Chapter 10:

Mask of Finality

MUSCLE ESPER SHUT-IN


I needed evidence. Even in the modern day of blurry lies and blurrier truths, with fabrication at every turn, there was always a use for evidence, so long as the person providing and the person consuming the evidence agreed it was valid. Kishimoto’s organ harvesting might not leave behind physical evidence, but I could get it through other methods.

I borrowed a camera from the school’s filmmakers club and began to stalk Kishimoto. She had an unhealthy, three-sided lifestyle that consisted of working, going to the club, and sleeping. Working wasn’t only organ harvesting. Sometimes she visited shut-ins, chatted for a while, and left. I recorded those incidents, but they were worse than useless; they made Kishimoto look like someone sympathetic to the shut-ins.

But within a week, she had another “harvesting” job. Good thing, too. I needed to make progress, since Samson kept calling me to ask if I’d gotten the tech working. I hoped he wouldn't visit my parents while I was at school. 

I followed Kishimoto to a dirty-looking apartment complex. A central courtyard was surrounded by four blocks of apartments. While she and her lackeys went to one side, I crept to the walkway opposite. At that distance, it’d be hard to spot me.

Kishimoto broke open the door, the group entered, and they closed the door. It was naïve of me to think they’d make the same mistake twice. Any other angles? The curtains were drawn. I had to get closer.

I rushed around the courtyard to the door and opened the mail slot. The risk didn’t pay off, since the hallway still didn’t give a suitable angle. I searched for options, but it would’ve been safer to leave and try again later. No, I didn’t have time.

Creep inside? I brought a pocket knife, but that wouldn’t help much. That’s when I remembered Hoshino Ren. I’d first discovered her because of the noise she’d been making by dropping dumbbells. The adjacent apartments…

I went left and didn’t bother knocking. Oh well, the door was locked. I went right. No name showed on the door, and the door was unlocked. I went inside. Any holes in the wall? Unlikely. A muffled scream came from the apartment Kishimoto entered. I needed to hurry. There, the balcony. I slid open the glass door, pushed past forgotten laundry, and climbed over the railing. A serious, deathly drop waited for me if I failed. I steeled myself. I pushed and jumped and reached the adjacent balcony, clinging onto it and not looking down. Right past there would be—

I pushed back, arms extended, keeping away from the glass. I’d spotted them through the blinds. The group had a shut-in levitated, but they hadn’t extracted the organs yet. I prepped the camera slung around my neck.

‘Did you get the door?’ Kishimoto asked.

‘We’re not stupid,’ one of the lackeys said.

‘Doesn’t stop you from making stupid mistakes.’

Someone groaned. Footsteps receded. Kishimoto called out to them. The front door opened, slammed shut, and opened again. One of the lackeys wanted to prove a point. ‘See, door is closed. You happy?’

‘Over-fuckin-joyed,’ Kishimoto replied. ‘One of the most powerful weapons known to man entrusted to three monkeys.’

‘What’s your problem?’ said a different monkey-lackey.

More footsteps. Movement. I peeked. The muscular lackey stood by the door. Kishimoto and the woman had their arms raised, furniture floating like primed missiles. The red-haired young man began to sweat. His arms trembled, as he was left alone to keep the shut-in aloft. That wouldn’t have been a problem, but the shut-in had a sumo wrestler’s body.

‘Guys,’ the red-haired man said, gritting his teeth. ‘Guys!’

‘My problem? You want to know? I’m trying to do my civic duty and you monkeys can’t stop flinging shit at my shoes!’ Kishimoto shouted, using telekinesis to hurl a television against the wall.

I recorded the scene, while they were distracted.

‘Maybe if you got us real work benefits, we’d do a better job,’ the woman shouted back.

‘You’re still going on about that? Pay for your own dental.’

‘Guys!’ the red-haired man gasped, before his arms went slack.

The shut-in thudded to the ground, scrambled to his feet, and ran toward the balcony. He tripped, broke through the glass, and hit the ground. Glass flecked his cheek and shoulder. He bled. His head turned my direction. He looked at me with a bewildered and pleading gaze. I couldn't help. His lips moved, as if to beg me. I couldn't. 

‘Monkeys, all of you,’ Kishimoto said, and then addressed the shut-in on the ground. ‘What was your plan? Going to jump? Nice of you to think about helping the world for once, but I have a better plan, you stupid bitch.’ She punched. The shut-in cried out. Kishimoto punched again. And again.

The muscular man pulled her away. ‘Not the liver! Not the liver!’

Kishimoto struggled out of his grasp and raised the shut-in with her powers. Glass fragments tinkled to the ground. ‘Johnny, hold him. Red, clean up the mess. Ume, get the boxes.’

