The Path Less Traveled

by MickDunD

Courage is a remarkable thing. Some people say its a component of bravery. Other say stupidity. For Minato it was both. A choice that was made cannot be undone, but it gave birth to a new beginning. He started down a different path, one that he had never walked before. Now where will it take him?

Chapter 1:

Minato Sahashi yawned to himself as he trudged down the dark street, pulling his jacket tighter as a gust blew. Late winter was always the worst time to be outside, especially so early in the morning. His hands were buried as deep in his pockets as possible and his scarf was tied around his face like a bandana to protect them from the frigid winds. His tool bag bounced on his shoulder uncomfortably, one of the screwdrivers jabbing him in his shoulder blades as he walked along. Normally he would stop and fix it, but today it was just too cold.

It was times like this that he really missed the train. His job was right near a subway stop across town, no more than a fifteen minute ride. Unfortunately, his lack of money prevented him from an easy commute and condemned him each day to an hour's walk along the darkened streets to be on time. In the springtime he could manage it well enough, but winter always made him want to reconsider the choices he made.

He passed by one of those new MBI billboards on a bus stop. These things had been popping up over the city for the past year, ranging from the size of a poster to gigantic ones mounted on rooftops. He'd been called to wire a few of them over the last few months before he'd been stationed at his current job. They usually played commercials for MBI's hospitals in the city as well as other products. But what he was more interested in was the date. March tenth. In a few months it would be two years since he started down this path. Perhaps he'd go out? Maybe treat himself to a nice dinner or something else to take his mind off things? No, that would just set him back further. His bank account was filling up slowly, living expenses taking their toll even with his extreme cutbacks. By his calculations it would be another four months at least before he could afford to move into a proper apartment, that's assuming that his job went well, and he could stay employed for that long.

The job market was getting worse and worse as well. More companies were getting bought out by MBI and layoffs were rampant. In the last two years he'd worked five different jobs: short-order chef, clerk, waiter, auto mechanic, and finally electrician. He still worked part time at the mechanic as he'd proven his worth, which forced him to work 18 hour days on Fridays. Electrician work had proven to be the most stable, but it had also been the costliest to pursue. Licensing fees, learning the trade, and buying his tools had taken a good chunk of money to land him steady work. He'd found work with a fairly large company called Hasegawa Electric. It handled electrical work in large high-rise buildings and apartments, but they occasionally contracted out to the city for repairs on signs and other things. The company paid him barely the minimum wage because of his inexperience and the conditions of the job weren't the best, but they were the only company who had been willing to hire him in this market. But construction was a good way to earn honest money. He'd been able to eat consistently for the last nine months and still have some money to put into his savings account every week. It wasn't as much as he wanted, but considering how he was living, he couldn't really afford to cut back any more.

He arrived at his job at 5:55. There were a few guys hanging around outside having a smoke before work, chatting about the usual things. He sighed and hefted his bag before signing in and walking to the hoist. Right at 6:00 the whistle blew, and the hoist car doors opened. He winced as he was crammed back against the metal wall by the incoming wall of construction workers and laborers. The smell of cigarette smoke and chewing tobacco gagged him as he waited for the car to move. With a great creak and a clack, the gate closed, and the car began its sluggish climb up the side of the building. Streets gave way to rooftops as he slumped against the grated wall of the car, staring out at the expanse of the city as it unfolded against the rising sun. The car stopped on the sixteenth floor and a group of men got out, giving him a little bit of room to relax. It made several other stops along the way, letting men out as it climbed higher and higher until it reached the twenty-ninth floor. Minato sighed and tore himself away from the skyline, stepping off the car and heading to his company's shanty.

"Sahashi," the foreman grunted at him, reading his name from a clipboard. "You're on thirty-four today. Temp lights first and then start work on apartments two and three. Then drop down to the seventeenth floor to fix Fujiwara's fuck-up after lunch."

"Yes sir," he sighed, grabbing the bag of materials marked "32-34" and heading back to the hoist with his hard hat on his head.

