January 4th, 2044

  07:55 AM

  Central Ward

  Sunset District

  Saburo? had always thought himself fortunate, finding himself a shelter right in the middle of downtown. It was the oddest thing, his little hiding spot. He’d heard that much of the city around him had been prefabricated and brought to life not by years of civic planning and natural growth, but through the actions of machines and architects whose minds he couldn’t begin to understand. The city made a cold, logical sense, but only in the broadest strokes. The harbors on the furthest reaches of the island with roads connected to the massive highways that could travel the breadth of Yo?gai-shima, and an intricate rail system that could move the travelling public freely from one stop to the next like a well-oiled machine. That kind of thing. The small things, the overlooked details, that was where things got strange.

  In their haste to put a city on Yo?gai-shima, its makers hadn’t quite had the time to go over every detail with a fine-tooth comb. Sometimes building shared walls, ventilation shafts, or power lines when they shouldn’t. Sometimes you’d open a door only to find a wall behind it, or maybe you’d see a staircase leading nowhere. “Bugs in the system,” the people in the world above called it. But the people that lived down below, people like Saburo?, they called them “mouseholes.” A decade on, and the people living in the city had caught on to the little holes made by the hasty construction of Japan’s last metropolis and most of them had been plugged up or built over, but not all of them.

  To the poor, the downtrodden, those at risk of deportation, or even the gangs, a mousehole was something to treasure. A forgotten door could bypass security, an untended powerline could be tapped for any number of reasons, and an unmarked passage could save you from any number of people looking for trouble, be they with the Immigration Force, or the toughs from the harbor. Having spent four of the last five years below ground, Saburo? had discovered his fair share of mouseholes. He’d lost a few of them to other homeless people that pushed him out when he’d made the mistake of trusting them, but his most recent discovery was the best of all.

  An entire room with its own power. It was connected to the labyrinthine tunnels that ran beneath the city where endless levees and pumps worked to keep the island afloat amidst a hostile sea. Many homeless wandered down into the tunnels and sewers of Yo?gai-shima, driven there by the endless surveillance of the city above. It was either that, or risk being rounded up off the streets. But Saburo? had shelter, warmth, power and safety, and all it took was a little shimmying through a pipe to get in and out of his den.

  He wasn’t sure what purpose the room was ever intended to serve, seeing as it was just below ground level and had no ordinary entrances or exits. Perhaps it was originally intended to be a basement, but it was never connected properly to the building above. Maybe whatever programmer or architect had designed the city just copied and pasted the room above and forgot to doublecheck their work. It really didn’t matter to Saburo?; he was just glad it was here.

  His mousehole was a twenty-foot-wide open cube with a ten-foot-high ceiling. The walls were unpainted drywall, and the floor was concrete, but the ceiling was made up of insulation and wood, with numerous wires and pipes crossing back and forth. There were no lights or sconces built into the walls, but it had outlets connected to the rest of the building, so Saburo? could bring a small reading light down into the darkness with him if he needed it.

  Anything he thought of as valuable, he kept down here. Old coins he brought with him from Tokyo. Pictures of his family. The handful of clothes he still had and his old burnt-out ID. And his books. Those were the most important. Even as his eyes went dimmer, he struggled to read every night in the dim light. Those printed words on coverless sheafs of paper were his only escape from the hell his life had become. Religious pamphlets, old novels, newspapers: it didn’t matter what they were. Just the act of reading connected him to different places, and to memories of a time and place when he was loved and wanted.

  But perhaps the most important thing about his shelter was where it was located: beneath a bakery. It was a one-story shop, unaware of its disconnected basement and by climbing through a ventilation duct, Saburo? found it possible to get right into the shop itself. Up through the walls and then into the ceiling, getting into the bakery was as simple as crawling out of a vent and climbing down into the kitchen.

  Despite his circumstances, Saburo? held himself as a man of honor. He never stooped to thievery, even when times were tough. At least, not in his eyes. He never touched the money or the fresh food the couple that ran the store made. Instead, he always settled for baked goods that hadn’t been sold and whatever else he could find in the trash. He was always careful to clean up after himself, doing his best not to leave a sign of his presence, lest his last refuge be taken away.

  He was cautious even about using his little reading light for more than an hour and whenever the proprietors came in, he was as quiet as a mouse, just listening to them go about their business above. He would lay there for hours until the noise stopped, waiting for the sound of the lights being turned off, the bell above the door ringing, and finally the key clicking in the lock. Down in the dark, time slowly lost its meaning. With no sun or moon to tell the time by, Saburo? simply stayed in the shadows, dreaming about another life. Today, initially, seemed it would be no different.

  Scratching his itching beard, the spindly old man lay on his side, considering his growling stomach. He was hungry, but that wasn’t new. He was always hungry, and his skeletal frame was proof of that. But he was certainly hungrier than he liked to be. Perhaps it was time to go upstairs for a snack? He remembered the smell of something Ms. Mami baked yesterday wafting down through the insulation and, boy, it made Saburo?’s mouth water. He hoped there was still some left.

  But as his eyes scanned the dark ceiling above him, his ears told him that wouldn’t be possible. He could hear noises and groanings from the floorboards above. Something or someone was moving around up there and that meant Saburo? had to stay down below. Maybe the Mamis were opening up for the day? Sitting up, Saburo? listened in the dark for the sound of muffled voices, but he heard nothing. Just the groaning of the floorboards.

  Something didn’t sound right. As he strained his ears, the sounds shifted. There was a sudden clatter as something heavy fell to the floor above and Saburo? jumped in response. Maybe someone had broken in? That was his first thought, but what could Saburo? do if he was right? Trying to stop a burglar would only reveal himself. More groaning from the floor above, clicking and popping noises forming a chorus. As Saburo? stared up at the ceiling, he felt something cold and wet hit his face and he fell on his back with a cry. Reaching up to his forehead, he whisked away the fluid with a hand and held it to his nose, sniffing it, then, touching it with his tongue.

  It was water. Plain water. A pipe upstairs must have sprung a leak, he thought. Before he could fully process just what was happening, streams of water began flowing down from the ceiling, splashing into Saburo?’s dark dwelling somewhere out of sight. The floorboards screamed under intense pressure and Saburo? scrambled for his small reading light, holding it up in the darkness to stare at the ceiling, the structure now spiderwebbed with fractures and leaking water. His eyes widened in alarm and the floor of the building above burst apart, raining down splintered wood, metal, and broken furniture from above.

