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Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
11:58p.m., the twenty-fourth of December. Something is very, very wrong.
The fog no longer minds its boundaries. Ever since that morning it failed to dissipate, it has congealed in the vacant streets below her apartment, pressing up against the panes of her window like dirty wool. But tonight it has gone farther, seeping through the vents, filling her lungs with every breath. She can just make out the outline of her front door, obscured in encroaching haze.
Naoto paces her front room, right hand hovering instinctively over her pistol, the other fumbling for the glasses she would have only used before inside the TV. She’s tested the theory before, had it confirmed by her own eyes, but every fiber of her being is still childishly desperate for it to be just another lie. And yet, through the lenses, the room is clear.
This is all wrong. There should still be time.
We still aren't strong enough.
Again and again they had plunged through the screen, fought their way through twisting corridors and wave after wave of Shadows. Each time, they were only able to make very slim progress before being forced to retreat, often having to carry each other back to the lot.
And whatever it was that had them ambling in circles through the mangled streets, whatever game he was playing that sent them back to the beginning whenever they couldn't quite outrun a Shadow—or worse, blocked them from exiting entirely and forcing them to press onward, running for their lives on too little strength—was also affecting their ability to heal. Spell after spell and the team still sported dark bruises, bloody noses and all manner of cuts and scrapes after tumbling out of the television. He ruled that chaos.
We need more time.
There’s a click to her left and Naoto whirls on reflex, eyes locking on the TV perched against the wall. She freezes as the screen flickers to life, crackling with static.
Without rain…?
Naoto has seen the Midnight Channel air before, but only on rainy nights. And each time, it had shown a single person filling the screen. A hazy silhouette or a bright-eyed, sneering Shadow.
But there’s no rain tonight. And likewise, no figure onscreen. Instead, the northern end of the shopping district shudders into view. She recognizes the shrine’s arching gate immediately, the textile shop huddled in the fog just beyond.
But why would the shopping district broadcast on the Midnight Channel? It didn't fit the pattern. She should confirm the situation with the others; she couldn't be the only one seeing this right now. She should call one of them, call Souji—
Movement on the screen catches her attention and her blood turns to ice in her veins as a swirling black shape peels itself from the corners of the buildings. Flitting wisps of darkness shoot through the streets, conjoining into countless other writhing masses, and Naoto forgets to breathe.
The textile shop.
Kanji.
There’s no time to rationalize whatever is going on. In a heartbeat she’s flung open her door, taking the stairwell two at a time and hitting the pavement at a run. It’s an instinctive, impulsive decision—before, whatever appeared on the Midnight Channel had stemmed from the world inside the television, not the outside world. No towering castles or secret bases had cropped up around town, just as no Shadows should be lurching through the streets now.
But never before had Inaba itself appeared on screen.
If what she saw was truth, then she’d be throwing herself directly into harm’s way. But there’s no choice. Kanji is in danger. Of that much she’s certain.
Her fingers are already jamming into the buttons of her phone as she rounds the corner of the apartment complex, pressing it to her ear as she runs in a headlong tilt towards the district. Her lungs burn, unable to draw in enough air against her bindings and the thick fog. But this street is as empty as the rest, no evidence of danger. And yet, the silence still feels sinister when broken only by her ragged breaths and the thud of her boots against concrete.
Kanji isn't answering his cell. She swears, snapping the phone shut and opening it once more to try again—
Yamato Takeru’s frantic trilling at the edges of her mind nearly comes too late. Naoto throws herself to one side just as a snarling figure lunges past her, what must be teeth ringing shut only inches from her calf. Tucking into a half-roll, Naoto pushes herself back up on one knee and wheels to face her attacker. Her stomach plummets.
She has seen them countless times in the TV world; they are unpredictable, unavoidable, and surprisingly fast. Dark, shapeless masses, outlines constantly shifting; dragging along until they spot the team, pulling apart into separate forms and hurtling towards them. This one sports only two distinct figures: a triad of long, spindly talons, and a single glowing red eye.
They’d never had to fight a Shadow like this. It shows no signs of splitting into individual enemies. Theoretically speaking, it has no weaknesses.
Regardless, she empties a round of bullets into it before scrambling to her feet and darting back towards the shopping district. The shadow lets out a guttural snarl behind her, and, as if in response, more shapes stir in the darkness. Her fears are confirmed. The Midnight Channel has begun showing in real-time.
Meaning Kanji’s life was at stake. She had no knowledge of the rest of Inaba’s status—though she’s certain she already knows the answer—but she had no doubt seen Shadows crawling about, practically across his front step.
Her heart is racing, lungs burning as she struggles to pull in enough air to fuel her pace. Eyes darting about, she picks her way through the streets, dodging through alleys and narrowly missing a smaller shadow as it lashes at her sides. Twice she fires off into the darkness, once rewarded with a pained groan and the satisfying squelch of one of the monstrosities dissolving in on itself.
