Paradise Circus 3/7
Jun. 25th, 2012 09:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
astrangestormPARADISE CIRCUS 3/7
Nobody could get confirmation. Sho hunkered down at his desk, trying to focus on his work even as the newsroom phones went off again and again. Channel One was supposed to be the voice of the government, the most legitimate source of information. And yet the government wasn't talking.
They had an evening broadcast in three hours, and even if Sho was mostly ready to go, what did it matter if nothing else was ready? The social networks had been buzzing all day. As one message board was shut down, another sprung up in its place. There was no containing it; it had come out of nowhere.
The Chinese premier had allegedly suffered a heart attack or a stroke. The government over there was in disarray, scrambling to clamp down on their own people's voices. But it still got through, and thus far the Japanese government had no comment whatsoever. It could all be a trap, a Chinese test of their continued loyalty. Or it could be the truth.
All the international desk people around him had exhausted their sources. Nobody in the Cabinet was talking, nobody in the Diet was coughing up a word about it. So Sho couldn't say he was surprised when Kimura-san came by looking annoyed a few minutes later.
He looked up, saw the irritation in his producer's eyes. "If it was up to me, we'd be working on our segment."
Sho nodded. "They want me to make a call, don't they?"
Kimura almost looked apologetic. "Orders from on high. If we can't get any statement on it, we can't run anything about it tonight. Our silence will just give people reason to doubt us all the more."
He was pretty sure nobody in Japan that was halfway intelligent took them seriously, but it was Sho's job to make people believe the lies. "You know I can't promise anything."
"I know that."
Sho got up. He was supposed to be heading for wardrobe soon. He had the names of tonight's hundred running through his mind, and he shoved them back as he took out his phone, finding the empty conference room at the end of the floor and slamming the door behind him. He took a deep breath, ensuring that the blinds were shut. Someone would probably be brave, try to listen through the door, but what did it matter?
He had the number memorized, even if he rarely dialed it. It was late, but someone was always watching the phones. "You have reached the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications. At this time we are unable to take your call..."
He let the whole bullshit message play out before hanging up. Okay. He'd tried, he'd really tried to do it through official channels. He had to do it the hard way now. This was not a number he memorized, and he scrolled through his contact list until he found it. He'd even labeled it with the name of a Thai restaurant in Yokohama he liked in case his phone ever got stolen. Sho was many things, but he wasn't dumb enough to label the direct line to the Director-General with "Dad - Work."
He hesitated over the number and took a deep breath before hitting the Dial button.
"Policy Coordination, this is the Director-General's office. At this time we are unable to..."
It wasn't a recording. "Hamada-san?"
"At this time, sir, we are unable to take your call. If you'd like to leave a message..."
"Hamada-san," he said with an edge to his voice. Much as he liked his father's secretary and didn't want to yell at her, his bosses had left him with little choice. "Hamada-san, this is Sakurai Sho."
"I'm very sorry, Sakurai-san..."
"Just...is he there? Please, Hamada-san, is he in his office?"
He could hear the exhaustion in her voice. It had been a long day for the government, and he imagined their office bore the brunt of it. "He said you would probably call."
His father knew him better than anyone. The man had gotten him his job, so this was obviously an expectation on a day like today. "Can I speak with him?"
"He can't speak to anyone. Your mother even called asking if he was coming home for dinner, and I had to tell her to leave a message." She was rustling through some papers on her end. "If you could please apologize to her on my behalf..."
Sho started to pace the room. Time was slipping away from him. "Two minutes with him. A minute. Thirty seconds, I'll take anything you can give me."
"He'll tell you the same thing I am. He'll tell you no comment."
"Then let me hear it from the man himself. Please, Hamada-san."
She finally relented, putting him on hold. And then his father was on the line.
"Sho."
"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I wouldn't normally do this. You know I don't do things like this."
"I know. I imagine things are pretty hectic over there."
Talk about an understatement. But then again, his father wasn't having the best day of his work life either. "We can't get anyone to comment. You know what it'll look like, us going live tonight and reporting about the economy and house fires and the weather and anything but what's happening overseas. Are they going to release any sort of statement? At all?"
"You know I can't tell you that."
"I'm not asking for confirmation or a denial of anything. I'm asking if they'll hold a press conference. If we can at least say to stay tuned for it in the morning or something..."
"Sho, that's enough." His father didn't need to raise his voice. He never had. Sho had always been an obedient child, his father a fair and generous man. Sho knew when he was trying the man's patience.
"If the people don't believe us, it all falls apart," he said quietly. "Isn't that what you've always said?"
It was always hard for Sho to reconcile the fact that Sakurai Shun, the father who'd given him everything, was the same as Sakurai Shun, the man in the government, one among many who desperately wanted Paradise Circus to continue without interference.
"Your mother wants you to come for dinner," his father said abruptly. "Do you have time next week?"
"Dad..."
"She's being very insistent about it."
Sho was quiet. There was something else in the tone of his father's voice, something not quite right. He obviously had something to tell Sho, something he couldn't say over the phone. His father almost sounded afraid, and he never ever did.
"I'll come. Tell mom I'll be there, so long as she doesn't get mad if I leave early."
"Good. That's settled. I'm sorry I couldn't be of any help, truly."
He imagined his father in his office, wondered just how many different devices were in there recording his every move, ensuring his loyalty the same as anyone else in so high a position.
"I'll see you soon then. Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Sho."
He left the conference room, finding Kimura standing there without shame even as a few other members of the newsroom scurried away like rats on a sinking ship.
"And what words of wisdom did your daddy have to impart?" Sho knew the producer was just frustrated, but Sho wasn't stupid. He knew most of the people on the team were well aware of his connections. The nepotism that had gotten him the most prominent spot in the evening broadcast.
He ignored the condescension even as his anger grew. He had to focus on that night's broadcast. The show had to go on.
"He couldn't tell me anything."
But he would, Sho realized. The next time he saw his father, he feared just what the man might have to tell him.
---
Second rotation was harder. In the morning there was Lieutenant Katori's cheer and the small smiles of the guests on the Midway. In the first few hours they sometimes even had fun knocking down milk bottles, spinning around in the teacup ride cars that left Jun dizzy just watching from the sidelines. Second rotation was when it all started to fall apart.
The Midway lights started to dim around 1830 hours. The staff started to close up shop, the cotton candy machines turned off, the jet coaster did one final whip around the tracks. Announcements ran over the speakers encouraging everyone to move to the Paradise Hotel to get settled in their rooms. Room service would be on its way up so long as everyone was inside in a timely fashion.
The bubble they'd been living in since the buses had arrived that morning always burst in the most terrible ways. The charges he'd taken over from Matsuoka on first rotation were harder to wrangle than on most days. There were two teenage girls who'd snuck in their cell phones and were snapping pictures. Of course the entire installation was a dead zone so nothing was getting out, but the looks on their faces when Jun had confiscated their phones, cutesy charms and all, had been terrible.
There was a middle aged man from Osaka, noted on the list as someone who'd been in jail for rape. Jun had had to spend most of his afternoon following the man to ensure he didn't spend his final hours harassing female guests or staff. When 1900 hours rolled around, all of his charges were accounted for but there were still three guests somewhere on the grounds.
Even as the restaurant staff started heading up the stairs with steaming dinner trays, Jun was out with a flashlight and assigned to the Village. There were usually staff members milling around in the courtyard this time of night to keep an eye open for stragglers, but the command center didn't take chances. He shined the flashlight up into the trees in case they were decent climbers, and he looked behind bushes in case they were small and good at hiding. It was the worst game of hide and seek Jun could imagine.
