Chapter Seventy-Three: The Apartment

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"655, are you there?" Confronted by a formidable enemy, Ji Ning was feeling nervous, but this was not an emotion he could confide in to Katherine or the others. Afra would likely mock him, Katherine would say nothing but would certainly intervene herself, and most importantly, he didn’t want Qin Mo to know that he too could be afraid. What boy would willingly let his beloved see his timid side?

But he still had one friend who had shared life and death with him. As SCP-CN-655, who used his hippocampus as a cinema, Ji Ning knew that in front of 655, any attempt at concealment was utterly futile. So he decided to relieve some of his stress by talking with 655, and perhaps discuss some strategy at the same time.

"I'm here." SCP-CN-655's voice was always so calm and unruffled. Normally, Ji Ning found 655’s tone perfunctory, but right now, that unchanged cadence gave him a strange sense of reassurance.

"What should we do in a moment?" Ji Ning always felt that SCP-CN-655 was like his own Doraemon, always able to surprise him—this time should be no exception.

"Grab it, then run." SCP-CN-655 was becoming increasingly able to sense emotions, and it believed its current mood was something called helplessness.

"I mean, HOW do we grab it, and HOW do we run? As a friend, shouldn’t you offer some advice? Of course, actions would be even better. Rather than just hardening the surface like last time, is that ability you used to freeze the tundra wolves in Siberia still available?"

"It’s possible. However, I wouldn’t recommend it. The creature called Ryuunosuke Kaga harbors an immensely powerful energy within his body. According to the most basic law of conservation of energy, assimilation would require a colossal amount of energy, and the transmission time for such a vast amount would also be exceedingly long. I don’t think you could restrain him for even a minute." Ji Ning noticed that SCP-CN-655 hadn’t referred to Ryuunosuke Kaga as "human"—it said "creature." In 655’s perception, apart from appearance, Ryuunosuke Kaga had little in common with humanity.

There wasn’t much time left for Ji Ning. Barely ten minutes passed before the converted static of the communicator crackled to life again.

"I’ll leave this child to Mr. Kaga. Although her situation has been handled, Mr. Kaga should still be a bit cautious. Wait until you reach the location before removing her mask."

"Understood."

Ji Ning hurriedly ended his conversation with SCP-CN-655 and stared at the place where Ryuunosuke Kaga had entered. But after a while, he didn’t see Kaga emerge from there. Instead, a black Maybach slowly rolled out of the underground garage.

Ji Ning froze for a second, then slapped his thigh in frustration. Damn it, damn it! He had subconsciously assumed that since Kaga arrived on foot, he would also leave the same way, completely overlooking the possibility he’d be driven away.

"Afra, where are you?"

"Five minutes."

Ji Ning watched anxiously as the Maybach, unhurried yet soon to vanish into the night, slipped away. A golden Toyota Crown glided from the darkness, its gaze cold upon the proceedings.

"Need a cab, young man?" The driver, wearing sunglasses, rolled down the window and looked at Ji Ning.

"Follow that Maybach," Ji Ning said without hesitation as he swung open the front passenger door. He hadn’t even buckled up before pointing to the distant Maybach and stating his intent.

"You seem to have a bit too much confidence in my old car. It’s been running for over a decade, you know." The middle-aged driver made a dry joke, but asked no further questions. He stepped on the accelerator and shot off toward the Maybach. Only then did Ji Ning have a moment to examine the taxi.

Though there was no lit cigarette, the smell of tobacco lingered in every corner. The glass ashtray hadn’t been emptied for ages, a good luck charm dangled from the rearview mirror, and the seat beneath him felt rough, the backrest likewise in need of cleaning. But with the surge of speed, Ji Ning ignored all of this, his focus locked on memorizing the license plate of the Maybach about to disappear from view.

Ji Ning softly recited the number to himself. He could no longer worry whether the driver suspected anything: he desperately needed Katherine to integrate this intelligence and prepare for the next phase.

The sunglasses-wearing driver, unlike the chatty types, did not ask where Ji Ning was from or where he was going. He simply trailed the Maybach in silence, steady and unhurried.

It was too quiet. What kind of taxi driver wouldn’t say a word under these circumstances?

"I’m a journalist. As you saw, that car just left the home of Shintaro Ikawa, a member of the Seiwa Policy Research Council of the Japanese Liberal Democratic Party," Ji Ning fabricated an identity with ease, never revealing his true reason for following the Maybach. The perfect lie demanded the target’s participation.

"Those bloodsucking leeches—none of them are any good," the driver grumbled. "If those crooked politicians put even a tenth as much energy into improving people’s lives as they do into wining and dining, who’d be working at this hour?" He continued, "So, did this guy just finish another one of those straightforward yet filthy cash deals?"

