Obsolete - 2/? Upgrade - RukixUruha ~
Title: Obsolete
Chapter: 2/?
Author: shii_tan
Beta / colorist: kenxkenlove
Genre: AU, sci-fi, thriller
Warnings: wtf-ish moments, literal name calling (lol)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing, characters RukixUruha, the Gazette, Nightmare, Alice Nine, Deluhi, as well people from other bands and fictional characters thrown in the mix.
Summary: What's the point of making a living when you can't die at all? The perfect way to ruin a Monday. Matsumoto Takanori's life could never suck more than this... or so he thought. The dreaded visit of a messenger sent by the Permanent Society Council - an influent and powerful organisation - will make him think twice. Maybe 'sucky' was good after all...
Comments: This is where everything begins: it takes place before chapter one. We are now back to a regular chronological order and there won't be any confusion in this one at all, I promise :D
Step One
Chapter Two: Upgrade
♪ Download and loop Double Bass, by Gorillaz
In the beginning, this was supposed to be temporary.
Before the moment came to sit down and seriously think about what I wanted to do for a living, I had it all figured out: I wanted to make music. In ninth grade, me and a few guys from school started playing together. We were pretty good, good enough to consider going pro, and on graduation day, we swore to do whatever we could to make this a reality. We would become the Band. Not just any band, though. The one that would put the world into submission with our infectious music and polysemic lyrics... or something. We all agreed to move up here and started looking for part-time jobs. Anything that would help us buy gear and pay the rent.
Anything but this.
How could I let this happen? As far as I remembered, being a full-time accountant had never been a part of the plan. One day, I found myself sitting at his desk and never left. I laid my head on my table, and my eyes fell on the all too familiar picture frame standing on a corner. Mother. She had 'suggested' I took a few evening classes when I didn't work at the restaurant. Being the good little boy I was back then - I would have done anything for her to shut up and get off my back - I had accepted. She had also 'suggested' we take this picture on my very first day because I "looked so cute and professional" in that suit, and this was an occasion to remember. Before I knew it, I had already wasted three years in this insurance company. So long tours, hoes, and stardom. Hello meetings, irritating clients, and boredom... Extra-hours and insomnia. I still kicked ass at karaoke though.
Yawning, I took out the painkiller bottle from the top drawer, popped three pills into my mouth and swallowed them with a glass of water. Two in the afternoon and I could barely keep my eyes open. Last weekend had been horrible: I hadn't slept more than five hours total and the light outside was so strong that I had to wear sunglasses on my way to the office this morning.
Trying not to think about what it could mean, I decided to get down to work. That usually meant chasing down numbers, or sitting here looking occupied, but for now it consisted in doodling the afternoon away on various pieces of paper. I had a preference for those yellow squares you could stick everywhere. My drawers were full of them - they had to be used anyway - and sometimes Mitsuo, a friend whose desk wasn't so far from mine, would show up around two thirty to play Hangman, which was by far the only thing I liked about working here, and Post-Its were perfect for this.
My lips curled into a smile as I wrote octoploid. Good luck finding that one, sucker. I carefully stuck it on my agenda, and was about to add redolent to the list when the friend in question stormed into my cubicle. He must have been running all the way because his face was red and he was completely out of breath.
"I just... received a text message... from the first floor," he panted, "and - oh my god, you look like shit."
I shrugged. His eyes travelled to the sunglasses and the painkillers I had forgotten to put away and when he looked at me again, he had a very weird expression on his face. "Takanori... what happened to you?"
"Had a shitty weekend, nothing too serious. What brings you here? You're twenty minutes early."
For a moment, Mitsuo seemed to be completely at loss with words. He just stood there, staring.
"You're not going to like this," he finally said with an uneasy laughter. He looked into the hallway for a few seconds before speaking again - only he was whispering this time, which was probably not a good sign. "Someone is getting Welcomed today."
"Seriously? Who?"
He shook his head. "All I know is that it's someone from this department - my source wouldn't give me more precisions. The messenger should be here any minute now - in fact, I wanted to ask you if you wanted to watch, but seeing you like this... changes everything."
