Chapter Text
When the first explosion occurred, it was small and isolated to a mostly abandoned warehouse district. There was one confirmed casualty, a vagrant that was known to spend his days there. The authorities were dispatched but could find no evidence of cause. It was three more days before the second explosion, in the fish market. The blast radius was much larger this time, and casualties reached the double digits. The third explosion came five days after. It was in a residential area of Yokohama. The casualties numbered in the hundreds, and included an entire school house of young children. That was when the Prime Minister contacted the Armed Detectives Agency.
An hour after the Agency’s president, Fukuzawa got off the phone with the Prime Minister, after debriefing his second-in-command, Kunikida, they gathered his detectives in the conference room. There was a grim blanket over the group. They’d all heard news of the recent deaths, it was enough to leave anyone somber. Kunikada stood at the front presenting the details of the case. He had the projector on, and images of the scenes of attack displayed on the white screen behind him.
“…with no evidence of incendiaries at the scene, authorities have determined that these explosions must be the work of an ability user. They’ve sent us a list of potential suspects whose abilities are similar to the destruction they’ve seen,” Kunikida flipped to the next slide featuring mugshots of several men and women, “I’ve prepared you each a dossier with their profiles and last known whereabouts…yes, Ranpo.”
The agency’s best detective lowered his hand from the air, and said, “None of these ability users has ever displayed the power to cause that level of damage before.”
“That’s correct,” Kunikida said, placing his hand in his pocket and frowning as Ranpo popped a potato chip in his mouth, munching on it loudly, “We’ll investigate the possibility that they are somehow amplifying their ability, but we won’t rule out an unknown ability user at work here. We’re most likely dealing with a terrorist group. If we can begin to unravel their motives, we might be able to predict their next target. We’ll be coordinating our efforts with the Special Ability Department. They’re sending an agent to meet at our headquarters later tonight. In the meantime, we’ll investigate the scenes of incident.”
“I’ll go to the first scene,” Ranpo declared, matter-of-fact.
Kunikida sighed, “Right. We suspect that was their test site. If they left any evidence, it’s more likely to be there. Atsushi and Kyouka will accompany you, Ranpo. Meanwhile, Junichirou and I will go to the residential area. Atsushi?”
Atsushi startled in his seat, flustering, “Ah…yes, Kunikida?”
“Where is Dazai?”
“Um…well…I told him about the meeting and…” Atsushi fidgeted with the paperwork in front of him, his eyes on the table, “He said…he just said…it didn’t have to do with Dostoevsky, so he wasn’t interested.”
“That…” Kunikida’s brow furrowed in frustration, nearly crumpling the case folder in his hands. The others were silent as he grit out, “…that lazy bastard needs to get back to work someday.”
“But…after what happened…shouldn’t we give him time?” Atsushi said.
“It’s already been three weeks,” Kunikida complained, “He’s just milking it as an excuse to get out of work. It can’t be that hard on him, he still flirts with the barista every day.”
“Doesn’t that feel more like an act though? Come to think of it, he hasn’t asked her to commit double suicide since…since watching that video. It just seems like he lost someone important to him,” Atsushi quietly argued.
“Who knows what he lost. He never said anything about it, even after,” Yosano pointed out, “I saw his tears, watching the video, but whether that was shock, elation, or grief, I don’t know. He was back to normal immediately after. Sometimes I’m not sure he’s even human, at least, not capable of the same human emotions.”
“Besides, it was a Port Mafia Executive. Why should anyone waste time mourning that kind of evil person? Aren’t we better off now that he’s dead and don’t have to worry about his ability if we go up against the mafia again?” Junichirou muttered.
“It isn’t our place to say what Dazai has or has not lost,” Fukuzawa declared, and the group turned their attention to him, “That is only for Dazai to decide for himself. His past is complicated, he has histories with people that, without knowing those histories, we can’t begin to understand their relationships. It’s not appropriate for us to discuss or speculate. Nakahara Chuuya’s death has affected Dazai. We will leave it at that. We have a case to work on.”
“Yes, I apologize, president, you’re right. We should focus on the case,” Kunikida cleared his throat, “Yosano, Kenji, if you don’t mind, will you both please investigate the third scene at the fish market.”
…
It was well past noon when Dazai shuffled into the Agency headquarters and plopped down in the chair across from Fukuzawa’s desk. His bandaging was loose around his neck, and his shirt had a coffee stain on it. He stared at the Agency President with a light smile but his eyes were darkened over and looked almost dead.
