Interview with a devil
Tokyo, spring 1995
The Mishima Zaibatsu headquarters stands as one of the most impressive buildings in the city. Built without the caution usually maintained by Japanese architects, it towers at a height more fitting of New York than Tokyo. Some say that this is a sign of the arrogance of the organisation, believing itself to be more powerful than God, and challenging the might of the quakes that often move Japan. So far, this risk has paid off, and the building has remained standing, but times change, and one day it will fall.
For now though, the building casts its dark shadow over the city, a constant reminder of the immense power of the Zaibatsu. The headquarters' interior is even more magnificent, expensive silk covering the walls and underfoot lighting in all the public areas. Deep, plush carpets and rich mahogany desks are present in all the executive offices, and even the bathroom taps are gold-plated.
And this is where I am, standing before the vast mirror in the fiftieth floor ladies room, scrutinising my reflection in the glass. Centuries of practice have made me a master of disguise. The only form of an angel that people recognise is the form that the Herald Angels took, with white wings and glowing halo. I have many forms though, the one I use now being human guise. This is how the Guardians appear most commonly, and is rarely noticed.
I examine the harsh bun my hair is twisted in to, only a couple of well-positioned tendrils free to frame my face. I slick gloss over my lips and give my lashes another layer of mascara. I've grown used to having to disguise myself over time, learning how to change my voice, my look, and my body language in order to manipulate those around me.
I hear the door open behind me, and the sharp scent of strong perfume fills my nostrils. With heels clicking over the tiled floor, the woman approaches me, standing intimately close, leaning over the sink so that her cleavage is well exposed to me in her reflection. "Mmmm…" she breathes heavily, arching her head back and running blood red talons over her throat. "It's verrry hot in here, don't you think?" She looks at me, swiping her tongue over her lips as our eyes meet.
"It is a little hot," I say matter-of-factly, turning back to face the mirror. "Perhaps the air conditioning is malfunctioning."
She gives a sudden laugh at my response, throwing her head back and tossing her brown bob lightly. "Yes! Perhaps it is," she says, slinking her arm around my shoulders and pressing herself against my back. "You're here for the security management position? I do hope you get it," she whispers into my ear, her breath warm against my cheek, and her fingers tickling up and down my arm.
"So do I, Miss…?" I reply, turning to face her, not intimidated by the fact that she refuses to move away from me. I meet her bright hazel eyes again, unflinching. I know the games these kinds of people play.
"Williams," she smiles at me. "Anna Williams, PR management." Anna takes a step back at this point, and offers her hand, the delicate fingers burdened by overly polished nails. "And you are?"
"Angelica Featherstone," I inform her, taking her hand in mine, stroking the soft skin gently with my fingertips.
"Well, Angelica," she drawls, my name slipping from her tongue like warm honey, "I should warn you, Mr. Chaolan is interested in little other than how willing you are to put out." She smiles wickedly at this, licking her plump red lips.
"I'm sure I can handle Mr. Chaolan quite adequately," I tell her, returning the smile.
At this she gives another sharp laugh. "I think you're going to fit in very well here," Anna says, turning and making her way back out of the room, her hips swaying seductively.
As the door slips closed behind her, I flick the top button of my blouse open, give my face another once over, and make my way out.
I catch sight of Anna again as the assistant shows me to my interview. This time she's treating an accountant to her flirtatiousness, perching on the edge of his desk and rubbing her foot up his leg. The assistant leads me into a spacious outer office with wide windows and a large pot plant in the corner. "Go on through," she directs me bluntly, gesturing to the large oak wood door that doesn't quite fit with the modern surroundings. She turns her back on me, adjusting the hem of her Armani skirt and sitting back at her desk.
The primal energy I can feel flowing throughout the building has a profound effect on all the employees, each one becoming consumed with selfishness and greed, sexual and territorial tensions filling the atmosphere. The feeling of this electricity intensifies the further up the building I move and it envelops the more senior staff almost entirely. This is what my brother's presence does to people. It does not make them evil, but evokes the darkness that is present in all humans. This darkness is fully awake in the man I now encounter.