Somewhere, someone is screaming. A car alarm begins to blare. And all around her, the damn fog presses down, smothering the unfolding chaos. Naoto presses on.
Eventually, she has to stop. Whipping a glance over her shoulder, she tucks into the first vacant alleyway she finds, pressing her back to the wall to steady herself. It’s still several blocks to the textile shop, but her legs are burning and shaking, vision spotting as her chest heaves against the unwieldy bindings. She wants more than anything to sink to the ground, pull her knees to her chest and shut out the world. Years of preparation and training with her grandfather, case after case… Nothing could have prepared her for anything like this.
For one absurdly childish moment, she desperately wishes this is all some twisted nightmare; a product of the fog toying with her mind, already worn and fatigued from too many nights spent slumped at a police station desk.
Things can and will never be that simple. You can never be that fortunate. You know that.
It won’t be long before a shadow finds her. And if her time is limited, she knows Kanji’s is even more so.
Perhaps time is already up.
No, no, no, no. Naoto shakes her head and fumbles for the gun in her pocket, fishing it out by its chord.
She’s rested long enough, and the textile shop isn’t far now. All she has to do is pull left out of the alley, and then it’s just a straight shot forward. Then she can reach Kanji, can make sure he’s alright. They can fight the Shadows, Meet up with the others and get through this together.
Her fingers are stiff as she fumbles for the catch and goes to reload. The empty rounds clatter to the ground, and it’s only then that she realizes that everything is far too silent.
A dark shape separates from the wall at the end of the alley, and the world erupts.
She’s not quite fast enough. The shadow lunges forward, clipping her hip as she tries to dart away and sending her sprawling onto the concrete, her glasses are lost into the fog on impact, and Naoto has no choice but to abandon them as she scrambles upright. She can see the shadow as she rounds the corner, a heaving mass outlined in the dim. Her right leg is smarting with pain and she can feel a strange wetness where she’d been struck, but she can’t slow down. Flying on blindly towards the textile shop, she feels her heart sinking.
Yamato Takeru continues to shriek behind her thoughts.
And she’s so close, perhaps only a block away, before the top of her boot catches on the uneven sidewalk and she topples to the ground again. Only this time, her leg won’t support her when she tries to stand. She bites her lip until she tastes blood, screwing her eyes shut against the pain and the bitter terror clawing its way up her throat. Out in the open, on the side of the road like this, she knows the shadow will find her again—if not the one from the alleyway, then any of the countless others prowling the streets. Her only chance is to pull herself somewhere she can hide. And she does—on hands and shaking knees in a lopsided crawl, into the lee of one of the boarded up shops. Out of sight, she prays.
How pitiful that their renowned Detective Prince should wind up trapped and cowering in the streets. Everything she’d spent so long building herself up to be, and for what…?
It was somewhat ironic, in a horrible way. Kanji had said something about a fight never truly beginning until your back was against the wall, hadn't he? But there was no fighting this. Not with a defunct leg and surrounded by shadows.
In a sudden flare of desperation that she has no name for, she wants to cry out for him. Wants nothing more than to see his looming shape through the fog, if only to validate his safety. But the calmer, more rational side of her psyche knows this is pointless, if not for the fact that it would give away her position than for the certainty Kanji had more physical strength than anyone else on the team. If any of them could make it through this, it was him.
Naoto swallows hard, suddenly regretting all those times she swatted away his hands. What she wouldn't give for them to pull her to her feet now.
She wonders if she’ll ever get the chance to let him try again.
Stop thinking about it stop thinking about him it won’t help won’t change the situation you have to get away now have to get to safety
It’s a last ditch effort—and far too late, she knows—but she manages to pull her phone from her pocket, flicking through her contacts. She has to warn them. Maybe they can still help. Maybe they can get out in time. Her breathing is ragged, ending in painful hisses, and she’s clutching her hip only to have her hand come away smeared with blood when there’s a click and Souji’s voice filters through. “…Naoto? What’s—“
A low snarl rumbles through the fog, far too close. Her voice spills out, faltering and panicked.
“Th-The entire town… It’s filled with Shadows…” more growling, and growing closer. Naoto’s heart races, ice pumping through her veins, roaring in her ears. She tries once more to push herself up, but her leg simply won’t cooperate, and her gun is pinned beneath it. “...I can’t—!”
Time’s up.
She’s distantly aware of Souji’s muffled voice on the other end, alarmed and telling her to calm down, perhaps. That’s always worked in the past, hasn't it? But it’s lost on her now, as the phone slips through her hand. Cornered, unable to run… she can’t help it. The scream tears itself from her throat as the Shadow bears down on her.
Just as she’s being pulled away from herself and down into nothingness, the world around her jaded and dimming, she almost thinks she hears someone else calling her name.