“We could use you on this case, Dazai,” Fukuzawa said, skipping the pleasantries, “If we’re really up against an ability user with a skill capable of what we’ve seen, we need your nullifying ability to stop it.”
“They’ll figure it out,” Dazai said without concern, meaning his colleagues at the Agency, “You should have more faith in your detectives. The ones that don’t fail, anyways.”
Fukuzawa sighed, tapping the arm of his chair impatiently, as he mulled over his next words. He took a moment to study the man across from him. Dazai had never been the picture of perfect mental health, but he’d made progress over his time in the Agency. The huddled mess before Fukuzawa now looked like a full regression to the Dazai of Port Mafia. No, Fukuawa wrinkled his brow, it wasn’t even right to compare his current state to that version of himself. This was a new Dazai. New and unpredictable.
“You didn’t fail me, Dazai,” Fukuzawa said.
Dazai stared off into space, ignoring the comment. His expression was entirely unreadable. The bags under his eyes were pronounced, he wasn’t sleeping. Fukuzawa knew Dazai was pouring all of his energy into finding Fyodor but it was coming at a sharp cost to himself. At this rate, he wasn’t going to find the criminal mastermind, he was just going to burn out.
“You didn’t fail Nakahara, either,” Fukuzawa said in a quieter voice. Dazai visibly flinched, and blinked back into the moment. He shook with a dry, humorless laugh, only to stop as suddenly as he started, leaning in to peer at Fukuzawa with wide eyes.
“Did you know, Chuuya wanted to kill me? It wasn’t that he wanted me dead. He’d stop anyone else that tried for my life, even me, because he wanted to be the one that killed me. I’m still alive, he’s not. Do I live forever now?” Dazai leaned back in his chair with a smug look, “Isn’t it true, then, that the one who failed is really Chuuya? Oy, Chuuya, idiot midget, who’s going to kill me now? You’ve lost! Should I go dance on your grave?”
“Dazai…” Fukuzawa sighed.
Dazai’s head rolled to the side, his eyes distant and unfocused once more, murmuring, “I thought he was untouchable. I thought I was the only one that could reach him. The only one that knew how to make him weak. It seems that Fyodor is smarter than me, after all. He knew none of that was true.”
“Your search for Dostoevsky,” Fukuzawa tried another angle. Maybe if he could get Dazai to focus on tangible things, he could reach the lost young man.
“Not even the Eyes of God can find him,” Dazai said with an exhausted mew, “He really is smarter than me.”
“When he left the government holding cell, he realized we could just use the Eyes of God to find him again. We already knew he found a way to counter it, or he wouldn’t bother escaping,” Fukuzawa said impatiently.
“Did we know? I don’t remember,” Dazai mused.
“You’re the one who determined it,” Fukuzawa stood from his chair and paced across the room, “Maybe if you took a break, bathed and slept, you’d remember these things. Who do you think you’re helping continuing like this? Obsessing over revenge for Nakahara will only lead you down a path without happiness or satisfaction.”
“Who wants revenge for a dead hat rack,” Dazai said, unconvincingly.
“I agree,” Fukuzawa replied, and Dazai finally had the decency to look surprised, “Revenge serves no purpose. I’m keener on justice. You’ve been Dostoevsky’s greatest adversary since he arrived in Yokohama, and you’ve proven the only one capable of stopping him. He sent you that video and targeted Nakahara because he believed it would break you. So far, he’s been right. The only way to beat him right now is to put yourself back together and get back to work.”
“I am working,” Dazai argued like a petulant child.
“Running yourself ragged chasing after false leads in hopes it’ll lead you to Dostoevsky? That’s not like you,” Fukuzawa snapped, and scoffed, “In the end, aren’t you acting just like a dead man? So, wouldn’t it be more accurate to say, by dying, Nakahara killed you after all? Would you give them both this win?”
“He killed Chuuya and I can’t find him.” Dazai hung his head. “What do I do now?”
Fukuzawa put a hand on Dazai’s shoulder, “Start by taking a bath and getting some rest.”
…
The detectives had reconvened in their office area after returning from their respective investigations. They were waiting for the representative from the Special Abilities Department to arrive while discussing their findings, or, lack thereof.
