XCEL

Suited for a place practically defined by an absence of location in the real world, Nowhere never stayed the same. Suspended in that void of psychic energy, the impossible tower stretched up infinitely, blocks jutting out of the central structure at odd intervals, bridging off into new wings with seemingly no purpose unless you looked at it from the right angle. In the cognitive world, everything was malleable, shaped by the thoughts of those that inhabited it. New rooms and floors popped into existence and disappeared seemingly at whim, and it was never quite clear exactly who was the cause of what.

For example, one day an exquisite patisserie—manned exclusively by a sentient standing-lamp that only spoke Norwegian—appeared out of nowhere on some arbitrary floor for a period of about three weeks. Its disappearance was lamented by all, even if the croissants inextricably cost a few thousand more yen than they should. Why an imaginary comestibles vendor even needed any material currency in the first place was beyond any of them. But, if you wanted a crepe on a dull Thursday morning before the boss invariably devoured the entire lot, you had to make it up there quick and cough up—cash only. There was a cash machine somewhere in the building, with the caveat that it appeared randomly anywhere between the negative 40th and 295th floor, and changed location on a three-hourly basis.

The atrium was considered level zero for all intents and purposes. The architecture remained, contrary to its bizarre and whimsical nature, disappointingly black and brutalist. Four circular black pillars marked out a lowered deviation with steps which served as a meeting foyer. Five looming doors, four of which were marked, were set into three of the walls. These led to the various ways out of Nowhere: the main JPRO offices, located in Tokyo and Osaka in the mainland, Kumamoto in the south and Sapporo in the north.

They had smaller clinics elsewhere, as well as partnerships with private medical institutions. However, if you needed to go any place else in a hurry, you’d best hope Hakana was in a good mood that day and didn’t abandon you on Mount Fuji. The final door teleported you somewhere completely random. One poor JPRO employee found that out the hard way after freezing to death in the middle of Siberia. No-one much cared to use that door anymore.

Out of all the structures in the labyrinthine tower, the atrium, for some reason, remained constant. The location of everything else was therefore defined relative to it. That was the job of the Administrator, an intense and unsettling dark-skinned bald man dressed like a butler (complete with pocket-square), tinted shades completely embedded into his eyes. He had to be a phenomenon of some kind, but no-one could ever tell for sure. Any question that wasn’t some variation of “where is this?”, “what’s the weather like?” or “what’s for lunch?” was usually met with deafening, judgemental silence.

The Administrator never moved from his concierge booth at the far end of the atrium, either side of which lay the elevators. They took you through a set of nonsensical winding pathways—not always vertical—that carved themselves through the entire building in real time. The elevators took you where you needed to go, not where you thought you needed to go. Annoyingly, the two often weren’t the same thing.

The late lunch hour meant the atrium was bustling with activity. Employs from every department conversed in this relatively safe haven: a control group of psychologists were comparing notes on the set of experimental forcible separation treatments being trialled in a mental hospital on patients with dissociative identity; some engineers complained loudly about the latest decrease in overtime pay. The usual office politics remained a surprisingly comforting constant amid all the madness.

Silence shook the atrium when the Tokyo door slammed open. A dishevelled and disgruntled man stumbled out across the polished flooring, decking an unfortunate soul who just happened to be in the way. Meguru Yoha looked a bloody mess, and felt even worse. He’d been absolutely violated by that detective, and was downright furious about the fact. Missing a right hand, blood dripped from ripped shreds of clothing that hung loose from his flayed body. The man’s jaw sported a hefty bruise from Ibuse’s nasty right hook.

“Where the hell is Sakazuki?” Meguru roared, eyes scanning the crowd. “Where is she?!”

A man to his left recoiled, inhaling sharply through his teeth. “Who put you through the paper shredder? And what happened to your hand?”

Meguru tore his face off.

Dead before he hit the floor, man slumped to his knees and fell forward, a gaping open wound squelching against the floor. A gasp rippled through the crowd. Some grit their teeth, some averted their eyes. The Glass Eyes were all bad news. Unhinged, dangerous psychopaths—practically the lot of them. Random acts of violence weren’t uncommon. They were Enforcers of a different kind, the worst possible interpretation.

