What He Saw {part 2}

The mechanical squeaks of expensive tripods and the pitter-patter of retreating footsteps had long since faded, indicating the departure of every last journalist and security personnel. Silence dominated the compounds of the Tokyo light fortress, with its many maze-like rooms and levels, combining ancient with modern architecture. Silence only ever broken by the hum of dormant electronics.

The elusive sea of white tuxedos traveling under the many black suits had displayed great camouflage when framed by the grey striped walls and the white tables. But that was hours ago, and now, not a single moving part or anomaly remained, except, maybe for one.

Perched atop the headrest of a white chair, a motionless dot of blue fur stood out like a sore thumb.

It was the first thing the trained eyes of the yellow-attired security staff had locked onto as he scanned the guest room for any visible inconsistencies. The second was the figure slumped between the two chairs below it.

He slid his headphones off onto his neck and walked towards the dot of fur, his feet stepping to the rhythm of the song vibrating his jugular, before poking at said dot from far like a curious crow.

"Hey sir. The broadcasting's been over for almost a day now. Any problems?" then directed said security towards the young man sleeping between the two chairs. Motionless, his legs extended and crossed at the ankles in scuffed black winter boots. Dark blue hair, long enough to brush his jawline, obscured his ears. He wore a tight, dark grey shirt under a cropped leather jacket of a similar, deep blue. Most peculiar was the wavy patterns on his green scarf, wrapped over his eyes like a blindfold.

"El-eleven.. more months, please..." The man whispered, his voice thick with sleep.

Is this some silly joke? "Hey.. This is not your house sir. We–"

"Yeah, yeah. My bad." The man unfolded himself and stood in one fluid motion. As he rose, a shift in the light caught on the two delicate, golden ivy-shaped earrings dangling from his lobes, sending a brief, bright flare into the guard's eyes.

The man stretched, his scarf slipping down to pool around his shoulders. "It's just... the dim lighting here’s kinda nice." he let out.

For a few moments, confused silence dominated the conversation. Then the man turned, revealing a face that made the guard’s professional composure stutter. One eye was half-open in the low light. And as it opened further, revealed a mesmerizing view.

Slit cat-like pupil, ringed by an iris of pale, calming purple.

The guard’s own eyes widened. The man’s strange, sluggish demeanor, the inappropriately warm clothing for a spring dawn, the beast-like pupils of unusual colour. All had given him quite the puzzle to deal with.

Yet training overrode surprise. He straightened his posture, fixing his pose, feet shifting into a balanced stance.

With a swift motion he unzipped his chest pocket, gravity taking care of the rest. Revealing a badge of some sorts, a brilliant, stylised candle.

"I'm Tetsuo Shinpei, a Helfer-ranked Light Fortress Mage. I do not care who you’re with or whatever you think you're doing at this early hour. Exit the building at once, or you will be forcefully detained."

The man's palms came together in a placative gesture, or perhaps a mocking one:

"Ahh, sorry. My plane's about to leave. I'm afraid I don't have the time to teach a rank Helfer part-timer not to pick fights with strangers.” A distorted smile barely seeped through.

“See you later." The man exhaled. Turning around and heading towards the exit.

"Damn asshole..."

Offended but disciplined, Tetsuo bit back a retort, letting it out under his muffled breath.

And as if having heard the muffled complaint, the man had stopped dead in his tracks. Still looking in the opposite direction when he began to walk backwards, only pivoting at the end to face the mage before him.

With a step back Shinpei reached into his belt and pulled a small copper staff. His hands glowed of light-blue as he charged said staff with mana, unsure on whether to chant his spell, or await the cold man’s reaction.

To his relieved surprise. The man didn’t share the same stance, he wiggled a wrinkled piece of paper from his jacket, and slid it into Shinpei’s chest pocket, the same blank expression on his face

And then. He completed his steady march, yawning as he approached the badly lit elevator door.

Do I know this guy? An air of confidence blew from the man’s last set of actions, and into Tetsuo's tired face. A fitting contrast to the previous tone of mockery.

Whatever. With his right hand, Shinpei softly swung his staff in the air back and forth, drying it from the pent up mana. And with his left he reached for his chest, snatching the odd man’s paper gift.

Seconds later, as the elevator’s door sliding into place sang a satisfying ring. He re-attached the clean staff back into his belt. And with both hands now free, he sat on a nearby chair, his fingers struggling to iron the crusty paper into shape.

