“This Dungeon is cleared.” the large man announced, causing his teammates to cheer. With a practiced hand he flicked out the cylinder of his revolver, dumped the empty shells, and thumbed in replacement bullets.
“We can leave the rest to the Cleaner.” He added, tucking his gun into his shoulder holster.
“The ‘rat-picker’?” One of his men interjected with a frown. “I don’t even know why we bother keeping him with us.” He was a tall, slender man, and his weapon of choice was a pump-action shotgun.
The large man turned to the slender man and waved his hand dismissively. “He does his job, and he gets paid for it, just the same as us.” He tugged on his thick beard. “His problem is that he’s just not strong enough to clear a Dungeon reliably.”
There were a number of disgruntled mutters at this. Why should they keep someone so weak in their party? He couldn’t even enter a Dungeon, after all.
The large man let the complaints wash over him. Regardless of what they thought, he knew that Cleaning was important to Dungeon-clearing.
It was disappointing that his friend couldn’t stand the magical pressure of Dungeon-clearing, but he did his job well.
*****
It wasn’t too long ago that without warning, ‘Dungeons’ began appearing without warning, all over the world. Dense with magical power, animals, plants, and even people were sucked into them and transformed into ‘monsters’.
Countries deployed their militaries and were successfully able to defeat many of the larger dungeons with the help of those that could use ‘magic’, a mysterious power that allowed the user to withstand the strange pressure that seemed to crush the life out of those that ventured into them unknowingly.
The large Dungeons were defeated (or sometimes managed) by the military, the smaller dungeons that didn’t require large numbers of troops were left to PMCs that were regulated by a certain global agency.
Of course, none of this was important to twenty-four year old Lieutenant Kashiwagi Misaki; what was important to her was a missing high school girl, Shihoko Aoi.
Aoi had last been seen when she’d clocked out of her job at the local Demmy’s, a family-style restaurant that was somewhat popular in Tokyo.
“When was it she was last seen?” She asked the manager, a somewhat rotund man who was going bald. Off to the side a very tall foreigner with braided blonde hair and a short beard was pushing a mop.
“I think it would be easiest to show you the schedule.” The manager offered, and she nodded. The two patrolmen with her nodded while looking around the restaurant as if Aoi would suddenly pop up from under one of the tables.
The manager returned with a copy of the schedule, which she perused. There were a number of co-workers she shared a shift with; she nudged her colleague, who copied the names down on his notepad.
There was one, though, that caught her eye; a foreign name. She asked the manager, who pointed out the tall man that was mopping away in the dining area.
“I wouldn’t recommend talking to him, though. He’s kind of... well, different.”
“Different? How?”
“Well, he doesn’t really pay attention to anything but his job. He doesn’t try to get along with anyone. He probably won’t be able to tell you anything.” He offered with an apologetic shrug.
She eyed the tall man thoughtfully for a moment, and made her decision. He was on the list, he was right there, she could get it done and over with convenient timing.
“I’ll talk to him now.” She replied with a nod.
“Oi, Derek!” The manager called, and the tall man straightened. “This policewoman would like to talk with you.”
The tall man raised an eyebrow at this declaration, tucked the mop into the bucket and trundled it into the back, reappearing with a cloth he wiped his hands with.
He took off his apron, and gestured to one of the larger booths, where she and her two patrolmen joined him.
“Would you like a menu?” He asked politely in Japanese, to which she returned a baffled look to him. After a moment of silence, he shrugged, and called out to the manager for a cup of coffee.
“Lieutenant Kashiwagi Misaki.” She offered by way of introduction, keeping her sentences short and clipped.
He eyed her briefly and then introduced himself. “Cleaner, Derek Richardson. What can I do for you, Misaki?”
There was a lot of grumbling from the patrolmen; they weren’t nearly as used to dealing with foreigners as she was. Derek spoke Japanese comfortably, but didn’t seem to pick up on the necessary social cues.
Her brows drew down at his over-familiar attitude, but kept her composure.
