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Chapter 3

Incomplete Report

City shadows cloaked the grotesque figure, its distorted voice rasping, “You.” Sludge crept toward a streetlight, emerging as an inky black puddle. “You promised. Why? Why have you done this to me?” The sludge monster choked and wheezed as it struggled to breathe.

In a nearby alley, a confident male voice echoed, “I warned you,” as deliberate footsteps reverberated off the walls. “It was not the right time to assume a corporeal form, but you insisted, even when we weren’t prepared.”

The viscous mass thundered, “Bastard!” With a metallic clang, the man lowered the tip of his cane into the creature’s face.

The man shrugged and snickered, “You poor, eager soul.”

From the puddle, a mound of necrotic, meat-like material rose, skeletal appendages dripping with melting flesh. It extended its arms toward the man’s legs, hissing, “Don’t mock me!”

He snapped his cane at the creature, forcing its body to collapse back into an amorphous pool. “Hush, not all is lost,” he said, walking away from the sinister mess. “You must consume the flesh of others to build a body.”

“Don’t leave!” the puddle demanded. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Pausing, the man scuffed his shoe against the bricks. “I suppose you’re not,” he chuckled before resuming his departure. “Find me later, or perhaps I’ll find you once you’ve entered this world.”

From the puddle, two arms emerged, clawing bony fingers into the solid road, dragging the creature deeper into the alley’s darkness. “Later, you say.”

The hum of Ichigari Grocery filled the air, punctuated by the occasional beeps of scanners and the muted conversations of shoppers. Aisles were stocked to the brim with a diverse selection of food items. Apricot, leaning on her knees, stacked milk cartons in the refrigerator, her thoughts racing. “I’m in so much trouble. The Bureau would surely kick me out if Miss Akagi reported what I had done to them.”

Her gaze traced the condensation dripping from the milk carton in her hand. It felt heavier than before. “I won’t amount to anything,” she lamented. “I’ll be stuck stocking shelves forever, while Jasper becomes a famous engineer or something, always rubbing it in my face. When Mom and Dad find out…” She paused, panic setting in. “I have to focus on the positives. I got one of the best scoops of the year, witnessed a robbery firsthand, and survived. I’d be dead if not for those officers.” Lost in thought, she continued her work. “I almost died today. You’d think that would be enough to get a break from work.”

Startled by a hand on her back, Apricot looked up to find a middle-aged man with a pitted face. He bent down, his leg pressing against her cheek, and grabbed a gallon of milk off the shelf. “Thank you for shopping at Ichigari Grocery,” she said, her tone warm and friendly. The man responded with a broad grin.

Apricot expected him to move on, but instead, he continued to stare. Irritated but trying to ignore his odd behavior, she replaced the gallon of milk he had taken and reached for another.

“And…” the man drawled, tapping his foot.

Suppressing a groan, Apricot pasted on a wide smile and chirped, “Have a nice day!” The man placed the milk in his cart and finally moved along. Shaking her head, she muttered, “This is what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life. I want to die! Ugh!”

The distinctive click-clack of her boss’s shoes approached from behind. It was unclear whether he intentionally made the noise to announce his presence, but at least it served as a warning. She rolled her eyes, anticipating new tasks from him. Whenever he seemed happy, he was probably about to ask for something. In her mind, his faux cheerfulness was like a taut wire, ready to snap at any moment. Turning to face him, she took in his usual attire: a button-up shirt and black pants.

“Apricot,” he said, coming to a stop in front of her.

“Hello, Mr. Kyabetsu. How are things?” she asked, raising her pitch to feign enthusiasm.

He fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to another as if he had to use the restroom. His balding head bore a forced smile, and he occasionally tapped at his clipboard with a pen. “Is your project going well?”

Her gaze flicked to the remaining milk crates, already dreading his next request. “Well, I still have this left, and then I need to clean up. I have an important article due tomorrow,” she said, hoping he would remember her schoolwork.

