a/n: it's happening it's happening it's happening it's happening

the climax of the book is here!! it's a wild ride so enjoy :)

with love,

krissy

__

19. DEATHBLOW

THE ALARM IS deafening.

Ren and I locate our weapons and earpieces, then race up steep slopes onto a monorail that sails straight toward the red-lit Tower. Even from a distance, its spotlights light up the sky as they sweep across surrounding marketplaces in panic. The sky darkens quickly with no sign of sun. A storm is rolling in.

An edge of sour-smelling smoke fills the air. Cho's voice slides into my voice.

"A recent city-wide warning has been issued. Osaka Medicine Tower—lockdown. All men, women, and children must evacuate from the Tower's neighborhoods immediately."

Her annoucement blends into loudening speakers as we approach. Our monorail rattles to a stop in the center of chaos. Police are conducting a full evacuation, herding crowds like panicked sheep toward larger city-wide monorail stations. The stalls are hollow, brushed aside as families shout with urgency. Go, go, go!

"Osaka Medicine Tower—lockdown," repeats the warning, blending with Cho's voice. "All men, women, and children must evacuate from the Tower's neighborhoods immediately. Osaka Medicine Tower—lockdown..."

Police uniforms blur past me. Ren and I push blindly forward, scanning red-bathed crowds for Kotomi. Even Itsuo or Nobu. Shouldn't they be here? Weren't they investigating Daizo's property only a few blocks away.

"Hina Ogawa!"

A younger voice cuts through the air. Instantly, I hone in on the voice—it comes from the entrance of the Tower itself. There. A cluster of officers surround Kotomi and Nobu, with Itsuo at the forefront waving me over. He jogs forward, eyes bright with worry.

"It is Hina Ogawa, right?" He glances at Ren. "Ren-shu Ko?"

Ren nods impatiently, his eyes fixed on the Tower. It looms upward, a helpless monster in the sky. Up this close, I see each crisscrossing pattern of its steel supports, a hexagonal encasement of metal guarding the central elevator that carries workers up to its glass crown. And, beyond that, metallic spires that belch out the Tower's herbal fumes. Spires that could belch out Daizo's white wing.

"What's going on?" asks Ren.

Itsuo tilts his head backward. "Follow me. Nobu-san will explain."

"Nobu-san," he mutters, as if the honorific tastes sour in his mouth. I give him a sharp nudge and jog after Itsuo.

The entrance of the Tower is tucked into the shadows beneath a rusted metallic archway. A dozen black flags dance furiously in a bone-chilling breeze—the sight sucks the breath from my lungs, bringing back haunted images. Funeral envelopes. Red wing symbols. Tearstained letters. I point before I know what I'm doing.

"Those—"

"Ah, look who so conveniently escaped for Daizo's final act," teases Nobu, striding forward. Hands on hips, the waistline of his jacket swept back. "I would arrest you if I weren't in desperate need of answers."

"We don't have time to talk." Ren shoves past him to Kotomi, who's tapping away at a screen in front of a steel door. "What's with this?"

"We sealed the Tower to make sure Daizo doesn't run off with Bohai," she explains, breathless. "We sent two teams up to do a sweep of the upper labs, but they're not finding anything out of place. Looks like lab rats got paid not to talk. So I'm going into the system to see who's programming what, from where."

I suppress my irritation at Nobu and turn to him. "How long do we have?"

"Ten minutes." He arches his brows, eyes stone-cold. "Care to tell me why every guard on Daizo's property has history—and a criminal record—at Tenshi Orphanage?"

"We told you. He's trying to use the people to carry out his plan?"

"Ah, yes, his plan. And what exactly is his very evil plan?"

I suck in a breath and join Ren behind Kotomi. "We need to get up there. The sooner we go up and find Bohai and Daizo, the faster we can shut this down and make sure any form of airborne white wing stays within—"

"Got it!" interrupts Kotomi, eyes wide. "Itsuo, can you—"

"Yeah," he says instantly, joining her at the screens to read its information. "There's a giant tank hooked up to a computer system in chamber C4-F312. Topmost floor of the upper crown. It's being powered up at an insanely fast rate by a generator."

"Generator?" I echo.

"A kind of navigator, yeah. It's sending signals to external receivers in other prominent locations across Osaka."

Kotomi's gaze meets mine with confusion. "I don't get it. The only person we know with the knowledge to operate that would be—"

"—Bohai," my mouth says.

A flash of terror crosses Ren's face. Without a second of hesitation, he jams open the lock on the door and disappears inside.

