He's wearing a bag now- carrying all the important items he thinks he will need just in case things go dire with Corvus. Extra cameras. A powerbank. Two phones though he isn't sure if he charged them. Two trigger bombs. A lockpick. A flashbomb along with two submachine guns he has only ever used against shadows.
The door doesn’t budge. Not the first time Akira shoves his shoulder against it. Not the second. It doesn’t even budge an inch when he digs his heels into the ground and throws his full weight forward, the useless clang of metal reverberating back into his ears. The spot where Corvus disappeared remains closed, unyielding, like it’s mocking him.
Akira grits his teeth, stepping back to catch his breath. The dim glow of Maruki’s Palace looms around him, warm and unsettling, like the eerie quiet of a hospital at the peak of night even if its only 2:30 pm.
“You’re kidding me,” Akira mutters to himself, panting softly.
He's only been gone for a few minutes at best.
If anything, the more Akira stares at the entrance, the more the smooth metal feels alive, pulsing faintly as if sensing his desperation and delighting in it.
And then an idea flashes in his head.
The thought comes to him so suddenly it almost feels ridiculous, but at this point, what does he have to lose? With a deep sigh, he reaches into his coat and fishes out his phone, fingers hovering uncertainly over the screen.
“No way this works,” he says aloud, skeptical, as he navigates to the contacts section. There’s no number for Maruki’s ‘Reception’, obviously. He could even try calling Maruki directly but then he remembers—Maruki always ran his freaky place like a clinic, didn’t he? Full of well-dressed cognitive ‘staff’ who were more than willing to be helpful until you broke the illusion.
Akira scrolls for a moment and frowns. Could he just… call? Would that even work? Would a cognition pick up?
“I… have reached peak insanity,” he grumbles. But before he can overthink it, Akira punches in a number at random—the kind of generic sequence that most clinics seem to have while looking around for guidance. Just as he expects to hear an empty dial tone, the line clicks.
Someone answers.
"Thank you for calling Dr. Maruki’s Lab of Cognitive Research. How may I assist you today?”
Akira freezes for a moment, phone pressed to his ear. He hadn’t actually expected anyone to pick up.
“Uh,” he starts awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Yeah, hi. I… I’m here for a follow-up appointment. But the door’s locked.”
There’s a short pause on the other end of the line, followed by a voice that suddenly sounds hesitant. “I’m sorry, sir, but the lab is currently closed. You’ll need to return tomorrow.”
Akira pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration bubbling up already. “Tomorrow? I… I don’t think you get it. Dr. Maruki told me I could come by whenever. You know, let him know how the medicine worked.”
Another pause. “I’m sorry, sir. But Dr. Maruki is unavailable at the moment. There’s no appointment scheduled here today.”
Akira narrows his eyes at the door, as if glaring through the phone. “Yeah, well, maybe you should double-check. He told me I could come. That door shouldn’t be locked, right? This isn’t exactly what I’d call good service.”
The receptionist’s tone grows slightly defensive, but it doesn’t waver. “Again, sir, there is no appointment listed here. You’ll have to try tomorrow—”
Akira cuts them off, his voice sharpening as he drops the act. “Okay, look. I’m here because your medicine—the stuff Maruki gave me? Yeah, it’s made my stomach very, very upset. I’m talking bad. And you guys cover insurance, right? So unless you want me calling corporate or whoever’s in charge here, I’m not leaving until someone opens that door.”
The other end of the line goes quiet.
Akira smirks faintly, victorious. “That’s what I thought.”
But the receptionist doesn’t fold. After a few seconds, they simply respond, “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. However, Dr. Maruki is still unavailable. You’ll need to return tomorrow.”
Akira’s patience snaps. “What do you mean he’s unavailable? You’re a clinic! You can’t just lock the door and pretend nothing’s wrong! If that’s the case, I’ll sue. (he pretends those words don't unsettle him) I’ll sue this whole place. How does that sound?”
A beat of silence. Then, a low, unsettling rumbling comes faintly through the phone line, accompanied by muffled shouts in the background. Akira freezes, his smug grin fading as something—something—feels off. Feels so wrong. As if the whole place was being torn apart from the inside.
The receptionist’s voice returns, colder now, almost mechanical. “Then sue us. Or come tomorrow. Dr. Maruki isn’t available. Sorry.”
The line cuts off with an abrupt click.
Akira stares at his phone for a long moment, the silence around him suddenly deafening.
“What the hell was that?” he mutters, lowering his phone to his side.
He slumps slightly, frustration and exhaustion pressing on his shoulders as he looks back at the locked door. The smugness he felt moments ago has completely evaporated, replaced by the cold realization that he’s no closer to getting inside than when he started.
“Fine, then,” he mutters bitterly to the empty space. “Guess I’ll come back tomorrow.”
His words drip with sarcasm, but there’s no one around to hear him. No receptionist, no Maruki. Just the faint hum of the locked Palace door—unyielding, silent, waiting.
He goes for the whip tucked behind his jeans and looks ahead at the garden now splaying around the lab. There must be a back entrance. A trashing area? There's no way this place has only one door to walk through and maybe...maybe he will have to stay away from shadows but he could probably find a way in, right?
in background
He's wearing a bag now- carrying all the important items he thinks he will need just in case things go dire with Corvus. Extra cameras. A powerbank. Two phones though he isn't sure if he charged them. Two trigger bombs. A lockpick. A flashbomb along with two submachine guns he has only ever used against shadows.
