We sweat and laugh and scream here,
'cause life is just a dream here.
You know inside you feel right at home,
here.
-Alice Cooper, "Welcome To My Nightmare"
 
        Gazing about, Sakura saw that he was in a parking garage. He felt hard concrete under his booted feet, and cool air brushing his face. The concrete ceiling loomed just overhead, a bare slab of cement whose only decoration was an occasional fluorescent light. The way it seemed to hang so low made him want to duck, even though he knew there was more than enough room for him to stand. The floor and ceiling were both set at a gentle incline, sloping upward before him, and to either side lay orderly rows of parked cars. Sleek, expensive Eurocar Westwinds and Cadillac Pulsars sitting side by side with boxy Chrysler-Nissan Jackrabbits and Mitsubishi Sprites.
       Then he realized that he was sitting on a motorcycle. Not the battered Harley, but his slick red and black Yamaha Rapier. Now he heard the muted hum of its engine, and saw a light on its instrument panel showing that the bike was in neutral.
       He also saw that he was dressed in his street clothes. Scaly green jacket, red vest, and fatigue pants. The familiar lump of his Predator pressed against the small of his back, and a quick glance revealed the hilt of his katana jutting up over his shoulder. His green kerchief was wrapped around his mouth, and when he looked into one of the Rapier's side mirrors he saw that his face was painted bright red, like the crimson hair that framed his head.
        Then a brief, electronic chime came to his ears from somewhere ahead. He heard the sound of elevator doors sliding open, and moments later a young Japanese man walked into view. He was dressed in a conservative business suit, and carried a black briefcase in one hand. His other hand dug into his pocket, and pulled forth a ring of keys.
        The young businessman spared a glance in Sakura's direction, and nodded in brief greeting. But otherwise the salaryman paid Sakura no attention as he strode to a nearby Westwind and unlocked the door. Still apparently undisturbed by the samuari's presence, the businessman started his car and sedately drove off.
        Sakura stared a long time after the departed sarariman, wondering why the man had not been perturbed by his appearance. Wasn't he carrying a sword, and wearing a mask? What was wrong with the man? Was he mad?
        "Maybe you're the one that's mad." A voice whispered in his ear.
        He jumped with a start, and nearly fell off the motorcycle. Fumbling with the hilt of his katana, he dragged it free after long moments and prepared to strike. But when he turned in the direction of the speaker, he found only empty air. Looking around warily, he saw that he was indeed alone.
        So who had said that? He wondered. And why didn't he feel himself in the cold, unfeeling mind-set of The Machine? And why did all of this seem so familiar?
        He could feel invisible eyes watching him, crawling over his back and gnawing upon every inch of his body. Staring more carefully around the parking garage, he still couldn't see anyone else. But he knew someone was out there, observing him.
        It was madness. Was he dreaming? What if he wasn't? It seemed too real. He could feel the hard concrete beneath his boots, and the bike shuddering between his legs, and a cool breeze that must have been from an air vent blowing on his face. Could he feel those things, with such clarity, in a dream?
        But why didn't he have The Machine? Why weren't his years of training and experience coming to the fore? He should be thinking about his tactical options. Where an ambush was most likely to come from, where the best place to take cover was, as well as dozens of other possibilities. But all he could feel was scared and alone. His weapons were of little comfort.
        But mad or sane, asleep or awake, his course was clear. He could sit here and do nothing, or he could find out where he was, and what was going on.
        "Or you could run!" the voice whispered in his ear.
        He flinched, snapping his head in the direction of the words. Again, there was no one there. Slashing out with his sword, the katana's edge found nothing but empty air. He teetered from the momentum of the back swing, and barely managed to keep from falling off the Rapier.
        He was alone.
        Had this ever happened before?
        He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and summon up The Machine. But it didn't come. Nothing made sense. Maybe he was insane. Schizophrenic. Like Tyler. Totally divorced from reality, and living in a fantasy world of his mind's own creation.
        But fantasy or not, he would get to the bottom of what was happening, he vowed. Even if this was nothing more than a flight of fancy, he had nothing to lose.
        He put his bike into gear and slowly eased into the parking space vacated by the sarariman. Shutting off the engine, he pulled his keys from the ignition and slid them into one of his fatigue pockets. Toeing the kickstand, he eased off the Rapier and stepped away.
