The most important thing about being a security guard is maintaining composure. That's why I trust Tatsuto to learn from Kenji.
"Hey! You can't bring that in!"
Kenji holds the pink mace can hostage, which belongs to Yoko Katori. The prohibition on mace is one of those rules that you'll never find written down anywhere but which Kenji enforces like the law.
"I always bring it in!" The squad captain protests with a sassy undertone that won't help her case.
"I don't care what other guards do. You're not allowed to have this." I sometimes wonder if he includes me in "other guards."
"You can't expect me to walk out there by myself with no protection. I'm a woman!"
"That's why you keep it in your car and don't bring it in the building."
"Maybe if you secured the parking lot better, I wouldn't need protection." She has a point. The parking lot is not gated. Things happen in the parking lot. It's not in our contract to secure the lot, although every employee of Border thinks so.
"Bring it up with your boss," Kenji dismissively says and sets the canister aside. I see Katori's flames from here.
"Give it to me. I'll take it back to my car," she huffs.
"Too late now!" Kenji jabs harshly.
"Hey, Yoko. Just drop it, OK?" Rokuro Wakamura behind her in line tries to coerce. She bats him away like an annoying fly. "You try being a woman and helpless!" No one in the world who knows Yoko Katori would think "helpless," but anyway.
"No, thank you," Rokuro actually graces the complaint with a dignified response. I wonder about their teamwork sometimes.
At last, Katori shakes in frustration, gathers her purse in haste, spills half its contents on the floor, gathers everything up with bruised dignity, and marches off.
"I hope you get fired," she grumbles as a pithy last word and storms through the turnstile. I'm grateful she was quick, because Kenji's been known to lock it in response to blatant disrespect.
"Oh, get lost!" he shouts after her in the sight of everyone and follows with choicer words loud enough for everyone else present to hear. Rokuro sweats and elects to stay out of it, the wisest decision all day.
On second thought, perhaps it's best to keep Tatsuto away from Kenji.
The lobby has more no-smoking signs than living plants, but tobacco-hungry agents walk through the outbound turnstiles toting unlit cigarettes between their lips like lollipops. Usually they wait until outside before lighting them though. Usually.
The tobacco stench hits hard. Tatsuto seems not to notice. I make sure to spot the culprit before Kenji bears his fangs.
"Mr. Suwa, I'm afraid smoking is not allowed indoors."
Kotaro Suwa removes the smoldering cigarette with malicious indignation.
"It's raining." On Suwa's ten tar-stained fingers, I could count the number of raindrops that have actually fallen in the last hour.
"Either way, you can't smoke inside."
"Look, why don't you secure the parking lot instead of harassing people like me?" He takes a long swig to relieve stress and simultaneously rub it in.
Then he stomps the cigarette on the recently mopped tile. No skin off my business; the janitors don't even try anymore.
"You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for the Hatohara incident," he gripes as he prepares to pass back through the machine via Kenji.
"What's the Hatohara incident?" Tatsuto asks a moment later.
"I'm not sure it's even true," I begin before Kenji interjects with as much certainty as God.
"She was a Border agent who stole 15 triggers and gave them to civilians, who got killed fighting neighbors." The details of Kenji's account get slightly more dramatic every time he recounts it.
"Really? Geez," Tatsuto says. "Why did she steal the triggers?"
"Cos she's a loon!" Kenji proclaims like a preacher.
I roll my eyes. This is why I put no stock in rumors. I bet you not a single bit of it is true.
Only one thing makes the afternoon rush worse than the morning rush. The morning rush stretches for ages as sullen-faced workers creep in. In the afternoon, it's a human reenactment of the running of the bulls.
I assign Tatsuto to the other outbound lane to avoid a repeat of this morning's cluster.
Departing, the chief concern is ensuring nobody removes anything from the building they shouldn't have. Like experimental triggers (which Tamakoma-1 personally retrieved from a rogue Midorikawa earlier today).
That involves checking every bag thoroughly.
A purse calamitously hits the counter.
"Sorry," Sayoko Shiki apologizes. "Have fun in there." I peek into the abyss of junk and immediately conclude it's no worse than the last 55 purses I've seen.
"Thank you," I efficiently dismiss.
Raizo Terashima from Kinuta's division waddles up next, dropping a flashlight the size of Godzilla on the counter before swaying through the machine. His raised arms (which we don't even normally ask to be raised) swipe the side of the machine, shaking the whole thing and triggering a false positive on itself.