“There was no sign of burning or fire, you’d expect that from explosives like C4 or dynamite,” Junichirou was saying. He sat on his desk with his arms folded over his chest, he shook his head, and quietly noted, “There were so many bodies.”
“None of the damage makes sense either. Some of it looked like it was impacted, crushed, other things looked like they’d been hit by an earthquake. This one ability user here,” Kunikida pulled out a picture from his case file of a woman with chestnut curls and green eyes, “Has subsonic abilities that can cause tremors, they can feel like earthquakes, but that doesn’t explain how a car ended up through the wall of a fifth floor apartment.”
“I think I can make sense of that,” said a familiar voice at the entry way. The detectives turned to find Sakaguchi Ango, officer of the Special Abilities Department. He carried a briefcase in one hand and used the other to push his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. President Fukuzawa stood beside him. “I apologize for the delay in my arrival. It was quite a process determining what could be declassified for this case. Is there somewhere we can go to review footage?”
They moved into the conference room and set up a viewing screen and projector. Ango began with an explanation, “After involving your agency, we discovered that there existed footage from one of the incidences. A security camera at the fish market had managed to upload a fragment of video to a network server before it was destroyed. I’ll play it for you now.”
Everything was chaos in the clip. People were running and screaming as objects and chunks of earth flew around them, black blasts of energy zipped by, sizzling with a kind of red electricity. An old man stepped into the scene, his clothes were barely clinging to him, it looked as though he were surrounded by a cyclone, his every step crushed the earth beneath him and simultaneously ripped up chunks to hover around him. His eyes were glowing red, and his arms were spiraled with growing gashes. Blood dribbled from his every orifice as power radiated out of him and ripped apart his surroundings. The video ended when the camera was destroyed.
There was a prolonged silence throughout the room.
“That…that was horrifying,” Yosano was first to give voice to everyone’s shared thought.
“I’ve never seen or heard of anything…” Kunikida gaped at the screen.
“It may surprise you then, to hear, that this resembles an ability that isn’t entirely unknown,” Ango said, tilted his head to one side and jeered, “Isn’t that right, Dazai?”
The detectives all startled, turning in their seats to find their comrade leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded over his chest and his eyes fixed on the blank screen.
“Corruption,” he acknowledged without hesitance.
Ango sighed, and gave a small nod, his jaw and shoulders tensing, “With that comes the confirmation our Department was hoping not to receive here today. Not many have seen Corruption up close and lived to tell about it, but if Dazai is certain, then there can be no doubt.”
“You’ve faced this ability before, Dazai?” Fukuzawa stared at his subordinate.
“Corruption was specific to one person and one person only. We both know it’s impossible for anyone else to use it, unless you’re suggesting…?” Dazai looked to Ango and the government officer shook his head.
“Our Department has confirmed with Port Mafia. He’s dead, Dazai,” Ango said, he tipped his head up to peer at the other man, “Between the two of you, I’ve never been certain. Is it ‘condolences’ or ‘congratulations’?”
“You’re talking about Nakahara,” Ranpo surmised.
“What? That guy? I’ve seen his ability up close, before, and what we saw in that clip wasn’t it,” Yosano exclaimed.
“I agree. It was no doubt that his gravity manipulation ability was powerful, but the wreckage we’ve come across, the sheer magnitude of it, surely was beyond him,” Kunikida said, “Besides, as Ango said, Nakahara is dead and the man we saw using this…this Corruption ability was not him.”
“No. That man was Uehara Yamato. He was originally listed as one of the victims of the Fish Market Incident,” Ango said, tugging an image of the man’s dead body from his briefcase and tossing into the middle of the table for the detectives to see.
“Wait. He’s dead?” Kenji marveled at the picture. “So…that would mean he could at least be responsible for the fish market and warehouse district…but then, who’s responsible for the residential area?”
“He’s not responsible for the warehouse district incident,” Ranpo surmised, his arms folded over his chest and his head tipped down in concentration.
“The vagrant,” Dazai said.
“Jin Taro. Unlike other victims of these incidences, his injuries were not concussive. He bled out on the scene,” Ango conceded. He tugged another picture of a dead little girl from the briefcase and placed in on the table, “With that information, we were able to determine that this, Takeru Mimi, was the one that used Corruption in the residential area.”
“What kind of an ability goes on a rampage after its user dies?” Atsushi demanded.
“This is insane. Never once when we went up against him, did Nakahara ever display this level of ability. Dazai, what the hell do you know about this?” Kunikida yelled.
