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rahuratna · 1 month ago

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Synopsis: Nanami, Ijichi and Nitta foil a bank robbery with a cursed twist ...

Genre: Suspense

Contents: Canon-typical violence, foul language, reader character narrator, reader perspective of sorcerers.

He’d never signed up for this.

When he’d joined, Ueno had gone on about the fun they’d have, the risk, the high of getting away with things like this. It was a release, a way to escape the drudgery of his long shifts at the convenience store and the hollow-eyed, resentful presence of his mother at home. If that place could even be called a home.

In the beginning, they’d just wandered the brightly lit streets of nighttime Shinjuku, vandalizing the shops Ueno’s boss had told them to target, getting into scuffles with rival gangs, keeping an eye on the activities of people of importance. Each time he’d left home, the door would swing shut behind him like the unseen gateway to another realm. The street before him would be familiar, but not, the night air crisp with possibility. He’d never been aware of the perilous web being woven around him, of the fact that none of these jaunts were disjointed activities, each with their isolated goal.

And now he was here, in the back of a dark blue minivan with no windows, the humid damp of the balaclava he wore sticking to his face, making breathing difficult. He couldn’t do this. He’d never known they would ask him to – but there was no time for that. No time to think about the number of times he shouldn’t have walked out that door, the number of times he should have turned Ueno down, the many, many nights he should have decisively put an end to any and all association with the present company.

They were crowded in on all sides, shoulder to shoulder, the cramped space filled with the smell of sour sweat, cheap cologne and the heavy funk of strong tobacco. These men would have no patience for a boy who backed out, even if he said he was young and stupid and regretted everything he’d done. They were wily, experienced, razor-edged and slick with survival instinct. There was no way out for him, not now.

The power of his fear roots him in place, even as his body rebels, his muscles catch and quiver, his breathing hitches sporadically and his bowels cramp and protest. If only … if only he were someone else, someone more equipped to deal with this. If only something, anything, would take over his body and mind, just for tonight. If only something would come along and turn him into the man he should be in this situation; fearless, aggressive, raring for battle, a spitting cobra rearing for a shot between the eyes. But he was not any of those things.

And they were on their way to rob a bank.

You'd made it something of a game over the years. Each person that swam into view in the window of your counter formed a portrait of an unknown life, one you tried your best to embroider.

Head, shoulders, knees and toes, just like the song you used to sing in elementary school. What would the shifting window bring you today?

Ah, here was a grandmother, feeble and infirm. Collecting her pension fund and rambling about her three adult children, including her son who was staying for the month. Most of that pension probably ended up in his pocket.

And here was the man who came every Tuesday since three months ago. Sweating, nervous, smelling faintly of cheap perfume. You'd bet your whole salary that each trip to the bank was followed by a sharp detour out the door to the seedy motel nearby.

Then, the antique shop owner, the family name a well-known one in the area. Pity his father gambled most of their inheritance away. Everyone knew that he lived in the once-fabled traditional home, now dilapidated and infested with mould, a Havisham who rotted beside his antiques in the wedding dress of former renown. His cash withdrawal was minimal, enough to feed him for a week at a time.

Today was spectacularly ordinary. As a financial services representative at this particular branch for an odd five years now, you'd come to recognise your usual patrons, along with the occasional tourist or visitor who'd pay a once-off visit. These were usually recognisable by their clothing, or accents.

Here were two such individuals right now. You'd definitely never seen them before. The man looked to be in his late twenties, wearing the harried, hollow-cheeked look of someone much older. His dark hair was neatly parted, a pair of rectangular spectacles enhancing the earnest, studious nature of his face.

Beside him was a girl with bright blonde hair in an untidy bob. In severe contrast to the man's sober, dark suit, she wore a pair of baggy black jeans, a crop top and oversized jacket, unzipped, over it all. The glitter eyeshadow she wore only served to emphasize her thousand-yard-stare and she looked you up and down appraisingly.

Oh. It was time to adjust to your customer service face. Feeling the stiff muscles of your lower jaw stretch into a wide, practiced smile, you bowed slightly.

"Good day. How may I be of assistance?"

"Ah, I'd like to open an account for my niece here. She's starting college next year and just landed a new job to help pay things off. A flexi-save option would be nice."

