Chapter 39
The early morning sunlight crept through the tall windows of the warehouse lair, casting pale beams that stretched across the concrete floor, climbing over the clutter of tools and half-finished gadgets scattered around. A soft, golden haze filled the room, illuminating the dust motes that danced lazily in the air. Izumi stirred on the couch, the warmth of the sun nudging her awake. Her face, half-buried in a cushion, scrunched slightly in discomfort as she blinked against the light. Dark smudges of exhaustion hung beneath her eyes, remnants of a long night spent tinkering and worrying. Her body was curled awkwardly among her things—laptops, notebooks, a tangle of charging cables spilling off the coffee table—and the faint hum of electronics surrounded her like a persistent background noise. As she sat up slowly, pushing messy strands of hair from her face, she glanced around, her brow furrowing slightly. Andreas still wasn’t back.
The couch creaked beneath her as Izumi stretched, her arms extending upward toward the ceiling, pushing the last vestiges of sleep from her muscles. Her fingers brushed against the edge of a blanket she barely remembered pulling over herself last night. The worn fabric slipped to the floor as she stood, her bare feet meeting the cool concrete. The lair felt vast in the quiet of the early morning, the only sound the soft whirr of the overhead ventilation system and the distant hum of the city outside. Sunlight angled sharply through the warehouse windows, casting elongated shadows of the four mannequins that stood like silent sentinels across the room, each one draped in different fragments of the past and present. Izumi’s eyes lingered briefly on the empty one—meant for Andreas' Zorro outfit—its lack of a suit unnerving in the morning light.
Her gaze drifted from the mannequins to the coffee table in front of the couch, where the clutter from last night remained undisturbed. The table was a chaotic mess of her life’s work—two laptops, both still open but dimmed to sleep, surrounded by tangled cords, notebooks filled with quick sketches, and crumpled papers that had been scribbled on in half-thought ideas. Her father’s journal lay buried underneath it all, its leather cover worn, but still distinct against the scattered pile of schematics for ballistic armor and half-drawn diagrams of gadgets she had been working on. Izumi absentmindedly brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers hovering over the journal for a second, but her thoughts already darted to the workbench across the room, where half-finished gadgets waited for her attention.
Izumi’s stomach grumbled softly, reminding her that she hadn't eaten, but more than that, she craved caffeine. Her body moved on autopilot as she glanced at the cluttered workbench, knowing she’d dive into her projects soon enough—but not without coffee. The kitchenette was upstairs in the makeshift office apartment, tucked away in the corner where the bed and rolling closet stood, all part of the strange blend between workspace and living space. She shuffled toward the metal stairs, her feet dragging slightly on the cold concrete as she climbed, each step echoing softly in the quiet of the lair. The light above was dimmer here, the beams of dawn barely reaching this far, casting the stairs and upper level in shadow. As she reached the top, the faint smell of stale coffee from the day before greeted her, and she wrinkled her nose slightly, already mentally preparing to brew a fresh pot.
Izumi stepped into the small kitchenette, her eyes landing on the half-full coffee pot from yesterday, its contents now cold and unappealing. With a sigh, she grabbed the handle and moved toward the adjacent shower. The kitchenette didn’t have a sink of its own—just one more quirk of living in a makeshift space—so she had gotten used to using the shower for everything involving water. She slid the glass door open and dumped the murky liquid down the drain, the faint, bitter smell of stale coffee wafting up as it swirled away. Setting the empty pot on the shower floor, she turned the faucet, the sharp hiss of water filling the quiet space as she watched the clear stream pour out. She quickly refilled the pot, her fingers tapping against the handle impatiently, already anticipating the warmth of the first cup.
