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Chapter Nine
Scabs
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“Calling in.”
The wide black brim of the assassin obstructed his perfectly round black-lensed sunglasses from view for a moment. He was dressed in all black, including the tight-fitting dress shirt under his almost trenchcoat-like jacket, and stood inside the phone booth exhibiting blatant impatience.
“What is your status?”
The assassin adjusted his glasses in the middle. “He broke my lens.”
“Your orders were not to physically engage.” The voice replied, clearly attempting to intimidate its conversation partner, which was evidently old hat to the dark-dressed dealer in death, who wasted no time in offering a rebuttal.
“He cracked the lens from across the lake.”
There was silence on the other end for a moment. “Were you spotted?”
“Almost instantly. The lake gave off too many unpredictable reflections.” A thin line of smoke emanated up from the assassin, curling over the brim of his hat. “Hit the ground right after I first fired, spotted me the moment I turned to find the kid.”
“You fired? Without confirming your shot?”
“I never guess.” The assassin flatly replied. “First shot is always a blank if I need a crowd breaker, and he had the ducks as cover. The girl went down the moment he did and cut me off from any clear shots. Plus he had that stupid costume on.”
“We will discuss your failure when you arrive.” The voice crackled. “You will report in alongside the others. There are one or two little matters that will need to be cleared up with that news station which we may have you attend to tomorrow. You will be briefed when you arrive.”
The phone clicked as the call ended, the assassin slowly returning the receiver to its place. Another curl of smoke wrapped its way around his brim briefly. “Wish I was getting paid in painkillers…”
—
“I SAID TAKE A SEAT, GRANDPA!!”
The older man jolted, having been entranced by the security camera screens aside the steering wheel, making some kind of nonverbal apology and shuffling off towards the rear of the bus. He stopped halfway, noticing Ren staring off into space, and chose to settle down into the seat across the aisle from him as the bus lurched forwards.
“Light?” He mumbled, gripping a cigarette holder in between his lips, but after several seconds of trying to process what had been said, Ren slowly turned towards the man and gestured at the sign above his head which meant, in any language, no smoking.
“Ah.” The old man’s voice remained cheerful despite this revelation, smiling as he returned the cigarette holder to his pocket. “I suspected as much. Fortunes always change that way.”
“…It’s not my business, but,” Ren began, eager to take his mind off the frantic call Kohaku had sent not too long ago. “How come you’ve got a perfect American accent? I’ve spoken to a few people who all seem to have lived in the states.”
“Hm.” The old man chuckled. “It’s necessary to do just about anything. All the foreigners speak English, all the young folk speak English almost as a first language. It’s nearing the status of a universal language.”
When Ren didn’t reply, he took it as a free pass to continue. “It’s difficult to find purpose in anything once it loses its distinction, y’know? Had to quit holding out after a certain point and actually learn English if I intended to keep finding ways to afford food, and it seems I’ve done a good enough job if an American’s complementing it.”
“Not quite that,” Ren replied with a light smirk. “But I understand what you mean. Some things are easier to hand over than others.”
“Especially if it’s all you have.” The old man kept smiling, but his voice held a twinge of sadness. “What will I have left after this is over? My flute hardly puts money bread on the table. I don’t have any special skills that could get me anywhere in society. All I have is my culture, my language, and my home.” His fingers tapped the hard fabric case resting against his knee. “And I’m losing just about everything but the flute.”
Ren tried to think of something to say, but it cut a bit too deep and too personally for him to interject anything other than bias. The old man seemed to notice this, too.
“Don’t feel bad for me.” He smiled widely. “You’re growing up in a new world where everyone speaks together in one tongue, something everyone throughout history could only dream of having the luxury of. But don’t give up the things you have, even if they seem antiquated and irrelevant. So we don’t lose it all on the way to the future.”
Ren smiled briefly. “You don’t have to convince me,” He held his hands up in slight protest. “I’m still trying to learn how to use chopsticks. But you said you play the flute?”
“I never said I play it.” The old man replied, pulling a small flute out from an inner pocket. “But yes, I do play the flute. The hichiriki, more specifically.” He partially unzipped the hard fabric case and took out a stack of paper stapled in the corner. “Now if that grouch driving doesn’t mind, I’ll be happy to demonstrate.”
The grouch gave a grunt in reply.
With no verbal order to stop, and a complimentary smile from Ren reflecting back in the old man’s perfectly round sunglasses, the sharp sounds of the hichiriki filled the bus, pulling Ren’s mind off the stressful future which awaited him in mere minutes and directed it towards the melancholy of the old man’s words. What would be left after all this was over?
