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Hijikata dragged in another breath of toxic fumes, held it, then watched it spiral out into the cold winter air. The plume rose, twisted like a tornado and then dissipated into fading fragments. It was another cold day, just like the last hundred or so and winter didn’t seem to want to let go. Yesterday it had hailed and the remnants of puddles still rippled in the corners of the Shinsengumi barracks. Hijikata sucked in another lungful of nicotine to satisfy his cravings and then carefully stubbed it out on the ashtray beside his ankle. He had work to do and it wasn’t part of his ethos to bring cigarettes with him to his meetings with the higher ups. The Shinsengumi was still starting out, still under the watchful eyes of others waiting for them to slip up. He didn’t want to put a foot out of place, regardless of how insignificant it seemed. He wasn’t all that hooked on smoking anyway. It was something he had started recently on a whim and a morning smoke was all he needed to last him the day. A clatter at the door alerted him to Kondo's presence.
“Are you ready, Tosshi?”
“Ahh.” He hummed.
They left the barracks with a limited number of samurai. The higher ups had a new job for the Shinsengumi to add to their duties and today was only a sort of try-out until they got everything organised and took over the job completely. They still had no idea what it would be. Hijikata wasn't entirely concerned – if Kondo was happy, he would wag his tail behind as usual. A tug on his hair alerted him to Sougo's presence.
“Thought you were going to get this cut off?” He asked, giving the long ponytail another few yanks. Hijikata shrugged him away with a flap of his hand and frowned in his direction.
“I said I might.”
“Hm?” Sougo tilted his head and Hijikata hated how ominous that felt. The kid was getting creepier by the day.
As they were led closer, Hijikata's internal map flagged up that they were heading for the prison. He'd been there before a lot and the Shinsengumi already helped out with several duties. In fact, they had two permanent guards stationed there. The prison was brimming with rebels from the war which was only approaching their sanctum faster and faster. Each report that fed back showed that the war spilling in this direction. If it disrupted their peace, Hijikata would be the first one to cut them down - amanto, bakufu and joui alike. He'd finally found where he wanted to be and no selfish, meaningless war was going to interfere with that.
At the prison entrance, two guards stepped to stop them, hands moving stealthily to their hips where a katana settled ready to strike. They were stood at ease by voices from behind. A tall, ginger haired man nodded in Kondo's direction and made direct eye contact with Hijikata. They each held on without smiling until the tall man broke away. He stood beside another, slightly shorter man with a stocky build and short black hair to his scalp. This man approached them with open arms.
“Kondo Isao, I'm guessing.” He bowed quickly and shallowly to Kondo, who returned the gesture.
“Indeed. This is my vice commander, Hijikata Toshiro. The rest are my hand picked men – you can be sure you're in good hands.”
“I've heard plenty already.” He beamed in return, and Hijikata didn't really think that was a compliment. Kondo grinned happily though, so he said nothing. “I'm Takishida Shichiro and this is Uehara Jurou. Let us lead you inside before we talk.”
They followed down the cobbled pathway to the main doors just beyond the entrance. Takishida's presence granted them immediate access through every doorway they passed, until they came to a stop outside a guarded wooden gate. Takishida waited until they had gathered around.
“Today is just going to be a briefing of what we do, as you know. So if you could split into two groups, I'll take one group and Jurou-kun will take the other. There are two types of investigation and we'll demonstrate both so you can go back and inform the rest of your men back at your barracks. We'll work out the rest of the details another day.”
“What are the two investigation types?” Kondo asked and Hijikata noticed a smirk twitch on Uehara's face. His fingertips wriggled at his hips.
“I'll be showing you the basic investigations that include trying to get confessions out of petty criminals, or talking to witnesses and victims. Uehara will be showing you … the other one.” He left the words unsaid but indicated with his tone what sort of things would be going on. Kondo still seemed confused though, so Hijikata spelled it out for all of them.
“Torture.”
“Obviously.” Uehara scoffed, speaking for the first time. He still had that grin plastered on his face. He made eye contact with Hijikata once more, and the hairs on his neck bristled. He pushed back his shoulders and returned the glare sideways without turning his head.
“Kondo-san, you and Sougo go with Takishida-san. Harada and I will go with this guy.”
“I'm glad I get the pleasure of your company, demon Hijikata. Let's have some fun in there.”
“Tosshi-” Kondo began to stop Hijikata by extending his arm towards his back which was already moving to follow Uehara into the centre of the prison.
“Trust me, Kondo-san.” He waved a hand over his shoulder. “Let's go, Harada.”
