The man sits alone in his cell, contemplating the perfect storm of events that has brought him here. He can hear the shuffling of footsteps outside the steel door from time to time, but he knows that none of them are there to free him. The ceiling lamp in the room is his only source of illumination, as no light filters in from without, and whenever it stutters his heart skips a beat.

Yet this isolation does not cause him as much consternation as he expects. He knows that he must pay due penance for his crimes, whether they are moral crimes or legal crimes – though it is not immediately obvious that the two are one and the same. Nevertheless, when the door opens again, he will most likely be greeted by the axe.

He has subject those around him to nothing but pain. He has turned against those who trusted him. He has been driven to the brink, and it takes all he has not to fall over the edge. Make no mistake, he deserves to be punished.

But not for the reason he is currently being imprisoned.

There is a knock on the door. He assumes it is one of the guards coming to bring him his food. He does not know if it is time for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. In the days – or is it weeks? – that he has been here, he has not been offered even a glimpse of the outside world, nor granted access to any means by which to tell the time. If their aim is to torture him, they have succeeded without having to lift a finger.

The light pools in the moment the door clicks open, and he squints as a silhouette enters. As the silhouette's features come into focus, the frown on the man's face deepens.

"Who are you?" he asks.

The visitor closes the door behind him and strides into the cell, making himself comfortable on the only chair available. "Kokonoe Kenichi," he says, every syllable drawled and stretched as though he were rolling the man's name around on his tongue.

"That's me," the man replies, still somewhat confused.

"I know why you are here," the visitor adds. "The question is, do you?"

The man is on the verge of speaking, but something stays his words. He ostensibly knows what Sibyl wants with him, yet having heard the visitor's query, he cannot help but feel that there is more behind the madness than is immediately apparent.

"Let me guess what you're thinking," continues the visitor. "You have done many bad things, many things you would now consider immoral and incorrect, in your life. Yet you feel that you cannot help it – your failings only occur because the world conspires against you. That is why your wife leaves you for the company of others, and that is why you take your anger out on the most vulnerable object you can find in your home: your beloved daughter, Akemi. In your blinkered view of the world, it's everyone else's fault, and not yours."

"How do you-"

"Yet the moment you try and do something right for once, your goodwill only brings you even more misery, and ultimately brings you here. Karma will not allow you to escape your crimes, both in a literal and figurative sense."

"That's…" The man grits his teeth. "You're right. I… My eyes have been opened. I deserve everything that comes to me now."

"Not everything." The visitor holds up a finger. "If you truly wish to repent, then I will offer you a path to salvation. The road will not be easy, but work for me and you'll walk free. What say you?"

For a while, the man does not speak. Truth be told, he is wary of the lifeline being dangled in front of him. There are simply too many factors to consider. He does not know the visitor's intentions – nor how the visitor made it to his cell in the first place – and he knows that his former status in the higher echelons of Sibyl would make him a powerful pawn for any potential enemies to control. Not to mention that if anyone merits salvation, it is certainly not him.

Most importantly, he does not know what plans Sibyl has for his daughter, and he fears that they might put her far beyond her reach.

Then again, he has no right to worry about her – not after what he has done to her all these years. If he wants to even have the slightest chance of redeeming himself in her eyes, then he cannot stay here and rot into oblivion. He must see this through to the end.

"What would you have me do?" he finally says.

The arrival of Friday brought the curtain down on one of the longest weeks in Kokonoe's life.

The sun tickled her eyes as she awoke. She had drawn the blinds the night before, but they were not airtight, and light from outside could enter via a tiny vertical slit whose projection which now stretched across her face. Groaning, she lifted an arm to shield her eyes, but by then it was already too late to return to sleep.

She stumbled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom, discarding her clothes as she entered the shower. The cleaning robot in the corner of her bedroom hummed to life and began picking up the clothes strewn on the floor, folding them and slotting them into Kokonoe's closet drawer.

"Shower on," she muttered. A deluge of water duly poured forth from the shower head, and for a moment all she could do was stand there, letting herself melt in the warmth. A nozzle protruded from the shower head and squirted a healthy dose of shampoo onto her hair, before applying lotion to the rest of her body. When she was satisfied, the words "shower off" were spoken, and the shower room soon transformed into something of a drying room instead, currents of hot air blasting from the vent in the ceiling and evaporating any remaining water on her skin within seconds.

"Eggs and bacon on toast for breakfast," she called as she made her way to the kitchen. The cooking machine installed in the wall, which converted her house's supply of hyper-oats into more familiar forms of sustenance, whistled as it got to work. Before long, a small ding announced the creation of her meal, and she withdrew it from the small compartment embedded into the side of the machine.

