The dark pool before him reflected a tired stranger. He stared at himself, silent and expressionless in this bitter, acrid mirror. The heat of it eased the ache in his hands and he let that warmth course through his palms with a hollow sort of satisfaction. Beside him the TV soundlessly flashed commercials. He didn't pay them any mind. Instead, he sat on the floor at one side of the folding table near the sofa─legs crossed, propped up with a cushion─and stared blankly at the liquid roast steaming in a pale mug.

"How do you take your coffee?" the old man had asked.

"I don't care," the injured man answered. What he meant was, he didn't know.

Instead of a surprise, the old man offered him options: three small sake glasses filled with a shot of milk, flavored creamer, and some sugar. His eyes moved between the choices with no pull toward one over another─his own preferences were as much a mystery as the rest of him.

That same lack of insight was why he now sat at the table like a guest rather than an assailant. He had taken too damn long wrestling instinct from impulse, and then the old man started talking.

"You must be hungry."

His eyes narrowed, the only part of him that moved.

With a tired smile, the old codger returned his attention to the bags he brought in, opened himself up to attack once more, and began removing items. There was an unmistakable deliberateness to these motions as individual groceries were deposited on the counter; daikon radish, tofu, ginger, green onion stalks, and so on, each more harmless than the last.

"I may need that knife to cook with… Would that be alright?"

"You have other knives." His voice carried rough; he must not have spoken in days.

The old man merely chuckled. "So you can talk." Tension from the injured man weakened with a deep scoff. "The grip on that knife is easier on my hand, but if you feel better with it I'll make due."

He watched the old timer clasp his hands together and massage aching joints with brittle, trembling fingers. It was at this moment he lost all will to strike; this man was so much more frail than him that an attack in self-defense, even with these injuries, felt cowardly.

"You can sit back down, boy. This will take some time." And he still sounded pleasant, despite having a weapon turned on him.

Ruefully, this knife-wielding amnesiac watched the old man move with an arthritic slowness that couldn't have been less threatening if he tried. He picked up the vegetables and brought them to the sink, individually rinsing each piece of produce at a gentle, leisurely pace.

That strange piqued feeling from before lingered in the air. Whatever it was did not warn of potential danger… so he relented. Vigilant and weary, the injured man's eyes never leaving the old man's back, he placed the knife flat on the counter.

Now he sat at the table, indecisive over the insignificant consideration of what to put in his coffee.

"You had me scared for a minute there," the old man admitted from a safe distance in the kitchen. "The way you handled yourself… did you serve with the SDF?"

"Maybe." That would explain some things.

Tired of his own indecision, the younger man picked the next ingredient his eyes found and poured without a second thought. Pale liquid swirled at the coffee's center like smoke, an off-white streak against the dark roast. His spoon destroyed that contrast, stirring a tan cloud that left the dark roast permanently altered.

Just his luck, vanilla creamer wasn't to his taste. He drank with a grimace.

"So, what should I call you?"

From the moment he relinquished the knife, this old man had been trying to coax conversation with little success. An occasional grunt or some other noncommittal answer was all the injured man afforded. That was hardly his fault under the circumstances, he thought.

Such a direct question made him hesitate. His mouth opened, delayed a stray breath, and he set the mug down before he could force his way through the pit in his stomach.

"...Yamada Taro."

The old man laughed.

Hot shame cascaded up the injured man's neck. That was the name listed on his medical chart─the memory of which kicked up an anxious pang in his chest.

Watching the old man warily, the odd comfort he found in this stranger's presence was undeniable. He couldn't place that feeling when it stood in direct opposition to their situation. They were truly strangers, so he had no reason to find such an assurance of ease─something that the logical part of his brain snapped at, frothing like an animal caged and beaten─yet it was this same impression of peace between them that allowed his question.

"What's so funny?" he grumbled with muted contempt.

"It's alright. You don't have to tell me."

The corner of his lip curled with a snarl. "I just told you."

"You certainly did; the most plain name I've ever heard."

His jaw clenched shut. There was so little he could remember and he had to sift through muck just for that much. Now it turned out the name was only a placeholder.

He was back at square one.

"That's fine," the old man ladled soup into two bowls, "I also have a very common name." Both servings were brought over to the table, placed at opposite ends, as he sat across from his guest. "You can call me Suzuki. Enjoy the meal."

