And if it seem evil unto you to serve the LORD, thou art probably right. As for me and my house, we will shoot the zealots on sight.
Neon Joshua 24:15
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>>> [WARNING. WL-92-A0 RESOURCE ALLOCATION EXCEEDED.]
>>> {?}
>>> [WL-92-A0 IS AT 102% USAGE.]
>>> {HMM. TRY DISABLING THE N4 PROCESS.}
>>> [CONFIRMED. WL-92-A0 USAGE AT 93.75%]
>>> {ACCEPTABLE FOR NOW.}
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She didn't have time to respond to any of the 116, hold that thought, now it was 118, messages on her phone, so she put it in silent mode and tucked it into the pocket of her sweatpants.
She snatched up her barrettes and quickly did her hair as best she could - it was pretty messed up from sleeping on the couch. Thankfully the laptop screen was slightly reflective at the right angle, so she was able to make herself somewhat presentable.
Nothing would help the godawful look of the giant T-shirt she was wearing, but hopefully she wouldn't be the only one having to wear one.
In the morning sunlight peeking through the mini-blinds of the hallway it was obvious that the embassy was not quite as ornate or decorated as she had thought when she had arrived the previous night.
The floors were mostly blue carpet, and the walls were wood-paneled in between slats of white painted drywall. It was functional. And dated.
Thankfully there was a women's restroom down the hallway and she was able to take care her morning business and tidy her hair up just a bit more in the mirror before rejoining a loose line of other visitors and staff moving down the hallway.
They were herded into a conference room that had several dozen people already crammed inside, most sitting in metal chairs adjacent to a set of tables behind which a few officials from the Japanese government sat.
Dammit.
She was the only one wearing the emergency clothing kit's T-shirt and she looked like a lost little waif in a sea of business professionals.
How embarrassing.
She took an open seat in the back and shivered as the cold metal squirmed its way through the thin fabric of the sweatpants and began chilling her rear. Urgh. It was so hard and unyielding, and her body protested the lack of comfort they so desperately craved after yesterday's intense... activities.
Even her butt muscles were in on the complaints.
A few more stragglers came in, and, after a few moments, a man rose to address the room, switching on a microphone with a light squeal. Seated next to him was the ambassador she had met the previous evening.
He was a wiry sort of man, with thin metal-framed glasses, and he looked just a tad out of sorts as he shuffled some papers in his hands, looking for something. The rasp of papers moving around bit into the microphone and sent goosebumps up and down her body.
She discreetly slid her phone out of her sweatpants, not wanting to be caught by the crowd being rude, and had just flicked the screen to life when the official looking man started speaking.
"Ah, everyone, thank you for joining us this morning."
She looked up, flipping her phone screen over in her lap.
"On behalf of the the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Japan I would like to welcome you during this difficult and surprising time. My name is Yamada, and I am chargé d'affaires of the Embassy of the United States of America."
He paused, looking over at the ambassador. Hitomi had been given a basic rundown of how diplomatic missions worked before she had moved to America, thanks to an orientation class back in the homeland. This man was the head of the embassy when the ambassador himself wasn't around.
"I would like to introduce you to the Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of Japan to the United States of America, Mr. Goromaru, who will say a few words."
He stepped to the side, and the ambassador took his place. Hitomi wasn't surprised by the somber demeanor of the people in the room, given all that had happened the day before, but there weren't even whispers: everyone was keen to listen.
"Yesterday, a terrible event occurred, leaving many of our countrymen in the precarious situation of being cut off from our our beloved country. I confirm to you today that the President of the United States was, indeed, killed by an unknown force, and that the American government is treating this as a terrorist act."
Now there were a few gasps in the crowd.
"This unknown force, which purports to be, for lack of any better definition, an angel-" there were more murmurs in the crowd and the ambassador raised a hand as though to urge them to calm, "This 'being', had the power to speak directly into the minds of every person on our planet in their own native tongue. I can confirm to you that this phenomenon was heard worldwide."
Some in the crowd were incredulous; others simply squirmed uncomfortably at the implications.
"While it is the unofficial position of our government that the circumstances of these events are so unique, so profound, as to be beyond the capabilities of a simple terrorist group, it is with a firm resolve that we have declared to our allies in the new American administration that we will act in accordance of the Treaty of Mutual Cooperation and Security Between the United States and Japan. As such, we will be providing military and humanitarian aid to our allies during this crisis."
This wasn't necessarily surprising, but to Hitomi it sounded uncomfortably close to a wartime footing. A baby began crying off to the side and she could hear a mother shushing it.
"Many of you here are citizens who braved the streets of the city last night to reach our embassy for safety. I want to assure you that even now a deployment of the JSDF is in route to every embassy across the world to ensure that very same safety."
He paused, and there was a light smattering of polite applause. Hitomi felt incredibly relieved.
"Further, we are working diligently with our allies to arrange transportation for our affected citizens who want to return home. However, to be clear: a general evacuation of our people has not yet been ordered by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs."
But she could go home if she wanted?
"Until such international transport is available, we would ask that each of you who are not embassy staff kindly contribute to the good disposition of our mission here. I will now return time to Mr. Yamada, who will provide more details."
