You and Shizuo aren't really friends, per say–at least not in the traditional sense.
You have absolutely no idea when his birthday is, you are at a loss for any particularly fond memories with him, and you operate in completely different social circles. Nevertheless, you two seem to cross paths more often than either of your schedules would predict. Once, long ago, you had bumped into him on Sunshine Street–right in front of where that family-owned bakery used to be. Quite frankly, it was hard to the miss pile of bloody, disheveled clothes, heaving with bloodcurdling fury. It wasn't until it spoke, that you recognized it as Shizuo.
"Your father was the only one that could put that flea in his place." he rasped, dragging himself upright.
The words essentially had the same effect as something detonating in your head–you hadn't seen your father in, well, never, because he died in a car accident, and the crumbling photo you kept stashed in a gold locket was hardly a substitute–or so went the story.
"What?"
You fisted Shizuo's lapel–what was left of it–and jerked him to you.
"Youknewmyfather?"
It wasn't until he stretched to his full height, glowering down at you, did you remember precisely who you were dealing with.
"Don't know what you're blabbering about and don't care," he grunted. With that, he pushed past you and disappeared into the swirling crowds of Ikebukuro's nightlife.
That is what eggs you on, what convinced you to move to downtown Ikebukuro–one simple comment, that, according to Shizuo, had never even been uttered to begin with. His chance remark–if he even said it wasn't the start of it though. Deep in your heart of hearts, you had always found it curious how there were no photos of your father to be seen aside from the one you kept in your locket. Odd, you thought, that there was no gravesite to visit–"he donated his body to the Ikebukuro Technical Institute for the sake of medical research" your mother supplied, almost too readily. These awkward snippets were the only peculiarities of your otherwise normal life; really, you hadn't much to complain about.
It might have well been that you clung to the hunch for wont of excitement in your life, but you didn't care. It was all consuming, and you wouldn't stop till you had a conclusive answer sitting nicely in your , wasn't it? You knew it was, so of course, you had given your mother a much better explanation for your abrupt relocation, involving attendance at the prestigious Raira Academy. The much coveted 100 seats for each incoming class were furiously jousted for by overachieving middle schoolers; it was a miracle you had managed to appeal to the admittance committee, and one your mother wasn't about to pass up.
The day you arrived in Ikebukuro you made a direct beeline for the City Hall; you raked public records, scrambling for the slightest hint to dispute your father's death. Ever since that one surreal encounter, Shizuo hadn't dropped another word. In fact, even you had to admit, the shadows cast by doubt were starting to crumble your resolve. After all, even your own family wouldn't permit inquiry into the case–hedied and that was that… but something in Shizuo's knowing glances and grim smiles made you wonder…
Regardless, never in your life had you been as thankful to have Shizuo by your side as now.
It isn't until a guttural hissing reaches your ears that you realize you are being dragged backwards into the dark, decrepit back alleys of Ikebukuro.
Then everything plays in front of you like a slow-motion film.
Whipping around, you manage to steal a peek at your prankster–
and choke.
Aashen, flaking skin clings limply to her skull. Gums black as tar, interspersed with what could only be called fangs. Eyes like glass; glazed, unfeeling, and perfectly still, sunken into the socket. If eyes were the windows to the soul…
This girl didn't have one .
Her grip on your neck turns vicelike, serrated teeth inching ever closer. Thrashing wildly, you manage to drive your elbow into her solar plexus, meant to knock out her breath and buy you time–you might as well have tickled her. Precious seconds tick by as you beat your fists against her thighs, shrieking. Those fangs were a hair's breadth above your scruff now–you had nowhere left to run–
There was a sickening squish of splitting flesh, a hellish scream, and a blur of motion.
The roundhouse had wrenched the skin clean off her face, leaving her sprawled against a dumpster about twenty feet ahead.
"Bitch ain't moaning now," Shizuo snarls. "Crap she tore up my bowtie- third suit this month. I oughta pulverize that little crackhead–"
Shizuo comes to a dead halt, bewilderedly staring at his bloodied knuckles.
"The hell?" he whispers hoarsely. "Her blood is all–"
Neither of you have a chance to dwell on it; a spine-chilling howl echoes from the depths of the alleys.
That's when they come. Thundering out of the alley, thousands at a time, they topple over each other as they vie to sink their teeth into you.
Shizuo snaps to attention, cursing at the "Saika" derivatives with colorful fury.
"Get the hell out of here," he commands. Fisting the metal bar of a yield sign, he rips it clean out of the cement and proceeds to use the "Saikas" for golf practice.
So engrossed in fending off the onslaught, he fails to notice the racket is drawing countless more of them to the scene. It is only a matter of time before you two would be completely surrounded. Heart pounding, you give the area a sweeping glance once more. No, no these are certainly not Saika clones. No media outlet had ever mentioned the "Saikas" looking so…
Dead.