Dazai started to giggle, and the others turned to him in shocked concern. He slowly grew louder, practically falling over into himself from the way he was shaking.
“Tell them, Ango,” he gasped between bouts of laughter, “Tell them the truth. They’re so impressed by what they’ve seen, ‘level of ability’, he says, ‘sheer magnitude of it’ they gasp. They have no idea. They can’t even fathom it. That thing is loose and you can’t stop it, and this isn’t even the tip of the iceberg of what it can really do!”
“That’s enough, Dazai,” Fukuzawa said sternly, and Dazai immediately went quiet, still bent over clutching his stomach.
“Is this what Fyodor planned from the start, I wonder,” Dazai said, his tone completely flipping in cadence.
“That’s impossible. Our files on the truth of Nakahara were filed at the highest level of classification. There’s been no breach, and as far as we can determine, within Port Mafia, Mori was only privy to an idea of the truth, he never knew the full extent of it, no one else had an inkling,” Ango turned a hard glare on Dazai, “Which leaves you. So, unless you told Dostoevsky on one of the many occasions you shared a cup of tea with that maniacal asshole. Maybe you did tell him the truth, you never liked Nakahara, right? Your hate for each other was legendary. Doesn’t that make you the leading suspect? Take Nakahara out once and for all, and set the stage for the next game between the two…”
“Shut up,” Dazai hissed. He was leaned over, his shaggy hair covering his expression. His hands were fists in his pockets.
“It’s enough, you both go too far,” Fukuzawa told them in a calm, commanding tone. “The truth has been buried for a long time and now its hell bent on destroying this city. Time to bring the truth to light. It’s evident that Nakahara was no ordinary ability user. What does the government know about it?”
Dazai sneered but remained quiet. Ango cleared his throat.
“Everything,” he pushed his glasses up and confessed, “We are the ones that created him, after all.”
“Created?” Yosano repeated, disgust evident in her tone.
“Fifteen years ago, Nakahara, was part of a government experiment to create artificial ability users, by merging genetically engineered humans with supernatural beings,” Ango explained. “The project was shut down after an attempt to steal one of those beings. In their efforts to get away, the thieves made the cataclysmic choice to lift its seal, the devastating consequence of which left thousands dead and resulted in the slums called Suribachi City.”
“Wait a minute, that crater was created by Nakahara fifteen years ago? How old would he have been then? Just a child, right?” Kunikida gasped.
“Seven,” Ranpo answered.
“Depends on your degree of measurement,” Ango said, “But to answer your question, no, technically Nakahara didn’t even exist yet when the crater was created. That damage was done by the being that ultimately came to be contained within Nakahara.”
“What kind of being are we talking about?” Junichirou asked.
“Arahabaki,” Dazai murmured, “God of Destruction.”
“G-g-god?” Atsushi repeated, darting looks to everyone’s grim face in the room, “That’s crazy, though. Gods don’t exist, right?”
“How do you explain its actions now? Why is it taking over people and destroying parts of town?” Fukuzawa asked.
“Is it acting on a nature of chaos alone?” Kunikida wondered.
“We’re not sure. We suspect with its original container damaged, it fled,” Ango explained, not missing the way Dazai winced at his word choice, “We think it’s searching for a new container.”
“If that’s the case, why is it going insane and killing its ‘containers’?” Kunikida demanded.
“It’s not. They just aren’t strong enough to hold it,” Dazai realized.
Ango nodded solemnly, “Nakahara was specially designed to contain Arahabaki. There is no other person that can hold it, and all pertinent records on the project are gone, destroyed when Arahabaki escaped. We have no idea how to contain it or even how it was originally sealed.”
Kunikida slammed a fist against the table, “What the hell was the government even thinking creating this thing?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t with the department at the time,” Ango said honestly, “At this point, our best hope of halting its destructive path until we can determine a solution is Dazai. His power can nullify Arahabaki.”
“This is what your department was after all along. You bastards already knew what the cause of those explosions was, you never had any intention of hiring our Agency to investigate. Why even bother sending us out to look at what this Arahabaki left in its wake?” Kunikida growled the words out in his frustration.
“We wanted you to see for yourselves the full weight of our current situation,” Ango answered.
“I assume this means the government has some plan for finding Arahabaki before it levels the entire prefecture?” Fukuzawa said.
