Data Runner by Sam A. Patel

So ,” I answer
    â€œ So ka? ” he sings. “ Nihongo o hanashimasu ka? ”
    To the question ‘ you speak Japanese? ’ I responded in the affirmative. “ Chyoto ,” I add. A little .
    â€œ Subarashii! ” he says in a way that can only be sarcastic. “That is wonderful. You Aves are getting smarter with every new flock.”
    I am in trouble. There is no question about it. I am in deep, deep trouble. I can’t even scan the train for options because the big one is blocking my view.
    â€œThat is Gendo,” he says, referring to the mountain standing before me, “and you may call me Mr. Ito.”
    â€œI’m not carrying anything,” I blurt. The moment the words leave my mouth I realize how desperate it sounds.
    â€œNo?” Mr. Ito shakes his head mockingly like an adult toying with a child. “Okay, then. I guess Ito and Gendo leave you alone.”
    Everyone else has either exited the car or is standing by the far doors waiting to get off at the next station. They don’t know what’s going down, and they don’t want to know. They just want to be off the train. I just want to be off the train.
    Mr. Ito throws open his coat.
    â€œOh, no!”
    â€œOh, yes!”
    Strapped to the inside of his coat is a katana.
    Mr. Ito twirls it around the back of his hand and raises it to his downturned eyes. Slowly he pulls the steel from its sheath. Meticulously. Keeping a perfect line as he stares me down over the edge of the blade.
    â€œWhat the hell is that for?” I press my back to the door, as if I don’t already know.
    Mr. Ito smiles. It is a gangster’s smile, offered strictly for his own amusement. “This,” he catches my reflection in the blade, “this is not for making ice cream.” He pauses for drama like a bad actor. “Not I scream,” he finishes, “this is for making you scream.”
    My mind starts racing. Best-case scenario—I come out of this a cripple.
    Gendo grabs hold of my arm and pulls me off my feet. The next thing I know, I am on the floor of the train turning my body into his hold. The more he twists, the more I turn. I have to. It’s the only way to keep him from breaking my arm. But even getting my arm broken would be preferable to what Mr. Ito has in store for me, as Gendo extends it for him. Mr. Ito rotates the blade in his hand.
    â€œWait, that won’t work!” I yell over the screech of the train. “Cutting off my arm will only destroy the cargo. You won’t get anything.”
    The lights flicker.
    â€œ Get? ” Mr. Ito laughs. “Who says we want to get anything?”
    I have no idea what that means. I can’t even imagine it. My mind draws a complete blank. My heart thumps a mile a minute as Mr. Ito raises his sword.
    Then comes a girl’s voice. “Excuse me.”
    Gendo and Ito both turn, but from the floor of the train I can’t see past them.
    â€œDo you have the time?” she asks.
    Her voice is timid, almost childlike.
    â€œTime?” growls Mr. Ito. “This is the time for you to go away, little girl, before I cut you.”
    Mr. Ito turns his attention away from her and back to my arm as he lifts the blade high over his head. This is it , I think in a full-fledged panic. What a disaster. I’m going to get clipped on my very first run . Mr. Ito’s eyes go wide as his hands tighten around the grip. He clenches his teeth. The sword is ready to drop at any second. He tightens his hands even more, until they are too tight. Almost shaking. Shaking. And soon spittle flies out of his mouth. That’s when I know something is happening. Even Gendo wonders what is going on as he turns to see what Mr. Ito is doing.
    Then I hear the buzz, barely discernible over the noise of the train, but there nonetheless.
    Mr. Ito collapses onto his side with the sword still in his hands, revealing the girl in the black hoodie standing