File 2: Wolf in the Sheep's Den

XxxxxxxxxxxxX XX Xxxxxxxxxxx: Shepherding Eye
Investigation xx Xxxxxxxxxxxx Xxxxx Xxxxxx 19th Ward
Xxxxxxxxx Xxxxx Xxxxxxx Xxxx 20th Ward
Xxxxxxxxxxxxx XX-7
Xxxxxxxxx Xxxxxxxxx Green

1200 hrs. Xxxxx 21, 20xx

...

It was raining again. A torrential shower assaulted the sidewalks and buildings of the city, pummelling the residents and their cars. The rain filled the empty canals that were the roads, overflowing drains bubbling with inability to pass enough water. Few people walked the streets, preferring not to drench their clothing with the downpour.

It was mesmerising, watching the shower, listening to the heavy pattering against the roof, the glass, and the smell of freshly soaked coats entering the shop. Despite the lack of people on the road, Antique was filled to capacity with customers, stretching the staff thin. The atmosphere inside the coffee shop was much like the outside: loud, chaotic and full of people rushing to and from points. Such artistic parallels would enthral any man.

"Oi, Kaneki, get back to work."

It was soothing, listening to the pattering of droplets. A constant barrage of muted thumps, crashing of droplets against the pavement and the occasional thundering roar was enough to send one into a trance, like being put under a spell resting in the bosom of a fair maiden.

"Kaneki, wake up."

The sight outdoors was pleasing to watch, too. Hundreds of tiny pods, flying towards the ground with little care, before striking the ankle high lakes. The flowing of the streams reflected the light in just a way that it sucked your consciousness out of your body and into the black hole of attention. It would be enough to just stand and-

A sharp whistle snapped Kaneki out of his trance. He looked around, readjusting to his surroundings. The coffee shop, Antique. He was still here. He must have zoned out when looking through the window. He looked over his shoulder and saw Touka behind the counter, glaring at him, her eyes digging into his skin. He turned to her, nervously.

"Um, y-yeah?"

"There's still a table that needs cleaning, so maybe you should stop sleeping and get to it?" she asked, hissing through her teeth. Kaneki felt his breathing stop as he turned to the table she was pointing at. Cups and saucers were still on it, not yet collecting mould. The shop was empty now, as opposed to earlier. Strange how a room can suddenly become lifeless in a matter of seconds, or minutes. He trudged to the table.

"I'll do it," he said dejectedly. As he approached, he heard Touka whispering to herself and Enji humming.

"Honestly, what's his problem?" she hissed. Enji clicked his tongue and sighed.

"Is there a reason for this attitude?" he asked enigmatically. Kaneki heard a sound come from Touka, as well as the phantom remnants of words, but he couldn't make out anything of substance.

"Hmm, is that still a reason to act so hostile?"

"Oh, shut up," said the waitress, shutting down the conversation. Enji seemed to accept the sudden conclusion and began a cheery whistle to lighten the mood. Kaneki noticed there was still a customer in the shop, listening to the radio the manager had set up on the counter. He thought it best to leave them alone, with their notebook and pen. They'd soon leave and have their yellow raincoat drenched again.

Kaneki gathered the cups and returned them to the counter. Enji wasn't present when he placed the tray down. Instead, he and Touka were by the radio, listening to what seemed to be a gripping news report.

"Hey, what's going on?" He moved along the counter, closer to the device. Touka waved a hand at him to shut him up, while Enji put a finger to his lips, before returning their attention back to the radio. Kaneki decided to listen in too. A woman was speaking.

"Thank you, Hideyoshi. Just earlier this morning, several, mutilated bodies belonging to ghouls were found along main street in the 19th Ward, scattered some distances from each. The bodies, which exhibited wounds such as severed limbs, stab wounds and heavy blunt trauma and broken bones were found primarily along the street pavement, but two were found in alleys. One, who's head was decapitated, was discovered in a bin by a convenience store, while his head was among the pile of ghouls out in the street. It is thought by police and the CCG that rival groups had become violent with each other and fought each other over hunting grounds, but recent reports suggest that the bodies found are of a group of friends, that will remain unnamed as of this time. It makes it unlikely that it was the work of Ghouls. Additionally, several eyewitnesses say they saw a man in a yellow raincoat walking away from the scene of the crime, with blood splatters on his outfit. Residents are advised to stay indoors and travel in groups at night, as officials are unsure if humans are in danger too. More on this at 1 o'clock.
"In other news; the US has finally decided on its plan to help defend Japan against a possible Chinese/Japanese conflict, and have deployed an Aircraft Carrier strike group to the Pacific Ocean, as well as a detachment of Marines and Delta 6 special forces. The White House has released a statement regarding China's aggression, saying they will not tolerate any advancements made to their allies. Additionally, President Armstrong is expected to make an appearance later today…-"