It would be hard to imagine a life without hyper-oats. The food of the past had been nutritionally unbalanced, filled with preservatives and other dangerous chemicals, and occasionally infected with germs and myriad sources of food poisoning. The advent of the genetically flexible hyper-oats, which had been introduced in tandem with the implementation of the Sibyl System, meant that farmers, herders and other agricultural workers were no longer needed. Due to their crop homogeny and ease with which they could be cultivated, hyper-oat fields were now maintained by robots and computers with little to no need for human interference. This expedited the movement of people from rural to urban areas – which, of course, all formed part of the Sibyl System's great plan.

Kokonoe took a bite of the toast. It was crunchy, chock-full of flavor, and delicious by all standards of gastronomy. She had never tasted food of old, but she was convinced that nothing from the past could compare to what she – and the rest of society – had now.

But this belief was chiefly confined to the food she ate.

Finishing off her breakfast, she put on her suit – one of the few routines that she preferred not to have automated – and left for work. She lived only a few minutes from a sky-rail station, so she had no need for a car. The streets were busy with commuters and students, all of whom looked tired and disinterested, even if they weren't stressed… or rather, perhaps because they weren't stressed.

Once in a while, the odd street-cleaning robot or police droid would trundle past. Otherwise, nothing much about urban society had changed in the past few hundred years or so.

Work, eat, sleep, repeat. Life at its finest.

As Kokonoe neared the turnstiles at the station, she raised her arm to let the turnstile's holographic reader scan her wrist-link, whilst a small camera zoomed in onto her eyeballs. Satisfied that she was who she claimed to be, the turnstiles retracted and allowed her to slip through.

The sky-rail, a sleek silver tube that hung from an overhead track, was preferrable to the metro for several reasons. It was less packed and hence more comfortable to stand in, mainly because the fare for the sky-rail was almost double that of the underground metro. The metro was also less well-kept and well-maintained, and many stations and lines had fallen into general disrepair or been abandoned. Plus, the stuffy underground air exacerbated the sporadic drowsiness caused by her precarious physical condition, so she was essentially forced to stump up the extra money for the sake of a smoother ride to headquarters – not that she couldn't afford it, thankfully.

The sky-rail came to her stop earlier than expected, so when she arrived at headquarters, she found the lobby mostly deserted. An array of escalators led up to the concourse where the lifts were located, but only one was operational at this time of day.

She remembered the first day she had ascended those moving steps. Back then, as a wide-eyed, fresh-faced rookie Inspector, she had been wholly eager to please and totally assured of her own moral and legal virtues. If there were latent criminals to be caught, she would give everything she had to apprehend them. If there were cases to solve, she would throw herself into the challenge with gusto. Even when her chronic weaknesses ailed her, she was determined not to let those around her down, or allow her reputation to suffer as a result. She would bring justice to those who could not seek it, as had been the case when she herself was a child, before the Sibyl System – and Sibyl itself, as she now realized – had whisked her away from the hell in which she lived.

For the first year of her tenure, she was a model agent of the Sibyl System, uncompromising and unfailingly convinced that the Dominator knew best, and that her job was merely to be the finger on the trigger, pushing the appropriate buttons where required. Her zeal in single-mindedly pursuing her goals eventually attracted the increased attention of the Department's Chief Inspector, and Shimotsuki had invited Kokonoe to her office for a brief chat.

"Koko… Inspector, I have to commend you on your performance in the twelve months since you've arrived," said Shimotsuki as Kokonoe settled into the seat opposite her. "Particularly given your condition."

Kokonoe beamed proudly. "Thank you, Chief Inspector Shimotsuki."

"However, I do have to remind you that most menial work can be handled by the droids. I don't want you running around the city and exerting yourself unnecessarily. The Sibyl System hired you to work on certain specialized cases that can't be dealt with by automatons. That is the true scope of your position."

"But how can you be sure that the next Area Stress elevation that happens won't become a Psycho-Hazard?" Kokonoe protested. "Surely if our suspicions are aroused, we have every need to check the situation at hand."

Shimotsuki popped a piece of candy into her mouth, then held out the sweets dispenser to Kokonoe. Kokonoe shook her head.

"Suit yourself." Shimotsuki put an elbow on her desk and leaned her cheek on her fist, scrutinizing her subordinate with a weary look on her face. "You know, you remind me of when I started out as an Inspector."

"Do I?" Kokonoe continued to smile, evidently happy to be compared in some way with the illustrious Chief Inspector.

