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The radio crackles as Hari turns the dial and turns his head to listen to the stuttered mixture of music and voices as the signal flits from station to station. He frowns and settles for a random station blaring out an unknown, upbeat song that Hari can’t quite translate with his poor grip of the English language. No bother, it’s not like the music is of real importance, it’s just a pleasantry to drown out the more unpleasant noises the evening will inevitably bring.
“It’s disgusting in here.”
Hari turns to face his companion, his leader, who is leaning back against a plastic table not too far from where he is standing. Kai is peering over his mask at the grimy concrete floor beneath his feet, sharp eyes crinkled in disgust. His ever-gloved hands are already twitching at his sides, a habit Kai has picked up to try and stop himself from instantly reaching up to scratch at the side of his face. That compulsion began a long time ago, back when they were just kids who’d been taken under Pops’ wing, back when Kai couldn’t let a speck of dirt get on his shoes without retching. Though he still twitches and flinches away from most contact, he’s gotten better over the years with the help of face masks and latex and a group of people who are careful not to exacerbate his compulsions. The reason for his utter revulsion to dirt is still unknown to Hari, even as his best friend and defacto brother, but he’s not felt the need to pry too far into Kai’s personal affairs.
“It’s better than making the hideout dirty, right?” Hari shrugs, closing the distance between them to start rummaging through the bag on the table next to Kai. “At least here we can just burn the place down when we’re done.”
Kai hums curtly and glances at Hari as he starts unloading the contents of the bag onto the surface. “I suppose so.”
“So what do you want to use first?” Hari asks, nodding toward the packages. He swiftly unwraps the plastic wrap and flicks his hand carelessly in their direction. “Mimic wanted me to bring a blowtorch of all things, but I said that was a little uncouth. What do you think?”
The jaunty song on the radio fills the silence as Kai looks over the items on the table. He runs his gloved fingers across the cool barrel of a handgun, the handle of a pair of pliers, the sharp edge of a knife. The mask covering his mouth crinkles around a smile.
“This,” Kai murmurs, sliding his fingers down the flat of the blade until he reaches the handle. The way he looks at it as he lifts it up, through lidded, pretty eyes, is almost loving and Hari finds himself averting his gaze to let him have his moment.
“You still sure you want to do this?” Hari queries, raising a brow. “S’bound to get messy.”
“I’ll let you know if it gets too much,” Kai answers, solemnly.
He turns and starts walking away from the table, knife at his side, to head towards the reason they’re in this grubby warehouse in the first place. A lone chair is placed not too far from them, occupied by the slumped over figure of one of their associates. His arms have been lashed together with gaffer tape and slung over the back of the chair at a rather uncomfortable looking angle and there’s further strips of adhesive wound around his mouth to keep him from speaking. There’s a good quantity of blood on his face already, pouring out of a split on his forehead. That wound was likely courtesy of Rappa, the one who’d brought him kicking and screaming to this place. Poor guy, Hari thinks as he pushes himself up to sit on the table, it would’ve probably been kinder to let Rappa beat him to death. He knows how unforgiving Kai can be and the fact he hasn’t chosen just to disassemble to guy in seconds doesn’t bode well for him. They might be here for a while.
The injured man looks up when he hears the footsteps approaching and when he cracks open his eyes they are already puffy and bloodshot. He’s been crying. They start shimmering anew when he catches sight of the knife in Kai’s hand and he lurches upright in the chair, strangled whines sounding softly from behind the gaffer.
“It was rather foolish of you to think we wouldn’t find out, Ken,” Kai says, almost inaudible to Hari because of the radio. “Feeding information to the heroes, leaving Eri’s door unlocked - tsk-tsk. You might have caused us a whole world of trouble. But you know I can be lenient, I’m a reasonable man. If you can give me a good reason why you decided to sell us out then maybe we can avoid making a mess here.”
The man’s eyes widen with panic and he starts nodding frantically as Kai raises the knife and taps the top of his head with it.
“Yeah? You got a good reason, huh?” Kai continues, rocking his head gently to the side. Hari can’t see his face from where he’s sitting but he can imagine the way his predatory eyes glimmer with excitement, the way they always do before he’s about to crush someone into the dirt. “Go on then, tell me. You’ve got five seconds.”
