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In the depths of the night, outside of the steady gaze of streetlamps, he runs.
He isn’t out of breath. He’s ran through longer distances than this, gone through more strenuous tasks than this. There isn’t a reason to worry - his partner can take care of himself, and if he dies then that’s both of their wishes granted. Yet his heart pounds with such unrelenting intensity. It drives his feet forward, drives him to use every single ounce of his energy damnit, before it’s too late.
Because there is a job to be done. Because that’s what partners do, and despite how much he revels in the darkness of the underworld he wants to keep his humanity intact.
Traversing through alleyways and corners, Nakahara Chuuya runs as if his own life depends on it.
It all started with a call, just before sunset. When he entered Mori’s office, Dazai was already there. Chuuya grimaced, hoping that at least someone else would be with them, but nobody came. It was just wishful thinking, anyway - any other personnel would be nothing but wasted resources.
He’s heard of the rumors. A warning spread across the streets in the same tone one would use in telling ghost stories, do not face the double black. They would leave no survivors and no evidence, save for a mark to signify their presence.
Some claim that the tales were greatly exaggerating. Chuuya found them to be lacking in detail.
Their target sounded like a dime in a dozen. A small yet rising organization who started to dabble with Yokohama’s black market. Such a presence would have been ignored, until the sabotages happened. Stolen goods, ransacked ships - all of their operations were done deep in the night. “The Port Mafia do not tolerate such actions in our territory,” Mori explained, mere irritation etched on his face. “I want you to find them, and send them a message.”
They already have much to go with - faces, schedules, photos of their handiwork. All they needed to find out was the location for their base operations. A copy of the files were made for both of them, yet Dazai’s lay forlorn across the coffee table. He’d been toying with something else on a laptop instead - one hand tapping at the keys and the other placed right against his cheek.
Dazai’s already bored. For all his masks and empty expressions, Chuuya found it easy to read his partner. He could understand why, in a way - everything was just too routine. They go in, they topple down buildings with the same amount of effort you would use in toppling down a house of cards, they go out. Rarely do they find someone who could give them a hard time. Perhaps it should be concerning to see how easy it was for them to snuff out so many lives, but they weren’t raised with that mindset.
They would have been busy being concerned with other things, were they not of this world.
Instead Chuuya said, “Why don’t you get your lazy ass to work? Go and find their headquarters already.”
Dazai stared at him with false concern. “Is your back aching, Chuuya? You should take care of yourself more now that you’re growing old.”
“We’re the same age, you idiot!” If his glass of bourbon wasn’t so good he would have thrown it straight to Dazai’s head already.
“Are you hiding grey hairs underneath that hat?”
“Are you hiding your lack of a brain underneath all those bandages?”
“Please, Chuuya.” Dazai’s already by the door, notes and belongings forgotten, and there’s a twinkle of mischief in his eye. “We both know who’s the smart one between us.”
Smartass. Chuuya sipped more of his bourbon - it’s easier to focus through paperwork when there’s a small buzz by the tip of his tongue. He’s probably already thinking how to ruin his day some more, that bastard, but at least he’s thinking.
“Maybe I should set his hat collection on fire.”
The sun disappeared over Yokohama’s horizon, and the purple shades of the sky began to mingle with dark blue. Its streets are still full of people - some individuals walked their way home, the others on their way to other establishments. It’s a world Dazai is not a part of, but he knew how to play pretend.
He blended well into the sea, searching, lurking. Most of their activities happened around this spot, so their base must have been nearby. This is getting boring again. There was nothing of interest but him and his targets, and everything else remained too predictable, a repeating backdrop he has memorized more than a few years ago -
Ah. He spotted a building some ways out of sight. A good vantage point, and a good spot to jump and meet the hard concrete below. Dazai wanted to try it out himself, but he didn’t have the time. At the corner of his eye were faces trying too hard not to meet his gaze. They have been within eyesight for quite a while already.
He’s being followed.
On his way through an isolated alley, they took their chance. A dozen or so grunts surrounded him, and one with the presence of a leader took their step and approached. If it wasn’t for that, he wouldn’t have recognized the guy as anybody important.
