Shinjuku Train Yard – 4:18 AM
The rain had slowed to a mist, but the air still smelled of wet concrete and diesel fuel. A pale grey light crept over the city, softening the neon into muted smears of color.
Arata kept his hood up, scanning the train yard from the shadow of a rusted container. Beside him, the girl—still wrapped in his oversized jacket—shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to keep warm.
He didn't speak right away. His eyes followed the slow crawl of a freight train in the distance, its headlights cutting through the morning fog like a blade.
Finally, he said, "If we take the central station, we're done. Too many cameras. Too many eyes. This yard's our only way out without being seen."
She looked at the endless lines of steel tracks, the empty carriages, the flicker of distant signal lights. "Where will the train take us?"
"North," he replied. "Away from the city. Away from them."
She hesitated. "And after that?"
He didn't answer—because he didn't know.
Five minutes later they were moving, keeping low between the containers. Somewhere in the fog, a crane groaned as it shifted heavy cargo. The sound seemed far too loud in the silence.
When they reached the edge of the loading zone, Arata stopped and raised a hand. She froze instantly.
Ahead, two men in dark uniforms stood by a control booth, smoking. Their voices were muffled by distance, but their body language said they were bored, not alert.
Arata leaned close enough for her to feel his breath. "When I move, stay right behind me. No sound. No hesitation."
She nodded.
They slipped from shadow to shadow until they reached the side of a freight car. The steel was cold and damp beneath her fingers as she climbed after him.
Inside, the carriage smelled faintly of oil and old wood. Crates were stacked in uneven rows, leaving narrow pathways between them.
They settled behind a tall stack. Arata crouched, pulling a small device from his pocket—something that looked halfway between a phone and a radio.
"What is that?" she whispered.
"Signal sniffer," he said. "If they've tagged you with any tracker, I'll know."
He scanned her, moving the device over her clothes, her hair, her hands. Nothing. Then he paused, frowning.
"What?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he slowly reached toward the inside of her jacket—his jacket—and tapped at the lining. Something was there. A hard lump sewn into the fabric.
He tore it open with a pocket knife. A small black chip fell into his palm, no bigger than a coin.
She stared at it. "That's been on me this whole time?"
"Not anymore," he said, crushing it under his boot.
The train jolted, beginning to move. The floor vibrated beneath them, and the world outside started to slide past.
For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe. She watched the city fade—neon giving way to dark silhouettes of warehouses, then to empty industrial streets.
Arata kept his eyes on the door, but spoke softly. "You should pick a name."
She blinked. "What?"
"You can't keep being 'the girl' in my head," he said. "If you don't remember yours, pick one."
She thought about it. A thousand names might have fit, but none felt like hers. And yet… one surfaced in her mind, uninvited.
"Yuiri," she said quietly. "It feels… right."
He nodded once. "Yuiri it is."
Hours passed. The train's rhythm became almost hypnotic. Yuiri leaned against the cold metal wall, her eyes drifting shut despite the discomfort.
And then—
Flash.
A corridor flooded with white light. Footsteps behind her. The smell of antiseptic. A voice saying her name—not Arata's voice, someone else's. And then… pain.
Yuiri's eyes snapped open, her breath catching.
Arata noticed instantly. "You remembered something."
She swallowed hard. "Just pieces. A hallway… and someone saying my name."
He studied her for a moment. "That's a start."
By noon, the train slowed near a rural siding. Arata checked through a crack in the door—no guards, no eyes.
"Come on," he said, jumping down first and offering his hand. She took it, the warmth of his grip grounding her.
They walked along the edge of a dirt road, the sun breaking through the clouds in pale streaks. The world here was quieter. The air smelled of wet earth instead of gasoline.
Yuiri glanced back at the tracks disappearing into the horizon. "Feels strange… leaving the city behind."
Arata kept walking. "The city's a cage. Out here, at least we can see who's coming."
They found shelter in a half-abandoned bus stop on the outskirts of a small village. Arata spread a map across the bench.
He pointed. "We head northeast. Small towns. Places without surveillance. Eventually, we reach the coast."
"And then?"
"We get answers."
Yuiri hesitated, then asked, "And if we don't like the answers?"
Arata looked up at her, his voice steady. "Then we make our own."
Night – Mountain Road
The village was far behind them now. The stars above were sharp and cold, scattered across the black sky.
They walked along the narrow road in silence until Yuiri stopped suddenly.
Arata turned. "What is it?"
She pointed toward the tree line. A faint glow flickered between the branches, too steady to be fireflies, too unnatural for moonlight.
Arata's hand went to his pistol. "Stay here."
But Yuiri shook her head. "No. If it's something from… before, I need to see it."
They moved carefully toward the glow. The forest floor was damp, the air thick with the scent of pine. As they drew closer, the light resolved into a strange device half-buried in the mud—sleek, metallic, humming faintly.
Yuiri crouched beside it, her fingers trembling as she touched its surface. "I know this," she whispered. "I… I think I built part of it."
Arata's eyes narrowed. "Built it? What is it?"
Before she could answer, the device emitted a sharp pulse—so strong it made the ground vibrate. In the distance, dogs began to bark.
Arata grabbed her arm. "We're leaving. Now."
They ran through the trees, the glow behind them fading. But Yuiri's mind was spinning. If she had built that… what else had she done? And why couldn't she remember?
As the road reappeared ahead of them, Arata slowed just enough to look at her.
"You're more than just a target to them," he said. "You're the reason they're hunting."
Yuiri didn't argue—because deep down, she knew he was right.
End of chapter 3