“What now, boss?”

Kusa crouched low, her knees pulled up to her chest and her eyes squeezed tightly shut. The voice seemed to come from right next to her. Ice filled her belly and beads of sweat popped out of her pores. She pried her eyes open, afraid of what she might see. With an electric jolt, fresh fear and frustration surged through her chest. The men were much closer now, almost close enough to reach out and touch. The one she mentally tagged as “Baldy” looked frustrated as he waited for the “Boss’s” instructions. The one she thought of as “Slick” watched the other two impassively.

Kusa wanted to squeeze her eyes closed again, to pretend they didn’t exist, that she wasn’t there – that she was anywhere else at all.

Her mind raced. There had to be a way out, but what?

She couldn’t run; they’d catch her in an instant. Individually, she was sure she could outfight any of the men. Even as a group, she probably had a fair chance – but not without causing too big a scene to get safely away from and not without the likelihood of someone uninvolved getting hurt. The area was too close and too crowded. She couldn’t fight here and if she couldn’t fight, they would overpower her, drag her back…

“Boss” stared thoughtfully off into the distance, his brow furrowed. The gadget in his ear beeped continuously, shrill and insistent. Deep-deep-deep-deep! The girl was definitely there.

His hand moved of its own accord, his fingers finding the cool metal of the pay-lockers, trailing over the numbered plates that adorned each locker. He stopped. The plate beneath his fingers was labeled E-23. Next to it, on its right, was E-24. Next to it was… another E-24.

The man grinned mirthlessly. “Got you.”

“Excuse me—“

From within her hiding place, nestled between two banks of lockers, hidden by a simple illusion called a “glamour”, Kusa watched as Boss turned towards the newcomer standing at his elbow. The man who spoke was small and middle-aged, his thinning and graying hair brushed into an unconvincing comb-over. Wearing a slightly disheveled suit, brown and off the rack, he carried a briefcase in one hand and the weight of the world on his shoulders. With a tired expression on his face, he pointed a finger at the wall of metal cubbyholes and continued, “Could you scoot over so I can get to my locker, please?”

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The thug’s lip curled up in a muted snarl as he motioned to his compatriots. “This area’s closed for maintenance.”

“What?” The eyes in the sleepy face widened. “You’re kidding, right? Listen, I don’t have time for jokes—“

The other two men latched onto the shabby interloper, each man grabbing him by an arm. Between the two of them, they easily lifted the man’s feet several centimeters from the ground. Alarm in his voice, he cried, “Hey, what are you doing?!”

It was the miracle Kusa prayed for. She leapt to her feet and dashed from her hiding space, releasing the illusion. The column of fake lockers she created dissolved into a miniature universe of glittering particles behind her as she threw her full weight—what little there was—into the Boss, knocking him aside. He staggered and nearly fell, but pivoted and managed to catch himself against the bank of lockers.

Without missing a step, Kusa snatched the briefcase from the hands of the startled salaryman, calling out, “Borrowing this! Please and thanks!” and smashed it into the face of the slick-haired thug, careful not to release her grip on the heavy case. He gasped and unclenched his huge hand from the salaryman’s arm. Kusa felt for this poor, tired-looking man who innocently walked into her trouble, but with all the witnesses around, she was certain that nothing much would happen to him. She knew that wouldn’t be the case if the three men managed to get their hands on her, though.

Baldy released his grip on his hostage, pushing the terrified, confused man away, and lunged for Kusa, who danced nimbly away from his grasp. She ran a few steps further to put distance between them, then spun like a discus-thrower and hurled the briefcase in his direction. It sailed through the air with a faint whistling sound, which turned abruptly into a smack as it hit Baldy solidly in the face, stopping him in his tracks. He yelled out, as much from surprise as pain, fell to one knee and threw up his hands to cover his face from further attack. Despite the danger, Kusa allowed herself a grin as she turned and ran across the platform.

Slick made to help his companion up. “You okay?”

“Forget him!” their boss roared. “Get her! Move your asses!”

With a look of resentment, Baldy grabbed Slick’s proffered hand and lurched to his feet. The pair raced after Kusa, now somewhere on the far side of the platform, already hidden by the crowd. A moment later, they, too, disappeared.

The man in the expensive suit cast a withering look at the confused, bruised businessman. He grabbed up the smaller man’s briefcase from where it landed and thrust it into his arms. “You didn’t see a thing,” he growled and hurried after his men.