✄❀ challenge 42

His last sight that night was the deep red limousine but he woke up to a cloud of powder blue and the smell of antiseptic. His injuries were lightly bound and he was lying in a comforter that was so puffed with cotton it felt not unlike a cloud itself. Ritz raised his head. This was definitely not his apartment.

His bed was on a tall frame sitting at the center of a cubicle. The walls of the cubicle were formed by light blue curtains that nearly hung to the ground. There was a faint cool glow that filled the room, issued from somewhere behind the curtain.

Waking up in hospital tended to worry him because the lights made it hard to tell what time it was.

But yanking the curtain back, he could see he wasn’t in the hospital.

There were several more beds, immaculately arranged, surrounded by curtains that were only half drawn. They were all unoccupied, which was the first hint this wasn’t the hospital he knew. The hospital was a busy place. There was always at least someone in every ward, if not staff then a fellow patient, emptying their guts or lungs or bladder all throughout the night. They were usually what woke him up, since the hospital also tended to hide his belongings, or turn off his alarm before he heard it. Patients were much harder to turn off.

What time was it now?

On the far wall was a wide window. He had mistaken it for a mirror at first glance. It had a decorative silver frame that he’d expect only on a mirror. When he approached it, faint lights came into view over his face’s reflection. The city. It was still dark.

He was in a part of town that he did not immediately recognize, and very high up. So high that the view looked simply like a painting or photo postcard (S2 sold those as well.) He had never been so high up before. It took a while to register, he was somewhere he had never been even remotely near before.

It had been a long night, he realized this now, everything that passed now seemed miles away. Right, something odd had happened today. He had killed Len. The old cashier. The ugly gun, and the speaker with the bikers’ jacket had put him into the red car and he’d ended up here. Wait, there had been a challenge in between.

He had become pretty adept at pushing the memories of his loss out of his mind and since he’d been tidied up so efficiently, by someone else, it was like it had never happened. Well, almost. He’d gone in with two swords and it had worked abnormally well for a few seconds. And Ran had apparently thought it a funny joke.

A joke. He looked at his reflection and tried to imagine a sword in each hand. He was having a hard time. No Leader-approved stance to cover that. It could go both ways.

Looking at his reflection he thought, he’d have time to remember. Putting a hand on the glass, he leaned to look to the ground-

His alarm went off.

The sound came from somewhere on the other side of the room.

It was a minor relief, his belongings had been left nearby. But his peaceful sigh was stopped at the sight of the furthest curtains shifting. And he heard the clatter of his alarm being lifted and fooled with.

Ritz instinctively slid behind the bed nearest to him. He hadn’t noticed the unwanted guest until now, but presumably the curtains were hiding him too. If not the person attacking his alarm clock may still think he was in bed, or at very least that he hadn’t noticed them with his back turned. Quietly, he bent on his hands to look under the row of beds.

Under the hemmed blue fabric at the far end, he saw two black shoes tapping in frustration. Not even attempting to be quiet, but by dumb luck masked by the intentionally abrasive beeper. Hardly a sneak attack. Most likely, not an attack at all. It wouldn’t be the first time hospital staff had been baffled by the thing.

Ritz sat up and put his hands on his lap while his alarm clock continued to ring.

He let the intruder blunder on for a few more seconds before getting to his feet. Standing up from a crouch alerted him of a set of stitches on his left side, and a large bruise just below it. They both ached and he sighed.

He had taken no more than five (admittedly slow, sloppy) steps when the ringing was halted. His foot slapped the ground and there was the awful moment free of any response that would have indicated this person was expecting him.

Just silence.

Then the curtain flew, and the door opened and he heard the slap of black shoes making hasty getaway.

Ritz burst past the far cubicle and inspected the scene beside the bed. His black sports bag was lying wide open on a chair in front of the door, his two swords lying in a disarray. The machete was on the floor. He picked up the one that was still in the bag and dashed out the doorway into the unlit hall.

The familiar feeling of his usual sword was little comfort for what he saw.

He more or less screeched to a halt out on the carpeted corridor, and good thing because a few meters from the doorway was a chest-height glass barrier, and beyond the glass barrier was a thirty floor drop to the ground.

Upward, there were at least ten more storeys and at the very top, a crisscross of beams and a glass roof filled with the night sky. The place seemed filled with air, air even clearer than that outside.

Each of the floors was a circular hallway, hollow through the center so you could see incredibly far up or down wherever you stood. Ritz looked up the building, then down, then up again. The majority of the barriers were made of glass which let the tiny lights of each floor travel far. He could see the various doors and little coffee table setups on each level.

Ritz couldn’t help but wonder, Ran’s church is also tall and hollow. It’s a nightmare to navigate in the dark. But imagine the possibilities in a place like this.

He stood up on one of the metal beams that held the glass barrier and stared straight down. The ground floor was so distant that it appeared less than the width of his scarf’s edge.

And for a structure so huge, he noted another pleasant factor that put it above the old church. There was no wind.

He continued to soak up the enchanting possibilities of the arena when the alarm clock went off again. That spoiled the dream a little. Like the church, echoes were swallowed up by unseen cracks and airways. Still, with nobody in the building, the sound traveled far.

Ritz tilted even lower and lower over the railing. The sound was maybe four — no, three floors down. He dropped onto the floor below with a light thump. The carpet made for nice landing. His stitches barely felt the impact. In fact, he was feeling quite lively.

—

patter patter patter

It was a Sunday, and according to the screeching clock, 4am. The elevators were locked like the doors, keycard only, forgot yours, too bad.

patter patter patter

Air conditioning was on, small relief for a runner. What floor was this?

THUMP. THUMP. patter patter

Above, someone was clearing floors in seconds, it seemed, by simply dropping between them. And they weren’t dropping from the staircase, they were risking the full plunge to the ground each time. The muted thump of feet hitting carpet seemed to be getting louder as the jumper closed in. Took a complete lunatic to leap off rails over that kind of drop.

But if you could manage it… maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

The damn clock was still running. The noise of travel was reduced to just thumping now, as though the halls were filled with demented rabbits. Ritz stopped for a moment to admire the noise. He had to smile a little.

He continued a few floors in good sport then took a deep breath and flew down for the last time.

Somewhere on the official staircase, the runner had managed to wrestle the alarm into another sleep cycle. He felt he had a few floors’ head start and began to continue down. Ritz circled the corner from below and took an exuberant jump and swing.

It was just a playful gesture, the thrust intentionally light and short, but his ears stung when he felt the blade hit something hard with a cold and final THUMP.

“Gha- wha- oh. Oh. It’s just you.”

The stranger let him draw his sword back and in the faint light now he saw Val’s sweating, sheepish face. He also saw his alarm clock fully impaled on the tip of his blade. He looked slowly between the two infuriating objects in front of him.

Val started to laugh. “Damn. You moved fast! Thought it was someone else.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Came to, uh, check on you.”

That made sense enough, but something about his voice… he was still throwing together lies somewhere in that head of his. “Uh, sorry about the clock. I’m sure it was very–”

“Why did you run?”

A louder laugh now. “I thought you were somebody else.”

“You said that before. But you were looking for me.”

“And I found you! It’s all good.”

Ritz’s head hurt. Val had definitely been trying to escape just moments ago, and now he was laughing. Escape like it was life or death. What could scare him like that? Something he’d expected in Ritz’s room-

“You thought Ran was here.”

“Hah, why, you expecting her?”

“No. You were.”

“Hah! Well, if I was, I think that just means we both need to get some sleep.”

Val smiled at him with a pinched, empty grin. He did look tired. It was true. The nights had seemed especially long as of late. Ritz looked up the tower. Several more rings above than before, but the glass roof still showed nothing but darkness.

He thought of the bed in the powder blue cloud.

Val’s smile faded a little.

“Uh, sorry. I know it’s a long walk back up. Clinic is the twenty sixth floor.”

Ritz just shook his head and headed up the stairs.

—

It was a day that he thought was special, for no particular reason he could identify. Still, there was that definite feeling that sometime, somewhere, someone had said this date and then “Congratulations!”

“What’s so funny?” asked the dormitory head nastily. They always spoke like that but didn’t treat him too poorly. It would be a tough fight for them. Ritz was smiling in a daze the whole day, but nothing happened to fulfil his expectation. Still, it felt that something would eventually give. So today, when it thought it was time, he went to challenge Ran. It felt like today would be the day.

This was Challenge #13.

This one ended the way many of his early encounters went. He ended up on the ground inside the church, unable to move until morning. By then, he’d have been moved outside by someone else. He was never moved when awake.

He lay face-up and Ran hovered over him, waiting for him to give in and close his eyes. For some reason he expected her to start singing. His must not have looked sufficiently destroyed because she watched him for a long time, and he could see her losing patience but his eyes were still sparkling wide awake. He was waiting for the song that was supposed to be sung for him on this special day.

Eventually his mouth got dry and told her as much, and she responded, “Is this a joke?”

Yes, the fight had been an utter joke. After that night it seemed like everyone asked him this question. Are you joking? Are you kidding around? Truth was, he’d probably just never picked up on it before.

Jokes were supposed to be funny but you had to be careful with them, because if someone asked that if meant they just found something unfunny. In any case, Ran fractured two of his ribs and he was out like a light.

