Wind chimes dripped from the branches of the willow trees. Twisted, gnarled bark groaned under their weight. One note rang out, clear and pure. Another followed. And another.

Guilmon flitted between the trees. His claws danced along bronze metal; a chorus cascaded in his wake. Where he stepped, flowers of light bloomed from the shadows. They became DigiGnomes, circling around him like planets orbiting a dwarf star.

Their own chirps mingled with the wind chimes. The chorus became a cacophony.

Suddenly Guilmon stopped. His pupils dilated and he bared his fangs. A growl rippled from deep in his chest. It started low, crescendoing louder and louder until it drowned out all other sounds of music. The major shifted into a minor key.

Then he whipped around, plucking a DigiGnome out of the air. It squealed, arching and wriggling uselessly in his gaping maw. Guilmon's jaw distended as he swallowed it whole.

Cyberdramon stood frozen before them. A face burst out of his chest: Jeri's face, twisted by the D-Reaper, leering at the horizon. Their fangs bared in unison:

"There lies a thief at the gates, oh bringer of dreams, and they watch by night."

wake up guilmon

Wake Up Guilmon

WAKE UP GUILMON

Takato sat bolt upright, banging his head against something fleshy and firm.

"Ow! What the—oh my god, Jeri, are you okay?!"

She staggered back, clutching her nose, blood dribbling down her face.

"I'b fibe." Jeri waved him off when Takato tried to crowd her. She walked out of the room; he could hear the sink turn on in the bathroom just down the hall.

Takato's heart hammered in his chest. He slowly sat back down on their bed. Concern for Jeri and terror from the nightmare left him frozen and indecisive. What the hell was that? He had not dreamed anything so vivid in years.

He grabbed fistfuls of the covers. Clench, unclench. Clench, unclench. The thick cotton bunched between his fingers, a solid anchor to reality. Jeri returned to the room, pinching the bridge of her nose. A hint of bruising already showed around her eyes.

"Oh god," Takato said, "I should turn myself in for domestic abuse."

"Don't be so dramatic." Jeri tilted her head back, letting her hands drop to her side. After a moment, she must have judged the bleeding stopped, because she straightened and giggled at him. "You're supposed to be the one who wakes me up from a bad dream, not the other way around."

"Safer that way, too."

Jeri approached him, kneeling between his legs. She kissed Takato lightly on the mouth. Once, then twice. He sighed and rested his forehead on her shoulder.

"You were crying. What happened?" Jeri asked.

"I dunno. Guilmon was there and… Cyberdramon." The details were already slipping away. But the underlying dread remained, lingering like a bad taste in the back of his mouth.

Jeri ran her fingers along the side of his cheek before giggling again. "Your beard is all scratchy."

"It's growing on you?" Takato asked, perking up somewhat.

"A little." She absently nuzzled him. "You really want to keep it?"

"I look like a big baby clean-shaven," Takato complained. He wished he could have inherited his dad's longer, narrower chin.

"I like your baby face." Jeri pouted, pulling away.

She moved to the center of the room, spreading out her legs. Takato stood and joined her after a brief pause. Jeri closed her eyes, face open and relaxed. He tried copying her movements, but the way she angled her back foot kept throwing him off balance. Inhale, exhale. He matched the rhythm of her breathing; calmed his wild, racing imagination. Inhale, exhale.

Takato's D-Power beeped from the dresser.

Startled, he almost fell over before catching himself. Jeri had opened her eyes again, watching him curiously. Takato flashed her an awkward smile before walking toward his D-Power.

Guilmon: I think I know where Cyberdramon is!

Oh, great. Knowing his luck, it was related to the dream. Suddenly worried for Guilmon's safety, Takato pulled open the dresser.

"Takato!" yelled his mom from downstairs. "You forgot to take out the trash last night!"

Damn.

"I'll handle it," Jeri said. He glanced up, surprised. "Really. It's fine."

"Thanks, Jeri." Takato was already tugging on a pair of pants. "Dunno what I'd do without you."

She smiled wryly. "Me neither."

Rika watched her mother sashay over from the coffee stand. Several passersby checked Rumiko out over their shoulder. Even fifteen years later, she maintained much of her youthful beauty. More refined, as one magazine had put it. (Of course, this had set Rumiko off, and Rika had been forced to listen to her rant on the phone for an hour straight.)

Rumiko sat down, smiling, and handed over a cup of black coffee.

"I've recently started getting into their military lattes. I was never much of a matcha fan, but add a shot of white chocolate… also that art." Rumiko opened the lid, tipping it toward Rika. The delicate foam leaf quivered gently atop dark green liquid. Sipping her drink, Rumiko sighed with satisfaction. "Oh my."

Rika grunted, noncommittal.

