[Pippa] {part 1/3} "dance"
{part 1/3} "dance"
R for mature themes (probably. There are drugs.); AU!!; Yamamoto Ryota, Takahashi Ryu, etc.
For myxstorie - happy friendiversary, cakeface 8D This is a working title and the story itself is unfinished; as the title suggests this is the first part and there will be two more instalments to arrive at a later date. I wasn't going to post this today but then I changed my mind 8D Thanks to kuro-chin and crazy_otaku911 ♥ Unbetad, please point out any typos, etc. 8D;;
EDIT: since Ryu had a significant role in this fic and he is no longer in Johnnys, I have no intention of carrying on this fic at present. This may change depending on how able I feel to write him again, but for the time being... :( I'm sad, because obviously I like Ryu very much, but... it feels too uncomfortable to be writing somebody I know I'm never going to see on-stage again. Sorry. I'm probably more sad about this than you are, since I really like this AU. *sigh*
/part 1/
The dreams came more often than not, now, and always in the same way. They were tangled, scattered, chaotic; a jumble of fragmented images that flickered before fading. White petals on a wet tree branch; a terrifying downpour of rain as hard as needles; a wooden bridge across a rock-strewn riverbed; a dark, empty house on a windswept hilltop; a fire with smoke that bewildered; a pair of eyes that knew, that could see, and then with the speed of a whip-crack he would wake and feel the sudden looming weight of reality, and his heart would thud in his chest and his breathing would sound loud and harsh in the heavy stillness of the room where his comrades still lay sleeping.
At first Yamamoto had thought it was just odd. Then, as the dream repeated later in the week, it was slightly more strange. Then again, and again, and now it was more uncommon to have a night that didn't culminate in the sudden shock awakening from the intensity of that knowing gaze. He wondered what it meant, if anything. Most likely it was just lingering anxiety about the upcoming registration with the Crown. Still, it was hard to shake, and registration was still a few days away. Yamamoto shook his head. He didn't want to be registered, nobody did, but if it meant a break from these dreams maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.
The only problem was that Takahashi was having the dreams too. Not as vividly, to be certain - You mean the eyes wake you up? Really? No, I just remember it when I wake later - but somehow... The old adage 'a problem shared is a problem halved' failed to stand true: with each new dawn bringing tired glances across the breakfast table at an equally-tired Takahashi, the unsettled feeling in Yamamoto's chest only seemed to double. Anxiety about the registration. That's what it must be.
The Crown had invaded the city of Grovir five years ago, and despite the violent beginning the occupation had been relatively undisturbed ever since. Registration had begun shortly after, once Grovir was divided into its six wards, and the sixth and final ward to undergo registration was their own. Yamamoto couldn't tell whether or not he was thankful for the inevitable delays caused by endless bureaucratic red tape. At first the stories had seemed too horrifying to be true, and people had rushed to the sixth ward in the hopes that the scheme would end before things reached there - and so the Crown had sealed off inter-ward movement and placed the whole of Grovir under lockdown. Now, four years later, the sixth ward was facing worse overcrowding than it had ever seen and Yamamoto was almost looking forward to registration. At least they'd get allocated somewhere where there'd be enough room to sleep, enough food to eat. Besides, once he was registered he wouldn't be able to care particularly anyway. Yeah, maybe it wouldn't be too bad.
Maybe.
...He didn't buy it.
“Oi,” Takahashi reached out with one booted foot and nudged Yamamoto in the shin, not hard enough to be a proper kick but firmly enough to snap him out of his daze. “You still conscious over there? It's nearly twelve, time to head out to the foodplatz.”
“Mm,” Yamamoto blinked and gave a thin smile, shuffling back on the cold roof tiles and tucking his feet up underneath him so that he could stand. “Ready when you are.”
No sooner had he spoken than a wave of dizziness hit Yamamoto, and jumbled images hit him in a single flash: petals on a wet branch; rain; bridge; house; fire; eyes and he gasped, staggering and reaching out instinctively as he veered toward the edge of the roof.
Takahashi reached out and grabbed him, hauling him back with his own bodyweight and sending them both stumbling back across the tiles.
“What the hell, be careful!” Takahashi scolded, fear tinging his voice with anger. “Don't stand up so fast. You know hunger makes people light-headed.”
Yamamoto shook his head, hands clasping reflexively around Takahashi's forearms as his mind cleared. “No,” he said, voice sounding strangely distant to his ears. “No, it wasn't that. It was that dream.” He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and opened them again, trying to chase away the foggy feeling in his mind. “It came back.” He frowned; hadn't they previously always dreamed that together? “You didn't see it too?”
Takahashi gave him a long, concerned look. “No,” he said slowly as he shook his head. “No, I didn't. Generally seeing things that aren't real while you're still awake isn't normal, Ryota.”
Yamamoto dropped the subject and began the descent from the rooftop, clinging to the drainpipe as he slid down to balance atop a brick wall along which he walked before dropping back down onto the street. They weren't far from the foodplatz, it was true, but the square was always crowded past the point of comfort at this time of day, and unless he and Takahashi made their way there quickly all hope of securing a bite to eat that day would be lost.
A thud of booted feet on paving slabs announced Takahashi's arrival on the street behind him. Yamamoto glanced over his shoulder to see Takahashi nod, and then they were off: shoving into the crowd of people hurrying to the foodplatz, they weaved through the mass of pedestrians and dodged around the wooden carts pushed by tired labourers. Nobody else had the energy to move at such speed and if they were completely honest neither did the boys, but even the prospect of real bread or maybe even a bowl of soup was fuel enough for their dash. As they reached the foodplatz itself their pace was forcibly slowed; the crowd was too dense for even the most determined person to wriggle through. Yamamoto turned to glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, Takahashi was close behind him, cheeks flushed pink from the run in the cold but his tired eyes bright, sharp. If they stood on their tiptoes the boys could see the great stone arch over the foodplatz entrance just twenty yards away; they'd done really well today. Things looked promising.
“It's 'cause half the ward ain't bothered to come today,” a woman said beside them, her skin sagging and wrinkling before its time. Silver threads streaked through her hair, and the corners of her eyes twisted downwards in perpetual tiredness. “They've all gone to Memory Time instead.”
Yamamoto smiled politely but didn't respond. He didn't want to talk about drugs; they got enough of that talk back at the house and he was sick of it. Besides, that wasn't why he and Takahashi had come here. The crowd began to move around them, slowly pushing forward in a solid mass that left the boys no choice but to move as well, using the steady momentum to propel them along.
A man crushed behind them did respond, however, his voice loud in Yamamoto's ear as he addressed the woman to their immediate right.
“Is it any wonder?” he said, accidentally kicking the back of Yamamoto's heel as they shuffled forward. “Remin's cheaper than bread these days, and a damn sight more rewarding.”
