In no way could words properly express Kenji’s love for the Mobster movie series, and after being away from Japan for so long, culture shock was starting to set in as he realized he might never see those films again. He might never hear Charlie’s famous monologue on his days of growing up in a poverty-stricken family, a metaphor for deliverance from the dregs of crime, sickness, and depravity of the mob after leaving that lifestyle behind. He might never see the twelve minute, one-take fight scene of Beauregard breaking out of the Hammercot Estate, how several of the wounds the actor acquired while making it were real and not phony, including a broken thumb. But more than anything, he’d miss the depth of the characters, their morals, and how every scene meant something deeper than what lied on the surface. He’d never forget complexity like that. He couldn’t.
Their party had gone on countless jobs in the past three weeks, training so much that he and Misumi were at level 20, but as the thoughts of Japan returned to him, he wanted to sulk, reminisce, and wonder if he’d ever see home again. Even if he could, would he want to?
He had no friends. No father. And while his mother was there, she was half the person she used to be, and never the parent he needed. In fact, he was the man of the house, while she brought home random guys instead of finding a better, safer job. With all that in mind, was life on earth really that great? Did he really want to go back?
Rather than lay around, he roamed the dormitory hallways while the rest of his friends went shopping at Dreamer’s Square with Linette, and he stopped on the bridge that extended over the road to a separate building of the dorms. Through one of its slit windows, he watched cheery faces in the street, saw carts and wagons full of random goods, and even caught a whiff of street food, which somehow managed to seep through the walls. There was chimney smoke scattered sporadically throughout the city, and most buildings were colorful like some quaint village in Western Europe, perfectly meshed with the small gardens below each ground floor window. People were happy in Duncaster, that was for sure. But his feelings were knotted somehow, choked; no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t let go of life in Japan.
He wondered if Misumi felt confused too, or if she still had one clear goal that wouldn’t change. Unlike him, her family was still whole but detached, so it was possible she could be with her mother and father again under the same roof; with an attachment like that, she’d probably never let go of their old lives.
As Kenji peered out the window with narrow, contemplative eyes, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed, void of answers. There had to be truth. He had to fall on one side of the fence or the other, either embracing the new world or chasing after the old, and while he had nothing but time on his hands, he hoped to eventually reach the tenth floor of the Spire and finally make a choice. What that choice would be, however, wouldn’t be clear for months or even years to come.
******
For the past month, Linette had worked for Flanigan at the guild hall, running errands, cleaning, and even refurbishing the oven downstairs as to produce baked goods that members of the guild could purchase and enjoy. Everything she made was utterly exquisite like an explosion of bready poshness that made those who ate it want to attend an opera, wear expensive clothes, and drink fine wine while making googly eyes at their own self-portrait over the fireplace. Fortunately, she knew how to make cheap items as well, which were more attuned to the common Adventurer and the tastebuds of people with far less money.
And while working hard everyday at the guild, her father was doing everything he could to set up a new bakery just down the street; he accepted a loan from the guild with no specific due date for paying it back, and he was expected to put livelihood and family before anything else, according to Flanigan. So as life carried on, everyone at Rat’s Ass appreciated their newest ‘members’ and treated them like family, always putting on a smile upon greeting them.
But as things for Linette had changed drastically, Kenji’s life had gone back to normal, as did Misumi’s. They were caught up in the idea of defeating Dead-Eyes and beating the tenth floor of the tower, though they had no idea if that would ever happen; if nobody else could do it, would their party really be capable of defeating a creature so powerful? Was it hubris which made them overestimate themselves? Regardless, Kenji wasn’t slowing down until he accomplished his goal, and it was that drive that guided his party back into the Spire day after day, until finally they were ready for a new district within.
