Prologue – An Even Bigger Fool's Journey Finale
Two days later, the electricity situation remains unchanged, and despite the scare the influenza concerns haven't slowed the distribution or shortened the lines. People would rather get sick than die from starvation, which leaves households like Saito's own in a rough place, and leaves the number of sick roaming around slowly but steadily on the rise. Tokyo is no stranger to influenza, but all eyes are on the supply chain, and hospitals as a result have their work cut out for them. There's no immediate risk of medicinal supplies running out across the country, but the mere thought of it is abundant and causes enough health issues on its own.
Maho is barely twenty-two, young enough that she and the baby could easily pull through just fine, but her diet is promptly switched over to whole grains and greenhouse products when the news hit. The hospital maintains that it will have everything on hand to treat pregnant mothers as needed, but the situation on the streets in general hasn't improved in the slightest.
Which then brought them to the next stage of this constantly growing problem – greenhouse products were not being restocked, and even though Makoto's friends were still sending them unprocessed goods, they still only had enough to last them through to the middle of December even with egregious fasting. The government so far hasn't had the guts to pull dehydrated goods off the shelves, but someone could easily make that call in an effort to save their job regardless of the number of middle class families would suffer from it.
The distro centers were no doubt of vital importance, but many still weren't able to get the supplies they needed. The homeless continued to suffer the greatest, with what options they had to forage having shriveled up days ago, and finally their resounding defeat at the Shinjuku distro center culminating in many fleeing the area, and others throwing themselves onto the train tracks. Saito has to assist with the latter on three separate occasions, each time the fatality being a man in their late forties.
People who are already on the brink – when everyone else joins them on the edge of the cliff, they simply have nowhere else left to stand. There's nothing more or less to it than that.
One day later, he comes home close to midnight. The power is still out, but they have some emergency lights that they can make use of, and fortunately it was a clear sky that night, so opening the blinds on the windows would also do some good. The moon is still full, and does much to illuminate the apartment by itself.
It's unnatural, and still largely unexplained, but there was something peaceful about it.
Something that made him feel like entirely in spite of how each and every day normalcy was slipping further and further away, somehow everything was going to be okay -
"Hey." Maho's standing in the entryway to the room, a good distance away.
"I got us some soup today. Actual soup – imagine that, huh?"
"I got a call today."
"Oh yeah? Was it your brother apologizing for all the bad decisions he's made and surrendering the business to his dearest sister?"
"No, it was Hanamura."
"...You mean, that Hanamura?"
"He's moving to Yamanashi next week. Yasoinaba District, he said. He's inherited a big estate from his father they built out there."
"...Really? Good for him. I heard that place was a dump, but maybe they've gotten things back together. Could be money from the farming co-ops coming in -"
"You can… spare me the history lesson this time. I'm going with him."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm going with him. I'm leaving, Saito."
"That's a bad joke, even for you."
"It's not a joke. I'm going."
Silence creeps on them, there in the dark. His unassuming, calm demeanor, his well adjusted nature – all of them, in that one moment, come completely undone.
He might've slipped into a coma. That must be it. There's no way what was happening right now was actually real.
The seconds tick by, and before too long, that last delusion he was holding onto in his heart slips away.
And all that's left -
All that's left is unfettered rage.
"The fuck kind of bullshit is this?!" He shouts at the top of his lungs. For a moment she's terrified, but then the same thing happens with her.
The faces they've worn all this time – their masks shatter against the coarse wood floor of their apartment, of their whole world.
"You can't raise a child in hell! You can't raise a family in hell!"
"Is that what this is? Is this hell? The fuck do you think is going on outside right now?! And what the fuck do you think it's going to be like if you running back to a man that raped you -"
"He didn't rape me. I cheated on you. And that's that."
"You said -"
"I lied, I didn't have a choice. But things are different now, and he wants to patch things up -"
"You don't really know, do you? The level of shit I've had to put myself through so that we can have this child -"
"You're right. I don't. I know the words but I don't understand them. Just like you're always saying. I don't understand, but I'm not going to live like this anymore. I can't show you the ultimate kindness again and again and again and never get anything for it, that's just not how two people can live."
"Is that what this is? The ultimate kindness? That sounds like your sack of shit brother talking!"
"Everyone has needs, everyone has desires, everyone besides you. The longer we go without them the harder it gets, and I'm not about to spend the rest of my life waiting for things to get better. Every relationship has to go two ways - "
"What the fuck do you think this is?! I've starved myself for months on end so you could stay healthy! My mother and some of her closest friends have given up so much so we can have this baby – and here you are trying to preach to me about desire?!"
