Disclaimer:Yoroiden Samurai Troopers and all characters in the proceeding story from the television and Original Animated Video (OAV) series, (GaiDen, The Legend of Kikoutei, Message) are the property of Sunrise Animation/Nagoya TV/Sony Entertainment. This story is for entertainment purposes only. However, storyline and other characters, unless otherwise noted, are the property of Crazy Cookie.

TIGER MOON

by DK Cook (Crazy Cookie)

Chapter Three – Destination: Limbo

"Welcome aboard JAL Flight 117, now leaving Nairobi Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, Kenya. We will have a stopover in Amsterdam, to arrive at our final destination –- Tokyo Narita International Airport, Japan..."

The thunder-roar thrust of jet engines drowned out the shifting of aerodynamic rudders and smooth mechanics of the Boeing's folding 18-wheel landing gear, while lifting the jumbo 747's bulk off black tarmac and high into the blue African skies. Though they started out apart, the five bearers of the mystical armors were pulled back together again. They all had survived yet another encounter on the battlefield -- barely. Once again the human world was no longer threatened of being destroyed, and Mukara and his people, the ancient and enigmatic Tarangi, were no longer dominated by Kuroi Kitoutei -- the black armor. And despite the fact that it was their own armors that were sacrificed along with both Kitoutei, nobody died this time. They were thankful the fates had at least allowed them to live so that they could enjoy the miracle that not even a single life was lost. Still, a strange pensiveness had inflicted their thoughts, causing them to wonder the same thing: what happens to us now?

After the first few hours into the air and the attendants had collected the trays from the midday meal, most of the passengers had settled down into their seats for the long flight ahead of them. Separated by the middle seat, Shin and Shu had sat together in the window aisle seats of the plane's cabin. Shin tried to unburden his thoughts with the in-flight movie, but it was Shu's unusual reticence that had drawn his attention. It always seemed that Shu could bounce back from any battle with his incredible resilience and should have showed no mercy to his earlier tray of airline food. Ordinarily it would have been scarfed down to the plastic bottom, while he wished for seconds and maybe even thirds. But instead of wolfing down the last morsel with his usual gusto, Shu had placidly munched on only his third mouthful. Hardly tasting it, he had continued to stare out through the small portal window at the surrounding clouds. He never finished his tray.

"Shu, about earlier...you know, back at Nasutei's place..."

"Wha...? Oh, that. Hey, that's been long forgotten."

"Yeah? Still, I should say something to Touma..."

"Now that the trouble's over, Touma's probably catching up on his beauty sleep. I guess that smart brain of his uses up a lot of energy. Y'know Shin, I've been thinking..."

"No way!", poked Shin. "You really must've gotten knocked harder upside the head during the battle than I thought." He could see how deflated Shu really was. For such an irrepressible personality, it wasn't good for him to loose confidence and start wallowing inside of himself. Jerking his chain, at least a little bit, Shin thought, might be a good distraction and help pull Shu out of his funk.

"Nice try. Weak, but score one on effort. But look, I'm being serious. Of course I was very angry with you, at least at the beginning. And not just because I thought you were afraid to fight. After all, they say every soldier feels fear on the battlefield. Yeah, heh, even me -- but not TOO often. I remembered earlier when we were at the beach, how you said how much you hated fighting. So it looked as if you were running out on the four of us and wanted to leave the team for good, especially when we needed you the most. But...if we all had reacted and fought Mukara without seeing that we were being played for fools by the will of the yoroi... well, what I'm trying to say is... you were the one who was right after all."

"Hey, don't go soft on me now, Hardrock!" Shin's lighthearted tease coated over the emotional lump that begun to swell in his own throat. But the pressing question still hung heavy over both their heads: are we still a team?

A few rows in front of them in the center aisle seats, Touma and Jun were napping away, partially reclined in their chairs. Jun's head was slouching against Touma's shoulder for support, and Touma in turn used the top of Jun's head as his own make-shift pillow. Startled, Jun suddenly jerked out of his sleep:

"HUH?!? Heyyy... Y' doin' it againnn Toumaaa...!" Jun groggily moaned, while he irritatingly wiped along the side of his face with the back of his hand.

