Damn it.
Nezumi glared at the computer, but the code sequence on its screen was as impervious to intimidation as it was to his efforts at decoding it.
The mouse they had sent to Rou had returned within a day of being dispatched to No. 6. Nezumi wasn't sure what he expected to get from the older man, although nothing seemed a strong possibility. Rou might not understand the connection between Nezumi and the note, or he might think it was a trick, contrived to mark him as a dissident. Or he might believe the note, but simply choose not to answer. Nezumi considered several outcomes, and most of them ended with the mouse returning empty-handed.
But when the mouse crawled up onto the table, exhausted but triumphant, and spat out a small computer chip, a coolness settled inside Nezumi. They had been right; Rou knew what was going on in No. 6. There was n o accompanying note, which spoke perhaps to the caution of the sender. It was of little consequence. The information he had sought was in his possession, and the only thing left was to get it to the computer and find time to read it without arousing suspicion.
As it turned out, getting it up on the computer was less of an issue than Nezumi anticipated. Yoming's presence at headquarters had become increasingly rare, although when he did appear, he was enshrouded in an atmosphere even Nezumi considered too volatile to poke fun at. He kept careful watch for when Yoming entered, but he had little to fear from the other members. It was easy enough to pretend the code on the screen was for the robotic mouse.
Unfortunately, that excuse was fast becoming nonviable. The mouse was finished and he had already sent it on its way. No one at headquarters was yet privy to this fact, because he had planned to reveal it only after he had decoded Rou's chip.
The encryption was putting up a stubborn fight, however, and he had to do it all manually. The strings of numbers and letters on the screen burned themselves into his retinas. Nezumi cursed the primitive computer in front of him. Perhaps, though, he should lay the blame where it was really due. Another headache tugged at the back of his head.
Those bastards. He pushed away from the computer with a scowl.
"Problem?"
Safu frowned at him from the other side of the table. The question was casual, but with just the slightest hint of dislike, which was to say it was her normal tone with him. Still, he read something probing in the question. Safu had regarded him with remote vigilance ever since his fainting episode. It was not the product of concern; it was the kind of watchfulness one reserves for an insect they happen upon and fully intend to squash the minute it makes any movement towards them.
"One can only stare at a computer screen for so long."
She nodded. "Call it a day, then. I was just about to head out, and seeing as it's Shion's day off, I suppose that makes me your handler. So."
The scowl on Nezumi's face deepened. He understood she couldn't just say, "How about we go to knife practice?" but he didn't understand why she had to be so pointedly obnoxious with her pretexts.
"As usual, your social graces awe me.
He ejected the chip, laid it on the table, and shut the computer down. He then set to painstakingly straightening the objects on the table. It took Safu all of five seconds to realize he was doing it to annoy her. She rolled her eyes and walked towards the door, he assumed in an effort to deprive him of his audience. Nezumi smirked and slipped the chip into his pocket while her back was turned. This had been his aim from the start, but paying Safu back for her spite was always a bonus.
Unlike Shion, Safu had no aversion to taking the main street, and she burrowed through the people with impressive efficiency. Whereas Shion moved through the crowd with an air of deference, Safu was assertive and quick to take advantage of gaps as she came upon them. It was the difference between wading and weaving, and Nezumi much preferred the expedience of Safu's method.
They parted from the crowd and Nezumi was conscious of how uncomfortably hot his jacket was. After a brief deliberation, he removed it, and the chill of the wind brought him momentary relief. He draped the jacket over his arm and continued after Safu.
Safu made a face when he came up beside her. "You're not going to wear your coat?"
"It's not bad out."
"...Are you sure you want to do this?"
Nezumi discerned from her tone that his clothing preferences were no longer the topic of conversation.
"Knife practice? Why wouldn't I?"
"You passed out on my floor the other day," she stated blandly.
Nezumi met her mention of that hateful incident with an equally bland smile. "Am I detecting concern?"
"I'm not going to fetch people for you anymore." A defiant light blazed in her eyes as she said this. "I want to make sure we're clear on this. If you faint again, I'm going to leave you there."
"That's not very comrade-like of you, Safu. Isn't the Resistance about brotherhood and all that jazz?"
Safu sniffed. "Sure, the Resistance is, but West Block as a whole operates on the 'every man for himself' principle. A concept I'm sure you're more than well acquainted with."
"Quite," Nezumi responded with a meditative air. "Well, I don't feel the least bit faint right now, but if I foresee an attack, I'll try to make it outside your sightline. That way you can claim complete ignorance to Shion when he asks after me."