        Then he remembered the security system. He should really set it before he left the bike. Someone might steal it, he thought. Then where would he be? Fumbling though his pockets with his free hand, he wondered what he had done with it.
        It would have been easier with both hands, especially when he had to reach across his body to awkwardly search the pockets on his opposite side. But he didn't feel like putting the katana down just yet. That didn't seem wise. The weapon didn't seem like much right now, but it was better than nothing.
        After several minutes of fishing around through his clothing he found the remote, along with a handful of tracking signals and a flash-pak. He pulled out the instrument while being careful not to spill the rest of the gear out along with it, and the motorcycle beeped at him when he finally did hit the remote. Feeling satisfied, he stuffed the remote back into his pocket and walked away, sword held out before him.
        Walking up the steady grade of the parking structure, he glanced uneasily at the ceiling just overhead. He had to fight the urge to duck his head, even though he knew there was more than enough room for him to stand. But somehow the ceiling seemed much lower, like it was pressing down towards him, ready to crush him under the tons of its bulk.
        The samurai was relieved when he finally came upon an elevator, at least the ceiling didn't seem so low there. It was undoubtedly the same one he had heard the young businessman exit from earlier, he reasoned. Pressing the up button, he stared at the image of himself reflected in the smooth chrome of the elevator doors. Almost immediately, he felt himself captivated by his own glowing emerald eyes.
        Eyes like a snake, he thought.
        Or was that the voice that had said that? Looking around, he still saw no one. He moved to rub his eyes, but pulled his hand up short at the last moment, remembering the face-paint. He scratched his head quizzically instead, and wondered if he really was crazy, or if someone was playing mind games with him.
        Looking back at his reflection, he suddenly felt silly. He looked like a child playing dress up during the Boy's Festival, or the American's Halloween. Did he dress like this for real? Did anyone? He sheathed the katana, fumbling with the lip of the scabbard and almost cutting himself in the process.
        Funny, he thought afterward. That had been much more difficult than he thought it would be. He could remember a time when he could sheathe the blade without even looking...
        Then the doors began to slide open with a sharp chime, and Sakura found himself reaching for the gun at the small of his back. By the time he had dug under his jacket and found the butt of the pistol the doors were all the way open, and he could see within the elevator car. Within was a Japanese woman wearing a conservatively cut skirt, blouse, and sportcoat. A brown valise sat on the floor next to her feet, and the soft tones of canned muzak drifted out of the small chamber.
        The woman glanced at Sakura for a moment, then quickly looked away, gazing noncommittally at the ceiling
        Sakura stared incredulously at her. Wasn't there an armed man standing before her, wearing a mask and face-paint, with glowing eyes and bright red hair? Didn't that at least deserve some kind of reaction?
        First the Westwind driver, now her. What was wrong with these people?
        Long moments passed, and the businesswoman stolidly ignored Sakura. The street samurai stared openly at her, easing his hand off the gun. He waited for her to give away some sign of trepidation, or at least interest. But she did nothing, and eventually the elevator doors began to close with another chime. Moving with the blinding speed of his wired reflexes, Sakura stepped into the car beside the woman, only microseconds after the doors had began to slide shut.
        The woman's dark eyes blinked at his unearthly quickness. But otherwise she paid him no further notice, now staring straight ahead with a bored expression on her soft features. Then the doors locked shut, and the car lifted with a gentle lurch.
        Sakura turned away from the woman, and saw something that turned his blood to ice.
        To one side of the doors was the elevator's control panel. Beneath a comm unit marked For Emergency Use Only was a numbered keypad and an led floor indicator, which was quickly ticking though numbers, starting in the lower teens and rising higher. But that wasn't what sent icy fear crawling through the samurai's bones. It was the Renraku Computer Systems logo displayed proudly above the control panel.
        Renraku.
        The corporation that he had served faithfully a lifetime ago. The corporation he had worked obediently for, in spite of its sordid past, and the darkly ambiguous way it had acquired the small computer firm which Sakura had originally worked for. The corporation which he had trusted, which he thought couldn't really be all that bad. The corporation that had turned to him to save itself from the corrupting influence of the Yakuza.
        The corporation that had betrayed him.
        Killed his family...
        Destroyed him...
        Turned him into a monster...
        Renraku.
        Sakura felt himself begin to tremble. His skin crawled, as if it were a live thing that tried to leap from his bones. Goose bumps rose over his flesh, and it seemed as if his sinews had turned to ice water. A sick, nauseating lump was lodged in the pit of his stomach, and cold, tiny feet ran up his spine.
