THE TWIST OF THE KNIFE

                                 (i)

    The death of Saionji had left the Oedo police force with an unusual
problem, all the records of the medical centre had to be examined for possible
criminal activity.  This was routine to any crime scene, but Saionji had left
volumes of data on disk, and on hard copy, in languages long since, 'dead', or
radically different to the versions spoken now.  The Kacho in charge had done
all he could to decipher things, but now whole blocks had been handed over to
the Oedo museum.  They'd managed to dig out several specialists in past
tongues, and archivists, who knew where to go for information.  It was a very
small team.  What bothered Hasegawa most was that he had no way of knowing what
information might turn out to be sensitive, until someone had de-coded it.  He
had personally checked the records of the whole lot involved in this mammoth
project, and given them clearance.  Even the gaikokujin female who everyone had
said had known Saionji, 'forever'.  He had interviewed her to ask how close she
was to the deceased founder, '"Oh!  We went way back"', she'd replied.
Hasegawa was sorry to distress her, he hadn't known Saionji was her friend.
She looked at him... oddly.  No, no.  She'd never said that.  She couldn't
stand the old fart.  She'd hated his guts, they'd simply known each other for a
long time.  Hasegawa - ever polite to the public - had remarked that she barely
looked old enough to have met Saionji, he'd been a recluse for at least ten
years, appearing only on screens at the centre.
    "Base flatterer!  We shared a mutual interest in antiquities, and vodka is
a marvellous preservative."
    Her age was shown to be the same as Hasegawa's own, which suprised him.
Still he reflected that the overweight often look younger than their years.
Not that many were this year; a variety of drugs ensured that people could
alter their bodies to a desirable image, almost at will.  This year willowy was
back.  The Head archivist in dead languages obviously sneered in the face of
fashion, then again, wasn't it traditional for librarians - and museum staff -
to be a little behind the times?
    The worst moment of the investigation, so far, had been when Hasegawa had
run a check through the system using his own, and others, names as a
reference.  It was usually a safety check, an added exercise in caution.  This
time Sachiko's came up in a file relating to the use of, and research on,
aborted tissue.  She had a list of entries, the most recent being after their
last fight.  His brow furrowed, he had been sure her little scene with the
pregnancy kit had been staged.  He'd found the food colourant behind the
bathroom cabinet.  Already sickened, he paged the D.N.A. diagnostic.  It was
his worst fear realised.  She had been pregnant after...
    Hasegawa regularly went to the museum/library/study centre, to have a
firmer grip on the translations, and flow of information.  The team all knew
him, and he was able to move a small, portable, terminal into a corner of one
of the Head's offices.  He could still carry out his duties, and was available
to deal with emergencies.  He began to have his shopping delivered to the
centre, it was easier than having it delivered to the section house, when he
never knew what time he would be there.  The atmosphere in the archives was
very informal, he became used to the constant stream of odd people wandering
past, and often greeting him.  Okio checked on him regularly - she liked to
feel useful to him; sometimes she arrived dishevelled, and flushed.  He
suspected Sengoku drove her over.
    Hasegawa left his own vehicle in the large parking area attached to the
museum.  A lot of it was underground, and he left his cruiser in one of the
most inaccesible spots - where most members of staff left theirs.  He felt this
was a mistake.  He'd seen the on-site security squad, not good.  Staff
transport did not have the security features of his own, and they were not
trained in self-defence to his level.  It was a twenty-four hour institution
after all, open to the public, not all of whom were law-abiding.  Staff were
always coming and going, they had irregular shifts, and eccentric habits.
    That night he'd had his groceries delivered to the museum, and one of the
head archivists had brought them up from the front desk.  Hasegawa commented on
how drawn, and tired, she looked - and she'd laughed and said he really knew
how to flatter a woman.  Just a bit of tension, a headache, that was all.
Hasegawa carried medication on him for a variety of minor ailments, he had
something for stress-induced migraine.  Heavens!  Her headache was nowhere near
that bad, she had no stress compared to him; besides, modern medicines didn't
agree with her.  A cup of camomile tea, and she'd be as right as rain.  He was
to enjoy his break.
    Hasegawa doubted he would enjoy his welfare-imposed days off that much, but
they made him take regular rests now. A sign they still felt uneasy about him?
The grocery bag was fuller than normal because of the impending holiday: black
noodles, daikon, eggs, melon, wasabi, rice, and... yes, a big box of tissues.
Life in a plain, brown, wrapper.
    It was a change of shift so the express lift was very full.  Not good for
someone used to a lot of personal space, (his office was one of the most
spacious), but there was nothing he could do about it - bar flourishing his
sword and ordering everyone else out.  The headlines appeared before his eyes,
'Ex-husband of dead royal whore goes mad in lift', he grinned slightly.  It
helped if he kept his eyes half-shut, alert - but relaxed.  A number of staff
squeezed in, and he nodded a greeting to them, it was unwise to try and say
anything, if they all drew breath together the sides of the car would probably
implode.  He didn't think anyone would be trying frottage today, especially not
on him, but he had tried to move himself back to a wall anyway, fuck knew how
the really short managed.  He was more worried - at this moment - of his
noodles getting crushed.
