329 Years Awake

by Ellie Maloney

  “Yeah, that’s nothing compared to a tattoo needle on some of my body parts.”

  “Don’t wanna know, girl!” laughed Fah.

  “Oh yeah, those tattoos are meant for only one person.”

  “That crush of yours?”

  “Yeah. You got me. Not like he will ever see them.”

  “Why not?”

  “We live in different worlds. He’s a gaming superstar. I am nothing for him.”

  “Yeah I can relate to that.”

  “Veronica?”

  “That obvious?”

  “Duhhhh. Every time she walks in, your voice goes up a notch, you drop things, you bump into things, and you don’t look in her eyes! Like, ever! What do you find in that skinny bitch?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know. But hey… change the subject. We have work to do.”

  Nyoko and Fah prepared to do their experiment. Nakamura believed that they needed to test the gene, to prove that it worked, and for that they needed to make Nyoko perform a healing miracle. It was a constant stream of tries that Fah orchestrated by drawing on the techniques of prayer and meditation. She even brought in a kendo tutor to approximate the samurai training routine.

  “What today? Candles or knives?” laughed Nyoko.

  “Here’s what I want you to do. We will start from meditation. You will listen to the audio track that guides you into a zen state. Then you will cut your finger and focus on healing it.”

  “How original.”

  “I know, we’ve done it a million times. But I think you are making progress. You are getting better at emptying your thoughts.”

  “My thoughts are always empty, Fah.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “It’s true. All this meditation is nothing special to me. I always ‘meditate’ on something; I just didn’t know that I was doing it. I listen to water dripping from the sink faucet, I listen to the noise of busy streets, I turn that chaos into a melody in my head by rearranging the sounds. I just don’t know how that is supposed to heal a cut. I am sorry, Fah, maybe I just don’t have it.”

  “I believe in you.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment but I suggest you find some other subjects as well.”

  “I am working on it. I narrowed down on another guy, he’s your age, living here in Tokyo. But I don’t know where he lives. His traces were lost since he dropped out of cram school.”

  Fah grabbed a paper folder from the desk and extracted a picture of a young boy. “Where are you, Daichi?”

  “What did you say?”

  “Daichi Abe. He’s my next prospect.”

  Nyoko’s heart skipped the beat.

  “Let me see this picture.” Nyoko grabbed the picture from Fah’s hands. “I know where he is. Not physically, on the web. He’s the boy I have a crush on.”

  “I cannot believe it! What a coincidence!”

  “Maybe Mushin is leading me to him!” laughed Nyoko, making fun of Fah’s theories.

  “You know, actually, maybe it is true, laugh all you want, but the two of you have a connection, and you both have the gene. Maybe you are drawn to each other like opposite magnets, to make something complete, something whole.”

  “You are getting all weird on me, Fah. But I have an idea. And maybe your Mushin will help me pull it off.”

  ***

  Next day, Daichi entered a gaming tournament where he was absolute king. Rigonara was a vicious slaying game based on the ancient samurai fighting techniques. A mix of kenjitsu, kobudjitsu, iaidjitsu, tenshinryu hyouho and many others, Rigonara simulated a battlefield in a modern city with ancient weaponry - katana, wakizashi, and kanto swords. It was a post-apocalyptic world where Tokyo was ridden by gangs of sword-wielding fighters. According to the game, each competing gang could make up to five fighters. Daichi always fought alone. And always won. Each time before the tournament, he walked the streets of the game, felt every corner, and taught himself to almost walk it blindfolded. Unlike many other gamers, Daichi actually studied all the fighting techniques. In real life he was a dough boy, the least athletic kid there was. But his mind knew discipline. He treated the game as if his real life depended on it, and would never surrender. He never played like he didn’t care.

  He thought it was insulting to the game and to himself to be unprepared, to have other things on his mind when entering the game. Although physically weak, Daichi’s mind was that of a world class kenjitsuka. Daichi walked on a game field wearing a modern take on the samurai armor for which he had written the code himself. It did not give any particular advantage in the game but it had a symbolic value for Daichi. He cared about every single detail of his game avatar, including the appearance. He carried two swords, as was customary among the samurai. Daichi practiced a few classic battojutsu katas - a skill of drawing a sword and slaying an opponent in one move, in just a fracture of a second. Dying from the hand of an enemy without even drawing katana was shameful in Daichi’s mind. It was shameful in the mind of real samurai, and Daichi treated the game fight with the same respect.

  Then he saw the first attackers. Actually he did not see them, as much as he sensed their presence. Daichi didn’t know if he could develop an actual Musoken in the game, but it seemed as if he did. His first opponents were always newbies to the game and never posed any threat. The real gamers avoided of encountering Daichi as long as possible, in order to rank higher in the game. They had no illusions about the fact that they were going to die in the game, and they preferred to die from Daichi’s hand, which was a badge of honor among the gamers.

  Daichi was walking down the dark street. Most of the streetlights were broken and he could hardly see anything. But unlike the others, that did not slow Daichi down. He did not need the light: his feet committed those streets to memory. He sensed them coming at him from behind the broken vending machine, three of them, young punks wearing standard game outfits and with four swords each tucked in their belts. Kids… thought Daichi and kept calmly walking.

