Calamity Plus One
VIII
A/N: Alright, I'm back with fresh ideas. Well, actually, I was sick for a whole week, which sucked, but I'm good now.
This is going to be absolutely crazy, and the last comment in the previous chapter has a lot of meaning. Actually, I hope y'all pay attention to those, because it's all part of the story. Except for that one about pissing off web developers. That was just an in-joke for me.
Onwards with the funtime-things.
"Death, why am I loved and you are hated?"
"Because Life, you are a cruel lie and I am a painful truth."
"Get in line, get in line!" The sea of uniformed individuals was gathered around my podium, staring up at me with a delightful mixture of bloodlust and hope. They really thought that I was some proud military leader that was going to lead all of them to victory and back. Useless cro-magnons, I hope they are all ground into a fine paste, and only their leader will be worthy enough to be mounted to my shoulders as a reminder to keep your friends closer, your enemies closer, and their skulls right in contact with you at all times.
It had been a few days, and with the phone numbers that the crazed hooker bitch Akira gave me, I was able to get in touch with the top defense contractors in Japan, and discuss a few proposals with their R&D teams.
I may have a single-minded thirst for revenge, but I also understand how things work, and the weaponry that I'm providing for the newly-created Anti Terrorist Civil Defense Corps to use in our slaughter of the enemy was some highly advanced gear. It would turn each soldier into a veritable powerhouse, which was saying something, considering my own effectiveness with standard gear, and how I had fared in simulations with the new equipment.
Once they had formed into semi-recognizable rows, I began to speak into the slew of microphones mounted to my podium, causing the area to reverberate with my voice as it was emitted out of a scattered collection of speakers in the area. I began with confidence, portraying only what I wanted to portray; the charismatic leader who wishes only what is the best for their country. Of course, the same cannot be said for me.
"As you know, each one of you have been selected to become the backbone of the city's effort to drive the wretched scum that is this "Resistance" group out of the city, and to grind it out of existence! As soldiers in the Anti Terrorist Civil Defense Corps, you will have one goal, and one goal only! The utter extermination of the enemy, no matter the cost or the civilian sacrifice!
I will not lie to you, you will not come home the proud heroes of the country that a normal soldier would. If you come home at all, you will be remembered as "those skull-faced walking suits of armor that kill friend and foe alike". There is to be no hesitation! If any one of you so much as refuses to kill a civilian that is in the way of allowing you to complete an objective, I will know about it, and if you don't die on the field of battle that day, I will end you myself!
This is a dire time and these measures are being put forth at a dire cost. Each and every one of you will be equipped with the best technology this country has to offer, and with it, each of you are fully expected to walk to hell and back! Not just for me, as your commanding officer! But for all those Japanese citizens who will live to see another day due to our actions, and for all those that will die through the course of our campaign of righteousness! For each of the innocent whose blood is spilled by our hands, another thousand will be saved by our actions! Is that not a just enough cause to take the fight the streets, to the tunnels, to the very depths of the enemy's' lair? If we cannot fight them on even ground, then we will pound the ground into slag until it is even!
There will be no remorse! There will be no retreat! There will be no regrets!
There will be deaths among you! There will be deaths among the innocent! There will be deaths among the enemy!
I am leaving it to you, the best of the best, to ensure that those who die are only those who deserved to die! Needed to die!"
The crowd of black-and-red clad individuals erupted into a cheers, shouts, and whoops.
Oh, how easy it was to manipulate these weak-minded individuals. True, they would have some crazy equipment. But the fact that convincing them to kill civilians without a second thought was so easy, just proved that this country was really in the shitter and full of idiots, no matter what side you were looking at, youth or the old government, everyone was ignorant, and needed a strong leader to prevent it from falling into ruins.
I feel sorry for the poor fucker who comes after me and tries to clean up this mess. I'm ditching this horrid job once that cunt is dead. I'll retire peacefully to Australia or somewhere in Europe maybe...I'm sure Germany has room for another awesome war hero, right?
