author's note: Apologies for the long wait. Life has been hectic and this was a bitch to write. (And re-write, and re-re-write, and... you get the picture, I hope.) I'm still not quite satisfied, but I'd like to move the story forward at some point, so here we are.
Henry hated hospitals.
He never hated them before. Before Shibumi died, before EDEN existed. Now the harsh fluorescent lights stabbed at his eyes; comfortable hospital furniture was as much a myth as edible hospital food. They were places filled with false smiles and people whose compassion had worn thin, stretched out into gray and colorless forms.
Endless gray and spiraling black fractal forms…
"Mr. Wong, I want to reiterate that this is a bad idea." The nurse frowned as she filled out an AMA report.
"Thank you." He took back his NHI card.
Henry stared placidly at a point beyond her shoulder. He itched to check his D-Power again—he had just about managed to scroll through Terriermon's increasingly frantic stream of messages and respond—but refrained in the name of his one true god, courtesy. The nurse sighed, resigned, signing the papers with a pointed flourish.
He had waited for his parents to finish fussing over him (Kazu had left too, awkwardly offering a discount that Henry begged off) and leave before asking the staff to let him check out early. Early as in now. Both Takato and Rika also called, but Henry had convinced them to stay home. It was not worth the trouble.
Outside was dark and miserable. The scent of rain hovered unseen in the chill air. Henry settled on a cement bench under the hospital building's awning and withdrew his D-Power.
T-dawg: Change is inevitable, except for vending machines.
T-dawg: C'mon, that at least deserves an eyeroll emoji.
T-dawg: [Media Link]
T-dawg: I tracked those creepy ass squid monsters for you AND looked over the beta of that mod of yours. You owe me now, I missed the latest Attack on Titan episode because of you.
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: I was joking about the Attack on Titan thing, I don't even think it's that good.
T-dawg: [Media Link]
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: Did I do something to make you mad? This isn't funny.
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: Look I get that I'm not that great of a partner and sometimes I can be obnoxious but you never ignore me like this so if something's wrong you need to tell me because I worry about you a lot and if it's something I did just tell me and I'll do better Henry I swear—
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: "I shall think that the sky, the air, the earth, colors, shapes, sounds and all external things are merely the delusions of dreams which he has devised to ensnare my judgement. I shall consider myself as not having hands or eyes, or flesh, or blood or senses, but as falsely believing that I have all these things"
T-dawg: see I can be pretentious too.
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: Henry?
T-dawg: Henry?
Henry: Moumentai
T-dawg: fuck off
Henry pressed his hands against his temples. Not exactly a shining example of emotional intelligence. Then again, it always deserted him at the worst times.
Sometimes Henry would look at Rika and Renamon or Takato and Guilmon and think: They make sense. And he could not say the same for himself and Terriermon. But he loved Terriermon. Or maybe Henry loved the Terriermon he once knew. Everything had been simpler when they were children, glazed over in a golden sheen of innocent nostalgia.
Henry: It's complicated. I'm on my way right now. I'll explain everything.
He walked to Nakano Broadway. Scattered rain droplets kissed his hair and cheeks. Henry picked up the pace to avoid the downpour, escaping inside right when the floodgates poured open.
The darkened office enveloped him. Water drummed against the windowpanes while shadows murmured on the opposite wall. No one else was around. Henry was rumpled and damp and not supposed to use the access point alone, but that no longer mattered. This took priority.
Terriermon was watching a show in the Lab. Some anime Henry failed to recognize because he had never particularly enjoyed anime. If his father had not been involved with Digimon, Henry half-believed he may not have cared about that either as a child. It was all the same to him, specific patterns of narrative and theme that led to one of several possible universal conclusions.
"Hey. What's up?" Terriermon spun the chair around, posture and tone relaxed, smile failing to reach his eyes.
Instead of answering, Henry accessed the Lab interface. A holographic screen of a checkers board appeared between them, vertical and horizontal lines blurring Terriermon's face. Henry highlighted a middle row.
"The board is infinite in all directions. Rules are simplified checkers. Every time you use a piece you lose a piece. If you start below the line, with as many pieces as you need in whatever configuration you like, what's the highest row above the line you can reach?"
Terriermon stared at him. His ears perked then drooped and then perked again. At last, he moved toward the board and began fiddling with the digital checker pieces. Whenever he tried to cheat Henry would correct him.
The anime continued playing. A boy fell into a girl's enormous breasts. Loud orchestral music trumpeted on while an action scene commenced.
"Four rows," Terriermon eventually said.
"Because of the monovariant: Conway Checkers." Henry smiled. Terriermon's expression softened. "I passed out. I'm not sure what happened. Are you…?"
"I'm good." Terriermon turned off the game board. "And you?"
The white walls of the lab pulsed around them. If Henry squinted, maybe he would see the invisible lines of script creating the world they inhabited. The road here was seemingly endless.
"Data transferred to EDEN last night. A lot of it."
Terriermon hopped back into his seat, fixating on the show again. "Huh. Might explain why Master Mustache himself contacted me."
"Azulongmon?" Henry snapped around, surprised.
There had been almost zero communication with the Sovereigns upon their return. Azulongmon had greeted them, briefly, cordial yet distant, but that was about the extent of it. Henry had not been in a hurry to reacquaint himself with the likes of Zhuqiaomon, anyway.