Ji Ning nodded, then shook his head. "Something even filthier."

The driver gave a simple "oh," eyes fixed on the Maybach ahead. "But it seems like these bigwigs hardly ever take a fall. Even if you expose them, at most they’ll hold a press conference and fake an apology. Is it really worth it?"

Ji Ning didn’t know much about Japanese politics, so he had nothing to say. After a moment, seeing Ji Ning silent, the driver didn’t press further.

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Up ahead, the Maybach slowed to a stop, and the taxi did likewise, keeping a discreet distance. Ji Ning watched two figures, one tall and one short, disembark and head toward an apartment building. He hastily threw down his only two-thousand yen bill, bearing an image of Shureimon. Painful as it was, he couldn’t wait for change. The middle-aged driver didn’t mind his rudeness, didn’t even glance at the bill. He simply watched Ji Ning’s departing figure in silence.

No longer cautious, Ji Ning spoke softly into the earpiece hidden in his ear: "Afra, how long until you get here?"

"Ten minutes."

Despite all green lights, this was Tokyo’s streets—no matter who you were, even Michael Schumacher could only honk the horn and stare at the traffic ahead.

Ji Ning sighed. "In ten minutes, the opportunity will be lost."

He imagined the two figures moving slowly inside the apartment, Kaga opening the door to his destination, preparing for tonight’s feast. When a light flickered on inside, Ji Ning swept back his hood and dashed into the building.

Fortunately, this was not a high-end residence and lacked a comprehensive electronic access system. Ji Ning easily reached the door Kaga had just entered.

Seconds later, Ji Ning blocked the peephole with his left hand and rapped sharply with his right. The knocking echoed through the empty corridor.

The answer came swiftly—distinct clacks of wooden sandals approached from within.

No questions, no hesitation. Kaga opened the door, unconcerned whether the visitor was from the SCP Foundation or the GOC. This was Japan—his territory.

As the door swung halfway open, Ji Ning, with all his might, launched a punch shrouded in SCP-CN-655 at Kaga’s face—like a carnival pendulum smashing into a pirate ship.

The solid wooden door splintered, wood shavings flying, the punch landing squarely on Kaga’s face. Yet Kaga’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. In fact, upon recognizing Ji Ning, he smiled faintly. "Long time no see."

Kaga ignored the fist at his cheek. Even with Ji Ning’s full strength, not a muscle moved on that smiling face.

Now was not the time for pleasantries. Ji Ning shifted from fist to elbow, aiming for what he instinctively thought would hurt most. But the seemingly fragile nose, at the moment of contact, rebounded with such force that the SCP-CN-655 coating his elbow shattered, the impact ringing out like rending alloy.

Dragging his numbed right arm, Ji Ning retreated a few steps, eyes sharp and emotionless—no pain, no anger. He watched Kaga intently.

"Youngster, where are you from? Foundation? GOC? No, you’re too young—so, the Deer College? Or Alexylva University?" Kaga approached unhurriedly, his gaze filled with undisguised contempt. No matter where the little one was from, he thought, tonight called for an extra meal. He wouldn’t mind a little more dessert.

Ji Ning spun and sprinted away. Kaga’s mouth stretched open in an inhuman arc, making his face both bizarre and terrifying. A scarlet tongue flicked over razor-sharp, white shark-like teeth—he was growing impatient.

But as he lunged after Ji Ning, an invisible filament cut across the air, slicing into his shoulder as easily as butter. Kaga glanced down indifferently—it was that old trick again.

He turned his head to avoid the filament and kept advancing. The wire of SCP-CN-655 severed a chunk of his shoulder, which tumbled onto the marble floor, yet not a drop of blood spilled.

The muscle rolled and reformed; exposed flesh writhed and regenerated, swiftly replaced by new tissue. His whole body was like a giant petri dish, vast energy radiating from the mutilated form. In a single breath, the wound was filled, skin growing anew to cover the muscle.

Not far away, Ji Ning watched. He knew this was no rescue—this was a fight for survival.

He didn’t know why Kaga had concealed his strength on the cruise ship, but there was no time to ponder it now.

Kaga broke into a run, every step cracking the marble tiles beneath his feet. The heavy thuds gave Ji Ning no time to react—Kaga was upon him, one hand clamped around his throat, lifting him off the ground without force. He preferred his food alive.

Cultists of the Fleshcrafter’s Cult all knew the saying: your past is your blood and flesh, and will always follow you. They favored fresh meat—one’s history lingered in one’s flesh, every bite a taste of the past, like a strange cinematic experience.

Ji Ning felt his throat caught in a vice, the rare sensation of suffocation making him dizzy.

