Shinjuku Station, Tokyo
11:23 a.m.

Mio rocked back and forth on her heels, clutching her father’s pant leg for balance while he studied the menu. Her favorite part of the train ride was the bento. It was in the shape of a train car, and had hamburger and egg in it.

She stared at all the people hurrying in every direction. A grandma pushing a puppy in a stroller. Some older kids in their school uniforms. A man with a big, funny-looking case stuck behind two ladies in rainbow outfits and shiny jewelry. 

When she watched people like that, she wished she could see where they were going.

Then there was a bald man in a blue suit. He looked really tired. She smiled. He reminded her of her dad. 

She squeezed his pant leg tighter.

Someone was looking at her, too. From the other side of the station. 

A lady in a long puffy coat. 

She had scary eyes.

Most people looked away when she stared at them. 

But she didn’t.

Her bag looked heavy. Maybe that’s why she was mad.

"Dad."

She tugged on his shirt.

"Daddy."

"What is it?"

“We have to go.”

“It’s almost our turn. We have to wait patiently like everyone else.”

“No, we have to go home. That lady told me.”

She turned and looked up at her dad. He was frowning.

"What? What lady?"

She turned back toward the lady with the scary eyes. But she was looking away at something else.

"That lady. She said we have to go home, where it’s safe."

She didn’t know why, but she could hear the lady talking to her. Even in the loud station. Even when her mouth wasn’t moving.

“I get it.”

Her dad squatted down and put his hands on her arms.

"We’ve been planning this trip for a long time, remember?”

He smiled, and then she felt a warm squeeze.

“Turning back now wouldn’t be very brave of us."

She pouted her lower lip, staring down at her new purple water bottle.

"No..."

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

"So... you’re with the government..."

Keshi eyed Ren with quiet suspicion as she sat on a stool beside the bed.

At first, he thought he must be in a hospital somewhere in the city. But there was no doctor, no nurse—just this woman.

She’d explained what had happened to him—albeit, in vague terms—and was now just sitting there, watching, as if waiting for him to say something.

Some bedside manner. 

His eyes drifted to the bold lettering on her sleeve. 

D-E-E-P

…Deep? Or maybe an acronym? Like SDF or CIA.

In any case. Not police.

Which meant she probably knew who he was. Still—better not talk. Government—police—same thing. She was a cop by extension.

He risked another glance at her face. She was very attractive. But in a way that made him afraid to stare for too long. 

Suddenly—her eyes locked on his.

Shit. Caught.

He quickly looked down at his stomach.

He’d been shot. 

The way she’d said it, he got the feeling it was a mistake. But she didn’t say so outright.

At this point, it didn’t matter. All he cared about was getting out of there. And she hadn’t given him any hint either way. 

He started to open his mouth—then stopped—torn between silence and wanting to know his fate.

Screw it.

“And… I’m not under arrest?"

"No."

His chest deflated, like a pressure valve had been released, head sinking into the pillow. For a moment, he just lay there, staring up at the blue rectangle on the ceiling. It wasn’t a window—just a light.

He was still processing her words. The more she talked, the more came flooding back. 

The clinic. 

The raid.

But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember taking the bullet. If she was telling the truth, he must have lost consciousness instantly.

He blinked.


And somehow—he had an Ichor. 

He thought the surgery hadn’t gone through, but the HUD in his vision said otherwise. It didn’t seem to be functioning, though. Maybe that was part of his punishment. Or it was busted.

Keshi furrowed his brow. 

Something still felt off. So they shot him—maybe by mistake—fine. But he had committed a crime. Potentially multiple. By all accounts, he really should be in jail.

And the way she was just sitting there, looking at him. 

No way it was that easy…

"So does that mean I’m free to go?"

She paused.

"Yes. Provided you cooperate."

There it is.

They wanted something. What, he couldn’t guess. If it was information, she was going to be majorly disappointed.

One thing was clear. His freedom was conditional—no matter what.

Keshi said nothing, gently caressing his wound through the gown. As he did, the black material shimmered and became transparent, forming a window around his fingertips. He could see the beads of clear gel that sutured the incision.

"Does that stand for something?"

Ren gave Keshi a puzzled look.

"Your arm."

Ren looked down at her sleeve.

"Just ‘DEEP.’”

Keshi’s eyes narrowed.

"Never heard of it."

"Of course you haven’t. We’re not an officially recognized agency. Though it might be best to think of us as a network of Special Projects—each with their own purpose."

He absently traced a clear line down the gown with his finger. When he realized he was nearing his crotch, he jerked his hand away.

"Keshi. First, I want to thank you."

He blinked—his focus snapping back to Ren. 

She never seemed to break eye contact.

"Your heroic actions saved the life of one of our agents."

