Revenge Fantasy

After one night's stay in a local Pittsburgh motel, "Kuroiwa" heads to the seller's provided address with the pickup truck. Ready to deliver something high quality that needs to get to a wealthy buyer.

Officially, Kuroiwa left it in Charon's hands the night prior to arrange the job. A necessary step to go through the bureaucracy of having this delivery be an official job. The job is as follows:

"Client: ???

Destination: Omaha, Nebraska

A delivery job from Pittsburgh to Omaha. Package unknown. Seller unknown. Buyer unknown.

Calling for a mercenary willing to make a long drive. Product is too sensitive to be trusted with normal mail carriers.

Pay: $45k + car related expenses."

"Phone's equipped with a GPS to Omaha," Charon explains. "On paper, the Underworld's higher ups trust me to privately give this to mercenaries in Pennsylvania, so they won't need to know that 'Kuroiwa' did it yet until long after you completed it."

"Good," Kuroiwa responds. "Is there anything else I should be aware of? Anything you can see that I cannot?"

"It's just a drive there. You can handle a drive, can't you?" Charon asks, almost condescendingly. "It's crossing states, so toll will be an issue, But the toll booths should only capture the car itself, with photographic technology to the license plate and car model. Whatever address this car belongs to will be the one to front the bill, something that either I, or the bar man, will handle... as long as you're not insane enough to deliberately drive through every toll gate in this country."

"I believe I'm not," Kuroiwa comments.

"Funny," Charon responds. "It should just be a straightforward shot. Text me if an emergency arises, and call back when you're stopping for gas or staying at a motel on the way. Finally, have a nice trip. You got all that?"

"Yes, but... one more thing. The seller will be seeing my face if I drive there by my lonesome, Charon," Kuroiwa explains. "Will I need any precautions to prevent this?"

Charon goes silent for a moment, before answering. "Just a hat and your sunglasses will do. I would suggest a face mask, but... maybe concealing your entire face is too suspicious. Plus, you already told the trucker you're the representative, could be a potential high-market client if you play your cards right... so just tell the seller you're getting the truck to the mercenary. Something along those lines."

"Very well. This will be simple, then," Kuroiwa confidently tells the informant.

The address takes her to a suburban neighborhood of Pittsburgh, a street that was a few minutes outside of the city border. Curiously, she ends up in front front of a residential home. A two story suburban house with no cars on the curbs or the driveways, as compared to the rest of the street.

If not for the piece of paper that the pickup truck had, properly laminated with instructions on what to do upon arrival, Kuroiwa would have assumed no one was home.

In the pickup truck, Kuroiwa needed to memorize a few pages' worth of instructions. The packet was laminated and protected and all, having been stowed away in the car on the seller's request.

Chouko- ... Kuroiwa, had no trouble memorizing it whatsoever, making great use of that ever so relevant talent of hers... but it was still an excessive amount.

The instructions ask for her to do the following actions:

First, Kuroiwa has to parallel park out front, specifically in front of the house in question. In the possibility that there are unexpected cars there - which, there aren't, but she memorized this chance regardless - she is to flick her emergency lights on and align the car with the one closest to the mailbox, driver window lined up with driver window.

Then, keeping the engine running, Kuroiwa must check the back tire closest to the sidewalk curb, then lean her back against the car's gas cover. Pretend to be frustrated and act as if there was a "hole in the tire", as the paper listed, exaggerated enough to appear like an act while still seeming natural.

Kuroiwa must then cross her arms, holds three fingers up - specifically her right hand's index, ring and pinky fingers - and looks up at the sky, pretending to see a fascinating cloud... taking a deep breath.

This is, conceptually, absolute bollocks, thought Kuroiwa. Yet, there has to be some method to the madness. Everything has a reason, and it is not that complicated to deduce that this was a security protocol. Whoever this is, is as cautious as she is. The person she is to meet is very intricate, to the point of excessive paranoia and anxiety.

Elaborate steps.

Elaborate person.

Doing these instructions, Kuroiwa then notices one of the windows opening in the house next-door. The instructions mentioned to be prepared for this, to prepare for one of the windows to open at that moment and to prepare for someone to peek out. Someone to check if the driver is the hired mercenary.

Yet, this happens with a completely different house. The one right next door and everything. To make matters more... "confusing", the apparent lookout is a young boy no older than nine years of age, looking to Kuroiwa by peeking the upper half of his face out the window. Noticeable features are that he has pale skin and a brown bowl cut of a hairstyle.

