A lone man sits in his study, scratching his head, poring over the paper in front of him. Next to the paper is an ashtray, already stuffed full of burnt-out cigarettes, and the man is tempted to light another one just so he can set the paper on fire. But though he might be able to burn the document, he knows he can never burn away the reality of the document's contents.
Burdens beset him at every turn. At work, amongst friends, and even within the family. He has nowhere left to go.
A thought flashes across his mind, but the last vestiges of his sanity immediately banish it. Yet he cannot help but wonder if his life might be more worth living if he did not have so much weight to carry upon his shoulders.
The door to his study creaks open. It is her again. He silently wills her to leave, fearing that he might end up harming her in his rage, but she does not acquiesce.
"Dad?" says a trembling voice. "Could you help me with-"
"Not now, kid." He clenches his fists, clamping himself to his seat. "Not now. Go ask your mom, okay?"
"But dad, mom already went out with-"
"I said, not now!" The man grabs the nearest book he can find and blindly throws it behind him, hoping to merely scare her away. Yet the sullen thud and the crash that follows tells him that he has, to his horror, found his mark.
He wants to look behind him, to apologize to the only thing left in the world that he might ever have a chance of loving. But instead of crying or sobbing, there is only silence, and the sound of the door clicking shut again. He sinks to the floor and begins to weep.
The girl, who retreats down the hallway, has long since grown used to this state of affairs. Every day, she must suffer the whims of her parents, who have both been possessed by demons: her father, by Leviathan; her mother, by Asmodeus. There is no refuge in the world for one whose own home has become Hell itself.
Her forehead throbs angrily, but she pays the pain no heed. She looks at the book she picked up from the ground just after it had bruised her temple. It is a musty volume, the title on the cover worn and scuffed, the binding stripped and broken, the pages dog-eared and yellowed. She holds the tome to her nose and takes a deep whiff. It smells like ash and tar, much like her father.
Of course, what matters is not how the book looks, or what it smells like. The only important part of it is the words that are contained within.
She enters her bedroom and locks the door behind her. Easing herself into her bed, she nestles her head into her pillow, opens the book, and begins to read.
The dark clouds gathered overhead, depositing their sodden load upon the city. Before long, all was submerged under a curtain of rainwater. Mankind may have claimed the Earth and its treasures for their own, but nature was a beast whose fangs forever remained sharp. Artificial lamps lit up the darkness, yet the night invaded every untouched corner, hiding those who did not want to be seen – or even those who wanted to, but could never be. And so the storm continued, thunder arcing across the skies, water lashing against the windows, the stars and the moon ushered away by the creeping blanket of black and gray. Such was the strength of the flailing typhoon that even those few who lingered around the area after dusk were nowhere to be seen.
Yet even the relentless rain could not wash away the crimson ichor that had been splattered on the floor. There was simply far too much of it.
"This makes the third case in a month, huh?" A grizzled, lean-faced man chewed on his cigarette, which had long been extinguished and was now nothing but a soggy wad of paper. He squatted down and leaned towards the body, rummaging in the trouser pocket for clues as to their identity. Nothing could be discerned from the appearance of the victim as is – after all, their face had been essentially obliterated.
A sickening scene, to be sure. But nothing to truly capture the imagination. Merely another incident to be resolved.
"Inspector, you'll catch a cold." Behind the man, two women stood, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that they were soaked skin-deep. One wore her hair cut to the neck, droplets dripping incessantly from her fringes and onto her shoulders; the other's stretched down to the hip, curling slightly upwards at the tip. Both were clad in suits and boots, the standard uniform for those in their line of work, though the short-haired specimen had the luxury of an extra blue jacket which bore the famous – or infamous, depending on your political persuasions – insignia of the judges, juries and executioners of their time.
"You'll catch a cold," the long-haired woman repeated.
The Inspector remained unmoved by her companion's pleas. "Kitahara, check for an ID."