The day was bright and early, and she was feeling grumpy. How Rumiko managed to be so chipper at all hours was an eternal mystery to Rika. It was further proof that they could not be more different despite sharing the same blood.

Morning commuters streamed through morning traffic. Billboards flashed advertisements from buildings and buses. Several birds circled lazily overhead.

Rumiko chattered about mundane things. Rika only half-listened, working herself up to pop the question. But when Rumiko mentioned Ryo's name, Rika was successfully distracted.

"Huh?" Rika asked.

"I saw him working on that new building in Shibuya with his little crew yesterday. He's such a nice boy. And so handsome"—instant jealousy that Rika immediately squashed—"in his cute tobi uniform. Are the two of you planning on getting married soon?"

"Um..."

"I'm proud of you for waiting. You're already much more sensible than I was at your age. But I want grandchildren, Rika." Rumiko pouted. "I want to spoil them like Mom spoiled you growing up."

"I wasn't sp—" Rika shut her mouth with an audible click. Because fine, yes, she had been a little spoiled, something she only truly realized after befriending Takato and Henry. But how was that her fault?

Rumiko tilted her head. "Hmm?"

Rika was saved from answering by the bright tune of Rumiko's cell phone.

"One moment, sweetie."

Rumiko stood up and moved away, answering the call. Low murmurs devolved into a soft spoken, heated argument. Some things never changed.

A little girl who could not have been older than six walked past the coffee stand. Her black hair was plaited in tight pigtails, her school backpack hoisted up on her shoulders. Rika watched the girl maneuver expertly through the crowd, then wait patiently alone in line at the bus stop.

Rika finished her coffee.

"Sorry about that." Rumiko sat back down. "I can't stay long, though. What did you want to talk about? You almost never call."

The reproach was clear. Rika frowned. She thought about pointing out that just getting in touch with Rumiko was often an exercise in immense frustration, but decided instead to let sleeping dogs lie.

"Do you know anyone in the idol industry? Even better if they have some relation to Jackpot Entertainment or the group TKC96."

Rumiko blinked. "Well, I, the idol—but why? You don't want to become an idol, do you?"

There was a slight edge to her question.

"What? No. It's for a job."

Sometimes the twists Rumiko's mind took still baffled Rika.

Rumiko laughed. "Oh, I see. You'd probably be too old, anyway. That ship has long since sailed."

"Okay. Now that we've established I can't do the thing I didn't want to do in the first place…" The urge to roll her eyes was overwhelming.

But Rumiko just sighed dramatically, setting aside her drink and burying her head in her hands. She said, "It's hard getting old. You and Mom'll probably have to lock me up soon."

Rika patted her mother on the back, indulging in that eye roll. After a moment, Rumiko's head popped up, expression bright and tears miraculously dried.

"I think I know someone who can help. He doesn't work with talent agencies anymore, but he still has a ton of contacts."

"Really? That's great," Rika said, relieved. This had not been a waste of time after all. But no way would she tell Takato he made a good call.

"Whatever you're doing, it, it isn't… dangerous, is it?" Rumiko asked. Rika hesitated.

"It shouldn't be."

Rumiko frowned, picking at the lip of her coffee cup. The cardboard unfurled beneath her blood red acrylic nails. Whorls of glitter shimmered in the morning sunlight.

"Well then, I should probably get going. I have a shoot in Kyoto to prepare for. I'll call Daiki. Be safe, Rika. And don't be a stranger—I miss you when you're gone long."

It always disarmed Rika whenever her mother flipped the switch from absurd ditziness to genuine sincerity. She scrambled to think of an appropriate response, but Rumiko was already walking away. Rika was left behind, alone again.

Maybe if Henry stared hard enough at the check engine light, it would disappear.

I think, therefore I am.

But, alas, the universe refused to change. The check engine light continued on with its merry existence. Henry groaned. The concrete jungle of the parking structure seemed to close in on him.

The car had been one of the few vanity purchases Henry allowed himself to make. He enjoyed being able to commute to work alone; he valued privacy for his own thoughts. Although the decision seemed a touch regrettable whenever situations like this current one arose. Or whenever he had to pay a road toll.

A light tap distracted him from his current conundrum. Henry turned his head to find Suzie's face smooshed up against the passenger window. When they made eye contact, she pulled away, leaving a smear on the glass. He groaned again.

Rolling down the window, Henry frowned at her. "What."

"I heard you still haven't hired a receptionist."

"No."

Henry started rolling up the window again. Suzie immediately stuck her hands inside the vehicle. The window stopped, then started, then stopped again, slowly inching upward while Henry threw the full force of his mildly disapproving frown at her.

"Do it no balls," Suzie said.

Brat.

Henry sighed, folding his hands in his lap and pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. "I have to take my car into Kazu's. Can we please not do this right now?"

