Work Text:
The day Makishima Shogo died, Kougami Shinya felt nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing . Just a whole load of nothing.
The gunshot- the sound of the bullet he shot from his gun, continued to ring like a broken tape, over and over in his head, each time pounding harder than before, and he felt the echo of each shot knocking him down closer to unconsciousness.
He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. The ring of the first gunshot had been met with such a beautiful hue in the sky; a harmonious blend of oranges and purples most pleasing to the eyes, looming quietly, gently across the field of wheat he was now standing over.
He blinked, and it was all dark now. All he could see was dark. The wind was caressing him, its whistle the only thing saving him from complete, utter silence. It didn’t hit him until he tried to move his leg, to take a step, just how much his body ached. It hurt and he was tired and he wished he could collapse right into the ground, giving into the mercy of slumber and perhaps wake up in a different world, a different reality where the past few days never happened.
… Is that really what he wished for, though?
He finally took that one step forward. The wind felt cold brushing against him.
He narrowed his gaze downwards, and there was white. Pure, bright white that it almost offended his eyes amidst the dark.
He blinked again, and instantly, the pure, blinding white was gone. In its place a dull gray, dirtied with mud and soil, soaking in dark red. He took another step, and he could feel the wetness of blood under the soles of his shoes.
It finally settled in his head. Makishima Shogo was dead , and Kougami Shinya was the one who killed him.
No longer would this man harm anybody else, no longer would this man pose a threat to the system that their society had so craftily created. No longer would this man take away another person’s smile and freedom.
The ring of the wind became sharper, and they almost hurt his ears.
… Is that really what he thought, though?
He cast his gaze at the body on the ground once more.
It didn’t matter, as dead men spoke none. Kougami could question all he wanted, but there was no more Makishima Shogo to answer his questions with even more.
Soon, Tsunemori Akane would find this spot, and she could rest assured that Makishima Shogo would never be a hassle no more to her, to the Bureau- to the world. How she would feel about Kougami though, and that she was smart enough to understand that she would no longer find him, even if she tried, even if she chased- was a completely different thing altogether.
Kougami turned to look at the wheat field once more, its beautiful colors barely visible under the chilling judgment of the stars above.
He bid his good bye.
--
The months following that night were difficult, but Kougami couldn’t say he’d never gone through worse times. With enough stealth, a few fake identities and a little bit of string-tugging here and there, he was able to leave Japan (mostly) unscathed, leaving behind everything, everyone he had ever known. He would be lying if he said there was no melancholy in his heart for the only place and people he’d ever called home, but the fact remained that he had no other choice. Returning was simply not an option.
With no way back, the only way left was forward, or so they said. Yet he didn’t know where exactly it was that he wanted to go, or what exactly it was he wanted to do. Hunting down Makishima Shogo had consumed all of him and now that the man was gone, he was once again left aimless.
He knew one thing though, that he wished for quiet; he wished for some silence, for once, and that he was tired all over and everywhere, and he just wanted to rest.
But of course, even in the quietest places he could find, that man simply would not leave him alone. Makishima Shogo haunted him- in his waking moments, in his sleep. When Kougami was awake he could swear he saw Makishima from the corner of his eye, standing across the street, on a balcony of a multiple story building standing over him, in the marketplace, on a stall across where Kougami was standing. In his sleep, Makishima’s voice rang, quietly at first, and it would always become louder and louder by time, that Kougami slept even less than he already did usually.
He’d read enough fictions and watched enough half-baked horror movies in his day to compare the experience to them; of the souls of the dead that couldn’t find peace, of the souls of the dead that wanted revenge, that wanted those who did them wrong nothing but eternal suffering, of death much like their own.
Revenge. The word itself made Kougami scoff. Was that what Makishima would be truly after? An eye for an eye? Kougami had satiated his own need for revenge by killing him, and now Makishima, no longer mortal, was out there for the same? A classic tale as old as time, if not nonsensical.
It was boring. And if Makishima wanted him dead, he should get on with it and do better .
…
Kougami laughed to himself.
Makishima Shogo was dead, and here he was imagining some comical story about a ghost of a dead man rising from the grave to claim the life of his killer.
He took a drag of his cigarette.
In the quiet, he wondered if Makishima liked to read comedy.
--
If Makishima truly wanted to have his revenge on him, he was doing an extremely bad job at it.
