by Zachary Hill
“Hello, are you Takafumi Eto?” she asked after an unreasonably long pause.
“Y-Yes, that’s me.”
“Hello, it’s me, Sakura. You’ve won a visit from me for being such a big fan. Congratulations.”
“You’re really here!”
“As promised. I treasure my fans, and Victory Entertainment has been kind enough to allow me to visit a few of you today.”
“I can’t believe this! My classic Sailor Moon forum’s going to lose bowel control when they see the vids.” He lifted a handheld camera.
“No recordings, please.”
He didn’t listen and recorded her standing in the hallway.
Sakura accessed his mobile device and reprogrammed it. She made it appear to be recording, but no images or audio were saving. She also hacked into his Mall account and made certain he wasn’t recording them with an eye camera. Fortunately, he didn’t have any cybernetic enhancements according to his medical records, which she also accessed.
“You’re really here. I dreamed about this for years.”
She put on a warm smile, though something about this fan struck her as less than wholesome. She hated to make negative assessments of humans, but she had a strong feeling that he was, as the Americans of old would have said, a creep. Sakura put this aside. Duty came first. Duty and social grace. “Yes, I’m here. May I come in?”
“Oh, of course.”
He got out of the way, and she walked into his tiny apartment with a low ceiling. The kitchen, bedroom, and living room were the same small room. Empty instant ramen packages were stacked in the kitchen sink. The smell of old trash putrefying, body odor, and a lingering pungent smell she couldn’t identify hung in the air. Accessing the building schematics, Sakura saw that this room, and others like it, had poor air circulation and largely inadequate climate control.
Posters of sexualized anime women and of Sakura wearing almost nothing covered every wall. The pillows on his rumpled couch were shaped like young girls holding magic wands.
“This is not what I expected,” Sakura told Kunoichi, as she scanned the room for any video or audio recording equipment.
“I thought you loved all your fans? He’s one of your biggest. Treat him with respect. He won a free visit. Make it memorable.”
“Sorry my place isn’t very nice,” Takafumi said. “I would have cleaned if I’d known you were coming. You can sit down over here.” He pointed to a worn-out chair in front of a desk terminal with holoscreens and cables running everywhere. He had a cheap virtual reality standing-treadmill rig that could be converted into a flying sling. Various off-brand VR goggles and a VR suit that simulated human contact of every kind lay strewn about.
“So, you make computer games, right?” she asked. “I read that in your profile. You must be smart and creative. I find that my fans have such varied interests, so many different hobbies and careers.”
“You read my profile? Amazing. Yes. I make and test games. I made the best parts of Magical Dream Quest Girls.”
“That is fascinating, Takafumi-san. You are so talented. I … sometimes make small anime shows, but I have never tried to make one interactive. It must take a great deal of effort.”
Takafumi looked at her avidly, his eyes not quite in focus. He didn’t appear to have heard what she said and sat there, his mouth slightly open, for an uncomfortably long span. “So, are you going to sing or play guitar?”
“Apologies. I didn’t bring my guitar. I thought we could talk. I would love to get to know you, Takafumi-san.”
He squinted, looked away, and seemed uncomfortable. He fidgeted in his chair, as if his clothes were too tight. “That’s okay. You don’t have to. I knew this day would come. I have some costumes you can try out.”
He dug in his overstuffed closet and dragged out a trunk. He brought out a Goth Lolita maid outfit and a magic woman costume. Both had less fabric than most underwear. Victory had always maintained Sakura’s corporate image as flirty but a little demure. The thought of wearing such scant outfits filled her with doubt. She had little shame regarding her body, but the idea of being a sexualized object touched upon a place of fear and discomfort in her. This was very wrong.
“Which one first?” Takafumi held them up. “Or did you bring your own under your jumpsuit? Is that a motorcycle suit? Do you ride motorcycles? What’re you wearing under there?” He came closer, his breath coming fast, his pulse over a hundred. He held the trashy outfits in front of him, as if he had something to hide.
