3075. New Tokyo.

She should be dead.

Quite frankly, roaming the streets of New Tokyo as though she wasn't a fugitive took guts, or a lack of a proper wack on the head, according to Zek.

Between the scorching deserts in the Middle East and the biting chills of Nepal, Japan had an air she had almost gotten accustomed to. She'd landed here three months ago, picked up on the conversational native tongue, and hid on most days of the week. Except for today; she required groceries, as did her housemate.

Setting foot in such a nation was not a crime, but it was her recent past that weighed her hands with guilt.

"That'll be 1,785 yen, miss."

The exchange of coins and bags was quick, allowing Soyala to briefly peek at the mirror behind the counter, a strand of her dark hair peeking out from her hood. She tucked it back into her ear, allowing no time for any eyes to linger on her person. Narrowly dodging past a mother and her child entering the store, she slipped back into the streets, sticking close to the dark.

Tomorrow was a special day for Japan. Replacing the Sky Tree, a Veer HQ was to be erect in celebration of the Prime Minister's 50th birthday. A new, shiny toy to shelf alongside the various skyscrapers and abstract buildings coating Tokyo. It made her ill; the blinding windows, the ache in your neck whilst peering up at something that could crush or engulf you. It made her feel small and insignificant, and if anything, closer to the enemy than ever before.

Unfortunately, the Veer were impossible to outrun. They had a branch in every global government, and had managed to infiltrate the legislation of even the smallest countries. Before it was the UN. But that went to shit fifty years ago, and replacing it was an anonymous, omniscient group of masked officials who had access to your every detail, your every step.

Cameras in capital cities had tripled. And to make matters worse, they were subtle in the way they were placed. Soyala was certain that there were one or two laws protecting citizens from having cameras installed in the comfort of their own homes. Total surveillance, that is what the Veer demanded.

For most, it didn't seem as barbaric. They just assumed they were being watched constantly, and so, were kept in line from the moment they awoke, to the second they put their head to their pillow at night. Soyala struggled with the concept more than most people she knew, and it was due to her rebellion and resistance, that she had gone off the radar for so long.

Her topaz eyes washed over the screens of the luxury shops. Suits, ties, purses. New tech glasses, alarm systems. AI bots to install in your house. Computers, televisions. It would've intrigued her if she didn't know how much each item in these stores were worth.

Soyala picked up her pace. At roughly seven o'clock, drones tended to commence their nocturnal petrols. It would take a split second in their frame, and her entire cover would be busted. She hunched her back forward, and attempted to make her clothes baggier, gaining a few strange looks from a couple who she brushed past, before turning swiftly onto the alley towards her hiding place.

The basement flat was convenient, but those who resided in them were far more likely to face scrutiny from the city's surveillance. Unless if you had low-income, or had a lifestyle that could distract downstairs or next door neighbours, you should live in a normal townhouse or apartment. Unless if you have something to hide. Which is very much Soyala's case.

A mere week ago, an officer had knocked, raising awareness of noise complaints from upstairs. Luckily, Soyala's housemate answered, and sent the officer on their way soon after. That was the closest she had gotten to danger recently.

"Oi! Took you long enough!".

With the door locked behind her, and the curtains drawn, Soyala removed her hood and took in her surroundings.

It didn't matter where she took refuge, nothing really satisfied Soyala. She kept her complaints to herself, but the absence of her own home, with her desired atmosphere and look, bothered her wherever she went. She had had a home once. A villa in Bali. The army's token for her contribution in 'the good fight'. It had been her plan to stay there for the rest of her life, to grow old and grey by the sea. By now, it had probably been overtaken by the water, or gotten burnt down by someone sent after her. There was nothing to return to. Her only option was to run until she could settle, again.

The flat wasn't the worst. Except for the couch that smelled of old people and the mould in the bathroom walls, it was a home. And she was not being asked to pay rent. 

Zek's salt and pepper mop of hair peeked over the side of the couch. His frame took up the entire seat, the scathing scratching of his beard allerting her of his boredom. Or impatience. She had promised to bring his beer, anyway. Digging through the contents, she took the two beers, placing one in Zek's hand. In response, he sat up, grunting, scooting over to allow Soyala some space. She remained standing. "Anything interesting going on out there?", Zek asked these things for the sake of asking. He didn't care, his hermit lifestyle kept him disinterested from global and domestic affairs.

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"Same shit."

The can hissed as she popped it open, and took a gulp of the ale. The bitterness passed through her in a shudder.

"I got a message from Jean ten minutes ago."

Jean? Soyala rose a brow, "She's been no-contact for a year. How'd she reach you?".