“The government can track Arahabaki,” Ranpo guessed. Ango nodded confirmation.
“We can locate its energy signature. Once we find the new container, it’ll be up to Dazai to capture it,” Ango explained, “Do we have the Agency’s cooperation on this matter?”
“It’s your choice, Dazai,” Fukuzawa said.
“Is it? I thought this was why you called me in today, and had me take a bath and make myself presentable too,” Dazai replied cheerily, “Can we get coffee and pastries before we leave?”
…
Atsushi and Dazai sat together at a café table overlooking a crowded shopping center. Their fellow detectives were scattered in pairs throughout the area along with a team of twenty from the Special Abilities Department. The government’s tracking system brought them to the general vicinity of Arahabaki, it couldn’t pinpoint the exact location or reveal what the person it was contained within might look like.
“How will we know when we’ve found it?” Atsushi wondered.
“If you see objects no longer obeying the laws of gravity, that would be a good indication,” Dazai said, sipping his tea. He noticed the curious looks Atsushi kept darting to him, and since there wasn’t much else to do while wait and people watch, he decided to address it, “You have something to say.”
“N-no…I just…” Atsushi flustered, and turned his attention fully away from Dazai, “I haven’t had the chance to say I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Dazai flicked away a bit of lint from his jacket.
“Yes. For your loss,” Atsushi snuck a peak at him.
“Oh? What did I lose?” Dazai hummed with amusement.
“I…” Atsushi faltered, “I don’t really know. That Nakahara person. I guess I’m just sorry that he died.”
“Oh really? Do you wish he hadn’t?” Dazai replied, sounding genuinely curious, “Tell me, Atsushi, if you could bring him back, would you?”
“I…well…” Atsushi lowered his eyes and shook his head, “No, I don’t think that I would. I’m still sorry though, for you, that he died.”
“How interesting,” Dazai smiled faintly, “Didn’t you hear Ango? Chuuya and I hated one another. Does that really sound like I’m a person that needs apologies for his death? If you want to send apologies, I can get you the names of those in Port Mafia you can send them to.”
“I don’t believe that you did hate him, though,” Atsushi said, he looked at his hands, clasped on top of their café table, “When I found out my headmaster had died, I cried because I had hated him, and I was mad because I thought I wasn’t allowed to hate him anymore. So, I know it’s not enough to say that if you cried over someone’s death, that it means you didn’t hate them. Also, what happened to Nakahara was horrible, I wouldn’t want anyone to die, but especially not like that…no one deserves that, no matter what they’ve done or the kind of person that they are.”
“Then why is it that you believe I didn’t hate him,” Dazai asked.
“When you told Dostoevsky that he made a mistake, when you realized that there was no way to save Nakahara anymore, because by the time Dostoevsky let us know they’d taken him captive, he was already dead. I saw a part of you die, Dazai. A part of you I didn’t even know was there…I don’t think you knew it was there either,” Atsushi said, “Tell me the truth, and don’t avoid it or make a joke of it, because they’re your feelings, your real feelings, and they do matter. If you could bring Nakahara back to life, would you?”
Dazai stared at the boy in front of him. Or maybe more appropriately, through him. Their radio, set on the table between them, fizzled with static and Kunikida’s voice came through.
“I think we’ve found it. There’s a woman behaving erratically. Things she’s touching…it meets the description of the ability we’re looking for,” he said, “We’re at the northwest corner shopping center, near the bookstore. She’s a brunette, mid-thirties, long hair, blue sweater and floral print skirt.”
They snatched up the radio and were off. The plan was to search out the woman and separate. Dazai to nullify her, and Atsushi to retreat for safety. However, as soon as they reached the shopping center, screams started. The radio crackled to life again.
“Dazai, it’s starting. Hurry up.” Kunikida yelled.
“I’m in the area,” Dazai replied, and looked to Atsushi, “Go, help clear people. She won’t be hard to find from here.”
“But Dazai…” Atsushi protested.
“No worries,” Dazai smiled and winked, “Arahabaki and I are very intimate with one another.”
Atsushi nodded and went to work. Dazai made a beeline for the place every one was running away from, pushing his way through the crowd and dodging debris. He stopped in the clearing where the woman meeting Kunikida’s description stood. The earth was concave beneath her, and the bookstore was crushed. Her eyes glimmered red and crimson spirals split along every bit of bare skin. Dazai felt a strange squeeze on his heart, at the familiarity of the scene and its lack of familiarity.
