Fukusha Model Eight – Chapter 1

My eyes blur, and I yawn as I scan the page. I don’t know how many more times I can scroll through this forum before I’m well and truly bored with everything here. I thought for certain that when Atsumi started posting my videos three months ago, I would see a lot more chatter about me and my fellow shipmates. But a revolution got in the way of my five minutes of fame.

Not that I’m complaining. I never wanted to be famous.

The ruckus of metal pots crashing to the floor and a woman’s scream rips through the apartment building, and my heart rate skyrockets. Ninjin, the new addition to my life, jumps to his feet and barks at the door as I scramble for the kitchen knife I sleep with and press my back to the corner of my room.

“Ninjin, hush,” I command him with the lowest voice I can manage. I hold the knife at the ready, my eyes darting to the door and back to the window. Will we have to escape out the window this morning? There is no fire escape. The door, the window, the door, the window. My eyes burn from lack of sleep and the constant state of adrenaline my body produces.

“Fuck you!” A woman’s voice shouts as she races past my room. Her footsteps pound down the stairs, and the front door opens and slams shut. I don’t hear anything else.

Closing my eyes, I press my forehead to the handle of the knife and count to one hundred. With each passing number, I question my own sanity and the sanity of those people who put me here in this situation. Why am I here again?

Because someone, somewhere thought this was a good idea.

And I’m pretty sure it’s Atsumi’s fault. Rin said this would be difficult, and I would be on my own, but I didn’t bargain for this.

When I sigh and bring the knife back down, Ninjin huffs and lays his skinny head on my lap.

“Hungry?” I ask him scratching behind his ears, grateful for the normalcy of this routine. He lifts his deep brown eyes up to look at me, and I chuckle. “Of course you are. You’re always hungry.”

With shaking knees and hands, I jostle Ninjin’s head off my lap, climb out of the corner of my bed, and take one more sip of my weak and bitterly unsweet coffee before I get us some breakfast. Across the tiny room, my rice cooker sits on a low rickety table next to the only food I keep in this rotten hellhole I call my apartment. It’s just one room with the sink, the table, a set of drawers, and a hand-me-down futon mattress on the floor in the corner. No refrigerator. No bathroom. I share two toilets and two showers with five other apartments on the same floor. Shintaro thought his old apartment in Shin-Osaka was a dump? He would absolutely refuse to even walk in the door of this place.

So far, the Southern Continent hasn’t endeared itself much to me besides its continent-wide ban on androids. I haven’t run across one since moving here. No Kiiroi Yama kenryōshi chasing errant androids down in the streets. No repair shops. No one here even talks about them. Shiroi Nami, when they ruled this place, banned androids. They put it in the continent’s laws, and those laws have never been overturned.

I take a deep, cleansing breath as I grab two bowls from my stack of clean dishes and open the rice cooker. Ninjin trots up next to me his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

“As usual, I don’t have much for you, but I’m sure you’ll get your fill of carrots later at the noodle shop.” It’s the reason I named him Ninjin in the first place. The dog has a thing for carrots and any other scrap I can give him while I’m working in the kitchen at my day job. Fourth Avenue Noodles will be open in a few hours, and he can wait until then to feast. Me, on the other hand? I need to eat because Saki is due to arrive here in about twenty minutes for our morning hike.

I empty the rice cooker into our two bowls and add a pre-seasoned hunk of tuna on top of each. It’s not much, and honestly, I have actual money to buy four-course meals at the fancy restaurants, but I’m supposed to be ‘poor.’ I’m undercover.

Setting Ninjin’s bowl on the floor near the door, I stand at the threshold and listen to the hallway while I eat. Rolling out my aching neck, I breathe deep and try to calm my body down. This routine is getting harder every day I do it. In the beginning, I could calm down within a minute. Now, I take five or more. My psyche is stretched paper thin.

It’s early and many of my fellow flophouse mates are asleep or gone. The pimp two doors down doesn’t come home until late morning. He’s one of the lucky ones who has work to do every day, as sad as that is. The woman across the hall caring for two kids panhandles on the busiest street in Kitakyushu. One of her kids cries while the other gets ready for school. I unlatch my padlock and crack the door enough to see the oldest leave, his backpack on, skinny legs jutting out from the bottom of ragged pants.

Ninjin whines at me, his bowl already licked clean. I lock the door again, finish my meager meal, and squat down to rub his ears and kiss his forehead.

“Sorry. I promise some fake chicken scraps later.” I know it’s not the same as real chicken, but it’s not like he’s ever known any difference.

He whines again, inching closer for some more love. I sigh as I wrap my arms around him, his short, brown fur warm and surprisingly clean. I haven’t hosed him off in a while, so I’m not sure how he’s keeping himself so dirt free.

“I miss Rin,” I whisper to him. “I wish he were here.”

I miss Rin, yet I try not to think of him too much. When I left the Northern Continent, I was in Atsumi’s hands, and he was in Okamoto’s. I’m sure he’s not thinking about me because he’s doing his job. I miss Kazuo because I know he’d never be okay with this, but he’s also in Okamoto’s hands. I even miss my asshole brother, Shintaro, because he’d be the first to agree with me. This deal stinks.

