Residential District Streets, Dusk

  Ryota runs through the residential district, the crisp night air infiltrating his lungs as his heavy breath materializes as dissipating smoke.

  His lungs burn. His legs are shaking. His vision swims.

  He collapses behind a dumpster lying in an alleyway, hiding in the shadows to collect his breath.

  The smell of garbage and rotting food makes his stomach heave. He vomits. Once. Twice. Until there's nothing left but bile.

  When he's done, he slumps against the alley wall. His whole body is trembling.

  Ryota’s mind races. What did I do what did I do what did I—

  He looks down at his hands.

  Yui's blood. Dried under his fingernails. Crusted on his palms. His shirt is soaked with it. His jeans stiff with it.

  She touched my face. That was the last thing she did. Touched my face and told me to run, he thinks,

  the tears come suddenly. Violently. Great heaving sobs that shake his entire body.

  "I'm sorry," he gasps to no one. To his sister's ghost. To himself. "I'm so sorry, Yui. I tried, I but I wasn't fast enough, I should've known, I should've—"

  His hand brushes against something cold.

  The shotgun. He doesn't even remember grabbing it when he ran. It's just... here. In his hand. Like it belongs there now.

  One more shot. That's all it would take.

  He raises it slowly. The barrel is still warm. Presses it under his chin.

  I failed her, he assures himself. I killed Dad but I couldn't save her. What's the point? What's the point of any of this if she's—

  His finger finds the trigger.

  I'm sorry, Yui. I'll see you soon, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut.

  "That's a permanent solution to a temporary problem,” a voice calls from above.

  Ryota freezes.

  A cat sits on top of the dumpster. Black fur. Eyes that glow green in the darkness, luminous and unnatural.

  Watching him.

  "Am I..." Ryota's voice is wrecked from crying. "Am I hallucinating?"

  "Lost, are we?" The voice doesn't come from the cat's mouth. It's just... there. In the air. In Ryota’s head.

  Ryota laughs. It sounds broken. "I'm going insane. I'm sitting in an alley, covered in my sister's blood, talking to a cat. I've actually lost it.”

  "Perhaps." The cat hops down, landing silently on the ground. It sits, tail curling around its paws. "But crazy or not, you still need somewhere to go."

  "I don't need anywhere." Ryota's grip tightens on the gun. "I just need this to be over."

  "Your sister's last words were 'run,' weren't they?" The cat tilts its head. "Are you really going to waste her final gift?"

  Ryota's breath catches. "How do you—"

  "There's a boy," the cat continues, ignoring the question. "Nishihara. He lives not far from here. Good heart. Would help someone in need."

  "Nishihara... Niche?” Ryota questions.

  Ryota thinks.

  "Call it... an investment in future events." The cat stands, starting towards the alley exit. "Follow or don't. Your choice.”

  It pauses at the edge of the shadows. Looks back. "Though I'd suggest lowering the gun first. Your sister didn't die so you could throw away the chance she gave you."

  The words hit like a physical blow.

  Ryota lowers the gun. His whole body is shaking from everything.

  The cat is already walking away. Disappearing around the corner.

  This is insane. I'm following a talking cat. I've officially lost my mind, Ryota thinks.

  But he stands. Stumbles after the cat.

  Ryota thinks.

  Empty Residential District Streets

  The cat leads him through parts of the city he's never seen. Industrial zones. Abandoned buildings. Places where no one would notice a blood-covered teenager at night.

  "Where are we going?" Ryota asks. His voice sounds hollow.

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  "Taking the long way. Can't have you seen like that," the cat assures.

  Ryota looks down at himself.

  But as he watches, something impossible happens.

  The bloodstains start fading.

  Not washing away. Not flaking off. Just disappearing. Like they were never there. Like someone is hitting undo on reality itself.

  "What—" Ryota says shocked, scrubbing at his hands frantically. They come away clean. No dried blood. No evidence. "What's happening?!"

  "Can't have you showing up at someone's door covered in evidence," the cat says without turning around. Its voice is casual. "The blood never happened. The gunpowder residue never happened. As far as the world knows, you've been wandering the streets all day. Nothing more."

  Ryota stares at his hands. Clean. His shirt? Clean. His jeans? Clean.

  Like he never held a shotgun.

  Like he never pulled the trigger.

  Like he never cradled his sister while she bled out.

  "My sister's blood." Ryota says, his voice cracking. "You're erasing my sister's blood."

  The cat stops, turning to look at him with those impossible glowing eyes.

  For a moment, something like sympathy crosses its feline face.

  "I'm erasing what would get you arrested," it says quietly. "The memory stays. The pain stays. The guilt stays. But the evidence?" The cat's tail swishes once. "That disappears. Unless you'd prefer to explain to the police why you're covered in DNA from a crime scene? Explain it to your father's friends on the force?"

  Ryota opens his mouth. Nothing comes out, because the cat is right.

  he thinks.

  "The choice is yours," the cat says. "Keep the evidence and face whatever comes. Or let it go and have a chance at surviving this."

  "Fine,” Ryota agrees reluctantly. The word tastes like ash. "Make it disappear."

  The last of the blood fades from his clothes.

  Now he's just a kid running through empty streets looking lost.

  Not a murderer. Not someone whose entire world just collapsed.

