The light in the room became too bright for Atsuhi to sleep any longer. She groaned gently and, without opening her eyes, wrestled her hands out of the covers to rub her face until colors began dancing on her eyelids. She could tell her sunlight alarm clock was making the room as bright as it could so she squinted one eye open, grumbling at the light until she could fumble a hand onto the table. Shutting her eye again she walked her fingers up the lamp and tapped it until the light lowered to a gentle yellow-gold glow. She lay there, motionless for a moment longer, almost allowing the constant hum of the engines to lull her back to sleep, even the air vent above her bed clicking some loose bolt around as freshly filtered air blew through the base had become a comfort to her.
But she couldn't sleep forever, so instead, she opened her eyes and stared at the dull white metal ceiling. Despite her efforts to bring as many personal effects as was feasible, her room had remained unnervingly sterile. Like all the sleeping quarters, Atsuhi's room had no windows. The space for her bed was built into the wall. Beyond her pillow and sheets, everything had come in the room when she'd moved in. In the wall at the end of the bed, a section jutted out as a desk, above it a built-in bookshelf both of which were cluttered with her work; books from school she thought might be helpful, scratch paper from problems she'd worked, spreadsheets, schematics. A mess she desperately needed to clean or at least stop adding to.
On the opposite side of the room was another recessed space, this time fitted with a bar where Atsuhi hung her clothes and below them a trunk that held any other odds and ends, her shoes sat neatly in a line from the closet to the door. The whole room was no bigger than 8 by 5, Atsuhi would guess, but she got it to herself which was a relief at the end of a long day.
Finally motivating herself to get started, Atsuhi stuck a leg out far off her bed, tapping her foot on her slipper until she could draw it close enough to slide her foot in. No matter the temperature settings in her room the metal floors were never pleasant to stand on first thing in the morning. Atsuhi stood and wiggled on her other slipper as she turned to face her closet.
She glanced at her calendar hanging inside the frame of her bed, "No meetings or presentations today...good."
She was relieved to have nothing ahead of her but work. Arguing things to funders, committees, the board, or somehow worse, her colleagues, was a part of the job she hadn't yet adjusted to. She liked the work, and she'd long been dedicated to the mission but the reality of trying to oppose Hajime was more daunting than she'd expected.
Atsuhi huffed and forced herself into action grabbing a pair of dark cigarette pants, and noting the chill she'd woken up with, a thin turtleneck. Like always she got ready by doing too many things at once; her pants weren't fully pulled up before she stopped to put on her bra, she was stepping into her loafers as she pulled her shirt down, tucking her shirt and buttoning her pants as her eyes searched her desk for her ID. Despite her slow start in the morning, Atsuhi was fully dressed almost instantly, and, pulling the lanyard of her ID over her head, she grabbed her toiletry bag from the door and headed for the communal bathroom down the hall.
Though the bathroom had a long line of sinks, only a couple on the other side were being used. A pleasantry Atsuhi tried to avoid adjusting to as, eventually, provided everything went how her parents had planned, more ancillary positions like Atsuhi's would be brought down to the base. But for now, only herself and about fifteen other scientists lived on this floor and used this restroom. Other floors, where engineers, instrument mechanics, electricians and the like lived, were more heavily populated as they were constantly needed to ensure the safety of the underwater facility, it's experiments, and it's employees.
Atsuhi scrolled her phone as she brushed her teeth, looking through the emails her colleague had sent in a flurry the night before. She sighed, if he was up working all hours she was sure he'd left the lab in disarray again. Feeling foam from her toothpaste drip down her chin, Atsuhi quickly spat, cursing lowly to herself when she realized it had dropped onto her shirt. She flicked it off with her finger and dabbed at it with her washcloth before washing her face. Looking into the mirror for a final time she pulled her comb through her hair quickly, fixing the part before deciding it was all well enough for a day where she'd be on her computer or arm deep in a tank of ocean life.
She walked back to her room still scrolling through her emails when a new one pushed through with the subject 'Urgent Meeting.' Atsuhi furrowed her eyebrows, it wasn't like her mother to email her about meetings. More often than not when Iniga needed something she'd show up in Atsuhi's lab, or find her in the cafeteria. So Atsuhi tossed her bag quickly to her bed, typed in the code to shut and lock the door, and hurried down the hall.
The Sumida River was noticeably calm that day. The rain that had been laying siege to Asakusa had been surging the river's waters the entire week making the river ride high on its path through town, occasionally lapping over the smooth worn wood and spilling onto the street. Further out, the Sumida Bay churned with the new water, filling Asakusa with a sound that reminded Benimaru strongly of his childhood. He hadn't taken note of when he decided to sit down on the wooden barrier of the river so he had no idea how long he'd sat looking solemnly into the clear rushing water. Occasionally a fish would dart past in the water or children would run over the wooden bridge not far from where he sat. More than anything around him he found himself thinking about the dense summer nights where he'd been dragged from his room in the guardhouse and led eagerly to the river to illicitly swim in the cool water.