"Yeah. Guess he wants to talk, or something. Was all vaguely grandiose and threatening, y'know, how those lot are." Terriermon picked his nose. Distracted from his worries, Henry had to fight off a burgeoning smile.
"You're disgusting."
Terriermon giggled before turning contemplative. "If you think about it, an infinite board couldn't have a middle. Needs a beginning and an end."
The boundaries—or lack thereof—they set would always be defined by their perceptions. Only with the assistance of technology could they surpass such limitations.
"I'm staying overnight. I want to monitor EDEN." He sat down beside Terriermon. Terriermon shrugged in acquiescence.
The EDEN model revolved around Henry. Lights signaling life pulsed blood red amongst pallid blue shades. How many of those lives were artificial? How could he possibly tell when all life transferred as data files onto EDEN?
Henry pulled up statistics, comparing the population numbers between today and yesterday. There was a marked increase that had since levelled out. The information was incomplete; he knew how many distinct data packets had transferred onto EDEN, but not the precise amount of data contained within each individual packet. The fact Nyx might know more grated on his pride.
The trashy anime continued playing in the background.
Henry checked the messages on his D-Power again. But Terriermon had already deleted them. They may well have never existed at all.
Rika found Henry when she first came into the office: conked out by the access point. He must have pulled an all-nighter. Him skipping out of the hospital and staying here was the Henriest thing imaginable, and Rika should have predicted it; it was still a surprise to enter and see him already there.
And yet, Rika was ashamed to admit she also felt relief. They could not manage their current workload without Henry. A true double-edged sword. She groaned while hanging up her coat, feeling far older than her actual age. Going to make coffee, Rika realized they were in short supply of that most vital substance. How tragic.
"You," she said, kneeling beside Henry and poking his shoulder, "are a total dope."
Henry just slumped forward. The vacant expression was more than a little unnerving, as if his very soul had been sucked out. What a start to the day. With another belabored groan, she headed down to the Nakano Broadway underground market to browse their convenience stores for something cheap and quick.
For as long as Rika could remember, she had found convenience stores unsettling. Rows of packaged instant goods towered over her, brightly colored sales pitches stretching in every direction, almost as shiny as the plastic smiles on the uniformed workers' faces. It was early enough to still be mostly deserted, but others had begun trickling in. Even when busy, there was always a strange undercurrent ever present. A curious, almost surreal reticence disturbed on occasion by a loud toddler or irate customer before reverting to the status quo.
Rika perused the aisles for coffee, wondering if she should buy something for Henry too. Aspirin, maybe, or…? Shelves displaying CDs caught her eye, the familiar picture of TKC96 beaming out from many of them alongside those of Hatsune Miku and other huge names. She picked up the case and turned it over, lost in thought.
Her phone rang.
Rumiko.
"Mom? What's up?" Rika cradled the phone between her neck and ear while she returned the CD to the shelf.
"Rika, darling! I chatted with Daiki, and he agreed to arrange a meeting. I can give you his e-mail address and number now, if you like?"
Rika had entirely forgotten about the request she made, distracted by everything that happened afterward. She sighed, adjusting her grip on the phone. "Yeah, sure. That'd be great."
"Oh, I'll have Monique send it later. You'll never believe the confrontation I had with this new designer, honestly, the nerve some of these up-and-comers have…"
Rumiko launched into a rant about her Kyoto trip without much more preamble. Rika just meandered down the aisles until she found her coffee, grunting every so often to maintain the façade of active listening. When she went to check out, a familiar face caught her attention near the vending machines.
"Have to go, love you, bye!" Rika hung up, cutting off Rumiko's protest, then went and tapped Fumiko Hada on the shoulder. The girl flinched but relaxed upon spotting Rika.
"Oh, hello, detective. How's the… how's everything?" Hada asked.
"Not bad. Wait up for me while I pay?"
Hada nodded.
Once Rika checked out, they took the escalator to the ground floor. She stole discrete looks at Hada every so often. The girl appeared plainer than the day before, much less so compared to the magazine or CD covers. Even doctored by makeup and editing software, Hada would never have been described as a striking beauty—and Rika would know, since Rumiko's model friends were of the strikingly beautiful variety. No. What Fumiko Hada was, was cute, in a curiously unassuming manner.
They stood near a closed Chinese restaurant, off to the side and mostly out of sight. Nakano Broadway was influenced by metabolism architecture—a post-war movement fusing megastructures with organic biological growth—though it was not considered one like, say, the Nakagin Capsule Tower. While Nakano mostly tailored to niche Otaku subsets and tourists these days, Rika found its interior quite comforting. There was a rustic warmth to the brown and red color gradients basked in a low voltage, incandescent glow; a sense of belonging to the disorganized layout of the building that others lacked.
Hada was nervously fiddling with the tab of her energy drink. At last, she asked, "Can I have my phone back?"
"Oh. Uh, sure." Rika was relieved to find it on her person; it would have been a pain to go up and fetch it. Hada snatched the phone back, unlocking it in several deft strokes before scrolling through some social media website. "Where's your manager?"
"Mr. Ogawa?" Hada's eyes remained glued to the phone screen. "He's busy. Besides, I try not to go out in public with men."
Rika said nothing.
"Did you find anything?" Hada asked.
Rika shook her head.
"But you saw the pictures."
Rika nodded.
