Chapter I

Chapter I

 

The mountain was not far from the city center. It had been carefully leveled off, with staircases built up the slopes. But despite the size of it, there was nobody there. The earth was exposed, with nothing growing or living on it besides a few tufts of brown grass barely managing to get through the winter alive. In a few more weeks, weeds would spring up everywhere, and the ground would look even less pleasant, but for the moment, it was simply desolate. Piles of steel and other building supplies lay abandoned, never to be used, near half-constructed towers left to forlornly rust away.

Five years before, there had been plans to turn this mountain into an amusement park; the groundwork had been completed three years previous. But after problems with the developers, the bank had repossessed the land. They had tried to put the land up for auction, but had been unsuccessful. Unable to find any buyers, the lot ended up abandoned, the amusement park construction frozen, waiting absently in the faint hope of things getting worked out.

The land was surrounded by a tall fence that cast long shadows in the sunset, like stripes across the ground.

 

***

 

A large, round patch of darkness fell across those stripes. Leaping down inside the fence came the silhouette of an almost spherical human. As he vaulted the two and a half meter tall fence, his graying hair flew upwards, displaying the torn up flesh where his right ear had once been.

It was Spooky E. An overloaded convenience store bag hung from his left hand. He cliczed his tongue, and fussily straightened his hair, scratching at his wound through the knotted tangles. Blood welled up, getting into his hair, but Spooky E paid it no mind and kept on scratching, putting his nails into it. It had been almost a month since his ear had been sliced off, but his incessant scratching had prevented the wound from healing. As a synthetic human, Spooky E’s healing abilities were far greater than those of an average human, but he scratched it so persistently his abilities were unable to compensate.

As his fingers carved away, he walked further into the unfinished amusement park. He reached a strangely-shaped tower, like a spiral reaching towards the sky. Its entrance was blocked—not just bolted shut, but also wrapped in chains.

“…………” Spooky E never even glanced at it. He took a short step backwards, crouched down, and took a flying leap—just as he had with the fence—all the way up to the third floor and through the empty window frame.

The floor inside was covered in dust. Garbage carried by the wind was strung here and there. Kicking the mess out of his way, Spooky E stumped across the floor towards the inner staircase. The elevator was an empty shaft—though, even if it had been finished, there was no power with which to operate it.

He climbed to the top floor, which was the only one that had had glass placed into its window frames—as if the construction crew had been working from the top down.

“………………”

At last, Spooky E stopped picking at his wounded ear and sat down in the middle of the empty floor, taking onigiri and a pair of sandwiches from the bag. It was his lunch, and he was starving.

As if a thought had just struck him, he took one of the cell phones that hung at his waist and dialed at an unsettling speed—all ten digits in less than a second.

The phone barely had time to ring before a girl answered. “This is Kasugai.”

“Command 700259,” Spooky E said, cramming an entire ham sandwich into his mouth.

“Understood,” the girl said, her voice suddenly mechanical. “Command accepted. Preparation complete. Awaiting details.”

“Go to the city library and get the key hidden between the Hungarian dictionary and the Hungarian phrase book.”

“Understood.”

“The key is for a coin locker at the station. Take the medicine inside and pour it into the drinks at the fast food restaurant you work at. One tab for every three liters.”

“Understood.”

“That’s all. Command 700259, transmission complete.”

“Understood. Transmission complete. Proceeding to action.”

Spooky E hung up.

He put the phone back on his belt, took off another one, and dialed a new number.

“Who is it?” snapped an angry-sounding boy.

“Command 5400129,” Spooky E muttered.

“Understood,” the boy said instantly, his voice turning mechanical just as the girl’s had.

“How many members are currently on your team?”

“Seven.”

“Not enough. Make it twelve. This week.”

“Understood. How?”

“I don’t care. Threaten them, force them—just get them in your group.”

“Understood.”

“When you have twelve, take to the streets and cause a disturbance between Sixth and Eighth Street. Report who fights back.”

“Understood.”

In this instance, “disturbance” meant extortion and theft.