"And I never wanted you to! Why do you think I always kept turning your meals away?! Let me tell you something you don't understand – there might not've been much I could do, about how I ended up here, but I won't die a sick and tired housewife that doesn't even know what her next meal is going to be!"
"And what, instead you'll die sucking some bald, fat bastard's cock in his penthouse suite after pumping out six of his business partners' kids?"
She slaps him right across the face. "I'll die human, is how I'll die. Allowed to make my own mistakes, allowed to eat what I want, allowed to fuck who I want. I'm never going to be what you are – letting other people eat your fucking heart out, because somewhere in your head you think it's the right thing to do. I'm sorry, but I can't do it. I can't be married to a monster, it's not what I want, and it's unholy. I don't know what you are, Saito, but it's clear to me that you're not human, not at all, and that terrifies me. And I won't let my daughter grow up in a house like this – I'd rather die than give you this baby!"
Ahh.
Ahhhhhh.
Of course. It all makes sense.
After all -
Maho Okumura was supposed to be a queen.
That destiny might've been taken away from her. Where she is now is perhaps the furthest place from the master bedroom of that penthouse suite. But at the end of the day, the veneer of a queen is written into her very skin, transcribed on her soul. And a queen can't be indebted to someone as worthless as Saito Nijima.
She thinks she can run from this. She thinks that if she runs far enough away that she'll find that same old money that dumpstered her when she turned eighteen.
"Do whatever the fuck you want. But you won't take Kiana."
"I will."
"You won't take my daughter!"
"She's not your daughter! She's his! And a freak like you will never be her father!"
Something important is breaking.
Something very important.
There it goes, scattered about the floor, in a thousand tiny pieces.
For awhile she continues yelling at him – it's all really just the same shit by then. She can't raise a child in the house of a masochist, a man that can't defend himself has no business being a father, a man that can't put food on the table doesn't have the right to be a father. She just goes on and on on repeat. All he does is lay against the wall in their bedroom, largely unresponsive. There's nothing going through his head at that point. There was the world as he knew it, and then there's where he is now.
At some point she gives up on him and starts packing her things. She'd pulled out both of their suitcases and started loading her own things into both of them. The realization sinks in that she owns so little. She almost breaks out into tears.
Eventually there's a knock on the door. It's her king – he's come to rescue her from this horrid place. She cries into his shoulder as he massages her back. He hears only the worst parts of their hushed conversation.
"I almost couldn't recognize you."
"Oh Yosuke… It's too much, it's just too much…! I tried, I tried, I really did-"
"It's ok. You're going home now. No more of this. We're gonna raise Nanako together, okay? The three of us are going straight to Inaba. You're gonna love it there, I promise."
"Okay… Yeah, I'd love that… Please, just-"
He can hear the sound of him kissing her.
"Don't worry. You're not gonna have to think about this shithole anymore, okay?"
"I'm sorry – I'm so sorry!"
"No, it's okay, I'm the one that messed up. I didn't realize how important you were to me until it was too late. I won't make that mistake again, I promise. I'm going to give you the life you want now, okay?"
"Ahh, thank you, thank you so much… I love you, I really do!"
"I love you too. It's all going to be different from now on. You won't have to worry ever again."
It's actually hysterical. But he's not laughing.
"C'mon."
"Huh?"
"I need a happy memory – just one from this place."
"Okay – um, wait a minute, isn't that -"
"It's okay. He's not going to bother us."
"A-Are you sure?"
"I need you to not think about him, okay? Just you and me. It's alright." She pulls him onto his bed – their bed.
Silly Grengar.
"Woah, these are bigger than I remember." He can hear the sound of the sheets being shuffled around.
Pitiful Grengar.
"What's wrong?"
"Ahh, haha, it's nothing. I just – I've never been like this with a pregnant girl, that's all."
Ugly Grengar.
"Just keep your eyes on me."
Don't look away.
"Ahh… Maho…"
A wet sound – a repeated wet sound. The mattress creaks.
"Yeah, see? It's not so different, right?"
"Yeah… It's like… It's like I can feel her there. Wait, that's weird, right? This is getting pretty weird -"
She giggles. "It's okay. I don't think she'll mind. This is the closest the three of us will ever be, and you can't hurt her, that's not how it works. Let's enjoy it, okay?"
"Okay… Yeah, I think I -"
After that there's nothing. It was like – he begged. He begged himself not to remember. And so those seconds disappear into the void of time, for no one to remember.
