But in the darker corners of the world, where the whispers of shadows hid their secrets and the wind smelled of brimstone, I—the Devil himself—had long delighted in the madness of mankind's folly. But the killing of the mayor was neither mere bravado nor reckless warning. It was an open declaration of war on the whole underworld of evil that lurked in the corridors of power. Never in my immortal life did I dream that some mortal man could ever display such temerity—to do what he did in the full glare of the world's attention. It was the lifeless form of the mayor that lay on that resplendent stage like an abandoned marionette that shook the iron-clad hide of the government's impenetrable front. Bureaucrats who once paraded their arrogance unafraid now barricaded themselves in secure dens, their faces ashen with terror. It was no longer merely imperative to stop Akira. It became an fixation—an urgent and fanatical quest to stamp out the burning flame before we were consumed in the vortex.
[CEO OF OSAKA NEWS]
The newsroom at Osaka News pulsed like a beehive on the verge of collapse, alarms blaring, screens flashing with lively news, and phones ringing nonstop. As CEO, my reputation had been built on schlock, tragedy converted to gold through slick presentation. The fact that Lint, that elusive operative presumed long buried in some forgotten corner of a long-forgotten grave, was indeed very much alive, had shot our viewing figures to new heights overnight. Millions turned in to see what morsels of melodrama the news cycle would provide, while the destruction of the planet was of no consequence to me—and, by extension, our bottom line through ad revenue pouring in from our nonstop coverage, that is, until I realized this was more than a story, that I was caught up in a play with stakes much, much higher than those in a viewership battle.
The insistent hum of my phone in my suit pocket broke up the controlled chaos swirling around me. I pulled it out, scanned the screen, recognizing an unknown number with no caller ID. A knot formed in my stomach, but curiosity, or arrogance, got the better of me. I raised the phone to my ear.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other hand was rough, with the roughness infused with the gravity of command. "It's me. President Oshi Kawa."
My breath snagged, and my heart pounded furiously in my chest, as if it were a wild animal pent up inside. That the President of Japan was calling me himself was definitely not a good thing. A shiver slid its way down my spine as I straightened in my leather office chair, the leather groaning in protest at my movement.
"Mr. President? This is. unexpected."
His tone turned darker, loaded with unspoken charges.
"What in the world am I watching on your station? No other broadcast network had clearance to relay such coverage—to relay those scenes of mayoral assassination, of the ensuing chaos. But yours does, unedited. Are you partnered with Akira?"
The name loomed in the room like a guillotine blade. Akira—the ghost of a revolutionary whose name now reverberated through the streets like a call to battle. My mouth dried up, my words spilling out in a nervous stutter.
"N-No, sir. Not at all. This is all wrong. I mean, we're definitely not doing any work for Akira—honorable truth, I don't know why us specifically were chosen. It came through anonymous, secure channels. We just.went with it."
There was a heavy pause across the line, thick with suspicion. I could feel the wheels turning in his head, connecting a puzzle I hadn't even realized I was a part of yet. "If you're not lying," he grunted finally, "it sounds like Akira's playing a shadow game, pulling strings from the dark." There was a heavy pause, then
"Set up a video call with me on your channel. Ten minutes. Get it done."
Before I could object, the line went dead. I was left standing there, phone in hand, pounding heart, a droplet of sweat trickling down my temple. What have I gotten myself into? This was no longer journalism; rather, it was a minefield where a single misstep could result in a explosive blast, sending the very foundation of the entire situation flying.
"Sir! Sir!" My clerk flung himself into my office, his face flushed and his eyes disbelieving with terror. "The entire city has been sealed off—Akira's followers are pouring through the streets!"
I jerked back to awareness, my annoyance tempering with my increasing distress. "And you're telling me all of this why, you idiot? Get the press out there. Now. I want eyes on all corners and all choruses."
He scurried away like a startled rat, leaving me alone with the whirring hum of the air conditioner and the thunderous roar resonating up through the building. My office was atop the fifth floor of the gleaming glass skyscraper, providing an uninterrupted vista of the city—or what was left of its order. I walked over to the window, throwing it open with a strong pull. The cool wind of the approaching night brought the thunderous chanting from the streets:
"AKIRA! AKIRA! AKIRA!"
Down below, the bodies surged like a living tide. Banners waved in the breeze, emblazoned with the name 'Akira' in bold strokes. Signs read calls for justice and freedom and the end to the corruption that had festered there so long. Torches and the lights from people's phones sliced the coming darkness to eerie effect. I leaned against the frame and said to myself, "That kid has built a cult following overnight. It's not just insane fanatical behavior; that's not even the beginning of it."
Breaking the enchantment, I switched on the TV mounted on the wall, turning to our frequency. The crawl streamered with desperation:
BREAKING NEWS! TOKYO LOCKED DOWN—AKIRA'S FANS TAKE TO THE STREETS. PROTESTERS DEMAND THAT HE BECOME THE NEXT PRESIDENT.
The video switched to aerial shots from our drones: barricades knocked over, traffic blocked, a city held hostage by will alone. My thoughts were racing—who was Akira's ultimate plan? Why was I being thrust into the spotlight? I grabbed my phone again, dialing the program manager.
"Listen up, you've got one minute to ready the studio. I'm going live with the President in five minute. Clear the airwaves. No screw-ups."
I hung up without waiting for an answer, my eyes drifting to the old globe on my desk—a reminder of the old days, the symbol of the world I once believed I could conquer with headlines. I turned the globe carelessly, as the continents melted into one another.
"The world is changing , isn't it?"
I whispered to the empty room, the first twinge of apprehension gnawing inside me. However, just as I was about to make my way to the studio, the voices below got louder, a drumbeat of certainty resonating the turmoil roiling in my chest. The President's call hung before me like a thunderstorm, and in the darkness of this rapidly unraveling nightmare, I had the inescapable sensation that Akira was always just one step ahead, watching and waiting to pounce.
"WE ALL ARE AKIRA'S PAWNS..."