The Repairman Prologue

 Prologue: The Quiet Repairman

—Click. Somewhere in the dark, I thought I heard metal gears meshing together.

There was no alarm clock here. No morning sun to spill through a window, either—this room didn't have one. And yet my eyes opened at the exact same hour every morning, regular as clockwork. "Creepy how exact you are," someone told me once, laughing. Or at least, I think they did.

Looking up, the ceiling is made up of exposed steel beams. The bare concrete may have given off a cold impression, but contrary to appearances, it's surprisingly comfortable. I'd taken it off an acquaintance as a "favor," and compared to the dump I used to live in, it was practically a palace.

My name's Haijima Rei. Neo-Babel, Free Autonomous Zone. Here, I make my living as a repairman—fixing whatever's broken and getting by on it, in a city where people and things break down just the same, and even a life goes for cheap.

I reached blindly for the shelf beside the bed and found the canned coffee I'd bought the day before. The tab popped with a hiss of oxidized metal that tickled my nose. I took a sip, and bitterness settled at the back of my tongue right behind the sugar. —Another day, another job.

On the workbench sat yesterday's job: an old-model holo-terminal. Its casing was scorched black, as if it had been caught in an explosion. The screen was cracked clean in half, and the data-chip slot had melted out of shape.

"...Someone really did a number on this thing."

The words slipped out before I could stop them. No one answered, of course.

The job was simple enough: just pull the data off it. Under normal circumstances, that would've been impossible—the thing belonged in the scrap heap and nowhere else. But I had it. That thing.

I laid my fingers on the terminal and called up the Skill in the back of my mind.

《Target: Holo-Terminal, Model X-23》

《Damage Rate: 92%》

《Repair? Materials sufficient.》

A power I'd picked up that day—the day I was dropped into this world. As long as the materials were there, I could repair anything, instantly. An ability nobody could explain. But it was the only reason I got to call myself a repairman in this city at all.

In my head, I simply answered: OK.

The terminal lit up with a faint glow. The cracked screen smoothed itself back together, seamless. The scorched outer layer flaked away as molecule after molecule rearranged itself. It looked like footage of time running backward.

Five seconds later, what sat on the desk looked brand new. And then—on its own, playback began.

"—He betrayed us. There's no question."

A voice, bitter and swallowed low. I recognized it from somewhere—I think it belonged to one of the client organization's higher-ups. Not that it mattered. I'd only taken the job to repair the thing. What was on it wasn't my business.

Without a word, I switched it off and took another swallow of coffee. The bittersweet taste of metal and sugar burned all the way down my throat.

...BANG! BANG!

A dry, hammering impact split the quiet of the workshop—someone pounding on the steel plate outside. The vibration coming through the shutter wasn't the leisurely knock of a customer. It was the sound of someone desperate, someone cornered.

I frowned despite myself. Nobody decent comes knocking this early in the morning. But ignoring it would only invite worse trouble down the line.

I got up, raised the shutter partway, and looked outside.

Standing there was some young gangbanger—the tattoo on his shoulder marked him as one of the crew that ran this stretch of the block. One arm was a mess of scrapes, and he had a blood-soaked rag clutched in his hand. His face was pale, his breathing ragged, his eyes darting around like a frightened animal's.

"H-hurry...! Open up! Damn it, let me in, quick...!"

His voice shook. His breath came in ragged bursts. And above his head—a speech bubble hung there.

《Damn it, they're actually gonna kill me...at this rate...!》

I let out a short breath. —Great. Nothing but trouble, this one.

I raised the shutter a little further without a word and cracked the door halfway, waving him in.

"Heh, heh...! Thank god! And hey, while I'm at it, food, anything worth money—"

Before he'd even finished talking, he was already scrambling to push his way further inside without asking. Then, right behind him—through the open door, out of the dark of the alley, another shadow appeared.

A man with the same tattoo. I'd seen his face around the corner a few times before. Above his head, too, a speech bubble had appeared.

《Thought I'd lost him for a second...guess he's at least good at running.》

I left the door open and stared silently at the bubble—and past it, into the man's eyes.

"...You've got some nerve, running into this shop of all places."

The man clicked his tongue, then turned his eyes on me.

"Sorry about this! This guy's new, came in from outside!"

The words were an apology, but his smile was stretched thin. The bubble over his head was a lot more honest.

《Damn it! Of all places, why here...! If the higher-ups find out, they'll work me over too...!》

Trembling handwriting. A desperate act of composure. I didn't move an inch, just watched in silence.

The man grabbed his companion by the collar, irritated, and hauled him out by force. "Get moving, now!" he barked, then turned to bow at me over and over, sweat dripping down a face plastered with a desperate smile. The one being dragged off was shouting something frantic, but I didn't care enough to listen.

Before long, their footsteps faded into the distance, and quiet settled back over the alley.

I shut the door and let out a long breath. I tossed the empty can in my hand into the trash, and it landed with a dry clatter.

—Speech bubbles. Another one of my abilities. Whatever's running through someone's head gets made visible, floating right above them. Thanks to it, I never lose at poker, and I can dodge more than my share of unnecessary trouble, too.

...What a pain. I muttered it only to myself, deep in my chest, never out loud.

I sat back down at my desk and reached for the next job. Quietly, I called the Skill to life once more.

Neo-Babel. A city broken down, rotting through, and still somehow turning.

And today, like every day, in this city—I fix what's broken, without a word.

All the while, for some reason, everyone around me looks at me like I'm something to be afraid of.