Hada hesitated, meeting her gaze for the first time. There was a naked vulnerability there, of a kind Rika was unsure how to placate. She wondered, suddenly, if her own mother had ever experienced anything like this. Rumiko would have told her though, right?
"There's a lead I'm confident on," Rika said in a careful tone. Hada perked up and set her phone aside. Rika debated what to say or not to say, fumbling for the right words that would set Hada more at ease. The longer the awkward silence extended the further Hada's face fell. "It's nothing concrete yet, though."
"Oh."
Neither spoke. Rika fidgeted, wondering if she should leave or try—
"We're not very good," Hada said, tone laced with bitterness. The non-sequitur gave Rika pause. Then she realized Hada had been staring beyond them, at the TKC96 poster displayed atop the partition.
"I'm sure that's not true."
Hada reconsidered. "We're okay, I guess."
Rika attempted smiling at her how Jeri would have smiled, all kind and soft and unassuming. She could not for the life of her tell if it was effective, and mostly just felt like an idiot. Hada remained pensive, turning the energy drink around and around in her tiny hands. She was so young.
"There were other pictures on my phone. I deleted them, and—aren't things supposed to stay gone, when you delete them? But they… they're worse."
Rika tilted her head.
"You think I'm a slut, don't you?"
Taken aback, Rika blinked. "I think… I don't think that at all. Whoever did this is an asshole, end of story. Uh, excuse the language."
Hada smiled, faint and wan, but a smile nonetheless. It soon slipped away. "The person I was with, they could get in a lot of trouble too. If the other photos leak."
"That won't happen. You and yours'll be fine with us. Promise." Rika quashed the rising curiosity inspired by Hada's elusiveness, choosing instead to focus on the next step. "I should get going, though. Work never stops and all that. You need anything?"
Hada shook her head. "Thank you, Detective Nonaka. For helping."
They exchanged goodbyes and parted ways. Rika head upstairs to the office, more determined than ever to crack this case.
Takato was mildly annoyed that he had shown up on time for once and still managed to be the last one in the office. Doubly so since Henry should not even be there in the first place. Unbelievable.
"I'm telling you, I'm fine. It was just—just a blip. That's all," Henry said. He did not look fine. He looked haggard and drained.
Takato combed his wild mane of hair out from his face. "Man, you gotta take care of yourself. Your body's like, like a temple."
Rika snorted.
They were in the meeting room, Takato and Rika seated while Henry paced around the table.
"I promise you, I wouldn't be here if I thought I couldn't handle it."
"But—"
"Drop it, Takato." Henry's voice brooked no argument, and Takato surrendered with a shrug. The fight was never worth it when Henry shifted into these types of moods. "Anyway, what's the plan?"
"Well, what do we all know?" Rika asked. She held up a hand, counting off on her fingers. "One: something's going on with EDEN. Two: something's going on with the Digital World and these weird new creatures. Three: something's going on with these weird new creatures and Jackpot Entertainment. Ergo, Jackpot Entertainment probably has some sort of involvement with EDEN and, therefore, Kamishiro Enterprises."
"Let's not be hasty," Henry said. "It could be a coincidence."
"Give me a break, Henry. They have access points available before they've been legalized. Even if everything else was a coincidence, that's a huge red flag."
Henry rubbed his chin, frowning.
Takato quietly watched them volley back and forth, fiddling with his gnawed cuticles. To better center himself, he grabbed a piece of stationary and began doodling Guilmon sketches. The lines and shapes of the familiar silhouette helped calm him and focus his resolve.
Once a lull in the conversation presented itself, however, Takato interjected: "Uh, there's something else. Cyberdramon might be involved."
"What?!" Henry and Rika said simultaneously.
So Takato explained, somewhat sheepish, how he had spent the past few months searching for Cyberdramon. You could always tell how pissed off Rika was by the number of snarky comments she made, and currently she remained dead silent. Uh oh. Now she had her arms crossed, meaning they were fast approaching a code pineapple.
"You used the access point alone?" Henry asked once Takato finished speaking.
"Uh—not often, yesterday yeah, but… I mean, you used it too!" Takato had slumped under Henry's forceful, exasperated stare; now he straightened, righteous indignation stiffening his spine.
"Right. But only to the Lab. If something happens to us in the Digital World, we'll be stuck in a coma. Like Shibumi, except, I don't know if there'll be a way to wake back up. You know this. How could you be so irresponsible?" Henry demanded.
"But… I wasn't alone. I had Guilmon. And usually Beelzemon helps, too." A familiar surge of helpless frustration rushed through Takato. Henry's caution was often justified, but other times it left Takato—and Rika, though she voiced it less often—chafing at the bit. Inaction was still, in and of itself, an action.
"Beelzemon's been helping? Why didn't he say anything to Renamon? Or me, for that matter." Rika spoke, self-imposed vow of silence broken, clearly aggrieved.
"I-I asked him not to because last time I brought it up you got upset—"
"Yeah, for good reason!" Rika snapped.
She had shifted into attack mode, all crackling lines of barely restrained animosity, and Takato braced himself for impact. But she just continued to glare, hands clenched into fists. Takato's arms rose, palms turned outward in a mollifying gesture. He was embarrassed to realize the corners of his eyes were damp. Evening out his breathing, Takato battled down the swirling pre-cry stickiness gathering behind the eyes and at the back of the throat.
