

The Real Thing

Jacob Prytherch

Copyright 2015 Jacob Prytherch

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Text copyright © 2012-2013 Jacob Prytherch. All Rights Reserved. No copying or redistribution of this text may occur without the consent of the author. This is a work of fiction, all resemblance to actual people, names, places and events is coincidental.

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

The Real Thing

Prologue

The lights of the neon maze of Techosaka flared and dappled the surface of the cubed snow that surrounded him as he drifted downwards. Where it touched his skin its razor sharp edges opened a bloom of deep red.

A life lived, a life loved, a life lost.

Chapter 1

Roman Rasnic – 'fixer' and felon – flipped open his pointlessly small phone, illuminating his face in a faint blue glow. No signal, despite the fact that he was standing on a skyscraper roof, dirty concrete and metal still hot from the day's sun in the summer twilight, two buildings away from the nearest comms hub. It would be her, the brainy bitch, blocking the signal with her proximity dampener. She was back, again. The police could never trace him, ParCorp could never trace him, so how did she always find him? I should have started carrying a gun after the last time, he thought bitterly as he looked over the edge of the building towards the glow of the recreation district, huge signs revolving and panning by as they advertised every pleasure imaginable. Entertainment... it could mean anything, and everything, as one person's pain was another's pleasure. Everyone wanted to be happy, it was all there was left to hope for. It was a saturated market, yet he'd found his niche through brains, hard work, agility and speed, and some definite luck. It wasn't for nothing that they called him the Black Cat, even though part of it was because of his thin, wiry body and mane of dark hair that he usually kept in immaculate condition, although today the pollution-tinged breeze was whipping it around his eyes in a tangle.

He closed his phone and slipped it into his pocket, rubbing his hands together in thought. The skyline in front of him was a dappled map of neon on black. His slate grey suit jacket with green LED trim was flapping like yacht sails around his waist, and the sound of the wind that was rushing across the hotel served to muffle the footsteps behind him until it was too late. The snub nose of a small ceramic pistol was pushed into the back of his neck.

"Turn around, slowly," said the voice, husky and heavy. He knew it wasn't an affectation to try and seduce him, that would come later... she was no doubt simply exhausted from the chase.

"All right, finger off the trigger Sandrine," said Roman, turning slowly to be faced by the large fluorescent pink and black dreadlocks of Sandrine Martinez, all two hundred pounds of her squeezed into a purple PVC corset with a flaring tutu above fishnet stockings.

"What are you wearing?" whispered Roman to himself incredulously, just loud enough for her to hear over the deep rumble of the traffic below.

"You don't like it?" said Sandrine, her huge face creasing with distress, which was some feat considering the amount of make-up she had on. She looked like a cyber-goth clown running loose from a vampiric circus.

"No, no," said Roman, easing into the easy smile that had made him many friends in the past. "Very attractive. You're glowing."

"I don't care what you think," she said with a flash of anger. Her eyes betrayed her true feelings though, moistening at the edges and threatening to make her heavy purple mascara run.

"Is it too late to apologise?" asked Roman, backing up a little even though he knew there was only the edge of the hotel roof behind him. Beyond it was a hundred and fifty foot drop.

"You broke my heart!" The words were shouted rather than said, torn from the heart buried deep in her huge bosom. Roman flinched, knowing that self-control was not one of Sandrine's strong points.

"I've explained it to you before, honey," he replied, raising his hands in supplication as the back heel of his patent leather shoes pushed against the edge of the building. "You never loved me, never have, never will. I gave you my cupid cocktail to get you to work with me on that fraud job but you were allergic to the retro dose. I couldn't have given it to you without killing you."

"There's no way your home-made brews would make me feel this way," hissed Sandrine, raising the gun to his eye level as she pushed him back. "I've known you for years, Roman. I stuck by you after everything, knowing the real you through all your aliases. You cheated on me with your 'wife'..."

"Will you listen to yourself!" said Roman, exasperation getting the better of him. "If anything, I cheated on my wife with you. We never even had sex! I never do with those I've dosed. It's not what it's for."

"I'm twice the woman she is," said Sandrine, her mouth twitching.

"Three times, I'd say," said Roman, against his better judgement.

"You bastard." Her finger tensing over the trigger. "That's the last joke you'll make at my expense."

"You talk a lot Sandrine, but you'll never go through with it. I bet that gun isn't even loaded." He glanced at the drop behind him. Wet metal panels lined the walls leading down into the depths.

"You think you're such a great judge of character, but you're not," said Sandrine, taking another step towards him. "You just never stay around long enough to see how wrong you are."

"You're right there," said Roman, stepping off the edge of the building. He landed heavily on the square panelled air con unit ten feet below, the sound of the impact echoing around him. For a moment he felt his centre of gravity pulling him off the building as a stale gust of pollution slid across him, but he managed to arc his body backwards and fall into the wall. He glanced upwards to see Sandrine's huge head lean over the edge, dreads dangling around her features.

"Roman," she called. "I see you!"

She pulled the gun towards him but he managed to slide off the edge of the unit just in time as the bullet smashed into the metal. He let the grimy remains of the day's rain help him slide down the connecting tube which ran down and across the building, picking up speed as he went. He managed to grab the edge of a fire escape with one hand moments before slipping into the void. The action pulled his shoulder painfully but he managed to swing his other hand up and grab the railing, pulling himself up over the edge and onto the corrugated metal floor. He allowed himself a second to rest before getting up and scrambling towards the stairs. The fire escape led all the way up to the roof, so Sandrine would be able to follow him down as soon as she realised that fact, but he hoped he'd be able outrun her at least long enough to lose himself in a ramen bar.

He finally reached the slick pavement below, landing with casual grace. He tugged off the LED jacket and threw it mournfully in an overflowing dumpster. For now, he needed to remain inconspicuous. He could bring his peacock image back out at a later date.

The ramen were the best in town, at least that was what the sign above the door claimed in faded green writing. They were certainly better than he had expected, given the dinginess of the area outside. After he had handed over a few hundred yen and warmed his hands and stomach with the large bowl of soup and noodles, he began to mull over recent events.

It was the first time that Sandrine had found him since he'd dragged his wife Idalia out of Tokyo under the pretence of work commitments almost six months ago. He hoped that Sandrine hadn't actually found their address but rather had seen him out and about dispensing his services, although he knew from experience that she wouldn't harm Idalia anyway. Her only quarrel was with him, but what a quarrel it was. He checked his phone again, this time finding a signal. At least he had lost her, for now.

She had fired this time, actually fired the gun. The last time he'd seen her the worst she had done was take a swing with a cheap baseball bat grabbed off a nearby souvenir stall, before the reaction of the people in the crowded market had forced her to run. He never thought she'd go this far. There was no doubt that the money from the heist was welcome and Sandrine's knowledge had been invaluable in getting his ghost inside the bank's mainframe, but it was no good if he was dead. Had it really been four years? Every few months she turned up again, hounding him until he moved on. Maybe another fixer would have killed her just to be rid of the inconvenience but that wasn't his way. If only he'd known about the allergy before he'd begun.

It wasn't an allergy in the normal sense of the word but more of an incompatibility. Her brain had been rewired by his first dose of Q/PHid – or "Cupid" as he liked to refer to it – a unique concoction that would land him in jail for life if the government could verify its existence. She'd been putty in his hands, gleefully breaking all of her own moral codes along with several international laws just to see him smile. When he'd tried to send her back to her usual acerbic, non-affectionate self though, the shock of the mild antidote had almost given her a stroke. The initial dose had obviously been too high and caused irreversible scarring that could not be removed without surgery, and there was no way he could persuade her that she needed it, despite his efforts. In her mind a world of the purest love had been opened and in trying to deny it existed all he did was break her heart more.

He poured a few drops of soy sauce in the soup and swirled them with his chopsticks, before picking out a bit of wilted shiitake mushroom and popping it in his mouth. It had all gone on too long but he still had no idea how to get out of the situation. If he wasn't having such a good time in the other areas of his life, the thought of Sandrine still raging might have got him down.

He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and pulled it out, smiling wryly as he saw the name and number. Time to get to work.

Thirty minutes later, after a quick stop at a twenty four hour shopping centre to pick up a change of clothes, Roman walked through the doors of Crash/Burn and into a bath of UV light that made the pinstripes on his new suit shine. He gave a nod to Kenji – the huge tattooed bouncer whose shirt always seemed in danger of tearing itself free of his arms – and walked out across the main dance floor. The lights made his head swim, reminding him that it'd been over twenty four hours since he'd last slept. Reds, yellows and blues ran across the sweating scantily clothed bodies. Male, female and those somewhere in between mixed in anonymous gyration. The music was some atrocious bass heavy dirge that made his late thirties mind start to fall into mush, but he picked himself up a little when he saw the glances of girls that he knew for a fact would be more than interested if he had the time to talk to them. Maybe later. For now he had a business deal to conclude that had taken a long time to come about and needed that special touch that only he could give.

He found his usual seat in the corner – a curved bench surrounding a polished round metal table – which was being diligently guarded by Luis Martinez-Leon, an early forties man in poor condition but whose body language and demeanour hinted at a brutal past. Roman couldn't decide if army veteran or bloody mercenary fitted his profile the best. Whichever it was he knew not to mess with the man. The week before an overzealous salaryman had tried to get a look up one of the barmaid's skirts, so Luis had introduced him face first into a mirrored wall.

"Music doesn't get any better," said Roman, cupping his hand over his mouth to be heard.

"Fucking square," said Luis, grinning to show teeth inset with rubies, or at the very least red glass. No one ever dared ask. Luis reached for a button and two Perspex doors slid out of the walls and around the booth, blocking out all sound except the insistent bass that vibrated the black leather seats. As Roman sat down he reached up and rubbed some of the tension from his neck, hearing it crack as he moved. Luis made a gesture with his hand. "Drink?"

"Please. Black coffee," said Roman, stifling a yawn.

"This is a club man, not a café," snarled Luis, picking his tooth with a fingernail.

"Come on, I know Hiromi keeps a kettle boiled at all times. Ask her nicely," said Roman, hoping that the manageress wouldn't mind the impertinence. Luis grunted and pressed a button on the service intercom behind him.

"Get some of Hiromi's coffee for the Black Cat. Yeah, I know. Fucking childish name."

"Hey," said Roman, pulling out a packet of minute nicotine patches and peeling one off the paper inside, "I worked hard to get that name."

"Maybe you were a big shot in Tokyo, but here you're just another Yakuza-botherer," said Luis. He grabbed the pack out of Roman's hand, peeled off three patches and placed them on his neck. They had long ago replaced cigarettes as the tool of choice to get a nicotine buzz.

"I'm carving out a niche," said Roman, slipping his own patch discreetly on his wrist before pulling his shirt back over to cover it.

"You're digging a grave," said Luis. He looked out at the writhing bodies outside, adjusting his trousers with a scarred hand.

"Then why did you follow me?" Roman slipped the question in with what he hoped was a nonchalant air, but he had wondered about Luis' reasons ever since the man had agreed to accompany him on the trip. Luis had made quite a name for himself in Roppongi, and after he had left a wave of crime had run through the district as others had tried to fill the void. None of the pretenders had his skill with numbers though. Luis could make Yen fall out of the air.

"I followed you because of the product, that's all. Someone's gotta take over distribution when you end up swimming at the bottom of Techosaka harbour. You'd better keep good on your promise to give me the formula one day soon. I'd hate for you to die and not leave me anything," said Luis. He spoke of Roman's death in such a matter-of-fact way that Roman had to believe him. It was a good thing he kept his formulas in his head. If Luis ever got his hands on a recipe it might be lights out for the Black Cat.

The doors slid back to make way for a barman, one that Roman didn't recognise. He wore a tightly buttoned shirt over his spindly frame and his long hair was tied back and up in a samurai topknot.

"Your coffee sir, compliments of the manageress," he said in a thick Osaka accent. Roman took it gratefully, cradling the warm cup in his hands for a few moments to savour the aroma before taking a tentative sip. Hiromi always got the good stuff, her favourite being a full bodied Sumatran. He'd been overjoyed to discover her fascination with the drink and it had helped to form a connection that had eased their earlier business deals.

"Here comes the mark, get your game face on," said Luis, smiling towards a long haired woman that was making her way purposefully towards them through the club. "What alias have you gone for this time?"

"Ivan Kovac. Close to home," replied Roman, giving his hair a last check to make sure it was as he wanted it.

"Good man. Have fun..."

Luis slid the doors wide to allow her to enter. She slipped in on a wave of the incessantly driving music. Roman didn't let it faze him though, flashing her a smile that he hoped successfully trod the line between charming and vaguely sleazy. From the way their conversations had gone on the net it seemed as if she liked her men to have a dangerous edge.

She was a tall, poised Asian woman with smooth statuesque features that put him in mind of polished garnet. Her clean cut pant suit gave her the appearance of still being at work, which technically she was, he supposed. Aarati Mahto, senior research fellow at ParCorp, the huge transnational corporation that had spread into the heart of governments around the world to such an extent that it could start or end wars in a heartbeat. Hers was the kind of job that didn't stop when she clocked out, and that was why he had chosen her.

"Ivan, nice to finally meet you face to face. Who's this?" She was talking to Roman but was staring straight at Luis, which was hard to do when he had such a grim countenance. "I thought we'd be alone."

"I was just leaving," said Luis, flashing her a forced smile as he pushed himself out of the seat and onto the dance floor, moving deftly for a man of his age. He waded through the sea of twisting people and headed towards the bar. Roman leaned over and pressed the switch to close the doors again, before pressing a second button which activated the liquid crystal sandwiched between the Perspex, blocking them off with a series of dark squares. They were finally alone.

It had been a bit of a struggle to find such a powerful woman who fitted the profile – single, of a sufficient authority to be able to get a hold of the required components, and also willing to meet a stranger in such a dangerous part of town. She was brave, he had to give her that. It had also been hard work going through all the IPs and aliases to find out if her dating profile was genuine and not simply someone else taking her picture as a little bit of leverage. It would have worked too. She had the looks of a model but carried an air of determination to be something more, using her mind as the centre of her career rather than her body. He had thought that would make it harder to get close to her but somehow it had made it easier. She had almost seemed to chase him, as if she were insatiable for companionship. Perhaps she was. It could be lonely at the top.

"I can't believe you're actually single," he said to her, mirroring her body language in an attempt to connect with her.

"I've been very disappointed with the calibre of men in this town," she said. She was watching him curiously, as if ready to leave at any minute. Perhaps the location had been a bad decision in some ways; the journey through the underbelly of the city had obviously put her on edge. It was better that they could meet somewhere that she wouldn't be recognised though, because if a friend or colleague had spotted her then she no doubt would have introduced Roman to them, and even though he was going under an alias his face would then be known. He'd had reconstruction twice in the past and had no wish to go through with it again.

"I'm not from this town," said Roman. He noticed her legs were crossed tightly, indicating that she felt tense. He would have to be quick or risk losing both her and the opportunity for good. He was skilled at seduction but was no hypnotist. He'd run with something safe for a moment.

"Would you like a drink?"

"Just a water, please," she replied, glancing around at the décor. Part of her was obviously wondering why she had come here and wanted it to be over as soon as possible, but he usually only needed a few minutes to connect with a mark. He buzzed through to the bar and asked for Luis to sort out a water. He'd know what to do. She looked over at him again.

"So what exactly is it you do? You always avoided saying on the net," she asked, pursing her lips. She wanted control of this conversation, and if it meant she would stay longer then he was happy to give it to her.

"I work freelance mainly, usually as a go between for businesses, or simply spotting opportunities. I travel extensively. It's exhausting, but the rewards are great," he said, trying to keep his answers as vague and open to interpretation as possible. The truth was that his main business was fixing other people's problems, often at the expense of other people, a hard job to fit within any moral framework but he had long ago accepted the fact that if there was really a Hell somewhere, then there was a place reserved in its hottest pits for him. He hoped it would be hot enough to boil coffee. "Do you travel?"

"Here and there. I just got back from Brazil a few hours ago actually. There's an acquisition I need to make before I head back."

She was blinking repeatedly as she talked, and glancing up and right, a sign that she was remembering visual images. It was as if she was only just waking up and her dreams were bleeding into her thoughts. Jet lag. He'd experienced it enough to recognise when someone's body was battling with their mind.

"I should have cancelled, I'm in no mood for this. I'm sorry, I know it's not fair," she said quietly, and seemingly honestly. He looked again, really looked at her features, sharply tinted in the multi-coloured lights of the booth. She was tired certainly, but there was something else. She was dealing with something that looked to be overwhelming her. Years of dealing with people and their emotions – both naturally and chemically – had given him certain insights. He looked down at the coffee. A swirling whirlpool of froth span gently on the surface of the dark liquid. Curiosity started to burn within him. There was something here.

He sighed.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Would you like some coffee? I've only had a sip. It might pick you up a bit."

She thought for a moment before nodding. He slid the beverage over to her carefully, not wanting to spill a drop of it even though he was no longer drinking it. Her hand brushed his as she took it and he felt the warmth of her skin prickling against his. She picked up the cup and took a few tentative sips, wincing a little at the heat.

"Nekojita..." said Roman, smiling.

She looked up at him, confusion playing across her features. It was a charming sight. "Excuse me?" she asked, her demeanour a little less frosty than before.

"Nekojita, it's Japanese for cat tongue... trouble with eating or drinking hot things. I'm the same," he said. "I usually ask for half hot, half cold water when I order one, I guess I forgot this time."

"I've never had the time to pick up much of the language," she said, reaching forwards and pressing the button to clear the doors, bringing back the dancers outside, all of whom were hitting a new level of frenzy. "Why exactly did you choose this place? You always said that this kind of scene was too much for you whenever we talked."

"A necessary evil," he murmured, spotting Luis across the dance floor. The large man handed a glass of water to the barman and pointing towards him. Cupid was on his way.

Roman's heart started to thump in his chest so vigorously that for a second he thought he was going to have a heart attack. He had done this more times than he could count over the years and with the notable and horrific exception of Sandrine it had always gone smoothly, but now as he thought of flipping Aarati's emotions like a switch it felt like dragging a knife across a painting. The magic would be gone.

"Let's get out of here," he said suddenly, the words pulling themselves free from his mouth almost without any volition on his part. Aarati seemed to sense a change in the air, drawing herself away from him again.

"Why?" she asked, looking out and trying to spot what he was looking at.

Roman started to stand, gently nudging her towards the door. "Let's get some air, go uptown, go anywhere. It's just too much in here, isn't it?" He tried to keep his rising tension from his voice so he could retain some veneer of calm.

"All right," she said, smiling a little as she got up off the seat. Roman quickly pressed the door release and ushered her out across the dance floor, casting a glance through the moving bodies. He made brief eye contact with Luis, who was watching them leave with surprise and anger fighting for dominance on his scarred features. There would be a price to pay.

The air around the harbour was crisper than in the centre of the city, as sea spray drove the pollution inland. His conversation with Aarati had been stilted initially but soon started to flow as they headed down past late night takoyaki stands towards a run of karaoke bars. The night life in this part of the city was a lot less intense and Roman found he could think more clearly.

People whirled and span around them as they moved along the gaudy concourse. On most nights he would have found the crowds a hindrance but for some reason tonight he felt as if they were part of the experience, a maze to be navigated, bodies to be watched, avoided and admired.

Part of him wondered why he had experienced such a change of heart but as he looked over at Aarati in the street lights he knew he had made the right decision. Something about her was intoxicating, and he hadn't felt this way since he had met his wife all those years ago. Truth be told, he couldn't be sure if he'd ever felt this strongly about a person before in his life.

Everything she told him about herself was fascinating, intimate and another reason to keep walking. Luis would moan and most likely threaten violence at the way he had dealt with the situation, especially as the raw ingredients of Roman's concoctions were getting to be in very short supply and the Marketplace was far too expensive. Roman knew he needed another insider in ParCorp to start getting his supplies up, but it wouldn't be Aarati.

"I still don't know why I came out tonight, but I'm glad I did," said Aarati as they stood looking out at the colossal Cho-freighters manoeuvring slowly across the water, mobile towns many decks high that even carried small shopping centres for the boat workers to pass the time in between jobs. The red and white guidance lights created a blinking haze across the black waves of the harbour.

Roman was suddenly at a loss for words, feeling his heart pounding in his chest again so fiercely that he couldn't believe that Aarati hadn't heard it beating against his rib cage. She looked towards him and quickly moved into his arms. He felt his face register only shock at the intimate contact and he responded by wrapping his arms around her, smelling the scent of her hair. She turned his face towards his, so close he could feel the radiating warmth of her skin, before she slipped out of his arms and began walking away. After a few feet she turned back towards him and spoke a few soft words that he managed to hear over the roar of commerce that never slept.

"I'll see you soon."

He didn't feel like facing the wrath of Luis so soon after such an amazing moment, so he headed back home, his head rocking back and forth in time with his own still pounding heart. The metro capsule slid along the maglev towards Sumiyoshi-ku, one of the quieter and more affluent areas of Techosaka where he'd settled with Idalia a few months back, managing to negotiate the lease on a large, well-appointed apartment overlooking the commercial district.

Idalia... for a couple of hours he had forgotten her, those piercing eyes, that personality so intoxicating that he had stayed with her despite her open love of adultery. He forgave her every time, simply glad to be near her. The feeling that Aarati had given him was something new though, a feeling even deeper than his love for Idalia, a desperate sense that something was missing that he never knew he needed.

The metro slowly came to a halt in the orange lit station of Tsurugaoka, which was decorated with the latest in synthetic trees and silicon vines and also here and there with genuine specimens, a luxury that was thankfully becoming more popular, as a world that had previously forgotten nature finally reached a point of romanticism that called for efforts to bring it back, not least for its benefits to the atmosphere. There was only so much that atmospheric scrubbers could do to the pollution.

After a few minutes' walk he took the elevator up to their apartment, pulling off his jacket as he went as if it were strangling him. He somehow felt the need to hide this latest tryst from his wife despite the open nature of their arrangement, even though nothing had happened. Nothing physical at any rate.

It was only as he was about to present his eye to the retinal scanner that acted as a security system for their home that he suddenly thought about the time. He flipped open his phone, finding three missed called from Luis. He hadn't even noticed the phone ringing. It was 4.32 am, so Idalia would no doubt be asleep. Time for the stealthy approach that had earned him his name.

He presented his eye to the scanner. It ran a faint yellow light designed to cause zero discomfort across his face, before releasing the door lock with a gentle hiss. He slipped his shoes off immediately and placed them by the door before padding across the hallway and into the lounge.

The red winking lights of a city that never slept or even slowed down glittered through the huge glass window that dominated the room. Roman carefully made his way across the hardwood floor towards an innocuous panel situated next to a large potted plant. The shrub had cost him a small fortune as it was said to only bloom once every twenty years. Quite why such a trait demanded a high price tag was beyond him but Idalia had wanted it, so he'd done his best to buy it and sneak it into the house under cover of darkness. She had loved it – naturally – but like most things it soon dropped off her radar and he was left to look after it. He used this particular item to his advantage as it helped to conceal a necessity of his business... his lab.

He reached down behind the potted plant and placed his thumb into a knot of wood situated on one of the varnished beech planks on the floor. The small well-hidden fingerprint scanner read his whorls silently and the wall panel shifted back and across to reveal a small, artfully hidden room. The walls were brushed steel, cool and clinical in the fluorescent lighting that flared into life as he stepped inside. The door slid shut behind him noiselessly.

For such a small room (especially compared to the facilities he had owned in Tokyo) he made good use of space, with shelves lining the sides of the chamber and a large desk with a clean and well maintained workstation on the far wall. Rows of liquids and powders dotted the shelves, all meticulously labelled and ordered ready for his concoctions. Pride of place was given over to a thick blue substance, part jelly and part liquid, which was stored in airtight clear plastic and foil packets in a small refrigeration unit under the desk. It was the foundation of his formulas, the part-hallucinogen, part gene-alteration solution known only as Mendel, named after Gregor Mendel, the father of genetics. In the richest sections of society it was used as an elite mind altering drug with long lasting effects and no noticeable side effects or addictive properties, producing a sense of unmatched bliss. ParCorp were still finding their feet as they experimented with its properties, but he had spotted its potential straight away, as soon as he had got his hands on some all those years ago.

At the last count (according to Marketplace prices) the amount he had was worth roughly sixty four million Yen, and that was when his stores were starting to run low. That was why Aarati and her ability to access a supply of Mendel had been so important. If he had managed to get her on side then it would have set him up for the foreseeable future. As it was, he was going to have to pick and choose his jobs carefully until he could find an alternative. Two months of work, thrown away on a whim. He must be crazy.

He reached over for the small tablet computer, little more than a paper thin square on a stand sitting on the surface of the desk, when his hand stopped. He looked down at the fridge, squinting at the contents. He crouched down and opened the door in a hiss of freezing air, running his hand over the tiny pouches.

Most people could count in units of four on sight with any higher numbers requiring a quick calculation but Roman had always had the strange (and untold) strength of being able to count in units of up to twenty on sight. He had no idea where the talent had come from but he kept it a closely guarded secret. He had found it especially useful in espionage, where a few of his own glances held more power than minutes of scrutiny by others.

He was missing a pouch.

He flicked through them, counting quickly and accurately a second time, just in case the night with Aarati had dulled his senses. The count was the same. One down.

The last time this had happened he had put it down to a miscount on collection, as it had been during the handover from Tokyo when he had smuggled the stuff across the country, hopping from bullet train to bullet train. He assumed he had simply left it behind, but maybe now, now...

He looked over his shoulder towards the back of the panel that led into their flat. Had Idalia found his lab again? He hadn't told her he was building another after the loss of the one in Tokyo, but she was going to find out sooner or later, he supposed. It wasn't that she didn't know what he did, it was that he wanted to keep her as far out of his business it as possible, for her own sake. Maybe she had found a way to bypass the security. Had she taken it? If she had, there were two possibilities that he could see as being plausible. Either she had found it and was selling the substance for her own gain, or she was somehow using it.

The second possibility was hard to believe, as Mendel was extraordinarily difficult to work with. It had little to no reactive properties, turning to vapour at a dramatically lower temperature than water. You had to know exactly when to use it and how to use it or it would be gone. Without the exact timings, temperatures and catalysts it could still produce a mild mind altering effect, but nothing compared to the perfect replication of intense love that he had concocted. Was she working with someone else? She was his wife. No matter her other faults they had always been as thick as thieves, with her strength being a knack of gaining the trust of new clients. She had always said she didn't mind what he did, as long as he gave her a life she deserved.

Perhaps this was a good thing. Her reliance on him – though it gave him a feeling of power – had always sat awkwardly in his mind. Such a strong willed, tenacious woman shouldn't want to be an accessory to someone else's life. She should need more. Maybe that was it, maybe she was finally making her own way.

Roman smiled. Perhaps it was time to play a little game with Idalia. There was no need to give his position away quite yet. If he waited then the right moment would come when he could raise the issue. Until then, maybe he'd install a small, discreet security camera, just in case.

