As flames bloom into the night sky, not far away, Naku sways through the dark, drunk and detached.
He stumbles down the alley, one hand dragging along the wall for balance. "Damn shoes... keep movin' without me…"
The bottle in his coat taps him softly with every step, half-full and precious. He pats it back like an old friend.
"You're al-lways there when I need y-you— t-that's real friendship right there."
He digs into his robes, pulls the bottle from his pocket, and lifts it high toward the moon.
"A toast to the only one who never…"
Suddenly a sharp breeze cuts through the alley, bringing a strange scent.
Naku stops his toast, nose twitching as he sniffs.
Hmm. Strange.
He sniffs again.
Something's burning. Can't be good.
He stops. A warm glow creeps up the brick wall to his left. His eyes drift toward it. Then—he sees it.
A column of black smoke curls into the night sky, firelight pulsing at its root.
"Huh...? That's... that's coming from the restaurant."
The bottle slips from his hand, shattering at his feet as he rushes toward the smoke.
Naku arrives, breathless. The heat hits him like a wall. The building crackles and groans as fire tears through it. He shields his face, eyes stinging, and suddenly, he spots something moving out the inferno.
Mark pulls himself from the raging blaze, coughing harshly as blood and smoke spill from his cracked lips. His skin is blistered and blackened, patches of flesh raw beneath tattered, singed clothes.
Naku runs forward, hoisting Mark to his feet, his weight dragging heavily as they move away from the flames. The heat biting at their backs as flames consume what's left of the restaurant.
He gently lays Mark down on the curb, his gaze settling on the dark wound bleeding from his torso.
"Mark-san, I need you to stay with me—I have go get hel…"
"T-they took him. They took h-him." The words come in broken whispers, repeated again and again as his strength fades.
Naku tightens his hold as the light fades from Mark's eyes.
"I will find him... You have my word." Naku says softly.
Naku rises, determined, leaving the roaring blaze behind as he heads into the darkness.
Far from the fire, in the back of a moving SUV, Jiro twists and writhes, struggling to break free.
"Oi! Stop squirming around you little shit!" The thug beside him slams an elbow into his gut.
Bag over his head, he shouts at the men, his voice muffled, "I'll kill you bastards! I swear on my life I'll ki—"
A fist cuts him off, and the car erupts with cruel laughter. To them, his rage is nothing more than feeble resistance.
The memory of his father's gunshot rings in his ears as Jiro screams, thrashing his head to the side and catching one of the goons with a sharp blow to his nose.
"Lucky this bag's over my head, otherwise that would've been straight to your balls!"
The man grabs his nose, wincing. "You fucking worm!" he spits out some blood, striking Jiro's head with the back of his fist.
"Oi! Not the face! The master is going to be pissed if we bring him damaged goods. Are you trying to get us killed?!" Daichi snaps.
"Listen up, kid, keep that fire in you when you meet the boss. Doesn't mean it'll make things easier, but it might keep you breathing a little longer. The longer you last, the happier it'll make the master, and the more pleased he'll be with us."
Jiro goes silent.
"Cat got your tongue?" The thug beside him chuckles.
Why… why didn't you stop them? Why did you let them take me? I'm scared, Dad… Please… come save me.
"Not far now, kid. Hope you're ready." Daichi says.
Dad please…
Finally, they reach their destination. A colossal gate swings open with a slow, ominous creak. Armed guards stand rigid along a long driveway as the SUV rolls forward.
The car comes to a stop beside a grand fountain, where a statue of a man stands with a snake coiled around his shoulders, silently watching from the center.
They all step out of the car. Before Jiro can react, he's yanked from the backseat and hoisted over one of the thug's shoulder.
The group approaches a sprawling, old-style Japanese residence, visible signs of age on its wooden frame. Without pause, they step through the towering doors.
Inside, the heavy scent of incense mingles with the cool, musty air. Footsteps echo softly on polished wooden floors as the men move silently down a long hallway.
Jiro remains silent, the thick blackness over his head cutting him off from the shifting world beyond the bag.
A harsh, metallic screech slices through the silence as a heavy door scrapes open. Suddenly, the bag is ripped from Jiro's head, and he's thrown into a cold, dark room.