A few gurgles come from behind the gaffer tape.
“Sorry, you’ll have to speak more clearly.”
Ken’s eyes bulge and he starts straining his neck as he twists his head from side to side to try and loosen the tape. It won’t work, Hari muses, Rappa must’ve used half a roll. There’s desperation in the bound man’s eyes when they lock with Hari’s, they seem to plead ‘help me’, ‘save me’, and an uncomfortable feeling settles in Hari’s stomach. Kai lets out a sigh, as if he’s disappointed and lowers the blade so it’s resting between the man’s ear and his head. The muffled grunts escalate into hysterical, high-pitched shrieks.
“I guess you didn’t have anything to say to me after all, Ken. What a shame.”
Hari hums along to the song crackling through the radio speakers, tapping his fingers gently against the edge of the table. The man in the chair is screaming almost constantly now, but thankfully the noise is somewhat drowned out by the thick tape plastered over his mouth. He wonders what Kai’s doing to him and debates getting up to see the damage, though he eventually decides against it. Let the boss have his fun by himself for a little while, he deserves it. A fond smile spreads across Hari’s face. He and Chisaki have been friends since childhood, both street rats taken in by Pops as an act of kindness. Kindness, or perhaps, due to their lack of familial ties and powerful quirks, they were seen as potential - Hari doesn’t care either way. Ever since the day they met, two slightly grubby children with cuts on their faces, Hari’s always been at Kai’s side. To say he is fiercely loyal would be an understatement, if Kai told him to jump, he would. If he told him to kill, he would, and he had . He probably will be again very shortly, if the blood pooling on the floor at Kai’s feet is anything to go by.
Still, this isn’t to say that Hari agrees with everything his friend does. Kai’s intentions, while admirable, are not entirely sound in Hari’s opinion. Restoring the Yakuza, the criminal underworld, in a society where heroes loomed victorious over everything seems unattainable to him - why bring back something that is already broken when Kai could so easily create something new, something better? He’s spoken with Kai at length about such matters in the past, back before ‘Overhaul ’, back before the ‘Eight Precepts of Death’ and failed to get through to him. There’s not much more Hari can do to sway him, so he’s settled for staying by his side through these endeavours to make sure he has the steadfast support he needs. What else can he do - it’s not as if he can abandon Kai now, not after everything they’ve been through.
Other things bother him too - the way Kai thinks of people as expendable, the way he’s trying to play God with a test-tube, the way he hurt Pops. Then there’s the more troubling issue of Eri. Hari tries not to think about it most of the time, he just follows orders and focuses on Kai. But there are days where the moral weight takes its toll. It’s troubling to watch Eri bite her tongue and screw her eyes shut as she tries not to make a sound, tries not to be a bother , as Kai calls her. She’s just a child, she shouldn’t have learned to stay silent and resigned herself to this fate yet. Sometimes Hari tries to talk with her when he carries her back to her room, little platitudes like ‘I could bring some chocolate after dinner?’ and ‘we could go into the garden to play tomorrow, it’s sunny outside’. Eri only ever shakes her head, sometimes utters a blank ‘no’ .
Whenever Kai isn’t around her eyes are so vacant, she looks like one of the dolls at the end of her bed. When he is present, Eri is more alert, on edge, she watches Kai’s every movement. She watches everything and Hari has begun to grow concerned that she’s learning. She’s started scratching the side of her face, in the same place Kai gets those irritable rashes when he overuses his quirk, despite her skin being perfectly clear. Those dolls of hers, once kept pristine and pretty by Eri’s own hand, have started to be picked at the seams. Their dresses have been torn, their hair cut into bizarre fashions, their plastic fingers bent or completely ripped off. Hari glances up to look at Kai as he continues to taunt the man in the chair, noting the now-bloody knife in one hand and the way his shoulders are heaving. Like father, like daughter. He wonders if she is really starting to believe that’s the truth and whether she’ll grow up to emulate his cruelty as well as his habits.