The man haunted his dreams, and that night was no different. It wouldn’t take long after Kougami finally managed to fall asleep that the voice began to ring hollowly in his ears. The scene playing out in his dream was the same most of the time, that Kougami wondered if he could even call it a nightmare anymore. His surroundings were always dark, and most times, his dream would transport him back to that night, that same wheat field, the same chilling wind he felt to his bones, the same howling in his ears. He had a gun in his hand, and it was pointed at the man kneeling in front of him. He couldn’t see the other man's face.
‘If this is your way to place guilt in my head for killing you, then you can quit it.’ Kougami would hear himself speak, as if it was scripted, as if the him in the dream was instructed to do so.
‘And why would I do that? ’ Makishima would answer, his body still and heartbeat steady, despite having the barrel of the gun against the back of his head. Even on that night, Makishima showed no sign of fear in the face of his own death. More than anything, he almost sounded content, almost sounded… happy , that his life was about to end right there and then. Kougami didn’t think much about it at the time, or for a while following that night. But as Makishima insisted on haunting him still to that very day, the very fact did come back up in his mind every now and then, and Kougami would wonder why .
There were a lot of ‘why ’s about Makishima Shogo that he learned he would’ve liked to know. A lot of ‘why ’s that he would never get to know.
The Makishima kneeling in front of him though, was no longer struggling for breath, and he didn’t have half of his body completely drenched in blood.
He was pure white.
‘You seem to be awfully insistent on showing your face to me even now ,’ Kougami scoffed. ‘Well let me tell you, if there’s one thing I’ve ever done I know was right, it was killing you.’
Makishima didn’t stir, and it made Kougami almost want to grab a handful of his hair and force the other man to look at him, as if taking a look at his miserable, miserable face would somehow make Kougami feel any better.
‘Are you satisfied, Kougami Shinya? ’
There was something similar to a tug in his chest. He held his gun firmer.
‘Are you happy?’
His finger found the trigger almost immediately, and, as if for a moment he completely lost control over his own movement, he fired.
There was no body this time, as Makishima would always dissipate into air the moment the shot rang in Kougami’s ears.
Kougami would always wake up not long after the ringing quieted down, and, some time or the other, he would wonder if it was Makishima’s way to show him mercy.
--
When he arrived at the SEAUn, he saw Makishima less and less. The civil war at Shambala didn’t at all surprise him, as he very shortly learned in his travels, just how much of an isolated instance his home country was. Between stepping into new territory, trying his best to gain the trust of the people, then training them, all the while trying his best to keep a low profile, there were days where he didn’t think of Makishima at all, that he became so completely spent each night that he dreamed of nothing.
Was that a blessing in disguise? Or was that a curse? By then he could no longer tell the difference. Although perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing that he would no longer have to come face to face with the man ever again. Perhaps.
He’d only been there for a mere few months, when he first heard of the very name he wished he’d never heard again. And surprisingly, it wasn’t Makishima’s.
The Sibyl system. He heard that Shambala would be the first experimental case of remote implementation of the system outside Japan. He supposed, wherever it may be that he went, he could never truly escape.
With the unknown came a lot of doubts, a lot of fear, and a lot among the people Kougami had started seeing as his friends came to him for answers, for comfort, for some assurance that everything would be alright in the end. Japan was one of, if not the only place in the current world that managed to maintain peace, and it was all thanks to the Sibyl system. Surely, with the experimentation project, Shambala, and perhaps the rest of the SEAUn one day, would be able to follow its footsteps and see a fraction of that peace?
Kougami was neither a deity or guardian angel sent there to spread hope, and he unfortunately had learned of too much of the ugly, dirty sides of the system that he could not bring himself to speak even white lies. Because of the system, the core definitions of terms such as peace and freedom became debatable. Because of the system, people who would otherwise be able to choose their own paths in life, able to make their own decisions, were sent to prisons prettily veiled as rehabilitation, some with no hope to ever see the outside world ever again. Because of the system, people were still forcibly put into a hierarchy, even if it was one that was different from the times old, without them ever getting the chance to prove their worth; all because it was what the numbers on a holographic screen told them.
Because of the system, people like Makishima Shogo were born.
He could spout all the affirmations he wanted, if not just to offer some temporary peace of mind to the people who didn’t know any better. Perhaps, in the short term, the Sibyl system would be able to offer a solution to these people, and perhaps a period of peaceful days was not an absolute impossibility.
