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Makoto’s life had changed so much, almost overnight it seemed. He had the same friends since childhood, and they always stuck together. When his parents got divorced, his father used his hard-earned money to buy a small, modern house for them to live in. It was quaint and reserved, but clean; at least, the exterior suggested to their neighbors that the people who live here aren’t flashy, not bland, but established. It was perfect; Makoto and his father loved their home. It was far away from their old apartment, but not too far away that he had to transfer from his old school.
“Things really have changed for the better,” Makoto thought reflectively. As he sat at his desk, staring out of his bedroom window at the starry summer night sky. “I wonder where life will take me from here on out,” he thought as he continued his nightly routine before bed. “Now I think I'll actually like going to school. There are so many new people to meet; it'll be different, but most of all, I’ve still got Kiyoshi and Asami.” Makoto moved through his nightly routine on autopilot, his mind free to wander instead of focusing on each step. “I can’t wait for school tomorrow.” Makoto’s final statement as he closed his eyes to drift off to sleep...
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Fuzzy, blurred images of food floated past and into Makoto’s vision—foods he had tried before in his new life: snacks from high school and his favorite egg salad sandwich for lunch. Even dinners his father would prepare for him if he had time after work. The smell and flavors blurred together from Makoto’s memories; he could feel his mouth watering in his sleep. Makoto had drifted further and further into his flavorful and memorable dream until he felt a downward kick hit his stomach.
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“WAKE UP,” a familiar feminine voice yelled. |
The moment the pain registered in Makoto’s brain, Makoto jolted awake; his eyes flew open, his dream dissolving instantly. Makoto groaned in pain as he faced the wall; shortly after, he looked over to the other side of the bed, where he saw Asami standing proudly after her attack on Makoto.
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“What the...hell’s wrong with...you?” Makoto was barely able to form proper sentences because of the pain.
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At this realization provided by Asami, Makoto jolted out of bed in a panic, stumbling around in his room to get his clothes to get ready. Just as he was about to change into his clothes, he remembered that Asami was still in his room. Looking up to look at her, she had an expression of “I’m still here, dumbass” with her arms crossed. Makoto immediately ran into his small closet to change into his school uniform.
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“I COULD’VE JUST LEFT THE ROOM,” Asami yelled at Makoto from the other side of the closet. “TOO LATE—I’m already changing!” Makoto shouted, his head tangled in his tank top. |
Mere minutes later, both of them were running out of the house; the time was 8:30 now, as Makoto told his father bye and what time he’d be back by.
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“BYE DAD, I’LL BE HOME AT AROUND 4:25,” Makoto shouted as he was about to close the door. “Yep, see ya, kiddo.” Makoto’s dad gave him an emerging thumbs up from the couch, facing away from the door. |
Makoto ran to catch up with Asami, as she was walking at a faster pace than usual, mainly because they were really late to school. The way to school wasn’t that long, only about a 15-minute walk; that is, a casual walk. At the rate Makoto and Asami were going, that walk would only be a 7-minute walk. As Makoto rapidly stepped to match Asami’s pace, he looked around his neighborhood at the consolidated scenery to see if there was anything new. Another thing Makoto liked is that the neighborhood was usually quiet, as if everyone paid attention to their own lives, while remaining relatively connected to other neighbors. Makoto loved everything about the neighborhood his father chose; even though the neighborhood was quaint, there was still an artful spirit there, and the architecture of each building was slightly different, the architect showing signs of their style. Some were taller and quieter in their modern structural color palette; others had a hint of modernization while still maintaining traditional Japanese architecture. Makoto appreciated it all; it inspired some of his own artwork as well. Most times, he would create sketches of an overview of his neighborhood houses. The sketches weren’t perfect, of course, but Makoto learned each time he sketched them.
