Yagoo steeples his fingers as he waits for the person on the other end of the call to respond.

“Well…that’s certainly one hell of an idea, Tanigo-san…” The gruff voice pauses once again before clicking his tongue. “...I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

The CEO of Cover lets out a frustrated sigh while rubbing his forehead.

“Are you sure? I know tha-”

“I’m just a loan shark, dude. If you wanted to take out a loan to hire some protection or to pay somebody to scare some people, that’d be fine. But something like that? Not my wheelhouse, sorry.”

Shinove looks down to his tablet and begins typing while Yagoo slumps back in his leather office chair, feeling utterly defeated before the yakuza speaks up again.

“Ehh, actually maybe I misspoke.”

The two men, the only ones left in the office, both snap their heads over to the phone on the desk.

“Let me give you a number. The guy’s a little…off…and there’s no guarantee he’ll be all that agreeable, but he’s probably your best shot. KREF guy, apparently did some shady shit up there, so he can handle things being-uh, ugly.”

The man quickly rattles off a phone number, which Shinove dutifully copies down to a file on his tablet as Yagoo tries to thank the man.

“No problem. Consider it a favor for not skimping on your payments after we…helped…get that little ‘idol’ company of yours off the ground. Heh heh.”

The loan shark quickly hangs up, leaving the other two in silence before they hastily put in the number, out of any other options.

Though a veteran of the 2nd Korean War isn’t a bad one by any means…

You finish securing the last velcro strap on the knee brace before giving your knee a few experimental bends and finding that it holds firm. You pull down your pant leg and rest your injured limb on your coffee table, right beside your canned coffee and phone. Letting out a deep sigh, you lean back into the worn, but still quite comfortable couch that is the only other piece of furniture in your barren living room.

Man, you’re tired. That stream last night ended going way longer than you had wanted.. You were content with just ending it after the required time, until your neighbors unexpectedly started getting into a fight and somehow the entire scenario flummoxed you such that you didn’t want to end the stream until they were done. Two hours, and an admittedly not unenjoyable time trying to figure out what they were screaming at each other over with a thousand other people who accidentally got a front row seat to a domestic disturbance later, you nearly passed out in your chair actually ending. At least you’re not obligated to do that again for the rest of the month. Hopefully, your main job also gives you enough time off to-

“You gave a gift to me, in my young age!”

Fuck.

You lean forward, grabbing your ringing phone off the table while wincing as your torso and arm aches at the sudden movement. Caller I.D shows that it’s the general manager of Holostars calling, and you can only assume that Shinove has something other than glad tidings. Lightly rubbing your bruised bicep, you swipe the answer button on the phone screen and hold it up to your ear.

“Yo.” You placidly greet the bespectacled man on the other end,

“Hello, Anonymous.” He responds in kind. “I’ve got news for you.”

“They finally decide on a nickname?” Shinove chuckles at your guess.

“No, they’re stuck between sticking with the Roppongi Ripper or making you the Tokyo Tormentor, I’m afraid. The authorities haven’t ruled out a copy-cat quite yet.”

They're both good ones, though you’re somewhat sentimental to the former. That time, pounding the pavement, cracking skulls and being a terror…it’s different from now. Maybe it was staying in the tiny loft above that old lady’s sushi restaurant, and constantly getting free food as a result. You swap the hand holding your phone so that your good one can reach for your coffee as the manager continues.

“Well, first I’d like to congratulate you!” You just hum before taking a sip from the can as Shinove elaborates. “You doubled your streaming hours from last month! Though, I must ask that you refrain from airing out others’ domestic disputes in the future.”

Wow. From two hours to four? Really got your nose to the grindstone now.

You swallow the sweet caffeinated beverage as you respond with a question you already kind of know the answer to.

“...Does that mean I get to take next month off?”

“Of course not.”

Figures.

“I also…need you to come into the office.” Shinove reluctantly says, knowing how you’ll feel.

You let out an annoyed groan and crush the, thankfully now empty, coffee can in your grip.

“Ugh, do I have to?” You ask, fully realizing that your tone makes you sound like a petulant child.

Going to the office means a couple of things. First, that means you have to put off the much needed R&R you were preparing for. So instead of at most walking down to the entrance of your apartment complex to pick up your food delivery, now you’re gonna have to go all the fucking way downtown. Second, you’re likely to interact with your ‘coworkers’ once you’re there. It’s much harder to deflect and just completely lie to people’s faces in person. At least for you, anyway.

“Anon…” Shinove chides as you whinge, knowing you just like to bitch.

“C’mon Shinove, cut me some slack. Did you see how hard I worked last night?” You half-beg.

“While we appreciate you being…proactive, in both ways, this is important.”

“Fiiiiiinee, but it better actually be important…” You swing your leg off the table and lean forward. “...Are you there now?”

“I’m on my way, but I will be by the time you get there.”

“Better be. See ya, Shinove.”

You hang up, not waiting to hear his farewell. Even though your body painfully protests, you stand up and twist your torso hoping to help relax the tight and sore muscles that agree with you in that “going to work is bullshit”. Walking to your front door, you tiredly slide on your sneakers and blue-green jacket, nearly walking out before realizing it’s raining and you should probably bring something with a hood. Ditching your favorite jacket, you toss it back on the hook beside the door and grab the dark green canvas poncho hanging beside it. Throwing the weather-appropriate outerwear on, you quickly leave your apartment.

Only to then nearly break your neck tripping over a large cardboard box sitting outside your front door. Christ, did the delivery guy not even knock? Did he see what kind of place you live in?

Though coming up to almost your knee and being as wide as you are, the box isn’t too heavy and you carefully bring it into your apartment to place it on your kitchen table. Flicking open your switchblade, you easily slice through the packing tape with it and take a peek at your delivery, even though you already know what it ought to be.

A brand new, heavy-duty nail gun. Usually only for concrete or metal, but with a little bit of elbow grease you’re sure that it can be easily co-opted into use in your ‘night job’. You don’t really have the time to sit down and do the modifications to it right now, though.

Here’s hoping you’re not at the office long.

Polka absentmindedly stares past Nene’s T.V to the rain covered window while she waits for her friend to return from the bathroom, the random news station’s thoroughly uninteresting anchorman providing an update on political pollings that are as equally insipid to the former circus performer.

…Lowest approval rating in forty-five years amongst most demographics…

…Criticized for cutting already strained police budgets…

…Unemployment rose by an astonishing ten percent in just three years…

…Controversial decision to re-open agreement talks with the United States…

In one fox ear and out the other, it’s all just so tiresome. She’s grateful for Nene’s efforts to try and assuage the paranoia and worries that are partly responsible for the fennec’s exhaustion, letting Polka stay in the nicer neighborhood her genmate resides in, but there’s more to it than that. One look at the news at any point this year or even just outside recently, and it would be obvious to anyone that it seems the universe itself is bearing down on Tokyo, crushing the metropolis under the weight of misfortune like an old curse that’s finally been activated. Funny, considering the rain brought with it a pretty severe drop in air pressure that’s been wreaking havoc on her ears, making her take medication for the migraines that definitely aren’t helping the lethargy.

It’s just not a good time for her, or for anyone. Not that that excuses anybody.

Polka’s stomach churns as the phantom sensation of hands all over her body and the long rinsed out taste of filthy skin returns to her mouth. She hunches over, putting her head between her knees as she tries to suppress a gag and quietly waits for her stomach to settle.

…Why is this all so hard?

Letting out a shaky breath, the morose fox girl finally sits back up when she hears the toilet flush. Nene’s been wanting to return the favor for Polka taking care of her for a while now, and she’d hate for Nene to feel like she hasn’t been doing enough. Having completely tuned out the T.V, Polka does a double take when she sees out of the corner of her eyes some fairly ghastly images for a news broadcast. What in the world…

She grabs the remote and rewinds it back until she sees the dull news anchor.

“-ant to warn you that the following images may be graphic. However, Japan Today has acquired exclusive crime scene photos of the Tokyo Tormentor’s most recent massacre…and we believe that the public deserves to see what’s going on in their backyard.”

Woah. Wait, are they even allowed to show this?

Polka lets the gruesome photographs pass across the screen as she watches with morbid fascination. The faces have been covered with simple black bars, but the clothing and surroundings give away that these men were clearly living rough before they met their untimely demise. She had never seen violence like this before, and what astounds her is simply how much blood there is. Each photo shows more and more until the very last one makes her blood run cold and Polka stares wide-eyed at the screen until the anchor returns and she almost unconsciously rewinds to see the last image again. Then the anchor appears again and she rewinds it once more and this time pauses it on the bloody crime scene.

The black bars don’t do a particularly good job of masking their identities. The hair, the clothes of two of them, their frames…it gives it all away.

Polka feels an odd sensation in her chest and on her face as she stands up from the couch and takes a step toward the television.

“Ahh..sorry for taking so long, Omarun! Nene ran out of-” Nene freezes when she returns to the living room.

