Rentaro Satomi, Fugitive

by Shiden Kanzaki

  —Three seconds.

  Then she took out her knife, using her Initiator strength to snap in an instant the three cords besides the one Rentaro held.

  Two seconds.

  Grabbing the one remaining wire with her left hand to secure a lifeline, she lifted her legs high and bashed her heels against the top of the car.

  One second.

  The elevator car, struggling at this new force applied to it, snapped its remaining wire, tumbling down the shaft like a shooting star. The wire the two of them held shot up in response, zooming up like a bungee cord.

  Rentaro and Hotaru tried madly to hold on to the torn wire. Below him, he could see the car generating sparks as it plunged down the guide rail. The counterweight scraped against the side of the shaft as it, too, whizzed downward.

  Then—the bomb finally went off.

  A hot shockwave, too hot for Rentaro to keep his eyes open, slammed up at him. Like a tugboat in a typhoon, they were tossed and roiled as they clung to the wire. Flames shot up the shaft as the elevator began to consume itself, stopping only when they were right at Rentaro’s and Hotaru’s feet. Slowly, they retreated downward, almost like a living creature licking its wounds in chagrin.

  The two of them breathed a synchronized sigh of relief. Hotaru’s eyes, now unexpectedly close to his, were wide open with surprise. They looked endearing to him. But the attention made Hotaru avert them in embarrassment. “Let’s go up,” she said as she pulled the rope, dragging Rentaro along.

  They emerged at the fifteenth-floor elevator lobby. The setting sun bathed the area in a bright red, almost too bright to set eyes upon. It was near the end of the day. In the light, Rentaro noticed Hotaru’s tank top was torn, shredded, and covered in a rich crimson.

  “Did she stab you?”

  “It’s already closed up.”

  “Closed up…?”

  She had clearly been stabbed right in the heart. Was it too shallow to kill her, though? No way. Rentaro shook his head. Hummingbird had said it herself—“you’re supposed to be dead.” He doubted a gifted assassin like her would fall for a victim playing possum on her.

  “Hotaru, what type of Gastrea factor do you have?”

  Hotaru stared silently at Rentaro for a moment. Then she shook her head lightly, perhaps realizing there was no way to hide it any longer.

  “It’s a dugesia, a type of flatworm.”

  “Dugesia…?”

  Rentaro had heard of this. He hadn’t read all those nature books in the Tendo family library for nothing. It was a type of planarian flatworm, a small creature with astonishing regenerative skills and the ability to weather just about any kind of famine. They could famously form two distinct and healthy flatworms even if cut in half, making them useful for experiments in natural regeneration.

  “So that means you can…”

  “Basically, I have enhanced regenerative skills. Most Initiators can close up their wounds and heal even if their injuries would kill any normal person. In my case, my ability’s strong enough that I can push back against Varanium inhibiting that.”

  Rentaro sighed in amazement. The natural world always had a way of aweing him like that. Twice in the past, Rentaro had personally witnessed people healing themselves at astonishing speed. The first time, it was Rentaro himself—the AGV test drug from Sumire helped him overcome mortal injury and fend off Kagetane Hiruko. But that drug had the Russian roulette–like side effect of turning 20 percent of its patients into Gastrea. Rentaro using all five of the syringes given to him and still not making the transformation was something of a miracle. It wasn’t exactly safe for everyday use.

  The second time he saw regeneration like that was with Aldebaran, the enemy he fought in the Third Kanto Battle. Those ominous memories were still fresh in his mind. The high-powered EP bomb developed by Shiba Heavy Weapons eventually blew it to smithereens, but that battle couldn’t have been a closer call than it was.

  “That’s so…powerful. Why’d you hide it from me?”

  Hotaru shook her head in frustration. “It’s not the cure-all you probably think it is,” she replied. “The human body’s a lot more complex than a flatworm’s, so I can only regenerate so much at a time. If someone lit my dead body on fire with gasoline or decapitated me, I’m not gonna be able to make up for that. It’s not like I can put up a resistance while I’m dead, so I need to make sure my enemy doesn’t know about that ability. It’s hard to work into a battle strategy. I kept it a secret from you because if someone tortured that info out of you, that’d mean trouble for me.”