"Already ahead of you." Kitahara pulled out a wallet and, opening it, withdrew a small white card. "Shirasaka Kenji. Business card says he works in Chiyoda."
"So what's he doing all the way out here?" The Inspector took a plastic bag and held it out, letting Kitahara drop the wallet into it. "Good thing the weather's trash and no-one's out here, or the Area Stress would be a problem. Still, we should get the body away as soon as possible."
A familiar itch crept into her lungs, and she put a hand to her mouth, resisting the urge to cough for as long as she could. The discomfort in her features, however, was patent enough to give the game away.
"What'd I tell you?" said the woman beside her. "Come on, let's head back to the van. No point making your health worse…"
She trailed off, though the Inspector knew exactly what she was going to say.
Worse than it already is.
The Inspector pushed the woman's outstretched hand away. "I'll be fine. Help Kitahara search for evidence." She began to walk away, a hand on the holster on her back, where the weapon that served as a signature of her line of work was hidden. "I'll search the immediate area – I'll be back in five."
The woman nodded and gave her a crisp salute, before joining Kitahara beside the body. It was against standard protocol for a dog owner to leave her hounds alone without a leash, but the Inspector knew that even if she kept watch over them, it would not be at all difficult for them to overpower her if they really wanted to, even with a Dominator in hand. Thus far in their two years together, they had yet to do so.
It wasn't as if they had ever overestimated her abilities. Anyone who watched her take her regular naps, or struggle to complete more than two laps around a running track, or consume the plethora of rainbow-colored pills contained in a little plastic box on her desk, knew that she would find it difficult to fend off a group of children, let alone a pair of athletic would-be criminals. But, she always reasoned, the Sibyl System had chosen her for a purpose, deducing that she had something substantial to contribute even if she was impeded by her physical limitations. It was the only real job the Sibyl System had offered to her, beside some other mundane and uninteresting options, so even the typically meager illusion of choice had not been forthcoming.
A faint sound caught her attention, one that was nearly inaudible in the roaring rain. She squinted, but her vision was afforded little clarity by the rain, so she decided to close her eyes and focus on the noise. Amidst the chaos of the water pattering on the granite, there was a rhythmic, orderly aberration.
Metal creaking under a regular weight. Too slow to be an object falling down a staircase; too fast to be a screw or bolt unfastening itself from its socket. Experience told her that they could be only one thing, and there was only one place in the immediate surroundings where a person could walk on a metal surface.
She pointed her Dominator up at the spiraling steel stairs that protruded from the rough concrete walls of the adjacent buildings, granting emergency egress should the elevators fail. Her eyes were instantly met by a torrent that battered her eyelids and stung her pupils, but she did not need eyes to see. If someone truly were there, she would know.
Sure enough, the weapon in her hand whirred to life, clicking and churning as it made its calculations.
Crime Coefficient is below one hundred. Suspect is not a target for enforcement action. The trigger will be locked.
"You can put that thing away, Inspector," said a voice. "It won't help you here."
The Inspector lowered her weapon, realizing the meaning behind the voice's statement. "You're criminally asymptomatic, aren't you?"
"You know of the condition? A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one." The footsteps drew closer, stopping directly above her head. She glimpsed a shadow gazing down at her, scrutinizing her as she squinted in a vain attempt to make out any further details. "But I should expect no less from you, the crippled Inspector."
"I see you've heard of me."
"Who hasn't? The sight of you huffing and puffing as you dash after the rats scurrying about this city is quite something to behold." Even if she could not see the figure smirk, she could certainly hear it. "Yet that's exactly the reason why people underestimate you. Plus, you don't have to do any running if you have the glowing gavel with you, even if the hand that brings the gavel down isn't your own."
"You say that, but I'm the one who pulls the trigger."
"And see how that avails you now." The figure sighed as loudly as he possibly could, ostensibly for the Inspector's benefit. "I thought your acquaintance with Tsunemori Akane would have changed your perspective on things, but so far you seem just as blinkered as the rest of them."
