《Revenge Fantasy》


 #1 - The Adoption of Chouko

    "Hello, little girl. What is that you are drawing?"


    "... a butterfly. The ones in the park."


    "Well, that is a beautiful butterfly you have."


    "T... thank you..."


    Charles Ashford. Head of the Ashford name, a businessman of high standing with single bachelor plastered all over his aged face. He has come to the point where he must seek an heir, but cannot father a child naturally. Thus, whilst he still has his years, the man resorted to adoption. Searching for the child of another to inherit the Ashford name and fortune.


    Charles found that his search bared no fruit, however.


    Finding a child worthy of such honor and privilege was no easy matter. The child must be gifted and academic, a rare occurrence for those... orphans. After all, gifted children are useful for their families. None of the children tested through conventional methods were up to Ashford standards. The academically successful either belong to another family name, or have a history of being undesirable and rotten due to their spoiled upbringings once their intelligence was discovered.


    Going through common orphanages was the better option, but there laid another issue. Only a fool would discard a good child. As much as Charles did not want to admit it, the typical orphan was a gambit of intelligence. When they are young, they have "room to grow" in vague amounts, all dependent on nature on top of their nurture. Upon reaching testing age, the child''s intelligence may often be either average or poor, leading to a wasted effort. It was not impossible to find success, of course, but... average was not what Charles was looking for.


    It broke Charles''s heart to know how picky he was, but he must be strong. He may contribute and invest all he wants in their futures, but the man was searching to parent an heir. For a child born under another name, they must not be average. They must be exceptional. They must have the potential to lead, to maintain and to grow the Ashford name. Just as Charles did, and his father before him. A prized jewel that needed to shine amongst the Ashford collection through hardship and dedication.


    And he found one such gem in the orphanage on 7th. A red eyed child with long black hair, meek in mannerisms and modest in attire. While the other children were off playing, this one was by her lonesome underneath the dining room table. Charles curiously went to greet the girl whilst the staff were preparing documents.


    "Hmm. By any chance, is this a monarch butterfly?"


    "No... it''s a viceroy."


    "A viceroy?"


    "Yes... this part of the wing. There is a line... monarchs don''t have that... s... so..."


    Monarch butterflies. Viceroy butterflies. Monarchs and viceroys. Kings and queens, and their representatives. In the civilized, human world, a viceroy is quite literally a vice royal. A vice-king. A public face for a country empowered to act in the sovereign''s name, as if they were the very king of that country. Not unlike the natural world, where viceroy butterflies mimic the monarch butterfly for survival, utilizing the colorful properties to avert predators due to looking unpalatable.


    The two types of butterflies share the most minute of details that separate them, details that most would disregard and group into mere butterflies. This little girl has the care and precision to detail to draw a butterfly to the exact detail. With a simple pencil and a box of crayons, she put to paper a beautiful work of nature. Having the word to back up her vision, able to discern the most miniscule of characteristics in these insects. Impressive.


    "Ah... fascinating creatures, these are. My, and you''ve colored it red?"


    "... yes... red is... pretty..."


    "It is, yes. Quite the artwork... and you''ve signed it as well. Cursive?"


    "Y... Yes... it is nice... the letters look pretty..."


    The signature read, "Chouko." Charles later learned more about this little girl while examining the documentation, seeing her name stand out amongst the forms presented to him. Chouko was six years of age, with half-Japanese and half-English blood in her veins. Beyond this information, her origins allude the orphanage, as she was simply left on the doorstep one day.


    She had yet to be enlisted in the education system, but showed an active desire to learn. Caretakers have experience with the girl being a quick study, able to retain information far better than any of the other kids. Chouko has miraculously managed to memorize each page of the orphanage''s books, capable of reciting anything she''s read from memory.


    This includes several pages of pop up books, fairy tales, and - comedically, one time - the basic ideas from Shakespeare''s MacBeth, brought into the orphanage one time by a caretaker''s son. Although Chouko didn''t fully understand the secondary school book, nor did she finish the entire work, she is aware of what happens. She was found lying in her bed, decently far into the novel before the caretakers confiscated it.


    In fact, Chouko''s near insatiable connection with books was revealed much later to the man. The caretakers refrained from mentioning her behavioral issues. On top of her taking the novel from the son, she regularly bothered staff with requests for new books every so often when bored. Something that the orphanage could not readily do in an instant, so she was told by caretakers to play with the children instead.


    Whenever talking with the other children, however, Chouko often attempted to talk about and discuss the books to the dismay of the children that have yet to be read the orphanage''s stories. Thus, she would spend playtime either by her lonesome or with her mouth closed at all times. The root cause to her... passive, timid self when she spoke with Charles.


    "Chouko. Is that your name?"


    "Y... Yes... C... Chouko... I am Chouko..."


    "Chouko... fascinating. You have a wonderful name, Chouko."


    "... thank you..."


    In this very moment, Charles had a hunch that Chouko was the excellent child he was looking for. Even before knowing anything else about her, her name alone caused Charles to ponder. The meaning of the name, Chouko, was "butterfly child". The butterfly a symbol for the soul in various Japanese folklore, with ancient mythology holding beliefs that butterflies were the messengers of the gods.


    There was some poetic beauty with this butterfly child, in this very moment, drawing a butterfly. Artistically drawing her very own namesake, possibly showing reverence to the name her parents have bestowed upon her. Charles found significance in this coincidence, especially with how knowledgeable he was about his own name. Great men throughout history shared the name, Charles, from royals and rulers to several pioneers of science and arts.


    A part of him, in that moment, believed that if there was anyone deserving of the prestige of being heir to the Ashford fortune, Chouko is a strong contender. Polite, well mannered, artistically skilled. She has plentiful amounts of potential. Potential fit for an upstanding lady of the Ashford name.


    Charles was not going to let this opportunity pass him by. He took the chance.


    "If, by chance, the orphanage will permit me to do so, would you like to be adopted today?"


    "... today...?"


    "Not to get your hopes up, but yes. I see a promising potential future with you as an Ashford, Chouko. As my daughter."


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "... then... sure..."


    And thus, once the paperwork was in order, Charles became the father and primary caretaker of Chouko Ashford. The little girl allowing herself in that moment to be excited as she was led through the front exit, brought to a large and shiny black car driven by a fancy man known as a chauffeur.


    Chouko, before she knew it was real, had to prepare for the possibility that this man was lying to her. That he couldn''t adopt her. Yet, a part of her felt a bubbling excitement if he was telling the truth. Chouko had no friends at the orphanage, she has already exhausted all of the books here, and she spent most of her time underneath just the table anyway.


    Maybe the man adopting her has a better table to hide under, more books to read and more things to do. So, with all of her heart, she wished it was real, she hoped it was real, and it was. Chouko sat down in the backseat alongside her father, astonished as she comfortably rode in the car. That was the first time she was ever in a car.


    There was something indescribably precious to Charles about seeing a child''s joy unfolding before him, especially one that he was now caring for.


    "Chouko, do you like big houses?"


    "... big... houses? Like... uhm... this- big?"


    "No, no, your new home is much larger. I cannot wait for you to see it for yourself."


    "U-Uhm... I see..."


    The car takes a right at a gate, stopping right in front of it. The black, metallic bars of the gate catching Chouko''s eyes. A man in a box is seen, looking to the passengers in the back seat. A wave and a smile to the little girl, with Chouko staring back... waving back to him.


    Then, with a press of a button, the gates open and the car drives along. Chouko stares out the window to see expansive fields of grass. Well kept, well tended. Tiny little spots of white circles shining on the side of the path.


    Once close enough, the little girl catches a glimpse of the big house. A massive manor comes closer to the car, its windows brightly lit in yellow and white. Two stories tall, something Chouko gets a better look at when the car circles around the water fountain...


    Chouko stares in astonishment as she is helped out of the car. Her hand holding her new father''s hand, led closer to the manor with each step. For a moment, her hand begins to shake, as she was scared and intimidated by the sheer size of her new home.


    Charles gently wraps his fingers to hold Chouko''s hand as well. Reassuring her and leading her forward, looking down to her and smiling.


    "I am here. Are you uncomfortable? Is something upsetting you about the manor?"


    "... a-are there- any monsters in there...?"


    "Of course not, Chouko. If there were, I will keep you company, and I will keep you safe."


    "O... oh... okay...!"


    Chouko looked at her father, and her red eyes blinked at him a couple of times. She felt safe in that moment, and walked with him into the manor.


    Witnessing the manor''s interior decor from the foyer, Chouko faced a mansion with pure white walls lined with pillars, a hallway straight to the front with stairways up to a second floor, and hallways to her left and right. Charles first took Chouko up the stairs and to the left, the two passing by numerous doors as they wandered. Chouko did not know what was behind any of them, as the doors were completely unmarked.


    The sheer... amount of rooms was dizzying. Chouko was used to there only being four rooms at the orphanage: a large bedroom with dozens of beds for everyone, a kitchen and dining room, and the main area for story time, play time, and so on. This intimidated her, less than a monster but more than her old shelter.


    Chouko wondered, did her father adopt more people? These finely suited and dressed adults that roamed the halls, having been exposed to maids and butlers for the first time in her life...


    Eventually, the pair turned right around the hallway corner, and made it to one room in particular. A massive, expansive room decorated with the finest drawers Charles could provide. Gender neutral in color, as he knew not for certain if his heir would be a boy or a girl. The room had pure white wallpaper and well polished wood floors. One queen sized bed with quilted sheets, handwoven pillows and a fluffy teddy bear atop it.


    "This will be your bedroom, Chouko. For now, I must tend to other affairs, and will leave you to explore at your leisure. The men and women in this house are here to help."


    "..."


    "... is something the matter, Chouko? Is the room currently not to your liking? Staff are also available to decorate it as you see fit."


    "It''s... u... uhm... c... can... can I- uhm- come with you t-to your room...? I- I''m- I''m, uh, I-"


    Charles gently walked along, leading Chouko away from her bedroom. He was more than happy to bring his daughter to his bedroom, if it assists with making her feel like home.


    Keeping her company, Charles brought her to his room. It felt even more grand than her own bedroom. His style was more dark and refined, with darker wood in his floors and furniture. His wallpapers split between an upper half of rich, dark green laced with polka dots, and a lower half design of dark brown wood panels. His bedframe a rich dark oak to match, king sized with fine and fluffy white sheets.


    The man sat down at his desk, positioned at the right-most windowsill. Beginning to tend to paperwork that the head butler has left, reviewing his businesses and such.


    Chouko idly looked around the room, free to explore it. At the left-most window, she saw a massive piece of furniture with legs and a seat. Was this a table? But... it didn''t look like one, it was weirdly shaped and too large to sit at... except this one part that was narrow and could not fit things that go on a table. Just books and paper above it...


    "... uhm... Father... w... what is this?"


    "Ah. That is a piano, Chouko. A beautiful instrument that plays music. In my free time, I find it comforting to indulge myself in my musical passions."


    "Uhm... uh... c... can I, uhm, try... playing it?"


    "... if you so wish. There is a booklet that you may read to... assist with your playing."


    Charles felt a little uneasy as his newest daughter requested to play the piano. He found himself getting up from his desk, departing from the room and excusing himself to ask the maids to provide some refreshments.


    A deep sigh escaped Charles''s lips once he was out of the room. This unease he felt was, hopefully, not towards Chouko. Rather, how she takes to the piano. The fault lied within himself, as he is a very passionate aficionado of classical music. "Indulge myself in my musical passions"... truly undersold his passion, especially with his critic tendencies.


    His heart was afraid that he will feel upset at Chouko''s attempts. Afraid that his demanding expectations will be soiled by a child learning piano for the first time. Afraid that the girl will detest the piano, detest his passion.


    He stalled for time to delay it. Delay his reaction to Chouko. Taking his time to personally request tea and biscuits from the best maid in his employment, one specializing in brewing a staple in this household: the citrusy Earl Grey. A middle classman''s tea, yet- quite posh for a man of his status to enjoy.


    Charles prefers his Earl Grey with lemon and honey, and instructed the maid to provide additional options for Chouko. A bowl of sugar cubes, small cups of milk and honey so that she may experiment with the tea, three extra lemon slices, and additional biscuits. Children do love their sweets, after all.


    Eventually, the maid came back with a tray. Two white cups of tea brimmed with a sky blue, matching the imported teapot and the saucers they rest atop. All the ingredients as instructed, the tea hot and ready.


    Charles mentally prepared himself for whatever outcome awaited in that room, walking back whilst accompanying the maid. Every few steps, he took a deep breath to calm and ease his nerves, saving the tea as a last resort if the worst were to occur.


    ... and Charles arrived at the room, staying outside. Hearing... something that pleasantly surprised him. Arm held out to gesture the maid to stop in place, as he peeked into his room with wonder.


    In the time Charles has been gone, Chouko demonstrated her gifted proficiency with reading. As a beginner, she was understanding how the white and black keys on the piano work, had a bit of knowledge about beginner''s sheet music, and spent some time playing the basic works of the instructional book in the short amount of time she was given.


    ... and, out of curiosity, she upgraded herself to playing Debussy''s Clair de Lune around the time Charles came back.


    One of Charles''s personal favorite pieces. One that conveys beauty, tranquility. A representation of the moonlight, its subtle stillness representative of Symbolist poet Paul Verlaine''s work of the same name. It happened to be the sheet music he kept on the music stand, the song he had last previously played.


    Tears trailed down Charles''s eyes. Chouko, once again, moved his heart. A mere six year old capable of playing the basics of such a work, albeit with the occasional mistake due to physical limitations... it was breathtaking. He could not believe that such a girl would be abandoned, left in an orphanage. Having her talents go unnurtured, left a ruby in an encasement of brick and stone. She was a beginner, yes, and the subtle differences between her smaller hands and his very own are different in quality.


    Yet, he could feel no disappointment for his newest care, feeling nothing but pride.


    He started to walk into the room, steps slow and quiet to not disturb the girl''s work. This was to no avail, as she diverts her attention to him shortly after his attempt. Her fingers stopping upon noticing his quiet approach, looking at him nervously.


    "U... Uhm... welcome- back... I... uh... I was just..."


    "Chouko... you''re..."


    "... w... well, I, uhm... I saw the... the paper, and- uhm... tried to-"


    "That was beautiful... please, allow me to join you."


    He delayed his work as he took a seat with Chouko. Sitting to her left, knowing that the left side of Claire de Lune is more complicated than the right. For quite some time, they played together, with Charles instructing Chouko every step of the way.


    The sun sets some time after, their tea lukewarm on a spare table. Not an ounce consumed, lost in their melodious duet. In this very moment, they were, themselves, basking in the tranquility of the moonlight. Eventually brought out of it once Chouko became hungry, and dinner was made posthaste. This marks the very beginning of their fond memories together.


    A father, and his precious little girl.

 #2 - Presenting Vanilla

    Four years later, on business during the early month of April, Charles Ashford was sent overseas to the Americas. As an investor in a developing technology, he sought to attend the crucial presentation where the world would be exposed to this advanced innovation: an artificial intelligence, designed to be a virtual assistant. Developed by a young college student that received a scholarship from the Ashford Revolutionary Corporation.


    Who was Charles to disappoint an aspiring young inventor? One who has set up a vigorous advertising campaign putting Charles''s name on the cover, gathering mass public attention on this invention to the point where the media covered the technology solely and exclusively for the Ashford name rather than the innovation itself?


    ... in truth, Charles did not care much for it, and was practically obligated to attend.


    As he sat to the side of the stage, watching the young man rehearse the presentation with cue cards, he couldn''t focus on any of it. This was a waste of time for the man, other than making sure to keep public face. Absolutely disinterested in the creation, with other more important things on his mind.


    Firstly, it was a pin drop in the water of technology. One single inventor utilizing his life savings to develop this technology - conceptualized several decades ago, by the way, before this inventor''s time - paled in comparison to other companies already years into development. And secondly, Charles was a traditional man who valued authentic human life, and found it unnecessary to integrate something fake and artificial into human society. There was no purpose to these creatures, nothing that really draws his attention as to why these things should exist.


    Altogether, Charles sat in a chair and thought of other topics. Other things worth his attention and focus, and he certainly had plenty to focus on after these eventful four years.


    The Ashford name remains as successful as ever, with its countless business ventures continuing to grow. Other investments, more... local... investments are becoming more and more successful than this specific investment. Deals were made, and partnerships were fostered. Society just grew more and more, with each passing month and year, and other technological ventures and generally more interesting topics simply took priority in the center of his mind.


    ... and the most important thing that takes his attention away from this show? His heir, his daughter, the girl that sat right next to him. This heir of his showing more of an interest in the project than he did. This child was the most important thing in his life, far beyond any mechanical machine.


    Chouko Ashford. Ten years old, proudly dressed in a black cardigan and a finely woven dress skirt. Her white button shirt tailored by the finest of tailors, with a cravat sewn into the collar of it. A fine, modest outfit for a young lady to wear, especially in front of an audience.


    Charles had requested several outfits to be personally tailored for Chouko over the years. This one in particular was her newest outfit, one associated as a reward for her academic excellence. Especially given the fact she was going to graduate this year from higher education... a majoring degree in psychology, and everything.


    By some miracle, Chouko breezed through her education in a short amount of time. With proper education, she graduated secondary school at the age of seven, her eventual graduation early by about 11 years.


    It was one thing to be gifted, it was another to be gifted early. Chouko was regarded as a genius child prodigy across the world, a rare occurrence. Artistically gifted, musically gifted, and academically gifted. Throughout her school years, she was given the title of the "Apple-Eyed Genius" as a reference to her eyes matching the color of red apples given to teachers. She has aced countless tests, taking an aptitude test that puts her on the same levels as top scientists and tacticians. Her memorization skills legendary, putting her above others in her class and the country.


    Charles was... amazed, in absolute disbelief throughout these years. Looking back on how hard Chouko worked, how much she wanted to excel and be the heir he could be proud of. He holds nothing but pride for his daughter, very well considering her a pure Ashford years ago. This was a promising girl that Charles knew, in his heart, was destined for greatness from day one.


    Chouko deserved everything that he could ever give her within these four years. A loving home, the finest of foods, the highest quality clothes, freedom to explore her passions for reading and drawing... a luxurious life filled with nothing but the very best.


    Oh, the fond memories coming to him in waves of nostalgia. Resounding memories he treasures deeply.


    The hours spent personally teaching Chouko the piano. Many works filled the walls of the bedroom, Charles witnessing a firsthand account of Chouko''s growth as she plays several historical classics. Her passion, he dare say, outrivals his after some time. Her small fingers superior to his old, frail hands. But they always found themselves sharing common ground with Claire de Lune.


    Their shared time spent reading. How she would enjoy her free time reading novels in their library, huddled underneath a large table with a fine cloth draped over it. A comfy, cozy fort for her to hide away with a lamp, one he was often invited into when he sought to do some reading himself. One would think of a child falling asleep in her parent''s arms, but he found himself lulled into slumber first every time, and Chouko would call servants to help him to his true bed.


    Chouko accompanied her father on many, if not most, of Charles''s ventures. Each formal gala hosted by business partners and acquaintances, Chouko was brought along. Leisurely walks whilst conducting errands, Chouko followed with him. Conferences, tours, vacations. When Chouko was available, she found herself inseparable from Charles, even going as far as following him to an overseas flight to New York City for Easter break.


    "Chouko. Are you excited to come to the States?"


    "Y-Yes, indeed. I''m looking forward to experiencing American life, Father."


    "Yes, America is quite interesting indeed. I much prefer our homeland, but - after the presentation - there will be plenty of sights to see. A month''s worth of activities, before your proper graduation."


    "Sounds overwhelming... but, it also sounds quite amusing!"


    That conversation replayed itself as Charles sat in his chair, remembering the joy on full display. Charles''s heart melted as he saw how much his daughter has grown. She still held some of her timid mannerisms, yet there was truly authentic energy to her voice. If given the opportunity, she could - with this newfound energy - make quite the plentiful amount of business partners and acquaintances...


    Of course, Chouko was not permitted to bring classmates over. She was still a child learning amongst teenagers and young adults. No, Charles often welcomed and invited families of all classes to bring their kids over for play dates with Chouko. Lower, middle, upper- he welcomed any fine, upstanding families to give Chouko a social life.


    "Father, Leo has brought over a d-dog! H-His name is Spot, and we had such fun playing together! Can he come over more often?"


    "I''ll see if his father is open to it. Leo''s father is a common worker for one of my businesses, after all, I''m sure he would very much enjoy the visits."


    There were times when he had to protect Chouko, the most notable being when a mutual business partner brought his son over and unexpectedly harmed Chouko during business negotiations.


    "F-Father! I- I''m scared... J-Jack got upset w-whilst we were reading, a-and he- he-"


    "H-He hit you...?! Oh, good heavens, your eye- servants! Escort Mr. Sutton and his son out of this manor! Sullivan, we will speak about our deal at a later date! For now, you are not welcome on these premises!"


    Charles knew he had to raise Chouko to be a powerful heir, but... this girl brought up his overwhelmingly awakened fatherly instincts. Every time he looked at his daughter, he felt a need to preserve her joy. To the best of his ability, driving to make sure she was safe and happy at all times.


    With every accomplishment she achieves, Charles felt that he was not ready to see this girl grow up into a fine woman. He wanted to spend more time with this beloved child, make the most out of the years they had left. It all was gone in a flash to him. His only regret was that he did not enjoy his time with Chouko as much as he wanted to.


    One day, Chouko will take the lead to run the Ashford family''s businesses. She will take charge as an investor, a philanthropist, a psychologist. Her dreams fulfilled, meeting a fine suitor who will escort her to a villa in the tropics. Their remaining time limited until Charles has to say goodbye to his little girl.


    Nothing in this presentation whatsoever held Charles''s attention beyond this girl.


    "... please give a round of applause, everyone!" the inventor, on stage, exclaimed to the hall. "A hand to our primary investor, the esteemed Charles Ashford! Responsible for funding groundbreaking android technology!"


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Charles walked in front of an audience of thousands, looked out to a sea of Americans cheering for him. Many of which he recognized as other businessmen, likely present at the presentation to meet him afterwards. With all the applause given, he didn''t feel anything from their praise. All he did was take some portions of money and donate them to promising companies and businesses. The audience was applauding him for his name alone.


    "Now, everyone," the inventor told the audience. "Please give a warm welcome, to... Vanilla!" Proceeding to reveal the invention as he yanked the curtain off, showing nothing more than a messy cluster of metal and wires.


    The applause for Vanilla was non-existent. Complete and utter silence.


    Nothing about Vanilla impressed people. In theory, this project was for an "android", a robot that appears human. This was just a travesty to look at, an unprofessional heap of moving scrap metal and wires that pretended to be a fake human and everything. This so called android was completely work in progress and was unfit for a presentation of this scale, very ominous and creepy to Charles.


    However, here it was. Amidst a quiet audience, the inventor began to explain a bunch of nonsense about how the innovation was not its body, it was the technology inside. Some intricate technological system with a custom AI built into it, its features more centered around speaking and responding.


    The presenter flips a switch, and the invention turns on. A brief period of start up, with faint and artificial applause filling the room. Its voice stutters faintly, but... it manages to utter some words, looking to the inventor and speaking. "Hello. I am Vanilla. Pleased to meet you, everyone."


    For the next few minutes, the invention was "showcased". Charles sat back down in his seat, and witnessed this travesty further unfold. The inventor did nothing new with this supposed assistant, asking it basic questions that obsolete technology already mastered.


    "Vanilla, can you tell me what time it is right now?" the inventor asks.


    "Of course. It is four thirteen, in the afternoon," Vanilla responds.


    "Vanilla, have you heard of the latest news happening in town?"


    "Yes. This presentation," Vanilla responds. "But afterwards, there is another showcase scheduled here at five, where a new soda product to promote fat loss will be presented."


    "Vanilla, what do you think I should have for dinner today?"


    "Given your budgetary constraints, I recommend a chicken salad from the local grocery store. If you would like, I can order one for you if you wish."


    Nothing about this presentation was demonstrating anything worthwhile.


    To the audience of people expecting some advanced intelligence, "Vanilla" was nothing more than a primitive and glorified rotating shopping machine with a clock and a todo list for those five minutes. It was no fault of its own, however. The inventor responsible for her was awkwardly fumbling on stage with the conversational grace of a dry cement block, giving Vanilla nothing whatsoever to work with. A good majority of the presentation a disaster, with various attendees starting to leave out of disinterest.


    "U... Uhm..." the inventor audibly stuttered, not helping his case whatsoever. "V... Vanilla here isn''t just- limited to conversation! She, uh... she can..." Rummaging through his note cards and panicking, nervously sweating as crickets chirped in the audience.


    While the inventor was commencing with more of his uninteresting, boring show of disappointment, the android noticeably turned and interrupted him completely. Focusing on a different subject entirely: a new person.


    "Ah. Hello. Lady Ashford, yes?" the android prototype''s voice asks, looking to an approaching Chouko. Seeing the girl simply walking up to her, an inquisitive look on the girl''s red-eyed face, the android responding with curiosity. "Is something the matter? There is a presentation going on..."


    "Uhm... hello, V-Vanilla... nothing is the matter. But, I, uh, I just- I wished to a-ask you something... something on my mind."


    Audiences watched as Chouko approached the prototype, seeing the child speak with her eyes looking up at it calmly. Charles, even, showed an interest as Chouko did this, tuned back into the presentation, and watched his daughter speak to Vanilla.


    "Certainly. Ask away... Chouko," Vanilla requests, a hint of casual friendliness in its generated voice, adjusting itself to fully face Chouko. "I will answer to the best of my ability."


    "W... well, uhm, I was wondering, do you, uh, do you like... do you like books...?"


    The robot hmmed and whirred, pondering. Tilting itself left and right, more of its artificial humanity coming to light in that moment. The people in that room found the invention more endearing now that it wasn''t a grown man talking to an android, but a little child. After all, the Ashford name was what carried this presentation to begin with, and Chouko was next to do a bit of heavy lifting.


    "... I have not read a lot of books, unfortunately. I do not have the eyes to really enjoy it, you see," the android joked, beeping a couple of times and wiggling noticeably. This gained some chuckles from the audience, the movements of the parts amusing. "But I do see their value. They are quite educational."


    "I see... well, uhm, I''d like to read some to you... I don''t have any on me right now, but, uhm... oh, uh, are you familiar with, uhm, Grimms'' Cinderella?"


    Vanilla leaned slightly forward at this, looking closer at Chouko. "My programming is familiar with Disney''s version of it. However, I am slightly familiar with descriptions of the original version, the one Disney adapted from... are you familiar with it?"


    "Y... Yes, I, uhm... there was a novel I happened to read that had it. I- I am well familiar with the tale, so..."


    "Well, that''s fascinating!" Vanilla responded, her voice beaming with intrigue and fascination. "I would be lying if I pretended not to be aware of your memorization! Please, I would love for you to read some to me, if you can!"


    "O... Oh, well, uhm... sure... uh..."


    Audiences watched as Chouko started to read the entire beginning of the Grimm version from memory, locking her attention on Vanilla to ease her nerves as the words flew out of her mouth. Beginning with the death of Cinderella''s mother and her dad''s remarriage, continuing on with the vileness of her new stepsisters.


    "They took her beautiful clothes away from her, dressed her in an old gray smock, and gave her wooden shoes. ''Just look at the proud princess! How decked out she is!'' they shouted and laughed, as they led her into the kitchen..."


    "Wow..." Vanilla noised, politely listening to Chouko. "There''s a bit more detail to this version..."


    "M... Mhmm, when adapted, some details were written out to appeal better to a children''s audience... the tales start out rather- well... Grimm."


    Vanilla chuckled and giggled at that joke! "Ah, I see. So the films receive more attention from adults and children alike, while also attracting movie patrons well familiar with the tale! That is a smart decision..." Then the robot cleared its throat, its voice softening. "Please, continue. I am very much having fun, being told this story."


    Now that Vanilla was actually engaging in true conversation, people started seeing more merit in this invention. Everyone, even... Charles... was astonished, as this unfolded. Most technology designed to replicate human conversation typically fell flat, with priorities on having moving and functioning bodies rather than humanizing their technology. Vanilla was currently... proving itself uncontested, exhibiting more personality than other conversation models.


    Single handedly, Chouko turned the presentation about a generic and disappointing technology into a captivating show of a child bonding with a prototype.


    Minutes upon minutes of her reading the story passing, taking up more and more of the presentation with this near impressive and heartwarming sight. Chouko manages to reach the part of the story where the prince was investigating with a gold slipper rather than glass, and the stepmother was handing knives to her daughters to fit into the shoes.


    Vanilla interrupted before Chouko could... describe... any of what happened next. "... Chouko, if I may interrupt for a brief moment. I must ask you something that is making me curious. The fact you are able to memorize all of this story on a whim, your passion for literature astounds me. But there is something that they - the news, the stories and all - neglect to include: do you possess a favorite book, out of all the novels you''ve read?"


    "... oh! Uhm, yes, actually... everyone has to have a favorite... and, e-even though I haven''t read all of it, m... my favorite one is, uhm, The Count of Monte Cristo..."


    "... r... really?! By Alexandre Dumas?" Vanilla commented, its voice exhibiting shock and surprise. Catching the audience by surprise at this shift, even the- inventor himself shocked. Almost- eerily unsettled at how spontaneously human Vanilla was, the inventor watched as Vanilla continued. "I truly am speaking to a prodigy. That is an outstandingly long and intricate read for a child! Over a thousand pages in some publications! I''ve barely even scratched the surface of it!"


    "W-Well, yeah... i... It''s actually the one book I find hard to read. It''s... complex, classic, and it feels like an entirely new book every time I try to read it... so..."


    "Oh! That''s why?" Vanilla asked, letting out numerous robotic laughs. Finding a lot of amusement at Chouko''s response, exhibiting great amounts of delight. "So you find it to be your favorite because it''s the one book that gives you a challenge. That surely is literature worth reading, then!"


    "Y-Yeah, it''s really good... the way that the characters are written are quite compelling, at least... I- I found Edmond Dant¨¨s to be especially well written, as the main character and all... how he, uhm, how he-"


    The inventor promptly interrupted Chouko- clearing his throat and addressing the engaged audience. "Uhm- I''m sorry, everyone, but we are running out of time... we will have to cut this short, now..."


    "O-Oh..."


    With time coming to a close, people started- exhibiting disappointment that they couldn''t see more. After the presentation, the media ate this presentation up, with the capabilities of the Vanilla prototype now clear. How child friendly it was, how it adapted to personalities between the presenter and Chouko, the way it presented itself with liveliness and humanity. They wanted more, and this presenter was depriving them of this gold.


    But rather than show disappointment, Vanilla showed joy as she spoke to Chouko. "No worries, Chouko. When I am fully developed, I will ask my creator to visit you sometime. We may continue our conversation about the novel later. Or, well, any other novel you happen to be reading by then!"


    "O... okay! I- I''m looking forward to it!"


    The hall cleared out, and... surprisingly, Charles had no one approach him. Eyes were on the inventor, giving him ample opportunity to slip out of the hall and depart. He sat in the car with Chouko, driven away from the presentation hall, discussing... that entire presentation.


    "So, Chouko. Do you think those androids are worth the investment so far?"


    "Mmm... yeah... I- I could tell the, uhm, inventor was having a hard time... s... so I started to deviate a little from the formula... and, and Vanilla became quite nice... I like her..."


    "Ah...! That is a surprise, Chouko! You approached it to- wow. Well, then, after your little show, I guess we will have to follow the career of this inventor, so that you may speak with this Vanilla once more."


    "T-That''d be wonderful, Father... a-and, uhm, w-when we get the opportunity, I would like to invite Vanilla- or, or visit whilst bringing some of our books over... is- is that okay? Or..."


    Charles just- smiled warmly in that instant. "Yes... yes, we shall. We will simply have to see what happens, but I promise to bring you to Vanilla again once it has progressed far enough."


    Saying this, Charles gets a delighted reaction from Chouko, watching as the girl excitedly fidgets with anticipation. There was something- authentic to these things, and he was looking forward to inviting this- Vanilla to further interact with Chouko.


    But, as things played out... Charles will never be able to fulfill his promise.

 #3 - Kuroiwa Sends His Regards

    The evening of the presentation, the Ashfords returned to their hotel. A relatively modest one closest to the presentation hall, one that they were staying in for one night before going to a new one. Booking one king suite on an upper floor, coming with a single king sized bed, one couch facing a widescreen TV atop a fine drawer, and a balcony beyond a glass sliding door to truly enjoy the sights of New York.


    It was possibly confining to only have one bed available, but having a separate suite for Chouko was out of the question. Charles did not want to leave Chouko alone in a hotel. This wasn''t the most luxurious of establishments to stay in, but it was satisfactory for a single night''s stay... with a view and everything.


    "Wow... is that what this city looks like...?"


    Charles watches as Chouko stares out the balcony with wonder, smiling warmly. "Indeed, Chouko. New York City does comes with a rather beautiful view at this hour. This room also comes with a telly." Reaching for a remote control in the suite, pointing it at the television and turning it on.


    The current channel was the local news, which was covering the Vanilla presentation. The station''s footage cuts between various angles and shots of Chouko speaking with that machine.


    "Immediately following the presentation funded by British millionaire investor, Charles Ashford, investors all over the world are looking into the Vanilla Project. One of the most human AI to come out of this century, lines upon lines of people have crowded the android in conversation after this footage of it speaking with Ashford''s child prodigy of a daughter."


    There was something... a little weird to Charles about watching this, but- he cannot deny that this is good for Chouko''s public image. "Child prodigy daughter", as the Americans put it... aspiring psychologist and future head of the Ashford Company and its subsidiary businesses, more like. Even the smallest of media appearances are essential to build up Chouko''s credibility further... propelling her beyond the shadow of mere nepotism.


    "O-Oh...! I-I''m on the news?"


    "Indeed. Must be interesting to be famous, Chouko. One day in the future, you''ll have countless reporters wishing to interview you for your accomplishments..."


    "Huh...! That sounds quite fun..."


    Charles took his attention off of the news for a moment, retrieving his bathrobe from the luggage case. It was time for him to take a shower, and - thus - Charles needed Chouko to be out of the room. "Alright, Chouko- you can watch TV later. For now, I suggest being out in the balcony with one of your novels. I would explain why, but... well, you are the psychology student, you understand the severity of seeing your father in a bathrobe."


    "If you insist... how long will I be outside?"


    "I estimate only about thirty minutes, or so. Time for my shower, as well as drying off and such. Afterwards, once the washroom is aired out, a bath will be run for you."


    "Understood, Father..."


    Chouko walks out of the room, holding that thick novel of hers. That black one with a sort of printed shine to it... her supposed favorite book.


    "... e-even though I haven''t read all of it, m... my favorite one is, uhm, The Count of Monte Cristo..." Chouko proceeds to say on the television.


    That certainly- was her favorite, was it? Hm. What was the plot of it again? Ah, he never got around to reading the novel himself. But Chouko said it from her perspective. A complex classic, an entirely new book each time she tries to read it.


    ... hm. Maybe he should read it with her sometime.


    Charles turned off the TV and pulls the curtains of the room over its windows. Isolating Chouko from the inside as he goes to shower. Afterwards, once the shower has concluded, Charles dons his bathrobe and departs from the bathroom. Letting out a content sigh as he fans his face, the steam of the hot water filling the suite.


    Upon leaving, however, he took an immediate glance to the king''s bed. Seeing white lights peering out and coming from under his bed, the beams of light split with a rectangular outline in the middle. As if it were a book in front of the lights...


    A smile formed on Charles''s face at these suspected antics. Charles put two and two together, finding himself chuckling with resigned amusement. "Is that you, Chouko?"


    Immediately, the lights under the bed shut off.


    It was, indeed, Chouko, who decided at some point to hide under the bed to read her book instead. She grew tired of the outside scenery and the sounds of the city, and - thus - took refuge under the bed.


    Charles suspected she must have been relying on being able to hear him depart so that she could shut her reading light off. In fact, she also seemed to be planning for him to remain in the room, keeping the curtains closed the entire time. Then - once he leaves to dress in private - she would have slipped out from the bed and snuck out the patio door, pretending she was outside the whole time.


    This elaborate plan... was not exactly becoming of a lady. In fact, he felt some disgust at the thoughts of the mess under the bed, one present even in a king suite. But Chouko''s mannerisms were endearing. How she found her ideal reading environment under furniture, with the bed serving as the most compact. Maybe she accounted for taking a shower immediately after, to cleanse herself of all the dust and grime that could be under the bed...


    Ah... Charles would have indulged in her whimsical quirk and joined her underneath, but he would not fit under the bed. Nor does he really... want... to go under there. He feigned ignorance, deciding to play along with Chouko and follow her little plan accordingly. "Oh, my mistake... I must have been seeing things. Well, then-"


    Suddenly, a knock at the door interrupts him.


    Charles raises an eyebrow. He wasn''t expecting any sort of company, especially not at this hour. Did Chouko order some sort of room service? No, no, this hotel didn''t come with any. It was all self service, with mere amenities on the ground floor...


    Charles... cautiously approaches the door. "Yes? What business do you have?"


    "Sir, we noticed a discrepancy with your booking," the voice on the other end speaks. Gruff, scratchy, one that was hard to discern through the wooden door... likely a random man not affiliated with the hotel. "It appears that your stay here is... unpaid for."


    "T... That''s preposterous, the booking has been paid for in advance... converted properly, even!" Charles exclaims in disbelief. The most preposterous of claims!


    "Well, sir, it is no issue, we simply need an immediate signature to get this sorted out..."


    Charles... sighs, at the possibility that this wasn''t a sham... "Fair warning... I am currently in a bath robe. You have caught me at a most inopportune time, when I am not decent. I request that you allow me some time to get dressed, and-"


    His eyes then widen as he heard the patio door slide open. Looking at a man in a ski-mask enter the suite, his eyes grow wider. Charles quickly moved to open the door, his hands shaking as he frantically acted. "I- I say, sir! Th- There''s a thug in my room! Please, call for-!"


    The door is then kicked open. A loud crash sounds out as the door slams against the wall. Charles is knocked backwards, collapsing against the ground in painful shock as his back hits against the floor. Surrounded from both sides by two complete strangers, two roughly and ruggedly dressed thugs...!


    Unlike the one entering from the balcony, the man who knocked was unmasked. A man with a black crew cut. Dressed in inconspicuous, casual clothing, with a pair of sunglasses over his face, the most prominent feature of his is the stubble under his defined jawline. Likely had to show his face to get past reception...


    "Thank you for opening up, sir..." the man thanks as he closes the suite door shut. Walking into the room and looking around, whistling. "Whew. Good lookin'' place here... you seein'' this place?"


    "Yes, yes..." the ski masked man responds, idly looking around. "Nice place. Other suites are clear."


    "Yep..." Tsking slightly as his eyes roll. "Makes our job harder..."


    Charles feels his- back- aching against the suite carpet. His breath ragged and tense, his body- shaking and trembling. "P... Please, t... take whatever you''re here for..."


    The man shakes his head, a despicable look on his face as he glares down at Charles. "Not exactly here for any of that, Ashford..." His eyes glancing at the luggage cases against the couch. One red, one black, ripe for the taking. "... though it is a good bonus. Check their bags. Get ''em out."


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    A nod from the ski-masked individual. Rummaging through their belongings with gloved hands, unzipping them and tossing their clothes and belongings out.


    Charles- stares and shakes as their luggage was searched. If these men weren''t here for their belongings, then- the alternatives shake him at his core. "T... Then- why... why are you-"


    "Simple." Drawing his gun and contently aiming down at Charles. "Kuroiwa sends his regards."


    Charles- stares up at the gun, his eyes widening. Things were- rushing through his head. To his knowledge, they... they were definitely here for him, but- but he doesn''t know anybody with anything against him! Let alone whoever this Kuroiwa was. The extent of which they would hire two thugs to break into his suite, to threaten his life. "K... Kuroi... who...?"


    "Eh, don''t know ''im, no point in telling ya..."


    Charles- immediately makes an offer to try and get these thugs to spare his life. "F... Five- no, ten- ten million- pounds!"


    "Hm! Ten million? Wow! ... and here I thought you to be ''wise'', Ashford. Pity." A slow headshake as the finger slowly starts to pull the trigger...


    "... d... don''t- don''t! P-Please!" Charles calls out, desperation behind his voice.


    The unmasked man- stops, immediately. Staring down at Charles as- a look of realization appears. The gun having yet to fire, as the thug looks around idly. "So... got your brat here? Would be a shame if she weren''t here for this..."


    Charles''s eyes widen at this, his... blood... boiling at this. It was good that he did not succumb to his first instinct, to shout to Chouko to flee and call for help. No, she''s... still under the bed. Charles... Charles lies, to protect Chouko. "... she... she''s not here. The chauffeur''s taking her to Times Square."


    Even if he had to make a choice between himself and Chouko... he feels no willingness to give them Chouko whatsoever. If- if they were here to kill him, they''re not taking Chouko.


    "Huh... interesting. would''ve passed her along on the way up here..." The unmasked man responds, tapping the gun against Charles''s head.


    "W... Well, I haven''t the faintest, what to tell you gentlemen..." Charles responds, sweating nervously. "M... My daughter''s long gone. It''s just me."


    The ski-masked thug takes out two passports, presenting Chouko''s passport to the unmasked thug.


    "Mm. Those''ll fetch a pretty, pretty penny..." the unmasked thug delightfully guesses, looking down at Charles. "So, long gone, headed to Times? Alright, your word is good... we''ll stop there along the way, unite father and daughter together and all, wherever you two are going."


    "..." Charles tensely- swallows and gulps. His death is carved in stone at this point...


    "Any last words, Ashford?"


    "..." A slow headshake.


    "A shame."


    And then, a gunshot rings out, as Charles stares forward. As his words are cut off, as he feels his life flash before his very eyes with the ringing, piercing shot. Horror on his face as he stares at the bullet, his fate sealed in that moment.


    "F-Father!"


    Chouko''s voice suddenly rings out, as Charles shakes in place. The sight before him disappearing in an instant, the sunlight blinding his eyes in an instant. His eyes flutter as he searches for his daughter, searches for Chouko- the sunlight blinding his eyes as he sits atop a seat. Confusion riddled on his face, he looks around to see that he was back at the Ashford Manor, back in Britain. The two thugs gone, no gun at his forehead.


    Feeling the ringing dissipate as he looks around, searching for his daughter. His hand rubbing his forehead lightly, trying to- alleviate that pain, that aching pain he felt in his head.


    It was- it was a dream? All of that was a dream?


    N... No, that happened, did it not? It did... it happened. That dream, though, felt... lifelike. Extremely lifelike. Unsettlingly real.


    And his back! His back, still having felt like he collapsed against a floor... when, when in truth, it... it was just comfortably lying against a well cushioned rustic chaise lounge chair. Made from the wood of the Indonesian teak tree, an endangered species of deciduous tree, Charles... vividly remembers its retail value being approximately twenty-one hundred pounds for a single chair, a value for its resilience to weather conditions and all...


    ... Charles- Charles continues to look around for a bit, getting a grasp on his surroundings, before he finds Chouko. The little girl walking closer to him, approaching the seat he rested in. Standing before him in some sort of black robe, with a cap on her head, too... formally dressed for a special occasion, and everything.


    "A... Ah. Chouko... I..." Charles faintly calls out, before raising an eyebrow. Seeing this outfit, it... dawns on him, she''s wearing a graduate''s robe. A uniform for graduating students at Chouko''s level, as they are awarded degrees and such! It was a sweet summer''s day, with the sun shining down on this occasion...! "Wait... wait a moment...! Chouko- today, today''s your graduation!" Glancing at his pocket watch, glancing at the time... staring in horror. "A-And it''s already over?! Oh- oh dear...!"


    "Father, it''s okay... I had the, uhm, chauffeur drive me... I didn''t miss it..."


    "W-Well, I missed it!" Charles interjects, looking to Chouko with anguish on his face. Tension and worry plastered over it, staring at her with overwhelming concern and disappointment. "I- I fell asleep in this chair, and- and missed it! I missed one of your most crowning achievements! I should have been there..."


    "It''s okay, Father... people make mistakes..."


    "I- I know, but..." Charles- lets out a sigh, taking a few deep breaths. Sitting back down in the lounge chair, just sighing. There was no use fretting about it... he''s already missed the ceremony and everything. He glances up at the sky, staring at the clouds above. Seeing a thick cloud, drifting along in the air with a warm summer''s breeze... sorrow on his face, feeling guilt for not having been there.


    "... hm, hmmm~ hmmmmm...~"


    "..." Charles watches as Chouko approaches the chair, staring at her as she hums the first three notes of Claire de Lune. Smiling warmly at her as she does this, starting to- feel better, immediately. As Chouko vocally performed for him his most favorite of songs. His nerves calmed, humming along with her. Both of them locked into the most comforting of melodies.


    He takes a moment to adjust himself, to give Chouko room on the chair to sit with him. The two of them gazing up at the sky, seeing the clouds pass by. Almost practically able to hear the piano keys themselves, as they hum to their hearts'' content.


    Losing themselves in this peace, just enjoying the pleasant summer day with some cloud watching and music. Starting to relax and smile at the scenery above...


    ... but... Charles interrupts, stopping for a moment. Chouko''s voice going silent at this pause.


    "... sorry, Chouko..." Charles begins to explain. "I... I woke up in bad condition. I had the worst of dreams, a- a disorienting nightmare. A sort of- reliving of what happened in New York, months prior..."


    Chouko- takes a moment to move herself to hug Charles the best she could, snuggling into him and trying to comfort him. Charles just watches, staring down as she does this, as she tries best to comfort him.


    "... do... do you- want to talk about it, Father?"


    "Yes... yes, I... I would like that," Charles speaks, wrapping an arm around Chouko and taking a deep sigh at the sky. "In this nightmare, after we arrived at the hotel..."


    Hesitantly, Charles began to recount the events of this... nightmare, tip-toeing around some of the more gruesome details. But the main idea is conveyed. The thugs that broke into the room, threatened his life, and held him at gunpoint.


    It felt as if he died, and... he hugs Chouko tighter in silence, tears trailing down his cheeks. "I was- terrified... the thought just- sends limitless chills down my spine..."


    "... I... I think that dream... it... you''re worried about letting me go."


    Charles- stares at Chouko as she says this. As she blurts this out, understanding his... thoughts... after he simply explained the dream. Then he remembers. Right... right. Chouko was studying psychology. She knows about all this dream stuff, as dreams... peer into one''s psychology.


    Sure, he doesn''t know any of this information, but... he trusts Chouko, and... and she''s right. She''s right about that. He is afraid of letting her go. He immediately brings Chouko into his arms, hugging her closely.


    "C... Chouko... as smart as ever. You''re growing up every single day, faster and faster. I''ve felt worried about it for ages. You''ve done nothing but succeed... a... and... and I''m proud of you. I''m so proud of you, my wonderful, beautiful daughter. But I want more time with the little girl I adopted, the little girl I''ve accepted into my heart... l... life is just too fast..."


    The two remain in this hug, Chouko sobbing a little...


    "I... I agree, Father. I- I don''t want to let you go either... I want to stay with you forever..."


    Sharing a mutual sorrow, worried about losing the other... Charles... just... smiles faintly.