"Go through again and watch the sides please." He obeys, spins, and waddles back through immediately without waiting for the machine to reset itself from its physical blow. I sigh and trust he's clean like the other 99.98% of these people.
The queue forms fast. Tatsuto struggles to find a groove. I can't help him with my own people to deal with. I float the idea of unilaterally closing Border and forbidding entry one day.
When dealing with backpacks, most people only open the largest compartment or, in dubious cases, the compartment they want you to check. Kusakabe slams a behemoth of a backpack down and systematically opens and closes each and every pocket, forcing me to recite "You're good" after cursory inspections eight times.
Urushima's backpack thuds like an anvil, hitting the stainless steel with the force of a bowling ball. I debate which pocket to open and pick the second largest because it's the most prominent. Urushima glares impatiently as I scour for a zipper.
"Dude, can I have my backpack?"
My thick gloves can't grip the zipper.
"Can you open it for me?" I give up.
"Geez, they should hire competent guards," he mutters, ripping the zipper open as if he's trying to break the thing.
"I'm just doing my job." It's the only defense I can offer for lacking the dexterity to open a zipper.
Surely this can't be worse than this morning at least.
Oji digs in his pocket and sets down his trigger, scraps of paper, and one work glove. (Where the other one is, I don't ask.) He marches through the machine. The lights down either side of the machine flag his waist.
He steps back through, removes a flashlight, and goes through again.
It still lights up.
He removes a cell phone.
It still lights up.
He removes two cigarette lighters.
It still lights up.
He removes a pack of cigarettes (there's foil inside many brands, and I go to great lengths to convince people of that).
It still lights up.
He removes a can of chewing tobacco that I didn't even know he used.
It still lights up.
He deposits an abnormally large knife on the counter.
"Wait!" I examine the tool, its blade clearly too long for Border regulations.
"What?" he complains with a flattering smirk.
"Knives aren't permitted in HQ."
"I've been bringing this nice knife in for months." (Do not ask how I didn't catch this on ingress.)
"That being the case, it is still not allowed."
"Sure, whatever. Just give me my knife back." He swipes through the air, and I have to pull the implement out of his range.
"Will you give me it back later?"
"That depends on management."
He huffs like a boar. I set the knife aside and make a mental note of the time in order to write a report later.
I dread the inevitable: when reports are deferred, they simply pile up.
Ko Murakami makes it through the line just fine, distracted as he may be listening to Kazama behind him—the only adult Border agent who has to look up at my short stature. Then the next person approaches to change my mood for the better.
"Hello! How's your day?" Shiori Usami's greeting brightens every interaction.
"It's going fantastic, Ms. Usami," I lie through my teeth.
"Oh, I'm glad to hear it." I can see the sparkle beside her glowing face. Only after she leaves do I realize I was so distracted I didn't peek into her purse. There was probably nothing.
Hanzaki slides his things out of his hand onto the counter, frowning deeply.
"You don't look good," I try to empathize.
"This place sucks," he moans.
Hokari slides his backpack down the counter, blissfully ignorant of knocking the unused belongings tray onto the floor. I pretend not to notice.
"He's depressed that nobody selected him for our training squads today," he remarks of some special endeavor Border was doing in preparation for the away mission.
"Aw, that must suck," is all there's time to sympathize before Atsushi dons the backpack straps and compels the young Yoshito onward.
I retrieve the forlorn tray from the floor and position it at an angle that I hopelessly think will psychologically encourage its use. (When offered, the invariable, skeptical question comes, "when was the last time you cleaned it?"—but no one ever uses it, so it never gets cleaned!)
Kitazoe overlooks the tray and quite literally throws his stuff on the counter, some of it rolling off on my side. I bend down to pick it up, mindlessly hand him all the items on the counter, which includes two cell phones, and wish him well.
"That's not mine." Zoe points to one of the two mobiles. It must belong to the last person here—Hokari. I snatch it back before another thief incident can occur.
"Heeeeey! You forgot your phone!" Zoe makes as much of a scene as he can.
Hokari patters back in, feeling his body as if he doesn't think it's real.
"No, I've got mine," he says in realization. "Must be Yoshito's." He snatches it before I utter a peep and rushes out the door. That makes sense, I tell myself, and resume my work. I'm just glad I didn't lose another piece of personal property.