"Of course! Mister ...?"

"Ijichi. And my niece here is Miss Nitta."

"Pleasure to meet you."

You turn to the girl in question, eyebrows raising in slight query.

"Would you like to have a look at our options? There are varying interest rates with different benefits to each type of savings account you can open."

She shrugged with the kind of nonchalance that could only come with long practice.

"Uncle's handling all that. I just do the legwork and get my shit together. That's the deal."

Wow. The youth of tod -

You clear your throat and turn to your PC screen, avoiding the errant thought that had come dangerously close to leaping out of your mouth.

"Of course. Give me a minute."

The fairly youthful uncle nods, adjusting his glasses. He looks slightly tense, the poor thing. You would too, if you were planning the financial future of a niece like this. You wondered if he took care of her full-time.

The niece, Nitta, was focused elsewhere, eyes roaming across the high-ceilinged atrium, the neat and ordered rows of seats where clients waited for service, the row of reinforced glass windows that gave way to many small booths like your own.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her glancing in one particular direction more often than not. Following the path of her gaze, your own is arrested by the sight of a tall blonde man in a dark suit, red patterned tie vivid against his white shirt. He stands in the queue of a neighbouring window, eyes inscrutable behind dark lenses.

Well, you could hardly fault her for looking at that. He has a stern, cold face, but his chiseled features and imposing stature make him hard to look away from. Speaking of which, you had a job to do.

Turning back to your screen, you complete the series of prompts, until you're finally within the authorized programme for creating a new account.

"All right, can I see some identifica- "

A scream tears through the still peace of the atrium, carving a sudden flaw in of the passage of time. In that moment, you do not think, you do not feel, and your body seems foreign to you. A group of people, dressed in black, waving weapons that were definitely acquired illegally, charge into the open space. Still frozen, you watch as they move like an oil spill across the room, smooth, practiced, herding the panicking crowd with sharp, barked commands and prods of their weapons.

Ijichi and Nitta duck down immediately, and you vaguely hear the bespectacled man shouting at you to do the same. Finally, dragged against the opposing current of shock, your body responds to your wishes. Dropping boneless to your knees, you reach up, fumbling for the panic button beneath your desk.

You press and hold, releasing after 20 seconds. Your mind still hasn't fully caught up with what is occurring, but your body is guiding you through the motions, stilted and half conscious.

The gang that has infiltrated the banking hall seals the doors. One of the burly men is obviously the leader, standing at the centre of the chaos while his lackeys form a co-ordinated chain of carried instructions, the spokes of a turning wheel. One of the gang comes right up to your counter, screaming instructions across to you.

You are still slow to respond, but panic has now asserted itself and you let out a sob of a breath, scrambling to raise your hands above your head and stand as he tells you to. You, and the rest of the employees behind the safety of the barrier, are forced at gunpoint to open up the inter-leading door, flocking out among whimpers, soft pleas and muffled cries to the atrium floor where you are made to lie down along with the rest of the crowd.

You find yourself near Ijichi and his niece, Nitta. You meet his eyes with a blank, stricken stare, mouth half opening in an apology, before you realise how stupid and pointless such a thing would be. How could you have known? You still can't quite grasp what is happening all around you.

Strangely enough, it is Ijichi who counters your disoriented glance with a square sense of reassurance. There is something ... different about him. He seems surprisingly calm, a far cry from the nervousness he showed earlier while opening a bank account for his niece, of all things. The niece in question is also unusually collected, her body coiled with the readiness of physical conditioning. That isn't a normal response to this situation, you're sure of it. She's too young to -

But there isn't time to speculate on this. The gang is rushing behind the tills, one of the managers held at gunpoint pushed roughly to the interior vault where his superior security clearance will allow him to gain access.

Granted, your security isn't state of the art, but it is fair enough to cause some small delay. There are five different checkpoints, each with a unique pass code, and a thumbprint, voice recognition and retina scanner that need to be applied simultaneously.

Turning your attention back to the interior of the atrium, you notice that one of the gang members is behaving a little erratically. His eyes, visible through the small opening of his balaclava, seem just as terrified as that of the people he is holding hostage. His blue, long sleeve shirt is soaked through with large, darker patches of perspiration, creeping down from his armpits, neckline and across his back. His breathing is harsh, audible from where you lie as still as possible, and the way he is holding his weapon is far from expert.