He stood up and reached for the tablet again. Time to get to work.

He swiped his fingers across the screen in a quick pattern that would seem random to anyone observing him, but which he knew off by heart, as it was based on a complex series of calculations that changed each day based on the date and a new integer. The screen flashed into life, showing a simple patterned background and a dedicated message centre, the icon of which was pulsing red and white. He tapped the message and the audio began to play. It was always audio alone, never a picture. Medea, the elusive contact that Luis had set him up with back in Tokyo, continued to be a mystery. That was just fine by Roman; all that mattered to him was the quality of the jobs.

The voice was robotic, layered with various scramble tones. "This job is simple but worth your time. A billionaire recluse by the name of Ozawa Yosuke has contacted us. Apparently he's the father of a starlet by the name of Kuri, a J-Rock phenomenon and spoilt brat from the sounds of it. Her husband-to-be is one Takahashi Haruba, a very successful businessman with a wealth built on stock speculation. He's apparently got what it takes in the bank department but in very few others, relationship skills included. Kuri apparently feels nothing for the man beyond a fascination with his finances. Ozawa Yosuke is apparently displeased with Kuri's choice as he would prefer she marry for love, but Kuri is set on the idea, knowing that Haruba will keep supplying her with the diamond studded lifestyle she's accustomed to. She would however prefer to feel a bit more passion about the man himself and wishes to have her feelings tweaked to that end. She has convinced her father Yosuke – as a final parting gift – to hire out your services so she can have the approximation of a happy wedding, so she doesn't have to act the part the whole way through. Yosuke will be expecting you at his main residence in Yokohama at noon. Medea out."

Noon... no sleep then. He sighed and slipped the tablet back onto the table before getting to work. At least he'd be out of town for a day so he could put off having to meet with Luis and explain himself.

He could synthesise Cupid within ten minutes when he was feeling fresh, but with the stink of the city on him and two days' worth of memories yet to lock away into his dreams he found that it took him close to half an hour to sort the tiny vial needed, which he then secreted in a shock absorbent cavity in the side of the sole of his shoe. He also took a couple of pieces of contact paper – just in case it would prove to be the best method of dispensing the drug – before getting ready to leave. As an afterthought he balanced the tablet against a packet of gold leaf (which he used as a catalyst, whilst also admiring its aesthetic qualities as it hung glittering in the red Cupid solution) and set the camera to record any movement. It wasn't as good as a bug, but it would probably do for now. He'd have to invest in something better when he got back.

He checked the small camera that gave him a view of the flat before slipping out. As the panel slid back into place behind him he heard the front door open and the slightly unsteady footsteps of his wife. He sighed. She had been out all the time.

He glanced into the hallway to see her leaning awkwardly against a wall. She was struggling to remove her shoes, obviously suffering the effects of a huge amount of alcohol. She looked up and gave a swooning double take before her face broke into a wide smile.

"Honey, you're home... I thought you'd be with one of your girls..." she said, sauntering over to him in what he supposed was in her mind an alluring fashion but was actually so ungainly as to be comical. She threw her arms around his shoulders and planted a kiss that tasted of daiquiris on his lips. Her bronze hair was in a tangle and her yellow eyes (usually chestnut, but she had a penchant for contacts) looked up at him hazily. He noticed the pupils of the lenses were shaped like a cat's, a slit cut down the centre that gave her the appearance of a drunk werewolf on the cusp of change. Her skin smelt of perfume laced with the sweat of dancing. Her UV booth tanned skin was warm and damp. Her body had always been curvy, and wonderfully so... he had no love for the boyish physique that was still the vogue. He smiled and ran his arms behind her, lifting her into the air.

"Change of plan, she didn't have nearly enough clearance with her company for what I needed," he said, returning her kiss. Despite what he had felt with Aarati, there was no turning off his feelings for Idalia either.

"Really?" said Idalia, her perfect brow creasing a little. She pursed her lips. "Poor you, after all that work."

Roman shrugged. "It happens. I've got a job in Yokohama at noon though, so I need to be off."

Idalia slipped out of his arms and gave him a mischievous smile. "You have ten minutes, surely..."

"Ten? I..."

"Twenty then..." she said, pulling his hand and starting to guide him towards the bedroom.

"Wait... what? I don't have more time, that's not how haggling works..."

"Thirty then, final offer."

Roman sighed, looking into her eyes. How could he have cheated on her with Aarati?

He blinked. Cheating? Where had such a concept come from? Nothing had happened with Aarati, nothing physical, not even a kiss. Despite his profession as a breaker of hearts, he never actually cheated on his wife. He simply spouted cheap nothings made powerful by the drug. Aarati had been different though. The feelings are real, that's the difference. Idalia doesn't mind my play acting but if she thought it was real...

Guilt ran through him again, unfamiliar and dark, slowing his limbs as she still pulled him insistently.

"I can't, I..." he said quietly, trying to gently pull away.

"Forty five. Done," she said, moving forwards and kissing him again, melting his thoughts and feelings away in a heartbeat with the firm pressure of her lips on his.

Chapter 2

Roman sprinted from the Metro towards Shinkansen platform eight, adjusting his tie and trying to pull his jacket on at the same time. Annoyance flashed through him as he saw the train pull. He knew that they wouldn't wait for tardy passengers. An hour and a half, and that was before his journey to the station. He shouldn't have let her... well, he had made his choice, and he couldn't really blame her. It takes two to tango he thought to himself, smiling a little despite his current stress.

Despite the delay, he just managed to slip onto the train before the doors closed. He looked back to see two salarymen pulling up short behind him, their briefcases swinging wildly as they looked up at the holographic timetable to see when the next train was. Roman sighed and adjusted his shirt collar in the window's partial reflection, before turning around and looking for an empty seat.

He finally found one next to a greying businessman engrossed in stock prices on his small palm sized tablet. Roman gave him a fleeting smile before leaning back in an effort to get his body to relax after the longer than expected run. He hated appearing out of control. He closed his eyes, relaxed his muscles and forced himself to slow his breathing. After a few minutes he began to feel his pulse rate to return to normal. When he opened his eyes again, he spotted the back of a man who had entered the carriage and taken a seat at the far end. There was something about the mannerisms and the tied up long hair that instantly drew his eye, and a glance backwards from the man brought recognition. Roman never forgot a face. In a flash he recognised the barman from Crash/Burn.

The 'coincidence' instantly set him on edge. There are no coincidences, but sometimes you can't immediately see the connections. Keep your eyes out for the threads... he thought to himself, remembering the words of a particularly vicious thug who had nicknamed himself Razor. That was the one and only time Roman had been forced to kill. It had been him or me. He had repeated that to himself many times after that night. He shook his head. It had been a long time since he had thought about Razor and he had no wish to dredge that memory up.

He needed to stay stoic. Luckily he was adept at hiding his nerves, a skill he had learned from years of experience of dealing with people who would take a sign of jumpiness as a sign of danger, potentially terminating deals. He closed his eyes again and laid his head back, stifling a yawn. If he was being followed, there was nowhere he could go on the train that the other man couldn't find him, so he'd have to wait until Yokohama. It would be easy enough to lose the man there, especially if the barman still thought he had gone unnoticed. Roman idly wondered who he was and who he was working for, though every shred of the man screamed Yakuza, especially the tightly buttoned shirt he still wore. Luis must have been right on the money. I've made some enemies. It wasn't the first time. He would have to call Luis soon... but not yet.

The waiting game. It was easy enough, especially when he was so tired. Any remaining agitation fell away as the gentle whispers of passengers and the soft buzz of the efficient semi-magnetic engine rocked him into a deep sleep.

The chirpy but business-like approximation of a woman's voice announced Yokohama as the next station, stirring Roman from his slumber. His mouth curling around a yawn as his mind tried to register his surroundings. The process took barely a second before he sat up straight, blinking in the light as the metal and grey pillars of the station moved past the window, and the train began to slide to a halt.

The businessman in the window seat mumbled a word of apology to indicate he wished to leave, so Roman stood up, using the opportunity to cast his eyes around the carriage. There was no sign of the barman, but that didn't surprise him. He would no doubt be at one of the extreme ends of the train, probably ducking his head out when the passengers disembarked to see which door Roman left from before resuming his surveillance.

The businessman bowed a little in thanks and busied himself around the baggage, pulling out a suitcase as Roman stood by the door. He checked the time on his watch, a discreet silver affair with a traditional twelve point clock face. Eleven. Depending on how long it took to get to the Ozawa residence, he had the potential to be late. That wouldn't do. He'd have to shake the barman, and fast.

As soon as the doors opened he stepped out and walked briskly towards the ticket barriers, passing his travel-card over the sensor and moving out into the large area beyond. It was filled with the daytime rush of commuters and tourists, just as he was hoping. After a quick glance to get his bearings he made for the small shopping area near to the station entrance. He slipped inside a small news stand staffed by a flickering hologram stood behind the counter (a more and more common sight as the technology lowered in cost) and picked up a small trashy music magazine. He flicked through the pages, casting virtually unnoticeable glances to his left and right as he moved his eyes over the continuously moving images of the vid-paper. Sure enough, he saw the barman at another news stand further up towards the exit, buying an energy drink and doing a good job of dutifully looking the other direction.

As he was flicking through, Roman's eyes stopped momentarily on one of the pages. There she was, Ozawa Kuri, the mark. She was holding a glitter encrusted guitar and moving from pose to pose as unseen cameras flashed. Her eyes displayed that strange mix of innocent and alluring that seemed so popular nowadays. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, but why was she so popular? The magazine seemed filled with carbon copies of her, products of a perpetually stale music industry that seemed hell bent on making the next big thing out of overly familiar elements of the last big thing.

He pulled out his wallet and selected his okanecard, waving first the magazine and then his card in front of the hologram, which automatically scanned both before bowing rigidly and thanking him for his custom in a faraway voice. Once – a few months back at a similar stand – he had forgotten to scan the item first before leaving the store. The sirens had been deafening, as he was stopped gently but firmly by the centre security and escorted back to pay. Holographic staff were a very useful cost cutting measure as, though he doubted that the rising ranks of the homeless would agree it was a good idea.

He left the news stand just as a group of tourists moved past, slipping amongst them and moving alongside until they travelled past the customer toilets. As they moved off, he quickly vaulted the pay barrier and ducked inside. The toilets inside were large and busy, but he didn't have time for subterfuge and a few curious glances were the price he was going to have to pay. He soon spotted what he needed: a small window in the far wall, high up and covered in frosted glass. He quickly made his way over, jumped and hauled himself up by his fingertips before splaying his legs out and balancing his feet on both the sink and the handle of an engaged cubicle. He quickly slipped the catch of the window and forced it open, cracking the paint either side that was intended to keep it shut. The opening was small, but he had got through smaller, and luckily for him he hadn't eaten today. With a jump and a quick wriggle he was through. He tumbled out into an alleyway beyond, though the ground came to meet him earlier than he had expected and he hit his shoulder hard as he tried to roll with the impact. He swore under his breath and pulled himself to his feet, before sprinting towards the end of the alleyway and scrambling over a chain link fence, entering the mass crowds of Yokohama.

He dusted himself down whilst moving through the press of bodies, making sure to keep his eyes on the periphery. After a few minutes he started to relax and become confident of his escape, until he saw the familiar long hair and steely eyes darting through the mass of milling shoppers behind him. The barman knew he had been seen and was closing, ready to carry out whatever task he had been given. Perhaps Roman could defend himself against the man or perhaps not, but he didn't have time to find out. He had a deadline to keep.

The roar of the traffic to his right brought Roman's attention to a large bus that was pulling in to a stop. One last chance. He darted ahead of the line and swiped his card on the pay pedestal next to the surprised driver before tumbling into a seat halfway along the bus and waiting patiently whilst trying to slow his racing heart. He needed all the energy he could get to time this perfectly, and he had to hope the barman didn't have enough time to notice a detail about the bus that Roman had spotted...

As the last of the passengers got on – the barman amongst them, staring directly at Roman with fire in his eyes – Roman swung out of his seat and sprinted to the back of the bus, almost falling out of the closing set of second doors. He felt them nip on his heel as he staggered out into the pedestrians, knocking into an aged woman and almost sending her flying. As he helped her regain her balance, apologising and bowing profusely, he glanced back to the bus that was pulling out into the traffic and spotted the barman, his palms against the back window of the bus, mouthing obscenities at him. Roman smiled and snapped his hand into a crisp military salute before turning and weaving away.

After a longer than expected taxi ride, Roman found himself outside the confines of the city and deep into the suburban sprawl that covered ninety nine percent of the non-mountainous land of Honshu. After a long drive along a gritted road that ran between some small and carefully tended rice fields (Japanese rice was so rare nowadays that it had become a luxury item amongst traditionalists), the taxi stopped at the gates of a large property, black brick walled and sealed with a large ornate gate.

As he stepped out of the taxi the driver leaned over the passenger seat to address him. "You want me to wait?" he asked in a bored, gravelly voice. He was in his early sixties with slicked back greying hair and intensely tired eyes.

"Yes." said Roman, looking up at the cameras that were dotted along the wall and even now were turning towards him. He leaned his head into the car. "Not here though. At the end of the driveway, out of sight."

Suspicion slipped across the driver's features but Roman pulled out a roll of banknotes and peeled a few off and into the man's hands. The driver nodded in agreement.

"More of that later," said Roman as he adjusted his tie. He had done his best to clean himself up but still had grime on his shoulder from tumbling into the alleyway. Damn Yakuza, no respect for clothes. He reached down and slid the small compartment in his shoe open with the guise of adjusting his sock, before pulling the small dose of Cupid free and slipping it up onto his wrist – ready for use – in a well-practised manoeuvre.

He walked up to the intercom, before pausing for a moment to enjoy the relative silence of this secluded spot. If he listened carefully he could even hear a bird sing somewhere ahead, most likely in an aviary. A breeze ran through his coat and for a moment he remembered a vision from his childhood, standing in the vast winter forests of Ukraine and being told of the advance of the factory mines that would soon be swallowing the 'unused' land. The memory was gone as quickly as it had arrived, but he was glad he had felt it, as the sense of peace it carried still ran throughout him, calming his nerves as he reached his hand to the intercom. The gates started to silently swing open before he'd even touched the button, and Roman spotted two heavily armed guards moving down the driveway towards him.

"You the Black Cat?" one of them asked, a man whose neck was wider than his head. Tattoos of intertwining snakes ran up from his shoulders and were splayed across his face.

Roman nodded. "Nice place."

"Come with us," continued the guard brusquely. He was obviously not being paid to socialise. "Surrender any weapons you have now, or you won't come back out. Ozawa-san is waiting."

They escorted him in silence to the sprawling house at the end of the driveway. As Roman drew closer he saw that it was a largely traditional Japanese affair, an extremely rare sight nowadays with the technical revolution holding sway across the world. The building had three storeys flanked by curling roofs and balustrades that were punctuated by effigies of shisa, stylised dogs intended to ward off evil spirits if open mouthed, and keep in good spirits if close mouthed. Roman wondered if man people knew their significance nowadays, or if they even cared... though he himself couldn't even remember where he had learned the fact. The last moments of a culture, withering in plain sight, he thought to himself, with the mourners too busy on their phones to notice the death throes.

He was led up the stairs to the entrance hall before being directed past a large lacquered screen and into a reception area, where the aged but poised form of Ozawa Yosuke was sat wearing a traditional man's kimono in a subtly patterned dark blue, his hands firmly planted on his knees with his legs folded under him in a respectful stance. His hair was white, thinning but still thick enough to style, and his eyes radiated the wisdom and knowledge of his years. Behind and to the sides of him there were various implements of ages old Japanese warfare, including two sword racks and three sets of beautifully ornate and clearly authentic armour, with several notches showing in their interlocking plates from the bite of razor sharp steel.

Ozawa bowed to Roman as he entered and Roman had enough wherewithal to know what to do, sitting on the floor and bowing low, his hands pointing towards each other in front of him as he placed his forehead on the tatami mat.

"Hajime-mashte," said Roman, pulling himself up to a sitting position. Ozawa was obviously a highly respected man, judging from the way the guards reversed out of the chamber behind him, both bowing low. "Ozawa-san, I apologise for my lateness."

"That's quite all right," said Ozawa, smiling slightly as he spoke in perfect English. "Please, call me Yosuke. I appreciate your respect of our customs but I take no offence at westernisation. We cannot help our differences."

The man's tone was gentle, low and non-threatening but something told Roman that this was a test, one that he intended to pass for his own well-being.

"You are a gracious host Ozawa-san, but I will not sully this house with my ways," said Roman, bowing again. Ozawa gave a small laugh, the lines on his face twisting around his mouth.

"You're careful. That's good," he said, though Roman may have heard a little disappointment in the man's measured voice. Perhaps Ozawa relished the moment that a guest performed a slight so that he could fully reprimand them. Such a man was very dangerous. "Let us get down to business, shall we? I am led to believe that you have a unique and prodigious chemical talent."

Roman bowed again. "You honour me."

"Not at all. Your reputation is well known. You have been making a name for yourself for many years. I would have contacted you before but you are very hard to track down."

"A necessity I'm afraid. The government does not have such an admiration for me," said Roman, stopping short of revealing the international bounty that they had placed on his head, although it was likely that the amount would be paltry to a man as wealthy as Ozawa.

"A shame," said Ozawa, sounding as if he truly meant it. "You are unique, as far as I can tell. A valuable asset. Let me go over the details so we are clear... this is a parting gift for my daughter. She has chosen to marry for security rather than love. It is not right that I should hold a grudge against her simply because of her choice. These are modern times and we must move with them. If this is the life that she has chosen then I will support her as best I can."

His voice was low and measured, almost robotic in its intonations. Clearly this was a man who considered every word that passed his lips.

"What exactly do you require to complete the... ah... treatment?"

"A few minutes with Kuri will suffice," said Roman, feeling a twinge go up his leg from sitting on his knees. He could never get used to it.

"Is that all? How does the process work?" asked Ozawa, leaning in slightly.

"Trade secret, I'm afraid," said Roman, used to deflecting such enquiries.

Ozawa frowned before sitting back. He waved his hand vaguely towards a set of double doors to his right.

"She is waiting for you, through there."

Roman bowed again and carefully got to his feet in an effort to keep his pins and needles from showing. He padded across the mats to the wood and paper door before sliding it open to reveal a young woman who at first sight seemed a polar opposite to the picture he had seen previously in the magazine.

Kuri was seated in the same position as Ozawa, legs folded under her and hands laid gently upon her knees. She was wearing a fine patterned Komon – a kimono made up of a rich red cloth – faintly patterned with the same design that her father had woven into his clothing: two intertwined Koi carp repeating in an endless wave. Her hair was dyed to a shade of mixed red and auburn and tied up behind her head with hair sticks in a surprisingly modest style. She smiled faintly at him as he entered and gestured for him to sit, waving her hand gracefully towards a cushion laid out in front of her.

Roman knelt down, taking in his surroundings. The room was rich with traditional paintings and sculptures, no doubt costing far more than the average household made in a year judging from the names on show on the plaques that ran alongside each piece. Many were credited to Hokusai, one of Japan's most famous artists. A detail started to try and drag his attention to it but an impatient cough from Ozawa brought him back and into the moment.

"A beautiful room," said Roman, smiling at Kuri. She simply nodded, her eyes cast down towards the mats in front of her. Roman looked back through the still open door to see Ozawa watching him closely, his face as impassive as ever. Roman cleared his throat and began with his usual explanation of the dose.

"This is quite a simple and safe procedure. After initial dosing you will need to sleep for roughly twelve hours, as associations in your mind are subtly altered to give new meanings to interactions with... Haruba," said Roman, remembering the name of her husband to be. He usually spent a considerably longer time discussing the case with the patient before dosage, so was winging it a little. Kuri glanced up a little at the mention of Haruba's name. Her eyes showed... something, before she cast them back down to the pristine mat below. The sense of a missed detail started to force its way into his consciousness again and he looked around himself casually, making a show of stretching out before he began (as if it were necessary). Part of the joy of having such a secret procedure was the fact that no one could know when he was doing something out of the ordinary. He spotted the guard standing behind Ozawa, closely holding his advanced light machine gun as if ready for immediate attack. This was not so out of the ordinary as Ozawa was obviously a very prominent figure...

Then why haven't I heard of him...

The thought flashed through his mind and he grabbed on to it firmly. His subconscious was his greatest asset, an extra sense that kept him out of trouble on many an occasion. Roman looked back at the rest of the room where Kuri was seated and the detail that had previously been desperately vying for his attention leapt into his mind and did a pirouette. Roman stretched his neck slowly from left to right.

"A problem?" asked Ozawa, his voice indicating that the words could either be a statement or a question, and that Roman should begin. He had to find a way to stall the man.

"Perhaps," said Roman, trying to choose his words carefully. "I need to be alone with her for a few minutes. There are things that myself and the patient must discuss before we begin."

Ozawa narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching.

"Please, begin."

Roman took a deep breath, ready for the rebuttal.

"This will not proceed unless I have privacy. I must insist."

The sense of insult was obvious on the face of Ozawa, but Roman had felt far greater concern as soon as he had seen a print that he himself had stolen under a different guise years ago, before passing it on to a prominent figure in the Yakuza...

Ozawa stood up without a word – showing a body that was far from infirm – and turned on his heel, walking at a brisk pace into the hallway. Roman waved his hand as nonchalantly as he could towards the guard, indicating that he should follow Ozawa's lead. The guard capitulated with a frown, pulling the paper door shut. A paper door, hardly the most soundproofed of materials. He had to be quiet, and quick. He threw protocol aside and slipped across the mat towards Kuri, crouching by her shoulder. She didn't even look up, keeping her gaze locked downwards. Her right hand was gripping the thumb of her left hand with such strength that the tip was turning white. It told Roman everything that he needed to know.

"Kuri, do you want to marry Haruba?" hissed Roman as quietly as he could manage.

Despite her attempts at self-control, her lip was trembling.

"Kuri..."

"They have my partner. They'll kill him if I don't capitulate. Just do what you have to do."

The words were quiet but the power behind them was surprising. This was not an empty headed starlet but very clearly someone doing their best under great duress. Roman had to think fast.

"He's here?"

"Upstairs, somewhere," replied Kuri. She quickly glanced up towards him, her eyes glittering with repressed tears. "Please, don't do anything reckless. I can't let him die."

"I won't, I won't..." said Roman, "but I can't dose you if there are no feelings to begin with. It doesn't work that way."

It was a lie but he couldn't condemn her to a life as a slave. It was the main reason he had always kept the formula a secret. In the wrong hands Cupid would become a very dangerous drug...

"No, you must, I... I will try to force myself to feel..."

"You may as well try to grapple smoke while you're at it, you'll have about as much success," muttered Roman, rubbing his chin in thought. Am I really going to do this?

He turned back to Kuri and moved his face close to hers, grabbing her cheeks with his hands. He felt the wetness of her tears soaking her skin.

"I won't harm your father, do you understand? I promise you that... but he will rage, and he will chase you. If I get you two out of here, can you handle that? I need to know before I begin. I could walk away."

He wasn't sure if that was even true but he still needed her on side before he could begin. She seemed frozen for a few moments, not even breathing, before finally nodding in agreement. Roman closed his eyes and took a deep breath before standing up and sliding the door open. He strode towards the guard purposefully and a glance from the man told him that Ozawa was still there, standing in the hall to one side. At the sound of Roman's footsteps Ozawa rounded the door and faced him, his countenance a dark mix of impatience and disgust.

"The dose won't take..." said Roman casually. He saw the old man's eyes twitch, widening with the pressure of his anger.

"What do you mean?" replied Ozawa, making to stride past him. It was all the opportunity Roman needed.

With a kick of his leg Roman knocked one of the ancient swords off a rack to his left and grabbed it out of the air, whilst also reaching for Ozawa. He pulled the startled man into a hold and pressed the blade of the sword against the soft, wrinkled skin of his neck.

"You keep these swords sharp..." said Roman, noticing a small droplet of blood start to bead in a minute cut on Ozawa's neck. He hadn't meant to cut the old man but hopefully it would persuade him that Roman meant business.

"They were made for battle, they need to be sharp," replied Ozawa through gritted teeth.

Roman looked towards the guard who had instinctively raised his gun and held it trained on him.

"Drop the weapon now or I open his neck," said Roman, his voice thick with affected malice. The guard narrowed his eyes, looking towards Ozawa. Roman's fortune depended on whether the old man felt confident enough to risk his own skin. He was relieved to hear the old man mutter a few words in Japanese before the guard laid his gun down on the mat at his feet.

"Good. Now go and fetch him."

The guard flexed his neck and muttered a few syllables in Japanese, but he wasn't as secretive as he'd hoped. After living in Japan for several years, Roman was now almost fluent.

"You know who I'm talking about..." said Roman, inclining his head as he pressed the blade against Ozawa's neck again, feeling the old man's body stiffen in anger. "Get him and bring him down here now."

The guard looked at Ozawa again for guidance, his thick brow creased. Ozawa gave a grunt of acquiescence and the guard turned and headed upstairs, muttering in frustration. Roman couldn't blame him. To be confounded by a man who sold love; that was truly an insult.

"Kuri..." said Roman, hearing the shocked breathing of the woman behind him, "get the gun."

Kuri padded across the floor quickly and retrieved the light machine gun, holding it carefully but confidently enough for Roman to see that she had used a similar weapon in the past.

"Good, now get behind the screen door into the other room, I want you hidden. Now you..." said Roman, lowering his voice to a whisper as he placed his head by Ozawa's ear, "you will let them go together or I swear I will cut your throat. I don't care how powerful you are in the world of the Yakuza, right here and right now, you're just a sack of blood next to a blade..."

The old man started to laugh mirthlessly, his body shaking with each breath.

"Yakuza? You damn gaijin fool, you have no idea... I was..."

The sound of footsteps on the stairs dragged Roman's attention back to the hallway. The guard loped in and was followed by a second guard – this one with a combat rifle strapped to his back – who led a heavily muscled man into the room. Roman could tell at a glance that the captive was a Yakuza. He had a strange relaxed gait, as of a cowboy without a horse, all wiry legs shoved into leathers with a black sleeveless top on that showcased full sleeve tattoos. His head was shaved bald and there was a nasty scar running from the centre of his forehead, across an eye and down towards his ear over his cheek. Kuri ran forwards and wrapped her arms around him, and the Yakuza returned the show of affection by planting kisses on Kuri's neck and face as he picked her up and swung her around, laughing raucously. For a moment Roman thought that Kuri had endangered herself by leaving her hiding place but the second guard made no move to attack.

The Yakuza soon turned his attention to Ozawa, smiling a wide grin that showed three gold teeth and made his skin stretch around his scar. He strode forward and bowed deeply, before speaking honorific Japanese in a deep baritone voice.

"I feel honoured that at last you have agreed to our union, your generosity will not be forgotten."

Roman felt the old man's body tense, before he spoke only two words, pushed through his teeth with vitriol.

"Get out."

