Mask of Control

I couldn’t breathe. The hallway went by in a blur as I shot backward. That psycho bitch Kishimoto got smaller, like an optical illusion. My limbs hung limp ahead of me. I didn’t have time to regret life or see it flash behind my eyelids. Emotion and rational thought needed more seconds than I had. What remained came in the form of adrenaline-fuelled instinct and a general sense of fearful confusion. I couldn’t articulate it, but I knew I was about to die. My body would hit the wall and shatter every vertebrae in my spine. My skull would crack and brain rupture and fluid would fill my lungs.

But I, Hasegawa Rina, am telling you this. And I’m not a ghost.

I didn’t hit the wall. I slowed and made a jarring stop. Whiplash affected my head, sending pain along my neck and shoulders. I floated in the air, as Kishimoto closed the distance. She liked to play with her prey.

‘Rina,’ Kenji said. ‘Rina!’

I’d told Kenji I wasn’t afraid of Kishimoto, and perhaps that wasn’t a lie, but I had a new, acute fear of the death she could inflict. Not a fear of life ending, but a visceral fear of immense bodily injury ending in a death that would probably be reported as a suicide by a shadowy mega-corporation.

Kishimoto released me. I flopped to the floor, regained my feet, spat, and flung my hands forward. The air trembled. Kishimoto flicked her wrist, somehow diverting my power, and the concrete wall chipped.

‘Cool, isn’t it?’ Kishimoto said, cleaning her nails. ‘When you got Kenji to join up with you, I hot-swapped to my approved-for-combat Source. He used to be an Olympian. Shot put. Got disqualified for illegal substances, which is ironic, you know? Because after we recruited him, we pumped him with even more stuff. His heart might explode in a few years, but until then…’

Kishimoto made a finger pistol and “fired”. It felt like a world-class boxer's quick jab to my stomach. I fell and retched. She fired twice more, rolling me across the floor.

‘He also murdered his wife,’ she said. ‘Then he got all religious, always meditating and praying and stuff. I keep him in a tiny space, like a confessional. Amplifies the power like crazy.’

Kishimoto pretended to quick draw a pair of handguns from invisible holsters. Pop! Pop! I rolled further down the hall, pain blooming at various points on my torso. A rib might’ve cracked, too. I couldn’t fight back. Each hit of pain stunned me too much to respond. This weakness seemed to frustrate Kishimoto, who lifted me to my feet. ‘Raise your hands but don’t lock your elbows. Keep ‘em loose and ready.’

Head lolling, I did as she said, almost unconsciously.

‘Good girl. Now, imagine a jellyfish floating in front of your palms. Good, good. Feel that? It’s like a small barrier. So, when I do this…’

She used her finger pistol again. I felt pressure against my right hand, but it slid away, chipping the floor behind me.

Kenji had been shouting at me the whole time, but I couldn’t hear him through the pain. In the brief respite, I caught fragments of him telling me to run away. Idiot, I thought, unsure if my thoughts reached him. He’d spent more time with Kishimoto, but he didn’t understand. With a person like her, running away wouldn’t help. She wanted us to run, so she could catch us. She wanted us to fight, so she could beat us. It didn't matter. She wanted us to do something because she was arrogant and bored and liked the challenge. That’s why she’d taught me to block her finger pistol attack. It was like a handicap in golf.

Arrogance could be exploited.

I made a finger pistol and tensed my arms, focusing the power through a narrow point, as if increasing the pressure on a hose. Kishimoto blocked it too late. I missed her abdomen but caught her shoulder. It threw her off balance. I fired a few more times, but each shot hit her less and less, until on the fifth shot she clapped. Her hands moved on a vertical axis, palms facing the ceiling and floor. Energy pulsed in an arc. I reeled back. Divots formed in the concrete walls. I tasted blood. The crimson fluid trickled down my face. Sharp pain came from my nose and cheekbones. Her attack left a shallow cut in a horizontal line across my face.

I stumbled back and touched my skin. Blood dotted my fingers. Though I knew Kishimoto caused it, the sight confused me, as if my brain couldn’t comprehend bloodshed without a physical object causing it.

I spat and bared my teeth. I ran my tongue across them, tinting them pink as my gums. I tried the finger pistols again, but Kishimoto blocked them. Good. I relied on it. Ducking low, I envisioned a disc shape and clapped at an angle. Concrete cracked ahead and behind us, tracking from the floor to the ceiling and shattering one of the light fixtures.

I backed away, into another area of light.

My attack should’ve caught Kishimoto’s legs. If the cracks in the concrete were a gauge, the wounds would've been serious. It should’ve reached bone. But, as Kishimoto strode into the light, she was unharmed. ‘You learn fast,’ she said. ‘That attack would’ve gotten most Conduits, except I can do this.’ She raised a palm to the ceiling and curled her fingers in a spiral motion. Her feet left the floor. She levitated until her head almost touched the top. ‘Pretty cool, eh?’

Kishimoto dropped back to the floor, gave an exaggerated yawn, and said:

‘It would’ve been fun, you and me, being partners. Better than the monkeys I have at the moment. Anyway, the tech needs you unconscious, so…’

Kishimoto’s hand opened flat, fingers together, as if playing rock-paper-scissors. She made slashing motions through the air. My stolen singlet and jeans ripped. Wounds appeared on my arms and chest. Another slash cut my baseball cap in half, either side splitting neatly to the floor. Blood ran down my forehead. Hair stuck to my skin. I felt faint. My knees gave out and hit the floor. Hard.

‘Surrender and say you accept,’ Kenji told me.

