AN: Tamaki desu. Hajimemashite minna-san.

This is my first story on Fictionpress. I’ve had others before (not shared on the Internet, heh), but they sucked... so... I dropped them... and they cracked...

Anyway, Chiaroscuro will probably be Volume 1 of the Shadow Trilogy. I’ve been told that my story is disjointed in several places, so if anyone would like to give me any pointers, feel free to do so. Oh yeah, you can flame my story, but I’ll probably just make fun of yours, so it all evens out. .

Oh. The format. Yeah. I have chapters of course, but they tend to jump around between two or three different scenes so I have them prefaced by the date and the location. In addition, Interludes are sort of like flashback scenes that I include to illustrate a particularly important point in the chapter preceding it.

I include some cultural notes that are important at the end in case you can't understand something. So... read them.

Oh yeah... and if you steal any part of my story, I’ll rip out your kidneys! You’ll be pissing out your pores! You’ll never have any friends! Ha!

And, without further ado, the main attraction:

JANUARY 31-I've changed some stuff on the prologue. None of the content is changed; I just switched the positions of some stuff.

MARCH 22-I've changed some more stuff.

DECEMBER 21-I've decided to come back on a mess around with it. I'm thinking about getting it published, so... don't steal my story or I'll rip out your kidneys!...

No, not really. I'll just sue you. For lot's of money. Yay me!

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Prologue: End of a Dream

Tuesday, June 20, 2290

Sierra City, Eastern Sector, Nineteenth District, Second Division, Backstreets of Market Square

"Sierra City. Capital of the World. Headquarters of Skywing Corporations. Defender of freedom. Victor of the Iron Hand War. We keep you safe."

A bearded man garbed in tattered rags crushed the automated speaker beneath his stained black boots. Several underlings scurried around him, picking up any salvageable pieces before dumping them into a bag.

“Hurry up,” the bearded man muttered. “I don't want to stay here too long.”

He glared at the mansion at the end of the broken street as if it were a dangerous animal about to pounce upon him.

“Done, boss,” one of them said, raising a bag full of broken engine parts, smashed transmitters, and other marginally useful bits of trash.

The leader took one last look around before signalling for the others to follow him. Suddenly, loud, maniacal laughter cut through the air. They all stopped and turned as one to look at the decrepit mansion at the end of the street. The leader stood rooted to the ground. His underlings had a rather different mindset. They dropped whatever was in their hands and ran helter-skelter down the labyrinthine alleyways of the Eastern Sector. The insane and unseen cackling gradually died away. Free of the immobilizing atmosphere, the leader hesitantly looked around and found that he was alone. “I hate this place,” he muttered to himself as he began picking up the bags.

Tuesday, June 20, 2290

Sierra City, Central Sector, Twelfth District, Sixty-First Division, MC-1 Flight Terminal

A young boy with a tousled mop of white hair stood alone, a suitcase handle clenched in his tiny fist. Dressed in traditional Serenese attire with a six-petal flower design decorating his yukata, the boy stood out in the crowd of conservative suits and ties.

An abrupt prickling sensation gripped his stomach and a lump formed in his throat. The boy wiped his eyes on his already damp sleeve and attempted to stifle a whimper, failing miserably in the process. As the snuffles subsided, the boy seemed to recover his original composure. Suddenly, he felt a hand grip his shoulder.

“Konnichiwa, chibi-san,” a kind, strong voice said from behind him.

The boy whipped around, alarmed by the sudden voice. A young man dressed in a long white jacket reminiscent of home crouched next to him, his gentle face level with the boy’s. “Watashi wa Aikawa Hiroshi.” the man said and stood up, towering over the diminutive boy. “Boku wa Shirokai Shigure, ne?”

Owen swept a hand through his white hair, sighing inwardly. He hadn’t used “Hiroshi” in so long that he had almost forgotten that that was his real name. While consumed by his inner thoughts, Owen noticed the boy looking up at him with inquiring eyes. Owen smiled reassuringly, hiding his own doubts, and offered the boy his hand. After a moment of hesitation, the boy accepted and allowed Owen to lead him to be processed and registered.

As they waited in line (ignoring the curious glances and mutters of disapproval), Owen nervously checked and rechecked the documents he had brought with him. With an almost morbid curiosity, he searched for the cause of death in the parents’ death certificates but was interrupted by the false-cheerful voice of the attendant. “Hello, sir,” she said, revealing too many bright teeth in her painful smile. “How may I help you today?”

Owen thrust the papers back into the folders and gave the official-looking documents to the attendant. “I’d like to activate a pre-filled immigration form under the name—”

“I’ll need positive identification,” the attendant interrupted, dispensing with the “sir” and looking at him with a distinct air of suspicion while continuing to maintain her smile.

“Oh, yes, I forgot...”

Owen dug in his back pocket with his free hand and withdrew an antiquated black leather wallet decorated with silver filigree twisting into a thin, six-petal flower. He attempted to extract his shiny new Skywing City License one-handed but it proved too difficult so Owen simply gave the entire wallet to the attendant, attracting an odd look as he did so. The attendant slipped the City License out and placed it underneath an electronic scanner. There was a quiet electronic beep and the computer screen in front of her lit up. She briefly looked up at Owen and then back down at the screen. There were several seconds of inactivity during which she stared at the screen in shock. “Is there a problem?” Owen asked, slightly worried.

