Rampaging One Night Stand

by Shouji Gatou

  Prologue

  At lunchtime, the school roof served as a sort of student sanctuary; a place where they could act outside their teachers’ notice. The rainy season was in full swing, but this particular day happened to be clear, with a blue sky and bright sunlight that seemed to bleach the roof white.

  Two people stood at one corner of the roof. One was a girl with short hair; her back was pressed against the fence, her gaze lowered, expression troubled. The other was a boy with long hair; he had the girl pinned between the fence and himself, a lit cigarette in his right hand.

  “Come on, Noriko, tell me. You don’t like me, is that it?” the long-haired boy asked.

  The girl, Noriko, looked up at him pleadingly. “O-Of course not... You know I... I love you, Mikio...”

  “So what’s the deal?” he demanded to know. “Why won’t you go past first base? We’ve been dating for two months now.”

  “Well, I’m just... scared,” the girl stammered out in reply.

  Her boyfriend, Mikio, rolled his eyes and exhaled a jet of cigarette smoke. “What is this, middle school? C’mon, we should learn more about each other.”

  “We can learn... other things about each other...”

  “That’s not enough. I want to learn more about—”

  Blam! His words were cut off by a sudden gunshot. Stunned, Mikio and Noriko turned to find its origin and saw the water tower, a gray structure jutting out against the blue of the sky. They peered at it curiously.

  At the lip of the tower they could see a boy, lying on his stomach, holding a rifle. He had a sullen expression, which was punctuated by a tight frown; his gun was pointed at a corner of the schoolyard. Beside him were various cases of munitions and explosives, and things that looked like small green aluminum cans.

  It was Sagara Sousuke from class 2-4. They knew him as a transfer student, recently repatriated after growing up in war-torn regions overseas... and also as a war-obsessed fool who stuck out like a sore thumb in a peaceful country like Japan.

  He was looking through binoculars, probably at the target he’d shot moments ago. He hummed thoughtfully, sat up, wrote something on a clipboard, then loaded a new round into the rifle. He took aim at the corner of the yard once again, then fired. Another gunshot rang out, and Sousuke again checked the results with his binoculars. This time, he shook his head as if unsatisfied, and wrote something new on the clipboard.

  It was only then that he glanced over at Mikio and Noriko, as if noticing them for the first time. “Don’t mind me. Continue,” he said as he loaded another round into the chamber. He seemed to have no interest in them whatsoever.

  There was another moment of silence. Then, awkwardly, they resumed their conversation.

  “L-Look... I just think it’s time already,” Mikio insisted. “Are we boyfriend and girlfriend or not?”

  “Well... we are, but...”

  Blam!!

  “I really love you, Noriko.”

  “I’m glad, but Mikio...”

  Blam!

  “Isn’t it natural for a guy to want to get closer to the girl he loves?”

  “It is, but...”

  “Really? Then let’s do it. Tonight—”

  Blam!

  “Tonight, my parents are—”

  Blam! Blam!

  “Tonight—”

  Blam! Blablablablam!

  “Ah, screw it!” Too exasperated to continue, Mikio mussed up his hair and ran at the water tower. He took a drag off his cigarette, glared up at Sousuke, and shouted, “Hey, you!”

  “What?” Sousuke asked distractedly.

  “Do you mind?!” Mikio demanded. “Pack that crap up and take it somewhere else!”

  Sousuke looked down at him, brow knitted, and seemed to think for a minute. “I can’t do that,” he concluded. “I need an appropriate distance for my sighting shots.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?!”

  “It’s approximately 300 yards from the roof to the corner of the schoolyard. I have a rifle that I recently purchased, whose accuracy I’m testing with a variety of cartridges. It’s a curious firearm; for some reason, it seems most compatible with rounds made in Egypt, so I decided to test its performance with my own propellant ratios—”

  Sousuke’s explanation was thorough, considered, and completely over Mikio’s head. But before he could finish—

  “Sousuke!!” The door under the water tower banged open, and a girl came flying out onto the roof.