Suzie's cheeks puffed out. She pursed her lips, releasing the trapped air like a pricked balloon. Henry looked away, fighting back a smile.

"Fine." She stepped back, shading a hand over her eyes. "But you can't dodge this forever. That desk has my name tag on it."

"If only you were this persistent when it came to finding a husband." Henry imitated their mother's intonation. Suzie laughed.

"You're such an ass. I see straight through your golden boy routine, Henry Wong."

In response, he just put on his sunglasses, rolling the window up, and smiled serenely; Suzie replied with a crude hand gesture. That definitely qualified as rude.

Henry backed out of his parking spot. His sister stood in the rearview mirror, hands now stuffed in the pockets of her puffy jacket, growing smaller and smaller as he drove away. It reminded him of when they were children.

Kazu's Auto Repair Services lay just a couple blocks down from Shinjuku Park. The green expanse slid past Henry's right-side window. Nostalgia gripped him, briefly, before fading away into the warm memories of sun-drenched summers. Even after the Digimon left they had spent a lot of time there. Although as the years passed the group had whittled down to just Takato and Henry.

While fighting Shinjuku morning traffic, Henry took the time to call Rika and Takato, and then Kazu. When he pulled into the cramped side street, Kazu was already waiting for him outside the open garage, face smudged with oil and a towel thrown over his shoulders. A bright grin lit up his face, arms spread wide.

"Welcome to la obra de Shioda. That's Spanish, you know," Kazu said. Henry pulled inside and stepped out of the car.

"How cultured." He tossed Kazu his keys.

The shop matched Kazu's own appearance: cluttered and disorganized—several posters of pinup girls hanging in the back—but brimming with some undefinable, contagious energy. It prickled Henry's neck like a sharp breath. Guardromon flickered to life on a monitor hanging over the car, saluting them both.

"Salutations, Henry Wong! How are you?"

"All right, all things considered." Henry laughed when Kazu came up and wrapped him in a bear hug.

"I met this girl online. She's Hispanic," he whispered in Henry's ear, "and she totally digs me."

Henry snorted, pushing Kazu back a few paces. "That's great."

Kazu grinned, swiping his thumb across his nose, smearing more oil in the process. "Hell yeah! Know what's wrong with this bad boy?"

He leaned against the hood of the car.

"No idea."

"You're so lucky you know me." Kazu released an overexaggerated sigh. "Someone else would've ripped off your clueless ass by now."

"Help me, Kazu Shioda, you're my only hope."

Kazu's laughter always came from deep in his belly. The crows' feet around his eyes crinkled upward, multiple smiles beaming back at Henry. Popping open the hood, Kazu clambered into the passenger seat.

"I'll check it out. You wanna stick around? I can cook something up." A hint of forced casualness entered his voice. Henry shook his head.

"Thanks, but I'm late for work as it is."

"Man, all this time, and you're still lame as hell. You need to get laid, Wong, loosen up a bit." Kazu poked his head out the car window.

"Or mayhaps a vacation!" Guardromon offered helpfully from his monitor.

"I'm good, but thank you." Henry checked his phone. He had received five more e-mails while talking to Kazu. "Call me as soon as you figure out what happened?"

"Yeah, yeah." Kazu stuck his tongue between his teeth, attention turning almost completely onto the car. "Remind Chumley he owes me money."

Henry grunted vague assent, flicking through his e-mails. He might be able to catch the next train on the Chūō-Sōbu Line if he moved fast.

Oh?

A had e-mailed him back. That was quick.

Henry stepped outside the auto shop, a low buzzing sound emanating from behind him. A bouquet of roses decorated the doorstop to a café. They were in full bloom.

Subject: does that make digivolution inefficient?

"When it is obvious that the goals cannot be reached, don't adjust the goals; adjust the action steps."

A metallic taste soured the back of his throat. The buzzing grew louder, jagged and painful. Someone may as well have taken a chainsaw to concrete.

Inefficient…

iNefFiciEnt

In—

There's a fundamental aspect of coding that many programmers forget…

…?

A girl stood before Henry. The buildings slanted sideways as his knees struck pavement. There would be bruises. The end of the road was so far ahead, it was already behind them.

"Isn't it pretty to think so?" asked the girl.

She tilted his face up. Her hands were cold, freezing cold, eyes like twin chips of ice. Then she bit him, fangs slicing clean through his jugular.

No one else was in the office when Takato arrived. Well, that was unusual. Henry had called saying he would be late, though; Rika was no doubt off investigating Jackpot Entertainment. Henry disliked when they used the access point alone. It could be dangerous.

Takato took a few minutes to reorganize some paperwork. Hands on hips, he surveyed the office.