The Yakuza bowed again, before looking towards Roman and nodding in thanks. As Roman watched, the Yakuza turned and grabbed the gun from Kuri's hands. For a moment Roman thought the world around him was on the brink of exploding into violence, but luckily the Yakuza was just using the weapon as an insurance policy. Both he and Kuri began to back out of the room and head towards the front door. The guards stood back impassively to let them leave, their arms crossed. Kuri gave Roman one last glance, with gratitude clearly displayed in the tears in her eyes, before they were gone. A few seconds later Roman cast a glance through the nearby window just in time to see them leave through the gate, running down the gravel road towards their freedom.

Roman turned his attention back to Ozawa as he started to feel an acute sense of danger slipping back into the situation. The second guard pulled his rifle around to bear on him and the first guard rubbed his hands together meaningfully.

"Can I just ask..." said Roman, pulling the old man backwards a little, but finding him a lot harder to move than before, "where you got the second print from the left? The Oda general?"

"It was a gift, from that waste of breath that has taken my daughter, thanks to you..."

So if the item was a gift... that means... "Ah, of course. So you are...?"

"The primary investor in ParCorp. I am the face behind the mask, the arm behind the hand. Some have called me the most powerful man in the world. You have made a gross error on this day, Black Cat," continued Ozawa, digging his heels in to stop any further progress. The blade dug into the old man's neck a little more but he didn't seem to care. "Now that my daughter is gone, I have no more need to be careful. Despite what you may think, I love my daughter and want only the best for her, and by marrying Haruba she would have been safe with a loyal, honest and hardworking husband. Now she is gone, and you will pay the price."

The speed and strength of the elbow that Ozawa threw into Roman's side made him gasp. He released his grip, staggering backwards. The old man, possessing the poise of a far younger man, reached for another one of the swords. He waved a hand for the guards to stand back, before reaching up and dabbing his fingers against the wound on his neck. It dripped a line of red down his blue kimono.

"It is quite a challenge to draw blood from Ozawa. Do you have the skills to see your challenge through?"

He placed his hand back on the handle of the sword, holding it out two handed in front of him, with the point angled towards the ground. He relaxed his legs, falling into a low stance that showed many years of experience.

"Do you even know how to use that thing except with empty threats?" sneered Ozawa, as he started to approach, one foot after the other, slow, methodical. Roman backed up more quickly, heading back into the other room. He looked around for some way out of the situation. Eventually he sighed, straightened up and threw his sword to the mat.

"You're right, I can't use a sword. I can barely cook a steak, truth be told."

Ozawa's eye twitched. He took another step forwards.

"Would you really kill an unarmed man?" asked Roman, raising his hands above his head. A smile played across Ozawa's lips.

"After what you have done today, I wouldn't give it a second thought."

"You know," said Roman, looking to his right, "I have to respect your deference to tradition. This truly is a wondrous house."

Confusion briefly rippled across Ozawa's features before Roman darted to the side and threw himself through the paper window to the grounds outside. He managed to land and roll his shoulders on the grass and get back to his feet all in the same movement. He heard Ozawa bellowing curses from behind him like a wounded beast as he sprinted towards the rapidly closing gate. He could hear his own breath and involuntary yelps of panic as he ran, just managing to curve his body and slip through before it clanged shut. A bullet cracked into the surface of the road behind him but he didn't stop to see how far behind his pursuers were. He simply focussed on the road ahead, running wildly past rice fields as surprised workers looked on from inside their plastic bio-domes. Each footstep was a thunderclap in his ears but they weren't loud enough to drown out the sound of another bullet as it zipped through his legs and smashed into the grit ahead of him.

His heart leapt into his throat as he spotted the taxi ahead, starting to pull away.

His breath burned in his lungs as his arms pumped furiously with one last push for safety. He saw the taxi momentarily halt, its red brake lights a beacon of hope and safety. The back door opened and without a thought Roman plunged inside, skidding across the seat and into the burly form of the scarred Yakuza.

Chapter 3

The city came into view slowly, colossal towers punctuated with red and green luminescent pinpoints, bursting out of the suburban sprawl like fingers clawing at the dark sky and grasping for the barely visible stars.

"Techosaka, great choice... we can lose ourselves here, no problem," said the Yakuza in a thick accent as he stared out across the night-time landscape. The traffic was surprisingly light and they had made their way to the city within two hours of leaving Yokohama.

Roman hadn't intended to bring them back with him. After escaping from Ozawa's they had made their way to nearby Yokahama, where they had left the taxi driver with cash in his hand and the promise of silence on his lips. Roman's intention had been to head back to Techosaka under the anonymity of night, and as such he found himself staying in Yokohama for the day with the couple as they took their first steps into a terrifying and exhilarating new freedom. Their time had been spent lying low in various gambling dens, arcades and cinemas, whilst going through the theatre of small talk for fear of drawing attention by discussing the day's events openly. All three had bought new clothes and disposed of their old ones, a habit that the Yakuza seemed equally at home with as Roman. Where Roman had dressed down into jeans, t-shirt and a jacket, the Yakuza had gone the other way and chosen a suit, buttoned up high to hide his tattoos. Kuri had gone for baggy clothes that hid her form and made her almost androgynous, with a cap and hood pulled down to keep her well known face from view.

Roman had hired a car after a brief dinner of yakitori, but as he was making to leave he had found himself offering to help the two of them to make their way to pastures new, his reasoning being that he was already up to his neck in trouble, so he may as well drown in it. Besides, despite the trouble that their situation had caused him he found that he enjoyed their company.

After they had driven out of danger and onto the Tomei express way, losing themselves among the crowded but fast moving traffic, the Yakuza had finally introduced himself as Jun. As his gruff public façade had come down Roman had found that the Yakuza was a far more mild mannered and well-spoken than Roman would have imagined from his appearance. He had also wondered how he must have appeared to Jun with his new cheap jacket and usually slicked hair hanging in strange crescents about his face.

Now that they were close to Techosaka, the conversation began to flow. Kuri seemed mostly amused at watching them talk, evidently seeing the macho posturing for what it was as they had tentatively traded stories about near misses, narrow escapes and nefarious dealings.

Jun's experiences were clearly more violent in nature, with the scar apparently being caused by Ozawa himself when Jun had first visited the house and asked for permission to marry Kuri. The old man had apparently been bowing out of faux respect but at the last minute he had pulled a tanto from his robes and swung it upwards across Jun's face. It was only due to the Yakuza's quick reactions that his eye hadn't been damaged.

"The relationship only deteriorated from there," Jun said, grinning widely. The scar stretched with each shift of his features.

"My father is a good man," Kuri replied. Her eyes narrowed as she looked across at Jun from her vantage point on the seat facing them. Roman could tell from this minor exchange that whilst their relationship was certainly strong, it was also fiery.

"No, no. Neither of us is," Jun said, scratching at the stubble at his jawline. "Both mine and Ozawa Yosuke's worlds are tinged with violence, degradation and the pursuit of riches. I simply choose to pursue in a more direct manner. I never wanted him to think I was a saint, I simply wanted him to believe and respect my desire to be your husband."

Kuri slid across the seat and moved up next to Jun, planting a kiss on the Yakuza's cheek and pulling his head into an embrace against her neck. Roman smiled as he glanced at them in the rear view mirror, touched by the affection they displayed. Such is the new generation of Japan.

When they finally arrived in Techosaka, the two lovers decided to get out at the edge of the commercial district, in a relatively quiet area before the snarl of traffic truly began. They had spotted a small but relatively well maintained hotel where they could spend the rest of the night, before moving on in the morning. As they stepped out, Roman looked out at them, the fallen rock idol and the tattooed gangster, arm in arm like two teenagers.

"Where are you going to go? What are you going to do?" he asked, curiously envious at their lack of direction or ties.

"We'll lie low. I'll get a makeover and in a few weeks I'll be forgotten about," said Kuri, peering out from under her hood. She had looked so different to her J-Rock image in the kimono that Roman could believe it. Throwaway icons. A curse and a gift, depending on what you wanted.

"What about your career though?"

"It was never mine to begin with," she said, her mouth pressed flat. "My father bought it for me, the record deal, the band, the hype... everything. I want something of my own."

"And I'll get back into being a mechanic, or maybe security. Fuck, I'll sell ice cream if I have to," said Jun. "I can't keep tempting death now that I have something to live for, so I'm getting out of the game. Whether we can outrun the Yakuza as easily as Ozawa I don't know, but we'll have to try."

He reached out a hand and shook Roman's, slipping a small piece of paper into his palm before stepping back and bowing low for good measure, speaking aggressively as the words were thrown out of his mouth in one of the customary bursts of feeling that punctuated life in Japan.

"This is my number should you need my help. I am forever in your debt. Arigatou gozaimasu!"

Roman smiled and drew away from the pavement. They disappeared into the haze of smog, two figures lost, alone and – he hoped – finally happy.

Roman stood outside Crash/Burn as a light rain started to descend upon the sprawling city, spattering his coat and giving the rubbish strewn pavement a gloss in the street light. He flicked open his phone, scrolled through the numbers and his thumb hovered for an age over the call button. This will not be easy.

Three minutes later Luis charged out of the club, pushing Kenji aside as he came, which was a feat in itself. As Roman held his hands out in supplication, Luis grabbed his coat and pushed him backwards fiercely, slamming him against a dumpster overflowing with glass bottles. They shattered around them in a burst of green and white.

Roman waited for the questions but for a while there was nothing, as Luis simply forced him bodily against the metal before pulling him away and throwing him back, again and again. Roman knew better than to fight back. He'd made that mistake before and he had ended up needing to have his jaw wired up for a month.

Eventually Luis started to calm down, the fire in his eyes dying as his breathing became laboured from the effort. He finally let go of Roman, leaving him to slump in a heap onto the concrete, his head reeling. Roman looked up at the creased features and wondered how he had ever got embroiled in such a strange quasi-abusive relationship. If they were a couple, Luis would be in jail by now for abuse.

"What the fuck did you think you were doing? Eh?" Luis started to pace back and forth in front of Roman. Behind the man's legs Roman could see one or two people staring wide eyed from the entrance of the club but they were smart enough not to come over. Luis cared little for collateral damage when he was having one of his moments.

"I know I've screwed you over-" started Roman.

"Right, you're right, that's exactly what you did. You just waltzed out after I'd sorted the booth and used about three grams of Cupid. Two months we've been working on her. We'll run out in the next ten weeks at this rate. You didn't even answer my calls. I'd even got you two a suite."

"I don't sleep with those I've dosed," said Roman firmly. Luis was always angling for that, insisting that it would create a far longer bond, as some of his acted 'relationships' tended to crumble early on due to a lack of sex, all except for Sandrine's.

"Yeah, of course, the mighty chemist and his code of honour. You're a saint," said Luis, his mouth curled into a sneer.

Roman pulled himself to his feet, his body aching from the impact of Luis' admonishment. He could feel the water from the rain sticking his clothes to his body. He shivered, though whether it was from cold or from a sudden realisation, he couldn't tell.

Was this the way it would always be, dispensing his services whilst working alongside a man who would kick his own father to death if it meant a big score? The sight of Jun and Kuri heading off together had burned itself into his mind's eye, two figures getting lost together in the web of Techosaka, answering to no-one. He had thought he was a spider in the city but reputation or not, he was simply a fly, another junkie hooked on keeping his standard of living high, whilst ignoring the fact that he wasn't really living.

Such a revelation did little for him when faced with the might of a killer such as Luis.

"At the very least, did you complete the job that Medea gave you? I spoke with him after you'd gone. The money from that should see us through for a little while at the very least."

"No," said Roman, gritting his teeth as anger started to burn in his belly. "Couldn't have gone worse. I've probably got ParCorp and the Yakuza after me now." Roman still had some fire left in him, some child-like sense of spirit that was foolishly goading him into pushing Luis' buttons.

Roman saw the tendons tensing in the man's bullish neck. "One simple job..."

"Get off my back Luis," said Roman, turning to walk away. He could have explained the circumstances but there was no guarantee that Luis would even try to see it from his point of view. He knew that he had done the right thing, even if there was a distinct chance it would get him killed.

He could hear Luis' feet approaching behind him even over the incessant droning bass emerging from Crash/Burn, and the anger that had risen in his bruised body in the last few seconds took over. He took a quick glance back and saw the man's scarred fist, a hammer of meat and bone, flying towards him. He managed to roll to his side so that the blow glanced off his shoulder blades, before turning to face Luis.

Whatever the man's background, he had clearly seen combat all over the world as his style seemed to switch as he rained blow after blow towards Roman. Luckily Roman had a few tricks of his own. He twisted with each punch that Luis aimed towards him so the impacts only grazed off his body. He hoped Luis' anger would make him careless, so he taunted him with smiles, dancing away from Luis' reach again and again, before finally the man overextended and lost his balance. Roman brought the heel of his hand forwards as hard as he could and rammed it into the side of Luis' nose, hearing the crack as he broke the cartilage.

Luis reeled back, blood running down his puzzled face. He brought his hands up to his nose and touched it gingerly.

"You..." he yelled, but Roman finished his sentence for him as he turned away, sprinting into the darkness.

"... I'm out. For good."

The Black Cat slipped into the night.

Roman walked the streets of Techosaka for hours, drifting from bar, to club, to dive, spending money he felt he had no right to have and trying to take stock of his situation.

He had robbed banks, committed investment fraud, taken valuable, irreplaceable artworks and sold them on the Marketplace, but somehow it all paled in comparison to what he had done with his formula, the smallest part of which could change the world. If he looked back, really looked at the faces of those that had asked for his services... had they also shown signs of being coerced, or worse, forced? Was he simply seeing signs in his mind's eye now that he had doubts? No, there must have been more... Kuri cannot have been the only one. How many had he dealt with in the past, four, five, even six hundred? Was it close to a thousand? A glance here, a facial twitch there, the nervous movement of a hand moving to a wrist... it could mean so much. Far from being an angel he may have been a demon for all those years, placing men and women in a bondage of their own feelings, slaves to passions that he had formulated on a white board.

The red lights of a sign in neon kanji flashed across his vision and pulled him inside, gravity pulling detritus into the dark.

He found himself in a small Korean style restaurant, little more than a counter lined with seats and two tables currently occupied with a couple of raucous groups of post work colleagues drinking away the misery of the day. He slipped onto a barstool and ordered a sake, then another, then another. The night wore on as his gaze ran over the dented metal bar, taking in every little detail in an effort to keep his mind occupied with something other than his situation. On a sudden whim he tapped the compartment on his shoe and pulled out the small vial of cupid that he still had left over, holding it up to the light.

The vial itself was the same as always... small, clear unbreakable plastic in a heart shape, with a snap off top so that it couldn't be contaminated. A heart shape... a pathetic affectation which he had used since day one in an effort to make himself feel less of a villain. Cupid indeed. The liquid inside – given a faint pinkish hue and flecked with gold leaf – looked like some sort of cheap perfume.

"Fuck this," he said fiercely, surprising a couple who had been engaged in a hissed argument at the other end of the bar. He went to throw the vial against the wall but his hand for some reason couldn't release it. This was all that he had built his identity on. As soon as he had been to the surgeon and reconstructed his features the old Roman had died. The young man who had studied chemical engineering at ParCorp had drifted into obscurity, leaving only this drunk, sodden angel of love.

He slipped the vial back into his shoe and looked around, looking for something else to occupy his attention apart from his own failings. The barman was approaching, all gut and sweat, his apron tight at his sides as if he were a strung up sausage.

"Something the matter?" asked Roman in Japanese, his lip curling in what he had hoped was a friendly gesture but could feel was coming off as a leer due to the alcohol in his system.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," said the barman. He must have only been in his early thirties but his hair was starting to thin to such an extent that he had shaved it off, leaving a crescent of dark stubble around his head. He leaned forwards on his large arms and started wiping down the bar. Roman became transfixed with the movement of the cloth, watching it sweep back and forth, infinity on steel.

"I'm a paper man..." whispered Roman, still staring downwards. "There's no weight to me. Nothing substantial. No marks left on the world."

The barman started to laugh, a guttural sound that reminded Roman of rocks slamming against the sides of a tin can.

"You might want to tone that down a little, you're no Basho." said the large man, his eyes twinkling. He switched effortlessly into English, though his accent was still thick, containing the staccato precision of Japanese. "Boil that down to a haiku and you might get an audience."

Roman sighed, rubbing his palms against his temples. "I just don't know how I got here."

"You headed in from down-town, so you probably went across the bridge." said the barman.

"You know what I mean," said Roman as he finished the last of his sake. The barman lifted the bottle behind the bar and Roman nodded. Liquid splashed into the glass.

"Of course I do, I get this every shift. I should move premises. I get all the sad cases heading out of town after a disappointing night," said the barman, raising an eyebrow at the couple at the other end of the bar. They were both drinking with their shoulders hunched, casting annoyed glances at each other every so often. The barman looked back at Roman, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, go on, let's hear what you've got. If I feel you've been particularly victimised I'll give you that last drink on the house."

Roman waved at the barman in irritation. The man's words were like bullets into his subconscious. The whole room was a loud colourful mess, as if he had been dropped onto an artist's palette and left to flounder.

"I was in love, once..."

The words came out without him formulating them in his mind. He had no idea if they were even true. No, I know they are true, he thought to himself as he took another sip of sake. As much as I try to move on, and as much as I have loved and love others, it all begins with her. Tavisi.

The barman nodded to himself, though whether this was because he'd heard it all before or because he truly sympathised was up for debate. It doesn't really matter either way.

"I worked... somewhere," continued Roman, still having the wherewithal to retain some of his necessary anonymity. "The location isn't important. The work, that was important, more important than anything else or anyone else around me. One woman, working on the same project, before I left... she was... she had..."

Roman slapped himself on the face once, the sound ringing sharp across the bar and drawing stares. The barman's eyes widened in surprise but he didn't interrupt.

"... I don't even remember her face. Can you believe that? I loved her, I still do. Her face..."

He sighed, trying to calm himself a little.

"Her laugh, that's what I remember, like..."

He looked towards the barman, who had one eyebrow raised, no doubt waiting for a cliché to hit him square in the face. Roman wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He didn't want to hide his feelings behind hyperbole.

"... like the best fucking laugh you ever heard. It was beautiful. Three years we worked together, sharing the science and everything else. She was reserved, measured, composed, kind. She was everything I'm not."

"So your self-loathing..." said the barman, waving a prompting hand.

"...made me love her. Maybe. I don't know, I just felt it, feel it. I can't think it through that deeply. When I left... I got greedy. Now I'll never see her again."

The barman nodded to himself. "Well, it's pretty standard fare I'm afraid."

Roman couldn't help himself, laughing at his own wallowing.

"The essence of the sun, man. That's what she was..."

The barman started giving a little slow clap. "Wonderful. That'll do. You're one sorry ass-hole."

"You're right there," muttered Roman to himself, leaning his head in his hands. The world swam about him, over, under, warm, dark, and perfumed.

The purple lights flared and died, again and again, dots punctuating the light tube that ran across the wall. The warmth was cloying. Sweat clung to his body, hot and heavy. It was suffocating in here. The pressure was folding in on him.

He moved his head, feeling the pillows pressing in on his cheeks, soft but heavy as if they were the fingers of a fat man laid out, grasping him as he struggled out of their reach.

He managed to kick off the bed clothes but felt a tension on his wrists. He soon worked out that he was handcuffed, his arms out wide and his wiry body lying naked against the undulations of the purple silk sheets that covered the water bed. The realisation of where he was struck him just as the hangover did.

"Not again..." he hissed to himself, kicking out in a futile gesture of defiance. His body flopped back down, rocking back and forth on the bed.

The walls of the room were swimming into focus but he knew what he would see before the details drew themselves out of the darkness. It was always the same, wherever she moved to.

The left wall was all posters, various industrial and Goth groups in ludicrously macho poses, their make-up splashed across faces twisted in mock rage and defiance. One band was named 'Harpy's Ulcer', which brought back memories he hoped he had lost forever – of being dragged to a gig that he had no interest in and trying to maintain a genial façade whilst having his ears assaulted by chronic noise pollution.

The right wall was dominated by a large window, with heavy velvet curtains that were almost fully drawn but still revealed the slow rotation of several lurid holographic images intermingled with the early pre-dawn light. He was definitely somewhere in down-town Techosaka. The knowledge did little to improve his situation. He was also high up, probably over twenty storeys, but again such knowledge didn't help him. Down-town was littered with skyscrapers and tower blocks, some residential, some commercial or serving any number of seedy pleasures. Some even interspersed them, with clubs and brothels half way up the buildings creating strange insular communities united by their darkest desires. Each to their own.

The far wall was a surprise, a new addition to the usual set of décor...

It was plastered with images, both old and new, of him. Most of them were clearly taken with a long range telephoto lens from high angles, but some were screen grabs of security footage from inside public buildings, some were CCTV images from the few well policed areas of the city that he sometimes had to walk through, and one was even a photograph of his face before his last modification, with the lines of proposed surgery drawn onto his comatose features.

"You look like you're sleeping in that one, ready to wake up as a new person, still loving, and still loved." said Sandrine, crossing over the room in a large nightdress that flowed onto the ground, letting her painted toes poke through occasionally as she padded over the carpet.

"Good morning Sandrine. You look wonderful as always," said Roman, his sense of self-preservation kicking in immediately. He had no escape route here, no way to make use of his evasive skills. Watch and wait.

"Oh, you don't mean that," said Sandrine, sitting down on the foot of the bed and making his body swing upwards as the balance of the mattress shifted. She looked over her shoulder at him as the dreadlocks fell about her features in less of an attempt at seduction and more in a gesture of deepest depression. The difference put Roman on edge even more so than before. She had always been a fiery mix of passion and anger, flipping between the two on a whim. Resignation was a strange new direction. "I heard the way you were talking about that woman."

"The bar." sighed Roman, remembering his last moments before blacking out. "So the barman, he just let you take me?"

"I played the hurt wife dragging her spineless husband back from the seven year itch. You fit the bill perfectly with your self-pitying rhetoric," said Sandrine, inspecting her fingernails whilst trying to look nonchalant, though sadness still radiated from her. She looked up, reached out and gently grabbed his left hand before slowly working his wedding ring free. "You won't be needing this anymore. That puppet marriage is over." She threw the ring into the corner of the room where it clattered against the wall. A look of triumph crawled across her features as she stared at it.

"Sandrine, maybe we can talk about this," said Roman, trying to move his body to hide his modesty a little, but there was no way he could manage it. Sandrine looked over and a smile flitted briefly across her features. It was a beautiful movement, one which brought back memories of the person she used to be – intelligent, moral and worthy of admiration. If he hadn't twisted her into such a maniac then she could have had her pick of men or women, or no one, whatever she had wanted. She had always been a solitary person with regards to relationships despite her wide circle of friends. Roman had known her for years before the dosing. He had killed their friendship in one fatal moment of greed and also dragged her away from everyone else. She had cut off all contact with their mutual acquaintances as soon as she had begun her quest to draw out his love.

"Talk, talk," she said to herself, tilting her head to the side. "Yes, let's. Why not? It can't hurt. Well, it can't hurt anymore."

"I'm sorry, I truly am," said Roman. He meant it every time he said it to her, but he also knew it would do no good. Her brain was wired into obsession. It equated to trying to douse a fire with a water pistol.

"Sorry, again. All right, maybe that's true," said Sandrine, climbing up the bed towards him until her head was level with his. She laid her cheek against his arm and sighed, before staring into his eyes. "Does it do any good though? Is it going to heal any of the hurt?"

"I don't know. I hope so, but I don't know," said Roman. A shudder ran through his body. He couldn't see any weapons in the dimly lit room but that didn't really matter when he was trussed up in such a compromising position. She could have quite easily just leaned over and strangled him. He knew she was strong enough. He just hoped he could delay the moment.

"Maybe it would help if you explained what you did, and why you were sorry. I want to know if you know exactly what you've done to me. I want to know all your motivations. Perhaps I'll forgive you."

The edge in her voice gave him little hope that her words were true but he had to give it a try. He shifted his weight to try and force some distance between their bodies. He could feel the warmth of her skin radiating from beneath the nightdress, a situation which under other circumstances might have excited him but in his current state simply served to put him in mind of how close he was to the fires of Hell.

"It was the Daichi international bank, Akibahara branch. I was given details of an imminent transfer to be made from Kenyon Inc. to one of its subsidiaries and was advised that with the right help I'd be able to change the money's destination."

"Oh come on!" said Sandrine, rolling onto her back in exasperation. Her dreadlocks ran across his skin causing it to itch. "That's so plain, so dull... the excitement, that was why I helped you. The thrill of it all. Give it a bit of a dramatic edge."

She slowly raked her nails across the trembling skin of his bony chest, drawing thin lines that trailed beading blood.

"... or I might get angry."

He tried not to let the pain show in his voice as he continued.

"So I got in touch with the one person I knew who had the know-how to get into the Network, who'd know the layout inside and out and would be able to make sure that the money wasn't traced once it had left Daichi. A master of data who I had known since ParCorp..."

"Flattery. My my, Mr. Rasnic, that's a beautiful set of compliments," said Sandrine, turning back towards him with a playful glint in her eyes. "Don't let me stop you."

Roman's voice faltered. Here was where the guilt welled up, overflowing and choking his words. He swallowed.

"I invited her... you... out for a meal under pretence of simply catching up. The night went well, we exchanged stories as I tried to test the waters with regards to criminal activity. I knew you hadn't done anything like this before."

"You thought I hadn't," said Sandrine. "In reality I'd been channelling loose fractions of Yen from ParCorp transactions for years into an account that I regularly emptied for a charity of choice."

The words hung in the air. Roman was so shocked that he forgot the danger he was in.

"You never told me that before," he said somewhat accusingly. Sandrine gave him a few playful pats on the cheek, smiling widely.

"I keep my cards close to my chest, honey. You can't know everything about everyone using that sixth sense of yours. Life doesn't work that way."

Roman frowned, feeling on even shakier ground. What else was she hiding? No time to think about that. Keep going.

"As soon as I was confident that the job would be no problem for you I got the formula ready."

"So you've said before. I still don't believe it. I know you think you created this fantastical element in your lab, but there is no way that you could do this."

"You don't have to believe me then, just let me go!" yelled Roman, feeling a sudden flash of anger. Sandrine looked shocked for a moment before slapping him hard across the face, her nails raking two lines beneath his left eye. Furious words fought in his mind for escape but he managed to hold his tongue before it got him into more trouble.

"Watch your tone, this is my apartment, my home. I'm in control. I won't have guests stepping out of line."

She had been so intelligent, perhaps a little too much. So sharp she could cut herself. She had been a master of finding a hitherto unseen negative in any situation. Perhaps she had been self-medicating and that was why the Cupid had exhibited such a drastically wild effect. There had to be a reason. Maybe if I can work it out, then I can see what was different about the situation. You can't always see the threads...

"Focus!" hissed Sandrine in his ear. "Keep going."

"When you left momentarily to answer a call I put a vial into your wine. When you had drunk it all, I began to flirt. You reciprocated as the drug kicked in. I knew that you'd do whatever I asked of you."

"Wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong." shouted Sandrine in a sing song voice. She pushed herself out of the bed and started to pace in front of him. "You think you can flick a switch and just turn on my feelings?"

"That's what it does, that's what Cupid was designed for," said Roman through gritted teeth. He could see she was working herself up again. He was expecting violence, but what he got were words, seven strange, unlikely, unforeseen words that shattered his view of the past.

"And what if someone already loved you?"

Chapter 4

Ozawa Yosuke rubbed a hand against the dressing on his neck, feeling the tenderness of the wound and using the pain to fuel his anger. My daughter, lost into a criminal underworld with Jun, that waste of inked skin. The boy had thought himself such a master of psychology when he had given that fabulous antique as a gift to curry favour, but all Ozawa had seen was a thug who had stolen something rare and beautiful, just as he had stolen Ozawa's daughter.

He looked out across the grounds of his house, watching the form of Takahashi Haruba picking his way up the winding gravel between his beds of bonsai and rare plants. Not many could boast of a garden as well kept or vibrant as Ozawa's but the rich businessman didn't seem to notice, simply trying to make his way to the house as quickly as possible.

He fears me, thought Ozawa with a mixture of pride and mild annoyance. It was good that Haruba would be an obedient son in law when he finally managed to return Kuri to his household. He was the perfect choice, especially as he had no living parents and had agreed to be adopted into Ozawa's family. He could ensure his family name continued.

The way it had played out still troubled Ozawa, not least in the way that Kuri had left without looking back. His own daughter, who he still saw as a child no matter how mature she became. How could she think so little of our family's heritage?

The thought of that gaijin, this 'Black Cat' still angered him. He had been reluctant to choose such a strange route for solving the issue of his daughter's reticence but it had been the perfect way to kill two birds with one stone. The man had been using various methods to plunder their labs for years, changing his location and face and always evading capture whilst simultaneously entrapping employees into his sordid web. If this man had used his formula to persuade Kuri of the right path then he could have used that as verification of his identity and captured him. Killing the Black Cat had never been on the agenda. He hadn't wanted to waste the talent. Such a formula could be put to many uses with regards to espionage and control, two areas within which ParCorp was trying to increase its scope.

With the loss of his daughter, everything had changed. Ozawa no longer had any wish to work with the man. Presuming that I am one of those bloodthirsty Yakuza... such disrespect cannot go unpunished. He would not be killed, for that was not Ozawa's way, though he had burned with such rage when the Black Cat had destroyed his plans that if they had managed to stop him escaping, then he may well have lost control and wounded the man fatally. As it was, his guards were instructed to hand him over to the authorities, so that Ozawa could claim the bounty and at least gain something from the mess.

He turned away from the window as he heard Haruba on the stairs and turned to see the man shuffle in respectfully, smoothing down the hair that had been whipped out of place as he had hurried in. He bowed low, showing the respect that Ozawa had earned.

"Haruba-san, thank you for coming. I'm sorry I had such bad news for you. I know you are eager to join my family," said Ozawa, bowing back as the man settled into a seated position on the tatami mats.

Haruba shook his head, his eyes cast downwards respectfully. "It would have been an honour to become a part of this house, I am simply sorry that I was not the man that Kuri desired," he said calmly. Ozawa grunted at the understatement of the situation.

"It may yet come to pass. I have plans in motion. I am still a part of ParCorp and there are resources available that I have yet to make full use of. Even now there is an espionage operative searching for an... accomplice of the Yakuza boy," said Ozawa, refusing to refer to Jun as a man, whilst also omitting the details of the Black Cat's name or unique service, which Haruba had no idea of and would be best served never knowing, "and as soon as they have made confirmation of the target's identity, we can make an arrest and use it to bring my daughter home."

Roman breathed deeply, a number of passing thoughts fluttering wild and indistinct through his head, before a realisation drove roughshod through the centre of it and demanded full attention.

He had created the obsession due to the intensity of her existing feelings. He had magnified her love to such an extent that it had driven her insane.

He'd had no idea that she had any sort of feelings like that for him. She had been so good at hiding her true self behind a cool veneer of professionalism. How many years had she felt like that? How many meetings, meals, drinks... she had never flirted, never shown an attraction, but then neither had he. They had both retained a respectable distance and whereas he had been satisfied with it, she had been yearning for him secretly.

The drug worked by amplifying the release of serotonin at key moments with a desired counterpart, which was imprinted using details of the proposed target of affection, usually himself. She must have felt such a serotonin high when he had begun his romantic advances that when he withdrew from her it would have been like going cold turkey from a heroin addiction.

Was that why the reversal drug hadn't worked? He was trying to change a part of her that was already concentrated on him... there was nothing to reverse. With that knowledge, if I can get access to my lab, I might be able to simply create a serotonin dampener that would negate the extra high and just leave her with her previous feelings (if she still feels any after the way she has been treated) and hopefully remove this mania that threatens to...

The bullwhip cracked through the air, raking the skin of his chest. He screamed in agony as a weal opened up across his ribs. Sandrine's hand shook as she held the weapon, staring at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"I can't feel anything now, except for you!" she screamed, cracking the bull whip against his skin again. Roman bucked and writhed in pain, wrenching against the handcuffs. His body was not built for brute strength and it was a futile gesture. All he did was rattle them against the frame of the bed.

"Everything else is black and white, cold, dead... you are the only light, and then you went out, leaving me in the dark. I don't..."

Crack.

"... even..."

Crack.

"... know..."

Crack.

"... why I still love you!"

The pain was so raw that Roman could feel consciousness starting to slip away. If he went under and she continued her assault, he might never wake up again. He had to make this worse to make it better. Lie to survive. You're used to that.

"Please," he hissed through bloody lips, tasting the rank thickness of blood from where he had bitten his own tongue, "don't make me hate you."

Her hand froze, her eyes still wide beneath the mass of dreadlocks as she processed the words. It was all he could think of, to let her add the layers herself, to dig for a truth that wasn't there as she always did, and hope it would be one that saved him.

She slowly lowered her hand to her side. She was breathing deeply, watching his face for any tell-tale signs of lies. It would be hard to turn this situation around but luckily for him all that he could register at the moment was pain, a very real pain that would have pulled him into in the foetal position, if he could move.

"Hate is a strong word." she said quietly.

Roman gritted his teeth, forcing words out as he tried not to think of the open wounds across his chest.

"It's a strong feeling," he managed to say, feeling himself slipping away again. He kicked his legs instinctively as if trying to keep his head above water.

"It's hard to hate people," she said, circling around the bed and bending over him. She still wore the same perfume as all those years ago, a heady scent that was far too strong and made his head swim even more.

"Is it?" he asked deliriously, feeling his plan slip away. What am I doing? I just want to sleep...

She leaned down, her lips close to his ear, her breath hot on his cheek. "Unless you love them first."

The pain upon waking this time was significant, so much so that he cried out involuntarily, wrapping his arms around his body to try and hold himself together. He felt as if his skin had been stripped away, leaving red hot lines of fire across his chest.

The realisation that his arms were free was at least a comfort, as were the dressings that were covering the wounds, though they were stained brown with dried blood where it had started to seep through. He wondered if she had attempted stitches, which he would no doubt need.

When the pain began to finally subside, he was finally able to lift his head a little. He registered the darkness in the room and the night outside the open curtains, before light washed over him. Sandrine stood in the doorway, carrying a bottle of water and a small packet of pills. She was wearing a crisply ironed business suit cinched in at her waist to accentuate her large hourglass shape. The dreadlocks had been discarded (Roman had always suspected they were extensions) and she was now wearing a shorter cropped hairstyle – black hair held back with pins – and a pair of black rimmed glasses, potentially just a fashion accessory although with the amount of her life that she kept hidden they could have equally been a necessity. He knew that he had often seen her in different coloured contact lenses in the past, but he'd assumed they were just for fashion... and you know what assuming leads to.

"Baby, I'm so glad you're awake. Don't ever worry me like that again," she said, as if he had simply been ill as opposed to the victim of a sustained and violent torture, though in some masochistic way he felt a small weight of guilt had been lifted... some punishment at last had been received.

She sat down on one side of the bed and held the bottle out for him, waiting patiently. He tentatively reached out to take it, wincing with every contraction of his chest muscles. He held it for a few seconds as he tried to bring his other hand around, but it was too painful. Sandrine suddenly tutted at herself and gently took the bottle from him, unscrewing the top before handing it back.

"Sorry baby, I know it hurts. Let's never hurt each other again, hmm? Promise?"

She tilted her head to one side, her lips pushed into a teenage pout that still somehow seemed to fit her late thirties features. Roman nodded slowly, pushing the rim of the bottle to his lips and taking a few slow sips. His lips were parched from dehydration; perhaps he'd been unconscious for over a day.

Sandrine pulled a blister pack out of the pill packet and pushed a couple of painkillers out onto the palm of her hand.

"The strongest I could get without prescription. I hope they do the trick," she said as she handed them to him, before leaning in and softly planting a kiss on his forehead. Part of Roman wanted to rear away as if it were an attack but his sense of self-preservation prevailed and he stayed where he was, feeling the lipstick tackiness against his skin.

"How long was I... asleep?" he asked, looking out of the window at the winking lights of the city that was still running like clockwork around his microcosm of torture. He wondered if anyone could see them, or had seen them in here. How sweet the scene must look from the outside, the caring girlfriend nursing her dearest back to health. Little would they know of the knife edge that he was walking, the dangerous game he was playing in defusing her feelings.

"Too long, but I suppose you were exhausted," she said with a smile that was filled with manic warmth.

"I'm hungry," he whispered, in the least demanding tone that he could manage. A small respite was the best that he could hope for at the moment. He was in no state to escape and needed to heal up.

Sandrine nodded. She lifted the sheet from its tangle at the foot of the bed and laid it out over him. "I'll get you some soup. You can sleep again, if you'd like. I'll wake you when it's ready.

Roman nodded, letting his eyes shut even though his mind was alive with machinations. He felt the bed shift as she stood up, and didn't open his eyes until he heard the gentle click of the door behind her.

He opened his eyes again to the darkness of the room. This was his torture chamber, a barbarous and bloody fish tank. He shifted his body across the water bed in a series of painful hops – which was a feat in itself as the bed sloshed and shifted under him – until he finally reached the edge of the bed and tumbled over, mercifully landing on the pile of his own clothes. He gave out a yelp of pain as his wounds twisted with his body's movement.

He guided himself using a hand on the bedside table. It was scattered with more photographs of his face, interspersed with dried rose petals. He pulled himself to his feet using his legs and thighs more than his arms so as not to use his chest muscles.

When he was upright he padded over to the door as quietly as he could manage under and reached out to try the door handle. It was locked, as he had suspected it might be. She still didn't trust him a hundred percent, which he could understand given the strangeness of the situation. If anything she should have mistrusted him a hundred percent, as he had no intention of staying here any longer than he needed to.

He worked his way across the floor. It was covered with Sandrine's clothes, magazines, papers and strange tubes of light that seemed the snake around everything, winking on and off in a constantly changing pattern of purple that made his head swim. Finally he was able to reach the window and stare down at the vast city below. The glass was so clear that he could imagine that he was standing on the edge of building, ready to fly into the night across the moving carnival of blurring, brightening, fading advertising slogans and the traffic snarled arteries of the city. He waved his arms to gesture for help but had no idea what he expected to happen. Anyone who could see him would be so far away that there would be nothing they could do even if they did suspect he was in trouble.

Any further investigation was halted when heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway. He turned back towards the bed and climbed in as quickly as he could manage, wincing as he pulled the blankets back over his body.

The door opened again and he was greeted by the sight of Sandrine entering with a tray holding a bowl of soup, a couple of slices of soy flour bread and a small vase containing what seemed to be a real flower – a violet of course.

"That looks wonderful," said Roman, actually meaning it as he looked at the thick orange soup. He hadn't realised how hungry he was. "Is that real vegetables in there?" he asked, looking at the consistency. After years of genetically modified algae derivatives you could always tell a real vegetable by its texture.

"Only the best for you," said Sandrine. She smiled as he started to eat.

The soup was full of flavour and warming, making him feel more comfortable in the situation than he knew he should be. He looked up at the flower and raised his eyebrows at it meaningfully.

"What, you don't like it?" said Sandrine suddenly, the smile evaporating as quickly as steam in a furnace. Rage started to crease her features. He could see her whole body tense, her fingers working the air.

Roman quickly swallowed, babbling out the true meaning of his gesture. "No, I meant... the same as the vegetables... I meant, it's real. It is, isn't it?"

In a heartbeat she was back, her expression softening as she ran a finger over the petals of the flower.

"Yes, it's real. I cultivate them in the other room, propagating them with my distilled water ration. It's a worthwhile sacrifice, I think."

Roman hastily nodded his head, swallowing hard. He ate more slowly but with great exaggeration of the genuinely good taste he was enjoying, trying to avoid any more conversational traps. It was like walking a field of land mines.

Just as he was finishing and placing his spoon on the tray, he felt an urge that he hoped wouldn't be denied him.

"The... ah... the boy's room?" he asked, watching her expression carefully for any change that would indicate that he was on the verge of setting her off again. She remained smiling, to his considerable relief.

"Of course. Come on."

She pushed an arm behind his back and helped him to his feet, before leading him out into the hallway.

He had to shield his eyes from the light as she led him down the corridor and opened another door that led into a dingy bathroom. Roman managed to glance left and right as he went, surreptitiously learning the layout of her new apartment. There was a kitchen at one end of the hallway where it opened out, and he could hear a television from somewhere, though it was so quiet it could have been from another apartment. Perhaps if he were to cry out they would hear him and investigate, although he had to admit the more likely outcome would be them banging the wall in an effort to shut him up.

Apparently her messiness wasn't confined to the bedroom/torture chamber as there were empty shampoo bottles, clothes and wet towels all over the floor of the combined toilet and bathroom. Roman was careful to try and pick his way through the various scattered items but Sandrine simply ploughed onwards unawares. He was sure she hadn't been like this before, as there had been times when he had visited her house before the life changing meal and he had no recollection of it being such a tip. It must have been a side effect, a symptom of the rest of her life turning to grey.

Oh please, please let this request not be too much for her to handle. "Thanks. I'll take it from here."

For a second he thought he could sense a small twitch in her eye, but a smile suddenly flitted across his features and with a rush of relief he realised he was safe with that request, for now.

"I'll be just outside. You'll need helping to the bed, won't you?"

It wasn't really a question and Roman recognised the inferred command. He nodded mutely.

Sandrine turned and walked out, looking back with a maniacal grin as she closed the door. The situation would have made him laugh if it didn't carry the threat of such acute, palpable pain.

He made an audible show of the event, banging the toilet seat louder than necessary when he moved it as he looked around. No windows. That would be too much to hope for. A quick glance inside the medicine cabinet – the door of which creaked a little, making him tense in fear before he carried on – revealed nothing of use, simply a few hair bands and cosmetic sprays. He had no idea what he was looking for in any case. If there had been a large pair of scissors, would he have used them on her to escape? Part of him embraced the thought, but it was only the sense of freedom that excited him. To get there, he'd have to lose a lot of himself and he wasn't sure if the price would be worth paying.

I did this though, I did this.

The inner monologue swam around in his head but he knew better than to embrace it. While it was true, dwelling on it would simply drag him down into a life of bondage, and there was no way he was going to eke out the rest of his days in this grubby den.

"Everything all right in there?" came Sandrine's voice, making him grit his teeth in annoyance. He hated being controlled.

As I controlled others.

True, of course, but he couldn't afford to think like that or he'd be lost. He washed his hands and picked his way back to the door. He just needed to stay patient a little longer and come up with a plan. There had to be a way out, he just needed to take his time and think logically.

He opened the door to the smiling face of Sandrine. She put her arm around him and led him back to his room, which from the outside he could see was lockable from two bolts, one on the top and one on the bottom. There would be no picking the lock then, the only way out would be to physically destroy the door itself, a feat well beyond his means.

He was led back to the bed whilst trying to keep the growing despondency in his stomach in check, along with the increasing urge to resign himself to his fate. Such a strange mix... is this what my 'patients' have felt in the past? Did they feel a slave to their own emotions?

He lay back in the bed and suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. It could have been his body's reaction to the pain and trauma but he soon realised from the way that Sandrine was watching him – with that dangerous and intoxicating smile playing on her lips – that he had been drugged.

The next few days were a blur of waking, drifting to sleep, food, water and mercifully decreasing pain. The day and night cycle was impossible to fathom in the haze of drugs and lack of any clock. The room became his world, interspersed with brief journeys to empty his bladder or bowels. The hugs, the kisses, the caresses... his jailer and victim, aggressor and saint... Sandrine Martinez...

... the view out of the window, wide expanses of grey and neon, the people...

This room is real. This room is tangible. All that I can see out there are scratches on a circuit board, as distant as the waves are from the clouds, none of them meaning anything to the others beyond a passing resemblance.

A little too awake, a little too alert... a crossed word.

"You don't love me, you never did... the other women, you kissed them harder, hugged them longer..."

"That's not... I don't... I don't remember..."

Crack.

"You hate me!"

Blood, cut, agony.

"Love me!"

CRACK.

Awake again. Asleep again.

"You're mine. Love me."

Alone against the world.

Ecstasy.

He had no idea how long he had sat there, cradling the vial in his hands, holding it as if it were a child, precious and pure.

His thoughts were starting to order themselves. He desperately needed the toilet and from that small method of timing he deduced that Sandrine should have been here a while ago. There was no food, no noise from outside. Has something happened to her?

The fear that gripped his gut was real, the grief that was running through his mind was vivid. He found he was pressing the still sealed vial to his lips, feeling the cool plastic against his skin. It would be so easy.

There was enough there, he was sure. One drink and he could return her love.

The cuts across his chest were almost healed, the bandages hanging loosely from his emaciated rib cage. Their life together could be perfect, isolated, insulated, give and take, a partnership built to last forever, driven by the mania of truest burning love.

Something still stopped him though, held his fingers from snapping the seal.

A few more minutes.

The pain in his bladder started to increase, along with a deep headache that pulsed from the back of his head to the front – the stress of dehydration. It also carried with it a rare and precious gift, long forgotten. Clarity.

He shoved the vial back into the compartment in his shoe and pulled himself up to stand. The room was filthy. A mess of old bandages and stained dressings covered the floor, and there were patches of wet carpet that showed where he had pissed himself in the drug addled days that had passed. The stench was ripe and raw in his nostrils. This room was a prison, rank and foul, controlled by a self-made demon.

The sound of a key in a lock grabbed his attention, but the feeling that was dredged up from inside was not the fear that he was used to, or the pitifully needy Stockholm syndrome that had also laced his thoughts since his capture. It was anger. Anger and, at last, hatred.

They were two sides of the same coin and by playing with his feelings (as he had played with hers) she had fulfilled her own prophecy, her own misguided and burning fear.

He had never hated anyone or anything to such an extent before. It was almost tiring, driving rational thoughts from his head. He had to rein it in.

He heard her footsteps on the carpet, followed by the rattling of locks. The bolts were drawn back. He stood, naked, sweating, stinking, and watched as the door was thrown open. She stood there, her face a painted mask of surprise, a kabuki horror in a suit, the public face an approximation of a person. She was a shell, driven by a singular purpose that was as corrupt and rotten as a corpse. There was no whip, no weapon, no way of attacking... but the danger emanated from her like spores off a fungus.

There was only one choice, only one course that he could take. No, there were many that could be taken if he were to give up himself as she had been forced to give up herself, but if he truly wished to retain what little identity he had left – Roman Rasnic, flawed, broken human – then he only had one course.

"Please Sandrine, let me help you."

The words came out, somehow cutting a swathe through the hatred, leaving it burning at the edges, watching the scene and laughing at his cowardice.

She stiffened, obviously sensing the difference in him, the ability to reason and comprehend. Perhaps she had seen his mind as an obstacle for his heart, not letting his true feelings show themselves, or perhaps she hadn't even thought of it that deeply, having lost her sense of humanity along with all other sensibilities.

What's your excuse?

He had no excuse. Had it really needed such a threatening, violent and abusive situation to awaken him to the damage that he had caused so wantonly in his past? He had to hope that he would have come to this conclusion himself, in time. The lesson was cut into his soul.

"What do I need help with exactly?" she asked, a mock playful tone to her voice that screamed with veiled aggression.

Roman continued, hoping that his message would somehow get through to whatever part of her brain could still process.

"I just need ten minutes back at my apartment, that's all. I can give you your life back. You must remember what it was like before. I mean..." he threw out his arms in desperation, "... what is this? This is life?"

"I work, I pay the bills, I shop, I come home to the man I love," said Sandrine carefully, as if ticking off things on a mental list. She closed the door behind her, before jerking a knife out her jacket sleeve, obviously hidden there just in case of such a transgression. "Yes, I was late today, but it was the traffic, not my fault. An accident... what could I do? You were still here though, here when I returned, waiting for me as a good lover should, a good husband. I have everything I could ever ask for. I have everything I ever wanted. I have you. I've locked you in my heart."

With those words, he knew she was lost. There was no way out of here, no way that she would let him leave. Perhaps he could get past her, get to the front door, but then a woman as smart as her would have locked it.

"Get in the bed. It's time for the handcuffs again," she said, moving towards him. He backed up until his shoulders was pressed against the glass of the window, feeling the cold against his skin, the promise of the world outside. He looked at her, feeling the anger returning, spilling back out of the shadows and driving his words, two words, hard and aggressive, bullets aimed at her soul.

"Fuck you!"

She screamed and charged, knife held in front of her. Time seemed to slow as he saw the blade slipping through the air, shining with the promise of blood to be spilled. Death was in the wings.

His body was thin, it was weak, it was frail... but it was his body, and it knew what to do. Muscle memory flared into life as he twisted his body aside, grabbed her wrist and turned her, sending the blade past as they moved sideways...

The glass shattered as the fresh sea air rushed in to surround him. It felt as if it were his first breath, bringing life to lungs that had forgotten their function. The floor slipped away as they fell, two objects in a vast world, feeling all the fear and freedom that such a realisation entailed. The summer air embraced him. The lights of the neon maze of Techosaka flared and dappled the surface of the cubed snow that surrounded him as he drifted downwards. Where it touched his skin its razor sharp edges opened a bloom of deep red.

The warmth of the air gave way to the impact of cold water as he smashed against its surface. It rushed to envelop him, pulling the breath from his body as he drifted downwards. His legs thudded against ceramic tiles. Lights lit up an underwater world that fascinated him as he felt darkness calling, dragging him to a sweet oblivion that would forever drive his memories into an unknown and unneeded place.

You have slept enough.

Damaged, bruised legs kicked instinctively as his heart beat against his ribcage, trying to force its way out through his chest with the same urgency that he used to finally break the surface.

His first breath carried an equal measure of pain and pleasure as he struggled to kick his legs with what little energy he still possessed. As the shapes that surrounded him started to come into focus he saw that he was in a lit swimming pool that lay in the centre of a sparsely decorated recreation area, surrounded by a series of tower blocks that loomed over him in the night-time darkness. He had no idea what time it was, but it didn't really matter. In Techosaka it was hard to be alone no matter the hour and it was likely that someone would pass by soon. As he looked more closely around him he noticed that the waters of the pool were starting to turn a vibrant shade of pink. He soon spotted the source. Blood was seeping out of the corpse of Sandrine, her body drifting and turning in the water as if she were still falling. Her head was a soft bloody mess, the result of impacting with the edge of the pool. A rosebush red splatter of blood was sprayed along the concrete in honour of her last moment.

A mouthful of chlorinated water brought his attention back to himself and he looked around for the nearest edge, desperately kicking towards it before grabbing onto the tiles for dear life. For a few minutes he hung there, letting his legs relax as he continued to breathe and build up his strength. Finally he felt ready to move, so he dragged himself out onto the side in a series of awkward movements, before lying on his back and staring up at the flat expanse of the apartment wall that soared upwards, trying to spot the one window without glass, the only sign of his claustrophobic prison.

After a few minutes he began to feel the cubes of safety glass huddled beneath a body which had been too numb with shock to notice them. He pulled himself to his feet and started to inspect his body, looking in dazed interest at the web of cuts that covered his skin, knowing in his mind's eye that he was trying to avoid looking at the remains of Sandrine. My prison warden, my victim. When he did eventually look the sheer weight of the fact that she hadn't moved and would never move again drove him to his knees. Part of him wanted to pull her body to the side, drag her out of the water and lay her on the ground, as if that reverent act would do some good. He stayed there, forcing himself to look at her, to scrutinise the woman that he had killed, even if it had been self-defence. He only moved when he heard footsteps nearby, a sound which now seemed alien. He couldn't be seen here. It would invite questions that he had no wish to answer. He needed to escape, to hide, to plan his next move. He staggered to his feet and ran, a bloody shadow in the neon night.

He worked his way unsteadily from shadow to shadow until he stumbled upon the back of a department store. A discarded shop dummy stood forlornly propped against a wall, wearing some tatty rain soaked trousers and a t shirt. He peeled them off and slipped them over his shivering body. Shoes were a different matter, and most of the rest of the night was spent tentatively trying to avoid glass and other sharp objects as he staggered back to his apartment.

Idalia. She hadn't seen him since his journey to Yokohama. She probably had no idea that he was even back in town. What could he possibly tell her about what had happened? What part of it would she even believe? Strangely his greatest concern was how she would react when she found out that he was quitting his life of crime and corresponding affluence.

The building seemed colossal and frozen when he arrived, a strange edifice to the life that he had once led and would no longer. It was a monument to money and easy living, paid for by the damaged lives of others. He did his best to avoid the gaze of the only other person in the lobby, a lean muscled man in his early twenties who was stretching before he headed out into the pre-dawn for a run. Thankfully the lift arrived promptly and Roman was able to slip in without having to speak to him, closing the doors as the man headed over. Perhaps he had just been concerned about the blood that was still slowly seeping from his bare feet but Roman couldn't take the chance of being thrown out. He had nowhere else to go.

A quick glance up and down the corridor outside his home told him that the way was clear. He slipped up to the doorway, before pressing his palm against the fingerprint lock. The dead buzz and red light were not what he was expecting. He tried again, with the same result. The tone, the red light, no access.

He looked back up the corridor. The nearest other apartment was a good ten metres away, so he risked rapping his knuckles against the door, even calling out for Idalia in the vague hope that she would be awake at such an hour. After waiting for a few minutes it became clear that no one was going to let him in.

He'd been in a similar situation before, when Idalia had thrown him out of the flat after an argument, and he had a solution. He backtracked a little and found the door to the fire escape. It led to a stairwell downwards but also had a window to the outside of the building, just above a climbable ledge. He pushed it open and felt the wind hit him as he struggled out onto the brickwork, his bruised legs shaking with the effort of control. He somehow managed to edge his way around the building until he was able to climb over the railing of their balcony, whereupon he froze with his hand on the balcony door, staring at the sight within.

The apartment was empty. Not simply empty of people, but empty of everything. All furniture had gone, even the plant that had hidden the switch to his lab, the door of which he could see open...

