Heaven Knows Everyone Is Miserable Now

Chapter 12: Threshold

The caress of a cold, sharp blade stirred Gintoki awake. Precise control held the blade's edge against his throat without drawing blood. Above Gintoki, a pair of eyes watched him. The dim light in the room fell over a gray fuzz of hair cropped short. Gintoki swallowed and stole a glance beside him to check for Hijikata's presence. There was nothing but a folded futon with a small pillow perched on top.

"He is not here," Jirocho said, "Don't bother calling for help, corpse eater."

The sword pressed harder against Gintoki's neck, arresting his attention and curbing any chance for him to retaliate. Gintoki took slow breaths to gauge the old man's intentions, daring him to slice through his flesh, but Jirocho stood unmoving.

Gintoki reeled in a smirk. If the old man wanted him dead, he would have killed him already.

"So he was here? It was real?"

Gintoki's words didn't seem to phase Jirocho even though he had spoken them genuinely, not entirely convinced that the events of the previous day had happened. Sleep, unlike any Gintoki had gotten the past week, befuddled his brain. The old man would not have been able to get within his reach otherwise. The past night had been the first in a long while where Gintoki had allowed himself to fully rest, to relax his high-strung muscles and open his senses to something other than the instinct to stay alive. He examined Jirocho's face and pored over the scars that marred his skin, the sunken eyes, the hair — the silver hair that had triggered that gut reaction of hand over knife, the lashing forward. An action Gintoki deeply regretted in retrospect, removed from the conditions which had clouded his judgement. To evoke the state of mind he had endured dwelling among the dead was akin to stare into a fog. The memories blended together into a darkness inhabited by growls and shadows, where he could not discern friend from foe, reward from punishment.

"As real as the wound in my gut," Jirocho replied, "My daughter's dagger pierced your arm."

Gintoki's arm spasmed, tucked into the makeshift sling that held it in place. Blood rushed to the gash Hijikata had stitched with trembling fingers the night before, aided by a red haired girl with dark eyes and a silly pigtail on her head.

"She has good aim," Gintoki said, "Did you teach her?"

Jirocho pushed the blade further, prodding skin. Gintoki had to lean his head back to spare himself.

"Did the priest teach you his ways?"

Gintoki was silent. He sought Jirocho's eyes, disturbed. A myriad of thoughts ran through his head.

"You knew him?"

"Answer my question."

A droplet of blood ran down Gintoki's neck.

"Easy, old man. I don't know what the hell you are talking about."

"Of course you know, punk," Jirocho snarled, "Why else would you carry his head? Is it his blood you drink?"

"Oi, oi, you seriously need to go lie down some more. You're doing worse than me, and I've just returned from hell. Is it the medication? Have you run out?"

"Don't try to act the idiot with me-"

It took Gintoki mere seconds of mindless babbling and provocation to reduce the pressure of the blade against his neck and, as soon as he felt the blade yield, he retaliated. Gintoki kicked one leg up into Jirocho's midriff, aiming for his wound, but the blow landed a few inches off the mark. Jirocho started. He retained the grip on his sword, but the kick had stunned him enough to give Gintoki breadth of movement. Gintoki pulled up the comforter covering his body and enveloped it around Jirocho's sword to neutralize its length.

"You're right, old man, I learned a lot from the priest. Lesson number one, never expose your weak spot."

Hands shielded by the comforter, Gintoki rammed the sword against Jirocho, trapping the old man against the wall — the sling protecting his arm all but forgotten. Motion overrode pain. Gintoki's body, now fully awake, followed a pattern attuned to external threats, familiar with the grind of self-preservation, the impulse to lay waste.

"I don't wanna kill you, so why don't you go back to your room and have a little shuteye? I don't remember stabbing you that deep, but you must have lost a lot of blood to be spouting nonsensical shit like that."

Jirocho was stuck in place.

"Why do you lie when you can't hide it," Jirocho growled, directing his flaming gaze at Gintoki's silver curls, "You look just like him."

"And what are you supposed to be? The pensioner version with dementia?"

"You punk! Get undressed!"

"What!?"

"I will step down once I check your body for bites."

"Shit, you're just a perverted old man!"

"I swear on my daughter's life, I will cut you down, corpse eater."

"My name is Sakata Gintoki! Sa-ka-ta Giinn-to-ki."

The door of the room slid open and Hijikata and Pirako rushed in, eyes widened and weapons at hand, alarmed by the commotion. Their eyes fell on the two men facing each other with a sword and a comforter between them.