As he was speaking, a different phone on Spooky E’s waist began vibrating.

Unhurriedly, Spooky E continued his conversation with the boy. Finally, he concluded with, “That’s all. Command 5400129, transmission complete.”

“Understood.”

Only then did he answer the incoming call. “What?!”

“FS450036 Periodic Report.” The voice sounded like an adult woman in her late twenties. Once again, it lacked expression and was totally mechanical.

“Any problems?”

“70% of the spiked cream has been sold. 70% of all customers have come back to the shop, but there have been no noticeable changes.”

“Send the details like always. Begin stage two on the spiked customers, regardless of results.”

“Understood.”

Spooky E continued thusly, munching on convenience store junk food in the forgotten, deserted location while giving instructions to the “Terminals” he had brainwashed and hidden throughout the city. He made a seemingly endless series of calls and received an equally endless number. How many people had he brainwashed? An unimaginable number, apparently. He was like a scalper with tickets for all the hottest gigs.

His contacts were divided into roughly two camps: those who gave people drugs and those who observed the results.

But there were also a few unrelated calls:

“They say he comes out near the expressway overpass.”

“Someone saw him running along the river.”

“Rumor has it a shadow like him was seen on the Twin City roof.”

Such calls always made Spooky E sullen—especially the third one, during which he shouted, “I know!” into the phone.

“Shit!” he roared, once the flood of calls subsided. “God damn that Boogiepop!”

He ground his teeth so hard that blood spurted out of his ear stub. He thrust his hand into the plastic bag, but it was empty, simply making a dismal rustle.

“Son of a bitch!”

He tore the bag to pieces.

Flinging the garbage aside, he stomped up to the tower roof, footsteps echoing.

(Unforgivable! I’m gonna tear him apart with my bare hands!!)

On the roof, a strong wind was blowing, just like it had when he had faced his “enemy.”

(He mentioned the Manticore, that fugitive Tarkus was after. But it sounds like he already finished it off… I’m not telling Axis about him, though! He’s my prey! Nobody else’s!)

He glared at the seven cylinders that stood on the roof.

They didn’t really stand out much among the other building supplies left abandoned there. Even if someone were to notice them, they would never have guessed they had been placed there much later. But inside each of them was a disinfectant strong enough to bring “death” to every living thing in the surrounding area.

(If it comes to it, I’ll use these on him if I have to.)

Blood spurted out of his ear stump again. He stopped it with his hands and whispered, “But… but that other name he said…‘Imaginator.’ What the hell is that?”

Spooky E stood glumly for a moment, then his expression suddenly sharpened and he glared down at the park below the building.

“Mm…?”

Someone was standing at the locked gate at the park’s entrance.

It was a woman—no, a girl. And it looked as though she was dressed in her uniform, on her way home from high school.

She did something at the gate and—surprisingly—the lock opened. She had a key.

“Well, now…” Spooky E grinned and watched the girl enter the park.

 

***

 

“Ow! Damn, cut myself!” Kinukawa Kotoe sucked the tip of her finger, scratched by one of the barbs on the fence surrounding the abandoned amusement park. The taste of blood filled her mouth. “What am I doing?”

She reached into her school bag and took out one of the band-aids she always had with her, decorated with cartoon rabbits, and wrapped it around her wound.

She felt very childish. Like she was three years old again.

Nobody knew she had a key to the half-finished Paisley Park construction site. One of the countless companies with a claim on the ground belonged to her father and when he had brought the master key home, Kotoe snuck out of the house with it and made a copy.

Ever since, it had become her secret hideout when she was feeling depressed.

The buildings in the park had been abandoned just after construction began, so they looked more like abstract sculptures than anything else, and the curved walking paths were all bare, waiting patiently for beautiful tiles to be laid upon them. But as Kotoe felt as if she was about to cry a river as she walked by and looked at the buildings.

It was a very lonely place, and while she might have been a cheerful girl at home and at school, something about the desolate, deserted park tugged at her heartstrings. She had never told anyone about it, but…part of her was convinced that she belonged in a place like this. It was like there was something fundamental missing inside of her—a draft blowing through the cracks in her heart.

