Day 30

  Location: The Glass Spire of Fuma (Lobby)

  I returned to the belly of the beast.

  The morning sun reflected off the blue glass of the Fuma Industries tower, blinding those foolish enough to look directly at its arrogance. I stood at the base, adjusting the "Windsor Noose" around my neck.

  My suit—the "Midnight Charcoal" polyester shell I had purchased from the Merchant of Aoki—was stiff. It resisted my movements, pinching my shoulders and constricting my breath.

  "A torture device," I muttered, smoothing the lapel. "Designed to keep the wearer in a state of constant, low-level suffering, thus ensuring they cannot rebel."

  I glanced at my reflection in the glass. The man staring back looked tired. His eyes were shadowed. His hair, usually wild, had been tamed with water and a grim determination.

  "I am Infiltrator Hattori," I whispered to the reflection. "I am no longer a ronin. I am... a Salaryman."

  I marched toward the "Wheel of Severance"—the revolving doors. This time, I did not roll. I timed my entry with the precision of a clockwork mechanism, stepping into the pie-shaped wedge and exiting on the other side without breaking stride.

  Inside, the air was frigid. The White Golem, Pepper, stood at its post, its dead plastic eyes scanning the room.

  "Welcome back!" it chirped as I passed.

  I ignored the construct. I had a mission.

  Location: Conference Room 404 (The Chamber of Indoctrination)

  I was herded into a windowless room on the fourth floor along with twenty other new recruits.

  They were young. Fresh from the Universities. Their suits were ill-fitting, their skin pale, their eyes filled with a mixture of hope and terror.

  "Fresh conscripts," I noted, taking a seat in the back row. "They have not yet seen the horrors of the commute."

  At the front of the room, a woman in a grey suit stood before a glowing white screen. She held a small black device—a "Clicker"—in her hand.

  "Welcome to Fuma Industries," she droned, her voice lacking the fire of a true commander. "We will begin with the Compliance and Information Security Orientation."

  Compliance.

  The word hung in the air like the blade of a guillotine.

  "I see," I whispered, uncapping my brush pen and opening my notebook. "The Code of Law. The Iron Rules of the Clan."

  The screen flashed.

  [ RULE 1: CONFIDENTIALITY IS ABSOLUTE. ]

  "Do not discuss company secrets in public spaces, elevators, or on social media," the woman recited.

  I nodded vigorously. "Silence is survival," I wrote in bold, black ink. "Loose lips summon the executioner."

  [ RULE 2: REPORT SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY. ]

  "If you see someone without a badge, or someone attempting to access restricted areas, you must alert security immediately."

  "YES!" I shouted, unable to contain my warrior's spirit.

  The entire room turned to look at me. The woman froze, her clicker hovering in mid-air.

  I stood up, slamming my fist against my chest.

  "I shall be the eyes of the tower! If a rat scurries in the shadows, I shall crush it! Vigilance is the shield of the Fuma!"

  The recruits stared at me with wide, fearful eyes. The woman blinked rapidly.

  "Uh... thank you for your... enthusiasm. Please sit down."

  I sat, satisfied. I had established my loyalty. The other conscripts were weak, barely listening to the Holy Laws. I alone understood the gravity of the blood oath we were taking.

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  Location: The Hallway of Judgment

  "Okay, everyone line up," the woman commanded after an hour of reading from the Scroll of PowerPoint. "It is time for your ID photos."

  My blood ran cold.

  I looked down the hallway. A tripod had been set up.

  Atop it sat a black box with a single, unblinking glass eye.

  A Camera.

  In the Sengoku era, we knew of the "Shadow Catchers"—artists who could draw a likeness so perfect it trapped a piece of the subject's soul in the ink.

  But this... this machine was far more efficient. It captured the light itself. It froze time.

  "A Soul Stealer," I hissed, backing against the wall.

  "Hattori-san?" the woman called out. "You're next."

  I stepped forward, my legs heavy as lead. I stood on the piece of tape marked on the floor.

  The photographer—a young man with a bored expression—looked through the viewfinder.

  "Okay, look at the lens. Chin down. Smile."

  Look at the lens? Stare directly into the abyss?

  "I... I cannot," I stammered.

  I raised my arm, covering my face with my sleeve in the traditional posture of a noble hiding his identity.

  "Sir?" The photographer lowered the camera. "I need to see your face."

  "My face is my own!" I argued, peeking over my elbow. "If you capture my image in that box, do you not also capture my spirit? Will I be trapped in a dimension of glossy paper for eternity?"

  "It's just a JPEG, man. Put your arm down."

  "A Jay-Peg?" I narrowed my eyes. "Is that the name of the demon inside the box?"

  "Hattori-san!" the HR woman snapped. "We don't have all day! Lower your arm and look at the camera, or you don't get a badge. No badge, no job."