Fumihiro Hirabyashi was one of the least-liked people on the job. As Hasegawa Electric's foreman for the job, he was known for being late, rude, and sometimes abusive to the workers. He trashed people's work but never helped out correct it. The worst of it was he demanded complete respect from the workers. Word was he knew somebody at the main office who let him keep his job, which just made working for the man worse.

He shivered slightly as another gust blew through the building from the outside. The hoist climbed another eighteen floors and dropped him off on thirty four. The building was bare-bones here. No lights, heat, or any kind of ventilation aside from the hoist doors on the side of the building, meaning the main hallway was an icebox. But he couldn't let it bother him. He took his bag off his shoulder and unpacked his supplies. He began working on the temporary lights: running cable and getting the sockets ready for the temp bulbs.

He never had thought his life would turn out this way. Never in a million years could anyone have predicted this. Three years ago, he was living in a run-down apartment cramming for exams, dreaming of a life as a doctor or a scientist. He still clung on to those hope and dreams despite failing his entrance exams twice. No matter what he did, there was always the hope that he would improve. He looked to his right as he did every day, staring out at the Tokyo University campus bell tower. His eyes narrowed in anger and he turned away, looking back at the tangle of wires in his grasp. That life was far outside his reach now. He'd made his choices and for once he'd keep his pride. He wouldn't go crawling back home. This was his life, and even if he wasn't overly fond of it right now, it was his life and his alone. He made his choices now. It…it was all he really had.

He sighed and began running cable down the hallway. He wouldn't lie, it would be great to still live in a building with heat, sleep in an actual bed, and not have to worry about which meal to skip to save money. This was just temporary, but still he did miss his old life…just not the people in it. He pulled the wire cutter from his belt and stripped a bit of cover from the copper strands. He let himself relax and started humming under his breath as he continued to work, letting himself slip into a comfortable rhythm of wiring and setting screws. He'd stay like this until the floor was done and then he'd move back down to seventeen to fix the telecommunication's closet. And then he'd come back tomorrow…and the next day…and the next day.

XXX

Hiroto Minaka sighed contently as he reclined back in his chair, hands tented on his chest as he kicked his feet up on his luxurious polished mahogany desk. It had been a fairly productive morning so far. MBI had just bought the supermajority of public shares in the city, giving him complete control of the city. The legal team was already drafting new statements about the inevitable damages that would happen once the Sekirei Plan began. With the new construction companies MBI had just bought out as well, any damage would be quickly removed from the public eye. And with their current 'friends' in the national and global media and intelligence communities, the chances of normal people finding out about the Plan was slim to none. He allowed himself a grin as he spun the chair around to look out at the sprawling cityscape below him.

Everything was falling into place. The efforts of the last twenty years were finally coming to fruition. Except for one or two minor bumps and one major embarrassment that he had personally stepped in to take care of, the Sekirei Plan would begin on schedule. The greatest event of human history would come about because of his efforts.

Well…our efforts, I suppose, he thought, casually glancing at the sole picture on his desk. Almost fifteen years prior, the day Takehito had joined MBI as head researcher. It had been a glorious day, the first of their journey towards the Sekirei Plan. Takami had just had their first child a few years prior and three days after that picture was taken she would barge into his office and beat him senseless with a coffee mug for getting her pregnant again. Hmm…how he would have loved to be a proper father looking back on things, but the gods would have been displeased if he had been at all distracted from carrying out their will. Of course, now Takami would barely give him the time of day, much less let him into her family. Oh well…

A knock on his office door grabbed his attention. He sprung to his feet and skipped over to the door, throwing it open.

"Ah, Takami-ku-OOOF!" he grunted as his oldest friend shoved a binder into his gut. "…my, you're certainly in a bad mood."

"Well thank you, Captain Obvious," she grunted around the lit cigarette clenched in her teeth. "Numbers 66-87 have been released as of 9:00. Number 87 was apprehensive about leaving, but we managed to convince her peacefully. Now I'm just going to cut to the chase, Minaka…what are we going to do about Number 07?"

