Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Senku was seated uncomfortably in a dingy bar in Roppongi, Japan. He was small and unassuming at first glance, wearing a beige dress shirt and casual black jeans. Upon further inspection, his white hair made it look at though he’d been electrified, sticking out at odd angles and sharply contrasting his crimson eyes, almost magnetic in their intensity. His eyebrows were raised so high it looked almost painful, and his mouth was agape in disbelief as he stared at the man in front of him. The man in question, Ryusui, was tall and well-built with bulging muscles, littered with scars on his forearms and chest. He was wearing a golden chain with a compass charm resting just below his collarbone, a tight-fitting, partially buttoned black dress shirt and matching slacks. He also wore a dangerous smirk, golden eyes glinting mischievously as he leaned back, thoroughly impressed with his own ability to render the scientist speechless.

“You’re fucking joking.” Ryusui laughed loudly, pushing his golden hair back impatiently to lean in towards Senku.

“I never joke about what I want. I know what you’re capable of. I’ve seen your work. I know exactly how many countries want you slaving away for them, too. I need you to be the catalyst for development on our own terms.”

“You want me to turn a swath of jungle in the middle of the Pacific Ocean into a nation. Have you actually gone insane?” Incredulous, he ran his hands through his alabaster hair and wondered if he should make a run for it.

“I think by now you recognize that where I’m from, insane is a way of life. I’m sure you’ve gotten a little more used to this shit by now. Am I wrong?”

Senku pondered quietly, remembering the American recruiters that broke into his apartment in the dead of night, sitting in the kitchen for an undisclosed amount of time until he groggily walked to the sink for a glass of water. He spotted three dark shadows in the corner of the room, promptly dropped his glass and grabbed a nearby kitchen knife in a meager attempt to defend himself. He wasn’t exactly known for being physically capable of fighting off intruders - his biggest muscle was his brain, which began to throb painfully once he recovered from the shock. The mystery intruders told him that they were with Intelligence and Weapons Development at the Pentagon (as if that mattered), that they wanted his skills, and were willing to pay him any sum of money if he left with them immediately. After massaging his temples for a brief respite, Senku jammed a finger in his ear and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling.

“You idiots break into my damn house, and now you want to give me a job offer? No thanks. I thought I made it clear the first time- I’m still not interested in developing any kind of weaponry for any of you weird assholes. You can suck my dick after the Ministry of Defense is done. My deepest apologies - I can’t make you a cool as hell, people-melting nuclear bomb. Maybe try recruiting from your own country next time?” Red in the face and muttering angrily among themselves, the Americans left shortly afterwards. Senku replaced the lock on his door the next day.

It didn’t stop after that, though. Senku kicked himself for his eagerness to publish papers on nuclear weaponry. It was just interesting to him, and he wanted his diverse work portfolio to be recognized by JAXA when he applied in a few years. His hubris landed him with endless emails and calls, “house visits” and more from government agencies, private corporations and military entities from around the globe, effectively ruining any chance he had at a peaceful life. He made the mistake one time of responding to an inquiry about his city water bill, and was given an address he wasn’t familiar with. Upon arrival, he was ushered in by suited men and sat down in a formal gala, with dozens of strangers clamoring to introduce themselves as general, CEO, director and more titles he didn’t actually care about. All of them wanted his input, if he did contract work, how much his current salary was and offering to triple it - all to be disillusioned at his increasing levels of annoyance and impolite rejections. Why would they trick him into attending the Indo-Pacific Allied Forces Conference in Star Wars slippers and an ugly gray sweatsuit?

He currently worked in an independent research laboratory with some old fogies that paid no mind as he went about his business. He was a multidisciplinary employee, sometimes working in microbiology or physics, other times in experimental chemistry and astronomy. Whatever odd job they needed, he got done. He slept in the lab more than the apartment, as it was more secure at this point than his own living quarters. Any research he did outside of the company was off the clock and alone, but his published works came from studies done with his colleagues. He quickly learned to keep his own findings to himself as his coworkers mysteriously disappeared, coming back in expensive suits and smug expressions as they grabbed pictures and mugs off of their desks, loudly babbling about their newly financed cars.

Senku hated this part of science. He liked to discover and nurture his ideas, not sell out to some conglomerate that would inevitably make science suck. He made a decent salary, investing in a few stocks and bonds for a steadily growing savings account. He only spent money on copious amounts of coffee and ramen. He kept life simple so he could focus on what mattered. That being said, he was frustrated with the fact that he wasn’t allowed to reach his full potential without powerful, egotistical bigwigs pulling all the stops to get him into their circles. It felt like some sick attempt at a harem with nuclear war on the line. He was still in disbelief at the dark and foreboding underbelly of international politics, half-convinced it was some weird dream. Ryusui sensed his train of thought and gave his final pitch, staring at Senku with a knowledgeable gleam in his eyes.

“At the very least, come to the ship and check out what I found for you. I know just as well as you do that sooner or later, people are going to stop asking you to join them.” Senku glanced up at Ryusui, knowing the implications of his statement. It was only a matter of time before he was held in contempt of a traffic violation and held in a police interrogation room, only to be released on the condition that he works for the military or some other eternal killjoy. If they would be so kind. Senku sighed and stretched, leaving his untouched drink on the table as he got up to join Ryusui. A wolfish grin was plastered on the sailors face, while Senku appeared to be bracing himself for another lecture. Or his first kidnapping. Whatever, he had nothing else to do tonight.

The ramp up to the deck was large and steep, a built-in conditioning exercise for the captain and his crew. Senku was gasping for air only halfway up the ramp, his slim stature not yet exposed to the rough work environment of a sailor. Ryusui patiently waited for him atop the ship railing, chuckling as he watched Senku cuss him out under his breath. Once he stomped onto the floor of the deck, Ryusui nodded to the armed and stone-faced crew members, a silent signal to cover the perimeter. Senku gulped nervously, feeling exposed on the main floor of the deck. They walked down the steps of the ship, an endless maze of spiral staircases and metal doors. The ship itself was a beauty, the internal structure strong enough to withstand severe winds and mile high waves. It was clearly a military grade vessel that was cleverly disguised on the exterior to avoid speculation. Senku took a few seconds to examine the various support beams and plating in the lower levels of the vessel.

“She’s gorgeous, right? I got lucky - my father is the US naval defense systems provider. Taught me everything I needed to know and probably more. That’s why I can keep this thing afloat and untraceable. I’m sure he was hoping to give me a leg-up in the industry for taking over the business, but unfortunately… I’m not the kind of guy who likes being tied down.” He gave Senku a teasing wink, utterly ignored as Senku walked up to yet another door, bolted and armed with several guards. Ryusui took a deep breath and turned to the white-haired man. standing between him and the reinforced steel.

“Senku - the first time I heard of you was from my father. He was in a meeting with the fleet admiral, talking about how some twiggy sixteen year-old kid from Japan was supposedly writing papers on using plutonium in storage casks that periodically oscillate between gallium and depleted uranium for maximum efficiency and stabilization. That’s annoying as hell to say out loud, but it was a nasty shock for my father to find a civilian child writing papers on military-grade infrastructure that our top engineers couldn’t even imagine theorizing themselves. I was only a little jealous - but I needed you to be a distraction for my own plans. You see, I just about had enough with the family business and found myself a nice and newly-abandoned ship to fix up. I needed to make the tweaks and repairs on this thing and a good excuse to keep offshore bank accounts on hand. I read up on all of your work and tried to find out more about you, that’s when we met. Five years ago.” Senku stared at him, half-exasperated and half-nervous, wondering if Ryusui’s dramatic monologue would end with an unpleasant introduction to his father.

“My father lovingly gave me an order to recruit you with the usual ‘I’ll kill your family if you don’t come with me,’” Senku shot him a warning look, but allowed him to continue.

“But that’s when I found out about your father. I read up on the Challenger incident, and paid someone off to spy on you for a little bit.” Senku cocked his brow, puffing up like an aggravated blowfish.

“What the fuck, dude?”

“If it makes you feel better, they’re not from the company,” Ryusui shrugged nonchalantly and flipped his hair back as Senku glared at him, calmly continuing his lengthy biopic.

“I was expecting to find you in a filthy apartment eating cup noodles every night, since you didn’t have anyone living with you. I was also expecting you to be friendless and have a terrible personality - I guess you have a grand total of three friends, but that’s besides the point. I thought that what happened to your father would have you jumping at the first chance to destroy something. You had the brains to do it, and with your help any country could become the leader in developmental war tech. You could be hailed as a genius and make enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life, even if it meant others would die from your inventions.” Ryusui paused, quickly concealing the look of disdain on his face at the thought.

