Novel Ergon V (LAST UPDATE: Chapter 11 - 12/05)

Discussion in 'Community Fictions' started by KenRaynous, Apr 18, 2019.

  1. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    Hello, I'm writing a story called "Ergon V". You can also read this story at:
    https://www.webnovel.com/book/13498268505015005/Ergon-V
    https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/24315/ergon-v
    https://www.scribblehub.com/series/23208/ergon-v/

    [​IMG]

    Synopsis: In a not so distant future, five teenagers are selected for an advanced antiterrorist unit, having to balance their personal lives with their new responsibilities to avoid world chaos.

    Genre: Action, Sci-Fi, Military, Psychological, Martial Arts, Cyberpunk, School Life

    Table of Contents
    Vol 1. - Revolution I
     
    Last edited: May 12, 2019
  2. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    Introduction

    2035. A world on the verge of a new world war due to lack of resources has found a way to generate clean, self-sustaining energy. Nuclear plants all over it have been reused on the basis of this miraculous discovery conducted by the global conglomerate Cytek.

    This company has recently expanded its horizons and developed mass consumption products such as cybernetic limb prostheses, their latest success. However, media from all over the world claim it has secretly developed vehicles, weapons, and many other military-grade prototypes.

    From terrorist groups to entire nations, everyone seeks to seize these new technologies. In an effort to curb the recent worldwide raid of violence and terror, the United Nations has endorsed the questioned “Sentinels” initiative, a global military force funded by the world’s most powerful nations.

    Nobody doubts this project has been carried out only by the enormous pressure exerted by international financial capital. What no one suspects, what no one even imagines, is the dark origin behind these new technologies, capable of completely changing the course of humanity...
     
  3. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    Chapter 1: Revolution I - Book 1 - THE VIGILANTES I

    It seemed to be another typical night in the city of Tokyo, even if it was far from alluring. An endless cluster of gray clouds overshadowed the vastness of the sky while the roar of thunder signaled the arrival of a storm. Amid such weather, a lone helicopter was flying below the blinding glare of lightning bolts, circling above the hundreds of red lights that flickered incessantly on top of the high-rises as if it were a hypnotizing tide of infinite sparkles.

    Among these was Cytek Headquarters, a thirty-story building located in front of the famous Shibuya On its roof, a hidden figure beheld the comings and goings of the tens of vehicles moving along the wide streets. Not even the colorful marquees that stood out in the middle of the concrete jungle were able to break his concentration, for the vigilante who concealed its true nature through a long dark cloak knew something unusual was going to happen that night.

    Traffic lights in the area turned red, halting the flow of vehicles moving along the asphalt. A police patrol heading north along a wide lane in 2 Chome-2 Dōgenzaka could not avoid being the exception. Inside the half-white, half-black car, Yoshiro Sugiyama drew in his breath while he waited for the lights to turn in his favor. In front of him, a crowd of people poured across all five crosswalks lighten up by multiple lanterns, the vehicles' own headlights, and the shimmering neon-lit advertisements that attempted to reveal their faces and clothes. They were mostly pint-sized and dark-haired men wearing black office attire, walking as if chased by a wild beast as they grabbed hold of the sheeted umbrellas they carried in their hands. As a gust of wind from the east filled Yoshiro's nostrils with the scent of wet earth, the young officer had no longer any doubts; it would rain soon.

    But there was something far worse than the prospect of driving amid heavy traffic on wet gravel. Sitting to his left was Matsuda Sasaki, his lazy and ill-tempered companion. Only a whimsical God could have placed such an individual at his side, whose gaze was lost at the crossing of pedestrians while he yawned every so often. As tedious as that night was, and however apathetic his companion was, an ambiance devoid of words was not an option for Yoshiro.

    "Hey, I understand you're new to all this, but—"

    "Look, Sugiyama," his partner interrupted him, without even having the decency to address him properly, "you better save that rookie speech of yours saying I have to forget all I learned at the academy and that stuff, okay?"

    Such a response baffled Yoshiro. Almost instinctively, he began drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, masking his discomfort at the situation while his mind tried to come up with a way to get some words out of his partner. "All right, but you could try being a litter nicer, you know, Matsuda-san?"

    "What for? Are you one of those assholes who always act politely regardless of the circumstances?"

    Yoshiro rolled his eyes at yet another sharp response. "So, what was your task the other day during the earthquake drill?" he improvised. A nationwide drill took place the previous day, and Yoshiro had helped with the evacuation of Cytek Headquarters staff among other things. He did not enjoy such exercises, but his younger brother had always pointed him out the importance of being prepared for such a situation. And he was right.

    "You don't want me to talk about earthquake stuff," Matsuda replied. "My grandpa was a fisher in Miyako. He died during the Tohoku earthquake."

    Yoshiro tried to put on a grimace of empathy, but all he could come up with was a crooked smile. Of course, he knew what his partner was talking about. When he was still in his mother's belly, a high-magnitude earthquake had taken place in the northwest region of Japan. Tens of thousands of people had lost their lives, not to mention the damage that was caused on the coast of the region. And yet, the most remembered occurrence of that day had been the incident at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant, where his mother was working at that time.

    "I'm sorry," Yoshiro said, empathetic. "My parents were in Fukushima back then, but I guess they had better luck."

    "Good for them."

    The young policeman was barely able to suppress the sadness in his eyes under his dark blue cap. "They died six months ago in the US embassy attack."

    The lack of emotion in Matsuda's voice did not surprise him at all. "Bad for them, then."

    Yoshiro gritted his teeth, glaring at his partner in frustration. It was then he wondered whether he had made the right call for his future. It had been over six months since he abandoned his career as a lawyer, forced to get a job given his financial needs and those of his younger brother. After his parents had died, the corporation for which they worked had taken over his brother's studies, but not his own. One unfair situation after another, without a doubt. But that was the way things worked in the world, and the quicker he got used to it, the better.

    "You know, I'm just trying to have a conversation here so this doesn't turn into something tedious," he barked.

    Matsuda finally turned to face him. "The light is already green."

    Unfortunately, that was true; cars were already accelerating all around the patrol. Yoshiro intended not to fall behind; he switched to first gear and hit the gas. But the conversation was not going to end there. Oh, no. Yoshiro was not accustomed to being made light of, and his partner ought to show some respect. "Are you going to continue behaving like an idiot?" he said, without taking his eyes off the windshield.

    "Are you going to concentrate on driving so we don't end up having an accident?" his partner replied, as Yoshiro reduced the speed of his car given the sluggish pace of the heavy traffic.

    "Nowadays they allow any idiot to become a police officer."

    "Says he who ended up a policeman because he was so useless he couldn't find any other job."

    Yoshiro hated being told that. It reminded him of the countless interviews he had gone through not so long ago, along with the fact that having earned good grades in an acceptable high school had helped him little to nothing at all in the matter. And he did not like to fail. "Hey! It's not that simple if you didn't attend a well-known college."

    As he tried once more to suppress his discontent, a sudden yet foreseeable statement squawked through the police radio. "Attention to all units," a rather attractive female voice said, "It has been reported that a possible member of Amaterasu has caused disturbances in the reception of Cytek Headquarters. It seems he has a prosthesis in his right arm."

    "Bad customer service?" Matsuda joked. But Yoshiro was not amused. They were talking about Amaterasu, the terrorist organization that caused the attack in which his parents had died six months ago. This was a serious matter. "At least it looks like this won't be such a tedious night after all."

    The patrol continued its way along the rest of the vehicles. "Only God knows how long has been since he left the building," Yoshiro reflected, his bad mood now seemly appeased. "It's not as if we were going to get in his way all of a sudden."

    Such unfortunate his words…

    A man appeared out of nowhere in the path of the patrol, as if it were a ghost. Desperate, Yoshiro plunged his foot on the brake pedal, his body rammed forward by inertia in the process. Once his vehicle stood still, he straightened himself, coming upon a splintered windshield which had been damaged to a great extent in its center by the impact. Since it was possible the injured man required some kind of assistance, he had no choice but to abandon the police car. To his surprise, he was in perfect condition. It looked like he had placed his body in such a way the mechanical prosthesis of his arm had taken most of the shock—

    A prosthesis.

    Had not the voice on the radio mentioned something about a subject carrying one and causing disturbances? But how many men used such things in those days? It was not as if he could label anyone who possessed one as a suspect, but his gut told him there was something different about this man, something suspicious. Maybe it was the fact that he had his face obscured by a dark olive sweatshirt's hood, or that his yellow eyes cast a somewhat gloomy look. Was he letting himself get carried away by mere prejudices? It seemed that way at first, but when Yoshiro's gaze found that of the one-handed man, their eyes fixed on each other for a few moments, he began to suspect he might have hit the nail on the head. As the young officer's mind worked the pieces of the rather simple puzzle before him together, his heart stopped in his chest. There was a dangerous terrorist before him. A dangerous and daring terrorist, because the one-handed man had already begun to sprint back to the Shibuya crossing.

    "Hey!" Yoshiro yelled at him, as he made his mind at once and rushed after the suspect. But first, that annoying partner of his had to raise his objection.

    "What the hell do you think you're doing? What if that guy is armed or something?" Matsuda barked as he left the vehicle, strikingly concerned about Yoshiro.

    "Just report the position of the guy and call for backup, would you?" was all he said to his partner as he ran past him, already in pursuit of the one-handed man. There was no use to argue. He had to fulfill his duty as a police officer, not to mention he could prove to himself that he had chosen the right path in the process. Moreover, he could show Matsuda that he was not so useless. And maybe he could get some kind of retribution for what had happened to his parents.

    His partner merely shook his head. "Jeez, what a reckless dude."

    The one-handed man raced along Inokashira-Dori, sweeping away anyone who dared to cross his path. Twenty meters behind, Yoshiro put on speed on his effort to try to catch up with him as a nearby woman pushed her children out of the way as a precaution. Other less fortunate people found themselves on the ground all of a sudden, victims of the fugitive's frenzy. Several passers-by took a moment to help them. They were considered citizens, without a doubt, unlike those who merely decided to observe the recent development instead of the many clothing stores placed along the street.

    Yoshiro took a break to refill his lungs with quick gulps of air, the vastness of the crowd before him threatening to deprive his eyes of being able to spot the one-handed man. But the young officer's sight was sharp as a razor, and he knew the streets of the city as well as the palm of his hand. He caught a glimpse of an olive hood turning an alley one block before the Shibuya crossing. A subtle grin was outlined on his face, as he was aware of the fate of his fugitive. When he himself turned towards the alley, the subject in front of him was trapped and without any sort of way out. Some meters above the ground, a train roared by ahead of them at full speed. The tunnel below the railroad pass was closed, an alley that stretched parallel to the tracks also being blocked.

    As the train ceased its short and deafening run, Yoshiro's words echoed in the narrow alley and took the fugitive by surprise. "Stop there! Tokyo Metropolitan Police! On your knees and with your arms behind your head! Now!"

    The dangerous man seemed willing to comply, his hands already moving slowly towards the back of his neck. The young officer approached him, drawing his pistol and aiming at his head. It was a matter of minutes before the backup arrived, but he still decided to pull out his radio. He moved with caution, one step at a time…

    But the one-handed man reacted out of the blue, and he was too fast for Yoshiro. With lightning-like speed, he rushed to the young man, who was only able to fire his gun once. The man deflected the shot with his right arm, leaving nothing but the sound of the bullet bouncing against his metal prosthesis. He then grabbed hold of both Yoshiro's left wrist and his other arm, forcing him to release the weapon. Such was his strength that he was even able to break the officer's wrist. Yoshiro suppressed the cry of pain between his teeth but once the weapon fell to the ground, the one-handed man released the grip of his wrist and struck him in the face. The young policeman hit his back against a wall and fell to the ground. Before he had time to rise to his feet or complain about his pain, the man grabbed him by the neck with his prosthesis and lifted him up, exerting pressure on his trachea with a force that was far from that of an ordinary human being.

    Yoshiro made an effort to breathe, but the strength of the prosthetic arm was too much for him. He even tried to cling to it in a vain attempt to free himself, stamping his right foot on the ground as he contorted his torso. Where was Matsuda? Where was the backup? Nothing mattered anymore. With every second that went by, Yoshiro saw his death grew closer and closer. He had neither time to grieve over his short and miserable life or to wonder what would become of his younger brother. What a fool he had been. Fool and reckless, always willing to take risks without showing the slightest sign of fear to prove himself he was brave. But now he felt weak, as fragile as a leaf. His face had acquired a purple tint, the toughness of his arms and legs almost vanished. He could no longer cling to his executioner's arm. He no longer had the will to breathe, to remain alive.

    It was then that he heard it.

    At first, it was nothing more than a mere whisper. But it did not take long for the constant and immutable pulse of the blades' snap to give place to the loud rotors of a helicopter roaring by over the alley. Yoshiro felt the fugitive's hand pulling off his neck, the young man coughing as he tried to catch his breath. Had that sound just frightened his executioner? It definitely seemed so, but what mattered to him the most at that moment was the fact that his life had been forgiven. Maybe that unpredictable God he used to imagine had some pity reserved for a miserable guy like him. Or maybe not. After all, he had lost a lot of oxygen, and almost without noticing it, he had fainted in the middle of the alley.
     
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  4. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    Chapter 2: Revolution I - Book 1 - THE VIGILANTES II

    A young woman was sitting on the edge of the helicopter that flew over the area. And she had little doubts about the current situation of the one-handed fugitive. With her right eye pressed to the lens of her sniper rifle's 2-8x32 telescopic sight, the picture magnified four times its actual size, she saw him heading to an idle blue sports vehicle, then opening the left door to pull the driver out of the car. Once inside, the traffic lights turned in his favor, and he began to accelerate. As she followed his path, she witnessed the man passing under a highway and dodging vehicles amid heavy traffic at high speed and with great skill. The woman often wondered if those men could try to employ their talents in activities within the framework of the law, some kind of sport for example. Unfortunately, she was dealing with terrorists, ruthless men with no regard for the law, the institutions that upheld them, and the citizens who value them. That made him her goal, her mission; it was her job to capture him and hand him over to the authorities that would dictate his sentence.

    And still, it was not as if she cared about him in the least. For her, he was another meaningless human being who seemed even more insignificant at a distance. So insignificant was he it was most likely that his capture would not change the overall situation at all. The woman was not naive. In the end, he was a mere pawn, and someone else would take his place sooner or later. And she, too, would have to capture him. But she prepared herself her entire life for this. It was her duty, not a matter of enjoyment, even if she did find a certain delight in gazing at the whole city from the sky. It made her feel like a deity who took pleasure in contemplating the comings and goings of its creation. Not even her brother could avoid being part of the show.

    Her brother. She almost forgot about him.

    Quite a few meters behind the car, an urban-camouflage painted sports bike—with some modifications to its bodywork—was in hot pursuit. Its driver wore a state-of-the-art military suit that covered his entire body, although most of it was hidden behind a thick cloak that billowed behind him as the wind came underneath. Hardly any feature of his helmet could be distinguished other than his V-shaped blue visor, also concealed under a ghillie suit hood. Of course, all these details were of the young woman's knowledge since she herself wore a similar armor, the glow in her helmet of whitish tone as the circle in her suit's chest.

    "Blue Jaguar, this is White Leopard," she said to her brother through the intercom inside her helmet. Those were their call signs, which were mandatory to use in two-way radio communication. Even if they were talking through a secure channel, their superiors were listening to their conversation, and they never knew when someone could be interfering in their talks outside of any apparently safe protocol. "The suspect is almost three hundred meters ahead of you in a blue Toyota supra,"

    "Copy that. Before stealing the car, the fugitive attacked a police officer," his brother replied over his own intercom. "Is he okay?"

    "Affirmative. He fainted, but his partner went to assist him. An ambulance and reinforcements are on their way." White Leopard aimed her scope back at the one-handed man. She felt a small tingle on her right index finger along with the desire to pull the trigger. It was hard to resist the temptation to end the whole affair without any further delay. After all, her fearsome rifle gave her an advantage over her fugitive, a certain kind of power. And that made her feel superior, in control.

    "Should I take the shot?" she suggested to her brother.

    "Negative. There are far too many cars and people involved. We need to take him to a more contained area to avoid casualties."

    What a pity. Of course, she expected that response from her brother, and to some extent, he was right. But the woman was under no illusions that such an outcome could be avoided. For she was convinced that a high-speed chase in downtown Tokyo would not end up quite well. She knew Blue Jaguar was quite adept at riding his motorcycle, but it was hard to think the fugitive would have the same degree of self-control when dealing with civilians. And still, al she wanted was to take part in the action. To be seated there without doing anything of actual relevance was something that made her felt uncomfortable. But for the moment, all she could do was examining the situation from above. As the helicopter gained some altitude, the one-handed man turned down northeast into a narrow street where he remained for two hundred meters. Then, he turned southeast into a single-lane road which ran parallel to the train tracks of the Yamanote Line. At the same time, the motorcycle burst into the narrow street.

    "What can you tell me about the car?" his brother inquired.

    The HUD inside her helmet gave her information about the vehicle, from detailed blueprints to advanced technical stats, all of these in superimposed layers outlined with a semitransparent white color. "Mark-five model, recent, with a hybrid six-cylinder engine. I don't think it can go over two hundred and sixty."

    "I can't communicate with Big Boss, so let him know I don't require any additional Sentinel personnel."

    "Understand." The young woman did not sound pleased. What was going on with her brother's radio? The pre-mission checks had not hinted at problems; she herself could contact their base of operations without any inconveniences. Or perhaps her brother lied to avoid direct contact with Big Boss? She could ask him about it, but her suspicion was something she dare not speak aloud. The organization behind their deployment was monitoring them, and she would never betray her brother. At least she owed him that much.

    Since there was no point in arguing any further, White Leopard shifted her gaze back to her rifle's scope. She gazed at the Toyota moving at full speed along the single-lane street without any vehicles or people to get in its way.

    "It doesn't look like the guy is going to surrender easily. What's your move?" she asked.

    "I'll try a direct approach to get a tactical scan and avoid surprises. Then, I'll proceed to capture him," his brother answered.

    "At least let me call for some backup—"

    "I think I've been clear enough about that."

    If she had been by his side right then, the young woman would have slapped him in the face without second thoughts. She was a rigid person who did not let emotions dominate her, but there were moments when her brother drove her crazy. "You and your stubbornness," was all she replied. "Why do I have the feeling all this will end badly?"

    "Your optimism is much appreciated. Blue Jaguar out."

    The young woman was far from convinced of her brother's course of action, but there was not much she could do from her position. With a hint of disappointment, White Leopard settled for the fact that she would be nothing more than a mere bystander of the whole spectacle.



    The screech of the motorcycle's tires rumbled across the narrow street as its driver dived into the paved road. The bike's hybrid four-cylinder engine roared as its almost one hundred and ninety horsepower allowed it to reach one hundred kilometers per hour in two and a half seconds. Its sound became a harrowing cry as it gained speed while its tires ripped the pavement without mercy. Blue Jaguar kept a tight grip on the handlebar while he went fast through the gears by pushing the shift pedal upwards with his left toe. He had no need for clutch or throttle maneuvers given his ride's quick-shift system. Even though he was more than satisfied with his modern world's mechanical beast, the vehicle he was pursuing was far from being a child's toy. How had that man had the luck to run into a high-performance car? Was it a mere coincidence or an unexpected stratagem? That Toyota Supra Mark V—a rebirth from the classic model of the nineties—reached the hundred mark in just over four seconds and, as her sister had mentioned, could reach two hundred and sixty of maximum speed.

    The glow in his helmet sparkled with as much bright as his own vehicle's headlights. His tattered cloak, tight around his waist to avoid inconveniences with the air currents and his ride's rear tire, waved aggressively until the motorcycle started to slow down. Its engine took a breath as Blue Jaguar pushed the gear pedal downwards while he straightened his posture in his seat. Then, he leaned sideways to tackle a long chicane, first to his left and then to his right, to resume the road that bordered the tracks of the Yamanote line. If the information transmitted by the display on his helmet was correct, the fugitive was one hundred and fifty meters ahead veering into a shallow S-shaped turn after which the street turned southeast. There, it acquired an additional lane as the buildings on both edges gained altitude, fact that he confirmed once he himself went through the turn. Since there was no way of knowing his fugitive's destination, Blue Jaguar concluded the safest course of action was to mimic his exact same route. After all, his advanced suit, his powerful vehicle and the constant vigilance of his sister up in the sky gave him a clear-cut edge.

    Inside the helmet of his armor, Blue Jaguar grimaced as he spotted his prey ahead beyond any shadow of a doubt, the brightness of the light poles bouncing back on the Toyota's electric blue tilt. It was about time. Since his decision to tackle the hunt on his own had been a bit presumptuous, it was necessary to put an end to it before it was too late. In any manner, he trusted in his ability behind the handlebar of his motorcycle, and the man he was pursuing seemed a worthy opponent. Finally, Blue Jaguar could put his talents to good use. No support or tactical roadblocks. The one-handed fugitive was his prey and no one else's. Besides, he ought to be up to something; a terrorist would not just break into one of the most important buildings in the world to cause a mere turmoil, would he?

    As he imagined the one-handed man's face while looking at the black spot that was now beginning to fill his rearview mirror, Blue Jaguar almost tasted his despair. His prey began to perform desperate maneuvers to take over the two fixed lanes, using the parked cars in his favor to hold the motorcycle's fierce charge. Such a display of driving skills made him realize he was right regarding his own assessment of them. In effect, once Blue Jaguar was on his heels, the fugitive showed he was not going to give up so easily.

    Both vehicles came across an avenue with two lanes per direction, the green lights favoring the countless cars and buses moving right through it. The Toyota hurtled round the bend amid an aggressive drift that forced the oncoming vehicles to slam their breaks, frightened by the screech of its tires and the fervor of its driver. Blue Jaguar did not fall behind, his bike's rear wheel skidding as he counterbalanced the weight of his body to keep it stable without losing speed. A few moments later, both drivers met a short tunnel over which the railroad tracks they left behind now stretched across. The overpass enveloped them in a gloom packed with yellowish lights and a symphony of vehicle engine's sounds that echoed all over it.

    It was then that the one-handed man savored his next move.

    As soon as they left the tunnel, the Toyota swerved from the inner lane to the outer one, sweeping away the right-rear end of a car in the process. The vehicle began losing control and ended up in the opposite lane, where it was smashed by a bus right at its driver's door. The onrushing vehicles panic-stopped before such a calamity, the bleeding feast of high-pitched wheel locking warning the bike's driver of the inevitable blockage on his path. He slowed down with sharp instincts and summoned all of his expertise to avoid the halted cars while still accelerating. That way, he would not lose ground before the Toyota, which had surged away in the meantime.

    Blue Jaguar then found himself steering into the prefectural route 416—the intersection enclosed by four pedestrian overpasses above the tarmac at each corner—through a long steeply skid that almost made him bite the sidewalk. Before him, the copious trees saturated the road with a beautiful green color fresh from the last buds of spring, its leaves whispering by the wind and shimmering by the moisture and the lamp poles. A central flowerbed full of grass and surrounded by guardrails separated the lanes of the artery that flowed in both directions.