This place, where they had tried to build a spectacular amusement park, was now a forgotten, pathetic little dream—the kind of dream everyone has when they are young, but never achieves, only to become abandoned with time. Kotoe felt like she had never had that sort of dream at all.

Of course, this seventeen-year-old girl was not consciously aware of this. But she indistinctly felt it, and this sadness remained inside of her, refusing to melt away.

She walked on through the ruins, painted by the light of the setting sun.

As she did, she thought about the only thing she ever thought about these days—her cousin, Asukai Jin.

(Jin-niisan…)

She first met Asukai Jin when she was five years old, and she remembered it clearly, even now.

Jin’s father had come to borrow money from his younger brother—Kotoe’s father—and Jin had come along with him. He must still have been in elementary school.

She had only seen him from a distance.

Kotoe’s father had taken his wife’s name, Kinukawa, and behaved like the rightful heir, much more so than Kotoe’s docile mother. He had thundered, “Stop begging,” to his brother.

But Jin’s father had persisted until Jin had said, quietly, “Uncle Kouji’s right, Father. Nobody would lend money to someone who just wants it and has no plan for how they’re going to use it.”

When that clean boy soprano cut through the tension in the drawing room (decorated perfectly to her father’s tastes), Kotoe had the strangest feeling that this boy would take her away from everything—away from this life where she lacked nothing but could scarcely breathe.

Much to her father’s surprise, his brother agreed with his son Jin. He abandoned his attempts to beg for money based solely upon familial blood ties and instead began to explain the details of his business plan.

Kotoe didn’t really understand the conversation from that point on, but ultimately, Kotoe’s father did end up lending his brother some money. What Kotoe remembered especially was how Jin’s farewell showed far better manners than his father’s.

He seemed so noble.

He was her first love.

She had looked forward to seeing him again, but it turned out that the start-up business that Jin’s father had founded with the borrowed money had gone bust. They didn’t return to Kotoe’s house for a very long time. Occasionally, her father would refer to his brother as “that good-for-nothing,” which always made Kotoe extremely sad.

Four years passed before Kotoe met Jin again.

Father and son called at the Kinukawa home once more. The father was extremely well-dressed, and—surprisingly—he returned the money that he had borrowed. Plus interest.

Kotoe’s father muttered, “Normally, you would also have to pay damages…” but was clearly happy to have the money back.

“But how did you get it?” he asked, but Jin’s father just grinned.

His son sat next to him, in the uniform from his junior high school. He didn’t appear bored by the grown ups’ conversation, but he also did not appear to be excessively interested either. He blended in so easily. Kotoe, who was watching from the shadows, was mystified by this.

“Say, Kouji, would you like a painting?” Jin’s father asked.

“Painting?”

“First rate artists only. I’m in that line of work now.”

“You sell paintings? You got a D in art! How do you know you aren’t selling fakes?”

“I leave all that up to him,” Jin’s father said, pointing at his son. “He’s a genius. He’s won all sorts of awards for his paintings.”

“Really? But even so…”

“His eye is amazing. We buy stuff up at paltry sums, and a year later that artist explodes and we sell it for ten times the price,” he said proudly.

Even when praised, the boy stayed quiet.

“Oh? So someday you might become a great artist like Picasso, Jin?” Kotoe’s father asked, addressing his nephew for the first time.

“That’s my dream, sir,” the boy replied, without a trace of arrogance. His manner proved that he was the most together person in the room, Kotoe thought.

He knew what everyone in the room was thinking, and acted accordingly. He was perfectly at ease, yet never gave off even a hint of being such.

The evening developed into a drinking party, and Jin and his father spent the night at Kotoe’s house. Kotoe wanted desperately to talk with Jin, but he never left his father’s side, meaning she had no chance to do so.

Only once, when Jin went to the kitchen to get a glass of water for his father’s stomach pills, was she able to say, “Um…” There she was, standing in front of him, the moment she’d been longing for.