        Stop Being Scared! He thought to himself, mentally screaming at his own terror.
        Face Your Fear!
        "Better get out while you still can." the voice whispered silkily in his ear.
        Sakura ignored it. Gritting his teeth, he set his features into a look of determination. He would not panic. He told himself. He would face his Karma with firm resolve and discipline. Like a warrior.
        The elevator came to a gentle halt, and it's doors slid open with another chime. The woman beside him bent to pick up her satchel, and strode impassively into the lobby beyond.
        Sakura followed a second later, thinking of the gun at the small of his back. He was ready to be attacked by the army of security guards that he knew must be waiting. Having the best training and equipment possible, Renraku's dreaded Red Samuari were some of the toughest soldiers in the world.
        He knew he could never defeat them, or even win free. But he would fight to the last breath. Because against the corporation, even death was preferable to capture.
        His would be the way of the Kamikaze.
        But there were no guards, and as the elevator slid shut behind him he found himself within an office complex. Before him was a  receptionist's desk, where a dark-haired woman sat talking on the telecom. Beyond were a sea of work stations, each divided into cubicles by low partitions. Even further back lay the curtained glass windows of the skyscraper, looking out over a sprawl of towering chrome and steel office buildings.
        Around him bustled sedately dressed men and women, carrying files on both paper and data-pads. Similar wage-slaves diligently tapped away at computer terminals and cyberdecks. Sakura immediately noticed the predominance of Japanese, and a decided lack of metahumans.
        Typical of Renraku, he remembered. But still, the total lack of metahumans was odd. Outside of Japan he would have expected to see at least an elf or two...
        Sakura walked amidst the corporate data-slaves, feeling a sudden, powerful rush of nostalgia. It was so much like the old days, he thought, when he had been in the accounting department. When he had been a real human being, and not the twisted monster he was now.
        All around him men and women chattered in low tones as they worked, talking about price ceilings and tax laws, or who would win tonight's ballgame.
        According to what he heard, the Tokyo Samurais would crush the Kyoto Imperials, unless Kyoto's star outfielder Kenzo Sumida could break out of his batting slump and start hitting home runs again.
        The attractive receptionist paid him no attention as he wandered past. Apparently the almond-eyed woman was too engrossed in her telecom conversation to notice a heavily armed man. As he walked away he heard her tell someone named Ishii that she should by no means tell Tanzan yes tonight, unless the ring was a diamond of course.
        Indeed, none of the sararimen paid him any heed, other than to avoid bumping into him as they walked past. It was as if shadowrunners walked amongst them every day, and were no longer even a curiosity to draw their attention.
        Yet something seemed so familiar about this place...
        And he still felt like he was being watched...
        "Hey Yamagata!" a familiar voice sounded in his ear. "Long time no see. You back from vacation already?"
        Sakura turned, wondering who could know his name. His real name, not his street name. Or for that matter, who would be able to link that name to the face he now wore?
        He saw a short, thin man with silver cyber-eyes standing next to him. The man wore a white dress shirt, and a pair of matching burgundy slacks and suspenders.
        "Kagami." Sakura said with wonder, not believing that this could really be his old friend from college. None of this could be real. He thought. None of it.
        "How's Akiko and the kids?" Kagami asked with curiosity. "And what was Seattle like? I can't imagine why you would want to go there for a vacation."
        It was hardly a vacation, Sakura remembered bitterly. How many people had he killed there? For how many years? How much of what little remained of his own life had he left behind there?
        Seattle had been the gateway to his Underworld. He thought. His own personal Yomi-no-kuni.
        "It was fine." he found himself muttering. Lying. Just as he had been taught to by his wonderful corporation.
        "How about you?" he asked, acting as he had been trained to many years ago. Cool, calm, never betraying even the slightest bit of anxiety. No matter how nervous he felt. The perfect spy.
        If they wanted to play games, he could play right along too. He reasoned. At least until he learned what was going on.
        "I heard the Imperials are playing tonight." he said earnestly.
        "Yeah," Kagami replied brightly. "Channel 19s showing it live. Why don't we get together and watch it?"
        "Sure," Sakura answered, more animated this time. He laid a friendly hand upon the sarariman's shoulders, and led the smaller man down a row of work stations. "How are things around here?"
