เรื่อง APAIMANEE 2086

        23^rd March 2086, 3 am.

        “My brother was a guitarist. I don’t know why he would show up years later with an oboe that only museum curators know how to play.” Suwan shrugged after he finished telling the brief story of their childhood.

        “Your brother really was in the ’63 airport attack.” Walee pulled up some files on her tablet. “I’m really sorry.”

        “Why are you sorry? It’s not like you’re involved.”

        “Do you think your brother was abducted and brainwashed by the you-know-who behind the attack?”

        “Could be.” Suwan shrugged. “I thought of that. Either that or he’s been blown to bits that his body couldn’t be pieced back together. I thought of that as well.”

        The two sat in Suwan’s parlor with cans of beer and a plate of chips. The partygoers left a long while ago, and the penthouse was dead quiet.

        “You should spend the night here. It’s too late to go anywhere.” Suwan stared at the now-empty plate of chips.

        “I should.” She replied, then shut her tablet’s screen and leaned on the sofa with her eyes closed. “I wonder if your brother secretly made it to Neo-Tokyo.”

        “He’d have contacted me. I trust him. There are a lot of things I can’t trust, but I know that if he’s safe, he’d at least leave some kind of message before going AWOL for twenty-two damn years.” He stood up and grabbed the empty cans of beer, then threw it into the trash tube. “Either he’s not himself anymore, or something’s keeping him.”

        “You don’t know it with sons. Once they spread their wings, they disappear your life for good. All my male cousins were like that.”

        “Hey, at least I’m pretty sure my brother isn’t that type.” Suwan pouted.

        “Boss,” Walee stretched on the sofa, “there are things about the airport case that the higher ups are hiding us.”

        “Why do you think so?”

        “It may be one of the smaller airports, but it was an airport with international flights. Maybe, there is some kind of inner politics at work here.”

        “Just like the Memorial Hospital bombing?”

        “Yes.”

        “Huh. How do you plan to extract that information, then?”

        “I have ways. But I need your help as well.”

        Suwan stared at Walee. She had permanent circles around her eyes that she never bothered hiding. He admired her dedication to her job.

        “Oh, Walee, what would I do without you?”

        “You’re capable, but with me around, you just don’t muster the energy.”

        “How do you know?”

        Walee did not answer. She got up and went inside his pleasure room (or guest room, as he called it) to grab a change of clothes and a shower. She heard a knock as she soaped.

        “The hairdryer is broken. I’m leaving mine outside the door. Dry your hair before going to bed. I changed the sheets. You know how to close the see-through screen, right?”

        “Yeah.”

        “Good night, then. Or should I say, good morning.”

        “Whichever one works, boss. It’s just a greeting.”

        Suwan left with a laugh.

        23^rd March, 2086. Morning.

        “I didn’t know you were acquainted with someone the special force!”

        Suwan’s voice echoed in the room. Walee gave him a good jab to the side.

        “I moved departments frequently before coming to you.”

        Suwan said nothing in response, probably afraid of getting another jab. He watched as the person in front of them plugged some cords into their temples and neck, then stared blankly at the screen in front.

        “I can’t imagine myself doing something like .” Suwan watched as the screen changed. Multiple instances of ‘Access Granted’ appeared, but the exact content was not shown. “What’re they doing?”

        “Accessing the database.” The person spoke up. “It’s going to be difficult here on out, but you two came to the right person. I’ll pull some stuff I found onto the screen.”

        “Thanks a bunch.” Suwan had hands on his hips. “…What the heck? The names are censored.”

        “That’s why I said it’s going to be difficult. I won’t be talking for a while, but rest assured that I’m still alive. If I start getting seizures, please yank the cords out.”

        “What the heck? Aren’t you some kind of top class…? And…they’re out. Huh.”

        The two watched as the agent pulled multiple tabs onto the large screen in front of them.

        “ looks worse than the number of tabs on my browser.” Suwan scanned the contents. “The airport bombing is connected to an underground group…with connections to the current regime.”

        “Makes sense, considering the attack happened during the transitory period. We just weren’t given any evidence.” Walee touched her chin. “Look. name comes up a lot, boss. Though it’s not connected to the airport bombing.”

        “Madame Butterfly?”

        “It’s an opera. I think you’d be more familiar with Miss Saigon, or maybe Sao Krua Fah.”

        “Oh, right, Madame Butterfly is the original one. If I’m not mistaken, one of the agents belonging to Langka also goes by the codename Madame Butterfly.”

        “Langka is not the group behind bombing, though, at least according to these documents.”

        “The group responsible for the attack, the very same people behind the current regime, used to be Langka’s rival. I’m not too sure what’s going on here, but we have some leads.” Suwan sighed. “One problem, though. If I dig too deep into , I risk putting myself up for arrest.”

        “I will try to bail you out.”

        “Enemies of the current regime cannot be bailed out. Don’t you know how many of them starved to death in prison? Ugh, makes me shudder.”

        “Then we should be investigating in secret. Good.”

        “Yeah, good.” Suwan sighed. “If you want to bail out, now’s your chance.”

        “Why would I?”

        The man thought for a while, then shrugged.