    At last!  The ground floor!  The biblical hordes began to push past him,
and stream towards the foyer, and oxygen.  A hand slid under his jacket, from
behind, and gave him an almighty pinch on the arse.  He leapt with shock, and
nearly dropped his shopping, but it was still too crowded to see who had done
it.  SHIT!  It was quite flattering - in a way - but he instinctivly distrusted
anonymous contact.  The rush was over, the numbers in the lift drastically
thinned, he could relax a little again.  Now he could get his back to the wall,
and keep everyone in sight.  His buttock still stung, and he rubbed himself
gingerly, that'd leave a bruise.  Somebody played too rough.
    No-one was left by the time Hasegawa reached his floor.  The parking level
was dusky, and he felt quite sleepy.  He'd had his eyes closed since the last
of his fellow travellers had got out, a couple of floors at least.  Now he
realised his vision was blurring rapidly.  The rush of adrenaline did nothing
to clear it.  His thoughts were becoming sluggish.  SHIT!  He'd been drugged!
The doors of the lift hissed open and he half fell out, staggering to prop
himself against the jamb.  He had to get outside, there was no air.  DUMB!
DUMB!  Reeling, he struck the wall and slid along - still clutching his bag of
provisions.  His eyesight was darkening, going black around the edges.  His
arms felt like matresses on the end of lead pipes, at least he could still feel
them - fuck knew where his legs were.  FOOL!  His mind screamed.  The emergency
officer-in-distress signal, get to it now!  He was unconscious, but didn't know
it.


                                (ii)

    The body floated in mid-air, hair drifting like a mer-man's in the realm of
the drowned.  He looked almost peaceful.  Small, efficient anti-gravity units
kept him in place, they also prevented any part of his body touching another.
He could be turned to any position without the slightest sensation of change.
Although nude, the temperature controls prevented his skin registering any
change.  The room was sealed against draughts, and insulated for noise.  An
array of catheter tubes kept him fed, hydrated, and eliminated his wastes.
They also fed a variety of drugs into him: drugs to induce coma-like sleep,
drugs to awaken, drugs to deaden or arouse his senses.  Now a blend based on
curare kept him numb, and paralysed; and asleep.  That was just about to
change.
    The figure was elsewhere.  I've done it.  All that planning came off.  Mine
for three days - barring emergencies.  Thrill rushed through it's system.
    Now it set about some careful preparations.  Drugs removed body odour, and
'taste', neutralised the D.N.A. codes and blood group.  Nails were pared close
to the finger.  Hair, and skin, well covered.  If it wanted to survive it's
fun, no forensic traces could be left behind.  Hasegawa was far too dangerous,
and it did feel the world would be a less enjoyable place if he died.
    Now I must cease to think of him as human.  I must cease to think of myself
as human.  I can't do this otherwise - the first scream of pain, or fear, will
finish me.  From now on I am a creature, and he is a thing made for my
pleasure.  He doesn't even have a name.  Concentrate.
    Drugs flowed through tubes, into veins.  Hasegawa woke up - but didn't.
His breathing changed, and the monitors showed that his brain activity had
increased.  He was aware.  He stayed very still, and so did the creature
watching him.
    Hasegawa attempted to find out what was wrong.  He'd been drugged, he was
no longer unconscious, so - was he just lying in the dark?  No.  He couldn't
move, see, hear...  He could still be next to the lift, helplessly at the mercy
of any criminal maggots that were lurking in the dark.  He could be surrounded
by crowds, laughing, staring: Okio, Mitsushiba, family, enemies.  Maybe he was
in a hospital, the Saionji medical centre, hooked up to a life-support.  He
could be in a coma, and if he couldn't move his beloved family might just turn
the machines off.  Of what use is a vegetable?  Maybe he hadn't been found yet,
he could be just lying, dying, in a piss-stained basement, alone.  Come on
someone, find me!  Was this his hell?  Was he already dead - doomed to an
eternity of uncertain, random, thought?
    The creature watched his face twitch, oh, yes!  He was awake now - he'd
even started to sweat.  It gently wiped the silken sheen away.  He was unaware
of these little attentions as yet.
    Thank Fuck!  He wasn't deaf after all, relief coursed through Hasegawa's
body as he heard someone walking down a flight of stairs.  They were coming
towards him.  Friend or foe, at least it was something.  Now, what direction
were they coming from?  He visualised the floor plan of the building, but he
couldn't remember there being that kind of an emergency exit.  How could he
have forgotten it?  The footsteps weren't getting any closer, what were they
playing at?  Was the idiot on some kind of walkway?  The acoustics made it
sound like the noise came from all directions at once.  That's not normal.  So,
was he in a different building?  What kind of place was he in, he'd just have
to stay still a while longer, and listen.