  He found himself laying on his back, immersed in ice-cold water while staring up at a hole in the ceiling. Up above him, the wind howled through the hole in the top of his tiny world. So dark he could barely see it, flashes of lightning revealed a cloudy sky above. A storm had rolled into Yo?gai-shima, and its fury had torn the roof off of the bakery and flooded the tiny shop until the floor couldn’t bear the weight any longer. Now, wind and rain fell down into Saburo?’s pit, carrying pots and pans and furniture down like deadly hail.

  Saburo? quickly scrambled about in the waist deep water, looking for an exit from his shelter. He waded past his old mementos and books as they floated by, ignoring the sounds of knives and shards of broken glass as they splashed all around him. He tripped over broken chairs and tables as he felt around the walls for the shaft that would take him back down to the tunnels beneath the city, where he hoped to find some relative safety.

  However, the downpour of water had beaten him to the exit. With the vent low and close to the ground, the first deluge of water from above had raced out through the small shaft and the current carried along broken chunks of the roof and parts of the collapsed ceiling. The loose assortment of rubble had been drawn to the vent and blocked it up, forming a dam that trapped Saburo and the water in the room. The old man spent several minutes desperately struggling with the wall of debris until the water rose up to his chest and his hands went numb from the cold.

  “Hey!” Saburo? cupped his hands to his mouth and called out to the building above, his voice uneven and strained, having not spoken to anyone in so long. “Is anyone up there? I need help!” he pleaded to the storm, but if his soft words even made it out to the street, they were swallowed up by the howling wind.

  “Please,” Saburo? whimpered a prayer in the dark, folding his hands under the water as it rose about his shoulders. “Please, please, save me!” He didn’t rightly know who or what he was praying to and right now, he didn’t care who answered. A buzzing sound began to burn in his ears as the adrenaline ran out and despair settled in. Not knowing what to do, not even being able to think, Saburo? wept warm tears that ran down his cheeks and touched the cold water that was racing up his chin.

  The small opening in the ceiling began to grow dark as furniture and debris from the roof swept over the gap. Darkness fell over the old man’s face, and he began to weep hysterically, coughing out the water that flooded into his mouth. He turned his eyes straight up toward the dark, his body going numb in the cold water. The rising tide lifted him toward the blocked-up ceiling where detritus concealed all hope of escape, but refused to stop the water that continued to pour down through gaps in the barricade of broken roofing. Saburo? felt his head brush against the ceiling as he struggled to tread water and he desperately lifted his hands to run against the surface above him, hoping that maybe he could find a loose plank he could pull away to get out. But the rubble refused to budge, and the waters rose over his head.

  Saburo? had always thought himself fortunate.

  January 4th, 2044

  07:55 AM

  Central Ward

  Iron District

  Nanbu Naoya

  Rain pounded down on the streets of Japan’s last city; the side effects of a sea-storm whipped up by the Pacific Ocean. Towering skyscrapers rose high into the sky, their tips poking at the ceiling of swirling grey clouds that turned the early day into a lightless morning. Thunder rumbled from lightning unseen behind the grey veil, the roar descending into the city and mixing with the sounds of the populace waking up.

  North of the Central Ward, Getto?-dake, the man-made mountain, stood tall in the face of the storm as if to encourage the metropolis that lived eternally in its shadow. The slopes of the mountain had been cut and carved away near the base, scars from when the mountain’s flesh was harvested to serve as construction materials for the city built around it. The western side of the mountain served as a home for Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines, erected in memoriam of the countless places of worship left behind on Honshu, but the south face of the mountain was the playground of politicians, not gods.

  Through the storm, the lights of the Cabinet Grounds and the Government District shined like lighthouses through the mist. Erected on a plateau above the rest of the Central Ward, the politicians had a lofty perch from whence they could look out over the city they governed and across the sea. Perhaps they could even see the old Japan from their vantage?

  Down the water-logged highways, autonomous vehicles sped to their preprogrammed destinations, heedless of the inclement weather. Windowless and almost insectoid in appearance, the computer-controlled vehicles moved in complete sync, occupying the far-right lane to form a convoy. Built in remembrance of Tokyo’s motorways, those survivors fortunate enough to find their way to Yo?gai-shima swiftly found personal vehicles almost entirely impractical, relying instead on the elaborate railways provided by the city instead. As such, the highways were almost solely used by AI transports shipping goods from the city’s harbors to storehouses in every district. Today had one exception.

  The four-lane highway was marked with glowing holographic markings rather than paint or physical barriers, enabling the thoroughfare to be repurposed at any time for traffic going in any direction. Weaving across the drenched concrete, ignoring lane markings as it went, was a black car. It was a wide machine, a Japanese muscle car, with smooth sides and a sloping hood but with a front and rear that had hard, sharp angles.

  Sending up walls of water that splashed against the windowless transport trucks on either side, the machine roared as it sped over the road without concern. The inside of the car was pure elegance, with black genuine leather heated seats, a sound dampening interior that made the storm outside a distant hum, and a dashboard of shining electronic lights with a built-in Omen, communications technology that enabled near instant calls across the city, music, holographic displays, and more. The only thing that marred the interior was the faint smell of cigarette smoke, only barely blunted by the minty smell of an air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror.

  “Nanbu Naoya,” thought the man in the passenger seat as he stared out the window to his left. “Age 26. Starting a new job. Again. Weather forecast? Grim. Relationship forecast? Somehow worse.”

  His eyes scanned the city skyline as the car closed in toward the Iron District, the chunk of Central Ward the city’s largest businesses had carved out for themselves. Towering skyscrapers that took up entire city blocks dominated the Iron District. “City Towers,” they were called. Not only did they serve as a corporate headquarters, but as dormitories for employees, shopping centers; any amenity you could think of was contained within the gargantuan buildings. Alien in design and titanic, the City Towers shared sky bridges between each other, creating a web of above ground walkways that eliminated the need for ground vehicles.

  Even from a distance, Naoya could make out the silhouettes of the three largest buildings. Belonging to the most powerful corporations in Yo?gai-shima, collectively known as the Conglomerate, the three towers competed for height and glory, with Black Mountain Manufacturing’s foreboding fortress construction and the intimidating set of bronze horns at its peak casting a deep shadow over Central. Even from a distance, the sight of the Iron District filled Naoya with a strange wanderlust, imagining the heart of Yo?gai-shima’s corporate world to be something truly alien. Inevitably, he had to remind himself of the harsh reality that he wouldn’t be working there.