He turned the corner around one of the houses, finding the guy from the pool. "Ohno-san," he said curtly, moving the flashlight out of the man's eyes.
"Corporal Matsumoto," the man said in his calm, quiet voice. Jun had never met someone who was so wrong and yet so perfect for the job as Ohno Satoshi. He was nearly silent whenever Jun ran into him at the hotel or on the grounds. At first Jun thought it was odd for someone in a place like this to be so quiet when most of the other civilian staff were cheerful and bright. But then he imagined being a guest at Paradise Circus himself. He wouldn't want to be alone, but he wouldn't want jolly people trying to convince him that he needed to have fun before they gassed him. Someone like Ohno who would just simply be there would be exactly what he'd want.
"You're usually on second shift, aren't you?"
"Yeah," the man said, falling into step beside Jun as they started to patrol around each of the Village houses in search of the remaining guests. "My coworker was sick. I took his shift and shut the pool down early. But Murakami asked me to help with cleanup anyway tonight."
They were just finishing the rounds when the siren went off. Everyone was accounted for.
"Corporal?" Ohno asked him as they made their way up to the hotel.
"Yeah?"
"Do you like your job?"
He slowed down, hearing the music from the Midway finally, mercifully shut off for the day. It was a question he asked himself enough, standing in that parking lot every day as the buses arrived or walking through the hotel after midnight and helping to clean things up. He had to be honest - when he'd enlisted in the Self-Defense Force out of high school it had been with that same shallow hope everyone had, that one day they'd be standing where he was now. Paradise Duty took you and your immediate family out of the lottery as long as they kept you on, the same as the civilian staff with their ten-year contracts.
Given the option of being anywhere else or working this assignment, Jun would pick his assignment every time. But it didn't necessarily mean he liked it.
"I don't like it either," Ohno said, seeming to understand what his silence had meant.
"What do you plan to do?" he asked Ohno as they made it into the lobby, Jun switching off his flashlight for good once they were inside. "When your contract's up?"
"Good question," Ohno replied.
They went their separate ways, Ohno to wherever he felt like wandering off to with his calm, simple aura, and Jun to the kitchens. He helped the staff bring up meals to the top floor, and despite the earlier issues with the three scattered guests, nobody caused any trouble. Jun stood at the door feeling like a hired thug while the staff entered the room, setting down the trays. Most of the guests were sitting on the bed or in a chair, staring into space. Some were watching television, but they only showed old movies or cartoons. One old man was writing a letter.
It still chilled him to the bone each time they exited the room and shut the door behind them. He could hear it sealing up completely. Nothing would get out now, not the gas, not the screams or the crying. Not until after midnight and everything had to be taken care of.
Once the meals were delivered, the Ground Unit was on standby until midnight. He knew that some of them liked to play cards in the dining room, others napped at the command center. Jun walked the perimeter of the grounds and thought about Nino most nights.
Some families went years without Paradise Circus touching their lives, their own or someone's close to them. Jun hadn't thought much about it until he and Nino had started living together, when he'd asked Nino about his family. It had seemed like a simple question and a necessary one at that since they'd gotten so serious.
Nino's parents had divorced when he'd been in junior high, and his father was chosen in the lottery soon after. It was a country of more than a hundred million people, but his mother was chosen just before Nino had graduated high school, his newlywed sister a month later. After that conversation ended, Jun had never asked Nino about it again. He knew that Nino disappeared once a month to go to his family's grave. He'd never asked Jun to come with him. So that part of Nino was always going to be closed off to him.
Sometimes he got the feeling that Nino wanted to ask him about Paradise Circus, about what really happened here. There were rumors, of course, on the Internet. That you showed up and were shot at by a firing squad. That the Self-Defense Force themselves pulled the trigger. Or maybe there was a secret elevator and an underground facility. Maybe nobody was actually killed, but the government experimented on them.
Jun wondered what he'd say if Nino did ask. If he rolled over in bed one night and asked "what did my parents see on their last day? What about my sister?"
He found himself at the very edge of the gardens when the siren sounded at midnight. He'd been walking for hours around the same path, lost in his thoughts. He was needed now though, and he hurried back to the hotel, finding all the second rotation staff preparing. It would be one thing if Paradise returned people's bodies to their families. Then there could be closure.
Instead, the bodies were removed from the rooms every night and brought to the command center for incineration. There'd never been a thorough explanation as to why, and to question the way of things was foolish. Paradise Duty could end after a week or last you through the remainder of your career. If you didn't want to risk your own family ending up in the body bags, you kept your mouth shut and soldiered on. They hired obedient people here, not risk takers.
He found Ohno again working on the second floor with one of the newer civilian staff members. Jun had seen him in the reading room a few times the last few weeks. Jun could tell he was new because his eyes were red and full of tears as he helped Ohno lift a teenage girl off of the hotel room bed and into the body bag on the floor. They looked up as soon as they heard Jun's boots on the carpet.
"Check the bathroom, Aiba-chan," Ohno said gently. "Jun-kun can help me with the rest."
The new guy, Aiba, barely nodded before hurrying off to the bathroom.
Ohno looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, are we running late?"
"No," Jun said as he heard Aiba obviously trying to cover up his sobs by turning on the sink. "No, everything's fine."
He helped Ohno to lift the body, walking backwards out of the room just as Murakami was directing other members of his staff with the stretchers. There was a freight elevator at the end of each floor which connected with the tunnel that ran underground between the hotel and the command center. He and Ohno got the body bag onto the stretcher Murakami himself was wheeling.
When they returned, Aiba had emerged from the bathroom and was shakily tossing personal effects into a garbage bag, including letters the girl had written to her family. Every day Jun encouraged the guests to write them, knowing they would never reach their final destination. He could feel tiny pricks of tears forming in the corner of his eyes at the sight of poor Aiba, so new to this and with ten full years left of it to endure. So many letters that would never get home.
Jun looked away, busying himself with stripping the sheets off the bed as Ohno moved to Aiba's side. He could hear the man trying to comfort his co-worker, not that it would do much good. They still had a good seven or eight rooms left to account for. There'd be more letters, more photographs of children and loved ones left behind. It was easier to just hurry it all into the garbage bag. Out of sight, out of mind.
He hauled the sheets and blankets to one of the laundry carts in the hallway, hearing the squeaky wheels of another stretcher on its way to the elevator and Murakami's barked orders. The man ran a tight ship. He would have been a perfect candidate for the Self-Defense Force.
He helped Ohno and Aiba with the next few rooms, and Aiba's sympathies seemed to grow rather than diminish as they went room to room. It wasn't a good sign. If he didn't shape up, he'd get dismissed. When the civilians signed their contracts, Jun knew there were non-disclosure agreements so that when they left they could be arrested and held indefinitely if they spoke up about what they'd seen on the inside.
Jun watched the way Ohno was with him, the way he seemed to try and keep Aiba focused, how he kept his arm around Aiba's middle like a parent comforting a child more than a co-worker with a fellow colleague. It was something worth reporting to a superior or to Murakami. Aiba needed discipline, not coddling. He'd never make it through his contract at this rate.
Ohno met his eyes then, and despite all his years of training it caught Jun off guard. He'd never seen Ohno look that way before, but he instinctively understood what it meant.
Don't you say a word, Ohno's eyes told him. Not one fucking word.
---
Paradise Circus is a team effort! Our staff must be a well-oiled machine, ready to help guests at a moment's notice. We encourage team building and friendship through our Paradise Village housing. All staff will share kitchen and laundry facilities with their housemates. Cook meals together, get to know one another. These are the people who will have your back on duty.