"Eh...?"

"Y' keep droolin' on my head! Where d'ya think y'at, huh?"

"Poor Jun," Nasutei chuckled to herself, as she tapped away on her computer keyboard, pausing every now and then to savor sips of tea laced with milk and honey. Sitting next to Touma and Jun, Nasutei decided to spend her time inputting the latest information about the yoroi into her portable computer.

A few rows behind Shin and Shu, Seiji decided that meditating on their new situation would be time better spent. So instead of slouching comfortably into his seat like the rest of the passengers, he slightly straightened his spine off the back of his seat, easily folded his hands into his lap, and partially assumed the meditation pose. But no matter how much he focused, he found himself right back where he began —- a lot of questions that seemed to have no answers. Frustrated, he finally settled back into his seat and folded his arms across his chest. Unconsciencsly, he began stroking the edge of his chin as questions about the yoroi continued to play out in his head:

The yoroi along with both Kikoutei had been destroyed. So...does that mean there is no need for us Troopers? Does that mean that the threat of Arago is permanently laid to rest? But...Kaosu told us that, as long as there is evil in the world and wickedness in the human heart, Arago can return. And I didn't notice that evil suddenly took a holiday. Still, if it is truly over for us as Troopers... "then I'm glad." As Seiji quietly mouthed those three words, the weight of his self-confession and the elated feelings that immediately followed startled him.

Then a sharp twinge of guilt slapped Seiji across the back of his head, in the guise of his grandfather. The image of the venerable, but very old-fashioned and very, very, strict head of the Date Clan rattled his spine and reduced him to feeling nine years old again, as he was forced to kneel submissively before his wrath. Seiji could feel the hairs along the back of his neck raise as he found himself reliving one of old man's brutal, mouth-foaming reprimands for shirking his responsibilities, hence, bringing dishonor to the Date family name.

Dearest Grandfather, Seiji cordially began in his mind. If I had to give my life, I would so, without hesitation. But, if the yoroi are no more, then there is no responsibility to shirk, and therefore, no dishonor. Isn't this correct, Grandfather? he countered. Immediately, the disciplinary image of his grandfather along with his guilt began to evaporate and his ego was reasserted. Unloading this mental burden, he let out a deep cleansing breath of release as a feeling of lightness washed over him.

We were all so very close to death, Seiji silently continued. But Shin's trust healed our spirits and our wounds and Ryo was still able to bear Kikoutei. Ryo. I just couldn't let him go by himself. I'm glad that I was by his side, that he didn't have to face Mukara alone in battle. I can tell that he hasn't been quite the same since... Seiji thoughts were caught off guard by more repressed feelings of guilt and shame, now mixed with the heat from other emotions that had shoved their way passed his defenses to the forefront of his thoughts -- forcing him to make another confession:

I haven't been quite the same since America. He tried not to dwell on it because danger and the possibility of death came with the territory of being a soldier against evil. But whenever he did think about it, the experience of his capture, at the hands of Shikaisen and that madman Scientist, would sometimes leave him shakened. He would periodically feel his muscles twitch and fall into involuntary spasms from the electrodes that had fried his nerves, or feel the nauseous aftereffects from the mind-altering hallucinogens that were pumped through his veins. Thank heaven Korin came back to me and was able to heal the worst of my wounds, he sighed to himself. Indeed, Korin was able to heal most of Seiji's wounds, but not all of them. Especially his emotional wounds. He had wondered, even with the passing of time, if all of them would ever heal:

I've tried to deal with it, but...I should've been prepared, I've should've seen it coming...that it was a trap. I'm the one who's suppose to see through evil's lies and deceptions, but instead, I was the one who was completely tricked out and manipulated and used like a...like a drugged-out whore. Used by that damn necromancer. My Korin...used to cause so much misery, so many deaths, and nearly caused the destruction of my friends. Jun...Nasutei. THAT SICK, BASTARD-SCIENTIST! How DARE he use them to try to force me with Korin! If anything had happened to them...to her...! How many times have I worried about their safety? About HER safety?