With many small strokes a large tree is felled.

Takato scribbled a cute little doodle of Renamon, Guilmon, and Terriermon chopping down a cherry blossom tree together. He pinned the picture and quote to his motivational cork board, littered with other drawings and sayings. Rika thought it was lame, but then again, Rika thought most things were lame.

Eating the leftover bread from yesterday, Takato waited around fifteen minutes more. Still no Henry.

But he should be here soon. Besides, this was important: both Cyberdramon and maybe even Guilmon could be in trouble. That qualified the situation as an emergency. Having worked current events up to a miniature catastrophe, Takato made a snap decision and strode into the meeting room.

Using the access point always felt strange. A pins-and-needle sensation would start in Takato's toes and quickly numbed all other extremities. Last would be his fingers, sparking bright blue, before the access point flashed. His stomach lurched up into his mouth. A matrix of numbers formed a tunnel around Takato; a rushing sound filled his ears like the passing of a train. Then it was over.

He stood in the DigiLab.

Nervous, Takato glanced around. He half-expected Henry or Terriermon to jump out from behind a chair and scold him. But the lab was empty, eerily so. The whole place creeped Takato out a little if he was honest. Everything was too white, too sterile. Like a hospital with none of the saved lives. Well, not directly anyway.

Since Takato was alone, he indulged in a mild curiosity, fidgeting with some of Henry's holographic screens. A model of EDEN flickered to life. Red blips signifying people flashed in concentrated areas around the globe.

Apparently, they were testing out the space with a couple stock market companies in preparation for a public launch. Could they not at least have used EDEN for something cool, like a virtual reality MMORPG? Instead, it was just more boring business stuff.

There was a flash of pink light. Takato yelped, whirling around, arms raised in self-defense.

"I can explain!" he said.

Guilmon cocked his head. Takato lowered his arms.

"Oh. Hey, boy."

"Hello, Takato. I had a weird dream last night. Cyberdramon was there."

"Me too. You think…?" Takato's heart skipped a beat. The empathetic link he had shared with Guilmon as a child still had not made its return. Maybe this was a sign that would soon change.

"Dunno." Guilmon scratched under his chin. "But anyway, I know the place from my dream! I've been there before. Maybe it's a clue."

"You have? Why didn't you tell me about it before?" Takato asked.

Guilmon shifted, becoming oddly squirrelly. "Was a long time ago. Didn't seem important."

It should not have stung, yet it did regardless.

"Well, all right. Let's go check it out." Takato paused. "Where's Beelzemon?"

He had not messaged Takato at all. That was unlike him.

"He said Renamon asked for his help with something."

Oh. Probably the idol case. Satisfied, Takato joined Guilmon on the access pad. The data stream flared back to life, carrying them away.

When they reformed, the air smelled of battery acid. An acrid taste lingered in the back of his throat. The sky was a dull yellow color, the wind chimes hanging inert from the branches of dead willow trees. Even Fujin had forgotten this place.

Takato glanced around, frowning. His dream had become little more than a blur of color and noise now, but the ghost of déjà vu raised the hairs on his neck and arms. Goosebumps erupted along too warm flesh.

"Takato." Guilmon had stepped forward a few paces, twisting back to look over his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Where we're going, once we enter, you have to promise to stay quiet. Not even a peep. Okay?"

Takato blinked. "Why?"

"Because they'll wake up and try to eat you," Guilmon said earnestly.

"Oh. Okay." Takato swallowed, unnerved. Just great.

The wind chime forest was silent as a graveyard.

They crept through bronze torii gates frosted in silver and gold. Part of Takato thought maybe he should take off his sandals. Pray to some unknown, forgotten god; beg forgiveness for trespassing on holy ground.

Which Sovereigns' domain did this place belong to, anyway? Something about the forest felt as though it had been set aside: they were interlopers. The nagging sense of not belonging swelled with each step. Takato realized he was sweating.

Guilmon seemed unbothered. However, his movements resembled a prowl, pupils contracted into slits. He had not spoken since the original warning.

Trees began to thin. Takato and Guilmon entered a clearing. It crested into a hill where one last wind chime tree rested atop the apex. The massive tree was clearly ancient, with thick, knotted roots jutting out of the ground.

"Can you please help me fly, Takato?"

Guilmon's voice was low and husky. Takato started.

"Y-yeah, no problem." His own voice sounded strange, like it no longer belonged to him.

Takato fumbled for his D-Power and the old Hyper-Colosseum card that had seen them through various problems in the past. It was dog-eared and faded and worn, and some part of Takato was convinced there would come a day when it just stopped working because he could not slide it through the reader anymore.

He swiped the card, the familiar surge of energy shivering down his arms. Angelic wings decorated Guilmon's back. They shone like cut diamonds. Guilmon launched himself into the air, twisting upward to brush the wind chimes dangling from the tree. Music rained down from on high.

