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Summary: Stuck in a world half-full of serial killers, Chuuya and Ranpo work together to get out.
Yokohama, Japan
The book sucked them in, pulling at them with long tendrils of yellow and white words. It was an inescapable vortex, an innocent-looking black hole. They succumbed to unconscious.
The book dropped out of Ranpo’s hand and hit the ground. It was picked up by a raccoon and carried safely away to its owner.
XXX
City, Poe's book
500 Targets Left
They woke up on a city sidewalk. The street was empty, covered in dust. Buildings clustered together, straining for room.
Ranpo stood up. He brushed the cement dust off his pants and took off his glasses. "Seems rather lonely for a place with a thousand people," he commented. He was slammed against a building.
"You're a real son of a b*tch," Chuuya snarled. He felt lightheaded. His anger turned to embers—there was no real point to fighting in this situation. He let go of Ranpo's collar.
Ranpo ignored his rumpled collar—he never had been someone who cared for fashion. His back hurt from colliding harshly with brick, though. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, a grin on his face. "If we don't team up, neither of us will get through this alive," he pointed out.
"Alive?" Chuuya scoffed. One person against five hundred killers wasn't good odds. But honestly, he felt like taking it and avoiding the irritating detective.
Ranpo scrutinized his companion. His eyes were still open, exposing emerald green orbs. "Or faster, if you want to frame it like that."
The wind picked up. It helped to carry the noise of a woman screaming. The sound echoed through the empty corridors of the city.
They both turned towards it on instinct.
Chuuya brushed his red hair out of his face, cursing the wind in his mind. He kept a hand on his hat to keep it from blowing away. He clicked his tongue. "Fine," he testily agreed.
XXX
Street, Poe's book
500 Targets Left
Chuuya had decided to get Ranpo to divulge what he knew about this world. "Could we just wait for them to kill off all the normal characters?" He questioned. If so, it would be easy to find the serial killers. At this point Chuuya knew he wasn't getting out of the book soon. Ranpo had successfully taken both of them out of the game.
"No," Ranpo answered. "That's not how this book was set up."
"How involved in setting this up were you?" Chuuya narrowed his eyes at his companion.
"I gave a specific sets of instructions for how to make it." Ranpo tugged his cap down—it was on sideways—to protect his eyes from the sun.
Chuuya scrutinized the street. He picked up a rough piece of white concrete that had broken off. The rock stood out sharply against his black leather glove. "This is Edgar Allen Poe's ability, right?"
Ranpo glanced at his companion. ". . . Yes," he carefully admitted.
Chuuya hummed, tossing the rock over his shoulder. His blue eyes, shaded by his own hat, sharpened.
They got to the street corner and looked down the street. Resigned to doing what they needed to get out, they walked down the street towards the murder scene.
A woman was sprawled out on the street. Her long hair formed a disingenuous halo around her head. The gunshot wound on her chest was visible, blood coating her torso. The red stood out starkly on her white sweater.
Two men stood on opposite sides of her. Both of them had a gun in their hands. Their faces paled as they noticed Ranpo and Chuuya.
"It wasn't me!" The man on the right desperately claimed. He held the gun in both hands, shaking.
"It was him!" The man on the left accused, using his free hand to point at the man on the right.
Ranpo peered down at the dead woman. He put on his glasses to get a more detailed view. Judging from the angle of the shot, it was the man on the right. "It was you," he blandly accused. A pair of handcuffs materialized in his hand.
The man on the right started to bolt down the street. His gun dropped to the ground.
Ranpo looked over the handcuffs, turning them around. "It looks like we have to handcuff them to catch them."
Chuuya held out a hand. "Give it to me."
Ranpo handed them over. He wasn't fast enough to run the killer down.
"Why, thank you," Chuuya replied, a twinge of sarcasm in his voice. He grinned viciously as he turned and sprinted down the street.
XXX
Alleyway, Poe's book
492 Targets Left
They had quickly worked out a system: Ranpo found the killers and accused them. Chuuya handcuffed them. This delegation of tasks worked to their strengths the best.
Seven people were in the alleyway. Well, ten if one counted the corpses.
Ranpo started ruling people out by elimination. “He's innocent. She's innocent. The couple is too shocked,” he pointed to each in turn. "They're all too genuinely shocked to have done it. Which only leaves you, the best friend of the girl." He jerked his thumb to the dressed-up woman. "You were jealous. You were trying to catch the attention of your friend's boyfriend. But he rejected you."
