Vicissitude Yang Side

by Destine Williams

  Ken sits down on his stool. “Shoot.”

  “I need chi poles on a certain street cut off for a day.”

  Ken purses his lips. “A whole day? Errm, can I ask what for?”

  “I need to get into my old house,” I say.

  “Your old house?” Ken’s eyes scrunch a little. “Do people live in it now?”

  “No one lives in it. But someone has been using it to send their mail there and they’ve been picking it up. I want to check it out.”

  Ken’s cheeks inflate with breath and he lets it out with a sigh. “I don’t know about that Jun. I mean, a whole day? I’m not sure that the IT guys are willing to bend for just that. And then we’ve got notices to send out if they’re going to shut off security for a whole day for a street. And it can take up to a week to get approval on that.”

  My heart squeezes. “What if it’s just a few hours? Or even one hour? My mom died in that house, Ken. If someone else is using it illegally, then it could be related to her death,” I lie. Well, maybe a half-lie. The Geisha was around our house often since my mom and Mai took turns babysitting us, and he’d been just as horrified as I was walking in on my mom’s dead body. I doubt he has anything to do with her death directly. But I can’t ignore the fact that he’s using our old address, out of all the old addresses that he could’ve used.

  Ken gives me a long look. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it, Jun. When do you want this shut off to happen? And where?”

  “323.F Cha Avenue in Taitai Prefecture,” I say. “But I need it done by Monday. From 1 to 3 in the afternoon.”

  Ken purses his lips, then nods slowly. He grabs a sticky note pad and a pen from one of his antique end tables and scrawls down the address. “Alright. That’s definitely more manageable. We don’t have to go through notices and stuff if it’s only for an hour or two.”

  “I appreciate it, Ken.”

  He turns around so I can undress and lay on the bench for the next round of tattooing. Ken isn’t jabbing the needle quite as hard this time around, but because my back is tight and achy from our last session it hurts just as much. Between blinks and grimaces, I ask, “Your Dad is prepping you to be the next Shogun now?”

  Ken pauses. “Yeah. I can’t say I’m a fan of it. It’s a lot of boring old adult stuff. Honestly, being the Shogun feels like the most unShowguns-y job in the whole mafia.”

  “What do you do all day then?”

  “Shit like learning tea drinking ettiquette and proper tea pouring technique, ikebana, and fengshui.”

  “Ikebana? Isn’t that like flower arranging?”

  “Yeah. Of all the fucking things I have to do, like what the hell? Dad says it’s for proper presentation in ceremonies, but I’m calling bullshit.”

  I laugh. “I understand that one. But come on, there’s gotta be something good about being the Shogun. I mean you’ve got all the power.”

  “Well, some of the history was interesting. Like I didn’t know that the Silent Seven used to be fourteen members, but there was a huge scandal back in the day when Mai was first appointed as leader.”

  “Mai?” I turn my head to look back at him. “Mai Fujiwara?”

  “Yeah, there was an assassin named Ruthless who plotted to kill the Shogun before my dad,” Ken says, resuming his work on my back. “He convinced six other assassins to be in on it, but Mai and the Silent Seven found out about the plan and they showed up when Ruthless tried to kill the Shogun. They succeeded, and one of the old Silent Seven died, but they got one on Ruthless’s side too. Thank the gods, Mai and the others stopped him from getting to my dad too.”

  My mouth drops. “Holy shit. Mai never told me that.”

  Ken grins. “Because it’s secret history, Jun. And also, no one really likes talking about it.”

  “Why would an assassin try to kill the Shogun, though? Assassins don’t succeed the Shogun.”

  “Yeah. That I’m not so sure about. Dad didn’t want to say anything about why. I can kinda get that. I mean, they killed his dad,” Ken says. “But get this Jun…Showguns didn’t kill Ruthless. Or the guys that helped him.”

  “What?” Why wouldn’t you kill the guy who tried to take over? I mean, hell. If I can’t even get away with detagging a gun, how do six guys get away with murder? “Is he in jail or something?”