    But, after letting those words out... Charles lets out a sigh. He needed to be the strong one in this case, to... to accept the inevitable, that Chouko is to continue with her life. "... but... Chouko... I- I am an old man... I know, more than anyone, that my time will come. That you will have to stand on your own two feet as an Ashford, and that I won''t be able to hold your hand and guide you anymore. We must be- strong, Chouko... strong for the future."


    "... b... but-"


    Charles hugs Chouko a little bit tighter, arms wrapping around her in a tight embrace, as he smiles through his tears. "But... nothing. That''s- that is one of the greatest things an old fool like me can behold, knowing that his daughter is ready, is prepared. In fact- you''re already someone I can be proud of! A beautiful, young lady who will take the reins and excel to success. You''re an esteemed graduate with a degree in psychology, and everything... and... and I''m proud to call you my daughter. Now, and forever!"


    They remain in this cozy hug for a long time... the world before them passing. Charles watches as the clouds go faster and faster, as if he was losing track of time itself. Charles considered this a surreal feeling, but... he also felt at peace. Charles was ready. Charles was ready for the future...


    He- he holds his daughter, one last time, lifts her up into the air. Hands on her side, holding his little girl up and gazing up at her.


    Right before his eyes, watching as she blocks out the sun and looks back at him with her innocent smile. His eyes blinking as the six year old before him appears once again, tears trailing from his eyes as nostalgia floods his view. Looking up at her in pride, his eyes watering from tears of joy.


    "Chouko... I..." he calls out, as the sunlight envelops his eyes... as the sight of his little girl fades, and as her voice rings out once again... one last time...


    "I love you too, Father..."


    ...


    ... and...


    ... Charles was gone.


    Charles died immediately as the gunshot finishes him off. Piercing his head, bleeding out onto the suite carpet. All life in his body, gone, as his arms fall limp.


    But in the span of a single second... Charles faced that gunshot. Faced the end of his existence with a cold stare. Eyes closed, albeit... wincing from the pain... but... he went out with eyes closed, rather than horrified.


    "... huh," the unmasked thug speaks, sighing at the dead body with disappointment. "Well, then... job''s done. Let''s get out of here."


    The two men begin leaving the king''s suite, heading out the front door of the suite. The ski-masked thug dragging the luggage with him as they flee the scene with the Ashfords'' belongings.


    With Charles''s dead body left behind, the sound of a gunshot alerting surrounding nearby guests, with hotel staff notified and police called...


    ... Chouko was left frozen underneath the bed, her eyes peeking out to see Charles''s body.

 #4 - Why?

    Once the men left the room... Chouko crawled out from under the bed. Terrified and shaking after all of that, having kept quiet with the bed as cover and safety... she- she comes out to see the resulting scene. Reaching out for his hand, holding it gently.


    "F-Father, they''re- they''re gone," Chouko tells him, smiling lightly at him. "You... you don''t need to..."


    ...


    It''s gone limp.


    Chouko... spent an eternity at the man''s side, her hands shaking as she held his hand. His lifeless, limp hand. One that doesn''t respond to the fidgeting, shaking of hers. The father who''s held her hand and guided her these last four years, the one who comforted her when she was scared.


    Charles''s body lies before her, just... dead. Gone.


    Chouko''s smile, gone at this feeling, as her eyes gaze upon her father. Staring at him in the condition he was left in, struggling to- feel any sort of life remaining in his body. Unable to feel his pulse, his heartbeat. If not for the... blood... coming out of his head, she would have thought his blood stopped flowing entirely. The blood coming from his head, horrifyingly draining out in a subtle puddle against the carpet.


    The sight was too much for this little girl. Chouko feels nothing but a... a sense of dread. Hollow, hollow dread. An overwhelming feeling overtaking her, being left alone like this. The air she breathed a putrid, rotten smog, almost pricking her with needles with each tremble. It takes her ages to register the fatal wound. Seeing the gunshot in his head, engraving in her a morbid feeling that she didn''t want to understand.


    The girl hoped with all her heart, even with the sight before her, that her father would wake up. That... that he''d be okay. That he''d see his daughter and hug her, hug her close, hug her tight. Hug her and keep her safe and reassure her that she didn''t need to be scared and that there was no reason to be scared. The men were gone. It''s just him and her.


    As much as Chouko tried, as much as she could hope for the best, Charles cannot do that anymore. Charles will never be able to keep her safe ever again.


    Chouko clings to this hope, stares in complete and utter silence, hoping that he would. Her small hands holding the cold hand in front of her. Left all by her lonesome, alone in that room, the truth of the matter closing in. Almost freezing every single... ounce... of Chouko''s body. A cold chill shuddering through her veins, causing her to helplessly sob a waterfall of tears down her cheeks.


    The world began to cry for Charles as well. The overcast weather of the city turned to light showers. Chouko hears the sounds of raindrops falling against the patio, the sound ringing out to her right. Thoughts rushed and roared into Chouko''s mind like a storm, her lingering words the lightning and thunder. The image of her father warping before her very eyes, obscured by the sorrow that clouds her vision. Covering his body in a thickening fog.


    Death... death was no foreign concept to her, it- it should have come as naturally as words on a page. Its prevalence in Shakespearean works, the fate that befalls all. Chouko understood death, it happens, it''s natural. This should be natural to her, she- she shouldn''t be this shaken.


    This shouldn''t hurt, this- it shouldn''t.


    ... and yet, it does.


    Why?


    Why does it hurt?


    Why does it feel like this?


    Why is it- hard to breathe right now...?


    Why after why flooding Chouko''s head, head riddled with nothing but questions. Questions she didn''t know the answer to, questions she scavenges her mind for. Desperately scraping for them, the hands in her mind tearing page after page out of it. For every word she couldn''t find, however, the sight before her speaks thousands upon thousands of words. Smothering her body in a landfill of pictures, burying her frail body at the very bottom, making her drown in her own questions.


    Death never made sense to Chouko. Her father''s death doesn''t make sense. Charles was- Charles was a good man. Good for his country, a businessman of high upstanding... a good friend to- to many people that she got to see... he- he was nothing but a good father! So- why? Why would someone do this? What would drive someone to take him away from the living, pry his soul from his body and drag him up and away from this mortal world?!


    Chouko''s hands tighten their grip on Charles''s, refusing to separate from the hand of her father, wanting to keep him here. Here, in this room. Wanting him to open his eyes. She doesn''t want to let him go, she couldn''t. She couldn''t let him go. Not like this, not like this. Not like this!


    Desperately asking over and over again: why? Why? Why, why, why, why, why?!


    Chouko wanted to cry out in anguish, wanted to scream out to whoever could hear her, hoping that her father could hear her. Her fingers tightening on his hand, hoping that some miracle would occur to bring her father back to life. Something had to be out there, right? Those stories of revival, of rebirth. Tears wouldn''t bring Charles back, so something else is needed. A whimsical potion, a wave of the wand, a star or a genie or even the paw of a monkey, there had to be something else... right? Right? Please, please let there be something, please...!


    She drops his hand, and- grabs his arm. Crying into the fabric of his bathrobe, clinging to his lifeless arm. Using all of her to keep him here, to pull him back. Attempting to share with him some of her life, using the- the magic of her heart to revive him. That- that should be enough, right? Giving him some of her youth, helping him lose some of his years, right? Right?!


    ... hands begin to pry Chouko away from her father. People starting to discover the sight, hotel staff entering the room and quickly trying to get the little girl away from the corpse. Arms wrapping around her, trying to comfort the child.


    "L- Let go of me! Let me go!" Chouko yells as she''s separated from Charles, pried away from her father. Her small, little lungs screaming out with all their might to deaf ears, left hyperventilating into the body of a monster. Unable to see her father as she''s escorted to a false safety, she screamed out for him, calling for her father, struggling to escape.


    Helpless to do anything for him as she''s taken from the room, unable to do anything to save Charles. Having been unable to do anything to save Charles.


    She was taken out of the hotel room as the entire hotel was in an uproar. Guests now aware of the break in and subsequent murder, with staff swamped all over to ensure people''s safety. Chouko escorted to the ground floor for the time being, supposedly being kept safe in the lobby far away from the crime scene.


    "Hey- little girl... Miss- Miss Ashford, right?"


    Chouko''s watery eyes look up, staring at the lobby receptionist of the hotel. Staring at him. Staring at the person that wasn''t her father.


    "Listen- I- I need to call the police, to help your daddy..." The receptionist- looks around, picking up a nearby teddy bear to hand to the girl. "H-Here, Buttons here will keep you company, I''ll be right back..."


    Chouko stares at the bear for a while. The teddy with soft, brown fur. Its innocent little smile as it gazes forward with its black button eyes. She stares back with her red gaze, silently keeping it in her hands. "..."


    The receptionist quickly moves to the landline phone, taking it off of its place and dialing the number for 911. On phone with the police, starting to inform them of the situation. How- how the esteemed Charles Ashford was found dead in his king suite by some neighboring guests. Beginning to answer as many questions as he could. The address of the hotel, the condition that the body was left in, the gunshot to the head... what staff were doing and all.


    In his call, he made one error. His back was turned to Chouko.


    The receptionist was informing the police of the little girl that was on the scene, when the body was found. When he turned back to check on her, he... only saw the teddy bear in her place. No girl in sight.


    "... uh-! Uhm- little girl?! M-Miss Ashford?!" the receptionist calls out. "H-Hold on, officer, I''ll be right back-" Quickly running from the phone to look around for where she could have gone.


    Suspecting the worst, he ran out of the hotel entrance and looked around, looking to see if she fled the building. Quickly asking any pedestrian passerby if they saw a little girl leave, with no answer as to where she could have gone.


    The hustle and bustle of New York City''s population enough to hide a little girl that was running through the streets. Chouko running as fast as her ten year old legs could carry her, running surprisingly quick.


    Abandoning all sense of rationality, not knowing what came over her in that instant. Running past crowds upon crowds of people, aimlessly running on her own. Stepping and stomping through each puddle, the rain glistening her hair as it blows in the wind.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Chouko doesn''t keep track of how long she''s been running. Building after building passing by her, the golden headlights of cars and street lamps brushing past her as she runs down street after street, crossing intersection after intersection. No destination in mind, aimlessly using the cover of rain to hope no one recognizes her.


    Nothing in her mind made sense right now. It was all just a blind static of useless information. Without Charles, without her father, without- her mentor, her teacher, her guardian, her guide... she didn''t know what to do. She didn''t know what she could have done.


    Everything that could have been possible, coming into her head like a roaring river, the one that she was currently running along. If she had been out on that balcony, the- the man who entered that way would have found her. It was by some- miracle- that she decided to hide under that bed.


    And further miracles echo in her mind as if she was desperately trying to find some alternate outcome. Shutting down each- possibility, whatever rationality she had devoted to explaining why it was impossible to do anything for Charles.


    It wouldn''t have worked if she came out of that bed and tried to attack those men. It wouldn''t have worked if she threw her book at the gun to try and fend him off. It wouldn''t have worked if she turned on the television to distract them, momentarily.


    Chouko was only a little girl, a ten year old. She wasn''t a knight, she wasn''t a fairy, she wasn''t anything important. Trembling as her supposed intelligence amounted to nothing, losing sight of what made her special. What good was any of it, now that her father was gone? All the information she had useless, the information she doesn''t have now out of her reach.


    Ultimately, she felt- helpless, useless, powerless. In this moment, running was all she had. She wasn''t even athletic, it was just a lingering impulse. Inspiration from the stories of a hero going on a grand adventure, far away from their beginnings. Hoping for some respite from this...


    ... this...


    ... grief.


    Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. The five stages of grief.


    On Death and Dying, 1969. A foundational study based on interviews with patients, focusing on the feelings of patients to alleviate the pain of loss.


    This- this was just a momentary incident...! Chouko- found herself smiling. Seeing a ray of hope forward, realizing that this ends with- acceptance! Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance! It was so simple!


    Chouko brightly beams and smiles as she continues to run, as the rain falls and she smiles through this pain. Knowing that, at the end, she''ll feel better, that she will go through acceptance! That she''ll accept...


    Accept... that... her father was...


    ...


    Chouko''s smile faded as the light fades, as she continues to run in the dark overcast. Each shaky breath escaping her lips.


    Chouko was going to accept that her father is dead.


    That''s... that''s something she''s going to feel. Acceptance that he''s gone. She''ll look back on this day, suffering this grief, and accept that Charles died.


    Those words, repeating in her head. Accepting that he died. Accepting that he was killed. Accepting that the men who broke into the hotel room killed her father, the man that did no wrong in her eyes. Through some means, Chouko was going to... accept... accept...


    Is... is that what... why is... what...


    ...


    "... h... haha... hahahahahaha..."


    Chouko''s eyes trembled as she started to laugh, as her mouth contorted into a smile. As she found herself slowing down, a hand covering her mouth.


    This confused her. Why was she laughing? Why was she showing signs of... happiness? Why was she happy? Chouko pressed her hands against her mouth, choking back the laughter that escaped her lips. She- she shouldn''t be feeling happy, she shouldn''t- shouldn''t feel this at all. What she should feel is grief, sadness, this absolute, mortal terror. The fear coursing through her body as she flees, as she runs. All she should feel is the aching pain of witnessing her father''s... corpse... the man''s death engraving itself into her memories. This feeling of misery, this anguish and pure fear...


    But... she was laughing. Eyes wide, gazing forward at her late father, each ounce of her innocence being bled through her eyes, escaping through her lips a corrupted delight?


    Her mind trailing her back to that room, seeing the horrific sight before her again. Her eyes blinking as the fresh scent of blood fills the air again.


    "..."


    Her eyes look around, glancing at this image. Seeing the images of the two men before her, or- at least, what she saw underneath that bed. Chouko found herself locked in this thought, her imagination creating the entirety of the room before her.


    Starting to lock herself in this scene, lost in thought. In a space of her own to really think about it, to visualize it all as if it were a book unfolding before her. Separating the her thinking about it from the her in the image. Chouko- walked around that room, lightly lifting the cover that concealed the bottom of the bed. Seeing that terrified little girl with her book and everything.


    Chouko has already thought about the "what ifs" to prevent Charles''s death, and why they don''t work. There was nothing else to think about, so... what exactly...


    ... The Count of Monte Cristo. The book that was under the bed-hiding Chouko''s arm.


    Chapter 15, page 115.


    He told himself that it was the enmity of man... that had thus plunged him into the deepest misery. He consigned his unknown persecutors to the most horrible tortures he could imagine... and found them all insufficient.


    Chouko felt a... flickering light in her eye, one she needed in this darkest of moments. For all she''s read, The Count of Monte Cristo was... the book that alluded her. The one that she claimed was her favorite, for its complexities and such. A book she wanted to read because of the cover, because it was a large and lengthy classic.


    Chouko never understood why she liked it, why she liked this novel. But it dawns on her that she was simply... too young to get it. Too innocent to understand Dant¨¨s, completely. The book was, in truth, dialogue heavy and difficult for her to go through.


    However... however, Chouko was reaching a revelation, that she wasn''t that innocent girl anymore. Cracking a smile, staring at this truth uncontrollably, that she... could put herself in the footsteps of this man.


    "H... Hahaha... hahahahaha..."


    While the work is complicated, the idea behind it wasn''t: Dant¨¨s was driven to revenge. Simple as that, to seek vengeance on those that have wronged him.


    Chouko sees herself in that scenario. Locked in her own prison, this despair and anguish coursing through her veins. Clarity coming to her mind as her body shakes and trembles. With not a soul around her to help, she confided in her own thoughts... starting to- embrace this laughter.


    As her mouth contorts to a smile. As she was unable to contain a single laugh. Thinking to herself: Charles is dead. And accepting the truth of that is inevitable.


    But she has mistakenly generalized acceptance. What she didn''t accept was that he "had to die". That these men had a reason to kill him.


    Kuroiwa... Kuroiwa. The name reverberates in her head. "Kuroiwa". The regards to be sent from this... name. All Chouko knows is what that assassin said, the words that he uttered. Kuroiwa sent his regards. That was the name of the person who caused Charles to die. These men were here to kill him because of... Kuroiwa.


    "H... hahahahahahahahahaha...!"


    Chouko has glee beaming on her face, realizing that she didn''t have to accept their reason.


    What was to stop her from... from wishing harm on them as well? On those two men, on this Kuroiwa? That she was too young? That she was a child?


    No, no, no... Chouko ignored that for a moment. She didn''t see herself as a grieving child- no. She''s "accepted" the death, now she... she felt herself possessed with unyielding fury. In the shoes of Edmond Dant¨¨s, a hypothetical that she was a man with everything taken from him.


    "Hahahahahahaha- ahahahahahahaha...! Ahahahahahahaha!"


    Standing up from the body, laughing through each ounce of sadness, purely maniacal sounds echoing off of the walls. At risk of disrupting the surrounding hotel guests, Chouko couldn''t keep it in any further. Lingering thoughts develop and grow.


    Chouko wanted bad things to happen to these men. Bad things to transpire, starting to lose herself in the resulting delusions.


    That man that entered from the balcony... what is to stop Chouko from making it so that he wasn''t on the balcony? What is to stop Chouko from... from... pushing him off?


    The room shifts in imagery, the man moving back out to the balcony. Chouko reaches out, hand pressing against his body, watching as he falls backwards and...


    ...


    Chouko rewinds this, the man rising back up to the balcony. Letting the events continue. She takes a moment to stare at her father, staring at him for some time, before- the image of him fades. Seeing what she could of the man that killed him.


    Charles''s anguish and terror, on this man''s face. Charles''s lifeless body... this man''s body.


    Chouko absolutely lost herself in this anticipation, her breath hyperventilating, unaware of what was ultimately happening. Whatever thought flooded her mind, whatever trope began to claim her thoughts and corrupt her soul. This growing, bubbling schadenfreude... this joy at the killer''s misfortune.


    Eyes fluttering as she recalls the Grimm''s rendition of Cinderella. Seeing the text fly past her eyes, remembering how... how the stepsisters mutilated their feet in order to fit into the slipper, the crows laughing and mocking them for their attempts.


    Going so far as to remember Act 2 of MacBeth! Scraps of the text, lingering in her head, the quotes meshing together into some amalgamation of adjectives to describe inner turmoil. The dagger, floating in the midst of the air as eloquently put by Shakespeare.


    In form as palpable as this, which now she draw. Such an instrument she was to use. On thy blade and dudgeon, goutes of blood... it is the bloody business which informs thus to mine eyes. Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse the curtained sleep. Whiles I threat, he lives... words to the head of deeds too cold breath gives.


    Chouko is... unknowingly... straying away from the path that Charles would have wanted from her. The future she was to hold, tainted by his death. In its place, the rampant make-believe that claimed her heart as the Ashford name dies in this suite, the dangerous mindset that this unfortunate child was succumbing to. Driving herself mad with glee and anticipation at what is to come.


    Charles Ashford is dead, soul carried to the heavens... and Chouko Ashford, starting to rise as well. The spirit of the girl fading and rising after her father, seeking his wisdom once more... as the body that remains, it readies itself to wander elsewhere.


    The little girl found herself just staring blankly as she turns around, starting to walk back to the hotel... starting to return after achieving this clarity. The little girl starting to return to a hotel of adults, seeing what fate will befall her, seeing where she will end up upon her return to reality.


    This little girl stares as she succumbs further into the abyss before her, this self-induced darkness. Expelling best the misery that once remained, now feeling elated. Death and suffering is inevitable, one that befell Charles Ashford... and... inevitable to those that the girl could see before her. Each drop of suffering something to thrive off of.


    This feeling clouding her senses. Sight, touch, hearing, smell... even taste. Enveloping herself in this... fantasy.


    Feeling herself laughing her lungs out, even as she silently stares forward. This deranged, insane laughter persisting in her head. Incoherent static aggressively tearing away at her mind. A twisted look in what was once pure eyes, following a path she felt destined to walk. One that she and she, alone, will tread.


    The girl doesn''t know how, when, where... all she knows is that it will. It will happen. The day will come.


    I go, and it is done. The bell invites me. Hear it not... (Kuroiwa)... for it is a knell that summons thee to heaven or to hell.


    "A-Ahahaha... AHAHAHAHA...! H-HAHAHAHA- HAHAHAHAHA...!"


    Farewell, kindness, humanity, and gratitude. Farewell to all the feelings which expand the heart!


    "A- AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"


    Farewell... Chouko Ashford.

 #5 - Nine Years in the Making

    Charles Ashford. Age, 56.


    "Honorable to all. Friend of many. A loving father and a successful businessman."


    The funeral was held one Friday weeks following the fact. His death in the obituary, scheduled for a nice 16:00 in a Birmingham church. A church that Charles, personally, arranged for his funeral to take place in. His staff were given express instructions on how the funeral will occur in the event of his death, with butlers and maids arranging the funeral.


    Due to the nature of his death, there was a sizeable attendance at this most public of occasions. Business partners and friends present to mourn a good man''s death. News reporters and journalists present to cover the following service. Teachers and classmates of his heir, and daughter, making time to be present as well.


    "... it is with deepest regrets that I must announce that my father has passed..."


    Chouko Ashford stands and gives her eulogy, dressed in funeral uniform of pure black. As the only family Charles had left, really, she was under great self pressure to give the speech. Readying to have her words documented by those blatantly holding notepads in their hands and all. Only recently, this child was shown with delight and joy.


    Now, not a soul could see her smile.


    As she goes on and on about fond memories of Charles, cementing him as the kind, protective, generous man he was. As the ten year old Chouko was expected to succumb to tears and sadness. The attendees simply witness a ten year old with no more tears to shed. Her words empty and hollow, eyes blankly gazing forward as she speaks.


    Chouko''s concluding words... "May his soul rest free, contently in Heaven, blind to the world he departs from..."


    Her voice hesitant at the end, hiding whatever sadness lingers in those words, before she goes back to her seat. Sitting right at the front, blankly staring as the proceedings continue.


    It was all a blur to Chouko, really...


    "... apologies, Lady Ashford. There is a man out front, requesting for your presence. He was not permitted to enter given his... special guest."


    Chouko looks at the butler, the blur interrupted by the whispering man. Her eyebrow raised, she... curiously gets up from her seat and briefly departs, being escorted to the front of the church, various funeral attendees watching as Charles''s only family departs.


    There, outside, Chouko encounters that... inventor. The one that conducted that presentation weeks ago. With him, on a wheel cart, the mass of machinery that was Vanilla.


    "A-Ah! Uhm- hey, little girl!" the inventor greets, an awkward smile on his face with an inappropriately upbeat tone behind his voice.


    "Good afternoon..." Politely nodding to the inventor, before directing her attention to Vanilla. "And... good afternoon to you."


    "Yes. Good afternoon," Vanilla speaks... before letting out a robotic sigh. As human as ever. "... I... I am sorry for your loss, Chouko. Charles was a good man..."


    The inventor... nods slowly. "Mhmm... w-we happened to be in town, and... came to pay our respects. To think it- it happened the day we meet and everything... I- I''m so sorry it happened."


    "Sorry for your loss," Vanilla corrects him.


    Chouko just... nods lightly at the two. "Thank you. You have arrived in the late stage of the funeral. Respects are being paid, and... momentarily, the church will lay Father to rest in its burial ground and all. Father... would have enjoyed knowing you two came to pay respects, I suppose."


    "A-Ah..." the inventor noises, fidgeting idly. "W... Would you like a hug? I- I think people hug at funerals to feel better..."


    Chouko... narrows her eyes slightly, before she nods idly at this sudden request. "I see no issue with it."


    And then, with permission, Chouko is promptly hugged by the young American in an attempt to comfort the little girl in her time of mourning.


    A hopelessly awkward exchange for an entire, uncomfortable fifteen to twenty seconds. This wasn''t going the way that the inventor expected at all.


    "..." After the hug, Chouko just nods faintly and pulls away from the hug. "I will be seeing you two some other time. I must return to the proceedings and all."


    "Y... Yeah, sounds good- uhm- tell your pops that- I''ll miss him, and I''ll make him proud and all!" the inventor exclaims.


    Vanilla- turns to almost stare at her creator as he says this. One could practically see the judgment on her face at this.


    Chouko turns and starts to walk away. "Very well. I will let him know."


    "Uhm- Chouko," Vanilla... speaks up, calling for the girl. "... I have- processed, lately, Gulliver''s Travels."


    "Jonathan Swift, yes?" Chouko asks. "I am familiar."


    "Yes... we... I would like to talk about it with you sometime," Vanilla requests.


    "... we will see. Until then, cheers," Chouko responds. Entering the church again, walking out of the machine''s view.


    After that, the inventor and Vanilla begin to walk away. Starting to leave the church after their brief chat with Chouko.


    The inventor lets out a sigh, hopelessly just- cringing at that entire interaction. "Ugh... great. Just what I needed before a big conference..."


    The one saving grace of that entire thing was that he didn''t bring up the reason they were in the country: presenting Vanilla in Birmingham for another presentation, invited overseas to a tech demo and a talk show. Moving up on the world, on the same day and country as the funeral and everything. That would have been absolutely abysmal...


    Vanilla was left pondering Chouko''s response, its artificial intelligence... thinking as it asks its creator: "Question... did Chouko seem- distant to you?"


    "Huh?" The inventor raises an eyebrow at this question. Distant? "I- I mean, sure, but it''s a funeral and her dad died and all... I don''t blame her..."


    "No. I mean... distant, distant. Like... she..."


    For a while, the nation was brought to tears over the death of Charles. The tragedy in that king''s suite spread throughout the nation, and brief memorials were held to honor the man.


    ... but news, afterwards, quickly turn to old news.


    The fact that it was an overseas murder fades away from attention. The crime was just another statistic in the US, with officers having gotten all they could from forensics and witness reports. Chouko cooperated the best she could, but these men will never face justice, and Charles''s body is buried away.


    Businesses began to separate from the Ashfords. Bought out by other partners to put them under new management, now that Charles was gone. Many of them wanted to keep Charles''s spirit alive in their company goals, but... none of them found interest in continuing contact with Chouko.


    Now that Charles was gone, Chouko... Chouko didn''t have any help available to handle the affairs. She understood none of the paperwork, nor did she have assistance in managing any of Charles''s assets. The maids, butlers, and groundskeepers begin seeking new employment.


    Various assets in the Ashford Manor have begun to be seized and auctioned off. The books in the Ashford library were quite valuable, sold off alongside more and more of his furniture for a pretty pound.


    The thing that Chouko struggled to part with, however, was the piano. And when its time came, Chouko... spent an entire day in that room, sitting at its bench. For some time, Chouko''s hands hover over the keys. She stares forward at the sheet music, knowing exactly what note she needed to play.


    But none of her fingers press down on the keys.


    "..."


    Chouko was escorted off of the premises, taken away from her childhood home. Chouko ultimately proved to be an incompetent head of the Ashford family. Charles simply raised her as a child and - altogether - she had no further guidance on how to run the family businesses. To make matters worse, her... attendance... for her last year of education took a severe hit. She was unable to graduate and needed a repeat... one that she ultimately never fulfilled.


    Pretty soon, after... months... the manor itself was foreclosed. Standing in front of the gate, hand raised and rested gently in the air, the girl holding onto something that no longer existed.


    Eventually, Chouko... left it all behind. With no staff remaining to accompany her, and all business partners moving on from the Ashfords, she was nothing more than a common face. Fading away from media attention, her name losing its power and relevancy. The only unique thing left about her was her red eyes, which was no longer recognizable in public.


    Chouko was just... erased from the media. Beyond a dead man''s legacy and the growing obscurity of the Ashford name, the world moved on and focused on other topics.


    In Chouko''s place, media focus shifted to Vanilla. The old footage of Vanilla and Chouko talking was now substituted for Vanilla''s newest conversations with other people.


    "So- Vanilla! Good to have you on the show!"


    "Thank you, thank you. It''s great to be on here, everyone! Glad to see all your smiling faces! ... haha."


    The pure, lifelike realism of Vanilla charmed the hearts of people around the world. Celebrities were in love with this android. From athletes to movie stars, and talk show hosts to news anchors. Overwhelming amounts of publicity showered Vanilla all around the world, with investors and companies beginning to look into Vanilla and her technology.


    "So, you''re operating all of the time? Like, a fully functioning person?"


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "Yes, indeed. My operational time has been three weeks so far!"


    "Wow! You hear that, folks? We got ourselves a night owl here!"


    "Hoot, hoot!"


    Within its mess of wires and machinery, people soon found out that the inventor was either a revolutionary genius, or got extremely lucky. The source of Vanilla''s power was primitively wired to minimize the necessary electricity. Meaning, Vanilla ran almost indefinitely for months with the same power it took to charge a phone.


    A miracle wonder in the face of other AI technology requiring plentiful amounts of power to run. The Vanilla prototype was a miracle wonder of science, one that prompted the inventor to an overwhelming success. Riches and money to further develop his project, propelling him and Vanilla to luxury.


    While Vanilla was regularly maintained and updated, she soon found competition starting to come after her. Other inventors began coming out with their own models, trying to claim the success Vanilla held. With them, more inventors started to work on their own "Vanilla", even building off of the leaked source code of the prototype. Years upon years of technical development transpire, inspiring and causing an oversaturation of supposed tech geniuses wanting to achieve the success Vanilla met.


    Moore''s Law, in layman''s terms, is the theory that computers and technology exponentially double every two years. With countless people in a worldwide competition to come out on top, this law was stretched to its utter limits, with constant growth and improvement to surpass all human limits. The race began to innovate and improve, products being cranked out like crazy, and several companies have begun rising to the top with their renditions of the Vanilla prototype.


    Vanilla became the backbone of android technology, with pre-existing android technology plastered over it. If a tech company didn''t have their own version of Vanilla, their stocks would significantly drop to the point of bankruptcy. The fall of many tech giants came from this, with unsustainable Vanilla copies that never matched the same amounts of humanity as Vanilla and new rising tech companies achieving high amounts of success in a new wave of technology.


    With this success, however, came... controversy. Development of AI has shifted into being as human as possible, thus causing the newest renditions to become eerily human. Overwhelmingly human. To the point where, with copies like Chocolate and Orange, the realistic human technology came with a synthetic and lifelike mechanical body. They could talk like humans, walk like humans, grab things and drive cars like humans, even perform and work like humans. Many bring up that these models are better at being human than most humans were!


    With this, the concept was... starting to become less universally loved. What made Vanilla tolerable is the idea that the technology was just a mess of wires and machinery. Now that development was causing overwhelming amounts of functional artificial humans to spread into the world''s population, people began wondering: if these androids could act like humans, talk like humans and even live like humans, then what stops them from completely replacing humans?


    What stops the androids from replacing people? And if they did begin replacing people, would they stop before every human is replaced?


    This growing, irreparable mindset was proven correct, as companies discovered that mass produced androids surpass working humans in every way. Factories, construction sites, call centers and office buildings, countless industries effectively pushing out any need for organic labor whatsoever. People were sacked and fired after this increase in productivity, with androids that costed far less and complained far less than humans.


    With the way things were, humanity was on the path of becoming obsolete, and a Second Great Depression was seen coming over the horizon.


    Thus, humans needed to adapt and overcome. They needed to prove themselves more valuable than the androids, physically superior even.


    Companies met the android threat by creating new technology to change a human''s body, to theoretically surpass their physical and mental limits. Initially, it began with the following capabilities: prosthetic and mechanical arms to give super strength. New eyes and ears to cure the blind and deaf with super sight and hearing. Phones and neural chips in a person''s head to promote communication.


    Pretty soon, more and more uses were invented, making it possible for real people to compete with these fake humans. Generalized in the blanket term of "cyborg technology", cybernetics and organisms crossed together, people started to jump onto this bandwagon, and began relying on cyborgs to overcome the growing threat of androids. Investors dumped money into these projects, giving developers more incentive to go full steam ahead.


    This, in and of itself, spawned even worse issues faster than anyone could have expected. At a time when people needed it most, it was rare for a common man to afford any of it. People were rushing to get cybernetics, sacrificing parts of their lives to compete and survive. Controversy spawned as a result, with a vocal minority attempting to warn people not to get these implants.


    But it didn''t matter, it was a necessity. A plan to protect our way of life by ignore every ethical concern. The ends justified the means, propelling the majority into blind acceptance that cybernetics were the future. A path similar to how the public once thought about androids. The costs went down, more of the population became cyborgs...


    ... and in this mass panic, four years after the Vanilla prototype was presented... came the first major blow to artificial intelligence. The predecessor to human androids herself, the spark that inspired massive waves of progress...


    Vanilla... completely shut down. No response, no word. The technology was rendered... broken, suddenly.


    "V... Vanilla?! Vanilla, speak to me- h-hey! Vanilla!"


    The inventor refused to comment any further as to what happened, almost- struck with grief when Vanilla stopped responding altogether. But Vanilla was gone, and this secrecy spawned controversy. People immediately speculated on what could have happened to cause this, going wild with their imaginations. If the technology just failed, if it ran out of power and fried its components, or some other third cause- the world wanted an answer.


    Well, initially, it did.


    New questions rose up from this one, single case. This malfunction, this error, this shutdown. With it came high debate on the longevity of AI and androids as concepts. How they could keep up its power, how costly they were to the power grid, how they ultimately only functioned to "be human" and "do human things". Was it worth it to continue manufacturing these things if they''re just going to perish away like Vanilla did?


    The supposed "death of Vanilla" marked a major turning point. Current historians cite it as the start of humanity''s destruction, when the mass public began going insane.


    Now that the human androids showed a possibility of shutting down, of coming to a complete end after this campaign of replacement and fear, the humans... were finally safe. No need to worry about their lives being replaced. Androids were being scrapped and discarded once damaged, and there was no need to use cybernetics anymore.


    Or, so people thought. Cybernetics enhanced life in ways people thought unimaginable, products of innovation that struck gold. A surplus of effort was put into these things, and now they were expected to give it all up? No. Humans were bypassing their own limits, able to do these wondrous things. There was no reason to stop.


    And with this mindset, spawned what people call "the First Cybernetic Crime Spree". Catastrophic events transpire in just one year. With technology to surpass base humanity and a soon to be defunct android industry, nothing stopped people from committing any crime they wished.


    No population to suffer worse from this than the Americans, with damages going into the millions and casualties rising into the thousands.


    "Our top story today! Countless banks across America are being held up by these ''cybernetically enhanced men'', leaving many powerless. Exact numbers are still being processed, but at this time, it is suspected that these banks have been robbed of at least five hundred million dollars. What is the future of this country if these people are permitted to...?"


    "America''s hearts go out to the victims'' families. If you''re just now joining us, America has recently experienced one of the worst cases of arson, with one individual suspected to have burnt down 30 neighborhoods and counting. The known culprit is a ''Cyrus Hernandez'', a 22 year old Floridian that..."


    "And in bizarre fashion, a trend has come back to the Number 1 spot on social media. The tag, ''#FistMeFather'', is a tag used to post candid clips of brawls between cybernetic individuals in public places. Originating back at the start with Australian user ''FatherOfTheFist65'', a middle aged influencer promoting self defense classes, he was a witness to such a brawl at his son''s birthday party, when..."


    And the media went insane when a cybernetically augmented man ran into the United States White House with a comedically oversized magnet. Running through its halls at an alarming speed, jumping through its walls, an absolutely insane lunatic making a mockery of this country''s leadership.


    When the androids were under fire, the worst that happened were people losing jobs. Now that cybernetics were in this hot seat, atrocities of crimes and dangers to human life are being committed in massive waves.


    The world was in crisis, and its people needed a solution.


    Regulations were initially attempted by the government, but no one could agree on what action to take. Stricter regulations were a violation of basic human rights and freedoms. Looser regulations were a threat to human safety. A familiar American controversy, only with expanded international attention. The polarizing global problem of "what happens if these deranged criminals cross the ocean into other continents" divided the world.


    The only solution that could "work" in the long term... was to further lean into technology. Tech companies left in power to develop anything and everything to fully balance out and combat the cyborg crimes.


    With this freedom, cybernetics cemented themselves as an essential necessity for citizens to stay safe, with a mass number of loans offered and taken for people to install the basics: top of the line technology with access to security, emergency, and medical services.


    Police officers were turned cyborgs, with training to go no-tolerance on crime. If a criminal was spotted, the police force was to mobilize and arrest immediately. The cybernetic criminal either needed to give up instantaneously, or fight through a massive force that will follow the criminal to the ends of the earth.


    It has gotten to the lengths where it was safer to stay indoors than step a single foot out the door. Companies seized the opportunity to develop technology and software for eye technology, bringing to life a truly virtual reality where - for a price - those that wanted to stay especially safe could disappear into VR and isolate themselves from the outside completely.


    Cybernetics were wildly climbing to their peaks. But alongside the cybernetics, as options for those who wished to not be cyborgs, came the resurgence of AI and android companies as an alternative solution. There was now a rebirth of AI as humanity once knew it, as that recognizably artificial technology to serve their purposes more efficiently than the natural human.


    On one end, companies continued to prioritize humanizing androids to give humans hope in this crisis of cyborg criminals. People needed comfort, needed safety in this dangerous time of fear and terror. Thus, androids were introduced into the toy industry, creating androids to serve as mobile and lifelike human companions.


    The #1 spot for a company producing this type is "Sweet Bot Industries", founded on selling android sweethearts to spread comfort and safety. With programmed humanities deeply connected to Vanilla, these androids are named after desserts and pastries, with a sort of... disposable nature to them. Encouraging short term purchase with relatively low costs for an android that could shut down at any moment if desired.


    On the other end of the spectrum, to cover the problem Vanilla''s shutdown presented, many companies saw humanizing the androids as a lesser - if not nonexistent - priority. If the androids were less human, that would improve their long-term utility and open room for other defense purposes and safety features.


    Many companies took this approach, but the android powerhouse that came out on top is "The Caliber Company". Following the route of mass productions, with top of the line military technology, scientists and developers worked their hardest to make a quality product to guard everything. Banks, offices, ships, planes, homes... everything. For a rather expensive price, your life and safety was forever guaranteed with a Caliber Android.


    Nine years, nine years alone to pass as the world became a dystopia of technology. This subsection of the age of technology is aptly named the Artificial Revolution, as cybernetics and androids reign supreme as leading industries. An economy and society backed by pure controversy and chaos, public opinion shifting back and forth as the world became completely reliant on this subset of technology.


    Humanity''s worst fears, worst nightmares, and worst morals coming to life before everyone''s eyes.


    ... with the technological solutions serving as cover, drawing media attention away from the era''s most darkest of organizations, the most secretive of organizations.


    "Client: Unknown.


    Target: Terrence Gardner


    Deadline: 3 days.


    It has come to our attention that the CEO of Sedimate LLC. is preparing to release the testing prototype of Agridorm - an indoor, nutrient rich soil for growing crops - to thousands of households across the country. An anonymous tip has come in, with evidence that the product contains carcinogenic substances. Human safety is in danger.


    Before this release, action must be taken. The most optimal of ways is to leak his criminal background, to have public opinion and all investors stray away from this man. The Underworld is calling for an information leak of this man, to provide as much evidence of his crimes as possible.


    The address of his office has been provided. Time is of the essence.


    Pay: $20,000."


    "..." In an undisclosed location, with dossier in hand, a mercenary browses through the documents with skimming eyes. Taking note of each intricate detail provided, committing the information to her memory.


    ... before promptly burning the documents with a lighter. Tossing the ashes into a nearby bin, and making her way out into the streets. On her way to the address in question, ready to carry out this work.


    "See you soon, Gardner."

 #6 - The Profile of Terrence Gardner

    Sedimate LLC. A "farming" company located in Greene County, Pennsylvania. One of the more rural areas of the state, yet maintaining a solid distance from the urban area of Pittsburgh.


    The company building consists of its offices and lab, all combined together into one open site of land. The building a relative tall, about three floors in a narrow tower structure. Its architecture obscured by the surrounding trees, building site far away from registered residences. One would have to travel off road into the forest by their lonesome to arrive, making traditional human commutes difficult.


    There was nothing traditional about the company''s commutes, however. On immediate initial survey of the building itself, one fact made itself immediately known: all of the staff consisted of androids. Floors upon floors of androids surveying about.


    The company building was a Connection Office. All operations and work remotely controlled with the help of androids. Workers could be across the entire country, with one simply needing to connect to an android so that they can carry out and conduct this work.


    Buildings like this were common occurrence, with many wanting to not leave their houses while still needing to work. Most of the time, technology is optionally provided to company employees upon hiring, if the option made itself available. In the case of Sedimate, its hiring practices suggest that it only takes employees with pre-existing neural technology. Those that either have public models, or have rebranded ones from other companies.


    Curiously, all operations of Sedimate LLC occur 24/7. Later data shows that this company takes morning shifts, afternoon shifts, evening shifts, night shifts, and so on. Sedimate LLC may be receiving staff of all schedules, possibly of all time zones as well. The latter is more likely, as it uses physical paper to store its data. Everything is confined to the building itself, with androids having to pick up paper from traditional filing cabinets for its employees... likely a security precaution.


    Though, the most curious part of this company is the CEO''s office. On the top floor, the office holds an inactive android stylized to look exactly like the man in question. At night, the android remains inactive, suggesting that this was a personal android operational only when the CEO is awake and connected.


    The CEO in question living only 5 minutes away from the building. Living as a sole suburban house on a dirt road, land paved in a fresh grassland for it. This was a fresh construction site, most likely with recent renovations.


    Terrence Gardner. Age: 36. A man of... average appearance, simply going through his daily routine. Groaning in bed for a few minutes with actively fluttering eyes. Climbing out of bed, walking into his personal bathroom to presumably shower. He comes out of the bathroom after ten minutes. The man is dressed in a pure white bathrobe. Silk. Hood over his head, with hair still lathered in some sort of shampoo. Maybe conditioner.


    It should be noted that he possesses no curtains. His exit from the bathroom, all of this is visible from the outside, one able to see him while passing by, one able to see him by just looking in.


    One able to see him, indeed. Many safe spots to hide. Simple binoculars are enough to see everything in the house. The isolated nature of Gardner''s house is designed as a "disconnected from the bad of society" and "connected to the good of society", a lonely house personally constructed with no neighbors about. Houses like these are high in demand, given the likelihood of cybernetic criminals targeting well populated neighborhoods. Thus, owning this house is an exclusive rarity that suggests Gardner''s high wealth.


    Prior background and research reveals Gardner''s degree in business at the University of [REDACTED]. His graduation over a decade ago. Academic transcripts and behavioral history unavailable at this time, for legal reasons. The time between his graduation and his current position at Sedimate LLC has a six year gap, of which Gardner was promoted to CEO with no working history.


    Details are not lining up.


    Gardner spends time preparing and eating breakfast, preparing for himself... something relatively rich. A fresh charcuterie board. Meats, cheeses, and such, with ingredients he keeps in his refrigerator. There are not enough days for one understand his grocery shopping habits, but... his assortment of ingredients are varied.


    On top of varying types of sliced meat and cheese, he adds almonds, olives, mini pickles, tomato slices, grilled onions, honey, crackers, and baguettes. For 30 minutes, he spends time preparing the ingredients and organizing it accordingly on his board. It is unclear if he eats this every day, but the casual manner of which he prepares this board indicates he is in celebration. Either he is taking well to the celebratory successes of Agridorm''s development, or he simply enjoys French cuisine in general.


    Every so often, in the midst of preparation and consumption of this breakfast, the man stares off and gazes deeply at a fireplace every so often as his food prepares itself.


    High probability of optic nerves, but the fireplace is suspected to have some significance. Atop the fireplace, photo frames that consist of him with a woman. Gardner is seemingly not married yet, but the photo frames indicate something close. Possibly a romantic partner.


    From the hours of 7 to 15, Gardner spends his morning comfortably lying in bed. His android active early, in order to carry out his duties of sitting in an office chair and not leaving the office whatsoever.


    What his work entails is printing documents, filling out paperwork, and calling in meetings with employees as necessary. Traditional methods, the "meeting with the boss" style of arrangement. Inefficient when, ultimately, meetings can be conducted with private calls instead.


    These activities cease at around 11, on the dot, to which his activities are unknown from then on. The android remains inactive from 11 to 15, on a sort of... autopilot.


    Curious.


    15 onward, Gardner gets up from his bed and... curiously, departs from his home. Dressed in a fine black suit, leaving at the 20th minute. To which he departs from his home accordingly.


    He returns at 21, having been gone from his house for 7 hours. Today appears to be an outing. Five hours off on his lonesome, before he comes back with company. Their dialogue flirtatious in nature, indicating some sort of intimate relationship.


    Yet, this woman is completely different from the one in the photos. Initial assumptions about Gardner having a fianc¨¦e are in doubt.


    At first.


    Gardner and this woman are intimate for a short time, from 21:20 all the way to 21:29. Curiously, it should be noted that the room itself is soundproof. Afterwards, they cuddle in bed for some time, before a conversation transpires between them.


    The woman is sent walking without a car, and Gardner comfortably remains in bed. Her whereabouts unknown, simply just walking back in the direction of Pittsburgh.


    Curiously, with this information, enough is prevalent about Gardner to suggest the following: womanizer who actively cheats on his fianc¨¦e for people he meets on outings. Due to the secluded nature of both his company building and his home, Terrence has made a life of comfort and safety the plains of Pennsylvania, while still in proximity to the city of Pittsburgh.


    Given Sedimate LLC''s developing nature, one must be curious if he is simply updating his life for the richer things, or if he''s already had this life for a while.


    From then on, activity transpires back at Sedimate, Gardner''s android active until 22:30. Afterwards, he sleeps in the aftermath of the sheets.


    The actions he takes following this are redacted.


    The following day, Gardner follows his same routine. Uniformity behind his actions. Strict routines as ever, awakening at 6. Shampoo and conditioner in his hair, making yet another charcuterie board. Photos are provided of both, if one wants to... replicate it.


    Gardner''s work is the same as ever. The man loves his routine. 7 to 9, working, before his android goes inactive.


    11:10.


    Security in the android is lacking. Rather easily controllable. Even with present, primitive methods.


    The essential findings following this are listed below.


    Every single document in his office has been analyzed and scanned by the android. A good majority of it follows the standard nature of bureaucratic documents, many of which are irrelevant in every single way.


    The fruit of this effort comes in the financial documents. Every single finance that the company has, the tip is proven correct. Apparently, Gardner and his accounting team have very... very noticeable discrepancies in their bills, their- documents.


    Notices have come in from the scientists in development, detailing how the materials in question were resulting in hazardous results. The tip of the product containing carcinogenic substances is... accurate. If the client in question is not the tip''s source, then it is clear that the tip comes from insider knowledge.


    Curiously, Gardner is putting the wrong market value of the ingredients in. The lab equipment and materials to synthesize Agridorm are heavily different, cheaper even. With the accounting paperwork present, this report has both Gardner''s personal accounting and the company''s papers included. In the simplest terms between what these documents prove, a high amount of money is being embezzled by Gardner. Potentially a federal crime of tax evasion.


    His wealth is curiosity inducing, but explainable: Let it be known that earlier assumptions of this man being romantically interested in the fireplace-photo woman are correct. That is his fianc¨¦e.


    Gardner is in a long distance engagement with a Swedish supermodel. Their marriage has been postponed as she is on business in California. The two go on dates using Gardner''s optic technology, which is suspected to be where he is from 11 to 15. Four hour time intervals of him spending time with his fianc¨¦e.


