It was surprising how much noise a conversation could endure, if you came to think about it. The human ear has a neat trick of filtering out conflicting background noise, and focusing in on the subject’s focus. Of course, that only really works for crowds and chatter-filled gatherings. When the only sound apart from that of your conversation was the ringing of your telephone, it suddenly became a lot more difficult to ignore.
“Oh. Please excuse me,” came the nasally apology of the Director of Internal Police and Security, Uke Ayatsuri, clutching at the mobile beeping in his pocket. He looked across the table at the man sitting opposite, waiting for his blessing.
“Please.” The man gestured ahead with a smile. “Go ahead, director. I’m sure it’s something vitally important.”
“Thank you.”
Ayatsuri rose from his chair, which creaked in relief. Stepping out of the conference room, the portly man swiped a finger across the display and raised the phone to his ear.
“What’s the meaning of this, Ibuse?” The man hissed. “You’ll have to make this quick, as I’m in the middle of a departmental meeting. Where are you?”
“I’m in the suburbs, outside the house of Rinkaku Harigane,” came the voice of Nagora Ibuse from the other end.
Ayatsuri’s eyes widened. “Why? I thought you were supposed to be investigating the disturbance and destruction that occurred last night on the park green!”
“I was, but I received intel of something I thought was more concerning.” The detective sounded like he was doing his best to keep a level tone. “Apparently you authorised a riot squad to guard the location about an hour ago.”
His tone sounded accusatory. Ayatsuri’s brow furrowed.
“As a matter of fact, I did. Why? Did you call to question the integrity of my judgement, Ace Detective? I hope I don’t need to remind you of your position here.”
“I’ve been made well aware of that already.” Ibuse sighed. “I was calling to ask for additional information, such as why you thought it necessary to take such extreme measures.”
At this, Ayatsuri puffed out his chest.
“In this department we have a duty to ensure the safety of our city’s residents. The terrorist boy, Harigane, poses a major threat to public peace and security, after the incident that happened at Senketsu High School.”
“How? I’ve profiled him and anyone he’s associated with, director. Nothing about his behaviour even suggests he’s remotely a threat! Besides, it wasn’t him that caused the damage and deaths in Senketsu! All the eyewitness evidence suggests—”
“Delusions caused by trauma of the incident, detective!” Ayatsuri interrupted, practically shouting the other man down. “We’ve had this conversation before. Don’t tell me you actually believe the report of monsters terrorising a school? What rubbish.”
“Does that mean you authorised the doctoring of the eyewitness accounts as well, director? There was a definite mismatch between what I heard from the students and the reports I received afterwards.”
“This is a professional working environment we’re operating in, Ibuse! The students were all in shock after the explosion rigged by Harigane and his conspirators. That was what the psychiatric evaluation concluded, was it not? We cannot let false information be circulated among the general public, as the insistent media will only make our jobs more difficult! Now, I want no more of this, understand? You’re to cooperate in tracking down Harigane and his associates and charging them with their crimes. Yes?”
“There—” Ibuse sounded as though he was about to say something else, but decided against it. “I understand, sir.”
“Good.” Ayatsuri cleared his throat. “Besides, since your profiling of the attack victims, we’ve received further circumstantial evidence from a trusted independent third party confirming our suspicions on the two suspects and their involvement in this case. We will be operating on that information from now on. Understood?”
There was a pause on the other end.
“Detective Ibuse?” Ayatsuri looked at his phone to check that the call hadn’t ended prematurely. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” came the reluctant reply from the other end. “Please excuse me for disturbing you, director.”
A click, and the call ended. The screen of his smartphone blacked out, and Ayatsuri pocketed the device. Straightening his jacket, he made a quick effort to wipe away the bead of sweat trickling down one side of his face, using the moisture to reposition his comb-over. Striding back into the conference room, he bowed towards his guests.
“Please accept my apologies for the delay, gentlemen. Your patience is much appreciated, Mr Ishimatsu.”
Gus Ishimatsu grinned, interlocking his fingers with one another as he rested bulky forearms on the table in front. His large frame was nearly silhouetted against the midday sun shining through the large glass panelled windows of the conference room.
“Please, don’t worry,” he said. “I understand how busy you must be at a time like this. You didn’t keep us long at all. Isn’t that right, Hakana?”
The man sitting to Gus’ left said nothing. Arms and legs folded, the man’s eyes were hidden under the brim of his hat. They had been all morning.
