Previously, on Phantom:

Mamoru returns from America to find that Usagi has a daughter, Chibi-Usa. He asks Usagi and Chibi-Usa to help him go furniture shopping after bonding with Chibi-Usa while helping her with her English homework. Meanwhile, the senshi investigate the first supernatural enemy since they defeated the Dark Kingdom a decade ago. Death Phantom takes control of his victims' minds and drains their energy. Sailor Venus is working hard to try to find the attacker, but reviving his victims is taking its toll and the list of missing is only increasing.

Fair warning: There will be minor character death in this story. Not this chapter, but soon.

"Look at this one!" Chibi-Usa said as she pulled Mamoru's hand, leading him toward a violently pink sofa. "It's soooo pretty!"

They had been shopping all day and were currently making their way through their fifth furniture store, after making a much-needed pit stop at a nearby ice cream parlor, much to Chibi-Usa's (and Usagi's) delight. So far that afternoon, Mamoru had managed to acquire a dining room table and chairs, a desk, several bookcases, and a bed (after testing about 100 mattresses at Chibi-Usa's insistence), but the right sofa had eluded him.

Mamoru laughed as Chibi-Usa flopped on the sofa with a squeal. "Pretty pink, you mean," he said.

"Chibi-Usa," Usagi said, "we're shopping for Mamoru, remember? I don't think that's really his style."

Chibi-Usa didn't answer, merely jumping off the sofa and running to the next one that caught her eye.

Usagi sighed as she and Mamoru followed the hyperactive child. "I think two ice cream cones might have been one too many, Dr. Baka."

"And what about the three ice cream cones that youhad?" he asked, nudging her shoulder playfully.

"I'm a professional," she said with a sniff. "I know how to handle my sugar."

He grinned.

"Look!" Chibi-Usa called, hopping onto a tufted chaise.

"Chibi-Usa, don't jump on that!" Usagi chided, sighing as Chibi-Usa moved on to the next sofa. "I still don't know why you don't want to go to Ikea," she said as they slowly walked among the floor displays. "Like half of our stuff is from there."

"Because I spent the last 8 years sleeping on an Ikea bed and sitting on an Ikea couch and I'd like something a little more permanent now? Something I'd actually like to come home to?"

"A sofa to grow old with?" she said, bumping his hip with hers.

"Exactly. Guess I'm ready to put down some roots." He glanced at her, catching her eye. "It would be nice to settle down and have an actual home somewhere, y'know?"

She looked down, running her hand along the sofa they were passing. "Guess we'd better find you the perfect match, then."

He smiled. "I have no doubt we will."

"Mamoru! Mamoru!" Chibi-Usa ran over, grabbing his hand once again. "I found the perfect sofa for you! Come see! Come see!"

"Guess we'd better check it out," he said to Usagi, reaching over to take her hand with his free one. She stiffened at his unexpected touch, but quickly relaxed and let herself be led along as Chibi-Usa pulled them through the maze-like floor displays.

"See?" Chibi-Usa said, pointing to an unfussy modern sofa.

Mamoru grinned. "Actually, I really like this one." He cocked his head, looking it over. "Definitely the best so far. Nice work, Chibi-Usa!"

She hopped happily, still grasping his hand tightly with both of hers.

"What do you think, Usagi?" he asked, squeezing her hand lightly.

"Hmm. It's . . . nicer than I was expecting." She kept her eyes on the sofa, unwilling to look at him and see that enraging smirk of his that she knew was plastered on his face.

"Sit!" Chibi-Usa said, pulling his hand down with all her might.

He obeyed her command, letting go of Usagi's hand and sinking into the surprisingly comfortable cushions. Chibi-Usa sat down next to him, putting her small arm on the wide armrest and kicking her feet, which weren't even close to reaching the floor.

"C'mon, Mama! You too!" she instructed.

"Ok, ok." Usagi shifted her purse and sat on the other side of Mamoru, sighing with pleasure as she leaned back. "Ahhh . . . it's nice to get off of my feet."