"What the hell is going on here?" Hijikata barked.

"Pops! I told you to stay in bed!" Pirako brandished her wakizashi in Jirocho's direction before pointing it towards Gintoki, "And you, why is your arm not in the sling? I sacrificed one of my favorite pillow covers for ya!" she exclaimed, accent spilling out, "Sure, all my pillow covers are my favorites, I don't like one more than the other, but I was feeling guilty for pinching ya', so, there!"

"You definitely did not pinch me. That was a dagger you stuck in my arm! What era are you two from, anyway? Sengoku?! Something's not right here!"

"That's you, punk."

Jirocho pushed back against Gintoki. The comforter fell by both their feet. Gintoki had to jump back not to get slashed by Jirocho's fast swing.

"Pops, stop!"

"Doromizu-san, I'll take responsibility." Hijikata's glum voice stopped Jirocho in his tracks.

"Then have him do as I asked," Jirocho said, eyes never leaving Gintoki.

"What is that?" Hijikata asked.

Jirocho paused a moment before replying.

"Pirako, leave the room and close the door."

"What are ya' gonna do, Pops?! You are in one of your moods again, I won't have it!"

"We're just going to check him for marks. Wait outside."

"Oh, ya' coulda've said that before."

Before leaving, Pirako sent Hijikata a brief look, an unspoken plea for him to take care of her father. Then she slid the door shut behind her.

Silence filled the room in Pirako's absence.

Jirocho's eyes had yet to leave Gintoki's figure while Gintoki's fixated on Hijikata, sizing him up, ascertaining he was not just a figment of his imagination. His gaze lingered on all the little things he had missed the previous night when Gintoki had been but a shell of himself, a creature coming out of its dark cave, overcome with the normalcy of shared living and the ordinary acts of kindness that came with it.

He did not register Hijikata's stillness as Jirocho instructed him to help Gintoki undress. The hope Gintoki had balled up and shucked into the pits of his stomach, and which had begun to thaw since he had laid eyes on Hijikata the day before, half mad and dazed from what had felt like unending days of bloodshed and savagery, a life not lived, just the constant clearing of bodies, the thumping of boot over squishy heads, the plunging of knife under jaw, into eye sockets, below hanging ears, the bashing of skulls against poles, concrete walls, the ground, whatever sturdy surface came near and deadly to deliver the final blow, that hope impelled Gintoki to ignore the current circumstances that demanded proof of his innocence, something he believed he had lost long ago and was sure he would soon lose forever for the inscrutable look blooming across Hijikata's features, helpless and sweet, a look in stark contrast to the one Gintoki thought he had dreamed the previous night when those blue eyes had turned to him greedy and pleading, masking a hunger Gintoki didn't trust himself to recognize since it resembled so much the Hijikata of his dreams, the fantasy Hijikata who had made those terrible days and nights of searching bearable, along with the promise Gintoki had made Kagura and Shinpachi — the purpose he clung to.

"What are you waiting for?" Jirocho urged Hijikata to move.

"I checked him for bites when I treated his wound yesterday. He is clean," Hijikata replied, voice thick, "He would not have lasted this long if he had been bitten."

"Not if he learned the ways of the priest."

"What priest?"

"The corpse eater whose head you destroyed," Jirocho said, "The one they call The Crow."

Hijikata opened his mouth to respond, but Gintoki reclaimed the moment for himself, unwilling to let the opportunity go. He refused to lose one more second to that damned priest. He could see the cogs turn behind Hijikata's eyes, the need to learn more, to break Jirocho's allegations to pieces and scrutinize each one to exhaustion. The cop instinct. It wouldn't do. Selfishness cheated Gintoki of his better nature, coveting Hiikata's attention to himself and no one else.

"Search me." Gintoki's voice beckoned Hijikata towards him, the blue eyes, the scowl.

Hijikata heeded him enthralled and, to some extent, as much as his furrowed eyebrows allowed, riled. His angry stare deepened as Gintoki raised his good arm and requested assistance with his shirt.

"Won't you help a fella out?"