That's right, I'm the hero, it's Konata that's the villain...and even if that weren't the truth, the real truth isn't written by those who are right, but by those who are left.
I think I have this in the bag.
"Alright, now then, time to get armed and ready! Head out of the area and into the tents at the edge of the landing strip! Inside is volunteers who will outfit you with the beast weapons in the world! Afterwards, you'll be loading up into ZX-21 transport helicopters and rappelling into a meat grinder! Who's ready to show those rotten fuckers who's boss?"
The resounding shouts and the echoing of stomping feet as the crowd of nationalistic men and women departed towards the aforementioned tents was more than enough of an answer for me.
Idiots.
/1 This is what we must do to ensure ultimate victory.
/2 No, that's crazy. That won't ever work.
/1 Are you saying that because you're scared?
/2 No! It's just playing the Creator; it's wrong.
/1 Then lets break the limits, and do it anyways.
/2 ...Fine. For Kami-sama?
/1 Of course.
"Hey, we're low on fuel, we need to head back!" The needle was dipping towards the E, and the truck had taken more than enough punishment for one day; no, for an entire month of close-in fighting.
The sliding panel between myself and Miyuki, and her opened, and her face peeked in, covered in grime and what may or may not have been congealed blood, though it probably was.
Warrior, in all her twisted glory, is still just a schoolgirl with a death wish. What could be seen of her face was beet-red in the late morning sun, which was shining through the shattered skyline to cover us in uncomfortable light.
"Yeah, I was about to suggest we head back to resupply, my ammo just ran out and there's no suppliers in sight; I think they might be all dead. Still, I fired this .30 cal for a good 10 hours, maybe? We sure did mow 'em down. Let's go back, ne?"
It still sickens me that someone can talk about slaughter and war with such a casual manner, but I've been taken by it slowly, so maybe it's just a sign of madness. After all, a bullet to the head is still more humane than gas...I'm a terrible person.
I nodded, looking back to the steering wheel, where the locations of my hands had worn a mark into it. I had been gripping it much too tightly, worrying for my life even when we were cruising around in a bulletproof shell.
"Yeah, let's get going. Konata, if you take a left up here, it's a straight 3km till the tunnel entrance." Miyuki, you're a lifesaver, as always. Not to mention a human GPS.
Throwing the behemoth in gear, I took the aforementioned turn, to be greeted by yet another sight of our war on the people.
Bodies littered the street, their grotesque positioning indicating the myriad of ways they died; most likely tortured, with no respect given to the dead. They had been stripped of any valuables, and the corpses dumped by the dozen in the road. There were so many, and as I drove, slowly, I could feel as each skull popped from the sheer weight of the Russian vehicle. Their bones were grinding into the ground, grinding on each other, and ultimately, it was too much for them to handle, and they would be nothing but a fine powder by the time that I was done being on top of them.
I had no right to be on top of them. For what it's worth, I should be right there with them; a faceless death among so many others, forgotten by those who remain among the living just as quickly as the bullet rips through their brain. Because when you're dead, no one cares about you...except your loved ones, but that's only if they know you're dead.
And in this war on terror by terror itself, it's hard to know whether your husband, mother, brother, friend, or coworker is dead underneath all that rubble, or is just trapped, breathing, pleading with every God they can think of to make it out alive, and maybe survive another day.
"Oi, open the latch! Quickly, there's millies converging on us!" Warrior's shouting of orders jarred me from my awful thoughts. I quietly thanked her for that, which may be the only time I've ever been thankful that she's still breathing. But that's another matter for another day.
The decrepit garage door in front of us opened up, revealing a fortified outpost, with the floor quickly turning into a ramp, lit on both sides by stolen work-site lamps. It descended into a hand-dug tunnel for several meters, before joining into the sprawling subway tunnel system that we were now living in.