Noticing the group on the sofa, a sales associate with stylish glasses and a perky neck scarf approached them.

"Can I help you with anything?" she asked.

"Yes, actually," Mamoru said, standing up. "Does this sofa come in leather?"

"We have a variety of leather upholstery options for this model," she said. "I'll grab the samples and be right back!"

By the time the sales associate returned, Mamoru was alone, watching Usagi and Chibi-Usa browsing throw pillows nearby with a soft smile on his face.

"Sir?" the associate said, getting his attention. "Here are the leather upholstery samples."

"Oh, thank you," he said, taking the samples from her.

She looked over at Usagi and Chibi-Usa, who were admiring a pillow embroidered with wildflowers and rabbits.

"You have a beautiful family," she told him.

"I'm sorry?" he said, looking up from the samples.

"I said, your family is beautiful," she repeated with a smile.

"Oh." He cleared his throat, looking back down at the samples. "They're . . . they're not my family."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I just assumed—"

"No, no, it's fine," he assured her. He looked over at them, the soft smile returning to his face. "They are beautiful though, aren't they?"

She grinned. "Yes, sir."

Minako awoke in darkness to the sound of the sugary J-Pop song she'd set as Usagi's ringtone blasting from her phone. For a moment she didn't know where she was, then remembered she had passed out on the couch as soon as she had gotten home from her meeting with Sakurada that afternoon. She was dazed as she tried to orient herself; her eyelids felt like they weighed a million pounds and she wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week.

But what else was new? This had been her life since that horrible man started his attacks and would be her life until he was in custody. Healing people left her drained—affecting her far more than she would ever willingly admit to anyone, least of all herself.

There had been a flurry of activity two nights ago; a pair of victims had been discovered at a secluded shrine, and it had taken everything she had to revive them. Mercury had fussed over her after the victims had been healed, insisting that Venus get an IV and a concoction of vitamins and who knows what else that she had devised specially for Venus after the Shimamura attack. And it hadhelped . . . a little.

Without opening her eyes, Minako felt around the couch cushions, finally locating her phone under a throw pillow.

"Hello?" she rasped, her voice still scratchy from sleep.

"Mina? Did I wake you?"

"Uh, yeah Usa . . . but it's fine." Minako cleared her throat. "What time is it?"

"Just past 9. Chibi-Usa's finally asleep so I thought I'd give you a call, but I can let you get back to sleep if you want."

"No, no. It's fine," she said, yawning loudly. "What's up?"

"I wanted to check on you . . . See how you're doing."

"Oh you know me," Minako said, trying to inject energy she didn't feel into her voice. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Do you need anything? I could try to come by tomorrow if you want."

"No, no. Honestly, I'm fine," she said, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. "Just sleepy, that's all."

"Really? Ami said—"

"Really, Usagi. I promise I'm ok."

"Ok . . ." Usagi said, obviously unconvinced.

"What about you?" Minako asked, trying to change the subject. "What have you been up to?"

"Well . . . Chibi-Usa and I helped Mamoru pick out furn—"

"Oh!" Minako said, her eyes snapping open as she remembered what Usagi had been up to earlier in the day. "Your date!"

"It wasn't a date. . ."

"Uh huh, just keep telling yourself that," Minako said as she fumbled in the dark to turn on a nearby lamp. She squinted as light flooded her living room. The remnants of the half-eaten frozen dinner she'd had for lunch was on the coffee table, along with an assortment of empty energy drinks, candy wrappers, and several months' worth of fashion magazines. "Girl do you know how long it's been since I've had time to go on a date?"

"It wasn't a date!"

"Whatever. Anyway, how did it go?"

Usagi sighed. "It was . . . nice. Good, even."

"You sound surprised by that," Minako said, shaking an unwashed shirt and bra off of a nearby blanket and covering herself with it.

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"Why?" she asked as she snuggled into the blanket, cradling the phone against her head.

"Because it's Mamoru. I'm not supposed to like him."

