Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Deuteronomy ❯ The Silver Lining ( Chapter 3 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Chapter 3
The Silver Lining

“I’m aware of my actions and the consequences that may occur. I’ve endured through this not for myself, but for the ones I love…letting go is not an option.” – Kushiro Yamanaka

The night cloaked the city in a dark veil; its bountiful attractions split the darkness with their sterling lights. Hours had past and authorities were already positioned about the radius of the destruction of a damp blood bath. The ravenous media congregates around the outskirts of the police taped boundary; the mass of cameras and their gleaming lens yearn to quench the viewers’ undying curiosity. The cycling light patterns from the squad cars beamed about the area attracting bystanders by the handful, continuing to grow by each passing minute.
On the campus, the restricted zone was brightly illuminated with the school’s field lights. The piles of frozen limbs and torsos that littered the ground had mysteriously dissolved over the time. The only evidence that was accountable for was the unexplainable diced bleachers and the fresh waterlogged field of demon blood coating the once green grass. Despite forensic science and analytics expertise present on the scene, justice had no leads to what caused such an inhuman disaster to occur.  
Elsewhere, the visions of an astonishing unconscious one flutter back to life: a blurry picture of a white ceiling slowly becomes clearer before him. He announces a slight groan of pain as he struggles to lift his weakened body from the bed. He rises too quickly; the right lobe of his head shocks him with a throbbing pain to force him back down. He carefully braces the source with his fingertips, discovering an application of soft, cotton bandages wrapped around his head; there was a huge imprint of blood on the right side. He starts to breath heavily and lets the pain die down to go for another attempt to rise once more. The sounds of his troubling movements alert Yukio of his awakening as he was already approaching the door.

Yukio: Oi, Kushiro. Feeling better?
Kushiro: My head is pounding…other than that, I’ll manage. Wait…what am I doing here?! I’m alive?!
Yukio: You’re lucky to be. Your little girlfriend carried you here from the school. Said you got jumped by some thugs looking to settle the score with you.
Kushiro: She’s not my girlfriend.
Yukio: ‘sighs’ Let’s face it; you’ve become too notorious. Getting rid of the money is one thing, but if you’re getting jumped by them at school, the only solution is to move again.
Kushiro: We don’t need to do that! I’ll get them off me, I swear!
Yukio: No, that’s too risky.
Kushiro: But mom doesn’t have the credit to afford another house loan! Besides, as long as they don’t know where we live, none of that matters! ‘flinches’
Yukio: Let’s hope for your sake that never happens. Anyway, you have some visitors who want to see you.

Two heads of blonde locks followed by a bashful and innocent sky blue poke their heads through the doorway.

Ayame: Hi there.
Suzuki: C-can we come in?  
Kushiro: Sure, I don’t mind.
Yukio: ‘thinking’ You got to be kidding me? I embarrass his ass in front of all those kids and he ends up getting sympathy from two attractive high school girls…‘sighs heavily’ The morals of women keep drastically changing each generation, I swear.

The two enter the room with Kushiro’s permission. Brewing with jealously, Yukio takes his leave downstairs. Concerned about his condition, Ayame settles herself close on the side of the bed. For Suzuki, she makes herself at home and sits in the available chair near his desk.

Ayame: You feeling okay?
Kushiro: I’m feeling better. How did you guys know where I live?
Ayame: We trialed Miwa when she was carrying you back here.
Suzuki: While keeping an eye out for that raven, which is pretty hard in a city heavily populated with them.
Kushiro: You weren’t followed by anyone suspicious by any chance?
Ayame: Not at all. What happened back there? We happened to catch the news and all they could release to the public was an act of “Inhumane Domestic Violence”. The police couldn’t identify the blood that was left behind.
Kushiro: Well at least school is closed.
Ayame: What about the murder cases in the alleyways?
Kushiro: She said she wasn’t involved with any of them.
Suzuki: I think she’s lying. She has that monster bird that flares up and stuff.
Kushiro: Maybe, but she may have some others working along with her. She mentioned there were more just like her. So from now on, I’d recommend that you stay away from me.
Ayame: No way. She almost killed you.
Suzuki: Let us help.
Kushiro: You guys helping is only going to add to her kill count.
Ayame: Just so you know, your manhood is not on the line or anything.
Kushiro: You’re acting as if I’m trying to win your affection, which by the way, I’m not.
Ayame: You’re not my type to begin with either. When it comes to matters of a male amongst a female; a male tends to try and muscle his way through any situation without realizing how much he’s benching.
Kushiro: Don’t get feministic with me.
Suzuki: So, are we going to tell our parents about this?
Kushiro: Like they would believe us.
Suzuki: My parents trust me. They reward my honesty with a nice cup of applesauce. Don’t know why, but I get this strange, tart, powdery taste while eating it.

Suzuki’s outburst conjures a hushed environment with awkward results; with Ayame’s and Kushiro’s face glued with puzzling expressions.

Suzuki: What? It’s delicious!
Ayame: Suzuki...never mind.
Suzuki: It’s getting close to nine o’clock. I’m going to head home before my mom worries.
Ayame: Same, and Kushiro, try not to do anything reckless.
Kushiro: I can look after myself.
Ayame: Says the one beaten up by a girl.
Kushiro: She’s a freak and you know!

Interrupting their strategic meeting, sporadic creaks from the staircase and pounding footsteps against the firm carpeting snatches their attention. Ume barrages in unannounced; hanging about the metal doorframe and aware of Kushiro’s recent supposed scuffle with the Wild Fangs. Though the unpredictable sight of two unsupervised adolescents gathered around his bed quickly switches her parental concern to a stricter role. Kushiro could immediately tell she wasn’t here to check up on him; her nails dug dented columns into the doorframe.

Kushiro: I didn’t mean it that—Eh, why even bother.
Ume: So Kushiro, mind introducing me to your female acquaintances; who I am hoping their only reason of being in your room unsupervised by a responsible adult is to talk?
Kushiro: No need to bend the doorframe mom, they just heard about me getting jumped, that’s all.
Suzuki: I thought we were talking about—
Ayame: Nice to meet you Mrs. Yamanaka; I’m Ayame Chiba and this is Suzuki Ibaraki; we’re friends from his school.
Kushiro: Friends? After what you pulled today—
Ayame: ‘nervous laughter’ Not now Kushiro.
Ume: ‘grits teeth’ Yes, now’s not the time son.
Ayame: Uhh, I don’t mean to sound condescending or anything, but you will chip your teeth by gritting like that.
Ume: ‘steps in’ No sh—!
Kushiro: It’s getting late! Thanks for coming over you two! I’ll talk to you both tomorrow, ok?!
Suzuki: Yeah, we better go.
Ayame: Sure; talk to you later Kushiro.

Kushiro takes a sigh of relief as they thankfully leave before another inhumane act unfolds in his room. The two respectfully rise to their feet, tread carefully past Ume, and depart in separate ways to their homes. With the potential threat gone; a percentage of Ume’s impulsive wrath drops, while the remainder is dumped on Kushiro alone. She marches towards him hoping for a truthful explanation of her son’s true intentions.

Ume: So I see your actions have netted you some attention now.
Kushiro: Mom—
Ume: I don’t like them, particularly the blonde. As a matter of fact, I hate blondes in general. They all have that obnoxious Cali-girl voice and start their sentences with the word ‘like’ too often. They think they can obtain anything in the world by dressing provocatively; showing off their perky cleavage and their clean, shaven legs in their tiny miniskirts. I’m not saying I have hairy legs or anything. I could turn my corporeal image into some perverted male fantasy, but I have too much pride as a woman to undergo such a libidinous transformation to get what I want.
Kushiro: Didn’t get the promotion?
Ume: ‘whines’ They gave my promotion to Rachael! ‘angry’ That scarlet bitch didn’t even show up to work and still gets promoted! Orokana shiri burondo! ‘continues indistinctive language’
Kushiro: Don’t be so hard on yourself. Just continue to work hard and stay on the path of righteousness. Before you know it, Rachael will be working for you! ‘laughs’
Ume: ‘stops’ You’re right Kushiro. Maybe God has something better planned for me.
Kushiro: That’s right, no need to get angry! Let the sun shine in! ‘cheerful laughter’
Ume: I haven’t forgotten the real reason I stormed up here.
Kushiro: I tried.
Ume: You weren’t near the track field after school were you?
Kushiro: You think I have something to do with the bleachers being dismantled?
Ume: They weren’t dismantled; the report I read stated that the stands were sliced clean and soaking in blood equivalent to about ten bathtubs being dumped onto the field.
Kushiro: Last I checked, I had a gambling problem. If you’re worried that I’m a psychotic killer, your approach could use a little work.
Ume: So you were nowhere near that area?
Kushiro: I told you, no. The reason behind my head concussion is because Lance and his goons got the jump on me. If it wasn’t for Miwa, something much worse could have happened.
Ume: Miwa?
Kushiro: The girl I mentioned yesterday that beat me up.
Ume: I swear, as of yesterday; you meet the most unappealing young girls I have ever heard of…Well, I have no choice but to believe you. Though let me make one thing clear to you mister.
Kushiro: What’s that?
Ume: If you’re going to date one of those girls, go for Suzuki. She seems more normal than this roughhouse fighter and that smart mouth bimbo in my opinion.
Kushiro: ‘blushes’ It’s not like that! They were just concerned that’s all!
Ume: And that’s how a relationship should start. Trust me Kushiro, I use to be your age, and I’m trying to give you the edge on the battlefield of love. Encounter the wrong girl and they will take you down.
Kushiro: Don’t worry mom; if I ever need a battle plan, I’ll come to you…Actually you can help me out with something.
Ume: Yes?
Kushiro: What’s your opinion on a girl who can really analyze your entire life and have a far better perspective of you than yourself?
Ume: Please don’t tell me it’s Ayame?
Kushiro: Just answer the question.
Ume: Fine. Well for starters, this one sounds very observant. Perhaps the reason behind her ability to define a person so easily is probably because of her experiences throughout life, and doesn’t want to relive another similar event. Her observation skills are probably at a point where she can easily obtain a synopsis of your characteristics simply by your body language, your posture, the tone of your voice, and behavior. She closes herself behind layers of walls; not even letting a single person, even a friend, past the first obstruction. A person like this is very hard to get to and will take years for any relationship to take place.
Kushiro: I see.
Ume: The best option I can offer is simply be there for her. If you show that you care for her distinctive character, sooner or later she will grow to trust you above anyone else. That’s why I chose your father.
Kushiro: I see.
Ume: And most importantly, you’re sixteen years old with so many years ahead of you; your future for a better life takes higher priority than a life with significant another.
Kushiro: That’s very insightful mom. I actually know how to approach her now.  
Ume: Jesus, it’s already ten minutes to ten. Make sure you replace those dirty bandages with clean ones and take a bath. God let it be Friday.
Kushiro: ‘chuckles’ Goodnight mom.

They conclude the conversation between mother and son with a tender kiss on his cheek. As she turned right-about to exit his room, she felt enlightened from the churning hostility from today’s event. She started to believe she could trust one of her beloved sons once more. Leaving the room with her heart brimmed with warmth and love; she closes the door behind her. Unfortunately, while struggling to remove his shirt, a caw from a raven signals from outside. He then reliefs the instantaneous stress with a heavy sigh, pulls down his shirt, and hangs his head outside his bedroom window. There in his faithful spot as always, Makato sat comfortably snuggled in the tall patch of grass; wheezing softly to itself.  

Kushiro: I would throw my shoe at you, but I’m afraid you’d eat it.
Miwa: The least you could do is fling something edible at him.

Her unforeseen input alerts her position; laid reposed on the surface of the lower level roof. Her pupils reflected the sluggish drifting of dark clouds; the booming resonance of thunder publicizes the arrival of an incoming storm.

