Tales from the Outback - Tokyo Trip

May 2067. Wally and Mono have reached Japan to deal with the sudden disappearance of Mono's mother, Chihiro. While looking for clues, they'll end up uncovering a truth better left buried, something connected both to Stratosphere and the Shadow Gallery.

Wally threw up, one more time. A paper bag covering his snout completely, as loud growls littered the peaceful atmosphere, echoing between the metallic walls. He sighed, welcomed a moment of respite. Only to throw up once again, with everything except gusto.

“I. hate. Ships.”

Yet, he was traveling on one, a big specimen too. The Mattanza was a humongous illegal fishing vessel, equipped with extra harpoons for whale hunting, in case one was spotted. One of the dozens of untracked boats roaming the Sea of Japan without permission or respect for the local wildlife, with all what entailed for the environment and the native species.

He sighed once more, while trying to keep his stomach under control. He hated poachers. He spent a long time shooting mozzies and poachers in the Outback. Mozzies are animals, they are invasive bastards that eat children for breakfast, but they don’t choose to be this way. They simply are. Poachers are humans, and humans can choose to do despicable deeds. So, it was almost with glee that he pulled Lady Lead’s trigger, spraying stunning bullets in a ten meter radius and sending the unfortunate target to the nearest hospital. Or graveyard, in case he accidentally forgot to switch away from the normal ammo. But, oh, well, that had happened only once and nobody missed that bugger. He closed the paper bag with a makeshift knot, threw it onto a pile of similarly exhausted ones.

It was still a long way to Japan, at least eight hours more of travel on that floating fish graveyard. Still, nothing compared to the almost two weeks he had been on board. Wally had spent all that time avoiding the inquisitive gaze of the Italian crew, while trying to fight starvation by accepting suspiciously smelly meals of dubious provenience, surrounded by the stench of rotting shark meat. He wished he could have just flown to Narita, but that was sadly not a possibility.

Suddenly, a voice behind him, uttering words he couldn’t grasp. He rolled his eyes. The absolute lack of mastery of English of those seafaring idiots was dazzling. Aside from the captain, none of the Italos on board could say anything more complex than hello, danger! and goodbye—at times, not even that. He turned towards the uninvited guest, annoyance pouring through all his scales and teeth. In front of him, stood a sailor. Fairly burly, waving his hands as he spoke his unintelligible dialect, while pointing at… something several times. Wally growled.

“Buzz off, grommet. Not in the mood.”

“He says that they’ll disembark us this evening. According to their informants, there are several ships of the coast guard stationed for a surprise exercise and they don’t want to take any risks.”

That other voice belonged to her, Wally’s partner in crime. He rolled his eyes again. Of course she knew enough Italian to make up something out of that mangled soup of guttural sounds. If you want to understand fashion, you need to understand Italian and French, no way around it!, she used to repeat. He thought she was just showing off, of course, because who in their right mind would ever even want to learn those two languages? Yet, that was a complete judgement mistake on his side. It turned out that not only she could read them without a hitch, she could also speak both of them fluently and even understand dialects. He had never taken her for a polyglot, especially because of how mangled her English accent sounded, especially for an Australian. Her strong Japanese accent was grating to his delicate ears, but he got accustomed to it after such a long time together.

Wally growled, looked at the sailor, then looked at her, then at the sailor again.

“And how are we going to make landfall, mate? Swimming?”

He waved his hand to better underline the concept, hoping to make it more understandable for that dense clump of muscle matter staring at him with a blank expression. Unsuccessfully.

A chuckle. She was chuckling at his impromptu performance.

“What’s that funny?”

“Your gesturing had nothing to do with what you said. It was like watching a movie with out of sync subtitles.”

He sneered at her, shook his head.

“I couldn’t care less, oversized cat! If that’s funny, why ain’t ya talkin’ with Popeye here? I just want to know how are we goin’ to reach the coast! No way I’ve travelled so long to sink in the vegemitin’ Pacific Ocean!”

She, the oversized cat in question, kept on chuckling with utter disrespect for his feeling. Yet, he could see she was as concerned as him, under an uncaring appearance.

“You should have learned more languages, when you had the chance.”

“Well, I’ve never had the chance, so buzz off and take care of it.”

That’s when Mono unleashed her fluent Italian once more, accompanied with what looked like correct, synced gestures as well. The seaman nodded, gestured a little more, prompting Mono to answer again. For Wally, it was funny to see that pantomime unfolding. He wondered if video calls were invented for Italians and how could they understood each other during a normal phone call. For text or recorded voice messages, there were now several apps that added a video file with all the appropriate gestures, but calls? No way in Brisbane.

“Alright, Wally. The gist of it is that they have organized a rendezvous with a smaller fishing boat, in Japanese territorial waters. They’ll move part of the cargo on it, then the boat will bring us to the coast. If everything goes fine, we’ll be on solid ground before the sun raises.”

“Has anything gone fine even once, since we met?”

“Nope, but that’s the beauty of it.”

“Fine, I guess.”

Flying would have made it so much easier, but being a wanted deserter from the Australian Army ain’t gonna do you any favor—and definitely doesn’t make it possible to book a flight without triggering half a dozen of automated alarms. The only reason why he could peacefully live two continents away was thanks to Mono’s connections and the general laziness of the British law enforcers. They had bigger fish to fry than a PTSD-stricken former-hero Aussie raptor on a no-fly-list. In hindsight, it was a miracle he had managed to travel so many times to and from Euterpe without being arrested. Either Lady Luck had been heavily on his side or both the European countries and the Commonwealth had a bone to pick with Kangaroo Land. He hoped the second to be the case, because the first meant that he’d have to pay his dues to Fate, at some point in the future—and the bill would be hefty. He sighed loudly, in such a way that Mono couldn’t ignore him, even if she wanted. He had to exercise his right to complain.

“Seriously, I can’t wait to leave this bloody floating coffin.”

“Stop complaining. Half a day isn’t much, after almost two months of non-stop travel!”

“All because ya’re a mama girl that only a moron would follow!”

“And you’re the moron who followed her, despite her loud complaints!”

Wally sneered. Of course, no way in the Outback he would have allowed Mono to go alone to Japan—definitely not in the wake of a new round of anti-mutant protests. It was telling that Mono herself, who could have comfortably flown to her destination at any other time, was forced to make use of her underworld connections to even begin her trip. After her boarding was denied, what other choices did she have? So, their odyssey had begun. Private flight from Shard to Hampton Brooks (courtesy of don Go Ottari) then Ameritrack train to the other coast, followed by a trip on a ship illegally surveying oil deposits in the Pacific Ocean, only to be unceremoniously transferred to the Mattanza on an abandoned drilling platform.

Wally looked out of the small, circular window, the reflections of the moon on the placid water shimmering wildly in the dark—just beautiful enough to make him forget the putrid stench of decomposed fish assaulting his nostrils. His stomach contracted almost immediately after. He grabbed a fresh paper bag, pushed his snout inside it.

And threw up, once again, under the amused gaze of Mono.

Boy, he thought, at least this is gonna be a short bout, yes? Just to be sure, then we go back to bounty hunting on solid ground.

His brain made a short pause, as his soul left his body for a second round of sea sickness. Two months of travel just to say hi to Mono’s mom, ‘cause she couldn’t get in touch with her. Which had happened several times before, but always when airplane companies actually allowed mutants on board. Still, that would have been something to write about in his memoirs.

Provided he survived the trip, that is.

Only a short check and we get back.

He closed his eyes, let his bowels go empty once more. The return trip would have been as hard, so it was better to get accustomed to it and go with the flow. He looked once more outside, through the dirty glass. Far lights greeted him, either ships or the glimmer of a distant city. A hopeful thought crossed his mind.

Yeah, this won’t take long.

Then, he threw up.

One more time.

**

“Arigato gozaimasu, fuckers.”

The two German tourists clumsily bowed in front of him, without even realizing they had been insulted at point blank, then raised their phones and took another picture with him, hugging his scales. He flashed his fakest smile ever, as the two krauts tried to bow once more, before leaving him and his rickshaw alone in a guttural choir of dankeschön. Wally growled, pushed his large, conical straw hat down on his own nape.

“Buggers.”

He looked at his mobile hand device, at the amount he had already earned through the day. Not bad, not stellar. Good enough. The novelty had waned out fast enough, but apparently being taken on a touristic trip around Asakusa on a rickshaw pulled by a frickin’ dinosaur was still high on the priority list of tourists and foreigners alike. If anything, he was still very popular among kids. Of course the kids loved him (those that weren’t scared of him, at least), they loved riding on his back, while their parents were chilling in the coach. Wally had a soft spot for children, always had. He couldn’t let those small pests cry. He’d be their hero, no matter how insensitive and annoying their parents were. The only silver lining in that weird situation he was finding himself into.

He crouched to inspect the wheels of his working buddy. They looked fine. No nails, no broken beams. Two days before, a yakuza bozo had tried to sabotage it, because—according to his mangled English—Wally was ruining the market for the local rickshaw drivers. Of course, he had answered in the most calm and collected way possible—by biting off the pinky of the yakuza’s hand (the one that still had a pinky, that is), and spitting it into the nearby koi pond. You can be a fully grown up mafia goon, but a talking velociraptor yelling at you in Australian English and chewing your fingers off is something that would strike fear into even the more callous criminal. Which might have had the intended results, since no mobster had shown their face in the following forty-eight hours.

He looked at his handheld again. It was almost dinner time… and still no news from Mono. Which could only mean one thing—no progress yet.

Still, he pushed the call button, his ear plugs vibrating for an instant to signal the start of the communication. One beep. Two beeps. Three…

“Moshi moshi, Kishima Mono desu~nya!”

“For Grant’s sake, drop the Japanese—it’s me! How in the bloody heck haven’t ya saved my phone number yet, oversized cat?”

“You should stop using the anonymous call feature.”

Wally stood silent for a long second, his eyes looking towards the ground in embarrassment.

“Fine, fine, ya’re right. My shift’s almost over, I’ll just take the next customers around and I’m done for the day. We meet at Manny’s for dinner in one hour, gotcha?”

“Got it…”

He listened to her voice carefully, then let out a sigh.

“No progress, I take it?”

“… no. She’s… I…”

“Don’t! Don’t say it, oversized cat! That’s your momma! She ain’t gonna kick the bucket so easily, gotcha? We already made strides, for Grant’s sake, we even have a trail! Now, what’s left is just finding the bloke who kidnapp’d her and kickin’ their ass back to the Outback. But trust ol’Wally, yes? No crying, Mono!”

“Y… yeah.”

“Good. See ya later at Manny’s. And… sis?”

“Huh?”

“Please, call me anytime you feel down. I’m here for you. I’m not goin’ away till we find her.”

A moment of silence. Before a soft sigh.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, sis.”

He ended the call, growled something under his breath. This won’t take long my ass. Three months. Three months had already passed, since the day the made landfall in Odaiba. Yet, they hadn’t managed to track down Chihiro Kishima, Mono’s “mother”, anywhere. Dead phone, no emails, not even a paper note. They even went to her house, in a district not far from the Sensoji temple, only to find it empty, with several letters stuck into the post box—including some utility bills. Chihiro Kishima was gone, in a puff of smoke. That meant they had two alternatives: Travel back to Britain and hope she was just on holiday and just forgot to tell her daughter about it… or stay in Japan and comb through Tokyo until they found her.

Seen how dead worried Mono was, Wally discarded the first option almost immediately (also because it would have involved a long trip on the Mattanza again). So, they made Chihiro’s apartment their own temporary base and started investigating. That flat had to be one century or so old, peak 1970s architecture, lost in a city block that dated to the same period. Despite its shortcomings, it offered enough comfort and space for the both of them, including the luxury of two separate bedrooms. Still, even with a solid roof over their heads and doctored documents to boot (seriously, how many contacts did that oversized cat have?), they had to eat and pay bills—lest Tokyo Power pulled the plug on their electricity supply. That meant looking for a stable job, in order to make ends meet—possibly something not involving guns, due to Japan’s strict laws on the topic.

Which led Wally to his current predicament and temporary activity as a disgruntled rickshaw driver. He rolled his eyes as he went back to his coach. One more customer. One more customer and it was all for the night. Good reviews helped a lot, but he felt like the number of potential marks was slowly starting to dry out. Every day a couple thousand yen less, which meant that, in the long run, he would have had to think about an alternative occupation.

In the long run?

He slapped his own cheeks, twice. He didn’t have any intention of remaining there much longer. Three months had already been enough, especially since he could barely understand anything. But tourists were stupid. He would blabber something in pseudo-Japanese and they would fall hook, line and sinker for it. So, he polished his flashy, sharp-toothed smile and prepared himself for the last morons of the day. Who, according to his ears, were just walking towards him, from the other side of the road, loudly discussing with one another.

“So, this is the so-called historical district? That’s so décevant!”

“Really, now? Come on, gimme a break.”

A young couple, the best idiots to con. And of course the girl was French. French tourists were buzzing around Tokyo like flies around a turd. No wonder they couldn’t realize he was insulting them in English. He turned around to greet them, bowing his saurian body in a semi-elegant curtsy.

“Konbanwa, grommets!”

“… wait… you are…”

His blood froze almost immediately, his eyes widened. He blinked once, twice. In front of him, stood a man in his early twenties, with a black crop top that left his abs exposed, tattoos on both arms, and several piercings on his eyebrows. That wouldn’t ring any bell in Wally’s mind… except his face, those green eyes, that red, unkempt hair, that obnoxious Italian accent…

He scanned his mind, his memories. Where? Where did he meet that guy before? When? He eyed the girl standing near him, trying to unlock other memories. A short-ish, blond-haired, classy human girl, donning a tie on a sleeveless shirt top and a black skirt. A human girl who had… cat ears. And a tail. And fangs. And all of them looked genuine, the real deal, not some cheap fashion store accessories. It suddenly dawned on him—she was a neko. A bloody neko! Now, he was sure he had never met an anthropomorphic cat before (except Mono), so she wasn’t the one she had any recollection of. But that guy…

The cat girl almost shrieked in surprise, to Wally’s dismay.

“Quoi?! It’s… it’s a dinosaur! I can’t believe it!”

She could speak fluent English, then, even if with a terrible accent. Wally growled, clenched his claw.

“Strewth, STOP! SCREAMING! Never seen a velociraptor in your life, missy?”

“And it talks too! C’est trip mignon! Is it an animatronìc, Renren? Je veux le caresser!”

“A Japanese animatronic wouldn’t speak English with an Australian accent…”

The bloke she called Renren sighed, his hand resting on his forehead, while pausing for a short instant. Before dropping the bomb.

“… right, Wally?”

That’s when the wires in Wally’s heads connected. Obnoxious Italian accent. Check. Red hair. Check. Wannabe womanizer. Check. A total dag without any sense of fashion. Check.

“Oh, for Grant’s sake…”

He raised his eyes to the sky. What were the chances of meeting motherclawing Renzo Rubecca in the middle of bloody Tokyo?!

**

Manny’s wasn’t what could be defined as a luxury restaurant. In fact, defining it as “restaurant” would have probably been a stretch altogether. It was a place that served food, which happened to be located close to the Sensoji temple, and that was it mostly it. How Crapula Manny, a seventy-years old Welsh immigrant and owner of the place, managed to get her license approved, was a mystery—one of those where any level of digging made it less and less appealing to solve. Yet, the food was cheap enough, not too toxic and relatively abundant. It was best not to ask what the ingredients were, though: Wally made that mistake just once and it was enough to make him throw up in the garbage bin. Despite the lack of basic services (the toilets were located on the other side of the road and were all defective aside from one) and the general state of disarray of the venue, the place had several regulars—mostly low wage workers, construction workers, a couple yakuza that liked the decaying atmosphere, a fair amount of foreign residents and even mutants. Which is why the table occupied by a talking velociraptor, a plus-sized cat lady, a skinnier neko and a human guy went almost completely under the radar. It was just how Manny’s worked. But that didn’t mean the neko in question couldn’t feel like a fish out of water.

“Mon Dieu, is that… is that a human octopus?”

Mono shook her head, letting out a loud groan.

“Yes. Poor Eromaru used to work in the porn industry, but they discharged him without health insurance or benefits after the Tsunada murder—just because he was an octopus mutant like the perpetrator. Ungrateful pricks.”

She raised her hand, showing a thumb up in the direction of said octopus. Eromaru nodded and waved one of his tentacles as a joyful reply. Mono smiled at him, then turned back to Claire.

“Manny gave him a job in the kitchen. He’s very good at juggling multiple dishes at the same time. His cooking skills leave something to be desired, but he’s still waaaaay better than the previous cook—and he’s so sweet and polite! The total opposite of what you would expect from his on-screen bouts!”

“I… huh, see.”

Renzo was looking respectfully from the side, refraining from disclosing that he had indeed watched some of those movies—including Be gentle, Octopus-senpai, I’m very sensitive down there and Suction Nightmare at Virgin High-School, of course as an imported bootleg version with Portuguese subtitles. It was part of the “Gattonero Premium Method for Recovering from a Bad Breakup”^TM, but Claire didn’t need to know about it. He glanced at her, at her twitching muscles, her straightened tail with all hair erected, her sweaty forehead, her fangs nervously playing with her lips. Manny’s was definitely not a place for her. Renzo closed his hand around hers, hoping to soothe her a little, slowly moving his fingers on the back of her gloves, in a delicate, continuous motion. She drew a sigh of relief, her tail went down, her legs stopped shaking. Renzo nodded at her, cracked a deceptively simple smile. Then, he turned his attention to the duo who led them there, to that diner that looked straight out of the worst suburbs of a banana republic.

“Of all the people I could meet here…”

“I can say the same, mate.”

Wally was chomping at what looked like poultry meat, ripping it from the bone with relative ease.

“Strewth, you look different, grommet. Did you have all those tattoos and piercings, last time we met? ‘Cause I’m quite sure you didn’t.”

Renzo nodded, while still keeping his hand wrapped around Claire’s.

“It’s a long story. I’ve started working as a private detective in Euterpe and… well, they came with the package. Claire here is one of my boss’s daughters.”

Mono sneered, her finger pointing at him in a circular motion, without ever stopping, almost following a hypnotic pattern.

“Her fashion sense is waaaay better than yours, Renzo-chan. You still look like someone who either dresses in the dark or works as a stripper in a cheap night club… or both. You should learn from her!”

“Or start workin’ as a real stripper, mate. Heard they make good money, as long as their asset’s size’s big enough. But, yeah, what the cat said: yer gal here, she’s your better by any metric.”

Renzo groaned quite loudly at that remark, but Claire seemed quite amused, breaking into a short fit of laughter.

“Mon Dieu, you should see our quarrels in the mornings! I always, always try to have him dress properly, but no—he has to flaunt his abs like this.”

Without warning, she slapped his belly with her free hand, causing Renzo to almost spit his lungs out. He rolled his eyes, pushed her head down with his palm immediately after.

“Says the gal who spends two hours combing her tail, but conveniently forgets to wear panties the day we go to the theater together!”

She turned her head, her fangs going for his hand.

“Listen up: First I didn’t forget it! It was deliberate! Second, that high-class Rivera dress is supposed to be worn like that! The scandal is part of its DNA! When every movement can show what is supposed to be hidden, every step you take is a work of art! Cretin! You understand rien of haute couture!”

Renzo avoided the assault with grace and surgical precision, pushing her head down again in the process.

“Oh sure, it was definitely easy to explain that to the police officers that stopped us for your indecent exposure, right after said haute couture dress got stuck on a nail—but yeah, that’s definitely on me, right? Next time I’ll let them arrest you and install one of those nice, fashionable ankle trackers, so that you can feel more like your sister!”

“Quoi? Mine was an accident! Corinne deep-throated a…”

In all of that, Mono and Wally were staring at them with dead eyes and a tired smile, while casually glancing at each other with an expression that could only be read as what’s wrong with those two? They both understood they were missing a lot of context, since the facts they knew about Renzo Rubecca didn’t line up with what they were seeing. They left him an idiot that was fawning over his fish-finned girlfriend (former assassin too), while being dragged to Boys Love conventions and dressing like an anime character, but now? This was, without a doubt, Renzo Rubecca, but it felt like he was a different person at the same time. Less cocky, more confident, still showing off, but in a totally different manner. Also, that neko there… it wasn’t clear to them whether she was his girlfriend or not, but they were indubitably close. Still, there was a limit to what Wally could take in before his brain refused to collaborate. He ran his index claw on the plastic surface of the table, a horrifying screech overshadowing their words, hands driven to cover ears, pained gazes.