Minako smiled. "So you do like him?"

"Ugh. I don't know . . . maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Probably. Just a little."

Minako chuckled.

"I just feel confused. I mean, this is Mamoru, y'know? But when we're together and he flirts with me . . . and he was flirting all day, Minako. And . . . he held my hand."

"Woah, moving fast there, aren't you?" Minako teased.

"It was just for a few seconds! It might not have meant anything."

Minako sighed. "So then what's the big deal?"

"It's just . . . being with him feels good. And he's just so good with Chibi-Usa. It's so sweet to see them together, Mina. But it makes me nervous because, like, what if we start dating and then things don't work out?"

"You've been out with guys since you had Chibi-Usa, Usagi. It's not like this is new."

"Sure, I've dated a little, but nothing serious. Not like this."

"You went furniture shopping and were chaperoned by your kid. You don't even know if you held hands for real. I don't think it's that serious."

"Minaaaa . . ."

"Am I wrong?" Minako stifled another yawn, snuggling farther into her blanket.

"Ugh. You're not wrongbut . . . I just get the feeling that this is something that could become serious, y'know?"

"Yeah, I could see that."

"And I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"Usa, don't forget that you have as much say in this as he does. Take it at a pace that makes youfeel comfortable. If he really likes you, he'll respect that."

"That's true . . . Ugh, I guess I have to figure out what I want and how fast I want to go." She paused, snorting. "Of course, I have no clue what I want."

"And that's OK. You're allowed to not know," Minako reassured her.

"He just . . . makes me feel things I haven't felt in a long time, Minako."

Minako yawned. "Is that bad?"

"No, not bad. Definitely not bad." She sighed. "Maybe you're right. I could just take things at my own pace and see what happens."

"Uh huh," came Minako's sleepy reply.

"And, honestly? I think . . . I think I might like him. Like, maybe more than a little. Like when he held my hand, it just felt so good, Minako.And when he's around, I feel like . . . like I'm not just some screw-up single mom to be pitied, y'know? When he looks at me, I feel wanted." Usagi paused, scoffing at herself. "God, I sound so pathetic right now. A guy treats me like a human being and suddenly I'm a teenager again. Oh, he held my hand! What does it mean?Sorry Minako, I probably sound like a complete idiot right now."

Usagi waited for a response from her friend, but heard nothing.

"Minako?"

Through the silence, Usagi could hear Minako's steady, even breaths. She sighed heavily, but Minako didn't notice.

"Poor Minako," she quietly told her sleeping friend. "Get your rest."

Sailor Moon stood on the rooftop high above Tokyo, waiting in the darkness of the night. It was raining—the kind of refreshing summer rain that brought parched flowers back to life and caused tendrils of steam to rise from the overheated city streets—but Sailor Moon hardly noticed. Suddenly, a blur of shadow caught her eye, bringing a relieved smile to her face.

"Tux!" she called softly. In an instant he was at her side and she was in his arms. She inhaled deeply, letting his rosy scent fill her lungs. "I was afraid you wouldn't come."

"And miss my last chance to see you?" He stroked her wet hair as she sniffled into his chest. "Nothing could have kept me away, Moonbeam."

Usagi awoke with a start. She stared at the ceiling, waiting for the swell of emotion choking her to subside. Reaching up to rub her face, she was unsurprised to find it wet with tears.

It had been quite some time since she had last dreamed of Tuxedo Mask, and it was as bittersweet as ever to be reminded of their last night together. Eight years had passed since that night—the last time she had seen him. Eight years since he had left her. Eight years since they had made love in the rain on a rooftop while the city they protected slept below peacefully them. Eight years since . . .

She sighed, wondering idly if the dream had been sparked by spending the day near Mamoru and his infuriating, intoxicating smell. She had realized it the previous week while pouring him coffee at Crown; he smelled of roses and something unidentifiably earthy—just like Tuxedo Mask had. She had almost forgotten, but one good whiff of Mamoru was enough to make the memory flood her mind. And while he didn't smell exactly the same as her long-lost love, it was similar enough that being near enough to Mamoru to inhale his scent sent warmth swirling through her.

