4

Countdown: 175 Days Remaining.

Makoto crawled out of the trapdoor before his feet touched the top rungs of the ladder. He scrambled, clawing at the dirt and debris, and jumped to his feet.

The thermal vision on his monocle confirmed his earlier suspicions: the station wall held a residual warmth. He had to find a way to siphon it.

“Like I said, you’re really bad at avoiding conflict, and you definitely shouldn’t be left on your own.” Though there was no malice in Rui’s voice -- only amusement -- but it sent a shiver down Makoto’s spine just the same.

He spun around to face the red-haired boy, who leaned against the opposite wall, watching Makoto with interest. Suddenly Makoto’s clothes felt too constricting, and he couldn’t breathe through the respirator. “How did you-” was all he managed to wheeze out, paralyzed.

Rui tapped a languid finger beside his mechanical eye. “I can track you from much farther than you can detect me. This allows me to lock onto your heat signature and monitor it for at least a mile, more in the right conditions.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, nudging the backpack at his side.

Makoto kicked himself for not remembering the specs of mechanical eyes. They were superior to even the most high-tech eyewear, so he didn’t stand a chance of staying hidden.

“You were pretty careful, I’ll give you that,” Rui said with a shrug. He made no move to close the distance between himself and Makoto.

Makoto scanned his surroundings for an escape. He couldn’t fight, but he couldn’t risk staying too close to his camp either. His best chance was to lure Rui away and hope he forgot where the entrance was.

“You don’t have to look so scared, you know. I’m not going to hurt you or any of your friends hiding down there.” His furrowed brows displayed a mix of sadness and confusion, and a sense of hurt came through in his lowered voice.

Makoto forced himself to stop. His gut told him Rui wasn’t lying -- he couldn’t hear any deception in his voice, and his body language was completely relaxed. He took a few deep breaths, forcing the adrenaline in his veins to dissolve. His heartbeat never rose, one of the advantages of having a mechanical heart, but the rest of his body needed time to calm down.

“Why did you follow me?” Makoto asked, fighting to keep his voice even. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. The clock ticking in his mind reminded him he didn’t have time to stand around talking. Sumire needed more energy.

“I told you, I’m bored. I don’t want to be sitting around waiting to die.” This time, Makoto noticed a difference in Rui’s pitch. His left shoulder shrugged almost imperceptibly, an unconscious sign of deceit.

There’s another reason, but it seems like he won’t tell me. The thought comforted Makoto. If boredom was the real reason, that could prove dangerous, for someone bored could turn on him for a moment’s entertainment. If Rui had another use for Makoto, he would keep to his word, at least until he got what he needed.

“Fine,” Makoto said, turning his back on Rui. He heightened his hearing regardless, determined to keep track of the boy’s whereabouts at all times. “Then help me extract the heat from this wall.”

Rui walked up beside him, examining the area with an interested look. “Do you have the equipment for that?”

Makoto pulled the glove off his right hand and reached for the bottom of his backpack. He pressed his index finger against the print reader, waiting for a click as it identified him.

Two electrodes detached from the sides, connecting to the compartment containing the vial. “It’s not as good as the official siphons, but it works,” he said, and handed one to Rui.

The pair worked quickly to attach the electrodes and move them an inch every few seconds, working down each side of the wall until they met in the middle. Makoto pulled away quickly, detaching his electrode in one swift motion. Pressing a bare finger against the reader a second time rewound them, gently tugging Rui’s out of his hand.

The red-haired boy waited until Makoto had checked the inside of his backpack before asking, “Did you get enough?”

Makoto couldn’t stop himself from grimacing. “Hardly anything,” he said. The two lonely drops pooling at the bottom of the vial would suffice for no more than an hour. To fully reverse the necrosis, Sumire needed ten times that.

He pulled the monocle from his pocket and ran another heat scan on the wall and his surroundings, but everything was an icy gray.

“I haven’t seen any other places to extract heat from, but I may have an idea,” Rui said. Hesitation rang loud and clear in his voice, edged with fear.