Sidestepping, you narrowly miss one of them. You are back to back with Shizuo now, the radius of the circle they formed around you growing ever smaller.
"We need to leave!" you cry out. "We stay, we die!"
They are clawing out you with more fervor, as if savoring the prospect of prey.
"I told you to run while you had the chance!" he retorts, spearing through the mob.
It is becoming painfully obvious that even Shizuo's strength would do you no good against the assault; for every one of them he takes out in a blow, four more crop up. His mulish pride is going to be the death of both of you. There is only one way to get him to move.
"SHIZUO!" you shriek hysterically, clutching to his bartender's vest. "You're wasting time! What if they've gotten to KASUKA?!"
His brother's name is all it takes. With a mighty roar, Shizuo sweeps at least a dozen of them out of the way, effectively clearing an escape route.
"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY!" he bellows, bulldozing through the hellish mob with massive sweeps of his improvised weapon. Sneakers pounding on the asphalt, you scramble to keep up with him. Each step brings the worry that one ofthem would cut you off from Shizuo, leaving you to die screaming as the mob tore you apart. Your world melts into a blur; all you can think of is keeping the black bartender vest in your vision. They close in behind you like monsoon waves, outstretched jaws missing your limbs by seconds.
Ikebukuro's labyrinthine streets are made more perplexing by the shadows of the night. You had lost your bearings ages ago but you don't dare waste precious breath on asking Shizuo where you are. Your heart throbs so violently in your rib cage you swear you can hear the blood pumping in your veins.
It isn't until you slam into Shizuo's back do you realize that he had stopped moving.
"MOVE!" he orders, wrenching you behind him by the scruff of your neck and closing the door. Shizuo sets to work fortifying it by hauling furniture pieces into a small mountain behind it.
A sweeping glance tell you that you had found refuge in a restaurant. Tables are overturned and chairs are scattered around the room. Broken glass, shattered dishes and dirty silverware litter the floor, giving the impression the place had been the scene of a ballistic attack rather than a once vibrant eatery in Ikebukuro's night life. What piques your attention, however, is the pitch silence; the building must have been abandoned in the chaos. It is then that you notice the lights are off; is it possible there are survivors here who had turned it off in order to deter them?
You rule the possibility out–no survivors would have left the door wide open. Inching forward, you make your way to what must have been the takeout counter, avoiding shards of porcelain dishes and wine glasses like mines. Some animal instinct of yours is urging you to be deathly quiet.
The cash register lays on its side, gaping open as crisp bills flutter to the floor. Menus and napkins are scattered beneath the table like shrapnel. Crouching, you leaf through a catering menu, finding meals labeled in Japanese, Russian and English.
So this must be the "Russia Sushi" Kida was so fond of, you conclude. Saki had promised to take you, at one point, only after assuring Kida she wouldn't let you cross someone named Simon. A wave of nausea hits you hard. Goosebumps ripple across your flesh. You feel strangely hollow at the thought of Saki and Kida, their images burning into your mind's eye. What you wouldn't give to be their little Third Wheel now, to know they were alive and safe. It is simply human nature to wonder if they had gotten out alive, but if the bouncer, a man three times their size had–You refusedto wonder about their whereabouts any longer, lest you meet an unbearable truth.
It is then you catch a dark blotch on the edge of the menu. Squinting, you struggle to make out its color in the dark of the restaurant to no avail. You lift the page to a lone shaft of moonlight, filtering in through a cracked window.
Red. Dark Red.
Your heart skips a beat.
CRUNCH
Adrenaline shoots through you. You leap to your feet, throwing your back against the countertop and bracing yourself to face whatever terror–
A crystal Russian tea set lays trampled beneath Shizuo's feet; the silence of the restaurant had amplified the sound. His amber eyes are hard.
"I was supposed to meet him here tonight," Shizuo informs you accusingly, as though you were withholding the answer. "I was on my way here when I bumped into him.
Your first impulse is to frantically shush him, earning you an indignant glare from Shizuo. Stomach knotting uncomfortably, you are starting to succumb to a creeping dread. Something is amiss; you can feel it. You two need to get out of here, out of Ikebukuro. He wouldn't possibly agree to leave his beloved city, you figured, more so without his brother. But it has to be done. You have to make it to a train station, a car, something-
Shizuo is stubbornly demanding answers, voice escalating ever higher as he ignores your frenzied pleas to escape. Fisting his collar, you yank him down so his eyes are level with yours. His shock at your boldness gives you enough time to squeak out one sentence.
A heart-stopping roar erupts from deep within the kitchen. There is a loud crash from behind you as the creature bursts into the restaurant's foyer. Shizuo jaw slackens and your grip on his collar falters. Reflected in the window behind him is the largest man you had ever seen; the butcher knives spinning in his hands glint in the ethreal moonlight.
"It's not safe here!"
Timing never was your strong point.
