Chapter 1 – Henshin Life / Death of Thanatos
Graceville, June 14th. Halfway down Germaine Avenue, there was a sky blue house. The lawn was well-kempt, lush, and green. The space was decorated by a garden of foxgloves, delphiniums, and cornflowers on each side of the door.
On the front steps sat Yomotsu Hirasaka. He wore a long sleeve blue shirt, under which a sliver of white could just be seen peeking out. He reached his slender fingers down, past his neck, and retrieved from inside a small package of some sort. As he held it in his right hand, his left hand was on his knee, touching the black denim.
The package in his hand was one of six pieces of fruit leather, individually wrapped (not for individual sale) that he had purchased from the nearby grocery store. At $2.00 per box on advertised special, it was a true bargain. He looked to his left suddenly, and then to his right—in the direction of a waving neighbor, an elderly woman—and then set his eyes once again upon what was in his hand. His right hand sprang from his knee and shredded the packaging, careful not to injure the precious leather all the while, and discarded it into his pants pocket. No time to litter—not now, not ever, and he dared not leave his post.
He bit into the leather, pulled at it a little, and nibbled on the piece that was torn off. With a contented sigh, he closed his eyes. Darkness: the familiar coating that wrapped the day and the night. It was this in this dark world that Yomotsu saw the black and the white, the evil and the righteous. He gnawed on the fruit leather. Cherry. He heard around him the chirping of the birds, the names of which he could identify by their distinct calls. There was also the sound of daily human life, including the whizzing by of early afternoon traffic.
"Everyone thinks the future is a total mystery," he mused. "But I know that the future will be justice."
A subtle noise subsided; Yomotsu's ears twitched in recognition. He shoved the rest of the fruit leather into his mouth and made quick work of it. A car was pulling into the driveway. He calculated that, based off the sound of its approach, as well as the gentle fade of its parking, that it was a luxury vehicle a bit on the heavier side—he did not quite guess that it was a Rolls-Royce Phantom, but had he guessed that, he would have been spot on.
The door opened and then, a couple of seconds after, shut. "That is quite an expensive ride, for someone who lives with his mother," Yomotsu called out from the stairs. "It is best to drive something less conspicuous. There is great danger in drawing excess attention to oneself."
He rose to his feet and, leaning forward slightly in posture, heard the steady approach of an impressive gentleman. Were he able to see him, Yomotsu would have beheld a tall man in a gray suit, one with an elegant stride and a highly controlled expression. The man wore a brilliant blue and green tie.
"I used to live with my mother," he corrected. Yomotsu heard him brush the long strands of gray hair away from his eyes. "But not all things are as constant as the moon. Some things bode change—such is the nature of this for both of us, correct?"
A light smile flitted upon the Yomotsu's face. "Welcome to America, Yuri Petrov," he said, before extending his hand. It was seized firmly and given a strong shake.
"Thank you, Mr. Hirasaka," he responded. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at long last."
"I would echo the same for you!" Yomotsu said as their hands parted. "Let's take this inside, shall we? Follow me to your new home." He turned and, with a triumphant grasp, turned the handle of his front door—only to find it stubbornly refusing to budge.
"A minor setback," Yomotsu muttered to himself. He cleared his throat and once more gave the door knob a mighty turn, breaking the entire doorknob off.
He coughed and then, turning back to the waiting Yuri, suggested, "We can enter through the garage. I have the opener, and I actually need to park my vehicle, anyway!" He slipped his hand into his pocket and, after bypassing the fruit leather wrapper, brought his keychain into the light. On the shiny ring were a few keys and a small circular device with a few buttons on it. He pressed one, and the door of the attached double stall garage began to open.
Yuri glanced around, noticing that there was only one vehicle standing before the entirely empty garage—and that vehicle was his own bulky, luxury vehicle. "I thought you said you had to park your vehicle," he remarked, turning his head back.
"Have patience, Mr. Petrov! We are just getting to that part!" Yomotsu said, pressing another button on the keychain. He laughed triumphantly and pointed down the road. "Feast your eyes!"
Yuri squinted, and after a moment, Yomotsu heard him gasp. That could mean only one thing; his mind conjured the image: A motorcycle of dashing design was approaching—decked out with a red and gold lightning bolt on the front. Coming up from the bottom and extending above the seat were two more lightning bolts of the same variety, one on each side, both stretching to the way back. The rest was black; even in the daylight, the rims were flashing red.
"Quick as a bolt from the heavens," Yomotsu fired up, "I introduce to you: the Righteous Tsunami!"
The vehicle turned seamlessly into the driveway, maintaining its fast speed up until the very point it came to a screeching halt inside the garage. Yuri, after processing how the extravagant bike had driven over and parked itself, remarked, "I thought you warned me not to draw 'excess attention' to myself."
