Fear invariably and universally induces

disengagement, and disengagement is

negative division of labor.

Alan Greenspan

Disengagement

Breathe.

Frantic heartbeats almost overrode the string sonata as I stood on the rooftop, sultry notes pouring from translucent mouths. My ears stung with the sound but I ignored it, grimacing at the thick liquid seeping from one shoulder. A practiced breeze whipped hair from my sweat-streaked face, allowing a clear view of those spilling through the open door.

The snapping of five metal jaws filled the air, each trained on my head and chest, wielded by well-trained dogs intent on protecting their master. A prized pet stood behind them, nursing a head injury while the main attraction smirked, safe inside his living fortress. All men I knew and trusted–

They couldn't help me now.

Glancing over one shoulder, the city opened its mouth wide for me, bearing vicious teeth in the form of power poles, parked cars and bus stops. Each detail stung – the objects were only an inch in diameter – and grew smaller by the second. Invisible assailants clawed my abdomen, my biceps, my chest; restricting air flow, cutting off circulation. No matter how much I hated it, the command had been given–

There was no turning back.

Breathe.

Suddenly, Tatsuo's words from our first job flooded my ears, overriding the violin solo. 'Just focus on the blue – blue never lies and takes your mind wherever it needs to go.'

Tipping my head back, I forced my attention away, far from the gaping maw and buildings the color of spoiled mayonnaise. The sky was just as I remembered it: thick with clouds like looming giants, each promising rain, each waiting to swallow the city. Not surprising given the time of year, but definitely not what I wanted to see. However, after nearly a full minute of searching, a sigh breached my lips:

Despite everything, blue remained.

The raindrop grew into a crystal sea and I closed my eyes, lost to the deep as harps joined their companions. Blue cascaded again and again and still I waited, ready for the images that were sure to come: a tiny house, the garden full of lilies and hydrangeas; parks with scented trees and laughing children. Pretty lady on the big screen; a stone staircase covered with vines. Big teeth, a piercing scream–

Breathe.

I gasped, wincing as air filled my starved lungs. The men waited still, confident, black mouths never wavering.

Their boss chose then to step forward, pale hands empty, entreating. "Just give up."

A low hiss and I grit my teeth, heart hammering against aching ribs.

'Just give up – let blue have you.'

The patch of sky filled my vision once again and I dove beneath the waves, carving through each image with ready fingers:

Dancing daffodils under a sunlit sky; painted roses coloring an aged fence, red, pink and white giving life to outdated playground equipment. Birds singing; high-pitched laughter. A spirited game of tag, the wind in my face–

A child's paradise.

Too soon, dusk dusted the sky and everyone went home. A hand in mine, pulling me down the street – a woman's hand. Unbalanced singing, tasteful warbling from a honeyed throat:

Mommy.

The river gurgled below, timid yet assuring in its flow. Street lights buzzed to life in the gathering darkness. A reminder from a passing stranger of rising crime rates in the city.

Then, the faceless man appeared.

"There's nowhere left for you to run."

My gaze fixed once more on the armed men, feet retreating one inch, then two. Blue hugged the corner of my eye, knowing, assuring–

Promising refuge from reaching hands.

The wind took the leader's gasp as I leaned back, allowing the sky to take me. "Don't–!"

But it was too late.

I was falling.

"I think we got it all in one shot."

Ayumu bit his inner cheek, checking the footage once more on the laptop at his side. Two cameras fed directly into their respective ports via twining cables whereas a single USB drive protruded from the opposite end of the device, effectively giving everyone the middle finger.

Idle chatter and the shuffling of equipment faded as I drank deeply from a water bottle, the liquid instantly calming my roiling stomach. A young director with remarkable intuition, Daichi Ayumu never hesitated when something caught his eye. At only thirty years old, Ayumu retained the daring limited to youth, giving his films a definite yet intangible edge in the market. While several agencies could only view a stunt double with an aversion to heights as flawed, he saw such a thing as a minor setback. Nicknamed Napoleon for his stature and ravenous ambition, he never hesitated when making a decision, especially if the choice was controversial.

Thus, how I came to be a part of nearly all his films.

Running a hand through finger-length locks, Ayumu resettled his cap, the logo for the Hanshin Tigers glaring from his forehead. "Darken the lighting a bit here, cut out the bit showing your face there, and perfect!" He grinned, tapping away at the keyboard with decisive clicks. Motioning me over, he enlarged the screen once again. "What do you think?"

Before I could generate a response, the feed played me falling from the roof, hands and feet reaching skyward. Even though I knew how the shot ended – the ballooned mat catching me with open arms – I couldn't bring myself to watch past the first frame.

Jaw set, I took another sip of water, forcing words through a clogged throat. "It's fine."

Sympathy softened Ayumu's ruddy face and he nodded, rising from his chair. "You did great, Odawara."

Gut twisting with effort, I forced the words out. "If we need to do it again–"

"There's no need." He smiled, saving the clip to the protruding drive. "You've done your job – leave the rest to the editors."