At more rewarding Yamamoto heard Takahashi cough back a scathing laugh, and he turned to glance over his shoulder, catching Takahashi's eye with a warning. It was best to keep quiet as much as possible, they both knew. Too many fights had broken out in and around the foodplatz over the last few months as tension mounted higher than it had been since the first days of the occupation, and neither of them wanted to be involved in a scuffle on the day of registration itself; if the Crown had to get involved to break them up it wouldn't bode well for their lives post-registry.
As they were pushed forward Yamamoto took a moment to quietly think; there wasn't much else he could do, beyond concentrate on breathing among the crush of bodies. He wondered, if he and Takahashi hadn't witnessed a man blitz his brain straight to Memory Time on his first tab of remin, would they have succumbed to the drug themselves by now? When remin had first hit the streets four or five years back it had been pricey, well beyond the means of most people; a single small sheet went for thousands. However, unlike absolutely everything else in their ward, when the Crown had placed Grovir under lockdown the cost of remin had dropped sharply. These days it was far more common for Grovirians to take hits and wrap themselves in their happiest memories than bother with the cold, grey streets of a city that was no longer truly home.
He hadn't known the potency of the remin he'd taken, that man, Yamamoto knew. All the same, the memory of how his eyes had rolled back in his head and his body had slumped, the trail of drool that had dribbled from his slack mouth before the sodden blotter tab followed, and the way he wasted away in a pool of his own filth before a Crown monitor had done him the kindness of blowing his brains out... Yamamoto knew he would never, ever forget that. He shuddered, then ducked his head in apology as the middle-aged woman next to him glanced across sharply.
“Not gonna pass out on us, are ya?” she asked. “You look a bit peaky.” Her voice was sharp and hoarse; it reminded Yamamoto of a crow.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I'm fine, thanks.”
“Not that it'd make much difference either way,” said the man behind them. “I've known people crushed to death waiting to get to the foodplatz and we only found out when they fell down when it was their turn in line. Held upright all the way, poor sods.”
“Yeah, well,” the woman said. Caw, caw. “That's just how it is, ain't it.”
They were almost at the stone arch now, and as the crowd squeezed through and finally made their way into the square itself, the crush lessened and they were all able to breathe a little easier. Now began the task of queueing; there would be another hour at least before they made it to the front of the queue where the Crown monitors would be handing out bread rolls and what remained of the soup.
Then, the whispers began; a rustling that swelled to a rumble as words passed from one pair of lips to another: no food. No food?! No, no, it's registration. It's happening now.
Yamamoto turned, looking behind him to Takahashi, whose expression Yamamoto suspected mirrored his own. Now? As in, right now? A bubble of panic swelled inside him. Later, later. Not now. He wasn't ready. What if...? A hundred thoughts crashed into Yamamoto's head at once. What if the rumours were true? What if they were separated and placed in departments miles away from each other? What if they were converted to Crown monitors, with their human bodies and blank, featureless metal faces? What if they were sent below ground to provide fuel for Grovir by way of their deaths? Nausea slopped wetly through Yamamoto's gut and he swallowed hard. Takahashi looked slightly green.
"We'll be fine." Takahashi's words carried no confidence, but simply hearing him try to fake calmness stilled the riot inside Yamamoto's brain. Takahashi's eyes sought his own, brown pools of fear desperately seeking reassurance. "Won't we?"
Yamamoto nodded, reaching out to grab Takahashi's forearm. They gripped each other's arms so tightly that their knuckles whitened and their bones creaked. Yamamoto wondered if Takahashi was saying the same things he was, then chided himself for even doubting. Not 'goodbye'; they'd never say that. Simply, 'thank you'. Thank you for being my friend.
They queued. They had no alternative. As though waiting in line for food as before, the faceless Crown monitors shepherded the Grovinians into position; rows upon rows of civilians in the large, crowded square. Yamamoto and Takahashi stayed close together, in the same line toward the northernmost side of the square, a granite wall a few yards to their right. Next to the wall, an ancient cherry tree stretched its twisted branches skywards, the pink-and-white blossoms an incongruous breath of life in the iron and stone of Grovir. Yamamoto gave a thin smile; at least they'd see the cherry blossom before losing themselves in the registration.
It hit him with the shock of ice water, and Yamamaoto gasped, stumbled. Rain:bridge:house:fire:eyes and the Crown monitor closest to them turned its convex metal screen mutely toward them.
"Keep steady," Takahashi hissed behind him, gripping Yamamoto's shoulder tightly enough to hurt. "Don't let them think you're weak!"
"I'm fine," Yamamoto forced a grin as he struggled to bring his vision back into focus. "I just tripped." The Crown monitor moved back down the line.
Yamamoto spun on his heel. "The tree!" he whispered, eyes wide. "How did we miss it before? It's that one!"
Overhead, large clouds rolled against each other and grumbled to the land below. Takahashi looked across to the tree, then back.
"Yeah?" he said. "We see it all the time. Of course it makes sense that we'd dream of it too."
"No, it..."
"Ryota, stop grasping at straws!" Takahashi snapped, his voice cracking. "I don't want this any more than you do, but there's no escaping fact!"
Yamamoto turned back, biting the inside of his cheek to keep back a retort. He knew there was something he was missing. The tree, the rain, the wooden bridge... As he looked back at the tree one more time, a cherry blossom fell apart, its petals tumbling downwards.
Mid-fall, they stopped. Completely still. Yamamoto frowned.
They hung suspended in mid-air, motionless despite the wind that picked up and swirled about the square. It was then that Yamamoto realised there was no other noise; all talk, all the hubbub of registration suddenly ceased to exist. Yamamoto whirled around again. "Ryu?"
"Ryota, they're all..." Takahashi was staring to his left, eyes wide. Yamamoto followed his gaze then stumbled back in alarm; every single person in the square was frozen in place, a bizarre tableau on a massive scale. Takahashi's voice was faint; he seemed almost afraid to speak. "What's going on..."
A scuffle of movement by the cherry tree dragged their attention back, and the two boys turned just as a figure scrambled up over the wall and crouched on top of the grey stones, one hand reaching out to the tree to steady himself on its branches.
"Damn," the figure said, staring out across the square. "It really is just the two of you. I was convinced Maachin was wrong." He turned a sharp gaze on Yamamoto and Takahashi, focussed and unsmiling. "Come on, then. We've got less than a minute before the Crown catches on."
"What?" said Takahashi, but Yamamoto was already tugging him forward, toward the man on the wall.
"It's the dream!" Yamamoto said, using the tree to assist his climb before grasping at the stranger's outstretched hand. Atop the wall, he turned and reached down to Takahashi. "I told you!" He couldn't explain how, but he knew, he knew; they could trust the man beside him, with their lives if necessary.
The stranger glanced sideways, a suggestion of a smile crinkling in the corner of his eye. "You're a trusting kid, aren't you?" he said, raising his eyebrows with the question. Yamamoto felt his cheeks heat - could the stranger read his mind? No time for that; with Takahashi now on the wall the stranger jumped back down and glanced up at them.
"Get a move on, then. Or would you rather be registered?"
