Shelter

Regulus was in a tunnel. In the darkness, he drew a quiet breath. The air smelled faintly of moist soil. He inched his way forward carefully. The tunnel was small, just big enough for Regulus to squeeze through, and it was dark. Light was nowhere to be seen, but it soothed his soul. He liked small, dark spaces. In settings like these, no large beings could come to capture him. He could have momentary relief and tranquility. There was a dull pain from the wound on his shoulder, but it wasn't enough to concern him. The problem, rather, was with the amount of blood he had lost. The wound wasn't deep; it had only grazed a little bit of his shoulder. By now, the blood should have begun clotting and closed the open wound. But the wound was still.... He felt a warm and slippery sensation. It was still bleeding.

Anticoagulant. They had coated the bullet with it.

Regulus bit his lip. He wanted something to stop his bleeding. Thrombin, or aluminum salt. No, not even so much as that. At least, clean water to wash his wound.

His legs buckled. Dizziness overcame him.

Not good.

Fainting from lack of blood, maybe. If it was, that would be bad. Soon, he wouldn't be able to move at all.

But maybe I wouldn’t mind.

He heard a voice inside him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to curl up, unable to move, shrouded in damp darkness. He would nod off to sleep, a long sleep ― and peaceful death. It wouldn't hurt, not that much. It might feel a little cold.

No, that would be taking it too lightly. His blood pressure would plummet, he would have trouble breathing, his limbs would be paralyzed... of course it wouldn't be painless.

I want to sleep.

He was tired. Cold. Hurting. Paralyzed. He only had to suffer for a little while, he told himself. Stay still, rather than struggle fruitlessly. There may be people pursuing him, but none who would rescue him. Then, he should just put an end to living. Curl up here, and just go to sleep. Just give up.

His feet continued forward. His hands ran along the walls. Regulus gave a forced smile. His voice was telling him to give up, but his body still doggedly carried on. How troublesome it all was.

An hour left. No, thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes was the time limit for any free movement he had. In that time, he had to stop his bleeding, and secure a spot to rest. The bare requirements to keep living.

There was movement in the air. The darkness before him was gradually becoming lighter. He took each step painstakingly. He emerged from his dark and narrow side-tunnel to a wider area surrounded by white concrete walls. Regulus knew that this was a part of a sewer tunnel that had been in use until ten and some-odd years ago, the end of the twentieth century. Contrary to the ground above, No. 6's underground facilities were not very well-maintained. Much of it had been left in the same state as they were from the last century. This sewer tunnel was just another one of those, abandoned and forgotten. Regulus couldn't have asked for a better environment. He closed his eyes and visualized the map of No. 6 that he had extracted from the computer.

There was a good chance that this was the abandoned route K0210. If it was, then it should extend close to the high-income residence area called Chronos. Of course, it could very well also lead to a dead end. But if he had decided to live, then moving forward was his only option. Regulus in his current state had neither choice nor time to deliberate.

The air shifted. It wasn't the stale dampness of before, but fresh air carrying plenty of moisture. He remembered that it was raining hard up above. This passage was definitely connected to the upper world.

Regulus inhaled, and smelled the scent of rain.

—

September 7, 2013 was James’ twelfth birthday. On that day, a tropical low pressure-system, or hurricane, that had developed a week ago off the southwestern area of the North Pacific Ocean, made its way north, gathering power, until it directly hit the city of No. 6.

It was the best present James had ever gotten, the very idea of it filling him with excitement. It was only past four in the evening, but already it was getting dark. The trees in the yard bowed in the wind as leaves and small branches were torn off. James loved the clamorous noise they made. It was the bare opposite of the neighborhood's usual atmosphere, which hardly involved any noise at all.

Euphemia preferred small trees over flowers, and through her enthusiastic planting of almond, camellia and maple trees, their yard had grown into a small grove. But thanks to that, the noise today was unlike any other, due to each tree making a different groaning sound as they bent and swayed. Time and time again, torn leaves and branches smacked against the window, plastered to them, and then were whipped away again. The bursts of wind against the window were relentless.

James itched to open it. Even strong winds like these were not enough to crack the shatter-resistant glass, and in his atmosphere-controlled room, humidity and temperature remained stable and unchanged. That was why he wanted to open the window. Open it, and bring in the air, the wind, the rain– a much-needed change from the usual.

"James," called his mothers voice from the intercom. "I hope you're not thinking of opening the window."

“I’m not.”

"Good... did you hear? The lower lands of the West Block are flooding. Terrible, isn't it?"