“Okay, okay, stop bickerin’, will ya? I’ve not taken you here to chat about family nonsense. Heck, I wouldn’t have even bothered, if you didn’t tell me ya’re also here for business.”

A couple other customers turned towards the four, as silence filled the venue. Only for a couple seconds, though, as, almost as suddenly, everyone got back to caring only about their own issues. Renzo rested his elbows on the table, his eyes meeting Wally’s.

“And I wouldn’t have accepted your invitation if you didn’t say the magic word.”

One second of silence, before his lips opened once more.

“Stratosphere.”

Mono leaned forward, looking around, lowering her voice.

“Yep, Stratosphere. My mom worked for Shingensha, which was acquired by them last year. She wasn’t exactly happy about it. Sure, better than being a part of RealLifeAnime, especially after that huge round of firings, but…”

Renzo nodded.

“Oh, you mean when RLA divested many of its subsidiaries, back in 2066? I’ve heard that almost twelve thousand people were laid off, but the actual number might be even higher.”

“Riiight. Shingensha was going to be shut down for real too, but this colorblind dandy showed up and just bought the whole thing for a dime. God, I hate how that clown dresses—Greschnik is the epitome of all that’s wrong with modern CEO-oriented fashion.”

Mono’s voice went quieter, almost to the point of whispering.

“I was… happy for mom at first, but then she started calling me less and less often. Something to do with new top-secret projects, I guess. She sounded excited, but also somehow… scared. Then, five months ago, she just stopped responding. Calls don’t go through, no email, no message, no letter. No nothing. I wanted to come here and check, but due the mutant ban act… I couldn’t even take a plane to Tokyo to look for her.”

Wally jolted, as if something cleared up in his mind, crossed his claws under his jaw, his eyes gazing at Claire.

“Wait, wait, wait a g’darn second… nekos are still classified as mutants, ain’t them? So, how? How did you lovebirds get here? I can’t imagine Ms. Haute Couture sitting on an illegal fishing vessel for weeks just to cross the Ocean!”

Renzo shrugged, while keeping his hands under his chin.

“The ban was uplifted almost three months ago. A lot of political back and forth about it, but the lobbies were stronger than the government. If they kept it up, it would have generated some impressive losses for AWA and a couple other companies, so they backed down. Folks here really love that dumb lobster.”

Wally shook his head, cursed under his breath.

“Of bloody course hell breaks loose only when we need to travel. Buggers.”

He tapped his claw on the table, without averting his gaze from the odd couple sitting in front of him.

“Now, ‘fore I spit out the rest, it’s your turn to share somethin’, Mr. Nice Abs. You ain’t stickin’ your nose in the affairs of Stratosphere out of curiosity, that’s clear as day.”

Claire pushed Renzo to the side, rested her elbows in the place his were, crossed her gloved hands under her chin too, mimicking his pose.

“Bon. That’s fair. I don’t know you all so well, but if Renren trusts you, I suppose we can be more open.”

Her eyes glimmered in the low lights of Manny’s, as her pupils turned into thin vertical slits.

“Mr. Alba, do you know what a Screamer is?”

**

Gosh, what a god-given mess, he thought.

A pool of blood under his feet, his boots navigating through it, carefully avoiding to step on whatever was that awfully looking thing spattered around (he wasn’t good with anatomy, but he would have sworn it was a liver). He casually tapped his boots on the asphalt, grinding the soles against a manhole, hoping to clean them of the residual gore. Yet, the only effect was to make them look even dirtier.

“It’s aaaaall your fault, guys. But, seriously, what could I have expected from a bunch of animals?”

They couldn’t even speak proper English. Beasts that don’t want to learn, this is what they all were. A whole country of them, too. Puppies that didn’t know where to draw a line and always tried to bite more than they could chew. He would have applauded at their bravado, if he considered them humans. His beige trench coat glided in the night. Of course, the police would have shown up. Unleashing a gatling gun in the middle of Tokyo wasn’t the best way to keep a low profile. Gun control blah blah gun ownership blah blah second amendment blah.

“See, did all those gun laws protect you? What? I. Can’t. Hear you! Speak louder! Well, if you can still speak. Which I doubt, but—hey, I like to be surprised.”

He wished he was stationed in a state that was more liberal with the use of guns to exterminate vermin, but that was—unfortunately—not the case. And—as his collar liked to remind him—he didn’t even have a choice in the matter. He pushed his large beige hat on his head, while silently gazing at what was once a small secondary street with graffiti sundering the walls. He smiled a little at the sight of that art piece it had become.

“Oh boy, when they told me to paint the town red, I hope they meant literally, ‘cause this is gonna be all the rage in tomorrow’s news!”

“Except I’ve already called a clean-up team, Renka.”

That obnoxious voice. Of course she had to be there, tailing him like the trained dog she was. He raised his gaze, adjusted his red glasses (a tad too corny, compared with his more traditional attire, but a stylish touch in his opinion), focused on the silhouette sitting on top of that curved lamppost.

“And heeeere comes the party-pooper. Seriously, is it so hard to be allowed to have fun, once in a while?”

“If your definition of “fun” is dismembering seven yakuza goons with a high caliber machine gun, remind me never to accept an invitation from you.”

“Six and a half, please. One lost both of his pinkies before our encounter, so it doesn’t count as much as the others.”

“Which means I can tell the boss to reduce your bonus, since your actual kill count was lower, correct?”

That little scoundrel… if Renka still had a mouth, he would have gritted his teeth. Since he didn’t have a real one anymore, though, what he could do was just adjusting his glasses to simulate an expression. And mark his distaste for her in his words.

Or so he wished.

“Whatever floats your boat, sis.”

The small figure started waving her legs, as her ripped cape, as red as the blood tarnishing the asphalt, entered the cone of light.

“I expected a better retort from you.”

“Well, I’d really, REALLY like to openly tell you how much I despise your sorry ass, but it just so happens that you can blow up my mind at a moment’s notice—both figuratively and literally.”

“Fair.”

She stood on the lamppost, her cape covering her face almost completely.

“Did you at least get the address of the safe house?”

“Of course I did! You should have seen how the last standing worm begged for mercy! Boy, it was priceless!”

Renka would have smirked, if he could. The worm in question was so frightened that had even tried to answer in a very broken English, clinging to any scrap of hope for survival. It didn’t save him, not at all, but at least it saved Renka the displeasing situation of having to tell his boss that he had accidentally killed the last person who knew where one of the targets was. He touched a plate where his ear was supposed to be. The hooded figure did the same, nodded.

“Alright, I’ve received it. I’ll head there to retrieve the target.“

“Aaaand that makes four out of eight. Not bad for just three months of ungrateful, underpaid hound work.”

“Absolutely.”

She glanced at Renka, while flaunting her impressive balance on the top of that lone lamppost. She tapped her ear once more, nodded at the sound of a distant voice.

“Support is on the way, Renka, so I’d suggest you to leave without causing any additional commotion. We managed to jam communications in the area, the cops won’t arrive anytime soon. Still, since you’ve already given the cleaning team enough work for the night, please just get back to HQ.”

As you command, bitch in heat, he thought. Among the Angels he could have been paired with, did they really have to choose that annoying Italian prick? Nadia Nagase would have been the perfect match, since she rarely talked, if at all. One among Ghost and Lemur would have been better too—and, compared to Nadia they had the advantage of not being South-African mutts. Instead, he was stuck with her, Red Riding Hood herself. He pondered for a second. After all, maybe, it wasn’t that bad. It could have definitely gone even worse: he could have been assigned to Yu Vampyr. His whole body shivered. No, that would have been too much, even for someone like him. It was infinitely better to suffer under Wolfie than to deal with that incestuous brocon creep.

He looked up to where she stood, in order to articulate a sagacious (yet fangless) retort.

But it was all in vain.

She was already gone.

Renka sighed, stomped his boot on the ground, causing blood to stick around it once again. Then shouted—loudly—towards what was left of a man he had freshly slaughtered ten minutes before.

“Say, bozo, why? Why can’t things ever go like I want them to? Is it because I accidentally chose to work for an egomaniac? Or because of that fuckmothering chaingear incident? Say, is that because of it?”

Of course, a severed head couldn’t hold any answer. But Renka didn’t need one. As long as he could go on complaining without receiving a retort, it was already enough for him. He tasted silence for a long minute, savoring the echo of his own words on the entrails-splattered concrete. Then, he slowly turned around, one step at a time in the direction of a distant light. He looked around once more, adjusting his glasses in the dark alley. That masterpiece of his was as ephemeral as art could be, but he had to concede his superior was right.

The members of the cleaning team had one hell of a night in front of them.

**

To Claire’s utter surprise, the room Renzo booked for them was overall decent and had grown on her in the past three days. The hotel was nothing to write home about, but the bathtub was equipped with all comforts, the shower was a dream to use and the bed was extremely comfortable. She was now looking at her reflection in the bathroom’s mirror, wrapped in a spongy bathrobe. Her tail was still soaked, black hair sticking to the skin below, looking like a sore mess. She opened her robe, looked at her belly, caressed it. She could feel a very slight bump, as her hand moved up and down. Nothing really excessive yet, but in a matter of weeks it would have become easier to see. Was it a boy, a girl, or something else? Or maybe even twins? She brushed her feline ears while shaking her head wildly. Everything but twins. It was already hard to picture herself as a mother, but one kid was still probably manageable—emphasis on probably. But two? Or three? That was absolutely undoable, with their resources. Well, Renzo could have asked his rich father for money, but he didn’t seem inclined to do so, for whatever reason. Still, he had promised to do his part—and, so far, he had never gone back on a promise.

The shock of the realization of what that escapade in the bathroom of a cafe caused was quickly superseded by their joint will to keep the child(ren). Her dad wasn’t thrilled, truth be told, but there was also a practical consideration: neko physiology was slightly different from that of humans and there weren’t many available doctors that could carry out an abortion without the risk of complications. Even if he was something of a hard-hearted prick, her father preferred having a healthy daughter and a grandchild nagging him than losing both. So, despite everything said and done, she had the support of the man who got her pregnant and of her whole family. Corinne, specifically, was already daydreaming about becoming “the coolest aunt in the world”, much to both Renzo and Claire’s dismay. Of the three Gattonero sisters, she was easily the most unpredictable, having been to juvenile prison more times than she, Bea and their father combined (but probably less than her mother, who was still being chased by the police and whose whereabouts were currently unknown). She kept on rubbing her belly for a while longer.

“Will you have ears and tail too, mon petit trésor? Or will you look like a regular human child?”

She cracked a smile. It was ironic to think how many times her mother warned her about one-night-stands (having got pregnant twice after two of them with the same annoyed cat-boy), only for her to completely disregard her advice and making her same mistake.

“I was wondering about that too.”

She looked again at the mirror, seeing the reflection of Renzo, just behind her. She felt his arms wrapping her shoulders, his hands reaching for her navel, joining hers right below it. Claire smirked, bit his nose, but without strength, licking its tip in the process.

“You could have knocked at the door, Renren. What if I were enjoying a little bit of private mya-time?”

“I’d say it’s a little bit too late to be embarrassed by that, since it happened already… I dunno, three times?”

He playfully flicked his index at her nose, causing her head to bounce back slightly. She shook her head, rolled her eyes.

“Bon, bon, you’re right.”

She felt the wetness of his lips on her neck, softly closing on her skin. An amused chuckle, her palm pushing on his forehead.

“Wait, wait! Not now! There’s a time and place for everything, Renren!”

Renzo sighed. The place and time were actually perfect for what he had in mind, but, since Claire wasn’t in the mood, it was better to let her be. After all, they weren’t exactly starved for physical interaction, since they had been living together for a couple months already. Renzo’s cheap flat was upgraded to a larger one (thanks, in no small part, to Gattonero’s financial support) and Claire barged in with little notice. Her first word after seeing her new place was, unsurprisingly, décevant. It took them several weeks to smooth their differences and turn that random mess of rooms and corridors into something they could call home.

It was all for the sake of their child, of course. Having two parents that were always on the verge of killing or bedding each other at irregular times would have probably resulted in them growing up like Corinne—something both Renzo, Claire and especially Gattonero wanted to avoid: he just needed one daughter as disastrous as him (though he wouldn’t have changed Corinne for anyone else. Those two had really a soft spot for each other, despite being utterly unhinged—or, rather, because of being utterly unhinged).

Renzo stepped back, his hand sliding away from Claire’s belly, with barely hidden frustration. He left the bathroom, sat on the bed, his eyes still scanning the neko with whom he would have had to bring up a small walking pest in less than half a year. It wasn’t time for that yet, though. It was time for planning their next steps.

“Wally and Mono were pretty helpful. Sharing intel with them was the right call.”

Claire pulled a comb out of the cupboard, started passing it through her hair, while looking at herself in the mirror.

“Please, remind mya: How come you know those two lowlives?”

“Long story. Which started with me almost getting shot during a party. And ended with a fire that burned Sanjuro Bonzaga’s Domus Aurea. The night he was killed by his sex dolls, no less.”

He had troubles recounting the whole story without smirking or shaking his own head at how unbelievable it felt. He heard Claire chuckle, saw her losing her composure for a second.

“Quoi?! For real? You sure have a penchant for chaos, n’est ce pas? Now I get why papa likes you.”

As if she weren’t already aware of it, he thought.

“Yeah, well, those guys are a-okay. We ain’t exactly friends, but they are rather good at their job. So, not using that connection would have been stupid.”

Claire finished styling her hair, combed her tail too, watched the result in the mirror. Magnifique, she thought with a little bit of self-complacency, simply magnifique. She felt a tingling sensation, something awakened by her short contact with Renzo. Somehow, her body was sending her signals opposite to what her brain wanted. She shrugged, silenced them, at least for the moment. Finishing the discussion about the information they obtained was their absolute priority. Thus, she recalled something they had talked about before, something she felt was the main point of their investigation.

“It all comes down to the Missing Eight, n’est ce pas? La vie c’est vraiment drôle.”

Renzo closed his eyes. Eight major eggheads from Stratosphere Tokyo were reported missing in the past three months. One of them was Chihiro Kishima, Mono’s mother—or, rather, the geneticist who created her from a human embryo for RealLifeAnime. It was Mr. Magnifico himself, god-complex-in-the-flesh Reiner Greschnik that spread the word to the media, about how a malicious actor kidnapped some of the brightest minds under his tutelage for unknown reasons, leaving no note or request behind, before stating that he would gladly collaborate with the Japanese police force to find them. More than ninety days later, no real progress had been made. The Missing Eight had become something akin to a urban legend on conspiracy websites, with a lot of misinformation being spread left and right. Renzo nodded, as his mind went back to the chat with the two bounty hunters.

“Mono said she lost contact with her mother way before Greschnik made his little late night show. This might mean…”

“… that he knew about it already, wanted to deal with it himself—but couldn’t, so he decided to go public with it. Do you think someone actually kidnyapped them, Renren? What if Greschnik is the real threat to them? I’m not so sure about it anyamore.”

Renzo smirked. Claire was brilliant, when she wanted to. Which offset a little bit—a very little bit—the moments were she was at her most annoying.

“Neither I am. This is running deeper than we thought. Tomorrow morning, we’ll meet with those two again. Their trail looked solid, and the more manpower, the better.”

“Tomorrow morning, you say…”

A sound of steps, softened by the moquette. Renzo raised his gaze, met Claire’s eyes. She was standing right in front of him, with her bathrobe open, wagging her tail up and down.

“So, we still have some time to enjoy ourselves.”

All of a sudden, she pounced on him, like a cheetah on a wild gazelle, pinned his wrists to the bed with both hands, laid herself over him. Renzo chuckled, faked a little resistance, while playfully wrestling with his captor.

“So much for not being in the mood!”

She smiled too, bared her fangs.

“I’ve changed mya mind.”

The, their lips joined in a deep kiss, as their bodies began to dance in unison.

**

“This Screamer thing smells like bullcrap, sis. Anime-hair Boy has taken us for morons.”

Wally was sitting on a tool, his tail helping him to keep the balance, a can of beer in his claws, a cigar in the other. He didn’t like smoking, but that had become a sort of ritual to calm his nerves. As for alcohol—he couldn’t get drunk even if he badly wanted to, due to his metabolism. That meant he could empty the fridge, if he was so inclined. Fortunately for him and for his liver, he wasn’t too hot on that and one can every week was usually enough. Mono, on the other hand, was even stricter than him. For the last three months, she hadn’t touched a single alcoholic beverage, hadn’t drunk a mug of coffee, hadn’t consumed anything even remotely addicting. Yet, her stare was that of someone with too little sleep and too much caffeine in her blood, deep eye bags included.

“Nah, they were honest. They followed the Missing Eight trail because of that. It’s hard to believe, yes, but we were in Euterpe, Wally. We met a Donner, saw what he was able to do. That wasn’t normal either.”

“Sure, you right, but from there to believe in pseudoscience…”

“The timeline lines up, though. One week before mom was assigned to a new project, this Screamer thing-y happened in Odaiba. And the picture…”

“Yes, yes, that looks almost exactly like that B-movie monk mofo, I gotcha. Still, that thing disappeared ’fore I could say ‘vegemite’. Puff. Gone. That hafta be some weird art prop or an alternate reality game. Youngsters have lotta time to waste.”

He had a puff from his cigar. No, that wasn’t right. He didn’t believe in what he was saying. That night in Euterpe, that whole nightmare world out of his worst dreams, that dead, red sand… Wally had never believed in the supernatural, but in front of that, he had no realistic explanation. That really felt like the afterlife he was warned about. He rubbed his eyelid. That hellish landscape had ‘phages too. Lots of mozzies, even if not completely “correct”. Some details were wrong. Wrong number of fingers, of limbs, of eyes. It felt like the output of an AI generator—they looked almost like the real deal, only to have some visible deformation that broke the illusion. No, whatever that place was, it wasn’t natural. It wasn’t normal. Worst of all, he couldn’t explain any of it.

And now, this Screamer.

A cursory internet search had indeed revealed quite a lot about the phenomenon—robed, faceless, deformed creatures emerging from what looked like red breaches, only to scream and die immediately after. Several cases reported around the globe, a couple even filmed (allegedly). It was like the UFO craze of last century, before first contact. I want to believe, the truth is out there, and so on, and so forth. One would have believed that, in the age of image generators, deepfakes and omnipresent, ubiquitous surveillance, such things would or could never happen again. Yet, it wasn’t what had happened. If anything, new urban legends had multiplied.

He shook his head, looked around the now familiar flat. That was Chihiro’s last known location and wasn’t half bad. A very functional and tidy apartment, with little superfluous stuff—except a whole wall covered by pictures of Mono’s fashion designs, from the time before she was ousted as a mutant, sprinkled with photographs of said cat posing together with this short, corpulent, long-haired, glass-wearing, smiling woman. Chihiro truly loved her “kid” and was very proud of her, that much was evident even to a nihilistic, dry-eyed velociraptor. He browsed his pocket, took out a crumpled piece of paper. A child’s crayon drawing of a dinosaur. He stared at it for a long while, sighed, then folded it again, carefully, placing it back to where it belonged.

“Okay, sis, let’s say we believe Mr. Nice Abs and his bratty mistress. The gist of it do be: the Greschnik mofo disclosed your momma’s disappearance with weeks of delay; seven other eggheads, all from Shingensha, went MIA, all at the same time—kidnapped, he said; Stratosphere funneled millions of dollaroos to their Japan HQ after that damn Screamer hit the news; said Screamer’s dead body was most likely grabbed by Stratosphere goons and brought to Shingensha, according to some video evidence. It makes sense, yes?”

“That lines up with our hunch.”

“But why? Why a geneticist, for Grant’s sake? How does that make sense?”

Mono crossed her hands under her chin, squinted at him.

“We’ll ask her when we find her. Now, let’s call it quits for the night, Wally. Tomorrow will be a hard day.”

He shrugged, sipped his beer.