The heavy door shuts behind him with a deafening bang.
Jiro whirls around, fists slamming against the door. "Let me out!"
His desperate knocks go ignored, swallowed by the darkness.
He presses himself against the cold floor, reaching out to feel the space around him. A single sliver of light creeps in under the door, the only break in the darkness.
As he shifts around in the dark, something brushes against his foot. His breath catches. Bit by bit, his eyes adjust, just enough to see the outline of a small body. A boy. Even younger than him. Not moving.
Patches of the boy's hair are missing, torn straight from his scalp. His face is swollen and bloodied, beaten beyond recognition.
Jiro stumbles back in horror, letting out a desperate scream.
He sees the boy's chest rise faintly.
Is he alive?
With trembling steps, Jiro moves closer to the boy.
"Hey," he nudges the boy's shoulder. "Are you alright?"
The boy's head turns slowly toward Jiro.
Barely audible, the boy's cracked voice whispers, "A-are you new?"
He breathes shallowly, "New toys get treated the worst… I'm sorry."
"Toys? What are you talking about?" Jiro asks.
"Master plays with us until we're broken. The lucky ones get thrown away…"
"What do you mean? Thrown away?"
"Master doesn't want to play with them anymore… so he throws them away."
"Where… where do they go?" Jiro leans closer. "Why didn't he throw you away too?"
Tears well in the boy's eyes, "I'm not lucky enough to be thrown away. Me… he keeps fixing. Just to break again."
"There has to be a way out of here." His voice trembles. "I'll find it. I'll get us out."
He leaves the boy, searching for something, anything, that could get them out. His fingers scrape along the floors, heart hammering.
"Good… luck," the boy says softly as Jiro moves away.
While searching, his hand abruptly catches something, a soft, cold weight pressing against it. Another boy, pale and still, eyes wide but empty.
Before Jiro can pull away, another bumps into his side. Then another. And another.
The room begins to shrink as shadows press in from all sides, countless silent faces staring without a blink.
His chest tightens. Panic surges like wildfire.
No. No. No.
He stumbles backward, the room spinning around him, "I—I want to go home. I want to go home!" His voice cracks, trembling.
"Dad, please! Save me! I don't want to be here! Mom! Dad! Someone!" he screams, gasping for air between desperate cries.
Suddenly, the door bursts open behind him, and a hand tears him into the light, silencing his cries for help.
The door slams shut behind him as he's hurled into a hallway.
Behind him stand two young women, mirror images of each other. Their matching kimonos, short black hair, and paper-pale skin give them an eerie, almost doll-like stillness.
He tries to make a run for it, but they grab his arms, swift and silent. Their grip is delicate, almost gentle, but inhumanly strong. It feels like they could snap his arms without effort.
Jiro glances back up at their faces, and a wave of unease washes over him.
What's wrong with their eyes?
Without a word, they guide him forward, their silence pressing down like a weight as they move down the hallways, surrounded by priceless art and statues, pieces fit for a museum.
He struggles against their hold. "Where are you taking me?!"
"There's no need to struggle. Everything will be okay," they say in perfect unison.
"You're lying! I don't want to go!" he cries out.
Their grip tightens, making him wince.
"You belong to the master now. Your complaints are his to hear," they say once more, voices blending perfectly together.
At last, they reach a room framed by large red velvet double doors. Without a word, the twins open the doors and gently shove Jiro inside.
"Hey!" He spins to yell, but the door snaps shut behind him, the latch clicking sharply in the silence.
How did they?
He stops mid-thought, turning to stare in amazement at the room before him.
Woaaah.
It's the grandest bedroom he's ever seen… The bed looks like it could swallow him whole. A giant painting stares down at him from the wall, and gold glints from the corners of the furniture.
For a moment, he just stares, forgetting everything that led him here. Then he sees it, a chair in the corner, turned away—just enough to hide whoever might be in it. The illusion cracks, and reality comes crashing back, and with it, the fear.
The chair turns inch by inch, a scraping sound echoing through the room. At last, the figure comes into view.
Their gazes lock, Jiro's eyes are met by something dark and terrible.