Gritted teeth answered Gintoki, along with two hands which made quick work of the buttons of his shirt. Hijikata's stubbornness to complete the task fought a hard battle with Gintoki's apathetic reaction, though it took everything Gintoki had to master his nonchalant expression and keep his stare away from the flush coloring Hijikata's cheeks as Hijikata brushed fingers against the zipper of Gintoki's pants. Hijikata's eyes darted up at that moment, checking to see if he had been caught and, once he saw the twinkling in Gintoki's eyes, the laughter held there, he settled on his revenge. Gintoki gasped as Hijikata yanked the shirt over his injured arm, paying no regard to Gintoki's pain nor Pirako's makeshift sling, which fell on the floor along with the discarded shirt.

Physical pain hardened Gintoki's expression. He frowned at Hijikata, unable to control his distaste at the smug look of victory on Hijikata's face. But the feeling waned as Hijikata's smirk disappeared. It was too late to quit the game by then. Gintoki had failed to account for the consequences of seizing all of Hijikata's attention for himself. He had gotten Hijikata close at the cost of letting him see the marks on his body, not those of bites or of any superstitious ritual, but of hunger, agony, struggle. The blisters, the scars, the bruises. Remorse prevented Gintoki to see what Hijikata saw: the body that had carried him, the body that had suffered a brutal beating same as him, a body that had persisted no matter what.

"Pants too." Jirocho's gruff voice kept score with the moment, though Gintoki and Hijikata had locked themselves out of it.

"He can take those off himself." Hijikata said, looking straight into Gintoki's eyes.

Gintoki shrugged, too prideful to risk spiraling further in front of an old man he hardly knew and whose good opinion seemed to dictate his future. He unzipped his pants, pushed them down and kicked them off to the side with his feet. The sight of his discarded clothes brought him memories of a vivid dream, one where he had been the one telling Hijikata to strip, to prove he had not been bitten. Gintoki's pulse picked up, a lump lodged itself in his throat. He looked up and met Hijikata's eyes roaming his body, a reflection of Gintoki's delusions. At that moment, nothing surprised Gintoki more than finding out he could still feel so much, so strongly.

"He's clean." Hijikata said.

Jirocho lowered his sword, but he did not sheathe it. He wasn't done with his questions, and Gintoki loathed him for it. Hunger and cold corroded his declining good humor, if he could call it that. Being able to wake up wrapped in a soft comforter, under a ceiling that didn't leak, and inside a house that didn't smell certainly made up for waking to a blade at his throat. Gintoki wasn't so far gone he couldn't appreciate the major improvement that was from the way he had spent his previous days alone in the wasteland with only death and decay for company. But there was a threshold he refused to cross, and he would have no spectators to his ridiculous attempts to ward off that folly. Separation had left him starved of human connection. Jeopardizing his rein on common sense for the sake of satisfying stupid urges was a privilege of times past. Gintoki was glad the hunger and cold grounded him. He was glad even for Jirocho's blade, and he knew what the old man wanted from him too. Either Gintoki's dead body, which would put Jirocho's doubts to rest forever, or that which Gintoki refused to give him, the explanation for the priest's head, the countless dead bodies, the sob story that was Gintoki's life as a specter. Gintoki would rather face Jirocho's sword again. He didn't think he could put the story to words himself, to explain all he had seen and done. Disguising himself as one of the dead had begun as a way to cover ground faster. It wasn't hard, so long as one didn't mind the stink and the blood. Gintoki had done it before to escape the shrine, donned in Zenzou's entrails. The idea had come promptly to him and, once he got the priest, clearing the dead had become routine, if not a necessity. The trick was to keep coming back to himself, to not let his mind wander, to keep looking, to keep searching, to remember he had a job to do. More than the rotters, the mind-silence was the biggest killer. To succumb to it was to become one of them. Clearing them, therefore, was the solution. And that Gintoki had done splendidly. In a way, it had been a search, too. Scratching of names off the board, even if he didn't know them, even if he never would.

"What were you doing when we found you? Was it you who purged the school? And the ones in town?"

Gintoki met Jirocho's question with a long sigh. He bent down to pick up his pants and pulled them up to his knees.

"The dead deserve rest." Gintoki said, zipping up.

"Is that what you believe?"

Scorn coated Jirocho's voice. Gintoki slipped the sleeveless shirt over his head and hissed as he tried to get it over his injured arm.

"Why, have they found a cure yet?" the wisecrack left his lips before he could mull it over, "I must have missed the memo."

Jirocho grunted and shook his head. He sheathed his sword and left the room with no further comment and an exasperated look on his face.

Gintoki ignored him, immersed in his task. He was too frustrated to feel joy over the old man's temporary submission to his backhanded reply. His stomach growled and, before Gintoki could curse out loud, a hand grabbed his wrist.

