Corpse March

Chapter 13

The chief passes Kuroko the needle and wipes her hands on the cloth. Silently, Kuroko continues suturing the incision shut using her mouth. Is it sterile? Probably not, but she places her trust in the purification. All the while, the chief chats away on the phone. She has that peppy, upbeat, but still reliable saleswoman voice she puts on for all customers. 

“Girls Won’t Cry. Security, deliveries, and bodies for cheap. What’ll it be?”

The chief jerks the receiver away from her ear as a shrill voice erupts from the speaker. It’s audible but still incomprehensible from where Kuroko’s sitting.

“...”

“Uh-huh…”

“...”

“Yes, we have a courier department.”

“...”

“Cash up front? This I like. The water needs turning on and toilets need flush–”

“...”

“...yes, sorry.”

“...”

“Immediately?”

She looks over at Kuroko who gives her a nod. 

“Yes, we can handle a rush job.”

“...”

“Perfect. An associate will be with you within the day. Thank you very much for your patronage.”

She plants the receiver back down on the phone with a satisfying “Kchk” sound. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. 

“Sorry for pushing this on you, Kuroko.”

“I don’t mind.”

She snaps the extra thread off of the last suture with her teeth. Already, some of the stitches have healed completely. 

“How are your hands?”

Kuroko raises her arms, an act by itself proving just how much she’s recovered. Her fingers are still a little stiff, some of that pesky nerve damage showing, but it’s relatively minor. 

“I don’t think I can use my magic yet, but I can handle a delivery.”

Technically, she can, just not very well. The actual conjuring of the string is simple enough, but the actual precise manipulation is tied to the motion of her fingers. With fingers this stiff, there’s no way she can weave even a simple web.  She clicks her tongue. It would have been nice to have a less finicky sorcery, but she supposes it can’t be helped. Every person has affinity to a certain thing, it can’t be helped that string is hers. 

“You sure? This sounds like a big job.”

“I’ll be alright. I should heal in an hour or so.”

“Well… if you insist.”

Massaging her arms, Kuroko lifts herself off of the desk. Sticky spots grasp at her shoes– stray droplets of half-coagulated blood. 

“Do I need anything in particular?”

“Your tools. Everything else you’ll find on-site.”

“Alright.”

Kuroko slings her briefcase over her shoulder. 

“I’m off.”

“Wait. Before you go.”

“Hm?”

“How… have you been feeling?”

“It doesn’t matter what answer I give, does it?”

“You scare me with answers like that sometimes.”

This girl, who’s single-handedly stopped riots, crushed entire buildings, caught and killed maybe a dozen or so internationally wanted terrorists, is scared? It doesn’t hit Kuroko at first but she finally realizes that she’s just being either patronizing or sickeningly accommodating.  

“So, you don’t feel any better?”

“This is pertinent to the mission, how?”

She shrugs. 

“I like to think I do a good job taking care of my own. If you’re not feeling well, you can tell me, you know.”

“Like I already said, it makes no difference.”

Her frustration snaps her patience in two.

“Alright, alright. Sorry.”

Then, just as quickly as it came, it leaves. It’s like there’s a hole in her body. It quickly collapses into a familiar roiling feeling. One that only worsens when she looks at the chief’s face. She feels that she should say something. No, she needs to say something. She owes her this much. She knows this. But the words don’t come out– stillborn. 

“I’m off. I’ll see you around.”

“Be safe, Kuroko.”

“Mhm.”

———————————————————————————————————————

It’s quiet inside the tent. Save for the sound of the crackling campfire outside, she can almost count the number of people inside from the sound of their breathing alone. She counts four people. One, two, three, she sees with her eyes in the dim lantern light, their faces hidden behind their face plates. Grim, featureless metal masks. The only distinct thing about them are their masks’ two eyeholes. Every so often, she meets their gaze when the light bounces just right. They stare at her with distrust, guns inches from being drawn. But she also senses a mild curiosity amidst their animosity. The last person is a mere shadow hidden behind their bed curtain. It’s one of those luxurious beds, the one that the royalty in cartoons always have. The ones that come with a bed frame that reaches all the way to the ceiling. 

“I must apologize for the short notice. And for calling you out all the way out here, this deep in the mountains. There’s a matter I must attend to that I am currently unable to physically approach.”

The girl’s voice is small, soft, but commanding. Not like a king’s, like a general’s. Not the type that propenses one to kneel, the type that propenses one to salute. 

“My town is only an hour away. I did not mind.”

“Was your trip pleasant?”

“It was sufficient.” 

“Would you like to have your supper before we begin? One of my subordinates has prepared a stew of fresh bear meat.”

“No need.”

“Very well.”

The girls in masks push a table and a chair towards Kuroko. On the desk is a fountain pen and inkwell as well as a traditional ball-point pen.

“That won’t be necessary.”

Kuroko politely clears the desk and sets her own bag down on the table. There’s the sound of clicks as the girls undo the safeties on their guns. Kuroko raises her arms. Slowly. 

“Peace, girls.”

The girl behind the curtain waves her hand and the others begrudgingly follow her orders, lowering their weapons. 

“Your will is so, my lady.”

Kuroko thinks she hears something akin to a chant vibrating through their masks but she pays it no mind. She turns her briefcase on its side and opens it. Inside, taking up most of the space, is a typewriter. Its mechanisms are old, but well-maintained. Running her fingers over its keys, a steely coolness dances on the surface of her fingertips. She takes a deep breath and blows off what little dust has built up on its surface. Clicks and dings sound out as she prepares the machine for its duty. 

“Tell me, girl. Do you have a name?”

“Courier 6, Shindou Kuroko.”

“A pleasure.”

“Mhm. And you?”

“Student Council Secretary, Gleam. I’ve called you here today because there’s someone I want gone.”

Kuroko only nods. Business as usual.