There was a certain beauty to the way Chuuya wielded Corruption. His body was designed for it, after all. The power wrapped around him and moved fluidly with him, more than just a slovenly monster, he was the pure manifestation of destruction. Dazai never grew tired of watching it. During their partnership, Chuuya always made a conscious decision to unleash Corruption, a choice inherently based on his trust in Dazai. This woman made no such choice, Corruption had taken over her of its own volition.
The best part of Chuuya using Corruption, though, was that it was the only moment in their time working together when he needed Dazai, and the longer Corruption took hold of Chuuya, the more desperate that need became. Dazai loved it, it was poetry in motion, neatly packaged in a tiny redhead with bright blue eyes and an ugly hat. It surged through Dazai, a craving he could never fully satiate. There was nothing of that beauty in this woman or the hold Corruption had on her. Seeing her use Corruption twisted inside Dazai a disgust so pronounced and so vehement, he felt he might vomit right there, if for no other reason than because the image served as the penultimate reminder that Chuuya was gone.
It was easy for Dazai to get behind the woman and grab hold of her wrist, he knew that Corruption drove the user mad and staying out of its periphery was the best way to approach. The effect of his touch was instantaneous. The air stopped swirling, gravitons dissipated, and anything flying crashed to the ground. Her eyes, a soft hazel, found Dazai as she coughed up blood.
“…Dazai,” she said, and it caught Dazai off-guard. He didn’t recognize her, could she be someone he courted in the past? She reached out a hand for the front of his shirt as her legs gave out and she fell forward to the ground, “Bastard…don’t…don’t abandon me…Dazai…”
Dazai stood in stunned silence, his heart racing in his chest, a million thoughts rolling through his mind at once, as the woman crumpled unconscious to the floor.
…
They secured the woman, who they identified as Ashinko Tomoyo, at the Armed Detectives Agency headquarters in their clinic, strapped to a bed. Ango went to contact his superiors and send for a specialist. The detectives went to handle the cleanup from Ashinko’s incident in the shopping center. Dazai remained with Ashinko, seated at her bedside, ready to nullify Corruption again if need be. He was lost in his own thoughts when she stirred and her eyes fluttered open. He stepped forward from his seat to gingerly place his hand over her wrist. She startled and looked at him through clouded eyes.
“…where...am I?” her voice was hoarse.
“The Armed Detectives Agency. You’re under our care, by government authority,” Dazai explained, he tried to hide the tremor as he asked, “Do you know who I am?”
She hesitated on her answer, “You’re…name is Dazai.” Her brow wrinkled, as a strange hope blossomed in Dazai’s chest. Hope for what? He wasn’t sure yet. “But…I don’t know you. I’ve never met you. How do I know your name?”
“I don’t know. Is there anything else you know about me?” Dazai asked, reminding himself to keep breathing.
“I know…I know that I…I can trust you,” she closed her eyes and attempted to move her hand, it caught against the restraints.
“A precaution,” Dazai explained, apologetically. “It seems you’ve become host to a terrible power that makes you a danger to yourself and others. Don’t worry, though, we’re going to fix it.”
She drew in a haggard breath, and let it out in a low moan. Tears streaming down her cheeks.
“There’s…images…thoughts…feelings…I don’t understand them…it’s like an echo in the back of my mind,” she whimpered. Her eyes squeezed more tightly shut, “Dazai, there’s so much pain, and…and…fear…”
“Miss Ashinko, please, try to stay calm,” Dazai soothed, his brow stitched together as she began to struggle against her restraints. He sighed, and went to look for a sedative.
“…I know…I know your name…and…and we worked together. No…we didn’t…it was him…you worked with him…you were partners with him…”
Dazai’s hands began to shake as he dug through the medicine cabinet, finding his prize.
“…I know your name because he’s screaming…oh god, Dazai, he’s screaming your name,” she gasped. Dazai inserted a syringe into her neck and injected its contents. Her eyes went wide and after several seconds, she slumped and slid into unconsciousness once more.
…
Ango led the specialist into the Detectives Agency headquarters, a short woman with blonde hair twisted in a braid. Most of the detectives had returned and were seated at their desks working on various reports. Ango was leading the way to see the Agency President, when Dazai appeared to block their path, hands in his pockets and eyes alight with some inexplicable emotions.
