The Beast with 21 Faces

I.

Above the blood-spattered glass, a digital clock flashed a neon green light, searing my sleepless eyes. Midnight has struck again. A sudden squeal from a squeegee caused my skin to crawl. An aging janitor with a warty face stands on the other side of the two-way mirror, wearing a blue jumpsuit with an orange collar and the name of the company stitched on the front. With his tongue sticking out, he reaches up high for another pass. I stand there looking at him through the glass. My mind began to wander, taking me back twenty-four hours ago.

I was piled under a mountain of paperwork and unaware that in the coming day, thousands of lives would be lost including one serial killer, the ‘Sotenbori Slasher’. I had been tracking numerous reports across the country spanning two decades that fit the killer’s modus operandi. The victims were always young corporate women in their twenties, strung up in the ‘Gleeco’ pose, and covered in no less than twenty-one cuts. The reports painted a path east, somewhere in New Chiba City, towards the next and final victim.

Later that evening, a body was found at an apartment building near the Soviet embassy, which was reported to share similar characteristics to previous cases of the Sotenbori Slasher. When I approached the scene, a slight scent of burnt ozone stopped me in my tracks by the entrance. The smell seemed strange and distant. I lit a cigarette and entered the crime scene. The stench of cheap, triple processed tobacco filled the room which made my presence known. I flashed my badge as the smouldering butt hung from my lips. The officers let me in and muttered my unwelcomed moniker, ‘Watcher Gaijin’. Being a foreigner, I cringed at the name. Things were never easy for me and as a minority, the hardships of this city weighed heavier. But my problems suddenly seemed trivial as I gazed upon the cold body that hung from the wall. Out of respect, I bowed my head and whispered a short eulogy in its place, “Things will never be easy.”

The investigation lasted a total of two minutes. The victim’s cellphone was left in her briefcase, along with her wallet. An anonymous message was sent to her phone to meet here. The wallet contained various credit cards, ID, and 100 eurobucks, all untouched. The victim was identified as Haku Sakura, a quality assurance worker for Arasaka Chemistry, a subsidiary of Arasaka Corporation, one of the largest and most powerful corporate security megacorps in the world. I let out a deep sigh then, knowing that attempts to uncover any information about the victim would be halted by a plethora of nondisclosure agreements, policies, and regulations, that made Arasaka such an airtight corporate bureaucracy. Not to mention the corporation’s monthly “donations” to the NCPD’s annual charity ball. For a lack of better words, this case had become a complete waste of time.

Cameras flashed as I headed towards the entrance, my mind back on my desk. I crushed the spent filter under my heel as I lit another ‘New Chiba Silver’, I paused to admire the cheap design that shortened my lifespan. My sight followed the stream of blue smoke towards the doorway when an ominous figure caught my attention. Illuminated by the yellow holographic tape stood a hooded man. He stared at me before he disappeared into a crowd of reporters, of whom seemingly materialized out of thin air. I hurdled over a couple of cameramen, with my pistol drawn I shouted, “FREEZE! HANDS IN THE AIR!”. He halted midstride and held his hands up arrogantly as if he desired to be caught. He turned and flashed an orange collar and a sinister grin with a row of sharpened teeth that stood prominently, almost as if it glowed in the dark.

I paused unexpectedly due to an odd scene that unfolded on the street. The suspect’s grin quickly turned as he saw the confusion reflected in my eyes, looking beyond him. In seconds, the night transformed to midday as an overwhelming and unexplainable source of light illuminated the street, as if the sun hurled towards the city. A sudden clash of metal could be heard as cars collided outside, along with haunting screams of hundreds that cried out a single word, ‘Tycho’. The smell of burnt ozone was so overpowering that I covered my face with my sleeve. A thunderclap rung as colossal shockwaves tore the roof above me and sent the building over like a domino in an invisible cascade. In a flash, my legs buckled beneath me as the world faded black.