A soft sigh echoed through the meadow as the roots shifted and a cavern into the hill groaned open. Guilmon circled the tree one, two, three times before landing in front of Takato. He looked old in that moment. Sometimes Takato contemplated if and how Digimon aged.

"Don't forget, Takato, okay?"

"I won't."

The tunnel was dark, lined with rich black soil. Takato turned on his D-Power to see better, then wondered if that was a mistake. He glanced at Guilmon. Guilmon considered the D-Power briefly before shrugging and continuing onward. Lines of copper wiring threaded through the dirt, reflecting a glint of light back at them.

Takato lost sense of time as they walked through the cavern. Faint designs appeared along the walls and ceiling, drawn with a strange white chalky material in unintelligible code strings. If Henry were there, he might have understood what it meant, but it was gibberish to Takato.

The cavern dropped away into a massive underground basin. An enormous spear had been driven through the center of the area, bisecting time and space itself, casting a faint glow over everything. Takato almost gasped yet caught himself.

Laying fast asleep within the basin were Digimon, many of which he recognized (and many which he did not): Agumon, Gabumon, Veemon, Hawkmon, Salamon, and more, all curled around one another, the slight rise and fall of their sides the only signs of life. A fanboyish glee welled up within Takato.

Guilmon was staring at him. Takato met his gaze, and Guilmon placed one curved claw over his mouth in the universal 'hush' gesture. Takato nodded, sobering almost instantly. It was hard to imagine these Digimon he had grown up watching could be dangerous, but Guilmon would not ask for caution without reason.

The way the earthen walls rose around the basin was reminiscent of the mountains that pinned in so much of Japan. Maybe these were mountain warriors like those of the Omine region; sorcerers said to walk freely through the realms of gods. Henry once mentioned that there might be a link between Digimon and myth. If only Takato had paid attention at the time.

Guilmon floated down. He reminded Takato of owls he had seen on a documentary, once, the way he drifted on silent wings and then flared them outward for an equally silent landing. The basin was so full of life and yet so still. A faint cloud of dust rose around Guilmon, disturbing the stillness. He moved toward a small purple fox-like dragon Digimon and nudged at it with his muzzle.

"Dorumon," Guilmon whispered. His words carried clearly despite how soft-spoken he had turned. "Dorumon, I need your help."

"Mmph." Dorumon growled, cracking one eye open to glower at Guilmon. Then she blinked. "… Guilmon? You change your mind?"

"Nope. I'm looking for someone named Cyberdramon. Have you seen him?"

"Hmmmmm… Cyberdramon… yes, I remember them."

Takato uttered an involuntary noise. Dorumon's head snapped up. The other Digimon stopped breathing.

"Did you hear that?" she asked, sounding more alert.

"I think you're just sleepy. Sometimes when I'm sleepy I see things that aren't there. Like dancing fried sausages," Guilmon said carefully. "I see dancing fried sausages a lot."

"…Maybe." Dorumon looked unconvinced.

But the other Digimon were breathing again. Takato's heart hammered in his throat. He thought it quiet before, but there was a terrible stillness like a dead man's casket to this place when the gentle yet unnecessary biological rhythms ground to a halt.

Every so often the veil lifted, and he remembered that the Digital World was artificial. Not just fantastical, but alien to humanity. Takato would never understand how Ryo ever lived here for a year without going mad. Shibumi had only been around a few months and came across as a few cards short of a full deck.

"Cyberdramon?" Guilmon prompted Dorumon.

"Right. Yes. They drowned a long time ago." Dorumon yawned. "Or was it tomorrow? I don't recall."

Takato desperately wished he could speak.

"Can you try? It's important."

Dorumon stared sleepily over Guilmon's right shoulder. Then she reached out, tracing the hazard symbol on his chest. Guilmon cocked his head. His eyes glowed gold in the dim lighting.

"Beware the garden," Dorumon said. "The tide went out last night."

"I will. Thanks."

Dorumon rolled over, falling back asleep.

Guilmon flew back up to Takato. "We can go, I think I understand."

Well, Takato was glad someone had found that comprehensible. They padded together back outside, beyond the cavern. The initial awe had long faded, and Takato wanted nothing more than to leave. The whole area made his skin crawl.

Guilmon's wings sloughed off his back like shed skin. Shards of shattered white diamonds hovered in the air overhead. Takato thought of Renamon. Then they evaporated, to where he knew not.

"What was that all about?" he asked once they returned to the DigiLab.

"Cyberdramon isn't in the Digital World at all. At least, not anymore," Guilmon explained. That was not exactly what Takato meant, but he took it in stride.