But what then? Would time repeat itself once more? Would there come a time where these people would also grow too used, too comfortable with the system? Would there be, inevitably, people who were no longer happy to live in the established order, and so, rebelled against it in the name of reclaiming their freedom? Humanity’s freedom?
He felt the familiar feeling of a pair of eyes gazing at him, and surely, the moment he glanced sideways, he saw him- Makishima standing at the far end of the room, still and silent, as always, a lopsided smirk gracing his features.
To their current world, the Sibyl system was the embodiment of hope; of peace and freedom, of order and humanity. As ugly and dirty its other side was, it was what the world needed. Makishima Shogo saw it as the opposite, and tried to snuff that hope down before it could spread its wings further. It was just the right thing to do; killing him.
His eyes met Makishima’s.
If he were here, would he try to sabotage the experiment and get in the way of the system once again? Would he, for a change, be standing on his side, fighting with him and not against him? Or was it the opposite, that Kougami would inevitably have to face the need to kill him, again, for the sake of greater good ?
Makishima was no longer standing there, and Kougami would never know the answer to any of his questions.
--
‘This isn’t the time to be playing around.’
He knew that voice, oh he knew that voice so well, and he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or hurl the entirety of his stomach out upon hearing it.
… If, there was anything left to hurl. His entire body hurt. Moving hurt. Hell, at this point, barely keeping his eyes open hurt enough that he almost wished someone would be merciful enough to end it all for him.
Almost, because the voice ringing in his ears was all too familiar and it almost instantly diminished all the thoughts of lying down there on the floor, all alone until the kind embrace of sleep (death) took him.
He was not about to die in front of this man, anyone but this man, and he was not about to stay down like a helpless little dog right on his feet.
‘You’ll be in danger if you don’t get out of here soon’.
He didn’t know when moving suddenly became a viable option again, not that he couldn’t hear every single muscle in his body screaming in agony as he forced his arms to move, or the loud, oh so very loud, immediate pain crushing his head the moment he tried to lift himself off the ground.
He didn’t care if it hurt. He didn’t care if he would regret it later and he didn’t care if it was his own pride being unreasonably petty at the most inconvenient time. He was not about to stay down.
He grabbed the gun lying next to him. The weight of it that would normally not bother him in the slightest now felt like a whole boulder in his hand, ready to rip apart his arm. He managed to use the weapon to hoist himself up, just enough to get back on his knees. The tiles underneath him felt sharp and cold against his shaking kneecap, but again, he didn’t care.
He looked up and there was white. Pure white that shone under the night sky, graciously filtered through the blueish tints of the roof made of stained glass; white that made a contrast so strikingly prominent that for a moment he didn’t care that the lights coming from the sky over his head were from looming helicopters, that he almost forgot the shrill, immediate danger he was in- that he almost forgot it all because the pure white looked beautiful.
For a moment, his instinct to hurl was washed away by relief, and it almost disgusted him to the core to know he was capable, somehow, of feeling some semblance of warmth, of safety , in this utmost ridiculous moment, upon seeing the one face he wished he’d never, ever see again.
At that very moment, Kougami forgot he was dying.
‘... Or maybe you can’t work up the motivation unless you’re chasing your prey?’
There was that face again, the insufferable, know-it-all smirk that seemed to never leave his face (Never? How would he know? Not that they were ever close, not that they were ever friends ). The face that looked down on him, on everyone, as if no one and nothing else but him in the world mattered (No, that wasn’t right, was it? Kougami knew this, knew this in his heart, yet the boiling rage running in his blood tried to convince him otherwise). This was a monster standing in front of him, and he shouldn’t be feeling anything, anything but anger; revulsion.
‘Why are you here?’ was what he wanted to ask. ‘Is this your last ditch of an effort to laugh at me? As I lay here dying, as I run right back into what could be my death, all alone?’ was what he wanted to spit at that all-knowing smirk.
Dead men spoke none. Makishima Shogo was dead. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t possibly be here.
‘You truly are a hound, down to your very bones, aren’t you?’
He supposed he was. He supposed he lived for the thrill, the chase, and nothing, nothing ever felt the same, ever even came close to how much every part of him felt alive on the day he first came face to face with Makishima.
