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Dazai was looking for entertainment.
Life in the slums suited him badly. He didn't see the point. The only thing people were good for was dying and hurting others. Dazai wasn't the least surprised when someone in the Mafia took a liking to him.
He was smart. If he had been the child of loving parents, he would've been guaranteed a spot at any of the top schools in the city. He would have tested into a good career, made a lot of money, lived the life of an upstanding citizen, and perhaps he would even be happy.
Instead he was in the slums, and he'd just stepped in blood.
Dazai wasn't bothered by blood but even here it was surprising. No one really cared if those who lived in the slums died--they were outside the bounds of the law, monitored by devices that kept track of their psychological state. He wasn't sure how something could truly judge the kind of person he was based on a quick reading of his brain activity and whatever else it scanned. He hid his emotions because other people used them against him. It was unnerving to think that a machine could see through that anyway.
Despite the lack of police presence, people in the slums were willing to leave each other alone if they stayed out of each others' business. If things were quiet, the police were less likely to raid the area, and they were all less likely to end up trapped in a rehabilitation facility for the rest of their lives.
Dazai followed the trail of blood around a corner into an alley filled with garbage. A few feet from him was a body.
A red-haired kid stood above the body, holding a knife dripping with blood in one hand and his skin covered in red. In the other was some sort of gun.
He met Dazai's eyes and Dazai was shocked for a moment at how blue they were.
The kid dropped the knife and knelt down, grabbing the wrist of the dead person and lifting their arm. Now Dazai could see their jacket, which read MWPSB.
This was the first time in a long time Dazai had seen any sort of police, and they were dead.
He took a step forward, intending on getting a good look at the body, when the kid maneuvered the dead inspector's hand so that it was wrapped around the handle of the gun, covered by his own smaller hand, and pointed it at Dazai. For a moment Dazai had no idea what the point of that was, but then the gun started glowing blue.
He heard, "Enforcement mode: non-lethal paralyzer. Please aim calmly and subdue the target."
He recognized the gun now--it was a Dominator, used to read a person's crime coefficient and judge them based on the number, after which it would determine the appropriate action---to do nothing, to paralyze, or to kill.
"You're really gonna shoot me?" Dazai asked. "I bet if I turned that gun on you, it would kill you."
The kid didn't move. "Who are you?"
He sounded like he was Dazai's age--fifteen or sixteen--which was a shock given how small he looked.
"We shouldn't stand around like this," Dazai said. "They can track those things, you know. They'll know he's dead and they'll come looking."
The kid dropped the Dominator and the inspector's arm along with it and tried to run.
Dazai grabbed him, but the kid spun him around and pushed him into the wall. Dazai's head slammed into the concrete and he let go.
The kid ran.
Dazai ran after him. Ordinarily he wouldn't have spared so much energy on something, but this was the most interesting thing to happen in a long time. Who was this kid and why had he killed an inspector? Doing something like that was pretty much a guaranteed death sentence.
The kid ran down several side streets and into one of the abandoned buildings. As soon as Dazai crossed the threshold after him, he was grabbed. His feet were kicked out from under him and his back hit the floor.
Before he could get up, a foot planted itself on his chest. He could see the kid looming over him.
"You're not police," he said.
"No," Dazai groaned.
"Then what's your problem?" the kid asked.
"I was curious," Dazai said. "It's not every day you see a dead inspector. Why'd you kill him? It means you won't be able to go home."
"This is my home," the kid said.
Dazai wasn't particularly surprised, though he wondered how he had never noticed this kid before. The slums were sizable, so it was possible they never crossed paths before now, but they were also sparse save for criminal organizations and the odd drug addict. Maybe he hadn't been there long. Dazai hadn't been in the slums his entire life either.
"So you killed him because he was in your territory?" Dazai asked. "Like some kind of dog?"
"The police went after my friends," the kid snapped.
"You have friends?"
"I know you don't," the kid said.
"What's your name?" Dazai asked. "Mine's Dazai." He figured if he gave the kid something he might get something in return.
The kid regarded him warily. "Chuuya."
"Nice to meet you, Chuuya," Dazai said. "Can you get your foot off my chest?"
"Are you gonna do anything shitty?" Chuuya asked.