Izumi glanced at the coffee pot, watching as it slowly sputtered to life, the first few drops of dark liquid falling into the empty carafe below. With a sigh, she realized it would be a while before she could get her caffeine fix. Deciding to make the most of the wait, she headed back downstairs, her footsteps quick and light on the metal stairs. She made her way to her backpack, which she had dropped near the workbench the night before, pulling out a fresh pair of jeans and the soft, black T-shirt she practically lived in. Her worn, black Converse All-Stars were tucked beside the couch where she’d kicked them off, the scuffed rubber showing signs of wear from countless days of tinkering and running around. Slinging the clothes and shoes over her arm, she headed back up to the kitchenette. The coffee pot had only just begun dripping more steadily, filling the air with the faint smell of brewing coffee.
Setting her clothes on the counter, she turned on the shower, the water hissing as it warmed. She tested the temperature with her hand before stepping under the spray, the hot water rolling over her shoulders as she closed her eyes for a brief moment of peace before the day truly began.
As the water cascaded down her back, Izumi couldn’t help but reflect on how strange her life had become. Officially, she lived at Maria’s house, and on paper, everything seemed normal—just a teenage girl taken in after the death of her beloved vó. Maria had opened her home without a second thought after the fire had claimed the only family Izumi had left. But as much as she appreciated Maria’s kindness, Izumi couldn’t handle the constant presence of people who cared. She didn’t know how to handle being cared for. It was stifling, suffocating, like wearing a jacket that was too tight. She preferred the quiet, the space to think, which was why she often stayed at the lair under the guise of helping Andreas with his work. Maria insisted she spend at least two nights a week at the house, and Izumi obliged out of guilt, but here—alone, surrounded by the hum of machines and her unfinished projects—this was where she could breathe.
She stood under the water a little longer, letting the heat seep into her skin as her mind raced through the usual litany of thoughts. The unfinished gadgets waiting downstairs called to her, each one a half-formed idea that her restless mind couldn’t leave alone. There was always something to tweak, something to improve, something to build. It was the only way she knew how to quiet the noise in her head, to lose herself in the endless possibilities of creation. Every project she worked on felt like a small rebellion against the expectations that came with living under someone else’s roof, even Maria’s. Here, in the lair, she could think, she could breathe, she could be. The solitude was freeing in a way that nothing else could match. She wasn’t anyone’s responsibility, just a girl with too many ideas and too few ways to channel them all. But the worry still gnawed at her—Andreas was still out there, somewhere. What if he didn’t make it back this time?
Izumi finally shut off the water, steam rising in thick clouds around her as she stepped out of the shower. She toweled off quickly, her movements efficient, mind already moving ahead to what needed to get done today. She slipped into her fresh jeans and black T-shirt, her familiar worn Converse waiting nearby. After a quick tug to tie her hair into a loose knot, she padded back to the kitchenette. The smell of coffee brewing filled the small space, but when she glanced at the pot, it was still only halfway done, the machine sputtering in its slow, reluctant drip. Her stomach gave a low growl. She sighed, giving up on the coffee for now and deciding to make a bagel instead. Opening the mini-fridge, she grabbed the small tub of cream cheese, its coolness a slight contrast to the warmth lingering from the shower. She reached up into the cupboard above, her fingers brushing past a few items before pulling out an everything bagel, the seeds falling loosely into her palm as she brought it down.
Izumi slid the bagel halves into the old toaster and pressed the lever down, the metal spring groaning slightly as it locked into place. She stood in front of it, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently against the tile floor. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of her Converse echoed softly in the small kitchenette, matching the slow, steady drip of the coffee behind her. She could hear each drop hitting the glass pot, its pace maddeningly slow. Her eyes flicked toward the machine, watching the dark liquid drip down, and then back to the toaster, willing it to move faster. The quiet moments like this always made her restless—when there was nothing to do but wait, her mind filled with the familiar hum of scattered thoughts. Andreas was still out there, somewhere, and she was standing here, waiting for a bagel and a pot of coffee that seemed to take an eternity.