Her friend is standing in the middle of the room, staring intently at a still image of a crime scene. A man face down in an astonishingly large pool of blood, a large black duffel bag beside him. Another lies face up, but the attempt at censoring his face isn’t good enough to hide that there’s a large chunk of his cheek missing, or that the back of his head has split open like a dropped watermelon. The last is slumped against the wall, clearly having been both stabbed a countless amount of times and then subjected to a very jagged and rough decapitation, his severed head resting in between his legs.

Nene snaps out of her shock and looks over to her friend.

“...Polka?”

The jester turns and stares back, but…

“N-Nenecchi…sorry, it’s just…the news. They…that killer, he…” The lack of a straight answer makes Nene anxious. Should Polka really be seeing stuff like this right now?

“That’s…the news?” Nene asks. “They’re showing one of that serial killer guy’s crime scenes?”

“Yeah…” The distant tone doesn’t assuage any of the blondes' worries.

Maybe that was the wrong question. Nene doesn’t want to sound presumptuous, or judgemental, she knows Polka’s going through a lot and is all out of sorts while also being reluctant to talk about it. But this is beyond worrying to her.

“So…why are you smiling?”

Walking down the rainy streets, you internally seethe about how far the office is from the nearest train station. Never seemed that bad in hindsight but being in the long-term torrential downpour really makes the trek insufferable, especially when you’ve realized that despite thinking twice about a jacket you lacked the same critical thinking when it came to footwear. These sneakers are soaked through. Do you even own any waterproof boots? You don’t think so, but you suppose that’s a purchase you can justify. Especially if you’re gonna have to walk around town like this. Wet feet are no fun.

As you walk you step in a peculiarly warm rain puddle. Glancing down, you see it’s not rain at all.

A boy, about ten or so, lies face up to the sky. Face pallid and eyes empty, his mouth hanging open collecting rainwater. The puddle you stepped in is blood pooling around his head from where he must have hit it against the ground when he fell. His full white karate gi is just starting to be stained by his watered down blood when there’s a flash of lightning, and you look up to the sky as the thunder rumbles. When you look back down, the boy and his blood are gone.

Yeah…

You take an abrupt turn into an alleyway having seen the little covered alcove containing two vending machines and a respite from the rain. One for canned drinks, and one for cigarettes. You could use both right about now. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the back of a clearly homeless man who was huddled close enough to the machine further from you that you couldn’t see him on your way into the alley. He’s doing…something, facing the wall. Whatever it is, his back is keeping it from your view. Hope he’s not jerking off.

Buying your desired items, you hear an odd rattling followed by a sound like compressed air being sprayed coming from the hobo beside the vending machines. Spray paint? Why in the world is a homeless guy wasting his time graffiting one of the few dry places in the city? Another flash followed by a rumble of thunder happens, masking the sound of you opening your can as you step closer to see what he’s making. Unfortunately, your approach itself is enough to finally draw his attention as he violently whips around, looking at you like you had just insulted his dead family.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, CREEP!?” The homeless man yells, spittle getting caught in his matted and greasy beard.

What is with the homeless in Tokyo nowadays? Always so rude and on edge, you’d think there’s a manic serial killer around recently who seemingly targets them, or something. You stand there silently taking a long, loud sip of your coffee while your free hand cautiously drifts to your back pocket, a motion that he sees even though it’s partially obscured by your poncho.

“I DON’T WANT ANY OF YOUR FUCKING MONEY!”

Oh pal, it’s not your wallet you’re reaching for. Keep being so aggressive and find out. You look to the street and notice that the few stragglers stuck braving the elements probably wouldn’t be able to see any incident through the sheets of rain, or hear anything for much the same reason.

The vagrant is paranoid enough to properly realize your likely nefarious intentions and opts instead to book it and power-walk past you out into the sidewalk, muttering something about how you’re “probably a commie, or a cop”. A brief flicker of the urge to pull him back and slit his throat comes over you, but you’d have to drop your coffee to do so and he’s already too far away and you’re just not in the mood for a chase.

That’s just insulting, though. You and fought and killed communists not that long ago, so for someone to think tha-

Your train of thought hits the brakes when you look and see what he was graffiting.

It’s a heart. White with a black outline and a large, jagged crack splitting it and the red circle in the middle of it directly in half. Huh. Have you…seen that before? Now that you’re looking at it, it does feel like you have. Maybe last night? Hmm…

Ehh, you can’t remember.

A car speeds past the alley, spraying a mist that forces you to turn away lest you get unwittingly soaked.

Yeah, this recollection shit can wait until you get someplace dry.

Tap, tap, tap…

A-Chan pauses her work on the long, likely overly formal email to rub her eyes, pushing up her black-framed oval glasses as she does. Leaving herself completely blind to your presence in the front of the receptionist's desk, not that she noticed your approach before. Still got that light step, even with the bad wheel. The blue-haired woman lets out a heavy sigh, still covering her face to give her eyes a rest from the bright screen. Who dimmed the lights in the lobby anyway? With the oppressive, dark gray clouds suffocating the sky and drowning the ground, it almost looks like night time in here. It’s not even half past noon!

Deciding you’ve had enough of waiting politely and patiently for her to notice you, you lean forward and reach for the oh-so tantalizing metal call bell sitting on the desk.

DING! DING! DING! DING! DING!

Smashing it down five times in rapid succession, you succeed in making A-Chan leap up out of her chair in fright, her glasses falling off her head into her lap as she lets out a yelp before pulling her hands down to see who alarmed her. After a moment of nervous squinting, her face morphs into a frown, carrying with it a palpable disgust in her tone once she speaks.

“Anon…”

Yeah, she doesn’t like you all that much. As one of the three people, not including yourself, to know what you really do for Cover, she has good reason not to. You’re not in any mood to bicker though, chilled and soaking wet that you are.

“Shinove in?” You ask, hoping that the general manager’s time estimate was right and he wasn’t held up by traffic or anything.

“...Yes.” A-Chan puts her glasses back on after wiping them with the corner of her shirt. Taking the moment to type something on her laptop before looking back up to you.  “He’s in his office, would you like me to-”

She stops suddenly, her eyes widening slightly before she starts looking smug about something. You open your mouth to ask what her deal is, only to then be aware that someone’s right behind you.

“Ah, Anon-san!” A soft, androgynous voice comes from the person, and it now makes sense that they were somehow able to sneak up on you.

You spin around suddenly, sending a spray of the water droplets that were still clinging to your poncho while your right arm coils up near your hip, reflexively preparing to draw a pistol that isn’t there. Minase Rio stands there, looking at you with a bright smile. He’s got his hood up, despite being ethereally dry, and seems nonplussed by your sudden turn.

Fucking ghosts, man….

“Y-Yo, Rio-Senpai.” You pretend to clear your throat, acting as if that stutter was due to something other than being uncomfortable.

“I saw your stream last night!” Rio breezes right past it, either not noticing or ignoring your discomfort. “It was pretty funny! Weird, but funny!”

You snort. “Yeah, thank my neighbour for fucking his wife’s sister. That’s all them.”

The purple haired man chuckles, hiding his laugh behind the back of his hand.

“Gonna give them a cut of the supas, then?” He jokes.

“Heh, how much do you think I made?”

Rio just shrugs, before gaining a coy expression.

“Well you know, maaaaybe if you streamed a little more…” He starts, and it takes a lot to not just groan. This was exactly your worry, a conversation going down this route.

Either your distaste for this line of thinking is visible on your face or being a ghost he can just tell you’re getting annoyed because he seemingly gets nervous, clamming up and playing with the strings of one of the black bows that are tied to the front of his jacket. There’s an exceedingly awkward silence that follows, punctuated by the rumble of thunder and the click clack of A-Chan ignoring the conversation and getting back to work. Yeah, you should probably end this and get to Shinove ASAP, lest you run into anybody else.

“Well that’s a hell of a thought Rio, I’ll keep it in mind, but I gotta get going.” You toss the front of your poncho over your shoulder, making it form more of a cape as you turn back and bound over to the elevator.

“W-Wait, Anon. I-I didn’t mean to offend-” You cut him off by dismissively waving over your shoulder as you reach the elevator.

Except it opens just before you press the button and of course, because the world cannot stand you going unpunished for your crimes, the trio of Roberu, Astel, and Temma are inside. Though, maybe not as ‘SunTempo’ is currently engrossed in a discussion to really notice you step aside and let them walk out.

“Wait wait wait…you’re tellin’ me that they just showed that shit on the news!?” Roberu’s question is directed towards Astel, and Temma seems just as interested in whatever the younger man saw on T.V.

Good for you, as they’re too distracted to see you slide behind them into the elevator.

“Yeah, it was weird.” Astel puts his hands in the pockets of puffy orange jacket and shrugs. “Wasn’t exactly expecting gorespamming, but I suppose that’s just-Hi Anon.- what this city’s like nowadays.”

