Entry No. 4: A Lone Spark
December 2017 - New York - 0125 Hours
The nighttime winter breeze spoke an eerie whisper through the city of New York, and the full blood moon cast its sanguine light through the clear, ink-black sky and onto the metropolis below in tandem. The “City That Never Sleeps” lived up to its moniker despite the time, as cars and citizens bustled through the streets, proceeding with their days as usual without a care. But far on the outskirts of the city were the Silver Sand Docks, the landmark of an area that had a much earlier curfew, and the only sound breaking the silence was the swaying, rhythmic roll of the nearby tide as it tumbled upon the shore…
And the screams.
The Silver Sand Docks were built on the edge of a less-than-fortunate area of Coastal New York, and though it was known that the streets of this region fell quiet much sooner than the more central parts of the city, there was an underlying environment, unbeknownst to the citizens who had far more to worry about in this part of town, that truly never slept. The docks’ warehouses were old, rusted, abandoned. Condemned for years from their wear and tear. And yet, those seeking opportunity found steadfast bastions within the buildings’ crumbling, barely illuminated interiors, as well as a hotspot for criminal syndicate activity where their ambitions could be achieved without the harsher scrutiny of the police department or other forces who would seek to intervene.
Tonight, in particular, a
yakuza faction had gathered in Warehouse 25 to conduct their monthly run of human trafficking for sexual slavery, preparing their shipments to be promptly transported. An especially lucrative part of their business, the money they earned from the bodies sold provided greater opportunities to purchase arms and further facilitate their influence in the underworld of New York. And with every successful deal, be it of weapons or women, the yakuza grew stronger, and the Golden Lion’s fangs grew sharper.
“Get moving!”
Wails of despair rang through the warehouse as the victims were dragged and shoved into crates; the faction members in charge of loading spared no compunction in being as rough as they desired, shouting aggressively and using tasers--albeit sparingly, so as not to inflict any visible injury that could potentially tarnish the product--to ensure that their cargo complied. Commands to keep quiet, keep moving. No one was going to help them. Not here. Even if they were to scream at the top of their lungs, no one would ever bother to listen.
Yet scream they did, forcing their cries and sobs through parched throats and cowering as they were forced into their enclosures. The sounds of hopeless anguish fell on naught but willfully deaf ears, as other
yakuza members who weren’t currently occupied with moving the human trafficking victims either talked amongst themselves or guarded the perimeter, each one of them brandishing a firearm as they stood. Withholding their indifferent gaze from the women who begged and whimpered for help, those who oversaw the security of their deal remained in their positions outside and inside the warehouse, as they scanned for any potential threats to their business. However, one gunman’s gaze suddenly fell upon a moving silhouette from his periphery, on the streets not too far from his post. It was small, not likely to cause much trouble, but the uncertainty as to who or what it could be was sufficient for the
yakuza member to call out, raising a sharp inquiry that would surely grab the intruder’s attention.
“おい、だれだそこで？Who’s out there?”
- - -
It was cold. His breath, weak and shaky, blew thin wisps of fog in front of him through quietly chattering teeth, and the bitter, nighttime air bit at his face, prompting his eyes to water as he walked along the streets next to the docks. The blisters on his feet were getting worse; sooner or later, they’d start bleeding again. The stinging pain on his soles burned hotter with every step, implying that the thin, tattered bandages were beginning to give way if they hadn’t already. Maybe he would get lucky, get away with nabbing some more at the next bodega that hadn’t seen him yet. Alas, luck was one of many other desperately needed but scarce amenities as of recently. However, looking on the extremely dim-lit and wildly flickering side of the situation, at least he could still feel himself walk.
His clothes were tattered and dirty, providing insufficient sanctuary from the cold to keep him from shivering as he trudged through the street. The spoils of scavenging had not been kind, allowing him only the bare minimum for surviving the New York winters, as only a thin, old tee, torn jeans, and a ragged jacket hung upon his thin, malnourished frame. It hardly seemed adequate, but for better or worse, it kept him alive. And yet, as alive as he stood, his eyes couldn’t possibly seem any more lifeless, darkened by heavy bags underneath and casting an empty gaze down onto the frigid concrete upon which he walked.
How long had it been? It felt like decades ago, and at the same time, like it was yesterday. The days all seemed to blend together as he found himself doing the same thing over and over again. Hunting for scraps to feed himself, stealing from one store to the next, never having the luxury to sleep in the same place twice. The same nightmare every night his mind allowed himself to dream, and another one waiting for him as soon as he woke up. Their faces, their voices. The distant memory of a normal life. And, with a scream and flash of blood-red light, all of it turning to dust in his hands.
But he was
alive. Wasn’t that something to be relieved about? He’d survived. By some miracle, he’d been the only survivor at the laboratory explosion. It was…
It was a miracle.