  While the largest businesses enjoyed the countless luxuries afforded them in their private retreats, the smaller businesses were forced to make do with more conventional means. Pushed to the fringes, the buildings on the outskirts of the Iron District looked like plain angular office buildings that could have been copied from anywhere else in the world. The smaller businesses had to share the grey bland workspaces. That was where Naoya would be spending his time, every day. At least, until he lost this job as well.

  His eyes wandered away from the city, catching the sight of himself in the car’s left mirror. Staring at his reflection, Naoya found that he didn’t recognize himself. It was an all-too-common feeling, these days. Forced into a short sleeved white dress shirt and a pair of black slacks, Naoya felt as though he were wearing someone else’s clothes. They felt too small and tight to his brawny frame, such that he worried that even a light stretch would cause them to tear. His hair gel was already coming unstuck, as per usual, and his black-brown hair was beginning to spool out wildly. A pair of non-prescription glasses had been forced on him in an attempt to make him seem like a presentable office worker, but whenever he checked his reflection in the car’s mirror, he saw a man with unruly hair, fiery eyebrows, and intense amber eyes glaring back at him instead. He almost felt like a caveman playing dress up.

  The only thing that did feel right was the jacket he wore. It was a miracle of modern technology: nano-laminated to prevent stains, temperature controlled, and it could even alter its color and texture. Now, it was black and textured like leather, with overlapping bronze pentagonal patterns flowing up the arms. He’d had the jacket for years and grown particularly fond of it, but it had been made abundantly clear to him that he was only allowed to wear it today because of the storm.

  He leaned back in his seat, struggling to keep still to avoid shredding his newly bought work clothes. He watched the world outside go by as he occasionally tugged on the red and yellow striped tie that he’d been provided. He glanced at the driver, a woman that had said very little since they’d gotten into the car.

  Keeping her eyes on the road and her hands on the wheel, was Naoya’s girlfriend. Tall, slender, with blue-black hair that reached the middle of her back, she was dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit that was darker than black, save for the aqua blue blouse underneath her vest and the contrasting red tie she wore. Silver zippers ran across the jacket and waistcoat, replacing traditional buttons, and they glinted in the light of the car’s controls.

  Despite the neutral expression on her porcelain face, Naoya could tell her patience was already being tested. She blamed him for something, he knew. He could see it in the way she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel when she had nothing to do. She didn’t look his way, but Naoya could almost feel a prickly pressure emanating from the seat across from him.

  “You don’t have an umbrella,” she noted, her voice a smooth, icy sound.

  “The weather report said the storm was going pass us by,” Naoya explained, leaning his left arm against the door and resting his head against his fist. He stifled a yawn, still not fully awake. “It was supposed to be a sunny day.”

  “And I told you that the weather report was going to be wrong,” she reminded him, her tone still neutral, but with growing pressure.

  “So, I made a mistake, Suzu,” Naoya gave a light shake of his head, as he looked out the window at the world warped by the falling rain.

  “If you’d actually forgotten to bring one, that would be a mistake, Naoya,” Suzume corrected him, sharply. “But you didn’t just forget, did you? You heard what I told you and you deliberately chose not to listen.”

  “My jacket has a hood,” Naoya tugged at the hem of his coat, drawing her attention to it. “I can survive a little rain.”

  “That hood isn’t going to do anything in a storm like this,” Suzume informed him, giving the smallest shake of her head. “I shouldn’t have even let you bring it.”

  “Well, I chose to bring it,” Naoya insisted, daring to show a little self-determination. “It’s a good jacket.”

  “It’s unprofessional,” Suzume went on. “You could at least make it look like a proper blazer.”

  “It’s fine the way it is.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Why does everything have to be done your way?” Naoya challenged.

  “That’s not what this is about,” Suzume glanced at him, finally, her cool blue eyes taking him in.

  “Of course it is,” Naoya sighed, avoiding eye contact by looking out the window. “I take one step out of line, and I never hear the end of it.”

  “This is about today, Naoya,” Suzume’s tone was sharp now, though her voice was barely raised. “It’s your first day at a new job and because you forgot your umbrella, you’re going to have to shlep through the rain and meet your coworkers for the first time drenched from head to foot. Has it even crossed your mind how that’s going to look?”

  “They’ll understand,” Naoya protested, watching himself grind his teeth in frustration in his reflection. “It’s not like it’s the only storm we’ve had in the last month.”

  “You only get one chance to make a first impression,” Suzume insisted on sharing the ancient pearl of wisdom as though it was the first time Naoya heard it. “You have to be prepared for the things life throws at you, Naoya. Especially now. We need this.”

  The last three words hung in the air between them for a long moment and Naoya felt a pang of anxiety twisting in his stomach.

  “We need this,” she repeated, more intensely. “And I can’t have you sabotaging it again.”

  “I’m not sabotaging anything,” Naoya shook his head, trying to control his temper.

  “Aren’t you?” Suzume asked, her voice quiet.

  The accusation hung in the air, momentarily deafening.

  “Why would you even ask me that?”

  “You lost the job at Last Telecom within a week.”

  “That wasn’t my fault,” Naoya protested. “The boss had it out for me. Really!”

  “I’m sure,” Suzume murmured, quietly but with dangerous implications.

  “Things were going great until I got that invite to have dinner over at his house and you freaked out about it and forced me to cancel,” Naoya shifted in his seat, casting a side glance at Suzume. “After that, it was like I couldn’t do anything right.”

  “I didn’t ‘freak out,’” Suzume corrected him with a warning tone. “There was a Saboteur at large in the Horizon District. It was for the best that you stayed home.”

  “It’s always about protecting me, isn’t it?” Naoya rolled his eyes. “I can make my own decisions, Suzu.”

  “Says the little boy that left the house today without an umbrella because he can’t take advice,” Suzume wasted no time in putting him in his place. “What came after that?” Suzume questioned, seeming determined to dig up everything she could remember. “The job at the news station?”

  “Oh, come on,” Naoya shook his head, remembering the shame. “Don’t bring that up.”

  “You lost that one on your first day.”

  “That wasn’t my fault,” Naoya folded his arms across his chest, defensively.

  “You wrecked an entire bathroom, Naoya,” Suzume took her eyes off the road and glanced at him.

  “It wasn’t my fault!” Naoya insisted, his voice growing louder.

  “Do you even listen to yourself?” Suzume raised her tone for the first time, holding up her left hand. “When are you going to start taking accountability for your life?”

  She paused for a moment, lowering her voice again.

