It was eight at night by the time the Mayor settled down at his desk to tuck into the bento he'd packed for lunch. The morning and afternoon had been jam-packed with meeting after meeting, and when those were over, he had to make a social visit to the elementary school for the sake of his public image.
Not that his image was in danger. But the Mayor had been the uncontested leader of No. 6 since the wall's erection over a decade ago, and whenever he felt people had started to forget him, he scheduled a public speech or outreach effort in order to remind his citizens just who was responsible for their ongoing comfort and prosperity. Plus, with another election in a year and a half, it was important to foster a reputation for being seen and involved in the community.
The Mayor carefully peeled off the steaming plastic top of the tonkatsu bento. It smelled deliciously of sauces and he was especially looking forward to the sweet egg rolls that accompanied the main course.
The Mayor was a man of routines, and ordered this exact bento every morning for lunch. The convenience store owner who operated on the first floor of the Moondrop had picked up on this very quickly, and now he always had a meal sent up for him at the start of each day, which the Mayor appreciated. The store was often crowded in the morning with employees shuffling around in pre-coffee stupors, and he absolutely detested waiting in line and making small talk like a regular citizen.
He lifted his chopsticks and plucked a sweet egg roll from the container, salivating with the anticipation of its warm, fluffy texture melting on his tongue.
And then, of course, the door to his office swung open. His oldest friend and head scientist swept into the room, his stark white lab coat swishing about his knees.
"Fennec! The resonance tests were successful across the board. This opens up so many new possibilities."
The Mayor stared at the odious man, the sweet egg roll hovering just before his lips. His stomach gave an irritable gurgle.
The man blinked at him and traded a glance between the bento and the Mayor's forbidding expression. "Is that your lunch?"
"Yes." He shoved the roll into his mouth, because god dammit he was going to eat something today, and growled through his chewing, "What do you want?"
"Should I come back later?"
"You're here now, so just tell me."
The Mayor continued to shove food into his mouth while the man carried on as though he saw nothing.
"My experiment on resonance. You remember the one? I modified a strain of the Elyurias infection to lay dormant inside the host until activated by a resonant tone. Well, it works. A resounding success one might call it." The man flared out the back of his lab coat so he could stuff his hands in his slacks' pockets and grinned.
The Mayor finished chewing a piece of cutlet and peered up at him. "That's great. And you interrupted me to tell me that...why?"
"We're going to activate the candidates in the other quarantine zones in a few days, yes? With this new version of Elyurias, we could inject more candidates, and stagger the rate of activation."
"And why would we want that?" the Mayor sighed. He placed another cutlet in his mouth and wiped an errant bit of sauce from his chin. "What's wrong with the plan we already have?"
"Well, using the updated version would provide us with valuable data."
The Mayor grunted. He failed to find this compelling. When his friend realized this, the man pursed his lips.
"2.0 makes the spread of infection look more natural, and ensures that the other cities cannot eliminate the threat by simply removing or killing the few we already planted. When the first wave looks like it's under control, and then suddenly another case pops up here, another there, without the victims seeming to have been in contact, it will incite mass panic. People may believe the old virus has mutated, maybe become airborne."
The Mayor stopped mid-bite. An airborne infection. Of course, their tinkering with the infection had not created such a thing, and the Mayor would never want the research to go in that direction, but even the thought of such a danger sent goosebumps racing across his skin. If people thought that they could catch the disease at any time, any place, without knowing why, they would be terrified and inconsolable.
"When that happens, they'll scramble for a solution. And when they see how well No. 6 is combating the outbreak," the man pulled one hand from his pocket and gestured at the Mayor, palm up, "they will come running to you all the quicker. They will beg at your feet for relief. And when you deliver them… Well, you'll be a god in their eyes."
Warmth pooled in the pit of the Mayor's stomach. Since the inception of this project nearly a decade ago, he had dreamed of the governors and mayors of the other zones bowing to him, sniveling before him and kissing his feet.
He had always been destined for great and powerful things. He had been campaigning—with resounding success—for Prime Minister before the first wave hit and knocked the world off course, and all his aspirations with it. The Mayor had fought tooth and nail to rise to power in Quarantine Zone No. 6, but it was such a small piece of what he deserved.
The release of the Elyurias strain into the zones would be the first step in delivering to him what he was owed. Once he had set himself up as the only salvation, it would be a short campaign to convince the remaining population that he should be the ultimate ruler of the living world.