It is common in a shared space like ours that relationships between staff members may occur. We ask that all personal relationships between staff be disclosed to management. Your privacy will be maintained. While we recognize that staff members are adults and we do not discourage personal relationships from forming, any problems that arise can affect team unity. Keep the overall mission of Paradise Circus in mind if you decide to embark upon a relationship.
From the Paradise Circus Civilian Employee Manual, Chapter Six: Village Life.
---
It was the second day off he'd gotten. He'd spent the first one at home, his parents harassing him the whole time about what he was eating, was he getting enough sleep, was he working hard. The same kind of stuff they'd asked him when he was a teenager and stayed out past his curfew to play basketball at the gym down the street that kept late hours. But he was twenty-nine years old now, and they were in that mindset with him again.
So on this off day, Aiba chose only to spend lunchtime at home. His father was busy in the restaurant, but his mother had taken off to make him something, sit with him. Aiba loved his family, he truly did, and after almost a month at Paradise Circus he was more sure of it than ever. But it was tough to be in his parents' house now.
He could see it in his mother's eyes when she set down his food. She was angry with him for signing up. She'd said nothing when he'd initially come home, saying he'd gone in and signed the contract and was accepted. But now that he was there, away from her and unable to share very much about what his life now entailed, she was mad. She wanted her Masaki back. He'd done this to save her, and she resented him for it.
She resented him because he'd already let Paradise Circus change him. Even without knowing what he'd been up to twenty-four hours a day, she could tell he was different. Aiba's parents were open books, and he and his brother had taken after them entirely. They went on vacations together and stayed up late laughing until they passed out. They went to karaoke and cheered each other on. They shared themselves, all of themselves, good and bad.
His mother could see the bags under his eyes, could tell that it was draining him. And he had to lie to her face and say it was hard work, but he was totally fine. He'd always been such an awful liar.
So today he wasn't staying long, just long enough to ask how the restaurant was doing, ask about his grandpa's upcoming hip surgery. When it was time to go, his mother embraced him and cried but she didn't tell him to stay. He'd already hurt her enough, and she was too proud a woman to beg him.
"I love you," he said honestly, taking in the comforting scent of his mom, hoping he could make it last a few more weeks. He could smell other mom scents in the rooms at Paradise Hotel sometimes. Those mothers wouldn't get to hug their kids now. "Mom, I love you so much."
"Don't let me keep you, Ma-kun," she whispered before letting him go and shoving a bag of food at him.
He took the back way out of the house, leaning against the back fence once he couldn't see her standing in the doorway anymore and took out his phone. It was next to worthless inside the Paradise complex, but out here he could make calls again. He thought of calling a friend, getting distracted with a movie or some kind of sports activity that would wear him out, but he didn't want to be a bother.
He went through his contacts fruitlessly until he came upon the newest one. Kanjiya Shihori-san. He'd seen her mostly in passing between shifts, catching her smirking at him in the kitchen of the house or chiding him for being late for his turn in the reading room. Aside from Ohno, he hadn't really made a lot of friends at work. But with Shihori-san he'd found himself in the hallway of the house a lot, torn between going through his own door or knocking on hers. She'd never told on him after that first night, and he hadn't taken the time to thank her yet.
She was off today, probably with her own friends, but he was always more impulsive than thoughtful. It only took three rings before he heard her voice.
"Aiba-san?"
"Hi, Shihori-san? Hope I'm not bothering you on your day off..."
"Not at all." She surprised him then. "I'm bored. Let's do something."
"Oh," he said, having prepared thoroughly for a rejection. "Like what?"
"I'm shopping at Omotesando right now, how far off are you?"
He was all the way in Chiba, but they agreed to meet in Asakusa in an hour. He bypassed Sensoji Temple, finding her at the entrance to the small Hanayashiki amusement park right on time. She was different out of her work uniform, casually dressed in a long sweater and some colorful tights. "Of all the places to meet," he said, gesturing to the park behind them.
"Imagine that," she said in reply. "An amusement park where the visitors are genuinely happy."
The temple complex was packed with visitors, and she linked arms with him so they wouldn't get separated. They walked past tiny booths full of trinkets, noisy children weaving in between them and their annoyed parents close behind. It was strange and normal and wonderful. This was what his life had always been like before, blissfully normal. With shops and people shoving and the city full of life. It felt like he was a visitor from another universe now.
They made their way east toward the river, standing together as they watched some of the tour boats go by. She nudged him with her elbow. "Why did you call me? You see me every day."
"Not every day," he said. "But I called you because..."
"Because?"
He watched the people queuing up for the next boat ride, other couples walking together in the streets around them. "I wanted to see you," he said, realizing it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "I wanted to see you, but not there."
"Hmm," she replied. "Well, here I am."
That made him laugh, and it felt good. He was pretty sure he hadn't laughed since he'd started his new job. They walked along the riverbank, through busy neighborhoods and quiet neighborhoods. He told her about the Aiba Masaki he used to be, before Paradise. About sports and his family and all the things normal people spoke about when they were getting to know each other. She did the same.
She'd worked for a cleaning service, working from 8:00 in the evening until the wee hours of the morning, vacuuming and cleaning trash cans in office buildings in Shinagawa. The odd hours left her free to pursue geeky hobbies during the day, and she confessed to spending hours and hours of her life in manga cafes.
"Have I scared you off yet?"
"No," he admitted with a smile. "Not in the least."
People from all walks of life seemed to find their way onto the civilian staff roster at Paradise, all normal people with the same reasoning: I'll do it to keep my family safe.
The sun set, and Shihori grew curious about the bag of leftovers he'd been toting around all afternoon. "Do you want to try?" he asked. "My mom's not a bad cook."
She smiled. "If you want to reheat them, we have to go back."
He thought of the carefree day they'd spent together, talking and wandering. Paradise Circus had seemed so far away, but now it was back. Tomorrow night he'd be helping Ohno again. He could already hear the noisy zip of the body bags, and he shut his eyes.
Her hand on his was warm. "Aiba-san. It's going to be okay."
He thought of the first time they'd met, the way she'd gotten him to his room, kept him from trouble. In that moment, despite all the horrors he'd seen at Paradise Circus, he absolutely believed her. He had to believe her, had to believe Ohno when he told him the same thing. It had only been a month, and he had two lifelines keeping him afloat. But in another month Ohno's contract was up.
"When do you leave?" he blurted out. "Your contract. When does your contract end?"
She squeezed his hand, bringing her finger to her lips to ssh him. "It's going to be okay."
"Please," he begged her. "Just tell me. I need to know."
He was going to lose Ohno. He needed to know how soon he'd lose her too. How long it would be before he'd be at Paradise Circus completely alone, zipping up body bags with strangers who didn't have a lot of sympathy for a weakling like him.
"Six years," she told him. "Now let's get back so I can try your mom's cooking, okay?"
They took the train back to Nerima, and even as Shihori used her phone to call for the jeep to get them, all Aiba could think was six years, six years, six years. Surely that would be enough time to get stronger.
It was business at usual as they sat together in the kitchen for the next few hours, Shihori praising his mother's apparent genius (her own parents were awful at cooking). But he could only watch her, the easy manner she had as she dug into the food, made jokes about the awful music that Ikuta over in House 2 was listening to the other night. People like Shihori and people like Ohno, they managed. They probably didn't like their jobs any more than he did, but they got through it.
He offered to do the dishes, and she headed upstairs to read. The midnight siren went off just as he was putting the plates away. Tonight he didn't have to help out. He found himself taking the stairs two at a time, and where before he'd hesitated this time he didn't. He knocked on her door, hoping he wasn't disturbing anyone else on the floor who needed to start first shift bright and early.
She didn't seem surprised to see him when she opened the door, though she'd changed into pajamas. She looked up and him and grinned. "You're not sick of me yet?"