Stupid Mamoru. Why did he have to smell so much like him?

Usagi swung her legs over the side of the bed, pulling her bunched-up nightgown back into place before quietly making her way to Chibi-Usa's room. Peeking into the dark room, she felt herself calm as she looked at her daughter, who was sleeping blissfully while tangled in her favorite Sailor V sheets, the ridiculously expensive embroidered pillow that Mamoru had bought her earlier in the day over Usagi's objections kicked to the foot of the bed.

Eight years ago Tuxedo Mask had left Sailor Moon behind, but he had no way to know that—despite their precautions—they had created a precious gift together that night: their daughter. She wondered for the millionth time what he would think if he found out, or if she would have the strength to tell him. And, after everything that had happened, she didn't even know if she could face him at all, or even if she wanted to.

Usagi shook her head, trying to ward off tears that were once again pricking her eyes. She had accepted long ago that Tuxedo Mask wasn't coming back—that he would never know about Chibi-Usa. He had made the decision to leave, and she hadn't stood in his way.

She had moved on with her life. What other choice did she have?

By all accounts, Wakagi should have been happy. But, despite having his first day off in several weeks, a frown was still firmly planted on his face—and not just because it was his default expression. The sun may have been shining, and he may have been waiting for his girlfriend so he could see her for the first time in what felt like months, but all he could think about was the pile of missing persons reports on his desk—the faces of the missing and the desperate pleas of their families swirling through his mind.

Yamamoto Ryo, 52, missing for 3 weeks . . .

Help us, please. Can't you do something?

Tamaki Manabu, 37, never came home from work . . .

This isn't like him. He wouldn't do this!

Tanaka Sakura, 48, missing after a trip to the grocery store . . .

She wouldn't leave her ailing mother like this!

Oyama Hiroshi, 32, missing for 15 days . . .

I miss my daddy. Can you find him, please?

Hasegawa Hikari, 18, never made it to high school one morning . . .

I'm begging you! Please, bring my sister home . . .

It was a never-ending parade of misery that showed no signs of slowing.

Wakagi jumped a little as his phone buzzed in his pocket and startled him out of his depressing ruminations.

I'm downstairs! :) Aya's message read.

And then there was his girlfriend's recent behavior . . .

After ghosting him, she had suddenly reappeared, texting her apologies, and explaining that her absence was due to an unexpected job opportunity she hadn't been able to resist. She had been scouted to be the personal assistant for a high-level spiritual leader whose identity was too sensitive to divulge over the phone. Her radio silence, she had explained, was merely due to her packed schedule as she started her new job.

Maybe it was due to the case he was working, but Wakagi couldn't help but feel paranoid about the whole situation. Yet aside from the sudden job change, Aya's behavior seemed more-or-less normal. There was no emptying of bank accounts, no passing out in alleys, and she certainly seemed to be her normal self—at least over the phone. Yet Wakagi's gut told him something was off, and he was determined to figure out what it was.

He quickly gathered his things and made his way to the street, and was more than a little surprised to find a sleek black sedan with its flashers on idling in front of his building. One of the tinted windows in the back rolled down, revealing Aya's smiling face.

"Toshi-kun!" she called, using her usual nickname for him. He relaxed a little as he saw her looking healthy and happy, but the car still made him wary.

"What's all this?" he asked as he walked to the car, peeking in through the open window.

"I'm sorry," she said, opening the door to invite him inside, "I know I should have mentioned it, but I was running late finishing up some errands for work and didn't want to be late meeting up with you! I just have to drop some paperwork off at the office and then we can have the rest of the day together. Is that OK?"

"You want me to come with you?"

"Sure, if that's alright."

He looked around the car's interior, finding nothing of note. Aya seemed totally normal—the files she mentioned sitting beside her on the car's seat. The driver remained facing forward, a nondescript black chauffeur's hat on his head.