"Hmm?" he blinked and briefly looked up from the binder. "Oh, lighten up Takami. So she escaped the lab last night. It's not really a big deal now, is it? I was going to release her anyway tomorrow morning considering she's not any use to us as a test subject anymore."

BAM!

His head snapped back as Takami's fist connected with his temple. Hmm…he probably should have guessed that this would have been her reaction. Granted, it was her go-to reaction around him but still he hoped that she would be able to see the method in his madness, so to speak.

"You jackass, she killed a man!" Takami thundered, grabbing him by his collar and shaking him. "There's no telling what she might do to whoever she runs into. After what Takamiya did to her…"

"Takami," he said in a measured tone, something he didn't often use. "Number 07 is no longer any use to us. She cannot be winged and therefore cannot participate in the Sekirei Plan. I felt it would be better to allow her to go free instead of staying in the labs. Her escaping changes nothing."

"Minaka, we need to get her back," she scowled, her cigarette burning down to ashes as she got in his face. "She's unstable. She's physically and mentally unstable."

He looked right in her eyes and said nothing for a moment.

"I know that this is a difficult time of year for you," he said calmly. "But don't shift your fears about our son onto Number 07."

Takami visibly stiffened. Three years ago, she would have beaten him senseless and told him not to refer to Minato as "our" son. Now?

"…fine," she snapped out, turning on her heels and storming out.

He sighed as she slammed the door behind her and returned to his desk. Truthfully, he was less enthusiastic about the situation with Number 07 than he let on. Mikado Takamiya would have been terminated regardless thanks to his unsanctioned experiments on Number 07, but not killed like that. He booted up the still images taken from the labs security footage from the aftermath. Chunks of frozen body parts scattered around the room, some of them embedded in walls or hanging from massive icicles buried in the steel walls. He couldn't exactly blame Number 07 for her enthusiasm. Dr. Takamiya had been well known in MBI for his willingness to completely discard ethics and morals for the sake of scientific progress and more than once a Sekirei had been removed from his care for medical reasons following his experiments. Number 07 had proven to be the most resilient of the testing group and he had assumed Takamiya would know not to push the envelope with him any further. It was a shame that she was now unwingable, but in the grand scheme of things it didn't really impact the course of the Plan any further. Still…

He tapped the intercom button on his desk and waited for the click.

"Yes, President?"

"Ah, Natsuo, good," he smiled. "Have our security team start a sweep for our runaway Number 07."

"Shall I send out the Discipline Squad to bring her back once she's found?"

"No," he shook his head. "No, just a surveillance team. Make sure she's still alive for me, would you?"

"Yes, President."

He hung up and scrolled through his email for a few seconds before he got bored and started to spin in his chair, watching the scene before him shift from office to skyline and back again. It was hard for him to contain himself.

"Go forth, my little birds!" he cackled, springing to his feet and throwing his arms above his head. "The Game of the Gods has now begun!"

XXX

Minato shivered again as he walked along the deserted pitch black streets. Work had been especially tiring today. After lunch he had been called down to the basement of the building to install permanent lighting fixtures. This had ended up taking the rest of the day because what his boss had neglected to tell him was that the survey marks had been erased by the tin-knockers when they installed the heating ducts, meaning he had to go get the original shop drawings and re-mark the floors for the fixtures. Then he'd gone about starting this work, and by the time Hirabyashi had come down to check on him, he'd raged at him for "laziness". Either way, he'd have to possibly pull some unpaid overtime this coming weekend to finish the fixtures (since there was no way the fat foreman would consider giving him any extra money).

Its only temporary, he repeated the mantra in his head over and over with each step he took into the freezing wind. You'll be out of here soon.

He actually enjoyed the nightly walk home. His body was cramped from spending the day on his knees and hands or craning above on a ladder to reach the ceiling. Walking was somewhat therapeutic after a day like that and the cold air normally helped. Tonight, though, it felt as if he was walking into a blizzard. It was February, sure, but the winds were almost biting at his cheeks as he walked along.

