It's going to be hell for this kid. But that doesn't concern me, anyway. I've done my job; tomorrow I can go home and develop my photos and get my money. Of course, I may have to come back if they aren't good enough, but I've learned not to waste film. It doesn't matter now, of course, but five years ago, I couldn't even afford food, let alone decent film! Anyhow, the two of us have met, served our purposes, and after tomorrow will probably never see each other again.

And that is fine by me.

I see the boy into bed and ignore his elegant posing. My own inclinations aside, he's practically unconscious already. I return to my couch and fall deeply asleep. Though, once again, I would have wished to sleep in, I awaken early the next morning, before he begins to stir. Quietly, I pack my things and leave. I do not belong here and there is no reason to say good bye. He moves on to his next client and so do I.

It is good to return home, to my friends, to the simple darkness that is my own small space. And especially to the not-quite-darkness of my darkroom. As always, I am afire to see the results of my work, to see if I was able to approach even a shadow of what I envisioned when I gazed through my camera. People think I'm queer, old-fashioned, for using tangible film; everything nowadays is done in digital holograms. But there is a soul to the real, to the two-dimensional, that you can't find in those tricks of light.

I work tirelessly, accustomed to the long, sleepless hours. Contact prints, final prints, enlargements, cropping. I ignore the pounding on the door, the voice shouting for me to come and eat before they break down the door. We both know he'll never do that. Besides, we also know that if I don't work quickly, I'll miss that split second during which my subject still exists. Most of them don't exist with the care and permanence of the White Magic Key. The streetside children will run, many of them disappear permanently. Old ones can no longer run, but they can be dead in an hour, like as not. I grew up here, in streetside Tokyo; ain't no one needs to tell me how 'life' works down here. All the tech they got now didn't bring the utopia they all dreamed of. All it did was force the reality further and further away from the people with money. We 'siders don't exist, not really. And that creates some dangerous emotions, like anger. And desperation.

It's gotten worse in the last decade, too. Tokyo is tired of gaijin control, of the stranglehold the Toreadors and others like them have on their city and country. The unrest is growing and it's growing in a place the Families ignore: RL. Real Life. The one place their security runners would never look. The Families, the power players since the formation of the Pacific Alliance, pay no attention to the ones who follow the old ways. And this is a mistake. For though they are not wired, the yakuza still exist. And they have not forgotten a single injury.

And I want to make sure I get paid before they act.

So here I am, blithely ignoring everyone as I work busily. Most of them turn out well. Which is no surprise; I don't waste my film the way celebrity photographers waste their disk space. There are numerous prints the Toreadors will be interested in. Still, a few don't come out right. The ones where Tor is active--like when I pushed him over or when he was talking to his bird--those are obscured with bright smudges of white, as though there was a mirror reflecting flash. Frustrated, I slam my fist against the wall. I'll have to ask the Toreadors for another few days at the Palace. Dammit! Those were the pictures I wanted, not those pretty-pretty posed things. And they're probably going to take a big chunk out of my commission for the 'favor.' Still, there's no help for it. I'll see them tomorrow.

Well, they're delighted with my work, ordering a number of different prints, some for publicity, some for private aesthetics. I find it curious that they would display one of their own like that, as though he were a prized horse or a particularly lovely statue. They aren't proud of him, or ashamed of him; they have no compunctions over their own efforts to turn him into what he is. They simply look at the pictures and fuss over colour and line. How the long coat emphasizes his legs. How the mandarin collar shows off his slender neck. I never had a family myself, but 'Siders often cobble together their own gangs and families. I find myself wondering which one of these cool, beautiful people is Tor's mother. Nothing they say or do would tell me anything one way or another.