Last time, it had been that man called Fifth Jue, but at least then Ji Ning had known he wouldn’t die.

"Ji Ning!" Qin Mo’s voice rang out in the communicator. The sudden silence had alerted her in the distant hotel. "Don’t die!"

"Who WANTS to die!" Ji Ning grumbled inwardly, struggling against the suffocating lack of oxygen. He might have underestimated Kaga’s strength, but things hadn’t yet spun out of control.

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Within Ji Ning, SCP-CN-655 contracted into a single point, frantically transmuting into a strange state, the temperature plummeting toward absolute zero. At such low temperatures, all atoms seemed to become one; more precisely, their quantum states converged into a single state, like a Bose-Einstein condensate, and yet something beyond that as well.

Ryuunosuke Kaga suddenly felt an emotion long forgotten. After a few seconds, he recalled its name—fear. He reached with his left hand, tearing open his chest, searching for stray thaumaturgic factors in the air, but found nothing.

Magic? Supernatural ability? High-temperature weapon? Before he could investigate, he realized the ominous sensation came from the prey clutched in his right hand.

Without hesitation, Kaga hurled Ji Ning away, sending him flying down the corridor like a rag doll.

He looked down at his right hand, now encrusted with frost, unable even to form a fist. He closed his eyes and felt the nerves, already frostbitten and deadened by the cold, the numbness still spreading—though slowing. Kaga didn’t hesitate; he tore off his entire right arm. Almost instantly, a new arm sprouted from the wound.

Kaga flexed his new limb and strode after Ji Ning. Dust drifted, exposed rebar in the cement watched in silence. Yet in the mere seconds that had passed, Ji Ning had vanished. Kaga bent low, searching for any trace of his prey.

Behind him, a puddle of transparent liquid, as if guided by some unseen force, flowed back toward Kaga’s room.

When Ji Ning was thrown, he felt his flesh being stripped away midair, a great repulsive force surging from within, his muscles and fascia creaking, his body on the verge of shattering into a mess of blood and pulp. He barely had time to react before SCP-CN-655 transformed him into a slime-like form.

He hadn’t forgotten his purpose—he was here to save someone. While Kaga searched for him amid the rubble, Ji Ning, fighting through the pain, quietly slipped into the apartment.

The living room was bare but for a single chair, a nauseating stench of blood growing stronger toward the master bedroom. He was afraid to go on, but though frightened, Ji Ning did not hesitate—Deer College didn’t teach its students to overcome fear, but to adapt to it.

As he drew closer to the bedroom, Ji Ning could hear a clear dripping sound. Unable to maintain his liquid form, he returned to human shape, dragging his aching body to push open the door.

One glance, and he forgot all his pain. He even doubted whether he was truly standing here, or just imagining it all—the calls from the communicator, footsteps outside, the sound of bones resetting within him—he heard nothing, just stood there, dazed, like a helpless child.

No one knows what Ji Ning saw that night. But from that day on, no creature affiliated with the Fleshcrafter’s Cult could ever again earn Ji Ning’s forgiveness.

Exhausted, Ji Ning could no longer maintain his slime form. He carefully threaded his way through the vacant corridor, clambered out the apartment window, stumbled along the air conditioning unit, and leapt to the ground.

"Afra."

"One minute."

The moment Ji Ning ran out of the building, he knew a minute was far too long for him—Kaga was already waiting.

Ji Ning cursed Kaga in Chinese, then removed his communicator. If the others heard what was about to happen, they would surely have nightmares. Sorry, it seems the mission has failed again.

Kaga was just about to speak when the roar of a supposedly ordinary taxi engine drew near from behind. He turned just in time to see the yellow Toyota Crown, passenger door still swinging, race past. Kaga only managed to grab the rear bumper, leaving a screech of torn metal.

When he looked back, Ji Ning was gone. Staring at the receding taxi, he didn’t even take an extra step. He licked his lips with a sinister smile.

"Thanks," Ji Ning said weakly from the passenger seat. His right arm numb, he couldn’t even close the car door.

"No need to thank me—it’s covered by the fare you just paid," replied the driver, removing his sunglasses. Though stubbled, his sharp gaze remained undimmed, the handsomeness of youth now matured into a weathered bearing—a man with stories.

"Who are you?" Ji Ning was silent for a while before asking.

"Oh, my name’s Tsuhisa Ueno. You can just call me Uncle Ueno." Ueno pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag.

"You’re not a taxi driver." Ji Ning rolled down the window, finally understanding why the man worked so late—he probably couldn’t get any passengers during the day, so he came out at night to try his luck.

"Kid, I haven’t been a cop in years." Seeing Ji Ning’s action, Ueno smiled, rolling down his own window, but made no move to extinguish his cigarette.