Fukusha Model Eight – Chapter 7

It’s only a twenty-five minute walk to my apartment building from the fights, and it’s the longest time Rin and I have ever spent together not talking. I feel absolutely sick, my stomach churning and my brain trying to understand this new Rin compared to the old one I was used to. What changed in the last three months? I thought for certain he would come back from his mission either ecstatic to see me or I would never see him again.

That was always a possibility.

His mission was a lot more dangerous than mine. He was going to renounce Kiiroi Yama and try to pledge his loyalty to Shiroi Nami. This is not something that’s easy to do with an underground corporation like Shiroi Nami and a corporation in power who would do anything to see Rin in the grave like Aoi Uma. He really shouldn’t be here with me.

Should I say something?

“So did you accomplish your mission?” I ask as I glance behind us. Only one of Haku’s men followed us, and from the slump of his shoulders, he looks bored.

“Yeah. The response has been good.”

I blink a few times at him. “The response to our proposal?”

“Of course. What else would we be talking about?”

Okay, now I’m suspicious. Those instincts I’ve talked about before? They’re blinking and flashing like a strobe light. Why is he dodging my questions?

Thinking of Haku’s man following us, I push further into Rin’s personal space. We used to walk through the streets holding hands or with his arm over my shoulder. If he’s going to dump me or get rid of me, I’ll see how he responds to this.

I slip my arm through his and hug him to me as we walk. He smiles for a moment, his eyes warmer than they’ve been for the last twenty minutes. My heartbeat slows a bit.

“I can’t wait to spend real time with you. I’ve missed you.” Saying this is going out on a limb and so unlike me. That should tip him off that I’m testing him.

“I’ve missed you too,” he says, but there’s no emotion to this statement.

Fuck.

Don’t be paranoid, Yumi.

I eye him for a long moment, trying to read him like he’s been able to read me. His speech is abrupt, and I’m not used to him being so without emotion. Granted he’s always formal and quiet around others, but he had opened up to me after we slept together.

Maybe I didn’t know him at all.

We arrive at the flophouse, and I usher Rin inside before I lose my nerve. As we walk up the stairs, avoiding Yamazaki who got so high he couldn’t even make it to his apartment and passed out on the landing, I think about the layout of my one tiny room and what I can use to my advantage if things go south. I never thought I’d feel in danger around Rin, but my whole body prickles with those fight-or-flight instincts he so keenly pointed out in Shin-Osaka.

At my door, I press my index finger to the padlock, and it opens.

“Wow, this is where you live, Yumi?” Rin focuses on the door, the dirty floor, and weak light of the hallway lamp. Mirana’s apartment is dark and quiet. They’re probably all asleep in there.

The stairway creaks, and before I can even open the door, Haku’s man appears on the landing.

“Get out,” I say to him, jerking my chin in his direction. “I’ve done what I was supposed to. Are you going to watch now?”

His cheek jumps. “Can I?”

“Fuck off out of here.”

He shrugs, and I wait for him to descend the stairs and for the front door on the building to open and close.

“What was that all about?” Rin asks, leaning to the side and glancing up and down the hall.

“Nothing.”

I open the door, and Ninjin jumps up from his spot on my bed. Yes, I let the dog sleep on my bed. If people want to judge me for it, go right ahead.

Except, he’s confused. As Rin slips inside, Ninjin’s ears flatten to his head, and he backs up to the wall, his tail wagging low behind him.

“Ninjin, this is Rin,” I say in the sweetest voice I can muster. I go to him first, smoothing out the top of his head, and calming him down enough for him to sit.

“You got a dog?” Rin asks, his eyes sweeping over the room.

“Yeah, of course. It was Okamoto’s idea, remember?” Rin sat in the same room I did when Okamoto decided I needed a dog for protection. Despite his reticence with dogs, he had agreed, as long as I was okay with it.

I pause for a moment, wondering if my memory is playing tricks on me again. I don’t trust it anymore.

“Sorry,” he says, pushing his sleeves up. “I must have forgotten.”

All of my muscles lock up. His sleeves. His arms. I know every last centimeter of Rin’s body intimately. I spent hours in bed next to him, tracing all his scars, memorizing them.

His skin is as new as a baby’s.

This is not Rin.

Oh no.