You rapidly begin to press your desired floor as the other two catch Astel slipping in a greeting directed towards you. Maybe you’re not a sneaky as you thought, or it’s your fucking leg. Either way, Roberu whirls around to see the rare sight of his mysterious coworker in the flesh. The clammy, tightly wound, rapidly losing composure flesh.

“Woah! Fancy seein’ you around here!” The bartender greets you loudly, and you choke back the curse that you were gonna respond with.

“Y-Yeah, hi.” You glance over at the array of buttons and find you’re an idiot and have been mashing the ‘DOOR OPEN’ button instead, with only the collar and hood of your slick poncho preventing your expression from revealing that you feel like you just snipped the wrong wire on a bomb.

FUCK!

“Whatcha been up to?” Roberu asks, oblivious to your internal freakout. You gulp the saliva building up in your mouth and try to sound casual.

“Been…reading.” His eyes widen slightly in interest at your answer and Roberu leans forward, resting his arm in the elevator doorway and incidentally blocking it from closing.

He’s fucking with you. He’s gotta be fucking with you. Bartender’s are observant and shit right? He’s gotta know you’re considering slitting your wrists in the elevator and just having everyone watch you bleed to death.

“Oh yeah? A manga?”

You clear your throat.

“Uh…no. Just a-a regular, normal…novel.” You gesticulate with your hands in front you, suppressing the urge to shove him back and let the door close.

“What’s it about?” The red-head asks with a smile, and you try and not look him in the eyes.

“I-It’s about a kid who gets stuck in an underground city of monsters, and the fights and shit he gets into down there.” You spit out.

Relief floods into you as leans back and readjusts one of the suspenders hanging from his belt, glancing down to focus on fixing it.

“Sounds cool.” The bartender muses distractedly.

Come on door, fucking close already!

“Yeah…not very…allegorical, like I thought. But it’s alright.”

It seems like the other three men behind him can tell you’re about to vomit, looking at you strangely. Rio’s nervous look disappears from view as the metal door slowly slides shut, then followed by Astel’s raised eyebrow, only for Roberu to look up just as the door shuts.

“Hey, next week would ya be down for kar-”

The door closes, cutting him off before the entire thing lurches upwards to begin its ascent. You snap forward, slamming your forehead against the cool metal door, ignoring the pain and relishing in the feeling of the steel against your unexpectedly hot face. Screwing your eyes shut, you try to hold off the growing migraine.

…

…

Fucking Shinove…why could he not just tell you what he wanted over the goddamn phone. It’s like swallowing burning coals, being here…

…

…

“...You really should relax more. All that caffeine and stress is bad for your heart!”

DANGER…

You don’t remove your head from the door, just turn it enough to open an eye. The voice tipped you off, but the cramped elevator being replaced with a dark and sickly teal tinged room confirms it. Back in the place from last night, sans Dragon or Rat though.

The body of Tokino Sora seems ill-equipped to handle the large bear mask sitting on her head, if she were real it would be massively uncomfortable, but she sits daintily on the white leather chair, her hands politely folded in her lap.

“So is killing people in violent brawls for a living, the fuck’s your point?” You hiss at the idol in your head, who doesn’t flinch.

“My point...” She says as serenely as ever. “Is that for someone who wants to try and hide there being a problem, you’re awfully bad at it.”

Is she teasing you?

“I’m not an actor.” You respond defensively.

“What are you, then?”

Glaring into the snarling maw, you remain silent.

Soldier. Survivor. Killer. Terror. Ripper. Tormentor. Maniac.

…What difference does it make?

“In any case,” ‘Sora’ moves on. “the best thing to do would be to make it seem like you have nothing to actually hide.”

She crosses one leg over the other before continuing.

“Roberu was obviously gonna ask you to join something. Go ahead and do it, put on a nice show., pretend to be normal for a night! Who knows? You might like it!”

You click your tongue. You’re not sure about that one.

“Have I ever been normal?” You rhetorically ask.

“Maybe, maybe not…But you used to try.”

For some odd reason, that statement really resonates with you. Have you really stopped trying to be ‘normal’? You eat, drink, sleep, and shit like any other person. You have semi-normal hobbies. Video games, reading, things like that. So what if you hurt and kill people and don’t hate it? Chances are, most people throughout history were like that.

Is justification like that normal, though? Did those people chase the killing the way you do?

You close your eyes and heave a heavy sigh, turning the idea floated to you in your head. Maybe making an effort would get them off your back, if nothing else.

Ding!

You open your eyes again, only to find the elevator is back to being just an elevator and has reached your desired floor.

What is it with you and having schizo moments on these things?

Kson sits at the head of the meeting, in a plush leather chair identical to the ones before her. It’s like a board meeting if the long table was removed, leaving an empty space to admire the red carpet that accentuates the equally lavish room. She sits casually, slouched in the chair with her pink katana in its sheath propped against the arm of her chair and a worn vintage goalie mask in her lap. To her right, a line of identical tall, orange haired women in different outfits are seated, chattering amongst themselves. To her left are a line of petit, black haired women in glasses. Save for one at the very end, a buxom blonde with pigtails who seems to have a nicotine addiction if the overflowing ashtray next to her is any indication. Despite being at the head, and appearing to be the one in charge, she knows it’s not herself that called this meeting.

It’s herselves. The past ones.

She picks up the mask and shakes from side to side.

“...Well? The fuck do ya’ll want?”

The closest one, wearing a short red skirt and keeping her hair relatively straight is the one to pipe up, though they all turn to stare at her creepily.

“Yeah, we just had a question is all..” She reclines back, throwing an arm over the back of the chair and spreading her legs as she lets out an exhale, a small puff of smoke leaving her lips.

“The fuck you doing, Souchou!?”

The sudden yell makes her jump, and think that somehow it’s to do with the mask.

“What!? I’m not doing anything!” Kson shakes the mask for effect. “It’s my fucking mask anyway!”

The Coco beside the first Coco, one wearing a red track jacket and glasses, speaks up next.

“Yeah, that’s kinda the problem here bitch!” Her equally aggressive tone doesn’t clear anything up. “You haven’t really been doing anything!”

Kson raises an eyebrow, looking over her glasses down the line of orange-haired dragonesses before turning her head to stare at the line of Kumichous, whose angry faces seem to indicate that they agree.

Except Kaine. She just looks content to sit there and smoke.

“Yeah, Souchou…” The closest one on her left says her title in a deriding tone. “When’s the last time you’ve done anything other lounge around, eat pizza, and fingerblast yourself to some random fucker’s livestream laughing about his fucking neighbours getting into a goddamn fight!?”

Are these people insane!? Where do they get this!?

Well, they all are just herself really. And if she’s a woman having wild-ass dreams about having a yakuza clan meeting with a bunch of different versions of herself, then they probably aren’t all that put together.

“Okayokayokay…” Kson takes a moment to hush everyone and rub her eyes.

“First off…” She blinks her eyes clear and turns to the one who just spoke, leaning forward in her chair. “I don’t where the fuck you got that last bit, but that is not at all what happened.”

“You like his voice!” She tries to argue.

“Course I like his fucking voice! It’s a nice voice!” She gestures with the hockey mask to everyone. “Better than this damn Mickey Mouse Clan shit I have to put up with every other night.”

“We have the same voice, dumbass!”

Kson just points off to the side without looking in the general vicinity of the Coco that yelled, successfully getting that one to not continue.

“Second…” She leans back, grabbing her sheathed katana in her free hand and planting it between her legs making a resounding BANG when it hits the floor.

“The fuck else do you want me doing?”

She already can guess the answer to that question, but she wants to corral and control the rowdy group to let her speak again.

The Coco in a yukata and a single elegant braid is the next one to open her mouth.

“We want you to-” She doesn’t get far before Kson slams her weapon back down on the floor again.

BANG!

“Lemme guess, go out and crack some fucking skulls? Is that it?” The head of the group rhetorically asks, leading to them all unsurprisingly nodding or shrugging in agreement.

“Well, I don’t know if you all have noticed or not, but not only is there a maniac out there killing homeless dudes by the fucking dozen, but it’s gonna be pissing rain like that for the next month non-stop!”

She slouches back in her chair, idly staring at the plain white mask in her hand.

“And, things have been…fine. For me, for Nazuna, all my new friends. Been good, really. Good as they can be, anyway. ” Kson lets out a heavy sigh. “Nazu’s not a big fan of me running off and doing that shit anyway...”

There’s a pregnant pause before somebody, she doesn’t see who, raises a query she should have expected.

“What about Kanata? Or any of the others?”

Kson closes her eyes, her hackles defensively raising over the question they asked.

She made it clear when she left. It didn’t matter what it was, who it was, or when it was…if anybody had a problem they didn’t trust Cover to handle, to call her and she’d move Heaven and Earth to fix it. She made everyone she told that to promise, tears in her eyes, that they could come to her for anything. They all promised, but no calls like that have yet come. Worse yet, a little while after Kanata moved out, it became obvious to her that the angel was hiding something. Something that was deeply troubling her. Kson wasn’t able to get any answers, just a “It’s nothing, don’t worry.” but her demeanor was just like when she had first returned from the Otologist. Whatever it was, it was bad.