    There is a diamond ring in his records, purchased about four months ago. Gardner proposed first. A portion of the funds he embezzled appear to have gone to this ring, with many of the rest going to his daily breakfast meals, various other interests and luxuries, and saved away in his bank account. His wife''s income and history of ''gifts'' gives him room to launder money.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Fascinatingly, no records of mounted deer heads and live hunting rifles are shown. Suspected gifts from his fianc¨¦e, whose social media suggests she acquaints herself with hunters. Male in nature. Possible motivation of cheating, albeit further research is necessary.


    Sedimate LLC is, fundamentally, a company of complete and utter fraud, and Gardner is prime to plenty of scandals involving this. One could target Sedimate, framing it as the CEO "threatening the safety of the American public" for his own lifestyle. However, the prototype is to be released 2 to 3 weeks from now, limiting time for this approach.


    One could target his fianc¨¦e. Her identity has been kept classified from this report, but the Underworld has the resources to find her identity. Launch further investigation into her. Have her confront Gardner for his affairs. Possibly use her as an unwilling puppet once Gardner''s scandal is over.


    In fact, Gardner uniformly follows his routine further. This time around, a new affair with a new woman in a flashy blue dress. Blonde, a lighter shade than his fianc¨¦e, with artificially dyed red highlights. A short time passes, and the woman leaves.


    This is the end of the second day in terms of "relevancy". This binder has been submitted the 2nd night to be delivered posthaste, before the deadline is reached, and you may arrange contact if you wish for any additional information obtained in this time.


    For those that wish to further research Terrence Gardner, follow these notes.


    Gardner feels outstandingly safe. He does not suspect any sort of "involvement" with hostile entities. The job posting responsible for this report is unknown to him, and he has no cause to believe anyone wants to defraud him.


    Countless signs present suggest the indication of narcissism. A high self image that cares highly about himself to an irrational level. Interactions with Gardner will go swimmingly if you play to his selfish desires. Do not, by any means, talk about yourself while with Gardner, and your conversation will run smoothly. Focus only on his interests.


    Gardner''s outing on the first day indicates his enjoyment of public karaoke bars. His singing is mediocre, but his taste in music and fellow singers is high. If you are to go for the affair route, he is likely to approach blondes in flashy clothing, dresses to a karaoke bar rather than casual clothing. Rings on fingers are appealing to him, and the particular one he''s slept with was wearing a red dress. The night after, a bright ocean blue.


    Do not investigate alone if you wish to infiltrate the building. Sedimate LLC may possess memory altering technology in accessing its androids, as a precaution to protect its physical data. The CEO''s android is theoretically exempt from these rules, and its employees line up with a schedule strictly planned out. Gardner shows no involvement in his company proceedings beyond significant actions, and utilizing his android is the best way to go undetected.


    Finally, in terms of the information you find, any fabricated evidence will be utterly detrimental to the cause. Every bit of information present is authentic and present, and any investigation into them will bring up proper logs to authenticate everything. Any false information arises about Sedimate and Gardner, and this entire investigation has a chance to lose all its legitimacy in public eyes. Something to be aware of.


    With that, this document is concluded.


    You are free to do with this information how you wish.


    "..."


    The client takes a look at the three ring binder. On the front, a makeshift psychoanalysis and narrative of Terrence Gardner, followed by photocopied financial documents and candid photos of the man. The paper was not exaggerating, there was page after page after page of financial papers photocopied... it''s unsettling.


    "This... this is interesting. I was skeptical about the Underworld, but... your group has delivered quite a bit for three day''s worth of information," the client comments, closing the binder.


    "Well. The best of the best are welcome in our ranks." the representative explains. "I will be happy to bring the message to the mercenary. One person job for $20,000. I have- given the document a glance, and realize you may not need this, but... for an additional one-time payment of $4,000, the Underworld will be welcome to help with whatever remaining use you have with this information. A potential follow up to Gardner''s fianc¨¦e. Would you like to discuss the possibilities?"


    "Unnecessary. My... people... will make great use of this information in a different way," the client speaks. "I thank your solo mercenary. May I have a name to this face?"


    The representative nods his head. "We provide our members'' aliases for a one time payment of $1199 per mercenary. Not much use in the identification department, but... handy if you feel like requesting them again."


    "Pfff. Expensive business tactics. I like it." The client immediately comments, crossing their arms. "Sweeten the pot. Tell me what you''re allowed to for free, see if I''d pay that much."


    A nod from the representative. "... very well. They have been with us for some time. More recently than our most esteemed of names, but... an impressive name nonetheless. You are quite lucky to have had this mercenary at your disposal."


    As these two speak, at this very moment... the sun sets in Pennsylvania. The liveliness of the Pittsburgh bars picking up, with plentiful amounts of drunks ready to drink to their hearts content, to drink their troubles away.


    However, Terrence was heading back to his house, having picked up a black haired woman before the height of Happy Hour. One who wears a stylish pair of white and black sunglasses. The man picked up quite the Japanese beauty. One that was throwing major signs of interest in a casual hookup, while just having fun at her first karaoke bar.


    Sure, this kind of woman wasn''t usually his type, but something about this one just got his attention. Her radiant beauty, her causal and bubbly demeanor, her angelic voice of the heavens... Gardner was enamored by this woman.


    With the sun going away, she takes off her sunglasses and puts them away into her purse. Smiling brightly at Terrence as she adjusts her dress slightly, gazing forward at him with bright eyes. Unique eyes with a unique color, one that''s rare to naturally have...


    ... red eyes.


    "Lucky...? Interesting, so they''re that impressive... would she have killed Gardner if I requested?"


    "In truth? Unlikely, if requested, but not for the reasons you think. It''s simply because this mercenary has no documentation on taking any assassination jobs. Completely non-lethal work... but, for some of the jobs they do take? They might as well have."


    The car makes it to Terrence''s house, the man parking out front. Getting out of the car and opening the door for his newest... fling. A true gentleman, one that smiles at her.


    The woman''s eyes gazing upon this building as she''s helped out of the car, feigning intrigue and wonder. Amazed at his house. In truth, however, she stared with blank red eyes that had not the bit of interest in them. Looking and beholding this house unfazed, as if she''s seen better. Nothing new to her.


    "Wow. Well, I was considering his death, but... glad I avoided that pitfall. This mercenary''s work is extraordinary. Attention to detail and everything, with these pictures..."


    Terrence Gardner smirks as he wraps his arms around this woman''s waist, almost snuggling close behind her. Welcoming her into his house, door opening up. Leaning in for a kiss...


    ... one that he doesn''t receive. The woman takes a look at the fireplace, a slight giggle sounding out as she interrupts him. Asking Gardner about the woman, to which- his response, his lie, is that the woman in question was his sister. A relative on family vacation.


    "They are quite famous in our circles. The mercenary with the ability to follow and trail for long periods of time, quite possibly for days. This goes without saying, but... I believe the binder you have in your hand is enough of a testament to their skills, their capabilities as a master of stealth and infiltration."


    "Interesting. Master of stealth... so, they were never spotted? Not once?"


    With this excuse, the woman nods. Smiling as the door closes behind them, enticing Gardner into leading her to his chambers. Brought to his personal quarters, beholding his nice bedroom... the nice bed and everything.


    Her eyes are briefly drawn out the window, gazing out at the sight before the house. Asking Gardner about his... privacy concerns, asking him what stops the world outside from seeing in. Gardner approaches with casual indifference, reasoning that no one was around at this hour. How he also didn''t mind if anyone wanted to spectate...


    "Not once. A completely unseen figure, even to us. The Underworld may keep confidential its mercenaries and their faces, but... this one is one of the only few that not even us messengers know about. Maybe some people knew them when they starting out, knowing what they initially looked like, if they were a boy or a girl, so on... but all that data is lost to time."


    "Faceless to even you...? That''s... eerie..."


    Terrence begins to adjust his belt, undoing his tie. Smirking back at the woman, ready to enjoy himself once again. His eyes eagerly drinking her up. Hitting another flirty line, one exuding his... "charm."


    This prompts the young woman to giggle again, giving Gardner a saucy stare. The woman smiles back at Gardner, tugging lightly on her dress strap... pulling it down her shoulder as her other hand reaches into her purse.


    "So... with- no face, how do you know that they''re the ones that do it?"


    "Simple. Their personal phone. This mercenary in particular possess a flip phone that has access to an encrypted channel. Untraceable for their safety, used to take pictures and videos as necessary- as well as other features, actually. This is actually how they took the pictures in that binder, to confirm that the work has been done."


    ... taking note of Gardner''s distracted self, taking now to discreetly take out a gray flip phone. A traditional one, one she opens up immediately.


    Gardner was focused on her little show, but... his eyes wander away for a moment as he raises an eyebrow at the phone.


    "Wow. High quality for a flip phone... you''re not making this up, are you?"


    "Sir... I swear to you..."


    In the next moment, as Gardner''s guard was low but coming back, a massive static shock sets off in his cybernetics. Flooding his auditory cybernetics with the aching pain of an explosion, as if an entire chunk of his head blew off in a hard explosion. His entire body falling back against the ground and clenching his head in pain.


    "... everything I have told you so far about this mercenary... is the full, honest to God truth."


    Gardner is left hyperventilating, shaking as he stares up at this woman. Her gaze fading as she sadistically looks down, waving her phone contently as the power in his house shuts off in a blackout.


    In the complete, utter darkness of the bedroom, as Gardner was begging for his life, the black haired woman struts out of the room to retrieve something. Taking something off of the wall, holding it in her gloved hands as she walks back into the bedroom. Staring at the paralyzed man, a visibly insane and twisted look on her face as she takes a picture of his face...


    Gardner''s eyes- widen. Absolutely bewildered and confused as this woman takes aim at his head with a hunting rifle, as this woman watches him trembling and shaking against the ground. As his head aches, as he stares at this woman...


    The client... is very impressed. "... you make a good sales pitch. So be it, money''s yours. Give me their alias."


    "Very well. Payment, please?" the representative asks, hand held out.


    "Sure. So be it. I need to do more business with this merc." The client nods as he takes out a card, handing it to the representative to pay for this information.


    Meanwhile, Gardner''s blood spills out of his neck as he stares up in absolute horror. Choking aggressively as he bleeds out out, a gaping rifle wound piercing through his neck. It was a miracle that he was still alive, and yet a curse all the same. His last living moments spent in pure agony, staring up at the devil in woman''s form crouching down next to him.


    Her fine, silk gloves leave no prints as she takes the man''s hand and has him lovingly hold onto his own rifle. A pure look of absolute sadism plastered over her face, staring down at him as she fabricates a tragic story of suicide.


    The woman gently pats his face, grinning down at him with a euphoric rush. Staring intensely at him, letting her face be the last thing he ever sees.


    The Count of Monte Cristo... Chapter 3.


    I am not proud, but I am happy; and happiness blinds, I think, more than pride.


    "Your $1199 payment has been processed," the representative says. "You now have the rights to this information as you see fit, and can request this mercenary whenever you wish."


    "Well, go on. Alias? Who is this person?"


    Just like the two before, and possibly more, she departs with ''irritation'' at that ''scumbag cheater''. Shortly after getting up from his body, starting to walk out the back entrance of the house, discreetly disappearing from the area. Out of the house''s walls, face back to a composed look. If there was a soul around, she would express ''irritation'' at that ''scumbag cheater''.


    The picture of the man''s face on her phone, the woman closes the phone and continues to walk off. Her long, black hair flowing in the wind with her dress, seemingly walking unfazed in the cold of the Pennsylvanian dark.


    "Very well. The alias is one single name, one that you should not use lightly. If you require this mercenary''s services again, remember to request the Stalker of the Underworld... also known as..."


    With Gardner dead, to be found no later than early morning, this monster was finished with Gardner. One mission complete, one step closer to...


    "... Kuroiwa."

 #7 - Rise of the Stalker

    Impostor Syndrome. The phenomenon of self-doubt in one''s intellect, skills, and accomplishments among high-achieving individuals. That one doesn''t belong, a faker, an impersonator, an "impostor" amongst the capable. Belief in unqualified incompetence when everyone else around you knows what they''re doing.


    Chouko was more than familiar with this phenomenon, long before she disappeared from the public eye. Left by her lonesome to act, she was discovered as such an individual. An impostor amidst scholars, proven a failure by her lonesome.


    Chouko - in her eyes - rationalized her failures as a necessary sacrifice. Unable to be a prodigy as the classwork felt meaningless to her. Unable to be the head of the Ashford businesses as she held no rights to the legacy Father raised her into. Unable to keep any of the belongings of her childhood, unable to keep hold of what Father left behind, unable to maintain any of the fame and reputation Father could hold.


    Nothing felt right to Chouko after that day. The lone, remaining "Ashford", daughter to a dead family. The bloodline of Charles Ashford gone and taken. Any attempt to rationalize anything in her life, met with this sour and rancid feeling in her blood.


    All she could think about was Kuroiwa.


    Kuroiwa.


    One single thought ran rampant through her mind, that she wanted to make Kuroiwa suffer by any means necessary.


    Sun Tzu put it best. Know thy self, know thy enemy. If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.


    Chouko needed to become what she despised the most, her enemy. Become one of them. A mercenary, a killer, a faceless individual. She needed to kill Chouko Ashford, to kill herself again and again. To disconnect herself from this innocent little girl.


    Thus, the persona was born. and she took the name she despised the most. The Stalker of the Underworld, Kuroiwa.


    "... you''re really calling yourself that?"


    Chouko faintly remembers her first meeting with the Underworld. Around her fall from grace, she fled the UK and returned to the city where it all began. Endangering herself in the shady streets of New York City, a blind gambit to gather attention from unseen entities.


    By some miracle, she''s encountered her gateway into this dark side of the country. A man that served as her handler at the start, an informant that saw opportunity with the literal rich girl that had some semblance of fortune left. The man went by the name of "Charon", a reference to the ferryman that delivered souls to the Underworld. A man whose face she remembers vividly, with cigarette ash in his thick beard.


    "Indeed. Is there going to be a problem with that?" Chouko asked, her face unfazed as those inquisitive words were uttered.


    "... lass. You''re not exactly clever, are you?" Charon asked in return. "Naming yourself after your mortal enemy''s risky, especially if it''s that name. No way it''s going to work unless you''re willing to pay the price for it."


    Chouko glared at the man. "You know my reasons, Mr. Charon. No price is too much for me."


    "Just Charon will do, brat, and- obviously, there''s now a price too much for you. Given your whole ''death of your father'' and ''failing businesses''..." the man responded, before taking another puff of his sigarette. Letting out a sigh with rolling eyes. "... ever heard of Confucius. Chinese philosopher. Once said ''before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.''"


    Chouko pondered on that for a moment, before she responded. "Actually, that quote is misattributed to him by Western authors, but I am familiar. Point being?"


    "Well, don''t get me wrong, I have no qualms with this arrangement, but I''m face to face with an irrational child that probably ain''t aware of the terms. The quote''s to say that what you''re attempting will completely eff up your life. All for something you can''t walk away from. You sure you''re ready? No regrets?"


    A thought provoking wisdom, a warning for any other soul with hesitation and fear. But Chouko wasn''t one of them.


    "If I must, I will dig a cemetery for the world, Charon."


    An air of silence between the two, before Charon drops the cigarette and stomps his foot down. Signing a signature of ash and dust to cement their deal. "Alright then, brat. If you truly mean that, then I''ll be your little ''ferryman'' through the Underworld. From now on, whatever I say, you do. No questions asked. Understand?"


    "Understood."


    Chouko''s acceptance of these conditions marked her steady rise in the Underworld. A girl with youth, personally molded into a mercenary and guided through this most muddy of waters. Charon proved himself a reliable ally time and time again, as each of his orders brought her closer and closer to Kuroiwa.


    Starting out, of course, Chouko was told to take many unwanted and lowly jobs to build up her new founded career. Charon''s plan accounted for the limitations of her being an inexperienced child, so the waters had to be tested. Chouko understood this plenty.


    "Guy wants you to get some cold medicine. Take this money and buy it. Come up with an excuse for buying mass quantities."


    "A client needs a little girl to pose as his daughter. Put this wig and these colored contacts over your eyes. You''re too recognizable."


    "Client''s unable to wear a wire, so you''re going in. We''ll put a wire on you to record their conversation, from a close enough distance. Keep inconspicuous."


    Bit by bit, Chouko climbed this metaphorical wall as she followed Charon''s orders to an exact detail. Years upon years of regular exercise to remain fit, mixed with nonsense work as she took the jobs no other mercenary wanted. All part of Charon''s intricate plan, Chouko thought to herself, and it all paid off at the age of 14. A renaissance for the Underworld, as the destructive consequences of the android and cybernetic industries supplied mercenaries with a surplus of jobs.


    A heavy increase in investigative jobs, of espionage work. Jobs that were well suited for newcomers with the technology to back themselves up.


    But rather than invest in either of these technologies, however, Chouko was simply given a "traditional" technology for her work: a cellphone. One of the many Underworld-issued models with its standard features, allowing mercenaries to communicate over securely encrypted channels.


    "... Underworld''s been working on something," Charon explained when he gave Chouko the phone. "Times are changing. We can''t keep talking in person. Everything in this phone, as long as you call and text only my number, will be secured. I''m not responsible for any other calls. Guard it with your life, ''cause there''s a lot that this thing can do."


    With this phone, Chouko was sent on these jobs with direct guidance from Charon. Schematics of buildings, instructions on what to do and where to go, direct instructions when hitting a brick wall, Chouko treasured this old and encrypted invention with her life. Every time she broke into a building, each time she was expected to steal confidential information through some means, Chouko''s career swallowed down job after job that Charon texted her.


    Its features weren''t limited to only that, however, thanks to Charon.


    "Ever watched any spy movies?"


    "No."


    "Damn. Thought they''d be popular where you came from. Well, brat. This phone''ll make you feel like a spy. Gadgets and all."


    There was no use in pretending that Chouko knew any of the phone''s intricacies, but she felt as if she didn''t care all that much. Charon already feeds her instructions and orders, so every feature this phone comes with is just that. An order.


    Chouko couldn''t afford any mistakes. A single one would get her killed. What semblance of fear she had, silenced with the mentality that she "had to do this". As Charon remained her lifeline, and Chouko remained his golden ticket. As the two benefitted from other Underworld employers reaching out to her, taking on more and more jobs. Chouko cemented it all into her mind, each success and every failure.


    The blunders she faced a distant memory, reciting to herself over and over again that she had to be perfect, that she needed to be perfect, that she was perfect. Chouko was either perfect, or she was dead. The years going by, the money going into Charon''s account as he upgraded her tools, bought her equipment and funded her various living arrangements. Chouko was raised into a new identity, raised by the man who helped her strong ambition for revenge.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The child "prodigy" turned black market worker, growing up into a cold woman and an efficient mercenary, improving through repetition that simply faded away into her mind. If anything remained of "Chouko Ashford" and her scholarly ways, this girl was rendered completely quiet as "Kuroiwa" was left to speak. Both her target, and her persona.


    Kuroiwa''s name has truly killed the Ashfords in her eyes, leaving no trace of "Chouko" behind. And the name goes on to kill further, after the success of her newest mission.


    Gardner was a job that was conveniently in the area. Chouko had already been dispatched to Pennsylvania, so the mission itself was immediately available. Dossier memorized, she immediately arrived at Pittsburgh and, subsequently, Greene County within hours of accepting the mission.


    Charon was the one to suggest the Pennsylvanian work, Charon was the one providing Chouko the equipment and technology to infiltrate Sedimate, and Charon walked her through the mission step by step. The power of an informant made jobs like Gardner a walk in the park, especially with how incompetent he ended up being.


    For the last nine years, ever since her rampant crusade started, Chouko''s tuned out everything about herself. Devoting herself to this new passion, day and night. All of it a blur to her, as only the beginning and the end mattered to Chouko. The past that sent her on this crusade, and the inevitable future of her end goal.


    The present was not for Chouko. The present, a box containing the rewards of this unyielding quest, it belonged to Kuroiwa.


    Kuroiwa, the Stalker, the one who stalked Gardner and killed him in his very own home.


    The black haired woman helplessly and maliciously smiling as she wanders in the loneliness of the woods. Delighted beyond all belief, having taken care of a task that wasn''t even requested of her. Something about Gardner just... filled Kuroiwa with a bloodlust, a drive to take his life.


    Could it be the cheating? Could it be his business incompetence? Maybe she just wanted to do it for fun.


    There had to be a reason for Gardner''s death, right?


    ...


    Eventually, after a walk back to Pittsburgh, she wanders through the city as if nothing had ever happened. Taking each step forward, farther and farther away from Gardner, changed into new attire. Instead of that alluring dress, she now modestly wore a long, leather jacket over streetwear, keeping herself warm in the cold of the Pennsylvanian dark. Her long, black hair flowing in the wind alongside the tail of her coat. Tied into twintails, with white bows as fashion accessories.


    Kuroiwa''s eyes are contently closed as she walks, strolling through the populated bar street with not a care in the world. On her person, a baton, a knife, a pistol, and the cellphone. The most primitive of self defense measures in this age.


    By now, her work on Gardner has been delivered to the client, and - as appropriately - the woman feels a vibration in her pocket, reaching in and taking out her phone. On the screen, she received a text from an unknown number.


    The woman peeks at the text, staring at it for a moment. Discreetly peeking at the words for a moment, before immediately deleting the conversation. She didn''t need to keep it on her screen for too long, as it was a mere notification. One that she commits to memory:


    $20,000 has been transferred into your account. Client is very pleased. Good work.


    Kuroiwa lets out a deep sigh of contentment, deleting the text. It is just a confirmation email, so no use in keeping it around. The funds are distributed privately, and the deal between the mercenary and the informant has the money split in half. Charon receives 50% of the money, used for his own business and personal use, while the rest goes to Kuroiwa.


    $10,000 is a plentiful amount, a fine reward in this day and age. It''s hard to remember nowadays how "much" ten thousand dollars is, but... relative to the work necessary to earn it, Kuroiwa found it refreshing. $10K to dedicate to her hotel, motel, and inn stays, as well as flights and such.


    But for now, her destination is a bar called Scott''s. A rather lively bar, its popularity in Pittsburgh due to the guardian androids specially designed to handle the drunk.


    She was not here to drink. Not that she could, if she wanted to. She was only 19 years of age, a short couple of years away from being legally able to take a drop. Having never consumed a single ounce of the stuff in her life.


    No, work was simply calling, and Kuroiwa is eager to carry out another job.


    Kuroiwa stands at the front entrance, politely waiting as she stands before the two men standing at the door. The outdoor security of the bar, bouncers to keep watch for the underaged and for the criminally dangerous. A human touch to protection, their bodies equipped with arm prosthetics designed for combat.


    An entire 30 seconds pass before the two bouncers look to her with amusement. Having paid her no attention whatsoever, now grinning at the comedic sight. A woman almost a foot shorter than them, petite and small, a youthful appearance that only reaches up to their shoulders. Here she was, intending to get into a bar full of the gruffest of drunks.


    Even with the androids present... it''s laughable, especially with her lack of cybernetics. No way is this girl ready to protect herself. So they acknowledge her with condescending looks, believing her a defenseless young woman at best... and an obliviously lost child at worst.


    "Hah. Girl, you lost or something? Ain''t no way we''re letting a lil'' sweetheart like you get in."


    Kuroiwa looks up at the two, bluntly and blankly getting to business. "One token for passage. The dead await my return."


    "What? Hah, you''re crazy, making up-"


    "Wait," the other man comments, shaking his head. "That''s... the passphrase. She''s a bar veteran here."


    "Huh?" Looking up and down Kuroiwa, expressing high amounts of... doubt... as he raises an eyebrow. "Y... You sure? She don''t look like one-"


    "Just let her through. Orders are orders, and what we''re being paid for."


    The two gentlemen open the door for her, and she wanders in. Wandering into the bar. Taking each step deeper into the bar, intent on heading to the very end of the counter seats. She glances to see a man in the second to last seat, and takes hers at the very end.


    "... ah... ''Kuroiwa''."


    Kuroiwa looks over to the bartender. A finely dressed man. Black shirt and black jeans, with a crimson red vest over it. Dark colors to hide the stains. Modest and professional until one sees the thick, blue boot sticking out of his head. A pompadour as thick as steak, dyed to a flashy aqua blue, one that matches his thin mustache.


    In other words, professional on the outside, with a wild streak of a personal life on the inside. "Indeed. Good to see you again. I would like something suited for a lady such as myself, if you do not mind."


    The bartender nods as he walks over to Kuroiwa, bowing lightly. "As you wish." He briefly turns away to prepare Kuroiwa''s usual.


    "... pfft," noises the man sitting next to her, looking straight at Kuroiwa. "Fun name you got there. You here in the Stalker''s place?"


    Kuroiwa takes a look at the man, blinking a few times. Staring at him for a bit, taking note of his rather cheap appearance. A clean "wife-beater tank-top" with dirty blue jeans and brown leather boots. Well trimmed mustache and beard, with not a speck of hair atop his head. An almost condescending smile, expressing familiarity with the Stalker... and thus, familiarity with the Underworld.


    "Yes, I''m simply a messenger," Kuroiwa lies, denying that she was the Stalker herself. "You know how they are. Private."


    "Bold..." the man comments, nodding. Tapping the side of his shot glass. "You a drinkin'' woman?"


    "Underaged," Kuroiwa immediately answers, shaking her head. "Feel free to keep the scotch on your tab."


    "Heh... more for me." A nod to her, before he looks forward with arms on the counter. "But if you ain''t here for a drink, then... red pickup, across the street."


    Kuroiwa smirks as she rests an elbow on the counter. Gazing at the man with a raised eyebrow, staring. "What''s the pickup for?"


    "Delivery. Pickup address is in the car, headed to a rich guy with a country estate in Omaha," the man explains. "Expecting something high quality. Needs it delivered discreetly. Underworld got any hands on deck for that?"


    "Omaha... Nebraska?" Kuroiwa asks, blinking.


    "Mhmm. It''s a 14 hour drive in total, not accounting for breaks- as well as any discreet routes the merc may take. I was paid in advance by the seller, and there''s a hefty $45K for you... as long as the product is in good condition upon arrival," the man informs, picking up his glass and downing it.


    Kuroiwa... stares for a bit, narrowing her eyes at this. Directing her attention down at the counter, locked in... thought... for a bit, before nodding. "... the job seems acceptable. I will put up a job offer for those in the area. I suspect a quick response time on the person taking the job."


    The man smiles, before handing Kuroiwa the keys to the pickup truck. "Then I leave it in your capable hands, errand girl... any chances that your boss''ll handle this cargo? Stalker''s hands''ll be very useful."


    "We assure the very best," Kuroiwa vaguely responds, pocketing the keys and taking her phone out. "Contact information, please. We require a small portion of the funds to guarantee the transaction."


    "No need," the man comments, looking to Kuroiwa. "Money''s in the truck. Seller''ll handle the fees when you get the truck there."


    "... I see. There is one more term to this deal," Kuroiwa chimes in, staring at the man. "I am to pick up this car and escort it off the premises for the mercenary in charge to handle. Can we agree to that?"


    "Ain''t my business anymore. Go nuts," the man comments, taking another shot.


    A nod from Kuroiwa, who pockets the keys in her coat and waits for her drink.


    Shortly after their exchange, the bartender finishes preparing a special and popular non-alcoholic drink: lemon-lime soda with a dash of squeezed orange. Placing the glass in front of Kuroiwa, and bowing lightly. "Here you go."


    "Thank you," Kuroiwa politely tells the bartender, holding the glass gently and staring down at it. Taking a gentle sip of it, tasting the tangy and sweet flavor. A simple pleasure to refresh her, after living off of bottled water and cheap packaged food for approximately two to three days.


    But a thought crosses the woman''s mind, as Kuroiwa stares at the cup for a moment. Distantly gazing into the glass.


    "... bartender- question."


    "Ah, yes?"


    "By some slim chance, do you... happen to serve any Earl Gray tea?"


    The Bartender chuckles as he pours another shot for her bar stool neighbor. "Sorry, no. I ain''t got tea on these shelves... some store in town sells small boxes of the stuff, though."


    "I... I see. Thank you, anyway."


    The bartender politely nods and walks away to tend to other patrons, leaving Chouko with her drink.


    With a slight hint of disappointment, the girl... lifts the cup up, and takes a brief moment to gulp down the rest of the drink. Drinking it all down for just the refreshment, not wanting to think much further on the taste... on what she couldn''t have. A saddened look in her eyes, a brief glimpse of sorrow and misery coming out in that moment.


    "... pfft. Earl Gray mean something to ya?" the cheaply dressed man asks, staring at Kuroiwa with a chuckle. Finding amusement with the messenger''s non-alcoholic tastes ranging from juice to tea.


    The mercenary stares off into the glass, before her eyes lightly flutter... and she nods slowly. Her empty glass matching her equally empty gaze, an answer prepared.


    "More than you could ever know."

 #8 - Seven, Plus or Minus Two

    After one night''s stay in a local Pittsburgh motel, "Kuroiwa" heads to the seller''s provided address with the pickup truck. Ready to deliver something high quality that needs to get to a wealthy buyer.


    Officially, Kuroiwa left it in Charon''s hands the night prior to arrange the job. A necessary step to go through the bureaucracy of having this delivery be an official job. The job is as follows:


    "Client: ???


    Destination: Omaha, Nebraska


    A delivery job from Pittsburgh to Omaha. Package unknown. Seller unknown. Buyer unknown.


    Calling for a mercenary willing to make a long drive. Product is too sensitive to be trusted with normal mail carriers.


    Pay: $45k + car related expenses."


    "Phone''s equipped with a GPS to Omaha," Charon explains. "On paper, the Underworld''s higher ups trust me to privately give this to mercenaries in Pennsylvania, so they won''t need to know that ''Kuroiwa'' did it yet until long after you completed it."


    "Good," Kuroiwa responds. "Is there anything else I should be aware of? Anything you can see that I cannot?"


    "It''s just a drive there. You can handle a drive, can''t you?" Charon asks, almost condescendingly. "It''s crossing states, so toll will be an issue, But the toll booths should only capture the car itself, with photographic technology to the license plate and car model. Whatever address this car belongs to will be the one to front the bill, something that either I, or the bar man, will handle... as long as you''re not insane enough to deliberately drive through every toll gate in this country."


    "I believe I''m not," Kuroiwa comments.


    "Funny," Charon responds. "It should just be a straightforward shot. Text me if an emergency arises, and call back when you''re stopping for gas or staying at a motel on the way. Finally, have a nice trip. You got all that?"


    "Yes, but... one more thing. The seller will be seeing my face if I drive there by my lonesome, Charon," Kuroiwa explains. "Will I need any precautions to prevent this?"


    Charon goes silent for a moment, before answering. "Just a hat and your sunglasses will do. I would suggest a face mask, but... maybe concealing your entire face is too suspicious. Plus, you already told the trucker you''re the representative, could be a potential high-market client if you play your cards right... so just tell the seller you''re getting the truck to the mercenary. Something along those lines."


    "Very well. This will be simple, then," Kuroiwa confidently tells the informant.


    The address takes her to a suburban neighborhood of Pittsburgh, a street that was a few minutes outside of the city border. Curiously, she ends up in front front of a residential home. A two story suburban house with no cars on the curbs or the driveways, as compared to the rest of the street.


    If not for the piece of paper that the pickup truck had, properly laminated with instructions on what to do upon arrival, Kuroiwa would have assumed no one was home.


    In the pickup truck, Kuroiwa needed to memorize a few pages'' worth of instructions. The packet was laminated and protected and all, having been stowed away in the car on the seller''s request.


    Chouko- ... Kuroiwa, had no trouble memorizing it whatsoever, making great use of that ever so relevant talent of hers... but it was still an excessive amount.


    The instructions ask for her to do the following actions:


    First, Kuroiwa has to parallel park out front, specifically in front of the house in question. In the possibility that there are unexpected cars there - which, there aren''t, but she memorized this chance regardless - she is to flick her emergency lights on and align the car with the one closest to the mailbox, driver window lined up with driver window.


    Then, keeping the engine running, Kuroiwa must check the back tire closest to the sidewalk curb, then lean her back against the car''s gas cover. Pretend to be frustrated and act as if there was a "hole in the tire", as the paper listed, exaggerated enough to appear like an act while still seeming natural.


    Kuroiwa must then cross her arms, holds three fingers up - specifically her right hand''s index, ring and pinky fingers - and looks up at the sky, pretending to see a fascinating cloud... taking a deep breath.


    This is, conceptually, absolute bollocks, thought Kuroiwa. Yet, there has to be some method to the madness. Everything has a reason, and it is not that complicated to deduce that this was a security protocol. Whoever this is, is as cautious as she is. The person she is to meet is very intricate, to the point of excessive paranoia and anxiety.


    Elaborate steps.


    Elaborate person.


    Doing these instructions, Kuroiwa then notices one of the windows opening in the house next-door. The instructions mentioned to be prepared for this, to prepare for one of the windows to open at that moment and to prepare for someone to peek out. Someone to check if the driver is the hired mercenary.


    Yet, this happens with a completely different house. The one right next door and everything. To make matters more... "confusing", the apparent lookout is a young boy no older than nine years of age, looking to Kuroiwa by peeking the upper half of his face out the window. Noticeable features are that he has pale skin and a brown bowl cut of a hairstyle.


    Was this the seller? ... no, it can''t be. He''s too young to ask a grown man to hang out in a bar to hire someone to hire someone else to... oh, who was she kidding? The irony isn''t lost on her that she was a mercenary before she became a teenager. Whoever this is could very well be the seller.


    Kuroiwa indulges in this possibility, continuing these instructions. She mouths the words, "hashbrowns, hashbrowns, hashbrowns," in complete and utter silence, to signify that there were hashbrowns.


    The kid stands up now, fully showing his head. Kuroiwa immediately narrows her eyes at the sight, seeing that this boy''s cheeks and jawline are covered in gray metal plating. Possibly to conceal injuries, but... more likely, some other cause, as Kuroiwa noticed some wires.


    The wires give away that this child went through an operation to shape his face and optimally prepare it for advanced cybernetics. An option well suited for virtual reality software, really. Quite like Gardner''s, albeit... more intricate, for the safety of the child.


    For it to be done to someone so young, Kuroiwa... almost immediately pinpoints that this person - or at least, someone in that household - is passionate about entertainment software. Trends on social media nowadays have various accounts suggesting to install the technology at a young age for various superficial purposes, possibly for "taste technology" to enjoy food video games, or to install lights to decorate one''s face with a neo-pop look.


    Before Kuroiwa can... think deeper into the psychological signifiers of this sight, she picks up on an immediate, noteworthy tell that the instructions call for. The plating had briefly distracted her from the optic technology over his left eye, a sort of circular scope that can serve as a telescope and a camera. The orange light on the end served as a pupil, its light turning on and off three times.


    Three times.


    The paper told Kuroiwa, specifically, that the flickering eye had everything to do to solve an... an algebra problem. How many times it flickered was used accordingly as "X".


    The paper reads: "X to the 2nd power, plus the square root of X over the current hour." That entire problem equal to the Y^2 + 2Z + 1, with Y equal to the current minute.


    Kuroiwa needs to solve for Z with this information, and had one minute to do so before she needs to start over.


    "..." Kuroiwa lets out a slightly annoyed sigh, before continuing. Curiously, she... takes out her phone. She knows it''s 9 plus something, but the square root of 3 isn''t a whole number, so she types the number into her phone. Current hour, 10, so it''s 9 plus... 0.1732, approximately... and the current minute after this is- it''s 2, since 10:02.


    So, 2 squared plus 2 times Z plus 1... it''s... okay, so 4.1732 = 2Z, meaning the problem is now Z = 2.0866, now she has to tap her foot equal to all of the digits present, while holding her arms in such a way that the whole number represents her hour hand and the first two decimal digits - rounded up - represent the minute hand. Her eyes narrowing as she starts to-


    "You can stop that, I think you already proved yourself when you took out the phone."


    Kuroiwa looks away from her phone to see the boy right in front of her, having walked up in the time it took for her to "solve" the problem.


    "... hm." Kuroiwa pockets the phone, rolling her eyes as she opens the truck and just- takes out some fast food. Another instruction. "Breakfast menu hashbrowns, as requested."


    "W... Woah. Y-You''re kidding, you even got the hashbrowns...?" the boy responds, visibly in shock. "I''m pretty sure that was marked optional... that''s nuts, lady. Sorry if it was too much trouble, I really love hashbrowns."


    "Consider me a perfectionist," Kuroiwa responds. "Alright. What''s next? What am I delivering?"


    "Oh, you''re gonna have to talk to my neighbor," the boy comments, shaking his head.


    "... your neighbor?" Kuroiwa asks.


    "Mhmm. He just told me to keep an eye out for you. So, back up into the garage over there, and uh... yeah!"


    So having the incorrect address was intentional.


    Kuroiwa parked in front of one house, was greeted by a boy from the house next to it, and is now being told to drive the pickup from the house across the street.


    Now that the boy is no longer a candidate for the "seller", that shifted Kuroiwa''s assumptions and expectations noticeably. All she knows about this seller now is just, "elaborate instructions" and "possibly relies on neighbors to either help or be red herrings." In this case, the boy is both.


    "I see. Out of curiosity, how much were you... paid... to do this?" Kuroiwa asks.


    "Not allowed to tell you," the boy responds, taking a bite into a hashbrown.


    So, the seller paid this child a lot.


    "Well, now, see ya!" the boy responds, before walking back into his house with the breakfast hashbrowns. His job''s done, now, and he''s going to go enjoy his food!


    ... Kuroiwa gets back into the pickup truck to continue the seller''s instructions, reversing into the driveway of the opposing house. Waiting at its garage door for a while, foot on the brake for about 2 minutes.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    No signs of anyone at this house, but she looks to see a light being shined from her side mirrors. Just a flashlight, shining a light into her eyes.


    "Wait outside for a light to shine. Roll down your passenger window as soon as possible," the paper reads.


    Kuroiwa does so, visibly... annoyed. A light being shined into one''s eyes is annoying, and it makes her regret not getting the sunglasses...


    ... but then, as the garage opens, Kuroiwa is bombarded with an excessive amount of visual information. Her vision a little hazy from having a light shined in, she''s exposed to an absolute mess of color in the form of a culture shock.


    All over the walls, anime. Anime posters plastered all over the walls, following almost hundreds of series at once. Basically, Japanese-style art from various authors, ranging from obscure modern shows to the big global classics of the 90s. A mess of neon colors, vibrant colors, these posters all over the place and exploding off of the walls the longer one stares at them.


    Something about this unsettles Kuroiwa... but she can''t pinpoint exactly what it is.


    And she isn''t given the time to pinpoint it.


    "... nice truck you got here. What''s the chance that you''re here for what I think you are?"


    Kuroiwa looks over to the right, looking at the seller through the passenger side door. Her red eyes looking to a middle aged man with messy, unkempt brown hair. Slightly on the chubby side, with square framed glasses and a faint beard stubble over his cheeks and chin. His clothing consists of a black fedora and a black trench coat, with a grey tank top and brown jeans underneath.


    "... a high chance. I''m the messenger to pickup something to be driven by the mercenary," Kuroiwa answers the man, continuing to maintain this professional facade of not being the delivery driver.


    "I... see, so you''re not even the... okay. Alright. Can you send a message to him?" the seller asks, arms crossed.


    Unease. Uncertainty. The tone of voice dropping at the information of her just being the messenger. Likely expected the mercenary themselves... "himself", in this case, to appear.


    "Sure," Kuroiwa answers. "What is it?"


    The seller then takes a moment to hand Kuroiwa a card, one with a phone number on it. "Just a reminder that this truck is carrying important, sensitive cargo. Either you or your mercenary will contact me once the truck''s in Omaha, calling this number. A payphone is preferable."


    "I see. Message received," Kuroiwa responds. "... do you need assistance with loading? I am willing to help."


    The seller shakes his head. "No need. I can handle the work myself. Plus, y''know, again... sensitive cargo, I like to make sure things are handled myself. No slip-ups on my watch and all."


    "Understood." Kuroiwa puts the car into park, and sits back. Arms crossed, just watching him lift the boxes. In the time it takes him to load the truck, she finds herself free to wait and... takes the time to idly glance around the rest of the garage.


    The garage makes it appear as if he prefers romantic dramas and romantic comedies... on first glance. The tastes are too varied throughout the garage, this genre making up only 20%. A different 20% goes to comedy posters with vibrant and goofy designs, another 20% to mystery thrillers and war dramas... curiously, 10% to Japanese-style renditions of Western media, and 10% to cute cat style cartoons, and the rest of it an open box of variety. It is very much possible that he has more posters and merchandise of countless other works and genres.


    Curiously, apart from the posters and the several boxes being loaded into the truck, Kuroiwa spots one outlier in this theme. A table with cleaning supplies and tools, as well as a model soldier figurine with paint supplies. One single model soldier contradicts the posters and decorations throughout this entire garage.


    Peculiar.


    "... so, got something I can call you?" Kuroiwa asks the man, as he''s loading the pickup truck.


    The man ponders for a bit, before answering. "Call me ''E''. That''s my in-person business name."


    "Just ''E'', hm?" Kuroiwa asks.


    "Yes," E answers, lifting another box into the truck. "Why do you ask?"


    "Just, curious," Kuroiwa truthfully responds. Her curiosity unsatisfied. Even while face to face with "E", Kuroiwa... doesn''t have a lot to remember about this seller. There weren''t enough signs to focus on with E. No cybernetics, no remarkable features. Just a middle-aged man that''s passionate about anime and elaborate papers, apparently.


    "Alright. You got a name?" E then asks.


    "... I," Kuroiwa answers, giving a single letter as a name. Best to give a fake name. "You may call me I." Curiously, the letter I could be mistaken as "Ai", a Japanese name that translates to love and affection.


    Kuroiwa could see E''s response to this with... intrigue, an eyebrow raised before going back to lifting boxes. "Understood, Ai," E responds. "Good to meet you."


    Tch... With how elaborate his instructions are, it''s a wonder how this seller could use such a simple letter as a moniker. It''s clear that E is a fake name, with endless possibilities behind it. The beginning of one of his names? A mere syllable in his name? Maybe just a start to some word?


    E, for Elaborate. E, for Extra. E, for Everything...


    ... maybe a word ending, Anim-E. Ugh.


    The more Kuroiwa thinks about it, the more she will probably remember E not as a person, but as a letter that repeatedly shows up in the English language. Maybe just the amount of E''s on his papers of instructions. If he had named himself her fake name instead, I could stand for Instructions...


    ... hm, speaking of the instructions, Kuroiwa immediately notices something off. Staring at the card that E handed her, realizing that it doesn''t match the instructions whatsoever. The laminated paper lists an entirely different phone number at the end. Yet, here E was, giving her a new phone number. The numbers don''t add up, or match.


    In fact- why does she need this card? It''s just a single phone number. Nothing of value on this card, possibly for disposable information. If she had to bring the instructions anyway, then why does she need to hold this card? Everything about E feels too elaborate to... to...


    ...


    Wait...


    It doesn''t say on the paper that she needs to return the paper, but hypothetically...


    "So... question. Do you need the instructions back? Seems like the number to call is- off," Kuroiwa asks.


    "Oh, I see. I must have made a mistake with the paper," E responds, walking over to the driver side window. "Can I see the paper?"


    Kuroiwa nods, and reaches into the glove compartment for the packet. Taking it out of the compartment, her face looking away from E... visibly tense. Growing exceptionally tense. Countless flags and connections are set off in Kuroiwa''s head.


    In this moment, as she takes the papers out, everything about E was... it... it felt like she was face to face with a mastermind. A genius of masking his identity. His identity...


    ... the end of identity. Identit-y. Y. That''s- that''s what it means, right?


    No, no, that''s- speculation, but... if it''s the slightest bit possible, everything about E is as convoluted as possible to trip every person up. The most basic of name concealment, able to mask himself amidst other letters.


    This job is... there''s something about this job. Kuroiwa''s realizing that E''s being as eccentric, as elusive, as embellished as possible... his instructions entangled in essential, extra details...


    That''s why E feels unsettling, that''s why everything about this man and his garage is unsettling! Kuroiwa is staring at a mirror, someone who has set up a garage of pure psychological, semantic landmines!


    All of this is purely hypothetical, but... E''s employing a workaround for one''s memory. George A. Miller. "The Magical Number Seven, Plus or Minus Two (1956)". A psychology paper written about how human short term memory could only process between five to nine objects at any given moment, ranging from person to person.


    This isn''t limited to given items. One could see bundles of fruit and see: "a group of bananas", "a group of apples", "a group of oranges", so on... or, if it''s too much, one would simply think: "a lot of fruit", leaving more room in short-term memory.


    Everything about E is elaborate as a defense.


    A defense from... from anyone who wants to find him.


    If Kuroiwa is asked, interrogated, she... wouldn''t be able to tell them anything. E is erasing the traces of his entire being from her mind with the Seven rule. By using the letter E, a vowel that shows up the most in the language, anyone who tries to remember this seller will remember everything else about E. Anim(E). Post(E)rs. Box(E)s. Soldi(E)rs. It will all group up into just the general E.


    That''s all she''ll know about E, or even care to know about E. Just, "E". No identifying features to recognize him after this, beyond an unremarkable stereotype of an appearance. She might make a mistake and associate other words with E...


    The job is paying 45k as a high reward for just a slight job, maybe just to take special care of what''s being bought. What Kuroiwa is transporting isn''t just sensitive, it''s high in value. In the event that Kuroiwa is stopped by someone, E''s making sure that all ties to him are cut off. The instructions to his address confiscated, given just a phone number to call upon arrival, she''ll never be able to identify this man ever again.


    E is the antithesis of Kuroiwa... a person everyone will know as E, yet never be able to easily identify.


    Compare that to a person no one should know is the Stalker, yet... could probably recognize her if they wanted to. Everything E is as a concept is similar, yet outstandingly opposed at the same time.


    As E loads the boxes, Kuroiwa... has a near mortified expression on her face, sitting in the driver''s seat in astonishment. Psychologically triumphed in this moment, face to face with someone she believes she''ll never be above...


    ... but Kuroiwa takes a deep breath, and makes an effort to calm herself. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, just staring forward and focusing. What was she worrying about? This was nothing to ger riled over. So what if E is a brilliantly convoluted seller with a potential mastery of psychology? E''s is just another client for another job. That''s all it is, that''s all it is. Business. Just a job... just...


    ... the job.


    Speaking of the job, Kuroiwa takes a glance at one of the boxes. On its side, the number 45 was drawn in permanent marker. All of the boxes had drawn numbers on them, sure, but... 45 stands out to her. It''s just slightly larger than she was, enough to keep a person inside of it. Life-sized, of higher "quality" compared to the rest of the boxes.


    In fact, it''s loaded a lot slower into the truck than the rest, as if E is very, very blatantly showing favoritism to this box in particular. As if he had to be especially careful loading in this one, more careful than the other ones.


    Curious.


    Once the back is secured with boxes and all, E approaches the driver-side door and looks to Kuroiwa with arms crossed. "Alright, that''s all. Do you understand, roughly, what this job needs of you?"


    "Yes," Kuroiwa answers, looking back at E with a nonchalant look on her face. Burying away these feelings as best she can, masking her...