“What the investigator told me was that you lived in a clean, tidy apartment. You mostly ate microwave noodles but added in vegetables sometimes. Your two friends, Taiju and Yuzuriha, had gotten in a bit of trouble themselves. The janitor, Kaseki-”

“If you touch any of them, I’ll find the nastiest fucking chemical to give you liquefaction necrosis and drop you in the-”

“You misunderstand me, Senku. Listen.” Senku’s eye twitched violently, but he allowed the other man to speak, mostly because he didn’t want to be duct taped at the mouth if Ryusui got frustrated with his continued interruptions.

“You had just graduated. You found work in a quaint lab, went early and stayed late, went to Taiju’s, spoke with Kaseki on his lunch breaks, made microwave noodles, went to bed, and did the entire thing over again. Day after day. There was nothing about this report that made me think you’d want any part in the industry. There was nothing driving me to try to convince you to join the company I wanted to burn to the ground. Instead, I felt… some sort of kinship with you. I wondered if you might be more like me than I originally thought. I still needed to make contact with you, though. I went to your award ceremony for some prestigious thing I don’t care to remember - only to find out you didn’t even show up yourself. It was awkward as hell. As I was walking back to the dock, I found myself near your workplace and paid off the security guard to get inside. Don’t get pissed again,” he added, noting the indignation on Senku’s face, “I don’t know what I was thinking either. I found you working on another project, only looking up when Kaseki wanted to speak to you.” Senku frowned, trying to remember the occasion.

“I lost count of the awards. Why do they have to do a ceremony? Just give me the damn plaque and be done with it.” Ryusui grinned at his disgruntled attitude, heavily amused by his staunchness.

“What I was wondering was why you weren’t there. I’ve only ever been surrounded by people who take credit for others work and get drunk at the awards ceremonies. That’s how these things work in my world. That’s how I knew that I couldn’t ship you off to the US in good conscience.” Senku had just about had enough, huffing angrily for a few seconds until Ryusui shushed him once again.

“I’m getting to the point. I’m sure you remember when we first met.”

“Of course I do. You showed up at my house with a sleeping bag and told me you were spending the night. I couldn’t even get you out of the damn house myself, so I didn’t really have a choice.”

“Exactly! What better way to get to know someone than to make yourself at home? Do you remember what we talked about?” Senku sighed, finally resigning himself to playing along to Ryusui’s antics.

“The first thing you asked was if you could raid my fridge. Then we talked about my papers, and I thought you were a crazed fan of some sort. You told me almost nothing about yourself, except for the fact that you’re greedy as hell and want to own the Suez canal someday. I still don’t even know what your plan was with that. Then you disappeared and I didn’t hear from you until today. By the way, how did you get my contact information?” Ryusui nodded enthusiastically, blissfully ignoring the inquiry.

“Good, good. None of that really matters, though. Except for the papers. I asked you why you wrote them, and you told me they should’ve never been published.” Senku nodded slowly.

“I said they would make the world a worse place. Papers like that are typically opinion pieces. My mistake was making them structurally sound, which means that others know it’s possible. I should’ve stuck to fluid mechanics and propulsion systems. Five years later and that’s still true. I’ve worked my ass off to become a JAXA engineer, and they’re the only organization in Japan that’s hell bent on hiring old people. Not only do I have to wait another five years, I have to avoid being kidnapped on the regular by dudes like you.” Ryusui placed his hand on his heart, theatrically wounded by the pointed statement.

“You think so lowly of me, Senku.” He suddenly dropped his hand and straightened his posture, transitioning from his laid back exterior to a deadly serious stature, an overwhelming figure reeking of smugness.

“There are no other men like me. I think it’s time to show you why.” He nodded to the guards, who spent a very awkward fifteen seconds going through the process of unlocking the door, pushing it open with a heavy groan. Senku peered inside, cautiously making his way across the concrete floor to a clear polycarbonate cube with a strange black mass lying inside. He examined the black mass, a rock with a strange purple glow despite the bright overhead lights. After a few minutes of scrutinizing the material, he stepped back and exhaled sharply.

“I’ve never seen this before.”

“When I said I found an uninhabited island, I thought that might be enough to pique your curiosity even without additional leverage - but the way I got there was the real mystery.” Ryusui took his chain off, grasping the compass charm in his hand and carefully covering it with a cloth.

“I thought I would be dead by morning. It was a bad storm, and all of our navigation systems started to malfunction. I was headed back to the US after finalizing some banking details in Marunouchi, in the middle of the ocean with no way to call for help. That’s when I felt it.” Ryusui held up his hand, and Senku noticed for the first time the tattoo-like markings on his hand.

“My hand was on the binnacle, the compass that was spinning around in circles while I tried to get our location. Then, my necklace broke. This tiny-ass compass almost shattered the porthole. Then everything stopped. The storm had dissipated, and all of the electronic mechanisms and compasses were useless. At that point, it was almost daybreak. When I looked out the window, I saw the island.”

“This doesn’t make any fucking sense, Ryusui. Nothing about this makes sense.” Senku pinched his nose, the absurdity of the story annoying him more than anything.

“Watch.” Ryusui uncovered the compass from it’s protective cloth, and Senku looked just in time to see it launch out of Ryusui’s hand like an arrow and attached itself firmly to the polycarbonate container. A moment passed, and a slight crack appeared on the glass. Senku took a few steps back from the container and turned to look at the sailor.

“Are you trying to tell me this is a neodymium magnet?”

Ryusui shook his head with a frustrated expression then nodded again to a crew member, who deftly procured a large contraption on a rolling cart from the dark corners of the room. Senku gave yet another questioning look to Ryusui, who had absolutely no business handling an RDS-100V in any situation.

“Christmas gift from my father, of course. What 25 year old doesn’t want a military-grade radiac set? You want a new toy to play with, Senku? We can share.” He rolled the device to Senku, who walked over to the object and gained familiarity with it’s functions within a few minutes.

“Have you done this before?” Senku was hesitant to remove the polycarbonate wall separating him from the rock; he knew that it was the only thing preventing him from certain painful death if it showed signs of radioactivity.

“Yes. What’s interesting enough is that the rock itself isn’t going to kill you. Me and my men went onto the island when we saw it. The geological terrain isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before. We were walking on these glowing rocks the entire time, and the only thing that messed me up was the initial electromagnetic field. Nobody had any adverse side effects otherwise. I’m going to take it out of the cube now, and you can measure it’s level.” Ryusui took off his remaining jewelry, rolled up his sleeves and took out of his pocket a large key, matching the bulky padlock on the box. He picked up the rock and cupped his hands, a purple glow faintly reflecting in his palms. Senku took a deep breath and turned on the machine, pointing the apparatus towards the rock. Immediately, a flashing and discordant alarm sound rang through the room, startling Senku enough for him to launch backwards in an attempt to make distance between him and the rock.

“Put it down, Ryusui! That’s gonna kill all of us, put it back in the fucking box!” Senku’s yells echoed throughout the small room for a moment, all but ignored by the other men.

“It’s been a month since we walked on the island. My men even laid down and took a damn nap on them. You know that we should’ve been dead by now. I got testing done every day during that month I was home until they kicked me out thinking that I was just bored. There’s nothing, Senku. I wouldn’t bring you here if I thought it was dangerous.” Senku was still breathing heavily, perturbed by the foreboding turn of events. He slowly began piecing the stories together, putting a finger in front of his face to use as a focusing point.

“This shouldn’t be possible. There’s no actinide on earth with an electromagnetic field strong enough to offset the effects of ionizing radiation, much less produce no side effects at all. I don’t even have to look at the radiac set to know that was well over a hundred becquerels. And his hand, after contacting the compass… what field could do that? Radioactive isotopes never demonstrated positive correlation to electromagnetic fields, in average cases it’s antithetical save for uranium and thorium…” Senku continued to ruminate for several minutes, his low voice filling the otherwise silent room.

Ryusui stood slack-jawed, holding the rock in question and watching Senku’s mind at work. The verbiage alone was enough to lose Ryusui, not to mention the speed at which he was reciting papers and experiments, evidence conjured out of thin air. Senku’s incoherent one-sided discussion slowly petered out, and he turned to stare at Ryusui with an expression that made him tense up out of instinct; scarlet eyes full of joy and possessiveness, a grin so wide it was closer to a snarl, his handsome features twisted into an otherworldly face of someone who found something they definitely shouldn’t have.

“Don’t piss your pants from excitement, Ryusui. You just found a new element. Not only that, it’s powerful as hell. Which means if either of us are found with it, we’re ten billion percent dead.”