  “Remember what we talked about: I move into the Forecasting team and switch to an eight-hour shift, and you get a day job with matching hours. We both pay our halves of the rent, we both save money, and we both get to see each other. That was the plan, right?”

  “It still is the plan,” Naoya grumbled.

  “Then why am I here, working the beat again and doing twelve-hour shifts while you can’t hold down a single job?” Suzume took a deep breath as the windshield wipers worked and she stared at the road ahead. “I can’t keep doing this, Naoya. I can’t keep trying to hold everything together when it feels like you aren’t doing anything.”

  “Well, maybe if we moved into the Bureau provided housing, things would be easier,” Naoya floated an old idea again.

  “The Bureau only provides housing sufficient for whoever’s on the payroll, IE, me,” Suzume informed him for what seemed the thousandth time. “We can’t get an apartment big enough for the two of us on their dime.”

  “That can’t be true,” Naoya shook his head and stared into space. “I mean, there have to be Inspectors with families in the Bureau, right? You’re telling me that the Bureau doesn’t provide housing for wives and kids?”

  “No,” Suzume told him flatly.

  “I don’t believe that,” Naoya insisted. “Your boss is probably playing hardball, that’s all. You’ve got to be forceful with him. Negotiate and barter, you know?”

  “Naoya?” Suzume side eyed him with a glare and tone that brooked no argument. “It’s not an option.”

  “Why don’t I join the Bureau, then?” Naoya offered, halfway joking.

  “You think it’s easy?” Suzume challenged him. “You think you can do what I do?”

  “Maybe,” Naoya held his chin up as he leaned back in his seat. “It would be a damn sight better than—,” Naoya paused, catching himself before he said too much.

  “Better than?” Suzume prompted him.

  “A desk job,” Naoya provided an answer, staring back out the window rather than look Suzume in the eyes. She’d know the truth if she could see his face.

  “An office job is honest work,” the woman in the driver’s seat was definitely of a different mind than Naoya. “You’ll stay out of the storm, if nothing else. I’m going to be in the thick of it all day.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Yeah, but it’s not. . . I don’t know.”

  “It’s not what?” she pressed him.

  “Exciting?” he offered. “Heroic, I guess?”

  “Is that the kind of job you want?” Naoya could practically hear the wry smile on his girlfriend’s face. “A ‘heroic’ one?”

  “We all just want to be heroes, right?”

  “Don’t you need to be brave to be a hero?” Suzume asked him.

  “I’m plenty brave,” Naoya insisted, tapping his chest with a thumb.

  “I’m sure,” Suzume chuckled to herself.

  “I am!”

  “Well,” Suzume gave a light shrug, “if you want to be a hero, then the Bureau is the last place you want to be.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because there’s nothing heroic about what I do,” she told him.

  She let that statement linger as she pulled onto an exit ramp, leaving the highway and heading into the city proper. All around them, the dazzling spires of the Central district rose. It was the crown jewel of the city, where the Government, the Bureau, and what remained of Japan’s elite housed themselves. There were cars on the road now, owned by those fortunate enough to afford them.

  Men and women walked the streets, all dressed with immaculate precision, heading for high-powered office jobs under a sea of umbrellas. Each pedestrian wore a photo ID tag either attached to their arm or lapel and each one blinked with a soft light. Thanks to that, you could tell a person’s employment status just by looking at them. Those with solid yellow lights worked for the government. Blue lights indicated private companies. White lights indicated law enforcement. The dull, blinking orange light on the ID attached to Naoya’s chest reminded him of his jobless status, making his proof of citizenship feel like a bullseye.

  For those that could make themselves useful, Yo?gai-shima had plenty to offer. Free meals provided to the public, the best protection against the natural disasters that ravaged the world outside, generous healthcare. But all that applied only to those that contributed to society. Those that didn’t work had more important things to worry about than their next meal or paying rent. It was the government you needed to watch out for. As far as Naoya knew, every single citizen was on a watchlist somewhere, except maybe for the prime minister. If you weren’t providing some value to the state or weren’t lucky enough to have a relative covering your expenses, it was off the island with you. Back to what was left of Honshu, or Siberia, or right into the ocean. There were no social safety nets or government programs to help you if the powers that be decided you weren’t worth the living space.

  “I am trying, whatever she thinks,” Naoya thought to himself. “Think I don’t know what happens if I screw this up?” Naoya tugged at the tie again, finding it restrictive, as though it was choking him.

  “Keep that on,” Suzume told him firmly. “Don’t even pull on it. It needs to look nice.”

  “I know, I know,” Naoya insisted.

  “Besides, it’s my lucky tie,” she went on. “There’ll be hell to pay if you lose it.”

  “Lucky, huh?” Naoya lifted the tie up to look at it. It didn’t seem old enough to have sentimental value. Actually, hadn’t she bought this last year? “How come everything you give me has something special about it?”

  “That question answers itself,” Suzume avoided having to answer. “Every time a man gets a gift from a woman, he should treasure it.”

  “Right,” Naoya accepted what he was given and returned to watching the street. As they drove, Naoya felt the car beginning to slow. Surrounding them on all sides were tall, dark office buildings, almost featureless and uniform. His eyes fell on a listing for the tenants of the building on his left and he almost immediately read the words: “FAIR Insurance Company, Central Ward Branch, 312.” Suzume must have noticed it first and she brought the vehicle to a crawl as they drove around the sliding glass doors at the front of the building, soft light glowing through them.

  “I’ll just run in,” Naoya offered, grabbing the door handle as he sat up, muscles tensed to move, but Suzume didn’t stop the car. Instead, she swung around the building, heading for a parking garage across from it with a sky bridge that connected the two structures.

  “You don’t have to do this,” he told her. “You’ve gone out of your way enough as it is.”

  “It’s your first day,” she reminded him. “You’re not sabotaging this, remember?”

  “Right,” Naoya accepted his lack of control as Suzume pulled into the dark confines of the concrete parking garage. The car wound up and around from floor to floor as Suzume made for the skybridge, passing by countless empty spaces. As they came to a halt on the fourth floor, she came to a stop, putting the car in park. From his window, Naoya could see the suspended corridor that connected the two buildings.

  “Thanks for driving me,” Naoya offered, certain he should say more but he didn’t know what. Not after the awkward conversation getting here. He reached for the door handle again, only to have Suzume hit a button and lock the doors with a mechanical click.

  “How are you getting home?” she asked.