This was also the first time noticed the flowers that covered the church. Even so close to his face, they had no scent. There was damp and rot and darkness but at least they were soft. Softer than the dormitory’s beds and definitely softer than the school. His last ridiculous thought that night was maybe that was one of the reasons Ran had for what she did. A comfortable bed could make all the difference.

—

In the morning, the room’s blue glow faded and through the window came fresh white sun. Even without his alarm, Ritz was already wide awake and sitting up in bed, sunk into the pillows, by the time an attendant came to check on him. Hearing her arrive, he leapt behind the tall bed frame like a cat, but the movement of the massive down comforter gave him away.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” the attendant said cheerfully.

She turned off the lamps and checked the temperature. Ritz collected his belongings and headed for the door. She made no move to stop him. Ritz stalled. These were the kind of people you had to be careful around. If they fought, you wore them down. But if they pretended to ignore you, then you had take charge. Make the situation clear.

“How much is it?”

“Excuse me?” She turned around smiling.

“How much do I pay?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. You’re Mr. Long’s guest. I just have to let him know you’re checking out.”

“I am checking out.”

“Well then, I’ll let him know.” She went to collect the sheets from his bed.

“Where do I…”

“Yes?”

“Where do I sign the-” The word escaped him, but he and S2 had gotten several panicked hospital calls the last time he’d escaped through a hospital window without signing out.

"No worries, sir, we’re not a hospital! You just go on if you feel up to it.”

That’s right, but where was he? The sun was beaming down through the ceiling and various glass walls, the black void of the night long washed away, and sun lit down a clear path through the hollow structure to the sparkling tiles of the lobby. Though there only seemed to be a few people in office for the weekend, hallway was now humming with light chatter and machinery. A pneumatic whoosh and click was heard from he other side of the floor, and with its layout he could see what it was. The elevators were on.

It was faster to drop down from the railings, and this was what Ritz chose to do. On at least three floors he heard yelps and in the corner of his eye saw someone lunge as if to catch him, would would have been dangerous for them both. He tried casually leaning on the rail until nobody was looking before jumping.

This slowed him down considerably.

The final drop was two storeys with just the floor below. That one made a notable thud right beside the reception desk and his side began to sting a little, but the receptionist on duty was deeply engrossed in an argument over the phone and did not notice. He was hissing angrily, “I don’t have the clearance for that. You’ll have to call my supervisor. No, I can’t give you the number, but if you’ll be so kind as to make an appointment–”

Ritz winced quietly. The main entrance lay on the other side of the desk and a collection of finely dressed men and women were on the other side of the door, standing in the morning sun. Around the door, he saw a collection of uncomfortable looking chairs and a low table. The entire wall around the entrance was made in glass panels surrounded by twisted vine-like frames. It dawned on him that he was in Phoenix Tower.

It seemed wider from the outside. Though… the height was still uniquely impressive when standing at the center of it.

“Excuse me,” requested an unseen speaker.

Behind him, a door opened. Another glass door in another glass wall. Behind it there was an enclosure with several tall wooden stools and tables, apparently soaking up the smell of coffee. The man who exited was toting his own aromatic thermos, as well as a flaky roll that shone with a sugary glaze.

Ritz slid away. “Sorry. Didn’t see.”

“No problem. Gotta have that first cup, huh?”

“Uh.” Ritz held the handle open. “A bell on the door would help.”

The man snickered. “That’s a good idea, but boss man might not like it. Not hip enough.”

Ritz entered the coffee shop. It had appeared empty from the outside, but several patrons were sitting around the corner of the bar, near the wall-sized window. It was a fine day: little traffic, a bright sky, nice and quiet. Almost like a reward for yesterday (though he didn’t fully deserve it.)

The bartender was just getting off the phone, and waved Ritz over.  “Been hoping you’d stop by.”

“Me?”

“Who else? Heard all about the things you did. Wish I could have seen you heading down, but I supposed you didn’t need any more gawkers.”

Ritz himself was gawking, at the line of pastries. They were small but looked perfectly shaped and pristine, unlike the abused, doughy buns from the place between the laundromat and his apartment. Jelly didn’t leak off the tops and the lemons didn’t look as though they had been prepared by a dog’s mouth. But they were much smaller than the ones he was used to.

The price tags were also bigger.

“Long says to let you have a few, so go ahead, before the Sunday crowd.” The bartender chortled at his joke.

Ritz took a pile of pastries and was again pleasantly surprised, he was not charged. He settled at a table in the corner and inspected his surroundings. The four other customers had all given him a look or two when he had entered, but were now completely focused on a TV mounted to the wall.

For some reason, there was only soft jazz playing instead of matching audio. The subtitles had been turned on for that purpose, but it meant those interested had to keep their heads turned towards the screen. Ritz couldn’t read the captions quickly enough but even he could tell – matters were grave in the city.

And some grave news as we turn to Bob, reporting in from South District on the gruesome discoveries made early this morning. Bob? Bob? Bob? Are you there? Just a second-

Yes, Lia, this really is a mood killer after the daring rescue that happened not far from here last night, because just –this– morning, at (what I’m hearing) 6a.m., construction workers in the South District found three dismembered, well,  body parts lying on the road and in the grass around this suburban neighborhood. An arm, a leg, and what some are calling part of a torso were spotted as the sun came up, and construction was halted until the police and Long Corp arrived to retrieve the parts and investigate the scene.

Terrible. Just, terrible. Tell us more.

Sources say the parts were fully intact, fingers and toes – no animals marks or extra wear and tear – meaning they had likely been removed elsewhere. Though their condition was good enough to tell what they were, you can see here – where the unidentified part was found – there was little to no bleeding, meaning the, er, removals may not have been recent. The victim, well it may be victim-

So what I’m hearing is multiple victims?

The parts may not have come from the same body, but there’s no confirmation yet. The potential victims would be, according to our specialist, adults with medium-fair skin tones.

Well, Bob, obviously this isn’t good news but do you think there’s any immediate danger to the public? The victims’ descriptions could be any one of us.

Of course we don’t know how long ago these people were, er, attacked. We’re hearing theories of an accident with a hearse, or delivery to the hospital’s training department. Now I’m not medical expert but the cut-

Cuts? You heard the story last night, of the man who stopped the shooter at the Long Corporation structural meeting?

Yes I have.

Some say the so called saviour was seen wielding several blades. Now this may just be a crazy coincidence but are there any theories that maybe, perhaps, if these pieces were cut–

We can’t say until they release the, er, autopsy report, but I have to say it is strange, the two incidents on the same night. The body parts were scattered during the night sometime between 7pm and 6am, so there was definitely time for the man with the swords to – to do this, though we don’t know why yet.

We also know nothing about this man…

Not yet, but I assure you the police– what was that?

I think I’m hearing we have a phone call. Should we put the caller on? What’s that… ah… I see. Okay, we’ll be back soon, just a moment.

The reporters vanished and the screen started panning over a few high-contrast photographs of a dark grassy patch with some flesh colored pixels, distorted for – what else – privacy. With such distortion Ritz couldn’t tell what was the leg or the ‘unidentified part’. Another photo. This one had to be an arm. It was also lying in grass, next to a shallow drain ditch, like the ones in the neighborhood nearest to the Old Church.

The conversation in the shop had returned. Ritz stood up so suddenly he knocked over a chair.

The soil around that neighborhood was bland. Nothing but grass grew there. But in the picture, he could clearly see a few small white specks. The specks weren’t skin or nail. The had a slightly bulbous shape and threads – stalks – poking out. They were small white flowers, the kind that carpeted the church.

Ritz stared into his plate. They looked so good untouched. He shoveled the plainest piece into his mouth then leapt to his feet and sprinted out. When the sun hit him outside he broke into a run towards the Old Church.

—

“I know I’m not one to tell you how to spend your Saturdays,” Shel warned Ritz, “But please be careful to and from work. I hear there’s a maniac running around.”

“They found more arms today, you heard? Two left ones. Guess that means more than one victim.” Sal shuddered and hoisted an armful of carnations onto an upper shelf.

Ritz was picking dead leaves out of the arrangements. He gave a small grunt of acknowledgement.

“Where did they find them?”

“I thought we were both watching. It was, uh…”

“Pretty far.”

“Hah, yeah, I guess so. Yeah, sorry Ritz,” Shel apologized, “Probably nothing for you to worry about. But man, it’s still a mystery isn’t it? Where the parts came from.”

“The hospital said they had no records of anything like that getting lost.”

“Like a day after the first time it happened. Could be an underground hospital, but they’d have to mess up pretty hard to let it happen again.”

“And again, even. Christ.”

Ritz took a bag of cuttings to the dumpster in the back. Shel and Sal looked upon him with worry, but he wasn’t sure what to say.

It had been mostly body part talk for the past week. There had been little talk after the first incident, and work had proceeded as normal, but in the following week, more parts began to surface. Once, near a highway in the Central district, and another on the steps of an empty apartment building to the West.

He wasn’t sure what to say because “Please tell me everything you’ve heard,” seemed horribly inappropriate. For all his modern etiquette confusions, it was clear the situation was touchy talk. It was not clearly a murder or a mistake yet, but what people knew was that in the dead of night, someone was wandering the city with loose body parts, and if they were willing to carry so many of other peoples’ parts, what would stop them from taking yours?

And currently, Ritz wanted nothing more than to find this wanderer.