Kushiro: Sounds like someone is hungry.
Miwa: For your information, spirits don’t tire or hunger as easily as the living.
Kushiro: Go bother the old man down the street or something. I hear he’s about to croak because the nurse didn’t change the oxygen tank.
Miwa: Orders are orders. I can’t have you leave my sight.
Kushiro: I hope this doesn’t mean you’ll be watching me shower from now on.
Miwa: If that ever happens, I’ll be sure to gouge my eyes out with my own fingers.
Kushiro: Since you’re so duty bound, mind recapping what happened back there?  
Miwa: You forgot?
Kushiro: ‘points to his head’ Hello, concussion.
Miwa: I’ll make it short and sweet for you. If you don’t clear your aura of darkness, you’re demon food.
Kushiro: And how do you suppose I do that?
Miwa: I don’t know.
Kushiro: Then what kind of help are you?!
Miwa: This is your life. You have to make that decision; repent for a safe voyage or face the consequences of your actions.  
Kushiro: Geez, the least you could do is let me speak with whoever you’re working with.
Miwa: Can’t, though you’ll have all the time for Q&A with him when you die, then live afterwards.
Kushiro: How long do I have?
Miwa: You have two more days. After that, your death is out of my hands. You alone may die or you may take others with you; who knows. I just hope you’ve come to a final decision soon.
Kushiro: And “God” is going to allow this to circumvent?
Miwa: “God” only allowed you time; what comes after this is all on you.
Kushiro: Right, way to point the finger at me.
Miwa: So what’s your decision?
Kushiro:…that money stays.
Miwa: Are you crazy?! Did you not see what you’ll be up against when you die with that aura emitting your location?! Is money more important than other people’s lives?!
Kushiro: ‘remains silent’
‘thunder roars’
Miwa: Grow up, you selfish little punk. After all these warnings, even from the likes of me, if you care about your family, why do you persist on keeping that money if it harms their future?!
Kushiro:…You know me so well; I think you know my answer.
Miwa: Tch, you’re a bigger idiot than I imagined.
Kushiro: Then stay outside and judge me all you want, that is my decision. Have fun in the rain.

The downpour didn’t take long to start after Kushiro concluded their little discussion by shutting the windowpane. She lingered a bit on her thoughts about the situation. As the rain begins to pick up, Makato flutters to her shoulder to snap her out of her concentration. With nowhere else to go, the two disperse from the rooftop to find shelter from the night’s harsh weather.
Inside, Kushiro was currently unraveling the bandages within the confines of their pearlescent white bathroom. The muffled bombarding of raindrops striking the roof could be heard throughout the house. He takes a look into the mirror to examine the progress of his injury; the minuscule thin scar running down the right temple was completely clotted. He brushes his bangs to the side, and then caresses the healed wound. An object on the bandages curled in the sink catches his eye. Stitched to the cloth was a white button dried in his blood, similar to the boy’s uniform top from his school. He pauses for a moment, then curses under his breath, and departs quietly to find Miwa.
Armed with an umbrella, he steps out into the relentless weather; the cold rainwater sending chills up his spine through his naked feet. He calls out Miwa’s name, hoping she had not gone too far. The chilling wind thrashes against his exposed flesh and claims his only protection from the rain. The inverted umbrella flies helplessly into the air and lashes against one of the branches in the tree in their neighbor’s yard. He cuddles himself to the bare reaction of cold rainwater showering him. Thankfully, the sight of his dismantled umbrella marked the location to where Miwa and Makato were hiding. The two were huddled and concealed themselves under the brush of the tree’s whipping foliage.
The two hastily retreat back to Kushiro’s living room; their soggy clothes weighing them down and vaguely revealing the straps to Miwa’s white bra. Shy of her indecent display, she covers her chest by cuddling Makato and using him as cover.

Miwa: ‘whispers’ Why the sudden change of heart?
Kushiro: ‘whispers’ You did me a favor, so I thought I should do the same. Just make sure Makato keeps it down.
Miwa: He’s well behaved, he’ll keep quiet.
Kushiro: Follow me. You can get out of those wet clothes in my room.
Miwa: Why your room?
Kushiro: Look, just change in my room. I’ll be in the bathroom taking a shower. By the time I’m done you should be decent by then.
Miwa: Make sure you knock first or I’ll knock your block off.
Kushiro: Whatever.

The two sneak quietly up the stairs. The raindrops drowned out the sounds of the creaking steps. They separate into the two rooms to handle their business. With Makato perched securely on the left lower bedpost, Miwa then explores the contents of Kushiro’s closet and finds another pair of school clothes hopefully in her size. With her back turned to Makato, she then unbuttons her damp top, then unhooks her saturated bra, and sheds the wet clothing to the side. She makes an attempt to wipe the chilling moisture about her. After removing a fair amount, she reaches for a clean white dress shirt, and begins to button it from the top. Next up, she peels out of the constraints of her sodden lower attire and slips into a pair of dark blue boxer shorts.
 Fully dressed, she uses the translucent reflection of the window as an improvised mirror. Fortunately the two shared the same size, but it didn’t help much that the shirt’s open slits were exploiting portions of skin. The thought of dressing so loosely, especially in a teenage boy’s room, had her face flashing red. Not to mention her wet and entangled hair mopping her back. Before she could fix the wardrobe malfunction, she notices the absent sound of running water through the pipes. Bashful of her exploitive appearance, she hastily jerks the thin bed cover and wraps it around her just before the door fully opens. To her dismay, he enters the room draped only below the waist in a white towel with his boney muscular upper toned body. Her face begins to light up in a darker tone as she turns right-about to hide the signs of her facial discomfort.

Miwa: Would you put some clothes on?
Kushiro: ‘shuts the door’ I’m sorry; last I had checked this was my room. Why are you wrapped in my bed sheets anyway?
Miwa: Just shut up and get dressed; it’s bad enough I’m even in here.

While he shifts through his drawer for a set of undergarments, he notices her discarded clothing on the floor. The lower hem of her shirt was missing, which confirmed she did cater to his wounds. To the left of her, a facedown redwood picture frame catches her eye. Curious of what it may be, she picks it up; the soft touch of the back frame’s black velvet sends a warm sensation through her fingers. Incased behind its glass case cover was a picture of a painstaking memory of what his family was before the departure of his father. The background of the photo depicted the front of their home when they first moved in. It was the first time had seen evidence of Hiro’s existence; short brown spiky hair, heartfelt hazel eyes, dressed handsomely in a black pressed suit, complemented with a white dress shirt embedded with tanned buttons,  and cuts off at his black tie fashioned loosely around the collar.
Secured safely in his left arm was his beautiful wife, Ume; dressed gorgeously in her formal grey top and skirt, paired with a white shirt columned with black buttons, and her earlobes pierced with silver dotted earrings. Cradled in her arms was Kushiro at an early age in his all white baby clothes. She could understand how the years could have been so unforgiveable and harsh to a loving family. By the time she took in the image before her, Kushiro was already dressed in his night apparel; a white muscle shirt with black shorts.

Miwa: So this is your dad.
Kushiro: I thought you met him.
Miwa: I only heard stories of him…he sounds like a great person.
Kushiro: What did he do that was so great anyway?
Miwa: Why would you want to know? Didn’t you have a vendetta against your father’s abandonment?
Kushiro: I do…I did—I don’t know. ‘rubs forehead’ I’m getting an headache from all this.
Miwa: It’s amazing what a near-death experience can achieve, although, you’re quite the stubborn subject for my first case.
Kushiro: Your first case?
Miwa: I’m “technically” not a shinigami.  
Kushiro: Then what the hell are you?!
Miwa: Keep your voice down idiot; your mom may hear you.
Kushiro: So you’ve been impersonating someone this entire time? Isn’t that a bit dangerous on your end?
Miwa: I’m a student actually.
Kushiro: There’s a school in the afterlife for stalking?  
Miwa: Shut up. Look, once I’m done with you, my sensei can give me my grade, and you can aimlessly wonder throughout the Reikai for all I care.
Kushiro: I can’t believe I’m someone’s homework assignment. So if I fail, you fail too, right?
Miwa: Only difference is I can redo this next semester.
Kushiro: So you know some things about my dad, care to explain more?
Miwa: I can’t explain much, because it’s a rule, even when you’re about to die. Years ago, the Reikai fell under the merciless assault and rebellion by four others who were of higher authority than shinigami chosen to serve secretly for the Trinity.
Kushiro: The Trinity? So Christianity is real?
Miwa: Don’t get me started; Christianity, let alone religion itself is nothing more than children fighting over whose idol is the best.
Kushiro: Then why does your god share the same name Christians define theirs?
Miwa: I guess that’s just the way it is.
Kushiro: Funny. That’s the same answer the congregation at my mom’s church loves to spam.
Miwa: Why does it bother you?
Kushiro: ‘sits at the foot of his bed’ It doesn’t; I’m not the religious type to begin with, remember? Let’s not get sidetracked here. What happened between my dad and these four other guys?
Miwa:…‘sets up the picture frame’
Kushiro:…Waiting.
Miwa: You’ll just have to wait.
Kushiro: Really?
Miwa: Again, I can’t go into too much detail. ‘leans against the wall’ So now that I clarified your curiosity, maybe you can quail mine.
Kushiro: You didn’t answer anything and I told you that money is staying.
Miwa: So you’re willing to take the chance to drag more innocent lives down with you to satisfy your own purpose?
Kushiro: I’m aware of the consequences Miwa…and the fact that I’m being judged negatively for sacrificing my life for my family just proves something to me even more. For me to throw away that silver lining just to secure a safe death for myself, ‘clinches fists’, I should be feed to the demons if that ever becomes an option in my mind. If it comes to it, I’ll exclude myself from society and accept my death. Anything rather than to throw that all away and to watch her cry like that…Why is sacrificing myself for my family is such a sin to their eyes?
Miwa: I’m just as clueless as you are. I’m supposed to learn something from this exercise, but obviously I’m failing to see the lesson here. Personally, if I had it my way, I would have just given up on you on the get-go.
Kushiro: Well aren’t you the kindhearted individual.
Miwa: But that decision would have been my old self…the one “God” ignored…You accept the penalty and would face it alone to make sure your family receives that silver line…I don’t understand their reasoning with you.
Kushiro: Then you fully understand why I won’t simply throw it away.
Miwa: You’re not hiding anything else are you?
Kushiro: The only thing that I am hiding from you is the whereabouts of the rest of my winnings.
Miwa: I see…I hope you don’t mind if we continue this tomorrow; I’m getting tired.
Kushiro: Good. The last thing I need is a ‘restless’ ghost following me.
Miwa: ‘smiles’ Talk about corny.
Kushiro: So you can smile without being callous.
Miwa: Look, don’t start thinking if you get on my good side, I can extend your life on Earth a little longer.
Kushiro: I didn’t plan on it. Well, you’re welcome to sleep in my bed for tonight.
Miwa: Where are you sleeping?
Kushiro: I can just sleep on the floor.
Miwa: Go downstairs and sleep on the couch or something. I’m not sleeping in the same room with you.
Kushiro: Are you serious? I rescue you from the cold rain and welcome you into my home with hospitality, and you’re enforcing me to sleep on the couch?
Miwa: First off, ownership of a home is entitled to the one who pays the bills to live here.
Kushiro: Either way, you’re commanding me in my own house!
Ume: ‘distant’ Kushiro, who are you talking to?!
Kushiro: Eh…no one! Just—singing a song!
Ume: Well you better sing your butt to sleep mister!
Kushiro: Okay! ‘nervous chuckle’
Miwa: ‘softly sings’ Someone thinks you’re crazy.
Kushiro: Shut it.
Miwa: Fine. You better not try anything funny while I am asleep.
Kushiro: Don’t flatter yourself. I may be dying, but that doesn’t mean I’ll sleep with you out of desperation.

