2 a.m. Change

The street lamp buzzed like a dying fly. Denji jingled the coins in his palm, squinting at the vending machine’s glowing buttons. It was a perfectly ordinary machine—glass front, rows of cans and bottles, a coin slot that looked hungry. “You sure this is bait?” he asked, not for the first time. “I mean, if a devil’s gonna jump out, it’d probably pick something with more flash. Like a hot dog stand.” Aki didn’t answer. He stood ten feet back, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the machine’s reflection in a nearby puddle. The glass of the vending machine showed the street behind him—empty, still. But the reflection in the puddle… the glass showed a different angle. A figure standing closer. Watching. “Just buy something,” Aki said, his voice flat. “And don’t look back.” Denji shrugged, feeding a hundred-yen coin into the slot. The machine hummed, accepting. He pressed the button for a cola. There was a clunk, a rattle—then nothing. No can dropping into the tray. “Hey, it ate my money!” He smacked the glass. “Oi, give it back!” Aki’s eyes narrowed. The reflection in the puddle was moving wrong. The glass of the machine should have mirrored the street, but the figure—no, the shapes—they didn’t match the positions of the lampposts or the trash cans. They shifted, sliding sideways like oil on water. And they were getting closer. “Denji,” Aki said, low and sharp. “Step away from the machine.” “What? No, I’m not losing a hundred yen to some—” “Now.” Denji turned, saw Aki’s face, and froze. Aki wasn’t looking at Denji. He was looking at the glass of the vending machine. Denji followed his gaze. The reflection showed a row of faces. Pressed against the inside of the glass, like cans on a shelf. Smiling. Their mouths stretched too wide, teeth overlapping. They were all looking at Denji. “Oh,” Denji said. “That’s not normal.” The machine’s lights flickered. The coin slot spat out a single, blood-wet coin. It clattered onto the pavement, rolling in a slow circle. Aki reached for his sword. “Don’t pick it up.” But Denji was already bending. “It’s my money, man. I earned that—” His fingers touched the coin. The glass of the machine shattered outward, and the faces came with it. There was no scream. Just a wet, tearing sound, and then the street was empty again. The vending machine stood whole, untouched, its lights steady. A single can of cola sat in the tray. Aki stood alone, sword drawn, breath ragged. The puddle was still. The reflection showed only his own face—pale, exhausted, and very, very tired. From a rooftop above, Power sat cross-legged, watching. She grinned, fangs glinting. “Told Makima I’d solve it first. Now where’s my reward?”