He turned a corner and paused. There was a puddle on the ground…something red. He could smell metal on the wind. The bloodstain was partially frozen as well, little white veins of ice running around the edges of the puddle. He looked ahead and saw more dribbles along the street, going in a straight line. The ground was frozen as well, spiderwebs of ice dotting the sidewalk in the same line, as if someone had spilled liquid nitrogen as they had been walking along.

He swallowed. In neighborhoods like this it was fairly common for people to get mugged or beaten up for no good reason. He'd been lucky to avoid those people in the past by paying them off with what little money he had, but it looked like some other poor soul had run afoul of some gang. Maybe some junkie kid who was looking for a quiet place to shoot up, or perhaps some businessman who had gotten lost. Both things had happened before around here. He kept walking, keeping his head down partially to avoid seeing something that he wasn't supposed to but also because the winds had begun howling, throwing little flakes of frost into his eyes. He pressed on, heading for the dilapidated apartment complex at the next corner.

His foot suddenly connected with something and he fell over with a surprised yelp, the cold ground met his cheek as he landed in a heap. He winced and hurriedly picked himself up, looking down at his feet at what he had tripped over. His body froze.

It was a body.

He would have honestly screamed right then and there if he hadn't caught the subtle rising and falling of the woman's chest, a clear indicator that she was alive. She was leaning against the side of a closed, boarded-up convenience store, arms slumped at her sides with her palms facing up. Blood was sluggishly oozing from punctures in her right elbow, the size of the wounds reminding him of an IV's needle. She had short light auburn hair that brushed her shoulders and extremely pale unmarked skin. She was wearing almost nothing as well, just a tattered hospital gown with large rips over her stomach. She was barefoot as well, her feet also covered with blood and grime from the streets. She wasn't moving at all aside from the rise and fall of her chest. She hadn't even stirred when he'd tripped over her legs.

Is she high? He wondered, re-adjusting his backpack after the fall. It wasn't uncommon for junkies to use the abandoned buildings around here to huff meth and other stimulants or smoke pot away from the prying eyes of the law. He'd caught a few of these people trying to break into his home before, mistaking it for an uninhabited building. Sometimes they were nice, and other times he'd had to chase them off with a hammer. If this girl was an addict, it would explain the complete detachment from the world he was seeing…but it didn't explain why she was dressed the way she was in this weather, as well as why she was covered in blood.

He knelt down and got a good look at her face. He blinked in surprise. She was beautiful! Her features were almost otherworldly; grey eyes, full lips, perfect nose and cheeks…but her forehead. There was a strange mark on her forehead, an orange bird over a yin-yang flanked by tomoe marks. The skin around her forehead was flushed bright red, as if she'd been tattooed. And now that he was looking at her closer, he saw abrasions on both her wrists and ankles, as if she had been tied down to a chair. He reached out to her face, trying to brush a few strands of hair away from the tattoo.

Her hand suddenly jumped away from her side and grabbed his wrist in an incredibly strong vice grip so tight he thought he could feel his bones being ground together. He yelped out and tried to pull away, but her grip didn't give at all. Her head didn't move either, still staring blankly at the frozen street in front of her. He stopped moving and swallowed.

"Uh…hello?"

The girl didn't move at his words. Slowly, her grip strength weakened until her hand slipped off his wrist and tumbled to the ground at her side, the needle marks on her arm still oozing blood. He swallowed again and reached out once more, this time laying his hand on her shoulder. He felt a small shiver pass through her and relaxed his grip. The shiver subsided.

"Can…can you hear me?"

No answer. Just the steady rise and fall of her chest.

"…I'm going to help you up now," he said, crouching down and putting his hand under her armpit.

She said nothing, so he quickly lifted her to her feet, draping her left arm across his shoulders and helping her steady herself. She was incredibly light for a girl her size, allowing him to almost carry her.

"My home…isn't that far," he told her, guessing that he wouldn't get much reaction from her.