He could feel her glare, but he continued to stare straight ahead like he was none the wiser. She was far too susceptible to that piece of ammunition.
A door opened up a little ways down the street and Nezumi's eyes were drawn to the russet coat of the figure that stepped out.
"Speak of the devil." He nodded to the house.
It was always interesting to note the change in Safu's demeanor whenever Shion appeared. The hardness faded from her eyes and the lines of her mouth relaxed into something gentle, if not altogether good-humored. Despite her austerity, she never appeared more emotional than in the moments she looked at Shion. Nezumi wondered whether she realized the full extent of Shion's influence on her. It seemed ironic that Safu might be unconscious of a change that was so conspicuous to him.
Shion spent a moment speaking to the elderly woman inside the house, which gave Nezumi and Safu ample time to get to him.
"I'm sorry to drag you down here for something so silly. It isn't much, but please take this." The old woman took Shion's hand and placed a rather small and sad-looking bunch of grapes into it.
Shion held the offering gingerly. "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly—"
"Nonsense. There's no need to be shy. I have a little fish, too, if you'd like that instead?"
Shion continued to mumble excuses as to why accepting the fruit was impossible, while the woman smiled and muttered to the contrary. It was painful to watch. Safu was frowning at the exchange, but she made no indication of intervening.
"Really, it's fine," Shion insisted with a clumsy smile. "I don't need any compensation."
That idiot.
Nezumi stepped around Safu and strode over to the gently bickering couple.
He slipped his arm around the other boy's shoulders. "Fancy seeing you here, Shion."
"Nezumi." Shion blinked at him. "When did you…?"
"I just happened to be walking by. Oh," he said with a note of interest as his gaze slid to the fruit resting in Shion's outstretched hand. "Grapes? It's not often you see those around here. What a nice treat." Nezumi flashed a bright smile at the old woman and she, in turn, seemed gratified by his show of pleasure.
"Did you thank the lady, Shion?" He turned the dazzling smile on boy beside him.
Shion balked at the sweetness of his tone. His halfhearted explanation was cut short when Nezumi pressed a hand against the back of his head and forced him into a shallow bow.
Shion had no choice but to surrender in such a position. He uttered in a tone of sheepish gratitude, "Thank you very much, Ma'am. I really appreciate it."
"You have to excuse him," Nezumi explained. "Shion is terribly modest; accepting gifts makes him so nervous he often forgets his manners. He's always saying he considers his patients' happiness a payment in of itself."
The woman blinked between them, but her expression soon settled into a genial one. "Is that so? He's a very sweet boy," she conceded, with just the slightest hint of laughter.
"That he is. We must be going, but thank you again for the grapes. Come along, Shion." He steered Shion back towards Safu, who had been watching with an expression that managed somehow to be detached and interested at the same time.
"You shouldn't have done that," Shion said, once he was released.
"Are you kidding me? I absolutely should've done that. Even I know it's bad form to refuse people's gifts." Shion furrowed his brow. Nezumi sighed in exasperation. "You can't really be this dense. What have you been doing for the last sixteen years?"
"It's no use," Safu said. "I've told him countless times, but he keeps doing it anyway." She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head at Shion. "It's a matter of pride. Not accepting their payment is like saying you think you're above them."
"I don't think that at all," Shion protested. "It's just… I get a ration every week, but most people barely have enough to live on every day. And this…" He stared down at the grapes in his hands. "There are so many other people who need this more than me."
"You think you're doing them a kindness by not taking their food?"
Shion met Nezumi's narrowed eyes warily.
Nezumi released a second sigh, this one more woeful than the last. "Anyone who's ever met you knows what a sap you are; they wouldn't compensate you unless they felt like they needed to. They're not giving gifts for the hell of it; they're trying to rid themselves of any obligation they feel towards you. You're not doing them any favors by refusing. You're robbing them of the ability to clear away the debt of your service, a debt that only becomes more of a burden the longer it's left unpaid. Quit being so self-centered and accept what little dignity they have to offer."
Safu nodded and frowned at Shion. "It's a little embarrassing that Nezumi understands this better than you."
Shion's eyes darted back and forth between her and Nezumi, an edge of suspicion working its way into his pout. "You know… I'm glad you two are getting along, but if that means you're going to start ganging up on me, I'm not sure how I feel about that."