My what?

He squinted as he struggled to remember. 

"I don’t..."

Then—like a clap of thunder—he saw it. The image that had been lurking in the crevices of his subconscious since he’d woken up. 

Keshi saw himself staring down the barrels of a gun. 

At once, the feeling of terror returned, followed by:

Blood. 

Keshi’s eyes widened in horror. So much of it—his gown—Ren—the room itself burst into a violent gush of pure red.

"The man you shot was a member of a terrorist network we’ve been tracking for months. One of our agents had briefly taken control of his body, but fell victim to what we believe was a remote attack. When you—"

The vomit came fast, rushing up his throat like a dam had burst inside him. Keshi lunged for the side rail, releasing it onto the floor.

Ren froze, eyes wide in surprise. She quickly pulled out a handkerchief, covering her nose as if fighting her own gag reflex. 

"Oka—Right. We have plenty of time. Let’s get you cleaned up first."

Keshi stared at the acrid, greenish puddle below, watching the remainder dribble out—light-headed, gasping.

He hadn’t just been shot. He’d killed someone.

He felt another wave rise up—retching.

But… 

It was self-defense. 

Right?

They were going to kill him. Not the technician, the old man—or the smiling clinician.

Them. 

They’d taken control of the guy’s body—he watched it happen.

As he sat there, panting, Ren’s figure blurred at the edge of his vision.

He did best to quiet his racing thoughts. To force the guilt back down his throat. Suppress it before it took hold.

He hadn’t yet escaped his situation. The mission was still the same:

Survive.

Gradually, his breathing steadied.

Funny. When the guns were going off, he was scared shitless. It could be the drugs, but now that he’d survived a bullet to the stomach, he felt emboldened. 

Like he might actually get out of there. 

Ren leaned in, holding out a sterile wipe.

"Can you walk?"

…If he just played along.

"Yeah... I think so."

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Emi stared dully ahead as Mamoru leaned back in his chair, fingers crossed like an awkward psychologist.

Great. Here it comes.

"So... how are you feeling now?"

Emi fell back onto the bed dramatically, swinging her legs in the air. One black slipper slid from her toe, landing on the floor.

By far, this was the worst part.

"What a dumb question. I have a splitting headache and I want to go home. Also, I have to pee, so..."

Talking about her feelings. With a stranger. Ew. 

Mamoru wasn’t a stranger. But he wasn’t her friend, either. Not that she needed one.

"Emi, at some point we have to talk about it. You’ve just undergone an extreme physical and mental stress event. The surgery alone—"

"—Yeah, I mean, obviously that really hurt. But now that I’m back in my own body, it’s like it never happened, you know? Like there’s no physical memory of it."

Mamoru frowned at her with that look of his. She turned and stared listlessly out through the glass.

"I’m fine. None of you would even get it, anyway..."

She could handle her feelings on her own. In her head, where they belonged.

"Even so, I’d like you to stay here one more night, so I can reevaluate you in the morning. I know the commander said noon today, but—"

"—Sorry."

Emi swung herself back up. She placed the small object in her hands on the bookshelf next to her two stuffed cat toys—it made a dull metallic thud.

"I’m going home and sleeping in my own bed. Plus, I need to feed my..."

Emi trailed off as something caught her attention outside the glass.

It was Ren. Pushing someone in a wheelchair. 

Weird. She was smiling. 

Well, Ren-smiling.

The chair came into view—her stomach dropped. 

That face.

Emi’s eyes widened—a rush of adrenaline lifting her off the bed. She almost ran into the door—fogging the glass as she pressed her face up against it.

Him.

A sharp pain stabbed through her chest.

No…

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

"...our surgical bots are more effective when they can sync with an Ichor’s biometric data."

Ren had been choosing her words carefully. Too much at once would only confuse him. 

"Given the nature of your injury, we decided it was necessary to install one to save your life."

They would hide the truth—for the time being. The entanglement only complicated things. Bad enough that they’d shot him. 

Top priority now—optics.

Ren sighed through her nose.

Not a great start.

She’d been running her little recruitment speech through her head on loop, but as she pushed him through the infirmary, it all felt brittle. So much depended on how this went. 

And while it was true he didn’t really have a choice—if he wanted his freedom—she’d rather circumvent that conversation.

Best foot forward.

Ren kept her eyes on Keshi, intentionally ignoring Emi, whom she could see in her periphery—pressed up against the glass like an animal—tracking them with her pupils.

Does he remember? Does he know? 

That was the question.

Both reactions would tell her all she needed.

Keshi looked around the facility, taking it all in. Finally, his gaze landed on Emi. Upon seeing her, his expression went blank.

Now.

Ren eased the chair to a stop, watching for a flicker of recognition—shock—anything.