Was this the seller? ... no, it can't be. He's too young to ask a grown man to hang out in a bar to hire someone to hire someone else to... oh, who was she kidding? The irony isn't lost on her that she was a mercenary before she became a teenager. Whoever this is could very well be the seller.

Kuroiwa indulges in this possibility, continuing these instructions. She mouths the words, "hashbrowns, hashbrowns, hashbrowns," in complete and utter silence, to signify that there were hashbrowns.

The kid stands up now, fully showing his head. Kuroiwa immediately narrows her eyes at the sight, seeing that this boy's cheeks and jawline are covered in gray metal plating. Possibly to conceal injuries, but... more likely, some other cause, as Kuroiwa noticed some wires.

The wires give away that this child went through an operation to shape his face and optimally prepare it for advanced cybernetics. An option well suited for virtual reality software, really. Quite like Gardner's, albeit... more intricate, for the safety of the child.

For it to be done to someone so young, Kuroiwa... almost immediately pinpoints that this person - or at least, someone in that household - is passionate about entertainment software. Trends on social media nowadays have various accounts suggesting to install the technology at a young age for various superficial purposes, possibly for "taste technology" to enjoy food video games, or to install lights to decorate one's face with a neo-pop look.

Before Kuroiwa can... think deeper into the psychological signifiers of this sight, she picks up on an immediate, noteworthy tell that the instructions call for. The plating had briefly distracted her from the optic technology over his left eye, a sort of circular scope that can serve as a telescope and a camera. The orange light on the end served as a pupil, its light turning on and off three times.

Three times.

The paper told Kuroiwa, specifically, that the flickering eye had everything to do to solve an... an algebra problem. How many times it flickered was used accordingly as "X".

The paper reads: "X to the 2nd power, plus the square root of X over the current hour." That entire problem equal to the Y^2 + 2Z + 1, with Y equal to the current minute.

Kuroiwa needs to solve for Z with this information, and had one minute to do so before she needs to start over.

"..." Kuroiwa lets out a slightly annoyed sigh, before continuing. Curiously, she... takes out her phone. She knows it's 9 plus something, but the square root of 3 isn't a whole number, so she types the number into her phone. Current hour, 10, so it's 9 plus... 0.1732, approximately... and the current minute after this is- it's 2, since 10:02.

So, 2 squared plus 2 times Z plus 1... it's... okay, so 4.1732 = 2Z, meaning the problem is now Z = 2.0866, now she has to tap her foot equal to all of the digits present, while holding her arms in such a way that the whole number represents her hour hand and the first two decimal digits - rounded up - represent the minute hand. Her eyes narrowing as she starts to-

"You can stop that, I think you already proved yourself when you took out the phone."

Kuroiwa looks away from her phone to see the boy right in front of her, having walked up in the time it took for her to "solve" the problem.

"... hm." Kuroiwa pockets the phone, rolling her eyes as she opens the truck and just- takes out some fast food. Another instruction. "Breakfast menu hashbrowns, as requested."

"W... Woah. Y-You're kidding, you even got the hashbrowns...?" the boy responds, visibly in shock. "I'm pretty sure that was marked optional... that's nuts, lady. Sorry if it was too much trouble, I really love hashbrowns."

"Consider me a perfectionist," Kuroiwa responds. "Alright. What's next? What am I delivering?"

"Oh, you're gonna have to talk to my neighbor," the boy comments, shaking his head.

"... your neighbor?" Kuroiwa asks.

"Mhmm. He just told me to keep an eye out for you. So, back up into the garage over there, and uh... yeah!"

So having the incorrect address was intentional.

Kuroiwa parked in front of one house, was greeted by a boy from the house next to it, and is now being told to drive the pickup from the house across the street.

Now that the boy is no longer a candidate for the "seller", that shifted Kuroiwa's assumptions and expectations noticeably. All she knows about this seller now is just, "elaborate instructions" and "possibly relies on neighbors to either help or be red herrings." In this case, the boy is both.

"I see. Out of curiosity, how much were you... paid... to do this?" Kuroiwa asks.

"Not allowed to tell you," the boy responds, taking a bite into a hashbrown.

So, the seller paid this child a lot.

"Well, now, see ya!" the boy responds, before walking back into his house with the breakfast hashbrowns. His job's done, now, and he's going to go enjoy his food!

... Kuroiwa gets back into the pickup truck to continue the seller's instructions, reversing into the driveway of the opposing house. Waiting at its garage door for a while, foot on the brake for about 2 minutes.