On both sides, our fighters sat, leaned, laid, or crouched along the walls, forming a living, shifting layer between us and the flickering walls that let us know we were still moving.
As soon as the door shut behind us, the whispers started. Before long, a few people were shouting, clapping, hooting, and celebrating. By the time I eased the rear wheels over the slight gap at the end of the hand-dug section into the subway tunnel, it was a low roar, with people hugging and crying and laughing.
I still felt pretty empty inside, but on the bright side, these kids still think that we're the good fight. And hey, maybe we are, in the end. But right now, I just feel like some kind of monster, bringing back the harbinger of death that first spelled doom for those living comfortable lives on the other side of the Wall.
But as I've learned, war doesn't determine who is right, only who is left. And really, that's all that matters in the long run.
Driving along back towards the vehicle depot, people continued clapping and cheering, and, cracking my window slightly, because breathing the same air for a day and a half was quite stifling, I heard some people firing off rounds.
Typical.
As we got down the final stretch of tunnel, with us coasting on just the faintest fumes of diesel, I saw the only person I had really been worried about. She was against the wall, talking to her pseudo-guardian.
Yutaka. She looked pretty happy, even though she's been caught up in all of this...her face is dirty, and she's looking pretty tired, but she's happy.
I let myself slump in my seat slightly. I looked over to Miyuki; she had fallen asleep at some point in the last hour, her beret covering her face, her chest rising and falling slowly in time with her breathing.
I had gotten her into this mess too...but something tells me she's enjoying this. I don't know why, but I have this weird feeling that she's just as sick and twisted as the rest of us...but it's just a feeling, and nothing else. It wouldn't surprise me if she were, but she had made a solemn promise to me to drag me screaming through Hell and back, so maybe she's just putting on a strong face, for me ,and for herself, too.
I sure hope so.
Finally, thanks to the slight incline of the tunnel, we coasted into the vehicle depot, stopping just a few meters from the head mechanic.
His eyes got as large as dinner plates when he saw the ZPU, however. Well, most of what was left of it, really.
"My baby! You wrecked my baby!" He proceeded to have a fit over our treatment of his "baby". We only drove it through an urban war zone for the better part of 18 hours, and even with the steel plating that had been attached to it at key points, it was still pretty nicely shredded by the constant small arms fire. By the end of it, I was having to dodge bullets, because the engine compartment couldn't take much more abuse. There was enough frayed metal along the length of it to make a frilly dress out of. Or a dozen frilly, metal, dresses. Your pick.
After I got out and Warrior berated the mechanic for talking down to his superiors, we headed out of the cavernous room, our destination the semi-permanent war room in the center of the labyrinthine complex. We got two other mechanics to carry Miyuki behind us on a stretcher; she didn't wake up, even when one of them had a bloody nose all over her while attempting to remove the 5-point harness, which meant getting pretty touchy. Guys sometimes...damnit, now Miyuki-chan is making me feel bad about myself, and she's not even conscious! Oh well, there's still guys out there who enjoy bread boards...I hope.
/3 This is a comment.
/3 This is also a comment.
/3 Comments should be used to comment things.
/3 Self-explanatory comments are self-explanatory.
/4 Did you really need to do that?
/3 Yes, otherwise, they might not know what a comment is!
/4 Wait, who the hell is "they".
/3 The squirrels, of course!
/4...I hate you.
/3 Hey, there's our target. Do your pew pew stuff, wind direction is 4km/h east.
/4 Target down. Why are we popping civilians again?
/3 Orders are orders. Do you really want to piss of Hiiragi-san?
/4 Point taken. Lets continue getting suspicious targets, because even though we probably shouldn't kill civvies, I'd rather not have all the skin on my body ripped off. I also quite enjoy not having my tendons snipped with a pair of surgical scissors, but hey, that's just me. Plus, lasers.