I had no intention of dying with dignity. I’d do anything to survive. Beg, grovel, lick her boot—I wanted to live. ‘How about that offer?’ I said, yet knew it wouldn’t work. My voice came through in barely a whisper, words spilling from bleeding lips, each breath sending pink, foamy bubbles spilling down my chin. My arms felt slick with blood and my clothes were being saturated.

Kishimoto smiled, wide and eerie, making her eyes smaller. She stroked my bloodstained head, as if to a pet. ‘I told you I’d seen your soul, and now I’ve seen even more. You really are a good person. You won’t help us. We’re doing a good thing, but it doesn’t need good people.’ She circled me, shark-like, hands on her hips. She swore. ‘I wasn’t lying; I want you to know that. We could've had a lot of fun and, like, you have no idea how much this hurts me.’

‘Fuck you,’ I replied.

Kishimoto sighed and began to pace, turning my head at various angles, deciding how best to incapacitate me.

‘Rina,’ Kenji whispered, faint in the back of my skull. ‘I have an idea.’

‘After we just surrendered?’ I thought in response.

‘I told you about the Conduit bottleneck. If the Conduit isn’t strong enough, it doesn’t matter how much effort the Source puts in.’

‘I swear, if you’re putting the blame on me—’

‘I’m to blame,’ Kenji said. ‘I had the info. Junko is a boxer; she’s accustomed to using her arms. You’re a sprinter.’

He didn’t need to say more. My vision stabilised and I found a strand of mental energy to grasp, miniscule but enough to focus my thoughts beyond the wounds across my body. But, I was on my knees. I couldn’t easily get my legs out, and I wasn’t sure how to focus the power. If I did, Kishimoto might deflect it. She’d brake my legs when she knew my plan.

I am here. I am afraid. I must not hide. I will not be swayed.

Footsteps came from up the hall. More guards, or another Conduit? I needed to act fast, before they arrived to support Kishimoto. The footsteps got faster, like someone sprinted. I had to act. I would lean back, swing my legs around—

Gecko jumped from the shadows and landed on Kishimoto’s back. She clawed and clamped her teeth onto Kishimoto’s neck like some kind of starved goblin. Kishimoto shrieked and swore, reaching vainly behind her. Blood spread across her upper torso. She got a hold of Gecko’s hair and threw her overhead against the wall.

In the same moment, I hooked my legs from under me and kicked. They moved with a sharp flicking motion, like swimming with flippers. I envisioned a tidal wave. Kishimoto raised her defences but still lost her footing. Rather than slam into the wall like I wanted, she skidded along it and crashed a short distance away.

I regained my footing. I looked like a mess. I ran my tongue across my upper lip, tasting the coppery blood.

Kishimoto used levitation and the ceiling to pull herself upright. I didn’t give her time to recover. Launching front kicks, I sent attack after attack. I closed the distance. The attacks lacked the focus of the finger pistol, but raw power made up for it. My thighs felt warm and had a pleasant soreness. The muscles warmed up. The muscle fibres wanted to fire faster. The connective tissue got a sense of how I wanted to move and were willing to oblige.

The attacks didn’t connect, but Kishimoto had trouble deflecting them. I sent them low, harder to reach with her hands. She widened her stance and kept low, but I could tell it took a toll on her.

‘Rina,’ Kenji said. I heard the fatigue in his voice. His strength waned. He couldn’t keep it up, not in such quick succession. My legs were getting weaker, too. Kishimoto started to feel the rhythm of deflecting my attacks. In a battle of endurance, we’d lose. I’d fought conservatively, reactive. We needed risk, a winning gamble. If we’d lose through endurance, we needed to bet on strength.

‘Pull the Fulcrum and don’t let go,’ I told Kenji. ‘Give it everything.’

I sensed Kenji’s assent deep in my thoughts. It did not feel like he trusted the plan. It felt like he trusted that I’d try.

I sent a last kick and retreated with forceful reverse steps. The shadows hid me. Kishimoto paused. I lowered into the starting position of a sprint. Power amassed along my legs, like immense pressure on the balls of my feet.

Now.

I pushed off. Power exploded against the floor. I sped through light and shadow to Kishimoto. She made an X over her body as a shield. One of her arms wavered from when Gecko had bitten her. I slammed my front foot down, sending all my momentum and strength into the motion. Pain shot up my ankle. I didn’t aim below like she expected. I aimed above. Power crashed over Kishimoto’s head. She slapped against the floor and smashed her nose with an audible crunch. She rolled over as I slammed my heel down again.

My powers met her defences. I stomped again and again. The pain in my ankle worsened, but Kishimoto’s defences broke. The next time I stamped my heel, the pressure crushed Kishimoto’s sternum and ribs. She didn’t scream. A harsh, sickening wheeze came from her. Ribs had punctured her lungs. She twitched and spat blood. A spasm caused her power to slash the wall in a last futile attack.

I half expected Kishimoto to smile or have the last word, but she lay there wheezing, wide-eyed, a vague terror plastered to her face. I ceased to exist, in her eyes. All to remain was the light and shadow of the hallway, the shortness of breath, the growing certainty that she wouldn’t survive.

I walked away.

I found Gecko and called her name. She didn’t move. Kenji told me to leave, not out of panic but concern; I had to confirm it. I pulled Gecko into the light. She bled from the back of her head. When Kishimoto had thrown her against the wall, it fractured her skull.

Numbness and adrenaline kept my face passive. Shock would hit me later. I’d let it. But I needed to escape. I tried to lift Gecko’s body but lacked the strength, with or without telekinesis. I apologised for getting her involved, promised to make things right, and limped past Kishimoto’s twitching body to leave the hallway.