The following hours blurred together after I regained consciousness. Fortunately, I managed to catch the suspect amid the destruction. I didn’t know it then, but something was off. I found him a block away in an overturned office building, huddled in a corner with a bloody kitchen knife in hand. His coat was missing. He trembled in a state of panic and uttered the words, “I’m the Sotenbori Slasher” for the next hour as I dragged him to the precinct. When we arrived at the station, we were greeted with a scene that mirrored the hellscape outside. Debris, trash, and unidentified stains littered the lobby. All of it trampled under a sea of looters, vandals, gangsters, and other zeroes. All were rustling in their cuffs involuntarily waiting to be processed. When I saw the crowd, I knew that none of them would ever be as ‘important’ as the collar in my hands. I lit a cigarette and forced it in the killer’s mouth, which pacified his incessant rambling. Vertigo began to set as my patience wore thin. Ignorant of my actions, I drew my pistol and fired a round in the ceiling. Silence rang out as the crowd parted way to the interrogation rooms. A roar of laughter broke out by voices both criminal and copper alike. We waded through the lobby as if I was the shepherd and he was the lamb, that navigated a den of hyenas.

The heckles subsided as we approached the interrogation room. On the threshold, a smell of burnt chocolate tobacco washed over me. An intense feeling burned at the base of my neck, the hairs on my spine erect. I turned to find the bewildered, tear swollen eyes of a uniformed badge staring through me. Her name, Haku Masako, a beat cop that should have been on patrol this night. Had I paid more attention, I would have known then that she had shared the same dead-eyed stare as the girl that hung from the wall. I took out the evidence bag with the knife and handed it over to no avail. I spoke calmly to get her attention and when that failed, I barked, “Officer! Tag this and take it to the techs, I need that knife scrubbed! I need prints, DNA samples, hell! Tell’em I need a taste test too, vamos!” Officer Masako stood in a hypnotic trance and continued to eye the man behind me. After a slow nod, she grabbed the bag and paced down the hall, her head still turned in my direction.

I rubbed my tired eyes as my head throbbed in pain. The Sotenbori Slasher broke his ceaseless rehearsal and surprised me by trying on a distinct set of words, “I need help.” he whispered with his hand by my ear. The rattle of the cuffs sent shivers down my back as the image of the dead woman invaded my thoughts. “Yeah, you do, creep. How about I provide it in twelve grams of lead? Sit your ass down!” I shoved the killer onto a chair and locked his cuffs to the table chain. I rushed to the seat across, staring him down like a hunter with a caged beast. The killer stuttered a confession, “Yes - I killed that woman. B-B-But I didn’t kill the others.” ’Remarkably overused.’ I thought to myself. “Come on, you really think that’s going to work? I have the knife going to the lab and in five minutes the DNA of all your victims will be on that blade including YOUR fingerprints and the type of mushrooms you like in your Friday night kibble! Now ‘fess up, I want names, real names, including your own. If you don’t tell me what I want to hear, you’re gonna’ spend the next seven days strapped to that chair while I turn your face into PORCINI!” the table shook as I slammed my fist, an imprint left behind from my false hand. To my disbelief, the Sotenbori Slasher began to cry.

“Haku Sakura, that’s the only one, I swear,” cried the killer as I studied his desperate cries. I nodded after a moment and determined that his statement seemed genuine. “And yours? What is your name?” I asked. The man buried his tear-soaked face in his palms and answered, “I don’t know.” Unsatisfied, I snapped at him, “Bullshit! What do you mean you don’t know? You are full of shit, and you know it! You are a monster that killed dozens across this country! Now quit playing or - “and before I could finish, the man began to scream a heart-wrenching sound and bashed his head with bloodied fists. In a swift motion, I yanked the chain under the table with my foot that forced his hands away. I dashed over to his side, my hand on his shoulder, and tried a different approach, “Just tell me what’s going on. I am here to help you and to make things better. Help me understand. Alright, pal? Can I call you pal?” The man whispered under his breath, “You need to know something.” His eye twitched and his shoulders spasmed, “You must find someone, my-my wife, I think she’s my wife - I had no choice; they were going to harm my family! They made me take something, do horrible things. They took everything th-th-they erased me!” the man opened his palms and revealed that they were covered in fresh scabs. Every line from his wrists to his fingertips was peeled off. And from the colour of the tissue, his prints were likely removed at the same time.