Nezumi snorted. "If you'd use that brain of yours once in a while, interventions of this sort wouldn't be necessary."
"Why aren't you wearing your jacket?" Shion demanded, glancing from Nezumi to the jacket over his arm.
"You're changing the subject."
"He said he's not cold," Safu snitched.
Shion gaped. "It's freezing out! You need to take better care of yourself."
He gave him a loaded look, which Nezumi assumed was meant to remind him of several nights past. However, his current headache was barely a bother, and although his body temperature had cooled from the crisp winter air, he was not uncomfortable. He considered that he might already be running a low fever, but he wasn't much concerned with this either.
"You're going to get sick," Shion said sternly.
"Not a problem. I know a good doctor."
The admonishment on Shion's face faltered, but he still grumbled, "I have enough work as it is."
"What's with that stingy remark?"
Shion sighed. "Here. I was on my way to give this to you." He pulled a canteen out of his pocket and held it out to Nezumi.
Nezumi took the canteen and stared at it with an aspect of amusement. "Thanks. —You didn't pack a lunchbox by any chance, did you?"
"…No?"
"Too bad." Nezumi tucked the canteen into his pocket. "Your impression of a housewife was almost perfect."
"That's not funny," Shion mumbled. His reproach was considerably weakened by the color rising in his cheeks.
Safu cleared her throat loudly. "If we're going to practice, we should get going."
She began walking. A few paces in, she looked behind her.
"You tagging along, Shion?"
"I'll see you to the end of the road," he answered, pulling up alongside her. He turned to Nezumi. "Did you have any luck breaking the code?"
Nezumi glanced at Safu.
"He told me about the chip."
He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. She would've gotten suspicious anyway, and it was somewhat of a comfort to know he didn't have to worry about her bludgeoning him with questions about his activities.
"No dice. It's gonna take a little longer to decipher."
Shion tilted his head at him.
"What?"
"No, it's just… Well…" Shion rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you want me to try for a little?" he said at last. Nezumi detected an element of eagerness to his words.
"Be my guest," he said with a shrug. Nezumi fished the chip out of his pocket and deposited it in Shion's palm.
"You're finished with the robot, right?" Safu framed it like a question, but she seemed certain of the answer.
"Yup."
"Maybe we should talk about where we're going to send it, then."
"I've already taken care of it." If she knew about the chip, there was no point in hiding the fact.
Safu looked baffled. "What? How?" She sent Shion a questioning look.
"We have a plan."
"You never said anything about a plan."
Shion smiled apologetically. "Well, we—"
"I have a contact in No. 6," Nezumi interjected. "Don't worry about it."
Nezumi's voice expressed an indifference that could easily be taken for confidence, but, in truth, he wasn't entirely sure how his decision would pan out.
At the very least, they'll be curious enough to look into it. After that… Well, we'll just have to hope for the best. Nezumi smiled wanly to himself. Blind faith wasn't his forte. Perhaps Shion is rubbing off on me. I'll have to be more careful.
"You could've at least mentioned it to me before you sent it off." Safu was clearly offended that they didn't see fit to consult her on the matter, but seeing as she could do nothing about it now, she turned away without further comment.
A man stepped out of the alleyway in front of Nezumi and he hopped back just in time to avoid a collision. The man likewise teetered backwards, and in the seconds before he steadied himself, Nezumi had a sightline into the alley behind him. He noticed two other men, pulling a bicycle-drawn cart between them. The cart, coupled with the large stature and rough appearance of the man in front of him, left their identities plain. Nezumi's spirits sank.
Just my luck.
After the initial surprise, the dull look on the man's face hardened into one of which malice was the least repulsive component.
"Ey… I ain't never seen you before," he drawled, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "You new 'round here?"
The man had a leather patch strapped over one eye, giving him a beefy pirate look that Nezumi found difficult to take seriously. Still, he resisted the impulse to show any emotion on his face. He knew well enough not to engage the Disposers. Apart from the evident risk, it was a waste of time and energy, and he was in no mood to entertain slobbering half-wits. Nezumi stepped to the side and walked around him.
"Hold on now—"
Nezumi sensed the danger as soon as he passed, and slipped out of reach of the man's fumbling grasp with little trouble. In the process, he caught a whiff of a sour stench rolling off the man's person, which no doubt explained his bloated and ruddy complexion. Even though he was more than able to dodge the swipe, the man's perseverance made him wary of turning his back again. There seemed little choice but to deal with him.
"Is there a problem here?" asked a feminine voice.
