The Kaiju Cult traced its roots to prehistoric Japan. Never popular, the infamous cult gnawed at the fringes of Japanese society, and due to reasonable and necessary persecution was sometimes forced to erect their unholy shrines and conduct their terrible rites on distant islands, far from decent society. During the Shogunate era members of the cult were hunted and executed as a matter of law; members were considered too dangerous to live. Several times the cult was believed to have been hunted to extinction, only to resurface repeatedly, and always they announced themselves with the arrival of terrible, gigantic monsters and fearsome, deadly attacks.
Since the death of his parents in a car accident as a child, Hanzo Ueda lived with his grandfather, a quirky old man who one day revealed to his grandson that he was not the kindly manager of a local supermarket, though he worked there every day, but the secret leader of the ancient and persecuted Kaiju Cult. Hanzo’s grandfather regaled the boy with tales of giant monsters rampaging through the countryside, submerging the navies of entire kingdoms, and attacking cities with the ferocity a thousand atomic bombs. Hanzo learned that such destructive monsters should not be contained, that the monsters were possessed of the primal power of entropy, breeding chaos and disorder. To rebel against such monsters was to rebel against the essence of the universe and the truth of reality. Those who opposed the Kaiju Cult opposed the natural and supernatural; they resisted Ya, the arrow of time.
As a young boy Hanzo accompanied his grandfather to Kaiju Cult gatherings at various sites throughout suburban Tokyo, but as his grandfather became sick, these trips stopped. Hanzo found himself working at the supermarket where his grandfather used to be manager, working as a cashier to support them both. It was a difficult time: Hanzo’s grandfather spent ten years dying, and what little money Hanzo made went directly towards his grandfather’s medical bills with the rest paying for the low rent apartment they shared and what little food they could afford.
Hanzo discovered the books and the map among his grandfather’s belongings after the traditional (and false) Shinto funeral Hanzo arranged, at great expense, when his grandfather finally succumbed to cancer. Hanzo was now terribly alone, with ample time on his hands, but no friends to speak of and no real prospects for a future. He was twenty-six years old and already he felt his life was over. So he worked his cashiering job in a fog and studied his grandfather’s books with fervor when he had time off.
The books were hand made copies of ancient Kaiju Cult scrolls that had long ago been consigned to the flames during one of the many unsuccessful attempts to purge the unwanted religion from existence by people and governments too ignorant to understand. Within the books were written the tales of the Kaiju Cult his grandfather had related to Hanzo as a child, and the special relationship the cult had with the Neboukichan, gigantic, ancient monsters that had fallen from the skies in prehistoric times.
Reading the books taught Hanzo much about the Kaiju Cult. The books contained detailed descriptions of how to first locate and then activate the Neboukichan for unbelievable destruction. The books detailed the means by which the leader of the Kaiju Cult could cultivate within himself the means by which to direct the Neboukichan, at least as much as such primal forces of destruction could be directed, and set about their deadly purpose. Hanzo learned of the Hakaisha, a prophesied figure who would one day lead the Kaiju Cult to their ultimate goal: The destruction of the world.
Alone in his empty apartment, Hanzo one day became convinced that he was the Hakaisha.
The map Hanzo had discovered marked the location of the eight sleeping Neboukichan. These monsters, said to have been carved from a single sky stone by an insane god, were buried deep underground and were forgotten by all but the Kaiju Cult. There the Neboukichan slumbered, waiting for the day when the Hakaisha would arrive and wake them, that they might begin to destroy all the works of man.
So it was that early one Saturday morning Hanzo boarded the Yamanote train at Shinjuku Station dressed in flowing black robes, carrying a long, hooked black staff from which dangled a series of shiny golden cymbals, which jingled as he moved. The staff had belonged to his grandfather. He had a canvas book bag at his side, bulging with herbs, stones, gems and various pieces of plants and animals. Despite his unusual dress no one paid him much attention. He rode the train in silence, too absorbed in his thoughts to meet the eyes of his fellow passengers.
An older man, a fellow train passenger, tugged at Hanzo’s robe. Hanzo reluctantly squinted at the man, acknowledging him. “Yes?”
“Are you a character?” asked the smiling old man, “from a manga?”
Hanzo did not want to answer, but his grandfather had taught him to respect the elderly, so he lied, “Yes.”