There is a small movement from beside you as ijichi straightens slightly. He is, for some reason, watching that young assailant like a hawk, eyes steady, something like recognition stirring in their depths. Nitta has moved to a crouching position, one of her hands braced on his back.

What are they doing? Surely -

And then, the boy in the balaclava stiffens, as if stuck with a knife. He is now staring past the man next to him as if dazed, his limbs as limp as a marionette whose strings have been abruptly cut. The gun tilts dangerously floorward, and one of his companions yells to him to -

"Get the fuck back in line!"

Something, the likes of which you've never seen, is occurring right before your disbelieving eyes. A jet of viscosity, black as pitch, shoots from the boy's mouth, tearing past the balaclava. The remnants of the knitted fabric land a few feet away, exposing his pale, terrified face, the damp strands of hair that cling to his forehead, the strange look of relief that briefly crosses his features before his eyes close.

They re-open, and you utter a small, involuntary scream. Behind his lids, two neon rings of purple form a flickering gateway to madness, the slow, unhinged smile that sweeps up the corners of his mouth as unnatural as his posture. The men around him pause, exchanging uncertain glances, some of them even re-directing their weapons to his quivering form.

The boy, if he can still be called as such, takes little to no note of the threat from his own former comrades. The crowd of hostages has now noticed the change, cries of alarm ringing out as they see the boy's body contort, arms and legs snapping and twisting to distorted, elongated proportions. One of the other gang members shouts out a hoarse warning before firing a round into the boy's contorted head and chest.

He is ... unharmed. Instead, the nightmarish head sweeps back, the neck stalk-like, flexible. The features seem even more inhuman, his grotesque smile now jagged-edged, the teeth sliding like nails past the shredded, bloody lips. The heist completely forgotten, the men in dark clothes back away, yelling in fear and consternation, weapons clutched in sweat-slicked palms.

What is this? What is -

You scramble backwards, coming up against a firm, warm palm in the small of your back. The muscles of your abdomen and legs are now plagued by small tremors as you turn your head to see Nitta behind you. She doesn't seem quite so young and nonchalant any longer. There is a certain hard quality to her, a readiness for what is to come that takes you completely off guard. Beyond her, Ijichi shoots you a quick glance of apology before nodding at his 'niece'.

His hand raises towards the glass of the atrium ceiling, the cloudy sky outside clearly visible. Nitta mirrors his pose, palm pressed flat against the smooth tile beneath her. Their voices rise above the cacophony, a steady chant that somehow resonates in the furthest reaches of your being.

"Emerge from the darkness ... "

The vision of horror that used to be a human sweeps out an arm, narrowly missing the men who scream and return fire. It seems that he - it - is still learning the use of that body. It stumbles, clawed feet scraping across the floor, leaving deep grooves in its wake.

" ... blacker than darkness ..."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the group of civilians who has been standing at the counter being ushered to safety further into the lounge at the other end of the room. The man who seals the double doors behind him is one you recognise. The imposing blonde businessman, the one Nitta had been looking at earlier. This was now, in your mind, no mere coincidence.

Who were these people?

" ... purify that which is impure."

It slides from the fingertips of Ijichi and Nitta, a layer of otherness, a barrier between your world and the distortion of reality that has happened in here, in this space that used to be your everyday stronghold of familiarity. Ijichi meets your bewildered gaze and he pauses momentarily, mouth drawing into a regretful line.

"You can see it."

You nod wordlessly and he adjust his glasses, that incongruously stern set of his features directed at something past you.

"Don't worry. It'll be over soon."

One of the criminals spots the movement of Ijichi and Nitta, screaming out to them as they get to their feet on either side of you.

"Get back down! Don't you fucking move! I'll - "

His words are cut off as one of the monster's flailing, spiked projections lob his left arm right off at the shoulder, the gun falling from the nerveless clasp of the severed hand. The noise that leaves his throat is thick, animal, full of existential fear. He slides forward, the floor now slick with his own blood, eyes bulging as his choked cries echo across the hall.

Two strong hands assert their grip under each of your armpits, dragging you to your feet. You realise that a sound, similar to the one the maimed man had made, was exiting your own throat.