When the riots erupted in Shin-Osaka and we hunkered down in that little house to the south of the city, I thought maybe we’d be heading back to the city to help calm the populace. Nope. No such luck.

I sink the tips of my fingers into Ninjin’s fur and scratch him up and down his sides. This is his favorite, and he rests his head on my shoulder, panting away.

“Ah, that’s a good boy,” I say, standing back up. “Okay, we’re going to get dressed, clean up, and meet Saki for a hike, yes?”

Ninjin barks once, and I laugh as I shush him. The neighbors will be all over me if they hear him barking. This place is practically made of cardboard, the walls are so thin.

After washing up and cleaning the bowls in my tiny sink, I figure I’ll check the message boards in the forum one more time before I leave. I’m still waiting for a signal from Atsumi that I’m clear to meet up with a Shiroi Nami representative. Unfortunately, due to the riots in Shin-Osaka, my first contact, the man who bid on me and I named Five, was killed not long after I sat down with him for ambivalent coffee. Finding a new Shiroi Nami representative on the Northern Continent became an impossibility after that. Rin and Atsumi tried, but after a short while, I volunteered to leave for Kitakyushu and hope for the best.

My heart constricts as I scroll through the five message boards I spend the most time on and see nothing new, nothing from Rin except his farewell message three months ago with the promise of a swift reunion. He’s undercover as well, trying to find out who I should talk to in Shiroi Nami, but he’s doing it on the other side of the continent, far, far away.

Ugh. I run my fingers through my greasy hair and groan. I just need to talk to Shiroi Nami! Why are they so hard to find?

The rest of the text threads are filled with murmurings about Kiiroi Yama’s attempts to overthrow Aoi Uma. Kiiroi Yama, as the mercenary and police corporation, has a lot of muscle behind them, but Aoi Uma, manufacturers of androids and their new, fearsome Fukusha Model Eights, can fend off any attack. Narumi Ogawa, CEO of Aoi Uma, is in hiding, ruling from on high, never showing her face. The CEO of Kiiroi Yama, Yori Okamoto, takes press conferences in the open. Aka Matsuba is but a mere memory now, its own CEO, Buichi Tamura, dead and gone.

“She can’t hold them off forever.”

“I’m looking for a missing family from Matsubara Ward. They’ve been gone for a week.”

“Someone has been stealing my credits. Bet it’s that bitch Ogawa.”

“Have you ever wondered if there was a Fukusha Model Seven? They went from Six to Eight.”

“Did you see Yumi Minamoto’s latest video? She’s actually dating a native!”

That post catches my eye for a moment, and my breath halts. They’re referring to the video diary I made in the market the day Rin and I had that disastrous dinner with Kazuo and Shintaro. Rin and I had gone to the club, and we slept together. I wonder what Rin thinks of that video being live for everyone to witness. I debate watching it myself. I want to see Rin’s face and hear his voice so badly. But I stop my finger from navigating to it.

Instead, I go back to Rin’s last message to me. I run my fingers through my cropped and dyed brown hair and read, “Dreaming of you, dancing all night. Stay safe. We’ll be together again soon.”

I read it again and again, moving my lips to form the words and imagining him saying them in real life. Closing my eyes, I try to remember his eyes, his crooked smile and how it shifts into his cliff’s edge cheek. I groan as I clutch the tablet. My memories of him are fading. Three months and several migraines later, I’m having trouble remembering his voice, the way he walks. It’s like a word on the tip of my tongue that I just can’t bring forward. Rewatching the two videos I have of him doesn’t help. It’s not enough to keep the memories alive.

The lights flicker and die in my room, and the local tablet access point blinks off.

“What the… Really?” I look up at the ceiling light and silently curse as voices rise in the hallway. Now? Is he kidding me?

The baby’s cries from across the hall grow louder, and Ninjin’s ears prick up. I cross the floor quickly to sprint brush my teeth, throw on a pair of socks, grab Ninjin’s leash, and slip into my shoes at the door.

Opening the padlock on my side, I edge through the door and install the lock on the outside. I can’t believe this is my very first apartment and I’m subjected to this? This piece of crap? Dirty and rundown, no fancy, microchipped locks here. We only get a padlock, and the batshit crazy and homicidal landlord can break in whenever he wants. This is why I have Ninjin. I have no idea how much money he cost Okamoto, and I don’t care. He’s the only thing keeping me from mainlining amphetamines and staying awake all day and night to make sure no one tries to slit my throat in my sleep.

Why? Because I am a pain in the ass.

Outside my room, the mother from across the hall opens her door.

“What the hell is his problem now?” she asks me. I search for her name, also on the tip of my tongue. Why are names so hard to remember? “Did you pay your rent?” Her voice is accusative.

“Of course I did.” She doesn’t need to know I paid for an entire six months in advance. Plus extra for protection. “Did you?”

She huffs, folding her arms over her grease-stained shirt. Mirana, that’s her name. “That’s none of your business.”

I raise my eyebrows at her, the one habit I picked up from Rin. I try not to think about that.