Phantom Valley was different to everyone who entered—and drastically so. For when an Adventurer set foot in the tangible darkness of its inner sanctum, their pasts would come back to haunt them through all five of their senses, and all who entered were at risk of mental collapse, for they would see memories long since forgotten. Fortunately, Desmond’s party told them what to expect, and that the valley would trick them; it would conceal or change things, and no pathway was to be trusted, for it might lead to a gathering of wraiths. He told them to remember as best they could what appeared before them, and if the reality didn’t match the memories in their head, a deception had appeared. Armed with that knowledge and their own skills, Kenji and his party entered the Spire and found the valley’s entrance, which was a snaking path heading downward through a dark jungle of prickling ferns.
They acquired scratches and scrapes, and Cleo especially was unamused by the constant stinging of the plants as their spurs stabbed her skin like bees. Her complaints were forthright, directed at Kenji for some reason, and she only calmed down when Misumi asked her to, simmering until cool and awkwardly silent. Then, a light through the jungle ahead caught their attention, and they pushed on until breaking free of the plants and stepping into a warm sunset. Kenji, who had led the way, couldn’t believe his eyes.
Instead of forests or rivers, rocks or wasteland, like one might expect from a place with ‘valley’ in its title, he saw paved streets, empty cars parked along sidewalks, rural homes like the one he grew up in, and a nearby monorail train platform raised above most buildings, with the train unmoving like a paused tv screen. In the background watched a Tokyo skyline, every tower rimmed by sunlight as evening set in, and the windows started to flicker on for the coming night, making the city romantic in the most picturesque way. He and his party now stood on a sidewalk, having just emerged from what appeared to be a thicket of bamboo, and their mouths were agape, mystified by the scenery around them.
“But this is Japan…” Kenji whispered. “…how?”
Misumi trembled in a speechless state as her wide eyes absorbed their surroundings. Meanwhile, Amelia and Cleo had no idea what they were looking at, and were bewildered by the slightest details, like the streetlamps, the shop logos, the paved road, and naturally, the bizarre masses of metal known as automobiles.
“I believe we have found a demon’s metropolis,” Amelia said, utterly sure of herself. “No human could live in a place like this.”
“I agree,” added Cleo. “It’s hideous.”
Amelia glanced at her. “I did not mean to say it is ugly. Only that it is massive in scope and full of technology unseen. In my opinion, the demons have a keen eye for style.”
But as the memories of home flowed through him and Kenji recognized the street as one he walked often on his way to a local arcade, he ignored them and stepped into the road, guided along by muscle memory toward a nearby mall. Misumi followed.
“Kenji, how is this possible?” she asked. “We’re in Tokyo now, but we were just in the Spire. Is this really happening?”
Before he could answer, however, Cleo piped up. “Wait, you know this place?”
“Of course. This is where Kenji and I grew up. It’s a city in Japan.”
“Seriously? This is the home you’ve told us so much about?”
“It sure is.”
Upon crossing the road, Kenji picked up his pace until they entered a nearby square for pedestrians only, and it held a glass roof, potted plants all around, and spraying fountain in the center. He’d been there so many times, especially when he was younger. And as he searched the area, he noticed the old dagashi shop where his mother would take him as a kid, along with the entrance to a movie theater, where he had seen all four of the Mobster films for the first time. What kind of mind tricks were going on? What was the valley up to? And why?
“Hello?” emphasized Cleo. “You in there, Mr. Crap-for-Brains? Quit looking around like a buffoon and tell us what’s going on.”
“Y-Yeah, I’m just thinking,” Kenji responded, casting his gaze everywhere in a sharp yet disoriented stare. “This is Old Town Mall. Built in the 80’s, I think. I used to come here all the time when I was a kid, and the arcade here is still pretty popular.”
Amelia scrunched her face. “Arcade? This realm is fascinating if people are entertained by a mere passageway. Please, teach us more.”
“No, it’s a place for games—videogames. You put in a coin and play for a certain amount of time or until you die. Stuff like that.”
“What a barbaric practice,” Amelia hissed with a shaken squeak. “If death is just fun and games here, I would prefer to go home. I do not wish to partake in your people’s brutality.”
Kenji pinched his temples and sighed, too emotional to bother giving her an explanation. Instead, he felt Misumi’s hand tug on his arm.