“Good, good.” Ayatsuri lowered himself back into his chair with a slight wheeze. “Fortunately, it was nothing of grave importance. The call was from a subordinate of mine.”
“Anyone of note?” said Hakana who, for the first time, looked engaged in the meeting. Blue eyes finally peaked out from under the hat, and Ayatsuri felt the stare pierce into every pore on his face. A sound caught in the man’s throat, and he suddenly became aware of how much his shirt was sticking to his back.
“Erm…” His tongue felt very heavy in his mouth all of a sudden. “I don’t know who in our service you’re familiar with, Mr Hakana. His name is Nagora Ibuse.”
It could've been his imagination, but Ayatsuri swore he could’ve seen the man’s eyes widen. Hakana made no comment, however. To fill the silence that was pressing in his ears, Ayatsuri kept talking.
“I’ve assigned him key investigator over the case, but there have been some,” he made a noise somewhere between a sheepish laugh and a cough, “logistical difficulties, shall we say. It should all be sorted out in due time, once my orders have made their way down the chain of command.”
“Such regretful inefficiencies,” said Gus. He shook his head, and sat up in his chair. The damp feeling Ayatsuri felt on his skin worsened with every word of the man’s deep tone. Pausing, Gus never took his eyes off the director as he took a moment to iron out a crease that had dared fold itself into the shoulder of his suit jacket. “Though,” he continued, “I do commend you for taking such executive action based on our intel. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I think it demonstrates a significant strength of character, not something I see in very many.”
“Of course!” Ayatsuri looked chuffed. Checking the clock as a matter of instinct, he shuffled the stack of papers in front of him. “Well, it is all thanks to your generous contribution that we’ve been able to make so much progress in such a short time.”
“Shall we resume our discussion, then?” Gus’ grin widened. “I’m very much looking forward to your continued cooperation, director.”
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Back inside the Harigane household, all was still. Everything was in its proper place or, at least it had been until very recently. As part of the police’s extensive search procedure, part of that involved the thorough investigation of just about everything even slightly suspicious. You could say they took the phrase “leaving no stone unturned” a little too literally. A police officer, clutching his rifle close to his chest, peered left and right through doorways either side of the house’s foyer. Nothing moved. The thundering of footsteps then sounded above him. He watched as another man, similarly clad, descended.
“Anything?” He asked.
“Nothing.” The other man shook his head. “And you?”
“No-one. Can’t imagine anyone managed to get in this place, and I searched all the places anyone could be hiding.”
The officer tasked with searching the upstairs sighed, and both men exited through the decimated door frame. Only after he heard their voices from outside the house, did Rinkaku Harigane slide himself out from within the bookshelf. Once he had resumed his usual size, that is, he looked fine, albeit a little stationary. That was, however, until you looked at him from the side. Completely flat. Barely a third dimension to be seen. He was like a cardboard cutout of a person, and would seem to disappear if you looked from the right angle. The outline of a frame then appeared around his person and a moment later he was back to normal. The frame disappeared, and Rin abruptly reanimated.
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“Ugh.”
Snapping back to life, he instantly groaned and took his head in his hands. Reminder to never do that again, he thought, doing his best to stop himself from dry heaving onto his bedroom carpet. He’d found a new way to use Framework, but at what cost? First, he’d narrowly avoided being eaten by a bird and second, he’d had to slide himself into a bookcase like the world’s most malformed record sleeve.
Casting a cursory glance towards the landing, he sighed with relief. It seemed his scheme had worked, at least. He had heard the officer come racing up the stairs and nearly had a heart attack. He had to get what he needed, and then get out. There was no guarantee he’d get so lucky next time.
The problem remained in how he was going to get what he needed, and take it with him. Realistically, he’d only be able to take a small rucksack’s worth, and that just wasn’t enough, unless…
Looking around his room, it was in an even worse state of disarray than when he’d left it. Rin didn’t even think that was possible. He needed basic things like spare clothes, masks and such, and a couple other things besides. His phone had unfortunately been broken all the way back in the café, and so he’d tossed the thing as soon as he remembered. There was no chance of getting another one without being seen and raising a red alert. Besides, who knew how much the government could track him if he had one? Rin could make paranoia-fuelled guesses all he wanted, had no real clue, and certainly didn’t want to run the risk.
Soon he was rummaging around in a drawer until, at last, he’d found it. It was dusty, but a quick huff dealt with that problem. Unzipping the black leather case, Rin unfurled a hundred or so plastic wallets, all used to store old CDs. His eyes lit up. If this worked, he was onto a winner.
