takes his drink.

    ¡°I see.¡±

    Bet you see through me to the marrow with your adware oculars.

    ¡°Kira, the dear light of the Hikari family,¡± he says, taking a sip. ¡°A  who needs her own daughter to look after¡ª¡±

    Crumple-ball thrown, strikes him right in the eye. He didn¡¯t flinch. Killed his smug smile though.

    ¡°About your employment, Kumori.¡±

    I look away, arms crossed. Jiji knowing about moms tells me one thing¡ªshe¡¯s fucking  up with him, and this fucker probably thinks he¡¯s gonna get all fatherly with me about it. He tries to catch my eyes. See it at the corner of my eye.

    ¡°Kid¡­ the last gig you done traumatized the client.¡±

    Oh this is just one of the richest fucking things he could have ever told me. I scoff, shake my head at the damn notion of an artsy fucker getting icky over some gruff delivery.

    ¡°Got it to him in time, though.¡±

    ¡°Of course you did. You had an hour to deliver something that was 15 minutes away.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit,¡± I say snickering as I look at him. ¡°If that¡¯d be the case¡ª¡±

    ¡°Kid¡ªyou said you needed to warm up¡ªand that took you about half an hour to complete.¡±

    He sets the drink on the table.

    ¡°Afterwards? You landed right outside of my damn house¡ª¡°

    ¡°Cube.¡±

    ¡°Whatever.¡±

    Ain¡¯t letting his  ass thinking it¡¯s something it ain¡¯t.

    ¡°And then? You only had four minutes left¡ªwhich you figured were enough since, you¡¯d probably just improvise, right!?¡±

    I squint at him. Thinking he knows shit about me, huh? Crossing my arms, don¡¯t even spare him another minute of my attention¡ª

    ¡°So you took the tram. Literally. And almost fucking died, kid.¡±

    Damn, Jiji. Had to pull out the vibrato-chords, did you?

    ¡°, you¡¯re being too damn dramatic about it all¡ª¡°

    ¡°Kumori. You are not chipped out. You cannot do the fucking stunts you tried to.¡±

    ¡°Sure seemed like I could to me. I¡¯m still here, aren¡¯t I!?¡±

    ¡°She fucking said missing the goddamn point¡ªteenagers, I swear to God.¡±

    The hovercraft lands, autopilot stopping on a pad in Akihabara.

    ¡°Kid, you have to understand¡ªwhen I hire a ¡®ganic, I give them the necessary means to complete a gig without them ending up painting the town red with their own fucking blood.¡±

    He stands up and opens the door.

    ¡°You, on the other hand, seem to have other ideas.¡±

    The chocolate-bar staircase clicks into place.

    ¡°Alright,¡± I say, stumbling as I try to stand up. I unclasp the damn belt, and stand up. ¡°Don¡¯t get why you gotta be so dramatic about it all, Ji.¡±

    He stands before the door, and looks at me, before he takes a deep breath.

    ¡°Gokurousama. O-Genki de.¡±

    I swear to god, this guy is too fucking dramatic.

    ¡°Alright, saraba, R¨­jin-yarou.¡±

 Chapter 5

    Ryo-Kata, the owner of Ryokata¡¯s Dojo.

    People seldom stop and eat here. It¡¯s small, dinky, and reeks seafood, beef, pork, chicken¡ªall battered up and greased up to turn into a fuel source, then salted to purification.

    It¡¯s mine and moms favorite, though.

    Got the cheap, and a bit less cheap dishes to choose from.

    On a good day, we go for the cheap ones. On a better day, less cheap. On a bad day, we¡¯re pitied, and he lets us drink miso soup as we¡¯re waiting for the dish we¡¯re dine-and-dashing. Had us almost barred once. Moms convinced him not to.

    ¡°One with pork buns, and one with chicken, please,¡± I say digging for the credchip Jiji gave me before he unemployed me. ¡±You want money up-front?¡±

    ¡°Kumori,¡± he says, leaning in. ¡°If you can¡¯t pay, that¡¯s fine. It¡¯s on the house, kid.¡±

    I smirk, scoffing.

    ¡°Black-belt in handouts, eh Ryo-Kata?¡±

    I pull out the credchip Jiji gave me.

    He snickers and shakes his head before he slots it in his wrist, and passes it back to me.

    ¡°Thank you, Kumori,¡± he says, bowing with a smile. ¡°Put a little discount for you, kid.¡±

    ¡°Why? Chip¡¯s good for the full price.¡±

    ¡°Because,¡± he says, scruffing my bangs before my eyes. ¡°You look like you¡¯ve had a run in with a train.¡±

    Tell me about it.

    ¡°Treat yourself with the rest of it.¡±

    ¡°You sure it ain¡¯t that bit of favoritism because of Kira¡¯s cuteness, Ryo?¡± I say, brushing my eyesight clear of my bangs.

    Crossing his arms, he looks to the side to a woman taking phone orders, before locking back on me.

    ¡°Mrs. Ryo Kata has all the cuteness I need, Kumori-chan.¡±

    Woops. Grin stiffens, and face burns red hot.

    ¡°R-right. Of course you¡¯re family run.¡±

    Ryo glares¡ªbefore snapping into a whole-mouthed cackle. ¡°Hina-san! One with pork buns, the other with chicken, please!¡±

    He rams a pen against paper¡ªbefore slashing it across, aside, and twice-over¡ªdeath by a thousand graphite cuts.

    ¡°Blue clank-arms, yet you still use pen and paper, Kata-Ryo?¡±

    ¡°Of course! How else would I make sure the brine almost turns to rock!¡±

    He chops, rips, SNAP-startles the fuck out of me, and hands me the receipt.

    It is just lines.

    ¡°Nearly fucking gave me a heart-attack, Kata-Ryo.¡±

    ¡°Kumori-chan! Do not die! For your dinner has yet to arrive. A moment, please!¡±

    He bows, and rams into the flaps on the way to his kitchen, leaving me with his wife. She¡¯s screaming silently¡ªdespite smiling at me. No doubt we¡¯re both thinking the same words. He¡¯s left her with me.

    It takes a while. She tilts her head, looks aside, looks behind herself, before radioing back on me.

    ¡°So¡ª¡±

    Blinds slap open with a pop¡ªhe throws a goddamn mini steaming sarcophagus that¡¯s about the size of a two-liter water bottle on the counter. He opens to reveal two beautifully ribboned takeout boxes neatly slotted in whatever form they were in.

    ¡°Put a little present in there for you you both.¡±

    I frown at the boxes, before looking up at Ryo-Kata.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    He gently unlaces the ribbons on the box with a sun-sticker on it¡ªKira¡¯s dinner.

    ¡­ There¡¯s an egg inside, cooked sunny-side up. Cradled next to it? A little rice-ball with rabbit ears.

    The sun and the moon rabbit.

    ¡°Kira and Kumori,¡± he says, slowly placing two pairs of chopsticks on a side-compartment in the container.

    Yeah¡ªI guess it was. Kira, and Tama Usagi. Her lucky little white rabbit. I mean, of course this fucking guy does it. Wish he hadn¡¯t though. Really wish he fucking hadn¡¯t.

    ¡°Thank you, occhan.¡±

    It hurt to speak¡ªthroat aching up. Hate when that happens. Really fucking hate it when it happens.

    A handkerchief slowly pats my cheeks, which I realize were moist. I look up and he is freaking smirking.

    ¡°Appreciate it, I guess. Shame it¡¯s gonna get all sloshed up the moment I¡ª¡°

    ¡°Oh no, not so fast, Hikari Kumori-chan!¡± he says, before he leans in on the cylinder with a hefty pat. ¡°This container¡ªthe perfect container for the client that¡¯s always on the damn run.¡±

    He flips and stands it up.

    ¡°The kind of client that plays, ¡®the streets are lava!¡¯ in Tokyo¡ª¡°

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I get it, Ryo¡ª¡°

    ¡°The one that never seems to understand that rooftops and ziplines are for cover and coverage!¡±

    It¡¯s rude to interrupt a monologue¡ªbut man, the food was getting cold. So I try to sneak up and away with the cylinder¡ª

    ¡°A container!¡±

    ¡ªgot yanked right the fuck back.

    ¡°That resists not only the earthquakes of Japan!¡±

    He leans in, closing it methodically.

    ¡°But also the brazen fire from my favorite customer.¡±

    He clicks a button on the container¡ªa green light illuminates.

    ¡°Kumori Hikari,¡± he gently pushes the container to me again. ¡°The Shade that brightens everyone¡¯s day.¡±

    ¡­ How the hell do you even start to walk out of this one.