Yomotsu, pretending not to have heard him, leapt down the stairs and bolted into the garage. Yuri could be heard taking a deep breath before he his Rolls-Royce Phantom and started it up. As he slid it gently into the garage, he would have caught sight of Yomotsu taking a sponge and gently cleaning each inch of the motorcycle, until it reflected his own visage in the front lightning bolt.
With the Phantom taking up a large space in the garage, Yuri brought himself one last time out of the vehicle, presumably with the full intention of not returning to it for some time. Yomotsu presumed that Yuri was not in a rush to sit down again after being in the vehicle for so long of a drive, but the latter said nothing. If he was displaying any mild displeasure on his face at the idea, Yomotsu was beautifully unaware.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Yomotsu called from the kitchen, after Yuri settled into the chair.
Yuri did not need to think on it too long. He answered with certainty, "Warm tea with honey, please."
"I don't have any more tea, and in concern for the plight of the bees, I keep scarce purchases of honey," Yomotsu explained.
"Hm… I would imagine you would not be able to pour me a tall glass of pinot noir, would you?" Yuri asked passively.
"Uhhhhhhhh, I'm afraid I'm out of that as well," Yomotsu answered.
After a moment, Yuri said, "Fine. Any wine will suffice." Yomotsu noticed that Yuri sounded distracted. It was possible that Yuri was concerned about why the four placemats on the table had a Power Rangers design—Yuri did not strike Yomotsu as the type of person who would be able to appreciate Super Sentai.
There was some cluttering in the kitchen, and then Yomotsu answered,"Uhhhhhh, I don't have any wine."
Yuri closed his eyes and asked in a tired voice, "Do you have any… grape juice?"
The clutter in the kitchen stopped. The sound of the fridge opening could be heard, followed by Yomotsu saying, "I do not have any grape juice." Yomotsu then closed the fridge.
Yuri let his hands fall to the table, and he said crisply, "If I can't I have tea, I just want something with grapes! Anything with grapes will do. Anything. Just give me something with grapes."
Yomotsu scrambled to re-open the fridge, and he pulled out a can. "I have grape Fanta~!" He held it up with an unsteady hand, so that Yuri may gaze upon it.
"…Alright."
Yomotsu handed Yuri the can of Grape Fanta, which the latter cracked open after shaking off something that must have been distracting him. Yomotsu took the seat on the opposite end of the table. He folded his hands on top of the Power Rangers placemat and aimed his blind glance straight toward Yuri. "It goes without saying that I am delighted that you took such a bold interest in my offer," he said. "When I put up that page, I was admittedly curious what sort of person it would attract. I had no doubts that someone would accept in short time, as I had a very reliable source confirm that this was to be the future. However—you are a very interesting person, from what you have told me already! What made you look into this place?"
Yomotsu imagined Yuri smiling and returning the glance. "The specifics of your offer caught my attention," Yuri explained, "Not many rental offers show preference for a future occupant who 'follows his own code of justice.' I was also interested in this location. Graceville is such a quiet, simple town. I need a break from the hectic city life. Not to mention your offer was quite affordable..."
Yomotsu raised a curious eyebrow and wondered, "Who drives a car like his and is worried about the cost?" He kept this in mind but tried not to show how much he was analyzing Yuri's words. Shifting his weight, Yomotsu leaned his right elbow hard on the table and rested his head on the back of his hand. The other arm relaxed, his fingers tapped the table lightly one-by-one.
"You had an excellent job at Sternbild's Administration of Justice," Yomotsu resumed. "Why would you leave and move to a quiet town in the United States?"
Yomotsu took cues from subtle sounds and continued to create a picture in his mind to go along with this conversation: he imagined Yuri raising his Fanta and, as the cold rim of the can touched his lips, curling his lips into another smile. Yuri answered, "I simply wanted a complete change of pace… A complete change of pace in every way. Also—" Yuri paused.
"It has been piquing my interest… why is there a giant eyeball mask on top of the kitchen counter?"
Yomotsu, who still was resting his head upon the back of his hand, felt himself turn a lighter shade of pale. He whirled his head back and, sure enough, he realized that he had left his large mask just sitting by the toaster. He got up from his chair abruptly and rushed into the kitchen. He rolled up the mask into his hands and, while holding it against his chest with one hand, flung open a cupboard with the other.
"What mask?" Yomotsu asked, as shoved it inside. "I see no mask." He slammed the cupboard shut and calmly returned to his seat. As he straightened out his posture in the chair, he couldn't conceal his rapid breaths.
"This is going to be quite a change for the both of us," Yuri went on, that smile of his growing in Yomotsu's mind. "I have lived in a very dangerous city for many years with my mother. It has been a long time since I have lived with any other, but I am optimistic." Yomotsu's own expression was curious. "Who knows—maybe we'll find that we have a lot more in common than it might seem."