"Well, I guess that's fine," he said, climbing into the car and shutting the door.

Aya smiled, placing her hand in his as the driver pulled back into traffic. Wakagi's eyes fell on the rear-view mirror and he caught sight of the driver's neutral expression and black sunglasses. Something in the driver's face rung a bell, but Wakagi couldn't place him.

"Excuse me," he said, leaning forward, "do I know you from somewhere?"

"Me, sir?" the driver asked, keeping his eyes on the traffic.

"Yeah . . . you look a little familiar."

"I don't believe we've met before, sir."

"Hiro's a new recruit like me," Aya said with a smile.

"I see," Wakagi said, giving the driver one last glance before sitting back in his seat to face Aya once again.

"It's good to see you," she said, squeezing his hand. "I'm sorry it's been so long."

"Well, that's more my fault than it is yours," he reassured her, relaxing a little. "You look nice, by the way."

"Thanks!" she said, smoothing out her skirt. "I can finally afford some nicer clothes now with this new job. I just got this outfit—do you like it?"

"Yeah, very classy."

"It's Chanel," she said, preening a little, but stopped when he scowled. "What? What's wrong with Chanel?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Wha . . . ooooh, I think I know." She grinned as his scowl deepened. "It's because of Sakurada, isn't it? I forgot that's all she wears."

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's my day off . . . Can we please talk about something other than my horrible boss?"

She laughed, playfully smacking his arm in a reassuringly familiar way.

"What about your boss?" he asked her. "How is your new job going?"

"Oh, it's great, honestly," she said. "My boss is very wise. I don't really know how to describe him . . . he just has a very centering presence."

"So what's his deal, anyway?"

"The master?"

Wakagi frowned. "Is that what you call him?"

She shrugged. "It's what everyone calls him."

"So . . . what kind of religious figure is he? Why all the secrecy?"

"He has a deep mistrust of authority—the master has seen many abuses of power and injustices in the world. The secrecy merely comes from his desire for privacy for himself and his followers as they devote themselves to their religion."

"And that would be?"

"I don't know that I'm the best person to explain it all," Aya said, furrowing her brows, "but his followers believe him to be a prophet of the true religion, of the true god. It is believed that the master speaks directly with the god Khnwos."

He raised his eyebrows. "Khnwos? That's a new one."

Aya smiled. "Maybe for you, but to the believers, Khnwos is the most ancient and powerful of all gods—existing before all others, and destined to exist after all other gods die."

"OK, so aside from believing in a god I've never heard of, what what's this religion all about?"

"Well, mostly people just meditate a lot, to be honest."

"Meditate? Really?" Wakagi said, furrowing his brows. "That's it?"

"Yep!" Aya said with a smile. "The master believes that meditating helps balance energy and allows believers to get in touch with Khnwos. The master created special meditation rooms, too—they're just big enough for one person and it's completely pitch black inside. Some believers will stay in the room for hours and hours. It's pretty amazing."

Wakagi shuddered. "Sounds too close to solitary confinement for me."

"Right except, y'know, these aren't for punishment."

"Well I wouldn't be volunteering for that, that's for sure." Wakagi shook his head. "Let's talk about something else, huh?"

Aya laughed, then happily chattered about other topics until they pulled up to a sleek high-rise building in Akasaka. After putting the car in park, Hiro quickly exited, rushing to open the passenger's side door for Aya.

"Thank you, Hiro," she said, gathering her files and exiting the car. She leaned down when she realized Wakagi wasn't following. "Hiro has to return the car to the garage, Toshi-kun. Why don't you come up with me?"

"Really? Is that OK?"

"Yeah! I'm sure no one will mind."

Wakagi scooted over, exiting the door that Hiro was still holding open.

"Are you sure we've never met?" Wakagi asked him as he saw him more clearly. "You look awfully familiar . . ."

"I'm sorry, sir," Hiro said, shaking his head. "I can't recall ever meeting you."