"Benimaru!" Called a high, fragile voice from the road behind him. He turned to see the elderly woman, her hair in a neat gray bun, smiling gently at him as she held her bag in front of her with both hands. "Thinking of going for a swim? I'd say it is hot enough," she laughed gently.
"Huh?" roughly escaped Benimaru's mouth that was now tugging into a frown.
"Your boot, dear," the old woman smiled, far too familiar with Benimaru's rough attitude to be off-put.
He frowned at her deeply before he bothered to look to his boot where his hand was hovering over the laces. He felt a tug, something like anger or disappointment, deep in the pit of his stomach. But he ignored it like he always did. Like how he ignored his fingers twitching towards his laces for a moment before he pushed himself off the grown.
Standing now Benimaru towered over the elder, but she didn't seem to mind. Instead, she smiled up at him gently, "Beni, dear, could you come by the house now? We've got a loose step and I'm afraid it might need to be replaced rather than hammered down."
Benimaru stared for a moment, before reaching out to take a sharp hold of the woman's bag. Despite the force that he reached for it with, his hold was gentle as he waited for the old woman to let it go. She tutted at him in protest but let the bag go and Benimaru slung it over his shoulder, "Yeah, sure, let's go."
The walk was quiet, as it always was when she'd call upon Benimaru to help her with the house. But she didn't mind, she'd known Benimaru since he was a young boy. He'd always been a solemn and quiet natured person, even if his drinking and gambling would make onlookers think otherwise. To her mind, it seemed those things only helped Benimaru get out of his head, a tradition of Asakusa that relied on wildness and unpredictability like the fireworks he favored so much, or the fires he fought so often. She never pressed Benimaru to talk to her but she never shied from talking to him and so often when they walked she would tell him how the shop was, discuss an upcoming festival or the recent passing of one of their own had they been so unfortunate. And though she talked at length she tried to avoid bringing up her family. Especially her young granddaughter.
Benimaru slid open the door to her house and let her in first as he bent to untie his laces before toeing off his boots and stepping inside. It was a modest house, a low open main area with soft pillows to sit on, a fire pit in the middle of the room. Around the side, the stairs that lead up to the bedroom where, once upon a time, the whole Myōjin family had slept. Benimaru's nose pinched at the strong sweet smell emanating from the kitchen, "You're already whipping up more sweets, you old bat?"
The old woman took the bag from Benimaru, laughing, and headed to the kitchen, "And who said I'd give any more to you since you always complain?"
Benimaru rolled his eyes and headed for the stairs and sure enough, a board was badly loose. He was a little surprised that she or her husband with his bad old eyes hadn't been pitched to the floor yet, "And who do you think you are letting this step get this bad? You trying to pass on early?"
The old woman walked back into his view from the kitchen, the sleeves of her kimono tied back and an apron pulled over the front, "No, I'd rather stick around a bit longer, but you've been busy, and I'm not so old I can't take an extra step, you know."
Benimaru grunted, "Yeah well. It'll need to be replaced." And then he stood to gather her husband's old tools from the back of the house and get to work. He was fortunate, at least, that the old man had kept these things, so he didn't have to walk back to the guardhouse to get his. Benimaru had destroyed and built so many homes in Asakusa the methods and measurements were second nature; he barely had to think as he sawed and sanded the new tread. The people of Asakusa had long standardized their homes, the arrangement might be different but all the steps, doors, draws, and windows were the same size. It made it easier to build them again, it was practical if not a little brutal.
With the step quickly finished, Benimaru returned into the house and set about ripping out the loose nails that held the old tread in place. He examined the risers, ensuring he'd done all that would be needed, before hammering down the replacement. He stood back to look at his work and then walked up the steps, rocking on the new piece to check its stability.
Normally, when Benimaru came over to the Myōjin house he was cautious to not look around. It wasn't so much a conscious choice as an innate protective measure. But today, he was distracted, like he'd been down at the river and so standing on the stairs his eyes wandered up to the landing. He continued up the steps absentmindedly and came to the top where a small table sat. The table held family photos, a yellowed photo of the old woman and her husband, then much younger and dressed elegantly for their wedding. Her son in his youth, seemingly stopping to pose in the middle of playing with other children in the street, his face still pulled into a familiar awkward smile. Benimaru picked up a highly polished wooden frame, the newest photo on the table by the looks of it though by Benimaru's memory the photo was nearly a decade old now.
Gazing out from the frame were two young faces, one barely pulled into a smile, red mismatched eyes pleading for the photographer to hurry up. Benimaru's hairstyle hadn't changed much over the years but looking now it felt like back then his hair covered his eyes more making him look soft and childish in a way he was sure he no longer did. Around his left eye was a gentle purple shade, a bruise left from training that hadn't yet faded when the photo was taken. While Benimaru looked desperate to be freed from posing, the girl beside him seemed overjoyed. One arm was thrown around Benimaru's neck pulling his face in beside hers. The other held up like a showman who'd just finished their routine, palm out and fingers spread wide, held above her head. She gave a wide toothy grin that scrunched her sharp hazel eyes so they almost looked closed. The bangs of her light-brown hair framed her face and behind her, a flash of her ponytail blurred the camera when she jumped to hug him for the photo.