The old man nodded and smiled, apparently satisfied. Hanzo again withdrew into his own thoughts.
From the train Hanzo walked to the bus and used his green and white Suica card. The bus driver gave him a quick smile and said, “You’re running late. The rest of your people have been arriving all morning.”
“My people?” asked Hanzo, confused.
“Yeah,” said the bus driver, “people in robes like yours.”
Hanzo gave the driver a quizzical look but said nothing. The driver shrugged his shoulders, closed the bus door and drove. Hanzo sat quietly, and checked his notebook to make sure he did not miss his stop. He need not have worried. In the parking lot of a Circle K convenience store were gathered nearly one hundred men and women, dressed in black robes. In a panic Hanzo scootched down in his seat, hiding.
The driver stopped the bus and turned to Hanzo. “Here’s your stop, sir.”
Hanzo wanted the driver to close the door and keep moving, but the driver simply stared at him, holding the door open and keeping the bus idling. “I have many more stops to complete, sir.”
Hanzo felt the eyes of the other passengers on him. Reluctantly Hanzo rose and exited the bus. He was now facing nearly one hundred people dressed almost exactly like him. The door to the bus closed and the bus drove off. Hanzo planted his staff and the cymbals chimed, embarrassing him. The crowd, men and women with slushies and snack foods in hand, were all staring at him, and his staff. Traffic continued in and out of the Circle K parking lot, but no one in robes moved. Hanzo realized that he was the only person with a staff as the cymbals chimed in the wind.
An older man stepped from the crowd. “Mr. Ueda? You might remember me, I am Mr. Mabuki.” At Hanzo’s blank stare Mr. Mabuki continued, “I knew your grandfather.”
“What is happening?” Hanzo asked, his voice low, “What is going on?”
“We are here, Mr. Ueda, to help you awaken the Neboukichan,” said Mr. Mabuki, “We are the Kaiju Cult.”
Walter Watanabe woke up in his lab at five in the morning. He had fallen asleep in an uncomfortable chair, and stretched his back cautiously. He checked his watch and noted that he had been asleep for twenty minutes. Walter checked the progress on the project he had been working on long into the night. A robotic arm was carefully placing artificial gems, one after another, into the chamber of an energy displacement weapon. The weapon was then test fired and the burned out gem removed and evaluated automatically. All the tests so far were negative; no gem seemed to have the perfect mix of qualities necessary for the weapon to approximate the power and precision of a Wonder Gauntlet.
Walter stretched his arms, audibly cracked the joints in his neck and rose from his chair. He left the lab and took the elevator to the fifty-fifth floor, where he maintained his dojo. The elevator opened and revealed Master Kim, a Korean martial artist Walter had hired to instruct him in the finer points of GiCheon, a relatively obscure open handed combat system. Kim had two coffees in hand.
“No, thank you, Master Kim,” said Walter to the proffered coffee, “I avoid stimulants.”
Master Kim smiled and drank deeply from his cup. In heavily accented Japanese the Korean man said, “It’s from your commissary. Very good coffee. I’m useless in the morning without it.”
It was five past five. “Shall we proceed?” asked Walter; he disliked wasting time.
Master Kim was being paid very well for his time here, so he was disposed to humor Mr. Watanabe’s eccentricities. After some quick formalities Master Kim began his instruction.
Two hours later Walter Watanabe exited the elevator at the top floor of his building he had designed, the tallest in Tokyo. He was showered and wearing an Armani suit, smiling politely at the workers that staffed his office. Breakfast awaited him at his desk; he checked his stock price and his email as he ate. At quarter past seven he began his meetings.
Walter’s people knew that the meetings had to be kept short, and information had to be delivered in as quick and concise a form as possible. He was a very generous employer who demanded a lot from his people and usually got it.
A middle aged man stood nearby reading off a computer pad. The man had once worked for Walter’s father, and Walter knew him to be extremely loyal, if unimaginative. “Trejo Industrial says that the specifications for the servos you ordered are too exacting for their equipment, sir. They’re projecting a 65% failure rate.”
Walter frowned. “I designed their equipment, they’re not using it right. The failure rate should be closer to 20%.” Walter spun his seat around and looked out the window.
“I told them that sir.”