I’m back in the market in Shin-Osaka, the day Rin and I went shopping for food for dinner that night with Shintaro and Kazuo. I shopped on my own, and then I saw Rin from afar, way down the street, and I couldn’t get to him with the crowd in the way. He was talking to a woman I didn’t recognize and he…

That’s what bothered me at the time, and I didn’t even realize it until now. He had been in his Kiiroi Yama uniform though we had left the apartment in our casual clothes that day.

It wasn’t him.

This isn’t him.

They may have gotten the head scar and all the imperfections of his face right, but they didn’t have access to what lay beneath his clothes.

This is an android.

Move, Yumi!

“Why don’t you sit down and get comfortable? I can’t wait to hear everything about your mission and what’s coming next.”

If this were Rin, he would sneak up behind me, wrap his arms around my waist, kiss my neck, and tell me I’m a horrible liar.

“Sure,” he says, kicking off his shoes. “Is this building usually this quiet at night?”

He’s sizing up the place, wondering how easy it’ll be to kill me here and get away with it.

“Come, Ninjin,” I say, leading him off the futon and over to the sink with me. “Make room for Rin.”

Rin crosses to the bed and sits while I head to my tiny floor table that’s my ‘kitchen.’ Next to the rice cooker, I keep a container full of knives, forks, and chopsticks. It has a lid on it, sealed tight, so Ninjin couldn’t open it and hurt himself.

“Want something to drink?” I ask, kneeling at the table. “I have shochu we can sip. No ice, unfortunately.”

Rin looks around the room. “I guess not. You don’t even have a fridge. How do you live like this?”

I close my eyes for a moment to steady myself. Shit shit shit. They even got his voice right. Am I sure this is an android? What if he finally had plastic surgery to fix his scars?

No. Not Rin. He hated all of that stuff, the vanity of his peers. He didn’t want to be vain either which is why he shaved his head to prevent androids from grabbing his hair and trying to scalp him.

“Oh, you know. It sucks but what was I supposed to do?” I open the container where my knives are and sort through it, making sure my body is blocking Rin’s view. “I had to do what I was told.”

Rin is silent behind me as my hand curls around one of my better kitchen knives, the one I usually sleep with. This one has about the same heft as the family heirloom I left behind with Shintaro, and it will make the best weapon I could hope for right now. Haku probably has a gun somewhere in his apartment, but that won’t help me.

Ninjin growls and backs against the sink.

“How did you figure it out?” Rin whispers.

I jump up and twirl around, my heartbeat on fire and blood singing in my veins. He lashes out, and the knife flies across the room.

I crouch down, my hands out to fight. “You should stick to people who aren’t already alive with their own scars to show for it.”

Ninjin barks, crouches down to pounce, and growls.

This Fake-Rin nods. “We had a feeling that would be it. You did sleep with him.”

He lunges for me, and despite the alcohol I consumed earlier at the match, I move quickly. Coming up from below, I aim for his stomach. I know it won’t do much, but androids can fall down. Then they have to get back up again. It’s a few seconds of time I can use to my advantage.

I drive all the force I have through my legs and up into a tackle hit that throws Fake-Rin to the side. My legs are strong now after three months of hiking, walking, and lifting weights, and I can deadlift and squat fifty-five kilos.

I’m not the small weakling Aoi Uma saw last.

Fake-Rin grabs my shirt and tosses me, slamming me into my dresser drawers. I cry out in pain, and my scream sets off Ninjin. He lunges at Fake-Rin, his sweet dog voice a mix of vicious anger and rage. He sinks his teeth into Fake-Rin’s arm and pulls, knocking him off balance again.

I scramble for the knife. Where did it go?

My attention is called to the door as footsteps pound up the stairs, and Mirana’s baby cries across the hall.

I consider for a millisecond that I may not want the help of anyone around here who would come to my rescue. But I’ll ask questions later.

“Help!” I scream. Ninjin squeals as he’s hurled across the room, and my vision turns red. No one hurts my dog and gets away with it.

A fist flies out and takes me across the jaw. I whirl around and fall to the floor with Fake-Rin right on top of me. He weighs a ton, and I burble out a strangled cry looking at him.

This is the man I’ve dreamt about the last three months. I saw these eyes in my daydreams. I heard this voice during my quiet moments.

Yumi, stop!

No. This is not Rin.

“Where’s the data device?” he demands, slamming my head against the floor.

Ninjin, obviously made of firmer stuff than me, lunges for Fake-Rin’s leg again. I look right, and I can just discern the shape of the knife under the dresser. The door to my apartment shakes as someone tries to open it, but the padlock is on this side.

