Chapter Two

Chapter Two

By the time he’d reached the main road, Hamada wasn’t sure he’d make it. He expected to hear the footsteps of the invader behind him any minute now, the invader who’d already consigned some of his colleagues to oblivion as they bought him a little time.

Without slowing, he cast his senses around him. No one—nothing—was there. The back streets were still, as if every living creature, fearing the rain, hid away in their houses and stifled their breaths. Or perhaps at some point they’d dissolved away.

He was completely removed from the world, Hamada realized with a profound sense of loneliness. He wanted to cast aside everything and everyone and run away. The only thing that kept him from wailing aloud in anguish was the young man on his back.

Hamada didn’t understand the workings of his own mind. Thus far in his life, no matter how beautiful the man or woman, he’d only seen them in terms of profit and desire. He’d whisper sweet nothings in their ears while stabbing a knife in their chests.

And now Hamada thought—in a moment of pure honesty—that even at the risk of his own life, he would run away with Setsura as long and as far as his legs would take him. In that sense, Setsura’s current condition gave him reason to hope, not despair.

He kept a strong hold on the grocery bag. “What Aki-chan holds dear, so do I. It will come with us wherever we go.”

Now on the main drag, he spotted a car or two, but still the traffic was unusually light. Hamada’s heart sunk.

“What in the world’s become of this city?”

He tried to hail a taxi. They shot past him, as if escaping to places elsewhere.

“At this rate, a cop car would suffice. An ambulance. The one time you need one, and there isn’t one in sight!”

He fretted like the hysterical transvestite he was. From the left pocket of his jacket a raspy voice answered him, “One is—coming.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“One is—coming. But do not—get on. Terrible things—will happen.”

“How much more terrible can things get?”

The irritated Hamada twisted his body back and forth as it was battered mercilessly by the wind and rain.

“My mistress’s honorable younger sister,” said the candle flame in cynical tones.

Standing next to the flickering yellow light, the pretty, golden-haired girl looked up at the ceiling.

“Why the attitude?” the ceiling replied.

The girl raised the gold candlestick higher. The penumbra grew larger, casting its vague light on a curious object. A fat shadow hung upside down from the ceiling like a hock of ham. It was a person and it was moving around, as if attempting to escape the same fate as a hock of ham.

“A call came from the ward government building,” said the doll girl. “They asked for the mayor. They seem to be in a panic.”

“Relax. He is being held captive by a nightmare. I gave him medicine, but this is a vexation of the spirit. No simple answers here. We’ll at least wait until morning.”

“But—”

“Let’s get this straight. Big sister left things betwixt and between with you. I’m the one who put Humpty Dumpty back together again. That’s me, Tonbeau Nuvenberg. So take care for what you say.”

“I am thankful for that. However, this is my mistress’s house. Until she returns, it is my duty to protect it.”

“So you’re not telling me where the safe is?”

“The rumors precede you, Tonbeau-sama.”

“Hmph. Nothing but lies and gossip. What rumors?”

“That you’re a spendthrift with a penchant for defaulting on her loans.”

“Hmph.”

“A petty swindler and con artist.”

“Hmph.”

“A mad scientist with a taste for the prohibited and the taboo. Though on a small scale.”

“Hmph.”

“With a fetish for making homunculi, and all of them male.”

“Enough already.” She stamped her foot on the ceiling.

“And one more. The reason she left the Czech Republic was to collect certain symbols of male virility, the larger—”

“What are you saying, pipsqueak!” The fat witch shouted and clomped across the ceiling with long strides. “A sassy lass like you—you should have your heart and womb swapped out and bulrush reeds installed instead of those glass veins of yours.”

“Only one may do with my body as he wishes, and that person is not a witch.”

“You talk big for such a little squirt of a thing.” She puffed out her cheeks. “It’s time to slap your hands with a little mumbo jumbo of my own.”

She began to chant. The candle flame flickered. Then a knocking came against the glass of the skylight.

“Nevermore.”

“Ah, it’s back.”

“Good timing.”

The fat shadow stamped her feet again. The doll girl went to the wall and pulled on the rope attached to the skylight. Wind and rain and a pair of black wings swept in.

“So this is our mistress’s honorable younger sister?” the big raven said, doing its best to get her goat. To the doll girl, “I’ve been flying around Shinjuku all day. I found what we’ve been looking for.”

“You tell stuff like that to me first!” Tonbeau tried to grab the bird. It easily evaded her.

“You’d better hurry. Things are getting dicey out there.”

“What is?”

“Explain yourself!”

“In fact—” The big raven spread his wings expansively.

Night.

People had all but forgotten the true meaning of the word. At first glance, the artificial day drove out the dark. The buildings glittered, street lights glimmered, neon signs flickered. And in this city, night watchmen glowed in the dark, as did glass guard dogs with bioluminescent serum injected into their veins.

