Ministry of Transport Headquarters, Chiyoda Ward
12:02 AM
Following the winding paths from the front door, past the vast office space of the National Railway Authority and International Ports Administration, inevitably the doors to the office of the National Civil Aviation Authority (formerly the Civil Aviation Bureau pre-1998, though still referred to as such anyway) would be met. A potted evergreen demarcated the office alongside a tempered glass screen and a thin metal sign which stuck out from hallway plaster. The window radiated an aureate color partly into the hallway, orange hues from the room's more temperate lighting interlacing with the clinical setting of the hallway.
The night was calm with the cool air outside and stuffy inside. While one couldn't hear a pin drop, they certainly could eavesdrop on conversations from at least a cubicle or so away without having to focus so much on the task. The time was only made more apparent by the windowsill view; an avenue far below that was quiet even by Kasumigaseki standards, and everso bright lights in windows that sparsely dotted across buildings that were equally drab as their lights bright.
But the quiet was interrupted, with only a light cause for concern. All had been spurred about as only the beginning part of a grotesquely bureaucratic Rube-Goldberg machine whose activation had only been seen a few minutes before this chapter began.
In the main room, the walls had been painted by the sickeningly sweet blood of a near-slain beast, only some of the heroes behind such a feat were left all around the room laying weary as well. Clattered on their desks were near-empty pens, crumpled reports dating to the previous week, and halfway-marked calendars. Littered across whatever spaces remained were the foam-stained coffee mugs, half-full bowls or cups of soba, and dishes of cheap and easy sushi resting in little plastic and ceramic trays.
There was only a shadow of the usual bumble of activity, with small groups of men either finalizing day-shift work or there already starting their night shift. They scanned boxy CRT screens every once in a while whilst also sifting through lines of text or holding their ears wide open to receive information. And as if the pace had won in chipping away at their manners, many of them simply laid back with their feet on the table. Telephones rang incessantly, though left as obnoxiously as they came - most simply to never be resolved.
Yet even against the hour and time of year, still there was some major source of hubbub. A quartet of men in rolled-sleeve dress shirts had set themselves all against a table. Dozens of newly minted papers, which they merely gazed in awe at, were laid across whatever space was devoid of clutter. More were to come as a MIHIGA-branded fax machine set beside the table clunkily prattled out yet another piece seemingly every second. Reading atop one, it read Toyama Airport, another already settled Komatsu Airport, with the presence of Okayama Airport and Narita Airport at the forefront of not only their minds but also the stacks as well. With all the big airports, any second they could've expected Haneda to have popped up in big, black Kanji and English lettering.
And it did.
Several heads had perked up over cubicles and desks just like meerkats deep in the heart of the Sub-Sahara. They simply stared at the sight, telephone receivers put to necks and analyses put onto hold as further flurries of informative flyers were spewed from every fax machine in the room. One of the men held up a mint paper in such a gentle fashion as if it were made of the most delicate silk, before violently throwing it away for another, insulted by the audacity of the sender.
The singular sheet fluttered as it was pulled down, with a large logo centered at the top, and incoherent ramblings depicted blow. To this sight, a salaryman leaned over his desk to another, whispering a question as if not wanting to alert the machines. "Psst, Suzuki-dono... have you got, uh, any idea what's happening over there?"
YOU ARE READING
Turn of the Century
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