  That was when he heard the war scream, way early, as they were still a good hundred meters away. Oh god… thought Daichi, and continued out loud:

  “Just keep walking, kids. I don’t want to kill you five minutes into the game.”

  But the three were already under an adrenaline surge, or maybe something else that pumped them up. Like wild animals, unaware of their bodies and their surroundings, they just ran towards Daichi’s katana like moths to the flame. Daichi kept walking.

  Moments later, Daichi turned around, instantaneously drawing a sword and as it flew out of the saya, he cut the head clean off one of his attackers. With the next open horizontal strike he took the head off the other kid, and with the third vertical strike he sliced the third kid in half, whose avatar guts spilled all over the place.

  Daichi, as calm as before, completed the move with a ceremonial wiping of the blood from the blade with his fingers first, then with the sleeve of his kimono, and performed a proper noto, returning the blade back to its saya. Nobody went that far with the traditional rituals, most would just walk away. But Daichi knew that there was a purpose for every one of those routines. They help to be focused, to go above and beyond standard katas, to take the skill to a new level.

  Daichi’s score table popped with the number “3”. That score only would matter if he eventually lost and it would demonstrate his rank among the players. Daichi did not care about the score. He knew that he would face the last standing enemy and would slay him, and that was how his victory would be achieved, not with a petty score card, but with going against the most powerful samurai in the game.

  ***

  Several hours passed, and Daichi didn’t even notice if he was hungry. In his tiny dim room, he was all concentration, and nothing could distract him from the goal. All bodily functions were on hold as he made his way through the slash piles of increasingly b
etter enemies. Those players did not make rookie mistakes. They attacked with impeccable timing and cut with precision. Most of them did not need to draw their wakizashi, the short swords, as they were good at keeping their katanas in their hands.

  The game stats counted down to the three last players, then only two: himself, and someone else. Finally Daichi cared to open the profile of the player. It was Dragon67, or as he found out a few months ago, Nyoko. Nyoko’s previous gaming record was that of a mediocre player. She ranked in the lower middle bracket. But in this game she had made it all the way to the top. And oddly her score was very close to that of Daichi’s. Even though Daichi did not go for the score in the game, to see Dragon67 getting that high was impressive.

  “Ok, I’m impressed!” Daichi broadcast on a public channel. “Come out and let’s be over with it.” The answer was not forthcoming. “Cat and mouse then, right? Guess who’s the cat?”

  “Shut up and fight like a warrior!” followed the answer on a public channel.

  “Dang girl. You’re making me hard,” whispered Daichi.

  ***

  Nyoko was in the flow. Perhaps she couldn’t direct her Mushin to heal her paper cuts, but she could now direct it at something she really cared about - getting Daichi’s attention.

  Ten minutes ago, Fah had awaken on the couch beside Nyoko, who had been playing for the five past hours. She was unstoppable. She awoke right in time to witness the final fight. Nyoko’s avatar was hiding on the third floor of a half-wrecked building, watching Daichi below on the ground standing with his arms folded right in the spotlight of a streetlight. The ghosts of his slain enemies crowded together, watching on a muted setting - they could not say or do anything except bear silent witness to his victory.

  Nyoko was waiting. She wanted Daichi to make a mistake, to get impatient, because she knew that all things considered, Daichi was a better fighter. This time she did not go for the score rank. She went for the victory. Clean, honorable victory, the only kind that would impress Daichi enough to care about her. Daichi was calm and unscathed. He swam his mental river of calm like a trout, strong and graceful, without a single thought or emotion out of order.

  And then he sensed it.

  Just barely in time to draw the blade and block the attack from Nyoko, who jumped at him from the building. She accumulated enough game strength to pull it off, otherwise such a high jump would have killed her. With that one jump Nyoko’s extra strength was down to zero. It was her own skill now against the most skilled gamer in the history of Rigonara.

  Daichi looked at Nyoko, even more impressed then before. He purposefully drained his strength account, as a courtesy to his opponent. Now they were on an even footing, and no one would be able to accuse the winner of winning on a technicality. It would be a clean victory.

  Then the katanas went flying at a speed that the eyes of the ghosts could not follow. They watched the score board and saw the two going neck and neck, neither giving an inch. Ten minutes into the fight, Daichi gained advantage and went at Nyoko with a daring vertical cut from head to toe, holding katana in both hands and exposing in that moment his neck.

  The moment was brief, and Nyoko’s death was foretold.

  Suddenly Nyoko felt as if the game had melted away, and everything came to a halt. It was not a game glitch. It was Nyoko’s conscious decision to view the unfolding events in slow motion, like film frames. She saw Daichi above her, his face beautiful and fierce as he went for his final victory strike. His katana way up in the air, under a clean 90-degree angle to the ground, making a proper whistle as the blade slashed through the air. The katana was slowly descending on Nyoko’s body following an unwavering trajectory. Instead of panicking, Nyoko felt that all of a sudden, she had all the time in the world to make her move and turn her imminent death into her victory.