"Yes, you do." Shimotsuki paused. "And that's not a compliment."

The smile plastered on Kokonoe's features froze. "Why's that?" she asked.

"There are certain things about our line of work that you don't find out about until you've lived through them. Things that shape your perspective, and either reinforce or cast doubt upon your beliefs. You've been lucky to have a relatively smooth year so far, but you never know when the next big incident is going to crop up. Your enthusiasm might end up harming you in some fundamental way."

"Don't worry about it." Kokonoe tried to pass Shimotsuki's concerns off with a half-hearted laugh, though she couldn't help but feel a tad let down. What was the problem with going above and beyond the call of duty? It wasn't as if Inspectors had much else to do most days. "When the time comes, I'll be fine."

"It's part of an Inspector's job to know what not to do, not just what to do." Shimotsuki groaned. "I'm actually starting to sound just like her."

"Just like who?"

"Don't worry about it. We're talking about you here." Shimotsuki jabbed a finger in Kokonoe's direction. "The point is, I want you to rein it in. Inspectors aren't police officers – we don't do patrols or help people cross the street. Our occupation is reactive, not proactive. I don't want you sniffing around for trouble that isn't there."

"I-" Kokonoe bit her lip. She was all but ready to snap back at the Chief Inspector, to tell her in no uncertain terms that she knew best how to do her job, and that someone – like Shimotsuki – who no longer regularly went into the field would not share the same perspective with someone who did. Yet she also figured that if she were to speak any further, she might soon find herself out of work. Plus, it wasn't exactly as if Shimotsuki was wrong to ask for a little restraint.

Patience, she told herself. Don't be like him.

Closing her eyes, she let out a deep breath and sank back into her seat. "Alright," she replied. "I'll hold back a bit from now on."

Shimotsuki could see that her young protégé wasn't satisfied, despite her momentary acquiescence. Sighing, she pulled out a plastic card and handed it to Kokonoe.

"What's this?" Kokonoe flipped the card around. It was mostly blank, save for a black bar that ran across the length of the card and a small barcode just underneath.

"It's a visitor pass. It gives you pretty much unrestricted access to the closest isolation facility, around half an hour's drive from here."

"What on earth would I do with it? An isolation facility is just about the last place I want to be going right now."

"Sometimes you can only find the things you want most in the places you least want to look," Shimotsuki said cryptically. "And what I think you want right now is a different perspective. In any case, you should pay the facility a visit tomorrow – I'll let them know you're coming. Ask for the occupant of Unit 1, and have a chat with them. I'm sure you'll find them… enlightening."

"Right." Kokonoe frowned. "But who's the person you want me to talk to?"

"A former Inspector, and my former colleague." Shimotsuki wistfully gazed into the distance. "Her name's Tsunemori Akane."

Much had changed between then and now.

Two years in, and Kokonoe was a different beast entirely. Her vigor and zest had given way to reservation and reticence; her initiative had dulled from disuse, turning her into a dutiful yet somewhat disillusioned agent of the Bureau. The reluctance she felt could not all be laid at the feet of Tsunemori, of course. But a switch had been flicked on in her head that day, and it had not been turned off since then.

Kokonoe had plenty to reminisce on, if she so chose. Though the pungent, sharp odor of tobacco in the room essentially precluded any daydreams.

They were in Karanomori's hideout, gathered around the only source of light in the room: the cluster of glaring monitors before which Karanomori usually sat, upon which were smattered words and diagrams that the analyst now scanned with her trademark speed. Her fingers were a blur of activity, tapping on the virtual keyboard faster than the eye could reasonably see.

The only one in the analyst hideout that didn't look impressed was Inaba, who clearly wanted to be anywhere but here. She covered her hand with her nose, expressing her distaste at the stench. Kokonoe concurred with her sentiments, but she had a favor to ask from Karanomori – the source of the smell – so she tried her best to avoid offending the resident analyst.

"I think we may have a bit of a problem," Karanomori finally said.

Kokonoe rubbed her arms. The air-conditioner had been put on full blast, and the steel plating on the walls and floor only added to the frozen-storage look of the whole space. "What problem?"

Karanomori pointed at one of the monitors, where a long stream of code blinked expectantly. "Here."

The other six people present – Kokonoe, Domoto, and their four Enforcers – leaned closer and squinted at the screen. "You'll have to elaborate, Karanomori," said Domoto.

"What she's saying is, we don't have enough pieces of the puzzle to decipher the file," Inaba replied.