I frowned, waiting for him to tell me more or say it was all a joke, but he didn't. "Are you serious? No, it's only the flu, really, it has to be. They're probably after that Fujiwara chick anyways. I haven't seen her much lately."
"It's already been three weeks since she joined 'the dark side of the force'."
Heh. So that's what people were calling it now?
"I ran into her last thursday," he added. "she likes it a lot, apparently. She said her new team was much funnier than ours."
"You know, I think she was politely trying to tell you to fuck off."
I carefully climbed on my desk, making sure not to knock anything over in the process and raised my head just enough so I could see the elevators in the distance. Satoru - the guy who worked right next to me - squealed when he saw me hovering above his head. I sympathetically waved at him, but he mumbled something about this not being the right time to fuck around and shrank in a corner. An odd vibe of apprehension was floating in the air, and I could hear my bravest colleagues shifting uncomfortably on their seats, probably praying for invisibility while the others were shamelessly running for the stairs or the bathroom, where they thought they wouldn't be found. However, when the joyful 'ding!' announced the opening of the doors, a thick, heavy silence fell on the whole floor.
"Is it him?" Mitsuo whispered.
"Yeah."
"What does he look like?"
"Hang on..." Readjusting my glasses, I scanned the guy up and down. "Like a regular delivery guy, I suppose? A dark jacket, and a dark cap and uh... dark pants. He's reaching the water dispenser... The candy machine... Are you sure it's him? He looks pretty ordinary to me."
Mitsuo rolled his eyes. "What is he doing now?"
"Well, actually..." The man dressed in black was now talking to a woman not too far from us who turned around and pointed in our direction. He thanked her and walked towards us a little faster than before. I winced. "I think he's coming our way."
"What?"
I got back down and ran a hand through my hair, my eyes widening. Oh no.
"You were right."
It made complete sense. The headaches that wouldn't go away, the aching limbs and the fucked up sleep patterns... everything. I groaned. I don't need this, I thought. I don't fucking need this. And now the dreaded messenger - the guy I had hoped so many times that I would never, ever get to see - was now standing in the entrance of the cubicle, looking particularly, and unexpectedly... bored.
"Mister..." he glanced at his sheet of paper "Matsumoto Takanori?"
A shiver crawled up my spine at the mention of my name. "Y-yes?"
"I need your signature here, here... and here, please."
"Are you... are you sure I'm the one they're looking for?"
"They're never wrong," the guy sighed. "I'm afraid it is your turn, unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on the way you choose to see it."
"How would you choose to see it?"
"Oh, you wouldn't want to know."
I quickly glanced at Mitsuo - who shrugged in response - and signed the form with shaky fingers. The messenger put it back in his bag and gave me a black envelope.
"Congratulations," he recited in a monotonous voice, "you are now officially a Permanent Citizen of Tokyo. Be sure to read your Welcome letter with the greatest attention. If you ever needed further information, a telephone number, and an email are provided within."
"Thank you," I breathed out as I slowly sat back on my chair. My heart beating fast, I carefully laid the package in front of me. So it was true, it was official, it was...
A polite cough. "Sir..?"
I had never thought that the font would be so elegant. I mean, I sort of did, but then again -
A little louder. "Sir."
My eyes reluctantly left the envelope to lay on the messenger. I looked at him in confusion - what the hell was he still doing here? - until he quickly rubbed his thumb and index finger together one, two, three times.
"Sorry," I mumbled as I grabbed my wallet and handed him a couple of bills.
"Mister Matsumoto is too generous!" He was genuinely cheerful this time. He saluted us both with a quick bow and finally left with a huge grin on his face. The greedy motherfucker. I was convinced this wasn't the first time he took advantage of the shock caused by his task to rob new permanents. The latest victim being... me. I grimaced at the thought.
What was I supposed to do, now? This was so awkward, so bizarre.