Still securely wrapped in the covers, she hoists her legs from the floor to the wrinkled, white surface, and rests on her left side. Two hours into the dreary night and Mother Nature never displayed an ounce of remorse. Miwa was still conscious; her half opened eyes intently zoned at the watery shadows that trickled down the exposed bed sheet in front of her. She felt warm and comfortable to say the least; something she had not experienced during her early childhood. The occasional flash from lightning would strike brightly within the room, followed by the indifferent volumes of thunder; her eyes never left the trance of shadowy rainwater.
Thursday morning rose, as the storm had finally deceased at some point during the night; warming rays of sunshine radiated the start of a new day. Last night’s storm had left an aftermath of its destruction; a damp environment of bits and pieces of trash, branches, and leaves littered the streets, over saturated lawns, the watery smell and dense humidity, and the tree Miwa and Makato had took refuge under had collapsed into the neighboring house. Thankfully, the family living there was alive and well; only to deal with the financial issues of repairing the damages. Though one family wasn’t fortunate, a mother blue jay circles about the wreckage in search of its nest. It soon catches the enfeebled cry of its young and dives to investigate. The nest was mashed between the crushing weight of the tree and the splintered floor. Shattered egg shrapnel and dried yolk residue mixed in with leaves and twigs was all that was left of the mother’s offspring, all except for the one crying desperately to cling to life’s branch.  
Inside the abode of the Yamanaka family, Ume was already awake and fully dressed for today’s shift; a tan-like cream colored jacket adorned in an elegant three black button design, black blouse, and matching long creamed skirt and black heels. Her abrupt shouts had Yukio and Hamaru already moving sluggishly about the upper levels to get ready. With Yukio yawning loudly outside of the bathroom for Hamaru to finish his business, his attention was drawn to the lightly muted snores coming from Kushiro’s room.
Yukio quietly cracks the door ajar to find Kushiro sound asleep inexplicably in his bed. The sensation of his sudden agitation leads Yukio to the head of Kushiro’s bed. The sight of him promptly lax; entwined in the warm confines of his covers with his limbs spread out pissed him off even more. If he couldn’t sleep this late, neither could Kushiro. He slides his right index finger into his mouth, collecting the rancid and sticky webs of saliva clinging to the pink walls of his mouth. He flicks his finger out with a thick clump gathered at the surface of his nail. Without a second thought, he shoves the slobbering finger deep into Kushiro’s left ear; twisting and turning his finger. His childish act slowly awakens Kushiro from his deep slumber. It didn’t take long for Kushiro to array his irked appearance, considering he would always attempt this tactic when Ume wasn’t around when he was young.

Yukio: Morning.
Kushiro: I’ll give you till the count of one to get your germ infested finger out of my ear.
Yukio: Funny; from what I’m feeling around in there, you’re the germ infested one. Have you been cleaning your ears well?
Kushiro: That’s it! I’ll teach you to invade someone’s personal space!

The body slamming thud from upstairs easily attracts Ume’s attention. She drops the wood-crafted spoon into the steaming pot of oatmeal and marches upward to break up the family struggle. As she draws closer armed with a displeasing look, she could tell by Kushiro’s continuous uproar that his attempt at teaching Yukio anything was promptly cut short. She stops at the doorway with her arms crossed. She finds the two with Yukio entrapping him in an old fashioned headlock with his right arm as he squirms about to break free. Though she preferred him to be up and ready for school, their childish antics summons a smirk; blessed once more to see her lively family through the dark, dreary storm.

Kushiro: Let me go!
Yukio: What’s that, you’re quitting? Where’s that lesson plan of yours you were going to introduce about personal space?
Ume: Alright brother, he’s up. Now let him go so he can get ready for school.
Kushiro: What? Even when there’s a crime scene on campus, the school system never ceases to disappoint me.
Ume: As unorthodox as it sounds, I rather you be at school than here. ‘leaves’
Yukio: Well, you heard the boss, but first…

Kushiro’s movement suddenly comes to a complete halt as fear drips down his face from the loud and nauseating announcement of Yukio inhaling a collection of dense, yellowish phlegm to his mouth. With his free hand, he inserts his middle finger into his mouth, fishes out a lumpy mass, and quickly shoves it down Kushiro’s venerable left ear.

Yukio: Someone has to clean this dirty ear out!
Kushiro: That’s disgusting! This isn’t a—BETTER ALTERNATIVE TO BEGIN WITH!

With the family moment subsided, Kushiro’s turn to use the bathroom finally comes after Yukio. He breaks away from his usual morning routine and searches the bathroom cabinet for the clear box of cotton swabs. The popping in his ears was irritating enough; he blamed the storm from last night for keeping him awake. As he swabbed the saliva from his ears in front of the bathroom mirror, he started thinking to himself, “How did I end up in my bed? I lent it to Miwa last night and slept on the floor.” His mind went deeper into thought while the soft swab drilled in his right ear. He then releases a drawn out yawn and discovers an uncomfortable lump of mass twirling in his ear. His disturbed eyes focus on the image before him as he gradually pulls the swab away.
Downstairs, Yukio and Hamaru were already dressed and enjoying the wonderful breakfast Ume prepared for the family. The two had already fixed their plate, while Ume turned to the black granite countertop to pour herself a cup of black nectar in her favorite white mug labeled, “God at work.”

Ume: I’m going to need this for today.
Yukio: Why’s that?
Kushiro: ‘distant’ You nasty fu—there’s a booger in my ear!
Ume: Really brother, the Yellow Hook?
Yukio: It got you waking up early back when we were kids. ‘chuckles’
Ume: ‘sighs’ You are impossible.
Hamaru: What’s the Yellow Hook?
Ume: Something you shouldn’t understand at all. Eat your breakfast sweetheart.
Yukio: So what’s the info on last night’s breaking news?
Ume: I don’t know. To think something like that would happen to such a nice school. Officers haven’t released a full report to the media yet. So far it sounds like some premature freshmen playing some amateur prank. I had a talk with Kushiro about it last night.
Yukio: You seriously thought he had something to do with that? He’s gambling with gang members; like he has time to do that petty stuff.
Ume: That’s reassuring. ‘picks up mug’ Anyways, how’s the job search going? ‘sips’
Yukio: Tons of applications sent, not one word. Most are even requiring experienced applicants for the most simplest of jobs. How can anyone have experience in anything if no one is willing to offer it at first?
Ume: Aw, dang it, I knew I forgot to tell you something! The phones don’t work; I couldn’t pay the phone bill two months back.
Yukio: Seriously?!
Ume: ‘nervous chuckle’ Sorry?
Yukio: Great, now I have to backtrack all those locations and let them know. We need that phone online so they can notify me.
Ume: I know, but I barely have enough to support a decent dinner budget with.
Yukio: Don’t worry, I have an idea.
Ume: Really?
Yukio: Just leave it to me. It’s why I’m here right?
Ume: True; and with this week’s check, I can pay the electric bill for the month and get that phone online. ‘sighs’ Every time I turn around, there’s something that needs to be paid.

Excessive stomps from the staircase alerts the others of Kushiro’s approach. He was fully dressed in his sharply ironed school uniform, but not as asperous as his rage splitting the friendly ambiance as he got closer to the lower level. His face was frozen in an unpleasing manner with the cotton swab in his right hand still saturated from Yukio’s Yellow Hook.

Kushiro: ‘growls’ Yoooooou…
Hamaru: Gross!
Ume: Kushiro, that’s disgusting! We’re trying to eat here!
Kushiro: This maniac shoves a booger in my ear and I’m the one to blame?!
Yukio: Awww, maybe if you got up a little early, you wouldn’t have to be digging for gold out of those grimy mineshafts of yours.
Kushiro: I overslept by three minutes!   
Yukio: And that’s too much leisurely time for kids these days. Besides, weren’t you the one griping about how grown and independent you are? The least you can do is wake up at the same time adults do.
Kushiro: ‘points with cotton swab’ You’re nothing but a child trapped in a grown man’s body!
Yukio: That may be true, but I’m still more man than you.
Ume: That’s enough! Throw that nasty swab in the garbage already, sit down, and eat your breakfast!
Kushiro: Yes mother.
Ume: And don’t start complaining that you’re hungry when you go to school. I’m going outside to check on the neighbors next door. Turns out their tree did a number on their home. When I get back, I want you boys ready for school. Got it?
Kushiro & Hamaru: Yes mom.

The short lived verbal conflict comes to abrupt close; Ume takes her morning coffee with her and exits through the front door. Already in a discouraged mood, Kushiro follows his mother’s orders; opening the kitchen’s steel framed trashcan using the foot operated mechanism to pop the lid open. As he throws the swab inside, Yukio’s hand takes him by surprise; resting firmly upon his right shoulder. It was a clear body language sign to Kushiro that what he was about to say was of a serious manner.

Yukio: You’re only sixteen years old Kushiro; don’t try to grow up too soon. Enjoy your youth while you can…not many children your age, even Hamaru’s, could enjoy their childhood.
Kushiro:…Easy for you to say. You don’t have a clock looming over your head.

Kushiro replies a body language of his own; shrugging Yukio’s grip as he marches out of the kitchen and through the front door as well. The booming shut behind him startles Hamaru. He couldn’t recall seeing Kushiro this upset before. There was an uneasy suspicion that would not stop shaking Hamaru’s curiosity. He looked over to his right to Yukio; his concerning gaze never catching a glimpse of Hamaru’s movements.

Yukio: What does that mean?
Hamaru: Uncle Yukio, is everything okay between you and Kushiro?
Yukio: Uh, everything is fine. No need to worry Hamaru.
Hamaru: Do you think he’s like this because of dad?
Yukio: Ugh, well—you see…your dad and Kushiro—uhhh.
Hamaru: Relax, I’m already aware of the situation.
Yukio: ‘sighs’ Nothing gets past you kids these days. ‘pats Hamaru’ All you need to know is your dad was very proud of his family. When Ume was pregnant with Kushiro, he couldn’t shut up about how excited he was. By the time you were developing, we had to sew his mouth shut.
Hamaru: I see.
Yukio: If you want, I could share some stories with you after school.
Hamaru: Really?
Yukio: Sure! We’ll have an old fashioned campfire in the backyard and roast some hot dogs!
Hamaru: That would be great!
Yukio: It’s the least I can do kiddo.

Outside on the flourished porch of dampened potted plants, Kushiro takes witness of the storm’s carnage firsthand. He was thankful the only serious damage was next door to them. As he sat quietly on the chilling steps with a gentle breeze brushing his hair to his right, the morning weather’s cloudy scenery manages to emerge a sunken memory. His mind drifted into the past; hallucinations of his younger self and his mother stood before him on the house’s walkway. He could remember what started it all clearly. His mother was donned in a sky blue sundress with a white apron over it; showing signs of Hamaru’s birth soon to come. At that time, Kushiro wore a white shirt with red outlines, khaki shorts, and white sneakers.
The two were seeing Hiro off. He had already boarded the encumbered taxi; sending his reassuring smile to his family depicted through its grayed window. His adolescent heart sank and tears flowed down his cheeks as the vehicle drove off into the distance. “Don’t worry dear; daddy will be back in a couple of months. He’s just going to check on our relatives in Japan,” his mother promised. His haunting memory fast-forwards through the painful years of him yearning for his father’s return. His heart ached as he remembered every once in awhile throughout his early childhood, they would gather in that exact spot; wasting moments in each day praying for his safe return with a wood crafted crucifix at hand: and at night, he would pray at the foot of his bed in silence with the Bible by his side. At each unfulfilled day and night that went by, his belief began to shrink little by little. The encouraging words from his mother could only mend the spiritual broken cracks in his heart for so long.
The once holy and omnipotent tool of God was no longer by his side; demoted and tossed into the cramped, dusty corners of the downstairs bookshelf. The periodic prayers at night faltered throughout the few painstaking years and soon fell silent. His crippled morality was at a staggering point; no longer joining his mother and baby brother to strengthen her hope in the Lord’s Prayer. It took until Kushiro’s tender years at thirteen for the family’s daily ritual to fade and drift away with the gray filled clouds that loomed overhead that fateful day. Another chilling gust of wind chips at his face, bringing him back to his present reality. At the same time, his mother was arriving from their neighbor’s yard; carefully sipping her scorching brew as the rising steam gently warmed her face. Before the day could begin, he had to make sure of something.