“Are you familiar with Shihoko-san?” She asked.
He blinked at her in confusion. “Who?”
She frowned a little, her brows drawing together.
“Shihoko Aoi-san. She works the same shift as you.” She stated.
The manager came over with the coffee, to which Derek added a little sugar and gave it a stir.
“Hey, manager. Who is Shihoko Aoi?” He asked, his face clear.
The Manager gave the tall man a frown. “You should make it a habit to at least learn the faces of your co-workers.” He argued. “She’s a waitress, a waitress.”
Derek rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Aoi... Aoi...” He muttered, and then shrugged. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.” He took a drink from his coffee. “I don’t... pay attention to who works here. They get hired and they quit. Especially the high school kids. They work for a bit and then they quit. It takes too much effort to get to know everyone that works here, especially when they quit so quickly, so I stopped doing it.”
She gave him a disappointed look. “You really should make an effort to learn the faces of your coworkers.” she admonished, repeating the Demmy’s manager.
Derek tapped his thumb against the edge of his coffee cup thoughtfully. “Aoi’s missing, right? Or dead?”
She frowned at that, and the patrolmen grimaced, reaching for their belts.
“I mean, it’s obvious, when you think about it. Police asking me about a coworker. Something bad’s happened to her.” He shrugged. “I don’t even know what she looks like.”
“You said you were a ‘Cleaner’. What did that mean?” One of the patrolmen spoke up.
Derek snorted. “Isn’t it obvious? My job’s to mop floors and wipe tables.” He let out a breath. “For what it’s worth, I hope you find... what’s-her-name and she’s safe and sound.” He reached below the table and the three police officers tensed up, but he pulled out his wallet.
“You want to see my ‘gaijin card’ right?” He asked, and Misaki narrowed his eyes at the hint of sarcasm at the word ‘gaijin’. It was true that there was a certain amount of prejudice with foreigners; ‘gaijin’ itself was a pejorative slang term.
He opened his wallet and tugged out his card and passed it over; Misaki eyed it briefly and compared it to the man sitting across the table from her. Blonde hair, brown eyes, sort of handsome in an average way, his address was listed. She passed it to her patrolman, who jotted down his address and particulars.
“Thank you.” She offered as she passed it back. He gave her a nod, and his mouth quirked up a bit.
“Do you like yakiniku, Lieutenant?” He asked, that smile on his face. “There’s a good restaurant not far from the station. I get off shift in a couple of hours, if you’re interested.”
Her mouth dropped open a bit at this. He was flirting with her?
He wasn’t bad looking, but there was nothing particularly great about him, either. Aside from his height- he overtopped her by at least thirty centimeters- he seemed the same as any other foreigner in Tokyo.
“I don’t think so.” One of her patrolmen answered for her. “It’s inappropriate and rude to ask her out.”
He shrugged. “Figured I’d take a chance.” He levered himself up from the table, momentarily looming over all of them. “Have a good evening- all of you.”
She pushed herself up from the booth. “Are you buying?” She asked, and he turned back, his mouth opened in shock.
“Of course.” He replied.
“Do they have karaage?” She asked, and he closed his eyes in thought, and then shrugged.
“I’ve got no idea.” He replied.
“I’ll meet you at the station. If they have karaage, you’ve got a date.” She stated flatly, and then, cheeks red, she pushed her arguing patrolmen out of the restaurant.
Outside, there were a flurry of complaints from her officers. It was inappropriate to date a suspect. It was inappropriate for him to try and pick her up. It was risky to go on a date with a stranger. What would her father- the police chief- think about her eating yakiniku with a foreigner?
She shut them all down with a simple statement: He was a suspect; she was getting a free dinner out of it, and it was far more likely that he’d drop his guard in an informal setting and let something slip.
*****
Derek finished his shift, ignoring the badgering of his boss- what was he thinking, asking out a police Lieutenant?- clocked out, unlocked his bike from the back of the store, and rode to his apartment, shocked and amazed that his half-assed pickup on the police Lieutenant worked. She was very attractive, and just having the chance to ask her out was something to be appreciative of.