Makoto raised an eyebrow, more at the unusual tone than the words themselves. “What is it?” he asked. Desperation fueled him to try anything.

“Ever heard of the black market trade?” Rui stuffed his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched to make himself appear smaller. “They used to trade quality organs, before the revolt, but now they specialize in energy sources.”

Makoto had heard the rumors, back when he was taking his medical courses, about an underground market for organs. Some of his fellow students whispered about having seen adverts for mechanics and being tempted to take the offer. He’d never struggled financially, being young and on a prodigy scholarship, so he hadn’t paid much mind to the rumors.

“Do you know where they’re stationed?” he asked, holding his breath. I’d thought Rui might be a scout, but his reaction doesn’t seem like it. He’s more scared of them than I am. The thought eased some of the tension in Makoto’s shoulders. Perhaps the stranger was harmless after all.

Rui nodded, but he scanned Makoto’s face before asking, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Makoto didn’t hesitate to nod. He owed Miyuki enough that he was willing to make a deal with the devil to keep Sumire alive.

Rui studied his face a moment longer before turning away, saying, “I know of a group located a few stations away. They were looking for a mechanic, so you might be able to make a deal with them.”

He began in the direction of Mitakadai, and Makoto rushed to catch up. For once, he noted, Rui was silent.

Neither spoke until they reached the transporter station at Kugayama, which was in a desolate state. At least the majority of the roof was still intact, giving the illusion of a complete building. If it weren’t for the shattered windows, the structure might have retained some heat.

After crossing the doorway, Rui reached out a hand to stop Makoto from continuing. “Let me do the talking,” he said, turning around and putting a hand on Makoto’s chest to force him still. “They don’t like outsiders, but I can mimic their accent.” His blue eyes turned harsh, intimidating, and his jaw tensed. He puffed out his chest and rolled his shoulders back, anything to make himself look bigger than his diminutive frame. “A single word from you could get us killed, so don’t be stupid.” He waited for Makoto to nod before turning away.

As the pair ventured deeper into the station, Makoto heightened his hearing to pick out any voices. Only the rustle of a breeze among the debris interrupted his and Rui’s footsteps.

The transporter station at Kugayama was far larger than Kichijouji’s -- it had multiple branches stemming from every hallway. Most of the visible doors had been removed from their hinges, and their wires had been stripped, as expected of a populated area.

Ash and blood mixed together in a subtly bitter smell that permeated every inch of the station. Together with the suffocating chalkiness of pulverized concrete, the air became almost impossible to breathe as the pair ventured deeper.

It smells like a construction site, Makoto noted. He had passed by many of them when he was younger, exploring the city after school. The smell had never bothered him, when mixed with the freshness of clean air, but trapped inside a building, it was overpowering.

Rui stayed a few steps ahead of Makoto, confidently making his way through staff rooms like he knew where he was going. He picked through the rubble in the maintenance room with ease, never tripping over the loose slabs of concrete.

Makoto, on the other hand, was less graceful. His body had yet to recover from the sickness earlier, and his legs struggled after the long walk. He didn’t let the exhaustion show on his face, but he couldn’t prevent it from manifesting in his sluggish movements.

Thankfully, he soon heard the whistle of hushed conversations a dozen feet ahead, meaning their journey was ending.

The pair hadn’t taken more than two steps closer before a hand reached out of the dark and slapped Rui across his chest, stopping him in his tracks. Makoto skidded to a halt so close behind that he could smell the dust in Rui’s hair.

“Whatcha doin’ here?” a voice asked from within the darkness. From Makoto’s guess, it belonged to a man in his thirties with altered vocal chords. It had a tinny ring, and the owner drew out his syllables with a subtle slur.

Rui cleared his throat and said, mimicking the slur, “I heard ya needed a surgeon. He says he’ll fix ya in exchange for a lil heat extraction.” He gestured behind him to Makoto, who nodded at the invisible man.