Then in one continuous stream of thought, his mind raced through all times he saw Nasutei's life in peril. Yet, somehow, every time when it seemed that the final blow was about to be delivered and her life was about to be taken, she managed to hold on to her courage and survive all those near-death moments:

"If the decision was mine..." Seiji barely heard himself spoke his thoughts. But it wasn't mine to make. That choice was taken out of all our hands the moment our world was invaded by Arago, and her grandfather became a victim of Arago's evil and died. But if she had died that day in Los Angeles...I would've never been able to forgive myself.

The built-up anger and tension that now tightened along his jawline causing his teeth to grind had finally snapped Seiji out of his reflective trance. His lavender eyes traced along the back of Nasutei's elbow brushing against the armrest of her seat as she typed away across the computer keyboard. His glance continued to travel across the way to the adjacent row of center seats where Ryo was sitting in a reclined position, relaxed with his eyes closed, although it did not seem that he was really sleeping:

Man, poor Ryo. Seiji thoughts stirred up again, now with a touch of empathy. I wonder if he ever thinks of her. He must. When Naria was caught in between our battle with Mukara and we thought that she had been destroyed, he cried out, as if it was his fault that 'another' precious life had been taken. Still, it wasn't the same like in Little Tokyo. I didn't realize that he had developed such strong feelings like that, until... until it was too late. She would've had never been involved in the first place if Korin hadn't killed her brother and his friends. But Ryo has never blamed me... not that I don't blame myself because of my...failure. But Ryo is like that...I guess that's why he's our 'heart'. But now, his good smile is gone. And after seeing how Kikoutei's influence twisted Mukara's warrior's heart... warping his mind and nearly corrupted his spirit...even against Naria, his own fiancé. How we all almost succumbed to the dark power of our own yoroi. Between us, we could've destroyed humanity...the very thing we Troopers are suppose to protect...

Stiffness began to settle between his shoulder blades, causing Seiji to shift uneasily in his seat. As he stare out of the small portal into the blanket of clouds and beyond, the tension in his shoulders began to relax from the relief of knowing that they had succeeded one more time. Yet, he was still tempered by a nagging 'what if':

If Arago were still alive, he would've been roaring all through the demon world with laughter at the irony of it all. Yeah... Kaosu would've been real 'proud' of his Troopers if we had lost everything. So perhaps loosing the yoroi is a good thing, something that was meant to be and for the better good. No more fighting. No more seeing my friends' lives in danger. And no more deaths. But now...where do the five of us go from here?

* * * *

"GOOD MORNING, AND HOW ARE WE DOING TODAY? Didn't have a good night's sleep? Awww...that's too bad. Here, let me fluff those pillows for you, okay dear? THAT'S better."

The nurse's aid continued to prattle on with her soliloquy, nervously shifting here and there, in her crisp, hospital uniform and sensible white shoes, while fussing over her unresponsive young charge -- the one that all the other nurses were talking about at all the nurse stations in hushed tones. It'd been three months since Luna, now referred to by the hospital's staff as Jane Doe, became one of the many responsibilities of the energetic, non-stop NA. Surrounded by the beeping lights of monitoring devices and a maze of dripping vials and plastic tubing, the Aid chosed to hide her anxiety towards her "unusual" patient, by droning on about the mundane happenings in her own personal life.

"Now you stay put and give me a couple of minutes. I'll be right back and adjust your feeding tube for your breakfast, okay, dear? Then we'll go do your daily vital stats and the other nurses will check your monitoring connections and your catheter tubing; and then they'll go over your scheduling for your CT scans and physical therapy. And while that's happening, I'll change your bedding and you'll get a nice, clean plastic undercovering. And then afterwards, I'll wipe you down with a soothing sponge bath and check you for any bedsores, powder you down, and then slip you into a fresh hospital gown. Doesn't that sound nice?"