“We know what you have been doing, Dazai Osamu.” He sneered, but he was by no means intimidating. “We know all about your abilities as well, but how would you fare against non-ability users?”
They always think that was an effective plan, all the time.
The first one charged with a knife, but he put too much force on his attack. It was easy to pull him off balance, and to effectively break his arm.
The second one had a gun, but that was useless too. It was stolen in a second, and his heart was shot at point blank.
From there, Dazai saw an opening. He grabbed their leader’s sleeves in preparation for his next attack, but he was too slow. A split second later he is thrown over, and the impact of concrete shoots pain straight to his back.
“A brat is still a brat. So much for being feared in the underground.”
The last thing he saw was a swing straight to his head, before everything suddenly shuts into black.
Night has fallen, and city lights began to shine through the windowsill. There were no stars or moon tonight. It was almost time before they would set out, and the bottle was already empty. When doing menial tasks such as preparation, Chuuya found it best to have his mouth work as much as his hands.
“You’d think for all the work I’ve been doing, the higher ups would already give me a raise.” Start with his own mess, clean up the glass he used and set it somewhere to dry.
“There’s a shirt I’ve been eyeing - good design, known Italian brand - but I couldn’t afford it until next month.” Gather up the files he’d been looking at, and set it at a safe place so a report could be done afterwards.
“No, I don’t care if it’s over twenty thousand yen or whatever Dazai, it’s still a better buy than that sack of crabs you got the other week.” And with that, there’s only the coffee table left -
Wait a second. The mess on the coffee table was still there, as same as it was a few hours ago. Documents disorganized and forgotten, and a laptop propped up in sleep mode. Dazai was taking too long, and despite his tendencies to get distracted or to merely slack off, he wouldn’t simply ignore a direct order from Mori.
Something’s wrong.
Chuuya took another look at the laptop. He’s no fool - and neither was Dazai. Back-up plans were necessary in their line of work, and knowing his partner he would have several in mind. The moment the screen lit up, Chuuya knew he already found his answer.
On the image of Yokohama’s city map, an orange dot blinks steadily over a decrepit single floor building, situated right across town.
Shit.
He charged out of the door, and began to run.
When Dazai wakes his hands are in chains, and his bones ache like hell.
Despite the wear on the walls, the room looked well kept - steady lighting, neat floor, they even have office desks and the like. He’s been made to sit on a wooden crate at a far corner of the room, with no visible way of escape.
Dazai sighs. Trust these villains to do the same thing everytime.
“You won’t be sighing after we’re done with you, kid.” Ah, there goes that leader again with his unremarkable face, snarling with his cronies behind him. “If we are to topple down the Port Mafia, we would rule Yokohama’s underground. And you’ll be helping us out, whether you like it or not.”
But when Dazai looks back, there is nothing but apathy and immense boredom in his eyes. “You thugs are certainly just a dime in a dozen. I shouldn’t have taken this job, you would have destroyed yourselves in a week anyway.”
Another show of violence - a foot presses deeply onto his shoulder. And yet he does nothing. No show of fear, not even a flinch from the pain. It only aggravates this pitiful leader even more.
“You only have until midnight to tell us what we need, or else I’ll be putting a bullet straight through your skull.”
Dazai could almost laugh. Death threats do not work on him.
They beat him up a little more after that. All it all, it was a poor performance - they focus too much on physical pain and threats. Their very own interrogation division wouldn’t do such a amateur job. No, true intimidation comes in a variety of ways. Shall I tell them? But ah, they wouldn’t listen. Children are meant to be seen, not heard.
If they are, then they would have heard the sound of a door being shattered into pieces several floors away, long before the screams begin to ring out.
“Wh-What’s going on?!”
His voice would not reach Dazai here, but he could hear it echo from all the instances he witnessed it beforehand. It is Chuuya’s opening salvo, his first and final warning.
O grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again.