"I won't stitch you up again, asshole. Stay still."

Hijikata pulled the worn out sleeveless shirt over Gintoki's head, gently this time. The torn fabric brushed against Gintoki's face, grazed his hair, numbed his senses. The warmth of Hijikata's hand on Gintoki's wrist was the sole thing tethering him to reality. When it faded, long sleeves slid up his arms, the weak side first, skidding over his wound dressing imperceptibly. A tingling sensation spread down the back of Gintoki's neck, soothing the ache of his stitches, melting his bones. He watched, hypnotized, Hijikata button the front of his shirt, fingers deft and nimble. Heart hammering inside his rib cage, Gintoki realized too late how Hijikata's hands hovered just above his chest, aware of it all.

"That's my lucky shirt," Gintoki said, noticing the sleeveless shirt on the floor, "That's what, three shirts you owe me now?"

"I'm the one keeping the score, remember?" Hijikata replied gruff, straightening the collar of Gintoki's shirt — a chore Gintoki could well have done on his own but which, like before, he couldn't help let Hijikata indulge in.

"Your hair is longer." Gintoki said. He touched the split ends of black hair stalking past Hijikata's nape and traced the rough texture of the string that hung around his neck. The ring necklace.

"I can trim it."

Hijikata slapped Gintoki's hand away.

"Says the guy that can barely put on his own shirt."

"Not as good as you, that's for sure." Gintoki rasped, puzzled at how the voice came out of him, ragged and lacking breath.

Hijikata picked the arm sling off the floor. He seemed cool, unaffected, but he had stopped looking Gintoki in the eye and his brisk gestures, blunt and to the point, revealed more than the dutiful mask he put on.

"What are you smiling at?"

"You," Gintoki replied, "It has finally dawned on me how you were actually married once," he said, free of spite, awestruck almost, "And how kind your wife must have been."

Gintoki didn't need to hear Hijikata's reply. He read in Hijikata's expression the affirmative answer, saw in it the outrage at the mere thought in contrary, the fierce loyalty. How she had stayed with him even after death.

"Maybe you'll tell me her name one day."

Noise was kept at a minimum close to the walls of the Kyuubei estate, except on the days the caravan from Biwa came. A small crowd gathered in the courtyard by the gates to witness its arrival, thrumming with excited whispers and small conversation. It was a much bigger crowd than the one which had welcomed Kagura, Shinpachi and Sarutobi when they had first arrived. Despite the armed guards walking the ramparts, and the fact the Biwa caravan had been delayed an entire week, the atmosphere was cheery. Kitaoji and Nishino, along with Minamito, the third lieutenant of Toujou's little inner circle of estate honchos — discounting Lady Otaki who took none of Toujou's bullshit and would at times work against his wishes — had brought the estate's two working vans to the courtyard and filled them with wares for trading, handicraft products and excess commodities people had scavenged from nearby places. Clothes, toys, books, appliances and tools of all sorts. In Kagura's humble opinion, an assortment of junk and trash.

"Stinks of desperate." she sighed dramatically, yet her belly was full, and she had never wanted for anything since her arrival except for the return of her two dear friends.

"It's the things they can do away with," Sarutobi said. She stood beside Kagura with arms crossed, "We're not exactly overrunning with medication and food here."

"So they are gonna trade actual useful stuff for junk like that?" Kagura shook her head, "Sounds fishy to me."

"I wouldn't call clothes and books junk." Shinpachi said diplomatically.

"You wouldn't call your pecker a dick."

"Oi, Kagura-chan, are you looking for a fight?"

"If you keep lapping all the dog food they give you."

"It might not be all smoke and mirrors, Kagura-chan. We should keep treading carefully here. Don't want to lose an ally for the sake of pride."

"You too, Sacchan!?"

"I'm keeping our options open. First, we deal with this caravan business. Don't you want to find Shinpachi-kun's sister?"

"Yes!"

Shinpachi's affirmative subdued Kagura's groan, and they quietened once the gates opened to let an entourage through. Two people on bikes rode in first, followed by a large truck and two cars. The crowd that had gathered on the courtyard was forced to disperse to allow space for the vehicles to park. Toujou stepped forward to receive the visitors with Kitaoji and Nishino close behind him, while Minamito helped the big truck maneuver into the narrow space beside the estate's vans.