Nezumi kept his attention on the Disposer in front of him, but he noticed Safu step beside him. He suspected Shion was not far behind. The Disposers were not to be outdone; the two men pulling the bicycle drew up beside their drunken comrade and turned unfriendly eyes on Safu. No doubt they recognized the gold bandana.
"Oh," the one-eyed man chuckled. "You're Resistance, huh? What a waste!" His lips twisted into a wry smile. "Hey, how 'bout you ditch those stiffs and hang with us a while? We can show you a better time."
Nezumi answered with a patronizing smile. "Might want to show yourself to a better pick-up line first."
"Nezumi." Safu's voice was calm, but the flat edge to the word indicated a hidden disapproval. "Let's go."
"Oh, come on, sweetheart. Loosen up," called the mustached Disposer to the left of One-eye. He looked younger than his companions, but not by much. "I know we Disposers and the Resistance don't get along, but who says we can't treat each other good, huh?" His brows arched suggestively. "Why don't you come play with us, too? I'll treat you real good."
"Hey." Shion stepped to the forefront. "Come on, guys. There's enough trouble between our groups as it is. Let it be, alright?"
The man looked inclined to respond, but the right-hand Disposer beat him to it.
"You guys hear that yapping? Sounds like Yoming's bitch," the third man quipped. He was scrawny in comparison with the other two, but apparently he made up for this fact with his superior wit.
The other two men took a minute to guffaw at their buddy's latest gem while Shion stood by with an expression of resigned patience, and Safu seethed at their complete lack of respect. Nezumi, for his part, was astounded at the level of idiocy some people possessed.
"Like mother like son, eh?" the mustached man chuckled.
Nezumi felt Shion tense beside him.
"Nah, the kid's got standards," said One-eye. "He only answers to Yoming. But Karan…" He crossed his arms and eyed Shion with a lazy grin. "She'd lay down for anyone."
A dull crack vibrated the air. The Disposer's head whipped to the side and the force of the impact sent him tumbling to the ground. By the time Nezumi registered that Shion had punched the man in the face, Shion was already on top of him. The man's already red complexion turned an even brighter shade, and the alarm on his face was enough to draw the onlookers out of their stupor. Shion's fingers were wrapped around the man's windpipe, and he was steadily but resolutely strangling him.
Nezumi's eyes widened.
"Whoa, hey, kid! He didn't mean it!" The mustached Disposer scrambled to pull Shion off, while the scrawny one attempted to heave their partner in the opposite direction.
"Shion!" Safu shrieked. She grabbed Shion's arm and tugged. "Shion, stop!"
The man had begun to cough and sputter, but despite the efforts of Safu and the Disposers, Shion refused to loosen his grip.
"You take that back," he hissed at the writhing man. He jerked him violently when he didn't—couldn't—answer. "Take it back!"
Nezumi took a step forward and grasped Shion's other arm. "Let him go, you idiot."
Between him and the Disposers, they were able to wrench Shion's hands from the man's throat. Nezumi and Safu held Shion back while the other men dragged his victim safely out of reach.
Shion struggled in their grips. "Let me go," he snarled. "I'm fine! Let go!"
He elbowed Nezumi forcefully in the sternum. It was a well-placed blow, and painful enough that he released him. There was something animalistic in Shion's rage that spoke to an equally primal part of Nezumi's being. This person was a threat; his instincts screamed at him to recoil.
It made him angry.
He held Shion's livid gaze with glacial disgust. At last, Shion broke the glare to check his hand. The knuckles were red, but not split. He turned his leer on the Disposers. The drunken one was still coughing and wheezing, but the other two flinched back. Without another word, Shion turned and stalked off.
A small circle of people had stopped to watch the fight, and they parted soundlessly to let him pass. Nezumi cast a look at Safu, but her stricken countenance followed Shion.
"Look, man, we didn't mean anything by it."
Nezumi returned his attention to the Disposers.
"He's drunk," the scrawny one whimpered. "He didn't mean it. Right?"
One-eye had recovered himself some, but he wasn't up to speaking. He spat out a mouthful of blood and nodded weakly in response.
"Please don't tell Yoming. We won't say nothing either, promise."
Safu sent them a cursory glance. "Let's go, Nezumi."
She strode off.
"What the hell was that?"
She stared straight ahead and didn't answer.
"Does that happen often?"
"Drop it."
Nezumi cut in front of her. "I don't think I will. I have to live with that."