  “I’ve memorized the route, okay?” Naoya felt his own patience running thin. Suzume folded her arms and shifted in her seat, once again fixing him with an imperious look.

  “How are you getting home?” she repeated the question.

  “I head to the East Municipal Station and wait for the four-thirty bus. Third stop after I board. I told you, I have it all memorized. Or is there something else?”

  Suzume fixed him with a look, inspecting him, then popped open the glove box and pulled out a comb.

  “Fix your hair,” she told him, and he snatched the comb and raked it over his scalp, spreading what little hair gel he’d put in it this morning to every side of his head. In moments, his messy, dark brown hair was matted down and neatly combed, or what passed for neat in Naoya’s mind.

  “There,” Naoya asked, spreading his hands. “How do I look?”

  “Not good enough,” Suzume took the comb back and took hold of Naoya’s chin with her left hand, holding him fast as he tried to pull away. She finished combing his hair for him and he let out a beleaguered sigh. At length, she let him go and unlocked the doors and Naoya wasted no time in getting out, but Suzume’s voice followed.

  “Bow no less than three times when you meet your boss. Make sure you listen to everything he tells you and laugh at every joke. Also, say something nice; compliment his hair.”

  He stood for a moment, staring at the doorway to the office, considering just what kind of job he’d gotten himself into. He tugged on his jacket, making sure it fit right. He put his hands on the door handle ready to swing it closed when Suzume called out to him.

  “Oh, Naoya?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Have a nice day.”

  “Thanks mom,” Naoya sneered as he swung the door shut.

  January 4th, 2044

  08:25 AM

  Central Ward

  Horizon District

  Deputy Inspector Atarashi Shin

  "Conduct inspection of the area marked by the Forecaster, either from within a vehicle or on foot. Locate the source of reported Emergency and utilize mobile patrol to resolve situations before they escalate further. Contact Forecaster or Bureau HQ if further assistance is required. Once an emergency situation has been relayed by a member of the Forecasting Unit, it is the duty of the patrol and the Inspectors therein to contain the emergency and remain on standby until the situation has been resolved, until relieved by another patrol, or if directed to by the Forecasting Unit or a superior officer,” Human Calamity Response Bureau Standard Operating Procedures, Section 4, Subsection-B, paragraph 2: “Conducting Emergency Inspections.”

  The words reverberated in the mind of Deputy Inspector Atarashi Shin as he stood on a street corner on the east end of Central, heedless of the wind and the rain that sought to bowl him over. Dressed in the black suit of the Bureau, he was now thoroughly drenched from head to toe, having stood out in the rain for the last ten minutes. The rain fell on his head, matting his straw-blond hair to his scalp before running down across his face, forcing him to wipe the water out of his lime-green eyes. The raindrops ran down his cheeks, across his soft features before streaking down his throat.

  The young man held a carbon black device between the fingers of his right hand. The nanometal slab was as wide as Shin’s hand and several inches longer, while also being thicker than his thumb. The machine projected a holographic screen that showed a cross section of the city woven from beams of orange light. A small blue dot indicated the young man’s position while a larger red ring encompassed several city blocks around him. Second by second, the red ring slowly tightened, narrowing Shin’s field of search, but not nearly fast enough for his liking. Words floated on the air, connected to the red ring by an arrow and Shin reread them for what felt like the thousandth time.

  “Heavy Rain Emergency predicted to occur in Horizon District. Expected time of occurrence: 08:30 AM, January 4th, 2044. Likeliness of Casualty emergence: 88%.”

  “Where is it?” he looked around, casting his eyes up and down the street, taking in every detail he could. Far from the city center, the architecture of Horizon largely lacked the monumental city towers that dwarfed the skyscrapers of Tokyo and old Japan. Instead, most of the buildings here were smaller, cheaper, and made to serve more ordinary purposes. Standing on the edge of an empty two-way street, the numerous buildings of Horizon huddled together, their tightly packed placement preventing the Deputy Inspector from seeing anything of the city beyond, save for the competing spires of the Conglomerate to the west, the quartet towers of the Dawn Spires to the south, and the peak of Getto?-dake, of course.

  The structure of the buildings in Horizon had a sort of mesmerizing effect on the eye. They were all roughly the same size, and of similar dimensions and designs. Even when they had a different number of floors, or prismatic holographic advertisements on their sides, it did little to mask the sense of déjà vu. Once you saw it, you couldn’t see them any other way. It created a lost and desolate feeling, like one was floating in the middle of the sea and all you could see in every direction was blue water.

  The buildings truly were all the same, of course. All of them built out of concrete, steel, and ceramic materials that had been designed according to a computer program and constructed through machines that were more printers than construction vehicles. To disguise the uniformity of Horizon’s edifices, the buildings had been draped in a variety of paper-thin disguises. External laminates had been placed across businesses and apartment buildings, giving them a realistic skin that emulated brick or wood, to make it seem as though they were constructed by anything else but the colorless, lifeless concrete a few inches below the artificial surface. If anything, it only made the district seem a little bit more uncanny; when two buildings across the street from one another had nearly identical designs, yet contrasting skins, it only heightened the unease.

  Over the sound of the storm, there came a groaning of metal and the roar of an engine. The young man turned to look over his shoulder toward the street, watching as a black fire engine crept up the street behind him. Not far behind the large emergency vehicle was an ambulance. Two patrol cars sat at either entrance of the street, their lights flashing, closing off the thoroughfare to the public. Together with the Senior Inspector’s Survivalist, the five black vehicles were collectively referred to as a “funeral procession,” an appropriately grim term for the Bureau’s swarm of first responders. Only today, the Survivalist was missing, and the Senior Inspector with it.

  “Time to pack it in, kid,” came a voice from the fire truck. The young man glanced toward the driver side window as it rolled down, revealing a middle-aged firefighter with a wide, muscular frame and pockmarked skin. He had a thin beard and a shaved head, a twisted white headband wrapped across his temples.

  “I’m not done yet,” the young man immediately turned his eyes back to the device in his hand.

  “You’re gonna catch hypothermia, you idiot!” the surly firefighter called out but despite the older man’s tone, the young man allowed himself a smile. He was glad that Takamoto treated him just like any other guy, rather than tiptoeing around him. Despite the massive age difference between the two men, the younger man held the superior position.

  “The primary duty of an Inspector is to prevent the emergence of Casualties by resolving crisis situations with all due seriousness and expediency. This service is to be provided to all within Yo?gai-shima’s borders, regardless of any social status, employment, or criminal history. Should a human become a Casualty, that same professional indifference is required of each and every Inspector to provide a swift elimination of the Human Calamity.”-Human Calamity Response Bureau Standard Operating Procedures, Subsection B, paragraph 4: “Public Facing Interactions and Personal Conduct.”