“Good, good, good. Ah, so you’re almost done. Just one more thing. Can you mop the sidewalks?” Before she could respond, he walked away, calling over his shoulder, “Great, I appreciate that.”

Apricot sighed, glancing at the milk crates. “I’m not even supposed to work today. Please let me leave on time just once!” she cried out in frustration.

Beneath the glow of fluorescent lights, the hollow streets shimmered, casting faint orange shadows along the gray sidewalk. Apricot’s black slacks and white button-up shirt were stained with grease and soda. “Mop that parking lot before you go… it shouldn’t take too long,” she muttered under her breath. A dented, empty soda can rolled past, the metallic clanking like a discordant laugh. “At least it’s over now,” she sighed, taking in the sprawling cityscape that stretched out before her, culminating in a grand staircase.

Pausing for a moment, she appreciated the view from her elevated vantage point. The city, with its twinkling high-rise buildings and vibrant advertisements, seemed alive. Annoying individually, but taken together like a mosaic, they formed a work of art.

In mid-stride, something slammed into Apricot’s leg, launching her into the air. As she tumbled down the stairs, she flailed her arms, letting out a panicked cry. Her foot connected with a step, sending a jolt of pain through her leg as the ground rushed up to meet her. Refusing to witness her own demise, she squeezed her eyes shut.

Expecting a painful impact, Apricot instead found herself hovering inches above the pavement, unable to move. “What?” she mumbled. “What’s happening?” She lifted her head, her gaze landing on a pair of pointed black boots. “Who…”

“‘Tis time for thee to make a choice, girl. Dost thou wish to die or wilt thou choose life?” a noble male voice inquired.

“Who are you?” Apricot gasped. “What do you mean?”

The man tapped his foot impatiently. “Thou findest thyself moments before thy final curtain call. I have intervened to grant thee a choice. Dost thou choose life or dost thou choose death?”

“Your speech is strange. What are you trying to tell me?” Apricot demanded, still paralyzed.

“Perhaps ’tis thou who speakest strangely,” the man replied. “Nonetheless, time is running out. Dost thou wish to live or die? I offer life as a gift, but choose wisely.”

Not knowing what else to do, Apricot cried out, “I choose life!” The moment the words left her lips, Apricot crashed to the ground, the breath knocked out of her. Her eyes opened to see she had slid several feet. Wincing in pain, she pushed herself up. “I must have hit my head.” Glancing up the staircase, she noticed a shadowy figure observing her. “What the hell is that thing?”

“Mine dear, that wouldst be a phantom. Thy trial is not over. Fear not, though. Thou hast the tools to defeat such a fearsome foe,” the enigmatic man said. He wore a long-nosed mask reminiscent of a bird’s beak, and his clothes resembled those of a jester. Two striped horns adorned his head, lilac and red, while his hands were like metallic claws. He stood tall, towering six and a half feet by Apricot’s estimation, his posture effortlessly commanding. “I wouldst suggest thou act swiftly before the creature notices thou art still alive. I have granted thee the power to vanquish the phantom. How it manifests is up to thee.” He gestured toward the looming creature with his bladed claw.

Apricot’s eyes widened in terror as a searing pain filled her arm. The phantom’s white eyes appeared, and it cascaded down the stairs like a torrent of darkness. Despite her pleas, the stranger remained unmoved, his arms crossed as he observed her. The creature rose, revealing multiple dripping appendages. Apricot counted eight arms extending from its back before she turned to flee. Glancing back, she saw a blade-tipped arm slashing toward her face. The limb was segmented more than any human arm could be.

Dodging the attack, she lunged to the side, pressing her back against a wall and raising her hands to shield her face. “Feast of flesh!” the centipede-like creature howled as it brandished a multitude of knives. Its silver eyes pierced the darkness, blindingly bright.