"Tsunemori's insight is valuable, but that's also what makes her dangerous… and a little naive." The Inspector paused. "If you know who she really is, then I'm guessing you've worked at some level of government before. One of the Ministries, perhaps."
"Maybe I've let slip a little too much. I just wanted to come and get a taste of you, though I can't say that I've discovered anything particularly special – not that that was totally unexpected." The figure chuckled. "Regardless, it seems we're at a bit of an impasse. I don't want to kill you, and you can't arrest me. You're too weak to catch me, and if you call your Enforcers here, I'll be long gone before they arrive. Speaking of the devil… here come your faithful dogs. I suggest you keep a closer eye on them in the future."
The shadow turned to leave, ascending the stairs as they spoke. "Oh, and by the way, if you tell anyone else about me, you won't be long for living. I want you to find me yourself, Inspector. If you do, then I'll know you're what the stories say you are. If not… you won't see me again."
"Why are you doing this?" the Inspector called towards the diminishing silhouette. "And why come to me now?"
Wordlessly, the figure waved, and vanished into the distance.
Her two Enforcers rounded the corner, finding their master standing in the middle of an alleyway, shaking and shivering, Dominator dangling from her hand.
"Something happen?" asked Kitahara. "I thought I heard you talking to someone."
The Inspector opened her mouth, but the words she wanted to say would not escape her throat. She shook her head.
"Let's head back to HQ for today," she muttered.
A woman sat hunched on her sofa, staring at the stark white screen on her laptop. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but they refused to press any keys.
Another day, another blank.
The coffee on the table had long since gone cold. She had once been a regular drinker of the beverage, but the strange irony of things meant that the life she lived now, so bereft of activity and excitement, actually kept her awake in a trance-like state, each day a recycled and rehashed version of the last. The world beyond the tiny window on the door had been stale and insipid, sterilized by the iron grip of the Sibyl System's ubiquitous vigil, but at least there had been something to do. Inside these walls, behind these bars, the only things that could stimulate her senses were the array of books that the government had kindly provided her, even as they kept her incarcerated in a suffocatingly comfortable room and prevented all but the most privileged from visiting her.
Tsunemori Akane leaned back onto the couch and rested her weary head on the velvet cushioning. Solitude had been a close friend throughout her life – less so during her Inspector days – but familiarity inevitably bred contempt.
She cast her mind back to one of the few people to come to this room, just under a year ago: a petite and delicate-looking girl who, to her great surprise, had introduced herself as the sole Inspector of the recently-formed Division 4. Clearly, in the considerable time that Tsunemori had been absent, a great deal of personnel changes had been made.
The freshly-crowned Chief Inspector and Tsunemori's former protégé, Shimotsuki Mika, had for reasons unknown proposed that she meet Tsunemori. Perhaps Shimotsuki had seen something of Tsunemori in their new colleague, or perhaps she had asked some questions that Shimotsuki could not – or would not – answer. Regardless, the two of them had whittled an hour and a half away, making small talk that frequently evolved into more heated debate.
At first, Tsunemori thought that she was conversing with little more than another propagator of Shimotsuki's stubborn, unwavering belief in the Sibyl System. But the more they talked, the more Tsunemori sensed something deeper, something pervasive lurking in her guest's perspectives on justice and the merits of absolute control. At times, it felt as if the Inspector were a mirrored version of Tsunemori herself, but one whose principles were grounded in a ready acceptance of necessary evil, and in an uncompromisingly formalist approach to the law. It was as though the Sibyl System itself were speaking to Tsunemori through her own mouth, telling her what she wanted to hear – as well as what she didn't.
One particular snippet of their conversation had lingered in the memory long after the Inspector had left. "The law doesn't solely exist to govern the behavior of people," Tsunemori had said. "The law operates because the people living under it accept it as a universal guardian of society's principles. Remove that element of consent, and protection transforms into oppression. People protect the law, not the other way around."