"Thank you. For today."
"I had a good time," she admitted, standing in the doorway. He could hear soft music playing, could smell some girly scented candles behind her. She lowered her voice. "Aiba-san, I'm not going anywhere."
"I'm sorry..."
"You're the way we should all be, you know," she told him, and for the first time since they'd met, he could see deep sorrow in her eyes. "Promise me you won't get lost."
"Shihori-san..."
"Good night," she said, closing her door.
---
He stared at the letter until his eyes crossed. It had come in a plain envelope, so normal in appearance that he'd almost tossed it in the pile with the rest of the bills for Jun to look at when he got home. He should have known better. He'd seen two of these envelopes before, the one that took his mom away and the one that took his sister.
He had just figured that after what had happened to his family that it was a statistical improbability.
NINOMIYA KAZUNARI
17 June 1983
#469719924111
19 May 2012
Dear Ninomiya-san,
You have been selected randomly in the lottery for the Paradise Circus. We thank you and honor you in advance for your sacrifice and heroism. Because of your selection and the selection of thousands before you, Japan remains a free and peaceful nation, safe from the nuclear and chemical weaponry of the Russian Federation and the People's Republic of China.
Please use the coming week to say goodbye to family and friends and see to your final obligations and arrangements. On 26 MAY 2012, please report to Shinjuku Highway Bus Terminal, Tokyo, Stop #17 at 6:00 AM. Subsidized transport may be available if you or your household meets certain financial criteria. Please ensure that you arrive promptly. No family or friends may be present. See enclosed documentation for further instructions and a map of the Shinjuku area.
We humbly thank you for your cooperation and courage.
No matter how many times he read it, he wasn't sure he believed it. Because it arrived with the same simple language you'd find in a rejection from a job hunt. Or maybe he just didn't want to acknowledge that the piece of paper in his hand was saying that in a week from today he would die.
He'd fought against Paradise for so long after it took his family. He figured the government had been fucking with him, leaving him alive as a punishment for something that he'd done when he was little and couldn't remember. Maybe he'd cheated on a test in fourth or fifth grade, an unforgivable offense. Maybe he'd failed to use his turn signal while driving one time too many.
Either way, he was as good as dead. This wasn't a letter you could just put through the paper shredder and tell them you'd never gotten it. There were enough CCTV cameras to prove that a mailman was dropping one of these things in your mailbox.
He laughed, setting it down on the table and getting to his feet. It was all too much. Especially now when China was toppling from within. They had their own problems to worry about. They didn't need a diligent report from the Japanese every day saying "Yes, sir, Mr. Chinese Government, sir. Yes, we did kill 100 civilians today in accordance with a fifty year old agreement, sir."
Say goodbye to family and friends. Imagine the excuse he could use for work. "Ah, I'm sorry, Taichi-san," he'd say, sounding ashamed, "Afraid I can't come in today, I've been sentenced to death. Oh no, I won't be in tomorrow either. Very sorry." He laughed harder, picking up some magazines where they'd been stacked precariously on the shelf, dumping them on the floor. His game controller was next. He picked that up, flung it across the room where it clanged against Jun's folded up treadmill.
Before too long he was crying, not wanting to break anything else because Jun would want to know why. He couldn't possibly tell Jun. He didn't dare tell Jun. He paced back and forth, feet pounding the floor hard enough that the downstairs neighbor whacked his ceiling with a broom or something like one. He couldn't tell Jun. He couldn't tell Jun. Say goodbye to family and friends. What friends? The assholes in the Risers? Taichi-san? Yamada-kun at work? Oh, he could say goodbye to Toda Erika on the big screen, throw a handful of popcorn at her face as one final farewell.
He couldn't tell Jun. Jun felt things. He was a soldier, a good soldier, but god damn it, he felt everything. It would destroy him, going to work every day for the next week knowing that Nino would be arriving soon for whatever punishment was meted out. Would they shoot him? Gas him? Zap him with a high-tech laser beam out of a sci-fi movie?
He should break up with Jun, tell Jun he'd been fucking someone else behind his back. Being in the Risers was close enough to infidelity anyway. He had to get out, get away. Let Jun be pissed off and think Nino had been a stupid asshole the whole time. Anything but the truth. The truth that Jun's immediate family could be on the safe list. The truth that if Jun was married, his wife and children could be on the safe list. But not him. Not Nino. Nino didn't count, Nino couldn't be saved, and Jun would hate himself forever if he knew.
But he only had a week left, a week left with Jun in his life. One week left to enjoy the feel of Jun's skin under his fingertips, the sound of Jun's voice, the scent of his cologne as he left in the morning when he thought Nino was asleep. Why hurt Jun more now when it was already going to hurt him when he was gone? And why spend the last week of his life being anywhere but right here in the place the two of them shared?
He did his best to calm down, putting the letter back into the envelope and shoving it into the plastic bin with his extra Famicom controllers and ancient games. Jun never touched his game stuff. He stacked the magazines back where they were, tidied up the rest of the chaos he'd inflicted upon the apartment. And then he started to think, really think.
For months the Risers had been pestering him, wanting him to exploit his relationship for the "common good." Well, he could do them one better now, couldn't he? Why bother Jun when he could just be on the inside himself? He opened up his laptop, made his way through the labyrinth to the Risers message board.
"Wolf in sheep's clothes," he typed. "I've been selected in the lottery. I'll be inside in a week."
If he was going down, it would be on his terms. He didn't know what it was like on the inside, if he'd even get a chance to cause some mayhem. But at least Jun wouldn't be in trouble now. He wouldn't have to steal Jun's secrets. When he was gone, Jun could simply soldier on. Find someone more compatible, or at least someone who wasn't looking to change the world one lame ass message board post at a time.
He logged off, closing the laptop lid just as Jun came in. Nino met him at the door, moving into Jun's space in a way that had unnerved him when they'd met. Close quarters, something that set a soldier like Jun on edge. Now he simply tolerated it. And it ached to see Jun's outward denial but the obvious interest in his eyes. He was probably thinking that Nino was coming around, that Nino was his and his alone again. He could just see it in those big, honest brown eyes.
He'd come home in just a t-shirt and jeans, dropping the duffel with his fatigues to the floor. Nino pressed him back against the door, hooking his fingers in Jun's belt loops, tugging him close enough to hear the little gasp as Jun's breath caught.
"Hi," Nino said.
"Hi."
"Rough day at the office?" he asked. He was feeling a little bit more invincible now than when the mail had arrived.
"Aren't they always?"
He palmed Jun through his jeans, hearing an almost satisfied growl before they were moving away from the door, stumbling past the crappy kitchen chairs Jun was always demanding they replace. They made it to the bed, barely, and when Jun was behind him, then deep inside him he thought he could spend the next week like this and march off happily to his execution. He let Jun smile, let him bite his neck and shove his face into the bed sheets. He let Jun take everything from him that Nino had been too fucking busy, too fucking traitorous to give him for months now. It was sex like they'd had before it had gotten too complicated, when they'd fucked because they wanted each other and because it simply felt good.
Jun's hands were on his hips, fingernails leaving tiny little half-moon indents in his skin. "Mine," he could hear Jun saying. He cried out at the thought of Jun moving on, doing this with someone else. It broke him then, completely, and Jun must have thought he was getting off on the rough treatment. He could feel Jun lose his precious control, could feel him shudder as he came.
"What was that about?" Jun asked him a while later. "Not that I'm complaining."
From where he was on the bed, he could see the living room and the plastic bin. The envelope was in there, even if he couldn't see it.
Please use the coming week to say goodbye to family and friends.