"Right on, Inaba." Karanomori gave Inaba a quick thumbs up, but Inaba, whose scowl only deepened, did not return the favor. "All four victims had a segment of the whole file on their computers, so your theory about the murders being linked is basically proven at this point – alongside the whole 'heads getting beaten in' idea. The problem is, until we have all the segments together in one place, we can't open this thing."

"Why's that?" asked Kokonoe.

"It's sort of like a multiple-custody padlock – you can only open the lock if you have all the keys together. In this case, I'm not sure exactly how many keys we'd need to unlock the entire file, but judging by the file size and the annotations in the code, my guess is that there are eight in total. Eight keys, eight computers, eight people."

"In other words-"

"There may be eight victims overall," Karanomori finished. "Four have already been killed, so there'd be four more to go."

The room fell silent, and for a moment all that was heard was the mechanical thrum of the computer, whose vibrations could be felt underneath their feet.

"Did you find any links between the three previous victims and the most recent one?" Kokonoe asked.

"Not yet, Inspector. It's a battle just trying to get anything out of this." Karanomori stuck a cigarette into her mouth and gnashed her teeth, chewing the cigarette into a tiny ribbon. "You'll have to give me more time."

"I have a suggestion," Inaba abruptly said.

The others turned to look at her. "What is it?" asked Karanomori.

"Instead of trying to cobble the whole file together like you're doing now, maybe you should look at each individual piece first and see if they have something in of themselves." Inaba gestured to one of the monitors. "Like here, for example. You left these few lines of code untouched because you assumed they wouldn't mean anything on their own."

Karanomori whistled. "You're not wrong. Nice catch, Inaba."

"Shouldn't be my job to take note of these things for you," Inaba replied bluntly.

"True," Karanomori said with a small laugh, which only seemed to cause more disquiet in Inaba's demeanor. "Anyway, give me another half-day – I'll have a look at the file structure again. In the meantime, you're all dismissed. Run along now."

"That's my line," Domoto noted without a hint of humor in his voice.

Karanomori turned to look at him and frowned quizzically. "I was joking. Couldn't you tell?"

"Not particularly."

"Now, now." One of Domoto's Enforcers, a sanguine 30-year-old man with unkempt hair named Hatano, clapped his hands. "I apologize, Karanomori. Domoto doesn't take jokes well. You know him."

"Don't try and act familiar with me, Hatano." Domoto said with a grimace. "Or I'll have you sent back to the isolation facility."

"Now that's a good joke," Hatano chuckled.

"Who said I was joking?" Domoto turned to Kokonoe, ignoring Hatano's look of shock. "Come on, Kokonoe. Let's head back."

Kokonoe flinched at the mention of her name, and as she followed her colleague out of the door, she decided she would have to speak up before it was too late – and too awkward – to do so.

"Inspector Domoto, I'd like you to refrain from using my surname, if possible."

Domoto's brow furrowed. "Why's that?"

"Just… personal reasons. Consider it a favor while we're working together."

Though he was visibly puzzled by the request, Domoto slowly nodded. "I don't see what reasons they may be, but I'll treat it as a matter of professional courtesy. I'll try to remember… Inspector."

Kokonoe smiled. "Thank you. I appreciate it greatly."

No more was said until they were sat in their chairs back in their new office. Kokonoe had finished unpacking her belongings that morning, making sure to put everything back in the same layout as before – with the notable exception of the items formerly underneath her pill container, which were now stowed in Kokonoe's pocket at all times.

"The victim's address is in Shinjuku." Domoto sent the address to their wrist-links. "Twenty minutes away. We'll head there at noon."

"Before or after lunch?" asked Kitahara offhandedly.

"What kind of a question is that?" Domoto snapped crossly, immediately drawing the attention of everyone else in the office. "You eat when I let you. Don't think that just because you're an Enforcer you-"

"Inspector Domoto, that's quite enough," Kokonoe interjected. "Kitahara meant no disrespect. He simply wants to know what the new break times are, since we're in a different Division with different staff."

"I see your reputation for being deferential to your Enforcers isn't unfounded." Domoto glared at her, a look of disgust stretching his thin lips. "Small wonder that the Chief told me to keep a close eye on you."

A surprising admission, but Kokonoe was in no mood to be shocked. "There's a difference between consideration and compliance. I don't have to kowtow to my subordinates to treat them like people."

"They're latent criminals, Inspector." Domoto scratched his head, clearly confused by Kokonoe's stance on the matter. "What are you treating them like average people for? Even if you want to say they're not inferior, they're clearly different from us."