"I… I want to make sure Cyberdramon's okay, is all."
And just like that, the fiery anger went out, leaving behind nothing but ashen sadness. Rika pinched the bridge of her nose and turned away to brew a new pot of coffee. The rich scent of percolating caffeine soon wafted from that direction.
Henry was frowning again, a deep crease darkening his brow. "So why do you think Cyberdramon's involved with EDEN? You still haven't said."
"Oh." In, out. In, out. Like how they did in tai chi. "Oh! Right, yeah. Well, you see, I had this dream—and, and Guilmon had it too, and we, uh, we talked to some Digimon and they told us that Cyberdramon was… gone. And I don't know where else he could go but EDEN."
Silence. The sound of liquid pouring into ceramic filled the room. Henry's expression smoothed over, transformed into pure bemusement. "What? What Digimon?"
"Uh…" Takato mentally flailed, having not thought this through. "Dunno. They were just passing by, and they, they, they'd seen him."
Henry tilted his head. Aw, nuts. Takato could already feel himself cracking—if ever he was taken as a POW, Japan would be so screwed.
What would happen if they found out where he had been? All those strange, slumbering Digimon waking and crawling from below to devour them whole while Guilmon watched, disappointed, golden gaze veiled with secrets. Takato shivered.
"What was the dream about?" Rika sat on the table's edge, leaning back on one hand; the other hand gripped her coffee white-knuckle hard. Her clear-coated nails gleamed under the office lights while she watched him over the mug's lip, expression opaque.
Takato gratefully seized the topic change. He explained what he remembered to the best of his abilities, the memory of the dream frayed into surreal fragments. There lies a thief by the gates, oh bringer of dreams, and they watch by night.
Rika and Henry both considered the new information. Takato broke the quiet first:
"Not sure there's much else we can do there, except keep an eye out, anyway. But we definitely need to investigate that IP address. Who's staying and who's going?"
All three, simultaneously:
"I'm going."
A beat. The strained atmosphere dissipated as they glanced at each other before chuckling in unison. Takato grinned and stood to grab some leftover coffee. He poured several packets of sweetener and cream into it, mood lightening alongside his drink.
"Draw straws?" Henry suggested.
Even if using the access point had been completely safe, someone would need to keep in contact with other potential clients. They should hire a receptionist or something, to be honest. Takato knew Suzie was interested—and knew Henry kept turning her down, which Takato found strange. She would have been perfect for the job. It was safe, too, so the whole protective angle made no sense. Maybe it was just another one of those weird sibling issues. Lucky Takato was an only child, then.
"Henry," Rika said, words coated in sugary-sweet sarcasm, "you just got discharged from the hospital."
Henry's face fell.
"Remember to alert me for an emergency log out if necessary."
"We know, Henry."
"Right. But also, make sure—"
"We know, Henry." Rika swiveled in her seat to pin him down with a pointed look. "By the by, a contact of mine will want to co-ordinate a meeting. If you could be a pal and set that up, I'd be forever grateful."
"I will." Henry grumpily flipped open his laptop. Despite his outward irritation, he was secretly relieved to avoid EDEN. The few times he set foot there triggered bad memories and a metallic taste rusted through with guilt.
"As soon as we find anything, we'll let you know," Takato assured him.
"I know." Henry managed a tepid smile. "Just don't forget to—"
"Henry."
"Sorry, sorry. Good luck, stay safe."
And then they were gone.
Henry was alone.
A wave of exhaustion washed over him, the events of the previous twenty-four hours at last hitting him in full. Henry leaned forward and put most of weight on his elbows, knuckles kneading into his temples to stem the migraine there. It throbbed in rhythm with the shadow incisions on his neck. A visit with sensei might be in order—he had not felt this off-kilter in ages.
First, Henry sorted out Rika's contact. Scheduling a time slot that worked for both was trivial: Daiki Yoshimoto was retired and had nothing but time, it seemed. They could meet at almost any time during the week. The only potential conflict Henry knew of was Friday morning, because Rika always had tea with her grandmother and Jeri around then. Instead, he confirmed for late afternoon the day prior.
Several text messages and calls rolled in, including one from Kazu. The work on his car was finished and he could stop by to pick it up whenever he felt better. Henry made no mention of his discharge, but also found he was in no hurry to stop by again.
Once that was done, Henry scrolled through the list of missing persons and infidelity requests to select a new case, scrolling through the clienteles' list. A pharmacist suspected someone—likely one of their techs—was stealing fentanyl from the clinic and selling it on the darknet. The job was twofold since the clinic's charting security had been breached in addition to the selling of prescription medication. It seemed simple enough. Henry began by typing a referral list of stellar red team specialists he had worked with during the Kamishiro days. Then he moved to reconnaissance, requesting information on coworkers and company port numbers from his employer.
Depending on the badge readers they used, he might contact someone who made a living faking employee IDs to see if any recent orders had been placed. Under normal circumstances, he would have had Terriermon assist, but figured his partner wanted some space. Henry could complete it fine on his own, everything would just take longer.
In that sense, Digimon bore remarkable similarity to quantum computers. Shibumi had even hypothesized DigiGnomes as purely quantum entities, unconstrained by qubit limits or quantum decoherence. He also suggested all DigiGnomes networked with each other via—if not electromagnetic waves, then an analogous concept. While most of Shibumi's theories had fallen more into the insane ramblings category than anything viable or even coherent, Henry always felt both ideas held merit. Neither had ever been able to explain why this might be the case, however, for there had been no chance to study the creatures until years after Shibumi passed away.
