[color=A9A9A9][h2]The Sharehouse[/h2][/color][indent]
And like that, Iwao went back to work, alone now in the kitchen. The silence was heavier now, the sharehouse as empty as it would ever be. Mochizuki didn’t return, and Aya just recently left. The radio droned on, switching to larger scale news. Politics. Elections. Corruption. Big enough that humans were numbers, enough to remind one that even though Tenoroshi may have been infamous for apathy, the outside world wasn’t much different. It took a lot to feel for someone you never knew.

Armed conflict in the Middle East. A hole in the atmosphere. A European heritage site set on fire. An oil spill in the Pacific. Small tragedies, building up to a quiet apocalypse. The radio continued to fill the silence, the silence continued to smother the mind. How long would it go on for? How many more until everything falls apart, breaking into molecular dust?

[i]Crack.[/i]

The plate broke, split in the middle in a perfectly straight line. Mochizuki’s plate. They used it to hold the greens tonight. His sister got it for him, didn’t she? So he stopped eating out of plastic containers.

“You just keep fucking up, huh?”

The radio dissolved into static.
[hr]
If she slept now, maybe she'd be hitting her REM cycle by the time Hiroyuki came back? Maybe he'd be tired too, but maybe they could exchange some words, snuggle up warm, and pretend that she hadn't messed up her sleep schedule just for the sake a stupid fantasy. Her, no, his room was as messy as always. Mornings and evenings never seemed to be Hiroyuki's times, really. For all his sharply-dressed outfits, he certainly didn't care to put them where they oughta be. The sweater he wore to sleep in laid at a bundle in the corner of the room. It was a present. Cost her a month's wages to get something from that foreign export boutique out in the Southwestern District, and even now, it wasn't so clear. Was it good that he was comfortable using it as loungewear, when he used to have none? Or was it bad that he never wore it when going out with her, or even going out at all?

Aya slipped in bed, soon enough, shifting to her side. Something hard pressed against her leg. Right, her phone. Should empty your pockets before sleeping. She brought it out of her pockets, and a note slipped out as well. Though she had a skylight in the room she shared with Hiroyuki, it was too dark to read by moonlight, or even by citylight. Above, the window looked pitch-black.

If she decided to turn on a light to read, the note's contents were simple enough.

[quote]Flying hand squashed building.[/quote]
A prank, maybe from Aya? That handwriting looked like her's though...
[/indent][color=A9A9A9][h2]Outside the Sharehouse[/h2][/color][indent]
It was the smell that hit Otoya and Fumiko first, the smell of garbage, freed from its odorless containers. A fishy, moldy, meaty stench, underscored by the knife-like scent of rust, iron, blood. Another dead stray? Another dead fucking stray, so close to their sharehouse? That cat killer was right beside their fucking [i]home[/i]? What the f-

A car drove by, headlights briefly illuminating the contents of the alleyway.

It was just a dead crow, wings twisted and feathers scattered all over the place, blood speckling the pavement. Above, the crows continued to dive down, some feinting, others swiping with their talons at a shape that darted from one corner to the next, bursting in and out of the spilled garbage like a soldier taking cover. Another crow dived down, but went too low. The creature leapt out, snatched it by the throat, and slammed it into the concrete. The crow twitched and squawked terribly, but more brutality followed, its body slammed to and fro by the alleyway creature until enough bones snapped that it no longer moved.

Above, the remaining flock circled or roosted, uncertain, and below, the two clubmates could see what the creature truly was: a rat. A rat of freakish size, its naked tail whipping about as it tore into the creature. It was a blessing, really, that the shadows were enough to obscure most of the large rat's features. Like seeing a fruit fly up close, like seeing a slug that had grown too big, it was uncanny, disturbing, to witness something become larger than what you think it should. And this one...this one was the size of a small dog, discounting its tail. Its teeth chitter-chattered, gnawing through flesh and into pulverized bone.

Another car passed by, momentary illumination lighting up its eyes, the fleshy gristle running down its chin, the scratches and naked patches of its hide. The car passed by. The shadows returned.

But the rat was no longer chewing.

It was staring out, towards the two that stood at the mouth of the alleyway.

And without any signal, any warning, it scampered towards them, claws clickering against stone.
[/indent][color=A9A9A9][h2]En Route to Western District[/h2][/color][indent]
Other than salarymen rushing to catch the train, or rushing to join their bosses in 'optional' after-work drinking parties, the streets of the Central District were fairly empty. Those who looked for edgier entertainment would go Southwest and hopefully not find themselves encased in concrete and tossed out under the docks. Those who looked for classier entertainment would go North and hopefully not find themselves bankrupt after indulging in one too many fancy snacks. And for the rest, the Western District was always willing to serve them with generations-old izakayas. No one hung around in the Central District for fun, after all.

Which made things just a little bit unnerving. Talk of disappearances within Tenoroshi seemed like a favorite topic of the radio host tonight, and there wasn't even a taxi for her to hail too. Not that there was a need to. She could see the station now, with its bright lights and slightly higher pedestrian presence!

Her shadow grew long. An unmarked vehicle slowed down beside her, and the tinted window scroll down, revealing a man with sunken cheeks and a thin nose. His hair was slicked back, like a yakuza enforcer, and his shark-like eyes stared into her very soul, assessing her worth as a human being.

"Da," Atsushi said, his voice accented by the Russian he had been practicing for the last coupe months. "Not good times to be stomping about alone, Aya. Need a lift to Tsunoda's?"
[/indent]