Chapter Text

Tahir was born on October 10th 1972, loud cries echoing off of the rugged mountainside in the small valley of Kabul. Women ushered around the child, dragging into the cramped tent a wooden basin brimming with lukewarm water. The chances of newborn babies surviving were slim, and the Hazara people did not waste time initiating the birth of the baby with ointments, prayer and ritualistic practices. Medical care in the mountainous regions of Afghanistan was sparse, mullahs receiving the role of primary post-natal caregivers. Birth was not a cause for celebration, but the traditions were consistent and omnipresent.

A withered hand reached into a ceramic pot, grinding black ithmid stone into a fine powder and carefully pouring into the pot a simmering golden liquid, gleaned from boiled and skimmed animal fats, swirling fingers working the mixture until a smooth paste was formed. Two fingers emerged from the pot covered in a rich black substance. The baby had quieted down, soft cries no longer reverberating throughout the valley. The shaking hand of an elder touched Tahir’s face, painting his eyes with delicate streaks of black. A third digit delivered the final touch, the thumb of the withered hand pressing down slightly against the newborns forehead to impress a bold mark between his brows.

The elder rose and limped out of the room as a towering figure entered the tent. The impressively built man walked over to the baby, bulged muscles rippling with each step. His intimidating figure was juxtaposed by a kind face, framed with long russet-colored hair and smile lines. He knelt down beside the baby, his loose hair tickling the newborns face and extracting warbled giggles from the infant. His lips were positioned next to the baby’s right ear as he murmured in a rich, melodious tone,

“Allahu akbar,
Ashadu an la ilaha illallah.
Ashadu anna Muhammadan rasulullāh,
Hayya las salaah.
Hayya lal falaah,
Allahu akbar,
La ilaha illallah.”

Once completed, the man leaned down to his left ear, reciting the Iqamah in a similar manner. These calls to prayer were custom for newborns, to bless and guide them through the early stages of life. He stood up from his kneeling position, turning his back and walking out of the tent. As he turned away from the baby, his kind facial features hardened into a stony expression, lips pressed into a thin line and worry lines deepening between his brows, in the same spot the newborn child was marked by his surma.

~

Hedeon was born on November 30th, 1972, in the confines of a small and white tiled room. The unrelenting gaze of bright overhead lights was the first thing he ever saw. Bony hands held him with clinical precision, only going so far as to examine his head before placing him in a worn down cradle. When Hedeon awoke and cried, the hands would reach out and hastily put a bottle to his mouth. The formula was watery and sour, but his cries did not prompt any further action from the bony hands. He laid in the cradle, unable to stare at anything other than the lifeless white lights. Three days later, Hedeon was taken to a wooden building with a strange red symbol on the door. He was placed in another room with other children, a chilled draft leaking through shabby wooden planks and his tattered blanket as he laid in a slightly newer cradle.

A stoic and unemotional child, the only feeling Hedeon ever had at the forefront of his mind was cold. He grew accustomed to dressing in fur lined clothes to survive, slender for his age. He was routinely met with the appraising glares of uniformed men with icy blue eyes, and he watched as children were swiftly reprimanded for tearful outbursts, hearing a lock click on the door of an unheated room, the clicking of the lock to be heard again a few days later as the child silently emerged.

When he was six years old, Hedeon felt warmth for the first time. He was subjected to hours of education in the Soviet Army, and every evening he would join a group of teen cadets for a series of physical training exercises. As Hedeon jogged around the perimeter of the training base, he felt an unpleasant stirring in his chest. He breathed deeper than he ever had before, his lungs catching fire as they fought for more air. He brought his hand to his forehead and it came back with a droplet of water. Was it raining? He raised his head to the sky, a blue so pale it was almost white. He looked down at his arms and saw the same strange droplets he discovered on his head. The stirring in his chest was oddly comforting. He felt a sliver of heat grow inside of him as droplets began collecting on his face and neck. His mouth turned up slightly, a ghost of a smile overpowering the unreadable mask that he was accustomed to. He finished running and returned to the orphanage, dropping to the floor and wrapping himself in a thin, ragged blanket. He decided he would chase that feeling from now on.

At ten years old, Hedeon was attending strategic meetings and praised as the youngest Air Defense solider in history. He didn’t care about that. He was chasing the peculiar sensation of heat. He did not feel it when he spoke with his commanders or the other children at the orphanage, when he ate hour-old porridge or poured buckets of water from the lake over his head to bathe himself. It only came to him as he ran mile after mile, a blistering contact of his fist colliding with bruised flesh, the twisted satisfaction of feeling his spear splice through a rib and the warmth of the blood spilling over his hand.

Hedeon was often mocked by fellow soldiers at the Tiksi airbase he was relocated to at eleven years old. Though he was quite tall for his age he rarely spoke, a high collar masking the lower half of his face. He underwent advanced training, learning the maneuvers and techniques of manning an aircraft. He was still subject to hours of intensive hand to hand combat, learning martial arts commonly referred to as Systema by the higher-ranking officers. He was grateful for the hours of blood-covered drills. It was a gift to him, the fleeting moment of feverish connection before he was forced to yield, his opponent red in the face and struggling to breathe as Hedeon’s knee pressed on their throat.

He stood up and walked away from the patch of dirt used for combat training, standing just outside the circle of scattered soldiers. A stiff-postured man with glittering cascades of metal adornments on his chest approached Hedeon, drawing from him a perfunctory salute, his hand grazing the droplet of sweat on his right temple.

“Tovarisch, Lieutenant Vitaly.”

The officer gave Hedeon a calculating smile that did not reach his eyes.

“We’ve raised you well. You’re strong. I feared our leniency in your upbringing would backfire; but the dedovshchina is necessary for producing capable fighters, and you fared far better than older counterparts. We have nurtured you perhaps longer than necessary, while your comrades have been working hard to enforce peace in the land of our former allies. It’s time to quell the fire spreading across our great country.” Hedeon nodded silently, still holding his right hand to his temple.

“Are you aware of why you are here, benefiting from the fruits of your labor and training?”

“To move forward. To further success in building an advanced socialist society.” Hedeon knew what he had to say, having spent countless agonizing days in that claustrophobic room, surrounded by seated cadets as they repeated the numerous slogans plastered on posters cluttering the walls.

“Do you understand the meaning of this war?” The Lieutenant seemed to find humor in forcing the younger man to speak, already familiar with his dislike for needless speech.

“If you build a homeland, you strengthen peace.” Hedeon’s lifeless eyes bored holes into the man, already irritated by his smug demeanor. Hedeon repeated the phrases, over and over again, until he knew them by heart. He discouraged himself from independent thought. Any instance he caught himself disdainfully cursing the parroting drawl of worn down sentiments, he quickly emptied his mind. There was no time to waste thinking about things other than war and warmth, two addicting ideas that have become interchangeable to him, as well as the inevitability of death that would likely feel similar an inferno - he looked forward to it.

“The people of Afghanistan are deluded with false promises of a dangerous religion, and continue to poison the proper minds cultivated in honor. We must clean up the scum that threatens our very existence. As Comrade Lenin cleans the earth from impurities, we must follow in his footsteps and honor our homeland. The Brezhnev doctrine wills us to do so. I assume you are familiar with it as well?”

“Yes, Lieutenant Vitaly.” The Lieutenant nodded in approval, satisfied at the compliant replies to his pointed queries.

“To have more, we must produce more. To produce more, we must know more. You’ll receive a year of additional training, and prepare to man one of our Su-17 aircrafts. In twelve months time, repay us for the sacrifices we have made to keep you alive and well.” “Understood, Comrade Lieutenant Vitaly.”

The man turned his heel and briskly walked away, the medals on his coat chiming discordantly with each step.

~

November 3rd, 1982.
Tahir opened his eyes slowly, seeing red as blood flowed down his face. He struggled to remember where he was, what he was doing there and why the only light he could find was through a small overhead crack in between large boulders. Fragmented memories flooded his consciousness as he attempted to sit up.

“They’re going to come through the tunnel. Tomorrow.” His fathers face was warped with tense despair painted in excruciating detail, filthy hands running through graying hair as he sat down in front of a large map.

Tahir managed to sit up on his knees, palms digging into the ground as debris floated around him. He heard screaming, scattered gunshots and the deafening sound of collapsing rock. His eyes lost focus as he tried to see through the thick layer of debris surrounding him.

“We can’t allow them to pass through Salang.” Another man, a subordinate to the regional militia commander, slammed his hand against the table, tearing the map slightly.