“N-no problem, sir.”

With fumbling fingers, the attendant shoved the City License into the wallet and handed it back to Owen, nearly dropping it two times. “Thank you,” he said.

“Y-your welcome,” she stuttered, her eyes shifting between her desk and his face.

Owen left with an amused smile and the newly renamed Raine Aikawa in tow.

weqnn

It had taken Owen over an hour to get Raine through immigration and he wasted another in getting Raine’s luggage. After arguing with a customs official for over a quarter of an hour that the books in the trunk were manga and not Serenese propaganda, Owen finally got frustrated enough to do something he had vowed not to. “I don’t care if you can read these or not!” Owen shouted as he flapped a right-to-left book depicting a stubby blue cat with a white stomach. “Do you see this number here? What is it?”

“5,” the official said scornfully. “So what?”

“This number means that the book is marketed toward 5-year-olds!”

“I’ve heard that the Serenese government begins brainwashing at a young—”

“You’re honestly standing there and telling me that the Royal Family is using an ear-less, tail-less robot cat named Doraemon with a pile of junk in his stomach to brainwash kids?” Owen said disbelievingly. “I’ve heard some stupid ideas in my line of work, but this beats them in sheer idiocy.”

The official’s face colored a deep red. “If you would like to claim it later,” he said in a forcefully calm voice, “please bring an—”

Enough was enough. “Alright,” Owen said. “Alright. You know what?”

He fished in his jacket pocket for his City License and stuck it in the official’s face. “See the name on that?” he demanded. “Read it out loud.”

“Owen Sa...”

“It sounds the way it’s spelled,” Owen said with some annoyance.

The official’s face turned completely pale and he seemed ready to faint. “I-I deeply apologize sir,” he stammered. “I didn’t realize I was addressing an Executive.”

“Yes, yes,” Owen said impatiently, pocketing the City License. “Can we go now?”

“Of—of course sir.”

The official stepped away from the door, his hands trembling on the activation pad. It took the pad a moment to register the pressure and open sideways with a quiet swishing noise. Shaking with ill-concealed terror, the official bowed over and over again, muttering apologies all the while as Owen gathered the numerous bags and suitcases. Without another word, Owen swept out of the room with his arms full and Raine in tow. Almost as an afterthought, the white-haired boy walked back in and bowed respectfully before running after Owen, his long Serenese robes nearly tripping him up.

Tuesday, June 20, 2290

Sierra City, Central Sector, Twelfth District, Sixty-First Division, MC-1 link point

Raine was mostly silent as he waited for Owen to return. Every now and then, he would glance up, but he would invariably lower his head again. Outside, Aerocrossers flew overhead, vying for positions in the Sierran skies. Old cargo carriers lumbered past the crossers, puffing out copious amounts of exhaust into the atmosphere. On the ground, magnacars controlled by Central Computer System sped by in uniform lines.

A noisy group of people looking suspiciously like tourists made there way past Raine, blocking his view of the window. At the forefront of the group was a conservatively-dressed young woman who was speaking through a lapel-mounted microphone to the others. “This place is known in Sierra City as a transportation streamliner,” she said in a cool, calming voice. “In local lexicon, they’re known better as ‘link points’. By combining subway stations, multi-story crosser parks, power-recharge stations, maglev launch pads, airfields, and occasionally seaports as the location warrants, Skywing has found a way to save time, space, and money for its many residents. If you will follow me this way, we can find the subway station to Central Plaza, where we will then...”

The group wandered off, to be replaced by a pair of men outfitted in fearsome burgundy armour and powerful assault rifles. The two men split the crowds like a Seramic blade through metal, attracting fearful glances as they went. They stopped and turned to move toward Raine as one, who sat rooted in fear.

“Raine,” Owen said from his side, two ice cream cones in his hands. Raine looked up at him in relief.

Owen nodded at the two armoured soldiers in greeting. “Centurion.”

The guards looked at each other in silent communication. “Present your City License,” one of them said in an electronically distorted voice.

Owen raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“We’re not authorized to provide such information to civilians. Present your City License.”

Owen thrust a card before the two guards’ helmets. There were several seconds of silence. “Positive identification,” the apparent leader finally said to his subordinate. “Move on.”

They pushed through the crowd, loudly shouting at them to move along. Owen watched them go for a while before turning his attention back on Raine. He presented an ice cream cone with two scoops of mint chocolate chip ice cream to Raine, who accepted it hesitantly. Raine’s facial features changed from that of apprehension to delight upon tasting the light green confection. Owen chuckled to himself. As he turned away, the smile slid off his face. He might fail before he even began.

Tuesday, June 20, 2290

Sierra City, Central Sector, Twelfth District, Sixty-First Division, MC-1 link point

“Has he arrived?”

“Yes.”

“Safely?”

“Yes?”

“Good.”

“Our orders?”

“The same. Observation.”

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So... you like it? It felt a little like an info dump, but I tried making it as interesting as I could. I tend to visualize my stories like movies so what I see may be different than what the audience sees, which is a bit of a problem.

Anyway, reviews! Review after you read! Also, check out my Fictionpress forum for discussion and progress!