Nightmare in New Tokyo

By Rei Rosenquist

Seika, alone.
Rain covers an ugly, divided New Tokyo. Gangsters fill the streets, beating in the native inhabitants for fun.
Then, one night, walking home from the factory--Seika has enough.
There is power in their blood, anger in their veins, a dark magic buried in their heart.
Will this dark magic be enough to take their city back?
At what cost?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rei Rosenquist
• Release date: Oct 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201605575

Rei Rosenquist

Rei Rosenquist first remembers life as seen out the high window of a hotel balcony. Down below is a courtyard, swarms of brightly dressed tourists, the beach. The memory is nothing but a blue-green washed image. Warmth and sunlight. Here, they are three years old, and this is the beginning of a nomadic story-teller’s life. Over the years, they have traveled to many countries, engaged many peoples, picked up new habits, and learned new languages. But, some things never change. For them, these are stories, food service, and traveling. These three passions have bloomed from hobbies, studies, and jobs into a way of life. These days, Rei can be found in between Tokyo, Kailua, and Bellingham, Washington pouring beautiful latte art, baking off a batch of famous savory scones, and cozying up with a laptop to obsessively write mountains of dark speculative fiction. You can find Rei’s stories and blog at reirosenquist.com. You can also reach them via email at [e-mail] or connect via Facebook (Rei Rosenquist), Twitter (rylrosenquist) and Instagram (rylrosenquist).

Book preview

1

Seika, Alone

Rain poured down in sheets, drenching New Tokyo.

This was no refreshing mist of cool water that would bathe the remnants of a once-glorious city, washing them clean. Oh no. This rain was a dirty deluge, more muck than water. The storms always came on hard in the morning and passed, reluctantly in the evening, leaving the trash-filled streets muddy and reeking of overrun sewage.

This had once been Tokyo, shimmering city of cities. Over the years, it lost its glitter, changed names a dozen times, and everything about it turned ugly and cheap. The rain, yet another symptom of bigger problems.

Despite the title, there was nothing new about the city. Nor did it resemble the great modern city it had once been. Instead, factory after ugly factory stuck high smokestack noses into the dirty sky and spewed black breath. The streets crumbled from negligence, crawling with starved, dark-skinned Ichijin natives in rags and well-fed pale skinned foreign gangsters who dressed in expensive rag-style fashion to blend in.

The only new things New Tokyo could claim to have imported were the wealthy elite who segregated the city with high stone walls that kept the Ichijin out of their treasure holds, and riot-gear-clad police officers who controlled the massive locked gates between the two. The rich foreigners lived fat in a small isolated sector while the Ichijin worked themselves to the bone on Factory Row for the scraps of a sad, broken city longing to be whole again.

The Shiroitachi family, a wide-spread native line with heritage in all parts of once-peaceful Japan, had once been a part of that narrative. Bringing broken peoples back together. Healing ruined lands. Mending promises laid to waste.

Shiroitachi, directly translated, meant white ferret. But colloquially, they'd been called Heiwaitachi. The Peace Ferret, gentle and kind. White marble statues had been erected in their honor.

Those were gone now. Blasted out or knocked down.

The last person in the world who bore the legendary socio-political name of Shiroitachi was Seika. A slight and quiet non-binary factory worker who made no waves, had no friends or family left, and worked seventeen hour shifts at the local factory producing metal tubes and discs for New Tokyo imported elite.

What a gentle revolutionary.

Today had been extra long—eighteen hours after a fire in the tubes had caused delays and a mess only Seika could clean up (or so the super had said, which was most likely just a cruelty aimed at Seika’s once-famous family). Seika clocked off at midnight, well after safe walking hours, then missed the last rusted tram rattling in the direction of Cot Town, where all the locals lived in stacked hovels more like cages than homes. Catching a cab was out of the question. Seika had no credits to spare.

Seika started up at the rain and willed it to stop.

Something niggled the back of their mind. Most likely, just exhaustion. Seika rubbed their sore knuckles into the sockets of their eyes, pressing as hard as they could bear. White patterns burst across the backs of their eyelids, dancing and twisting together in magnificent shapes. They sighed hard and released.

The rain had stopped.

Seika shrugged, shoving the coincidence aside. Looks like it’s fine weather for a walk, after all.

They stepped with a shiver from the safety of the factory.

Out on the curb, just about anything could happen and nobody would care. The factory had security cams once, and nano-robotic firewalls protected by heavily equipped robotic security devices. But those were a thing of the past. Now, the little black and blue cases which once held the cams and the hatches which released the robots were covered in layers of dust and disregard.

The only thing protecting Seika now was themself.

Another deep sigh. If Seika was anything, it wasn’t a fighter. Stealth and speed were their only allies. Their ticket home, now. Seika tore off the curb like it was a starting gate, made it a handful of meters, and swiftly