Though just finding a body part or two and finally getting a good look would help as well.

The white flowers that had made him think of the Old Church did not make an appearance in any of the more recent crime scene photos, but there weren’t too many of them on air and those that made it were similarly censored.

The fact that they were turning up in such faraway locations confused him too. If he were going to intercept the mysterious body dumper or be the first to discover the next batch, he had no idea where to begin. Instead, he had consistently been checking the previous sites, for clues, for revelations, to kill time. He found nothing, of course.

He could have been worrying about other things.

The next challenge would be on a Wednesday, not a great time, since he had work before and the day after. By now, he expected Val to know the pattern. But Val had not been in touch since that strange night in Phoenix Tower. Ritz was still a little upset, his new alarm clock was not quite the same, but wasn’t in a rush for Val’s counsel anyway. His last assignment had been interesting, but hadn’t helped much. Ran still destroyed him.

The news about dismembered parts had also overshadowed the shooting that happened earlier that month. It barely stood out in Ritz’s mind anymore either, it was just a small soothing memory, like the blue hospital bed.

He went back into the shop. Shel and Sal were both looking out the window.

“Has that car been there this whole time? The black one, on the sidewalk over there.”

“Now that you mention it…”

“They’re blocking the dumpster by Q’s apartment.”

“Want to tell them they can’t park there? Assholes.”

Ritz took a look over their shoulders. As if three viewers were the key, the car backed up a bit and drove off.

“They’re going.”

“You probably scared them off,” Sal said, elbowing Ritz in the gut. “That cut getting any better?”

The cut on his face had mostly healed. But the next Big Game was coming up.

“Take care, man,” Shel recommended.

—

Ritz took an easy jog to the sidewalk beside the Central highway. If he followed the highway, it would eventually pass over the rooftops surrounding the apartment building where the second set of parts had been dumped. It was a cool day, but there was still sunlight when he left S2, so it was a good day to run.

As he left, he noticed the black car hiding a few blocks away from the exit to the main road. This wasn’t the first time. Since midway last week, he had had some sort of tail every time he went to investigate the old dump sites.

The car drove slow, as if hoping he wouldn’t notice something so obvious.

Ritz jogged through a Bad Part of Town. Some bikes were parked by an abandoned building. Well, it was officially abandoned but there were of course bike owners inside. The street was congested with bizarrely parked bikes. Ritz ducked into the side street beside the building, and without so much as a sports bag to slow him down, promptly vanished.

The car slowed to a crawl.

Ritz resurfaced on the rooftop. The buildings in this area were so closely packed he could easily get from one to the other and down again. He chose to get off on the Western side of the block. He dropped onto a garbage can, lightly, and bounded down the street. But waiting by the highway exit was — the same black car.

Ritz turned before the car could pick up speed. But coming up the road was an identical black car. There were four of them. A trap.

One of the cars must have had a window down because he heard the word “STOP!” come at him clearly. Instead of stopping, he hopped onto the oncoming car and jumped off the rear, heading back towards S2’s neighborhood.

“STOP OR I’LL SHOOT!” Then, true to their word, he heard a shot.

He dove into the first narrow street he could find as the motors behind him roared into pursuit. A residential block with grating over the windows. Another easy climb.

“Down, now!” demanded another voice and a car pulled up at the street entrance. A suited figure leaped out. “You’re not getting up there fast enough so just stop.”

Ritz considered. He was pretty fast, but it was true, guns were faster and he’d fall and fail. The teachers were right, the guns were a serious eyesore.

“Predictable guy,” commented another suit, rounding the corner. “Been stopping at the same places all week.”

“The dump sites, right?”

“You got it.”

“Long thinks he did it?”

“Who knows. Could be-”

“All right, what is this?” Around the corner came someone Ritz recognized. He wasn’t wearing a complete suit, but the basic ensemble with the same old black leather jacket. He looked at Ritz, who hung like a stunned monkey from an air conditioning unit and eyed the tiny guns that were pointed at him. ”Put those things away. And you,” he pointed at Ritz. “Get down here.”

After the guns were safely holstered, Ritz dropped directly to the ground. He landed as loudly as possible, grinding into the dirt and concrete pebbles. Both the suited men and their leader took a step back. The leader recovered first. “Would have been poor show of gratitude on my part, if you were shot off a roof. But you have not been easy to get a hold of. Come with me.”

He waved the various suited men away and headed out to one of the cars. Ritz stalked after him and entered followed the leader into what he realized was a very familiar car.

—

“Remember me?” the leader asked.

“I saw you after the last challenge.”

“You sure did. Bled all over the seat.”

Ritz looked at the seat. They were the deep red, but somehow less of a burning shade than they’d seemed that night. They also seemed clean enough.

“Had it dry cleaned the other day, just in time for you to hop in again. Though you’re looking better this time around. Impressive action back there.” He laughed.

“Thank you. Mr…”

“I am Magnus Long, city head of Long Corporation.”

“Oh.”

So this was the guy who owned Phoenix Tower, and most of the other skyscrapers in the city. He controlled the main flow of money and technology, he was the ‘government’ that Len had so hated and even Sal acknowledged him, when bills came in or rent went up she’d mutter things like “Dammit, Long.” Suffice to say he was richer than anyone Ritz knew. It was absurd to think he was talking to this man who could shut off all city news if he wished. But still..

Ritz sized him up through the corner of his eye and concluded he could beat the guy in a duel. But when it came to the rich, the fight wasn’t over with just physical performance.

“What did you think of our clinic beds? I’ve been dying to find a use for them… other than catching slackers.”

Clinic? That’s right, after the red car, then he woke up in the hospital bed.

“It was good.” What else was there to say? “It was best because it was free.”

“Hah! Costs slackers their jobs, but you were invited. Could have stayed longer, too. By the time I came to check on you, you had already left.”

Ritz nodded. The first body parts, and the flowers. They were discovered that night.

“So I never got to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving my life, or do you not remember?” Magnus slapped his forehead. “Right, the news has been all about the bodies recently. Can’t make it all about me, me, me, but I would have liked to give you more of a shoutout as thanks.”

The haze faded a little. “Oh. You were talking in front of the Tower.”

“And I would have gotten shot – well, me or more of my guests, knowing the shooter – but you put an end to that. In… a hell of a show, it must have been.” He pantomimed stabbing himself in the head, which the old teachers would have blown their lid about. “Sword versus gun? Wish I could have seen it.”

It all came rushing back. The impacts, the light crack of the gun and the feeling of bone – the fingers, arm, hand and finally skull. It had been elation. If only someone really had been watching!

Have some humility, child!

“I just acted according to my training.”

“Well. I’d like to see your training one day too.”

But that’s not going to happen.

“Say, are you busy? I know you just got off work. But I’ve been hoping we could do some catching up. Or even get started – you didn’t say much when we met.”

Talking. Magnus Long seemed perfectly at ease doing so, but Ritz doubted he could manage much. Truly you could not win battles with the rich with his brand of training. Searching for the body part dumper, at least he could walk the city at his own pace.

“Something on your mind?”

Ritz stared into the passing cars. They did not look back. These were the sort of windows that looked like mirrors on the outside and made Shel chuckle “douchebag” at the sight. Douchebags were also the customers who were notoriously hard to talk to and had to be escorted out of the shop by him and Sal.

“I get it. You’re interested in the body parts that have been turning up.” Magnus leaned against his side of the door and yawned. “Can drive you around those old sites if you still want to see them today. But I gotta say, we’ve had patrols around those areas since the first day. Other than you, they haven’t seen anything suspicious.”

Ritz scowled.

“I know you were in the clinic the entire night of the first dumping, hopping around like a damn spider. But the cops see a guy ‘returning to the scene’ as they’d say, day after day, and you know what they think. Don’t worry though, I got you covered there. You seem like you have a lot on your mind.”

The cluster of cars moved to an upper road and the silhouette of the city flew into view, the district’s local tower soaring above it all.

“If you’ve got any insight into the investigation though, I’d be glad to hear it. You keep checking on the scenes, so I can only assume you’re interested. Who knows. Maybe we can work together on this.”

“Maybe.”

The thought of involving someone had not occurred to him. But then, most people were trying to avoid the culprit. What would Magnus do if he found the body dumper? It would depend on who it was, of course but Ritz had his suspicions and couldn’t avoid the thought of this flimsy looking speechwriter getting slashed to pieces and with a twang of guitar string, strewn, soaking, across his clean red seats.

Magnus was analyzing him in the reflection of his own window.

“Mr. Long,” the driver, “Are we-”

“Keep left. If you have no objections, Ritz, we should get this partnership started off right with a proper dinner.”

—

‘Proper dinner’ was held in a banquet room in what Ritz later realized was the Eastern district’s Dragon Tower. The East district was home to those who had somehow managed to rake in absurd amounts of money. Each house was a white block with more and more parts tacked on, a several single houses were the size of the Old Church with the further benefit of actual lighting and intact walls.

And all of them had ridiculous gardens with streams and pools and most curiously of all, gargantuan levitating birds. In the same garden he saw women in billowing dresses, same size as the birds, and a huge diamond standing on its tip. It wasn’t until he saw the more complex form of a horse that he realized – they were trees, shrubs with tall round masses of leaves, cut into the shapes of people or animals.

His breath fogged the window. Magnus looked up from his phone. “We’re not being tailed are we?”