"Easy," comes Ijichi's voice in your ear, "Just breathe. Move with us. It'll be all right."

How? How could any of this ever be all right?

You cannot comprehend how this man could possibly say that, but when you look over at him, there it is, in his eyes behind those rectangular frames. He does believe what he says. He means every word. But how can he -

"Step back, please. You're in the way."

The voice that echoes across the atrium is unlike any of the others, cutting through the chaos with calm, clipped, precise enunciation. It's the blonde businessman, who, you are rapidly realising, is also not what he seems.

He strides across the hall, completely ignoring the threatening gestures and shots fired in his direction by the gang who are now in disarray. He sheds his pinstripe coat, revealing a leather harness fastened across his torso, the dark straps stark against the white of his shirt.

And there is something else, something similar to the strange current you sensed from Ijichi and Nitta earlier, coursing along the powerful lines of his shoulders and arms. It is ... different, but holds a deadly latency that can't be denied. The businessman reaches up and removes his dark glasses, revealing a sharp-cornered, intensely shadowed gaze. He glances across at Ijichi, who straightens and nods in response.

"We'll leave things to you, Nanami."

"Thank you, Ijichi. Get the rest of the hostages to safety."

The rapid gunfight that had been punctuating by yells in the background had now taken a worrying turn. The force of the automatic rifles, puncturing skin and shattering bone, had been driving the monster back, but no longer. It was healing itself, shards of bone annealing, flesh knitting itself back together, blood decanting back into torn vessels as it slowly gained momentum, moving forward and driving them back.

The man called Nanami turned back to the battle, surveying it with the calm of a seasoned veteran. As Ijichi and Nitta help you along, you slowly regain your ability to move, but something kept your gaze fixed on Nanami's broad back as he reached behind him, fingers grasping the handle of what seemed to be a blunt blade wrapped in an oddly patterned cloth. It appeared to be a similar pattern to the one on his tie.

Is he mad? Bullets don't work on that thing! He was going to -

Your thoughts still and die away as an electric rush of that strange energy jets up around Nanami's body, coating him in what looks like armour. One polished leather brogue slides back along the tiles, giving him enough momentum to propel himself forward at inhuman speed. Your eyes can barely follow his movements as he streaks across the atrium, right towards the spinning, shrieking monster.

Now that it had become accustomed to the body it inhabited, the creature was darting forward with swift, jagged motions, dealing terrible slashes and blows to any flesh it encountered. Nanami reaches it, dancing around its flailing arms with ease and grace. It takes note of him, the slide of its bulbous eyes sickening as they gather on either side of its skull, as if to pin down his location better. The remaining gang members take this opportunity to scramble to safety, kicking and clawing each other to the floor in their urgency to escape.

You shout a wordless warning to Nanami, but Nitta's grip on your shoulder gives you a measure of reassurance. They seem to have full faith that this deceptively understated salaryman can handle the reality-bending situation unfolding before your eyes.

And he does.

From the little snippets of the battle that you can follow with comprehension, Nanami's movements match the creature's every step of the way. When its limbs elongate with a sudden snap, he adjusts his distance. When it sends tendrils of smoky substance across the floor, he seems to coat his shoes in that luminous energy, skidding effortlessly across the top of it. When it tries to close in on him, limbs splitting and weaving in tendrils that catch and ensnare, he slices clean through them, that blunt blade doing far more damage than you would have ever thought possible.

The confidence and surety of his block and parry sends a sudden flare of hope through your chest.

Maybe he can beat it! Maybe he can -

The creature let's out a howl of fury, the force of it battering the walls and shattering the windows. You scream as shards of glass blow outwards from the booths where you and your fellow employees had been crouched just a short while before. Covering your face, you brace for the tearing pain, but nothing happens. Peering between your fingers, you see that Ijichi is muttering under his breath, creating another kind of barrier, this one of a smaller radius, around the three of you. The faint patter of glass reaches your ears as the flying shrapnel falls harmlessly off the surface.

But what about Nanami?

A sharp breath escapes your lips as you see him, still standing, facing the wrath of the creature. He remains unphased, but his sleeves have now been rolled up, the smooth shift of sinew and muscle visible beneath skin. You watch as he reaches up, loosening his tie and flicking his wrist out, the spotted red material wrapping around his fist. He begins a measured pace towards the creature, and for the first time, you see it take a step back.