"Nezumi, shut up!" she snapped.
He studied the raw emotion on her face. It lasted barely second. She pushed past him and barreled through the crowd.
"What was that?"
Safu knocked his arm away with a precise slap. Nezumi grimaced, bouncing back to avoid a downward slash at his leg.
"Your strikes are sloppy," she sneered.
She stutter-stepped forward and jabbed. He voided the hit and retreated once more, but she followed. He raised his free hand to protect his face, checked the impulse to swipe at her exposed neck, and watched for the rush. No doubt she intended to pressure him until he lost his patience and acted recklessly. Although, guessing her objective made it no less difficult to counter—especially when his body seemed hell-bent on sabotaging his concentration.
He had put his jacket back on to spar. Safu's hits left bruises even with the leather blunting the blows, and he had no desire to experience what welts might form if he chose to forgo what little protection it offered. But he was still unbearably warm and it was wreaking havoc with his focus.
"Pay attention," Safu rebuked him.
If she noticed his discomfort, it did not sway her from attempting to drive her spoon into his face. He managed to narrowly escape.
They had practiced enough that they were past keeping score of wins and loses, but Nezumi was aware of having taken more hits that day than Safu. She had been irritable before they began, and her mood had not improved in the slightest, despite the passage of an hour. It only grew worse and worse, and she became proportionally more critical of his missteps.
Normally, Nezumi had no trouble matching her intensity. He had just as many frustrations to vent, and he had the speed, and now the skills, to do so. But he just felt so exhausted. Every movement was twice as much effort as usual, and anticipating Safu's attacks took a significant chunk of his energy.
A few strands of his bangs clung to his damp forehead, and although his natural impulse was to wipe them away, he repressed it. It was barely a passing thought, a decision that took less than a second to make, but Safu was especially keen that evening, and that flicker of irresolution was all she needed. She sprung forward, her spoon trailing a clear path down the length of his knife arm.
It was a crippling blow, and both he and Safu were aggravated at his glaring lack of defense.
"These are beginner's mistakes," Safu howled. "I can't practice like this. Take a break. Get a drink and come back when you're ready to fight seriously."
The gibe stung Nezumi's pride, but the flash of anger produced by the insult only survived long enough for him to scowl at Safu and head to where his canteen rested against the wall of the house. He plucked the container off the ground and stared down at it. His head felt heavy, and there was a pressure behind his eyes that continued to build in time with the furious pounding of his heart.
Something's wrong with me. That much he already knew. The symptoms he had now were nowhere near as intense as the last time, but they were distressing just the same.
Nezumi took a swig of the canteen and almost choked, assaulted as his taste buds were with a bitter minty tang. The contents were not water, but herbal tea—the same Shion had made him for his headaches. It tasted worse cold than it did hot.
How could the boy who would come all the way downtown on his day off to deliver an herbal remedy be the same person who would remorselessly strangle someone on the street? Shion was an airheaded bookworm who smiled too much and empathized with the misfortunes of others to the degree of personal injury. He nursed sick orphans and theorized about world peace in his spare time. He was a diehard altruist in an environment that not only sanctioned egocentrism, but in which selfishness was practically a necessity of life.
And yet, despite those things, Nezumi knew Shion was not innocent—he had known since the start of their acquaintance. There had been several warnings since he had come to reside with him, derived from Nezumi's own observations, as well as from Safu and Yoming. Something ruthless lurked behind Shion's gentle demeanor. Nezumi knew this.
But then how is it so easy to forget? Most of the time, he's so clueless and naïve he could easily pass for a No. 6 citizen. And just when I think I've never met anyone more blind to the world, something like that incident this afternoon happens, and I'm disgusted with myself for having forgotten.
No matter what he did, his mind refused to reconcile the two images of Shion.
"Nezumi," Safu called.
The white of Nezumi's breath fanned out before him as he exhaled. He tipped the canteen back and downed half of the tea.
"I think we should stop for today," said Safu when he returned to her.
He was surprised by this announcement, although not altogether adverse to the suggestion.
"Why is that?"
"You've violated the first and most important rule of combat: you entered a fight you couldn't win. Worst of all, you knew you couldn't win from the start, and you still agreed to it."
"What makes you think I can't win?"
Safu's eyes narrowed to mere slits. "You're pale, you're sweating, and you look like you're going to vomit. You're completely useless and I refuse to waste any more of my time. I'm taking you back."