Dragon Tower was also a white block, and its addons were fifty floors. It was taller than Phoenix Tower but its design was less distinct, especially when approached from the back. They entered the parking lot and took a quiet mirror-walled elevator to the 48th floor.

The banquet room had a single table and seated an unthinkable number of people, and though they were the only diners it didn’t feel empty as it should. Every inch of wallpaper was crammed with gold or red vines, foregrounded by tall blocks, bookcases or tables. Ritz wasn’t sure what they were because they were covered top to bottom in loud red drapery. They were clearly box shaped, with flat tops, but Ritz couldn’t shake the feeling that there might be something living under there, listening in. The ceiling was high and heavy with chandeliers. This seemed to be the only thing that wasn’t covered.

The room was windowless, or appeared to be. The long wall across from the entrance was covered entirely by a thick red curtain.

“You like red,” Ritz commented.

“Makes me think of home,” Magnus replied, which made you wonder what kind of home he’d grown up in.

It was all unsettling. The aroma of the dishes that arrived were also powerful. Not bad and not strong, but somehow piercing in a way Ritz thought it wouldn’t affect anyone else. The room was really taking him apart.

To his credit, Magnus looked completely at ease. He was slumped in a chair that could not possibly have been comfortable (which he seemed to collect) and checking his mobile phone. Before Ritz could ask to leave he looked up, “Sorry, where were we?”

The majority of dinner was fried, if not then it at least appeared a hard oily brown. Between fried shells lay stacks, strips and slices of radiant of carrots, spring onions, ginger and pepper and meal sat in pools of fragrant sauces that themselves lay suspended on translucent, slightly reddish oil. Sitting at the edges were two bowls of white rice. They shone like two eyes on the table of fiery shades. A meal to match the room, then. Ritz stared long and hard into the plates while Magnus ate giant mouthfuls while largely keeping his eyes on his phone.

Sampling each, Ritz eventually started going at the dish at the center, which was a wide, shallow bowl of brown beef. Mixed in were caramelized onions, crisp bean-tipped stalks and flat noodles in the same dark brown oil, but Ritz was just picking out his favorite, the beef. He dropped it on his rice and continued his collection in this fashion until Magnus noticed.

“Do… do you want any?”

“No. Nope. You go right ahead.”

Since he was invited, Ritz did. Magnus put down his phone.

“You know Val can’t use chopsticks?”

“Huh.” Why bring up Val now? But the fact itself was not surprising. “Not many places that give you chopsticks, anyway.”

“I’ll say, but you’d think. Ever tried to eat rice with a fork?”

“No.”

“It’s unnatural.”

“Okay.”

Magnus yawned. “Sorry to sully the conversation further, but business matters: tell me, how did Val hire you?”

“Hire?”

“To do his job for him, apparently.”

“I don’t remember doing any…”

“He is paying you, isn’t he? I’ve already had a… talk with him. Prefer he doesn’t let strangers in on these things but it seems like you did well enough. And you don’t seem like the type to go spilling secrets…”

“I work at S2 Florist in South District, House n-”

“Take it easy, you’re allowed to have two jobs, I’m not accusing you of anything. Other than doing better than Val at his own damn job. You’re here as thanks. Heck man, I should be paying you.”

“I don’t understand. What is Val’s job?”

Magnus put down his utensils and frowned. “What he made you do. Stop the shooter.”

The shooter? “Oh, Len? I killed him.” Ritz paused. “He is dead?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So… I won.”

“If… you want to call it that. I wish I could have faced the guy with that kind of confidence. How did you track him down?”

“He was on the building behind Phoenix.”

“Yes, that’s where we found him. Did Val tell you?”

“No, Val showed me what he looked like and said I would know what to do. I think. It was a long time ago. A week before.”

“So you just checked the buildings nearby.”

“Near his house. And not in the cameras.”

“The cameras.”

“You see the Phoenix Tower has three cameras in the back, and they point down so-”

“Oh, shit. Damn, he was hiding out of view of the cameras. Didn’t even think. Maybe I shouldn’t be handling my own security. Well, I was always lucky. Lucky for me, you got there just in time, then.”

“I was with him all afternoon.”

“Well. That’s thorough, and did he notice you?”

“He was talking to me.”

“Excuse me?”

Ritz dropped his voice. “You said, it was Val’s job. To kill Len for shooting you? And you think he made me do it.”

“I suspect you’ve got another story,” Magnus said.

“I don’t know what Val was thinking, but he didn’t tell me what Len would do at all. He came with me to the laundromat after my challenge, and said he was going to help me. Then he showed me Len’s picture and said to find him, and that would help me… get stronger. I don’t even think he knew Len’s name.”

“He knew. That fucking liar.” Magnus’s words were boiling but his face remained cool and calm. Ritz sank into his chair demurely when those eyes went to him. “What’s this about getting stronger?”

Ritz weighed a knife in his hand under the table.

“Don’t worry, it has nothing to do with you. Well, perhaps. And that is this challenge?”

“It’s…”

“Were you fighting Val?”

“No.” What a strange image that would have been. “I was fighting Ran. You don’t know her. Nobody does. Not even me anymore. She’s from the Society. We are the last ones left and she must die for her crimes. But I – I have a lot to learn.”

“Slow down, you want to kill this woman?”

“I’m trying.”

“She’s a criminal? You know, you can call the police.”

“No,” another strange image. He pushed it away. “It’s my duty.”

“Strange. I’m not sure I understand, but you seem to feel strongly about it-”

“It’s been five years. After I defeated Len, I had a challenge. Another one. But I still lost.”

“After…” Magnus stared. “The same night?”

“Right after. It was my 41st challenge. 41…” the knife came back up but Ritz didn’t see Magnus recoil, instead he just slapped it into the table.

“But you were all beat up when we found you. And I gotta say, really fucked up, had to call in a couple doctors to look at you and they said you fractured a rib or two and those cuts – Jesus, I’d like to know what made them but at the same time-”

“Yeah. I lost. I said.”

“Same old, same old, 41 times?”

“It was worse the time before, see on my face there’s this old scar – it’s going away-”

“Eugh, maybe describe these later. I’m not good at handling that kind of detail,” but he laughed anyway. “So this woman – Ran – sounds like a monster, I’ll be frank. But okay, say you have to be the one to catch her, that’s… fine. Tell me about her, what did she do?”

“She… she was at my school.”

“How old are you?”

Ritz stared at him like he was insane. “Those in the Society are ageless.”

Magnus sat expectantly, waiting for a punchline. Then he asked, “Damn, forgot to ask earlier. Can I take a look at your ID card?”

It was an easy task to Ritz obliged. Magnus nodded. “Alright, so continue. She went to your school…”

“She was a…” Ritz scratched his head. “She wasn’t a student, but she wasn’t a teacher. She did teach the practical lessons, sometimes, but not often. Swordplay and – wait, not all practicals, she also taught Integration. She knew all the scripts. She was not one of the elders, either, though sometimes I felt they feared her. They were right to.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“Even though the elders were afraid of her, they loved her and she stayed and knew everything. She was the last to be trained by the elders before they stopped moving the way they used to. Almost all of her classmates became parents so they couldn’t be trusted either. She would have become the next Leader, but…”

“Yeah?”

“The Society, all the families, all the elders. She killed them.”

Silence.

“How?”

“I don’t know. No, I didn’t know then, but even now. Every challenge I see it, she is better with the sword, with her feet and arms and she thinks more than I do. She could have done it.”

“Must have been hard. For you, I mean. Still, that’s a lot of people.”

“It was…”

“Do you know where it happened? Your school?”

Ritz closed his eyes. The whole thing gave him a headache. He thought back to the bamboo walls of the school, the red cushions and wooden swords. Quiet. But with a constant cloud of suspicion and unfriendliness. He couldn’t remember a single classmate’s face or voice. They had died first. Where was the school? He didn’t really want to know. That wasn’t the question at hand.

The murders had happened in a room with a low roof. He hadn’t been able to see anyone’s faces, because he was small. The only small one there. The other small ones had been taken care of earlier but he had been allowed to skip that class. Ran had told him to, and he wouldn’t question her. They didn’t die immediately, they had been toiling around before Ran arrived. And then…

It was never clear, but so much of his memory had taken on a dark cloudy shield. Or maybe the clouds had been real. Anyway, nothing in particular happened for several minutes, not so much as a yell but there was the occasional thud. And the voiceless, dry sound of… something. Then gradually, the members, their heads still in the clouds, began convulsing, not all at once and some didn’t even start because they were dead already. Eventually a fat member crashed to the ground, tongue swollen and eyes black and bulging, and Ritz ran. It seemed that was when a number of the dead decided it was time to drop to the ground, as if hoping to stop him.

Near the door was where he saw her. He wasn’t sure what she was doing but in that moment the clouds cleared and he could see she was definitely not dying. But to her left and right, gray foamy faces were now looming like ghosts.

All she did was brush him away, a hand on his head. Towards the door. He heard that twang of a string instrument chord snapping.

He had run out from below the ceiling, feeling as though he’d be crushed. He ran out the door and cars. Row houses. Trees and lawns. A different world. And it was like he’d been in that world ever since.

“Not the school. Somewhere else. Low ceilings.”

“Hm. Not much to go on, for finding it I mean.”