    A few meters ahead, the one-handed man met an unexpected development: the red lights were still holding the traffic. Blue Jaguar's biggest surprise was seeing the Toyota slowing down and, dropped kerb in between, pulling out onto the sidewalk. It was fortunate there were no people walking by at that time, since neither the reduced space by a flower shop nor a series of parked bicycles, which were all over the air once he got to them, cut off the one-handed man's frenzy. What a madman! The idle cars were far from a problem for Blue Jaguar. He took advantage of the small size of his vehicle, reduced his speed, and managed to squeeze through the tiniest space forged between the fence and the row of automobiles.

    But something had eluded him.

    A curb ramp a few meters past the flower shop allowed the Toyota to go back to the asphalt, its shock absorbers bouncing hard on the street as it stumbled upon the bike winding up on the junction's crosswalk. The one-handed man struggled against his wheel as his vehicle's rear tires whirled in such a way the rear bumper lunged towards his pursuer. The motorcycle conveyed the impression of being frightened by the mole of steel, lurching as if it wanted to get rid of its driver. But Blue Jaguar was able to tame his unruly two-wheeled steed after a few seconds of tire squealing and snaking back and forth. Then, he headed toward the opposite lanes and ascended onto a curb ramp to evade the stalled vehicles. Another nearby ramp allowed him to descend back to the asphalt with enough distance to avoid the start of the new division fence and retake the previous lane.

    The lights were now green for the vehicles driving across the route 416. Blue Jaguar found himself racing towards his prey, shifting from lane to lane as he made his way through light traffic, amazed at how civil drivers were holding steady during his entire run. It took him half a kilometer to draw near his fugitive, who was overtaking a vehicle from the outer lane at the time. Blue Jaguar decided to maneuver his ride next to the edge of the guardrail to make his move on the car amongst them at the same time. It was a mistake. The blue car moved sideways and rammed the other vehicle against the motorcycle. Fortunately, Blue Jaguar entered upon an intersection and swerved to the opposite lanes to avoid the collision—only to stumble upon several cars that were coming right at him.

    As their drivers hit their brakes and yanked their wheels all the way to avoid bumping into the two-wheeled vehicle, Blue Jaguar shifted the weight of his body to one side and then to the other. His motorized steed swayed to the rhythm of his movements to leave behind the pressing danger. Upon reaching the following crossing, he steered his bike across several lanes and swung back into the proper path, hoping he had not lost too much ground in the process. To his misfortune, the blue Toyota had pulled fifty meters away from him. Given the amount of traffic and speed differences between both vehicles, he estimated he would catch up with the one-handed man in another five hundred meters.

    And thus, both vehicles arrived at the wide crossing with the prefectural route 418. The motorcycle was merely a few meters off the tail end of the Toyota, its driver now pulling it alongside the fugitive's vehicle to end the strife once and for all. But right in the middle of the junction, the Toyota pulled a sudden stunt. It switched lanes and hit the left-rear end of another automobile driving along the 416. The car slammed the containment fence at one of the corners of the intersection so hard it ended up bouncing and smashing the left side of another vehicle while the Toyota was already driving away from the chaos. The motorcycle came to a full stop before the wrecked vehicles that almost filled all three lanes available for traffic, obstructing its path as the fugitive's car faded away in the distance.

    "Seems that bastard always finds a way out," his sister's voice barged into his speakers without notice. "Why do you insist on doing this on your own? All you have achieved so far are mangled cars everywhere."

    As expected, his sister was only interested in getting results. For her, it was all numbers and variables that affected her performance. Something as simple as the value of human lives was something that eluded her. "He's not a common thug," he remarked. "If we scare him, he might do something unforeseen and someone might get hurt. I won't let that happen."

    In effect, he could not allow that to happen. That was his duty, the obligation that had been imposed on him, and above all, the responsibility he had with himself. There was no such thing as acceptable losses, something he already experienced in the past. Even if he were to take a major rebuke from those responsible for his crusade, as they would be unhappy to witness the disaster he caused, he would do things in the proper, honorable way. And as long as he managed to apprehend the one-handed man, the mission would have a relative but sufficient success for his superiors. With that determination in his mind, he kicked the motorcycle, put it into gear, and pulled off a sluggish maneuver amid the little space available between both halted vehicles to then take advantage of all the power of his machine and race once again towards his fugitive.

    As the chase progressed into Minato ward, the trees surrounding the route 416 began to fade away little by little, revealing the once concealed streetlights that gave life to that night. To the right, the shadow of a highway some meters above the road became more pronounced until it ran alongside the route, always respecting its edges. As the bike revved up above one hundred and fifty kilometers per hour, its young driver ceased to distinguish the howling of the vehicles from the flashes of their taillights. They both blended into a single and unblemished river of color and sound flowing past as he swept from side to side to dodge them. Every now and then he set his eyes on the speedometer, which marked just over two hundred kilometers per hour, oscillating every time a vehicle fell behind. For a brief moment, his mind got lost in the sound of his breathing and the constant hammering of his heart. Even if it was only the spur of the moment or a mere release of adrenaline and endorphin into his body, Blue Jaguar felt more alive than ever. He could almost feel the weight of the world abandoning his shoulders. He saw himself enjoying his duties for the first time.

    That, of course, lasted as much as the blink of an eye.

    Whatever it was that he wanted was below his obligations. And at that time, that meant he had to capture the one-handed man. It was then he realized that, while the traffic became lighter with each passing street, he was still unable to spot his fugitive. Having driven about one kilometer along that segment of the route, and as he was moving sideways to move past a truck, the male unit finally found his bluish vehicle. The Toyota was riding a few meters ahead of him, only one hundred and fifty meters prior to the intersection with Route 415. Its driver punched it as hard as he could trying to get whatever his car had left. The bike loomed up towards his prey and slid in behind it as they reached the next junction. But the one-handed man inferred his pursuer's intention. His car switched to the opposite lanes through an abrupt movement that forced Blue Jaguar to slow down so that he would avoid crashing into the guardrail.

    But this time, the fugitive would not get away with his.

    As Blue Jaguar moved his bike behind the car, the one-handed man ran into an oncoming vehicle. It seemed as if he had forgotten he was driving against traffic because he swerved bluntly towards the inner lane and almost bit the metal fence. At the same time, the motorcycle made its way around the other car and found itself side by side with the Toyota. All at once, Blue Jaguar knew he would never get a better chance. As he drew near the driver's door, he seized the moment and inspected the interior of the vehicle with his scanning system. And he came upon more surprises than he would have hope for. Not only did he notice a strange device that monitored his fugitive's heart beats, but he also ascertained he was holding a pistol with his mechanized arm. Through the side mirror, the eyes of both opponents crisscrossed for a split second. Stunned, Blue Jaguar watched as his fugitive smashed the window with his elbow and pulled out his gun out of his car, so he dared not to hesitate. Adding gunfire to his already frenzied pursuit entailed an unnecessary risk, even more so if he wanted to avoid casualties. He worked the throttle on his handlebar just as some layers of his bike's tires were torn apart by the effort amid an awful shriek and a small cloud of smoke, his vehicle climbing onto the sidewalk.

    In spite of this, the one-handed man ended up firing two shots from his gun, none of which hit their intended target. As he was ready to unleash his weapon one more time, he found out yet another vehicle was threatening to hit him head-on. Blue Jaguar gazed at the fugitive as he yanked his wheel all the way to dodge the vehicle—only to find yet another oncoming car. He counter-steered, but not quickly enough to prevent a disaster. The vehicle hit the Toyota in its right-rear end, and the fugitive's automobile began to spin out of control as it reached the intersection with the 415. There, another vehicle smashed the bluish car's passenger door without mercy, its driver rammed from head to toe, until he regained his balance right after the airbags were triggered.

    And so, the blue Toyota ended up pinned amid the intersection between routes 415 and 416, facing south with a right end shredded to the nth degree. On the meantime, Blue Jaguar had moved with caution over the foot pavement, evading passersby who got in his way until he came to a stop at the apex of one of the streets, the highway now making a turn to the left above the junction. As he was ready the get off his bike, he caught sight of the one-handed man, already out of his vehicle and looking straight at him. It was almost as if he could discern the exact location of his eyes behind the helmet that hid them.

    Something was wrong.

    As Blue Jaguar fixed his eyes on the fugitive, he noticed he looked serious, focused and far from nervous. He was up to no good. His pistol showed itself in his right hand once again, Blue Jaguar wondering what the hell he wanted to accomplish; his bullets were insignificant before his armor, so it was pointless to shoot at him. But when the gun found its target, he felt a chill running through his back, and what only were a few seconds seemed like an eternity for him...

    The shot must have left an atrocious noise since the passersby in the surroundings seemed to have shuddered at it. Blue Jaguar had not caught even a snatch of the blast given the filters on his helmet, but what he did manage to discern was that a woman beside him had felt to the ground. Blood was pouring from her left shoulder and smearing her coat with a dark red. Some people shouted in panic at the situation while others simply expressed their disgust by covering their mouths with the palm of their hands. Who was not frightened at all was the one-handed man. He preyed on the circumstances and sprinted to a parked car. After he broke the glass in the window of the driver's seat, he unlocked the door and climbed into the vehicle at once.

    As Blue Jaguar set his motorcycle's rucksack on the ground to put it on lock and abandoned his vehicle, his foe's newly acquired red automobile shoved off the scene in a rush. He would be unable to resume the chase until he assessed the condition of the wounded woman, so he hurried to her. As soon as he knelt by her side, the display inside his helmet began to show him information related to the vital signs of the woman and her body anatomy. He gazed at separated layers of her bone structure, which were presented to him in transparent bluish graphics, including the veins and arteries of her circulatory system, anything that would allow him to take a measure of the extent of the damage.

    "Is she all right?" his sister's voice broke inside his helmet.

    A long sigh of relief fogged Blue Jaguar's visor. "It seems so. The bullet went clean through the shoulder. No vital arteries were compromised," he concluded, though the bleeding would not come to a stop. He pushed both the woman's coat and her shirt off her shoulder, completely exposing her injury. He also gathered the index and middle fingers of his right hand, a slight electric charge bursting around its junction. "Sorry, ma'am. This may hurt a little bit."

    The woman shivered from top to bottom almost as if she were having a seizure, Blue Jaguar holding her body tightly with his free hand. The startling development seemed to worry the people who had converged on the area, even if some less fearful fellas took the opportunity to pull out their cell phones to get a digitalized record of what was happening. But all they did was try. Blue Jaguar envisioned their faces when they would realize that neither their cell phones, digital tablets, nor other electronic devices would operate as they should. Another technological wonder his suit provided him in its eagerness to mask its true nature.

    As a tiny gray fog began to emerge from the woman's wound, Blue Jaguar concluded his humanitarian labor, satisfied by its results. "I used the charge to generate heat and cauterize your wound," he told her, the woman's gaze clouded by fear. "Don't worry, an ambulance is on its way."

    It was likely that his sister would be demanding for the presence of such vehicle by radio, and since he was no longer required in that place, Blue Jaguar went back to his motorcycle and kicked-started it. The one-handed man had about a minute head start on him. He could not afford to waste any more time if he wanted to prevent a death toll from taking place.
     
  5. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    Chapter 3: Revolution I - Book 1 - THE VIGILANTES III

    "Without any casualties, you said?" the young woman snorted, gazing through her scope's sight at the red Toyota racing northeast across National Route 1. She was furious, and rightly so. His brother was ruining everything because of his damn stubbornness. If he had done things according to plan, none of this would have happened. White Leopard did not like unexpected things; they made her lose her patience. And more importantly, they made her mission more complicated. She could not fail this assignment. Not again. "If only you had done what I—"

    "What the hell was I supposed to do, then?" his brother interjected.

    "—call for backup to set up a roadblock and avoid that risk beforehand," she finished.

    "The bastard is playing with us, goddammit! The scan I got when I approached him revealed a strange artifact monitoring his heart beats."

    "A dead man's switch for a bomb?" the female unit said, caught by surprise. As she tweaked her scope's magnification to a broader view, she discerned her brother driving across the division of Route 415 near the Ryokuchi Park.

    "Affirmative. We should better avoid the risk and play along. He shot that woman only to gain time."

    "You can't know that for sure." There was his arrogance again. But it seemed that he was willing to play by the book for once. Perhaps the incident with the woman was able to make him come to his senses. And that was a good thing. Seizing eagerly on the possibility, White Leopard took a few moments to assess the situation. Route 416, 415, National Route 1... The course taken by the fugitive remained constant in only one direction: east. If he kept driving down that path, he would eventually run into Tokyo Bay. Could that be his destination? "His trajectory so far suggests he's heading southeast," she said to his brother. "You think he's going to the bay area?"

    "Most likely. At least we'll get our contained area. Where's he?"

    "Driving through Sakurada Dori. He's one kilometer ahead of you."

    That bastard. As White Leopard adjusted the magnification dial with her fingertips once more, shifting her sight back at the fugitive's vehicle, she could not help but think of all the problems his little escape had caused. And, on top of it, her brother made things worse by stretching out the chaos through the streets of the city. It was evident certain people could not found a limit in their own recklessness, not even he who once inhabited the womb of her very same mother. She promised herself she would have a hard talk with him after the whole fuss was over.

    Back to the matter in hand, the young woman noticed the road on which the Toyota was moving across was gradually getting wetter. With the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance, the first drops of the much-promised storm made their swaggering entrance. But the slippery roadway did not seem able to stop the one-handed man's path. When he arrived at the junction with the Prefectural Route 301—about a kilometer into his drive along Sakurada-Dori—he came across a small pack of vehicles stopped by a red light. After he lowered his speed to tackle the stalled automobiles, he swerved towards the opposite lanes where, much to his chagrin, he ran into a car making the turn from the 301. And even so, a long yet precise rear-wheel skid allowed him to dodge the car and drive into the 301 in one single maneuver. While she had to admit his mastery behind the wheel was remarkable, it was not as if she belittled his brother's skills. Several hundred meters behind, White Leopard gazed at his brother performing a similar maneuver to tackle his entry to Sakurada-Dori. She knew he took joy in driving that motorcycle, and maybe just for the pleasure of doing so he dragged out the chase to such lengths. At least those long sessions in the simulator had paid off since the precision of his maneuvers was such it was difficult to think that he was nothing but a professional driver.

    As her eyes darted back at the fugitive, she came across the red Toyota driving among light traffic and just about to move past the Daichii Keihin crossing into the Route 409. A driver that was ready to leave a huge parking lot to his right had to cease his intentions as the one-handed man's vehicle swept past the area in the blink of an eye. He then raced amid a couple of high-rises and reached an open area as the road shifted southeast; it was an overpass above the wide set of railroad tracks that belonged to the Keihintohoku, Yamanote, and Tōkaidō Shinkansen lines. White Leopard was even able to spot one of the high-speed trains moving past the Tamachi Station at nearly three hundred kilometers per hour. Not far from those speed levels, his brother ripped across a sharp eastward turn while driving through Sakurada Dori. It took him a few seconds to reach Route 301 as the traffic on the area seemed to have normalized after the brief altercate with the Toyota.

    "Distance?" his brother asked anxiously.

    The young woman looked back at the red vehicle and verified the data on her HUD. "Seven hundred meters. He's reaching one hundred and sixty."

    As the fugitive's car moved along a bridge above a water dam, White Leopard confirmed her conjecture had proven to be correct. The harbor area was right around the corner and she could not help but feel satisfied at her own cleverness. And yed, since she was used to being right, there was nothing to be surprised about in that regard. What was also expected for her was to observe the Toyota arriving at Route 316, tackling the eastbound road at full speed while her brother's motorcycle moved over the train tracks about five hundred meters behind. From then on, his motorcycle accelerated once again shy of three hundred kilometers per hour. The difference in speed between both vehicles was notorious, and the top-of-the-line Camry version the fugitive stole had about thirty horsepower less than the Supra he drove before.

    Nearly ten seconds after the fugitive had left behind the Metropolitan Expressway No. 1 underpass, he raced under the Rainbow Bridge's Toll road while the motorcycle was already moving past the highway's overpass a mere two hundred fifty kilometers behind. Red brake lights flared as the one-handed man's vehicle slowed down to twenty before a containment fence under the pale shadow of the highway. The car swerved around it by jumping onto a curb ramp, and after nearly knocking down a traffic light pole, it swept away a locking barrier a few meters past it. Soon afterward, the bike arrived at the fence and mimicked the movements of his pursued, coming across the debris of the second barricade.

    One block ahead, the Toyota turned south and raced along a paved street that stretched for a hundred meters, flowerbeds at its side detaching it from large corporate warehouses. Without nothing more than closed roads before him, the fugitive locked on his brakes and performed a one-hundred-an-eighty spin to, once and for all, come to a stop. The motorcycle concluded its own run a few meters away from its prey, ready to confront him. Was he going to do something foolish again or had he finally learned his lesson?

    "It's now or never, White Leopard. Shoot him with a tranquilizer dart," he suggested much to her delight. "It shouldn't interfere with the device."

    The young woman's gaze caught the fugitive on her scope, coming off his vehicle while carrying the pistol he had fired before in his hand. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for. Countless hours of training to sharpen her instincts and her precision with the rifle put into play at the moment of truth. She did not have to worry about the wind or the distance to the target and the consequent curvature of the bullet. Her weapon's smart high-velocity rounds would hit their target in a direct and uninterrupted way, so all she had to do was aim at her desired mark, in this case, the one-handed man's torso. She swallowed hard and felt her pulse rise as her index finger savored the trigger of her rifle. She began timing her breathing, inhaling deeply through her nose… to then exhale through her mouth.

    "Just a little more..." she allowed herself. Her target was not as far away from the car as she desired so that she could achieve an accurate shot with no unintended consequences.

    But the constant hammering of her heart did not cease.

    Her pulse was beyond the point of control. She felt a chill racing through her entire body, fearing it would break her apart from the inside. What was happening to her? It was then that she remembered when she had felt that sensation for the last time. The picture in her mind's eye flashed for half a heartbeat. It was also at night. She was inside an office tower, seeing herself been unable to fire her rifle. There were two men arguing in the opposite building, one of them with a trigger device in his right hand. She had to shoot him to avoid a catastrophe. But she could not.

    And then came the fire. She saw once again the red glow of the dancing flames, the scraps of the ceiling falling apart on the rooms. And she heard screams, lots of screams. But above all, she remembered the feeling of disappointment after having failed her mission.

    And she remembered the dead.

    As short-lived as the sensation was, it was all it took for her to get distracted and miss the one-handed man's subtle movement as he checked a small compartment in his prosthesis. She did catch a brief glimpse of a strange device he carried on his left hand, which he then threw under the chassis of his vehicle. But it was too late. As the fugitive sprinted away from his car as fast as he could, the device detonated. His red car burst into flames, a pillar of rising smoke flowing from the charred remains of the once stolen vehicle.

    "What the hell was that?" her brother urged, already off his bike and gazing at the smoke "Why didn't you shoot him? Where's he now?"

    "I don't know! He must have headed to the container's area," was all she managed to come up with. "Dammit!"

    What the hell had that been? The young woman was taken aback by the turn of events, her mind racing for explanations. Had she not left behind that painful memory of her failure? It seemed her wound had not healed yet, but she could not let herself be conquered by her own moment of weakness. She was a soldier; she ought to be strong, keep her mind clear of even the least trace of doubt or fear. Yet, she could feel the eyes of her superiors staring at her, eyes full of disapproval, disenchantment, and shame. Or were they her own eyes? She wanted to scream and kick and cry until her throat was raw. But she had no time for that, not at the moment.

    As she swept aside any useless thoughts and budged her rifle, White Leopard pressed her eye on the scope and switched the mode dial to thermal, but the imposing cloud of smoke prevented her from seeing the picture before her clearly. "The smoke's blocking the thermal," she said over her intercom, without knowing whether her brother was still at the other side. That's how lost she fell at the time, even if her analytical capabilities still seemed to be working in her favor.

    "I'll chase him on foot," his brother finally responded. That made her calm down a bit. "Get off the helicopter and put yourself in a position of advantage." Even though she was deeply discouraged, the young woman had no choice but to proceed.



    Far from the lights and noise of downtown Tokyo, Blue Jaguar picked his away carefully amid the gloom and silence of the warehouses located in Shibaura pier, most of them belonging to Cytek. Like so many other structures throughout the city, they had been acquired by the energy tycoon in its quest for expansion. Perhaps the one-handed man’s goal was somehow related to that fact. After all, when it came to Amaterasu, there was always the need to send a message beyond any uproar or carnage they provoked. As he kept striding south, he caught sight of the magnificent Rainbow Bridge, the flashes of the colors of the true meteorological phenomenon shimmering across the towers of its structure.

    As he heard a shred of the helicopter’s powerful rotors roaring over his head, Blue Jaguar bumped into a pedestrian level crossing that split the warehouse complex from a pack of large shipping containers that stretched row after row past it. The military vehicle landed on the roof of one of the buildings, her sister surely coming down of it as she moved to position. Blue Jaguar wondered what had happened to her. It was not the first time, although the previous occasion derived in an embassy in flames along with more than thirty-three casualties.

    Once he moved past the crossing, he found himself climbing over a metal fence circling the container's area amid the chiming of the small metal rings, his feet now moving between two rows of corrugated weathering steel boxes. Deprived of the fragile sound of the waves in the bay, Blue Jaguar heard nothing but his own breathing quickening with each step he took. He could almost feel his heart pounding at his throat given the uncertainty of not knowing where his pray was.

    But the fugitive found him a first.

    When Blue Jaguar reached an open area, an arm came out from his left, threatening to hit him—but his reflexes, enhanced by his suit’s features, allowed him to hold off the onslaught as he tackled yet another blow from the fugitive’s remaining hand. He then grabbed hold of both of his arms and used all the weight of his body to toss him on the ground. Next, the one handed-man unholsted his pistol and discharged a couple of shots at the male unit. Yet, the bullets merely bounce off against his armor, and when he pulled the trigger again, his gun returned him a click. He was empty. As he was prepared to reload it, Blue Jaguar decided he would now allow him that much. An almighty electric charge began to emerge from the palm of his right hand, which he used to generate a magnetic attraction with the gun to yank it as far away as he could from its carrier.

    The one-handed man rose from the ground, defiant. He was not going to give up so easily, was he? He placed his left leg forward, his right foot backward with his knee bent as he tilted his hips and lowered his center of mass. As he moved his left arm ahead of his body, the hand flat as he hid his right hand while shaping a fist with it, a cocky grin took over Blue Jaguars' face. His opponent had assumed a classic martial arts’ stance, commonly associated with Karate. Since the man was a former soldier of the Japanese Defense Forces (former JSDF), he had been trained in the art of Toshu Kakuto, which combined techniques derived from different traditional disciplines as it was based on the ancient Nippon Kempo. If that was the way he wanted it, Blue Jaguar could not be more pleased.

    The Sentinel operative answered the terrorist’s challenge. He adopted a rather arrogant defensive stance by facing his opponent head-on, with both arms separated a few centimeters from his body and his fists tight. He had nothing to fear. And so, the dance began… The fugitive charged against Blue Jaguar, the upper part of his body steady while his legs carried his body forward. The young man drew back his right leg and flexed his left, meeting the blow to his head with a lock on his wrist. Timing his breath with the rhythm of his limbs, he mirrored his faint as he blocked a blow from the fugitive’s left hand, then adapted his moves as the exchange of punches switched at his torso level, the locks on his forearm. Amid a brief opening, he spun clockwise and kicked him in his neck. But while the fugitive fell back a few steps, he was still far from giving up.