“We don’t have enough time to warn the civilians! They’re going to pass through at the same time!” Tahir’s father’s expression twisted in deep sadness, mourning sketched into the deep lines on his skin.

“I will be the one to bear that sin. If we allow them to pass through, they will kill many more, and it will grant them a winning advantage. That cannot happen.”

Tahir made it onto his feet, smart enough to place a makeshift mask onto his face and avoid breathing in large amounts of the polluted air. He was a mirror image of his father, and his musculature at ten years old was a blessing in a stone world such as this. He began clawing at the tall walls of rock that prevented him from reaching the light.

“Tahir. I want you to listen to me.” A dreadful pit in his stomach formed, the unbearable weight of coming to terms with the harsh grip of imminent death.

“I will be driving a fuel truck tomorrow. I want you to be stationed at the entrance and send a flare when they enter.” Tahir nodded, shaking as he tried to contain his grief. His father grasped his shoulder, smiling at him softly.

“Don’t forget, Tahir, that I will carry the burden of this sin, so you don’t have to. Don’t cry. We’ve had time together that many of our brothers and sisters did not receive. By istishhadi may Allah forgive me, so I will welcome you at the gate in due time.” His hand clapped Tahir’s shoulder, and he turned back to his soldiers with renewed determination.

A loud crumbling and crash revealed the dim light outside of the tunnel. Further ahead, the loud rumbling engines of Soviet tanks approached the tunnel with increasing speed. Tahir approximated fifteen seconds until he was forced to retreat. His voice barely rose above the grating sounds of the tunnel, gravelly from the dust permeating through his mask.

“O Allah, forgive him and have mercy on him, and give him strength and pardon him. Be generous to him, and cause his entrance to be wide, and wash him with water and snow and hail. Cleanse him of his transgressions as white cloth is cleansed of stains.”

As if granting Tahir a farewell himself, a memory of his father surfaced in his mind.

Seven hours prior, Tahir and his father sat side by side as the morning sun rose from the mountains, an eerily beautiful sight that seemed to simultaneously embrace and mock them, a prelude to the upcoming slaughter. “My Tahir, take what I say to you and carry it to your grave, many years from now. I want you to defend our families in my stead - and I want you to leave when the time is right. Just as these people are our family, you are my son. I am selfishly begging you to find a good life far away from this place. ‘O you who have believed, be persistently standing firm for Allah, witnesses in justice, and do not let the hatred of a people prevent you from being just. Be just; that is nearer to righteousness.’ Live your life the way it is meant to be. The sun will rise on you one day when you will be surrounded by others who refuse to succumb to this life.” Tahir nodded fervently, absorbing the sight and the rich, melodious tones of his father as they drew closer to the end.

The metal studded tread rolled noisily on the tattered road, growing closer as Tahir opened his eyes, tears obstructing his view of the rocky hills ahead. He blinked fiercely and stood up, his own footsteps rhythmically pounding the earth as he ran from the wreckage of the tunnel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kaseki Tanaka was born on February 9th, 1938. He was a mild-tempered boy, always tampering with the mechanisms in his toys, dismantling the carefully constructed wheels and interiors of the miniature trucks in his hand. He had a close affinity with machinery, and was given peculiar birthday gifts such as wrenches and bolts growing up.

“The trades are a hobby, Kaseki. There is only one path to society here, especially in your position. Focus on your studies and find work in a reputable office.” Kaseki always nodded in agreement and continued to play with various mechanical tools. He diligently studied and graduated high school in 1956, finishing college with the same bemused indifference. He found a small, unassuming laboratory in Yokohama and was accepted as an office assistant. He sometimes fixed faulty equipment, cleaned up residual marks from various experiments and used the ancient, bulky computer for data input.

In the early hours of the morning, he spent time at a local dojo. He found that he had a talent for the predictable and efficient movements of karate, muscles well-used and developed throughout the duration of his adult life. He delved into judo and kendo, entranced by the process of consistency, gradually but surely finding success at the end of the journey. When he reached his mid-thirties, Kaseki began to teach karate to the bright-eyed youth that flooded the dojo before the school bells rang nearby. Despite his fondness of the children, the man sighed at the thought of becoming an elder so soon.

Kaseki felt as though he was missing something. He made everything so simple for himself, planned out his steps methodically and lived quietly. Day after day, he felt the stagnation and impending back pain eat away at his psyche. He read the paper after his morning training on the way to work. The war in the middle-east was the first headline that elicited a hot spurt of anger to erupt from him, a frustrated noise of discontentment rumbling out of him on the train. He received the curious glances for a moment as he composed himself, continuing to read the paper as the train glided seamlessly on the tracks.

He stepped off the train once it came to a stop, eyes scanning the article once more. Looking up at the street sign, he suddenly realized he was at the wrong stop. If he ran, he would barely make it to work on time. His legs tensed instantly, and he took off towards the laboratory, the paper still clasped tightly in his fist.

“I would like to request time off of work.” Kaseki sat in the office of his boss, excitedly bouncing in his seat.

“Kaseki, you’ve been working here for almost twenty-five years, and never once have you requested any time off. Is it a new lady? A vacation spot you’ve had your eye on?” His boss appraised him with contentment - he always thought Kaseki should focus on his personal life more, after all. He was a hard worker, but didn’t seem to want to do much of anything at all. He leaned forward with curiosity, wondering what prompted Kaseki’s sudden change in attitude.

“I’m going to Afghanistan.”

A momentary pause ensued. The boss blinked profusely, then burst into rapturous laughter.

“Ha! You’re a funny guy, Kaseki! We should go for a drink sometime. Where are you actually headed to?” Kaseki straightened, the recently kindled fire in his eyes and squared shoulders making him nearly unrecognizable.

“I’m going to Afghanistan. The Soviets don’t want peace - they’re taking Afghan land like they took our Kurill Islands. I have decades of training in the manner of the Samurai, and I won’t be using those skills in this office. I’m going to help the mujahideen and test my own resolve.”

“Surely you aren’t serious? You do realize I have to inform the government of this, right? Do you actually want to go? Is this a suicide mission?!”

Kaseki shook his head profusely. “Becoming a martyr may be my purpose in this life, but I don’t plan to die there. None of you know how to work the computer here.” He continued as the boss sat in stunned silence, eyes bulging out of his head.

“The mujahideen need help, any kind of help. They need weapons, bread, food, anything. Who else will go if not me?” The boss had composed himself, finally finding the ability to speak once more.

“Ahem. Well, I don’t agree with this half-baked plan to martyr yourself in a foreign country with no military experience, with guaranteed disapproval from our government. But… I won’t stop you. Take what time you need.” Kaseki beamed at him, hopping up from his seat and babbling about travel arrangements while the boss shook his head in dazed bewilderment.

~

January 4th, 1985

Crimson eyes with laser focus zeroed in on the pipette in front of them, a steady hand lowering it into a container of solution holding a gel platelet. The eight year-old boy was a jarring sight, frizzy hair matching his lab coat that was slightly too big for him as the sleeves reached his fingertips. His father, Byakuya, worked closely with the lab on projects requested by JAXA for research in space biology. He brought Senku with him more often than not, the young boy treating the lab as a playground and outperforming the currently staffed scientists.

“Electrophoresis is such a royal pain in the ass. If only I could-” his disgruntled monologue was cut short by the loud slam of the laboratory door, causing him to jostle the pipette and leak material into the surrounding liquid solution.

“Damn it Kaseki, I was just- ” Kaseki interrupted the sullen white-haired kid, jumping up and down in celebration.

“I’m going to Afghanistan to battle the Soviet Union!” Senku slowly turned his head around and faced him with a comically dumbfounded expression, the pipette all but forgotten in the container.

“Huh? Did you spill a vial of gamma-aminobutyric acid somewhere?”

“Nope! Dead serious! If I die, you can say you were the Afghan-samurai warrior’s most promising young apprentice.” He danced around the room, randomly jabbing the air with kicks and chops while imitating the sounds of contacting strikes, attempting to amuse the boy who was crossing his arms and sulking in his chair.

“I’ve only known you for a year.” Senku’s eyes flickered with worry, his prickly retorts failing to conceal his concern for the older man. Kaseki smiled at him, unconvinced of Senku’s indifference toward the matter.

“I can’t say if I’ll come back or not. But before I go, let me teach you how to use the computer.” The horror on Senku’s face at the notion of operating the ancient device was apparent. Frowning, he turned back to his ruined experiment.

“No. You can come back and do it yourself.”