"Yes," the Mayor mused. "I see what you mean." He set his chopsticks aside and considered a moment. "If we're going with 2.0, we'll have to pick out more citizens to infect. The candidates in the other zones can be whomever, but we'll have to make careful choices here in No. 6. They can't be too important or suspicious, and they have to be only those who we can carefully monitor. That way, when the outbreak hits, we will look besieged like everyone else, but we'll also be able to control the damage."
The man smiled. "Of course. That's a sensible idea. I'll compile a list of candidates and send it to you along with a few vials of the vaccine."
"Yes, that sounds good. Thank you."
The man turned to leave. His lab coat hissed softly as it slithered out the door.
When Nezumi came to pick him up from work, Shion's heart skipped a beat. Nezumi hardly ever came to get him, usually being too busy acting or on other business, and most afternoons Shion walked home with his dog escort, perfectly safe and happy but for the want of a better conversation partner.
Seeing Nezumi here, serious-faced and unannounced, filled Shion with hope that his waiting was at an end. Finally, Inukashi had collected enough information for them to begin planning their infiltration of the Correctional Facility. Shion set aside the puppy that had crawled into his lap in a determined bid to nip off Shion's beanie, and clambered to his feet.
Nezumi's eyes were winter grey, and Shion wondered what thoughts were playing behind them. Remorse for hiding Safu's disappearance for so long? Regret that he and Shion were now involved in planning something so dangerous? Resignation to the task?
Or were his thoughts running along a different track entirely? To the worry he felt when he chased Shion down in the early morning, to the pain of watching him suffer nightmares at his side. To the soft brush of lips in the dark, a sweet transient distraction from the horrors of reality.
"Come on," Nezumi said, jerking his chin toward the hotel. "They're waiting for us."
Shion followed him inside, along the candlelit corridors until they reached the door belonging to Inukashi. The windows in the room were tightly boarded up, so the only light when they closed the door was a single candle burning on its holder on the tabletop. The flame flickered in an imperceptible draft, throwing the grim faces of Inukashi and Rikiga into sharp relief.
"Mr. Rikiga." Shion glanced at Nezumi then back at the older man. "You're here too?"
"Well," Rikiga said gruffly and shrugged his shoulders. "Seemed like you could use my help, so." He took a swig of the whiskey bottle he had clenched in his fist. Apparently, he had brought his own refreshments to the strategy meeting.
"So magnanimous," Nezumi laughed. "As though the promise of riches had nothing to do with your decision."
Rikiga leered at him. "I didn't want to take your money, remember? I only changed my mind once you told me it was a favor for Shion, not some nasty scheme of yours."
"You changed your mind after you realized you couldn't beat me into submission. And then you made me promise—twice, if I remember correctly—that you would get what's owed to you when the job was done."
"Screw you, Eve! Like you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart either?"
"Alright, enough," Inukashi growled. "Obviously, everyone here has an ulterior motive, so stop the pissing contest. You're hurting my ears."
Rikiga flashed a surly look at Inukashi and took another pull of whiskey.
"Regardless of what brought you here," Shion said, looking at everyone in turn, "thank you for deciding to help." The room was quiet as he bowed his head low.
He had dragged everyone in this room into his personal struggle—a dangerous mission that risked all of their lives if it failed. Shion had never been so grateful and so scared in his entire life.
Nezumi tapped Shion's elbow and gestured to the round table where Inukashi and Rikiga sat. "Sit. You're eager to get started, right?"
He and Nezumi took their seats. The candle in the middle of the table flickered wildly for a moment before settling again into a gentle waver.
"Alright," Inukashi started. "So according to my sources, over the past two weeks, the Correctional Facility has received just three prisoners." They nibbled the corner of their lip and added, "All male."
Shion straightened in his seat. "That's not possible." His mother said that Safu had been arrested by the Security Bureau, and the Bureau only ever took people to one place.
But maybe they didn't... Shion's hands curled into fists, his heart pounding at the possibility. Maybe they just shipped Safu back to No. 5 to finish her exchange? Maybe that coat wasn't hers after all. Maybe she's alright.
Nezumi laid a hand over Shion's fist under the table and gently squeezed, prising his fingers open one by one. Shion glanced at him, but he was looking at Inukashi, his expression grave.
"You're sure?" Nezumi asked.
"Yeah. Heard it straight from my contact who handles the shipments of the prisoners' clothes. Get this: the guys asked to be prisoners." Inukashi scoffed. "I don't know if they were kicked out of West Block or came from somewhere else, but I guess they decided that spending their lives in a two-by-four box was better than trying to survive out in the Deadlands."
