It's goin' down

Present

The industrial district is bone-chillingly cold, with the wind whistling through the narrow gaps between concrete warehouses. Abby’s sedan idles at the edge of the shadows, its headlights cut to avoid drawing attention. This is the company’s off-site data annex. Since the old building was destroyed by the fire five years ago, all salvaged documents and physical backups were moved here. It is a grey, windowless box that looks more like a fortress than a storage facility.

"Keep your heads down," Abby says as he parks the sedan. He looks sharp even in the dim light of the streetlamps, his high cheekbones casting long shadows across his face. He adjusts his black baseball cap to hide his blonde hair. "The night shift guard is usually lazy, but we cannot afford to be seen. If the company finds out we are digging through the fire incident files."

Haru reaches over to squeeze my hand, his palm warm and steady. His gentle brown eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, a small sign of the protective nature he always hides. "We get in, find the footage, and get out. I have the keycard Aurora managed to swipe from the company yesterday."

We slip out of the car and move toward the side entrance. Abby leads the way, his frame looking imposing even in the dark. His short, silky blonde hair is tucked under a beanie, but the sharp angles of his high cheekbones catch the dim light of the security lamps. Behind him, Rie is a blur of nervous energy.

"Everything about this feels like a spy movie," Rie whispers, her petite frame nearly invisible in the shadows. Her expressive brown eyes are wide with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. "I half expect lasers to drop from the ceiling."

"Focus, Rie," Abby says with a faint, witty smirk. "If lasers drop, I am the one who is going to get hit first because I am the tallest. You just keep your eyes on the security monitors."

Haru swipes the card, and the heavy metal door clicks open with a sound that echoes like a gunshot in the quiet night. The interior is a labyrinth of floor to ceiling metal shelves, filled with thousands of identical cardboard boxes. The smell of old paper is overwhelming.

Haru leads us to the back, toward the section labeled '2019 Archives.'

"Box 402," Haru mutters, his logical mind already scanning the labels. He pulls a heavy container from the middle shelf and sets it on a dusty table. Inside are stacks of manila folders and several old CCTV hard drives.

He connects one of the drives to his laptop, his fingers moving with a practiced speed. We gather around the screen, the blue light reflecting off our faces. The footage is grainy and black and white, showing the hallway of the old building on the night of the fire. I feel a lump form in my throat as I see our younger selves. We look so small, so panicked as we stubmble through the smoke. We watch as Abby and Haru drag Akira’s limp body out of the frame.

"Wait," Haru says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "Look at the loading dock camera."

He switches the view. In the corner of the screen, partially hidden behind a stack of equipment crates, a figure is standing. While we were running for our lives, this person was just standing there. They are wearing a trainee hoodie that is far too big for them. As the fire trucks arrive and the screen flickers with the light of the sirens, the figure turns toward the camera.

"Stop it there," I gasp.

Haru freezes the frame. The face is blurred, but the profile is unmistakable. I feel my blood turn to ice.

"Sachi Kimura," Rie whispers, her voice trembling with genuine emotion. "She was the one who failed the evaluation that week. She was always so quiet. I remember her sitting in the corner during dance practice, just watching us."

Abby reaches into the box and pulls out a folder labeled with Sachi's name. He flips through the pages, his jaw set in a hard line.

"Look at her file. She was dismissed for mental instability shortly after the fire. She had a history of stalking other trainees. "

"She was there that night," Haru says, his eyes cold and focused.

"Look at this," Abby adds, pointing to a handwritten address at the bottom of her termination form. "She lives in an apartment complex in Shinjuku. It is not far from here."

We are about to plan our next move when the silence of the warehouse is shattered. All four of our phones ping simultaneously, a sharp, synchronized sound that makes us all jump. I pull mine out, my breath hitching as I see a notification from a major entertainment news portal.

"Exclusive: The Dark Side of the After the Bell Rings Stars. Coming Tonight at Midnight."

Lies, Betrayal, and the Truth About the Fire. A former associate reveals the secrets the industry tried to bury.

Abby says, his usual charm replaced by a cold urgency. "She is going to release a narrative that says we started the fire or that we left Akira to die. If that hits the headlines at midnight, the company will terminate our contracts to save their own image."

"We have three hours," Haru says, slamming his laptop shut and shoving it into his bag. He looks at me, his gaze fierce and protective. "We are not going to let her hit that upload button. We are going to her house now."

We rush out of the data annex, the heavy door slamming shut behind us with a finality that feels like a countdown. We pile into the sedan, the tires screeching against the asphalt as Abby tears out of the parking lot. The neon lights of Tokyo begin to blur past the windows as we head toward Shinjuku.

I look at the silver sun bracelet on my wrist, the light from the streetlamps making it shimmer. Haru reaches over and covers my hand with his. His grip is firm, a silent promise that he won’t let our dream fall apart.