“Don’t care. I don’t want to go back there.” Ritz stared into green pattern of his dish. “I know where Ran is, and that is all I need to know.”

“Where is this?”

“The Old Church.”

He thought he saw Magnus shiver. “Thought you meant the big Church for a second. But the Old… Right, we found you there. I always forget what it used to be. Not in that neighborhood much.”

“I always go there for challenges. Ran is always there.”

“And you want to kill her.”

“I have to.”

“And that – the cuts and er, breakage. Happens each time?”

“It’s been better.”

“You call that better?”

“When I was young I did not last more than a minute. I did not see her hit me or feel the cuts. She could just crush my head and be done.”

“No mercy, huh.”

Ritz narrowed his eyes. “What do you think we are?”

“But if you two are the last, wouldn’t you rather just… let things go? On your part especially, I mean you seem to get the short end of the stick, no offense-”

“She told me to. It’s… it’s the final show.”

“A show?”

Ritz shrugged. “I never understood that class. It was her class. Performance and artistry.”

“What did you learn in that class?”

“The things that would help me kill her. I don’t know. I was always bad in school.”

They both went silent.

“Well, uh, sorry to hear all that happened to you, man.” Magnus looked at the ceiling and pinched the skin between his eyes with his fingers. “But god, the fucking management back then.”

Ritz wanted to put his head down but Magnus turned to him again.

“What does she look like?”

Ritz considered, and found it surprisingly difficult. He had seen her enough times, but the lighting was always bad. He said what he knew, “She looks like me.”

“Is she old?”

“The Society are ageless.”

“C’mon help me out here. Scars, height, wrinkles even? So what, you rip out of your mothers fully grown?” Magnus swung a hand out at him and Ritz held the knife up. “Ugh. Okay. But really, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but a LOT of people in this city look like you. Val seems to spot a dozen of them every week, always thinks it's someone he knows.”

“Val has seen her.”

“He has? Is he also going after her ‘last show’ or whatever it’s called?”

“No he…” Ritz cracked a smile. “He won’t fight her, I think he’s afraid. Said he was looking for someone who looks like me. It wasn’t me or her. That’s how we met. He was there the 40th challenge. And you were there for 41.”

“Hah.”

“It’s true. And it’s different. I never see anyone between challenges.”

“And Val was going to help, even though he’s afraid?” Magnus downed some watery tea. “Well, knowing Val, I’m gonna tell you this: at least one of those is a lie.”

Ritz shrugged. Of all news that was hardly the most striking.

“What would protocol be on getting help, anyway? They cover that in you class? Say Val, or maybe someone else, was to do something. Like if the police found the place. Even by accident.”

“Nobody will.” Ritz was sure. “I would stop them. Or Ran would. Ran would cut them up like-”

“Hm?”

He thought of the body parts beside the flowers. That thought that had sent him charging in on his 40th attempt, the night he met Val. If someone else entered the church on a challenge night. Or even if Ran left the church seeing new victims. People cut to ribbons. Worse. What was it, the last day of the Society: the low ceiling, everyone somehow dying just out of his sight, turn or look up and you might see a contorted face through the dark haze, get showered with the spit from a dying member’s last sputter. Well, at least they hadn’t been cut, right?

He wasn’t sure. It was a distant memory, and the damned fog surrounding it was strong as ever.

“People will stay away. They have to. They will know…”

“Hm.”

The tea had a familiar taste. When the desert came they sipped some slightly powdery soup in (relative) silence. Magnus looked as casual as ever but did not return to his phone. Finally, he sat back. “Hey, I got so wrapped up in that story I forgot why I wanted you here in the first place. Since you stopped that shooter for me, I was hoping I could pay you back a little.”

Ritz coughed a little on a bean in the soup.

“Now I could offer you Val’s salary for the week but I gotta clear these amounts with the company so it could take a while, but if you’re willing to wait that can be managed.”

He got up and crossed over to the wall covered by the curtain.

“But – watch your step – but when you got to the clinic, I saw that sword of yours. Old. I’m sure it’s done its job and no doubt it has some meaning to you, but hey, nothing wrong with some backup. If not for use than maybe a handy doorstop. Take a look.”

He hit a switch that was sitting somewhere at the end of the curtain and the wall began to whir. Metal fasteners rattled and the curtains slid back.

What now faced them was a maze of an armoury that covered the entire wall. Ritz still had nightmares about the old school’s armory, and no doubt the Society’s real stash would have shamed that picture but Magnus’s wall was beyond his imagination. It may not have held as many as a room full of swords and knives packed into umbrella holders, but they were fitted together like a puzzle, as many blades showing as possible, such that they seemed insanely vivid and insanely infinite. One piece led into another, it was a maze for the eyes. For a minute Ritz didn’t breathe.

The majority were axes, some small and some large. Some, sadly, intended only for decoration with their intricate carvings and unfeasibly sculpted gold handles, but with menacing edges all the same. There were a few spears, and some spears with heads like axes or even more complex forms, some perforated with rings and tassels. There were hooked and wavy looking objects that Ritz was even less familiar with. But of course, there were a fair number of swords.

Ritz inched close to the nearest, a western broadsword with its scabbard hanging next to it. Right beside it was a sword that was more like his, but with a diamond-shaped guard. And of course this one had probably been untouched for years. There was a faint layer of dust on it, which was a shame.

The pair of swords were part of a column in the display, though the collection had no strict order, most of the swords were fitted together. He looked up the wall slowly, a variety of thin, pointed swords, curved and coiled cutlasses, three blades that looked a lot like his machete but polished and properly bound, and at the top, swords with long, slightly rounded blades and circular guards, like his. Working their way across the upper edge, swords that were probably made for two hands, nearly as long as he was tall, some several times as wide.

He was about to compliment the whole picture when he spotted something out of place. Hypnotised by his own collection, Magnus noticed it at the same time. He spoke first.

“God… DAMMIT!” He hurried to the table.

Two parallel pegs hung on the wall a few rows from the top. They were empty. Considering the perfect fit of every other piece, Ritz knew they were not supposed to be that way.

“What was there?”

Magnus was seething into the face of his phone but manage to stuff his words into a sugary tone for the call. “Hello? Hey. Favor for me: cameras for Dragon, 48, uh, E and F. Mail them in. Tonight. Thanks. FUCK. Fucking-” He finished his courtesy call and went to cursing without a breath in between.

Ritz was mildly horrified. “What?” he yelped. “What happened? What was it?”

Magnus turned, baring a perfectly civil grin. “Sword. What happened? I have some theories.”

“Empty space looks strange.”

“It does.”

“If it bothers you, I won’t take anything yet.”

“Oh.” Magnus stopped sheepishly. “It’s not the space that bothers me, though… maybe it does, unveiling it when it’s incomplete. I have replacements. The problem is not knowing where the piece went.”

“If I take something I might break it.”

“More use than they’ll get here.”

Ritz looked into the reflection of the room in the broadsword. “And I don’t want to disgrace any of your pieces.”

“How thoughtful.” Having calmed down, Magnus himself was now in thought. “I can’t force you to take anything.”

Ritz was engrossed in the reflection. The room compressed into a thin, clear mirror. Somehow, it still held his whole face.

Magnus sat back in his chair. “Huh. You’re a florist, right? Pretty dedicated one? Maybe I can think of something else for you. Though the money’s still there if you want it.”

“I’m just an assistant.”

—

Dinner ended uneventfully, Ritz took nothing. They took the elevator back to the parking lot where the car was started as though it had never stopped. Magnus had the driver return Ritz to his flat. Ritz thought he saw a look of disgust pass on sight of the run down building. And it was perfectly understandable. Someone had also vomited on the front steps, hardly motivating him to speak in his neighbors’ defense.

Magnus looked ready to speed away but paused.

“Hey Ritz, last question before you go. Then interrogation over.”

“What is…?”

“Have you ever heard of the Asahara Troupe?”

Ritz was blankly counting the stars. Magnus waited patiently for a minute or two, then sighed and began winding up the window.

“Never mind. Strange question, just occurred to me. Though even people who know what they did might not know their name.”

“What did they do?”

Magnus looked up, down and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. It was before my time, so I’m not even sure. Come to think of it, that probably means before your time too so – sorry, I’m assuming we’re the same age.”

“We probably are.”

“Oh, does that mean I’m ageless too?” Magnus chuckled at his own joke. “I’ll do some reading and let you know. It’s probably nothing, thinking about timelines. Ah, well.”

He lied more smoothly than Val.

“Good night. I don’t think I can get you to stop with just words, but you watch yourself on those challenges.”

“Ah.”

“And one more. Leave the investigation to me. No more visiting dump sites. We have it covered. Though of course, if you spot anything, call the cops. But your vendetta’s with that Ran chick, get that cleared up before pissing off the cops.”

“Hm.”

“All good?”

“I think so. I hope you find your lost sword.”

“I hope so too. See you around, Ritz.” Face dark, he sank back into the red interior and was driven over the hill and back to his custom built dream world. Ritz hopped over the vomit, over the vomiter snoozing in the lobby, and up the staircase to his apartment.

—

Ritz didn’t think of his encounter with Magnus too much in the following days, but he obliged and did not return to the dump sites. Then again, he’d visited them each multiple times already and being told he shouldn’t be compelled to make more came as a late, begrudging relief. He spent most of his weekend sleeping and hopping rooftops.

