BAndwagon victory.
***
Case of the Missing Lawmaker, Act I
Reconstruction is still going on in major parts of Kyoto. I see many construction robots wading their way clumsily through the streets, restoring the destroyed buildings under the supervision of humans in mechs. Despite the infrastructure damage and lives lost to the colony drop, and in spite of the war still ongoing just a hundred kilometres above their heads, a sense of normalcy seems to have returned to the people of Kyoto.
The worst is over. What else could happen? The war will end soon. Who cares what is going on in space?
All these thoughts, and countless others similar to it, are fostered by the media and politicians every day. It was not a year ago that Higashi was fighting for its own survival against the Indus Confederation; now they are treated as a distant memory, a defeated opponent fleeing where Earth's gravity cannot reach them. The cult itself remains public enemy number one, with constant televised reminders to report any sympathetic behaviour towards the Apostles. However, I can't help but feel that as long as the cult does not take any more overt action on Earth, the incessant warnings only serve to deaden the public's interest in the cult; it is fast becoming background noise amongst all the war propaganda that is being aired.
Speaking of war propaganda, as the train takes Erika and I towards Shijo, I spot a poster for Naim's upcoming movie. They'll be auditioning for a vital part next month; though most of the major roles have been cast, no one seems to want to play the character of the traitorous terrorist known as Hoshikawa Senya. Apparently the memory is still too fresh and too painful, especially amongst the Higashi that had adored the Shinari royals and have become the major creative force behind the movie. They're considering writing off the character, but it seems that the director had insisted he be kept in as a sequel hook for another movie where Naim can proceed to take bloody revenge for his beloved princess. It seems he's spending more time being a celebrity hero to the public than fighting at the frontlines nowadays.
“Perhaps I should audition for the part.” I mutter.
“Why not? It'd be funny.” says Erika. I frown at her, and she raises her eyebrows in return. “You were talking out loud.”
“Sorry. Oh yeah, Erika? Do you know anything about what happened to Kyrie?” No harm in asking. She might actually know something, since Shulgi is her uncle.
“Nothing, besides what everyone knows. You think she's...?”
“I know she is.”
“That's great.” There's a genuine smile on her lips, for the briefest second.
“I didn't think you were that close with her.”
“We had some talks about you, back at the academy.”
“Oh?”
“It's private stuff.”
And that, as they say, was that. Erika turns away to look out the window – it's clear I'm not going to get anything more out of her for now.
***
The urban legend about women being abducted in the changing rooms of a certain shopping mall have been circulating for more than a decade. I recall hearing the same rumour from my sister once; she had heard it from a friend of hers, and had been too frightened to go to any shops for weeks. I had checked it out in my spare time, with my friends, and found nothing of note. We did gain some... unlawful footage, footage that sparked the first blossom of adolescent curiosity in our barely pubescent minds. The things some people get up to behind the curtains of those cubicles...
Anyway, it looks like the rumours have continued unabated. They have taken on a more sinister twist lately – whereas the old story had the fate of the women unknown, the new one spoke of them being sold to an underground club where they were tortured and forced to perform for the pleasure of the club's members. Just recently, a blurry picture was leaked on the internet, as purported proof of the rumour's authenticity. It depicted a gloomy room dimly lit only by candles. A naked woman was suspended in the center of the room from her arms. She appeared to have no legs, just bloody stumps. The photo's condition was too poor to make out any more detail than that. Most of the internet community immediately denounced it as a hoax, a forgery to lend the urban legend more authenticity.
According to the files of the Department of Miscellanous Affairs, however, the physical profile of the woman appeared to match that of a subject of a missing person's case that had been reported nearly three months ago. Even so, there is no conclusive evidence. No one could identify the room in the photo, nor could the person who uploaded it in the first place be traced.
Which brings us to where we are now; the department is not taking any missing people in Shijo lightly, particularly if they are slightly more prominent members of society.