The toaster popped with a sharp clink, and Izumi instinctively reached for the bagel without thinking. The heat hit her fingers instantly, and she yelped, jerking her hand back, only to grab it again in a panic. The hot bagel halves burned her fingertips as she juggled them from one hand to the other, her movements quick and clumsy as she struggled to keep from dropping them. “Hot, hot, hot!” she muttered, her feet shuffling as if that might somehow help. In the frantic scramble, she realized she didn’t even have a plate ready. Still hopping from foot to foot, she swung open the cupboard with her elbow, managing to fumble a plate from the stack while still tossing the bagel between her hands. Finally, with a sigh of relief, she dropped the bagel onto the plate with a thud, shaking her fingers and blowing on them as she set the plate down on the counter.
Izumi shook off the sting in her fingers and grabbed the tub of cream cheese from the counter, twisting off the lid with a satisfying pop. She scooped out a generous amount with the dull butter knife she’d found in the drawer and spread it thickly over the bagel, watching the cream cheese melt slightly from the warmth of the toasted bread. She worked quickly, the familiar action calming her scattered thoughts for a moment. Just as she finished smoothing the last bit of cream cheese onto the bagel’s edges, the coffee pot let out a final, sputtering sigh, signaling that it was finally done brewing. The rich, dark aroma filled the air fully now, mingling with the scent of her toasted bagel. Izumi smiled to herself—a small victory in the midst of her morning chaos. She reached over for a mug, eager to finally pour herself the cup she’d been waiting for.
Izumi grabbed a mug from the shelf and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee, the dark liquid steaming as it filled the cup. She set the pot back in place before turning to the fridge, pulling out the carton of sweet cream. The fridge door shut with a soft thud as she made her way to the cupboard, retrieving the small jar of honey from its usual spot. She unscrewed the lid with one hand, her fingers still slightly sore from the bagel incident, and drizzled a ribbon of honey into the coffee, watching it swirl through the steam before adding a healthy splash of sweet cream. The mixture turned a perfect light brown as she stirred it with a spoon, the scent of coffee mingling with the sweetness of the honey. Izumi took a long sip, letting the warmth spread through her, the comforting sweetness settling her nerves for just a moment. She leaned against the counter, savoring the brief stillness before the day really began.
Izumi cradled the warm mug of coffee in one hand, balancing the plate with her bagel in the other as she carefully made her way down the metal stairs. Her footsteps were light, but the clink of the cup against the plate echoed softly through the still warehouse. She navigated the clutter with ease, stepping around the scattered tools and cables that littered the floor like it was second nature. Reaching the couch, she set her breakfast down gently on the coffee table, the plate sliding just next to her notebooks and sketches from the night before. With her hands free, she reached over to her two laptops, pressing the keys to wake them from their slumber. The screens flickered to life, illuminating the familiar chaos of tabs and projects she had left open. One filled with her schoolwork, the other with the deeper, more personal research that consumed her thoughts—Japanese magic, armor schematics, and her father’s cryptic notes. Izumi let out a breath, settling in for the morning ahead.
Izumi logged into her school account, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the keys as the familiar dashboard of assignments and discussion threads loaded on her screen. As she sipped her coffee, she navigated over to a folder tucked away on her desktop and opened the program that made mornings like this possible. The screen flickered for a moment, and then the spoofing software kicked in—a small window popped up showing an AI-generated version of her face, perfectly mimicking her expressions. The digital "Izumi" smiled faintly, nodded at all the right moments, and even shifted her gaze as if engaging with the other students in the chat. The program was her own design, a subtle blend of video manipulation and AI interaction that replaced her camera feed entirely. The fake Izumi would handle the chat, even responding to classmates with pre-programmed phrases she had tailored over time. She watched the AI version of herself for a moment, impressed by how natural it looked, then took another sip of her coffee, satisfied. With the school façade in place, she could now focus on the real work that lay ahead.
Izumi placed her coffee mug down gently on the edge of the coffee table, the warm ceramic leaving a faint ring of moisture. With one hand, she grabbed half of her now slightly cooler bagel, taking a quick bite as she stood. The soft crunch of the toasted bread and the tang of the cream cheese grounded her, but her mind was already moving ahead to the work that awaited her at the bench. She chewed thoughtfully as she walked over, her eyes scanning the cluttered surface—bits of circuitry, tools scattered about, half-finished gadgets, and armor schematics spread haphazardly across the worktop. Each project called to her, each one needing attention. Where to even begin? She wiped her fingers on her jeans absentmindedly, staring down at the mess of creativity and chaos, wondering which half-formed idea would take hold of her focus first.