"So I'm getting mercied, is that it?" Nezumi smiled drolly. "What happened to leaving me for dead?"
"If you want to stay out here, be my guest. But I'm leaving."
Nezumi decided to cut the repartee short. His headache was growing more insistent.
For all her talk of going home, Safu did not seem to be in any particular hurry. She headed in the opposite direction of the bunker when they hit the main street. He was baffled for a moment, but as soon as she began heading in the direction of Gin and Yang, he remembered it was ration day.
He had gone with Shion to pick up his ration several times, although Nezumi himself never received one. Shion encouraged him to claim his share at the beginning, but after Nezumi made it quite clear he intended to take nothing from the Resistance, Shion backed down.
Safu took her bag of rations from Yang with terse thanks. On their way out, she asked Nezumi to confirm that he was in no danger of fainting on the walk back. She received his playful negative with a sober, "Good," and proceeded on the familiar route to the bunker. She didn't so much as look at him again until they neared the warehouse.
A slight apprehension visited Nezumi at the sight of it. He wasn't the only one with reservations; Safu's pace slowed and she stared at the building ahead without seeming to see it. They paused outside the entrance and Safu set an appraising eye on Nezumi.
"If Shion needs anything, send for me."
Nezumi's mouth quirked into a semblance of a smirk. "I think Shion's more than capable of taking care of himself, don't you?"
Safu scoffed. "Go to bed, Nezumi." She spun around and walked off.
Nezumi went into the warehouse and pressed the section on the wall to reveal the staircase. The dark corridor yawned below him. He approximated that he and Safu had been out for two hours or so. It was a decent chunk of time, and certainly long enough for Shion to have cooled off, but it was also just short enough that it was just as possible that Shion could still be agitated. Nezumi himself had harbored grudges for longer.
He stepped down onto the top stair and the canteen shifted in his pocket. Well, even if he is still angry, it has nothing to do with me. The minute he realizes I'm feeling the least bit poorly, he'll go back to being unbearably accommodating, anyway.
The door inched open before he was halfway to it.
"Welcome back."
The words gave Nezumi pause. Shion's voice was tight and he swore he heard an underlying tremor to it. Perhaps it was the acoustics of the corridor that caused it, but then there was Shion's body language to be considered.
"Somebody looks guilty," he remarked, stepping inside.
Shion furrowed his brow and fluttered away from the door to stand in the middle of the room.
"I deciphered the chip," he said after clearing his throat.
"You did?"
Shion nodded.
"Well? What'd it say?"
"It's… strange. It talks about the history of No. 6…"
Nezumi frowned. He didn't know what he expected to be on the chip, but that wasn't it.
"And it mentions Elyurias," Shion said slowly.
"Oh, that's good. Safu will be happy to hear that."
"No."
Nezumi blinked at the force he put behind the word.
Shion bit his lip. "I don't think we should tell her," he said in a meeker voice. "I mean, unless you think we should—after you read it."
Nezumi's surprise gave way to suspicion. "What's with you? You're freaking me out."
"It's strange," he repeated with a shake of his head. "You'll see when you read it." Shion took a notebook from the table and held it out to him. "Here. I copied what was on the file. Take a look at it."
Nezumi took the notebook from him and flipped through the pages. Shion's cramped, slightly slanted handwriting filled a good number of them. Nezumi cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Your efficiency is both impressive and disturbing."
"You should sit down."
Nezumi took a seat on the couch. Shion remained where he was, a disquieting and restlessly contemplative fixture in the middle of the room. Nezumi tore his eyes away from him and focused on the source of his distress.
The first few paragraphs were things he already knew: the world was destroyed through humanity's folly. There were barely any habitable lands left. Despite the destruction, the forests around which the Town of Roses was founded were still vibrant and healthy. The refugees thought it a good omen and chose that spot to start anew.
They failed to realize there were already people living there. A civilization of forest people, whose rites and rituals were the reason why the land remained relatively unscathed through the atrocities of war. They lived in harmony with nature, respected it, offered it their protection, and nature responded in kind.
The information was interesting, but Nezumi couldn't see anything in it that could be the cause for Shion's nervousness. He scanned the next few lines and found the word "Elyurias" near the bottom of the page.
Elyurias was the name the No. 6 researchers gave the being the Forest People worshipped as a god. The Forest People appeased the god with songs and offerings, which guaranteed the happiness and health of their people and the environment in which they lived. Like nature, Elyurias was impartial: neither good nor evil, beneficent nor malevolent.