"I guess this gives blackmail a whole new meaning..." Mitsuo started, peering over my shoulder. "What - you're not opening it?" He swiftly grabbed the letter and observed it minutely. "Very classy stuff. I had never seen one up close before... Hey, does that mean you're leaving? Because I've heard that a lot of permanents chose the - Ow, that fucking hurts!"
"Give me that. Don't you have something more interesting to do anyways?"
"No - and it certainly didn't give you the right to punch me like that," he groaned, rubbing his arm with a frown. "I suppose I'll just go back to my desk and check back on you later."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I said with a vague hand gesture in his direction, my eyes still on the envelope from the PSC.
~ * ~
The letter would remain unopened until the end of the afternoon.
At three thirty, I picked it up and carefully observed my name written there in silver ink. At five to four, I cautiously ran my fingers on the three imprinted initials of the expeditor. At four forty, I had covered an entire sheet of paper with their possible meanings, and five minutes after that, the phone rang for the sixth time in two hours.
"Mitsuo, you stupid fuck, how many times will I have to tell you - "
"Matsumoto?" I immediately froze and straightened up on my chair. "This is Yamada speaking. Could you stop by my office so we could discuss your situation?"
"I- um, uh.." I stuttered " of course! Of course, yes - I mean yes, sir. I'll uh, I'll be there as soon as I'm done here. In fact, I'm already on my way! Sir."
"I'll talk to you in a few minutes, then!" he joyfully said before hanging up.
Staring at the phone in disbelief, I covered my mouth with a hand. My boss had just convoked me. Not my immediate supervisor, no... The fucking CEO. Whom I had just insulted. Fuck. I grabbed my jacket and headed for the elevators, trying not to pay attention to the heads turning in my direction and the way people whispered once I had walked past them. A few minutes later, Yamada's assistant was escorting me to his office; I nervously readjusted my tie, and wiped my sweaty palms on my trousers before going in.
"Mister Yamada," I hurriedly said with a feeble handshake, "first of all, allow me to apologize for the way I talked to just now. One of my colleagues has been harassing me all afternoon and - "
"No worries," the man behind the desk interrupted with a smile. "Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"
Taken aback by the oddity of the question, I opened my mouth, closed it and reopened it before answering. "Sure? I mean: yes, sir."
Yamada stood up, walked over to a small cabinet and took out a bottle of the finest whisky I had only dreamed of seeing once in my miserable life, and two glasses. "Ice?" I nodded. "I figured this would be a good occasion to celebrate."
Celebrate what? I looked around me - it felt so odd standing in a room I had only heard rumors about. This was the first time that I was summoned in a superior office since I got hired, and there hadn't been any booze involved back then. I thanked him when he gave me the heavy crystal glass, waited until he was back in his armchair to take a sniff - god, the stuff even smelled excessively expensive - and eyed him in confusion.
"So... you didn't summon me to fire me?"
"Fire you? Why would you think so?"
"I've been late quite a few times, recently..." And I've just been promoted to full freak status, but you don't seem to have a problem with that, I mentally added.
He dismissed it with a gesture of his hand. "It's very common with employees going through the change like you are. One of the first signposts, actually. No, Matsumoto - I wanted to give you the opportunity to continue to work for us once your upgrade will be completed. Of course, your working hours would be adapted, and your wages a little lower but I am sure that you can understand why."
I nodded slowly. "I guess..."
"Well then, if you agree, your transfer to the night staff will come into effect in two weeks. That's how long your Pre-State Celebration lasts, lucky you! I can't remember the last time I ever considered dreaming of going on vacation!" He laughed a well-practiced laugh - Yamada had just returned from a trip to Hawaii last week spent on golf greens and artsy-fartsy cocktails with a tan and pictures to prove it. "You've read your Welcome letter, haven't you? It's all in there."
"The letter... Right."
"If you don't want to work here anymore, " he raised his hands, "it would be perfectly understandable - although we would be devastated to lose such a valuable asset - you don't have to do anything. The PSC will keep us informed of your decision. Are you enjoying your drink, young man?"
Heh. That was random.
"It's very good," I said, raising my glass a little abruptly, and a few drops landed on my hand. "The best I've ever had."