"Are you for real?" Takahashi asked, swinging his legs over the wall and dropping down to the street on the other side of the silent foodplatz.
"Very," the stranger replied. He glanced across as Yamamoto joined them, then bounced lightly on the balls of his feet as though impatient to get going. "We'll head north and make for the city walls. I'll explain as we go. C'mon."
They set off at a run, and moments later the square behind them burst into sound once more. Yamamoto's heart was in his throat as their feet pounded against the paving slabs; surely there would be a siren any moment now - a shout, an alarm, anything. The stranger ran quickly and the cold air burned in Yamamoto's lungs as he and Takahashi raced alongside.
“They're clearing the streets now,” the stranger said, turning down a street to their left. “Keep an eye out for monitors.”
“What happens if they find us?” Yamamoto risked a glance behind them, over his shoulder.
“Let me know as soon as you see 'em. Down here.” He led them down a flight of steps, kicking open the battered metal accordion gates into the old, disused subway. They made it twenty yards in before Takahashi gave a grunt of surprise and recoiled, almost causing Yamamoto to run straight into him. Thirty, forty people sat or lay sprawled in the corridor ahead of them, some moving listlessly and others not moving at all. Yamamoto risked a glance; the vacant stares, the slack jaws... It was all too familiar. These people were all lost in Memory Time, with no hope of return.
“Why did you have to bring us down here?” Takahashi whispered, his voice a loud hiss in the tiled corridor. “Couldn't we have gone another way?”
The stranger turned back, mouth twisted in a grimace. “I'm sorry,” he said. “It's the safest way out of the city. There's nothing we can do for them.”
“C'mon, Ryu,” Yamamoto said, squeezing Takahashi's arm and pushing past, carefully picking his way through the tangled sprawl of limbs on the floor. “This isn't a surprise to either of us, is it.”
“No,” Takahashi nodded, reluctantly moving again. “Just...”
“I know.” The stranger sought Takahashi's gaze and held it, sincerity shining in his face. “I know. I don't like it either. But we need to go now. Quickly.”
They made to set off again, when the clang of metal on metal reached their ears. Yamamoto turned around, and behind Takahashi he saw the metallic faces of Crown monitors reflecting the dull orange emergency lighting of the subway. “Crown!” he yelled, then, “Run!” He turned to sprint, stumbling over the outflung arm of a woman lost to remin before Yamamoto regained his balance and fled down the passage after the stranger, Takahashi on his heels.
It took him a moment to realise that the monitors were not following.
“Why aren't they chasing us?” he asked, words choked out between panted breaths as they ran.
“I held them up,” came the stranger's response, and Yamamoto looked back once more to see five metallic faces waiting motionless by the subway entrance.
“How did you...?”
“Don't slow down! It won't last long, and they move faster than we can. Down here.”
“Onto the tracks?” Takahashi stared at the stranger before following, half awed and half terrified. “We were always told they were still live.”
“They're not.” The stranger's voice echoed in the tunnel as he set off. “It's just to keep you off them. Hurry.”
“What's your name?” Yamamoto asked, dropping off the platform and hurrying into the tunnel.
“Crown!” Takahashi shouted, hearing the thud of heavy booted footsteps behind them. “Already?!”
The stranger grunted, spinning on his heel and flinging his hands out at the monitors behind them. Again, they stilled, and in the intermittent glow of the emergency lighting Yamamoto saw the stranger's face was dripping with sweat despite the cold.
“Faster,” he said, and his voice was tinged with pain. “There's still a way to go.”
“How much further?” Takahashi asked.
“Are you okay?” asked Yamamoto.
“Keep going,” came the snapped response. Hurriedly, the boys obeyed.
As they ran this time, Yamamoto glanced across at the stranger and in the dim orange glow he caught sight of a flash of metal. Jutting from his gloves near the knuckles were four long, thin blades, their edges sharp and wicked, like cats' claws.
“Are you gonna fight them?” he asked.
“I'll have to. They'll catch up soon. Keep away from their hands at all costs. I'll hold them off but if I'm caught, keep running north and follow the route you saw in the dreams. Got it?”
“But...” Yamamoto felt a lurch of fear in his stomach as the stranger slowed and came about, flexing his fingers before clenching his hands into fists. “There were five of them! Is there no way we can...”
“Go!” the stranger shouted, and as running footsteps echoed loudly in the tunnel Yamamoto felt Takahashi's hand on his shoulder, urging him away.
It was foolish, Yamamoto knew, but he couldn't run and leave their rescuer to an uncertain fate at the hands of the Crown. They had no weapons, but as the stranger squared his shoulders and stood ready in the orange glow he looked too small, too vulnerable to be sure of success.
The stranger exploded into movement at the first chance. Leaping into the air, he aimed a kick at the chest of the first monitor to approach, sending it sprawling backwards. Two more came at him at once, one from the left and the other from the right. In two sharp, vicious movements the stranger slashed at their metal faces, sparks flying as the cats-claw blades scored deep lines across the steel. The monitors spun away, leather-gloved hands reaching up to touch their damaged masks, staggering and shaking their heads as though suddenly too disorientated to focus.
One stumbling monitor veered toward where Yamamoto and Takahashi stood rooted to the spot. Yamamoto suddenly forgot how to move, how to breathe; the monitor should have seen them, should have been upon them in seconds. Instead, it tripped. Reaching out for the wall, the monitor slid down into a crouch, leather-encased hands clutching its scored face as it curled in on itself and stilled. Yamamoto exhaled, and looked up.
The remaining monitors were in similar situations, either staggering about or hunched over on the floor. The stranger kicked the last monitor away and winced when it crashed against the tunnel wall, damaging its metal visage further in the process. He turned back then, and saw the two boys standing wide-eyed a few paces from one of the hunched-over figures. To his horror, Yamamoto saw the stranger's face was now frighteningly pale and sweat soaked dark patches on his shirt.
“We're okay for a while now,” the stranger said, his voice a rasp. He didn't comment on the fact that they hadn't run as he'd instructed. “Hurry, now. They'll send reinforcements soon once they realise what's happened.”
“What has happened?” Takahashi asked, staring at the huddled shapes by the tracks. “They're not dead...?”
“No.” The stranger's voice was sharp, his gaze intense before he shook his head and relaxed a little, walking over to Yamamoto and Takahashi. He twisted the wristband of his gloves and the blades retracted once more. “No,” he said again. “I'd never deliberately kill a monitor, even one belonging to the Crown.” He glanced up at their surprise, then kept walking as he continued. “For one thing, they're fiendishly difficult to permanently disable. Those back there, once their faces have been filed and polished they'll be back in action, though that requires an Engineer's touch. But no,” he shook his head and coughed slightly. Yamamoto glanced at him in concern, but the stranger simply shook his head in a silent I'm fine. “The reason I'll never kill a monitor is because I still believe in what they once were.”
“Which was...?” Takahashi prompted.
The stranger gave him a quizzical look. “People, of course. Citizens of Grovir, like us.” He frowned at their stunned expressions. “You didn't know.”