…Mom?
Wasn’t it?
Oh, God.
He was alive.
You killed them.
…He’d killed them.
The world around him began to blur, and the once faint sound of the rolling tide suddenly filled and surged through his skull, the crashing waves accompanied by his gradually panicking breath and quickening heartbeat. He could feel his insides toss and turn as the ground beneath him seemed to sway, and the longer he struggled to stand still, the heavier the weight of his guilt seemed to press upon his core. His legs shook under the gravity of his anxiety, swiftly buckling and bringing him to his knees. He fell to the ground with a pained groan, choked out as if the air had abruptly escaped his lungs as he barely held himself up with his calloused palms. A cold sweat began to bead at his face as he dry-heaved and gasped for air, and his ears were filled with a quiet, shrill drone as his senses were gradually overtaken and his vision began to fade.
He couldn’t breathe, his throat was parched, and he was malnourished. Yet, despite how debilitated he was, he knew that this was only his second panic attack tonight. Alone as he was, he’d soon learned to keep his mind--or lack thereof--to himself. Unfortunately, as often as he’d been crippled by such anxiety time and time again, unable to function or even hear himself think, there remained a single, much more imposing truth beholden to him, one he could fully realize amidst the chaos yet provided not even a modicum of comfort.
He would not die.
Regardless of whether or not he succumbed to his frailty and what should have been his end years ago ever since his life had so drastically changed, he still woke up the next day, and the day after. He’d lost count of how many times he’d given up. How many times it hurt to live. How many times he begged to a godless sky that today would be the end. And yet, for the past six years, nine months, and eighteen days…
He still. Woke. Up. Only to do the same thing all over again.
It was inconceivable that he should suffer so long. That the universe hadn’t seen it fit to let him off even a little easily after all he’d lost. With a blatant laugh in the face of his emptiness and brokenness, he was repeatedly denied permission to die. Not through his weakness or starvation, not even the physical means he’d dared to attempt so that he might finally be free. He, who no longer had neither anything to love in this world nor anything to love him, remained ensnared to a life he desperately wanted to throw away. And with every unwanted breath he drew, Shuzo Takeshi wondered exactly what or who it was that so stubbornly denied him the gift of death.
- - -
“おい、だれだそこで？”
Unfortunately, he’d not currently been in much of a state to ponder such things, as he remained crumpled on the ground, waiting for his regularly scheduled panic attack to subside. Nor did he have much time to do so either, as his disquietude would be swiftly interrupted by a voice suddenly calling out, loud and sharp-tongued. The sound was loud enough to pierce through the chaos ravaging his mind, and the recognition of his native language as he registered the words that were spoken further pulled him closer to reality.
‘Who was out there’? Were they calling to
him? Shuzo wiped his eyes and forced himself to his feet, though not without stumbling on the way as his composure had not been fully regained. It took several for his vision to clear, and as he navigated half-blindly toward the voice, he didn’t know what he’d truly stumbled upon until his world finally came back into some modicum of focus and he found himself mere meters from the one who’d called, a tall, grown man in a suit, holding an assault rifle at his side, a lion tattoo on his neck. Coming to a complete halt, he raised his hands above his shoulders, albeit with substantial difficulty and weakness as he still struggled to recover from his recent breakdown. When he’d finally remembered how to speak, Shuzo stammered weakly and quietly through a dry throat and shaky breath, responding to the man’s question in the same tongue.
“I-I’m sorry. I don’t want any trouble. I… I’ve just had a panic attack and have not fully recovered. I need help, so if you could let me pass, I promise not to get in your…”
As the haze in his eyes continued to disperse, the scene around him further unraveled, revealing to him what exactly was happening. His timid words faltered even more as his gaze foolishly yet instinctively wandered past the gunman and took in the sight of the warehouse in front of him. Several women, dragged around in groups by more men with the same suits and tattoos. Multiple crates into which they were forcefully loaded. Though the operation had not been paused by his intrusion, Shuzo now had many more eyes, and even some rifle barrels trained on him. The faint, hopeless whimpers accompanying the dim, ominous ambience soon registered in his ears, and as he fell silent, his eyes turned back to meet the first
yakuza who’d called to him. He’d still been groggy, but as he spoke his next words, his voice carried a layer of grim realization atop all of his fear and confusion, his bottom lip quivering ever so slightly as if he already knew the answers to the questions he was about to ask.
“Is this…
that kind of deal…? Are you…
yakuza?”
The gunman’s eyes narrowed upon hearing Shuzo’s inquiry, and his scowl deepened. He turned to look over his shoulder, seeming to exchange a glance with the other gang members for a brief moment. A few seconds passed, quietly and reinforcing the growing tensions, until finally, the yakuza member turned back and stared down the young, unstable teen before suddenly lunging forward and grabbing him by the wrist. Unprepared for such an instantaneous attack, Shuzo let out a shocked yell as he felt his body jerk forward, and he found himself now being dragged across the warehouse to where the other prisoners were taken. As he struggled feebly against the much stronger man pulling him against the concrete floor, he barely heard the yakuza member’s voice above his own desperate pleading.
