We can now bring you the urgent press conference arranged by artist Ichiryusai Madarame.
We apologise if anyone was offended by images of an elderly man breaking down in real time.
I'm afraid to say Madarame's tearful, snot covered face will be disgracing the back of newspapers for days to come.
Even worse than that, it's going to be an internet meme for some time.
Yet more people failed by the system. How has this man gotten away with it with for so long? People have died over this!
Information is paramount to unearthing horrific abuses of power such as this. Sadly, people were too frightened to come forward.
A real shame, since I loved Madarame's work.
What work? None of it was his. We need to find the real artists and give them the credit they deserve.
How about those Phantom Thieves?
Phantom Thieves Phantom Thieves Phantom Thieves.
You think they're the real deal?
I think the Phantom Thieves are the real deal.
The net was on fire. Social media and forums were exploding with images and clips from Madarame's press conference, tracking the moment his expression transitioned from grim to remorseful to pitiful, complete with sardonic, at times outright vicious, commentary. Futaba indulged in a few of them, but of greater interest to her was the Phantom Thieves seemingly being responsible for it. One time was a fluke, but two times is a pattern. These guys could be the real deal. But how are they doing it?
In her circles, that was the key question. Nevermind the horrific abuse Madarame subjected his students to, or the sham that was his career; how were these Phantom Thieves taking down criminals unknown to the police? How were they changing hearts, and what did the process involve?
"What do you think, Baba?" popped up on the chat. It was a message from an acquaintance she met while playing an English-language MMO. "These confessions are unnatural. I can't imagine what happened to make long-time criminals fall to pieces like that."
"Right? I was so uncomfortable watching that," added another acquaintance, one she spoke to semi-frequently on an anime forum she used to visit. "These Phantom Thieves must be terrifying if they can get people to react like that."
"Could be blackmail, or extortion, or maybe a straight up threat to life."
"Yikes. Seeing people get behind them is kinda scary."
"I don't think it's that," Futaba said. "You'd do those sorts of things for money or items, or something like that, not to make bad guys turn themselves in willingly. Also, if I had the power to extort a criminal, I'd be going after much bigger targets than a teacher and artist."
Technically, she already had the "power", but neither of her acquaintances needed to know that.
"You think the Phantom Thieves are doing this for noble reasons, then?" asked her MMO friend.
"Dunno. I'd like to think so. I just don't know how they do it."
"Change of heart... like swapping out someone's old heart for a new one?" said the forum-goer.
Futaba grimaced at the image of someone's heart being physically torn from their chest and a new heart being placed in the gaping hole left behind. She responded with several green face emojis.
"Thanks for that image," the MMO friend said. "Heart in this case has to be metaphorical. More like soul or personality."
"Agreed," Futaba wrote. "It's almost like a forced personality change. But how...?"
The stack of science textbooks beside her bed stood temptingly in her peripheral vision. From what she had read so far, forced personality change was theoretically possible if someone could gain access to another person's cognition, but so far that had been impossible. Human cognition wasn't like a computer someone could boot up and interact with. The brain didn't have a user interface.
"Clockwork Orange style forced viewing of images?"
"Hypnosis? Although the one being hypnotised has to be willing for it work, no matter what those doujins say..."
"Maybe drug-induced brainwashing, then."
All feasible scenarios, but none of them felt right to her. They all take too much time. We're talking about something that seems to happen overnight.
"Hear me out," she started. "It's like they're removing one part of someone's personality and replacing it with another. Say your personality was like code, and you had a protocol for doing bad things to people. The Phantom Thieves are deleting that protocol and then writing a new one in its place called 'remorse'. That's how I see it."
She received no response, but she knew the pair of them were typing. After a minute of furious typing, deleting, and then re-typing, they both arrived at the same response.
"How?"
Shrug emoji. "Beats me."
All she could think of was technology so far beyond what humanity was currently capable of it could only belong in a sci-fi, or actual magic. Which would mean the Phantom Thieves were from a far-flung future and travelled back in time to stop some very specific criminals, or were wizards. Possible in a certain light novel series she binged once, but impossible in reality.
But wouldn't it be cool if it was real? A voice popped up. Some dude waves a magic wand and poof, no more bad feelings, only good vibes.
Well yeah, but you could do some real messed-up stuff with that sort of power.