“Sorry,” she says, softening. “The baby was up all night. I haven’t slept in three days. And I need the electricity to lull her to sleep. She can’t sleep without the fan on.”

I sigh, knowing the young kids I see here on this godforsaken continent are the future of these people… my people. They certainly aren’t having them back in Shin-Osaka.

“I’ll go talk to him. If anyone isn’t paying rent, it’s Yamazaki. He’s been high for five days straight.”

“I know,” Mirana says, shrugging her shoulders. “I’ve heard. I wish he would quit.”

Yamazaki is the man living at the end of the hall, closest to the stairs. His wife left him, and he lost his job, caste, and rank back on the Northern Continent. An outcaste now, he came here two years ago to disappear, like most people in this section of town. Immediately, he succumbed to a gambling and drug addiction, falling into debt to the yakuza. He works construction, also run by the yakuza, and spends all his money on a street drug called daruka. When he’s high, he lets me talk to him and record him. When he’s sober, I avoid him. He doesn’t even remember my name.

“Yeah, well, when your dealer lives right downstairs, it’s hard to quit.” I shorten the leash on Ninjin. “I’ll go talk to Haku.”

I’d give anything to have my knife right now, but after losing it at K&G Noodles and regaining it during our stay in the countryside afterward, I gave it to Shintaro for safe keeping. It seemed irresponsible to lose a family heirloom over and over. Ninjin will have to do.

Down the stairs, I avoid the right side that always feels like it’ll cave in and approach Haku’s door.

Deep breath, Yumi.

I lift my fist, count to two, and bang on the door.

“Fuck off!” Haku bellows from inside his apartment.

“There are people in this building who still need electricity,” I yell at the door. “You can’t punish everyone just because you’re having a shit day.”

I tap my foot and look down at Ninjin. He’s happily oblivious to any problems. God, I love this dog.

“I’m going to get you a double helping of fake chicken later,” I whisper to him before making a kissing noise. I raise my voice, “I mean it Haku. Mirana needs a fan to keep the baby quiet and asleep. You don’t want a screaming baby all day, do you?”

The door opens, and Haku dominates the open space. I thought Akikazé was a beast of a man, but this guy puts him to shame. There’s a reason why Haku works for the mob. He’s at least five times my size and every available piece of skin save his hands and face are covered with tattoos. The grimy white T-shirt he wears barely covers his rotund belly, and he reeks of ten-day-old booze. Just past him through the door I can see his latest girlfriend sleeping on the couch half naked. Of course, his apartment has electricity. That’s why the breaker box is in his bedroom.

“I don’t give a fuck about screaming babies. And you should mind your own business, Oda.”

I always have to remind myself to use my mother’s maiden name. The Minamoto habit is hard to break.

“I know for a fact that she’s paid the rent and so have I. So what’s your problem?”

He grasps the doorjamb and leans towards me. I want to flinch, but I should stand my ground.

“Plenty of people haven’t paid rent, and I don’t feel like going through the books to figure out who did and who didn’t. So, you all suffer until I get paid.” He rubs his fingers together, an anachronistic gesture that used to be associated with paper money.

“And besides, I’ve told you a million times. No dogs.”

I roll my eyes. “I paid you six months of rent in advance and extra for the dog. Turn the fucking electricity back on.”

“You don’t tell me what to do or how to run my business.”

I take a half step towards him. “Are you really that dumb?” I drop my voice to a whisper. I’ve had it with this guy and his ego and his tattoos and his drugs and his psycho personality. “You don’t want to give me a hard time. Understood? My money is good here, and the people who put it in my bank account expect you to be fair. The last thing you want to do is piss them off.”

“Do you know who I am?”

I hear the door to the building open and close behind me, but I don’t turn around.

“Seems to me I’m either talking to a smart man who turns the electricity back on for the entire building, or I’m talking to a dead man, and considering I talk to my dead best friend all the time, I don’t see how this is any different.”

“Yumi, is there a problem here?” Saki, my new friend and coworker, walks up next to me. She may not look like much, but I can count on her in a fight. And Haku knows it too. One of his favorite pastimes is betting on the Friday night fights. Saki has brought down her fair share of opponents.

“No problem. Isn’t that right, Ninjin?” Ninjin blesses me with his happy dog smile.

“I don’t take orders from outcastes living in flophouses. This is my building, and I’ll do what I want.”

“Turn the power back on and don’t be an asshole. You don’t own this building, but I know who does.”

“You’re messing with the wrong person,” he says, leaning in and poking me in the chest. I try to firm myself up and stand up to him though I’m not sure why I’m taunting a pimp and a drug dealer. “Your friends may be powerful, but I’m only one floor away, and they’re on another continent. I don’t let little girls push me around, especially ones who threaten my livelihood. Remember that.”

“Turn on the power or I’ll become your new landlord.” I make strict eye contact with him, knowing this might lead to my death. Rin told me I’d have to be strong. Here I am being stupid.

“We’ll see about that.”

I turn and lead Ninjin and Saki away, down the hall, and out the building door into the early morning heat.