“Oh, sorry. Can I get some water?” he asked politely.

“C-certainly!” Kotoe replied.

Her mother said, “What a good boy,” and handed him a cup of water.

He bowed his head, and left.

Kotoe wanted to call after him, but she couldn’t think of anything to say, and so she could only watch him leave. But that evening, when Kotoe woke in the middle of the night and came down to the kitchen for a drink, she found Jin standing alone in the garden, looking up at the night sky.

It was winter outside, and all he had on were the pajamas they’d found for him, so it must have been terribly cold out.

He looked so sad. She’d never seen him look anything but calm, so Kotoe was a little shocked.

She wanted to know what he was thinking about, but she thought it must be something difficult that she wouldn’t be able to understand. This meant she didn’t know what to do. So she stood there for a while, and eventually he turned and spotted her.

“Ah…!” she exclaimed, and he bowed his head, and came over to the outside of the house.

Kotoe hurriedly unlocked the window. “Wh-what are you doing?” she asked. When she opened her mouth, a white cloud came out.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said. “I was just wondering if it would snow.”

“Snow?”

“Yeah. It looked like it might, but…”

“You like snow?”

“Yeah. Childish of me, huh?” He grinned.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked and instantly regretted it. What a stupid question.

But he didn’t seem to notice. “Sure, it’s cold. I was just about to come inside,” he said softly, bobbed his head, and walked away.

Kotoe watched him go once more.

At the time, they were just relatives. They had no other connection. So once again, quite some time passed without the two of them seeing each other.

(But…)

Kotoe stopped in front of the most eye-catching remnant, a spiral tower that was to have been named “The Ladder.” Like Asukai Jin had done as a boy, she looked up at the sky.

But of course, it was not snowing—it was April, after all.

(But…Jin-niisan’s father, so awful…)

His cause of death was still unclear.

He had been walking along the street and then suddenly vomited up blood and fell over. It was all so sudden that the police suspected he’d been poisoned.

But there were no traces of anything like that. Witnesses had said that just before his death, he’d eaten lunch at a perfectly ordinary family restaurant. Nobody who worked at the restaurant had any connections to him. It clearly hadn’t been poison.

Even so, the whole ordeal had left Asukai Jin orphaned.

“We should help him,” Kotoe said.

Her mother asked, “Why don't we adopt him?”

But since her father had married into the family, he felt it would never do for him to take in his brother's child. Besides, Asukai Jin himself refused to entertain such notions, telling them not to worry.

His father’s business was handed off to others, and most of the inheritance went to various debts and obligations, but Jin quickly secured a full scholarship to an art school, and a job as a cram school teacher took care of his living expenses. Very efficient.

Kotoe was somewhat relieved. If they had adopted him, then she would have become his sister. It was a dream, sure—yet as long as they were cousins, the possibility remained.

But no matter how quickly Asukai Jin had taken charge of his situation, that sad boy who stared up at the night sky remained. Kotoe could still see it in him.

He had some sort of burden. He’d carried it for a very long time.

(And yet…)

Recently, Jin had been acting strangely—wandering around all night long, coming back with what looked like bloodstains on his clothes…and even worse, he was oddly cheerful. Of course, he had always been affable, easy to get along with, and well liked, and none of that hadn’t changed. But still…

The only person who had listened to her problems was a girl from her school named Suema Kazuko. They weren’t close enough to be called friends, but she had listened carefully and told her, “Why don’t you leave things up to me?”

She had telephoned later and added, “I’ll clear things up, but until then, you’d better stay away from him.” Which meant Kotoe hadn’t seen Jin for a while.

Suema Kazuko seemed reliable, and she would probably be able to figure things out far better than Kotoe herself could ever manage. But she still missed him.

“Jin-niisan…” she whispered, looking up at the red sky.

“Is that your man’s name?” a voice asked from behind her.

Surprised, she tried to turn around, but the electric monster’s hands had already latched onto each side of her head.

There was a crackle, and then she could feel her brain’s functions rudely interrupted.

