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The coldness of the porcelin tiled floors was seeping into his back, splintering off into the veins of around each square tile. Feeling like square rings- a prison? A cage? A death rack? Or perhaps the blood loss was making it really hard for him to think or make an accurate comparison. His vision was obscured by some sort of liquid- what was that weight? It was heavy. Sigma sighed to himself, wondering idly if that blurriness would eventually dry out or at least run down his face rather than continue to sit in the pools of his eye sockets.
He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth stream down. And yet when he opened his eyes again, it was still dark. Adrenaline had been rushing through him mere moments ago. The weight of the decision vibrated through his nerves as he held the gun to the rat’s head. Hands uncontrollably shaking- no his whole body was shaking- or was it the building? Might have been the gravity user. Sigma raises his hands to his face, brushing away the clumps of blood matted hair from his forehead. It was such a thrill, a terrifying thrill of the gun in his hand pointed at the forehead of his captor. His creator.
Fyodor. The name is engraved on the inside of his mind. Every thread of his sanity had been screaming to pull the trigger, but his heart- an organ he doesn’t know if he truly possesses- clenched in that moment. This was the man who had saved him once too. The only family he’s ever had. Those cold eyes were smiling at him, gently. Fatherly.
No, those were the eyes of a man who never loved him. Who only created him to use as a tool. There should be no mercy for a man who took away everything -
A revelation that came seconds too late.
He himself may have been torn over whether or not to kill his creator, but the decision was laughably easy for the other man. The gun slipping from his grasp- all of it, all his efforts were in vain. He thought he’d be upset with this thought, the thought of his years dedicated to his beloved casino amounting to nothing - and yet, in this moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. There had been a shining moment where he’d dreamt of joining the detective agency. But deep down he knew that it was all just a pretty lie. His origin, and his end.
Sigma thinks he would have laughed, if he wasn’t paralysed from the pain of the knife now sticking out of him.
In that split second of the knife finding its home in his heart, he had tried to scream. Dazai, his mouth had formed. Eyes brimming with the tears and desperation of making his years, his efforts matter. Why does it matter that it’s all in vain- things can be better…
An inch off the concrete floor is all he succeeded in moving. Pins and needles sprouted across his body, stabbing into the underlayer of his skin. He closed his eyes to stop the flow of tears, and on the other side of the darkness, reality greeted him.
Dazai used him. There was no one in this world that loved him.
And so begins his last memory, sprawled across the cold ground staring up at the panels that creaked above him. He could make faint movements around but he couldn’t tell from which direction. His fingers twitch, as if some unknown willpower inside of him longed to live. Perhaps this was inevitable, given his unnatural origins. Now he pays in blood for Fydor’s decision to play god.
The room was getting colder, but there was a burning sensation running through his chest. Pain. Not from the wound, but from the burning desire to live. His remaining breath culminates in one last screech. His entire body shook, his desperate cries reverberated throughout his body. And though the gravity user was no longer here, he could not help but feel as if his lungs were being actively crushed, and the weight. The weight was unbearable. Agonising. Death was agonising. His heart and brain were pounding so loudly he could hardly hear anything else. And then it stopped.
The pain stopped.
A soft melody was coming from somewhere. A twinkling of a piano echoing quietly throughout the chamber. Lifting him, encasing him in its comfort. He imagines this is what home would feel like. The warmth spread throughout his body, from his eyes to the tips of his fingers. It’s a dull yet peaceful sensation crawling up his veins and leaking into his bloodstream. And suddenly his vision gets lighter.
The music is growing louder.
The view unfolds before him so fast he can’t even comprehend it. But there’s a gust of wind so sudden that Sigma instinctively flinches and drops to the ground. He was standing?!
The grass beneath him shuffles and the soil protects his knees. The music is getting louder-
So, he tentatively tries to stand up. Pushing on his one leg to hoist himself into a standing position. It feels like he’s floating on air. The breeze gently lifts his pink hair as he turns to face the bright sun shining above the trees. Then his feet move-
He doesn’t know what he’s doing. But a rush of energy surges through him, and his feet move, spinning, twirling, and hopping. His arms move in sync with his legs. Dancing.
This is what Dazai made him do. Instead this time, he’s instigating it. And for the first time, he feels free. He felt at home. And so he gives into his body and allows the music to flow through him, shifting his limbs in a graceful manner.
He twirls, allowing his coat to fly as his hand reaches towards the sky. His vision blurs at the motion, but he finds himself…laughing. It’s an odd sound. Like the broken soundtrack of a voice that’s never been used before. But he embraces it, and jumps and tries to land on one foot.
And then he sings. It’s far from the same sound as the music that is playing. But he loves it. It makes him feel warm. Content. Sighing to himself as he lets himself spin haphazardly and then allows himself to fall. The sky is blue and cloudless.
How peaceful, he thinks to himself. Perhaps Dazai is truly wise afterall. Death is worth all of Dazai’s effort. Sigma laughs, a sound he amplifies and forces out of himself. Then he does it again. And again. And again.
And again.
Again-
Ag-
Course hands touch Sigma’s forehead, and a defeated sigh is exhaled from this stranger above him. The prison lights flicker above, casting its awful yellow glare onto the tiled floor. The blood pooled around Sigma now soaks into the stranger’s shoes. But apparently the stranger doesn’t care too much. A long white braid hangs heavily, falling onto Sigma before he gets lifted up into the air. His cold face tucked into the white jacket and stained it red.
Footsteps start towards the broken doorway, fading gradually. Creaking, and creaking. Until only silence remains.