“So, which shop was it?” I ask Erika. She just keeps quiet and points ahead. I guess this means I'm supposed to follow her. We're in the largest mall in Shijo, Sunflower Complex. It had remained untouched by the war, and it is as crowded as ever. There are probably more than 5000 shops in here, though I only know the electronics and games-oriented ones. Fashionable clothes are a bit far from the sphere of my hobbies. The department had given us the budget to suit up normally, however, and both Erika and I are dressed up in the trendy, casual wear popular with teenagers nowadays. Though I blend into the crowd somewhat with my plain hoodie jacket, Erika turns the heads of the crowd with her silver hair, long legs and model-like looks.
“I should have kept the eyepatch.” I muse. “You're getting all the attention.”
“You should have,” she replies. “You looked cooler with it.”
“Too late for regrets now.” I have my right eye's vision blocked with an opaque contact lens. It's indistinguishable when I have it on, and seems to work just as well as an eyepatch does. Despite what I said, I do find it more comfortable to not have people staring at me in public. I'll probably be able to modify it with some extra functions when I have time, but the delicate equipment I would need to do so is somewhat difficult to acquire.
“We're here.” remarks Erika, stopping in front of a rather pink and lacy store. So it was this type of shop.
I look around desperately. “Do I really have to go in there?”
“It's your job.”
Sighing, I enter Madame Tuvalu's Etrurian Lingerie Boutique.
The experience is overwhelming; I don't know where to put my eyes. A female attendant comes up to us, beaming. I let Erika do all the talking. Judging from the police report, the detectives in charge have done all the questioning competently; there is nothing I would ask that they haven't already. Obviously, none of the staff said anything that would put them under suspicion. She looks around for the dressing room that the lawmaker was reported to have gone missing in. Picking up the sort of lingerie I'd never expect her to wear, she gives me a rather fake smile and walks into the room. Well, she can take care of herself... she'd probably still best me in a fight 7 times out of 10.
“I wish I could wear something like this...”
“Did you say something, Yua?”
“N-nothing. Please be focused on your work.” says Yua 2.0, uncharacteristically flustered at my question. My eyes dart around the shop while I wait, and fall upon a familiar looking pair of panties. Ah, yes. Kyrie had made me do her laundry once, and caught me staring at a similar pair halfway through. The less said about what happened next, the better.
“Se- Kurou!” whispers Erika loudly, poking her head out from between the curtains of the changing room. “Could you take a look at this?”
There are sniggers from all around as the customers and shop attendants glance at me. Turning red, I make my way towards the changing room at a brisk pace. Though I hesitate right before going in, Erika grabs me and pulls me inside. Thankfully, she's still fully clothed.
“What is it?”
“I sense something wrong, but I can't make out what it is.”
I nod, understanding the situation. This is when my ability comes in handy. I breathe in deeply and activate it. The world turns still as my senses become manyfold sharper than usual. I can feel Erika's body heat radiating strongly from her in this cramped space. There's something off about this room. The police had checked the room thoroughly for any signs of hidden chambers or passageways, but found nothing. I can tell that there is nothing like that in here, but there is something else that they had missed.
The mirror is slightly, strangely hollow. Of course, there would be no place for anyone to hide inside, but it was a compartment nonetheless. There could be an important clue within. Erika had sensed the subtle distortion of her image within the mirror due to its construction, but couldn't put words to it. I run my fingers along the smooth reflective surface, tapping it, but find no purchase for to pry it open. It's extremely well-constructed, so seamless that even if I were to use my tendrils I would not be able to slip them between the glass and its frame.
“Break it?” asks Erika.
***
A. It's unlikely we'll get official permission to confiscate it – and we are not operating in any official capacity whatsoever anyway, so we can come back to investigate the mirror later at our leisure, after the shop is closed.
B. I try to talk the shop's manager into selling us the mirror. We do have a really nice, sumptuous budget to work with; to be honest, I could probably buy half of the lingerie on display casually if I so desired.
C. This might be a red herring; I'm overthinking things. There's probably other explanations for a weird mirror. I should approach the case from another angle instead and not waste my time with this.
D. Break it.
