July 12, 2101:
A Heavy rain was falling. The lightning painted the night sky in silver, blue. The Thunder shook the Yoshidas' home where Madoka, 17, was helping Takeshi, 10, get ready for bed.
"Are you brushing your teeth?" Madoka asked, standing outside the bathroom door.
"Mughyah." Takeshi responded with a mouth full of toothpaste.
"Have you washed your face?"
*spit* *spit* "Yes."
"Did you use soap?"
"uh huh."
"Madoka! Is Takeshi ready for bed yet?" Amaya shouted from the bottom of the steps.
"Almost, Mama."
Takeshi opened the bathroom door, the hair by his ears dripping wet and toothpaste smudged on either side of his mouth. Madoka chuckled to herself, took him by the hand, and led him back into the bathroom where she cleaned the sides of his mouth with a washcloth and dried his hair with a towel.
"You do this on purpose, don't you?"
"Do what?"
"Make my life difficult."
Takeshi smiled. "I would never."
Masahiro sat at his desk leafing through four small stacks of paper. Amaya walked into the study, brushing her hair. "Are you coming to bed any time soon?"
"I have to finish going through these notes. It will probably be another few hours."
"Okay. Well, I'm going to bed. Try not to be too much longer."
The Yoshida home went dark save for a single light burning in the downstairs, corner window. Masahiro glowed orange under the single tungsten bulb in his desk lamp. He scraped his pencil across lines of text, making notes on specific points in his opening speech. His court date was next week, and the defendant had the money to bury everything in litigation for decades to come. The pressure to start strong was immense; the DA himself had taken an interest in how Masahiro conducted himself on this case.
"Goodnight, Takeshi."
"Goodnight, Madoka."
"I love you, little man."
"I know." Takeshi said as he pulled his comforter up to his chin and closed his eyes.
As Madoka shut the door separating Takeshi and her room, a window breaking was heard downstairs. Takeshi jumped out from under his covers.
"Madoka, what was that?" Takeshi stood in the middle of his room--the lightning illuminating his face through his window; his eyes wide with fear. Madoka reentered the room almost reflexively.
A smoking barrel hovered over Masahiro's burst skull. A masked man put two more rounds into the near headless corpse; one in the throat, the other in the chest. A silenced pistol proceeded the assassin as he found the master bedroom and a sleeping Amaya. The dark window strobed light with three muffled shots.
"I don't know." Madoka said. "I'm sure it's just the storm, though."
A spray of bullets shattered the window and ripped into Madoka's elbow. A masked man swung through the broken glass. Madoka threw herself in front of Takeshi--her eyes reflecting acceptance of the situation. The assassin emptied the rest of his magazine into Madoka's back. She spat blood into Takeshi's face. The life in her eyes drained out of the wounds in her back.
"Madoka?" Takeshi wimpered. Time seemed to slow. The assassin replaced his magazine and trained his silenced MAC-11 on Takeshi.
"Madoka? Madoka?" Fear and sorrow suffocated Takeshi; he gasped for air as tears ran down his cheeks. His lungs burned. Then, nothing; something inside of him snapped. Rage engulfed him. shinigami appeared, kneeling next to Madoka and standing behind the assassin. Takeshi's muscles convulsed. He took Madoka's hand in his and sprung forward. Madoka's arm snapped at the elbow; the skin and tendons ripped and pulled from the joint. The assassin was just pulling the trigger as Takeshi shoved Madoka's arm through his face. The assassin and Takeshi fell out of the bedroom window.
A shinigami took Takeshi's hand and pulled him to his feet. The shinigami pointed toward the sliding glass door. Takeshi's gaze followed the ethereal finger toward the second assassin in the living room, staging his parents' bodies. The assassin dropped Takeshi's mother; her face slid across the carpeted floor.
"MAMA!" Takeshi's cry resonated like the thunder, shaking the house and startling the assassin. Takeshi sprinted forward; not even bothering to open the sliding door, he ran through the glass, sending shards cutting through the air, the walls, the furniture, and his own face. The assassin was able to empty four rounds into Takeshi's chest before Takeshi's fist crushed through his face.
Takeshi slumped to his knees, his chest pumping out his life's blood. The assassin's head stuck around Takeshi's fist. A shinigami knelt next to Takeshi;
"I know you don't understand now, but your death is necessary. Your family, a sacrifice for all humanity."
Takeshi fell forward. Dead.