An abrupt thought crossed my mind. There were never fingerprints or DNA of the suspects left behind in previous cases, and this, blubbering murderer had fresh scabs. ‘I kneeled to look at him in the eye and saw him for the first time, a killer who trembled in remorse. I no longer believed this man was the Sotenbori Slasher. I felt disappointed and worse, I believed what he had to say. “Alright,” I conceded, “who is your wife? And who are they?” I asked. The murderer darted his eyes between me and the two-way mirror, “You know who ‘they’ are, ‘they’ are listening! I will tell you everything, but you must turn off the tapes. Please, I beg you.” I patted his shoulder and left the room. ‘He isn’t the Slasher,’ I thought, ‘but he did confess to the crime, and he may hold some key information.’ As the door shut behind me, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders as I thought this day might pay off after all.

I entered the observation room and a smell of burnt chocolate tobacco stopped me in the doorway. I scanned the room to find a freshly lit ‘Momo Blacks’ that smouldered in the ashtray. Whoever was here certainly had a refined taste for a sweet and short death. I preferred something cheaper. I brushed the ashtray off to the side, lit my own cigarette, and found the recording console with the ‘HD micro-compact floppy cassette’ already ejected from the console tray. Confused and concerned, I didn’t hear the door open on the other side of the viewing window. My heart sunk when I heard the blood-curdling scream that reverberated through the two-way mirror. The smoke fell from my lips as I saw my suspect butchered by his own knife. I burst through the door to the hall and yelled at the top of my lungs, “CODE ONE! CODE ONE! I NEED BACKUP HERE!” and ripped open the door to the interrogation room without hesitation. Officer Masako unaware of my presence, straddled the killer and ferociously continued to stab him in the chest. I tackled her off the killer and slammed her into the opposite wall. The murder weapon slid and flung droplets of blood everywhere. Once I noticed that Masako laid unconscious, I sprung towards the killer and pressed my hands on his open wounds. With a dying breath, he spat out his last words, “D-Dolores… Del Rio… Look out… for the Beast…” his eyes rolled in the back of his head as he convulsed and choked on his own blood. The killer died in my arms.

II.

Two weeks have passed since and the amount of paperwork tripled. My mind constantly circled back to the events of that night, the bright light, the killer, and the hooded man. According to the feeds, after a joint security investigation headed by Arasaka, the disastrous light was a rock launched by a mass driver on the Tycho lunar colony that levelled the Soviet Embassy, an event now dubbed as the ‘Tycho Incident’. Subsequently, the general hospital was attacked by a bioweapon released through the hospital ventilation systems. According to a press conference in recent days by Kei Arasaka, both attacks were orchestrated by a rival corporation. This, of course, was all way above my pay grade. The killer remained unidentified with no dental records, no identification, or DNA on file. Another ‘Yamada Taro’, a ‘John Doe’. I wondered what he got entangled with to be forced to commit such a heinous crime, or crimes and who could have erased him. Regardless, the captain insisted that the case was closed. The ‘Sotenbori Slasher’ was dead. News circulated later about an aptly named ‘Beast with 21 Faces’ who began sending threatening letters to media outlets about tainting Gleeco food products with a stolen bioweapon. Alarming news which of course compounded the mass panic already prevalent from the ‘Tycho Incident’. A sudden influx of crime ensued, pushing the city’s resources to a critical state. To say the least, the uncanny resemblance of the name and the timing of all these events left me with an unsettling feeling.