The light dipped along with the temperature and soon it was beyond cold and into the minus numbers. Hijikata could trace his breath as it cut through the air. The cold was slicing through his thin yukata, making goosebumps spill over his skin. They were walking past cells now on either side, some empty but a lot were full. They all wore handcuffs and there was not a bed to be seen in this concrete labyrinth. It was a typical sign of the war going on all around them. Even this place, so far from the main battle, was bursting with joui rebels. A lot cast them scathing looks or shouted insults. Bakufu dogs! Scum! It was nothing he hadn't heard before.
Not too far away from them, a guard was jeering through the bars and occasionally kicking the metal until it rang, echoing towards them, the vibrations triggering a rattle that ran through one side of the hallway. Uehara called out when they got close enough and the other man straightened with a sadistic grin.
“Uehara, you'll never guess what.”
“Eh? Have we got some fun lined up?”
“They've caught one of the top rebels. Handed himself in, by the sounds of it. Should be coming our way soon.” Uehara let out a bellow of a laugh.
“You know which one? I hope it's that pretentious prick with dark hair.”
“Takasugi?” The other man sniggered, kicking the bars again like it was an unconscious habit. “I don't know who it is. But we'll find out.”
Hijikata had heard the name Takasugi before. It was becoming one of those whispered rumours rattling around the women of their village. People didn't like to show their support for either side in order to protect themselves, so talk of the war was hidden behind closed doors. Hijikata caught ear of it in bars he sometimes ventured or in his favourite eatery.
“Oi, demon.” Uehara called and Hijikata bristled. He didn't usually care either way what people called him and this particular nickname was something he'd had to put up with since childhood. He had become immune to it, or so he had thought. Yet this guy could rile him up easily. He was definitely suited for getting information out of people. The psychological damage he was capable of was becoming apparent. “Looks like you're in for a treat!”
“Just show us what to do and that'll be enough.”
“Once you get into it, you'll enjoy it.” Uehara stalked closer. “You won't be able to sleep with excitement.” It took a hand on his shoulder from Harada to stop his lip from curling and to remove his hand from his katana. This guy was disgusting and he wasn't hiding it. Hijikata just wanted to be in and out of there as soon as possible. He was only glad that Kondo wasn't here. He was far too kind hearted to witness whatever kinks this sadistic little fuck decided to employ in his spare time. Sougo was far too young, too.
They were interrupted by a clatter of metal behind them and the rattle of a sliding gate. Then, shouts echoed down the walkway. Hijikata turned, though he wasn't fond of turning his back on Uehara. Or his pal.
“Get walking.” A guardsman cursed, kicking something forward. Hijikata laid eyes on a head of silver-white hair which dropped down a little at the kick. As the man slowly looked up beneath thick bangs, they made eye contact – Hijikata and the prisoner, frozen in one look.
His eyes were red.
Uehara whistled. “The Shiroyasha! Jesus I could wet myself I'm so happy.”
“It'll be him that pisses his pants later though.” The other guffawed.
Hijikata couldn't say a word. He had been frozen by those eyes which burned a deep crimson. They were calm too, like the eye of a storm. His presence was ethereal, thanks to locks of white hair and pale, porcelain skin. The Shiroyasha, white demon, was such a fitting name. In fact, Hijikata's own nickname paled in comparison. The man stood with broad shoulders and though he wasn't taller, his presence seemed to tower over the guards. This demon echoed power and how the hell had he been captured? Suddenly it seemed like the bakufu had tamed a lion and here it was, growling before them, stalking them with his eyes with the confidence that he could pounce whenever.
Before he knew it, the Shiroyasha was pulled past him and they still had not broken eye contact. Hijikata's mouth was on the floor. The Shiroyasha didn't let a single emotion shine through his deadened eyes up until the very last second they pulled away from Hijikata. Finally, he could breathe again.
The prison gate clanged open and the guards set about chaining the man to the wall. This was unlike the other prisoners, who at least could roam their cells. He was hung from two manacles attached firmly to the concrete wall so that his hands were above his head and his feet barely scraped the floor. Uehara was practically bouncing as he was restrained. He only spared a second to beckon Hijikata and Harada into the cell. Harada hadn't said a word the whole time. They both had a lot to take in and manage all at once.
Above all, they were about to watch this lion be ripped apart by two rats.
The escorts left once the job was done and Uehara and his companion shared a grin. He reached for a box and took out a long twisted strip of hard leather.
“We start with the whip.” He smiled silkily at the Shiroyasha who didn't even spare him a glance. “Talk when you're ready. But not too soon, because I want to hear you scream, my friend.” Uehara looked back over his shoulder at Hijikata and beckoned him closer again. “You wanna be able to feel his blood when I send it flying.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” His fist clenched at his side and Harada muttered into his ear again. Torture was protocol, he knew that, and who better to do it that a sadistic fuck? The guy was giggling to himself as he moved to stand before the demon.
“We start with an easy one,” he mused, tapping the leather against his hand. “Tell me where your camp is headed.”