  “Nope. Dad didn’t give that many details, but the way I understood it was that they released them somewhere. I don’t know where. You’re probably better off asking Mai for all the details. Though with her being MIA…”

  “Wait. Do you know where she might be? Does your dad know where she is?” I ask.

  “I don’t personally, but my dad does. He won’t tell me. He thinks that I’ll tell you and maybe some of the other assassins I know.”

  Bah. I should’ve known. Mai probably had a hand in that. I can’t blame her. Knowing Mai, the whole not telling thing probably is more about staying out of sight while the retirement investigation gets looked into. “Well, it was worth asking.”

  The rest of the horimono session blows by quick and by the end of it, I can finally see the whole mountain, the leaves and the beginning of the cave scene in the mirror. On my back, they look like a traditional ink painting.

  “What do you think so far?” Ken says.

  “It’s gorgeous. And you’re making good progress on it.” I twist a little to get a better view.

  “That’s because the outline isn’t really the hard part,” Ken says. “Color is the challenge.”

  I check the clock. “I’m going to have to get going. My boyfriend is expecting me.”

  Ken frowns, then he looks away. “Oh, well…wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

  Did I say something wrong? I’m tempted to ask, but I have the feeling that more words isn’t what Ken wants to hear.

  I come home to Jin sitting on the couch watching The Red Hood and typing on his phone. He only spares me a passing glance, then rolls on his back to copy King who snoozes on his back next to Jin. Upstairs in my bedroom, the shower hums on and the bathroom door is closed.

  Regi must be in the shower. I peel off my wet clothes and crash into bed on my belly to give my back a rest, then open up my KillChat App out of boredom to finish watching the speed crack video.

  Instead of taking me back to the thread, I was already on, the app takes me to a list of topics titled “Recommended Reads”.

  Help a Trainee: HELP! Haven’t gotten my acceptance letter!

  Thread started by TheAmazingMisterJin

  At the name, I raise an eyebrow. Jin creeps into mind immediately, but I dismiss it. There are tons of Jins in the city. There’s no way it could be this one. If that's even his real name. I open it anyway.

  TheAmazingMisterJin: Hey everybody, noob here. Just wondering how long does it take to get an acceptance letter from RDA. I checked the website and it said that last week is when they started notifying people, but I haven’t heard anything from them. I really want to get in, but is it too late?

  (Be the first to answer this question?)

  >>Yes No

  The thread was submitted only a few minutes ago. He’s probably still on. I type: Depends, did you submit a Statement of Intended Occupation with your application? Those usually make your application take longer to process.

  Within seconds more responses comes in.

  Sumyunggeisha: The website is not 100% up-to-date on acceptance information. It’s true that they do start notifying around that time, but there’s a certain order that people get processed. iSoFly is correct about SIOs. Undecided applicants get processed first. Then Hounds, Geishas, and Escorts. IT comes last.

  TheAmazingMisterJin: Oh okay. I did submit a Hound SIO, so that’s probably why.

  Sumyunggeisha: Then you’ll probably get your application early this upcoming week. If you don’t get anything by Wednesday, then I’d call them. RDA usually doesn’t leave people hanging on stuff like that. You’ll know for sure soon.

  I close KillChat. But as soon as I
do, I get a text from Heaven.

  Heaven

  Don’t forget that your physical diagnostic test and screening is tomorrow. Bring something you’re comfortable working out in. Also, do you need a ride? I could pick you up on the way to work.

  An uncomfortable tingling settles in my spine. I didn’t think about the medical checks. But then again, I didn’t have the aggressive Akuma gene in me before today. The minute TRI does my blood test, they’ll know right away that I have Devil’s Disease. If I don’t show up, the Geisha’s threat—

  I cover my face with my hands. It feels like that’s all I think about these days. The Geisha this. Geisha that. Geisha, Geisha, Geisha. I’m sick of him.

  But we’ll see who’s on top after Monday.