Work usually settled Henry's nerves, but today his mind kept ranging across a jagged gorge of electrical wire and jagged fiberglass. He messed around with an old flowchart and considered modding his D-Power further. He had tinkered with it extensively over the past few years, reluctant to move on despite Rika's insistence they needed an upgrade. For one, the operating system was complicated and required specific hardware to function; for another, holding the D-Power felt a lot like holding a sliver of the best version of himself in the palm of his hand. He had spent many nights cooped up in a tiny office building writing and rewriting complex functions, with only the D-Power by his side to spur him on.
Instead, Henry selected a half-finished article written not long after reuniting with Terriermon. Reminiscing about Shibumi often brought him to melancholic frames of reference.
Kami, Plato's forms, and Faith in Relation to Digital Life
When one thinks of the term kami, it calls to mind Izanagi and Izanami thrusting a spear into the waters of the world; of Amaterasu creeping out of the cave to return the sun; of Susanoo slaying the eight forked serpent to protect seven daughters. But Japanese is a language of ambiguity, and the true nature of kami is difficult for humanity to grasp. Kami can be found in the core existence of everything, incorporating the harmonizing power of Musubi.
In this we see echoes of Plato's forms, like how we see echoes of Orpheus and Eurydice when Izanagi attempts to rescue Izanami from the underworld. Plato described forms as transcendent to our own world, the essential basis of reality. Recursions of the monomyth are not unlike an equation, with the variables symbolizing idiosyncrasies across cultures.
The question, then, becomes this: can digital creations have kami? Do they have a form? If not, could such esoteric topics be simulated or replicated, thereby circumventing the analogy of the cave? It harkens to thought experiments where we ponder whether a person whose neurons are replaced with silicon chips are still capable of subjective experiences—except with personified abstract ideas instead of flesh and blood. I argue that these concepts are inextricably linked to understanding digital life and how they mirror the ineffable, the intrinsic of our world; and transform it into unique phenomena that both reflects and distorts…
Ping.
Another e-mail.
Henry hesitated: A may have responded again. The paranoia ebbed then flowed, leaving him feeling foolish. Henry clicked open the e-mail.
It was from Haru Ogawa, containing the upfront portion of payment and tickets to the next TKC96 concert. Henry found the promotional material rather tacky, but supposed a job was a job. He sent the tickets to Suzie because they seemed more her scene. He then leaned back in his seat and stared out the window and wondered at what point his life would feel like it had meaning. After a moment, he continued typing the document, but instead wrote:
We're more connected than ever, and yet I have never felt more alienated.
While Takato could count the number of times he had visited EDEN proper on one hand, he was confident it had never looked quite like this.
EDEN took heavy inspiration from the Art Deco movement in its overall design. Each domain was cruise liner-white, with a GUI of vibrant neon colors stripped down to sleek geometrical shapes signposting the layout. Here—wherever here was, exactly—the spatial perspective was enigmatic with a barely discernable horizon line. A multiplicity of conjoined, semi-transparent cubes stretched in every direction. The shade of green was difficult to describe, textured in diamond-star pinpricks. Peering at them for too long gave Takato a headache, for it felt like tumbling into infinity.
No one else was near them. Takato, Rika, and their Digimon partners had arrived at the IP address undetected. The access pad glowed briefly beneath their feet before shutting off.
"I sense a Digimon, Takato." Guilmon snapped him out of his daze.
"Uh. Right. Let's go, then."
Rika strode forward without comment, up the—well, path would be generous, as it more resembled the mountainside of a Minecraft biome. He trailed behind her, determined not to obsess over whether or not Rika was mad at him. Renamon flitted ahead to scout while Guilmon brought up the rear, expression thoughtful. Whatever he was thinking, he kept hidden.
If Takato was younger, he would have started babbling right about now. But he had grown more comfortable with quiet over the years—helped by the fact his two best friends could often be rather laconic, a far cry from Takato's childhood friendships with Kazu and Kenta. But sometimes it seemed that because of this, his imagination was less restless, less fanciful, and he mourned the loss.
Takato assessed their surroundings again. Although by no means an expert, it seemed probable to Takato that the programming for EDEN had been tampered with here. "Henry'll have a field day when he sees this."
"Henry needs to get laid," Rika said. "He's wound so tight you could use him to tell time."
Takato giggled despite himself. Much of Henry's stress stemmed from recent events, and for valid reason—but still. Rika smirked. Takato asked, "Do you really think he's okay?"
The smirk faded, expression neutral once more. "Henry knows how to take care of himself."
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." Reassured, Takato nodded in agreement. They continued walking in companionable silence.
"You ask Jeri yet?" Rika asked out of nowhere.
Takato almost tripped. His voice went up an octave: "S-she didn't mention it to you?"
"Nah."
"Oh. Well, um…" Takato swallowed. He had approached Rika for advice in confidence, expecting her to never mention it again except in the event of an apocalypse. It was one of those unwritten rules. "Yeah, all casual like we practiced, but I dunno. She just deflected and hasn't really said anything since."
"Hmmm."
"Hmmm. Hmmm? What does that even mean?!"
