Yuri Worlds

[95] Crack

So much needed to be said, even though a waterfall of words could barely attempt to encapsulate all the dark and horrible things stretched out before them with a false, white, heavenly countenance.

Misaki could take a small comfort in learning, even though it was through their captor, that Maharu had a spirit and soul that persisted beyond and couldn’t be contained by whatever powers these monsters imagined they had. She and the others celebrated Yuka’s adult, forever name aspirations, even though it was mired in uncertainty about whether her feelings toward it had ever been genuine.

Turning over her thoughts several times, Yuka eventually resolved, "I’m gonna take the name Cerberus and make it my own. It’s not theirs anymore. It’s mine now, and it’ll have true meanings only for me. Although I need to make sure my moms know. I hope we can find them and they’re all right."

They cheered on her resolution and circled with curiosity about this alleged boyish form she tested. Yuka wasn’t ready to make that one public, especially since she was still wearing Haruka’s face. It probably didn’t matter at this point. They had been tracking them, so any possible surprise seemed unlikely. She was just able to tolerate the drill point of discomfort that this form constituted.

Stories of the nursery brought sharp ambivalence between cute allusions and uncertainty about how to reconcile them with little black ink creatures. Yuka shifted away from the center of the group. Misaki knew where her worries lay. It was one thing to discuss the fact that there was a strangeness about their friend; it was another to see the mask of Haruka she wore completely peeled off. Of those assembled, Naoko treated the notion of the nursery the warmest, envisioning all sorts of curious animals with humanoid aspects. The complication that Maharu had been part rabbit barely came up in the tangle of other questions. There were far bigger matters to deal with.

Each truth was absorbed, like a rippling explosion covered by leagues of water sheltering it from the surface. No one showed their true feelings; true feelings seemed quite impossible beyond a cautious venture past denial and toward stunned uncertainty.

The structure of the next confinement area was different than the mass collections they had witnessed so far. Instead, this area was partitioned like cells from an old thriller movie. And the inhabitants were awake but in a daze. The most unsettling aspect was that there were so many girls confined to these spaces, but none of them were anyone they knew. Had they been taken from their world, adjacent ones, or ones they never imagined existed? So many questions had to be left unanswered as Bianka guided them around the sharp, almost standard turns toward a destination unknown.

It wasn’t long before they arrived at an immense holding area for Miss Okura. All of Miss Okura.

A crowd of practically a hundred iterations of the old lady wandered, shuffled, and huddled in a variety of positions as though they were a captured, impossible family of identical twins. Several girls took steps back, almost to the point of stumbling over one another in abject horror. Despite the overall identical appearance, not all of the Miss Okuras were the same. Quite a few of them were old, especially towards the center of the space. They had pale, faded, practically ivory horns atop each of their heads.

They had the appearance of being well into retirement age or even older, with vast wrinkles, liver spots, hunched-over backs, and wispy white hair. Some barely resisted the urge to vomit at the horror show. The traveler trio didn’t see anything that would be too out of the ordinary back home, but they could imagine how the girls of this world felt never having seen so much as a wrinkle in their lives. Naoko, once again, was the one most quietly fascinated, with a slow stroke of her chin.

It didn’t take long before one of the inhabitants of this human cage noticed the group, and then the rest of them turned with unsettling efficiency. Their faces weren’t stern or angry, but the encompassing strangeness felt more like a horde of zombies than a swarm of tired old women. Several of them coughed one after the other and ambled around as a particular one at the center slowly got to her feet, helped up by others nearby.

What emerged from the center of the circle made even Misaki take a step back in concern. It was hardly recognizable as a woman, appearing more like the frail, skeletal shape of an ancient monk who fasted on barely a cup of rice a month, with their skin turning to something more like beef jerky. Misaki did her best not to flinch but still scrunched her brow.