"I'm not, I promise," Dazai said. He was tempted to do something shitty just because Chuuya had asked that question.
"Fine." Chuuya removed his foot and took a step back, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.
"So, Chuuya, where are your friends?" Dazai asked, standing up.
Chuuya's expression darkened. "They got caught."
There was something cold in his voice that took Dazai off-guard. He hadn't looked at the dead inspector closely, but he could imagine that Chuuya had killed him viciously based on his voice right now.
“So you killed someone who was responsible for catching them,” Dazai said. “Pretty stupid.”
“Bastard!” Chuuya grabbed Dazai by the shirt.
Dazai laughed. “Quick to anger! So what I’m getting is that you have no friends.”
“Neither do you!”
Dazai chose to ignore that. An idea formed in his head. “It’s not good to be all alone in the slums, even if you’re familiar with them. There’s more of a chance of getting caught by the police or hurt by someone.”
“I’ve been fine,” Chuuya said, “even when I was on my own.”
“Your friends weren’t fine. It’s always nice to have some protection,” Dazai said. “Have you ever considered joining the Mafia?”
Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. “Those bastards control everything.”
“And it’s beneficial,” Dazai said. “If you and your friends had been part of the Mafia, you wouldn’t have been caught. The Mafia protects its own.”
Chuuya looked furious, but underneath that fury was need. He needed to do something and killing that investigator wasn’t enough. Dazai got the feeling it would never be enough for Chuuya to feel like he’d made up for not protecting his friends.
Guilt was not a feeling that Dazai felt often, but it was fascinating to see how deeply it affected others.
“I can take you to the man who runs the Mafia,” Dazai added. Mori Ougai was a terrible person, but under him the Mafia was thriving. No one could deny that he was good at being the Boss. “I’m sure he can find some use for you. You seem like you’re good at fighting.”
“The Mafia can’t help me get my friends back,” Chuuya said.
Dazai tried to figure out how to convince Chuuya without sounding cold. It would be nice to have someone his age around. Mori had said that Dazai could do great work if he had someone to help him carry it out, since he wasn’t good at anything that required a great deal of physical activity. That and, perhaps because of Dazai’s increasing fascination with death, Mori didn’t want Dazai in any more danger than he had to be. Dazai’s intelligence was too valuable.
“Maybe not, but in the Mafia you can help more people avoid being sent away,” Dazai said.
Chuuya let go of Dazai’s shirt and took a step back. He clearly didn’t want to jump right into anything, but he was also desperate. Dazai figured that he didn’t have much to go back to now that his friends were gone.
“What do you do?” Chuuya asked.
That came as a surprise. No one asked what Dazai did. Dazai himself couldn’t really explain it. “I...plan things.”
“You plan things,” Chuuya repeated. “What things?”
Dazai waved a hand. “Whatever the Boss wants. Ways to stay hidden. Ways to get the things we need, whether they’re legal things or illegal. Ways to make money.”
Chuuya looked doubtful. “You do that? You’re like...a kid.”
“You’re one to talk,” Dazai scoffed. “How old are you, twelve?”
“I’m fifteen,” Chuuya snapped.
“I’m fifteen,” Dazai said. “You’re a child.”
Chuuya balled his hands into fists. “I could kick your ass.”
“You could, but then you couldn’t join the Mafia,” Dazai said. “You still haven’t decided.”
“I know.” Chuuya took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Fine. Take me to the Mafia Boss or whoever’s gonna let me join.”
Dazai smiled wide. “He’s going to love you.”
*
Mori was, in fact, extremely happy to have Chuuya join the Mafia. As Dazai had seen, Chuuya was very skilled at physical combat and it was clear he’d been using those skills on the streets for some time. Most of the people living in the slums had come there as adults. Very few children lived there and even fewer had any useful skills. Most children didn’t survive long.
To Dazai’s displeasure, Mori decided Chuuya and Dazai complimented each other and therefore that Chuuya would make a great partner. While that was probably true, Dazai found Chuuya to be annoying. Annoyingly brash, annoyingly tacky, annoyingly opinionated, and annoyingly good at keeping him alive.