“Will he now?” Interest, that was the main emotion coming through in the slightly higher pitch of the voice. “I suppose I’ll have to converse with the others ‘n’ see what we can do with ya. Stay here.”

Footsteps carried the stranger away. Makoto struggled to keep the adrenaline from returning to his veins. It had been six hours since he’d given Sumire the injection. It would take another five to return to camp -- almost half a day lost. If he spent more than a few hours here, he risked running out of time.

When he heard no sign of the stranger returning, he risked leaning closer to Rui and saying, “If this takes too long, return to camp without me. There’s someone there who desperately needs the injection, and she’s running out of time.” As reluctant as he was, he had no choice but to trust the boy he’d met only the day before. “Just head north once underground and find the old woman, she’ll know what to do.”

Rui nodded, then gently shushed him. Footsteps approached from the other end of the dark room, stopping only a few feet from the pair, and the familiar voice said, “We accept yer offer. Follow me.”

Rui reached back to tug at Makoto’s sleeve, prompting him to follow close behind.

The stranger led them through two doorways before Makoto saw a thin stream of light coming out of the third. As they headed towards it, he got a better glimpse of the man leading them.

From his silhouette, Makoto could see the faint outline of muscular arms, but the movements were stilted, indicating mechanical enhancement. He walked with a slight limp, but neither of his legs were altered. A short dusting of dark hair covered his large head, but it couldn’t hide the scar at the base of his skull, where a small port rested.

He’s had his brain altered, Makoto thought, mentally running through the possible alterations. What would’ve been called “lobotomies” centuries ago were now just cosmetic enhancements, same as everything else.

Rui flinched as he entered the room first, and Makoto quickly saw why. The room held much more light than either were accustomed to, and it hurt his eyes.

He couldn’t see much through his searing pupils, but he got an idea of the size of the sparsely furnished room and how many men were in it. Besides the one who led them in, there were five others scattered around on chairs and sofas, beneath electric lamps. Only one stood, watching the boys with crossed arms and an air of authority scowling upon his face.

He must be the leader of this group, Makoto thought. He opened his mouth to greet the man, intending to be polite, but Rui’s previous warning forced him into silence.

“A little young fer a Surgeon,” the standing man said. He had a thicker accent than the one who’d led them in, and his voice boomed in the echoing space. From the yellow tone of his face and the whites of his eyes, Makoto recognized the tell tale signs of jaundice. The man suffered from liver failure, though Makoto couldn’t tell outright whether the liver was organic or replaced. Either way, he didn’t have long before it would kill him.

“I’ve seen him in action,” Rui said, “And I can vouch for his expertise.” There was a hint of pride in his voice, which surprised Makoto. He couldn’t see Rui’s face from his angle, but he heard a slight smile on his lips.

Makoto pushed the surprise away. Charismatic people like Rui had a way of pulling others in and making them feel safe, which just made him more dangerous.

“Alright, then tell me what I need help with.” The boss straightened his stance, shifting forward on his feet. He directed a harsh glare toward Makoto.

Rui turned to him and whispered into Makoto’s ear, “Tell me what you want to say. Don’t speak directly to them.”

“He’s in liver failure -- ask if it’s mechanical or organic.”

Rui complied, and the man raised his eyebrows, his expression softening. “Organic, and I have been experiencing pain there.” He paused for a moment, seeming to consider, then said, “You have a deal. We’ll pay converted energy for your services.”

“Ask him how much,” Makoto whispered urgently.

“That will depend on your performance, of course,” the man scoffed. “Now hurry up.” He sat on the bench behind him and uncrossed his arms, but impatience still showed in the thin line of his mouth.

Makoto slipped his backpack from his shoulders and opened the largest pocket, where he kept spare organs or pieces thereof. He had scavenged a wide array in the days following the uprising, when supplies were still available, but his stash had dwindled since.

Lacking a premade liver, he had to take pieces from a stomach and intestines to fashion one, welding it together with his multi-tool. His meager collection of wires sufficed this time, but he would need more soon.