"Maybe that was the case long ago, but if the principles by which we live by have already been encapsulated and codified, and a perfect adjudicator exists to apply them, then what need have we for error-prone judgments by error-prone people?" came the reply.
"A perfect adjudicator is neither possible nor desirable. Only other humans know how best a human can be judged. If you've seen what I've seen…"
Tsunemori then spent several minutes expounding as best as she could the truth of the Sibyl System to the Inspector, including the existence of the criminally asymptomatic, and the eerie fate that such people ultimately met. She had expected her to recoil in horror, or at least show some kind of emotional response. Yet all Tsunemori got was a shrug and a slight tilting of the head, as though she had been told nothing that she didn't already know.
"Shimotsuki already showed me the Sibyl System," the Inspector said matter-of-factly. "Chief Kasei asked her to. So… in other words, the Sibyl System is human after all."
"How can you say that?" Tsunemori asked incredulously. "It's barely recognizable as an individual being, let alone a human. It's a complex computer, nothing more."
"Brains are complex biological computers. I see no functional difference in combining a group of them, and the human element that you wanted is already there. What point is there in complaining? Maybe you haven't been put here just because you're a victim of the system… or you're refusing to acknowledge that you aren't."
"What do you mean?"
"If the Sibyl System really thought you were a danger to it, it would have had you silenced long ago. Instead, it keeps you alive, feeds you and clothes you, and lets you meet certain people and do whatever research you want to do. Why do you think that is?"
This time, it was Tsunemori's turn to shrug. "They're worried about the consequences if people find out that I've been killed?"
"Could be." The Inspector smiled. "The point is, I'm sure the Sibyl System thinks you still have something to offer it, even if it doesn't want you out and about. Contrary views are necessary for healthy government. The Sibyl System may not usually act like it tolerates resistance, but it still needs you, flawless and indomitable as it is. Isn't that a good thing?"
"I…" Tsunemori failed to offer a rebuke, and after a few moments, the topic of conversation eventually shifted to another matter.
She had once thought that she had a better measure of the true scope of justice than anyone, or at least one of the more comprehensive conceptions available. The advent of pre-emptive law enforcement had eliminated the need for lawyers and legal academics, and the study of the law in general had disappeared with them. Yet here arrived another who had given as much thought into the nature of her work as Tsunemori, if not more, but had emerged from her introspections with an altogether different conclusion. To think that everyone else was too ignorant to see what she saw was, at best, wishful thinking; at worst, it was simply hubris on her part.
It could be that she needed to revisit the foundations upon which her thoughts were built. That would make a good exercise for today. Not like she had much else to do, anyway.
Refreshed and reinvigorated, Tsunemori returned to her computer and, after waggling her fingers to warm them up, began to type.
The Inspector let out a slow breath as she sank into her seat. The office was the same size as the other Division chambers, offering a splendid panorama of the steel-and-glass spires adorning much of Tokyo, alongside the sparkling seascape beyond them. The chair she sat on was soft, but not overly so, cushioning her body with just the right amount of force. The sunlight streamed through the window behind her, pooling into the room, providing enough warmth to offset the chill that invariably passed through the Bureau's vast network of corridors.
It was a good day.
The Inspector flipped the nameplate on her desk upwards to have a brief look at it, sweeping off the dust that had collected on its chrome surface. Upon it was written, in blocky lettering, her name: Kokonoe Akemi.
It was not a name she was particularly fond of, given that it reminded her of her parents – her father had provided the surname, and her mother had chosen the given name. At the start of her tenure, she had insisted that her Enforcers only call her "Inspector", and they had soon grown used to using the label in lieu of her actual name. She placed the nameplate face-down just as the glass door at the entrance slid open.
"Morning, Inspector," said Kitahara as he walked in. "Glad to see you're not ill, especially after being out in the rain yesterday. You look happy."
"Don't I usually look happy?" retorted Kokonoe.
"Honestly, not really. Especially not recently. Thinking about these murders must be hard on you – I hope you don't wear yourself out too much."
