Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"Fear is the foundation of most governments." –John Adams
In the year 2012 Japan was home to political unrest. Already at war with China, threats of terrorism, economic plunges, shortages of everything ranging from food to clothing became a part of everyday life. In 2014, with the help of the United States, Japan defeated China, almost completely bankrupting the other country.
Unfortunately Japan did not emerge from the fighting unscathed. The government was under a heavy torrent of criticism, with the loudest voices being Sakuma Akito and his company VulcanForge, calling for emergency powers: to suspend habeas corpus, arrest of suspected dissenters, and a suspension of basic rights.
The people of Japan were furious of the idea of losing their rights they expected as citizens of the country. Then on November 5, 2016 one of the worst outbreaks in history happened. A bio-engineered virus called Apollo was created by a terrorist group and detonated inside a school, followed closely by similar attacks on a reservoir and food processing plants.
Thousands died that week; millions perished within a month. Then on December 12, 2016 the company VulcanForge developed and released a cure to the virus, saving millions upon millions of innocent lives. On February 20, 2017 VulcanForge replaced the active government, with unanimous support, and arrested the terrorist organization responsible. They were executed without trial and their deaths were broadcasted on every news channel in the country.
The next action of VulcanForge was to assert fascist polices on the populace. After the tragedy of Apollo no one argued and within weeks detainment centers known as resettlement camps were set up around Japan. Suspected terrorists and dissenters, several minority groups, and anyone of dubious backgrounds were rounded up and placed in them.
Mass executions, medical experimentations, and torture were not uncommon though most people had little to no knowledge of any such actions committed by the government. They were shut down on June 8, 2020 and the survivors were allowed to reenter public life, though they were barred from military and government services. It is rumored that the resettlement camps were only shut down because of an incident at the one located in Kyoto two months prior. This has not been proven either way.
It is now the year 2034 and Japan has evolved into a totalitarian state.
Chapter One
Meeting You
The digital clock on the wall flashed '11:15 PM' in blazing green numerals and the small apartment was quite except for the distant murmurs of the almost completely muted television built into the grimy wall. A musty mattress with threadbare blankets and sheets, a moth-eaten pillow, was propped up on a rusty framework in the very center of the living room/bedroom; a naked bulb, supplying the dreary living space with the barest luminance, dangled from the ceiling on a metal chain.
A diminutive bathroom with only a toilet(that usually backed up), a black plunger resting next to the toilet, a rusty sink that in a former life had been marble white, a shattered mirror, and a shower with only the most flimsy of curtains separating it from the outside world. (It would also be good to know that the water running in the entire dreary place only came in two temperatures: scalding hot or freezing cold.) That was through a door on the right.
The only other room was the kitchen which consisted of a metallic table, a wooden chair standing on rickety legs, a sink, and a vomit green refrigerator. The tiles in the kitchen floor were black and white and had stains from beer, different types of food, blood, and others from unidentifiable sources. It was too the left of the main room.
Overall the place reeked of cigarettes and a very faint whiff of that kind of cheap beer that everyone thinks is disgusting but drinks all the time anyway because they can't afford anything better. There was a rat living in the walls and quite possibly a few spiders, though there wasn't any conclusive evidence of their existence. It was a horrible place to live in…and who did live here anyway?
The owner was twenty-five year old Ishida Yamato, caustic and bitter, and downright pissed off at everyone. He was incredibly handsome with messy blonde hair falling to his shoulders, guarded sea blue eyes, a high cheekboned face, pale skin, and small but firm whipcord muscles. He wore a black tee shirt whose hem went past the top of his blue jeans that were worn almost to whiteness, a pair of dog tags that hit against his chest as he walked, and black socks with holes in the heels.
He rummaged through the apartment, a cigarette held in the corner of his mouth and dripping a cylindrical trail of ash onto his shirt sleeve, and a plastic bag filled to the brim with white powder. Muttering dark things under his breath he threw the bag on the kitchen table, and pulled from the drawer a black handled knife and several smaller plastic bags.
Spilling the contents of the larger bag out on the table, he threw the useless bag over his shoulder where it landed slowly on the floor, and picked up the knife to cut the stuff even smaller; no one wanted to buy it while it was still pure, it would kill them. Cutting and separating the powdery substance, he deposited it among the smaller bags and sealed them tight.
He tucked the knife into the waist band of his jeans, his shirt hiding it effectively, and picking up the packets he walked to the door, slipping on a long leather duster as he went. Making sure the little bags were out of sight, the knife was still in place, and fishing out a new cigarette he bent on one knee to the floor. He pounded his fist on a certain floor board and it came loose; pulling if off he observed the small hiding space of his most treasured belongings.
A small framed photograph of his family, a silver harmonica his father had given him, a book or two, his parents wedding bands, and his younger brother's old green hat. He smiled softly before putting the board back in place and leaving the apartment, door slamming behind him.
"This city is a hellhole…though it's not like there's anything better out there," thought Yamato as he strode down the street, ducking his face from the roving cameras on top of stoplights and lampposts. Rain fell from the grey sky in sheets and he ignored his fellow pedestrians and the calls from the homeless in allies and prostitutes, men and women, pacing on street corners.
He growled as he nearly tripped over a nearly invisible hole in the sidewalk pavement and shoved his hands violently into his pockets. After The War parts of the cities and towns could not be rebuilt to their former glory and no matter the location these places were called Tartarus. Everywhere else in Japan was enormously wealthy or more middle class suburban type places.