That was three years ago. It had already been three years. He wondered, what good would a hound make, with nothing to chase but its own tail.
He supposed it didn’t matter anymore.
“Do you really think I can let a guy who wants to form his own military force get away scot-free?”
He heard himself talk, to Makishima, to no one, because Makishima Shogo was dead, he had to remind himself once again.
Why are you here? Why now, of all times?
Makishima had turned his back on him, and Kougami knew he could hear what was unspoken. He had to, because this was all in Kougami’s head. It had to be.
Look at me, bastard.
Kougami got on his feet, and the dizziness assaulted him immediately once more, enough to almost knock him back off his footing. Yet, Kougami kept himself standing, unstable as he may be, legs struggling to keep his own weight up.
‘Even if you hadn’t gotten involved, he would’ve ended up destroying himself anyway.’
Is that why you’re here? To talk me out of this?
Everything hurt, again, even more, as he took a step, and another step. The gun in his hands felt even heavier than before, and everything in his sight looked like a blurry monotone covered in several dark patches. Perhaps this was why Makishima was here. Perhaps this was his own self preservation kicking in, telling him all this was a ridiculously stupid idea, that he was about to die.
Well to hell with his self preservation, the very least it could do was take another form that didn’t piss him off to hell and back.
He continued to move, pain be damned, as if his legs had their own consciousness. He could feel Makishima’s unchanging gaze at him, and he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised when he walked right into and past the other man, as if he was a meticulously crafted hologram. Figures, he wasn’t here, after all.
‘What is it that drives you?’
He didn’t have time for this. He had a target, a goal to fulfill, and every minute he spent there talking to a ghost created by his own exhausted psyche was another minute he- they didn’t have.
‘Your sense of justice?’
That wasn’t it, was it?
What the hell was justice anyway? Did he see himself as just, the way he helped those people reclaim their freedom? The way he was about to fight off a mercenary he knew was stronger than him, who he had so little chance to win against all by himself? Did he ever see himself as just, the way he solved those never ending cases, the way he pointed his Dominator at criminals (who were not unlike himself), and let them have the ‘punishment’ they deserved? Did he think he was just, that night, over the wheat field?
‘No, that’s not it.’
That wasn’t it. A person like him was the farthest he could be from justice. Perhaps the him from over three years ago had a semblance of understanding of what the word truly meant, but now… Now, he continued, he moved on, a step at a time, dragging his aching body, even if it wasn’t just, even if he didn’t know why and what for, because it was the only thing he could do.
‘... Then why are you so tenacious?’
Because it was the only thing left for him.
“The dead should stay quiet!”
He didn’t know he had enough strength left to yell at thin air, to aim his gun at nothing and fire. He could still see Makishima there, all-knowing smirk and all, unmoving, pale as ever as all the bullets he fired went right through his body.
Then it was quiet once again. He blinked once, and Makishima was gone, and he loathed the fact that some tiny part of him was glad that he was already dead, that he could no longer put a bullet on him. Because he wasn’t sure he could stomach having to kill him once again; having to see his limp lifeless body on his feet again; to feel the wetness of his blood underneath his soles again.
He almost wished he could hear Makishima laugh at his misery, at the mess he had left behind.
But he couldn’t possibly. Because Makishima Shogo was dead . Because Kougami Shinya was the one who killed him.
He held his gun tighter and turned around. There was only one way for him to go now.
--
When Kougami opened his eyes, he was greeted by a very familiar place. He hadn’t been there in a long time- too long (How many years had it been, he wondered? Perhaps not since he was demoted to become an Enforcer. Perhaps longer. For some reason or the other, he couldn’t remember). Despite the time past, he recognized the insides and outs of the building he was in as if he was there only yesterday; the long hallways that never seemed to end (they looked shorter now), the rows of windows facing the courtyard, ever allowing the sunlight to shine in, brightening the halls, the uniform-looking doors on the other side of the windows, racks and drawers filled in with old books and stacks of papers and toys and who knew what else the kids running through the halls would throw into them with no care in the world.
This was his old middle school building, back in his hometown. And while he wasn’t a man of nostalgia, hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he reminisced about his childhood, it still did put a little smile on his face.
He recognized he was in a dream, because he knew, he knew the last time he was awake, his body was aching (once more, he didn’t remember when it didn’t ache, didn’t hurt). His head was spinning, and everything in sight seemed like they were about to collapse on him.