He kept walking through the cold, the girl robotically copying his steps as he slowly made his way down the streets towards the old apartment complex. The building came into view after ten or so minutes of walking. It was truly an old thing, probably built during the 1970s from the bland, nondescript architecture. Then again, its age is probably why it was able to survive so long; as it was built in the 'era of reliability' as some of the construction workers he knew called it. The rest of the buildings around it had crumbled into complete disarray, but this one was still livable. It had been a terrific find for him after spending two months sleeping rough in old warehouses by the docks. Seven stories with plenty of living space, the insulation was almost completely intact on the seventh floor, and it didn't have many spaces where people could break in. It had been child's play to change the locks with pieces he'd 'borrowed' from the job. He'd even managed to turn the water back on after paying one of the plumbers to write him an instruction manual. The electricity was still off, since that would require him tapping into power cables, which required tools that he wouldn't be able to 'borrow' from the job. The heat was also off, but he did have plenty of thick blankets and clothes from secondhand stores and a small kerosene stove for when it got extra cold. It wasn't much, but it was his and his alone. And that's what mattered.

He fished the keys out of his pocket and opened up the battered front door of the apartment. The interior was dark and gloomy as usual, getting even darker as he kicked the door shut behind him. Somehow the chill from outside still followed them inside.

"We have to go upstairs," he told the girl on his shoulder.

She gave no indication that she heard him, but still copied his steps as he walked up the stairs. Each floor they passed got lighter and lighter until they passed the last floor and topped out at his home. The light blue door was battered, and the paint was chipping, but he always found it a welcoming sight. The inside of the room was horrible by modern standards. Wood floors warped from water damage, chipped paint and wallpaper, a busted-up tiny kitchen, and no bed. It was barely three hundred square feet; a one room, one bathroom apartment probably once marketed to poorer people by desperate landlords.

His few possessions were organized as neatly as possible along the walls. His few clothes were carefully wrapped in plastic bags to keep them protected. His small kerosene stove sat in the center of the room next to the two jugs of clean water he had and the packs of instant noodles that were his dinners. His toiletries were secure in the bathroom, although the shower didn't work. Thankfully the toilet and sink did. His bed was a sleeping bag he had bought from a secondhand store buried beneath a heap of thick blankets he had acquired through less than legal means…but it was the difference between freezing to death in the nights. By the door, partially hidden under a few ratty garbage bags, was his emergency stash. His old backpack, stuffed with a bit of cash, some extra clothes, and a few containers of food.

He brought the woman over to his 'bed' and let her slip down onto the mess of blankets piled on his sleeping bag. She didn't resist at all and the moment his hands let go she retreated into herself, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them. It was good that she was showing life, but now she looked even more afraid than before. He shook his head and went over to his clothes bag. He dug around a bit and found a baggy blue t-shirt, jacket, and a pair of gray sweatpants.

"Hey," he said gently to her, walking back over and kneeling down next to her. She didn't answer, her gaze still turned downward and a slight shiver running through her shoulders. He reached out, deciding to take a risk, and shook her shoulder lightly.

"Hey," he said with a bit more force in his voice. "Look at me."

Slowly, the girl raised her head up, her piercing gray eyes meeting his own. They were still blank, as if she was still in a trance. He offered the clothes in his hands.

"You must be cold," he said, keeping his grip on her shoulder as if that would keep her grounded in reality. "Put these on, I'll see about getting some food ready."

He placed the clothes in her hands and turned away to the kerosene stove, lighting it and getting two containers of instant noodles ready. Behind him, after a few moments he heard the sounds of rustling clothes. To be sure, he waited until the food was completely done before turning back around. She was completely clothed now, the large jacket draped around her shoulders like a cape but the rest of the outfit fitting her well enough. Her arm had stopped bleeding as well, he noticed as he approached her with the two steaming cups of noodles.

"Here," he said, offering the cup to her along with a plastic fork. "You must be hungry."

A spark of life flickered in those gray eyes as she hesitantly accepted the cup from him…and then tore into it with the ferocity of a starved beast. He had only just finished opening his when she finished her own food. A low rumble echoed through the room.

"…still hungry?" he asked her.

After a few moments, she gave a slight nod. He looked down at his own food and then sighed.

