#and sniper I guess [visibly hard] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rainbowsalt0412 · 2 years ago

Text

Osamu Dazai And The Dark Era - Chapter 2

The rain came and went after that. Dazai had been running around trying to get information on Mimic, while I wandered around the city in search of clues. I felt as though something important was slipping through my fingers with each passing moment, but I couldn’t see what that something was. The more important it was, the less visible it became to me—especially when I lost it.

I’d spent even more time wondering. Why did Ango go missing? There was no longer any doubt that he was somehow connected to Mimic, but what that connection was remained a mystery. I still hadn’t been able to figure out why he lied about buying that watch. Like a pale zombie wandering alone through a bright, immaculate graveyard, I continued to roam Yokohama in pursuit of a nonexistent hope.

I had reached just one conclusion but hadn’t told a soul. It didn’t feel right. I was sure Dazai had come to the same conclusion himself, but he probably wasn’t telling anyone, either.

Disappearing at almost the same time Mimic appeared, lying about a business trip to create an alibi, the gun in the safe and the Mimic sniper who tried desperately to get it back—Ango Sakaguchi was a Mimic spy.

It would all make sense, then.

Mimic bought Ango to get inside knowledge on the Mafia.

I shook my head. There was no way that was right. If that were the case, then that meant Ango was a capable enough spy to have deceived even the likes of Dazai and the boss. He would put a government agent to shame. What would Mimic gain from sending such a skilled spy to infiltrate the Mafia?

“You look glum, Odasaku. What’s wrong? Constipated?” the restaurant owner called out to me.

“I’m just thinking. I’d avoid eating spicy food like curry if I were actually constipated.”

I was indeed eating curry over rice at a diner.

“Oh… Yeah, I guess you’re right. Hey, Odasaku, you don’t get mad when people ask that kinda stuff when you’re eating curry?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “Should I?”

“Uh… I dunno.”

“Seriously?” I responded with a straight face.

“Just don’t push yourself too hard, Odasaku.”

I knew the restaurant owner pretty well. He was in his fifties with a stomach protruding so far that he probably couldn’t see his own toes when he stood upright. Some of his hair had checked out, and he had crow’s-feet from smiling so much. He always wore a yellow apron that fit him so well that I sometimes wondered if he was born in it.

I ate curry here around three times a week out of pure habit. Habits are peculiar. If I didn’t eat this curry for a few days, my mouth would dry up strangely, and I couldn’t focus. I’d seen more than my share of drug addicts in the underworld, so I couldn’t help but think this was how they felt every time they went through withdrawals.

“How’s the curry?”

“Same as always.”

The curry here was simple: vegetables boiled down to a buttery consistency, beef tendon sautéed with garlic, a light dashi stock. The ingredients were then cooked with a complex blend of spices and dumped on top of a large helping of white rice before being all mixed together. Toss in an egg and some sauce, and it was ready to be eaten.

My hunger fully sated, I helped myself to a cup of coffee as I basked in my own personal bliss.

That’s when I asked, “How are the kids?”

“Haven’t changed,” the owner replied while wiping a dinner plate with a cloth. “They’re practically a small gang. There’s only five of them, so they’re scraping by. But if there were five more, they’d probably be able to hold up the Japan Bank for International Cooperation. They’re on the second floor. Go say hello.”

I decided to go with his suggestion. The floor above the restaurant used to be an old conference space until it was remodeled for residential use. I climbed up the stairs. The concrete walls were pasted with stained wallpaper and had reinforcing rods sticking out here and there. When I reached the top, I saw two doors: one to the kids’ room and one to the stockroom. I chose the former.

“Yo. How’ve ya been?”

I greeted the kids, each one focused intently on passing time in various ways: reading picture books, drawing, throwing a soft, fist-sized ball against the wall, playing cat’s cradle. The youngest of the bunch was a four-year-old girl, and the oldest was a nine-year-old boy. Nobody looked up.

“You guys aren’t causing too much trouble for Pops, right? He’s ex- military, really tough. So if you guys complain too much, he’s gonna—”

I was teasing the kids when I noticed something: There were supposed to be five of them, but I saw only four. I sensed something move in the bunk bed on the right. I instantly dropped my hips, lowering my posture. A nimble figure leaped out from the shadows on the bed—the fifth kid. I ducked my head and dodged him.

However, he was just a decoy. The little girl, who had been drawing, latched on to my right leg as I was caught off-balance. This was their plan from the start. I lifted my one free leg to step forward in preparation for the real attack that was about to come, but I couldn’t move; the string that was being used for cat’s cradle up until a second ago was now drawn right across my path of movement. It was a trap. My ankle got caught on the thick, taut string, and I lost my footing, causing me to flounder uselessly in midair.

I grabbed on to the bunk bed with my right hand and avoided falling to the floor, but the kids had predicted that outcome, too. They had colored in the bed’s handrails with crayons until they were slick, and my right hand slid off. Both of my hands hit the floor. I instinctively tried to get back up, but unfortunately for me, I’d left my back momentarily wide-open to the kiddie gang. There was no way they would let this opportunity go by. I could feel the seven- and eight-year-old boys lunging at me from behind. If I let them get me now, I’d soon be no different from a prisoner marching to the guillotine—I could see it. I needed to teach them just how frightening the real Mafia was.

I swiftly knocked the ball rolling by my side with the back of my hand, bouncing it off the wall and hitting the seven-year-old right in the face. Unable to see his target anymore, he landed on the floor and took cover. Next, I pulled my ankle free, tearing the string trap apart before putting my weight on my left leg. When I lifted my right leg high into the air, the kid latched on to it squealed with joy and dropped to the floor. All that was left was the eight-year-old lunging at me from behind, but he alone wouldn’t be able to hold me down. I stood up with him hanging on to my back.

The agile kid, the one who’d been hiding in the bed, was the gang’s leader. Even after witnessing the unsightly defeat of his men, he still boldly went for the attack. Since this was his plan all along, he couldn’t back down no matter how obviously hopeless it was.

I caught the leader as he tried to charge me head-on. He made an admirable attempt to grab my legs and knock me off-balance, but there was just too much of a weight difference. Seizing him under the arms, I lifted him up, turned him upside down, and shook him. He bleated like a goat with a hangover.

“Give up?” I asked.

“Never!” he screamed.

With no will to fight, the others simply watched to see how much longer their leader could maintain his dignity as commander in chief.

“Then it looks like some Mafia-style torture is in order.”

With both hands under his armpits, I tickled the kid as if there were no tomorrow.

“Hya-ha-ha! W-wai— Ha-ha-hee-hee-hee!”

It took two minutes and forty-two seconds before he agreed to my terms of surrender.

***

I talked to the children for some time after that. Apparently, life at the restaurant was passable for the most part, but they were rather displeased with the food menu rotating every three days. They demanded swift improvement, or at least permission to be in the kitchen.

“Pops is nice, but…,” the oldest boy said. “Like, he treats us all like kids, but we’re all adults here, ya know? Is us growin’ up so quickly a problem for the adults or something?”

I told him that it probably was.

“We’re gonna get you next time!” the kids proclaimed, to which I responded that I was looking forward to it—and I honestly was. After that, I retired from the second floor. When I returned to the restaurant, I heard a new customer’s voice—a familiar one at that.

“Whoa! This is spicy, mister! Really spicy! What’s your secret ingredient? Lava?!”

“Ha-ha-ha, ya think so? That’s what Odasaku always has. Hey, Odasaku, welcome back. How were the kids?”

“It was close, but I remain undefeated,” I replied. “However, they predicted where I would grab on to, so they colored it in with crayons to make me slip. I was really worried for a second there. You said they’d be able to hold up a bank if there were ten of them, but I bet they’d be able to pull that off in two more years with their current numbers.”