Despite her appearance, the voice that emerged from that Miss Okura had more strength than any of them expected from the barely human shape. "Hello, girls. I'm sorry you have to see me like this. It’s punishment, by them. Stretch me out as far as I can bear. Soon, all the little pieces of me will start dying, and the rest will go with them. It’s a good death… That monster can’t get back what I took from her. Plenty from both arms. Sadly, she survived, and she’s waiting to see the last of me waste away. Won’t be too long."

Yuka shook her head and interrogated the old lady, "Why? Why the hell did you accept the company? You’re responsible for not fighting them with every moment and breath you have. You kept them from us and made it seem like everything was fine; everyone was free and happy. You’re as much a monster as them. Your granddaughter, your daughter, and your daughter-in-law—you sacrificed them, and who knows how many more lives just to appease the company!"

The husk of the old woman gently touched her hand against the glass. "I did. I know. I did it because I was afraid they would take even more. I don’t expect forgiveness or for you to understand… Any of you to understand the choices I made. But I did it out of hope—desperate hope—that they’d leave us alone. They made promises. Lies. I’m sorry. I never intended for any of you to inherit my terrible burden. I just wanted to protect our community and everyone I love. I failed…"

So many questions lingered among the girls about the details and uncertainties of what the old woman had done and what deals she had made with the terrible people responsible for all of this. Yuka wanted to blast those questions and punctuate each with an angry stab against the glass until her finger went through. She could do it. But she laid her hand against it instead and sighed.

"I saw Maharu’s spirit with her moms. She got away; she’s beyond their reach. I hope I see her again someday, no matter when that day comes. She’s alright… I feel that, and I trust that, even though it’s a shattered hole inside my heart." Her fist slid down the glass without striking it.

Breathing raspily but with renewed ease, the old woman quietly thanked her over and over, with echoes from her other selves bowing their heads and mouthing the same words. They were going to leave her when Bianka perked up and noted that she could shut off the security to the room holding Miss Okura.

The old lady waved her hand and shook her head, sending more echoes through the decrepit crowd. She warned them not to waste their time on an old fool, but Yuka urged Bianka to do it. More pillars of the community to help out. She wasn’t going to let her just fade away into dust. She had an obligation. Instead of fighting this point, Miss Okura warily dipped her head and consented with an overwhelming majority of her other selves.

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Bianka took several minutes to get the process going. Once it was set, things around and within the chamber cycled and shifted, with the implications of distant, heavy machinery sliding into and out of place like a world engine picking up steam. As it zoomed forth and away, the chorus of Okuras swiftly blinked out of existence, uttering nary a sigh as they went.

As the number reduced to mere dozens, the frailty and weakness fell away, and each concentrated into a fuller, brighter version more reminiscent of the original. This effect concentrated as the last of her doppelgängers blinked out, leaving only one restored but not without subtractions. Her bright green hair carried a taint of whiteness streaking across it like frozen lightning in a web-like form. Loose dips and hollows of flesh would’ve been perfectly normal back home but looked like a perversion of human nature in this world. Her hands were also worn and weathered as she shimmered away her horns.

“You don’t have to hide that,” Yuka urged her.

"Personal preference, if you please. A last gasp of vanity. We all have things we need to hide sometimes, for reasons great and small. Please, just let me have this." Yuka grumbled and tightened her jaw, but she didn’t contest the old lady’s wishes.

Despite everything that happened lately and plenty of reasons to just avoid her, several of the girls approached and stuck close to the old lady, making sure that she was all right without assistance, had water, and whatever else she needed. Roaming purposefully according to Bianka‘s continued, practically blind seer directions, they soon also found Ayame placed into a similar trap to what Yuka had to break out of, but clustered in several pieces across her entire body. Heavy stocks, looping chains, and a pale gag. She seemed like a dungeon prisoner from long ago.

Untangling all those pieces appeared to be the easy part, as Bianka relayed that whatever broadcast mechanism had been used on the nurse when they all froze at the festival was still active. No matter how they cut her loose or diverted the signal, it seemed painfully clear that the forces watching them would absolutely know something had been interrupted. Yuka found herself perfectly fine with just smashing that connection and accepting the consequences. But it would mean consequences for all of them, and she couldn’t do that.