I noted who did what and matched the names accordingly:

Johnny, the muscular man.

Red, the red-haired guy.

Ume, the woman.

Using codenames?

‘For once in your pathetic life,’ Kishimoto said, ‘you will serve a purpose.’ She splayed her fingers, and the terrible process of organ removal began.

#

That night, I transferred the footage to my phone, clutched it to my chest, and went to sleep. During previous nights, I’d sensed that void at the edge of my dreams, almost like a separate state of unconsciousness. I fixated on it, and soon the darkness engulfed me. Adrift, I was terrified, but I needed to find that guy’s doorway. I floated for a while, until I sensed Kishimoto on one of the doors. 

I drifted to the door and went inside. Sure enough, I faced the same guy, though the room looked way smaller than before. Like, a closet.

The teenage boy scrambled to put on clothes. I averted my eyes. ‘Could’ve sworn this place was bigger last time,’ I said, chuckling as if I wasn’t standing way too close to nudity.

‘Get out,’ the boy replied.

‘You wanted the truth about Kishimoto.’ I chucked my phone. ‘Take a look.’

The boy looked from the phone to me. What did he want, permission? I nodded, and he pressed play. The audio told me which parts he watched, and his reactions were pretty much as I expected: Confused, eyes widening, hand to mouth, and then looking sick. His stomach convulsed. His very toned stomach.

‘I didn’t know,’ the boy said.

‘Well, now you do. And I need your help…um…’

‘Fukuzawa Kenji,’ he replied.

‘Can I call you Kenji?’

He shrugged. His posture had changed since watching the video. His shoulders slumped and head hung low, as if he waited for a guillotine to drop. I suspected the changes to his body were recent. People with muscles like those usually flaunted them, or at least didn’t look ashamed, but Kenji’s mind hadn’t caught up.

‘I need information,’ I said. ‘Who is Kishimoto?’

He hesitated. ‘She’s my Conduit.’

‘And a Conduit is…?’

He cocked his head. After gathering his thoughts, he outlined how Conduits could use telekinesis because a Source, in this case Kenji, applied force to something called a Fulcrum.

So, I’m a Conduit?

‘How do I get a Source?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know.’

‘How did Kishimoto make you her Source?’

He frowned. ‘She didn’t “make” me anything.’

‘How did you become her Source? Talk me through it.’

Kenji did, outlining how his apartment turned grey, and soon after Kishimoto walked through the front door. ‘Then we talked,’ he said. ‘She told me how she needed my strength, and I agreed to help.’

‘That’s it?’

‘It was a while ago.’

From the sounds of it, a connection of Conduit and Source may have been a simple tacit agreement. Like, a verbal handshake. 

‘Do you know a girl named Hoshino Ren?’ I asked, to which Kenji shook his head. ‘Do you know anything about Mizu-Hydro?’

‘I haven’t had any in a while. No deliveries in a pocket dimension.’ He gave a slight laugh. ‘Eating and drinking is optional, in this place.’

I didn’t fully understand, but I had to press onward. The void tugged at me. ‘You can’t keep helping Kishimoto. You know that, right?’

‘I…’

Organ harvesting! I was almost frustrated enough to rip out my hair. How is he still unconvinced?

‘Can you become my Source?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Don’t you? If you agree, I can put a stop to this.’ That wasn't entirely a lie. I was confident I had a slim chance. 

‘I’ll think about it.’

Kenji’s indecision made me internally scream, but I kept a neutral expression. ‘Think about it,’ I echoed. ‘I’ll visit again.’ I moved toward the door, but Kenji said:

‘I told her.’

‘Told who what?’

‘I told Kishimoto about you. I didn’t know. I thought you were—I didn’t know what was happening.’

An icy chill ran through my body. ‘How much did you tell her?’

‘Your name, and how you looked.’

Even that was too much. My name had been in public documents related to prefectural sprinting events. It would take little more than a minute and as many brain cells to figure out which school I attended. ‘Did she say anything about me?’

Kenji shook his head. ‘B-But I don’t think she’ll…’

Don’t think she’ll harvest my organs? I swore. I swore louder. I wrenched open the door and plunged into the void.

#

The morning after talking to Kenji, I shot upright in bed. My chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and I felt less panic than anticipated. I’d survived plenty, and now I’d have to survive a bit more. Slitted sunlight came through the blinds. I couldn’t just drop out of school and convince my parents to move to another prefecture. No, until I figured out how to get a Source, I needed to defend myself. Staying in populated areas seemed safest, and I’d need weapons better than a pocket knife.

I loaded my school satchel with a box cutter, gloves, and a ball-peen hammer. If anyone asked, I’d claim they came from the school workshop.

