Raymond Cherki gripped Elisabeth's hips firmly, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of her pencil skirt as he thrust his thick cock deep into her slick pussy from behind. The male toilet stall door rattled with each powerful slam, the echo bouncing off the tiled walls. Elisabeth braced her hands against the cold porcelain sink, her blouse half-unbuttoned, exposing the lacy edge of her bra. Her black tights were torn at the crotch, the rip exposing her bare skin where he'd yanked them aside moments ago, desperate to bury himself inside her.
She gasped, pushing back against him, her ass cheeks jiggling with the force of his pounding. 'Fuck, Raymond, harder,' she moaned, her voice husky and breathless, muffled by the running faucet he'd turned on to drown out their sounds. His balls slapped rhythmically against her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. He leaned forward, one hand sliding up to squeeze her breast through the thin blouse, pinching her nipple until she whimpered.
Raymond's breath came in hot bursts against her neck as he nipped at her earlobe. 'You feel so tight, Elisabeth. Been wanting this pussy all week at the office.' He pulled out almost completely, teasing her entrance with the swollen head of his cock before slamming back in, stretching her walls around his girth. She clenched around him, her juices coating his shaft, dripping down her thighs and soaking the remnants of her tights.
Twisting her head, she captured his lips in a messy kiss, tongues tangling as he fucked her relentlessly. The risk of getting caught only heightened the thrill—the door to the restroom was unlocked, anyone could walk in. Raymond reached down, his fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing it in firm circles that made her legs tremble. 'Cum for me,' he growled, increasing his pace, his hips snapping forward with raw need.
Elisabeth's body tensed, her pussy spasming around his cock as orgasm ripped through her. She bit her lip to stifle a cry, waves of ecstasy making her knees buckle. Raymond didn't stop, driving into her through her climax until he felt his own release building. With a final, deep thrust, he pulled out and spun her around, pressing her back against the sink. He stroked his slick cock furiously, aiming at her heaving chest. Thick ropes of cum shot out, splattering across her blouse and the exposed skin of her cleavage, marking her as his in this forbidden moment.
Panting, they stared at each other, the air thick with the scent of sex. Elisabeth wiped a bead of his cum from her lip, smirking as she licked it off her finger. 'We should do this again... soon.'
---
"Dave," Raymond Cherki said, coming out of the toilet and drying his hands on his trousers, "what's up?"
"Head investigator from Kyoto's visiting," Dave replied without looking up. "Said they want to speak with the whole unit."
"Kyoto?" Cherki blinked. "I thought you said Tokyo this morning."
Dave shrugged. "Someone said Tokyo at the bakery. Same thing these people do, travel a lot. I don't know more than you."
They fell into step toward the meeting room together.
The meeting room smelled like stale coffee and paper. It looked like any busy investigation office's briefings room: ringed with vinyl chairs, a long table scarred with cigarette burns, a whiteboard freckled with old marker ghosts.
People were already seated. A few more filed in. The room hummed with different energies—flat, clipped, annoyed, bright.
"Cherki!" Reece called, waving a hand. He was twenty-seven, a perpetual grin, someone who treated every briefing like a warm-up comedy set. "Sit. Stop drip-drying and come gossip."
Cherki grinned. "Gossip costs extra."
Fiona from Forensics was already at the table, folding a packet of reports into a neat fan. She was all angles and precision, the sort of woman who corrected your grammar while you made coffee.
"Don't let him near the coffee machine," she told Reece. "It will never be the same."
From the far end, Mallory—senior detective, late fifties, face like a gravestone that tried to smile once—looked up and nodded. "Alright, settle. If Kyoto's here, hold the jokes."
"You're just jealous you don't have a passport," Reece mocked lightly.
A heavyset man with the permanent scowl—Callum—parked himself by the projector. Callum was known affectionately and privately among a few as a total dick. He invested in cynicism like others invested in savings.
"You all right, Elizabeth?" Maya asked from across, voice low. "She hasn't shown."
"El's in the loo," someone said.
Callum, smirking, leaned back. "A lady's thing, then?"
Maya's smile dropped like a lead weight. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, every syllable tight.
Callum gave her a look that tried to be charming and failed by a mile. "You know—women have… rituals. We're talking herbs, incense, the whole mystical drama."
"That has a misogynistic undertone," Maya said, flat and cold. "It's dismissive, and it assumes—"
"Oh, come on, I was joking." Callum rolled his eyes. "Lighten up. It's a gag. We're all friends here. Right?"
Maya's jaw clenched. "Jokes that cross the line aren't jokes. They're harassment."