The earth is shaking. All the leader can hear behind him are clear sounds of discord - gunshots, smashed concrete, and…. Laughter? One other thing rings in his ears - a hollow kind of noise, as if the very wind was being sucked right into empty space. For the first time this night, a chill runs down through his spine.
Just what is going on here?
And then the lights went out.
Shit! He hears the scrambling of footsteps around him, a rising panic emanating from each of his subordinates. And then, to his horror, he hears a sudden bang right inside this room. The commotion rises - a rain of gunshots, accompanied with shrieks and whimpers. He scrambles for his phone - it has a built-in flashlight function, his only hope in figuring out this situation.
But it was all too late. Silence has long settled in when the lights flicker on, and even in its dim brightness can he see what has occurred.
Corpses strewn all over the floor, the faces of his subordinates frozen in horror. They are all riddled in bullets, and a strong metallic smell starts to pervade the room. Nobody else is alive - save a single figure, sitting on top of a wooden crate. That child known as Dazai Osamu is unscathed and unbound, a specter smile adorning his face.
Only now does he realize the wound bleeding from one of his legs, and another on his arm.
“H-How...” He stutters. “Nobody was supposed to find you here. We searched you!”
“You were simply looking at the wrong place,” Dazai explains, pointing to his own wrists. The leader mimics his actions, and his blood runs cold at what he discovers - a tracking bug, right underneath the shirt cuff he was grabbed at earlier.
“You have heard of how the Port Mafia retaliates, yes?”
He cannot struggle, not with the injuries he obtained. There’s an elevation on the hallway outside his room, and he is made to bite right onto it. Not a second later and - crack! - comes the sound of his jaw breaking. He screams, it hurts it hurts it hurts, it feels like a drill slowly boring holes into his skull. Slowly, deliberately, he is turned around, and the last sight that greets him is the barrel of his own gun.
His gun, held by a phantom wearing a young boy’s skin, with eyes as dark as the void itself.
Activating corruption feels like breathing in impurities, and it seeps straight into his skin. He could never accurately explain what it feels like, but to him it’s something close to a runner’s high. The intensity of sheer power in his hands makes it hard to remember trivial things, such as who is his enemy and who is his friend. A single thought remains - rend, slaughter, devour, because that in itself is what gives him the thrill, and in that moment it becomes his sole reason to live.
It consumes and consumes and consumes, until nothing is left, until his own heart becomes hollow.
Chuuya knows the risks - if he does it now, with no ready support, there is a chance that he could die and take Yokohama alongside it. But he’s willing to take that risk, and place thousands of other live alongside it, because he knows his support will always come in time. Because he promised.
Because Dazai isn’t dead, he’s sure of that. He’s the only one who can kill him.
A movement in the corner grabs his attention. There he is, that familiar presence, and it is like staring at himself. The void stares and sees the void itself, reaching and capturing him. At his touch does his power begin to fade away, and so sets in his exhaustion. The black hole disappears, and he is Nakahara Chuuya again.
“You’re late,” Dazai begins, looking straight at Chuuya’s crouching form. “What use is a dog if they have such a poor sense of smell?”
“You fucking bastard,” Chuuya spits out. “Think of a better plan next time!”
“Oh Chuuya, when have my strategies ever been wrong?”
“You could have been killed!” He snaps, and he knows that look Dazai returns to him. He knows, and he doesn’t care.
But Chuuya does, because he wears his heart on his sleeve enough for the two of them, and because he couldn’t help but care anyway.
This is the part where he gives in to sleep, but Dazai’s feet keeps jabbing at him. “Oi, don’t sleep yet. The building’s about to give out, and I wouldn’t be able to get this body outside alone.”
Chuuya gives his partner a second look. Indeed, he’s been dragging some poor schmuck’s corpse across the ground all along. Nearby he sees Dazai’s right leg, and he can see that it’s somewhat out of shape.
“You have a limp.”
“Oh, do I? I didn’t realize it.”
He gives himself some seconds before he tries to stand up himself. The ache is painful enough to make him groan. Oh, he’s going to regret this in the morning.
But Chuuya grabs the other arm anyway, and together they walk back into the darkness of the night.