Chapter 17 Can You Relate?

He refreshed his inbox. Still nothing. A strange tightness settled in his chest. Ichiban was always punctual when it came to work emails. This wasn’t normal.

Shachiku tapped his fingers against his desk. For a moment, he debated just waiting it out. Maybe she was in a meeting. Maybe her phone was dead. Maybe—

No.

Something felt off. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t like it. And, deep down, he had another reason. An excuse to see her again. He fixed his red tie, straightened his office suit, and grabbed his black briefcase. Then, without a word to his coworkers, he left the office. 

The drive to Helios-9 was quiet. Almost eerily so.

Shachiku’s car hummed along the lonely road leading up to the facility. He had been here several times before, but something about today felt… different.

The air was too still.

As he approached the entrance, he noticed the guards. More than usual. And unlike the usual bored, half-interested security personnel he was used to seeing, these men were armed.

Rifles. Full tactical gear. Helmets.

The steel gates of Helios-9, usually open to registered personnel, were locked shut.

Something was wrong.

He slowed his car and rolled down his window as one of the guards stepped forward.

"Business?" The guard’s voice was sharp, professional.

"Ah, yeah, I’m here to see Dr. Ichiban. She’s expecting me."

It was a casual lie. One he had told before. Sometimes Ichiban was too busy to meet at the scheduled time, so he’d just show up, and they’d talk anyway.

But today, the guard’s expression didn’t change. 

"Dr. Ichiban is unavailable."

"Unavailable? That’s fine, I can wait. Just let her know I’m here—"

"Sir."

The guard cut him off, tone firm. 

"We’ve lost contact with the facility. Helios-9 is in full lockdown. I can’t disclose any more information. I strongly suggest you turn around and leave. If Dr. Ichiban needs to reach you, she will."

His mouth opened, ready to press for more, but then he noticed something. The guards weren’t just alert. They were nervous. They kept glancing at the facility. Their fingers hovered close to their triggers. Something had them on edge. And it wasn’t him. Something was very, very wrong. The guard stepped closer, voice lowering.

"Sir, turn around and go home. Now."

The way he said it—it wasn’t a warning. It was a plea.

Shachiku had no choice. He gave a slow nod and put his car in reverse.

As he drove back down the winding road, he noticed more signs that things were not normal. Military vehicles rolled past him, heading toward Helios-9. Roadblocks were being set up, sectioning off parts of the highway. Officers were removing civilians from the streets closest to the facility. An emergency broadcast played over the radio, but it was just a looping message about a temporary power outage—a weak excuse for whatever was really happening.

Shachiku’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know why Helios-9 had gone dark. But one thing was clear—this wasn’t just a minor incident. Something big had happened. And Dr. Ichiban was still inside. 

Shachiku pulled into the underground parking garage near his office, shutting off the engine with a tired sigh. The drive back from Helios-9 had left him restless. The armed guards. The military vehicles. The evacuations. And above all—the silence from Dr. Ichiban. Something had gone terribly wrong up there. But no one would tell him what.

He stepped out of his car, closing the door with a hollow thud, and adjusted his tie. His black briefcase felt heavier than usual as he slung it over his shoulder.

Maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe everything would be fine by tomorrow. But deep down, he knew that was a lie. 

He started walking back toward the office. As he passed by the small park near his building, a group of young students gathered at the bench, laughing and energetically bantering.

Two young men and a girl, caught up in their own world. Shachiku slowed his steps just slightly, watching them for a brief moment. Youth. Energy. That lightness of life.

“…Nice to be young.”

The thought drifted through his mind like a sigh.

That kind of excitement, that carefree spirit—it felt like another world to him now. Something distant. Untouchable.

He didn’t linger. Adjusting his tie again, he exhaled softly and walked on. Because unlike them, he still had a job to get back to.

Shachiku stepped into the office and walked past row after row of identical desks, filled with overworked employees drowning in endless paperwork.

And then, there it was. His desk. Or rather, his grave.

A mountain of documents stacked so high that it was a miracle it hadn’t collapsed. Slapped on top was a yellow sticky note with a half-assed scribble.