Walter rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Very well. Buy Trejo Industrial, fire the board, and get some of our people on site to oversee manufacturing. We’ll shoot for 5% failure and settle for 10.”
“Yes, sir.” The man left Walter’s office, already using his earpiece to make the calls that would ultimately bring Trejo Industrial under Walter Watanabe’s complete control.
A young Russian woman, Walter’s press secretary, stepped forward and without any introductions said, “The following media have requested interviews…”
Walter cut her off. “No interviews.” He knew what they wanted to ask him, and he had no interest in discussing his failure months ago to be chosen by the gauntlets to become a Wonder Hero.
“Oh,” said the woman, swiping the computer pad in her hand to send a series of denials to those requesting interviews. “Also there is your publisher wondering about the timeline on the new book.”
“No new book,” said Walter brusquely, “Return the advance, with penalties and interest.”
“This will make waves in the media…” frowned the press secretary, who suddenly found herself with nothing to do: If her boss was not going to deal with the press, why have a press secretary?
“I’m sure it will,” said Walter, “Let them talk. Anything else?”
She shook her head. “No sir.”
Walter tapped the keys of his laptop as his next meeting was conducted. He just had an idea for streamlining the coding in his AI project, an idea that might save billions of calculations a second if it could be implemented, and was sending it to his design team.
“Our investigators have finished their reports, and we’ve compiled them into a series of briefings.” Walter’s head of security, a former military intelligence officer from Australia, laid a small pile of thin file folders on Walter’s desk. Walter looked at the folders, but never stopped typing his idea to the AI department.
“Impressions?”
“Not much there,” said the Australian, “They’re all relatively young, so no real skeletons, except one.”
Walter sent his email and picked up the top file. It was labeled “Theodore Studebaker.” Walter paged through the file, reading quickly. A smile threatened the edge of his lips but he did not allow it to blossom.
“Okay,” said Walter, “that’s interesting.” He pushed aside the files on Jay and Kalomo, and picked up Susan’s file. “What about her?”
The head of security shrugged. “Absent father, mother has a DUI, one serious boyfriend in high school, top of her class everywhere, Olympics, no secrets. What you see is what you get.”
Walter stood and breezed through the information about Susan Daystrom before becoming a Wonder Hero. He slowed down slightly as he read her psych profile, and ran various scenarios through his mind. When he finished he tossed the file onto the desk and looked out the window and at his world, spread out before him.
As Walter watched, far in the distance there was an explosion, and a plume of smoke. Walter checked his watch, accessing a satellite view of the explosion.
Walter turned to the rest of his employees. “The meeting is over, everyone. Check with my secretary to reschedule.”
The room cleared and Walter opened a door in his office that lead to a vault. The vault was biologically coded to Walter alone. The only other people on Earth who might have a chance of accessing the contents were the Wonder Heroes, but Walter suspected even they might be stymied by the security he had developed.
Inside the vault was Walter’s greatest invention, Domaru, the closest thing to Wonder Armor ever developed on Earth. For the first time that day, Walter allowed himself to smile.
Hanzo Ueda stared into the sky, the sun eclipse by a Neboukichan, a monster that stood over ten stories tall. The monster was roughly humanoid, and gave the appearance of having been carved from a single, gigantic piece of dark granite. When the creature rose, digging itself out from below cold earth, Hanzo saw the creature’s rock hard granite-like exterior move and flex as if alive. The Neboukichan had markings carved into its body, ornate alien symbols and ancient scrollwork that glowed with a faint blue-white color from within. It was the coolest thing Hanzo had ever seen in his life.
Now the creature stood immobile. Since erupting from the ground the creature had done nothing but stand up, but the Circle K convenience store, which minutes before had been doing a booming business due to the unexpected arrival of the robed cultists, had been reduced to mere rubble, and the unfortunate clerks buried alive.
Mr. Mabuki stood next to Hanzo, more amazed than anyone at the appearance of the Neboukichan. “Unbelievable,” he said allowed to no one in particular.
“It is so beautiful,” said Hanzo, staring up at the creature, imagining its power.
“Modesty,” said Mr. Mabuki, recalling the Kaiju Cult tales he had learned as a boy. “Its name is Modesty, the first of the Neboukichan.”