Business was quiet. During the day, only one of S2 checked in on the store. According to Shel, they ran a number of personal gardens on the side. “Maybe you should think about it. It can be a good source of extra cash when things get slow.”

Ritz wasn’t sure why people would prefer one shop over another, especially if the owners and products were the same for both.

Shel laughed and gave him a friendly pat on the back. “Well, I guess I don’t have to worry about competition coming from you. Here, have an orchid.”

The shop had a new supply of orchids, fuschia, white, and pale pinks in between. They came in pots of two and seemed unusually expensive. But they weren’t popular, didn’t seem like enough for their cost. That was why Shel gave him a pot for free. His orchids were white.

Ritz put the pot next to his others on top of the empty dresser in from of his apartment window and wrapped it all in barbed wire so he could open his window without his neighbor snagging it, eating it and vomiting in the hallway.

Shel fobbed off leftovers on him often, but only a few lived longer than a week, not for his lack of trying.

His favorite was a small bundle of green bamboo. It grew slowly and in the last break-in it was the only one that had survived being chewed on. He also liked the batch of hibiscus from the spring that seemed to have lasted a long time. Huge frilled flowers usually went to rags within a week.

Then there was an unnamed plant that was a special gift for working at S2 for a year. It had long, feathery leaves and an unattractive flower, but seemed to be doing well. It had a smell that reminded him of home – well, school. Specifically, the assemblies… When he’d mentioned that as thanks, Sal shrugged and Shel said, “That explains a lot. Well, enjoy.”

He always spent more time trying to stop his plant-hungry neighbor from enjoying them.

Slow day.

Sal and Shel had entrusted what little business there was that day entirely to him. Ritz slumped on the counter wondering if maybe Shel was giving him plants that were secretly for eating when a bike gang passed through, motors roaring. They didn’t stop, but blew clouds of acrid smoke that seemed to slip through the closed windows and doors.

The door opened and he coughed.

“Ritz! Nice to see you again!”

Val set an elbow down on the counter loudly. “Been a while, huh? You busy?”

“No. Do you need help?”

“Naw, no. I was just checking in, making sure you’re still alive, ya know?” Val strolled around the shop, checking out the pots on bundles on the wooden shelves and scattering trail of grime along his way. His shoes seemed to be falling apart, and for the holes were filled with dirt. “My first time here, it’s pretty homey. You know, when I met you I was sure a guy like you would be working in… uh… well, I’m not really sure.”

He was manhandling the tall bamboo.

“Careful.”

“I didn’t get to catch up with you after your last two challenges. Man, some help I’ve been, but don’t think I’ve given up! We’ll see you through.”

He didn’t ask how challenges went.

Val turned around. “So what I asked, are you busy? Doesn’t look like it.”

“Well…”

“You have time to step out? I wanted to show, er, ask you something.”

“I have to watch the store. Don’t sit on that!”

Val leaned on the wooden worktable regardless. “What time do you get out of here?”

“5 o clock.”

“What??” Val threw his hands up violently. “But there’s no one around!”

“It’s my job. Magnus said you should be doing yours.“

Val stared him right in the eye and burst into laughter. “You two are such jokers. I thought you’d get along. And you might not know it yet, but it’s a good idea to have him on your side. I think- huh.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later. Okay, meet me at, hm… 5 or 6. You run fast, that or the buses will, so 5:30. Bring your stuff. The equipment.” He made a mockery of a sword stance.  “You know.”

“Swords?”

“See? An actual user doesn’t care. Magnus gets pissed when I call an axe an axe. But then that’s his hobby. Not his duty, or… whatever you call it.” He sighed. “You know, I haven’t given up on helping you win. I said it wouldn’t be instant, but I feel terrible for not being there…”

Ritz shrugged.

“Right. 5:30, at the Old Church?”

“The church?”

“Hah! Don’t look like that. Just thought it would be good to catch up where it all began.”

“You shouldn’t. You know-”

”Whoa, whoa, not planning to go after her on a non-challenge day. We’re still training, she knows that. If she is how she always is she’ll have no problem with you just standing outside, right? But still, bring your stuff. Just… wait outside until I get there.”

Ritz didn’t respond, but he had little else to fill his time. True too, Ran never showed up (at least to him) outside of their challenges in the church.

“You decide.” Val headed for the door when the display of leftover orchids in the window caught his eye.  “What! Are those violets?”

“Orchids. Imports from-”

“Orchids! I love those. They have the weird broken necks, have you noticed? Chins like daggers, well, more fragile. They reserved or anything? A sale? A sale…” Val bit his lip. “Well, I can’t just walk away from this deal and… I haven’t eaten all day. Oh, what the hell. I’ll do it. I’ll take them.” Ritz was considering tossing Val out when a veritable brick of fresh dollar bills emerged from his pocket.

“Uh, did you bring a bag?”

Val left the shop overjoyed, draped with three plastic bags loaded with flowers. As soon as he was outside, he plucked a bud out of the bag and tossed it in his mouth like a grape.

Ritz swept the floor nonchalantly and watched until he knew Val as gone.

—

It had been a warm day and the sun was slow to set. The Old Church was cast in the of a fading glow when Ritz touched down. The place looked oddly forlorn on a day when it was not to be used. The dusk was cool and quiet. He had his swords and bag, and in it his new alarm clock was packed as a habit, even though there was no reason to believe he would black out on the pavement this time.

He waited on the staircase and watched the clock. Both doors had been lodged in their upright positions, still and solid (though he knew the right would fall if he tried to open it.)

“Ritz! Hellooo…” Val’s voice came from around the corner. “Over here.”

“Okay.”

Nobody.

“Val?”

A light stream of pebbles fell from above, rolling down the wall of the church. Ritz looked up. “No, you cannot be up there.”

“It’s not a problem for you, is it? Come on up, you should see this.”

“Get down!”

Val was lounging on a hole in the wall a few meters above Ritz’s head. He looked at Ritz then pointedly jumped from the hole into the church. Ritz ran to the wall but didn’t hear anyone land on the other side. He promptly burst into a cold sweat.

“Val? Val, is she there? Get out, now! V-”

Val’s head appeared in the hole again. “Take it easy. No one’s here. That’s why you need to take a look, fast. Now come on.”

“It doesn’t matter. She could be hiding, or she’ll be back without us knowing and-”

“Alright, alright. Maybe some other time, then.”

Val disappeared and Ritz heard footsteps from above, as if Val were scampering away up in the air. He backed against the fencing and ran up to the wall, kicked upward and grabbed a window frame to the side that let him climb the remaining distance to the crumbled edge of the hole in the wall. Braced to yell and apology and turn tail if needed, he glanced inside.

A few beams were spread like tightropes where the third or second floor must have been. There was one a few feet below the hole.

Val was balanced on a beam close to the opposite wall. “You’ve only seen this place on moonless nights, haven’t you? If you messed up the scheduling, I’m guessing it was so long ago you don’t remember. Well take a good look. This is where you do your dance.”

Ritz cautiously pulled up and set a foot on the brick of the wall.

Below were the fragments of the lower levels, more thoroughly destroyed by heavier rubble falling from above. That and the gargantuan fallen pillars from the main hall. Three of four pillars had fallen, one one leaning, grinding into the back wall. One was slightly suspended by the remains of a stone pedestal. The last was lying fully on the ground, half sunk into the carpet of grass and flowers.

At one point there may have been multiple rooms on the ground level, but the walls had all been torn down, forming one huge hall.

In the full darkness (or constant distraction) of his battles with Ran, Ritz never had the chance to notice that the flowers were not dim white but a radiant, very light sky blue. The uneven ground glowed in the light like the face of the moon. Undulating quietly below, petals were loosed like dust and swept against the wall. The motion stilled, wound itself, then continued, in the opposite…

“Don’t fall!”

“I won’t.” Ritz shook his head and glared back at Val. Against crags of broken wall and twisted windowframe, his frayed black shape looked right at home. “Okay, I looked. Now we should leave.”

“It’s not dark yet. She’ll be gone a while.”

Val slunk over to the corner, moving quickly for someone balanced on bars of metal and wood with shoes that were in pieces. There was a bag sitting in the corner. Ritz thought it looked like his in brown, but on inspection it was just more worn and completely filthy, caked in dirt. Opening it sent flakes of mud to the ground. The zipper could not have been louder.

“Val…” Ritz took a hesitant step in.

“She wouldn’t have patched the place up if she never anticipated anyone coming in. At very least it was for you. Appreciate it.”

“What are you talking about?”

Flinging dirt and a few wads of tissue, Val whipped a sword from his bag.

Ritz stepped lightly onto the beam in front of him and didn’t move. This whole situation had not quite taken hold yet. The sword was long, looked heavy, and had a long handle with silver engraving on the base. The metal was polished like a mirror, without a single dent.

“Is that…”

With one hand now heavy, Val teetered on the beam and eventually leaned on the wall for support, but this was exactly where he wanted to be. He reached the sword out below him and tapped on the wall.

“See, here’s a spot.”

“That’s… the sword from the wall. It was missing!”

“Will you look? There’s cement. Maybe she’s out buying more.”

“Why do you have it?”

Val straightened up. “I took it. I’m sure he knows it was me.”

“You should… we should…”

“I’ll give it back. And yeah, I know Ran’s going to be back. Of course. But I’m trying to help you here. Though – maybe I’ve been going at it wrong.”