That afternoon, the department chair of neurology gathered his faculty to discuss their cases, especially the "phenomenon" involving "Jane Doe":

"To reiterate the case of Jane Doe," the lead residential neurologist began, "this is a young black female whose estimated to be somewhere from 14 to 16 years old, the apparent victim of a near-drowning in the San Francisco Bay. The Coast Guard immediately transferred her to the hospital's trauma center for emergency treatment and from there, she was admitted for further long-term treatment. When she first came into our care a few months ago, her initial prognosis was extensive brain cell damage, not due to the lack of oxygen from near-drowning itself, but what appears to have been trauma from another unknown source. This is a particularly unusual case. Histories of MRIs and CT scans images have shown that any brain-related injuries have healed completely over. As we know, it is one thing when healthy brain cells take over the functions of dead brain cells that typically can't reproduce themselves. In Jane Doe's case, however, the scans indicate that the actual damaged cells had rejuvenated themselves."

"What about her other tests? What are the results of those?" inquired the department chair.

"None of her cerebral and spinal fluids or blood tests show anything that would explain any of this. Still, her pupils are dilated and she's unresponsive to any outside stimulation. And..."

"And... Please continue..."

The neurologist hesitated and cleared his throat. He fumbled through Luna's history charts to buy himself time and prepare his words to mold them into some kind of logic, to somehow try to make some kind, any kind of sense from them. Yet, he still disbelieved in what has been recorded and in what he was about to stammer:

"And... her EEG brain activity output since her initial intervention...there are still no peaks...it...its all one continuous flatline."

The neurologist's last words rippled throughout the now still conference room with an uncomfortably long pause. He patiently endured the tough, probing silence of the department chair as he slowly tapped his middle finger against the dark wooden surface of the huge conference table, and rocked back and forth at its head in the plush but squeaky-leather swivel chair:

"...if you don't mind, I'd like to take a few minutes to look over these results myself..."

The rest of the staff darted their eyes away with a trained, professional nonchalantness as they reviewed their own notes. However, their ears were perked with an uneasy attentiveness to the sharp shuffling of medical notes and other papers. Finally, the department chair looked up and spoke:

"Well...the charts don't lie...are you positively sure these results belong to this patient?"

"Absolutely."

And...and yet, for these past three months, she's been breathing on her own. Is this...correct?"

"Yes."

"All of her other bodily functions appear to be normal", continued the neurologist. "Again, whatever brain trauma she had is now completely healed, yet she has this...atypical brainwave pattern. Needless to say, I've ran a battery of tests, at least ten times over, and gone over their results with my team even moreso; I even consulted with Dr. Gomez, one of the staff's senior neurosurgeons on this. He would confirm what I'm saying right now in this meeting, but currently he's out of town on vacation. However, as you can see, his signature on his own follow up notes supports this. So, in consideration of everything else, I can't declare her as clinically dead, and I hesitate to classify her condition as a comatose one, however, she isn't in the vegetative state either, and she is definitely not fully alert. The second most unusual thing about her is..."

"You mean there's more...?"

"Yes. There are no scarring or bodily markings on her of any kind.

"Hmm, right. Go on."

"Besides the fact that she carries no birth marks, or scarring or healed over fractures from any childhood injuries, she also bears no finger or foot prints, or definite retinal patterns -- nothing. Except for one unusually deep scar, transverse across her right hand that healed over as if it was an incision...some kind of cut made by some sort of blade or other sharp instrument. Still, outside of the EEG, according to all the tests, this patient should be able to get up and walk out of here under her own power, so at the moment, I don't know how else to rule this. It appears that this patient is in some sort of deep, suspended animated-like state. Of course, we've taken the precautionary approach and have her connected to the usual monitoring equipment and included electro-muscular treatment as part of her daily physical therapy to stimulate her muscles and prevent muscular atrophy."

"Is there anything regarding her identity yet?"

"Despite their efforts with the police and outside social agencies, our own hospital's social services still aren't able to come up with anything."

After another long pause, the department chief contemplatively leaned forward in his huge black leather chair, rested his elbows on top of the long dark conference table and folded his hands under his chin as he presented a course of action to his staff.

"At this point in time, I believe we have offered all we can in this particular case. I believe that it's now just a matter of time when Jane Doe will come out of her condition on her own. However, I am also recommending that her care now should be transferred to the state rehabilitation and research facility that specializes in extreme chronic neurological disorders. There, they will have the necessary long-term resources while at the same time, make this patient as comfortable as possible."

To Be Continued...