“Maybe I should recruit them…” Dazai smirked while wiping his sweat. “I heard all about it, Odasaku. You’re raising five kids, huh? And not only that, they’re orphans from the Dragon’s Head Conflict.”

Even if I’d tried to hide it, Dazai would’ve been able to figure it out with just half a day’s worth of research.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

The children were orphans. They would have all died if I hadn’t saved them. Two years ago, various syndicates, including the Port Mafia, were involved in a large-scale underground dispute known as the Dragon’s Head Conflict. A certain skill user died, leaving behind five hundred billion yen’s worth of dirty money, which led to a bloody, murderous frenzy that spread throughout the entire Kanto region. Most illegal armed organizations came close to extinction as a result.

I also participated in the struggle. It was such a bloodbath that you’d get attacked once every ten minutes just walking the streets. The result was countless scores of bodies.

The children on the second floor were kids who had nowhere to go after the incident was over.

“A Mafia member who refuses to kill, talented yet has no interest in advancing through the ranks, a man who’s raising five orphans—Sakunosuke Oda.” Dazai smirked. “You’re a strange guy. You might be the strangest guy in the entire Mafia.”

Not as long as they had Dazai.

I faced the restaurant owner once more and pulled out an envelope of bills from my coat pocket.

“Pops, this should be enough money for the kids for now.”

“You sure this is okay, Odasaku?” There was a worried tone in the owner’s voice as he wiped his fingers on his apron and accepted the envelope. “I mean, I know most of your earnings end up here… If it’s all right, I can throw in some of my money, too.”

“I really appreciate you letting us use your place, Pops. That, plus the curry here, is more than enough.”

“Odasaku, do you seriously eat this spicy curry all the time?” Dazai asked as he took a sip of water. “It’s so hot that my jaw’s about to fall off.”

“Dazai, what are you doing here anyway?” I asked.

“I have something I need to tell you about the case. A lot of things came to light after we last talked, especially about the enemy.”

There was only one case I knew of.

“Pops, sorry to ask this, but could you give us some privacy?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be in the back getting things ready, so just holler if we get a customer.”

The owner seemed to have sussed out the situation from my expression alone, and he took off his apron before gleefully heading out the back door. Dazai ended up eating most of his curry while tirelessly downing his cup of water. During that time, I let myself into the kitchen, made some coffee, and poured myself a cup.

“Man, that was hot. Why does curry have to be that hot? Does it have something against mankind? More people would eat it if it were less spicy. This is negligence in food culture.”

I thought about it for a moment before answering. “If more people ate it, then nobody would eat anything else, thus completely destroying food culture as we know it.”

“Makes sense.” Dazai nodded, seemingly convinced. “So what was it you wanted to tell me?”

“I’ll get straight to the point. It’s a foreign crime syndicate,” he started to explain while pouring another glass of water. “They’ve only been in Japan for a short while. They used to be a well-known European skilled crime syndicate, but an organization of skill users in Great Britain known as the Order of the Clock Tower drove them out of the continent, and they scurried away to Japan.”

“They’re a European criminal organization?”

Europe was home to top-class skill users employed by both the government and various criminal organizations, and as a result, those skill users built an extremely elaborate and complex power structure throughout the continent. That was why such a strict surveillance system had been put in place to prevent such individuals from escaping to other countries.

When I asked Dazai how they could have gotten here, he tilted his head and replied, “Yeah, a crime syndicate of skill users shouldn’t be able to illegally enter another country that easily. There has to be more to this than meets the eye. They might have a collaborator within Japan.”

“But what did they come all the way to Japan for anyway?”

“Beats me. The only way we’ll know is if we ask them. We can guess, though. They escaped to a foreign land without a soul to rely on. This might sound snide, but they’re dead broke. So maybe they’re trying to make it big by stealing the Port Mafia’s turf and smuggling route.”

It was possible. There’s only one thing that poor crime syndicates want: money, money, and more money. But there was just one thing bothering me. I started to open my mouth to express my concerns.

“Hold on. Hear me out until the end.” Dazai stopped me as if he could read my mind. “I know what you want to say, Odasaku. They’re way tooskilled to just be a group of low-level criminals who joined forces, right? I thought the same thing. You almost never see a sniper and spotter operating in tandem around here, let alone so proficiently. Those were ex-military. According to the intel I received, the leader of their organization is a powerful skill user and soldier commanding a seasoned group of men. I should be getting more detailed information soon. Anyway, you can’t underestimate these guys. If they systematically attack with such precise tactics, then even the Port Mafia might come tumbling down.”

“Does the boss know about this?”

“I told him,” Dazai reluctantly replied. “He appointed me as commander of the front line and tasked me with devising a strategy for Mimic, so I immediately set up a few traps—simple mousetraps. I’ve got a feeling the enemy might make a move soon.”

Mimic wasn’t just going to steal some weapons and try to snipe us—only to then hang their hats up and go home. Dazai was right. They were going to strike again…and it was going to be big.

“This is a really basic question, but…,” I said, then continued, “… shouldn’t the government be cracking down on crime syndicates with skill users?”

There were more than a few people in the world with unusual powers, including Dazai and me. The type of skill differs per person, but some are highly dangerous. That was why the government established a special agency to constantly surveil these dangerous individuals in secret. Those government agents, too, are skill users, and highly capable ones at that.

“You mean the Home Affairs Ministry’s Special Division for Unusual Powers, right?” Dazai cocked his head. “But see, they’re a secret organization, so they don’t really show their faces much. Besides, the Port Mafia is a powerful crime syndicate with skill users as well. I bet nothing would make that division happier than if the Mafia and Mimic took each other out.”

Dazai had a point. If the Special Division for Unusual Powers was so obsessed with eradicating crime involving skill users, then they’d have to take out the Port Mafia first. I’d heard from Ango once before that although the Division was a government agency with experienced skill users, they had only a few elites within their ranks; that would make it difficult for them to take a massive organization such as the Port Mafia head-on and win unscathed. They would most certainly have casualties. Apparently, the Special Division for Unusual Powers was trying to avoid that at all costs, so they stuck to simply keeping an eye on the Port Mafia from a safe distance. Of course, they’d have to bestir themselves if there were a lot of civilian casualties as well.

Only one question remained, although difficult to ask.

“What about Ango?”

Dazai didn’t immediately reply, sipping on his freshly brewed cup of coffee in silence. Even he needed time to prepare an answer.

“We’re almost completely certain that Ango is the one who leaked the code to the armory,” he muttered with eyes downcast on his cup. Then he glanced over at me as if he was trying to see my reaction. I didn’t say a word. “Everyone in the organization is issued a different passcode to avoid trouble. And—”

“The code Mimic used to open the armory matched the one given to Ango, right?”

I crossed my arms. The missing pieces of the puzzle were slowly coming together. The pattern I saw, though, was one I wish I hadn’t.

“Hey, Dazai.” I took a seat by his side. For a split second, I felt as if I were in a dream. It was as though nothing had changed—just like the other day when I was sitting with Ango and Dazai at the bar. “Is there any possibility that someone framed Ango and is pulling the strings from behind the scenes?”

“It’s not out of the question. That’s always a possibility,” Dazai answered, but he didn’t seem to believe the words coming out of his own mouth. “If someone in the Mafia was colluding with Mimic, then sure, it’s possible. But I can’t think of a single person who’d benefit from that.”

Dazai shook his head. I felt the same way. All we could do at that point was find Ango as soon as possible and ask him. Whether that would bring us the results we hoped for was anyone’s guess, though.

The Mafia’s intelligence officer—Ango Sakaguchi. Why did he betray the syndicate?