  3-7 'Ah'

  Palpitations batter my ribcage as the shiny igloo-ish black form of Tokaido Research Institute steadily gets closer in the passenger window of Heaven’s car. Cars are easing slowly into the active parking lot. People get out by the clusters: groups of workers in ZenGaming tees, Lords of Earth lanyards, keychains of characters from other MOBA games, baseball caps with team roles on it. Colleagues laughing loudly and some passing around their handheld consoles to share what’s on screen. Watching them all is surreal: a working staff of game-lovers and such a tight sense of community.

  But not the good kind of surreal.

  I try slow breaths to calm my heart, but it’s not doing any good and hasn’t done any good the whole car ride. I’m sure that it’s been twenty-four hours since the Geisha injected me with Devil’s Disease, but I haven’t had any sweats, or any other symptoms. And I hope that a sudden outbreak doesn’t come out of nowhere.

  After Heaven parks, we both head to the lab. As we approach the double doors, a red light on both sides starts blinking. “Unauthorized polarity sample detected,” says an automated voice.

  I jump at the voice.

  But Heaven smiles at me. “Don’t worry. It does that to everybody who’s new.”

  I release the pent-up breath I didn’t know I was holding. Thank the gods. I thought maybe it was detecting Devil’s Disease. Issues with chi-readers is one of the quieter consequences.

  “Please obtain permission from authorized personnel to continue,” The voice goes on.

  Heaven walks to panel next to the left door and pushes a few keys. “Come here for a sec, Jun. I’m gonna need you to put your hand on the touch panel.”

  I do as she says. The whole panel flashes a few times.

  “Authorization scan complete. Would you like to allow JUN MEI AKIYAMA permission to continue?”

  I blink. “Whoa… It knows exactly who I am, already?”

  “This security system is the same one hospitals and chi banks use to keep track of medical records,” Heaven says, glancing at me. “We have doctors and nutritionists on staff so it’s required that we keep in sync. They’ll do your exam, if you don’t mind.”

  “Is there a certain threshold I have to pass or something?”

  “It’s more like we need to know what your body is capable of handling before we can let you in the simulator and if you have any health conditions that put you or anyone else at risk.” Heaven says, waving a hand. “Also we need to match you with a fitness trainer and a workout regimen.”

  My heart rate ratchets up again. I purse my lips and look away.

  Beyond the entrance, wide glass panes line the hall. And inside the rooms, five-man teams lounge around a table sipping water and eating assorted fruit from a platter as they watch a Lords of Earth game in progress on a big flat screen.

  “Are they on break?” I ask.

  “Break?” Heaven glances over. “No. They’re being trained. That’s the room where new teams go through their orientation to get familiar with the games they’ll be playing before they start scrimmaging and have their rosters adjusted.”

  I tear my gaze away from the computer monitors. “People don’t stay in their teams?”

  “In your case, that’s true since the space for your position is limited,” Heaven says. “For everyone else, arrangements change according to skill level and how individuals synergize with each other. And of course, player toxicity.”

  “Skill? You mean, you put shitty players with other bad players?”

  Heaven chuckles. “Shitty is such a blunt term, Jun.”

  I grin. “Yes? No? I mean, c'mon.”

  “Think of it this way…” She leads us to an elevator. “This is still a research facility. So it’s beneficial for us to recruit player from a wide skill range.” Heaven presses the up button. “Sure, people who come in and stay can become gaming gods eventually, but becoming one is time-consuming. And I wouldn't dare put a complete novice in the simulator.”

  My heart drums a little at the words. No way around it, huh? I have to admit the idea impresses me. Fedora Clan’s system of putting people in teams is a cliquey free-for-all. If you don’t know someone or if you’re not a top dog player, you may as well find a bench to warm. But from the sound of things here, no one gets left behind here.

  The elevator chimes and opens. Multiple screens are set up in the corners, and they’re all tuned to different Lords of Earth scrimmage games.

  Except for one.

  A lion and goat headed chimera soars into the sky with leathery wings. It spits a globule of blue fire at a red-draped girl with a blade.

  Standing firm, the girl draws her cape around herself like a red cocoon. The fire dissipates on contact. The girl's cape flares open, and she leaps, light enveloping her. Her body expands, form changing. An elephant-sized, vermilion bird flaps its wings in the girl's place.