[I advise you. Quit this job.]

Shinpei exhaled I wish.. and let out a slight giggle as he looked at the written text before him, framed by the palms of his hands.

Quit? Part-timer? Up close, he looks even younger than me.. The tired-from-work Shinpei was yet again, met with yet another puzzle, not something he had the energy for.

“AAAA I’ll just go home and res-”

Kreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh

“HUH? Huh.

WHAT’S THIS NOIS-”

Chapter 3: What He Saw. {part 2}

Meanwhile, in the moist darkness of the Tokyo sewers.

Dumya’s eyes saw many, many things.

And finally she let the alien urge within her take control, and her eyes lost their calm green,

sparkling into a scorching, sun-like yellow. A light which clearly illuminated her target up above.

Mirroring the man from the alley, Dumya kicked hard against the ground, building pressure in her calves. She leaned sideways and let the highly-pressured mana erupt from her feet, generating a concussive stream of wind that propelled her upwards.

Her left shoulder and hand scraped against the wall next to the rusty ladder, the kinetic friction leaving a brilliant trail of sparks in her wake.

Seconds from reaching the manhole, she planted her right leg against the opposing wall, anchoring herself horizontally, and forcing the wind torrent blowing from her other leg to repeatedly rotate her person sideways, building a terrible momentum and generating enough force for a blow that’d send that manhole into orbit.

The screech of the wind escaping the tiny cracks roared like a terrifying siren as the angle of her left leg began to sharpen, tripling her speed.

DTHUM the initial impact finally drummed, announcing a shockwave and the krheeeeeeh! whistle soon to come.

The spin, accompanied with the heat of the impact, had instantly dried her wet dress. Not to mention the daylight flooding the shaft, and the flying manhole which began to echo a whistle so thin it shattered nearby windows, orchestrating a symphony of car alarms.

On the other hand, the DTHUM of the impact was instantly followed by a dry CRACK of The recoil force exploding Dumya’s wooden limb into a web of splinters and sawdust.

The very same concussive blow that launched the manhole into a better place, had now sent her hurling down the sewers like a discarded doll under a hydraulic press.

Her momentum got interrupted by nothing but her fall down into a puddle of the same foul substances she had cleaned off the then-existent roof. The dawn clouds calmingly greeted her through the hole above.

Finally, in a moment of peace and quiet, lying there, incapable of movement, Dumya had managed to look at the beautiful sky.

…

Two streets north. A police officer who's been busy writing a speeding ticket to an old man in a parked sports car, spilled his cup of coffee over a passing-by middle schooler as he flinched from the deafeningly loud sound downstreet. Both began running, one towards the noise and one away from it, the old man noticing the police officer running away like a scared dog, took his chance and soared across the street in his sports car, some say the old man was last seen in turkey.

…

Running towards the noise, the middle schooler began extending his tongue, licking the coffee dripping all over his face, a small boost of energy.

An unexpected, rumbling thick motorcycle, suddenly sped across the street in a gust of wind from behind, perched atop it was a man in pure black, his red tie flung and whipped his yellow helmet over and over again in a one-sided slap fight under the immense speed.

The middle schooler’s eyes sparked with excitement, “Hell Yeah! Vice-Captain Solfin is gonna take care of the stupid Dasvelt!

I HAVE to see it, NO! I’m GONNA see it!” The kid jumped and ran even faster now, some of his books fell though, and he had to go back to grab them in a contorted, sad expression.

…

Eight. Eight. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nin– Dumya counted the slow-moving clouds above her, awaiting her shattered leg to finish healing, but with its current pace, it would take at least 20 more clouds.

BWUMMMM On his yellow bike, Solfin had reached the source of the noise at last.

He pumped the brakes over a speed so high it flung him right into a bakery whose glass was shattered into a mess of sorrow-flavored croissants. He Quickly walked back out, and on the sidewalk next door saw a crater the size of a small car.

“Very interesting.”

His hands glowed light-blue, summoning a high-caliber sniper riffle. And he leaped, anchoring his feet on both opposing ends of the crater. His rifle quickly flew back onto his hands, pointed down at the lying doll girl who’s annoyed she can’t see the rat shaped cloud number 19 anymore.

“Very interesting indeed.” He scratched his head and narrowed his eyes.

“The media’s not gonna love this one.”