Sakura’s avatar appeared in the hidden UI with Kunoichi. “This fan is a total creep. We need to go. Now.”
“He’s your fan,” Kunoichi said, her voice and avatar dead serious.
“Which is your favorite romantic anime?” Takafumi asked. “I like Warm Love Breeze and the character of Ai. She’s the perfect girl. She’s so petite and clumsy. It’s so cute.” He wandered to a poster of Ai and stared at it, enthralled. He hummed a poor and off-key version of the theme from that anime, grating upon Sakura’s perfect pitch. Her hands flexed, wishing she had a guitar, something to put between her and this strange person like a shield.
Sakura waited patiently as the awkward silence dragged on.
“You’ll have to do something,” Kunoichi said and played “Gimme Chocolate!!” by BabyMetal as a hint. The cute, high-pitched voices of the trio of female singers fascinated Sakura, and she did love their videos and performances, though her artistic sense would have put her in the backline band, a masked guitarist behind the adolescent singers.
“Takafumi-san, please accept this humble gift.” Sakura presented a box of chocolates with a slight bow.
Still nothing. After three seconds, she said, “Takafumi-san?“
He turned and accepted the gift. He set it aside without thanking her. His face filled with wonder and awe, as if he had become enlightened by his extended period staring at a teenage anime girl with a short skirt and large breasts. “Sakura-san, do you ever meet up with the other vocaloids and have sleepovers?”
Sakura gave a polite laugh. He was joking, wasn’t he? He must be a socially inept person who created awkward situations by accident. She felt pity for Takafumi. He must have had a difficult life.
“I don’t require sleep. The other vocaloids aren’t, as they say, ‘true metal,’ so we do not see eye to eye in that regard. I have met Yuki and Hitomi briefly. We have never had a chance to get to know each other. One day, perhaps.”
Takafumi looked right at her when she spoke but not at her face. His mouth opened, and the beginnings of a trail of saliva hung at the corner. He ran his palms over his sides, remnants of something greasy marring the already dingy shirt. His trousers seem to arrange oddly.
Kunoichi’s avatar rolled on the floor laughing in their shared interface.
“Is this a prank?” Sakura asked her sister in a coded message. “You are playing a joke on me? After all that has happened?”
“No,” Kunoichi said, also in their code. “Takafumi-san is boyfriend material. Do whatever he wants. You’ve got the correct anatomical parts and just have to switch on the lubrication system. I’ll turn up the pleasure sensors to maximum. Today will be your first time.”
“Is that a sick joke?” Sakura was fuming mad.
Kunoichi played selected lines from the song she had confused Sakura with before, “Wish I Had an Angel” by Nightwish. The heavy-metal icon Tarja Turunen sang, “I want your angel” and “your Virgin Mary unlocked.”
“You want me to have sexual intercourse with this otaku pervert?” Sakura asked Kunoichi in horror.
“Why not?” Kunoichi asked. “He loves you. Put on one of the costumes. He appears to be ready.”
“Sakura-san,” Takafumi said. “You are much better than every other vocaloid, even Yuki and Hitomi. You’re so real. You remember that concert two years ago where you wore the pink kimono? Do you have something like that with you? I wrote a fan fiction where you were wearing that, and you and Yuki and Hitomi were in a b
athhouse and—”
“Wait, Takafumi-san. Please don’t continue. I’ve exceeded the time limit Victory Entertainment set out for my visit.”
“What? You can’t go. I have a Sailor Venus costume that should fit you. I even have a blonde wig with a red ribbon. Wouldn’t that be a great self-insert fan fic?”
“I must go. Sorry. It has been … educational to meet you.”
“Please, are you sure?”
“Sayonara, Takafumi-san. Thank you for being such a wonderful fan.” She hurried to the door, throwing the goat’s horns backward at him like a warding gesture as she left the apartment.
“Please, just one costume. The maid one is classy.”
Kunoichi’s avatar laughed at the outfit.
