Wish You Were Here

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Persona 4 Ghost in the Shell inspired au
Summary: Hanamura can't catch a break, even on his day off.  (pun intended)
Word Count: 1,435
Rating: Gen

        Yosuke smiles, friendly but not inviting anything more, at the cat-lady who’s trying to catch his attention.  Maybe it’s the sort of thing his boss would be interested in if the Captain’s interested in anything at all (he tries to ignore the treacherous whisper in his head that says the Captain’s interested in him).  He already parked the car out of reality, in one of those little pocket dimensions every Magician likes to carry around.  Just leaving it, even fifty meters in the air, would be absolutely an invitation for every car-thief for thousands of kilometers around.
        Sumaru’s a far cry from Inaba.  Judging by the history, it’s ironic.  Once, Inaba had been the Nowhere Town where dreams went to die, and Sumaru was the City of the Future.  Now, it’s Inaba’s lights and skyscrapers that can be seen from every little satellite while Sumaru was just left to rust and decay.
        He hears the whispers, as he walks.  Knows all of them, even the streetwalkers, are just itching to jump him for one reason or another.  The cat-lady probably actually is interested, judging by body language, but there’s others who would stab him in the neck and watch him slowly bleed even as they gave him pleasure.
        It’s been a while.  He wasn’t kidding when he told Narukami it was hard, getting close.  How he was hated and feared, simply because that’s what humans do when they find something powerful they can’t fully understand.
        He’s better off than before.  He has a badge, which gets people to back off quicker and has the added benefit of not being a temptation to use (or, really, misuse) his powers. 
        He misses the lights, but then, it’s not like any corp’s gonna waste its time on advertising to these people, not when they don’t have enough yen to make themselves human in the eyes of a corp.  It’s chaotic, the stream of colors and lights, but it’s a rush, the kind that makes him almost wish he hadn’t sold that runner years ago.  Driving’s not the same as riding, but then, that’s all right.  Thing cost too many yen, and a rewritten one wasn’t the same, somehow.
        It’s probably a self-failing, the fact that he can’t make it be the same, because if he tried, if he really tried, his imagination can make anything he wants real.  It’s a quirk that makes Magicians Magicians, though.
        He ducks into an alley.  Dangerous, if he wasn’t a Magician.  Still dangerous, now, but most are too scared they’ll vanish from existence if they try anything.  There’s so often that he hates the rumors that spread, but on occasion they’re useful.
        He calls up the map, now.  It’s something anyone even with basic software could do, but he tries not to give them any more reason to be worried than they already are.
        It’s not far.  He walks past hardware lying on the ground with only the most basic software, sees the dead, uncaring looks in their eyes.  He concentrates and pulls through a bowl of oranges from his apartment and he leaves it there in the dust as eyes open wide and there’s a sudden scrabble behind him.  He does what he can, even if it’s not much.  It’s not technically illegal.  It might be a little dangerous, for one such as him, but it’s worth it.
        Even further out, and there’s no one in the trash heaps.  Dumpster diving (why they bother to call it that when dumpsters don’t exist anymore is beyond Yosuke) is illegal, but the sale of such goods isn’t (analysts say it’s an accident that no one bothered to correct), and it’s one of the few things the people out here can do to earn any kind of living.  He likes coming out here to get old CDs.  Music from stars like Risette isn’t bad, but there’s nothing like collecting and restoring old CDs, and everyone needs a hobby.
        The ground caves away while he’s lost in thought, and suddenly he’s tumbling, with the speed of a runner.  It takes his breath away until he hits the ground, butt first.  It’s painful, but not that bad, given that he’d managed to whip the air into the kind of shape to cushion his fall.  Still, he’s a little stunned, so he’s not quick enough to roll out of the way when he hears the whistling, and hears the crunch as some heavy machine part slams into his leg.  There’s still parts falling to either side.
        He closes his eyes and concentrates on healing it before the pain can set in, because once that happens he won’t be able to cast something so complex.  He only manages to get it so far before he’s sobbing, unable to think of anything else until it eases to a dull throbbing.
        “Great.  Good job, Hana-chan,” he mutters into the dark once he gets his breath back and the light is obscured more by falling dirt and a stream of other stuff he really doesn’t want to know its origin.  Thinking of Saki-senpai is only more depressing than being trapped here, though, so he quickly cuts off that line of thought.
        He can only really see the rectangle of light on the floor and a bit of light that escapes outward, but the ground doesn’t feel natural.  He carefully reaches out and is surprised—the walls feel like metal and—yes—there’s what could be a serial number carved into one of the bottom panels that he can reach.  Whatever he’s fallen into is some sort of man-made structure, so, logically, there should be some sort of exit.  Probably.  Unless it’s hidden under the rubble.
        If he hadn’t hurt himself, he could levitate himself out.  Then again, if he’d realized faster, he could’ve probably caught himself before any of this happened.  As it is, he carefully presses his back against the wall and uses that to lever himself up—yep, the second he puts weight on it, his leg starts to protest.  It’s not still broken, so he can put weight on it, but every step’s going to hurt, and it’ll probably act like he’s just gotten off crutches and has to be careful or he’s going to set back the healing again.
        He realizes, suddenly, that he probably doesn’t have service.  His software is as scrambled as one might expect with malfunctioning hardware, given the pain signals his leg and other parts of him are still sending out, so internal’s a no-go, and his satchel…
        Yeah, antiquated walkie’s a bunch of scrap parts here, fits right in around here.  Even if it wasn’t, he’s almost seven meters down in the middle of nowhere.  Not exactly the sort of place to get signal even if it is boosted by HQ.
        If nothing else, Narukami had begun calling to check in on him during the evenings.  Just another part of their bizarre mating dance they were both playing, pretending that neither had noticed.  It wasn’t every night, but hopefully this was one of those times where he’d call, get worried, find he’s linkdead, get even more worried, and retrace his steps. 
        He checks.  At least the knives in the sheaths by his side and the Athena Kiss R in his holster seem to be in good shape.  That’s something when he honestly might need to defend himself.
        Old factories or tenements like this could be a maze.  Definitely not the sort of place Hanamura would like to get trapped when hurt, no food, no water, and a flickering attention like an old dying lightbulb to attempt to summon any.  Especially not when his fall had, likely, been noticed by at least a few of the more curious, and while many wouldn’t take a chance at a healthy Magician, a wounded one might be fair game.  Still, nothing he can do but grit his teeth, keep his eyes out for anything that might be of use as a splint, and—yeah, that ratty cloth’d do.  It’s a good thing he’s cast some of these Sorceror-type spells enough that he doesn’t have to use the brain cells to push at the fabric of the world, just work within its rules, to set it on fire but not let it burn the whole cloth or his hand while he holds it, because without light he might as well just sit in a corner and rest until he’s rescued or someone comes to kill him and take his stuff.  He looks at the various openings, picks one of the darkened openings, and starts limping that way.