Chuuya had a surprising amount of patience, though, which was good considering they spent a lot of time watching and waiting for things to go wrong. Other times, Chuuya served as a sort-of body guard while Dazai negotiated things. Sometimes they were sent to kill specific people or raid smaller organizations, and both of them were involved in the torture of anyone who crossed the Mafia and had valuable information. In some ways violence was all they felt useful for.
Dazai hated to admit it, but he did trust Chuuya to do his job. He’d thought he was the only person his age competent enough to do any significant work in the Mafia, but Chuuya was just as competent. Dazai even trusted Chuuya with his life, though he wouldn’t admit it.
Although Chuuya liked to talk, Dazai noticed he didn’t talk about himself much. He was very open about what he was feeling or thinking at any given time, which Dazai thought was stupid, but he hadn’t said much about who he actually was or where he came from. Dazai wanted to know more about him. It felt like life in the Mafia was draining the life out of both of them, and Chuuya was the most interesting distraction Dazai had available.
That was why, after a meeting-gone-wrong in which they were both ambushed and had to kill the very people they were meeting with, Dazai stole a bottle of whiskey off a homeless man and invited Chuuya to the rooftop of one of the abandoned apartment buildings.
“What a view,” Chuuya said sarcastically when he got up there. The only thing they could see were other buildings in various states of decay.
“You ever been outside of the slums?” Dazai asked. Between the buildings they could see a hint of the clean, modern city beyond.
“I don’t think so,” Chuuya said. He sat down with his legs dangling over the edge of the building. Dazai joined him and handed him the bottle of whiskey.
“A treat, since we’ve been doing so well,” Dazai said.
Chuuya was surprised but he took a generous sip. “Thanks.”
“So what do you mean, you don’t think so?” Dazai asked. “You’d remember, wouldn’t you?”
Chuuya was quiet for a moment as he took another sip. “I don’t remember,” he said.
There was a weird undercurrent to Chuuya’s voice that Dazai wanted to pick at. “I’ve seen it,” he said.
Chuuya turned to look at him. “You used to live there?”
“Yup,” Dazai said. “That’s how it starts for everyone, right? Live a normal life in the city, get scanned one day and flagged by the system as a latent criminal, and your only option is...well you don’t get one. You end up imprisoned for the rest of your life, or dead. Or, you can run away to here.”
“Your parents--”
“Are dead. I’m not sad about it. Are yours?”
Chuuya took another gulp of whiskey. “Yeah.” This time he sounded uncertain.
Dazai grabbed the bottle of whiskey from him and stood up, walking away from the edge. It wouldn’t be good for Chuuya to get drunk and fall to his death.
Chuuya stood as well. Dazai was pleased to see that he looked a bit unsteady as he walked over. He was a lightweight.
“You don’t sound sure,” Dazai said. “Is it because your parents abandoned you?”
Chuuya stared at him.
“No? So they’re really dead? You never told me where you came from,” Dazai said.
“I’ve been living here,” Chuuya said.
Dazai sat down and motioned for Chuuya to sit with him. “You weren’t born here.”
“How do you know?” Chuuya snatched the bottle back from Dazai and took another gulp.
“Children who are born here usually die pretty early on,” Dazai said. “You’re gonna get drunk.”
“I need to be drunk to deal with you,” Chuuya muttered.
“That’s not nice at all.” Dazai didn’t make a move to take the whiskey back, though. “So out with it, Chuuya.”
Chuuya didn’t say anything for a bit. He seemed to be thinking something over, or maybe he was letting the alcohol wash over him a bit more.
“I don’t remember anything,” Chuuya said after a while. “Not from my childhood.”
“You’re still a child,” Dazai muttered.
Chuuya swatted at his arm. “That’s not the answer you wanna hear, but it’s the only one I’ve got.”
It was, indeed, a disappointment, but so were many things in life. This time Dazai did swipe the whiskey bottle out of Chuuya’s hands and took a generous sip himself.
“So how are you liking it? The Mafia?” he asked.
“It’s...it’s not the best but it’s something, you know?” Chuuya said. “You were right when you said the Mafia looks after its own. I like doing that.”
Dazai nodded. He’d expected Chuuya to find satisfaction in fulfilling his need to protect other people.
