Star-Crossed Rivals

Malice

The office of the safehouse was shrouded in darkness.

Utahime sat on the leather cushions of Gojo's office chair while he balanced on the stool from his bedroom. The injury at her shoulder had recessed to a dull throb once she gave in and took the painkillers. With his help, she had changed out of her dress and into a pair of his sweatpants and a new T-shirt. He swore he didn't look, but she had her suspicions.

She watched as he inserted the flash drive into a port on his PC. Blue light illuminated the room as Gojo's computer flickered to life.

A file popped up on the screen, and he dragged the mouse over the desk. Silence fell between them except for their breaths and the distant sounds of Tokyo in the night. Utahime grit her teeth.

Star Religious Group had orchestrated an exchange so secretive that it took Q months to decipher its exact date and location. Once Gojo stole it out from under them, they had infiltrated Japan's most elite investigation unit, uncovered his identity, and attempted to assassinate him – all in the same night. All for this file. What information could it possibly hold?

Gojo clicked it open.

A shrill cry rang out through the speakers on either side of his desktop. "Stop! Stop, please! I can't...it hurts..."

A man in a loose-fitting black sweater stood at the center of a decrepit-looking basement. Holes littered the walls, and long cracks interlaced with each other on the worn concrete floor.

A massive, whirring machine sat by the doorway, clear tubes running out of it in odd places. Strange, blue liquid filtered through the tubes, and red indicators flicked frantically back and forth on large temperature gauges. A barrel jutted from the front of the machine like the streamlined mouth of a cannon. Where it pointed, a blindfolded, female-looking figure writhed in the corner of the room. The man smiled.

Though the video quality was poor, Utahime could make out strange lines spanning over his forehead, cheeks, and neck. Long, pale blue hair rested over his shoulders. A whining voice emanated from the muffled recording.

"I've finally done it. Isn't that wonderful? So, how do you feel?" A horrible laughter filled the room, and the sound of it set Utahime's hairs on end.

The blue-haired man strode over to the machine and took hold of a thick lever. Metal scratched against metal as it pitched harshly downward. From the floor, piercing cries turned to tortured, hellish screams.

The crouched figure curled into a fetal position, fingers clawing against the concrete until her flesh scraped away. From beneath the blindfold, her skin took on a sickly, blue hue, as though her veins had drained empty of blood.

Gut-wrenching shrieks poured from her mouth, but nothing came of it. Her screams only joined that awful laughter coming from the man standing over her.

"I can't understand you very well. What are you trying to say?" He said, looking genuinely puzzled. He snapped his fingers. "Oh, I know! You want more!" Metal screeched again as he pulled the next lever.

"No! St–" She broke into another cry as her body contorted. The cry was long, loud, guttural, and it sliced through the air like a scythe before tapering off. It was the sound of her energy depleting, her life ebbing away in real time. Her voice faded into nothing, and her body went rigidly still – but her mouth remained open, perpetually frozen in the shape of that final scream.

"Aw. I guess it was too much for you." The man frowned, looking at his machine without sparing a glance at the girl. After a moment of thought, he shrugged. "That's okay. I'll find someone else to play with."