Rika shrugged. "If you're serious about wanting kids, you'll probably need to have a serious talk about it."
"I… I guess. I don't wanna pressure her or anything, though," Takato said, morose.
It started a few weeks after they reunited with the Digimon. Takato had been taking a walk through their old stomping grounds, reminiscing about the strangest and most wonderful year of his life. The school children clambering over hideous playground equipment had inspired him; a tender longing remained smoldering in his breast like banked coals ever since. But Jeri had been so softly sad for so many years, and between the bakery and, and, and tai chi—for some reason—it seemed she was at last turning a corner. And he was not stupid, he knew pregnancies could be complicated and post-partum depression was very real and very serious. He just wanted her to be happy, and the possibility she might agree for his sake alone was almost worse than an outright refusal.
"You should tell my mom that," Rika said sourly. It pulled Takato out of his musings, for which he was grateful.
"Your mom and my mom should start a seminar on how to wield guilt, would be a huge hit," Takato said. Rika smiled. "You'd be a good mother though."
Rika became disconcerted and began rubbing her wrist with the opposite hand. "It's not just that. It's… complicated."
"What's Ryo think?"
"Ryo is Ryo," Rika said, cryptic, ice creeping into her tone.
He took the hint and dropped it. The mention of Ryo once again had him second guessing just how angry Rika might still be. No one had mastered the art of bottled rage quite like her.
They crested the hill, which dipped into a curved valley of cubes. The bottom became smooth, a verdant green half-dome of the strange material. At the center jutted an enormous rock-shaped crystal spire filled with floating binary code.
The area was deserted.
Paranoia struck Takato in full force. Why did that Jackpot Entertainment employee have an access point? Where was everyone? Where were they?
"The Digimon vanished," Renamon commented, appearing out of nowhere. Takato jumped—he would never get used to that.
Guilmon's ears perked upward as he sniffed the air, nostrils flaring wide. The snuffling noise sounded gunshot loud in the artificial silence. He nodded his agreement after a moment.
"Do you think they went to warn someone of our arrival?" Rika asked, pulling out her D-Power.
"I'm not certain," Renamon said, "but we should move quickly."
Renamon and Rika did their thing, where they communicated more in a single glance than a thousand conversations would have managed. Guilmon always asked why Takato looked ill whenever he tried emulating them. Renamon knelt, peering unmoved into the distance, while Rika turned away. Cottoning onto the plan, Takato jumpstarted their descent.
"Need you to guard for us, boy. I'll be helping Rika."
"M'kay," Guilmon said.
Rika followed Takato to the bottom of the valley. He snapped photos with his phone while Rika approached, kneeling beside the spire, D-Power in hand and lip bit in concentration. Guilmon paced around the space surrounding them much like a circling shark while Renamon remained a golden sentinel above them, forever vigilant.
A loading bar appeared on Rika's D-Power holoscreen as it began downloading information. Given how slowly the bar moved, the file size must be huge. It would take a couple minutes at least to finish. In the interim, Takato circled back around to not-obsessing over Cyberdramon. Really, he should stop worrying about it.
"Are you mad at me?" Takato blurted out.
Rika did a double take. "No." Then she rolled her eyes. "But I wish you'd told me sooner. I would've helped you, you absolute gogglehead."
"Oh." Takato stared at his shoes. "Sorry."
"It's fine." Rika stayed focused on the spire.
A small voice in the back of Takato's head wondered how often they would keep repeating they were fine until no one believed it anymore. He swiftly crushed the thought: everything was fine. Better than fine, even.
The pain came first.
It felt like his cheek had been both split in two and set on fire. Takato shouted, stunned, clutching his face. There was no blood, only agony. A low laugh, grating like crushed steel, echoed in the valley. Guilmon unleashed a distressed cry and charged toward his partner; his chest concaved, the blow's force driving him into the floor. Whatever attacked Guilmon remained unseen.
Everything happened too fast. Rika was still reacting to Takato's shout by the time Guilmon had been knocked down, turning on her heels with eyes wide, while Renamon appeared in front of her. Takato dimly heard them shouting, but the pain, oh the pain—black spots were clouding his vision as his knees crumpled from beneath him.
On the peripheral lay his D-power, having tumbled loose from his pocket. Takato reached for it, hand shaking, thoughts fixed: digivolve. No, not just digivolve, but biomerge. They needed Gallantmon; he needed Gallantmon. But nothing happened and nothing would happen, for their connection had been lost. He always suspected it but knew then, irrevocably, the truth.
Takato heard something.
Music was playing.
The haunting melody carried an acoustic quality akin to wind blowing through reeds. Warmth spread through Takato, the pain receding. A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see Rika hovering over him, concern obvious. Renamon had become Kyubimon, currently nosing Guilmon's slumped form. He rose at geriatric speeds, befuddled, batwing ears wavering.
"What happened?" Takato asked. He touched his cheek, half-expecting to feel a deep gash, but there was only unbroken skin and coarse facial hair.
"You shouldn't be here," said a new, boyish voice. "It's too early for the concert."
Kyubimon whipped around, tails and fur along her spine standing upright, prepared for another fight. Once she turned, Takato could see her favoring her left foreleg, paw crooked at an ugly angle. But before their eyes it was healing, straightening itself out.