    The one-handed man set himself for a new exchange of blows—without knowing that Blue Jaguar had already resolved to wrap-up the whole thing. Instead of blocking his prosthesis’ punch with his wrist, as he should have done under ordinary circumstances, the young man grabbed hold of it and employed all the vigor of his suit to squeeze it, its carbon fiber polymers twisting apart at such strength. As the fugitive stared incredulously at his damaged arm, Blue Jaguar kicked him in the pit of his stomach as he released the grip from his prosthesis. The man fell on the asphalt, writhing from the intense pain as Blue Jaguar lifted him by the neck to hurl him into a container. The one-handed man crashed his back against the mass of corrugated steel, then leaned on it as he ended up sitting over the ground.

    His reaction after the hard blow took Blue Jaguar by surprise. The fugitive began laughing, for no apparent reason, in the midst of his misery.

    “What could possibly be so funny?”Blue Jaguar asked him.

    The fugitive spat some blood in response, then spoke. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

    “Why did you bring us here? What are you looking for?”

    “What you should be seeking.”

    “And that is...?”

    The fugitive chuckled, amused. “You know nothing. You’re merely a hunting dog obeying its master. I once made the same mistake, but that won’t happen again—” He moved his prosthetic arm over his chest and closed his eyes. “Because there’s no life, nor death…”

    Blue Jaguar stared in disbelief as the man who once seemed so determined to elude him generated a powerful electrical charge around his heart. A few seconds filled with spasms were enough for it to stop beating, ending with his life in an unexpected development. Why? Why had he caused such a fuss, only to end up committing suicide? That had been as sudden as meaningless.

    While his mind continued to seek an explanation, his sister showed up behind him carrying a pistol in her hand. “What was that about?” she asked him. He did not know what to answer back. Or so he thought at first.

    Beep...

    What the hell had that been? The sound repeated itself once more, then again, one succeeding the other consecutively. Where did it come from? Blue Jaguar began to look around in search of the origin of that strange pulsation. His sister stared at him, motionless, wondering for sure about her brother’s odd behavior.

    Beep, beep, beep…

    All at once, the answer came to him. The one-handed man possessed a device that kept track of his heartbeats, which had ceased as a consequence of his death. He also recalled his sister mentioning the possibility of a bomb. But before he could ask himself any more questions, the pulsations began to follow one another at increasingly more brief intervals, until they began to reduce in a frenzied way.

    The young man anticipated what was going to take place and grabbed her sister by the arm. “It can’t be!” he said to her. “Run!”

    Through piercing roars, the containers in the area began to detonate, one by one. The lacerated steel plates flew all over the place while both units ran desperately in an attempt to get away from the cycle of continuous blasts that grew closer to them with each step they made. When the last of the containers exploded, the shock wave was such that it shove both of them to the ground. Blue Jaguar felt the numbness in his limbs, grateful for his suit’s sound filtering system that deprived him of losing his hearing capabilities for a while. After a few seconds, he rose to his feet with some difficulties, dejected by fatigue. Her sister also had a hard time standing up, although she did it in a shorter time. They both found themselves surrounded by swirling of flames that danced in front of them, standing amid a scorching crimson hell. The wisps of smoke swept upward, producing immense clusters that took over the air while the plumes of fire consumed the charred debris of steel and counter-parched wood.

    And at the most fitting moment, the promise of the augured storm became a reality. The brothers gazed at the huge and sudden downpour that began to dissipate the flames, giving birth to a thick cloud of smoke due to the clash between water and fire. Raindrops wiped the ground with no pity along with their armors’ cloaks. For a few moments, nothing was heard but the sound of the intense flood interrupted every now and then by rumbling thunder.

    “This is worse than we thought,” the young man’s voice interfered amid nature’s spectacle. “We can’t afford to keep underestimating these guys.”

    “Whatever we have to face, we’ll be better prepared next time,” his sister concluded.
     
  6. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    Chapter 4: Revolution I - Book 1 - THE VIGILANTES IV

    The following day, the rays of the sun struggled to break through the tiny spaces left by the blinds' slants inside the room in which Kazuto Sugiyama was sleeping. It was as if the seventeen-year-old boy who lived there wanted to avoid their heat and energy at all costs. What Kazuto could never hope to elude was the sound of his alarm clock, which displayed in big numbers that it was already a quarter past seven in the morning. That annoying squeak. Could not it just go away? Kazuto extended his hand and reached out for the switch that would cease the exasperating buzz. Such was his drowsiness and lack of spirit that upon bumping into the button of his alarm clock, he ended up throwing it to the ground amid his clumsiness.

    He sighed at his own ineptitude. There was no reason to complain or make a fuss, and it was too late to go back to sleep. Kazuto had no choice but to get up, although not without his typical routine; he sat on his bed, rubbed his doted eyes, let out a long yawn and stretched his arms as much as he could in a vain attempt to reach the sky or, in his case, the roof in between. To his left, the folding guest bed where his brother used to rest was opened but devoid of a mattress. Behind it was a piece of furniture on which a television screen stood. Kazuto grabbed the remote control next to the digital clock and turned on the television set.

    The first image he came across was that of the hostess of a news program presenting a report. "The 'vigilantes' who participated during last night's chase in downtown Tokyo would be the same who were present during the attack of the American Embassy six months ago, which claimed the lives of thirty-three people, including—"

    That was all it took for him to remember it.

    The memory was printed in the deepest reaches of Kazuto's mind, as vivid as if he were living on it at that very same moment. He recalled the building covered in flames, the wild smoke pouring from most of its windows, and the fire trucks spewing hundreds of liters of water as they yearned to mitigate the fierce and heated glow. He could even recall the feeling of the sweat on his forehead as he contemplated that devastating exhibition, the arms of his older brother Yoshiro clinging to his body while the tears kept pouring from his eyes with as much intensity as the fire plumes themselves.

    And then, the flames turned into snowflakes.

    That winter had been raw and devastating in many ways. He saw himself once again next to Yoshiro, both now standing firmly and dressed in black for the funeral of their parents. There were thousands of tombstones scattered all over the place surrounded by leafless, lifeless trees, the shadows of their gaunt branches all over the stones under which rested the remains of innumerable human beings the young man would never come to known. And yet, it was not as if most of those present in the funeral were acquaintances of him. His family had never been numerous to being with; Kazuto did not have any living grandparents, uncles, cousins or anything like that. As far as he knew, the strange faces of the men and women around him were people who had worked with his parents, whose duties were completely unknown to him. Yes, his mother was a nuclear physicist and his father a corporate lawyer, but he never comprehended exactly what they use to do. If not for his brother or his few friends, Kazuto always felt lonely. And at that moment, he felt more abandoned than ever. But now, even after all that time, he kept dwelling upon the sensation that something broke inside him that day a little more than six months ago.

    Once those painful images ceased to possess his thoughts, his eyes rested on a portrait that was placed next to the television. In the picture was a once happy family smiling at the prospect of a good future. Yet, things had changed drastically since then. The adults on their knees surrounding the ten years younger Sugiyama brothers were no longer amongst the living. And for that same reason, he could not help feeling nostalgic when gazing at it, looking back at those good old times and wishing he could be there with them, even if just for a little while. He had been happy back then, hadn't he? Somehow, he felt he had forgotten what that was like. Or maybe he had never really known.

    It had been enough.

    As he set eyes on the floor of his apartment, Kazuto shook his head and tried to get rid of that memory and the emptiness he felt inside even if was for a short time. For he knew it would haunt him again, and there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. What he could do for the moment was lifting the blinds behind him, for which he had to abandon his comfortable resting place. He adjusted the blind's tilt wand as his right arm moved out of instinct to shield his eyes from the mighty glow of the sun as they were not yet ready to take all of its glory. Well, it was not exactly sunlight, but the reflection of it in the glass tinted windows of an office building in front of his apartment. There was no morning in which Kazuto did not want to curse the damned man who raised that hateful thing. And still, it was not as if the young man had a better opinion of his own apartment, whose only grandeur was the incoming light itself.

    Even if it was far from being a nasty, dirty, wet hole, it was not much bigger or sumptuous than one either, and it was certainly not comfortable. Distinguishing the bedroom of the living room was a futile task, as there was no obstacle that separated one from the other. Next to the piece of furniture on which the television was located, an elongated mirror was positioned on the wall behind which was the bathroom. On the opposite side, there was a wooden bar at the bottom that split the tiny kitchen from the rest of the room, along with some chairs placed around it. Closer to the bed, there was a shōji style screen with the traditional translucent washi paper behind which Kazuto used to change clothes… And that was all.

    That morning, Kazuto ate a few simple toasts accompanied by raw black coffee, which did little to wake him up. It was not like he could not feed himself more, but his stomach did not seem to require much food lately. Later, he brushed his teeth inside the small bathroom and rinsed his mouth, to then glance at his image in the looking glass. That was the worst of all. It was not a matter of beauty, a fact some of his female classmates made him notice, but of attitude. Those brown eyes overshadowed by a look lost in the confines of who knew where. That rogue dark brown hair, tousled and misaligned. That air of conformism, of bitterness. Why could he not just move on? Should not a teenager be full of life and expectations, looking forward to enjoying the days to come?

    His regular trip to his school provided him with no answers, not that he wanted to ask himself such questions in a way they would prove relevant. Once he donned his uniform, which consisted of a dark grey blazer with gold buttons and his school's emblem on his chest along with checked pants, he left his flat and walked out the eight-floored apartment complex where he lived. It was located in the Roppongi district, which was part of the special ward of Minato. It was also famous for its active nightlife—which Yoshiro knew to perfection, both because of his work and his leisure time—and the wealthy residential complex called Roppongi Hills, full of offices, apartments, restaurants, cinemas, museums, and even a television studio. None of these drew Kazuto's particular attention. He opted to stay in his room watching television, reading some American thriller novels or, why not, studying, as long as it proved necessary.

    Kazuto strolled to an area of cars parked in the open next to which he found his chained bicycle. Once he put on his protective helmet and mounted on it, he made his way to his school. After hurtling round several bends to leave his neighborhood behind, and one last major westbound shift, the youngest of the Sugiyama found himself heading down Prefectural Route 412 to the center of the city. For the vast majority of its stretch, it ran below Shibuya's Metropolitan Highway Number 3, which rose with certain majesty a few meters above Kazuto's head and dimmed most of the traffic lanes along its path. When one of the many lights along his trip decided to take a few seconds of his time, Kazuto set his eyes in the sky above, blue and clear after the previous night's heavy rain. Was it the prospect of an enjoyable day to come? The young man would settle for it not to be as bad as the previous one.

    It was then that something grabbed his attention. His gaze shifted to a senior homeless man having breakfast in front of a closed shop on a blanket, which most likely served to wrap him during the nights he spent there. Next to him was a sign resting on the store's metal curtain, "I came to Japan seeking refuge from the Korean War. I found only rejections and closed doors. I simply ask you for some coins so I can feed myself". With each passing day, Kazuto noticed the alarming increase presence of beggars along the streets of the city, though most of them were foreigners, refugees from the war that was still taking place in the neighboring country. Interestingly, as far as Kazuto understood, both Koreans and Japanese shared some common roots. However, his own people had been the one who decided to withdraw their troops from the Korean peninsula. At the same time, it was rumored that local evictees had a certain 'honor' in the matter that deprived them of resorting to such low humiliation in order to survive. All things considered, it seemed the Japanese mentality was causing havoc in the lives of its citizens once again.

    And still, among many things, what interested Kazuto the most was knowing where he got that sandwich from. Some nearby trash can maybe? A sympathetic citizen who decided to give it to him? Or had he stolen it from someone, perhaps another person in his very same condition? While his mind wandered in search of answers, two well-dressed women strode by the street deep in their chats and in their compulsive need for everyone to hear their garish laughter. As they walked past the homeless man, one of them covered her nostrils with her fingers while the other secured her seemly expensive purse. The man did not so much as looking at them. He seemed more concerned with the need to fill his stomach and start with some energy another rough day in his life. The young student shook his head in disapproval at the situation just as the traffic lights turned green. In the end, what could he do for that man? Kazuto did not know who he was, nor did he know what he required. If it occurred to him to ask him, he would have no way of knowing what his mood was like that day and how he would reply. Could he give him some money? Maybe, but his economic situation was not very good to start with. Besides, it was possible the man would waste it anyway. Since that was not his problem, he went on with his journey.

    Or so he thought.

    As soon as he started pedaling, another cyclist moving on the opposite lanes to Kazuto turned a corner when the corresponding lights did not allow her to do so. While the woman did not take long to realize her mistake, she came to a halt amid the crosswalk. Yet, a motorcyclist who had gone ahead of the flow of incoming traffic could not avoid running over her. While the motorcycle was not moving at high speed, it ran fast enough to throw the woman out of her vehicle, not to mention the bike itself kept going for a few meters while turned sideways, its driver also falling over the asphalt. The man was not badly hurt, so he rushed to the injured woman in order to assist her. It seemed she had taken the worst part of the mishap, but Kazuto did not see any blood or bruises on her body, so it should not have been something serious. It was not the first time he saw a traffic accident of that kind. Many cyclists in Japan were utterly reckless, and seeing such incidents was a commonplace occurrence. Some even claimed lethal victims.

    But this was not the case, nor was his problem.

    The woman had made the mistake that unleashed the incident. She was not even wearing a helmet. She had not suffered any serious injuries and was already being assisted by someone else. Besides, taking such a solidarity initiative was not something Kazuto ever did in his life. He just was not born with it. It was not as if he could simply choose to display courage or heroism during those kinds of situations; these were not reactions that would come to him or that he could arise by any other means. And he was fine with it, to the point it was enough for him to observe what happened to go along with his journey.

    With the accident already in the past, Kazuto kept heading southwest along Route 412 for two kilometers until he reached the busy junction with Route 305. Supermarkets, expensive restaurants, an occasional service station, a couple of embassies, and several buildings that increased in size and luxury was all he could see throughout his journey, always hindered by the concrete mole above his head that remained immutable. Unfortunately for him, that was not the kind of scenery he enjoyed. Kazuto had lived in many different cities throughout his childhood due to his parents' work. Only during the last years of Junior High had he managed to establish himself in Tokyo. But he had never seen that colorful city as his home. He did not even enjoy its smell. In the days after the rains, the unpleasant odor of the sewers, the urine of the hoboes, and the vomit of the salaryman felt stronger than ever. Trash cans were scarce and overflowing with plastic bags, all because of some ludicrous gas attack forty years ago. Needless to say, in certain areas, especially where restaurants or bars abounded, the air was heavy with the scent of tatami, charcoal, just-served-up ramen, and fresh-cooked rice. But none of that would ever change his opinion about the city where he lived. It just had not been built for someone like him.

    Despite all this, Kazuto could at least settle for the fact he would soon reach his long-awaited destination: Shibuya High School. It was a private institution that had recently been acquired by Cytek along with a couple of other educational establishments and hospitals throughout the city. At first a school only for women, it had been fully renovated thirty-five years ago with brand new facilities and new doctrines of teaching. The acquisition of the energy tycoon boosted the school's previous focus on promoting international exchanges between students, teaching foreign languages—particularly English—, and developed a special scholarship program for students with financial difficulties. It also set the foundations for a modern education system with subjects related to recent scientific innovations. In practice, it established a learning base that warmed up its students for college careers akin to the job demands of the future and, above all, their own facilities. Kazuto often wondered whether such corporate practices were excessive, if not a bit monopolistic. To top it off, they stumbled upon the government's overall goals in education, which did not seem right.

    A few more turns around the neighborhood and Kazuto finally found himself before the premises' entrance. Once there, he parked his bike on a designated area, jumped out of it, and headed towards his school, not without first catching a glimpse of a couple of students throwing their cigarettes on the floor as they put them out with their feet. He shook his head in reproval, amazed at how every single year he found more and more students who chose to poison their lungs, especially women, when the national tendency stated the opposite. Kazuto climbed the stairs past the V-shaped columns the held much of the main structure and went inside.

    A few meters past the entrance doors, he ran into several students busy in their designated lockers, exchanging their regular footwear in favor of the typical light slippers designated for indoor use known as wabaki. These followed the traditional Japanese mandate of imposing its hygienic will, derived from the old houses with tatami floors which were quite difficult to clean. It was not as if it bothered Kazuto, who in fact found it quite constructive. What did bother him was gazing at two students sneaking around a small plastic bag with white powder. It was easy to imagine what its content was. Were their lives so hard they had to resort to such a thing to keep going? Once again, he shook his head. He was not going to tip them off, of course, mostly due to the indifference of the teachers and the consequences such an act would bring among his relationships with his peers.

    His classroom was one of the four located on the second floor of the west building, the northern one being intended for junior high school students. Once inside, Kazuto headed to the sixth desk of the sixth-row counting from the entrance and threw his school briefcase over his table. He then sat on his chair and rested his head on the table. Both pieces of furniture had an ergonomic design that adjusted itself to the physical and comfort demands of its user; a nice advantage of attending a rather expensive school. Kazuto did not even have the strength to look out the window, an activity that filled most of his daily class hours. But the night before had not been an ordinary one; he had been forced to rush to the hospital since his brother had been injured among the chaos that erupted at the heart of the city. While he could have avoided school that day, the young student had a certain sense of responsibility. Who knows, maybe he wanted to hear the nonsense his jokester friend Raisuke Kobayashi would have to say about it, whose voice interrupted his thoughts without any kind of warning in advance.

    "Rough night, uh, Kazuto?" he said in his sort of boyish voice.

    Sugiyama lifted his head, placing his chin over his briefcase to gaze at Raisuke, his arm resting on the support of his chair and his body turned towards him. What an idiot. That haughty smile amid his effeminate face, which exuded a self-confidence he would never possess. That orange-dyed hair, combed-over to a side in multiple layers that surely required maintenance and expensive products, yet another example of how his adoptive parents used to indulge him too much. How did he end up making friends with him? Kazuto barely remembered it. In his freshman year at high school, he had committed the terrible mistake of speaking to him, the new student from outside the city. If he had maintained his 'friendship' with him for so long, it was due to the fact that Kazuto was a hard guy to put up with because of his bad temper, and Raisuke was one of the few students who chose to spend time with him in spite of it. The more he thought about it, the more he believed his friend had to be a masochist.

    "Don't even mention it," Kazuto replied, then sighed in frustration. "My brother got into trouble, again, and he barely made it this time."

    "Really? Is he okay?"

    "Yup, they even had to perform him a surgery because his lungs weren't getting air, but he'll be fine."

    "Wait…" Raisuke's vague mind wandered for a few seconds as he ordered his thoughts. "Was he involved in the incident last night?"

    "You know about it?"

    "You kidding? The whole damn world knows about it! Although, for some strange reason, no one caught anything from the weird subject who drove the sports bike."

    "Yeah, I had enough of that already," Kazuto said as if what had happened had not been anything extraordinary.

    "Be more considerate!" his friend insisted. "If that 'vigilante' hadn't intervened, your brother would surely have died." Raisuke took a moment, his face conveying the feeling his mind was involved in some sort of reflection process. "Oh, I forgot. You always keep your emotions at bay in order to better deal with things, right?"

    "It's not that, Raisuke. I just don't want to talk about it."

    With his chin still over his briefcase, Kazuto turned his gaze towards the other students in his class, meddling among their usual chats with their friends, laughing at the odd joke or, why not, paying attention to their textbooks. On his way across the classroom, one woman caught his attention. Kazuto looked over to the second desk in the fifth row, where he found no one else than Saori Yoshimura. It was just impossible to miss her. Her cold, delicate square face stood out above the others, mingling Western and Oriental features, framed by straight, stylized dark hair up to her neck. Unlike his friend, she had dyed it with a subtle bluish tint that was fashionable at the time. Yoshiro used to tell him that if a woman looked good with short hair, she was truly beautiful. And he was right. But above all else were her dazzling cat-like light blue eyes, the kind that invited one to lose in them for countless hours and forget about whatever was going on the surroundings…

    "Forget it, Kazuto. Saori is way out of your league," Raisuke's voice broke in, always so perceptive.

    Kazuto squinted at his friend, offended. "Define 'out of my league'. As far as I'm concerned, she's not a being from another planet or a goddess."

    "Well, she's not far from being one. I mean, a beauty without equal, comes from a good family, cold as ice... A shame she's so distant with everyone, though." Almost in direct response to his words, a shy young woman with glasses and classmate of them, Mayumi Hanekagawa, approached Saori with a query. While she maintained her casual attitude, she did not seem upset by her presence or her request. "Well, somewhat distant."

    Kazuto eyeballed Raisuke, still not convinced of his argument. "And...?"

    "And she has rejected every single man who has confessed to her when she was in the other course! And if that's not enough for you..." Both students stared at the third seat of the first row, where they came across Hayato Yoshimura, with his regular cold and implacable expression accompanied by eyes as blue as his sister's. He even had the same dye in his fringed dark hair. He was resting his elbows on his desk, the fingers on his hand crisscrossed, and his attention evidently focused on something important. "Her twin brother, Hayato. Like most older brothers, Hayato is sure to be overprotective. Also, he's just as intelligent and indifferent as she is.."

    "'Like most older brothers', huh?"

    Raisuke flared his nostrils. He never seemed comfortable when talking about his not-so-little sister. "Well, you know Hanako, so…"

    "Whatever. By the way, being twins, how do you know he's the eldest?"

    "Well, I suppose that…" his clumsy mind failed yet again to process the information at once. Kazuto never understood how a student as smart as Raisuke sometimes seemed so gawky. Maybe he was just good with the numbers and remembering things he was into after all. "It doesn't matter! The only thing you have to understand is that you shouldn't have any kind of illusions with her."

    It was not as if Kazuto did since, in his opinion, it was likely that a girl like her would not be interested in regular boys and had somewhat more refined tastes. In spite of appearance, Kazuto understood he was just another teenager charmed by a good-looking face, even if he was intrigued to meet the young woman behind it, mysterious and apathetic in the eyes of most students as his friend had mentioned. Still, that word seemed to be the most accurate one to define her: refined.

    "Stand up," said a female voice that lacked any kind of elegance, although it did have a lot of enthusiasm and, above all, familiarity. What should have been familiar to Kazuto was what occurred next; as he raised his head, he was battered by the metal slit of a school briefcase.

    "Hey! That hurts, Nozomi!" snorted the victim of such an atrocity, while he messed up his hair rapidly with the palm of his hand in a vain attempt to reduce the pain.

    "Oh, don't be so whiny," said Nozomi Tanaka, his childhood friend. She was a bold-looking girl, the exaggerated wide grin on her face at the time framed by her long, wavy light-brown hair. Once her satisfaction found its conclusion, she showed her big amber eyes, bright and striking as gold. Always so impulsive, so unpredictable. Of course, the circumstances of life had thrust her down that path. Her father had abandoned her family, leaving her alone with her mother, who did not share much time with her because of her work. To make matters worse, her older brother had died shortly afterward in a confusing and rather misfortunate accident. She was forced to fend for herself and had to be strong for her mother. Kazuto concluded that the smile she used to display was some kind of personal reminder that she should maintain a positive attitude in spite of adversity. "Remember, we're freaks who heal fast, not to mention we hardly ever get sick," she added, winking at him.