During the battle of intelligence in the previous war of the syndicates, there were various barriers preventing members of enemy organizations from turning to the opposing side: money, the opposite sex, family, pride, a sense of belonging. From what I’d heard, if all of these barriers were cleared, then the enemy would most definitely defect. So what would’ve been Ango’s reason to join Mimic?

I looked to Dazai in search of an answer. He was hanging his head, contemplating in silence. His expression was…

Dazai was…

“…Ha-ha-ha.”

…laughing.

“At first, I just thought they were your average crime syndicate, but if they’re good enough for Ango to join, then that means a little arm-twisting isn’t gonna make them cry and say they’re sorry. Plus, Ango’s no pushover as an enemy. He’s no walk in the park. This is getting exciting. I bet they’re gonna back me into a corner, then—”

“Dazai.”

He paused when I called his name. I didn’t have anything else to say, though; I simply said his name.

Nobody knew what Dazai was really thinking.

It’s an unwritten rule in the Mafia to not stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. One must never open the door to another’s heart and try to judge them for the darkness tucked within. That was one nice thing about the Mafia.

But maybe, just maybe, that was the wrong approach—or at the very least, when it came to the man sitting next to me. Somebody probably should’ve tied him up, pried his chest open, and stuffed a vacuum cleaner inside. Then, as he screamed and cried until they needed to punch him to shut him up, they’d suck every last bit out of his chest and stamp it into the ground.

But in reality, such a vacuum didn’t exist. Chests don’t open up like that, and no one is capable of such feats. What we see is everything, and everything we see, we ignore. All we can do is stand before the deep ditch between us and others and keep silent.

“Well, I should get going,” Dazai said before standing.

“Dazai.” He turned around when I called out to him. Rubbing my hands together, I looked down at the empty plate and coffee cup, then back up. “Are you thinking that way because—?”

Out of nowhere, Dazai’s cell phone began to ring. He lightly bowed to me before placing the phone against his ear and answering. A few moments went by as he listened to whoever was on the other side, but soon enough, his lips suddenly twisted into a grin.

“All right.”

He hung up, then faced me once more before saying:

“We caught a mouse in our trap.”

***

There was no distinction between day and night in the Yokohama Settlement.

What was once the living quarters for a former occupying army was now a joint settlement with strong influences left over from the foreign consul. On paper, the Japanese military police and the consul police worked together to maintain public order within the Settlement. However, the law’s particulars were incredibly ambiguous, leading to countless gray areas. Numerous military parties, financial conglomerates, and criminals gathered here from all over the world like moths to a flame in order to benefit from these loopholes.

Even the MP cannot carelessly dabble in the Settlement’s affairs. It’s virtually an extraterritorial 'Demon City,' which is one reason why Yokohama gained public notoriety for acting as the largest base for criminals with skills.

In one corner of this Demon City was an underground casino run by the Port Mafia. It was neither glamorous nor luxurious, but instead rather plain and ambiguous; it basically blended into the scenery. At least, that was how it appeared. But there was a reason for that. All the gambling done inside was illegal.

The casino was located beneath a shipyard and had a horde of Mafia guards on patrol. Patrons who visited were top-class financiers, politicians, military officers, and the like. The doorman wearing a double-breasted coat escorted the customers. Inside the underground casino was a chandelier, illuminating the damask wallpaper, wooden mosaic flooring, and shag carpeting. Various equipment stood like reticent sentinels: a jukebox playing jazz music from the Prohibition era, a roulette board, and a blackjack table. With their drinks in one hand, people casually squandered their money while enjoying secret conversations. A middle-aged bartender silently made cocktails behind the bar set in the corner.

That was when the unexpected suddenly happened. Soldiers draped in gray rags soundlessly appeared from the back door and began firing their submachine guns. Fragments of the chandelier and walls scattered into the air, raining over the customers’ heads. Like a flock of sheep struck by a bolt of lightning, the customers stampeded into each and every direction, wildly stomping over and on one another to escape. That was the first thing the soldiers were going for.

In the heat of the confusion, the croupiers swiftly grabbed the machine pistols they’d hidden away, but before they could even aim, the soldiers’ suppressive fire pierced their chests and brought them to their knees. The five soldiers immediately cut across the casino floor and rushed into the manager’s room in the back. They promptly disposed of the manager, then ripped the carpet off the floor.

Embedded in the floor was a large electric safe. One of the soldiers took out a notepad and punched in the numbers written in it on the electronic keypad. A gear deep inside the safe made a heavy clicking sound, and the door opened. The soldiers took a peek inside.

The safe was empty.

Their astonishment was as clear as day. Almost instantaneously, an electronic alert howled throughout the building, and fireproof shutters slammed to the ground with a heavy clang. The soldiers, aware of what was going on, shot the shutters, but the thick screens were designed to withstand bullets. After a few seconds, the ceiling sprinklers went off, sending a liquid over the soldiers, the croupiers, and even the patrons who couldn’t get away.

The liquid wasn’t water, however; it was a white substance that almost immediately evaporated when it came into contact with clothes or the floor. The patrons and employees, who had breathed in the air, began to cough violently. The soldiers promptly held their breath, but it was already too late.

One after another, everyone in the room began to collapse onto the floor. Almost no one was able to do anything of use. They simply clasped their throats, bent forward, and passed out. The white substance was just a type of knockout gas that affected the respiratory system; it wasn’t fatal.

However, the one soldier who had the most accurate grasp of the situation shot himself in the head. His blood and brain matter sprayed the wall, leaving a pattern that symbolized the last moment of his life. The remaining soldiers, on the other hand, lacked the clarity of mind to act on the spur of the moment. And just like the casino patrons, they fell to the ground.

There was only one difference between the patrons and the soldiers: The latter would never be allowed the luxury of a peaceful death.

***

I visited a small accounting firm by the coast. Ango used to work here in his early days before he became a top-secret intelligence agent. Everyone starts at the bottom of the pecking order sometime in their life.

Once I arrived at the office, I told them why I came. The guard and administrator both beamed as they escorted me to the back. The Mafia’s not all steel, guns, and explosives. These kinds of people are necessary, too.

This place was used as an accounting facility that washed the dirty money the Mafia brought in illegally. Three years ago, Ango was headhunted by the Mafia and worked here as an assistant.

The guard and the admin ended up bringing me to a windowless room hidden behind a wall. It was a dim space with secret Mafia assets, money- laundering ledger sheets, and other records stuffed in bookshelves lined up against the wall, plus a desk in the middle. There was nothing else except for a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, faintly wobbling.

“There ya go. Now if ya don’t mind, I’ll be gettin’ back to work,” came the administrator’s husky voice once he’d taken me to the bookshelves.

He claimed he had work to do, but I’d glanced into the room next door earlier and saw that his desk was covered in bonsai plants and a book on shogi—nothing else.

“Thank you very much.” I expressed my gratitude. “By the way, there’s a bit of burgeoning conflict unfolding at headquarters right now. Please be careful.”

“The only things here are old documents and stacks of securities that can’t be cashed. Attacking this place would just be a hassle.”

The administrator smirked. He had been the treasurer in charge of the Mafia’s finances for years. Perhaps he could instinctively sense where the sparks of war would land.

“This is a nice workplace.”

After surveying the room, I called out to the administrator as he was leaving, “Maybe I should ask to be transferred here.”

The skin on his face crinkled as his lips curled into a grin.

“Most young’uns who say that don’t even last three days before they head for the hills. It’s boring here.”

After thanking the administrator for his time, I faced the open bookshelves once more. Ango’s records were here. Accountants have always been the epitome of meticulousness itself, but the people who manage the Mafia’s under-the-table accounts must be capable of writing out in detail everything that happens during the course of business. That way, even if they’re killed, the successor can take over for them without delay. I flipped through the business logs of the prior accountant. He was apparently well organized, even more than your average accountant, but just one single month of records alone was like reading a full-length novel—basically one long lyric poem about the underbelly of society.