  “Chidori,” he acknowledged. This was Chidori Kaname, vice president of their student council. She was dressed a white and blue uniform, and had long black hair accented with a red ribbon.

  She fixed her eyes on Sousuke and said, “I knew it would be you! People are studying for the big test in there! Who can concentrate with all that blam, blam, blam?!”

  “It’s been raining so much lately... I wanted to do my sighting shots while I had a clear day,” he explained. “In just ten shots, I’ll be done with the Group A powder mixes. If you’d just let me—”

  “Like hell!” she exploded. “Knock it off, now!”

  “But—”

  “I said knock it off, you...!” Kaname yanked off her slipper and chucked it at Sousuke’s head.

  “Ah...” Sousuke dodged, but the slipper bounced off his shoulder and hit one of the green cans at his feet. The lidless can toppled off the tower, scattering its contents... in the direction of Mikio, holding a cigarette in his mouth, below.

  The cigarette was lit. The label on the falling can read: “black powder.” The two watched it fall, helpless to intervene.

  Vwoosh! Mikio had just dropped his cigarette and turned around when the dull explosion occurred behind him. Flames and smoke roared up, and Mikio was blown onto his face.

  “What the...” Mikio turned, then suddenly screamed. He started running all around the roof with his back ablaze, like the famous scene from The Farmer and the Badger. “Help!” he cried out. “Mommy!”

  “Mikio!” the girl shrieked.

  Mikio was now on the ground, rolling back and forth. Kaname ran up to him with a fire extinguisher. “Clear the way!” she yelled. She pulled the handle, releasing a spray of white powder that put out the fire immediately. Once the smoke had cleared, Mikio could be seen lying face-down on the floor, twitching.

  Kaname let out a sigh of relief (with a little cough mixed in), and then wiped the sweat from her brow.

  Sousuke crammed his things into his backpack, touched down lightly on the roof, then walked up to the collapsed Mikio. “It was extinguished promptly,” he said reassuringly. “You should get off with light burns.”

  “I know this happens all the time, and he and I are partly to blame in this case, but...” Kaname prefaced quietly before slamming the empty fire extinguisher into the back of Sousuke’s head. Klonk!

  “That was extremely painful,” Sousuke observed.

  “Shut up!” she fumed. “Don’t bring explosives onto school grounds!”

  “The rules don’t forbid it.”

  “You want another smack?!”

  Kaname brandished the fire extinguisher. Sousuke backed up slowly. They stared each other down like a cobra and a mongoose. It seemed like violence could break out at any minute, when...

  Bi-beep. Bi-beep. Bi-beep. An electronic trill came from Sousuke’s chest. He held up a hand as if to say, “time out,” and pulled a small mobile phone from his breast pocket.

  “Uruz-7 here,” he whispered. “Understood. RV at point echo at 1325. Roger that. I’m on my way.” With his conversation finished, Sousuke shouldered his bag and ran at top speed toward the entrance to the roof.

  “Where are you going?” Kaname demanded.

  “
Something came up,” he told her. “Stay close to home.”

  “Wait! You—” But Sousuke ignored her and ran out the door. “Oh come on, Sousuke!” she complained. “Did you forget the promise we made last night? Darn it...”

  Kaname stared at the closed door for a while, then put her hands on her hips and let out a sigh. She turned back to the boy on the floor and his girlfriend, who was on the verge of tears.

  “So, can... I help you to the nurse’s office?” she offered, weakly.

  1: Foreign Customs

  24 June, 1401 Hours (Japan Standard Time)

  New Tokyo International Airport, Narita, Chiba Prefecture

  “Where am I?” he murmured to himself. He was walking, dragging his spinner suitcase behind him, as part of a line of people entering the country. Everything seemed blurry—the corridor, the people, the light through the windows.

  I’m at customs, in an airport. That’s right... I’m returning to this country after a year and a half away. I received extensive training and conditioning, and I came back to do something...

  The next question occurred to him: “Do something? But what?”