…Maybe putting the squeeze on some people she knows would get her some answers.

Sighing, she looks up to the rest of the group, who are clearly on the same train of thought already and can tell what she’s thinking.

“...Well?” one of the Kumichous asks.

Kson sighs.

“Fine.” With that, she stands, gripping her sword in a white-knuckled grip while she holds the mask in beside her head.

“You all want me to show I’m not some pussy-bitch from Dunwoody? Is that what you motherfuckers want!? Want me to clean out a way for people again, like I did for VShojo!?”

She can do it. She took out the competition in record time, brought most of the problem child families to heel or broke the ones that wouldn’t. Then the ‘Kson-gumi’ were disbanded, leaving nothing but a metaphorical freshly tilled field for her new group to find a foothold in this hell-hole city.

Everyone just looks at her expectantly, even Kaine puts her cigarette out on the mound of ashes and butts to look curiously as Kson angrily puts the mask on. Right as the strap slides over her head and the fiberglass goaltending mask sits properly against her face…

She wakes up. In bed. She can hear Nazuna through the wall, chattering with her fans on stream. Sitting up, she rubs the rheum from her eyes, fumbling for her glasses which fell off her face while she slept. The tall and tired woman finds them underneath her thigh, thankfully unbroken, before trying to find her phone. It must have fallen onto the floor, because last she remembers it was on her pillow beside her head as she listened to…

You.

It is on the floor, and after an initial cringe when she finds it face down, picks it up. Breathing a sigh of relief when she flips it over and the screen is unbroken, she presses the power button. Nearly dead. Only three percent, but enough to show that it’s a little later than twelve p.m and after unlocking it, finds it’s resting on your Twitter account. After a moment's hesitation, she presses the ‘follow’ button before getting up to get dressed. More importantly to start charging her phone.

She’s gotta make a couple calls.

The video isn’t particularly high quality, but the security camera footage Shinove’s showing you on his tablet doesn’t really need to be. A man, very clearly living rough based on his appearance, is slamming his shoulder against an apartment door. There’s no audio, but he occasionally stops to visibly shout something through the door. The video ends just as two police officers enter the frame, coming from underneath the camera and taking the man’s attention away from the door. Your stomach sinks as you realize the likely reason why you’re being shown.

“...Whose apartment is that?” Your short question garners a sigh from the manager.

“It’s…Kanata’s.” Shinove says lightly. “Apparently, the police have been receiving noise complaints of someone screaming there on-and-off for the last few weeks, but only now was the caveat of it sounding like an attempted-break in mentioned.”

You lean back in the chair and cross your arms, poking one of your fillings with your tongue. It’s a little loose, probably all the caffeine and getting assaulted.

“Did it only start getting physical now?”

The bespectacled man glances down on his tablet before swiping the video to the side, pulling up a text document before answering.

“Apparently. Though since the man trying to get in was heavily intoxicated, and from what I was told, seemed to be every time, the police didn’t see much point in trying to charge him with anything beyond disorderly conduct.” Shinove pauses.

“Not that they could really afford to keep him over something minor like that, nowadays.”

Minor? Well, maybe on the surface, but the two of you now know better than that. Better than the cops, anyway.

“They really just let the guy go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.” He sighs. “But before you ask, we do know where he is.”

“Really?” You question, out of curiosity, rather than disbelief. “How would we know that, exactly? I don’t think you’ve ever told me.”

Shinove looks up to you for a moment, before returning his gaze to the screen.

“Well, you never asked. I have a few…friends, on the police force. Went to University with them. I asked them to keep me informed of things that come up in their jurisdiction regarding our talent, as a favor of course, and they agreed.” He pushes up his glasses, while you wonder if this deal is older than the current problems they face. Head off one of the girls being caught with drugs or something like that. “They showed me the incident report and a copy of the footage, as for where the guy went…”

He turns the tablet over to you again, this time showing a few candid photos of the same guy trying to get into Kanata’s apartment lifting the shutter on an old storefront in some back-alley, a graffitied broken heart on the shutter.

“Turns out, we have a fan who’s a beat cop.”

You chuckle. It sometimes is just that easy, huh?

“Lemme guess,” You start. “Broke Sukonbu willing to trade recon work for acrylic stands? Free tickets to meet-and-greets?”

Shinove smiles.

“Ichimin, but yes.” He opens a map,  a red pin showing what you assume is the location of where the pictures were taken. It’s not a place you recognize directly, but it isn’t far from a few places you do, going by the map. “Fan says the guy was there as recently as yesterday morning, with the weather chances are he’s likely still there.”

You grin fiercely.

“Best part about the rain. All the vermin crowd into the dry spaces to escape drowning.” Your face likely mirrors Shinove’s gaudy shirt, but you don’t care. “Lucky us.”

He doesn’t share your enthusiasm.

“That also means he’s probably not alone.” He reminds you, but you shrug in disinterest.

“They haven’t been in a while, that’s nothing I can’t handle.” Especially with your new toy waiting for you at home.

You uncross your arms, stretching them over your head until you feel a satisfying pop from your stiff shoulders. You’re already kind of giddy. You could likely do it tonight, depending on how you feel after working on that nail gun. It’d be a good trial run either way, even if it doesn't work well. Though two nights in a row, especially after last night being tougher than you thought it would be, is a tall order.

Suppose that’s what you get for going out on your own, even if you’ve never been the type to let a mess like that sit there and get worse.

“Was that all?” Your question turns Shinove apprehensive.

He taps and swipes on his tablet screen a few more times.

“No, there is one other thing. But…” He eventually finds what he’s looking for but doesn’t show you it quite yet.

Squinting at him, you readjust in the chair while pulling the collar of your poncho down away from your mouth. He seemingly resolves to continue after he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Do you remember, around the time you first joined, Matsuri's claims she had a stalker?”

Oh?

You take a moment to think back. Yeah, you do. Whole thing seemed like bullshit at the time, a poor attempt to dodge a gaffe. But from what you recall, she’d been pretty adamant in her claim.

“Yyyeaaaahhh?” You draw it out, not sure where he’s going with this. He is bringing this up to you though, so…

Shinove pushes his glasses up again, the reflection of the light from his screen hiding his eyes.

“Well, I believe we found him.” He finally turns his tablet over to you, showing…

A completely normal looking guy. Kind of handsome, you guess. He’s got a tan. This profile thing Shinove has even shows where he works, which seems to be a decent place that pays well. His home address is a nice apartment complex in an average neighborhood. Not exactly someone you would typecast as a stalker, let alone one who’d be able to break into their house, but you’ve killed more unassuming people before.

“So…what’s the issue?”

Shinove looks back down at the file on Matsuri’s alleged stalker, and sighs.

“He’s clean.” Is all he says to you.

“Yeah, and? So he’s not a recidivist. They usually aren’t.” Your dispassionate response doesn’t seem to assuage what’s bothering the manager.

“Not just of a criminal record, Anon.” He clarifies, pushing his bangs back. “He’s got no notable online history, no secret anti accounts, nothing of the sort. But…security footage and eyewitnesses do place him in her apartment complex at the time, and he certainly doesn’t live there.”

Hmm. That is a little weird.

“...And she’s still insisting it was a stalker?” Shinove nods at your question.

This is one of those ‘go with your gut’ or ‘take it at face value’ things. Times like these you kind of wish you were paid by the head, but you agreed to being ‘on call’ so in the end it’s kind of up to you.

That’s probably what he’s looking for, isn’t it? He can’t in good conscience guarantee that this guy has it-you-coming so Shinove wants you to make that call. Kind of a weird thing to grow apprehensive about after working with you for six months. Wonder what changed?

“Eh, fuck it. I’ll throw him in. Been a while since I’ve done a two-fer, anyhow.” Maybe going across town to kill someone else later that night will confuse the police, not that they seem to have their heads on straight anyway if Shinove hasn’t heard anything.

“...Okay.”  Shinove steeples his fingers and stares thoughtfully at the face of the supposed creeper as you stand up, brushing invisible dust off your pants while you rise.

“Gee, don’t get too excited there, Shinnie.” You tease. He was never over the moon about working with you, nobody really is, but he never seemed the type to get cold feet.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just…” He pauses. “...was watching the news on the way here and it, uh, had crime scene photos from your work last night.”

Whatever expression you're wearing causes Shinove to hold his hands out.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still think Yagoo made the right call with you. Just finally seeing the end result was a little…shocking.” The general manager adjusts his glasses before standing, holding his hand out for you to shake.

You give him a firm handshake.

“Nobody likes seeing how the sausage is made. Even if you didn’t agree with him, at the very least you and Yagoo found out where to get the best Unagi rolls in the fucking country, right?” Your joke about the place where you, him and Cover’s CEO first met causes Shinove to crack a smile.