I sat behind the desk in the middle of the hidden room and leafed through the documents. According to the records, Ango used to be a kind of hacker who bought and sold information. In the past, he drew out a scheme where he would work together with a gang to steal money from a corporation. They pretended they worked for the bank, opened the safe-deposit box, then swiped all the securities to exchange for cash. The plan was a complete success, so Ango and his team made quite a bit of money. But it was money stained in blood. The safe-deposit box and securities belonged to one of the Mafia’s front companies; Ango and his men basically swiped money right out of the Mafia’s pockets. Unsurprisingly, Ango was chased by hounds after that—armed mad dogs in black that tailed their prey through the night without so much as a howl or even a single sound.

Mentally exhausted and being fed misinformation, the gang grew suspicious of one another, leading to a shoot-out and their quick demise. Ango, on the other hand, continued to run. He was able to figure out in advance where the Mafia’s tracking unit would be next, allowing him to simply escape their reach throughout Yokohama. No less than six months went by.

For those six months, Ango managed to outsmart the Mafia’s tracking unit who knew Yokohama like the back of their hand, something that would’ve even put a government spy to shame. He was most likely somehow using the Mafia’s intelligence network in secret and leaking misinformation to confuse his enemies.

But there’s an end of the road for everybody. Nobody can evade the darkness of the night forever. Ango must have been prepared to die when he was captured in the slum’s underground aqueduct. Instead, he was brought before the boss, who wasn’t willing to dispose of someone with such outstanding information-manipulation skills.

That was the start of Ango’s second life.

—That was the first dramatic step of the man’s rise in the underworld. From what I can see in these files, there’s not even a shadow of Mimic in his background.

…Which meant Mimic and Ango didn’t have any contact until after this.

I flipped through the files some more until I found an account that caught my eye. Two years ago, Ango went to Europe for business after he had been in the Mafia for a year and gained their trust. His objective was to close a deal with a local stolen car broker. However, Ango ceased communication for those two months for unknown reasons. He didn’t seem any different once he returned, and he explained that some sort of misunderstanding with a local organization had led to his getting pursued as a criminal. And his story checked out, too. After looking into it, I discovered there actually was a mass arrest in Europe of organizations that smuggled stolen vehicles. The Port Mafia came to the conclusion that Ango must have gotten caught up in that, so no more questions were asked of him.

But in retrospect, it was hard to believe that Ango was on the run for two months because he couldn’t clear up such a simple misunderstanding. Nobody could confirm what Ango did during that period in Europe. With what I learned, I could only assume he used this time to meet with Mimic and come to some sort of deal—in other words, as a double agent. That would’ve meant Mimic had already been laying the groundwork to attack the Port Mafia from that moment on.

I closed the files, then sank deep into my thoughts to meditate. The room was dead silent. The only noises I heard were the sounds of passing cars, like a film far away. Something was off. Something about this scenario bothered me. Ango joined the Mafia, then secretly communicated with Mimic. From there, he waited for just the right time for both syndicates to clash. It was too perfect, like two computers playing chess. There were no signs of any unexpected actions, no curveballs…and that conversely made me uneasy.

I surveyed the room, thinking back to how Ango used to work here. That day, he had been in the same spot I was in at that very moment. Ango had been sitting in the chair with his elbows on the desk, his expression glum as he’d stared at me in silence.

This was where we first met. Ango was arrogant back then. He practically oozed displeasure, the bored expression on his face plainly illustrating that he didn’t feel he belonged in a place like this. I thought back to the way he’d looked at me. What did he say to me when we first met again? I believe it was…

***

“Could you please not get any closer? You smell,” he said with disgust and his elbows still on the desk. Dazai and I couldn’t even say a word as we stood stock-still by the door. An awkward silence descended over the hidden room.

I had heard around that this young man was the new guy, Ango Sakaguchi, but this was the first time I was actually meeting him. Dazai and I exchanged glances. We did indeed smell terrible. After all, we were on our way back from a mission. We must’ve reeked of oil, rust, and blood. My nose had given up sending signals to my brain a long time ago.

It was the middle of the Dragon’s Head Conflict. There was nary a night when you didn’t hear gunfire, and practically every drop of sewage water had been tainted with blood. The bodies of underground syndicate members piled up in every corner of the city. Even the MP couldn’t put a stop to it all, never mind come up with the manpower to inspect the crime scenes.

Dazai and I were given orders to clean up the fallen Port Mafia members’ bodies. We would photograph the corpses, then take their possessions back with us. We couldn’t afford to have the police take anything as evidence in their attempt to curb organized crime.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t a job you could afford to obsess over too much in the throes of war. What’s more, all the gunfights took place at the Yokohama Settlement’s waste-disposal site. That was where sludge and industrial waste oil were typically dumped illegally, and the police never went anywhere near it, let alone the neighboring residents.

And that was why Dazai and I were covered in oil and mud. The lingering stench was enough to send a stray cat on the other side of town running in the opposite direction.

At one point during our mission, Dazai had told me with an uncomfortable grimace, “It smells so bad that I want to cut my nose off.”

Glancing at us, Ango spoke bluntly. “Put their belongings on my desk, then stand back. Don’t open your mouth unless I ask you something.”

We did as we were told.

“You’re the new guy, right?” Dazai piped up. “Sorry, but can I use your shower? As you so politely pointed out, we smell awful—”

“I told you to keep quiet.”

Ango cut Dazai off, causing him to fall silent with his mouth agape. The other half of the sentence Ango had wrested from him idly hung in the air.

Regardless of how young he may have looked, Dazai was the leading candidate for the next executive. While Ango may have been a new hire at the accounting firm, that didn’t excuse his behavior.

He pulled the items out of the bags we gave him and began to inspect them one by one. IDs, keys, phones, knives, guns, pictures—he checked each item while recording them in his account book.

I had no idea what Ango was doing. I fully believed the evidence would be incinerated after checking them off with the names of the deceased. However, the new guy was inspecting each and every item, writing them down. Just what was he doing?

“What are you doing?” My curiosity got the best of me.

“How many times do I have to ask you to be quiet?” Ango replied as his pencil glided over the notepad. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m creating logs, of course.”

“I see,” I replied.

“Tell us your name!” Dazai suddenly yelled, causing me to jump in surprise. Ango’s eyes flicked over toward Dazai. Then, after a few moments of silence, he replied, “Ango…Sakaguchi.”

“Heh-heh-heh-heh…” Dazai began to chuckle, smiling from ear to ear for some reason.

“…What’s with the nauseating laugh?”

“You’re quite the interesting fellow, Ango. Doing that isn’t going to make the boss happy. In fact, it’s just going to cost more money and create extra work, never mind help you move up in the ranks.”

“Are you saying you know what I’m doing?” Ango asked with more than a hint of surprise on his face.

“You’re making records of the lives of the deceased. Am I right?”

Ango was caught off guard, his eyes wide in shock as if he’d just realized Dazai was there.

“When did you peek inside my logbooks?”

“I didn’t have to. It’s pretty obvious what you’re doing.”

I had no idea what made it so obvious, but stuff like this always happened when I was with Dazai, so I just quietly watched the scene play out. Dazai walked straight over to Ango with no regard for his reaction.

“The more violent this war becomes, the more the deceased start to just look like numbers. How many died yesterday? How many died today? The line between human losses and those of money and equipment begin to blur. There is no individual, no soul, and no dignity to death. But you’re fighting back against that. Anyway, could you read us one?”

Ango glared at Dazai in irritation for a few moments, but he eventually lowered his gaze to the files and began reading.

