Ryuk quietly and unobtrusively exfiltrates the crowd gathered around the subway platform. He retraces his steps like a hebereke artist. Dash to the flat, backtrack to the place from whence he came. His real world spawning location, he likes to joke. Sumeba miyako, home is where you make it. He hardly notices anything along the way, so focused is he on Tamana’s final message and what all of this could possibly mean.

He needs to log in to Tritania and figure out what happened to Tamana. He needs to know why she did it, and so suddenly…

As usual, Ryuk doesn’t say a word to the two thugs in the lobby of his apartment building, nor does he make eye contact with the two on his floor. His guards are ever-present, stereotypical Yakuza muscle from the latest Jollywood flick. Kyōaku-han. Clean-cut suits with the top two buttons open, shiny materials, polished Italian boots, thin gold chains around their necks, the works.

And that’s not the scary part.

The scary part is inside, Hajime, his humandroid bodyguard.

Ryuk has been around these types of droids his entire life and nothing really bothers him about Homo machina, aside from the fact that Hajime, who wears a traditional Japanese robe and considers himself a student of Zen Buddhism, could kill him in more ways than Ryuk can count.

“You’re back,” Hajime the humandroid says instead of hello, “that was fast. Did you happen to meet Tamana?”

Is he reading my iNet messages again? Ryuk stares the humandroid down for a moment.

“Your vitals indicate that you’ve experienced a recent trauma. There are comfort foods good for hyper-stress. Would you care for one?”

“Not now, Hajime, not now.” Ryuk feels tears come and he sucks them down. He kicks off his shoes near the door and exchanges them for a pair of brown slippers.

“What happened?” Hajime is in the kitchen, behind a black marble countertop imported from Spain. Marmol negro.

“Tamana.” Ryuk says hurriedly. “I watched her jump in front of the train. I saw her do it with my own two eyes. She did it … ” He’s suddenly confused. “Yes, she did it. She jumped.”

“She killed herself?” Hajime’s cadence and inflection sounds like any other Japanese man; still, Ryuk can hear that he hasn’t quite mastered the art of human empathy – his tone is off.

“Just give me a minute to process this Hajime. I … I need to log in.” Ryuk slams his bedroom door with unnecessary vigor and sits on the edge of his bed.

His room is clean, minimal, aside from a black hooded sweater tossed onto his haptic chair. The sweater goes flying with an impatient sweep of his hand and he plants his ass in the custom molded seat. He leans back and the haptic chair comes to life after he’s placed the sleek, gunmetal NV Visor over his head. A familiar tone plays, letting him know that the system is starting up.

As it does, he dons a pair of haptic gloves with the ease of long practice. The chair reclines and once his feet are settled on the footrest, the cushioned calf rests gently massage his gastrocnemii to indicate that the physical response system is ready to go.

Wavelengths appear on the inside of his NV Visor.