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“This office could potentially have the Liu Association coughing up dust, as many Grade 1 and Grade 2 Fixers specializing in guerilla warfare have decided to join hands and—”
There’s a double-page spread that follows, showcasing the same Fixers in combat, as they twist and turn like violent tornados aiming to knock someone off of their toes.
The sight is mesmerizing.
“Woah,” Kira gasps loud enough that her voice echoes off the desolate walls of her cell, “That’s super badass! What’s next? What’s next?” she’s bouncing up and down on the ground, her hand darting out to flip to the next page in record time.
But her face falls as she glances on the contents of the next page. Her initial excitement sizzles into dust.
She slams the book closed in frustration. “Aw man, I remember this. she huffs, “I already know that the next Office here took out that upcoming syndicate in Q Corp!”
The sole volume of Fixers Monthly that she snuck in is then unceremoniously tossed across the cell. It is the one inevitably decision she always made that allows her to tell time in this place.
Kira does not tell the difference between night and day in this place, with all light being virtually shut out, save for the solitary lamp that sits on a desk across from her bed.
She does not know many days have passed.
But what she does know is that she’s read the same Fixers’ Monthly issue precisely 274 times since she has recovered from her injuries and got sent to a “containment room” that’s more like a “prison”.
It’s also the closest thing she has to seeing people in that period of time. She was socially quarantined after being put under procedure after procedure, the only contact being multiple medical professionals and a few shifty new hires that inch about her room.
Not a single person has made the endeavour to step into her room since. Even when the jagged slash across her waist burned akin to the sword that dealt it, when she clutched at it waiting for some poor researcher to burst into the room.
So, she picks at her nails, waiting for footsteps to approach her with some order to come with them. That’s the one hope she was given since she came to this place. But so far, radio silence.
Typically, she’d fill that time with the buzzing of a television with some Fixer show, or the wealth of comics that surrounded her, jumping at her for attention. For once, she did not have that luxury. So, she settles on the second thing she loved most. That was getting up on her feet.
“Man, this is hella boring,” she whines, stretching her arms, “Let’s take a walk.”
Kira silently prays that her newly-healed wound doesn’t give out when she carefully lowers herself from her bed.
She instinctually reaches for where her Thermoblades would rest, finding herself grasping at nothing. She’d occasionally forget that she did not have them anymore, confiscated so that she didn’t lop the head off some unsuspecting researchers.
Not like she’d go for some wimpy nobodies who couldn’t even hold a dagger if they tried. She only went for those Fixers that she admired for their strength, slashing at them with reckless abandon.
When boredom was really nagging at her, she’d pretend to fight off a full office’s worth of Fixers, slashing at them with her nonexistent blades.
It would get awkward fast, and the moment she'd see some face or another peeking into her room, she’d instinctually retreat and put her blades away. She scraps that idea, as she resorts to wandering around her room instead.
“I’m so bored,” she yawns as she wanders aimlessly throughout the room, coincidentally walking before the comic she threw away in her brief moment of impulse, “Heck are they expecting me to do here?”
She picks it back up again, flipping it around to look at the covers and taking a cursory glance through. Kira stares at it as if she’s attempting to unwrap the plastic wrap off a brand-new comic, even if she’s read this very magazine from cover to cover hundreds of times since she’s found herself in this place.
Then, after her eyes fail to scrutinize any value in the volume, she tosses it across the room. Again.
It’s times like this where she yearns to be back in the House of Spiders, cozied up in her couch and languidly scrolling through her games catalogue. In some distant past, her hands would always be on a controller. She would have been playing her latest obsession, where she roleplays some Grade 5 Fixer trying to start an office and protect her employees without dying to some Rat in the Backstreets.
“Papa should get me a game like that again,” she muses, dragging out her syllables like a petulant child would when they're begging for candy, “If only he were here…”
Kira freezes.
Right. Of course he wouldn’t be here, the raid on their home was easier said than done, she’d been stuck on bedrest for days and days on end because of her quote on quote “severe injury” that sears her from the inside out and makes her boil alive because of their sword that cleanly sliced through her abdomen before he got sliced up too—
Kira flinches upon that thought as her sides begin to ache, and her skin stretches in agony. It always happens each time he comes to mind, a stab that renders her nearly immobile as she hurtles to the ground.
No matter how many ampules that Company gave her, and how their reconstruction procedures could recover her body as if she was never hurt, she’s someone, something that’s been cleaved in half.
And it’s because of her papa.
Some of the comics she would read always spoke of those far-off heroes’ dearest friends & family. How they cheer them on, dote on them as if they were the only person present in their world. He did that too, and so it meant that he loves her, didn’t he?
As she curls up on the ground in agony, she daydreams about comfort. Daydreams about how he’d pat her on the back when she perfected one of the kick-ass moves she saw him do when he was carrying out a Vengeance. He spoiled her with all the cup noodles & chips she could have begged for. She beamed every time he brought home her favorite brand of ramen by the boxful.