Sure, it was bad that some girl had gone missing. He hoped she was doing all right. But he also didn’t care.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
It really was hard to keep track of all the people that were hired and fired, hired and quit.
Housewives that wanted to make some spare change, high schoolers that wanted to buy things their parents couldn’t afford, Kids, adults, people that wanted to work at the restaurant for a short period of time, working and quitting, he was the only one that stayed, pushing his mop, wiping down tables and stools, cleaning the beverage machine, adding ice, changing syrup dispensers,cleaning the grills, doing all the behind-the-scenes work.
In a way, it was better than his real job.
*****
His apartment was small, but he didn’t care, he didn’t need much room. A place to sleep, a toilet and shower, a kitchen, a closet, and an internet connection.
He checked his laptop, showered, picked out some semi-casual clothes, made himself presentable, scooped up his phone, and left, twirling his keys on his finger.
*****
He spotted her easily. She was dressed similarly to him in the way that he was dressed semi-formally, a shirt with a collar, slacks, and a jacket draped over her arm, and a purse over her shoulder. He wondered if she was carrying her gun in there.
“Did I keep you waiting?” He asked, and she smirked.
“I just got here.” She replied. “Where’s the restaurant?”
He pointed with his thumb. “About four blocks that way.” He pointed, and gestured to the parking lot- the direction she’d come.
She’d also taken the lead in heading that direction.
“Wait; did you also drive here?” She asked curiously.
He nodded. “I parked over there.” He pointed, and she chuckled.
“I parked just over there.” She pointed.
He barked a laugh. “I thought all the spots over there would be taken.” He shrugged. “Flip to see who drives?” He held up a coin.
She snorted at the offer. “Get in... Derek.” She offered in english, struggling with the natural impulse to address him with his last name.
“Japanese is okay.” He replied, trying to remember her name.
“Is it? I wondered if it was difficult for you.”
He shook his head as he climbed into the passenger seat of her car.
*****
He pointed out the restaurant, she parked, and they went in. The restaurant was somewhat busy, but they were able to get a booth. He managed to order without problems, and he was pleased to see that they did, in fact, have karaage, the japanese version of fried chicken.
*****
The date went well, though it seemed she was trying to probe him for more details about the girl that had gone missing. He answered honestly, repeating the same things he’d told her in Demmy’s.
He was surprised at how much she ate but chose not to make any mention of it.
After a while, and after a significant amount of beer, her tongue really loosened and she began complaining about everything. Her family, her friends, and her coworkers were all pressuring her to get married. The pressures of work. The amount of expectations that were piled on her. Her home life was unsatisfying. The list went on and on.
“Well then, should we go to a hotel?” He asked her directly. She shut up instantly; he casually added some meat to the grill and moved it around with his chopsticks.
“Why would you say such a thing?” She asked, baffled, her face red.
“Why not? You’re attractive, I’m very interested in you, and we both need to blow off some steam.”
“Well, that is... I mean...” She mumbled awkwardly.
“A yes is a yes, and a ‘no’ is a ‘no’. I’m not the kind of person that’ll pressure you.” He encouraged, and lifted the meat onto his plate. “Though I’m worried if you’re okay to drive.”
She glared at him. “Of course I’m okay to drive!” She snapped.
He chuckled, and worried some more as he tucked some of the meat and vegetables into his mouth.
His phone went off, so he pulled it out of his pocket and checked the contents, followed with a sigh.
“What.” Misaki growled at him.
“I have to fly to Okayama tomorrow morning on extremely short notice.” He replied. “I’m not looking forward to it.”
“Your job..?” She asked, though it didn’t occur to her until she was sober that there would be no reason at all for a restaurant employee to fly from Tokyo to Okayama.
“Yeah.” He waved for the waitress.
“So... about that hotel...” She mumbled, and he blinked a few times in surprise.