"C'mon, Toshi-kun, this way," Aya said, getting his attention.

With a final look at the driver, Wakagi straightened his jacket and followed Aya into the building and up to the fourth floor, taking note of the various security protocols in place—guards at the front desk of the building, security cameras everywhere, key-card access in the elevator and again at the office suite, which was behind a very solid-looking door.

Whoever Aya was working for, he was certainly well protected.

Once inside the suite, a receptionist greeted them. Yet another guard stood by, silently watching them.

"Do you know where the master is, Hitomi?" Aya asked the receptionist as Wakagi signed in.

"In the sanctum with some disciples, I believe," she replied with a benign smile.

"Perfect, thank you!"

Aya lead him past the guard and into the main office. It was smaller than he was expecting, with several private office suites and conference rooms leading off a main hall. All the blinds were drawn; all the doors shut tight. It was oddly dim and quiet for the middle of a workday.

"We can just pop into the sanctum so I can deliver these documents."

"There's really a sanctum in here?"

She smiled. "It's really just a converted conference room. Nothing terribly fancy."

Wakagi lightly grabbed her wrist. "Still, I really don't want to disturb your boss. Why don't I just wait here?"

"Don't be silly!" she said, pulling herself free of his grasp. "I've told him so much about you, I know he'd love to meet you."

Wakagi frowned as Aya walked toward a set of double doors, knocking on one three times. He heard the unmistakable sound of locks being turned, and the door finally opened slightly from the inside.

"C'mon," she said, waving him over with a smile.

He reluctantly followed. Peeking inside the room, he saw an aisle formed by two-dozen people in gray robes meditating, all facing a hooded figure seated on a cushion at the front of the room. The sight reminded him vaguely of an old European-style monastery. Several doors lined one wall like confessionals—he assumed they were the individual meditation rooms Aya had told him about. It was also quite dark inside—blackout shades covered the windows, leaving a few spherical lamps shining dimly like crystal balls to provide light for the entire room.

Aya was still near the doors, just a few steps from him, handing her files to a man in a suit, who had presumably been the one to open the door.

On the surface, the scene before him seemed harmless enough, but something still felt . . . off. He attempted to back up, but accidentally bumped into someone behind him. Turning quickly, he found himself face-to-face with Hiro, the driver.

"My apologies, sir," Hiro said, leading Wakagi by the arm fully into the room. "I didn't mean to startle you."

The man in a suit shut the door behind them, then locked a series of three deadbolts with a dreadful finality.

"It's OK . . ." Wakagi began as Hiro removed his sunglasses. But as he did so, Wakagi finally realized why he recognized the man's face.

Hiro wasn't lying—they had never met. But Wakagi hadmet his family. Just a few days ago, in fact. They had shown Wakagi picture after picture, pleading for him to find their missing loved one. And here he was standing right in front of him—Oyama Hiroshi, 32, father of 2, who had been missing for 15 days.

Wakagi swallowed, his nerves on edge. He suddenly wished that he had his service pistol with him, instead of back at the station where it was housed when he was off duty.

He turned to Aya but she was still smiling pleasantly, no hint of deception or worry in her eyes. What had she gotten into? What was going on? Then, turning to the front of the room, Aya clapped her hands, getting everyone's attention.

"Master, fellow disciples," she called as Wakagi's blood turned cold, "this is Chief Superintendent Wakagi Toshio of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department."

Wakagi stood frozen in place as he looked at the faces before him—so many of which were the very faces that had been haunting him day and night. He'd met their families, looked at their photos, read their histories, interviewed neighbors and classmates and coworkers and here they were, sitting in front of him. So many of the missing . . . and many more faces which he didn't recognize at all.

It didn't take long for him to conclude that the man at the front of the room was the very ghost he'd been hunting, the one who had caused all of the pain and misery flooding Tokyo—and he knew he'd been caught in a trap he was unlikely to escape.

"Mr. Wakagi," the hooded figure said then, his face shrouded in darkness, "thank you for joining us."