He yanked the balcony door open and staggered over to the entrance. He found row upon row of empty shelves, the accumulated stock of years vanished into the night, and most importantly the small freezer of Mendel was gone, leaving a dusty rectangle on the floor.

He wanted to scream and yell insults to the stars, to fate, and most of all to Idalia. He had no idea how long he had been gone but surely it hadn't been long enough for her to give up on him. She had clearly jumped at the chance to take his life work and sell it on.

He breathed long and hard, trying to control himself. After all, the use of Cupid was the staple of the life that he wanted to leave behind. Such a development could be seen to be for the best, but it didn't feel that way. He felt violated. He pulled the desk that lay against the far wall aside and ran his hand carefully along the panel beyond, holding his thumb at key points along its join for a few seconds before it gave a mechanical sigh and slid aside. She'd obviously copied his print at some point in order to get into the lab but she hadn't found this compartment, his emergency stash that he had created in case he needed to make a quick getaway.

Inside the recess there was an okanecard with access to a secret account, two keys to a car that he kept in a storage unit a few blocks away, and three vials of Cupid sitting in a storage case. They were all that remained of his empire, a delicately created spider web of intrigue and deals, foul deeds foully done, the blood of others staining his soul. He stared at them, his eyes taking in each detail of the gaudy containers. He could have left them, but then someone else could have found them. If they were used without thinking, or retro-engineered to find out the formula, then the results could be deadly. Instead he took them to the empty bathroom and slowly cracked each vial open before ceremoniously pouring them down the toilet. The thick pink liquid spread out into the water, diluting until it was nothing more than a memory. If only he could delete the formula in his head as easily, and the trouble that it had created.

Chapter 5

It was the first thing that had gone right for him in a long time. The car was pristine, untouched under the dust cover. Its yellow and black striping reminded him of a wasp, and its engine reminded him of a tank. It took a lot of fuel to keep it going but it more than made up for it with its ability to get him out of trouble. It was illegally fast, topping even the police cars thanks to some fine tuning and the best engine parts he'd been able to get his hands on.

The new shirt that he was wearing under the navy blue suit was very starchy in the collar but even as he tugged it away from his throat in annoyance he still relished the feeling of being in clothes again, real clothes, his clothes. As he settled into the driver's seat and heard the sound of the leather creaking he could almost believe none of the events of the last month had happened (for it had been a month, he had found out when he had bought his new wardrobe, checking the receipt's date rather than asking so as not to draw attention to himself). He tapped the ignition and fired the engine into life, before turning on the digital radio and seeing what was on offer for the night-time driver. He almost laughed as the sound Kuri's voice was heard singing some trite lyrics over a predictable melody. No more tunes like that, at least not from her. It was up to the next in line to carry on the dirge.

He pulled out of the garage and onto the road, feeling a little rusty behind the wheel after his imprisonment. The tarmac was slick with rain as he drove out of the highway, the concrete stretching for miles ahead of him, all the possibilities of a country unaware of his existence. Perhaps his drive for anonymity, hiding behind the name of Black Cat had paid off in the biggest way possible. He had a way out.

He wasn't even particularly angry at Idalia anymore. He didn't feel much at all, which was strange. She was his wife of three years but there were no feelings welling up as he thought of leaving the city, just as she had left him. It could be that he had no right to be angry. After all, a month is a long time. She might have thought I was dead.

He reached over and switched off the radio. He drove for an hour in silence whilst craving somebody to talk to. The sun was coming up to reveal a crisp day that would most likely lead to a swelteringly hot one, wrapped in the thick humidity that Japan possessed in August. It was as if he'd lost July.

The many and varied cuts on his body were stinging with each movement of the wheel so he decided to pull into a ramen bar situated on another stretch of the endless suburbia that had sprawled across the country. It was hard to define where one town ended and the other began, as they were joined by various department stores, twenty four hour shops and eateries, all with their own compact car parks, a sea of concrete as far as he could see.

He was the first person in, as it was barely seven in the morning, although luckily it was open in readiness of the urbanites who shovelled the food into their mouths before heading into whichever city they worked at. The chef behind the counter welcomed him boisterously and Roman smiled before sliding into one of the red leather effect seats, trying not to show off his injuries (at least the ones that weren't already visible). He couldn't do anything about the cuts on his face, hastily pulled together with a mixture of plasters and super glue. They would most likely scar deeply but he didn't particularly care, his face had just been another reminder of the life he used to live, crafted in a surgery in Shibuya and modelled vaguely on a mixture of his old features and an actor from fifty years ago who had been known for his good looks. Another vanity, another reason to loathe his past. What had he been thinking, that if he was attractive then that would excuse his use of Cupid? Perhaps it made it more believable to anyone observing him and his prey, or maybe he was just fooling himself into believing it was all him. How could they have resist him?

He ordered a simple bowl of miso ramen and tried to take stock of his situation as he ate, staring out at the passing traffic, a sea of shining chrome and glittering paintwork rushing over the tarmac. The food was good but a little too hot, burning his tongue. The pain served as some sort of delightful reminder though, a reminder that he was alive and free, and able to choose his future for himself again. The world was open. His ties with Luis were cut, so there was no going back on that account. He had no wish to rekindle the business but it was only after Luis had gone that he had realised how many other contacts he had lost. Hiromi, Kenji, basically any of the staff at Crash/Burn along with numerous other contacts, all no longer viable to work with. But then, what would he even work with them on anyway? His skill set was so specialised that he was at a loss in what direction he should take himself. There was always the option of delving back into crime as a petty thief, or seeing if he could ingratiate himself with the Yakuza... but all it would take would be someone recognising him as the Black Cat and then he'd be dead in the water, most likely literally.

He glanced over at the chef who was dutifully chopping through the various ingredients for the day. The man looked up and gave a friendly nod to Roman, who returned it before going back to his food. Maybe the chef would swap lives with him, if he threw in the car.

His wife was gone, his work was gone, and his colleagues were gone. Friends? Not many outside of his former profession and nothing that remained of his former life in the lab at ParCorp, the closest he had got to that was Sandrine.

He mind drifted back to ParCorp, to the blue lit labs where he had felt as if he were moulding the universe, taking it apart and putting it back together at a whim. The misplaced confidence of youth.

He couldn't remember ever being happier, largely due to Tavisi Shah. She had been a guiding moral force which he had lost, or rather thrown away as soon as he had found the power of Cupid. He'd become greedy and arrogant, not even discussing its properties but instead simply casting off his old life to become a self-styled master of emotions. The fact that he'd loved her had – in a perverse way – driven him to leave. He had never had the guts to do anything about his feelings or see if she felt the same way. In the back of his mind he had thought about when he would return loaded with wealth to present a better prospect as a partner, but as soon as he had completed his first job he had known that she would never appreciate how he'd gained his fortune.

It had been juvenile fancy anyway, as the joy of her personality was that material wealth didn't even matter to her. He had found himself so enamoured with the prevailing values of a capitalist society that he had pulled himself away from being someone that she'd consider. He had tried to marry his own greed with what he had wanted emotionally and it simply hadn't fit. He'd thought about contacting her a few times in the passing years but there would have been too many questions and not enough answers that he could have given without incriminating himself.

The first of the morning customers pulled into the car park and entered the building. Roman was so pre-occupied with his own thoughts that it wasn't until the man slid into the seat opposite him that he recognised the long thin face of the barman from Crash/Burn, last seen in Yokohama. Roman gave a quick laugh. There was no getting away from his past.

"Well, you've got me," said Roman, dipping his spoon into the remains of the soup and swirling it around, watching the particles of miso float in a diminishing spiral. "Make it quick, I've had enough pain in the last month."

The barman raised an eyebrow, before looking up at the approaching waiter.

"Two coffees, please," he asked in Japanese, before turning his attention back to Roman. The barman's long hair was hanging down around his shoulders and he was wearing a leather jacket and trousers, dusty from travel. Roman glanced outside and spotted the motorbike parked up next to the building. It looked a decent piece of kit, though he doubted it would be able to keep up with his car.

The barman picked up a toothpick from the table and started to dig at his gums, before finally speaking.

"You've been away quite a while, Black Cat. Vacation?"

Roman sighed before gently pointing out a few of the cuts on his features.

"It wasn't very restful."

The man opposite gave a needlessly wide grin to indicate he found no humour in the situation.

"And yet your product is now more widespread than ever, which indicates to me that you have finally decided to give away your formula, albeit in a very unstable form. Two deaths from overdoses last week..."

"What?" asked Roman, sitting up so quickly that his resting body screamed in pain. The barman raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't know?"

"How could I know?" asked Roman. "I've been... I was..."

He didn't know what to say. The seat seemed to be spinning away from under him, as he felt himself being dragged back towards the whirlpool of his former life. The barman watched him silently.

"Why are you telling me this? Who are you?" asked Roman, keeping his voice as low as possible, although the chef was making such a racket with his knife that it was unlikely they would be overheard.

"Introductions. Why not? My name is Nishikawa Seita. I'm a counter espionage agent employed by ParCorp, my general brief being to identify security leaks or risks and deal with them. You, my friend, have been responsible for a fair few of them, and have been very successful so far in evading me. It was lucky for me that you decided to return to your former residence, after vacating it so quickly last week after its location was discovered. By the way, the alias you used to rent it out, Mack Vellian? Very cute. A simple security camera managed to do what I could not, and gathered some concrete evidence of you holding the vials of Cupid."

Roman hung his head. Even when trying to remove his blight on the world he had incriminated himself.

"So you're here to kill me?" Roman set his jaw firm. Perhaps he had enough of his old reactions left to help him escape this situation but if the man had a gun trained on him under the table then it was as good as over.

Seita started to laugh, this time showing genuine humour in his eyes.

"I'm no assassin, simply an investigator. I wouldn't have got this close if I had intended to kill you. No, I'm here because of the recent events. For months you had eluded us after your sudden departure from Tokyo, but I had been able to trace some of your activities to occasional results of your criminal deals. They took on a distinctly different tone around four weeks ago. Before the change of direction, every piece of your activity that we had managed to trace within Techosaka had been low level behavioural changes, fixing dissolving marriages or other domestic issues, presumably for your own financial gain for services rendered. There was the occasional foray into ParCorp's employee security with a Ms. Claudette Perrot-"

Claudette Perrot. Dark eyes, mousy hair, and an exceedingly high level clearance until her thefts of Mendel had been discovered and she had been thrown out of the company. Luckily for her they hadn't gone so far as to press criminal charges as they had managed to identify through questioning and bio-scans that she'd been chemically coerced. They had tried to trap him using her as bait once they had spotted her activities, but he had noticed the observers on a nearby roof and had made a quick exit before their next scheduled meeting. He had slipped the antidote into her next ration of distilled water to ensure that she was released from her love, and free to feel the rage against him that he deserved for pulling her into his web.

"-but by and large your activities were only marginally damaging in their scope. After Yokohama though – a wonderful city, I must say, as I saw a lot of it after I lost you – things took a sinister turn for the worse back in Techosaka. I received reports of women and men losing their minds and becoming fixated on strangers they barely knew, feeling compelled to give their worldly possessions away to them. And, as I said before, there were the deaths... two women, staggering into the road embroiled in a blazing argument before being sent to their respective makers by a six wheeled recycling van. One man committed suicide out of the blue after writing a rambling letter about a female stranger who had broken his heart after 'one night of miracles'. Cupid was found in all of their systems. Of course, there may be more. These were simply the ones with ParCorp health insurance who were sent to our sponsored medical centres. Whether other corporations even know of its existence is unknown."

Roman was reeling as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing.

"You should know, all such occurrences are still being officially attributed to the Black Cat."

Roman scratched at his own eyes, as rage started to boil up inside him. "Someone has my formula?" I need to think. That's all I need to do. Use cold, hard logic.

The man opposite was still scrutinising him, his eyes narrowed. The waiter returned and set their coffees down before giving a small bow and moving off. Roman reached for his cup but his hand was shaking to such an extent that he thought better of it and instead placed his palms on the table.

"You say that they are attributed to the Black Cat, but you have nothing to link me to them except for a chemical. You can't place me at the scenes."

"On the contrary," said Seita, pulling out a small palm tablet and flicking through the images before showing the screen to Roman. It was a crystal clear video grabbed from some security footage dated a week before, showing Roman scrutinising himself in the window of a shop as he adjusted his tie. There was no mistaking his features.

"This can't be," he whispered to himself, his eyes narrowing. "I know it can't be."

He had been drugged and imprisoned. There was no way that the man in the image was him, though the resemblance seemed uncanny. No need to panic. There has to be an explanation. Look for the threads, the lines of circumstance that could lead to such an occurrence. Then he saw it, a single detail that held the truth.

"Rubies," he said quietly, his mouth twisting with disgust. He passed the tablet back to Seita and leaned back, finally feeling more confident of his own sanity. Seita looked at him inquisitively.

"Excuse me?"

"Rubies, in the teeth. He's had his face crafted. That's not me, that's a man named-"

"Luis Martinez-Leon," they both finished together. Seita started nodding as he put the tablet back in his pocket.

"I know," he continued. "I was watching Luis that night at the club as a way of trying to get to you, but then you turned up in person – a happy coincidence. He wasn't happy when you left."

"He's managed to reverse engineer Cupid somehow," said Roman, starting to forget that the man opposite was here to arrest him.

"Perhaps, but not alone. As you know, he's a thug. A dangerous one, yes, but still a thug. We've been keeping tabs on him for a while, though not for his own deeds as they don't directly affect ParCorp. We were watching him because of his reputed links to you and a shadow broker named Medea. I believe it is this unknown entity that has taken your formula and bastardised it, and Luis is simply acting your part, face and all."

"You need me," said Roman, starting to spot why the man had spoken to him instead of simply calling in back-up and getting him hauled away. "You need me to get to him, to them."

Seita pursed his lips a little. "Unfortunately, that is the case. The Black Cat is now a name to be feared. Where you would sneak, Luis strikes. Such a violent and short sighted approach will surely lead to an arrest soon, but I am concerned about the damage that may be done in the meantime. Another death would be too many. I want him now."

Roman leaned back, feeling the weight of the conversation shift in his favour. He had no love lost for Luis after how they had ended things but he needed to make sure that he was safeguarding his own future. "What are you offering?"

Seita curled his lips. "So it comes to bargaining. Is it not enough to know that you will be cleansing the name of the Black Cat?"

Roman found enough humour in the sentence to give a short laugh. "That would do me little good from inside the walls of a prison."

Seita reached down and picked up his coffee, taking two long sips. He looked back at Roman. His eyes glinted.

"I'm authorised to offer you a sentence reduction. As you may or may not know, the crimes you have committed carry a total of forty years. We will gladly half that."

"Half? Generous..." said Roman, pretending to mull it over, but even before Seita had replied Roman had decided that he was going to play hard ball. He had nothing to lose, as he was going to jail either way. How much did Seita know of Luis' activities? Roman had to guess very little, otherwise he'd be watching him now instead of sitting in a diner at half seven in the morning. "I don't think so. Make me a better offer."

"Can I remind you that I could simply take you in now, and you would get the full forty? No time off for good behaviour," said Seita, leaning in with a furrowed brow. He was getting annoyed. Good, less focus.

"That's true," said Roman, "but I can tell from the way you discussed the new Black Cat's recent events that you don't want any of the instances to be repeated. I just wonder how much you want to stop them..."

Seita sat back again. "Still trying to be a businessman?"

"I'm a man with a sense of self preservation, the same as everyone else. I have an offer for you. Two for one. Medea and Luis... for me."

"A complete pardon? I don't have the authority for that," said Seita.

"Then talk to someone who can."

Seita watched him for what must have been minutes, his long face drawn out in a scowl as he tapped his fingers on the table, before eventually reaching his hand out.

"Done."

Roman shook his hand, before picking up his own coffee and taking a sip, though it was still too hot for his taste.

"As we've had such a charming conversation," said Seita sarcastically, "I don't suppose you'd tell me your real name?"

Roman stood up, stretching his arms and shoulder languidly, his neck cracking as his body loosened up.

"The Black Cat. It's all the name I need."

A reprieve. Someone up there must have liked him, or else someone down there. In truth he would have wanted to find a way to bring Luis down anyway if he'd found out about the identity theft, even if Seita hadn't offered the pardon. It was a gold lined bonus that would set him up for freedom, at least from the authorities. There would still be others baying for his blood, but after all that he had done it was the least that he could expect.

Seita had agreed to let him go about contacting Luis and Medea in his own way, so as not to tip them off early. Seita had insisted on a nano-tracker though, injected into Roman's bloodstream. It was self-replicating, embedding itself in his blood cells, and impossible to remove. It was certainly a nuisance, but he would worry about it later. At least as he walked down the busy shopping plaza of Techosaka, weaving between holographic advertising and raucous street vendors hawking knock down tech, he could almost believe he was free. Almost.

He needed somewhere new as a base of operations, somewhere safe where he could start tracing Luis and Medea without fear of running into anyone who knew them mutually. That ruled out most of down-town. He had scanned a map and had decided to try and find a cheap hotel on the east side, quiet enough so that he wouldn't be disturbed but with good access to amenities so he could make a move as soon as necessary.

He was browsing the info terminal for hotels at the corner of Nipponbashi, the 'Electric Town' where all of the major tech suppliers had set up shop, when he heard a gasp to his right. He glanced over and saw Aarati, her hand to her mouth in shock. He felt the cuts on his face itch as they were scrutinised, but he was more focussed on his heart which was thumping hard in his chest as the feelings from their encounter a month ago began flooding his system.

"What happened to you?" she asked quietly.

Roman turned off the terminal and walked towards her slowly, trying to formulate a plausible explanation in his head. He quickly decided on a half-truth. "I fell out of a window."

She reached forward and touched his arm in concern, sending a shiver up his back as if he were on fire.

"I'm so sorry..."

"You didn't do it," laughed Roman, before hastily adding a suffix to discourage questions. "I did."

She reached forwards and slipped into his arms as she had done before, hugging him tightly. The pain of the rest of the cuts on his body was nothing compared to the pleasure of feeling her close to him again.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you," she whispered into his ear. "It was too... strong."

"I didn't call either," replied Roman, feeling his eyes close. It was just an embrace but he wanted it to last forever. She eventually pulled away and looked up into his face, her features still concerned.

"Can we go somewhere? Can we talk?"

Roman looked back at the terminal, and down at the tiny pin prick in his wrist where Seita had injected him. Time was of the essence... but the essence of what? Time spent with Aarati seemed like a tonic and he needed something right now to take the edge off reality and slow everything down.

"We can go anywhere you want."

A light rain had started to fall as they headed up the road towards Aarati's house, but it was still sticky with humidity so the raindrops carried a welcome chill. The time in the park had gone too fast. They had both talked, laughed and joked together, although it seemed to Roman that as time went on and he asked more questions about her past she became as reticent as he was (from necessity). It didn't matter though, Roman had always been more interested in the future than the past.

The shadow of Idalia had sat heavy on the back of his mind throughout his time with Aarati. He hadn't been able to get in contact with his wife since he had returned to their former home, as her phone number had been disconnected and she hadn't replied to any of his emails. It was not through love that he was trying to contact her but rather through a sense of duty. Truth be told he felt nothing for her anymore and would push for a divorce as soon as he could find her, if he could sort out the issue of Luis that is. He rubbed the depression on his ring finger where the marriage band had sat for the past three years, now lost somewhere in a dead woman's apartment. Until he had spoken to Idalia he still felt a need to be faithful.

Why, after every man she's been with, after every pointless argument? Just so I can take the moral high ground?

"Love. It's a fool's business," he muttered to himself. Aarati stayed silent for a few seconds before reaching forward and slipping her hand into his. He felt the warmth of her palm and was amazed at how natural it felt, as if he had always known her.

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked quietly, gently slipping a strand of hair away from her face.

"Yes," said Roman. "In different ways with different women. It's never the same."

"No," she replied, looking up the road towards the run of suburbia that stretched ahead of them. "The first time is always the strongest."

Roman looked over at her, his heart momentarily breaking as he felt the burning desire to be the only man who had ever been in her life. He wasn't even particularly a part of it now. It was such a strange desire. Unless you had the amazing good fortune to meet someone who was perfect for you when you were young, virtually no one stayed with their first love. No one could forget it though.

A large family car drove past and skimmed through a puddle, sending a spray of water towards them. Aarati was far enough away to avoid it but Roman had to leap out of the way to avoid being drenched. Aarati looked at him strangely as they continued onwards.

"That was quite some jump. Do you practice athletics?" she asked. Roman flicked a bit of dust from his shoulder as he smiled.

"I just have some natural instincts. It's nothing special," he said dismissively. Aarati didn't look convinced, so Roman decided to pursue another avenue of conversation. He didn't want any reminders of his previous life at the moment. If only he could get rid of the thought of Idalia.

Aarati's neighbourhood seemed to be extremely exclusive. Everywhere he looked there were gated properties, some with armed guards reminiscent of the Ozawa residence. He gave a little involuntary shudder, dropping his eyes down to the yellow flagstones of the pavement, watching the rain spread across them in dark rivulets.

"Well, here we are," said Aarati, stopping at a locked double gate that led to a modest two storey house set behind a compact paved area. "Are you... I mean, would you like to?"

She let the question hang in the air to drift away. He looked into her eyes and saw beauty, grace and love. She was so different to his own mottled soul. He turned away and looked back towards the town, its dark corners and light studded parapets, its sleaze and crime, its laughter and tears. It was as much a part of him as he was of it.

"Not yet. I have a few things to take care of," he replied, trying hard to sound anything but crushed by the realisation that they couldn't be together, not yet. Aarati reached up and ran a finger gently across one of the cuts above his nose, tracing its pattern. It itched beneath her touch.

"Try to be careful."

Chapter 6

He pulled his new phone out of his pocket after it buzzed for the second time, whilst simultaneously trying to cram the last of his sashimi into his mouth. It was a waste of the delicate texture but he was starving after the walk back into the city, and he had been glad for the exercise after his weeks trapped within that room with Sandrine. He still wondered if there was any way that he could have avoided it ending in such a tragic way. Was there a missed opportunity that he was too tired or drug addled to notice? The fall from the window had been a turning point, a release of the past and his past ways, burned away in the fires of torture as he faced up to what he really was and had no desire to be again.

There was only one number on the phone, so he knew who it would be.

"Seita, I hope you're having a wonderful evening," said Roman, savouring every last bite of the yellow tail. It was good quality, so smooth as to be almost creamy in its texture, as if it were a rare steak. He looked out of the window at the twinkling gloom of the city. It wasn't a bad hotel, given the price.

"I hope you're enjoying the food, but please tell me you've made some progress," said Seita. From the roar in the background it sounded as if he were driving.

"A little," said Roman, flicking through data streams on the tablet in front of him. "I've accessed my old Cloud storage and gone through the messages from Medea, trying to see if there was any background noise that would help to identify a location, whilst also going through the IP addresses they were sent from. They're cloaked but someone taught me a lot about how to circumnavigate safeguards."

Sandrine, the crazed genius.

"You kept incriminating messages from your contact on the public Cloud?" asked Seita, incredulity lacing his every word.

"Not in their pure form. They were fed into the background code of a TV show. I'm not an idiot."

"I never said you were," said Seita. "It just would have saved me a lot of time and effort if I'd found them."

"But we wouldn't be having this wonderful give and take," said Roman, sweeping a few redundant lines of information out of the way and moving in on one that he'd remembered was important. Once or twice, when bored out of his skull at home as his wife was out with one of her boys, he'd tried to trace Medea. He'd got quite far before he had set off the counter detection systems. They weren't particularly sophisticated and he was sure that he could have got around them but at the time he didn't want to piss off his main source of income. No such obstructions now.

He leaned over and opened a small case to his right which he had bought from a tech shop he'd spotted on the way to the hotel. He'd never been in there before so he ended up paying over the odds for what he needed but that was the price you had to pay when you were effectively starting out again. No contacts, no help.

First he put on a pair of gloves lined with sensors designed to register even the smallest movements, which he paired with his tablet wirelessly. Then he pulled out a strip of flexible silicon mesh which he placed against his face. It pulled itself in against his skin, shaping itself to the contours of his skull and slipping over his eyes and ears. He activated the system with a click of his fingers.

The vista opened up in front of him, green swathes of data rolling away into the far distance, interspersed with colossal data towers that stretched up into the digital blackness above him. His ghost – the digital avatar that he used when walking the Network – was a reflection of his past, a model of his former self before he began on his first journey as the Black Cat. It was the last reminder of his face, his real face, painstakingly recreated from old archived photographs of his work in ParCorp. The slightly hooked nose, the crooked teeth, the intensity in his brow that made it seemed as if he were in a constant state of annoyance. He had hated his face at the time, being disgusted by its shape and asymmetry, but he now had a fondness for it. It reminded him of a past when no one knew he existed. His true face was now his disguise.

He swept his hand in front of his chest, trailing a stream of fluctuating bits, flashing yellow and orange like miniature star-bursts. These were his enquiry programs, his server hardware and the symbol of his raw power. Everyone had a few, the key was to use them effectively. As he flexed his fingers and turned his hand, his customised control sphere appeared before him. It still carried within it the high definition 3d structure of a rose, moving along on its endless cycle from bud to bloom to dried, preserved death, before pushing through as a new bud and flowering again. He swallowed hard, remembering when he had first seen the purely cosmetic touch that Sandrine had given his avatar when she had created it. A token of her love. Unknown, forever tragic, real love.

Search.

The command was simultaneously given with his mind and hand, sweeping across the swirling opalescent surface of the orb above the rose. He moved through options until a small pockmark appeared on the glittering mass. It turned and twisted, pulling the skin of the orb into itself as it widened, before seeming to draw in the landscape, a sunken bore-hole that took a part of everything around it.

Roman reached his right hand into the opening and pushed downwards, feeling the sense of space beyond, surrounding his fingers. He soon found what he was after. His fingers closed around a kernel that he had left behind the last time he had delved into this secret – the logic signature of Medea. He dragged it back out for inspection.

As he pulled it free he saw a gossamer web of data protection stretching behind it, sending back information on his enquiry that he would rather no one knew about. With the flick of his left wrist a stream of the data particles that surrounded his hand drifted towards the thread, cutting it quickly before settling in behind the data and beginning to send out their own fake stream to hide his snooping. He had lost a few of his particles in the attempt, some fading to red as they drifted into errors forced by the data protection, but he had more than enough left for what he needed.

He inspected the data in his hand. It resembled a crystal made of up of irregular facets, each shimmering with the refractions of information held within. It was jagged and angular with sharp edges that glittered with an amethyst purple luminescence. In terms of the Network this meant that it was highly encrypted, though the fact that he was holding it meant that it was a static rather than a dynamic encryption and given the right tools it would just be a matter of time before he got into it.

He set to work, twisting and scraping at its surface, pulling its protrusions left and right as he tried to figure out its combination. He pulled out a standard data probe, here represented as a hammer, which did little more than fracture the kernel's glossy surface, sending copies of it drifting off into the ether. No good.