Suzuki pressed his hands together and bowed his head before taking up a spoon. Taro didn't mimic the action. He waited, watching Suzuki swallow a few spoonfuls before braving his own.

"Hah… Are you nervous?" Taro scowled in response. "Of course you are, being in a strange place all of a sudden… Still, you should eat. Get back your strength."

"Why am I here?"

"Eat and I'll tell you."

Glaring down at the bowl, his dour reflection peered back from the rich, reddish miso broth. The contents were diverse and undoubtedly flavorful from the pleasant aroma. His stomach had become impatient since the miso paste liquefied and again it strained longingly for a taste.

That first slice of tofu melted in his mouth. The broth made for a tangy and savory mix of fresh vegetables with poultry stock. He tried his best not to show the relief on his face, eyes nearly weighed shut from the warm comfort. Hunger was always the best spice, and it didn't take long before his appetite ignited for a dish with real flavor; the time he spent nursing rice crackers prepared him for this meal.

"There you go," Suzuki praised with a gentle tone.

One harsh stare between Taro's mouthfuls prompted Suzuki to continue.

"I found you unconscious out on the pavement. Couldn't tell whether you were drunk or dead. Turned out you were hurt and had already received some care. Maybe you were discharged a little too early," Suzuki mused. "We weren't far from the hospital and I was between rides, so it seemed silly to wait for an ambulance. I hauled you into my taxi─which wasn't easy, mind you─and drove you to the hospital myself. When we got there, the parking lot was covered in red and blue, so I drove you here instead."

Red and blue… Was that a casual admission of distrust for the police, or something else?

Taro had so little information, though that paired with what he heard on the news. Police swarming hospitals after a large-scale incident was hardly a surprise; they needed to take witness testimonies and collect whatever evidence they could from patients after they regained consciousness. He wouldn't have put it past them to issue an arrest right in someone's medical bed either, if the situation was dire enough.

"Why not drive me to another hospital? Or leave me for the cops?"

Suzuki smiled. "You can never be too careful these days…"

Confusion knotted Taro's brow. He paused eating to scrutinize the old man and it took a few mouthfuls for Suzuki to react, lowering his spoon with a sheepish laugh.

"Those are some intense eyes… I feel like that mouse taking a thorn from the lion's paw."

Taro's gaze drifted to the table, uncertain how to respond. He took another spoonful so he wouldn't have to. Suzuki eyed the younger man curiously, then hummed with approval.

"Anyway… Hauling you up the stairs was a hassle. You're a big boy, Taro-kun." Taro scoffed without interrupting. "Some of my neighbors helped get you on the couch. That was yesterday."

"Your neighbors?"

"Don't worry, you can trust them."

That explained why the lady from across the hall seemed more concerned with his well-being than why the hell there was a stranger in her neighbor's apartment. Trust, though? He couldn't even trust himself yet.

"Sorry for leaving you alone like that. I didn't expect to have a guest so I was a little understocked. There's more bandages now, we can clean those up once you're fed."

Mention of his injuries sent Taro inward, toward the memory of how he curled in on himself back on the washroom floor and struggled to breathe. Suzuki noticed.

"Relax, son, you don't have to explain. There's a lot of people hurting right now, same as you." That wasn't heartening news. "Besides, you'll have to excuse me but I already took the liberty of checking your injuries while you were asleep… They're rough but you're healing well."

Taro sneered with his next bite. "What business does a taxi driver have to check wounds?"

"My wife was a nurse. You'd be surprised how handy first-aid comes in this business."

"Why isn't she checking them?"

Suzuki smiled down at the table. "She would if she could…"

Taro deflated; all that venom he'd built seeped out of him with a single breath.

"What happened?"

"She retired about six years ago, before all this started…"

"This?"

"Violence in the streets, hospitals overrun. You know."

He didn't.

"Since I was out driving most of the day, she used the free space at home to patch up anyone caught in the crossfire. Before I knew it, our living room was a med bay and the kitchen was for surgery. I didn't mind, she was saving lives, but that didn't sit right with some people…"

An uneasy knot twisted in Taro's gut. He didn't have all the pieces to understand what was happening outside─evidently what had been happening for years─but the outcome was obvious.