“Yumi!”

I know that voice. Is that —

“Kazuo!” I scream back.

Ninjin lunges again, and this time he gets Fake-Rin right on the side of his face. He grabs Fake-Rin’s ear between his jagged teeth and pulls. Fake-Rin is thrown off kilter. I scream, terror coursing through me as I reach for the knife, get my fingers around it, and stab right for the android’s eye.

The blade sinks into the ersatz flesh, blood running down the handle to my hand as I push harder in. The eyeball pops, a whiff of smoke follows the blood.

It’s almost not enough, though. Fake-Rin jerks and claws at me, half-blind and only a small fraction of his circuits down. I can’t get his weight off of me, and his hands are too strong as they head for my neck. Ninjin barks, his voice raspy with fatigue.

“Yumi!” This time it’s Saki’s voice calling from outside the apartment.

“Kick! It! In!” I gasp, clutching at Fake-Rin’s hands around my neck.

With a thud, thud, bang, the apartment door flies open, and Kazuo leaps in. He draws his sword and cuts Fake-Rin’s head off so swiftly the android didn’t have time to move.

The head rolls away, and Fake-Rin’s body falls on me, smoking and popping. I push away his hands and kick at his body as Kazuo pulls him off.

“Ninjin, hush,” I say, holding out my arms to him. He’s barking enough to wake the whole neighborhood. “It’s okay. Shhh. He’s dead.”

My hands are covered in android blood. Is it even real? I turn them over, front and back, looking at them. What the hell happened?

Ninjin comes to me and whines, licking my face and trying to put his body between me and Kazuo sheathing his sword.

Kazuo kneels down, pulling me to him for a hug, sandwiching my dog between us.

“Thank the gods you’re okay,” he whispers in my ear, and I hug him even tighter before letting go.

I pull back to look at him. His hair is longer than he likes it, and he hasn’t shaved in a week. But this is definitely him. The passion and fear in his voice gives him away.

“I’ve been following this… thing for a week now. He lost me earlier today, and it took me a few hours to catch up with him again.” Kazuo smoothes back my hair and holds my head in his hands, swiveling it left, right, and up to check me for damage, something he’s done since I was a clumsy kid. He glances at the dead android with Rin’s likeness, headless on the floor. “He didn’t fool you, did he, kako?”

I shake my head, and tears fly from my face. I didn’t even realize I was crying.

“Where’s my Rin? What is this thing?”

Ninjin leaves me and greets Saki at the door with the man she was with at the fight. He takes off his baseball cap and runs his hand through his hair, sighing at the mess on the floor of my crappy room. Mirana pokes her head over his shoulder.

“Is everything okay in there?” she asks, her baby’s cries subsided now that Ninjin isn’t barking anymore.

“You should go back to your apartment,” Saki’s friend says. When he turns to the side, everything clicks together, and I recognize his profile.

I point to him. “Samurai Seven.” I look at Kazuo. “He’s the guy in the video.”

“Hi. I’m Shun, and we have to go.” His voice has the same insistence he had in his video. What did he say? “We are the Samurai Seven, and we will not stop until Narumi Ogawa and her entire corporation are in jail.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Kazuo nods as he stands up and hefts me to my feet.

“And we all have to get out of here before your landlord comes back with his mafia friends. They’ve betrayed Kiiroi Yama, and this place will be crawling with Aoi Uma people in no time.”

Kazuo’s eyes dart around the room until he locates my duffel bag.

“We’ll go watch the front door,” Saki says, directing Shun with her. Ninjin trots back to me. I’m glad to see he’s unharmed from the earlier fight.

“Here,” Kazuo says, shoving the bag at me. “Pack up quickly. Don’t leave anything valuable behind including the data device. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

My eyes fill with tears again as I wipe my bloody hands on the bedsheets and look at the dead android. “Where’s Rin?” I ask again.

“Hurry, Yumi,” Kazuo urges me, emptying out my dresser.

“Where are we going?” I shove the meager supply of clothes I have into the bag and a few of Ninjin’s chew toys too along with my tablet. Then I pry up the loose wooden floor slat that hid the data device from a casual search. I exhale a relieved sigh when I find it’s still there.

Kazuo takes my bag and hands me Ninjin’s leash. “We’re going to rescue Rin.”