    That had always amazed Kazuto. Whenever he had suffered an injury as a child, either because of some clumsy movement or some quarrel with another minor, it had always healed more quickly than what was common for other people. Whenever he had fallen ill, his parents found it difficult to explain the almost dizzying pace of his recovery. In addition, both Kazuto and his friends were taller than their peers' average. Even Nozomi, although shorter than both, was as tall as most of the men in his class, a fact that contributed to her intimidating image among them. That was something he never comprehended, and he was sure he would never make sense of it.

    “So, tell me. What were you guys talking about?” she said, seemly interested in their conversation.

    “That Kazuto likes Saori,” Raisuke lied shamelessly.

    “If I’m looking at a girl it doesn’t necessarily mean I like her,” Kazuto replied, with not even the slightest hint of embarrassment.

    “Sure, that’s why you look at Nozomi as if she were hideous—”

    Such an offense was worthy of earning some punishment. Nozomi employed her deadly briefcase against Raisuke, who instead of feeling hurt or upset looked cheerful. It seemed as if he had enjoyed what had happened to him for no apparent reason. “You deserve it,” she said “You’re lucky I’m your friend. If you told that to another girl, we would be digging your grave for sure.”

    “But not all girls are like you, Nozomi. You are more man than the two of—” Raisuke took yet another lethal blow. But at any rate, he was still amused by the situation. It looked like he was, in fact, a masochist.

    For her part, Nozomi used to deny her tomboy attitude. After all, she had a fairly toned muscle structure given her judo training, and her constant physical altercations with school boys trying to get under her skirt—some of them literally, amid unpleasant events in the hallways—gave her an intimidating air. And men did not like it when a girl beat them up. “Idiot,” she said at once, her eyes closed as her face relaxed and acquired a neutral expression. It was her usual way of trying to couple with her frustration. Then, her regular smile seized her face once more. “Anyway, no girl in her right mind would pay attention to someone who spends all day playing video games and reading Manga.”

    “Comic books. There's a difference,” Raisuke said, feeling proud.

    “Perverted guys and their harems, women with muscles in tight and revealing outfits... Huge difference, right?”

    For a brief moment, the false self-esteem in Raisuke's face vanished. Before he had the chance to answer her back, the bell that dictated the beginning of their class period echoed throughout the room. It was a shame. After all, it had interrupted their melodramatic but always entertaining chat. Yes, those clumsy and innocuous conversations where the only reason Kazuto wanted to be in his school. He cared nothing about their vague and shallow content; in fact, it was because of that very same reason he enjoyed taking part in them. They drew him away from his belief that life was nothing more than a cruel and disappointing experience and left a brief but satisfactory impression inside of him. For something so crude and simple, Kazuto Sugiyama could feel happy even if only for a few moments, to the extent that his own face shared his short-lived joy.

    As their teacher entered the classroom, the students scrambled to their seats and settled themselves properly on them. Kazuto stretched his arms for the last time, ready to carry on a new day of school. He leaned his elbow on the desk and set his eyes on the clear blue sky outside the window, lost in that brief sensation of joy. So focused he was on it he had failed to notice that Saori was staring straight at him. For a brief moment, he met her eyes, until he felt intimidated by her gaze and darted his own away from hers, now looking at the blackboard as if whatever his teacher was doing there had some sort of genuine interest for him.
     
    Last edited: Apr 21, 2019
  7. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    The second part of the fourth chapter has just been updated!
     
  8. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    Chapter 5: Revolution I - Book 1 - THE VIGILANTES V

    * * *​

    As expected, that day brought nothing new or encouraging in Kazuto's life. The subjects of the first period included modern history, English, mathematics, and civic education. Mastery of the English language was one of his specialties, boosted by his family roots given his great-grandfather, an American who had fought in the Second World War and decided to move to Japan, marveled at the culture of those who were once his enemies. He was also good in mathematics, although he found citizenship courses to be limited in terms of fostering political participation. Even if he also had his doubts about the objectivity of some recent historiographical texts, he was fascinated by the current topic or study: the process of independence of the Ryukyu Islands, formerly known as Okinawa Ward, just before the start of the Second Korean War.

    Kazuto spent his lunch break time eating along Raisuke in his classroom, while Nozomi went down to the cafeteria with her female friends. One of the advantages of having his friend's grace was that his parents had a family ramen shop. They used to prepare an additional bento for him, although Kazuto tended to discard the garnish of vegetables in favor of meat or fish. The brief second period included health and computer classes. The latter took place in one of the two specialized laboratories the school had. Kazuto devoted half of his time there learning and the other half playing either Sudoku, Puyo Puyo (a kind of Japanese variant of Tetris) or online poker along some of his classmates. He also exchanged funny internet images with Raisuke, along with others of less appropriate content.

    Normally, once regular school hours were over, Kazuto would go to the memorial hall on the basement level, which posed as a gymnasium for club activities in the afternoon, so both he and Raisuke would conduct Kendo practice matches.

    But he did not feel like it on that day.

    Kazuto decided he would skip such affairs, favoring his increasingly fervent desire to get away from everything over his fascination with martial arts. The philosophy, the discipline, the attention to detail and the passion for competition. The paths to strengthen the human spirit and satisfy that need for self-improvement. Not even that seemed to be enough for him at the time. Outside of his particular Karate training with Raisuke's father and Nozomi's practical judo lessons, wielding an inanimate object to turn it an extension of oneself had been a fascinating experience for him for a long time. His own brother was a brown belt in kenjutsu and an expert in the art of footwork, probably related to his dancing skills that helped him winning ladies in nightclubs. Kendo, after all, was a sort of derivation of the Ittō-ryū school, in particular, one of the old styles prior to the Meiji restoration that introduced the concept of full contact duels to the discipline.

    But none of that would occupy his mind that afternoon.

    Before leaving the facilities, Kazuto took a few minutes to enjoy the light southbound autumn breeze from the balcony on the second floor overlooking the outdoor court. He glanced at the sky, the sun getting low as the shade of the western school building hovered partially over the small cement field, surrounded by the remaining structure to the north, a kinder garden to the east and a fence to the south that faced the street. A soft hissing sound demanded his attention, coming from the bow shooting range that was placed over the court. A young woman wearing a white, short-sleeved top along with dark blue, wide-legged pleated trousers was holding a bamboo bow with her left hand, her petite body further diminished by the size of her weapon.

    It was Saori Yoshimura.

    She drew the string back as far as she could with the glove on her right hand as she lifted her elbow, then took a few moments to aim at her objective—until she released the arrow. Her shot was formidable; she hit the small yellow circle in the center of the target. Beside her was her twin brother Hayato performing the exact same procedure with equal success, along with many other kyūjutsu practitioners. It was then that Kazuto noticed that both brothers had, like him, a stature above the average, especially Hayato, who was the tallest student of his class. How curious.

    "Don't tell me you're going to miss the team's practice just to stalk the Ice Princess?" said the familiar voice of his best friend. He sounded a little agitated.

    "No, that would be your specialty," Kazuto replied, then turned to Raisuke, who looked dejected. He had already put on most of the required protective gear parts that composed the kendōgu (or Kendo equipment), with the exception of the mitten-like gloves known as kote. If he had to take a guess, he would say his friend ran out of the courtroom in a rush while looking for him. That same day, the kendo club shared activities with its judo counterpart. Before carrying out their own activities, both Kazuto and Raisuke used to sit in a row of the retractable bleachers to gaze at Nozomi as she made several students bite the dust while teaching one or two how to do so. "I'm just going to visit my brother in the hospital," he added. "Say goodbye to Nozomi for me, would you?"

    "Why don't you do it yourself? You know it's not the first time you skip them and she's worried. She doesn't tell you because she's busy with her part-time job and her pre-university courses, unlike you."

    Kazuto paid no attention to his words. Without doing as much as looking him in his eyes, he held onto his briefcase and headed back to the cafeteria, ready to leave his school. He was in no mood for arguments. Had he turned around to meet his friend's gaze, he would have realized Raisuke was genuinely concerned about him. He knew perfectly well his friends were not quite happy with his recent attitude toward his own life. However, he dared not to confront them about it. He preferred to keep his own affairs private to avoid unnecessary arguments while remaining locked in his own prison. For in his isolation he found the peace he so desperately needed at the time.

    * * *​

    Long after returning home and having a snack, Kazuto decided to visit his brother. He was resting in the Keio University Hospital. It was located in the Shinanomachi district within the Shinjuku ward, and it had become the focus of media attention throughout that day. The whisper of the nightfall was upon its main entrance, the lights inside the rooms along with the diverse wards providing some clarity for the dozens of cameramen, journalists, their respective stations' vans and, of course, the usual onlookers who had nothing better to do with their lives. They were all looking forward to getting hold of the latest developments around the consequences of the previous night's chase.

    Kazuto made an effort to push through the thick crowd, none of them displaying even the slightest sign of interest in his presence. Maybe if he was a celebrity, a politician, a sportsman, or a one-hit-wonder personality who had broken into the media for something banal and inconsequential—for example, running down the Shibuya Crossing in bare skin—he'd have had the opportunity to be requested by those men and women who dedicated their lives to the world of journalism. The very idea made Kazuto shudder and laugh at the same time. Why would someone want to be in the middle of the public eye, its privacy reduced to nothingness itself while turning into a victim of the opinions of countless idiots who had no idea at all of what one's life was? After all, the young Sugiyama would never think of pursuing such a lifestyle. He had always been a calm person who would settle for little in order to avoid such trivial occurrences. At any rate, carrying out such an ill-advised act would be an anecdote worthy of sharing with friends and future generations. Or at least that's how Yoshiro would see it, whose recent life could be summarized in a series of reckless acts. How many times had he ended up on a stretcher as a result of his 'professional behavior'? Kazuto lost count of it a long time ago, but the important thing was that his brother had lived through to tell it.

    As Kazuto made it to the entrance gate, he met rows of parked cars and a significant reduction of people to dodge. Once inside, he turned to the receptionist for her to keep a record of his visit and, after a polite nod plus a brief trip in elevator, he accessed the fourth floor where his brother was resting. To say that he was doing such a thing was, in a certain way, a technicality. The corridors of the ward where Yoshiro was, illuminated by lemon-colored light panels that bounced off the cream-colored walls and wood-like floors, were packed with nurses. They went in and out of rooms where those who had been injured during the chase were, their relatives either standing still or moving around in circles with some concern. Since the hospital was owned by Cytek, the company had opened the doors of its facilities to anyone who had been afflicted by the incident. Such considerate souls. To think they'd taken the trouble of denying the leaks scandal and their involvement with the Sentinel initiative at the time.

    Kazuto walked to his brother's room door, coming across two police officers standing guard. He peered out the ajar door as a series of men dressed in suits were asking Yoshiro a few questions. After a few seconds, they nodded at Yoshiro amiably as if they were apologizing for the inconveniences and then left the room. As they strode past Kazuto, he could not help but notice the man who preceded them. He was bald, well along in years and had both a mustache and a padlock beard that framed a hard mouth. But what struck Kazuto the most was his severe and eerie gaze, his pale green eyes burning with purpose and commitment. What interest could such a man have with what had happened to his brother? Kazuto sensed it would be better not to know.

    As he went inside the room, the youngest of the Sugiyama ran into his older brother lying in a bed in solitary, the backrest fixed at an obtuse angle. White sheets were covering his body, also connected to several tubes that provided him with serum and other nutrients he required given his delicate condition. A cast spread across his right hand and forearm, fastened to his shoulder by a sling. As expected, it was difficult for him to observe Yoshiro in that state. He looked as weak as if a simple breeze could take him away like a leaf trapped in a stream. That image contrasted with that of the high-spirited young man who was always fumbling to get ahead. The skin on his face seemed pale, enclosed by a greasy, unkempt dark hair. His amber eyes were narrowed, exhausted, accompanied by sharp eye bags beneath them. There was also a cannula sticking out from the exact place on his neck in which the surgical procedure had been performed; he would surely have to keep it there for quite some time. Kazuto rested his eyes on the leather seat in one of the corners of the room but chose to move towards the small window in front of it so that he ended up standing beside his brother.

    Yoshiro worked his choppy and hoarse voice and urged himself a smile. "How's school?"

    "Everyone talked about what happened last night," Kazuto replied without much enthusiasm. "I can't believe you've gone that far. We might as well not be having this conversation."

    "But we are."

    There he was, once again. Had he not realized what he was doing to his younger brother? Could he not understand every time Kazuto received a call from the police station or from a hospital, it might as well be the last? That was what Kazuto could not stand, the uncertainty of not knowing whether his brother would be unable to return one day, regardless of the fortune he'd enjoyed so far. One could not just tempt destiny. One day, it was going to knock on his door and collect its debt.

    Kazuto shook his head, then turned his attention to the television screen located at the top of one of the corners of the room. In front of the panels full of LED lights, the bald man who minutes before had left that very same room was now answering questions from the dozens of reporters Kazuto came across as he entered the hospital. Their questions overlapped one another, as did the camera flashes and the microphones desperate to capture his words no matter how insignificant they were. At that moment, Kazuto wondered where that fancy old notion of 'silence, hospital' had gone.

    "What about those men who were questioning you before?" Kazuto asked. Maybe Yoshiro knew who they were.

    "Cytek," he croaked. "They asked me about the men who attacked me and his prosthesis."

    "Your brother is lucky," said a female voice. Both Sugiyama brothers shifted their gaze towards a young nurse who was entering the room. She wore the typical white uniform and grabbed hold of a medical chart stock with her left arm, a stethoscope encircling her neck. "Considering the pressure he received on his neck, his trachea should have been completely destroyed." As she began taking notes in her chart, Kazuto gazed at the deep purple bruises around his brother's throat, where the prosthesis' fingers had pressed. "Unfortunately, we can't say the same about his wrist..."

    Kazuto laid his eyes on the cast that covered his right wrist for a moment. "Well, at least you won't be in the field for a while."

    "So it seems," his brother said, the grimace of a smile in his face turning into a wince of pain. "I'm sure they'll keep me locked in a dark room filling paperwork until I get Parkinson."

    "I have already lost count of the number of times your brother has been in this hospital," said the nurse, a hint of sweetness and honest concern in her voice. "Although this time he got us all worried. Anyway, he's practically family."

    A very different smile was drawn on Yoshiro's face, full of not so honorable intentions. "Something more wouldn't hurt either..."

    The nurse blushed, then shook her head as if the man in front of her were hopeless. Yet, a tiny little smile spread across her face. Was it because she was happy that Yoshiro was still the same as usual or because she found his attitude amusing? "Don't get any weird ideas about it," she said bluntly, bowing her head as if reproving though Kazuto would swear her voice betrayed the expression on her face in some measure.

    As she withdrew from the room, Kazuto was left stunned. His brother was relentless when it came to beautiful women. Or not so beautiful women. Or simply women. "Well, she's pretty," was all he could come up with.

    "I guess," Yoshiro said in response. "At least you don't have to babysit me like when I was with the whole swimmer's shoulder thing." His brother had participated in his school's swimming team back in the day, winning multiple intercollegiate competitions. Unfortunately, he was forced to abandon a professional career by repeated injuries around that very same matter. Although most of those cases were related to poor stroking techniques, Yoshiro's case had to do with overtraining and unnecessary intensity while practicing, something one might come to expect from a person like him. Since his parents were busy with their duties, Kazuto had taken a preponderant role in his care. But while Yoshiro showed some improvements over time, he was never able to achieve competitive times again.

    Kazuto chuckled at the memory as he focused his attention once again on the TV screen. He gazed at the bald man as he hurried off the journalists with the help of a few bodyguards who, however intimidating they seemed given their broad shoulders and the evident overdeveloped musculature under their suits, could not quite overshadow their employer's presence. The man avoided the tide of microphones and cameras that tried to drown him in their deepest basins thanks to the fence his bodyguards had mounted around him, then jumped to the back of a limousine eager to elude the always watchful eye of the media. He ought to be an important figure given the efforts of the reporters to get a word out of him even once the limousine slipped away from their reach. Who could he be?

    Almost in forthright response to his inquiry, the news program decided at once to clear out his identity. The kanjis that prevailed over the headlines dictated the bald man was Kentaro Tsujimoto, the president of Cytek. At that moment, Kazuto could not understand how he had never taken the trouble to identify the person in charge of the most famous company in the world. He was not just an average Joe one would come across on the street due to a simple coincidence. "He's Cytek's president?" he said, still astonished at his own ignorance.

    "Must be something big if he personally visits a police officer, huh?" Yoshiro said.

    "You mean, about the one-handed man?" Kazuto looked back at the bruises on his brother's neck. It could not be the work of a regular commercial prosthesis; it ought to be something far more dangerous. Still, Kazuto could not put his finger on why such a busy and important man would visit his brother himself. "He could have sent another man in his place, not to raise suspicion," he assumed.

    "From what I hear from some acquaintances in the department, it seems it's a serious matter." Yoshiro took a pause and cleared his throat, struggling against his scruffy voice. It seemed he was growing exhausted just by the effort of speaking. "Maybe he wanted to hear himself what happened, not the version of someone he can't fully trust."

    The youngest of the Sugiyama found himself deep in thought, all of a sudden. Would all that have anything to do with the scandal of the military prototypes in which Cytek was involved? While they had insisted on drawing away any kind of credibility from those documents, there had been strong rumors that the leaks were the work of Amateratsu, the terrorist organization that had been causing havoc in the nation in recent months. Still, what was clear for Kazuto, was that something was terribly wrong with the whole situation, from the role of the multimillion-dollar energy company to the striking and mind-boggling recovery of his brother.

    As the young man kept seeking some clarity among such strange events, the female nurse set foot in the room once again. "How much longer will he stay here?" Kazuto asked her.

    "One more day," she answered. "His recovery is remarkable. Given the severity of the injury, he would normally use that cannula for the rest of his life, but he'll be free of it in just a couple of hours." She spoke as if she couldn't believe her own words "It's something miraculous, really."

    "There is no such thing as miracles."

    Kazuto's response left everyone in the room speechless. The nurse stared at him in disbelief, thinking for sure he was an ungrateful person given his brother's good fortune. But Kazuto would not take such luck for granted. He was certain there was something far less fantastic behind it, something alarming.

    Yoshiro did not dare to hide his annoyance over his younger brother's words. "Again with that negative attitude. How much longer are you going to keep acting like this? The world didn't end just because our parents died!"

    "After all this, you really want to lecture me?" Kazuto questioned him. Yoshiro had little moral authority to treat him like that given his own actions.

    "I'm your older brother. It's kind of my duty."

    "No, it's not. Don't act like you were my father. "

    "If I don't do it, nobody else will. I don't want you to waste your studies, much less your life."

    It was not as if Kazuto did not know his brother had rejected that benefit to favor him, perhaps more concerned for the future of his younger brother than that of his own. "If that's why you are worried, then you don't have to. I won't throw away the scholarship you were denied."

    Yoshiro clenched his fists and shook his head. "It was I who refused, who thought your future was more important than mine," he snorted and then coughed a little, his following words taking a nuance of seriousness not very common in him. "Look, I don't blame you for having what I didn't, but for wasting it. Life is too short, Kazuto. We're too young to wail about everything. We have to try to find our place in the world, whatever it is."

    "That comes from someone who seems to want to kill himself every chance he gets," Kazuto grumbled sharply, failing to keep the frustration out of his voice.

    "Okay, I admit I'm not the best example, but at least I try to live somehow. I'm not getting drunk until puking as I did at first," he remarked, then paused as he felt a tickle in his throat. "When you grow old, you will end up regretting not having enjoyed your youth. You have to live, Kazuto."

    "You mean 'survive'." Kazuto chuckled at the words. He could not believe what he was hearing. "People struggle to get what they want in an unequal world where their life can be defined at birth regardless of their decisions. War, poverty, misery. Who wants to live in such an immutable and unfair world?"

    His brother sighed in response. "Forget for a second about those shitty rationalizations of yours and stop feeling sorry for yourself!" Kazuto felt the blood freeze all over his body as his muscles tightened. His brother's words had been as powerful as they were unexpected. "Everything's not over because our parents died. You think the world is a mess? Then stop talking about it and do something for the love of god!"

    The youngest of the Sugiyama felt a lump in his throat. Tears were coming to his eyes, blurring his vision. He could not understand why, but he felt what his brother had said was having some kind of effect on him. He gazed down at the floor, lost in his own thoughts. Was it possible that his vision of the world was, in fact, misled? Had he allowed the death of his parents to affect him in such a way his mind was now closed to any other possibility? He had always thought Yoshiro acted the way he did because he had been born like that. But now, the way he had raised it, it sounded as if it had been a choice he had made on his own.

    He had no way of knowing, but at that moment, his brother was looking at the sky getting dark on the other side of the room's window, his eyes shimmering as if he were witnessing something mystical far beyond the celestial sphere. He did know the words that followed were directed toward him. He could also hear the upbeat tone in his voice. "All we have left is to pursue the future. It's not like it's just going to knock on our door one day, you know?"
     
  9. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    Chapter 6: Revolution I - Book 1 - THE VIGILANTES VI

    From the west, the sun was already coming down on Shiyuba Crossing. Its blinding last gleam wrestled through the gap between the buildings on Bunkamura-Dori, the neon signs that went unnoticed during the day coming back to life in the twilight. Pedestrians once more flooded the five crosswalks, unaware of what was occurring under their feet. Because the grandeur of Cytek Headquarters was nothing compared to the whole world of secrets and mysteries hidden in its foundations…

    Below the two basements it had inherited from its predecessor, now reformed through and through into a car parking lot for its employees, a man stood in front of one of the long ends of a horizontal table inside a conference room modestly illuminated by bluish-glowing panels. His only functional gray eye—the other covered under a black patch—scrutinized one of the seven faces which were displayed on the screens mounted over the wall opposite to him. He knew their dossiers by hearth, and he had even had the opportunity to meet some of them in person. But right now, they were mere silhouettes that extended in front of him, figures of authority to which he had to respond. They were accountable to their own nations, companies, and the whole world as to how their funds were spent in the Ergon Project. And they were always going to be splitting hairs because that was what they were being paid for.

    Yet, they would have valid reasons to do so this time.

    "I hope you have a good explanation for this, Hashimoto-san," said the Japanese member with a heavy and plaintive voice. A poor omen for Tetsuya Hashimoto's expectations. Like the vast majority of the committee members, the Japanese delegate was an aged man who had amassed huge fortunes and political power throughout his life. In his case, he was an industrial tycoon who had managed to seize the three most important companies in his country: Mitsubishi, Kawasaki and IHI Corporation. Given the roots of the first two—which once belonged to the group known as Zaibatsu prior to the Second World War—and the ramifications of the latter—which extended to the manufacture of military vehicles along with his extensive political ties—, he was in practical terms the most powerful man in Japan. In addition to his supervisory role, his companies were responsible for the manufacture of the advanced vehicles used in the project.

    "Nine damaged vehicles, seven injured civilians, one by a bullet," the Chinese delegate cut in. He was the managing director of the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and former CEO of the Industrial & Commercial Bank of China (ICBC). The weight of his institution and the capital it managed had been substantial in the preliminary stages and the development of the project itself. At first, he had aimed at the position of finance minister of his country, but the events in Korea led to a reversal in his political career. Fortunately for him, his participation in the development stages of the Ergon Project provided him with a new direction for his ambitions and the renewed confidence of his country. "Not to mention the explosion and the whole media circle around the incident. You were lucky there had been no casualties."

