Loose Threads

Undisclosed Location  //  Unknown Locale

The vast chamber is lost to darkness except for a dim lighting illuminating the center of the room. The edge of the room’s lighting reveals glimpses of stone walls likely not built from this century.

Laboratory equipment along with beakers and test tubes sprawl across steel tables under the light. The modern gear looks alien against the ancient stones.

Locke strides out from the shadows, approaching the table and slides a sleek black titanium case across the table. “I have a delivery for you, Icarus-sama.”

Icarus, operating in shadow, opens the black case, admiring its contents before snapping it shut.

“Excellent work, Locke. And as a reward, I have the prototype weapon for your next task.”

“Oh. That?”  She produces a slight smile. “Will this be the time to reveal ourselves to the world?”

Icarus’s hand emerges into the light, holding a dropper that releases yellow liquid onto a cotton ball. A fizz can be heard once it makes contact.

“In due time. The pieces are almost in place. We don't want it all to go up in flames...”

Icarus strikes a match, he drops it onto the cotton ball, which instantly combusts with a flash.

“And yet, I am still missing an important piece.”

“Yes, about that...” Locke hesitates. “I have some reservations about her.”

“You doubt my leadership?”

“Never, Icarus-sama. But her methods are... theatrical.”

A chime interrupts them. A holographic screen pops up in front of Icarus as voice call comes in. He waves his fingers over it and accepts the call.

“Icarus-sama! I hope you are proud of me,” A shrill female voice echoes off the walls. “I've procured more material for you!”

“Yes, I heard. You've alerted Japanese Enforcement to your existence.”

“So they will fear the needles of fate that come for them. Each stitch brings us closer to unraveling their world.”

“You still have to tighten some loose threads: My algorithm. I'm still waiting for the final piece.”

“Ah, that. My courier experienced some… difficulties, but…”

“You fool. Do you know every delay pushes us further back from the plan?”

“Fear not,” The wicked voice hesitates. “The chip is tracked. I will personally ensure that it will be in your hands.”

“Don't do anything rash, Singer. There are consequences for failure.”

“It is not curtains for me yet. I thread my own destiny.”

From her vantage point overlooking Enforcement Naniwa Station, Singer terminates the video call. “I will not let you down, Icarus-sama,” she mutters under her breath.

Singer’s jet-black twintails and long dress flutters in the night breeze. The mask covering her face bears a distinctive gunmetal stitch seam down its center, sheening iridescent as it catches the glare of a passing headlight.

***

Digital Forensics Lab, Osaka Enforcement, Naniwa Branch Department  //  Nippombashi

Night has fallen at the Naniwa Branch Enforcement Department.

In the Forensics Lab—or Tomomi’s room—Mika hunches over one of the lab stations, scrubbing back and forth through security footage. The screen shows loading bay doors being methodically cut, their edges heating to a molten red before a jagged section crashes to the ground.

Figures in black clothing and motorcycle helmets slip through the opening. Then the footage dissolves into a garbled mess of digital corruption. When the picture restabilizes, it reveals only aftermath: scattered debris, toppled warehouse shelves, and security guards sprawled motionless on the floor.

Mika rewinds through the corrupted sections, freezing on a clear frame that managed to survive unscathed. In the corner, a silhouette catches her eye.

She zooms in, squinting at the grainy pixels. The figure wears what appears to be a gothic Victorian dress, their face obscured behind a dark visor.

What... is that?

“Gah! I’m starving!” Tomomi pushes back from her desk and throws up her hands in the air. “Mika?”

Mika groans. “I just got you a strawberry cream sandwich.”

“Can I get another one?”

“The convenience store is just the next block over.”

“Yeah, but you're here.” Tomomi flashes an adorable grin. How could Mika say no?

She relents, getting up from the desk with a sigh. As she passes Tomomi, she can't resist ruffling the girl's hair with a playful headpat, earning an indignant “Hey!” from her.

As Mika passes the break room in the hallway, she hears a voice she doesn’t want to hear.

“Going home finally, Shinkawa?”

Corporal Hayashi stirs his steaming mug.

“Just taking a break,” she responds curtly.

“Well don't work too hard. You're on the first patrol shift tomorrow morning.”

Mika stops in her tracks. “Seriously? Again?”

“You ditched today's duties to play investigator with Interpol. It’s only fair you have to swap shifts with your substitute.”

Mika balls her fist involuntarily, but restrains her frustration. “Whatever,” she mutters under her breath and moves on downstairs.

Passing the armory, she hesitates, gazing down the rows of weapon lockers to her own.

Does she need her weapon? She's only going down a couple blocks.

After a moment to ponder, she shakes her head.

“It'll be fine,” she tells herself.

Moving past the armory, she pushes through the station's ornate front doors.

Outside, the Department compound sits in the silent peaceful night. Residential windows are out for the night. Not a peep from the surrounding neighborhood. Security camera domes scan the corners of the compound. Patrol robots circle the front entrance on tiny wheels.

Mika passes by the manned front gate and heads toward the local FriendlyMart.

At the front gate, Officer Shun Yanagi leans back in his booth, busy in a video call with his girlfriend. After years of grinding through graveyard shifts and saving every credit, he's nearly there. One more shift, he promised his to-be fiancé. The ring is already picked out, proposal location perfect.

His girlfriend's sweet voice sparkles through the tiny speaker. “How much longer do you have to work nights?”

“This is the last one, I promise.” He can't help but smile, imagining her face when he drops to one knee tomorrow.

“I miss you. Come home.”

“I'll see you in the morning.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“No, I love you more.”

A flash of violet glints in the darkness. Suddenly, overhead security cameras crash to the ground, falling off their mounts. Dark figures slip through the blind spots between the patrolling robots.

Yanagi looks up from his phone’s projected holographic display, catching movement in his peripheral vision.

“What was that noise?” she asks, concerned.

“I gotta go,” urgency colors Yanagi’s voice. “Sleep tight.”

“Okay... Is everything—”

He cuts the call, grabbing his stun blade as he steps out of the booth. Carefully, he makes his way towards the source of the sound in the parking lot.

“Hello?” he calls out, scanning between the rows of patrol cruisers. A tin rattle echoes from the underbelly of one of the vehicles.

A black cat crawls out from under the cruiser. It’s yellow eyes gazes at him before slinking away.

Yanagi exhales, shoulders dropping in relief.

A purple thread whips around his neck, biting deep into his flesh. He drops his weapon, claws desperately at his throat to find the wire that’s asphyxiating him. But before he can, the thread yanks him behind a patrol car.

Singer’s voice drifts ominously in the night. “It’s showtime.”