“…………?!”

Kinukawa Kotoe was unconscious.

 

***

 

“Her name’s Kinukawa Kotoe, and she’s seventeen, eh?” Spooky E had gone through the pockets of his newly acquired prey, and found her Shinyo Academy student ID.

“So that’s how she had a master key,” the monster whispered, glancing over towards a sign at the side of the park. The name “Kinukawa Enterprises” was printed on it.

“Damn, she’s loaded…”

Had she been awake, she would have shuddered at the sight of the sinister smile that split Spooky E’s face from ear to ear. His big round eyes stayed wide open, making it even more horrible.

“That means she’s got cash. Perfect. I can use her to find this ‘Imaginator.’”

The monster licked his fingers, and thrust his saliva-drenched hands into Kotoe’s beautifully treated hair.

 

***

 

The next thing she knew, Kinukawa Kotoe was walking along the street at night. She was herself again.

“……………”

However, she failed to wonder what she had been doing all this time. She was neither surprised nor confused.

“……………”

The street was filled with clusters of people, freed from the stress of the day: older men, faces already flushed with booze, young lovers chattering happily in cafes…

She ignored this peaceful world, headed straight for an ATM, and began withdrawing money. It was early in the month, so there was no one else in line.

The machine had a limit of 300,000 yen per transaction; she withdrew this in full ten times. Three million yen in all. Without so much as flinching, she put the bills into her school bag and headed directly to a nearby dance club.

Once before, a friend had taken her there. Kotoe herself had been unable to get swept up in the crowd’s enthusiasm for the indie band’s passionate, but unskilled performance, and she had never gone back. But now, without the slightest trace of hesitation, she headed straight down the stairs to the dimly lit basement entrance. She paid the five thousand yen cover charge (which came with a free drink) and went in. Her ears were instantly filled with a horrific noise. Kotoe never glanced at the band wailing away on stage, or the audience, bobbing their heads and waving their arms around. No, she headed straight for the drink counter.

“’Sup?” asked the spiky-haired, punk-styled guy behind the counter, listlessly. He put a paper cup in front of Kotoe.

Ignoring the drink entirely, Kotoe said, “I have a question.”

“Mm?”

“You ever heard of the Imaginator?”

The punk’s expression changed the moment the word left her mouth. “Wh-what…?”

“You have?” she said.

“No, never!”

“Liar,” Kotoe declared.

The punk flinched. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I don’t know where the hell you heard that name, but you really shouldn’t say it out loud. It might—”

Before he could finish, a man sitting in the corner interrupted, saying, “What? The Imaginator?” He was a two-meter tall skinhead. “Where’d you hear that name, high school girl? You know where that asshole is?”

The man advanced on her, the thick soles of his boots so loud they were easily heard above the racket on stage.

“That asshole? This Imaginator is an individual?” Kotoe said. Clearly, the man had failed to frighten her in slightest.

“I’m the one asking questions!” he yelled, grabbing the collar of her uniform and lifting her into the air. “Don’t piss me off! Everyone in my band’s screwed up now, all thanks to that Imaginator freak! What the hell did he do to them?!” The veins stood out on his bare scalp.

Swinging around at the end of his arm, Kotoe shook with the waves of his anger. But all she did was simply ask, quietly, “So, the Imaginator does something to people and moves them over to its side? Is it through religion or something?”

The skinhead frowned at her, puzzled.

“How exactly were they changed?” she continued.

“Girl, who are you?” he asked, putting her down.

He’d been sure she was just some cocky kid, but there was something far stranger about her behavior.

Kotoe gave an enigmatic smile. “Just in case things aren’t perfectly clear, I’m not asking for any favors.” She pulled a wad of cash out of her bag. 100,000 yen. “I’m buying information.”

The skinhead’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Who are you?” he said again.

“No friend of the Imaginator,” she purred.

 

***

 

“…I’ve never seen the Imaginator directly. But I know a guy who saw something goin’ down on some back road.”

They had shifted location to the empty locker room, where the skinhead had started talking.

