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In This Shaken, Twisted World

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Teal harshly met black as Amon Koutarou felt his eyebrows knit even further in frustration.

This wasn’t the first time he had had a hard time interrogating someone. In fact, this was something a little too common when it came down to the criminals he usually hunted down. There were all kinds of them as well. From cocky, son of a bitch to shaking-like-a-leaf-pissing-my-pants scaredy cats to doesn’t-matter-what-you-do-to-me-I-ain’t-sayin’-shit diehards.

He dealt with a lot of non-talkers when it came to those involved in the underground cults known as ‘Gangs’.

Every city had one.

Didn’t matter if you were in New York, Beijing, Melbourne, or Jabooty. There was always at least a few groups per city, and Tokyo was no exception.

“I’m going to ask you again,” Amon started, voice full of venom. “Tell me everything.”

Black eyes only met his own with indifference, a ‘go fuck yourself’ indifference. “What is it that you’re trying to know?” His voice didn’t sound coy, but the tone wasn’t needed to let Amon know that was exactly what the white-haired boy had been indicating.

Amon slammed his hands on the table, leaning in close. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, you sick fuck!” He bellowed. “About Aogiri, Pierrot, every deal you associated with, about every person you murdered mercilessly and why! Everything!

“Amon-san.” A feminine, albeit deep voice came from behind the two ‘conversing’ males. “I think he has already made it a point that yelling won’t make him say anything.”

Akira Mado, Amon’s current partner and ruthless as she is beautiful. Her blue eyes were icy and she always had a neutral expression upon her face. Just like now, and it made Amon envy her coolheadedness.

I wouldn’t need to raise my voice if Eyepatch would actually speak! Amon wanted to growl, but he knew better than to raise his voice at his partner even if he outranked her. It was well known among their division that Akira’s sweet looks didn’t come with a just as sweet personality, and her tongue was scathing irritated or not. “Fine.” He directed his gaze back on ‘Eyepatch’. “I want you to tell me everything.”

Once again the two detectives were hit with silence as the boy’s one eye looked at the chalky white of the table his hands rested on.

“Kaneki-san,” Akira started softly, going for the empathetic approach of digging out the details. “I hope you know what you are looking at in terms of sentence. With your crimes, you’re looking at the death penalty.” Kaneki’s eye showed no hint of even listening to what the blonde woman was saying. “If you talk, not only will there be an easier workload for us in the testimony, but we can at least guarantee life in prison at best.”

“Life in a box?” Kaneki spoke up again. “Doesn’t sound like all that much of a deal if you want me to rat out my associates.”

Amon wanted to punch the gangster in the face. “It’s the Ritz compared to the Afterlife, don’t you think?” Akira asked wryly

“You tell me.” Came the reply. “No freedom is the same as death in my opinion.”

Amon couldn’t hold back any longer, “Well maybe you’d still have that freedom if you hadn’t associated yourself with the Tree to begin with.”

There was no immediate comeback and Amon guiltily felt a cruel sense of victory at that, but he quickly stomped out any guilty feelings he had. This was the Eyepatch, a hardened criminal well known to both the underground and innocent citizens living in Tokyo. He had murdered many during the time he wasn’t captured and even his debut to the cops was a surreal and giant moment of grandeur from a crime lord’s perspective.

The black-haired detective’s mind swarmed with faces– some familiar, some not. A majority of them had blood and guts spilled over them next. Pained whimpers begging for release from the injuries and last words asking if they were useful before passing on to the next life, wherever that was.

All because of the very man sitting in front of them, left eye covered by what had become his namesake.

So Amon felt no guilt for what he had just said. Not even if he could feel the burning gaze of Akira on him, probably mentally scolding him for letting his emotions control his work ethic. He fell short in that area as a man of passion.

He couldn’t accept the amount of people who had died from Eyepatch Kaneki’s evil hands. Especially knowing that more than likely his reason for even becoming a member of Aogiri was–

“… My mother.”

Amon and Akira perked up at the sound of Kaneki’s voice cutting through the tense void between the three of them.


Kaneki slowly closed his eye and then opened it once more, his eyes looking even deader than they already were. His eyes flashed dully, maybe from the memories. The white-haired male looked exhausted and not just from the lack of sleep like the deep bags under his eyes suggested. His eyes held the look of a defeated, beaten dog that had seen the worst of the world and senselessly stood up over and over again to take it once more because… that was the only thing he knew. The only thing he could do.

The look of someone who had given up a long time ago, but kept walking because he had no where to go and stopping would kill him.

“It was all for my mother.”

Akira sat down, reaching for the bag of coffee grounds and the coffee maker that was on the side of the table. “Kaneki-san,” she started again. “Please tell us everything.”

Kaneki looked up like an injured puppy looking for a way out, a quick, painless way out. “I joined Aogiri for my mother.” He looked down at his folded hands as he remembered everything and everyone.






The Tree.

The Clowns.



The sex, lies, and guns, and the pain in between that was a constant reminder that you were alive and that that was a good thing.

Kaneki licked his chapped lips and his voice choked up.

“Where do I even start.” It wasn’t a question.

“From the very beginning.”