A few minutes pass before Ko comes back inside to darken my lane again.
"Hey. Did I leave a phone here?"
Someone, shoot me.
There are only three jokes involving security guards, and none of them are funny.
"Search him good!" Tomoe teases as Taichi Betsuyaku prepares to step through the machine. I pretend I haven't heard any word spoken. I'll search him as thoroughly as I feel like.
The machine goes off. I have half a mind to let him pass without making a scene, but what's left of my integrity prevents me.
Taichi goes through the rigamarole but can't find the buzzing culprit around his abdomen. I grab the hand wand.
"Strip search time!" Kai Minamisawa down the line screams, and I want to whack him over the head with the wand.
Taichi struts his arms wide like he's about to take flight.
"Go on, hit me!" he pleads, shaking his hips like he's getting turned on. Dang adolescents and their sophomoric humor. I remain stoic.
The wand can't find anything in Taichi's pockets. As I swipe it up and down, it passes his groin.
"Ooh, turn me on!" my subject cries in the poorest imitation of orgasmic ecstasy. They either don't know or don't care that I get nothing from this.
A terrifying scream erupts in the space. I jump halfway into the air and am ready to call the cops until realizing it was just Nozomi Kako excitably embracing some random person she hasn't seen in a while whose name happens to start with K.
When I look back, Taichi Betsuyaku is kneeling on the floor, comforting his crotch.
I recall that when I jumped, the tip of the wand struck something soft. Taichi's face is so red it's almost blue.
"Um, I'm sorry. Y-you can leave now," I stutter by way of apology.
Now, nobody is laughing, and I like it that way.
Idiots.
Every organization has them, and here come Border's.
Prattling so loud no other conversation can happen, they approach the machine like a pack of hyenas. Unlike many C-rankers, I've memorized their names—and that's not a good thing.
The first one, Hinoe, dumps just his phone on the counter and strides quickly through the arch. Tatsuto barely registers the machine light up before Hinoe pockets his phone and charges away.
I flip the switch, and the turnstile locks. It's amusing watching the man struggle to rotate it
"What gives, man?"
"You went off," I inform him.
"No, I didn't. You're hearing things." I respond with only my eyes and command him to pass through once more. His buddies hold back like they're watching street theatre.
The machine goes off again, and denial won't work this time.
"I don't got nothing!" Hinoe exclaims before a question is even asked. I proffer the wand to Tatsuto. The man pouts as he holds out his arms instinctively. Tatsuto takes it slow like an unsure beginner. The wand whines strongly on his pocket.
"There's nothing there." That reply is always a red flag.
I command Hinoe to empty the pocket. He removes a candy wrapper and a penny. Tatsuto looks unsurely at me for confirmation if this is OK. It's so far from OK it's not even funny. Tatsuto wands the pocket again, and it still goes off. I stare at the cylindrical object that bulges through the denim.
"You've got something in there," I reinforce.
Hinoe removes what is clearly not a training trigger and tries to act embarrassed. "Oh. My trainer said I could keep it tonight."
I don't even bother entertaining that lie with a response. The other two buffoons mind their own business as if they weren't accomplices.
I take possession of the illicit trigger despite Hinoe's protests. "Dude, that's my trigger!" He stomps his foot powerlessly.
"Stay here while I contact—"
And with that, he bounds over the turnstile and bolts towards the exit, past Miwa Squad returning from defense duty. As if that's bad enough, Kenji abandons post and gives chase.
"Oh, this looks fun," says Yoneya and also disappears out the door after Kenji, and followed by the request of the A-rank squad.
There's a commotion of screaming outside. Yoneya and Miwa carry in the suspect who is seeing stars.
Kenji marches back to his post and hurriedly resumes business.
I realize the other two, Koda and Saotome, have wandered back into the building. Instead, now I see Mr. Kinuta.
"What's this we have here?" he grumpily interrogates.
"Our squad caught a runner," Narasaka explains. "The idiot said he wanted to show off to his friends." To hear someone besides me call them idiots is gratifying.
I hand Kinuta the pilfered trigger. Kinuta's scoff is palpable.
"Why do we have security if they can't do their jobs and protect our stuff properly?"
It's a good thing I like my job.
With two exit lanes today, I pray for the problematic Hyuse Khronin to exit via Tatsuto's line. I don't wish such evil on the poor newbie; I just don't want to look him in the eye after this morning's charade.