“Grovir went into lockdown when I was just turning sixteen,” said Takahashi, somewhat defensive. “I wasn't big on politics back then.”
“I meant no harm,” said the stranger, holding up his hands in supplication. “I just forgot how long it's been. We got out just before the second ward went into registration, people weren't as afraid of talking back then.”
“Who's 'we'?” Yamamoto was desperate to know. “Who are you? How did you get to us?”
“Wait a moment,” the stranger said. From a pocket of his loose pants he pulled out a headset and fitted it around the back of his head, hooking the tiny speaker around his ear but leaving the attached microphone folded back. “We're nearly at the exit, look. I need to make sure it's clear out there before we break cover.”
Takahashi made an impatient noise but silenced as Yamamoto elbowed him lightly in the ribs. They wanted information desperately, it was true - but their safety at present was distinctly uncertain and their unknown rescuer had yet to let them down.
“Damn,” the man hissed, teeth gritted as he turned his face toward the grey light entering the tunnel ahead through the bars of the metal gates.
“What is it?” Yamamoto asked. “The Crown?”
The stranger gave a wry smile and rubbed at his forehead. “Don't know,” he admitted. “The rain's interfering with my sensors. I can't hear a thing.”
“Rain,” Takahashi said, disbelieving. “All this, and your sensors are ruined by a shower?”
“It's a little more than just a shower,” the man said, nodding to where water was already beginning to run into the tunnel, forming small puddles by the tracks. “Still, it'll screw with the Crown sensors as much as with mine. We can make a run for it and hope they don't see us, or that they miss. Are you game?”
Yamamoto eyed the stranger. In the clearer light from outside his face looked almost grey from exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes; he'd aged hears since they'd first seen him in the foodplatz a half-hour before. “Are you?” he said, concerned. “You don't look too good.”
“Thanks,” the man grinned, then shook his head. “It's okay. I'll pick up again once we get away from here. It drains you, this city. You'll feel better too, just wait.” He pulled the microphone into place, then shrugged his shoulders and took a deep breath. “C'mon then, guys. We'll head north, toward the river, and over the wooden bridge. You'll recognise it. There's likely to be an alarm as soon as we breach the gate - I didn't enter this way, I don't know for sure - and there may be gunfire, but there's only three of us so they probably won't bother. Don't stop running, no matter what happens. Got it?”
“Can't you do that thing where you freeze everyone until we're out of range?” Takahashi asked.
“Don't ask that, Ryu,” Yamamoto said. “Can't you see? Holding the monitors off before nearly wiped him out!”
“My resources are not limitless,” the stranger said. “But I will do everything within my power to get you safely out of here, I promise.” He made to move for the gates, but Yamamoto called him back.
“Wait!” he said, then paused. “I... I'm Yamamoto Ryota. This is Takahashi Ryu.”
The man stared at Yamamoto for a second, then softly smiled. “Yara Tomoyuki,” he said. “Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.”
“Yara-san,” Yamamoto said, then gave a short bow. “Thank you for coming to save us.”
Yara grinned. “You aren't safe yet, Yamamoto-kun,” he said, then kicked the metal gates open.
The rain was falling so heavily that they almost didn't hear the wail of sirens that started once the gates were kicked back and the trio left the old train tunnel. The tracks in front of them were obscured by a mist of rebounded rain droplets, and as they looked northwards they could see large, unwelcoming expanses of mud. Puddles were spreading out across the fields, and Yamamoto grimaced.
“Well, this is going to be fun,” Yara said with a resigned sigh. Then, “Move!”
They were off.
Yamamoto almost tripped and fell straight away, unprepared for how the mud would drag at his feet and try to steal his battered old boots from his feet. Then Yara was there beside him, one hand on Yamamoto's elbow, urging him on. Behind them the great grey walls of Grovir loomed, and from the watchtowers the cat-like yowl of sirens blared across the sixth ward.
The rain stung as it pelted down, pricking at Yamamoto's skin like hundreds of needles. The force made him gasp, and his breath caught in his throat.
“Move!” Yara yelled again, his voice a hoarse shout above the rain. “Come on, Takahashi!” He left Yamamoto's side then, heading toward the other boy, and Yamamoto gritted his teeth and pushed onwards. The bridge was there, he knew it was - he couldn't see it for the rain and for his drenched hair which fell into his eyes, but he knew the bridge was there, not too far away.
Gunshots cracked through the air louder than the falling rain, and to his left the mud splattered as the bullet hit. Yamamoto heard Yara yell keep going! so he did, legs screaming as he dragged himself through the glutinous mud, rain whipping at his skin and cold air burning in his lungs. Keep going. Keep going.
More shots fired, and the rain stopped.
The droplets froze mid-air and Yamamoto stumbled, falling forward in shock. He hit the mud hard, grunting as he scrambled to get up and turn back to find the others.
“Don't stop, you moron,” Takahashi said, struggling to drag a blue-lipped Yara forward.
“I can't hold it long,” Yara rasped, one arm flung around Takahashi's shoulders. “Move it, already.”
“Help me,” Takahashi panted, and Yamamoto pushed through the mud to where they stood, slinging Yara's other arm around his shoulders. He glanced across to Takahashi and nodded. Stumbling together, they broke into a run.
The rain started again as soon as they reached the footbridge, catching them off-guard. It slammed down with a force that knocked all three off their feet and, with a yell, Yamamoto found himself sliding down the riverbank toward the rock-filled water below.
He was pulled up short with a sharp wrench that made him cry out in pain, and Yamamoto looked up. With one hand clinging white-knuckled to the wooden pillar supporting the bridge, Yara had grabbed at the material of Yamamoto's shirt, halting his plunge into the river. Yamamoto was choking. Kicking out with one leg, Yamamoto rolled onto his front and reached up to cling onto Yara's outstretched arm. The rain was hammering onto his face; Yamamoto could neither see nor hear, only cling to Yara's arm and blindly follow as Yara led him back up the slippery riverbank.
They finally made it onto the bridge. Yamamoto felt the slippery wood underfoot and opened his eyes, rubbing water from his face only for it to run into his eyes again. Yara looked half dead. From the way Takahashi looked at him, Yamamoto suspected he didn't look too well either. He flashed Takahashi a quick grin, teeth bright in his muddy face. “Not dead yet!” he yelled over the drum of rain on the wood, and despite his weariness and the greyish hue of his skin, Yara laughed.
“I like you, kid,” he said, giving Yamamoto's shoulder a squeeze. “You'll fit in well at Todburn.” He nodded ahead, to a small wooden hut atop a hill half a mile away. “We're aiming for that place.”
“Won't they catch us there?” Takahashi asked, turning to look anxiously over his shoulder to the city they had just left. “It's so close...”
“It's shielded,” was Yara's reply. He coughed, and his knees buckled. Yamamoto instinctively reached out to support him, and as Yara nodded his thanks Yamamoto looked up.
