Chapter Text
Marsault Penitentiary was not a place you stumbled into.
It was where governments sent the things they didn’t want the world to know existed. Not just criminals. Monsters. Men who had clawed too close to godhood—and were better locked away than destroyed.
At the heart of Level Five was a cell with no designation. No nameplate. No file. Others said it held someone who’d long since gone mad. But even the guards walked past it with extra caution, their eyes averted.
And today, someone new was being brought in the cell across.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky was silent as he was led through the bleak, reinforced corridor. Shackled, bound, and blindfolded , he was the kind of threat that made even the Marsault guards uneasy. He wore the skin of a sickly anemic, but his eyes remained calm. Unflinching.
He made capture a possibility. He had planned for it. What he hadn’t accounted for… was him.
As they approached his cell, Fyodor’s sharp senses picked up the subtle shift in atmosphere. Like the walls themselves were watching. Breathing.
The warden stopped just before the final cell.
“You’re across from him.”
Fyodor frowned. “From whom?”
The warden didn’t answer. He merely unlocked the gate and gestured for the guards to push Fyodor in.
The doors sealed behind him.
Silence.
Then, a voice emerged from across the space. Light. Amused. Almost gentle.
“Well, well. Who have they dragged in this time?”
Fyodor turned slowly. There, lounging on the cot like it was a chaise in a manor, was a man wrapped in loose grey clothing, his sleeves rolled up carelessly, bandages peeking beneath. His eyes sparkled with a kind of mischief that didn’t belong in a place like this.
His name was nowhere on the registry. Fyodor knew because he had hacked the system himself before being caught. And yet here he was.
Alive.
Smiling.
“Don’t look so tense,” Dazai said, sitting up. “You’ll wrinkle your brain.”
Fyodor didn’t answer at first. He simply studied the newcomer—taking in the casual posture, the half-lidded eyes, the eerie stillness of Dazai’s hands even when he moved.
After a long moment, Fyodor finally broke the silence. “Who are you?”
Dazai’s lips curled into a playful smirk as he leaned back slightly, eyes sparkling with energy. “Ah, I’m Dazai Osamu. And you must be Fyodor. Pleasure.”
Fyodor’s gaze didn’t waver. “You were here before me.”
Dazai tilted his head, as if considering. “Mmm. About five years, give or take. I’ve been waiting.”
“For what?”
Dazai smiled, slow and knowing. “Someone interesting.”
A pause stretched between them.
Then Fyodor chuckled under his breath. “You knew I’d end up here?”
“I hoped.”
Fyodor sat across from him, posture composed. “You’re not ordinary.”
“Neither are you.”
“I am dangerous.”
Dazai leaned forward, his grin widening. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”