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Chapter Twenty One
Blood Bank
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“What day is it?”
“You would simply not believe the answer Ren gave to that exact question.” Tone sighed, turning the heat down on the griddle. “Corey, could you maybe stop being dead for a couple seconds? You’re killing the mood.”
Corey, who had not moved from the contorted position Ren had discovered him in, gave a slight movement of his eyelids in comprehension that he heard someone say something. With a purely devious expression plastered across her features, Kohaku snuck to the pile of clothes he was twisted about overtop and light drummed her fingers on his exposed stomach, immediately waking him up and forcing him into a ball in retaliation.
“Why are your hands so cold…?” In spite of his recent awakening, his voice was still exhausted.
“His bed is AWFUL!!” Kohaku gestured with her arms, as if the size of this awfulness could be physically quantified. “It’s so small, has absolutely no mattress to it, and I bet you’ve never seen him clean it in his entire life.”
“Why, what’s the matter with it?” Tone raised an eyebrow vocally. In reply Kohaku grabbed her hair with one hand and pointed at the ends of it with the other, where a number of crumbs and blobs of dust had visibly adhered, which prompted Tone to burst out into high-pitched laughter as he tried desperately not to drop the metal spatula he was holding.
“I didn’t think it was very funny when I accidentally put my hand in along the corners of the bed and nearly screamed in the middle of the night.” Kohaku’s lip curled up in disgust at the memory. “I spent half an hour trying to find if there was a spider or centipede or something I had touched. I hate bugs.”
“You don’t seem to mind the one in your hair.” Rook mused, causing Kohaku to flail about for a moment, smashing her hands into all portions of her hair in a panicked frenzy. “Did I get it? Is it gone? Tell me I got rid of it- ohhhhhhh I HATE you.” She stomped over and slapped the mask into the corner of the room. “I don’t know how Race can tolerate you JERKS on a regular basis.”
“Lemme fill you in on something.” Tone flipped the last pancake around on the spatula an unnecessary amount of times before placing it on what once had been a stack and was now an overflowing pile atop a plate far too small to contain it. “Our boss, Wild, when he was alive, always made it a point to keep ribbing tactful but fairly frequent. You could never go too long around him without a quip getting in somewhere.”
“If that’s your definition of tactful-”
“We’d have run-ins with stuff that’d make your skin crawl on an unfortunately frequent basis.” He continued, undeterred by her interruption. “People who got hurt, bad. Killed, sometimes. Once saw a guy gutted by seven different swords; the fellow who did it was not in the mood to share his method for aiming.”
Kohaku glanced at him in semi-sidelong fashion, unwilling to question the direction of his statement but still lacking complete faith in it. “There’d always be horrible things hanging over us, stuff we walked into or were unable to prevent. He wasn’t the best at jokes, or implementing humor, but he made it a point to insist upon its inclusion. ‘I haven’t seen this much red since we last painted the town.’ Pretty bad material.”
“It was always his intent to keep the mood as light as possible whenever possible.” Rook commented, smothered by the corner floor. “With what we’ve run across, had to deal with the aftermath of, or directly involved ourselves in, there’s been some pretty chilling stuff. We can’t afford to let it get to us.”
“So you’re insufferable deliberately?” Kohaku slowly picked Rook up off the floor and set him crooked on the ornate pillow he had been on before. “Does this mean Race is too? I was kind of hoping one of you freaks was secretly sane this whole time.”
“Indubitably.” Corey mumbled out, having finished a half-empty water bottle during the discussion and was now using the lid as a monocle. “I would say, perchance she is the most egregious of the whole bunch. Quite quite.”
“Sugar’s on.” Tone sighed, sliding the massive stack of pancakes over. Corey made it to the computer table with impressive speed, his eyes glowing like miniature galaxies, only to fall into crestfallen disappointment as only a gigantic amount of the pile and not the entire mountain of pancakes was set on a second plate and offered to him. “Make sure to save some syrup for Koala Poo or she won’t have the energy to put up with us.”
“I reiterate my statement about hating you.” Kohaku snarled, stalking up and snatching a pancake from the pile before ripping a massive chunk out of it with her bare teeth. “You never answered my question about what day it is, by the way. Very rude of you not to do that.”
“It’s Saturday.” Tone ruined Corey’s greedy expression by tipping the syrup bottle back down and ruining his endless waterfall of syrup which had already reached the edge of the youngest Wild Mask’s plate and was threatening to spill onto the table. “Or, in insufferable jerk terminology, one of the most important days of the past few years, and definitely the most important of the last week.”