    He's tensed again.  What're you thinking?  Don't frown like that my little
one - you'll get wrinkles.  What's going on in there?
    No.  Oh, no.  Hasegawa had isolated the sound - the rhythmic, steady,
sound.  The treacherous, ubiquitous, sound.  His heart pumping blood through
his veins.  Beating it's way to the grave.  It was speeding up now, like
footfalls running to him - that was panic setting in.  He strained to move
anything, make any noise, feel, hear something different to the background hiss
of white-noise in his inner ears.  No I'm not just deaf - I'm trapped as well.
    The creature watched his heart rate climb up the monitor.  It moved to
stand closer to his supine body.  So, the fear begins.  Is it settling in to
your marrow?  Is it cold like ice?  It laid a hand on his brow, another glided
down his abdomen.  Do you fear me yet?  No - of course not - you don't even
know I'm here.  But you will.  You will come to love me, and fear me - and I
don't know what pleases me more.  It walked out of the room, getting the Kacho
here had been very dangerous, and stressful.  The drug worked like a dream, but
moving his limp body had been tricky, limbs everywhere.  Why am I doing this?
    Hours later it came back, having rested for a while.  Hello, thing.  Did
you miss me?  Drugs fell down tubes, drop by drop; now he could feel whatever
it wanted him to.  It grinned as it surveyed his body admiringly, two and a
half days to go.
    Hasegawa had worked out what was going on, sensory deprivation.  He was
being held in a state of sensory deprivation.  It wasn't a comfort to have
figured this out.  He'd used this form of torture on people, and knew what to
expect.  There'd even been lectures in training on how to try and ride the
experience out, the outlook was pessemistic.  Time was against him on this one.
Even today, with today's tougher individuals - and training to back him up the
findings would hold true.  Some ancient western group...  NASA...  had first
used this as a way of training - bad mistake.  He probably had three days,
longer and he would be in danger of suffering long-term psychosis - probably
permanent.  He would start to experience hallucinations, they would continue
after this event, assuming there was an after for him.  He would be thrown on
his own resources in the most intimate way imaginable - and he still had to
look forward to his mind cannibalising itself if he was left like this for too
long.  He could end up a raving lunatic, or a vegetable.  Not fair.  FOOL!
Nothing is.  It had to be Mitsushiba doing this to him, had to be.  He had to
admire the greasy cunt's style, maybe Benten'd tipped him a few clues.
Probably not, Benten had more taste than to associate with that little turd.
It might be Benten of course, but he doubted Merrill would be able to stay
anonymous for so long, he'd want Hasegawa to know who it was who was going to
shaft him!  But had it been that long?  A person deprived of stimulus will
become most suggestible.  It seemed likely that the same mental processes were
at work, as in the Stockholm syndrome.  You ended up clinging to your abuser
like a vine.  Past, present, and future merged with the never-was, wish-was,
and might-be.  Sleeping and waking lost their dividing line, so did the real,
and the unreal.  SHIT!  SHIT!  SHIT!  Calm... centre.. there must be a way out
of this.  My body is a bar of light, it stretches from my third eye to my
navel, all else is of the shadow, it does not exist... but I need my body!
    Hasegawa had drifted off, and returned, several times.  His mind turning in
tight circles of thought; his kidnappers would be, must be, making their
demands known soon.  Someone must come soon.  How long have I been asleep?
Hours?  Seconds?  A million years?
    The creature leaned over, lifted the spoon from it's cup of tea, and laid
the hot metal against the flesh of his arm.
    Hasegawa screamed as the bolt of lightening struck him, pain seared through
his body like the wrath of god.  Then it was gone, leaving only the aftershocks
of a psychic earthquake, pain that faded in moments - or days.
    The creature was very pleased.  If all your reactions are that violent, my
love, I won't need to enhance your senses.  You'll do all the work for me.  It
contented itself with randomly caressing his body, by now the thing's skin -
all of it - would be an erogenous zone.  Every touch would burn, arouse, sing
along his nerves; and held never know when, or where, to expect it.
    Simple, broad, stokes along flat areas of muscle, wide expanses of back,
chest, and leg.  It watched him writhe, and twitch, under the slightest of
pressure.  He twisted as much as he was able, as often into the touch, as away
from it.  The creature blew softly onto his face, ruffling the lashes.  Down
his torso - watching his skin dance.  Over his groin, his cock stirred, and
engorged slightly.