The woman paled and tried to rush the two investigators. She had a knife in her hands—weapons still worked on Chuuya and Ranpo.
Ranpo quickly stepped aside. He wasn't going to try to stop her. That wasn't his job.
Chuuya stepped to the side as well, unblocking the alleyway entrance. He held his hands up to appear non-threatening.
Ranpo frowned, confusion and doubt creeping into his mind for that split second. What was Chuuya doing?
Chuuya let the woman get a pace behind him before he acted. He reached out and grabbed the killer's wrist. He squeezed her hand, forcing her to drop the knife. He twisted her arm around her back and pushed, causing her to fall forward. He planted a knee on the ground to keep himself from faceplanting and kept a firm grip on the killer.
Ranpo raised an eyebrow, but he extinguished the doubt he had felt. He crouched down and handed the cuffs to Chuuya.
XXX
Alleyway, Poe's book
394 Targets Left
Chuuya jumped, stretching out his hand for the killer’s boot. He failed to connect before the killer moved upwards and out of range. His own dress shoes hit the concrete with a loud, flat sound, a mix of a thud and a tap.
He swore and started climbing up the fire escape. He kept a tight hold on the handcuffs in his left hand as he made it onto the rooftop.
The killer tried the door that connected the rooftop to the stairs of the building. It was locked.
"You kind of cornered yourself," Chuuya drawled. "You really should have gone down the street instead."
It took a bit of fighting, but Chuuya succeeded in handcuffing the serial killer and walked down the fire escape.
Ranpo was waiting in the alleyway, at the bottom of the stairs. "Mr. Fancy Hat, did you have trouble reaching? I guess he was just too high up for you to get."
Chuuya looked thoroughly unimpressed. He flatly replied, "Detective, you don't really have the room to be talking."
XXX
Parking Lot, Poe's book
347 Targets Left
It only took one glance at the scene for Ranpo to figure out who was the murderer and who was innocent.
Chuuya handcuffed the killers after a bit of a struggle. They had started to get faster and stronger as Ranpo and Chuuya went on.
Chuuya spoke up about a thought he'd been having since they began working together. This was a world without abilities, which meant. . . "You're supposed to have an ability that lets you solve crime. But that's not true, is it?"
"Finally figured out the obvious?" Ranpo caustically replied. It was still a bitter pill for him to swallow, that he wasn't Gifted. And by going into Poe's book and solving crimes once again, he was forcing himself to swallow it. It didn't mean he appreciated it being pointed out by his companion.
The comment rolled off of Chuuya like water on a duck's back. He merely shrugged and started walking towards the stairs. He had known before; he just hadn't verbalised it until now. Besides, Ranpo's thoughts on him? Chuuya didn't give a rat's a*s about what the detective thought.
"But, I understand why it took you so long," Ranpo spoke in a bland, mockingly sympathetic tone. "I guess you're used to being completely outclassed mentally. What with Dazai being your partner."
Chuuya turned. He slammed his balled up fist into the wall. Even without his ability, the cement broke under his knuckles. He cursed under his breath. He knew all of these games. He'd been through this type of thing before with Dazai. He knew this type of person. "You really want me to kill you, don't you? You have fun trying to piss me off?"
Ranpo surveyed the crater that covered a good twenty foot section of the concrete wall. "You're an interesting person."
Chuuya whirled around. "And that gives you the right to play with people?"
Ranpo's breath stuck in his lungs at the glare he received from dark blue eyes. He pushed past the feeling that he was a second away from having a knife shoved between his ribs. He smirked. "No, but it does make the option too tempting to ignore."
Chuuya exhaled. He covered the knuckles of the hand he had used to punch the wall, cradling the hand. He squeezed his hand, trying to embed it with the restraint needed to get through this place without murdering the detective. "We're moving on," he decided.
Ranpo followed in silent agreement.
XXX
Residential Building, Poe's book
334 Targets Left
Ranpo slept. He had claimed the bed by collapsing on it almost the moment Chuuya broke down the door. He was safely off in dreamland, snoring lightly.
Chuuya thought. He hated being here. He was connected to his ability. The pressure in his chest and the sensation of everything within a forty foot radius when he closed his eyes. He didn't have that anymore. What he had was his mind was almost constantly yelling at him.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Chuuya lived on a beach. Dazai's ability was low tide, cutting off Chuuya's access to his powers temporarily. Being in this fictional world was suddenly being transported to a desert. Chuuya needed water—he felt like he was slowly dying. He had never been separated from his ability—his inhuman side, for that was what it truly was—for so long.