“It’s hard to tell for certain.” Rook’s voice was much more momentous than usual as his silver mask remained motionless atop the pillow. “But it may be the last heist we need in order to complete the Kumagai collection.”
–
“And now they’re much less worried about that giant fish monster.” Fumihito grinned, almost wearing the large network of bandages over his side now visible from unbuttoning his shirt as a badge of honor. “You were able to see it, right? There was a giant fish monster?”
Thumbing through her phone for a moment, Race angled the device towards her superior, a hastily-grabbed photograph of the massive Chubasco visible on the small screen. “I knew it!” Fumihito’s eyes practically glowed with enthusiasm, and the pain of a broken rib which contorted his face did not stop him from grinning like an idiot and clapping his hands together. “I don’t know what could’ve wrapped it around like that, but I knew it was real!”
“Maybe we could get more info on it, if we knew the source of the info…” Ayumi lamented, finally packing away the last of the first aid supplies. “I know journalistic integrity and whatnot, but this is a matter of national security we’re talking about, and-”
“Ayumi, if I had known, do you think I’d legally be able to hide it from the police?” Fumihito blindly reached for a glass and almost knocked it over, but Race quickly intervened and handed it to him. “I’d be required to tell them everything I know, which just so happened to be nothing. Never question the sources of a reporter - just get her out of sight for a little while.” He proceeded to down half the glass in one gulp.
“Out of…?” Ayumi wondered aloud, looking between Race and the valiantly wounded hero trying not to cough from his improper consumption methods. “But she went directly to it, that’s not really out of sight.”
“I know what he’s getting at.” Race sighed, pocketing her phone along with both her hands. “I’ve got another event I’m checking out tonight.”
Fumihito groaned with his head aimed at the floor, while Ayumi looked even more exasperated by Race’s plans. “Alright, but I don’t like you going alone, with all this attention on us. You got someone to keep you company?”
“I’ll go.” Shou mumbled through his cigarette, not bothering to light it as he slowly trudged up to the quite obvious disapproval of Race. “I can rig a pocket mic in case anything happens we need to be on top of.”
“Good, good.” Fumihito rubbed the back of his head. “Take a camera with you too, just in case. One of the smaller ones, should be in the black case over there.” He gestured painfully to the white door at the end of the room. “Ayumi, go ahead and let the rest of her crew in here; I want to hear everything they saw up there, see if any of them got shot at and saved by any other giant cicadas.”
A smile slowly crept its way up his face as Race and Shou departed, pulling up so much on his face his body relented and leaned back in his chair, resting his arms behind his head. “I doubt it.”
–
“No serious harm.” The assassin adjusted his perfectly round sunglasses, leaning in to stare closer at the perfectly round dent. “I am very grateful you are as strong as you are, or you would no longer be with us.”
“I hope we all learned something here?” Odgu hissed, flipping himself back upright with some difficulty. “If there is to be a hit again, it WILL be confirmed with me first. There will be no more subversion of my authority,” He glared at the figure seated behind the desk. “I am head of the Pangolins, and as long as I am I will not be betrayed by my own men, or by any of Rikuto’s subordinates.”
The classification as a subordinate made Oisim’s nostrils flare for a moment, but he mastered his temper and remained motionless, staring into the red eyes of his accomplice. Pakka awkwardly offered the cane to Odgu, who snatched it from his fingers and shuffled across the floor with it.
“Ren probably bungled Chubasco… He’s a very fickle creature.” The leader of the Pangolins stopped and looked back at the rest of his entourage. “Well, I guess he was fickle. If you don’t spell out your intent exactly as you want it, Chubasco is free to interpret your instruction as he pleases, which was fine and dandy back when there weren’t skyscrapers to fly into and entire worldwide networks and flight plans and stock markets to disrupt.”
“You learn all that from Know?” A figure in the corner spoke. He was seated in a chair, and with the limited light showing all that could be seen of him was the red suit pants he wore, along with his pointed black dress shoes and black socks, with one leg resting atop the knee of its counterpart.
“Some of it.” Odgu scratched at his face for a moment. “The rest is from the journal Wild kept. Don’t ask me how I managed to get my hands on that one.” He sighed, placing four hands on the head of his cane and leaning into it. “Sadly, it no longer exists.”
“What a shame.” Hawk grinned, stepping in through the door with his typical devious attitude front and center. “I feel like I’m obligated to show up late to these at this point. Doesn’t feel right if I’m on time anymore.”
“Where have you been?” Oisim grumbled, rising from his seat with a menacing air. “This meeting was called twenty minutes ago. We cannot afford to be off schedule today, this final of days.”