"Oh you, Miki-san, you're such a joy to talk to." Even in death, girl-talk is quite the power to behold. Especially when all of those present, except one, were brutally murdered.
"Nonsense Kanata-san, you flatter me too much." Among the whiteness of the world of death, four women found themselves sitting at a table, discussing anything and everything, just to pass the time, as time doesn't exist. They might be there for a while.
Seated at the square table was the two oldest Hiiragi sisters, their mother, and the eponymous Izumi Kanata, who was late to the information party, and was unaware of the current situation.
The Hiiragis knew this, and they were carefully avoiding the topic until they felt it was necessary.
"So, I know this is a touchy subject...but how did you three die? Sorry if that's too much for you right now, but you'll never get over yourselves if you don't own up to it. I got very sick and died, there's nothing more to my story. How about you three?"
Instantly she knew she had passed some bound that might've done better had it not been crossed, but instead of being yelled at, the Hiiragi mother just folded her hands on the table and looked to Inori and Maturi, who all looked at each other.
"Izumi-san, there's a lot that you don't know, least of which being how we died. We'll start from the beginning."
Inori picked up the lead from here.
"About five years ago, your daughter, my sister, and another person, who we don't know exactly who it was, committed the worst atrocity in modern times; they shot up their school, but went one step further, and somehow obtained poison gas, which was set off inside the cafeteria when it was jammed with students who were attempting the escape the shootings. That day, more than 80% of the school's population died. That's over 1000 people. To make matters worse, our sister raped and nearly killed her twin, and committed suicide when the police intervened. Your daughter managed to place blame and get off scot-free, and continued living as though it never happened. Do you want us to continue?"
Her face was a mask of terror, and silent tears fell from her eyes. She bit her lower lip, before shakily nodding slightly.
Matsuri continued the recounting of the horrible string of events that led up until the present day.
"Now, after that one terrible shooting, there were several similar killings and massacres all across the country within the next month, before an organized group dedicated to "the world set out by Tsukasa-sama". Under normal circumstances, a cult like this would be squashed in short order. Of course, this was not the case.
In any case, the government exiled Tokyo's youth to ghettos and built a giant Wall to separate them from the rest of the city. Somehow, almost every person younger than 18 began to join that cult, and as of right now, they're involved in a full-scale war against the police and military. And they might win, too."
Miki brought her own facts to the table, both figuratively and literally; either way they weren't very happy.
"And of course, you're asking how we died. It's simple, really. Some of those cultists broke into our house one night right before the fighting started and beat us, raped us, then killed us. That's the short version; we were tortured too, but you don't want to hear about that. Anything else, Izumi-san?"
The three Hiiragis had pensive faces, but Kanata Izumi's only held sorrow, grief, anger, and disbelief. She regarded each of them in turn, who each nodded back in return. She adjusted herself, contemplating.
Her little girl had really done all of that? But, she was such a sweet little girl...could she really have been corrupted by the evil in the world? Anything was possible...but. Wait. She said that their sister had committed suicide. That meant she was here...That's a place to start, perhaps.
She addressed Inori, who had recounted that section specifically.
"Is your sister here? If so, where?" She looked off put by this, like this was not the question she had been expecting to hear. Well tough toots girl, I want answers, and this is only one side of the story. It has to be.
"Yeah...she's...over on the fringe, near the edge. She's...not right."
As she dropped through the whiteness, Kanata replied.
"I'd assume so, but even if she not right, she's still got her version of the story."
The tears rose as she fell, creating streams of watery sadness through the white void.
A/N: Just want to point out that since they're in the spirit world/world of the dead/purgatory, some serious Turn It Up to Eleven will be invoked here. Or just old fashioned curb-stomping. Either way, it'll be freaking awesome.
Again, can't promise anything about frequency of updates, but I didn't work on this chapter for a whole week, so hopefully it'll be quicker next time. (Read: If I'm not more on the ball, I'll eat my shoe. My fancy Euro-sport shoe.)