“The rain's easing up,” he said.
/end part 1/
R for mature themes (probably. There are drugs.); AU!!; Yamamoto Ryota, Takahashi Ryu, etc.
For myxstorie - happy friendiversary, cakeface 8D This is a working title and the story itself is unfinished; as the title suggests this is the first part and there will be two more instalments to arrive at a later date. I wasn't going to post this today but then I changed my mind 8D Thanks to kuro-chin and crazy_otaku911 ♥ Unbetad, please point out any typos, etc. 8D;;
EDIT: since Ryu had a significant role in this fic and he is no longer in Johnnys, I have no intention of carrying on this fic at present. This may change depending on how able I feel to write him again, but for the time being... :( I'm sad, because obviously I like Ryu very much, but... it feels too uncomfortable to be writing somebody I know I'm never going to see on-stage again. Sorry. I'm probably more sad about this than you are, since I really like this AU. *sigh*
/part 1/
The dreams came more often than not, now, and always in the same way. They were tangled, scattered, chaotic; a jumble of fragmented images that flickered before fading. White petals on a wet tree branch; a terrifying downpour of rain as hard as needles; a wooden bridge across a rock-strewn riverbed; a dark, empty house on a windswept hilltop; a fire with smoke that bewildered; a pair of eyes that knew, that could see, and then with the speed of a whip-crack he would wake and feel the sudden looming weight of reality, and his heart would thud in his chest and his breathing would sound loud and harsh in the heavy stillness of the room where his comrades still lay sleeping.
At first Yamamoto had thought it was just odd. Then, as the dream repeated later in the week, it was slightly more strange. Then again, and again, and now it was more uncommon to have a night that didn't culminate in the sudden shock awakening from the intensity of that knowing gaze. He wondered what it meant, if anything. Most likely it was just lingering anxiety about the upcoming registration with the Crown. Still, it was hard to shake, and registration was still a few days away. Yamamoto shook his head. He didn't want to be registered, nobody did, but if it meant a break from these dreams maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.
The only problem was that Takahashi was having the dreams too. Not as vividly, to be certain - You mean the eyes wake you up? Really? No, I just remember it when I wake later - but somehow... The old adage 'a problem shared is a problem halved' failed to stand true: with each new dawn bringing tired glances across the breakfast table at an equally-tired Takahashi, the unsettled feeling in Yamamoto's chest only seemed to double. Anxiety about the registration. That's what it must be.
The Crown had invaded the city of Grovir five years ago, and despite the violent beginning the occupation had been relatively undisturbed ever since. Registration had begun shortly after, once Grovir was divided into its six wards, and the sixth and final ward to undergo registration was their own. Yamamoto couldn't tell whether or not he was thankful for the inevitable delays caused by endless bureaucratic red tape. At first the stories had seemed too horrifying to be true, and people had rushed to the sixth ward in the hopes that the scheme would end before things reached there - and so the Crown had sealed off inter-ward movement and placed the whole of Grovir under lockdown. Now, four years later, the sixth ward was facing worse overcrowding than it had ever seen and Yamamoto was almost looking forward to registration. At least they'd get allocated somewhere where there'd be enough room to sleep, enough food to eat. Besides, once he was registered he wouldn't be able to care particularly anyway. Yeah, maybe it wouldn't be too bad.
Maybe.
...He didn't buy it.
“Oi,” Takahashi reached out with one booted foot and nudged Yamamoto in the shin, not hard enough to be a proper kick but firmly enough to snap him out of his daze. “You still conscious over there? It's nearly twelve, time to head out to the foodplatz.”
“Mm,” Yamamoto blinked and gave a thin smile, shuffling back on the cold roof tiles and tucking his feet up underneath him so that he could stand. “Ready when you are.”
No sooner had he spoken than a wave of dizziness hit Yamamoto, and jumbled images hit him in a single flash: petals on a wet branch; rain; bridge; house; fire; eyes and he gasped, staggering and reaching out instinctively as he veered toward the edge of the roof.
Takahashi reached out and grabbed him, hauling him back with his own bodyweight and sending them both stumbling back across the tiles.
“What the hell, be careful!” Takahashi scolded, fear tinging his voice with anger. “Don't stand up so fast. You know hunger makes people light-headed.”
Yamamoto shook his head, hands clasping reflexively around Takahashi's forearms as his mind cleared. “No,” he said, voice sounding strangely distant to his ears. “No, it wasn't that. It was that dream.” He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and opened them again, trying to chase away the foggy feeling in his mind. “It came back.” He frowned; hadn't they previously always dreamed that together? “You didn't see it too?”
Takahashi gave him a long, concerned look. “No,” he said slowly as he shook his head. “No, I didn't. Generally seeing things that aren't real while you're still awake isn't normal, Ryota.”
Yamamoto dropped the subject and began the descent from the rooftop, clinging to the drainpipe as he slid down to balance atop a brick wall along which he walked before dropping back down onto the street. They weren't far from the foodplatz, it was true, but the square was always crowded past the point of comfort at this time of day, and unless he and Takahashi made their way there quickly all hope of securing a bite to eat that day would be lost.
A thud of booted feet on paving slabs announced Takahashi's arrival on the street behind him. Yamamoto glanced over his shoulder to see Takahashi nod, and then they were off: shoving into the crowd of people hurrying to the foodplatz, they weaved through the mass of pedestrians and dodged around the wooden carts pushed by tired labourers. Nobody else had the energy to move at such speed and if they were completely honest neither did the boys, but even the prospect of real bread or maybe even a bowl of soup was fuel enough for their dash. As they reached the foodplatz itself their pace was forcibly slowed; the crowd was too dense for even the most determined person to wriggle through. Yamamoto turned to glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, Takahashi was close behind him, cheeks flushed pink from the run in the cold but his tired eyes bright, sharp. If they stood on their tiptoes the boys could see the great stone arch over the foodplatz entrance just twenty yards away; they'd done really well today. Things looked promising.
“It's 'cause half the ward ain't bothered to come today,” a woman said beside them, her skin sagging and wrinkling before its time. Silver threads streaked through her hair, and the corners of her eyes twisted downwards in perpetual tiredness. “They've all gone to Memory Time instead.”
Yamamoto smiled politely but didn't respond. He didn't want to talk about drugs; they got enough of that talk back at the house and he was sick of it. Besides, that wasn't why he and Takahashi had come here. The crowd began to move around them, slowly pushing forward in a solid mass that left the boys no choice but to move as well, using the steady momentum to propel them along.
A man crushed behind them did respond, however, his voice loud in Yamamoto's ear as he addressed the woman to their immediate right.
“Is it any wonder?” he said, accidentally kicking the back of Yamamoto's heel as they shuffled forward. “Remin's cheaper than bread these days, and a damn sight more rewarding.”