With this whole group, Misaki hoped that they might be able to brainstorm something to overcome this obstacle. But nothing settled to the surface until Chika had an idea. She pondered with Bianka about whether a local audio signal might be able to override what was happening. And what if that signal was a busy, flowing spoken word response that didn’t slow down, stop, or allow even a moment for processing? Her proposal focused on the signal clashing with what was being sent through, and then perhaps they could continue this cacophony like playing two radio stations at the same time. So long as the other end received at least one signal, maybe they didn’t have to know anything was wrong.

Once again, Bianca had a whole host of problems and complaints with his proposal. Unfortunately, this appeared to be their best option.

Chika stepped forward and prepared herself without going through the full, typical stretch of vocal exercises before many previous streams.

"Hello and welcome. I am happy to be here, and I have amazing plans for everything we’re going to do. The first thing I need to ask, though, is: has anyone seen a pink roll? Now, that may sound like an unconventional flavor and color choice on a cinnamon roll, but there’s actually a little bit of history associated with the term and where it’s going to take us tonight." Whenever it seemed like she was about to run out of something to say, she pivoted to a new thought and pressed it just as strongly without pausing to take more than a few hidden breaths in any of the long sentences. Her stamina for this relentless version of a stream was not immense, but she kept going until Bianka gave her notice that was enough.

Dragging Ayame required the efforts of everyone. When pulling her from that spot, it was clear that something or someone was intentionally holding her in place, as though her feet were filled with lead. Yuka added as much muscular oomph as she could spare from her internal structure without revealing the secrets within her skin. That was just enough to liberate Ayame and bring her over to the hallway to slowly recover. Everything was going perfectly well until Bianka chimed in that she knew where to find the Sasakis.

Yuka didn’t hesitate in grabbing the blonde, making absolutely sure that she knew where they were, and setting off practically alone to hunt down her moms. Bianka had to remain near Ayame to keep the jamming up. That was fine with Yuka. But not with anyone else.

As she tried to leave by herself, the rest of the group pulled after her, as though bound by a rope that only they could see. Yuka tried to come up with excuses for why she had to do this all by herself, but Misaki, in particular, wasn’t listening and practically dragged her partner to the floor before she would let her go. Softly and nervously, Yuka sighed and conceded that they would do this together too.

Oddly, this section of the facility had a simple green stripe snaking along the walls and nothing else foreboding this deep in their trek. The space where the Sasakis were kept had a style reminiscent of an indoor miniature golf course, aside from the blank, colorless constancy. The room was arrayed like a stripped-down kitchen with simple partitions to suggest a bedroom, finally, a bathroom towards the back, and a living area. It overall appeared as if aliens constructing a human zoo had a decent comprehension of what a human domicile should contain but no concept of colors or layout.

The moms puttered about in the back towards the rough kitchen area with anxious little motions and lingering smiles shared with one another. They seemed the same as always. All their color was restored, a stark contrast to the empty tones on all sides of them. Yuka released a long breath and let her sister’s form go to restore her normal appearance—no additions or subtractions.

When the small group stepped through the door, which Bianka effortlessly unlocked, both of the moms turned in their direction and warmly welcomed the arrivals.

Relief tinged with quiet confusion swelled out when they saw Miss Okura, looking worse for wear. They moved quickly to support the still-unresponsive Ayame and provide her with a place to rest. Kosame was greeted with a cheerful smile, along with her close partner, Naoko.

Concern surged again at Bianka‘s shut eyes and drifting presence. And the health and welfare of their travel guests were foremost among their concerns. Kei intuitively noticed that Chika had been crying recently and that the emotion still pooled around her eyes. Fuyuki comforted Namiko, seeing the same emotional shadow. Misaki wasn’t neglected either, with an emphasis on whether she was hungry and how tired and poorly rested she appeared.

Then they came to Yuka, looking exactly like she did the whole night at the festival.

“And, who are you, my dear? I hope you’re alright too. Do you need anything?”

Yuka’s moms looked at her kindly but without a trace of recognition, as though they had never met her.