Rentaro Satomi, Fugitive

by Shiden Kanzaki

  Rika used her control lines to carefully make fine-tuned adjustments as she descended. Before long, her targeted apartment building loomed large in her sights, both feet pointed at the dead-center point.

  No matter how many times she dropped, the force of the impact always tended to make her fall forward. Today was no exception. The parachute settled down on top of Rika soon afterward. Removing the belt and escaping the tangled chute, she put on the straw hat she had stuck between her dress and the harness and hugged her favorite teddy bear against her arm as she patted the debris off her skirt. Then she took a cell phone out from one of her spandex socks and called a certain number.

  “This is Hummingbird. I’m safe at the target point.”

  “Copy that. I’m sending target faces to you now.”

  In just a few moments, the file was sent over and floating in the air on her holodisplay. There were two photos—a boy slightly older than she was, and a girl slightly younger, captioned RENTARO SATOMI and HOTARU KOURO, respectively.

  “Hang on, Nest,” Rika said in her high, resentful voice. “Don’t you think you’re overworking me a little? I just killed some weird old guy a few days ago. You’re not giving me much free time between jobs.”

  The voice on the other end of the line seemed unfazed. “This is your mission,” it said. “Stop complaining about it. I’ve electronically shut off the building from the rest of the world for thirty minutes, just like you asked me to. If you lose that window, we’re gonna lose them again, too.”

  Rika rolled her eyes, then pointed at the photo of Rentaro with a finger. She gave a light, pity-laden laugh.

  “Dark Stalker couldn’t kill this target, right? Talk about pathetic.”

  “Yeah. Dark Stalker actually had a message for you. He said, ‘Don’t underestimate Rentaro Satomi, or else you might be the one regretting it.’”

  Now Rika’s laugh was indifferent and haughty. “Oh, what is he, stupid? He screwed up, and now he’s making excuses for it? Laaaame… Whatever, though. I’ll make this quick.”

  As Rika spoke, two smaller parachutes settled down on the building roof behind her. They looked like regular old tires at first—each about the size of a flying disc with beveled edges used for high-speed, long-distance throws in disc golf—but there was nothing typical about them.

  Rika’s brain was implanted with a brain-machine interface (BMI) chip that allowed her to move and operate objects linked to her mind by thought alone. These tires were the “interface” her mind worked with.

  “All right, Necropolis Striders—it’s time to get up, my beloved familiars.”

  She brought her palms together. The compact motors within each tire began to whir, and they stood up as if operating by themselves, whirling in a tight circle around Rika. As they did, she reviewed her map of the apartment building, finding the phone line running behind the basement switchboard. It seemed to her that disabling the alarm system would be a good idea, too.

  “Right. Let’s make sure nothing gets in my way first. Offensive Enchant: Thorn!”

  There was the sound of metal piercing rubber as the tires suddenly grew large blades across their entire external surface. In an instant, they had both become sharp, lethal stabbing weapons, cutting grooves on the floor as they continued to wheel their way around Rika.

  The assassin pointed at the rooftop door, then sent her Striders away.

  “Go!”

  On her signal, the shockwave engines installed on each Strider revved into action, propelling them at high speed. They smashed into the steel door, their “thorns” seeking to cut through its weak points like a buzz saw. The sound, and the sparks, were terrific. But before long, the latch and deadbolt were cut clean off, the disabled door slamming inward to the floor.

  The Striders, not particularly moved by this sight, used their shockwave engines to pinball their way down the floor, the ceiling, the walls—on their way into the landing, leaving deep ruts wherever their rampage took them.

  Soon, Rika could hear screaming and the sound of shredding flesh from a floor below.

  The Striders would never stop until Rentaro Satomi and Hotaru Kouro were dead. Whenever Rika activated them, she made sure no one was breathing afterward. Hence the “Necropolis” part. Wherever they went, a city of death reigned.