For the first morning in a while, I ate breakfast with my parents. Toast and eggs. They made the usual conversation about weather and news. Nothing had changed for them. It unnerved me, how easily it was to default to the old routine. But I kept a wary eye on the front door.

The walk to school was normal, too. And by normal, of course I mean the sky and ground terrified me. Mizu-Hydro in vending machines screamed at me. I forced my feet forward. 

Along the way, I experimentally raised my hand at some garbage bags. I tensed my muscles and strained, but they didn’t levitate. Really needed to figure out how to get a Source like Kenji.

I had time to figure it out, so long as I didn’t encounter—

My heart hammered. Kishimoto loitered at the school gate. She made polite conversation with a teacher.

I circled the school grounds to the athletics track, and from there reached my classroom. My heartbeat didn't slow down. Would Kishimoto find me at lunch or wait until after school?

Or sooner.

The door opened during history class. Mrs Shigematsu, our teacher, spoke with another faculty member. They glanced in my direction and waved me over. I pocketed my box cutter and went. They said my sister needed to speak with me. Something about my mum’s illness. Except I didn’t have a sister, and Mum wasn’t sick.

Mrs Shigematsu excused me. The other faculty member, a middle-aged woman I didn’t recognise, cupped my lower back and led me into the hall. She “led” with serious force. I noted the woman’s identification card. Ms Sawada. Never heard of her.

‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘I think there’s been a mistake.’

Ms Sawada didn’t respond. Her cheeks bulged, as if she had something in her mouth. After another dozen paces, she exhaled. It was as if all the air and youth vanished. Her face took on the ghoulish look of Mr Tanabe, all thickly wrinkled skin pulsing with sickly blood. Eyes of black and amber.

‘You are Hasegawa Rina, are you not?’ she said, voice gravelly.

‘I am.’

‘Then, I’m afraid there hasn’t been a mistake.’

We went downstairs. I needed to run. When? The school gate wasn't far. If I waited another few dozen paces, I'd have a good angle at escape. But as we passed a shaded breezeway, a figure lunged from the side and seized me. Ms Sawada walked on, as if nothing was amiss. I suppose, for her, that was true. 

Hands covered my mouth and wrapped around my abdomen. I screamed, but the hand stifled it. I kicked and struggled, but I couldn’t push away. I was dragged away, out of view from the classrooms, toward the edge of the school.

The box cutter.

I got the box cutter from my pocket and slashed the hand over my mouth. My assailant cried out, but the hand around my abdomen held firm. I managed to look behind. It was Johnny, Kishimoto’s muscular lackey. He flicked his wrist and the box cutter telekinetically flew out of my hand. He slapped me hard enough to rattle my brain. I tasted blood.

I refused to submit. I’d survived everything else, and I’d survive this. Yet, with each passing second, my strength dwindled. It was possible, just a vague likelihood—that I wasn’t invincible.

Who is—?

A girl smoking behind the buildings grabbed the box cutter, ran at Johnny, and slashed his side. Blood jetted from the wound. He cried out. His hand over my mouth loosened, so I clamped my teeth down. Hard. I broke the flesh and blood filled my mouth. Johnny released me and clutched his side. He held his wound closed with telekinesis. He looked up at me with hate-filled eyes.

Fine. How many wounds could he hold closed?

I grabbed the box cutter and slashed a few more places. More blood jetted. Johnny only had two hands, and the cuts were too spread apart. Blood soaked his clothes and pooled at his feet. Shocking how quickly a human could die from blood loss. Johnny paled, and collapsed.

I turned to my saviour, the girl. She continued to smoke, though the cigarette hung limp between partially open lips. Her eyes were wide. ‘Thanks,’ I said, recovering from my shock.

‘No problem,’ she murmured. ‘Your hurt, Rina?’

She knew my name? I looked closer. ‘Gecko?’ I asked.

‘That’s not my real name.’

‘Why didn’t you say we go to the same school?’

‘You’re hard to talk to.’

She looked different, too, compared to when we hung out at the Root Scum club. Like me, she used temp-dye for outings. 

‘Is he with the Sumiaka-kai?’ she asked, gesturing to Johnny.

‘No. Worse. We should get outta here before—’

My words were cut short by a force on my throat. My feet left the ground. I hovered aloft. Gecko floated, too.

Someone approached from a gap in the school’s fence. They had both hands raised. A girl. Kishimoto.

‘Useless,’ she said, kicking Johnny’s body. ‘I can’t even blame you for killing a monkey like this. Want to replace him?’  she asked me, and then sighed. ‘Well, we can chat later. Off we go!’ she said in a sing-song way, as she skipped toward the fence. Gecko and I floated along behind her, prisoners in invisible shackles.