Lord-Campione
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Chapter no.20: The Preacher's Illusion
🕑 Added 2024-09-24 02:00:51 +0000 UTCTakashi and Rika stepped off their flight into the bustling environment of Tokyo airport. As they moved through the arrival gate, Takashi took charge of the logistical aspects of their entry.
Meanwhile, Rika was absorbed in her own preparations for the mission ahead. She flipped through the pages of a biography of Shoko Asahara, the infamous founder and leader of the Japanese doomsday cult known as Aum Shinrikyo.
Their arrival was smooth, with Takashi skillfully managing their luggage retrieval—efficiently spotting and pulling their bags off the conveyor belt amid the sea of similar-looking suitcases.
Ever since the tragic and mysterious death of Kozen’s father, which had officially been ruled an accidental explosion, both he and Rika had been relentless in their pursuit of the truth. However, official channels had stonewalled them, and their own investigation had frustratingly hit dead end after dead end.
Takashi felt a weariness seeping into his bones, a mix of jet lag and disillusionment. He was close to giving up, his resolve waning after each fruitless lead and cold trail.
But Rika was not ready to let go.
This trip to Tokyo was her idea—a final attempt to uncover some thread of truth by interviewing Shoko Asahara under the guise of a journalist. It was a long shot, but if anyone could extract information from a potentially dangerous and closed-off individual like Asahara, it was Rika.
Takashi, dressed in a neatly pressed dark suit that complemented his meticulously groomed hair and clean-shaven face, turned to Rika with a curious remark. “You know I never knew you were into books.”
“That kind of comment is exactly why you scare the ladies away,” Rika jabbed back.
“What about you?”
“If you weren’t my partner, I’d jump off the nearest building.”
Takashi’s response was a pout, a mix of feigned hurt and genuine frustration, which quickly dissolved as he approached a woman working at the airport, only to be swiftly rejected. Rika watched, shaking her head slightly as Takashi returned, his ego slightly bruised.
He really doesn’t want to die a virgin, Rika thought, a smirk playing on her lips. The recent monster encounter had left Takashi visibly shaken, pondering life, mortality, and his legacy—thoughts that seemed to drive him into a flurry of awkward social overtures. On the plane ride alone, he had attempted to ask out nearly a dozen women, each effort more desperate than the last.
“Rika, what am I doing wrong?”
Rika grabbed his hand, pulling him along. “Not now, Takashi, I need your A-game right now, so stop fooling around.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, snapping back to the reality of their situation.
With their personal conversation cut short, Takashi and Rika exited the airport and headed to a hotel near the Tokyo Detention Center. Rika, adopting the role of a reporter, disguised herself accordingly, donning a smart blazer and glasses that lent her an air of journalistic authority. Meanwhile, Takashi was tasked with renting a van that would serve as their mobile tech hub for the operation. The van was essential for their plan, equipped with surveillance equipment and other technological tools necessary to monitor and record the interview with Shoko Asahara.
Rika’s steps echoed in the stark hallways of the Tokyo Detention Centre, her heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Today, after months of preparation and securing a credible identity as an international journalist through less than legitimate means, she was finally going to interview Shoko Asahara. The permissions had been hard-won, the bureaucracy navigated with a mix of patience and subtle manipulation, all to sit across from a man who was a symbol of terror in Japan.
As she was led into the interrogation room, Takashi’s low voice crackled through her earpiece.
“You okay?”
Rika remained silent for a moment, collecting her thoughts as a guard pulled back a chair for her with unexpected courtesy. She managed a smile, a brief flash of gratitude, before responding.
“Yeah, just wondering if we’ll finally get some damn answers or will this be another dead end?”
“Don’t worry, it’s just the anxiety kicking in. Remember why we are doing this,” Takashi reassured her through the earpiece.
“For the captain!”
“For the captain,” Rika echoed softly, grounding herself with the mantra as the door to the room swung open.
Two guards entered, their steps measured and professional as they escorted the man in question into the room. Rika’s breath hitched at the sight of Shoko Asahara. He was a large man, his presence felt, dressed in a standard prison uniform but with an eye patch. His long hair and beard were meticulously groomed, giving him an air of serene authority rather than captivity.
What shocked Rika was not just his imposing appearance but the lack of restraints. He walked freely, unhandcuffed, his demeanor calm and unthreatened, as if he were strolling through a park rather than a detention center.
“Don’t worry miss, Shoko here won’t hurt a fly,” one of the guards said nonchalantly as they positioned Shoko across from her.
Rika’s mind reeled at the casualness of the comment.
Don’t they know this man is here because of murder? She thought, a chill running down her spine as she set up her recorder. The surreal nature of the scene—a notorious cult leader treated with almost deferential respect—unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
As she prepared to start the interview, her fingers slightly trembling as they adjusted her notes, Rika steeled herself.
As Rika began to introduce herself, Shoko interrupted her with a knowing smile, chilling her to the bone.
“I am well aware of who you are… Rika.”
Rika’s heart skipped a beat, her initial shock rendering her momentarily speechless. Through her earpiece, she could hear Takashi’s breathing grow heavy.
“Rika, calm yourself,” Takashi’s voice came through, steady yet urgent.
“Yes, Mrs. Rika, calm is good, listen to that friend of yours,” Shoko chimed in, his gaze drifting past her, focusing intently in the direction where Takashi’s van was hidden.
It was as if he could see through the walls, straight to Takashi.
“Run!” Rika’s instincts screamed into the earpiece, her hand darting to her gun in a reflexive motion of defense. But before she could react further, the room around them began to distort, reality peeling away like layers of an onion, disorienting and incomprehensible.
Suddenly, Rika found herself standing in a vast field of wheat under a clear blue sky, the transition so abrupt and smooth it felt like stepping through a portal into another world. The air was fresh, the wheat gently swaying in a soft breeze, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of the interrogation room.
Shoko was there too, but he was no longer dressed in the drab prison uniform. Instead, he wore the attire of a preacher—flowing robes of a soft, pristine fabric that seemed to glow with an inner light, giving him an ethereal, almost saintly appearance. His eyepatch was gone, replaced bizarrely by a rose growing gracefully over where his eye should have been, its petals delicate and oddly perfect.
“Beautiful, isn’t it,” Shoko remarked, his voice smooth, as if they were merely discussing the weather and not standing in a surreal dreamscape.
What is going on? Rika thought, her mind racing to piece together the reality of their situation. The serene setting contrasted sharply with the inner turmoil she felt, her training as an SAT agent providing no protocol for this kind of psychological or supernatural manipulation.
Was this some form of advanced psychological warfare, a drug-induced hallucination, or had Shoko tapped into something far more ancient and mystical?
