Makoto, kneeling over Ren's still form on the dubious VIP-room carpet, gently opened Ren's eyelid and looked at his pupil. It looked… like a pupil. She didn't know what she was looking for, it was just what doctors on TV always did. Her mind was offering every piece of information it could, but since she'd never had to do any medical research outside of biology, dubious media references were the best thing available. Makoto sighed in frustration and let Ren's eye close itself. Was that a good sign? Maybe?
She heard a fleshy thump and turned to see one of Tetsu's men kick a thigh of the thin, sleazy gangster- the target. Otohime's chosen target. Makoto still didn't know the man's name, and wasn't interested in learning it, either. He was irrelevant. The gangsters were irrelevant. Otohime: irrelevant. Ren was critical. Essential. There must be a way to fix this.
(("Wake up, moron. Hey," said the gangster to the limp target.))
What could be wrong with Ren? Could he be brain-dead? That was possible. That was horribly possible!
Makoto felt an intense pressure on her temple and her back teeth began to hurt from the extreme clench of her jaw. What if Ren really was gone!? God!... No.. wait.. Think this through. Don't panic. Think. Think… think… Was brain-death a real possibility? I should check my answer, just like an exam. What information could be gathered?
(("What is with this, asshole? Is he asleep? Hey!"))
Makoto's hands reached out to Ren's neck again. His pulse was even. His breath was steady. She knew enough about biology to do something with that: If he was truly brain-dead, then his mind would not be controlling the automatic processes like the heart, the diaphragm, and the countless other automatic, life-maintaining tasks of the brain and brainstem. So... the evidence here seemed to indicate that Ren was not, in fact, brain-dead. Or at least, something in his head was still alive and working.
That was encouraging- hope-giving. What else could be assumed from what she knew? Makoto's mind swam backward in time, seeking out pertinent information. She suddenly remembered the infiltration of Otohime, and she saw again Haru's head bleed for no apparent reason- no real-world reason, anyway.
That's right! Wounds in the new metaverse transferred to the real world. How? She had no idea, and it didn't matter. It happened. But what did that mean in this case? Well: Ren was not apparently injured, just non-responsive. So it followed that his cognitive form was uninjured. So the breathing, apparently-alive Ren in her lap should be reflecting an equally breathing and alive Ren in the cognitive world. That was encouraging, as well. Makoto felt her heart slow and her jaw loose a fraction of its tension.
Slap!
Makoto looked up to see one of Tetsu's men slapping the unconscious target gangster, and it seemed to be working. The thin man was coming around, drowsily blinking his eyelids, as if fighting off the remnants of some dream.
"Wha-?"
Slap!
"Hey! What're you doing, asshole?!"
"What's it look like?!"
Slap!
"Stop!"
"But you still look sleepy!"
Slap!
Makoto looked back down at Ren. Perhaps she should try being more rough with him, too. If a few hard slaps worked on the other man, it should work on Ren, too. But hitting Ren that hard? Maybe she should try lighter blows, first.
Makoto started tapping her palm against the side of Ren's face. Gently, then slightly more firmly.
"Ren? Ren, wake up. Ren? Ren!"
It didn't seem to be working. Perhaps it was time to make a more forceful attempt. She needed leverage for that. Makoto gently maneuvered Ren off her thighs and back to the carpet. She lifted an arm.
"Urk…"
"Hey, man. I didn't hit you that hard."
A new voice: "What did you do to him?!"
"Nothing! I was just slapping him!"
"Urk!"
Makoto looked up to see Otohime's men gathered around the target gangster. They all had looks of disgust under their sunglasses, staring in shock at the thin man clutching at his chest on the sofa. The man's head lulled to the side, giving Makoto a better view. His eyes were rolled back into his head, a grimace of terrible pain was on his face, and black fluid was seeping from every visible orifice.
Makoto's breath caught in her throat. What little calm she'd built for herself vanished in a gust of icy fear. It was a mental shutdown! Just like Okumura!
God! Ren!
He slept on peacefully, same as before. Makoto frantically checked his pulse and his breathing again. No apparent change. But that didn't make her feel better. Would Ren suffer the same fate? Was regaining consciousness the trigger for the shutdown? Or was something else going on? There just was no way to know!
Another man entered the room, but Makoto didn't look up to see who it was. Surely there was something else in her memories that could help Ren. Some clue. Some deduction based on past happenstance. Something!
"What the-... He's dead! What did you fools do to him?!" Makoto's mind was vaguely aware the new voice was Tetsu's.
"Nothing! We didn't do nothing to him, Tetsu."
"Actually Tetsu… Sakada was slapping the guy pretty-"
"Fuck you, bro! It's not my fucking fault! No one dies from slaps to the face!"
"...You were the one slapping him, though."
"Enough!" said Tetsu. "Get him in the back room. And the others into storage. Make sure the one without a hand doesn't die. One dead man is enough to deal with."
A chorus: "Yes, sir."
Footsteps on the carpet approached Makoto. Tetsu kneeled down into her field of vision. He had a strange expression on his face- Makoto couldn't interpret it, and she wasn't interested in putting any mental effort towards the effort.
"Ms. Niijima," said Tetsu, his voice seeming concerned. "What happened?"
Embarrassed anger shot through Makoto. What did happen? She was supposed to be the expert. Makoto closed her eyes, fighting back tears of utter frustration. She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself in check.
"I don't know," said Makoto, every word an effort. "The car?"
"It's ready," said Tetsu.
"Help me carry him."
"Of course."
It proved too awkward to carry Ren between them, so Tetsu took Ren into his arms, straightened up out of Makoto's reach and walked out of the room. She opened her mouth to object, but- well, Ren was bigger than her, and it seemed unwise to use persona-strength when it wasn't required. Makoto suddenly remembered she'd severed a man's hand from his body. She looked at her right palm, finding a dark, red stain along the edge.
But, Makoto… You've become a killer…
Suppressing a shiver, Makoto followed Tetsu out of the room and back down the hallway toward the side entrance. Ghosts could wait. She needed to get Ren back first.
The club was quiet now. The music was off and the halls were busy with serious-looking men in dark suits. Otohime's forces had responded quickly, but where were all these men when three rival goons waltzed in here in the first place? Makoto made a mental note of that for the future.
She caught up to Tetsu as he stepped back out into the warm spring night. A car was waiting in the alley, as promised, with driver and escort already waiting in the front seats. Makoto scurried around Tetsu and climbed into the backseat to help guide Ren's limp body inside. Operation complete, Tetsu withdrew from the car and gave Makoto a final, long look.
"You saved my life tonight, Ms. Niijima. I'll remember." Then he shut the door and slapped on the roof of the car. The car started moving forward immediately.
Did they know where to go?
"Take us to-" said Makoto.
"We know." said the man in the passenger seat.
Makoto sighed and looked down at Ren's placid face, once again in her lap. In this small, somewhat private place, Makoto's mental defenses faltered. Tears began to blur her vision of Ren's features. He was unconscious, maybe doomed. Their infiltration target was dead. She'd revealed super-human strength to enemies and dubious allies- and maybe killed a man while seriously wounding two others. Oh- and saved the life of Otohime's chief gangster, a man who was probably guilty of all sorts of terrible crimes...
Her face grew hot. Her throat tight. More tears began flowing from her squinted eyes as she brought her hands up to cover her face while she shuddered with silent sobs. Makoto was unused to failure and, alone in the back of a strange sedan, regret consumed her.