    The silence stretched so far out I could still heard his voice echoing in my mind. He glared at me with a brazen smirk¡ªhis brow cramming down¡ªprobably wanting to hammer in the point. Damn sight might¡¯ve very well excavated my eyes, so I look aside. The steam caking the airborne grease drew wet droplets on the formerly opaque floor to ceiling window to my right. Drop to the left nearly beat the one to the right¡ª

    ¡°Remember.¡±

    Oh for crying out loud¡ªnot this crap again.

    ¡°If you ever want a different line of work,¡± he says leaning in to catch my contact. ¡°Then these doors will always be open for you, kid.¡±

    I swear¡ªhe¡¯s worse than the fucking ex-pats.

    ¡°Sure,¡± I say, finally looking back at him. ¡°Problem is¡ªyou¡¯ve got all slots filled up already.¡±

    I nod to the fella slapping a hissing stove behind the flaps.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got a cook¡ª¡± I nod at Mrs Ryo-Kata, ¡°¡ªa cashier¡ª¡± same lady, ¡°¡ªand no room for a waitress.¡±

    I motion to the very fact that since this place is a take out joint, it barely holds four bar stools for the patrons.

    ¡°You want me to ogle the customers that never sit, or what?¡±

    Got him to ogle at me with that grumpy-ass, ¡®I¡¯m disappointed with you¡¯ look fathers give their kids on J-dramas. Only reference I get since mine fucked Kira, and fucked off.

    ¡°Besides¡ªI¡¯ve already got business cooked up. So don¡¯t worry about me.¡±

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    He hauls a deep sigh with an equally deep eye roll.

    ¡°Who, Genjiro?¡±

    I scoff, smirking. ¡°No, not Jiji-san.¡°

    ¡°Then it¡¯s that damn good for nothing gossiper, Teach.¡±

    I take a deep breath¡ªgotta lay it out to him straight, I guess.

    ¡°Ryo-san¡ªI¡¯ll tell Kira you said hi.¡±

    ¡­ You¡¯d think he¡¯d get a clue.

    <hr>

    I push aside the drapes slung over the exit of Ryo-Kata¡¯s food stall, and walk out to a scraper-tall concrete tunnel-corridor illuminated by wall-lamps, and barely perceptible fluorescent snake-fixture tubes curving along the ceiling of the tunnel. Glass road in between has two ways¡ªone heading right to the Mekka of tech¡ªAkihabara Station. The other to bumfuck nowhere.

    Looking down on the glass road, I see the magnum opus of a master nerd¡ªthe finest threaded fucking cable management I¡¯ve ever witnessed. With slings of light trailing like they¡¯ve been painted on by the finest brush, they pulsate and mimic the traveling path of information. I swear, it¡¯s daring you to crack the glass and knick the masterpiece.

    Looking up ahead, and I see a bus shelter enclosure crammed into the wall like a concentrated mass of smoky quarts. Lights are out for those who don¡¯t have the proper SUICA card. Those that do, they can beep open the quarts, get greeted by a sweet disembodied lady voice, and then coop inside of the now illuminated shelter¡ªor they can hike through the shortcut within¡ªand go right through these too fucking high-reaching walls.

    For us destined to walk the glass-mile of cable management¡ªwe at least get to be graced by the graffiti made by nullcasters with too much artistic freedom to care for work. Folks who spend their day-by-day as innovators of the streets, bedazzlers of places where bedazzling isn¡¯t just encouraged, but necessary. They¡¯re the ones that breathe life into these walls. All so that they can get back the final drop of sanity they sorely wish they hadn¡¯t lost.

    Glass road turns red moment I cross¡ª

    ¡°Please adhere to the jaywalking rules¡ª¡±

    And there she is.

    I don¡¯t get it. These roads aren¡¯t exactly less traveled. They¡¯re fucking dead. So what¡¯s her beef with me?

    She panics the moment she realizes it can¡¯t give us ¡®ganics the luxury of hearing her in our heads. Especially since she tends to get a bit socially awkward when dealing with someone without a neural interface. Kinda makes me wonder how the gov¡¯ed fellas thought it fit the sanity bill, considering a disembodied voice inside of your mind is just another notch off of the cyberpsychosis symptom bucket list.

    No matter. With a quick check to make sure the cylinder¡¯s strapped proper to my hip, I keep on walking.

    Best place for these packages, the hip. Tried once strapping it to the back, and fucking sent it the moment I dove into a roll.

    Guess we can canter into a jog. So a deep breath and¡ª

    ¡°Ahh.¡±

    ¡ªthere it is.

    The glorious smell of newly unboxed electronics mixed with newly minted rubber tires.

    Room tempered joggers paradise. Shame the nullcasters are missing out. Instead of having any motivation to jog, they¡¯re either busy tagging, or too busy being a cog in a bucket filled with water. Guess it¡¯s better being the second worst thing to uselessness, rather than homeless.

    They should instead do what I do.

    Become a runner.

    Break your self.

    Realize how dramatic your fixer can truly be.

    Make him question ever hiring a 14 year old.

    Make him existential over the prospect of feeling guilty over the death of said 14 year old.

    Buy ramen that¡¯ll probably go bad by the time I get home.

    And, finally, thank the fucking government for counting Kira as a parent so you¡¯re not considered an orphan.

    A transit bus passes by¡ªthe glass panel floor fades into solid gray-faded peach-white, with truncated milk-drop sound-effects. The whole thing¡¯s boxed in the colored bus-line it is driving. Moment the bus passed by - the damn white didn¡¯t fade. No, it turned hexa-lattice, each hex shrinking into itself before vanishing.

    I swear if this glass-road gets any cuter I might just kiss it. Lord knows it would beat kissing the pavement from falling from a scraper.

    It doesn¡¯t take long until I feel the wind draft coming from the exit up ahead. An LED-super-nova devours the night. Moment I slip out, Tokyo¡¯s freshness beguiles me with a proper crisp cleanliness.

    <hr>

    Handrails to the side are glass with interactive elements that say, ¡°NO INTERFACE¡±, because fuck you for not having AR-eyes. Lights beyond the glass rail are held by a luminous glass overhead arm, and look like cyber-jello with each having its own color. There is a perfect path across them leading to a fire escape¡ªwhich, in turn, fed straight into a skyway bridge. I could¡ªno, I ought to¡ªjust fucking do it.

    Two steps, quick ones, and I¡¯m at the handrail¡­

    ¡­ And I hesitate.

    ¡­ I fucking hesitate.

    The ground really feels good under my soles for some reason. Either that, or I¡¯ve just got this nagging feeling something¡¯s amiss. There¡¯s a drilling and whistling noise in the background that¡¯s a bit too clean to be considered a part of Akihabara¡¯s nerdsmanship.

    Fuck it¡ªexcuses, excuses.

    I leap over the railing. Screw Akiba Station¡ªwe¡¯re going topside, baby.

    I land on one of the streetlights¡ªskip to the next¡ªreach for the fire-escape¡ªGod reaching to touch Adam (and the damn illusion that painting actually is) hand finds the first step¡ªand up I go in a triple-scale rush. Reach the top, easily breaking record, sky way roof flat for a jog. Running across to reach the ledge at the ceiling ending¡ªbut stop, and look down to see the face of a sleepy neko-chan cat on a great fucking monitor. She suddenly pops open her eyes¡ªwhich are too big for my heart, with pupils too thin for my soul, before she purrs, and mellows the fuck out.

    ¡°Nyaa~¡± she winks once, and yowl-yawns again. ¡°Coziest sleep for the cutest¡ªsubscribe to Neko Meowline Meowlanine.¡±

    ¡°Just don¡¯t forget their proprietary fucking wetware.¡±

    She winks a heart at me, before falling asleep again.

    I oughta drop-slam into her face and wake her the fuck up. Shame it would probably just crack the damn screen. The alternative is to drop, and roll which would end up centrifuging my takeout into an unrecognizable mess. Maybe going rookie-style¡¯s the way to go here. Clamber onto the ledge, and drop into a lean and keen slide. Ought to keep the sun and the moon-rabbit whole, at least.

    Fuck it.

    I toss the take out¡ªdrop into a roll, play catch with myself¡ªcatch it!

    Contents splorged up¡ªbut it¡¯s splorged up inside of the take-out box. Not outside. Wasn¡¯t my goal, but I¡¯ll take the W.