“Handle these. ASAP. -Tanaka”

Tanaka. His boss. A walking embodiment of corporate garbage, always finding new ways to shove his responsibilities onto others while parading around like some big-shot executive. And, of course, his ass-kissing lackeys had helped pile on even more work, probably whispering “Leave it to Shachiku, he doesn’t complain” like the spineless parasites they were.

Normally, he would sigh, roll up his sleeves, and start grinding through the paperwork like a mindless machine. But today? Today, he didn’t care. He pulled out his chair, sat down, and ignored the entire pile. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his earbuds and plugged them in, scrolling through his phone as he connected to the news radio.

“…Following reports of localized power outages and water pipe failures near the Kuro Mountain region, authorities have issued a minor evacuation order for select residential areas near Helios-9…”

“…Officials state that roadblocks have been set up as a safety measure while infrastructure repairs are underway…”

“…No official comment has been made regarding the extent of the damages…”

Shachiku’s grip tightened around his phone.

Still the same story. They were hiding something. He could feel it. This wasn’t just some infrastructure issue. Helios-9 had gone dark. And Dr. Ichiban was still silent. He refreshed his inbox.

Nothing.

No reply. No update. No sign of her. His eyes flicked back to the TV mounted on the office wall. The talking heads were still at it, their voices dripping with artificial enthusiasm.

“And in the world of innovation and progress, billionaire entrepreneur Eel Schmuck has once again captured headlines! Earlier today, he announced a new phase in his ever-expanding space program, promising that by the end of this year, civilian space tourism will be ‘as easy as booking a flight to Okinawa.’”

The screen cut to footage of Schmuck himself—grinning, sunglasses atop his forehead, standing in front of a sleek, white spacecraft that looked suspiciously like the last five he had shown off.

“It’s really about making space accessible,” Schmuck said, gesturing wildly, as if that alone would propel him into orbit.

“We’re talking about a future where even your grandma can take a trip to the Moon. Zero gravity buffets. Space golf. The whole experience.”

Back in the newsroom, the anchor nodded in feigned excitement.

“A truly bold vision! And speaking of looking ahead, let’s talk weather.”

The screen changed to a smiling weatherman, standing before a map of the country.

“Hope you folks got umbrellas! We’ve got a rainy system moving in from the south next week. Expect showers starting Tuesday, especially in the western regions, with temperatures dropping a few degrees. So if you’re planning a trip, you might want to reschedule! And hey, good news for farmers—those crops are gonna love it!”

Shachiku let out a bitter laugh, an ugly, exhausted sound.

“God damn it,” he muttered under his breath. His fingers curled into a fist against his desk. 

“I don’t care about Eel Schmuck and his space program, or the damn weather next week. Talk about Helios-9, not some rich asshat or a heavy rain. Helios-9 is gone dark. A military lockdown is right outside the city. And they’re talking about space golf and rain next Tuesday?”

Another hour of waiting passed, of refreshing his inbox, hoping for a response from Ichiban that never came. Sixty minutes of listening to the same sterile, scripted news reports about roadblocks and infrastructure failures—vague, meaningless updates that told him nothing about what was really happening at Helios-9.

Shachiku leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. The dull ache behind his eyes was growing worse. He needed coffee.

He dragged himself to the coffee machine, pouring a cup of the bitter, over-brewed sludge that passed for fuel in this place. Mug in hand, he wandered over to the large window overlooking the city. The view was one of the few perks of working on the 14th floor. From here, he could see the sprawling urban landscape, the distant highways snaking through the hills, and beyond it all—Kuro Mountain.

There it was. Helios-9. A tiny, unassuming speck nestled within the rocky expanse. From this distance, it looked almost peaceful. Everything looked… normal. 

For a moment, Shachiku almost convinced himself that maybe—just maybe—he was overthinking things. Maybe Ichiban was fine. Maybe the silence meant nothing. Maybe the unease gnawing at him was just another symptom of his overworked, under-rested mind.

He was just about to turn away when the floor beneath him trembled. The windows rattled violently, the glass vibrating with a low, ominous hum. A deep, thunderous shockwave rolled through the city like an invisible fist, shaking everything in its path.

BOOM!