“What about you?” Chuuya asked.
Dazai didn’t want to talk about how being surrounded by death had once been fascinating and now made him want it more. Death would be a rest from all of this. In his short life, Dazai had lost everything, and he wasn’t quite allowing himself to have anything in the Mafia because the Mafia was a dangerous place. He would lose people here, too.
Even Chuuya. Especially Chuuya. Chuuya would do anything to protect the people he felt responsible for, including die for them.
A while ago, Dazai used to hope that he could somehow live in the main city again as a normal person, that someone would give him another chance. Now he had no hope for that. No one got a second chance.
He and Chuuya finished off the whiskey and watched the sun set, Chuuya leaning against Dazai and Dazai letting him. It was a small thing, so it shouldn’t have mattered. It was the sort of thing that could be brushed aside as inconsequential, and he was more than willing to leave it at that.
*
Dazai couldn’t get Chuuya out of his head. It bothered him that Chuuya didn’t know a thing about his childhood, so he did what anyone did when they wanted information they couldn’t get themselves: he went to Mori.
Mori had an “office” which was in one of the nicer buildings, and it was furnished as a proper business outside of the slums would be. His office was the only thing that looked like it could have been somewhere else, though. The infirmary that he ran in particular was a very unpleasant place.
As the head of the Port Mafia, it was Mori’s job to have access to a wealth of information. There were rumors that he had information from outside of the slums, too, because he’d managed to gain informants there.
“Dazai-kun,” Mori said from behind his desk, smiling at Dazai when he came in. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Dazai hated this office almost as much as he hated the infirmary and they both knew it. “I actually wanted to request some information on my partner.”
Mori’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”
“I found out something interesting when talking to him,” Dazai said. “He doesn’t remember his childhood. Any thoughts about why that is? It’s kind of unusual even for people here.”
“I had no idea you were so interested in your partner,” Mori said. “Perhaps he is simply the victim of an unfortunate family situation that he would rather forget.”
The way Mori said it made Dazai believe that it wasn’t true and that Mori knew something. “What’s the real answer?”
Mori leaned back in his chair. “I like to do research on all promising members of the Port Mafia.”
“I figured,” Dazai said. Knowing Mori had done research on him made his skin crawl.
“Our criminal justice system is a relatively recent feature,” Mori said, “and while it has reduced crime to almost nothing, the amount of people the government needs to keep imprisoned has skyrocketed because the system tries to prevent crime by weeding out people more likely to commit crimes based on their mental state rather than taking in only people who have already committed crimes.”
“Okay,” Dazai said, trying to relate that to Chuuya. He couldn’t.
“That is an inefficient system,” Mori said. “It looks efficient, but there will be a time when the inefficiency will come to light, if people don’t protest their rights first. I took you in so that you wouldn’t be sent to a rehabilitation center, because we both know that there is no rehabilitation taking place there. Once you enter, you don’t leave. Your crime coefficient and hue remain the same, or further deteriorate because of your environment.”
“Right,” Dazai said, his patience wearing thin. “So what about Chuuya?”
“Nakahara Chuuya is a particularly interesting case. He is an attempted solution to that problem,” Mori said. “The government isn’t above using people for their needs, and the parents agreed that they would give their child to the government once it was born to further the science of this new system. The government, in turn, raised the child in such a way that the child would be a latent criminal from very early on. Previously, the earliest known case of a latent criminal was a 5-year-old boy. Chuuya-kun was almost two when his crime coefficient reached that level.”
As Mori’s words sank in, Dazai began to feel odd. This all felt like something he shouldn’t know.
“Chuuya was raised by scientists,” Dazai said.
“Scientists, psychologists, those who engineered the system,” Mori said. “The goal was to see if someone who was, in theory, inherently a latent criminal could be rehabilitated into someone with a healthy crime coefficient. That sort of person would be the hardest to rehabilitate, and therefore would make the best test subject. If Chuuya-kun could be rehabilitated, then those that were currently imprisoned could be too.”
“He wasn’t rehabilitated,” Dazai said.
“One of the scientists grew a conscience and decided to escape with Chuuya-kun,” Mori said. “However, he was killed by the police, leaving Chuuya-kun alone on the streets.”