    In the dark Hasegawa gasped.  The situation was loathsome, but the
sensation so welcome.  Every caress was like a soul-deep blow, electricity
coursing about his frame.  The long sweeps went on forever - the small,
intimate, touches never lasted long enough - the ghostly kisses...  What was
that?  Water?  He was swept under a tide of feeling, incapable of thinking how
long it had lasted, or if it would end.  How long has it been since I left the
museum?  Has anyone missed me?  HSSS!  The scorching glance of fire across his
foot.  Will they know where to look?  Will it be my own criminal scum who come
for me?  Someone cupped his buttocks, and stoked.  He moaned in pleasure.
FUCK!  It was this close to his virtual-sex programme; invisible mouths, hands,
and orifices.  Surrounded by desire, like a child masturbating in the womb.
Wanted, accepted, losing himself in the touch.  Pleasured, and pleasuring.
    The drugs sent him drifting into sleep.  The creature was frustrated by
it's own bodily needs.  But my, my!  What a busy day!  Soon.  Soon.  I'll come
back to you thing.  A new day, and new lessons for you to learn.

                                (iii)

    Thoughts became lucid again, but Hasegawa already felt the control
slipping.  He saw flashes of phantom colour at the edges of his... vision.  He
could hear sounds, voices... if he listened closely, maybe he could hear what
they were saying...
    The creature started again - variations on the previous day - but less
generalised.  Now it kissed him on the lips, pinched his nipples, ran it's
fingertips - in patters - over his face.  He arched at every move, sweat
beading his body.  A roll of absorbent material had been placed around his
neck, so that it reached outside of the anti-gravity field.  This was set very
close to his skin, but the creature didn't want even the remotest possibility
of him inhaling his own bodily fluids.  The creature used the controls that
slowly rotated Hasegawa until he lay prone to it.  Slowly, carefully, to give
him as little warning as possible, it parted his buttocks - bent down - and ran
it's tongue over his anus.  His prick surged erect.
    Sex throbbed through his vision like blastwaves: he remembered varieties of
encounter, and the emotions of longing flowed into, through, and out of him.
He couldn't grasp them long enough to keep them.  He wanted to hug them to
himself, grapple them to his soul with hooks of steel.  The pressure on his
arsehole increased, he felt he had lava running through his veins, running over
his limbs.  He remembered the first time he was upped: the strain, the
stretching, being filled to his limit.  His cock pressing into the pillows
under his hips.  The pleasure of forcing yourself to relax, making the pain
sweeter.
    The creature had pulled on a tight, satin, glove.  Soaked the hand in oil.
See?  Better than you deserve.  Hypo-allergenic.  And this glove's going to be
ruined.  It eased in a finger.  You're more experienced than you look, my
thing!  Two.  Began to slide them, in and out.
    Hasegawa was in a field with a pig dressed in an old-fashioned business
suit.  The sun beat down blindingly, and the wreckage of machines lay scattered
all around.  The pig walked towards him on it's hind legs, "Time to go home,
now", it said.  What a funny pig!  Suddenly they were on a road, he recognised
it, it led up to his parents' house.  No.  I don't want to go in there.  "Come
along now, don't be a stubborn brat.  Do you recognise this place?" He didn't;
now they were in a barn, only the shoji were open down one whole side.  The
doors were clear as water, but you couldn't get out through them.  The roof
rose very high above him - the pig towered over him - suddenly it wasn't such a
funny pig any more.  "Brat!" It held it's hands out towards him, and it's nails
were long, carved, glass.  He knew those swirls, and whorls, they held the
blood - red on ivory.  "Do you know what I made these from?" No.  No, I don't.
"Dead children's bones.  When little animals become dirty they must be washed.
Are you clean?  Turn around.  Let me see."  The sunlight was so stiflingly hot,
the colours were so bright and sharp, they hurt to look at.  The mind feeding
on it's own protective layers.
    The scream that ripped out of Hasegawa sent the creature jerking away, with
a cry of it's own.  It crouched yards clear of his keening form, panting with
fear.  Oil covered the floor where it had knocked the bowl over in it's
fright.  It was unable to handle this sudden change of events.  What the FUCK
is all THIS!  It saw his erection die, and his genitals creep back towards the
protection of his body.  You were supposed to be enjoying this bit!  It slammed
it's hand over it's ears as the shrieking went on, and on.  It's skin crawled,
BUGGER IT!  I've let something loose there.  Still shaken it fled from the
room, peeling the sodden glove off as it went.
    It had happened!  It was happening again!  It would happen forever!
Hasegawa screamed.
    When it had stopped shaking it wiped it's eyes, blew it's nose, and went
back into the room.  The thing was still howling, blood flecked it's face.
BOLLOCKS!  How could I be so stupid?!  You've lost your sense of time, haven't
you?  If I don't stop this right now you'll burst a lung, or drown in your own
blood, won't you?  I'm turning you off right now!
    The black stream of nothing overwhelmed the terror like a tsuname.