He threaded his fingers through Jun's and squeezed. "No reason."
part four
Nobody could get confirmation. Sho hunkered down at his desk, trying to focus on his work even as the newsroom phones went off again and again. Channel One was supposed to be the voice of the government, the most legitimate source of information. And yet the government wasn't talking.
They had an evening broadcast in three hours, and even if Sho was mostly ready to go, what did it matter if nothing else was ready? The social networks had been buzzing all day. As one message board was shut down, another sprung up in its place. There was no containing it; it had come out of nowhere.
The Chinese premier had allegedly suffered a heart attack or a stroke. The government over there was in disarray, scrambling to clamp down on their own people's voices. But it still got through, and thus far the Japanese government had no comment whatsoever. It could all be a trap, a Chinese test of their continued loyalty. Or it could be the truth.
All the international desk people around him had exhausted their sources. Nobody in the Cabinet was talking, nobody in the Diet was coughing up a word about it. So Sho couldn't say he was surprised when Kimura-san came by looking annoyed a few minutes later.
He looked up, saw the irritation in his producer's eyes. "If it was up to me, we'd be working on our segment."
Sho nodded. "They want me to make a call, don't they?"
Kimura almost looked apologetic. "Orders from on high. If we can't get any statement on it, we can't run anything about it tonight. Our silence will just give people reason to doubt us all the more."
He was pretty sure nobody in Japan that was halfway intelligent took them seriously, but it was Sho's job to make people believe the lies. "You know I can't promise anything."
"I know that."
Sho got up. He was supposed to be heading for wardrobe soon. He had the names of tonight's hundred running through his mind, and he shoved them back as he took out his phone, finding the empty conference room at the end of the floor and slamming the door behind him. He took a deep breath, ensuring that the blinds were shut. Someone would probably be brave, try to listen through the door, but what did it matter?
He had the number memorized, even if he rarely dialed it. It was late, but someone was always watching the phones. "You have reached the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications. At this time we are unable to take your call..."
He let the whole bullshit message play out before hanging up. Okay. He'd tried, he'd really tried to do it through official channels. He had to do it the hard way now. This was not a number he memorized, and he scrolled through his contact list until he found it. He'd even labeled it with the name of a Thai restaurant in Yokohama he liked in case his phone ever got stolen. Sho was many things, but he wasn't dumb enough to label the direct line to the Director-General with "Dad - Work."
He hesitated over the number and took a deep breath before hitting the Dial button.
"Policy Coordination, this is the Director-General's office. At this time we are unable to..."
It wasn't a recording. "Hamada-san?"
"At this time, sir, we are unable to take your call. If you'd like to leave a message..."
"Hamada-san," he said with an edge to his voice. Much as he liked his father's secretary and didn't want to yell at her, his bosses had left him with little choice. "Hamada-san, this is Sakurai Sho."
"I'm very sorry, Sakurai-san..."
"Just...is he there? Please, Hamada-san, is he in his office?"
He could hear the exhaustion in her voice. It had been a long day for the government, and he imagined their office bore the brunt of it. "He said you would probably call."
His father knew him better than anyone. The man had gotten him his job, so this was obviously an expectation on a day like today. "Can I speak with him?"
"He can't speak to anyone. Your mother even called asking if he was coming home for dinner, and I had to tell her to leave a message." She was rustling through some papers on her end. "If you could please apologize to her on my behalf..."
Sho started to pace the room. Time was slipping away from him. "Two minutes with him. A minute. Thirty seconds, I'll take anything you can give me."
"He'll tell you the same thing I am. He'll tell you no comment."
"Then let me hear it from the man himself. Please, Hamada-san."
She finally relented, putting him on hold. And then his father was on the line.
"Sho."
"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I wouldn't normally do this. You know I don't do things like this."
"I know. I imagine things are pretty hectic over there."
Talk about an understatement. But then again, his father wasn't having the best day of his work life either. "We can't get anyone to comment. You know what it'll look like, us going live tonight and reporting about the economy and house fires and the weather and anything but what's happening overseas. Are they going to release any sort of statement? At all?"
"You know I can't tell you that."
"I'm not asking for confirmation or a denial of anything. I'm asking if they'll hold a press conference. If we can at least say to stay tuned for it in the morning or something..."
"Sho, that's enough." His father didn't need to raise his voice. He never had. Sho had always been an obedient child, his father a fair and generous man. Sho knew when he was trying the man's patience.
"If the people don't believe us, it all falls apart," he said quietly. "Isn't that what you've always said?"
It was always hard for Sho to reconcile the fact that Sakurai Shun, the father who'd given him everything, was the same as Sakurai Shun, the man in the government, one among many who desperately wanted Paradise Circus to continue without interference.
"Your mother wants you to come for dinner," his father said abruptly. "Do you have time next week?"
"Dad..."
"She's being very insistent about it."
Sho was quiet. There was something else in the tone of his father's voice, something not quite right. He obviously had something to tell Sho, something he couldn't say over the phone. His father almost sounded afraid, and he never ever did.
"I'll come. Tell mom I'll be there, so long as she doesn't get mad if I leave early."
"Good. That's settled. I'm sorry I couldn't be of any help, truly."
He imagined his father in his office, wondered just how many different devices were in there recording his every move, ensuring his loyalty the same as anyone else in so high a position.
"I'll see you soon then. Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Sho."
He left the conference room, finding Kimura standing there without shame even as a few other members of the newsroom scurried away like rats on a sinking ship.
"And what words of wisdom did your daddy have to impart?" Sho knew the producer was just frustrated, but Sho wasn't stupid. He knew most of the people on the team were well aware of his connections. The nepotism that had gotten him the most prominent spot in the evening broadcast.
He ignored the condescension even as his anger grew. He had to focus on that night's broadcast. The show had to go on.
"He couldn't tell me anything."
But he would, Sho realized. The next time he saw his father, he feared just what the man might have to tell him.
---
Second rotation was harder. In the morning there was Lieutenant Katori's cheer and the small smiles of the guests on the Midway. In the first few hours they sometimes even had fun knocking down milk bottles, spinning around in the teacup ride cars that left Jun dizzy just watching from the sidelines. Second rotation was when it all started to fall apart.
The Midway lights started to dim around 1830 hours. The staff started to close up shop, the cotton candy machines turned off, the jet coaster did one final whip around the tracks. Announcements ran over the speakers encouraging everyone to move to the Paradise Hotel to get settled in their rooms. Room service would be on its way up so long as everyone was inside in a timely fashion.
The bubble they'd been living in since the buses had arrived that morning always burst in the most terrible ways. The charges he'd taken over from Matsuoka on first rotation were harder to wrangle than on most days. There were two teenage girls who'd snuck in their cell phones and were snapping pictures. Of course the entire installation was a dead zone so nothing was getting out, but the looks on their faces when Jun had confiscated their phones, cutesy charms and all, had been terrible.
There was a middle aged man from Osaka, noted on the list as someone who'd been in jail for rape. Jun had had to spend most of his afternoon following the man to ensure he didn't spend his final hours harassing female guests or staff. When 1900 hours rolled around, all of his charges were accounted for but there were still three guests somewhere on the grounds.
Even as the restaurant staff started heading up the stairs with steaming dinner trays, Jun was out with a flashlight and assigned to the Village. There were usually staff members milling around in the courtyard this time of night to keep an eye open for stragglers, but the command center didn't take chances. He shined the flashlight up into the trees in case they were decent climbers, and he looked behind bushes in case they were small and good at hiding. It was the worst game of hide and seek Jun could imagine.
He turned the corner around one of the houses, finding the guy from the pool. "Ohno-san," he said curtly, moving the flashlight out of the man's eyes.
"Corporal Matsumoto," the man said in his calm, quiet voice. Jun had never met someone who was so wrong and yet so perfect for the job as Ohno Satoshi. He was nearly silent whenever Jun ran into him at the hotel or on the grounds. At first Jun thought it was odd for someone in a place like this to be so quiet when most of the other civilian staff were cheerful and bright. But then he imagined being a guest at Paradise Circus himself. He wouldn't want to be alone, but he wouldn't want jolly people trying to convince him that he needed to have fun before they gassed him. Someone like Ohno who would just simply be there would be exactly what he'd want.
"You're usually on second shift, aren't you?"
"Yeah," the man said, falling into step beside Jun as they started to patrol around each of the Village houses in search of the remaining guests. "My coworker was sick. I took his shift and shut the pool down early. But Murakami asked me to help with cleanup anyway tonight."
They were just finishing the rounds when the siren went off. Everyone was accounted for.
"Corporal?" Ohno asked him as they made their way up to the hotel.
"Yeah?"
"Do you like your job?"
He slowed down, hearing the music from the Midway finally, mercifully shut off for the day. It was a question he asked himself enough, standing in that parking lot every day as the buses arrived or walking through the hotel after midnight and helping to clean things up. He had to be honest - when he'd enlisted in the Self-Defense Force out of high school it had been with that same shallow hope everyone had, that one day they'd be standing where he was now. Paradise Duty took you and your immediate family out of the lottery as long as they kept you on, the same as the civilian staff with their ten-year contracts.
Given the option of being anywhere else or working this assignment, Jun would pick his assignment every time. But it didn't necessarily mean he liked it.
"I don't like it either," Ohno said, seeming to understand what his silence had meant.
"What do you plan to do?" he asked Ohno as they made it into the lobby, Jun switching off his flashlight for good once they were inside. "When your contract's up?"
"Good question," Ohno replied.
They went their separate ways, Ohno to wherever he felt like wandering off to with his calm, simple aura, and Jun to the kitchens. He helped the staff bring up meals to the top floor, and despite the earlier issues with the three scattered guests, nobody caused any trouble. Jun stood at the door feeling like a hired thug while the staff entered the room, setting down the trays. Most of the guests were sitting on the bed or in a chair, staring into space. Some were watching television, but they only showed old movies or cartoons. One old man was writing a letter.
It still chilled him to the bone each time they exited the room and shut the door behind them. He could hear it sealing up completely. Nothing would get out now, not the gas, not the screams or the crying. Not until after midnight and everything had to be taken care of.
Once the meals were delivered, the Ground Unit was on standby until midnight. He knew that some of them liked to play cards in the dining room, others napped at the command center. Jun walked the perimeter of the grounds and thought about Nino most nights.
Some families went years without Paradise Circus touching their lives, their own or someone's close to them. Jun hadn't thought much about it until he and Nino had started living together, when he'd asked Nino about his family. It had seemed like a simple question and a necessary one at that since they'd gotten so serious.
Nino's parents had divorced when he'd been in junior high, and his father was chosen in the lottery soon after. It was a country of more than a hundred million people, but his mother was chosen just before Nino had graduated high school, his newlywed sister a month later. After that conversation ended, Jun had never asked Nino about it again. He knew that Nino disappeared once a month to go to his family's grave. He'd never asked Jun to come with him. So that part of Nino was always going to be closed off to him.
Sometimes he got the feeling that Nino wanted to ask him about Paradise Circus, about what really happened here. There were rumors, of course, on the Internet. That you showed up and were shot at by a firing squad. That the Self-Defense Force themselves pulled the trigger. Or maybe there was a secret elevator and an underground facility. Maybe nobody was actually killed, but the government experimented on them.
Jun wondered what he'd say if Nino did ask. If he rolled over in bed one night and asked "what did my parents see on their last day? What about my sister?"
He found himself at the very edge of the gardens when the siren sounded at midnight. He'd been walking for hours around the same path, lost in his thoughts. He was needed now though, and he hurried back to the hotel, finding all the second rotation staff preparing. It would be one thing if Paradise returned people's bodies to their families. Then there could be closure.
Instead, the bodies were removed from the rooms every night and brought to the command center for incineration. There'd never been a thorough explanation as to why, and to question the way of things was foolish. Paradise Duty could end after a week or last you through the remainder of your career. If you didn't want to risk your own family ending up in the body bags, you kept your mouth shut and soldiered on. They hired obedient people here, not risk takers.
He found Ohno again working on the second floor with one of the newer civilian staff members. Jun had seen him in the reading room a few times the last few weeks. Jun could tell he was new because his eyes were red and full of tears as he helped Ohno lift a teenage girl off of the hotel room bed and into the body bag on the floor. They looked up as soon as they heard Jun's boots on the carpet.
"Check the bathroom, Aiba-chan," Ohno said gently. "Jun-kun can help me with the rest."
The new guy, Aiba, barely nodded before hurrying off to the bathroom.
Ohno looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, are we running late?"
"No," Jun said as he heard Aiba obviously trying to cover up his sobs by turning on the sink. "No, everything's fine."
He helped Ohno to lift the body, walking backwards out of the room just as Murakami was directing other members of his staff with the stretchers. There was a freight elevator at the end of each floor which connected with the tunnel that ran underground between the hotel and the command center. He and Ohno got the body bag onto the stretcher Murakami himself was wheeling.
When they returned, Aiba had emerged from the bathroom and was shakily tossing personal effects into a garbage bag, including letters the girl had written to her family. Every day Jun encouraged the guests to write them, knowing they would never reach their final destination. He could feel tiny pricks of tears forming in the corner of his eyes at the sight of poor Aiba, so new to this and with ten full years left of it to endure. So many letters that would never get home.
Jun looked away, busying himself with stripping the sheets off the bed as Ohno moved to Aiba's side. He could hear the man trying to comfort his co-worker, not that it would do much good. They still had a good seven or eight rooms left to account for. There'd be more letters, more photographs of children and loved ones left behind. It was easier to just hurry it all into the garbage bag. Out of sight, out of mind.
He hauled the sheets and blankets to one of the laundry carts in the hallway, hearing the squeaky wheels of another stretcher on its way to the elevator and Murakami's barked orders. The man ran a tight ship. He would have been a perfect candidate for the Self-Defense Force.
He helped Ohno and Aiba with the next few rooms, and Aiba's sympathies seemed to grow rather than diminish as they went room to room. It wasn't a good sign. If he didn't shape up, he'd get dismissed. When the civilians signed their contracts, Jun knew there were non-disclosure agreements so that when they left they could be arrested and held indefinitely if they spoke up about what they'd seen on the inside.
Jun watched the way Ohno was with him, the way he seemed to try and keep Aiba focused, how he kept his arm around Aiba's middle like a parent comforting a child more than a co-worker with a fellow colleague. It was something worth reporting to a superior or to Murakami. Aiba needed discipline, not coddling. He'd never make it through his contract at this rate.
Ohno met his eyes then, and despite all his years of training it caught Jun off guard. He'd never seen Ohno look that way before, but he instinctively understood what it meant.
Don't you say a word, Ohno's eyes told him. Not one fucking word.
---
Paradise Circus is a team effort! Our staff must be a well-oiled machine, ready to help guests at a moment's notice. We encourage team building and friendship through our Paradise Village housing. All staff will share kitchen and laundry facilities with their housemates. Cook meals together, get to know one another. These are the people who will have your back on duty.
It is common in a shared space like ours that relationships between staff members may occur. We ask that all personal relationships between staff be disclosed to management. Your privacy will be maintained. While we recognize that staff members are adults and we do not discourage personal relationships from forming, any problems that arise can affect team unity. Keep the overall mission of Paradise Circus in mind if you decide to embark upon a relationship.