At more rewarding Yamamoto heard Takahashi cough back a scathing laugh, and he turned to glance over his shoulder, catching Takahashi's eye with a warning. It was best to keep quiet as much as possible, they both knew. Too many fights had broken out in and around the foodplatz over the last few months as tension mounted higher than it had been since the first days of the occupation, and neither of them wanted to be involved in a scuffle on the day of registration itself; if the Crown had to get involved to break them up it wouldn't bode well for their lives post-registry.
As they were pushed forward Yamamoto took a moment to quietly think; there wasn't much else he could do, beyond concentrate on breathing among the crush of bodies. He wondered, if he and Takahashi hadn't witnessed a man blitz his brain straight to Memory Time on his first tab of remin, would they have succumbed to the drug themselves by now? When remin had first hit the streets four or five years back it had been pricey, well beyond the means of most people; a single small sheet went for thousands. However, unlike absolutely everything else in their ward, when the Crown had placed Grovir under lockdown the cost of remin had dropped sharply. These days it was far more common for Grovirians to take hits and wrap themselves in their happiest memories than bother with the cold, grey streets of a city that was no longer truly home.
He hadn't known the potency of the remin he'd taken, that man, Yamamoto knew. All the same, the memory of how his eyes had rolled back in his head and his body had slumped, the trail of drool that had dribbled from his slack mouth before the sodden blotter tab followed, and the way he wasted away in a pool of his own filth before a Crown monitor had done him the kindness of blowing his brains out... Yamamoto knew he would never, ever forget that. He shuddered, then ducked his head in apology as the middle-aged woman next to him glanced across sharply.
“Not gonna pass out on us, are ya?” she asked. “You look a bit peaky.” Her voice was sharp and hoarse; it reminded Yamamoto of a crow.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I'm fine, thanks.”
“Not that it'd make much difference either way,” said the man behind them. “I've known people crushed to death waiting to get to the foodplatz and we only found out when they fell down when it was their turn in line. Held upright all the way, poor sods.”
“Yeah, well,” the woman said. Caw, caw. “That's just how it is, ain't it.”
They were almost at the stone arch now, and as the crowd squeezed through and finally made their way into the square itself, the crush lessened and they were all able to breathe a little easier. Now began the task of queueing; there would be another hour at least before they made it to the front of the queue where the Crown monitors would be handing out bread rolls and what remained of the soup.
Then, the whispers began; a rustling that swelled to a rumble as words passed from one pair of lips to another: no food. No food?! No, no, it's registration. It's happening now.
Yamamoto turned, looking behind him to Takahashi, whose expression Yamamoto suspected mirrored his own. Now? As in, right now? A bubble of panic swelled inside him. Later, later. Not now. He wasn't ready. What if...? A hundred thoughts crashed into Yamamoto's head at once. What if the rumours were true? What if they were separated and placed in departments miles away from each other? What if they were converted to Crown monitors, with their human bodies and blank, featureless metal faces? What if they were sent below ground to provide fuel for Grovir by way of their deaths? Nausea slopped wetly through Yamamoto's gut and he swallowed hard. Takahashi looked slightly green.
"We'll be fine." Takahashi's words carried no confidence, but simply hearing him try to fake calmness stilled the riot inside Yamamoto's brain. Takahashi's eyes sought his own, brown pools of fear desperately seeking reassurance. "Won't we?"
Yamamoto nodded, reaching out to grab Takahashi's forearm. They gripped each other's arms so tightly that their knuckles whitened and their bones creaked. Yamamoto wondered if Takahashi was saying the same things he was, then chided himself for even doubting. Not 'goodbye'; they'd never say that. Simply, 'thank you'. Thank you for being my friend.
They queued. They had no alternative. As though waiting in line for food as before, the faceless Crown monitors shepherded the Grovinians into position; rows upon rows of civilians in the large, crowded square. Yamamoto and Takahashi stayed close together, in the same line toward the northernmost side of the square, a granite wall a few yards to their right. Next to the wall, an ancient cherry tree stretched its twisted branches skywards, the pink-and-white blossoms an incongruous breath of life in the iron and stone of Grovir. Yamamoto gave a thin smile; at least they'd see the cherry blossom before losing themselves in the registration.
It hit him with the shock of ice water, and Yamamaoto gasped, stumbled. Rain:bridge:house:fire:eyes and the Crown monitor closest to them turned its convex metal screen mutely toward them.
"Keep steady," Takahashi hissed behind him, gripping Yamamoto's shoulder tightly enough to hurt. "Don't let them think you're weak!"
"I'm fine," Yamamoto forced a grin as he struggled to bring his vision back into focus. "I just tripped." The Crown monitor moved back down the line.
Yamamoto spun on his heel. "The tree!" he whispered, eyes wide. "How did we miss it before? It's that one!"
Overhead, large clouds rolled against each other and grumbled to the land below. Takahashi looked across to the tree, then back.
"Yeah?" he said. "We see it all the time. Of course it makes sense that we'd dream of it too."
"No, it..."
"Ryota, stop grasping at straws!" Takahashi snapped, his voice cracking. "I don't want this any more than you do, but there's no escaping fact!"
Yamamoto turned back, biting the inside of his cheek to keep back a retort. He knew there was something he was missing. The tree, the rain, the wooden bridge... As he looked back at the tree one more time, a cherry blossom fell apart, its petals tumbling downwards.
Mid-fall, they stopped. Completely still. Yamamoto frowned.
They hung suspended in mid-air, motionless despite the wind that picked up and swirled about the square. It was then that Yamamoto realised there was no other noise; all talk, all the hubbub of registration suddenly ceased to exist. Yamamoto whirled around again. "Ryu?"
"Ryota, they're all..." Takahashi was staring to his left, eyes wide. Yamamoto followed his gaze then stumbled back in alarm; every single person in the square was frozen in place, a bizarre tableau on a massive scale. Takahashi's voice was faint; he seemed almost afraid to speak. "What's going on..."
A scuffle of movement by the cherry tree dragged their attention back, and the two boys turned just as a figure scrambled up over the wall and crouched on top of the grey stones, one hand reaching out to the tree to steady himself on its branches.
"Damn," the figure said, staring out across the square. "It really is just the two of you. I was convinced Maachin was wrong." He turned a sharp gaze on Yamamoto and Takahashi, focussed and unsmiling. "Come on, then. We've got less than a minute before the Crown catches on."
"What?" said Takahashi, but Yamamoto was already tugging him forward, toward the man on the wall.
"It's the dream!" Yamamoto said, using the tree to assist his climb before grasping at the stranger's outstretched hand. Atop the wall, he turned and reached down to Takahashi. "I told you!" He couldn't explain how, but he knew, he knew; they could trust the man beside him, with their lives if necessary.
The stranger glanced sideways, a suggestion of a smile crinkling in the corner of his eye. "You're a trusting kid, aren't you?" he said, raising his eyebrows with the question. Yamamoto felt his cheeks heat - could the stranger read his mind? No time for that; with Takahashi now on the wall the stranger jumped back down and glanced up at them.
"Get a move on, then. Or would you rather be registered?"