"Good... good, good, good." His tone became less cheerful and more... businesslike. "Before you leave, Matsumoto, there is something else I want to tell you about."
I leaned forward. "Yes, sir?"
He carefully folded his hand on his desk and dropped the word like he would have dropped a bomb. "Investments."
I choked on my whisky. "I beg you pardon?"
Yamada nodded with a knowing smile. "I know how sudden and unsubtle this must sound to you - you've barely been Welcomed that you're already asked for your money. Only we are not asking you to give it to us, but to allow us to manage it for you." He took a brochure that just 'happened' to lay on his desk and handed it to me. "Here, read this at your own pace and tell me what you think."
I looked down at the pamphlet. A man and a woman were joining hands under a full, rising moon with the goofiest grins on their faces. Transient Shares, it said, Permanent Money for a Permanent Future. I raised an eyebrow.
"Permanent funds have become the cornerstone of our economy today, Matsumoto. Permanents funds are the future. Always remember that." He went quiet for a moment, and I could almost see the numbers of my bank account dancing in front of his eyes. I was almost starting to wonder whether he would be gone for good when he spoke again. "So - are we good or do you need more information?"
"We're good." I stood up and shook his hand again. "Thank you for your precious time."
~ * ~
Mister Matsumoto,
It is with a great pleasure that we congratulate you for your upgrade to Permanent Status. We understand that this transition you are currently experiencing may be unsettling. Do not worry: we are here to help, and guide you on your path, because it is ours as well as yours.
To complete your registration as Permanent Citizen, we strongly invite you to get in touch with the closest Permanent Support Center in your prefecture. We will be delighted to provide you with your legal documents as well as answers to the numerous questions you may have about your new lifestyle. A few addresses are written below for your convenience.
In order to give you the time needed to facilitate your biological adjustments, meet your PSC advisor and make your last arrangements as Transient Citizen, you are being offered twelve days of paid vacations. Use them wisely. Your supervisors have already been informed: no further steps need to be taken from your part.
With our most sincere regards,
The Permanent Society Council.
"Mitsuo Ikari speaking, how may I help you?" droned the voice at the other side of the line.
"It's me. I just wanted to tell you I wouldn't be going to the gym after work today."
"But the tournament starts next week and - "
"Yeah, about that..." I interrupted with a bitter chuckle, "Permanents aren't allowed to participate, so I guess that's not going to happen either." Saying those words felt seriously weird. I had read those rules so many times without thinking they would ever apply to me.
"Oh." He sounded confused for a minute. "I had completely forgotten about that... Are you alright? I said I'd come back later but if there's anything I could do to help -"
"No, I just... I feel a little weird about all this, so... I think I'm just gonna stay here until nightfall and head home."
"Okay." Mitsuo waited for a moment before speaking, and I couldn't help but notice the tinge of anxiety in his voice. "Takanori..."
"Yeah?"
Another pause. "You're not... going to do anything stupid, are you?"
I sank into my chair, and I don't know why, it was probably because of how surreal the whole situation was - that or sleep deprivation - I started giggling, then laughing until tears came into my eyes.
"Good," he said, "because I wouldn't let you. You're supposed to be my best man, remember?"
"If you ever got married," I snickered. "When was the last time you scored anyway? God, you don't even date. What the fuck is up with that?"
"You bastard! I'll show you tomorrow - you're still going out with us, right?"
"Hell yeah."
"You'd better not pull that 'lifestyle differences' bs on me, man."
"Heh. I'll see you at the club," I said before hanging up with a smile on my face. Mitsuo was the kind of person who worried too easely when something was up. I really needed to let him know things would be okay.
But then my eyes fell on the letter, it's envelope as dark as what it's content implied, and the smile went away as fast as it had appeared. I took a deep breath.
It was time to call the Center for an appointment.
Step Three >>
I told you this wouldn't be confusing :)
This is the first chapter ever written for this story, as well as the beginning of everything, hence its opening sentence. For the main ending theme, listen to The End of The Beginning, by 30 Seconds To Mars. The lyrics can be found here. Are there any questions? Comments are love ~
Chapter: 2/?