  Just... a kid.

  "Better," the cat says, its pace consistent. "We're close now. When we arrive, you'll need to decide what to tell him."

  "Tell him what? That a magic cat led me here?"

  "That's one option. Unlikely to be believed." The cat's tail swishes in what might be amusement. "Or you could tell him the truth."

  "The truth?" Ryota almost laughs. "Which part? The part where I killed my father? The part where I couldn't save my sister? The part where I almost ate a bullet in an alley?"

  "The part where you need help," the cat says simply. "And you don't know where else to go."

  Ryota falls silent because that, at least, is true.

  The sky continues to darken. The world prepares for night. Then, a new day will start.

  A day where Yui doesn't exist anymore.

  How is the sun going to rise? Ryota thinks to himself. How is the world just going to keep going like nothing happened?

  But it will. The sun doesn't care that his sister is dead. The city doesn't care that he killed his father. Life just continues.

  With or without him.

  "We're here," the cat says, standing in front of a modest house, its tail swaying side-to-side.

  They stop in front of a modest house. Lights off. Quiet. Normal.

  "Wait—" Ryota takes a step forward. "Why are you helping me? What do you get out -”

  Before Ryota can finish, the cat is gone.

  Just... gone. Like it was never there.

  Ryota stands alone in front of the house.

  I should leave. This is insane, he thinks to himself. I should go…but where?

  His hand reaches for the gate. He hesitates.

  What if…I have to try, he tells himself. I have to at least try. Make up some excuse to get away from home. To recuperate. To get better and find a purpose for the future. A reason to keep living. I need to find – or make – one here at this house.

  Flashback, Downtown, Day 3

  Ryota tears apart, falling to the ground, his blood pooling.

  "Another sun bearer ally down," Mercury says.

  Few Hours Later

  After Niche defeated Mercury, cried over Ryota’s body, and was dragged away, what’s left of Ryota lies on the ground.

  He sits there for hours - unbeknownst to the public - until footsteps approach. Multiple people. Ryota's vision blurs.

  "This one's breathing," a woman says, her voice professional and cold.

  "Interesting. His body survived direct contact with reality tears." A man kneels beside him. "The readings are unusual."

  "Orders?"

  "Take him. Someone who can survive that might be useful."

  They lift Ryota onto a stretcher and take him into the back of a van.

  Medical Facility, One Hour Later

  Machines beep. Ryota drifts in and out of consciousness. Voices discuss him like he's not there.

  "Cellular reconstruction is remarkable. He's healing from wounds that should be fatal."

  "Useful. Very useful. Begin the conditioning when he's stable."

  Transport Plane, Days Later

  Ryota wakes strapped to a gurney. The woman from before sits across from him.

  "Welcome back. You died. We saved you. You work for us now."

  "Niche—"

  "Is no longer your concern. Your old life is over. Accept that, and your new one can begin."

  The plane flies toward mountains he doesn't recognize. Toward training. Toward transformation.

  Toward becoming someone else entirely.

  They call it orientation. Ryota calls it hell.

  ???

  Ryota fades out of consciousness again until he is transported to a room.

  This room looks welcoming, making Ryota feel a sense of familiarity as if he is in a decorated childhood home.

  Ryota lies down on a couch in what seems to be a living room.

  "Your name is Ryuga,” the only other person in that room says, holding a clipboard, looking over and down at the barely conscious Ryota. "Ryota is dead. When I say 'Ryota,' you don't respond."

  "My name is—"

  Electric shock. Ryota convulses.

  "Your name is Ryuga. Again."

  "How long have I been here?" Ryota asks.

  "Three months since intake," the man responds, his eyes steadily locked onto Ryota’s.

  "Three..." Ryota tries to remember. "But that was just..."

  "Memory distortion is normal.” The doctor makes notes. "You experienced death for approximately six hours before we stabilized you. Felt like days, I'm sure."

  "Six hours of dying,” Ryota repeats to himself.

  "Your friend has remarkable cruelty. Leaving you conscious but paralyzed. Most would have ended it." The doctor finally meets his eyes. "Lucky for us. Suffering creates the most malleable subjects."

  Ryota doesn't respond. Those six hours are burned into him. Every second of agony while Niche walked away. Three months of rebuilding can't erase that.

  "Tell me about your friends," the man, now identified by Ryota as some kind of psychologist, asks.

  "I... had friends. I think. But every second I stay awake, it's getting harder to remember faces."

  "Good. Attachments make you weak. What matters now?"

  “I’m…not sure. What does matter now?” Ryota asks the man.

  “Protecting your sister. That is the mission,” the man responds, his finger nearing the button.

  “Wait, wait. You don’t have to do that,” Ryota says, looking at the man’s hand. “I understand.”

  “That’s what you’ve said the past twenty times we’ve done this,” the man responds, his finger finally contacting with the button.

  Ryota convulses from the electric shock.

  “What matters now?” the man asks, remaining calm.

  "The mission. Protecting my sister," Ryota spits out between convulsions.

  The man releases the button. Ryota stops convulsing, but he is out of breath.

  "Which sister?" the man asks Ryota.

  Ryota pauses. Yui's dead face flashes in his mind.

  "The one who saved me," Ryota says finally.

  “Good,” the man says, putting down the button. “Now for the next stage.”