The liver, though crudely made, was functional enough to condense itself to match the size of the port the man already had on his abdomen. Once the organic one had been removed, the mechanical one latched itself in place, expanded, and merged with the other organs.

Besides the failing liver, the man’s organs all functioned to the best of their capacity. At most they needed a light amount of cleaning to keep the organic matter from growing over them, and that took no more than a few minutes.

Makoto unscrewed his scope and withdrew his multitool, giving the man a nod to say that he was finished.

The other group members came one by one, requiring varied amounts of maintenance work. No others needed full replacements, which Makoto was thankful for.

Four hours had elapsed by the time he finished with the last member. His mind ran through the calculations, and he grimaced. He had to get back to the camp quickly, before Sumire ran out of time.

“We’ve upheld our end of the bargain,” Rui said. He addressed the boss directly, but the others watched him with interest. Makoto scanned their expressions and shuddered at the malicious glint in their eyes.

On the way to the station, he’d told Rui how much energy he would need, but now his heart sank. He knew he wasn’t likely to receive even half of it.

The boss smirked at them, a dangerous aura to him. He nodded to one of his associates, the one who had the least number of organs replaced.

The smaller man brought forth a vial, covering it with his palm until he handed it to Rui.

Even though Makoto had prepared himself for the worst, he still despaired over the meager amount. It was only a third of what Sumire needed.

He was ready to cut their losses and leave, but Rui stood his ground. “That’s not enough. We need double this.”

The boss scoffed. “Do ya really think yer in a position to negotiate here?” Around him, the other men moved closer.

Makoto tugged at Rui’s sleeve, trying to beckon him away, but Rui ignored his attempts. He raised his voice to say, “He did quality work for all ya; we demand fair payment.” The accent was slipping, something he didn’t seem to notice. Again, Makoto tried to pull him away.

“Fair? There ain’t nothing fair anymore, boy. Ain’t been nothing fair since we were all left to die. Now leave.” In a show of good faith, he risked turning his back on Rui, as was customary in conflicts when one side hoped to resolve it peacefully.

For one moment, the room was quiet. The lamps around the perimeter provided ample light and warmth, both of which Makoto had adjusted to. The walls lacked any cracks or holes to let air in, so the room was a cozy sanctuary. Although the men were close, none made any move towards either of the boys.

For one moment, all was silent. Peaceful.

Then, all hell broke loose.

Rui tucked the vial into his jacket, pulled back his fist and, before Makoto could stop him, punched the boss in the back of the neck, below the port he also had. He didn’t even flinch.

The men seemed to pause for a moment -- no more than a second -- before they attacked back.

Before Makoto could take a breath, he had two men on him. He blocked a blow to his chest but took one to the stomach. A kick to the back of the knees sent him to the floor.

Rolling, he narrowly avoided having his head stomped by a large black boot. He latched on to the foot, curling himself around the person’s leg and shifting his weight to knock them off balance. The man went down with a loud thud, knocking over one of his colleagues in the process.

Guilt bubbled in Makoto’s stomach, threatening to make him sick. I can’t hurt them, he thought. Not again. He jumped to his feet, taking advantage of the brief moment of freedom to look for the exit. To his relief, it wasn’t blocked -- the fallen men were on the right side of the room, whereas the exit was on the left.

Makoto reached out to grab Rui’s arm and take him along, but the boy was mid-swing, and Makoto only caught his sleeve. The smooth, reinforced fabric slipped through his fingers like water, and Rui paid him no mind.

To his credit, he was holding his own against the boss and one of his men. For every punch they landed, he blocked half a dozen and countered with a few of his own, though they seemed to do little damage. He bounced on his toes, so he could dodge at a second’s notice.

Makoto tried again to grab his arm, and though he succeeded, Rui pulled away, intent on continuing. Makoto didn’t have the chance to attempt a third time before something smashed into the side of his head.

And the brightly lit room went dark.