Imagine Sisyphus Happy

Los Angeles, 2025

POV: Naga

Morning bled through Specter’s mansion in a colorless wash, the kind of light that bleaches instead of warms. From the balcony I watched the city drag itself awake.

By the time the others had gathered in the lounge, Specter sat poised at the head of the long table, coffee steaming in front of him. Not a wrinkle in his shirt, not a hair out of place. But his eyes looked like he’d stayed up all night.

“I had a little talk with Laurent,” he said, voice smooth as poured glass. “He told me many things about our friends at Malice. They think Vinnie is in the sewage, the storm drains east of the city.”

The trio froze. Makoto sat still, but his silence was the loudest sound in the room.

Specter slid a small black case to him across the polished wood. “Take this in case.”

Makoto caught it. He didn’t open it. My nose caught what leaked out. Sharp, metallic sweetness that burned the back of my throat. I knew instantly what was inside. 

“I could send hired men down there,” Specter went on. “But normal humans wouldn’t last a second if Malice show up.” His gaze shifted to me.

Makoto raised his eyes. “Then I’ll go.”

He turned to me. No hesitation. Just the weight of a question I already knew the answer to.

“Yeah, I’ll go with you,” I said. “That’s what I’ve decided I want to do.”

Aki shoved her chair back so hard it shrieked. “Then I’m going too.”

“No,” Makoto said firmly.

“Why do you get to decide?” she snapped.

“Because I promised him,” Makoto said. His tone didn’t rise, but it cut clean. “I’ll get him back.”

The silence afterward was worse than shouting. Aki’s face hardened but she said nothing more. Haru stared down at his hands. 

Shelby caught me just before the door as we were leaving. Makoto was busy checking his gear, but Shelby slipped past him, notebook still tucked under her arm.

“You’re really going,” she said.

“That’s the idea.”

She looked me over, eyes narrowing, as if weighing me on a scale. “You walk like someone already halfway to the grave. Like you’ve decided the fight is where you belong, whether or not you win it.”

I raised a brow. “Think you have me figured out already?”

“I don’t need to,” she said simply. “It’s written on you. You carry yourself like a man convinced his story already ended, and everything since has just been the echo. But echoes fade. If you go down there thinking you’re disposable, you’ll prove yourself right.”

Her words stuck harder than I expected. “Don’t worry I don’t have any intention to throw my life away. Not until I end this foolish parade.”

“I think you’re the kind of person who’d call it inevitability instead of choice,” she said. Her voice sharpened, every syllable deliberate. “That’s what worries me. You don’t need to play the hero.”

I leaned against the doorframe. “Don’t worry, I haven’t been much of a hero, historically.”

“It’s just,” she shot back. “You keep treating history like a prophecy. Like you’re only capable of being one thing.”

Silence stretched between us, thick as the city air outside.

“You’ve been watching me closely,” I said finally.

“It’s what I do. I chase after monsters and myths until I find whatever it is hiding underneath. You’re not a monster. You’re not a savior either. But your story isn’t finished.” Her grip tightened on the notebook. “Don’t go down there and act like it is.”

Her gaze pinned me in place, harder than any chain Laurent wore in the basement.

I gave a small nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Come back alive,” she said. “Otherwise, all you’ll prove is that I was right about you, and I’d rather be wrong.”

I left her there, notebook clutched to her chest. But her words came with me, heavy, refusing to be shaken off.

We left.

The sewer swallowed us in damp echoes. Headlamps carved thin paths through the dark. Water slicked against our boots, carrying the city’s filth downstream. The air pressed close, thick with rot and iron.

Makoto led, shoulders squared, steps steady. I followed close.

For a long while, neither of us spoke. Only the drip of water filled the silence.

Finally, I said, “Hard job, keeping those two together.”

Makoto didn’t look back. “It’s the opposite. They’re the ones keeping me together.”

I raised a brow, though he couldn’t see it. “You think you’re weak, don’t you.”

“I’m a lot weaker than you think.” His voice didn’t waver. “Sometimes I feel like I’m carrying a boulder that’s too heavy for me.”

“You carry it anyway,” I said.

“Because I don’t have a choice.”

“That is the choice,” I told him.

He finally glanced back, light from his lamp catching the edges of his face as he chuckled for the first time. “You think that’s strength?”

“I think it’s survival,” I said. “And survival is rarer than strength.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “You talk like someone who’s paid the price.”

“I have.”

After a while, he said, “You didn’t have to come.”

“You asked.”

“I didn’t,” he said, voice lower now. “I trusted you would.”

That stopped me for a moment. Trust was not something often pointed in my direction.

He went on, quieter. “I promised Vinnie he wouldn’t be alone. That when it came down to it, I’d come and get him.”

“Promises,” I murmured. “They’re heavy aren’t they.”

Makoto’s lips pressed thin. “Yeah.”

He walked in silence before asking, “What about you? Ever make a promise like that?”

Haneul’s name rose in me like a knife pressed under the ribs. The light of her, the silence of her end. Her last look still burned inside my chest.

“Kind of,” I said. My voice cracked rough. 

Makoto didn’t press. He just nodded. Not curiosity. Not pity. Respect.

A flicker of a smile crossed his face. Small and honest. It was gone before the next drip echoed down the tunnel.

As we made it further in, the air shifted. Thickened. A sharpness threaded through it, sharp enough to sting my throat. I froze.

“What is it?” Makoto whispered.

I didn’t answer but he knew. The scent pressed against me, dragging memory with it. My chest clenched.

We broke into a run, boots splashing through the shallow stream. The tunnel widened into a junction chamber where four drains fed a central basin. Rust streaked the walls, black water trickled down, and the ceiling stretched higher than it should have.

And there he was.

A figure stood shirtless in the clearing, trousers torn and bloodied. His back was a lattice of scars and grime. His head hung low, shoulders heaving slowly.

“Vinnie,” Makoto breathed, voice breaking. He ran before thought could catch him.

The figure turned slowly. Eyes wild. Muscles twitching.

And then…

It lunged, with velocity that could not belong to any human. A blur of violence, closing the distance with killing intent.

Instinct slammed through me. I shoved Makoto sideways. The attack missed him by a hair.

Makoto quickly stood up where I’d thrown him clear. He braced, teeth clenched, as the figure twitched and shivered like a wild beast.

“Vinnie, it’s me.”