ꜰɪʀᴇʙʀᴀɴᴅ[ᴇᴅ]

  Maybe sending him a fax machine that one year was a bit mean.

 Tatsuya was old, sure, and not the most on his toes with what kids used these days... But of course, he did his best. He had only recently bought into smartphones, at the long insistence of many, many friends. Stubborn as he was, it had taken lengthy promises to convince him.

 Now though, it seemed he had another way to pester old acquaintances.

 The poor kid, the same one that the elder one had sent a littany of faxes... all with his face. A reminder, a deathly serious one, if done in a crude manner. Now though, time having passed, it seemed there was an opportunity of sorts. Rather than faxes sent to a likely long ago trashed machine, Katsuragi would receive MMSes. A unrecognized number, but an unmistakably stern expression.

 [ Lunch? ]

  It might’ve seemed unfair at the time, but he was hardly one pre-disposed to decision making as much as he would’ve liked to believe. Tokyo was as nearby to home as simple as a train ride away, but he had coveted those late rides along the highways. Glittering night lights across the harbor, through the tunnel and over the Rainbow Bridge. No matter how many times he did it, Tatsuya drank in the sights as if it were his first.

 Why then, were the sights of red and blue, followed by cold steel soon followed?

 A case of mistaken identity, surely. He knew full well he had done nothing wrong, beyond skirting speed limits... Yet here he was in cuffs, his motorcycle impounded. Truly cruel, Tatsuya felt lost for perhaps the first time in years.

 If only for a far crueler twist, the tall, imposing woman was a dead ringer for his own elder brother. Professional and serious to a fault, it didn’t take much to see that they lived to work, and not vice versa. In a way, it stung, a reminder of far more estranged times.

 “I already told you, I don’t know.”

 Evasive of the law as he may have been at times, Tatsuya had no reason to lie now. A feeling within tugged, igniting a yearning to leave and not return to the labyrinthine city for sometime. He knew though, and that presence likely did too, that it weren’t so simple.

  How on Earth did he get dragged into this. Again.

 It seemed as if Tatsuya were something a gullible fool, inclined to believe a reunion of sorts were in order. While not entirely wrong, he hadn’t expected it to be only Eikichi and his goonies, in a downtrodden warehouse far down the harbor. His brother would have his head on a pike, not just for keeping this kind of company, but simply for being in this kind of area.

 For all his due dilligence, the shadows always lingered in the edges of a city like Sumaru.

 For now though, that was hardly the first thought to his mind. Rather it was aching disappointment, off-key screeching and missed notes droning into his skull. The pretense was apparent now, another ploy to invite Tatsuya into his band. He had declined, repeatedly, to the point of which he usually stopped responding to voicemails at home.

 Something like this though, it seemed the Great Michel had truly no shame.

 Finally though, the screeching and yelling had ceased. Though the ringing in his ears remained, reverberating through steel rafters, Tatsuya’s crossed arms and neutral expression said enough.

  A rare voice, if not unwelcome. Even among those he considers closest, none compared to the patience of what may have been called a romantic interest. Though long ago discarded in the pursuit of a “higher calling”, their closeness never faltered. It was something Tatsuya found himself eternally grateful for, especially in his most trying hours. Dimly lit inaka surrounding him, hardly a streetlight to the village of rice paddies and a singular pachinko parlor, the faint buzz of a phone in his breast pocket stirred him from his involuntary focus.

 To see the name and face of someone so dear... The future is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?

 He muses to himself, still not entirely adjusted. The signal is weak, unsurprisingly, though he savors the feeling. From his seemingly endless pilgrimage, its a sign that keeps him rooted. A reminder of whence he came, enough to stir the calmest of smiles.

 Not wanting to subject Jun to the torture of not only his monotonous, automated voicemail message (Lisa had to explain it to him at least three times before giving up), but as well the torture of a fitful rest until hearing back in the morning, he answers. Tatsuya doesn’t speak, not yet, the microphones picking up their breathing in the dead of night.

 Staring up to the night sky, stars absent of any and all light pollution, Tatsuya feels closer to home than he had in months.

One of those nights. Vagabond as he may have been, a new city came with a malaise of unease. Reminders of what once was normal to him, the thought of what could be beneath the grey exteriors. He rode where instinct guided him, fate at the handlebars. Tatsuya never believed in coincidence, not anymore.

Thus, as sickly green bathed the empty streets as the clock struck twelve, it was apparent fate’s hand had been in play once again. Though he only ever played observer, it would seem the manifestation of fate he had grown to be well-acquainted with ten years ago had lessons still to teach. A forgiving existence, considering the unfurling of human emotion that barrelled forward into fate’s jaw that same day.

Marching forth though, the sense of trepidation grew. He had regretted not bringing his weapon of choice, the streets seemingly not so empty after all. Coffins. He scowled, wincing at the implications. Outside observer as he may have been, Tatsuya knew how to connect dots.

Though as his nervous tick kicked in, clutching a silver lighter in his pocket to flick the lid again and again, he couldn’t help a breath of relief as finally he had seen another human soul. Younger, shoulders slumped, he tredged forth, seemingly onward into the yawning abyss. There was a sense of kinship for long ago, even if he were at least ten years the youth’s elder.

Regardless, he chased after, cautiously. A careful distance, keeping his hands exposed as proof of a lack of intent.

“Hey.”

  Really, he had no choice but to blame himself.

 Tatsuya, always the reckless one, if silent. Taking charge, the first to raise his hand in self-sacrifice. Foolish, maybe, but it was all for the greater good. At least that’s what he told himself.

 For twenty years now, he had been careful to keep his senses keen. Predisposed to the style of occult running rampant in recent years, it was hardly a surprise to those close to him that when unnatural occurrences were reported not far north of Sumaru in Tokyo, he was gone the next day. Little more than a note, if it weren’t for his personal connections and the fixture of his early eighties motorcycle, his presence could’ve been as trasient as a ghost itself.

 Yet it all seemed to be foolhardy in his actions. While his senses were sharp, his ability to summon as natural as ever, age took a toll on anyone. A difficult world to even navigate for long for rumored youths, it was beyond oppressive to a man pushing his forties.

 A knee gave, callused hand gripping his old blade. Steel clattering against asphalt, Apollo behind him wavered in existence, ethereal as it always had been, the booming voice now but a whisper. His voice too, reduced to labored inhales, free hand wiping the sweat from his brow. Demons that were once child’s play now pushed him to the limit. Quiet as he may have been, his pride stung still.

 It didn’t help he had brute forced his way into this world through old connections, rather than pre-ordained navigation. In it until the end, yet there was hardly an exit to be seen to his untrained eyes.