The three of them froze, staring at the radio. No one said a word or made a move, processing what was heard. The report was stunning and shook them to their bones. In all of Kaneki's few months being a Ghoul, he hadn't heard anything like this happening, nor had anyone told him this. Kaneki peered around the corner at the remaining customer, cautiously measuring him. The scent of a human, but not a ghoul, radiated from him, putting most of his worries to rest. Eventually, Touka broke the silence.

"Could it be Doves?" she asked quietly. Enji shook his head.

"If it was, then it would have been reported as such, instead of a murder mystery." He picked up the tray and headed for the back. "If it's anything to worry about, the Manager will talk about it. Just be careful." He left the room. Kaneki and Touka exchanged glances, wary and uncertain. The shuffling of a chair moving out grabbed their attention as the final customer got ready to leave. Kaneki walked over at Touka's behest and placed the cup and saucer on his tray, earning a smile and thanks from the aged man.

"Terrible business, that is," he said unexpectedly. "Shame that it happened at all."

Kaneki was caught off guard and struggled for words. "Uh, what is?"

"That ghoul business, of course," he clarified, indicating to the radio behind the wooden frame. "Even if they eat humans, it's still unfortunate they were killed. I doubt they can help their hunger for things like me."

"Uh, yeah." He nodded in agreement.

The man sighed. "I can't wait for the future, when we can synthesize food and distribute it to the poor sods." He lifted up a book from the table, one with a foreign looking cover. "If more people read this, then we'd have food synthesizers by now just from sheer demand. It's one of the main ways people get food in this world."

"I see," said the Ghoul, his eye wide. He looked at the title. "'Black Knowledge'? What's it about?"

The man smiled widely. "Ah, it's a good book, this one. Written by a man in England, called Ashe. Very good science-fiction author. It's about a man who dies in a war against a race of crab people only to be resurrected hundreds…or was it thousands? Anyway, that amount of years later just to seek revenge against the spirit that killed him, Abortion Clinic. On the way, he wrongs a mob boss who also happens to like centipedes a bit too much and has to make up with the mind reading crab king just so he can do his job. Got that?"

Kaneki felt like he'd missed something in that summary and could do nothing but laugh nervously. "I think so. Man, foreign stories sure are weird, aren't they? You won't get anything like that here in Japan."

"Well, yes, but it's only weird because I explained it weirdly. I'm sure that when you read it, it'll fit your tastes perfectly. You've read Ashe before, right?" He pulled on his coat and the Ghoul searched his memories for any books written by an 'Ashe' but nothing came up. He shook his head.

"I can't say I have, no. Although, I am interested, now that you've mentioned him."

"Excellent! That's brilliant news. Unfortunately, they're hard to find in bookstores in Japan, but-" the man stopped speaking and put on a serious expression, his brow creasing in thought. He looked at his Kaneki, then at his book. He spoke quickly. "Tell you what; rather than encouraging you to buy a book you might not enjoy, why don't you take mine and you can give it back to me when you're done? I won't miss it; I've read it hundreds of times anyway." He passed the book over to Kaneki, but the boy's cheeks flushed, and he pushed the book away.

"N-no, please, that's too kind of you. I'm afraid I can't accept that kind of charity-"

"Oh, poppycock, don't you know how rare it is for a stranger to give away a book for free? That happens practically," he looked at his watch, "never! After all, you look like a lad who's well into the reading arts, maybe you've read a spot of Dostoyevsky or Peterson here and there. Besides, this is a good read. Here, take it."

Hesitant, Kaneki reached out and took the book from the man. It was worn and old, with the corners folding on themselves, but the art on the front was still in a perfect, reflective condition. The cover seemed to depict an abstractly shaped ship hovering before a desolate planetoid in an asteroid belt. The art on the cover lent the book an ominous aura, but drew Kaneki in, nonetheless.

"Thank you, sir, I'll be sure to read it when I get the chance. I appreciate it, Mr…uh?"

"Oh, Wallace. I'm here on business, so I won't be leaving anytime soon. Here, let me write you my number."

He scribbled down a series of numbers, which Kaneki supposed was his mobile number, in his notebook, before tearing it out. He handed it over.

