3.
I followed the path of the overhead lights, though calling it a path felt like too generous a word. The glow barely defined the circles it traced across the tile. The light feathered and bled where it met the counterfeit night, seeping into the dark like ink in water. One by one, the pools vanished behind me.
Each time I stepped forward, a metallic burst echoed through the chamber. It sounded like someone pulling a rusted lever, plunging the pool behind me into darkness.
Aya had fallen behind. Every time the light snapped out, she gasped, sharp, then strangled. When I turned back to help, she shook her head. Polite refusal every time. Right now, physical help was the only comfort I could offer her.
“No, don’t worry about me,” she said again after the third circle winked out before she could reach it. “It’s okay. Really, I’m fine.” Each of her words frayed at the end, ragged as her gait.
I disagreed. None of this was “okay,” and she definitely wasn’t “fine.” Her right ankle, twice its normal size, strained against her unlaced boot. Unable to bear weight for more than a few seconds, she struggled forward, each step punctuated by a wince and a pained gasp.
“If you won’t let me carry you, at least lean on me. You need to rest.”
“There’s no time,” she rasped, balancing on her good leg, the toe of the other poised like a ballerina regretting her decision to go en pointe. Arms spread wide to maintain balance; she cocked her head back, then whispered, “We’re not alone here.”
Again, she wasn’t wrong. I squinted into the murk but couldn’t detect any movement. Yet something was watching us, gauging our progress. The sensation had been an unwanted companion since I entered that first pool of light. It reminded me of ants crawling over my skin, searching for easy access—the best places to burrow inside and bite.
The last pool lay before us. “We’ll do this together. Take this, Aya.”
“No, I couldn’t.” She waved the naginata away. “One of us has to—”
“Take it.” Metal grated against the floor tiles as I forced the naginata into her hand. She swayed inward, then clung to it, gasping, leaning against it like a walking stick.
“Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
The light illuminated only the top of her head, highlighting clots of congealed blood that adorned its strands like gruesome beads.
“Why don’t you go ahead?” she said. “It’s not far, and I’ll be right behind you.”
“If you’re sure?”
Her nod transformed her face into a shifting abstract of citrine and shadow, and when she spoke, her voice sounded fragile and translucent as a ghost: “Right. Behind. You.”
“See you at the next stop,” I said, hoping the joke masked my dread.
As I breached the last pool, the fourth light snapped off, plunging the room into an eerie semi-darkness. I gritted my teeth and pressed on, determined not to let the oppressive atmosphere unnerve me. Behind me, Aya made a small strangled sound, a mixture of pain and fear. Cloth rustled, followed by the sickening thud of her body hitting the floor and then the sharp clang of my naginata skittering across its hard surface.
Fearing her injuries had finally overwhelmed her, I spun around.
The naginata shot back into the faint light, its curved blade drawing small sparks as it skimmed along the floor. But Aya had vanished.
“Aya!” The name tore from my throat, raw with panic. My pulse hammered in my ears as I lunged toward where she’d stood seconds ago.
I grabbed the weapon, knuckles white with fury as I swung it through the murky darkness, searching for any sign of her. Nothing. My chest tightened with each frantic breath. First Tobi, now her; the rage I’d been tamping down flared hot as a forge.
I lowered the blade and repeated the motion, tapping its side against the floor, hoping to find where she’d fallen. Each time, my efforts met only empty air.
When I called out, the walls threw her name back at me, haunting and hollow. The light sputtered out in response. I dropped into a crouch, hands tightening on the naginata’s shaft, ready to stab or slice the moment anything moved. I was through playing along.
This was a game. Three people. One weapon. A swarm of kufugaki in the dark. Only a real sicko would find that entertaining.
I didn’t care if they were soldiers or lackeys. I just wanted out.
Most of all, I wanted to know why this was happening.
In the darkness dead ahead, there came a slight rumble—the sound of something heavy being shoved aside. I waited, holding my breath while wondering what fresh hell these jerks had in store for me.
“Bravo, Renata! Well done!”
A husky voice bellowed, echoing within another well of the distant dark. Then, over a faint gurgling noise, I heard clapping.
Further away, another spotlight brightened, revealing another chamber. Inside this one, a hunched figure in a stark white uniform sat at the head of a long table. The clusters of medals and gold braids adorning his uniform hinted at his high rank, but from my vantage point, all I could make out were vague shapes and colors.