"Oh. Huh. Well, I…then where is he?" Takato asked.

No Digimon could come to earth anymore. There was always EDEN, but Digimon supposedly could not go there either without an invitation from a human.

Guilmon shrugged. Then he frowned. "Takato?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you not tell the others about what I showed you?"

Takato stared. He felt another surge of worried anxiety. They had been separated for over twelve years. So much must have happened to Guilmon during that span, so much Takato still did not know and may never know. He had to remind himself that he trusted his partner.

"Sure thing, boy."

Jackpot Entertainment was a refurbished warehouse located near the wharf in Shinagawa. The squat, ugly building took up an unassuming corner of the block. Businessmen trickled in and out of the front entrance from time to time, spat out and sucked back in.

Renamon: I brought Beelzemon as back up.

Rika: Good idea. As long as he doesn't annoy you to death, anyway.

Beelzemon: You're a real peach, kid.

"That's an interesting phone."

Rika glanced up at the young businessman who had just exited the building. He was looking at her D-Power curiously. Rika pushed herself off the wall she'd been leaning against, smiling.

"Thanks. It's an old model from the early aughts. I'm rather fond of it."

"Vintage. Very nice." He smiled back, bowing slightly, before going on his merry way.

Rika's own smile dropped as soon as his back turned. She hated how clunky and obvious the D-Power was, but they did not have any better options available to them for easy communication with the Digimon. Maybe if Henry finally managed to get that app working, but for the time being she would just have to grin and bear it.

Clipping the D-Power to her belt, Rika headed inside Jackpot Entertainment. The lobby was perfunctory in appearance, with a receptionist behind the registration desk and a couple men standing around waiting, glued to their phones. They should really get a receptionist for their own agency to ease some of the burdens on Henry. (Although Rika rather suspected Henry might spontaneously combust if at least three different things were not occupying his attentions simultaneously.)

"Welcome to Jackpot Entertainment!" said the receptionist with a cheery smile. "How might I assist you?"

"Good morning. I was wondering if you'd seen anyone suspicious hanging about recently?"

"Suspicious…?" The receptionist looked Rika up and down.

"As in unwanted men," Rika clarified. "Otakus?"

"Hmm." She typed on her computer, the clicks loud in the quiet lobby. "Sometimes. We have a no-tolerance policy when it comes to loitering. We take protecting our idols' privacy quite seriously."

Well, that was unhelpful.

"Thank you." Rika paused, pursing her lips. "Could I have the password to the Wi-Fi?"

"Of course. Do you have an appointment?"

Rika stared.

"Rika? What are you doing here?" asked a familiar voice.

There stood Kenta Kitagawa, media pass dangling from a lanyard around his neck. He was as rumpled and harried as ever. A genuine smile broke across Rika's face. Turning toward Kenta, she threw her arms around his neck. Startled, Kenta tensed up, staring at her like she had sprouted two extra heads.

"Play along," she murmured before facing the mildly scandalized receptionist.

"Do you know this woman, Mr. Kitagawa?"

"Yes." Kenta adjusted his glasses. He glanced at Rika. She raised an eyebrow. "She's my… girlfriend."

Rika maintained a straight face with great difficulty.

"Oh." The receptionist looked between them, assessing Rika's coiffed appearance in relation to Kenta's disheveled one. "I see."

The urge to defend Kenta was surprisingly strong.

"I love showing my support however I can," Rika chirped. "Even better if it's a surprise."

"That's my honeybunches," Kenta said drily, "always thinking of others before herself."

Rika stepped on his foot, and he grunted. She asked, "Wi-Fi?"

The receptionist told her the password. Rika typed it down as a note on her phone before stepping out of earshot alongside Kenta. He frowned at her.

"Girlfriend? Really?" Rika whispered.

"Wha—what else was I supposed to say?" he whispered back. "Besides, you know I don't handle pressure well."

Rika just scoffed, sending the Wi-Fi password to Renamon and Beelzemon. "What's your story."

"Nothing interesting." Kenta sounded mournful. "They want me to do an article on the idol industry. Fluff piece. I have an interview with an agent scheduled."

"Is that so?" Talk about a stroke of good fortune. Maybe there were gods after all.

"Why do you always do this. And why is it always you?"

"No idea what you mean by that."

"Remember Akibahara?"

"That was one time."

Well, what about when—?"

"A little girl is in danger." A slight exaggeration but Kenta did not need to know the finer details. "Can you help or not? Any information on TKC96 would be useful."

He sighed. "I feel like you seriously undervalue my side of our relationship."

That made Rika laugh.

A middle-aged man with mousey hair called for Kenta. Rika glared at him. Kenta raised his hands in acquiescence, mouthing the words I'll do what I can before turning away.