    "The lack of casualties was due to the good performance of the Units," Tetsuya countered with a voice solid as a rock while still exuding politeness. It was his subordinates who were in check, and Tetsuya would never abandon them. They were people who were under his command. And even if he had to take responsibility for their mistakes, that did not prevent him from highlighting their positive traits.

    "No offense, Hashimoto-san," the Japanese member intruded, "but the 'good performance' of your Units has left much to be desired. At least the electronic interference devices worked as foreseen. No one saw the new prototypes in detail."

    "Can we expect in the future the presence of additional units in the field?" said the Russian delegate with a soft voice. He was a former agent of the KGB, and he had resurged in the intelligence community given the latest policies of their current president. His role in the project was quite evident given his credentials, although the events in the attack on the US embassy had left much to be desired regarding the credibility of his sources. It was possible his questions would prove moderate given the lack of accuracy of his information during the last incident. "We don't believe only two operatives are capable of dealing with more complex situations. Much less considering the results obtained so far."

    "We have three additional units under evaluation," said Tetsuya. "Despite the complex selection process, they should be approved shortly."

    "And what about employing teenagers as anti-terrorist operatives?" said a female voice, one of the two among the representatives. She was a Brazilian diplomat and barely a few years older than Tetsuya. She'd had a key role in restoring investor confidence in her nation after a series of corruption scandals that had wiped out three consecutive presidents in a row, not to mention the debacle her country's main oil company faced after the ineludible crisis brought by Cytek's groundbreaking discovery. She had also been part of the project's public-relations campaign, encouraging its image to have a positive impact on the general public. "Haven't you found alternatives yet to employ more skilled subjects to operate the suits?"

    Tetsuya frowned. What kind of question was that? Was she unaware of the circumstances around the selection of candidates and their genetic compatibility? Of course, it was possible her diplomatic role had kept her out of the loop, but he would not bet on it. "As you should already know, ma'am," he said, trying to mask his bewilderment at her ignorance, "operating the suits to the maximum of their abilities is not simply a question of age or training, but of genetics. That's why it's so complicated to get potential candidates to operate them."

    There was a brief pause. The one who took the word afterward was the member of the United Kingdom, the major shareholder of G4S, the largest security services provider in the world and one of the most requested PMCs in the United States. He was a former Special Air Service (SAS), the world's finest and foremost Special Forces unit, and a role model for all the others who came after it. Therefore, his duties went beyond selecting and providing men, as he was also in charge of the training and tactics programs. It was not surprising that his question was more appropriate for the purpose of the session. "What news do we have regarding these Cytek leaks?" he asked in a severe tone.

    Tetsuya was more than prepared for that topic. He moved his hand over the horizontal table, sliding his fingers on a thin transparent surface with one hand while typing translucent keys with the other. From the holographic projector in the middle of the table emerged a series of translucent blue windows that projected a huge amount of digital files along with scans of actual documents. It also displayed various images and a video feed related to the explosion in the harbor area the previous night. All the documents were already in the computers of the UN representatives, having been encrypted and sent by secure channels to avoid any undesirable inconveniences.

    "We're looking into it, sir," he said. "We've recently discovered that the code of the malicious program that broke into the Cytek's system and resulted in the leak of classified files was created by someone with knowledge of the company's internal architecture. So far, we haven't been able to access their hidden network remotely to avoid raising suspicions, which means we must access the servers directly."

    The silence was longer this time around. Such news were not easy to digest.

    "Wait a minute," said the Chinese delegate at once, astonished. "You're telling us the terrorists may have ties with the company that manufactures our weapons? This organization is not what we were told. It's an unacceptable threat!"

    "With all due respect, sir," Tetsuya replied, keeping his cool manners, "we know from good sources that the terrorist organization known as Amaterasu is backed by similar factions in China and Russia. It is possible members of your cabinets may also be involved." That had been a bold move, and Tetsuya knew it all too well. He was not the kind of person who would disclose information at a committee meeting unless it had sufficient backing. But this time, he considered it was necessary to point out his unit had not been the only party at fault.

    "What are you implying here, Hashimoto-san?" the Russian delegate sounded offended.

    "You think our governments support these terrorists?" the Chinese man yelled, then snorted, offended by Tetsuya's claims. "How dare you!"

    "It is public knowledge the fight of your nations against terrorism," Tetsuya replied. "Yet, insurgent cells within your territory have increased their resources during recent years, creating ties with the mafia and members of different political parties." Was it possible he had gone too far with his defense strategy?

    "Are you planning to blame our nations for your own negligence? It's not as if your politicians were clean on the matter. Hashimoto-san, you would do well to remember—"

    "Enough!" roared an authoritative female voice, much to Tetsuya's relief. She was the American delegate, a woman of politics. She had sustained a lengthy career and had indeed become a secretary of state. Her hostile stance was opposite to that of her Brazilian counterpart, something that had led to moments of friction between the two in previous sessions. Although she was one of the least wealthy among the members, she was the one Tetsuya least trusted. She had inquired into questionable maneuvers over the years. She conveyed the impression to him that she had an ambition even greater than those of the other members. Her presence in that meeting was nothing more than the result of her connections and leverage over other politicians. But her role in political affairs and logistics was vital to the project, and perhaps her intervention had played in Tetsuya's favor. "These topics aren't those for which we have convened this meeting. Our priority right now is to get ahead of these terrorists. Has there been any progress with the Stage-two prototypes? While we continue to provide troops to South Korea, our mediation capabilities in your land are limited by law after the Ryukyu Islands incident."

    Another movement of hands by Tetsuya and the holographic projections switched to a series of blueprint and technical data of a mechanized vehicle of significant size and humanoid appearance, similar in design to the mecha robots so popular in the world of manga and anime. "We are still testing the new prototypes, with promising results," he said. "The units can be manned without inconvenience, although the cost of using them may be more than initially budgeted."

    The remaining member of the committee finally decided to speak. He was a former Grenzschutzgruppe 9 (GS9), German's counterpart of the SAS, and the sole owner of Heckler & Koch, one of the most known and requested weapons manufacturing corporations. He had seized some minor companies in recent years to strengthen the position of his company and expand its horizons in the making of firearm accessories. He had also acquired the license to manufacture new models of weapons, which had earned him an exclusive contract with the Ergon project. A man of few words, yet precise and incisive. Tetsuya liked him.

    "Hashimoto-san," he said, looking glum, "you already know the work of this committee is to supervise the growth of the Ergon project. The funds of the seven most powerful countries in the world are at stake. We are not interested in your excuses. We only care about your results."

    "I understand, sir," Tetsuya acknowledged while nodding in agreement. "Our units will carry out a covert mission to obtain information from the private server of our principal suspect within the company. You'll be properly informed once it has been completed. "

    "Let's hope we come up with some results sooner rather than later," the Japanese member concluded, "I still don't see reasons to reduce the level of threat to moderate, so that would be all for now."

    The screens were swallowed up by the wall in the room, and as the lights gained strength, it came back to life. Tetsuya ran his hand through his slicked-back onyx hair, a few rebellious strands of it falling on his forehead, and then leaned his hands against the table. He sighed in relief as if taking a huge weight off his shoulders since it was over for the time being. Things could have been much worse; people could have died. Situations like those often made him wonder whether he belonged to such exclusive circles, engaging in dialogue with powerful people who could deflect the course of the world with one single phone call. Perhaps he was getting too old for these things? Tetsuya found it hard to believe said activities would exhaust him to such extents, even more considering the long days of combat he had had throughout his life. He faced hunger, lack of sleep, and the constant siege of enemy troops. By contrast, there was no way his current situation could be so bad. And yet, it was clear to him that there was still a lot of work to do for such an enterprise to succeed.

    While his ears were picking up the sound of the door being open, Tetsuya massaged his temples. He barely paid attention to the entrance of the woman who was now standing next to him. "That looks like more than simple work fatigue," said Hachiko Deguchi, his personal secretary. The 31-year-old woman stared at him with her greenish eyes, framed by her long and soft dark hair fastened behind her head with a band. She was a brilliant psychologist graduated from the University of Melbourne, her father a physicist involved in the project of which she now took part. As one would expect, her role went beyond mere secretarial tasks. She was in charge of the evaluation process to which potential candidates were submitted to be part of the Ergon V unit, the most recent project of the Sentinel Initiative, which was itself the first step in the final stage of the Ergon Project. Hachiko was also an advisor in the field of staff selection, so it was clear she was an outright asset from head to toe. "You really have to do something with that presbyopia. Get yourself some contact lenses."

    "Deguchi-san, you already know I've never been able to adapt to them," he replied, then glanced at her as if she should not inquire into such matters knowing his answer in advance. "If you come to ask me about the conference, you also know they are not happy with the results, nor do I expect them to be."

    "In fact, I'm here because your children are waiting for you, sir."

    Maybe Tetsuya was, in fact, getting old, since he had forgotten he had ordered his secretary to bring them in front of him once the meeting was over. As he shifted his eyes toward the door, he came across his two young children, their faces so similar they almost looked like two drops of water. Saori's face showed some more defined features than those of an ordinary woman, while those of Hayato were smoother than a common man's facets. Both shared the same blue eyes and the same dark, shiny hair, although his son's was somewhat thicker and more renitent, as was his. It was a pity they could not bear the name of their family, but for security reasons, it was better to use the one that belonged to their mother. Yet another way to keep her alive in their memories and in Tetsuya's.

    Saori and Hayato placed themselves before him, their arms crossed behind their waist and their backs flat in a firm posture. They were dressed in the mandatory urban-camo uniform of the Sentinels, although the V-shaped strip on their torsos that extended over their forearms had a color that matched that of their code names. As Hachiko strode past him and headed for the door, she murmured something to his ear. "Don't be too hard on them..."

    Tetsuya forced a wry smile as she made a gracious bow at his children to then close the door once she left. He remained impassive as he faced the young people who were under his orders. While it was usual for him to maintain a professional distance with those underneath him in the chain of command, he always found it difficult to deal with his children. After all, it was impossible to detach himself for them in order to prevent his emotions from clouding his judgment while also carrying out a fatherly relationship. What was the best way to face them, then? Should he show the severity expected from a man of his rank or was it better to follow his secretary's advice? While that was a good time to resort to a medium term, his strict and gruff nature took over him before he had any time to make such an assessment.

    He gazed at them, trying to avoid looking displeased. "I've read your reports and discussed the pertinent points of the operation with the head of field ops. Do you have anything to say in defense of your actions?"

    His daughter, as usual, was the first to take the floor. "No, sir. We did everything that was within our reach given the situation."

    "Speak for yourself, sister," said Hayato, defiantly.

    Saori cast a deadly glare at Hayato, like a pointed cat ready to throw itself against his prey. It was fortunate her daughter decided not to follow his brother's train of thought because Tetsuya was in no mood for such arguments. Tetsuya closed his eyes as he stood up, shaking his head at their attitude. He then stroked his trimmed short beard, wondering what he could have done so badly for his children to come out like this. "I know I haven't been the best father to you," he said at last, "but you can't keep having these confrontations, much less in the middle of an operation. Under different circumstances, it would be difficult for you to avoid being discharged. What will you do once the three new recruits join the team?"

    The Yoshimura twins looked at each other for a second. At least they seemed to agree in disliking like the idea of working with someone else. "Father, two of us will manage to—"

    Before his daughter could say anything else, Tetsuya raised his hand to prevent her from further talking. "This is not open to discussion. I know I've given you plenty of rope so far, but this has to stop. Still, you'll have another chance, but this time there can be no mistakes."

    Tetsuya picked up his way to the door, eager to leave that long day behind once and for all. His children knew they had been wrong. Hayato knew he should not have been so arrogant. Saori had it clear she should have done more for her brother to come to his senses. And, above all, Tetsuya knew he should have done a better job of raising them. And yet, there was nothing else to do. He had to believe that everyone did their jobs the best they could given the circumstances

    As he strode past his offspring, he came to a halt and rested the palm of his hand on Saori's shoulder. "I have to attend a meeting. You'll have to consult the operational details to the field ops director. I wish you good luck. Just don't let your demons get the best out of you." Her daughter knew those last words were particularly directed towards her. Tetsuya would have been happy to aid her as much as possible with her personal problems, but that was not his territory nor his area of expertise. Or at least his work did not allow him to do so.
     
  10. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    Chapter 7: Revolution I - Book 1 - THE VIGILANTES VII

    The last lights of the sun were reflecting on the huge windows of a penthouse at the top of a 44-story luxury tower. Inside the opaque glass shower that stood amid the bathroom of the two-hundred-square-meters suite, Saori Yoshimura was taking a shower. She welcomed the warm, steamy water over her pale and delicate body since it made her feel clean and calm. Once she finished getting rid of the last traces of shampoo in her hair, she turned the knobs to the off position and opened the door so she could put a towel around her body. But before it came in contact with the terrycloth fabric, she felt chills the moment her skin experienced the contrast between the heat of the water and the now colder environment that surrounded her. Even if her body had a fairly developed muscle tone, her skin was quite sensitive to such phenomena. Besides, the heating system had not yet been fixed, which made her wonder about the real benefit of living in one of the most expensive apartments in the city.

    The Akasaka Hinokicho Tower was located on the residential and commercial district of Minato with the same name. The southwest part of the building overlooked the Hinokicho Park and Tokyo Midtown, the tallest high-rise complex in the whole city. It included office, residential, commercial, hotel, and leisure space along with the Suntory Museum of Art. The condominium where Saori lived had been completed a little more than fifteen years ago by the construction company of his grandfather, who had made a venture in the industry during the 1980s, taking advantage of the economic growth of Japan at the time. Her father had also started a university career in architecture, but fate had other plans for him and his family. The apartment itself stretched across an L-shaped curve, two of the three bedrooms located at one end while the master bedroom occupied the other. Halfway to both spaces were the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen, all located in a space of almost eighty square meters.

    Once she toweled herself dry, she headed for the walkthrough closet, which was placed between the bathroom and the master bedroom, all of these split by glass walls. As she gazed at her reflection in one of the four mirrors that surrounded the large double vanity set, she put on a soft, terrycloth robe, pulled the waist belt tight, and then dried her head with the towel. While she kept doing this, she also wiggled her toes, grasping the warm hardwood floor beneath her illuminated by multiple white recessed ceiling spotlights. It was then that Saori lifted her head, realizing she had forgotten to turn off the flat TV screen mounted on the glass wall of her bedroom. Once inside, she came across the female host of a television news program giving a report.

    "A few hours ago, it was announced that the containers with explosives belonged to a company that provides molds for Cytek's prostheses," she said, as the broadcast feed was split into two segments; the woman was now on the left of a series of blueprints that belonged to airplanes, weapons, and various military vehicles—including what looked like a four-legged tank—, all labeled as prototypes of an alleged 'Ergon Project'. "Another setback for the billionaire company, which has been facing legal complications for a year after the leaks of hundreds of private documents that would reveal the firm has been developing exclusive prototypes for the army."

    A man with straight dark hair and a small scar on his face took over the entire screen. It was archive footage in which he was giving a seemly effusive statement behind a lectern. The hostess kept talking as the muted feed progressed. "The company's CEO, Uchida Takeshi, has repeatedly denied the existence of these documents, adjudging its conception to Arab countries that, due to the low prices of oil barrels, resort to humiliating methods in their eagerness to discredit the energy tycoon. But with its growing role in the Sentinel initiative, it seems increasingly likely that Cytek is the one who conceived them."

    The news program then switched its image to that of the testimony of the woman who had been wounded by a bullet during the dramatic incident of the previous night. "In other news," said the female host over her picture, "the woman who was injured during the chase was discharged this afternoon and was able to share her testimony of what happened with the media."

    "I have no idea who or what it was, but I only know they save my life, and that's why I thank them," said the injured woman in such a way her words seemed to arise from the depths of her heart.

    While those words were addressed to her and her brother, Saori did not think she deserved them. She was not a heroine. Had she been one, she would not have failed when she was most needed. Instead, she was just another human being tormented by her own failures, her own weaknesses. Wanting to avoid the topic for the moment, Saori seized the remote control and turned off the television set. Of course, she knew she would have to face once more the weight her actions had on her emotional state. But for that, she would have to leave her luxurious home for the time being.

    As soon as she left Akasaka Tower, Saori bumped onto a pedestrian overpass that stood above Prefectural Route 413. She had to go through it if she wanted to continue her way to the north. Once there, she found herself walking across the walkway as a strong gust of wind that blew against her smooth left cheek diverted her gaze toward a young couple standing next to the railing. She glanced at her female peer, who was bursting into tears while the man tried to comfort her by moving the fingers of his hand tenderly over hers. However, the woman pulled out her own hand in objection, the rest of her body conveying her desire to get away from his partner. But even though it was clear that she did not want to have anything to do with him anymore, she was still standing next to him. It seemed she could not get over the man. While it was difficult for Saori to feel any kind of empathy for another person who was not a relative of hers, she was able to comprehend what the girl was experiencing on that occasion.

    For herself, despite any differences, was undergoing something similar.

    After a few minutes of walking, Saori reached her destination, an apartment building located within Asasaka. She called the domicile's intercom where Deguchi-sama's voice was followed by an electric beep that allowed her to go in. As she left the elevator and came to her door, Hachiko had already swung it open, bowing at the young woman as she returned the gesture politely. Her father's secretary was dressed in a simple gray shirt with long sleeves and tight black lycra pants. For her part, Saori was wearing a cream slim blazer coat over a T-shirt with thin white and black stripes—recommended by her brother even if it made her feel like a prisoner—, along with pitch-black indigo high-rise skinny jeans and some elegant dark wide-heel shoes.

    As she went inside her apartment, the young woman stumbled upon a small yet classy one-room flat. After she exchanged her shoes for slippers—which were stored in shoe racks next to the door—, she followed Deguchi-sama down a narrow corridor that led to the living. To her left was a small kitchen, which consisted of a fridge next to the sink along with the stove. To her right, a shelving unit consisting of several cubes separated the corridor from a modest room where a fluffy bed stood alongside a bedtable. Finally, the young woman arrived at the living, which was made up of little more than a couple of armchairs arranged in an L shape around a tiny table, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall in front of it. Saori could not understand how people managed to live in such small spaces, especially in her country. After all, her own bedroom was about the size of half the flat she was in, which was bigger than a typical studio apartment. At least the window on one side would offer enough light during the day.

    Deguchi-sama offered her a seat in one of the armchairs along with something to drink, Saori agreeing only to the former. After some casual and pleasant talk to break the ice followed by a brief report of Saori's day, her father's secretary decided to cut to the chase. "So, you're telling me the nightmares came back?" she said, her eyes studying the young woman's reaction.

    Saori turned her face away. Her eyes were haunted, not because she was a shy person who would break down to a piercing look, but because of her own weakness, one she would not dare to show even to that woman she had recently come to trust. She was not like that; she had gone through a lot, and she would eventually leave that behind. But when? According to Deguchi-sama, she was suffering from a condition known as posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). It was a common mental health problem experienced by those who had lived through an event in which their lives had been put at risk, such as an accident, a sexual assault or military combat. In Saori's case, the event in question had been the attack on the US Embassy little more than six months before.

    Both she and her brother had tested their advanced suits for the first time in live combat along with an experienced assault team. Unfortunately, the members of Amaterasu took them by surprise when they detonated a series of bombs as a last resort, unleashing hell before the eyes of the entire world. Symptoms began to appear a few months later; situations in her daily life had led her to relive that event; she got irritated more easily than usual, had trouble sleeping and used to be startled by nonsense, always nervous and looking for some source of immediate danger. Her father had suggested she should attend to his veteran group's meetings, but she had declined the offer. She thought it was something she had to solve on her own. Yet, as time passed, Saori realized she could not face it alone and ended up turning to Hachiko on Tetsuya's advice.

    But a long time had passed since then. At first, she had managed to mitigate her symptoms, but they had bounced back hard as evidenced by her actions during the pursuit of the one-handed man. Saori nodded in admission, avoiding her gaze. "I even wake up sweating, my heart beating fast," she said, troubled. "I barely sleep."

    "What about the pills I gave you?" Hachiko asked her.

    "I couldn't take them. I was afraid to go back to sleep."

    What Saori omitted to say, although it was something possible to infer, was that she did not want to relive that moment. She had been having a recurring nightmare in which she was in a closed room, surrounded by dancing flames that struggled against the darkness while she tried to approach a couple of adults embracing each other, cornered by a beam that had been detached from the ceiling. She had experienced something similar while trying to rescue civilians following the detonation. However, in her dream, she was without her armor, exposed to the heat of the flames consuming her clothes and the sweat pouring from her forehead. She felt weak, paralyzed by fear as the walls around her faded into the fire. She did not recall knowing the couple's identities either, but there in the confines of her subconscious, they seemed familiar to her.

    "I saw their faces as clear as if I had known them for a lifetime," Saori elaborated, her eyes still avoiding Hachiko's. "I couldn't do anything, I wasn't even wearing my armor."

    Hachiko frowned, confused. "The scene you described to me wasn't exactly like it happened. You had your armor on. Even if you didn't stop the bombing from occurring, you saved some lives."

    "I know!" Saori yelled, exasperated by Hachiko's claims as she looked straight into her eyes. "But I also remember those who succumbed to the debris and the flames. I failed them!"

    "You didn't. You weren't so exposed, and you weren't alone either."

    "That's not how I felt it," Saori said in a low voice, almost a whisper. Then, she remembered what Deguchi-sama had said to her once. "You told me our memories are not ruled by exact details, but by how we felt about those circumstances." The young girl shook her head in frustration, then bowed it down as though she had given in to her resignation. She remained silent for a few moments, her mind wandering in search of comfort and coming up with the one single thing that could give her strength at that moment. She decided to share it with the woman that might as well be her only true support.

    As she choked back a sob, a half smile was outlined on her face as she said, "When I practiced gymnastics as a child, I loved the discipline it entailed. As long as I practiced enough and mastered every single movement, everything would be fine. I thought this was going to be something similar, but I was wrong."

    "Not everything is about success or failure, Saori," Hachiko said. "And you have to stop demanding so much of yourself and setting unreal bars. There are situations that will develop beyond your control. And you are part of a team. We all work together."

    A beat. Her father's secretary closed her eyes and massaged her temples; it looked like she was trying to discern what she would do next. With every second that passed, Saori grew impatient. "Is there something else you remember of what really happened?"Hachiko said at last. "Any other sensation?"

    "Only that I felt paralyzed and helpless," Saori spat out the answer. She was tired of speaking the exact same words over and over again in the many occasions they had spoken of the subject.

    "You have to understand that memories of traumatic events can be misleading, we usually tend to—"

    "You're not paying attention to me!" Saori seethed, her eyes shimmering between flames of fury and tears of pain. "That's how I felt! I just want to leave all of this behind for good!" Saori came to realize she was stirring, her face reflecting her sudden outbreak of overflowing emotions. She was not like that. Once she relaxed and regained her composure, she became aware she was losing the strife against her own frustrations. Her eyes were now wet, and the fire in her soul had vanished. Ashamed, her gaze turned sideways as her right hand moved over her left arm. "This isn't working."