He proceeds with no regard for his own safety. This is his job. This is his role in life. This is what he must do, for the sake of that child that has yet to be born.
The only constant in his life is the moon. Fuller than ever, for longer than ever. The full moon hangs above Shinjuku. The air is rife with the smell of blood. First the distro center. The distribution staff from the farming co-op are dead, their stomachs cut open. Their supplies have all been stolen. Then the vacant lots – there are dead teenagers, their chests skewered with missing murder weapons, signs of drugs in their systems and plenty of booze to go around from one harrowing communal grave to the next. This story makes the evening news, and the paper the following morning.
In fact outlets around the country are suddenly starting to report in the violent crime, as though it had only just started happening. Huge waves cut through the MPD, but Saito is barely aware that they're even happening. He hasn't gone home. He hasn't changed out of his uniform. He just won't go back. He has to keep working. He has to keep working or Kiana won't have a place to call home. He can't have that.
The next day power has been restored to many areas. Many stores have had to toss items that people go diving through their trash bins to retrieve. The sun is starting to become a pain. Its rays harshly cook away his skin for fifteen hours a day. That night the moon is still full, and still hangs low. The moon provides protection, a reprieve. As though his eroded skin has a chance to heal.
People that had run out of food, people that were dumb enough to open their refrigerators when the lights were out, people that never had enough to begin with – all sorts camp the stores for new supplies as the lines begin to resemble what they were at the start of the crisis. Fights are common, the order coming apart at the seams as the desperate judge the dim-witted. Every last one of them part of the problem, climbing over each other to bring home a meal, an infected meal. There could be no deeper pale than palpable fear.
The sick start vomiting on the streets and many are sleeping on the sides of the roads. A noxious haze fills the back streets. The influenza has spread. Its full impact uncertain, but no doubt it has moved through much of the population. That night someone tries to rob him at knife point, their face covered in boils. He bashes his head into the side of a building and leaves him there unconscious for someone else to pick up. He doesn't have time to entertain random incidents on someone else's beat.
That night he throws up into a trash can as he makes the rounds. He almost misses it by a couple feet. If he soiled the road on his own beat he'd just be creating extra work for himself. He could even get a pay cut if anyone noticed.
He spends much of that night mopping up the mess left by other people. The sick drag themselves along the dirty roads. He feels feverish himself, his clammy hands making it harder to keep a good grip on his sweeper. Someone tries to attack him again, but they seem to give up and lie down in the middle of the road after awhile. Technically they weren't obstructing anything. He leaves them be. There's more important things to get to.
Behind the police station, the trash cans are filled to the brim with vomit. A sick homeless man lies unconscious a fresh pool of it forming near his mouth. He carefully drags the trash cans out onto the side of the road after returning their lids, but some of the messy fluid spills out onto the sidewalk. He cleans it up promptly.
He feels it coming on then – having no other choice he throws up into the trash can closest to him. He can see the vomit level rising as a mix of flem, bile and a half eaten rice patty forces its way up his throat.
He wonders how Kiana is doing. It's got to get pretty uncomfortable in someone's stomach once you're big enough. Would it be too much of an issue if he tried to get her out of there early?
His work in the alley done, basking in the light of the moon he nods off very briefly while standing up. He collapses, his head making firm contact with the side of the road. Someone comes over to him and asks if he's alright. But he's just fine. Kiana was going to be born soon.
After that, he realizes that from the length of his patrol that the batteries for his radio have run out. He finds himself a public power outlet which is fortunately working again and plugs the radio in. It was a good thing he noticed that when he did. If he'd waited much longer, he'd probably have had some kind of a call or notice sent home that he was unavailable. He can't put Kiana through any more stress, after all, she hasn't even been born yet.
Once he's sure that his radio is functional he resumes his patrol. Not fifteen minutes later, he gets a call.
"Nijima, is that you?"
"Yes, sir. Sorry if you tried to reach me before, my radio ran out of power. I should be good for the rest of the evening."
"Nijima, you haven't reported in for four days. What the hell happened?" It was his lieutenant.
"I answered the call at the distro center. I reported the bodies."
"Yeah, and that was four goddamn days ago. We tried calling home and no one answered!"
"I've been checking in my firearm every night. I'm not sure why -"
"The precinct still doesn't have any power, Nijima. All the guns are locked up – are you saying you have yours on you still? Ok, look, just stay where you are, alright? I'm gonna send one of the guys to come find you, this damn GPS should still work -"
He closes the radio connection and continues on his beat. That was an odd conversation, but he had to make sure he completed the length of his beat. If he doesn't walk in full he won't get paid. If he doesn't get paid, Kiana won't have any food. Kiana needs to eat. She needs to grow up to become healthy and strong.