        "Oh, same old, same old." Kagami returned. "You know, work, work, work."
        As the pair strolled down the line of partitioned cubicles Sakura noted the uncanny similarity this place bore to his former office building in Kyoto. The furniture, the people working there, even the carpet. Every last detail was reproduced with an exactness that was frightening. It was as if the entire scene had been taken from his memory by some sorcerer, and reconstructed before him.
        That was it! He silently raved. Some mage was responsible for this. Or he had been captured, drugged, and subjected to simsense brain-washing techniques. He was certain of it now. The entire impossible experience had to be illusion, of one kind or another. There was no other explanation.
        Now things were starting to make sense.
        Kagami led him to a pair of empty work stations, sitting opposite of each other across the narrow aisle. He recognized Kagami's cubicle immediately. A Kyoto Imperials calendar decorated one partitioned wall of the work space, open to the month of February.
        The same month he had been transferred to Seattle, as part of the secret project.
        Sakura recognized the other cubicle as his own. Its large metal desk was dominated by a computer terminal, with a blank daily planner sitting open beside it. On one partition wall hung a calendar showing a breathtaking view of Mount Fuji, along with his degrees from The University of Kyoto, and his Employee of the Month certificate. But what caught his attention was the holo that sat innocuously behind the daily planner.
        The three-dimensional picture showed a family of four standing arm in arm. A woman in her late twenties stood with one arm around the young boy in front of her, his head barely reaching her chest. Her other arm draped around the shoulders of the man next to her. Roughly the same age as her, the man was boyishly handsome, and had one hand on the shoulder of a young girl standing in front of him. All four were smiling, and obviously quite happy together.
        Looking down at the picture, the hardened street samurai felt his heart wrench in agony. Memories flooded him. Like his son Nangi being born, or when Akiko had sold her first piece at the art
gallery, or when Ikan had first called him "Daddy"...
        Good memories. But painful, because they brought too much with them to stand.
        "Akiko." he found himself whispering.
        "Nangi."
        "Ikan."
        He realized that he was crying.
        "Yamagata.'' he heard Kagami ask in a low, worried tone. The accountant's silver cyber-eyes reflected the light cast by the fluorescents overhead, casting a mirror reflection of the shadowrunner upon their smooth lenses.
        "Are you alright?"
        "No I Am Not Alright!" Sakura screamed, whirling upon his old friend with eerie quickness.
        "They're dead! They're all dead!" he roared. "Renraku killed them! Or the Yakuza! I don't know which. Not that it really matters!"
        "Don't you understand?" he raged, out of control. "They set me up. I served them faithfully. I became an undercover agent for them. I infiltrated the Yakuza, to get the damn Yak's bloody hands out of the company. I put my life on the line for them. Every damn minute of every damn day, for five months. What did I get? A medal? A promotion? No! Someone turned me and the others over to the Yaks. Someone in the fragging corp! They used some kind of magic kill switch implanted into our bodies to try to murder us! Someone in Renraku!"
        "And I know who it was." the street samurai growled with menace. "The man in charge of it all. The man we reported to. Ashi Nishumura
        "Hey, calm down Yamagata." Kagami cautioned in low tones. "Get a grip."
        Now people were finally starting to take notice of the urban warrior. All around them work had stopped as the accountants gaped with curiosity and speculation at Sakura's wild outburst. Like rubberneckers at the scene of an accident they all edged closer, wanting to see what the commotion was.
        "Get a grip!" Sakura ranted. "Get a grip! Do-"
        "Yeah hon," a woman's soft voice came from behind him. "Get a grip. You're making a scene."
        The samurai whirled yet again, instantly knowing that voice. "A-Aikiko." he stuttered, gaping with dread at the holographic picture on his desk.
        "Yeah daddy." his daughter's likeness mouthed. "Get a grip."
        "Get a grip pop." his son chimed in.
        Then came the worst. His own image looked up at him and smiled. An image of himself before the surgery that had changed his face. An image of himself when he was still human, still a real man, rather than the twisted monster he was now..
        "Yeah chummer." his holographic image grinned sardonically. "Get a grip. You're really losing touch with reality."
        "Maybe you need a vacation." his alter-ego continued. "I hear Seattle's really nice this time of year..."
        ''No." Sakura breathed in horror.
        He shrank away fearfully, roughly shoving past Kagami. The data-slave stared at the street fighter with concern, but seemed totally oblivious to the talking picture on the shadowrunner's desk.