    In the dark Hasegawa came back.  There was a sense of dull terror.  I'm
frightened, but why?  Is there something I should remember?
    The creature wiped his body - it had cleaned him thoroughly.  Now it
changed the roll of material around his neck, laying the sweat drenched one
aside, and fiddling with the fastening on the clean one.
    Hasegawa heard a steady clicking.  He slowly opened his eyes, he was in his
office.  What was this pressure around his neck?  Benten sat on the edge of his
desk, tapping Hasegawa's lighter up and down against it's surface.  Benten
crossed his legs, slowly, sensuously, the material hissed as he moved.
    "Bastard.  How does it feel?  I told you I'd pay you back.  So, you mother-
fucker, do you like your new necklace?"
    Hasegawa sat very still.  SHIT!  FUCK!  How had this scum done it?  I've
got one of my own collars on, he can kill me any time he likes.  Unless I get
to him first.  I'll just freeze - let him think I'm too shocked to move -
sooner or later he'll let his guard down.  Benten grinned.
    "Don't bother, you bottom-feeder, I can hear your thoughts.  Now...", he
leaned closer to the Dekacho's face, their lips almost touched, "How long shall
I give you?" He played with the controls.  Hasegawa felt his pupils contract.
"Feel like begging yet, prick-cheese?"
    The tapping was still going on.  No.  That's wrong.  He couldn't smell
Benten's perfume, the choking feeling around his neck had eased.  This isn't
real.  The image died, leaving him alone again, the night just went on, and
on.  Hasegawa started to cry.
    Stop that!  I've just got you dry!  Do you want to kill youself?  The
creature leapt up, cursing, and found a pad to wrap over the thing's eyes.
They stared at it.  Ah... shit...  It increased the dose of curare-base
slightly and wiped a local anesthetic over his face, shut the lids of his
eyes.  It bound the absorbent material lightly around his head, and wiped his
nose.  He was moved upright again.  Just what am I going to do with you?  The
sobs were coming harder now, his whole body shook.  It was like watching
someone trying to wrench themselves apart, from the inside.
    Past mistakes paraded before him, all the things he had ever been sorry for
appeared - and accused him.  There was so much wasted time, wasted
opportunities, wasted lives.  My god!  I'm so sorry.  The wails were anguished,
the scenes of despair strobed on, and he was helpless to undo even the smallest
error.  Leave me alone, my heart is breaking!
    Dear Mother!  Stop it!  I can't stand it!  This isn't fun at all!  I've got
to make you stop.
    Can't you see I'm sorry?  Can't you see my tears?  Must I suffer this
much?  Must I pay forever?  The need to be held, comforted was like a rusted
blade being wound into his bowels.  I'll kneel to you, beg you, only - tell me
where you are!
    The creature moved a small set of stairs into the room, behind his
shuddering frame.  It removed most of the numbing fluid from his system, and
substituted a little sedative instead.  Those bottles'll need replenishing
soon, and your bags need changing.  *sigh*  You're nothing but trouble at the
moment, aren't you?  Grasping a handful of tissues, it climbed up.
    This is so trite!  It wrapped it's arms about him - the sensation of
partially entering the anti-gravity field making it's stomach churn.  One arm
slid about his waist, a hand caressing his hip.  The other angled up from
beneath an armpit, so it could reach to dab at his nose, and mouth.  It rocked
him slightly, and his wails started to ease.  If my friends could see me now.
The torturer who starts to fall for the victim.  The old hurt/comfort syndrome,
in spades!  I should have known I'd be no good at this.  Where's my sense of
power now, eh?  Coming over all, 'wet', and emotional - it's like some gothic
romance.  And you!  You're no better!  You're supposed to be koha, tough guy!
And it seems all the strong, silent, bastard wants - is to be loved.  Walking
cliches, the pair of us.
    Long minutes passed, the creature drowsing against Hasegawa's back.  The
howls had faded into silence.  Numb lips parted, moved, a small voice
murmured...  It took the creature a while to realise it was being addressed
directly, the voice was so low, thick, and clotted.
    He'd tried to struggle against the grip on him.  No.  Don't.  No more.  But
he was so weak, he had no idea where his body was any more, everything was so
far away.  The pressure didn't change, nothing threatening happened, he started
to feel calmer - almost lethargic.  Oh, fuck.  Is this how it ends?  Do people
just drift away?  He was still being held, it was oddly reassuring, he
relaxed.  The images dissipated, as if they'd never had form, or substance.
Tension ran out of him, like the turn of the tide.  He needed to speak, to make
contact.
    "Who are you?" The creature jerked.  "Please, tell me who you are." It
stroked his brow, hugged him tighter.  "Talk to me."
    All right, but it'll do no good you know, you can't hear me. Who am I?