“Yeah?” He asked, and she nodded.
He nodded back.
*****
He took an early morning flight from Tokyo to Okayama, and met up with his team, the Core Hunters, a ten-man PMC that was registered to operate within Japan.
“You know Derek, we’d already be there if you hustled your ass.” One of his teammates, Juan, jibed.
“Sorry I couldn’t make the plane fly faster, asshole.” Derek replied, checking over his weapons.
“Look at you, checking over your guns like you’re going to need to use them!” Travis joked.
“I dunno, maybe a zombie might come lurching out from the dungeon.” Derek snapped.
“Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa, you all cut that shit right the fuck now.” Travis called from the driver’s seat. “We don’t need any fucking zombies, alright? Everyone comes home safe and sound. And you guys cut the shit: We need a Cleaner, Derek’s a fucking Cleaner, so let him fucking clean. You don’t like it, you can take Cleaning duty.”
“Wow, thanks Travis.” Derek complained. “You’re making my job a punishment now?”
Travis let out a sigh. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. You do a good job. It’s an important job.” He tucked an unlit cigarette into the corner of his mouth. “But I wish you could just get into the Dungeons like the rest of us.”
Derek sighed. He wanted to go in, too. He just didn’t have the capability to resist the magical pressure that came from inside a Dungeon, though.
His job was to wait outside a Dungeon and kill monsters that escaped, hunt down any monsters that might have wandered away from a Dungeon before it was raided, and make sure that the Dungeon collapsed properly after the rest of the team left. In short, he cleaned up for the rest of his party.
He got a proper salary, he was good at his job, and he could technically use magic, but he just didn’t have enough magical output to do anything useful with.
*****
It was a very long drive through the Okayama prefecture and into the mountains where the Dungeon was reported to be.
When they arrived at the Dungeon, as characterized by the murky glow at the entrance, he watched all of his team file in, one at a time, and once they had, he began his slow patrol to check of tracks, signs of monsters that might have left the Dungeon before his team arrived.
*****
Magic was a bizarre thing that to this day was still being researched and developed. The current understanding of magic was divided into three specific aspects: Pools, Gates, and Elements. A Mana Pool was how much magic you had access to before you ran out. A Mana Gate controlled how much you could let out. A Magical Element was an affinity.
Some people had a very small mana pool, some people had a very large mana pool, some people had a very large mana gate, while some people had a very small mana gate, some people could cast very large spells, others could cast a variety of small spells and effects. Some people had only one affinity, others had many Elements.
There were seven recognized Elements. Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Light, Dark, and Arcana. The Primary Four, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water were the most common. Less common were Light and Dark, with Dark being considered extremely rare. The rarest Element was Arcana, an Element that did not behave at all like any of the other Elements.
Derek was an outlier in many aspects.
If the strongest magician in the world had a magic pool the size of a lake, his was the size of an ocean. In fact, it was considered immeasurable.
His Elemental Affinity was also an outlier; Arcana.
However, his Mana Gate was infinitesimal. If his mana pool was an ocean, his gate only allowed him to use a teaspoon of it at a time.
He couldn’t use enough of his Mana to resist the Magical Pressure of a simple Dungeon, nor could he cast spells. But, since he could technically use magic, his name went on a register, and he was allowed to join a PMC.
So, he poured his magic into his bullets, a little at a time, and then hunted magical creatures that wandered out from, or near Dungeons. He never had the chance to improve his abilities by hunting in Dungeons.
*****
Up ahead was a deer with crystalline, glassy antlers. Probably harmless, but a monster was a monster. He switched from his shotgun to his AK-47; crouched down and tapped off a shot.
The deer turned to face him; he tapped off two more shots, catching it in the neck. The deer screamed, and its antlers glowed; a whirlwind launched itself towards him, picking up dirt, small rocks, branches and leaves.
Derek dove between several trees, tripped over a branch, turned the fall into a loose roll, struggled to his feet and just made it as the deer cannoned into him.