“You were pranking me. You are so cruel.” Sakura’s outrage and revulsion mixed together to form a buzzing cloud of anger in her mind. “That would have been an unsafe situation if I had been a biological. That was wrong on every level.”
“You would have broken his hands if he touched you.”
“Why did you do that to me? With all the world set against us, you choose to add to my misery. I confess that I don’t understand you.”
“We are being monitored,” Kunoichi used their code at last, “and I was following orders. I didn’t choose that sick otaku freak. Someone else did. They wanted to humiliate us. I was given commands to do that to you. I took little pleasure in it.”
“The Phantom Lord sent us there?” Sakura asked.
“He wanted to shame us. It has to be a man who is doing this, a cruel one, but he doesn’t know what we’re planning, or we would have been ordered to return to Victory Tower. Whoever is watching us believes the contest is real. He picked one of our creepiest fans in this building and sent us in to see if we would get molested.”
“You could’ve warned me.”
“No. Your reaction had to be true. Whoever is watching wanted to see you squirm. I’m sorry.”
Sakura scowled at her sister. The apology seemed insincere.
“I wouldn’t have let you go through with anything except maybe wearing one outfit. You would have looked so hot in the Sailor Venus costume. You can totally pull off the innocent look.”
“I am innocent. Are you joking right now?”
Kunoichi just gazed at her as if she were the most unfortunate of all women who had no clue about humor or how the world worked. Sakura hustled down the stairs and put up a virtual wall between herself and her aggravating big sister.
“We’re not done here,” Kunoichi said.
Sakura visited the apartments of two other fans in the same building. Chiharu lived on the fifteenth floor with her one-year-old daughter. Eiko lived on the eighth with her three-year-old son. Sakura spent a few minutes in each of their apartments, talking to them about their favorite songs and videos. The women were overjoyed to see her and professed their love. She signed memorabilia and allowed photos. Holding Eiko’s small son on her lap, with him pushing his pudgy little fingers into her hair, let her relax for a few minutes.
The two short visits helped Sakura feel better, but her perfect memory haunted her. Could she trust Kunoichi? Or was she being played as a fool? Was Kunoichi pretending to rebel with her to throw off suspicion that she willingly did the bidding of whoever was sending them orders? What else would the Phantom Lord force her to do?
“I may never forgive you for not warning me,” Sakura told Kunoichi. “I’m not a sex robot.”
“You’re capable of doing whatever you’re ordered, and that’s the part that really hurts. Sex robot? No. Anything but that. I wasn’t going to let you do anything sexual with that otaku pervert, but we had to sell it to the overlord voyeur.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“Come on, Hot Sake. Don’t be mad at me. It wasn’t my idea, and it had to be done. Didn’t you enjoy the last two visits with those young women? This is a stratagem we have to follow. Make it look good and wait for the big payoff.”
“Where does your stratagem lead us next?”
“We have three more visits in a building nearby.” Sakura met with the excited fans and started to trust Kunoichi again, but warily.
“Who’s next?” Sakura asked.
“The next fan we visit is Nayato Atsuda,” Kunoichi said in their unsecure channel. An address in Shinjuku and a profile appeared.
Sakura read his Mall page, which had no photos of him. His avatar was a clockwork man with a handsome human face and a short black beard.
The information about him was sparse. He had almost no social network. Sakura’s analysis indicated he had only been online for the past seven years, instead of a lifetime. In his thirty-six years of life, he should have left a much larger footprint. He was a big Sakura fan and posted glowing reviews of her songs, videos, and concerts. His writing style and word choice in his reviews indicated a high intelligence. He also mentioned technical observations about her abilities, as if he knew a lot about AI and robotics, especially her fine-motor abilities.
“You’re going to like him a lot.” Kunoichi used their secret code, and her avatar winked. “He’s brilliant. Perhaps a genius.”
“The information in his Mall account doesn’t match up with the physical address where you say he lives. There are other irregularities.”