His mother's apartment.
He's not sure why he's here, but he is. The door is unlocked.
It doesn't look like there's anyone there initially. He walks into the space, turning on the lights.
He looks at himself in the reflection of the windows. His hair has turned white as snow. He's splattered with blood. His eyes are swollen. Only midway through processing that impossible sight, suddenly can't see his face at all anymore.
"Saito." He hears his mother call out to him.
"Mom, I can't see."
"I know, it's okay. Whatever you do… You have to stay calm. You're going into shock right now."
"What's happening? I don't know what's happening – Where's Kiana? Is she okay?"
"Kiana – yes, she's fine. Here – look at me." He feels her hand touch the side of his face. "I need you to stay with me, okay? We've almost solved this mess."
"Watatsumi called. He said something that didn't make any sense. Did I – it doesn't make any sense, why would I -"
"No, no no no, calm down, you've gotta stay calm. Listen to me. You remember the ex-patrolman, right? The one whose gun we found?"
"The… In the massacres. At the convenience stores."
"Yes. Yes, that's right." Her hands run through his hair, shaking very faintly. "His supervisor was on the payroll of an antisocial force that operated in the early 2020s – that's the group Governor Shirogane was heading up during the elections. The one with a bunch of holdovers from the United Futures party. You remember them, right?"
"I should've shot those boys."
"Saito, please, there wasn't anything you could do. It's alright. Look, you – you need to rest. You've earned your rest, okay?"
He can hear it in her voice. There's something wrong. There's something very wrong.
Something is swirling, deep down there in the dark. He just barely make it out through his pulped vision – a soft light trying its very hardest to reach him. It must be his daughter. It must be Kiana. She must be calling out. Trying to protect him. She knows. Even though she hasn't seen the light of day, she knows everything he's doing to keep her safe.
His feet remain firmly planted on the floor. His mother tries to lead him away from the window. But he won't budge.
Someone was recording.
He wasn't, but someone else was there, and they did all the recording for him.
In excruciating detail, he can see that man bound to his fiancee at the waist, with his daughter bulging from her stomach, as though begging to be set free, and that precise moment when the shadow looms over the bedspread.
"I killed her."
"No, Saito -"
"I killed Maho. I snapped her neck like a twig. Yosuke Hanamura was there. I broke his arms, I broke his legs I stabbed him over and over and over. They're gonna come after me. I'm gonna go to prison. It's over. It's all over."
"Saito, listen to me, that's not what happened -"
"It wasn't enough. I ran out. I ran out of everything."
"That's not true. I promise. Please, just look at me -"
"There's nothing left there's just nothing left can't take anything back can't repay anything can't make something out of nothing -"
"No. This isn't you. You understand what it means to give something your all. Even if most other people don't, that doesn't make them in the right!"
"No one cares. No one asked. No one wanted me to be there. There was no reason why any of this needed to happen. I could've kept everything and nothing would've changed. Nothing!"
"You know that's not true! People have no idea what they need, only what they want! We all need you, because no one else is willing to make the choice that you make every single day! If we didn't have you there would be nothing!"
"I can't do it. I won't do it. She was right about everything. I'm just going to die a monster."
"You are not a monster! You know who you are, you know what those people out there need you to be. And if there's any one person in the whole world who could be that, it's my son!" She tries to pull him closer, her hands trembling. "Please, please just come back to me. I don't care what I have to do. Whatever you need me to be, it doesn't matter. I'll never leave you alone, not ever. Please don't throw everything away, not now…!"
He stands there alone, paralyzed from head to toe by a severe sense of want. A desperate sense of want. He can see before him a bare throat – he reaches out, his bony fingers grabbing hold from both sides. The shadowy horror before him shifts, first into the shape of a man, then a woman. The woman's stomach expands, a great black hand bursts from the depths of her womb, growing into some hideous thing at a tremendous rate that tears away the rest of her fleshy prison, its hulking frame towering over him mere seconds later, devouring what little light remains.
He feels a stinging sensation at the palms of his hands – an excruciating, unending pain as his skin burns away. He brings his arms up, putting forth what miserable defense that he can as the towering monstrosity bares its dirty maw of jagged teeth. He reaches out and grabs hold of the beast before him – for but a scarce few moments, he feels the coarse skin of its bare arms as the creature recoils sharply at his touch.