“When were you going to tell me, Ango?”
Everyone’s eyes were instantly on them.
“Tell you what, exactly, Dazai?” Ango replied sharply, unwilling to let his old friend unnerve him a second time. “Aren’t you supposed to be with the woman? What if she wakes up?”
“She’s sedated. As long as she stays that way, gravity won’t crush us. Now tell me truthfully, you weren’t planning on saying anything about it at all,” Dazai continued.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ango sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, as Fuzukawa entered the room.
“What is going on?” the Agency President asked.
Ango presented the woman at his side, “This is Hiroki Natomi, the specialist. She’s done research on the original project that created Arahabaki. May I take her to Miss Ashinko?”
“Ango. Don’t ignore me and don’t pretend that it never occurred to your people,” Dazai persisted.
“Dazai, stop throwing a temper tantrum and make yourself clear,” Fukuzawa said.
Ango pushed his glasses up, “She said something to you.”
“She knows my name,” Dazai confirmed, I know I can trust you, “And other things that she shouldn’t.”
“Fine. We suspected a possibility…”
“You knew and you weren’t going to tell me.” Dazai pouted like a spoiled child. “You wanted me to catch it and help you shove it in a box, but you weren’t going to tell me.”
“No,” Ango frowned, “It was one of many possibilities, it wasn’t something necessary to know.”
“How much of that thing is Chuuya?” Dazai demanded.
“Exactly zero of it. Nakahara is dead, and that thing is merely a ball of energy carrying remnants of memories it picked up while contained in him. It’s a ghost, nothing more,” Ango replied, he frowned and added, “Even it was in some part him, what kind of an existence is that? Isn’t it better to finally let it rest?”
“One more thing,” Dazai leered at Ango, “When I agreed to help you, you had said solutions, as though there were still a debate about it, but your higher ups had already made a decision, didn’t they?”
“It’s too dangerous of a thing. It never should’ve existed in the first place,” Ango said.
“Government is finally cleaning up its mess from fifteen years ago,” Dazai narrowed his eyes on the other man, “But you’re wrong. Arahabaki is not its own entity. It’s always been Chuuya and Chuuya has always been Arahabaki.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Ango hissed.
“You forget, Ango. You heard everything secondhand, but I was there. I was the only one there. That day I was beside him when he faced Randou. I’m the one that’s always been beside him. When it comes to Arahabaki, when it comes to Corruption. I know. Your people only have guesses and speculation, but I know. Chuuya is still alive, and if you let them destroy Arahabaki, you’ll be that one that kills him,” Dazai seethed. He straightened and turned for the exit, “And I won’t have any part of it.”
“Wait, Dazai. You can’t leave,” Ango cried, panic setting in, “We need you to keep it nullified. Dazai, we don’t know if the sedatives will really hold it. We need to keep it pacified until we can even figure out how to destroy it. Dammit! DAZAI!”
Dazai let the door slam shut behind him.
…
Fyodor strutted with the confidence of a man who has no weaknesses, and yet, he knew how to hunch over and saunter like a vagabond, or huddle on the ground like a slave. He could beg convincingly for his life, even as he pulled the trigger on the bullet that took yours. He entered the agreed upon meeting place with all the devil-may-care of Casanova meeting his lady fair. Dazai was already there waiting, lounging in an arm chair, legs folded over one another.
“You really came by yourself. I’m surprised,” Dazai grinned, “And here I thought my promise of rending you limb from limb next time we met was rather convincing.”
“Oh, I was convinced, and that’s precisely why I came alone,” Fyodor replied, sprawling his hands before him, “For is it not said that ‘misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows’? Or instead of misery, should I say, desperation?”
“It was your plan all along to put me in a desperate position. To destroy me to the point that I had no other choice but to crawl to you,” Dazai folded his hands in his lap and smiled demurely, “Now let’s talk about that Book you’ve been looking for. I’ve seen firsthand what a page can do, but I still wonder, was Fitzgerald right in his own reason for pursuing it? Is its power such that it can even bring a person back to life?”
“Yes, yes, we’ll get to all of that, but first, I’m dying to know,” Fyodor sauntered across the room and took a seat in an armchair next to Dazai’s, leaning forward with his chin in his hand, “How much did you really ‘hate’ Nakahara Chuuya?”
Dazai leaned forward and replied with the same measure of sanguinity, “With all my heart.”