With a groan, Rika took one of the magazines down off the shelf, idly flipping through it while she waited. The glossy edition had attracted her attention because it featured Hada on the cover, alongside the other girls in the group. There were ten altogether, all young and sweet, dressed in soft, flowery pastel clothing and elaborate bows. Hada was at the forefront; from what Rika understood, she was one of the more popular members.

The magazine was insipid. Bright colors and loud phrases telling her what to feel and how. Much of the articles were miscellaneous details of the girls' personal lives. So much hiragana devoted to saying nothing.

Rika absently plugged her headphones into her phone, listening to a new album from a band Jeri had told her about. She paged through another magazine, head bobbing to the music, tracing over the glossy images without absorbing their contents. Jackpot Entertainment was a smaller agency, nowhere close to powerhouses like Burning Production or Johnny & Associates, although TKC96 were easily their most successful group. They also had a couple of virtual idols on the rise, one who looked vaguely familiar to Rika, but that was about it.

Rika's D-Power vibrated. She clicked pause, letting her headphones rest around her neck.

Renamon: You need to see this.

Rika sidled into the singular unisex bathroom, locking the door behind her. The holographic image flickered to life, revealing a dark green space ribboned with yellow circuitry and silvery pins. A strange creature oozed onto the screen, fractals shifting endlessly across smooth silver skin. Then another, and another.

Rika dropped the D-Power. Dread filled her, so sudden and strong that it took her a second to realize what she was even feeling. She swallowed. Those had to be the creatures eating DigiGnomes Renamon had mentioned the day before.

"But does it mean anything?" Rika asked aloud.

No answer. The D-Power had gone dark. A bit panicked, Rika picked it back up, shaking it. "Renamon?"

Nothing happened.

Nothing was happening.

A message pinged.

Renamon: We had to leave.

Relief flood Rika. She sagged a little, arm pressed against the bathroom wall for support. He reflection stared back at her in the mirror, pale and sweaty.

Sometimes Rika really hated the boundary that still existed between her and Renamon. In the old days, she could just say Renamon's name, and there she would be, hovering over Rika's shoulder, immutable as ever. Moments like these Rika felt so helpless. Useless, even, a state of being she detested.

Beelzemon: What the hell? I've never seen those freaks get aggressive before.

Rika: I'm just glad you're both all right.

Beelzemon: Aw, toots, you're makin' me blush.

Rika grinned. The grin quickly faltered, however. Strange new digital lifeforms popping up around the agency she was investigating... it might be a coincidence, but Rika no longer believed in coincidences when it came to the Digital World.

A knock on the door jarred her from her thoughts.

"Sorry! One moment!" Rika washed her hands, hastily saying goodbye to Renamon and Beelzemon, and stepped back outside the bathroom past a disgruntled elderly man.

Renamon: We didn't find much. Some security footage. And traces of numbers from an outside source.

She sent the numbers.

Rika worried at her lower lip. The dots were all there but none of them were connecting.

Kenta reappeared half an hour later, smiling and bowing goodbye to the agent before approaching Rika. She closed the fifth magazine she had worked through with a sharp snap. Kenta must have recognized the expression on her face because he ushered her out of the building without another word.

They wandered over to the docks to watch ships sail in and out of port.

"This might be bigger than I first thought," Rika said at last.

Kenta pulled out some cigarettes in response. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Just one." Rika plucked the filter from his fingers. Kenta lit up for both of them, the end of the cigarette burning orange.

"Remember when you, me, and Kazu used to smoke at the park?" he asked.

You never truly forgot the taste of a cigarette. The memory slumbered in the membrane chambers of the lungs, waiting for the right moment to stretch webbed, fibrous wings along curved jail cell walls.

"Mmhmm. The two of you were a terrible influence."

She was unsure when Kenta and Kazu became more her friends than Takato's. But somehow, during high school (maybe because they placed near her private school), the shift had occurred. Or perhaps even before that, all the way back when she had been saddled with them in the Digital World, when they had tacitly realized a shared mean-spiritedness that Takato and Henry lacked.

"Us?" Kenta snorted. "We both know you just did it to make your mom mad."

It worked, too. Rumiko had been livid; she had been dating some uptight control freak back then. Rika smiled at the memory. Even though their relationship was not as fractured anymore, it would never be like what Takato and Henry had with their parents. They had wounded each other too deeply in too many different ways.

Rika wondered, idly, if that was one of the reasons she clicked with Jeri. Even after drifting away from the others, she had kept in touch with Jeri throughout the years. One with a father like an employer, the other with a mother like a sister. They made quite the pair.

"Henry wasn't happy when he found out, either. I think he was convinced we'd all die of leukemia by the time we turned eighteen."