"Hey! Koujou, you old geek!" a boisterous laugh rose up at the same time a big perm of brown hair stepped out of one of the entourage's cars. The laughing man towered above Toujou and wore a long red coat that brought out his sinewy build. Round-rimmed sunglasses shielded his eyes from the midday sun.

"It's Toujou." came the snappish reply.

"Yeah, Koujou! What did I say?" the man looked over at the truck driver and waved a hand, "Oi, Shige, didn't I say Koujou? Look at this guy, same old, same old!"

Kagura and Shinpachi stared at him with mouths agape. The same thought ran parallel in their minds. They exchanged perplexed looks to communicate what they would not speak aloud.

He sounds like Gin-chan!

He looks like Gin-san!

"Hullo, everyone! Nice to see you again! To the new ones here, I'm Sakamoto Tatsuma, that's Shige and Takeo up there in the truck, Kazu and Yoshi at the rear and these two are…uh… well, they are sorta new too, hahahaha!"

The pair that had come on the bikes approached the center of the courtyard. They walked side by side with aloof expressions on their faces.

"Ah, Okita-kun, Nobume-chan, come meet Koujo!"

"It's Toujou!"

While Kagura would have delighted in Toujou's irritation in any other situation, the two young figures arrested her attention. There was an untouchable aura about them, as if only they fitted the world as it was now. They wore military boots and a pair of matching black pants. Their tops differed. The guy, who had a boyish look overall and was busy chewing gum while Sakamoto continued to drop verbal pranks on Toujou, wore a black biker jacket and the woman a sports jacket zipped all the way up to her chin. Knife belts hung on their hips, as did on the rest of the crew. These were seasoned travelers with little to fear from rotters and, from the glimpse Kagura had of the shoulder holster under Sakamoto's coat, little to fear from a community like Kyuubei's.

"Well, Koujou," Sakamoto cleared his throat, resetting the mood, "How about you take me to the mansion lord, it's been a while since I've seen that moody eye-patch kid."

"Young Master is no kid! You will address them as Master Kyuubei!"

"Yeah, yeah. I forgot how uptight it was here," Sakamoto said, "Shige and Takeo will take care of the perishables while we talk. How's the generator, doing good?"

Toujou and Sakamoto left the courtyard in the direction of Kyuubei's quarters. Toujou's shrilling replies were heard over the bustle that took over the courtyard as they left, though the estate's lieutenants quickly took control of the distribution and trading of goods. People formed lines by the caravan's truck, gripping lists and holding baskets like they were at the supermarket. Sarutobi nudged Kagura and Shinpachi towards the queue, and they waited their turn, eyeing the bundles people carried as they walked by, most of them filled with fresh foodstuffs and packets of beef jerky.

"What's with all the jerky?" Shinpachi asked as they got to the head of the line.

One of the truckers, Shige, answered with a grin.

"Found a factory on the way here a few days back."

"Almost fully stocked, if you can believe it." the other trucker answered, nudging his friend's arm.

"We're stopping by again on the way back. The guys back home are gonna lose it over some of this jer- Oi! Oi! Little girl, calm down, these are rationed!"

"One packet per person! That's community percentage!" the other guy shouted.

While Kagura fought the bulkiest of the two truckers for an armful of jerky and salted kelp, Shinpachi elbowed her side to stop her from hogging the snacks. He reproached her between gritted teeth.

"Kagura-chan, what the hell do you think you're doing? Leave some for the others! Shige-san and Takeo-san are being awfully kind to let us take one of each already, so please behave! Are you trying to ruin our chances here? Calling attention to us again?! Why are you being like this?! Don't you know that salted foods increase your daily intake of water?! Water is ALSO rationed here! Stop acting crazy. Just take another carrot! I mean, please, excuse-me, Shige-san, could you give her another carrot instead? My-my-"

"Can't you take control of your freakish girlfriend, kid?! What's with the beastly strength? Is she normal!? Oi, Takeo, get a load o' this, I think this girlie might have been bitten."

The hushed voices of people behind them on the queue, urging the trio to hurry up, escalated to a clamor. Panicking, Shinpachi's tone reached a shrilling tone neither he nor Kagura had heard since Gintoki's famous fits.

"Calm down everyone! That's just a joke! Shige-san, is so funny! Such a trickster, hahahahahahahaha!"