Author: shii_tan
Beta / colorist: kenxkenlove
Genre: AU, sci-fi, thriller
Warnings: wtf-ish moments, literal name calling (lol)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing, characters RukixUruha, the Gazette, Nightmare, Alice Nine, Deluhi, as well people from other bands and fictional characters thrown in the mix.
Summary: What's the point of making a living when you can't die at all? The perfect way to ruin a Monday. Matsumoto Takanori's life could never suck more than this... or so he thought. The dreaded visit of a messenger sent by the Permanent Society Council - an influent and powerful organisation - will make him think twice. Maybe 'sucky' was good after all...
Comments: This is where everything begins: it takes place before chapter one. We are now back to a regular chronological order and there won't be any confusion in this one at all, I promise :D
Step One
Chapter Two: Upgrade
♪ Download and loop Double Bass, by Gorillaz
In the beginning, this was supposed to be temporary.
Before the moment came to sit down and seriously think about what I wanted to do for a living, I had it all figured out: I wanted to make music. In ninth grade, me and a few guys from school started playing together. We were pretty good, good enough to consider going pro, and on graduation day, we swore to do whatever we could to make this a reality. We would become the Band. Not just any band, though. The one that would put the world into submission with our infectious music and polysemic lyrics... or something. We all agreed to move up here and started looking for part-time jobs. Anything that would help us buy gear and pay the rent.
Anything but this.
How could I let this happen? As far as I remembered, being a full-time accountant had never been a part of the plan. One day, I found myself sitting at his desk and never left. I laid my head on my table, and my eyes fell on the all too familiar picture frame standing on a corner. Mother. She had 'suggested' I took a few evening classes when I didn't work at the restaurant. Being the good little boy I was back then - I would have done anything for her to shut up and get off my back - I had accepted. She had also 'suggested' we take this picture on my very first day because I "looked so cute and professional" in that suit, and this was an occasion to remember. Before I knew it, I had already wasted three years in this insurance company. So long tours, hoes, and stardom. Hello meetings, irritating clients, and boredom... Extra-hours and insomnia. I still kicked ass at karaoke though.
Yawning, I took out the painkiller bottle from the top drawer, popped three pills into my mouth and swallowed them with a glass of water. Two in the afternoon and I could barely keep my eyes open. Last weekend had been horrible: I hadn't slept more than five hours total and the light outside was so strong that I had to wear sunglasses on my way to the office this morning.
Trying not to think about what it could mean, I decided to get down to work. That usually meant chasing down numbers, or sitting here looking occupied, but for now it consisted in doodling the afternoon away on various pieces of paper. I had a preference for those yellow squares you could stick everywhere. My drawers were full of them - they had to be used anyway - and sometimes Mitsuo, a friend whose desk wasn't so far from mine, would show up around two thirty to play Hangman, which was by far the only thing I liked about working here, and Post-Its were perfect for this.
My lips curled into a smile as I wrote octoploid. Good luck finding that one, sucker. I carefully stuck it on my agenda, and was about to add redolent to the list when the friend in question stormed into my cubicle. He must have been running all the way because his face was red and he was completely out of breath.
"I just... received a text message... from the first floor," he panted, "and - oh my god, you look like shit."
I shrugged. His eyes travelled to the sunglasses and the painkillers I had forgotten to put away and when he looked at me again, he had a very weird expression on his face. "Takanori... what happened to you?"
"Had a shitty weekend, nothing too serious. What brings you here? You're twenty minutes early."
For a moment, Mitsuo seemed to be completely at loss with words. He just stood there, staring.
"You're not going to like this," he finally said with an uneasy laughter. He looked into the hallway for a few seconds before speaking again - only he was whispering this time, which was probably not a good sign. "Someone is getting Welcomed today."
"Seriously? Who?"
He shook his head. "All I know is that it's someone from this department - my source wouldn't give me more precisions. The messenger should be here any minute now - in fact, I wanted to ask you if you wanted to watch, but seeing you like this... changes everything."