How long? Well, they didn't know. The sun never went down in this city. Any electronic devices they had brought with them didn't work. Chuuya's phone wouldn't turn on.
Chuuya sighed. There was no way he was going to sleep. He drew his knife and shifted into a more comfortable position on the couch.
XXX
Street, Poe's book
275 Targets Left
Chuuya strolled down the street at a languid pace. "So how many does that make it now?" He called out, drawing the attention of his companion.
"275," Ranpo answered. "We're close to halfway." He had started wearing his glasses all the time, since they almost constantly bumped into cases.
Chuuya rocked on his feet slightly. He was getting an odd sort of cabin fever and homesickness, not so much related to Yokohama, but to the lack of his ability. "How much time do you think has passed in the real world?"
"I don't know," Ranpo casually replied, as if he had been asked about how the weather would be tomorrow and wasn't particularly concerned about whether or not there would be a downpour.
Chuuya frowned.
With no way to communicate with the real world, they were both in the dark about how the fight between the Agency and Port was going. Or had gone, depending on how much time had passed.
XXX
Business Building, Poe's book
241 Targets Left
Office chairs were not comfortable. Ranpo had opted for the floor after finding a blanket in the supply closet.
Ranpo stayed awake. He kept his eyes closed. His hat was tilted down, hiding his face.
Chuuya wasn't going to sleep. He moved around. He cleaned his knife and shoes. He did not lay down.
Ranpo frowned. Chuuya needed to sleep, but wouldn't. And Ranpo couldn't force him. Ranpo barely knew enough to reason with Chuuya about strategies for cases. It was a lost cause.
Ranpo gave up on resisting the siren call of sleep himself. Better to have only one of them sleep deprived, instead of both.
XXX
Cafe, Poe's book
157 Targets Left
The place was fully stocked. The coffeemakers in the place worked, despite being electronics.
They were the only two people moving in there. Although they weren't really moving that much—they were far more focused on their beverage of choice.
Chuuya looked about ready to keel over. He clutched the cup of coffee in his hands with a sort of desperate look in his eyes.
Ranpo alternated between sucking on a candy cane and using it to stir his cup of hot cocoa. "This place is rather nice."
"You just like it because of the candy cane and hot chocolate," Chuuya idly accused.
Ranpo smiled. "Of course. They're the only redeeming aspect quality of being in this world that I've found."
Chuuya sighed. "I'd prefer to be drinking coffee in the real world."
A corpse lay on the floor near their table. A pile of ashes was by the door.
XXX
Street, Poe's book
115 Targets Left
They settled into a comfortable rhythm.
The street was largely deserted, as it always was in this world. Storefronts lined the street. One could look into a window and see the many things offered for sale. But there was no one working in the stores nor anyone trying to buy anything.
There was, however, five figures in the street, two fictional and three not. There was a corpse on the ground, dead from poison.
Ranpo stared at the line up of three people. He used his wrist to gesture subtly at one, a signal. "It’s you," he accused a second later.
The chosen person was tackled to the ground, restrained by Chuuya. He caught the handcuffs without looking, focused on the killer trying to buck free from under his.
Ranpo grinned. This team up was working better than he had initially expected.
XXX
Street, Poe's book
97 Targets Left
Time really did work weirdly here. This was the first time they had gotten hungry.
The vendor cart opened. A person served them food.
Chuuya and Ranpo ordered. When they were done, Ranpo pointed out that the vendor was a killer. "Shame about him being a killer. The falafel was good," he mourned.
"And about him being fictional," Chuuya tacked on with a raised eyebrow. 'That part's kind of important too,' the look in his eyes said.
Ranpo shrugged.
XXX
Store, Poe's book
45 Targets Left
They had found futons, but no beds. They spread them out on the floor of a small perfume store. The many smells mixed together in a comforting haze.
"Are you going to sleep, Mr. Fancy Hat?" Ranpo asked. He was sprawled out under his futon, staring up at the ceiling.
"I'm fine," Chuuya insisted. He didn't waste time pretending he was going to sleep. He sat on top of his futon, knife drawn. His right leg shook, more from exhaustion than his anxious thoughts—there were dark bags under his eyes. He masked his mental and physical state well, well enough that the only real tip offswere small signs.