"If I leave before you finish it, you can call this number and get my address. I'll make sure to pay back any shipping fees. Ta-ta, now."

Kaneki inspect the paper. A name was written on it, below the number in the centre. Wax, it read in katakana and what he suspected was English. He wanted to clarify what the significance of the name was, but Mr. Wallace was already leaving the shop, shutting the door with a gentle ring. Kaneki was saddened by the fact the conversation was cut so short, but he was smiling from had transpired. He looked at the book in his hand. He was excited to read it.

"Kaneki, what's taking so long?" Touka barked from around the corner. Kaneki jumped out of his skin and hurried round, concealing his new book.

"Nothing, ma'am!"

The store had gained a considerable number of customers over the next 30 minutes, but not as much as had been earlier in the day. The influx was manageable, and the staff hardly struggled with the new workload, breezing through the orders like kuganes through flesh. The rain had also lightened up too, allowing more people to roam the streets. But within seconds, the toreential downpour the staff hoped wouldn't return did just that, and Tokyo became the city of canals once again.

The Manager had emerged from the backroom, as well as the others on this shift, Enji and Nishiki, to help the two. The shop was in a lively atmosphere once again.

Kaneki was busy brushing the floor in front of the entrance when he heard the bell ring. He turned to greet the customer, pulling a wide smile.

"Welcome to Antique. How can we help you?" he said cheerily.

A man dressed very formally in a black and white suit was standing in the entrance, his hands clad in black leather gloves. Circular rimmed sunglasses sat on his nose and obscured his eyes. He was broad, tall and well built and it seemed his muscles would burst out from under his white button shirt. And yet, he wasn't wearing a coat, but despite the downpour outside, he was perfectly dry, albeit for a few droplets falling off his hair. Kaneki looked to his hand and noticed he was holding a case, a very long case. His mouth went dry. Kaneki froze.

"Oh, don't worry about this. It's just a hockey stick," said the man, speaking in perfect Japanese but with an underlying American accent. Kaneki looked up at him and saw him smiling warmly. He must have seen him looking at his case and knew he'd be wondering who he was. "Many people mistake me for one of those Inquisitors, even back in the States. I only want to play hockey."

"Ah, I see," he said nervously, rubbing the back of his head. Now that he looked at the man, it was quite apparent that he wasn't Japanese. He was taller, muscular and had more pronounced facial features than the average Japanese man, such as his roman nose or chiselled jawline. Despite being a ghoul, Kaneki felt intimidated by him. He held a hand out to the stools at the counter.

"Please, have a seat," he suggested, supressing his fear. The man nodded at him as he walked by.

"Thank you. I only just arrived yesterday, so this is a better welcome than I got then." He took a seat and rested his case against the counter. The Manager greeted him and asked the man for his order. Kaneki listened close, even though he still had brushing to do.

"Well, thanks for asking," began the man, before clearing out his throat. "I would like the best coffee you have, stirred, not shaken. Stir it clockwise for six seconds, stir it anti-clockwise for 17 seconds and then add four grams of sugar to the mix." He went quiet for a moment, before continuing. "And add a few drops of your finest whiskey, would you? I'll pay extra."

"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't store whiskey in this shop," the Manager said, stoic as ever. The customer continued.

"Shh, shhhh, not so loud, will you? Alright, look, here's 2,000 Yen. Now, will you put it in?"

The Manager groaned. "Sir, I was telling the truth when I said we don't store whiskey. I'm afraid you'll have to do without." This time the customer groaned.

"Fine, just put some milk in, instead. It won't make a difference." He sighed and dropped his arms onto the counter. The Manager moved to get the ingredients for the coffee. Kaneki was just about finished and taking the dustpan to the bin when the man removed his glasses, the spokes clattering as they fell on each other. Sharp, piercing brown eyes looked back at Kaneki, measuring the boy up. An oriental hint was evident in the man's gaze, but it was likely generations old, stretching to the Meiji period at the oldest.

"Say, how did you get that eyepatch?" he asked curiously. "A cat scratch it out?"

Kaneki faltered and stammered the first words that came to mind, creating a sentence that was almost coherent for a brain damaged pug. He breathed heavily.

"He suffers from a rare ocular condition that makes it dangerous for his eye to be out in light for long periods," said the Manager, surprising Kaneki. "If it's in the sun for too long his blood vessels will inflame and his eye will become too big for his socket."

"Really? I never would have guessed." He leaned back and crossed his arms in sweetly smooth motions. "I have to say getting your eye scratched out is bad, but that is…how do you say it?"