“Does he know?” Dazai asked.
“As far as I know, he doesn’t,” Mori said. “He has no memory of anything that happened before he ended up here.”
“And you won’t tell him?” Dazai knew what the answer would be before Mori said anything.
“It would be a distraction,” Mori said. “I hope that satisfied your curiosity.”
“It did,” Dazai said. He inclined his head and started heading for the door.
“Dazai-kun,” Mori called out, making Dazai pause. “This is Chuuya-kun’s purpose. Do not allow him to lose sight of that.”
Dazai didn’t bother to look back. “I won’t.”
*
The first time Chuuya kissed Dazai, they had almost gotten caught by an inspector.
They ran until their legs and lungs burned. Chuuya’s shirt was still soaked in blood from the man he’d just killed and Dazai was feeling a lot of things knowing what he now knew about Chuuya and watching him kill.
He never got to think about those things, because Chuuya grabbed him and shoved him against the wall, pressing their mouths together in a messy kiss.
Dazai had never kissed anyone before. He found that he liked it, but he pulled back anyway. “What’s this, Chuuya?”
There were a lot of things Chuuya could have said, but what he ended up saying was something Dazai didn’t want to hear: “I don’t want to lose you.”
Chuuya cared about him.
He didn’t want to care about Chuuya.
He didn’t want to care about anyone. If this was all life could offer, then he didn’t want it, and he was increasingly convinced that there was nothing good to live for. Living in the slums and working for the Mafia was the best outcome he’d get.
It was for Chuuya too, and he didn’t even know it. Or maybe he did, and he didn’t care.
“Dazai.” Chuuya’s eyes were clear, almost the same sort of blue that reflected in inspectors’ eyes whenever their Dominators activated.
Dazai kissed him back, if only to shut him up.
Chuuya was a passionate kisser and Dazai tried to match him. He attempted to switch them around, but Chuuya wouldn’t move, wouldn’t let Dazai press him against the wall. He did back up slightly, pulling Dazai forward so that he wasn’t so confined, but that wasn’t the problem. Dazai wanted to be the one driving what they were doing.
To his surprise, Chuuya was the first one to pull back. “My shirt is gross now that it’s drying,” he said.
“You mean it wasn’t gross before?” Dazai asked.
“Shut up.” He turned to walk back towards where they lived. “Coming?”
“Yup.”
As they walked, Dazai thought about what he knew about Chuuya. Someone engineered to be a criminal shouldn’t have cared about other people, but Chuuya did. A lot. Enough to protect them. There were terrible things Chuuya was willing to do to achieve that goal, but Dazai wondered if he was meant to care about others in the first place. If they were going for someone almost impossible to rehabilitate, they should have made it so that Chuuya didn’t care about others at all.
Maybe that’s how it had started and Chuuya’s new environment had changed him. Dazai couldn’t imagine the slums being beneficial to anyone, but compared to the rehabilitation facility, maybe it was beneficial to Chuuya.
A few hours later they were both sitting on what had become their favorite rooftop, sharing a bottle of whiskey between them. Everything should have been the same as it always was, but the air was heavy with whatever Chuuya was expecting to happen after they’d kissed.
Dazai didn’t want a relationship, but there was something he did want.
“Chuuya, you really have no idea where you came from?”
Chuuya took a sip of whiskey and placed the bottle between them. “Why? What’s this got to do with…”
“With what? Kissing? Did you actually mean something by that?” Dazai asked. “You know how these things end here. Badly.”
“Doesn’t mean it can’t happen,” Chuuya said.
“I’m saying it can’t.”
“Then why should I answer your question?”
To Chuuya’s credit, he didn’t reach for the whiskey again even though Dazai knew he was hurt.
“We’re still partners. And I still want to know about you,” Dazai said. He knew it sounded like some sort of mixed message, but he didn’t care.
“I might know something,” Chuuya said.
“Really?”
“A while back, when we first met, the inspector I killed had pointed his Dominator at me,” Chuuya said. “I’d seen it used on other people but that was the first time someone used it on me. I heard what it said.”
“Your crime coefficient?” Dazai asked.
Chuuya shook his head. “It said, ‘subject A5158 to be taken in for questioning, enforcement mode: non-lethal paralyzer.’”