“Hey, at least we’ve found our key to the ol’ Kiku apartment complex. I was startin’ to lose hope, but that Renzo fella’ll be our entry ticket. If anything, this’ll be a net gain, even if the intel he fed us was as fake as a three dollars bill.”

Then, he glanced at her, secured the cigar among his fangs, patted on her shoulder with his free claw.

“‘Sides, I don’t need to sleep that much, sis, and ya kno’ it. It’s the perks of havin’ been built as a weapon, huh? You gotta take some rest though, yer eyes are killin’ me, Mono.”

As to confirm this, Mono yawned vigorously.

“Okay, okay. G’night, Wally.”

“G’night oversized cat. And, please, don’t worry too much. I’m dead sure she’ll be right.”

Yes, everything was going to be alright. He needed to be optimist, at least in front of Mono. He couldn’t show frustration or nervousness, ‘cause her psyche was already compromised. She did value her momma and grew more restless by the day. He had one more puff from his cigar, then opened his notebook on a black and white cadastral map, full of notes and additional remarks written by Mono. Memorizing the planimetry of the building required time and effort, but it would have been better than getting stuck without an escape route.

**

The morning haze made the sight even more surreal. Dilapidated buildings, with cracks and collapsed sections. Glass shards, rubble amassed in abandoned playgrounds, doors burned down, piles of trash. Plenty of graffiti, the name Orinoco spelled maniacally several times on various surfaces, with arrows to boot, without rhyme or reason. A couple lights still shining weakly through the windows, obscured by the cruel rays of sunlight. The smell of decay and ivy permeated the air, as dust spread around at every step. Still, nobody in sight. Renka adjusted his red glasses, buttoned up the collar of his trench coat to cover his face almost completely, leaving his lenses as the only visible detail between his hat and the rest of his attire. His HUD clock said it was nine twenty AM. Too soon for him, or at least it would have been, if he still needed to sleep. The privilege of being prisoner of a cage of metal and ceramic, of course—but it also had its perks. Still, losing almost all of his body due to being incinerated by a plasma ray hadn’t been the brightest moment of his life—pun not intended. His brain had registered those instants with excruciating detail, the burning sensation, the scorching heat, his bones and muscles melting. At least, he thought, he would have gone away in a BLAZE OF GLORY! But, as Lady Luck was indeed a thankless whore, the dumb biomechanical dinosaur didn’t do its job well enough—and that’s why he was still there—or, at least, a part of him. That was enough complaining though, he had a job to do.

He walked forward, carefully, keeping his distance from the targets. He could spot them through the magnifying lenses, albeit barely, while Red Riding Bitch was keeping them under her watch from above. He didn’t like her in the slightest. No, not only her: he didn’t really like any of the Angels. First, they all felt superior to him because they actually managed to kill a chaingear (well, most of them at least), while he was turned into a little cute pile of ashes by one of them. Second, he suspected that Little G made it harder for men to win the Rapture and completely impossible for mutants (which was good, as they were scum that didn’t have any right to exist). There had to be a reason why his Angels were all young human women, after all. It was an indubitably sexist and biased approach, and Little G loved to flaunt his bodyguards on erotic magazines such as Lust. Yeah, that had to be why del Toro and him were kept in the shadows and just classified as—how were they called? Apostles? Boy, he hated that name. Little G made a mockery of religion, and—as a Polish devout catholic—Renka Solidarensk couldn’t stand it. The God complex, that nonsense about not finding paradise and replacing the Lord. Bullshit. Still, they at least agreed on one simple fact: sinners must be punished and go to Hell. And if Hell really existed—as those last fancy experiments seemed to show—boy, if they were in for a ride.

His communicator buzzed. It was the mutt.

“The targets have just entered Building F. Keep your distance, but be prepared to storm in at my command. I’ve already sent some spider cams through the ventilation ducts. I’ll send you the frequency to get their live feed.”

“Roger, doggie.”

“Call me doggie one more time and I’ll pull the trigger.”

“Do it, relieve me from this world of pain, then! Let me become the brightest firework!”

“You’re still too useful, Renka.”

And, like that, the call ended. He rolled his eyes—metaphorically. That Red Riding Bitch was such a pain in the neck, pronto. Always ready to retort, and for a good reason—among the Angels, she was considered a second class citizen. Thus, she loved to vent her frustration at Renka, fairly regularly too. He derived some gleeful joy from that thought. Yes, he was bossed around, but his field boss was bossed around harder. Which meant that he won—somehow.

He adjusted his sight, shifted frequency to follow the silhouettes more easily. Lady luck seemed to be on their side, for once. Finding the fifth missing scientist was just a matter of time.

**

“That was harder than I thought.”

“See, what did I tell ya? We ain’t waste three months of our wee lives, were it breezy.”

Renzo was still in awe at the sight of the ruined buildings, a time capsule of a decade long gone. He of course knew of it, mostly because of all the buzz around them in the twentieth anniversary of the earthquake. Still, to think that something like that could be reached so easily near the heart of the city…

“Bon, at least we got in.”

Claire was stepping right behind him, bringing a blue rucksack with her, filled to the brim. Of course, even that was carefully combed through by the police agents stationed at the barrier near the Tokyo Tower. The only one who got admitted without as much as a look was Renzo himself. They didn’t even bother checking his baggage—just a cursory glance, while Claire, Wally and Mono almost underwent a full body search—almost, as the agents didn’t really want to deal with an angered velociraptor. Claire was even asked to show her barcode, because the police couldn’t believe she was a freeborn neko. It took her several swearwords in French and showing a staple of documents—including a birth certificate signed by her human parent, to convince them. Renzo himself had to sign several forms stating that he was responsible for bringing out the mutants he introduced and that he was aware of all what that entailed. He did so begrudgingly, mostly because they had no other chance. No unaccompanied demihumans was the mantra that had swept through Japan since the death of prime minister Yushijiro Tsunada—stabbed in the middle of the day by an octopus hybrid, originally created as a mascot for a takoyaki festival. Of course, the mutant in question was shot down by the self-defense force soon after, but the damage was already done. Cue mutant criminalization, anarchy groups supporting the rights of human like creatures, and the whole political chaos that followed. That had happened six months before and kickstarted a wholesale travel ban for demihumans to and from Japan, lifted only somewhat recently due to complaints from several companies. Fortunately, mutants were still allowed to live and work in most of the country, but there were specific neighborhoods where they couldn’t set foot, unless a human was also taking charge of their behavior. And, in an unpleasant twist of fate, the only way to reach the Kiku apartment complex was right through one such no-mutants areas. Wally and Mono had tried to sneak into it several times, but the security was too tight and they couldn’t find any hole they could exploit. So, they had put that idea on stand-by and decided to first search other equally promising locations before. Which led to absolutely nothing, except frustration and a variety of breadcrumbs that pointed towards that old, soon-to-be-demolished part of the city.

Mono was looking around in awe, her eyes wet, filled with emotion.

“Such a long time…”

The broken windows, the rubble, the graffiti, even the tiles on the pavement. All had changed, but nothing had changed. She was wandering around, in a comfortable neon pink shirt with a cow logo, with a hoodie hanging on her back, large, baggy black pants and white sneakers. Two fluorescent lime green bracelets completed the composition. In contrast, Wally was wearing ripped black pants, closed tight by a belt with a golden buckle, and an open, sleeveless jacket of the same color, plus what looked like a cowboy hat. So much for taunting me for showing my abs, thought Renzo when he saw that attire. Yet, there was something oddly charming in it, a certain level of deliberateness that must had come from Mono. He wondered if she decided how Wally should dress every morning, while he just nodded and said yes to make the torture end. He chuckled. That mental image was kind of funny for him—and not too dissimilar to how Claire wanted their fashion relationship to go—unsuccessfully, as Renzo simply ignored her pleas. On that account, his and Claire’s looks weren’t that different from the day before—same crop-top and jeans style for him, sleeveless white shirt with black tie, gloves, skirt and boots for her. Her skirt had an obvious hole for her tail, so that she could wag it without causing a wardrobe malfunction every time it moved. As Claire had a rucksack with her, he also brought some stuff in a bag—a bunch of seemingly random items that the mutant duo had asked him to carry through the Roppongi border, including two boxes of ball bearings, some weird ceramic casts and metal pipes. There was a peculiar logo printed on the bag, a butterfly with gun barrels in lieu of its wings. He wondered what that meant, but thought it was not something worth asking, at least for the moment. What was more important, was their contingency measure. Each of them had a receiver in their ear, with a small position tracker. Only one way, with no microphone, but it was better than nothing—a bridge they could exploit to find each other, in case anything happened. Claire, though, was focused on something else—something that had offended her aesthetic sense.

“Quoi?! You lived… here? In this decrepit apartment complex? Really? This looks so décevant!”

“Well, when you don’t have a choice, you make ends meet whichever way you can, Claire.”

Mono took the lead, one step at a time, looking around every corner, memories flickering behind her eyes.

“The Kiku apartment complex was destroyed by an earthquake in 2044. When the authority investigated, it turned out that most of the buildings were built without complying with any security standards, using cheap, cost-cutting measures and relying on bribes to avoid inspections. They were expected to be demolished, by now, but—you know how convoluted Japanese bureaucracy is, right? So, many homeless people have taken shelter here. The houses here are still connected to the grid, at least partially. Electricity and water aren’t a huge issue, but there’s no heating or wired internet access. Still, it was a godsend for me. When I was ousted as a mutant, but before fleeing this hellhole of a country, I lived here for a while. Mom helped me setting all up—of course through a third party, so that the name Kishima would never be connected with the transactions. It was for protecting both me and her career.”

She raised her finger, pointed at a massive building with more cracks than intact windows.

“There, my flat—if we can call it that way—was in the undamaged section of Building F.”

Renzo frowned, squinted his eyes at the nearby building.

“Which is where we are going?”

Mono nodded vigorously, her index finger unmoving.

“Yes. In the past few months, I’ve spent every second of my waking hours looking for clues, until I’ve found something interesting on a cryptid-watch forum. Some of the users shared hearsay about a nekomata, or a mutant cat or dog, or whatever, being spotted around the Kiku complex, a few days after my mom stopped answering my calls. The cryptid was accompanied by an Asian woman whose description read like hers—chubby, short, with long black hair. No pictures, unfortunately, and obviously almost all the comments on that thread were about the cryptid and—I quote—how fuckable it was. Those online freaks love catgirls, but only as long as they are slim, small, cute, go like nya, nyaaaaa~oni-chaaaan, yameteee, and pounce on them when they go in heat!”

Her vice boomed on the last part, loudly turning into a high-pitched meowing—only for Mono to realize one second later whom she was talking to. She coughed a couple times, turned towards Claire, who was staring at her with dead eyes. Mono cleared her throat.

“No offense meant, of… of course.”

”N… no offense taken, Ms. Kishima.”

Awkward silence.

They stared at each other for a little while, without saying a word, under the confused gaze of Renzo and Wally, who were also at loss for words. At least, until the raptor broke the spell.

“Stop the race war, will ya? Ya pussies are both fine gals, no reasons to get worked up! ‘Sides, we both believe the cryptid to be a fake, ‘kay? But the description of the woman hit a little too close home. Now, let’s focus, shall we? Tell’em why we here, Mono.”

Mono gulped, brushed her hair, chuckled nervously.

“Yes, yes, you’re right, Wally. Okay, so, the Kiku apartments, alright? We looked into the public registries of the Roppongi barrier to see if anything had happened… but it wasn’t operational yet, during that time, so she could have sneaked in without being recorded. And, since I lived here for a while…”

Renzo nodded, anticipating what Mono was going to say.

“She could have taken shelter in your old flat or left some hints on how to contact her there. Is this your hunch?”

“Yup! Straight on the target.”

“Sounds reasonable. Worth a shot, at the very least.”

He glanced at the building, at its awful grey facade.

“Lead the way, Mono.”

**

It was late evening, in Prague, but that didn’t mean he could just leave his office and go home. He was the boss, he had to project a specific image. Undeterred, resilient, never tired, with a huge grin on his face 24/7, whatever happened. Crazy stockholders selling like mad because of rumors about neo-fascist werewolves in Euterpe and their involvement with Stratosphere? Smile, assure your associates that no, Stratosphere isn’t in cahoots with such questionable company, and go on. Issues with a Chaingear MK.IV that scorched the arena and burned a dozen paying customers to a crisp during the Rapture? Smile, talk with the insurance companies, convince them to pay, and go on. Eight of his best scientists being kidnapped by some unknown actors, evading all security measures and being virtually untraceable for the past four and a half months? Smile, call the police, thoughts and prayers, and go on.

No, wait, about that last one…

He looked at the printed documents on his desk. Eight pictures, eight names. All working for Shingensha, all assigned to project Charon. That made no sense. Their disappearance made no sense. He didn’t order anyone to kidnap them. He didn’t force them to remain isolated inside Stratosphere, because that’s what only suspiciously evil companies do. A formal NDA should have been enough, right? So, he sent that indication to the security director of the facility, his Seventh Angel herself.

“Let them go where they want, even if they are working hard to analyze something that came out from literal Hell. We have signed documents to use in court—if they go back on their word and spill the beans, we can sue them, their families and all their living and dead relatives down to bureaucratic Hell.”

Was it so hard for her to understand? Smart businessmen, even if ethically bankrupt, want their employees to be happy, well paid and with a good chunk of benefits. A disgruntled employee is the weakest link of the chain, opening the company to every kind of leaks and blackmailing. He didn’t need the media to laser focus on him so much—more than they already did, that is. What was even more annoying about the current situation, was the absolute lack of results, though. The aforementioned Angel and the Apostle aiding her should have already got a trail after so much time had passed, but no—nothing so far. Were they playing the long game and going to contact him only when all the eight escapees were found? He hoped that was not the case, because it was such a stupid idea not even his executive board could come up with it.

He browsed his holographic database through the lenses of his glasses. Here she was, his Seventh Angel, head of security of the Shingensha facility in Tokyo. An absolutely average specimen. Even though she was indeed good-looking—but not remotely at the same level as his platinum-haired, pale-white First Angel—she had never, never fulfilled the expectations put on her. Her Gift was a farce too, something more akin to what an Apostle could get. She got unlucky at the lottery, which was a shame, but that was part of the business. To think that she showed so much potential, when she joined… only to squander it on a row of mediocre performances. Red Riding Hood, her code name, might as well have been her descriptor—a scaredy little girl who feared the Big Bad Wolf and never ever listened to her granny. She wasn’t a failure by any metric, as she had never really screwed things up—but she had never overachieved either. Middle of the pack, literally. He thought that giving her the responsibility of a project as big as Charon was the right call, though—after all, it was part of his five-steps mantra:

• Trust your employees and give them chances to grow;

• Try to make them happy to work for you;

• Put in effort, effort, effort! to retain them;

• Put them on a bona fide performance improvement plan, if they fall short of the expectations;

• If everything else fails, give them a stellar recommendation letter and direct them to one of your competitors.

That felt almost ironic, coming from a global company with several questionable partnerships and big stakes in what amounted to a battle royale, grotesque assassination game, but Stratosphere had a legitimately good work environment at all levels—and it was all thanks to him, Reiner Greschnik, disciplining or firing all the middle managers who screwed things up with his prized underlings. Still, Angels were his direct responsibility: no other c-level suit had power over them, not even the vice president of the conglomerate. Thus, he had to deal with Number Seven’s grievances himself. And he tried, oh, if he tried, but Little Red didn’t seem to care enough.

He thought about it for a while. The one thing she probably wanted was an alluring severance package. Away from him, from Stratosphere, from her colleagues. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple: Angels were tied for life to Stratosphere, due to the nature of their Gifts—they couldn’t survive for long, without the drugs they were administered regularly. On top of that, all Angels were also wanted criminals, with more than a murder on their resume. Nation states were more than happy to let them join Stratosphere, on the condition that they remained at Greschnik’s leash. So, Little Red has no choice but abide by his rules… or die trying.

Such is life.

He looked at her latest report again. Renka Solidarensk, the Apostle sent to support her, had already filled almost two morgues worth of corpses. But with which results? There had to be some results. Renka was a maverick, but he didn’t kill without a reason—for any suitable definition of reason. And, whatever reason he had, he hoped it was a good reason, to justify the amount of resources that little stunt of his necessitated. Having to call the clean-up team twice in one week was way outside of the ordinary. The team leader already filed an internal complaint to HR about it, about how that episode messed up his overtime schedule and how emergency calls, especially those that required more than four hours of work in the middle of the night, were explicitly forbidden by their contract—section eight, comma seventeen. Yeah, the situation was spiraling out of control. The formal HR complaint was just the cherry on the top—a wonderful pain in the neck that could escalate to something abysmally unpleasant. Technically speaking, there was no evidence that Renka slaughtered all those yakuzas (for which reason, he still didn’t know, but he assumed there had to be one), but having a disgruntled employee saying out loud how his team was dispatched to remove entrails from walls, collect scattered parts of internal organs, and wash up blood from a side alley in Kabukichō would have been a legitimate PR disaster—bigger than the chaos that ensued after that chaingear went rogue. Because, yes, all those people died in a horrible way, but they chose to be there, in the arena stands, and they signed a form that exonerated Stratosphere from any chaingear-induced-damage to their bodies—including cessation of life functions. Those goons in Kabukichō were criminals, true, but before the law, they were still human beings (for better or worse), who were brutally assassinated in a public place, in a foreign country, by one of his agents.

Greschnik grumbled something unintelligible, closed the file, pushed a button on his desk. A tired voice emerged from the concealed speakers, the voice of a man in his thirties that acted as his secretary.

“Yes, Your Holiness?”

“Oh, hi, Samuel-chan! Prepare my private jet and notify the crew, pretty-please. I have business to attend in Japan. Also, alert Ghost and tell her to join me immediately. Departure as soon as the engine checks are done.”

“As you command.”

Greschnik closed the channel, pushed his glasses against his nose. Those two idiots he gave too much power to were going to get a piece of his mind.

Live, in person.

**

Silence. Not a noise, not a sound, except the echo of their footsteps. Claire was wagging her tail wildly, looking around every corner, her ears bending and straightening at irregular intervals. The morning light was filtering out of the broken windows, in the aisle where all flats were accessed from. Particle of dust hovering around, ghostly traces and sparks in the darkest corners. Claire listened to her heartbeat. It was accelerating, every step faster. Nobody said a word. Stillness reigned, broken just by their steps, the clack, clack, clack of their shoes on the tiles, the clack, clack, clack of whatever lied in Wally’s bag, the one with the butterfly weapon picture. She pulled her rucksack with all her strength. Knowing what she had brought with her made her feel safer, feel able to protect Renzo, in case of need. That idiot was so bad at fighting and self-defense that she had wondered many times how he even survived the Second Black Lightning Disaster. No, everything hinged on her, as usual. Her mother was right, after all—men were useless, except for satisfying their physiological cravings and serving as eye candy while handcuffed to a bed frame. Well, maybe not all men, but that encompassed most of them. She glanced around the hallway once more, noticing more closed doors and faded stickers. And steps. Only the sound of their steps. She pressed her lips together. That silence, that communal loneliness, was making her sick.

“No talkin’, grommets, awright? Lest we cause a ruckus, if any bozo’s still around.”

The raptor had been loud and clear, at the entrance of the building. He was right, of course, but that absence of sounds was starting to take a toll on her. She felt the insane urge to meow, sealed her mouth with her hand, almost bit it to avoid attracting attention. How was Mono dealing with it? She too was a cat girl—well, a different breed thereof—but Claire hadn’t seen or heard her behaving like a real cat, in their short time together. No nyas, no meows, no purring, no catnip, no verbal tics whatsoever. That alone was already uncanny, but there was another fact bothering Claire more: Mono looked more of a beast than her—after all, she was completely covered by grey fur and had an unmistakable animal snout—but her demeanor was… that of a regular human, down to the smallest detail. If anything, Claire felt like she was the weirdest freak among them. She instinctively rubbed her belly. That remark about cute, short, meowing cat girls pouncing on a guy while in heat hit a little too close home, making her feel more guilt than she wouldn’t have liked to. Yes, she was in heat when she jumped on Renzo. Yes, she was still in control and used catnip as an excuse to justify her behavior. Yes, she had wanted to have a go at him for the whole time, after Corinne told her about the size of a certain attribute of his (and because, yes, she wanted to mark her territory before her older sister could even think about sleeping with him). Now, the consequences of that action were weighing on both of them, in the form of an uncertain future together.