“You saw us. You know what we’re doing. We can’t let you go, but maybe we’ll find a market for you along with the rest of our product.”
Upon hearing the crime syndicate’s plans for him, Shuzo felt his legs give way as the strength left his body. They were selling him. Likely for the same purposes provided by the women they’d originally been transporting. And for the third time tonight, he was overcome with a wave of light-headedness and nausea. His continued pleas, now begging for them to kill him instead, grew muffled in his own ears as his vision began to blur and fade with tears. Cursed with the inability to die, Shuzo would now spend the rest of it as even lesser than a human than he already felt.
It was truly,
truly inconceivable.
- - -
Shuzo.
Suddenly, Shuzo felt a deep, bassy thrum reverberate from his core, sending a static sensation coursing through his cells. Entirely inhuman, yet dreadfully familiar. His concern only grew when the corners of his vision began to fill with light that carried both sanguine and argent hues. Earsplitting peals of thunder resounded above the warehouse, immediately commanding the confused attention of the people inside as the lights in the ceiling of the warehouse began to flicker. There hadn’t been any projected rainy weather, let alone storms capable of producing such crashes. All the while, Shuzo began to tremble as his captor unknowingly loosened his grip, equally as confused as the other yakuza, and the light filling his irises pulsated and grew in intensity until--
Silence.
In the blink of an eye, Shuzo found himself in a completely white space, devoid of matter. He could feel every hair on his body standing on end, feel his heart pounding against his chest, hear the sound of his breath directly into his ears. The panic and anxiety overwhelming his senses had persisted in this other dimension, and he could only keep himself on his feet so long before his legs buckled once again. Falling to the “ground”, his confusion only grew as he looked around frantically, only to see the same white void encapsulating him. However, as soon as he could feel his mind on the verge of breaking once more, a voice spoke through the expanse, resonating both across the endless vacuum and straight into his aural nerves. It was deep, yet smooth. Unfamiliar, yet almost soothing.
“
Shh, it’s okay. You’re not alone. Breathe.”
What? Shuzo could feel his mind ask, but his lips couldn’t find the strength to part. There was no one here. Who was speaking?
“
It’s been rough, hasn’t it, Shuzo?”
How did he know his name? He still couldn’t see who the voice was coming from, and by rights, he should have had more than ample reason for his panic to amplify, contrary to what the voice said. And yet… Why had this voice somehow provided genuine comfort for the first time in his life since that day?
“
I’m watching over you. I know how much you’ve wanted to die, to escape this torture of a life. But I also see something in you, something that can give you meaning and purpose again.”
Meaning? Purpose? Words that he’d long forgotten. Things he’d wandered for years without. Finally, as he squinted through the white void, Shuzo suddenly saw a hand, open and outstretched, though the rest of the body remained yet to be seen.
“
Take my hand, Shuzo. I promise you, you just need to take my hand, and you will never be alone again. You will never hurt or struggle on your own again.”
Those words.
You will never struggle on your own. In an instant, Shuzo saw her face. Stared into her comforting, loving eyes. Felt her hands clasping his. Brushing through his hair. Wiping his tears. His own eyes began to well up, as he heard her voice intertwine with the one speaking to him. Part of him remained apprehensive, the countless scars of anxiety and depression warning him against something so unknown to him. A connection and bond that he could once again destroy with his own hands. And yet… the part of him that desired more than anything to feel whole after living a hollow life, the part of his mind that had just heard everything he’d wanted to hear for the past six years, nine months, and eighteen days, reached out a hand. Shuzo leaned forward, and as he felt himself take hold of the hand waiting for him…
His world went pitch black.
- - -
Shuzo slowly opened his eyes, and once he had fully come to, he found himself no longer in the warehouse on the docks, surrounded by yakuza in the middle of a sex trafficking deal. As he looked around, he instead saw familiar paintings hanging on the walls, potted flowers and plants on the kitchen counter that were now long dead and wilted. Roses. His mom had always loved growing those…
“...What?”
The pieces began to connect as Shuzo continued to look around. He recognized everything. The soft carpet he stood on, the one on which he’d remember laying on his stomach to watch the TV. Every minute detail his eyes could detect took him back to his old life, before… everything. If it hadn’t been for his confusion, Shuzo would have seen everything with eyes blurred with nostalgic tears. Alas, he remained disoriented at how he’d suddenly ended up back home, and what exactly had happened when he felt himself take the voice’s hand just seconds ago. As if on cue with his thoughts, he suddenly heard the voice speak behind him, much more personal, as if it were in the room rather than endless space, and when Shuzo turned around, everything was revealed.