"I came home one day and our living room was gone. So was she, and so were her patients."

Taro closed his eyes, appetite soured.

"Homemade bomb…" Suzuki continued, "The police never found who did it. More things like that started happening and eventually they stopped talking about her. I'm sure you've lost people, too. Strong, selfless people. That's the way the world is."

A pensive silence washed over the two men, which Suzuki seemed reluctant to abide. He stood after only a minute of clinking spoons and ventured into the kitchen. Two cans of beer returned with him.

"You have to understand… my wife knew the risks. Patients warned her left and right, even bystanders asked her to stop for our safety. Either she would be targeted by Hunters or the ZLF, there was no winning like that. The problem was she didn't discriminate… Humans and zoanthropes were treated equally under our roof, that's what they didn't like."

Several new terms pinned to the dartboard in Taro's mind, though one stuck out to him the most. Zoanthrope. This was a concept as ingrained in him as gravity─fabled beastmen once thought myth fighting for their right to exist in a world that feared and rejected them─but this conversation made his definition feel incomplete. Taro was a zoanthrope himself, that was as natural to affirm as breathing, yet on this he lacked information too. He remembered claws digging into the artifice of a building, prying open the pane of a window and dragging him up to a high rooftop perch, but he had no claws now, not fur nor stripes, and he didn't know how to reach them again.

Taro procrastinated opening his beer until he noticed Suzuki holding the tab on his own can, patiently waiting so they could pop in sync. Once he cooperated, the old man leaned across the table and tapped their cans together. The beer was cold, crisp, a welcomed reprieve of carbonated alcohol that burned through this troublesome subject and the stagnant summer air.

"Was your wife a zoanthrope?" Taro asked, after downing half the beer.

"No, but it wouldn't have changed the situation if she was."

"And what are you?"

Suzuki's wrinkles creased with a smile. "You really have to ask?"

Taro's glare spoke more of confusion than ire. The old man tilted his head.

"You can feel it, can't you?"

"I feel… something."

This strange pull of static, unmistakably familiar yet impossible to place, had only manifested with Suzuki's appearance. It excited his nerves, honed his senses, tingled pleasantly beneath his skin in a way he wanted to keep. Taro hadn't felt this sensation at all toward the neighbor, who simply existed, but this old man's presence, strange as it was, almost brought electricity to the air that both soothed and energized him.

Suzuki's smile waned with sympathy. "Is it uncomfortable?"

"No…" Taro hesitates, "It's hard to describe."

Possibilities, it told him, the same way one's heart might flutter while awaiting their last lottery number.

"That's to be expected… I had no one to teach me these things, either. Let me make this easy for you, Taro-kun."

Suzuki set his beer aside. He placed one hand over his own chest, knuckles creased and frail.

"Every animal instinctively seeks out its own kind. Even beasts who hunt alone crave the company of others like them. For us, we look past these tame outer shells and sense the true self within. That is the resonance between zoanthropes; our hearts calling out to one another."

"Resonance…" He was quite taken with that description; wild hearts yearning for the animal inside to be set free.

"That's right… Take comfort in that feeling. It proves you're not alone."

This sensation startled him at first, frightened him with its suddenness, but now that he was calm he could recognize how Suzuki's description matched how he felt.

An instinctive desire to stay close─to herd, to flock─like so many wild animals. Resonance made no promises but it alerted zoanthropes to the potential for common ground, for tolerance, for refuge.

Taro returned to his beer with some renewed sense of stability. Trust was hard to come by but for now, at least for this moment, with this stranger, he didn't need to raise a weapon.


Resonance doesn't get touched on much in the series but it's a concept I really enjoy. The only mention of it in the games is by Stun in BR2 when he senses Gado approaching; he refers to it as "the resonance between zoanthropes" and I've always been curious about it. Within the BR1 V-Jump book, Long's story mentions it as well. One way to interpret the text, since there is no official translation, is "a deep sympathy" which I love. Resonance is also the most likely cause for Shina's initial attachment to Gado, seen in her BR2 V-Jump story. That's the interpretation I'll be riding on in all of my Bloody Roar fiction!

Other notes:
Self-Defense Forces [SDF] is Japan's current military body
Yamada Taro is the Japanese equivalent of John Doe