"Here," he said, handing her his food. He'd just have a granola bar or something small in the emergency food stash.

The girl ate with the same ferocity as before, finishing the food in record time before setting the cup down before her.

"Better?" he asked.

"Ah…yes," she said, her voice no more than a whisper.

"Good," he felt a smile tug at his lips at the signs of life returning to her. He got to his feet and made for the rest of the food supply. "You can take the bed tonight."

"Ah…why?"

He paused and turned back towards her. "Sorry?"

"Ah…I have nothing to give you," she said, eyes sharp and focused now. "Unless…you want my body."

"Uh…no, I think I'm good," he said, the idea of taking advantage of someone like her almost bringing a grimace to his face. "You just rest up. You look like you've had a rough day."

"Then…why are you helping me?"

She looked so vulnerable at that moment, sitting on the pile of blanket in mismatched clothes that didn't fit her in an apartment that would be condemned if the city found out that people were living in it.

"Because…well, you looked like you needed a friend," he said honestly, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "And in all honesty…so could I."

He walked back over to her and sat down in front of her and gave her a smile. "I wish someone had helped me out when I hit rock bottom," he admitted. "So I had to give you a hand when I saw you."

He stuck out his hand. "My name's Minato," he said.

"Ah…Akitsu," she said, eagerly reaching out and shaking his hand. Her skin was still cool to the touch. "Thank you…Minato-sama."

He blinked at her honorific. He didn't think he'd been referred to that way ever before.

"Uh…ok," he said. "It's getting late now. I've got work in the morning so I'm sorry, but I need to head to bed. You can take the sleeping bag tonight."

"Ah…thank you," she bowed her head, slowly reclining on the mass of blankets as he grabbed a few for his own. He extinguished the flame from the stove and quickly fashioned a makeshift bed and covers from the blankets. He glanced at the window a moment, the exhaustion of the day catching up with him. The snowstorm had died down as well, a few gentle flurries falling from the sky. He could hear Akitsu's gentle breathing from the other side of the room, a comforting break in the usual deafening silence of the room at night. A smile broke over his lips. For the first time in two years he wasn't alone.

XXX

Hiroto Minaka couldn't contain the grin spreading across his face as he stared at his computer screen. MBI surveillance drones had found Akitsu easily and tracked her through the night until she collapsed in the old manufacturing district to the city's far north. He had quite literally been about to send a retrieval team when lo and behold his missing son appears to save the day. A small part of him was relieved, as the boy had been missing for two years in the city with no word from the police no matter how many captains Takami had threatened. To be honest he had given the boy up for dead months ago, considering his personality and Takami's tight control over his finances. But for a boy with no money or college degree, Minato seemed to have been doing very well for himself. That apartment room looked well taken care of considering the state of the building it was in. He had a job in construction judging from the hardhat hanging off his bag. And to top it all off, he had taken good care of himself physically.

But as much as he wanted to celebrate the return of his son, there was the matter of Akitsu. There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted an Ashikabi, even considering her current circumstances. That girl had always been impressionable and given her treatment at the hands of her adjustor, she was no doubt starved for kindness. There was very little doubt in his mind that she would take Minato's kindness and attempt to pay him back by becoming his Sekirei.

This could be interesting, he smirked, picking up his phone.

"Natsuo," he said the moment the other line picked up. "There is a company called Hasegawa Electric. One of their employees is Minato Sahashi. Find out what you can about him for me, will you?"

"Takami's son?" he could hear the surprise in the man's voice. "Shall I inform her that he's been located?"

"Hmmm…no," he grinned. "No, I think this will be our little secret! Just find out what you can and get him a cell phone for me, will you?"

"He doesn't have one?"

"To what I know he destroyed it two years ago," Minaka shrugged. "It's partially why he's been able to stay hidden. But just get him his phone and do be careful, Natsuo. Number 7 is with him."

"Yes sir."

The line went dead and Minaka jumped out of his chair, facing the window and spreading his arms wide open.

"Its fate!" he cried out, cackling. "The gods are showing me the way, Minato my dear boy! I can only wonder what they will show you!"