    Looking ahead and we¡¯ve got a big-ass wall simply asking me to activate my non-existent jets. So I book a left to the side packed with ac-units¡ªoh kuso. They¡¯re standing like unevenly grown teeth.

    Got a shorter, taller, a gap where I gotta skip, then followed by two shorter.

    Screw it. Drop to one, skip to the next, vault, press, and fucking leap to the sixth, roll off it¡ªboom!

    ¡­ There¡¯s a fucking mini-side walk that avoids all these shenanigans.

    Don¡¯t mind if I do, I guess.

    Walking this concrete tightrope and I can feel the un-grounded static raising my hair from the throng of grounded otagonks Akiba Station.

    ¡°No eyes on me! All on you motherfuckers¡ªGAH!¡±

    Leg slipped¡ªand I¡¯m gripping the ledge in front of a big-ass window that¡¯s got a staring corpo lady staring on the other side of the glass. Her dress¡ªshe¡¯s wearing a blue rose burning into a root of fire. My face goes numb. The tendrils at the bottom are actually shifting, like one of calmest forest fires burning blue roses I¡¯ve seen.

    ¡°Hey!¡± heard her voice through the window panel. ¡°No pre-looksies!¡±

    Her hand goes for some switch, and blinds press and peel my fingers off a safe grip. I might as well humble this bitch seeing as she thinks I¡¯m a fucking amateur. A snap-pull and skip to get a new grip on the blinds. With a whip-rip down, the blinds are surged through their warranty period, and I close the distance to a lithe tippy-toe to the walkway below. Moment I drop, I stop and take a breather¡ª

    ¡°I-itte!¡±

    Debris from the blinds adds white dust to fit the grime of my white hair.

    I crack into a full jog down the ceiling of a long ribbed body exiting Akiba Station. Reaching the end, I step-vault onto a higher elevation¡ªand keep on running on a building that¡¯s got highways on either side. Cars driving on them¡ªsome sporting spheres for wheels, thinking they¡¯re bridging the ¡®almost-hover-cars¡¯ gap, but not really. And some have got the good old fashioned wheel¡­ strapped with a fucking neon sling that makes them go ZOOM!

    Tuner-culture, eat your heart out¡ª

    ¡°TOMARE!¡±

    (²»Õý¤Êé_°kÕß¤¬—Ê³ö¤µ¤ì¤Þ¤·¤¿ - Fuseina kaihatsu-sha ga kenshutsu sa remashita!)

    Guess that¡¯s all that was missing. A drone that¡¯s most definitely not supposed to know I¡¯m here.

    ¡°Took you long enough,¡± I say, and do my courtesy bow¡ªwhich the asshole doesn¡¯t return.

    ¡°Come on¡ªkeep up!¡±

    Let¡¯s give it a run for it¡¯s £¤enDo¡ªspikes through the air¡ªa fucking jet-drone.

    Looks like it¡¯s already paying off that fucking run. Crevice up ahead, and I dive right into it¡ª

    A daft scream drills through the air¡ªI duck, the projectile splashing past me on the ground bird droppings.

    ¡­ The fucking.

    Thing.

    Is equipped.

    With a COS-system.

    And it barely missed me.

    I am not fucking homeless. The fuck is it¡¯s problem?

    This city needs to fucking burn alive.

    Crevice I had dropped in lead to two red double doors which unlock the moment I slam double-sole into them. I end up sliding on the soft rug inside¡ªand judging by all the fucking corpo-tuxed people inside who are staring, I¡¯m in a fancy, high-end restaurant.

    ¡°What the hell are you doing here!?¡±

    Drone engine drills and whistles behind me¡ªprobably re-calibrating. I stomp into a sprint¡ªrug beneath my feet creasing and almost tearing. See the drone looming above over the glass ceiling¡ªlooking for me. There¡¯s a railing in front¡ªa quick grab-clip over, and I drop to the floor below¡ªCRASH!

    Magicians pull table cloths. I ram into the whole fucking thing, and become more valuable as a person when the gravy sullies my hair. Damn table¡¯s packed to the brim with food that¡¯s more expensive than my entire lineage.

    Guards start to enclose the exit doors¡ªso we definitely book it to the damn side-door they just obviously left open.

    Out, and we¡¯re at a water dam. Vault over the wall, find steps.

    ¡­ Run down the steps like a normal human being¡ªbut vault off of them halfway through. Bridge over-pass, run under it. Greet the pristine cleanliness of a hobo-less underpass¡ªwonder if I can stop and see if there¡¯s coagulated blood¡ª

    Another scream drilling through the air¡ªI spin-remove my hoodie¡ªthrow it at the source¡ªprojectile flash-expands and shrink-wrap-cocoons the hoodie¡ªtightening into a cozy death.

    Is this thing for real?

    It takes a while for it to recharge¡ªso we fucking charge the bull head-on.

    It garners height¡ªbut it doesn¡¯t fucking know I can¡ªwall climb, vault, clamber the railing¡ªwall climb¡ªand kick off landing right on this sucker!

    Pulling off the camera¡ªno aim for you. Pulling off the radio antenna¡ª

    ¡°AHH!¡±

    Shit¡ªgot zapped. Hold on, girl. Should¡¯ve expected this piece of shit had counter-measures. It tries to rock me off¡ªbut it can fuck off with that thought since I work out my core, you piece of bone-white soup can.

    ¡°Woah!¡±

    Grip nearly slips as it rushes towards the overpass-bridge, flying under to shake me off¡ªor to smash my head against the elevated ground. Two jets maneuvering, one burning a fucking scab on my gut.

    You know what? Fuck this thing.

    I use my dagger¡ªand jam it into it¡¯s COS-hole. Water below is my only bet on a soft land. Letting go, I drop¡ªaim for a dive into the shallow water¡ªmeaning I gotta curve the dive after submersion.

    Water envelopes me¡ªI nearly head-bash the bottom¡ªbut barely curve out to smash the wind out of my lungs. I almost inhaled a cup of water, but propped my head out, breath cramping with each futile gasp. Vision¡¯s blurred¡ªbut red light from the drone¡¯s told me ¡ªit¡¯s aiming another COS-round.

    Moment my vision cleared up, I could see the kitchen knife still cozy in its¡¯ COS-hole.

    ¡°Jaa na, kuso tekikuzu.¡±

    COS-nozzle bursts, the pipe splitting asunder into a bubble-gum mummification balloon, before snap-shrink wrapping the drone in a muffled clap. The COS shrunk further and further, turning the drone into a new element on the periodic table. It¡¯s thrusters pop off, an electric arc briefly hanging onto it, before the COS:y snuffed out the briefly blinding panic lights it shot out as a last ditch effort. The hunk of junk made a hefty splash, a lead cannon-ball, before sitting still, the draft unable to drag it along the canal.

    <hr>

    The warmth of the moment drains out of me¡ªthe water chilling my blood.

    I wade through the water to the drone corpse, before I open up the hatch to its¡¯ cortex.

    A CPU, RAM-unit¡ªthere it is.

    I pull out a slim red glass-key, before wading through the water out of the canal. Turning it in my hand, its circuits glint a subtle, yet striking green, meaning it¡¯s still functional. Got no way of extracting whatever bullshit it logged pre-pursuit and death, but I know someone who does. And that someone owes me one.

 Chapter 6

    Chapter 6

    Teach¡¯s bar, Adachi Ward. Built directly out of the middle part of a 40-something story skyscraper¡ªit looks like a protruding tumor that reaches for whoever happens to get close.

    Carving into half the double-decker highway turned sidewalk I currently stood on, it used to be an old newsroom building. Now? He¡¯s refurbished it into the place of zero fucking subtlety¡ªwhere gossip comes to thrive for the oldest of babas, to the ¡°slickest¡± zakos thinking they¡¯re getting the latest scoop.

    A literal, and physical information highway¡ªif that highway was the town¡¯s bicycle.

    A holobanner sashes the building, his logo covering a tenth of it. The rest of the holobanner real estate went for the adware that probably chipped a few £¤ennies off his rent.

    I push open the doors¡ªheavy, since there were no engines to whir them up¡ªand get blasted by airborne recycled food oil mixed with hand sanitizer and moldy chestnut. Damn sting has me double-take for a nosebleed.

    Seems like Teach is going for a ¡®grungy and gritty¡¯ atmosphere for his clientele. That or he¡¯s probably too damn cheap to fix his damn air conditioner.

    Got past the front guard seeing as there was no fucking front guard. Ought to be every teens dream, huh?

    No guard to ID-check. Meaning nothing stopping you from all-you-can drink booze-buffet¡ªwell, except for the fact that you¡¯d most definitely never want to black-out here.