A month later, Senku sat beside Kaseki in his car, listening to the man humming happily. Byakuya knew that Senku was begrudgingly attached to Kaseki from his many hours at the lab and agreed to pick Senku up at the airport after work, preparations for the Challenger requiring the majority of his waking hours. Senku had already devised a plan to take the train home, cackling as he imagined Byakuya frantically filing a missing persons report. They came to a slow stop at the entrance.

“Tell me the plan again. The locations, timeline and contacts. Don’t skim the details, I don’t trust you to carry this out if you don’t have backup plans for anything.” Kaseki groaned theatrically, fixing his posture as he turned to young boy.

“Plan B is the grenade, Senku. Don’t look at me like that! It’s a much better alternative to Soviet capture. I’m flying in to Peshawar, then from there I go to the Afghan Democratic Republic. Jamiat-e Islami is receiving me there. Multiple guerrilla groups are positioned there, refugees too. They’ll take me from there, and if I make it out alive they’ll ship me right back to you.” Senku exhaled, not even the slightest bit comforted, but did not question further.

“I can’t even drive yet, Kaseki. What do you expect me to do if the Embassy chases you out of the airport?” Laughing, Kaseki got out of the car and opened the passenger door, holding out his fist expectantly. Senku looked away, nonetheless raising his fist to meet Kaseki’s.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few months later, Senku anxiously tapped the sides of the bench he was seated at as he stared down the sliding doors of the airport entrance. A man emerged, smiling wearily as he waved from afar. He scanned the area to find Senku and made his way towards the boy, huffing as he sat down roughly on the bench beside him. His beard was overgrown and his appearance grizzled, eyes brighter than ever but hardened by the throes of war.

“Senku, you’ve grown a few inches!” The boy rolled his eyes, already over his initial relief at Kaseki’s return.

“I’m literally sitting down, old man. What happened over there?” Kaseki’s eyes quickly clouded with grief-filled memories.

“I spent a lot of time teaching them hand-to-hand combat, but it felt like I didn’t teach them enough. When it came down to the actual battle, I didn’t know how to fight, how to move. I felt a bullet go by my ear and got a shot of adrenaline. I realized pretty dang quick that I needed to learn how to fight as a Kalashnikov if I wanted to make it out in one piece. We raided a government post by Jagdalak, around twenty-five miles to the east of Kabul. It wasn’t just every bit as terrible as it seems on paper - it was exponentially more violent and terrible.” Kaseki looked up at Senku, who’s hands were gripping the bench as his face paled. Kaseki reminded himself that he couldn’t baby Senku; the boy saw through any attempts to infantilize him, making more than one well-meaning office worker burst into tears after attempting idle conversation.

“Well, sorry to ruin your vacation, but none of them can get that decrepit computer to work properly. They’d have to put me on payroll for me to even get near it. Looks like you’re stuck with me for the rest of your days, old man.”

“I’m going back.” Senku stared at him, his mature demeanor falling short as he bristled with anger, upset with the idea of Kaseki going back to Afghanistan.

“No, you are not going back. Who even gave you permission to do that? Do I have to slip melatonin into your tea before the next flight? Don’t force my hand, grandpa.” Kaseki’s rumbling laughter filled the air.

“I just told you, kiddo. I didn’t train them enough. They need more. Money, weapons, fighters, everything. The Soviets will decorate the streets with blood if they have to fight alone. I’m going back with more money and teaching them the way of the Samurai. Oi, did you hear? I have a new and super cool name. They call me the Afghan Samurai now. Impressive, right? That might teach you to respect your elders more.” He folded his arms in assured confidence, flexing his biceps while Senku wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“I saw that in the paper, right next to the quote from the Japanese Foreign Ministry that says, ‘His characteristics are beyond our understanding. He is kind of strange as a Japanese.’ Whatever. I’ll figure out how to smuggle some cool chemicals in. Let me in the lab when you start making the radios and war tech. I trust that you won’t blow yourself up, but I ain’t going with you. When’s your next trip?”

“A couple months.” Senku grinned, for the first time experiencing the dangerous feeling of anticipation boiling in his gut as he settled his own involvement, no matter how minor. Screw the Japanese Embassy - Kaseki was infinitely more badass than all of those government cronies combined.

~

February 20th, 1988

Kaseki was on his seventh trip to Afghanistan, listening as the leader of Jamiat-e Islam told them of his encounter with the US military, revealing a shiny contraption at the end of his speech. The mujahideen erupted into cheers at the sight, not even caring about the properties of the equipment. The leader yelled at the congregation to stay silent as he explained the mechanics of the Stinger missile. It was a man-portable air defense system, used to shoot down Soviet aircraft from the ground. One intimidating figure was silent throughout the demonstration, standing several feet away from him.

He had the stature and build of a grown man, but Kaseki looked at his face and reckoned that he must be a teenager. His heart grew heavy as he imagined the young man’s life. Kaseki never had kids, but he imagined a life in which he brought an Afghan refugee back to Japan and could show them the calm, unperturbed routine Kaseki left behind. That train of thought hadn’t come to him since late January of 1986. His body was flooded with anxiety, remembering Senku sitting in his apartment alone back in Japan. He took a sabbatical that year, sorting through Byakuya’s will and arranging for Senku to live in a solitary apartment. Kaseki worried that Senku would feel lonely at eleven years old, bringing it up to him one day as they sat in the lab. Senku told Kaseki that his house smelled of baby powder and old cheese, and that he would rather stay in his own place where he could avoid the stench. Kaseki dropped the subject shortly afterwards, pretending not to notice as Senku unlocked his door every so often in the dead of night and woke up on his couch. The boy was just too damn smart for his age; even facing the death of his father, he was still extremely logical and stubbornly independent. Kaseki was just there to fill the gaps. He still couldn’t even drive or use a credit card, and Kaseki felt the need to get back to Japan and be there for him. He managed to embrace the boy before leaving, his porcupine-like hair poking Kaseki in the face. He promised Senku he would be back and done for good, recoiling as Senku told him off for making promises he wasn’t ten billion percent sure of. After all, Byakuya told him he’d be back soon, too.

The Mujahideen’s meeting adjourned and the men separated into smaller factions, gathering around campfires and small tents. The teenage boy sat alone in front of a small fire, the reflection causing his eyes to distort in the bright flickering flames. Kaseki sat down beside him, not close enough to alarm the boy but enough to catch his attention.

“Samurai.” His thick accent was open, merely observing the older man cheerily smiling by his side. Kaseki held his hand open, reaching halfway between the space separating them. The boy looked at his hand, then looked up again. Kaseki continued to hold his hand out. He had learned to speak Dari out of necessity; any miscommunication in this world could very well prove fatal.

“My name is Kaseki. I’m from the Shinjuku district in Japan. I work an office job at a laboratory. Nice to meet you.” The boy stared at him for a second longer, then took his hand in a firm handshake.

“My name is Tahir. Why are you here? Do you like war?” The fire in Tahir’s eyes was not just a reflection - he was testing the older man, cautiously judging his motives in joining the conflict by choice.

“I don’t. I learned martial arts for many years, only practicing with others as a hobby. I read about the war in a newspaper. I don’t like the Soviet Union; they took the islands from our country and we didn’t so much as raise a hand in response. The Soviets have trampled over others for far too long. I did not want to sit and watch the war without helping, learning combat for years but never testing my spirit. That’s why I am here.” Tahir closed his eyes and smiled slightly, humming with approval. When he opened his eyes again, the sharp pain of grief was etched into his features, far too young for the worry lines between his brows.

“My father… died. Six years ago. In the Salang tunnel. My mother passed when my sister was born because she wasn’t able to escape the hospital during an airstrike, and I was responsible for caring for my sister. Last year, the Soviets planted objects around the main town, and my sister picked up a wooden bird. It was an explosive that they had disguised as a children’s toy. I was left to take his place leading the militia. I don’t have my family, because the war took them from me. My father told me to leave once I was done fighting here. I don’t understand why you come here, but you have a good heart to fight for us.” Kaseki’s eyes brimmed with tears, furiously blinking to prevent them from spilling over.

“I have a kid at home. I mean, he’s not mine - an acquaintance of mine left him in my care. He was in the Challenger space shuttle, and his son, Senku… had to watch on the television as the shuttle exploded into bits. He’s extremely smart, there was no way to try to soften the blow. I’m his legal guardian, but I’ve grown close to him since his father died. I used to take these trips and know that nobody really needed me to return, but that’s changed. I took this last trip to ensure the Soviets leave for good.” Tahir held his hand to his chest, quietly reciting the prayer he once said for his own father in respects to Senku and Byakuya.

“I see that pain happens everywhere in the world. Nobody is protected from the reach of death.” Kaseki looked at him, shaking his head slightly.