* * * * * |
Several years prior... |
It was a rainy day, a glowing yet somber rain, illuminated by the various lights of Tokyo, some blue, some purple, but most yellow and red from the numerous cars that passed by each and every night, like a constant force of nature. In one of those cars was a man on a mission; he went into a taxi and handed an envelope to the driver, which said:
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("Take me to the abandoned warehouse outside the city, no questions asked, no record of this occurrence, and no "if you understand.") |
At this request, the driver looked behind him to the man, who only gave him an intense stare through his rectangular glasses.
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“Well?” The man said as he continued to stare. “Right away, sir.” The driver could barely compose himself to say that as he started to drive.
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“What the hell is this guy’s deal?” The driver thought to himself as he switched his view from the road to the rearview mirror to look at his passenger. The man in the back seat had a strict posture, as if he were always making sure that if anyone saw him, he’d appear his best, no matter the circumstances. His clothes were dark and appeared in an orderly fashion: a white button-up with a black tie and black formal shoes, all covered by a trench coat, ever so slightly wet from the droplets of rain. By his side sat a black briefcase, formal and clean just as its owner was. “Whatever his deal is, he’s got a freaky getup.”
Nearly an hour later, but what felt like several hours to the driver, they had arrived. There it stood, once tall and proud, an abandoned warehouse, beaten and exposed to the elements, untreated and nearly destroyed. There, the man stood at the curb of the city block, before the battered building before turning to the driver’s side window of the taxi.
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“This should cover it, thank you.” The man in black said as he handed the driver a 10,000 yen note. |
Shortly after, the taxi drove away, and only then did the man walk towards the warehouse, as if he were on a designated path programmed into him. He walked in a straight path, counting his steps along the way until he had counted 200 steps, where he then sharply turned 90 degrees to his right, where a blank wall was, and with confidence said
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“The mellow rain brings red tulips.” |
A few seconds passed before the line connecting the brick and mortar of the wall suddenly faintly glowed a neon light blue before moving out of the way, revealing an elevator door. Adjacent to the right side of it, a fingerprint scanner was mounted next to it; the man then took his thumb and pressed it on the scanner. Shortly after, a small chime dinged, and a feminine voice announced:
“山本さん、ようこそ” |
("Welcome, Mr. Yamamoto.") |
Briefly afterwards, the elevator doors slide open and the man walks into it. The elevator was circular, yet dark, with armored trimmings all around. Warm fluorescent lights passed by as the elevator descended more and more for what seemed like an hour. Finally, it had stopped, and the door slowly slid open to reveal a laboratory, not a laboratory of chemical research but of military research. Although humanity has achieved the goal of nearly maintaining life as a whole, there is still one major problem. Peace, world peace with other countries: In prior years, with the development of technology to enhance the life spans of nearly everyone on the planet, there grew a global hate for each country and continent. From then on, tension grew more. Japan realized the real possibility of war, so in order to combat the worries of the public, an underground development team of arms was hired by the government to produce a weapon capable of delivering peace, a weapon in the shape of a man. The man walked through the testing rooms where new technological weapons for soldiers were tested and critiqued by over viewers. He walked to the end of the large testing chamber to a narrow hallway; at the end of it was the stairway entrance. Walking down the steps, the man went deeper and deeper into the facility till he reached the room he’d been looking for and personally working in to contribute. It was a large room, much larger than the other rooms that he had passed by while walking down the corridors of the facility. In it, the room was nearly filled with research equipment and research on different weapons and firearms, including new technological ones produced inside the same facility. The man approached his working desk, where lay a sketch of his finished creation. A few feet past the desk hung his work in progress of the creation, the peacemaker, which was named from the sketch. The sketch says it is planned to stand at about 10 feet tall; its structure, purely geometric, is almost non-human-like in its design. If its limbs were not of manly appearance, its classification based on the design would be unknown. This machine, this creation of mankind, was not of its own creators but a separate entity, completely independent of humanity. For the first time, Yamamoto's eyes widened in awe of his creation.
“Don’t worry, my machine, your body will be complete with time. I’ll make sure of it.” The man said as he stared back at his sketch and research equipment before looking at the picture of young Kiyoshi on his desk.
Atticus Villanueva |