  The chimera veers to avoid the oncoming bird and tails close behind, charging another fireball in its mouth.

  Sparks cloak the bird’s body. It beats its wings for altitude. Whirls on the chimera. In one flap, the entire screen flashes white.

  Boom! Crash!

  Smoking, the chimera drops right out of the sky.

  I almost forget how to breathe. “What game is that?”

  Heaven pushes the key for the third floor. “That's the simulator you'll be entering.”

  My jaw drops. "We can transform and fly?"

  "It depends on the game mode and your fitness results," Heaven says.

  My limbs tremble, itching for action.

  The elevator's side walls are transparent so you can see the people walking back and forth through the halls on every floor. On the second floor, a stocky janitor pushes a cart of cleaning supplies down the hall. A brunette laughs heartily at the watercooler with a few guys her age. But on the third floor, it's mostly lab-coat wearing staff trundling through the halls. In the rooms, researchers circle around station consisting of a wristwatch projecting hologram weapons. One presses buttons on a remote to cycle through the gun-blades, harpoon-rifles, scythes, daggers, whips, tomahawk-pistols, shields riddled with gun barrels. The others jot notes on their clipboards, nodding, leaning in, hanging on to the presenter's every word.

  In the corner of my eye, I see Heaven’s gaze fixed on the screen with the red-draped figure on it. She even misses the epic pentakill in one of the other scrimmage games.

  I raise an eyebrow. Not going to watch the pentakill?

  The elevator brings us to a dead white floor. Walls, white. Tiles, white. Ceiling, white. Side tables, white. Good gods, was the interior designer trying to ensure that people would ram their knees into camouflaged furniture?

  When my shoes tap the tiles, the echoes sound like they’ll go on forever. But not a single soul in sight up here.

  “In case you’re wondering…” Heaven speaks up. “This is the floor where you’ll be working. I know it doesn’t look like much with all the white.”

  “Is there a reason why everything is white?”

  “This whole floor used to be part of the alpha simulator before it was moved to the third floor, so we ran some projection tests in it,” Heaven says. “For some reason the simulator had issue projecting color onto things
that weren't white. Some things still don't project as the right color, but doesn't affect overall gameplay or safety.”

  Around the corner, a pair of double doors await us. Heaven opens the doors.

  A jungle of pull-up bars, bench presses, sand bags, and treadmills overrun the room. Four athletes in black sensor-ridden compression shirts and body tight pants workout in different corners the room under the watch of their personal trainers. From the ceiling, five screens hang—one turned off, with moving colored bars beneath the faces of the athletes. In the center, four people are already sitting at the set-up computers. A huge screen sits out in front with five clear pods lined up on either side.

  “Beta team!” Heaven calls. “Your new teammate has arrived.”

  The four stop their exercises and take towels from their trainers. Trickling in slowly, some stocky bull-necked guy is the first to arrive. He stares at me with bloodshot eyes. He holds out a hand. “Name is Blunts.”

  You sure look like you smoked a few before you got here. I grip his hand. “Name’s Jun.”

  He gives my hand a crushing squeeze before he lets go.

  Next to him, a slender raven-haired girl with feather bangs throws her towel over her shoulder. She's not from around here; no Tokaido-born girl would dare go around with eyebrows that thick or a lower lip bigger than their upper. I can’t quite place her as Pua Moana; she’s too pale. She’s not European; her eyes are too narrow. Albino Pua Moana, maybe?

  The moment our gazes meet, she frowns. “Vampire.”

  A strong wave of deja vu sweeps at me. No memory comes. Not knowing burns like a bad itch because you’d think that if you came across someone with that kind of name, you’d remember it.

  Vampire doesn't offer her hand.

  So much for a welcome. I don’t offer a hand to her a hand, either.

  The next girl is much friendlier. She beams, gray eyes bright. And sticks out her pale hand. “I’m Tempest. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

  My heart skips. “You have?” I glance at Heaven, but she shakes her head.

  Tempest nods. She dabs at her forehead with her towel, freeing some sweat-plastered blond strands from her brow. "Your Thunder God play is pretty well-known. I’ve been wanting to see it.”