Was I really in control? Did I even have any free will?

The fact that Mono felt more human than her was jarring. Claire wasn’t even a full-blooded neko, yet she behaved like a stereotypical one. Predictable, like clockwork. Like an automaton. She started wagging her tail nervously, looking down, while absent-mindedly following the group. Until she felt it. A hand on her belly, wrapping her own one. The warmth of his touch on her cheek. A whisper in her ear.

“After this ends, we’ll get a proper vacation, ‘kay? No dinosaurs, no mafia, no Stratosphere. We’ll go wherever you want to and spend two relaxing weeks on our own. I owe this much, Claire, but please… keep strong just a little longer. I know you can do it.”

She cracked a tired smile. Those motivational words out of a chocolate envelope—so typical Renren. Still, despite that cheesiness, she felt thankful. It was his dumb way to show he cared about her. If he wanted, he could have just dumped her after she disclosed her pregnancy, asked her to leave the kid out for adoption or even requested her to try and undergo a risky abortion. But he didn’t. He had been supportive and caring, something she didn’t expect from a dummy like him. Her mind cleared a little. He had accepted her for what she was, never made a fault of it. Yes, they still argued a lot and had very hard-to-reconcile differences, but…

“… thanks, Renren.”

He was right. She couldn’t let her inner turmoil cloud her judgment. She was needed here and now. Right when she thought about that, Mono stopped, her finger in front of her lips, demanding silence, her other hand pointing at a door. That door, contrary to most of those they had met before, seemed cleaner. Still scratched and corroded by time, but no way as much as it should have. A faded piece of paper was stuck on the nearby wall, with what was left of a name written on it in katakana characters. Only one part was still readable—Barantain… something. Mono touched the wood, closed her eyes, stood still for a long minute, muttering something to herself.

“… arigatō, okasan…”

Then, she pulled a small brass key out of her pocket, inserted it in the keyhole. Before she could turn it, the door opened.

And Mono found herself staring at the end side of a sawed-off shotgun.

**

“Renka, your position?”

Words through her communicator, modulated at a very low volume—the cyborg’s equivalent of a whisper, amplified to become audible.

“One floor under those bozos. You know, it’s pretty hard to sneak unnoticed when three quarters of your body are made of metal.”

“I wouldn’t know, since mine isn’t.”

“Oh gal, you should definitely experience being melted alive by a goddamn plasmasaurus, just to be saved in extremis and put into a mechanical body because that prick of its owner loved your bravado. Strongly advised. Comes with side effects, of course, but what doesn’t? And…”

Silence, suddenly. Only the sound of her heartbeat. She pushed a control on the communicator, sent a ping. All regular, no technical issues.

“Renka?”

“Ah, sorry, I thought I saw something. Something massive, in the corner of my vision system, just for an instant. I’m rewinding my feed, but that wasn’t more than a blurry shape, up the ventilation ducts, and lasted for one of two frames at most.”

Sound of steps, slow, careful, clanging of metal joints in the background. Stillness, again.

“Nothing, looks like I hallucinated it. Hey, can cyborgs hallucinate? If not, that’s weeeeeird. But, whatever, maybe it was one of your darn spider cams—oh, almost surely it was. Let’s get back to business, shall we, doggie?”

Doggie. She took a mental note of blowing off one of his arms, as soon as the operation was over. Yet, now that was neither the time nor the place for that.

“Okay, be careful. I have placed three disks on the main escape route.”

“Atta girl! So you are at least a little bit useful!”

She groaned, ignored his snarky remark one more time. That goon had a penchant for getting on her nerves. Maybe she should blow off both of his arms, later. While having the memories of his non-spontaneous combustion play on loop inside his brain. She smirked. That actually sounded like a fun way to vent out some frustration.

“I’m joining you as soon as I finish setting up the activation codes. Be ready to act once we confirm whether the main target is with them or not.”

A small pause.

“Let’s snatch the fifth one, shall we?”

**

“Go to hell, you bastards! Don’t come closer, or I pull the trigger!”

A primal yell echoed around the hallway, bouncing on the walls, hitting Mono from all directions. Whatever she expected while messing with the door of her old flat, having the barrel of a high caliber rifle pressed on her forehead wasn’t part of the list. Seeing a short Japanese woman aiming the weapon at her, with nothing but anger in her eyes, wasn’t either.

Then, anger made room for surprise. And the rifle went down, as its wielder blinked in disbelief at the figure starting at her.

“M… Mono?”

Then, the weapon fell on the ground. And Mono’s face beamed with newfound light.

“OKASAN! OKASAAAN!”

She—literally—jumped on the small human that stood, dumbfounded on the threshold, hugged her, tears flowing like spring rain. The ginormous cat and her diminutive mother, closed in a mutual embrace.

“M… Mono? Nan… nandayo?”

“You’re alive! You’re alive! Mom! I…”

Wally cracked a smile. Yup, the oversized cat crying like a fountain, like a little ‘roo cub jumpin’ around near her momma’s pouch. The dinosaur pulled out a cigar from his pouch, secured it among his teeth, felt his muscles relaxing, the adrenaline flowing down.

That woman. That woman was—without a doubt—Chihiro Kishima, the scientist who had crafted Mono’s embryo. And was in perfectly good health, or, at least, it looked like that. She was wearing baggy pants and an equally baggy shirt. Wally couldn’t refrain from noticing how their builds were similar, except Chihiro was ten centimeters shorter. She caressed Mono’s hair, while sobbing on her shoulder. Then, her gaze moved to the rest of the troupe, focusing first on the velociraptor casually playing with a cigar behind her.

“This is the dino you told me about? Your friend Wally?”

He nodded, beamed the best smile a dinosaur could, while pushing his hat down on his head.

“In the flesh, mate. Pleasure to meetcha, the oversized cat here can’t do nothin’ but tellin’ me how awesome her momma is.”

She looked at him straight in his eyes, then at the cigar, then stared at him again, with an unflinching gaze.

“Smoking is not allowed, here. Put that thing away or I’ll shove it up your ass.”

Wally blinked. Twice. Looked at Mono. Looked at Chihiro. Looked at Mono once more. Saw her shrugging, still wiping out her tears. Then, he looked at his cigar. And stored it away, without saying as much as a word. Chihiro gazed beyond him, though, until her eyes rested on the restless Claire. Wally could notice the disgust piling up in Chihiro as soon as she noticed the neko.

“And tell me, dear, who is that anorexic excuse of a cat girl? Why is she so thin? Does she even eat anything other than dicks?”

Mono turned around immediately, only to see Claire with her eyes wide open, on the verge of a stroke, with Renzo trying to keep her from punching Chihiro, as her tail went straight up, with all its hair erected. Mono shook her head, her arms, took her mother’s hand in hers.

“She’s… she’s a friend of ours, who helped us find you.”

“So, the guy there dressing as a stripper is her fuckboy, got it. At least, his abs are nice, but those tattoos and piercings are so! Dreadful! Girl, if you ever get married to someone like him, I’ll strike you out of my will.”

Wally wheezed, as Renzo’s face seemed to lose color too. He tried to contain the laughter, but that grin was too hard to keep in check. All the vegemitin’ expectations he had about Mono’s momma, a serious scientist with an immaculate academic career, with surely high cultural standards… if anything, he now knew how his partner-in-crime managed to get along with him so well from the very beginning.

“S… sort of. We’ll explain everything, but can we please enter, first?”

Chihiro’s gaze didn’t move away from the couple for a couple seconds longer, then she sighed.

“Fine, fine. Get in, come on. And close the door behind you, okay? I’ve had enough surprise visits for the day.”

As they crossed the threshold, Wally gazed at the rifle Chihiro aimed at them. It was an airsoft replica—a convincing fake, sure, but not nearly as dangerous as the real deal. He cursed under his breath, he should have been able to recognize it immediately. Oh, well, nobody got hurt, that was the important bit. He moved his attention to the rest of the flat, scanned it with his eyes, examining for anything and everything. It was relatively tidy, packed with several shelves full of canned food and bottled water. Several cracks on the plaster, concrete peeking out of small holes, some plywood panels patching the most damage sections. It surely looked like a post-bombing flat in a war zone, except surprisingly functional. He noticed some pictures of Mono too, both with and without her momma. And, on the side… Wally raised his claw, pointed at a specific photo—a photo that seemed eerily familiar.

“Good grief, mate! What in the bloody Outback is that?”

Chihiro patted on his head, tiptoeing to tower over him at least a little.

“That is something you don’t need to care about. As long as you don’t cause a ruckus around the complex, that is.”

Then, she pinched his scaly cheeks, pulled them up in a smile, while examining his teeth.

“It’s so funny to me that my daughter dearest became friend with a talking velociraptor. Like, she told me everything about you, cutie, but seeing you in person is so much more interesting! And, seriously, whoever designed your embryo, was a goddamn moron! They had a completely mistaken idea of how velociraptor looked like, directly out of that old movie—how was it called? Something something Dinosaur Park! Where are your feathers? Why do you look like an overgrown lizard? Just because it’s cooler and scarier? Your sight would make a grown-up paleontologist cry.”

Wally rolled his eyes, glared at Mono, looked back at Chihiro. Direct, tact-be-damned, matter-of-fact. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He shrugged.

“Whatever. Happy me mate’s momma’s fine. But heck, for Grant’s sake, why did ya stop callin’ your daughter? She was dead worried! Somethin’ to do with the darn project?”

Chihiro sat down on a wooden chair with one leg hastily repaired, gestured to the group.

“Please, take a seat. It’s a long story.”

Wally looked around the room. There were only a couple stools and a sofa that looked like nobody had used it for the past ten years—which might have had been true, all things considered. He settled for one of the stools, as any other arrangement would have caused some inconvenience to his tail. He noticed how Mono went for the same arrangement, while Renzo and Claire had settled for braving the dust-infested sofa. Chihiro cleared her throat, stared at all of them directly, one after the other, for several seconds.

“I won’t tell you everything, of course. There’s stuff better left buried. But, yes, it has something to do with the implications of our project at Shingensha. Heavy stuff.”

Renzo’s eyes were following every gesture, every movement of Chihiro, scanning her figure and expressions continuously, without interruption.

“I’ll cut the chase, Dr. Kishima. You and your colleagues were analyzing a dead Screamer and the… anomalies it caused, right?”

Silence fell inside the room, Chihiro startled by the sudden question. Shock left room to surprise, then to curiosity.

“How… what do you know about Screamers?”

“See, Dr. Kishima, except Claire, all of us here have… interacted with the original Screamer. Two years ago, in Euterpe. During the Second Black Lightning Disaster. It’s fair to say… we know more about them than the average person.”

Renzo felt those words weighing on his heart, as soon as they flowed out of his mouth. Every time his mind went back to that day, he felt lost, defeated, uncertain about the future. Your world is a mistake. Humanity died in 2014. Yours is just a feeble, temporary existence layer that will inevitably collapse. None of you are real. Gaia is what’s left of the true Earth.

Which meant, by extensions, that Alexiel, Serpo, Elena, Gaetano, Gattonero, Corinne, Claire, their unborn child, he himself, were just… second rate fluctuations in the fabric of reality. Something he couldn’t, wouldn’t accept. Yet, something he couldn’t deny, something that kept him awake at night. He had never told that to anyone who didn’t know about it already. Nobody would have believed him. And, every time, every single time he contemplated explaining it all to Claire, he couldn’t, wouldn’t manage to do it. So, as usual, he decided to skip on that part and stick to the facts that were objectively acceptable. Such as… Donner existed, was connected with a sort of Hell dimension and disappeared after everything ended. And Screamers looked like a rough, imperfect copy of him. Still, he needed to be careful about how he phrased that. As if to help him sort out his thoughts, Claire pulled a folder out of her rucksack, containing several pictures that looked like taken out from CCTV camera feeds. She proffered one of them to Chihiro, her index pointing at a circled section,

“There have been sightings of hooded figures emerging in the myaddle of nyawhere, only to collapse and die on the spot while screaming in pain. People on the internet have called them Screamers, due to this strange behavior—they are considered something akin to a modern urban legend, with many forgeries and fake reports regularly popping up. There isn’t myach reliable information about them around, as their corpses are allegedly seized soon after their appearance, either by the army or the local authorities. Still, we are pretty sure that they exist… and that one of them was acquired by Stratosphere and transferred to Shingensha. That’s the whole reason why Renren and I came here from Italy.”

Chihiro nodded, cracked a smile.

“Impressive. So, there is a brain behind that abysmal lack of body fat. Yes, I was part of the team who analyzed it. It was… weird.”

She gestured in the air, drawing invisible figures with her fingers.

“Imagine dealing with a human body that looks like a human body, except it has weird differences that don’t make any sense. Like, a second liver, or a missing part of its intestine, or a tricameral heart with just two of the chambers connected with the blood vessels. Something apparently familiar that, the longer you examine it, the weirder it becomes. And the same goes for its DNA. Do any of you remember those AI generators that were all the rage in the ‘30s? You are too young for them, but you’ve surely seen something in your history books, right? Well, that’s the exact same feeling. Something familiar that has uncanny flaws. Our sample didn’t even have a functioning stomach. That… thing wasn’t designed to live in the first place.”

Renzo crossed his arms, closed his eyes. Those were similar to the nightmares of the Shadow Gallery that engulfed Euterpe. The nightmares of Gaia, mixed by the tides. Except, the Screamers seemed to have some sort of purpose. Which one, though, it was hard to say.

“And, for whatever reason, his belly was full of seeds. Weird seeds, of the sort I had never seen before. We extracted them, with all due precautions, and stored them in the biohazard lab. Greschnik had no interest in them. What he wanted was… to understand where the Screamer came from. That guy is obsessed with religious themes, you see—he believes those suckers come from literal Hell. And, honestly? His guess is as good as anyone else’s. Especially because…”

A long pause, a deep breath.

“… because Hell followed it, spread around the corpse, the longer we kept it under observation. At first, it was glimpses of this… red desert, that black sky. Then, it started to stabilize for several seconds. Before we left Shingensha, it had reached almost one minute of existence. It was… it felt like a window on another world. Which is when Stratosphere asked us to ascertain the effects of the distortion on living matter. We used plants first, but they withered almost instantly. So, instead, we… went through with several small animals, including some of our lab pets. The end result was… horrifying, but CEO himself deemed it—how did he say it?—magnifico. He even suggested that it could be useful for tuning new… I think he called them Angels? He meant his personal augmented bodyguards. And this is where things went down the drain.”

She glanced around. No need to keep details hidden.

“After one last, very promising experiment, the head of security of the facility seized all means of communications and forced us to stay at Shingensha, with no warning and no time to contact our relatives or acquaintances. Our badges were revoked overnight, our calls to HR denied. We were imprisoned inside the living quarters of our own company, with guards checking on us every hour and no access to the lab! That makes no sense, right? How were we supposed to test the effects of the distortion, if we weren’t even allowed to work with it?”

Wally rubbed his chin, his claw almost cutting through his scales.

“Ah, yes, the senseless, power-hungry corpo takeover. A classic. But… how did you get out of the facility? Surely you couldn’t just ask nicely, that security fella wouldn’t have allowed it.”

“To quote the movie your misconceived genetic blueprint comes from, Wally… life found a way.”

Claire’s ears straightened, her tail’s hair too, all of a sudden. She started shaking her head, he eyes wide open, her nose sniffing wildly. Mono’s too, on the alert, her senses sharpening. Wally raised his head, his ears picked up that too, triggered his responses, years in the Outback hitting him like a waterfall. He didn’t even need to think. His body moved automatically.

“GET DOWN!”

He jumped on Chihiro, pushed her to the floor.

As soon as a shower of bullets blasted the door of the flat in a million pieces.

Holes in the wall, dust, wood splinters, the plasterboard destroyed in a rain of death. Wally kept Chihiro safe on the floor, protected her with his body, as Renzo, Claire and Mono followed his example. Three, four, five seconds of continuous fire. Then, suddenly, silence.

“Hello, there! Anybody home? I do hope so!”

A foul voice, boastful, almost human. It had some synthetic echoes, but the quality of the impersonation was good enough. It had a weird, East-European accent too. Wally looked up, as he crawled on the carpet, dragging Chihiro to safety. Red glasses, beige trench coat, buttoned up and covering his face almost completely, a large beige hat as a complement. And a machine gun in place of his right arm. He kicked down what was left of the door, an armored boot emerging from his long garments. Step by step, he entered the room, the sunlight reflecting on his dark spectacles. His gaze scanned the room, took note of the five occupants, one by one. All unarmed. That made things way too easy, but, for once, he wouldn’t complain. He looked at them, at the unwanted extras that led them to the target, surrounding the one valuable specimen in the room. A boyish man dressed like a stripper, an annoying neko, an obese cat mutant, an overgrown lizard and…

“There you are, doctor! You know, that was pretty impolite of you: having a guest at the door and ignoring him? You scientists are all soooo rude.”

Chihiro groaned, gritted her teeth.

“Renka. Solidarensk.”

“Yes, that’s my name! Guessed right at the first try too, congratulations!”

He audibly reloaded his machine gun, aimed it at her.

“You’ve won a prize.”

Suddenly, he felt his feet losing contact with the ground, his arms flailing. Renka’s brain—the only biological part left of him—refused to elaborate what was happening. Until he fell down, landing badly on the tiles, still uncertain of what hit his ankle.

Then, he saw it.

A tail. A dinosaur’s tail, used as a whip. And now, that same tail was going to crash on him from above, in a wide arc. He quickly rolled on the floor, at the last second. The tail impacted with the ground, smashed its way through, dust and debris scattered. Renka raised his arm weapon once again, only for it to be stomped on by the overgrown lizard—that was now talking too.

“Mono! Fuckboy! Bring everyone to safety, will ya? I’ll handle Mr. Nice Gun here!”

As soon as the raptor said it, Renka felt the pressure of a shoe sole on his nape. That obese cat had just used him as a footstool, while dragging her equally fat mother with her. Then, another hit. A reinforced boot hitting his stomach, bouncing on his metal plates, before running away, in a cacophony of steps. that He growled, punched the ground with his free hand, stood up as soon as he could. But the room was empty, now. Except for the stupid dinosaur, that extinct specimen that needed some disciplining. He adjusted his hat, dusted his coat.

“You get an A for effort, but did you really think I came here alone? I have all the time in the world to send you back to Jurassic Park, baby dino. That bad bitch of my superior officer will deal with your little friends, in the meantime. And boy, I wish I weren’t them.”

“Shut that trap, grommet…”

Renka noticed that just now. The bag standing at the dinosaurs feet. With a butterfly logo, except the wings were guns. Open. Empty. That’s when he realized that the content of that bag was now in the claws of his opponent. In the shape of a foldable slug gun.

“… and say welcome to Madame Barrelfy!”

Then, Wally pulled the trigger. And the ball bearings loaded into the disguised weapon exploded towards Renka at incredible speed.

**

Renzo shouted to the depth of his lungs, screamed almost, as Claire was keeping watch on the rear guard.

“I hear shots! They’re gunning down each other!”

Mono shouted equally loudly, almost smiling in the ensuing chaos.

“Good! It means Wally has a chance! Shooting is his thing!”

Chihiro shouted too, while trying not to fall back.

“At the next flight of stairs, follow the arrow that point towards Orinoco, Mono! Orinoco, got it?”

“But the exit is on the other side!”

“Trust your momma, kid!”

They reached the end of the corridor, saw the sign Chihiro mentioned. Orinoco, down left. Gunshot noises in the background, farther and farther. The continuous screech of a machine gun, interrupted by powerful detonations. Renzo was drowning in confusion.

“You were unarmed, when we got in! Where did Wally get a weapon?!”

“It was with us all along, in the butterfly bag!”

“WHAT? How?!”

Mono smirked.

“It’s a foldable slug gun of Wally’s conception, designed to look harmless when disassembled, in the event of a police inspection! It can be put together in around ten seconds! Of course, its range and power is severely limited, but in an apartment block that shouldn’t matter. We knew we couldn’t carry Lady Lead around Tokyo without being arrested, so we decided to bring some spicy extras from our arsenal!”