“You okay?” she asked.
He nodded, then swallowed the memories down. “I’m fine. But we both know this place isn’t real, it’s just an image of the past. My past, I think. So while we’re here, we might as well take a look around, right?”
“R-Right…”
The four of them proceeded into the mall, the interior of which was exactly as he remembered it. There were women’s fashion stores, cafés, convenience stores, electronics shops, and after wandering through a vacant restaurant where the air smelled of eggs, fresh bacon, and coffee, they heard the garbled whirrs and laser-gun beeps of arcade machines not far away, taking him back to all the times he vented his frustrations with Crisis of the Dead 4. He’d play it for hours, shooting zombies and criminal goons alike; it was especially helpful in the days following his parents’ divorce.
After wandering into the arcade, that mesmeric kaleidoscope of blinking lights, tv screens, and jumbled sound as if the speakers of every machine were busted, Kenji and his friends marveled at the games—though for different reason, of course. He and Misumi were nostalgic, while Amelia and Cleo were flabbergasted by the mysterious contraptions before them, all of which had subpar graphics and mediocre soundtracks; to them, it was like staring into a crystal ball and seeing a completely different reality.
They began wandering through the aisles, and as Kenji ran his hands over the uncomfortable backrests of multiplayer racing games, Amelia and Cleo became enamored by what was on the screens.
“Are these poor people trapped?” Amelia questioned, head titled to one side. “It must be a curse of some kind, otherwise they could never fit.”
“Not quite,” answered Kenji. “It’s just a videogame. Those people aren’t even real.”
“A videogame, you say? So these are the devices which granted you such foresight in Black Creek Cave. How astounding…I must see them for myself.”
In the interim, Misumi started a fighting game and was showing Cleo the controls—Krakken 5. She and Kenji had played it a few times on their own console at home, so she wasn’t half bad, but Cleo was by no means prepared to pick it up and play. For ten minutes, the whole group crowded around the cabinet and watched Misumi dominate over and over, rarely showing mercy to her opponent, yet Cleo kept at it and grew more flustered every time she lost. Finally, when she’d had enough, she crossed her arms, pouted, and simply blamed her failure on the machine itself, though she never once raged like Kenji expected. She must have really wanted to control herself around Misumi.
“God, you’re easy to read…” Kenji muttered under his breath while moving on through the arcade.
He received a screeching cry from Cleo, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” he called back.
Letting his memories guide him, Kenji wandered to the back of the arcade where Crisis of the Dead 4 awaited, and upon seeing the machine, with its dark blue laser pistols connected to metal cords at the bottom, he felt overwhelming melancholy for one of the worst times of his life. Back when his father left, the sporadic outings with his mother came to abrupt end, and when he wasn’t with Misumi, he’d come and play that game. He’d spend all his money on it, hogging the machine for hours, blasting away at enemies he only dreamed were the people he hated so much. He’d sometime be there until late at night, and not a single call would come from his mother—and that was the worst part. While gunning through his despair like a madman on the loose, she’d be out sleeping with strangers and trying regain a sense of worth from men who treated her as a nothing more than a piece of meat.
Kenji approached the machine, snagged one of the guns, and started to play. The shooting began shortly after moving past the starting screen.
“You told me about this a long time ago,” Misumi insisted as she came up behind him, watching the exploding heads of zombies and thugs. “How come you never brought me here?”
Clicking away at the trigger, Kenji gave a slow, mesmerized answer, “Dunno. If I had to put a finger on it, though, I guess I thought you wouldn’t like it. Games like this have never been your thing, after all.”
“True enough.”
Cleo positioned herself behind Misumi, while Amelia felt brave and picked up the second gun, mashing the Player 2 button with her fist.
“I shall attempt a videogame,” she insisted. “Please, pray that I reap the benefits in the same way as Kenji after all his years of training.”
Misumi snickered, but made no comment.
What followed was a jumpy, gun-slapping squeefest as Amelia fired away at every enemy she saw, backed up by Misumi who was a notorious back-seat gamer, pointing out weak spots and squeaking at every surprise. And though Amelia died repeatedly, she was able to respawn as many times as she wanted, and they played through the entire campaign, tearing through the final boss with a loud huzzah that even made Cleo clap her hands in earnest.
“You guys did it!” Misumi exclaimed. “I didn’t think you’d actually make it to the end. Wanna go get something to eat at one of the cafés?”
But the moment those words left her mouth, she paused and turned quiet, realizing her mistake. They were inside a memory. Not reality. And even if the cafés did have food, it would be best not to eat it, since they wouldn’t know what was actually going into their mouths.
“Right…” she said. “Forget I asked that.”
“Well I would very much like to try the food of your people,” stated Amelia as she placed the plastic gun back in its holster.
“As would I,” added Cleo. “Assuming it doesn’t come with any videogames.”
And when all were in agreement, they wandered out of the arcade, following Misumi who uptilted her nose toward the scent of delicious food.
As they walked, Kenji lingered behind, and he stared back at the arcade one last time, as if the memories of visiting there in the past my vanish forever upon walking away. That place helped him through hard times, gave him a chance to vent when nothing else could. It wasn’t easy to let it go, but then again, that was true of everything he loved.
By the time they reached a nearby café about three minutes from the arcade, Cleo’s stomach rumbled as she eyeballed the food on display in the window, and she pressed both arms against her tummy and turned read in the face, hoping nobody noticed. Misumi, however, giggled with mirth.
“Looks like somebody’s hungry,” she teased.
Cleo stammered in self-defense. “I-I haven’t eaten all day, so you can’t blame me.”
“I know, I’m just teasing you!”
But as Kenji entered the café before anyone else, he pushed through its glass doors and joked under his breath, “Who invited the Chunkosaurus?”
And of course his words spurred Cleo to ball a fist as she followed everyone else inside. “I don’t know what that means, but it sounds like a fat joke.”
“Because it was.”
The café interior was a welcome change of scenery from the typical dark and grimy atmosphere of taverns in Duncaster. There were booths and open tables alike, a bar with cushioned stools in place around it, and from its position in the mall, there was an outer balcony from which they could see the skyline of Tokyo.
Forgetting the idea of food, Amelia let curiosity carry her out to the balcony, trailed by Kenji, as Misumi and Cleo followed seconds later. And when all of them were standing outside, they approached the railing and stared out at the city in the distance with a sea of smaller buildings in between. They were on a hill, and the mall was prime real estate for the area, frequented by everyone in the surrounding neighborhoods.
“So this is Tokyo,” Amelia cooed as she watched the melting colors of sunset absorbed the skyline. “Are those spires in the distance?”
“Nope, they’re just buildings,” answered Kenji. “Normal, everyday buildings where people work each day.”
“Then I must say your people are captivating indeed. I have not seen anything like this.”
In the moments that followed, it seemed each of them ignored the calling in their stomachs and instead admired the skyline of Tokyo, taken by its allure. There were streetlights far away, massive logos on the sides of skyscrapers, and scattered patches of green where trees lined certain passaged between the buildings. Yes, in that place it was easy to forget about food, to forget about worries and common struggles, and to just meld with the relaxation of life in the capital of Japan.
But, as Kenji turned around to glance back at the café, he noticed something that grabbed his attention like a toddler stealing candy: people. Or…what looked like people.
Inside the café were silhouettes of men, women, and children, all dark like patches of smoke in the shape of human beings. Some sat at tables, while others walked around as if delivering food from one place to another, and some wore hat shapes on their heads while others appeared to just have hair. Whatever they were, Kenji got a feeling of dread from just looking at them, as if they were deceptive by nature, as if they were made to appear unassuming and friendly but were actually plotting a sinister scheme to undermine all who tread through their realm uninvited.
“Hey guys…” he said, nudging Misumi’s shoulder. Everyone faced him, then turned toward the café as he pointed at one of the shadow people. “…what the hell are they?”