“Mr Yoha.” A lofty voice echoed through the shocked silence, accompanied by the clicking of heels on tile. Kiyosumi Sakazuki had a serene step and heavily lidded eyes that peeked from under a straight fringe. The rest of her wavy ashen hair bunched around her shoulders. “Please keep your voice down. This is a public forum.”

“You!” He pointed. “Heal me. Now!”

She looked him up and down. “Your soul looks stable enough.”

“I’m not talking about my soul, you whore!” He thrust forward his stump, spattering her and others nearby with specks of crimson. “Look at me! I’m bleeding out over here!”

“Do you expect me to regrow your severed limb?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Cut the sass! Want me to rip your face off too?!”

Drawing closer, Sakazuki traced her finger along one of Meguru’s cuts. The man winced and let out a yell. “That hurts, damn you! Watch where you’re touching!”

“What are you crying about?” She pursed her lips. “These cuts are shallow, barely half a centimetre deep.”

“Can’t you see how much pain I’m in? Hurry up and heal me! Ain’t that your entire job?”

“My technique is ill-suited for that kind of work. I mend damage to the soul.” She turned on a heel and stepped away. “If you’re truly worried about your papercuts, please see a doctor, not a psychologist. Good day, Mr. Yoha. Try not to kill anyone else.” She cast a glance around. “They might be valuable this time.”

Meguru’s jaw clenched. “You don’t get to blow me off, bitch!” Stepping forward, he seized Sakazuki by a fistful of hair and yanked backwards. “I wasn’t asking. Understand me?”

Behind him, the barrel of a pistol nestled into the base of his neck, and a thumb primed the hammer. Meguru froze.

“Let go.” Hideyori Hakana’s mouth had warped into a grim snarl, hat tilted low over his face. Meguru growled, but didn’t relinquish his hold. Hakana pushed the gun forward, raising his head. That singular, burning blue eye burrowed into the depths of the bloody man’s soul. “I wasn’t asking. Understand me?”

Meguru tutted and let go. Sakazuki instinctively slapped him across the face and stepped away, massaging the back of her head and wiping the the blood from her hand. A few of her coworkers rushed to comfort. Now that the loud threat had been taken care of, the hum of conversation resumed over the atrium. A comforting blanket of noise on which the two executives could iron things out.

“Now, I’m not in charge of HR—” Hakana began— “but on the books, JPRO prides itself on being an Equal Opportunities Employer. That kind of discriminatory conduct won’t be tolerated in this organisation. If you take an issue with particular coworkers, you must go through the proper channels of mediation for any workplace disputes. Do I make myself clear, Meguru?”

“Yeah, like you can talk.” He glowered. “Last week you orbed a guy for emptying the coffee machine.”

“I resolved an issue with an esteemed coworker through a proper channel of mediation for a given workplace dispute,” Hakana corrected. “Said esteemed coworker now has an eternity of nothing to reflect upon his actions and rectify his behaviour accordingly.”

“And what about that other guy you shot?”

“He was harassing his female subordinates, offering promotions in exchange for favours.”

“So, murder’s fine, but you draw the line at harassment, do you?”

“Sometimes I draw it at minor inconveniences. Entirely depends on how I’m feeling that day.” Hakana gave a menacing grin. “Seems you’ve had quite an eventful morning.”

Meguru’s eye twitched. “Guess you could call it that,” he made out through gritted teeth. “You set me up, you one-eyed bastard! I thought this was Fight Club, not Duel Monsters! Would’ve been helpful to know that Harigane had the spirit of some Egyptian Pharaoh living inside his head!”

“News to me." Hakana grinned.

“The bastard sliced my hand off!” He brandished the stump, in case it wasn’t obvious enough.

The executive’s lip curled, wiping a spot of blood from his cheek. “I missed the part where that’s my problem.”

“Fuck you, it hurts! I liked that hand! Besides, where the hell were the rest of you? You set me up for a sting and left me there. I had the Ascension Blade in my hands, when this haughty demon possessed the kid and started carving me up like a kebab!”

“Sounds to me like he was winning.”