So he knew this was a dream, because nothing hurt, and his footsteps felt light. Judging from his current vantage point, the size of his palms, the reach of his steps, it seemed his dream also wanted him to relive his past where nothing mattered, where he was just a kid; a little brat who knew nothing of the world.
Did that mean he was dead? Truly, he wouldn’t be surprised.
Instead of wondering about his mortality, he decided to take a walk. Kougami, as an adult, stood tall at a good 180 cm, so it felt a little weird for having to walk so much to cover so little distance. He also had to step a little bit on his tiptoes to get a full view of the courtyard outside the windows. It was a little inconvenient. The sun felt way too bright and the halls were a little hot in the summer, unlike the Bureau offices where air conditioning units were always in full blast no matter what time it was during the year. The sounds of the cicadas rang in his ears as he continued his stroll. It felt nice.
Kougami, even as a young kid, was always a bit of a rascal. He’d always had a bit of a temper, but he always stood by his ideals, standing up for those who needed his help. So most people, his friends, teachers and other adults alike, tended to be a little surprised that he enjoyed spending most of his free time holed up in the library to read.
He remembered the small library in his middle school building- most were supplementary reading materials to their classes- mathematics, history, sciences, and Kougami remembered being disappointed that the library didn’t offer much fiction. He’d always had a knack for mystery novels, and nothing could get him all hyped up quite as much as reading a good detective story, reaching the part where the main character captured the villain, revealing all of their dirty deeds, bringing justice to the world once again. Kougami remembered dreaming to be just like that one day.
He snorted at the thought. Before he realized it, he was already standing in front of the school library.
He opened the door, and he wasn’t surprised to find that the small room was exactly the way he remembered it. Well, it was his dream after all, he figured that everything there would be consistent with his memories, as outdated as they were.
He walked through a few shelves housing a bunch of science books, idly running his fingers through the spines. Even for a small library, the school did make sure the books remained in pristine condition, it was something he remembered appreciating.
He approached one corner of the library- it used to be his favorite part of the place; it was where all the fictional books were shelved, and Kougami used to spend hours on end to read and re-read whatever the library could offer there, until the library staff kicked him out and threatened to call his mother. He smiled again at the memory.
It was his corner, and it was his dream, so he was surprised to find that another boy was already sitting in his place, a book already open in his hands.
“What the-”
The boy didn’t look as surprised, and when he turned his head, amber eyes meeting Kougami’s greys, his movement was so miniscule, it was almost unnecessarily elegant.
“Am I in your way?” The boy asked.
“Well,” Kougami pondered for a bit. “Not really. You mind if I read here too?”
“Not at all.”
The response was immediate, and before he even finished his words, his eyes were already stuck back in the book he was reading.
Kougami shrugged, and walked to the nearest shelf to see if it still had anything that caught his fancy.
“What are you looking for?” The boy asked again, eyes still on the pages.
“Mmhm, something mystery would be nice. Crime fictions, detectives, you know, those sort of things.”
“Ah. So you like detectives.”
“Yep!” Kougami answered, it came out way more enthusiastic than he expected. “I’m pretty big into Kindaichi right now.”
“Oh.” The boy’s eyes stopped scanning the pages for a while, as if he just heard something ridiculous. “You’re old .”
“It’s not that old,” he shrugged, a tiny pout starting to form on his lips. “Besides, literature has no age. A good book’s a good book, no matter how old.”
“I suppose I can’t disagree.” The boy hummed, and nodded in agreement.
“And you? Anything you can recommend me?”
“I’m more of a Holmes person myself.”
“What the hell? You’re even older than me!”
The boy finally looked up from his book, and Kougami couldn’t help feeling a little intimidated when their eyes met again. What was he looking at him so intently for? He wasn’t sure if it was the boy’s intention, but Kougami felt he was being severely judged.
Then, out of nowhere, the boy started laughing. Kougami didn’t expect it, and he certainly didn’t expect his laughter to sound so gleeful .
He didn’t realize he was smiling too.
He decided to abandon his quest of looking for a book, and instead, opted to sit on the floor next to the boy. The latter seemed to not mind, as he scooted over to make some room for him.
“What are you reading?”
“Verne, if you know him.”
“Around the World in Eighty Days?” Kougami snorted. “You really like your old stuff.”
