- Reiji Inukai -

A heavy downpour drenches the darkened streets of the district, where a husky man hurriedly makes his way towards his residence. The tall gray monolith was quickly constructed as a complex for housing the recently displaced. It finds itself at full occupancy from the war.

Finally, the man sighs a disgruntled huff when he reaches the building’s awning, little relief that it gave, and he shakes some excess water from his hands. Mid shake, he pauses his pose, noticing a familiar gesture that he inadvertently makes. The man longingly stares at his blackened fingers; in his reminiscing, he considers using his powers briefly, though thinking better of it he brushes off the thought with his hand combing through his thinning scalp. With a snort over his thick mustache, he walks into the complex.

Sopping wet, the man soaks the deep red carpet with lumbering footsteps as he walks through the halls, up the dilapidated elevator, which already yellows from use, and finally to the rustic apartment room that he occupies. He takes a deep breath and focuses himself; feeling his surroundings, he senses fellow occupants of the apartment.

A child tugs at her mother’s hem as she hurriedly attempts to salvage what’s left of the meal she was cooking. A nervous man paces his room impatiently to conjure solutions to his financial woes. A couple lie together on the couch in silence; in their unearthly daze they are slowly dying.

A vivid tapestry painted before him regales the song of his neighbors, though his own dorm was absent of color, much to the relief of the man. He decides to enter his abode.

Upon the hollow click of the steel door, it slowly opens to reveal something amiss.

An almost cream colored imprint of dried mud makes its mark within the confines of his entrance. His heart sinks.

Taking a moment to consider leaving, he decides against it. He had too much at stake whilst contradictorily having nothing to lose; the man decides to confront his intruder.

Not closing the door, the man slowly encroaches towards the inside of the maw of uncertainty and dread. He makes a gesture with his fingers, akin to a fox’s head, the middle and ring fingers outstretched towards his front, the other two points to the ceiling. The other hand, in a pose predisposed to snapping, prepares itself in front as a spark for his attack.

Heavy rain continues to patter against the window of his apartment. Its rhythm matches the erratic beats of his heart.

He continues into his cluttered living room and feels a cool breeze brush his cheek. The man reflectively faces the sudden movement to meet his foe; however, he finds that his opponent was a curtain animated lazily through wind.

A window was open.

The man approaches the window to close it. Just as he does, a voice calls out to him from behind.

“Genichiro san.”

He jumps, turning swiftly to meet his assailant; he finds a figure cloaked in a dark corner of the room, sitting on his chair.

“I wouldn’t bother,” the intruder continues, “You’re soaking wet. Your spark will not ignite under these conditions.”

True to his word, the man fruitlessly snaps his fingers to no effect. He grunts angrily at his inefficacy. The portly man becomes bewildered; in ordinary circumstances he could detect individuals through their residual aura, only it appeared as though the intruder in front of him possessed none at all, as indiscernible as the chair he sits on.

The stranger leans forward from the chair, both arms rise from their rest and he locks his fingers pensively. From here, Genichiro could see the dark cladded guest more clearly.

The austere stranger speaks from under his officer’s cap once more.

“Investigation found illicit magick being conducted on premises,” he says. “The incriminating assets have already been seized. Additionally, we must place you under arrest–ah.”

The stranger suddenly stops himself.

“You must forgive me.” he apologizes, “I understand customs dictate that I must remove my headwear upon entering homes and businesses.”

He takes off his peaked hat and carefully places it onto his lap. Genichiro sweats at the sudden formal act. Shocked into lucidity as he scans the room, he only needs to quickly dry his hands to use his magic. He redirects his attention to the intruder to not rouse suspicion.

The stranger was as deathly pale as his white cotton gloves; wispy silver hairs crowned his head in a neatly parted manner, tied to a short ponytail at the back of his head. The shining brass insignia of the regime could be spotted on the peak of his cap.

“Y-You’re police?!” Gen gasps, “No… You’re something else… I’ve heard of you…

Shinsengumi.”

“Please.” the officer says in a firm tone; his eyes gleaming with a dull amber tone, “Comply with procedure. I would not recommend attempts at resistance. Even now, you think to quickly dry your fingers in order to attack and make your escape.”

The two stood at a standstill.

Gen’s plump face drips; it could not be discerned whether it was from sweat or the rain. Whereas, the intruder remains austere. A moment passes. Both of them wait eagerly for the other to make a move.

Then another.

The rain continues to pour. The muffled sound continues to fill the air where no other sounds exist. The officer motionlessly sits; with his delicate features, one could be forgiven for assuming that the portly man was staring down a doll.

Finally the portly man relaxes his body language; his shoulder droops to signify relent.

“Very well–”

Mid-sentence he acts; enough time had passed that his fingers had sufficiently evaporated traces of moisture. Genichiro uses the split second to make the pose, something he was well acquainted with during his time in the war. Only instinct took over training; he felt the fast-approaching maw of death reaching for his neck and reflectively dove away from his assailant.

Only by a mere microsecond does he absconds from his demise. Behind the mage, another officer narrowly misses Genichiro, hitting the wall instead, where dust and debris plume from the impact.

In his frantic escape, he sees the face of his attacker. Clad in similar attire, the figure shared the pale features of the first officer. Only that her hair was much longer and her eyes a darker, almost crimson amber. Her ravenous face sends chills down his spine; sharp jagged teeth filled the unhinged, sadistic expression from ear to ear. Wasting no time, she comes in for another attack.

However, Gen was ready: snapping his fingers and opening the jaw of the “fox head”, a great flame blast blew the silver-haired devil to a wall. He hurriedly scrambles away while her deep cackling emanates through the hall.

Genichiro attempts to flee from his apartment but stops when he runs into the first officer, who awaits him by the entrance. Ready for another blast, he finds instead of the familiar crack of flame, he hears a sharper, more succinct bang. The officer fired a bullet from his gun; the small metal firearm was unseen by the likes of the mage until the tail end of the war. Genichiro remembers scoffing at the crude instruments when the enemy was armed with them. Looking down, he sees one of his fingers, namely one that was outstretched upwards, is missing.

“Gaaahhh!!” he cries out in pain as he holds his missing appendage. Little time was given to his outburst.

The officer quickly closes the gap between the two, grabs an arm, and throws the mage over his shoulder. He reels from the impact, and the wind is thrown out from his sail.

Before he could scream again, the officer holds the man’s mouth covered with his gloved hand. On top of the mage, the officer pins him down with one foot on the left hand and a knee to the bicep of the other.

“Now, now. It is impolite to disturb the neighbours,” The calm officer insists.

Muffled cries feebly escape from the frantic Genichiro. His eyes widen when he sees the other officer approaching.

The deranged woman had a face of abject glee; a streak of blood ran down from one side of her face to enhance her sadistic grin.

“Heheehehe..” she playfully giggles.

*Bang

*Bang

*Bang

The woman fires into each of the remaining fingers of the left hand. The man retches and recoils from each shot. The first officer feels the mage convulsing, kicking his feet feebly.

“Mom?! W-What’re they doing to Gen san?!” A child’s voice cries out.

Looking up, the officer sees a mother and child from the gap of the opposing door.

“M-Mom they’r-”

“Hush!” the mother tries to mum her child.

The male officer coldly stares at the pair; he sees emotions from the child’s face: her fear, her displeasure, and her guilt. With his free hand he slowly closes the door between them. He would not break eye contact with her until the door blocks their sight of each other.

This is the man known as Reiji Inukai; he can discern emotions, motivations, and desires in people, but can never truly comprehend them.

He only knows loyalty to his cause, his raison d'être, his role in society:

A hound for the Shinsengumi.