"HELP ME!"
The helmet gang member scrambled down the alleyway. The nighttime lamplight grew scarce farther within, and soon the gangster was running in near-darkness. She braced herself as though going for a tackle, abandoning the idea of dodging the trashcans and boxes enveloped in the darkness. Her legs caught on something, and she rolled on the ground before careening around a corner to bump into a thug.
"Watch it!" the thug said.
"You – you gotta-"
"Hold on, I don't know you."
The helmet gangster peeked around the corner. "Scatter!"
"What are you talking about?"
Instead of answering, the gangster shoved past the thug and continued their dead-sprint.
The thug scoffed. "I knew I shouldn't have come to Abydos. The gangsters here are so poor they started a theater troupe." The thug laughed at her own joke as she turned the corner. Seven plus one shots sounded. The helmet gangster threw herself forward with more fervor.
The helmet gangster broke through into an open street. It was a shopping strip; some stores had lights in their windows. The gangster cupped her hands so her voice would travel farther. "HEEELP!"
For a couple of moments, she considered whether wearing a helmet had muffled her pleas, but then the shops, one-by-one, turned off their lights or put down their blinds.
Click… click… click. The sound of shotgun shells being loaded from behind her.
The road was wide but deserted. The helmet gangster cut a diagonal line across it, aiming for another alley's opening. For a moment, she saw the sheen of a helmet visor peeking out.
Boom.
A splitting pain exploded from the gangster's back. Her legs locked underneath her, and she splayed out on the asphalt. Her breathing became sharp. She craned her neck up to look into the alleyway, and there were helmets piled up and thrown into a trashcan. The topmost helmet was roughly at the level that one would expect for a standing second-year. An all-chilling cold passed through her.
It took every ounce of strength for the gangster to lie on her side. Even while supporting herself with her right arm, she couldn't turn all the way to face her assailant. The slow rustle of footsteps on asphalt grew closer.
Boom.
The helmet gangster gave a shaking squeal. That shot hit her left arm and side. Her supporting arm gave out, and she hit her helmet on the asphalt.
Boom… boom, boom.
All three shots went into her back, each extracting a warbling squeak as if she were a dog's chew toy. Even with the protection of a halo, the repetition made every movement elicit an echo of the impacts.
The helmet gangster's voice was barely a whisper. "I… just thought… the helmets looked cool."
Boom-boom.
And the gangster dreamed of helmeted sheep.
The morning was still, like a moment extended in time. The night had withdrawn with little fanfare; the sunrise lost its splendor behind the labyrinth of mid-rise buildings. What little memory of the night resided in the chill of the concrete. In this way, it was as though that night had only existed for Hoshino and nobody else, as she stirred to consciousness alone in an alleyway – that chill sunken deep in her body.
Hoshino had a dream of the desert. The dunes crashed like waves, and she drowned – then, like a castaway, she washed up on a dune.
Another sunrise, another skyline – another trace of Yume.
Running again.
Storming again.
Drowned.
Her head was full of sand. Adding a single thought on top might tip her forward: falling, drowning.
Another sunrise, another skyline.
Hoshino twisted to the side, and her stomach heaved. Nothing came out. The nausea of overexertion had exacted its toll three times already last night, and there was nothing left to take.
With some effort, Hoshino sat up and supported herself on the alley's wall, hugging her shotgun to her legs. She rested her chin on her knees. For some time, there was not a single movement in that alley: no cats stirring, no bugs crawling, no wind blowing. Not a single thought stirred in Hoshino's mind, either. All the tears had dried on her face, all the rage expended on her shotgun's trigger. Now there was only the aftermath.
"Why… Yume?" After all this repetition, it was as though Hoshino were hearing someone else speak it. "I would have went… if you asked."
Speaking a phantom promise required a special enforcer, someone who could make this exchange set in stone – bring forth and tie one thread connecting the afterlife and one connecting the world of the living.
