Chapter Text
We learn about Katashi’s first impression of Thailand as Dazai and Jouno begin to put together theories as to the full nature of just who’s behind the Hellfire Cult. Jouno begins interacting with agents of Dazai’s past, exchanging old favours for information that could lead to the files Dazai needs.
──────.·:*¨༺💮 ༻¨*:·.──────
Katashi Osuke
1990 - Age 14
After being secluded to the woods in the deep underbelly or rural Japan, the bustling streets of Bangkok had been completely overwhelming. His leather gloves he recently acquired itched against his skin while the sweat from his palms built within them, soaking them from the inside. Fyodor walked briskly and quickly towards the train station. Tonight they would take the train to the town of Kanchanaburi, a small town in West Thailand which housed prisoners who built the bridge across Hellfire Pass in World War Two.
Osuke found it hard to believe that a mere fourty years ago the world had been torn apart by a war so disgusting and vile. Fyodor on the other hand was fascinated by the premise of wars and squabbles amongst humankind. Being a scry of God among them, he describes having watched the encounter of mankind being both underwhelming and overwhelming. Having been so young, Osuke learned not to question Fyodor. The Russian man’s age was remarkable, his lifetime stretched across the dawn and fall of multiple empires.
Fyodor had claimed the inspiration from such a historical district would bring inspiration to Osuke. Osuke questioned why he needed inspiration, Fyodor told Osuke that God had his way of speaking to people. Osuke was, as Fyodor put it, a lost soul in search of guidance. If Osuke could find his purpose then perhaps he could nourish it and allow it to thrive and grow as the prophets before him had. Osuke understood that God’s will was a necessary aspect of society, but he had yet to believe fully that he was a prophet himself.
— He thought back to his father’s kind smile one day. They had just gotten back from helping their neighbour harvest a fruit that had long since left his memory. His father was complaining while they walked, Osuke was worried his father was mad at him. He was clutching the basket of fruit their neighbour let them keep tightly. It wasn’t until they walked through the door that he knelt in front of him, something had clearly been bothering him but he deemed Osuke too young to know.
“Katashi.” By this point in his life, after eight years of seclusion in the cabin, his father’s voice was hardly what it once was. Once a call that he could name every note of had faded into a distorted relic of the past.
He remembered chewing his cheek, he could still taste some of the fruit he snuck behind his father’s back in the soft flesh of his mouth. He wished he could remember, he wished he could be transported back before he met God. “Yes father?”
His father rested a hand on his shoulder, the corners of his usually soft eyes crinkling when he forced a bitter smile onto his face. “Some people believe that I am the most important member of this village.” A bitter sigh escaped the man’s lip. “No man is more important than the others. Everybody in society is equally as important. I want you to know, no matter who you become, a saint or even just a humble farmer; that I will always be proud of you.” —
Would you be proud of me now, father?
He walked behind Fyodor in silence, the Russian man would prattle on about the same topics and by now Osuke could predict everything Fyodor would say. He, himself, was unpredictable, a man of many mysteries that not even the world’s greatest detectives could crack open. That didn’t change the fact that everything the man said was incredibly boring and self absorbed.
— “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” Philippians 2:3-4.
Was that the curse Fyodor bore amongst his so-called perfections? For his cardinal sin to be that he believed he was better than the average man? Osuke personally believed that God’s messengers and the saints were not people who stood tall and beyond the average man but rather people who walked amongst them, spreading God’s wishes, goodwill and wrath amongst humankind with a humble approach.
He waited at the train station alongside Fyodor, his hands folded in his lap. He watched idly as a mother and father played a version of the American game ‘Red Rover’ with their children.
“Does it hurt to see kids with their parents?” Fyodor spoke suddenly.
Osuke almost choked on his own saliva, what a blunt question to ask. However it was not spoken out of malice, a mere curiosity or perhaps an ice breaker to ease them into a conversation. The subject that Osuke often refused to talk about.
He stared at his hands, watching as the seams of the gloves twisted and tightened while he clenched his fists. “It does, but I don’t think it hurts as much as it should. I don’t understand people well, but from the little I’ve seen it’s almost as if others would care much more about this kind of thing.”
“You are different, young Katashi.” Fyodor’s warm smile was anything but welcoming, dripping with a certain condescending nature.
“Perhaps.” Osuke agreed. “But perhaps it might be something different.”
