V1 Prologue
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Translator: Mira
Editor: Weasalopes
Those damn Filipinos were 40 minutes late already.
41 minutes now.
Kei Matoba glared at the clock in his car, clicking his tongue in frustration. Even though he was fairly lenient when it came to time, he couldn’t believe that they had the nerve to run this late yet continue to walk at such a slow, carefree pace. A bystander would’ve thought that they were just taking a stroll.
“Don’t get so pissed off, chief,” said Rick Fury, who sat in the passenger’s seat. “They’re the kind of guys that would show up late to their parent’s funeral. By getting angry, you’re just gonna wear yourself out.”
“I get it. I get it, but…”
Muttering in displeasure, Matoba checked his reflection in the visor mirror. He wore a Versace suit with a light, glossy finish. His slick black hair was brushed back, and his facial features were sharp and defined.
He hadn’t been home for two days already, and some stubble had begun to grow around his chin. His appearance resembled that of a broker, and just like the men that succeeded in that particular business, he dressed as if he were trying to mask the crudeness of his work by wearing expensive clothing.
“I have plans to meet with someone after this.”
“With a girl?” Fury asked.
Matoba paused for a moment to think about how to respond. He decided that it would be too much of a bother to explain what he meant, so he just went with it.
“I guess, yeah.”
“Man, I’m jealous. I haven’t had a proper conversation with my wife for an entire week now.”
“It really isn’t anything to be jealous of. The closer we get, the more we end up hurting each other.”
Fury let out a small groan and started laughing.
“Nah, that kind of stimulation is great in a relationship.”
“It isn’t great at all.”
“The troubles of young Kei Matoba, huh… Let’s go.”
“Ah, let’s get this over with quickly.”
Their dealer, the Filipinos, had arrived.
Matoba opened the car door and stepped into the dark alley. Fury followed after him, clutching the paper Subway bag that had been resting on his lap.
No one was around. The puddles left by the evening’s rain were illuminated by the streetlights, casting a soft white glow. The main street was bustling with people, the shops still busy and lively, but back here, it was already deep into the night.
The two Filipinos were alone. They both wore t-shirts. One held an old-fashioned cassette player, while the other held a black Boston bag.
Matoba and Fury walked toward them.
The Filipinos stared at them suspiciously. Matoba had a large build with broad shoulders. Fury was skinny and had narrow shoulders. Their appearances contrasted heavily as they stood side by side.
“So, you’ve got the money?”
Not even bothering to greet them, the Filipino with the “5-0” shirt spoke.
“Heh. Who the hell do you think you are, making us wait for an entire hour? I was shaking in my car, the cops could have shown up at any moment,” said Matoba, keeping his hands buried in the pockets of his slacks.
“Mister. Do you have the money or not?”
“Shut the fuck up. Did you bring the stuff? I only agreed to this deal because I heard that it was high quality. Now hurry up and show me it, you dipshits.”
Hearing Matoba’s words, the other Filipino, the one with the “peace sign” t-shirt, reddened with anger.
“Did you just call me a dipshit? Just now?”
“How many times do you have to hear it to understand? That’s exactly why you’re a dipshit.”
The man with the peace sign t-shirt glared at him viciously. Matoba glared back, unflinching. Sensing that they might get into a fight any second now, Fury cut in between them.
“Come on, cut it out. We’re here to do business. Stop this stupid argument and let’s just get this over with.”
Fury pulled a large wad of cash out of the paper bag. He held eight stacks of cash. Each stack contained a hundred 100-dollar-bills.
“Eighty thousand in total. No reason to cut the deal, eh?”
Their eyes glowed up. They tried to keep calm, but their eyes trailed along with every slight movement of the cash in Fury’s hand, like hungry dogs eyeing a piece of beef jerky.
“Understood? Now hurry up and hand it over.”
The man with the “5-0” shirt dug through his bag and pulled out a bottle made of tempered glass. It was around 30 centimeters long. On the tip of the bottle was a small compressor that emitted a faint buzzing sound. It was a sloppily installed machine that was designed to draw air into the bottle.
Illuminated by the soft glow of the street lamps, the “product” inside the glass began to move, floating in a bubbly, translucent fluid. Soaked in the Ringer’s solution, the tiny silhouette of a human could be seen.
It was in the shape of a naked woman. Her white arms and legs were thin and frail. Her golden hair wavered back and forth.
“What do you think? It’s a real fairy, mister.”
The figure in the bottle wasn’t a doll. It was undoubtedly alive.
Her palm was the size of a human fingertip. She touched the inside of the glass, stirring as she bathed in the faint light that shone upon the bottle.
“She looks weak,” Matoba said, carefully examining the creature inside the glass.
“No, no. She’s still perfectly healthy, mister. She’s just tired out from moving around, I’d guess. It still hasn’t been a week since she was caught.”
These days, it was incredibly rare to come across a fairy as healthy as this. By processing it using specialized equipment, one would be able to extract “fairy dust” of very high purity. It was a magical dust that induced an intense feeling of euphoria that not even cocaine or heroin could match. It sold for hundreds of dollars at street price, and one could make a small fortune by selling it on the routes outside of the city.
“Well, that’s a pretty high quality product you’ve got there. Don’t you think so, Kei?” Fury asked.
“Ah, it isn’t bad at all. That one hour was definitely worth waiting.”
Suppressing his nervousness, Matoba forced a smile. Fury smiled along with him, and the two Filipinos smiled as well. The four men stood in the dark alley, all grinning with satisfaction.
“Here, take your money.”
As Fury tossed over the bag full of cash, the smiles of the men grew even wider.
“Thanks, mister. Thanks.”
“You happy? I’m glad to hear that. Thanks to you, I’m happy as well. After all, this means that we can finally get down to business.”