The mental shutdown incidents came to mind. Regular people who went from normal to out-of-control in seconds, as if their brains were zombiefied. One incident involved a train driver losing all his mental faculties and crashing his train at a subway station, killing him and injuring several others. People blamed the Ministry for Transport, but the cause of the shutdown was unknown. Theories included a virus that rapidly degraded brain matter, or a new drug circulating which induced a brain dead state; either way, the implications were frightening. Imagine going about your daily life and then bam! Bye bye brain.
"I'm sure about one thing," she typed after some time. "Something big is happening. Whether it's technology or magic or whatever, there's a strange power out there being put to use."
The natural follow-up question was: were those people the Phantom Thieves? Publicise the heart changes, but blame another party for the shutdowns. Public Relations 101. Nobody would suspect them for behind the incidents. They were cool, noble, heroic. A symbol of hope and strength for the trodden down. Exactly what they'd want people to think.
She had no evidence to support that theory, but... I don't have evidence they're heroes, either. And when you don't have evidence, you go find some.
That, she decided, was her next goal as Alibaba: find out if these Phantom Thieves were really a force for good, or a group who needed to be eliminated before they did any more damage.
Big Question!
Do you believe the Phantom Thieves are real? Vote and leave comments below!
The Phantom Thieves are heroes. All hail the Phantom Thieves!
If they can save me from failing my mid-terms I'll believe in them lol.
They're as real as my sex life. In other words non-existent.
Um, just to let everyone know: the Phantom Thieves will not take on requests for an improved sex life.
The moderator would know all about that, amirite?
-This comment has been removed-
-This comment has been removed-
Real or not, some good is coming out of this. Isn't that what matters, in the end?
The internet was a powerful tool, but as far as finding leads on the Phantom Thieves went, it was practically useless. I just need something that'll help me suss out their identities. How hard could it be? Her middle finger rolled over the mouse-wheel like a hyperactive hamster as she scanned line after line of text. When she couldn't find anything useful, she went to another site and did the same. She was dozens of sites down – news sites, blogs, forums, basically anything that might have a semblance of a clue – and ready to call it quits. Information, it turned out, was really difficult to find when you didn't know what you were looking for.
She'd been searching for several hours and her legs were beginning to feel like they'd never straighten out again. She pushed her chair back and stretched out her arms and legs, straining as her muscle fibres unfurled themselves. I could go for some grub. Sojiro won't be back for a while yet, so instant noodles here I come.
A knock on her bedroom door smothered that idea. "Hey, Futaba," came Sojiro's voice, brighter than usual. "I got that printer you asked for."
Futaba grabbed her phone and tapped out a response. "You're back early."
Vibrating. "Yeah, I got someone to look after the store in the evenings now. I can start coming home early."
Must be Ren. Who else could it be? She had a million questions about the sudden trust Sojiro was placing in Ren, but she decided to play along, for the time being. "I didn't know you could afford a part-timer."
"How do I put this? He's not really a part-timer, but more like a... volunteer looking for crucial work experience. Anyway, you don't have to worry about him. He's not going to do anything to the store."
I know. And why do you sound you're hiding a pet or something?
"Anyway," he continued, "I'm gonna get started on dinner. I'll leave the printer by the door, okay?"
When he was gone, she opened the door just enough to see a cardboard box through the gap. She brought the box in and placed it on her bed, shutting the door behind her. It was white, with the company logo typed on top in a boring, rigid font. Inside, nestled between two lumps of polystyrene which she prayed to god would not break apart all over her bed, was a basic printer. An opening for paper to be fed in one side, a slit where the print came out, and nothing else. Not even a scanner. Can this thing even print in colour?
Truth be told, Futaba had no pressing need for printer. Her last one was an even older model Sojiro found in Leblanc's attic which broke down after just a few prints and she never got round to fixing it or asking for a new one. In that whole time without one, there was not one moment where she thought, "wow, I could really use a printer right now!". So what am I supposed to do with this? Ask Sojiro to take it back? The thought made her uncomfortable. As if she wasn't imposing enough on Sojiro enough already. I think I'll just leave it for the time being...
If she couldn't solve the problem, she'd ignore it until it went away. Besides, Leblanc was calling her. She had to know what was happening with the new keeper of the store, Ren Amamiya.
