"Next in line."
Okuda Katsuo straightened his shirt of creases and readjusted his press badge as neared the security checkpoint.
The woman at the front pulled out her own badge alongside her passport for the officer for inspection. Her bags went through the metal detector and before she walked through one herself. Gloved hands picked it up and thoroughly searched for contraband or other items not permitted in the Special Region.
Simir scenes pyed out all around him, across numerous lines, as the controlled chaos of the checkpoint screened the various press members waiting to pass through the Gate. Half a dozen nguages intermingled with the constant chirping of metal detectors as the lines moved forward.
"Next in line."
Another step forward.
To think all of this was arranged in a matter of weeks. It felt like a complete policy one-eighty for the administration to go from 'media bckout' to 'all are welcome'. The policy reversal on the eve of recent polling data did not go unnoticed, with many calling the whole thing a desperate publicity stunt.
The fact that so many other groups were still barred from entering, like the Red Cross, Doctors Without Borders, or even just that United Nations fact-finding mission, but the press got the red carpet treatment was a very hot point of contention.
It just didn't sit well with Okuda.
But he had faith Japan would open up the Special Region to these organizations.
Eventually.
No doubt with the jingoists and nationalists in government kicking and screaming as it happened.
"Next in line."
Another step forward.
He would see this other world for himself soon enough.
The hardest part of the process, so far, had been simply getting past the crowds surrounding the perimeter of the Gate. There were always crowds ever since the Gate appeared, but now it was a frenzy of activity.
Reporters on the ground and in the air, military and police trying to keep everyone in check, random onlookers who just happened to be passing by at the moment on way to their jobs, and protestors.
So many protestors.
Too many in fact. Their chants, shouts, slogans, and messages all blended into each other as they tried to speak over one another.
Peace Now!
Bring Our People Home!
No Peace With Despots!
Tell Us TheTruth!
End The War Now!
Death To Imperialism!
Go Home Yankee!
Stop The Violence!
They're People Too!
"Next in line."
Another step forward.
The whole situation was actually a little ironic.
In normal circumstances, he hated traveling and all the hassle that came with it. Just going to his cousin's wedding in Hawaii st year made him upset. Now he was about to step into a whole different world!
Just the thought alone was almost enough to make him sick right there.
But it was hardly his choice in this case. He had been called to serve a higher purpose…
"Next in line."
Stealing himself, he approached the checkpoint and handed off his luggage. His bags rolled into the metal detector, and Okuda held his breath. He was fully aware of every possible thing that could go wrong.
Okuda had to keep himself from flinching as the security officer pointed at him to move and walk through the metal detector.
He handed the man his NHK badge and passport, watching his bags roll through without incident from the corner of his eye.
But rather than handing his bag back to him, the officer put it on a side table.
"Is there something wrong?" He did his best to hide his anxiety.
"I'm going to have to check your bags," the man was already unzipping the first, rge bag with his equipment.
"Is something wrong?" he repeated out of nervousness, watching clothes, tolitres, and his camera be fished out.
"It's just standard procedure, sir," he crified. "It'll just take a moment."
"Right, of course," Okuda did what he could to hide his anxiety.
They found nothing wrong in his rge bag, naturally, and let Okuda put everything back inside. But when they pulled up his personal case for inspection…
Spare clothes, personal ptop, his backup camera, a personal book, and then-
Okuda's breathing hitched as the guard reached the box at the bottom and opened it.
And so that was it then.
His task failed…
Yet the surprised expression or calls for security to arrest him never came.
The officer looked at the open box and its contents, but made no comment. He kept staring as if he were trying to figure out what he was seeing. As if he were debating with himself if there was anything there. He was blinking, as if to clear his vision, but still he kept staring.
Tick.
Tok.
Tick.
Tok.
Finally, the guard closed the box with such force that it nearly made Okuda jump out of his skin.
"Sorry about that sir," he apologized, smiling while putting the things back in his bag. "You're clear to go."
He was waved through in short order, directed to a trio of buses waiting to take the next group to Alnus.
And he was content, knowing he had just witnessed a miracle before his very eyes.
----
On arrival at Alnus, he spent the next few hours of orientation. A undry list of rules and regutions, where the press was allowed to go, what they were allowed to do, who they could talk to, and the punishments that could be levied against them.
All very normal, though the fantastical nature of the whole thing did add spice to it.
Some reporters tried to raise a ruckus over the restrictions. Who was the military to dictate who they could and could not speak to?
