The Resident I

Haruki was drowning in a blinding, brightly-lit abyss. The sensation was less like water and more like pure, deafening static. A sudden, jarring force shoved him back into reality. A man collided with his shoulder, stopping just long enough to sneer. “Watch where you’re standing, boy,” he grumbled ignoring Haruki completely and walked ahead.

Haruki gasp-opened his eyes. He was back on the main street. The familiar convenience stores, the houses—it was the exact spot he remembered. He stood beside the same overflowing trash can. The street was quiet, the sky was an impenetrable dark.

He spun around, flustered and confused. The strange, twisting motions of his distress drew curious, brief glances from the few people in the distance.

“Did I just have a déjà vu?” he muttered to himself.

His head ached, and his heart hammered against his ribs desperately. He lifted a trembling hand to his throat. "My neck... it isn't cut open, is it?"

He pressed his throat hard. There was nothing. No slick, warm stickiness. No gash.

Earlier, he had been sure he felt the blade—a decisive, fatal thrust that had bled him out in seconds. Now, not only was the wound gone, but there wasn't even a spot of blood on his uniform.

His backpack felt exactly the same weight. His phone and wallet were still secure. He was confused whether he had died or not. The silence of the dark street suddenly felt like a warning. His instincts, sharpened by a death he shouldn't have survived, screamed at him to move.

Suddenly, a figure in a black hoodie emerged behind him. The man instantly yanked out a dagger and, in a flash, aimed for Haruki’s neck.

As the knife thrusted forward, Haruki dropped his weight slightly and twisted his body sharply towards the attacker, minimizing his target profile. He snapped his nearest right hand up and performed a hard, upward block—the deflecting force pushing the attacker’s wrist away from his neck.

Immediately following the block, Haruki drove the elbow of his deflecting arm straight back and slightly up into the attacker’s solar plexus. The attacker became stunned for a second, then bolted toward the housing area past the convenience stores.

A searing fury overshadowed Haruki’s exhaustion, driving his legs forward. He bolted after the attacker. The attacker took a sharp turn and suddenly vanished from Haruki's sight. Haruki noticed the disturbed hedge around one house near the street turn. He trespassed quickly, climbing the wall and vaulting into the house’s backyard.

He landed directly on the attacker’s shoulder. The assassin fell to the ground and instantly scrambled toward the house's glass window, trying to break it by kicking it hard. Haruki rushed and instantly placed a vicious side kick into his stomach. The attacker’s body shattered the glass, and he fell inside the window.

Small glass shards plunged into the attacker's wrists and cheek, drawing blood. Haruki slid inside through the broken window. The attacker, lying on the floor, started surrendering and pleading in a pathetic whine.

“Whoa, man, please! Jeez, who even are you? Just leave me alone, Onii-san! I never—hic—knew you were such a freakin' bigshot! Please, I'm begging you, I won't do any dirt like that again, to anyone! No cap, I promise! Just... don't break my face, okay? Please!”

The attacker, in a state of extreme pain, pulled out a hidden dagger from the left pocket of his trouser and aimed for one last desperate blow. Haruki noticed the hidden weapon behind the killer’s flipped palm and stepped onto his wrist with the heel of his inverse company’s shoe, crushing it in rage—perhaps breaking a few bones as well.

Haruki stared down at the defeated assassin. The adrenaline was still pumping, but now it tasted like pure, distilled vengeance.

“Dude! I never like cheapskates, you know? I guess you chose a bad day—or, an extremely bad guy—to mess with. Just smile, ‘cus I’m about to kill you now.”

He picked out three small, wicked glass shards from the debris on the floor of what looked like a kitchen, firmly placing them in his left hand. He picked one shard from his left hand using his right hand and, without hesitation, aimed it at the assassin's clean, un-stepped wrist. 

He drove the glass shard into the wrist of that assassin, twisting it vigorously to maximize the lacerating sensation. The man screamed, a high, piercing sound of agony. “F-f-F*CK! My wrist! It hurts! It really f*cking hurts!”

“Oh, my! Really?! You mean this doesn’t feel like a complimentary deep tissue massage? Shocking. Wait, you're experiencing pain?” Haruki picked out another shard from his left hand and, this time, aimed for the broken, throbbing wrist.

The assassin shrieked again, twisting wildly on the floor. “AARRGGHHH! I’m telling you, STOP! You moron! You’re a psycho! What the hell are you, a demon?!” 

Haruki plunged the glass shard deep into the already injured wrist. “Isn’t other people’s pain the sweet, sweet gasoline that keeps you delinquents’ hearts running? You guys literally get off on this. How does it feel when someone returns the favor, huh?!”

He held the last shard in his left hand and aimed threateningly toward the assassin's crotch. The man let out a desperate, animalistic cry, trying futilely to cover himself. “NO! Stop, please! I’ll give you everything I have but please not! Not there! F*ck you, you bastard!”

Haruki released the shard fast and threw it sharply toward the ground just below the man's familial jewels. The glass shattered harmlessly into the floor instead of connecting with the target.

Just as the final glass shard hit the floor, the sound of a nearby door sliding open violently shattered the intense, bloody atmosphere. A cat stepped casually into the kitchen. It looked completely oblivious to the violence, pausing only to stare at Haruki and the bleeding assassin lying on the floor. The cat purred loudly, then turned and walked back without comment.

A voice—the sharp, irritated voice of an old woman—followed the cat. She was completely oblivious to the scene of carnage, focused only on the sounds the animal made. “Mr. Wrinkles! Stop purring and destroying, it's late! Good heavens, did you snap my hydrangeas again? You’re a bad kitty, Mr. Wrinkles, always breaking them. No treats for you!”

The cat purred louder, beginning to rub its chin affectionately against the old lady's leg. The old lady bent down, picked the cat up, and walked back down the hallway. The broken window and the bleeding assassin left entirely unacknowledged.

Haruki shook his head, momentarily stunned into stillness by the sheer absurdity. He quickly grabbed the unconscious assassin by the collar. He vaulted back through the jagged window, dragging the limp body with him.

He dropped the unconscious assassin at the side of the street, right next to the trash can on the other side of the wall. He climbed and trespassed back over the wall one last time, looking down at his victim. “Consider this your new, official residence—trash can and a few glares included. Don't move until someone first calls an ambulance for you then the cops. If I see you anywhere near me again, I'll skip the casualties and go straight to breaking both your wrists. Sayonara!” 

Haruki started walking back toward the main street, feeling the exhaustion finally hit. He heard a sudden, heavy metallic thump behind him. “Man, this main street is definitely cursed. Seriously, my life is so spectacularly f*cked right now”