Ume: ‘sighs’ Thank God that wasn’t us. Hmm, finished eating already dear?
Kushiro: Yeah. Hey mom, I have a question.
Ume: What is it?
Kushiro: When I was thirteen years old, and you told me that dad just decided to leave us…was any of that true?
Ume:…As much as it pains me to say it, every word of it. What brought this up?
Kushiro: You’re not hiding anything else are you?
Ume: What makes you think I would lie about your father?

The two remained still and silent amongst the distrustful atmosphere. His eyes remained glued with hers. His one sure way of knowing if she was lying is if she broke eye contact; a useful tactic his father used on her when he wanted the truth out of her. Aware of his suspicious attempts to draw the truth from her, she replies promptly with an intense stare of displeasure.

Ume: I know what you’re doing mister and it’s not going to work. The only one who could get me to break eye contact was your father.
Kushiro: ‘smiles’ Well then, I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it.
Ume: ‘growls’ Get inside and get ready!
Kushiro: Or you’ll do what?
Ume: How does a nice cup of black, scorching coffee being poured down your pants sound?
Kushiro: ‘whimpers’ Yes ma’am!

As he hastily retreats for the front door, the door gives way with Yukio quickly stepping to the side as Kushiro runs through. He steps out to join Ume with a freshly lit cigarette hanging from the right side of his mouth. He stops on the edge of the front porch as he notices Ume’s scornful glare warns him of another house rule broken.

Yukio: I know; no smoking in the house.
Ume: I swear, I’m living under the roof with three kids now.
Yukio: I just lit it! Anyways, I heard some steam bellow out here.
Ume: ‘blushes’ The nerve of that boy; he tried what Hiro use to do to me when he wanted the truth out of me. ‘sighs’…he strongly resembles Hiro.
Yukio: You really weren’t going to pour coffee on the kid, were you?
Ume: Obviously you haven’t lived in my house long enough.
Yukio: Uh…
Ume: ‘smiles’ Relax, at least I do it out of love.

Throughout the few minutes of the morning, the clouds were gradually opening pockets for the rays of sunlight; their warmth beaming over certain sections of the shadowed city. In a particular area, one of the dawning spotlights piers into the crevasse of the clustered buildings’ alleyways. It comes to an end, illuminating Lance from the darkness around him. Sounds of penetrating and ripping, coupled with muffled gargling sustain his emotionless attention. It stood there silently, scraping the blackened dirt from under his nails with his pocket knife; with every turn reflecting the beam towards his unwavering focus. By the time he finished his personal manicure, the murderous sounds stopped.
His attention breaks away to a group of young boys gathered in whole for their initiation. They stood boldly and patiently before him; wearing their variant colored and designed doo rags, shirtless with blood splatter about their torsos, jeans, and shoes. Their task was done. He then pushes himself from the wall and proceeds to the mangled remains of their trail. The victim was carved in his gang’s tradition; fingers and toes were removed, lacerations to the lower abdomen, and lastly, a slit to the throat. A testament to those who would double-crosses, snitches, or challenges his authority and power over a city claimed his own. He closely examines their carnivorous craftsmanship; keeping in mind how long for them to complete the task. His eyes scan from the victim’s lower half and upward. He then notices the recruitments’ slightest mistake; the victim’s left eye twitches showing sign of life.
Lance’s instinctive reflexes take note as he resolves the problem with a swift stab in the butchered victim’s eye socket. The fickle remains of his fractured life come to an end; releasing his last weak and garbled gasp bubbling through the running blood. Partially content despite the lack of perfect performance, he withdraws his knife, whips out a clean, white cloth, and wipes the dripping stain from its titanium surface. Suddenly, a startling whistle alerts them; ranging from high pitch and immediately sinking low. It startles the newcomers; their knives drawn out to silence the source. Needless for Lance, he could tell it was none other than Crow.

Lance: Time.

They draw their knives to a close and then conceal them in their pockets in a swift, lightning fast motion. With Lance’s knife cleansed and pocketed, he turns around to Crow’s looming approach.

Crow: I see you calmed down a bit…How’d the cubs fair?
Lance: Not quick enough and the victim was still breathing.
Crow: Uh-oh, that’s no good. Guess I’m on time for the bloodbath. ‘snickers’
Lance: Whatever, they pass.
Crow: Eh, you serious?
Lance: Problem?
Crow: I think you’re growing soft Lance. A few years back, you would have lined up all these cubs and slit their throats clean for the slightest mishap, although, I had a bit of remorse for the ones who tried to fight back.  
Lance: This is for a personal matter.
Crow: Oh, Kushiro is it? You’re wasting your time Lance.
Lance: You’re saying I can’t corner the cub?
Crow: Why send these cubs when all they’re going to do is fuck up? Instead of sending a pack to hunt the prey, why not lure the prey to us?
Lance: Go on.
Crow: The plan is already in motion. All we have to do is sit back and wait. There’s a reason why people call me Crow; I can see death coming a mile away.

With their discussion closed the shadowy pair head towards the alley’s intersection. Waiting patiently at the end, back firmly pressed against the left wall with her hands tangled together, a young woman; dressed in a black dress with gold laced linings in a floral design. Her crimson hair of dazzling beauty hung to her right side, fashioned with a ponytail that hung down to her waist protruding from a spiraled bun with a black hairpin sticking out diagonally. The two simply brisk past her and hang right; their eyes never acknowledging each other’s existence.

Crow: Clean that up for us, will ya?

No verbal response was given to his command, but the vixen’s smirk ensured the message was clear. Elsewhere, after separating with Yukio and Hamaru from his school, Kushiro was only an intersection away from his school’s entrance. The backed-up morning traffic was finally moving along in an orderly manner; only for the traffic light to catch an unfortunate handful to wait a couple of more seconds. The crossing signal gave the go. Kushiro along with the rest of the pedestrians, calmly walk across. Midway, the traffic system undergoes a sudden change; swapping the present signals in an untimely manner. With the light brightly green, it didn’t take long for the impatient drivers to test the pedestrians’ pensée of how much they value their lives. The oncoming four-wheeled stampede with their blaring horns was sure enough to rush them off their path, which ignited a three second exchange of unfriendly banter between them. Though the life threatening sprint didn’t faze him as much as it did from previous moments; he felt slightly relaxed than fearful. Considering he was told the hour of his death, he figured why he would be mindful of what little remains of life that he had.
As he climbed the welcoming concrete steps nearing the walkway to the school’s open doors, the site from yesterday’s event was clearly visible. The section was still restricted by yellow tape. Two faculty members were standing guard outside its diameter, herding the curious minds of adolescence away from the florid patch of sun seared, blood soaked grass. As he continued onward, his sensitive hearing tuned in on the whispering words of rumor bustling about the school site from nearby students. The tall tale morphed from the story fed through the media to many other conclusions: from a possible homicide to even jokingly admitting a spiritual upset. The flourishing stories only tickled Kushiro as he softly chuckled to himself; replaying the event that took place yesterday evening. The more he thought, the further the consequences Miwa spoke of began to drill into his head.
After a few minutes of being lost in thought, he finally reaches his locker. The day was already shaping to become troublesome; struggling with the aging combination knob refusing to turn past thirty.

Miwa: I’m surprised to see you here.

Her dead-toned voice was the last thing he wanted to hear to start his day at school. He had gotten use to her sneaking up on him. The tone of her voice was too familiar a sound to his ears. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling a chilling sting around his neck from her emotionless glare from behind: the students paying no mind to their motionless behavior. He didn’t turn around, not wanting to show any acknowledgement to her existence. He was too focused on turning the dial before him.

Miwa: One more day till exemption, yet you still show up. You think being a good student now will change the outcome of your final conduct?

He struggles to block out her words and the noise around him. The rust in the mechanics gradually gives tic by tic, yet still holding strong in resistance.

Miwa: Ignoring me is not going to help.
Kushiro: Then what the fuck will!

In the middle of his bursting outrage, he snaps the dial from the locker’s fixture when whipping his attention to her. His dramatic scene catches the attention of surrounding students; a slight chuckle followed by a belittling remark. The crowd continues about their business shortly after. She scuffs at his childish tantrum as she brushes the strands of hair to her side.

Miwa: Well obviously screaming won’t work.
Kushiro: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap like that…Great, now how am I supposed to get my books?
Miwa: Why should you even care? You never read them.
Kushiro: So why are you here, fixing to chew my ear off with more of your cryptic lectures?
Miwa: Actually I have something for you.  
Kushiro: Huh?

Her hand dives into her right side pants pocket and pulls out a cylinder like object wrapped in brown napkins. The sheets were splattered with dark wet stains.

Kushiro: What’s that?
Miwa: It’s your favorite breakfast burrito: sausage, egg, cheese, and jalapeño; your first one with your father when you were little.
Kushiro: Uh…I’m not hungry. Now excuse me, I have a locker that’s fixing to get wrecked. ‘stomach growls; blushes’ Ignore that.
Miwa: Will you just take this greasy thing? I didn’t truck this nasty log of grease for you to shoot it down. I wrapped it in several layers of napkins and there are traces of grease in my pocket.
Kushiro: ‘takes burrito’ Thanks.
Miwa: I’m afraid that’s my line, but since you already said it, you have my message. Better eat it quick before any teachers come by.
Kushiro: Hey Miwa…do you think we can talk during lunch period?
Miwa: Sure, I have to stick by you anyways. Just don’t nag my ear off.

The school bell rings violently throughout the crowded halls, alerting students to report to their designated first period classrooms. With only a few precious minutes, Kushiro hastily opens his heartfelt gift and scuffs the entire length. Miwa’s only response to his carnivorous appetite and overpowering aroma of spices was her cringing look of displeasure across her face.

Kushiro: ‘mouthful’ Okay, let’s go to class!
Miwa: Don’t talk with your mouth full! ‘gags; coughs’
Kushiro:…Is something wrong?
Miwa: ‘gasps’ That smell…ca-ught in my throat.
Kushiro: ‘swallows’ For someone that’s dead, I was sure your taste would be as well.

Hours seemed to have past throughout the day within minutes, as lunch period had just started. The two took shelter outside, under the clear blue skies in the crisp clean air of the school’s courtyard; near a curved edged rectangular shaped, stone-crafted bench with décor around the seating’s edge and down the footing. That happened to be placed perfectly in the cooling comforts of shade provided by a tall, lush elm tree. The two had worked up quite an appetite.
Miwa brings with her a medium sized black bento box tied down with a red lace. As she unties the scarlet bow and uncovers the lid, she is then greeted with panda faced sushi rolls. Each panda roll expressing a unique, horrified expression pointing to a small bowl of red sauce betrayed as a pool of blood; with one roll already submerged in the tangy sauce with X’s over its eyes. She fights the upcoming smile, still retaining her emotionless display as she grabs her metal chopsticks.

Miwa: Cynical as always…huh?  

Miwa’s attention shifted to her right. Kushiro was salivating with a hungering awe over her culinary cuisine.