Oddly, their appreciation extends to my favor. I am allowed another two days with the White Magic Key--when his schedule allows. Apparently, he is only occasionally occupied, so it is only a week before I am able to return to the Palace and try once more to obtain the pictures I'd almost sell my soul to get.

saa kono Chaos na machi
ima koso maku wo akeyou
saa sono kao wo agete
jidai ni akari tomose

In this chaotic city
Now opens an interlude
Lift those gazes
Lit up by this era
--"Tokyo Sling" by Weiß Kreuz

~~~~~ The Chronicle ~~~~~

If humans could emulate cats, Tor would have spent the entire week purring. Though puzzled by Pasha's abrupt disappearance, he accepted both it and Fan's reappearance calmly enough and was pleased to be able to return to his books. This evening, he is curled up on the couch, intent on a book of genetics. The color of Pasha's eyes was remarkable and Tor is trying to track down the trait and its origins. He's not having much luck so far.

Still, it is a fascinating subject and the quiet time spent with only a book and a CD is a gift from the gods, his reward for doing his job well. At least, he thinks he did his job well. It is difficult to be sure, after all, since his last Master came for an entirely different reason. Still, Tor concludes, if his participation had been unsatisfactory, he would have been informed. If not by his Master directly, then by Fan, who delights in bringing bad news. And delights in rubbing it in, I might add. That boy could use some lessons in manners. In any case, Tor has been in Key Heaven for the past several days.

And five minutes later, he is sitting bolt upright, wishing he had been given a warning.

(I must point out that it is customary to give a Key at least some sort of notice. If not of a Master's arrival, then at least the warning that the Key will not be warned.)

Still, upon seeing Pasha enter the room, he calms somewhat. A known equation (in a manner of speaking) and someone he feels (relatively) comfortable with. "Welcome, Master," Tor greets him, rising from the couch. "I am pleased that you saw fit to return to the Palace so quickly."

Pasha gives him a half-smile in return. "Well, I must be a bit of a change, at any rate. Still, you're not getting off so easy this time. A number of pics I took last time didn't wash. So, back again for more. Just a point, the formal portraits are done--and pretty damn well, I might add--so you don't have to worry about impressing the old folks anymore. These are just for me. And I'm as impressed as I'm gonna get."

Tor watches his Master wordlessly for a moment. "I offer my sincere apologies if my performance was unsatisfactory during your last visit. Please make yourself comfortable. If you will excuse me, I shall endeavor to make such preparations as are necessary for your enjoyment." He bows, and before Pasha can utter a word, disappears into his bedroom.

Boyish face solemn, he quickly rummages through wardrobes and drawers, pulling out the items he wants. He runs water for a bath, adding sandalwood bath salts, rightly guessing that his Master would balk at anything more exotic. He lights the many candles and oil lamps in both the bed- and bathroom; altogether, they create a comfortable, warm light rather than a seductive glow. After hesitating for a few moments, Tor selects three kinds of oils: one plain with only a slight sandalwood scent, the other two treated with various herbs that stimulate the skin in different ways. I have to give both Tor and the Palace credit--they have the most intriguing methods, both simple and complex. He slips into different clothing, exchanging his (admittedly rich) linen tunic and pants for ones of thin black silk, that ripple around him and cling ever so slightly to his skin. Over this, he wears a high-necked, dove grey robe of thick velvet, which a friend of mine would call "emminently pet-able." Tor leans his head back slightly, allowing the velvet to caress the back of his neck. A small whimper escapes his lips as the electric shock of the touch cascades through his body. He's ready.

Tor opens the bedroom door. "If it please you, Master," he says calmly, "I have drawn a bath for your enjoyment." Pasha blinks a few times, then rises from the couch which Tor had abandoned. The idea of a warm bath is positively glorious. He enters, his bare arm brushing against Tor's wide velvet sleeves. Just inside he stops, taking in the full effect of Tor's preparations. He turns to the Key, giving him a wry smile.

"That's sweet of you, kid, but I'll have to pass." Tor says nothing, bowing his head in acquiescence. "It's nothing to do with you; don't get me wrong. You're a good-looking kid and good at what you do, I'm sure. But I'm good at what I do, too, Tor. And one thing that shows up in the camera is the chem between subject and photographer, you get me? Even little things change the whole picture. So if your offers still good at the end of the shoot, I'll be glad to oblige, but until then, we're both sleeping solo." He claps Tor on the shoulder. "Now go get some sleep. I ain't gonna give you a break tomorrow!" Pasha leaves the room, reassuming his place on the couch. Tor returns to his own room, methodically blowing out the candles and removing and hanging up his clothing. In the bathroom, the water in the tub cools slowly, reaching room temperature in the early morning hours.>>

Shizuka ni KAGI wo kakete toozakaru kutsuoto
Muimi na yasashisa dake SOFAA de kanjite iru
Sou asahi ga kite nani mo nakatta mitai ni
Aenai jikan dake wo mata kizami hajimeru yo

I quietly lock the door, the footsteps receding
I only feel a meaningless kindness on the sofa.
and then morning comes, as if nothing happened,
only when we can't see each other, does time start up again.
--"Desire" by Do As Infinity