“Four of ours perished yesterday during the attack near the waste site: Kurehito Umeki, Shoukichi Saegusa, Miroku Ishige, and Kazuma Utagawa… Umeki was a former MP officer who was stigmatized and kicked out of the force for allegedly killing his colleague. He joined the Mafia soon after and proved to be a skilled leader in battle. He even led this small group. Umeki had already lost his parents prior to these events. He has a brother many years younger, but they haven’t been in contact. Whether he really killed his colleague is now forever a mystery never to be solved… Next is Saegusa. He succeeded his father in the Mafia and had been involved with the organization ever since he was a child. He had a way of calming situations down and was apparently loved by the shop owners on our turf. His dream was to become an executive… Now we have Ishige. She was a former sex worker who had been caring for her sick parents. She had poor eyesight but an excellent sense of hearing, which allowed her to hear the enemies coming before they attacked. Ishige likely played a huge role in the survival of many of our members… The final victim, Utagawa, was originally an assassin for an enemy syndicate that became a Mafia subsidiary when they were nearly wiped out. Utagawa is survived by his wife and kids, who do not know of his life of an assassin nor his association with the Mafia. Perhaps they will never know.”

I imagined the lives of the four departed as I listened to Ango. While I couldn’t vividly see them, I felt closer to them and their existence, which was no more.

Ango closed his book, then said, “They all found peace. Nobody can take that away from them. The information in this book is evidence of their lives and the legacy of people who will never be recorded as simply ‘four deaths’ in a report. I started collecting this data in between jobs, and I have created the same records for all eighty-four people in the Port Mafia who died since the conflict began.”

I found myself in mute amazement. It was difficult to even imagine how much work that must have been.

“Does the boss know about this—about the fact that you’re collecting and recording data that has no strategic value?” I asked.

“Yes, I gather the files together every week and shove them in the boss’s hands myself. He was annoyed at first, but now he feels that this is ‘a valuable source of information for truly understanding the state of the entire organization.’ He has come to enjoy reading them.”

What he’d started as a side project between jobs turned into his main responsibility, one directly handed to him from the boss. I guess that explained why the boss gave orders to Dazai, a candidate for the next executive, to rummage through dead bodies.

“Fascinating, isn’t it, Odasaku?” Dazai brazenly patted Ango on the back. “There’s really nobody in the Mafia like this—a true waste of talent.”

“I told you to stay back. You’re going to make me start smelling.” Ango grimaced.

“Don’t you agree, Odasaku? Don’t you just wanna read these records?” I nodded, then replied, “Name your price. I’ll buy them off you.”

“They’re not for sale! Why are you even bothering me anyway?! I’m busy, you know! And you smell like rotten tsukudani!”

“C’mon, what’s a little rotten simmered fish between us? Besides, it goes great with sake.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“No, they don’t! How can you lie about that so brazenly?!”

“B-but…it really does…taste good, y’know?”

“I didn’t mean you should be more timid about it!”

“I could really go for a drink now.”

“Good thinking! Let’s go to the usual place. We can even take this apprentice accountant with us while we’re at it. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.”

“I said I’m busy, so—”

“Odasaku, there’s only one way to save this man from his busyness. All we have to do is hug him tight from each side, covering him with mud, oil, and our putrid smell. That way, he physically won’t be able to work anymore today!”

“Good point.”

“Wh-what?! Are you threatening me?!”

“New guy, the Mafia doesn’t threaten. We murder. Oh, Odasaku, take the right side, will ya?”

“Sure thing.”

“W-wait! These are my best clothes! S-stop! You’re going to make me angr— Aaah!”

…………

We all gathered at the bar after that and got to know one another. There were no bosses or subordinates present; the three of us basically acted as equals. We drank, and we talked. That’s it. We talked about the city, about liquor, about the people we’ve met. It wasn’t as if we were passionately discussing some special topic we wanted to share, but even then, we didn’t run out of things to chat about. We were like soldiers who had by chance run into one another on the desert battlefield, crowded around a campfire together, quietly exchanging something or other and drinking, just sharing a moment of one another’s time.

In the world we live in, finding these types of relationships are rare, like coming upon a golden palace in the middle of a dense forest. If this relationship were to ever be broken, there would be no second chance to build something like this with anyone else ever again.

But then…

The old-fashioned pistol. The code to the safe.

Our relationship was beginning to visibly crumble at an alarming rate.

***

Dazai walked down a set of stairs leading to a dim basement. A white mist silently seeped in through the cracks in the stone wall, making the chamber hazy as if it were underwater. The walls were moist and black, dimly glittering after absorbing countless screams and despair.

This was the Mafia’s underground prison. Many entered alive, but very few left that way. Scores of people were taken down here for various reasons, among them the large number of instruments of torture available, the extreme difficulty involved in rescuing prisoners, and the simple fact that it was just a bit easier to clean up any mess and blood in the basement.

Dazai walked through the prison in silence as he headed toward the special prisoners’ cell. It was nothing more than a single room of around thirty-six square yards. The only entrance and exit was a short iron door; there wasn’t even a window to let the light in. Shackles and chains like those of a medieval jail hung from the wall.

There were three dead bodies in the middle of the cell—all relatively fresh. Their blood slowly spread across the floor, as if fruitlessly struggling to escape from the gloomy chamber. The ones who died here were Mimic soldiers. They had lost consciousness after breathing in knockout gas at the casino, and the Mafia had taken them here to be tortured.

“Tell me what happened,” Dazai said.

Four Mafia members were also in the cell, three of whom were Dazai’s subordinates who had helped fight against the sniper in the back alley. The fourth was a short, lean boy robed in a black overcoat.

“We used sleeping gas to knock out the Mimic’s vanguard when they attacked our casino, and then we brought them here,” one suited subordinate replied, pushing up his sunglasses. “We planned on torturing them for info on their allegiances, and we even removed the poison tucked away in their molars so they couldn’t kill themselves.”

“Yes, I’ve got that much. This was my plan, after all. What I want to know is what happened next.”

“One of the soldiers woke up quicker than we expected…” The one in sunglasses started stumbling over his words. “Before we could shackle him… he grabbed one of our guns and killed his men…just to make sure they wouldn’t talk. Then he attacked us, and—”

“I executed him.” The young boy in the black overcoat finished the mafioso’s sentence. Dazai looked at the boy, whose wide eyes glared back. “Is there a problem?”

“I see… No, there’s no problem.” Staring right into the boy’s eyes, Dazai continued, “You defeated an unyielding, formidable enemy and protected your allies, Akutagawa. Good work.”

Dazai began walking toward the boy in the black overcoat, the one he’d called Akutagawa. “Only your skill can defeat such a powerful enemy in one hit. Impressive. I wouldn’t expect any less from a subordinate of mine. Thanks to you, all three of the enemies we captured are dead—enemies I set a trap for and worked really hard to capture alive. Now we’re back to square one without a clue. If at least one of them were still living, we could’ve gotten some valuable information: where their base is, what they want, what’s their next target, who their leader is, where this leader came from, what this leader’s skill is… You really did us a favor.”

“Information? I’ll just slice every one of them into pieces until—”

Dazai suddenly punched Akutagawa in the face, preventing him from finishing his sentence. Akutagawa flew back onto the ground, his head bouncing off the stone flooring with a thud.

“Perhaps I made it look like I wanted to hear excuses. Sorry for the misunderstanding,” Dazai said while rubbing his knuckles.

“Urgh…”

Akutagawa moaned. He’d hit his head so hard that he couldn’t even stagger to his feet.

“Give me your gun,” Dazai ordered one of his men. The subordinate was hesitant but nonetheless handed over his weapon. Next, Dazai removed the magazine from the automatic pistol, took out all but three bullets, and then put the magazine back in. He immediately pointed the gun at Akutagawa, who was still on the ground.

“I have this friend who’s supporting several orphans all on his own, you see,” he continued, his weapon still drawn and aimed at the boy.

