It was carnage.
As soon as the battle began, bodies dropped on both sides. Blazes engulfed the container stacks segueing the shipyard, the full moon's reflection on the still waves of the bay overcome by roaring flames.
Detectives fired their guns, filling my comrades' bodies with lead.
We attacked with our bats and poles and wooden swords. Obviously, we were generous in our donations to the Force, made in the name of Vyacheslav Molotov.
A shame we didn't have the bread-baskets to go with the cocktails.
But even so, let me tell you: you haven't felt true joy until you've watched a fat old man flailing around, trying to put out the smouldering remains of his toupee, his suit melting around him.
It served them right. After what had happened to Acchan, I didn't care anymore. I couldn't even see them as human.
At that moment, I started running through the maze of corridors between the containers, coughing on the acrid smoke as I searched for my group.
"Misaki! Shinji! Makoto!"
I yelled their names over and over, but to no avail. I was drenched in sweat, my white gang jacket torn into ribbons, my lungs gasping at the toxic air.
I rounded a corner. I was deep in the complex now; this was the realm of cranes and forklifts and criminals.
Fitting, then.
A bumbling young man stumbled around a container, and into me. He looked up at me, wide-eyed, and his teeth started chattering.
I grinned.
He was a few centimetres taller than me, but hunched over; his limbs were spindly, his dark hair wispy, and his nose looked like it had been flattened by a steamroller.
But the best part?
He was wearing that uniform.
I raised my wooden sword, charging through him. Spluttering, he left the ground, flying and landing and skidding along the gravel to my feet.
Walking away, I left him with the tastiest of cocktails. Second only in flavour to the piercing screams that followed right after.
It was how they had killed Acchan, after all.
Just call me karma.
I turned a few corners, a mixture of left and right, not wanting to admit to myself that I was lost but with a gnawing craving for my friends.
And then I found them.
First was Misaki, a beautiful girl dressed in a blue sailor outfit that may as well have been cosplay; she even had a coat and a hat.
She had chosen a whip for her weapon, to remind people what happened when they defied her. It had never touched me, though.
It was that whip which suspended her from a crane arm, hanging over a container. Her face was stained red, her clothes ripped to reveal the spider web of lacerations across her torso.
At that point, my teeth basically merged with each other, I was gritting them so hard. There was more space, here, as though it had been cleared to create a stage.
And on that stage, directly beneath Misaki's defiled corpse, were two more: they were both naked, and missing their heads. Slumping against each other, they were positioned like a pair of salarymen who had fallen asleep on the train.
I remembered when I'd first met the gang, and of my hesitation. Delinquency was usually a boy's club. Girls had to form their own gangs.
But then Misaki had told me her dream, of a world where women are free to be as rowdy and destructive as men are.
And she had started living it, inspiring me to do the same.
Shinji and Makoto had stumbled along, more afraid of a world without Misaki than they were of her.
Shinji, kind to a fault, to the point you'd question why he was a delinquent. His answer was always the same:
"Because I'm supporting you guys."
Makoto, who never turned down a fight, be they man, woman, or beast.
And Misaki, more than just a leader.
Gripping my forehead, ignoring the pain of my nails, I sank to my knees.
I couldn't help it; my insides were shredding apart.
I howled.
***
May 9th, 2017
Today, my dream came true.
I finally became a detective.
I-
***
"That makes no sense!" screamed Jack. "Didn't the detectives just murder her best friends? Are you sure you didn't miss a page?"
Flicking the page back and forth, Lydia scrunched her face. "Definitely sure."
Jack made a disgruntled noise. "Why is there such a massive gap? How could she become a detective so quickly; what happened to proper training?"
"And why is a teenager writing like a novelist?" said Hannah, squinting.
Lydia huffed. "Why are you asking me like I wrote the damned thing?"
He shrugged. He didn't know, really. Any excuse to shout at her. "Fair point. But still, those police in Japan sound brutal."
"Yeah," said Hannah. "They sound more like the American police."
Lydia turned up her nose. "Seems a perfectly legitimate way to deal with crime to me. If anything, I think this protagonist should stop whining and start paying attention in school."
Rolling his eyes, Jack said, "what a surprise: the posh brat thinks we should lynch children."
"Yes, well, her parents would probably be ashamed."
"I'd be more ashamed that she forgot about her friends…"
***
I went through my orientation, and met up with my new partner on the second floor of the station. He had his own office, though small, befitting his rank of Inspector.