“Something?”

“His words. He wasn’t really sure what. But there were several of them, and the Imaginator sent them all flyin’. Yeah, that’s what he said—not punched, not kicked, not even beat—he just sent them flyin’!

“The guys who got beat weren’t pussies or anythin’. This isn’t just some tough guy winning a street fight. This is bigger than that. After the dudes went flying, they all stood up and started pinning down their buddies that were still standing. Their own buddies! This Imaginator turned them against each other!

“So no matter how badly you get messed up, you can never lay a finger on the Imaginator. Everyone that’s crossed paths with that creep ends up slammed into the pavement, pukin’ blood. I seriously don’t know what he is. Must be some kinda monster. Like Dracula, or somethin’.”

“What happened to the people he beat up? Have you talked to them?”

“They… they were… I mean…”

“Your friends were different?”

“I saw Tsuyoshi only once after. He was walking through town alone. We never really got along that well, but since everyone else had up and vanished on me, I called out to him. He turned around, looked happy to see me.”

“How is that strange?”

“He’s the type that always snarls, ‘Shut the hell up’ when you speak to him. Least if he’s alone. He’s usually always with some chick. But that time he was grinning, like someone had…stripped all his thorns off. Creepy calm.”

“Where had he been?”

“He said he hadn’t been anywhere in particular. Insisted it was just a coincidence we hadn’t bumped into each other until then. At the time, I still hadn’t heard about the Imaginator, so I didn’t know Tsuyoshi’d gone up against him. I only heard about that later. So at the time, I was just confused. But I haven’t seen him since. He won’t answer his damn phone.”

“You been to their houses?”

“Nope. No idea where he lives. Never asked.”

“Is that what bands are like these days?”

“Hey, I thought it was a little sad, too,” the skinhead protested weakly. “But everyone else seemed cool with it, so I guess I just went with the flow, you know? Anyway, everything else aside, it seemed like he was basically a nice guy deep down.

Kotoe sniggered, “So? This Imaginator… This guy heard him give his name?”

“Yeah…”

“What did he sound like?”

“Prim and stuck up, apparently. Said, ‘If you must, you may call me the Imaginator’—whatever the hell that means.”

“He didn’t see him?”

“Nah, he was hiding. Oh, that reminds me…”

“What?”

“White. He said he saw a figure in white.”

For reasons she didn’t understand, Kotoe was badly shaken by this. “WHAT?!”

The skinhead was surprised by her sudden, strong reaction.

“Wh-what? You know someone that wears white?”

“………” Kotoe had been programmed to suppress all unnecessary memories, so she was utterly unable to determine the cause for her surprise. She had a vague feeling that she knew a man who always dressed in white, but she couldn’t remember who.

The faint roar of the musicians and the audience, like the sound of a swarm of insects, swirled around her, hurting her ears.

“N-no…” Kotoe said, shaking her head as if trying to clear out the confusion. “Never mind.”

“So who are you?” the skinhead asked. “Why are you after the Imaginator?”

“Don’t you want revenge?” Kotoe suddenly asked, out of left field.

“For those guys?” The skinhead looked dubious.

“You’d rather leave them to their fate?” she said. “Fine by me…”

“Not that!” he yelled, turning red. He leapt to his feet, kicking over the folding chair he’d been sitting on.

“Then do as I say,” Kotoe smirked, looking up at him.

She opened her bag, and took out the rest of the money. She dumped it on top of the table.

The skinhead gaped.

“Use this to gather all the people you can. We’re going to hunt the Imaginator down.”

“That’s… that’s a lot of money,” the skinhead gulped.

“Not to me,” Kotoe said, unperturbed.

“What if I take the money and run?” he asked. Like good guys always do.

“No skin off of my teeth,” Kotoe said, cool as cucumber. “I’ll just know you’re a coward.”

“…………!”

“But if you’re going to swindle me, you should wait a little longer. There’s more where that came from,” Kotoe said, broadening her grin. No matter how big her smile became, her eyes never narrowed.

Just like Spooky E.