Lancer II

I walked the beat in the emptying streets of downtown. The foggy patches of my memory were still slowly stitching themselves back together, so I had little to work with. But what I did know was absolute, and I wasn't going to let something like the Holy Grail War get in the way of it. Namely speaking. This was my turf.

The Copenhagen was a good start, but it was only the tip of the iceberg. And so I wandered throughout the night in search of things to jog my memory. Kotomine was surprisingly chill about it. He seemed to get a kick out of my futile attempts to remember my past and blessed my travels on condition I tell him everything I find. Something seemed to have rattled the fake priest, but in a good way, he seemed cheerier and more upbeat about something. But I would worry about that later.

My first concern was the way I patrolled the night. The memories were faint, but somehow the way the streets curved and bended remained engraved into my soul. Muscle memory carried me throughout the night as I walked a foreign, yet familiar path.

My legs came to a stop in front of the flickering pink light of a malfunctioning neon sign turning on and off an irregular intervals. I registered the cursive letters reading "Kenji's Tattoo World" before my eyes glanced over it. A deep seated itched gnawed at my forearms, and I rolled up the sleeves to bathe an inked dragon and tiger in the pink light. This was the next stop, I just knew it.

I checked the alleyways around me by instinct. Nothing. The tattoo parlor was out of the way, yes, but the night was still too young for the streets to be this empty. So, I placed a hand on the gold glass, and pushed.

A bell rang to announce my entrance, and I walked up the stairs as the door closed behind me. The dark stairway faded into a deep crimson when I reached the top. A worn leather sofa cracking at its seams laid in the corner in front a series of similarly conditioned chairs. A twisted iron table held up by discarded needle guns welded together sat front and center. And laying on it was the shadow of a human being. It imprinted into it like the afterimage of an atomic bomb.

I knelt down next to it and touched it with a hesitant finger. An oppressive weight fell over me. A magical scar had engraved itself onto the material world, caused by some traumatic incident. I pulled out a silver case from my coat pocket. I opened it and took out a piece of chalk and two arrowheads.

I drew a circle around the shadow and laid one arrowhead centered with the other on the line. I snapped my fingers and trickled an ebb of prana into it. The white granites of chalk lit up and turned a faint blue. The arrowhead spun round and round, sending traces of chalk towards the center.

It continued until not a single freck of chalk remained. I knelt down and tapped the arrowhead in the center. Static images rushed my mind and played on repeat. I heard a scream and clattering chairs. A tattoo needle slammed into the ground, vibrating across the floor without direction. And out of the darkness the image of black shadow seared itself into his brain. The red trimmings of its appendages lunged forward, and dove for my heart.

"Fuck me," I screamed and fell backwards. I tripped over the arrowhead, and rolled into the soft cushions of the leather couch. I checked my heart and made sure all my other internal organs were where they needed to be. With everything in order I laid still for a minute to catch my breath. I eventually regained the strength to crawl back up from my spot and dusted myself off.

I stepped over the accursed arrowhead and stalked my way behind the counter. The telephone was unhooked and spoke with an incessant demand for the operator. I slammed it on the receiver and pulled out the appointment book.

For the last several week everything was hunky dory. Everyone showed up on time for their appointments, everyone got inked, and money was transferred; times were good. But soon the number of missed appointments grew in number. One here or there, then two or three. Soon no one was showing up. I double checked the dates. It started off only a few nights ago. The start of the Holy Grail war.

I pocketed the book, no one was going to need it, and left the tattoo parlor. Something was going on, and I was destined to root it out. I wasn't going to let anything happen to my turf on my watch.