The Shiroyasha rose his head and made direct, fearless eye contact with Uehara. Then, with the most graceful of movements of his lips, he smirked.
The whip cracked sharply and a fiery red line flashed across the man's bare chest. He held in a grunt but his mouth still twisted in pain.
“You okay there, Shiroyasha?” Uehara came close enough to run the leather across the man's face.
“I'd be worse if you didn't hit like a girl.” The grin that broke across the man's face was equally as sadistic as the torturer that stood before him. Hijikata took a step back. In a second, Uehara was laughing but he couldn't be heard over the sound of his whip cracking over and over again. The Shiroyasha stayed steadfast and swallowed every grunt or cry. Each time silence descended, he'd look up again with a fresh smile that was driving Uehara further into madness. He had long since stopped asking questions. It was simply a battle of will power which Hijikata could not understand – this man was chained up. He had no cards in his favour. Why was he rattling his persecutor? It didn't make sense. He was probably insane, which was expected of someone named the white demon.
The whip sang through the air, slapping again and again until blood was trickling onto the floor and wounds littered his chest like a tic-tac-toe board. Still, he remained stone faced in the face of pain and lips tightly shut. Uehara sighed, dramatically.
“I need my tools. Oi, Demon number 2,” he looked to Hijikata, offering out his whip. “I'll be back in a mo. Take over.” He passed it to him as he left, footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Hijikata felt the heavy weight resting on his palm and clenched his fingers around its girth. Was this one of the jobs they would be entrusted to? He didn't want to see his men turn into creatures like Uehara. He didn't want to command them to do something like this. Who was the real evil one here? The so-called demon protecting his country or the so-called demon protecting himself?
“Not going to hit me?” The Shiroyasha asked, bringing Hijikata out of his thoughts. He glanced up and met with fiery red eyes looking back at him calculatingly.
“What's your name?” He surprised even himself by asking. The Shiroyasha raised an eyebrow that casually vanished under his bangs. Hijikata didn’t expect him to answer.
“... Gintoki.”
“How did you end up in here?”
“Oi, aren't you meant to be torturing me? Are you two playing good cop, bad cop?”
“I ain't going to hit you with this.” The demon commander sighed, lowering the whip to his hip. “It doesn't sit right with me.”
Gintoki didn't say anything in reply. He lowered his eyes again and his chest heaved in an unsteady breath. The lesions across his whole body looked to be burning, on fire. They were oozing fresh blood and had a nasty red and raised rim to each gash. Harada caught Hijikata's gaze and his look spoke volumes in the silence. What are we going to do? Were they going to take this job? They could hardly say no, but it went against everything Hijikata believed in to stand and force a man to sell out his comrades. He looked away – he couldn't answer. He needed to speak to Kondou.
“Would it make this easier for you if I said I was a murderer?”
“Not really, how innocent do you reckon I am?... What got you in here?”
“Asking again,” Gintoki snorted and the chains clattered as he wriggled slightly, trying to let some blood back into his arms. His toes scraped the floor in vain. “I'm the daughter of a guy who sold me out.” Eyebrows raised. Hijikata got the impression that Gintoki wasn't a straight talker, unlike himself. He didn't feel that asking for the English version of that story would get him any closer to the truth. All he could establish was that he probably didn’t remorsefully hand himself in after deeply considering his actions.
The conversation didn’t really go much further. By the time Uehara had returned bearing a new grin, laden with more tools to amuse himself, Kondou had called for Hijikata to return. It was just as well - he was beginning to feel sick. Turning his back on the man tied up at Uehara's mercy was also one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. The churning in his stomach regurgitated all his morals and the worst thing was, he knew this was wrong. He knew he had no right to torture a man standing up for his comrades. They stood on the opposite sides of a chess board but really, they were the same piece.
A white knight and a black one.
Luckily for him, the Shinsengumi moved headquarters two weeks following Hijikata's encounter with the Shiroyasha. The group went under new reforms and settled down permanently in Edo. He still didn't know what had happened to Gintoki - had he sold out his comrades in the end? Had pain conquered mental fortitude? Or had he been a fool and stayed true, murdered for his loyalty? He wouldn't know and their short encounter in a prison cell would be the first and last time Hijikata would partake in torture of such magnitude. The Shinsengumi weren't formed for that purpose and somehow Kondou managed to negate the offer to take over similar investigation styles in Edo. Hijikata's memories of that day faded away slowly till only a sense of vague fear and a silver predator remained in his subconscious.
Though, ten years later, he encountered someone of similar red eyes and white hair. For a moment, for one heart stopping second, he recalled those demonic eyes from many years previous. The guy then picked his nose and stared lazily back with dead-fish eyes void of any recognition.
Naah.