"Or," Yomotsu said, waving his finger in the air, "One of us might slip in the bathroom and die."
Yuri was motionless across the table.
"Most household accidents occur in the bathroom," Yomotsu added, as he leaned forward ever-so-slightly. "That is why I have very soft carpet in the bathroom, in case we fall."
"That's disgusting," Yuri declared, pressing his fingers hard into the table. "That would be a pain to clean! Tile flooring is superior for bathrooms."
"Anything can be cleaned, if one puts forth the proper effort!" Yomotsu was quick to respond. He reached across the table and sipped some of Yuri's Fanta.
"The only thing that cannot be cleaned is a sordid criminal," Yuri corrected.
"Those who are evil can never triumph," Yomotsu murmured. He placed the Fanta back on Yuri's side of the table. "But I do not share your view… Not any longer, at least. Even those most dirty of fiends can turn and see the brilliance of true justice! In any case, I agree completely with your earlier remark, Mr. Petrov. This is a great change for me as well. I have lived in this house alone for over six months now, but unfortunately, my previous line of work was not very lucrative… And so I think we will be of use to each other. Life is full of constant transformations. I refer to it as the "henshin life" accordingly. The evolution of the future is ever elusive, and it can also be said that what something is in darkness appears quite different when finally cast into the light."
Yomotsu felt Yuri burning his eyes into him, analyzing him, trying to pry into his psyche.
"And that is why I keep nightlights in the hallways, so I don't have to trip on things anymore," Yomotsu added, scratching his ear. "It has really helped me a lot."
A bare blue wall was Yuri's support. His back was against the wall, his body cast against light color. He brought one foot in, so his right arm could rest on his arched knee, while the other leg was stretched forward across the bed. He had discarded his suit in favor of a loose brown t-shirt and shorts. He was wearing the pair of shorts that he often liked to wear to sleep. They went right up to his knee and were white with little demon duckies all over.
The carpet was white, and it appeared to have just been cleaned that same day. In Yuri's eyes, the light from the moon shone. The room's sole window was currently the perfect instrument through which the great moon could work its brilliance.
Yuri was supposed to have inherited the entire basement. When he brought the question up with Yomotsu today, it was first blatantly dodged, then later Yomotsu admitted that it was not ready yet. Yuri tried to remember his exact words: "It will take at least one week for me to have it all ready, but once it is complete, you will know how cool I am." Yuri took that to heart and accepted having to live in the spare bedroom upstairs in the meantime.
The belongings he had brought with him—what he could stuff into the trunk of his Rolls-Royce Phantom—sat against the wall opposite the foot of the bed. He drew his eyes left, towards them, and then looked back at the bed itself. Yomotsu actually had a normal bedspread in the closet, which Yuri insisted on throwing on in place of what had originally been set out for him. For some reason, he was not as enthusiastic about the Power Rangers setup as his housemate was.
He leaned forward and rubbed his brow with his right hand. "I'm a long way from home, mother," he murmured. His eyes were open and shadowed by his hand. "I wonder now if you see what he really was like. I wonder if you finally understand now, what I went through for so long. I would like to think that there's a place you are now, where you have come to understand what you never did understand before—somewhere, I hope you have found such a place. You are not required to agree with me or love me. I simply need you to understand."
The hand dropped, and he pushed his whole body forward. In a moment he was cross-legged, staring fixedly at one of the suitcases against the wall. "My eyes remain forever open," he whispered, "But I must look away. I still hear the voice, but the death of Thanatos has already come to pass. I left Sternbild in trustworthy hands. The moon and what it represents… no longer concerns me."
Earlier, Yomotsu had said that criminals could be cleaned, that they could change. That was the same argument they used, the same argument that tormented him so fiercely that he could not remain in Sternbild any longer. The only way to stop himself was to remove himself from that which would stir his impulses. Hopefully, sand would bury the instincts left to waste in disuse, and he would not have to feel this burning inside any longer.
Yuri got up and approached the window. With each step he took toward it, the scene outside became clearer and clearer. When he was a few steps away, he could make out the shapes of figures across the street. A step closer and the figures were striking another figure down on the sidewalk. After another step, he was able to see that they were teenagers trying to take advantage of a young woman. Yuri was in front of the window when he saw something pulled out from one of the men's coat pockets—Yuri had to draw in the curtains in a rush to block out the scene. He threw himself back onto the bed.
He was lying on his side for some time. Five minutes, twenty minutes, possibly a quarter shy of an hour. He then, with silence, turned to his opposite side. He looked wide-eyed at the red curtain. Through the fabric, from his angle, he could see only one thing—the image of the red full moon.