"By my reckoning, you and I have less in common than me and my Enforcers do. As long as you're in the same Division as I am, I would ask that you afford them the same courtesy as I would to you."

Domoto folded his arms. "I see no reason why I should do that. I've already entertained one unreasonable request from you – I won't be compelled to take another."

Kokonoe could sense the rage boiling in her blood, coursing through her veins, inundating her brain until all she could see was red. It seemed as though Domoto was doing his utmost to act as her polar opposite in every aspect, but what gave her the most pause – and caused the most anger – was she knew that the views he espoused were reflective of the attitudes of most people in Japan. Latent criminals had slowly been edged into a lower-class status that marked them as subhuman – especially considering the vast majority of them, once confined to an isolation facility, would never again see the light of day. Those that managed to become Enforcers were considered much more privileged than others of their ilk, but that only spoke to the widening divide between them and the rest of society.

Perhaps, having been treated as inferior for a prolonged period of time, she merely did not wish the same on others. That trauma could easily have swayed her to take her spite out on those that were considered beneath her; instead, she chose the arduous path towards compassion in an increasingly dispassionate nation.

In an insane world, it is the sane who appear insane.

Kokonoe closed her eyes and let out a long breath. Domoto was a product of his upbringing, just as she herself was. It would not do anyone any favors for them to keep foisting their strongly-held personal principles on one another. She would try and make their time together productive, if not friendly.

"Fine," she said. "Treat your Enforcers how you will. I will choose how to treat mine."

Domoto scowled, but did not press the matter further. "Do what you want."

Abruptly, Kokonoe's wrist-link lit up. The usual holographic display did not appear – instead, a simple text message was all that flashed into view.

Please come to the lab. I discovered something interesting, but it's for your eyes only. Shion.

Kokonoe switched her wrist-link off and rose from her seat, feeling the heat of the gazes locked on her back as she made for the door. "Excuse me for a moment."

"Whatever it is, don't take too long," Domoto called. "We're leaving in thirty minutes."

She ignored him and strode down the hallway to the lifts.

Returning to the freezer that was the analysts' den, she was met with the furious tapping of a holographic keyboard and the figure of Karanomori hunched over her chrome desk, squinting at the mass of computer screens, her eyes darting back and forth as she continued to type with little heed paid towards her visiting superior.

"Karanomori?" Kokonoe asked tentatively.

Karanomori jumped slightly at the sound of Kokonoe's voice, but quickly assumed her typical composure. "Inspector. You weren't followed here, right?"

"I… don't think so." Kokonoe shrugged. "What's all the mystery about?"

"Well, I found something that I thought you might be interested in. I wasn't sure if I should show you, to be honest, but now that I've asked you to come here, it's imperative that no-one else hears about this."

"Not even… Chief Kasei?" Kokonoe stole a glance at the camera just above her head.

"Don't worry about the camera. She can't see the monitor, and I've kept this file on my secure server. Which, by the way, is now a secret between you and me." She winked and put a finger to her lips.

"Fascinating," Kokonoe replied in a monotone voice. "Now show me what you found."

"Boo, you're no fun. Neither you nor Domoto." Karanomori straightened up and dragged her reclining chair forward. "Anyway, I was digging around the individual files like Inaba suggested, and I found something interesting. The file's contents themselves are still a no-go, but the metadata seems to be unencrypted. The attribution for the whole file in particular is just plaintext, although it's also been splintered into the aforementioned eight pieces."

"Wouldn't that mean it's still unreadable?"

"Not quite. Each individual segment's attribution has a part of the whole name. For example… here. Look at this." A window popped up, and she hovered her finger around the top of the monitor. "The attribution is just a single katakana: 'ko'. It's the same for the second file, but the third file reads 'no'. I think you know where I'm going with this."

Karanomori brought up the rest of the existing files, laying bare the truth for all to see.

"The first half of the attribution spells out the word 'Kokonoe'. And, assuming the second half is also four katakana, that would indicate the composition of their first name." Karanomori spun around to face Kokonoe, whose stunned features were cast in the computer's cold glow. "Do you know anyone in your family whose first name has four katakana?"

"I… do." Kokonoe unconsciously raised a thumb to her teeth and clamped down on it, biting with such force that it left a mark as deep as the one that was now being carved on her heart. Here came yet another clue left by a perpetrator who, with each passing day, seemed to find more ways to remind her that he was there. That he perhaps knew more about her than she knew about herself.

And that if she wanted to know the full truth, she would have to embark on a journey she never dreamed in a million years that she would have to make.

"My father," she breathed. "Kokonoe Kenichi."