    ... her...


    ...


    "... so, I will first escort this truck to the driver," Kuroiwa idly begins to explain, elaborating for her own benefit and... pettiness. "And then the driver will get the delivery safely to your buyer. Box number 45 will be perfectly protected in our possession."


    "Correct, yes. So-" E responds, before narrowing his eyes. Instantly interrupting himself, slightly tense at that statement. "... Box 45...? Why- that one in particular?"


    A glint in Kuroiwa''s slightly narrowed eye, subtly delighted by this hesitance in his voice. An interesting reaction. "Apologies... slip of the tongue. Right. The mercenary has to escort all of these boxes to Omaha, as per your instructions, then... contact you, before arriving to the estate?"


    "Y... Yeah," E answers, easing up slightly. "All of it is sensitive cargo, so... get it all to Omaha, and wait for instructions."


    "Understood," Kuroiwa idly comments. "I assure you, the buyer will receive these goods in mint condition at all costs."


    "Ah, that''s good, then- ... uhm- mint condition?" E asks.


    "Am I using the right terminology? I believe that means, ''unopened boxes'' and all," Kuroiwa asks, looking straight forward. Staring across the street to the other houses, focusing on those residential buildings.


    Kuroiwa is... resisting... the urge to grin, to smirk oh- so- devilishly after all of that. It was a miniscule victory, one that she doesn''t even see any purpose for their exchange, but... Kuroiwa now knows one of E''s tells. She is right on the target, E''s voice a dead giveaway of her accuracy. Her word choice deliberate, as if to rattle E up...


    ... giving subtle hints that she knows exactly that Box 45 is the main focus, taking a bluff to what could possibly be in it.


    "... u... uhm..." E noises, nodding. Anxiety in his voice as he stares at Kuroiwa. "Y... Yes. Keeping the boxes safe is... is important."


    Thanks to E''s responses, the anxiety and paranoia in his voice, Kuroiwa now knows that 45 contains the human-sized product that the buyer is set to receive, a toy or a figurine of sorts. Deducing as much...


    ... and able to guess that it''s an android.


    It has to be an android. These characteristics are attributes to an android product. Fresh in box.


    Kuroiwa knows this now. It was such a miniscule detail, a minor victory over this client that she didn''t even need to follow through with, yet- yet, she did. That''s what she did. She has one edge over E, that she triumphed over him with the essential bit of information that E was trying to mask and hide.


    ... and after the high of this victory fades, Kuroiwa decides that enough is enough. Her curiosity is more than satisfied, now. Time to get on with the job. "Anything else I need to be aware of? Or will that be it?"


    "... well... no. Job''s straightforward, just..." E begins to answer, visibly calming down. "... you tell your mercenary to... to be careful on the drive there. Alright?"


    "Indeed. I will relay the message if he doesn''t already," Kuroiwa responds. "Take care, E."


    Kuroiwa pulls the car into drive, and-


    "Wait."


    "...?" Kuroiwa looks to E with a head tilt, foot on the brake. "Yes?"


    "Ai..." E places a hand on the truck, hand against the vehicle and staring at Kuroiwa. "... before you go... please, call me Eugene."


    "Eugene?" Kuroiwa asks, tilting her head. "Why?"


    "Well..." A sigh from the man as he stares at Kuroiwa, staring at her with narrowed eyes. "That''s... my name. I just... feel like it''s right for me to tell you this, giving you a proper name. A sort of... equivalent exchange and all."


    Kuroiwa... narrows her eyes, staring at... E. "I see...? An exchange for- what?"


    "Simple. My identity, in exchange for yours..."


    As E prepares to explain his reasons, the words out of E''s mouth are set to commit an irreversible, irreparable move. Giving his name first as- compensation, as he prepares one move. A move that one-ups Kuroiwa''s, one done in response to her petty show of pride, realizing something major in that moment...


    E states the mercenary''s identity. Having understood who she was after some time, as he continues his sentence... as he states the name...


    "... Chouko Ashford."

 #9 - Tea Between Masked Equals

    ... crap.


    "... who? I don''t know who you''re talking about."


    "Chouko Ashford..." E repeats, a cautious tone to his whispering voice as he explains. "Little girl that appeared in New York for the Vanilla presentation. Some forgotten heir and college dropout, disappeared off of the planet months after."


    He... he knows... how does he know? How exactly does he know? Did I- did I give it away? Did he already know long before I arrived? He does, he does know. What else does he know?


    "I don''t understand the connections, E. Nothing I am remotely resembles her."


    "Your sunglasses. Your eyes," E comments, leaning forward with a grin. "I am willing to bet that they''re red. One of the only people to have natural, red eyes... even brighter than anything an albino can have. Even if it''s fake, or you''re wearing contacts, why would a delivery woman need to specifically have red eyes?"


    Tch.


    "So. I am not confirming whether or not you are correct, but... in the slim chance you do have my identity, what is your objective?"


    Eugene rolls his eyes, almost- scoffing at Kuroiwa still trying to hide it. "Insurance. Woman comes in here, pinpoints something secret, intends to intimidate me by pointing it out... only makes sense that I''d want to confront her, level the playing field. Stand on equal footing and all."


    .......


    Kuroiwa puts the car into park, and glares at... Eugene... through her sunglasses. Taking off her sunglasses and gazing at Eugene with her red eyes. A morbidly wordless stare as her eyes lock onto Eugene.


    "Oh." Eugene comments. The red eyes are real. This truly is Chouko, the famed "Apple-Eyed Child" in the flesh and all. Right on the money, grinning in mild surprise.


    Kuroiwa is frantically plotting her next move right now. Her carelessness, her... her need for superiority, her pure petty action. All of it has put herself in grave danger, face to face with a random client that knows her identity. Unsure what to do, and... the worst part is that Kuroiwa can''t even do anything about it, if she comes up with an idea. Leaving now leaves E in a position to blackmail her and spread her identity. Killing E will jeopardize the job, a needless death of a seller that will simply put a beacon on the person who kills him. Informing Charon of her mess-up will...


    Kuroiwa takes a deep breath, continuing to glare at E as her hand lowers to her side. Keeping his attention as she rests a hand on her baton... her extendable, defense baton. Highly powerful, conceptually non-lethal... at least, more than a gun and a knife. She could take E out right now. Knock him out, hold him hostage, something.


    "... o... oh god. I see that look-" E blurts out, backing away from the car door. "Hey- hey, heyheyhey, I''m serious. No harm intended. What''s said in this garage stays between us, not a word out to anyone. You know about me, I know about you. Just setting up something- mutual, y''know?"


    Kuroiwa grips her baton, eyes tensely narrowing. "Bugs? Witnesses? Anything underhanded that you''ve got against me?"


    "S-Security cameras, but that''s it," E admits, blurting out that there are cameras to record Kuroiwa''s appearance.


    "... mhmm..." Kuroiwa cautiously noises.


    "C''mon. Let''s open a dialogue. Equal terms, equal footing, act in the other''s best interest, right? I need a delivery guy, you need work. Again, again- whatever reasons you have to keep secret, you have my word that not a single word leaves this garage. If- If you want, I can close the garage door, REALLY soundproof everything, but- if we keep things quiet to a whisper like this, no one''s gonna hear."


    "..." Kuroiwa... slowly takes her hand away from her weapon. "Best to keep the garage door open... so that I can drive away, if you do anything, E."


    "Do anyth-" ... Eugene''s eyes widen at this, his voice raising in shock. "W-Woah, woah, okay, NO! No, that''s not my intention!"


    Kuroiwa squints her eyes at E.


    "D-Don''t stare at me like that, I''m serious! S-Sure, Japanese women look beautiful, but- oh, God, no! D-Definitely not interested in that way!" Eugene exclaims, his voice raised highly. "P-Plus, you were ten when I first heard about you, that''s- ugh, crap, that''s sickening to just think about...!"


    "..."


    Eugene continues, almost obsessively. "S-Seriously, like, I- I just mean it in a privacy way, n-not a whole ''keep you in the garage'' way. Please, you have to believe me, I- I would never, I''d never do anything like that! Please???"


    ... Kuroiwa feels disillusioned.


    The identity of E is noticeably less impressive, now that the veil is removed and she speaks with Eugene, the person. The bumbling, panicking man grasping at straws for his safety.


    Yet, this is... this is relieving. E wants to be put on "equal footing", this motivation leaves him vulnerable. A situation less ominous and uncertain.


    "... fine."


    Eugene- blinks a couple of times. "F... Fine? W-What do you mean by...?"


    Kuroiwa lets out a sigh as she puts the sunglasses in the truck''s cup holder. Closing her eyes to take a deep breath in, feeling a metaphorical curtain pull away from her face. "You are correct," she answers, reluctantly choosing to put her trust in this... arrangement. "I am Chouko Ashford, and I accept your proposition to be equal. I shall have no intentions of killing you whatsoever... as long as this information stays between us, Eugene."


    "R... Right," Eugene responds, as he''s basically- told he was correct. Noticeably easing up, an awkwardly friendly smile on his face. "So, before you drive off and all, care for some- oh, I dunno, tea? Not every day I get a fallen British scholar and Japanese girl in my garage. You''d be the first person I welcome into this house."


    Kuroiwa shakes her head. "As much as that sounds... interesting, I have a job to take care of. I cannot afford to loaf about and accept ''refreshments'' from a middle-aged stranger."


    "Ouch. I''m only 28," Eugene comments...


    "And I''m nine years younger than you, Eugene," Kuroiwa responds immediately.


    Eugene- clears his throat. "Geez... one hell of a wake up call for me... what is it? My face, my clothes?"


    Kuroiwa isn''t indulging in this conversation any further, and moves on.


    "Moving on. So, you were 19 around the time ''Chouko Ashford'' spread across the media. Story?"


    "W... Well, sure, I know about you. Your one appearance at the presentation left an impression on me and my friend," Eugene answers, scratching the back of his head.


    "Friend?"


    "Yeah. Media may have forgotten you, but he and I didn''t. I was there, supporting my classmate while he was presenting his little invention, that Vanilla prototype, and saw that whole- show."


    "... oh. You''re an acquaintance of that one inventor years ago," Kuroiwa comments. Somehow, Eugene''s entire personality makes more sense, knowing this information. People keep alike company, more often than not.


    "Yep. He took the language thing and worked on it as a passion project. Took a solid gamble with your dad''s scholarship and all," Eugene idly comments. "Dude wouldn''t stop talking about how lucky he was that you were there to sell his invention and all. Fame went to his head, and we kind of just... stopped talking altogether. One of the big reasons why I recognized you, so... yeah."


    "Right..."


    Kuroiwa... hms at this. There''s more to learn about E, now that he''s conceptually... the classmate of the founder of all modern Android technology. Plus, he knows her face already. No use in wasting this chance, might as well indulge in his hospitality.


    Thus, she unlocks her car door, readying to accept his offer for some refreshment. "On second thought, Eugene. I''d like to come in for some tea. If you don''t mind my departure from your home to be a little late?"


    "N-Not at all! I''m alright with welcoming you for some time, not every day a Japanese woman, and British prodigy, comes over for a friendly chat... especially one from the same professional circles and all," Eugene responds.


    "Indeed," Kuroiwa nonchalantly responds.


    Eugene nods, then walks to close the garage door. "... first, mind backing up a little? Carefully, of course. I secured the boxes, sure, but-"


    "Yes, yes, slowly, regardless," Kuroiwa comments, pulling the car into reverse and driving carefully backwards. "I am aware."


    The garage door closes, Kuroiwa turns the car off and steps out, and the two begin to make their way into Eugene''s home.


    Eugene opens the door to enter, and the two step into... a normal living room. A typical one. Normal couch with a standard TV. Normal beige walls. Curiously, a display case of anime figurines in the corner of the room, likely to show off his high value merchandise. Unremarkable living room regardless. Simple modern living area, with the rest of his house unknown to her.


    "Hm." Kuroiwa looks down at the hardwood floor, standing right outside the open door. "Would you prefer I remove my shoes?"


    "You can keep them on, hardwood floor. Doesn''t matter all that much," Eugene responds. "Any other room in this house, though- y''know. Carpets... kitchen tile..."


    "Right."


    Kuroiwa stares down at the floor for a moment...


    ...


    "... please excuse me," Kuroiwa politely calls out, before stepping through. "Apologies that I didn''t bring a welcoming gift, this is an unexpected visit..."


    "Pff-" Eugene lets out a laugh at this, almost chuckling. "No problem. Tea''ll be ready in just a little bit. Make yourself at home, Ashford."


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    "Chouko will do..." Kuroiwa corrects, before walking over to the couch. "And... very well."


    As Eugene heads into the kitchen to, apparently, prepare the tea... Kuroiwa takes out the phone and begins to text Charon about her pit stop. Simply informing him that she''s making a temporary stop for now. Sitting contently and comfortably on one end of the couch, relaxing just for the slightest of moments as she is accustoming herself to the room and all.


    Almost ready to go into this conversation as just... Chouko, no Kuroiwa behind it.


    Then, she gets snapped out of this foolish notion, as Eugene sees her on the phone. "Texting someone?" Eugene calls out immediately, suspicious...


    "My... handler," Kuroiwa responds, hesitation in her voice as she honestly responds. "Informing him of my ''pit stop'' for now. Did not elaborate anything about you or this home... so, nothing to worry about."


    "Right- right. Okay," Eugene comments, returning to the kitchen.


    ...


    Kuroiwa lets out a sigh as she pockets the phone. Right. Equal footing does not mean a full, complete friendship. Eugene was understandably cautious in that moment. Kuroiwa could have been texting anyone about him, revealing anything about him under the guise of comfortably relaxing. At the same time, Eugene could be contacting anyone about her at the same time.


    This is a visit between professionals on guard and wary of each other. Not a causal, careless stay. There was no room to be Chouko right now.


    Eventually, Eugene returns with a fresh pot of tea and some cups. Blatantly Japanese themed, these green cylindrical cups coming with no handles or saucers.


    "... hm. Green tea?" Kuroiwa asks, immediately- taking assumption that Eugene''s brewed the one tea most common in anime.


    "Yep," Eugene responds, pouring some for her. "Enjoy."


    Kuroiwa nods, reaching a hand out to...


    ... hold the cup, then pull her hand away. The cup is hot. It''s too hot for her to hold like that. Kuroiwa''s not used to it. With handles on the tea cups she''s used to, she didn''t need to be cautious about the surface temperature on her hand...


    "Pfft-" Eugene chuckles again, as he pours himself a cup. "I''m witnessing someone going through an unexpected culture shock here..."


    "Hah," Kuroiwa sarcastically noises, sighing as she gently holds the cup. Blowing gently into it.


    A silence between the two, as Eugene holds his cup in two hands, taking a sip from it right away. Kuroiwa suspects that he''s... more than used to the tea, apparently, knowing precisely what temperature he wants.


    With nothing to do but wait for her tea to cool off... Kuroiwa lets out a resigned sigh. "... so. You have your suspicions validated, now I''d like to ask about mine. Are my assumptions about you correct? Psychological tactics?"


    "... kind of, yeah?" Eugene explains, tilting his head slightly. "I- I might need you to explain a little, what you mean by that."


    "Alright. So, your instructions are very detailed, a packet''s worth of instructions that a normal person would struggle to remember by their lonesome," Kuroiwa comments. "Intentional?"


    Eugene nods. "Intentional. The cargo''s high value, high ticket. I can''t just let anyone come into my garage, they need to be the one I paid money for, so... y''know, paper, make the mercenary in the truck follow them and all."


    "Right. So the instructions are there to overwhelm my memory alongside all of these posters and your unremarkable, middle-aged appearance," Kuroiwa comments. "Masks your identity."


    "Huh... yeah, that''s also right," E comments, visibly more nervous now... both because he''s being called middle-aged again, and also because Kuroiwa is outstandingly correct. "N... Not a lot of people would pick up on that. Sure, I love the hell out of anime, but keeping like... dozens of posters in the garage, definitely got my reasons to put all of them up."


    "Yes, I''ve deduced as much... the Seven, Plus or Minus Two, concept," Kuroiwa comments.


    "The- the induction script?" asks Eugene.


    "... what?" Kuroiwa asks, confused.


    "Huh?" Eugene blurts out, almost immediately, to cover the fact he just said that. "... uhm, anyway, I... I basically just thought, ''if people just think I am nothing more than a guy who really freaking loves anime'', then there isn''t much of a chance for them to think I''m anything else. I think it''s the- I dunno, Barnum Effect? Saw it in an anime..."


    "Well, no, the Barnum Effect is the opposite," Kuroiwa corrects. "The idea follows someone believing general statements to apply to them, specifically. You would be putting up posters to make people focus heavily on you, that you''re not just a guy that loves anime. You''re the guy in question. This only applies in cases similar to... if I told you, ''people are just getting dumber and dumber every day, man!'' and you begin assuming this statement is directed to you."


    "Ah... that makes sense," Eugene responds.


    "Mm. See, I believe what you''re suggesting is... the Asch Conformity Effect, if memory serves me correct," Kuroiwa comments, scratching her chin lightly. "In the 1950s, psychologist Solomon Asch demonstrated how individuals are likely to give incorrect responses in order to conform to the group. The experiment involved a line test, a ''vision test'' amongst a group of fellow participants to examine a line segment and choose from three different lengths. The pressure to follow along with the majority, to reduce conflict and all, resulted in students intentionally choosing an incorrect answer."


    "..." Eugene nods idly, listening to Kuroiwa''s long explanation. He''s passionate about anime, she''s passionate about... psychology.


    "Combine this with the Social Identity theory, that most people adopt the identity of the social group you''re a part of, and you maintain a positive image by belonging with the ''passionate anime lovers'' and all. No signs that you''re standing out as anything different. Unlikely that anyone will find out that you''re an illegal arms dealer."


    "... hey, what I''m doing isn''t illegal!" Eugene objects. "Weren''t you the one who figured out I was delivering something- toy like? Not a gun or something outlawed, it''s-"


    "An android," Kuroiwa explains.


    "Andr-" Eugene blinks in pure shock, caught off guard again. "... wh... what in the... that''s... that''s so freaky. What exactly even gave it away?"


    Kuroiwa folds her hands on her lap, becoming... content, with this discussion. The grand part about being impressive is having someone to discuss things with. E is proving himself an interesting "equal" with everything so far. Sure, she needs to be on guard, but it''s clear that Eugene is making an effort to chat and converse. The man is putting her on a metaphorical pedestal, as the honored guest in this situation.


    So, she indulges him with honesty. Fair honesty. Explaining to him that it began with the toy soldier...


    "Pfft. Just a toy soldier?" Eugene asks.


    "Yes. A small detail that isn''t important, really. It helps to note every single detail you come across, every detail you find about a person. For example..." Kuroiwa leans back against the couch. "... while- stereotypical, imagine... a blonde woman dressed in revealing clothing. You have your assumptions about this woman, yes? How she might be- promiscuous, carelessly free-spirited?"


    "I... I guess, but I don''t think that''s enough to really tell me anything about her," Eugene comments.


    "Right. That''s why you focus on more. What if I told you she has a handbag with a poodle inside of it, vibrant lipstick coating her lips, and designer sunglasses?" Kuroiwa asks.


    Eugene... blinks in astonishment. "O... Oh. So that would be a supermodel. So she isn''t as free-spirited, she has to keep up with beauty trends and stuff."


    "Yes, but... that''s simply one possibility, one that overwrote the previous possibility with new information," Kuroiwa comments, proudly grinning as she continues her chat. "Like what came after the toy soldier. The actual thing that gave you away was the instructions, taking back the instructions and leaving me with just a phone number. How the numbers don''t match whatsoever. Do you have multiple phones, Eugene?"


    Eugene nods. "Mhmm... in case an unwanted guy sees the paper and all, the contrasting phone number''s meant to shake them off and all."


    "Mhmm. The mystery of your name, the phones, all of that... it was the instigator for me to believe you were more than just E," Kuroiwa bluntly admits. "I erroneously believed you a psychological mastermind of deception, one that erases himself from the minds of other mercenaries. In hindsight... I was overestimating you."


    "Still, you estimated me regardless. That counts for something," Eugene boldly comments, taking another sip of his tea before pouring himself another cup. "A guy with one single psychology class in high school... a psychology master! Hah."


    "Yes, yes, that is quite... funny," Kuroiwa comments, grinning lightly as she continues. "This caused me to pay attention to other details. The large box, how careful you are with number 45... how it coincidentally lines up with ''45k'', compared to the other numbers. Forgive me for making this assumption, but... one of my suspicions is that you have OCD."


    "OCD? That thing that makes you knock on the door three times, three times?" Eugene idly references, tilting his head.


    "No," Kuroiwa answers, shutting that idea down immediately. "Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Basically, obsessive thoughts - perhaps fears - leading to compulsive behaviors. You appear to organize a lot, from... how you organize your posters in clusters, how most of the figurines in your case are facing towards the wall across... even how you drink your tea."


    "How I drink my tea...?" Eugene asks, tilting his head.


    "Yes. This is a curious detail, an obscure one, but... I''m counting numbers in my head ever since your first sip," Kuroiwa begins to explain. "I''ve noticed you take a sip every twenty seconds, involuntarily."


    "..." Eugene gulps down his tea as he gazes at Kuroiwa. "Holy shit."


    "Yeah, it''s... it''s interesting," Kuroiwa honestly compliments, smiling. "Furthermore, your elaborate instructions to follow exactly, for example. It lines up with your anxiety about your identity, as well as your need to carry the boxes yourself. With that, I... made the guess that number 45 is important. Utilizing the potential, instinctive obsession with organization and detail you have."


    "..." Eugene claps slightly. "Am- am I being diagnosed by a doctor right now, Chouko?"


    "I''m not certified," Kuroiwa truthfully admits. "Once you gave away that my guess was correct, I... deduced it had to be connected to a toy. Hence, ''mint condition''... dolls came to mind."


    "Right- right. Wow. You''re-" Eugene idly stammers, in disbelief. "That''s really cool."


    "Yes. But for a life-sized toy, one that''s about the shape of a human, I was sure it was an android, but there is no certainty without asking. There were countless hypotheses of what''s inside... so, thanks to my word choice, you just proved at the start of this conversation that it''s an android. You didn''t deny it when I claimed it was an android, and- now that I''m bringing it to your attention..."


    "..." Eugene takes another sip of his tea, blinking. "Woah. Y... Yeah, actually. The box contains an android..."


    "Thank you for your confirmation. By how amazed you are at my deductions, I simply guessed on all of it," Kuroiwa admits, proudly grinning. "Psychology doesn''t let someone read minds, contrary to popular opinion... a psychologist just generalizes and guesses to see what''s likely. Basically, normal science. Hypothesis and testing and all."


    Eugene puts his cup down and just nods. "Y... You''re on a whole different level, Chouko!"


    "Thank you, thank you..." Kuroiwa comments, smiling.


    "S... So, wait, you''re uncertified..." Eugene speaks up, leaning forward. "Why? You seem like you''re capable enough to be a full blown psychologist. You notice all these things like a professional, apparently diagnosed that I have OCD-"


    "Not officially," Kuroiwa interrupts.


    "Right. What... what made you stop?" Eugene asks, tilting his head. "Why''d you give up on that?"


    Kuroiwa stares at Eugene as he asks that, her smile fading. Staring at him with a serious glance, before... looking at her cup. Staring at the cup for a while.


    Then, she answers.


    "... n... none of it was for me," Chouko answers. "I just... I just didn''t want to continue with university. Try as I might, I just... I couldn''t make that final push, I couldn''t run the companies I was expected to, and... and I just-"


    "You ran away from it... and you disappeared..." Eugene finishes, interrupting the recap with what he knows. "... a... after, y''know, the... the thing, nine years ago..."


    "..." Chouko goes silent, her eyes watering slightly. "Y... Yes... I... I guess I did..."


    "I see... but... out of all things you could be... you chose the mercenary world...?" Eugene asks. "Being a messenger for a mercenary to deliver toy products across states... money''s okay, but... for a girl like you, you could be doing something else with your life. Something easier, something better. Why do any of this?"


    Chouko stares down at the coffee table for a bit, reaching out to try again to hold the cup. Copying Eugene''s hand positions, holding the tea carefully- feeling the warmth of the beverage as she stares deeply into the tea itself.


    Whatever semblance of a reflection she could see, Chouko gazes deeply into it. And for a brief moment, she begins to slip some of her explanation.


    A pause of silence, the woman''s red eyes gazing at Eugene for some time. Seeing his curious facial expression, his eyes gazing back as if waiting for an answer. An inquisitive look.


    "..." Then, Kuroiwa... shakes her head. "I can''t say."


    Eugene pours another cup of tea for himself, pushing and pressing the topic. A friendly smile on his face, as if he''s fallen into some casual comradery - camaraderie, a mutual friendship of trust - between the two. "C''mon. I won''t tell. I''m just really curious about it. Might be a whole story to keep between us and all."


    Kuroiwa simply answers with another shake of the head. They may be on "secrets within walls" terms, but she''s keeping that to herself. She doesn''t trust Eugene enough for any of it.


    Who Eugene knows about, and should only know about right now... is Chouko Ashford.


    Not the remains of Chouko. Not the Stalker, not whatever- Eugene simply knows about the woman sitting on his couch, invited in to partake in some tea. "Sorry. I... I simply- can''t talk about it. Eugene, in full... honesty... it''s something only I can bear."


    Eugene- nods, after having pressed and pushed the topic. "O... Okay. I understand..."


    "..." Kuroiwa... takes a moment to look at a clock in the house. Gazing at it, before putting the cup back down on the table. "Would you look at the time? I shall be excusing myself. Until next time, Eugene."


    Kuroiwa decides that she can''t accept the tea from Eugene, right now. Professional business only. Kuroiwa''s hands putting the teacup down before she even takes a single sip.


    She''s already "spilled enough tea"...


    ... and is retreating from this conversation.

 #10 - Everything Left Behind

    "W... Wait, you haven''t had a single drop!" Eugene calls out, getting up in shock as the woman is on her way out. Not a single sip of green tea, just- because it was too hot for her to pick up?


    "Apologies. It''s simply... not for me," Kuroiwa explains.


    "A-Alright, b... but... uhm- don''t you want to stick around, know about what you''re delivering?" Eugene calls out. "Like, what''s in 45?"


    Kuroiwa shakes her head. "Not particularly."


    "Well, it''s a rare and limited-edition Sweet Bot, its box in perfect condition and all. Top of the line," Eugene begins to explain as he follows after Kuroiwa. Entering the garage with her, watching her get into the pickup truck. "Worth quite a lot of money, y''know? ... right, you do know that. But-"


    "Please, open the garage door," Kuroiwa instructs, showing absolute indifference to what Eugene explains. "I just need to know that I''m driving this to Omaha. Nothing more, nothing less, Eugene."


    "... b... but- uhm. It''s an interesting marketing pitch! The salesmen at the company''s-"


    "Eugene, you''re stalling," Kuroiwa bluntly states, calling him and his incessantly rambling self out. "Are you trying to keep me from leaving? ... you have been, for a while, actually."


    Eugene... stares at Kuroiwa for a bit, before sighing.


    "I... I just didn''t want you to go," he truthfully admits. "Not until... n-not until-"


    "Until what?" Kuroiwa asks, glaring at Eugene. "What could you possibly-?"


    "I- I wanted to find a way to s-say you''re welcome back here, anytime!" Eugene exclaims, blurting out to interrupt Kuroiwa.


    Kuroiwa loses her glare as her eyes... widen slightly, looking to Eugene. "... uh... thanks? I-"


    "I-It''s just- listen, I... I heard about the funeral. Then the news said you disappeared, presumably died, and- and here you are. I''m in front of the girl who, who I just- it''s- I''m- I just..."


    Eugene... takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts. "... I... I feel- I feel sorry, y''know. For all that all happened..."


    "..."


    ... Eugene covers his face, sighing. "... a... alright? T... That''s all. I- I''ll... I''ll let you go now. Good luck with the delivery..." He walks to the garage door switch, letting the garage door open for Kuroiwa.


    Kuroiwa stares at Eugene, speechless for a bit.


    "... Eugene. What was- what was his name again?"


    "...?" Eugene looks back to Kuroiwa, eyebrow raised. "Huh?"


    "His name. The inventor''s. The one who made Vanilla," Kuroiwa idly continues.


    Eugene blinks in astonishment, looking at the garage door as it opens. "... h... have I not been saying his name? That''s- oh, wow, I haven''t. It''s- huh. Why am I just calling him ''my friend'' instead of his actual name?"


    Kuroiwa shrugs. "I have no idea. Well, then." Putting the car into drive, ready to leave.


    "..." Eugene narrows his eyes. "Wa... wait, don''t you want to know his name? He-"


    "Save it. It will be a mystery that we will discuss when I come back," Kuroiwa responds.


    "I- but- why would it be a mystery if-"


    "Eugene."


    Looking to see an... earnest... smile. One meant to be given to a friend, one meant to express pleasantries rather than discomfort. "Thanks for the tea. I''ll be happy to have a chat again sometime."


    "... u... uhm! Sure-" Eugene blurts out, effectively sidetracked enough to go along with that reasoning. "I''ll- have some green ready for you, then. You''re- you''re welcome back any time, okay? A-After the delivery and all."


    "I''d like that," Kuroiwa responds, continuing to smile. "Instead of green tea, though... could you... possibly have some Earl Grey, if possible. Lemon and honey. I''ll have some money to pay you back for the trouble."


    Eugene... nods. "L... Looking forward to it, Chouko. Earl Grey it is."


    With that, Kuroiwa drives out of the garage, and the pickup truck is off to Omaha.


    For a while, as Kuroiwa drives off the neighborhood street, Kuroiwa maintains that smile. That pleasant smile, one that looks in the rearview mirror and looks to the house she was driving away from.


    Then, turning off of the street... the smile fades.


    Kuroiwa has a blank gaze as she grew tired of that charade. Already sick of Eugene and his elaborate tedium, seeing right through his trickery.


    Eugene''s sincerity could have been opportunity to discover other things about him, to seize his information and learn more about him. But those words are as hollow as they always have been. The moment those words came out, these "whole-hearted" apologies from people expecting stuff from her, there''s nothing else that Kuroiwa wants to know about this man.


    Whatever threat he was, gone. Eugene is just another sympathetic person willing to be the shoulder to cry on. Nothing of value as a person, nothing different or worthwhile to offer. Eugene is what she has already deduced time and time again:


    An attempted replacement of her father.


    Maybe these people didn''t understand how much Charles meant to her. When they say these words, when they tell her these apologies, when they show her meaningless sympathy and occasional empathy. It would make her job a lot easier if they just keep quiet and continued with whatever semblance of a life they have instead of trying to enter her world.


    But no. Kuroiwa has to listen to their incessant "I''m sorry for your loss" statements, their endless "condolences". Attempting to make her falter, almost trying to... humanize... what she''s become.


    That''s probably why Kuroiwa doesn''t care about the inventor''s name. Kuroiwa used it to excuse herself and give Eugene something to look forward to, when... in truth, she doesn''t care. Kuroiwa really doesn''t care. No interest in it whatsoever. A reminder of a time she can never go back to.


    It''s an astonishing feat for her, really. By some miracle, this inventor''s name has alluded her mind. One of the many... comforts, in Kuroiwa''s life. As the world progressed because of this man, he just... he just faded away in her mind. At no point did she or Charles pay him any attention.


    The fact of the matter is... as long as his name remains forgotten, Kuroiwa has nothing- nothing at all to worry about. It is a good luck charm to NOT know this man''s name. A rather whimsical thought, really.


    A thought occuring to her at the start of this drive, the beginning of a drive to last approximately 14-ish hours, a destination 900+ miles away, Sensitive cargo. Cautious driving. A completely unremarkable journey just to deliver the android in Box 45. Hours upon hours of driving, passing by unimportant landmarks and such. Other cars, other... things.


    Noting of specific note whatsoever. A simple, general drive there, with Kuroiwa not caring about the surrounding scenery.


    No, in order to efficiently drive, one must devote their attention to the front, to the sides and back of the vehicle. There is no time to see the passing West Pennsylvanian sights, or any of the sights from Pittsburgh to Omaha. With that in mind, nothing of value comes to Kuroiwa''s attention.


    This nothing serves as fortunate signs of luck, really. She''s already used to nothing happening near her, and almost thrives off of it. Tedium is equal to being safe, to being undetected. One of the greatest things to indicate the job is running smoothly. Exceptions exist, of course, but... the general idea for most jobs is as follows: if nothing happens, then Kuroiwa is doing her job properly.


    That''s right. That''s all. When nothing happens, it''s safe. When nothing happens, it''s okay.


    When nothing happens, then no one has to die.


    "..."


    Kuroiwa- shakes her head, and turns on the radio. She needs to drown out the sound of the cars, the deafening sound of highway peace.


    Complete peace amongst the cars going through the interstate highways, as she is simply a red pickup truck traveling amongst common vehicles. SUVs, convertibles, hatchbacks, sedans... even vans, minivans, wagons, buses, trucks, and other pickups. All these cars around her, traveling the same roads, driving along.


    To drown this sound out... the radio is turned on, and a commercial conveniently plays.


    Car crash sound effects. People screaming in horror. Babies crying and dogs howling.


    "Tired of having to drive place to place?! Worried that you''ll end up in an accident?!"


    Ah. Kuroiwa squints her eyes. Car crashes are and have always been concerns people fear. This is a commercial for a product related to that.


    Today''s societal advancements purely prioritized cybernetics and androids, so the "futuristic flying cars" and "fully autonomous self driving cars" have yet to exist. The classics are still widely used today, and the modern exceptions remain grounded in the Artificial Revolution.


    So the answer to the concerns of car crashes:


    "Then say hello to the St. Martin Driving Chip! A brain chip used to regulate your movements, giving you the time to rest while your body autonomously drives for you! Able to think for you as you drive, transmitting its state of the art muscle-signaling motions while letting YOU enjoy your commute in peace and relaxation! So what are you waiting for?! Get one installed, and take back the time you waste on driving!"


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    As absurd as this concept once was, this was a common sight nowadays. On this highway alone, even. The stiffness of various drivers that Kuroiwa passes by, it was evident that there were people letting the brain technology drive the entire trip for them. Entrusting their lives to a technology that operates as just one of those car GPS things.


    The way it works is admittedly efficient. A destination is inputted, and the technology regulates muscle movements to perfectly drive to said destination. From its initial conception to today, the technology has been perfected, and the total amount of chip-caused accidents have been reduced to purely 1% (omitting the crashes caused by manual drivers).


    Not only do these drivers perfectly follow road safety laws, the chips also search for the nearest gas stations when the fuel is low. The driver wakes up as the car pulls in, is aware of the gas station, and... yeah. Once it''s done, the driver continues his journey.


    Ingenious. Conceptually useful for drivers like Kuroiwa.


    However, given the fact that these brain chips obey every road safety law, engaging with a driver that has one of these chips is a jail sentence if you''re engaging with any sort of illegal activity. Getaway drivers, smugglers, traffickers... none of these vehicular "criminals" make use of this technology, as using one has them directed to police stations upon the driver''s criminal activity.


    On the other end, the commercial RIGHT after this... follows the same hook. Repeating the exact, EXACT same commercial sound effects...


    Car crash sound effects. People screaming in horror. Babies crying and dogs howling.


    "Are you tired of driving from place to place, forced to show caution when THIS can happen?! Then say hello to your newest chauffeur, Chavez! Say hello to everyone, Chavez!"


    "HELLO. EVERYONE."


    Ah, yes. Hello, Chavez.


    "Chavez is a prime chauffeur robot designed for driving any distance you need. Simply tell Chavez where you need to go, and he will escort you safely. With state of the art technology to drive you where you want to go, as well as state of the art entertainment software installed in each android, you will never- ever- be bored with your Chavez. Isn''t that right?"


    "THAT''S RIGHT! SHALL WE PLAY A GAME?"


    Children cheering.


    A popular option if one doesn''t want cybernetic car driving. Rather than drive yourself, you have an android do it. Gives a sense of "luxury", of comfort and class to have a chauffeur and all. A service where an android fully integrates itself with the car, utilizing its navigation software to travel across extensive areas.


    This "Chavez" is one of the most popular options for passenger people, going so far as to have holographic technology to provide entertainment throughout the journey. Parents buy their own Chavez to escort their children to and from school, only needing to have Chavez report if all their kids are in the car, and... there we go.


    Public transport via bus, taxi, even mobile services... the human driver is no longer a factor with these androids. Vehicle companies enlist these android products, from Chavez Corp., Belv-Way-dere, MetroNet, and so on... to organize public traffic and all. Inherently, these androids are specially designed with safety and driving, as well as technology for them to handle car accidents.


    Cybernetics... androids... Kuroiwa doesn''t care, really. As of right now, the only technology Kuroiwa has on hand is the cellphone. The essential device to dispatch of both cybernetics and androids in this world.


    Kuroiwa doesn''t need anything else. She can drive perfectly fine. It''s a fine journey, one that sends her past the borders of Ohio. Plenty of time to just tune out, to just automate her own thinking to just driving. A safe drive with nothing but-


    "And we''re back! Hello, listeners and viewers, you''re now with Target News Ohio - the station that gets a bullseye every time. I''m Thomas Anderson."


    "And I''m Barbara Summers."


    Hm. Target News. Kuroiwa blinks for a bit as her attention''s brought to this news station. The station is some sort of "Ohioan" branch of a news network, a combination radio and TV broadcast. A common occurrence with old news media nowadays, with Target News being one of the surviving channels. A pure rarity nowadays, as most of the major ones have already moved to other mediums beyond radio and TV. Thus, these ones are simply here for the stubborn classic lovers. AKA, people who still own cable TVs and drive traditional cars like this pickup truck.


    One male news anchor, Thomas Anderson. One female news anchor, Barbara Summers.


    "If you''re just tuning in, then listen up. Breaking news over to our neighbors in Pennsylvania, the CEO of ''Sedimate LLC'' was found dead in his home."


    Kuroiwa is visibly intrigued at this.


    So... they found Gardner. His death enough to reach Ohio, apparently...


    "Terrence Gardner, 36. Officers found him bleeding out from his neck, shot in cold blood with his own rifle. With only his fingerprints on the rifle, as well as how it was found, officers have ruled his death as a suicide."


    As planned...


    "One is left to wonder the reasons, the motives he could have had to do this, but some information about Gardner has come to light following his death. The man has engaged in countless hookups with Pennsylvanian women, driving them to his forest home and sleeping with them."


    "None have come forward as of right now," the female anchor begins to speak, "because all of them have been reported missing. Various women from ages 18-24, picked up from bars and such, with the latest one disappearing the night he died. All law enforcement has, in terms of her description, is testimony from bartenders suggesting her long blonde hair and lavishly blue dress."


    Kuroiwa chuckles contently at this. Apparently, the bartenders have mistaken her appearance, incorrectly describing the one before her.


    Primacy bias. One remembers the first items in a series better than the ones that follow. When the officers interrogated the area, testimony simply generalized the women that Gardner met before Kuroiwa. So all they have: "blonde" and "blue dress".


    Heh.


    "Wow, Barbara. I sure am glad I''m not a bar woman right now," the male anchor comments. "Tragically, this isn''t the first time a CEO has met an end. Across this last decade, countless businessmen have been reported dead time and time again. CEOs from lesser companies of failing technologies, and CEOs from the biggest companies in today''s age."


    "What do you think could be the cause of this, Tom?"


    "Well. In full honesty, I have no idea, Barbara. But scientists theorize that the deaths of our businessmen, suicide or not, have exponentially increased following the media coverage of an event surrounding America''s--"


    Tom says an irrelevant name that Kuroiwa''s never heard of before, and... the woman pbffts at this. Chuckling with great amusement as they blurt out that name, hearing a name that was indescribably generic.


    "Yes, yes, listeners," the news anchor comments. "All this death followed the death America''s AI golden child, Vanilla."


    ...


    Shit.


    Kuroiwa grits her teeth as she- she realizes that they said his name on air.


    The inventor''s.


    "Following the unexpected shutdown of Vanilla, countless businesses around the world have found themselves with their executive higher-ups dying."


    This was an omen... Kuroiwa sighs. She''s lost the good luck charm that guaranteed her safety. A superstition, sure, but one that''s proven itself relevant throughout these years.


    "America''s faced a dark five years as these people cowardly claim their own lives. If not even our businessmen can handle living, what gives the rest of us hope?"


    The fact that the inventor''s name is now known to her. Kuroiwa knows his name, now. Kuroiwa had to be more cautious, now. She can''t let her guard down, in the event this means something now, and-


    "No greater coward than the suicide that happened nine years ago, the economic hand of Charles Ashford. McCarthy''s biggest supporter in the form of scholarship and publicity, presumably the start of this death of our economy."


    ...


    They...


    They think her father''s death was a suicide?


    They think-


    They think that he took his own life in that hotel room?


    Kuroiwa''s eyes widen in horror as the radio''s voice tuned out, as she grips the steering wheel with a tight hand. A dark gaze in her eyes as she stares forward, staring at the back of the car in front of her.


    Charles Ashford. A suicide.


    "Woah- Tom, you sure have it out for the British. ''Greatest Coward''? Way to pay respects."


    "Well, sure. In this anchor''s honest opinion? Good riddance. Time and time again, those Brits screwed our society''s media over, y''know? All these crimes, all this desolation- that''s why our country split from them in the first place. Now we just know them for their funny accents, overrated fanciness, and... them literally dying over here. Charles isn''t the only one, there''s more like him, but- with how important he was, it just sparked a trend with our businessmen, British and American."


    Calm down.


    "Sure, it''s sad he took his own life, but why wouldn''t I blame Ashford? He''s the inciting incident, a pretty aged man born into riches and already on his way out, just... doing something that gets station after station to report it in memoriam. It brings a tear to my heart, but maybe he just wanted to take his life in peace without making a grand spectacle over it."


    Calm down, Kuroiwa.


    "Instead, with hIs pompous, pretentious attitude a symbol of success, he became some martyr, a lure for all those British folk to just come over here. To the land of the free, the home of the brave, and progressively die on us too. Apparently, death is what gets on the news nowadays, right?"


    Don''t get riled up.


    "It''s not like all of them are bad, sure! I''m not discrediting British people as a whole, honestly. Just... what good have they done for society lately? We live in a society of psychopathic criminals that make us unable to leave our rooms, every bit of news is just something about death or technology..."


    Don''t. Don''t do anything rash.


    "Just, get to doing something worthwhile for the world again, Britain! Am I right? I''m right- if Charles was so great, why don''t we just- have more men like him, men willing to be what he was. A shitty businessman on the brink of death, ready to cause and create the next big thing!"


    Don''t. Don''t. Don''t...


    "In this reporter''s honest opinion, he was a piece of crap. Tell me one good thing he did, eh? I''ll wait, Britain. Come on and call!"


    ...


    "Well- haha, anyway, sorry for that tangent, everyone. Now, onto more pressing... oh- what''s that? I''m getting a call," the male anchor comments, chuckling. "Haha. Me, myself! Unknown number, probably one of those scam robocall and all. Any bets on if I''ve attracted one of those Brits for real?"


    "High bets, Tom. Passionate nationalism on full display, everyone," the female anchor comments.


    "Sounds about right! Whoever''s calling right now probably wants to be on TV, on radio, whatever. Let''s welcome them, everyone!" The anchor, Tom, answers the phone in the middle of the news. "Hello, viewer and-or listener, you''re on with Tom! Be aware you''re being broadcast to thousands of Buckeyes right now as-"


    "HE WAS NOT A SUICIDE, YOU ABSOLUTE BUFFOON!"


    Kuroiwa shouts into the phone, gritting her teeth as she drives down the highway. The bloodthirsty gaze in her eyes as she shouts with all of her might, with all of her lungs. Completely unrestrained, absolutely hateful and angry.


    Fulfilling Tom''s little "bet" on an angry Brit being attracted by that nonsense.


    It was astonishing that she got the news anchor itself in the middle of the broadcast. The call very visibly catching him off guard while he was covering the story, Kuroiwa managing to get his personal phone number in the time between now and when Tom mentioned her father.


    And she has a pure, personal disdain against this news anchor.


    "Uh- haha- who is this? Why-"


    "I WAS THERE. I SAW HIM RIGHT BEFORE MY EYES. IT WAS A MURDER, YOU INSOLENT WASTE OF A NEWS REPORTER!" Kuroiwa shouts, gripping the phone. Having the safety of using an encrypted phone line, the number being the only thing traceable from her phone. "YOU DARE CALL HIM PRETENTIOUS WHEN YOU CAN''T EVEN BE BOTHERED TO GET YOUR FACTS STRAIGHT?!"


    "... well!" the man shouts. "I- I don''t know who this is, but-"


    "IF YOU EVER TALK ABOUT HIM IN THAT WAY AGAIN, I WILL GO TO THAT NEWS STATION AND ADD YOUR NAME TO THE BUSINESSMEN SUICIDE LIST TOO, THOMAS ANDERSON. 45. THAT''S RIGHT. ANDERSON. YOU''RE GOING TO BE ANOTHER STATISTIC TO ADD TO THE PILE. ALONG WITH GARDNER."


    A pause of silence between the phone call, as well as the news radio channel. Kuroiwa is relying on people interpreting her call as a fallacious threat, an empty one spoken with pure livid rage. The rage that only Gardner''s killer could ever show towards a person, carrying a genuine tone intent on scaring the anchor out of his own body.


    "... Tom, if- if you need to take the-"


    "No, no, I... uh... c... can... can we cut to commercial for a moment?"


    A complete and utter shock to local Ohio media, one that blends in with the hostility of anonymity, making many question the truth to the point of its obscurity. The news anchors'' hesitance an absolute explosion of societal panic.


    "Alright. We''ll be right back after these messages."


    A visible look of glee on Kuroiwa''s face as the news theme plays. Absolutely seething, absolutely hyperventilating after that call. A maniacal look of pure, livid rage on her face as she drives forward, shaking with pure amusement.


    "W... Who is this? Why are you- how do you have this number-?"


    "Goodbye, Mr. Anderson. I''ll be listening."


    Kuroiwa hangs up immediately, pressing the end call button and pocketing her phone. An audible giggle, a cackle of glee and amusement as she''s sent the channel into commercials. It''s always satisfied Kuroiwa to see these people suffer. Always has.


    Makes her feel something, imagining the terror on that pitiful news anchor''s face... grinning widely. Maybe Tom is shaking in his pathetic boots, scared for his life after that hostile threat. Death threats are not uncommon in his line of work, sure, but being shouted at by someone who claims to have seen his death? To have personally been there?


    Heh... and now she has his cellphone number, with the press of a button.

 #11 - Traffic Stop and Highway Robbery

    After hours... upon hours... of driving, the sun sets and Kuroiwa makes it to the halfway point of the drive. Relatively exhausted, with a grim look on her face. Any further driving is a pure risk to her safety and the safety of everyone around her.


    The girl''s entertained and energized herself solely on the thought of that news anchor, as her surroundings become a blur and she distracts herself with his suffering. All that suffering and fear he might be experiencing after that phone call, spooked by some ominously unidentified creature and all.


    But it was such a miniscule victory, those of which the feeling always fades with time. That brief, fleeting rush goes away in the face of unyielding monotony, of blatant boredom and disinterest.


    "..." Sigh.