"Well you can't even tell which step it was now," the old woman's voice spoke from behind him.
Benimaru turned to look, the frame still resting in his hands. He saw the change that washed over the old woman's face though she tried to hide it. He felt a tug, deep in his stomach again. Maybe regret? Or anger? He gripped the frame more tightly but refused to look into her face again, to see how the freckles trailed over her nose or how her head rested so comfortably against his own.
"Why don't you stay for dinner? I've got to thank you for the step after all," she offered.
"Yeah, all right," Benimaru said, setting the photo down without looking before he walked down the steps, his head held at a lower angle than the old woman ever saw him carry in the streets of Asakusa.
Atsuhi always admired her mom's office, everything had a place and everything was always in the place it had. She'd always been that way. A uniquely tidy woman and also deeply unbothered by the messy workstations Atsuhi and her father tended to create. Iniga had never been a hands-on mother. When Atsuhi needed to learn something practical like tying her shoes or budgeting her allowance Iniga dutifully taught her but soft skills weren't Iniga's strong suit, so teaching them was far out of the question.
Iniga's eyes were on the door when Atsuhi entered and as soon as the door slid shut behind her Iniga spoke, "Come sit down, I need to trust you with something serious."
Atsuhi tilted her head in confusion at her mother, but she sat in the chair across from her mom, "What's going on?"
"I think Hajime is going to do something to the base. Something dangerous," Iniga spoke with a slow control but her voice was a tight edge, a string pulled taut. Iniga swiveled her computer screen to face Atsuhi, "Look at this."
For a moment, Atsuhi's eyes lingered on her mother's face. Iniga didn't smile often, and the natural tilt of her mouth made her appear as though she was always lightly mocking someone. Her eyes were sharp, eyebrows tilting down toward a strong thin nose. She was beautiful but severe. An intimidating woman, the tight clench in her jaw made her even more so. All it took was a quick quirk of Iniga's eyebrow for Atsuhi's eyes to dark to the screen. She quickly scanned over the document, it was a spreadsheet full of numbers and color-coded. Atsuhi frowned, struggling to get information from the screen as fast as Iniga wanted her too, "what is this? Shipments…? Margins of error? I don't understand how this is related?"
"I have reason to believe that experiments are being tampered with. Seals have been broken on shipments coming down. The margin of error on key experiments is going beyond the acceptable rate. And most importantly," Iniga paused to scroll to a different page and Atsuhi looked back at the screen, "Key equipment is being found with wear on them that could lead to critical failure if not repaired, wear that is natural but not for the age the equipment currently is."
Atsuhi blinked, "I know Hajime hates competition but this...failure like that could be catastrophic. If the safety measures failed…"
Iniga nodded solemnly, "Kaseya and his team are checking in on them now."
Atsuhi nodded, her father was a gifted engineer. It was his design that made a base structured at the bottom of the ocean viable after all. If anyone would know if the safety measures were tampered with, it was him, "What do you want me to do?"
"For now I just want you to be aware of the situation. Keep an eye on the scientists you work with. I have a feeling whoever is doing this probably isn't working in engineering or systems management. Tell me anything you notice as soon as you can but always here and always in person."
"Okay," Atsuhi stood, Iniga already turning her computer back toward her, "Is that all?"
"Right now that's all we can do, I'll try and-" Iniga was cut off but a clear high buzz, silence, another loud buzz. In the hall, a light was flashing in time with the buzz, vermillion red. The warning alarm.
For only a moment Atsuhi and Iniga linked eyes, "Call for help from anyone you can, I'm going to go."
"Fia!" Iniga shouted her nickname after her, but Atsuhi was already sprinting down the hall.
Atsuhi threw off her lab coat as she ran. Scanning windows and doorways as she passed. In the distance, she could hear the tight hiss of the fire suppression system but she couldn't yet see the orange lick of flames or smell the sour scent of soot. But she ran on, eyes searching in every room she passed looking for anything she could intervene on. She couldn't imagine this was Hajime, she'd heard rumors but she couldn't believe they'd threaten the lives of the entire base, over one hundred people. She hadn't run far but her heart was racing. It had been a long time since she'd used her ignition ability, even longer since she'd seen an infernal much less fought one. Despite herself, she imagined the old indigo robes she used to don. A lick of fire slid from her mouth as she ran smoke furling out in the air behind her.
But all of the energy Atsuhi had built-in herself as she ran drained out of her body when she turned the corner. She hit her heel hard, grabbing the door frame to help her stop short. Ten people had been there, late to get to breakfast by the look of their half-eaten meals. Somehow they'd all turned infernal at the same time, all writhing in agony as the last of their old selves burned away. Atsuhi's eyes flashed, another string of flame coiling from her mouth drawing the attention of the infernals as the alarm echoed off the cold metal walls.