Said reporters were reminded that Aluns was a military base and more importantly that people in the Special Region were not 'attractions to be gawked at'. And beyond that, if they could not fathom why they were not allowed to ask any questions to the people of the Imperial Capital proper who they were still technically in a state of war with, and assuming the Imperials allowed them to ask questions and not just capture the event on video, then they were free to leave.
A number of grumbles came from that statement, though no one left.
After the tense exchange, the military finally let the press groups mingle among themselves and their respective teams before dinner.
Privelty, his group were already passing notes and brainstorming ways on how to skirt the rules or obey them to the letter rather than the principle. All to get an exclusive no other group would have.
The NHK group was hardly the only one doing it either. Okuda heard bits of the BBC, CNN, and DW groups pnning the exact same thing. A race to the bottom, or top, was afoot it seemed.
Hours ter, his bags in hand, and his belly filled from dinner, his group went to their respective rooms. Not the best accommodations he's ever had, but hardly the worst.
As the door closed behind him, Okuda let out the breath he hadn't even known he was holding in. He pushed his rger bag to the side and propped up his personal case on the bed provided.
Confident he was now alone, he unzipped his back and fished out the bck box. Carefully setting it atop his bed, and looking around one final time as if something were going to break down the door any second, he opened it.
Inside was a simple handgun.
It was strange. Okuda had never touched a gun before but he just knew how it worked. He knew the proper way to grip it to keep his aim steady, how the safety worked, how to fire and reload, how to clean and maintain it, even how to disassemble and reassemble it.
But he never learned any of these skills himself, nor has he ever looked up anything even close to these things. It all felt more like reflexes than knowledge. As if someone were guiding him through every step of the process.
He slid the clip out and examined the bullets inside. They were strange, all colored a milky white and seemed to glow softly in the dark.
It puzzled him now just as it puzzled him days ago when he picked it up for the first time.
How did it even come to this?
Was this truly God's will?
Even before he finished the thought in his head, he was filled with a warmth he had come to know very well.
He did not doubt God wished for action, Okuda merely doubted he was interpreting these sensations and feelings right.
Okuda had never been religious, nor was his family overly religious. But ever since a few months ago, just a little after the Gate opened in fact, he started feeling things and compulsions.
In fact, when he first started feeling these things he honestly thought he was going crazy. Each feeling of warmth came with a subtle 'push'. Not a push with force or coercion, but more like a parent urging their child onward to do certain things.
He assumed it was the onset of some mental disorder and he ignored it.
But so many things just started going right when he followed this feeling of warmth and completeness. He saved a woman at the main office from falling down a flight of stairs, he fixed a car issue by simply letting the 'feelings' guide his hands around the engine, he even got his niece the 'perfect' gift for her birthday by going to a store and just letting himself be directed towards a specific item.
Hardly world shattering things, but the fact remained he followed the feeling and good occurred.
And after pondering the issue over many sleepless nights he reached an epiphany.
God cared for everyone.
He loved everyone.
And he wasn't the Christian God, or the Jewish God, the Muslim God, the Shik God, a Kami of the Japanese, or any other deity. He was everyone's God.
After reaching this understanding, this obvious truth, Okuda no longer felt doubt.
Okuda had a part to py in His grand design.
So Okuda allowed himself to be 'pushed' into putting his name into the 'lottery' to be sent to the Special Region as a tech aid for the NHK's reporters, he followed the 'push' down a random alleyway in Tokyo a week ago to pick up this very package, and he now was 'pushed' to use its contents to enact His will in the Special Region.
For He felt pain and sadness by what was going on in the Special Region.
The false gods that held the world in bondage and demanded worship from the fearful and ignorant masses.
He desired great evils to be purged from the world beyond the Gate. For their idotry to be torn down one brick at a time until nothing remained of their profane halls.
But such a deed would require death.
A great deal of death.
Okuda wasn't told this with words, obviously, but he could feel God's will through him.
It scared him. To be the instrument that could cause such carnage was a terrifying thing. He would be vilified, demonized, for what he was going to do. A martyr for a greater cause.
He sat there, the doubt bubbling in his mind as he stared at the gun, his nerves starting to get the better of him.
…
But it was for the best.
…Yes.
Like ncing a boil, it would be painful and messy but beneficial in the long run for all peoples and races.
And God's Will Must Be Done.
Okuda, no longer feeling any concern, closed the package and hid it in his work bag.
There it would sit, untouched, until he reached the Imperial Capital with the rest of the press corps.
MidasMan