In the days after, I followed up on this ‘Dolores Del Rio’ mentioned by our ‘Yamada Taro’. According to our city’s database the name was surprisingly common, but only one of them stood out to me. A Dolores Genji-Del Rio, Quality Assurance Director of Matsura Food Products. Any other information regarding this Dolores was redacted. I had sent messages and contacted other Dolores’ as to whether their spouse was missing or had any information on the ‘Slasher’ or the ‘Beast with 21 Faces’. The phone calls flew in droves. People who claimed they were the ‘Beast’, others claimed they were the ‘Slasher’. Some of them were simply delusional or seeking notoriety, but all of them were false claims. I should have seen this coming. For the next few days, new reports of strange deaths, psychotic breaks, and cyber psychosis surrounding the consumption of Gleeco products started to rise. The company crumbled fast and within a week of the ‘Beast’s’ announcement, Gleeco Foods had shut down. “Damn,” I muttered while watching the feeds at my desk, “my brand of smokes is made by them.” I changed the channel and a heavily stylized commercial for ‘Momo Blacks’ played in its place. I couldn’t help but feel targeted by this advertisement. Since the Gleeco shutdown the ad popped up everywhere, and worse, the brand stunk up the precinct with its chocolatey smell.

A sudden squeak echoing in the hall adjacent pulled me back into reality, turning around to find the warty janitor making his rounds in the precinct. The irritating sound raised the hairs on my arm. On my desk, a recently opened envelope was addressed to me. I didn’t remember opening it. Inside, a letter with an ominous haiku and specific instructions for meeting a ‘Dolores’ at the container terminal on the south side of town. The meeting is to happen tonight. Grabbing my jacket I put on a hat whilst making my way to the captain’s office to notify him of the lead. On my way, my thoughts begin to wander again.

Ever since the night with the killer, the captain has been on my case like a babysitter. I was to inform him every time I stepped out of the precinct and to assist me would be none other than Haku Masako. Not only did she get a pardon, but she also got promoted to cruiser patrol. Somehow the fault of the killer’s death was pitted on me, and despite my objections, the decision couldn’t be helped. On top of this, my service pistol was confiscated due to negligence and the unsanctioned discharge—I suppose that couldn’t be helped either. Once I found Officer Masako we hopped in a patrol car, she sat behind the wheel.

“Must be nice,” I begin to mutter out loud. Turning toward her, I notice the dispirited look she shot towards me. I think she knew the meaning behind my remark. Facing the console I start plugging the location of the meeting into the cruiser’s built-in navigational device. The sounds of the system whirring in response and estimating an arrival time of 25 minutes. “I didn’t want any of this,” Masako confides to me, “that dirtbag murdered my sister.” Sitting there in the passenger seat, an uncomfortable silence emerges as I continually fail to find comforting words in response. In my peripheral view, Masako shakes her head while starting the car, no doubt trying to shorten this awkward ride as much as possible. Feeling embarrassed, I begin to stare out the window and light another cigarette to calm my nerves. “I am sorry Masako.” I say to her, “She must have meant a lot to you. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.”

Arriving at the terminal gate, an Arasaka Security guard questions our presence, “Papers, please.” Masako reaches over and pulls out a binder from the console, providing him with several requisitions, permissions, and warrants stamped and signed by both Arasaka and public notaries. I watch the guard turn and disappear into the security booth adjacent, scanning the forms and reviewing it with an unknown individual, most likely his superior. After a few moments the guard returns with the forms and waves us through. We continue towards the bay where a radiant glow of light pollution grew, almost as if pointing our way to the meeting location. Approaching the area, a single lamppost glows at the end of the dock marking the spot, the surroundings mystically quiet. Masako drives the cruiser in the dark, parking it between two freight containers. I tell Masako to wait in the car to cover me, I still didn’t quite trust her. As I turn to leave the vehicle, I pull out the letter and memorize the haiku while walking towards the guard rails overlooking the murky water. ‘Dolores’ still hasn’t arrived yet. Standing there I lean on the rails as the light of the walled Arasaka Corporate City radiates from across the bay. I begin to think this was a mistake.