I frowned, waiting for him to tell me more or say it was all a joke, but he didn't. "Are you serious? No, it's only the flu, really, it has to be. They're probably after that Fujiwara chick anyways. I haven't seen her much lately."
"It's already been three weeks since she joined 'the dark side of the force'."
Heh. So that's what people were calling it now?
"I ran into her last thursday," he added. "she likes it a lot, apparently. She said her new team was much funnier than ours."
"You know, I think she was politely trying to tell you to fuck off."
I carefully climbed on my desk, making sure not to knock anything over in the process and raised my head just enough so I could see the elevators in the distance. Satoru - the guy who worked right next to me - squealed when he saw me hovering above his head. I sympathetically waved at him, but he mumbled something about this not being the right time to fuck around and shrank in a corner. An odd vibe of apprehension was floating in the air, and I could hear my bravest colleagues shifting uncomfortably on their seats, probably praying for invisibility while the others were shamelessly running for the stairs or the bathroom, where they thought they wouldn't be found. However, when the joyful 'ding!' announced the opening of the doors, a thick, heavy silence fell on the whole floor.
"Is it him?" Mitsuo whispered.
"Yeah."
"What does he look like?"
"Hang on..." Readjusting my glasses, I scanned the guy up and down. "Like a regular delivery guy, I suppose? A dark jacket, and a dark cap and uh... dark pants. He's reaching the water dispenser... The candy machine... Are you sure it's him? He looks pretty ordinary to me."
Mitsuo rolled his eyes. "What is he doing now?"
"Well, actually..." The man dressed in black was now talking to a woman not too far from us who turned around and pointed in our direction. He thanked her and walked towards us a little faster than before. I winced. "I think he's coming our way."
"What?"
I got back down and ran a hand through my hair, my eyes widening. Oh no.
"You were right."
It made complete sense. The headaches that wouldn't go away, the aching limbs and the fucked up sleep patterns... everything. I groaned. I don't need this, I thought. I don't fucking need this. And now the dreaded messenger - the guy I had hoped so many times that I would never, ever get to see - was now standing in the entrance of the cubicle, looking particularly, and unexpectedly... bored.
"Mister..." he glanced at his sheet of paper "Matsumoto Takanori?"
A shiver crawled up my spine at the mention of my name. "Y-yes?"
"I need your signature here, here... and here, please."
"Are you... are you sure I'm the one they're looking for?"
"They're never wrong," the guy sighed. "I'm afraid it is your turn, unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on the way you choose to see it."
"How would you choose to see it?"
"Oh, you wouldn't want to know."
I quickly glanced at Mitsuo - who shrugged in response - and signed the form with shaky fingers. The messenger put it back in his bag and gave me a black envelope.
"Congratulations," he recited in a monotonous voice, "you are now officially a Permanent Citizen of Tokyo. Be sure to read your Welcome letter with the greatest attention. If you ever needed further information, a telephone number, and an email are provided within."
"Thank you," I breathed out as I slowly sat back on my chair. My heart beating fast, I carefully laid the package in front of me. So it was true, it was official, it was...
A polite cough. "Sir..?"
I had never thought that the font would be so elegant. I mean, I sort of did, but then again -
A little louder. "Sir."
My eyes reluctantly left the envelope to lay on the messenger. I looked at him in confusion - what the hell was he still doing here? - until he quickly rubbed his thumb and index finger together one, two, three times.
"Sorry," I mumbled as I grabbed my wallet and handed him a couple of bills.
"Mister Matsumoto is too generous!" He was genuinely cheerful this time. He saluted us both with a quick bow and finally left with a huge grin on his face. The greedy motherfucker. I was convinced this wasn't the first time he took advantage of the shock caused by his task to rob new permanents. The latest victim being... me. I grimaced at the thought.
What was I supposed to do, now? This was so awkward, so bizarre.
"I guess this gives blackmail a whole new meaning..." Mitsuo started, peering over my shoulder. "What - you're not opening it?" He swiftly grabbed the letter and observed it minutely. "Very classy stuff. I had never seen one up close before... Hey, does that mean you're leaving? Because I've heard that a lot of permanents chose the - Ow, that fucking hurts!"