  Before long, Strider 1 sent a signal to Rika indicating it had cut the targeted phone line. Strider 2 was keeping watch at the front door, ensuring no one tried to flee outside. Enjoying the carnage playing out in her mind, Rika adjusted her grip on the plush bear and sang to herself as she walked downstairs.

  “Overrr the raaaainbow…”

  With their phone call cut off, Rentaro and Hotaru found themselves having to come up with a new plan of action. Fast.

  “This is bad,” Rentaro said. “The guy on the phone suggested he knew you were here, too.”

  Hotaru tried to present a façade of coolness as she thought over the situation. It was difficult given the adrenaline coursing through her, urging her on toward revenge. This was the perfect chance. She never even dreamed she’d have an opportunity to swing the iron hammer of justice so quickly.

  Reaching for the pair of government handguns on her back holster, she closed her eyes as she felt the sensation of steel in her hands, praying for their salvation as she undid the safety on both.

  Kihachi, I need your strength.

  “We better focus on getting out of this building for now.”

  “No. I’m taking them on. Now I can finally get revenge for Kihachi.”

  “You’re crazy. We have no idea what kind of enemy we’re facing or what they’re capable of. They’ll kill you.”

  Hotaru sneered at Rentaro out of the corner of her eye. This was exactly the kind of limp-wristed feebleness that got Kihachi killed in the first place.

  “I told you. The only reason I’m working with you is so I could hunt down the enemies after your blood. You’ve been the best decoy I could ever have hoped for. If you think we’ve got some kind of partnership going on, let me assure you, it’s all in your head. I always hated you anyway.”

  “Hotaru, this really isn’t a good time for this, all right? The enemy’s probably got you on their hit list by now. If we stand here and argue like this… That’s exactly what our enemy wants from us. We’ll waste whatever chance we have to win this.”

  Rentaro extended a hand.

  “You need to work with me, Hotaru. The enemy’s shut us off from the outside world. If they’re willing to do that, then worst-case scenario, they’re willing to massacre every man, woman, and child in this building. We need to get everyone evacuated—”

  He was cut off by a dry, shrill slap. Hotaru, face full of sullen resentment, beat his hand away from her.

  “If you’re so hell-bent on saving people’s lives, why didn’t you save Kihachi’s?”

  Rentaro winced, unable to respond.

  “Rentaro, are you really the hero? This guy who took all those demoralized civsecs in the Third Kanto Battle and drove them to defeat Aldebaran? Because you don’t look like it to me.”

  He kept his eyes straight on her. “The dead don’t care about revenge, Hotaru.”

  “I don’t care about you. I’m hunting them down, and I don’t need your help. Good-bye.”

  “Hotaru!”

  She headed for the door, Rentaro hot on her heels. Out in the hallway, she closed the door behind her and took a deep breath, focusing her mind’s eye on her navel. She could feel her limbs warm up, her five senses expanding themselves and releasing their powers.

  Quietly, Hotaru opened her eyes. He’s wrong. I’ll be fine by myself. I’ll prove it by killing my enemy alone.

  She scanned the hallway before her, ensuring nothing was amiss. The phone was dead, but the lights were still on.

  Then, above her, she heard a scream and the sound of something being sawed through. She raced up the stairs, two steps at a time, and stormed through the thirteenth-floor doorway.

  The sme
ll of blood weighed heavily upon her nose. It was, as Rentaro put it just moments ago, a massacre. Dismembered corpses littered the hallway, dark-red blood tracing its way across the linoleum floor. The ceiling and walls had heavy ruts etched into them, as if a giant was swinging a long broadsword around the hall.

  She crouched down to look at the body of a female victim. Her wounds appeared to have been made with a coarse, sawlike weapon. Looking closer, many of the bodies featured missing arms, legs, and heads, with others in a multitude of small pieces. It must have been hell for them. They must have come out of their apartments to investigate the noise and screaming.

  Around the corner, she saw an open elevator car with a body preventing the doors from fully closing. Every time the doors attempted to close, they squished against the corpse in gruesome fashion, changing its position just a little each time before opening back up.

  Rentaro was right. The enemy was killing indiscriminately. An enemy so completely free of morals like this— Can I really beat them?