The voice belonged to a Digimon Takato had never seen before: half-child and half-goat, it nimbly leapt from cube to cube toward them on cloven feet. Horns curled out of its pure white hair, and across its bare chest was a strange tattoo of wavy lines. Takato pointed his D-Power at the Digimon.
"Aegiomon," he read aloud, "a champion level vaccine Digimon."
"Hey, that's me! And this is Syrinx." Aegiomon held up an ornate panpipe and blew into it. The warm music returned, energy rushing through Takato in tandem. It sang out like the call of the clarion. He found his feet again and hurried toward Guilmon. His partner still seemed disoriented, flat of one claw rubbing his sternum over and over.
"You okay, boy?"
"Yeah."
Guilmon butted his head into Takato's stomach. There was a somberness to the gesture that left Takato stricken with unexplainable grief. He blinked back tears, glanced at the impenetrable sky, then over at Kyubimon. She had relaxed, a hint of wariness remaining in her narrowed gaze, regarding Takato with mournful commiseration.
Meanwhile, Rika began grilling Aegiomon, asking him a series of questions in rapid succession. Where were they, who had attacked them, why was Aegiomon there, did he know Jackpot Entertainment, were there any others and were they friendly or hostile? —and so on and so forth. The Digimon kept his panpipes raised to his lips, mounting confusion more evident the more Rika spoke. When she paused, he lowered the instrument to let it dangle by his side. Silver glyphs were inscribed onto the front of each pipe, twisting together like the elongated, weeping feather-leaves of willow trees.
"You musn't linger long. They'll be back soon, and I won't be able to draw them away again," he said, ignoring her questions entirely.
Rika scowled.
"He's right." Kyubimon gingerly placed weight on her injured leg. It held. "Whatever that was, it would've killed us if given a few minutes more. We must leave. Now."
Rika glanced at her D-Power. The interruption had ruined the download, the information likely lost. Then she glanced at the strange spire, at Takato. The conflict was clear there. He shook his head, and her shoulders sagged. "Yeah, sure."
She swung onto Kyubimon's back. Takato ushered Guilmon along but paused. Aegiomon stood aside, observing them placidly.
"Thank you," Takato said. He bowed before taking Rika's extended hand, letting her pull him up.
Aegiomon cocked his head. Then he smiled. It was a strange smile, falling somewhere in the uncanny valley, a close approximation but still not quite human.
Rika lay sprawled out on her couch, beer bottle in one hand and TV remote in the other. She was sore everywhere, body transformed into one giant bruise. It was a curious ache because her physical body had not suffered any actual harm, more an echo of soreness that left her muscles tight. She had forgone pants, because it just seemed to be that type of night.
Rika was channel surfing, an instantly regrettable decision given everything on broadcast television was a special kind of terrible. But she had already committed and was too tipsy to stop now. The bold hiragana, loud noises, and overexaggerated reactions of the hosts and guests made it easier to drink more.
Night had fallen. Ryo still was not home; he must have been kept late again. Rika eventually found an almost tolerable quiz show, calling out answers on occasion and getting annoyed both when she got them right and when she got them wrong. The guests were miscellaneous celebrities Rika recognized in a distant manner—mostly from billboards and one through Rumiko.
He D-Power went off from the table. Rika stared at it. Then, sighing, she pushed herself upright and picked it up.
Renamon: How are you?
She felt a flicker of guilt for not touching base with Renamon sooner. But upon returning from EDEN, Henry had been so concerned and Takato so shaken everything else had fallen by the wayside.
Rika: Terrible. All the data corrupted. We're back to square one.
It had been years since Rika felt true terror. When Takato stumbled to his knees, for a split-second she feared the worst. (She still had the rare nightmare about Leomon's death and Jeri's subsequent suicidal depression.) That they survived seemed almost miraculous—and also, oddly enough, infuriating. Whatever they had fought, if you could even call it a fight, had been toying with them.
Renamon: What's the next move?
Rika: Not sure.
A guest won a prize and shrieked in response, jumping up and down. The quiz show cut to commercial break. Rika watched passively, lost in thought, then blinked when an advertisement for an idol group came on. Something triggered in the back of her mind.
Rika: Can you pull up those numbers you found on the Jackpot Entertainment network?
Without waiting for an answer, Rika wobbled to her feet, seeking out her laptop. It was perched on the counter and took ages to turn on. Tongue clicking with irritation, she flopped back onto the couch—almost knocking over her beer in the process—foot tapping staccato-quick against the floor.
It was at this point Ryo, sweat-stained and dirt-smudged, came home.
"Hey." She spared him a quick glance.
"Right back at you." Ryo yawned, kicking off his shoes and making a beeline for the bath.
A few minutes, search engine result, and cross reference later, Rika was grinning and fist pumping triumphantly. "Hell yeah."
Rika: It's a date for the upcoming TKC96 concert.
Renamon: Aegiomon mentioned a concert as well.
Rika was suddenly sober. Chewing on her inner cheek, she texted Takato and Henry—they had already been strategizing in the group chat off and on, she just had zero inclination to join currently—and flicked through clips of the group's performances. There was even a bootleg of an entire concert uploaded to the Internet. Fumiko stood at the front, fluidly moving through the choreography. It was a simple dance with telegraphed moves, both because it was easier to sing and because it was easier for the public to learn.
The music was decent. Three note melody, catchy hook, nice harmonization from the girls. It was certainly a song of all time.