“
Thank you for trusting me.”
Sitting on the leather couch before him, where his father once reclined to rest after work, sat a man, middle-aged. His facial features seemed to be of Japanese descent, and he wore a kind, warm smile on his face. However, Shuzo found himself focusing on a particular part of the stranger’s appearance: namely, the lustrous, silver hair on his head, and a similar hue shining in his eyes. Emanating around him was an aura of the same argent light, gentle and only barely radiating around his body, yet with a heavily imposing force that seemed to send a chill through Shuzo’s bones despite the distance between them. The man spoke once more, his voice as soft and soothing as it had been when Shuzo had first heard it.
“
I understand you have quite a number of questions for me, and I’ll be happy to answer them. But you’ve had a long night. Please, wash up and get some rest. We can talk in the morning.”
Shuzo blinked, attempting to fully process the man’s words. He didn’t even know who this was, why he’d offered to help him. Every moment had been one unexpected situation after the other. His primary concern at the moment was having his questions answered, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Shuzo’s exhaustion finally caught up to him. It was all he could do not to suddenly crumple to the floor, so without much argument, he staggered across the living room to head for the bathroom. After all these years, he still knew where everything was, and as he was about to pass through the door frame to his bedroom, he suddenly paused, leaning against the wall. He turned back to face the man in his living room, who raised his hand to send him off with a wave as his smile remained.
Shuzo wanted to say something--whether it was to thank him, perhaps get at least one question before he passed out. His mouth opened but failed to make a sound; yet somehow, the man seemed to understand--adding that to the list of things he knew about Shuzo--and chuckled softly before speaking one last time.
“
I’m sorry; I know this is all incredibly disorienting, especially considering how little you still know. I ought to at least give you my name before we talk again tomorrow.
You can call me Raikos.”
- - -
Sirens wailed through the night sky as police cars bustled down quiet streets. They parked at the old, abandoned warehouses near the Silver Sand Docks, and squadrons of officers soon exited the vehicles and fanned out, setting a perimeter around the building labeled “25”.
“Alright, set up a perimeter! We don’t know what caused those unnatural lightning storms, so stay alert and be ready for anything. Li, you’ll take your squad as well as squads 3 and 5 through the front with me, and CSI will follow close behind.”
The officers complied and made for their assigned positions, posting their forces outside the warehouse while the selected squadron began to enter the interior, firearms and flashlights ready. Per the Chief of Police’s instructions, they steeled themselves for what would await them. It wasn’t often one saw bolts of crimson and silver lightning arc through a cloudless sky, and with the recent increase in extraordinary events and the presence of people with superhuman abilities across the planet, being unprepared was not an option.
However, what the squadron saw when they finally arrived on the scene inside the warehouse truly surpassed all expectations.
The sight awaiting the police force could only be described as pure, unadulterated carnage. An eerie silence hung over the building’s interior as the officers stared, feebly attempting to take in what they were experiencing. The stench of scorched blood, singed flesh. The sight of flesh, viscera, and sanguine fluid strewn and splattered across nearly every once blank surface. The bodies, maimed, contorted, and burned. The inevitable wave of nausea passed through the squadron as they stepped carefully around them to scan the full area, suspended under the shadow of death.
Whatever force of inhuman nature had crossed this building had left no survivors; across the floor lay not only the corpses of seemingly armed men in suits, their neck tattoos barely recognizable through the blood and burned flesh as belonging to a recently discovered yakuza faction, but of young women, their lives unexempt from the slaughter. Crates once filled with sex trafficking prisoners were now opened, and not even the victims within had survived. Not a single officer exchanged even a word with their comrades, as it was all they could do simply to stomach the sight of it all. The silence continued to suffocate the police force for a few more, unbearably tense minutes before the Chief spoke into his walkie, though his usually composed voice now trembled the slightest bit.
“All clear. Outside forces, maintain the perimeter. We’ll let CSI conduct the investigations they need and be on our way as soon as possible. Whoever did… Whatever it is that did this is likely long gone.”
- - -
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! If you've been a part of or kept up with the original Paragon Acts 1 and 2 threads, you likely have noticed that this story has now diverged WAY off the course of what happened in the first established story, and indeed, this will be where Shuzo's story begins to take a turn into something new and closer to what I've now realized and intended for the character after years of writing with him in RP. However, I do not plan to go completely off the rails, and although it's very different now, you will still recognize some of the major plot points from Acts 1 and 2 in the future. Rest assured that this has all been written and organized as intended, and I hope that even though this may be different than what you've previously read about Shuzo Takeshi in the RP threads, you can still enjoy the journey I've prepared and curated for his standalone work. Thank you again, and I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your weekend o7