  I see, thought Rentaro. That makes enough sense. When two Initiators fought against each other, even a single blow could be lethal, no matter what the ability. If her foe knew about her innate skills, that could easily be used against her. As a result, Initiators generally stayed tight-lipped about that sort of thing. Loose lips sank ships in this business.

  “Wow… Well, I guess I see now. I thought you really hated me for a while.”

  “There was that, too.”

  “……”

  “What?”

  Rentaro scratched his head, forcing himself not to pursue this line of conversation. He removed the outer jacket of his uniform and tossed it at Hotaru. “Here,” he said, “put that on. Your clothes are all bloody. You can’t go walking around like that.”

  Hotaru gave Rentaro’s jacket a light sniff, then winced. “It smells terrible. Why does men’s sweat have to be so stinky all the time…?”

  “Okay, give it back.”

  “Well, I’ll put it on if I haaave to.”

  Rentaro rolled his eyes and turned around. She was so annoying to deal with.

  “Oh, uh, thanks.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Let’s go, Rentaro.”

  Her cheeks were red, perhaps because of the evening sunlight she was drenched in, as she marched off. “Wait a sec,” Rentaro said, stopping her as he pointed at his left leg. “Lend me a shoulder.”

  Hotaru watched him silently for a moment, walked back, and just as silently offered her shoulder. He sheepishly accepted. She was unflinchingly cold to him, but for whatever reason, her skin felt hot to the touch.

  Wisely opting to leave the elevator for someone else to worry about, the pair of them limped down the stairs and out the main entrance. The front was lined with people. It was only a matter of time before the police showed up. Wary that someone would notice him, Rentaro hid his face, pretending to be unconscious as Hotaru dragged him along. She keenly picked up a taxi and directed the driver to the apartment she was hiding out in.

  The middle-aged driver gave the two extremely disheveled passengers a dubious look, but his sense of professionalism willed him to gently bring the car into motion regardless.

  They could hear sirens far away, and before long, a small squadron of police cars came in from ahead, lights flashing. As they passed, Rentaro and Hotaru instinctively ducked from the windows. The Doppler effect made the sirens sound almost comical as they faded away behind them. Cautiously, they sat back up and looked toward the rear. The police were now pouring into the apartment building they had just left. Just in the nick of time.

  Rentaro loosened up, the mental strain exiting his body—but then the driver’s eyes met his through the rearview mirror. He looked startled for a moment but quickly averted his gaze, as if he had just witnessed a couple making out at the bar. The odd response made the hairs stand on Rentaro’s nape.

  That stare indicated the driver had just connected a vague memory with his current reality. And his eyes darted away right afterward. From the backseat, Rentaro sensed danger. What did the driver just remember—? What else could it be? His face matched the fugitive’s from the news. Otherwise, why would he awkwardly take his eyes away like that?

  And of course Hotaru had to give him the exact address of her apartment before hopping in. The idea that the driver would drop them off then not exercise his civic duty to contact the police seemed far too optimistic to
him. In fact, he might even drive his taxi right to the police station instead of taking them over. If he did, they were finished.

  The taxi stopped quietly at a red light. Hotaru sat there, picking up on Rentaro’s nerves and waiting to see what happened next. She knew the driver was on to them. The tension was at the boiling point. Just a light prod could make it explode.

  The light turned green. The driver stepped on the gas. Rentaro could feel the inertia drive his body into the seat a little.

  “Um, sir…?”

  Rentaro shuddered. His body tensed up, as if a judge just sentenced him to death.

  “Would you mind,” the driver continued, “if I talked to myself for a little bit? I know this isn’t exactly a glamorous job I have, but y’know, I was seriously thinking about joining the self-defense force a month ago. At my age, you know? Like, you remember how they expanded the age limit to accommodate for just about anybody during the Third Kanto Battle? I figured, y’know, maybe I needed to take up arms and fight to defend this city, too, so…”

  Then the driver fell silent. “Uh, and then what?” Rentaro dared to ask.