Perhaps this is when it happened, when it all began falling down: when that phantom promise attracted a passerby, and that passerby's business was exchanging wishes on paper.
Footsteps sounded at the end of the alleyway, coming closer. Hoshino kept her gaze lowered and waited for them to pass, but they didn't.
"My people told me seven gangs were dispersed last night." The voice of a man spoke. His smooth baritone wandered in a way that betrayed knowledge. "Was that your doing?"
Hoshino looked up.
Black. That was the first thought that came to mind: black shoes, black pants, black tie. A white dress shirt broke the motif. It crept under his suit and peeked out at his wrists, where cracks in black stone spanned the interval where his sleeves ended and his black gloves began. The glowing fractures hinted at a torso – possibly, whole body – riddled with them, but the man didn't seem to be in pain. His smile broke towards the sides of his head, like a malicious promise kept. His eye was a single glowing bullet hole that emanated fog. Half of his head was broken onyx, yet he spoke to her. The man had a sense of undeath about him, as though he were part fiction. Hoshino made the connection: corporate. He was a scion of those corporations that put Abydos in dire straits then left when the goings got tough; even if corporations were a legal fiction, their impacts were undeniably real. Yume had spent her entire tenure as President pressuring these suits to take responsibility.
The man awaited Hoshino's answer.
"Tch." Hoshino started. "What does a… Black Suit want with me?"
The man's chin dipped an inch. Hoshino imagined if his face weren't set in stone, he would be smiling wider in approval of the nickname. "Abydos has become such a low-trust society. Is it so strange that I might approach you? Us patriots have to stick together, after all."
"You're making fun of me." Hoshino leaned back, then rocked forward onto her feet to stand up. She dusted off her skirt and vest. Her shotgun was supported by a strap thrown around her shoulders. Black Suit couldn't help but notice Hoshino's finger resting on the trigger. Hoshino spoke, "We aren't remotely the same. You don't need me to explain it to you." Hoshino turned to leave.
"What is there to explain? We aren't strangers," Black Suit spoke from behind her. "The Student Council has had many corporate partners throughout the years. Those of us that have remained should get some credit, don't you think?"
Hoshino stopped in her tracks without turning around. An ominous intuition bubbled up. "Who… do you represent?"
Footsteps slowly clacked from behind her. Black Suit was now one stride behind her. He spoke: "Kaiser Corporation."
It felt as though her blood flowed backwards. Hoshino whipped around to meet his eyes.
Black Suit covered his mouth with the back of his hand, suppressing laughter. "No need to get so up in arms. We have had such a good working relationship up until now, haven't we?"
Hoshino tried to remember when was the last payment on the debt. Yume was the one who handled the Council's transactions. The titanic debt the Council took on to fight the desertification of Abydos made paying the interest a monthly crisis. "I'm certain… our finances are in order." Her voice didn't emanate certainty. "I wasn't expecting a visit so soon."
"Be at ease. Although I'm informed on your council's debt, that's not my current focus. Today, I'm on a personal mission."
A personal mission? Suspicion gave Hoshino pause. She shook her head. "Then that's not my problem. I have no business with you."
Black Suit put his hands into his pants pockets. "As the Vice President, I'm surprised you'd say that. With what little goes on, I thought most if not all of what happens in Abydos is your business."
"You know what I mean!" Hoshino barked. "I don't trust you. Don't talk to me – and don't track me down again, creep, or else I'll make you regret it!" Hoshino marched away from the man in black.
Hoshino resolved to leave this time, but with every step she took, it felt as though her shadow were growing longer behind her; an ephemeral noose tightened around her neck. She felt as though she were running, and a leash was about to go taut and choke her.
"Say, Hoshino," Black Suit spoke from behind her. "Do you want to know where Yume is?"
A/N:
Synecdoche: a figure of speech in which a part of a thing is used to signify the whole, or vice versa.
Example: Suits (signifies people in business)
Source: literarydevices dot net/synecdoche
The sinister ideas I have for this fic are growing. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. See you next time.