    Whole place was in shambles. Being a former newsroom, the ceiling should¡¯ve held a lattice of cushioned tiles and light panels, but instead looks like a trypophobic nightmare. Ceiling lights hung by their plugs¡ªsome still working fine, others strobing a seizure out of you. Rug would¡¯ve squished if the trash-soup people spilled on it hadn¡¯t dried up.

    Felt real crusty¡ªlike stepping on wooden bubble-wrap.

    Walking through the isles, the patrons sneer and grin at me as if they¡¯re worth a damn in my playbook.

    Underneath the second story steps were two two fellas sitting by a faded poker table. One wearing a trench coat with samurai-shoulder pads flattened to sleek boards, the other not wearing his skin, a borg showing the human anatomy, if it was sponsored by bootleg organs and muscle fiber.

    Fucker had nothing to hide, and nothing to show.

    ¡°Hey,¡± I lean in with an elbow on the table ¡°You know where Teach¡¯s at?¡±

    ¡°The shore,¡± says the dinner-plate samurai.

    ¡°She said Teach, not beach, you crashhead!¡±

    ¡°Know she ain¡¯t said shit worth hearing, though!¡±

    They laughed like their life depended on it¡ªeach hyuck sounding like it was exhaled through a spinning metal fan made of thin strands. Can¡¯t tell if they¡¯ve burned their squawk-boxes drinking, or if they¡¯re working as advertised.

    I stare the trench coat samurai dead in the eye, and he stares right back, grinning even more, before he nods at someone behind me. Looking back and I see Teach swiping a rag across the bar counter underneath the second story staircase.

    ¡°Spend a £¤ennie¡ªpatch them vocals up, yeah?¡± I say, smirking with a nod.

    Made them snicker again¡ªthis time sounding steel whool being dragged through a cheese grater.

    Talk about vocal range.

    I walk towards the bar Teach is standing at. He is serving a single patron¡ªa de-gruffed shozaku (corpo smallfry).

    I sit beside him on a bar stool and tap the counter to steal Teach¡¯s attention.

    Teach steals a glance my way, before beelining it to his dishwasher.

    The lid pops open. A plume of sterilized steam baptizes him into a blissful, wide-eyed stare¡ªshortcircin his brain.

    His eyes linger on the dishes, before he pulls out an invisibly clean mug. Grabbing a rag that¡¯s traveled the whole fucking nine yards through everyone¡¯s ass crack, he sullies the mug whilst making himself look busy.

    Real subtle, Teach.

    ¡°Yo, Teach¡ª¡°

    ¡°What¡¯s your neon-cyanide, Crepper?¡± he says, throwing his face to the zako next to me.

    ¡°The usual fucking coolant. And make it extra fucking radiant.¡±

    Crepper¡¯s voice was something different¡ªa voombox (voice boombox) equalized with a cradling finesse tuned by the finest bootleggers. Like a podcaster turned news anchor from the gruffest newsroom there ever was.

    ¡°Atta boy¡ªgonna tear through those pipes proper, eh?¡±

    ¡°One can only hope!¡±

    Teach rounds the corner and pulls out a bottle of vodka. Neon-cyanide, my ass. He fills the mug he rag-fondled, and then adds some blue crap that¡¯s glowing (which is probably edible food coloring), before he heads back to Crepper to plonk a toothpicked olive into it.

    ¡°One sip too deep, and you¡¯ll be pissing neon for a week.¡±

    I swear¡ªthe things these clankers do to feel special.

    ¡°Yeah¡ªenjoy your neon-snot vodka.¡±

    Crepper splurts mid-sip, coughing glowing blue specks onto the counter. He swings his face at me, his glare growing four additional eyelids. He clicks and smacks his lips before dragging his sleeve across his mouth with a drawn-out sigh.

    ¡°Why did you have to say it like that?¡±

    ¡°Why the hell not?¡±

    ¡°Kinda kills the vibe, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± I grin, barely stifling a giggle. ¡°You must be from Roppongi.¡±

    He raises his hand to his face¡ªother hand the fingering the damn sleeve. Manliest advertisement he¡¯ll never be.

    ¡°More refined than that.¡±

    ¡°Toilet-scrubber in Azabu, then?¡±

    He turns towards me, pupils shrinking into pricks. Irises radiating, his thick and immaculately trimmed eyebrows press down to a botoxed scowl.

    Teach cracked into a cackle.

    ¡°Nice seeing you here, Kumo-chan!¡±

    ¡°Oh, now you notice me, senpai?¡±

    Crepper grins, shining his pearly whites like he was advertising them.

    ¡°A firecracker, this one, eh?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, popping up like your mortgage interest.¡±

    Crepper un-grins, his pearly whites shying like they should.

    ¡°More like a damn weed, with that dandelion hair of yours.¡±

    Hey, that one was decent!

    ¡°Ouch, went straight for the hairdo,¡± I say, snickering. ¡°What else you got?¡±

    He rolls his eyes. ¡°You lost, kid? Anything I can help you with?¡±

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    Teach comes back with another mug he was rag-fondling. He took a good look at me, before his eyes fell on the canister.

    ¡°Light¡¯s blinking on your take-out can, kid.¡±

    No way¡ªit¡¯s supposed to hold two freaking days. I quickly whip-spin the canister to look and¡ªgreen blinking light. Meaning, the heat was gonna die soon, and the damn food would get cold once I got back.

    ¡°For fucks sake, Ryo-Kata,¡± I growl under my breath whilst looking for the battery-compartment.

    Crepper¡¯s fingers suddenly enter the scene¡ªas they almost wrap around the top. I yank it away.

    ¡°Get your own damn ramen, Creeper!¡¯

    ¡°It¡¯s Crepper.¡±

    ¡°I know what I said!¡±

    I pull up the canister again, and the green blip turned yellow. Shit¡ªwhy the fuck is movement causing the thing to drain? Gotta find the fucking compartment¡ªwait, what am I supposed to swap it with? Shit, I look at Teach¡ª

    ¡°Oh¡ªthat¡¯s interesting,¡± Crepper says, his hands already laced on the damn thing again. ¡°A kinetic canister¡ªmade for rocky deliveries. You¡¯ve got something special in there, don¡¯t you?¡±

    He grins at me, squeezing the botox out of his pores as his brows press down on his eyes.

    ¡°Looks like it¡¯s running out of heat.¡±

    Wish Crepper¡¯d keep to himself, honestly.

    ¡°Is that so?¡± I say, as I try to figure out how to open the damn battery compartment. There is a fucking button that¡¯s pressable here, but the damn thing doesn¡¯t even click, or swiff, or slide¡ªno! It just fucking sinks, before doing fuck-all!

    ¡°Let me give it a try¡ª¡±

    ¡°You wanna be less suspicious, zako-yarou!?¡± I say, slamming the cylinder on Teaches counter.

    He sighs, smug smirk still sliced on his lips. The silence draws out, and the yellow light starts blinking faster. He reaches for the canister, and with a quick spin-toss, he turns the blinking light towards himself, before his other hand reaches under it. He presses down the switch, before pulling something¡ªand the damn canister opens up like a steaming babushka-doll. The two boxes inside looked the same¡ªand the contents¡­ still Mochi Usagi, and the sun. Huh.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, kid,¡± barely heard Crepper speak. ¡°It¡¯s an easy fix.¡±

    Couldn¡¯t really see what he was doing. Sights blurred up a bit as I kept staring at the decoration Ryo-Kata had built. That asshole¡ªI swear, he doesn¡¯t get enough credit for his work.

    A golden glint coming from the corner of my eye draws my attention to Crepper¡ªwho was pulling out a fucking di-barelled snub-shotty from his inner pocket.

    ¡°Y-YO!¡±

    It¡¯s the perfect sawed-off shotgun to deal a kill-shot that doesn¡¯t kill.

    ¡°Easy, kid,¡± he says, shaking his head. He breaks open the sawed-off, and pulls out one of the batteries slotted in the barrel. He then pulls out the one from the food-canister, before slotting his shotty¡¯s battery into it.

    Light shone a solid green again.

    ¡°There ya go, oughta keep it juiced up for a while longer.¡±

    ¡­ Why did you do that? Shit, words didn¡¯t come out.

    ¡°¡­ W¡­ what do I owe you for it?¡±

    Come on, Kumori¡ªget a proper voice. Stop sounding so wispy, girl.