Taking a deep breath, Apricot faced the creature as it lunged toward her. Its dripping form closed in, but a warm light within her arm urged her onward. She leaped away, narrowly avoiding another knife aimed at her face. Overwhelmed, she cowered, shielding her face with one arm and extending the other, shouting, “Stop!” A brilliant purple beam erupted from her palm, engulfing the creature in a blaze of light. It screeched in agony, and Apricot stared wide-eyed at the purple flames that danced from her hand. “What is happening?”

“You wretch!” the creature roared, unfurling countless arms as it launched itself into the air. Apricot lashed out, her arm casting forth a wave of fire that cleaved the creature in two. It disintegrated into burning fragments that rained down like ash, leaving only orbs of light that floated gently upward. The fire in Apricot’s hand flickered out as the last wisps vanished. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered, clutching her now-unremarkable palm.

“Splendid! The ritual is complete,” the masked man murmured.

Blinking back disbelief, Apricot stammered, “I must have hit my head. None of this can be real.” She caught sight of the man seemingly floating toward her. “You’re not real!” she shouted, stumbling away from him.

“Though thou didst indeed strike thy head, thou art not hallucinating. Thou hast defeated the first of many phantoms. Thy method of manifesting thy power was unconventional, but it served thee well,” he said, his tone emotionless.

Apricot’s footsteps echoed through the desolate street before she came to a halt. Turning to face the stranger, she was bathed in the blue light of an LCD screen advertising beer, casting her medium-length fiery brown hair in a purple hue. A few papers rustled by, carried on a gentle breeze. “I just want to go home after a long day at work. You expect me to believe you’re real? I just killed a monster by shooting some sort of laser fire thing out of my hand.” She raised her hands to her mouth. “Oh God, I am crazy. I hit my head, and now I’m crazy. I’m talking to a clown in the street at night.”

The masked man floated in front of her and landed on the ground, blocking her path. He placed his hands on her shoulders, staring into her blue eyes. Apricot couldn’t see his eyes through the shadowed mask holes, but she sensed a glint, possibly from glasses. “Thou ramble like a fool. Thou hast work to be done. The power I have granted thee is not without cost. Nay, I have a task for thee.”

“A task? What task?” Apricot asked.

“Thou shalt rid the city of phantoms,” he replied. When she tried to walk through him, he pushed her back onto the ground with a powerful thrust. “Doth thou still believe me to be an illusion?” he snapped.

Trembling, she took a shaky breath. Apricot wiped the street dust from her nose and looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t know what you want from me. Leave me alone!”

“I granted thee that power to do hurly-burly with the phantoms plaguing thy city. ‘Tis my duty to banish them from this realm before I can return to mine home.” In an instant, the enigmatic figure was beside Apricot, extending his clawed hand to her.

As her soft fingers touched the metal digits, they closed around her hand, gently helping Apricot to her feet, careful not to cut her with their sharp edges. “What is ‘hurly-burly’?” she asked.

“To vanquish the phantoms,” he replied in a bitter tone.

“And what if I don’t?” Apricot challenged him.

He pulled her close, his painted wooden nose poking her cheek. “Then I shall take thy soul as payment for granting thee those powers.”

She scrunched up her face and squinted at him. “You can’t do that!” In a flash, Apricot’s vision went black, and she felt her world spin. When she opened her eyes again, she saw herself lying on the ground, convulsing and foaming at the mouth. The enigmatic being’s hand opened, and she felt herself drawn back into her body. Her vision returned to normal, and she rolled onto her side, coughing up bile.

“Thou shalt perform the task I have given thee. Thou hast made thy choice. Thou chose life. Now ’tis time to pay the toll for salvation, Apricot,” he said firmly.

“How do you know my name? I never told you!” she screamed at him.

He turned to face her. “A reaper knows all names. Go, rest, for soon thou shalt be called upon to fulfill thy duty.” Apricot blinked, and suddenly she was alone in the street.

“There’s no way any of that could have been real,” she muttered, gazing up at the hazy, starless sky obscured by streetlights. “I need to get home.”

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