"Worse?" suggested the Manager.

"No, I was trying to say 'shitty' but this damn language doesn't allow for that kind of expression," he said, mixing English and Japanese. Kaneki looked at him curiously, wondering what he said, whereas the Manager just smiled and chuckled. The man joined him in the humour.

"It's been a long time since I've met an American like yourself. It's been almost 15 years since I've heard that kind of language." He finished preparing the cup and brought it over to the man, placing it delicately on the counter. "You seem like a decent fellow. Here, I'm Yoshimura, the owner of this establishment. This is Mr Kaneki, and over there is Miss Kirishima, Mr Koma and Mr Nishio, our most recent addition to the staff. If you need anything, just call them over." He gestured to his staff, one by one, with a smile on his face. Kaneki felt uneasy being targeted like this but endured it. The man looked over his shoulder to spot the members he was talking about.

"I see. You have a lively crowd working here." He turned back around and spoke to them both. "I'm Mag, by the way."

Kaneki cocked his head. "Mag? What does that mean?"

"It stands for Matthew Gunther. It's what my squad mates called me back in the Marines." He took a sip out of his coffee and exhaled with pleasure. "Some of those coffee shop boys in the chair force decided it would funny to callsign me as 'Magpie' since I liked to collect bullet shells." His eyes widened as he hastily said, "Oh, no offense."

"None taken, as I wouldn't know what to be offended about," the Manager said, with a curious gleam in his eye. This Mag was a strange one and full of energy, and so much friendlier too. He was much different from the usual customers. But there was something else that was different about him; he lacked a scent of any kind, or at least one that Kaneki could identify. Still, he didn't worry about it. The Manager didn't show any signs of worry, so the issue could be forgotten.

Mag took another sip from his coffee, moving with a practised mechanical precision. He raised the glass, tipped a sliver into his mouth and put it back down, all in one motion. Kaneki was impressed and drawn in by the movements. He put the brush down and moved closer.

"So, you were in the military, right?" he asked politely. Mag slapped the table and spoke without looking at him.

"No, I was in the ice cream force," he said sarcastically, confusing Kaneki. He turned to the half-ghoul, sighing. "Yes, I was in the military, but not anymore. I was with the Marines for almost seven years."

"Really?" His eyes widened as he approached. "What made you want to leave? Was it too much?"

The Manager put a hand on his shoulder. "Kaneki," he began with a grave tone. Before he could continue, Mag cut him off.

"No, no, it's fine. I rarely get to talk about this in the first place." He cleared his throat and cradled his hands on the counter. "Well, the reason I left wasn't because it got too much for me. The Marines may be a military branch that looks unappealing to a lot of the public, but really, it's not so bad. Us Jarheads are built to withstand and do anything. We're not like this country's prissy new Marine division; we've been around for hundreds of years. We do anything we're told, even if it means taking down the walls of a bunker just with our teeth.
"Sure, we may be starved during basic, be treated like punching bags by the Instructors and get smoked because someone left their toothbrush in the wrong cup, but it had its benefits."

"Like?" Kaneki asked.

Mag opened his mouth to speak but closed it as a serious expression stretched across his face. He put a hand to his chin and began a humming as he thought for things to say. He stayed like that for a while, until he shook his head.

"I don't know, but mark my words, there are benefits. I think."

Kaneki laughed. "Well, I'll take your word for it, Mr Mag. But, um, why did you leave?"

Mag's eyes lit up at the question, but his mouth grew sour. "Ah, well, you see, it has to do with a particular operation I was a part of. It was back in '07, you see, and for years before that me and my company were deployed all over the Middle East and Asia, suppressing insurgents and commies and the like. God's work. It was bloody business, I won't skirt around that, but it was needed to keep the region under control. Over there, us guys in the company got the nickname 'Devil Frogs', because we were brutally efficient in our water ops. Anyway, fast forward to 2007 and we're shipped back to the good ol' US of A, to deal with trouble in New York. Turns out Ghouls were eating more people than usual, and people were dropping dead with flesh hanging from their faces, despite never being touched by a Ghoul." He took a long sip from his coffee. "It was Chronic Wasting Disease, an epidemic that we thought would only affect deer populations, that was behind it. But, the disease had moved to rats and affected a small portion of humans. Mostly, it just decays your flesh, but for the unlucky folk it really turns you into a real-life zombie. Luckily, the red zone was quarantined and no one else was infected." He bit his lip. "That is, if some dipshit ghouls didn't think it was a good idea to go hunting inside that red zone and spread it to the rest of the city.
"By the time we made landfall a whole two months later, the situation had gone FUBAR long before we got there. It was totally locked down. The Guard couldn't do shit, Air Force was bogged down with choosing which coffee to bring along and the Navy- Well, it's the Navy. What can they do out of water? The only ones who were doing anything were some PMC's stationed at key points and Delta 6 proving their mettle, shooting down the rabid ghouls and insane civvies. Hell, the only thing we could do when we got there was clean out the streets of stragglers and shoot anyone we didn't know on sight. Lemme tell you, it was a mess out there. You don't know true fear until you have a pack of rabid ghouls rushing your squad, ready to tear your arm out of your socket and eat your guts. It took a lot of work during the cleanup too. Had to get rid of the ghouls' food source so they would starve. And that meant a lot of black bags lined the streets, those days."

