The Taste of Copper

Aki stood where the vending machine had swallowed Denji. The glass was intact now, the neon drinks inside glowing like patient eyes. The pavement held no trace of blood, no cracked coin return. It was as if Denji had never existed. "I told you he was bait," Power said, appearing at his elbow with a smug grin. She held a green apple, which she crunched with theatrical satisfaction. "You should be grateful. I took notes on how he screamed—his voice cracked on the second syllable. Very useful for future devils." Aki didn't answer. He was watching the vending machine's reflection in a nearby puddle. It was wrong—the rows of canned coffee and juice didn't match the machine behind them. In the reflection, a single slot read "35% Blood Blend" in letters that bled down the glass. "We're going in." "Excellent!" Power tossed the apple core over her shoulder. "I will claim credit for rescuing him from the evil rectangle of thirst. Then I will make him bow to me." Aki knelt, pressing his palm to the concrete. The surface was cold, but beneath it he felt a pulse—slow, thick, like a heartbeat through wet sand. He pulled out his coin. A single yen piece, warm to the touch. "You're not actually going to buy something?" Power asked, her grin faltering. "That's how he vanished." "I'm not buying." Aki slid the coin into the slot. The machine emitted a low hum that vibrated up his arm. "I'm paying for information." The coin clinked inside. The display flickered, then a can dropped into the tray. It was dented, its label peeling. Aki picked it up. The metal was slick with condensation that smelled like rust and old pennies. He turned it over. There was no brand name, no barcode—just a single phrase scratched into the side: *WHAT IS YOUR OFFER?* "Clever," Power said, her nose wrinkling. "The machine wants to trade. Like a devil, but rectangular and full of expired juice." Aki cracked the can open. The liquid inside was black, with a surface that shimmered like oil. He didn't drink it. He poured it onto the ground. The pavement hissed. The blood—because that's what it was, old and thick and clotting—formed a perfect circle. Inside that circle, the reflected vending machine twisted. Its glass became a mouth lined with rows of metal caps. A voice, thin and tinny, rose from the drain in the concrete. "The bait was satisfactory. The chainsaw boy had strong teeth. He bit my cans before I swallowed him." Power drew her hammer. "That's mine. I was going to bite him first." Aki held up a hand. "Where is he? Give him back, or I'll find your true form and drive a nail through it." The machine laughed. It sounded like cans rattling in a paper bag. "He's in the inventory. With the expired goods, the dead batteries, the dreams of drunks. He's asking for a refund. I don't do refunds. I do exchanges." The circle of blood began to shrink. Aki grabbed Power's wrist and stepped into it just as the pavement gave way. They fell for a long time. The world smelled of processed sugar and coolant. When they landed, it was inside a vending machine—a massive, hollow space lined with rows and rows of identical drinks. Each can had a tiny face pressed against its silver skin, mouths opening and closing like fish. Denji was on his knees in the center, holding a severed hand. It wasn't his. It was still wearing a black glove, fingers twitching. "Oh, hey," Denji said, looking up with wide eyes. "You guys came. Good. This thing's customer service is garbage. I asked for a cola and it gave me Aki's hand." Power burst out laughing. "He's already lost body parts! I told you this mission was perfect for him." Aki stared at the hand. It was his. Same scar on the index finger. Same kata on the middle knuckle from a fight two years ago. He checked his own hands. Both still there. But his left hand was cold. Numb. "It's not your hand yet," the machine's voice boomed, making the metal walls shudder. "Not until I take it. I'm patient. I have eternity. And you have exactly one coin left between the three of you." The floor tilted. Cans rolled toward a grate in the center. Somewhere below, a grinding sound started.