    "There's no magical solution here, Saori, no single way to get out of the abyss," Hachiko said honestly, trying to tackle her with the harsh truth, "There are only inner steps to be taken. One day, you will come to terms with the fact that, deep down, it wasn't your fault, despite things you did or didn't do."

    That was what bothered Saori the most. She had to wait... for what, exactly? For reasons beyond her comprehension, the problem she had could not be analyzed or explained by terms with which she was familiar, much less methods to which she could stick. She wanted facts, routines to which she could adhere to. To talk about the same thing all the time, to express her emotions... How could those things help her to move on? She had no evidence that what Hachiko was offering was to her would lead to a definitive solution. Therefore, she was skeptical of such methods.

    Hachiko seemed to have felt her doubts, as she rose from her chair and joined her at her side. "I can only guide you, Saori. You must learn to love yourself more, trust your skills. You told me when you danced as a girl, you felt confident, in control. Strong. Ever since the incident, you see yourself fragile and insecure. You fear to freeze once again when the situation requires of you the most."

    Almost without realizing it, Saori found herself immersed in Hachiko's words, her heedful eyes fixed on hers. Was it possible she had paid so much attention to the details that something important had escaped her? "As if there were two parts of me?" she said, in realization. "One who wears the suit and another one who doesn't?"

    "In a way, yes. It's a division that helps you face your pain, but you want to kill that weak part, that pain. And yet, you are all of it. Both parts. You have to let that pain out, talk more about it so you can face it head on and learn to forgive yourself."

    A faint smile gripped the girl's face. While Deguchi-sama was a professional who offered her own qualities both to the project of which they were part and to her, she had always remained firm by her side. She had shown compassion and had offered help both in quantity and quality, despite the twists and turns of her condition. Saori knew Hachiko had assumed certain risks in treating a patient who, in one way or another, was quite close to her. Therapy of such characteristics required much objectivity to offer beneficial results, not to mention that knowing so much about Saori gave her a certain advantage. That was the reason why Hachiko had always insisted she had to do things on her own to avoid becoming dependent on her support. She was so strong, so pure and honorable. Saori could not help but admire her.

    And yet, her own fortitude was hanging by a thread. During the last few days, she had concentrated on keeping her mind on what she was good at, especially the practices of the archery club. Saori was very afraid to try other things, to fail again. In the end, both the project and her role in it were everything that kept her afloat. Her strong part was linked to it and the suit she wore in battle. She needed it. But if she failed again, she would lose everything and others would take her place. That was a thought that she could not bear. Saori had lost her mother and had abandoned her childhood dreams. No matter how smart and capable she was, she did not think she would be able to move on without the project. It was all she had left.

    While her mind wandered around the concept, Saori resolved to give words to her thoughts. "It's all about the suit, then. After all, I'm just a tool ready to fulfill a purpose. If I don't carry on my duties, I can be discarded as if nothing."

    "That's how you feel?" Hachiko said, surprised. "You know you're much more than that! You have to stop seeing your failures as something definitive. Just reflect on them as experiences that will help you improve."

    The young girl nodded at her, somehow understanding what she wanted to say. In a way, she was right. So far, Saori's way of thinking had not taken her anywhere, at least when it came to that particular problem. She knew what she was capable of, and she was sure she had given the best of her. The more afraid she was, the more insecure she would become, and so she would definitely lose everything. She had to trust in her own abilities so that she would not give in to fear."Well, I think it was enough," said Hachiko as she rose from her seat. "I'll see you next week, Yoshimura-chan."

    "Alright..." Saori replied, having completely lost the sense of time. "Thank you for everything, Hachiko—" she hesitated for a moment, then corrected herself while bending over from her waist in a sign of respect, "Deguchi-san."

    Hachiko smiled back at her with an almost maternal glow in her eyes. Saori left the apartment feeling her gaze, both probably thinking they had taken a major step forward during their therapy session.
     
  11. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    Chapter 8: Revolution I - Book 1 - THE VIGILANTES VIII

    The night was upon the city of Tokyo as the clear sky had already acquired a cobalt tint over the Franciscan Chapel Center. A limousine stopped in front of the three-floored building, obstructing the passage of the small street that stretched before it. To the vehicle's misfortune, there was no parking space available. But that minor setback would not stop its only passenger from coming down of it through the back door. After he closed the door, he walked in the direction of the glittering light that emanated from its entrance. The structure around it was a straightforward rectangle that extended toward the center of the block. It had no resemblance with the image one could have of a chapel, so it would be hard to explain to a mere passerby that the building was, in fact, a religious institution. Even the text in the entrance was written in the Roman alphabet and English language. And still, it was the only parish in all of Japan with such characteristics. That was not a minor achievement considering all the comings and goings the friars had had throughout the history of the nation, although progress had remained stable at the end of the Second World War.

    In one of the pavilions along the corridors of the ground floor, a meeting between veterans was being held. Several tables were nestled over the light wood floor full of snacks and disposable plastic cups in which coffee was served. The men—although there were also a few women—were gathered in small groups, chatting about their ordinary lives after the unpleasant experiences they had gone through in Korea or, why not, remembering some good anecdotes of the brief moments of peace they shared, or even the successful operations they carried, those which left no deep scars on them. Among them was Tetsuya, who was in fact in charge of the entire affair. He had attended similar meetings during his stay on the United States, full of ex-combatants from Afghanistan and Iraq who were in dire need to talk about what happened to them on the war fronts to bring some peace to their souls. They wanted to leave behind the traumas that prevented them from continuing with their lives. In exchange, Catholicism had suffered a substantial increase in the Japanese population during recent times. It seemed many soldiers had discovered a more appropriate method of catharsis in confession and repentance for their sins instead of the far more complex Buddhist purification processes. Or perhaps they were no attracted by the concept of sin as an external influence in the way that Shintoism posed it. After all, their experiences had either challenged or altered their former beliefs, leading them to feel isolated from the communities they once attended. At least that was how Tetsuya saw it.

    "How's my old friend doing?" said a deep yet familiar voice that took him by surprise.

    Tetsuya turned around to run into a man who seemed to have nothing to do with what was happening there. His high-quality tailored suit stacked up against the mild clothes of the others present, who wore comfortable t-shirts, sweatshirts, or polo shirts. His gaze was fiery though relaxed, exuding a certain air of confidence instead of the crestfallen or forced smiles the veterans shown. After all, he himself had been in other battles. He was a soldier to the core. Yet, while Tetsuya knew several of the people who were in that room, his relationship with Kentaro Tsujimoto was something else; he was his oldest and most dear friend. "Old?" he asked him in return, half-joking.

    Tetsuya apologized to the small group of soldiers he was with and then turned to look at the president of Cytek. Since he was a busy man, Tetsuya would never have imagined seeing him amid one of his reunions. "What brings you to our veteran meetings?" he said, a slight smile sketched on his face given the unexpected visit of his friend.

    "Nothing in particular, although I'd have loved to witness one of your famous speeches."

    Since Tetsuya was in charge of the meetings, he used to give motivational talks to the veterans, encouraging them to tell their stories among their peers, those who could comprehend what he or she was going through. Sometimes, he even advised family members on how they should act to favor a prompt recovery for their loved ones, so they could learn to live with the changed person who had returned from hell. "If you came more often, maybe you could actually get to hear one." Tetsuya gestured with his hand for Kentaro to accompany him to one of the tables.

    "I guess my job complicates matters a little," Kentaro huffed, his face denoting signs of sudden fatigue. "How was your 'day job'?"

    "Technically speaking, the other one is my 'day job'. This is community service. I don't get paid for it." It was not as if it bothered him, but Tetsuya liked to draw a line between his two jobs. One was a professional responsibility, the other both a moral obligation and an act of solidarity.

    "Then, what I do is a waste of time necessary for someone else to do something meaningful for the community, someone like you," Kentaro admitted as both reached a table at last.

    Tetsuya revealed a short-lived smile as he took a coffee pot from the makeshift buffet, already aware of his friend's response in advance. "Sure. You want some coffee?"

    "Of course," he said, yearning for the brown liquid that would give him the strength to see through the rest of his long workday. "I doubt that I'll have time to rest tonight. Yesterday was a disaster."

    "Don't even mention it." Tetsuya poured coffee into two disposable cups. " wish you had been at the meeting with the committee earlier."

    "You know that bureaucratic bullshit is not my thing," Kentaro replied, sardonic.

    Tetsuya chuckled, amused, as he handled his friend one of the cups and then sipped from his. "And that's why you're the president of the largest energy company in the world. An authentic besuited."

    Kentaro took a long swallow of coffee, then exhaled with some delight. "Not everyone works on what they want the most, something you and I know perfectly."

    "True. How's your wife doing?" Tetsuya took a moment to realize that perhaps he should not have asked that question. Raising such an inquiry was a matter of social manners to generate empathy with the other, but in Kentaro's case, that kind of query must have fallen like a bucket of cold water on his head and Tetsuya knew why.

    "Bad." Contrary to what he had expected, the man in front of him showed little to no emotion in his response. "The tumor has already metastasized. Hopefully, she'll get to live a few more weeks."

    "I'm sorry. I suppose brain cancer must be a terrible thing."

    Tetsuya revealed a short-lived smile as he took a coffee pot from the makeshift buffet, already aware of his friend's response in advance. It was then that his friend's face dimmed. It seemed he had remembered something sad, something that caused him both rejection and frustration at the same time. "Such is her condition she sometimes even asks me about the boys. I'm surprised she's gotten this far."

    On that occasion, empathy came from Tetsuya. "Yeah. I guess that must have been a terrible thing for both of you." Kentaro's three sons had served under his command in Korea, but none had managed to return home. Tetsuya himself had been the first to give the bad news to both him and his wife. He had visited them in their traditional house in the Yui Valley, located in the countryside more than ten kilometers from the city of Shizuoka. Kentaro descended from a family of warriors who had served the Sunpu clan during the Edo period, rulers of what was then the province of Suruga. After the Meiji restoration, they settled in the village of farmers where they rededicated their lives working rice fields. His wife had also grown up in the valley, a woman too submissive and complacent for Tetsuya's taste, who had married himself an American lady one could describe as the exact opposite of those qualities. He will never forget the looks on their faces when he had briefed them of their sons' demise.

    "It already was the simple fact her three children were enlisted and assigned to Korea," Kentaro said, then his mouth gave a bitter twist. "I wish I had never been to Iraq. They've always tried to follow in my footsteps."

    "If it's any consolation, think we would have never got to known each other if you hadn't been there, let alone end up involved in all this."

    "And to think it all started with a humanitarian trip being a facade for American covert ops..." Kentaro said, bitterness in his voice. Both had been part of the JSDF delegation that had been sent to Iraq thirty years before at the express request of the United States to help them reorganize the country. While the vast majority of their comrades never even dared to fire a single bullet during the tour, both Tetsuya and Kentaro were recruited by Special Forces teams to conduct operations that fell outside the law. Very few people knew of their involvement in those illicit activities. But if they had not carried them out, they would have never have been part of the Ergon project. They had to find some comfort in that.

    Kentaro sighed. He'd had enough of that topic. "Anyway, we're not here to share old griefs. Anything new about yesterday's mess?"

    "Yes," Tetsuya replied. He had been wondering when he would bring that topic. "You won't like it. The cargo manifest of the container is in the name of an offshore shell company with an address in Hong Kong. Its senior executive is a lawyer and entrepreneur linked to several corporate moguls here in Japan, including high-ranking members of Cytek. We suspect he could be posing as a frontman."

    Kentaro raised an eyebrow, not particularly impressed. "That's not entirely unexpected."

    "He is your CEO's lawyer..."

    The expression on his friend's face changed at that mention. He raised his chin, his eyes darting from one side to the other as if his suspicions were being confirmed all of a sudden. It was possible he had avoided to give them a voice up to that point.

    "I know you appreciate him, just like I do, but the Greco-Turkish conflict left more than just a scar in his face," Tetsuya reflected. His next question came unbidden. "Have you noticed anything strange about him recently?"

    "Only that he's very absorbed in his work. He appears shallow lately, too engrossed in himself. I've also heard he barely sees his younger brother. But we're talking about helping terrorists here. You have anything else on him?"

    Although he would not claim to know him as well as his friend, he had also had the opportunity to share combat experiences with Takeshi. During the Second Greco-Turkish War, Tetsuya and Kentaro joined a special group that conducted covert operations in Greece and Russia. The CEO of Cytek also took part in that group until he asked for a transfer. He had always been on the move in that regard. He even had the opportunity to devote a good couple of months in Fort Bragg, acquiring a knowledge of all there was to learn about the U.S. military. After he abandoned the Japanese Ground Defense Forces prior to the Korean conflict, Uchida decided to resume his career in business administration, which eventually led to his current position. It was possible he had found his innate ability as a leader and his skill to improvise in adverse situations could be applied in other aspects of life. After all, he was a proud and ambitious man, sharp-witted, even if in his desire to succeed he had proved to be somewhat manipulative. And yet, he was the kind of person who preferred to deal with problems head-on instead of looking for ways to avoid obstacles. Tetsuya never came to understand what his real drive was. And that generated some distrust to him.

    "Only a few concrete things out of intelligence rumors," he concluded. "Still, we have a small operation on the way. It'll take place tomorrow."

    "What about the one-handed man? The usual?"

    Tetsuya finished his coffee in a gulp. That was a topic that made him feel uncomfortable. "Yet another Korean War veteran. Amaterasu doesn't seem to be short on staff. Another reason for me to do what I'm doing here." Tetsuya looked around the entire room. Faced with the possible betrayal of Uchida, he began to reflect on the reasons why the rest of the people in that pavilion were there. It was not simply a matter of PTSD symptoms or some kind of damage to their conception of morality. Many of those veterans displayed strong feelings of anger and regret; they questioned their purpose and that behind their actions. Moreover, they questioned the purpose of the United States. The wounds of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had never healed in his country. Many people in Japan saw with critical eyes the influence the North-American power had exerted on their economy, their army, and their own lives. The revolts in Okinawa—he would always call the islands by that name—may have been just the beginning.

    "These boys walk along a very thin line," he went on his eyes still wandering all over the room. "Every day there are fewer of them coming. I fear my words won't be enough to prevent them from doing something stupid."

    "People tend to uphold their own beliefs no matter how illogical they might prove. It's an emotional thing. They're damaged, so they need a new purpose. Sometimes words are not enough. Sometimes they feel they have to take a stand."

    Tetsuya stared at his friend for a few moments. The lines on his forehead became dubious, dazzled by Kentaro's claims. Did he condone such actions? No, that was not possible. Surely his experience in the professional world had hardened him while the flow of their chat had led him to cast aside his humor. "You approve these terrorist acts?" he asked him in any manner.

    The relaxed expression on Kentaro's face came back without any warning. "You know I don't. I simply understand their motives. I share their frustration at those who sent them to their deaths."

    "So, you do blame the Americans for Korea?" Tetsuya insisted.

    "Their exclusionary policies around our discovery complicated things with China and Russia. The socialists took advantage of the situation and our boys were forced into a foreign conflict. In the end, that's why I'm where I am. From my position, it's possible to change things, to make a difference. You can make it too."

    There was not much Tetsuya could add to that statement. He shared his thoughts on the subject and certainly shared his motives to be part of his very same crusade. Yet, he would have loved to switch places with him in that exact moment. After all, bureaucratic gibberish haunted both of them equally. "Fighting violence with violence is no way to make a difference. Provide peaceful and equitable solutions to people is."

    "We have only created another tool for mankind to use for its selfish purposes," he reflected, down-to-earth. "How long do you think it will be before another war begins? Before all hell breaks loose again? The Greeks are making their move in Turkey, the Islamic State in Iran. We have the conflict in Korea, in northeast China..."

    Tetsuya's mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. He knew better than anyone how delicate the situation was. The furious wave of terrorism expanded way beyond Japan. After the oil crisis in the Middle East, fundamentalist Islamic organizations had merged into a single more consolidated unit, financed by what remained of the Arab magnates who once enjoyed the benefits of their black gold. Their influence had expanded to the Uyghurs themselves, the ethnic minority group in China that shared their same religious devotion. The oriental power had taken a harsh blow recently, threatened by the growth of Japan and, therefore, its American counterpart. It was a matter of time before their actions escalated into something downright dangerous. In South America, anarchist factions associated with native ethnic groups engaged in hostile activities against the fragile order of third-world democracies. The world had gone mad. The fact that the Korean conflict had limited itself to a mere regional dispute was nothing short of a miracle. It was the arms race at the beginning of the twentieth century all over again. How long before everyone was plunged into the chaos of a new world war?

    "What we do is not something we get to enjoy, Tetsuya. Is simply the only thing we can do," Kentaro concluded as he sipped what was left of his coffee. Truer words have never been spoken. "Well, I have to go. Just make sure your men don't ruin it this time."

    "You know I can't guarantee anything," Tetsuya joked. Kentaro bowed his head slightly and walked away from the room. The commander observed his friend crossing the exit door of the pavilion, seized by a terrible sense of foreboding regarding the mission his children would carry out the following day.
     
  12. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    Chapter 9: Revolution I - Book 1 - THE VIGILANTES IX
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    A man was having a hard time taming his playful dog over the pedestrian crossing that emerged from the Jingu-dori Park, above the short-lived street that diverted part of the traffic from Meiji-Dori to Jingumae-Dori. Below, a white school bus moved southwest among light traffic, driving across the curve that led to the Fukutoshin line overpass. Once the vehicle that transported the students from the 3-A class of Shibuya High School left behind the murky tunnel, Kazuto devoted himself to observe the drab and repetitive cityscape through the window of his seat, located in one of the rows closest to the bottom of the bus. Even if a few structures differed from the monotonous pattern, they were all ten-story buildings with clothing stores at street level. How boring. If he had not enjoyed a good night's sleep as he'd had for the first time in several days, he would have yawned at such an uninspiring scenario. He was forced, however, to squint his eyes every time the evening sun filtered through the buildings of the narrow streets amid a junction, sparkling against the glass. And to think the many tourists who walked along those streets marveled at the same urban landscape that dominated the great cosmopolitan cities of their own nations.

    And yet, the image of the colorless architecture of his city was not enough to distract Kazuto of what his mind was really immersed in. The words his brother had uttered the previous day still resounded in its confines. "When you grow old, you will end up regretting not having enjoyed your youth. You have to live, Kazuto," he had said, perhaps from his unique and unhealthy perspective of joy. But despite all the circumstances, he had always managed to maintain his mood and his enthusiasm, as did Nozomi. Hell, even Raisuke, though with fewer setbacks in his brief existence, enjoyed life at his own pace. Why could not he find the silver lining amidst his own cloud?

    When the bus stopped at the red lights, Kazuto felt the urge to look to his right side where his friend Raisuke was pressing the buttons of a portable video game console like a madman.

    "Could you please tell me why would you bring a console on a ten-minute trip?" he asked him, baffled once again by his attitude. "The Shibuya crossing is only a few blocks away."

    "You never know. I might get bored on the tour," he replied in an offhand manner, his eyes always fixed on his console.

    "Weren't you excited about being in the most 'cool', your words, building in the world?"

    "It may not be as cool as I thought," he answered as if he had forgotten his effusiveness in the previous days regarding that very same trip. "Also, they canceled all of our club activities just for this visit." That was true. Yet, he seemed to have forgotten they had no activities in the kendo club that day. What a clueless guy. "Oh, damn you, Hades!" he yelled, complaining about a sudden development in his videogame. "Why is this final boss so difficult to beat?"

    Ahead of them, Nozomi turned right around in her seat, her arms resting on top of it as she looked at Raisuke with distaste; she had evidently overhead their conversation.

    "They will take that crap away from you at the entrance, you know?" she noted to him, her voice lacking empathy. "These places are very rigorous regarding their safety." Raisuke turned a deaf ear to the latter and continued with his thing, so she switched her attention to Kazuto. "Has your brother recovered?"

    "Yup. As good as new," Kazuto grunted with indifference. He had received a call from the hospital that morning informing him that Yoshiro was ready to leave during the afternoon. How lucky.

    Nozomi's brows knitted in confusion. "And you are not happy about it?"

    Kazuto shifted his gaze back to the window, avoiding her gaze "We argued, that's all."

    "I see."

    Kazuto glanced at her friend, who seemed taken aback by his blunt response. As the bus went on its path, Nozomi settled back in her seat. That had been a bit rough on his part. Nozomi always appeared to be worried about him, but Kazuto had done little for her lately. In the end, what was it that he really could do for her? She was very busy with her studies, her work, and the practices of her club. In his current state, Kazuto would be nothing more than a burden to her. And if he wanted to overcome what was happening to him, he had to confront his feelings about it.

    And, still, he could not help feeling he should be able to do more for his friends.

    "I'm fine, Nozomi," he said to her, with some remorse in his voice. "I just need some time to deal with all this."

    As the bus went on its path, Nozomi settled back in her seat, perhaps more worried about him than Raisuke and Yoshiro altogether. Kazuto may not have sensed her concern, but he was grateful for her silence; after all, she might have shared more time with him than his own brother and knew better than anyone when he wasn’t in the mood for conversation

    Kazuto had no way of knowing, but at that moment, a dry smile took hold of Nozomi's face. He knew her concern for him went beyond that of Raisuke and Yoshiro altogether. And still, he was grateful for her silence. As far as Kazuto remembered, she might have shared more time with him than his own brother and knew better than anyone when he was not in the mood for conversation. And a good friend would always know when to keep quiet.

    The school bus required no more than three hundred meters of additional travel to reach its destination. The small group of teachers who accompanied them were the first to come down the bus; Kazuto was among the latest students to get off it, his feet clearing out the last of the steps to touch the pavement where little more than a day before his brother had had a close encounter with death. Once they left behind Jingumae-Dori, the shadow of the imposing building abandoned the students and in its place came sunlight shining through a few clouds in the sky. Unwillingly, Kazuto deflected his gaze from the gleam of light to the quasi trapezoidal structure of the building it had inherited from its predecessor, stretching upwards through a facade of interjected glass and steel columns, albeit with a few extra floors beside the relocated entrance in the front, the exit of the underground parking lot to the east. Even if not the tallest of Tokyo's high-rises, Cytek Headquarters imposed certain respect and fear, standing there in the symbolic heart of the city with arrogance. The young Yoshimura felt dwarfed by its magnitude; he even had the feeling that there at the top of it someone was watching him.

    The students entered to the premises in a single row, stepping through the large frameless reinforced tempered glass doors on the right. They came to a halt before the reception desk at the center, a series or dark metal detector arches at both sides next to x-ray baggage scanners. Kazuto did not mind the tight security measures, but he suspected his friend Raisuke would have something to say about it. While he kept his mouth shut, it was evident he was terrified inside. Once again, the false self-confidence mask on his face had faded away. He swallowed hard as he saw a student handling his cell phone to the guard, who then put it on a small plastic box. The young jokester was the first of the three to go through the arch, accompanied by a man who wore a white shirt with a tie and black pants, a peaked cap of the same color on his head. He greeted him with a smile on his face as he gently asked him to take off his jacket and empty his pockets, requesting him to get rid of any kind of electronic device for the extent of his visit.