He tried a different tack, tracing a quick pattern in the air which materialised as a small creature, little more than a minuscule red body covered with a swathe of legs that drifted languidly before tensing into rigid formations. He held the kernel out towards it. The creature latched on with the majority of its legs whilst three of them pulled themselves up and started to form complex shapes in the air, detailing its progress as it tried to work its way within the defensive walls of the kernel.

He sighed as the decoder spider started to wither, shrivelling away until it was little more than a desiccated husk that fragmented and split apart under its own weight, shrinking particles of less than nothing.

"Not bad," said Roman, hearing his own voice as if synthesized by a computer, "but let's see how you deal with this."

A harmonic resonator, a sonic indicator of data, a burst of information designed to be processed and destroy the kernel from the inside. He sang, high and hard, his voice a weapon as he screamed unintelligible words based on hexadecimal dynamics. The surface of the kernel shivered under the pressure, before gradually cracking, although not in such a way as it duplicated itself but rather fell apart, opening in a soft, slow wave as if it were a tulip ready to drink the sun.

He cautiously pulled his hand towards his face, peering into the kernel's dark glistening centre. He was right to be cautious, as a tumble of red curving elements flared out from inside, trailing snake-like tendrils. It was a vicious logic loop intended to pull him in and crash his interface but he managed to isolate the damage into a backup memory cluster, signified by a large woven sack that he bundled the writhing beast into. It squirmed and roiled inside before eventually starting to become calm, its influence fading as it lost its direction and faded into redundant code.

With that, the kernel was done. It had no more tricks up its sleeve. He peeled the amethyst sides away as if they were no more than crepe paper and found a small black pearl at its centre. He held it up to his eye and scanned its surface, finding etched there the IP of the mobile tablet device that had sent the message.

He smiled, before casting the pearl into the air and throwing his arm towards it using his trojan whip, golden wires that sprang and leaped, hooking onto the ball as it soared away to find its way home, dragging him with it, vapour over the rolling web.

The message finally came through clear and crisp after a few monotonous hours of trawling. Having the IP was a fraction of the battle, there were still firewalls and other defences to get around, and then there was the matter of any encryption on the messages themselves. After deftly piecing together a puzzle of virtually identical data pockets he finally found the right combination. When the voice spoke he immediately recognised that same intonation and metallic distortion that was so familiar.

"My new little Black Cat, I have another job for you, and please don't be so heavy handed with this one. Every death is more attention brought to us, although I must say that the money you are bringing in is refreshing. Thanks to the information provided by your last victim–"

Roman's face screwed up in disgust at the new terminology, though he had to admit it was sadly more accurate than the self-denial inducing terminology of 'mark' or even occasionally 'patient'.

"–we have learned that a shipment of Mendel is due to be transferred from the central ParCorp labs here in Techosaka to the main hub in Tokyo. We need it. The amount in there would set us up nicely, as we are running low due to the instability of the formula. If only you'd managed to prise the information out of him."

Another voice replied, gritty and full of pent up aggression. Luis.

"He never trusted me enough. He was too smart for that, though not too smart to get caught by that crazy technician."

"Do you think he's still locked in that apartment?" asked Medea.

"It took me a week to trace him there, and I knew his face, my face. No one else did. No, he's not getting out in a hurry. She'll keep him there until he's dead, or insane."

Roman's eye twitched. They had known he was there and they had left him to rot.

"Enough about him. We have work to do. The new era. I need that Mendel. If I can get to the bottom of his formula we'll be able to pull off a job that will set us up for life."

"Not if I can help it," muttered Roman. How long had he been played by Medea? From the beginning most likely. After all, Luis had set him up with the contact just after they had met, whilst he and Idalia had been on honeymoon, of all places. Perhaps he'd been too loved up to have his usual sense of danger switched on.

He listened as Medea went through the details of the truck's departure and quickly checked the time. The message had originally been sent almost twelve hours ago, so Luis had a considerable head start. Roman had only twenty minutes until it left from the other side of Techosaka on the express way. He would need some help.

Seita's mouth curled into a smile. "Are you so surprised? Loyalty among criminals is such a rare thing, I'm told." The agent was still dressed as casually as he had been before, this time only wearing a t-shirt and his leather jacket, with faded and ripped grey jeans. Roman was sure he was carrying a weapon though, judging from the small bulge under his left arm.

"Apparently so," said Roman, flexing his hands on the steering wheel as he looked out of the window at the passing city. Two in the morning. It was as close to sleeping as the city got but there was still traffic, always traffic, flowing through the veins of the city. They circled around on the colossal nine lane halo route that was held up over the city on pylons, wrapping around Techosaka like Ouroboros and providing the quickest access to other sections of the metropolis. The air smelled of burned rubber and petroleum – there had been a crash somewhere. It was not a rare smell as the cruising speed on the halo route was over a hundred and twenty kilometres an hour.

"Don't be too hurt, at least you live to fight another day. Or sneak another day, whichever is your preference."

Roman looked over at Seita but he could tell that there was humour in the man's voice rather than accusation. Despite the Seita's job and his stalking of Roman, it seemed he also respected him in a way. Roman decided to broach a subject that had been on his mind.

"Do you know an executive named Ozawa?"

Seita looked over at him briefly before casting his eyes ahead again. "I know of him, why do you ask?"

"I have a feeling I have angered him."

Seita laughed. "Master of understatement! I don't know the details, but yes, I've had the call through from higher up to apprehend you by all means necessary."

Roman stared at the road ahead, grinding his teeth. "Well?"

"Well our bargain still stands. I was already on your trail when I got the missive through but I have chosen to ignore it. A personal matter means little to me in the face of stopping the deaths."

Roman sighed, feeling his stress easing a little. Seita had been as straight as an arrow with him so far, so he had to hope the man was as good as his word.

Seita glanced over again, his expression serious. "I suppose you should know though, as I have agreed to set you loose after this is over... I was not the only one on your trail. I doubt there will be any others who will ignore it. Your life will be very difficult from here on."

"Was that why you agreed to let me go?" asked Roman, looking over at the goat faced man.

"Of course. All I have agreed is that I will let you go. I can say nothing of others. Needless to say, no one knows I have already found you."

"Small mercy," said Roman ruefully.

"All I can do, I'm afraid," said Seita. "Ah, this one I think."

Roman nodded and drifted into the far left lane before moving off onto the slip road that led towards the docks. A couple of minutes later the colossal cranes and pulleys of the shipping yards rose into view, along with the imposing bulk of the Techosaka arm of ParCorp, a heavily guarded compound that had been his place of work for so many years.

Wide metal panelled walls were interspersed with guard towers, each manned by two guards armed with precision lasers. They had been legal for use on corporate property for the previous seven years, ever since the demise of ParCorp's rival Kenyon after a supposed terrorist attack on its headquarters at Washington Station. It was not long after those events that ParCorp revealed that it had initiated its environmental cleanser, helping to remove the majority of the earth's hanging pollution within a few days whilst also helping to repair the largely non-existent ozone layer. Roman had been dubious about the explained science behind it, but he couldn't argue with the result. People were returning from the outer colonies and bringing their wealth with them, so ParCorp had become stronger than ever, although the population increase had become such an issue that it had become necessary to re-install a worldwide one child order, with those who broke the law being sent off world to the new colonies. It was even rumoured that in some places those who wanted inexpensive travel became pregnant in order to allow their family to be moved for free.

The only rival to ParCorp now was Genus Ltd., a mainly Jupiter based co-operative pledged on self-sufficiency and the recycling of resources, the head of which was a Ms. Alice Howe, a former off-world engineer turned politician. The company had tried to head hunt him a few months before he had left for a life of crime. Perhaps if he had taken the job then his life would have turned out a lot more stable, though whether it would have been as exciting was another matter.

Roman slowed the car as they headed towards the delivery gate. He was about to check his watch when he spotted the huge three ton truck in the distance, eight wheels pounding the tarmac as it drove away under the flyover, flanked in front and behind by two armed Jeeps. He glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath.

"We're late, I'll have to step on it."

"Don't draw any undue attention. We're only here for Luis, all other things are unimportant," said Seita. Perhaps he didn't trust Roman as much as he'd thought and was worried he'd try and make off with the Mendel himself. No chance of that, the thought, if I never see another packet of that blue gel then I'll die happy.

He wove in and out of the traffic, trying to keep the van ahead within his sights. He had no idea what Luis' idea was for getting the Mendel, but if it had been Roman then he would have found a way to get himself on the driving crew. Every corporation as large as ParCorp always had an endemic issue with corruption and it never took long to find the weak point and prise them away with cold hard cash.

The van was driving at quite a pace, so it was lucky that Roman's car was up to the task. They clearly had no wish to hide the value of their goods, confident in their ability to police themselves. He could see why, as the mounted weaponry on the back of the Jeeps would be enough to dissuade everyone except the most hardened of criminals. There was none harder than Luis though, and it came as only a small shock when a rocket ripped through the rear Jeep and sent it careering into the oncoming traffic where it impacted into a tower of flame. Roman looked up to his right where he caught the briefest glance of Luis, or someone that he knew to be Luis, standing out of the sunroof of a large blacked out Humvee, the rocket launcher still sitting on his shoulder. Roman had to try not to stare as he looked at the face that used to be his, that familiar profile that seemed like a distant memory now that his own face was adorned by cuts and swelling scar tissue.

"Not subtle, is he?" said Seita, gripping the dashboard. Roman quickly swerved to follow the van whilst also avoiding the burning wreckage that was spilling out across the roadway. Other cars had started to slow and stop as carefully as they could for their own safety but the van itself had found another gear from somewhere, thundering away at such a speed that Roman started to think he'd never catch it. Another rocket slammed into the tarmac a hundred yards ahead of the vehicle but the driver had enough wherewithal to turn almost immediately towards the slip road to his left, diving off the express way into the darkness. The forwards Jeep took the opportunity to slow a little and let the lorry pass, falling in behind and readying its weapons with a red glow.

"I wanted to avoid death. If you had found this sooner-" said Seita through gritted teeth.

"I got here as quickly as I could," shot back Roman, swerving and falling back as the Jeep opened fire at the Humvee, spitting bullets across the quickly emptying road. The Jeep was driving erratically to avoid slower cars and the gunner was off his aim with only a few bullets impacting on Luis' vehicle, not enough to stop it or even slow it down. The windows on the passenger side of the Humvee opened and two gunmen leaned out, firing off quick bursts with semi-automatic pistols.

Has it really come to this, hiring thugs and causing mass destruction? Where is the style? Where is the intelligence? Luis had changed the name of the Black Cat into just another gang-land murderer.

"I have to stop this," said Seita, pulling his gun from its holster, a small but powerful laser dot automatic. He switched the weapon to his left hand and started to fire off shots at the Humvee's tyres, but because Roman was having to avoid the trailing shots from the Jeep the car was swerving too much for him to get a bead on them.

"Steady, just for a minute," shouted Seita over the roar of gunfire. Roman tried to hold position but suddenly the gunner of the Jeep spasmed as he clutched his neck, before tumbling off the back of the vehicle. Roman had to veer wildly to avoid him and ended up tearing through some grass at the side of the road before making it back onto the tarmac, by which time the lorry, jeep and Humvee had all disappeared around a corner. As Roman tried to regain some speed he just managed to avoid the jeep, which had come to a halt in the middle of the road with the driver slumped over the wheel. Another casualty for Luis.

The lights of Humvee were blood red in the distance, before a flash of brighter crimson showed that the lorry was coming to a halt. As they approached a bright white light suddenly flared ahead of them. Within a second the Humvee was tearing towards them, guns blazing. Roman had no choice, turning wildly and flying through a metal barrier to the left, sending the car into a spin as it tumbled down the embankment and into darkness.

Chapter 7

Roman could feel his own breathing rattling in his chest. The sound of sirens echoed around him, seemingly coming from all directions. Sensation began to creep back into his limbs. He could feel water running down from somewhere and splashing over his face, running into his mouth with the rank taste of car oil. When he finally felt ready he opened his eyes to the sight of scattered bricks and masonry, along with the flickering remains of his headlights just about illuminating the back of a small town house.

He pushed the now deflated remains of the air bag aside and tentatively tried to move his head, which thankfully wasn't impossible. He looked across to find the passenger seat door open, swinging back and forth in the wind as the rain lashed in where Seita had been. He tried to crane his neck to look further but the sharp pain across his chest reminded him that he was still belted in. He reached down and undid the clasp, which as it turned out was the only thing holding him in place. He tumbled out of the car in a heap, crashing painfully onto the rubble strewn concrete below.

He groaned as he shifted his weight to try and take away some of the pain of landing but it felt as if he were bruised all over. The rain of the summer storm was both cooling and freezing, easing his pain as he started to become numb but replacing it with shivering that ran through his body. Eventually he was able to get to his feet and survey his surroundings.

By the looks of it they had crashed down the slope above before hitting the back wall of the property lengthways, pushing them up and over as the bricks had crumbled beneath them. Luckily it had slowed the car to such an extent that they had stopped before hitting the house, the owners of which must have been out as there were no lights on and there was no way that anyone sleeping in the house wouldn't have been woken by the noise.

The sirens were getting closer. His car would soon be found and it was probably better if he weren't found with it. Hopefully that was what Seita had thought which is why he had left so quickly, rather than it simply being a case of abandoning Roman to die. There were one or two bloodstains across the scattered bricks that were slowly being washed away, so it was likely Seita had been injured. Despite his being essentially a tool of Seita's in the apprehension of Luis, he still felt concerned about the man's welfare.

Roman saw blue and red lights flashing through the deluge at the lip of the embankment so he turned away from the car and started moving. It was time for the Black Cat to lick his wounds and start again.

The previous night's violence had made all of the news channels, with most of them referring to it as a Yakuza attack on the big business of ParCorp. The name of the Black Cat was only mentioned once, but it was enough to incense Roman as Luis' stolen face flashed across the screen, captured by the express way speed cameras.

According to the reports, Luis hadn't needed to take off with the lorry itself as the Mendel only actually took up a small amount of space and was stolen from a refrigeration unit one metre across. Despite the relatively small size of the shipment Roman knew that it was more than enough to keep the imposter in formula for at least a year, meaning that he wouldn't have another Mendel theft to intercept. He'd have to look out for another crime, which unfortunately would probably be a lot more sinister in motive and would be harder to intercept, especially in his current condition.

He'd awoken to find that most of his chest had turned a green tinted red from bruising and his body was so stiff he could hardly get out of the hotel bed. It had been a struggle to get back, with over two hours of unfamiliar roads walked before he had found a taxi station to take him back into the city. The walk itself had been strangely peaceful, as he had staggered through the night-time of suburbia in a pained delirium. He had walked a maze of dark houses filled with sleeping families and occasionally lit windows, where night owls were working through the darkness, and all of it had been punctuated by the lurid drinks machines that could be found on most Japanese street corners. Nobody ever seemed to vandalise them, probably due to the lack of value in what they contained, but Roman liked to think it was out of community spirit.

He tried shifting his weight, but there was no getting out of bed, not yet. He decided to call for room service as there was no way he'd be able to leave the hotel to get his own food.

When the waiter came in Roman had to remember to keep part of his face covered up, just in case the waiter had seen the news report and recognised the same features. That was one of the most galling things about the whole affair... he had spent years keeping a close control on his identity and operating from the shadows and then Luis steps in and within a month the Black Cat has become public enemy number one.

When the waiter had gone, Roman ate a little of the traditional breakfast of rice and miso soup he had ordered, whilst thinking back to the staunch traditionalism of Ozawa. It was strange that a country so in love with history and tradition was also at the forefront of the technological revolution. Surely as the world advances, the gap between the future and the past will get wider and men like Ozawa will be stuck in the middle...

Eventually he felt rested enough to continue his search. He pulled out his tablet computer and interface, slipping on the gloves along with the visor as he drifted back into the Network. Time to try another approach.

The rolling landscape swirled and shifted beneath the feet of his ghost. Where he stood there radiated flashing angular lines of blue, his data footprint, but due to the strength of his IP mask the residue he left behind was minimal as most was washed away in a swathe of faux-corrupt data that flowed behind him.

He dragged up the menu sphere and tried to recall his previous route but his hand slipped through the after image of the kernel, showing that his search had lost its target. It would take more searching this time; Medea had found the intrusion and taken measures. Hopefully Roman would be able to work around them. After all, he had invented Cupid, for better or worse, and Medea still hadn't retro-engineered it after presumably years of deceiving him.

A general sweep then. He set off, drifting free of the land and angling himself towards the largest structures nearby. He traced the colours from their surfaces, running his fingers over a glowing miasma of data as he moved, testing and looking for an opening. It was enjoyable certainly, weaving his way between the data towers, riding on the wave of information that drifted around him as clear and as tangible as liquid. Unfortunately it didn't get him any closer to Medea. He decided to try a more dangerous approach.

Once or twice in his past by necessity Medea had contacted the Marketplace to see if they could source some Mendel and he knew that the price was sky high. If the raid had secured a years' worth of Mendel then he guessed that they would want to let a little of it go on the Marketplace to secure some more finances. Not enough to flood the market, but just enough to make a small, healthy profit.

He headed towards the last entry port that he'd known to be connected to the Marketplace. It was an encrypted window on the data tower of a fictional company called Harmer Inc. that Medea had once mentioned. It was the world's worst kept secret, with the police knowing for several years that it was a front but never being able to find enough evidence to get the company shut down. It made deals, kept its finances up to scratch, even paid all of its taxes promptly and on time in every territory that it traded in. It was a supreme irony that 'legitimate' businesses tried to avoid tax like the plague by exploiting every loophole imaginable yet the Marketplace was squeaky clean. It was probably why they had come under scrutiny in the first place.

He closed with the window, which was the size of a small coin in a glossy blue black surface, belching data cords of fictional legitimate deals which spiralled off into nothingness. He looked at it from a few angles, running his ghost's fingers around it to see where the access port was, before acting on a whim and turning a full hundred and eighty degrees and craning his neck to stare at it. It shimmered and flexed in front of him. An angle lock, I just have to find the right one...

He pressed his head against the data wall above the entrance and turned his head to downwards to face it. The size and shape stretched away, making him feel queasy as it pulled at all three dimensions before revealing its truth. He saw that it was huge, vast, cavernous... and open. He quickly stepped inside.

The way ahead was a colossal worming structure lined with pulsing red lights that flowed past him and downwards in neon streaks, as if he were being slowly swallowed by a colossal caterpillar. The darkness ahead glimmered intermittently with light before fading again and soon he saw that it was illuminating a vast expansive plain. The entrance was leading to a hall lit with a blue glow, just visible beyond a thin web of fine lines that criss-crossed the entirety of the tunnel.

He slowed as he got closer, knowing a net dump protocol when he saw one. The scene beyond was blurred, and he knew that if he tried crossing the web without having the necessary permissions he would be cast back out and his equipment would most likely be fried. He'd have to be careful.

What would they be looking for? It could be anything, and most likely something that changed regularly to keep the security forces out. He stood back, looking down at his ghost image shoes in thought. They glowed blue at the edges. The hallway creased a little under him, spongy and cold.

He called up the command orb and swept his fingertips over its golden surface. He pulled up the international corporate image of Harmer Inc., that logo with the two cranes flying in a constant circle around each other. Slowly revolving corporate nonsense. Let's try the direct approach.

He swept through the options until he reached 'contact' and opened up a new session. Slowly a face coalesced in front of him, a severe woman with clipped back hair and neat, minimal make up.

"You are speaking to Harmer Inc. How can I help you?" she said in clipped tones.

"I'm here to buy," said Roman. He had no idea how to proceed, he had always let Medea handle the finances.

"Our sales arm can be found on port 3466. Thank you for your time."

The image started to fade. Roman hastily recalled it.

"They don't sell what I want," he said, whilst quickly trying to recall what Medea had said in the past. Something about a chain. The chain to the Marketplace.

The face came back, creased with a frown.

"This is just an enquiry channel sir, please allow me to direct you to the relevant departments."

"I'd like that very much," said Roman, "but it has to be the right department." He thought quickly, trying to remember the names of those that Medea had dealt with in the past, independent hoods and the occasional Yakuza, men of means, power and product. One name stuck in his mind.

"I need something from Callisto."

The woman's face twisted and warped into an open text field, with a large counter above it. It was counting down. Ten... nine... eight...

There was only one chance. He quickly typed in the first few lines of biological code for Mendel, remembered off by heart from years of laying out complex equations.

The timer paused at two before slowly moved away into nothing, pulling with it the fine web and leaving the vibrant colours of the Marketplace beyond to wash over him.

He walked down some steps and out onto a ghost playground, a physics nightmare of angles and shapes, with various vendors phasing in and out behind 'stalls' – laid out details of the products they were selling. The ghosts here were wild and varied, a mash up of desire and posturing. Anatomically impossible women intermingled with vast men woven with muscles that would have no room to flex. Hair and clothing were unrestrained and varied, fluorescent hues and strange textures, with all transactions being carried out by the ghosts themselves, face to face. This was the Marketplace's secret, and how it could remain anonymous. No data trails, just words, rejection or acceptance.

A large black obelisk that was nearby suddenly spun up and approached him, before casting a blue light from a pin point on its side.

"Can I interest you in Caper, the new hallucinogen from Mycos?" it asked in a surprisingly gentle voice, almost that of a child.

"No, no thank you," said Roman, manoeuvring his ghost past the object/seller and moving out into the throng.

He needed to find some trace of Medea, evidence of a sale. Some kind of proof that the duplicitous bastard had been around so that he could latch onto it and follow it back.

He stopped dead, his eyes wide as he stared at a face he hadn't seen for years, the love that he had left behind.

Tavisi Shah.

She was dressed differently of course, carrying the same fashion sense as the others in the huge swirling mass of bodies with neon strips adorning her body and running through her hair, but yes, that was her face. In an instant all his feelings came back as if they had simply been hiding out of sight ready to pounce.

He couldn't stop himself. He pushed his ghost forwards, running towards her before pulling her body into an embrace, feeling the static buzz of electric charge through his visor as he pressed the lips of his ghost to hers.

Tavisi jerked sideways, safety protocols engaged as she disappeared from his grasp and appeared a few feet away.

"Who-" she started, before registering who he was. To his unfathomable relief her face spread into a smile of purest joy.

"Roman," she said, walking towards him. They embraced again, and everything else was forgotten even with the minute force feedback accommodated by his gloves. His past memories and fantasies had blurred in his mind to such an extent that he hadn't been able to stop himself from hugging her as if she were a lover, even though they had never so much as kissed, or even hinted at their desires. He had known she felt the same way, somehow.

"I'm so sorry for leaving ParCorp," said Roman, feeling tears well up inside his visor. He didn't want to remove it though, he didn't want to lose a second of this time.

"Roman, where are you? What happened?" she asked, her voice different somehow, an accent that was at once alien to her and familiar. His senses started to buzz, details swimming around in the back of his mind.

"I've taken some strange turns, become someone I despise. I don't want to think about it, I just want to leave it behind. Where are you?" he asked. She left his arms but they still held hands, just fingertips touching but conveying so much.

"I moved on from the lab after you left. It's complicated."

"I need to see you," said Roman, his heart pushing the words from him as if he was being forced to breathe them out to survive. He wanted nothing more. "Are you still in Techosaka? If so, where can we meet?"

"I don't know, I have things I need to find."

Her face only exhibited emotion – as all ghosts did – around the eyes, where they pressed into the contact of the visor, but even with so little expression available to Tavisi he could see her pain as she struggled with something. Finally she sighed, her eyes twinkling (or was it his imagination)?

"I am, I am in Techosaka. I came back recently. Meet me at the park, in the Shinto Dome at eight tonight?"

The Shinto Dome was one of the last public green spaces left, a monument to the spirits of nature that had been eroded and forgotten. A fitting place to meet for two souls of the past.

"I'll be there, but I'm different, a different face," said Roman. Tavisi's eyes narrowed, confusion dappling her brow.

"Me t-"

The shock as the visor was ripped from his face sent him reeling backwards, star-bursts tumbling and exploding in front of his eyes. He screamed out in pain at the sudden sensory drop as inrushing reality sought to smother him.

"Get up, now." Heavy hands grabbed his shoulders. His instincts took over and he slipped out of his attacker's fingers, rolling off the bed and onto the floor before somehow managing to spring upright, his head spinning.

Seita frowned at him, rubbing the fingers that had been twisted as Roman had squirmed out of his grasp.

"If you're quite done, we have to go," said Seita. "Now."

"Why? What?" mumbled Roman, still trying to adjust from the sudden injection of the physical world.

"Someone in the hotel saw the news and matched your description to Luis. They've sold you out. I managed to intercept the call and get here first, but ParCorp are only a few minutes behind me, if that much. Our whole plan will collapse if you're caught."

Roman staggered back to the bed and starting packing away his net gear quickly whilst Seita kept watch out of a small crack in the open doorway. Roman heard the ping as the elevator arrived at his floor. Seita pushed the door shut and locked it.

"Too late," he said, looking around for another way out. The tall man moved over to the room's bay windows and pulled them open, stepping out onto the balcony. The sound of a helicopter moving around the building made Seita duck down and move back inside quickly, pulling the curtains shut behind him. He started rubbing his forehead, obviously trying to think of some other way out. Roman quickly checked the bathroom, but there was no window or air vent, no way of escaping.

A sudden heavy thump against the door signalled the ParCorp security force's arrival. Roman moved to one side while Seita moved to the other, pulling on a full face black cloth mask as he went. They had moved none too soon as the door suddenly flew backwards, hitting Roman hard. He staggered back into the wall, the pain of his injuries momentarily crippling him. As he was struggling to get up, he heard the shouts and heavy impact of hand to hand fighting. Seita twisted the arm of one of the guards and made him drop the assault shotgun he was holding, whilst kicking the other hard in the gut. The attackers were heavily armoured, wearing black Kevlar plated fatigues emblazoned with the ParCorp logo and mirror visored helmets covering their faces, but Seita's martial skill was letting him hold his own, for the moment.

The nearest guard raised an automatic pistol towards Seita, but Roman was on him in an instant, twisting the man's wrist. The guard fired wildly before dropping the weapon with a grunt of pain. He swung his other arm towards Roman, but Roman ducked under the blow and slipped onto the guard's shoulders. Through shifting his weight he was able to tip the heavy man off balance, and they tumbled to the floor in a heap. The guard was strong but Roman was quick, and he managed to force his forearm under the guard's visor before applying a sleeper hold. The guard arched his back as he tried to get away but Roman held on for dear life.

The one guard left with Seita had no chance. His arm was forced back, before Seita threw him into the wall where his head crashed into the plaster. Seita followed up with a sharp kick to the guard's visor, snapping the guard's head back and sending him to the floor.

The attacker in Roman's arms was also giving up, his arms swatting Roman's feebly as he finally blacked out. Roman pulled himself to his feet and grabbed his bag from the bed before slinging it over his shoulders.

"You don't use guns, that's good," said Roman as they slipped out of the apartment and into the fire escape stairwell, moving downwards two steps at a time.