I leap to follow, but Nobu slides into my path, face grim. For the first time, there's no amusement, no sense of triumph on his face. Just frigid anger masking a whole lot of fear.

"I read every letter in that boy's room," he says. "My boss is threatening to fire every cop in this city that doesn't return to their respective posts. He claims this is too much action for too little evidence. So I need you to tell me that you know exactly what you're doing, and that you can stop whichever psychopath is raging upstairs."

I meet his eyes. My resolve hardens to steel. "I wouldn't be here if we couldn't."

Nobu studies me. Then he steps away and beckons toward Itsuo and the rest of his officers. "I want reports from every team at locations across Osaka. Each spot is receiving some kind of message or signal from Osaka Medicine Tower. I want that connection shut down as soon as possible, got it? Kotomi..."

"I'm going up with Hina," she says. There's a tremble to her voice as her hand latches onto mine. "Come on."

We dive into the open door.

Instantly, the musty smell of metallic and sweet-smelling powder fills my senses.

"Beware," warns Cho. "Your air quality index has lowered significantly. Please—" Her voice cuts off into static. My vision blurs in and out. "Caution—must be—turn—remaining outside is—commended—recommended."

"No," I whisper, tapping my temple. The elevator appears—a red-lit room yawning open, rising into a shaft howling with the evening wind. "We're heading up."

Kotomi moves away to tap the screens. "I think this is up." As if on cue, doors slide open. "It is up."

We rush inside. The elevator doors slide shut, and we shoot upward up steel supports.

The night blurs past us outside. Shouts and sirens echo below. Within the encasement of steel, the alarm wails louder than ever. Osaka Medicine Tower—lockdown. Somehow, seeing the world from the gaps within steel beams is breathtaking and terrifying all at once. Lights unfurling. Messenger balloons flashing. The gleaming pelt of an untamed sea.

Details slide slowly out of grasp the farther up we go. Is it the thickness of red light, or is it harder to make out Kotomi's face? I feel her fear as sharply as a knife, but her expression lacks clarity.

"Cho," I whisper.

No answer.

Kotomi's head tilts toward me. "What's that?"

"Nothing." I swallow. "Be careful. There's a mild dose of hallucinogen up here."

She swears under her breath. "Well, that's just great."

My heart leaps to my throat. I tap my earpiece, seeking out a crackle of life that might signify Ren's listening on the other end. But there's no signal. Looks like all connection is backed up by the giant generator running Daizo's white wing tank.

"Do you know this Tower?" I ask as the elevator slows.

Doors slide open in red-lit, glass-walled halls. "I've heard vaguely about its layout, if that counts," answers Kotomi. We rush out just as a stream of masked police officers pass us. "Masako," she calls. "Do you happen to know where a chamber C4-F312 might be?"

A lean officer skids to a stop and pulls down his mask. "Uh," he begins, catching his breath, "no, but these chambers are all F100s. I'd take the stairway at the end of the hall if you're going up. Oh," he adds as his peers call to him from the elevator, "and take these. Extras. It's kind of...off-putting in there."

Gas masks. I have a flash of my heart breaking to pieces on the floor of my kitchen. The deep twist of pain yawning in my chest as I imagined otou-san's hand on my shoulder and okaa-san's worried gaze on mine. The raw memory of it is dizzying. I'm grateful as I pull the mask on, even as I have no idea how effective it will be.

"Thanks," murmurs Kotomi. "Where are you going?"

"Chamber zero. Downstairs!" he calls, jogging away. "We sent all the lab employees down there to go through security checks."

"Did you see Ren-shu Ko?" I ask.

"No!"

The elevator door slides shut. We race down the hall and up a set of staircases—they're without railings, hovering over the first floor chambers. My heart races—I can barely breathe.

"Don't worry," murmurs Kotomi. "He's gotta be up here somewhere."

"That's what I'm worried about."

The stairs come to an abrupt stop on the topmost floor. I strain my eyes against my half-working contacts, lungs aching with effort as I scramble for details. A steel platform encircling a tube of lightning. Glass walls stretching wide open to the full berth of Osaka, dark evening clouds rolling low over crooked rooftops.

The tube pulses bluish-white and rises up a yawning hole in the ceiling. Wind howls through it. A spire. My gaze travels from the contraption to the entangled wires extending from it—then to the lines of computer screens mounted against the glass wall and then, finally, to the floor.

Ren hunches over a motionless body covered in blood, trembling. My heart flies to my throat.

Bohai.