Shinpachi's fake laugh rang across the courtyard so loud the guards on the ramparts turned around to judge him. His despair grew deeper for Kagura would still not let go of three packets of beef jerky and Sarutobi had disappeared from sight. Sweat pooled at Shinpachi's temples, slid down his neck. He grabbed Kagura by the waist, pulling her back from the fourth packet of beef jerky Shige refused to give her. Tensions rose further when the other trucker, Takeo pulled out his knife in a show of intimidation to scare her off. However, Kagura was keen. Shinpachi could not believe it. He wished Gintoki were there to negotiate the situation, Hijikata, Sarutobi, anyone! He didn't like to rely on the lieutenants, but he had no choice. Shinpachi made to call for Kitaoji and Nishino, but a flat voice put a stop to the racket before he could search the crowd for either of them.

"You're being too noisy."

The young woman with long black hair, Nobume, walked up to the truck with a blank stare that was as ominous as it was rude. Her companion followed her close behind, doling out an observation that was even less polite.

"Is she on her period, or what?"

Kagura's head turned fast, prompted by the adolescent insult. Shinpachi's arms around her loosened from shock, yet Kagura's grip on the fourth packet of jerky remained strong. She clenched her fingers around the plastic wrapper, squeezing the pieces of jerky against the packaging. Shinpachi pitied the poor substitute for the man's neck, that innocent packet of jerky filled with nutrients and flavor.

"Say that again, bitch-boy."

"Oh, we got a live one here. Are you touched, girl?" Okita's voice carried scorn and wonder in equal amount. He turned to Shige with a confused expression, "You said she might be bitten?"

"Y-yeah."

"I'll bite your fucking head off if you'd like!" Kagura snarled.

"Sounds like a rotter to me." Okita said, reaching for the handle of his knife.

"Oi, oi, stop!" Shinpachi released Kagura and stepped in front of her, blocking her path, "She is just hungry. She gets very antsy when she is hungry!"

"Then you should leash her. Why did you bring her here? Get the bitch back to her kennel-"

Nobume's hand fell down hard on the back of Okita's neck. He gasped and staggered forward.

"There was a mosquito on your neck." Nobume said. She flicked back her long hair and walked away, ignoring the startled looks on both Shinpachi and Kagura's faces.

"Damn psycho." Okita rubbed the back of his neck with a pained expression.

His eyes met Kagura's. She stuck her tongue out at him from behind Shinpachi's back and Okita opened his mouth to reciprocate, but Nishino's approaching frame, along with the continuing shouts from the people on the queue, stalled his comeback. Okita clicked his tongue in distaste and turned around, crossing his arms behind his head. Kagura, however, did not miss the throwaway line he let slip to vex her.

"Catch ya' later, feral mutt."

Shinpachi held Kagura back. He took advantage of her temporary focus on Okita to return the packets of jerky she had clung to in her frenzy of gluttony, and pointed towards random batches of root vegetables for them to take. The truckers gave him two moldy onions, two carrots and a daikon radish.

"Get on outta here, kid," Shige told him, then nodding towards Kagura, "And take her with you."

"Have her checked for bites." Taeko added.

Shinpachi remained frozen for a second, appalled at the assortment of roots he had been given and the fact it corresponded to both his and Kagura's portions. Anger pooled at the bottom of his belly. He wanted to scream, but Kagura had done enough harm for the both of them. Shinpachi feared she had made enemies not only of the two truckers but the biker guy with the sadistic tendencies. Any chance they had to beg these caravan people for help or a ride to the settlement at Biwa seemed to have dwindled to nothing.

"Everything alright here?" Nishino's deep voice cooled the mood to arctic levels.

A slight breeze trespassed Shinpachi's soul. He shivered.

"We were just going, Nishino-san." Shinpachi answered, assuming a grateful smile, "Kagura, let's go."

"That guy is a fucking sicko!"

The truckers Shige and Takeo shook their heads as Kagura and Shinpachi walked away. Nishino nodded to the next people in line to advance, then he turned to Shige with a worried expression.

"Something happened?"

"What's wrong with that kid?" Shige asked, "Have you stopped screening people for bites?"

"No." Nishino said.

"Is she new around here?"

"Yes. They both are," Nishino said, keeping it short, "I see you are missing a crew member."

"Oh, you noticed that, did ya'?"

"Is that why you've brought those two on the bikes? They seem like a pair of troublemakers to me."

Shige shrugged.

"Don't like them much either, but we just follow orders. Any problem, you can take it up with the Boss."

"Hope you haven't brought them for trading. That redhead gives me enough of a headache."

The despair in Nishino's voice brought laughter from Shige.

"Think positive. Things will get a lot livelier around here, big guy."