No signs of anyone at this house, but she looks to see a light being shined from her side mirrors. Just a flashlight, shining a light into her eyes.

"Wait outside for a light to shine. Roll down your passenger window as soon as possible," the paper reads.

Kuroiwa does so, visibly... annoyed. A light being shined into one's eyes is annoying, and it makes her regret not getting the sunglasses...

... but then, as the garage opens, Kuroiwa is bombarded with an excessive amount of visual information. Her vision a little hazy from having a light shined in, she's exposed to an absolute mess of color in the form of a culture shock.

All over the walls, anime. Anime posters plastered all over the walls, following almost hundreds of series at once. Basically, Japanese-style art from various authors, ranging from obscure modern shows to the big global classics of the 90s. A mess of neon colors, vibrant colors, these posters all over the place and exploding off of the walls the longer one stares at them.

Something about this unsettles Kuroiwa... but she can't pinpoint exactly what it is.

And she isn't given the time to pinpoint it.

"... nice truck you got here. What's the chance that you're here for what I think you are?"

Kuroiwa looks over to the right, looking at the seller through the passenger side door. Her red eyes looking to a middle aged man with messy, unkempt brown hair. Slightly on the chubby side, with square framed glasses and a faint beard stubble over his cheeks and chin. His clothing consists of a black fedora and a black trench coat, with a grey tank top and brown jeans underneath.

"... a high chance. I'm the messenger to pickup something to be driven by the mercenary," Kuroiwa answers the man, continuing to maintain this professional facade of not being the delivery driver.

"I... see, so you're not even the... okay. Alright. Can you send a message to him?" the seller asks, arms crossed.

Unease. Uncertainty. The tone of voice dropping at the information of her just being the messenger. Likely expected the mercenary themselves... "himself", in this case, to appear.

"Sure," Kuroiwa answers. "What is it?"

The seller then takes a moment to hand Kuroiwa a card, one with a phone number on it. "Just a reminder that this truck is carrying important, sensitive cargo. Either you or your mercenary will contact me once the truck's in Omaha, calling this number. A payphone is preferable."

"I see. Message received," Kuroiwa responds. "... do you need assistance with loading? I am willing to help."

The seller shakes his head. "No need. I can handle the work myself. Plus, y'know, again... sensitive cargo, I like to make sure things are handled myself. No slip-ups on my watch and all."

"Understood." Kuroiwa puts the car into park, and sits back. Arms crossed, just watching him lift the boxes. In the time it takes him to load the truck, she finds herself free to wait and... takes the time to idly glance around the rest of the garage.

The garage makes it appear as if he prefers romantic dramas and romantic comedies... on first glance. The tastes are too varied throughout the garage, this genre making up only 20%. A different 20% goes to comedy posters with vibrant and goofy designs, another 20% to mystery thrillers and war dramas... curiously, 10% to Japanese-style renditions of Western media, and 10% to cute cat style cartoons, and the rest of it an open box of variety. It is very much possible that he has more posters and merchandise of countless other works and genres.

Curiously, apart from the posters and the several boxes being loaded into the truck, Kuroiwa spots one outlier in this theme. A table with cleaning supplies and tools, as well as a model soldier figurine with paint supplies. One single model soldier contradicts the posters and decorations throughout this entire garage.

Peculiar.

"... so, got something I can call you?" Kuroiwa asks the man, as he's loading the pickup truck.

The man ponders for a bit, before answering. "Call me 'E'. That's my in-person business name."

"Just 'E', hm?" Kuroiwa asks.

"Yes," E answers, lifting another box into the truck. "Why do you ask?"

"Just, curious," Kuroiwa truthfully responds. Her curiosity unsatisfied. Even while face to face with "E", Kuroiwa... doesn't have a lot to remember about this seller. There weren't enough signs to focus on with E. No cybernetics, no remarkable features. Just a middle-aged man that's passionate about anime and elaborate papers, apparently.

"Alright. You got a name?" E then asks.

"... I," Kuroiwa answers, giving a single letter as a name. Best to give a fake name. "You may call me I." Curiously, the letter I could be mistaken as "Ai", a Japanese name that translates to love and affection.

Kuroiwa could see E's response to this with... intrigue, an eyebrow raised before going back to lifting boxes. "Understood, Ai," E responds. "Good to meet you."

Tch... With how elaborate his instructions are, it's a wonder how this seller could use such a simple letter as a moniker. It's clear that E is a fake name, with endless possibilities behind it. The beginning of one of his names? A mere syllable in his name? Maybe just a start to some word?