As I step through the door my heels sink into rich, deep carpet, and the reek of cologne irritates my nose. The room is vast, with massive windows reaching from floor to ceiling, equally long velvet drapes hanging beside them. A large, solid desk sits at the far end of the room, accompanied by an expensive leather chair. In front of that lie a pair of sofas with a glass coffee table between them and it is on one of these sofas that a young silver-haired devil sprawls, a phone clamped to his ear. He slides his eyes over me as I enter and taps the sofa beside him, continuing to bark insults into the receiver.
"I don't give a fucking shit how long you've been in business, Gordo. You can't keep up with the payments, so we're finished with you. There is no room for losers here," he spits his words at the caller, his voice dripping with venom. "Ha! Take it up with Mishima if you like, but I think you will find my brother to be far less hospitable than I am."
Almost as soon as he's slammed the phone down the buzzer sounds. "There is a call from Detective Wulong on line one, sir," the assistant honks out of the speaker.
"Tell him to fuck off, you stupid bitch. I'm busy!" Chaolan snarls at her. It seems his foul temper is not reserved purely for adversaries. "You don't look like someone who works in security," he informs me, now turning his attention fully in my direction. "Sit down," he commands, again indicating the space next to him.
"Looks can be deceiving," I say, ignoring his gesture and sitting confidently opposite him, crossing my legs and looking around the room.
He gives a throaty chuckle and leans back in his seat, inspecting me thoroughly. His eyes linger on the length of my legs, the hint of my cleavage, and the amount of thigh left exposed by the split in my skirt. "Well, you would appear to be more than qualified for the position, Miss…" he glances at a file on the coffee table, "Featherstone. What I really need to assess is how well you would fit in with the Mishima Zaibatsu's culture. We need a particular type of person for this job."
"I'm sure I'll have no problem fitting in here, Mr. Chaolan," I tell him, meeting his gaze. After all, my brother and I are one and the same. I am at home in his influence, in his arms. I am more familiar with his atmosphere than any of these humans here.
"Please, call me Lee," he smiles, and I can feel the insincerity in him as though it were a blazing fire. People believe that humans become evil when they lose their soul, but it is quite possible for them to be evil without the influence of demons. I return his smile. "So, Angelica, can I ask you…" he leans towards me as though confiding in me, "Just how angelic are you?"
I also lean forwards, so that our faces are nearly touching and I eye his throat and chest, pretending to examine the expensive silk of his shirt in thought, before raising my eyes to look directly at him. "My panties are as white as snow," I say, smiling wickedly. "You wanna take a look?"
Lee Chaolan's lips curl back from his teeth to form a hideous grin at this and just as his hand reaches to clasp the back of my head, the person I could hear approaching slams their fist repeatedly on the door. "Open up right now, Chaolan!" a gruff male voice demands.
"Damn it," Lee mutters as the door bursts open and an angry Chinese cop storms in. Lee stands, glaring angrily as the detective marches right up to him and grabs hold of his shirt.
"Don't think I'm going to roll over and play dead, Chaolan. You can't pay me off like you did Fury!" the cop shouts, shoving Lee roughly.
Lee merely looks down his nose at the police officer. "If I were you, I'd take your hands off me," he sneers. "This shirt costs more than you make in a month." As the detective is about to respond, Lee interrupts him. "I'd like you to meet my new chief of security, Miss Angelica Featherstone." The cop looks me up and down curtly, as Lee takes my arm and steers me past him whispering loudly in my ear, "It will be your job to make sure that disruptive characters like him do not manage to get into the building." He gives the detective a look as if he were observing a piece of rotting meat. "I'm afraid that we shall have to continue this meeting at another time, angel, but talk to my assistant and she'll get you sorted out," he says more loudly, running his hand slyly over my bottom as he directs me to the door.