But no. He just sat there, staring ahead with that flat, empty look.

…Nothing?

She shot a glance at Emi, who—likewise—just stood there, breathing heavily, fogging up the glass.

Finally, she interrupted the staring match.

"That’s our resident Aeon. Emi. You can get acquainted later."

Keshi remained silent, but seemed to be turning something over in his head. On the other side of the glass, Emi’s mouth twisted into a frown. Then she snapped her head away.

Good. Message received.

Ren was just glad the timing worked out. She was too tired to deal with Emi on top of this. 

"And that’s... what? A spy?"

Keshi stared up at her from the chair. 

"In essence. An Aeon, however, can access information no spy can. Secrets locked away in the human heart and mind."

He was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone was more confident, direct—as if he’d been holding in the question.

"You hack into people’s Ichors, right?” That’s what you were doing, when..."

As he trailed off, Keshi’s eyes widened.

"Wait. So that was—"

He twisted back toward Emi’s room, but Ren pushed the chair forward into the adjoining corridor, blocking his line of sight.

“I don’t mean to be evasive. But without seeing for yourself, I’m afraid you won’t believe me.”

Ren’s jaw relaxed slightly.

There. First contact.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Emi waited a beat before looking again. Ren and Keshi were gone. 

Without a word, she stood up and opened the sliding door.

Mamoru sat upright, startled.

"Emi, we still need to—"

She slammed it behind her—the panel bounced off the frame from the force. Behind her, his voice echoed.

“It’s not noon yet! You’ll get me in trouble!”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

As Ren pushed Keshi around the bend, he pressed at her again—more pointed than before.

"If everything you’ve said is true, then I’m not supposed to be here. Why show me any of this?"

She wondered what he was up to—could he be testing her?

Sharp kid. Drugs must be wearing off.

He was right of course. They’d committed a dozen security violations just bringing him there. Worse, she still hadn’t reported it. She was already on thin ice after Telos, and was expecting a call at any moment.

No doubt, they already knew—report or no report. 

Try as they might. There were no secrets down there.

"Bringing you here was a multi-code security violation. I’ll have to answer for that. As I said, it was necessary to save your life. Nothing a bit of paperwork can’t solve..."

Ren let out a sigh, already tired at the thought. 

Akashi’s voice butted in.

【So? How’d it go? Was there any reaction to seeing her?】

She closed her eyes against the throb in her temples. Her headache still hadn’t gone away.

【One.】

【She’ll get over it. She’ll have to.】

Ren made a forlorn face.

【What’s with all the throw up lately?】

Suddenly, a loud alert sounded in her ears—her eyes shot open. She stopped dead.

A flashing emergency banner filled her HUD:

ALERT — TERROR THREAT AT 35.6896° N, 139.7006° E

Without a moment’s hesitation:

【Atsu.】

【On it.】

【Akashi. Prep the Archon.】

【Consider it prepped.】

Keshi continued to stare ahead with a troubled expression.

"She was controlling them. Like puppets. It was creepy. You can’t just hack an Ichor like that..."

He turned back to her.

"Can you..?"

But Ren was already far away—pupils darting as she coordinated with her team—station cam feed and data patched in by Atsu filling her FOV.

【Guy. Nori. Boots on the ground. Nagasawa, I need you in the air.】

【Ma’am.】

【Yes, Commander!】

【It’s where I belong.】

Thank god she’d placed everyone on lockdown. 

She felt her grip tighten around the wheelchair handles—calves tensing. Fine. A live situation would tell him more than any debrief.

"Hey, what’s—augh!"

Keshi’s body shot hard against the back of the chair as Ren abruptly shoved him forward. She took off down the hall at full speed. Keshi braced himself, clutching his abdomen.

"What now?!"

"Time for a live demonstration!"

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Emi scraped her elbow as she turned the corner, her fast walk breaking into a run—then a sprint—barreling down the smooth, black corridor.

At the adjacent passage, she skidded to a stop, chest heaving—the main entryway stretching out before her from the central elevator.

She ripped her coat off the hook and shoved her feet into her shoes, which were placed haphazardly in an otherwise neat line along the edge of the raised floor. 

Slamming her palm against the up arrow, the doors slid open and she stormed inside.

As they closed behind her, she spun around toward the panel. No floor numbers—only two buttons, identical to the ones outside. Up and down.

Emi smashed her thumb into the up arrow.

Nothing.

She hit it again. Then again. Again—again—againagainagain.

Nothing.

She kicked both buttons with her shoe.

Frantic—she looked up at the screen above the doors: 

11:58 flashed to 59.

She grabbed the handrail and jump-kicked the panel as hard as she could. Over and over—voice bouncing off the walls of the small metal box.

“LET. ME. OUT OF HERE!!”