From the Paradise Circus Civilian Employee Manual, Chapter Six: Village Life.
---
It was the second day off he'd gotten. He'd spent the first one at home, his parents harassing him the whole time about what he was eating, was he getting enough sleep, was he working hard. The same kind of stuff they'd asked him when he was a teenager and stayed out past his curfew to play basketball at the gym down the street that kept late hours. But he was twenty-nine years old now, and they were in that mindset with him again.
So on this off day, Aiba chose only to spend lunchtime at home. His father was busy in the restaurant, but his mother had taken off to make him something, sit with him. Aiba loved his family, he truly did, and after almost a month at Paradise Circus he was more sure of it than ever. But it was tough to be in his parents' house now.
He could see it in his mother's eyes when she set down his food. She was angry with him for signing up. She'd said nothing when he'd initially come home, saying he'd gone in and signed the contract and was accepted. But now that he was there, away from her and unable to share very much about what his life now entailed, she was mad. She wanted her Masaki back. He'd done this to save her, and she resented him for it.
She resented him because he'd already let Paradise Circus change him. Even without knowing what he'd been up to twenty-four hours a day, she could tell he was different. Aiba's parents were open books, and he and his brother had taken after them entirely. They went on vacations together and stayed up late laughing until they passed out. They went to karaoke and cheered each other on. They shared themselves, all of themselves, good and bad.
His mother could see the bags under his eyes, could tell that it was draining him. And he had to lie to her face and say it was hard work, but he was totally fine. He'd always been such an awful liar.
So today he wasn't staying long, just long enough to ask how the restaurant was doing, ask about his grandpa's upcoming hip surgery. When it was time to go, his mother embraced him and cried but she didn't tell him to stay. He'd already hurt her enough, and she was too proud a woman to beg him.
"I love you," he said honestly, taking in the comforting scent of his mom, hoping he could make it last a few more weeks. He could smell other mom scents in the rooms at Paradise Hotel sometimes. Those mothers wouldn't get to hug their kids now. "Mom, I love you so much."
"Don't let me keep you, Ma-kun," she whispered before letting him go and shoving a bag of food at him.
He took the back way out of the house, leaning against the back fence once he couldn't see her standing in the doorway anymore and took out his phone. It was next to worthless inside the Paradise complex, but out here he could make calls again. He thought of calling a friend, getting distracted with a movie or some kind of sports activity that would wear him out, but he didn't want to be a bother.
He went through his contacts fruitlessly until he came upon the newest one. Kanjiya Shihori-san. He'd seen her mostly in passing between shifts, catching her smirking at him in the kitchen of the house or chiding him for being late for his turn in the reading room. Aside from Ohno, he hadn't really made a lot of friends at work. But with Shihori-san he'd found himself in the hallway of the house a lot, torn between going through his own door or knocking on hers. She'd never told on him after that first night, and he hadn't taken the time to thank her yet.
She was off today, probably with her own friends, but he was always more impulsive than thoughtful. It only took three rings before he heard her voice.
"Aiba-san?"
"Hi, Shihori-san? Hope I'm not bothering you on your day off..."
"Not at all." She surprised him then. "I'm bored. Let's do something."
"Oh," he said, having prepared thoroughly for a rejection. "Like what?"
"I'm shopping at Omotesando right now, how far off are you?"
He was all the way in Chiba, but they agreed to meet in Asakusa in an hour. He bypassed Sensoji Temple, finding her at the entrance to the small Hanayashiki amusement park right on time. She was different out of her work uniform, casually dressed in a long sweater and some colorful tights. "Of all the places to meet," he said, gesturing to the park behind them.
"Imagine that," she said in reply. "An amusement park where the visitors are genuinely happy."
The temple complex was packed with visitors, and she linked arms with him so they wouldn't get separated. They walked past tiny booths full of trinkets, noisy children weaving in between them and their annoyed parents close behind. It was strange and normal and wonderful. This was what his life had always been like before, blissfully normal. With shops and people shoving and the city full of life. It felt like he was a visitor from another universe now.
They made their way east toward the river, standing together as they watched some of the tour boats go by. She nudged him with her elbow. "Why did you call me? You see me every day."
"Not every day," he said. "But I called you because..."
"Because?"
He watched the people queuing up for the next boat ride, other couples walking together in the streets around them. "I wanted to see you," he said, realizing it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "I wanted to see you, but not there."
"Hmm," she replied. "Well, here I am."
That made him laugh, and it felt good. He was pretty sure he hadn't laughed since he'd started his new job. They walked along the riverbank, through busy neighborhoods and quiet neighborhoods. He told her about the Aiba Masaki he used to be, before Paradise. About sports and his family and all the things normal people spoke about when they were getting to know each other. She did the same.
She'd worked for a cleaning service, working from 8:00 in the evening until the wee hours of the morning, vacuuming and cleaning trash cans in office buildings in Shinagawa. The odd hours left her free to pursue geeky hobbies during the day, and she confessed to spending hours and hours of her life in manga cafes.
"Have I scared you off yet?"
"No," he admitted with a smile. "Not in the least."
People from all walks of life seemed to find their way onto the civilian staff roster at Paradise, all normal people with the same reasoning: I'll do it to keep my family safe.
The sun set, and Shihori grew curious about the bag of leftovers he'd been toting around all afternoon. "Do you want to try?" he asked. "My mom's not a bad cook."
She smiled. "If you want to reheat them, we have to go back."
He thought of the carefree day they'd spent together, talking and wandering. Paradise Circus had seemed so far away, but now it was back. Tomorrow night he'd be helping Ohno again. He could already hear the noisy zip of the body bags, and he shut his eyes.
Her hand on his was warm. "Aiba-san. It's going to be okay."
He thought of the first time they'd met, the way she'd gotten him to his room, kept him from trouble. In that moment, despite all the horrors he'd seen at Paradise Circus, he absolutely believed her. He had to believe her, had to believe Ohno when he told him the same thing. It had only been a month, and he had two lifelines keeping him afloat. But in another month Ohno's contract was up.
"When do you leave?" he blurted out. "Your contract. When does your contract end?"
She squeezed his hand, bringing her finger to her lips to ssh him. "It's going to be okay."
"Please," he begged her. "Just tell me. I need to know."
He was going to lose Ohno. He needed to know how soon he'd lose her too. How long it would be before he'd be at Paradise Circus completely alone, zipping up body bags with strangers who didn't have a lot of sympathy for a weakling like him.
"Six years," she told him. "Now let's get back so I can try your mom's cooking, okay?"
They took the train back to Nerima, and even as Shihori used her phone to call for the jeep to get them, all Aiba could think was six years, six years, six years. Surely that would be enough time to get stronger.
It was business at usual as they sat together in the kitchen for the next few hours, Shihori praising his mother's apparent genius (her own parents were awful at cooking). But he could only watch her, the easy manner she had as she dug into the food, made jokes about the awful music that Ikuta over in House 2 was listening to the other night. People like Shihori and people like Ohno, they managed. They probably didn't like their jobs any more than he did, but they got through it.
He offered to do the dishes, and she headed upstairs to read. The midnight siren went off just as he was putting the plates away. Tonight he didn't have to help out. He found himself taking the stairs two at a time, and where before he'd hesitated this time he didn't. He knocked on her door, hoping he wasn't disturbing anyone else on the floor who needed to start first shift bright and early.
She didn't seem surprised to see him when she opened the door, though she'd changed into pajamas. She looked up and him and grinned. "You're not sick of me yet?"