  Shin keenly felt the code of the Bureau falling around his shoulders as a heavy but imaginary burden. It was only his first day on the job and he was already thrust headfirst into a life or death situation. He’d spent a year of testing and preparation for this day, but it already seemed as though he’d lost his grip on all the answers. He didn’t know precisely what to do and trepidation threatened to halt any action he might take.

  “Are you just going to stand there and look stupid?” the buzzing electronic voice from the device in Shin’s hands queried him. “I mean, you always look stupid, but still.”

  The sound of another voice pulled Shin back to reality, reminding him that he didn’t have the luxury of giving up. He was an Inspector; all of Yo?gai-shima looked to him to lead in moments like this. More than that, someone out there needed his help.

  “I need another GPS scan,” Shin spoke, raising the carbon black Omen to his lips. “See if you can—”

  “Hey, you don’t need to yell, I can hear you just fine!” the Omen snapped, it’s electronic voice buzzing.

  “Oh, umm. . .” Shin wasn’t quite certain what to say as he lowered the device and held it away from his face. “Sorry, I guess.”

  “Yuck, I think you got a little spit on me, too,” the AI inside the device whined.

  “Look,” Shin tried to refocus. “I need you to scan the area and tell me—"

  “Tsk,” the AI had the nerve to audibly tut at Shin’s orders, prompting an angry scowl to cross the young man’s face. “Look, I’ve already ran a scan for IDs like, seven or eight times already. No one living in Yo?gai-shima is dumb enough to just stand out on the street in the middle of a hurricane.”

  “Okay, well what about—”

  “Aside from you, of course,” the Omen couldn’t resist throwing in another jab, provoking a growl from its owner.

  “What about indoors, then?” Shin went on, speaking more forcefully.

  “No medical alarms have been issued in the local area,” the AI reported matter-of-factly. “Try again.”

  “Then it has to be someone without an ID,” Shin reasoned. “A homeless person, maybe?”

  “You’re just guessing,” the Omen dismissed his line of thought. “A vagrant isn’t going to be wandering around Central in a windstorm of all places.”

  “Not on the streets,” ignoring the endless prodding of his “assistant,” Shin went on. “But if someone was caught in the middle of the downpour, they’d do anything to find shelter. Maybe even break into an empty building.”

  “Except you, you mean,” the AI observed.

  “Try and connect to the Civil Network,” Shin ordered. “Check for motion alarms or reports of break-ins.”

  “That idea isn’t half bad,” the AI admitted. “Glad I thought of it.”

  Shin ignored the backtalking communicator, instead focusing on the holographic map as it reappeared with a new marker inside the red ring of the danger area.

  “We’ve got a motion detector alarm for a nearby bakery,” the Omen reported. “Funny, the front door alarm doesn’t seem to have tripped.”

  “That’s good enough to go on, for now,” Shin reoriented himself, turning to his right based on the placement of the bakery, which appeared to be on the other side of the block, hidden from view by an apartment building. Shin jogged around the block, tucking the Omen away as he went. With each step, Shin felt a sense of apprehension building in his mind. His stomach twisted into a knot, telling him that something was about to happen.

  As Shin rounded the corner, he saw. The bakery was a homey, charming little building that seemed almost out of place against the taller, darker apartments around it. It had actual grass surrounding the property and a stone foot path leading to the door. The walls were whitewashed, and the front door had a small wood laminate porch with an awning above it. Small square, four-paned windows were set on either side of the door. From the street, nothing seemed wrong with the building at all. Shin realized he must have passed around the building as he circled the block again and again, never knowing what he was looking for.

  Straining his ears, Shin heard a soft, mechanical chime over the wind and pouring rain. He rushed across the wet grass, racing up the steps to the front door. He pressed his face against the window on the right, staring into the room beyond. The ceiling had collapsed and rained rubble down into the bakery. The shards of concrete, iron rebar, and sections of the roof had crushed the small tables and chairs, along with the glass display cases near the counter. The center of the room had collapsed into a dark pit of water, partially blocked by fallen rubble: evidently, sections of the roof had smashed through the floor and flooded a basement below ground level.

  “This has to be it,” Shin told himself. He reached into his pocket and took hold of his Omen, feeling along seams in the slick, black nanomaterial. Pinching a chunk of the device with his right forefinger and thumb, he broke off a chunk no larger than his finger. He placed the dislodged material to the left side of his head and the shapeshifting alloy changed itself. In moments, it turned into an earpiece that hooked around his ear and ran a small slender arm across his cheek that ended beneath his left eye.

  He tried the door, but the locks held tight. Even so, the situation demanded action and Shin didn’t hesitate. He listened to the apprehension in his stomach and the restlessness in his brain. Exigency was what the Bureau called it. That state of mind between fight or flight when you were filled with adrenaline and anxiety. Shin was already half-way there, and it took only a second of concentration to fully immerse himself. Hazard Energy flowed through his body and Shin pulled the door off its hinges and swung it wide, sending it clattering to the floor of the porch. Heedless of the alarm that sprang to life in response to his forced entry, Shin charged into the room and with each step the already unsteady floor creaked beneath his feet as though it was going to break away beneath him.

  “Give me a High-Penetration Scan,” Shin spoke aloud as he reached up and tapped the side of his Omen headset. The small device shot a beam of light through the floor, penetrating the fabric of the rubble and then projected an image directly into Shin’s left eye. Rubble and broken furniture floated amidst the black water below, but the AI highlighted an undeniably human shape floating in the pool of collected rainwater, their escape prevented by the rubble that closed over the top of the pit.

  “Someone must be trapped down there,” Shin realized, not taking a moment to question the hows or whys of the situation.

  “Hold on!” he called out, not caring whether or not the person below could hear him. “I’m coming!”

  As a reflex, Shin grabbed at the corner of the fallen roof, hefting several hundred pounds of fallen insulation and reinforced concrete and tossed them aside, carelessly shattering a wall to his right as the debris was hurled away. He stared down at the pool of water as he took hold of his jacket, intent on taking it off before diving in. Before he could, the water began to ripple and writhe, as though it had suddenly started to boil.