“Akutagawa, I’m sure Odasaku would’ve been patient enough to give you the guidance you needed had he been the one who’d found you on the brink of starvation in the slums. That would have been the ‘right’ thing to do. But ‘righteousness’ doesn’t take very kindly to me. And there’s only one thing people like me do to useless subordinates.”

Dazai mercilessly pulled the trigger the moment he finished his sentence.

Three gunshots. Three flashes of light. Three empty shells tinkled across the floor.

“……”

Sweat dripped down Akutagawa’s forehead.

“See? You really can do it if you put your mind to it.”

The bullets were floating motionlessly right in front of Akutagawa. He had used his skill to stop them. Yet, despite that, his expression indicated he was struggling.

“I’ve told you this over and over again,” Dazai said, amused. “Your skill isn’t just for slicing up poor prisoners. You can use it to defend yourself, too.”

Akutagawa’s skill, Rashomon, allowed him to control his black overcoat like another life-form, transforming it into fangs or blades to cut through his opponents. Dazai had also theorized that his skill could even rupture space itself, thus blocking incoming bullets.

“Until now…I’ve never successfully used it to block.”

Akutagawa’s voice was lifeless, hoarse. He’d used most of his mental strength to create an interruption in space.

“But look at you now. You did it. I’m so happy for you.”

Akutagawa scowled. A look of severe tension shot across his face, almost exploding with emotion.

“Next time you mess up, I’m punching you twice and shooting five times. Got it?”

Dazai’s voice was colder than ice. Akutagawa tried to say something back, but Dazai’s stern gaze pressured him into silence.

“Now that I’m done educating my incompetent underling, it’s time to get to work. Let’s check the bodies. We might be able to find something.”

After giving orders to the three subordinates at his side, one timidly spoke

up.

“So…what exactly do you want us to check?”

“Everything! Isn’t it obvious?” Dazai cried in exasperation. “We need to find something that might lead us to their hideout. Anything could be a clue: the soles of their shoes, the trash in their pocket, food crumbs from whatever they ate, adhesives stuck to their clothes—everything. Tsk… My lackeys seem to think beating the enemy to death is all the Mafia does. Odasaku’s gonna solve everything all by himself at this rate.”

“Sakunosuke Oda… I know that guy,” the subordinate with sunglasses added hesitantly. “Dazai, sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but…I saw him sweeping behind the office the other day. A man of his status isn’t qualified to be your friend, let alone contend with an enemy like this.”

Dazai stared, flabbergasted, at his underling.

“Are you joking? Odasaku’s not qualified?” Dazai asked, thoroughly surprised.

“Yes…”

The other men nodded as well.

“You fools!”

Dazai’s lips curled into a sneer in genuine disgust.

“Listen, I’m telling you guys this for your own good. Do not make Odasaku angry—no matter what you do. If you were to anger him—truly, deeply upset him—then all five people in this room would be dead before anyone could even draw their guns.”

The subordinates were at a loss for words. Even Akutagawa stared at Dazai with a tense expression on his face.

“When he’s serious, Odasaku’s scarier than anyone in the entire Mafia. Akutagawa, you could train for a hundred years, and you still wouldn’t be able to beat him.”

“…That is absurd…,” Akutagawa muttered, his voice stifled. “…That’s impossible. Are you saying that I—?”

But Dazai just ignored him.

“Now, let’s get to work! Our enemy might be a pain, but if we don’t sort this out soon, the Special Division for Unusual Powers is gonna show up to put the fire out, and we don’t want that.”

His hands still on the stone floor, Akutagawa merely glared at Dazai.

“…”

His spiteful gaze was aimed at not only Dazai, but even Akutagawa himself.

***

I left the accounting firm thinking about Ango, the man slowly slipping into evil somewhere in town. Or perhaps we, the Mafia, were the bad guys while Ango and Mimic were on the side of justice trying to bring us down. I started to believe that this hypothesis actually made even more sense than the others. Dazai, the boss, me, everyone in the Mafia—maybe we all deserved to die burdened with sin, solitude, and remorse. For all I knew, that could’ve been proof of the righteousness of this world. Those thoughts plagued my mind from the moment I departed the firm until I got a call from Dazai not long after.

“Hey, Odasaku. I know this is sudden, but we got a clue. I need you to go somewhere for me right now.”

According to him, the Mimic soldiers’ shoes had multiple dead leaves stuck on them from a certain perennial broadleaf that didn’t lose its leaves during that period. The entire plant would have to be withering for the leaves to fall, but perennials would not die so easily. Therefore, one conceivable possibility was that an herbicide was used to kill it.

From there, Dazai’s men searched for specialists who had used herbicides to get rid of trees those past few months. As a result, they found one shop around Yokohama that did in fact remove the same kind of broadleaves. Workers had cleared a bunch of them from the side of the road for a land readjustment project, part of which included expanding a traffic tunnel.

The area was in the mountains and void of any real landmarks. The only facility nearby was a weather observation station that had been abandoned over a decade ago. Nobody dared go near. It slowly fell apart, fading with time. The building was large, isolated, and capable of storing goods and resources. It was the perfect hideout for a group like Mimic, all alone in a foreign country with no one to turn to.

Night was not far off. I drove down the highway toward my destination as violet and cerise quarreled in the sky over the horizon. Somewhere off in the distance, I heard the sound of seabirds squawking.

I stopped my car along a dirt trail that cut into the mountains and got out. From there, I trotted through the thick weedy path until I eventually saw a reinforced concrete building in the darkness, bathing in the crimson glow of twilight.

It was a three-story abandoned building. Ivy crawled up what were once white walls, which had been battered with rain, the sea breeze, and the passage of time. Most of the paint was now gone. In the center of the building was an observation tower for monitoring the sky, topped with a spherical observation room that seemed to have been added more for aesthetics than for anything else.

Since the dirt and trees absorbed most sounds, the area was completely silent as if it were floating in outer space. I didn’t get the feeling there were many people hiding inside. After a moment’s thought, I decided to investigate the run-down building myself before Dazai’s men would arrive. I had a hunch, and if this hunch was correct, then I should’ve been able to find information on Ango there, and that information was probably something I shouldn’t show anyone else in the Mafia.

Pushing through the weeds, I entered the building. There was nothing on the first floor…if you ignored the loose floor tiles, rusted chairs, and dead beetles scattered about. The evening sun peeked in through the cracks of the boarded windows, illuminating the dust particles in the air. I discovered a few footprints in the dust and gravel-littered floor—military boots. It appeared a number of people had been coming to this spot as of late.

I had placed a foot on the staircase to the second floor, which looked as if it could come crumbling down at any moment, when I heard a sound coming from somewhere in the building. It was very faint, only about as loud as a kitten rolling on its back. I strode up the staircase, but I didn’t see a soul on the second floor. No signs of anyone on the third floor, either. It was just as I thought. I rushed upstairs, climbing the observation tower that connected to the observation room.

As I entered a small room at the top of the stairs, I found someone tied to a chair and unable to move. That person yelled at me the moment they noticed I was there.

“Odasaku! Stay back!”

I ignored his command and ran over. That man—Ango—struggled to free his hands, which had been tightly tied behind his back, but the rope didn’t even budge. I slipped behind him and began trying to untie his bonds.

“Why did you come?! The enemies are using this facility as their base!”

“I just got the feeling that you wanted help.”

I started to dismantle the knots—no easy feat.

“I don’t need any help!”

“Really?”

I slipped a finger into one of the rope’s knots, then tugged at it with a viselike grip. It loosened slightly.

“Let me guess one of the reasons you’re in trouble. Mimic found out you were a spy. Am I wrong?”

“…! That’s…”

Ango fell silent.