“I… see.”

They went down, step by step, still following Orinoco. Two floors to the ground. The gunshots still going, no sign of resolution. They emerged in a vast alley, larger than those at the floors above them. An interstitial warehouse, now ruined and filled with massive, empty shipping containers, scattered around or piled up on one another. Some open, some close, without any obvious logic. All windows were sealed, except one, broken. A single thread of light coming in from the outside. There was another flight of stairs, barely visible at the end, but the Orinoco sign was nowhere to be found. Chihiro slowed down, kneeled, started breathing heavily, her face was red, her fatigue evident. The others stopped too, their momentum halted.

“O… only one second, please. I’m… I’m not that young anymore.”

It was then that they noticed it. The silhouette, standing at the center of the empty space, bathed in sunlight from the only cracked window. A diminutive figure, still, wrapped in a cloak, its head covered by a hood. Chihiro jolted.

“… dainana… no tenshi…”

The figure’s hand reached for the hood, pulled it down, revealing neck-long blond hair and blue eyes, on a white shirt and a dark skirt with long socks underneath. And red, vermillion red, all around her. Without waiting an instant, Chihiro pushed Mono behind a container. And, immediately after, a shockwave sent all of them flying. Claire fell over Renzo, both hit the ground loudly. Chihiro and Mono hugged each other, their bracing mitigating the impact.

A suave voice, soft, with a tip of bitterness, echoed in the chamber.

“It wasn’t nice of you, Dr. Kishima. I’m still not sure about how you escaped from Shingensha, but it’s time we settle our little quarrel.”

Renzo stood on all four, then regained a stable position. He scanned the woman, looked at her, trying to connect the dots. Suddenly, it happened. He remembered where he saw her. Lust, special issue, central page. Posing with Reiner Greschnik and nine other girls, while wearing nothing but a vermillion mantle, almost avoiding the gaze of the camera. One of the few in those pictures whose whereabouts were almost completely unknown, yet a name to run away from immediately.

In front of him, stood no other than codename Red Riding Hood, Greschnik’s Seventh Angel.

The woman known as Lucia Lunarossa.

**

“Here comes Renkaaaaa!”

Wally took cover behind the corner, as the machine gun roared, skinning the concrete alive. He reloaded his slug gun, counted the ammo he had left. He didn’t have the luxury of missing his shots too often—he had to manage every single shot as if it was the last. He caressed Madame Barrelfly, pulled the next cartridge, carefully peeked outside of his hiding spot. Only to be welcomed by yet another salvo.

He hid again, as fast as he could, as the bullets ripped the plasterboard open, as a macabre pointillist painting. He weighed his options, decided he didn’t like any. That hatted buffoon was a professional. Very few wasted movements, surgical precision, very good reflexes. Wally hadn’t manage to home a single shot in so far, while the trenchcoated mofo went very close to ripping off one of his hands, were it not for his instinct. Still, he had managed to move him away from the flat, driving him farther and farther from Mono and the others. It was a stalemate, but one that was worth carrying forward. If that annoying bugger stopped chasing him to focus on his other targets, he could have sent him to Kingdom Come by shooting him in the back before he could say ‘kangaroo’. And he knew it—it was the only reason why he was still trading blows with him. Renka shook his arm, threw away the empty clip, loaded a new one automatically with just one motion. Not even four seconds had passed and he was again at full efficiency.

“Let’s be honest, fossil—you’re fighting against a tank with the equivalent of a wooden stick. You think a wooden stick can stop a tank? Think again!”

Another salvo, purposefully hitting the wall, to cause as much noise as possible. Psychological warfare—his way of saying I have so many cartridges left that I can waste them as much as I want without consequences. He kept on talking, didn’t wait for Wally’s retort.

“Now, there was a man who thought he could stop a tank with words. They made Swiss cheese out of him. Do you like Swiss cheese, baby dino?”

Steps. He was getting closer.

“Well, I don’t like it. Switzerland is a waste of oxygen. A bank disguised as a country, a bunch of cowards incapable of picking a side. As long as we get the money. Sure, bravo! We host assets from nazis, commies, terrorists, youth-loving priests, and American presidents, so don’t ask us to take a stance!”

He stopped, mere meters from Wally’s hiding spot. He raised his gun again, started hammering the trigger, shooting the floor, the ceiling, the wall, emptied the clip until only a click click noise remained. He shook his arm, once again, to reload.

“No, I’ve got no respect for spineless cowards like them, baby dino! So, where’s your spine?”

“Here!”

Wally jumped out of cover, almost without watching, pulled the trigger. A point blank blast, before Renka could even restart his arm gun, still in the process of reloading. The ball bearings ejected, scattered, piercing his torso, his neck, his abdomen, his right shoulder. The impact slammed him to the floor, making him roll for several meters, while Wally landed almost safely on his legs, his tail helping him absorb the recoil.

“Yippee-ki-yay, wannabe grommet! That’s what I call an Australian good morning!”

Then, he felt it. That terrifying noise, the burning sensation, his head spinning, as his left leg slipped, hammered by the several violent impacts. He fell on the floor, his chin hitting the tiles. And Renka spoke.

“And this is what I call a Polish goodbye, sucker.”

Yes, it was his voice, as clear as ever. No pain, no inflection. Wally cursed, gritted his teeth. His left leg. His left leg hurt. He reached for it, found the profile of his pants. Ripped to shreds. He had been hit by a full on salvo. He closed his eyes, won against the dizziness, pushed his claws on the ground, tried to get up. His position stabilized, as his gaze fell on his opponent, the thing that should have been fragmented to smithereens by his point blank shot.

Renka was there, dusting his hat, pushing it on his head. His glasses were cracked, his trench coat ripped open, the signs of the impact everywhere on it. And, of course, the solution of the riddle. Under his clothes, Renka didn’t have skin, or muscles, or bones. Just shiny, durable metal, now showing dents and bumps after the slug gun hit its target.

“You surprised me, baby dino. That, that was some spine you had. And your leg…”

Wally grinned.

“Strewth, I was designed to withstand friendly fire from armed mechas, bugger! That didn’t even tickle!”

Screw the feathers, he thought, screw the paleontology-accurate reconstruction and screw aesthetics. Wally brushed off the scraps of fabric around his wound. No pierced muscles, no bones exposed. Aside from a little blood, his scales were still completely intact. Natural armor, bullet-proof to a certain degree. True, now his leg was already at its limit, but no real damage had been done yet. Renka turned his machine gun back into a mechanical hand, he clapped it against the other in an impromptu applause.

“And I thought I had you, baby dino! Mutants aren’t so durable, usually—they go down and cry like a sissy as soon as I kneecap them. Which is how it should be, since scum like you should have never existed. But, hey, God has a twisted sense of humor, doesn’t He?”

“I dunno if there’s a god, bugger. But I know that Hell’s real.”

Wally quickly reloaded Madame Barrelfly, cracked a smile.

“And, mate, I swear I’ll send you there ‘fore you do.”

**

The cape floated for a long instant, as the shockwave dissipated, before bending to the tyranny of gravity. The woman called Lucia tilted her head, squinted her eyes, with a little bit of amusement. One plus-sized cat mutant. A neko. A normal human. Her target. All of them in awe. An easy win, served on a silver platter. She spun on toes, the mantle following her rotation. Then, she stopped, all of a sudden. A second shockwave blasted through the room, causing the containers to vibrate, the ground to shake. She smirked. She could see their faces. Their puzzled expressions, as they finally recognized her.

“L… Lucia?”

She savored their fear, tasted it with pleasure.

“My, my, Dr. Kishima. I wonder how you thought you could escape our grasp. But, to your credit, you almost did. If it weren’t for that sorry excuse of a mutant that shares your surname, I guess we wouldn’t have found you so easily. As soon as we got wind of her presence in Tokyo, we just kept a good eye on her. It seems like we scored, huh?”

She licked her lips, shrugged with an exaggerated, theatrical motion.

“Truly a shame.”

She started walking forward, slowly, her cape oscillating at every step. Claire stood up, Renzo too, Mono still shielding Chihiro, helping her recover. Chihiro smiled weakly, an appearance of calm, despite the chaos.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, kid! Don’t worry, your momma’s made of steel!”

Lucia glanced at them, one by one. It would have been perfect, if she managed that situation without unleashing her Gift. That would have spared her the annoyance of having to refill her cupboard with new garments and of having to eat almost exclusively meat or fish for a couple days. Such was the cost of her power and, for the opposition she was facing, definitely not worth it. She performed a curtsy, with yet another exaggerated arm motion.

“Well, Dr. Kishima, the way I see it, you have but once chance: Return with me at Stratosphere, or I’ll murder your daughter, your daughter’s friend and his partner right in front of you. You know I’ll do it.”

Chihiro spit to the ground, pointed her index at her.

“As if! You’d murder them anyway, you psycho! And me too! Sending that bastard to retrieve me with a goddamn machine gun speaks volumes about your intent!”

“I just don’t like fighting useless battles, if I can avoid them. But, oh, well. Pray, remind me… who among you succeeded in killing a chaingear?”

Silence fell again. Lucia was standing under the only source of light, quietly staring at her preys. She let fear sink in, the realization of being outclassed. They were four, true, but she was an Angel—despite what Miho and Yu often said. And, as such, leagues above them, even without unleashing her full potential.

“Nobody? Oh, my…”

She cracked a mocking smile.

“Then, I guess I’ll just have to bury you all, in this dead, decaying place! May this be your grave!”

Her body spinning around her toes, her cape fluctuating, a flashing red trail around a deadly ballerina. Renzo understood it, saw the pattern, jumped behind a metal box, Claire followed him, Mono pushing Chihiro behind a column. Then, Lucia stopped.

“LUNAR WAVE!”

The cape cracked like a whip, a tremendous shockwave shaking the plaster, the concrete, the containers, a wall of dust and rubble spread in a ten meter radius. Lucia gritted her teeth, bit her lips, closed her eyes. The urge. She needed to stop the urge. That was nothing, she could tame it. She could keep it under control. Heavy breathing, then slower, then regular. She looked around, searching signs of her preys. They reacted fast. Too fast. She didn’t expect them to have analyzed her attack to that level of precision already. Well, not that they had a chance to escape. Go back and find Renka. Go forward and meet her. It was just a question of time.

Then, she heard it. A metallic noise. No, not one. Many. In a quick succession. Mono heard them too, her ears trying to focus on the direction, to locate the origin. Those weren’t shots. Renzo looked up. The ventilation ducts. They were broken, corroded by rust. Yet, the sound seemed to come from there, as even Claire’s more sensitive ears were indicating that direction. Then, nothing. Silence again.

Lucia stared up, right, left, without ever turning her back to her targets. Those weren’t her gadgets, and definitely not Renka. Her heartbeat accelerated. Then, again. Clang clang clang clang. That metallic noise, irregular. Loud. Silence. Maybe a machine of sorts. Maybe one of her cloaked camera spiders, those who kept the cat and her merry crew under surveillance as soon as they entered the apartment complex. Didn’t she disable all of them though?

As that thought crossed her mind, something fell. A loud impact, in the shadows of the dimly lit room, not far from her. Lucia kept her eyes on Chihiro’s position, while still gauging what happened. She could see in the dark better than them. She could see them without being spotted. That’s what she thought.

Until the kick hit her face.

Twice.

Lucia growled in pain, as her head twisted, her body following suit, smashing on the ground. She rolled gracefully, avoided the blunt of the impact, stood up again, cleaned her lips from the dust, from the blood. In front of her, the plus-sized cat, the freak that Dr. Kishima called her daughter.

“A chaingear, you said? Tell me, how many world-ending-hooded-monks is it worth?”

A third kick, this time angled lower. Lucia avoided it at the last moment, counteracted with a arced swing of her arm. However, to her surprise, Mono ducked it, only to slam both of her palms against her sternum. Lucia exhaled, all the air in her lungs spreading out, her eyes wide open. She crumpled on her knees, tried to catch her breath.

“Renzo! Claire! Take my mom out, NOW!”

“No, Mono! I’m not…”

“You do what I say, mom!”

“NOT YET, KID! There’s something…”

The hit sent Mono flying to the ground, a direct kick to her back. She recovered on all four, looked back. Lucia was already standing, her eyes burning with contempt.

“You had your chances, maggots. Now, pray.”

She grabbed Mono by the collar of her shirt, lifted her with just one hand. Then, she tossed her against the wall, as if she weighed nothing, under the terrified gaze of the others. Mono crash landed against the concrete, a cloud of dust sullying the air, spreading. Lucia looked at her hand, her arm. Her glove was ripped open, her sleeve too—up to her elbow. Just for one instant. Just for one attack. She groaned. So much for not using her Gift. She felt the urge, again. Her teeth clashing, almost tearing through her lips. She could contain it. She could control it. She wasn’t a slave to it. She wasn’t. A slave. To it. She dominated her spasms, her body following her will once more. A deep breath, another one. She was back. She was there.

“It looks like… Lady Luck isn’t on your side today, doctor.”

She stood in front of them. She licked her fingers with glee, her exposed hand, chuckled. They were cornered, no place to run.

“Say hi to your colleagues when you reach them in the afterlife. I’m sure you’ll have a lot to talk about.”

Then, her foot hit something. The foreign body, the thing that fell. She blinked, looked at it. It was, indeed, one of her spider cams. She drew a sigh of relief. Mystery solved. Nothing going to stop her or make things go in the wrong direction once more. Or at least, that was what she thought. The spider cam.

The spider cam was…

“… chewed?”

Signs of fangs. Of teeth. Part of it melted, as if sprayed with a powerful acid. Lucia’s heart skipped a beat.

Clang clang clang clang.

The noise, again? But where…

She felt it. Something wet, slipping on her cheek. Dripping. From above, from the ventilation ducts. And, as she turned her head up, she saw it. And screamed.

She sprinted to the side, winning against her instinct, against her will to stand still. That wasn’t the moment, that wasn’t the moment, that wasn’t it. The dark silhouette made landfall, in a thunderous roar. Lucia stepped back, her heart running mad, her eyes unblinking.

In front of her, a beast the size of huge cat. Black skin, shining under the rays of morning sunlight. Six legs, a flowing mane, as red as blood, bioluminescent bands scattered around its back. Four eyes, glimmering in the dark. And two mouths, one above the other, on what looked like a deformed snout.

“W… what the h… but didn’t we…”

The creature stared at her, unmoving, unflinching. Claire was silent, observing the situation in awe. Not fear, not horror. Pure awe. Renzo felt like passing out. That thing… what was that thing? Unless…

The beast turned its back to Lucia, its attention directed at the other side.

And it moved. Steps, steps on the concrete, slow, heavy.

Renzo screamed, braced, Claire hugged him, closed her eyes. Yet, nothing happened.

They were still alive.

She opened her eyes again, in confusion. Only to see Chihiro’s hand on the creature’s mane, petting it like a house cat.

“I’m sorry, Orinoco dearest. Didn’t want to wake you up—but, you see, the lady in red here needs some scolding.”

Lucia shook her head. That beast…? They had… where… how was it still…

“GOTCHA!”

Two fur-covered arms from behind her, grabbing her wrists, impeding her movement. Dr. Kishima’s daughter?!

“Surprised, red hood? Cats always land on their paws!”

Lucia growled, tried to free herself. Only to see the creature growling, charging at her, running to her on all six legs. The impact was inevitable. She couldn’t brace or defend herself, she could just accept it was happening, as the monster’s head rammed her belly, at impressive speed. She lost her breath once more, crumpled to the ground, as Mono let her hands go, before running to her mother. Lucia spat on the ground. Twice. No blood, not yet. Still, that hurt. That hurt in a way it shouldn’t have. She raised her gaze, fighting her dizziness. And, then, she saw her, Chihiro Kishima. Talking with the beast. Patting its back, as it circled around her, reaching for her pocket, taking out something round, reddish. An apple. Unmistakably an apple, despite the dim light made it harder to recognize shapes. Chihiro put it on the ground, in front of the monster. And the creature bit it, almost immediately, with its lower mouth, while stroking its mane against Chihiro.

“You’re such a good boy, Ori! I couldn’t leave you behind!”

Lucia didn’t get it, couldn’t get it. That had to be one of Shingensha experimental subjects, but how? Why was it there? It should had been terminated long ago. She clenched her fists, her nails sinking into her palms, all her fibers contracted. But, before she could stand up, Mono kicked her in the face, causing her to fall to the ground once more. As she walked over the body of the downed Angel, she stopped in her tracks, stared at that bizarre sight. A nightmarish creature, purring while feasting on an apple, as her mom petted its mane. It felt surreal. Renzo and Claire were still gazing in confusion too. That… thing looked like a jaguar, but with two legs too much, noctiphage fluorescent bands and eyes that were more apt for a nightly routine. A vestigial tail completed the picture, but the weirdest part were definitely the two, superimposed mouths—only one of which looked operational. Chihiro patted its head one last time, turned towards her flabbergasted audience.

“I’ll explain later, kid. Now, we gotta move, before Red Riding Bitch there…”

She didn’t even manage to finish her sentence. A shockwave, more powerful than ever, the containers shaking, Mono falling on the ground, the creature displaced, Claire covering for Renzo, but inevitably falling too. And Chihiro losing her balance, hitting her nape against the concrete, bouncing over it. As the dust cleared, a silhouette stood under the last beam of light.

Her scleras turned black, her cape floating ominously, her canines elongated. She arced her back, spread her arms, raised her gaze to the ceiling.

And a chilling howl shook the warehouse to the foundations.

**

Renka was tired of that game. Chasing a dino through the cramped corridors of an abandoned apartment complex sounded like fun—like being a monster in a horror movie. Yet, it turned into a boring cat-and-mouse chase. The excitement of the first shootout, the sensation of the pellets on his metallic exoskeleton… that was what he wanted. But, apparently, the absolute waste of space in the shape of an Aussie raptor had decided to play lame—forcing him to follow him, in that labyrinthine maze of hallways and empty rooms, where aiming was hard and hitting was even harder.

“I’m losing my patience, mate. Is this how you fight phages in the Outback? Because, you know, I think I understand why everything went to hell there, if so.”

A loud explosion as a retort, the slug hitting his left arm, shredding the sleeve of his coat, causing him to reel back. He groaned audibly.

“Struck a nerve, have I?”

He sprayed a machine gun salvo, while trying to keep the pace with the reptile. The projectiles pierced the plaster, the floor, the ceiling, but his target had already moved. He snapped his fingers. That prehistoric derelict was too agile for its own good, especially compared to a military grade cyborg. Even putting him in the sight had been a frustrating challenge. He spotted his tail going down the stairs, decided to follow through with it. At times, he thought that maybe—just maybe—going to doggie to give her some support was the wisest choice, but what if lizzy lizard there shot him in the back as soon as he turned? He was faster and, while his slug gun was a joke, it could still sever some of his muscle connectors, if a lucky shot hit. Then, it would have been game over, for real. He checked his HUD, queried the status on his magazines. Still enough bullets to completely demolish a city block and then some. Nice. He lazily reloaded, stepped down the stairs keeping all his sensors on to avoid an ambush, switched between visible light and infra-reds. Hide-and-seek wasn’t his forte, never had been, so he just found ways to cheat, both when seeking and—especially—when hiding.