  No job means no money. No money means Aoi-dono starves.

  I gritted my teeth. I had to endure the extraction.

  "Very well," I growled. "Take it! Take my likeness! But you shall never take my freedom!"

  "Okay, on three," the photographer sighed. "One... two..."

  He was timing it. He was charging the soul-beam.

  I could not help it. My instincts took over.

  "SHADOW STEP!"

  Just as he said "Three," I jerked my head to the left, attempting to dodge the invisible projectile of the shutter.

  FLASH.

  The light blinded me. I blinked, seeing spots of purple dancing in my vision.

  "Did... did I survive?" I patted my chest. My heart was still beating.

  "Ugh," the photographer groaned, looking at the small screen on the back of the box. "Whatever. It's good enough. Next."

  Location: The Security Gate

  Ten minutes later, I was handed the artifact.

  It was a small rectangle of hard plastic. Printed upon it was my name: HATTORI MASANARI.

  And next to it... the image.

  It was terrifying.

  Because I had moved at the exact moment of capture, my face was a blur of motion. My eyes were wide, white circles of panic. My mouth was open in a snarl of defiance. My hair looked like a storm cloud exploding.

  I looked less like a corporate employee and more like a cryptid caught on a trail camera in the deep woods.

  "It is... hideous," I whispered, holding it with trembling fingers.

  "Here is your lanyard," the HR woman said, handing me a blue strap.

  I accepted the silk rope.

  "The Leash," I murmured.

  I looped it around my neck. It settled there, heavy with symbolism. I was now collared. I belonged to the Fuma.

  "Go to the main gate," she instructed. "Scan in to activate your clearance."

  I approached the turnstiles. The barriers were made of thick glass, blocking the path to the elevators.

  A red light glowed on the panel.

  I held up the plastic card. My blurry, screaming face stared back at me.

  I formed a hand seal and chanted in a low voice.

  "Kyū-kyū-nyo-ritsu-ryō!!"

  BEEP.

  The light turned green. The glass barriers retracted with a smooth hiss.

  I gasped.

  "It works..."

  I touched the card. "The machine... it recognizes the piece of my soul trapped within the plastic. It feeds on my essence to power the gate."

  I walked through, shivering. The cost of entry was high indeed.

  Location: The Corridor of Silence

  I stood alone in the hallway of the 14th floor, the Security Division.

  I was officially an employee. I had the suit. I had the leash. I had the blurry face of a madman dangling from my chest.

  My pocket vibrated.

  I retrieved my personal Oracle Slate (smartphone). A notification from the "Company Portal" app I had been forced to install.

  [ ALERT: NEW MESSAGE ]

  Sender: Office of the CEO

  Recipient: Hattori Masanari (Security Associate)

  Mr. Hattori,

  Please report to the Penthouse (Floor 50) immediately.

  Mr. Fuma wishes to welcome you personally.

  I stared at the screen. The text seemed to glow with a malevolent red light.

  The Penthouse. The Eagle's Nest.

  "He wastes no time," I said, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart.

  "The Demon King summons his new jester."

  I tightened my tie. I checked my pocket to ensure my tactical spoon was still there (it was).

  "I am coming, Kotaro," I whispered to the ceiling. "But I do not come to kneel. I come to observe."

  I marched toward the elevators. The induction was over. The infiltration had begun.

  Days Remaining: 70

  Masanari’s Cultural Notes

  ? Compliance (The Iron Code):

  A set of rules designed to strip a warrior of his individuality. They speak of "Ethics" and "Safety," but in truth, it is a blood oath of silence. To break Compliance is to invite the "HR Terminators."

  ? The ID Card (The Cursed Talisman):

  A plastic phylactery containing a captured image of the bearer. Modern sorcery dictates that doors will only open for those who carry their own soul in their pocket.

  Note: My photo appears to be a spirit photograph of a vengeful ghost.

  ? JPEG (The Demon of the Box):

  A file format that compresses a human spirit into data. The photographer claimed it was harmless, but I feel lighter since the flash. I suspect he stole my charisma.

  Next Episode Preview

  Episode 31: The Penthouse of the Wind Demon and the Chair of Intimidation

  Masanari: "I stand before him! Fuma Kotaro! The man who would be King of Tokyo!"

  Kotaro: "Welcome, Hattori. Take a seat."

  Masanari: "I shall not! This chair... it is too soft! It is a trap to dull my reflexes! I shall stand!"

  Kotaro: "Suit yourself. I have a mission for you. A mission that requires... discretion."

  Masanari: "Assassination? Sabotage?"

  Kotaro: "Dog walking."

  Masanari: "NANI?!"

  Next Time: Masanari meets the Beast of the Penthouse!

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