“That may be true, but you shouldn’t have to live this way. Byakuya knew the risks, and I know them as well. We chose to do these things. What choice did you have?” They sat in silence for several minutes, both engrossed in their own thoughts.

“After we finish this war… I’d love for you to meet Senku.” Tahir looked up at him, gradually registering the meaning behind his words, his eyes widening as he looked into Kaseki’s.

“What?” Tahir’s breathless voice was barely audible above the crackling of the fire.

“I have some connections at the airport. US military connections. You said that your father told you to get away, far away from this place. There won’t be peace in the middle-east for a long time, and you are much too young for this weight on your shoulders. Besides, Senku is in an apartment by himself. It’s time he got a roommate.” Kaseki and Tahir looked at each other in understanding; it was a tentative promise of hope at the end of the decade-long fight for survival.

“I will come with you, if I survive the last stages of war here. I have a mission, several months in the mountains. I have to find Soviet aircraft patrols and shoot them down. I will be back by the beginning of winter at the latest. If I do not come back, leave me here and return to Senku.” Kaseki nodded agreeably like he used to as a child, listening to his parents lecture him about finding a comfortable office job and live properly as a Japanese citizen; though in his mind, he had already decided that he wouldn’t be leaving without Tahir.

~

November 25th, 1988.

Tahir had almost finished his mission. A certain apathy washed over him as he continued to shoot down aircrafts and watch them fall into flaming pieces of twisted metal. He thought of Senku’s father, who died in a similar way. Tahir was frightened by the lack of emotional reaction to the Soviet aircrafts, contrasting the bond he felt with a tale of a Japanese boy, a stranger. He watched men die by his hands, and felt no more weight his shoulders than the pressure of the resting metal launcher. Though he did not mourn them, his father’s words haunted him. He knew that Kaseki awaited his return, but couldn’t bear to return and face the kind older man, fearing he would see the sins of dead Soviet soldiers burying Tahir alive. A humming sound drew Tahir out of his stupor, and his eyes fixated on the approaching jet. He loaded the Stinger missile into the launcher and pulled the trigger.

Tahir watched as the aircraft crashed, not fully igniting but losing it’s wing in a tailspin towards the mountainside. As it hit the ground, a thin figure crawled out of the plane, reaching a nearby stream before falling unconscious. Tahir felt a sharp twist in his gut, and unthinkingly began to head towards the figure. It was almost as if he lost control of his body - he wasn’t naturally inclined to save the life of a Soviet soldier. Yet his father had told him once years ago, “And whoever saves a life it is as though he had saved the lives of all mankind”, reciting from the Quran as they sat huddled by a fire. Could it be that he was given the chance to atone? Is it possible for him to reach Kaseki and greedily obtain peace?

He reached the unconscious man, examining his wounds and appearance. He had torn off his shirt, burns on his abdomen and shoulders. A gaping wound in his chest, likely from the metal shrapnel, bled out over the river stones and flowed into the stream. His face and hair were pale, and he looked malnourished despite his muscular build - his facial features were young, and Tahir suspected they may be similar in age. Tahir removed the remaining shrapnel from his chest and dragged him into the river, washing away the ashes and soothing his burns. He carried him to the cover of a nearby cave, dressing him in extra clothes and collecting woolen lamb’s ear from a nearby cluster of bushes. He started a fire, a chill in the air as the sun gradually sank below the horizon. He braided the lamb’s ear the way he learned as a child, creating a long and sturdy belt that wrapped around the Soviet’s chest and stemmed the flow of blood. Tahir was too tired to worry about the Soviet man waking up and attacking him; if he chose to do so, Tahir was ready to accept his fate. He allowed himself to doze off, sleeping peacefully by the pale stranger until the light of the dawn reached his face.

Hedeon blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he became aware of a mujaheddin positioned above him, with an expression that Hedeon wasn’t able to recognize. Within a second, he assessed the situation and threw up his fist in an attempt to startle the Afghan and disorient him enough to flee. His fist only made it halfway to its target, when it was suddenly stopped by the strange man’s forearm. He continued to look at Hedeon, with an expression that he still wasn’t quite familiar with. Suddenly, Hedeon noticed water droplets on his face. His eyes shifted to the sky, cloudless and a vibrant blue, confirming that the man was crying for some reason. Hedeon stared at him questioningly, and turned his head to assess his injuries. A large wound in his chest was wrapped tightly in a thick rope of woolen lamb’s ear. The foreboding chill of late November air hinted at an upcoming snowstorm, but soothed his numerous burns where the fabric of his clothing failed to protect his skin. He was surprised to see new fabrics hanging loosely on his frame. Did the militia soldier give him a coat?

The Afghan man seemed to be trying to figure out something, his brows furrowed and his head resting on the palm of his hand. He was relaxed, which in turn caused Hedeon to shift ever so slightly into a resting position, despite his conditioning and training. The mujaheddin, formerly kneeling above Hedeon, sat down with his legs crossed facing him at eye level.

“mmm… tuvarish??” Hedeon blinked, confused at the sudden, unsuccessful attempt at communication. The man tried again.

“ah! Tovarishch!” Hedeon’s eyes flickered with understanding, but he did not know the meaning behind the man’s words. He frowned at him, but was met with a slight upturn of his mouth.

“Tovarishch,” he pointed at Hedeon, then himself. “Tahir. Tahir, tovarishch,” then pointed at Hedeon again. He looked at him attentively, expecting a response from the injured man. Hedeon had registered what he meant. He wants to be comrades. Comrades, despite Hedeon killing thousands of Afghan citizens in his selfish quest for warmth. A mere cog being partially responsible for the massacre of his people. The idea was absurdly comical. Hedeon had never been faced with a situation he found remotely funny, and was unfamiliar with humor besides occasionally mocking the higher ups. Until now, in the frigid temperament of the mountainside wind shear, Hedeon’s lips quirked upwards as a gentle incandescence began to bloom in his chest. He held out his hand, and the incandescent bloom grew where Tahir’s calloused and rough hand grasped firmly into his own.

Over the next few days, Tahir and Hedeon attempted to communicate in broken Pashto, the only common link between the two due to Hedeon’s limited language education. The Soviet Army did not want their soldiers to speak to their targets, after all. There was little point in communicating with threats to the motherland. Hedeon always found the teachings to be annoying. He was aware of his position in the Soviet Union, as well as the higher-ups hushed jokes about mind control that made his hands twitch in violent anger. His quest for warmth had put his desire for answers on the back burner; nothing else mattered as much to him as basking in the hot embrace of war. Instead, he found himself talking extensively to the Afghan stranger, Tahir, and actually looking forward to hearing his answers. Despite their broken Pashto being littered with improper grammar and simple wording, they were able to converse quite well.

“Why did you help me?”

“Shot you down. Sorry. Wanted to save one,” Tahir looked down as he spoke, breaking eye contact with Hedeon and confusing the other teen.

“What do you mean?” Tahir looked up at him apprehensively, hesitating briefly before speaking again.

“It is verse from Quran. Allah’s word.” He did not elaborate further, but Hedeon nodded impatiently for him to continue, his eyes boring into Tahir with intensity.

“And whoever saves a life it is as though he had saved the lives of all mankind.” Hedeon was surprised at the thrill that ran through him - absorbing the scripture that would surely put him in danger should the military discover his newfound knowledge.

“What does it mean?” Tahir was still hesitant around the Soviet, his training and experience with the soldiers telling him not to share such precious information. Hedeon, however, seemed to be hungry for a glimpse of a world outside of his tightly controlled regiment. Because of his enthusiasm, Tahir felt was able to let his guard down.

“We have been killing each other for many years now. My father told me he would bear the weight of our sins before he died. Now, there is no one to shoulder that burden for me. The countless men I’ve slaughtered, your comrades… are like heavy bricks of sin that build upon me. My father also read that to me. The saving of one is sufficient for me to dispose of my sin. I do not know how to explain well, but our beliefs deem it to be true. I still do not know myself if I accept it.”

Tahir was conflicted, doubting the word for the first time in his life. Is one life enough to make up for a lifetime of killing? Does it matter that they are Soviet soldiers, that he followed the rules of the Jihad in self-defense? It seemed pointless to maneuver around the harsh reality with polished phrases of self-important grandeur. As he ruminated, Hedeon began to speak in a low, defeated tone.