Nezumi turned the page.
Among the Forest People, there were a select few who were able to communicate with Elyurias and quell her wrath. They did this with their beautiful voices, and thus they earned the title of "Singer."
Nezumi's mind grinded to a halt. He read the sentence a second time. He reread the previous page and flipped back again. A sickening tumult of emotion began building in his stomach as he pushed on.
Halfway between a spirit of nature and a god, Elyurias had enormous power. Although sexless, the Forest People and researchers alike had taken to calling her "she" because the being embodied the form a large wasp and perpetuated its existence by laying eggs in other living beings. To avoid becoming hosts, the Forest People maintained a Godly Bed composed of animal brains. The Singers would lead her to the Godly Bed with song, and the altar would remain fresh until the new queen hatched and the brains rotted away. As long as the Forest People made this offering and protected the Godly Bed, Elyurias would safeguard the forest until she returned and the ritual was repeated.
Nezumi looked up. Shion was gnawing his thumbnail. He let his hand fall away when he caught Nezumi's gaze. He seemed to be waiting for him to speak first. Nezumi forced himself to finish reading. Less than a page remained.
No. 6 discovered Elyurias and coveted her power. The walls of the city were just about completed, and the officials were drunk on the idea of eternal utopia. What was a revered god to the Forest People was merely an intriguing insect to No. 6, and they meant to study it and harvest its potential for themselves. The Forest People were the only things standing in their way.
No. 6 invaded the settlement they had in the Mao area and massacred the residents. They set fire to the houses and the surrounding forest. Men, women, and children perished in the flames, and those who tried to run were gunned down before they had a chance to make it to the tree line. The entire population was annihilated in a matter of hours, and No. 6 took the Godly Bed back to their labs to be studied. These events happened just twelve years ago.
Nezumi had never heard of the Forest People, but he knew the Mao area. There was an airport there now. No. 6 committed systematic genocide and paved over the bodies with a landing strip. He had been alive when it happened. Twelve years ago would have been right around the time his parents were killed. Burned alive in their home.
He felt sick.
There were more notes at the bottom detailing experiments with the Godly Bed, but he couldn't look at the notebook anymore. He needed to think.
Rou sent this information for a reason. Everything he needed to sort out where he fit into this scheme was there. He felt a suffocating foreboding of what it meant, but he forced himself to focus on the most pressing facts. He knew nothing of the Forest People, but he had been called "Singer" a number of times.
He told Shion he didn't think She was a product of No. 6. He was certain of that. She felt more ancient, more powerful than anything the city could have conceived. What's more, She wanted to destroy No. 6. And She needed him to do it.
Now he knew why.
He snapped the notebook shut and stood. Shion made a motion toward him, but Nezumi was already out the door.
No. 6's meticulous care of him, the Bureau officer's threats, Her cryptic messages. The pieces were sliding into place, and every stab of realization brought a fresh peal of fury.
His feet carried him away from town, into the stark, rocky expanse. He was vaguely aware of being followed, but he kept straight on his course until he reached the ruined building. The sun was just beginning to set, and the brilliant oranges and yellows provided a fiery backdrop to the scene. Nezumi entered the ruins with murderous purpose, and his thoughts grew ever more lethal when the vertigo hit him and his vision blurred.
Nezumi opened his eyes. He was in a fucking meadow. He wheeled around to face the forest.
"Where are you, Elyurias?" he shouted noiselessly into its dark recesses.
She seemed to sense that the time for mysticism was over. A fierce wind whipped through trees, and then he felt a stifling presence bear down on him. He repressed a shudder.
It has been a while, Singer.
Nezumi grit his teeth at the address.
"The power to destroy No. 6—what kind of bullshit is that?"
Your role is integral, She answered mechanically.
"My role? And what is that, exactly? Your Godly Bed?" His face contorted into a look of unbidden revulsion.
As one of the Forest People, you should understand. No. 6 has grown arrogant and conceited. It must be destroyed.
"Why do you need me?" he ground out. "Just destroy No. 6 yourself."
That is not possible.
"You're a god, aren't you?"
Destroying No. 6 requires a human hand. I have kept you whole for this purpose.
"No."
No?
"I didn't agree to this. I'm not going to be your vessel."
It is already done.
Nezumi strangled the scream that clawed its way up his throat. He wanted to lash out, but although he could feel Her around him, there was nothing tangible at which he could direct his rage.
There is no cause for anger. Her voice was an inflectionless hush. It is a great honor.
