A black Nakano Police SUV rumbled through the sleepy hills of rural Japan. Tokyo was far behind now, replaced by cedar forests, winding mountain roads, and rice terraces.

Detective Morozaki squinted at the GPS, which insisted he should turn left at the unpaved path in 800 meters.

“Are we lost, sir?” asked Recruit Suzuki from the backseat.

“We’re investigating” Morozaki said, tapping the touchscreen.

Recruit Tanaka folded up a massive paper map. “Should we call the boss?”

“Bad idea,” Morozaki said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his trench coat and lighting up with a single flick.

The SUV slowed down. The road was now a moss-covered stone path.

Morozaki cut the engine. “From here, we walk.”

Suzuki and Tanaka got out and stretched

“Man, where are we?” Suzuki muttered, rubbing his neck.

Tanaka nodded toward tiled rooftops visible through the trees.

Morozaki adjusted the collar of his trench coat and started up the trail. A waterfall roared somewhere in the distance.

Twenty minutes and a collective 60 mosquito bites later, they arrived at the gate.

The Hōjōki Monastery.

The detective dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot.

Suzuki struck the iron bell beside the torii gate.

BONGGGG.

A bald monk in grey robes appeared, eyes full of calm judgement.

“Welcome,” the monk said, bowing. “Have you come for a visit?”

Morozaki flashed his badge. “Nakano Police. We’re here for Nakamura Tetsuo.”

The monk bowed again.

“He is meditating in the courtyard. Please follow me.”

They arrived at the rock garden.

A man sat on a zafu. Back straight. Eyes closed. Head bald.

The guest-monk bowed, then vanished without a sound.

Morozaki stepped forward and spit on the gravel.

“Nakamura Tetsuo. Former defense systems architect. You’re under arrest for conspiracy involving a classified digital reality.”

Nakamura stirred awake from his meditation.

“This is beyond your understanding…”

“So you know why we’re here.”

“Yes,” Nakamura said. “The pilgrimage has already begun.”

Morozaki stepped closer, putting a hand on his magnum revolver. “You talk like a fortune cookie.”

“IRIS is but a door…” Nakamura stood. “The worthy ones must ascend to a higher realm.”

Morozaki pulled out his magnum revolver and cocked it.

“We all yearn to escape suffering, don’t we?”

“Cut the poetry.”

With a sharp head nod, Morozaki signaled his recruits.

Suzuki and Tanaka moved forward, silver handcuffs glinting in their hands.

WHOOSH.

Suzuki’s legs disappeared from under him.

WHAM.

A dragon-palm strike exploded into Tanaka’s chest, sending him flying directly into the koi pond.

“I did what was necessary to protect my son… And the chosen.”

Morozaki leveled the gun.

“On your belly. Hands where I can see them.”

Tetsuo smiled.

FLASH.

A spinning kick knocked the magnum clean out of Morozaki’s hand. It clattered across the stones.

Morozaki threw a punch.

Tetsuo sidestepped it like time had slowed. He raised one palm.

Then—

“Stop, Tetsuo.”

He froze.

High heels tapped against the stones.

It was Yuriko Hoshikawa.

Tight marine-blue blazer, buttoned just enough to tease international law. A skirt that could trigger diplomatic incidents. Tactical hips that moved like classified assets on a black-ops mission. A strut that said, “They call me a threat to diplomacy and fashion.”

She lowered her designer sunglasses.

“I knew I shouldn’t have sent these idiots.”

The monk relaxed his stance.

“Go wait in the car, M,” she said.

“…Y-Yes, ma’am.”

Morozaki limped off.

Yuriko approached Nakamura, arms crossed. “You know this ends badly if you don’t help us.”

The koi splashed behind them. Tanaka surfaced, coughing.

“Let’s talk,” she continued. “Before I call in a drone strike.”

The monk slid into a Kung-Fu stance.

“IRIS cannot be stopped. The Pilgrimage is inevitable.”

A smile played on her lips as she matched his stance.

“We’ll see about that.”