"Are you for real?" Takahashi asked, swinging his legs over the wall and dropping down to the street on the other side of the silent foodplatz.
"Very," the stranger replied. He glanced across as Yamamoto joined them, then bounced lightly on the balls of his feet as though impatient to get going. "We'll head north and make for the city walls. I'll explain as we go. C'mon."
They set off at a run, and moments later the square behind them burst into sound once more. Yamamoto's heart was in his throat as their feet pounded against the paving slabs; surely there would be a siren any moment now - a shout, an alarm, anything. The stranger ran quickly and the cold air burned in Yamamoto's lungs as he and Takahashi raced alongside.
“They're clearing the streets now,” the stranger said, turning down a street to their left. “Keep an eye out for monitors.”
“What happens if they find us?” Yamamoto risked a glance behind them, over his shoulder.
“Let me know as soon as you see 'em. Down here.” He led them down a flight of steps, kicking open the battered metal accordion gates into the old, disused subway. They made it twenty yards in before Takahashi gave a grunt of surprise and recoiled, almost causing Yamamoto to run straight into him. Thirty, forty people sat or lay sprawled in the corridor ahead of them, some moving listlessly and others not moving at all. Yamamoto risked a glance; the vacant stares, the slack jaws... It was all too familiar. These people were all lost in Memory Time, with no hope of return.
“Why did you have to bring us down here?” Takahashi whispered, his voice a loud hiss in the tiled corridor. “Couldn't we have gone another way?”
The stranger turned back, mouth twisted in a grimace. “I'm sorry,” he said. “It's the safest way out of the city. There's nothing we can do for them.”
“C'mon, Ryu,” Yamamoto said, squeezing Takahashi's arm and pushing past, carefully picking his way through the tangled sprawl of limbs on the floor. “This isn't a surprise to either of us, is it.”
“No,” Takahashi nodded, reluctantly moving again. “Just...”
“I know.” The stranger sought Takahashi's gaze and held it, sincerity shining in his face. “I know. I don't like it either. But we need to go now. Quickly.”
They made to set off again, when the clang of metal on metal reached their ears. Yamamoto turned around, and behind Takahashi he saw the metallic faces of Crown monitors reflecting the dull orange emergency lighting of the subway. “Crown!” he yelled, then, “Run!” He turned to sprint, stumbling over the outflung arm of a woman lost to remin before Yamamoto regained his balance and fled down the passage after the stranger, Takahashi on his heels.
It took him a moment to realise that the monitors were not following.
“Why aren't they chasing us?” he asked, words choked out between panted breaths as they ran.
“I held them up,” came the stranger's response, and Yamamoto looked back once more to see five metallic faces waiting motionless by the subway entrance.
“How did you...?”
“Don't slow down! It won't last long, and they move faster than we can. Down here.”
“Onto the tracks?” Takahashi stared at the stranger before following, half awed and half terrified. “We were always told they were still live.”
“They're not.” The stranger's voice echoed in the tunnel as he set off. “It's just to keep you off them. Hurry.”
“What's your name?” Yamamoto asked, dropping off the platform and hurrying into the tunnel.
“Crown!” Takahashi shouted, hearing the thud of heavy booted footsteps behind them. “Already?!”
The stranger grunted, spinning on his heel and flinging his hands out at the monitors behind them. Again, they stilled, and in the intermittent glow of the emergency lighting Yamamoto saw the stranger's face was dripping with sweat despite the cold.
“Faster,” he said, and his voice was tinged with pain. “There's still a way to go.”
“How much further?” Takahashi asked.
“Are you okay?” asked Yamamoto.
“Keep going,” came the snapped response. Hurriedly, the boys obeyed.
As they ran this time, Yamamoto glanced across at the stranger and in the dim orange glow he caught sight of a flash of metal. Jutting from his gloves near the knuckles were four long, thin blades, their edges sharp and wicked, like cats' claws.
“Are you gonna fight them?” he asked.
“I'll have to. They'll catch up soon. Keep away from their hands at all costs. I'll hold them off but if I'm caught, keep running north and follow the route you saw in the dreams. Got it?”
“But...” Yamamoto felt a lurch of fear in his stomach as the stranger slowed and came about, flexing his fingers before clenching his hands into fists. “There were five of them! Is there no way we can...”
“Go!” the stranger shouted, and as running footsteps echoed loudly in the tunnel Yamamoto felt Takahashi's hand on his shoulder, urging him away.
It was foolish, Yamamoto knew, but he couldn't run and leave their rescuer to an uncertain fate at the hands of the Crown. They had no weapons, but as the stranger squared his shoulders and stood ready in the orange glow he looked too small, too vulnerable to be sure of success.
The stranger exploded into movement at the first chance. Leaping into the air, he aimed a kick at the chest of the first monitor to approach, sending it sprawling backwards. Two more came at him at once, one from the left and the other from the right. In two sharp, vicious movements the stranger slashed at their metal faces, sparks flying as the cats-claw blades scored deep lines across the steel. The monitors spun away, leather-gloved hands reaching up to touch their damaged masks, staggering and shaking their heads as though suddenly too disorientated to focus.
One stumbling monitor veered toward where Yamamoto and Takahashi stood rooted to the spot. Yamamoto suddenly forgot how to move, how to breathe; the monitor should have seen them, should have been upon them in seconds. Instead, it tripped. Reaching out for the wall, the monitor slid down into a crouch, leather-encased hands clutching its scored face as it curled in on itself and stilled. Yamamoto exhaled, and looked up.
The remaining monitors were in similar situations, either staggering about or hunched over on the floor. The stranger kicked the last monitor away and winced when it crashed against the tunnel wall, damaging its metal visage further in the process. He turned back then, and saw the two boys standing wide-eyed a few paces from one of the hunched-over figures. To his horror, Yamamoto saw the stranger's face was now frighteningly pale and sweat soaked dark patches on his shirt.
“We're okay for a while now,” the stranger said, his voice a rasp. He didn't comment on the fact that they hadn't run as he'd instructed. “Hurry, now. They'll send reinforcements soon once they realise what's happened.”
“What has happened?” Takahashi asked, staring at the huddled shapes by the tracks. “They're not dead...?”
“No.” The stranger's voice was sharp, his gaze intense before he shook his head and relaxed a little, walking over to Yamamoto and Takahashi. He twisted the wristband of his gloves and the blades retracted once more. “No,” he said again. “I'd never deliberately kill a monitor, even one belonging to the Crown.” He glanced up at their surprise, then kept walking as he continued. “For one thing, they're fiendishly difficult to permanently disable. Those back there, once their faces have been filed and polished they'll be back in action, though that requires an Engineer's touch. But no,” he shook his head and coughed slightly. Yamamoto glanced at him in concern, but the stranger simply shook his head in a silent I'm fine. “The reason I'll never kill a monitor is because I still believe in what they once were.”
“Which was...?” Takahashi prompted.
The stranger gave him a quizzical look. “People, of course. Citizens of Grovir, like us.” He frowned at their stunned expressions. “You didn't know.”