It was neat, and well-kept: just a desk with a potted plant and a picture of him with a tiny blonde woman, a little girl, and a giant dog.
Giving me a warm smile as I stepped through the door, he stuck out his hand; I shook it, giving him a wary look of my own.
He was tall, over two metres, and reedy. He wore the standard suit of all detectives, but also a peculiar leather duster over the top. He carried a carved staff, marking him as a magus.
Oh, and he was white. American, maybe, from the voice.
"Good afternoon," he said, "my name is Inspector Harry Dr-"
***
"Like hell!" Jack jumped out of his seat, face frenzied. "What's that idiot doing outside Chicago? And seriously, why has she forgotten about her friends?"
"Maybe she was so traumatised she got amnesia," said Hannah, cupping her chin. "We won't know if you keep interrupting."
"No, someone has to point out this absurdity."
"I agree with the vampire," said Lydia.
"Fine," said Jack, rubbing his forehead. "But skip anything with that Inspector. We're on thin ice as it is."
***
June 18th, 2017
I was separated from the Inspector as soon as we arrived.
The delinquents set upon us, armed with bats and poles and fire. He pushed me away, slinging his magic and urging me forward to the final battle.
I wandered through the same dockyard where it had all started, humming to myself to ease my trembling nerves. I weaved through containers with unquestionable purpose. My skin was alive, shifting and shivering and trying to escape.
I came to a clearing, a giant bonfire roaring in its centre. Around it were several of my fellow detectives, trussed up and whimpering.
I felt the rage bubbling in my throat as I stepped forward. My fists clenched and unclenched rapidly enough that they might have started smoking.
I could smell burning flesh.
There were already bodies on the fire, melting away. No wonder my comrades looked so scared.
A giggle, and then a crack, like the noise of a thunderclap centred on my ears. Looking up at one of the containers, I growled.
There she was. Standing on one of the roofs, admiring her bonfire, was the leader of those shitty punks.
She had an air of power, a promise of suffering for all who dared defy her.
And maybe if you didn't.
Cracking her whip again, she met my gaze, smirking.
I clamped my eyes shut. There she was, right in front of me: the source of all the evil in our city. My sworn enemy from the moment we were both born.
Misaki.
***
"But she's dead!" Jack threw his arms up. "And I thought they were meant to be best friends? It's okay for relationships to change, but you can't just completely rewrite your own backstory!"
Scanning the page, Lydia knit her brows. "I haven't the foggiest. Should I skip ahead again?"
Hannah pursed her lips. "Now that I think of it, should we really be reading another person's diary like this?"
"Hmph," said Lydia. "It's an iron-clad law of literary devices."
He sighed. "Whatever. Just go to the next one."
***
June 19th, 2017
The time to rise comes soon.
For too long have we been kept down, hiding in the shadows and snivelling at human society, hoping they'll leave us alone.
But no longer.
My plan is simple: I'll take advantage of the war between delinquents and detectives, and defeat both groups when they're weakened. I could probably manage it myself, aside from Misaki. That woman was a monster.
"Be ready to strike," I said, pressing myself into the top of the container. Clouds covered the moon, and the waves roared into the bay. The shipyard, though, was empty, aside from the remnants of battle and our elite squad.
Mina, my second-in-command, nodded next to me. There was no way we would fail.
"Your orders, commander?"
My lip curled as I observed their pathetic struggle. Small fires blazed everywhere, and they charged and killed each other without so much as a second thought.
Disgusting.
It wouldn't last for much longer, though.
"Obliterate them all," I said, standing and unfurling my wings.
Today was the day the demons would rise.
***
"What the hell is going on?!" Jack threw his head back into the couch. "How can a person even become a demon, much less in a day? And why is there a third party we never heard about? It's so contrived!"
Eying him bemusedly, Lydia said, "you have had me skip most of the entries."
"That was for copyright reasons!"
"Hmm," said Hannah, interlocking her fingers. "It is still really confusing. Are you sure it's not multiple POV?"
Lydia stared at her, astounded. "It's a diary."
Clenching his fist, Jack's insides started boiling. He snapped to his feet, snatching the book from Lydia's hands and slinging it at the wall. "I've had enough of this bloody thing!"
It bounced off, pages fluttering, and cannoned into Lydia's head.
Grunting, she caught it as it dropped. It fell into her hands open to a page near the end, and she wrinkled her brow. "Are you sure? There's another entry."