Nanami's smooth, mellow voice sounds through the hall again.

"It's now three in the afternoon. I started work today at nine and I'm going to clock out at five. That leaves me exactly fifteen minutes to finish off with you, forty five minutes of travel time and one hour to complete my paperwork for today."

... what?

He continues, striding forward as the creature staggers back even further, defensive spikes slowly sliding into place on its arms and knees. He doesn't seem to be particularly bothered by this.

"I would prefer not to incur overtime, so if you would please co-operate with me, I would highly appreciate it."

For all your years in retail and finance, you had never seen customer service handled quite like this.

Nanami flicked his blade straight out, those keen eyes sighting right along the upper edge. He seemed to have assessed something of the creature, because his subsequent lunge was precision itself. The dappled sword swung down, then up and away, severing along some vital line. The ghoulish scream that exited the monster spoke of the damage dealt. It collapsed, clawing at its body as Nanami approached with that predator's prowl; decisive, tranquil.

He crouched right before the recoiling mass of darkness, one arm bending back before his fist slammed with impossible strength right into where the midriff should be. The blast stripped away the last vestiges of whatever had possess the original 'host' in the first place. The slick darkness shivered in its death throes, snaking along the ground before Nanami's heel came down on it with crushing finality.

You let out a breath you'd been holding as the boy, whose body you'd felt would be beyond any kind of repair, slumped to the floor, unconscious. Nanami knelt beside him, fingers enclosing his wrist before glancing up at Ijichi and nodding.

He was alive!

Nitta rushed forward immediately, a cellphone appearing from within her coat, balanced between shoulder and ear as she patted the boy down, searching for further weapons or injuries. She appeared to be calling for some kind of assistance from the outside.

Beside you, Ijichi raised two fingers, and suddenly, a rush of noise reached you from outside; the blare of sirens, the snap and flash of cameras, the commotion of many voices. The barrier they had cast earlier had been lifted. You clamber slowly to your feet, with his assistance.

You have so many burning questions, but you feel that the answers will hold information that might take you some time to process. For now, you'll simply ask about -

"You can see the cursed energy."

Ijichi is watching you, following your movements with attention.

"Cursed ... energy?"

"That's what we call it. Some civilians, like you, can see it, although that's quite rare. It's the duty of those like us to protect humanity from the curses that roam this world. Curses that appear, much like this one."

"So ... you knew it was going to come here? That's why you ... "

"Suspected," he corrects you. "We traced it to this area, but could not pinpoint its location. Then we received a tip-off from law enforcement about a heist that was about to occur at this bank. We made an educated guess as to where the curse would manifest next."

"With ... law enforcement? So all of you are ..."

"Sorcerers, affiliated with Jujutsu Tech. Well, I'm no qualified sorcerer. Simply an assistant director. Nanami is the sorcerer. You'll ... have to come with us, of course. To sign a waiver. There's a lot of paperwork involved with civilian witnesses and victims."

You nod, turning to where the boy who had been ... possessed, for want of a better term, was now being loaded onto a stretcher.

"Was he a victim too, then?"

"Yes. He will have little to no memory of what occurred when he wakes up. Just the events leading up to his arrival here. Everything before that ... will have to be processed through regular law enforcement."

"I see."

You really didn't, but the matter-of-fact manner with which Ijichi was rattling off this information made this fever dream seem halfway believable, if the protocol was anything to go by. Ijichi gestured to you, and you saw that the other hostages were being led out of the safety of the lounge where Nanami had sequestered them earlier.

Speaking of Nanami, you saw his tall figure stride ahead of you. He'd looked over you and the rest of the captives and seemed satisfied that his work here was done. You called out to him as he approached the doors.

"Thank you!"

He paused and turned slightly, that cool, appraising glance taking you in.

"No need. I'm simply doing my job."

"Well then, allow me to thank you ... for letting me clock out on time."

You see the barely perceptible change in his expression, the slight lift of his eyebrows, the tilt at the corner of his mouth.

"Noted."

He turns away and Ijichi ushers you after him, out into the sunlight that strikes your skin like your new-found awareness of the unseen world.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics