Four more years passed. Her personality has shaped, and her clothing is more daring. The same goth-inspired clothing now holds hints of emo and new age; a skull design with flames around it as a logo to her shirt, a garter belt around her leg, and a chain extending her shortened skirt. The silky red long-laced gloves, cross earrings, and necklaces complete her look.

As she grew, she ended up in the wrong crowd. She got caught up in the Cult of the Remnants. At first, it was a good way to earn money, a way to support her mother when her father wasn’t present, but it started to get more intense, from petty mischief hooligans to a full-on brainwashed cultist. The club approaches a whole new world of hate.

The Remnants rose, and the gang was in an uproar. They sought the power of the void, the place where all Remnants drew their power. A choker around their necks with a dangling charm was the tell of any Remnant; some regular people or cultists like these even made it a fashion statement. They believe that one can be chosen to hold these powers.

Usagi thinks it’s all a load of crap. Something used to control more people and gather them around their cause. Nobody knows why they were chosen, and nobody can even say it was under their control. Remnant powers and their chosen vessels are a mystery.

She sits in an old rustic chair, her feet kicked up on a barrel. Their base of operations or worship is more akin to a tavern in its last days than a glorious place. There are pews, a podium, and all of the work of people who believe in something, but she thought the overall atmosphere spoke for itself. This isn’t a place of beauty or divinity but an old beat-up delusion.

She is waiting for her payment. Payment went through the cult from one of Mr. Nuke Happy’s underlings, a low, low one. He is an older man in his 50s. He reeks of the scent of old leeks and is as charming as a long-dead cabbage. In his younger years, he worked for his predecessor before he passed on. He is the only Old-World Remnant left. She doesn’t interact with him; instead, she is paid by the leader of the cult, Seeker. All money is funneled through him.

The money going to the group means smaller payouts. The job is simple, provide inside information about certain wants of the Remnants. One of them happens to be her school. She doesn’t understand why they want this information, but the money, even with a smaller payout, is too good to pass in her situation.

Seeker makes his way over, a bag of cash, and drops a wad of yen on the barrel.

“Put your feet down. Be respectful of our sanctuary,” he demands.

“Whatever.” She grabs the money, fanning it to make sure it is the correct amount.

“All right, I’ll be taking my leave.” She stands up.

“Where are you going? Do you not wish to partake in worship?” Seeker asks.

“Well, actually, no. I have somewhere else important to be, and the payment has been made. That’s all you needed, yeah?”

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“Is not the most important place here? In the presence of the Remnants watching over?” His zealous nature shines through. The others in the pews peer over.

“Well, I mean, they’re not actually here. Sure, there’s a statue of one there, but that’s not her.” She refers to a statue of a Remnant. She doesn’t know who they are; she never pays attention during their sermons, and she is as much a shadow figure as Mr. Nuke Happy.

“Do not speak blasphemy of them, child! They are the great chosen people who shall lead us to a better and brighter world!” he snaps.

“Yeah, well, maybe next time, all right? Just got something super important to do, as I said before.” She starts to leave, and then a glaze of water blocks her path. It acts as a security bar. Her heart sinks. There’s only one person capable of this. A Remnant named Mr. Pond.

“Tithes?” Mr. Pond asks.

“Yes, yes, we have them here!” Seeker scurries.

The information they collected is on the altar. They trust to pay them before receiving the information. It is a test of loyalty.

Mr. Pond swiftly approaches it, gathering all the files, papers, USB, and other formats acquired. He dislikes Usagi’s previous attitude. He uses his ability to shift to water and ends up beside her. His flesh drips liquid, and his clothes moistened. The stench is unbearable, but she doesn’t dare shield her nose.

He speaks to her, his voice affected by his ability, giving a slurred, bubbly tone.

“Why not stay and worship a while? You wouldn’t want to disappoint everyone, would you?”

Usagi thinks him repulsive. Balding, sloppy, and smelling of drenched swamp water. She holds her breath before answering.

“I have something important to do.” The room is silent. A bug could be heard a mile away. She pauses, almost regretting her decision to stand up and say what is right to herself. These are dangerous people, people who can kill any normal person like a fly. She lingers, standing firm.

“Time is a commodity we cannot waste. You’re right. Go,” he says. He lets her go and sneaks out the door to his right.

Given permission from him, nobody dares question going back to their bearings. There is a battle in her mind; she hates that she needs permission to leave, yet she isn’t an idiot. She leaves with the confidence she held from the conversation.

#

The group of three rummaged around the room, seeking paper. Ishimoto manages to find one, setting it out on a nearby table for everyone to see. Returning with a pencil, Okazaki taps it on the desk.

“Right, so we need to draw out a plan. Things we need and such.” Okazaki draws a line down the middle.

“That’s correct. Unfortunately, we don’t know exactly what we’re getting into, so we need to make logical guesses. I suggest we take flashlights.” His logic laid around it being nighttime. The building holds lamps around it, but it is always dark from the inside past a certain time.

“I suggest we take some of my pocket knives. I have a few in my collection. If things come to worst, we ain’t getting caught defenseless,” he says.

“Probably not a bad idea. Hopefully, we don’t need to use them, but we’ll add them to the list. Usagi? What do you suggest.”

The two boys look at her. She grabs a chair, scrapping it on the floor, and flops herself into it. She crosses her legs and closes her eyes.

“This is risky, guys. We might get killed.” Her mind lies on the possibility of them getting hurt. She hates the idea with passion.

“We are aware of that, Usagi. But if we don’t do anything, Shoji will die. It’s a dilemma, and the best choice here is to risk this.”

“Yeah, I ain’t gonna’ have that on my conscience. So we have to go save him.”

“You guys aren’t going to sway away from this at all, are you?”

They both sway their heads in affirmation.

“Well then, in that case, I suggest we take a box of matches.”

“Matches?”

“Yes. Trust me on it.”