He dropped his AK and pulled his handgun, fired off several shots into the deer’s midsection as it whirled past him.
“The fuck am I doing.” He complained to himself, dropping his pistol and unslinging his shotgun.
The deer was coming again; he crouched down as it lunged and unloaded the full magazine into it, blasting off a foreleg, tearing chunks out of its flesh. Blood gushed from its wounds, and still the antlers gleamed as the deer struggled over and over to get up.
He picked up the AK and raked the body; it struggled to get up. He planted his boot on its neck, just below its head, and emptied the magazine into its skull.
The deer pawed at the air a few times before it finally went limp.
Derek pulled out his knife; the blade flared alight with ghostly-white flames of Arcana; he cut into the deer’s skull and pulled off the glassy antlers as proof that he was doing his job.
The deer was rapidly decomposing, turning into a disgusting black sludge. If he hadn’t taken the antlers, they too would have disappeared, and he would have had nothing to show as proof to Travis that he was doing his job.
He picked up his guns, reloaded, hooked the antlers into the straps on his backpack, and went looking for the next one. Over and over and over, he “cleaned” the area around the Dungeon. He emptied his grisly trophies into a crate at their base camp as proof of his kills. Not only did it show his friend and commanding officer Travis that he was doing his job, all those materials would be shipped off to the Dungeon Oversight Taskforce, the global community that allowed PMCs like his to function; for study.
A week later, Travis, Juan, and the rest of them filed out of the Dungeon looking worn out and exhausted.
“Look at you.” Travis praised. “You’ve been busy.”
Derek nodded. “It’s been a week.”
“You’ll be here for a bit to make sure the Dungeon collapses.”
“I know.” Derek replied. “I’ll call back when it’s gone.”
He’d already unhitched the motorcycle from the trailer; they would take him out to a Dungeon, but they wouldn’t bring him back.
The others waved at him limply, they were too exhausted to say anything as they loaded up his crate and drove away.
After the Core Hunters left, Derek stepped into the dungeon. The pressure wasn’t bad at the entrance. It was enough to give him a dull ache behind the eyes, churn his guts, and make it difficult to breathe.
The dungeon looked like a cave tunnel, though the walls were flecked with glowing spots that looked like molten metal, shedding a dim light on everything. He was able to take a few steps in, but the dull ache behind his eyes turned into a crushing headache; his guts boiled, and he felt like he was drowning, struggling to take a single breath.
He was able to take another couple of steps, but his legs turned to jelly and he fell to his knees.
This was as far as he could go. Frustrated and bitter, he dragged himself out of the empty dungeon.
*****
Misaki found herself visiting the Demmy’s in her off-hours to let the manager know that Shihoko-san had been found; she’d apparently spent the entire time at her boyfriend’s place with her phone off.
“That is a small relief.” The manager replied to her announcement. “So many things happening these days, it’s a welcome bit of news. Thank you very much for coming to tell me.”
Misaki nodded, and glanced around the restaurant. “That foreigner- he’s not here?”
The manager shook his head. “He has... taken some time off.”
She reached into her pocket and produced a business card. “Give this to him when he comes back. I’d like to talk to him.”
The manager nodded and bowed.
*****
Stats:
Name: Derek Richardson
Age: 25
Occupation: Cleaner
PMC: Core Hunters
Core Hunter Reputation /Infamy: 1/1 (They don’t have much of a reputation because they’re small; They haven’t pissed anyone off yet)
STR: 4/10 (He can carry his full gear)
DEX: 8/10 (He’s got great reflexes and can target monsters very quickly.)
CON: 4/10 (He’s a little more robust than your average person.)
INT: 8/10 (College educated, with two separate degrees in two fields)
WIS: 4/10 (He’s perceptive and clever, but lazy and indifferent.)
CHA: 6/10 (He’s got the charisma to chat up a policewoman, despite having average looks)
Magic Element: Arcana
Magic Gate: 1
Magic Pool: ∞ (infinite)
Magic Resistance: 1