Mag put his cup to his lips and drained the contents. His expression became sullen.

"I won't forget what happened out there, the things I saw and heard. Lost a few too many good friends out there and I barely escaped myself. I had family in that city; parents, uncles and aunts, siblings. Half of them were gone before the red zones spread to their areas, eaten by uninfected ghouls in freak flash raids on their buildings." He grimaced and gripped the bridge of his nose. He sighed. "I always was lenient to ghouls and their actions until then, giving them a pass every now and again. I guess you really don't what it's like until it happens to one of your own.
"Anyway, it was then that I decided I'd seen enough and left. Other people can be left to do the dirty work."

Kaneki lowered his gaze and he spotted the Manager's expression darken too. This kind of prejudice wasn't uncommon, but he couldn't do anything but feel sorry for the man.

"I'm, sorry, for what happened Mag. I didn't know."

"Well, don't be," he said sternly, making Kaneki jump out of his skin. "It's hard enough worrying about yourself, so do you really have time to worry about strangers?"

"I- Well, I…"

"Look, don't worry about it. I'm over it, it happened years ago. I'd rather forget about the things that went down there."

A cough came from the Manager and he leaned on the counter. "I understand how it would feel to lose someone, Mr Mag, but I heard that it was riots that consumed New York at that date. How would you explain that?"

"Cover ups," he put bluntly. "Feds were too scared what might happen across the world if people found out what really happened. If they knew ghouls were a reason it spread like it did, not even mentioning what the sane ones did, witch hunts would be happening since that day and anyone suspected of being a ghoul would be tied by the legs and slung over a tree branch. Frankly, I shouldn't be telling you this, but I was always notorious for never keeping a secret." He winked at them with a sly grin.

The Manager smiled back. "I see. Then, what do you do now, then, Mag?"

"Well, it's simple; I test technology for several large companies. Things like weapons, computers, vehicle doodads, all that sort. I then send any feedback and improvements over to Samsong or whoever it is that sent the weapons and compile a list for the International Committee for Humanitarian Preservation. For security reasons, of course."

"Hmm? So, you've come for a company based here, then?" asked the Manager. His eyes narrowed even more and his lip became thin. "Let me guess; Spirit Wolf?"

Mag snapped his fingers, oddly through his glove. "Bingo. See, their eggheads need some third party to test out a new experimental weapon's software for a new drone model, so I might as well put my programming degree to use."

Mag's back straightened suddenly, and he patted his pocket. A quiet vibration was audible over the gentle din of the store, which was revealed to be from his phone. He pulled it from his pocket. He took one look at the screen before pocketing it again. He rose to his feet and retrieved his case.

"Excuse me, but I have to leave now. My supervisor is calling me and he's hell to deal with when he's angry."

"I understand," the Manager said, watching as Mag dropped several coins onto the counter. The man flicked out his glasses and slid them on, walking backwards to the door.

"I'll be here tomorrow, to drink more of your coffee, probably. Maybe." He opened the door, before adding, "Well, we'll see."

He threw himself at the exit, almost bumping into the next customer coming through the entrance. "Whoops, sorry, sweetheart, but I've got places to be. I haven't got time for you," he said, before dashing out into the rain again. Kaneki and the Manager watched as a woman entered, tall and slim and dressed fashionably for wet weather, with short, punkish and feathery hair sprouting from her head.

She looked around the room, eyeing each individual carefully before she landed her gaze on Kaneki, before switching to the Manager.

"Yoshimura," she said, with a coy smile. "It's been a while."

"Indeed, Miss Tori." He smiled back.