    ¡°Good grief, kid,¡± he says, laughing. ¡°Who wrung you out and hung you up to die?¡±

    ¡°I said, name your price, za¡­ Crep.¡±

    He chortles. ¡°My price? Is surviving that mopey face. It¡¯s as lethal as my daughters¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I could barely fucking talk. ¡°Today¡¯s been a bit rough, that¡¯s all.¡±

    Crepper remained quiet. Guess he had nothing to say.

    ¡°Well, you¡¯re in a bar, kid. What¡¯s eating you up?¡±

    I scoff, rubbing my eyes¡ªsuddenly aware I¡¯m exhausted.

    ¡°More like what hasn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°So¡ªone of those days, huh?¡± Teach chimes in.

    ¡°Yeah, where SAT-drones try to cozy you to a pulp.¡±

    Whole bar went dead silent.

    <button> Created with Sketch. </button>

    A few beats pass, and I start hearing feet shuffle across the crusty rug. I snap my head left, then stand up and stare to the right. Teach, Crepper, and I were the only ones left in the pub. Finally, I look at Teach.

    ¡°The fuck¡¯s going on?¡±

    Teach exhales, deep and slow, scowling under half-lidded eyes.

    ¡°Well, kid. Either you¡¯ve gone fucking suicidal and disowned Kira as your mother¡ª

    ¡ªor you¡¯ve pissed off the wrong fucking ¡®zako,¡¯ and they¡¯ve messed with your civ-status.¡±

    There we go. That¡¯s why I came here. To listen to Teach¡¯s cryptic bullshit instead of getting answers about the damn clingy SAT-drone.

    ¡°¡­ Yeah, kind of why I¡¯m here, actually¡ª¡±

    ¡°Of course you are.¡±

    ¡°Shit, Teach¡ªthanks for the warm welcome.¡±

    He snarls, then exhales, shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯re putting us all in danger for being here, you know that, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, motherfucker¡ªjust returning the investment.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    I stand up, snarling back. ¡°Teach! You fucking owe me!¡±

    Teach scoffs, shakes his head, and fucks off muttering some bullshit around the corner. Guess he needs time to cook up an excuse that won¡¯t put him on the providing end of a favor.

    ¡°Surprised to hear the old man owing anyone,¡± Crepper says, leaning back. ¡°Usually goes the other way around.¡±

    I drag a slow glance his way.

    ¡°Yeah¡ªand Teach usually doesn¡¯t skimp on the necessary deets for a gig.¡±

    I look over at Teach. ¡°Had to improvise. Woke up in the ER.¡±

    I raise my voice, making sure Teach hears me. ¡°And he said he fucking owed me for it!¡±

    Teach twists, and power-walks straight back to us.

    ¡°You¡¯re cashing in a broken chit, kid¡ªthis favor ain¡¯t in the same league!¡±

    ¡°Too bad, motherfucker! Because if I recall correctly, you said¡ªwhat was it again?¡±

    He scowls.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t go shy now! Say it with me, Teach¡ª¡®Whatever you want, kid. I¡¯ll fix it for you. Promise!¡¯¡±

    We both stare at each other as if a gun would shoot the first one breaking eye-contact. He grits his teeth, a silent snarl. Don¡¯t need such theatrics¡ªhe¡¯s gotten the point.

    I pull out the red key-shard I yanked out of the drone¡¯s mem-hole, and show it to him, the pretty little green circuitry glinting neatly under the strobing square-light.

    ¡°You¡¯re pissing off the wrong fucking people, kid,¡± he says, grumbling a sound equivalent to a rock slowly turning into liquid, before he dives underneath his bar and opens what could be considered a hatch to a hidden panic-room. He descends whatever steps were under the hatch, the sound getting more dull for every step.

    ¡°¡­ Did he just fucking delta out of the situation?¡± I ask Crepper. He just shrugs.

    Slowly, we heard the footsteps grow in volume, when Teach emerged again from his rabbit-hole.

    He throws a briefcase on the table¡ªclicks, then clacks open its dual-latches, before it¡¯s pneumatic springs yawns it open. He runs his hands over something within it¡ªfingers clicking keys on a keyboard¡ªface green-lit by a monitor inside.

    He clicks his tongue, head tilt of disapproval, and shakes his head.

    ¡°You¡¯ve really¡ªREALLY¡ªpissed off the wrong kind of people.¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°Give it to me straight Doc - is it cyber-aids?¡±

    Mercy, that glare could melt rabbits.

    ¡°You¡¯re the only homeless person in Adachi Ward right now. And they¡¯ve already released a ¡®vaccine¡¯ to remedy that.¡±

    ¡°Shit¡ªthat bad, huh?¡±

    Teach clasps the briefcase shut again, putting it aside.

    ¡°Yeah, and I¡¯m not too sure I prefer having you here with that kind of heat on you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, looking at him. ¡°That bad¡­. huh.¡±

    ¡­ I mean, maybe Kira has disowned me. Or better yet, maybe she¡¯s dead. Either way, I ought to have gotten the memo. But no, Teach said I had just been¡­ erased.

    As if that would¡¯ve answered all my questions. I honestly have so many more questions.

    But honestly¡ªthe only one that I can think of now?

    ¡°¡­ Mind giving me a ride back home?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I do mind¡ª¡±

    ¡°Kenzo-san. You smuggle people all the damn time. Don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    My throat constricts again. I am just so fucking exhausted. I am so fucking beyond exhausted.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t make me beg you.¡±

    I just can¡¯t hold it in anymore. I grin, and I could taste the fucking salt of my tears running into my mouth.

    ¡°Kid¡ªgood fucking grief, spare me the water works¡ª¡±

    ¡°You have a fucking Faraday-trunk for these things¡ª¡±

    ¡°And she¡¯s an organic,¡± Crepper added. Thanks, Creps.

    ¡°You should have ZERO issues ¡­ just giving me a fucking ride, man.¡±

    He grovels, I could see my fucking water works were inspiring him some too. Goddamn old fool was always too sensitive to admit it. Guess we¡¯ve got that in common.

    ¡°Kid just wants to enjoy a meal with her moms, Ken.¡±

    The fucking nerve Crepper had to sound so calm about it. Fuck Kira. It¡¯s more that I need to get this shit back to her so that she gets sustenance, or else her sorry ass will probably starve to death.

    ¡°Alright! Alright. Alright. Let me just¡ªhold on,¡± his breath shudders out. ¡°I need to make a few phone-calls. Gotta load up the blocker in the car.¡±

    He plants the phone to his ear, turns around, and walks down into the floor-door staircase. He stops two steps down.

    ¡°Tag along, Kumori.¡±

 Chapter 7

    The cold night air grazes me with a crisp chill. Moist, soft breeze, the perfect weather for a jog around the corner, I guess. A breeze that would make you forget the collective bullshit piled up on your rapsheet. Who am I kidding. Not even a fucking hurricane would make this pit of shit I¡¯m feeling in my stomach go away.

    Across the highway guardrails, Adachi rested. Its¡¯ denizens couped up in their own self-fullfilled damnation¡ªtired after binging a 120 work-week. A mix of nullcasters and lowcasters¡ªboth working for a corp that sees one as a nut, and the other as the bolt.

    Both crowds dropping their blinds, the slats letting through a soft shimmering blue pulse.

    Those windows that had no blinds, had no life either. Like a dark gouge covered by plastic wrapping. You want to look inside to see how bad the wound is. But you¡¯re afraid that something might peek back.

    It was the exact same feeling I got from staring into Teach¡¯s trunk.

    A gaping monster, wanting to hold me in its gut, promising it¡¯s drunk enough water to stave off the acid.

    ¡°It¡¯s a bit cramped,¡± I hear him snore-drone. ¡°But should fit if you curl up.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, voice barely above the hissing of a faraway tram. ¡°Guess beggars can¡¯t be choosers.¡±

    He tries to help me in, but I shake a no. I settle, and lie down. He nods at me, before he pulls up an old burner phone.

    ¡°Just need to make a few phone-calls,¡± he says, the tone ringing, before his eyebrows perk when they answer. He walks away, their chatter fading with the distance.

    Crepper leans against the rear light before giving me a half-profiled stare.

    ¡°Kumori,¡± he says, that voombox doing wonders for clarity. ¡°Here¡¯s a tip.¡±

    He points at the food canister.

    ¡°You ever find yourself in trouble¡ªyou pop that thing open, and you use that shell. You hear me?¡±

    I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°Right¡ªoffering them an acute dinner, and hope they¡¯ll dine with you¡ª¡±

    ¡°I mean the battery slotted for the anti-kinetic tech, kid.¡±

    He pushes himself off the light and grabs his snub-nosed sawed-off from his inner pocket. Breaking it open, the hinge clattering like an echoing ratchet wrench, he pulls out the remaining battery-shell.