Wakagi slowly made his way to Aya, placing his hand on her shoulder "We need to leave," he said in a low voice. "Now."

"Don't be silly, Toshi-kun," she said with a smile. "We're not leaving. Not until the master wants us to."

He searched her eyes, but found no hint of malice . . . nor any emotion aside from banal pleasantness. She still seemed like her, but . . . was she brainwashed? In a trance? He swore under his breath, feeling like a complete fool to have been caught so easily.

Wakagi looked back at the door, which the man in the suit and Hiro were now blocking. He knew had to act quickly, but could he get Aya out, too?

"Come, Aya," the hooded figure called.

She dutifully walked up the aisle toward him, the same smile she had been giving Wakagi all afternoon on her face.

"Didn't I do a good job with her, Mr. Wakagi? She was the first one I really got right—the first one who could pass for her true self," the figure explained as he stroked Aya's hair. "She's such a nice girl. So pleasant to have around. People never suspect her—I left her personality intact, you see. Her personality and her memories—well, most of them, anyway. I just . . . tinkered, a bit. I gave her my motivations—inserted my will into her mind like a virus. She does my bidding willingly . . . like a little doll whose life I control—a marionette whose strings I hold."

Wakagi edged toward the door, making sure to never look directly at the hooded man. He knew making eye contact meant risking everything—his mind, his energy, his soul . . .

Hiro and the man in the suit turned toward him, blocking his way as the hooded man laughed.

"By all means, try to escape. You won't get very far. These are all my disciples, you see. And not all are recruits, like Aya," he said, stroking Aya's cheek. "Many are volunteers, such as Mr. Machida there," he said, gesturing to the man in the suit. "They have come to me of their own free will, led to me by Khnwos. They follow me and do my bidding willingly, because they have seen the power of Khnwos in me. Anyone here would fight to the death if I tell them to. But there's no need for anyone to die. Not yet, anyway."

Once again wishing he had his gun, Wakagi looked around for anything he might use as a weapon—a pole, a chair, anything—but when the two men started to advance on him, he fell into a defensive stance, thankful that he still had years of martial arts training at his disposal—a requirement for all police officers.

Hiro lunged, but Wakagi deflected his attack with a blow to the neck, sending him crashing to the ground with a resounding thud, where he lay still. Machida, however, was waiting—and when he put his arms up and took what Wakagi recognized as a classic karate forward stance, Wakagi knew this opponent would be more formidable. He glanced at the door—so tantalizingly close—knowing that his best chance at escape was in getting to it as quickly as possible.

Wakagi rushed toward the door and barely got his fingers on the first deadbolt when Machida attempted to kick Wakagi's feet out from under him. He miraculously kept his footing and turned, only to be struck in the shoulder hard with the man's foot. Wakagi hissed in pain but recovered quickly, putting his hands up in time to deflect the next kick. By the time Machida kicked again, Wakagi was prepared, and grabbed the man's foot, slamming him to the ground hard.

As fast as he could, Wakagi made for the door, and managed to unlock one of the deadbolts before having to dodge Machida once more. The next time the man lunged, Wakagi spotted an opening, and kicked hard at his shin, once again making for the door. This time, he didn't even get the second lock open before Machida was on him again. Wakagi took a hard kick to the side but managed to stay up, and, after the man attempted another hand strike, Wakagi was able to grasp his wrist and twist, forcing him to the ground.

Just as he was trying to figure out how to keep Machida down, Wakagi saw a blur in his periphery. Looking up, he saw Hiro's foot coming at him. He tried to turn but it was too late—Wakagi felt an exquisite burst of pain explode through his head and woke up facedown on the ground. He could feel the heavy weight of a man sitting on his back, pinning his arms behind him.

He squinted, trying to see clearly in the dim room, but everything was blurry and out of focus. Blinking rapidly, Wakagi's sight began to clear, but when he saw the hooded figure slowly walking toward him, he shut his eyes tight, knowing it was his only chance of survival.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you for a long time, Mr. Wakagi," the hooded man said.