Except, they didn’t work against the other dinosaur, that mechanical bastard that turned him into a brain-in-a-jar. Hard to find cover, in a circular arena with nothing but sand and corpses scattered around. To think he was an optimist too. You’ve killed everyone else, Renka, you can surely tame a stupid giant toy model designed by a manchild. Said toy model wiped the floor with him, slicing his limbs before charring him. It was a miracle that his brain was still in a usable state, and twice a miracle that Little G loved his performance. Since then, though, he had been the lapdog of all those snotty Angels, cleaning after their mess while being outfitted with an explosive collar that would blow his head up on a whim. ‘Cause he was a maverick, someone nobody could trust—but was he much different from those holier-than-thou women? He watched how some of them won their Rapture, the underhanded tactics they used to kill the beast. For example, doggie had suffocated it, using her ripped cape as a makeshift noose, while hanging around its neck. That had been quite clever on her side, he had to admit, but he couldn’t stop thinking how his Rapture had to be rigged. He had so much more combat experience than doggie. He was a damn war criminal—and yet, yet that wasn’t enough. Still, a fourteen years old Indian girl could do what he couldn’t. That was right—the Sixth Angel, the one that was directly above the mutt in the internal hierarchy, was barely fourteen when she braved the Rapture. Fourteen. No, that circus was completely rigged, no questions about it. And Little G…

He stopped. That room…

He scanned his surroundings, in the dim light coming from his right side. What was that place? It looked like a warehouse, full of metallic canisters—and barely anything else. And here he was, the raptor, standing right near one of them. Renka simply raised his gun hand, with a hint of annoyance. Yet, the dino didn’t run for cover. Didn’t even prepare his weapon. And smirked. Renka didn’t pull the trigger immediately. Calm targets that know they are targets are the worst targets—they always have some nasty surprises. So, he waited, without taking his sight off him. Wally chuckled, tapped his claw on the container.

“I’d reconsider, mate. These babies are full of flammable gas.”

“Flammable… gas?”

“Ya see, the residents of this hellhole don’t have central heating, yes? So they need a way to get warm. This is the storage for aaaaaall that gas. You know whatcha means, grommet? If any of those breaks, we’re both toast.”

And so is the apartment complex. Igniting such an amount of methane would cause the whole Kiku building to collapse, Renka surmised. No way that old derelict could resist a deflagration of that magnitude. But no, there had to be more. That was stupid beyond reason. He turned his sensors on, trying to ascertain the truth of what the prehistoric freak said. Unfortunately, he wasn’t outfitted with chemical tracers. He could just confirm that the canisters were not empty and contained some sort of gaseous substance. Opening them to find out which kind of substance was out of question, still… no, he had to learn more. He had to gauge that sucker’s intentions.

“Nice bluff, baby dino. Seriously. You almost had me—emphasis on almost. If those canisters explode, you die too. And your obese cat associate dies. And her mother dies. But know who doesn’t die? Me.”

“You’re seriously overestimatin’ your build, mate. If this babe goes kaboom, the condo’ll break down and thrash you too. You might be a cyborg, yeah, but ya really wanna test your endurance so much?”

If Renka still had a mouth, he would have gritted his teeth. So, yes, no other reason to that gesture, besides being a douche and avoiding his gunplay. Well played. Though, he had room for more options, contrary to that living fossil. His gun turned back into a hand, then the fingers joined, extended, thinned and thinned the longer they they went. Until they shaped a blade, shining in the morning light filtering from the windows.

“Fine, baby dino. Then, let’s make things more personal and intimate.”

One step, another step, another one, faster, faster, faster.

“Let’s see how long you’ll last!”

**

Chihiro woke up from her stupor, blinked, squinted her eyes. Last thing she remembered was the shockwave. Oh, yes, that lunar wave, or however that Lucia freak named her little cape-whip-trick. Yet, the sight was different. She wasn’t in the warehouse. She was in a hallway, with open windows, and light. What…

“Bon, she came back! Please, keep strong, Ms. Kishima!”

The neko from before, with her annoying French accent. Too thin compared to her healthy daughter, even if most people would have said her weight was perfectly normal. Yes, if one liked pretty cute girls. Her Mono was way better than that insult to genetics. Truly a gentrified cat girl without standards—nothing compared to what a real one should look like.

“We’re almost there, can you walk?”

This time, the voice was that of stripper boy. If those two were a couple, it was clear as day that the anorexic cat was the one leading and keeping him at her leash. How did society fall that much? Yet, that wasn’t her first thought. There was something more important.

“Where’s Mono? And Orinoco? What about the caped bitch?”

The neko nodded, without looking at her, without meeting her gaze.

“They’re still fighting in the warehouse. Mono is winning us some time to bring you to safety.”

“What? I’ve never asked for this! Bring me back to my daughter, you punks!”

“Ce n’est pas possible! Mono asked us for this! She begged us to save you!”

The boy chimed in too.

“We’ve also sealed the security gate behind us, from the outside. It’s next to impossible to get in or out the warehouse from the side we escaped from, now. I’m sorry, we couldn’t do more than that.”

She realized they were carrying her, one from each side. They had literally brought her unconscious body out of the hot zone, together. She bit her lips. To go for such an effort to fulfill her daughter’s wish…

“… maybe I’ve misjudged you two.”

Her legs started moving properly, she picked up the pace.

“Alright, alright. I’ll guide you out, then we’ll find a way to help my kid. She’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. She’s healthy and all grown up… and Orinoco’s with her too.”

Renzo shivered.

“I’ve been meaning to ask this later, but… what in the flying heck is that thing? It looked like something you’d get in a horror movie, by mixing a jaguar with a noctiphage and a fly in a teleportation incident!”

Chihiro patted his spiky hair, smiled.

“Which is exactly what happened—well, more or less. Remember when I said we sent a team pet through the distortion? That’s our li’l Orinoco. He was such a nice cute kitten, but—hey—science.”

“You mean that…”

“Yup, first time, first two times no problems in sight. During the third survey, though, he got all mixed up in that… huh, horrifying way by what we call a tide. But he’s still our li’l good boy.”

Yeah, a necessary sacrifice for the betterment of knowledge. Still, Orinoco didn’t seem to care too much. He slept sixteen hours per day, ate apples and mice with gusto and made his nest inside the empty ventilation ducts in the warehouse. No way she would have left him behind, not after he was instrumental to her escape.

She walked faster, led the way for her two guests. Just two floors left to the ground level. She could keep on talking a little longer, before starting to run. Her legs were kind of short, she couldn’t really go faster than that—she had never been an athlete.

“See.. Orinoco’s mutation was what convinced Mr. Magnifico that hell had potential. We tried to understand the tides better, to see if they could be used to transfer some animal traits to humans and vice versa. The process was still somewhat random, but very, very promising. We lost many a good rats and small critters to it, but—in the end—we succeeded in transferring a majestic pair of firefly wings to a sixteen years old girl who lost the use of her legs in an incident—in a faster and safer way than even the best deep genetic reprofiling. Aaaand that’s where shit hit the fan and someone decided that we should have been imprisoned in our own lab.”

They reached a flight of stairs. Chihiro started stepping down, but she noticed something. Here companions weren’t moving. They were frozen, looking at her with something akin to confusion, disgust... or both. She frowned.

“What, now? Human experiments are where you draw the line? Kids, did you really think someone with morals could have worked at RealLifeAnime for so long? I know I’m no saint, but I’m not turning down a willing, willful experimental subject—especially if they asked for it. So, stop with the patronizing stare and follow me. You’ll have time to scold me later!”

**

The urge. The urge was getting out of control. Lucia drew a deep breath, as her scleras turned back to white. Not a good sign. It was coming. There was no way stopping it. Her Gift. Her curse. She chuckled, nervously. All because of a fat cat and a mutant monster that should have been put down. He sleeps, they said. We have taken care of it, they said. But no, that walking biohazard was still around, protected by those eggheads and a couple conniving guards. She gazed at the spider cam again. Melted, at least partly. No wonder. That thing was half a noctiphage. No wonder it had acid glands. That’s how they broke the perimeter, yes. Conniving guards and an acid spitting battering ram. And no CCTV records either. That meant a bunch of traitors in the facility. Maybe, older Shingensha personnel that worked with them for years and sympathized with the scientists. That was the only explanation she could find. If Greschnik had fired everyone except the researches and replaced the security with Stratosphere employees, everything would have gone smoothly. But no, let’s keep them happy instead. Suddenly, she felt like retching. The urge. The urge to howl. She bit her lips. She didn’t want to. She wasn’t a beast.

Those two were the beasts—the plus-sized cat and the monster. The last two obstacles between her and Chihiro Kishima. Calm down, Lucia. Calm down. You can do this. Don’t be scared, or the wolf will eat you. Don’t be scared… or the wolf will eat you. She repeated her mantra once, twice, after the howl. That was a bad sign. Howling meant that she was on the verge of turning—whether she wanted it or not. No, that wasn’t a Gift. That was everything except a Gift. When she won the Rapture, killing the chaingear, she was thrilled to have a second chance at life. Thrilled to be given a super power, much like that of the First Angel. She thought… she thought wolves were cool. She wanted to harness their fierceness. Yet, she had received more than she had bargained for, and now she was paying the consequences. Don’t be scared, or the wolf will eat you. She drew one long, last breath.

The monster was circling around here, in a slow, continuous motion. All while the cat mutant was staring at her, waiting for her reaction. That howl startled her too. That wasn’t something a human would utter. She calmed down, even if just a little. Then, she boosted forward, sprinting as fast as she could.

Mono crossed her arms in front of her face, absorbed the blunt of the impact. A flurry of blows and kicks, almost feral, without grace. Mono blocked the swipes, ducked a high kick, hit her opponent’s knee with a precise palm strike. Lucia growled, backed down, raised her arm as if to scratch Mono. Only for Orinoco to bite it, out of the blue. She yelled in pain, blasted him away with one powerful swing. A blunt impact against the wall, a cloud of dust spreading. Lucia showed her wounded arm to Mono, more serious than ever. The whole sleeve had been torn to shreds, her glove too, in the little time she needed to throw the beast away—but not by Orinoco’s assault, no. Something else ripped them off, from inside out. And the bite marks…

“… they’re healing already?!”

Lucia closed her eyes. That was the only useful perk of her Gift. Fast regeneration speed. No superficial damage lasted. Losing limbs was still lethal, but she didn’t have to care about cuts, muscle strains or broken bones. Yet, despite that, despite being more resilient than Miho or Yu, she firmly stood at the bottom of the Angels’ hierarchy. And, if Dr. Kishima’s experiments were allowed to go forth… new, more powerful, better Angels could be engineered. Which meant, she would be relegated to an Apostle role or—worse—disposed of. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to stop it all, Greschnik be damned. Sure, he would have been unhappy about it, but what was the chance he would have found out the loss of samples and scientists was something she came up with? If only they didn’t escape…

She almost retched. The urge. Again. She cleaned her lips, clenched her fists, bent her legs while staring at Mono. Then, her socks, her shoes exploded, ripped from inside out, as her legs turned into massive beastly appendages. Before propelling her forward. The speed gain was terrifying—she flew like a bullet, unseen, untracked. And her whole body mass slammed against that of Mono, thrashing her against the nearest column, almost as if she was a pinball ball. Lucia’s legs turned back to their human form, as she landed among the dust. Her whole body was a weapon. She could turn any part of it to that of a werewolf, at will. That, unfortunately, regularly resulted in the almost complete destruction of her attire—as her clothes weren’t fit or elastic enough for a beast twice her size—so, she used that with moderation, only when needed. Her whip cape alone was enough, most of the time. Yet, that extra boost her beastly skills could give her was much appreciated, in cases like that. She sighed, as she stared at her now bare feet. Due to those meddling morons, she had already lost both sleeves of her shirt, gloves, shoes, and socks. A shopping session after all that chaos was sorely needed—if anything, to improve her mood.

She gazed around the warehouse. Mono was standing again, already, despite receiving the blunt of her assault. And the beast…

She turned her arm into her wild form, one instant before the impact. Orinoco pounced on her, only to meet a brutal opposition—the paw of a wolf bigger than him. Lucia swung her mutated arm, deflected his attack. Then, she noticed it. His second mouth. It was opening. A green substance, drops spread in a scattered pattern. Acid. She turned her legs into beast form to jump back faster. The acid spit missed its target, as Lucia evaded at the last possible instant. Her arm and legs abandoned their wolf shape, as the urge hit her again. She coughed. The more she used them, the higher the chance of losing control and…

“Surprise!”

A kick to her head, from above, making her fall forward. She put her hands down, to avoid hitting the floor with her face, smoothed the impact. A fit of cough. Again. The urge. The urge was too strong. Her eyes… she felt her sight changing, much like before, much like during the howl. her sclerae were turning black. She was sure of that. Yet, she resisted. She wasn’t the wolf. She was Lucia. A human being, no matter what happened.

Yet, all her willpower got shattered as soon as her face hit the concrete, Mono’s hand on her nape, slamming her head against the floor. Twice. That scent of iron, that taste of iron. Her blood. Her own blood. She lied motionless, as her sight went darker. Darker. Darker. Until her mind switched off, lost, her consciousness fading. Allowing something else to emerge.

Lucia stood up—or, rather, her body stood up. Slowly, surely, under Mono’s petrified gaze, pushing back against her pressure, defeating it as if it was nothing. Her face caked with blood, her eyes closed, her breath heavy. She swung her arms, both in beast form, pushed Mono away like a rag doll. There she stood, her cape flowing down, her arms still.

Then, it happened. It was just a button at first, breaking up, opening at the top of her shirt. Then a second, a third, the fabric tearing apart, her skirt, her underwear ripped to shreds, her ears becoming longer, her hair changing color, fur covering her body, her face deforming, becoming a snout, her nails becoming claws, her feet changing shape. Then, the howl. An absurdly sharp howl, echoing among the containers, traveling through the air, transmitted through the pipes, a foul sound heard everywhere in the complex.

Among the scraps of fabric, among the rubble, she stood. Her red cape as her last dredge of humanity, the last memento of what she was. As her empty eyes opened, Lucia faded.

And the big bad wolf woke up.

**

The blade hit Madame Barrelfly once more, recoiled after the impact. Renka’s arm swung again, a horizontal slash going for the jugular. Wally ducked, headbutted him in the torso. A muffled cry of pain, as he realized that the metal plates were hard even for someone like him.

“You’re no pachy, baby dino! Raptors are known for their claws, not their heads! You should have learned that in kindergarten! Did you skip class often?”

Renka kicked him back, raised his arm again in a vertical slash. The barrels of the slug gun stopped him once more, the metallic noise echoing among the canisters.

“I was expecting something more exciting, but here it is—good ol’Renka pressing his advantage and the fossil being passive! As! Hell! Come on, do something! Attack me! Stop being lame! Give me something to live for!”

“Aaaaah, shut up, mate!”

“Make me.”

Wally growled. That guy was annoying as heck, but was a threat like no others. He needed time. Time to assess the situation. Time to rethink his strategy. Time for Chihiro to get to safety. That crimson-glassed moron was all too eager to shed blood, that much was clear. Wally touched his ear. The communicator was still there. And was still silent. That didn’t bode well—they had all agreed to share a coded message as soon as Chihiro was out of the complex, in case they got separated. It had been a good idea to plan for that, all things considered. Wally didn’t have a mic, only a receiver. Claire had the transmitters in her bag. It was her duty—hers and Renzo’s—to give him the all-clear

Come on, he thought, say it! Say it!

“Hey, baby dino! I’m heeeeere! Don’t! Get! Distracted!”

Renka moved forward, thrusted his blade like a lance. Wally dodged it for mere centimeters, almost lost his balance. Then turned on himself at breakneck pace, unleashing a retaliatory tail swipe, hit his target right in the belly, scraps of metal flying off his armor. Renka was pushed back by the impact, lost ground. It was his time to growl, as a shower of error messages appeared on his HUD, blinking red lights to keep his attention high. The plates had already been badly damaged by that first point blank slug shot—he just managed to downplay it quite well, if he said so himself. That last impact, though, had broken through, cracked his abdomen’s external armor. Nothing game-changing, but definitely no good news. He silenced the warnings, switched all of them off. All errors, all system messages, all environmental information. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need that sensory overload. He was ready to brace for impact, for the sudden raptor attack.

Except, it didn’t come.

That was annoying.

“Why? Why aren’t you pushing your advantage, idiot? Why fighting conservatively? I want to kill you and skin you alive—not necessarily in this order! This much is clear, yes? Give me your all! Or… wait…”

He would have smirked, if he still had a mouth.

“You’re stalling me till your little friends are safe, ain’t you? Such a good boy! Unfortunately for you, even if they managed to deal with that bitch in heat of my superior… that wouldn’t be enough.”

Wally squinted his eyes.

“Whatcha ya mean, grommet?”

Renka shrugged, enjoyed the sight of his confusion.

“That before entering this dilapidated, accursed apartment complex, we left some nice walking toasters to take care of any survivors. I’d really love to see your friends’s faces as soon as they realize what waits for them! AH! The ultimate hope spot! Maybe, maybe they are already dead! Why not?!”

In that moment, they heard it. The howl. Lucia’s howl. Wally looked around, startled, trying to understand. While Renka brought his free hand to the place where his human ears would have been—if he still had them—mimicking the act of amplifying his hearing.

“Oh, so it has come to this! Listen! Listen to the music of madness! Red Riding Hood becoming the Big Bad Wolf! Aaah, I wish that happened more often!”

He snapped his fingers, pointed them at Wally.

“Their chances of survival are literally underground. By several, several meters. So low they can already watch the flowers bloom from underneath their roots. Before they do too, that is.”

Wally frantically reached for his communicator, tapped on its ear once, twice, hoping to receive a signal.

Come on, mates! Not like this! Not like this!

“Don’t! Get! DISTRACTED!”

Before Wally could react, Renka thrusted his blade forward, aiming for his eye. Wally saw it. Saw the tip, the shining piece of metal, moving in slow motion. Yet, he didn’t move. He couldn’t move. His body, his reflexes weren’t fast enough.

The blade pierced its target.

And, suddenly, everything went red.

**

Orinoco’s fang closed around the wolf’s arm, sank into its flesh. The creature, the monster that was once Lucia, growled in pain, before shaking him off. Only to be hit in the snout by Mono’s palm attack. The wolf swung her claw, missing her for almost nothing, bent her legs, sprinted forward. Again, Orinoco rammed her on the side, slamming her against a container. The impact on the metal, the sound echoing. Yet, she stood up, almost unscathed.

Mono glanced at her, at the creature she was facing. A juggernaut without reason, driven only by instinct. And that was supposed to be an Angel? She touched the receiver in her ear. Still nothing. How long? How long till her mom was safe? Her energies were running dangerously low, she couldn’t hold on much longer.

She searched for Orinoco, tried to assess his status. His middle left leg was heavily wounded, one of his eyes was closed too, due to a bad concussion, his bioluminescent bands shining more than ever. He was as tired as her, but was enduring it. Not only for Chihiro, but also for himself, his territory. Lucia had breached the borders of his domain. His instinct wouldn’t let him back down so easily. Orinoco was an alpha and was somehow aware of it.

“Calm down, Ori. She can’t think in that state. She’s just a rabid beast.”

Mono took a deep breath, joined her palms, stomped the ground with a wide, arced motion, reminiscent of sumo.

“Come at me, doggie.”

As if she heard her, the werewolf howled, started running on all fours, leapt at Mono swinging both of his claws. Only for his head to be slapped from both sides at the same time. Her cranium creaked, her eyes wide open, as Mono used her momentum against her, slamming her snout against a container in one, continuous, arced motion. A tremendous impact, the container wall bending, a bump where the monster hit. The werewolf slid down the surface, her muscles twitching, her whole body crossed by spasms. Then, everything stopped. Stood still.

Silence.

Mono waited.

One, two, three.

Looked for life signs.

Four, five, six.

Even for involuntary movements.

Seven, eight, nine.

For any signs of that not being over.

Ten.

Still silence.

No answer.

No nothing.

She drew a long breath, let herself fall to the ground.

“My goodness. I… I can’t even… I hope Wally’s fine… and mom.”

A twitch.

Mono stood up again, immediately, stepped as far as possible from the container.

Another twitch.

Then another. And another. Then the arm moved. And the leg. The cape, the ripped cape, was twitching too. She was moving again. Slowly rising.

Orinoco didn’t wait, pounced on her. But her arm was faster, stopped him in his tracks, deflected his assault. Orinoco’s second mouth opened, his acid spit spread once again. But her cape was faster, intercepted it. A hole, several holes formed on the reinforced fabric, melting patches and slices of it. Yet, her skin was untouched. And, as she stood again, Mono noticed it.

Skin.

Human skin.