  The steering wheel squeaked a little underneath the cabbie’s grip. “Ah, it didn’t work out in the end,” he said mournfully. “I was too scared. I lost my wife and kid in the war ten years ago, so I figured I had nothing left to lose, but…you know, I wound up marrying another widow, someone just like me. We live in a pretty humble place, but we’re happy, y’know? …So I just couldn’t go through with it. Not if it meant losing something again. If I’m doomed to die, I wanted it to be together with her.”

  “…Nothing wrong about that. That’s a natural reaction.”

  The taxi entered a tunnel. A steady stream of orange lights whizzed by, weakly illuminating their faces at regular intervals.

  “Do you have any family, civsec?” the driver asked. He had no doubts about Rentaro’s job position, at any rate.

  After a moment figuring out what to say, Rentaro decided to just shake his head, not bothering with pleasantries. “They’re all dead.”

  “You weren’t scared of that Aldebaran guy at all?”

  “Well, sure I was.”

  Hotaru looked at Rentaro, mouth slightly open.

  “That wasn’t something anyone should have to experience. And compared to the work it took, I’ve gotten far too little appreciation for it.”

  “So why do you do it?”

  Rentaro thought for a little, then shook his head again. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I was the only one there who could, really, so…”

  “Oh…”

  The driver clammed up again. Rentaro grew anxious, squirming in his seat as he wondered if he had offended the cabbie somehow. But the words that finally greeted him weren’t what he expected.

  “I guess the kinds of people we call heroes are pretty much like that, huh?”

  The driver smiled at him through the mirror.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve been terribly forgetful as of late, y’know. By the time I drop you off, I’m probably going to forget I even had anybody in this car.”

  “Oh… Uh, well, thanks. I really owe you one.”

  Rentaro didn’t know what he could say after that. So he kept quiet. His conversational partner joined him. The atmosphere was far gentler now. He closed his eyes.

  He was no hero, no savior of humanity. That much he was sure of. But if what he did helped others smile just a little more, enjoy that little bit more of happiness—didn’t that mean there was some greater meaning behind the path he took, at the end of it all?

  Nothing at all had improved with his situation. Enju was still a ward of the IISO. Tina was still locked up in jail somewhere. And Kisara was still wrapped cruelly around Hitsuma’s finger. The thought of Hitsuma taking advantage of her trust in him filled his mind with rage, but it wasn’t like he could storm the police headquarters with guns a-blazing. That would just add to his already-long rap sheet. His only hope was to follow Suibara’s trail down whatever he was investigating and catch the people who put him in this mess.

  He managed to dispatch Hummingbird. The girl who almost certainly killed Kenji Houbara. Judging by the sniping skill he showed off at the Plaza Hotel, Dark Stalker must have been Giichi Ebihara’s killer.

  Which meant, by the process of elimination, that someone whose name he didn’t even know must have assassinated Saya Takamura.

  So, two killers left. And the one Rentaro really had to watch out for was Dark Stalker. One thing the battle with Hummingbird made clear was that he didn’t have to dread them so much after all. They were strong, but beatable. And sooner or later, he’d make that clear as black and white to them.

  The fury in his stomach warmed his entire body as Rentaro contemplated his enemies, wherever they lurked, across the Tokyo Area landscape.

  6

  A loud wham echoed across the control room, making the operators sit bolt upright in their seats.

  Atsuro Hitsuma, not caring about the pain in his fist as he slammed it against the terminal, winced as he scrunched his eyebrows downward, all but crushing the cell phone in his other hand. “All right,” he managed to squeak out. “Let me know if anything happens.” Then he stormed out of the control room.

  As he walked along, he bashed his fist against a vending machine down the hallway. “Shit… Shit! This is ridiculous! He got Hummingbird?!”

  “Oooh, Mr. Hitsuma, you’re gonna have to answer for that, huh?”

  Hitsuma rolled his eyes toward the voice. A completely unfazed Yuga shrugged at him, apparently enjoying the show.

  “I told you that you should’ve let me take care of him. Hummingbird just didn’t have what it takes.”