White panic consumes me. I dive forward blindly. No, no, no. Metal scrapes my legs as I kneel over him. He's not breathing, limp in Ren's arms. His eyes are closed, his lashes long over his round cheeks, still holding youth. Brows arched instead of pulled tight in concentration over a computer screen. Bloodied scratches and debris freckle his face.

No—

There are burn marks encircling his wrists. He's wearing a rumple black police uniform—a stolen disguise, no doubt. Its front is torn and soaked in blood. Ren's hand presses against his chest as if putting pressure on a wound. But when he pulls his hand away, it's not soaked with blood.

"Old blood." Ren's voice is rough.

I lean forward and feel Bohai's cheek, unable to breathe. "He's warm," I realize, mystified.

"Doesn't matter." Ren stares down at Bohai, face white. "He's gone. I checked his pulse."

"That doesn't make sense." My eyes sting. The world blurs in and out—is it my tears, or is it my contacts failing? "Kotomi went into system minutes ago and said that someone was charging this generator. He had to be alive earlier—this blood—if it's old blood, it can't be his."

Ren says nothing. He rests a hand against Bohai's forehead. Gone.

Pain trembles through my body. No. This doesn't make sense. My eyes sweep across the blur of screens against the glass, coming into focus just long enough for me to see progress gauges.

Behind me, Kotomi catches on and races over. "The screen is vibrating."

"What?" I scramble to my feet. A barrage of information floods my senses. Flashing gauges. CHARGING COMPLETE. DISCONNECT NOW. The screen is vibrating, I realize. It's growing more urgent, seeking attention. DISCONNECT NOW.

Metal groans. I spin around. The tank in the center of the chamber tips precariously.

DISCONNECT NOW. DISCONNECT NOW. A new message flares up. FUEL OVERCHARGE.

"Overcharge," I murmur. Suddenly, it clicks. The only person with knowledge to operate this system is Bohai—and Bohai knows that. He knew that. Why wouldn't he take advantage of his position? "We need to get out of here," I realize, pulling away. "Bohai's overcharging the tank. It's going to blow."

The screen flashes.

"Overcharge initiating," announces an unseen speaker. "Five minutes to capacity."

Kotomi's eyes meet mine in panic. She glances to Bohai, stunned, before breaking into a run. "I'll let Masako and the officers know. Get Ren and Bohai out."

"I know." As she races off, I kneel and reach for Ren, whose eyes search Bohai's face as if trying to memorize what he looked like alive.

"Hey," I murmur. Hands shaking, I tug off my mask and loop it around his face. There's no way Ren will survive any contact with hallucinogen. Not when his mind is this vulnerable. I press a hand against his cheek, trying to guide his attention back to me. "Ren." His eyes meet mine, unfocused. I bring his forehead to mine, aching for touch to draw him to the present. "Ren, we need to go."

He pauses, stunned. For a moment, I think he'll listen.

Too good to be true. When he pulls away, his eyes are cold, his anger directed at someone I can't see.

"I'm not leaving," he answers.

"He's right," calls a familiar voice. Footsteps echo against metal. In the blink of an eye, I kneel in front of Ren, gun cocked and raised.

Leaning against the trembling tank is none other than Daizo Shen, covered in blood. His forearm is bandaged, his hair in disarray, his teasing eyes flat and ice-cold. He shifts his weight to his other foot and shoves his hands in his pockets, studying me with a smile. His figure wavers before me as if I'm underwater. My contacts are giving out quickly.

"He isn't leaving," he reaffirms matter-of-factly. "Neither am I."

A gunshot explodes. Daizo moves aside as if avoiding a fly. The bullet pings uselessly off the tank's glass. Bulletproof.

Ren is on his feet beside me, gun raised, grief-stricken with fury.

"Hello, Ren." Daizo's brows pull tight as if trying to reconcile what he's seeing with a memory. "Long time no see."

Another shot rips through the air. Daizo moves aside, annoyance flashing through his eyes.

"Guess you couldn't stop lining the floor with bodies," says Ren, brows drawn low. "You manipulated and killed a boy who did your dirty work. Tell me how that saves your conscience."

Daizo steps forward. His features flicker in and out—I catch a mix of ash, crimson powder, and sweat. "Another misunderstanding, unfortunately. Bohai joined my team willingly on the condition that I use my blood to cure him." A jagged laugh leaves his throat. "But I guess it killed him instead. That's what happens when you're too ambitious. Like your buddy Masako, for instance." He laughs again, brows arching pitifully. "I hotboxed all the police downstairs. By the time Goda gets there I wonder how many of them will still—"

Ren lunges forward and tackles Daizo to the floor. The tank rattles as they fight beneath wires, sparks flying, choked laughter singing in the air.