“Great, now I’m gonna be thinking about them all day. I didn’t even have breakfast.” He muses.

You just smile and point knowingly.

“She works with a delivery service now, you know.” You decide to inform him.

Seeing the twinkle in his eye, you decide to head out. Knowing what he’s probably gonna do to his now incoming lunch would probably be more violent than what was put on the news.

A rain-soaked back-alley, lit only by the still glowing neon signs of shuttered businesses. At the other end, a single amber eye peeks around the corner as a monster in human clothing stalks towards one of the closed doors. The owner of the eye leans further out, exposing his entire head while still remaining out of sight of the one he’s looking at.

Even at this distance, he can tell you’re a foot taller than he is. The neon makes it hard to tell, but he’s pretty sure that you’re also wearing a jacket the color of rusty copper. What’s unmistakable is your head. A large rat mask covers the entire thing, and in this lighting it almost looks real. He didn’t think it would be, but it did give him pause when he saw it. In yourr hand is something large, angular, kind of looks like a children's toy. A cartoon laser blaster or something.

Pulling back around the corner, he presses his back against the cool exposed brick. His heart pounds against his ribcage as a wide smile slowly forms across his face. The rain drips off the awning he’s under just in front of him, forming a large puddle by his feet that he can see his reflection in. He gives his face a once over, makes sure there’s no stray bits of candy in his teeth. Finding nothing out of place, he readjusts a safety pin holding one of the small red bows in his hair.

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

The sound of someone banging on one of the shutters gets him bouncing. Oh man, he can’t believe it. Could it really be?

The Roppongi Ripper. The Tokyo Tormentor. In the flesh. How lucky is he?

As soon as he hears the shutter open, he pulls his red scarf up over his nose and hurries to the back entrance, clutching a sharpened shovel in his hands tightly enough to hurt his palms in an effort to try and stimy the shaking from his excitement.

He hopes that maybe he can find out a real name.

The shutter is lifted open all the way, making the vagrant on the other side suddenly come face to…snout with you. His eyes widen in surprise, but before he can utter any exclamation, the repurposed and modified tool in your hand is brought up and pressed against his forehead, right between his eyebrows.

PSSHT!

The inch long metal nail is buried into the man's head and he collapses, dead instantly. Your free hand comes up to catch the shutter as it falls so as to not have it hit you in the head. Further into the abandoned storefront, two men crowding around a hot plate with a pot of boiling water on the store’s counter with ramen packets in their hands whip around to see what the noise was. You take a step inside before slamming the shutter shut behind you, cutting off the bright neon light from continuing to leak in and leaving only the dim orange glow of the building's sparse remaining light fixtures.

“Yo, what the fu-” You raise the nail gun and fire two nails at the speaking man’s head, one lodging just behind his ear and another hitting him in the temple, interrupting his attempt to stand.

He spills onto the counter, with one of his arms flailing in throes of brain death catching the pot’s handle and flinging its contents onto the face of his friend as that guy tries to get up and run for a door on the other side of the room. The resulting wails as he stumbles blindly toward his original objective, clutching his burned face with one hand while blindly pawing for the door with another, aren’t an unfamiliar sound. You remember doing recon work on the outskirts of Pyongyang, and watching what they did to a caught deserter. He screamed like that. But fortunately for the man here now, he won’t be screaming for nearly as long. You wait until his flailing subsides and he grabs the door to fire a nail into the back of his head.

PSSHT!

It sails over his shoulder and embeds in the doorframe.

Shit.

The blinded man turns the handle and bursts through the door, into a better lit hallway that where you see two more people who were already in the process of coming down to investigate the screams.

“S-SOMEBODY! HELP ME! PLEASE!” He wails into the hallway, unable to see the duo already there.

PSSHT! PSSHT!

PSSHT!

You fire three more times as you step into the doorway, launching two nails into the small of the man’s back before pausing on the last one and aiming another attempt at his head. It hits low, clipping the side of his neck, tearing through the soft flesh and judging by the blood hitting an artery. He collapses at the feet of the pair who are now frozen at the sight of not their friend, who’s writhing and spraying blood everywhere trying to stem the tide of crimson fluid pouring from his neck, but you. You lower the nail gun and turn your head to get a better look through the eye holes of your mask to see if either of them are the one you’re after.

“Oh f-fuck…K-Kaito…is that-” One of them shakily looks over to his more stone-faced friend.

Mmm….nope, neither of them are the guy.

“...Yeah.” The serious one, who’s about your height responds passively before rolling his shoulders like loosening up for a fight. “You can run if you want, Tama.”

He doesn’t seriously think that’s how this works, does he? Unfortunately, your mask hides your facial expression so he cannot see your ‘are you for real?’ look. If it had functional eyebrows, one would definitely be raised.

This ‘Kaito’ guy tilts head, cracking his neck as he sikes himself for a fight that he thinks is probably gonna be different.

“You killed my brother last night. My nakama. You know what that shit means, Psycho?” He hisses towards you as his friend looks between the two of you.

Eugh, it’s one of those types…

…

…

“..Well, do y-”

PSSHT!

You attempt to fire the nail gun from the hip, like you’re some kind of cowboy, but miss your mark. He flinches and the nail, which probably would have hit him right in the eye had he not, just slices his cheek and a follow up shot buries into his wrist as he gets his arms up to defend himself. The ‘Tama’ guy takes the opportunity to turn tail, stumbling down the hall as he slips on the linoleum floor. You raise your arm to take more a proper shot at the fleeing squatter before he rounds the corner, the resulting fired nail only managing to hit him in the asscheek. Still, he lets out a screech and hops in the air, spilling onto the ground hard and clutching his rear end upon landing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had broken his tailbone on that fall.

Turning back to Kaito, you find the big guy’s quicker than you realize as he didn’t let your attack stop him from advancing, and by the time you swing the nail gun back towards him he’s close enough to throw a punch before you’ll be able to fire. But Naoya Inoue he is not, as his resulting straight is comparatively slow and sloppy, giving you the chance to just lean to the side and let the blow sail harmlessly past your right shoulder. You hop step around him as he stumbles, having put all his weight into the punch leaving his back completely open for you to press the tip of the nail gun in between his shoulder blades and drill another inch long piece of metal into flesh.

Was that ten? You think that was ten. It better have been, cause this thing only holds fifteen and if you-

You really shouldn’t play with your food, let alone get distracted while you’re doing so because your foe just grits his teeth and whirls around, the attempted backfist hitting your still outstretched arm and sending the nail gun tumbling out of your grip and clattering to the floor.

“GUYS! COME QUICK! THAT MANIAC’S HERE AND HE’S TRYING TO KILL KAITO!”

The skittish man's piercing shout reminds you that tardiness will be the death of you. Part of the reason why you bought the nailer, thinking it would be easier than getting another real gun and be nearly as good for making this go quicker and smoother. It’s definitely not in the same league as guns, but it’s been nice until now. You feel the weight of your switchblade in your back pocket as you bounce on your feet, weaving under your direct threat’s ensuing haymaker, and if it weren’t for your plan to be somewhere else tonight, and your hatred of doing laundry, you’d be fileting this clown already. Shifting to be more side on with your opponent, you let muscle memory take over as you stay light on your feet, calling back to karate classes you can’t distinctly remember.

Keeping your hands low, when Kaito steps in to throw a lead left hook aimed at your body you plant your feet, bring your lead leg down in a sharp stomping kick right onto the side of his knee while his punch just hits the side of your elbow you kept tight to your body. The joint bends inwards and he lets out a pained grunt as you hop back out of range. His knee doesn’t give, as the man regains his footing before attempting to do the same thing, this time the hook's destination being your head. You do it again, but leaning back to avoid the hook prevents you from putting as much force on the knee stomp as you want. You’ll take it over the punch doing anything more than bopping the nose of your mask. He tries to push through it, throwing more wild strikes until you see an opening, dipping to the side and sending a shovel uppercut that catches him right on the chin and sends him stumbling backwards.  The lack of any meaningful damage being done to you clearly has the man very frustrated.

“You…You think I’m gonna just let you get away with this!?” He roars, not impressing or scaring you in the slightest.

“NO!...” His shouting is screwing with your efforts to keep an ear out for the reinforcements that that Tama guy shouted for. “You’re gonna burn for what you've done!”

Probably true, but he certainly isn’t gonna be the one to do it. Not here.

He crouches down before launching forward, running at you like a football player about to crash into a running back head on.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YO-”

You’re not too sure what he planned to do aside from tackle you, but you can safely say he didn’t anticipate you just taking a big step to the side before bringing your rear knee up into his head right as he ducks down to spear you. It’s a pretty solid strike as the point of your knee hits right in the bridge of his nose and his arms fail to properly grab your waist, letting you easily spin and wrench out of his weak grip. Your knee shakes though, nearly buckling and as it throbs you try to shake it out the soreness. The blow really rattled him as it’s obvious his equilibrium is compromised, leaving you to idly watch as he tries to get to his feet only to lose his balance and collapse onto all fours, the man letting out a yelp and clutching the wrist still skewered by a nail.