E, for Elaborate. E, for Extra. E, for Everything...

... maybe a word ending, Anim-E. Ugh.

The more Kuroiwa thinks about it, the more she will probably remember E not as a person, but as a letter that repeatedly shows up in the English language. Maybe just the amount of E's on his papers of instructions. If he had named himself her fake name instead, I could stand for Instructions...

... hm, speaking of the instructions, Kuroiwa immediately notices something off. Staring at the card that E handed her, realizing that it doesn't match the instructions whatsoever. The laminated paper lists an entirely different phone number at the end. Yet, here E was, giving her a new phone number. The numbers don't add up, or match.

In fact- why does she need this card? It's just a single phone number. Nothing of value on this card, possibly for disposable information. If she had to bring the instructions anyway, then why does she need to hold this card? Everything about E feels too elaborate to... to...

...

Wait...

It doesn't say on the paper that she needs to return the paper, but hypothetically...

"So... question. Do you need the instructions back? Seems like the number to call is- off," Kuroiwa asks.

"Oh, I see. I must have made a mistake with the paper," E responds, walking over to the driver side window. "Can I see the paper?"

Kuroiwa nods, and reaches into the glove compartment for the packet. Taking it out of the compartment, her face looking away from E... visibly tense. Growing exceptionally tense. Countless flags and connections are set off in Kuroiwa's head.

In this moment, as she takes the papers out, everything about E was... it... it felt like she was face to face with a mastermind. A genius of masking his identity. His identity...

... the end of identity. Identit-y. Y. That's- that's what it means, right?

No, no, that's- speculation, but... if it's the slightest bit possible, everything about E is as convoluted as possible to trip every person up. The most basic of name concealment, able to mask himself amidst other letters.

This job is... there's something about this job. Kuroiwa's realizing that E's being as eccentric, as elusive, as embellished as possible... his instructions entangled in essential, extra details...

That's why E feels unsettling, that's why everything about this man and his garage is unsettling! Kuroiwa is staring at a mirror, someone who has set up a garage of pure psychological, semantic landmines!

All of this is purely hypothetical, but... E's employing a workaround for one's memory. George A. Miller. "The Magical Number Seven, Plus or Minus Two (1956)". A psychology paper written about how human short term memory could only process between five to nine objects at any given moment, ranging from person to person.

This isn't limited to given items. One could see bundles of fruit and see: "a group of bananas", "a group of apples", "a group of oranges", so on... or, if it's too much, one would simply think: "a lot of fruit", leaving more room in short-term memory.

Everything about E is elaborate as a defense.

A defense from... from anyone who wants to find him.

If Kuroiwa is asked, interrogated, she... wouldn't be able to tell them anything. E is erasing the traces of his entire being from her mind with the Seven rule. By using the letter E, a vowel that shows up the most in the language, anyone who tries to remember this seller will remember everything else about E. Anim(E). Post(E)rs. Box(E)s. Soldi(E)rs. It will all group up into just the general E.

That's all she'll know about E, or even care to know about E. Just, "E". No identifying features to recognize him after this, beyond an unremarkable stereotype of an appearance. She might make a mistake and associate other words with E...

The job is paying 45k as a high reward for just a slight job, maybe just to take special care of what's being bought. What Kuroiwa is transporting isn't just sensitive, it's high in value. In the event that Kuroiwa is stopped by someone, E's making sure that all ties to him are cut off. The instructions to his address confiscated, given just a phone number to call upon arrival, she'll never be able to identify this man ever again.

E is the antithesis of Kuroiwa... a person everyone will know as E, yet never be able to easily identify.

Compare that to a person no one should know is the Stalker, yet... could probably recognize her if they wanted to. Everything E is as a concept is similar, yet outstandingly opposed at the same time.

As E loads the boxes, Kuroiwa... has a near mortified expression on her face, sitting in the driver's seat in astonishment. Psychologically triumphed in this moment, face to face with someone she believes she'll never be above...

... but Kuroiwa takes a deep breath, and makes an effort to calm herself. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, just staring forward and focusing. What was she worrying about? This was nothing to ger riled over. So what if E is a brilliantly convoluted seller with a potential mastery of psychology? E's is just another client for another job. That's all it is, that's all it is. Business. Just a job... just...

... the job.

Speaking of the job, Kuroiwa takes a glance at one of the boxes. On its side, the number 45 was drawn in permanent marker. All of the boxes had drawn numbers on them, sure, but... 45 stands out to her. It's just slightly larger than she was, enough to keep a person inside of it. Life-sized, of higher "quality" compared to the rest of the boxes.