Renamon: Our assailant was moving fast enough to be invisible. That sort of power is at least Ultimate level, if not Mega. We need to be able to biomerge.
Rika stared at the message for several minutes. She had no idea where to even begin to solve that particular problem; Henry made several suggestions upon their return, but she had lacked the mental bandwidth to properly absorb the information.
Rika: We'll figure something out.
Ryo ambled out of their bedroom, changed into a loosely tied yukata. "I'm starving. You want anything?"
She grunted, focused on research. Luckily, Ogawa had already sent them tickets. Serendipitous. The smell of curry soon filled the air and her stomach burbled, a reminder she had not eaten since morning.
"Oh hey, I know those idols." Ryo had turned from the stove, watching the laptop screen with an open and curious blue gaze. "There's a guy on the crew that's obsessed with them."
"Really?" Rika was successfully distracted from her task. She typed goodbye to Renamon, granting Ryo her undivided attention. He looked very attractive, hair still damp and mussed, and she longed to run her fingers through it.
"Mhmm. TKC96? They recently had one of those scam promotionals where they sell personal info alongside their CDs. He bought like seven of the same album to learn more about the girls."
"Really." Rika knew underhanded marketing tactics were utilized to keep the CD industry afloat in the age of digital file sharing, but she had never bothered to learn the intimate details. "That's kind of pathetic."
"He keeps to himself, but he's a good worker." Ryo divvied the curry between two plates before walking toward her. "Just lonely, I think. Punctual, does his job, does it well, goes home. I only know about the CD thing because Shou sees him lurking around Shinjuku's Disk Union a lot. And, he supposedly has a bunch of memorabilia plastered inside his car."
"Huh." Rika accepted the curry, setting aside her laptop. Work could wait. "Thanks."
He shrugged, shoveling fried rice into his mouth. They were both hungry, it seemed. Ryo finished the remnants of her beer and said, "Like barflies, right? They're living other people's lives through stories."
"That was mine, you know." Rika wagged a chopstick at him.
"Chef tax." Ryo wiped away the traces of beer foam clinging to his upper lip and cleaned his plate fast enough to challenge even Calumon. Rika sensed an opening and swung her feet onto his lap, nudging one foot insistently against his arm. He laughed. "You're so needy."
"I feel like I got run over by a truck."
"Well, at least you didn't sucked into another world. Silver linings. Or, well. Close enough." Ryo hummed, gently rubbing small circles into her calf. "Oooh, I know this one"—the quiz show had returned from another commercial break—"Taishi Shoutoko's oldest wooden facility is Houryuuji."
Immense love for her boyfriend struck her in that moment, warm and slick like the sucked seed of a fruit tree. It was always there if not always acknowledged—stitched beneath the surface of her skin in a delicate web of intricate embroidery, unseen but there to be stroked. Rika relaxed, putting her plate down, tensions draining away to the rhythm of his fingers. "Will you be coming home late for the rest of the week?"
"I sure as hell hope not. But… maybe. They keep piling add-ons to the project," Ryo admitted. He worked his way up to her foot, massaging the arch of her sole with the heel of his palm. "How's the case going?"
Rika had sunk deeper into the couch, content. Her eyes now fluttered open, and she hesitated. "It's been more complicated than I first thought."
"How so?" Ryo looked like he was only half-listening. He adjusted his grip on her leg and pressed a butterfly kiss against the fluted area of skin over the bone of her ankle, other hand splaying in five points high up her thigh.
The resultant tingles were pleasant and the temptation to continue was strong, but Takato's pleading face kept popping up in her mind's eye: I want to make sure Cyberdramon's okay. A real libido killer, that. Ryo did not strictly need to be kept in the loop (almost never wanted to be kept in the loop, in fact) but at the same time: if it had involved her partner, she would have wanted to know.
Fuck.
Already lamenting the decision, Rika said, "Weird stuff's been happening in the Digital World in conjunction with the case. The timing is suspicious. And… there was a Cyberdramon sighting."
Ryo stilled. Slowly, he set her foot down.
"Where?"
"Well, that's the thing. We heard secondhand, so we don't know, exactly, except not the Digital World itself. But we think EDEN."
He stood abuptly, collecting their plates, and headed into the kitchen. The sound of rushing water overlapped with melodramatic yells from the television. Rika turned it off and sat up, braced against the cushion as she twisted to watch him.
"Ryo—"
"Has he hurt anyone?" Ryo asked, scrubbing hard at a piece of rice stubbornly stuck to the ceramic.
"I don't think so. Violent metal dragon men tend to attract notice," Rika said. "Look, just forget it. It's not a big deal."
Ryo was silent. He placed the plates on the rack to dry, then looked over at the Renamon portrait hung opposite him. He asked:
"Am I nothing more than the hole other people fall through?"
She wanted to reach out to cradle his cheek in the cusp of her palm and shift the pain to a realm somewhere beyond them. "Ryo, baby…"
He cut her off with a raised, trembling hand. There was a desperate devastation on his face that broke her heart all over again. Rika opened then closed her mouth. She now regretted accepting that cigarette from Kenta. The urge to smoke, to lose herself to herself, welled up from deep within the nicotine-addicted aspect of her soul.
Ryo walked into the bedroom. The door slid shut behind him with the finality of a tolling bell.