~~~~~ End Entry ~~~~~

Mornings still suck. I just wanted to make that perfectly clear. I wonder--just a bit--if my decision last night was the right one. I can't say I didn't regret it on some levels. Hell, to be perfectly honest, I could use a good fuck. Really. And it's not like he isn't paid to do it. And he's a cute kid with a nice ass. Still, I know I was right. Screwing him last night would have put me back in column A, as just another Master who just wants a convenient piece of tail. In other words, it would have objectified me as much as it would him. Not that it makes a difference to me personally, but I wouldn't have the same... shock value, I guess. As it is, I can keep him off-balance enough to get some sort of reaction out of him, which is what I really want. And there are always possibilities afterwards. Either with him or back street-side.

And it's too damn early in the morning to be thinking about all this.

Well, nothing like the present to start. Tor is already awake, which isn't a surprise. We order breakfast and I begin my day with pictures of him eating it. That look of utter disbelief is priceless. I figure the best way to catch him off-guard now is to bounce him around the place. (Not literally, ya morons!) So I take us from one spot to another, with Tor explaining uses and histories along the way. It turns out that several floors are occupied solely by swimming pools and at least two by public baths. One floor imitates a hot spring, the other a traditional furo. Another entire floor is the residence of the Emperor Key, though Tor admits that he knows little about the Key beyond that. The lower floors, windowless, alternate between public facilities, such as you would find at an upscale hotel, and holo Keys. Being computer-generated holograms, they are available for those with less money, such as salarimen who need to impress their co-workers. Also available are android Keys, somewhere between holo and human on the price list. What I find particularly interesting though, is the existence of basement levels. The Palace was apparently connected to the old Tokyo subway at one time, before it was shut down in favor of the monorail and other systems. The tunnels are still there, though access is nominally cut off by a set of locked doors.

I am only marginally satisfied with the pictures but I shrug and hope for better luck after lunch. After all, it nearly took superhuman efforts to get the pictures I wanted last time. I shrug as we head up to one of the Palace's restaurants. Tor glances at me, questioning, but neither of us says anything. I choose the Chinese restaurant after a few moments of deliberation. Chinese is damned expensive everywhere else, but here it's all part and parcel. Which is plenty good for me!

It's quiet at this time of day; most Masters tend to bring their Keys for dinner, if anything. Dinner's a time to show off, talk business if associates are present. As it is, the restaurant has barely a dozen couples. Some are in rather outlandish outfits. Definite leather fetishes here, though one man has his Key dressed only in tiny silver bells. Interesting... (And just between us, that boy was very well-endowed.)

Do you have any idea how delicious Peking duck is? I feel like I would gladly suffer a few centuries just for half of one. It annoys me though, to have a constant, indistinct noise interrupt the meal. Not that I'm a stranger to such circumstances, but it is so much more out of place here. I ask Tor to look out the windows to see if he can find the source of the noise. It's easy to tell from the confused looks of the staff that the noise isn't coming from inside the Palace. He cocks his head for a moment, then walks over to the opposite wall, looking out. "Master," he says calmly, "I think that you should see this. I am not sure what to make of it."

I join him at the round window and look down. The restaurant is a floor above the main entrance of the Palace, high above the ground, which includes a covered monorail platform and a number of walkways leading to a large reception platform. Gathering is a large crowd. "Oh, fuck," I whisper, barely aware of speaking. "Not today. Not like this!" The people below look like extras from a gang movie; a few have guns, but most are carrying lengths of pipe, clubs, torches. Some have swords. More and more people are joining, all of them shouting. I can't hear them clearly from inside the building, but the anger, greed, and self-righteousness is crystal clear.

"Master?" Tor looks at me quizically.