Kokonoe laughed half-heartedly. "Yeah, we wouldn't want that. Thanks, Kitahara. Maybe I'll book myself in for stress care later."
The other person in the room swiveled around on her chair. "Late again, Kitahara."
"Sorry, Inaba. Forgot the time." Kitahara eased himself into his own chair with a grunt. "Any progress on the Shirasaka case?"
"Somewhat. He worked for four years at a company called Daionji Wares that dealt in heavy machinery. His home and his workplace were both located in Chiyoda."
"Any links with the other two cases?" asked Kokonoe as she rose, moving towards Inaba and staring at her screen. Inaba blushed faintly as Kokonoe's elbow brushed against her head, but quickly returned to answering the question.
"Nothing substantial. All three worked for relatively small local companies, and in different fields. That's all I've been able to find so far."
"Maybe we could ask Shion for help," Kitahara suggested. "She usually uncovers things pretty quickly."
"That bleached old hag? No thanks. Don't you worry, Inspector," Inaba assured her superior, "I'm more than enough of a match for her. Just give me a day or two to play with the evidence and I'll find you something spicy." She pushed her long hair back over her backrest and peered closely at her workstation, as if trying to piece the puzzle together through sheer willpower.
"I appreciate the effort, but we'd be better served going to Chiyoda first. We have Shirasaka's home and work addresses, so they'd be worth having a look at." She rapped the table. "Ready up. We're taking a ride."
The three of them exited the office, attracting a few inquisitive glances along the way. The Criminal Investigation Department was a small institution, with few staff and fewer Inspectors still. The drones that the Public Safety Bureau deployed were advanced enough to take on the bulk of the work, leaving only the most unique and complicated cases to the humans. An Inspector was thus a rare sight to behold, and the involvement of one in any scenario meant that the mostly airtight apparatus of control that the Sibyl System had over the populace had suffered a leak in some fundamental way.
Kokonoe put their squad car into autopilot, plugging in their destination into the dashboard computer. The car's engine revved itself up, then trundled through the carpark with practiced ease, before accelerating once it reached the main road. All the while, a party of half a dozen drones trailed closely behind.
"Times like these I wish I had another Inspector in this Division," Kokonoe murmured as the car entered the highway. "Investigations would go so much quicker with an extra set of eyes, especially if they had two Enforcers with them."
"Why don't you petition the Chief to recruit another one for you?" Inaba suggested.
"Chief Kasei doesn't want to expand the Department to be bigger than it needs to be. Division 4 is more a temporary measure than anything, whilst she figures out what to do with the other Divisions. Maybe we'll be moved to one of them in the future."
"I can't imagine it'd be difficult to find potential candidates," Kitahara said. "Wonder what the Sibyl System thinks about all this. It must have some good ideas floating around."
"The Sibyl System doesn't think," Inaba interjected with a hint of exasperation. "It's an artificial intelligence program designed to augment our decision-making and ensure we don't enter any psychological pitfalls. Humans think; programs compute."
"Yeah, but where do you draw the line between the two?" Kitahara grumbled. "Also, it's just a metaphor. Don't get touchy."
"I'm not touchy. You only think that I'm touchy because I'm a woman. No offence to you, Inspector."
Kitahara took out a cigarette and chewed on it without lighting it, out of respect for his Inspector, who detested the smell of smoke. "If you say so."
"Quieten down or you're walking the rest of the way," Kokonoe said sternly. The rest of the car ride was subsequently shrouded in silence.
Their first port of call was the victim's house, situated in an average apartment building with a plain beige lobby and a small garden at the front to lend the place some semblance of color. The ground was wet from the night before, and Kokonoe took care to avoid the deceptively shallow puddles that lined the entryway. The trio took the lift to the eleventh floor, then navigated a couple of twists and turns before coming to Shirasaka's flat.