"Thank you. For today."
"I had a good time," she admitted, standing in the doorway. He could hear soft music playing, could smell some girly scented candles behind her. She lowered her voice. "Aiba-san, I'm not going anywhere."
"I'm sorry..."
"You're the way we should all be, you know," she told him, and for the first time since they'd met, he could see deep sorrow in her eyes. "Promise me you won't get lost."
"Shihori-san..."
"Good night," she said, closing her door.
---
He stared at the letter until his eyes crossed. It had come in a plain envelope, so normal in appearance that he'd almost tossed it in the pile with the rest of the bills for Jun to look at when he got home. He should have known better. He'd seen two of these envelopes before, the one that took his mom away and the one that took his sister.
He had just figured that after what had happened to his family that it was a statistical improbability.
NINOMIYA KAZUNARI
17 June 1983
#469719924111
19 May 2012
Dear Ninomiya-san,
You have been selected randomly in the lottery for the Paradise Circus. We thank you and honor you in advance for your sacrifice and heroism. Because of your selection and the selection of thousands before you, Japan remains a free and peaceful nation, safe from the nuclear and chemical weaponry of the Russian Federation and the People's Republic of China.
Please use the coming week to say goodbye to family and friends and see to your final obligations and arrangements. On 26 MAY 2012, please report to Shinjuku Highway Bus Terminal, Tokyo, Stop #17 at 6:00 AM. Subsidized transport may be available if you or your household meets certain financial criteria. Please ensure that you arrive promptly. No family or friends may be present. See enclosed documentation for further instructions and a map of the Shinjuku area.
We humbly thank you for your cooperation and courage.
No matter how many times he read it, he wasn't sure he believed it. Because it arrived with the same simple language you'd find in a rejection from a job hunt. Or maybe he just didn't want to acknowledge that the piece of paper in his hand was saying that in a week from today he would die.
He'd fought against Paradise for so long after it took his family. He figured the government had been fucking with him, leaving him alive as a punishment for something that he'd done when he was little and couldn't remember. Maybe he'd cheated on a test in fourth or fifth grade, an unforgivable offense. Maybe he'd failed to use his turn signal while driving one time too many.
Either way, he was as good as dead. This wasn't a letter you could just put through the paper shredder and tell them you'd never gotten it. There were enough CCTV cameras to prove that a mailman was dropping one of these things in your mailbox.
He laughed, setting it down on the table and getting to his feet. It was all too much. Especially now when China was toppling from within. They had their own problems to worry about. They didn't need a diligent report from the Japanese every day saying "Yes, sir, Mr. Chinese Government, sir. Yes, we did kill 100 civilians today in accordance with a fifty year old agreement, sir."
Say goodbye to family and friends. Imagine the excuse he could use for work. "Ah, I'm sorry, Taichi-san," he'd say, sounding ashamed, "Afraid I can't come in today, I've been sentenced to death. Oh no, I won't be in tomorrow either. Very sorry." He laughed harder, picking up some magazines where they'd been stacked precariously on the shelf, dumping them on the floor. His game controller was next. He picked that up, flung it across the room where it clanged against Jun's folded up treadmill.
Before too long he was crying, not wanting to break anything else because Jun would want to know why. He couldn't possibly tell Jun. He didn't dare tell Jun. He paced back and forth, feet pounding the floor hard enough that the downstairs neighbor whacked his ceiling with a broom or something like one. He couldn't tell Jun. He couldn't tell Jun. Say goodbye to family and friends. What friends? The assholes in the Risers? Taichi-san? Yamada-kun at work? Oh, he could say goodbye to Toda Erika on the big screen, throw a handful of popcorn at her face as one final farewell.
He couldn't tell Jun. Jun felt things. He was a soldier, a good soldier, but god damn it, he felt everything. It would destroy him, going to work every day for the next week knowing that Nino would be arriving soon for whatever punishment was meted out. Would they shoot him? Gas him? Zap him with a high-tech laser beam out of a sci-fi movie?
He should break up with Jun, tell Jun he'd been fucking someone else behind his back. Being in the Risers was close enough to infidelity anyway. He had to get out, get away. Let Jun be pissed off and think Nino had been a stupid asshole the whole time. Anything but the truth. The truth that Jun's immediate family could be on the safe list. The truth that if Jun was married, his wife and children could be on the safe list. But not him. Not Nino. Nino didn't count, Nino couldn't be saved, and Jun would hate himself forever if he knew.
But he only had a week left, a week left with Jun in his life. One week left to enjoy the feel of Jun's skin under his fingertips, the sound of Jun's voice, the scent of his cologne as he left in the morning when he thought Nino was asleep. Why hurt Jun more now when it was already going to hurt him when he was gone? And why spend the last week of his life being anywhere but right here in the place the two of them shared?
He did his best to calm down, putting the letter back into the envelope and shoving it into the plastic bin with his extra Famicom controllers and ancient games. Jun never touched his game stuff. He stacked the magazines back where they were, tidied up the rest of the chaos he'd inflicted upon the apartment. And then he started to think, really think.
For months the Risers had been pestering him, wanting him to exploit his relationship for the "common good." Well, he could do them one better now, couldn't he? Why bother Jun when he could just be on the inside himself? He opened up his laptop, made his way through the labyrinth to the Risers message board.
"Wolf in sheep's clothes," he typed. "I've been selected in the lottery. I'll be inside in a week."
If he was going down, it would be on his terms. He didn't know what it was like on the inside, if he'd even get a chance to cause some mayhem. But at least Jun wouldn't be in trouble now. He wouldn't have to steal Jun's secrets. When he was gone, Jun could simply soldier on. Find someone more compatible, or at least someone who wasn't looking to change the world one lame ass message board post at a time.
He logged off, closing the laptop lid just as Jun came in. Nino met him at the door, moving into Jun's space in a way that had unnerved him when they'd met. Close quarters, something that set a soldier like Jun on edge. Now he simply tolerated it. And it ached to see Jun's outward denial but the obvious interest in his eyes. He was probably thinking that Nino was coming around, that Nino was his and his alone again. He could just see it in those big, honest brown eyes.
He'd come home in just a t-shirt and jeans, dropping the duffel with his fatigues to the floor. Nino pressed him back against the door, hooking his fingers in Jun's belt loops, tugging him close enough to hear the little gasp as Jun's breath caught.
"Hi," Nino said.
"Hi."
"Rough day at the office?" he asked. He was feeling a little bit more invincible now than when the mail had arrived.
"Aren't they always?"
He palmed Jun through his jeans, hearing an almost satisfied growl before they were moving away from the door, stumbling past the crappy kitchen chairs Jun was always demanding they replace. They made it to the bed, barely, and when Jun was behind him, then deep inside him he thought he could spend the next week like this and march off happily to his execution. He let Jun smile, let him bite his neck and shove his face into the bed sheets. He let Jun take everything from him that Nino had been too fucking busy, too fucking traitorous to give him for months now. It was sex like they'd had before it had gotten too complicated, when they'd fucked because they wanted each other and because it simply felt good.
Jun's hands were on his hips, fingernails leaving tiny little half-moon indents in his skin. "Mine," he could hear Jun saying. He cried out at the thought of Jun moving on, doing this with someone else. It broke him then, completely, and Jun must have thought he was getting off on the rough treatment. He could feel Jun lose his precious control, could feel him shudder as he came.
"What was that about?" Jun asked him a while later. "Not that I'm complaining."
From where he was on the bed, he could see the living room and the plastic bin. The envelope was in there, even if he couldn't see it.
Please use the coming week to say goodbye to family and friends.
He threaded his fingers through Jun's and squeezed. "No reason."
part four