       "No."
        "Oh yes, yes, yes." his image laughed. "Take a good look Yamagata old buddy. Everybody's home at the Aritomo house."
        "It must have been real easy for the razorboys chummer. Only one pack of thermals would have made the place go up like a dragon had set fire to it. Of course the papers said it was a gas leak. Terrible accident, these things happen you know. But between you and me chum, I think it was foul play." the sadistically cheerful hologram said with a wink.
        "Foul Play!" his son croaked, and the five year old's face suddenly blackened into a mass of charred flesh.
        "It was easy." his daughter added, her own face transforming into a hideous mask of burned skin as well.
        "Everybody was home." his wife's now blistered and scorched features chimed in.
        "Everybody but daddy." his char-broiled descendants repeated in unison. "Where's daddy?"
        "Where's daddy?" his daughter Ikan cried.
        "I miss daddy." his son Nangi said for forlornly.
        "I want daddy." Ikan wept.
        "When's daddy coming home?"
        "Now children," Akiko scolded her charred, holographic offspring. "You know that your father is working hard for the company, trying to make a better life for us. He'll be home soon. He promised."
        "Of course you and I know that you never did go home, did you buddy-o?" Sakura's twin mocked. "You were way off in another country, playing secret agent. Making a better life for your family. Sure did a good job chummer, if I do say so myself. And I do!"
        "Real good. You're a hell of a father Yamagata old pal. Oh I forgot, you call yourself Sakura now, don't you?"
        "Hell of a father."
        "No." the samurai begged, retreating from the animated hologram. "No, please no!"
        "Sakura's a hell of a father!" his son cried.
        "Made a better life for all of us!" his daughter continued.
        "Took care of us all." his wife's burnt visage grinned.
        "Took care of 'em real good, didn't you chummer?" his alter-ego breathed. "Real family man."
        Sakura turned and fled. Gone now was any thought of illusions, mages, brain-washing, or even his own sanity Those ideas were now far too complex for him to grasp. All that existed for him now was the roaring of his heart, a terrible wrenching in his guts, and a coldness where he imagined his soul used to be.
        Shoving his way past the crowding salarymen, the weeping samurai felt the world spinning around him like a carousel. Images of the office workers faded in and out of his sight, while spots and sheets of color danced throughout his vision. He felt sick, and stumbled blindly about, trying in vain to grab onto something to steady himself.
        Just when he thought he was going to throw up, the world stabilized, and came back into focus. Shuddering, he tried to clear his head and summon up The Machine. But somehow he still could not attain
the coldly analytical mind-set.
        Why? He wondered desperately. He had spent years becoming The Machine. Years. It had never failed him before. So why now? If he could only find it, none of this could bother him, or even touch him. He would be invulnerable.
        He heard footsteps, and looked up. He was in an alley in the Barrens. Crumbling brick walls rose to either side, and dark pools of shadow hid most of the passage from his sight. Stattaco gunfire sounded in the distance, and the stench of urine and garbage assaulted his nostrils.
        Walking out of the darkness before him was a woman dressed in dirty rags. Her skin was pale and shrunken, and open sores ran down her cheeks and hands. Beside her came a pair of children with shrunken and twisted frames, clad in filth. Flies buzzed around the trio, like an honor guard of squalor. One of the children carried a sign that read-We will do anything for food.
        "We had everything." the woman rasped at him. "Everything. Then you killed my husband, and all the money was gone. Just like that."
        She stepped closer, followed by her twisted, starveling children. Sakura felt his gorge rise, and choked back bile in his throat. Still, that was a far better feeling than the aching emptiness that seemed to penetrate to the very depths of his being.
        "When the money went, so did everything else." she continued in a dry rattle. "The house, the car, the food, the future. Gone. Just like that!" she said with a wave of her hand for emphasis. "Poof!"
        "My babies could have gone to college. Been important. Been real human beings." she wailed. "But now they're just shit."
        She stepped even closer, now only bare centimeters away; and Sakura stared down into the vacuum of her eyes.
        "Why didn't you just kill us too?"
        Sakura felt something rising inside of him. Huge and awful and ugly. Staggering back, he clenched his eyes shut and fought the tide of emotion that threatened to wash over him. His heart raced, his blood boiled and turned to ice all at once, and he could feel his breath coming and going in ragged gasps. But he held on, until finally the attack was over. Then he opened his eyes, shaken, but not broken.