"What do you want?" Wakagi asked, his speech slightly slurred. His head still felt heavy from Hiro's kick.

The man chuckled. "I want many things. But from you, I merely ask for you to open your eyes and have a chat with me."

"Yeah right, so you can make me into one of your puppets?" he scoffed, keeping his eyes closed.

"I think you may find that you and I have many things in common. Perhaps you might not find what I have to say so objectionable—"

"Not likely," Wakagi sneered. The man on his back tightened his hold on Wakagi's arms, twisting them enough to make Wakagi grunt in pain.

"You see, Aya has told me all sorts of things about you. Things such as the powerful resentment you have for Sailor Venus and the other senshi for getting the recognition you feel you deserve."

Wakagi swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple pressing into the floor. "Just because I don't like Sailor V doesn't mean I'll join your organization."

"And then there's your boss," the man continued, his voice getting louder as he grew nearer to Wakagi. "Sakurada. Youngest Police Superintendant General ever, with no signs of slowing down any time soon. As long as you are a member of the police force, as long as you continue in your career, you will be under her thumb. The woman who abuses you, belittles you . . . The woman who sent you to Siberia to freeze all because you couldn't beat Sailor V—a girl in a miniskirt with superhuman powers. You, an ordinary human being, punished for not having the strength of a superhero." He clicked his tongue and sighed. "How unjust."

"You really think I'm going to condone kidnapping and brainwashing just because my boss sucks?" Wakagi asked. He could tell the man was right in front of him now; he knew there was practically no chance of escape. "What is your goal, anyway? Why do you run this sham of a religion?"

"Sham?" the man asked, an edge creeping into his voice. "Oh no, this is no sham. Khnwos has chosen me, you see. When Sailor Moon and her lackey Tuxedo Mask abused me, when the senshi poisoned the minds of people against me, when your people turned their backs and shut me away, he found me and strengthened me. And now, you will help me get my revenge."

"Like hell I will." He thrashed, trying to get even an inch of leverage to throw Machida off his back. The thin carpet below him burned his face as he struggled, but Machida held him fast.

"Oh, you seem to be under the impression that you have a choice in the matter. I'm afraid, Mr. Wakagi, that you are going to help me, whether you like it or not. Mr. Oyama," he said, calling to Hiro, "would you, please?"

Wakagi hissed in pain as Hiro grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back and off the ground. He tried to struggle but it was no use—Hiro quickly had him in a headlock, the crook of his arm so tight against Wakagi's throat that he could hardly breathe.

"Now, now, Mr. Wakagi, there's no need to struggle so, I won't hurt you," the hooded man said as Wakagi continued to try to wrestle himself free. "You will be most useful to me. I'll make sure you are safe—for now, at least."

Wakagi was yelling, struggling desperately, but it was no use—Hiro managed to force one of Wakagi's eyes open with his fingers, and in the dim light, Wakagi saw a face looming in front of him—a terrible face with gaping, black eyes, darker than any shadow lurking in the dead of night.

He tried to scream but when he opened his mouth nothing came out . . . His mind felt dull and fuzzy . . . like he was floating farther and farther away . . . Soon he stopped thrashing, and a sense of calm came over him, his mind now shrouded in cool, welcoming darkness.

A voice spoke to him, deep within his mind.

I am Death Phantom. . .

Yes . . .

Prophet of Khnwos . . .

Khnwos . . .

and I am now your master.

My master . . .

6/14/18 Awww yiss a nice juicy chapter for you to sink your teeth into! (The working title of this chapter was "Poor Wakagi.") I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the next update won't take so long. D:

THANK YOU to everyone who has commented/followed since the last update. As always, thank you thank you THANK YOU to my wonderful beta Antigone2 and to FloraOne, who is an invaluable sounding board and always willing to nerd out over mind control powers (among other things).

Wanna chat about this fic? You can find me on tumblr as irritablevowel.

Until next time . . .