“We also have principles to follow, only they are much harsher. The Motherland thinks of your people as scum, lower than dirt. They brought us here to exterminate your Quran and bury every woman, man and child. In the same breath they lied to us, and told us we were to save your government from a congregation of bandits and mercenaries, that your selfish deeds would cause a fire to spread. That we must not allow it. At the orphanage, are stuck in classrooms to learn the same meaningless words over and over again until we can recall them by memory. Then we are trained to carry out violent murders and label it justice. Distribute explosive toys to your children. Used as pawns by higher authority to commit war crimes. Then they commit crimes towards us, predators and thieves wearing shiny decorative medals on their suits. I don’t feel anything. I should feel sad, like I should die. I just don’t care either way.” Tahir tensed at the mention of the explosives, fearing a confrontation as his grief welled up explosively inside of him. Hedeon took a deep breath and continued, the most he’s ever talked before unprompted - it spilled out of him like a fountain. He wanted, for once, to be seen and heard by the man facing him.

“I believe that my country is wrong. I come here with orders to bomb the unruly animals that pollute the land. But what I see is much different. Lies, all lies told to us in order for this to happen. We are not allowed to speak to Afghans, told to fear you. I know now that the only difference between us is where we were born, because we breathe the same air and both bleed the same shade of red. I watched as I fulfilled my orders, limbs were piled up on the roadside that were no different than my own. I used to enjoy fighting my comrades in training, because it made me feel as if I was on fire, and I knew I was alive. But killing in this place, I don’t feel warm. I don’t feel anything. But you held out your hand to me. Give me clothes, dress my wounds. I have been warmer these past few days than in my whole life. I do not know exactly what will happen to me when I am returned. But when I am killed there, it will have been worth it for the privilege of knowing warmth that does not come from bloodshed. If you need someone to forgive your sins, I will do it for you.” Hedeon finished his lengthy speech by drawing in a large breath, then exhaling harshly. Tahir matched his breathing, then laid a gentle hand on Hedeon’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Hedeon. I do not know if you believe in sin, or the afterlife. I will pray for you to be forgiven by my God, but I don’t believe that time is now. We still have life to live and air in our lungs. What makes you think you need to go back?” Hedeon blinked, unable to provide an immediate response.

“I do not expect Afghan people to kindly receive me the way you do. I feel I have reached the limit on how good I am supposed to feel here. Any more would be grossly undeserved, after what I’ve done. Perhaps I feel guilty, after all. I expect to be taken as a war prisoner if I am not immediately returned. There is nowhere else for me to go.”

“There is. We can go to Japan,” Tahir whispered suddenly.

“That is not possible, Tahir. For you, yes. Not for me.” Shaking his head furiously, Tahir grasped onto his shoulder with increasing pressure.

“Yes. Both of us. I know the Afghan Samurai. We spoke before my deployment. I did not trust him at first for needlessly joining the war, but he is a kind and honest man. He offered to use his connections with the US military to grant us safe passage. He spoke of an orphan like us in his care, who’s father died in a space shuttle called the Challenger. He told me that while there was pain in every place on earth, we did not have to subject ourselves to a lifetime of it. That includes you. If I do not reach Japan myself, I will see that you arrive there unharmed. I’m sorry, but I will be taking you with me to a life of peace in Japan regardless of your position.” Hedeon was once again pushed to the brink of laughter, this time erupting into joyful chuckles, awkward and stuttered in nature.

“Well, I’m not quite in a position to argue with you. We first have to leave here alive and assume that the Samurai is still fighting.” Tahir beamed and patted his shoulder once before standing up and treading lightly to his collection of weaponry and supplies.

“Tomorrow is the first of December. I told Kaseki Tanaka to leave if I did not return by the first mark of winter. Your military has been retreating this past year. I suspect there may not be any more for the Samurai to expel. He doesn’t know the mountains enough to traverse to our current location safely, though I told him not to attempt it. If I had to guess, I would say he is close to headquarters by now. If we want to make it into Japan, we must leave immediately and-”

“Tahir! Glad I found you!”

Both Tahir and Hedeon flinched violently, Hedeon grabbing the nearest piece of shrapnel and squeezing it tightly in his palm, while Tahir used his conditioned upper body to load and set his missile launcher in one swift movement, aiming it at the entrance of the cave and grazing the trigger with his index finger.

“Easy, is that any way to greet a friend?” Kaseki gingerly stepped foot into the cave, as Tahir lowered his weapon to the ground and Hedeon continued to grip the long piece of twisted shrapnel, blood dripping from his palm. Kaseki failed to notice Hedeon due to the immediate need to address the large missile aimed at his head, walking forward to embrace Tahir and nearly jumping out of his skin.

“Fuck! Who is this? Can you put that metal hunk down?” He registered Hedeon’s facial features as distinctly Russian, and young. He would assume that the Soviet was around Tahir’s age, which means that them sitting in the cave together signaled an alliance, a common tie between the Soviets and Afghans made throughout the war when necessary for mutual survival. Hedeon dropped the shrapnel and nudged it just out of arms reach, still accessible in case of a sudden attack. Kaseki found no malice in his expression; he instinctively knew from Hedeon’s eyes that he was defending both himself and Tahir. Lamb’s ear and traditional Afghan clothing were draped over his lean frame, and within a few seconds, Kaseki knew that the boys had already formed an unbreakable bond; forged friendships in the war were often stronger than familial ties, and the lines of communication between soldiers in situations such as these created intense feelings of trust and belonging. He supposed that even Soviet soldiers were capable of doing so. Kaseki’s dislike towards the communists was immutable and broad, but he saw only two underprivileged children in front of him that were forced to fight battles for older, more selfish men. He smiled kindly at Hedeon, stepping slowly towards him to avoid panicking the boy.

“My name is Kaseki Tanaka. I’m from the Shinjuku district in Japan. I work an office job at a laboratory. Nice to meet you!” He held out his hand to the boy, who gazed at it with a strange expression on his face. It seemed he was trying to smile in a similar manner to Kaseki - accidentally performing a rather sinister bare of his teeth. Kaseki was reminded of the Afghan hounds found running amok in the mountains and later domesticated, learning how to behave in close proximity to humans.

“My name is Hedeon. Tahir shot me in the sky. Then saved me from certain death. He told me about you, Afghan Samurai. It’s nice to meet you in favorable conditions.” Kaseki nodded, fully aware of the new circumstances and silently thanking the gods for Tahir’s new ally.

Kaseki was already familiar with the teachings of the Quran, and was hoping that Tahir’s young conscience would somehow be saved from the despair of carrying out hundreds of murders over the years. His father did what he could to relieve Tahir of this, but after his death, Tahir would have to believe that someone needed to assume responsibility for his sins, as well as others. The gentle-spirited boy would undoubtedly take all those sins with him wherever he went, unless he also believed the principle of saving one life to represent mankind. It was a double-edged sword, the verse only meaning to highlight the importance of life. But some interpretations implied that one could redeem themselves by protecting life following a transgression.

Kaseki hoped for the best case scenario - both boys finding the thin silver linings of war within acts of compassion for each other. His decades of experience in martial arts taught him that one must free his own mind of judgments, worries and regret before moving forward in any practice of life. It was a fantastic opportunity for all three of them. Kaseki suppressed a chuckle at the thought of those stuffy idiots in the Japanese Embassy, blissfully unaware of him smuggling a Commie jet pilot and Mujahideen war dog into his tiny home in Kawasaki.

“How did you get here?” Tahir had just recovered from the shock, under the impression that the cave was only accessible to a select few Afghan soldiers, and only those with large reserves of stamina and strength. He did not think Kaseki was fit enough to successfully make the trip, and his joy was slightly dampened by confusion at the sudden appearance.

“They told me to leave a couple weeks ago. Two more months and the rest of the Soviets are out - did you really think I would leave without you?” Kaseki shook his head, teasing Tahir lightly. Tahir bristled, uncharacteristically pouting at him.

“It’s not safe in the mountains! I could not risk your life, though you would do so yourself. I planned to meet you at the base, and introduce Hedeon…” He suddenly froze, having lost the opportunity to carefully prepare his introduction of the Soviet. He was still slightly unsure of Kaseki’s ability to take both of them back to Japan.

“If you are only able to bring one of us back, I beg that you take Hedeon. He is good, and I trust that-” Kaseki grunted loudly, holding up his hand to swat Tahir’s shoulder as Hedeon observed silently.

“Tahir. This is more than I could have ever hoped for. I received not just one, but two blessings during my time here! I know that Hedeon is good like you - he is young as well, and does not have hateful intentions. The US Military owes me a hell of a favor for covering up a few of their blunders these past few years. I’m getting both of you on a flight with me in the military plane. We won’t be able to use domestic flights or the train. From now on, you’ll be considered undocumented. I will speak with the Japanese Embassy about granting you resettlement, but I’m bringing you two back anyways.” Hedeon nodded dutifully, but Tahir was slightly confused, never one to be bothered with complex bureaucratic processes in his daily life.