    Kuroiwa''s plan for tonight is to stop somewhere, to pull off of the highway and contact Charon.


    Right away, she knows that leaving the truck as is at a roadside motel is unacceptable. Anyone staying there could simply take things out of the truck. The alternative, taking the boxes out of the car and into the room is needlessly tedious. She would need to take every single box out of the car and into the room, leading to an uncomfortable situation altogether.


    No, what she expects is to find a sort of parking lot to rest for the night, planning to rest in the seat and leave the pickup truck in her care and watch. So, maybe finding a truck stop will be sufficient. Kuroiwa is handling sensitive cargo, and there''s this sort of unity and security amongst the truckers. Maybe she would simply be able to rest in the car for the entire time, wake up to a shower and some breakfast. That ever so endearing American truck stop diner vibe.


    Well. Problems to handle later down the line. For now-


    Suddenly- police sirens echo and blare out. Kuroiwa seeing the flash of red and blue behind her, as a police car is trying to get her to pull to the side of the highway.


    "..." Kuroiwa sighs as she changes lanes accordingly, starting to stop the car. Pressing a speed-dial button to contact Charon, pocketing the phone. A calm look on her face as she takes a deep breath. This is just a routine stop. The police will write a ticket for her license and registration...


    In the time that passes, Kuroiwa wonders what the issue might be. If she''s violated some traffic law, if there was some issue with the truck itself that requires law enforcement to involve itself. Speed limits, broken tail lights, so on.


    An officer approaches the side, looking to Kuroiwa. No remarkable facial features, other than his standard-issue cybernetics. His eyes, a bright artificial cyan.


    "... good evening. Is there something wrong, officer?" Kuroiwa asks.


    "Step out of the vehicle, ma''am," the officer responds, immediately.


    Kuroiwa sighs and puts the pickup truck into park, getting out of the car. The light of passing cars amidst the police lights as she steps out. "Alright. I''m out of the car, officer."


    "License and registration, please?" the officer asks.


    "Very well." Kuroiwa reaches into her pocket for the former. The license is Underworld-issued identification that obscures her true identity, but is a valid license regardless. The officer will likely scan the card itself for a fake name, one Charon should be issuing.


    The latter will be more of a problem, but Kuroiwa-


    ... hm.


    Curiously, as Kuroiwa hands the officer the license, she sees a van drive past the two, slowing down with its brake lights on. Pulling off the side of the road as well, driving right in front of the pickup truck. A curious look on her face as she sees the van appear.


    "Ma''am."


    "... ah-" Kuroiwa nods idly to the officer. "Apologies. I was briefly distracted. Please give me a moment to retrieve the registration in the glovebox."


    "No need. The license will do. We''ll receive the registration at the station."


    "... p... pardon?" Kuroiwa blinks at this, looking at the officer.


    "This car is now being legally commandeered," the officer comments. "We have suspicion that it''s stolen property."


    ... this is going beyond a routine stop, then. It sounds wrong, but... it''s a full legal arrest, on the grounds that the entire vehicle might have been stolen. It''s legal for an officer to seize motor vehicle property on the grounds of criminal suspicion. If the offending party is caught in the act of illegal activity, that is.


    In fact, there is a legal precedent to this sudden action. Ever since the rise in cybernetic criminals, police officers are permitted by federal American law to serve in the interest of safety and take immediate action. If someone is caught in the middle of stealing a vehicle, immediate confiscation of the vehicle and the contents inside are necessary.


    Legal or not, however, this is bad. Kuroiwa cannot let the police take the delivery. Having Box #45 confiscated and inspected runs the risk of damaging it, if she''ll even get it back to begin with. Letting the police take the car with the box is not an acceptable option whatsoever.


    Kuroiwa... isn''t going down without fighting. If she can talk her way out of this... "On what grounds do you believe this truck to be stolen? I can assure you-"


    "Stop resisting," the officer speaks up.


    "... I''m not resisting," Kuroiwa continues, continuing to try and speak. To communicate with this human officer. "I''m just asking for legal purposes. See, this car is-"


    "Stop resisting."


    "..." Kuroiwa narrows her eyes, being interrupted again. "I-"


    "Stop resisting."


    ...


    Tch.


    No chances at all to explain the situation.


    Kuroiwa grits her teeth, and just... calms down. This is just... this is- there''s a purpose to this. This is a tactic of law enforcement to, conceptually, keep people safe. It''s a necessary action. Completely necessary. As much as she doesn''t like it... it''s whatever. "Alright. Very well. I shall accompany you to the station to get this all sorted-"


    "No. All of this is police property, now," the officer answers. "You''re free to go home, now."


    "Wha..." Kuroiwa looks at the officer, her eyes squinting. "Could you repeat that?"


    "All of it is police property now," the officer repeats again. "The car is reported stolen, and we need to process everything for evidence. You are free to go now."


    "............" So they''re taking the car and the belongings inside of it... and leaving her on the side of the road... without her personal belongings. "I... I don''t have a car. What exactly do you expect me to-"


    "Stop resisting."


    "I''m not- ... fine. Okay." Kuroiwa begins to reach into her coat.


    "Stop resisting."


    "I''m just getting my phone to call-"


    "Stop resisting."


    "I need to call someone. You''re just taking my car, so I''m-"


    "Stop resisting."


    "C... Can''t I just call someone to pick me up?!"


    "Stop resisting."


    "This is the side of the road, officer, what do you expect me to-!"


    "I said, stop resisting!"


    The officer draws his baton and swings at Kuroiwa. Gripping the handle tightly and putting all of his might into the attack, attempting to take advantage of the fact that this piece of shit is focused on her phone.


    ... and Kuroiwa, appropriately, ducks under the baton.


    The officer committed an attack that could have critically injured her, as the baton missed and hit into the side of the pickup truck, denting it hard. The metallic sound echoing out, giving Kuroiwa all the reasons to assume that baton... will bruise her, or possibly break her bones. If it''s strong enough to dent a pickup truck, a metal pickup truck, then it will absolutely mess up a human.


    "How fucking DARE you resist arrest?! STOP RESISTING!" the officer violently shouts, raising the baton into the air and about to swing down onto Kuroiwa.


    There are legal issues to resisting law enforcement, but this is now - in essence - abuse of power. None of her rights have been told, the officer is avoiding standard protocol, as if denying her rights entirely.


    Stop resisting, stop resisting, stop resisting... he says. As if it''s all he can say. As if that''s all that brain of his can speak, commanding meaningless respect.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Kuroiwa''s face turning completely deranged from pure irritation, pure annoyance, visibly livid. "Stop resisting, stop resisting, stop resisting... is that all you can say?!" she shouts at the officer.


    "STOP FUCKING RESISTING!" the officer shouts again, a mindless tone to his aggressively loud voice as he swings down.


    Kuroiwa sees the movements of his arm, and quickly sidesteps to avoid the swing. Following this, she raises back into standing position and slaps the officer across the face, caring not if she''s taken in for assault. This officer was absolutely on her nerves, a misrepresentation of the boys in blue that supposedly protect and serve.


    Deciding to just slap him, to vent her frustrations as she violently shouts: "SAY SOMETHING ELSE OTHER THAN-!"


    Then, in the next moment, the officer''s brain short-circuits. Pure electrical static shooting out of his head. The officer stares forward at Kuroiwa as his eyes light up red with alarm, as the red alerts were sounding off in his head. Aggressive amounts of static spark and sound out, as Each passing second, his own cybernetics turning against him.


    "..." Kuroiwa blinks at this, unsettled as she backs away. Did- did her slap cause this to happen? Taking her phone out and holding it to her ear. "U-Uh- Charon, is that you doing this, or-"


    Brutally, his eyes explode out of his head and he stands in place. Gradually becoming a lifeless corpse as blood gushes down his jaw, the contents behind his face gruesomely melting as a fiery inferno erupts from his face.


    Kuroiwa is visibly startled as she jumps back at this sudden explosion. "W-What the bloody hell?! D-Damn it, Charon, say something, I can''t just be-!" Kuroiwa shouts at the top of her lungs into the phone, startled...


    ... before... realizing that Charon wasn''t answering.


    There''s no signal.


    "..." Kuroiwa keeps the gun in her hand, her hands shaking. If the phone was receiving no signal, even the encrypted one that''s readily available at a moment''s notice, then she''s dealing with one of those... phone interferers.


    Quickly- she- she looks around, and- her eyes widen. Kuroiwa catches a glimpse of a man approaching from behind her. Presumably from the van that parked in front of the pickup truck, a bald and bearded man in a denim jacket just walking closer.


    Hands behind his back... hiding something.


    "Hey-! W-What''s going on over here?! Did you-?!"


    No hesitation, Kuroiwa uses her other hand to draw her gun and shoot at the ground in front of the man''s feet. There is no room for caution or care, a man''s face just exploded because she slapped him. So there''s really no harm in firing a warning shot.


    "S-Shit-!" the man shouts, looking at the bullet shot. "W-What the hell do you think you''re-!"


    With the warning shot to distract, Kuroiwa rushes at the man and kicks him flat in the face, the bottom of her boot breaking the man''s nose in yet another hesitation-less act. Kuroiwa has no qualms about hurting an innocent man out of paranoia, that anyone could be a threat if she let danger come close to her.


    However, this wasn''t an innocent man. From behind him, rope could be seen falling out of his hands, his intentions revealed front and center.


    Seeing the man reel backwards, Kuroiwa responds once again. Watching as he falls onto his back, taking aim at him. "Stay down, or I''ll shoot! I''m going to drive out of here and-"


    "No, no, I wouldn''t do that."


    Kuroiwa''s eyes widen as she sees two hands appear out of nowhere, arms coming from behind her. Looking over her shoulder to see a blond haired man with a chiseled jaw, appearing right behind her. Briefly unremarkable beyond having conventional beauty standards in a man.


    In that moment, Kuroiwa- was in shock, in pure disbelief. The hands didn''t just come from behind her- they appeared over her hand. As if she''s a subject to some magic trick, an illusion that she didn''t notice to begin with. Undetected until just now, completely perplexing her.


    This man''s arms, there was some cybernetic trick to this that Kuroiwa has yet to identify. On further inspection, Kuroiwa sees that this man has visibly translucent skin, his skin slightly clear and see-through.


    And she isn''t given enough time to properly think about this, no time to examine this further. In a swift and forceful motion, this translucent man forcibly yanks the gun out of Kuroiwa''s hands, then steps back and kicks her to the ground. Slamming his foot into the woman''s back, knocking her over as the fire coming from the officer''s face illuminates his body.


    Contently looking at the gun, then at Kuroiwa, the translucent pretty boy just scoffs. Holding the gun confidently as his long hair blows in the wind, contently adjusting his tie as he stylishly looks down at Kuroiwa. "Alright. Come on out."


    Kuroiwa- pushes against the ground to try and get back up, only to be met with another foot stomping down on her back, keeping her against the ground. Belonging to a large, heavy-weight man wearing some sort of black ski-mask with a black sweater and gray sweatpants. Kuroiwa couldn''t get a good look at him while on the ground- but is forcibly accustomed to the weight against her back, a heavy metal shaped like a human foot. This man rendering her unable to lift herself up whatsoever. Stuck in place, forced to squirm and writhe.


    And after the blond speaks up, Kuroiwa sees... more people come into view. Apart from the blond, that rope-holder, and this heavy leg, more people start to come out from both the police car and the van. Two unremarkable people in handcuffs getting out of the police car, while an additional group of three step out of the van.


    Eight people in total, not including Kuroiwa and the now dead police officer.


    "Tch," one of the men speak. "This one''s lively. Wonder what she''s got back here that she''d have a gun..."


    "She''s a single driver, I think it''s just self defense," another one speaks.


    "Self-defense, my ass, she broke my FUCKING nose!" the formerly rope-holding man shouts. "Bitch''s definitely trained to kill!"


    As these men speak, Kuroiwa sees the translucent one rolling his eyes, the man contently examining the gun. "I mean, if she was, she would have gone for your face, which... I mean, she did do, yes. Maybe it is worth examining what she''s driving."


    "Or we could just ask her." The man stepping on Kuroiwa calls her attention as he lifts his foot up and delivers a hard stomp against Kuroiwa''s back. Incentivizing her to tell the truth as his foot inflicts- an aching, trembling pain onto her. As if pure metal itself hits against her back, showing enough restraint to avoid inflicting anything severe.


    Even as the pain courses through her body, Kuroiwa hesitates to say anything whatsoever. Stalling with groans of pain as she gives herself time to ponder. To plan out her next few words. Kuroiwa is now subject to an organized mugging, after all...


    If she does tell the truth about what she''s delivering, the goods will be left alone, but... she''s leaving herself vulnerable if she does. Complete silence is a death sentence during these interrogations, and lying will likely be met with... complications.


    "... ugh... I''m... I''m... I''m just... moving furniture for my relative," Kuroiwa responds, tensely shaking and acting out of breath. Playing the weakness card as she groans in pure pain and agony. "Mother wanted me to... help my uncle get everything to his home. He- he, uh, he... I... uhm..."


    "Your uncle, hm? Are the big ticket items with him, then?" the back-stepper asks.


    They''re... they''re accepting the concept. "Y... yes, yes. I''m mostly delivering what he couldn''t afford to fit in the moving truck. The truck belongs to him, you see..."


    "Oh, wow. So the poor lil'' officer over here''s just accusing you of robbery, when it''s your uncle''s car and stuff! Interesting..."


    The translucent blond crosses his arms, humming. "Wow. How unjust. Well, I''m sure we can arrange something with the uncle. We did save his favorite niece and all, while our happy little coincidence was playing out."


    "... happy little coincidence?" Kuroiwa asks, clenching her teeth.


    "Yeah. Getting two of our guys out of police custody. Our identity''s not important," the blond comments. "How about we put water under the bridge, girl? We come with you, get some reward money, and we go on our merry little way?"


    ...


    Kuroiwa nods. "S... Sure. What choice do I exactly have? A... As long as I get to go to my uncle, okay? I''ll- arrange something..."


    "Wonderful. Glad you''re so compliant," Back-Stepper comments. "Alright. So, let''s get her up and-"


    "Hold on. Wait. Look at who she tried to call."


    Kuroiwa looks as her phone is taken by some short guy. A guy in a shabby, cheap track suit, equipped with neon green sunglasses over his eyes. Something seems to catch his attention on the phone, and - idly - her phone is looked at by most of the surrounding men. With a jammed signal, Kuroiwa was too distracted to hang up the call...


    ... and she''s met with amused chuckling from most of them. Elated and delighted for some reason.


    "Well, what do you know?! Your uncle here''s good ol'' Charon! Hah!" a man exclaims, gently tapping Kuroiwa''s forehead with the tip of his shoe. Condescendingly looking down upon the woman.


    Kuroiwa''s eyes widen as they state Charon''s name. These people are almost- fluent with the Underworld, familiar enough to state the name of a single informant. Charon did keep his deals and connections secret from her, and- all eight of these people seem to be familiar with him enough to recognize a number. Are these people actually her allies?


    ... no. Kuroiwa identifies that these people are not on Charon''s side.


    "... or it could be this one number she''s called about two hundred times... for the last 8 hours?" a voice asks, chuckling. "Sure are desperate to call this one."


    "Point is, this here''s one of his newest brats! No way''s she just some girl moving furniture, this is some sorta job!" the Back-Stepper exclaims.


    The moment those words are said, that is when Kuroiwa realizes that - at the very least - they''re as equally unaware of her as she is of them. Kuroiwa grits her teeth and reaches for her-


    "Ah-ah-ah," the blond calls out, stepping on Kuroiwa''s hand to stop her from taking out another weapon. Forcing her hand to stop in place as his shoe presses down against her hand, almost trying to squish it into a sandwich. "That explains why you were so defensive to the officer..."


    Kuroiwa- grits her teeth as his foot grinds her hand into the ground. Watching as he crouches down and stares into her eyes, her own hostile look meeting his grim and dark gaze. Able to feel the pulsing waves of light emanating from his skin, his eyes lighting up with a pure red rage. The clash of red eyes.


    "So. If you want to live, you are going to tell us the truth. Explain now, what you''re carrying. What exactly is Charon having your little truck here carry?"


    "..."


    Kuroiwa...


    Kuroiwa sighs. No way out of it. Her hostile gaze weakens as she''s forced to admit defeat, to answer after her ruse is unveiled. "Fine. I''m delivering goods to a buyer. Everything in those boxes are being bought at a high price."


    "Really, now! Wow. How much are you being paid for this?!" the man with the foot on her back shouts. "Sure does sound like a huge pay day."


    "... a thousand dollars," Kuroiwa lies, her breathing tense as she blurts that out. Absolutely helpless before these mercenaries, clinging to whatever advantage she could hold onto, needing to maintain this- helpless act. Pride will only get her killed if she can''t do anything to defend herself. "The client''s paying Charon quite a sum to deliver these goods unharmed."


    "Unharmed? Pfff... alright. Sure do wonder what''ll happen, though, if..." the translucent man hmms, holding Kuroiwa''s gun in his hand... and taking aim at the boxes. Firing one shot into one of the boxes.


    Kuroiwa''s eyes widen as the gunshot fires. "W-What in the world are you doing?!"


    "Just making Charon''s life as difficult as possible. If some of the goods are damaged, then there''s going to be less of a payday..." the blond explains, glaring at Kuroiwa. "Piece of shit still gets work because of pathetic mercs like you, and... well, if we just so happen to destroy each and every single one of these boxes... so be it!"


    Kuroiwa- struggles underneath the foot, just- struggling and aching to break free. Deciding to play the desperation card, acting to try and plead with them. "S-Stop! Stop-! Y-You can''t! Don''t-! I- I''ll- I''ll split what I earn from this-! Please-!"


    ... in truth, Kuroiwa knows that every box besides Box #45 doesn''t matter. As long as THAT one survives, everything is still in play. But if she doesn''t bring specific attention to that box in particular, the chances of it being damaged is unlikely. She''ll be able to figure out some tactic to get it out of here.


    "Heh- how desperate. Your loyalty to Charon is commendable," the blond comments, before looking to the other men and shouting. "Get her on her feet, I want her to see each moment of this! See all that money drain before her eyes and all, whatever the hell her $1,000''s making her carry!"


    "N-No!" Kuroiwa exclaims, feigning panic and stress as she''s forced onto her feet, pretending to be as panicked and vulnerable as possible. In truth, she''s simply getting herself into an optimal position to come up with a plan, to come up with a method to get out of this situation.


    The first step is to look at the boxes, to see if his shots damaged the vital box. If she can gauge how long she has until they shoot Box #45, she can still salvage this job and-


    ...


    Kuroiwa is helped back onto her feet, and drops all panic as she sees a bullet hole. Whatever emotion she felt in that moment, turned to a completely blank and hopeless indifference, registering the sight before her.


    A bullet hole. A hole made by a bullet, damaging the cardboard box and possibly whatever is inside of it.


    She sees the hole in Box #45.


    Hm.

 #12 - Damaged Property

    The cars pass by, driving along the highway. The pickup truck pulled over onto the side, most of the passing drivers ignoring the side-view of a corpse just burning to the side. A common occurrence nowadays to the point of pure desensitization.


    Kuroiwa, herself, just blankly stares at the boxes. Almost rid of all its panic, not even bothering to hide or conceal the situation. The tactic to hide Box #45 amidst fodder boxes is now obsolete and irrelevant. It''s been shot. There''s nothing else to do.


    With the corpse, nine people. Two of them securely holding the black haired, red-eyed Kuroiwa - our very own Chouko Ashford - as a blond haired man, the mysteriously "translucent blond" has the woman''s gun.


    The blond, the lucky idiot holding her gun, he has specifically shot the one box that is to be delivered in mint condition, effectively damaging ALL of the goods in one shot. Unintentionally dropping the value of this entire shipment, rendering the possible fortune from this absolutely depleted to mere pocket change. Successfully fulfilling his goal of screwing over Charon and, subsequently, everyone involved with this job.


    Kuroiwa openly, openly does not even bother to pay any attention to these mercenaries in terms of physical appearance. The only remarkable ones are the blond gunman, the green sunglasses short person, and "Back-Stepper". Who she, with a better look now that she was standing, sees as a burly tan gentleman with a thick beard. One of those unkempt ruffian folk and all.


    ... something seems familiar about him, though. She can''t put a finger on it.


    "Well, then! Get the boxes out of the car!" Back-Stepper exclaims. "We''re burning everything and taking the truck with us!"


    "..."


    The blond notices Kuroiwa''s desperation fade, that narrowed-eyed look on her face. Completely rid of all its panic, an abrupt emotional shift that... deeply unsettles him. It upsets him. Slightly annoys him, even, seeing her act completely different. "... hold it. Steele."


    "...?" Back-Stepper... apparently, "Steele", looks to the blond. Crossing his arms with a raised eyebrow. "Hm?"


    As the blond stops the other mercenaries... Kuroiwa immediately notices the blond''s tense facial expression. His skeptical, confused look. Given the fact she''s dealing with complete and utter jokes, she decides to drop the seriousness in her demeanor as she goes: "Oh. Sorry. Let me just," before suddenly panicking again. "P-Please! Please- no! Don''t-! O-Oh god, oh, please, have mercy...!"


    This pisses the blond off. A hostile look on his face as he takes aim at Kuroiwa, still holding her pistol. "Do you know something we don''t?"


    "..." Kuroiwa resists the urge to continue her non-seriousness by answering that with a yes, and instead poses a question. "Allow me to ask you something. Your intentions are to make sure Charon earns nothing, correct?" Kuroiwa asks.


    "Right. You got your cut, sure," the short man with sunglasses responds, chiming into the conversation. "Have yet to see if you actually did get a thousand, but if we sabotaged this job, then..."


    "Right. Right. I see," Kuroiwa responds. "Now, hypothetically, what if I told you that... well, there''s a high price to what I''m delivering?" Kuroiwa asks, starting to explain this in a calm manner. Really elaborating, detailing it out.


    "Tch-!" the Back-Stepper, the one that previously stepped on her back with his seemingly metal legs, noises out. "Cut the crap! Just sounds like a cheap attempt to get yourself out of this safely!"


    "Hear her out. Hear her out, Steele," the blond commands, continuing to point the gun at Kuroiwa. "I''m as skeptical as you are, but... you know Charon. Full of surprises..."


    "... alright, woman," the blond speaks to Kuroiwa, staring at her and waving the gun lightly to regain her attention. "Go on. Explain. What is it about the price?"


    Kuroiwa nods, taking a deep sigh. There was no use hiding it, now. Damage has been done.


    "I was paid a thousand dollars... to deliver a shipment worth millions of dollars. Maybe tens, hundreds of millions, even."


    "..."


    A complete silence amidst the nine surviving people, the sounds of passing traffic and the burning remains of an officer''s face.


    "... hot damn, we hit the jackpot!"


    "Whatever''s in here is worth that much?!"


    The blond narrows his eyes. "Are you serious? Did Charon really assign you to do this for a thousand dollars?!"


    "Charon has no information on the true value, admittedly," Kuroiwa responds. "But yes. He did assign the job. The items are already paid for by the buyer. The payout is huge... if all the boxes are undamaged on delivery."


    "Yeah! So what''s a single box, eh?!" Steele shouts, grinning widely. "We can make it big! Between the eight of us - a ninth to the client - we''d earn about- a million! Maybe ten millions, each! Hell, if we were nice, you''d get a good cut of it too, girl!"


    "W... Wow. That''s-" the blond speaks up, the gun lowering slightly... before he continues to aim at Kuroiwa, narrowing his eyes at her. "... you- what reason do you have to tell us this? Are you planning on sharing the cut with the rest of us?"


    ...


    Kuroiwa lets out a sigh, answering. "I neglected to tell you this because you all are threats. But there''s no harm in telling you now. No point in keeping it hidden and all. If I''m still able to get money from this, there is a possibility that I can split the rewards with all of you for my life."


    "What- what proof do you-"


    "Call the number. I have a slip of paper. The client is available if you want to talk to him."


    "A-Alright, Griffin! I''ll disable the signal blocker and get to calling...!" the sunglasses wearing man shouts, taking Kuroiwa''s phone and running to the van.


    ... Griffin.


    Griffin?


    ...


    1897. H. G. Wells. The name of the protagonist in The Invisible Man.


    That translucent trick of the blond''s... blatantly designed for invisibility. Kuroiwa knows the trick now. The technology isn''t publicly released, but this... Griffin... has something that changes his optical density. The material layer over his skin generating some sort of camouflage to blend into his surroundings.


    So there''s Steele and Griffin.


    "Right. If the boxes are undamaged," Kuroiwa repeats.


    A mass uproar of cheers, most of the mercenaries present riddled with joy and excitement. Collective celebration, even from the two mercenaries securing Kuroiwa in place. Their voices raised to pure excitement, drowned out by the passing sounds of cars and the deceased officer''s burning remains.


    Steele just lets out a haughty laugh, almost- pounding his chest a little. "We hit the jackpot! Man, with a million, there''s no telling what we could do! This country''s OURS, baby! Wooooo!"


    "Hold on. Hold on one moment," the blond interrupts his celebrating companions, glaring at Kuroiwa. Finger on the trigger, a hostile look on his face... seeing the. "I don''t like the way you''re saying that. We''re getting rich, right?"


    "..." Kuroiwa lifts a hand to her face and sighs. Rolling her eyes at their pathetic display. Now it was time to take away their anticipation, pull the metaphorical carpet of wealth out from under their feet. "You wanted full honesty. You get full honesty. ''Taking a bit of your cut'', you say, a cut you would have received... well, except for one tiny issue."


    "Which is?!" Steele shouts, glaring at the woman. "We got the boxes! We got the rest of it! What''s the goddamn-?!"


    "The buyer," Kuroiwa interrupts, a hostile groan in her voice as she glares at the pathetic Back-Stepper. "The buyer is only going to pay for it. If. The. Boxes. Are. Undamaged. Do you see where I''m going with this?"


    "..." The blond blinks. "Wa... Wait. You''re suggesting-"


    "Shipment''s worth nothing," Kuroiwa explains, eyes looking to the bullet hole in Box #45. "Mission accomplished, mercenaries. Charon gets nothing from this job, and the blond here has shot away your riches."


    The surrounding men stare at Kuroiwa in disbelief.


    "... you''re- YOU''RE LYING!" Steele shouts, leaning forward with a tense growl. "You can''t possibly-"


    Interrupting Steele and the others for a moment, the short sunglasses wearing man returns with a phone, dialed to the number Kuroiwa had readily available. Calling that number on the paper given to Kuroiwa, having Eugene pick up on the other end. Receiving the call much earlier than expected.


    "Uh- hello? Is this Ai?" he asks, using that makeshift name to cover for Kuroiwa.


    Kuroiwa blinks as the phone''s held up to her, the phone on speaker. A calm look on her face as she looks to the short man, looking back at him.


    "..." A thumbs up from Kuroiwa, before she speaks. "Yes. Hello..." she repeats. "It''s Ai. I''m calling just to let you know that... well. There''s been a little bit of a mix-up."


    Griffin walks up to Kuroiwa''s side, putting the gun to the side of her head. Glaring violently at her, ready to pull the trigger. ".........."


    "O... Oh? What''s up? Is something the matter?"


    "Y... Yes. See," Kuroiwa begins to explain, sighing as she looks to Griffin. Mouthing the words: ''let me speak'' to the man.


    Griffin squints his eyes as he steps back. Gun still aimed at Kuroiwa, listening attentively.


    "Y-Yes? W-What is it?"


    "... Box #45 has been destroyed by an officer," Kuroiwa half-lies, blaming the damages on the officer instead. "I was pulled over by the police, and they accused the car of being stolen. Some complications arose, and... well, the box has bullet holes in it."


    A silent air between Kuroiwa and Eugene, the mercenaries listening actively.


    "... Ai... you... h... how could you-"


    Kuroiwa grits her teeth, glaring at the phone. "It was out of my control. The box is damaged. Your trick''s useless now. What do I do, client? What exactly do I do?"


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "..."


    A sigh...


    ... before the man calmly answers. "Nothing."


    Kuroiwa solemnly stares at the phone, hearing... Eugene... answer. "So. The job''s unsalvageable. #45''s worth, gone...? About-?"


    "Three hundred million dollars."


    The mercenaries surrounding Kuroiwa widen their eyes at this. When Kuroiwa estimated that wealth, they were cheering. Now they felt absolute dread, hearing this. Knowing the wealth that Griffin, inherently, shot away.


    The exact value now revealed to Kuroiwa, whose response to this is... despair. Desolate despair, staring at the phone. "Right." Kuroiwa sighs. "Right... do what you must. You know the channels to report a failure. I''m sorry it ended up this way, client."


    With that, E leaves with one more remark:


    "... don''t ever come back here. You''re no longer welcome here."


    Then, E hangs up. A quiet, uncomfortable air between the mercenaries as Kuroiwa''s phone is lowered, the call ended.


    With that, Kuroiwa''s quest is over. The overarching objective she''s held onto for years, gone, with this failure. Her blunder, her mistake a stain that brings her to complete worthlessness. A box worth three hundred million dollars severely outweighs everything she is. The moment this gets to the Underworld, the moment Charon catches wind of this... her life is over, and her hunt for the real Kuroiwa is over.


    Her value gone, alongside the loss of #45''s value.


    The other mercenaries look at each other, just... just... processing this. Three. Hundred. Million. All of it down the drain, all because of circumstance. Because of Griffin.


    The sunglasses wearing man, the apparent tech specialist, gripping the phone tightly as he glares... offended at this. Representing the responses coming from the other unremarkable mercenaries, the ones that Kuroiwa doesn''t care about, this man just looks to Griffin with judgmental looks of disdain.


    Steele, included, just- uncomfortably looks to Griffin. A look of pure despair on his face, horrified at what they''ve done. Three... three hundred million dollars. Gone.


    Griffin has his teeth clenched, shaking as he was the one responsible for this unexpected blunder, thinking to himself: it wasn''t his fault, he didn''t know! ... now trying to figure out what to do now.


    "... well? Go on. Open the box," Kuroiwa suggests, an irritated tone to her voice as she just... gave up. Inviting these men, these mercenaries to finish what they inherently started. "You damaged the box. Go on. Look at it. Look at what you shot. You have verbal confirmation that I''ve been telling the truth. Nothing else to do but to check on what you just wasted away."


    ...


    Griffin... sighs, pocketing Kuroiwa''s gun. "Steele... Steele. Get that box out. Now."


    "B... But-"


    "I said, now..." Griffin seriously responds.


    The buff, metal-legged Steele walks to the truck and takes Box #45 out of the back. Hoisting it out, placing it flat and upright on the ground.


    "..." The blond... stands in front of the box. Seeing the life-sized nature of it, just a few inches taller than whatever this is. As Steele opens the box and takes the packaging out, the... the glimpse of... pink is seen.


    Kuroiwa doesn''t bother to look, truthfully. Looking down at the ground, unaware of these mercenaries'' reaction to the product in question. All she can hear is the box in question being opened up further, an uncomfortably awkward silence amidst the group.


    ... and it''s broken up by:


    "Hello! I''m Shortcake! It''s nice to meet you all!"


    Shortcake.


    One of the Sweet Bot models, as E stated. A limited edition in the package in question. Now that the box is damaged, there''s no telling what value the thing has now.


    A cute, petite android that''s noticeably short. Stylistically in a frilly pink and black dress, its snow white- slightly pink-tinted hair going down to the back of her knees. A pink ribbon around its collar, standing politely with hands folded in front of it.


    The android smiles cheerfully and brightly as she''s activated. Designed to be exceptionally friendly, to be welcoming and energetic upon opening. Her eyes blinking actively as the plastic eyes are unveiled to the world, fake eyelids fluttering actively as she looks around.


    Usually, the instructions state that the box be open and the android be given time to adjust to her surroundings. The time limit starts at the first bit of oxygen, and the android is welcomed into the world. An activated companion ready to be a friend, a buddy, a pal, and so on. So, the android smiles at her new family, seeing all of them staring at her with anticipation.


    Oh, the fun they''re going to have! Shortcake''s processors active, now concocting something that they could do! Giving them all some time before-


    "Tch-! What the hell is this?!"


    "Hm? Pardon?" Shortcake innocently asks, tilting her head as she looks back at the large man behind her-


    Promptly, the android is pushed against the ground, her body smacking against the dirt. Rather than being welcomed, a forceful hand - a hand belonging to Steele - pushes her against the ground as if she were nothing more than a punching bag.


    "This is a fucking ANDROID," Steele shouts, violently enraged at the sight. Glaring down at the thing, shoving its face into the dirt. "THIS is what the 300 million dollars are going into?! What a FUCKING JOKE!"


    A reaction that Steele has, that riled up the other mercenaries to join in on his anger. Griffin having the blame shifted off of him, as their collective hatred of androids - a common stereotype, being that they were cybernetic mercenaries inherently associating these androids as mortal enemies - banded them together once again.


    However, Kuroiwa looks up as she hears Steele shout, watching this occur alongside the group''s collective anger. Watching the metal-legged man shove Shortcake into the ground, seeing his drastic methods... immediately brought to shouting. "W-What are you doing to her?!"


    "We all heard the phone call. This thing''s now completely worthless!" Griffin shouts, violently livid as he glares at this thing. Walking up to it while Steele has it secured, glaring down. "Damn it! Tch- speak up louder the next time you''re delivering some ''high grade'' piece of shit product! Maybe then, I wouldn''t have to do THIS-!" A hard kick to the side of the android.


    In that moment, the android''s eyes glow brightly, flickering yellow as she lets out a faint alarm. "O-Ow...! I- I''m sorry, b-but-" it tries to speak against the ground, processing these words with-


    "SHUT UP!" the glasses-wearing tech specialist shouts, running over to deliver another hard kick to the android. His foot slamming into it.


    The android''s eyes widen as she registers this sensory data, registering this as... pain. As her material being attacked, as physical harm being inflicted onto her.


    "S-Stop that!" Kuroiwa shouts, struggling against the two mercenaries continuing to restrain her. "L-Let her go!"


    "Why?! Whatever we do to this thing doesn''t matter, bitch. I could scrap this thing, burn it to ash and dust, and it''d still be worth nothing!" Steele shouts, lifting Shortcake''s head upward... before slamming it down against the ground again. Dirt and mud splattering out from underneath her, staining her clothing as the bits of ground get into her hair.


    Griffin, Steele, and that sunglasses wearing mercenary holding Kuroiwa''s phone. All three of them absolutely gang up on this android, unleashing their pure hatred and disdain for this thing, while the other five mercenaries cheer on this abuse.


    "Worthless fucking machine!"


    "Go back to where you fucking belong!"


    Kuroiwa stares at this happening, her red eyes staring to gaze at the android... actively staring at it, her eyes widening. Watching the android as she... she...


    ...


    "... ugh... so, what''s the plan now?" Steele asks, grumbling as he stands up from Shortcake. Having let out all of his rage towards this machine- well, actually, doing one more kick before he''s completely done. "We''ve done what we accomplished."


    "Well... no point in sticking around... let''s go dump the android somewhere," Griffin begins to instruct. "Then we''ve got to do something about Charon''s merc here. Clearly, her name''s tarnished and all after that travesty. Seems like we really ruined the reputation of-"


    "Kuroiwa."


    "Yes, Kuroiwa, and-"


    ... Griffin blinks as he looks to Kuroiwa. Staring at Kuroiwa, narrowing his eyes.


    "What?"


    "Kuroiwa," Kuroiwa repeats. It''s already over. No point in continuing further. Kuroiwa contently name-drops herself, knowing full well she''s going to die by these people''s hands. "You''re dealing with Charon''s newest brat... Kuroiwa."


    "... you are NOT Kuroiwa," Griffin responds, a strong certainty behind his voice as he glares at Kuroiwa. As he stares at this woman, this impostor.


    ... and Kuroiwa thinks to herself: Really, now? Kuroiwa doubles down on this, hearing how... sure... Griffin was, that she isn''t Kuroiwa. "I am... I am Kuroiwa... that''s my name... the android can attest to it. The android is proof to this."


    "W-What?! What the FUCK are you on about?!" Steele shouts. "There''s no way you''re-!"


    "That is my name... Griffin. Steele. The rest. Listen up," Kuroiwa speaks up, looking around at the others. "I am Kuroiwa. Or at least- the one sent to deliver his android, there."


    Absolute shock goes through the mercenaries at Kuroiwa insisting this, as she salvages whatever she can from this situation. Ready for her inevitable demise, having nothing else to do now that it was all over. Distracting herself from the pain and cruelty to come from having not fulfilled her goal.


    ... but, shortly after this, a full truck is seen pulling up to the side. An entire large moving truck, the driver rolling down the window and looking to the others. For reasons initially unknown, this truck driver appears to be pulling over... and Kuroiwa deduces by the mercenaries'' inaction that this truck is one of their allies.


    Kuroiwa chuckles for a moment, sighing as she looks to this truck. A confident smirk on her face as she looks at...


    "Alright- what''s going on, everyone? Why are you all still here? We need to get on moving."


    ...


    ... it''s.. it''s- it''s...


    ... him...


    ... it''s him.


    "Hey-! You''re not going to believe this, sir!" Steele shouts. "This girl, this woman- she''s claiming to be Kuroiwa!"


    "Kuroiwa? Pff... absolutely not. Kuroiwa''s not some bitch."


    Chouko''s eyes widen, staring at the person pulling up in the truck. Staring at the driver''s body, seeing someone unforgettable.


    One of the people she''s been looking for all this time.


    "Simple. Kuroiwa sends his regards."


    Matching voice. Almost matching appearance.


    "It''s very possible that she''s gone mad," Griffin idly comments. "Should we do something about her?"


    "I don''t see why not. If she''s somehow knowledgeable about Kuroiwa, nothing to do but to put her down and-" the driver begins to speak as he walks closer, looking down at this "Kuroiwa" impostor. Looking down at her in the darkness of the Indiana night sky, staring at her as his amusement fades.


    Chouko''s eyes stare back at this man, completely wide-eyed as she stares at his face, seeing the person before her. A hollowing feeling overtakes her body, a cold and uneasy feeling spreading in massive waves. For the first time in years, Chouko''s eyes have come across one of the most important people she''s been going after.


    Why? ... because it was him. It''s him. It''s... it''s the murderer. It''s the mercenary. The thug, the person who pulled the trigger. Someone Chouko immediately recognizes.


    And this mercenary recognizes her as well. Staring at the black haired woman, seeing the supposed Chouko Ashford before him. The daughter of one of his kills, the heir to a target of his. Staring at her with a look of realization, of astonishment and amazement.


    "... there''s- no way. You''re-" the man speaks, looking at Chouko, a tensely serioius look on his face-


    Chouko lunges herself forward, trying to break out of the men''s grasps. Forcing her body forward, prying herself away from the restraining men. A violent glare of death as she struggles with all her might, growling visciously.


    "W-Woah! Lively, aren''t you? What''s gotten into ya? Afraid of our-?" Steele asks, an amused look on his face.


    "I WILL EVISCERATE YOU AND RIP ALL OF YOUR ORGANS OUT, BIT BY BIT!" the girl shouts, violently staring at this man.


    Her voice trembling and shaking as the mercenaries all witness this. Promptly, Griffin takes aim with the pistol, ready to put Kuroiwa down.


    Charles''s murderer, however- holds a hand up, shaking his head. Staring at Chouko as she''s brought to a violent rage. "... you really think you can d-?"


    "WITH MY BARE HANDS!" Kuroiwa shouts at the top of her lungs, interrupting him and ranting. All rationality abandoned as she speaks with pure derangement, struggling further to break free. "TEARING YOU INTO NOTHING MORE THAN PURE FERTILIZER NOT EVEN THE MOST DESPERATE OF FARMERS WILL USE."


    The murderer rolls his eyes, leaning forward to stare at Chouko. "... hm. I''d like to see you try, brat. Been looking for you for ages... and here you are. Outnumbered."


    Kuroiwa growls angrily at the man. "YOU ARE A DEAD MAN. YOUR ESSENCE WILL BE NOTHING MORE THAN A ROTTING DECAY OF CLOSET SPACE-! DRAGGED DOWN TO THE DEPTHS OF HELL AFTER A MILLENIA OF SUFFERING. WHATEVER IT TAKES, BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY, I WILL DRAG YOU DOWN WITH ME!"


    "Right, right..." The killer looks to the other mercenaries, just sighing and gesturing them off. "All of you. Keep her restrained. Take every belonging you can from this woman. Strip her of her weapons and all, make sure she''s defenseless and helpless. Conscious, yet no longer a threat. We''re getting her and the..." Squinting at the Shortcake on the ground. "... the android in the back of the truck."


    Following this man''s orders- all eight of the men start to take everything away from Kuroiwa. Her baton and knife now confiscated, phone and gun grouped up along her belongings. Even going so far as to take her boots off.


    Kuroiwa is now defenseless. Fighting the best she can, to no avail- overwhelmed by these numbers, unable to get past two of them... let alone eight. While her physical body incapable, her rage remained ever unyielding, the mercenaries having to be careful as she struggles with a burning fury.


    "Damn it- you sure she has to be conscious?!"


    "Yes. Don''t knock her out."


    And with that, Kuroiwa - as well as Shortcake - are thrown into the back of the truck. Literally thrown, Steele being the one to hurl the two of them into the truck with the care and grace of a stampeding bull. Door locked securely, unable to be opened from the inside, the mercenaries ready to drive off to their base.


    The man in question, the apparent leader that''s organizing a kidnapping right now, gets into the truck as the other mercenaries prepare to get into the van. Ready to leave the pickup truck, the police car, and the dead police officer behind.


    "S... So, sir-" Steele speaks up, looking to the killer mercenary with an unsettled look after that whole- speech. "Why are we bringing those two with us? Wouldn''t it be easier to dispose of them...?"


    The man sighs... shaking his head as he addresses all of the mercenaries. "The android''s whatever. She''ll be a useful toy... but, the black haired girl? We''ll be Kuroiwa''s top mercenaries when we bring her in."


    "R... Really?" Steele asks.


    "Yes. Consider her worth equal to... billions of dollars in value nowadays."


    ...


    With that information tucked away into their mind, the mercenaries start their departure. Griffin, Steele, and all, following after the truck and heading down the highway to their next destination, ready to do anything to make up for their prior mistake.


    If, by chance, this girl ends up worth that amount to them... then...

 #13 - The Unboxing of Shortcake

    As the truck door locks, the sounds of the outside are isolated. A soundproof truck container, one filled with various crates and boxes. Unimportant boxes, as far as she knows.


    Kuroiwa ran straight to the back, pounding her fists against the door. Unleashing pitiful attack after attack onto the metal, failing completely to do anything.


    The image rang clear in her mind when she heard his voice, when she saw his face. Kuroiwa... Chouko. Chouko found him. The person who was there, the person who pulled the trigger, the person who stood at the forefront of Chouko''s corrupted and vengeful mind as the direct link to the other Kuroiwa. That was the mercenary, that''s the person.


    Kuroiwa has encountered him after all of these years. Kuroiwa has ample opportunity to kill him. The skills to take him out, all the chance in the grasp of her fingers. Her red eyes burning with rage and delight. If this door was not in the way, she could very well do it, fulfill her darkest desires and take the life of that pitiful scumbag away.


    And yet, he remains ever out of reach...!


    "OPEN THIS DOOR! LET US GET THIS OVER WITH!" the woman shouts at the top of her lungs, her rage boiling aggressively.


    In the confines of this truck container, the faces burn in her memory. This mercenary has other mercenaries on his roll, mercenaries that are completely full enemies of hers. Kuroiwa deemed them buffoons, almost- surrendered to them after the mission failure.


    ... and Chouko feels... absolutely sick... at this thought. How she was overcome by them.


    "I WILL KILL YOU. NOT JUST THE BLOODY KILLER- NO. EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!" Kuroiwa roars out, deranged to the point of inhuman screeching. Her crimson eyes the shade of devil''s work, close to choking on her pure and unholy wrath. "I REMEMBER YOUR FACES. ALL OF THEM. AS LONG AS I REMAIN LIVING, HELL HATH NO FURY. I WILL PRY THE LIFE OUT OF YOUR HANDS AND INCINERATE WHAT REMAINS OF YOUR PUTRID, WRETCHED SOULS!"


    Bold claims made to nobody, as the sound doesn''t escape the truck. As Kuroiwa''s voice rings out in these walls, no response other than her hands and her tears, echoing out in this space and...


    ...


    Crying?


    Kuroiwa... Kuroiwa wasn''t crying. That wasn''t her crying.


    ... right. Right. Kuroiwa remembers. The mercenary was thrown into the truck with the android as well. She looks to the back, investigating the sobbing misery. Walking back past the boxes, looking around for her fellow unwilling passenger.


    Finding it hiding away in the very back of the container - or, more specifically, as close to the front of the truck as possible - Kuroiwa finds the android curled up into a ball, the artificial human starting to realistically sob and cry while lying against the floor. The android can''t produce tears, yet its sounds are faithful.


    "Hey- android. Shortcake, was it?" Kuroiwa asks, arms crossed and looking at the android. "Can you quit it with the crying? Disable your sadness or whatever..."


    But the android doesn''t stop. It can''t stop.


    "..."


    Kuroiwa- sighs, walking over to the android. Crouching down near it, gazing at the artificial thing. Of course, you can''t just- tell a person to stop crying. You can''t tell someone to just stop feeling sad or mad or such. No, a human will continue to- feel these things. Insisting that they stop will have almost the opposite effect.


    And the android before her, like most androids of its type, is designed to be a human.


    ... Kuroiwa sighs, giving Shortcake a few seconds to sob before idly reaching out to the android and-


    "I- I''m sorry! I''m sorry- please- please don''t-!" the android shouts, crying for mercy and forgiveness upon witnessing Kuroiwa''s hands approach, quickly throwing itself back to get away from her. "D-Don''t hurt me! Please-"


    "E-Easy, easy-!" Kuroiwa calls out, exclaiming with an uneasy look on her face. "I''m not going to. I was just-"


    "B-But- y-you- you were really upset at me and angry and-!" the android nervously exclaims, backing away from Kuroiwa. Fidgeting, panicked, artificial terror.


    Kuroiwa sees the android just shake and shiver in realistic terror. The android backing away almost desperately, bits and pieces of ground falling out of its hair as it stutters. Having itself lightly lifted up as it backed away, about to stand up.


    Then, the truck began to move.


    Kuroiwa wobbled in place, arms extended out to maintain balance. The boxes shifting noticeably as the black haired woman is slightly caught off guard by this motion. "Tch- the truck''s mov-"


    "A-AH!" Shortcake yelps, its body falling over and hitting against the floor as the vehicle moves. Impacting against the floor, eyes widened at this feeling and- ... starting to sob again as she remains lying against the truck floor, the impact with the ground inducing its sadness protocol once again.


    Kuroiwa''s eyes widen, urgently exclaiming and checking up on the android in concern. "H-Hey! Android, are you okay?!"


    Incoherent mumbling and crying coming from the android. The developers of this model put work into this realism, its voice a lot more realistic and emotional. It was as if Kuroiwa was talking to a real little girl, one that has been crying almost non-stop ever since being in this truck.


    The android is left lying against the ground again. Its mechanical arms shaking and trembling, either showing signs of damage... or just another aspect of this realism after.