Miwa: Where’s your lunch?
Kushiro: I forgot it.
Miwa: Then go to the cafeteria and get something. ‘picks up chopsticks’
Kushiro: You can’t share?
Miwa: Didn’t you have some questions you wanted answered? ‘picks up roll; eats it’
Kushiro: Aren’t you dead?
Miwa: Even the dead have to eat sooner or later. I’m sure there’s something else you have on your mind besides you gawking at my lap.
Kushiro: Seeing how I can’t die until tomorrow, does that mean—
Miwa: If you jeopardize your life willingly or attempt to make my assignment any more stressful as it is now, I will kill you myself. ‘eats a roll’
Kushiro: You didn’t let me finish.
Miwa: Let’s say you were to jump off a tall building. Normally, you would die, and the suicidal action would result in your aura turning darker. But in this case, you would not die and if anyone watches, these results in an infraction of Trinity Law; which would call for drastic measures of either memory wipe or complete removal of the target. Besides, dark aura buildup is something far worse than that.
Kushiro: There’s something far worse than breaking these laws?
Miwa: The demonic metamorphous known as S.I.N.
Kushiro: Sin is considered what now?
Miwa: Transformation. ‘swallows; eats another roll’ Due to its abbreviation, this metamorphic state has three stages. First the Seed; a Seed is created through the darkness that accumulates within a living human. Your aura is the indicator that determines that factor. The first signs of a human turning into a Seed often results in irrational thoughts, often acting out one or more of the seven deadly sins in an uncontrollable manner, and skin peeling.
Kushiro: Skin peeling?
Miwa: Imagine a human being with nothing but their muscular system on display.
Kushiro: On second thought, I wasn’t that hungry.
Miwa: Second stage, Ingestion. The demon consumes the Seed, growing more in power than a demon would if they consumed souls on a regular diet. The Seed often ends up killing them from the inside, but there have been cases where the host becomes a living bomb. Remember that news story two years back?
Kushiro: The church bombing? But they found the guy responsible.
Miwa: That guy was framed just so officials could turn someone in and get credit.
Kushiro: What’s the third stage?
Miwa: New-breed. Once the Seed is fully Ingested, it seals itself in a cocoon state. Over time, that cocoon creates a new breed of human, a Reborn.
Kushiro: A Reborn?
Miwa: A perfectly created human through S.I.N. These are the most dangerous demons of them all, not only because they resemble humans completely, but have full control of both human and demonic spiritual capacities. Think of it this way. There is a barrier between this world and the Reikai. The barrier eliminates any demon foolish enough to come near it to the Living World. Reborns have the ability to shell their demonic aura with their human aura, allowing them to bypass the barrier.
Kushiro: Then how are demons entering the Living World?
Miwa: No one knows. The most possible theory is Reborns are slipping them through the barrier.
Kushiro: Why doesn’t the Trinity reconstruct the barrier for these guys?
Miwa: Because the barrier will also eliminate us and anyone that died. It’s just something my superiors have to really look out for in their line of job. For all we know, a Reborn could be among us right now.
Kushiro: Whoa…wait, we got off topic again!
Miwa: ‘swallows’ That doesn’t matter. As if you had anything important to ask anyways.        
Kushiro:…What you said yesterday…about Mr. Lezner and everyone else. Was that going to be true if Lance killed me?
Miwa: Would you like to know in full detail again or a straight forward answer?
Kushiro: I’m done…I mean, of course I’m scared, and the others are a concern, but…

Curious of his pause in thought, she looks over at the corner of her eye; his head hung low, his gaze seemed distant and brimmed with worry, his cupped hands twiddling his thumbs. She swallows another morsel, ready to give her input.
 
Miwa: When that time comes, don’t worry.
Kushiro: Huh?
Miwa: I’ll do my best to protect you, regardless of my grade on my performance…but don’t let my presence determine your decision on the matter at hand. Do what you have to do, the way you see is right, but be ready to accept the tribulations that may arise for you and the others you care for. You won’t be able to help them afterwards and we cannot let you or any of us intervene in any way. Once you die, the events are etched in stone, permanently. Is that clear?
Kushiro:…Yeah.
Miwa: ‘sniffles’ For crying out loud. You can come on out Suzuki.
Kushiro: She’s here?

From behind the elm tree, a crow cries aloud while at flight, drawing forth a high pitched shrill from Suzuki; diving from her hidden position behind the tree. Kushiro was quite startled to see her snooping around, opposite to Miwa’s response; dunking another roll into the tangy sauce cup.

Kushiro: Suzuki?
Suzuki: How did you know I was here?
Miwa: ‘rubs nose’ That loud perfume is what gave you away.
Suzuki: ‘stands up’ Erh, shut up. Your crow just startled me.
Miwa: ‘eats a roll’ That wasn’t even Makato. Luckily you entered after our discussion. No telling what my sensei may order me to do to you.
Suzuki: Zip it! Where’s Ayame?!
Miwa: Oh yeah, I wondered why my day was seemingly pleasant.
Kushiro: Suzuki, it’s possible she’s sick or something.
Miwa: Yeah, to be honest, her successful parents probably shipped her off to a better school; a carefree, rich blonde like herself wouldn’t be caught dead in a public school.
Suzuki: Then explain why some guy was snooping around in her locker!
Kushiro: What guy?
Suzuki: I don’t know; he had a lot of piercings though.
Kushiro: ‘abruptly stands’ Where’s her locker?!
Suzuki: #429; it’s in the east wing, 2nd floor. Why?

With the identity of the intruder in mind, he races to the double doors closest to the east wing and bursts through with Miwa and Suzuki curiously in pursuit. Heavily panting, his pounding footsteps through the empty halls come to a halt in front of Ayame’s locker. Soon Miwa and Suzuki catch up as well, exhausted from the chase.

Suzuki: ‘panting’ Why did you…storm off like that?
Kushiro: ‘deep sigh’ I hope I’m wrong. Cover me while I break into her locker.
Suzuki: Are you nuts? What if we get caught?

With the girls covering both of his sides, he reaches into his pocket for ill-forgotten pocket knife. Disheartened and with no tool to break into the locker, his theory of the culprit only remained as such.

Kushiro: Shit, I forgot that I lost my knife. If I had it, I could pick the keyhole on this half-assed manufactured locker.
Suzuki: You mean this? ‘shows knife’
Kushiro: Whe—where did you find it?
Suzuki: I stole it off you when you when you pulled me from the window and we fell.
Kushiro: You pickpocket me?!
Suzuki: ‘blushes’ Your hand was on my skirt yesterday! You’re lucky I didn’t stab you, but then you probably wouldn’t have known that until now!
Miwa: Just give him the damn knife or I’ll add one more person to the missing list.
Suzuki: No need to be hostile.

Reunited with his closest memento, with a quick flick of the blade, he promptly makes short work at picking the lock. The locker door springs open; fluctuating in a elastic motion as it comes to a slight rest from bouncing off of the locker wall. Inside, the containment was virtually empty. The only article present in the locker was her silk black scrunchie cut through. Nested neatly on top was a sleek black feather. His troubling hypothesis was correct.
His hand reaches inside and grabs the contents. It was evident enough to the girls with Kushiro’s discouraging expression that something had happened to Ayame. Fueled with fear, his irrational spite turns toward Miwa.

Kushiro: Another test of yours?
Miwa: This isn’t my doing dumbass.
Suzuki: Wait, what’s going on?
Kushiro: I was hoping it was…Crow and his goons have her.
Suzuki: We should call the cops!
Kushiro: We can’t.
Suzuki: This is serious Kushiro! No more of this! We have to alert the authorities!
Kushiro:…if they catch wind that the police knows about this, they’ll kill her.
Miwa: How would they know?
Kushiro: They have a hidden frequency tap on the police channel. Sending a report is pretty much a death sentence for her.
Miwa: Interesting.
Kushiro: What?
Miwa:…Nothing.
Kushiro: I know where they’re hiding her. We have to go and rescue her.
Miwa: Not so fast hero. Remember what we talked about?
Kushiro: I don’t care about that! We have to save her!
Miwa: Fine.
Kushiro: ‘sighs’ If I’m not mistaken, they should have her held up in one of the condemned warehouses near the railroads. It’s pretty far from here, so let’s go.
Miwa: I got a better choice of getting there.
Suzuki: I’m coming too.
Kushiro: You stay here. No need for you to get caught up in my mess.
Suzuki: But—
Miwa: He’s right; you’ll just be in the way.
Suzuki: I guess I’ll wait for you guys.
Kushiro: Relax, I know what I’m doing.
Miwa: Let’s head out the back.
Kushiro: Lead the way.

Time was of the essence. The two take off to the nearest exit leaving Suzuki hoping for their safe return. Outside, behind the building’s field of isolation, Miwa and Kushiro burst through the single door exit. Miwa takes her time scanning the area, making sure no one was around.  

Kushiro: So what are we waiting for? There’s no time to lose.
Miwa: Keep your pants on; I have to make sure no one sees us.
Kushiro: Yet there’s an exception for Ayame and Suzuki.
Miwa: Your point?
Kushiro: As much as you bring up this Trinity Law crap, you’ve been cutting them some slack.
Miwa: After all this is over, they won’t remember a thing about me…Okay, we’re clear.

She inhales briefly and delivers a high pitched whistle. The response to her signal, summons Makato from the roof of the school; darting downward as his body expands in size. He lifts up and halts his decent; his fiery presence overshadowing Miwa from behind.

Miwa: Let’s go.
Kushiro: I’m not touching that bird again!
Miwa: Are you going to save Ayame or not?
Kushiro: ‘swallows’
Miwa: I promise, he won’t attack your mind like before. Now quit your bitching and get over here.
Kushiro: ‘nervous tone; steps back’ You know, I don’t mind the run there. It’s such a nice day and all—

His steady retreat fails. Miwa then marches forward and drags him by the collar of his shirt; despite his frantic resistance, under the shroud of Makato’s expanding wings. Worried that they might be discovered, she gives the command and cups her free hand over Kushiro’s mouth. With Makato’s wings enclosed around them, they simply melt into the void of the shadows lined behind the school.
Down at the NSN news station, Ume continues her daily regimen of answering the alarming rate of phone calls. No matter how many calls she would answer, five or six more lights would signal afterwards. It almost seemed like she would never get down the list, for once when working here. The door to Mr. Linshaw’s office opens; he steps out of his confines with his never changing scowl scanning the papers within his hands. He marches behind Ume and surprises her by slamming the infuriating stacks on her desk. She grasps her chest in fear while trying to maintain composure over the phone.

Mr. Linshaw: Ume, I need you to run down to the 2nd floor, and fax these papers. The number is on the post-it note above.
Ume: But sir—I—I have so many—
Mr. Linshaw: They can wait. Just take these downstairs now.
Ume: Yes sir.

She rises from her black covered seat and secures the stacks with both arms. Only a few steps forward, she loosens her grip. The cascade of papers scatters across the floor; a co-worker stumbles by, nearly spilling his coffee over the important documents. She turns around expecting her boss to be down her throat, fortunately, he could only massage his forehead while exerting a low monotone groan. She frantically apologizes, as well as picking up the sheets among the tile floor. The last paper was obtained and she makes haste to the elevator across the maze of cubicles.  
Once at the metal door, she presses the button. She was in luck; the elevator was already on its way to her floor. The bell chimes, the elevator highlights floor twelve, and the scraping doors give way for the suited passengers. Without hesitation or respect, the group stampedes by her, brushing by harshly with their black leather suitcases in hand. She fights through the crowd, fighting the urge to unleash more than spiteful words, and makes it inside. She presses the button and the doors close tight. She leans against the back railing, relieving a huge sigh of stress. The elevator works its way to the 2nd floor; the loud grinding mechanics clearly being heard within the deathtrap. She looks up to the reflective mirror over the panel and realigns her hair, only to curse under her breath when the momentum stops on eighth floor. The door creaks open. “Kieran!” she shouts with joy while trying her best to hide the pending frustration of her current assignment.
Kieran Clarke, age twenty three, brunette short wavy hair, black eyes, a fairly average sized young man wearing an emerald colored jacket over a blue button shirt, jeans, white sneakers, and a black banded wristwatch on his right arm. His freckled face lights up from embarrassment.