        He was still in the Barrens, but the alley was gone, along with the urchins. It was raining, but fires still burned in the houses alongside the street he walked upon. Before him stood a leather-biker, standing over the twisted wreck of a motorcycle and the equally twisted ruin of its rider.
        "I can't believe it. I can't believe you're gone chummer." the biker mumbled in shock, staring at the corpse at his feet. "All the way, you and me, that's what we always said, to the end. Bloodbrothers."
        "But I'll get 'em brother." the biker's voice turned from grief to a hateful, grinding noise. In his hand he clutched a revolver, twisting his fingers around its barrel as if it were a throat. "No matter what, even if it takes the rest of my life. I'll get even for you, I swear it! The rest of my life! An eye for and eye!"
        Sakura shuddered anew. Was that really a stranger? He wondered. Or himself? Then the scene was gone, and he was somewhere else.
        An old man and woman stood over a grave, holding flowers in their hands. The sky rumbled overhead, and the air was damp with the approaching rain. Both of them were crying.
        "At least she died quickly." the old woman lamented. "Without any pain..."
        His heart wrenched. He was looking upon his handiwork alright. Everything he had ultimately accomplished in the world. The leavings of The Machine.
        "I got no legs!" a man shouted at him, breaking him out of his brief reverie. Looking down, the samurai found a raggedy paraplegic, whose torso sat upon a rickety, wheeled platform. The sidewalk around him was strewn with trash, and Sakura wondered if that was a torn and bloody Renraku uniform that his maimed victim wore.
        "I got no legs!"
        Then that scene was gone too, and he was looking into a therapist's office. The logo of the Universal Brotherhood decorated a plaque on the wall, displayed beside the therapist's honors.
        "I used to think that there was a basic goodness to humanity." a young man said the therapist. His voice was forlorn and empty, an echo of the same hopelessness that Sakura felt deep within himself. When he allowed himself the luxury of feeling...
        "But after that night, after those shadowrunners," the young man continued. "I can see that just isn't so."
        "That just isn't so."
        Now a pregnant woman stood before him, in a cluttered doctor's examination room.
        "I never had a chance to tell him I was pregnant." she said bitterly, seeming to stare right through him. "You killed him before I could. He died never knowing that he had a baby. And now our child will grow up without a father."
        "I hope your money was worth it!" she snarled. "Or your honor, or vengeance, or whatever the hell you killed my husband for!"
        "I hope it makes you feel real good right now."
        Sakura closed his eyes again. He felt carved hollow. As if everything that made him alive had been cut out of him, leaving him a tattered, bloody husk.
        He wished that he was dead. But he was even more afraid that he already was. This could only be Yomi-no-kuni. The World of Darkness. Hell.
        He heard a strange, clicking noise. Opening his eyes, he saw that he stood in a cave, whose walls, floor, and ceiling were made up of some bizarre material that was not stone, or plastic, or flesh, but a strange likeness of all three.
        Before him stood Euphoria. Queen Euphoria. But the lovely simsense star was not herself. Patches of flesh sloughed off her frame, and were being replaced by lumps of chiton that seemed to be pushing their way to the surface of her body. Her arms had already transformed into insect-like appendages, and as Sakura watched, mandibles forced their way out of her cheeks, clicking furiously at him.
        "I couldn't help it." her voice, still human, wailed plaintively to him. "They took me, made me into this. I tried to fight them, really, I did! But how could I? I didn't want any of this. I just want to live. Why is that so terrible? I just want to live!"
        Then her head, still half-human, toppled from her shoulders in a spray of blood. As her warped body collapsed, Sakura glimpsed a man standing behind her, with bright crimson hair and a bloody katana...
        Then both Euphoria and the swordsman were gone, and Sakura found himself in a hospital room.
        The smell of antiseptic stung at his nose, and a steady beeping sirened in his ears. Horrible, ragged whooshing and sucking noises hung in the air, and as Sakura turned he saw the author of those sounds. It was the dark shape that lurked beneath an opaque tent built over the room's single bed. A thick hose disappeared into the tent, where the head of the creature inside must have been. It could not have been even remotely human, whatever it was. Sakura could tell that much, in spite of what little he could see through the tent.