Unfortunately, 6 p.m. rolls around sooner than I wanted, and Tatsuto makes his exit as the rush only starts to simmer down. It's me vs. the world for four more hours.
Yuma Kuga, Osamu Mikumo, and Chika Amatori make their way out with no struggle at all. Then comes Hyuse, glaring at me as if he never stopped doing so all day.
"What do you want me to do?"
Mikumo is quick to explain the procedure this time, and I decide to go along with the joke that Hyuse is as clueless as he lets on.
Despite emptying his pockets, the machine lights up around his head. And that's when I realize, he is in a trion body.
Wasn't he wearing the same thing this morning? Was he always in a trion body? Unimportant. Mikumo collects Hyuse's things after a concerned nudge from his partner Kuga. I wish I'd noticed.
"Mr. Khronin, are you wearing a trion body? All trion bodies must be deactivated before departing headquarters unless you are on defense duty."
The rest of Tamakoma-2 flinch like suspects.
Hyuse continues to stare.
"No."
No?
That's it?
That's your only response?
He's already walking away. He passes through the turnstile. The audacity of the simple refusal is so shocking I don't even think to lock it.
"Bye!" Kuga waves with an airy smile.
I have many not nice thoughts.
Mr. Karasawa leads the tail of the rush. I'll be grateful for the imminent breather and nothing to stress about. (I pretend I don't have reports to write.)
"You're working late tonight," I say to Border's approachable external affairs director.
"Yes, we had a late meeting," he vaguely justifies. "By the way, did Ms. Usami have anything suspicious with her in her bag when she left today?"
I stare.
"Nope! Not at all!"
It's 8:30, and the rush is over. It's just people trickling out now. Kenji disinfects every conceivable surface like a busybody; I'm too exhausted to lift a finger. Ever since Karasawa left, I've been inwardly berating myself for not looking in Usami's bag.
At least there's only an hour and a half left. Nothing can go wrong now.
Kageura nears. He's a tricky one to deal with. I stand to attention and divert all of my thoughts to everything but Kageura. I'm too afraid of his side effect to even think good thoughts about him. Grouchier than usual, he makes it through without incident. I exhale gratefully once he's out the door. I drop my guard just in time for him to trudge back into the building a few minutes later.
"Hey! Who took my car?!"
I want to hide under the table.
"Oh, is it missing?" That should be a rhetorical question, but out of a habit of clarifying, it's quite genuine.
"No, duh," he snarls and calls me a name I don't like.
"OK, I understand how you feel." Deigning to empathize with Masato Kageura of all people draws the veins out of his forehead.
"Are you making fun of me?"
"No, I—"
"Cos I ain't in the mood!"
I mentally beg him to get away from me, and those hopes just make him angrier.
"You don't even care, and that's what pisses me off. How am I supposed to get home, huh?!"
Kage bears down on me that my back is bent so much it's like I'm trying to limbo.
"I'm very sorry, but this is outside our purview. Might I suggest asking one of your teammates for a ride?"
"What good's that gonna do?! Zoe's gone, and Ema can't drive!"
"Might I recommend calling the police?"
"Are you gonna do that?"
"No, it's…not our policy for parking lot issues…."
"You're just trying to piss me off, aren't you?!"
I'm inwardly begging him to stop breathing down my neck, and that accordingly makes the seething air droplets hitting my throat stronger.
"The parking lot is not our responsibility," Kenji reinforces matter-of-factly.
"Huh? Why didn't you say that?" Kageura steps away to converse with Kenji, with whom he somehow has a good rapport. Kenji phones the security chief to get camera footage (there's never any) and provides the B-rank captain with the incident report form to gather initial information. By 9 o'clock, Hiro Kitazoe waddles in to pick his teammate up.
"Bout time," Kage grumbles, but Hiro seems unaffected.
Before departing, Kageura makes sure to give me some parting words.
"You know, of all the guards here, I hate you the most."
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: it's a good thing I like my job.
It's 9:30. Half an hour left. It's going inexorably slow since Kageura's departure. Every last bit of energy is sapped, so much I don't even notice a person approach.
"Hey," greets a friendly outbounder. I lift myself from my seat like an old man to properly assist Yuichi Jin. He passes through with no issues.
"I hope today wasn't too rough," he consoles.
"We made it through," I fakely grin.
"Good. Get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow will be worse."
I hope this was at least mildly entertaining. Thanks for reading.
~Breeze