Grabbing a book from his shelf without so much as a glance, Rin snapped his fingers. A frame appeared around the large hardback volume which, normally, he needed both hands to properly wield. Shrinking down the frame, he did as he had done to himself moments ago and flattened it. Soon, he held in his hands a small, rigid rectangle as thin as a piece of paper, which he then slotted neatly inside the case. A small fist pump was all the celebration he thought he could get away with, given the circumstances, but it was enough. Rin then set to work, grabbing more items he didn’t think he could part with, packing them together as tightly as he could, before shrinking them down to no larger than a disc.
Sometimes, he was so brilliant it was almost scary.
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With neither hide nor hair of Rin sighted since she’d shot him screaming from the rooftop, Kinuka had quickly grown bored. Rin had told her to stay put, and stay put for the most part she had. Then again, what right did he have to tell her what to do? She wasn’t a child anymore. She’d realised that fact whilst walking in aimless circles on the concrete, staring up into the sky. She didn’t have a watch on, and her phone had met the same fate as Rin’s, unfortunately (at the boy’s own insistence, no less), and so the best approximation she had of the time was guesswork. Nevertheless, she knew it wasn’t midday yet. There was still time left, though not very much of it.
They weren’t under a strict time limit. Kinuka, however, wanted to return on time. Tegata seemed to her like a person prone to worrying if things didn’t go as planned, a worry that might culminate in him coming after them, getting himself injured, or worse. For someone who’d already risked their life to save theirs, Kinuka didn’t think she could bear that knowledge a second time around. Things had very nearly gone sideways already, and Kinuka had to thank whatever deity that had allowed them to survive their run-in with that JPRO assassin. It was at that point Kinuka realised she’d never gotten her name. Did that even matter? She had felt a quiet resentment, a jealousy almost, when trading blows with the girl. The sadness had ebbed off of her like a wave, in amongst the sharp yet misguided killing intent. The reality check then hit, and Kinuka had to ask herself why she was feeling sorry for a woman who’d just tried to kill both of them. She seemed conscious enough, so surely she was responsible for acting under her own steam? Ordinarily, you’d think that. Kinuka, however, wasn’t so convinced. Perhaps it was the dullness of her eyes, or the blankness of her face, but something gave her the feeling the girl’s actions weren’t entirely her own.
Snapping her out of this dismal train of thought, her legs were aching with restlessness. To hell with waiting; to hell with what Rin had to say. She was going to go home by herself. She didn’t need his help to do that—she hoped. The police looked fairly preoccupied with… whatever it is they were doing, so hopefully she could figure something out before they spotted her. At the time of thinking this, however, she didn’t have the slightest hint of a plan.
Descending the side of the building, the arm she’d unravelled into a bungee cord wound itself back into place at her side. She was getting better and better at that the more she used it. It was beginning to feel more natural now. A hop, skip, and several near-misses later, she’d made her way further down the street without being seen. Her house was on the opposite side of the street, and she’d chosen to duck behind a building as she tried desperately to think of a way.
What would Rin do, she found herself thinking. Well, knowing Rin, he’d start building something. He’d come up with some ludicrous sounding idea that would then work brilliantly, followed by him proclaiming once again to anyone that would listen that he was the best, no contention. No. She couldn’t think like that. She couldn’t do what Rin did if she tried. What could she do?
Looking down at her hands, they melted away into strings without her even realising it now. Then, the sun reflecting off something shiny above caught her eye. She looked up, only to see the telephone wire stretching out across the street, over the heads of all the officers.
That was it.
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It didn’t take long for Rin to make his way down the stairs. He’d lived in this house his whole life. Crossing the threshold with the wrecked front door posed a slight hazard, but he’d been quick. Unless they’d been looking for him there at that exact moment—unlikely, he’d reasoned—Rin doubted they’d catch sight of him in time. In one hand, Rin clutched the pocket he’d shoved the miniaturised wallet into, as though to check it was still there. That wasn’t the reason he’d wanted to come home, truth be told. Skulking down another passage, drawing further and further away from the natural light of the outside, he soon arrived at where he’d been aiming for all along.
Emblazoned on a brass plaque adjacent to the handle, the door read “Katsuro Harigane, PhD” and, on the line below, “Director of Egyptology.” That sign had been there for the past six or seven years—Rin had almost lost count. The plaque had once been on his father’s office at the university until, of course, he was evicted. The university had deemed his research no good, a shrewd deduction Rin had long since beaten them to. Egyptology was a useless subject, he thought, and his father was wasting his life away poring over what didn’t matter. Sighing as he opened the door, Rin wished he’d had the benefit of hindsight back when he was eleven. It would’ve made life so much less of a shock, given the events of the past week.