Hari drums his fingers on the tops of his thighs to the tune still blaring on the radio. It’s quite good, he’ll have to listen out for the name of the band at the end. The song drums on and on, a jaunty discordant harmony to the guttural screams from across the warehouse. He lets his worries sink back down, not to be erased entirely but not to be mused on any longer tonight. Things bother him, but never for long and he’s hardly taken real steps to allay any of his fears. Hari is just as morally bankrupt as the rest of the Precepts, if not more so, as unlike them he can at least see what they’re doing is inhumane and wrong. He just doesn’t care, he’s only following orders.
Kai turns and heads back toward Hari with a wild look in his eyes. The bloody knife clatters onto the table at Hari’s side and Kai begins ripping off his soiled gloves, fingers trembling as he tries to avoid getting blood on his skin. It looks like he’s reached his limit and now it’s Hari’s time to take over.
“Had enough?”
Chisaki nods, dragging in several harsh breaths before glancing sideways at his second-in-command. “Yes. Ask him who he’s talked to then finish it off. I can’t stand touching it anymore. I want to go home.”
“Sure. How you want me to-?”
Clang. Chisaki’s foot collides with the metal jerry-can resting beneath the table. Hari raises brow but nods in agreement. It’s a sensible idea, they wouldn’t want to leave behind any evidence. He takes up the can and lightly pats his pocket before heading toward the man sitting in the chair. The mess Kai has left behind is rather unpleasant - there’s a bloody hole in his head where his ear should be, while the organ itself is resting in the man’s lap. Ken raises his head as Hari approaches and he can’t but help feel bad for the guy. He sets the can down on Ken’s knee and leans his weight against it as he leans closer to his face.
“Nod or shake your head. If you’re good then I might be able to convince him to let you go,” Hari says, lies falling easily off his silver tongue. Ken nods. “Good. Now look, we know you were talking to someone. I’m gonna list off a few groups and you’re gonna tell me who it is, alright?” Again, he nods. Sniffles. “Were they villains?”
Shake. No.
“Heroes?”
Shake. No.
“Police?”
Hesitation. Then - yes.
Hari whistles lowly and glances over his shoulder at Chisaki, who is leant against the table, idly scratching the side of his cheek. “Police informant. What do you want me to do?”
The scratching continues. “I told you - finish it off.”
“Whatever you say, Kai,” Hari replies, turning back to face Ken. He lifts up the can and unscrews the cap so he can begin pouring the contents over the man’s head. Either the petrol must sting or Ken’s just realised what’s about to happen to him, because he starts screaming again, muffled cries of ‘help me’, ‘save me’. Petrol gets sloshed across his lap, over his shoulders, poured over his head into his eyes. Hari wrinkles his nose - it smells disgusting.
“Hari, will you hurry up? I want to get home,” Kai complains.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting to it. Be patient.”
Ken wails hoarsely behind the gag as Hari sets the can down at his feet and begins rummaging in his pocket. He retrieves a small silver lighter and flicks it open in front of the man’s terrified face, frowning when he starts trying to struggling out of the tape again. There’s a horrid twisting sensation deep in his guts but he carries on. He’s just following orders. Still, the way Ken’s bloodshot eyes plead for mercy make Hari pause, make his free hand clench into a fist as he ponders exactly why he’s still blindly following his best friend. Before Hari can spark the lighter it’s plucked out of his fingers. He hears Kai huffing at his side, then the gritty turn of flint, and the rake of fingernails across skin.
“You’re always so slow,” Kai snaps, elbowing Hari out of the way. He throws the lighter onto the informant’s lap and takes a step back as flames immediately start to crawl up the man’s body. “There. Now come on, let’s go.”
He’s stomping back toward the table moments later, leaving Hari to stare blankly at the writhing mass of fire in front of him. He wonders how many more of these atrocities it will take for him to see Kai in a different light. After a moment, Hari turns away and starts to gather the devices they brought with them. What they’ve done will send a message to those who think of turning on the Precepts. Betray Overhaul and it won’t be quick or painless. The thought sends a shiver down Hari’s spine.
Across the room, the radio has gone back to crackling, the song ended long ago.