Nezumi laid Shion's hand flat and gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze before letting go. Shion's racing heart slowed to a more regular pace, but somehow the gesture of support filled his chest with leaden apprehension, rather than relief.
"That's not good," Nezumi said.
"Buncha half-wits," Inukashi barked. "They're gonna regret it."
Nezumi shook his head. "If your contact has no record of Safu coming in, then that means she wasn't brought in as a regular prisoner. She's been erased."
"Erased?" Shion said faintly.
Nezumi leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "In the normal procedure, when a prisoner is taken to the Correctional Facility, all their personal information is logged in the Prisoner Registration database. Photos from all sides, height, weight, fingerprints, vocal signature, iris scans, blood type. Once they have all that, you're chipped and become an official prisoner.
"With your friend being a No. 6 citizen, they'd have most of that information already, and would have just forwarded it to the Facility's main computer and double-checked the data for accuracy. Maybe they'd skimp on West Block prisoners, but they'd be thorough about a former No. 6 citizen. But there's no record of Safu entering the Correctional Facility at all. They've erased all traces of her existence."
"All this talk of traces and erases is a bit abstract for me." Rikiga placed his bottle down with a noisy clunk and scrubbed a hand over his face. "What are you implying, exactly? That this girl, uh… Safu? Are you saying the Security Bureau murdered her and they're covering it up?"
"Tactful," Nezumi intoned. "Your journalism roots are really showing, old man."
Nezumi and Inukashi's glares were guns aimed at Rikiga's ruddy face. The man hunched down in his seat.
Shion's mind fuzzed over. He was having trouble focusing on the words and world around him. For some reason, he kept thinking of the coffee stain on Safu's coat sleeve, the dark ragged edges of it creeping out like the spiked proteins of a virus. He stared hard at the candle flame at the center of the table, trying to ground himself.
"Safu was a valuable resource," Shion said. His voice sounded far away to his ears, but it was at least level. "They've spent a lot of time and resources to raise her—and there aren't many living people in the world either, at least according to what they tell us. It would be a huge loss for the city if they erased her."
"Exactly," Nezumi agreed. "It doesn't make sense. What was her family structure like, Shion?"
"Safu's parents are dead." Shion swallowed, his mind already putting the pieces together and coming to the terrible conclusion. "She was raised by her grandmother. That's her only living relative."
"Ahah." Nezumi's mouth twisted into a mirthless smile. "So if Granny dies, then there's no one to kick up a fuss if Bestie goes missing."
Shion nodded, the gorge rising in his throat. "It's actually worse than that. Safu is supposed to be on a two-year exchange in No. 5 right now. Even if she had people to check up on her, they wouldn't be suspicious of her disappearance from No. 6."
Inukashi made a sound in the back of their throat. "Your friend has shit timing, Shion."
"I'll say," muttered Nezumi. "She was the perfect mark. An elite citizen with hardly any relatives, who won't be missed for another two years."
"But why would they take her?" Shion demanded. "What are they doing with her in the Correctional Facility, and why is it a secret that she's there?"
"I don't know." Nezumi tapped a finger against his bicep in thought. "What about those rumors you mentioned about something strange going on in the zone, Inukashi? Did you dig anything up on that?"
"I've got nothing." Inukashi shrugged a shoulder. "My contact can tell me about stuff that happens in the Facility, but they don't say shit about what goes on in the city. They aren't high enough in the city hierarchy to know anything good, anyway. Top-tier gossip is probably more Mr. Alcoholic's area."
Rikiga paused mid-swig of his whiskey bottle. "That's rich coming from a kid who thinks they're a dog." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I can't get you an inside scoop on the goings-on of the Holy City yet, but I have a regular who's due to schedule a visit in a day or two. But, look, getting that information is all well and good, but hearsay isn't going to get us into the Correctional Facility. Do you have a plan for that, Eve? One that doesn't get us all eaten by zombies?"
Nezumi didn't answer. The candle flickered as the wind outside picked up. The company around the table sunk deeper into their seats and into their thoughts.
Inukashi was the first to break the silence. "The first problem is getting across the Deadlands. We gotta get past that before we even get to the Correctional Facility."
Rikiga tipped his bottle back, only to realize it was empty already. He set it down with a pout and said, "Well, how do you do it? You get shipments and secrets from your contact there, right?"
Inukashi barked a laugh. "I don't go over there personally, not unless I have to. I got an inbetween guy—a raider—who gets the shipments for me. Paying him is pennies compared to what I get for reselling to the market, but the guy isn't bright enough to realize. But then you have to be dumb to be a raider."