For the last ten years, since his grandfather became sick and Hanzo left school to support him, Hanzo had felt small, anxious, and weak, but that was all changed now. As he and the rest of the Kaiju Cult stood in the shadow of Modesty, Hanzo felt truly calm for the first time in his life. He stared into the face of the monster, passive yet stern, like the heads of Easter Island, and reached deep inside himself for the right command.
Of course there was really only one command. After a life of sadness and disappointment, Hanzo now possessed the power to balance the scales. One word and one word only came to mind as Hanzo smiled and raised his hands.
“Destroy!”
His followers cheered, and Hanzo felt emboldened, their excitement became his power. “Destroy it all!” screamed Hanzo, feeding off the Kaiju Cult, feeding off his followers.
Modesty responded by dropping open its enormous mouth and letting out a low moan, so deep it shook the ground and so loud Hanzo had to cover his ears. Car alarms blared and windows shattered. The Kaiju Cultists scattered as the monster took a gigantic step, destroying what little was left of the Circle K. Modesty then continued to take step after step, on a direct course for central Tokyo. Smiling, Hanzo clambered to the top of the rubble left in the monster’s wake, and watched it saunter forward on a path of death and destruction.
“Our next stop is fifteen miles away!" announced Hanzo loudly, addressing his followers, who were both frightened and mesmerized by the miracle. Most had never truly believed this was possible, but still his followers cheered.
“We have only awakened Modesty,” continued Hanzo, “There are seven more keys to the passing of this world! Seven more Neboukichan to activate!”
As his followers cheered, Mr. Mabuki led Hanzo to a small red car. The older man pulled keys from his pocket and flashed a smile. “I’ll drive.”
The Japanese National Guard was still mobilizing as Modesty climbed a small embankment and stepped onto a major thoroughfare, leaving it up to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Force to mount an uncoordinated and completely ineffectual resistance. SWAT teams found their special weapons and tactics useless in the face of such an enemy. The creature ignored the bullets and people, seemingly content to cause property damage. Modesty kicked abandoned vehicles out of the way and tore down signs and towers as it walked, step by inexorable step towards downtown Tokyo.
Modesty did pause to consider a vehicle flying towards it at twice the speed of sound. The vehicle was bright violet in color, with a metallic finish, and shaped flat and round as if it were all wings and no fuselage. Silently it approached, the roar of its powerful engines left far behind in its supersonic wake. The vehicle was known in Japan and throughout the world as the Violet Wing, a powerful weapon in the arsenal of Walter Watanabe.
The gigantic granitoid creature opened its mouth, and began to emit its low, sonorous hum, when the flying wing suddenly fired two missiles that soared forward on plumes of white hot smoke and slammed into the creatures maw, exploding with sky rending force, causing Modesty to stagger backwards and fall clumsily.
Flat on its back, the creature watched as the Violet Wing soared past and then the sky filled with the sound of multiple sonic booms that caused the craft’s billowing exhaust smoke to dance and curl in response. Something fell from the wing, a small human figure, violet in color and violent in action. The figure landed on Modesty’s chest and brought down a fist with a shout of “Hai!” so loud that it was hard to tell if it was the punch or the yell that cracked the granite-like exterior of the monster.
On the chest of the fallen monster Modesty, Walter Watanabe smiled and stood tall. Smoke still rose from the creature’s mouth where the missiles had destroyed its vocal weaponry. His punch had cracked the creature’s armor. He bent his legs and jumped, his boot jets activated and he soared high into the air, then he brought his targeting computers on-line and redirected himself, pounding his fist into the chest of the creature. This time the granite exterior began to chip away, and Walter could see more of the glowing blue-white quartz-like material beneath.
Walter contacted the Violet Wing, his remote controlled combat plane, and instructed it to lock two more missiles on the creature. With Modesty’s exterior damaged, Walter was confident that his missiles would now be able to penetrate inside and kill the monster.
Suddenly five flashes of multicolored light surrounded Walter, and he frowned. The Wonder Heroes had arrived from America, too late to be of any use in this battle, but just in time to take credit.
“Back away, Wonder Heroes!” screamed Walter, diving off the monster. “Missiles incoming!”
Walter activated his boot jets and took to the sky, and the recently arrived Wonder Heroes cart wheeled and jumped clear as the missiles struck the creature in the chest with teeth rattling force.