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Izumi approached the workbench, her bagel half forgotten in her hand as her eyes scanned the scattered pieces of her projects. The parts of her Scorpion Tail lay neatly disassembled on one side, while sketches of her mask were spread out next to them, filled with notes and ideas. She set the bagel down and reached for the mask designs first, her mind already racing with possibilities. She had been working on integrating HUD and AR tech into the mask for weeks now, studying how she could pull live data from her drone, mapping the environment in real time. A live feed from the drone’s 4K camera would give her a full visual overlay, allowing her to see threats before they even appeared. Her fingers hovered over a set of sensors she had ordered for the project, and she imagined how they could be seamlessly worked into the mask’s sleek design. The thought made her smile—a mask that would be hers, not a relic from the past, but something new, something built for how she fought.
Izumi’s gaze shifted to the small drone resting beside the mask designs, its compact frame no bigger than the palm of her hand. It was sleek and minimal, a far cry from the clunky prototype she had built back in her early days of tinkering. The first version, the one she’d worked on before the fire, had been lost with her vó’s house. That loss had hit her hard—not just because of the personal tragedy, but because of all the time and energy she had poured into building something she thought could change everything. But this new drone—this version—was superior in every way. Its design was more efficient, its frame lighter, the motors more powerful. She had made sure of that.
When it worked, the drone could scan an entire area with its 720-degree lidar and 4K camera, mapping the environment in seconds. It even used facial recognition software to identify individuals as it flew, giving her real-time data that no one else would even know was there. But it wasn’t perfect—yet. The drone only functioned properly about sixty percent of the time, and the AI she was training to identify weapons was still frustratingly bad. No matter how much she tweaked it, the system kept confusing guns with random objects, even mistaking a Glock for a well-endowed man at one point, much to her frustration. Still, the drone represented her vision for the future—an extension of herself, a tool she could rely on. If only she could get it to work consistently.
Izumi shook her head in frustration, letting out a quiet sigh as she placed the drone back on the workbench. No matter how advanced it was, it still wasn’t where she needed it to be, and that gnawed at her. She wiped her hands on her jeans absentmindedly, pushing away the flood of ideas and fixes that threatened to pull her into another hours-long session. For now, she needed a break. With a resigned shrug, she turned and made her way back to the couch, sinking down into the cushions with a slight thud.
Her personal laptop was still open, the screen dimmed but still logged into her school’s dashboard. She tapped the trackpad to wake it up, and the familiar sight of her online class filled the screen. She rolled her eyes slightly, noticing it was some tedious lecture on history—at least her AI program had her covered, nodding and interacting with the class as if she were present. Letting the program do its thing, she reached over to the second laptop, the more secure one Andreas had given her. Her fingers quickly tapped the keys, opening her tabs on Japanese magic, armor schematics, and notes on her father’s journal. All the real work lay there, waiting for her to dive in once more.
Izumi leaned forward, her hand reaching for the stack of papers and tools scattered across the coffee table. Buried underneath was her father’s journal, its worn leather cover a familiar weight in her hands. She pulled it out carefully, placing it on her lap as she flipped it open to one of the many pages filled with intricate symbols and hand signs. The Japanese characters were still difficult for her to read, but she was getting better, slowly piecing together the meanings. Her eyes flicked between the pages of the journal and a website she had pulled up on her laptop, cross-referencing an old forum dedicated to ancient Japanese magic. The website wasn’t perfect, but it was one of the only resources she’d found that even came close to explaining the strange hand signs she was trying to decode.
Her brow furrowed in concentration as she studied one of the symbols, trying to mimic the hand sign shown in the journal. She glanced at the screen again, adjusting her fingers, but it still didn’t feel right. With a soft huff of frustration, she tried again, her fingers twisting awkwardly into position. There was something just out of reach—something she knew she was missing—but the answers eluded her for now.