There was nowhere in the city where a man out for a midnight stroll didn’t cast a shadow.

The night shift had come alive decades before. Bars, restaurants, dance clubs, coffee shops, supermarkets—something to fulfill all the appetites—ran twenty-four seven. And to maintain the intellectual vigor of the ward, a flowering of all-night bookstores and literary salons.

Of course, television never went off the air. With a combination cell phone/remote control, satellite networks could bring to the screen any show from anywhere on the globe at the click of a button.

If deeper companionship was in order, and the customary interactive social networks and chat rooms didn’t suffice, at an “Another One” kiosk, along with a drop of a hallucinogenic, the prettiest girl in the world or the friend she’d never met were theirs for two hours at a pop.

Stumble into the rare unlit alleyway or onto a dark street corner, and spit out a wad of flash-bang gum. When stepped on, it would pop and strobe and generally give any creature a start.

And so ordinary people no longer feared the night. Which was why, finding himself alone on a vacant avenue, a man was apt to become hyper-aware of his own existence, to hear footsteps always racing up behind him, and see shapes lurking in the shadows that weren’t there.

Now, the meaning of the night bore down upon him. The night came calling, like it or not. Cloaked in that jet-black veil, the incomprehensible was always lying in wait.

The night was not the place to live a life. The night was the sum of the cries and prayers and fears of the unknown stirred together in the muddy currents of the psyche. To set them aside for a spell, human beings were given sleep.

But what of those eternal insomniacs?

The Quarry knew it was being pursued. In front of it was a concrete wall stacked with steel drums. An escape route reached out behind. Except that the rulers of that turf were the ones closing in.

The Quarry craned its ears. The drugs cranking up the five senses hadn’t lost their effectiveness. Its weapons still hadn’t been used.

But common sense said that the Predator had powers that exceeded them. The point of this “game” was to ascertain their rumored effectiveness when ramped up to a hundred percent.

The Quarry could only pray that the radioactive tags inside its body didn’t wink out at the wrong moment.

Two glowing objects streaked through the air. Aerial torpedoes. The Quarry quickly opened its mouth and coughed up a net of magnetic mines. Spitting fire before falling to the road’s surface, hundreds of pea-sized “pellet mines” dispersed into the air at a safe-enough distance of fifteen feet, creating a net a little over a dozen feet square.

The first shot plunged deep into the net. Flashes of blue light bloomed in the gloom. The shock waves and the smell and thunder of the explosions unfurled around.

The one after that had just enough time for the navigation unit to change direction and skirt the top of the net. Calculating the most direct course, the “torpedo” took direct aim on the Quarry.

The pressure-sensitive screws cut through the atmosphere as the angle of the fins swished around. The Quarry’s internal silo opened its hatch. The anti-torpedo countermeasures fired and attacked the enemy weapon with active sonar pinging.

The impact took place within the danger zone.

The shock wave blew the Quarry backwards a dozen feet, into the wall of steel drums. Thanks to modifications of its nervous system, it felt no pain. It quickly righted itself and listened carefully. But sensed or heard nothing. The Predator must be in wait-and-see mode.

Better to stop breathing altogether, the Quarry thought. The enemy must have the means of detecting fluctuations in carbon monoxide levels.

A thick arm wrapped tightly around its head. Before the titanium steel could dig into its windpipe, the Quarry pushed itself forward with all its strength and heaved it over its shoulder.

The Predator twisted its body with excruciating slowness and pulled away. A short, stocky frame. Its silver torso rapidly rose and fell, drawing its energy from the air. Due to its steeply sloping shoulders, its whole body seemed to transform into a pair of hands.

The Predator stopped a dozen feet away. The outlines of its body faded into the rain.

I get it now, the Quarry thought.

The nature of this false reality—submersible vessels. Two attack submarines. The atmosphere was the ocean. They were at the bottom of the sea.

The enemy rapidly blurred, and disappeared in less than a second. The Quarry looked for splashes in the rain. Even if it extended the magnetic fields beyond its line of vision, detecting a reaction to energy as well as mass was essential.

The rain fell harder. The feedback from its five senses markedly decreased. It clucked to itself. Where were those splashes of rain?

A sharp pain slashed down its back. On its six again. The Quarry ground its teeth as it fell to the ground. Ten feet above and behind it, the enemy brandished a knife. Its pig-like face contorted with mad glee. Did every killer evince such emotions in the act of murder?

The Quarry fired a “torpedo” from its shoulder blade. The Predator’s smile darkened. The torpedo smashed through its face and into the concrete wall. No sooner had the fireball erupted than did a scream behind it.

Before it could right itself, water splashed and danced on the roadway. Something unseen writhed on the pavement. The Quarry sensed a human presence to its left.

Within the gray downpour, a long shadow creased the smoke. A sad figure, the Quarry thought, though without any good reason. The shadow had no right hand. Only the sleeve swaying there limply.