    ¡°Look here.¡±

    He puts the shell close to my face, prodding a tab on its rear.

    ¡°Your fingers will hurt¡ªbut one good press here¡ª¡±

    He pushes in, the tab separating from the shell barely, before he stops.

    ¡°Poof¡ªtwelve rounds in one go.¡±

    ¡°Damn, Crepper,¡± I say, shaking my head. ¡°Almost like you¡¯re expecting it to happen.¡±

    ¡°Judging by how things go for you kid¡ªI¡¯m most definitely betting on it.¡±

    ¡°Odds in your favor, huh? So that¡¯s what the catch was all along.¡±

    He snickers shaking his head.

    ¡°Still think I¡¯ve got strings attached, huh, kid?¡±

    ¡°Like a fucking marionette wired to four crosses.¡±

    He shakes his head, grin almost as bedazzling as the milky way belt above us. His eyes linger for a long while. Hell, they even started to glimmer, rivalling the stars.

    ¡°You¡¯d think a place like Tokyo,¡± he starts, lower eyelids creeping up like a dam holding behind the waterworks. ¡°Would devour the very notion of you getting a bit of stargazing.¡±

    He exhaled a single muted chuckle, before he looks down at me.

    ¡°But¡ªno,¡± his eyes were bloodshot. ¡°Another courtesty from government investing.¡±

    His smile brooked no mirth. He looks back up again.

    ¡°Sure is a sight though, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    I look up at the night sky.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    I look up at the milky way belt¡ªa closed eye wearing the most bedazzling obsidian eyeshadow spruced with glittering diamonds. Galaxies wept from the eye like a snowstorm of shimmering stars and solarsystems melting into liquid pearls.

    ¡°You know,¡± Crepper says, breaking the silence. ¡°Used to do this a lot with my daughter.¡±

    His scoff barely came through, before he looks down, and releases his breath into a shuddering, yet soft cascade.

    Teach approached us, standing with his hands on his hips. Crepper glances at him. Teach nods in return.

    Crepper looks to me.

    ¡°Break a leg out there, kid.¡±

    The trunk closes with a clunk, the locking mechanism groaning as it tightens.

    <hr>

    The girl stood on a wooden stool before a mirror, wearing the Milky Way galaxy. Barely able to fill half its length, a fifth of the dress scraped the unclean floor with each spin, sullying it more and more¡ªthe girl¡¯s bedazzled giggles filling the room from the visage she had turned into.

    ¡°It¡¯s so cool,¡± she hisses with a honeyed squee in her tone.

    Biting her lower lip, she leaned in¡ªcareful to balance one foot on the back of the wooden stool.

    She surveyed the galaxy upon her¡ªeyes landing on three glimmering dots.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    ¡°Orions belt,¡± she says, reminiscing a documentary about constellations she saw the other day. It was the only channel that worked.

    And it was free. She never knew why, nor did she bother to ask. She was just happy it worked as it kept the shadowy claws of the night at bay.

    Her fingertips trailed along the slick, liquid-esque membrane. It felt like soft glass, and looked like staring straight out of a window in space.

    When suddenly¡ªthe stool-leg screeches, and pops the girl down with a yelp.

    The concrete floor of their apartment would definitely leave a bruise, the girls eyes teeming with tears.

    Which subsided when looking upon the flowing fabric of the dress again.

    A dark galactic pond, the stars shifting unevenly, as if they really were there at different distances. Her unevenly toothed grin could not stretch any further. Her breaths¡ªdeep and quick.

    ¡°This is so effing cool! How did they even..."

    And then it appeared. Floating in the nothingness of darkness within the door of the apartment. A face that stretched into the likeness of a fox and a snake. It''s eyes¡ªthin dark slits as the void surrounding it.

    When suddenly, irises¡ªfiery from the pupil, a dark blood-red on the edges¡ªilluminated her scowl.

    It did not waver the girls grin. No. Instead, the sight welled her with happiness.

    ¡°Look mama! I am the milky way! Just like¡ª¡±

    ¡°What the fuck,¡±

    This, however.

    ¡°Do you think,¡±

    Did.

    The lady closed the door behind herself.

    ¡°You are doing¡ª¡±

    The lady removed her stiletto heel.

    ¡°You little shit.¡±

    ¡°M-mama?¡±

    The girl did not scream. She did not beg. She did not weep.

    But the lady?

    Oh she shrieked. Her voice, a cranial drill at max torque. A battlecry from a whore mother¡ªwho rushed in¡ªto grab the girls arm.

    So she could send her galvanized stiletto heel¡ª

    Right into the girls arm¡ª

    <hr>

    ¡ªSLAM!

    ¡°Ghkk! Argh, fuck!¡±

    Headbanged the damn trunk-door.

    ¡°You okay in there, kid?¡± he says, his voice muffled by the trunk.

    With a clattering snap, the darkness splits like an eye, the trunk door opening to a blinding spotlight¡ªshit, could barely waver my hands to cover my face.

    ¡°Here.¡±

    Could barely register what the fuck he was ''here-ing'', let alone any basic shapes.

    I slowly clamber out of the trunk¡ªtoe-catches the edge sends me stumbling out¡ªreflexes grip the lower lip of the trunk, saving me from a face plant.

    ¡°Easy, kid,¡± Teach says, reaching in to help¡ªwhich I elbow off.

    I lean against the open trunk with pocketed hands. Damn. Teach really went straight to the front door, didn¡¯t he?

    The cylindrical apartment complex stands a few steps away from the sidewalk we were parked on.The wind drags a hoarse voice through the rectangle-punched breezeway corridor entrance, lit by aluminum fluorescent tubes that coat everything in blue and pus-green sheen.

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget the food, Kumo-chan.¡±

    Right. The canister.

    ¡°You want it or not?¡±

    I take it and see the light is still a solid green. Crepper¡¯s shell keeping it juiced up. Same shell he told me to use in case shit hits the fan. Good thing we drove past all those fans. If only I could remember how he opened it up.

    I gaze at it, the green light developing itself into my sight as everything around it darkens. Then it starts to blink.

    ¡­ He pressed this button here, gave the canister a slight twist, and presto. Steam hisses from the crevices as the canister opens in the center, and elongates to reveal two perfectly placed takeout boxes in their own neat little compartments. A small tilt of the canister, and they gyrate, remaining upstanding. A slight jerk¡ªthey rock in opposite force.

    Shit. Ryo-Kata wasn¡¯t kidding when he said it could handle earth-quakes.

    The shotgun shell is embedded under the lower takeout box. I pull it out, and the whole cylinder goes dark. The gyroscopes stiffen. The boxes are no longer being kept warm.

    I can hear the wind soughing through the corridor like a flutist on their death bed.

    Teach is pacing behind me. Doesn¡¯t want to rush me, I guess. So he does it behind my back, instead.

    Would¡¯ve been appreciated¡ªif he didn¡¯t intentionally scrape his soles to the sock. As if he wants credit for being respectful but also wants to emphasize his anxiety over the whole sitch.

    Whatever.

    Time to feed Kira.

    <hr>

    The door to the corridor hasn¡¯t been fixed since we moved in here. The landlord had banked on the security within to be enough.

    He didn¡¯t bank on the corridor itself not being safe from the brining of the dockyards nearby. Meaning, when going inside¡­ If only walls could bleed.

    The rust leaking from metal wall panels smelled iron and chalk as I walk through the corridor. The same four origami¡¯d sakura-blossom trees with white bark stand in the court yard, their body illuminating the first two floors, with the rest being covered by a clawing darkness borne from whatever blocked the skyhole above. At least the apartments hallway glass walls staved it off with a dim sheen.

    ¡°They¡¯ve birched the bark, and ¡®cherrypicked¡¯ the leaves.¡±

    The soy-dark membrane blocking the hallway to the first floor apartments remains closed when I approach it. It¡¯s always slow when checking for your residency. Used to just be a basic metal gate¡ªhell, the fucking entrance to the apartment complex used to have an industrial grade military door that center-closed. At least according to the neighbor. Could be full of shit. Hard to tell when that thing¡¯s open like it¡¯s got BED, while this membrane¡¯s as closed as someone with GERD.

    So sick and tired of this shit.

    A gentle breeze hymns from the breezeway, which gently trickles the paper flowers off of the sakura tree.