Tell me, 'chan', did you ever hear the story of the Wind's daughter?  It's an
old, old, tale you know.  The Wind's child came down the chimney, one night, to
play with a human who was small, and had been left on her own by her poor
mother - who was out gathering wood.  The weather was very cold, because the
wind was so strong.  This human girl was very wise in the way of spirit-folk,
and she knew how to deal with them.  So, when the Wind's daughter asked her,
"Who are you?  What is your name?", the little wench said, "my name is Me-
Myself-Alone." And they played, and froliced, and shrieked.  And the wind blew
harder, colder, so the draught in the chimney caused the fire to leap, and
spark, and burn high.  And the sly human pushed the spirit closer to the
flames.  A cinder, floating down, landed on the Wind's child - and scorched
her.  She screamed, "You've hurt me! You've hurt me!", at the little maid.  And
the Wind - hearing the cries of her child - shouted down the flue, "Who is it
dares hurt you so, my love, my little one?  Tell me and I will blow them to
tatters, and rags.  I'll skin them!" The whole house shook like a ship at sea,
"I will blow the flesh off of their bones!"  And the little elemental sobbed,
"I've been hurt by Me-Myself-Alone!"  Her mother roared.  "Come back up here
you foolish one, and don't be crying to me, for the pain you have given
yourself!"  Profound my sweeting?  Yes.  Very deep.
    He slept for a while, lulled by the vibration against his back, and the
creature tended to it's own needs.  Eating, work, watching the news of the
Decakcho's disappearance.  Who they were investigating now.
    It was tired, nearly time for beddy-byes.  It's been a long day - but first
I want to pay you back, a little, for the trauma you've caused me.
    He'd been away for a long time, he couldn't remember why.  The blows
started: short, sharp, slaps across the backs of legs, face, head, buttocks.
He couldn't tell if they were from a hand - or a strap.  Each rap left his skin
tingling - confusing - weren't beatings designed to hurt more?  At some time
they stopped, and the jabbing started.  Here and there, little points of pain,
like small drops of acid.  He gasped in shock at each twinge, his concentration
narrowing to an area the size of a needle's point.  He rediscovered the soles
of his feet, and he had hands!  Fingers!  Hairs were extracted, singly.
Armpit, eyelash, eyebrow.  Crotch, nostril, head, arse.
    What a pity oriental men have such little bodily hair.  It's been two days,
at least, since you shaved - where's your stubble?  I can't make you dance as
much as I'd like...
    The creature sat back on it's heels - you bruise beautifully you know.  By
tomorrow you'll have blotches like black grapes, set off against that olive
skin.  Maybe not as aesthetically rainbow-like as Benten would colour, but that
purple has a charm all it's own.  It reached down to an open box, and pulled
out a bit of fur.  Ah, well.  Something else I'll have to destroy later.  A
silk scarf, a shred of velvet; it smiled up at him.  Something sweet to end the
day with, eh petal?

                                (iv)

    Wakey!  Wakey!  Last day thing.  You've got to be returned to the bosom of
your department by tonight, at the latest.  And I've still got to get rid of
all the traces that you've been in my tender care.  Busy, busy, busy...  Your
lot haven't talked to me for more than a few minutes, very routine, at the
moment they seem to be concentrating on all your known enemies, there've been
lots of arrests.  You should be proud, then again, you don't seem to be very
popular do you?  But... if I keep you any longer, there's your health, and even
if there wasn't, there's mine if their investigations get any more thorough.
Let me get myself a drink, and I'll be right back.
    Tequila in hand, accompaniments on tray, it came back in - singing:
              'The lights are on, but you're not home.
                   You're mine, and not your own.
                 Your heart beats, in double time.
                Another kiss, and you'll be mine...'
    Using the sharp edge of a fingernail, it traced long lines on his body.
    Hasegawa felt himself spring back into being, it was to be limned in bars
of blue neon.  Collarbone to wrist.  Inner wrist to armpit and down, all the
way down, to ankle.  Inner ankle up to groin, aching scratches over the
perineum, and down the other side.  The carving of a jaw, the outlining of the
scrotum.
    The light faded to a muted pastel - he felt more awake than he had in...
He had an image to focus on, a bodymap, an outline to fill in.  Hang on to
that, hang on before the whispering starts again.
    The creature took a long slurp of it's drink, and smiled a little tipsily.
Perhaps a mite early in the day for some, but the sun must be over the yardarm
somewhere in the world.  It plucked an icecube from the glass, and dropped it,
several times.  Chased it along the floor.  Oops!  Butterfingers!  No, that was
yesterday.  Cloth in one hand, ice in the other, it dabbed, and slid the cube
along his flesh; raising delicate swatches of gooseskin.
    These frigid zones were familiar to Hasegawa, at least he thought the sense
was cold.  It reminded him of sex, pain and pleasure.  Sachiko.  PISS!  This
must be Mitsushiba!  His dick sprang to life, ever eager you fool?  Warmth
against the cool.  This could be a big mistake.