“Everyone in the Mafia thinks you’re a Mimic spy who infiltrated the Mafia. But it’s actually the opposite; Ango Sakaguchi is a Mafia spy who infiltrated Mimic.”

Ango instinctively opened his eyes wide and looked at me.

“Mimic was watching your room through a sniper rifle scope to make sure the old pistol inside wouldn’t get stolen. But why didn’t they just snipe the Mafia’s boss and get it over with? The reason is simple: You lied and said you didn’t know where the boss was. But why did you do that? Because the boss decides everything you say and don’t say about the Mafia.”

Ango squeezed his eyes shut. Clenching his teeth, he seemed to be struggled to keep down the emotions bubbling up from within.

Before long, he opened his eyes again and said, “Odasaku, please, you have to get out of here. I failed.” Ango signaled to the floor above with his chin. “There’s a time bomb upstairs. Now that they know I betrayed them, they plan on leaving no trace of me.”

“See? I knew you needed my help.” I gave up on trying to untie the knot and pulled out my gun. “Lean as far away from the chair as you can.”

I carefully aimed at the rope’s knot and fired two shots. The entire chair shook as the rope flew off.

“Let’s get out of here. How much time do we have before the bomb goes off?”

“The whole building is coming down any second now!”

Lending Ango my shoulder, we rushed down the staircase. It appeared Ango was slightly roughed up before being bound; he staggered while holding his side. But even then, we sprinted down the stairs so fast that we almost fell. The bomb went off right as we were about to run out the door. The shock wave came first, followed by blasts of hot air swooping down over us.

We leaped out the door headfirst. To be more technical about it, the blast blew us outside headfirst, and we were thrown into the thickets. All the air was squeezed out of my lungs.

Finally, rubble and debris from the building started raining down from the sky. I tried to move out of the way, but the blast from the bomb had rendered my body useless. Fortunately, no heavy chunks of concrete flew our way, and the light boards of the walls were sent flying far into the distance. Still, our backs were uncomfortably pelted with countless bits of gravel both large and small.

It took almost an entire minute before we could start breathing normally again. I coughed as I brushed the rubble off my head. My vision went back and forth from red to white.

“Ango… Are you okay?”

“Yeah, somehow.”

Ango crawled, pulling himself out of the rubble before looking back at the building. I did the same before turning around as well. The second floor up was essentially destroyed, leaving only the charred framework. Even the flooring of the room where Ango was being held prisoner had been blown away. Mimic really went all out on the explosives. They destroyed any evidence we would’ve used to go after them as well.

“How much does our boss know about this?” I asked Ango while trying to catch my breath.

“Almost everything,” he replied. “He’s the only one in the Mafia who knows I infiltrated Mimic. That’s how sensitive this mission is. More people knowing would increase the chances of a leak. This is a fundamental principle when handling secret information.”

“I’ve been had.” I got up, then took a seat on some rubble. “So that’s why the boss ordered me to find you while keeping the truth a secret.”

It was insurance in case Ango’s undercover work went south. He needed a pawn who would save him—someone who knew nothing, wouldn’t deceive anyone, and wouldn’t get suspicious no matter what happened.

“Bombs and close brushes with death aren’t really my thing.” Ango shook his head, making his bitterness clear.

“At any rate, Mimic was as quick as an arrow to react. They didn’t even give me a chance to take measures to protect myself. Ugh. I can see rainbow- colored stars when I close my eyes. What in the world is this?”

“You get used to it.”

“I have to inform the boss of what happened.” Ango got to his feet. “Mimic’s commander is a dangerous man. He’s coolheaded, has the qualities of a leader, and seeks conflict. He plans on completely annihilating the Mafia, and his men would slit their own throats for him. I even saw someone do it.”

“What’s this leader’s name?” I asked.

“André Gide. He’s a powerful skill user himself. He should be avoided at all costs, especially by you, Odasaku. Whatever you do, do not fight him… By the way, you were the one who found the pistol in the safe in my room, were you not?”

I replied that I was.

“That gun is a symbol. There’s a special design on the hammer that proves you’re a member of Mimic. It took me a year to receive one.”

As Ango stood in the midst of the debris with wobbly legs, he quickly turned his gaze to the thickets in the mountains…as if he was trying to look for something there.

“It’s too late to stop the war between Mimic and the Mafia. Fighting is all they think about. Moreover, it doesn’t matter to them who they fight. They’d dance the jitterbug with the hound of Hades if it would take them to their next battlefield. If we don’t do something soon, the city will— Ngh!”

The skin around Ango’s temple tore, and a trail of blood slowly trickled down his cheek. I handed him a handkerchief, which he thanked me for before using it to apply pressure to the wound.

“Just who are they?”

“They’re an army…although I’m sure you already figured that out yourself. They’re remnants of an army faction defeated during the previous interorganizational war. These men don’t know how to live outside of a battlefield. They’re known as grau geists—men with no master. Even now, they’re obsessed with warfare—” Ango suddenly turned his gaze to the dirt path. “What’s that?”

I followed his eyes. A blue temari handball, the type kids use to play games, rolled down the gravel slope. Did it get blown over there during the explosion? The ball rolled to my feet, and I picked it up. It was a deep azure. The strings were coming loose, since it was rather old, but there was something about the beautiful geometric pattern that drew me in. I rolled it around in my hand, and when I put my palms together, it fit perfectly between them. I looked at the back side, but there was nothing particularly unique—

The earth suddenly shook. All of a sudden, my gaze met the ground in front of me. The next second, I realized I was falling, and I collapsed face- first, despite placing both my hands out to catch myself. My vision blurred. I felt sick. When I looked at my hands, they were covered in a sticky blue liquid; that ball had been coated in it. The parts of my hand covered in the liquid tingled uncomfortably. Major alarm bells rang wildly in my head.

The vision ended there.

I stood among the debris. The worst thing about the vision ending was that I was already holding the handball. I immediately threw it away, but it was too late. I started to feel dizzy just like a moment ago. I rubbed my palms on my coat to wipe off the blue slime, but it had already been absorbed into my skin and infiltrated my body. My skill, Flawless, allowed me to see a few seconds—more than five but less than six—into the future in my head. That was how I was able to avoid surprise attacks like sniper fire and explosions.

However, if I were to realize I was in danger after falling into the trap… there was no way for me to avoid it even if I did have a vision just like the moment before. I had been holding the handball for over six seconds. It was too late. Whoever did this knew about my skill inside and out. There weren’t many people who did. Nervously sweating, I tried to warn Ango, but I couldn’t talk. A dark shadow appeared noiselessly behind him; it was four— no, five people dressed in field tunics as dark as the night with gas masks hiding their faces. They weren’t Mimic. None of them were carrying old- fashioned gray pistols, but rather state-of-the-art precision-guided rifles. They were with the Special Forces. One of the men in black tapped Ango on the shoulder. Ango turned around and nodded as if to say he understood.

“Odasaku, I apologize for the trouble I caused you.”

Ango walked over and placed the handkerchief I had just given him in my hand. I couldn’t brace myself, never mind hold the handkerchief. Ango took a white silk glove out of his pocket, then pulled it over his right hand before picking up the blue handball.

“You are free to speak of everything that happened here. Everything I told you about Mimic was true. I just wish I could have had a drink with you and Dazai one last time at the usual place and time…”

A Special Forces soldier tapped Ango on the arm, seemingly giving him a signal. After responding with his gaze, Ango looked down at me and smiled as if he had given up.

“Take care of yourself.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ango turn his back to me before leaving with the Special Forces. I wasn’t even able to move my neck or eyes at that point. The world in front of me was slowly swallowed by darkness. My tongue numb, I called out to Ango as he left, but even I didn’t know what I was saying. An indescribable feeling of loneliness was the only thing filling my heart…as if I were floating at the end of the universe.