"We're leaving," I say tightly. "Now." I grab his hand and drag him to the front of the restaurant. I stop briefly at the front desk. "Do you have an alarm system?" I ask the wide-eyed young man there. He nods. "Then sound the damn thing! Get your people out of here; that's a fucking mob out there!" I hurry on before he can answer, Tor barely keeping pace with me. Just outside the restaurant, he trips over the hem of his closed robe. Wordlessly, I catch him and set him upright. A brief glance at the many small buttons running down its front. There's no time; I grab the cloth and pull, forcing it open, buttons flying right and left. Tor just watches me. "Can you run?" I ask. He nods. "Then we're getting the hell out of here!" I sprint for the elevators, clutching his hand and hauling him behind me. The robe billows out behind him in a black waterfall.

The elevator takes an eternity to reach our floor. I have the key ready in my hand and yank the door open as quickly as possible. "Get Sock," I order him. "And anything else that's valuable and you can carry. Put it in a bag if you have it. If not, tie it up in a pilowcase or something. Do it quickly; we don't have much time."

He obeys immediately, but questions me as he works. "What is happening, Master?"

"The 'Siders are getting restless," I explain as I scour the place for anything that needs to be brought with us, "as are the yakuza and a lot of other folk. They've been planning to overthrow the Families for a long time. I expected the Palace to fall, but I didn't think they'd attack it directly. Or this soon. I thought the primary target was the Families. But there must be people here they want. Or it's a way for the leaders to let off the steam of the 'Siders. I dunno, but you and I are getting out of here."

He stops suddenly. "I am a Toreador," he says quietly. "I am a member of the Families."

"Yes." No point in arguing with him on that score. Or a number of others. "Which is why I want you to get the hell out of here. I don't doubt they know who you are and where you are. That mob'll be out for your blood, kid, and anything else they can get their hands on. It won't be pretty, I promise you." I don't stop moving, but I stare him right in the eyes. "I don't get your goddamned pride, Tor, but pride ain't of any use to the dead. And dying here, now, does nothing. You can't stop them; nobody will consider you a martyr. They'll just be glad another piece of filthy Toreador trash is dead. And your family cares less about you than they do of those photos I took of you. I've no doubt that those'll be enough to console them." I'm praying I've used the right words with him. Everything I can fit inside the improvised sack is there. I tie it off and shove it into his hands. If we're alive at the end of this, he'll need it.

Tor watches me for an eternal moment, his face haunted. Then he turns away. "Come, Sock. We need to go."

kono mama zutto yuku no ne uso o tsumikasanete mo
kono michi o nido to modoru koto wa dekinai

