Illika
By nightfall, Mr. Compress arranges a room for me.
It is on one of the upper levels and overlooks the walking path that I had walked with Toga and Twice that afternoon. The walls are plain and gray, decorated by only a few tasteful paintings hung up. Long drapes hang, falling over tall windows. A single overstuffed mattress lays comfortably on its frame, which is metal and old-worldly – both modern and traditional. Two armchairs sit in the corner of the room, close to the ensuite bathroom.
It's nice. Really nice. It's better than some of the hotels I've stayed at. Yet, despite how nice it all is, I keep reminding myself of one thing: they still don't trust me. So, this nice room they've so charitably given me is no ordinary room.
It is to act as my prison cell.
They don't need to say that. I don't need to hear them tell me that to know that's what's going on. It lingers in the unspoken words that drift in the silence. I can see it in their eyes – feel it burn me through their stares. And it's not just Spinner and Mr. Compress who don't trust me.
Toga still is wary of me. She acts friendly and bubbly, but I know she still watches me through cautious eyes. Her glares are never as sharp as Spinner's, but I can still tell when someone is observing me. I'm familiar with the feeling. But I wish it stopped there.
Beyond this small cluster of people lies the rest of the PLF, comprised of heroes and so on. Men and women who look at me with the same disdain they tossed at Toga and Twicer earlier. Now that I think about it, why had they glared at them like that? Aren't they all on the same team? Aren't they all working toward the same goal?
I frown.
There's still so little I know. The history of this organization – how it came to be – is something I know so little of. But I do know when someone doesn't like someone else, and I can see those stares here.
I huff, sinking lower into the soaker tub. The warmth of the water cradles me as the steam fills my lungs. It feels good, especially after the long trip here. Exhaustion still plagues me, burning my eyes with each blink, but sleep is the last thing on my mind.
Sleep.
I wish I could think about sleep, but my mind is too flustered – filled with images from the day. I never once thought I would come across the PLF this quickly. Not on my first day in Japan. Yet, here I am, a guest in their base.
I suppose captive would be a more appropriate word to use. In the end, that is what I am. I know that's what I am. Still, I am not afraid. Uncomfortable, yes. Afraid, no. Not really, anyway.
I shift and the water splashes, the silence surrounding me. My eyes are heavy, burning, and burning. My mind is racing, humming with that same electrical buzzing from earlier. And I smile.
Most would be scared, maybe even terrified, to be in my position. Understandable, of course. To be surrounded by these people – by these villains and croaked heroes – would be enough to terrify anyone, but not me. Not in a way most would suspect. If anything, I am more excited than anything.
I'm at the PLF's base. I'm right in the center of all the action. I can see it all for myself. I can watch it all go down. And based on what Mr. Compress and the others were discussing earlier, I can possibly play my own role.
That sounds exhilarating. To not just be here to bear witness to the chaos, but to help turn the cogs in the machine that is this revolution sends shivers up my spine. It's exciting and exhilarating. It's –
"Illie," Toga's voice rolls through the thick wood of the door.
I jolt, looking at the door. "Yes?" I was not expecting this. "Do you need something?"
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