Meguru grinned. “The guy gave me a little trouble, for sure.”

“Were you gonna lose?”

“Nah, I would’ve won—” Meguru’s smirk spoiled in real time— “That is, if your old pal Ibuse hadn’t shown up and started throwing hands!”

This finally surprised the hatman.

“Yeah, Ibuse! Remember the detective you briefed us about?”

“Didn’t realise you paid attention to my briefings.” Hakana coughed violently into the crook of his elbow.

“When were you going to tell me that the guy could stop time?!”

Hakana’s eye widened.

“You heard me! Stop. Time. That’s on the same level of power as my Chaos Theory.”

“No shit. Did he have a Third Eye?”

“Couldn’t see one, no. The flow of his psychic energy; it’s exactly the same as mine. I don’t know how, but he completely bypassed my technique! What the hell’s that about?”

“Oh, you idiot.” Hakana grinned. “You’ve just joined up the dots out loud, and you seriously haven’t figured it out yet? Good thing you’ve got a pretty face. Shame about the cuts; they’ll heal eventually—maybe. Ibuse, though—the guy’s clearly been blessed just like you. These phenomena clearly have more of a stake in this mess than we ever gave them credit. Speaking of, how’s your grandfather? Is he doing well?”

Meguru wrinkled his nose. “What’s my pops got to do with any of this?”

“Might wanna give him a visit. You’ll get more answers from him than me, I bet.” Patting Meguru on the shoulder, Hakana walked past, coughing into his sleeve once more, and wiping a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Oi, Hakana!” Meguru cried. “What about my injuries?”

“Stop whining already, you big baby.” Hakana lit a cigarette and pinched it between his lips. “Either go to the hospital or go home and take a shower. Either way, stop bleeding all over the floor. We don’t want a workplace hazard.” Another smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Someone might slip and get hurt.”

Meguru snarled and mocked the man behind his back. “And what about my hand?”

“Have Tekkori fix you a new one, stumpy. It’ll come out of your next paycheck, though.”

“Cheapskate.”

The men went their separate ways. Meguru’s face coiled in abject resentment as he traipsed grouchily towards the elevator. Hakana, however, approached the psychologists from earlier and tipped his hat.

“I’ll take responsibility for that, ladies,” he grumbled, cigarette shifting between his lips. “I sincerely apologise for the unbecoming behaviour of my subordinate.” The sentence came out monotone and rehearsed, like he’d read it straight from a flashcard. He had. Hakana fixed them with a smirk, tucking the card back into his pocket. “How was that? I think I’ve got this whole corporate shtick down, if you ask me.”

They all gazed at him in a mixture of wonder and fear. Sakazuki’s gaze remained permanently aloof, eyes glassy and distant. The other girls acknowledged his apology with gratitude, then made tracks. Lunch was nearly over, after all. Hakana cleared his throat. “Not you, Sakazuki. The rest of you can go.”

She remained emotionless even as the others left her behind. Staring ahead at Hakana, she tilted her head, placid. “What did you need of me, sir?”

Hakana waited until they were relatively alone. Five excruciating seconds passed.

“First of all—” he closed in, voice dropping to a near-whisper— “I need you to wake up.” Placing the pad of his thumb over the slit of her third eye, he said, “Open your eyes.”

A jolt of psychic energy shot along his hand and into her forehead. Momentarily electrifying her skin, Sakazuki’s third eye shot open. Colour flooded pale cheeks, a shiver rippled goosebumps across her face. For the first time, pupils appeared in her eyes.

“Where am I?”

Hakana looked at her warily under the brim of his hat. “Figured as much.” He thrust his arm forward, an orb in his other hand. “Let’s talk elsewhere.”

Sakazuki took heavy breaths, looking around the atrium with frightened wariness. Hesitant at first, nonetheless she took his arm of her own free will. That same instant, the pair of them warped inside the orb, which swallowed itself up therein.

That was the only other way of getting places in Nowhere. Hakana had Moments scattered throughout the building. If you charmed him enough, he might consider giving you one. “A gift,” he’d assure you between that sharklike grin. But it was never just a gift. It was a bargaining chip, another one of the man’s many Means.