She didn’t sound like she felt terrible at all. Something about that felt off lately, like his mother used to care more about the West Block. Maybe it was when his father was around, though James doesn’t remember him much.

Outside No. 6, the land was divided into four blocks ― East, West, North and South. Most of the East and South blocks were farmland or grazing pastures. They provided for 60% of all plant-made foods and 50% of animal food products. In the north, there was an expanse of deciduous forest and mountains, under complete conservation by the Central Administration Committee.

Without the Committee's permission, none could enter the area. Not that anyone would want to wander into the wilderness, which was completely unmaintained.

In the center of the city there was an enormous forest park that took up more than a sixth of the city's total area. In it, one could experience the seasonal changes and interact with the hundreds of species of small animals and insects that inhabited it.

A vast majority of the citizens were content with the wildlife inside the park. James didn't like it much. He especially disliked the City Hall building that loomed in the center of the park. It went five stories underground and ten stories above, and was shaped like a dome. No. 6 had no skyscrapers, so maybe "looming" was a little exaggerated. Nevertheless, it gave off an ominous feeling. Some people called it The Moondrop from its round, white shape, but he thought it resembled more of a round blister on the skin. A blister that had erupted in the center of the city. As if to surround it, the city hospital and Safety Bureau building stood close by, and were connected with pathways that looked like gas pipes. Surrounding that was a green forest. The forest park, a place of peace and tranquility for the good citizens. All the plants and animals that inhabited this place were minutely monitored, and all flowers, fruits and small creatures of each area in every season were thoroughly recorded.

Citizens could find out the best time and place to watch or gaze at these through the city's service system. Obedient, perfected nature. But even the blister would be raging on a day like this. It was, after all, a hurricane.

A branch with green leaves still attached smacked into the window. A gust of wind followed, and its roar resonated for some time. At least, James thought he could hear it resonate. The soundproof glass cut him off from any outside noise. He wanted the window out of his way. He wanted to hear, to feel, the raging wind. Almost without thinking, he threw the window open. The wind, the rain, came blowing in. The wind rumbled as if coming from deep within the earth. It was a roar he hadn't heard in a long time. James too, raised his own hands and let out a yell. It would scatter on the storming winds, and reach no one's ears. Yet still he shouted, with no meaning. Raindrops flew into his throat. He knew he was being childish, but he couldn't stop. It began raining harder. How exciting it would be to take off all his clothes and burst out into the rain. He tried to imagine himself naked, running around in the torrential storm. He would definitely be declared insane. But it was an irresistible temptation. He opened his mouth wide again, and swallowed the droplets. He wanted to repress this strange impulse. He was afraid of what lurked inside him. At times, he finds that he’s overwhelmed by a tumultuous, savage surge of emotions.

Break it.

Destroy it.

Destroy what?

Everything.

Everything?

There was a mechanical warning sound. It was notifying him that the atmospheric conditions in the room were deteriorating. Eventually, the window would close and lock automatically. Dehumidification and temperature control would commence, and all wet things in the room, including James, would be dried instantly. He wiped his dripping face on the curtain and made his way to the door to turn the air control system off.

What if, at that moment, he had obeyed the warning sound? Sometimes, he still wonders about it. If he had closed the window, and chosen to stay in the adequately dry comfort of his room, his life would have been entirely different. It wasn't regret, not anything like that. It was just a peculiar thought. The one thing that changed his whole world, so meticulously controlled up until now, happened from that one small coincidence ― that on September 7, 2013, on a stormy day, James by chance had opened the window. It was a very peculiar thought.

And though he doesn't have a particular God he believes in, there are times when he does feel a certain conviction toward the term 'Divine Hand'.

He turned the switch off. The warning sound stopped. A sudden silence fell over the room.

Heh.

James heard a faint laugh behind him. Instinctively he whirled around, and gave a small cry. There was a boy standing there, soaking wet. It took him a while to realize that he was a boy. He had shoulder-length hair that almost hid his small face. His neck and arms that protruded from his short-sleeved shirt were thin. He couldn't tell whether he was a boy or a girl, whether he was very young or older than he looked. His eyes and conscience were too focused on the intruders left shoulder, which was stained red, to think about anything else.

It was the color of blood. James had never seen anyone bleeding as profusely as he was. Instinctively he was extending his hand out to the intruder, but his figure vanished at his fingertips. At the same time, he felt an impact, and was slammed against the wall with a strong force. He felt an icy sensation on his neck. They were fingers, five of them, closing around James’ throat.