"Give me that. Don't you have something more interesting to do anyways?"
"No - and it certainly didn't give you the right to punch me like that," he groaned, rubbing his arm with a frown. "I suppose I'll just go back to my desk and check back on you later."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I said with a vague hand gesture in his direction, my eyes still on the envelope from the PSC.
~ * ~
The letter would remain unopened until the end of the afternoon.
At three thirty, I picked it up and carefully observed my name written there in silver ink. At five to four, I cautiously ran my fingers on the three imprinted initials of the expeditor. At four forty, I had covered an entire sheet of paper with their possible meanings, and five minutes after that, the phone rang for the sixth time in two hours.
"Mitsuo, you stupid fuck, how many times will I have to tell you - "
"Matsumoto?" I immediately froze and straightened up on my chair. "This is Yamada speaking. Could you stop by my office so we could discuss your situation?"
"I- um, uh.." I stuttered " of course! Of course, yes - I mean yes, sir. I'll uh, I'll be there as soon as I'm done here. In fact, I'm already on my way! Sir."
"I'll talk to you in a few minutes, then!" he joyfully said before hanging up.
Staring at the phone in disbelief, I covered my mouth with a hand. My boss had just convoked me. Not my immediate supervisor, no... The fucking CEO. Whom I had just insulted. Fuck. I grabbed my jacket and headed for the elevators, trying not to pay attention to the heads turning in my direction and the way people whispered once I had walked past them. A few minutes later, Yamada's assistant was escorting me to his office; I nervously readjusted my tie, and wiped my sweaty palms on my trousers before going in.
"Mister Yamada," I hurriedly said with a feeble handshake, "first of all, allow me to apologize for the way I talked to just now. One of my colleagues has been harassing me all afternoon and - "
"No worries," the man behind the desk interrupted with a smile. "Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"
Taken aback by the oddity of the question, I opened my mouth, closed it and reopened it before answering. "Sure? I mean: yes, sir."
Yamada stood up, walked over to a small cabinet and took out a bottle of the finest whisky I had only dreamed of seeing once in my miserable life, and two glasses. "Ice?" I nodded. "I figured this would be a good occasion to celebrate."
Celebrate what? I looked around me - it felt so odd standing in a room I had only heard rumors about. This was the first time that I was summoned in a superior office since I got hired, and there hadn't been any booze involved back then. I thanked him when he gave me the heavy crystal glass, waited until he was back in his armchair to take a sniff - god, the stuff even smelled excessively expensive - and eyed him in confusion.
"So... you didn't summon me to fire me?"
"Fire you? Why would you think so?"
"I've been late quite a few times, recently..." And I've just been promoted to full freak status, but you don't seem to have a problem with that, I mentally added.
He dismissed it with a gesture of his hand. "It's very common with employees going through the change like you are. One of the first signposts, actually. No, Matsumoto - I wanted to give you the opportunity to continue to work for us once your upgrade will be completed. Of course, your working hours would be adapted, and your wages a little lower but I am sure that you can understand why."
I nodded slowly. "I guess..."
"Well then, if you agree, your transfer to the night staff will come into effect in two weeks. That's how long your Pre-State Celebration lasts, lucky you! I can't remember the last time I ever considered dreaming of going on vacation!" He laughed a well-practiced laugh - Yamada had just returned from a trip to Hawaii last week spent on golf greens and artsy-fartsy cocktails with a tan and pictures to prove it. "You've read your Welcome letter, haven't you? It's all in there."
"The letter... Right."
"If you don't want to work here anymore, " he raised his hands, "it would be perfectly understandable - although we would be devastated to lose such a valuable asset - you don't have to do anything. The PSC will keep us informed of your decision. Are you enjoying your drink, young man?"
Heh. That was random.
"It's very good," I said, raising my glass a little abruptly, and a few drops landed on my hand. "The best I've ever had."