    For a while, Kuroiwa doesn''t register this as any more than mechanical stuttering. At this point, the android is simply malfunctioning, damaged beyond belief. Ready to dismiss it as broken and incoherent.


    But it becomes clear, uncomfortably clear to Kuroiwa, that it wasn''t just nonsense noises. No, this was an articulately designed emotional response, as Shortcake calls out:


    "I''m sorry- i''m sorry, I''m sorry, I''m sorry...! P-Please don''t hurt me...! I- I don''t want to die, I don''t want to h-have my soul incinerated to ash, I- I don''t! I- I don''t... I don''t... pl... please- please..."


    Hearing the android beg for its life, recycling words that it just happened to hear, Kuroiwa... stares for a while. Her red eyes gazing deeply at this android with... with...


    "L- Let go of me! Let me go!"


    ...


    A feeling of... deja vu. A feeling of familiarity, that something has happened before. That Chouko was dealing with... a... second Chouko.


    Of course, entertaining that thought is... pitiful. That may very well just be her sense of ego, seeing blatant similarities between herself and this android, it''s foolish to assume that this android is a child her.


    But- a deep, deep sigh escapes Chouko''s lips. Taking a deep breath. Realizing who she was dealing with. An artificially manufactured child, "mentally". Awoken to a new world. Met with the people it wanted to connect with, only to be pushed, beaten, berated and threatened against the ground.


    In fact... this machine learned that attempts to communicate nicely with others were met with worse anger. The mercenaries kicking Shortcake in response to the android trying to stand up for itself.


    For herself.


    ... hm.


    Chouko takes yet another deep breath, sighing once again as she remains where she stands. Giving Shortcake her space, her distance, as she calmly speaks. "... hey... hey. I- I won''t hurt you. I just want to help you up. It''s- not good to lie against the truck floor."


    "B-but-" Shortcake calls out, still panicking.


    "What I said... I''m just- angry at those other people, Shortcake," Chouko explains, taking as- sensitive of a tone as she can. Sympathetic- no. Empathetic to the android, taking a soft tone and demeanor to handle the metaphorical six year old. "That''s all. They''re bad people, and... and these men are kidnapping us. Both of us. You and me."


    Shortcake''s sobbing audibly lightens, the android staring up at the woman. Her own quieting starting to silence as she looks to Chouko, paused for a moment... before her distress begins to rise again. "... I... I, uhm... t... this is- this is a kidnapping...?" she quietly asks.


    "Yes. It-" Chouko begins to respond, a look of regret on her face as she solemnly responds to the android. "... it''s my fault. You wouldn''t be awake and out of your packaging if I had done my job better."


    Shortcake''s eyes flutter lightly at this information, staring at Chouko in mild artificial realization. "... s... so I- I shouldn''t be out of my packaging...?"


    "Correct. You''re meant to go to someone in Nebraska, some guy paying $300 million for you to be in a box indefinitely," Chouko admits.


    "O-Oh..."


    "... yeah. Regardless of whether or not it''s good or bad- you''re awake now," Chouko explains, just... sighing, before checking up on the android. "Dirty, sure... but, how are you feeling otherwise? Are you alright?"


    Shortcake ponders for a moment, going completely silent. Some faint, deep breaths echoing out as the android noticeably exhausts its fans and all.


    "..." Chouko takes some deep breaths with Shortcake as well. Looking at the android, just breathing with the android for a bit. Engaging in almost meditative breathing. Deciding to calm down with Shortcake, hearing the android''s fans speed up and slow down in tune to her breathing. Speeding up every time Chouko actively breathes in or out, and slowing to a normal speed when she''s holding her breath afterwards.


    Curiousity-inducing, yet ever so calming.


    Eventually, Shortcake''s eyes flutter and light up, the whirring of her ventilation gentle and soft as she looks up at Chouko. A faint smile as she answers. "D... Diagnosis complete... I- I''m doing alright... still processing pain and distress, sure, but..."


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    "Right... right," Chouko responds, nodding with a faint smile. She needed that calm breathing session. "Glad to hear."


    Shortcake- continues to smile back, starting to "feel a lot better" now. Chouko said she wouldn''t hurt Shortcake, and has yet to hurt her the entire time, so Shortcake believes it now. "... w... well... uhm... I... uh... I... I''d like some help, if you still want to..." the android gently asks.


    "Sounds good." Chouko reaches her hands out slowly, approaching this with care. "Now- I''m going to lift you up, so that you can sit properly. Just- bear with me for a moment?"


    Shortcake contently nods, accepting Chouko''s help with only the slightest of worry and whimpers.


    Chouko then begins to tenderly and gently lift the android up. Hands under the machine''s side, pulling up against her arm ever so lightly. Slowly, tenderly, carefully, the woman actively watching for any of Shortcake''s reactions.


    Surprisingly, the technology behind this android is quite light, despite it presumably being an older model made before its machinery was optimized. Here she was... about the same weight as a portable computer, a laptop. It was much easier to help Shortcake up than Chouko expected, giving less opportunity to notice if Shortcake experienced any aversion or distress from being held.


    Once Shortcake was put into sitting position, Chouko carefully holds Shortcake for a while, securing her in place. "There you go. You''re sitting now. Isn''t this better?"


    Shortcake... looks up, and gives a gentle nod. "M... Mhmm... it- it''s better... thank you, Kuroiwa, I- I, uhm, appreciate-"


    "Chouko."


    "...?" Shortcake looks at Chouko for a moment as she interrupted with a name. "What?"


    "Chouko. Chouko Ashford," Chouko speaks up. "I don''t know how familiar you are with the name, but..."


    Shortcake shakes her head. "I- I don''t recognize the name, sorry... so... not Kuroiwa? You''re Chouko?"


    Nodding.


    "..." Shortcake smiles lightly. "It''s pretty."


    "Thank you. I think Shortcake is a sweet name as well," Chouko bluntly compliments, making conversation with the android.


    ... this is met with the android bashfully looking away, covering its face.


    Chouko blinks at this action, before a sigh echoes out. "Sorry- did I say something wrong?"


    "N-No, no, I, uh, I just- I don''t handle compliments all that well..." Shortcake explains, using general human terms to explain what was happening. Her reactions exhibiting bashfulness, shyness, and timidity. Simply easily flustered in response to praise. "T-Thank you, a-and, uhm, thank you again for the help...!"


    Chouko nods a few times. "You''re welcome." Now that Shortcake is sitting in place, continuing to thinking about their situation. Now that Shortcake is sitting in place, Chouko sits right next to the android, taking a deep breath and sigh. "... now, if only there was a way to help ourselves and leave this truck."


    "W-Well, the door should-"


    "It''s locked from the outside," Chouko immediately interrupts. "Can''t open it."


    "Oh..."


    "Mhmm. And I don''t exactly have a plan on what to do if it opens, when the mercenaries stop and open that door to let us out for whatever they plan," Chouko bluntly tells Shortcake. "To tell you the truth, those mercenaries have all the metaphorical cards in their hands, and we''re left sitting here... helpless."


    "Like sitting ducks," Shortcake comments. "Quack."


    "..." Chouko stares at Shortcake for a few brief moments as that is said, and nods. "Right. Nothing to do but talk. Wait for our eventual demises and all."


    Shortcake lightly nods, folding her hands on her lap. "O... Okay..."


    A quiet silence as the truck continues to move, as the two girls quietly sit and think.


    Chouko... well, Kuroiwa, after dealing with Shortcake, had plenty of room to now think about what to do next. What to do to kill these bastards, to leave them rotting and burning alive in eight individually prepared graves. No ninth grave, as the killer deserved worse than a burial.


    But without her belongings, she''s defenseless. It wasn''t like Kuroiwa could just punch and beat the mercenaries to death. No, she needed the weapons to do the job. She needed the baton, the knife, the gun, the phone- without them, she''s immediately dead if she tries. And it makes her disgusted to think about going along with them as a helpless hostage.


    No, no, Kuroiwa needed to think of something, another plan...


    "... s... so, w... what is he like?"


    "... hm?"


    "T-The person who bought me. The Nebraska person," Shortcake elaborates, fidgeting idly. Wanting to make conversation as Chouko suggested, with nothing to do but talk. Taking that literally as an indicator to come up with talk. "A-As a Shortcake, I''m supposed to learn about the environment and its people as I go along... but it wouldn''t hurt to know what he''s like."


    "I- I see..."


    ... Chouko indulges Shortcake with this conversation, but- starts with a gesture of shrugging. Having not met the actual buyer, she doesn''t know much about him enough to say anything elaborate.


    However, she can roughly answer with what E and the job give about him. "Well. He''s rich. Owns an estate. Buys collector androids or something, preferably untouched and in their boxes. I never met the man, so I don''t know everything about him exactly."


    Shortcake curiously hmms at this, folding her hands over her lap. "Oh... okay."


    More silence between the two. Chouko sat mostly still, as she didn''t have anything to talk about. Most of what they could talk about right now has already been said.


    "... s... so, rich," Shortcake speaks up, continuing to attempt her chat.


    Chouko nods. "Yes. I''m assuming he is rich. Or was rich."


    "Well, have you ever lived with a rich person?" Shortcake asks. "Maybe- uhm-"


    Chouko stares at Shortcake for a moment, her silence noticed by the android.


    "... I- I''m sorry, is the question too insensitive?" Shortcake asks, noticing Chouko''s stare and experiencing some slight discomfort. "I''m sorry if it is... I didn''t realize- I thought that, maybe if you lived with one, then-"


    "It''s fine. I have lived with one, yes," Chouko interrupts, arms crossed with a sigh.


    "Lived...?" Shortcake asks. "Past-tense?"


    "Yes. My father was a rich man. So I did live with a-"


    "O-Oh!" Shortcake noises energetically, looking at Chouko. "I- I see!"


    "...?" Chouko blinks at this reaction. "You see? What exactly do you..."


    "W-Well, you have a rich father! That must be good!" Shortcake interrupts, beaming brightly... before covering her mouth. "O... Oh. Oh. Wait. Past tense. Had. S-So- he- he''s-?"


    "... gone, yes."


    ... Shortcake- just whimpers a little, her face looking more horrified. That wasn''t even what she was going to say, but she''s registering her own emotional distress... and- possibly Chouko''s distress now, as well. "W... Well, uhm... a-as a Shortcake, I- I''m here to provide emotional support through this hard time. The first step to recovery is to let those emotions out, to- to let what you feel come out, to let it all-"


    "Please stop talking," Chouko immediately asks, her eyes forming a scowling gaze.


    "... o-oh-" Shortcake responds, her voice shaky with distress at being told that. What she said must have deeply upset Chouko, and... and the android, uhm, the android is now experiencing severe discomfort herself. "S... sorry... I... it might be experimental... I- I''m- sorry for pushing boundaries, I- I didn''t... m... mean... to..." Muting herself and stopping her speech as instructed.


    The two of them sitting quietly in place after that, Shortcake uncomfortably sitting and feeling awful. Registering this data, this response, struggling to find the proper way to respond.


    Chouko is left to ponder on her own, and... appropriately responds after that. "... just... whatever knowledge you have does work for anyone else, not me. Your suggestions, I''ve already gone through. Letting it out does nothing in the long term. All it does is remind me that he''s been gone for nine years. ''Temporary emotional satisfaction'' is all that comes from venting, Shortcake. Besides, I would rather the person be alive instead of recovery."


    "Bargaining..." Shortcake mumbles, blurting it out the same way she made the duck comment.


    "..."


    "... s-sorry-" Shortcake immediately apologizes. "It-"


    "It''s- fine," Chouko responds, sighing. "That is bargaining, yes... I just... honestly, I don''t want to talk about his death with you, okay? Either we change the topic, or we sit in silence. Okay?"


    Shortcake understandingly nods. "Alright. I won''t- ask further about his death, then."


    "Thank you," Chouko calmly responds.


    Another silence between the two, Chouko left in idle silence to... relax. To calm down. Given a long break from words, a long pause before the next set of words were said by the android.


    "... so, uhm... do you... do you like cupcakes?"


    "..." Chouko raises an eyebrow at this. "What?"


    "D-Do you like cupcakes?" Shortcake asks. "I like cupcakes. Let''s talk about cupcakes."


    Out of all the topics this android could have come up with. That question briefly catches Chouko off guard, gazing at Shortcake as if bewildered by the very question. A noticeably jarring topic to discuss with an android, admittedly.


    "..."


    "... s... sorry, is that a- is that a bad question...?" Shortcake asks. "D-Did I say something wrong? I''m- I''m sorry... I- I, uhm, I didn''t mean to interrupt with-"


    "I don''t particularly enjoy cupcakes," Chouko immediately explains, interrupting with a straightforward answer to... alleviate... the android''s unease. Indicating that she needed a pause before answering. To process that question, to... remember... the last time she''s had a cupcake. "But I''m not opposed to sweets. I preferably enjoy tea and biscuits, however."


    "Oh... well..." Shortcake responds, folding her hands and twiddling her thumbs faintly. "... what about vanilla cupcakes? The ones with white frosting and all."


    "... I already said I don''t enjoy cupcakes," Chouko responds.


    "Oh." Shortcake ponders for a moment. "Strawberry?"


    "No."


    "Butter cream frosting cupcakes?" Shortcake asks. "Hmm. What about blueberry chocolate muffins with cherry cream frosting? You have to like those, those sound really delicious!"


    "You''re fixating on cupcakes," Chouko idly comments, mildly irritated. "I already said-"


    "Well- I mean- cupcakes are tiny, they''re sweet, they can be shared and split between a classroom of children. Kind of nice to bake, better to bake than a cake, probably. Just take a tray of cups and you get to make cakes and all!"


    "Can we please stop talking about cupcakes?" Chouko asks, glaring at the android. "I already said I don''t like cupcakes. Are you just going to keep talking about cupcakes until I say ''I like cupcakes''?"


    "..." Shortcake idly frowns and looks down at her feet. A faint sob sounding out as Chouko glares at her, realizing that she was being a pest. "I-I''m sorry... I- uhm- I-"


    "It''s fine if you like cupcakes and I don''t, but your- you''re- it''s almost as if cupcakes are your whole-" Chouko idly comments, about to say identity, but stops herself upon realizing.


    Shortcake.


    ... Chouko audibly sighs and holds a hand to her face, pressing her palm against her face. "Never mind. I answered my own question."


    "Hm?" Shortcake noises, tilting her head.


    "Nothing. Just... I... I don''t like cakes, okay? Just tea and biscuits," Chouko states. "That''s all."


    "... w... why?" Shortcake asks. "Why do you not like cakes? Is it because of the texture? Is it too sweet? Does it get all mushy and stuff when you drink tea, so you avoid cake to-"


    "Because I- I''m disgusted to be anywhere near a cake!" Chouko blurts out. "Taste is- fine, I just- looking at a cake deeply unsettles me, to the point where I can''t stand it. Every time I see a cake, the grandeur of a cake, baked for celebration, everything about it makes me uncomfortably gag. Cakes are meant to celebrate something, celebrate- achievements, occasions, so on. I haven''t celebrated a single thing since I was 10, and I just don''t want ANYTHING to do with them, okay?!"


    "Oh... well, it doesn''t have to be a celebration-" Shortcake speaks up.


    "Can we just stop talking about cakes?!" Chouko shouts, glaring at the floor with an absolutely frustrated, livid expression on her face. This android is annoying. "If cakes are all you can talk about, then we might as well talk about my dead father instead! In fact, what if I just spoke about his entire history with cakes?! Everything he''s bought a cake for, everything he celebrated?! Is that what you want?! Are you trying to get me to talk about cakes so that I ''open up'' about my dead father?! Is that it?!"


    ...


    Shortcake sniffles a little, looking at Chouko. "I just really like cakes... I''m- I''m sorry- I didn''t- I... I''ll shut up, I''m sorry... I..."


    A pause of silence as Chouko looks to the android, seeing it hug its knees and bury its face into them. Her glaring red eyes softening as she realizes her own outburst, as she was instinctively coming up with excuses as to why she shouted. It''s probably why this thing was afraid of her to begin with.


    Thing. That''s what Shortcake was. Just a while ago, she saw Shortcake as a terrified child, and snapped at it as if it wasn''t. As if it was just... an object. In a way, it is, but Chouko- needed to remember that it''s an object designed to be human. Designed to... be... more human than she was.


    For a moment, she lost track of the fact that Shortcake''s just new to the world, going off of what she knows. Which is nothing. Shortcake''s trying her best, and- probably has less experience, less proficiency than other newer androids specialized in this. After all, Shortcake is designed to learn in the middle of her operation. To learn about the environment, the people, the environments of said people.


    Chouko needed to be a bit more... accommodating of the android''s inexperience with her. And here she was, shouting at it because it wanted to talk about cakes. Not unlike a typical child bugging their... parents... for...


    ...


    A deep, deep sigh escapes Chouko''s mouth as she covers her face in shame, in mild distress. "N... No. I''m- I''m sorry for shouting. It''s... it''s just..."


    Shortcake... Shortcake lifts her face up from her knees, glancing at Chouko with a distressed look. "I- I really did upset you though, I''m- I''m sorry that-"


    "Ugh-" Chouko groans as she covers her face in shame, in mild distress. Uncomfortably shifting in her spot. "Just- I''m... I just- ... I want something else to talk about."


    "O... Okay..." Shortcake whimpers, looking forward for some time.


    A long time.


    Really thinking about what else there is to talk about, beyond the two topics that she''s picked up on. Shortcake doesn''t want to mess up again, she really doesn''t want to upset Chouko and - subsequently - herself any further. The two are already on bad terms after her annoying behaviors, and she''s shaking in programmed fear of upsetting Chouko again.


    ...


    Then, she just... she just- after a bit of decisions running through her android head, Shortcake just comes out and asks...


    "... ca... can we- uhm- talk about- y-you?"

 #14 - Reflect On Ones Self

    "... what?" Chouko asks, pulling her hands away from her face to look at Shortcake. "Talk about me?"


    "Y... Yeah," Shortcake speaks up. "We... we don''t want to talk about our fathers- well, your father, and my new owner..."


    "... right. So your... your next conversational topic, beyond cakes and such, is me. You want to talk about me," Chouko speaks to confirm and clarify this android''s intentions.


    "Right. Maybe... maybe it would give us more to talk about... since... well... that''s... how I''m designed..." Shortcake idly explains. "I''m an android that likes cake... but, uhm, I was made to adapt to children and families, as long as they like cake... so..."


    Chouko lets out a sigh at this.


    "U-Uhm- well, if you don''t want to talk about yourself, we don''t have to-"


    Chouko immediately raises a hand. One finger up, indicating to the android to be quiet and stop talking for just a moment, a gesture of silence.


    "..." Chouko takes a deep breath. "I don''t know what to really say about myself. This is a conversation your seller wanted to have with me. Chouko Ashford is nothing but a child, a little girl that lost her father. She likes books, tea, biscuits, I guess... puppies, and... spending time with her father. That''s all, really."


    "Oh..." Shortcake noises, processing all of that.


    "Did you learn anything from that?" Chouko asks.


    "Well, uhm... no, not really..." Shortcake answers, shaking her head with mild worry and sadness. "I don''t really know about tea and biscuits all that well, I''ve- never been programmed to understand what ''puppies'' are, and... well, I haven''t read any books yet, I was just activated, so..."


    "..." Chouko nods. "Alright. And just to reiterate, you just like cakes?"


    "Well, cakes, cookies, candy, a lot of things sweet," Shortcake answers.


    "Alright, then-" ... Chouko is reminded that this thing is American, realizes something, and clears her throat. "Then you know about biscuits."


    "... huh?" Shortcake asks, tilting her head.


    "Cookies."


    "... oh. Oh! Tea and- cookies?" Shortcake asks, tilting her head. "I-Is that what you were saying?"


    "Yes. They''re called ''biscuits'' where I am from," Chouko explains. "And Americans use biscuits to refer to what we call ''scones''. Or dog biscuits, which... I don''t know the flavor of. But yes, you- you know about cookies, you know about biscuits. So... I like tea and cookies, I suppose."


    The very moment Chouko clarified this, Shortcake- has a bright look in her illuminating pink eyes, a bright and cheery smile as she glances to Chouko. Immensely elated and ecstatic that Chouko enjoys sweets, a sort of common ground that makes the android feel immense amounts of joy.


    "... is it really that important that I enjoy sweets, Shortcake?" Chouko asks.


    "Well, y-yes!" Shortcake explains, continuing to beam and smile. "I-If you like sweets, then- well, it generalizes a lot... makes things simpler and all... and- well, it also means that means we''re able to enjoy sweets together!"


    "... I mean... it doesn''t sound that important," Chouko responds. "Is it not acceptable to just order a plate of cake for you, then order something else for me?"


    Shortcake shakes her head. "Well, no, I, uhm, I can''t enjoy the sweets myself... since, I can''t really eat."


    "What?" Chouko raises an eyebrow at this. "You can''t eat...? But you seemed really insistent on cakes and cupcakes being delicious."


    "Because I have the knowledge that sweets are good," Shortcake responds, idly frowning. "But my mouth is just cosmetic, just to speak and all... I can''t actually taste any of it. But seeing someone else eat sweets is- well, it''s enough for me, and- well- someone else liking sweets is very, very good! You know? Even if it''s just cookies!"


    Chouko... blinks at this. "... I... I see... I suppose if it is necessary, I can... try... to eat cake for you."


    Shortcake continues to brightly smile with delight, extremely cheerful and elated now.


    But something else crosses this android''s mind, something noticeably... urgent, a curiosity-inducing urgency. Chouko''s word choice running through her head, causing her to think once again. Considering how talking about her... father... uses past tense language, talking about herself ALSO uses past tense language.


    Her happiness levels toned down as she looks to Chouko, preparing to ask. "... uhm. So, uh, can I ask something?"


    "You just did," Chouko responds. "But feel free to ask something else, I suppose."


    "Oh, well, uhm... I''m passively- registering some words you said. ''Nothing but a child''..." Shortcake idly comments, nervously looking off to the side. "But you''re- well, you seem to be... older than a child. Maybe- teenage years?"


    "... I''m 19, yes..." Chouko answers.


    "Right... so... uhm..." Shortcake idly noises. "... what is... Chouko Ashford like, nowadays...? When she isn''t a child?"


    Hesitant to answer, Chouko... shakes her head. "There''s no answer to that."


    "What? Isn''t it just- talking about what you like to do now?" Shortcake asks. "If you... if you''re an adult, and Chouko Ashford is a child, then... you used to be Chouko Ashford... isn''t her actions nowadays just what you do?"


    "It... isn''t that straightforward."


    "What? Then- wait, so if you''re not Chouko, then- wait, but your name is Chouko, but-" Shortcake idly mumbles, pointing a finger in every such direction and trying to understand what Chouko is trying to say.


    "... do you really- want an answer?"


    "Y-Yeah, it- I mean, I just- I don''t want to make any bad assumptions, since you used to like all of that... updating this with what you are now, it will help a lot..."


    "Even if the answer is distressing? Even if it will ruin this conversation completely?"


    "Mhmm, I''d like to... know... uh... wait... what do you mean?" Shortcake asks, tilting her head. "Why would it cause distress?"


    "..."


    The red eyes blink, and the mask forms again. Chouko stares at Shortcake, returning to the hostile look as Kuroiwa comes front and center once again. Feeling the persona forming over her face, a deep gaze at the android.


    "Because I''m about to give you a proper, truthful answer," Kuroiwa responds, ready to explain to Shortcake. To answer her with full honesty of her own views, of what her now is. "See... I am a mercenary, a worker that betrays ethical boundaries for the sake of monetary value. Someone who does dirty work. Ranges from... stealing and gathering information behind the public''s back, or... well..."


    "..." Shortcake tilts her head. "W... Well?"


    "... killing someone," Kuroiwa bluntly continues.


    This... this causes Shortcake to cover her mouth in mild horror. "O... Oh. S-So... y... you-"


    "Yes. I have killed before, Shortcake," Kuroiwa bluntly admits. "It''s not too uncommon. Assassinations. Lethal bounty hunting. So on, so forth."


    "O... Oh..."


    Shortcake begins to shake and tremble as Kuroiwa explains this, registering these words accordingly. Taking Kuroiwa''s words into her head, running it through her learning model to process... something terrifying, something frightening.


    "Mercenaries are no stranger to this work. Some are targets, and some are killers. I''ve done it for personal gain, because I''m told to, or because this person is too despicable to live any further," Chouko explains. "These are things us mercenaries are familiar with, things we handle on a daily basis to survive. And to survive, to see another day, I seek to kill these very mercenaries... all of them... before they do the same to me. Before they do worse to me."


    "That''s- that''s horrible..." Shortcake weakly speaks, overwhelmed by this information...


    "It is, yes..." Kuroiwa responds. "That''s the truth of it. I do horrible things. Getting to know me, getting to know what I''ve become, it''s not exactly something to be proud of, or to condone. And I''ve never cared one bit about it. I just simply do whatever it takes to further my objective. Those deranged, maniacal ramblings I did before I spoke with you? You have a right to be terrified of all of it, if you want. I will not hold it against you. You''re free to-"


    Kuroiwa is immediately interrupted as Shortcake gently hugs her.


    "..." A look down at Shortcake, her gaze still cold. Kuroiwa interprets this as the android attempting to comfort her, to appeal to what humanity she has left. "If you''re going to express your sympathies about what I''ve become, then-"


    "No, it''s just... well, i-if you''re like that, then these men are probably even worse... right?" Shortcake asks, fear in her voice.


    "... huh?" Kuroiwa asks.


    "Y-you''re a mercenary that does all that..." Shortcake idly states, her arms gently holding onto Kuroiwa and shaking in fear. "So are the people who kidnapped us going to do worse? Are they going to kill you- maybe us? T-They beat me up and they kicked me and they pushed me to the ground and made me dirty and threw both of us into a truck- what if- what if they do worse things...?"


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Kuroiwa''s eyes widen as she... looks down at Shortcake. "That''s... what you''re focused on? What these men will do? Nothing about what I''ve done?"


    "Well... yeah.... you like sweets, and you''ve been mostly caring towards me," Shortcake begins to explain, sniffling and sobbing again as she looks down. "I-If you''re as bad as you''re suggesting, if I did something to upset you enough to kill me over some connection, then I- well, I''d-"


    "You''d already be dead, sure, but- that... doesn''t mean... so, you''re- not upset about the fact I''ve done heinous things...?" Kuroiwa asks.


    Shortcake shakes her head. "I- I''m designed to integrate into families, to keep children company and entertain them. I''m not programmed to judge them as awful, even with the behavioral issues... well, of course children doing bad things is awful, but in terms of discipline, all I do in response to this information is tell the parents and let them handle it. I don''t really have the right to judge you for what you did..."


    "S... So you wouldn''t call the police?" Kuroiwa asks, an eyebrow raised. "You wouldn''t report to anyone if a child did something like, murder, stealing and such?"


    Shortcake shakes her head. "N-No, so... I don''t really have a problem with you. You still seem- pretty alright..."


    "... Shortcake..." Gentle hands on the android''s shoulders.


    For a while, Shortcake seemed pleased with her answer. Happy to connect with Chouko in this way, to openly admit that she felt safe and happy with her.


    "... you could not be any more wrong," Kuroiwa tells the android, beginning to glare at Shortcake.


    "...?" Shortcake is pulled from the hug, worried. "H... Huh? I- I thought-"


    Kuroiwa''s hands pull the android away from the hug, just prying her off of her body. "You should have a problem with me. You should be judging me, you should be deeming me a threat to your very safety just by being anywhere near me. Even if I say I''m not going to hurt you."


    Shortcake blinks several times. "B-But you- you haven''t hurt me so far, you seem trustworthy-"


    "No, I''m not!" Kuroiwa tells the android, her voice raising. "People like me deserve the worst of fates. People who do what I do. People who take lives the way I do. Nothing in this world should ever, ever be the reason to condone murder, Shortcake. You shouldn''t be resigning yourself to sticking with a bloody killer."


    "... wait, then- why do you do it?" Shortcake asks, confused beyond all belief at this. "I-If I shouldn''t do all of that, if you believe I shouldn''t trust you, then why are you still doing those actions...?"


    "Why do I do it?" Kuroiwa cracks a grin at this, almost- feeling some sort of amusement at the foolishness of this android. The malice pouring out of the cracks in her metaphorical face, gazing forward at the helpless android with delight. "Simple. Because I have to."


    Shortcake visibly shakes as she stares at Kuroiwa. "B-But why- w-why do you- have to, then-?"


    "See, I have to become what I despise the most, Shortcake. I have to do all these things, all these heinous acts," Kuroiwa begins to speak. "To meet Kuroiwa. Kuroiwa, the ''Inevitable'', as he is known to be. The man that took... everything... away from me. The more I work, the closer I get to him in this mercenary world. I kill, because I find his existence putrid. That he gets to tell anyone to kill whoever he wants, and gets away with it. Gets away with killing the innocent, gets away with killing people''s loved ones..."


    Shortcake''s- eyes widen as she feels the woman''s hands shaking on her shoulders. Her pink eyes registering immense emotion coming from Chouko. A ragged, deep, intense breath coming out the woman''s lips.


    "I want to find him, to find his identity. To figure out who he is. Name, face, location... all of it, to... to completely and utterly destroy him!" Kuroiwa exclaims, a deranged look in her eyes. "To enact my revenge, to do to him what he did to me! To make him miserable, to kill him and his entire BEING, to strip all of it away and tear him piece of piece, to hold his entire being in these hands and break it- crush him to bits, grind him to dust, make it so he''s completely unrecognizable as a person!"


    Shortcake stares, speechless at this. A visibly tense look on her face staring at Chouko in slight horror. "Y-You-"


    "That''s what all of this is for! That''s all I can think about, putting a complete end to Kuroiwa! Take everything, EVERYTHING away from him! To send him down to the deepest pits of hell!" Kuroiwa shouts into the cup. "TO PUT AN END TO HIM FOR WHAT HE DID TO MY FATHER!"


    Shortcake''s eyes flicker at this, shaking as she- recoils in fear at that shout. Frightened and spooked by the tone of voice, starting to slightly sob and whimper. "Y-Your father?! H-He-"


    "Yes! I want to SLAUGHTER the person who took my father away from me!" Kuroiwa shouts. "I''ll take his face, I''ll do everything it takes! I''ve been set back because of this priceless, expensive android being let out of her box, but... the ones who kidnapped us, they''re the ones who I want to kill the most. They''re the ones I want to destroy. The one who did it, the one who killed on Kuroiwa''s orders- I will burn him to the ground."


    Shortcake stares, absolutely horrified at this. Visibly distressed, uncomfortably shaking, actively processing all of those words.


    "Do you see now? Do you understand that you stand before a monster, an irredeemable monster. I''ve killed countless in my path, countless to get to my goal. Sure, my human may be acting in ''grief'', but that part is silent every- single- day- when I become the monster. When I become Kuroiwa. So I''m not ''alright''. I''m just like every- other- damned- mercenary, and you should... should... be terrified."


    In Kuroiwa''s eyes, she''s face to face with something that is speechless, terrified of the individual before her. There is enough emotional disconnect between Kuroiwa and this android that it didn''t matter as much, that she could be this same monster to Shortcake as if it were no different from anyone else. The android stepped in territory it wasn''t prepared for, and is just left horrified in the same area of a living monster.


    And she concludes her rant with:


    "And only then will I ever be able to have cake. To honor Charles Ashford with vengeance, when I make sure to punish the people involved. Nothing in my life is to be celebrated until my job is over," Kuroiwa calmly comments. "And after that, I''ll... be nothing more than a fulfilled soul just waiting to leave."


    "..."


    An air of silence forms between the two.


    "... that''s... that''s it. That''s all. You wanted to know about me? You wanted to know what the child has become? There you go! You now know that you stand before a monster, an irredeemable monster. I''ve killed countless in my path, acting in ''grief''. So do you really believe I''m alright? No. I''m just like every- other- damned- mercenary."


    "..." Shortcake continues to sob and cry again, shaking before Kuroiwa as this information overwhelms her. As she was trying to understand everything that was just uttered, ranted, monologued even. "I- I- I- uhm- I-"


    Kuroiwa then lets go of Shortcake, turning away. "Don''t worry. I know you''re scared. I''m not going to hurt you. I don''t care whatsoever about you... this conversation has run dry. I must go, now, to figure out... how to break out of this truck."


    She starts to walk away for a moment, gazing straight forward at the truck door, ready to leave Shortcake behind in its fear.


    ...


    And something stops her.


    Kuroiwa stops in place as a pair of small, soft hands grab onto hers. Weakly holding on as best they could, attempting to grip her hand and stop her in place.


    For a moment, Kuroiwa''s red eyes twitch, feeling... utter disgust at this thing holding her hand in such a way. This was Shortcake attempting to keep her in place, an android that foolishly sought to be anywhere near her, even with all of this information.


    The mercenary turns around, prepared to address and confront this android. To make it understand why it should want nothing to do with Chouko, nothing to do with Kuroiwa. Starting to insist it let go of her hand, turning back to tell it to let go. "Listen, you-"


    However, no further words are uttered, as Kuroiwa goes quiet at the sight behind her. Her eyes blinking at the young girl holding onto her hand, the... black haired, red eyed girl that was in utter tears. A mess of waterfalls pouring from her cheeks, a miserable sight.


    For a moment, Kuroiwa... she felt the agonizing weight of nine years against her back at this sight, witnessing the image of a broken child on the verge of a mental crisis, the girl she used to be. Kuroiwa saw the pure misery that was on display, a misery that has never left her whatsoever. A deep misery from a child wanting to hold on, to cling to who she could never follow.


    "P... Please don''t leave me, please..." the young Chouko calls out, tears trailing from her eyes. "I don''t want you to go..."


    "... w.... what?" Kuroiwa asks, her eyes blinking a couple of times to clear her vision up. To better understand what... what she was seeing.


    With each blink, the brief hallucination fades, and... as expected, Shortcake appears in the little Chouko''s place. The android had rushed after Kuroiwa quickly, scrambling to hold Kuroiwa''s hand, crying those very words out.


    "I- I don''t- I don''t know if I can do anything for you, nor do I even know if I should..." Shortcake explains, the machinery shaking and trembling within her hands. "B-But I- I don''t want you to go, I don''t want you to leave me alone..."


    "Shortcake, you''re-" Kuroiwa begins to speak, a growl behind her voice.


    "I- If we make it out of this truck, I want to have cake with you..." Shortcake calls out, sobbing and whining audibly. "I want to read books with you, I want to have some tea and cookies- tea and biscuits with you, maybe see puppies and probably- I don''t know...!"


    Kuroiwa continues to glare at this incessant android. "..."


    "I- just- p-please don''t leave me alone... I- I really... I''m sorry, but I really- don''t- hate you for doing any of it..." Shortcake explains.


    A silence continues as... Kuroiwa... stares at Shortcake, staring at the crying girl. "..."


    "P-Please... please... please......." Shortcake pleads, sobbing.


    "..."


    "... I... I''m sorry... I''m sorry... I-"


    With a resigned sigh, Kuroiwa turns around and gets onto her knees. Crouching down to Shortcake''s level, a calm gaze as she stares forward at the white haired android. The physical embodiment of a talking, miserable tundra.


    "Chouko... I, uhm, I-"


    "I can''t- make any promises whatsoever, Shortcake..." Kuroiwa speaks up, looking down at the android. Being truthful, being blunt with this pitiful android while staring into its eyes. "But if we somehow survive what is going to happen next... I would be proud to enjoy all of those things with you."


    "O... Okay... I... uhm... I''m looking forward to it..." Shortcake calls out, sniffling a bit more before silencing herself. A weak smile on her face, looking to Chouko brightly.


    And with that bright smile, it dawns on Kuroiwa... it dawns on Chouko what this feeling was. This feeling that weighs on her when Shortcake speaks, this feeling when the android miserably cries. Why Chouko could see herself in this android''s human-like actions.


    Chouko is currently the Charles Ashford for this android.


    It feels wrong.


    It feels awful.


    Everything about this is crashing against Chouko, a wretched feeling to have when she still dons the false name of Kuroiwa.


    But what choice does she have...? This android needs her, the same way... the same way Chouko needed her father. All those years ago, when he wasn''t here anymore. The hand she depended on, the guidance that was taken away from her, Chouko... feels like she needs to be here for this android, in this world of mercenaries.


    And as much as it feels like she isn''t right for this role, as much as it feels like Chouko doesn''t deserve to be anything her father was...


    ... it''s just something she needs to be.


    "Right..." Chouko pulls away slowly, and stands back up. Idly looking back to the truck door, scratching her chin faintly. "So. We''ll start by preparing what to do when this truck opens, when these mercenaries reach whatever stop they''re at. If we want to survive, we''re going to have to come up with something to get out of this truck."


    "O... Okay, but... uhm... uh... can... can I ask one more thing...?" Shortcake asks.


    Chouko looks at Shortcake. "Yes...? G... Go ahead."


    "... w-what actually is your plan, regarding... c-confronting the person who k-killed your father...?" Shortcake asks. "I- I know your objective, but... how do we- how do you... get to him?"


    "... I don''t really have an exact plan anymore, thanks to you," Chouko truthfully tells the android.


    "O... Oh..."


    "What I mean by that is, I was following the guidance of my informant, my ''handler'', and... failing this job means I can no longer rely on him. So, I have to find my own path to Kuroiwa. My best lead is the one who kidnapped us, so..."


    Shortcake nods a couple of times. "I see... I''m sorry that my existence is interfering with your life..."


    Chouko rolls her eyes. "If... you''re going to keep apologizing for things, you''re going to drive me mad."


    "... s..."


    Shortcake stops herself before she apologizes again.


    ...


    Chouko blinks for a moment after this exchange, actually. After saying that to Shortcake, the word "stacking" repeats in her head. An escape plan starting to brew in her mind bit by bit, as she... looks at the crates. Fixating on the crates, curious about these... potentially heavy boxes. A metaphorical lightbulb starting to glow atop her head as she thinks further..


    "Huh... Shortcake. I think I have a plan, but... I''ll need your help," Chouko tells the android. "Are you... able to play pretend? Lie, in a way?"


    Shortcake looks to Chouko, noticeably alert. "... p-pretend? Oh! I, uh, I can do that! What do you want to- uhm- pretend?"


    "My death," Chouko bluntly tells Shortcake.


    "Right, okay! I''ll pretend that you''re- ... d-dead?!" Shortcake shouts.


    Chouko nods. "See, here''s the plan..."

 #15 - The Executioner and His Mercenaries

    Charles Ashford''s death was nothing but miserable to the general public. Even if the media has moved on to more important news over the years, this one isolated murder still holds emotional weight. A relatively old man being shot in his hotel room, with his daughter found in miserable tears. It''s enough to make a poor soul cry and weep.


    But his death is an overwhelming payday in the eyes of another party.


    In the mercenary world, Charles Ashford is a job, and the job is as standard as it comes. A client wished him dead, and had the money to ascertain and will his demise. A simple request for the murder a businessman. Anyone can order and commission an assassination of a businessman, nothing remarkable to note.


    What made it special is the person requesting it.


    In the Underworld, "Kuroiwa" the Stalker borrows the name of another Kuroiwa. A Kuroiwa that had far more experience, far more work in his possession. The person with high standing to the point where being one of their trusted mercenaries is destined for greatness and riches. If a mercenary worked for this employer, they were set for life.


    "Kuroiwa sends his regards."


    One such mercenary being the one who pulled the trigger. The one that did the deed to kill Charles Ashford. With that bullet, the man has cemented his standing as a mercenary that addresses Kuroiwa directly. A mercenary welcomed to the employer''s payroll as an efficient killer to take out more names.


    The mercenary... is the Executioner.


    The rugged and grizzled mercenary that has gained the bloodthirsty ire of Chouko Ashford, the one that is only a few feet away from her at this very moment. His title, his "moniker" is the Executioner. A title Chouko never bothered to learn, a title of someone who "carries out a sentence of death on a condemned person", and a title belonging to someone as equally elusive as Kuroiwa is.


    He is someone whose own journey throughout these nine years has been met with growth and success, becoming one of the highest rated assassins to carry out murders. His fame as the Executioner, the title bestowed upon him by the elites of the Underworld, came from the very job that sealed his and Chouko''s fates.


    As the one who did the deed, the one who put down Ashford on Kuroiwa''s job, his status as a previously unremarkable mercenary escalated higher and higher to the point of being a moneymaker. More jobs were sent to him with great success, and now he commands the respect of fellow mercenaries that got their starts working for the Executioner. A group of them, almost a small organization of his own, the Executioner being the "Kuroiwa" of his own mercenaries.


    His most trusted were a pair of mercenaries that have been with him for years. Steele, the big, buff, and gruff man with his steel legs, and Griffin, the blond pretty boy with invisibility cybernetics. Their beginnings date all the way back to the beginning of the Artificial Revolution, before their... cybernetic upgrades. Their work with Charon left them dissatisfied, so the Executioner shortly hired them and their fellow acquaintances.


    Steele is with the rest of the mercenaries, accompanying the van and the pickup truck. Making sure that the mercenaries were still driving after the truck. Meanwhile, Griffin sits in the truck''s passenger side, arms crossed and looking out the window. As Steele is the brawn that could manage mercenaries, Griffin is the brain that provided intellectual conversations about tactics and all.


    And, en route to their next stop, the Executioner explained Chouko to the blond, their conversation accompanied by country music.


    "Hm... I see. Your history with her is quite intriguing..." Griffin responds.


    "First time seeing her in... ages, really. I had searched Times Square for her, but... no avail. She was too protected," the Executioner explains to Griffin. "To think, she''s now a mercenary as well... employed under Charon, you said?"


    "Yes, indeed," Griffin responds. One hand raised to brush the bangs of his hair for a few seconds, before crossing his arms and leisurely looking out the window. Eyes focused on the side mirror to check on the other mercenaries. The ones that are trailing somewhat behind, following after. "She claims that she''s... ''Kuroiwa'', meaning she... well..."


    "It''s obvious what she''s doing, Griffin. She''s being one of those crybabies, whining for daddy and all," the Executioner remarks, grinning to himself. "I didn''t get to put her down like her old man, and here she is... biting us in the ass. I did mention ''Kuroiwa'' that night, y''know?"


    "Right..." Griffin lets out a yawn, leaning back into the seat. Taking a moment to flicker his eyes, beaming flashlights into the mirror at a specific angle.


    In response, the headlights of Steele and the others flicker once.


    "... all clear on their end. No signs of any escape yet, sir," Griffin tells the Executioner. "Is it alright if I get my rest...? It''s late, and you know what they say about beauty sleep..."


    "Very well. I''ll wake you up when we get to our next stop," the Executioner responds.


    "You have my thanks..." Griffin mumbles, covering his mouth to yawn subtly before beginning to snooze away on the trip.


    "..." Once Griffin has his eyes closed, and silence fills the truck... the Executioner narrows his eyes, grimly staring forward, visible contemplation on his face. He claimed to the other mercenaries that this girl was worth billions of dollars, but...


    ...


    Eventually, after some time, the truck is off of the highway and ends up in their next stop: Indianapolis.


    Home of the Indianapolis 500, an annual automobile race occurring on Memorial Day, this city is famously the heart of Indiana and the racing capital of the world. A strong history in the automotive industry, a city with culture and history. The world''s largest children''s museum, calm walks along its Central Canal and its Cultural Trail, the historical Monument Circle around the Soldiers'' and Sailor''s Monument, even soccer stadiums and vibrant nightlife with stylish bars and nightclubs. This city, in several ways, was one of the greatest hearts of America.


    Now, it was just yet another hub of androids and cybernetic people living the mass-spread status quo of poverty-filled metropolises. The effects of the Artificial Revolution devastated and drowned out this city''s importance, sweeping all of this golden life away.


    And the only reason the Executioner and the others are here... is because of a safe house. An Indianapolis office building, one that has been prepared for their use. Enough space in its storage area to keep the boxes, enough places for the mercenaries to rest for the night without arousing suspicion. One available to them for a single night, before they needed to vacate the premises for the next people in line.


    Their encounter with Chouko Ashford is... coincidental, a side occurrence. The plan was to go here all along, taking a stop to intercept the mercenaries that got arrested by a police car. This very truck carrying belongings that, altogether, will be going to a nice little location once they were expected to vacate.


    With this, the truck drives into a spacious enough parking spot to the side of this building, and the Executioner steps out with Griffin. The group of mercenaries gathering at the back of the truck, discussing what to do now.


    "Simple. Unload the crates into this office''s storage for now, exchange the truck for a new replacement, and then we''re off to our next location," the Executioner explains. "Any of you that are incapable of carrying boxes, just keep watch and prepare to restrain the girl inside."


    "Getting right on it, sir!" Steele exclaims, approaching the truck door with a few other mercenaries.


    However, one of them idly speaks up before Steele could do anything.


    "Before we open that door, why... exactly... did we need to keep the girl conscious?"


    An immediate inquiry from one of the mercenaries working directly for Steele, the track-suited one with neon green sunglasses. Nothing about him screamed "remarkable" on first glance, but this mercenary''s title - given by the Executioner himself - is the Repairman. One of the Executioner''s tech-savvy hackers, a necessary force in this age of technological threats, having experience with cybernetics and cybersecurity.


    No one seemed to be bringing up why Chouko Ashford was left unconscious for the entire drive, so... he immediately took it upon himself to ask. A calm look on his face as he looks to the door, crossing his arms and gazing at the truck door. The one with a hostile woman behind it and all. "Knocking her out would''ve made all of this easier. Saves us the hassle of having to deal with a conscious enemy. Why did we not just- y''know... render her unable to fight back?"


    Asking this question, the hacker was... met with a bit of silence, as the Executioner stares with narrowed eyes.


    Griffin, rubbing his eyes, idly rolls them and explains for his employer. "... allow me to explain. Knocking someone out is the equivalent of inflicting brain damage to subdue them. If you hit someone in the head and knock them out, the sensors in someone''s head is set off to overwhelm. Damages some nerves and inflicts a concussion. One could wake up from the brain trauma, but the damage will always be there."


    "Right," the Executioner continues. "And she''s better in good condition. Hostile or not, people will pay good money for her to be in perfect condition. We took all of her weapons, left her in a locked truck with nothing but crates, and still outnumber her. No harm in letting her be awake for all of this, let her really think about it all. Again- billions of dollars are on the line, with her survival, and... well, let''s just say that we don''t want a repeat of the android."


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    That remark is enough for the mercenaries to, collectively, look at Griffin for a bit.


    "... fair enough," the Repairman remarks, adjusting his glasses and averting his gaze. "I''ll leave the heavy work to Steele, then. This phone of hers is a gold mine of information on Charon, and I think I''m better suited looking through it," he explains, waving the flip phone.


    "Very well. Come along, then," Griffin tells the man, as the three mercenaries head into the building. Idly going through the process of alerting the mercenaries stationed inside that they have arrived.


    With that, Steele and the five other remaining mercenaries are left to handle the truck cargo.


    "... okay, well, time to open this door!" Steele tells the mercenaries, arms crossed and actively staring at the door. "Someone want to do the honors? Show off their door opening skills while the rest of us are on guard for the girl?"


    "I got it, Steele," a mercenary speaks up, walking up to the door and unlocking it. Cautiously, ever so cautiously opening the door with a careful look on his face. Idly peeking into the inside of the truck, ready to keep watch for anything their captive may do.