Ritz grasped for the right words when Val took a familiar stance. He pulled a sword and raised it in an automatic response.

“Spar a little. Take it easy, I don’t really know how to use this. Just a couple minutes.” Val edged closer. He was slow, but Ritz noticed, his balance was now fine. Maybe not perfect, but then – it would have been a shame to pick on an opponent without the basics in place.

Ritz struck, quickly. The blades hit with a clatter. Exceptionally stable or stunned, Val barely moved with the hit. Ritz struck him again, and this time, made a curve for the chin. or at least in the vague area. He swiped air, and mirrored the movement on the other side. Val backed up and eventually caught his blade again, but only for a second.

Val’s form was infuriatingly bad. Ritz began making direct jabs at the parts he knew were wrong, like the teachers used to. Like the teachers, he didn’t let the tip of the blade actually touch, but moved slowly, exaggerated, to let the pupil see and dodge – and fix themselves.

Good posture seemed to confuse Val.

“Are you missing on purpose?”

Ritz smiled and stepped back. In one second, and they were nearly a room apart. Then he made a dash.

Val yelped and tripped onto the floor below. Ritz followed. He landed and leapt, and was caught again, but then he’d made such a light launch that was expected. He kicked off the wall and made another rush, heavier this time. He slid from it to the ground, then made an upward thrust.

Val caught him again, by swinging his sword down so hard he nearly dropped it. The impact was surprisingly hard – the stolen sword was a lot heavier than the ones Ritz was used to. He felt the flimsy board below his feet shake and hitch.

Ritz began to slide back and put his free hand to the boards, then slipped lightly down another floor. He landed on the fallen pillar and Val came crashing down in front of him, landing half on knee. “Man, no wonder you were so happy to jump around the Tower. It was fun for you.”

He took a heavy swing and Ritz flipped his attack aside. Val took another swing. He seemed to only swing. It was hilariously excessive. Ritz held his sword down and dodged, backing nearer to the wall. There was the skeleton of a stained glass pattern that he could climb and-

Val’s hand drew out of his coat. Had he been holding the sword one handed the whole time? Wavering with  smile, Val drew his hand out – but his surprise wasn’t wanted. Without hesitation Ritz lashed out one of his legs and kicked. Val lost balanced and at the same time a sword and knife came down. Ritz threw them to his left and kicked again. Right in the side. Should have heard a crunch. But didn’t. Val was wearing a big coat, but it shouldn’t have dulled the impact as much as it did.

Ritz kicked again but this time Val backed away. He still swung like a drunk. Ritz took the opportunity to disappear. Val didn’t follow. He couldn’t.

“What, knives not allowed?”

“Not allowed to conceal,” Ritz said, his voice echoing.

“Really? That’s hard to believe. What happens if you do it?”

As a response, Ritz came flying from behind, he swung – not the blade, but the top of the grip – directly to the side of Val’s head.

It was intended to be a mercy, but it ended up saving his blade from breaking that day. His hand was met with the blade of Val’s sword. That may have broken it on its own, but behind it, Val’s other hand braced a vicious serrated knife the size of his forearm. They eased off slowly. Val winced and shook his sore hands.

Ritz frowned. “Concealing equipment. It is not in our teachings.”

“You won’t win thinking like that.”

“It’s deceitful. It isn’t fair. I don’t want to anger Ran.”

“That’s why it will help.” Val swiped a sweaty palm on his coat. “I’m guessing Ran know that already.”

“She isn’t cheating.”

Val looked at him. Then he looked at each of the church’s four walls in turn. “Yeah, I suppose she isn’t really hiding anything.”

Ritz settled on a knee to catch his breath.

“Well, even if you picked nothing up from this, it was informative for me.” Val sat against the wall. It was so dark now it was hard to see much of him other than the larger and brighter of his mismatched eyes. “So tell me, Ritz, heard of the Asahara Troupe?”

“Magnus asked me too.”

“What did you think?”

“He didn’t tell me anything, just the name. Said he didn’t remember much.”

“Well, he probably…” Val sat in thought for a few minutes, and resolved not to slander his friend. “Alright. In short, they were a performance group. I thought of that when you were talking about it. They were known for an art that reminds me of you, too. It was a mixture of things. Acrobatics and martial arts. Swords and daggers. Trapeze and chokeholds. All at the same time. Almost all of it was dangerous, like you’d have to be high to do it, but they gained a huge following and a lotta fans even joined. One of their selling points was that they really hated guns. Saw them as an ugly waste, and thought they could beat any gunman if they wanted. Their message hit a sweet spot in public opinion at the time. A bunch of important people had just been killed with – of course – guns. At a distance, from hiding, only to run off and hope that what they had done would fix itself as well as the problems that came before. That or or sit back and wait to die, or worse, turn their guns on themselves as as easy way out, dying a hero at their peak.

To the Troupe, that was pathetic. It was no way to make statement. The fact that they had ideals for assassination might have been a warning but I’ll admit, they never did go after anyone big or rich. Wrong move, but well – no point in talking about that now. Ha ha–

Of course, they hated the major way of offing people, so there was no way they could be violent right? It wasn’t part of their image. Swords were like a brush or pen. Part of the art. That and their weird mystical orient theme was big at the time but – funnily enough they were nearly all Westerners.

In short, they raised families in schools of the art and put on shows. You and Ran, you said, are performers. Last of your… whatever you are. Swords and jumping around- and it made sense to me. A little. To a point. The usual story is that the Asahara Troupe disappeared a long time ago. Before your time, probably.”

“Magnus said that too.”

“Hah, he isn’t wrong. But by ‘disappear’ I mean they stopped putting on shows. There’s no way he’d forget that part, why it happened. Because if you heard the name, you definitely heard of the Asahara massacre. It was all over the news. A huge event. Massacre – you know what that means?”

“They died?” Ritz’s heart raced. Val laughed. “What happened to them, what did the news-”

“You really haven’t heard the story. No, they were the ones doing the killing.”

Ritz looked blankly at the fading flowers below.

“An full house at a show, a dark night. They were there for free, so a lot of people came. Families. Kids. Students and support groups, lots of people thought they stood for good causes. The posters promised the usual, at least I think – enlightenment and best effort at raising all spirits. The difference was that it wouldn’t be filmed.

The performance was in a real theater, the kind with seats going up to the ceiling – I don’t know, never seen one either. Anyhow the doors were locked and blocked by the Troupe as soon as the place was full. There were 15 minutes where presumably a Leader gave a speech – and then everyone was slaughtered. Mostly throats, that seemed like their favored method, and either they had been very fast or their victims very… willing, because most of these had been instant and without struggle. The few that made out of their seats and ran were a little worse off, stabbed, strangled, heads caved, bones broken depending on how far they got. Running, hiding, none of that helped, in fact it made it all the worse. The upper seats were elevator access, but they say the Asahara just leapt right up there. The elevator was turned off, had not a drop of blood in it.

The students, or student age kids, they had a rough time, some dismembered, some eyes ripped out, you know. Maybe because they were younger and fought back? Nah. Little kids had it the worst, it looked like. Heads sawn right off, stabs from eye level. You know what that meant? The kids in the Troupe went after the kids. How’s that for fair?

So that’s how their shows ended. But that doesn’t mean the Troupe broke up or anything, there were too many of them for that. You see, they weren’t in a group because they were getting paid or anything. And though there were kids, rarely did you see any newborns – kids came from before members joined. You couldn’t expand a family that size in such short amount of time, naturally anyway. I’ve done calculations.

So they were followers. They were a religion. The news called them a cult. The performances that got recorded were always started with a culty word of thanks to the elders and the Leader for – eh, don’t remember much except that one line – serving and their eye and mouth to–“

“Ensure we would reach the end in grace. And never alone.”

“Yeah, that was it. Calling them a cult makes sense to me.

Biggest proof, to me, after the massacre, strangely the group didn’t move. Nobody ran. They waited in the locked building for the police to realize something was wrong and catch them all at once, just lounging on the stage in a theater full of bodies, apparently just smoking and meditating. The smoke filled the sealed room. It was a couple hours past midnight before the cops went to check why the show hadn’t ended. By then, the Troupe had made sure nobody in the audience was left alive. The Leader – that’s just what they called him – was an old guy and way less quick than the others, guess they didn’t want to leave him. So they waited and were all caught. If that wasn’t all of them, the runaways have been quiet ever since.

There was a long trial – you’d be surprised how many people still supported them. That the ‘victims’, the dead ones, deserved it somehow. Really thought the Troupe did something for the better of humanity, or for art.  But it wasn’t even a particularly good act, if you ask me. Sure - I didn’t see it, but a good performance should clean itself up. Who knows. I’m not a good artist.

In the end, the Leader spoke up, and said it had been a mistake. They had hoped for the best, but something had gone wrong. Don’t get him wrong, the deaths had been intentional. But the result wasn’t what they wanted. Sure. Fine. Not hard to think something went wrong.

So then there was the matter of sentencing. When deciding the punishment, trouble was a lot of the Troupe had families. Young children who couldn’t have been in control. Couldn’t have known what they were doing. So the record goes. This excuse wasn’t made for them – it was the standard for kids. So they sentenced who they could, who seemed like they had nobody who would speak out for them too hard – and the remainder were sent here. Kids in tow.”

