Mission: Refill

A quiet click echoed when Takeshi placed his finger on the fingerprint scanner of his front door. He removed his shoes in the entryway and neatly lined them up beside the other identical pairs already there.

The floor was brand new, cold, and without a single scratch. Even a hotel would have felt more like home. The hallway carried nothing of him. Like a showroom, the furnishings were impersonal, straight out of a store. Lifeless, Loveless, and quiet.

No feeling of familiarity or comfort.

He’d moved in just the day before and hadn’t found the time, or the will, to do anything about it.

Frankly, he didn’t even care.

He was used to rooms in concrete buildings, carrying the faint scent of damp walls and gunpowder. This house was larger than average and was just for himself.

The soft hum of the fridge was the only sign of life. Not that Takeshi minded being alone. Quite the opposite. Solitude and loneliness weren’t the same. Not to him. The latter was a feeling of emptiness and discomfort. The former was merely a state. Being alone didn’t necessarily mean being lonely. And loneliness could linger even in a crowded room.

Takeshi headed upstairs to change into something more comfortable. The sterile scent of new materials clung to the air, sharp and chemical as he climbed. In his bedroom, he undressed. His gaze landed on a small wooden box at the back of the closet. Tie, jacket, belt, shirt, pants, all in that order. Always. Everything folded with obsessive precision, returned to the closet in perfect order. Silent like a frigate before departure. Each jacket aligned, every hanger adjusted to perfection. No colors out of place, no wrinkles tolerated. For Takeshi, this was a routine. No satisfaction, just habit.

He opened two drawers, retrieving black pants from one and a matching t-shirt from the other. The fabric itched lightly against his skin. It was clearly not designed for comfort.

Across the room, an elegantly framed photo rested on the shelf. Takeshi’s eyes were fixed on it. No thoughts. No expression. Just the image, triggering something deep within. His fists tightened, jaw locked, a faint furrow cutting into his brow. He turned away. He couldn’t look at it any longer. In silence, he laid the frame face down on the shelf.

He made his way to the kitchen, and each step echoed through the empty house. Only a few nutrition bars were lined up on the kitchen shelves. One plate, a single set of cutlery, one cup, and a glass. Nothing more. He reached for a rectangular bar, no larger than his hand, vacuum-sealed in glossy silver foil. The label read: R175. R for ration. It could barely be called food. Emergency rations provided all the necessary nutrients to survive.

He tore open the package. Inside was a grayish-beige block, looking like compressed sawdust.

The water he prepared beforehand was already boiling. Steam curled upward as he dropped the block in. No smell. No flavor. No texture and stirring wouldn’t change a thing. Nothing could improve it. He set a timer for 3 minutes and 34 seconds, knowing how long it took from experience.

A dull bubbling sound followed as the block turned into a beige mush. It was neither good nor bad. It simply tasted like nothing.

He grabbed a spoon, picked up the pot, and walked out to the veranda. Fully expressionless. Takeshi was a decent cook. He knew a few Western dishes but never had a reason to cook for himself. He needed something quick, simple, and nutritious. Survival came first, and the mush was enough.

He slid the door open to the veranda and sat at the large, empty dining table. Slowly, he began to eat. The spoon scraped the edges of the pot in a steady, rhythmic motion. The texture was like glue, slapping back into the pot with a dull, wet sound. The sun had dipped low, painting the sky orange. Takeshi stared out through the veranda door, watching the tree leaves barely move in the breeze. His mind was completely blank.

From outside, the steady sound of chopping wood carried through the door. Then a sharp female voice cut through.

“Eikichi! What are you doing? Are you chopping wood again? I told you not to do that with your back!”

“I’m not chopping with my back!” Eikichi grumbled. “I’m using my arms!”

“You’re chopping your brain into mush. Now tell me where the cake pan went!”

A pause. Takeshi couldn’t hear the sigh, but he felt it.

“What would I do with your cake pan?”

“That’s what I’d like to know! And yet it’s gone!”

“I’ll make you a new one. Out of wood.”

“I’ll knock some sense into your head!”

One final thud of an axe. Then only the muffled grumbling of an old man. Half cursing, half chuckling.

This kind of life was completely foreign to him. His days had once been filled with drills, missions, and readiness. Now, everything was slower. A stable job. The same place, the same faces, every day.

Takeshi had never found his place in civilian life. In the military, teamwork wasn’t optional, and personalities didn’t matter. The mission came first.

But as a teacher, at least from what he’d seen on his first day, everyone seemed to run their own program on repeat. Not that he saw anything wrong with it. It was just… different.

The pot was empty now. Takeshi stood and locked the door behind him. The evening air had turned cool.

Silence again. No thoughts, no feelings. Just keep going.