Walter landed in the center of the street some distance away from the smoking remains of the creature. Two satellites, privately owned by the Watanabe Corporation were scanning the area, confirming what his armor’s sensors were already telling him: the creature was finished. Behind Walter the Wonder Heroes were grouping together, so he turned to face them.
“I appreciate your efforts, Wonder Heroes,” said Walter, “but it looks like the threat has already been eliminated.”
Matt was receiving updates from the Wonder Base Computer, confirming that the creature was indeed destroyed. He stepped forward and shook Walter’s hand. “Nice work.”
Walter could see Matt’s face through the Wonder Helmet’s faceplate, something everyone thought could only be done by another Wonder Hero, but Walter had long ago figured out how that particular trick was done, and had incorporated the ability into his sensor systems. As a result, Walter judged from Matt’s expression that his words were a bit insincere. Walter said, “It’s the duty of every Japanese citizen to protect his country.”
Matt nodded. Walter had chosen his words well. The United Nations mandate that allowed the Wonder Heroes to combat extraterrestrial threats anywhere they might happen on the Earth also allowed each country a measure of sovereignty in dealing with the attack. The exact amount of sovereignty was open to debate and often decided long after the threat had been dealt with.
Theodore stepped forward and shook Walter’s hand. Wonder Hero Gold had retracted his Wonder Helmet, and wore a big goofy grin. “Mr. Watanabe? I’m Theodore Studebaker. It’s an honor to meet you sir. I’m a really big fan.”
Walter smiled at Theodore’s sincerity. “The honor is all mine,” he replied, “I’ve read a lot about you.”
Theodore nodded. “All good, I hope.”
Walter nodded noncommittally and shook hands with Kalomo and Jay. To Jay he said, “I know your father, James Parker. He’s one of my biggest competitors in the emerging technology fields.”
Jay laughed. “He’d be glad to hear that you consider his company competition, given how easily you undercut him on the European EDS contracts.”
Walter nodded and greeted Susan Daystrom. He had not counted on meeting her so soon, but during combat with the creature he understood that this was a possibility, so he quickly recalled all he had read in her file. He started by lifting the faceplate of his armor, so that she could see his face.
“Susan Daystrom. It’s an honor to meet you.” Walter took her hand, shook it, and held onto it for maybe a second too long.
Susan pulled her hand away, but was charmed nonetheless. Even with the goofy purple armor, she had to admit that Walter Watanabe was very cute. “Mr. Watanabe.”
“Call me Walter, please.” As Susan nodded, Walter said, “I read your paper ‘Dynamic Balance in Bipedal Robotics.’ Some of your ideas were very helpful when I redesigned my armor.”
This caught Susan off guard. “Really? I wrote that paper with three other people…”
“Then maybe I should be thanking them, instead…”
“Oh no, you can thank me,” said Susan.
With his visor up, Walter could no longer see the human faces behind the Wonder Helmets, but he knew that Susan was smiling. “Then I will. Thank you.”
Kalomo pointed towards another plume of brown smoke rising into the clean blue Tokyo sky. “Uh-oh. I think we have another one.”
As they watched, a second alien creature rose from the ground.
“Okay everybody, let’s go handle this thing.” Matt turned as Walter slapped his visor back in place. “Walter, if you want to join us, fine, but you my follow orders, got it?”
“Agreed,” said Walter, though he truly felt the Wonder Heroes superfluous, he wanted to stay on Susan’s good side.
Together the six heroes shot across the Tokyo sky towards the second Neboukichan.
Hanzo was very disappointed. He and his followers had performed the ritual, said the prayers, planted the gems and activated the second Neboukichan, called Innocence, only to watch through a pair of stolen binoculars as Walter Watanabe, wearing the armor the press called Domaru, easily destroyed Modesty.
The ground shook as the second Neboukichan dug its way upwards towards light and freedom above ground. Mr. Mabuki stood by Hanzo’s side. “We should hurry, and activate the rest of the Neboukichan. He cannot destroy them all.”
As Hanzo watched, the Wonder Heroes appeared, and were engaging Watanabe in conversation. Hanzo shook his head. “No. It would be a waste. The Wonder Heroes have arrived. Our Neboukichan don’t stand a chance if we raise each one alone.”