Kieran: For crying out loud Ume, don’t call me by that name!
Ume: Oh, sorry K.C.
Kieran: ‘steps in’ Just hit the basement button before—
Coworker: Hey Karen, you’re not wearing high heels! Get down to the basement floor already, the van’s waiting!

The floor of coworkers bursts into laughter. Kieran’s face lights up brighter than before and then curtains his bashfulness behind his jacket’s collar while the doors close. The elevator continues further down to the second floor.

Kieran: Ume, we’ve known each other for two years! You know I don’t like being called that!
Ume: But it’s a cute name.
Kieran: Yeah, yeah. So, Mr. Linshaw slammed that promotion on you?
Ume: ‘sighs’…Rachael got it.
Kieran: Ohhhh, sorry to hear that.
Ume: I’m better than that harlot.
Kieran: Well in terms of requirements, she has a Master’s degree in Journalism and Master of Arts in News Reporting. She’s bilingual in Russian, Chinese, Japanese, and German. Five year experience—
Ume: You’re not helping.
Kieran: Just saying. So why are you heading down to the second floor?
Ume: Running an errand for Mr. Linshaw; must be urgent. So what’s the rush to the basement?
Kieran: Well we got another lead on Astral Blvd about the burn marks.
Ume: Again?
Kieran: Yeah. That makes this the eighth victim this week. People are starting to wonder if the police are even doing anything at all or at least have a starting ground.
Ume: Are there no witnesses?
Kieran: Not a single one. The attacks are primarily in alleys, so stay clear and be aware.

The elevator’s momentum comes to a halt. The system brightly highlights the number two with its bright yellow tinted light as the door opens to Ume’s floor.

Ume: Well this is my stop. Nice talking with you K.C.
Kieran: Same here Ume. Be sure to tune in this evening for the cover story.
Ume: Thanks. I’ll try if we have electricity this evening.

She departs from Kieran’s company and continues with her urgent errand. Hearing about the recent attacks had her mind racing with curiosity and worry about Kushiro. Even though she gave warning and trusts Kushiro’s new judgment, her motherly instincts could never let it be. “Relax, Kushiro is at school, and he would never drag Hamaru through the alleyways. You raised two smart young boys.” she explained to herself in a low tone. Though her positive thoughts can only be wishful thinking.
Located far on the east side, at the desolate railroads, the hollowing winds channeling through the crevasses of time corroded boxcars breaks the area’s silence. Packs of vermin scatter across the patches of tall grass in search of food; their diminutive peeps communicating with one another. Trash laid waste among the abandoned field; wrappers, tin cans, old rusted tools and construction supplies left behind. Across from the pack of rodents, one catches a whiff of a decent morsel of molded bread in front of a broken down warehouse. It skitters towards the meal before the others took noticed and joined the feast. The family dined on the spoiled pieces, and then suddenly, a loud snap followed by a muffled shriek grabs their attention inside.
Surrounded by the remainders of rusty stacked barrels and support beams, Ayame is found gagged, blindfolded, and bound to a chair. More of Lance’s members kept guard of her, howling and cackling as one of them continues to violate her privacy. He continues by gripping her long hair violently and pulling it back; causing her to shriek once again. He closes in to the right of her neck and deeply inhales her feminine scent. His constant harassment rallies the others even more, encouraging him to proceed. He lets go. Then makes his way in front of her and places his hands on her knees, trying to force them apart. She thrashes aggressively to the response, and in result, kicks the offender directly in the groin. The young man screams and stumbles backwards, gripping the sore area in writhing pain. The others did nothing more but laugh hysterically at his misfortune; banging wildly on barrels with iron poles and shouting loudly. Their laughter soon comes to a quick end, as a footstep entering the hollowed den shifts their attention.
Without another sound, besides the moaning pain, Lance and Crow had finally arrived. Ayame wasn’t sure what to make out what was going on. The sudden silence was oddly the last thing she didn’t want. Lance then enters through the doorway; his steps echoing throughout the warehouse. She could tell from the sound that whoever it was, it was approaching her with the sound of a switchblade flicking open. Lance stops within a few inches of one of his downed men and snaps his fingers. Not one second was wasted, as the three from the audience hopped to their feet, and hoisted the boy up by the arms. The young man stutters his pleads as one of the members throws a dirty rag around his mouth and pulls his head back. The other slams his palm of his left hand flat on the rusty table. Lance then takes aim with the edge of his knife and starts to cut through the flesh and bone of the young man’s pinky finger. The muffled screams send Ayame into a panic, unaware of the punishment taken place before her. He follows in with a couple of flesh ripping jerks, cutting deeper and deeper until the blade clips clean. Lance steps back with the bloody knife still in hand as the others carry his weakened body. He whips a cloth from his pants pocket and proceeds to cleaning the blade with Crow following from behind.

Crow: Hey, make sure to press down hard with that heated nail file. ‘laughs’
Lance: So who’s the girl?
Crow: Beats me, but Kushiro seems to be pretty fond of her. He was willing to fight me and a few of my boys during Black Row for her.
Lance: Is that so? ‘closes switchblade’ You’d think he would stay away from people he cared. So does he know of her disappearance?
Crow: I left a little memento in her locker. Some chick saw me break in, so I’m sure word is getting around. Not a bad piece of ass, eh? How much money you think she can rake in turning tricks?

With the blade cleansed, he steps closer to Ayame, and removes the mouth restraint. She breathes heavily. He attempts to comfort her; gliding his hand on the side of her left cheek while caressing her temple with his thumb. Her mind constantly wondering in fear what could happen to her. She thought it would seem like a pointless request to beg for her life, but what more could she do.

Ayame: Please, don’t hurt me.
Lance: That won’t come to mind, as long as you do exactly what I say.
Ayame: What do you want me to do?

Outside the warehouse, about a few yards away behind a stack of iron rails, strands of blackness wiggle from the puddle sized shadow. They unite and grow in mass until taking full form of Makato. He spreads his wings, uncovering Miwa and the mind scarred and wheezing Kushiro, and returning to his normal size.

Miwa: We’re here.
Kushiro: ‘coughs heavily’
Miwa: Makato, would you stop that.
Kushiro: That person hung himself…and I felt every second of it. ‘stands’ How do you look at these images without feeling like you’re dying yourself?
Miwa: Technically that’s Makato attacking your mind; it’s a defense barrier he’s abusing to keep unauthorized personnel from obtaining info.
Makato: ‘caws’  
Kushiro: I don’t care if you are supernatural; I’m going to freaking kill you.
Miwa: So what’s the plan?
Kushiro: Skin this fucking bird, that’s what.
Miwa: Focus. I can sense Ayame within the building, so she’s still alive. Feels like there are more than ten inside, but all I see is dense black overflowing the place.
Kushiro: Can’t we just use Makato to scare them off?
Miwa: Can’t.
Kushiro: You said you couldn’t help. Why can’t he?
Miwa: This is your mess; she got kidnapped, so you have to clean it up. Just remember to avoid fatal hits.
Kushiro: That’s the challenge; Lance wants me dead for the money I won off them. The second I step in, I’m not stepping out.
Miwa: Then you have no options.
Kushiro:…the odds are against me for sure, but as long as I have a roll, there’s a chance for favor.

He leaves Miwa behind and approaches the side of the warehouse with precise stealth; avoiding the holes along the side and heavy steps. He carefully peeks through one of the tears; a few Wild Fangs and a glimpse of Ayame’s long ponytail over the closest one’s shoulder. He pulls away, takes in a deep breath, and breaks around the corner to the front of the building. He knocks on the door in a familiar pattern, alerting the others of his arrival: a venomous grin streaks across Crow’s face. Kushiro enters the warehouse with his hands in the air, showing no harm. It didn’t matter to Lance; he snaps his fingers as the two closest to Kushiro search his pockets for any weapons. They confiscated his pocket knife and a one hundred sided dice, and then shoved him past the diameter of thugs.
Kushiro’s heart slowly pulsed as he approached Lance, Crow, and Ayame. He was surprised Lance didn’t give the order to just shank him where he was, put an end to it right there. Lance had formulated something and he had no way of knowing what until the time had come. Close enough to their location, Lance pulls a knife and presses the blade firmly against Ayame’s throat. She shrieks and pants heavily as the steel gradually punctures her flesh. The area was quiet. Miwa and Makato had nested behind the building, peeking through one of the holes in the wall getting a better view of the heated situation. She could sense a burning history between them; a fiery gaze in Kushiro’s eyes not from Ayame being hostage, but a mental singe imprinted in his mind between them.

Lance: That’s far enough.
Crow: Were you followed?
Kushiro: Please, you guys haven’t found out where I lived. So why worry?
Crow: ‘chuckles’ Smart ass.
Kushiro: Just let her go Lance. This is between you and me.
Lance: You’re right Kushiro, this is between you and me…but like the bitch you are, you run. You run and run, expecting the bad blood between us to subside like you did nothing to us.
Kushiro: Lance—
Lance: Where’s the money?
Kushiro: At my place.
Lance: Take Crow with you and make sure you bring it all.
Kushiro: I can’t do that. That’s against my policy, remember?
Lance: Policy…right.

His blade snips Ayame by the right of her neck. She screams; the thin slit drips with blood at the end of her wound. Kushiro’s fists tighten from Lance’s response.

Lance: As much as you like to mention policies, you seem to be forgetting ours quite often.
Kushiro: Look, how about we settle this once and for all.
Lance: I’m listening.
Kushiro: You know as much as I do I’m a betting man. So let’s go all in.
Crow: We’re done playing games! Lance, just give the word and we’ll put his punk ass down!
Kushiro:…Or I could do it for you.
Crow: Huh…‘laughs’ You’re saying you’re willing to off yourself for her? What a bitch move! If you die, you die when we say so!

Crow bursts into a maniacal laughter. The others soon join in; their cackling enhanced by the acoustics of the warehouse. Only a few seconds of their enjoyment last, not before Lance interrupts, and yanks one of Crow’s piercings to silence him. The others follow suit as well.

Lance: Gambling with lives now?
Kushiro: I used my life as a chip the first day we met. I got nothing else to offer. You game?
Lance: As much as I want to kill you myself…seeing you done in by the one thing that’s been providing you sounds better. How’s Russian roulette sound?
Crow: What?
Kushiro: You’re giving me a gun?
Crow: Are you dense Lance? He could shoot us!
Lance: Not how I have it planned.

As Lance sets up the preparations, elsewhere in downtown, Yukio continues his roundabouts of informing every employer of their misfortune for communication. So far, six out of the eight employers had already shot him down. His luck was turning for the worse with the seventh employer rejecting him after being told the news. He steps out from the convenience store; the chime from the door signals his exit. With a heavy sigh, he searches his kimono’s inner pockets for a quick stress relief. The white carton flips open, revealing one cigarette left. Lack of opportunity, now lack of nicotine; luck was definitely not on his side.
With his last relief in hand, he pulls out his lighter, and strikes for a flame. Click after click, all he received were sparks flicking from the nozzle. His frustration casts the empty lighter aside and a surge of grief through his mind. Suddenly, a hand from his offside enters his sight, returning the lighter.