Nezumi arched an eyebrow. "Ignoring that comment," he said blandly, "how does your contact travel through? He must have something fast and nondescript in order to bypass the dead and not alert the security there."
"Not really. It's just a regular car, I think. It's fast enough to get by the dead near West Block, and they clear out the zombies closer to the Facility, so there's not much threat there."
"No one ever stops him to check his credentials?" Nezumi asked.
Inukashi shrugged. "No. I mean, he always takes a long way around to the back of the Facility and enters through the back entrance. That's the door for the lower class No. 6 citizens who work as cleaners and sanitation for the building. The important scientists and officers treat the guys who handle their trash like literal trash. Everyone thinks he's part of the help, so nobody gives a shit about him coming in and taking trash bags away."
Shion knew that there was a hierarchy in No. 6—he had been a victim of it after his family had been ousted from Chronos—but he didn't think the sense of superiority was so bad as to allow such a flaw in prison security. A tendril of annoyance and shame crept under his skin, but beneath them a tentative hope grew.
"Alright," Nezumi considered. "So maybe we could get up to the Correctional Facility without raising too much of an alarm. The real problem is bypassing the security inside the building."
"Just walk up to the door and ask to be let in, like those other crazies," Rikiga said. "That worked for them easy enough."
"There are so many things wrong with that plan that I shouldn't have to explain them to you," Nezumi said. "But I'm going to, since this is a fair and equitable discussion in which everyone should have the opportunity to offer an idea and be proven wrong."
Rikiga's lip curled in distaste, while Inukashi's twitched in amusement.
"We can be brought in as prisoners, perhaps, but under no circumstances can Shion and I be booked as such. The minute they take a bio-sample from either of us, the system will recognize us as first-class criminals on the run and we'll never see the light of day again."
Inukashi and Rikiga's faces went blank.
"Hold on, first-class criminal?" Rikiga balked.
"I mean, you? Sure," Inukashi said, glancing at Nezumi, "but Shion?" They stared at him with wide-eyed wonder. "What'd you do?"
Shion fidgeted and pulled his hat lower over his head. "It's complicated."
"And irrelevant," Nezumi sniffed. "The second issue with entering the Facility as prisoners is that we wouldn't be able to move about freely. We have no idea where Safu is being held and no security clearance. Did you manage to update the schematic I gave you?"
Inukashi's mouth twisted to the side. "I've got all the main points down, I think, but there's a lot it's still missing. Without intel from someone who works above the bottom level, I don't think we're gonna get anywhere. I did hear something about a new basement complex, but my contact didn't have any details, so I don't know if that's a possible way in."
"Basement complex?"
"Supposedly the elevator down there goes all the way to the top floor, and it has all this biometric stuff in place so that only specific people can use it. So I'm guessing whatever goes on down there is important, but no one knows what that is."
Nezumi leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. His face was troubled. Shion fisted his hands in his lap again. For all Inukashi's sleuthing, it seemed they were no closer to infiltrating the Correctional Facility. If anything, it felt like saving Safu was even more of a pipedream.
But he couldn't give up. There had to be something, some crack they could wiggle through. One's security was only as good as its weakest point, and Inukashi's ability to ferret shipments out of the building was one such weakness. There had to be more.
"Nezumi," he said. "If we get arrested as prisoners, is there any way we could avoid the data-matching and escape to find Safu? Any way at all?"
Nezumi's gaze was impassive, but his eyes were filled with pity. "No. If they take us in as prisoners, we'll be marched to a data collection room and scanned, poked, and prodded until they know us inside and out. Then we'll be implanted with a V-chip. We'll be cuffed and monitored the whole time; there will be zero chance of escaping and sneaking off."
"No exceptions?"
"None." Nezumi started to shake his head. "There's no other—"
Nezumi stilled and swallowed the rest of his words. The room froze with him. No one moved or breathed. The silence was so complete that Shion could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears.
"There is one exception," Nezumi said quietly. He turned to face Rikiga and Inukashi across the table. "The Hunt."
Inukashi's hackles went up. Rikiga glared down at the table, his knuckles white around the neck of his whiskey bottle.
"The Hunt?' Shion looked around the table. "What's that?" His voice came out small and low, because it seemed it was that sort of topic.
No one answered.
The candle flickered wildly, throwing shadows over the grim faces around the table. A chill seeped in through the boarded windows, creeping around Shion's ankles and caressing the hair at the nape of his neck.
The flame sputtered and went out.