    ¡°Please refr¡ªyou have been fin¡ªplease ref¡ªa fee has been added to your¡ªyou have been¡ª¡°

    The government fining itself the moment they land on the ground.

    Made me smile.

    The soy-membrane door finally chimes, and the usual pair of white dots¡ªwhich I believe are supposed to be eyes¡ªpop up and stare. With black static, a white spazzing, and a glitching grunging, it squirts out a sliver of hieroglyphs which I think are meant to be ¡®Hikari. K¡¯.

    Could be ¡®go fuck yourself¡¯ for all I know.

    The membrane opens with a wet click¡ªfinally.

    An arrow with the text ¡®213¡¯ fades in on the right-hand glass wall and points me to my apartment. Usually helps people who want to move in here think that they¡¯re being looked after.

    The dumb ones usually realize early and get out while there¡¯s anything of them left to get out. The dumber ones never leave their apartments.

    Instead, the smell of grease-caked rotten duck, buttered with soy sauce and burnt plastic, does.

    After scaling the staircase to the second floor, I look to the court yard.

    The sakura blossom fees are still turned to fines. No wind to flick them about. I¡¯ve always wondered how the hell it regrows the paper leaves. Especially since the flower itself is barely bigger than a coin.

    I take a deep breath, and turn to face the door to apartment 213. No point in wasting time. The black panel to the left of the slot-push handle shows two lines of text.

    ¹â¼ªÁ¼¡£

    Hikari, Kira.

    The sunlight that tried to abort her daughter.

    ¹â•Ò¡£

    Hikari, Kumori.

    The overcast that¡¯s brought food.

    Let¡¯s brighten her day, I guess.

 Chapter 8

    The apartment opens to the left of the door. A rectangular space with a panoramic window on the long side of the wall in front of me. A metallic dark blue block kitchenette flush along the right short-side wall. A chaise couch directly to my left, planted flush with the same wall the exit door was on.

    A living room, bedroom, kitchen, and dining room in one.

    At least we had a sight with a view.

    And a balcony, I guess.

    The flatpanel television stood small against the lower edge of the panoramic glass. Sometimes when you watched it you got a double entendre of blindness. One from the setting sun. The other, from the shitty anti-reflex that just had to show you what your fucking wall looks like.

    At least there¡¯s a bathroom.

    The kitchenette to my right was rarely used by Kira. She never understood what any of the appliances did. Honestly, I¡¯m not sure anyone knows in these apartments.

    Each appliance is the same fucking block of dark blue brushed steel. Even the fucking faucet.

    Want a glass of water?

    Then perform the ritual of tapping. Find it within the darkest depths of its¡¯ scriptures!

    The fucking manual of the thing.

    Pop it open. Read through pages ¡®planned¡¯ and ¡®obsolescence¡¯, realize this thing¡¯s dead on demand.

    Get mad, call their support number, end up at a sex hotline that already knows you¡¯ve not got the £¤ennies.

    Leave thirstier than you started.

    At least we didn¡¯t suffer through the dishwasher. Kira just got take-out, instead.

    She did try to skip the garbosposer, though, as she sent the fucking trash away into the skyline from our balcony. The day she got a mailbox full of cash-on-delivery fan mail from the government, however, she fucking crash-coursed through the garbosposer¡¯s manual like her life depended on it.

    Never got why she made such a big deal out of it. The way it¡¯s connected to the complexes internal disposal system¡ªit¡¯s essentially a garbage toilet.

    Just throw the trash into it¡¯s gawping rectangular maw, close the fucking door, and hear it whir!

    I grab the folding table from underneath the couch, and turn the living room into a dining room when I pop it open. I grab two chairs, one belonging to the table, the other belonging to a fucking junkyard, and prop them west and north of the table.

    I remember Kira telling me she would be home this week. Thing is¡ªit¡¯s Sunday¡ªso unless she pops her pretty milk-blonde hair through that doorway before the next four hours, then she¡¯ll simply be back to the bullshit she did when I was nine.

    Whole fucking month could go by without her showing herself.

    Honestly, I kind of preferred it. Hell, I even prefer it now¡ªmore food for me.

    But the damn bitch needs feeding, and I figured she¡¯d appreciate a fucking meal like this. Especially since Ryo-Kata actually put in some fucking effort into the fucking sun and rice-ball rabbit bullshit that I am¡ª

    ¡°Uurnngh¡­¡±

    ¡­ Speak of the fucking devil.

    <hr>

    The moaning came from behind the chaise of the couch close to the west wall. So I mosey a single step over and¡ªthere she was. And boy, was she a sight for the sorest of eyes power washed with road salt. Her dress barely clings to her designed to be lithe frame. At least her legs and arms were. The torso¡­

    Brain fog coats my thoughts.

    Fuck sake¡ªyou could¡¯ve at least put on something ¡®less romantic¡¯, Kira.

    I wanted to say that to her. But I didn¡¯t want to ruin her ¡®high¡¯ she seemed to have worked up quite a sweat in getting. Hell, judging by her flushed face, her slick skin, and the way she glared a thousand miles past my eyes¡ªeither something happened that she needed to fucking escape deep into bullshit, where even her fucking OD-countermeasure cyberware (usually the liver) seem to be working on overtime to kill the thing that is killing her, or she simply fucking¡­

    Her face¡ªa sly and deliberate design reminiscent of a fox and a snake¡ªwas a gift from her pimp, she told me. An inauguration for a new ¡®world order¡¯ that later turned out to be a prank. Told me she knew all along, but was afraid to deny him. Sounded like bullshit to me, even back then when I was seven years old.

    I still remember the nightmares. Both of us slept on the couch. Get one bad dream. Seek comfort. Dive head first into the next.

    When she is awake it¡¯s bearable. Her cyber eyes gleam blue, so you can at least look her in the eyes.

    But the moment she closes her eyes?

    Moonlight makes it a curse.

    ¡°Oh. My. God.¡±

    Look who checked in, I guess.

    ¡°Y-you brought food!¡± Suddenly got a fucking spring to her feet. ¡°Oh you¡ª¡°

    She whimpers like a fucking puppy, and takes a single step towards me, which sends her face-first towards the concrete¡ªbut I catch her, and raise her towering 15cm above my 164. I see her eyes. No whites. Just the iris floating in that fox-slitted darkness of her faceplate. Guess it hides the bloodshot from potential clients.

    Her pupil grows, microjets across different features of my face. I guess she¡¯s actually kind of relieved to see me¡ªoh.

    Never mind. She¡¯s looking at the canister that¡¯s standing on the table behind me.

    She gasps like an ice-bath victim, and pushes me aside. She shoots her tips towards the boxes, fingertips barely latching and snatches them to the fucking ground. barely touching them as she tries to grab them, which yanks them towards the ground.

    Mochi Usagi and the Kira-side up egg slather onto the concrete along with snakes of ramen. She throws herself towards after the boxes¡ªbelated reflexes sending her after a full fucking second¡ªas she tries to scoop up whatever the floor hasn¡¯t licked. The stuff she deemed inedible will remain exactly where it is until she decides it shouldn¡¯t. At least Mochi Usagi and the Kira-side egg will be together for a while¡ªunless the damn bitch slips on the yolk.

    She digs her chopsticks through the ramen, before exhaling her lungs flat with exasperation which I know is meant to be admiration. Finally, she flashes a failed fucking smile at me¡ªher lips the only soft thing on her face.

    Because of course they are.

    ¡°You literally are the only reason I am alive right now.¡±

    I fucking smile. Because what a fucking joke this is.

    ¡°Shi¡­ worst joke of the week, mama?¡±

    Suddenly, Kira fucking snaps her chopsticks up, and lasers them towards my box.

    I push her aside, her chrome groaning as she struggles to earn herself a second dinner-box.

    ¡°Ora! Chill, you munchie-monster!¡± I say, my fucking lips cramping.

    She doesn¡¯t realize that it doesn¡¯t matter I¡¯ve got no chrome. Like the punks in Roppongi, I can prove it to her, too.

    Kira giggles, and snaps a few ¡®teasing¡¯ clicks and clacks at my box from a bated distance. She¡¯s having fun. I¡¯m glad. So glad that it¡¯s almost fucking impossible to see her fucking face through the bullshit that¡¯s suddenly blurring my eyes.

    ¡°Come on, girl!¡± I finally press out. ¡°Set us up the table¡ªlet¡¯s dig in.¡±

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°Oh, but do I have to!?¡± she says, with a fucking¡­

    A fucking sly-foxed, snake-coiled, bitch-barking mope.