Izumi squinted at the journal, her fingers carefully shifting through the motions of the hand sign, trying to match the drawing on the page. She glanced back at the website, double-checking her reference, and once again, moved her fingers into position. For a moment, nothing happened, just like the dozens of other attempts she’d made. But then—without warning—there was a tiny spark. A flicker of energy danced across her fingertips, so brief that she almost didn’t believe it had happened.
Her breath caught, and her eyes widened in surprise. She froze, staring at her hands, heart racing with sudden excitement. Had she just done it? Had she triggered something? The spark was so small, so fleeting, but it had been real—something had happened. “Oh my god…” she whispered to herself, a grin slowly spreading across her face. She hadn’t expected it to work—she wasn’t even sure what she had done—but she had felt the spark, and it was enough to ignite a new surge of energy inside her. She quickly looked back at the journal, her fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. Maybe, just maybe, she was finally starting to figure this out.
Izumi's heart skipped a beat at the sound of voices, familiar but unexpected. Andreas—she would recognize his tone anywhere—but there was someone else. Sylvia. What was she doing here? Her stomach tightened with unease. Quickly, she snapped her laptop shut and shoved the journal under a pile of papers, her hands moving fast to clear away any trace of her research. She paused, listening closely as their voices drew nearer, her mind racing with questions.
Why would Andreas bring Sylvia here, to the lair? Her brows knitted together in confusion, and she found herself holding her breath as she strained to hear their conversation through the heavy door. The lair was sacred ground—Andreas barely let anyone in here, and for good reason. Whatever was going on, it couldn’t be good. Izumi’s fingers stilled, resting on the now-hidden journal, her focus entirely shifting from her magical discovery to the mystery of Sylvia’s unexpected presence. Something was up.
The door creaked open, and Izumi’s eyes darted toward it, her heart racing with both curiosity and unease. Andreas stepped in first, and something about him immediately felt off. He wasn’t wearing his usual tactical gear or anything formal—instead, he was in casual clothes, a simple t-shirt and jeans, as if it were just another day. But that wasn’t the strangest part. In his hands, slung over his shoulder like it was nothing, was his Zorro suit, dirty and streaked with dried blood. Izumi’s gaze locked onto the fabric, the sight of the torn and stained material sending a jolt of worry through her.
Andreas, however, appeared completely fine. He was chatting casually with Sylvia, who strolled in right behind him, unfazed by the bloody outfit. Izumi’s eyes flicked between the two of them, trying to piece together what she was seeing. Andreas showed no signs of injury—no limp, no stiffness, not even a scratch on him. But the suit told a different story, and the sight of it made Izumi’s stomach churn. Her fingers instinctively curled into her palms as she forced herself to stay calm, her mind racing with questions. What the hell happened last night?
Izumi’s eyes darted between Sylvia, Andreas, and the bloody suit slung casually over his shoulder. She couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in her gut—something wasn’t right. Andreas was acting as if nothing had happened, chatting away with Sylvia like it was just another morning. But that suit… the blood, the dirt—it painted a different picture entirely. And Sylvia being here? That didn’t make any sense either.
Izumi opened her mouth to speak, but for a moment, the words got stuck in her throat as she tried to piece together what she was seeing. Finally, after a long pause, the tension snapped. “What the fuck is going on?” she blurted, her voice sharper than she intended. Her eyes flicked between them, waiting for an explanation, her pulse quickening with a mix of frustration and confusion. There was too much she didn’t know, and it was all unraveling in front of her.
The room fell into an awkward silence after Izumi’s outburst, the tension thick enough to cut through. Andreas, standing there with his bloody suit slung over his shoulder, glanced at Sylvia before turning his attention to Izumi. He sighed, as if explaining something mundane, and then broke the silence.