Shirasaka wasn't poor by any means, but he evidently wasn't well-heeled either. The interior of the flat lacked anything by way of decoration, save for a few potted plants on the windowsill, all of which had long since wilted. A bland rug was laid on the floor, flanked by the couch, a table with a computer, and a bed.
"This looks… almost too pristine," Kitahara commented. "Someone actually lived here?"
Kokonoe bent down and scraped the floorboards with her index finger, holding it up into view. "No dust at all. It's been wiped recently, so either he lived here the whole time or someone else cleaned it for him. Check the bathroom and kitchen closet for a vacuum cleaner, broom, mop, or anything that can clean a floor."
Inaba did a quick tour of the other areas and soon returned, shaking her head. "Nothing. Maybe he used a cloth or a wet piece of tissue?"
"Who knows. In any case, we can probably assume that there won't be a lot of evidence to collect, but we should check anyway. The forensics team will be here in the afternoon, so they can do a second run-through of the area. Kitahara, boot up the computer and copy its data onto a drive. Inaba, keep searching for clues."
The two Enforcers nodded. As they busied themselves, Kokonoe kneeled beside the rug and lifted it, poking her head underneath. Her chest throbbed in anticipation, and she hoped with all her being that the floor would be empty, and she could simply put the rug back down and look somewhere else. She was, unfortunately, soon to be disappointed, and a tinge of pain clutched at her heart as she pulled the rug back further.
As expected, there was something there.
Inaba's footsteps drew near, and Kokonoe hurriedly slipped the item into her pocket.
"Found anything?" Inaba asked, joining Kokonoe on her haunches.
"Nope. Did you?"
"Unfortunately not. This guy lived a pretty low-maintenance life, by all accounts. Some food in the pantry, and a drawer full of clothes. That's about it."
"Maybe the computer will tell us a bit more." Kokonoe straightened up and immediately coughed as her diaphragm expanded back to its usual capacity. "Kitahara, you done?"
"Yeah." Kitahara handed the drive to Kokonoe. "We good here?"
Kokonoe nodded, patting her pocket where the drive – and the item – were now stored. "Now to our next stop."
The chair had been reclined to its maximum extent, meaning that Kokonoe could lean back and stare at the ceiling without craning her neck back too far. Her muscles ached, her head pounded, and it took all she had to withstand the temptation of disobeying her doctor's orders and popping another pill in her mouth. Perhaps the cold from yesterday had finally gotten to her.
It was almost midnight. Her Enforcers had long since returned to their quarters several floors away. They were allowed the freedom of the building, but they could never set foot onto the street without her permission. It was a strange feeling, to be able to place a collar around another person's neck and tether them to prevent them from running away, but it was not a privilege that gave Kokonoe any real joy. Being born with the personality or tendencies that made one a latent criminal felt in many ways no different from the other injustices of their world – one could be born poor or rich, dumb or smart, weak or strong. It was simply the way things were.
Plus, it wasn't as if the coin had flipped totally in her favor. She would give much to be able to chase an escaping latent criminal without losing her breath after a minute or so.
She slipped her hand into her pocket and withdrew the item she had picked up at Shirasaka's house, placing it next to two other similar objects on her desk. They were squares of paper, each of them with the same layout: a single letter on one side, an identical logo on the other. Each square had been found at one of the victim's houses, and the letters themselves did not seem to spell out anything in particular.
A-T-O, she mused, reading them in order of discovery. Or maybe it was T-A-O. Or O-A-T.
Ordinarily, she would have submitted the pieces of paper to the forensics team as evidence. But the logo on the other side of the paper had given her pause. It had been clear to her from the moment she had picked up the first square that someone had been sending a message to her, and her alone.
The logo was an aquila, an eagle with its wings spread, its claws clutching a ball. The grid of white lines drawn over the ball clearly indicated that it was meant to represent the globe – the symbol as a whole signified the world in the tight embrace of a bird of prey. She had seen it many times before, but it had been years – decades, even – since she had witnessed it last.
It was the same symbol that had been stamped at the top of her father's many work documents.