Mask of Renewal

Escaping the facility was achievable for two reasons…

First, I learn fast. That isn’t bragging; it’s an objective analysis. Kishimoto unknowingly taught me skills through combat that would’ve taken me months to learn alone.

Second, the site served as a research outpost for processing data and organs. Kishimoto brought me there because it’d take too long to reach the main facility. The private security numbered, at most, five guards. With the aforementioned skills and the element of surprise, I fought through them with ease.

I left the facility via the main entrance. Though night had fallen, the surrounding street lights were off. I later learned that the mega-corporation owned layers of domestic residences around their facilities to act as a buffer. Paid actors and surveillance operators lived in the houses and monitored the activities of real civilians who passed by.

For me, it meant I could stroll—well, limp—from the facility and not be questioned by random strangers. Cameras recorded me on the way out, but it didn’t matter. The mega-corporation already knew my identity. I looked over my shoulder to make a rude gesture at the camera, when I noted, for the first time, the corporation’s name engraved above the entrance: Golden Harvest.

My lip twitched. I couldn’t help a short laugh. I wondered if whoever named it knew about the organ harvesting beforehand.

The Golden Harvest mega-corporation were involved in agriculture, fashion, cosmetics, and a few other fields. They were also a major sponsor of the government’s Mizu-Hydro program. They had a surprisingly clean reputation compared to most mega-corporations, but I supposed they were simply better at hiding the filth.

When I got a decent way from the site, I found a convenience store. I couldn’t go inside, on account of the blood and general raggedness. So, using my powers, I levitated medical supplies from an emergency pouch behind the counter, along with sandwiches and drinks. In a park, I sat on a swing set, disinfected my wounds, and stuck gauze patches over them. I needed to wrap my ankle. The pain had subsided to a dull throbbing. The bone didn’t feel broken, more like a severe sprain.

I ripped open the sandwich packet and shoved half into my mouth. My cheeks bulged. I swallowed more than I chewed. I’d never liked convenience store sandwiches, but hunger and near-death experiences works wonders on your tastebuds. I washed it down with a lemon-lime drink and licked crumbs from my hands.

Kenji appreciated the rest. He may not have been injured, but he’d worked the Fulcrum for longer and with greater intensity than ever before. ‘I’ll be fine in a couple hours,’ he said, yawning. Until then, I’d have to avoid using levitation.

With my wounds closed, I washed off the dried blood in the park’s public water fountain. The sound of flowing water in the quiet night left an impression of peace. Moonlight didn’t reach me, shaded by a tree, and I pretended to wash off icing sugar rather than blood. I didn’t even know if the blood came from me or Kishimoto.

Though cleaned up, I was too exposed with my ripped clothes and suspicious injuries. I walked the streets and used taller buildings to orient myself, which led me to a train station. I exhaled, upon reading the station’s name. At least I’d been taken to the outskirts of Neo-Tokyo, not somewhere too remote. I could reach home in a couple hours. But before getting on a train, I needed to steal clean clothes. So I planned, until I read the schedule. There was one last train. No time to look presentable. I rushed to the platform, kept my head low, and hopped into the women-only car.

The station’s cameras and attendants would have seen me. There were two women in the train car, too, but they paid no attention to me. Noticed or not, I had the feeling being seen once was already too much.

I made it home after midnight. As I passed Hoshino Ren’s apartment, I ran my fingers across the door. Stood before my own apartment door, everything looked different. Not because of the Mizu-Hydro. Not renovations, either. Let’s call it perspective. The synthetic wood looked rougher, more detailed, more real. The white external lights shone clearer, crisp and hopeful. I saw things for the first time as myself, detached from friends or family. My “self” wasn’t new, and I hadn’t changed; I sort of “remembered” that first and foremost I was me.

I rung the bell. My parents rushed to the door. They hugged me. They cried. They wavered between scolding me, asking questions, and expressing relief. I should’ve broken the lock and crept inside. It would’ve been easier for everyone. I’d already decided on the train what I’d do, painful or not. I’d been through enough pain, might as well have another dose.

I dislodged myself from my parents and went to my room. I grabbed a travel bag and filled it with clothes and cash. Then I visited the bathroom and kitchen for more supplies. I didn’t talk. My parents went from speaking to shouting. They asked various questions. Was I in danger? Was I on drugs? If only. I began to cry, too. They tried to stop me, but I forced my way out of the apartment. As I pushed past them, I noticed how frail they were. Their bodies reflected their age. Mine overflowed with vitality and strength beyond most girls my age. I intended to use it for good.

Forget the masks of the athlete or academic or family girl. I didn’t need them for the future.

#

I spent the night in the unused maintenance room, under the bridge on the way to school. I’d stored a decent amount of unopened Mizu-Hydro bottles inside. They posed too much of a temptation, so I tossed them outside. According to Hoshino, the manufactures would know if they broke, but I wasn’t staying for long.

In the morning, Kenji greeted me. ‘Sleep well?’

‘What do you think?’ I replied, massaging my lower back and pushing off the concrete flooring.

‘I’m ready for—what the hell is that?’

I’d stepped onto the riverbank. ‘Oh, right,’ I said. ‘You haven’t seen this yet.’ Since Kenji saw through my eyes, he saw the world without Mizu-Hydro. I explained what I’d done, and he fell silent for a while.

As I collected my belongings, Kenji mused:

‘Hard to believe organ harvesting is only part of the issue.’

‘Still pretty big,’ I replied, thinking about Hoshino.

I changed into inconspicuous clothes. Kenji likely saw my body, but it was more likely he’d seen already. We weren’t in a position to worry about stuff like that. I walked to the station, keeping away from police boxes. My parents may have reported me missing.

Kenji and I had two options. The Golden Harvest mega-corporation was the crux of our decision. Golden Harvest’s headquarters was north, in Sapporo. If we went south, we might be safer. ‘Then what?’ Kenji said. ‘Work at a convenience store and chill?’

‘We could steal enough to afford a flight overseas. The “Outsiders” Kishimoto mentioned may only be in Japan.’

‘So, fly to France. Then what? Get a job in a bakery and chill?’

‘I see your point,’ I sighed. I really didn’t want to plunge back into danger, but I couldn’t imagine living a normal life with what I knew. Not after what happened to Hoshino and Gecko. ‘MemDoc?’ I asked Kenji.

‘You’d sever a connection to me in the process.’

‘You’re saying I have the potential to save myself?’ When Kenji didn’t respond, I told him it was a joke.

‘Is there anything you really want to do,’ he said abruptly. ‘In life, I mean.’

‘I don’t have an ambitious bone in my body,’ I replied. Academic and athletic performance was just part of the template life I embodied.

‘Any heroic ones?’

I smiled. ‘It’s possible.’ I got a ticket for the bullet train going north.