“I got shot,” he said flatly, almost too casually. “I died. And somehow, I woke up on Sylvia’s couch an hour later.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t the most bizarre thing in the world. “So… I’m guessing she’s figured it out.”
As if on cue, Sylvia snorted, folding her arms and smirking from behind him. “Yeah, I think I might’ve pieced that one together,” she said, the sarcasm rolling off her tongue. She leaned against the doorframe, clearly more amused by the situation than concerned.
As Andreas headed upstairs, the sound of his footsteps fading as he disappeared to change into one of his three-piece suits, Izumi remained frozen in place, still processing what she had just heard. Shot. Died. Woke up. None of it made sense, and the fact that Andreas seemed so casual about it only made her head spin more. Sylvia, on the other hand, wandered over to the couch, plopping down next to Izumi like they were about to chat over coffee.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Sylvia picked at the edge of the couch cushion, her expression somewhere between bemused and thoughtful. Izumi, still staring at the door Andreas had just walked through, finally forced herself to turn her attention to Sylvia.
“So… you’re just... okay with all of this?” Izumi asked, still reeling from the absurdity of the situation.
Sylvia shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I mean, I didn’t think my day was going to involve watching someone come back to life, but hey, here we are.” She stretched her legs out, getting comfortable, as if this was just another bizarre chapter in a book she was casually flipping through. “Honestly, I’ve seen weirder things in this city.”
Izumi shot her a skeptical look, but she couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at her own lips. Leave it to Sylvia to roll with the madness like it was no big deal.
As Sylvia sat down, she hesitated, her usual sharp demeanor softening. She glanced at Izumi, her expression unreadable for a moment before she finally spoke. “So... Andreas told me what you did to Nico.” She tried to keep her tone light, but there was a weight to the words that Izumi didn’t miss. Sylvia paused, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve, trying to suppress the emotions that threatened to surface.
Izumi stiffened slightly but didn’t look away, her heart thudding in her chest. She knew this conversation was coming. After all, it wasn’t something that could be easily brushed aside. But hearing it out loud, from Sylvia no less, made it feel more real, more final. Sylvia leaned forward a little, her voice lowering, almost as if she were asking for a secret. “So, come on... what was it like, you know—castrating him?”
There was an edge of humor in Sylvia’s voice, but it didn’t quite mask the pain lurking beneath it. Izumi felt the tension in the room shift, a strange mix of disbelief and something darker settling between them. She wasn’t sure how to respond, but she knew that whatever Sylvia was feeling, it went beyond just morbid curiosity.
Izumi stared at Sylvia for a moment, her eyes wide, and then—before she could stop herself—she burst out laughing. The tension in the room shattered as her laughter filled the air, echoing through the lair. She couldn’t help it. The memory of Nico’s shocked face, the sheer absurdity of the moment, was too much. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still chuckling, and finally managed to speak between breaths.
“Totally worth it,” Izumi said, her grin widening. “The bastard got exactly what he deserved.”
Sylvia blinked in surprise at first, then let out a small, disbelieving laugh herself, shaking her head. The humor in Izumi’s voice seemed to take her off guard, but it was infectious. Despite the seriousness of what they were talking about, the shared moment of levity lightened the weight in the room. Izumi leaned back on the couch, still grinning. “I didn’t even hesitate,” she added, the satisfaction clear in her tone. “He had it coming for a long time.”
Andreas strolled down the stairs, adjusting the sleeves of his suit jacket, his expression as casual as ever. He stopped at the bottom, glancing between Izumi and Sylvia. “Anyone else hungry?” he asked, as though nothing strange had happened in the last 24 hours.
Izumi shot her hand up instantly. “Me!” she called out, grinning as she waved her arm like she hadn’t just barely taken a bite of her cold bagel.
Before Andreas could respond, Sylvia shot him a sideways look, eyebrow raised. “Seriously? After all that Chinese food you stuffed yourself with last night?” she quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Izumi snorted at the comment, and Andreas just shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Hey, it’s been a long night,” he said, rubbing his stomach with mock seriousness. “A guy’s gotta eat.”