        Then Sakura realized this was a burn ward. Which meant the thing inside the tent must have once been a man, now sucking oxygen through a machine to maintain its shattered existance...
        He turned away, looking for a way out of this madness, and found himself standing in a dusty attic. In front of him was a man standing on a stool. A noose hung from a rafter above, and as Sakura watched, the man slid it around his neck.
        "She was all I really had." the man cried. "She was the only thing that made any of it worthwhile. Now it's all gone, she's all gone, because of you. Oh, what's the point."
        Sakura stared in horror as the man stepped into space.
        He watched as he died.
        It took forever...
        The samurai just stood there, as if frozen to the spot. Was it over? He wondered. Or was there more to come? Could it get worse than this? He had the awful feeling that it would.
        Then the corpse on the rope began to twitch, and Sakura now saw that it was a Japanese man hanging there, his chest covered by an elaborate tattoo of a golden tiger. A Yakuza tattoo. The Yak opened his eyes and smiled, and all of a sudden he was no longer hanging, but walking across the floor toward Sakura.
        Sakura almost screamed, almost. Turning in panic, he tried to run, but something barred his way. Looking up, he saw a leather-clad go-ganger, rent with gaping bullet holes. Pushing away from the dead punk, he found himself surrounded by a mob of corpses.
        Renraku guards in heavy armor, scientists in lab coats, hooded Humanis Policlub members, Elf-posers of the APN, Yakuza gunmen, Aztech Leopard Guards, Go-gangers, mercenaries, warped Insect Spirits, fanatics of the Knights of Gaia, and even the mutated form of a young dragon crowded around him.
        Blood and gore bathed the corpses, and many were missing arms, legs, heads, or parts of their torsos. Some were burnt, some shot, some cut open, and a few even blown apart. Still, they all managed to move towards him; walking, hopping, or crawling if need be.
        They all seemed to be smiling at him too, even the ones without faces...
        Sakura ran in abject fear, jostling his way through the zombies with a strength born from sheer terror. The corpses fell out of his way as he muscled them aside, but they never seemed to end. Even after it seemed that he had been running for miles. There was always more in front of him, leering at him, laughing at him, reaching for him. He turned one way and another, but still the bodies crowded him.
        It lasted for either a few seconds or a lifetime, Sakura could not tell. It certainly seemed like forever. Then, when his feet had worn away to bloody stumps and he was stumbling about on maimed ankles, he finally broke away from the horde of zombies.
        He found himself standing at the entrance of a Shinto shrine, its huge stone torii stretching out above and to either side of him. The only light came from a full moon shining high in the sky overhead, giving the place a ghostly, surreal appearance. A low mist clung to the ground, and as Sakura staggered into the courtyard beyond, he noticed that the trees were all dead and gnarled, and the buildings around him were decorated with leering faces that were warped parodies of human heads. Then he looked closer, and saw that the buildings were made out of skulls, some that may have once been human, others that could never have been.
        Yomi-no-kuni.
        Then something grabbed him by the ankle. Cold and ropy, it wrapped around his flesh with a grip of steel, rooting him to the spot. Before he could look down, his other ankle was grabbed hold of too, and Sakura felt himself locked into place, unable even twitch either leg.
        Shapes rose up from out of the mist to either side of him. Small shapes, that used to human, but were no more. Standing at their full height, they barely reached his hips. Their arms stretched down, out of proportion to their charred bodies, and held his ankles firmly to the ground. Looking up at him, their burned faces smiled with frightening joy.
        "Daddy's Home!" they cried jubilantly.
        "Ikan... Nangi..." he found himself croaking. "I... I'm sorry... I-"
        Then another shape rose up from the mist in front of him, and the words died in his throat; even as something else died deep inside of him. She was a skinny, stick-like figure, her blackened and shrunken features stretched tightly over her skull, where her perfect teeth still gleamed, beautifully white. Her long hair was somehow unburned, but still smoldered from the flames. Nestled there was a cherry blossom, long since withered and dead.
        "I've waited so long for you." she said with an aching need, breaking Sakura's heart into jagged fragments that slashed him to ribbons as they fell.
        She reached out for him, and for what must have been the millionth time Sakura noticed how large her hands and wrists were; the long fingers, strong with muscle, always sure and steady. The hands of a sculptor. The hands of a lover.
        Those scorched hands gripped his face, wiping away at his tears.
        Then Akiko bent closer...
        Opening her mouth...
        For a kiss...