Shoes laced. Belt buckled. Hair perfectly unkempt. He stared at his face reflected in the bathroom mirror. 14-year old Japanese kid with a smile so wide, a bat could see right up to his back molars. Besides his clementine coloured hair, he could have passed for your average teenager with maybe a fancy gadget at hand or two. He slid his Possession ring onto his right ring finger. Perhaps the only major difference would have been belonging to a relatively well-off house that decided it would be best if he and his mother took take a nice cruise along the Canadian Maritimes. Father was too busy making breakthroughs in neurotechnology this time. No other siblings to speak of. Just leather penny loafers, a striped observer blue polo, and a throw-away Rolex to accompany him. Yup. That was his story. He was fine with that story. The boy ruffled his fair a bit more before simply settling on one big comb-over with his fingers and letting it flounce up. Right. His name was Tsukuda Yuta- No. Yuuma. Yuuma. It’s trickier this time because they sound so alike. No. Right now, he is-

Ping.

He looked at his phone atop the marble counter. It was a text from his mother. Or rather, mother-figure.

Yuuma, are you done yet? I’m down here already. If you don’t come soon, I’m going to be ordering for you.

Ping.

And bring my sunglasses. I left it on the nightstand.

Code word. A certain person was there too.

Yuta checked himself in the mirror one final time and winks. “Perfect,” he grinned his toothy grin and headed out.

The hallway was as quiet as always, with only the subtle creaking of the ship and his muffled footsteps to break the silence. If Yuta strained his ears enough, he might even have caught his neighbours chatting in their rooms or the distant lapsing of the ocean. It may have been fine if he were walking down one of the other decks, but he was on the Evermore Deck, which meant that the concept was Art of the Middle Ages. The rich oak and cherry walls were decorated with Celtic patterns and crosses and paintings of Gothic castles and angels. If he leaned in, Yuta could see the Tom Ford aviators hanging on his collar reflected on the outstandingly polished wood, right next to a display case full of semi- cherubs. But perhaps the most unnerving token were the two child-sized gargoyle statues that stared at visitors by the elevators. Yuta shivered just thinking about them. Fortunately, most of the rooms on this floor were just average Penthouse suites.

The silence was broken by a sudden yelp and two, male voices arguing over each other. As he approached the elevators, he could see a small nervous crowd, and by the doors, were a red-faced elderly man and a boy not that much younger than Yuta. He was a stick compared to the old man, but despite the alarm in his body language, the lad kept his chin up and his eyes locked. The old man continued to spit slurred obscenities, but the boy’s pride would not let him yield. Impressive. But most importantly, behind him was a little girl whose cute, cubby cheeks were full of tears. Yuta didn’t even need 2 seconds to figure out what was happening.

Crowded elevator. Flushed, angry old man. Scared children. No parents.

As with most cruise ships these days, any place outside the suite was likely under surveillance; and knowing The Neo Infinity, even the staff probably has more than a few tricks up their sleeves to keep trouble at bay. He spotted about 5 cameras in the area; help was almost certainly on its way. But as the old man’s slurs grew harsher and the boy’s knees began to shake, Yuta wondered if they would get here in time? He then quickly surveyed the crowd. Bystander effect, he thought. He didn’t recognize anyone – perhaps most of his colleagues were at the restaurant. But that also meant that he was the only one would could end this little squabble before things got hairy.

Well, technically he was a sort of hired help.

Up ahead, he could hear the faint rumble of the elevator as the cab approached the floor. He eyed one of the gargoyles before deftly unhooking his aviators from his collar and slipping them gingerly on his face. The old man raised a fist. Yuta would probably be done before the doors dinged open.