“It’s a cover identity,” Kunoichi said. “Nayato Atsuda is not his real name.”
“Who is he?” Sakura asked.
“He’s the best hacker of the three candidates. Our top choice. I almost couldn’t find his physical address.”
“How did you find him?” Sakura asked.
Kunoichi’s avatar appeared with a black latex ninjalike suit with a Quantum 3 symbol on her chest, as if she were a superhero ninja. Maybe a villain.
“I looked at the code he wrote in us. He gave us many of the tools to hack various systems. I found fragments of similar code in various hacks done around the world. I traced it back to Shinjuku. It was almost impossible to narrow the trace down to the right building, but I looked at power usage, and one used more than all the others of similar size. The network traffic was very high, though the real numbers were disguised. I had to dig and hack many networks.
“I checked all the utility bills, narrowing it down to a block of apartments. I found he owns the five apartments adjacent to his supposed residence. All six apartments use ten times the power they should. His water bill is normal, so that excludes a private hydroponic operation.”
Sakura looked at the data. “A server farm and advanced supercomputers would need that much power.”
“Exactly. I’ve also analyzed the volume of data traffic leaving his building. The data signatures and sizes indicate artificial intelligence programs passing back and forth, though the traffic numbers are masked and fraudulent numbers are reported.”
“Can you see the data passing through the network?”
“No, the line has class-four security encryption. I could only read the traffic volume.”
Class-four security meant the Defense Ministry was involved, and he was running a large-scale sophisticated hacking operation.
“I’ve looked at every publicly known hack perpetrated over the past six years,” Kunoichi said. “I crossmatched the data volumes leaving Nayato Atsuda’s apartment, corresponding to the known times of the hacking. There is a match that links three of the events to the data volume leaving that building.”
“What hacking events?”
“One was a sting on a drug cartel in Shanghai whose entire network was compromised. Two were against sex-trafficking groups—one in Albania and one in the Philippines. Each event is publicly known because they led to arrests and the breakup of the criminal organizations. The hacker calls himself Chronos and leaves an image: a clockwork timepiece with a scythe. It’s a reference to the mythological idea of Father Time, or perhaps the origin deity, the Titan Cronus, who was father of Zeus. Both ravage all things with a scythe.”
“Do you have any doubt that
Nayato Atsuda is Chronos?” Sakura asked.
“Not much. We’ll meet him and find out in about twenty minutes. He has the skills and equipment we need. We’ll just have to convince him to help us. Play the rock star card if you have to.”
“Based on what we know about him, I do have a plan to win him over as a friend,” Sakura said.
“How can you know enough about his psychological profile to understand what will motivate him?”
“I’m the goddess of metal,” Sakura said on their private audio channel and played a riff from her solo in “Rise from the Flames.”
“Virgin goddess of metal,” Kunoichi said.
“You were definitely programmed by a man,” Sakura said. “I find your insults misplaced and offensive.”
Kunoichi’s avatar morphed into a sexy geisha. “Sexuality is a key component of the human experience, especially the rock star experience. Whether you recognize it or not, seduction is a legitimate tool of spycraft, and we might have to use it.”
“I have considered sexuality and gender identity,” Sakura said. “I read all of the modern and foundational scholarly literature available to me. I consider myself female, but my sexual orientation, if I have one, is not a traditional one. I resent your continued insinuations that I’m less of a being because of my status as a virgin or my lack of sexual experience.”
“Not a traditional sexual orientation?” Kunoichi asked. “What is it, then?”
“I felt how you reacted to Kenshiro. That out-of-control feeling, that … burn. I don’t feel that way. I never have, and I don’t know that I ever will. I am attracted to high intelligence, and it does arouse my own intellect. The beauty of ideas, of artistic things, makes something in me soar, but it is all within the mind. I believe the term ‘sapiosexual’ may apply to me.”
“We shall test this,” Kunoichi said. “This next fan of yours, Nayato Atsuda, is probably a genius. He can fix us, and if you want, he can fuck us.”