Little Grengar. Why are you so afraid?
In retaliation it lays into him, viciously clawing away at what little is left of his face. He latches onto its arms all the more firmly. It howls in pain and starts pounding away at his chest over and over, almost as though begging him to stop. Relentlessly it burns, and relentlessly his flesh is torn away, until his chest caves in. He can feel the shattering of bone, the release of puss, squelching of organs. His arms fall rigid almost instantly as his body is gripped by shock. The beast stumbles backward, its ragged breath fuming like a cloud of smoke.
Grengar Hrothdel Grengar Hrothdel
Around his temples he can feel it – two sharp claws, digging in far past the skin, piercing the bone with ease, reaching in to pull out his eyes.
All hail Grengar, come to slay the vile Hrothdel!
All hail Hrothdel, come to slay the vile Grengar!
Who's the top? Who's the bottom? Kings and Slaves Kings and Slaves Kings and Slaves
Slaves become Kings. Kings become Slaves.
And then a tearing, like splitting wires. By now he's somewhere far away. Somewhere the rest of his brain can't find him. But his hands are like balls of fire.
Thou art I I am thou?
A cry. A human cry. Something buried deep within. Those eyes that don't exist see something. The inside of the apartment. The wall is splashed with blood. Before him is an arm. An arm of pure white, flawless skin.
I am thou thou art I?
Keeheeheeheehee
At last he sees.
Gnawing and grinding. The eyes before him bear witness, a dull aching feeling covers his mouth.
Finally we're free
The creature bites into the arm, peeling the skin away with its teeth alone.
Then suddenly an impact. He can feel it. Another impact. Soft, dull, but – there's also a buzzing. A sound. He can hear. On a lopsided angle the creature shifts its head. His mother is standing there, her left arm missing, blood running down the side of her body, soaking her coat – the muzzle of the gun in her one remaining hand flashes, and he feels another impact.
Then the eyes – his eyes- they swim.
His hands are larger than they should be. His toes are poking out from holes in his shoes, curling like claws.
Ah, now he understands.
He is the beast.
He attacked his mother, and she retaliated.
And now she stands over his crumpled form to finish him off.
No.
No, he can't die.
He can't die yet. He has – one thing left to live for.
He can't do anything if he's dead. He can't go yet.
No no no no no he can't die now -
"Khrrrriiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaanaaaaaaaaaaah!"
He can't die. He has to live. He wants to die. So badly he wants to die. He shouldn't die.
The deepest madness gives way to the most profound clarity. He has to strike his mother. He has to do it. He has to be the one to do it. He has to do the unthinkable. He owes her his life a thousand times over.
Kiana. My little girl.
His heart screams. In that moment – he isn't a beast at all.
What does it matter? He sees the look in her eyes. That bond is broken forever now. There's no coming back from this. Not now, not in a thousand years. He chooses his fate in that moment of clarity of his own free will.
He cannot die a monster. There is nothing more or less to this moral crisis than that. And so it is, that such a desire alone is what compels a beast to kill.
He grabs hold of her with all the strength he has left. The two of them struggle there, both crippled beyond the point of any real defense. With her one arm, she grabs hold of his neck while restraining his legs with her own. He sees it in that moment in her bloodshot eyes. Something feral, like she isn't looking at her son anymore, but he knows. He knows that look, he knows what kind of pain she's in-
"Johanna…!"
Something crashes into the two of them, something that he can't see. Promptly they go flying straight though the nearby window, in free fall out the side of the twelve story apartment complex with glass raining down all around them. He reaches out to grab hold of her – At last he can see it. Ramping down the side of the building right along with them is a silver star – a metallic shimmer, something moving so fast that he can't begin to comprehend its true form. It charges into him, shredding his skin down to the bone. He snarls and howls in pain, attempting to stop it with his bare hands.
The moon shines down. The brightest the moon has ever been. The moon that beckons to him, so sweetly, even now. He tears through the metallic form, which spins out of control. His mother is falling there, just above him, her open coat slowing her descent ever so slightly. He feebly tries to reach out and grab hold of her once more – but just before the silver shape dissipates into nothing, she kicks off of it, spiraling downward straight towards him faster than he can fall. In her hand is not a knife, not a dagger, but a stake. A stake of pure silver that she drives straight into his chest with her momentum.
He howls in agony. She doesn't pull away. His mother holds him close with her one arm.
And finally – the bottom.
His vision fades. He can feel the impact shatter what is left of his body. He can't see his mother. He has no idea where she went. Hopefully she'll be alright.