Hanzo regarded the older man, who scowled at Hanzo’s hesitation. “The power of the Neboukichan is geometric,” explained Hanzo, “One is one, but two is four, and three are twelve.”
“Our duty is to raise the Neboukichan...” said Mr. Mabuki.
“And we will,” said Hanzo, thinking fast, “but we must raise them all together, gather them in one place…”
Mr. Mabuki was becoming angry. “Impossible. If we move fast we may be able to activate two more before the authorities stop us.” Mr. Mabuki took out his car keys. He raised his voice to the assembled members of the Kaiju Cult. “We must move on to the next location!”
Hanzo smiled. He handed the binoculars off to one of the cult members, a cute Goth girl with tattoos running up her arms who had been staying close by Hanzo for a while now. Hanzo suspected that she wished him to notice her, and had decided to play it cool.
“All my life,” said Hanzo aloud, grabbing the attention of the assembled cult members, “All my life I have wondered what my purpose was. I was a loser. No good at sports, no good in school, I was bullied by my classmates, my teachers, even my parents, before they died. I work at a crappy job catering to people who look down on me, people who make in one day what I make in two weeks.”
Hanzo tried to ignore the girl with his stolen binoculars staring at him as he continued, “I will suffer this no more. We have a chance, now, to overturn the world, to unleash the forces of chaos and destruction. To serve and honor the entropic principles upon which our religion is based, to strike with Time’s Arrow at the heart of all creation!”
Hanzo paused, and smiled. The Kaiju Cult was hanging on his every word, enraptured by his command of their principles and writings. “To accomplish this, we must do two things. We must all be patient,” Hanzo looked at the crowd, and saw them nodding in agreement, “and you must all follow me.” Hanzo turned to Mr. Mabuki and reached out his hand. “Give me your car keys.”
“What? Why?” Mr. Mabuki protested even as he placed the keys into Hanzo’s outstretched hand. Behind Hanzo the gigantic monster, Innocence, broke through the ground and crawled from the Earth. The dark granite monster stood tall, towering ten stories over their heads. Like Modesty, the monster bore alien markings and designs, but markings that glowed with a soft orange rather than blue-white light. It was awaiting a command.
Hanzo handed Mr. Mabuki the map. “When the Wonder Heroes arrive, allow yourself to be captured. Confess to everything, but tell them nothing, and never mention the Kaiju Cult. Tell them you work alone. Let them interpret the map and gather the Neboukichan in one place for us. Then, when the time is right, I will gather the followers, and we shall call forth the remaining six.”
Hanzo turned to the girl with the tattooed arms. “What is your name?”
“Junko Mabuki.”
Hanzo turned to Mr. Mabuki, and stated, rather than asked, “She’s your daughter?”
“Yes,” said the older man quietly.
Hanzo smiled. “Junko, come with me.” Hanzo walked towards the small red car, and he knew that Junko followed without having to look back. Some of the Kaiju Cult members were unsure of how to react. They looked back and forth between Mr. Mabuki and Hanzo. Hanzo smiled, opened the door to his new car, pointed to the giant monster Innocence, and said, “Kill the Wonder Heroes!”
In response Innocence opened its mouth and roared a tone so low and tremorous that the humans in the area felt their teeth rattle in their jaws. Hanzo’s command of the creature convinced even those with the deepest doubts: Hanzo Ueda was the Hakaisha, the prophesied leader of the Kaiju Cult who would destroy the world.
As the Wonder Heroes arrived alongside Walter Watanabe, the Kaiju Cult members scattered, divesting themselves of their ceremonial robes and dispersing back into their lives and the world. In seconds there was no way to tell the cultists from any other civilian fleeing for safety in the wake of multiple giant monster attacks. Only Mr. Mabuki stayed behind, holding the ceremonial staff, its cymbals ringing in the breeze, his black robe still in place. He waited to be noticed, and arrested.
Though Innocence was powerful, the combined efforts of the Wonder Heroes and Walter Watanabe brought the monster down in seconds. Hanzo smiled. When next these heroes met the Neboukichan, things would go very differently.
Hanzo turned to Junko and said, “I’m starving. What do you want to eat?”
“That,” said Junko, touching Hanzo’s hand and sending an electrifying thrill through his body, “is for the Hakaisha to decide.”
Instantly, Hanzo was in love.