  Hearing a quiet motor nearby, Hotaru turned to find something on top of a body at the other end of the hallway. At first, she thought she was looking at a jaguar gnawing on the flesh of some kind of wild game. It took several moments for her to realize it was a small tire, the size of a flying disc. It was covered in serrated blades, and given that they didn’t seem to deflate the tire at all, she figured it must be filled with some kind of reinforced plastic or the like instead. Right now, it was spewing exhaust from two rear-facing pipes as its blades ground their way into the corpse.

  Instinctively, she could tell this was it. She had no idea what made it tick, but this machine was the perpetrator of this massacre.

  Is that Hummingbird? She shook her head. No. This isn’t even human.

  The killing machine changed position—it had noticed her. By the time Hotaru realized the danger, it was already too late. With a scream wholly different from anything a gasoline engine could produce, it blazed a trail straight for her.

  Witnessing the saw blades proceeding toward her at worrying speed, Hotaru crossed her guns together in self-defense. The tire hit them, sending her reeling back as it spun against her defensive shield, sparks flying. She gritted her teeth, attempting to push back with her strength. The distance between them grew, just enough for her to take aim and blaze away with both triggers.

  Then Hotaru found herself gazing in wonder again.

  Running a zigzag across the hall, the tire dodged every one of her .45-caliber shots, jumping off the floor and latching itself onto the wall. It ran along, not letting gravity affect its joyride as it crossed over to the ceiling and carved out a track for itself, advancing upon Hotaru again.

  Hotaru, her aim upset by this unexpected move, instantly leapt to the side. A moment later, the murder machine’s claws had sunk into the floor where she was.

  She gave a kick, knowing that it could cost her her leg. One of the knives stabbed her in the knee. A groan of pain leaked out from between her gritted teeth.

  But her enemy paid the price, too. The tire, taking the full brunt of an Initiator’s kick, was sent against the wall, smashing into and almost through it before falling to the floor, twitching in its final death throes.

  Hotaru jumped with one foot, healing her right leg instantaneously in the air as she sank both of her heels into the wheel portion of the tire. She landed on it, took out both guns, and fired a flurry of shots at point-blank range. She experienced it all—the noise, the eye-watering flashes, the recoil kicking at her arms, the spent cases bouncing off the walls and floor.

  The results pulverized the spokes and smashed into the shockwave engine installed in the hub. At the same time, the slide stop on both guns popped up, indicating she was out of ammo.

  There was a moment of silence, the smell of smoke invading Hotaru’s nostrils. She resented the heavy panting she heard, only to realize it was coming from her. She wiped the sweat from her brow. The mystery machine was dead. Somehow or other, she had won. If she had her way, she’d prefer this to be the only enemy she had to face.

  “Help me!”

  Turning toward the sudden shout, she realized a girl was running toward her.

  She had all but told Rentaro that she didn’t care about survivors. Yet the sight of someone actually making it through this disaster alive still felt like a relief to her.

  The girl bounded right up to Hotaru, hugging her as she did.

  With a jnnk sound, Hotaru convulsed as a shockwave spread across her body.

  “Huh?”

  Slowly, her eyes fell upon her chest.

  The girl, clad in a straw hat and carrying a teddy bear, had removed a knife she had hidden in her stuffed toy. And now the edge of it was—

  The girl brought her lips to Hotaru’s ear.

  “You dummy.”

  “Ahh…hhh…”

  The blade, easily making its way through her tank top, had gone right through her left lung. It was long, black, and over halfway inside her. Varanium, without a doubt.

  “Well? Can you feel it? Can you see? How does it feel to be dying?”

  “N-no…”

  Was this the girl—?

  “Good-bye, my splendid princess.”

  She wrested the knife away from her body. Then, the next point she struck was the heart.

  Hotaru’s body convulsed as if struck by lightning, while she coughed up copious amounts of blood. The girl took a step back to dodge the stream. The Initiator’s vision blurred as she fell to her knees. Her fingertips felt cold. Her blurred eyesight looked up at her enemy. The girl in the dress grinned as she looked back down at her.