You squint at him as the man pulls his compromised arm to his chest before setting up your next attack. Guy wanted to turn this into a football game, right? Well, it’s his funeral. You imagine a set of goalposts on the other end of the hall and line them up with your fingers, making two L’s with your thumbs touching before taking the few rushing steps forward and blasting a punt kick right under Kaito’s chin. There’s the sound of tearing velcro as you feel the knee brace under your pant leg loosen and almost slide off. Part of you figured his head would come right off, flying through the goal posts as the invisible crowd roars, but alas his head just snaps to the side as he collapses, groaning and now probably not even remembering what month it is.

Time to put the cap on this Eyeshield 21 wannabe’s night, and get you the metaphorical cooler dunk and kiss from the cheerleader.

You quickly recover your nail gun, using the opportunity while you're crouched to pull your knee brace back up under your pants and tighten it back down. Then you calmly walk over to the downed man as he props himself up on his elbows, looking around confused before he focuses on you. His nose is pouring blood, broken in a ghastly manner that leaves it pressed practically flat against his face and in almost a sideways ‘V’. He cranes his head to look up to you once you reach his side, squinting up at you like you’re the sun and he has no idea what you are.

PSSHT! PSSHT!

Two more nails shot into his back clear the cobwebs. He lets out a pained scream as he arches his back and reflexively rolls over onto his wounded back to stop you from attacking there anymore.

“Y-You…” He stutters through the pain, blood and spittle coming off his lips. “Y-you weren’t supposed to…”

What, beat him? Maybe it shouldn’t have been so fucking easy then, pal.

“Me and…Yuji…he p-promised we’d run shit.” He spits up a bunch of phlegm and bloody mucus onto your sneaker. “Rule the fuckin’ world…and…”

His face gains a sneer, his busted nose preventing it from fully forming.

“You…You took it all away…”

You glance up to the end of the hall, and find his buddy is staring frozen, watery-eyed at the scene developing in front of him.

“We were gonna-ACK!” His speech is interrupted by you falling to a knee, planting it on his chest and knocking the wind out of him.

Fucking christ, has he realized you DON’T CARE!?

As he opens his mouth to gasp for air, you brutally slam the end of the nail gun into his mouth, chipping his front teeth as you push it far enough into his mouth that he actually gags. You loathe people like this. Kaito vainly tries to grab at your face or push you away as you lean more weight down onto the nailer wedged into his gullet. His muffled groans and cries intensify as he futilely beats at your arms.

God, he really needs to learn to SHUT…

PSSHT!

THE FUCK…

PSSHT!

UP!

PSSHT!

Heaving a sigh, you stand, looming overtop the man as he chokes on the nails embedded in the back of his throat. A wet cough brings a bubbling volcano of blood and saliva out of his mouth before you rear back and spike the now empty nail gun against his head. The hard plastic shell shatters, but he goes quiet. You look back to Tama, who remains petrified as you give a soccer kick to the prone body's skull for good measure. Once he realizes his friend is dead and your attention is on him, he rapidly begins to scoot back. His head and shoulder finally pass the corner and he looks down the rest of the hall towards…somewhere.

“HEY! HELP! HE’S HERE!” His hoarse shouting must have fallen on deaf ears. “GUYS! PLEASE! HELP!”

“HEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLPPPPPPPP!”

He screeches so loud you almost cover your ears, and as he takes a deep breath to fuel another deafening yell you speed up walking just in case someone’s on their way. You hear the sound of a door around the bend open, and for a moment his face lights up.

Only for a moment.

The color drains from his face as the door softly clicks shut. Whoever has arrived is not a good sight for him, leading you to stop and wait for whoever it is to come to you. There’s the echoing clacks of…heels? The person coming is wearing heels?

Tama looks between you and the mysterious person before trying to wiggle sideways and away from them. The incoming individual's steps increase as they speed up to catch him before he gets any further away. He keeps looking between you and them, stuck between a rock and a hard place and unable to decide which end of the hall he wants to try to move. The steps reach the point where they’d be just around the corner and the incapable man looks over to them, widely waving his arms.

“NONONO WAIT PLEA-”

A shovel comes down in an arc, the edge of the head burying into his neck and nearly decapitating him in one slice. The tool’s then roughly ripped out, like an axe out of a tree stump, leaving Tama to cough up blood as the new wide hole in his throat leaves him to either exsanguinate or suffocate on his own blood. The perpetrator lets the shovel drag along the floor as they walk around their twitching victim, slowly revealing themselves to you.

They’re…to be honest, you’re not too sure what they are.

They are wearing heels, as well as yellow tights accented with black diamonds. Black short pants with a slit in the left leg that’s laced together and held up with suspenders that go over a white collared shirt featuring a bleeding heart embroidered on the left side of the chest and being held closed by staples as well as buttons. A loose blue ascot hangs around their neck. They’re also wearing a navy blue raincoat with the sleeves rolled up to their elbows, pretty sensible in this weather, and certainly better than your dumb ass who left your poncho at home and kept on your sukajan.

‘Oh but it’s like a work uniform!’ You remember thinking before you left, and know damn well you’re probably gonna do it again the next time.

They have a bright red scarf, accentuated at each end with flowers, pulled up over their mouth and nose. Their eyes, a bright orange-yellow that reminds you of burning coals, are wide and slightly upturned, giving you the impression that they're smiling. Short black hair oddly adorned with safety pins that have small red bows on them, the same red as their painted nails, complete their appearance.

And a healthy splattering of blood all over them.

Much like that spray painted heart both on the shutter outside, and in the alley earlier today, this person is mildly familiar, though you can’t place them. This impromptu stare down ends when they blink and stand up straight, waving a small, lithe hand at you.

“...Hi!” Their voice doesn’t clear things up for you, being just as androgynous.

You say nothing, obviously, and your silence seems to make them a little nervous.

“Wha-uh, what brings you here?” They cringe at their own stutter, or maybe just the stupid question. “Did you…know these guys?”

They wait for an answer expectantly, but you just look down at the now still Tama and back to his dead friends further down the hall.

“Uh huh…”  They lean forward trying to get a better look at you, as well as take a step forward. You instinctively stiffen and snap back to look at them. They seem to notice your unease because they freeze as well.

“I…I read on some forums that people were thinking you were a cryptid, or a yokai, or something. Heh. Obviously not, right?”

What, like Bigfoot? Those people sound really dumb.

They look to the side, trying to figure out the best words for whatever they’re gonna say next.

“Well, in any case…” They turn to look back at you, before extending a hand, clutching the handle of their shovel with the other. “...I wanna thank you!”

Huh?

“These homeless folks, they’d been harassing some friends of mine for the past little while.” They explain. “Didn’t seem like anybody could do much to help, certainly not the police.”

The dark-haired person turns to look down at the man they just murdered, their brows lowering into a glare like their staring at fresh dog shit on their front lawn.

“Figured something should be done, and…” They look back up at you, their gaze softening. “You kinda encouraged me, in a way.”

You tilt your head, peering out the small eyehole as they try and gauge your reaction. Must be a difficult thing to do on body language alone.

“I uh, used to do forensics stuff part-time…had a few people I could ask to see crime scene photos. Figured out you were just one guy, and the same one who used to do stuff in Roppongi, yeah? Killed a bunch of people with yakuza ties?”

Observant little fuck, aren’t they? But what’s their point?

They rock back and forth on their feet as they continue.

“Well, I figured if just one guy was able to do all that and not leave a trace…” They lift and hold their shovel with two hands. “...a guy like me could probably do some clean-up as well.”

Ah. Well that answers that.

Part of you isn’t really surprised that someone like this has shown up. Someone who’s been inspired by your ‘work’, or bothered enough by the low moral fiber of the city’s street rats to do something about it themselves. Though, it is interesting to hear that his friends are being harangued by the vagrants as well. Wonder who they are…or who this guy is really.

You calmly walk towards him, and he jumps before looking around and re-extending his hand, expecting a handshake.

“I know it’s probably kind of weird to have a fan over stuff like this…” He props his shovel against his thigh to nervously twirl a lock of ebony hair with his other hand. “B-But, I mean if convicted rapist and murderers can get girls to marry them in jail, then I think it’s not too bad to just have someone appreciate your work!”

You stop in front of the lithe boy’s hand as he looks up to the dark rubber orbs of the rat’s fake eyes.