That was very interesting. “But not your crime coefficient?”
“Nope.” Chuuya shrugged. “I’ve been wondering what it meant ever since, but I have no idea.”
“You haven’t looked for information?” Dazai asked.
“I have, but I haven’t found anything,” Chuuya said. “Maybe it’s for the best.”
Dazai wondered if Chuuya was scared of the answer or if he was trying to spare himself the disappointment of not finding anything.
“Maybe,” he said. Maybe he should have told Chuuya what he knew, but he didn’t.
He wasn’t sure if it was because he liked knowing more about Chuuya than Chuuya knew about himself, or if he was trying to do Chuuya a kindness.
Both things seemed wrong.
*
Mori’s latest weapons shipment would all go to plan except for one thing: Dazai didn’t plan on coming back.
He couldn’t deal with the tension between him and Chuuya. He knew what Chuuya wanted. He wanted it, too, but he knew he would lose it. Neither of them would live very long in this place.
Dazai was efficient. If he could get rid of any future pain and suffering he would, which was why he let slip the location where they would be exchanging the weapons for money. The time he gave was slightly later than the actual meeting time, so that the transaction would still happen and Mori’s people would get away. Ideally, that included Chuuya.
If things went really well, the safety bureau would send multiple inspectors. That would cause chaos and would allow Dazai to slip away and get ‘caught’ by one of them. They’d judge him with their Dominator, shoot him, and he’d die.
If something went wrong, he had his own old-fashioned gun to finish the job.
Any future disappointments, pains, and losses would be eliminated in the span of a few seconds, and Dazai could rest.
Still, he couldn’t get rid of the slight tightness in his chest every time he looked at Chuuya as they prepared. Chuuya had no idea what was going to happen and it was likely that he’d blame himself, and Dazai would die knowing where Chuuya came from without actually having told him.
There was no time for a drawn out conversation, so Dazai pulled Chuuya aside just before they headed out and said, “I think I know why the Dominator said what it did about you.”
Chuuya’s eyes widened slightly.
“It’s because you’re not from here,” Dazai told him. “You’re linked to the government.”
Chuuya stared at him, looking like he wanted to ask several questions at once, but they didn’t have time and Dazai had set it up that way on purpose so that Chuuya wouldn’t ask how he knew.
He grabbed Chuuya by the shirt and pulled him close, kissing him deeply and telling himself that it was to stop Chuuya from asking anything. They hadn’t kissed since the first time despite the tension between them. Dazai knew it was what Chuuya still wanted. He knew that both the information and the kiss at the same time would overwhelm Chuuya and make it hard for him to think so that it would be easier for Dazai to slip away.
As he pulled back, his throat felt tight and he didn’t want to think about why. He shouldn’t have felt guilty about leaving Chuuya with this, so instead he said, “let’s focus on the mission for now.”
Chuuya looked a bit dazed, but he nodded.
They headed to the exchange location, which wasn’t too far away. Chuuya’s focus was back on the mission, which would be enough. Dazai’s focus was elsewhere, but Chuuya was competent enough to make up for his absence. Dazai was counting on that.
The weapons were exchanged for money easily and most of the shipment was already being transported via cars to where the Mafia stored its weapons when a siren echoed in the streets.
Everyone dispersed. Dazai ran just like the rest of them, but only for a couple of blocks. The others would either be hiding deeper in the slums or attacking anyone who tried to capture them, but Dazai took a leisurely stroll down one of the streets and went around the block, intending to head back towards where the police had found them.
As he was walking, he heard footsteps behind him. He didn’t turn around. It was only when he heard a cool, robotic voice speak that he stopped.
He didn’t hear what it said but he felt like he didn’t need to. He turned, expecting to see a Dominator in lethal eliminator mode pointed at him.
Instead, the Dominator was in paralyzer mode. Dazai felt like the ground had dropped out from under him.
It meant he had to do the job himself.
There was something about pulling the trigger that he found hard, which was why he hadn’t died yet, but now he took his gun and pressed the muzzle against the right side of his head. It was a little awkward but it would work.