Osamu Dazai
Present Day - 2008
He was lounged on an expensive hotel bed, a small bag of belongings on top of the room’s provided dresser. He was on his stomach, his feet kicking up and down behind him. He was reading some book about ancient rituals for suicide over the year, a communicator next to him rattling off as Saigiku briefed him.
There was a pause, making Dazai’s eyes stray off of his book to the communicator, then a lengthy sigh. “You’re not listening to me, are you?”
“Would you feel better if I said I was?”
A groan. “What was the last thing you heard?”
“Something about trade convoys getting attacked by this group in Thailand and it could possibly be linked, make sure to check for stolen items or any amplifiers and artifacts they could be using to up their game. I also used some of my underground connections too, according to some of the Chao Pao that associate with the Red Wa, a Chinese group that controls the methamphetamine that circles through Thailand; The Red Wa have been experiencing warehouse robberies, the weapons being stolen but the drugs remaining untouched, in some cases, anonymous tips have been provided to local Thai authorities.”
“As useful as that information is, it doesn’t come from an approved source. Remember you work for the government now.” Saigiku responded, much to Dazai’s dismay, who was actually a little proud of his information.
“I bet you’d also like to know there was an attack just last month on the ‘Agricultural Demonstration Centre’, a military base a few miles South of the Hellfire Pass interpretive centre, alongside a local police outpost just last week somewhere close to Ban Hat Ngio. Oddly enough the military outpost in that district was left alone. The only stations that were attacked were those which had received an anonymous tip about drug trading and Red Wa activity in Thailand.”
Dazai had since put down the book, skimming through a stack of CDs the hotel provided. He found a CD with a viking cover on it that reminded him of something else. “Did you know according to the media that’s viking related and old accounts of lore, the vikings used an execution method called the Blood Eagle? The victims are strapped down into a prone position, and each of their ribs were slowly severed from their spine, finally to finish it off, their lungs are pulled from their backs and spread out to give the appearance of wings.” He was satisfied when he could practically hear Saigiku grimace on the other side of the line. The man was certainly a sadist, but he was a lot cleaner than Dazai with it. ‘Blood is too sticky,’ the white haired man would say.
Dazai was personally a fan of both psychological and physical torture, depending on the victim both methods had all sorts of different results. Dazai was also not opposed to exploring, humans fascinated him in all aspects and he found them truly beautiful at both their happiest and lowest points.
“And how is that related to anything?”
Dazai grinned, continuing to kick his feet behind him on the bed like a school girl talking about her latest crush. “They recently found a victim who was killed using this method, he was strapped to a post at the Interpretive Centre for tourists to see. His tongue was cut out, his fingernails were removed, and ironically enough he had the Japanese Kanjis ‘だます’ (Fool) carved into his head. Who else do we know is Japanese and hiding in Thailand?”
“Katashi Osuke.” Saigiku concluded.
“While he wears his heart on his sleeve I think he did this so I would find him, he seems to know a lot about me and likely guessed I could read and understand the religious undertones and the patterns to the killings. Don’t get it twisted, I believe there’s a secondary pattern to the killings I can’t quite see yet, but two birds with one stone, he was probably leaving breadcrumbs for me too.”
The other end of the line was dead for some time. “Dazai, you need to be careful, you do not have the upper hand here. It seems like Katashi has been watching you for some time. But his methods almost seem…”
“Too sloppy?” Dazai continued. “They are, clearly he has somebody who is much more intelligent helping out. Somebody smart enough to keep me off Osuke’s trail but able to plant seeds in my head and scatter bread crumbs along the way. Somebody like—”
2004 - Age 14
He cut his own thought process out, a certain memory assaulting his brain. He was 14 and had just officially been sworn in as Mori’s right hand, a few months before he met Chuuya.
“You seem lost,
умняшка.
” Dazai turned around, a Russian man who looked to be a young adult stood behind him. Dazai could tell from the way he carried himself, he seemed much older.
“I know exactly where I am.” Dazai said sharply, before turning around to look at the portrait in front of him. Dazai supposed he could understand, he was only a teenager and an underdeveloped one at that. What was he doing in a museum by himself unsupervised? However the man seemed to have different intentions.
In front of Dazai stood a large Byobu folding screen depicting a battle between a dragon and a tiger. Dazai couldn’t understand it, but it felt like he was drawn towards it. The dragon's flames almost seemed to pierce through everything but the tiger, who kept coming back to life no matter what. “What a fascinating piece.” The man mused, he reached his hand out. Dazai inhaled sharply, thinking that the man was going to touch the painting but it merely hovered. He sighed in relief, foreigners tended to not know any better.