Before the heat could escalate, Mallory spoke, low and steady. "Callum." The name landed like a judge's gavel. "Not the time. Not the place. Apologize."
Callum snorted. "Fine. Sorry, okay? Forgive my sense of humour."
Maya's breath came out slow. "Try accountability next time."
Mallory reached across and took his cup, placating but not lenient. "We're a team. We don't undermine each other when we're about to have visitors."
At that moment the bathroom door swung open. Elizabeth emerged—tall, hair damp at the ends, eyes that always looked like they'd been up reading too late. She paused in the doorway, scanning the room like someone taking inventory.
She wanted to ask what had happened. She wanted the scene's headline. Her friend Maya gave her a look that said not right now.
Across the table Cherki shrugged, palms up in a small, private shrug that carried the reading: don't ask me, none of us wants to.
The air shifted. The room's milling conversations stilled.
Doors opened again and in walked a man of middle height, posture like a blade drawn, wearing a suit that had been pressed into the curve of his bones. He was flanked by two other men in suits and a woman with an expert glance.
This was Chief Daisuke Endo, head of the Kyoto Ghost and Supernatural Investigation Department. He moved with a controlled certitude that made the chatter in the room feel like empty tins being kicked.
He smiled once. It was small, professional. "Good morning," he said in an English that carried a Kyoto cadence. "Thank you for having us."
Mallory stood and offered a hand. "Mallory. Birmingham."
Endo's hand was cool. "Chief Endo. Kyoto."
He motioned his team forward—Inspector Sato, Detective Kuroda, and a translator who introduced herself as Hara.
"Before I begin," Endo said, "I need your patience. What I bring is sensitive."
Everyone leaned in.
Endo took a breath and outlined a classificatory name: "SRS Classes 1 and 2."
There were murmurs around the table.
"Spelled S-R-S," Endo said. "It stands for — for our purposes, a shorthand. These classes are not common. They are intelligent. They are adaptable. They are mischievous."
Reece made a face. "Mischievous? Like garden gnomes?"
Endo did not smile. "Mischievous in the same way that someone with an IQ and a grudge is mischievous. They strategize. They learn."
Fiona's pen was already at work. "What do they want?"
Endo's fingers tapped the table once. "They exploit systems: social structures, institutions, information systems. They manipulate people. They set traps. They blackmail. They counter typical containment by evolving."
Mallory's hand went to his mug. "How many recorded?"
Endo folded his hands. "We have profiles of at least six confirmed SRS entities with activities dating back decades. A few events were disguised as natural disasters—industrial accidents, unexplained fires. We list those as calamities because… the aftermath looked natural. The cause was not."
He opened a tablet and the images projected: lists, dates, grainy photos, redacted reports. The room read the headings.
Endo read aloud the list slowly, giving each case weight.
"One: A phenomenon that began in 1997 at a student library in Okazaki." He caught the slight tilt of heads at the pronunciation and gave a small clarifying nod. "Okazaki—O-k-a-z-a-k-i—city in Aichi Prefecture."
There were quick clicks from phones—a few people looking up the place later, perhaps.
Endo continued. "The entity used a paper trail. It fed on academic rivalry, manipulated citations, ruined reputations. The library fire that followed was ruled an electrical fault."
Maya's eyes narrowed. "Ruined reputations how?"
Endo's gaze skimmed the room. "Entrapment. Fabricated evidence. Letters. Emails that never arrived. It used the system—professors, assistants—to isolate a scholar who then attempted suicide. We call that an indirect kill; the registry shows it as an accident, but the pattern is unmistakable."
Cherki's foot tapped under the table.
"Two: A coastal industrial decay in 2003, outside Kyoto. A factory's safety systems shut down in sequence. We lost a section of a plant to explosion. Investigations concluded a faulty pressure valve. The entity exploited maintenance logs—people were convinced the checks had been done. Again, disguised as equipment failure."
Fiona's voice was clipped. "So it learns processes. It can falsify records?"
Endo answered, "It can simulate human error and plant evidence to support that simulation. It's not always direct. It often manipulates people to make choices that lead to collapse. That is the danger."
Callum shifted. "How many casualties?"
"Three confirmed fatalities linked to direct acts of the entities," Endo said. "Two hospitalizations. Several careers destroyed. We have patterns of psychological manipulation leading to self-harm and accidental deaths."
Reece whistled. "And you covered them up how? Why?"
Endo's face was expressionless. "Because without evidence of a conscious agent, declaring supernatural causes risks panic, political fallout, and international scrutiny. At the time, the safer path was to classify as industrial accident. We could contain the situation internally."
