Eyes Above
The afternoon sun was a blistering, white-hot eye staring down at the university athletic field. The physical education department had organized a volleyball practicum, but since the intense training had run through the lunch hour, the air was thick with the scent of cut grass, sweat, and a lingering tension. The heat was a physical weight, pressing down on the students until their movements became sluggish and their tempers grew short.
Chizuru and Epione sat on a secluded bench near the equipment shed, where the long shadows of the bleachers offered a small reprieve from the punishing glare. Between them sat two snack boxes Chizuru had bought earlier. They were lavish sets of fruit tarts, dango, and chilled sandwiches that looked far too perfect for a dusty school field.
"Eat, Epione," Chizuru said. Her voice was like a silver bell, clear and dangerously sweet. "You are vibrating. Your glucose levels are crashing, and a tired mind is a mind that makes mistakes. You cannot afford to be sloppy when the world is running fast."
Epione's hands trembled so violently she had to tuck them under her thighs to hide the shaking. She looked at the digital monitors mounted on the nearby pillars of the stadium. The news cycle was a relentless nightmare, broadcasting the latest updates from the city's ongoing investigation.
"They found those Chinese businessmen," Epione whispered, her voice cracking as she spoke. "The ones who disappeared after those girls from the camp went missing. Chizuru, they didn't just kill them. They... they branded them. The report said their necks were covered in marks made to look like hickeys, but they weren't bruises. They were burns. Someone used a heated iron to leave 'The Kisser' mark on them over and over again. It's like they wanted to turn their own desires into a permanent scar."
As the horrifying details of the crime spilled out into the humid air, Chizuru's reaction was unsettlingly still. Chizuru didn't flinch. She picked up a strawberry with surgical precision, but instead of eating it, she held it toward Epione's lips for her to eat.
"Is it? Or is it just... efficient?" Chizuru countered softly. "Those men viewed women as products to be consumed and marked. Whoever found them simply spoke their language. They gave them exactly what they gave others, just with a bit more heat. It's a very honest way to communicate, don't you think?"
"Efficient?" Epione gasped, nausea rolling over her in waves. "It's demonic. To think that a human being could sit there and systematically dismantle another person... it makes my skin crawl."
Chizuru leaned across the bench, her face coming so close that Epione could see the perfect, poreless texture of her skin. Her eyes, usually sparkling with bubbly, energetic light, were suddenly as flat and dark as a shark's. There was no warmth in them, only a deep, cold calculation.
"Think about it, Epione. Those men treated those poor students like industrial waste. They used them until they broke and then discarded them. So, whoever found them simply returned the favor. It's what I call the Equity of Justice."
Chizuru's gaze shifted toward another news alert scrolling at the bottom of the screen, her expression darkening with a strange, clinical interest.
"And look at that..." Chizuru pointed to the screen where the names Marcus and his associates were flashing. "They found them in the warehouse this morning. The report said someone used industrial drill bits on them. Three holes in each temple, and one right in the center of the forehead. My conclusion is that they were still alive for first seven . They had to watch the tool coming for them, knowing exactly where it was going to land."
"That's the part I can't get over," Epione said, her voice barely a whisper.
"The drills. Why would someone do that? It's so mechanical. It's not even human anymore."
"Because, Epione, some minds are so filled with filth that the only way to clean them is to let the light in," Chizuru replied, her voice dropping to a low, humming resonance. "The person who did that probably understood that the most profound terror doesn't come from a quick death. It comes from being treated like a project. If they used their minds to plan such cruelty, then their minds were the source of the infection. The drill was just the surgery."
As Chizuru spoke of justice and weight, Epiones' mind fractured, slipping back to the noise and fluorescent hum of the cafeteria an hour before.
The smell of cheap oil and steamed rice always makes her stomach turn, but today it was worse. She remember sitting at the long, plastic table, staring at a tray of food she couldn't afford while Chizuru chatted away with the other students who just approached their table not too long ago for a little chat. She was talking about the new medical technology her father was developing, something about "Neural Mapping" and "Biological Upgrades."
"Imagine a world where you never have to feel pain again," Chizuru had said to the group, her eyes shining. "A world where we can just go into the brain and snip away the memories that make us weak. It's like a surgery for the soul. We take out the parts that are broken and replace them with something stronger. Something silver." The students nodded in awe
Epiones' POV
I sat there, picking at a piece of dry bread, feeling like a ghost floating while these people I'm sharing tables with talk. Analyzing my stand right now...the bruises are finally healing for the first time,
Why is she being so nice to me? I wondered as she watched Chizuru laugh. Every time she touched my shoulder or offered me a bite of her food, a small alarm went off in my head. People like her don't pick people like me. There has to be a catch. Is she working with Jinhee? Is this all some elaborate prank to see how long the "pizza girl" can survive in the Dream section?
"Epione, you're drifting again," Chizuru had whispered in the cafeteria, leaning in close. "You're being silent, perhaps something is bothering your train of thoughts?."
I looked around the cafeteria, and every whisper felt like a serrated blade against my nerves. I saw Jinhee at the far table, her eyes locked on us, her lips curled in a sneer. I knew she was just waiting for Chizuru to look away. I felt like a lamb being pampered by a lion while the hyenas watched from the tall grass. I wasn't just afraid of the bullies; I was afraid of the safety Chizuru offered. It felt too clean. It felt like the kind of luxury that comes with a hidden, soul-crushing price.
I returned my gaze to Chizuru and made an open lie "I'm good!" I smiled "just remembered something"
....
The bell for the practicum rang, forcing us to leave the shadows and return to the blinding light of the court.
The game was a nightmare. I was on the "Commoner" team, and across the net stood Jinhee and the rest of the "Elite" squad. Chizuru was our heavy hitter, a blur of white sleeves and terrifying power. Every time she spiked the ball, it sounded like the earth was cracking open.
But Jinhee wasn't looking at the ball. She was looking at me.
She was waiting for Chizuru to be rotated to the back row. She was waiting for the exact moment when my "bodyguard" was out of reach. When the ball came flying toward us, hit with a vicious, intentional spin, I tried to move, but my legs felt like lead.
Whack.
The ball slammed into the side of my head. The world tilted. I heard Jinhee's laughter through the ringing in my ears.
"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry!" Jinhee shouted across the net, her voice dripping with fake pity as her team giggled. "I completely forgot she doesn't have actual human reflexes. Maybe a solid knock to the skull will finally shake some common sense into her."
Chizuru was by my side in an instant, her fingers resting like ice against my neck as she checked my pulse. "Epione? Your ocular focus is drifting. You have a mild concussion. Go straight to the equipment shed and rest. I will handle the remainder of this match and give them the exact score they deserve."
I limped away, my head throbbing, unaware that I was walking directly into a coordinated trap.
I reached the equipment shed and slumped onto the bench, closing my eyes. The wood was cold and smelled of dust. I thought I was safe because the game was still going. I thought the noise of the volleyball court would protect me.
Psttt.
Whistle.
The sound was sharp and wet. My eyes snapped open. Jinhee was standing there, her jersey slightly damp with sweat. She wasn't alone. Three other girls from the elite team were with her, flanking the doorway and blocking the exit. They must have subbed themselves out the moment I left the field.
"Hey, doggy, doggy," Jinhee cooed, stepping deliberately into the shed.