“M-Maybe we can be…friends? Or maybe do this together again sometime for rea-”

Interrupting his attempts at forming a bond over murder, you grab his extended arm by the wrist with your opposing arm before reaching over and grabbing him by the elbow with your other and yanking him down and forward. You let go of his wrist and slide your arm under his armpit, then under his chin to wrap around and grab the back of his head. Pulling down on his head, you let go of his elbow and bring your now free arm up to grab it by the bicep and lock in this standing D’Arce choke. Standing up straight and arching your back, you’re able to lift him off his feet and leave him dangling in the strangling hold while his shovel clatters to the floor. He rapidly taps the arm around his neck in submission while his feet kick futilely, trying and failing to find purchase anywhere. You just squeeze tighter as the blood flow and the oxygen fail to reach his brain. Just before he fades and goes limp, you feel his hands come up to grab yours, not making much effort to pry them off, rather just kind of rub and feel them, but then his arms sag and he stops kicking as he passes out. The weird boy collapses into a heap as soon as you let go, his eyes still half-open and leaking drool from the corner of his mouth, his scarf having slipped down in the struggle to reveal the rest of his feminine face as well as a pair of notably pointed incisors.

Crouching down next to him, you pat down his thin body looking for any pockets before you find a small lump on his raincoat and lift the collar of it to find a pocket on the inside of the breast. You hastily reach in and pull out a small wallet.

Exactly what you were looking for.

Flipping it open, you find an array of rewards cards, a couple coins of varying value, you’ll be taking those for the laundry machines, and finally his I.D alongside a folded photograph of him with two women, one with a pair of stubby horns and another with a single vibrant red streak in her bangs. The term ‘Mananatsu!’ is written on the back of the picture. Must be those ‘friends’. You toss the photo on the ground and look back to the plastic card.

Mashiro Meme.

Save that name for later.

You unceremoniously toss the rest of his personal effects onto his chest, just as Mashiro begins to stir. You walk past his kill to see where he came from, and presumably where the rest of the people who were apparently supposed to be here are. Opening the door at the end of the hall, you unsurprisingly find a bloodbath. Damn, for a first timer it’s certainly not bad.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five bodies in this room, plus one in the hall? That’s more than you! Which…is actually kind of embarrassing.

Scanning the bodies for the target, you spy him face down on the ground, a large gash on the back of his head from where he was likely hit from behind by the shovel. Leaning down, you press two fingers against his neck and feel a faint, but still present, pulse. Guess thoroughness comes with experience. You stand back up, before lifting up a foot and violently stomping on his head. His body twitches at the impact and the sole of your sneaker rips the gash open even more. The next time you check, his pulse has stopped.

Assist counts as kill!

Well…that was pretty unfulfilling. At least you get another chance tonight. Walking back the way you came, you find Mashiro is conscious and rubbing his neck while putting his wallet back together. He looks up at you in annoyance.

“...Could've just asked.” He wheezes out as you pass him, letting him get back to unsteady feet and collect his shovel while you put your hands in your pockets heading back to the shutter you entered.

“Hey!” He yells suddenly, breaking out into a small coughing fit as you turn back. “...Scalded your fingerprints off. That’s kind of old-school, isn’t it?”

You look down at your hand, looking at the splotchy scars blotting the skin of your palm and fingers. That was just stupidity that caused them, the lack of prints being an accidental silver lining in what was an otherwise very annoying injury to have mended. Looking back up to Mashiro, you just raise a scarred middle finger, eliciting a wheezy chuckle.

“Should…should I do that, too?” He looks down at his own relatively delicate hands nervously. “Is that really a good idea?”

You stare at him for a moment as you consider even trying to convey an answer. Not because it would be difficult, but because you’re a little paranoid. If this guy really wants to be friends, should you really give him anything? Is someone running around, doing your thing while maybe saying he’s friends with you and has a semi-noticeable feature of yours committed to memory, safe?

Eh, fuck it. Hopefully, he will just protect his own friends.

Shaking your head in an obvious ‘NO’, you then mime putting on a glove, which he seems to understand, nodding along.

“Right…Right.” He stands up straight and rests his shovel on his shoulder. “I get the feeling we might not, but…”

“If we bump into each other again, can you not choke me out? At least, not without asking first?”

The coy smile makes you believe he’s making a joke, but regardless you get weirded out and all but run back to the shutter, lifting it just enough to crouch under and slamming it back down with a resounding bang.

God, there’s a reason it’s easier for you to kill people than speak to them.

Left?

…

…Nobody.

Right?

…

…Nobody.

Yep, that seals it.

You’ve got the entire train car to yourself!

Breathing out a sigh of relief, you stretch out your legs and unzip your jacket, letting your mask fall into your lap and revealing your shirt, which is plain black aside from the large hand drawn bear in white that's so off-center it looks like a printing error. What the fuck’s it’s name again? Spanner?

You tilt your head back and close your eyes, relishing the only noise being the low rumble of the moving train. No other presences, just you and serenity.

…

…

You stare at Hyun while he looks down at the smoldering pile of corpses, each of them shriveled and scorched black.

“Told you there was nothing.” Your voice is rough, harsh from dryness and exhaustion over having been awake for forty hours. Thank god for the Aussie’s and their liberal offerings of questionable combat stimulants.

Here’s hoping the press doesn’t find out half the Expeditionary Force is on essentially rebranded Pervitin.

You readjust your poncho before grabbing your rifle dangling on its sling.

“Hey!” Your shout snaps him out of trance. “2-3, we gotta get moving. Like you said guy’s apparently fucking important now, odds are he’s entrenching in the capital with what’s left of the Worker-Peasant Red Guards.”

Hyun casts a sidelong glance at the corpses before turning back to you. Even though he’s quite a few years older than you, you can tell he truly does think of you as his superior.

“Are…Are you sure? The radio messages said he was here.”

You shrug.

“If he was, I didn’t see him. Despite their bluster about defending the workers, commies tend to send them into the woodchipper first, you know.” You look up to the gray skies as the winds intensify. Still a low chance of rain, but the air is dry from the burned down village.

 “...No offense to your brother or anything.”

Your subordinate looks down at his feet, his boots caked in dried mud.

“Yeah…you’re probably right. Let’s get going.” He power walks past you, eager to return to the bivouac and the sanctuary that is driving the APC.

After his back is turned, you pull out the warped dog tags that are still very warm and coated in a layer of carbon, rubbing your thumb over the stamped name before rearing back and throwing them as far into the treeline as you can.

Last thing you need is someone getting sentimental over a fucking deserter.

…

…

Your eyes snap open.

Maybe there isn’t any serenity for you anymore…

You look down at your phone, confirming the apartment number before grabbing your knife embedded in the shoulder blade of the apartment manager and pulling it to the side, forcing him to move with it like an ersatz lead lest he suffer an even more grievous wound. Reaching up to the wall of copied keys, you pluck the one on the hook under ‘721’ and stuff it in your pocket. Honestly, why the fuck doesn’t he just have a master key? You rip the blade out before striking the elderly man in the back of the head with a hammerfist, the handle of the blade hitting him right behind the ear and knocking him out. Glancing back to his ‘office’, you double check to make sure his computer is trashed and the hard drive is unsalvageable. People are cutting corners a lot in this economy, let this be a lesson that having a security system without any back ups and localized entirely on one computer isn’t the place to penny-pinch.

The elevator ride up to the correct floor is silent, and thankfully uneventful. You don’t wanna deal with Sora right now. Stepping out once it reaches the seventh floor, you look to the right and see what the numbers on that side are, then turn left. Your march is the only noise as you approach the unassuming apartment. This late, he’s hopefully asleep. If he’s as normal as he seems.

The key works, unsurprisingly, and you slowly push the door open, the low lights from the hall illuminating the otherwise dark apartment entrance. You enter slowly, knife in hand, walking lightly with the hope you don’t have any loud floorboards in your path. Your eyes adjust to the dark quickly, and looking to your right you see the living room and the entrance to a kitchen. To your left is a short hallway with two doors on either side and one at the end. The one at the end has a light on, you can see it underneath the door, and the faint sound of a running tap can be heard.

Well, lucky him. Not everyone you’ve crossed paths with at least got to finish taking their shit.

cccccCCCCCCRRRREAAAAKKKkkkkkk…..

You freeze, hand just about to latch onto the bathroom door’s handle. That sounded like a floorboard, but from a few feet behind you. Taking a deep breath, you hold it, waiting until you hear the sound of someone else take one and grunt, causing you to immediately raise your right arm to reflexively protect the side of your head.

BINK!

The distinct sound of an aluminum bat hitting off the point of your elbow is barely registered by you as the blow numbs your fingertips and nearly causes you to drop your knife while pain shoots up your bicep. You bend down at the waist while you spin around, hearing another swing of the bat whoosh over your head. The perpetrator is little more than a silhouette against the faint light from the outside hall bleeding around the corner, but you can tell it’s a man about an inch taller than you. Still crouched down, you rush forward as he tries to right his balance after the whiffed swing, trying to jam the knife into his stomach. He twists and pulls his arms down at the last moment, your knife slicing across the crook of elbow instead of plunging into his gut while you stumble past him. Having thrown too much of your weight forward,  you plant a hand on the ground to stop your fall, almost like a superhero landing, and stand back up to-

BINK!