Mallory's mouth was a line. "Containment failed?"
"For a while, we managed to suppress public knowledge. But containment is a bandage. SRS entities adapt. They change targets and methods until a pattern emerges again."
Elizabeth, who had been watching Endo closely, finally asked, "Any idea what drives them? What do they want beyond chaos?"
Endo's eyes flicked to her. "Not chaos for the sake of chaos. Influence. Control. They prefer to be invisible architects. Sometimes they mimic human motives—envy, resentment, desire. But they do not have human boundaries. We think of them as parasites of social trust."
Fiona breathed out. "How do we fight something that preys on trust?"
"That's why I'm here," Endo said. "We need a joint task force. Kyoto has some intelligence—patterns, redacted files, containment strategies—but these entities move. They crossed prefectural lines before. Their influence may now be outside Japan."
A few heads tilted in question.
Endo's translator, Hara, spoke softly then: "There was an event in Birmingham last week."
The room went still.
Mallory asked, "You're linking this to an event here?"
Endo nodded. "We have a late report detailing a string of manipulations: three disappearances, a staged accident, and a cascade of compromised witnesses. The signatures match an SRS Class 1 pattern."
Cherki exchanged a look with Dave.
"Tell us specifics," Mallory said.
Endo projected a map. "Patterns of behaviour: the entity isolates an influential individual, severs their support, then uses the vacuum to disseminate false evidence. In Okazaki, the paper trail method. In Kyoto, manipulation of municipal records to redirect contracts, which then caused violent reactions. Here, we saw tactical mimicry—an ambulance diverted, key personnel absent due to falsified schedules."
"Where did this one start?" Reece asked.
"Student library," Endo answered. "Okazaki."
Maya's voice was tight. "You said it migrated to Kyoto."
Endo gave a hard nod. "Patterns show the entity moved networks. It uses nodes—people, institutions—as stepping stones."
Callum scoffed. "How do you prove any of this? Paper trails can be forged by humans."
Endo's eyes were clinical. "Because the manipulations show non-human optimization. Errors that a human would not make. Speed of adaptation. Strategic withholding of information that serves nobody but the manipulator. It uses an economy of harm we've not seen from ordinary criminals."
Reece raised a hand. "So what now? Do we call in priests, hackers, or both?"
Laughter flickered, thin.
Endo allowed himself a faint smile. "We will combine methods. Forensics, cyber, human intelligence, and containment protocols. And we will share intelligence."
Mallory's voice softened in that way older investigators' did when the weight of jurisdiction met the weight of reality. "You say this has been covered up. How many other agencies know?"
"Very few," Endo said. "Classified at national level. There are files—redacted. We will provide as much as we can. But we need operational freedom."
Fiona nodded slowly. "You can hand over files. We can cross-check—see if any seemingly mundane local incidents align."
Maya looked at the list again. There was a name on the projected file she could not read. She asked, "The 1997 Okazaki incident—was that ever public?"
Endo folded his hands. "The fire was public. The investigation's conclusion is public. The cause we present is a cover. The manipulations leading to the fire are not."
Cherki's mouth went dry. He pictured libraries, loose papers, someone tinkering with citations and reputations as if they were levers.
"Is there an active containment protocol?" Mallory asked. "Atypical containment?"
Endo hesitated. "We employed a technique we call 'information quarantine.' We sequester records and create dead ends, limiting the entity's routes. It worked temporarily. The entity adapted."
"Do we have any lead on identity?" Elizabeth asked. "A physical anchor? A manifestation?"
Endo's eyes flicked to Kuroda, who produced a small packet of audio files and images. "No single visage. In person, witnesses report a human-shaped figure, or a flicker at the edge of perception. The entity prefers proxy. It does not present consistently."
Reece frowned. "Countermeasures?"
Endo's voice steadied. "We propose a localized task force: a combined unit to monitor, to harden institutions against manipulation. That means securing logs, validating chains of custody, checking for anomalous optimizations in human systems. It also means community outreach, to prevent the entity from finding new nodes."
Callum muttered, "Sounds like an IT job."
Fiona snapped, "It's more than IT." She looked him in the eye. "It's structural integrity. Your cynicism won't help."
Callum opened his mouth, then shut it.
Mallory leaned forward. "If we cooperate, what are our legal constraints?"
Endo looked grave. "We proceed with caution. This involves data sharing, witness protection, and occasionally deception—misdirection to flush the entity out. That requires authority."
Mallory sighed. "I'll need this in writing. Chain of command, accountability."