Mrs. Dyer: You know you can refill these.
Yukio: ‘takes lighter’ Uh, it’s you from the charity yesterday.
Mrs. Dyer: Please, call me Michelle. I didn’t catch your name.
Yukio: Oh, it’s Yukio ma’am.
Mrs. Dyer: You seem stressed.
Yukio: More than ever. I feel like I’m walking in the dark.

She reaches into a purse and retrieves a lighter; detailed around the casing in sky blue, clouds, and a shining cross in the center. She flicks it once; a bright kindle welcomes Yukio with warm courtesy. He dips the end of the cigarette and inhales the rich tobacco; bad for his health, but soothing nonetheless.

Mrs. Dyer: A little light from God.
Yukio: Hallelujah. ‘scoffs; exhales’ These employers are relentless. They drop me simply because my sister’s phone is out so they can’t contact me.   
Mrs. Dyer: You don’t say?
Yukio: Yeah. Heading to the last employer; don’t know why I bother. He’s going to drop me too.
Mrs. Dyer: You’re having job trouble? How’s the wife handling it?
Yukio: Wife? I-I mean, yes, the wife! Well I’m not unemployed or anything. I just need another job to help out my sister.
Mrs. Dyer: ‘smiles’ It could be your choice of attire that’s giving you this stroke of luck.
Yukio: It’s all I got.
Mrs. Dyer: ‘laughs’ No Sunday best? You’re quite unique sir.
Yukio: Well uniqueness isn’t helping much. If you’ll excuse me miss, I have disappointment to attend to.
Mrs. Dyer: Hold on there. If you’re looking for a job, I think I can help.
Yukio: Really?
Mrs. Dyer: We’re always looking for extra hands back at the food warehouse. The pay is good, plus benefits. We’d be happy to help you like you helped us.
Yukio: That’s great! But, what if something comes up and you guys need to contact me?
Mrs. Dyer: We can work that out later. ‘hands business card’ Meet me at this address tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. and we can sign you up.
Yukio: Perfect! You’re a lifesaver Michelle!

Yukio’s luck had finally turned around, another trait of the Aichi family; through adversity comes triumph. Hopefully a trait such as this could help Kushiro in his current dilemma. Back at the warehouse, the preparations were complete; between the two adversaries stood a rusty table; placed on the surface: a Stampede Old West revolver, six bullets, and a regular die.

Miwa: What is he planning?
Lance: The rules are simple. You roll the die and the number you get, is the number of bullets that go in the chamber. You can place the bullets in any order you like. Once the bullets are in place, you can spin the chamber only once, and it must be a full spin. You can stop the spin after the full cycle if you feel confident of where the empty chamber is. Place the gun to your head and pull the trigger. You get three chances. If you win, we’ll let the both of you go. You’re smart enough to know what happens when you lose or roll a six.
Kushiro: I shoot myself, you claim Ayame, and you guys are clear of my death. You’re putting a lot of trust in me Lance. I could land a six and take the advantage.

From behind, a piece of cold steel was placed firmly against the back of Kushiro’s head, followed by an echoed click.

Lance: Unless you can hit Crow and me in under a second, I doubt you would do something that reckless.
Kushiro: Guess we’ll see.

The game was on. Kushiro made sure to guide his hand slowly to the die. Any sudden movement would mean utter disaster, besides the bullet through his head. He picks up the die. With a shake of the hand, he rolls the die. It tumbles about the rusted table; the thuds echoes heavily throughout the warehouse.  The die lays face-up on four. He wasn’t surprised at the least that the die was loaded; the magnetic wobble during the roll, the poor color touch-ups on the corners, and the smug look on Crow’s face. With no other liable options, he picks up the revolver, and begins loading the chambers with the four gold cased bullets. One after another, the chambers were filled, leaving two slots empty with a bullet in between. Ayame whimpers quietly, hoping Kushiro doesn’t seal his fate simply for hers. He shuts it tight and gives it one quick spin, then stops the rotation after the full spin. Miwa could only watch helplessly, pulse racing, as he gradually guides the barrel to his head. “Bang.”, Kushiro announced as he pulls the trigger; the hammer snaps forth…and clicks. Crow and the others couldn’t fathom the amount of luck that was witnessed. Even Miwa gave a sigh of relief.

Crow: What the hell?! You didn’t shoot yourself!
Kushiro: I landed a five; five out of six means I have a 66.7% chance of blowing my brains out. I guess the 33.3% of me living was more favorable.
Lance: Calm down Crow, we still have two more chances. For your sake, you better hope this plan of yours works.
Miwa: ‘thinking’ That was close. He sure was quick to pull that trigger.

He places the gun back on the table and reaches for the crooked die. The way the die was constructed, its design was surely flawed, but capable of landing on favorable numbers. There was no doubt the possibility of a six could be on the next two rolls. Still, he shakes his hand, and flicks the die once more. It tumbles and lands without effort; a five. He carefully places one more casing in the chamber. The tension rises again. Crow grits his teeth, hoping this roll would do Kushiro in. Miwa braces herself for the second attempt. He closes the chamber, spins the barrel, but with a longer duration of three seconds, then clips the rotation to a halt. He boldly points the bloodthirsty barrel to his temple and pulls the trigger without hesitation…the hammer launches forth with no gunshot. The crowd was astonished, left breathless not once, but twice of Kushiro’s death defying odds. The muttering sounds of gossip circled around, “How is he doing that?” one exclaimed. “Did he sell his soul to the devil or something?” Unlike the others, Lance was keen of Kushiro’s ability at this game; it was his favorites against rival members. Agitated, Crow reveals his hidden pistol and aims it towards Kushiro.

Miwa: ‘thinking’ He’s pulling this stunt like he’s been doing it all his life. Then again, he could be exploiting the Trinity to keep him alive to save Ayame.
Crow: What the fuck is going on? How are you doing this?
Kushiro: ‘smiles’ 83.3% says I should have blown my brains out, yet here I stand.
Crow: I’ll blow your fucking head off you—
Lance: Put it away; I won’t say it again.
Crow: Tsk…fine. ‘puts gun down’
Lance: Don’t bother rolling the die; it’s not working the way I had hoped.
Crow: What? But—
Kushiro: Can it Crow. ‘scratches head’ Gee, you guys can’t even make a decent die work the way you want it to.
Lance: ‘smiles’ Why don’t we make this interesting? You seem rather confident of your abilities to avoid death, but how do you fair when another’s life is on the line?
Kushiro: What are you saying?
Lance: Like luck, there’s no telling when to keep going or when it will run out. I’m aware of your little trick Kushiro.
Miwa: Trick?
Crow: Trick?! You knew about it this entire time?!
Lance: I wanted to make sure beforehand. I’ll admit, it raked in a lot of money, and thinned out some rival gangs for us; photographic memory.
Kushiro: So you figured it out? Good job. Don’t go trying to perform it unless you’re ready to bite the bullet. I’ll admit, it is pretty nerve racking putting a gun to your head and willing to pull the trigger, but once you relax your mind and focus, it becomes second nature. It took me about two years to mentally prepare myself; one year practicing memorization and simulation with blanks, the other year doing it again with live ammunition.
Crow: Shit…
Miwa: Explains why he was so calm about it.
Lance: But how good is that memory of yours when you can’t see the problem?

Lance then reaches into his jacket and pulls out a similar revolver. The thug behind Kushiro confiscates the gun from him as Lance approaches him. He then hands the gun to Kushiro, secure without a doubt that the real game of chance started now.

Lance: The gun is preloaded; it could have all the chambers filled, some empty, or just one slot that won’t claim your life. This is where we really test your luck.
Kushiro: Wow, you really thought this one through.
Lance: No die, you open the chamber, he shoots you, same rules apply. ‘smiles’ Good luck.
Kushiro: As if you had any to offer.

Kushiro tightly grips the brown handle as Lance traces his steps back to his original position. It was now or never; Ayame’s and his life truly hung in the balance of blind luck. He takes a long hard look at the gun, takes in a deep breath, and spins the chamber. Round and round it goes, the mechanics spinning the destined slots that will determine the situation at hand. He lets it stop on its own. His heart races from the adrenaline. Beads of sweat roll down his neck as he gradually places the barrel trice to his head. Strangely, this sensation was conjured from the gun. He couldn’t describe it as his trigger finger slowly squeezed the lever…“Click”, the hammer once again strikes without flare. “Damn it!” loudly exclaimed by Crow as he kicks a rusted pipe across the concrete floor. Kushiro was greatly relieved with a deep sigh; the thug taking the revolver from his hand.

Kushiro: A deal is a deal Lance. Let her go.
Lance: I’m a man of my word. Let’s go boys.

Defeated and their plot foiled, Lance and the rest of the crew depart the warehouse as Kushiro unties Ayame from her restraints; the door closes shut. Released and free, she stands tall and stretches her legs. She takes the time to rub the imprinted rope bruises on her wrists as Kushiro throws the ropes aside.

Kushiro: Mind telling me how they kidnapped you?
Ayame: They jumped me on my way to school this morning; a couple of those freaks wouldn’t stop touching me.
Kushiro: This is why I wanted Suzuki and you to stay away from me. I don’t need your lives on my conscience.
Ayame: Hold on, I just need to get something right quick.

Ayame briskly walks over to the corner of the warehouse and searches under the heavy appliance. Kushiro’s nerves run thin; he wanted to leave before Lance could change his mind and come back. As he clears the mounting stress from his mind, a subtle click from behind signals his awareness. He knew all too well what it was. He cautiously lifts his hands open in the air, turns around carefully, and finds the one he came to save threatening his very life as well. She guardedly leaves the corner; gun held high, the sights aimed towards his head, and a vague decision circling through her mind. Miwa finally caught her within her view, stunned and confused at the new situation presented before them. The distance between them was too risky to run for the door; he was in an open area for a clear shot. He had to talk her out it.

Kushiro: Whatever Lance promised you, he won’t deliver.
Ayame: This isn’t what he promised me…it’s what he told me…it’s what I sat here and heard.
Kushiro: Ayame—
Ayame: ‘cries’ Shut up! You’re one of them…Here I was thinking you were misunderstood…but there’s blood on your hands too.
Kushiro: Hey, the games I designed; they killed themselves.
Ayame:…Two years ago, when you started gambling at school, you didn’t see much profit coming from the students. So you decided to broaden your range and target gang members.
Kushiro: Wait…
Ayame: But you couldn’t do it alone, not for what you had planned. Running away was not enough; you needed protection. So you joined the only gang you hadn’t gambled with yet, the Wild Fangs. Though their initiation process came at a cost…‘pulls back hammer’ You killed your friend, Alex.
Miwa: ‘thinking’ That can’t be true; none of that was stated on his profile. But then—
Ayame: You’re a two-faced monster! What do you have to say for yourself?

Ayame’s question leaves him paralyzed against the wall in his mental thoughts; he couldn’t make eye contact with her. Those dreams he always had, the buried guilt; it all started that night, in that alley. His mind flashes images of Alex’s bright smile, the times they shared, the laughs, the pains, the loyalty between them. There was no denying what he had done; judgment was knocking on his door.

Kushiro:…I had no choice…Lance and his crew wouldn’t protect me if I didn’t do it; the other gangs would have found out where I lived…my mind just blacked out, my body moved on its own…I opened my eyes and there he was on the ground; shot through the lung…now you understand why I can’t let go.
Miwa: ‘tightens fist’
Ayame:…‘puts gun down’ I won’t stain my hands because of what you did.
Kushiro: True. You wouldn’t want a failing grade.
Ayame: What’s that supposed to mean?