You are always going like this, and even if you pile on the lies
You can never again return by this road
--"edge" by Kajiura Yuki

~~~~~ The Chronicle ~~~~~

Tor follows his Master down the corridor. They can't use the elevators anymore, his Master explains. The mob'll be either guarding them or using them. However, there's a stairway on the far side of the building, which they probably haven't found yet. They head there, Sock flying just behind. Just as they find the door, Tor hears the sound of people. He turns briefly to see a horde of men and women emerge from the elevator hall. He shudders at the lack of humanity in their faces and darts into the stairwell.

As they hurry down the stairs, Tor has little more impression of his surrounding than cold and grey. His hand is white-knuckled around the neck of the pillowcase. He has no idea of where there going, or how they plan to get there; all he can do is trust his Master to lead him. He hears a voice and is startled, but it is only his Master, muttering breathlessly as he takes the stairs. "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When evil-doers came upon me to eat up my flesh, even mine adversaries and my foes, they stumbled and fell." It sounds familiar; Tor takes a brief moment to wonder where he has heard it before.

"Shit!" His Master stops suddenly. Tor careens into him and apologizes automatically. Pasha pays no attention; they've hit the bottom landing of the stairs and are faced with only a single door as their option. "We haven't gone far enough," he pants. "We aren't at the ground floor. Tor, do you know what's beyond this door?"

Tor thinks carefully, casting his mind back to conversations with the Palace staff. "It's the floor just above the restaurants," he replies. "The first floor with real Keys."

Pasha pales slightly. "Damn. We'll have to take our chances, then. I don't suppose anyone taught you the traditional art of kicking someone's ass?" At Tor's headshake, he mutters, "Didn't think so. 'Kay. If we run into trouble, you get back. Don't say a word. You got that?" Tor nods. "Now, do you know where a stair is that goes further down? One to the first floor or the basement?"

Once again, Tor nods. He closes his eyes briefly. "Down the hall, past the elevators, right-hand corridor. At the end."

"Great," Pasha drawls. "Well, at least I got this." From the top of his boot, he pulls out a small knife. As Pasha resettles his camera bag to hang behind him, Tor blinks at the battered, obviously much used blade. Brandishing the knife in one hand, Pasha slams the door open. "Now come on," he urges. "Run!"

They hurry down the hall. There are doors open all the way down, some broken down, some opened by Masters or by the Palace staff. Attackers, staff, Keys, and Masters throng the hall, creating general confusion as some run and others fight. Tor turns white as he sees men being cut down, mauled by the crazed mob, and hears the sounds, ranging from whimpers to screams, coming from several Key suites. Still, he has no time to think as Pasha cuts his own way through the melee.

Pasha hurries the boy along, knowing they have little chance of saving themselves in this chaos, let alone others; he's seen this sort of thing before. He thanks God when they make it past the elevators and to the corridor Tor mentioned. He ignores the sounds he hears until a particular high-pitched scream causes Tor to stop in his tracks. "Tor!" he yells. "Tor, come on, dammit! There's nothing you can do!" The Key still doesn't move and Pasha sees that instead of the earlier chalk-white, Tor's face is turning green and sick. An electric shock seems to pass through the Key and he leaps at one of the doors. He shakes it and claws at it, but it refuses to budge; whoever is inside has locked it. "Tor!" Pasha hisses again. "Leave it. Let's go!"

Tor continues to attack the door like a man possessed. He screams at Pasha, "It's the Pink Pearl Key, Master! He's still being trained; he's only ten years old!" Tears are running down his cheeks now. Pasha's face hardens. He puts a hand on Tor's shoulder and pulls him back. A short breath and he hauls himself against the door. Once. Twice. Three times and it shatters. Pasha blesses the Palace's traditional wooden doors and metal locks as Tor rushes past him. He follows.

Again they stop dead in their tracks, this time in revulsion. The man in the suite, large and brawny, has already stripped the child, who has curled himself up in a corner and is kicking out, trying to fend the man off. The man treats the blows like the brushing of feathers as he struggles with the knotted tie of his own trousers. Tor falls against the wall, gasping for air, fighting his own urge to run, run as far and as fast as he can. "Stop," he gasps. "Stop. Stop!" He continues, his voice rising with every repetition. The man rises, annoyed at the interruption, hauling the child with him. When he sees Tor, he grins.

"Well, the Toreador slut himself," he rasps. As his attention turns fully to Tor, the Key begins to shake uncontrollably. "You look just as good as they said. I think I'll break your leg first, so you can't leave. Then I'll have time to attend to both you and this lovely little toy here." He yanks on the child's arm, who stares pleadingly at Tor with large, sea-blue eyes.

"Tor," Pasha says quietly, stepping between him and the man, "get out of here. Go on. I'll fight this one. Go!" Pasha advances on the man, but Tor doesn't move, watching the scene in horror. Though of a height with Pasha, the man is wide enough to make three of him and muscles ripple impressively as he casually leans over to grab a piece of pipe from the bed.

"I said stop," Tor whispers helplessly. "I said STOP!" Tor screams the last word, putting his heart and soul into it. There is a blinding flash of white Light and Tor collapses to the ground.>>

Sakimidareru kegareta chian ryakudatsu ni tada okasareta
chi ni somaru kono kuni wa kami ni mihanasu sareta?
tami wa ue yamai ni taore kouu jutsu sae ushinaware
awaranai ikusa araso no senka ni kieru dake
The corrupted peace and order in full bloom
just raped by the plunder.
Has this land, stained by blood, been abandoned by god?
The people overtaken by the famine,
even lose the means to protest.
they just disappear into the flames of an endless war.
--"Meshia"(Messiah) by Janne da Arc

~~~~~ End Entry ~~~~~