“Grovir went into lockdown when I was just turning sixteen,” said Takahashi, somewhat defensive. “I wasn't big on politics back then.”
“I meant no harm,” said the stranger, holding up his hands in supplication. “I just forgot how long it's been. We got out just before the second ward went into registration, people weren't as afraid of talking back then.”
“Who's 'we'?” Yamamoto was desperate to know. “Who are you? How did you get to us?”
“Wait a moment,” the stranger said. From a pocket of his loose pants he pulled out a headset and fitted it around the back of his head, hooking the tiny speaker around his ear but leaving the attached microphone folded back. “We're nearly at the exit, look. I need to make sure it's clear out there before we break cover.”
Takahashi made an impatient noise but silenced as Yamamoto elbowed him lightly in the ribs. They wanted information desperately, it was true - but their safety at present was distinctly uncertain and their unknown rescuer had yet to let them down.
“Damn,” the man hissed, teeth gritted as he turned his face toward the grey light entering the tunnel ahead through the bars of the metal gates.
“What is it?” Yamamoto asked. “The Crown?”
The stranger gave a wry smile and rubbed at his forehead. “Don't know,” he admitted. “The rain's interfering with my sensors. I can't hear a thing.”
“Rain,” Takahashi said, disbelieving. “All this, and your sensors are ruined by a shower?”
“It's a little more than just a shower,” the man said, nodding to where water was already beginning to run into the tunnel, forming small puddles by the tracks. “Still, it'll screw with the Crown sensors as much as with mine. We can make a run for it and hope they don't see us, or that they miss. Are you game?”
Yamamoto eyed the stranger. In the clearer light from outside his face looked almost grey from exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes; he'd aged hears since they'd first seen him in the foodplatz a half-hour before. “Are you?” he said, concerned. “You don't look too good.”
“Thanks,” the man grinned, then shook his head. “It's okay. I'll pick up again once we get away from here. It drains you, this city. You'll feel better too, just wait.” He pulled the microphone into place, then shrugged his shoulders and took a deep breath. “C'mon then, guys. We'll head north, toward the river, and over the wooden bridge. You'll recognise it. There's likely to be an alarm as soon as we breach the gate - I didn't enter this way, I don't know for sure - and there may be gunfire, but there's only three of us so they probably won't bother. Don't stop running, no matter what happens. Got it?”
“Can't you do that thing where you freeze everyone until we're out of range?” Takahashi asked.
“Don't ask that, Ryu,” Yamamoto said. “Can't you see? Holding the monitors off before nearly wiped him out!”
“My resources are not limitless,” the stranger said. “But I will do everything within my power to get you safely out of here, I promise.” He made to move for the gates, but Yamamoto called him back.
“Wait!” he said, then paused. “I... I'm Yamamoto Ryota. This is Takahashi Ryu.”
The man stared at Yamamoto for a second, then softly smiled. “Yara Tomoyuki,” he said. “Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.”
“Yara-san,” Yamamoto said, then gave a short bow. “Thank you for coming to save us.”
Yara grinned. “You aren't safe yet, Yamamoto-kun,” he said, then kicked the metal gates open.
The rain was falling so heavily that they almost didn't hear the wail of sirens that started once the gates were kicked back and the trio left the old train tunnel. The tracks in front of them were obscured by a mist of rebounded rain droplets, and as they looked northwards they could see large, unwelcoming expanses of mud. Puddles were spreading out across the fields, and Yamamoto grimaced.
“Well, this is going to be fun,” Yara said with a resigned sigh. Then, “Move!”
They were off.
Yamamoto almost tripped and fell straight away, unprepared for how the mud would drag at his feet and try to steal his battered old boots from his feet. Then Yara was there beside him, one hand on Yamamoto's elbow, urging him on. Behind them the great grey walls of Grovir loomed, and from the watchtowers the cat-like yowl of sirens blared across the sixth ward.
The rain stung as it pelted down, pricking at Yamamoto's skin like hundreds of needles. The force made him gasp, and his breath caught in his throat.
“Move!” Yara yelled again, his voice a hoarse shout above the rain. “Come on, Takahashi!” He left Yamamoto's side then, heading toward the other boy, and Yamamoto gritted his teeth and pushed onwards. The bridge was there, he knew it was - he couldn't see it for the rain and for his drenched hair which fell into his eyes, but he knew the bridge was there, not too far away.
Gunshots cracked through the air louder than the falling rain, and to his left the mud splattered as the bullet hit. Yamamoto heard Yara yell keep going! so he did, legs screaming as he dragged himself through the glutinous mud, rain whipping at his skin and cold air burning in his lungs. Keep going. Keep going.
More shots fired, and the rain stopped.
The droplets froze mid-air and Yamamoto stumbled, falling forward in shock. He hit the mud hard, grunting as he scrambled to get up and turn back to find the others.
“Don't stop, you moron,” Takahashi said, struggling to drag a blue-lipped Yara forward.
“I can't hold it long,” Yara rasped, one arm flung around Takahashi's shoulders. “Move it, already.”
“Help me,” Takahashi panted, and Yamamoto pushed through the mud to where they stood, slinging Yara's other arm around his shoulders. He glanced across to Takahashi and nodded. Stumbling together, they broke into a run.
The rain started again as soon as they reached the footbridge, catching them off-guard. It slammed down with a force that knocked all three off their feet and, with a yell, Yamamoto found himself sliding down the riverbank toward the rock-filled water below.
He was pulled up short with a sharp wrench that made him cry out in pain, and Yamamoto looked up. With one hand clinging white-knuckled to the wooden pillar supporting the bridge, Yara had grabbed at the material of Yamamoto's shirt, halting his plunge into the river. Yamamoto was choking. Kicking out with one leg, Yamamoto rolled onto his front and reached up to cling onto Yara's outstretched arm. The rain was hammering onto his face; Yamamoto could neither see nor hear, only cling to Yara's arm and blindly follow as Yara led him back up the slippery riverbank.
They finally made it onto the bridge. Yamamoto felt the slippery wood underfoot and opened his eyes, rubbing water from his face only for it to run into his eyes again. Yara looked half dead. From the way Takahashi looked at him, Yamamoto suspected he didn't look too well either. He flashed Takahashi a quick grin, teeth bright in his muddy face. “Not dead yet!” he yelled over the drum of rain on the wood, and despite his weariness and the greyish hue of his skin, Yara laughed.
“I like you, kid,” he said, giving Yamamoto's shoulder a squeeze. “You'll fit in well at Todburn.” He nodded ahead, to a small wooden hut atop a hill half a mile away. “We're aiming for that place.”
“Won't they catch us there?” Takahashi asked, turning to look anxiously over his shoulder to the city they had just left. “It's so close...”
“It's shielded,” was Yara's reply. He coughed, and his knees buckled. Yamamoto instinctively reached out to support him, and as Yara nodded his thanks Yamamoto looked up.
“The rain's easing up,” he said.
/end part 1/