Another blow from the bat, this time square between across your shoulder blades, makes you hiss through gritted teeth. He was probably aiming for your head while you were still crouched. You whip around, swinging your knife in a wide arc while sliding backwards, hoping to catch him before he gets another swing off. The blade slices harmlessly through the air though, leaving you to hop back as he misses his own follow-up swing. Tossing the switchblade to your left hand you stick your now free arm out to the side, feeling the wall and waiting to see the man shrouded in dark take another swing at your head. He doesn’t immediately swing, pausing presumably to see your next move first, so you do. You bend down again, hoping to bait him into aiming for your head like he did last time. The stalker takes it, swinging like your temple is the ball on a batting tee, only to miss as you stand back up straight and peel your hand off the wall for a right hook.

Your attack is leagues more accurate than his, feeling his cheek bone shift under your knuckles as the blow completely turns him around. His legs give and the metal bat in his grasp tumbles to the floor as he twists down to the ground and landing face first. Wow! One punch? You kinda impressed with yourself. Been a minute since you’ve done anything like that. As the man groans on the floor and rolls over, you can’t resist wagging a finger at him.

Nice try buddy! You can’t beat me…

Letting out an exhale, you return your knife back to its proper hand and spin it into a reverse grip, hoping to make this quick as you realize that somebody’s still in the bathroom. Though, you haven’t heard any commotion from in there so maybe they haven't noticed the brief scuffle yet. The man curls up, almost into the fetal position on his back as you approach, until you get close enough and he lashes out, kicking you with both feet. By happenstance he hits your bad leg, knocking it out from under you. Your sneakers lose traction on the smooth floor and you fall forward, landing on your knees but grabbing onto one of his ankles and pinning it to the ground as you catch yourself.

Fucker playing possum. Greaaat….

He tries to kick you with his free leg again, hoping to hit you square in the face, but you tilt to the side and let his foot pass over your shoulder. Now with a clear opening, you lurch forward, bring your knife over your head and bring the point down towards his neck.

“MATSU-” The rest of his scream is cut off, literally, as your blade sinks into his throat.

Huh.

You push off his leg and shift forward, instead pinning that leg by thigh under your knees you move into a better position to leverage your arm and pull your knife out of his neck sideways. The panicking man seems to catch on, as he latches onto your wrist with both hands, keeping it pinned in place. Shit, even in this scenario the guy’s pretty strong, though that’s likely due to adrenaline. You grab your hand tightly gripping the handle with the other and push down, leaning all your body weight down as the blade sinks even further down into his throat, a gurgled shout coming from his mouth as you try and pull with both arms to the side. The struggle is slow, and brutal, as your knife steadily carves through cartilage, muscle, tendons, and arteries. Eventually, his grip slackens and with a sudden jerk your blade is yanked the rest of the way, causing a spray of blood to coat the wall and for you to fall forward against the now exsanguinating man.

Phew…

Little rough, but you got the job done.

You stand up, looming over the man as the light fades from his eyes. Your knee throbs again, reminding you that there may be an actual injury you need to get checked out. Unable to stem the wave of frustration that swells in you from the idea that you may be both on the shelf and needing to visit a doctor, you pull your mask up enough to free your mouth before snorting and spitting a gross glob of phlegm and saliva down onto the fresh corpses face.. Feeling a little better after degrading your target, you pull the mask back down and prepare to-

The bathroom door opens with a click, bathing the hall and the gory sight therein in a bright light. You snap to look up at who was in the bathroom, getting ready to get up and charge them as well.

Except, you know that you would never in a million years be able to. Because it’s fucking Natsuiro Matsuri.

She stands in the doorway, a look of shock and abject terror on her face. Clad in her yellow and black pajamas, she’s got her phone in her hand and an obvious set of wireless earbuds in.  Guess that’s why she didn’t hear anything. Her aqua eyes dart from the body of her ‘Stalker’ to you, to your knife, before she lets out a terrified, ear-piercing scream and slams the door shut again.

WELL….

FUCK….

The blood roars in your ears as you stand frozen, a litany of different options coming to you all  at once.

Kick the door down? No, that’d take too long and she’s likely already calling the police.

Try and explain things to her through the door? Fuck off.

Run?

…

Yeah fuck it.

You turn on your heels and break into a mad dash, fleeing the apartment and down the hall. Forgoing the potential wait for the elevator you head for the stairs, flicking your blood soaked knife closed and stuffing it into your pocket. Just by the door to the stairwell, you see the emergency fire alarm, and a proper plan begins to brew as you rip it down and start the blaring siren inside the apartment building. You rush down the flights of stairs as the alarm blares, ripping off your mask and clutching it by the ear in between your teeth as you begin to peel off your jacket next. Taking the steps three at a time, you pull the sleeves of your jacket through and turn the whole thing inside-out, hiding the verdigris exterior and baring the black lining inside. You put it back on, rolling up the sleeves before taking your mask and tucking it under your arm in between your jacket and shirt just as somebody opens the door on the floor beneath you. Paranoia that it’s somehow already the police is quickly squashed as you find it’s only a tired looking woman a bit older than you. She’s got a red cardigan that matches her hair over her pajamas, as well as an umbrella and a hoodless heavy black raincoat with large white cuffs in her arms.

“Is there a fire!?” She shouts over the screeching alarm, likely seeing how panicked and sweaty you are.

Merely shrugging, you hurry the rest of the way as more and more people come into the stairwell. You eventually slow your pace, blending in with tired, confused, and scared masses. Eventually, you reach the lobby, and see a few apartment dwellers looking into the apartment manager’s own apartment. Likely seeing the state you left him in, you stay with the crowd as a few of them, more appropriately dressed for the elements, go outside. Trying to appear casual, you let out a fake yawn and shuffle out with the rest of them.

“Do you smell smoke!? Oh my god I think I smell smoke!”

“Wait, what happened to Yukimura-san!? Is he okay!?”

“Come on…I have to go back to work in 2 hours…”

You brave the pouring rain as you wait for more people to come outside, hoping for the crowd to become big enough that people don’t notice you keep walking out into the city. Suddenly, the rain stops as an umbrella appears over your head. Turning around you find that it’s the same woman you bumped into on the way down, looking sheepishly up at you with baby blue eyes.

“Sorry…” She mutters, her deep voice now being clearly audible with the klaxon being muffled inside. “...just seemed like you needed it.”

You shrug again, feeling anxiety well up in your gut as more and more people come out but you can’t find a way to leave now with someone focused on you. The woman clutches the handle of the umbrella in both hands while she looks to the side, her face flushed.

“So…” She tries to make conversation, and you do your best not to just say ‘fuck it’ and run anyway.

The edge of the apartment building, and thus the alley next to it are not far away. If you’re quick about it, you could make it around the corner. Just need her to get distracted…

“You must live on the upper floors, right? We’ve probably never met.” She suddenly juts her hand out for you to shake.

“My name’s Ange!”

Hesitantly, you accept the handshake. Good lord, her hands are sweaty. Way more than yours, even, and you have the excuse of doing a lot of physical exertion. Their warmth against the chilly night air is nice, though.

“...Anon.” You mutter, and you finally opening your mouth seems to make her happy.

 “Well, nice to meet you, Anon!.” She smiles brightly. “..Been living here long?”

“...No.”

Her eyes widen with an apparent revelation.

“Oh! Are you the one who moved in last month?” You just nod, but apparently that answer’s disappointing as she suddenly looks a little crestfallen.

“Then…I guess I’ve met your…wife.” Ange says ‘wife’ like it’s a bad thing, but quickly realizes how obvious her disposition is and brightens again. “She’s, uh…pretty! I bumped into her while picking up the mail while you were at work.”

Her brows lower and she suddenly gains a smug look as she prods you with an elbow.

“Congrats, by the way~.”

You raise an eyebrow in confusion, only for her to look a little confused at you being confused.

“O-on the baby? You know..” Your eyes widen, and you see a man and a pregnant woman huddled together in the crowd behind her just as the sound of a firetruck’s sirens becomes audible over the rain and din of the people gathering outside. Ange turns around to look where the truck is coming from, and clearly spots the couple. Shit, now or never!

“Wait…” You hear her start, but you turn tail and sprint for the alleyway.

Stopping just after you’d be able to disappear from view around the building, you wait to hear if she either followed or caught you leaving. Neither seem to be the case, so after letting out your breath, you walk further into the alley until you reach an awning and pull out your phone, quickly finding Shinove’s contact and calling him.

You pull the phone up to your ear as it rings, pacing back and forth underneath the awning as it rings.

Come on, Four-Eyes….Wake the fuck up!

“Hello?” He answers quickly, and sounds wide-awake. You almost ask why he’s still up, but you’ve got way bigger fish to fry.

“We’ve got a problem.”

Shinove looks over to the hospital bed, where the badly beaten Cover employee lies, giving a description of the appearance of his assailant to the police while the man’s wife holds his hand.

Female…Tall, over a hundred and eighty centimetres…

Long black hair with streaks of blue…

Dressed like someone from a biker gang…but with a weird white mask…

He heaves an angry sigh through his nose.

“Yeah…we do.”