  The ground approached. Before her face even hit the linoleum, Hotaru’s consciousness was torn apart, as she embraced the end of her life.

  Hotaru’s assailant picked up the fallen girl’s hand, ensuring there was no pulse. She checked her pupils, too, just in case. Listening for a heartbeat as well seemed like overkill, so she skipped that step.

  Something about the sight of the body struck Rika as funny. She trampled on Hotaru’s fixed expression, stamping on it with her sole.

  “Just onnnnnne leeefffft!”

  Rika turned around and helped herself to the stairway, seeking her final enemy.

  5

  Rentaro pushed the door’s intercom button. The moment the door opened, he took a hand to the edge, pushed himself inside, and readied his weapon.

  “Get out. Now. Keep it slow.”

  The bathrobe-clad old man, nonplussed to be facing the barrel of a gun this time of night, sheepishly went out the door, not quite managing to find the right timing to scream or at least act surprised.

  “Could I ask who you are?”

  Rentaro ignored the question that finally did come out, prodding the elderly man forward until he was in the elevator. Inside were ten other people from the twelfth floor, all corralled there by him in the same manner.

  “Is it money? Do you want money?” “What was that noise just now? Was that gunfire? What’s going on?”

  “—I don’t have time to explain. I’m sending you guys down to the lobby, so just get out of the building and call for help.”

  A few moments ago, there was gunfire and the sounds of combat from the floor above. The enemy was up there. If he could get these people down, at least they wouldn’t run into the guy. That was Rentaro’s line of thinking as he pushed the L button and took a few steps back from the door.

  Before he could see them off, though, misgivings began to creep into his mind. The enemy cut off the phone lines to prevent him from contacting external help. They’d need switchboard access for that, and that switchboard had to be either on the first floor or the basement. Definitely not on the thirteenth or higher. Which meant there had to be multiple hostiles—one snapping the cords, one engaging Hotaru above him.

  The moment before the door closed, Rentaro stuck his arm in to stop it.

  “Wait. I’m getting on, too.”

  The residents of th
e twelfth floor dolefully glared at him. God damn it, I’m trying to protect you guys.

  The doors began to close again. This time, Rentaro stopped them because of a voice shouting “Wait! Help!” from across the corridor. A girl in a straw hat, maybe thirteen or fourteen, was making a dash for the elevator, teddy bear at the ready.

  “There’s some kind of tire monster upstairs! There’s dead people up there!”

  “Tire monster?” Rentaro exclaimed. Then he had a thought. He put his hand up to around chest level. “Hey, did you see a girl about this tall up there?”

  The girl shook her head, tugging at her stuffed animal a little.

  “Oh…”

  The gunshots and other noise were gone. Whichever way the battle went for Hotaru, it was over. Hopefully she made it.

  Looking at the button panel, Rentaro noticed the building had fifteen floors and two basement levels. The occupants of the car, perhaps moved by the girl’s disturbing testimony, remained meekly silent. The door finally closed. The L button was lit.

  There was a slight sense of weightlessness as the car shuddered into action. The number on the top of the panel began to count downward, far too slowly for everyone’s tastes. Nobody said a word. The smell of stagnant sweat permeated the car. Rentaro had a bad taste in his mouth. The silence was painful, and not just because of the lack of personal space.

  Rentaro wiped his palms against his slacks, his brain preoccupied with the thought of the elevator jarring to a halt and the overhead light going out. Luckily, it didn’t happen. The elevator let out a cheery ding as it reached the lobby.

  Suddenly, a ferocious sense of dread struck Rentaro, for reasons he failed to articulate.

  —Then someone or something smashed into the car with a loud roar, strong enough to put a dent in the door. Gigantic serrated blades made their way through the slit in the middle. Then they began to spin, generating a cascade of sparks. Pressing the DOOR CLOSE button did nothing. It was being pried open.

  “Aaaaaaahhh!”