Keeping the satisfied grin on his face, Matoba drew an automatic pistol from the holster under his suit and pointed it at the men. Simultaneously, he opened a pocketbook in his left hand and showed them the badge and ID that it contained.
“We’re from the San Teresa Police Department. You’re under arrest.”
The mens’ smiles froze up, but Matoba and Fury stayed grinning.
“Your crimes are abduction and human trafficking. That fairy isn’t a product. She is legally a citizen of the Semani world. Your crimes are grave. Now, place her and the money on the ground, put your hands above your head, and get on your knees.”
“Y-you’re a cop!?”
“See, I told you that you were dipshits. Now hurry up and do as I say. Put your knees on the ground. Do you even know what I’m talking about? ‘KNEES.’ You should’ve learned that back from Sesame Street, isn’t that right?”
Standing before the barrel of Matoba’s loaded gun, for a moment, the two thugs hesitated. They prepared to make a run for it, but quickly remembered that the alley was a long one-way path. Realizing that they wouldn’t be able to make it out unscathed, they exchanged a look—and finally, they got on their knees. The only way they could show resistance was by cursing them out.
“Goddammit, you fucking lied to us! Fucking shithead cops, fuck you!”
“Damn, why so vulgar? Rick, read them their rights.”
Aiming his gun with a steady hand, Fury walked up to the man with the peace sign t-shirt and shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ll let you do the honors, Kei.”
“Fine, I’ll talk to ‘em. Listen carefully, ok? You guys have the right to remain silent. So insults and vulgar words like ‘shithead’ that you spout out are just gonna end up being used against you in court. You also have the right to hire a lawyer. If you don’t have the money to do that… If you haven’t got any cash to throw at those clever little pests, the government will get you a court-appointed lawyer, though at that point they might as well be flushing the people’s hard-earned tax dollars right down the toilet. You should be thankful, you know? So thankful that you could cry? Go ahead, just fucking cry right now.”
“Fucking cops, go to hell!”
“Ahh, so you’re a brave one, aren’t you.”
Matoba handcuffed the man with the “5-0” shirt and yanked him up to his feet. Fury, restraining the man with the peace sign shirt, bent over to pick up the sack of cash and the Boston bag that had been left on the ground.
Now all they had to do was drag the thugs into the car and drive back to headquarters.
But that was when things began to get very strange.
Clank. Hearing this peculiar sound, Matoba immediately swung around. The man with the peace sign t-shirt, somehow freed of his handcuffs, had violently latched onto Fury.
How the hell did he remove the handcuffs?
The answer was right there. His wrists were lacerated and blood-soaked. He had pulled his hands out of the handcuffs with brute force, ripping off his skin and cracking his bones in the process.
“Ri-…”
It all happened too quickly. The man, who had been nothing but a puny thug up until that moment, closed his fingers around Rick Fury’s throat. And with the same level of force that he used to destroy his own wrists, he gripped down on it.
A muffled scream escaped from Fury’s throat. His neck bent at an unnatural angle.
“RICK!”
Matoba aimed his pistol at the man and fired without hesitation. The 9mm bullets dug deep into the man’s skin, and he shuddered with each shot.
He had been pierced by three hollow-point bullets. But still, he did not fall. In fact, he didn’t seem to feel any pain at all. He picked up Fury’s limp body and hurled it at Matoba.
“!!”
The body collided into him, carrying with it a force equivalent to that of a heavy sandbag flying through the air at dozens of kilometers per hour. He was launched backwards, into the wall. The impact forced the air out of his lungs. He felt faint.
The man—no longer a man, but some being, filled with monstrous power—looked at the two bags on the ground. He grabbed one—it was not the bag with the money that he picked up, but the one with the fairy inside.
“Wai-…”
Wait. He couldn’t get his words out through the excruciating pain that coursed through his body.
“Doreena meta baderi na (You pathetic barbarian).”
Glaring contemptuously at Matoba, the man with the peace sign t-shirt opened his mouth.
“I zarte meyaj, zona bereeya nicoshe genna yargo iye noi. Zona zaneean biye genna nerai. Beezennari, noze daal fiel mezeda demameya reme noi agshika (My newly captured servant will not be defeated by those puny toys you have there. I will now take back this woman. She was destined to enter my possession from the very beginning).”
He was speaking in Farbarnian, the language of those that lived on the other side. Those filthy scoundrels… This Filipino must have been possessed. Gritting his teeth, Matoba raised his pistol once again.
“Don’t fucking mess around with me, you alien. Now put your hands up and get on your—”
The man stretched his lips wide, forming a smile.
It was a brutish, murderous smile, a smile that those thugs would have never been able to make even if they tried. His eyes glimmered with bloodlust. It was a look that Matoba had felt before, long, long ago. It reawakened within him a memory that should have been buried in the past, back during the war.
He was going to be killed.
As he came to this realization, the man with the peace sign shirt swung around. Letting out a faint growl, he ran off. The sound of splashing water could be heard as he kicked his way through the puddles. Eventually, he vanished into the darkness of the unilluminated alley.
Matoba tried to chase after him, but the pain in his body was so severe that he couldn’t even stand up properly.
“………..”
The other Filipino—the one with the “5-0” shirt—had curled up into a ball in the corner of the alley, trembling uncontrollably. Gasping for air, Matoba shifted his gaze over to Fury, who had fallen over, onto him.
“Rick”
There was no response.
His spine crushed into pieces, Detective Rick Fury had met his end. His eyes were still open, but they showed no signs of life. Matoba’s loyal partner of four years had silently passed away, leaving no last words for him to hear.
It was supposed to have been an easy operation…
And what about his wife, who he hadn’t talked to for an entire week? What was he supposed to say to her now?
“Rick…… Goddammit”
Somewhere, off in the distance, he heard police sirens blaring.
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