Chapter Text
calamity : an event causing great and often sudden damage or distress; a disaster.
The Arahabaki project existed for a clear reason: to create destruction. That was the purpose that scientists had assigned to it at the moment they decided to create the greatest weapon in history. They took away its name, changed it to a new one, one that matched more with the inhuman image of the project: A-258. They modified its body in atrocious ways, injecting it, removing flesh, oppressing it and pushing it to the limit as many times as necessary to see results. All for one simple purpose: to kill. He wasn't happy with the life he led, but he didn't resist or complain, the first time he did it he learned the hard way what it was like to be punished. He didn't want a light, he wanted to escape. He did not want to have a power comparable to that of a god, he wanted to be an ordinary human. He didn't want to be a weapon that others could use at their convenience, he wanted to be free.
But his name was only synonymous with disgrace, because that was how he was created.
He had been born to be terror and death.
To be a calamity.
Not to save.
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humanity ( 人類 )
One of the doctors enters the room; the first thing he notices is that it is not N. The brown-haired man begins to tie him up, enclosing his hands in thick metal handcuffs and binding his legs together with chains long enough for him to walk without falling.
The man leads him out of the empty room, starts walking in front of him, a sign that he expects him to follow him; he does so. He walks behind him, without making his footsteps sound against the cold floor that permeates his bare feet. Even though he has walked past the same walls several times, he finds it hard to locate himself; the whole laboratory is exactly the same: pale walls and icy floor.
He deduces that they have reached the room, because the doctor stops his steps and enters a code. The doors open and a new white room welcomes him; the only difference is that it is full of objects. He hears a familiar voice; N is calling him.
He walks to stand in front of him; the scientist kneels down to remove the handcuffs around his wrists and those on his feet. He drags him to a gurney without sheets and makes him lie there. He obeys without saying anything.
The first thing they do is inject; the tip of the needle is long and very thin. It easily enters the vein in his arm and expels the colorless liquid that begins to circulate in his blood. This first prick makes him drowsy. He feels the silk robe being dragged away until it is completely removed; the cold air rushes over his bare skin.
Before his eyelids droop from exhaustion, he manages to identify the scalpel scoring the flesh of his abdomen and encircling his ribs. The falling blood is not warm, but it provokes a sharp feeling as it runs down his side. The pain is not palpable, it only provokes the same uncomfortable tingling as when the polished iron shackles are placed on him.
Afterwards, it is supposed to take hours for the analgesic effect to dilute in his blood. The material of one of the plastic gloves rubs against his shoulder, the touch feels warmer than his own skin and it is the contrast that finishes waking him up.
N has the typical wide smile that his lips form when the results are what he expected. That means there would be no more dissections until tomorrow. N holds out his hand for him to get off the gurney; his legs don't even touch the floor when he sits down. The touch is just as frivolous as the first time.
However, his wrist is not released once he is standing on the floor. He watches as the scientist kneels down to his height, ruffling his white coat that camouflages with the entire room.
"A258, do you know why we are doing all this?"
The question confuses him, he's never been asked his opinion, he's never had a say in all the time he's been trapped in there, they've never bothered to give him a reason for the experiments, so his answer is a simple shrug.
"Of course you don't know." He says wryly, shakes his head, tousling his locks. He stands still, not moving; he can't leave yet, he haven't let go of his hand yet.
"Do you know what a calamity is?"
He denies, not recognizing the word.
"In simple terms, it's a misfortune that affects many people."
He nods, registering the words in his mind; in a way, it brings back nostalgia.
"Arahabaki is a calamity. What was it created for? To be a weapon. And what does a weapon do?"
"Kill."
N nods, pleased by his answer. He stands up and lets go of her wrist; he knows that means he can go now. However, as his feet move toward the exit, a deep weight begins to overcome his chest. He knows what those words mean and the reasoning behind them. They were meant to affirm something he already knew.
His lack of humanity.