His father’s office was in an even worse state than his own room. That was the first red flag of many. Rin’s jaw hung slightly open, looking in horror at the paper-strewn office that would’ve looked better if it had been hit by a hurricane. Once a musty brown, albeit well-kept room which saw the sun as much as his father did was now carpeted in a sea of white—except that white wasn’t snow, as each piece was covered in lines upon lines of blue-black ink.
The police hadn’t just turned the house upside down, they’d turned it all the way inside out. Part of him was imagining how fervently his father must’ve been rolling in his likely grave at this point with the state his once pristine office, his pride and joy, was now in. Part of Rin found that hilariously cathartic. The other part—likely Architect, the ancient buzzkill—looked on disapprovingly. Rin had come in here hoping to find out more about the legend of Horus’ Banished Disciple, to see if he could track down something, anything to help him figure out what any of this meant. He wasn’t going to ask Architect for help. Not only would it be a mortal wound to his pride, it was an easy ticket to a haughty scowl and a disparaging comment Rin just was not in the mood for at the moment. Besides, if his father was good at anything—and believe him, that list was not very long—it was his note taking. Now, though, Rin didn’t see how he was going to even begin, let alone actually find what he was looking for.
“For crying out loud, old man,” Rin mumbled, reluctantly dropping to the floor as he began rummaging through the scattered loose-leaf all over the floor. “You really just had to go and open that big fucking can of worms, didn’t you?”
And, just as always, there was no response. Rin chuckled mirthlessly, scrunching up the bit of paper in his hands and tossing it haphazardly over his shoulder. There was never any response, there had never been any to begin with. At this point, it was basically his fault for pretending there’d ever be any, either.
“You know the tomb that says ‘do not open’, guess what’s the one thing you should absolutely not do…” Rin’s grumbling tirade continued with no sign of stopping. “Couldn’t keep the book shut on history, could you? You just had to go digging stuff up, didn’t you?”
Looking up, Rin saw a framed picture in the corner of the desk: miraculously the only thing in this bombsite of a room that remained intact.
“Too bad the stuff you dug up wasn’t enough to save you…” Rin trailed off, picking up the photo and holding it up to the flickering bulb dangling from the ceiling, the one weak source of yellow light that this room, this cave, had ever known.
The photo framed three people: a woman, a man, and a grumpy-looking child with far too much hair. Rin brushed the dust off the glass. Apart from him, obviously, everyone was smiling. The man had the face Rin wished he didn’t recognise. Standing on the right was Katsuro Harigane in all his bespectacled, unshaven glory. He remembered those glasses his father had once: a pair of red half-moons. Rin remembered the man was devastated the day they went missing. The woman on the left was less familiar. She, like the child she held in her arms, had long dark hair. Hers, however, was well-kept. She had kind eyes, and looked healthy. That, he realised, was what was so unfamiliar. She stood close to her husband, his arm around her shoulders, cuddling their child, the fruits of their labours, between them.
That picture was the closest he had ever seen his parents stand.
Rin saw red. Gripping the edge of the picture frame, he hurled it across the room as hard as he could. Colliding with the wall opposite, the frame shattered much like his own, and the glass that scattered everywhere proceeded to meld with the scattered pages, never to be found.
“How dare you.”
Rin’s fists were clenched so tight, he felt his nails cut into his palms.
“How fucking dare you,” he growled. Rin stood rooted to the spot, shaking and seething. He tried to say something else, but the words came out in a feral gargle instead. Clenching his jaw, he swallowed through the pain.
“I bet you looked at that picture more times than you ever looked at me…” He inhaled sharply, his vision blurring, “or mom…”
Before long, wet droplets began spattering the papers strewn all over the floor. It was a terrible day for rain, especially in an office that had never seen the sunlight.
“I’m going to come and save you, you know that?” Rin said to the empty room. “Not because I want to, or because I should, but because you don’t get to run away that easily. I’m going to remind you of what you’ve done until the day you die.”
The boy’s words weren’t just a threat. They were a promise. By whatever means, Rin neither knew nor cared, he knew deep down that Katsuro Harigane had heard every last one of them loud and clear.
“Until then? Rot in jail, asshole. I’ll see you soon.”