  With her katana in her right hand she attempted a perpendicular block of Daichi’s katana, but she only did it as a distracting move. She knew based on the momentum of Daichi’s strike that she would not be able to withstand that direct hit. With her left hand, she extracted her kanto, a short dagger tucked behind her back. With an assertive move, she drove the dagger through Daichi’s exposed lower jaw, right at the base of his tongue, and further into Daichi’s head, piercing his brain.

  Daichi’s avatar instantaneously fell on top of Nyoko, lifeless and defeated.

  The game was over.

  A congratulatory fanfare announced Dragon67 as the winner. All the ghosts’ sound was un-muted and they cheered like crazy at the sight of the new queen of Rigonara.

  The game took her to the winner’s room. Nyoko had only ever heard about it, but had never got to see it. It was a brightly lit empty room with a short tea table - a tea ceremony for two.

  A traditionally dressed geisha was serving the tea. Nyoko approached, bowed down, and sat on the floor before the table. “Who’s the second cup for?” she asked.

  “For the defeated one,” answered the geisha softly.

  At that moment, Daichi appeared in the room, dressed in a white kimono. Nyoko noticed that she was wearing the same kind of kimono.

  “Congratulations, kenjitsuka. I’ve never been in this room as a defeated one.”

  “I’ve never been to this room before. Period. What do we do here?”

  “Anything you want. I’m all yours. You won.” Daichi politely bowed down and signalled the geisha to go away.

  “Anything I want?”

  “Anything. Command me, I’ll do it.”

  Nyoko was speechless.

  ***

  Fah quietly exited the lab and locked the door from the outside. Kids needed privacy.

  ***

  Sitting on her chair in the warehouse in front of the console with the VR goggles on, Nyoko’s heart rate was as high as if she were about to OD, but there was nothing running though her system, other than Mushin and love.

  ***

  Three hours later, Fah and Nyoko were standing outside the warehouse. Spring air filled their lungs. Both drew cigarettes and quietly lit up.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me?” begged Fah.

  “Let’s just put it this way. He saw my tattoos. All of them.”

  Year 2045.

  Tokyo, Japan

  It was past 11 pm when Fah was walking down an obscure Tokyo street in the business district. She couldn’t sleep and had decided to walk to the warehouse and do some research. The obscure location for the lab was chosen on purpose, to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention to Nakamura. The street was empty, but relatively well-lit. The streetlights were casting long intertwining shadows on the asphalt. The light reflected in the fresh puddles after the rain. Suddenly Fah heard brisk footsteps behind her. She turned around and saw a man in a dark suit and a hat, who was catching up with her a bit too fast.

  “Miss, wait. I need to talk to you!” called the man and waved her.

  “What about?”

  Fah kept the speed of her pace.

  “About your samurai research.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  Fah turned around and sped up, almost to a jog. Although she had been out of training for some time, she was a good runner - if her life depended on it. That however would only work if the man did not have a gun. She decided to sharply take a turn to the right and try to disappear in the maze of lonely streets, when out of nowhere the man popped out right before her. “How did you...?” Fah felt cold sweat along her spine.

  “Miss, you are making a big mistake. I am not your enemy. Not just yet. Some forces want you out of the picture and I went out of my way to warn you. I can protect you if you come working for me.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I want the boy and the girl, and you. You keep working on activating the oscillation gene…”

  “Oscillation gene?”
<
br />   “…but under my supervision. I can give you more than Nakamura ever will. And just as easily I can take it away.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Finally. The only question that matters. You know who I am!”

  The man lifted his chin up, allowing the defused yellow street light to illuminate his face.

  In the features of a Western man she saw something underneath, not with her eyes, but with her skin. She felt very unsettled and suddenly suspicious. A sense that she was looking at a mask of a face was nagging her. “Come on, you can see it, can’t you?” insisted the man.

  At that moment Fah saw the image of the man flickering, and under the skin of a human she saw a horrifying sight: a monster so alien that her brain refused to process it.

  Tentacles, slimy reptilian skin, a face that lacked any humanity.

  Fah screamed but the man shoved her against the wall so hard that the “thump” sound echoed down the empty street. “Try screaming again and I will kill you right here. That was the plan to begin with anyway. Listen to me, you little insect. You either work for me or go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and stay there. You hear me? Stay there and make no sound! There will be no warnings after this. If you decide to switch sides, here is the email to reach me.”

  With those words, the alien grabbed Fah’s wrist and breathed on the back side of her forearm. The skin in that place started burning, and left a raw branding - the email address.

  And just as briskly as he appeared, the monster walked away, and soon faded from Fah’s sight. Shivering, with her hair all messed up and mascara streaming down her cheeks, mixed with tears of shock, Fah walked to the warehouse, disabled the alarm, and walked in. Inside, she poured herself a hefty glass of neat scotch, downed it, but felt no effect from it.

  She picked the phone up and dialed Veronica’s number.

  The phone rang twice and Veronica picked up.

  “Is everything alright?” Veronica’s voice asked.