"Fuck you."
Why do you fight it? Our goals are one. Is No. 6 not responsible for your misfortunes? Many have died and many more will follow. I will end that cycle of suffering. They have tried to chain us both, but I will set us free. It is a noble sacrifice for your kind.
"So that's it, then. You're condemning me to death and you think I should be honored."
You are arrogant. Why should you cling to a meaningless existence when I can give you purpose? You will prevent the deaths of countless innocents, inside and outside the wall.
Her reference to those outside the wall gave him pause. "Is West Block a part of this?"
Their fate is uncertain as long as No. 6 thrives.
As much as he hated to admit it, Her reasoning was sound. The Resistance was planning to fight the city when the Hunt arrived, and there was no telling how many would perish. If the revolt failed, No. 6 might decide it would be in their best interest to annihilate the West Block to ensure they would never be challenged again. After all, they had done it before.
The wind picked up. It rushed past him and was vacuumed into the forest. The force was enough to carry him forward a few steps, but he planted his feet firmly and leered into the maelstrom.
"We're not done," he snarled.
The time is nearly at hand. I trust you will be more reasonable next time we speak.
"You—"
His eyes slid open. Concrete stared down at him from above. He twisted his neck and came face-to-face with three pairs of grape-colored eyes. Tsukiyo cheeped softly, and Hamlet and Biscuit twitched their noses. Nezumi lifted his gaze a few inches higher to meet Shion's.
"I brought you back home," he stated gingerly.
The blanket draped over him slipped into his lap as he sat up on the couch. He pulled it off him and tossed it to the side.
"Did you speak with Her?"
Nezumi eyed him. He was in no mood for Q&A, but then again, he wasn't feeling up to rebuffing Shion's concern either.
"How much did you figure out?"
Shion bit his lip, but he kept eye contact as he spoke, "Are you a Singer?"
Nezumi's mouth curved into a wan smile. Whenever emotions ran high, he seemed to automatically fall into this defense.
"My dear Shion, my role is so much greater than that." He spread his arms wide. "You are looking at the holy and magnificent Godly Bed."
The color drained from Shion's face. He stared wide-eyed, rigid, uncomprehending. Nezumi thought he might've even been trembling. But he couldn't be sure. His own powers of observation were significantly dulled by the haziness of his faculties.
"Yes, apparently, I'm playing host to a wasp god." He was not ignorant of the feverish catch in his voice. "I've been informed I should be grateful for the honor."
Shion pressed a hand to his mouth and turned sharply away. There was no doubt that he was trembling now. He began to pace, quick, tight lines along the edge of the coffee table.
"No," he moaned, fisting his hands in his hair. "No, no, no, no." Nezumi watched him, his own fervor chilled by the hysteric display. Shion halted. "This is No. 6's fault. They did this to you."
It was as though the voice had come from another person. Shion was still shaking visibly, but his tone was not one of agitation or pain; it was leeched of any human emotion. His words were a certainty, not a lament.
"Stop that," Nezumi snapped. The command sliced through the atmosphere with more intensity than he thought himself capable of in his weakened state. "If you want to whine about No. 6, I want no part of it. I'm not going to be your excuse."
Shion turned his face to him. There remained no trace of ferocity in his features, only a starved terror.
"How can you be so calm?" he gasped.
Nezumi settled against the back of the couch. "What's there to be upset about? This is perfect." He fixed Shion with a ruthless smile. "It's that other option you pined so dearly for. No. 6 will be destroyed and none of your friends have to die in the process. It's everything you ever wanted on a silver platter, and all it requires is one small sacrifice."
"How… How could you say that?"
Shion crumpled to the floor, his look suffused with a helplessness too crippling to name, but that made itself oppressively clear in the pallor of his complexion and dark anguish of his eyes. It smarted to see what a mess he was.
This is my problem. What right do you have, sitting there and looking at me like that? Nezumi found he no longer felt like smiling.
"Can't you stop it? Maybe if you explain," Shion said feebly.
"It is already done," Nezumi pronounced in a haughty monotone. "She made it clear there would be no negotiation. The only thing left to determine is when."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Yeah. Leave me alone. I want to be alone."
Shion cast his eyes down and swallowed thickly. "O-okay."
Shion couldn't pick himself up without using the table for support. Nezumi turned away. If it were him, he wouldn't have wanted anyone to see. But he and Shion were different breeds; Shion was never ashamed of looking vulnerable.