Endo slipped a slim folder across the table. "We brought initial documents and protocols. Not everything is unredacted, but enough to begin."
Elizabeth picked up a page. Her eyes moved quickly, taking in case numbers, dates, shorthand terms. She looked up. "You say three casualties and two hospitalized. Were they direct?"
Endo's face tightened. "Two were apparent suicide after reputational attacks. One was a scaffold collapse that matched engineered maintenance tampering. Two survivors with severe psychological trauma. These are our confirmed cases."
Maya swallowed. "And then it disappeared months ago?"
"Vanished from our surveillance," Endo said. "Until now."
He let the sentence hang.
"For now," Endo continued, "we need to establish a joint command post in Birmingham for the duration of the operation. Kyoto will assign two liaisons. We ask for access to local incident reports, CCTV, municipal archives, and witness interviews."
Mallory looked around the room. "We are stretched thin. We don't have the resources to staff a constant command post."
Endo anticipated the objection. "We will provide personnel support for a limited period. Think of this as an intelligence injection and tactical partnership."
Cherki felt the gravity of it settle. This was not some midnight poltergeist. This was systematic.
He cleared his throat. "If it's intelligent, could it be trying to cross continents? Using travel and networks?"
Endo inclined his head. "That is our fear. Globalization provides nodes."
Fiona tapped her pen. "Then we start with paper trails and networks. We harden everything here. And you—what do you need from me directly?"
Endo's gaze found her. "A forensic audit of municipal logs. A cyber sweep of communications tied to these incidents."
Fiona's lips pursed. "We'll need cooperation from local government."
Mallory's expression hardened. "I'll call in the mayor if I have to. But we do this by the book."
"And by discretion," Endo added. "No press. No leaks. The public cannot be alarmed by a phenomenon it cannot process."
Elizabeth folded the pages, then rested her elbows on the table. "So Okazaki to Kyoto to here. Pattern of migration."
Endo nodded. "Yes."
Cherki raised his hand like a child asking permission. "Do you think this is one entity or many?"
Endo let out a breath. "A difficult question. The SRS classification covers behavior. Some entities act like a single mind, others like a network of minds. We are not certain if this is a single adaptive entity or a family of entities sharing methods."
Reece shrugged theatrically. "Either way, I'm less keen on being played by a ghost with a PhD."
Laughter, brittle, broke the tension for a second.
Mallory checked his watch. "Alright. We'll form a team. Volunteers?"
Hands went up—some faster than others. Elizabeth, Fiona, Cherki, Dave, Reece, Maya. Callum raised his hand late, face flush with some stubborn pride.
Endo nodded. "Kyoto will embed two field agents. We will provide files and remote analysis."
Mallory turned to Endo. "We'll need a timeline."
Endo's reply was crisp. "Immediate. We begin with reconnaissance. We consult files. We secure records. And we keep this out of public view."
Maya's voice was small. "What do we tell families who are asking questions about the accidents?"
"Truth, carefully tailored," Endo said. "We protect people. We investigate. We avoid panic. But above all, we stop the pattern."
Cherki felt the floor tilt under his feet like a memory being edited. Libraries and paper. Maintenance logs and compromised records. A creature that did not scream or haunt but rewired trust.
Mallory stood. "Right then. Let's get to work."
The room began to swell with the intimacies of planning—people standing, forming pairs, pointing at pages, making lists.
Outside, rain had started, spare and steady. The city washed its face.
Endo folded his hands and watched them move—this small team in Birmingham, ordinary and tired and newly armed with an extraordinary problem.
"Thank you," he said softly. "We will share everything we can. We will work together."
Cherki looked down at the folder on the table, at the name Okazaki printed beside the first case, and thought about how a single thread pulled through a library could unravel entire lives.
The meeting dissipated into action: telephone calls, emails, a list of places to check, a promise sealed with a handshake. Outside, the Outside, rain had started, spare and steady. The city washed its face.
Endo folded his hands and watched them move—this small team in Birmingham, ordinary and tired and newly armed with an extraordinary problem.
"Thank you," he said softly. "We will share everything we can. We will work together."
Cherki looked down at the folder on the table, at the name Okazaki printed beside the first case, and thought about how a single thread pulled through a library could unravel entire lives.
The meeting dissipated into action: telephone calls, emails, a list of places to check, a promise sealed with a handshake. Outside, the rain wrote neat lines on the window.
When the room finally emptied, Cherki lingered, feeling less sure than he had in years.
"Care for a brew?" Dave asked, half-joking.
Cherki nodded. "Yeah. We'll need it."