    Raisuke followed suit and placed his school jacket in a box that went through the scanners' conveyor and past the lead curtain. No alarms were raised, so everything seemed fine. However, when Raisuke himself was about to go through the detector arch, Kazuto noticed he was moving something to one of the pockets of his pants. What he was doing was as obvious as stupid. Did he actually think he would slip past security that way? Kazuto rolled his eyeballs at such an act of foolishness. But then, he found himself staring at his friend, his eyes wide open in the presence of an apparent realization. How many times had he turned a blind eye to his friend's childish behavior? Was he never going to grow up? Both his father and Yoshiro had always mentioned to him a person should lead by example. In that precise moment, Kazuto did not comprehend why, but he felt he had to do something about it, all of a sudden. Almost instinctively he reached into Raisuke's pocket in an offhand manner, removing the console from it with the skill of an experienced thief.

    "Hey!" the young jokester complained to him.

    Kazuto then handled the device to the security guard. "I'm terribly sorry," he said to him, acting all adult and reasonable. "My friend is a freak of these things and likes to believe he can get away with it."

    The man gave Raisuke a withering look, but then continued to act as if nothing had happened. Who evidently was not going to let the incident pass was Raisuke himself. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he barked, acting like some spoiled eight-year-old boy who got his candy stolen.

    "I'm the one who should ask that," said Kazuto, convinced he had done the right thing.

    Nozomi, who was standing behind both of them, meddled in the affair. "You should have let him embarrass himself, so he would have learned his lesson the hard way."

    She was right. On multiple occasions, Kazuto had avoided saying or doing something, knowing his friend would not listen to him. As Nozomi had mentioned, Raisuke was one of those people who would only earn from experience. And still, why had Kazuto acted like that if he comprehended this situation to perfection? It seemed his friend's foolish acts no longer amused him as they did before. In the midst of his confusion, Kazuto shook his head as he crossed the security arch. It was evident he could not put the finger on what had occurred to him at that moment.

    Once the awkward incident felt between the cracks, the students moved on to a second control area where they were granted with magnetic stripe cards with security clearance for visitors. They were also introduced to a slender woman with light brown hair wearing a white coat, who would escort them on their visit to the building. The students went through the corresponding turnstiles and accessed one of the four staircases that faced each other to then clamber upwards. And so, they began their tour across the facilities. On the first level, they moved across a food court area and a communal room for recreation. On the second one, they met a showroom dedicated to the company's most popular products. There were different types of prosthetics—ordered acording totheir evolution with the passing of the years—and old solutions of wheelchairs for people with low resources. Also, there were cars that operated entirely with electricity, quantic computers, advanced medical scanning machinery, and both augmented reality glasses and virtual reality systems for video games.

    Raisuke bobbed his head in every direction as the group walked around the showroom, trying to catch a glimpse of everything at the same time. One of the things that caught his attention the most was a brand new headset of virtual reality glasses. He even had the opportunity to try it for a few minutes along with the complementary gear, which included a surface on where he could move freely and a set of electrodes that emitted wireless signals to the receiving console. Kazuto had had the opportunity to try a previous model in Raisuke's house, although it seemed the new equipment was far superior in several aspects. Shortly after finishing his trial run, Raisuke dared to ask the guide about the weapons and vehicles everyone had seen on television. But the guide maintained her temper and diverted his question with the same excuses her company had given ever since the leaks were made public.

    Later, the students moved later to the third floor, which posed as a health and fitness center, while both the fourth and fifth were dedicated to cybersecurity solutions, including one of the largest server rooms in the building. The group was informed that a huge amount of workshops filled some of the subsequent floors. These included labs focused exclusively on the field of medicine, areas of legal affairs, human resources, accounting, purchasing, and administrative offices. And yet, the sixth level of the Cytek Headquarters was, for sure, the most fascinating area for many of the students of his class. After all, most of them aimed at college careers that would allow them to work in the research and development technological laboratories that were placed there.

    Kazuto glanced at the many scientists working in their stations, which were scattered in areas of cubicles here and there around the whole level, surrounded by conference rooms and senior offices on the edges. The roofs, walls, and columns were of a whitish color, while the lights from above reflected in the clear tiles and gave a sensation of neatness. Every single area of the building conveyed an undeniable air of elegance, sophistication, and modernity in its purest state. In a way, being present there meant one could take a look at the future. One could see the men and women who were working to expand the boundaries of technology, leading humanity to a new and mysterious stage of their development.

    That, of course, as long as said future was favorable, for the technologies present there would not be used only for their welfare. And Kazuto was one of the people who always feared the worst.

    As the group of students was about to reach one of the edges of the floor, the woman in charge of it approached an unoccupied station. Over the desk was a prosthetic hand, located between a computer monitor and a huge digital touch screen that displayed a blueprint of that very same mechanical arm. The outer shell of the prosthesis resembled the muscle tissue of a human arm, though the threads were made of some kind of carbon fiber polymer. The joints exposed part of the internal metallic skeleton, while the hand appeared to be composed of rigid pieces that were separated from each other in phalanges, metacarpals, and a single composite structure in place of the carpals.

    The woman grabbed hold of the mechanical prosthetic carefully, ready to give a lecture about it. "So, I guess most of you know these. Now, how many of you know how they actually work?"

    Kazuto watched from the corner of his eye as Raisuke began to raise his hand—but another student of the group raised his own at the same time. He was a good-looking boy with auburn hair and green eyes, very popular among girls both for his beauty and for his performance in the Soccer club. His name was Issei Uchida, the younger brother of the CEO of Cytek.

    The guide nodded at Issei, inviting him to speak. "My brother Takeshi has one. He was in Turkey, lost a leg in battle. The electrical impulses of the nervous system are extended to the prosthesis, imitating the behavior of an actual limb.

    "That's correct," she acknowledged, "all thanks to the Ergonic Core."

    The eyes of some female students shimmered given the beauty of the younger of the Uchida's and his recent display of intelligence. For his part, Raisuke grumbled and threw an envious look at Issei; it was evident he was jealous of his status among the female crowd, not to mention he had stolen his little moment of glory.

    The guide went on. "As you know, science has expanded its borders over the last decade. The research conducted with the gems that were discovered in the depths of the Gulf of Mexico led our scientists to come across a mineral that, when subjected to high temperatures, is capable of generating distortions on the electromagnetic field, something previously unconquerable. All this end up with the conception of a fifth fundamental force in the universe capable of acting on the particles, the ergonic, of a higher magnitude than the other four known until then: gravitational, electromagnetic, weak and strong.

    "Although initial tests only achieved results by distorting the first two, it was sufficient to consider the gems to be some sort of hypothetical dark fluid, combining properties observed in both dark matter and dark energy. Thanks to this, it was possible to overcome the repulsion barrier when joining a deuterium atom with a tritium one to form a helium-four stable atom, releasing a neutron in the process and obtaining a successful nuclear fusion, which is now conceivable even in the limited scope of a mechanical prosthesis."

    The woman proceeded to remove a small bright gem from the structure of the prosthesis, looking at it in detail while saying, "Here it is. In addition to the anatomical design of the limb, we have pneumatic actuators simulating the movement of bones, and sensors capable of perfectly mimicking the human sense of touch. Finally, the prosthesis requires a processor that can interpret the nerve impulses as information, which is redirected throughout the device."

    Raisuke raised his hand and said right away, "I heard the nerve connection is painful, like an automail."

    "Automail?" the woman asked. Her face conveyed the impression the term was unfamiliar to her.

    "Yeah, it's from a Manga a few years ago—never mind."

    The woman still was not able to get the hang of what he was referring to. On the other hand, Kazuto was well aware of the adventures of the young alchemist with a metallic prosthetic arm, one of the few stories of the genre that had attracted his attention. The woman continued with her explanation, "Well, as you know, nerve impulses are interpreted by the brain. Yet, the sudden flow of electricity sent to the brain can be processed by it as something abrupt and painful." She paused, gazing at the raised eyebrows on the surprised faces of the students under her charge. "I know what one usually imagines when he hears the word electricity is a lightning-like discharge. That's only an effect of light and heat. Electricity is everywhere, present in the electromagnetic field surrounding us. It is a question of how to interpret it."

    She laid down the prosthetic back on the table and took in its place some few loose half-finished mechanical phalanges similar to those present in the fake limb. However, part of their internal wiring was exposed as raw flesh without skin, its inner structure a sort of hollow shell. The guide placed the casings of one of these on her own index finger, the remaining on the middle one. Next, she snapped her fingers, her thumb brushing both phalanges—a slight, quick and garish lightning bolt coming out in the process.

    Half of Shibuya High School students raised their eyebrows for a moment, a couple of them with their mouths opened while exchanging appreciative murmurs. Others, Kazuto included, merely observed the phenomenon with curiosity. Soon afterward, the guide joined both prosthetic fingers, the resulting electric current now constant and stabilized. Once she detached the phalanges, the current died, and then she took them off as she exposed, "See? The only thing these artificial fingers do is to interpret the electricity around us, in this case, impulses resulting from the different actions between the fingers."

    "Excuse me, miss," interrupted a young girl with dark short hair who was located near the front of the group. It was Saori. Until then, Kazuto had barely noticed her presence; she had remained quiet as usual, though he sensed she was even more silent than what was expected of her. "May I go to the bathroom?"

    "Me too," her brother Hayato said. "I ate too much at lunch."

    "Sure," the female guide replied. "A security guard will escort you. Please, don't take too long."

    Both Sugiyama twins walked away from the group while the woman was gesturing one of the security guards nearby to follow them. Afterward, she gazed back at the students once again. "How about we continue the visit? I'm sure you'll be interested to know in the near future, you'll be able to live longer and stay young for a few more years."

    Some female students giggled at the concept as the whole pack headed for the emergency stairs. It seemed it was time for them to tour around the medical laboratories on the upper floors. Yet, while the rest of his class continued to marvel at what they were observing, Kazuto recalled some of the things he had heard on television. In the first place, how was it that a group of people had just come across something so relevant in such a sudden way? There were rumors that his government was cooperating with the United States in a new alternative energy program, but this was something else entirely. Then came the whole secrecy affair. For more than five years, the vast majority of the world knew nothing of that discovery. The news came as a shock to many, especially Russia and China. But maybe it was better not to think too much about it. As with his brother's astonishing recovery, Kazuto had a feeling there was something alarming behind everything that had been going on recently.



    Time was of the essence, reason why Hayato Sugiyama went to the men's room on the fifth floor of Cytek Headquarters without deviation. The security escort had abandoned him and his sister as instructed, the cameras in the corridors shifting away from their path thanks to the man who was in charge of monitoring them. Only the guard in the monitor center knew the Yoshimura twins were part of the Sentinels Special Squadron, while the security employee had no idea of the purpose behind their actions. In the end, they were all employees of Cytek. They would not refuse to obey a couple of unconventional orders to which they had already agreed in part when they had signed their contracts with the energy tycoon. After all, the use of non-disclosure agreements was a regular practice for a company of such characteristics. And it was not as if they had been ordered to assassinate another human being.

    Once he closed the entranceway, Hayato ran into a series of sinks over which there were wall-mounted hand wash liquid suppliers along with a large mirror, both hand dryer machines and tissue paper dispensers at each end. All of these were opposite to a couple of urinals and a few more toilet cubicles, one of which was crossed out by a tape banner that indicated it was under maintenance. The young man walked toward said cubicle, broke the tape and went inside, bumping into a bag next to the toilet.

    After a short while, Hayato found himself mopping the corridor area that led to the restrooms, wearing a janitor uniform with a hat and all, including a mop bucket with wringer and wheels. Even if he believed every man should clean his own shit for the world to be a much neater place, he could not avoid feeling a little humiliated. After all, there was a considerable difference between hunting down terrorists on the street and cleaning the floor of a corporate building. Was his father trying to teach him some humility after his excess of arrogance in the persecution of the one-handed man? He had to accept that was the most likely scenario, or else the world be damned. Because Hayato Sugiyama was much more than a mere mop. He waited five minutes until the only woman who had entered the ladies room—or so the man in charge of the monitors had told him—walked out of it. He went in, checked that the bathroom was indeed deserted, and went out again to then place some wet floor cones to block the entrance to it.

    Less than a minute later, Hayato still scrubbing the floor the best he could, Saori showed up walking toward him. The young man nodded at her, his sister understanding that everything was in order as she went herself into the bath. It was show time.



    Once inside the restroom, the young woman moved her feet straight to the closed cubicle, finding a bag like the one his brother had surely discovered before. Instead of a janitor uniform, Saori came across a white shirt, an elegant black skirt and a pair of dark shoes, the typical formal office attire for women. She left the booth and positioned herself in front of the sinks, watching herself in the huge mirror above as she stripped to her underwear. Once she put on the office dress, she kept her own school uniform in the bag as she picked up a makeup kit from the bottom of it. She then dropped the bag under the sinks and leaned closer of the mirror. Just as Hachiko had instructed her, she began washing her face, then applied a coat of foundation to her skin. Next, she put on concealer below the dark circles under her eyes, highlighter along with key areas to add some depth. Then, she swiped contour to minimize other regions, worked the blush on her cheeks, the eyeshadows on her eyelids, and both eyeliner and mascara along with her lashes. To wrap up the whole thing, she applied a natural, rosy pink lipstick straight from the tube.

    Saori took a deep breath and puffed out. The woman in the mirror looked a little older than she was used to seeing, something that was useful for her mission. And yet, she felt like she was now some kind of circus clown. Not because she had exceeded the usage of the makeup tools, but because Saori could not conceive the need for women to disguise their features under such an unrealistic level of perfection. Of course, she had a beautiful face which had little need for such things to enhance it, but that did not take away the fact she thought a woman ought to have some serious self-esteem issues to fall prey to something so superficial. She did not want to imagine the countless hours they wasted in perfecting nothing more than the appearance of their faces as if that were all that was worthy of them. What kind of men chose their female partners just for how they look?

    But then again, her own image of herself was not at its highest point at the time.

    Once again, Saori was ready to fulfill her responsibilities as a member of the Sentinels. And still, would not it have been better for his father to send someone else to fulfill it? After all, the visit of the Shibuya High School students to the facilities had simply been a fortuitous coincidence. While it was not a dangerous mission—nor did she need a weapon to complete it—, she could not help thinking that, once again, she would have to face her worst fears. She could not fail—

    No, not again.

    Saori could not focus her mind on such negative thoughts. Her last session with Deguchi-sama had made it clear her old way of thinking was of no use. However, how would she be able to face her mission with a different mindset from the one to which she was accustomed? Worse, she did not have time to get involved in such existential debates. She had a mission to fulfill, a responsibility to which she had to abide. How was she supposed to deal with both things at the same time?

    The young woman hit the marble countertop that surrounded the bath sink with her fist in frustration. She needed to get rid of her doubts and concentrate on what was important. Saori tilted her head down and closed her eyes, setting aside any unnecessary thoughts from her mind. Then, she set her eyes once more on the reflection of her face in the mirror. In effect, that was another woman, one that was committed to her mission and willing to do what was necessary to carry it forward. Or so she should be for the time being.
     
    Last edited: May 9, 2019
  13. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    The second part of the ninth chapter has just been updated!
     
  14. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    Chapter 10: Revolution I - Book 1 - THE VIGILANTES X

    Focusing back on the mission, Saori walked off the bathroom, not without first placing a wireless earpiece in her ear. The device was relatively compact, of a color similar to the tone of her skin, and had been custom-molded for her.

    Just as she swung the door open, she heard something on the radio channel. "Eagle Eye to White Leopard," said the voice of a man. "Everything's in order, over." The person who had identified himself by that call sign was a guard at the building's monitoring center. He had been positioned there on purpose to observe all of her movements and notify her and his brother of any kind of unforeseen development. In addition, he had to make sure the visual records of the entire operation were erased from the corresponding digital storage. No one but them and a few other selected assets could know what was going to happen at that time.

    "Copy that, Eagle Eye," Saori replied to her hidden microphone as she moved her hand to her ear with caution, checking the device placed in it. That was a bad habit she would have to get rid of if she pretended to avoid inconveniences in future operations. After all, it was the first time she was doing something of those characteristics.

    The first thing she came across once outside the bath was her brother making a decent impression of a janitor while dancing around with his mop. "Too handsome to be a mop," she commented as she swept past him, an arrogant smile on her face. She needed to calm down a bit, and a humorous remark with a sarcastic tone was the best she could come up with. While she fell uncomfortable with such jokes and did not understand them often, she had recently found them useful when dealing with stress.

    "Too refined to talk to one," he replied back, biting his lip to hide his own smile and look serious.

    Saori walked away from the area and crossed paths with two women who kept striding toward his brother. As she turned a corner, she came to a halt to gaze at the women gawking with surprise at her brother's face; it was evident they had noticed the same thing she had mentioned to him before. As Hayato grinned awkwardly at them while struggling to look professional, a genuine smile of amusement was drawn on Saori's face.

    For what would happen next would require all of her seriousness and concentration.

    The young woman then jumped onto one of the elevators that would carry her to her destination: the fiftieth floor. The largest server room in the entire building was located there, occupying most of the floor space. Once she reached the level, she bumped into a door that led to a large room, its access restricted by a nine-digit keypad. Saori grabbed the magnetic stripe card that had been granted to her when she went into the building—adapted in her case for her current task at hand—, swiped it past the reader, and entered a code on the numerical board beside it that allowed her to move into the office. She had been informed of the code she required earlier during the briefing session after the talk with her father.

    Once inside, Saori found herself walking amid two long rows filled with nothing but server racks. There was a loud white noise filling the whole area, caused by tons of fans inside power supplies along with the HVAC (Heating, Ventilating, and Air Conditioning), responsible for the air to circulate constantly and the distribution of temperature to be even. At the end of the room, two men were performing maintenance tasks on one of the server towers. As she approached one of these, she gazed at both workers, one of them looking back at her. He nodded his head. Both were part of the assets the Sentinels had located for the operation, both to ensure that the floor was clear and to assist her in case she required it. It was evident Cytek had been compromised, which is why they could not trust any regular employee with such a task.

    The young woman nodded back at them in understanding, then pulled out a USB device with an antenna on its back. She placed it on the corresponding port of the catalog server as she spoke to her microphone. "This is White Leopard. The transmitter is in place."

    "Big Boss here," his father replied back. "We are connected. Good job, White Leopard."

    While Saori waited for news on her radio, she devoted herself to observing the components of the server rack in front of her. As one would expect, she had acquired some practical knowledge in the matter for the assignment. For instance, she new the catalog server to which she plugged the device provided a point of access that allowed users to centrally search for information across a distributed network. That way, the people working with their father at the base could remotely access the data they needed. Halfway up was a rackmount LCD monitor keyboard drawer with a KVM switch—an abbreviation for keyboard, video, and mouse—that allowed a user to control multiple computers at once. At the top of the tower was a series of patch panels in charge of receiving many cables of the structured cabling, all of these connected to Ethernet ports. There were also several servers dedicated to the storage of information, which included multiple hot-swap hard drives. These were designed in such a way they could be replaced without shutting down the whole system. While the cable network seemed well organized, she supposed it would be a nightmare to connect every single one of them to their corresponding ports so that everything operated normally without losing one's head in the process. At least she knew she would never have opted for a career in systems if she had the opportunity to do so.

    With every second that passed, Saori grew impatient. She had folded her arms over her chest, being unable to suppress the urge to move her right leg while always keeping a perpetual eye on the entrance of the room. She even glanced at her watch for a second; it had been three minutes since his father had communicated for the last time. That had been enough. "How's that looking, Big Boss?" she said at last.

    The reply did not take long to come. "It seems that a large amount of high-level, encrypted data using an unusual amount of bandwidth has been moved from the server farm." After a brief pause, his father spoke again; this time, he seemed troubled. "Damnit."

    "What is it?"

    "Someone has shunted the data off the server, but we have his user name." Saori heard Tetsuya swallowing hard. "It's Uchida."

    That was bad news. Was it possible the CEO of Cytek was also involved in the whole matter? His father had his suspicions, but what she had just heard seemed to indicate that, in fact, he was onto something. "You'll have to access his computer directly so we can get into it just like we did with the server," he added. "He's outside the building and we can take his secretary out of the office, so you should be fine." Saori sighted at that. She wanted to finish the whole thing as soon as possible, but it seemed she still had issues to attend to. "Remember to retrieve the USB device. You'll need it."

    No more than a minute had passed, and Saori was once again in the elevator. She could hear the sound of the rustling of her leg moving as if it had a life of its own. Her pulse had accelerated, and it was almost as if she had to struggle for breath. She had to relax, but her body did not seem to obey the commands from her brain. Once she had reached the thirtieth floor, Saori started toward the office located on the west side of the building, a woman in a hurry. She reached a door that led to an anteroom in which was the secretary's desk, a couple of libraries placed behind it. Also, there was a conventional waiting room set opposite to the desk, composed of a three-seater leather sofa flanked by two similar ones for a single person, all around a tasteful wooden table. She went to the entrance door of Takeshi Uchida's workplace, swiped the magnetic card past the reader, and entered the code her father had given her before she got on the elevator.

    As the door allowed her to enter the office, Saori found herself facing a long dark L-shaped executive escritoire around a high-backed chair, behind of which stood a library mounted on a wall that provided shade for the desk. On both sides of it were glass walls with access doors to what appeared to be a private conference room, something one could infer from the two visible ends of a horizontal table surrounded by several chairs. In the background, it was possible to see part of the endless series of buildings in the city of Tokyo sprawling all over the place like trees in a dense jungle. The sky was orange over the line of mountains on the horizon as the sun was about to come down to the far right of Mount Fuji. However, its brightness was diminished by the tint of the polarized windows. It projected nothing but a feeble shadow of the succession of pillars that stood throughout the building over the floor.

    The voice of her father on the radio came without prior notice. "Keep in mind there aren't cameras in this level, White Leopard. The secretary should be away for a little while."

    Trying to calm herself down, Saori took a seat in the executive chair. She lifted the lid open and accessed the administrative user, which was blocked by a password the girl was unaware of. Fortunately, the device she carried with her allowed those in the Sentinels' technology department to remotely operate the computer. Therefore, she removed the USB stick from one of the pockets of her skirt and placed it in one of the ports of the notebook. After a few seconds, a black window popped up on the screen, a series of codes being processed at high speeds by some algorithm the tech analysts had employed. The user information and password were autocompleted by this program, and so they were able to access the operative system desktop.

    More pop-up windows with multiple lines of code took over the screen. One of them displayed various rows with hexadecimal characters that were being decrypted into columns of text. As the information became explicit, Saori was able to recognize a list that contained, among other things, the names of several people in it. "Is that what I think it is?" she said, already aware of its content.

    "Unfortunately," said her father on the other end of the radio. "This file contains a detailed list of high-level guards and employees in multiple departments of the company, all seemly in Amaterasu's pockets." A beat. "Stand by for files transfer, White Leopard. Some of them have more complex levels of encryption, so we'll have to analyze them later."

    As she saw the files being transferred from the computer, Saori realized she was grateful that, for the moment, everything had gone so smoothly. After all, what she was doing then had not been fully anticipated by her father, leaving room for unforeseen events.

    What she should have foreseen was what happened next.