"Good... good, good, good." His tone became less cheerful and more... businesslike. "Before you leave, Matsumoto, there is something else I want to tell you about."
I leaned forward. "Yes, sir?"
He carefully folded his hand on his desk and dropped the word like he would have dropped a bomb. "Investments."
I choked on my whisky. "I beg you pardon?"
Yamada nodded with a knowing smile. "I know how sudden and unsubtle this must sound to you - you've barely been Welcomed that you're already asked for your money. Only we are not asking you to give it to us, but to allow us to manage it for you." He took a brochure that just 'happened' to lay on his desk and handed it to me. "Here, read this at your own pace and tell me what you think."
I looked down at the pamphlet. A man and a woman were joining hands under a full, rising moon with the goofiest grins on their faces. Transient Shares, it said, Permanent Money for a Permanent Future. I raised an eyebrow.
"Permanent funds have become the cornerstone of our economy today, Matsumoto. Permanents funds are the future. Always remember that." He went quiet for a moment, and I could almost see the numbers of my bank account dancing in front of his eyes. I was almost starting to wonder whether he would be gone for good when he spoke again. "So - are we good or do you need more information?"
"We're good." I stood up and shook his hand again. "Thank you for your precious time."
~ * ~
Mister Matsumoto,
It is with a great pleasure that we congratulate you for your upgrade to Permanent Status. We understand that this transition you are currently experiencing may be unsettling. Do not worry: we are here to help, and guide you on your path, because it is ours as well as yours.
To complete your registration as Permanent Citizen, we strongly invite you to get in touch with the closest Permanent Support Center in your prefecture. We will be delighted to provide you with your legal documents as well as answers to the numerous questions you may have about your new lifestyle. A few addresses are written below for your convenience.
In order to give you the time needed to facilitate your biological adjustments, meet your PSC advisor and make your last arrangements as Transient Citizen, you are being offered twelve days of paid vacations. Use them wisely. Your supervisors have already been informed: no further steps need to be taken from your part.
With our most sincere regards,
The Permanent Society Council.
"Mitsuo Ikari speaking, how may I help you?" droned the voice at the other side of the line.
"It's me. I just wanted to tell you I wouldn't be going to the gym after work today."
"But the tournament starts next week and - "
"Yeah, about that..." I interrupted with a bitter chuckle, "Permanents aren't allowed to participate, so I guess that's not going to happen either." Saying those words felt seriously weird. I had read those rules so many times without thinking they would ever apply to me.
"Oh." He sounded confused for a minute. "I had completely forgotten about that... Are you alright? I said I'd come back later but if there's anything I could do to help -"
"No, I just... I feel a little weird about all this, so... I think I'm just gonna stay here until nightfall and head home."
"Okay." Mitsuo waited for a moment before speaking, and I couldn't help but notice the tinge of anxiety in his voice. "Takanori..."
"Yeah?"
Another pause. "You're not... going to do anything stupid, are you?"
I sank into my chair, and I don't know why, it was probably because of how surreal the whole situation was - that or sleep deprivation - I started giggling, then laughing until tears came into my eyes.
"Good," he said, "because I wouldn't let you. You're supposed to be my best man, remember?"
"If you ever got married," I snickered. "When was the last time you scored anyway? God, you don't even date. What the fuck is up with that?"
"You bastard! I'll show you tomorrow - you're still going out with us, right?"
"Hell yeah."
"You'd better not pull that 'lifestyle differences' bs on me, man."
"Heh. I'll see you at the club," I said before hanging up with a smile on my face. Mitsuo was the kind of person who worried too easely when something was up. I really needed to let him know things would be okay.
But then my eyes fell on the letter, it's envelope as dark as what it's content implied, and the smile went away as fast as it had appeared. I took a deep breath.
It was time to call the Center for an appointment.
Step Three >>
I told you this wouldn't be confusing :)
This is the first chapter ever written for this story, as well as the beginning of everything, hence its opening sentence. For the main ending theme, listen to The End of The Beginning, by 30 Seconds To Mars. The lyrics can be found here. Are there any questions? Comments are love ~