  Yes... I remember. I came here to operate that thing. That devil machine that no one else can tame... That which, once started, can never be stopped. I will spread destruction and terror... Death upon death, ruin upon ruin. And as for that city I loathe so much... I...

  “But who am I?” His irritation grew worse. A sudden swelling of hatred seized at his throat.

  I have a name... Kugayama Takuma. That’s right. I’m fifteen years old, just returning from a study abroad in New Zealand. That’s the story, anyway. But my real name is Tatekawa Takuma. Even within A21, I’m special.

  “Yeah...”

  I feel sick. I’m so angry. Should I have taken my medicine after all? No, I’m all right... I can bear it in a while longer...

  A customs agent approached—No, he was the one approaching the agent.

  A middle-aged man, just past age 40. The tie of his uniform is crooked... four degrees askew. I don’t like it. Fix it. Hurry up and fix it, you old...! Fighting back the urge to reach for the man’s neck, he handed over his passport with a guileless smile. Without any sign of suspicion—the great fool!—the official took the passport from him and glanced through it.

  “Homestay?” the man asked.

  “No, a short study abroad,” Takuma responded calmly, as innocent as could be.

  “Wow,” the official said admiringly, “by yourself?”

  “Yes.” Of course by myself! Fix your damned tie!

  “Your parents weren’t worried?” the official inquired.

  “Not really. They trust me,” Takuma said with a bright smile. All the while, he was thinking, I want to hurt someone. To tear them to pieces. It would feel so good. Big Sister would say I was good, then, too...

  Oh? Maybe not... What would Big Sister think? he wondered. Big Sister. Dear Big Sister. She’s back here already, isn’t she? Making preparations for me... just for me... to pilot that devil. I’ll be able to see her soon. Big Sister...

  The official stamped his passport. He didn’t even try to check his bags. “—can go,” the man was saying.

  “What?”

  “You can go, I said.”

  “What... What about your tie?” Fix it. It annoys me. What’s wrong with you? You dullard. Imbecile. Trash. Just die.

  “Er, what are you talking about?” the official asked.

  Takuma’s breathing picked up. Big Sister. I hate him. Why won’t he just fix it?!

  “Are you... all right?” the official asked, sounding uncertain.

  Takuma let out a groan, and then a bark. Unforgivable. He’s mocking me. Big Sister...

  “Hey—” the official began to say something.

  With a sudden scream, Takuma leaped over the counter. He tackled the official, punched him, kicked him, then got on top of him. He planted his hands on the man’s throat and squeezed. It felt good. More. More!

  As the customs agent writhed and gasped, Takuma began to laugh. He kept applying force, and the man’s eyes rolled back in his head. Security personnel and officials nearby all flew on him. They tried to pull him off, but he wouldn’t relent.

  Well? Do you realize what a nothing you are, now? Look at you, flapping your mouth like a fish on dry land... You’re dying, you see. Looking stupid and ugly... How funny. Big Sister. Big Sister...

  25 June, 2255 Hours (Manila Standard Time)

  40 km west of Vigan City, Luzon, Northern Philippines

  In a jungle clearing, there stood a model of a city. It was comprised of cheaply-made buildings riddled with bullet holes and lit by artificial lighting. It didn’t resemble any city in the world; this was a place for staging practice bouts of urban warfare.

  “No more games! Take those hostiles out, one shot apiece!” the lieutenant colonel barked to the trainees, his voice loud enough to be heard over the gunshots. “Don’t hold back! You’re hunting dogs! Run! Plant your teeth in their throats!”

  The trainees, budding terrorists from various countries, showed no sign of exhaustion. The bullets their instructors rained down at them inspired no fear as they carried out their roles with speed and efficiency.

  “Kill!” the colonel ordered them. “Everyone you see is an enemy! No mercy, not even to children!”

  Human targetboards, ragged from long use, popped out from windows, doors, and alleyways. Bullets flew; metal screeched. In a room somewhere, a grenade exploded.