Flicking her hand, she took his legs from underneath him. He crashed onto his front, the impact jarring his bones as he grunted.
"Let me guess," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "She's an angel this time."
"Well…"
***
June 27th, 2017
"It's just my time, darling."
A quiet and feeble voice was speaking from next to me, in a railed white bed, with tubes and needles stuffed into every orifice.
The machines beeped steadily. My father was a shadow of his former self: his skin was icy and grey, paper-thin against his skeleton, and his eyes held none of their previous light, his wings drooping.
His hair was falling out, and blood trickled from his mouth. He coughed.
How could I have been so blind?
For so long, I had focused only on the demon uprising, ignoring my other responsibilities.
Ignoring my family.
My eyes quivered, and my vision blurred. Something wet fell down my cheek.
His rasping breaths kept time with the beeps; his head crawled around so he faced me, and he put his clammy hand on mine. "Do you remember… the hot springs? When you were just a girl?"
I smiled, but inside was just hollow and bitter. "I remember. Mummy's wings popped out and they attacked us with pitchforks."
"But you… stood up to them." Wheezing, he smiled back. "'No! Don't hurt my mummy! She never did anything to you!'. You've always been… so brave. So… selfless." He started hacking, and I rubbed his hand.
Of course I remembered: it was one of the first times I realised that humans would never just accept us.
That we had to create a place for ourselves, by speaking their language. Blood and war.
It should have broken me. I was a fragile little girl, who spent most of her time hiding behind her father. But that day, I stood in front of him, and I felt the warmth of his hands propping me up.
It wasn't just then. On my first day of school, I was terrified: my parents had to drag me out of my bed. I had made a hidey-hole in there, under the covers. A safe space, just for me.
But not everyone had that luxury, something I didn't understand at the time.
He had stood behind me, waving me off, and boosting me with the strength he radiated.
When the bullies had come for the quiet girl, it had been he who had listened to my rantings and ravings. It was he who had encouraged me to fight back.
When I had decided to reclaim our rights, it was he who shouted his support the loudest.
The hacking stopped, and I felt the hand in mine go limp. His eyes were glassy, and he wore a contented expression, the machine emitting a continuous tone.
He was dead.
The two halves of my heart snapped further, but I couldn't let it distract me. I had to live up to his expectations.
I would carve out our place in this world, if it was the last thing I did.
***
"That's the end," said Lydia, gobsmacked as she flipped the pages.
Jack was kneeling, his arms resting on the sofa, tears streaming from his eyes. "Whaddya mean, that's the end? It can't just end like that! Do the demons get to be free? Does her father smile on her from heaven? Please tell me this is just another cliffhanger!"
Shrugging, Lydia continued scanning the book, her face fraught. "I wish I could."
He buried his face in his arms. "What's with all the tone changes recently, anyway? I thought this was supposed to be a comedy."
"Actually," said Hannah, her tone stuffy, "it's an absurdist comedy, and the base of absurdism is nihilism. It should be obvious that we'll get dark now and again."
Jack gaped at her. "You spend way too much time on the internet."
Harrumphing, she crossed her arms. "Maybe you don't spend enough."
"He's right," said Lydia. "Definitely not enough time outside; you're looking very grey."
She snapped to her feet, nostrils flaring. "Are you making fun of me?"
Smiling, Lydia looked back at the book, and something at the front caught her eye. She gulped.
"Is there a return address, or something?" said Jack, sniffing. "Maybe we can get the girl herself to tell us the end."
Chuckling nervously, Lydia said, "of a sort, yes."
Jack and Hannah narrowed their eyes.
"What do you mean?" said Jack.
Sighing, Lydia read it. "D, D & D character diary: Mika. If found, please return to-"
He screwed his face up. "What the f*ck is that?"
"I've heard of it," said Hannah, sitting back down. "It's a role-playing game that's popular in Japan, and they just released it worldwide: Demons, Detectives & Delinquents. It's about-"
He growled. "So you're telling me that this entire chapter was pointless?"
"Everything's pointless, when you think about it."
"Shut up, Max!"
"Who?"
"Well," said Lydia, looking at him like an idiot, "did you learn anything?"
Yanking the diary from her hands again, he wandered over to the window, sliding it open. "Yeah. Don't read other people's diaries. But more importantly…"
He wound up his arm, flinging the book across the street.
"Framing devices can suck my dick!"