“He’s not about to stick around, either.” Odgu hobbled forwards, putting out two of his inhuman hands with an expectant air. Reluctantly Hawk relinquished the cardboard box under his arm, and with considerable gravity Odgu walked the box to the desk, dropping his cane on the floor as he went.
“Gentlemen, part one of my contract with you has been fulfilled.” Laying the box on the desk, he stepped back as Oisim opened the flaps. “The Demon mask, safe and sound, just as promised.”
“That…” The figure in the corner suddenly straightened, placing his raised leg down on the floor as Oisim gently lifted the Demon mask out of its box. “The rhythm on that. I’ve never seen anything like it before, it’s like it’s… Alive.”
“You have the one eye already.” Odgu kept his gaze locked on Oisim as he struggled back into his trenchcoat with significant assistance from Pakka. “When the second one is found my obligation to this organization will be complete. I think it’s time you told those you requested about the plan.”
“We will eliminate Rook, Race, and Tone.” Oisim scowled, folding his hands as he addressed the group assembled around him. “Usul will be operating with Odgu on a separate operation. The rest of you will follow my instruction.”
“There will be further details provided before the event itself. Odgu most first deliver a message with Hawk’s assistance.” Oisim reached into his desk and took out an envelope, marked with wax and stamped with a koi seal. “Usul, I trust you are prepared?”
The red-suited assassin slowly stood, walking out of the shadows of the room to stop just in front of the desk. His eyes were locked on the Demon mask, and as the room waited for his reply he gently turned it around with one hand, staring into the empty sockets which looked back in deep, lifeless fashion.
“More than prepared.” His eyes sparkled out of the black skull-shaped mask he wore. “The timing couldn’t be better.”
–
Ren sighed, idling back into his parking place on the street and turning off the engine. The day had been a total wash - he had failed to get invitations to the event, he had failed to see the marble tiger, and worst of all he had failed to pick up Race, who was now riding around with Shou. He had no way of knowing if Shou could be trusted with anything, much less playing bodyguard to Race all day.
The phone buzzed as he finished his thought, and he answered it without thinking. “Halfway between frozen and thawed, what’s up?”
“That’s a new one.” The voice on the other end flatly observed. “I’m with Shou at the moment, need to ask you something if that’s okay. You’re on speaker by the way.”
“Speake-” Ren cut himself off before his disbelief could seep out through his mouth any more than it already had. “Okay, uhh, what exactly? Shou’s not giving you trouble, is he?”
“He’s fine.” Race’s tone grew even more flat as she continued. “You saw that giant cicada that got broadcasted a few hours ago, right?”
“NO??” Ren’s jaw nearly shot through the bottom of the vehicle. “What do you MEAN giant cicada? Isn’t one massive existential threat to all of Japan enough for the week, or is this turning into a convention?!”
“Not that big.” Race sighed. He could almost hear her massaging her brow line over the phone. “Anyway, I have my suspicions as to what it is, but I know you’ve got a really convenient way to find out for sure. Have your source check up on that.”
“Right…” Ren sighed, leaning back into his seat. “I’ll do that right away… It’s not like I’m dead tired or anything. You said that-”
The vehicle jolted as a massive crunch sound accompanied a bang so loud it sounded like a gunshot rattled through the air. Ren jumped almost through the roof of the vehicle, staring out of the windshield at the new hood ornament he received. “What was that? Are you okay?”
“I’m… Uh, I’m fine,” Ren mumbled, stepping out of his car with his eyes fixed on the rather non-aerodynamic addition his vehicle was now adorned with. “What were your, uh… Your suspicions?”
“I don’t want to give away too much out of the office.” Race replied, her words hardly softening the shock of the metal cane, wedged perfectly upright into the engine block of Ren’s automobile, with a fluttering envelope affixed to the handle by a deftly-tied rope. “But let’s say ‘dead tired’ is just about the last thing it is.”
–
The territory was technically Russian, but so close to China that one could easily mistake it for being part of the smaller nation. It was along this small southernmost point of the Khasansky District that two red circles looked back on the procession following them. Figures of various sizes, black exteriors covering the simplistic designs which kept them functioning, made them seem alive.
In the skies above, two black dots emerged, traveling at high speeds through the air. The rattle of their engines pushed to their limits was a clear indicator that the pilots, pressed by a government most eager to find out why six peculiar figures suddenly emerged out of southern China and were walking to the coast, desired to collect as much information as quickly as possible. But just as they emerged from behind the clouds, the group of ominous humanoids disappeared beneath the chopping waves.
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