    The creature stood in front of him, for heaven's sake don't let this go
pear-shaped like yesterday.  It took another cube from the drink, and popped it
into it's mouth.  Spat it back, and sucked.  Heard him hiss, felt him trying to
arc forward.  Liked that I see.  It stopped and selected a drug, injected it
down the tube, and mouthed another frozen lump.  Began to blow him again.
    Hasegawa thought he could smell something, very faintly, the merest trace
of antiseptic and soap.  But now the pounding in his ears was mounting,
growling and roaring like thunder.  His eyelids flickered, air surged and
swamped his lungs.  The beating of his heart was going to pulverize his
ribcage, burst his skull.  Fuck.  I'm going.  I.  Can't.  Stop.  Myself.
    Well nothing I didn't expect.  Now just let me turn you, so...
    Hasegawa felt his jaw pressed down.  Hmmm...?  What now?  His body still
luxuriated in the aftermath of his orgasm.  A mouth brushed his own, and
suddenly his deprived senses were flooded with the smell, and taste of semen.
It was an explosion going off in his brain, white-out.  His body continued to
pump air, feebly, for a space as the pleasureable shock died away.
    The creature re-filled it's glass and went back to cutting out patterns in
hair-removal strips.  They were a little lop-sided by now, but it's thing would
never notice a detail like that.  It stuck the small, abstract, patterns over
his shins and forearms, and feet.  The pictogram for, 'love', over his belly -
where it could just reach his pubic hair.  Lines of plastic ran down his inner
thighs, and across his ribs.  Circles lay about his nipples, shapes on the nape
of his neck.  Now I get to remove them pretty one, slowly.
    It felt like he was being flayed, the epidermis peeled from him like he was
a piece of fruit.  He shrieked again, panting at each new tearing movement.  He
was going to be scarred forever, mutilated beyond the skill of surgeons.
    The creature looked at the red marks caused by the adhesive strips being
removed.  You really didn't enjoy that, did you?  I can imagine what you
thought I was doing.  Just think, women do this all the time to achieve a
smooth, pleasing, skin texture.  Mad as snakes!
    The pain quieted, was he being heavily anesthetized?  How long could he
stand it, before his will snapped?  He would do anything to get that touch
back, now it was gone; but it maddened, delighted, and frightened him when it
was there.  Whatever they ask me to do - I think I'll do it.  Maybe they'll
talk to me now, make their demands.
    Look at that, you're bleeding.  Maybe I did leave that wax on too long.  I
don't want to do you any serious damage, nothing permanent.  I don't want you
broken, just a little more... flexible.  You'd be no fun if you weren't strong,
I have all kinds of plans to try on you later.  It'd all be waste if you were a
defeated thing.  Do you know how much I envy you your strength?  And that which
does not kill us, well it just makes us stronger, doesn't it?
    The blood beaded.  I must wipe that off.  No, wait.  I've got a better
idea.  It took a gulp of tequila, bit down on a slice of lime, and licked up a
pinch of salt - giggled, 'wrong order, and ran it's tongue along every wound.
Hasegawa yelped and squirmed.
    The creature forgot to dull his olfactory senses, the saline smell of blood
filled his nostrils, burnt it's way into his cortex.
    He was back in his apartment, facing out of the long, reinforced window, in
the living room.  It was black outside, so very black.  Starless.  The lights
were on behind him, but he couldn't see any reflections in the glass, not even
his own.  The reek of blood lay over all.  He didn't want to turn around, oh
no, that was the last thing he wanted to do.  But there are actions that must
be taken, dread that must be conquered, like walking into a building full of
heavily armed soldiers, with an arrest warrent.
    The stench was choking him, well - it wasn't going to get any better.  He
turned around.
    The remains of the victims of every crime scene he had attended, were
draped over the floor.  The walls ran with fluids, and tissue, the ceiling was
coated.  Everything was covered with the wreckage of life.  He recognised
traffic accidents he had policed, domestic murders, and terrorist attacks.  The
bits, and pieces, of frail humanity.  Death that held had to scrape up, and
bring loved ones to identify: children, women, men.  The morass in front of him
began to seeth, and pulse.  Noises began: the drone of blowflies, the whimpers
and moans of the terminal, the cries of those scared and in agony.  So much
pain.  Gobbets of unimaginable substances fell, stickily, down on him.  I'm
drowning in the dead!  Arms were held out to him, fingers pointed, eyes stared
accusingly.  You failed to help us.  You didn't save us.  A better policeman
would have.  And the smell, the smell of the slaughterhouse: sewer and
shambles.
    The mess that was the couch heaved, and - with a ripping noise, Sachiko sat
up, a gory Venus from the waves.  She swung her legs around, and placed her
feet in the soup.  "Hello, my darling. I've come back for you."  On the
perifery of his vision, Hasegawa could see other corpses begin to move.