—
“You didn’t let Corey see this, did you?”
Tone slowly paced back and forth, his hands unsure where to remain, swapping between various positions on his body and never staying there for long. “Not even a glance at the door. Sent him and your coworker to pick you up, just as I said.”
“Well my having taken the bus must’ve thrown a wrench in things somehow.” Ren ran a finger across one of the grey, twisting wounds, set well into the skin, filled with swirling grooves, and devoid of any life or color. “Take Rook so he stops muttering to himself and track down my car. We can’t have anything happening to either of them until we get a handle on things.”
“You gonna be able to-”
“Yes.” Ren sharply replied. “I can get rid of them. Now move; we don’t have any time to waste.”
With something of a curious glance at his boss, Tone gestured for the lumbering figure of Rook to follow, him having spent the last several minutes standing in the corner and staring intensely at the bodies, as if they would suddenly begin speaking to him. After the pair had gone, Ren swiftly walked to the door of his room and cracked it open, slamming the cot down and abruptly kneeling on the mattress.
“Wake. Up.” He growled, his eyes shut as he waited for the telltale sign of the mask’s presence. It eventually became obvious when he heard it clattering about with the pipe loosely in its teeth. Before the mask could get a word out, Ren stormed over and ripped the pipe away. “Why did you kill them?!”
" 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎." The mask replied, the same devious tone in his voice despite being on the defensive. “𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓃𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓁 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒹. 𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝐼 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒹, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂 𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓁𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝓈𝑒𝒶𝓉, 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓅 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓈𝓊𝒾𝓉𝓈. 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝓁𝓊𝒷 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝑜𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓈𝑒.”
“Cut the jokes,” Ren snarled, jabbing a finger at the mask, which pretended to bite at it. “I don’t think such levity is appropriate right now. Can you make this disappear?”
“𝒪𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒.” The mask chuckled, floating out to the pile of bodies, the black form which emanated downwards clinging to the wall as he traveled. “𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝐼 𝒹𝑜. 𝐼’𝓋𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓉.”
The mask chortled as Ren stormed out of the apartment, locking the door behind him. I sure hope Tone’s having a better time than I am…
—
“GPS tracking doesn’t really help that much.” Tone complained, glancing at his phone before giving up and tucking it away. “We’re going to just have to guess based on the likeliest route-”
“What?” Rook hollered above the rushing of air as he traveled forwards with no visible resistance.
“Just keep an eye out for them!” Tone replied, scanning the streets for any sign of any similar cars. “There’s so many basic boring cars in this part of the city that it’s going to be incredibly difficult to narrow down just where exactly his basic boring car-”
“Don’t you have a GPS?” Rook hollered again.
“It’s not very useful right now!” He yelled back. “Goodness, sometimes I really wish you had ears so I could communicate more efficiently with-”
“WHAT??”
“I SAID I WISH YOU HAD EARS!!”
“YEAH SO DO I!” Rook replied, getting flustered. “I WISH I HAD THE ENTIRE REST OF MY BODY TOO!!”
“Wait.” Tone grew very quiet, his hand slightly tugging on Rook’s head to make him stop moving. “There. That rooftop. I think I’ve just found her. Set me off on the side, go in low.” He wrapped his arm back around Rook as the large artificial figure descended sharply and glided over to the edge of the roof before helping him over it.
“Not very smart to go stargazing without binoculars.” Tone slid his hands into his pockets as he spoke, sauntering forwards with a casual air. He suddenly stopped, a dangerous look entering into his eye.
“Ah. You’ve gotta be the sound guy they warned me about.” The figure said, breathing through his ever-smiling teeth. “The one who can make noises. My eardrums are ringing right now, so if you’re saying anything else I can’t hear you. Heck, I can’t even hear myself. But I’ve lost the weaknesses that go along with being in pain, so I apologize if you thought it would stop me.”
“You move, I break her arm.” His muscular hand lifted Kohaku off the ground by the wrists, his impressive six-foot-four height only overshadowed by his incredibly wide shoulders and intimidating build. “She used to wail in pain when I did that. But I kept telling her about what would happen to Corey if she didn’t shut her mouth more often, and after she bawled a bit I guess she got the message.”
“They said we weren’t allowed to hurt civilians, but they can’t exactly see me from here, can they?” The stranger’s grin extended even wider, the rest of his face and eyes concealed by a menacing, unpainted wooden mask. “You wouldn’t snitch though, would you?”
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