“Come. Sit with me.” As he motioned to a seat, lank strands of dark hair fell over his tinted glasses. An oxygen mask obscured the rest of his face.
“Not until you tell me why I’m here,” I said. “What have you done with my friends?”
Metal squeaked as he rocked back in his chair. “You broke curfew. Are you denying that you broke the law?”
“Broke the law?” My hand tightened on the naginata, and my ears rang—a sure warning sign I was about to lose my temper. “Since when does breaking curfew land you in a kufugaki pit?”
“The law is whatever I say it is, Renata. Please, sit.” He nodded toward the empty chair. “You must be tired after your ordeal. Thirsty too, I’d imagine.”
No matter how congenial his offer, a brittleness edged his tone, implying that he wouldn’t be so nice the next time. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t used to getting any pushback when he gave an order.
Without waiting for an answer, he tapped the tabletop. A female guard in an unadorned grey version of his high-collared uniform appeared with a tall glass. She set it on the table, bowed to him, then backed away into shadow, her disappearance punctuated by the low swish and click of a recessed door or panel sliding back into place.
He was right about being thirsty. My mouth felt like a sand trap. I retracted the naginata and moved further into the cave-like room.
The chamber smelled of antiseptic and something medicinal, a sharp tang that made my nostrils flare. Unlike the detention center, cool air drifted from hidden vents, laced with a faint hint of sandalwood. Indigo walls swallowed sound, enclosing the room in a hush. Only the soft hiss of his oxygen mask and the slow bubbling of its humidifier broke the stillness. A large tablet recessed into the gleaming table cast a blue glow across the polished wood, lighting up a spread of diagrams I couldn’t decipher. I took a seat and drank from the glass. The water was so cold it tasted like swallowing pure winter light.
“Welcome to New Edo, Renata,” he said, smiling.
“New Edo?” I spluttered, almost choking. Japan’s largest holodome was over four hours from my home! “Are you... General Mazawa?” I ventured. Which still didn’t answer the question. Why was I here?
“Oh, so you’ve heard of me?” He beamed. “Yes, I am Doctor General Mazawa, and I have wanted to meet you for some time, Renata. You’ve made quite a name for yourself in Hokkaido. Well, you and your brother. Remind me, what’s his name?”
“Satoshi.” My throat constricted on the last syllable. “Where is he?”
“Safe. Quite safe...” He raised a gloved hand. “As are your friends. My staff is tending to them now. Some sustained severe injuries. You, on the other hand, seem to have weathered the same exigencies remarkably unscathed.”
He leaned forward, eyes fixed on me. “Why, there’s hardly a scratch on you.”
I shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”
“Luck, yes...” His other hand never left the mask, which muffled his words, making him sound like a tree frog. “As I was saying, rumors of your accomplishments are extraordinary. Legendary even. Of course, one can’t believe everything one hears, so I devised a skill test to see for myself.”
Skill test? My expression must have been equally “extraordinary.” Mazawa leaned back in his chair, laughing. The fit ended in a wheeze. He took another hit from his oxygen. The portable humidifier beside him gurgled in protest.
“You were never in any real danger,” he finally said, emphasizing the first word, “And I must say, you possess exceptional abilities. Calm in a crisis, able to think on your feet, and protective of your friends—all are sterling attributes I truly admire. In fact, you’d make an excellent soldier in every aspect but one.”
He didn’t need to tell me which one.
“Tell me, were you born in Hokkaido?”
The question surprised me. “I grew up there. That’s all I know.” In an orphanage until Satoshi came of age. But he didn’t need to know that. “My parents died when I was a baby.”
“Nokuru?”
I nodded. That’s what Satoshi had always told me, anyway.
“Interesting. This brings us to the reason you’re here, Renata. Normally, I’d impose a penalty for breaking curfew—a week’s ration tickets or a work detail—but your case requires a more creative approach.”
My thirst vanished. I set the glass on the table. How creative? Only torture or death could have been worse than what we’d just endured.
Again, he must have found my expression quite amusing. The bottom rims of his glasses inched upward.
“Instead of exacting a penalty, I will put your talent to better use.”
“Talent,” I echoed, acid burning beneath my sternum.
“For killing.” He nodded. “It’s one of the oldest and noblest art forms in existence, Renata. Let no one tell you otherwise.”
Mazawa leaned forward to rest on his elbows, which made him look even more toad-like—a fat white toad in an indigo cave.
“Instead of wasting your gift on kufugaki, you’re going to kill the man who created nokuru.”