It was unnoticeable to most, but not to a great detective. Ranpo noted the husky quality to his companion's voice and the suspicious lack of annoyance. He chose to stay silent. Chuuya was stubborn—he wouldn't budge. Ranpo would have better luck trying to persuade Fukuzawa-san to hate cats.
XXX
Street, Poe's book
11 Targets Left
A crowd formed around them.
Ranpo's eyes lit up some. "Here's an interesting challenge. We have to pick out the killers from a crowd." He started to turn around, looking at the many people filling the street.
No longer was the street deserted—it was filled up completely, packed. If one person was added, the windows in the stores could very well break from the people pressed against them.
Chatter.
Movement.
Laughter.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Chuuya stumbled as someone bumped into him. He turned around. He saw. . . black fire. He saw ghouls. He saw people. He saw flesh puppets. He saw a crowd of people. Anxiety, rage, and fear coiled around his chest and in his lungs. He couldn't breathe.
He slowly, carefully took off his gloves.
He opened his mouth, forcing himself to take a breath. He threw out his fist, to check if they were killers—he reminded himself through his rising hysteria—or even human. The killer characters were better physically and more aggressive than the normal ones.
Ranpo watched, staying out of the way of the natural disaster his companion had turned into. He knew hallucinations occured with significant sleep loss.
Chuuya's fist went through several of his hallucinations, slamming into the jaw of a real character.
This one was a killer. The killer returned the punch with one of his own.
Chuuya stumbled back, unable to respond in time. The apparitions around him were blocking his sight—they gathered around him, making him unable to focus. He snarled under his breath, throwing his fist out again, hoping to strike his attacker.
Ranpo scrutinized the killer's outfit, finding the clues he needed. The killer looked normal to him, but then, he wasn’t hallucinating. "You're a killer," he muttered. The handcuffs appeared in his hands.
While Chuuya and the killer fought, Ranpo approached from the killer's blind spot. He waited for his lucky moment and slapped the cuffs on the killer's wrists.
Ranpo slipped away, unwilling to weather the wrath of Chuuya. It didn't matter if Chuuya had his ability or not. If he could easily break concrete, the mafioso could break bones with his punches.
Chuuya continued to rampage in the street. Everything he saw, thought and felt mixed together: the vivid delusions from exhaustion, the sensation of bruised knuckles, the feeling of unease, the unpleasant memory of a poisoned knife slidding between his ribs, and the distinct lack of his ability, of his other self.
Chuuya found five more killers, Ranpo sneak-attacked them, and the crowd vanished.
Chuuya closed his eyes. He pushed his hat down farther on his head.
Ranpo watched as Chuuya walked down the dusty, crumbling street, empty of all other life once again.
Chuuya picked up his gloves and put them on. He ignored the black fire licking at his shoes, an obvious hallucination. He refused to look at Ranpo, to see what the detective was thinking of his. . . meltdown, he decided to call it.
Ranpo sounded the usual, bored and apathetic. But he asked the question with a hint of something else, perhaps curiosity or sympathy. "Why haven't you let yourself go to sleep?"
Chuuya tugged on the pinky of his right finger, making sure the leather glove was on properly. "I have a feeling that if I go to sleep here. . .when I wake up, I won't be myself," he cryptically answered.
That was. . . an odd thing to say, but Ranpo was used to odd. He nodded absently and dropped the subject.
They would be out soon anyways.
XXX
Office Building, Poe's book
1 Target Left
The cubicles created an interesting obstacle course. Chuuya jumped from desk to desk, sliding over the tall dividers.
The killer was almost to the door.
Chuuya vaulted over the last divider and extended his right leg, the sole of his foot first. He hit the killer's back, hard.
He started to fall down. Unable to control gravity, he was forced to go along with the momentum he had caused. Chuuya threw out his hands to stop himself from slamming his nose into the floor—the handcuffs in his right hand painfully dug into his fingers.
The killer groaned, still dazed. The fall had knocked the air out of him.
Chuuya got one hand cuffed before the killer moved. He rolled off to the left to dodge the elbow aimed at his stomach, still keeping a hold on the open handcuff. The short chain of the handcuffs jerked the killer's right hand towards Chuuya.
Chuuya used his now free hand to grab the killer's left wrist, keeping it still long enough to cuff it. Mission accomplished, he let go and stood up.