“Sent?”

“That’s another story. So – what else is there to say? That’s where the news coverage ends. Whatever the massacre meant, it resolved something to them. Other than the Leader hanging himself, it all went quiet.”

“The Leader hanged? Himself?”

“Some spokespeople called it ascending. But that’s how it happened. Police photos and all.”

“…”

“Sound familiar?”

“It sounds… I’ve heard some of this before. So maybe…” Ritz rubbed his forehead. Pieces were floating into place around him, but he didn’t like them. “I see. What you and Magnus think.” Still, something about Val’s tone stopped it from worrying him. It’s was always good to find a place that seemed to fit you in the puzzle of the universe. Even if it sat between a massacre and…

“Where did the Society -ah – the Troupe go when the Leader hanged?”

“Nowhere, it seemed. They continued living. Opened a school in some unknown location.”

“So most of them were alive?”

“Yeah. Certainly was no massacre then, just the one old guy. He didn’t fight or anything, and a lot of the Troupe actually seemed surprised. It was confirmed suicide.”

“But when I… when I was at the school, the Leader was alive. But he was not old. And he didn’t hang himself.”

“I’m no cult expert, but maybe a new Leader was chosen. It’s happened. The massacre, the old Leader… that was a long time ago. In case you were worried, it was probably before you were born. Even if he hadn’t killed himself, I doubt he’d be alive today. Hm. But out of curiosity, since it isn’t in any book – what was the Leader you knew like?”

“He was… I didn’t see him much. But he was killed by Ran. Like everyone else.”

“Not you, though.”

“No…”

“You think she did it so she wouldn’t be alone? Like the speech goes-”

“Then why does she want me to kill her?”

“Does she really? She’s never spoken to me.”

“Yes.” Ritz stood up. “I know she does.”

“Alright. I guess the Asahara sure knew what they were doing in the first massacre, even if they never told anyone. I have to assume she knew what she was doing in the second.”

It was dark. Val was no longer visible among the dark shapes that covered the far wall but it was a quiet night. Ritz heard him wheezing peacefully in the corner, but couldn’t relax himself. Flowers sunk out of sight, ruins covered in shadow, it was ominously like the night of a challenge. He stood.

“Val, I’m leaving-”

A smoky sputter came from the street and he leapt for the nearest window in terror. Val yawned from somewhere in the dark and stood, blade jangling against the wall. The sputters closed in. A bright light travelled down the street, flicking in and out of the various cracks and holes in the wall and coming to a halt just outside the front steps.

“My ride,” Val said.

“Sounded like the bikes.”

“It is.” Val strolled down the fallen pillar and onto the ground. “Can’t keep them waiting. You know what they say about the bike gangs. You heading out the back?”

“I think so.”

“Alright. Glad we could have this talk. Did I worry you? Well… if the truth was you did come from the Troupe, you were bound to find out eventually.”

“Enough of that. So, well, challenge soon, huh? Do your best, like you said you would. And remember what I told you today. Before the story.”

It was already difficult to recall, but Ritz’s mouth was numb. Val threw his head back and laughed as he headed away. “You’ll remember when you need to.”

“You remember  to return the sword.”

“Magnus can fight me for it. Ha! Ha-” Val was cut off by the sound of him pulling the wrong door and having it fall on top of him. The lights from the bikes beamed through the empty frame. Someone shouted “Idiot!”

Ritz vaulted through the gap of a smashed window and ran around the strip of garden to the front in time to see Val ferried off in the sidecar of a large black motorcycle.

—

The next time he visited the Old Church was for the challenge. Without word, and without too much thought either, he found himself driving Ran to the back of the building. He was aware he wasn’t doing a great job. He kept kicking into remnants of walls and stairs that were left in the ground and nearly tripped when she led their exchange up the fallen pillar.

A few tense nights and quiet days in the shop had given him too much time to think about Val had told him.

On the first day it was like an unbelievable dream. Following days, it felt like he’d been lied to or maybe misheard, it wouldn’t be the first time. But it couldn’t be a coincidence. Two people he’d told about his duty, two both immediately thought of the same group of killers.

Performers. Remember, grace and never alone-

Ritz slipped clumsily when he reached the end of the pillar and leaped as far as he could to get away, only to end up against a wall.

“You continue to fail your training.”

Ran landed in front of him. Ritz kicked and missed. Jabbed and missed. Swung and tensed to launch himself off when-

CRACK.

His left ear rang, he thought his eye had been taken out by the flash and his shoulder cleaved apart. He shifted his arm experimentally. It was still attached, though there was a major cut across his shoulder. Beside his face was a plate of cold metal. Too large for a sword, but too streamlined for an axe. It was embedded into the stone of the wall.

He staggered away. There was a single warning clatter of the blade being yanked free then another CRACK of three blades. He raised both his sword and the machete in an attempt to block.

The impact was heavier than Val’s stolen sword. He went flying, flung like a rubber arrow off an iron wall.

Panicked, he made a run, back turned. A shameful display. But what else could he do?

Val was right. She has hidden tools. She’s…

Whatever Ran had on her, it was heavy – well, the force of a blow had told him that much. But it was slowing her down. In fact, she was standing quite still. She moved a few steps, dragging the tool behind her and stopped.

“One of your blades seems about to go,” Ran spoke into the darkness. “It does every time.”

His original sword had been looking worse for wear.

“But these months… it’s been telling me… that you’ve been performing outside these walls.”

Ritz quietly moved up the wall and onto the remaining floorboards of the second floor.

“Do they enjoy it? You have been… changing.”

He slunk into a corner – between her and the nearest exit, the hole in the wall.

“Not quickly enough.”

She turned, twirling the weapon like an umbrella. With a smack of her clawed hand, it landed with a heavy thud in the dirt, slicing off a few heads of the flowers that grew there. Ritz knew he was fully cloaked in the shadows, but even so  she had her eyes fixed on him. She was a floor down, considerable distance, but just took a slow, lethargic step…

The ones that ran were worse off.

“If I should become like you, I’ll take my time. The Troupe are gone, why didn’t you just go with them?”

Ran stopped.

“You’ve heard of it then. At last.”

“So we are the Asahara Troupe?”

“Yes. The last. Did you never consider what we were the last of?”

“Why should I? I didn’t notice before, but it was always hidden: the name, the shows, the art. The massacre, the one before yours, the reason we’re here! Was it all hushed because we should have been ashamed? And you went and made it worse! Is that why you want to die?“

She didn’t take her eyes off him, but the question seemed to trouble her.

Ritz dashed along the rafters and dropped behind her. He stabbed once – dodged, of course – then again and – she ducked. Should have fallen right into the line of fire but instead he slammed into the handle of her weapon. There was another metallic CLANG. More a bell than  blade. His arm stung.

Ran stood smoothly and Ritz sprang back to the walls again. She was back to full, cold alertness.

“Come down before you hurt yourself.”

“I am done.”

“If you choose to run, at very least so it on the ground.”

“You really think I’m a child.”

“From what I have seen tonight, you are. Now get down.”

Like he was a fucking kid. And like a kid he could only reply, “No!”

“Then you will find yourself unable to leave.”

Ran’s face pooled shadows and contorted like a demon. Black eyed, she raised a hand the extraordinary non-human hand, and on it he saw what he thought every time was a trick. It was wrapped or armored or calloused into a craggy steel claw. At the same time, Ritz felt but did not see something fast and hard sweep his feet out from under him. A ropy force swept past his shoulder, tearing at his scarf and hair.

He made an attempt to reach the next floor but a net of invisible blades flew down on him. He bounced off similar field lower down, and was finally met with the distinct feeling of a wire tightening around his neck outside his scarf. The tension gave, and he was catapulted facefirst to the soil at Ran’s feet.

The blade raised like a guillotine, earthy clumps clinging to its edge.

Ritz struggled but his arms were paralyzed, or restrained, gripped at the wrists. There went half a sleeve. Eyes caked with dirt, he was groggy and confused.

A flash from the worst days at school. The ones with Ran as a teacher. If one good thing had come from his escape it was the absence of practical class. But it was just another lurking nightmare, nonsense for the sake of violence. Ran hadn’t used a blade in years. The fact was, he was pretty sure she didn’t have one. Where had this come from?

The smell of dirt was promising some good dreams. That’s right, these were moon colored flowers. Maybe they would sell well. On an off day he could dig them up-

His fingers gripped a handful of roots. Realization hit: Ran was holding a shovel.

How strange. Swords were hard to come by but there were plenty of alternatives. But then, the sword’s relatively thin handle must have been why she never used one – not with that claw of a hand. The thought of Ran gardening was hilarious. He smiled blearily as the shovel’s edge was dragged towards him. Damn. Even swords couldn’t make that kind of noise. His blood shuddered in his veins. He wished he were deaf.

That thing would take his head off without fail. But something caught her attention.

He heard her swear, lightly. It reminded him of childhood.

“Ran, what,” Ritz began, then screamed as the shovel took a second, more successful shot at its downed target. The metal sliced into his shoulder like deli meat where it remained lodged, teetering mightily, ripping the pieces of his arm further apart as it made a slow luxurious fall to the ground. Ran let the handle go with the delicacy of a dropping a handkerchief, and took off for the second floor at full speed. Face in the dirt and bleeding a river across his own chest, Ritz saw nothing until the next day.