  “It’s too late,” the Omen murmured in Shin’s ear as a red light flashed at the corner of his vision, a warning from the AI that read “Hazard Energy Reaction.” Before Shin could comprehend what that meant, the pool of water erupted. The floor beneath Shin’s feet gave way and he fell into the violent geyser erupting beneath him. His stomach lurched as he was lifted into the air with the current, the rest of the roof being torn away by the spray of water. Soaring several dozen feet in the air, Shin could only windmill his arms helplessly as he fell away from the geyser of water and began his inevitable journey to the earth below.

  Fear still alive in Shin’s heart, he hit the street and bounced off the asphalt and rolled across the wet cement before coming to a stop, though he barely felt the pain. Lying face down on the street in front of the store, Shin crawled up to his hands and knees. The geyser lost its force and what was left of the bakery collapsed in on itself, utterly ruined. Pieces of debris fell in all directions, smashing against the walls of nearby buildings and breaking windows. Amongst the rain of detritus, a human figure descended onto the rain-soaked lawn outside of the ruined building.

  Getting to his feet, Shin carefully stepped toward the man standing on the lawn. It was an old man with a grimy grey beard of curly hair, and long thinning hair dangling down on either side of his weathered, leathery face. He had the look of a dockworker with his torn and patchwork flannel shirt and the fishing waders that barely held together from years of wear and tear. Having fallen from the geyser of water, the old man managed to land on his feet, unlike Shin. Still, he was nearly bent double, his hands hanging down to his knees.

  “Are you. . . alright?” Shin asked, tentatively, ignoring the old man’s sudden appearance. He stopped five paces away from the stranger, as the old man turned his head around to look at him. For a long moment, the old man simply stared at Shin with a blank, empty expression. Then, he opened his mouth, but not to speak. Instead, rainwater poured out. He didn’t cough or gag, but just stared with that same empty expression as the water he vomited out pooled around his feet.

  As the last of the water poured down his chin, the old man clenched his teeth suddenly, a wordless moan sounding out from his throat. The old man’s cries grew louder and louder as his face contorted with pain and tears squeezed out from his eyes. Then, the pitch of his voice changed, warbling back and forth between sounds too high and too low for a human to make.

  From the center of the old man’s head, a fleshy spike protruded, the new skin pink and pulsing compared to the man’s leathery brown complexion. The skin of the old man’s brow split open and the bones beneath cracked and reshaped themselves. The old man’s eyes rolled back in his head, bleeding tears of crimson and working his mouth in silent agony as his skull tore itself apart.

  In moments, the top half of the homeless man’s head had reshaped itself into a second mouth of mismatched jagged teeth beneath a sharp, triangular nose. The new orifice looked like the mouth of a nightmare shark, misshapen and wrong, yet still terrifying. The sleeves of the old man’s shirt tore away as his arms lengthened. The skin on his fingers melded together, becoming shapeless fins, before bursting apart as the bones of his hands tore through his flesh. His fingers were reshaped into long, slender digits tipped with bony scythes and connected by webbing formed of bloody skin.

  “Warning! Warning!” Shin’s Omen sprang to life, broadcasting an emergency announcement to every electronic device in the area. “A Heavy Rain Emergency has been detected in the Horizon District of Central Ward! All residents are advised to stay indoors and avoid contact with water!”

  The old man, the Casualty, screamed with both mouths, an eerie, horrid duet. Without warning, the Human Calamity lunged, the rubber boots on its feet tearing apart under the pressure of its sudden motion. It cleared the front lawn of the bakery, meeting the Inspector in the street. Shin scrambled backward as the creature’s fin-like right hand came down in a vertical chop. The appendage smashed into the road, sending up a splash of water and broken cement.

  “Stop!” Shin called out to the creature as it stalked forward. He held his hands up placatively as he gave ground. “Just calm down. Everything will be alright.” Despite the twisted shape of the monster in front of him, he couldn’t take his eyes away from the old man’s anguished face. His features were indisputably human, something Shin couldn’t ignore.

  If the man understood what Shin said, he didn’t show it. The creature lunged, flailing its arms like a madman. The Casualty chased Shin down the street as he darted backward, the Inspector ducking and weaving away from the numerous wild strikes that swept through the air. The gruesome blades sheared through sections of the street as they cut across the ground, sliced through a streetlamp Shin ducked behind, and ripped through a car parked alongside the street without resistance. When the creature leapt into the air and hefted its fin-blades over its head, Shin held his ground.

  He reached up and grabbed the old man’s arms by the elbows, stopping the paired claws from decapitating him. The creature bore down on Shin with surprising force, causing the street beneath them to collapse into a crater two feet deep, sending waves of rainwater splashing in all directions. Even so, Shin didn’t yield, keeping the creature in a deadlock.

  “Don’t make me hurt you,” Shin’s words weren’t a warning, but instead an honest appeal, however wasted it was.

  In response, the creature stretched the second mouth on top of its head to its greatest width, giving Shin a stomach-turning view of the countless razor-sharp teeth that lined its maw, along with the thoroughly twisted brain matter that made up its new gums. The creature lunged forward, and Shin tilted his head to his left to prevent the creature from biting it off. Instead, the teeth bit down into Shin’s right shoulder, and it began shaking its mouth from side to side, trying to saw off a chunk of Shin’s flesh.

  Although he could barely feel the pain, the fear of being eaten alive caused Shin’s heart to beat faster. He raised his right foot and kicked the Casualty in the stomach. The monster sailed backward, a few scraps of Shin’s jacket and skin between its teeth. It bounced along the street like a rock skipping across a pond for fifty feet, cracking the concrete each time it touched the ground. It speared the cement with its mutilated arms, bringing itself to a halt, gurgling in anger as it came up in a crouch.

  The sound of a rumbling engine and blaring horns caught Shin’s attention, and he turned to see the funeral procession coming down the street behind him. The fire truck appeared at the mouth of the street, the ambulance remaining a safe distance behind, even as the patrol car worked to block access to the road to prevent any bystanders or commuters from getting caught up in the Bureau’s business. Meanwhile, the second patrol car rounded the corner at the opposite end of the road, cutting off the exit behind the Casualty. The blasting sounds and flashing lights seemed to rattle the Casualty and it crouched defensively, whipping back and forth to glare at the cars that blocked both sides of the street.

  “Got a call for you, pal,” the Omen spoke in Shin’s ear and connected the call without waiting for an answer.

  “Deputy Inspector Atarashi, this is Forecaster Kodera, do you copy?” the voice of a young man, refined and strict, spoke in Shin’s ear, replacing the Omen.