“I can’t risk either of you landing in a detention center and denied citizenship. I’m already a target myself, unfortunately. The Japanese government and country are deeply flawed - those idiots couldn’t hold a candle to you two, or even me for that matter. I’ll see that we get dropped off at night, some distance away. I was hoping to bring you two to my house - but the officials may search me as soon as I open the door. I’ll have to lead you as close as possible to Senku’s apartment. I won’t be able to contact him beforehand, so try your best not to scare him.” Both nodded compliantly this time, looking at each other and then themselves. The boys seemed to be trying to appear less frightening, proving an impossible task.

Kaseki glanced at the two bulky, menacing teenagers apprehensively. Both of them were very tall for their age, several years of war carving their faces into gaunt instruments of intimidation, with powerful bunches of muscle rippling underneath scarred skin. Kaseki sent up a silent prayer that they wouldn’t give Senku a heart attack.

~

Over the next few months, Hedeon had regained his health. Kaseki left in advance, needing to speak with Embassy officials about possibly granting temporary citizenship to the young soldiers. Japan was notorious for pocket-book diplomacy, donating large sums of money but denying most refugees citizenship or asylum. Kaseki was also nervous about using his American allies to flout his country’s authority - in terms of overall damage done in the war, the US may have ultimately done more harm than good. They were fickle people - but tended to dislike being indebted to anyone. The American in question was in charge of manning a F-35-B aircraft carrier, a Marine official that frequented militia headquarters and spent his time gambling and drinking. He supplied the mujahideen with various weapons from large cargo boxes, all labeled “Ryu Missiles and Defense, made in the USA”.

The man was a blond-haired, green-eyed pig, for lack of more elegant verbiage. Kaseki found him exchanging large bags of powdered drug substances to Soviets and Afghans alike in exchange for female refugees. The man was not scared of Kaseki, but he also didn’t want to jeopardize his flourishing black market dealings. They’ve had a tense few months together in close proximity, Kaseki often throwing errant bags of contraband into flooded trenches or leading the women to safety. The American tried several times to send Kaseki into no-mans land, giving him faulty directions or withholding vital information. Kaseki had saved the man several times from enemies of both sides - against his better judgment, Kaseki loathed the idea of aiding in the American’s demise in such a shady manner. It would surely put a large target on the backs of the Mujahideen if he were killed in allied territory. He managed to convince the Afghans to spare him, under the condition that the American owed them many, many favors.

Kaseki was grateful for his Afghan allies, who welcomed him with open arms and protected him with their lives. He also had many more personal freedoms than any other soldier - the Japanese government refused to take responsibility for his actions, and left him alone when he was in the middle east. He answered to no one, making him immune to the endless labyrinth of bureaucratic procedures. Unfortunately, this also meant that he was vulnerable in the lawless war zone. He needed to exit swiftly, with the boys in tow and beyond the watchful eye of numerous country officials.

On the sixteenth day of February 1989, Kaseki, Hedeon and Tahir sat around a fire in a nearby military establishment close to Kabul. It was their final night in the country, and Tahir was lost in thought, staring into the fire with a face of mixed and intense emotions. Hedeon sat quietly but instinctively scanned the area every few minutes, tensing every time the fire crackled. Kaseki hummed the tune of Windy Summer by Anri, a personal favorite of his that may have been tainted by his time mindlessly vocalizing in dreadfully bloodstained barracks. He suddenly remembered the important conversation he had earlier that day, a heated yet productive phone call with the Japanese Ministry of Justice.

“Oho! I have news for you two! I spoke with the ministry today. They agreed to grant you both five year Visas under a set of conditions. I am directly responsible, of course, and one of the conditions was that I myself will be subject to periodic surveillance, alongside you and your future employers. Another condition is that you will not be allowed to have a conversation with me, unless it is recorded and turned over immediately.” Tahir looked up from the fire, his face now morphing into a conflicting mixture of happiness and alarm.

“Why does that need to happen? What could we even do to harm them? We just want to leave here.” Kaseki nodded sympathetically, opening his mouth to answer. Before he could speak, Hedeon leaned forward abruptly from his stiff-backed position.

“They suspect we may be spies. They do not trust Kaseki. Japan does not like outsiders, and the whole world is wary of my people. They do not care for yours, Tahir, as they were content to allow this war to happen. Kaseki may be the only one in the nation that knows more than what he is told. I suspect they want to dispose of us quickly if they hear any communist rhetoric as well. Were these the only conditions?” Tahir was unfamiliar with many cultural customs from around the world, and the unbending rule books of Japan left him feeling as if his insides were crawling in discomfort. He squirmed uncomfortably thinking of a strange man following him in the shadows. Kaseki sensed this, and patted his shoulder from across the fire.

“Don’t worry about it! The conditions are customary to the five year refugee Visa, which is a privilege afforded only in rare circumstances. We’re very lucky to be granted even this. The surveillance will be troublesome, no doubt. But our goal isn’t to spread the communist manifesto or host sermons for the Quran. It is to take you both out of here, and allow you the opportunity to live in peace. The problem lies in the time frame… see, I have no intention of shipping either of you to your respective homes after your five years are up.” Hedeon and Tahir looked at each other anxiously.

“What do you mean, Kaseki?” Hedeon asked cautiously. Kaseki peered at them intensely, lowering his voice to continue.

“You have four years to play it safe. You will learn the language, work, assimilate into society as much as you can. Stay in contact with me and stay with Senku at his apartment. Then, you will disappear. We will find a way for you to slip under the radar, and you both will continue to live in Japan. It’s going to be risky. I don’t want you to feel as if you’re on the run, but that will be your reality. I’m sorry. The only reason why, is because… it’s our only option.” The three sat together for a moment in solemn silence, digesting the weight of Kaseki’s words.

“The first thing on our list is to change your names. I understand it may be difficult to let go, but when we arrive in Japan, we need to make the documentation harder to track. I’ll tell them that your names aren’t able to be translated correctly, and that you’ve been using these adopted names for a few years now.” Hedeon, trying to help, scanned his memory briefly for various names Kaseki brought up in conversation, but gave up quickly.

“How do we choose our names?” Tahir asked with a hint of sadness, as his name was of religious importance. It was given by his late father and mother before their untimely passing. He felt himself grasping at the few remaining connections to his past life as he prepared to leave it behind.

“I have chosen names for you both, if you’ll have them,” Kaseki said gently, “and I think that they are fitting to who you are. Hedeon - your new name is Hyoga.” Hedeon squinted his eyes, muttering the word to himself in an effort to replicate its pronunciation.

“It means glacier. Cool and calm, two rather obvious traits of yours. It’s a complimentary name, and a tribute to how you’ve conducted yourself in such a temperamental place. I think that it pays homage to your upbringing, but allows those traits to be seen as a positive part of you, something that you can be proud of. Do you have any qualms about it?” Hedeon shook his head, and his sharp eyes seemed to be a lighter blue than their usual stormy hue.

“I don’t wish to take anything from home with me. My given name means ‘to cut down’. I was born to destroy, and my name is simply a reminder of a life I no longer want to live. I am glad to find a name that holds meaning to me. Thank you.” Kaseki beamed at him warmly, nodding from across the fire and turning to Tahir.

“Tahir, I want your new name to be Tsukasa. It has different meanings, the first of which referring to ‘governor’, a ruler or warrior. That’s not my intended meaning. The name also indicates tranquility and grace. I figured that it was a proper tribute to your given name of Tahir. Purity and cleanliness are associated with Tahir - but we both know that this war has stained that notion beyond repair. What Tsukasa would mean is for you to find peace and govern yourself with grace. What do you think?” Tahir’s eyes welled up as he looked across the fire at Kaseki’s face, which was marked with smile lines and soot.

“Thank you.” He could say no more without his rumbling voice breaking, so Kaseki nodded at him as well and began to prepare his sleeping bag. Tahir and Hedeon, or rather Tsukasa and Hyoga, followed suit.

They slept by the fire for a few short hours before the drumming sound of engines roused them awake, and they walked over to the large military vehicle to greet the smug and cheerful US soldiers. Their need for secrecy was mostly unnecessary after gaining Visa approval, but they had already made arrangements with the respective governments to arrive in Japan aided by US personnel. After a pat down and questioning, they settled into the back of the automobile and headed towards the aircraft runway. Kaseki chuckled quietly to himself.

“See you soon, Senku.”