The door doesn’t budge. Not the first time Akira shoves his shoulder against it. Not the second. It doesn’t even budge an inch when he digs his heels into the ground and throws his full weight forward, the useless clang of metal reverberating back into his ears. The spot where Corvus disappeared remains closed, unyielding, like it’s mocking him.
Akira grits his teeth, stepping back to catch his breath. The dim glow of Maruki’s Palace looms around him, warm and unsettling, like the eerie quiet of a hospital at the peak of night even if its only 2:30 pm.
“You’re kidding me,” Akira mutters to himself, panting softly.
He's only been gone for a few minutes at best.
If anything, the more Akira stares at the entrance, the more the smooth metal feels alive, pulsing faintly as if sensing his desperation and delighting in it.
And then an idea flashes in his head.
The thought comes to him so suddenly it almost feels ridiculous, but at this point, what does he have to lose? With a deep sigh, he reaches into his coat and fishes out his phone, fingers hovering uncertainly over the screen.
“No way this works,” he says aloud, skeptical, as he navigates to the contacts section. There’s no number for Maruki’s ‘Reception’, obviously. He could even try calling Maruki directly but then he remembers—Maruki always ran his freaky place like a clinic, didn’t he? Full of well-dressed cognitive ‘staff’ who were more than willing to be helpful until you broke the illusion.
Akira scrolls for a moment and frowns. Could he just… call? Would that even work? Would a cognition pick up?
“I… have reached peak insanity,” he grumbles. But before he can overthink it, Akira punches in a number at random—the kind of generic sequence that most clinics seem to have while looking around for guidance. Just as he expects to hear an empty dial tone, the line clicks.
Someone answers.
"Thank you for calling Dr. Maruki’s Lab of Cognitive Research. How may I assist you today?”
Akira freezes for a moment, phone pressed to his ear. He hadn’t actually expected anyone to pick up.
“Uh,” he starts awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Yeah, hi. I… I’m here for a follow-up appointment. But the door’s locked.”
There’s a short pause on the other end of the line, followed by a voice that suddenly sounds hesitant. “I’m sorry, sir, but the lab is currently closed. You’ll need to return tomorrow.”
Akira pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration bubbling up already. “Tomorrow? I… I don’t think you get it. Dr. Maruki told me I could come by whenever. You know, let him know how the medicine worked.”
Another pause. “I’m sorry, sir. But Dr. Maruki is unavailable at the moment. There’s no appointment scheduled here today.”
Akira narrows his eyes at the door, as if glaring through the phone. “Yeah, well, maybe you should double-check. He told me I could come. That door shouldn’t be locked, right? This isn’t exactly what I’d call good service.”
The receptionist’s tone grows slightly defensive, but it doesn’t waver. “Again, sir, there is no appointment listed here. You’ll have to try tomorrow—”
Akira cuts them off, his voice sharpening as he drops the act. “Okay, look. I’m here because your medicine—the stuff Maruki gave me? Yeah, it’s made my stomach very, very upset. I’m talking bad. And you guys cover insurance, right? So unless you want me calling corporate or whoever’s in charge here, I’m not leaving until someone opens that door.”
The other end of the line goes quiet.
Akira smirks faintly, victorious. “That’s what I thought.”
But the receptionist doesn’t fold. After a few seconds, they simply respond, “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. However, Dr. Maruki is still unavailable. You’ll need to return tomorrow.”
Akira’s patience snaps. “What do you mean he’s unavailable? You’re a clinic! You can’t just lock the door and pretend nothing’s wrong! If that’s the case, I’ll sue. (he pretends those words don't unsettle him) I’ll sue this whole place. How does that sound?”
A beat of silence. Then, a low, unsettling rumbling comes faintly through the phone line, accompanied by muffled shouts in the background. Akira freezes, his smug grin fading as something—something—feels off. Feels so wrong. As if the whole place was being torn apart from the inside.
The receptionist’s voice returns, colder now, almost mechanical. “Then sue us. Or come tomorrow. Dr. Maruki isn’t available. Sorry.”
The line cuts off with an abrupt click.
Akira stares at his phone for a long moment, the silence around him suddenly deafening.
“What the hell was that?” he mutters, lowering his phone to his side.
He slumps slightly, frustration and exhaustion pressing on his shoulders as he looks back at the locked door. The smugness he felt moments ago has completely evaporated, replaced by the cold realization that he’s no closer to getting inside than when he started.
“Fine, then,” he mutters bitterly to the empty space. “Guess I’ll come back tomorrow.”
His words drip with sarcasm, but there’s no one around to hear him. No receptionist, no Maruki. Just the faint hum of the locked Palace door—unyielding, silent, waiting.
He goes for the whip tucked behind his jeans and looks ahead at the garden now splaying around the lab. There must be a back entrance. A trashing area? There's no way this place has only one door to walk through and maybe...maybe he will have to stay away from shadows but he could probably find a way in, right?
A scoff leaves his lips.
Tomorrow. Like hell he’s waiting that long.