The fur that covered her torso, her abdomen, her thighs, her shoulders, was falling off. She as shedding it, tuft by tuft, as her head was wrapped again by hair—brown, not blonde—and her wolf ears still emerged from it. Yet, her arms, her legs… they were still that of the beast, from her elbows up, from her knees down. Mono looked in awe, incapable of processing what she was seeing. That wasn’t a human. That wasn’t a wolf. That was something else entirely. As the creature turned around to face her, Mono recognized her face again—Lucia’s face. Her sclerae were black, her irises golden, her canines peeking out of her lips, her hair merging with the fur on her wolf ears, sharing the same color as her mane. As her body looked human again, covered by what was left of her tattered cape, she smirked.

And talked again.

“My, my. To think I’d be forced to take this form…”

Then, she spun on herself, like a ballerina.

Before unleashing yet another shockwave.

**

A primal yell from the bottom of his lungs. Wally kneeled, let his gun go, his hand reaching for this eye—for the place his eye was. His nerves firing together, sending his pain receptors in overload.

“Yes! Yeeees! Scream! Curse my name, Polyphemus! Name’s Nobody, go complain to daddy Poseidon, come on!”

Renka rejoiced, as his blade retracted, still drenched in blood. Full score. A ten out of ten. Those scales were too hard to slice, but the soft matter of baby dino’s body? Free real estate. He glared at him, at that sorry excuse of a living fossil. Pathetic. Useless. An evolutionary failure. Yet, it wasn’t time for gloating—he was a professional, even if it didn’t look like it. There was a scientist to kill and a wolf to tame, his schedule was pretty busy. So, he prepared his blade once more. He wondered whether slashing the dino’s throat was a good way to end his life. After all, he didn’t ever fight a raptor before—the chaingear didn’t count. Yes, a little bit of trial and error would have definitely helped.

“Tell me, baby dino… where can I slice you, to end your life in the most painful way possible?”

“… nough.”

Renka stopped. That wounded wreck of a raptor had just… said something.

“Pardon?”

Before he could add anything, Wally stood up, against all the odds, against all of Renka’s projections. Growling. Pained. But not defeated.

“I said…”

His snout opened in the nearest thing to a smile, as his hand left his damaged socket, stopped tending to the blood trickling down. Then, he opened his surviving eye, staring at Renka.

“One is more than enough!”

Renka’s brain felt the impact. Wally’s head, slammed against his own. His glasses, his premium red glasses, shattered. His camera eyes exposed. His brain case cracked. His balancers activated, stopped him from crashing down. In front of him, the raptor recoiled, stepped back. In pain. Yet, his expression…

“Owie. Now I kno’ how Gruda feels, strewth! I betcha mozzie heads be softer than a vegemitin’ cyborg, but whatever!”

He was laughing, genuinely laughing. Renka would have blinked in disbelief. That dinosaur lost a friggin’ eye and there he was, laughing at him, as if it were nothing? What was he made of?! No, that wasn’t important. He still had the upper hand. Still, that living fossil had done something unforgivable. He brought his fingers to his metallic face, where his nose should have been. That was too high of an offense to leave that unpunished.

“My glasses! You broke my glasses! If you loved so much losing an eye, I’ll take the other one too!”

“Be my guest, mate!”

Renka raised his blade once more, ready for striking, knowing that now his opponent was blind from one side. That was a hell of a handicap to have in a close range duel. Yet, something went wrong. The blade thrusted in the air, missed the target completely. But his fangs, his teeth, didn’t.

As Renka swiped his arm, Wally’s fang were already chewing at it, right under his shoulder, right where the first slug salvo hit. His teeth sank into the metal, ripped the cables, the wires. Then, Wally’s fangs snapped, jerked away with one sudden motion.

And Renka’s arm followed them, severed to the root.

**

She felt as if the world was moving in slow motion, as she glided through the warehouse. Every twitch, every appearance of gesture, took an unbelievably long time to reach completion. She could notice them, the tiny vibration of their lips, the moment the eyelids closed. It felt like watching a video shot with a high-frequency camera. The only issue with that was that her own actions felt, at times, as slow. Yet, in that state of mind, she felt comfortable. Every sound, every scent, every touch on her skin, amplified tenfold. She could see everything, smell everything, hear everything, feel everything. That hybrid state of hers was inebriating, enticing her senses, enhancing her serotonin level. Neither beast nor human, neither instinct nor reason. Lucia felt her blood boiling, her whole existence sublimating into something beautiful. She hated her Gift. She hated turning into a monster. She had made a point of not wearing any sort of elastic or nano-enhanced fabric, to give herself an incentive to never indulge into it, never embrace the monster—remain human. But turning into that—that evolutive climax she represented—was her secret guilty pleasure. She combed through her hair, carefully, with her sharp claws, touched her wolf ears, her human nose and skin, loved the feeling of it. She looked around in search of a mirror, of a reflective surface. She loved the sight of her hybrid body, caressed only by her faithful red cape, her only real companion she’d never leave behind. Yes, her cape was all that she needed—her lack of any sort of other garments wasn’t concerning her in the slightest. If anything, it served to underline the perfection of her real essence. She groaned, as she came to terms with the total lack of suitable ways to admire her own appearance. The tyranny of her Gift—to reach her perfect synthesis, she had to become a beast first, lose herself, shred her humanity to bits. And, once her true Gift activated, there was no way to turn back into a human—not without the help of Stratosphere’s drugs… which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because—contrary to all other Angels—while she was in that form, she didn’t need the drugs to survive. A curse, because she had no way to return to her human self, mingle with the crowd without being singled out as a freak, mistaken for a mutant or worse. Not that she could hide her feral traits either, her paws were huge and her claws were sharp. No amount of gloves or shoes would have hidden them. Which is what made her envious. Nadia, Ghost, Lemur, Miho, Yu, Nivandra… they could all live a comfortable life. Their Gifts didn’t alter their appearances, didn’t alter the way they looked. They needed medications on a daily basis, sure, but it was a low price to pay to be able to unleash their Gift at a moment’s notice. She licked her paw, slid her tongue on the brown fur. No, she couldn’t hide among humans in that state, not without being perceived as ‘different’.

A sudden motion in the corner of her eye commanded her attention. The foul beast, the one called Orinoco, was jumping at her with his five healthy legs, his fangs ready to sink into her tender skin. But, to her, everything was moving slowly. She could see it, see where the freak was going to land, see which of her body parts was supposed to be his target. She gracefully altered her balance, bent a little on the left, ducked. Then, performed a raising, circling kick, hitting the monster in its stomach, stopping its momentum on the go. She turned around, as her ears picked up something. The fat cat, this time, jumping too, in a sort of pirouette that remind her of a stereotypical ninja roll. Lucia simply stepped backwards, having her opponent miss her assault completely while, at the same time, bending her arm to strike back. Her paw grew bigger, twice its size, as she swung it in a wide horizontal arc. Mono was slammed by the wolf hand, sent rolling on the floor, as the arm ended its run against a container, bouncing on the rusted metal. Lucia gritted her fangs. That hurt a little. She didn’t like using that technique—extending her arms was painful and could be done only for a second or two at most. It always felt like overexerting herself. She didn’t have full control on the swings either, as the momentum was hard to stop. Just a minor setback, though, in the grand scheme of things. She bent her legs, jumped at Mono before she could stand up, grabbed her left arm, sank her claws into it, with extreme pleasure.

Mono yelled in pain, as Lucia started twisting it behind her back, as the articulations were put under strain. Lucia smirked, licked Mono’s hair, as her grunts grew louder and more desperate, her suffering piling up.

“You’re wondering why I’m doing this, I bet? Well, you’ll die guessing. Motive rants are not my forte.”

She trapped Mono’s leg under her foot, as she pulled her closer, while still twisting her arm.

“Still, I’ll tell you something, because I’ve kept it inside for too long: if that whore never started experimenting on humans—on ways to replace me—nothing would have happened.”

A snapping sound, a cracking noise. Mono screamed from the bottom of her lungs, until her breath fell short. As her captor loosened her grip, she instinctively reached for her arm, as pain radiated through her nerves, through her whole body. Her forearm… her forearm was… bent, bent in an unnatural way. Broken. Snapped inside, despite no external wound. She fell on her back, without being able to stop her screams. That hurt. That hurt too much.

Lucia loomed over her, flaunting her tattered cape, basking in her own perfection. It was time to go after Chihiro. Everything else was just a distraction.

**

Renka didn’t have any pain receptors installed. Pain was a very stupid thing to feel, for a cyborg. It made things harder in the heat of the action, causing the brain to focus on the issue—I’ve been hit—and not on the solution—hit them faster. The absence of pain was a good perk, probably the one thing he liked about his mechanical body—together, of course, with his vast array of configurable weapons and almost limitless amount of ammo. Yet, despite his body being precisely designed not to feel pain, his brain hallucinated it, as his right arm got detached from his body. A ghastly sensation, running through his neural receptors, memories of a past long gone, a replay of that damn night, the night when those plasma blades massacred his body, before the beam incinerated it. Yes, it was illogical, yes it felt impossible, but that was exactly what was happening to him.

“What’s the problem, grommet? Never been unarmed before?”

The dino… the dino was still in pain, yes? His right eye was bleeding badly—maybe even damaged beyond repair. Yet, he went forward, without flinching. Renka stepped backwards. That. That was a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long while.

Fear.

“As… if!”

He shook his left arm, reconfigured it as yet another blade. His whole body was a weapon. His. Whole. Body. Losing an arm was just a minor annoyance. He still had three limbs to play with, and his full set of concealed guns in his pectorals. Yes. Just a small setback. That was it. He charged again at the wounded dino, swiping his surviving arm at him. Only for his attack to be met with a violent tail swipe, directly at his shoulder. The metal screamed, cracked, as the whipping appendage found its target. Renka recoiled, shook his arm, rammed back at Wally. Yet again, a tail attack stopped his momentum, slamming his abdomen, crushing what little was left of the external armor plates, under his ripped trench coat. Renka stared at the dino, at that living fossil making his life miserable. How? How could he go toe to toe with a military grade cyborg? How?

Then, it came to him, like a bolt inside his brain.

Wally was designed for war. Was designed to be a weapon. Much like him. His body was the culmination of genetic technology applied to non-conventional warfare. Much like him. They weren’t that different. Yet… yet there was something weird. Something Renka couldn’t understand—a kind of resolution he’d never seen in any other living weapon. The resolution to go forth. Wally didn’t fight to kill. Wally fought to live on. That… that was incomprehensible for him.

He threw away those feelings again, stepped forward to try and land at least one other blade thrust, to blind him for real. But the damage was done. His psyche was compromised. Still, he ignored it. He ignored his feeling, his silly retorts. He was an assassin, he would have done it to the very end. Thus, he sprinted, yelling like a caged beast. A violent, piercing attack, filled with rage, unyielding fury to mask his insecurity. Missing the target completely. Wally ducked, avoided it without issues, closed the distance, as Renka was still unbalanced, all his momentum pushing him forward. Then, Wally’s fangs closed around his surviving arm, at the elbow level. And ripped off whatever happened to be under it, splitting his limb in the middle.

Renka fell on his knees, as the stump flailed compulsively. He couldn’t feel pain, yet… yet he did. He screamed. The first scream since being turned into a machine. That wasn’t possible. That wasn’t it. It was just a psychological effect, he couldn’t, he didn’t…

A metallic noise. The dino spat on the ground, let his severed forearm fall on it, cables peeking out, oil sprinkling from the broken pipes. Then, he did something Renka wasn’t expecting. He wielded his slug gun with both arms, walked towards him. Renka would have shivered, if he could. He understood it. Understood what he was going to do. And that’s where it happened again.

Fear.

He shook his head, flailed what was left of his arms, while trying to stand up again, and failing, as the dinosaur came closer and closer.

“H… hey! Sh… shooting inside this place is… is a death sentence! Didn’t… didn’t you say that yourself? It’s… we’re surrounded by canisters and canisters of flammable gas!”

As an answer, Wally placed the barrels right on his abdomen, on the exposed mess of cables and wires that the damaged plates once protected. Then, he contracted his snout into what looked like a cruel smile.

“Come on, mate, you know it, right? It’s dangerous only…”

A sudden cacophony of metallic noises, the sound of ball bearings tearing through metal,

“… if you ain’t close enough.”

Renka’s body split in two, as his legs stood motionless, as his torso flew on the ground, ripped out from the chest up, his artificial spine breaking, shattering, shrapnel and shards flying in all directions. The top part, the one containing his head, hit the ground almost instantly, bounced on it, once, twice. His eyes still, still operational, as his internal emergency systems were sealing the oil ducts, avoiding them from emptying, keeping the vital systems active—or barely managing to.

Wally reloaded Madame Barrelfly with nonchalance, poured the last bunch of steel spheres inside it, completely ignoring his injured (or even missing?) eye and the pain it had to cause. He towered over Renka’s chest—the only part he could still control, aside from his head and half his left arm.

“You’re lucky, mate. I’ve been conditioned never to kill another sentient being—be it a man, a robot or a mutant. It’s in my brain, branded like those marks you put on cows. Were it not for that, ya’d be toast. So, lie down till I rescue my sis, yes? Someone’ll come for you, dontcha worry.”

His head jolted, his hand went to his ear. The receiver. The receiver was alive. And, through it, that dumb neko’s voice reached him.

“The chat’s out of the bag.”

He chuckled.

“Good, good.”

He started walking away from what was left of Renka, without even giving him attention, as the maimed robot was trying to roll on the floor—unsuccessfully. Then, he turned back to him.

“G’day, mate. I’m sure that, if ya just wait a little bit longer, she’ll be perfectly right.”

After saying that, he sprinted away from the room, before Renka could even think about a retort.

**

Claire put down the transmitter, sighed heavily at the sight of her ripped, sleeveless shirt. Scratches and holes on it, together with droplets of motor oil, stains all over the white fabric.

“Do you think I can get a refund from the travel insurance, Renren?”

Renzo lowered the dirty metal pipe in his hand, shrugged.

“I don’t think killer robots was on the list of acceptable threats.”

“But! But! Can’t we say it was a rabid dog? Come on, just for this time, s’il te plaît!”

“That’s insurance fraud, Claire!”

“But mon papa would…”

“Your dad is not a good role model.”

She puffed her cheeks, lowered her (equally dirty and battered) pipe too.

“Bon, then you’ll buy me a new one.”

It was his time to sigh, as he casually kicked the rests of one of the killer drones they downed. Three of them, looking like portable robots that could be folded into discs. They assaulted them as soon as they stepped out of the apartment complex, seemingly programmed to attack them. Yet, they didn’t last long against the combined weight of the two metal pipes Claire was bringing in her rucksack. Chihiro’s surprise, though, was more than evident. Those were specialized assassination drones, and yet…

“Who… who are you really?”

Renzo brushed his hair with a dramatic gesture, striking what amounted to one of his trademark ‘Renzo Poses’.

“A survivor of the Second Black Lightning Disaster, as I said before. I might be bad at fighting monsters, but I know a thing or two about regular goons. And Claire…”

He pointed his finger at her, rolled his eyes.

“… Claire is the daughter of a mafia boss and lived with her until she turned seventeen. So, there’s… huh, a lot to take in.”

She started rubbing her cheek against his chest, while purring on repeat. Causing Renzo’s face to blush and redden, almost immediately, as he started patting her hair.

“Maman taught mya very good stuff, yes! Aaaah, how I miss her! I’ll visit her in jail, when we’re back to Italy! You should come too, Renren! She’s so curious to meet the father of her future grandchildren! She even asked me how fuckable you are, on a scale from one to papa!”

“We’ll talk about it later. Or, better, never.”

Renzo kicked away the rests of the robot again. Zavira-branded, of course. Stratosphere didn’t dabble with robotics—not too much—so they had to outsource some of their supplies. He took a mental note of investigating them too, as soon as they got home. It would have been probably easier than delving deep into Stratosphere’s deepest secrets, especially after the whole Obituary debacle. Still, that was something for later. He started walking, led the group away from Building F, one hundred meter or so, to monitor the situation better. No signs of their assailants. Yet, no signs of their allies either. Chihiro stared at the building too. Mono and her friend were still inside. She bit her lip. That didn’t bode well.

“Kid, don’t die on me now…”

Renzo reached for her, rested his hand on her shoulder.

“Dr. Kishima, we should go. We can’t do anything to help them, except taking you to safety. Those two Stratosphere goons that assaulted us… it hurts to say it, but they are way out of our league. Claire and I wouldn’t last two seconds, even together. But those two blockheads…”

He brushed his hair once more, while staring at the decrepit apartment complex.

“… they have what it takes to survive.”

“You think so?”

“I’m 120% su…”

One instant later, they were lying on the ground, blasted away by a sudden shockwave.

As the whole building collapsed, in a massive, gigantic implosion.

**

Lucia growled, lost her patience, slammed her paw at the gate. A bump, a dent into the metal, but nothing more than that. She couldn’t throw it down. It was blocked from the other side and—despite her strength and the perfection her body gave her—she couldn’t breach it. The windows were bolted too, no way to simply jump out of them. No, the only alternative was to make the round trip, go back to the previous floor and go down from the other side. But, by that time, Chihiro Kishima was probably already gone.

“Damn it!”

She slammed her fists against the door to vent her frustration. Only to hear it. Laughter. She turned back, her irises scanning the warehouse room, resting on that wreck of a fat cat girl and her monstrous buddy. That woman, that absurd freak… was laughing. She had her arm completely broken and was laughing.

What’s so funny?, thought Lucia. But she didn’t say it out loud. She didn’t want to give her any satisfaction, especially since they had no chance at besting her. That foul beast, Orinoco, was barely managing to breath, while Mono… Mono was kneeling, one eye closed, as her arm was dangling down, her elbow unnaturally twisted. She was also barely standing, but her face wasn’t one of despair, or defeat.

“The cat’s outta the bag, wolfie. You… lost.”

All had started after she had snapped her limb, after that sudden moment of pain. Lucia’s ears were incredibly sensitive, they had picked up audio waves, from a concealed communicator.

‘The chat’s outta the bag.’

Almost the exact same phrase. That had to mean something. No way it didn’t, but… what? Unless…

It dawned on her, like a lightning strike. That voice. It was the French neko, the very same that dragged Dr. Kishima out. Which meant…

“NOOOOOO!”

She turned around, slammed the door once again in a fit of rage.

“Yup, wolfie, you got it. They’re gone. Safe. You lost’em.”

But the robots? How did they best the robots? She left three of those killer drones—three!—to take care of it. How come they weren’t enough? And Renka? Where in hell was Renka now? She clenched her claws, drew a long breath. Inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled. Her heartbeat fell under her control. She closed her eyes, straightened her ears, listened to the background. Everything was moving so slow, compared with her. She felt the steps of someone at the floor above—maybe a family with kids. She heard the complaints of someone living right below them, due to the noise they were making. She heard irregular steps, someone sprinting in her direction, still far. But they weren’t Renka’s steps. They were faster, had a completely different rhythm. She smelled, her nose trying to pick up any weird scent. The horrible stench of that six-legged abomination made her retch, but she endured it. There had to be something else. Scales. Grease. Blood. Iron. All coming from the corridor. Nothing good. She opened her eyes. Chihiro wasn’t anywhere inside the complex. Mono was right. Still, that wasn’t the end of it. She hadn’t thought about it before, but she—indeed—had a very powerful card to play.

Her paws grazed the floor, as she slowly approached the wounded mutant.

“Yes. I lost them, but you’re Dr. Kishima’s daughter.”

“…”

A cruel smirk opened on her face.

“Which parent wouldn’t give her life for her kid’s safety?”

Mono stepped backwards, and backwards, and backwards, up to the open side of one of the shipping containers, its closing hatch dangling left and right, still operational. Orinoco crawled to her, yelping at every step, as Lucia set the rhythm.

And, as she had finally cornered them, she offered them the most radiant smile she was capable of.

“You two will make a wonderful bargaining chip.”

**

What was left of Renka was lying down on the floor, motionless, as the dino was finally going away, leaving him to die in that derelict apartment complex. A chest with half an arm. Good, very powerful indeed. Very imposing too. Somehow, he wondered whether Dr. Kishima had already escaped. The fact that doggie hadn’t come to look for him meant that either she was bested or she was still chasing the prey. Which meant, that help wasn’t coming—not that fast. He glanced at his HUD, restored all warnings and indicators. He wanted to see how much nutrition fluid was left in his chest cavity. One hour, maybe less. That was… less than ideal. In one hour, his biological brain would have started to experience withdrawal symptoms, only to die soon after. He pondered what to do. The canisters were still around him, the dino not so far. He didn’t have enough firepower left in his hidden guns to put down the fossil, still…

One last shot, Renka. One last shot.

