What You Carry V

Ren scanned the atrium, taking in the silence that followed the announcement. Below, the generator stuttered and whined, its dying hum matching the tremor running through the crowd. Knots of people huddled together, whispering in frantic bursts or collapsing to the floor with fingers threaded through their hair.

“Your thoughts?” Shion murmured at his shoulder.

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze found Reina first—shock carved into her features as Lilly knelt beside her, trembling. Then he found Aki. She was already watching him, a subtle tilt of her head signaling that she still intended to speak with him alone.

Ren exhaled. His reply came flat. Detached.

“I think things just got a lot worse.”

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They left the crowd behind, slipping past a flickering emergency light into a service corridor lined with peeling holiday posters. Aki halted beside an abandoned coffee kiosk, its metal gate warped, the sharp scent of burnt coffee grounds still clinging to the air.

She dragged both hands down her face. “It’s like I said out there. We clear the monorail wing tomorrow—anyone who volunteers. No one forced.” Without the gathering watching her, her voice lost its commander’s edge, revealing the exhaustion underneath. “The flares were supposed to bring more survivors to us before we made the move. And they did, but…”

Ren glanced back toward the atrium. Maybe fifty people total. Regular people. Office workers. Students. Parents. Survivors hanging on by threads.

Aki gestured weakly at the overhead wiring. “We’re on backup power. By tomorrow, these generators die, and with them any chance of using the rail.” She tapped the air as if tracing a map only she could still see. “We had it planned—two teams. One sweeping the monorail side, the other making a run for Tanizawa Electric a few blocks east. But now…”

Her voice thinned into silence.

Ren felt dread coil inside him like cold wire.

“Your arrival changes our options.”

His jaw tightened.

Aki stepped closer, lowering her voice. “When Hayate first told us what he saw… I didn’t believe him. I thought he was delirious or drunk. But then I watched your wounds close, watched them stitch themselves together, and I started believing him more than I wanted to.”

Ren’s fingers curled into a fist.

“I never pushed. Whatever you are, whatever you can do—that’s yours to keep.” Her gaze held his, steady but weighted. “All that mattered was that you needed us.”

She hesitated. Then she breathed in deep, as if preparing to cross a line she’d sworn never to cross.

“And now I need you.”

Ren’s stomach dropped.

“Tanizawa Electric,” she continued. “I can spare two escorts. One’s a tech—he knows the systems. They’ll get you to the doors, but once you're inside… it’s just you. No questions asked. Just make the power come back on. Without it, we’re already dead.”

Vertigo hit him—hard. She didn’t understand what she was asking. How close to empty he already was. How the void within him hungered for more than he could safely give.

Yuka’s face cut through.

Aki read his hesitation instantly. Her voice cracked. “Ren… Tetsuya is there.”

He recognized the sensation immediately—that treacherous companion that had betrayed him countless times before. Yet he felt himself leaning into its pull anyway. Something turned inside, worn cogs scraping against the walls he'd built, whispering that this time might be different. That perhaps he could save someone.

“I’ll go,” he said finally. “But I want something in return.”

Aki straightened. “Name it.”

“Reina and Lilly stay off your volunteer list,” he said. His voice shook despite him. “Reina will fight it, but she stays here. Same goes for Midori and Haruka. Keep them out of it.”

Aki studied him a moment before nodding once, firmly.

“You have my word. No harm will come to them. I won’t drag anyone into danger against their will. I can only hope enough choose to fight.”

Ren looked toward faces hollowed by fear and hunger, toward hands trembling even now.

He hoped so too.

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Two days until the bombs fall. The fact hammered in Haruka’s skull. Her mother was nowhere to be found. Across the atrium by the fountain, Sakura knelt beside trembling strangers, offering what comfort she could.

She’d stepped forward to help, hand half-raised—but Sakura’s dismissive gesture stopped her cold. In that rejection, something else ignited inside her—molten, demanding release.