For a while, the near silence comforts my weary mind. While I wait, the sound of tiny waves and five minutes of cheap tobacco accompanies me. A sudden wail of distant sirens disrupts the quiet, pulling me back from the abyss. Wincing in annoyance I bury my face deep in the crevices of my polyester jacket looking through the window of my arms. Beyond the stained concrete, black, choppy waves batter the sides of the dock. The stink of the sea mixing with crude oil and dead fish rushing to greet me. I rub my thumb and forefinger against my temples, furrowing my brows in disgust. Straightening up, I look across to the gargantuan fortress of corporate superiority staring down at me. Gazing at the dark colossus, a feeling of immense dread washes over me. I feel like a checker piece in the middle of a chessboard, playing the wrong field and with somebody else’s rules. “I am way over my head,” I confess to no one. A black limousine pulls directly behind me, the sound of the brakes disrupting my epiphany. The window to the passenger compartment rolls down revealing a dark silhouette of a woman sitting on the opposite side. This must be Dolores.

I lean towards the window and rehearse the haiku as instructed by the letter, “Dying leaves falling, the Devil’s hooves approaching, no one speaks a sound.” As I finish the poem, the door unlocks with a click. Hopping in, I sit beside the woman to her right with a comfortable distance between us. A pair of gloved hands emerge from the seat across from me, handing over an unmarked folder. Under the light from the window, I look over the documents. To my dismay, the documents reveal a complex collection of Arasaka’s secret dealings, corporate espionage, and blackmail. The folder also contains a detailed plan that involves ‘the Beast’ forcing Gleeco to merge with Matsura Foods or to shut them down through a series of murders and violent coercion. The final step is to taint their products with a mysterious ‘Compound 3’. Including a list of all the victims of the ‘Sotenbori Slasher’, the perpetrators involved, including our John Doe. The end goal is to achieve a complete monopoly in the country. Upon finishing the documents, the doors lock. A light switches on in the passenger compartment revealing to my left, the corpse of ‘Dolores’ with multiple cuts across her body, the blood drying on her face. Glaring at me across the way a sinister smile shone from a warty face. The figure reveals itself with a pistol in gloved hands, it is the janitor.

An orange collar suddenly glows above his blue jumpsuit. In an instant, the janitor’s face distorts, melting in a pixelated gas as an unbearable smell of ozone fills the air, revealing his true face. The sight of the familiar sharpened teeth freezes me in fear as the face of the hooded man stares into my soul with red opaque eyes like the colour of paint. My hands tremble as I reach for another cigarette, keeping my eyes on his. I flick open my lighter. Without a second thought, I light the documents on fire. I stare at him through the smoke and flame, unsure what to do next. As the last bits of legible documents burn away in my hand, I toss them out the window to the black waters of the bay. The Beast licking his lips with his tongue, let out a high-pitched squeal, relishing the moment like a child winning a game. Unlocking the doors, he waves me out with his pistol.

I hurry out of my seat shutting the door. The limousine darts off behind me with the sound of the ‘Beast’ croaking in the distance as I trot my way back to the patrol cruiser, shaking. I sit down beside Masako realizing that I didn’t even light my cigarette. She leans over with the car lighter and gives me a light before pulling out a pack of ‘Momo Blacks’ and lighting one for herself. “Well Detective?” she asks in between puffs, “Anything useful?” I take a deep breath from the last cigarette of my pack as the nicotine rushes to my head like my first smoke all over again. “No Masako.” I respond deflated, “Another false claim. Another waste of time.” The officer let out a disappointed sigh as I look out the window towards the corporate city, the light searing my eyes.