Commotion blurs. I dive forward, scramble for Ren's shoulders, and tug him away as he deals shattering blows to Daizo's nose, jaw, brow.

"Ren, stop." I wrestle him back, breathless. "Ren."

He stumbles away, shoulders heaving. I wrap my arms around him and turn his face away.

Daizo scrambles to his feet, bloodied spit flying from his mouth. "Now, Ren, it wasn't my fault Bohai's dead. It was just a matter of time before you let another little brother die."

"Shut up," Ren snaps.

His lip curls in a sneer. "Make me."

Ren lunges against my grip again. "Ren," I interrupt, "we have to go."

"Overcharge. Four minutes to capacity."

A rustle of clothing catches my attention. I barely catch a flash of metal before his knife clangs with mine, parried just shy of Ren's back. The effort wrenches a grunt from my throat.

My eyes meet Daizo's. They're bloodshot, crazed with hunger, but there's something impatient and desperate about the way he clings to his anger. As if he needs more. As if nothing will ever be enough to mask the broken heart that lies beneath.

He studies me for a moment longer. Then, just as I think he'll pull away, his other arm shoots forward.

White mist explodes in my face.

Howling wind reaches a crescendo. The world slides downward like dripping paint—suddenly, I'm in my old kitchen, kneeling on the linoleum floor.

Kneeling in front of me is my mother, a spoonful of soup paused in her hand.

Her eyes search mine.

Okaa-san, a small voice in my heart begs. Something in me aches to hold onto this precious moment, where I can finally feel the word on my tongue bearing meaning. Okaa-san, don't go. Okaa-san, stay close to me. I wish I could hold onto this forever.

She smiles teasingly and brings her hand to my cheek.

"Oh, Hina-chan," she murmurs, "you're always so worried. Isn't she?"

She turns her head. My father enters the room with a metal cup in his hand. It's jasmine tea—I can smell it from my spot on the floor. Without thinking, I rise to my feet and watch as he approaches. Memorizing each crease of his face, the crows-feet at the edges of his eyes, signaling the ghost of a smile that disappeared the years after okaa-san died.

"Come on," he murmurs with a nudge of my shoulder. His eyes hold affection and mischief as he walks away. "Down to the training alley we go."

"Training alley?" I echo.

I spin around. The apartment dulls to a deep cerulean. Outside, the pulse of the monorail lights illuminates the apartment from the window. Suddenly, I'm alone—my parents are gone, the kitchen is dark, and there's a silver glow breathing slow in the apartment. Lin. I see myself sprawled upon the scratchy wooden floor. There's a strange glow to my eyes, and it hits me how heavy my grief weighed on my shoulders, how much it sank into each fleck of my brown eyes.

The Hina on the floor shuts her eyes.

"No." Her voice is quiet. "Don't deactivate, Lin."

"As you wish." I watch myself fall asleep. Each muscle in my body relaxes. The shadows thicken around me, and Lin's silver glow becomes the only thing I can see. It draws me toward it like a moth to flame.

This is isn't real, Hina, I think. The scar in my chest aches like salt in a wound. They're in the past, as they should be.

Still, tears prick my eyes as my apartment swims back into existence. This time, it appears as it is now—yellow lanterns, rumpled sheets, the fridge whirring furiously beside rusted gas stoves. Except it's a little different. It's the layout—the fridge is on the wrong side of the kitchen, the stoves are electric, the gaps within the tiles on the countertop are clean, not caked with moldy crumbs. The bathroom floor has been remodeled. There are two twin-sized bedrolls around a low table adorned with a bowl of pears.

This isn't my apartment. It belongs to someone else. In fact, this is someone else's life entirely.

"Have you ever tried putting on someone else's contacts?"

I spin around. My feet collides with the soft linens of one of the bedrolls. This feels so real.

When I raise my eyes, I see Daizo standing at the door.

He looks different. His face is clean, and while his eyes are usually flat and unfeeling—with their usual burst of anger—he watches me calmly.

I'm afraid to move. "Why would I have to do that?"

"Oh, I don't know." He shrugs. "Desperation, maybe."

"You're one to talk."

"Actually, I'm not." He taps his temple. This entire time, he doesn't blink, as if he's running on a machine. "I used to have twenty-four contacts. Desperation, anxiety, helplessness...they took them all away. At least when I wore them. Now I don't know who I am, with or without them."

I glance at our surroundings. Sunlight flows through the window, but there's no sound. As if we're trapped in time. "Where am I?"

