247 Iesp 458 Risa Murakami: Apart

“Agent Cole? Don’t be shy. I’ve been so lonely since Risa stopped playing.”

Then the microwave door swung open, and inside, where the turntable should have been, was a single photograph. A young woman. Same sharp bob. Same librarian glasses. But this one was smiling—a real smile, unforced, warm.

“Yuki lived here before me,” Risa said. “She died in 2011. IESP rated her a 458. But you don’t have a 458 scale, do you?” 247 IESP 458 Risa Murakami Apart

That’s how I ended up in Risa Murakami’s apartment at 3:00 AM.

“Level 247s don’t manifest physically,” I muttered, recording into my wrist mic. “Something’s off.” “Agent Cole

Written on the back in pen: “Yuki. 458. Don’t trust the apart.”

The file photo showed a woman in her late twenties: sharp bob, librarian glasses, a smile that looked more like a wince. Deceased eleven months. Cause of death: unknown. That was the first red flag. In the IESP, “unknown” usually means the victim figured out something they shouldn’t have. A young woman

“What mistake?”

My EMF reader didn’t spike. It flatlined. That was wrong. A 247 should rattle the dial like a maraca.

The lights went out. The last thing I saw was the sticky note on the fridge: Milk expires Tuesday.