In fact, it's loaded a lot slower into the truck than the rest, as if E is very, very blatantly showing favoritism to this box in particular. As if he had to be especially careful loading in this one, more careful than the other ones.

Curious.

Once the back is secured with boxes and all, E approaches the driver-side door and looks to Kuroiwa with arms crossed. "Alright, that's all. Do you understand, roughly, what this job needs of you?"

"Yes," Kuroiwa answers, looking back at E with a nonchalant look on her face. Burying away these feelings as best she can, masking her...

... her...

...

"... so, I will first escort this truck to the driver," Kuroiwa idly begins to explain, elaborating for her own benefit and... pettiness. "And then the driver will get the delivery safely to your buyer. Box number 45 will be perfectly protected in our possession."

"Correct, yes. So-" E responds, before narrowing his eyes. Instantly interrupting himself, slightly tense at that statement. "... Box 45...? Why- that one in particular?"

A glint in Kuroiwa's slightly narrowed eye, subtly delighted by this hesitance in his voice. An interesting reaction. "Apologies... slip of the tongue. Right. The mercenary has to escort all of these boxes to Omaha, as per your instructions, then... contact you, before arriving to the estate?"

"Y... Yeah," E answers, easing up slightly. "All of it is sensitive cargo, so... get it all to Omaha, and wait for instructions."

"Understood," Kuroiwa idly comments. "I assure you, the buyer will receive these goods in mint condition at all costs."

"Ah, that's good, then- ... uhm- mint condition?" E asks.

"Am I using the right terminology? I believe that means, 'unopened boxes' and all," Kuroiwa asks, looking straight forward. Staring across the street to the other houses, focusing on those residential buildings.

Kuroiwa is... resisting... the urge to grin, to smirk oh- so- devilishly after all of that. It was a miniscule victory, one that she doesn't even see any purpose for their exchange, but... Kuroiwa now knows one of E's tells. She is right on the target, E's voice a dead giveaway of her accuracy. Her word choice deliberate, as if to rattle E up...

... giving subtle hints that she knows exactly that Box 45 is the main focus, taking a bluff to what could possibly be in it.

"... u... uhm..." E noises, nodding. Anxiety in his voice as he stares at Kuroiwa. "Y... Yes. Keeping the boxes safe is... is important."

Thanks to E's responses, the anxiety and paranoia in his voice, Kuroiwa now knows that 45 contains the human-sized product that the buyer is set to receive, a toy or a figurine of sorts. Deducing as much...

... and able to guess that it's an android.

It has to be an android. These characteristics are attributes to an android product. Fresh in box.

Kuroiwa knows this now. It was such a miniscule detail, a minor victory over this client that she didn't even need to follow through with, yet- yet, she did. That's what she did. She has one edge over E, that she triumphed over him with the essential bit of information that E was trying to mask and hide.

... and after the high of this victory fades, Kuroiwa decides that enough is enough. Her curiosity is more than satisfied, now. Time to get on with the job. "Anything else I need to be aware of? Or will that be it?"

"... well... no. Job's straightforward, just..." E begins to answer, visibly calming down. "... you tell your mercenary to... to be careful on the drive there. Alright?"

"Indeed. I will relay the message if he doesn't already," Kuroiwa responds. "Take care, E."

Kuroiwa pulls the car into drive, and-

"Wait."

"...?" Kuroiwa looks to E with a head tilt, foot on the brake. "Yes?"

"Ai..." E places a hand on the truck, hand against the vehicle and staring at Kuroiwa. "... before you go... please, call me Eugene."

"Eugene?" Kuroiwa asks, tilting her head. "Why?"

"Well..." A sigh from the man as he stares at Kuroiwa, staring at her with narrowed eyes. "That's... my name. I just... feel like it's right for me to tell you this, giving you a proper name. A sort of... equivalent exchange and all."

Kuroiwa... narrows her eyes, staring at... E. "I see...? An exchange for- what?"

"Simple. My identity, in exchange for yours..."

As E prepares to explain his reasons, the words out of E's mouth are set to commit an irreversible, irreparable move. Giving his name first as- compensation, as he prepares one move. A move that one-ups Kuroiwa's, one done in response to her petty show of pride, realizing something major in that moment...

E states the mercenary's identity. Having understood who she was after some time, as he continues his sentence... as he states the name...

"... Chouko Ashford."