“I can see why it is appealing to you specifically, Dazai.”
In an instant, the tense air became acidic, and Dazai was on top of the Russian man. The mafia agents which Mori had stationed with him who were standing by the doorway cocked their guns and aimed it at the rat. “How do you know my name?”
His face was pressed into the floor, his cheek flush with the cold marble. Dazai’s nimble fingers were pressed into his GB-20s on both sides of the bottom of his scalp. The pressure he was applying worsening by the second.
“My name is Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I merely came to see you since you intrigued me so much. It’s been sometime since someone so extraordinary has been born. I had to meet you personally.” He seemed like he wasn’t afraid of death, like he welcomed the cold and careless embrace with warm arms. Dazai knew that feeling all too well.
“So you’ve met me.”
“Indeed I have.”
Present Day - 2008
“Saigiku, find me everything you can on Fyodor Dostoyevksy. I’ll get in touch with one of my contacts who will help you out. Whatever you do, reveal nothing about Tachihara to him.”
“That came out of the blue.” Saiguki sighed. “Where will I be meeting Hirotsu?”
Dazai smiled. “The Yokohama Museum of Art, a place of significance to me.”
Jouno Saigiku
Present Day - 2008 - Age Unknown
Dazai would be on a plane to Bangkok for the next few hours, then he would be on a train to Kanchanaburi after he landed. As for him, he was standing in a room at the Yokohama Museum of Art where Dazai instructed him to be. Behind him was a Byobu folding screen, it had been due to be replaced, a small standing notice placed beside it stating the museum and exhibit it would be moving to.
The heels for his dress shoes clicked against the floor as he walked back and forth. “I apologize for the wait.” A deep and gruff voice interrupted his thoughts. He spun around to see Hirotsu himself, the man he heard about from Tachihara’s reports, and from the times he listened in to Dazai briefing Tachihara about the Black Lizard.
The man wore a black coat and monocle, his goatee well groomed and his voice roughened by years of chain smoking. He was at the youth end of the elderly, but he carried himself like somebody much younger, but certainly just as strong. Maturity and raw power in one person. Somebody Jouno could respect.
“I’m sure you had official mafia business to attend to. For the record, this meeting does not follow protocol, so it is off the book.”
The man’s stern expression had something found to the edge of it. “Nothing that Dazai-kun does is protocol, but he produces results doesn’t he?”
Jouno hesitantly agreed, as annoying as he was, he did produce results. Especially when Jouno mercilessly teased him.
“As for the investigation of Dostoyevksy, Dazai said you would have leads for me.”
Hirotsu walked further into the room, seated on the bench in front of the folding screen, his hands folded in his lap. Jouno remained standing, the echoey hallways reflecting every action of the museum’s visitors through his ears. “The Port Mafia’s Executive Ace has been tracing his movements. More accurately paying bounty hunters to do it for him, still, he has plenty of information on Dostoyevsky’s current activities. Those files are classified, only Executives are allowed to view them.”
Jouno wondered what this man owed to Dazai for him to be so willing to tell him about sensitive mafia information. “That is the Port Mafia executive with the cruise vessel on the harbour if I’m not mistaken.” Hirotsu confirmed his suspicions.
Ace seemed to be the kind of Executive that reeked of insecurity since he had paid his way to the top. Dazai said he ceased the position shortly after Kouyou was promoted to Executive status, as he was offended that a woman was climbing the ladder faster than him. He bought the seat when the previous Executive before him died of old age. He was definitely the kind of man to keep all his resources close by.
“If you believe he keeps the files on his cruise vessel, you would be correct.” Hirotsu continued. “They are on a safe below deck, nearby the wine cellar in which he keeps prisoners and beer kegs.”
“I cannot tell you anything else, nor can I take you there personally. However, Dazai-kun built an elite squad of former mafiosos and military personnel shortly before he left the mafia. They are on standby and loyal to him specifically. They will be able to assist you further.”
Jouno wasn’t surprised that Dazai had a contingency plan, nor his own men to do his bidding. He seemed like the type who thrived off of leadership on a small scale. He received the information to contact their squad leader. Fortunately he had a handwritten letter from Dazai with the ability to use his contacts from his time underground for the time being.