Sachiko spread her legs, and smiled invitingly; his vision was drawn inexorably
to her cunt.  She scooped some viscid material from her vulva, and raised it to
her mouth, looked at him over her hand.  "Come.  Eat our body.  Drink our
blood.  Be rejuvenated." Hasegawa's gorge rose, he gulped convulsively,
watching Sachiko lick, and bite.  She'd started to devour her own hand, and she
didn't seem to notice.  She paused from nibbling on a finger, "Well sexy, fancy
a fuck?"  One by one bodies were hauling themselves upright.  The bits that
couldn't manage to stand, pulling themselves closer any way they could.  The
warm porridge washed over his ankles now, and the walls trembled like raw
wounds.  Sachiko beckoned to him, her pointed teeth were serrated, and long.
With a sigh, she rose and waded towards him.  "What?  No loving greeting for
me, darling?  Not even a, 'welcome back', slap?  Come here, give me a big
kiss!" The mass of corpses moved with her, they were between him and the door.
    The creature spotted the monitors going wild and had the sedative heading
down the tubes, even as he drew breath...
    As Hasegawa lay unconscious, a clear-up operation went on around him, by
the time the creature pulled him back from the submarine layers of sleep, it's
home looked almost normal again.
    I've saved this for last, thing, because I've never tried it before.  A
good friend of mine once told me about it - and yes, we were eating at the
time, and no - it didn't put me off my food.  I've always wanted to try this on
someone - and you're a captive audience!  Now, you may well ask, 'Why me?  What
have I ever done to you?' Good question, and truthfully, I don't really know.
It really isn't something I should do to someone I like, and I think I could
come to like you a great deal, Dekacho Juzo Hasegawa.  See?  I've given you
your name back, aren't you pleased?  Does that make what I'm about to do
worse?  The creature ran a long, black, feather over his chest - it's an
arabian conceit - apparently.  obviously life in the desert is kinkier than I'd
thought.  The feather travelled around his body, tickling.
    I've forgotten again.  There was something here, something I should have
done.  Hasegawa's brow furrowed as he concentrated.  The odd noises, colours,
smells, and tastes, were almost background scenery by now.  BOLLOCKS!  My
memory is shot!  That arse-wipe isn't going to kill me - after this he won't
need to!  What's that?  Touch me harder, I can barely feel you.
    The quill end of the feather glided into Hasegawa's sphincter; even to
someone starved of their senses, the erotic sensation was slight.  The pressure
barely noticable.  The feather itself flowed in, until the creature's
fingertips nearly touched his anal opening.
    Now, I mustn't lose my grip on this, must I?  It wouldn't do to leave
anything up there that I don't have time to retrieve.  This is going to feel
indescribable, allegedly!  But the damage is minor, you've probably had worse
papercuts.
    It's hand trembling, the creature braced itself, and pulled.  The reaction
was predictably loud; to the trapped mind it felt like someone disemboweling
him, in a most unusal fashion.  And the event was unending.

                                    (v)

    Returning the Kacho was - if possible - even more fraught than capturing
him had been.  I could still die for doing this.  The anti-gravity units were
useful for moving the dead-weight, but a service lift, (even in the wee, small,
hours), holds risks all it's own.  The medical equipment was small enough to
pack down into one box - and with the anti-gravs - only made hand-luggage.  But
it still had to be replaced in the Saionji centre's store-room.  The creature
had a pass, but... it almost vomited with nerves several times.  A comatose man
lay - wrapped in a sterile blanket - across the back seat of the vehicle it was
going to drive.  It'd be just my luck to get stopped for some traffic violation
now!  Finally there was only one job left to do, it drove towards the main
police station.  FUCK!  I'm shaking like a jelly!  Police are wandering all
over the area - even at this hour - don't you bastards have homes to go to?
It's now or never.
    It pulled up to a kerb within sight of the building, but not too close -
the Cyber force was a bit nervy about terrorist attacks.  Pray Goddess, some
officer finds you quickly!  It was almost tempted to stay, to make sure, but
good sense won out.  What am I thinking of?  Is this the long buried maternal
instinct I've been warned about?  Opening the door, it tilted the seat, so
Hasegawa's body tumbled into the gutter with the boneless grace of the newly
dead.
    The blanket was dark, and the creature was miraculously lucky, no-one
noticed it drive slowly away.  The video, when analysed later, would only show
a typical car, with forged computer recognition, and blank-out/distortion
windows.
    A certain Miss Okio Junuchi found the body, lying in the rain, on her way
in to start the early morning shift.  Within seconds her call for assistance
had officers streaming out of the station.  Had he seen it, Hasegawa would have
been stunned to see the relief on so many faces.  The Cyber force had it's
chief back, and he was still breathing.