Static and Silence

Humanity is afforded an infinite spectrum of possibilities, yet the choices we make are rarely perfect. When left to their own impulses, the vast majority of people will inevitably gravitate toward the well-trodden road of instinct—a simple existence governed by the primal imperatives to consume, to couple, to rest, and, above all, to endure.

There are some, however, who elect to forge a pact, compelled by an inner drive to enact change. Yet, the moment the ink on that contract dries, their autonomy ceases. Their decisions are no longer their own, but are instead made for them. They relinquish their individuality to an entity far greater than any single person. For months, they subject themselves to punishing training, a crucible that burns away the self until they know every contour and component of their Type 91 rifle with an intimacy that surpasses the knowledge of their own flesh and blood. Only then are they dispatched to wage war in lands a world away from home and kin. Some will return. Others will not.

What is it that drives such a man to fight? For what principle, for what cause, does he lay down his life?

What in the hell is the point of it all?

Forgive my philosophical digression. If you would indulge me, allow me to share my story. It all began on that particular day.

For what seemed the first time in an age, oblivion had claimed me in a deep and soundless sleep. The delicate notes of birdsong drifting through my open window composed a peaceful melody, a serene counterpoint to the violent symphony I had grown so used to. After six long months deployed in the scorched wasteland known as the Arid Expanse, I was desperate for this kind of tranquility. The soft, lovely sound was a welcome balm, not nearly enough to rouse me. Out there, a single moment of genuine rest was an impossible luxury; the air was perpetually torn by the percussive thunder of gunfire, or else my own mind was besieged by the phantom screams of past engagements.

My beautiful, profound slumber was, however, annihilated by the shriek of an alarm.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The incessant, electronic pulse grated on my very soul. On pure, conditioned instinct, my hand shot beneath my pillow. It reemerged clutching my Minato P9 handgun, the barrel immediately finding and leveling on the offending clock.

Shit.

Shit.

The old aggressive reflexes were still there, hardwired into my nervous system, ready to be triggered by any sudden disturbance in the dead of night. It was the very reason I now fastidiously locked my bedroom door—a lesson seared into my memory months prior when my sister had innocently barged in. Before my conscious mind had even registered her presence, I had perceived a threat, an insurgent intent on killing me. A single round had erupted from the barrel, embedding itself in the wall a hair's breadth from her head. The bullet had missed her by a whisper, thank God, but the incident had still earned me a formal report and a mandatory psychological evaluation.

I placed the pistol carefully on the nightstand, ejected the magazine, and thumbed the safety into place. My gaze swept methodically across the familiar territory of my room here in Senka prefecture, within the sanctuary of my family’s home. It was a simple space: a computer desk stood to my right, an LED television was mounted to the wall opposite my bed, and above it, a tall bookcase overflowed with my extensive collection of comics and magazines.

Posters celebrating video games and anime adorned the walls. Numerous figurines were also on display, the collection dominated by a wide array of the Bishoujo type.

Most of them were not mine, I should clarify. They belonged to my sister. I will explain the circumstances of their migration into my room at a later time.

I sat on the edge of the bed for a moment before gathering the shattered plastic fragments of the alarm clock and depositing them in the trash bin. From there, I trudged to the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth. The man who stared back from the mirror possessed rather long, jet-black hair—a typical trait for a Yamato man—which was complemented by purple eyes and skin tanned several shades darker from my tour in “The Sandbox.”

Later, clad in my customary civilian attire of blue trousers and a plain grey t-shirt, I found myself on the living room sofa. As I was idly flicking through the channels, a news broadcast captured my full attention.

“Yesterday,” the anchor reported gravely, “a C-5 Behemoth transport plane belonging to the Yamato Air Self-Defense Force lost all communications while flying over the Northern Azure Ocean. The aircraft was en route from Kyoma, carrying vital supplies to Veridia, OSA. The cause of the disappearance is currently unknown. The Prime Minister—”

“Haru-kun!” My mother’s voice, warm and familiar, called out from the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready!”

“All right, Okaa-san!” I called back, the television screen going dark as I made my way toward the dining room.

I still resided in my parents’ home, along with my older sister. This was a special arrangement. Ordinarily, the families of special forces personnel are required to live within the secure confines of a YDF facility, but because my father had served with distinction in the very same SF unit, I had been granted permission to remain in his old quarters.

Before this narrative proceeds any further, it is perhaps best that I introduce myself. My name is Haru Shinozaki. I am the second child and only son of my family. By profession, I am a second lieutenant and sniper assigned to the Yamato Special Operations Group, which stands as the most prestigious and clandestine Special Forces unit in the entire country. Given the highly confidential nature of my duties, I operate under the codename ‘Arc.’ I will be honest: the choice was made on a whim, born from my deep affection for fantasy and magic-based JRPGs. That, and the fact that my comrades often remarked that my aim was so precise it seemed akin to magic.

I took an empty seat at the table just as my mother, Akemi Shinozaki, was putting the finishing touches on breakfast. She is, without any hyperbole, the greatest mother in the world. Her long, smooth black hair was pulled back into a practical, neat ponytail. She set a plate of perfectly scrambled eggs before me and then sat down with her own portion.

“Come on,” she said gently, “let’s get started.”

“Itadakimasu!” we all recited in unison before we began to eat.

“So…” my mother started, her tone soft and probing. “How was your last deployment?”

My gaze fell immediately to my plate. “...I don’t want to talk about it.” I detested it when anyone inquired about my missions. Not only was the information classified, but the absolute last thing I ever wanted to do was voluntarily relive the moments I’d spent looking through a scope and putting a bullet through another human being’s skull.

“Do you truly wish to continue with this work, Haru-kun?” Her violet eyes, so much like my own, studied me with a profound maternal concern. “Your father would understand completely if you decided to quit.”

“No, it’s not because of him,” I replied, my gaze drifting past her, out the window to the solitary Sakura tree that graced our yard. “Dad may have trained me since I was a boy to be a warrior, to be the next in the Shinozaki line to serve, but this is my decision to make.”

Just then, my iCom vibrated sharply in my pocket. I retrieved it and glanced at the screen.

From: Colonel Tanaka Report to the briefing room. ASAP.

I just got back today! Why is there a mission already? Regardless, I began to shovel down the remainder of my breakfast, a habit forged in the crucible of the field where time is the ultimate luxury. When circumstances demanded it, you learned to finish a full meal in under ten minutes.

Observing my sudden urgency, my mother tilted her head. “Why are you eating so fast, Haru-kun?”

I swallowed the last mouthful and pushed my chair back, rising to my feet. “The Colonel is calling me to HQ,” I explained, stuffing the damned device back into my pocket. “I don’t know why.”

I hurried back to my room, grabbing my handgun from the nightstand and shrugging on the black leather jacket I favored. With my essential items secured, I made for the front door.

“Ittekimasu!” I called out into the house.

“Itterasai!” she replied, and I could hear the sweet smile in her voice.