He wasn’t on the case specifically, but anything was better than staying at the base and listening to Tecchou prattle on about human’s righteousness and compare them all to an ant colony. Which is what led to Jouno standing in a sketchy alleyway, using a payphone that wouldn’t be traceable by HQ. “Is this Osamu Dazai’s Bravo Squad leader? My name is Jouno Saigiku, I have a letter from him asking for your assistance– Yes I can meet you– My ETA is 40 minutes– Very well.”
Click.
Osamu Dazai
Present Day - 2008
Dazai wasn’t the biggest fan of flying, having pressure build in his ears while hurtling across the world over 30 000 feet in the air in a tin can wasn’t his idea of fun. Having been a former mafia Executive, he had his fair share of flights for global trade negotiations, world affairs, meetings for his personal business endeavours, etc. So it was a pain he was used to, however one that he was not fond of. His business class seat was thankfully spacious so he could stretch his lanky legs. He had familiar pains in his knees meaning he was due to grow soon, he smirked, it would definitely be to his chibi’s dismay.
He rubbed his knee in a circular motion, the tablet for research HQ provided him sitting in his lap as he scrolled through various different reports on incidents in Hellfire Pass, with the Thai Military Police, and the Red Wa. There were multiple related incidents he pulled aside that were definitely linked to this group of religious fanatics.
“Excuse me sir.” He pulled his attention off of his notes app where he was writing a report to see the flight attendant standing next to him. She had a meal tray in her hands that she set next to him. “You hadn’t written a preference for your meal, so I hope vegetarian will suffice.”
He eyed her up and down with a side smile. “What do you think I would prefer?”
She smiled formally at him. “I had selected it because I myself am a vegetarian. I wouldn’t know what to do if somebody gave me a meal with meat in it. I’d probably go hungry since I’d be too shy to tell them.” She laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. She must be new, she didn’t have the grace most flight attendants had yet. But something about her made Dazai prefer the genuine shyness than the practiced customer service smile.
“I definitely prefer vegetarian then.” He smiled and winked at her.
She sputtered, her face turning pink. “Okay then sir, I’ll leave you to it.” She headed further down the aisle to ask the passengers about their needs. She still had that faint pink hue dusting her cheeks the entire time.
‘Cute.’
Dazai thought, but oddly enough this time he didn’t get the satisfaction of successfully flirting with women like he usually did. He turned back to his work, pretending not to notice the flustered flight attendant whispering to her coworker and pointing at him.
Landing in Bangkok was chaotic. With it being the capital of Thailand the airport was buzzing with new plane arrivals. Luckily enough, Dazai didn’t have anything besides a carry-on bag that he had to manoeuvre through the crowd. It wasn’t long until he found his way to the bustling city streets to call a taxi to the train station.
Shortly before he stepped into the taxi he felt like he was being watched. He whipped his head around towards a nearby building rooftop. Empty. Weird.
Jouno Saigiku
Present Day – 2008
He walked through downtown Yokohama, ending up at a local Izakaya that was dimly lit. He matched the description he heard on the phone to a guy sitting in the back of the bar. He ordered himself a Shirley Temple and sat across from him.
“Saigiku?” The man asked after a moment, taking a drag of his cigarette.
He smiled warmly. “That would be me, I understand you’re Dazai’s former Bravo Squad leader.”
“Aye.” The man nodded, taking a long sip of his beer. Saigiku personally found beer to be disgusting, but he didn’t make a comment. “Dazai was the only man in that chain of command who knew what he was doing as far as I was concerned, and he was just a lad too. Still is, much like yourself.”
Saigiku was 19, he understood that people tended not to respect him as an authority of the law because of his youth, but he didn’t let that stop him from pursuing his goals. “I guess you understand that age has nothing to do with intelligence.”
“Intelligence, yes, experience is iffy, but emotional intelligence is something you get with age. But enough talk about philosophies or I’d assume that demon himself was sitting across from me. What do you want me to do?”
“You will be paid handsomely, and considering this is for the government I could probably arrange for certain crimes to be forgiven.” That piqued his interest, so Saigiku continued. “The Port Mafia Cruise Vessel that’s an asset for Ace the Executive personally has files on Fyodor Dostoyevsky. They are the only files within the Port Mafia yet the furthest up the command Dazai’s favours go is the Black Lizard. You see my predicament.”
“So you want us to steal ‘em.” The man concluded, chugging the rest of his drink. “One of the more riskier jobs that we’ve done, but a favour for Dazai, money, and a pardon? I just don’t think I can refuse.”