"They're my people," said Seita. "I'll just have to stay incognito and keep them alive." There seemed to be an edge to his voice that indicated he wished the situation was different.

Another guard was below them. Roman spotted him in time and vaulted over across the stairwell, landing on the man and sending him backwards into the wall. The automatic weapon fell from his grasp, and Roman kicked it down the staircase.

"We can't keep running like this," said Seita, giving the crumpled guard another savage kick for good measure. "You have to find Medea. Today."

"I'll always have to keep running," said Roman, pushing his way out of the final fire escape door and into a back corridor of the hotel. The carpet was plain blue and the walls were a simple white, so Roman guessed this was a staff area.

"That was your choice," said Seita. "I can still bring you in, if you'd prefer that."

"No, no thank you. Very kind offer though," said Roman as they headed down the corridor to what sounded like the kitchen.

They slipped in quickly, surprising five or six chefs busy at work cutting soy-meat. The kitchen was a huge, sweltering room filled with metal fans and cookers, noise and movement, but Roman still managed to spot the two guards entering at the other side, guns raised.

"No!" yelled Seita, managing to pull Roman to the floor before the guards opened fire. The staff also dropped instinctively as bullets flew through the air, knocking pans spinning and drilling their way through the fridges and counters that Roman and Seita were using as cover.

Roman saw Seita slip around the counter to his left. He tried to follow but a fresh barrage of bullets pinned him behind the counter. After another burst of gunfire Roman heard the sound of impact, yells and finally two heavy thumps. He risked a glance over the counter and spotted the guards lying on the ground with Seita standing over them. He was a formidable combatant. Roman was glad he was on his side.

The kitchen staff seemed to have escaped without injury and had scattered deeper into the hotel, so both Roman and Seita moved out of the door where the security had entered. It led down into a loading bay resplendent in dirty concrete and dim strip lights..

"Bastard guards. My bike's this way," said Seita, leading Roman down a concrete ramp and behind a couple of large dumpsters. He threw a few plastic sacks of rubbish aside to reveal his motorbike, which had lost some of its sheen from being covered in refuse. The masked agent reached for his bike helmet and slipped it on before looking back at Roman, his face a dark black oval conveying no emotion.

"I don't have a second helmet. For your own sake, hold on tight."

Seita got on the bike and Roman slid on behind him, putting his hands behind his own back to hold onto the passenger bar. The agent revved the engine before powering it forwards towards the exit. They zipped past the blacked out ParCorp transports that the guards had obviously arrived in.

Another transport was heading down from street level towards them. A guard was leaning out of the window and trying to get a bead on them with a submachine gun, but Seita accelerated hard, skimming past them before he could fire a shot and bursting out onto the street.

The agent was forced to turn in a large arc, narrowly avoiding a snarl of traffic, before moving onto the pavement by necessity. People scattered before Seita managed to weave back into the traffic, moving quickly in between the lines of cars towards Techosaka down-town.

After ten minutes they pulled into an alleyway and slowed to a halt. Roman stretched as he got off the bike, his adrenalin slipping away and leaving in its place a considerable amount of pain. Seita craned his neck to search above them for any security cameras, but the walls were bare. The few people were walking past the far end of the alleyway but were too engrossed in their own problems to care about them. When Seita seemed to be satisfied that they were safely hidden – at least momentarily – he pulled off the mask and flexed his arms and neck, wincing as he did so.

"It's been a while since I've seen that much fighting," he muttered. He checked his arm and noticed a graze along his shoulder where a bullet had obviously skimmed his leather jacket and torn it open.

"What now?" Roman asked, whilst checking his equipment bag for signs of damage.

Seita reached into a container strapped to the back of his bike and pulled out a bandage. Roman watched as the agent peeled off his jacket, revealing a long sleeved t shirt that was also ripped at the shoulder and beginning to stain with blood. Roman spotted blue and green tattoos peering out through the accompanying red. "Get in the Network. Find Medea," said Seita as he began to bind his shoulder.

"Here?" asked Roman, looking left and right. A rainbow film shone on the oil that was smeared on the concrete. Dirt hung heavy from webs on the walls either side. Cardboard lay piled next to overflowing refuse sacks.

"Sorry we don't have a bed for you to lie on your highness, but time is of the essence. I can't keep you hidden forever. The sooner you find them, the sooner you can be on your way..."

Roman began to search around in the alleyway for somewhere a little more secluded and a little less like the inside of a dustbin. Eventually he settled on an area of flat cardboard that lay behind a low wall, which was mercifully dry and not visible from the street. With Seita standing guard he opened his bag, slipped the gloves on, wrapped the visor around his face and quickly jacked back in.

He was able to recall his previous location without any trouble and re-appeared in the centre of the marketplace, narrowly avoiding re-materialising inside a passing trade ghost.

After the grimy physicality of the hotel escape this world seemed a wondrous retreat, but he knew he needed to get to work. Tavisi had gone, and he had no time to look for her or even run through the reasons why she might be in the Marketplace in the first place. He had to find a link back to Medea as quickly as possible, if only for his own sake.

His ghost slipped between the more reserved and refined images and also the totally outlandish, tendrils of rough information licking across their features as they whirled and span, making the most of the fantastical options available to them. He moved between stalls, stopping at each vendor who dealt with Mendel, until he spotted Callisto, the dealer that Medea had most often dealt with in the past. Callisto was the name he had used to gain entry to the Marketplace, so he felt it was prudent to at least show his digital face there, and keep suspicion off him as long as possible.

He spotted the dealer, who for some reason despite the multitude of options available had chosen a corpulent man with green skin as his ghost. A thin smile ran across Callisto's features as Roman approached.

"A new face in the mix," said the merchant. His voice was abrasive, cutting through Roman's thoughts.

"You have to start some time," replied Roman. He made a show of looking at the rotating holographic images that showed all of the various drugs, tech mods and weapons on offer.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I like meeting new traders. It keeps the others on their toes, and keeps dealer prices competitive."

The fat man crossed his arms across his swollen belly. Roman noticed that he didn't have any legs but simply floated on a disk of digital data, a carpet of bits and bytes that flowed and drifted away before returning and circling.

"So what are you in the market for? Pleasure or pain?" he asked, sweeping his fat fingers around the display and quickly separating out the items into two distinct categories, with the weapons on the right and the drugs on the left. Roman kept himself stoic, trying not to seem rushed despite the urgency of his situation. He looked over the drugs before casting his eyes over the Mendel in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.

"This. What are its properties?" he asked. Callisto smiled and swept his arm in a stubby arc, drawing up the image of the Mendel in a kaleidoscopic three dimensional display. Blue liquid swirled around in a whirlpool. He flicked his fingers and the image zoomed in towards a molecular level, showing the formula that Roman knew well.

"The building block of most hallucinogens nowadays. On its own it elicits a state of receptiveness that can then be tailored with other drugs to help engineer specific feelings or thoughts. Unless you know what you're doing you would waste it. Better to get one of the ready-made derivatives."

Callisto moved through various other coloured liquids. "We have it all! Combat Fury, Lust, Jealousy, Hatred, Insanity, Paranoia. Even Love."

"Love," murmured Roman, looking closer at the image of the liquid in front of him. It looked similar to Cupid but was obviously not his own formula. The pink was a little darker, a little cloudier, and there was no gold leaf.

"Does this work?" he asked with genuine interest, curious about the cheap knock off that Medea had created, which was still expensive despite its obvious flaws. The traitor was selling the drug out directly, not even keeping the formula controlled as Roman always had. What a greedy, reckless bastard.

"Of course, it's perfection itself. There are a few intricacies that can be confusing to those not used to dealing with it but as long as you have good judgement you will be successful."

Roman nodded to himself. He could move around looking for more Mendel but this Cupid had to be from Medea, so it would be as good as anything. Calling it simply 'Love'. Where is the poetry in that? What a waste.

Roman looked up at Callisto. "Can I get a look at its genetic makeup?"

He saw Callisto tense as soon as he had spoken. The man wasn't happy about the request.

"Strictly confidential I'm afraid. I can give you a sample," replied the fat man.

"Free?" asked Roman.

"You have a sense of humour, friend. No, a modest price for a trial run. You name the target and they will become temporarily blessed with the feeling of love towards whoever you wish."

"How modest a price?" asked Roman, conscious that his solo account would soon be considerably lighter in funds.

"Five million Yen. You will of course have that amount discounted from the final purchase should you choose to buy," said Callisto, keeping an admirably unemotional face as he named the high price. At least Roman had enough, just.

"Who administers the trial?" he asked, reaching forwards with his hand. A data box appeared automatically and let him key in his bank transfer details.

"The drug's creator is currently available to administer and troubleshoot," said Callisto. Roman's hand hovered over the 'finalise' tab, as the words sank in. "Outstanding," he said with satisfaction. He pressed the button as the money was withdrawn from his account.

"Excellent. Allow me to pass you on to his agent who will sort out all the details."

Roman waited as Callisto's head jerked back a little. The request was sent out electronically and almost immediately a woman formed out of the ether next to Roman.

"Greetings valued customer. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Medea."

The face all too familiar. Of course. What a fool I am. How easily love could turn to hate, but there was nothing left now, not even hatred, not even disappointment.

It was Idalia.

Chapter 8

He was lucky that Idalia had never seen his previous face – his real face – although if she had then perhaps she wouldn't have been so keen on playing the role of wife. That was what it had clearly been, a role. She had met him, her and Luis, and they had used him for years. Roman rubbed his gloves, bringing out his voice modulator. Anonymity was the only advantage he had. Idalia had chosen no such shield for herself, obviously revelling in her own beauty to such an extent that she had chosen her own form for her ghost, with not even a change of hair colour.

"You must be the creator," said Roman, his voice changed in intonation whilst still sounding natural. He moved away from Callisto's stall so that the huge man wouldn't spot the change and become suspicious. Idalia followed, her ghost showing all of her usual lazy confidence, wearing little more than a white veil over naked flesh. Perhaps she was intending to mirror Aphrodite, but all that Roman could think about was how duplicitous and black her heart was, a perfect mirror for himself.

"In a way," she said. "I understand you wish to trial it."

"If I'm to invest a considerable amount then I wish to see how well it will work. I've heard stories of issues," said Roman, hoping that his attempt to play the genuine customer would not backfire if he showed too much knowledge. He had to stick to what information was perhaps not widely known but was at least available.

"I can assure you those stories are merely rumours. Both I and my associate are professionals. I even used this formula to keep a man enamoured with myself for years, giving small but regular doses through touch."

Roman was glad for the lack of emotion conveyed by his ghost. If they had been talking face to face she would have been able to see his jaw clench and his hands flexing. Every caress, every hug, every kiss. Each one could have been dosed. Which were real? Were any of them real? She had been using her own weaker formula on him for years, using his own Mendel to create it. All the while he had been working for her without his knowledge. What a perfect way to keep an eye on your employee.

"Any side effects?" he asked, making a show of looking at the other stalls as they walked together. Idalia's feet seemed to skim the surface of the marketplace, as if she were an angel. This simple affectation sickened him, along with the fact that he had been no better. It was a disgust born of hypocrisy.

"None, none at all. I even used some myself when times were testing. Truly, the feeling it elicits is true love."

It was not his Cupid though. The simple fact that she had used multiple doses over time made it clear that it was imperfect. The love that Roman had created was lasting, the real thing.

"Is there no permanence?" he asked, before realising his mistake. Stop showing how much you know.

"No, but is there any permanence with people's feelings? Love grows and fades, and this formula simply initiates the first stage. It is left to fade by itself, a much more healthy state of affairs."

As much as Roman was loath to admit, she had a point. The permanence of the love he had given Sandrine for him on top of her own feelings had stayed for years despite their distance apart, and had eventually killed her.

"Who is the target?" asked Idalia, clearly trying to push the transaction along as fast as she could.

Roman drew a blank, not knowing what to say. He had to stall.

"You don't need to know her name."

"Probably not, but I at least need to know a place," said Idalia, irritation clear in the tone of her voice.

"Techosaka central park," said Roman, without thinking. His mind had drifted to Tavisi, her purity of spirit and her irrepressible personality, that fated meeting that very night at eight. He had to have this business concluded before then.

"A local man, very good." said Idalia. "Time?"

"Two hours," he said quickly, hoping that it would be enough time for Seita.

"Agreed. I'll be waiting by the Eternal Sakura."

She suddenly faded, drifting away to nothing. The time was set. He was close to concluding the business once and for all. So why did he feel as if he were on the edge of a precipice?

The Eternal Sakura was a genetically modified tree cherry tree that bloomed all year round, the only one of its kind. It had been created roughly ten years earlier and had always carried the bright pink flowers that the Japanese so celebrated.

"How romantic," said Seita, chewing slowly on his oni-giri, a rice package wrapped in seaweed. Roman had no appetite. He viewed the tree from afar through a pair of auto-focus binoculars, whilst carrying a knot in his stomach.

"What are you going to do to her? To them?" asked Roman eventually, putting the binoculars down as he looked over at Seita. The agent checked his watch and looked up again. From their vantage point on the bench they could look out over most of the park without appearing out of place. Just a couple of work colleagues out for lunch.

It was getting close to two, the allotted time. Still there was no sign of Idalia. She had always been unreliable in their 'marriage', but he would have thought that if money depended on it then she would have made more of an effort.

There she is.

She was walking with poise, wearing a light summer coat over a professional looking pant suit, with her hair tied back in a dark bun that looked so severe that he felt he was looking at a different person to the woman that he had married. She was carrying a small slim briefcase, her bastard brew, the blood of her trade. It was their child, in a way. A bit of her, a bit of him.

"So how do you want to play this?" asked Roman. Seita licked his lips, his thick tongue running over them as if he were tasting which way the wind was blowing.

"Well there's still no sign of Luis, so I'll have to go along with it for a while," replied Seita, adjusting the tie that he had recently adorned himself with.

"You?" asked Roman.

"What, you think you can go over there? How will she react to that? You can't draw Luis out like that. It's too soon for the reveal. No, we keep up the game, keep our cards close to our chest. You think you can do that, Cat?"

Roman gritted his teeth but kept silent. It was true, they needed to follow it a little bit further.

"Are we going to take them on alone?" asked Roman, looking around the park. It seemed unusually quiet but there were still a few groups of people scattered between the statues and rare foliage.

"We have back up, trust me," said Seita, eyes fixed ahead in a manner that showed he would reveal no more.

"What about our fake target? We're supposed to be using the Cupid on someone."

"She should be here in a minute," replied Seita. He looked around and his eyes fixed on someone walking up the path towards them. He looked surprised. "I've seen her before. You were with her that night at the club when I first found you."

Roman looked over his shoulder and was stunned to see it was Aarati, engrossed in a telephone conversation. She looked up and spotted Roman. Her eyes widened as an uneasy smile swept across her features.

"She's not the target, is she?" whispered Roman to Seita.

The agent shook his head. "No, not her. What a coincidence."

There are no coincidences.

Aarati cast a quick glance at Seita before moving towards Roman. Her eyes darted around the park as she approached.

"You look even worse than the last time I saw you," she said with concern in her eyes. "What happened?"

Roman glanced sideways at Seita, who had pulled out a cigarette and was flicking his lighter as he stood up. Across the park, Roman could just about make out Idalia casting her eyes around. Behind Aarati, a young woman wandered over to a bench and sat down, before opening a book. Upon seeing her, Seita frowned and gave Roman a nod, before starting to walk over to Idalia. Aarati was obviously a complication that Seita didn't appreciate, now that his contact was here. Roman had to get rid of her, and quickly. He stood up, drawing Aarati into a hug, before whispering closely into her ear. The summer breeze moved around them all, carrying humidity and possibilities. The world was holding its breath.

"Please, you have to leave, now. I'm sorry, I can't explain."

"What do you mean?" whispered Aarati, but there wasn't much surprise in her voice, a fact that was unexpected in itself. There was only a dull edge of resignation. She drew back with a curious expression on her face, a mixture of sadness and urgency, before pulling him into another embrace. Roman could feel her right hand reach up and touch the lapel of the light jacket she was wearing, coming to rest on an enamelled brooch in the shape of a rose.

"I tried to warn you, I tried to get you out, but there was never the time. We were always watched, and you always left too quickly. We could have talked in my house. I don't know why I wanted to save you but I feel so-"

A man walked past, tall and thin in a summer shirt, with dark glasses guarding him from the sun. His eyes were on the trees rather than where he was walking, and his shoulder knocked against Aarati's. Her hand fell away from her lapel. "So sorry," he said, bowing low.

Under the Eternal Sakura, Idalia had opened her briefcase and was showing Seita its contents.

The bushes nearby moved in the breeze.

Aarati closed her eyes, breathed deeply and said one word.

"Go."

And then it happened, all at once.

The first thing that Roman noticed was the look of calmness on Seita's face as he pulled the gun out and placed it against Idalia's head. Something about his eyes, cold dark pinpoints that were splashed with red as he pulled the trigger.

Idalia's body flew away from him under the impact of the bullet that tore through her skull. She was the woman who had betrayed him for as long as he had known her, dosed him to keep him docile, shared a home, a bed, a life, or a part of her life anyway. His poison. His passion. His very own Roman.

There were screams, running feet, and movement everywhere.

Roman began to release Aarati, but felt something cold against his stomach, pushed there by the woman that was looking at him with such sadness in her dark, familiar eyes.

The bushes to the right of the Eternal Sakura parted in an explosion of leaves and branches as three heavily armoured personnel, all bearing the ParCorp logo bold on their arm moved out with automatic rifles brought to bear on Seita.

Now Seita's face showed emotion, a flutter of shock that turned to anger as he dived sideways behind a large stone statue. He brought his gun to bear on the nearest security guard, firing off two rounds in quick succession that tore through his target's shoulder and caused him to stagger backwards. The other guards moved forwards, firing off rounds that fizzed and smashed into the statue, tearing grooves and pockmarks in the stone.

"Sit, now," hissed Aarati, pushing Roman back onto the bench again. He was unresisting, his eyes trying to follow a situation that was quickly deteriorating beyond anything he had imagined.

The woman on the bench was running forwards, her book discarded and a small pistol retrieved from within the sleeve of her dress, the bottom of which had been torn away (clearly by design due to the sharpness of the angle) to reveal tattooed legs that tore across the grass as she fired off round after round at the flank of the guards.

Bullets flew into the already downed guard who was doing his best to stand up. He collapsed backwards, his helmet fragmenting under the hail of bullets.

Three more guards slipped out from a gazebo fifty yards to the left and started to get a bead on Seita, who was still firing at the others. To his right, two lightly dressed men with long hair who had been walking past were quickly pulling guns from beneath their coats and bringing them to bear on the guards.

The tall man who had stumbled into Aarati was barking orders into his own lapel now, whilst pulling a standard issue security pistol from its holster under his arm.

"What the hell is going on?" whispered Roman, numb with shock. He watched as the tall man fired off three shots, two of which impacted and stuck in the shins of the running woman, sprouting with small green tufts that he knew signified tranquillizers. The effect was almost instantaneous as her legs quickly slowed before she tumbled forwards face first onto the grass.

"She's Yakuza," said Aarati, drawing a look of annoyance from the tall man.

"Keep him here," he spat angrily, before sprinting towards the continuing melee at the other end of the park. Roman finally looked down to see what was being pressed into his chest and saw that Aarati held a Taser, vicious barbs ready to disable him should he choose to run. Escape was the last thing on his mind. In truth, there was nothing in his mind, nothing but a cold wash of shock that was threatening to drown him. Bullets, blood, Idalia dead. Violence, bodies, Idalia dead. Idalia dead. Idalia.

Because of me.

The second group had circled around behind Seita and had unleashed a volley with a shotgun that smashed into his body, though from the lack of blood it was clear that it was non-lethal rubber shot. They wanted him alive.

Seita would not go easily though, scrambling sideways through the undergrowth, from where he fired two shots, one of which took out the unprotected side of the knee of one of the guards, who crashed to the ground in a spray of blood.

"Tranqs!" yelled the tall man as he closed.

No such mercy was left for the two long haired men – also Yakuza judging from the tattoos that became visible as the guards on the right turned and fired – as bullets tore their clothes and bodies asunder. They did manage to take out another guard though, a vicious shot to the side of the gut that started to bleed out under the man's armour as he crumpled into a heap.

Seita burst from the bushes to the left, managing to disarm one of the guards and pull the rifle around to bear on the other, but as he did so Roman saw a small bloom of green at his neck. The tall man had fired his tranquilliser. Seita still had the wherewithal to fire the gun but his shot careered wildly into the ground before he stumbled backwards, fell to his knees and was quickly overpowered by the remaining guards.

"It's over," said Aarati, staring out at the scene as they sat on the bench. Though it was not necessary, Aarati's free arm was still wrapped around Roman, as if she were protecting him.

Gradually a sense of stillness started to return to the park, leaving two Yakuza dead, two guards dead and one injured, and Roman alone against the world.

Roman didn't know how long he had been in that interrogation room, hands cuffed together securely as he sat staring at the mirror ahead of him. There it was, his own cut, bruised, custom made and stolen face. He tried desperately to think of something from his distant past, or dredge up a memory from his fake but largely happy marriage, anything other than what had come to pass due to his actions.

The ParCorp security forces had made it very clear from the start that Seita had used him, masquerading as one of their own and using the nano-tracker to keep tabs on him until he found Medea, a thorn in their side for too long. It made a horrible, gut churning sense as Roman looked back on the pursuit at the hotel. Seita wasn't hiding his identity from his colleagues, he was trying to save his own skin. He'd seemed as if he'd rather have just killed their pursuers, and now I know why. He was only using non-lethal methods to keep up his disguise.

Roman was still lost in thought when the tall man entered, now wearing a crisp black shirt, grey trousers and a red tie. Black and red, the ParCorp colours. He was carrying an old style folder filled with loose leaves of paper. His face had the look of a young man who had nonetheless experienced a lot, with enough vanity to give himself a fashionably dishevelled hairstyle whilst still maintaining the look of professionalism.

He took a seat opposite Roman and looked him over, his eyes running over the cuts and scrapes that still adorned his face. In some ways Roman wished that one of his many injuries had been serious enough to kill him so that he wouldn't have to do any of this anymore. He'd lost so much recently. He had no idea if there was anything left of his life, or of himself.

"So, the Black Cat," said the man matter-of-factly, opening the loose leaves and skimming through a few of the documents. There were crime reports, photographs and surveillance documents, some of which Roman could tell instantly related to Luis' activities, the man who hadn't even turned up. Perhaps he'd had a stronger survival instinct than Roman. "You've led a very exciting life up to now. You've declined legal representation?"

Roman nodded but didn't reply. He was staring down at the largest image, which showed Luis – wearing his face – holding a gun to a bound man's head with his ruby teeth clearly visible. Roman wondered if such a detail even mattered to anyone except him. After all, they could simply be affectations, metal caps put on and removed at a whim. He'd seen more extreme body-modding even in the more upmarket parts of Techosaka.

"We're struggling to piece together the events that led up to this operation, and would appreciate your input," said the tall man. He suddenly shook his head a little at himself. "Where are my manners? My name is Kodo Ryoji, ParCorp Industrial Espionage Unit."

Roman couldn't have cared less. He stayed tight lipped and staring, his eyes dead inside his own head. He crossed his arms more out of habit than anything, but the man opposite obviously took it as a sign of reticence.

"I know you may not feel there is anything in this for you, but your co-operation is required by law. Your sentence could be reduced should you give us something of worth."

"I've heard that offer before," said Roman.

"Not from me," said Ryoji. He looked back behind him at the mirror that ran along the wall and called out in Japanese for some iced tea.

"Honestly," said Roman, leaning forwards on his arms, "I don't care anymore. I fought and I struggled and it was all pointless."

"Very poetic, feeling a little sorry for yourself are you?" said Ryoji as the door opened and another male officer, this one in standard Techosaka police uniform entered, placing a jug of tea swirling with ice cubes and lemon slices on the table, along with two glasses. Roman watched him leave.

"Is it the police or ParCorp that have me?" he asked.

Ryoji started to pour him a glass. "Both, you've pissed off a lot of people." Roman nodded. He couldn't deny it.

"So, to the point," said Ryoji. He poured his own drink and took a sip, smiling with pleasure at the taste. "Why did you work with the Yakuza to bring down your own partner?"

"I didn't know he was Yakuza," said Roman, knowing that he should have. The violent skills, the look, the tattoos visible in the alleyway as he had dressed his wound. The signs were all there but he had been too exhausted, too dizzy with details, and too stupid.

"I'm aware of that. Let me rephrase my question to get the words through that mess of a mind," said Ryoji, unemotionally but with an undercurrent of obvious threat. "Why did you betray your partner?"

Options ran through Roman's head and he felt himself on another knife edge, once again stepping a thin line between two futures, or four, or eight. There were so many ways that this could go that he could no longer judge it. Had his instincts been keeping him safe against the odds so far, or had they been dragging him down, like a pachinko ball falling to oblivion?

He knew that Luis was masquerading as him, but the police and ParCorp obviously didn't. Did that help him in any way? Would it help his case to plead with them, to try to give evidence that it was not him but someone else who had turned the name of the Black Cat into a byword for anarchy and violence? He had no alibi for the last month as the only person who had known where he had been was now dead. There would be DNA evidence at her flat, certainly, but there was no way of knowing that he hadn't been leaving or returning. They would probably assume it had just been a base of operations.

One secret, one fact that no one else except Seita knew.

"For money," said Roman. A rebellious streak suddenly re-ignited in his belly. He was going down for a long time no matter what happened. It was time for the Black Cat to play.

"That's it? Your lover, dead, simply for more Yen?" asked Ryoji, his mouth curling in disgust. Roman stalled briefly, the ever present image of Idalia floating in front of his mind's eye, her blood, her body, her death. Perhaps lack of sleep, bodily damage and sheer insanity were finally gripping him, but he couldn't turn back now.

"Yes," he said, keeping his eyes firmly on Ryoji.

"I see," said the ParCorp agent. He took another sip of the tea and ran his finger down the side of a report. "So you decided to work with Gecko. You do know that he would probably have killed you afterwards?" he said at last.

Gecko, of course. Roman had heard of the famed Yakuza killer, wanted by all corporations for violence and death, kills many and varied. Seita had hidden his nature well behind a façade of calm concern.

"I should probably thank you for helping us get a hold of him by the way. It certainly helped us out. I can't say you helped your friend Medea though."

Roman smiled faintly, feeling his rage roiling in his belly but managing to keep it in check. The detective inspector was trying to get a rise out of him, but he wouldn't give Ryoji the satisfaction.

"How did you know about the meeting?" asked Roman, turning the questions back on Ryoji.

"Well, that is an interesting tale, but one that I don't think I'll be revealing," said Ryoji. "A good magician never shows the people the mechanics of the trick. Just use your imagination."

No bite. Let's try another tack.

"People died," said Roman. "Was the operation worth it?"

Ryoji's face twitched. "It's part of the job. It got us you, Gecko and one of his other killers, so yes, I'd say so."