    "What do you think you are doing?" said a female voice that came from the entrance door. Saori could feel her muscles tighten the second she walked in, her heart fluttering in her chest. For one long moment, she could not catch her breath. The door. She had forgotten to close the damn door! How could she have been so foolish? Since there were no security cameras on the floor, the guard in charge of the monitoring room could not have warned her at all. Saori had to take a breath to quiet the sudden hammering in her heart, her eyes still fixed on the screen of the notebook. She had to remain calm while analyzing the situation. It was more than obvious the woman in front of her could not be anyone else than Takeshi Uchida's personal secretary. It was unfortunate she had returned so early to the upper floor, but could not the guard have alerted her about this on the radio?

    She had no time for that. She had to come up with a proper response, and she was more than ready for that. Even if she asked her something that she could not answer, his father could provide Saori with that information through her radio. Everything would be fine.

    "An update of the security software," Saori replied, with a voice less firm than she would have hoped for. At least the copying process was more than halfway done.

    "The last one took place this morning," the secretary said, confused. "There was no additional update scheduled for today."

    Saori saw from the corner of her eye that the woman wore glasses and carried a digital tablet in her left arm, resting against her torso. That gave her an idea. "You should re-check it."

    The female secretary began to search on her tablet for the aforementioned update, which she would run into sooner or later. The records had to have been altered to create the illusion this was Saori's true reason for her to be in that office. At the same time, it was possible the process had not been completed early enough for the secretary to know in advance. Her eyes widened behind her lenses when she found out the update had been in fact scheduled. "How strange. I don't remember seeing this before."

    "Uchida-sama personally asked me to do this update a few minutes ago," Saori replied, coming up with a reason to explain the discrepancy. Since the file copying process had been completed, she noticed a file had been remotely executed. It looked like it was programmed to erase any kind of records behind her activity.

    "Uchida-sama is not currently on the premises," the secretary mused. "He's supervising the—"

    "—transfer of new matrices for the prosthesis," Saori finished for her. "He sent me a text." Uchida's secretary remained silent, apparently buying her version of events. After all, the CEO's brief expedition outside the facilities had been the primary reason why her father had chosen to carry out the mission at that very moment. As Saori gazed back at the screen, she realized the log deleting process was finished. She pulled the USB device out of the slot, lowered the lid to close the laptop, and rose from the chair ready to withdraw. "It's done."

    "I'm surprised Uchida-sama didn't ask me to do this personally," the secretary said, realizing the young woman was unknown to her. She began to examine Saori in detail, and it was evident she concluded she had never seen her face. "I don't remember seeing you here before. How long have you been working in this company?"

    "I entered this week. I'm part of the student internship program," she replied. Of course, all this was a lie, but the information was part of the fake profile that had been created for her to carry out her assignment and was therefore easy to confirm. "I have excellent qualifications in computer science and I took a few extracurricular courses in programming."

    "It's fine. I don't need to know all the details. Have a nice day."

    Saori nodded politely at her, then headed for the door. She felt the secretary's eyes following her as she walked away from the office, and even got to hear some of the words she spoke. "They just keep getting younger. What a bunch of pedophile pigs."

    Remarks aside, Saori's way back to the closed bathroom was uneventful. Her brother was still trying his best to look like a janitor when she entered the restroom, Hayato tagging along and closing the door behind her. The young woman began to remove her shoes and unbutton her shirt, noticing her brother had turned around to avoid seeing how little of her body was exposed.

    "Couldn't you wait for me to leave?" he said, a trace of embarrassment in his voice. If his discomfort only arose from the fact of seeing his sister undressed, what would he have to say about his presence in a women's bathroom?

    "Please, we're brothers, not strangers or pathetic boyfriends," she replied sharply as Hayato began to fling off his uniform. "Besides, it's not like I'm naked."

    "I wish they would have asked someone else to do this. I mean, even the guard who escorted us was placed there on purpose."

    Her brother had a point, but Saori wasn't going to take the trouble to question her father. If he believed they were not capable of accomplishing the task, he would have assigned someone else to fulfill it. "Maybe our father wanted to give us an opportunity to show the confidence he has in us."

    "Then, why did I have to be a janitor?"

    Saori gave his brother a look. "You really asking me that?"

    As he was raising his school uniform's pants, Hayato realized what her sister meant. He barely gave her a crooked smile. "In any case, we were absent from the group for too long."

    Already in her school uniform, Saori moved to the mirror and soaked a cotton pad with eye makeup remover. "So? I don't understand why you're so worried," she said as she wiped off the makeup from her eyelid delicately. "Besides, this was a piece of cake. You thought something was going to go wrong?"

    "If you say that, something bad will actually happen."

    "No, my feminine intuition tells me everything is going well."

    Saori noticed through the mirror his brother frowned as he struggled with the knot of his tie. "You don't believe in such nonsense," he said, skeptical.

    He was right. But Saori was not going to allow him to win an argument. "That's irrelevant," she bounced back, acid, as she spread cleanser all over her face.

    "And it has never failed you?"

    "Never."

    * * *​

    The clouds in the sky took on a purplish hue as the orange sun began to set, the whisper of the night about to wrap the city of Tokyo in shadows. As lanterns and bright marquees gained strength, a startling development no one could have anticipated occurred in front of the imposing structure the young students of Shibuya High School were visiting.

    On the roof of the 109mens commercial building located on Jingumae-Dori—part of the popular apparel emporium chain destined in particular to the male public—, a group of men were making the final preparations before beginning their mission. They were concealed from curious eyes by a series of dark shadow screens mounted along with the steel beams structure on the edge of the rooftop. These were placed there on purpose and under the pretext of some alleged reforms that would never be carried out. The obscure figures performed three tasks consecutively with skills and speed worthy of admiration. First, one group cut the screens with military knives in order to shape a hole, while another wielded their nine-millimeter silenced automatic handguns and fired at the glazed windows of the fifth floor of the energy tycoon's building. Finally, the last team squeezed the triggers of their grappling-hook pistols, the cables hissing across the street and burring themselves in the wall of the opposite edification.

    As they discarded the weapons with which they had fired the wires and sheathed their pistols, the men who wore dark uniforms made one last brief check of their bulky equipment. On their kevlar vests, an insignia with a red sun and red flashes over a black background stood out. It was the emblem by which the members of Amaterasu were identified. In addition, they placed some cyberpunk-stylized masks ranging from the nose down to the chin on their heads. These had two small cylinder filters at each side, resembling a gas mask. Then, they fit modern windshields over them as they brought dark hoodies above their heads, their features now fully concealed from curious eyes. Finally, their brandished their fearsome M4A1 automatic carbines with incorporated ACOG sights along with customized stocks and handguards.

    And so, with the cables secured from their end, the men threw themselves into the void dangling from wheeled devices that fit over the cable line until they reached the other end. At the same time, three dark trucks bellow them—or step-vans, vehicles designed for deliveries in multiple points—moved across the asphalt at moderate speed before coming to a halt in front of the main entrance of the Cytek headquarters. Ahead of any sort of complaint about the vehicles stuck on the sidewalk, their rear doors were opened. From within, other men wearing similar dark uniforms came down on a rush carrying the same assault rifles as their partners above.

    They all had one purpose in mind: to unleash hell in the heart of the city.
     
  15. KenRaynous

    KenRaynous Member

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    Chapter 11: Revolution I - Book 1 - THE VIGILANTES XI

    And so, the tempered glass doors were opened abruptly, the armed men swarming into the energy tycoon's heart. Had there been some kind of ambient noise or conventional talk inside, these would have been interrupted by the cracking sound of brief bursts of bronze casings being fired into the air. As everyone in the lobby froze with the same shocked expression, the man who led the assault threw a grenade forward, the clinking noise as it hit the tile floor being followed by a soft hiss once it detonated. Shouts, complaints and curses were heard all across the ground floor, followed by the sound of coughing of those who were themselves victims of the effects of the gas grenade.

    In the meantime, the terrorists burst across the waiting area through the thickening gray toxic cloud while they kept firing their weapons at the ceiling. With their masks secured, they moved unhindered by the smoke toward the reception area. Even if they could not see quite well beyond the registration desk, they knew the inside of the building by hearth, having practiced that maneuver so many times it was conceivable they had dreamt about it tens of times.

    "Everyone, get down on the floor!" shouted their leader. "Now, now! Come on, people!"

    One of the security guards near the desk was lucid enough to respond to their aggressive actions, as he reached for the holster on his belt willing to pull out his gun. To his misfortune, one of the armed tugs anticipated his reaction and pointed his rifle at him.

    "Don't even think about it!" he barked at the guard, raising his weapon to take aim at him. "On the round! Now!" He then pointed with his rifle at the partner beside him, who seemed ready to perform the same move as his partner. "Both of you! Drop your weapons!"

    Unwillingly, the guards obeyed and dumped their pistols as they threw themselves to the floor, their hands on the back of their heads. Two tugs kept an eye on them as they kicked their guns out of their reach, the rest of the aggressors either taking positions on the ground floor or heading for the service stairs. Their leader, meanwhile, had jumped over the registration desk, and was now waving his menacing M4 carabine before the terrified eyes of the employees who were present there.

    "Away from the desk!" he demanded, his words addressed in particular to a woman who was about to conduct some sort of reckless action. "Put your hands on the ground and don't even think of doing something stupid!" The women swallowed hard, his body shaking as she did what she was told. The other employees around her followed suit, fearing for their own welfare.

    And with that, Amaterasu's men managed to get control of the ground floor of Cytek Headquarters, the most well-known symbol of an enterprise as corrupt as sinister which could not be allowed to move forward.

    Of course, that had only been the beginning of it.



    All this situation was being recorded by the security cameras of the building. There were dozens of screens embedded in the walls of the monitoring room, each one connected by a computer terminal to a series of cameras that rotated from time to time in a pre-determined way. The single man overseeing the monitors at that moment gazed in disbelief at the events succeeding before him for a couple of seconds, until he accepted what was happening was real. Until a few moments ago, the man had been keeping an eye on the mission carried out by the two young Yoshimura twins inside the building. Now, he was witnessing as the same terrorists his organization was trying to catch seized Cytek Headquarters by sheer force and terror.

    But it would be harder for him to come to terms with what followed.

    On the fifth floor, another series of hooded tugs had stormed into the building after wrecking the windows with their firearms. After a rotation of cameras in the feed of one of the screens, the monitoring operator gazed at the tug as he handled a submachine gun to a security guard in the area. What the hell had that been? As he caught on the fact he had no need to think it through, he resolved to convey the situation both to his colleagues and his superiors by radio. Just as he laid his hands on it prone to open a communication channel, another guard entered the office.

    "There are terrorists trying to take over the building!" he said to his coworker as he rotated his chair to him. "They even have some guards on their side! We have to communicate this to the others and call the police!"

    "That won't be necessary," he replied with a cold voice.

    How was it unnecessary? There were a group of goddamn terrorists walking around the central building of the most powerful energy company in the world as if nothing! Even some of their colleagues seemed to be plotting with them...

    Colleagues.

    With the same speed with which that thought crossed his brain, the poor man became conscious of his fate as a merciless bullet pierced his heart and came out the other end, along with the last apex of the naive guard's life.



    For the moment, everything was going according to plan, or so it seemed to the leader of the Amaterasu's main assault force. He was a smart, detail-oriented man who had planned every single detail of the operation in advance, so he was confident his men would do their job just fine. But like every man who paid attention to all the variables that could arise in such a situation, he knew that there was always room for unforeseen events. That was the reason why he himself had led the assault on the ground floor, one of the key points of his entire operation.

    There were other elements to which he had paid particular attention. For instance, he had commanded his men to spend the night in mid-level hotels, even those who had a wife or children, all linked to the designated meeting points by local transportation such as buses or trains. As for the operatives who attacked from the roof of the commercial emporium, most of them had begun working there some months ago under false identities. Others merely wandered around the mall feigning interest in the shop windows of the numerous clothing stores, thus complementing any necessary observation regarding the movements on the area prior to executing the operation, their faces reasonably covered before the constant surveillance of the cameras. The trucks in which the ground squadrons were transported had been stolen from a shipping company, their plates being replaced by false ones. Everything was to attenuate any investigation that would initiate once concluded the operation. After all, their previous movements would be analyzed to the exhaustion, and there was also the possibility some of his comrades would be captured during or at the end of the incident's completion. Even for that he already had a plan in mind.

    "Mitsuhide-One to Leader. The monitoring center is secured," caught him by surprise a voice squawking over his radio. He was one of the guards on his payroll, who like so many others had infiltrated the company a few months before. It was probable he had already dispatched the operator of the cameras, turning himself into the eyes that contemplated the progress of most of the operation from an enviable spot. "All men in position. Ietsuna groups hostages on the fourth floor, Tsunayoshi in the fifth and Yoshimune in the fifteenth. The rest of the guards on our side are taking control of the upper floors."

    Excellent. Just as he had supposed, everything was going perfectly well. However, there were only two relevant things the guard had not informed him. One of them, of course, was beyond his duties as a monitoring guard. Because none of the people who were in that building could even dare to assume a final squad of terrorists was mobilizing through the sewer system. They carried flashlights attached to the handguard of their rifles, said light beams providing them with some clarity amidst the gloom. There would also be rats along with many other pestilences, but that was not going to be a problem for his men. They were solely focused on fulfilling their mission. Their loyalty was only to their cause and to themselves, not to any nation or superiors whose notion of good or evil fitted nothing but their own interests. Nor it was for their leader, who would not sacrifice anything for his former masters, let alone his very life. But his renewed purpose was something for which he was willing to do anything in his power without second thoughts, regardless of the methods or the apparent consequences. And from there he was able to draw his strength, from his own commitment to his cause.

    "Charges placed," squawked a voice through the radio. "Yoshinobu, proceeded to cut off the power supply." It was the leader of Hidetada squad. They were the ones moving through the sewers, and it was obvious they had reached their goal. At the time, two of them must have been placing gray claylike material on the corresponding wall to then stuck a blasting cap into the explosive material. The rest of them should have pressed their backs against the sides of said wall, keeping their distance from the place of the explosion to come.

    "Affirmative, Hidetada," replied Yoshinobu leader. His squad was in charge of positioning a couple of charges on the power transformers located on one of the basement levels. They needed to deprive the building of electricity, which the terrorists no longer required for their mission. "Ready for detonation. Three, two, one... Clear!"

    The leader of Amaterasu felt a weak tremor near where he was—just as the lights of the building faded out, feeble emergency lights taking their place. Naturally, he could not help feeling satisfied with the synchronization work his men showed. Hidetada squad ought to have been moving through the smoke resulting from the deafening explosion along with some small plumes of fire, dodging concrete debris that had to be scattered all over the narrow basement room. Next, they would bump into the electrical switchgear towers and LV panels located on the basement of Cytek Prosthetic Annex building. Once they had climbed the emergency stairs, the squadron would run into their final destination: the atrium.

    While there should be no energy as a result of the explosion, several poles connected to independent power generators would provide them with some light. In addition, the skylight in the roof would allow the blaze emitted by the moon to illuminate the area thanks to the clear sky. Underneath was a platform in the center of the room, the open area stretching across all six floors of the building. While it would still show some traces of its restructuring process, it had to look presentable enough. There would be, of course, some debris, building materials, and stacked plasterboards scattered here and there. Over the platform had to be a blunt object of significant size covered by a white cloth, a series of stairs used by those who worked on it at its sides along with four mechanical arms rested around it. There would also be some opened containers, power transformers, a series of computers and a few oxygen tanks neatly organized near the prominent platform.

    It was evident their leader had made sure that everything was ready. After all, that object in conjunction with a device that had been placed in one of the upper floors would be key when the members of the Ergon project—or their pawns working among the Sentinels, especially the so-called 'Vigilantes'—would soon be forced to intervene and take the matter into their own hands. But his men were prepared to face them and had something their enemies were not aware of, their own ace up their sleeves. It had been orchestrated for a few months and that very same night would be revealed to the whole world.

    "This is Hidetada-one," said the squad leader through the radio. "We'll get to work on our little project right away. You guys buy us as much time as possible with the police."

    "Affirmative, Hidetada," the leader replied. "It's time to take care of the students." In effect, he had something reserved for his most valued hostages.



    On one of the hallways of the seventh floor, the students of Shibuya High School found themselves victims of a sudden panic. The visit had gone without major altercations... until the electricity had been put out. Devoid of white and shimmering lights, the corridors of Cytek Headquarters now looked pale and gloomy amid the feeble greenish illumination of the emergency lights system. What had happened? What could have been all that fuss that was heard minutes before? Why where there security guards running from one side to the other, nobody bothering to give them any kind of explanation? While Kazuto was asking himself all these questions like the rest of his classmates, he was not as frightened or nervous as they were. Sure, something strange was happening, but as long as he stayed relaxed, he would stand a better chance to try to figure out the situation and act accordingly. And still, the young Sugiyama was aware his pulse had quickened as a result of the uncertainty he was facing.

    One of the security guards approached the woman who had wandered them through the facilities. The teachers among them joined the conversation, exchanging a few words in a low voice until the blond-haired woman walked towards the students, gesturing them to gather around her.

    "I need you to pay attention to me", she said in a composed manner. "There is some kind of situation in progress, and we were asked to go to an office and wait there until whatever is happening concludes. I ask all of you please to go to the room. I know this is not what you expected, but in these situations, the best thing you can do is to stay calmed and follow my instructions."

    None of his classmates seemed to relax at her words, but they followed her instructions anyway. Their teachers pointed the path to undergo and went along them all the way. As Kazuto fell behind, he caught sight of Raisuke looking around in panic, as though the walls or the ceiling were to provide him with the answer everyone was seeking. Even Nozomi was anxious. She gulped and seemed as if she was telling herself to breathe normally. "What the hell is going on?" she muttered, insecure.

    "Nothing good, I suppose," Kazuto concluded. He then laid his eyes on her friend, concerned. Her forehead looked sweaty, her body tense and fragile. It was just the opposite of the Nozomi he had seen regularly since he was six years old. "You okay?"

    "Yeah, it's nothing, just—"

    Then there was a shout, as the crackle of gunfire was heard across the floor.

    In a heartbeat, a man dressed in dark clothes appeared out of nowhere, his face hid under a hood and behind a devilish mask. The reflections of the emergency lights glimmered dully on the dusky tube-shaped object he carried in his hand. A similar figure followed him from behind, and then another, and soon there were multiple menacing shadows all around the students. Right next to the female guide, the security guard who had talked with her moments before drew his pistol without hesitation. It was then that Kazuto noticed the objects the shadows brandished were, in fact, M4 carabines—all of them now aiming at the man whose remarkable physical condition looked now reduced before the imposing short rifles.

    "Put down that weapon, now!" yelled one of the dark figures.

    "Drop your weapon! Drop it!" urged another.

    The situation had escalated and become tense from one moment to another. The guard seemed to understand what was going on, his eyes snapping from the terrorists to the students behind him. Perhaps he feared for the consequences his possible action would have on the welfare of the minors he ought to protect. After a brief moment of conflict and doubt, he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth in frustration as he loosened the grip of his firearm. Once it fell to the ground, one of the terrorists snatched it as one of his colleagues forced the guard to his knees and restrained his hands with plastic handcuffs.

    Kazuto gazed at the situation with fear as he felt a shiver run down his spine, the muscles in his body tensing in response. A flood of terror seized him, all of a sudden, for the situation he was facing had become clear. He remembered those masks, that imposing and frightening attitude with which those men seemed to take everything that was within their reach by storm. Amaterasu. The despicable beasts who were responsible for the death of his parents and the current condition of his brother. The young man wanted the hatred he felt for them to take over his body and force him to take a stand. But his fragile casing was insignificant in the face of their power. There was nothing he could do about it.

    It was then that Kazuto looked at his friend.

    Nozomi looked a little pale, her eyes narrowed, her body staggering as if she were dizzy. It seemed as if she was about to pass out.

    "Nozomi!" Kazuto shouted.

    The energetic young woman collapsed in the blink of an eye—but she was lucid enough to throw herself against the wall, resting her hand on it to avoid falling down hard. This time it was Kazuto who did not hesitate. He rushed to her aid, grabbing her by the hand to pull her to her feet. Unfortunately, he was not the only one who did something about the situation. An armed terrorist suddenly appeared at his side, as one of the teachers of his class hurried to place herself between him and the students in her charge.

    "Please, don't hurt them!" she cried. "She just needs to relax and—"

    The terrorist was in no mood for arguments, so he brushed her aside. Nozomi glanced at the shadowy figure, her eyes wide open before the menacing man who was now grabbing hold of her arm in an offhand manner. "Don't make me waste my time, kid," he spat, rudely. "Get yourself together!"

    The young Sugiyama did not know how or why, but at that moment, he decided he would not allow him that much. He had already had enough of those of his kind. The terrorist was scaring his friend. He was even hurting her. There was nothing to think about. He clenched his fist, willing to take action. "Don't put your hands on her, you peace of—"

    Before Kazuto's overflowing emotions got the best of him, the terrorist struck him in the face with the buttstock of his rifle. Kazuto felt a sharp pain along with a burning sensation in one of his cheeks, the hollow trace of the blunt object still sinking the skin in his jaw after he took the blow.

    "It seems we have a hero here, huh?" the terrorist mocked with arrogance.

    A commanding voice prevented him from carrying on with the strife. "That's enough, soldier!"

    All eyes in the corridor turned to the unknown figure that had arrived at the scene. In the end, it turned out to be another member of Amaterasu. But unlike the rest of them, the mask under his hood was not red, but golden. As Kazuto's teacher helped to regain his footing, the terrorist before him adopted a rigid and nearly diminishing attitude unlike that he had shown so far. It seemed this golden-masked figure was their leader.

    "Stop messing around with them and stick to the plan for once," he said to his subordinate, severe.

    "Yes, sir!" replied the terrorist, nervous.

    The other members of Amaterasu waved their weapons, pointing out the path to take for their newly acquired hostages. The female guide took the initiative and was the first to follow suit. One by one, the students fell behind her and head for the staircases.

    Nozomi, seemly recovered, gazed at the bruise Kazuto had on his face as they strode to whatever destination awaited them. "Are you okay, Kazuto? You shouldn't have done that."

    The cold hand of his friend rested on his cheek, contrasting with the heat that had remained of the wound he had suffered. "And you shouldn't be asking me that after what happened to you," he replied, feeling ashamed. "You are my friend, Nozomi."

    Nozomi allowed herself a crooked smile. Once Kazuto reached the staircase, he moved his head look back at the leader of the terrorists. He was removing the intricate mask off his face, and the tousled pitch-black hair that framed it was the first thing the young student saw. And then, Kazuto felt his mouth hanging open as he tried to process what occurred next. He was able to spot a large scar that strained from above his left eye to the top of his neck. As he jerked his head further in Kazuto's direction, it became evident who the man was. Takeshi Uchida. The man who commanded the terrorist forces in the assault on the building was the CEO of Cytek? How was that even possible?

    The young man overhead part of his conversation. "I hate these things," he said with distaste to one of his fellow comrades.

    "They make you look intimidating," he replied, smiling. "Still, are you sure about that?"

    "It won't be long before they discover I'm behind all this." He turned his face to gaze at all of the men under his command. "Same goes for all of you." One them of joined hin and whispered something to his ear. "Missing?" said Takeshi, startled.

    What could he be referring to? Then, Kazuto remembered. The Yoshimura twins. They had separated from the group before they headed to the seventh floor and he had never seen them again ever since. Only God knew what had happened to them since the whole nightmare had begun.