Ranpo had taken the easy way around, going through the corridors at the edges of the large room. He was only a few seconds behind. He almost made a comment to Chuuya, but crossed the idea out after seeing the expression on his companion's face.
They watched.
The cuffed killer was on the floor, where Chuuya had left him. Flesh was torn away, followed by muscle, then bone. If one watched and did not blink, it was possible to see every layer of the killer slowly peel off and turn to dust.
Tendrils of yellow light appeared between Ranpo and Chuuya, reaching for them. They let the light touch them. They both knew it was useless to fight against the pull of the book and. . . both wished to return home. Or at the least, to see what had become of it in their absence.
XXX
Yokohama, Japan
Poe's Apartment
The sound was the first thing they noticed. Car horns, dogs barking, people talking, doors closing, cats meowing. . . . A brilliant cacophony of sounds that was absent from the world they had been in.
Chuuya ignored everything else and immediately went to the window. He looked out of it. The many colored lights of the city were almost blinding. The people waking and moving in the street were a welcome sight. He felt something swell in his chest. It was good to be home.
A raccoon chittered.
"You're back," Poe said in surprise. He had a book in his hands—a normal book, thankfully.
"What happened?" Ranpo asked. He took off his glasses, eyes closed once again.
Chuuya kept his back to them. He breathed out. A red glow surrounded his fist—For the Tainted Sorrow was back. He listened to the two friends talk.
"How much time?" Ranpo asked. He watched Karl, Poe's raccoon, clamber onto the bookshelf.
Poe answered.
Chuuya simply checked his phone. He sighed at the amount of texts and voicemails he had received. He quickly texted Kouyou that he was fine. He turned around, putting his phone in his pocket. "If you two ever try something like this on me again, it won't end well for you." He barely kept his exhaustion from seeping into his tone.
Ranpo smiled. "Is that a threat?" He apathetically wondered.
Chuuya opened the door to the hallway. "It's my word," he calmly replied, a promise of retribution should this situation repeat.
XXX
Yokohama, Japan
Chuuya's Apartment
Chuuya combed a hand through his bangs. He held his phone to his ear.
"Any injuries?" Mori asked. He sounded tired as well.
"None, just severe sleep deprivation, Boss," Chuuya replied. He carefully added, "I'm occasionally experiencing hallucinations."
Mori hummed. There was the sound of paper flipping and the scratch of a pen. "Take three days off," he granted. "When you're back, I want an in-person report. Oh, and report in to Kouyou daily, please. Have a good day, Chuuya." He tacked on, a hint of something unreadable in his voice, "Do get some sleep."
"Of course, Boss," Chuuya assured. He took off his hat.
The call ended.
Chuuya put his phone on his dresser, putting it next to his hat. He glanced at the other side of his room. His bed looked extremely inviting right now. He took off his shoes, coat, and vest before diving onto his bed. He closed his eyes and fell asleep quickly.
XXX
Several Months Later
Yokohama, Japan
Docks
"So, you're a murderer now?" Chuuya drawled.
The answer was clipped. "Yes."
Chuuya scoffed. "I call bull. There's too much detective in you." He adjusted his hat as he shot the man a look.
"Didn't know you believed in me that much, Mr. Fancy Hat." Ranpo let a smile of amusement curl onto his face.
"Yeah, yeah." Chuuya waved his hand. "Where are you hiding?"
Ranpo's eyes opened, narrowed slightly. He scrutinized the criminal, trying to decide whether or not to trust him. Ranpo knew the mafioso wasn't really the type to backstab people—Chuuya preferred a direct approach. Chuuya was reliable unless you tried to hurt someone he cared about, and Ranpo hadn't done that. He would trust Chuuya. "No set place, really," he admitted. "Any ideas?"
Chuuya nodded, crossing his arms. "Try heading towards Sheep territory and getting over into Suribachigai," he advised.
Ranpo nodded. In Suribachigai, he would still be close to the rest of Yokohama and hard to find. "Which way?" He bluntly asked. He was useless at directions. It was honestly a miracle he had made it this far.
"On the right, follow the bay." Chuuya jerked his thumb in the direction. "Lots of alleyways and little crannies to hide in. If you're through before night time, you shouldn't bump into anyone."
"Thanks for the tip, Mr. Fancy Hat,"
Ranpo said. He withdrew a lollipop from a pocket and started sucking on it.
Chuuya sighed under his breath. "Good luck," he threw over his shoulder as he walked away.