Nothing, was the immediate answer. Leblanc was still and serene. Possibly another early night for Ren, who had an odd sleep pattern. Some nights he'd be up until the early hours of next morning, others he'd be asleep well before midnight. When he was up, he was usually reading, or cleaning, or studying, and never anything else. His consistency made her envious.
His voice came through, loud and clear. He had to be sitting right next to the bug.
"Morgana," he said to his cat, who he was still in the habit of talking to. "Do you ever feel like somebody's watching us?"
Futaba started, smacking her knee against the underside of her desk. She rubbed the sore spot, cursing. Ren's words cut through her until he found the stinking concoction made up of guilt and fear. He couldn't possibly know. It's far too well-hidden.
The bug cost a pretty penny, but it was worth it. Despite its tiny size, it could pick up sounds several metres away; perfect for listening in on cosy cafes and other enclosed spaces. She stuck it on a plant pot she gave to Sojiro as a present. He was so happy to receive something from her he didn't even question why she was doing it, which suited her just fine. She didn't need her guilt being interrogated.
Even up close, a normal human wouldn't be able to spot it. She made sure of that. So there's no chance he's found it. No way.
But what if...?
Nope. There's just no way.
"I noticed from the start," he said, after the cat meowed. "Niijima, I think her name was. She's been following us for weeks. I wonder if it's part of her Student Council President duties."
Futaba blew out her cheeks, expelling the anxiety. Her heart-rate was still a touch too high. Okay, he hasn't noticed. Good.
The cat meowed again. "Right. Either she's interested in me or someone's put her up to it."
Futaba frowned. She knew well Ren's activities were of great interest to the other students at Shujin, but a Student Council President going their way to tail him went beyond mere interest. She imagined what it'd be like, going about her day-to-day life while being watched. What would she do if she looked behind her and saw someone there, observing her? She shivered at the thought. Scary. Although, I'd have to go outside to be stalked, so... Hypothetically, then. Hypothetically, I'd probably try lose them in a crowd. Actually, scratch that; crowds are no good. I'd probably go to a bunch of shops and sit in a diner for hours until they got bored and went home.
"I'm thinking I'll take her on a wild goose chase. See what she does," Ren said. Yes, high five Ren! "Depending on how persistent she is, I might have to confront her."
Meow.
"Yeah, I'll let the others know. It'd be best if she and Ryuji stayed far away from one another."
The cat made a noise that sounded strangely like snickering.
"If I could tape his mouth shut, I would."
Huh. Interesting. Whoever Ryuji was, apparently he had loose lips, and possessed information Ren would rather President Niijima not know about. Got a few secrets, have we?
Speculating would be fun, but she'd be up all night, and she was starting to feel her eyes droop. She closed the channel to Leblanc, bidding Ren and his weird cat good night, and went to bed planning a renewed information hunt the next day.
Green light flickered in and out existence. It never hung around long enough to be seen, but Futaba knew what the light was saying. Numbers, obscure symbols and shapes, pieces of jumbled code, all formless and serving no purpose other than decorating the tomb. She knew where it came from, but at the same time she couldn't say why it had come.
She was much the same. She appeared within the tomb, observing the Great Door looming at the end of the central corridor and wondering if it would ever open. The days it had been sealed were no longer worth counting, which meant the door itself was no longer a worthy subject of observation. Yet she still did it, whenever she appeared. She would ask why, but the word as empty as the tomb itself.
Strange things had been happening within the tomb lately. Chambers unopened for years were creaking open, just enough for her to hear the tortured screaming from within. She didn't dare go inside them. Travellers from the nearby village traversed the deserts to see the tomb, but never entered. People from the village had never gotten so close before, but something was emboldening them. It was possible the ruler of this place was preparing to welcome guests.
But such things didn't matter. The ruler would soon perish within this tomb, and she would perish as well along with them. All that remained was deciding what to take with them to the grave.
Secrets. Regrets. Prized possessions. Mementos of a life just lived, even if there were precious few. She had options, but it wasn't yet enough. There was still one thing she wanted, more than anything else in the world, and she was willing to wait a bit longer to attain it.
It was called Forgiveness, a treasure as prized as it was scarce. A treausre she had no idea where to find.
"But you already know where it is," she spoke to the emptiness. "You just have to be willing to look."
Until that moment, all she could do was wait.