After a moment's hesitation, I nodded, ashamed at the sweat beading my brow. The office building loomed before us, brick roof taunting from seventy five stories up. "What else?"

"Nope, that's all." Ayumu motioned to the actors going over their lines a few yards away, one a woman wearing a costume similar to mine. "It's their turn now, so take the rest of the day off. We'll pick up again tomorrow."

I couldn't stop the frown marring my mouth, nor the sting of partiality. "Ayumu–"

"Seriously, you've done enough, Odawara." He sat back down, eyes glancing over a digital list from the tablet in his hand. "We'll start fresh tomorrow."

Everything within me wanted to argue but Ayumu was already gone, mentally immersed in the next task. Tongue catching a sigh, I gave a short bow before turning, leaving the set with measured steps.

Shuffling feet gave away his presence, each step trampling Einaudi's Divenire. "Good job today."

My gaze shifted, though I didn't dare move my head – a makeup artist's wrath was a turbulent force, even when they were stripping away a masterpiece. Motaru stood just inside the area designated for my dressing room, hands thrust deep into denim pockets. Already out of clean-up, his street clothes pulled at taut muscles, giving him the appearance of a pro-athlete or bodyguard rather than an actor. Looking first this way then that, he somehow made the space appear smaller than it actually was, meaty head blocking any natural light from beyond the canvas flaps.

A grunt of acknowledgment appeared to satisfy him and he settled in to wait, helping himself to a fold out chair placed for just that purpose.

Fake blood and too many products to name fell beneath the woman's skilled fingers and I gave myself over to her touch, lost to the music and memories of blue.

Or rather, what the blue refused to show me.

Dull green settled into the memory, banishing the faceless man's laugh and the screams that followed. Unpolished emeralds drew me once more to Black Lotus, to the man lost to his books and ever-cooling coffee. Those eyes acted as a balm, banishing any remnants fear from the fall as well as that dreadful night. Steady hands, lips tracing printed words–

Why couldn't I get him off my mind?

"Is it, um," Motaru's voice broke through his spell and I realized the woman was no longer at my side. In fact, we were alone in the dressing room and he'd risen, hands still buried in his pockets. "Getting any easier?"

I eased out of the chair, rolling both shoulders first back, then forward. A fear of heights was something no one would readily admit, though in our profession, the phobia carried a heavier shame, a feeling of dread with each new contract–

Also, such a thing made our job even more dangerous.

"You mean jumping?" I asked, reaching for the yellow blouse on the equipment case. Too late, I remembered the make up artist stripped my abdomen to the bare essentials. A sports bra alone separated my chest from the open air – a fact Motaru's reddened face and averted gaze attested to. Oh, well:

Nothing could be done for it now.

"Y-yeah." He mumbled, rubbing meaty fingers across a threadbare scalp. "I mean . . . This was your first time since then, right?"

My fingers faultered.

Then. Leave it to Motaru – lumbering, awkward, kind-hearted Motaru – to handle such a matter delicately.

We first met six months ago, on the set of another Ayumu project. The film in question was another oddball idea which exploded in the box office – a sci-fi bit about robots taking over the world. Even though it was the kid's first gig, Ayumu hired Motaru and I to work together on the piece: our characters were partners, so it made perfect sense to the director and no one objected. Explosions, car chases, hand-to-hand combat with CGI cyborgs–

Everything went smoothly until the fourth day of filming.

Motaru and I attended similar schools for our line of work, yet when the time came for me to really show him the ropes – a scene where we jumped from building to building to escape enemy fire– I couldn't deliver. In fact, Motaru sailed across the gap while I stood frozen in place, staring at the street below. It didn't matter that invisible wires separated me from oblivion, that various fail-safes were in place to prevent disaster. Every color faded to gray; my tongue stuck in my throat. Before I knew it, fire took hold of my lungs and I was falling, the world uncaring of my plight.

I woke up to Motaru cradling me like a small child.

Hyperventilation was nothing new with this phobia, especially living in a big city, but never before had an episode occurred while filming. After being cleared by the medical team, Ayumu sent me home. Motaru confided later that he'd seen me tottering and rushed back to catch me; he almost didn't make it. I felt it my duty to tell him about my fear, revealing only the bare essentials–

He didn't need to know the whole truth, anyway.

"Yeah, I suppose so." I smiled, pocketing the ear buds before pushing both arms through the sleeves. Buttons slid into place easily enough and I adjusted the collar, checking the reflection in the full length mirror. "It wasn't as bad this time."

The admission came out softer than I intended, though he didn't question my tone. "What changed?"

Muted green eyes flashed across my mind's eye and my hands faltered, staring at the glass. "Nothing much."

He snorted, an uncharacteristically harsh sound. "Oh, come on, Odawara–"

"I just listened to Tatsuo. That's all."

A raised brow."Tats, huh?" He smirked then, a knowing gesture. "His whole speech on 'surrendering to the sky'?"

"Something like that, yeah."

Dense knowing gave way to musing as he frowned, one hand coming to pull at the chest of his white shirt. "For some reason, that never worked for me. I just jump and don't really think about it, you know?" Bottom lip lifting, he sighed, releasing the garment. "Guess it only works for scaredy-cats."