The plates on his chest slid away, letting a concealed, high power, single shot gun emerge. He called that The Job Blower, his last fuck-you resort. He would have smiled, if he could have. He had to use that gun only twice in his life, both times to deal with annoying opponents and sucker punch them before they even realized that was a thing. Of course, it worked only thanks to the element of surprise. In that case, no surprise at all—the dino was too far already.

“Hey, whatcha doin’ there, mate?”

Oh, wait, baby dino was still watching him, wasn’t it? His voice felt quiet, as if he was already standing outside of the room. But that was better, even better! Renka rejoiced. A witness! A witness to immortalize the last moments of Renka Solidarensk! He bursted into laughter, raised his left arm stub, towards the ceiling, as his eyes followed its motion, as his voice echoed among the metallic containers. Then, he spoke, one more time.

“Going away…”

The gun turned, but not towards Wally, no.

Towards the canisters.

“IN A BLAZE! OF GLORY!”

**

Mono backed away from Lucia, entering the container, a cul de sac. It was the end of the line. She knew it. No way out from the front. No way out from the back. She sobbed. Dying felt almost too easy, when thinking about it—but now… now she didn’t feel like it. She wanted to live. To hug her mom again. To hug Wally. And yet…

“I’m going to trade you two for your mom, Kishima. I’m sure she’ll accept it.”

Her life for her mom’s. If she allowed herself to be killed, Lucia wouldn’t have any leverage. Her mom would be safe. Yet…

Her knee failed her, caused her to crumble. No energies left. She was at her limit. Orinoco was at his limit. Both of them, standing inside an empty shipping container. With their only way out guarded by a monster—a real monster.

Then, something happened. Something unexpected. Lucia’s ears picked it up immediately, her skin too. The gravity of the situation became evident, impossible to deny. Her eyes widened, her mouth agape in an expression of pure stupor.

“That idiot…!”

She didn’t wait. She sprinted away, as if possessed by a demon. Whatever she was planning, fell into the background. The kidnapping, the exchange of hostages, her whole plan. That wasn’t important at all, not anymore. The sound wave, the shock driving through the walls, the floor the ceiling. Everything moving slow, too slow—yet, too fast. She didn’t think, she didn’t consider, she just run, leaving the cat and the beast behind. She ran away from them, at breakneck pace, towards the open gate, towards the corridor. As the columns, the walls started to crumble around her, as the floor cracked, as the screams and shouts filled her ears, in the seconds that followed the deflagration, she didn’t care anymore. She just run. But the direction was wrong. That was where the noise was coming from, the source of the explosion, of the destruction, propagating like a wave, turning concrete into rubble, plaster into wet paper. She jumped around the hallway, as the ceiling started to collapse on her. The parts falling, crashing on the ground, scattering in a shower of dust, as she sprinted towards the stairs, avoiding whatever fell from above, reaching for the exit. Then, the floor opened, right under her. She slipped, her claw grabbing the border of the breach, stubbornly refusing to loosen its grip. Only for a door to crash on her, from the floor above.

And making her fall into an endless void.

**

It was with horror that Chihiro stared at the nightmare in front of her eyes. The Kiku apartment complex was no more. The five floors, the countless flats, the decrepit corridors, the broken windows.

All.

Gone.

In their place, an unending wasteland of charred rubble, rests of walls, bent rebars, splattered plaster, cables, hardware, wood splinter, doors, thrashed children toys. Her flat—Mono’s flat—was gone too. All her photos. All their little memories together.

All.

Gone.

Which… which would have been acceptable if… if…

“VALENTINEEEEEE!”

She kneeled on the dirt, shouted from the bottom of her lungs. Her kid. Her kid was… She was barely keeping her tears at bay. Mono… Orinoco… they were…

“God… dammit.”

That gruff voice… the voice of someone who survived hell, by jumping from the window at the second floor as soon as he saw where that bastard pointed his gun. The voice of a raptor with several broken bones and a missing eye, barely managing to stand, kept from collapsing only by Renzo’s support and Claire’s first aid kits.

“Fat cat…”

He tapped his ear, with his aching, yet still functioning hand.

“Can… can ya hear me… sis?”

Claire sighed, caressed his head, as she was bandaging his eye socket, cleaning up the blood.

“That thing is one-way only, remember?”

Renzo jolted as she said that, as something switched on inside his brain. He went for Claire’s bag, browsed it until he found a small device. He activated it, looked at it. And saw it.

“Dr. Kishima! The tracker!”

Chihiro wiped her eyes. The guy was showing her something. A display? Renzo was frantic, didn’t even let her focus her vision. He was indicating it, a beeping point on a crude map.

“Mono had a receiver in her ear, just like us! It had a position sensor too! And…”

Chihiro stared blankly at the display, at the point shown there. It was…

“It’s… it’s moving!”

She stepped up, on her short legs, ran towards the rubble, towards what was left of that broken mess of a building, adventured through its ghastly remains. Wally tried to stand up, but that wasn’t possible. His legs refused to abide by his will. He growled, fell down, in the arms of Renzo.

“We’ll take care of it, Wally. Wait for us here.”

“B… but… she’s my sis! I…”

He tried to stand up, yet again, but his legs didn’t cooperate. His broken bones weren’t giving him any rest. He had to accept it. He drew a long breath, sat down. Then, he took out a cigar from his pocket, lighted it up.

“F… fine. I’ll… I’ll wait.”

But Chihiro didn’t wait. She had already started her survey, crossed the threshold, moved around the fragments of what was once a palace. Renzo and Claire went after her, followed at a short distance. Suddenly, she saw something. She averted her gaze, closed her eyes. A hand. A human hand. Crushed under concrete. Claire kneeled, touched it. Stone cold. No pulse. She shook her head, uttered something akin to a prayer, under her breath. Chihiro tried to keep herself from retching, instead. And he saw another one. And another one. She delved her face into her palms.

Death.

Death was all around them.

Around every corner.

Sirens blaring in the distance. Police, paramedics, firefighters. All zeroing on the location of the disaster. Renzo reached for Chihiro, massaged her shoulders.

“We don’t have a lot of time, doctor. Please…”

She nodded, without saying a word, forced herself to look forward, never to move her gaze. They were near. They ignored everything else around them. Just followed the signal. For Chihiro. For Mono. Until they saw it. A pile of shipping containers. Thrashed, compressed, ruined, scratched. But, surprisingly, intact. Renzo stared at the display, looked at the pile again.

“She’s… she’s there! She’s there!”

Chihiro didn’t wait. She stumbled among the rubble, reached for the metallic structures.

“Valentine! VALENTINE! Are you there? Can you hear me?”

Silence.

“V… Valentine?”

Suddenly, a thump. Another one. And another one. Claire listened to it for a couple seconds, tracked it, turned around.

“There! On the right! Follow mya!”

She ran around the pile, until she found it. Right under the others, with one side open. She stopped before peeking inside, though. She didn’t have the heart to.

What if…

Chihiro grabbed her shoulder, threw her towards Renzo, made way for herself. Her voice weak, her breath heavy.

“Valentine…?”

In the shadows of the container, she was lying down. Her arm twisted, broken, but her will still intact, here body bruised, but still functioning. And a darker shape too, resting on her, yelping for the pain, yet still living.

“Hey… mom… I…”

But Chihiro had stopped listening. She jumped into the container, hugged her daughter.

And her tears flew like a waterfall.

**

“Welcome back, my little stray lamb!”

His sight was restored. He could see, again. And he didn’t like what he saw. The smiling, punchable face of Mr. Magnifico, Little G himself, staring at him—or what was left of him—through his Mezzalenco “Suprema” red glasses (which cost five to six times those he could afford). That could only mean one out of three things.

1. He was alive

2. He was dead and Greschnik was—indeed—God

3. He was having a near-death experience and—somehow—Little G had broken into it

Absent evidence for hypothesis number two (he truly did wish that was not the case), only one and three still had some merit. Whatever the case, he was screwed.

His field of vision enlarged. Little G wasn’t alone. He recognized the tactical gear. Ghost. The Third Angel, Lemur’s twin sister. What did Little G and she do there? Where was there? When was there?

“I see you are still confused, Renka-chan. Even if I should be the confused one. Care to explain to me how this happened?”

He gestured at a television set on the wall, the camera feed from that damn apartment complex. News in Japanese, something he couldn’t read. He didn’t even want a module installed into his brain for that. Foreigners weren’t something he had any interest into. The deader they were, the better, but that wasn’t how his boss saw it. Renka decided it was a good moment for his voice synthesizer to suffer a catastrophic failure. Silence would have been the best answer, especially if he wasn’t responsible for it. Yet, Lady Luck wasn’t on his side. At all.

“I…”

His voice came out, loud and clear. Great, he thought, of everything that could have survived the explosion, his voice synthesizer? Absolutely great. He gathered the necessary courage, knowing he had no choice but to gamble it all on that.

“I have a preeeetty good explanation, boss. Yes. A very, very good one.”

“Which would be?”

“It’s all doggie’s fault.”

Greschnik cracked a smile, one of those smiles that would have felt at home in a horror movie. Insincere, fake, hiding some sort of repressed feeling.

“Ah, yes, doggie. Lucia, my faithful Seventh Angel… who’s currently MIA.”

“Wait. She kicked the bucket? Really? Oh, finally, finally some good news!”

“We aren’t sure… yet. Her tracker has gone silent and without Angel drugs, she won’t survive long—if she hasn’t died yet. But, indeed, she’s on our hit list if she ever comes back. Her behavior was… reprehensible.”

“Well said! See? You can’t trust them Angels!”

Ghost gazed at him, squinted her eyes under her helmet. That was utter disgust—disgust for Renka. It was fine, since he felt the same about her and the other Angels. Still, that begged the question of how he was saved. If someone as durable and resilient as doggie was gone and buried, then…

“Wait… then, how…”

“Oh, don’t fret, Renka-chan. Don’t fret. We are still in the process of reactivating your brain. You were pretty dead, down there. It must have been nice to slowly switch off, as your feeding fluid got depleted, isn’t it? Drifting away, knowing that no god exists… except me. But wait, hell exists, right? Or, rather, existed.”

Oh. That was it. That was the point where he had to feel really guilty.

“In my defense, I just followed doggie’s order. True, I was a little bit concerned that burning down the Screamer’s body in the incinerator—as she asked me to do—might have caused some small setbacks for the experiments. And, true, murdering all those escaped scientists didn’t really sound like a good idea, but—hey—she could blow my head off, if I didn’t do as commanded. And I’m a cyborg, not a robot. No backups, amirite? See? I was a victim… of the circumstances. I just followed my Angel’s order, as you ordered, chief.”

“About that cyborg thing…”

Oh, no. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like Greschnik’s grin. That was going to be something bad, horrifyingly bad.

“… well, I have good news for you, Renka-chan. Your brain, your biological brain, is—well—dead.”

“C… come again?”

Horrifyingly. Bad.

“It was in such a sorry state. Not enough nourishment. Poor thing. But don’t worry, thanks to your implants, we managed to map your neurons and transfer your memories—most of them—into a backup replica brain. It’s a crude solution, yes, but think about it—now, you are virtually immortal… as long as the failsafe virus doesn’t wipe your data, that is.”

More than. Horrifyingly. Bad. Not only he was deader than dead—they desecrated his mortal remains to bring him back from the hereafter and, as a result of their ungodly meddling, he woke up as a machine. Great. Absolutely great. Still, somehow, he felt like the worst part had yet to come. As if Greschnik had listened to his thoughts, he started talking again.

“But, see… you have broken my trust, Renka-chan. You could have contacted me, after those absurd requests. You could have raised the problem. But no, you blindly followed a jealous Fallen Angel’s whim, just because she couldn’t see the beauty of my plan, of the betterment of our organization, of the creation of new Angels. Thus, you betrayed Startosphere. You betrayed ME. And breaking my trust… is a cardinal sin, Renka-chan. So, before you are implanted in a new body…”

He smirked. A devilish smirk, from side to side of his face. If Renka could have had a heart infarct, he would have had one.

“… you’ll serve some time as a support automaton for the clean-up team…”

“Excuse you?!”

“… for the next three months.”

Renka audibly sighed. That was worse than dying and finding out Greschnik was God. Not only he didn’t manage to meet the Creator—something his original self probably did. No, now he was turned into a digital replica, an immortal slave to Stratosphere… and all his humanity was gone, in an explosion of flammable gas. That, incidentally, razed a whole city block. Aaaand probably killed doggie too. He would have shaken his head, if he had one.

Hell was real.

And he was living it.

**

“… twenty-five victims reported, with around as many wounded. No official statement has been issued yet, but the first reports seem to agree on a gas leak that…”

Wally growled, rolled his surviving eye. The hospital bed wasn’t the most comfortable he had lied onto, but he couldn’t complain. If anything, his only regret was not being able to smoke, but that was probably better for his lungs. He let out another growl. His body was a mess. His arms were more or less unscathed, but his legs needed much more time to get back to an acceptable shape—a question of several days, with a new nanomachine treatment, or of several months, if he couldn’t afford it. The second one felt more realistic, but—hey—he didn’t want to sound pessimistic. At least, Mono had it lighter. That friggin’ container really saved her life. That was such a stroke of luck that it felt almost unearned. Maybe, it was the influence of those Japanese kami—or however they were called—that the tourists on his rickshaw loved to mention. Maybe it was karma for helping save Euterpe, two years before. Or maybe, just another bloody coincidence. That world loved bloody coincidences, after all.

He growled, one more time. Musing on the reason for their survival wasn’t going to change things. Twenty-five people had died, including three children. Wally looked at the drawing, the drawing that he always brought with him. He couldn’t save them. He couldn’t save them again. Even if he didn’t know them, he didn’t see them even once, their lives were robbed, broken, because of a fight he was involved into. He tried to drive that thought away, focus on something else to calm down, maybe enjoy the quiet a little. Or at least he would have, if Mono stopped talking with her noisy guests.

“… and here’s a rice cake I’ve baked for you, kid! I’ll help you eat it, don’t make a mess!”

“Mom, I still have one functioning arm, okay? I’m not that crippled!”

“No complaining! Say aaaaaaah!”

He smirked at the sight of Chihiro driving that big spoon into Mono’s mouth, as if she was still a baby ‘roo. Well, things could have gone better, but there was a silver lining. Somehow. And that silver lining was staring at him, yapping his vestigial tail while showing his two tongues. Such a charming little fella. Wally had fallen in love with him as soon as he saw him. He patted his head, that black mane still covered in gauze, as his four eyes met those of the dinosaur. Li’l good boy, that Orinoco critter. Still not sure what he was supposed to be, but he’d take whatever species over a pet koala. True, those bioluminescent bands reminded him of something he preferred to forget, but there ain’t a chance that cutie was half a noctiphage, or?

“I’m surprised you’re getting along with him so well, Wally.”

Oh, yeah. The other guests. The neko and her fuckboy. He wondered why they hadn’t already gone screwing each other in a cupboard, instead of bothering him, but that wasn’t a question he could ask politely. So, he decided to play along.

“Li’l ‘Noco here’s a fine fella. I wish he didn’t look so much like one of those night mozzies, but one can’t have everything.”

He let Orinoco go for Claire, watched him rubbing himself on her legs. Then, his eye got sidetracked by the name plate on his bed.

Wally Kishima.

That had been odd, but apparently it was the only way to avoid being extradited to Australia immediately. So, Wally Kishima was it, a dino created by Dr. Kishima when she was still working at RealLifeAnime and never officially registered. He could live with that too, albeit he liked Alba better, as a surname. But—oh, well—beggars can’t be choosers. He was already relieved that he didn’t have to deal with that issue, at least.

“So, what’s your plan, after you get all patched up? Back to New Langdon?”

“With another two months of travel in the belly of an illegal fishing ship? No way in Outback, grommet!”

“Yeah, we’re ftaying in Tokyo a liffle bit longer.”

It was Mono, who chimed in, her mouth still half filled with cake. Wally didn’t really like Japan. He didn’t even want to learnt he language, but chances were, that taking roots there would be the sanest thing to do—at least, until that Shingensha chore was solved. No lies, when Mr. Magnifico himself showed up sooner at the hospital and made everyone else leave the room (nurses, doctors, even other patients) except them and Dr. Kishima, he felt like he was witnessing a rare specimen of rich white manchild in his natural environment. But, overall, the arrangement was pleasant, despite him being so notorious. They agreed to keep their mouths shut about project Charon, he agreed to keep his mouth shut about the whole condo fight, Chihiro got a good recommendation letter for another company and they were allowed to keep Orinoco with them as a pet. A win-win, since he cared jack about that dandy mofo. Yet, Renzo wasn’t thrilled about the whole ordeal. Whatever stakes the grommet had, though, weren’t as important to Wally as what Mono had to gain for it. He rubbed the gauze around his dead eyelid. His mind went straight at Gruda again. That fella had lost his sight due to a nice mozzie and managed to laugh it up. If ye old Gruda could do that, he could do that as well. Worse case scenario, prosthetics were cheap as heck, even if probably not raptor-sized. He looked down at Orinoco again, while the critter was still yappin’ at the neko. He asked himself how much he could have netted at the black market, before shaking his head and slapping his own cheek to punish his own absolute idiocy. ‘Noco saved Mono’s and Chihiro’s lives. Selling him would have been a betrayal, immoral and evil. Wally wasn’t a nice guy, but wasn’t an ungrateful mofo either.

“Does it hurt? The eye, I mean.”

Renzo, though, had a penchant for asking the wrong thing at the wrong time. That made it even harder for him to keep at least an appearance of nicety.

“Any other stupid questions, mate? I dunno, ask me if water’s wet or if kangaroos smell like dung.”

“H… uh, sorry.”

“Sorry your momma.”

He growled (once again). Quiet was broken, so, at least, he could ask something in turn.

“Whatcha yer lovebirds doin’, now? Goin’ back to vegemitin’ Euterpe? Seems like ya’re a little disappointed.”

Renzo shrugged, sank into his seat.

“We didn’t came here for nothing, at least. The results weren’t as good as expected, but I’ll take anything. At least, we managed to see an Angel in action and survive, which is… well, more than I could have asked for.”

He pointed his thumb at Claire, without turning around.

“As for what we’re going to do… I’ve promised her a true vacation, somewhere far from Stratosphere, monsters, mad scientists, investigations and chaingears. Maybe we’ll go to some nice place around Tokyo, possibly with an onsen. She really does want to try one... aaand I owe her big time.”

“If ya need a good love hotel for rockin’ yer best night, call uncle Wally. I’ve gotta some good reccs, they sponsor’d my rickshaw. Nice fellas, the managers, despite being yakuza.”

“I… think I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.”

Wally’s faulty gaze allowed itself to wander around the room. Mono and her momma, Renzo, Claire and li’l ‘Noco. Too many people for his tastes—and, yet, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at ease. Maybe, remaining in Japan a little bit longer wasn’t such a bad idea. Time to cool down, make some money, help Chihiro find a new job…

It was weird, for someone stuck in the past, to be looking forward to his future. He glanced at the drawing once again, opened it in his palm. And, for the first time, he found the strength to smile at it.

**

Another wave crashed on the side of the Mattanza. The see was everything but quiet, that night. Yet, it wasn’t a problem, down in the cargo bay, where the fish were kept before being sent to the freezing rooms. If anything, there was more of it than ever, an unexpected abundance. Which made the two or three that went missing every day even harder to spot. A ray of light coming from the small circular windows, the only one in the absolute darkness of the bay. A ray outlining a weird, minute silhouette. An animal, at a first glance, with brown fur and very sharp claws on all her four paws. Yet, as the fur went sparser and the human skin began, it wasn’t that clear anymore. The golden eyes shining in the dark made it even harder to classify—yet she was unmistakably female. The silhouette dove her head in the pile of fish, her fangs hungrily ripping one out of it, chewing the meat out of the thin bones, gulping it down in a frenzy. All while wrapped in a ripped, tattered cape.

A cape redder than blood.