"A memory of someone's home." Daizo's eyes travel around the room. I'm startled by how boyish the gesture is—like a curious child walking into a new house, mapping its contours with awe. "A half-sight on the street died malnourished a few weeks ago. He was wearing a pair of old street contacts. When I analyzed the charging case in his pocket, I realized contacts have memory." His gaze slides to mine, a hint of that old numbness returning. "Did you know that?"

I study him warily. "What do you mean, contacts have memory?"

"Guess that's a no," he answers. His lip curls mirthlessly. "So then I tried putting on his old street contacts. His tech friend's name was Tomi, and he showed me a lot of things as if I was there, living through them. You know, your tech friend doesn't only keep a record of everything that leaves your mouth. But it hears and maps each emotion in your voice. Kind of remarkable, wouldn't you say?"

"Why am I here?" I cut in. "Why are you telling me that?"

Daizo's eyes meet mine again. My words must have disappointed him, because that familiar demeanor falls over him again—lids flat, gaze pitiful with a rumble of irritation beneath. "I thought a fellow half-sight with your talent might care. There's a lot of opportunities here."

"Opportunities," I repeat, suddenly afraid of where this is going. "What opportunities?"

"I mean, look at this. It's essentially world building. Off of someone's memory." Daizo's gaze drinks in this place with a strange sense of longing. "You can recreate so much. I could take Tomi's records and use it as a foundation to build something entirely new. Something better. You get me?"

"Is that what you did?"

"Mm..." He tilts his head from side to side and smiles. "Kind of."

I steel myself. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"The toxins in white wing work off your worst wounds. That's a lot of variation for a million people. It doesn't matter whether the damn tank is overcharged or not. The compound will enter the air and, you know. Give people an end in the right direction."

A terrible feeling sinks into my chest. "And which direction is that?"

Daizo's grin stretches. "Mine. White wing will show them only what I want them to see. It'll show them how badly they fucked up in the past. Putting down people like me. Shutting us aside." His grin sours as darkness falls over his eyes. "Whatever shameful thing they've done toward me, whether directly or indirectly—they can rot under their shame. It's a lot better than giving them a sweet death into their best memory. That's what you taught me when you walked all happy into your hallucination at my parents' house."

I stare at him, unable to fathom the hatred seeping from his words. "Why do you hate the world so much?"

Pain flashes across his face. The furrow of his mouth lifts. Infinitely bitter. "Because they made me kill my family."

"Even Bunta?"

"Everyone. They made me weak and sightless." He spits the words out like poison. "Even with contacts, they made me feel like a whimpering child."

My voice trembles. "So what? You think mass-murdering innocent people will make you feel invincible?"

Another breathless laugh leaves him. I see tears in his eyes. "They're not innocent," he says, slowly. "And neither are you."

He shifts. A gunshot rings out.

The bullet screams toward me. I gasp—I expect to feel the stab of it at my chest, or my stomach or my knee. Instead, it jars me out of place with such force the apartment falls away.

Smoke burns my nose. Wind howls. Metal groans again—I realize, with a start, that I'm back on the chamber floor. C4-F312, the tank now quaking violently within its glass confines.

The screens swim back into focus. Daizo's on the floor, rising to his elbows with his eyes on mine—then to Ren. But Ren's not paying any attention; in fact, his face moves into my vision as his hands cradle my cheeks. Relief floods his voice as I blink, trying to make sense of what happened.

"Hina?" he whispers. His entire body is shaking. "Hey."

"What—"

"Overcharge. Thirty seconds to capacity."

Oh, no. "We're out of time." My voice croaks from my throat. The world sways—I stumble backward, only to bump into Bohai's limp body. Except it's not limp. Bohai has rolled over, coughing out blood onto the chamber floor. Am I seeing things? "Wait, how—"

Ren's hand catches my arm. "Come on, let's go."

The world barely steadies itself before I catch movement behind Ren. Daizo, who has twisted to reach the gun strapped to his belt.

"Ren—"

I see it in slow motion. The gun loosened of its holster. Daizo's arm lifting. Bang.

The shot rips through the air just as I throw my body over him. White-hot pain stabs through my shoulder, wrenching a scream from my throat.

"Hina—"

Arms hold me tight. "Hina." My name is whispered over and over again. Hands are at my cheeks. At my shoulder. "Hina—" But I can't see anything, can't think of anything but the pain shattering through my left arm. Metal clangs nearby. Another gunshot explodes.

"Overcharge. Five seconds to capacity."

Daizo shouts. The tank rumbles. And then, with a horrifying shudder, everything fades to white.