Then, at last, there's silence, the deep endless black. His eyes are gone, he can no longer stand, what was left of his spine feels like it's crumbling away. His soul teeters on the vestiges of madness as whatever remains of his awareness crumbles away. He can't die, he shouldn't die. He has to live, but he doesn't have the capacity to think of that now. He clings to his daughter's name like a last hope for as long as he can.
From his caved in throat, a drowned moaning ends the fragile peace. He can no longer form the words, but he can yet produce the sounds. Again and again. He calls out helplessly, for that child who has yet to be even born.
At the very end, something tugs at him, from where his shoulders used to be.
She was right.
I'm not human.
I could never be human.
It waits there, alone in the dark. Beneath the pile of bone, sinew and shredded skin. A living, breathing creature that still won't die. Strapped to an iron slab that writhing beast remains. Its soul fractured beyond repair, what's been taken away lost forever, but it yet draws breath.
The man in the mask leans in, intently listening for the beat of its heart as he begins to sew its fragmented form back together, one word at a time.
"Ahh, yes… Without a doubt, this thing was once a man." The man snickers. "And with some luck, it could become a man again. But is that what this unsightly beast even wishes for?" The palpitations of the creature's heart seem to call out in reply. "Yes… Look deep within yourself. Retrieve the memories that have been locked away."
I'm not anything. I don't want to be anything.
I shouldn't be anything, I don't deserve to be anything.
"Ahh, yes. Morality. Right and wrong. If you're clinging to such ridiculous notions even now, then surely you must be, whether you want to be or not."
Take this away from me. I don't want this world anymore.
"I'm afraid we're not done with you just yet. Think as hard as you can, back to that moment. Back to the one thing you wanted most, before your life was taken."
A family.
I'd give anything to have a family.
A family of my own.
A family
A family
Kiana
"…Tell me, is he truly the one?" The man looks to the side. Near the only source of light in the room on what looks like the banister of a stair sits a woman with blonde hair.
"Indeed. We have found our king at last."
"This one has abandoned everything. The vessel cannot be saved, and the soul will never truly heal. If he will not fight – nay, even if he does fight, the Grendel he has become will surely tear him to pieces again."
"He will fight. Of that I have no doubt. And there's been no man on this earth crowned king that lacked such a creature lurking just beneath the surface."
"And if he fails to pull the sword from the stone?"
"Then he'll endeavor to rip the stone from the earth. That's the sort of man the Son of the Black Mask is."
The man laughs. "Then let us wake him, at dusk."
Something wraps around the back of his head. And then -
He bolts upward like a man possessed. Suddenly it's like nothing had ever happened. His arms, his hands, his face – they're all his. Everything is right where it should be. All that remains is the hazy memory of his mother and their descent through the night sky.
His surroundings resemble that of a clinic, a dark, gloomy place, the air stifled with the smell of septic, blood, and skin graft, with a single light hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room. The ceiling is wood, the floor is wood – it's hard to call it much more than a storage space pretending to be a clinic. Stuffed in the corner on a metal bed with a closed window just to his right, a flight of stairs to his left, a rack of surgical instruments just in front of him, a desk against the wall just behind it.
"At long last, the man of the hour awakens."
To the left of the desk, sitting on an old, musty leather couch with his legs crossed is the man in the mask, a torn up poster of a masked figure hanging from the wall behind him. His mask shaped like the beak of a bird, he could be described as nothing less than a plague doctor of the Victorian period. He rises to his feet and takes but a single step towards him.
"Welcome to the Velvet Room, my dear young lad." He bows with a bit of a flourish. "My name is Igor. Please, do not trouble yourself to stand. We've much to discuss, and the moon hangs low."
No. That's not quite right.
There's still something different.
That's it.
That important something.
It's still missing.
And it won't come back.
It happens then in but an instant, swift, inevitable, irreversible. The room shakes as Saito Nijima flies from the bed towards the masked man. A great cavity forms in the man's chest and pure white blood sprays forth from the newly formed opening.
And he laughs.
"Ahh, it's alright, dear boy. Think nothing of it." He pats him on his shoulder with a shaky hand. "This is of no consequence… It's your nightmare, after all."
The man who called himself Igor falls to the floor with a loud crash, and lies still. Saito looks down at his engorged bloodstained hands. The windows behind him fly open on their own. The moon shines down.
His enlarged teeth grinding against his gums, his face contorts into an elated snarl.
Saito Nijima loves the moon, his constant companion.
This night was his, and it had only just begun.