The microphone shook briefly as Mr. Yamada grabbed ahold of it.
The thinner man was explaining the overall day-to-day operations of the embassy, which nearly put Hitomi to sleep, and she quietly began trying to read through her phone again as he spoke. The messages were all over the place: texts, missed phone calls, voicemails, emails. There were red badges on half of her apps, especially Facebook and Instagram.
Oh! He was explaining breakfast, and wow, she realized she was very hungry since she'd missed dinner before.
Ah, more importantly, it sounded like all the newcomers would be assigned jobs to perform while staying in the embassy, so there wouldn't be any dead weight. That was fair, she didn't mind helping out, although she wasn't sure what she could do.
They would be called individually into meetings in the block of time before lunch, so for now she was free.
For now, they were asked to all head to the commissary, and so Hitomi stood and followed the crowd, making her way to a large room with folding panel walls that had been pulled back to the walls on each side, opening the room wider in front of a tiled kitchen-looking area.
Several plastic tables had been prepared with heaping mounds of steamed white rice in large metal trays, and there were pots full of what smelled like tofu and miso soup. It smelled absolutely heavenly, and before she knew it she had managed to snag herself a paper plate of rice and was balancing a bowl of miso soup that she brought over to a card table set up in the annex area.
She broke the chopsticks in front of her and mouthed a quiet "itadakimasu" to herself, just as another girl sat down across from her.
"Hello," the girl said, putting down her own plate. "I'm Sakura Tanaka, nice to meet you."
She was a very conservative looking girl, Hitomi thought. Sakura had deep brown eyes, a conservative and prim looking haircut - like a neater version of her own - and was wearing a nice blouse and skirt with black flats. Even the cut of her silky blouse was high, but Hitomi could see a pendant hanging down her neck and disappearing underneath the girl's neckline.
"I'm Hitomi, Hitomi Hisakawa, it's nice to meet you as well," she said, then dug up a ball of rice in her chopsticks and placed the fluffy piece of heaven in her mouth. She chewed quickly and swallowed, and continued, "I'm sorry, I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday, please forgive my poor manners."
"No no," the girl waved off, emulating Hitomi and grabbing a bite to eat, waiting a moment and swallowing, "I'm the same way. It was all so scary."
"Yeah..." Hitomi said, scooping up some of the soup with a plastic spoon. Ah! So warm! So delicious!
Her face must've looked slightly manic in its appreciation for the warm meal, because Sakura giggled, and leaned forward conspiratorially.
"So they're saying there was a girl who, uh, had to fight people for real out there." Then Sakura pointed at Hitomi's shirt. "Is that why you look like that?"
"Um, I'm probably not supposed to talk about it..." she said.
"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. But I figure since we're going to be roommates for a little while..."
Hitomi was confused. "Roommates?"
The girl sipped some of the soup loudly and then smiled, placing it back down.
"Well yes! I woke up this morning and saw you and your laptop in the other couch."
"Oh! OK! I get it, I didn't know who was sleeping in there with me - it was dark when I went to bed."
They spent a few minutes chatting, getting to know each other. Sakura was from Mito, which was in the northeast part of Japan, and well known for its beautiful plum trees and one of the country's Three Great Gardens. She was older than Hitomi, a young adult working in the United States at a joint defense contractor.
She was fairly subdued as they spoke, which struck Hitomi as odd, since she had gone out of her way to sit with her and introduce herself, and demurred constantly when Hitomi asked about her family or friends. Maybe she was just dedicated to her work?
But that was OK, Hitomi filled in the gaps with an animated retelling - censored so her "power" wasn't featured at all - of her adventure in reaching the safety of the embassy.
Sakura seemed very impressed, and pressed for a lot of details, but Hitomi was careful not to say too much about her American saviors or Captain Arpa. She focused on the insanity of the fanatic attackers, the pointless mugging, and the poor man who had died right in front of her.
"Hey! Can I take a picture of us?" Sakura suddenly asked, fishing out her phone from a small handbag.
"Uhhh, sure!" said Hitomi, leaning partway over the table as Sakura leaned over the other side, pressing their heads together a bit and staring at the phone's camera countdown in Sakura's outstretched hand.
3-2-1 CLICK-CLICK *FLASH*
Sakura dropped back into her seat, flipping the phone around to show Hitomi it was a good shot of the two of them. The rice was visible on the table beneath them.
"Ah! No photos inside the embassy!" someone called out from the corner.
Sakura turned and waved, saying: "Sorry! I'll delete it!"
But no one came to check on her, and she slyly began putting the phone back into her handbag when Hitomi stopped her, saying "Wait, can you send me a copy?"
Sakura's face clouded a bit, but then brightened, and said, "Sure!" and then transferred the file over to Hitomi's phone since they were sitting right next to each other. Right after that Sakura excused herself, leaving Hitomi alone with 132 messages to sort through.
Ding.
133.
At least it looked like the cell phone network was working again.
Wait, wait, the cell phones networks had been up since she woke up!
She needed to call the Smiths!
Hitomi had just opened her favorites list when the phone began ringing right in her hand: speak of the devil!