Not that everywhere else in the world was that much better off. The North and South Americas were at war with each other, most of Western Europe was the same as Japan while Ireland and Scotland were ruled by various gangs. Eastern Europe was almost exactly in the state it was in before The War with the exception of following an Isolationism policy. The continents of Africa and Australia had been completely obliterated by nuclear warfare and Antarctica had been divided up by the more powerful countries in the world for research areas. China, India, Korea, Vietnam and many of the small Asian countries had allied and formed one super country known as Shangri-La.
"This is probably what Hell is like…"
He turned down an alley and found himself in front of an abandoned club that had seen better days. The walls were invisible under layers of graffiti, the windows had been broken by what looked like rocks, and the door was hanging off its hinges. Inside was completely bare, a fine layer of dust covered the floor, and he could hear the scurrying of rats somewhere in the darkness.
Yamato sighed, leaning against the wall, and looked at the watch on his slim wrist. He gritted his teeth; his clients were fifteen minutes late. He stood in the dark for close to an hour, teeth aching from all the grinding, and he was about to leave when a man hurriedly dashed inside.
The newcomer was short and stocky with unkempt black hair, emerald eyes, skin with the barest of tans, and an angular face. He wore an expensive business suit under a tan trench coat and a pair of sneakers; he was out of breath and apparently had run most of the way here.
"You're late," stated Yamato coldly.
His client nodded absentmindedly, either not noticing the blonde's tone or just not bothering to care, and fished a wallet out of his pocket. "Do you have it?"
Yamato scowled and pulled a packet out of his pocket, holding it between thumb and index finger. "Heroin…twenty bucks a pack."
The man chuckled. "This is your first time dealing isn't it?"
"So what if it is? You got a problem with it?"
"Actually I do," the stranger replied and flashed his id at the blonde who his color had diminished greatly. "I just love seeing people's reactions to this. Priceless…"
"You're a Spartan!" gasped Yamato, backing away towards the window. The man stepped forward but Yamato had climbed through it, only to be pushed inside by a second man. Another man strode inside the room, leering at the blonde.
Spartans were the secret police of VulcanForge, ruthless and covert, they carried out their operations quietly; an entire family could be arrested one night and not discovered gone until a few days later. Unlike the first agent the other two were dressed in the standard uniform: black caps, dark glasses that hid their eyes and reflected everything in the room, a black vest over a navy shirt, and black pants and combat boots.
"Let's show the kid what we do to drug dealers in our city," spoke the first man, obviously their leader. They approached him slowly in a circle preventing him from escaping; one of them brought out a club.
"You can't do that! It's against the law!"
The leader arched an eyebrow as the other two laughed loudly. "We're the police, kid. We never said we cared about the law."
He was in deep shit…
Twenty minutes later Yamato was lying face down on the floor, beaten and bloody. His face was smeared with his blood and bluish black bruises; his knuckles were skinned from when he had tried to fight back; his chest burned horribly; and he couldn't stand up.
Around him the Spartan bastards were joking and smirking at each other; they had confiscated all the heroin on his person and had taken the knife from him. The leader was twirling the blade on his fingers, admiring the way it looked with stains from Yamato's blood on it.
Yamato groaned as the older man knelt by his head, grinning wickedly, and blatantly examining the blade. He grabbed locks of the younger man's hair and pulled his face up; he held the blade to the blonde's cheek threateningly.
"Let's cut that pretty boy face of yours…"
He pressed the knife deeper into Yamato's skin, drawing more blood, and was about to drag it down from cheek to chin when a musical voice interrupted with:
"Quis custodiet ipsos custodies?"
At the unexpected voice four pairs of eyes turned to stare at a young woman leaning on the doorframe, observing them all. She had long naturally wavy honey hair that flowed to her waist, creamy skin, and a lithe figure. Her face from her forehead to her upper lip could not be seen because she wore a mask over it; the mask was ceramic and completely white save for the black tracks starting from under her eyes and stopping at the edge, to give the impression of her perpetually crying black tears.
Her eyes, not covered by the mask, were a warm shade of brown that could only be described as cinnamon and she wore a long, leather coat whose hem rested at her ankles. Her soft pink shirt was held up at her shoulders by straps and stopped five inches above her naval, and her pants were black leather that emphasized the curves in her legs. For shoes she wore black leather boots that rose up to her knees so no one would be able to tell exactly where the pants ended and the boots began.
"Who the fuck are you?" demanded one of the Spartans.
"Everyone," was her simple answer.
Footnotes:
Apollo: Apollo is the son of Zeus and Leto, twin brother of Artemis, and has dominion over plague, light, healing, as well as various others. During the Trojan War he shot arrows of plague at the Greek encampment and in the Odyssey he sank the ship of Odysseus and his crew, killing everyone but the great hero.
VulcanForge: Vulcan is the son of Zeus and Hera, god of fire and smiths, the husband of the goddess Aphrodite (Venus) and is one of the twelve great Olympian gods. In Greek mythology he is known as Hephaestus.
Tartarus: Tartarus was the domain of the god of death Hades (Pluto). It is located under the earth and can also be known as Underworld or Hell.
Shangri-La: Shangri-La is a fictional paradise where anyone who stays there will never grow old and die. When people leave Shangri-La the imediately age and die.
Spartans: The Spartans were the feircest Greek warriors; they beleived that fighting was the most important thing in life. From a young age men and women underwent rigourous physical training: men to be soilders and women to give birth to soldiers.
"Quis custodiet ipsos custodies?" : This is a Latin phrase that translates as: "Who watches the watchmen?"
Author's Notes: That's all for now. Please read and review.