“I had to borrow some from my Brothers and Sisters, it was real embarassin’ asking them for so much again,” he would sheepishly admit, scratching his head. He always followed up with a light scratch on her head shortly thereafter. Adoration always seeped into his voice as he followed up with, “But it was all for you, kiddo! So it was all worth it!”
Even if it was over a bag of noodles, he spoke of the deed with the tenacity of somebody who would turn the world upside down for her.
But sometimes, there were moments where Kira would beg her Papa for something simpler. She’d only ask for company, attempting drag him away from his “homework” in order to spend precious time with the daughter he would always spoil.
Usually, it was because her stomach was gnawing her from the inside-out.
“Princess, what’s wrong?” he’d approach her with a cautious hand, hovering but never touching.
“Papa, it hurts…” she squeezed out, her body contorting in pain as she attempts to grasp the hand her he would always lend out. “It hurts a lot. How do I make it go away…”
“It’s okay, I’ll get ya somethin’ to make it go away. Just hold on, you can get through this.” he doesn’t ruffle her hair, but his words comfort her enough for her pained expression to relax a little.
Kira grabbed his hand, seeking some semblance of comfort. “Can you stay here, then?”
“Can’t sweetheart, got some Vengeances to cross off,” he says as Kira’s grip tightens, clinging onto him for dear life.
The last thing he said before removing his hand and leaving her behind is, “Just stay strong like your dear papa is until he gets your meds, ‘kay?” he said with the widest grin on his face. Kira forces her face into a grin, though she gritted her teeth due to the spasm of pain that comes over her.
The stomachache subsided with time, and she was up on her feet just hours later. However, to her dismay, her father didn’t return to the Corridor for another three days.
She passed the time with the endless backload of comics he’d brought with him on his previous excursion to some Backdoor that lead to U Corp.
When he returned, she virtually suffocated him, a bright smile replacing the pained grimace that he saw her with last. However, she saw no sign of remorse as she questioned what took him so long.
It was the first time she’d felt anything akin to “resentment” for the man who raised her.
When she would ask why he’d leave her for such long periods of time, he always proclaimed that it was for the family. That he had to sacrifice his own reputation to be strong, so strong that his fellow Brothers and Sisters despised the sight of him.
It reminded her of a time when he was busy with “an important assignment” that he wouldn't elaborate on despite her relentless pleading. As a sort of consolation, he allowed her to go out with some lower-ranking Middle members from the South branch to clear some vengeances.
They always had an abundance of chains covered in bright gold coiled around their bodies. More than she did. Kira always tugged at her own, always less than the people she’d carry out Vengenaces with. Envy gripped at her.
Especially when they badmouthed the person she cared for most.
“I’m not sure why we keep him around,” some of the Young Brothers would mumble, “He's virtually a Great Brother in name only. He makes us babysit his kid, who’s not even a Young Sister in our ranks. And for what?
“So that he doesn’t have to take care of his kid when he’s tired of playing daddy,” they’d mock him, “So honorable. Just like what it took for him to get that showy-ass Relic that he can’t even use?”
Even when the rush of taking down a whole Fixer office would cloud her mind, a sharp pang of sadness would choke up her throat at the thought of these newbies disregarding him. She covers it up by scoffing at those newbies.
“I can hear everything you say, yaknow,” she huffed, walking up to them while wiping blood on her sweatpants, “Just so you know, my papa can use his sword just fine!”
They never spared her a glance of pity, instead snickering to each other about how awfully naive she was. They didn’t know half of the things that she’d known about the Middle, and she didn’t even have that many chains yet!
Kira always doubted why they had so many of those adornments when they didn’t even have half the strength of her Papa at his weakest. The urge to yank their chains off of their arms ate after her after each assignment.
However, she eventually realized why the one she cared for most never had that many chains to begin with. It was a truth that hit too hard and too fast when “Operation Spider Pyre” occured.
She was sprawled on the ground. A fiery wound had clawed its way across her abdomen, searing her from the inside out. Panic screamed within her, telling her that this was how she’d die.
How she’d die after seeing that woman with the pipe blow a hole clean through him. She screamed, but it never caught his attention, as the sound that came across was the quiet gurgling of blood. She wanted him to hug her & soothe her with a ruffle of her hair, a new gift he spent all of his time looking for. Time that he wasted, yet valued for her.
He didn’t even look her way once he collapsed onto the ground.
—
When Kira snaps out of her reminiscing stupor, she rubs away at the tears that threaten to form. At this moment, she wants nothing more than to immerse herself in the world of that Fixer she’s been reading about for days on end.
The door is slightly ajar, and she virtually jumps towards where her volume was supposed to be. She reaches out for the book, only to find her hands grasping air. In its place is a note, torn out from some notebook. It read:
“We had to confiscate your book. On company orders.” It was followed by a signature she didn’t recognize.
Kira immediately regrets tossing that stale book. If she could have gone back in time and gone back to reading the same boring stories, she would in a heartbeat.
Even if she knew of the very feats each Fixer would perform, the interviews that she knew word for word, the flashy cover showcasing the same Fixer, she could live with reading about them for the rest of her life. Memorizing each line, each face, until she’s released from the limbo she’s found herself in.
After all, it’s all she has left.