I smirked in turn, turning to face him. "Oh? And who was it that puked everywhere the first time he saw fake blood on-set?"

Motaru grinned, a blush dusting both cheeks. "Least I don't pass out from the view four stories up."

"As charming as this is, I'm ready to go home." I patted his arm, shouldering past him and into the sun's embrace. "We'll work more on your foreplay next time."

"Wait – foreplay?"

"I'm home!"

The call went unanswered as I removed my shoes in the genkan, feet sliding readily into their favorite slippers. Two guest pair remained stationary in the slotted table, both house warming gifts only used once.

Keys jangled in the ashtray and I stepped onto the smooth wood floor, a cooling Black Lotus to-go cup in-hand. Dusk lit the living room in brilliant light, dying the furniture and walls varying reds, yellows, and oranges. Three floor-to-ceiling bookcases, one rarely used television; a couch and love-seat set, and a wooden coffee table adorned with a stack of neatly-typed pages made up the living area. A record player sat on a shelf in the corner along with several LPs – my only extravagant purchase – keeping watch over my latest victim.

The fern had lasted longer than expected. After purchasing the plant at a weekend market, I'd spent the last month caring for it to the best of my ability. However, despite ample watering and sunlight, receiving a name and even my conversing with it daily, the fern continued to die. Each frond drooped, faded leaf tips almost touching the floor–

This made the fifth one this year.

I sighed, choosing a record to play at random before sinking into the couch. Latin choir music filled the apartment, drowning out the sounds of traffic from the first floor window. Coffee coated my tongue as I took a grateful sip, eyes closing to the angelic voices of children.

However, a tickling at my nose forbade all thoughts of sleep.

Green eyes filled my vision and I grinned at the black face. "Holding the place down, Toki?"

The cat purred in response, side vibrating against my fingertips. A short-haired tom, Toki had come into my life two years ago. I don't know how he caught my attention out of the hundreds of strays in this city, yet one look at those big green eyes and I was at the vet's office within an hour. My landlord became furious when he saw the fur ball, demanding I either get rid of the kitten or move out.

We were gone the next day.

Toki grew at an alarming rate. Though not quite the size of a Himalayan, he was easily the biggest cat I'd ever owned and easily dwarfed the neighborhood felines. He got along well with animals, though he remained cautious of everyone besides me. So, whenever he somehow escaped the apartment – which happened more than I'd care to admit – all I had to do was find the biggest group of strays in the neighborhood and he was there.

Also, Toki never quite grew into his eyes; or rather, his eyes seemed to grow with him. This resulted in him having the eyes of a kitten even after growing into maturity–

Needless to say, I couldn't deny him anything.

"You think you have my number, huh?"

The purrs deepened though his gaze never left mine; a soft shuffling betrayed his tail's path along the back of the couch.

I rolled my eyes. "I know you didn't eat all the food I left this morning."

A pitiful mew and his tongue darted out to like my cheek. However, he never blinked. Not once.

The couch groaned as I rose, shuffling to the kitchen with a sigh. Toki darted ahead, meows rising like a trumpet heralding cavalry. Sure enough, his food bowl was half full, though I indulged him by filling it with dry food.

Toki sat at my feet, glancing first at the dish, then up at me and back again before emitting another mew. "What?" His eyes found mine once again before traveling to refrigerator, ears twitching. "Uh, no. You hear me? No." A sound deep in his chest, as close to a whine a cat could get. "Look, that was for when you were sick. You had to eat soft food for a week on doctor's orders, remember?"

Of course he remembered. Never mind he'd had a tooth pulled because it was coming in crooked, threatening his other teeth. All Toki knew was that the white box before him had tasty food and that he would get it, no matter how long he had to wait.

We'd gone through this with chicken broth when he was a baby, too.

"Fine." I growled, opening the refrigerator to pull out the pink can of cat food.

Toki yowled as I plopped the patté on top of the kibbles and gave me his best smile before digging in, tail curling around his paws.

I watched him for a moment before throwing the can away, shooting a low "Brat" in his direction.

Toki flicked an ear my way and that was the end of it.

The evening news held as much promise as always: stories of protests across the globe against demons, interviews with various humans and demons in human form, as well as a replay of the message initially given by the elusive Koenma, who claimed to be too busy to give another public statement. Women crying, men cursing the government–

All a bit over-the-top for my taste.

Still, the sooner everyone accepted things as they were, the sooner we could all get back to our normal lives:

Demons existing in our world was nothing new.

A/N: Hello and apologies for the delay! Due to data issues I will only be able to upload on Wednesdays and Sundays until further notice. Also, this chapter took a bit because Yusuke and Kurama kept interrupting my thought process for Azumi.

Thank you once again WhatWouldValeryDo for beta-reading!

And thank you all new followers and favorites! Your support is appreciated!

So, we have rising unrest in Human World as well as a glimpse into Azumi's world. The boys are back next chapter. Thanks for your continued readership!