The steam was the only thing that made sense anymore.

  Takeda sat in the cedar-lined tub of the 'Tsubasa-yu' sentō, the hot water soaking into muscles that had been tense since he'd stood in that scorched alley, staring at burn marks that defied forensic explanation. His report had been filed, his superiors had given him the "stress-related hallucination" talk, and he'd been strongly encouraged to take a personal day.

  In police terms, that meant: *Stop asking questions about the bright flashes before you ruin your career.*

  He leaned his head back against the smooth wood, closing his eyes. The bathhouse was quiet, save for the rhythmic *clack-clack* of wooden basins and the distant hum of the boiler. It was a sanctuary of the mundane. No monsters, no glowing girls, no laws of physics being treated like suggestions.

  "Hey! Detective! You're going to turn into a prune if you stay in there any longer!"

  The voice shattered his peace like a brick through a window. He opened one eye to see a blur of red hair and a bright yellow towel through the steam.

  Takeda sighed, pulling himself out of the water. After drying off and dressing in his civilian clothes-a plain grey hoodie and jeans-he made his way to the front desk to return his locker key.

  Akane, the owner’s daughter, was currently leaning over the counter, vigorously polishing a glass jar of pickled plums. She was a whirlwind of kinetic energy, her movements so fast they seemed to blur.

  "Takeda-san! You look like you've seen a ghost!" she shouted, slamming the jar down with enough force to crack the wooden counter. A hairline fracture split the surface from end to end. She didn't notice. "Or maybe you just need more protein! My dad says a man your age needs at least three eggs a day to keep his spirits up!"

  "I'm twenty-nine, Akane-chan," Takeda said, sliding his key across the counter and trying not to stare at the damage. "Hardly at death's door."

  "Twenty-nine is basically thirty, and thirty is basically forty!" she chirped, her grin wide and dangerously infectious. "You should join my track club! We run at five AM. It'll clear those cobwebs right out of your head!"

  "I'll pass. My job provides enough cardio."

  "Suit yourself! But don't come crying to me when your knees start creaking like an old gate!" She winked, then immediately turned her attention to a stack of towels, folding them with the speed and violence of a professional dealer shuffling a deck of cards.

  Walking out into the cool afternoon air, Takeda felt slightly more human. The bath had done its job, but the detective in him wasn't ready to clock out.

  The shopping district was only a few blocks away. A sprawling network of covered walkways and neon signs, currently packed with the usual afternoon crowd. Moving through the throng without his glasses felt oddly freeing—they were sitting in the case on his nightstand, a rare concession to being off-duty. His eyes scanned faces regardless, looking for the kind of lingering shock that doesn't wash off with a good soak.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  A stop at a small tobacco shop near the station seemed prudent. The old woman behind the counter was a local fixture; she saw everything and forgot nothing.

  "Afternoon, Oba-san," Takeda said, leaning against the counter. "Busy day?"

  "Too busy, Takeda-kun. Everyone’s talking about that 'light show' from the other night. Some say it was a gas leak, others say it was a movie shoot."

  "And what do you say?"

  She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I say the world is getting stranger, and the police are getting quieter. My nephew was two blocks away. He said he heard gunshots, but they sounded like... bells."

  "Bells," Takeda repeated, making a mental note. "Did he see anyone? A girl, maybe?"

  "He saw a shadow. Fast as a cat, he said. Then a bright flash hit, white as a camera strobe, and he couldn't see anything for a minute."

  Takeda thanked her and moved on, hitting three more shops. The stories were all the same: a flash of white light, a sense of overwhelming pressure, and then nothing. No evidence, no shell casings, no blood. Just a collective memory of something that shouldn't exist.

  Standing in the center of the mall atrium, debating whether to grab a coffee or head home, is when the atmosphere curdled.

  It wasn't a sound, but a sensation-a sudden, sickening drop in the air pressure that made his ears pop. The chatter of the crowd died down as people looked up, confused.

  The sky above the glass roof wasn't blue anymore. It was a bruised, sickly purple, swirling like oil on water. A jagged crack appeared in the center of the air, a rift that seemed to suck the light out of the room.

  "Everyone! Get back!" Takeda shouted, his voice cutting through the rising murmur of the crowd.

  He reached for his hip, his fingers brushing against empty denim. His service weapon was locked in the precinct safe. A cop in the middle of a war zone with nothing but a wallet and a half-empty pack of gum.

  The rift tore open. Three creatures dropped through the glass, the shards raining down like diamonds. They were nightmares made flesh-spindly, elongated limbs, skin like wet charcoal, and eyes that were nothing more than pits of flickering violet fire.

  The panic was instantaneous. A wall of screaming people surged toward the exits. Takeda stood his ground, trying to direct the flow, trying to keep the elderly and the children from being trampled.

  "Move! To the service stairs! Don't stop!"

  One of the creatures landed on a kiosk ten feet away, its claws shredding the metal like paper. It let out a sound that wasn't a roar, but a high-pitched, digital screech that made his teeth ache. It coiled its limbs, preparing to spring into the thick of the fleeing crowd.

  Takeda looked around for anything-a fire extinguisher, a heavy chair-anything to buy them a few seconds.

  Then, she arrived.

  She came from the service corridor on the east side, moving fast and low, the click of armored boots on tile cutting through the chaos. The air around her hummed with residual energy, as if she'd transformed somewhere out of sight and hit the ground running. The pressure in the atrium shifted, the monsters freezing for a split second as they registered the new threat.

  Through the shimmering haze of ozone, Takeda saw her.

  She was the girl from the footage. The same dark bodysuit, the same iridescent violet plating, the same short cape flaring behind her. On a grainy, stuttering security camera she'd been terrifying enough. In person, at full speed, she was something else entirely. Two long, heavy pistols were gripped in her hands, their barrels glowing with a soft, rhythmic pulse.

  But the eyes... those steel-blue, weary eyes were the same ones he'd seen in the grainy security footage. The soldier in the costume.

  "You," Takeda breathed, the word lost in the roar of the wind.

  The girl-the Magical Girl-didn't look at me. She raised her weapons, the mechanical click of the hammers cocking echoing through the silent mall.

  "Target acquired," she whispered.