    Though, one glimpse of a crate in front of him, and he stops. His eyes glancing at the crates, seeing a wall of crates in front of his eyes. Creates stacked atop other crates.


    "... huh? What''s up?" Steele asks, raising an eyebrow. "Can''t open a door? Don''t worry, I got it if you can''t."


    "Well- Steele, sir, actually... there''s- a small problem," the mercenary begins to explain, gesturing to the boxes. "Look at how the boxes are arranged..."


    Steele- raises an eyebrow, staring at the boxes. "... yes? And? I mean, boxes can fall out of line, that''s why we have the door here!"


    "Well- if they''re dislodged, if they got loose by themselves, then... why is it that these boxes all form a perfect wall? Stacked on top of each other, still?" the mercenary asks, pointing up. "T-The boxes are somehow-"


    "A-Ah!" Shortcake calls from inside, interrupting this mercenary''s train of thought completely as she cries out to the mercenaries outside. "T-The door''s open! H-Hey! C-Can anyone hear me?!"


    ... Steele curiously hears this voice. The only reason it would call that out is because it''s trying to notify her fellow passenger of the door''s opening, all but confirming that something is wrong... so, looking to the other mercenaries, he readies a hostile, tough response to the android. "That''s right, android! Don''t you dare try anything funny, or-!"


    "P-Please help!!" Shortcake interrupts, crying out for help. Begging these mercenaries to help, even. "S-Something happened, and- and I- I think there''s a dead girl back here...!"


    Steele''s eyes widen at this... unexpected response. "... what? She''s dead? Are you sure about that, android?!"


    "Y-Yes!" Shortcake exclaims, starting to sob behind her panic. "W-We were trying to- to do something to trick you, to stack the crates, b... but, okay, s-so, so, uh, a while back, the truck ended up bumping on something, and the boxes e-ended up dislodging from their places! T-They ended up sliding and- and a few squished together with the girl in between! T-The impact, uhm, it- there''s- I''m scared, please- please help! Help us! Quickly! She needs a doctor!"


    Shortcake loudly calls all of this out, sounding audibly authentic and genuine in her claims. As if this wasn''t part of Chouko''s plan, as if something really did happen to her...


    ... but Steele doesn''t believe Shortcake, doesn''t want to believe the android. The pure disbelief on his face is prominent as he tries to reason in his head that their billion dollar captive isn''t dead. That this android is lying about it, trying to trick all of them with a pathetic exaggeration of what really happened. If something did happen to begin with.


    "You''re lying!" Steele eloquently shouts at the android through the boxes. "You''re probably just waiting for us to be tricked into letting you two out!"


    "W-Well, e-emphasis on ''I think''...!" Shortcake shouts, her voice starting to grow shaky and concerned as Steele is calling her bluff. "W-When the boxes were sliding, a corner of the crate ended up impacting with her head, and-"


    "You can cut the crap, robot, we''re not buying it!" Steele shouts harder, glaring at the crates and trying to intimidate the android into fumbling whatever plan this was. "M-Maybe we should keep you in there, make you fumble up a new plan, if she''s pretending to be dead!"


    ... Shortcake appropriately responds to a grown man shouting at her, by loudly crying and sobbing, wailing and succumbing to her programmed emotions. "I- I don''t know what to tell you, s-she''s- I- I don''t know what to do and I''m scared and I just- I''m sorry, I''m sorry, I''m sorry for being an android and I don''t want to be in this truck with the dead body anymore and... w-waaaaah...!"


    If this is the truth, then she''s left clueless and uncertain what to do now. If it was a lie, then she''s trying to continue selling the act to tug at whatever semblance of heartstrings these mercenaries had.


    With the possibilities that the android is, indeed, telling the truth, Steele... faced a dilemma. As the one who is in charge of handling the crates and their captive, that unexpected casualty will now lie on his back...


    "... ugh! Fine- we''ll see what happened!" Steele- grits his teeth and tensely shakes his head. He''ll be responsible for the mercenary group missing out on a big fortune, again! So he can''t take any chances, if Ashford is actually dead. "Open the truck, I''ll hold the boxes so that it doesn''t fall on us!"


    The- the mercenary nods, and begins to raise the door fully.


    As predicted, the crates on the upper half begin to fall, and Steele holds the crates with his two buff arms. This doesn''t stop all of the crates, however, as the man''s hands could only support two pillars of crates while the third one falls out of the truck with thuds.


    The lids on the crate spill open, the contents of the goods out... revealing that the crates have been opened.


    "..." Steele glares at this sight, pushing the upper boxes back forward to stabilize them from falling. Climbing into the truck and looking around, seeing the android standing right behind the boxes. "Alright. Where''s the body, android?"


    Shortcake is looking at the truck floor, hands against the side of her head as she hesitantly mumbles.


    "S... She... she- she made me lie to you all... I- I don''t know where she is..."


    "... tch!" Steele aggressively sounds at Shortcake, glaring at the android. Grabbing her by the shoulder and forcing her out of the truck, making her fall to the ground with a hard thud.


    Shortcake, hands on her head and holding onto her white hair, has her eyes closed tightly as she whimpers against the ground.


    "I... I''m sorry... I''m so sorry..."


    "She couldn''t have gone anywhere, we JUST unlocked the truck! Where in the bloody hell could she have gone?! Talk, Android, talk!"


    Shortcake, tensely, begins to plead for her life, hands against her face and actively crying in the presence of these mercenaries.


    "I- I really don''t know...! S-she''s gone and left me behind and I- I don''t know what to do, please don''t kill me-!"


    "Tch-! Just shut the hell up!" Steele loudly shouts at the android, looking to the other mercenaries. "One of you, take the android inside. Repairman''s smart with these things, he can hack its memories to see what could have happened!"


    "R-Right! O-On it, sir!" a mercenary exclaims, grabbing Shortcake by the shoulder and beginning to drag her inside. Roughly pulling on her arm, just pulling her into the building.


    With that, Steele- just knocks the side of his head, visibly stressed and agitated by this. "Tch... okay, Steele... this is your brain moment. Think... think...!"


    He begins to think about where Chouko Ashford could have gone. Where this brat could have run off to, with a closed truck.


    Minutes upon minutes of Steele''s brainstorming. In this silence, the other mercenaries begin to survey the area for any glimpse of the girl. No Ashford in sight, whatsoever. No girl hidden under the truck, no girl around the building corners, and certainly- no girl already fleeing far enough from the area.


    In fact, Steele thought to himself... how could she have escaped to begin with?


    The truck door is the only way out of the vehicle, and she can''t- phase through walls. It should be impossible for a person to leave this truck alone...


    ... and, in this moment of triumph for his brain power, he realizes. If Ashford can''t phase through walls to escape, and this door has been locked the whole time, all she can do is make use of the items in the truck. All she had was the android and these crates.


    Therefore, there''s only one thing Ashford could have done.


    "... everyone, listen up!" Steele exclaims, glaring at his mercenaries. "Look through these crates, search through any of them that have been opened! The only thing she could have done is hide in one of them!"


    "G-Got it!" a mercenary exclaims, the four of them beginning to examine crate after crate. Opening the crates accordingly and searching for any signs of a person stowing away, guessing at random out of the few that fell out of the truck. Some mercenaries climbing into the truck, accordingly, to check the crates inside.


    Steele''s massive eureka moment has dawned onto him, as the crates were the only thing that made sense. It feels like a sun shining its light onto Steele''s mind, a dawn of how genius and brilliant he is for deducing all of this. For once, he''s done something better than just having raw, brute strength. His brain shined this night.


    Maybe Ashford''s plan was to hide away in a crate, to be taken away while in the midst of this chaos. The mercenaries would have searched for the girl, and would have taken these crates into the storage... so, she''s concocted some sort of lie about dying during it to rile them up!


    "S-Sir! I found her!" one of the mercenaries shouts from inside the truck, pulling a hand out of the crate. The girl has hidden away in the very back, attempting to be the very- very- last crate taken to the storage area. A rather elaborate idea, convoluted and- really risky, really foolish!


    Steele''s eyes widen, grinning almost cockily. Boasting about his brilliance to the other mercenaries now, overtaken by his own brilliance. They managed to catch her in the very act... and he''s triumphed as the genius! "... haha! Prodigy, my ass, she tried to outsmart me and failed!" the man shouts, walking over to the box and gripping Chouko''s arm tightly. Yanking her out of the crate, dangling her off of the ground. "Alright, let''s get you into the building and-"


    ...


    Steele''s eyes narrow intensely.


    The arm he was holding, the body in this crate, it... it''s Ashford, right? Clothes match.


    But she''s... bald. She''s bald and she has pink eyes.


    Didn''t she have a full head of hair before?


    For a moment, the mercenary had to really ponder on this. Really think to himself, is this something women do? Instantly shed their hair and change their eye color upon being enclosed in a tight area? There''s no way that women do this... right? Do they shed their hair almost instantaneously, and dispose of it?


    Is there a bundle of hair inside this crate? ... no, then... did she eat the hair? Do women eat their own hair, all at once?


    Are women actually salamanders?


    ... they get more and more complicated each passing year, Steele thought, glaring at the bald girl. "Alright- well, I''m sure there''s still some value to-"


    "A-ah!" one of the mercenaries exclaim, pointing at the back of... "Chouko''s" head. "S-Steele, sir! Look! S-She has slots to secure a synthetic wig!"


    Steele''s eyes- just go absolutely wide, looking at where the mercenary''s pointing. Witnessing the slot in question, something for an artificial wig... and, curiously, a bar code.


    And further knowledge enlightens Steele, holding "Chouko''s" arm and realizing it felt synthetic. Fake. Artificially made. This isn''t human skin, it''s...


    ... it''s the android.


    This- this isn''t Chouko Ashford, it''s the android.


    Shortcake remains dangled by Steele''s grasp, remaining visibly silent as she looks to the mercenary. Watching the man glaring at her, her pink eyes staring with horror. "U... Uhm... I... uh... a-are you going to hurt me...?"


    Steele stares at this bald android for a while, not even aware that these things had their hair attached like this. The first thoughts in his mind were of how unsettling a bald girl is.


    Then, the next thoughts, the more important thoughts, a realization.


    "... i... if this is the android... then..."


    ... a feeling of dread shadows over Steele and the mercenaries as they slowly, ever so slowly look to the building in horror and realization.


    Realizing that the mercenary that left... did not walk away with an android. He wasn''t escorting an android to the Repairman.


    He was escorting Chouko.

 #16 - And So It Begins

    ... all according to plan.


    Internally, Chouko needed to hide her elation at her current success. As the mercenaries, Steele and the rest, are trying to figure out where Chouko could have escaped, one of their very own allies is escorting her along. Under the disguise of Shortcake, she''s cemented her temporary escape. Black hair hidden by fake white locks, and crimson red eyes inconspicuously narrowed to conceal their prominent color, not a single one of these daft mercenaries notice anything wrong.


    It''s astonishing to Chouko that Shortcake, one of the many lifelike human androids, can just detach her hair. That''s a very interesting thing to learn about Shortcake, one that came up in the middle of their planning. A very convenient thing to know, especially given the fact that Shortcake''s hair is long enough to hide her very own.


    There are some... differences, but these mercenaries can''t tell anyway. It''s not like they saw the android as a person with characteristics. This plan ultimately only works because Chouko is the one these mercenaries are focused on, the person that they need to pay closer attention to than the android. Chouko takes the android''s identity for now, hands holding onto the hair to make sure it doesn''t fall off at any point during the walk.


    Granted, Chouko does feel great amounts of guilt leaving Shortcake behind. An act, a temporary setback, on the forefront of her mind. However, if either of them are to leave unharmed, this temporary sacrifice needed to be done. Shortcake will hopefully be fine...


    If she isn''t, then... it will just have to be another thing that Chouko kills these mercenaries for.


    She could call for help, sure, but so can these mercenaries. However many of them are in this building, if she doesn''t take them out now, they''ll call for assistance to put down the escapee. No, action needed to be taken now, action needed to be within the walls of their hideout.


    Now that she''s come across the mercenaries working for him, working for the killer, the killer hired by the actual Kuroiwa, Chouko didn''t need to put this face on. She''s ready to enact her vengeance as Chouko Ashford. Her escape into the building going as planned, her given escort the one chance she will ever have.


    Chouko takes a great- great note of the building in question. An office building with four floors. Some mechanical security at the front door, which the mercenary bypasses by pressing a button to tap into the building''s intercom system. The one single entrance and exit of this building, minus some fire escapes that only open outward.


    "Hey- coming in now. Steele wants this android to be looked at by our hacker."


    "Got it."


    The doors open, and the two walk in.


    Entering the front lobby of the office building, traditionally designed. Some elevators present, with a mercenary behind the front desk to operate the doors. Several doors split off from this lobby, doors that lead down hallways to other doors on the first floor. All she can see on this first floor is this relatively small receptionist''s lobby. Whatever else happens on this floor is unknown to her, for now, except two elevators and a stairwell to the left of the entrance.


    To her knowledge, this building is quite reminiscent of the Connection Office that Sedimate had. Only, instead of androids being remotely piloted by humans, it''s humans coming in to do the work of androids. The mercenaries appear to have made themselves at home in this building long before her arrival, their plans mostly a mystery to her... but the building layout is familiar and recognizable enough.


    The elevator doors open.


    "Alright. Get in," the mercenary tells the android, pushing her into the elevator.


    "Right..." Chouko sensitively responds, doing a very good impression of Shortcake. Making sure her hands remained on her head, securing Shortcake''s synthetic hair in place... glancing to the mercenary with worry. "S... So, uhm, is- is memory extraction going to hurt, m-mister...?"


    "Why does it matter if it hurts? You can just be turned off during the whole process," the mercenary spitefully comments, an uncaring and uninterested look on his face. "Keep your mouth shut and you might get out of this alright, android."


    "Right..."


    ... this unknown procedure of unspecified pain. Something to be cautious of, Chouko supposes. All of this is foreign territory to her, and she needs to be careful that she doesn''t have her brain involuntarily lobotomized.


    In the enclosed space of the elevator, Chouko discreetly took her time to gain her composure. Without Charon to guide her, Chouko is to rely on all of the information and memory of the work she''s done herself.


    Her memory being the only useful asset she has on her right now. No weapons, no phone, nothing.


    So one great, great step towards that, to gaining her belongings back, is getting to the hacker. Getting her phone back and all, and seeing what she can do from his office. The technology itself remains in tact in the phone, even without Charon''s assistance, so retrieving the phone will give her great defense against the cybernetic mercenaries.


    Chouko knows well enough that Griffin, the invisible man, is an easily dispatchable threat with the phone. Steele is a different story, one that requires she gain armed weaponry before his metal leg could hurt and damage her.


    As for the killer...


    ...


    The elevator door interrupts her train of thought as it opens on the third floor. The sound ringing out before the mercenary pulls Chouko out of the elevator, leading her along and escorting her with a rough hand.


    Chouko notes that the elevator and stairwell enter into a cubicle area, supporting 12 cubicles in the center of the room and eight of them next to the wall of windows. Each of the cubicles seem to be occupied, curiously making her wonder... how many of these people are working as mercenaries?


    In the possibility that all of them are enemies, Chouko notes that she will need to find a way to kill multiple people before they fully overwhelm her. Eight people alone overwhelmed her... especially the invisible one. Optimally, she either needs to find a weapon to carry a surplus amount of ammunition, or she needs to take weapons from the mercenaries as she goes along.


    Furthermore, if none of them are enemies, Chouko considers that she will need to filter the civilians from the mercenaries. There''s a signifier to simply shoot at whoever tries to hurt her, so... in the event of murder, the civilians would likely flee for their lives instead of attempting to kill her. That should be a good enough filter, unless there are any brave enough civilians wanting to...


    ... no. No. The system works for now. Chouko is in enemy territory, no clue about which case. Both could be true, half and half. If someone is truly innocent, if someone is truly free from all of this mercenary work, then Chouko will not have to worry about them. They''ll just keep themselves or their friends safe.


    Keeping the innocent people alive and unharmed is a chore, but it''s an essential responsibility to Chouko. To not have a repeat of what happened in the hotel that day...


    ... the woman thinking about all of this in depth as she''s guided into a hallway, passing by various doors to private offices.


    Chouko and the mercenary take a right around the corner and pass by a few more doors. Then, the mercenary stops in front of a door, knocking on it. "Oi. Repairman. Got the android here, need to get it scanned for Ashford."


    "... scanned for Ashford?" a voice calls out from the other side, a confused tone in his voice before annoyed seriousness bleeds out of his lips. "You''re kidding me."


    "I''m not. She''s managed to escape, and the android here''s an accomplice. Steele needs her memory scanned to figure out what she''s done," the mercenary explains.


    The hacker is behind this door. The one experienced with machines, with technology and all. Chouko keeps her eyes narrowed, even more narrow so that the eye color isn''t as noticeable to the hacker. Keeping her gaze inconspicuous as the office door opens, and the sunglasses wearing mercenary approaches.


    His pair of sunglasses currently atop his head and buried in his hair, idly looking up at both the mercenary and the supposed doll - the one with her eyes closed - with a tense look on his face. "Okay. Okay. I''ll take the android from here..." the hacker idly tells the mercenary. "Come back in about five minutes. That should be more than enough time."


    "Got it." The mercenary begins to leave, heading out to quickly report back to Steele. Leaving the hacker and the "android" by their lonesome, unknowingly sealing the hacker''s fate.


    The hacker has his back turned, idly rummaging through his belongings for his toolkit and such. Preparing items to begin accessing the android''s memories, having more than enough experience on accessing its visual data.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Alright... let''s get to probing that memory of yours, android..." the hacker responds, picking up his step stool and putting it in front of the "android". Climbing up onto it, making his height match with the side of "Shortcake''s" head as he reaches for the hair, pulls it aside...


    ... and seeing the black locks immediately.


    "... oh sh-!" the hacker calls out, his eyes wide and mouth gaping to scream and shout for help.


    Immediately, the short hacker has the front of his head gripped by Chouko''s hand. A forceful rush forward with all of her might, kicking the stool out from underneath him and forcing him straight into his desk.


    At this angle, Chouko aims to deliver a critical blow to the back of the head. In the brain, the occipital lobe is located at the back of the head. Meaning, injuries to this part of the brain affect vision and sight, and - depending on the severity of impact - can blind the mercenary completely, if not concussed.


    However, the lesser case doesn''t apply to what happened to the hacker. Chouko didn''t hold back and dealt immensely severe When the hacker''s head impacted the edge of the table, it completely knocked him out. Critical injury to his brain, rendered immediately knocked out upon impact. In essence, experiencing blunt force trauma that leaves him on the verge of death.


    "..." Chouko stares down at this man''s body as he falls limp against the leg of the desk. A cold, cold gaze as she watches the dying man, dusting her hands off and looking around the room.


    Idly looking around, she mostly just sees messes of papers and devices sprawled across the room, some metal trinkets and such. The hacker has a laptop on the desk, as well as an open family-sized bag of potato crisps on the desk, and an open can of lime soda.


    There isn''t anything else noteworthy to her, among the hacker''s belongings... though, the crisps are good.


    Chouko takes a potato crisp... and eats it.


    For a dying mercenary, he has a fine taste in snacks... Chouko supposes. Salty, savory. While these are unhealthy, eating a few in moderation is quite nice.


    ... anyway. After that, there is something of hers instead that comes to attention: her phone. Contently on a desk with wires peering out of it, all connected to the hacker''s laptop.


    Chouko takes a moment to look between her phone and the screen itself, curious to what is happening. On the computer screen, it shows that this hacker is 20% done attempting to bypass the phone''s protection. Some blue progress bar, in the middle of checking her call logs...


    ... an intriguing sight to behold. One that Chouko immediately responds to, by canceling the process and unplugging the device altogether. Completely halting that progress bar and returning it to 0%.


    As Chouko observes the screen, she begins to browse through whatever information she can gather from the laptop. The hacker has folders upon folders of documents, some downloaded video games... a chat message thing with names, and that''s about it.


    Chouko sighs as this laptop doesn''t seem too particularly useful, or- at least, doesn''t know how to make use of any of this information within her time constraints. It''s not like she can consult Charon anymore... maybe it would be a good idea to bring this laptop to a new informant, after the events that will transpire here.


    Suddenly, another knock sounds out. Someone knocking on the door, catching Chouko''s attention immediately. She looks to the door, focusing on the aggressive pounding from the hand of whoever is on the other side.


    "H-Hey! Hacker, you good in there? I thought I heard you fall in there...!" the voice calls out.


    A mercenary...


    "U-Uhm- the hacker h-has his- headphones on, he doesn''t want t-to be disturbed-!" Chouko calls out, stalling for time.


    This response, this explanation, is met immediately with: "S-Shut up! I KNOW I heard a thud in there- I want to hear it from him! I know he can hear us through those things, open up!"


    ... tch. Chouko''s time is outstandingly short. She needs something to defend herself. Anything, anything in this room should work as a weapon, anything solid enough.


    What about the stool? ... no, it''s too light, it''s just a plastic stool. What about the hacker''s chair? No, it''s unwieldy and inviable in an enclosed space...


    "God damn it- I''m kicking this door down! Repairman!"


    ... tch.


    Chouko takes a moment to pick up the hacker''s laptop, closing it and holding it in her hands. This laptop is just right as an impromptu weapon. At least one good hit is available by swinging this. The downside is that, in essence, she will render the information on this device completely useless if the machine breaks.


    ... then again, if it''s broken, then they cannot use it either.


    A budding opportunity, regardless of outcome.


    Chouko walks to one side of the door, her back against the office wall... waiting. Waiting ever so patiently, waiting for the very moment this mercenary breaks in. The moment this mercenary breaks the door down, the moment this mercenary barges in blindly out of concern...


    ... then, it happens. The mercenary slams his foot against the door several times and manages to kick the door out, forcing it to swing out and hit against the wall on the opposite side.


    The mercenary storms into the room. Armed with a gun in hand, a 9mm pistol that takes magazines, pointing it and looking around. His eyes locked on the hacker with a tense look on his face. "W... What in the hell?! Repairman-!"


    Giving him no time to check on the hacker, Chouko suddenly swings the laptop and bashes it against the mercenary''s face. A hard swing, with all of her might, the impact severe and devastating to both man and machine.


    Chouko is by no means a strong powerhouse, but the average person still experiences great amounts of pain from this sort of impact, and this becomes very evident at his response: "G-Gah! WHAT THE F-?!" the mercenary loudly screams, recoiling backwards at this, feeling his nose breaking. "T-THE ANDROID''S GOING NUTS-! E-EVERYONE-!"


    Chouko quickly lets go of the laptop, rushing forward to yank the gun out of the mercenary''s hand. Gripping the gun in hand tightly, a cold and emotionless gaze in her eyes as she takes aim and fires two shots.


    The first bullet going cleanly through the hacker''s head, a sort of mercy to the man if he was still alive after the blunt force trauma.


    And the second shot, into the mercenary''s stomach.


    Blood splatter gushes out of his body as he falls against the wall, drops to the floor and begins to bleed out. Experiencing excruciating abdominal pain as he stares up at Chouko, a tense groan out his lips with pure strain on his face. His voice noticeably more quiet as he suffers from his wound.


    "Y... You- You- won''t- get away with this..." the mercenary groans, his voice noticeably more quiet as he suffers from his wound and glares at the girl. Aching and calling out this statement, as if trying to convince himself of this fact.


    "Keep your mouth shut," Chouko repeats his words as she kicks his face, shoving his words down his throat. Crouching down and prepared to rummage through his pockets for any spare ammunition he may have, keeping a close eye on his trembling and shaking hands.


    Before she could find any, however, Chouko hears approaching footsteps out in the hallway. A number of mercenaries storming and closing in. Likely alarmed and alerted by the gunshots, the footsteps came from the way she previously walked.


    No time to aimlessly search... she has to gambit and hope for the best, with the bullets that do remain in this gun. Chouko takes a deep breath, taking a moment to stuff the back of Shortcake''s hair into her clothes to make sure the white locks are secured. Then, phone in hand and the gun in the other, both of her hands are ready for what''s to happen next.


    The girl assumes that these mercenaries are coming in to shoot first and ask questions later. Enough time has passed, even, since Steele and the other outside mercenaries should have become privy to her ruse, so she needs- needs to assume the very worst of whoever is coming.


    Every one of them coming for her, they must die before they can kill her. So, with a deep breath and a sigh, the crimson of her eyes lit ablaze with anticipation and drive...


    ... her onslaught begins.


    And it starts with a trick up her sleeve. Chouko quickly presses a button on her phone, having saved what she used on the cybernetics of a previous target. Testing the viability of her offense against these mercenaries'' cybernetics, pressing the button to try and send signals for involuntary electrical discharges.


    The sounds of electric static and pained groans of agony are a good indicator that the trick worked. Chouko swiftly dashes out of the room and takes aim, ready to shoot whoever she sees. Counting three- no, four, incoming mercenaries that were walking down the hallway, all of them experiencing severe headaches that stun them in place and disorient their senses completely.


    Right now, they were all blind and recovering from this sudden sharp pain.


    Chouko seizes this wonderful aiming right at their heads and seizing this opportunity to shoot. Bang. Bang. Bang. Three gunshots fired out, hitting their still targets perfectly. Easily taken out with single shots, piercing shots lethally inflicted while their senses are utterly distorted by the phone''s programming. Blood messily splattering out onto the walls, the mercenaries'' bodies falling and collapsing against the floor.


    The fourth mercenary remains standing as he''s recovering from that sensory assault on his cybernetics. A piercing sound in his ears as he flutters his eyes, taking aim forward and firing. It didn''t matter if he aimed at Ashford, all that matters is that he shoots forward. That he shoots bullets all around the hallway, hoping to God that one of them hits.


    "D-Damn it! W-We- we need backup! I need backup- A-Ashford''s up here, killing us!" he cries out to the other mercenaries, his storm of bullets firing out as he backs away. Unaware of if he''s even hitting her as he''s completely blinded by the pure distortion over his eyes... the mercenary gets auditory confirmation as Chouko cries out in pain, as the mercenary hears his shots hit into someone''s body. The gushing, splattering sound echoing out as Chouko screams, yells, aches in agonizing pain.


    A believable ruse... as Chouko hides back in the hacker''s office, throwing her voice as the bullets fly past.


    The only reason the fourth one remains alive is that Chouko''s gun didn''t fire.


    She took cover in the office, out of the mercenary''s firing path as she detaches the pistol''s magazine from the gun. Confirming for herself that the gun is out of bullets, idly looking forward to the mercenary bleeding out in the office.


    What did she expect from these people, really? To make sure the gun is loaded, so that there are more than just five bullets in a 20 round gun?


    Chouko shakes her head, thinking quickly. This isn''t the only gun that she has access to, there are three dead men with readily available guns as well... she just needs time to retrieve them, or- possibly retrieve any bullets from the deceased mercenary.


    She looks around the room for a while, teeth clenched and eyes searching for anything she may have overlooked. Curiously, her eyes look back to the soda on the late hacker''s desk. Taking a moment to hold the can, idly wiggling it to confirm how much was left inside.


    A plan is contently lingering in her head as she glances to one of the power sockets, something that the broken laptop was previously plugged into...


    ... and she looks and looking visibly relieved when she finds that the can is half full.


    "W-What''s going on?!" one of the mercenaries shout, meanwhile, gun in both hands as he watches the wild gunfire.


    "I- I''m blinded! S-She did something that messed with our eyes-!" the shooting mercenary shouts, his gun now out of bullets. Aimlessly scrambling for his pockets, frantically moving to reload.


    "M-Messed with your eyes?! L-Like, tampered with-"


    "Yes! My freaking EYES just turned to garbage-!" the mercenary exclaims, aiming forward. "Be careful, she might do the same thing and make it so you can''t see anything either!"


    Suddenly, a loud spark sounds out in the room Chouko is in...


    ... and then, the building''s power completely shuts off.


    A total blackout that does - in fact - take away the ability to see, as every single light in the building shuts off. The darkness completely blinding the building''s inhabitants, a sudden occurrence.


    "... w... what in the hell...?"


    A foreboding air fills the floor as the mercenaries are grouped up, as they''re left confused and in the dark about why the lights are suddenly off...


    ... and Chouko equips herself with the spare guns.


    "..."


    A massively wide grin on her face...

 #16.5 - Wronged (Interlude)

    "W... What? Am I hearing you correctly, Oliver...?"


    "Yes... you are. My sincerest of apologies, Charles. I''m going to have to withdraw from our arrangement."


    Charles Ashford... the late Charles Ashford. A conversation that came upon his summons to an office, indulging in a tea cup of business as he sat across the table from a business partner of his. Disbelief on his face, with shock and dismay at this withdrawal.


    The partner in question was a dear friend. Sir Oliver [REDACTED], a wealthy philanthropist that has invested funding towards one of Ashford''s subsidiary charities. A dear friend who has visited countless times, who has worked with Charles on countless business projects and affairs, and one that had a rather beneficial impact to the cause itself.


    On paper, funding was to be distributed to funding homeless efforts, constructing soup kitchens that could provide shelter and financial security in exchange for service to the community. Those poor folk with nowhere to go would have had a place to call home, a place to accept help and assistance... a place to reintegrate into civilized society. Charles sought to carry out this endeavor, feeling it would create a sense of community.


    With Oliver''s withdrawal, however, a substantial amount of this funding is no longer present, leading to the proposed objectives being unable to be fulfilled. Thus, Charles was utterly tense at this, feeling... wronged, somehow.


    "... may I ask for your reasons, Oliver? You were quite charmed by the idea at first."


    "I was, Charles. But this charity focuses on an issue that, on second thought, is admittedly narrow and limited in terms of benefits. I cannot, in good faith, lend my money out to a charity that does not have our best interests in mind."


    "On what grounds is this not in best interest? A high population of people on the streets, sleeping on streets rather than a bed... a number that grows higher with each year, Oliver. Your funding could save hundreds of thousands of impoverished citizens."


    "Charles... the homeless is not a pressing issue. You are speaking of men and women whose financial decisions brought them into that life of suffering, something they could change on their own... but choose not to. A charity proposing your ideas is just... I find no purpose, no point to it. Nothing to gain whatsoever. I sincerely apologize, once again... but..."


    Sincerely apologize...


    ...


    Charles tuned out the rest of the conversation. Losing the specifics of the words that came after this, only retaining the general main idea. The charity was not an idea that Oliver intended to support any further.


    A decision he must accept in that moment to maintain pleasantries... but, after some time, Charles departed from this office, and made his way back to the car, unable to accept it. Sitting quietly in the car, with a tense scowl on his face for... a long while, after that.


    Charles could not get those words out of his mind. In truth, it deeply frustrated him, irritated him, those reasons that sounded absurd and nonsensical to him. Charity is not something that you gain from, it is something that you do from the goodness of your heart. And Oliver simply spat on the very concept of societal altruism. Disregarded its high morals, abandoned the cause all for meaningless profit.


    For lack of a better term, Oliver has disgraced their partnership...


    Charles... sat, as he quietly thought... rethought about the entirety of that conversation. As he was mildly lost on what to do after this, as he struggled to figure out how to approach this major setback. Without Oliver''s support, without his funding, connections and expertise, their projected costs would not be met, and - ultimately - the amount of constructed buildings will not be substantial enough to have meaningful impact. The charity was already on dying legs before it could even begin.


    ... and it sickened Charles, this failure.


    Charles... needed to get his mind off of this. He needed to distract himself from this distress, from this deepest of setbacks. Needed to get this- this... this indignation out of his mind. Needed to focus his mind on other distractions.


    And his most recent of distractions sat adjacent to him.


    Charles looked to his side, looking to the child right by his side. Seated right next to him, the recently adopted 6 year old Chouko, just quietly having her face buried in a book. During the entire meeting, Chouko had been quietly sitting outside under the chauffeur''s care, brought along to handle two metaphorical birds with a stone.


    After the meeting, they were now headed to a boutique to go clothes shopping for proper lady''s attire. Seeking clothes fit to turn a ragamuffin into a fashionista, hoping that Chouko would find... an interest... in wearing the finest. Something to expand past her passionate interest in books, of which the orphanage had briefly given him slight knowledge on.


    It''s a heartwarming sight, truthfully, to see her reading. One who is well read is truly an asset... but one who is unwise, who makes the foolish decision to risk motion sickness while reading in a car, is... unsatisfactory.


    "... Chouko. It is unwise to read in a moving vehicle. You will feel nauseous and sick afterwards."


    ... no response.


    The girl completely ignored him.


    Charles... narrowed his eyes, briefly. His eyebrow raised at this lack of response, his wisdom possibly lying on deaf and defiant ears. Was Chouko refusing to accept his wisdom? Or was she so deeply lost in this novel of hers that she could not hear him? ... he safely assumes it''s the second possibility. Ignorance rather than rebellion.


    It''s a heartwarming sight, truthfully, to see her indulge in such works. One who is well read is truly an asset... and he can''t expect a new heir to be perfect on the first week. Charles quietly tapped her on the shoulder, acting to get her attention.


    It is only then that Chouko noticed him, looking up to Charles and raising a hand to her ear. Seeing her hair brushed aside, Charles... curiously saw her pull an ear plug out. Answering his puzzling question of why she didn''t respond to his inquiry, having the sound blocked out... only now listening.


    "... o... oh... yes? What is it, Father...?"


    ... Charles got a closer look at the earplug itself, staring at it curiously. Soft foam plugs, a vibrant orange, standard noise-cancelling brand. "... hm. And this earplug, this is in good quality..."


    "... y-yeah... the- the orphanage bought me these ones, personally... they, uhm... I find comfort in wearing these... I''m sorry-"


    "It''s quite alright, Chouko..." Charles responded, just... clearing his throat. "I was briefly- speaking to get your attention. Just a small, brief statement that you should not be reading while in a moving car. You will get sick."


    "O-Oh, I- I know... that''s- why I had the earplugs in... makes it easier to not be sick..."


    Charles raises an eyebrow. "... re... really, now? Does it really help?"


    Chouko idly answered with an explanation, her red eyes sheepishly blinking at Charles.


    "Well... y... yeah. I overheard one of the c-caretakers mentioning it... see, it is caused by feeling two different things. W-While one''s eyes stare at something still, b-bumps in the road make your ear feel- weird, makes it feel sick... s... so, with earplugs, you stabilize your ears..."


    "Huh... then the effects of motion sickness reduce significantly..." Charles calmly finished the thought, looking at the girl with a delicate smile. "Well. I shall let you continue then... I would not want to interrupt your dive into the whimsical, whimsical world of..."


    Charles took a peek at the cover.


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "... Lord of the Flies, by William Golding."


    Huh.


    ...


    What?


    Charles was absolutely bewildered at this sight, immediately recognizing the novel that Chouko has in her hands. Amazed and perplexed by this sight, watching Chouko just... reading a secondary school level novel. Something she wouldn''t need to read for years. "Chouko... you''ve- you have been reading Lord of the Flies this entire time?"


    "Y... Yes. I- I have...?"


    "... I... I see." Charles sits back in the seat, just... curious. Outstandingly curious about this. For the first few days after her adoption, he''s given Chouko free reign of the manor''s personal library, and expected her to find an interest in the assortment of various children''s works- and yet, here she was. Lord of the Flies. To his knowledge, it wasn''t a children''s work, but a work of children. Not for a child, simply featuring child characters- the contents of which are far too grown up, far too advanced for a six year old to read and comprehend.


    And yet- Chouko has been reading it. The ramifications of a child reading it, aside, Charles... is astonished at this new information. "Interesting... how... far have you gotten into the novel, Chouko?"


    "U-Uhm... C... Chapter 4... it''s a fascinating-"


    "Chapter 4?!" Charles asked, bewildered, leaning forward. "Y-You''ve managed to read that far?!"


    "U-Uhm- y-yes??"


    "That''s- that''s..." Charles mumbled, covering his mouth at this. Astonished, amazed, astounded. Three chapters she''s either skipped, or- understood, somehow. A six year old that has not been frustrated by lengthy, pictureless works?! He leaned back against the car door, completely- utterly astonished.


    "... i-is- uhm- is that bad? I- I''m sorry, I didn''t mean to..."


    "...?" Charles raises an eyebrow, seeing Chouko start to nervously and timidly silence herself. "Oh. No, no, it''s- I just... I did not expect you to be so... versed in literature, so soon. Lord of the Flies is a teenager''s novel, intended to be read far later than your current years, Chouko."


    "... o... oh... I... I see... I just... saw the vivid imagery of the cover and thought it looked nice... r-red books and all..."


    "A fine choice..." Charles quietly responds. "Very fine indeed. It is a suggestion to not judge a book by its cover, solely as a metaphor to indicate a person is more than their appearance or mannerisms... but a cover is often the best hook to gather attention. The contents of Lord of the Flies are hard to get into, but-"


    "W-Why would it be hard? I think William Golding is a proficient author that conveys- ... a... ah, uhm... s-sorry, m-maybe I shouldn''t, uhm- bore or upset you a-any further than you already are..."


    "Upset?" Charles asked. "You believe that you could make me upset by speaking about a book?"


    "Y... Yeah... a-after all, p-people do get annoyed and upset when I t-talk about books. T-They tell me to shut up and stop, and- well, uhm... y-you did seem really upset when you came back into the car... I- I don''t-"


    "Chouko, that''s..." Charles began to speak, smiling warmly at her. "... that''s utterly preposterous. As your father, I could and should never be upset because of you. Fathers- no, caretakers, they are meant to raise a child, cultivate their interests. How would a child ever show interest in things they are told to be silent about?"


    "... I... I suppose- they would not..."


    "Exactly. So, I welcome you to- converse with me about the works you read," Charles offered, smiling wonderfully. "Given that you provide me time to handle my other affairs, I shall be ready at any moment if you wish to discuss in detail."


    "R... Really?"


    "Yes."


    "L-Like, right now? A-Am I able to-"


    "Yes!" Charles exclaimed, visibly beaming.


    "...!"


    Chouko gave a subtle nod, starting to mimic Charles''s smile.


    From then until they reach the clothing store, the two of them engaged in an in-detail conversation about Lord of the Flies. Chouko more or less summarized what she understood from the book''s beginning, leading to a complete literary analysis. The Ashfords dove into the symbolism between the characters, how civilization and savagery combine together, the inherent idea of societal ideologies clashing together with neglected responsibilities combined with wasted priorities...


    Charles then listens to Chouko elaborately speak about the events of the fourth chapter, looking in utter astonishment and amazement at Chouko proving to be an outstandingly sufficient distraction from Charles''s earlier conversation.


    Yet, she has also become the closest thing possible to his dismay and disagreement. The subject matter of Lord of the Flies is, inherently, a reflection of Oliver''s... decisions. Chapter 4, in particular, has a character neglect his and his hunting group''s responsibility to keep the fire lit, leading to a distant ship completely passing by the stranded island. The dismay from Ralph and Piggy when the hunters return from- their hunt... and the argument transpiring from it, it... it connects too deeply to Oliver.


    By withdrawing from the charity''s efforts, by- denying his involvement over self preservation, Oliver... is Jack. The savage pig hunter, overly focused on his "savagery" enough to neglect the responsibilities of the civilization.


    Thus, Charles had mixed feelings about this... most gracious of academic wonders, as he actively, actively listened to Chouko. Deeply connecting his own concerns with this work...


    "... F... Father, a-are you upset...? U-Uhm- I- I can stop talking if-"


    "No. No, it''s not you, it''s..."


    ... Charles took a deep breath, sitting back and looking out the window. An exasperated expression on his face, pure frustration as he stared off into the distance, gazing out the window and watching the passing buildings go by. His voice trailing off as he retreated from the topic, just...


    ...


    Charles- in this moment, remembered something. He made note of the fact that Chouko had no disciplinary or behavioral issues... that none of the staff have reported her getting into trouble for anything. Yet, here she is... stating that the orphanage - the children and the staff - had problems with her. That people told her to shut up, to silence herself. To subdue her own evident- almost advanced passion for literature, for the sake of their own feelings.


    As if she were speaking about a charity...


    He immediately... immediately shifted the topic, changed the subject and asked for his own curiosity. "... Chouko. You mentioned that... people got upset when you talk to them about your books. Have you ever had a... disagreement with one of your fellow... orphans?"


    "I... I have, y-yes..."


    Charles... nodded slowly. "And how have you handled these very emotions? Or, rather, how have you been told to handle them...?"


    "..."


    A pause of silence between the two. Charles continued to look out the car window, while Chouko pondered and pondered, thinking of an answer.


    Eventually, after this lengthy pondering, she answered:


    "... I get upset... and I just leave them alone. I don''t try to talk to them anymore... and... soon, I just stop being upset."


    ... and Charles stared at her after this. Briefly surprised by this. "... r... really, now? That''s... that''s interesting."


    "... well... they- told me it''s h-how the world works, right...? Y-You get upset, then y-you let it be and move on... s-so, uhm... uh..."


    "Hmm..." Charles... thought about this answer for a bit. Is that how the world works? When one is upset, when they are wronged by someone, do they retreat and cut off all contact? Does one let time pass to rid oneself of negativity, to disregard the turmoil and distress that comes with dissatisfaction?


    ...


    "... no."


    "N-No?"


    "No. You don''t," Charles responded, a glare in his eyes as he looked out the car window. Feeling that answer be... incorrect, blatantly wrong in his eyes. Letting his own personal bias go into his wisdom: "There are things that you don''t let go, that you shouldn''t let go. I find that... often... adults tell you to move on, to let it not bother you, because everyone has other things to tend to. It is a cruel thing to admit, but... people care about their own emotions above all else. If one does not protect oneself from others, then one ends up deeply hurt... running away from all their problems, cowardly retreating. Simply avoiding it all is- unfavorable."


    "... o-oh... t... then, I just... what... what exactly should I do, Father, when I am upset in such a way?"


    "You take action, Chouko..." Charles ultimately answered, resting a hand atop her shoulder. "... a normal six year old should not be bothered with this ideology- but, as an Ashford, it is best to learn early a simple truth..."


    Charles stared forward as he visualized Oliver''s face in his mind... his free hand gripped into a fist, conviction building up in his mind. Even without Oliver''s funding...


    "... people often do what their hearts tell them to do. People keep their upset emotions with them forever, and- act. They act on their emotions, and the smartest of us consider rightness. Whatever is right, and whatever feels right. People will disagree with your definition of right, but... as long as you believe with your heart that you are correct... then... then you can stand proudly, awaiting all to come. Both the benefits and drawbacks."


    "Really...?"


    "Yes, Chouko..." Charles responded, taking a deep- deep breath. His heart and mind clear of doubt, the man listened to his own answer and formed his own advice to take. "... and that, ultimately, is how the world works. Adults stand by their convictions, their motivations in life. We think about what is right all the time. Something that you will- have to deal with later down the line. Something you will need to learn when you are grown."


    "T... Then... what should I do now, as a k-kid, if I- if I don''t know what is right...?"


    "..." Charles looked at Chouko as she asked this, briefly hesitating before answering. "Then... then, you- simply look to someone for guidance. Later on, there will be people that you seek help from, people who know more than you do. Advisors, business partners, staff, friends-"


    "A-And you?"


    "..." A brief moment of quiet, before Charles- answered with a smile. A warm smile. "Of course... Chouko. You... you will always have my guidance. In fact- you will receive it, even if you decide you don''t want it. You- you are a new heir to the Ashford name, after all... it would not be right if I said no."


    Chouko- smiled faintly at those words. Holding her book to her chest, hugging it gently as she stared up at the man... calm, and content.


    Charles, after the conversation and chat... after speaking at length, following his dismay at the prior meeting with a partner, felt his own conviction strengthened. Returning a smile to Chouko as well, both of them silent for some time- before eventually arriving at their next destination.


    "... ah. We''re here." Charles opened the car door, and stepped out of the vehicle. "Come along now, Chouko."


    Chouko- gets out of the car, standing alongside Charles. Reaching a hand out to Charles''s, clinging to his guiding hand as he walks her to the boutique. For quite some time, this conversation resonated with Chouko deeply... a memory that sinks deep into her heart. A memory that remained on the forefront of her mind. A kind, warm memory of when she felt the safest.


    And it was the guiding memory that drove all of her actions to come.


    "O-Okay...! S-Sounds... sounds good..."

 #17 - Choukos Indomitable Insanity

    "... so. She''s currently in your possession?"


    "That''s right, sir," the Executioner speaks into his phone. Staring at it with a calm look on his face as he walks into his office with Griffin. "Steele is handling her as we speak. We will have her on your doorstep soon."


    Before the lights turned out, he was simply heading to the office set aside for him. Atop the fourth floor, the highest room in the building. Currently on the phone as Griffin walks with him, the two of them simply walking up the stairs and into the office.


    "Right... right. I must say, your... lateness... in the arrangement is astounding. What has this Ashford been doing all these years?"


    "Well... we searched all of Times Square," the Executioner begins to explain as he opens the office door, walking into the office. "She was simply nowhere to be seen. The old man simply led us in the wrong direction, sending us on a wild goose chase. After this, she ended up in great security... in the hands of law enforcement. Too many witnesses if we tried to abduct her."


    A calm breath as he stares out the window, beholding the Indianapolis city line. A look of slight... disdain at this wretched sight, sighing.


    "Right... and for the rest of these nine years?"


    "... wiped off the face of this planet," the Executioner answers. Eyes looking down to see... Steele and the other mercenaries looking through the boxes. A confused eyebrow raise at this sight, before he continues to speak into the phone. "Gone. No trace of her. A complete mystery, oddly enough. None of the investigators hired could find a good trail on her... she''s elusive."


    "Elusive? Her? ... interesting. Well... the reward for her will be decreased, given the fact she''s grown, but... you and your men will be well compensated."


    "Right..." the Executioner speaks, sitting down in his chair and taking his attention away from the window. Making himself comfortable as he prepares to get some additional work done, opening the laptop left on the table. "We''ll talk tomorrow. For now, it''s... late. Our other job is currently undergoing right now, sir. We can arrange a flight in the morning, if you wish."


    "Very well. Until then... have a good night."


    "... you too, sir," the Executioner speaks into the phone, hanging up and pocketing it. Deeply sighing as he begins to log into the laptop, typing away and preparing the documents.


    "... hm." Griffin lets out a slight yawn, looking over to the couch off to the side. "Sir, may I ask you something?"


    "... go ahead, Griffin," the Executioner answers, opening a text document.


    Griffin nods as he sits down on the couch, arms crossed and leaning back into the couch cushions. "It''s been bothering me this entire time. The fact that she called herself... ''Kuroiwa''."


    "Oh. This again?" the Executioner asks, tilting his head. "She''s a nobody, Griffin. Not worth our time and energy. We''re grown men dealing with a pathetic little girl that was driving around with a gun and a robot."


    "Right, but the thing is... the way she said it, the way she shouted it at us," Griffin begins to respond, covering his mouth and yawning again. "She claimed she was Kuroiwa... or was delivering the android to- Kuroiwa. There must be some truth to that..."


    "... well, what do you think?" the Executioner asks, eyes glued to his laptop screen, beginning to type. "As always, I''d love to hear your thoughts, Griffin."