  “I copy, Forecaster,” Shin spoke aloud as he watched the Casualty crouched in the street, lit in the alternating red and white lights of the patrol cars. “The Casualty emerged as you predicted. I couldn’t. . .” Shin found himself unable to speak, a sense of regret stopping the words from coming out.

  “Understood, Deputy,” the Forecaster was all business, taking the information that an ordinary man had undergone an irreversible transformation into a monster and then filed it away without emotion. “From here on out, you are strictly to observe, contain, and report until the Senior Inspector assigned to your patrol arrives.”

  “It doesn’t exactly seem like it’s going to play nice,” Shin kept his eyes on the Casualty, glaring at the emergency vehicles that swarmed the street as though it didn’t recognize them.

  “Defend yourself and the lives of your team, if necessary, but otherwise you aren’t to engage or provoke it,” the Forecaster gave a stern warning. “Give ground whenever possible and retreat to a safe distance when you can.”

  “I can’t handle this myself?” Shin asked, trying to gauge the beast as it remained at a distance. He locked eyes on it and felt a shiver, though it wasn’t from the rain. It lunged half a second later, crossing the distance between the two of them in the blink of an eye. Shin sidestepped, moving with ease to avoid the Casualty’s lashing claws as they swept through the air where he’d been standing.

  “He’s a bad match up for you,” the Forecaster informed Shin as the young man weaved back and forth beneath a barrage of furious claw swipes. “Honestly, I’d give you fifty-fifty odds.”

  “You really think so?” Shin allowed himself a wry smile as he danced across the street, his twisted partner following every move as it desperately tried to claw and bite at him. “You might be selling me a little short.”

  The Casualty raised its left claw over its head and swept it down toward Shin. The young man reached up and caught the limb by the wrist with both hands. Twisting the creature’s arm, Shin stepped to its left side and kicked its legs out from under it, using his grip on the Casualty’s wrist and elbow to guide it to the street as he slammed it down. Concrete cracked and water splashed as the Casualty struck the ground.

  “Don’t take the situation lightly, Deputy,” Kodera continued harping in Shin’s ear, even as placed his right knee and the palm of his right hand against the creature’s back, keeping it pinned to the ground. “This is still an emergency situation.”

  “Yeah, roger, wilco,” Shin grunted as the creature tried desperately to buck him off. “Look, can I call you back in a second?”

  Shin heard an audible, artificial click in his ear as the Omen ended the call and the Deputy Inspector was free to focus on wrestling the Casualty into submission. As he held the Casualty’s left arm, it occurred to him that he was the stronger of the two, and the notion buttressed his confidence. As the Casualty vainly struggled, Shin shifted his weight onto his knee and lifted his right arm, reaching up to his belt.

  He drew his Bureau issued pistol, feeling the weight of it as his fingers wrapped around the grip. With a practiced motion, Shin flicked the safety off, and he turned the barrel down toward the Casualty’s head, aiming down the sights. He watched himself cock the hammer with his thumb with a sense of detachment, as though someone else were piloting his body. Even as his reflexes readied his weapon, his eyes were focused on the Casualty’s face, halfway pressed against the concrete.

  “The threat of a Human Calamity is not ended until complete brain death. Every care must be taken to ensure the destruction of the human brain beyond all capacity to function before the threat posed is considered dealt with.” Human Calamity Response Bureau Standard Operation Procedures, Section 5, Subsection-C, Paragraph 10: “Elimination and Corpse Disposal.”

  Despite the words of the SOP ringing in his mind, Shin found himself transfixed by the sight of the homeless man’s face. Twisted though it wase, the old man’s anguished, frozen features were still readily apparent beneath the newly formed mouth growing out of his skull. Even as the creature snorted and grunted with effort, and Shin felt his finger squeezing the trigger with slowly increasing pressure, the Deputy found he couldn’t shoot. There was something human in front of him, a human in pain, and the sight of it stopped Shin cold.

  The rain stopped falling. Raindrops froze in the air up and down the street for several seconds, illuminated by the headlights of the vehicles. At the same time, the water across the street that was pouring into drains beneath the sidewalk reversed its course. All the water in the area, whether it was in the air or on the ground, flowed beneath the Casualty’s body, forming a swirling pool. Then, the gathered water erupted into a geyser, just as it had beneath the bakery.

  Shin and the Casualty were both launched into the air again as the water spewed upward. Before the force separated them, Shin’s reflexes took over and he pulled the trigger, though it went wide, shearing off a chunk of the old man’s cheek and nose. Once more, Shin tumbled end over end as he fell back to the street.

  “You hesitated, huh, tough guy?” the Omen in Shin’s ear mocked. “You should have used me instead of the gun.”

  He seemed to descend back to the ground with an agonizingly slow fall, the eruption of water and the falling rain drops charting lazy courses through the air. He had more than enough time to right himself and land on his own two feet this time. While the rest of the world seemed to remain in a state of turgid torpor, the Casualty moved with more speed than its surroundings. It skittered down the street, bouncing across footholds of swirling water as it retreated from Shin, heading toward the opposite end of the throughfare where the second patrol car was.

  Fearing for the lives of the officers inside, a surge of adrenaline sent Shin running down the street behind it, the concrete exploding beneath his footsteps. He raced forward with incredible speed, closing the distance between himself and fleeing monstrosity, though its head start ensure it would reach the squad car before he caught up to it. Gunshots rang out as the Casualty raced forward and the patrolman at the far end of the street exited the squad car and opened fire, hoping to force the oncoming Human Calamity to alter course. The Casualty continued its charge, the bullets fired at it tearing bloody welts in its flesh but doing nothing to deter it.

  The two patrol men in their jet-black uniforms ducked behind the vehicle as the Casualty approached, though it proved unnecessary. Once more, the rainfall shifted and the water up and down the street flowed together to form a pool of water between the Casualty and the squad car. The Casualty leapt into it and at once, it burst upward in a geyser, launching the Casualty skyward in a plume of white water. Shin skidded to a halt on the pavement, joining the two officers in watching the Casualty fly through the air, becoming a distant dot that descended behind a row of buildings and vanished from sight.

  “So much for containment,” Shin kicked himself as the lights of the firetruck swelled behind him, signaling that the heavy machine was creeping up the street behind him.

  “What’s the plan, chief?” Takamoto shouted over the roar of the fire engine.

  “We’re going after it,” Shin answered, leaping onto the passenger side of the vehicle and motioning for the big man to start driving.

  “Fifty-fifty, huh? I’ll take those odds.”