"I'm not much of a coup," said Roman, meaning it. "I'm sick of all this."

"Doesn't change your past," said Ryoji.

"Is Gecko talking?" said Roman, still pushing forward with the questions.

"Stop deflecting," said Ryoji. "I may just lose my patience and step out, taking any chance of a shorter sentence with me."

"All right," said Roman, leaning back. "What does my sentence currently stand at and what would it be reduced to if I co-operate?"

Ryoji scrunched his mouth up as he moved through the file, eventually landing on a sheet that was labelled up as being from ParCorp head office. Roman noticed a small detail, and stored it away for future reference.

"It would seem that your current prison sentence prior to co-operation is life imprisonment."

"Life?" asked Roman incredulously. "Why?"

"Seven deaths in the past month, all attributed to you," said Ryoji. "That is also not to mention the suspected five other deaths that we are still gathering information on."

"And if I co-operate?" asked Roman, curious despite the bleak outlook of the situation.

"Sixty years," said Ryoji, though he at least had the temerity to look down when he said it.

"For fuck's sake," laughed Roman. It was all he could do. "You need to work on your plea bargaining. You should tell Ozawa that too..."

Ryoji's face shot up and his eyes narrowed.

"I'm under orders to-"

"I know, I read the report. Reading as fast as I do is a hard skill, but reading upside down is elementary stuff Ryoji," said Roman. "You're under orders to offer me none of the usual bargain ratios, as the old man wants me locked away until I die."

Ryoji leaned back, an obvious dislike crossing his features.

"In which case it puts you in a tough position, as you obviously need something more from me. You wouldn't bargain with me for redundant information, such as my motives. What are you after?"

Ryoji closed the folder slowly.

"The formula," said Roman carefully, as if prodding a hole in a tooth that could flare into pain any minute. "You want my formula."

Ryoji breathed deeply, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Bargaining with criminals for corporate gain? Isn't there a law against that?"

"Not now, not since we started policing ourselves," said Ryoji, his voice clipped as if he were trying to keep his true feelings in check.

"What about the formula you no doubt retrieved from the park?" asked Roman. "Can't retro-engineer it?"

"I've been told it's not the same. You changed your formula for something far more unstable and more dangerous. We want the original."

"Ozawa wants it," said Roman.

Silence.

"He wants that, and his daughter."

The door burst open and Ozawa charged in, his suit jacket flared out behind him. He grabbed Roman about the neck and pushed him back off his chair onto the floor. The strength of the old man was terrifying and Roman felt the muscles in his neck spasm as Ozawa gripped them.

"Where is she?" the man screamed, spittle flying as Ryoji grappled him from behind and tried to pull him off. Roman lay back, unresisting as the man continued to squeeze his neck, feeling himself slipping away into peaceful darkness, before the pressure was removed and Ryoji dragged Ozawa back. The old man wrestled his way free and threw a sharp kick at Roman's ribs, causing one to snap.

"Sir, please," said Ryoji in Japanese, pulling Ozawa back again. "He can't say anything if he's dead."

"I won't kill the scum, I just want him to hurt," said Ozawa.

Roman's broken rib burned in his side. He tasted blood on his teeth. "I'll never tell you where they are."

Ozawa's eyes went wide with rage and he lunged forwards again but Ryoji was aware of the danger this time and pulled him back before he had a chance to do further damage.

"Why? Why would you protect them? You know nothing of my daughter or that disgrace of a man!" screamed Ozawa. The fury of a betrayed father was truly a sight to behold. Roman crawled away before pulling himself to his feet using the wall as support. His body felt ready to fall apart but he managed to stand, facing Ozawa eye to eye.

"Helping them was the only worthwhile thing I have done in my entire life. I won't sully that."

Ozawa stared at him for what seemed like an age before shaking himself free of Ryoji's grasp. He straightened his tie and turned on his heel, storming out into the corridor. Ryoji took a deep breath and closed the door behind him, before setting Roman's chair upright and directing him to sit again.

Roman sat down gratefully, his body wracked with pain.

"Well, that broke my concentration somewhat," said Ryoji, pulling his files back together.

Roman gave a humourless laugh. "At least you get to go home after this."

Chapter 9

Hours later, it became clear to Ryoji that Ozawa had ruined any chance of the Black Cat revealing anything about the points that they wanted. He sighed as he looked through the two way mirror at the slumped, emaciated form of this mystery man, whose name no one could trace.

"He looks broken but he's still holding out," said Ryoji. "What do you think, Tavisi?"

Tavisi looked in at the man who had somehow made her feel more in the past few weeks than she had felt for years, ever since Roman had suddenly left. Her new identity as Aarati, built from the ground up over months after selection for her background in chemistry had almost been for nothing. All those months of training, including a facial alteration to assist in the capture of the Black Cat had almost been thrown away as her heart had overruled her head. If he would have come into her house, out of sight and into her comm dampened safe haven, she would have told him everything, but that would probably have been a mistake, according to what she knew. She knew what he was supposedly capable of, judging from the reports over the last month, yet she still found it hard to marry the details they contained to the man who she had shared so little time yet so many words with. The way they held each other, it was something magical. She had felt nothing like it.

Until earlier today.

He had come back into her life, just like that. No feeling, numb for years, and then two men had set her soul on fire.

One was now out of reach, but Roman... Roman was back, and she was seeing him within the hour.

The night was restless, full of dreams of blood. Idalia falling. Too much, all too much.

The sound of the keypad beeping brought him around. The heat in the cell was stifling, the air conditioning having been turned off overnight. He struggled to sit up, propping himself up painfully on his elbows as Aarati came through the door. Her suit was creased and her eyes seemed red, glittering around the edges with tears as she closed the door behind her and faced him

"Get up," she said quietly. Roman looked around himself, still exhausted from the last few days' physical trials. The small window showed only darkness and the occasional glint of light from the beacon of a building in the distance.

"What time is it?" he asked, falling back onto the hard mattress from exhaustion.

"Two in the morning," replied Aarati. She didn't move from the foot of the bed. Her face was ashen.

"The guards let you in?" he asked, curious despite his pain.

"I outrank the guards," she said. Her voice sounded dead. There were words there, waiting to be said.

"Can't you leave me alone? Isn't it enough that you've managed to reel me in hook, line and sinker? I must say, you don't seem like the usual ParCorp agent."

"I'm not," she sighed, moving closer to him though still seeming wary. "I didn't used to do this."

"I don't know if I believe that," said Roman. "I've believed everything you've said so far, and look where it's got me."

"You deserve to be here," she said with bitterness, her hands clenching at her sides.

Roman rubbed his tired eyes. "You're probably right..." he said, sighing.

"All of those deaths."

"I never killed," he said firmly, sitting up. The memory of Sandrine and Idalia swam around his head and made him so dizzy that he almost vomited onto the cold concrete floor. "No, not directly. Not intentionally. No."

"I've seen the evidence-" she started.

"Not me, no," he said, having to lie back down to protect himself from the nausea that was wrapping a band around his gut.

"Not you?"

"My face," he said, pointing at the cuts and their peeling plasters. "Not me. Facial alteration."

He had no idea why he was revealing the truth to Aarati but despite it all, something pulled words from him. The woman who had stolen his heart now stole his secret, dragging it from his mind, kicking and screaming into the light. He loved her. Love was weak, and love was stupid.

She sat down slowly on the bed. She was breathing deeply, closing her eyes as if preparing to step off the edge of the cliff into the blue void.

"What's your real name?" she asked, her voice quiet but carrying a power that cut through him somehow.

"My name?" said Roman. It had been his, shared only with Idalia and Luis. Both had betrayed him but he had kept his name, it had stayed a secret. "Why should I tell you?"

"I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours," she said simply, as if trading secrets in the playground. As a child, a secret was the only real power you had, and to reveal it was a great gesture. Such a power was carried in her words.

He told her.

Her eyes closed, tight and hard for several minutes before she threw her arms around him. After she had whispered into his ear, his heart melted into hers.

"It came to me in a flash," she said later as they lay together in the bed after simply embracing each other for almost an hour. The sheets were cool, a welcome contrast the burning passion that was running through both of them. "I was waiting at the park, not knowing how I would know you if you had changed so much. I started to realise that I'd have to rely on my sense of you, your personality, your soul, if you believe in such a thing. As I focussed on that, I knew who you were, and why I had felt so close to you every time we had seen each other. If only I had known, really known that last time. Instead, I..."

"You placed a bug on me," said Roman, following the chain of logic. That was how ParCorp had known, they had heard every conversation with Seita. She had certainly lost none of her guile in the years apart.

"I did. I placed it within one of your cuts. It was my job. Part of me didn't want to activate it, but after I was given a dossier on your activities, I had to."

"Luis' activities," said Roman. "I got out of the game a month ago. I tried to anyway."

"If I hadn't seen you when I was infiltrating the Marketplace, then I might not have even thought of you," said Tavisi. "I was found and booted off so quickly. It was such a small window, a coincidence."

"There are no coincidences."

They passed a few more minutes, trading details, building a picture of what had happened and where they could hope to go. A sudden thought struck him, one that would have brought him to his knees had he been standing.

I almost dosed her, and she already loved me. She would have ended up the same as Sandrine, insane and lost.

"I don't deserve you," said Roman, his eyes welling up as he held her, aware that it could be the last time. "The things I've done."

"I forgive you," she whispered. Her eyes showed a love that demanded a return, a depth of feeling that was infectious.

"I don't forgive myself," he said, tears running down his cheeks, salt in the cuts. The pain stirred something in his mind, a shadow of Sandrine, thoughts running around and into themselves. "But maybe I can make things a little better."

The helicopter swept quickly over the water, a shadow in the dark night. The guard reached over and put in the code to remove Roman's handcuffs, whilst keeping his other hand on the semi-automatic on his lap. He was obviously thinking that Roman might try something when he was free, though in truth Roman was saving his energy. He would need it all to continue with his plan, as foolhardy as it was. The sea was dark around them, the lights of the distant city running in strings across the crests of the waves. Soon the huge bulk of the cho-freighter became visible, ploughing through the water towards Korea, eight decks of quarters, cars, shopping and mobile residences. All or nothing.

The helicopter touched down at helipad two and Roman stepped out onto the colossal city-on-the-water, his hair whipping around his face.

The words had tasted of deceit when he had said them to Ozawa, but they had been necessary.

"I will help you find your daughter."

It had been a gamble, relying on many factors. His last great bet.

It felt good to be in a suit again, even though his body was still bruised and battered, and his rib would take a while to heal. The fresh sea air stung his skin in the most welcome way. He was free. Perhaps not for long, but for now.

He made his way through the security gate, showing the ID that he had been given by Ozawa to guarantee him free movement on the journey. The walk was a long one, and each step was making his heart pound in his chest. He had been training as much as he could to get his body back into its previous condition, but he still felt rough around the edges.

Down he went, into the writhing crowds. He headed into the main thoroughfare of the cho-freighter, a place that revelled in its status as being under no sovereign rule. People would travel aboard the freighters simply for the entertainment and the unrivalled hedonism of international waters. He pushed his way through the fashion hungry bodies, being reminded of Crash/Burn with every step. Lights, music, thrashing and waving. Drinking, kissing, laughing, and crying. The building blocks of humans, but all sensations paled into insignificance when faced with Love. He would do anything for Love.

He slipped away from the revelling and into the sea soaked residential block. He made his way through metal corridors and rows of virtually identical doorways until he found the one he needed. He paused for a moment – going over the details in his head – before he finally raised his hand and knocked.

He was greeted by the smiling face of Jun, who ushered him inside. The room was sparse but tastefully decorated, one of the most expensive rooms on the cho-freighter – the presidential suite. Intricate silk hangings were placed along the walls, interspersed with tasteful ink illustrations. This reminds me of Ozawa's. How ironic. How fitting. Kuri was lounging on the bed reading a magazine, looking far more relaxed than the last time he'd seen her. She smiled when she saw Roman enter, bowing her head respectfully.

"How's the trip so far?" asked Roman, looking at his surroundings as nonchalantly as he could manage. He wandered over to wall at the far side of the room and opened the large double doors that led out to a balcony overlooking the side of the ship. The sea air tickled his nose as the distant sounds of revelling made their way down to him. It was like Mardi Gras.

"This place is the best," said Jun, grinning widely. "The entertainment, the room, the food. Oh man, and the steak. Kobe beef my friend! Do you know how rare that is?"

"I don't know how you can eat that," said Kuri, screwing up her nose.

"Algae-Vegetarian," whispered Jun conspiratorially to Roman. "Can I get you a drink?"

"No, I'm all right," replied Roman. Keep a clear head. He tapped his cuff link carefully, activating the signal. It was time for Ozawa to move in.

"How's life together?" asked Roman, feeling his gut wrench at the knowledge of what was about to happen. Kuri smiled again, her eyes shining with that glow that had pulled in the hearts of Japan's youth throughout her manufactured career.

"The best," she said. "Better now we're heading to Korea. No chance of anyone interfering. A clean break. Thank you so much for getting us the ticket so we could head over with you. It was a great idea."

"You're more than welcome," said Roman.

The door flew inwards and Ozawa marched in. His face was set into his usual emotionless stone mask, though his eyes clearly showed his anger at the scene. He was wearing the same combat gear as the two armed guards that followed him, the muscle-bound ex-military men that Roman had seen before. They weren't going to win any prizes for thinking but then again they would deal with most problems the same way, with a boot and a bullet.

Jun's eyes widened in shock but wisely he didn't decide to go for his gun. That's right. There's nothing to be gained from raising the stakes.

"Father no!" screamed Kuri, her eyes filling with tears. Ozawa looked unresponsive, an icy mask of indifference. Jun simply sighed, throwing his hands above his head.

"Can I just say, I love and respect your daughter more than life itself," he said carefully. The guards' guns were aimed at his head. Please don't fire.

"You can say all the words you want to," said Ozawa, "though not one will make the slightest bit of difference."

He looked over at Roman, a strange look in his eye.

"Take him. I don't want him leaving this room alive."

Roman didn't even bother to waste time registering any surprise on his face, mainly because he wasn't surprised in the least. So predictable. Of course Ozawa wouldn't let go the grievances of the past. He hated Roman more than Jun. He wanted to kill him here and now, under pretence of trying to escape. Well then, I should at least do my part.

Roman darted sideways as the guards brought their rifles around to bear before leaping forwards, taking himself out of the target zone as he slammed the palm of his hand into the nearest guard's neck, snapping the man's head backwards. With the guard now off balance a swift knee strike sent him reeling into the other guard and the way was clear. He leapt out of the doorway at an angle, narrowly missing the door frame before sprinting away.

He could hear the yells of the guards behind him and as he reached a staircase that ran both up and down he craned his neck back, spotting the guards in full pursuit. They were lightly armoured and had left their rifles behind in favour of smaller handguns, easier to use in the tight corridors.

Roman looked up and down, his memory slipping quickly through the details. Down, third left, fourth right.

He skipped down the steps three at a time, sliding down the handrail for the last descent before sprinting through a group of three returning party goers, slipping between their surprised faces as if they weren't there.

No need to worry about the guards, they'll find me wherever I go, thought Roman. The tracker in my cuff link. It's not just for signalling Ozawa, also for keeping tabs on the Black Cat.

Part of him considered dropping the tracker and simply escaping the ship but he quickly pushed the thought aside. He burst back onto the street of revellers, diving horizontally across the front of a stall and narrowly missing both customers and stock before skidding sideways down another corridor. No need for fear, just keep thinking.

He sprinted the length of a mercifully empty corridor before turning right and finding the door marked 49a. This was it.

At his best guess he had a maximum of two minutes. It was more than enough. The maze of tunnels and mass of bodies would slow his pursuers down and make him hard to pinpoint. Time to get to work.

He slipped the skeleton key card down the door lock and slipped inside.

It was more unnerving than he thought it would be to see the look of surprise on Luis' face – his own face.

Luis was sat with his briefcase of bastard Cupid on a table next to him, a roll up hanging from the corner of his mouth. He was wearing the same suit as Roman. Perfect.

The cigarette dropped to the floor and anger rushed to replace the surprise as Luis quickly pulled a gun from beneath his suit jacket and rushed forwards, grabbing Roman about the throat and slamming him into the metal wall.

"How the fuck did you find me?" hissed Luis, his breath stinking of booze and smoke. Good, his reactions should be down. I can't outrun a bullet.

"I brought you here, you idiot," said Roman, his mouth twisting into a sneer that he knew would get Luis' blood boiling.

One minute thirty.

"What are you talking about?" said Luis, pressing the silencer of his gun into Roman's cheek. Surely this must be just as strange for him to be looking at my face?

"I arranged it. I arranged everything," said Roman, trying to ignore the fact that Luis could kill him at any moment. "The suite, the transport, even what you're wearing to 'recognise you'. You're here to dispense your left over dog piss Cupid to a bored millionaire gold digging husband who is just wanting to ease the time until his aged wife keels over?"

Luis' face started to drop, but he pressed the gun even more firmly into Roman's face, causing pain to lance through his cheekbone. One minute.

"You didn't think to try and verify the source of the message did you? You were never the brains of the operation, and after losing Medea, Idalia, after that then you just saw the money. That's all you ever cared about."

Luis' eyes twitched. "I'll kill you."

"Maybe," replied Roman, squirming as Luis held him. "I just want to ask you one question first. Why my face?"

Luis grunted. "Your reputation. No one knows your name except me, Roman. But your face is well known and still trusted by those wanting your product."

"You destroyed my reputation."

"Poor boy," said Luis with a snarl. "It was your own fault, getting caught by that crazy bitch."

"She was more than that," said Roman, feeling his own anger rising. Keep calm. "She was brilliant."

"You killed her, I saw the news report. Dead in a pool. Where's your morality now?"

Roman gritted his teeth. "I never had any. I'm trying to make some more now, a new formula for my own life. I have Idalia's death on my hands too."

Luis laughed, forcing a wave of disgust to run through Roman. Thirty seconds.

"She left me the supply of goods though, with no fifty percent share to work with. I'm rich."

"You still wanted more though."

"Always," said Luis. He adjusted his grip on the gun. "Fuck this, I'm done talk-"

Roman moved his hands faster than he'd ever thought he could, down and around Luis' arm to break his grip. He heard the bullet smash into the wall just behind his head. Luis turned and tried to train the gun on him but Roman lashed out quickly, kicking it from his hand as it discharged again, sending a bullet through the briefcase on the table so that it bled pink Cupid onto the floor.

Luis threw a punch at Roman which caught him on the thigh. The man was older but still incredibly strong, which was probably why he'd had no problem masquerading as Roman's age. Roman moved away and knocked the latch on the window which flew open in the wind, leading to another balcony and the churning black waters below.

Luis was a professional and looked to raise the stakes again, rushing for the gun that had fallen beneath the table. Roman quickly slid under from the other side and lashed out with a kick that smashed into Luis's mouth, sending the man scrambling backwards clutching at his face. Roman pulled himself back out from under the table quickly and vaulted over it, leaping on Luis's back as he turned, blood streaming from his broken teeth.

Roman latched on with a sleeper hold, grabbing Luis' neck hard and kicking the back of the man's legs to drop him to his knees. It was a position of power that compensated for Luis' extra strength.

Any time now. Please!

"You lost your rubies," said Roman as Luis squirmed in his grasp. The bigger man spat a wad of blood on the floor.

"Fuck you. I'll find you, and I'll kill you. I won't rest until I do it."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," hissed Roman as he heard the footsteps thundering down the corridor. He kicked Luis hard, slamming him against the door before running towards the open window and vaulting up onto the railing. For a moment the dark waters yawned below as his balance threatened to desert him, but he managed to hold himself steady and grab the balcony above, pulling himself up.

He heard the voices below as the guards told Luis to freeze, and smiled to himself as he heard the man with the stolen face shout muffled curses. By the time they realised it wasn't him it would be too late, but then Luis would have to answer for his own crimes.

It took a little longer than he had estimated to vault from balcony to balcony. The sea below called to him and the tiredness in his limbs made him wish for respite, but he pushed himself onwards. He moved from window to window, trying to avoid any rooms with their lights on. He had to give a false and innocent explanation to one or two couples that he met on the way, pretending that he was a jilted partner looking to make a grand gesture. Whether they believed him or not was a moot point as at last he navigated himself back to Jun and Kuri's quarters, pulling himself up as quietly as he could and staying close to the wall outside so he couldn't be seen. He could hear Jun still trying to press his point as carefully as possible, but Ozawa wasn't having it. Time to deal with this, once and for all.

After waiting for what seemed like an age, Roman leapt into the room and grabbed Ozawa. He twisted the old man's arm away from his body as he swung him around and pushed his body hard towards the balcony rail. He slammed Ozawa's gut into the railing and forced his head over so he was staring at the water below.

"Your time's up, old man," he said, spitting venom. He had no love lost for Ozawa and it was time to show it.

"Black Cat, don't!" screamed Kuri, her eyes filling with tears. She tried to move towards them but Roman shot her a warning glance.

"Not a step closer. I am sick and tired of this, of all of this. Double cross laced with double cross, myself included. I'm not going back. I'm never going back to that prison."

"You will," said Ozawa through gritted teeth. "I'll see to it personally."

"And that's why you have to die."

The bullet tore through Roman's shoulder, sending him reeling backwards until he was leaning precariously over the railing. He looked back to see Jun, gun raised as he aimed towards Roman's chest. Blood pumped freely from Roman's shoulder and fell to the balcony floor, mixing pink with the salt spray. He felt strangely calm seeing it, though it was far from expected.

"Why?" asked Roman, feeling the fire in his arm.

"He is my father in law, or will be. I cannot see him harmed."

Ozawa was standing straight again, fire in his eyes as he started to pull his own gun out. He'll kill me. This is it. The whole plan was flawed. I've failed.

Before Ozawa could pull his weapon the bullet from Jun's gun had thudded into Roman's chest. The Black Cat tumbled off the balcony in a bloody heap, spinning away to land in the dark waters that swallowed up all trace of him.

Ozawa looked hard at Jun, studying the man's features as he massaged his own neck. He felt the pain start to subside as he felt himself returning to normal. His daughter was still on the bed, her eyes wide as she watched him. Jun was slowly lowering his gun, his eyes still staring at the space that the Black Cat had occupied. The boy had defended him, and had preserved his honour against a sickening thief who had threatened his life. Perhaps Jun would be able to defend his daughter, and give her the life that he had always wanted for her. Such a thought was somehow alien to him, but the fact that the Black Cat had overpowered him and almost brought an end to his life had pulled his mortality into focus, with all the frailties that such a fact carried with it. He would not survive forever.

Would his daughter really be better off with a money whore such as Haruba? The man would provide for her financially but what about emotionally? Kuri was far from helpless, but she would need a husband who would fight for her and her family, and she needed a partner that she would be willing to fight for. Maybe she really needed love.

"Jun," he said, "we need to have a discussion."

He tried to swim, he did. At least no one could have said that about him. He never gave up. The cho-freighter kept moving on its inexorable course, drifting away and rocking him in its current as he desperately kicked in the darkness, blood seeping out into the water. Sleep called to him, the darkness of the night, the all-enveloping rest that would finally grant him peace. All things must come to rest, it was the laws of physics. All things must end.

If I sleep then perhaps I'll dream.

The cold of the water was a welcome hand, dragging his legs as if plucking violin strings, its music calling him to the depths. What creatures there must be below, winding through the water and moving on their way, free within the cloying dark.

The water rushed over his head, smothering him in love.

Fire lanced through his shoulder again, waking him and making him scream. Water rushed in to fill his lungs. He spluttered, trying to clear the liquid but feeling it still closing in around him. The pain did not stop as he felt himself being pulled upwards. Water parted and fell away above him before cool, clean air kissed his features. He felt arms and heard the sounds of effort as he was dragged out of the water and onto the small motorboat.

The air was a rarefied delicacy, filling his lungs as he breathed, opening his eyes to the stars. A face moved in front of his eyes. It was beautiful, but it was not the right face. In the end though, did it really matter? Her soul shone through. He saw Aarati/Tavisi, his love, his world. He coughed hard, water splashing onto the bottom of the boat as each spasm wrenched his body, releasing the sea.

"What happened?" she asked, seeing the blood still pumping freely from his shoulder, spilling slowly onto the floor. She grabbed a cloth and pressed it hard to the wound, causing a fresh wave of pain to lance through him. He grunted, hating the pain but relishing the feeling of being alive, and of being free.

"His first bullet went wide, hit my shoulder instead of my back. His second shot was good though, Ozawa would have killed me if he'd fired. The old bastard was aiming directly at my face." He began to peel off his clothes to reveal the Kevlar vest that Tavisi had managed to steal from ParCorp storage, an integral part of the plan. "I feel like my body is all bruise and no muscle." Tavisi lifted a breeze-block from the bottom of the boat and wrapped his jacket around it, before dropping it into the sea, where it was quickly lost. Goodbye tracker.

"I feel free," said Tavisi, pushing her hair out of her eyes as she bent over him. She kissed his brow, long and hard, a kiss that was meant to last the ages. He relished it, revelled in it. His wonder, his beauty.

"So it went well?" she asked eventually.

"Well? I don't know if I would say that," said Roman, his eyes almost glazing over as he stared up at the stars, glittering above him. "Luis must be taken by now with his case of knock-off Cupid, so hopefully they will pin at least some of his crimes on him, and maybe some of mine. I don't know about Ozawa. I have no idea if he will forgive Jun. There is a lot of bad feeling there and I was lucky that both of those young lovers agreed to the operation, as it was simply based on faith. If they can be accepted into the family then I will be happy with that. Getting rid of me should help. I hope that they can live together, be together. I just hope after all of this that I will have done something good in my life."

Tavisi smiled. "It will be good."

"I hope so," said Roman, his eyes filling with tears. "I truly hope so."

"They'll be fine, I'm sure," said Tavisi, kissing him hard on the lips. The pain subsided, somehow her love pushing any pain away from him. "And we'll be good. We'll be the couple we always should have been. We have nothing to go back to. Korea will be our home now."

"I feel like I've died," said Roman, coughing a little as he sat up. The cho-freighter was already moving away, its glinting lights fading into the night far into the distance.

"You're living," she said, "living with me. I love you."

Her arms were warm. They wrapped around him and drove the cold from his body.

"A cat has nine lives," he said. "I've only lost one. Eight more to go."

The engine fired up, moving onwards through the crests of the waves. The land was far away, a land of strange opportunities and unknown future, with a language that he couldn't understand, but a future that he could care about. The neon of Japan was a distant past, a darkness that was lost within the waters behind them. All they had was a future, a future together and a freedom that could never be matched. Roman had seen the strings, and he had cut them.

###

A note from the author.

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Author Bio:

Jacob Prytherch is an author of science fiction, horror and weird fiction. He started writing due to a love of Bradbury, Tolkien and Gaiman, and carries on writing due to restlessness. He currently lives in Birmingham with his wife and two daughters, writing as much as he can in the darkness before they wake up. Coffee is both his friend and his enemy.