Before Kushiro could continue, a loud shatter catches their attention, but what they saw didn’t match what they had thought. Splashes of fire and glass spread across the western area, as another round of bursting glass alerts them from the south entrance. He looks up to find members from the Wild Fangs dropping Molotov bottles from the exposed openings on the roof. One then takes steady aim and chucks one straight towards Ayame. Before it could cloak its target in flames, Kushiro makes a valiant effort, and shoves the both of them out of harm’s way. The bottle cracks open; another coat of gas fueled fire lights the remaining patch of flooring. Kushiro’s impact manages to send the gun sliding into the roasting inferno. With the inside cloaked in flames, the attackers make their leave, with Ayame and Kushiro trapped inside.

Ayame: ‘shoves Kushiro’ Get off!
Kushiro: You’re welcome!
Miwa: Kushiro, Ayame, get to the front door!
Kushiro: We can’t! They bombed the only entrance!
Miwa: Find an area you can reach! I’ll get you guys out!

He quickly observes his surroundings, hoping to find a path easy enough to access the walling. He had to hurry; smoke was starting to blind their vision. He finds a path to their exit; along the rows of stationed table saws, leading to a row of file cabinets lined along the walls of the eastern side.

Kushiro: Go to the east side!
Miwa: I’ll clear the way!

The rescue is underway. The two carefully tread the raging inferno floor, while swiftly traversing the diminutive safe spots. With the intensity of the heat, sweat begins to secrete and coat their skin. They reach the tables; Kushiro starts by assisting Ayame across the searing flames whipping at the edge of the table. “Go!” Kushiro yells to her as she proceeds across the pre-destined bridge. He steps back and catapults himself to the table, then crashes forward. As they make their way across, Miwa arrives to the eastern side of the warehouse. She draws her fist back, her left arm lining up the strike. She deeply inhales; a three second wait, and launches her attack to the metal sheeted wall. The wall inflates a hole large enough for them to jump through. The contents along the wall rocket across the room. The excessive force catches Ayame off guard, and causes her to lose her balance.
She stumbles and slips, cascading into the flaring fire below. Before she could fall face first, her plummet streaks to a halt, as Kushiro reels her back to safety. After a few life threatening leaps, they finally make it to safety; their clothes and skin pattered with gray smug. Smoke plumes from the openings around the warehouse, catching the attention of the oncoming firemen and police vehicles racing towards the distress.

Kushiro: I never liked the sound of sirens. We need to leave.
Miwa: Correction; you need to leave.

Before he could question her remark, Makato had already changed form; its intense leer shoving Kushiro away from the two girls. With Ayame in tow, the three disperse from the scene; the shadowy fragments slipping under the covers of shade around him. He would have to curse them another time, law enforcement and fire fighters had arrived to the blazing activity. His feet carry him away, only for an officer’s sharp eye to catch of glimpse of him around the bend. “Freeze!” the officer exclaimed, gun drawn and steady on its target. So close to escaping, he had no choice, and turned around with his hands up, complemented with a warm smile signaling his truce.
Hours pass by at the city prison. Inside the eggshell brick colored walls and tile flooring, Kushiro lied at rest in his cell; stretched out along the bottom bunk bed. The murky view through the window depicted night time had settled. It was modestly silent around the time, even with his ambiguous cellmate up top asleep; shaggy gray hair, wearing a dull, patch sown emerald skull cap, jacket, torn white shirt, and faded blue jeans, they never made a sound. Though the unpleasant aroma coming from his grotesque, soiled feet: covered by damp, torn socks didn’t make the stay any comfortable.
Down the hall, his attention was summoned by the hinging sound of an open door. It shuts tightly, and afterwards, clicking footsteps approaches his cell. After several seconds, the source stops in front of the chrome bars separating them; Officer Christopher J. Williams, Criminal Investigator of the Downtown District. Fairly young man of the age of twenty-nine; black short hair and eyes, wearing a vertical gray striped white dress shirt with matching tie, black silk dress pants fastened with a formal black belt with sliver buckle, and freshly polished black dress shoes. Under his left arm he carried Kushiro’s records; the paperwork sloppily sticking out of the folder. He leans his arm high against the gate with a bright smile to welcome him.

Christopher: We meet again, Kushiro Yamanaka.
Kushiro: Hey Chris.
Christopher: Still getting into trouble I see?
Kushiro: Well, you know me; just can’t seem to stay out of trouble. So what’s up?
Christopher: Just came to inform you someone made bail for you, so you’re free to go.
Kushiro: Really? That’s great. ‘hops up’
Christopher: Don’t get too ecstatic. First, I have some questions.
Kushiro: You guys already questioned me: I didn’t start the fire, I wasn’t part of some drug ring, and I’m not planning anything other than how to skip school tomorrow.
Christopher: ‘sigh’ You have three misdemeanors, plus this one. If you keep this up, they’ll have you in juvenile court in no time.
Kushiro: What did they charge me with?
Christopher: Just unauthorized access to city property. You’re lucky your story checked out with the evidence found at the scene and avoided destruction of city property charges.
Kushiro: How does it belong to the city if they left it abandoned?
Christopher: Look, as far as this goes, you have to mind your actions Kushiro…‘whispers’ I understand how things have been a bit unsettling with Hiro gone, but I can’t keep bending the rules for you like this.
Kushiro: So what were you going to ask me?
Christopher: Are you sure you saw no one at the warehouse?
Kushiro: Absolutely.
Christopher: Don’t be afraid to tell me what’s wrong. If someone is keeping you silent, we’ll do our best to protect you. Think about Ume and your little brother, Hamaru. Why jeopardize them and not deliver the perpetrators to justice?
Kushiro:…Flip a two headed coin and you’ll find my answer.
Christopher:…Fair enough.

He then reaches for the keys secured around his pant’s waist. After a few seconds searching for the correct one, he inserts it into the lock; a loud click sounds out as he slides the door aside.

Christopher: Your father and I had been good friends; granted our companionship lasted only a year before his departure. Even still, your limits are up; so don’t push your luck next time.
Kushiro: Trust me Chris; there won’t be a next time. So who bailed me out anyways?
Christopher: It was your mother.
Kushiro: Mom?!
Ume: ‘appears; smile’ Kon’nichiwa Kushiro.

Frightened to the point of being breathless, Kushiro snatches the keys from Christopher’s grasp, shuts the gate, and trips the lock. He then retreats to the back of the cell, fully aware of his mother’s boiling wrath hidden perfectly under her venomous smile.  

Christopher: Kushiro, stop playing around and give me back my keys!
Kushiro: You know what? Refund her the bail! I wouldn’t mind staying here for, oh let’s say, forever?
Christopher: I’m sorry Ume.
Ume: ‘cheerful’ Let me Christopher. ‘speaking Japanese’ Kushiro, I’m going to kick your ass after this.
Kushiro: ‘speaks Japanese’ Not while I’m locked in here.
Ume: ‘speaks Japanese’ This is not the first time mommy’s been in jail sweetie.

She then guides her fingers through her hair and pulls out a bobby pin. With the instrument in hand, she begins fumbling with the lock. Her lock picking attempt awakens Kushiro’s inmate from his slumber.

Kushiro: Oh, you’re awake. So what are you in for?
Inmate: None of your damn business kid. Who the hell is she?
Kushiro: My mom.
Inmate: Ha! She doesn’t seem to have a lick of sense! These prison locks are too heavy duty to break without the proper equipment.

The inmate’s boastful experience meets its match as the tumbler to the lock gives way. She slides the gate open with Christopher grinning at Kushiro’s demise. With the only exit blocked by his mother, Kushiro had no choice but to accept the grim results that await him.

Ume: ‘speaks Japanese’ Ta-da! You’re dead! ‘laughs’
Inmate: Of course I could be wrong.
Kushiro: Noooooo! Chris, don’t let her take me!
Christopher: You have a nice day Ume.
Ume: Oh don’t worry Christopher, with Kushiro at home; I’m just more than certain it will be.

Outside, in the police station’s lobby, the two finally reunite with Yukio and Hamaru in the waiting area. It was evident by their expression the two were displeased with Kushiro; bad enough that he had to deal with his mother too. He knew it would be a stretch to say something at this point, but it was better than what could happen.

Ume: Let’s go home guys.
Kushiro: Mom, mind if I use the bathroom first?
Ume: ‘draws close to Kushiro; whispers’ I ought to let you piss yourself as we walk all the way back to the house.
Yukio: Ume just let him go.
Ume: You have two minutes mister.
Kushiro: Thank you.

With the little time that he had, he rushes to the nearest restroom to handle his business. On the dot, his two minutes were up, and Ume had just about enough. Trying so hard not to display her true nature, she knocks on the bathroom door twice. With no immediate answer, she kicks in the door, alerting everyone’s attention within the lobby. No surprise to her, he had somehow managed to unsecure the bars around the window, and escape in less than two minutes. She already knew where to find him. She barges through the double doors and storms home with Yukio and Hamaru behind at a steady pace. Across the street, a few blocks away from the station, a few members from the Wild Fangs stood guard to the entrance of an alleyway. They slip into the darkness without attention and traversed the alleyways where Lance, along with Crow, waited patiently for their return.
 One of the four then searches his pocket and hands Lance a black digital camera. The screen on the back lit up, displaying twenty-five new photos taken between the hours of Kushiro’s incarceration. He operates the controls, opening the gallery of photos of civilians who entered the premises; some out of focus, others depicted crystal clear images.

Crow: Pretty nice plan, eh? We set the warehouse on fire and call the cops. Family comes to the Downtown Police Station to bust him out, we follow, and bam. ‘chuckles’
Lance: Twenty-five.
Crow: So which one has Kushiro walking out with his family?
Lance: None of them.
Crow: What? That can’t be right!
Lance: This was your plan, remember? I don’t tolerate failure.
Crow: Whoa, wait Lance! All we have to do is shift through the photos and find which one of these resembles Kushiro the most. Once we do that, we’ll have his location, the money, and our vengeance.
Lance: ‘shoves camera onto Crow’ You shift through them. I want their names and addresses by tomorrow, or I’ll make an example out of your failure as well.

On the other side of town, Kushiro comes rushing down the illuminated sidewalk of his neighborhood. Running nearly fourteen miles from the police station, his fatigue was showing; arduous breathing, sweaty damped hair, sweat stains running down his sides of his shirt. He couldn’t stop now; he was only a few feet away from the welcome mat to his home. With the remains of his strength, his sore legs carry his weary body up the cumbersome steps, then proceeds to unlock the door with the hidden key left by his mother. The door slams shut behind him; his sluggish body sliding against the wooden door, resting to catch his breath. Momentary peace and tranquility he thought to himself, only for his mother to arrive shortly to give him hell.
He stands to his feet and works his way to his room. He turns the knob on the door and walks in; only for Miwa to abruptly intercept him as she grabs him by the collar of his school shirt and flings him to the opposite wall. The impact bounces his head off the wall, slumped against the corner of his bed as Miwa approaches once more, lifts him against the wall, and pins him off his feet.

Miwa: You lied to me!
Kushiro: I thought you knew everything about me smart ass!
Miwa: I trusted you! Here I was thinking you were misunderstood, determined to help others by the sacrifices from your life, but you’re nothing but a dirty snake!
Kushiro: I did what I had to do!
Miwa: I should shove my fist so far down your throat—
???: That’s enough Miwa.

The familiar order causes Miwa to loosen her grip involuntarily; Kushiro drops to the floor. They turn their attention to the barely illuminated source. Leaned against the open window; a trail of smoke lifts from the lit cigarette from between the man’s fingers. Short black spiky hair, charcoal eyes, metal ball earrings, and his impudent smirk; dressed in similar attire as Yukio, except pinned above his right breastplate was a silver brooch designed after a raven. Its wings expanded wide, the head hung low, and its talons carried a sterling green topaz stone. It didn’t take much for Kushiro to realize who this man truly was. After two days of heart dropping secrets, he finally meets the superior over Miwa, and the spectator of his life.