  At last, the gunshots began to die out, replaced by reports of “clear” from radios here and there. The colonel, an assault rifle in one hand and a stopwatch in the other, stared at the timer as he waited for the shots to cease completely.

  “Clear!” came the final report at last, and he hit the stopwatch’s plunger with his thumb.

  “Hmm...” He checked the time the mock battle had taken, then snorted.

  “Line up!” his aide, a nearby captain, ordered. From all over the practice grounds, the trainees came running to line up in front of the colonel. There were a little more than fifteen in all, and one in five were women. The group was made up of all different races and dressed in basic gray urban combat fatigues.

  “All right...” The colonel cleared his throat before addressing the trainees. “You’ve been training here for three weeks, now. At first I thought you were all pathetic incompetents, but now I see that’s not totally true. Two of you broke down, two ran away—but that’s fine. You’re becoming tolerable killers. Just don’t get cocky.”

  It was the last lecture of the day, so the colonel decided to relish it. He went on and on about how green they still were, how badly they used their equipment, how hard it was to slip past various countries’ security forces—it all went on for about five minutes.

  “—Understand?” he finished. “You don’t have enough hate inside. You need more. Hate me, hate the world; if you can do that, there’ll be no military, no police force that can ever touch you. That’s all.”

  Once the colonel wrapped up, his aide asked the trainees, “Any questions?!”

  After a brief silence, one raised his hand.

  “Speak.”

  “You’ve been saying, ‘If you graduate from here, you’ll be more than a match for any military or police force.’ But what if we’re fighting something else?”

  “What do you mean?” the colonel asked.

  “Mithril,” the trainee answered.

  His reply caused the colonel’s brow to furrow in confusion. “Mithril. And what, exactly, is that?”

  “A mysterious special forces unit that operates independently of any nation. An arms dealer in Singapore told me rumors about them before I came here... They bring together the most skilled personnel, and it’s said that if they come after you, you’re finished.”

  The colonel snorted. “Nonsense. Exaggerated tripe.”

  “But they say people have actually seen them,” the trainee protested. “That they’ve raid
ed training camps like ours, stamping out insurgencies all over—”

  “Enough!” Driven past his breaking point, the colonel unleashed his fury on the trainee, grabbing him by the collar. “Mithril! Hah! You must not have faith in my training if you’re swallowing nonsense like that!”

  “Forgive me...” the trainee gasped, choking in the colonel’s grip.

  As the exchange went on, the other trainees exchanged glances and whispers.

  “I’ve heard of them, too...”

  “Same here. That incident in Sunan...”

  “What if they come after us?”

  The whispers stopped abruptly under the colonel’s sudden glare. “I can see I’ve been laboring under a misapprehension!” the man shouted, with no intention of hiding his rage. “I guess you haven’t learned anything these past three weeks after all! You think this place could be attacked? This camp, which the military can’t even touch? Look around you!”

  He pointed to the makeshift base just off the training ground, and the rows of weapons within. Tanks, armored cars, surface-to-air missiles, anti-aircraft guns... and though old-fashioned, they had two attack helicopters as well. The camp also housed two arm slaves—those humanoid beasts—standing eight meters tall and clad in dark green armor. These were the modern day’s greatest land weapon; a single one of them could take the place of a hundred infantrymen.

  “Any force strong enough to face down firepower like this would be detected before they got close. That includes the US Army!” The colonel’s confidence was no bluff; there was a high-sensitivity sensor network running 20 kilometers around their base on all sides. It would truly take an unreal force to slip through all of that and catch them by surprise. “Think about it! The base’s impregnability is why I can train you so hard! No one, under any circumstances, will ever catch us by sur—”

  The next instant, it came: an arrow of fire fell from the sky onto a tank parked ten meters away. It was followed by a second, a third. There was a squealing sound of metal.

  “Wha—” the colonel began to ask.

  The tank sparked before exploding, seemingly from the inside. The colonel and the others were bowled over by the force of the blast. The attacks from above continued, now against the arm slaves kneeling next to the tank. It was like a red rain was falling on the camp.