“I’ll shoot myself before you can use that thing,” Dazai said. He wanted to ask why it wasn’t in lethal mode. Surely his crime coefficient was high enough that he should be killed on the spot.
“You want to die?” The inspector behind the Dominator lowered the weapon so that Dazai could see his face. He was a young man with red hair, only a few years older than Dazai. Something about him looked calming. He wasn’t afraid of Dazai, nor did he look particularly anxious about being in the slums.
“I’d rather die than live in some facility for the rest of my life,” Dazai said. “So unless you can get that thing to change in a lethal gun, I’ll shoot myself.”
“It won’t change based on your crime coefficient,” the man said.
“How?” Dazai blurted out, his voice cracking. He remembered when he first met Chuuya and the Dominator was on paralyzer mode, but that was a long time ago. He thought that his crime coefficient would have changed by now. He’d done so much worse in the past few years that he felt like a husk of a person compared to back then. “I’m not just a latent criminal, I am a criminal. I’ve killed, I’ve planned other peoples’ deaths, I’ve hurt and manipulated people, I’ve done all sorts of things. I can’t be rehabilitated, and I know those places don’t rehabilitate people anyway. People just go there to rot. I deserve death.”
“It sounds more like you want to die,” the man said.
“I deserve it,” Dazai insisted. His plan was not going to plan, which was so rare that he felt himself panicking a little.
“I don’t think so,” the man said. “You know, if you don’t want to rot away in some facility there’s still work you can do outside of one.”
Dazai laughed. “Not like I’d have a choice. You’ll shoot me anyway, right? Who knows where you’d take me after that.” He should have finished it already, but he was hesitating and he didn’t know why.
“I’m a latent criminal,” the man said.
Dazai stared at him. He’d heard of latent criminals being employed by the safety bureau as enforcers working under inspectors, but he’d never met one, and he had no idea how that worked.
“Even worse,” Dazai said. “You should understand but you want to resign me to a life of imprisonment.”
“I don’t,” the man said. “I want to offer you a way to help others. I know the system is...not the best...but it does feel better to try to help people as best we can.”
“What are you saying?” Dazai asked.
“I want to offer you the chance to become an enforcer,” the man said. “Like me.”
“How do I know you won’t just paralyze me and lock me up?” Dazai asked. He hated that he was even considering the idea instead of going through with his plan and being done with it.
“I won’t paralyze you,” the man said. “I promise.” He lowered his gun.
“Why do you think I’d make a good enforcer?” Dazai asked. “I just told you everything I’ve done and you really think that’s a good idea?”
“I used to kill people,” the man said with a shrug. “You look young. I think you have a chance.”
“A chance for what?” Dazai asked.
“A chance at a better life,” the man said. “A chance to try to help people. This life isn’t doing much for you. You look tired.”
He was very tired. “What if that’s not better?”
“Then at least you tried,” the man said. “I don’t regret it.”
Dazai didn’t lower the gun, but he was thinking. Escaping sounded nice. He never thought that he’d be able to escape his place or amount to anything remotely good. Maybe this man wasn’t good, because the government wasn’t something Dazai considered good, but it was better. It was a chance to at least try to help people, to keep them safe.
He thought about Chuuya, who was created by this system to try to make it more efficient without success, and how he had no chance at a good life as a normal person since the beginning. And yet he still cared. If he could care after being made into someone who should have nothing but malice towards others, then maybe Dazai could change.
He felt that guilt again, that he was leaving Chuuya to this if he decided to do this, but he hadn’t prepared for this. He hadn’t expected anything else to happen other than his death and now he had a chance at something better. He realized this was what he’d been looking for—a reason to live. Maybe this would give him one.
Maybe he’d be able to help Chuuya too, if he managed to become a better person this way.
Slowly, Dazai lowered the gun. “Who are you?”
“Oda Sakunosuke,” the man said. “Are you coming?”
Dazai nodded and placed the gun on the ground. Someone would probably find it later. It was the only hint that he’d ever been there at all.
He followed Oda down the street towards the police cars and stopped short a few feet away. This all felt surreal.
Before he could start walking again, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be fine,” Oda said.
Dazai didn’t know why—maybe it was Oda’s calm voice or the warm firmness of the hand on his shoulder—but he believed him.