  “Whether she did or not, could any one of us have predicted that she’d lose? She had a one-hundred-percent mission completion rate!”

  “One hundred percent of a bunch of small-fry hit man jobs. How could anyone be proud of that record? That’s all she had the capacity for, really.”

  Yuga’s reaction to his colleague being killed went far beyond indifference and into the realm of coldhearted callousness.

  “Rentaro Satomi… God.”

  “So is it clear who we’re dealing with now, Mr. Hitsuma? Next time, why don’t you—?”

  “—No! Not yet! We still have Swordtail! And I’m done screwing around. It’s no mercy from here on in! I have to get them killed!”

  Yuga wrinkled his nose as he chuckled. “Well, do what you like,” he said chidingly. “But hasn’t Inspector Tadashima been calling for you?”

  Hitsuma blinked, stood up, and looked at his watch. The idea of having to act cool and deal with him when one of his top assassins was dead didn’t exactly appeal to him, but he couldn’t delay the inspector any longer. It could lead to some completely avoidable misunderstandings.

  “You hold down the fort here,” Hitsuma grunted as he passed by. Yuga responded with an uncharacteristically stern face.

  “Mr. Hitsuma, about that inspector… He’s pretty angry, all right? Make sure you keep your guard up.”

  “Tadashima is?” Hitsuma shook his head, dismissing this warning. “I don’t care. He’s almost up for retirement anyway; he’s not gonna risk his pension trying to rock the boat. There’s no way he’d ever come near the truth. That’s why I chose him as my partner.”

  “Well, hopefully so. Just watch he doesn’t trip you up, all right?”

  The smell of defeat was in the air.

  The steering wheel of his beloved car creaked in his hands as it thundered down the road. He had the accelerator all the way down, forgetting the fact he was on duty, and he was well beyond the highway speed limit. Dark Stalker, one of his men, was openly revolting against him. If he couldn’t count on Swordtail to quiet things down, the organization might start asking some very unwelcome questions.

  “God damn you, Rentaro Satomi…!”

  Hitsuma found himself having trouble dealing with his emotions. If he met with Tadashima like this, he
might notice something was up.

  So he decided to take a quick breather in order to release some of his stress. I have enough time for that, he figured, as he spun the wheel and got off the highway, turning across several narrow roads until he reached a street lined with bars and restaurants.

  He stopped in front of a dingy-looking building. Going up the stairs, he glanced at the nameplate of the Tendo Civil Security Agency. He opened the door, using a key he had made for him, only to find the office brightly lit by the evening sun through the window.

  Deeper inside, behind an ebony-colored desk, Kisara Tendo sat with her back turned to him. Stealthily, Hitsuma crept up to her, then brought his hands around her head.

  “I’ve come to see you, Kisara.”

  The girl in black, only noticing him once he spoke, sluggishly raised her head to meet Hitsuma’s gaze. Her eyes were glassy and devoid of life. They were turned toward him, but they didn’t actually seem to be looking at anything.

  “Oh…Mr. Hitsuma,” she slowly intoned. It was a 180-degree difference from her usual lighthearted self.

  “What were you looking at?” Hitsuma said, smile deepening as he followed her eyes. “…Oh, did it show up?”

  The soft chiffon fabric shone beautifully, extending out across the pleated skirt. It was a full-length dress, as pure and white as a young woman’s chastity. The mannequin it was on had its head covered in a see-through veil that ran down to the shoulders. It was the wedding dress Hitsuma bought for her—one he spared no expense on.

  Kisara had been like this ever since she heard Rentaro died at the Plaza Hotel. Pre-wedding jitters, perhaps, or something like it. Hitsuma appreciated how pliable it made her.

  His previous research indicated that Rentaro had feelings for her. Hitsuma could have any woman he wanted. To him, taking Kisara for his own had deeper meaning. The moment Rentaro was dead and this girl was his, his revenge would be complete.

  “We should hurry with the ceremony, Kisara,” he said, a twisted smile on his face as he ran his hand through her black, silken hair.

  AFTERWORD