Although Henry tended to be passive aggressive when it came to expressing disapproval. It pissed Rika off immensely at the time, even more because he had not been strictly wrong. Takato floundered between the two of them for weeks in the aftermath of their little cold war. So much inane teenage drama over stupid bullshit.

Kenta smiled. The smile soon faded. "The guy I interviewed… he had an access point in his office."

Rika blew out a smoke ring. For the first time, she contemplated the possibility that someone other than a fan had targeted Fumiko Hada.

"Is there any audio I can use? Anything at all?"

"One of these days you're going to get me fired, Rika Nonaka."

"Good. Your job fucking blows. Come work for us instead."

"You make it sound so tempting," Kenta said. "But I don't really believe in mixing business with pleasure."

"Shut up." Rika was laughing again.

"Even my fake girlfriends are mean to me." Kenta turned droll. "Life is so unfair."

"You're never letting that go, are you."

"Not for a while, anyway." Kenta rummaged through his pockets, pulling out a slip of paper. "I was able to get the IP address off the access point. Maybe it'll help."

On impulse, Rika kissed him on the cheek. Kenta turned pink, looking pleased with himself. Seagulls drifted across the port, hovering just above the waves. The air was thick with the scent of salt and nicotine.

"I changed my mind," Rika decided, "you're too useful to not keep around as my pet journalist."

Kenta rolled his eyes. They smoked together in silence until Rika's phone rang with a call from Kazu.

Henry woke up to the steady beeping of a monitor.

He stared at the ceiling: just a white expanse of nothing. Absolutely nothing. It took a while for his thoughts to form anything coherent, mind lost as it was to the fog.

Yamaki sat a foot from the medical cot. The black of his suit burned against the white background. His hair had turned pure gray over the years. He was not even that old. Maybe it was like prime ministers and people in positions of power, how they aged faster than other people. Normal people.

Henry licked his cracked lips. "Where…"

"Your friend brought you to the Red Cross center. He's waiting with your parents downstairs."

Henry felt like he had just trudged upward through sludge. He touched his neck, the skin smooth and unbroken, although a curious phantom pain remained. He refocused on Yamaki, latching onto the familiar flicker of animosity like it was a lifeline.

"What are you doing here?"

Yamaki flicked his lighter open and closed. "You kept ignoring my e-mails. I decided to be proactive."

Henry's arm prickled. An IV drip fed him potassium and saline. The sun was setting beyond the window, a dull, angry red color, partially masked by gray clouds. No one ever remembered ugly sunsets, which Henry found quite tragic.

He looked around for his D-Power. Not contacting Terriermon all day would no doubt worry his partner. But the staff must have taken his stuff because there was only the generic hospital gown covering his body. He patted down the soft green cloth twice over, as though his D-Power would materialize if he was just more thorough.

"Well, I'm not exactly in a position to leave. What do you want?" Henry finally asked.

"Last night Nyx tracked a large transfer of data off the Digital World."

Henry wanted to roll his eyes. Nyx. Just Hypnos by another name. The semantics of it all irritated him; he had to force himself to focus.

"Where?"

No way any Digimon could come to the Real World. They would have to break their data down to the size of quarks and then synthesize proteins from them. It was impossible: Henry would know better than anyone.

"Where do you think?" Yamaki asked.

A beat.

"You still haven't said what you want."

"We need more information on EDEN, Henry. You can't keep avoiding this. They forced through the bill last week to install public access points around the scramble crossing. Kamishiro already has who knows how many politicians from both branches of the National Diet in their pockets."

A headache was building behind Henry's eyes.

"…At what cost?"

He could not forget the bricked-up hideout. Henry knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Yamaki would separate them from their Digimon again. Somehow. Someway. For the greater good. Henry respected it, even, in a distant, academic sort of way. But not enough to concede. There had to be another option. He was done operating at the expense of adults who only wanted to use him. Henry would fix this on his own terms only.

Click. Click. Click. The sound was a polyrhythm to the monitor's rhythmic beeping. Henry watched his heartrate spike.

"I know you were burned in the past working with an organization, but—"

"Twice." The belligerence of his own words surprised Henry. He almost apologized but caught himself.

Yamaki clicked his lighter some more.

"I suppose so. Look. It's like this. When I was younger, I was treated by everyone as the smartest person in the room. I had everything handed to me. I felt on top of the world. Only to be outsmarted by rogue data and a group of snot nosed brats in the end."

Henry said nothing.

"The point I'm trying to make is that there's always someone—or something—smarter than you. And in the ways you least expect. Never forget that, Henry. You're brilliant, more brilliant than I ever was, but…"

Yamaki frowned. Henry returned to staring at the ceiling. He was so tired.

"I'll think about it." His tone became neutral.

Yamaki fell silent. When Henry turned his head, the other man was gone.