Her eyes scoured the crowd for Shigure’s face, that smug half-smile she’d come to despise. He’d been conspicuously absent during the announcement—missing when everyone else had gathered to hear their fate.

The mall’s labyrinth of corridors and shops had yielded no trace of him. She prowled through the atrium, glare slicing through clusters of survivors. A column draped with sagging Christmas tinsel marked her path as she checked each face, each shadow.

There was no sign of him. Even the scent of his cologne—that cloying, expensive musk—was absent from the stale, recycled air. He wasn’t lurking behind pillars or slinking through corners or watching from railings.

He was gone.

“Coward,” she muttered, fingers brushing the cold metal of the pistol strapped to her thigh.

She’d taken barely ten steps toward the east corridor when she spotted her—Amira, slumped against a shattered vending machine. Arms crossed tightly, expression empty, she stared at nothing while survivors hurried past her.

Haruka cut toward her, every step deliberate as a blade drawn.

“Where is he?”

Amira looked up, exhaustion briefly replaced by irritation. “God, do you ever stop? Can’t you tell I’m not in the mood right now?”

Haruka planted herself in front of her. “Tell me.”

Amira’s eyes flashed. “We’ve just been told our best chance to escape a fiery death is a suicide mission through monster-infested dark. Forgive me if I’m not ready for your emotional outbursts.”

The reminder almost steadied Haruka—almost. Instead it fanned the blaze spreading through her ribs.

She leaned in, voice razor-thin.

“Where. Is. He.”

“After he confessed, he vanished.” Amira’s lip curled. “Slithered into some dark corner. That’s his specialty.” Her hollow laugh cut the air. “You think he loses sleep over the bodies he’s stepped on? And what’s your plan? Confront him? Hit him? He’ll twist it right back on you—he always does. Especially now, with all these fresh faces to impress.”

Haruka’s nails dug into her palms. Each heartbeat was a spark on a fuse.

“Oh, he’ll love this. New audience, new pawns. He’s probably somewhere dreaming up a little throne for himself—King of the New World—”

Haruka’s palm slammed into the machine beside Amira’s head. The crack of breaking glass exploded through the corridor, snapping nearby conversations into silence.

Amira stiffened. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move.

Haruka leaned close enough to feel the other woman’s breath stutter against her skin.

“I’ll make him answer for what he’s done.”

The defiance drained from Amira’s eyes. “I honestly don’t know where he ran off to,” she said, voice stripped of its earlier edge. She swallowed, throat bobbing. “But if I did—God, I’d point you straight to him. You’re not special. That man’s been spinning his web around all of us.”

Haruka eased back half a step.

“Explain.”

“There’s something I didn’t finish telling you. At the farm…” She swallowed. “The drinking. That was his idea. He’s done this before.” Her voice shrank. “Get them drunk or relaxed. Target the vulnerable.” Her fingers curled inward. “I played along because I had to. My career. My reputation. My life. He held all of it over my head like a guillotine.”

Haruka’s jaw tightened until pain pulsed along her teeth.

“I never killed anyone,” Amira rushed out. “I’m not a monster. But the things I did for him…” She wrapped her arms around herself, almost folding in. “I told myself little lies. That I was just playing along. That nobody got hurt.” Something cracked in her voice. “I helped him break people apart. And I never asked questions. Never wanted to know how deep it went.”

Her gaze drifted somewhere over Haruka’s shoulder, dazed—haunted by memories she refused to fully name.

“Too late for that now,” Haruka said, voice dropping to glacial calm. “The damage is done.”

Amira flinched.

“But you still have a choice. Help me find him, and I’ll dispense justice.”

Amira’s lips trembled, a confession or plea nearly forming—then she swallowed it down. Her eyes, exhausted and dim, lowered to the floor.

Haruka watched her a moment longer, letting cold judgment settle like frost between them before she turned sharply on her heel and walked away.