    The fucking viper of Shinjuku¡ªthe velvet dame with the milk-honey hair. Moping. Pouting. Like a fucking toddler that¡¯s been scolded.

    Her fucking mope¡ªthat piece of shit mouth, so intentionally designed to be soft, versatile, and flexible¡ªas if she¡¯s fucking showcasing how many assholes choke the ever living¡ª

    ¡°Fine! Shall I set up two, or three plates?¡±

    Vision clears instantly. I burn my eyes into hers. Bitch better not be bullshitting me right now.

    ¡°Why three?¡±

    ¡°Oh¡ª¡° she draws out. ¡°¡ªwell, no reason in particular.¡±

    Hand tenses on the shell in my pocket.

    ¡°Did you bring home a fucking client?¡±

    Her grin nearly flashed her molars. A micro-snarl. She never liked me cursing.

    Tough shit.

    Last time I met her client was out at the glass hallways, where he tried to kill her. His gun hung loose in his holster¡ªbefore it was in my trembling grasp.

    One bullet¡ªbarrel to the ear-canal¡ªhead snapped left, blood-jet drawing unevenly dashed red lines, with the other eleven surging into his body in case the first failed.

    I was nine when that happened.

    It always bothered me that his eyes locked on mine after unloading the gun into him. I still see them whenever I walk through the breezeway.

    ¡°Nope!¡± she says, popping her lips, feeling like she¡¯s full of mischief.

    ¡°¡­ Two plates, then, Kira.¡±

    She squees silently, as she prances to the dishwasher that held both our clean and unclean dishes.

    She racks through them like cards before she pulls out two, and she places them on the dining table.

    Her hands tremble, chopsticks sliding back and forth with each minor jitter, before she turns and dumps the box onto her plate.

    Chopsticks in her praying hands¡ªslight bow¡ª¡°Itadakimasu!¡±

    And she digs in. No, she fucking slorfs in, the slur dirisive and fucking obnoxious. I mean I get it. It¡¯s how you show appreciation here. Guessing she thinks it¡¯s making me feel good that she¡¯s enjoying it.

    ¡°Sweetie,¡± her mouth is full. ¡°Your food¡¯s gonna get cold.¡±

    I look down at the box I¡¯m holding, then up at Kira. Screw it¡ªmight as well keep her company, I guess.

    I sit down, and roil the contents down onto the plate. Dark-brown parasites pretending to be dead. I can¡¯t discern their edges.

    ¡°Sweetie?¡±

    A maggot massgrave. Glazed by their own blood.

    ¡°Kumori?¡±

    ¡­ Why are they moving?

    ¡°Hey!¡±

    I¡¯m so hungry.

    ¡°The fuck are you crying over?¡±

    It¡¯s been a long day. I wish they would just stop¡ª

    ¡°You¡¯ll¡ª¡± my head is shoved to the side. ¡°¡ªspoil the fucking food¡ªlook elsewhere, damn it!¡±

    A tunnel of my hair, greasy, soggy, silhouettes the counters I¡¯m facing.

    She was surprisingly soft this time around. Guess she¡¯s grateful for the food, after all.

    I¡¯ll let her finish in peace. No need for her to have her high come crashing down.

    It¡¯s how it usually goes.

    I grab my plate. I grab my sticks.

    I can barely see Kira in the silhouettes of my bangs¡ªwell, except for her eyes. Cute. They¡¯ve turned green. Like mood irises.

    I give a curt bow.

    I walk out to the balcony and see sunrays barely peeking through the skyline. The air is moist, and the sun basked the underbelly of the overcast in a peach-rose hue.

    Sixth floor. I¡¯m on the balcony on the sixth floor.

    Where a single step is all it takes for it to stop.

    Let¡¯s see how long it will take before reaching the bottom.

    A parasitic maggot ballet show, limbs stretching out with the centrifugal force, before bouncing in a rebound spin¡ªsprinkling soy sauce allover the place.

    The ramen is swallowed by the night.

    Chairs and tables crash to the ground from inside. Steps stumble and hurry to the balcony door. A slam nearly sends the thing off its hinges, failing to open.

    ¡°You stupid little shit!¡±

    Her voice is muffled, but oh so mad.

    ¡±Are you out of your mind!?¡±

    Door screeches open¡ªshe figured it out.

    Her heavy breathing flows through her teeth, turning her panting into whispered snarls.

    ¡°Y¡ª¡°

    She swallows, her face darting around, before landing on the miniscule shards below. This amped her up again.

    ¡°You ruined perfectly good food¡ª!¡±

    ¡°So go eat it off the ground, then.¡±

    Like the fucking whore you are.

    She chokes on the rest of her words, face losing all semblance of rage.

    All that chaos silenced in an instance. She looks over the railing, eyes squinting for a reason to amp herself up again.

    ¡°You do realise that we¡¯ll get fined for that, Kumori!¡±

    There we go.

    She clamps, and rattles the balcony railing, the vibrations echoing into my soles. The usual divebar bravado.

    ¡°Are you fucking listening to me!? Do you know how many times the government has¡ªHEY!¡±

    Imagine caring about that. Wouldn¡¯t have put us in this situation to begin with.

    She simply stands there, her glare reaching for a glower that never comes. Her whole torso, shoulders included, ramp up with each deep pent up pant of ¡®subdued rage¡¯¡ªa pathetic mimicry of how much she really thought I cared.

    She crosses her arms, form melting into despondency. Leaning against the railing, she shakes her head and LPas she looked a thousand yards into the panoramic window into our living room.

    ¡°I thought I raised you better,¡± she says, letting the hushing of the dockyards speak for once.

    ¡°I work¡ª¡± she chokes up, her crocodile tears almost drying her eyes up, ¡°¡ªso hard to keep us afloat¡ª¡± one arm uncrosses, as she lightly chops in the point, ¡°¡ªalive! In fact, I¡ª¡± she snaps her fingers at the revelation of the century.

    And now, she¡¯s finally quiet¡ª¡®devastation¡¯ eating up her words.

    ¡°You are the only reason I am still alive.¡±

    The echoing of the dockyards is drowned in thick tar. My throat constricts, teeth nearly cracking from the sheer pressure of my locking jaw. My arms hang loosely on the balcony railing. Out of the corner of my eye, her serpent amber eyes peer into my blurring vision. She glances at my arms. Then at the bottom. Then back at me.

    Her pale face is framed by the overcast sky with an underbelly of red light behind her. A weak light you stare at for too long¡ªeverything darkening around it, the silhouette amplifying it all.

    My ears are ringing. My skin cools from the cold sweating.

    ¡°¡­ Say something, you little cunt¡ª¡±

    <hr>

    There¡¯s a saying I¡¯ve heard so many times that I¡¯ve never quite understood. One that¡¯s kind of specific. But used in¡­ so many different ways.

    It¡¯s used when someone wants you to forgive them.

    It¡¯s used when someone needs to express bravado.

    It¡¯s used when someone wants you to fear them.

    It¡¯s used for someone who is manic.

    It¡¯s a saying that, like many others, can disperse any form of hope within the person hearing it. A saying that pertains to the last thing we want to see.

    I¡¯m seeing red.

    ¡°YAMERO!!!¡±

    If only it were true.

    I would be spared the color of her dress that barely covered her corpse-porclaine limbs.

    I would be spared the yellow mold still growing from the trash that cost us three months of rent¡­ that had her awol working for more than a month.

    I would be spared the fact that the red on her cracked faceplate is actually my fucking blood¡ªthe titanium-faced fucking whore¡ªthe fucking chipped out cunt. Just like those fucks at Roppongi, I am the one who ends up looking guiltier, despite being more bloodied.

    She is liquefying herself into the corner¡ªas if it¡¯ll pop, and break her through.

    I can feel the goosebumps from the very thought of her shin snapping from under my heel. I can feel the pain in the joints of my hands¡ªthe pain from wrestling the urge of pressing my nails into her throat.

    I can feel the fucking¡ª

    ¡­ The fucking¡­ The fucking pain in my throat.

    ¡­ Need for her to just¡­

    ¡­ I wish.

    I just wish¡­ she would get up, and make all of this stop.

    I wish she would get up, and hold me.

    I wish she would just once¡­ be the one that understands that my throat also can constrict.

    I wish that just once she would use her hands to wipe my ears¡ªnot my will to live. I just wish she would understand that the only reason I am alive today¡ªis because I was afraid of what would happen to her if I didn¡¯t survive.

    ¡­ And yet all I want to do now is keep her alive for as long as possible¡­

    As I slowly kill her.