"Morse code, the fucking nerd", Zek hiccuped, Soyala laughed bitterly. "She feels... guilty, for roping you into this..."

Guilt. Jean Fritze had been Soyala's shadow in their time in the army. They survived because they stayed together, worked together, fusing their skills into one goal. But their squad got dismissed after the war, and their ambitions switched. Jean became a skeptic of the government she served, invested in the occult as though it wouldn't cost her her entire life. Soyala, at the time, was a coward seeking comfort and peace. It was with a meeting, three years after they went their separate ways, where Soyala become involved in whatever Jean had been planning.

Cultists.

Playing with fire, whistling at night, answering to your name being called in a forest; it was suicide. Spirituality was against the morality of new humans; it made them emotional, irrational, skeptical of the science that was atisfactory because it provided the truth. To the world governments, and to the Veer especially, petty myths and fairytales were a betrayal of a trust they believed the people had in them. Why look for something other than the truth, scientific truth? Delusions, lies, insanity; it became a classified disease and it was wiped out through mysterious ways. The only ones free to practice this were those who were not under constant scrutiny under the all-seeing Veer eye. But the Veer had not left a single stone unturned when they took over the world. Their authority was global, maybe universal.

Of all people, Soyala just didn't expect Jean to be a cultist. Until she saw the burned black rune on the woman's back, and witnessed it glow with a golden colour.

It made her irrational, that was for certain. Soyala dug through all the books she could find on the ancient beasts and myths from two thousand years ago. The earliest civilisations had their gods, angels and demons, documented from stone to paper to a digital screen. But history, as she knew it, had been erased. The word 'god' was known to her because of speech, but when searching for such a word, there was no concrete definition. She only knew things because of knowledge passed from other humans.

And in a fit of impatience from not knowing, she was branded. The rune was still healing. It brushed against the hem of her jeans, ticklish and painful.

Soyala had signed off her death, she knew that above all else. She was still unaware whether she had done this because she believes in the supernatural, or because of her thirst for knowledge. Either way, the Veer were looking for her, and Jean, and the rest of their allies scattered all over the globe. Maybe when she was 17, joining the army, she would've been too scared to do anything like this. But she stood now as a 24-year-old woman, matured by the sights of war and death, ripe and young enough to witness all of that and more.

"...camping out in Monaco for a while until she decides on where and when it's safe to get more people together. She said that, in the mean time, you need to keep your head low, and practice."

Oh, Zek was still speaking.

"Practice what?", Soyala sighed and finally took a seat in the vacant space beside the middle-aged man.

"Your abilities. Runes take a while to heal, but once you feel ready, you can find out what you can do. What deity channelled you."

A truth, as seen by the cultists, was that the gods of ancient mythology all existed in some form. There was no singular god, no singular devil, no singular good nor singular evil. The mass of what could exist, however, caused fear amongst the believers. Too many gods and angels, too much room for conflict. It was the cultists' own fear, that if their numbers grew, that they could not manage themselves. They all had one common goal, to overthrow the power of the Veer. But they had to be careful.

Human ambition and delirium could kill the cause from the inside. Power, authority, strength. When overconsumed, gluttony could kill.

"Until then, stay quiet and cautious. If the Veer catch you, I can't fix you or put you back together. No one can."

Soyala let out a long breath. "Anything else?".

Zek paused for a long time. "Jean mentioned a cultist group in a temple in Koyasan. Make some alliances, and help the cause."

"You're telling me to lay low and also risk going to jail?", the conflicting message annoyed Soyala, her brows knitted. "Make up your mind, you old fart."

Zek grunted, shoving her hard on the shoulder. "I'm telling you to get off your ass and do something. Jean is going to summon you soon and you'll be of no use to her if you haven't made at least an effort to understand what you can do. Come on, soldier. You trained once. You can do it again, and you're gonna. Because this time, there are no comrades for you to fall back on in the heat of battle."

She hated when he was right.

"You're on your own, kid. You hear me? You know the Veer are looking for you, hunting you down and getting close every single day. So get off your ass, and make their job a living fucking hell."

Her current enemy was herself, and time. It was the unstoppable force of the universe as she knew it, killing and rebirthing her cells every minute, aging her slowly.

Soyala looked at herself the reflection of the television screen. Shoulder-length dark chocolate hair, tanned skin, and shoulders weighed down as if the fate of the world had been dumped onto them. She had to get a grip. Her life was not over, her lungs still alive and kicking, allowing her the opportunity to push for something new. She thought her life was over when she left the army, that her age of peace would begin. But it didn't matter if she continued to run away. She was needed. That's all that mattered.

Another sigh.

"Right. So, when's the next train to Koyasan?".