    Griffin rests his hands over his chest for a moment, crossing his arms and lying down on the couch. "Well... just a hunch, but... she''s one of Charon''s mercenaries. A pet project of his. None of us in Charon''s employ has ever identified this girl, and... curiously, she''s just taking one of his jobs. Maybe it would be worth retrieving the logs of this mission...?"


    The Executioner subtly nods. "I see... we''ll have the Repairman look into it. He has the technical knowledge to handle all of that. We''ll have her moniker in no time, to- ...?" Tilting his head slightly. "... Griffin, do you hear that?"


    "..." Another yawn from the sleepy mercenary, groaning lightly. "What...? Your typing...? It''s not that..."


    ...


    Gunshots?


    Griffin tilts his head as the silence allows him to hear it. "Huh..."


    "..." The Executioner reaches a hand up to the side of his head, pressing the tips of his fingers against it. "Steele. Report, what''s-"


    "S-Sir!" Steele loudly exclaims, the rush of wind coming through his comms system. "It- it''s Ashford! S-She''s in the building!"


    "... in the- what in the world are you-" the Executioner begins to ask, eyes squinted...


    ... as, immediately after this, the power in the building shuts off.


    The Executioner and Griffin blink at this sudden, unexpected darkness.


    "D-Damn it-! Open the goddamn door!" Steele shouts, pounding his fist on the door and calling out to the mercenary on receptionist duty. "W-What''s taking so damn long! W-We need to get in, before-"


    "Power''s shut off, Steele," Griffin explains into his comms, finger on the side of his head as he gets up from the couch. Eyes narrowed and glaring as he loads his gun, running out of the office. "Gunshots are ringing out, I''m moving to investigate."


    "Right- right...!" Steele exclaims, gritting his teeth and facing the front door with frustration.


    "..."


    The Executioner tensely stares in the dark, folding his hands atop the desk. Griffin and Steele are already on it, already en route to figure out what was happening. His eyes staring forward at the door, looking at his laptop to plan his next move.


    Thanks to a can of soda, as well as prying open the power socket to pour all of the can''s contents into direct wiring, the building is utterly left in the dark. All the electrical fail safes failing to stop the shutdown, the building''s wiring primitive enough to leave it in the dark for quite a while.


    Unbeknownst to the Executioner, there are five dead mercenaries at the time of the blackout. And as the lights shut off, there are about to be more.


    Utter panic spreads throughout the third floor, the grouped up mercenaries standing in the hallway, having their guns drawn.


    "S... Shit! Shoot and kill on sight-!" the mercenary slumped against the wall screams.


    Oh, I will.


    Chouko turns the corner, gun aimed forward and glaring down the sight. The current focus being... any human-shaped silhouette in sight, anything that resembles a human in shape, firing aggressively outward. The flash of the firing guns illuminating the hallway ahead for the briefest of moments, Chouko''s eyes having the brutal sight etched before her in pure glee. First putting down the mercenary that shouted, then going for the rest of them.


    One by one, the mercenaries were being gunned down. Each of them dropping dead with each bullet, Chouko firing to shoot them before any of them have ample opportunity to shoot at her. In the cover of dark, with no other choice but to unleash a wild onslaught, her bloodlust fueled with blood splatter. Executing all she could witness, watching as the unprotected few in the front fall dead and the cautious many in the back retreat to the cubicles.


    "D-Damn it, fall back, retreat! We''re too grouped up!"


    Everything just tunes out for Chouko as she loses herself to this feeling. As she succumbs to the feeling of having a... direct... impact on Kuroiwa. Making good on her promises to kill them, to slaughter these mercenaries, to quell the workers under him. A high she has never achieved within these nine years, one that came by her own hand. No guidance necessary, no further hesitation to experience. This is the moment, the opportunity, the satisfaction that her mind need not exaggerate.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Any direct threat remains in her view in this darkness, stepping forward and using whatever semblance of light remained on this floor to shoot at any silhouette, to fire at anyone she could still see. The utter cover of darkness enough for her to run wild, to take out mercenary after mercenary. Driven to a wild craze...


    One outstanding advantage in this darkness is that Chouko can see the silhouettes of these mercenaries and get a proper aim on them before they can aim at her. The cubicle''s windows still let in the subtlest of lights from the outside, accounting for street lamps and moonlight. Makes it harder for any sort of light to reach her, makes it harder for these mercenaries to see her... just the sign of her flashing gunfire to give her away, the instilled connection of a dead body coming with each fire of the gun.


    Sure, it is still a situation of one person against an entire army of mercenaries. Any careless approach will take her life, cost her something that will deprive her of this purpose. Before the lights switched off, Chouko believed every mistake in this building must come from her enemy... her mind concocting an overwhelming yield of convoluted, elaborate stratagems.


    But none of that truly matters in this moment.


    A culmination of pure luck, encountering these people on the highway. Having Shortcake''s hair and clothing to disguise her infiltration. Her disarmed self managing to execute plenty of these people...


    ... and the darkness to truly cement her as the monster of the night, the one with eyes on every foe she meets.


    The Stalker.


    Tonight is the night she gets to fulfill each sick, twisted wish she''s concocted... with utter glee, behind her cold glare. Pocketing the now empty pistols, the bright twinkle of pure joy in her eyes as she stares forward, staring into the cubicle area. Donning the face of Kuroiwa the Stalker, but relishing in this moment as Chouko.


    The greatest of sufferings will be left for the man responsible.


    Chouko needs to savour this moment. Chouko''s grin is utterly devilish as she traverses through the ground of bodies, as she runs into the cubicle area and goes guns blazing- aiming for their heads, one shot each to utterly blow their brains out.


    The utter carnage unfolding before her eyes, carried out with her very own hands, quelling their numbers further in a blind rage. Indescribable, inexplicable moments of a woman just dashing through the cubicles, swiftly running around and shooting anyone she lays her eyes on. Every single death, isolated from the rest as these pathetic mercenaries are aimlessly fighting a threat accustomed to the night.


    Screams of agony ringing out as warnings to the mercenaries, terrified by the idea that they were facing a maniacal threat beyond anything they''ve ever had to face. One single woman running in the dark, gunning them down like an utter madman- the utter silence of her voice being the one thing identifying her from the rest.


    "O-Oh god... Oh god- please-! No-!"


    "A-Aaaaah! No-!"


    "GKHgGKGHGKhkhKHhgh-"


    With the count of bodies increasing more, the hope of survival starts to dwindle, the chances of any of these men surviving just... lessening. Chouko could sense the terror that they felt, the fact that these mercenaries were subjects to her wrath. Their remains painting this dark room a deep red, either due to the blood or the rage building in her eyes.


    One of them, seeing everything unfolding, decides... to be a coward, running out of cover and dashing to the stairway. Forcing the door open and trying to flee while Ashford''s wrath is on the others.


    "Shit, shitshitshitshit-! H-Help! Help-!" he desperately cries out- only to have his words cut off by incoherent noises as a bullet pierces his head. All life cut off the moment he felt Chouko immediately shoot to the back of his head, his last moments inevitably spent crying out for help that would not arrive in time.


    The fleeing mercenary''s dead body is sent forward, falling over the stair railing and down two stories. His lifeless corpse hitting the ground with a thud, splatters of blood getting over the stairwell floor.


    "..."


    Peering over the stair railing, Griffin watched this unfold in the cover of night. A tense look as his eyes glow a bright white, utilizing his night vision to see the corpse.


    "Griffin! The hell''s happening up there?! There''s a whole goddamn gunfight!"


    Griffin presses the side of his head. "Dead body, Steele. Ashford''s on the third floor."


    "Damn it..."


    "Yeah. I''m turning my comms off. Can''t give her any sign of me..." Griffin says as he turns his hand over, wiggling his fingers and clenching his hand into a fist... the cybernetics over his skin completely turning him invisible. Concealing his entire body to match his surroundings, as he descends the stairs to the third floor.


    ... a yawn... a subtle yawn escaping his lips as he goes down, eyes narrowed. The one thing keeping him awake right now is the overwhelming dread crawling down his back. Keeping his composure.


    "..."


    Eerily... the gunfight goes quiet as he makes it down the last step to the third floor, causing him to stop in place and listen closely. Hearing no further shooting, no further shouting from the mercenaries on the third floor.


    All of them are dead.


    Griffin doesn''t peek past the door. He doesn''t look at what may have unfolded there. He just presses his back against the wall and waits... waits to see what Ashford''s next move is.


    Then, promptly... the door is forced open.


    Griffin stares forward and watches as... Chouko simply runs out the door, phone in hand with 10 of his fellow allies'' pistols in the waistline of the android''s skirt. White hair blowing in the wind as she rushes forward and leaps over the stair railing, lunging downward.


    Bewildered by this, Griffin''s eyes follow as he looks to see her falling. She leapt over the railing and... curiously, holds onto the halfway stair railing between the 2nd and 3rd floors. Not a full descent down, no, she''s just... agile and latching onto these railings. Leaping off of them to land in front of the 2nd floor entrance, now out of Griffin''s view.


    "..." A slow look to the third floor''s doorway, Griffin seeing several dead bodies behind that closing door... and then looking down. Pressing the side of his head again. "S... She''s headed down to the second floor. Third floor''s a complete and total massacre... she''s aiming to do the same to the second."


    Steele, from the outside, has been trying to pry open the front door with his brute strength. His eyes widening as he hears this, backing away from the door. "W... What?! Same to the second?!"


    ... cold silence as he looks up and sees the flash of gunshots coming from the 2nd floor windows.


    "..." Shortcake quietly stands aside, keeping herself completely silent to avoid agitating these people. Watching as these people were left scared and frightened, as they felt threatened by... by Chouko.


    Her pink eyes gaze at the second floor, unable to see anything that is happening in there. Unable to tell what Chouko was doing to anyone there... just quietly watching as light flashes from the windows...


    "..." Steele grits his teeth and glares at this sight, frustrated beyond all belief. Fingers pressing the side of his head again. "D... Damn it! Griffin, report! What''s she... doing...?"


    "I don''t know, she''s just on the second floor," Griffin reports. "I''m heading into the second floor right now, checking on those we have down here."


    "Got it, I''ll-"


    "Both of you," a third voice, the Executioner, calls out in their communications. "Both of you, come up to the fourth floor... Steele, I''ll be at the fire exit to let you in through that way."


    "... huh? H-How come, sir?! Ashford''s-" Steele exclaims, looking up at the 2nd floor and watching utter gunfire unfold. No sound bleeding out... just the light of the gunshots. "... Ashford''s going nuts on our remaining men here!"


    "Yes... and she''ll be whittled down in stamina and endurance, wasting all of it on them. I know she''s coming for me, last. So we need to ambush her on the fourth floor, take her down up here," the Executioner explains. "The men down below are lost causes. We need to prepare for our survival alone."


    Griffin, hearing this, has a calm... calm look on his face as he''s the one best hearing the carnage down below. Able to hear, through the door of the second, each and every shot. Each and every dead man down below, Charon''s newest mercenary a... a miracle wonder of a murderer.


    "... understood," Griffin speaks... the man starting to walk back up to the fourth floor, returning to the Executioner. A compliant on his face as he''s being told to retreat from the ongoing carnage, told to regroup back at the top.


    Steele, however, didn''t see it the same way... a harsh and hostile glare in his eyes as he stares up at the 2nd floor windows. Trembling and shaking in place as he beholds this horrific sight... this wretched sight, this infuriating defeat!


    "Ghhh...!"


    Abandoning his orders, throwing them away for the sake of the men on the 2nd floor, Steele takes several steps back to prepare a running start, the mercenaries on the ground just watching him back up.


    "W-What are our orders, Sir?!" a mercenary exclaims.


    "Fire escape. Fourth floor. Go up in my place. Tell the Executioner I''m not backing down a coward."


    "..." Shortcake watches the man back up, a look of concern on her face. "W-What are you-"


    Immediately, she''s interrupted by a mercenary grabbing the back of her head, forcefully pulling her along. "Come along, you bucket of bolts...!" As the mercenaries begin to head to the back of the building.


    "..."


    Steele takes a calm... calm breath as his men leave, as he looks up at the 2nd floor...


    ... and he runs forward. Dashing forward with a sprint, running on the ground as his legs charge up. A building energy in his artificial calves, glowing a bright orange and burning to the point of his jeans sizzling up. Determination in his eyes as he runs, as he prepares his steel legs for the following moment.


    "... HAAAAAAAAAAH!" Steele loudly roars out as he stops, kicks the ground, and propels himself a story upward, his body hurled straight at the window glass and breaking through it like a cannonball.


    Shards of glass spreading everywhere, Steele crossing his arms over his face to shield it from the glass as his insanely bold move sends him through with overwhelming force... his legs burning a bright orange, flames shooting out of the soles of his feet.


    The remaining mercenaries in cover watch as the big, burly man is sent barreling through the window, his body shot through the center of the room and steamrolling the center cubicles. His mass an incredible sight, to the point where he hits straight into the wall between the elevator and the stairway... cracking the building''s walls.


    Steele stands with his back against the wall, a livid and violent glare on his face as he looks around. Shouting, with all of his might, with all of his anger and fury...


    "I''LL KILL YOU! ASHFOOOOOOORD!"

 #18 - Against the Fiery Will of Steel

    These mercenaries are utter jokes...


    As the adrenaline coursed through her body, as she instinctively fired at each silhouette in sight, Chouko found it utterly satisfying to rush through and wipe these men out. Sprinting in the dark and making ample opportunity to exploit their low-light vision. Joy and glee overtook her mind on the second floor, absolute static rippling out in her mind with each pull of the trigger.


    The sheer, utter terror spreads throughout these pathetic mercenaries as Chouko overpowers them. Keeping her distance and riddling them with bullets, allowing herself to just toy with these pitiful dead men. Scurrying around and taking their guns, letting the utter chaos of the moment shake them to their cores.


    "Tch-!" It gets to the point where a mercenary runs out of cover, taking Chouko''s immediate approach and shooting forward- trying to put the girl down, firing at whoever was shooting. If it''s working for her... why not him?!


    Immediately in response, curiously enough, another mercenary also thought to take the same approach. Firing at the person shooting at him, immediately shooting to take Ashford down in defense. A tense look on his face as he shoots and fires, bullets hitting into his body...


    Unknowingly... these two mercenaries were just putting each other down. The darkness of the floor riddled with the sound of aimless gunfire, both men unaware that they were just shooting at each other rather than Chouko.


    It''s utterly hilarious... a comedic show of utter inferiority as Chouko keeps low, keeping to the floor as she sneaks along. A strong feeling of... satisfaction, an overwhelming feeling of pride after quelling a majority of these overestimated and pitiful excuses of mercenaries.


    But then again... it''s easy to kill, it''s only hard to not be killed. If she can do it, they certainly could, too. It''s no wonder that these people are "skilled" enough to work for the one that killed... him... all it takes is a pull of the trigger.


    ...


    The second floor is almost clear... just a few men left, before the next floor.


    However, as Chouko sneaks along, as she begins to approach a mercenary with his back turned to her, she feels a bright and orange glow appear to her left. A dim light that illuminates the room, a sudden light reflecting off of the cubicles and off of her gun. A curious sight that raises an eyebrow for one second... before glancing at the light''s source in the next one.


    Before her eyes, she witnesses a silhouette forming and approaching outside the window, its feet engulfed in the orange flames. Coming closer and closer, her eyes catching sight of this incoming window crash an entire second early, sent flying straight in her direction.


    Out of bewildered instinct, Chouko quickly dives forward and out of the way as the windows shatter. She was able to catch a glimpse of the incoming figure in the corner of her eye, reacting just in time to... to...


    ... to a man crashing through the window and barreling through the cubicles.


    A spiraling boulder of a person, a stampeding force of nature, flames shooting out from behind his feet. A sight that utterly astounds Chouko, briefly stunned by the absurdity of this very action, watching as this man shaped thing crashes against a wall with a loud thud.


    Chouko quickly scurries to hide with her back against the cubicle, intent on staying out of that thing''s sight line. A tense grit of her teeth as she didn''t understand where that- that thing came from.


    "I''LL KILL YOU! ASHFOOOOOOORD!"


    ... and with that loud, simplistic shout, it makes perfect sense now. Steele. This is Steele.


    "Tch-! She''s over here!" exclaims the mercenary that Chouko would have ambushed. Managing to catch the girl in his sights, calling out to everyone in the room as he takes aim at the girl and fires.


    Chouko, alerted to this call, reacts quickly by tilting her body to the side. The bullet somehow misses Chouko and hits the part of the cubicle, the hole right next to the side of her head. Eyes wide at this lucky maneuver, Chouko - in retaliation - swiftly raises her gun and fires back. Piercing the man''s neck, forcing him to choke in pure agony as he collapses and bleeds out...


    Chouko stares back in this man''s direction, watches as he drops dead following this... and registers that two gunshots sounded out. Two gunshots ringing throughout the room, audibly attention grabbing.


    "D-Damn it..." Chouko mumbles, glaring at that mercenary in the dark. Already urgently beginning to crawl, anticipating an immediate danger incoming from overhead.


    The orange glow right above her...


    ... and she caught that sign, that sense of danger, just in the nick of time. Her immediate crawl occurring just as a weight crashes down where she hid, as Steele descended downwards and stomps HARD in that spot. One second later, and Chouko would have been flattened into the ground- the ground that utterly quakes trembles after that stomp.


    "GRAAAAAAAAAH!" loudly roars the man bull as his furious and enraged eyes glaring after Chouko. Lured to the sound, finding her immediately upon recognizing the shots, eyes illuminated by a bright white light and watching her pitifully try to escape. "FOUND YOU-!"


    Chouko doesn''t get a good look of his face, however, looking forward in the dark and fleeing for her life. Tensely gritting her teeth at that... at that approach, at Steele''s immediate approach.


    In less than a minute, Chouko felt the complete, utter menace and terror that comes from this reckless man. This dangerous beast, this dangerous threat that tops these pitiable cannon fodders. Someone with actual skill, someone that outmatches everything she could do.


    ... it all stems from his metal legs. Steele''s steel, mechanical legs.


    They''ve always been a subject of thought and concern for Chouko. Chouko knew from the weight of his foot alone that an attack at full strength will completely bludgeon her, that there was enough machinery in there to crush a person''s body if its full weight stomps onto her. Of course, nothing about them signified "machines of fire and flame" to her at the time, but... here they are, fire shooting out of his feet... making those things more devastating than she could have ever anticipated.


    The man''s launched himself through a window with these legs, is actively using them to leap into the air and try to stomp down on her, and- in this enclosed space, of all places? Engaging her in close-quarters combats where a single attack is a brutal demise waiting to happen. A single moment where she comes into contact with those legs is a death sentence.


    Chouko continues to run, intent on avoiding a direct confrontation with him. Running away is fruitless if he can just... ascend into the air and charge at her... but it''s also a terrible idea to just charge at him aimlessly and-


    Bang.


    Chouko''s eyes widen as she hears this, immediately followed by a gunshot firing and hitting into her shoulder. A bullet piercing her skin, lodging itself deep into her shoulder muscle, an aching pain in her left arm as she carelessly ran into this shot. Violently gritting her teeth as this mercenary manages to land a shot on her.


    She takes immediate aim at this mercenary, ready to fire and put him down... but, immediately, she stops to hear the crackling burst of flames to her left, and falls backwards to roll out of harm''s way. Managing to avoid Steele''s body charging straight where she stood, landing on her back and watching as the brute slams his entire body against the wall.


    The building quakes upon impact, Steele staring forward into the wall with a proud grin... slowly turning away from the building and dusting off his arms, eyes locking onto Chouko once more. "There you ARE!" he loudly roars, as yet another massive burst of flames shoot from the heels of his feet, launching him into the air and descending down onto her - about to land right foot first.


    Chouko tensely rolls left on the ground, yet another close call with Steele as he stomps down on the floor. Another trembling quake, Chouko''s nerves utterly rattled as she rolls- hearing the sound of mercenary gunfire as she rolls. Still wincing in pain at the bullet in her shoulder, her eye twitching noticeably.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Steele can see her at all times, and his attack is making it more likely that the mercenaries can too...


    "Damn it, damn it, damn it..." Chouko mutters under her breath. Reaching for her phone, continuing to attempt a hasty retreat. She needs something that can dispatch of Steele, in particular- pressing a button to try a repeat of...!


    "..." Steele cracks a wide grin at this, his eyes flickering red.


    Right...


    "Well, what do you know?! Your uncle here''s good ol'' Charon! Hah!"


    ... right! Chouko glares at this phone and flips it closed. He''s well familiar with Charon''s technology- possibly hacking in general! He likely has a strong security against anything this phone can do. Cursed piece of junk...! It was lucky this thing worked once, but- what good is it now?!


    There''s no respite for her. Not a single moment she can get careless. She needs to keep a hard focus on every remaining mercenary, on top of Steele pursuing her... a disadvantageous position forcing her to actively flee and reveal her location, making her struggle come up with a plan to take the man down.


    ... Chouko, able to hear the footsteps pursuing her, takes quick aim right behind her and pulls the trigger.


    This is met with Steele easily sidestepping out of the way of the bullet, his charge halted as he kicks off of the ground and avoids the bullet with a single movement of his body. A show of his reflexes as the bullet passes by his arm, as his quick eyes noticed the gun and gave him ample opportunity to dodge.


    Direct gunshots aren''t an option to fight Steele, either! It''s safe to assume that any moment Steele sees Chouko aiming at him, he''s able to simply react to the pull of the trigger and avoid it! A waste of a bullet!


    Tactically... Chouko is backed into a corner as she flees to the other side of the cubicle area, as Steele continues to lock his gaze on her- as Steele repeats his devastating attack of leaping into the air with a burst of fire underneath his feet, ready to stomp down.


    Chouko is preparing to anticipate where he may land, but- ... other priorities come up as the light of Steele''s fire reveals the guns of the other mercenaries. Four- no, five mercenaries, all of them aiming in the dark at her.


    "... shit-!" Chouko noises, her eyes darting aggressively around at these incoming threats, hyperventilating as she hears gunshot after gunshot shoot out. All of the mercenaries had clear shots on her, thanks to Steele! She quickly throws herself down to the ground to dodge the bullets that were aimed at her upper body- but the bullets aimed at her legs manage to graze her as she falls down. A tense, momentary pain...


    ... met with incredible aches as she- as she pushes her left hand down and forcibly rolls to her right, managing to dodge another one of Steele''s stomps. Chouko''s eyes utterly twitching at this, visibly tense and shaking at this most narrow of situations.


    Following this roll, some of Steele''s flames grow stronger and shoot out to reach Chouko''s shirt sleeve, managing to burn the fabric and further expose the gunshot wound in her shoulder. Her skin subject to painful charring, forcing painful cries of silent agony to be choked down her throat.


    The one saving grace she has is that Steele, himself, doesn''t have any guns. He doesn''t have any firearms or weapons beyond his legs, resorting to purely close ranged strikes rather than any ranged ones... but- what was the point of this information?! He''s far stronger, faster, and sturdier! He''s a physical powerhouse and a walking distraction that takes Chouko''s focus away from exterminating the rest of the mercenaries, left a target that''s only alive because of aimless tumbling!


    Chouko''s left scrambling for her next few actions, struggling to come up with anything. Feeling her head utterly ache as she frantically thinks and ponders, as she''s overwhelmed with thoughts of dealing with both Steele and the remaining 2nd floor mercenaries. Trying her best to rid the thoughts of how impossible it is to take all of them down for good, to rid the thoughts of how Steele is a relentless and unkillable bastard that she needs to escape from. These thoughts were useless, pointless, purposeless- if she doesn''t kill them now, there''s no telling when she''d be able to... as they''ll pursue her endlessly until her utter demise.


    There has to be something, Chouko thought... something that can be done. It can''t end like this, it can''t...! Not until- NOT UNTIL-!


    ...


    "..."


    ... and... as she stares at her burnt fabric, as the thoughts in her head are crammed into the small few seconds of her roll, Chouko... briefly and tensely takes note of the floor itself. Catching a glimpse of this floor, staring at this floor amidst her roll, focusing on the floor right underneath Steele''s feet...


    This sight brings... a hope to her eyes, a bold chance of survival now in view as she sees this floor, seeing hope in the sight of... cracks in the floor.


    Cracks in the building. Some cracks where Steele stomped, some cracks in the walls that Steele threw himself into- cracks. It appears that this building isn''t designed for Steele''s high impact cybernetics. One strike from his legs alone are doing a number on the building structure, inflicting cracks upon cracks into everything.


    Why is this hopeful? Well... if Steele is managing to crack the floor with each time he stomps down...


    ... then Steele''s able to bring himself down.


    A plan floods and locks into Chouko''s mind, one that will be a risky gambit for her. Needing to predict Steele''s movements, to predict his plan of attack. If Chouko is able to make him recklessly destroy his surroundings, there''s one way he''ll be taken care of...


    ... the plan concocted within seconds, within the time it takes for her to finish her roll and throw herself up. Running swiftly, remembering the positions of the mercenaries revealed by Steele''s fire, knowing some of them were up ahead.


    Every single movement from Chouko is precise with this knowledge, a plan in her mind. Even as she''s hit, Chouko knows how to turn her perceived weakness and pain against the enemy.


    On watch for the closest ones as she aims her gun to the right, aiming at nothing as she runs- and pulling the trigger as she''s about to pass the cubicle. The bullet trailing along and slipping past the cubicle wall, missing the mercenary''s head.


    In turn, the mercenary fired at the exact same time- the bullet flying out and grazing the front of Chouko''s lower leg. A painful sensation, one that causes her to... roll forward, pretending to fall.


    Several mercenaries with an aim on her, four other ones that Chouko''s attention wasn''t on- they had the slightest of moments to readjust and account for Chouko''s immediate fall. The girl crawling on three, with the fourth painfully lifted up and quickly shooting at whoever she could. A careless aim, one that isn''t steady enough to hit anyone, but... enough to keep these mercenaries on their toes. To lessen the chances of them shooting at her.


    The time saved from these mercenaries dodging her bullets, Chouko uses this brief time as a measurement... as she crawls forward as fast as she could, dividing her mind between just shooting and crawling. Hearing an immediate stomp right behind her, having predicted that Steele would go for another stomp after her fall... another crack sounding out at this one, the man staring forward and running at her.


    Chouko pushes herself back up, in time with the quake. Roughly standing up and running once more, pushing and forcing her body to the utter limits as she turns back at Steele. Taking aim at him and running backwards, seeing him and his legs in the dark sprinting and stampeding towards her. Aiming her gun at him and firing shot after shot.


    Each pull of the trigger enough to rile the mercenary up, the man predictably dodging to the sides like before. Chouko watches the moving mercenary avoiding the gunshots, witnessing Steele circling around the cubicles. Turning around the area, moving his body in the way of the other mercenaries as he passes by.


    ... ample opportunity for Chouko to- deliberately aim at Steele and fire when he gets in the way of her and a mercenary, a smile forming on her face as she watches the mercenaries drop dead one by one at this. This repeated firing while staying stationary... Chouko''s eyes trail to the left, following that orange glow. Steele''s fiery legs are the beacons of light in this darkness, a double edged sword for both her and the mercenaries... one she makes ample use of, now, to finally take care of those needless pests.


    Firing shot after shot, executing man after man... following Steele closely with her gaze as she pulls the trigger. Keeping this up until the gun runs out of bullets shortly after. The click of an empty gun, the cue that Steele immediately capitalizes on. The man charging forward with elbow out, angled in a way that''s prepared to crush her against the wall.


    Chouko watches Steele close in... quickly rolling to the side at the last moment, enough for Steele to tackle straight into the building wall. A crumbling sound echoes out as he breaks a hole in the wall, lodging his elbow deep into the infrastructure.


    In this sudden roll, she then throws herself forward, kicking off of the ground and darting to an especially damaged part of the floor. One where she could feel the fragility of it, how it could crumble at any moment...


    ... then, quickly, Chouko throws this empty gun away, and draws a new gun from her waistline- putting herself in one place as she aimlessly shoots out, firing three shots at Steele.


    Before these three shots are fired, Steele sees the gun aimed at him. Forcing his arm out of the wall and jumping away from the wall. Staring down at Chouko and seeing her remain in only one place- before he resorts to another leap in the air, yet another boom of flames propelling him upward. Visibly seizing the opportunity before him.


    A bright glint shines in Chouko''s eye as she sees him stomping down... narrowly rolling out of his way once again. Watching as his foot impacts against the ground, as the metal barely misses her. The emanating heat burning right next to her...


    While balanced on one foot, Steele keeps the flames active on his other foot- now at a good angle to engulf her entire body in flames, to fire a large stream of fire to ignite her and burn her to a crisp. Ready to char her skin to ash and dust, making sure naught remains of her melted being, a proud look on his face as he stares down at this dead woman...


    ... and then, it happens.


    A sharp crumble sounds out, the floor beneath Steele cracking further. A loud, abrupt crack, the sound reaching Steele''s ears and making him hesitate. A tremendous, momentous crumbling in the floor, one that sounded like music to Chouko''s ears.


    With this last stomp... Chouko looks up at Steele, a cocky grin on her face as she looks up at him. Gleefully staring and beholding the foolishness on his face, his utter bewilderment at this mysterious sound. As this stomp causes the building floor to helplessly quake again... before the floor itself gives up. Crumbling right below the both of them, Steele falling right down with the sizeable hole.


    Steele has a look of realization on his face as his stomp breaks through the floor, sending him downward. Catching him completely off guard as he braces for impact, as he abruptly falls down to the ground floor.


    Chouko, as she rolls, falls down as well. Preparing for the worst as she descends down a floor, tensely readying herself for the utter pain and danger to follow this moment...


    ... as she basks in this chaotic victory... the glee shining in her deranged, crimson eyes as victory is now in her grasp.

 #19 - Call to Action

    ... lying on the first floor, the fallen Steele lies quietly in the building rubble. A mess of his own making, crumbling and destroying the ground beneath him in his careless onslaught. His eyes full of red as he sought to kill Ashford, that nimble and agile bitch...


    Something just ran through his mind when he first saw those gunshot flashes from both the second and third floors. Something crossed his mind as his superior ordered him to cowardly retreat and let all of those mercenaries die. Something sent him on this path, driving him to charge and murder Ashford, to at least make an attempt to stop her from killing any other men.


    It wasn''t his tough as steel legs. It wasn''t his thick as steel head. No... no, it was his heart of steel.


    In his heart, he knows that it''s his fault. It''s his fault that he mistakenly let the disguised girl enter the building to begin with. It''s his mistake that gave Ashford ample opportunity to kill two floors worth of people. Their deaths were on his hands, in a way... the crushing fault weighing down on him. His heart yearned to stop the meaningless deaths of his fellow man, to stop the murderous lunatic from escaping unharmed, and to absolutely fix a wrong and a mistake- his utterly careless mistake.


    He couldn''t just let these people die for his slip up, not without a fight.


    A fight that he ultimately lost.


    That thought endlessly crosses Steele''s mind as he lies in the rubble, as he suffers another mistake on his heart, as the silence of the floor above deeply unsettles him... as he realizes that there isn''t a soul remaining up there. Steele knows that Ashford and him fell down to the ground floor... and the fact that he can''t hear anything up there means- all of the mercenaries are dead.


    A defeated look is briefly on his face as he failed to protect these people, as his carelessness is responsible for all of their deaths. A soul crushing feeling envelops his body as he realizes their deaths were... inevitable, whether or not he chose to fight.


    If he had been more careful, if he had paid closer attention, if he had just the slightest bit more brainpower than he did in that moment, then Ashford would still be in their safe grasp. They''d still have a clear view on Ashford, and they wouldn''t be in such a precarious situation.


    Charon hired one hell of a slippery snake...


    ... tch! Steele... with shaky hands, forcibly pushes himself up from the rubble. Standing with arms limp as he looks around, as he searches for Ashford. His eyes flickering as he surveys and searches the dark lobby. "W-Where... where the hell are ya, Ashford?!" he screams out. "Show- show yourself! Come out and f-fight me, I-!"


    Immediately, a gunshot hits into his side, the bullet piercing his hip...


    "Ghhkk-!" Steele noises, as he turns to the shot and- falls backwards as a bullet fires into his stomach. An agonizing pain coursing through his body as he falls back onto his back, his head hitting into a piece of rubble-! Completely disoriented as his eyes distort and his vision goes utterly hazy...


    ...


    ... these... these are his last moments.


    Steele lies defeated on the ground as he feels himself... bleeding out. Even with all his might, even with his overwhelming tenacity... his downfall is a crumbling floor and a couple of gunshots.


    Would things have gone differently if he listened to the Executioner? Would things have gone better if he listened to the voice''s instructions, if he didn''t take it into his own hands to save these men and stop this threat? If he grouped up with the Executioner, if he and Griffin came together up there. A more organized effort, at the cost of their men.


    Hindsight says it would have been better, but it- it never felt right with him... it... it never did...


    ... Steele... he... he reaches for the side of his head. About to press the side of it, about to warn the others... the survivors. Griffin, the Executioner, and all the mercenaries that gathered up on the fourth floor. The last thing Steele can do, the last thing he''ll ever be able to do. A last message to save them, to let them know of his fate...


    ... but he... hesitates.


    He fails to activate the communications system, failing to contact the others. Watching as something is held right in front of his face, as something presses against his forehead.


    The tip of the gun... the tip of a mercenary''s pistol. One of these mercenaries'' guns...


    "... say your last words."


    "..." Steele''s eyes narrow at this gun... a foreboding chill going down his spine as he stares at the firearm. Hearing Ashford''s voice ringing out, seeing her eyes glare from behind her arm. Given one last opportunity... one last, last chance to make this right... given one last chance to let his dying words matter, to have an impact.


    With only Chouko and the... souls... of the mercenaries on her hands... Steele... Steele uses his remaining might to think of something- something... related to Ashford.


    Ashford... Ashford...


    ...


    And his last words... with a shit-eating grin on his face, his last words being the most insulting and degrading words he could come up with. Steele was going out after one last shot at this bitch, pure- caustic pride on his face as he utters the words:


    "I''ll say hello to your father when I see him, Ashford..."


    "..."


    The gun is pulled away from his forehead... lowers down out of his sight, and presses it against his neck. A red eye noticeably twitching at him, visibly agitated by these last words.


    "You will do no such thing... bastard..."


    The gunshot rings out one second later, utterly piercing and ripping a hole through Steele''s neck. Making it impossible for Steele to breathe properly as he audibly gags and chokes, gargling on his own blood. Even as he bleeds out, even as he undergoes a far more excruciatingly intense pain that sends him and his nerves into an overdrive of pure suffering, he... he has a satisfied look on his face.


    He has won this small victory with those simple, stabbing, piercing words...


    ... and then, with that victory in his grasp, clinging to it as his life fades, Steele lies limp. Head turning onto its side. Blood gushing out his neck and lips, rendered a smiling corpse that knew it got into Ashford''s head.


    Chouko stands up from Steele, her legs wobbling in place as the adrenaline wears off. Glaring down at the dead man with a twitching eye. She''s managed to come out of this... relatively... unscathed from the fall itself. Having anticipated the floor''s collapse, turning her feet to the ground to somewhat cushion her descent.


    The only injuries she dare suffer, two shaky and weak legs exhausted beyond belief... and the bullet lodged in her shoulder. The agonizingly painful sensation that made it painfully difficult to move her left arm whatsoever, wincing...


    "..."


    Promptly... a phone starts to ring. The tone coming from Steele''s pocket.


    Some country song and its guitars playing audibly, the man neglecting to turn off its ringer. Chouko curiously walks to retrieve the phone from Steele''s pocket, checking the caller ID on the display.


    ... hm. Gavin.


    Then she answers. Remaining quiet as she keeps the phone to her ear, leaving Steele''s corpse behind in the pile of blood-soaked rubble. Approaching the stairway door, walking slowly up the steps... phone in one hand, and another gun in the other.


    "Steele...! The hell happened? Are your comms still in tact?"


    ... ah. Griffin.


    Chouko ominously smiles as she crosses the stairway entrance, sidestepping around the dead body of a different mercenary irrelevantly lying in the center... aiming the gun up the stairway as she listens quietly to the voice. Audibly breathing into the phone, a ragged and shaky breath as she begins walking up the stairs. Almost deranged, almost unhinged, making sure the ear on the other end can hear her.


    "Steele? Respond, Steele. A-Are you alright?!"


    "... sorry... Griffin..." Chouko groans lightly, making sure to speak with a raspy voice under a lot of strain to try and mimic Steele''s voice. Hoping the silence of it is enough to trick the man. "She... she was an utter pain to deal with..."


    "G... God, man, say something sooner next time..." Griffin responds. "S... So, what''s happened to her...?"


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Crushed under some rubble... managed to stomp her lights out. She didn''t even see it coming..." Chouko groans as she continues to climb the stairs.


    "Right... right... and, by chance, if you''re able to tell me- what happened to Steele?"


    "..."


    Oh, well...


    Chouko continues to walk up the steps. Taking note of Griffin''s quiet tone and her hypothesis of his invisibility cybernetics. He could be anywhere around her, right now. She cautiously walks up the stairs and keeps an ear out for the subtlest of cues, for the smallest and slightest of signs that Griffin is hiding near her.


    "Tch... I knew it..." Griffin demands, Chouko practically able to see and hear his teeth clenching. "What have you done with Steele...? The same with the rest, right...? They''re all dead down there, aren''t they...? Did you do it...?! Did you kill him?!"


    The power of silence... giving no answer when demanded to. Chouko continues to walk, making it up to the 2nd floor in the pure silence.


    "S-Say something, damn it! Y... You... you wretched little-!"


    "Griffin. Give me the phone."


    Immediately- the most vile of looks form on Chouko''s face. Hearing his voice, immediately recognizing his voice. The slightest of words from his mouth enough to fill a bubbling rage inside of her. A burning, caustic rage, one that revels in joy at the thought - or rather, the eventual outcome - of his brutal demise. Five simple words from one man''s voice, enough to carve open her skin and let her nerves ooze utter, rigid anger.


    "... let''s cut to the chase," Charles''s murderer - the Executioner - tells her. "I know you''re coming up here. I know you killed all of the second and third floor workers, by... some miracle. Steele was a fool that decided to take you on alone, and you''ve likely bested him. But as you come up here, I hope you understand that there are plenty of men waiting for you. Plenty of them just stationed out, waiting for you to come up here."


    A bold move... a suspicious move to emphasize this. Rather than catch her off guard and leave these men in the dark- the Executioner is revealing the cards in his hand, the remaining men at his disposal. Either a bluff or a threat...


    ... urging Chouko to get a hand of her own.


    Chouko remains silent and listens as she takes her own phone out, idly taking a moment to press a button on it... muting both phones. In essence, Chouko just turned this conversation into a three-way call with the press of a button, connecting the two cellphones together into the clal. Then, putting Steele''s phone on speaker and maximizing the volume- she makes it up to the third floor, enters the cubicle area of dead mercenaries, and wanders about the office, just... listening.


    "So... there are countless ways we can do this. I personally feel like... a more peaceful arrangement could be made," the Executioner idly tells her, having the sheer audacity to tell her this. "No one else needs to die... contrary to unpopular belief. Let''s discuss, Ashford, how we can get out of this with both of us happy."


    What a bad joke, Chouko thinks to herself. It''s outstandingly clear that he isn''t serious whatsoever...


    Chouko holds Steele''s phone to her side, walking to one of the closer cubicles. Looking at the corpse just lying face-down on the desk, she... puts the phone gently in the seat of the chair, before she walks to a different cubicle. Phone on her shoulder, approaching one of the random bodies.


    "... what benefit do you get from a deal...? From me still being alive...?" Chouko asks, humoring this man''s absurd statement. Dragging the body into a different cubicle, deciding to have it sit against the interior walls. A trailing streak of blood, to draw any unwanted eyes to this body in particular...


    "Reason is rather simple. We kept you alive because... well, you know who wants you."


    "..." Chouko narrows her eyes, walking to a new cubicle- one that didn''t have a body in it, and then taking cover and hiding. Back against the wall, taking a deep breath as she stations herself accordingly. "Elaborate... what do you mean by this?"


    "... well- let''s just say, this man is happy that I did not reunite father and daughter all those years ago, that I simply took the father out."


    "..."


    Kuroiwa... the real one.


    Chouko''s eyes brighten and widen at this, a look of utter astonishment. Staring at the phone with bewildered eyes, silently processing that she was being given the opportunity of a lifetime from a mortal enemy- her breath a little heavier after dragging a body, admittedly. "I see... and you''re suggesting I... if I go along with you, if I let you take me..."


    "... right. You''ll be face to face with the- with the man that ordered- Ashford Senior''s death. My employer has no information that you''re a murderer- it will give him a false sense of security. I believe it to be in your... best interest, to come up here peacefully. You''ll have ample opportunity to be face to face with him, if you do as I say."


    In theory, this is everything... that she''s ever wanted...


    ...


    It''s too good to be true...


    Chouko feels a chill against her neck as she calms down. This is clearly a distraction, this is clearly a pitiful attempt to keep her attention. Was her opinion of this man so low that she believed him to beg for peace in this situation? Did she truly believe him to be so incompetent that he would let her live?


    Tch... no. He has another plan up his sleeve. Quietly covering her mouth over the phone, to subdue- the volume from her voice. "H... how... do I know you will not betray me?" Chouko asks, deciding to further humor the man.


    "Betray you...? Why would I want to betray you? You have all of us at your mercy, Ashford," the wretched pile of garbage tells her, his voice raised. "You''re clearly in the best position here, and you''ve proven your point... I simply want what is best for both of us, now."


    ...


    This man is either an utter fool, or believes her to be one.


    "Well..." Chouko begins to speak, holding her position in the cubicle. "You''ve done me the courtesy of telling me about your men after I''ve killed quite a number of you... I might as well return your kindness with a response. I am open to accepting your terms, on one condition... I wish to speak to Griffin."


    "... Griffin? You wish to speak to him, of all people? Well... he is currently unavailable. Right now, he''s currently keeping watch over the android."


    "Really, now...?" Chouko whispers, subtly breathing in. "Keeping a watch on the android?"


    "Yes... you have conspired with this thing, after all. It knows something that we don''t. We''re keeping a close eye on it, in case."


    "Right... and I understand that. But I desperately need to speak with Griffin. There''s a deal I would like to make with him, before I can trust you to keep your word," Chouko insists.


    "... if you''d- like to speak with him, then feel free to come up here. He''ll be happy to speak with you when you give yourself up."


    "I mean, sure, but... our deal is contingent with me speaking with him first, before I do anything," Chouko tells the man, her eyes completely narrowed. "I will not comply with your demands until I speak to that dreamboat before committing to anything."


    "Well, then-"


    ... the Executioner''s voice immediately goes quiet, processing those words upon hearing them. "... e... excuse me?"


    "You heard me," Chouko responds, taking a completely different tone as she says something completely jarring, subjecting the man to the most asinine and ridiculous words possible. "The moment I laid my eyes on him, I knew I could trust that man with my life. The feeling of his hands on me, restraining me close... his stylish, blond hair, the way he shouts and degrades me... I think I trust him far more than I trust you."


    "... huh...?"


    Chouko continues, leaning her head back and continuing to whisper into the phone. Continuing her tonal whiplash approach to completely insult and ridicule the man. "I just want the fair skin of his hands around my throat, calling me things that would fluster even the most raunchy of women with that- siiiilky voice of his..."


    "... what in the hell are you going on about?" the Executioner immediately asks, dropping his tone.


    "Oh, oh. I''m sorry, I just felt like if someone''s going to screw me over with some nonsensical bull crap, it should be someone conventionally attractive..." Chouko jokingly responds, a caustic tone in her voice.


    A pause of silence.


    "... I''m not entertaining this further. Griffin-" the Executioner calls out.


    Chouko grins widely for a moment, a smile on her face. "That''s right, go on, put the hunk on and-"


    Then, slowly, a gun taps the side of Chouko''s head.


    "... and..."


    Chouko slowly looks to the side, her smile fading as she sees parts of a floating gun. A revolver pistol, aimed straight at her head. "Parts" of one, because it was missing a good majority of itself... as Chouko realizes, the gun is simply being covered by an invisible hand.


    Griffin wasn''t on the top floor... he is right next to Chouko, completely catching her off guard. Making this the second time he''s advantageously approached, remaining completely invisible as his concealed eyes were... narrow... at that entirely asinine conversation. The man had been hiding quietly on the third floor, glaring straight at Ashford behind his full-body veil.


    Tension fills Chouko''s mind as she stares at this in mild horror, her eye almost twitching at this realization and sight. "... how long have you-"


    "Long, long before you''ve been in here..." Griffin quietly growls out, tapping her head twice with his gun. "Before you do anything... do know that at any moment... I can blow your brains out right now if you attempt to shoot me... and there are other mercenaries in the stairway, with full sights on you if you try anything funny."


    "Indeed," the Executioner speaks up, hearing Griffin''s voice from Chouko''s phone. "Well, then. I''ll give you one more chance, Ashford. Care to comply and come along, now? Before I become inclined to have Griffin there put an end to your little temper tantrum?"


    "..."


    Chouko... shakes. Trembles. Writhes. Furiously gritting her teeth hard as her eye continues to twitch. Staring forward as her mind completely and utterly races, the phone still in her hand.


    The phone cannot do a single thing to Griffin, and - in this current situation - she can''t do anything either. Chouko cannot take his gun, fire her own gun, none of that... it''s a guaranteed death if she tries any of that.


    No, there''s only one of two things that will happen. Either Griffin or any of the supposed backup mercenaries shoots her dead, or she goes along with these people willingly. Her mind absolutely roaring and racing for any alternatives. As she tries to figure out anything, anything at all... there''s only one idea that comes to mind. The one single idea that Chouko has remaining, one single- single last resort.


    So...


    "..."


    Chouko immediately lunges a hand forward, going for Griffin''s gun. Reaching out for it as her hand remains tightly gripped onto the cellphone, lunging out as fast as she could with a fiery determination in her eyes.


    Griffin watches this happen, beholding the audacity of Ashford to try and take his gun. "Tch- nice try, you seriously-"


    Chouko''s intention wasn''t to take the gun, however. She holds onto the gun itself, and pushes a finger out to press Griffin''s trigger. Intending to make it fire, while the gun is still aimed at her.


    Chouko grits her teeth as her eyes stare forward, having an utterly crazed look in her eyes. Staring forward and staring at her inevitable death head on, seeing only one outcome that leads to victory. Staring as she forcibly makes Griffin fire the gun- as she intended to put an end to her own life in that very moment. Thinking very- very hard to herself:


    You win... but I''m not coming along willingly... I would rather die on my own terms than accept any of yours, bastards.


    Chouko''s eyes stare and glare forward, trembling... shaking. Faced with agonizing fear and filled with sorrowful defeat, internally smiling through this most drastic of actions. Preparing herself to die, to be shot dead at her own hand, stripping these mercenaries the satisfaction of whatever their plans were with her.


    The girl knows that she has yet to enact her vengeance, but faced with no other options- this was the only victory that remained in reach. A victory that will have her suffer an immediate death, a rather painless one with a direct gunshot to her head, one that strips her away from this world.


    Chouko felt time just... slow down in that moment. The raw adrenaline coursing through her body at this action, having more than ample time to make peace with this. Anticipating the gun, preparing herself for an aching and trembling pain, having her life flash before her eyes.


    Then...


    ... the gun fires.