“Who was it again who said a good book’s a good book, no matter how old?” The boy didn’t seem to take Kougami’s remarks as an insult. Instead, there was a tug in the corner of his lips, almost a smile. “Besides, you recognized the title. Which suggests you’ve read it.”
Kougami scratched his head, and gave in. “Well, yeah, guess I have.”
“It takes a thief to catch another thief.”
“Mmhm.” he wasn’t sure if getting caught reading really old books was in any way comparable to committing actual crimes, but he let that slide. He turned his glance towards the pages in the boy’s hands instead.
“You’ve ever traveled before?” Kougami asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Me neither.”
A pause. Then he asked again.
“Would you like to, one day?”
“Perhaps.” the boy answered. “I guess I just never thought about it. It’s a waste of time to ponder about things that will never happen”
“For someone who reads a lot, you sure lack imagination.” Kougami pouted.
The boy simply chuckled in return. “Oh, I imagine. I imagine plenty. There is just a big difference between that and recognizing what is reality.”
“Then imagine with me.” Kougami pulled the book from the boy’s grasp, putting it down on the floor and grabbed the latter’s now free hands. The boy blinked, and for the first time, his expression changed- there was something akin to surprise in his intimidating eyes, yet all Kougami could think of was how mesmerizing those orbs were.
“Imagine, we can go wherever we want, right now. Across the oceans, above the skies, anything you’d ever dream off, anything you’d ever dreamed to see!”
“That doesn’t sound realistic--”
Kougami pinched him on the hand, and the boy made a tiny whine.
“I said imagine.”
The boy grumbled, as low as his voice may be, and Kougami couldn’t help feeling a little bit victorious that he managed to pull a fraction of reaction from him.
“Fine, fine…” The boy shrugged, and thought of his answer for a moment.
“I would like to…….”
…….
…..
…
--
Once again, he opened his eyes. This time, it wasn’t the pleasant sunlight beaming through the school windows that greeted him. The ever so familiar hallways were no more, nor were the warmth and gentleness and all the innocence that came with the days gone by. Instead, there was pain. He was pulled back full force into reality and he remembered just how much he was hurting, how much his head was pounding.
He didn’t bother to sit up, and instead tried to remain still above what he remembered as his sleeping bag. He tried to recall the time before he fell asleep, and he remembered it had been a few days since he escaped Shambala. He had received the bare minimum of treatments for his most critical wounds, and packed his things almost immediately the moment he was able to move again.
Then there he was, he wasn’t quite sure where he was exactly on the map right now, but he was confident he was hidden enough, obscured by tall, thick trees in a forestry where vehicles rarely went and passed by. At the very least, he could afford a few days maximum to recuperate while he planned his next destination.
… If there was a destination. He was once again lost, unsure where to go, unsure what to do. It was just how his life was about to be, from there on.
He looked up from the ground. At least the sky was clear, and he couldn’t remember when was the last time he could see the stars that clearly.
‘You look like you had a pleasant dream.’
This time, the familiar voice barely made him flinch. He kept his gaze at the stars, even if he knew who the unwelcome guest was. Of course, it could only be him.
Makishima remained uncharacteristically quiet however, as he also gazed upon the stars.
Kougami thought he had finally gone insane when he spoke, but he did it anyway.
“Have you ever traveled?”
‘I’m merely part of your subconscious. I can’t answer what you haven’t already known about me.’
Kougami ignored him.
“If you could, where would you want to go?”
Makishima was quiet again. Kougami waited, and the wind was whistling gently against his ears.
‘Faraway .’ He finally answered. ‘Faraway, where I could finally be human .’
Kougami snorted.
“You didn’t strike me as a romantic.”
‘Isn’t that just how you’d like to perceive me?’
“I don’t recall wanting you to be annoying, even in my subconscious.”
Makishima hummed, and if their little, meaningless exchange made Kougami’s heart feel just a little lighter, he said nothing. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed at the dark, consuming hues of the sky above them.
“Guess we have no choice but to keep going.” he said, and he wasn’t sure if it was particularly directed at himself or Makishima (or at the very least, whoever, whatever it was that was standing next to him).
“Further and further away, just as you want.”
He took a glimpse of Makishima’s face, while the latter closed his eyes. If Kougami looked hard enough, perhaps he could see the man smiling, a smile that was content, of a man in peace.
--