Even that was swallowed by darkness. My consciousness faded to black.

***

#Bungo Stray Dogs #Bungou Stray Dogs #Bungo Stray Dogs Light Novels #Light Novel #Light Novel Volume 2 #Osamu Dazai And The Dark Era #Armed Detective Agency #Port Mafia #Kafka Asagiri #Sango Harukawa

2 notes · View notes

vigilvntes · 2 years ago

Text

A Little Company – Adrian Chase x Reader

A/N: this is a prequel to I got so fucking romantic, I apologise (which you can find on my masterlist!!) like this is quite literally just a fic of how vigilante and shadow from that fic met. you don't have to read the other fic, like at all! it's totally optional! but vigilante!reader x adrian is my favourite thing, and i have SO many ideas for this concept, including a direct follow on from this fic so if you want it?! let me know?!

feel free to send me fic/headcanon requests !!!

likes and rbs are appreciated <3

W/C: 4k+

Warnings: language, violence (use of knives, guns etc), mentions of kidnapping, vigilante being a Weird Little Guy™️

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“Hey, what're you doing?”

You don't panic. Instead, you drop your sniper from your shoulder quickly, cringing slightly when it hits the concrete of the rooftop. You stand up and twist your body, stepping away from the edge of the rooftop to press a gun up to the masked forehead of your interruptor. It seems he had the same idea, as his gun is firmly pressed against the black leather of your mask before you can even blink.

“Who the fuck are you?” You hiss.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“I asked first, motherfucker! I swear you better tell me who you are and why the fuck you're here or I won't hesitate to pull the trigger.” You threaten, gripping your gun tighter. Your finger brushes over the trigger. A warning.

“Maybe I won't hesitate either.” He retorts.

“Then. Don't.”

The two of you stare at each other for a few moments. Well, you assume he's staring right back at you, the red visor covering his eyes makes it hard to tell. Eventually, he lets out a quiet sigh, “Fuck. Fine.” He raises his gun-free hand, showing you that he's somewhat surrendered. “You're fuckin’ hardcore.”

“Tell me who you are.” You demand. He may have relented pretty quickly, but he has one last chance to explain who he is before you decide it's not worth the trouble and blow his brains out.

“Vigilante.”

“Vigilante?” You scoff. It has to be the most stupid, on the nose name you've ever heard.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “My friends call me Vig. But we're not friends, so you can't call me that.”

Yeah, no shit, you think.

“And let me guess, you're a vigilante?” You mock, fighting back the urge to laugh with all of your strength. You feel slightly bad when you notice his shoulders sink. But then you remember that he interrupted your mission, and then you feel slightly less bad about it.

‘Vigilante’ drops the gun from your forehead. “Yeah, and what about it? I bet your name isn't any better!” He sounds genuinely offended.

You return the favour and drop your arm. “Really? Because I don't think it can get any worse than ‘Vigilante’. I mean, that's so uncreative, man. And it's a shame, because I'm actually really digging the suit.”

He visibly tenses, “Oh. You like my suit?” His hands pat at the utility belt sitting on his waist and the coloured stripes on his chest. “I made it myself.” He tells you, sounding almost shy about it. You can hear the smile in his voice, though.

“Yeah. It's really cool, actually. I like the visor. Does it… do anything?”

Vigilante tucks his gun back into his belt, swaying on his heels slightly. “Nah. I mean, I wear glasses so… it's a prescription visor. That's all it does. Helps me see.”

You can't fight off the giggle that escapes from your throat, so you allow it. Just this once. “Your visor is prescription?! Dude, you have to be shitting me.”

He breathes out a laugh, “Yeah. It was a pain in the ass to get a hold of. I almost exposed my secret identity, like, three times.”

You nod, somewhat sympathetic to his situation. “Yeah, I can imagine.” You know all about almost exposing your secret identity. Having multiple black leather masks delivered to your house every month is probably a cause for concern. You're sure your delivery service, and even your neighbours, either think you're a murderer (which isn't exactly untrue) or a dominatrix.

“Uh, your suit is cool, too. It's… fitting. Not in that way, though. I just mean that… It suits you! Not that I would really know since I haven't seen your face and we've only just met. It's also fitting in the other way, just in case you were wondering. It hugs your body just right.” He nods once, an affirmation of his words before he awkwardly folds his arms across his chest. You just stare at him for a few moments.

You're not sure why you're talking to him, or why you're allowing him to overstay his welcome like this (not that you'd given him a warm welcome anyway). Anyone else would have been dead at your feet within minutes if they pulled a gun on you like he did. But Vigilante is… surprisingly charming. There's an awkwardness about him, but the charm is definitely there. Not to mention he's made you laugh. Sure, you were laughing at him more than with him, but it's still a point in his favour.

You shake your head, stopping your own thoughts before they wander any further. You still have a mission to complete. “Well, it's been nice talking to you. I have to, uh… Get back to it.” You tell him, using your thumb to gesture over your shoulder.

“Yeah. Yeah. Cool.” Vigilante nods at you, giving you a thumbs up before nervously scratching at the back of his neck.

“Cool…” You say under your breath. You turn your attention away from him and pick up your sniper, hoisting it back over your shoulder again. You hear no footsteps, but you assume he's gone. Maybe he's just light on his feet.

So, you kneel down at the edge of the rooftop and look through the scope. A wave of relief rushes through your body when you see that the men you had been tailing through Evergreen all night, the bastards who currently have a young woman tied up in the trunk of their car, are still standing outside of the abandoned building across the street. They're still waiting for their contact to arrive. They're still an easy target. If you shot one of them right now, and the other ran, you're confident in your ability to take him down before he could even make it halfway down the street. You take a deep breath to steady yourself and set your sights perfectly, just two seconds away from pulling the trigger. And then—

“So what are we doing?”

You drop your rifle for the second time tonight, your shot once again ruined by fucking Vigilante. When you turn your head, you see him knelt down beside you, observing the scene. Shaking your head incredulously, you scoff, “We are not doing anything. I— Why are you still here?” He's well and truly overstayed his welcome, and you're getting pissed off.

“I don't know. Figured I could help.” He mumbles, shrugging his shoulders casually.

“I don't need your help.” You spit back.

“In my defence, I never said you needed my help. Maybe I just wanna help? I can be your backup. Not— Not that you need backup. I'm sure you can handle it on your own. But those guys look tough— Not that you're not tough, either. I just don't really have anything to do tonight. My buddy’s banging a girl he met at a bar last night and—...”

A harsh sigh from you cuts him off. “Those guys have a woman in the trunk of their car. I don't know who she is, but I can only assume they're planning to sell her or kill her. I found out about their plans earlier tonight from a contact of mine but I couldn't stop them from taking her in time. So I’m stopping them now. Satisfied?” You give him a pointed look.

He nods, and your gaze lingers on him for a moment longer before you go back to looking down the scope, lining up your aim.

“Hey, you never told me your name.”

“Vigilante…” Your voice is low. A warning. This is a race against time and you can't allow yourself to be distracted like this for much longer. If the girl was taken inside, your job would get a whole lot harder. You want to avoid that, if possible.

A quiet, “Sorry.”

Sighing for what feels like the hundredth time, you mumble, “Shadow. You can call me Shadow.”

“Shadow?!” He exclaims suddenly, making you jump slightly. You can only hope he didn't catch that.

“Yeah…?”

“You ripped on me for Vigilante and your name is Shadow?!”

You look over at him, your mouth agape, “Are you kidding me?! Shadow is a fucking cool name! It's simple and effective!”

It's Vigilante’s turn to laugh now, and boy is he rubbing it in. He leans back on his heels, his hands clutching at his stomach. “And let me guess, you're called Shadow because you kill in the shadows?” He mocks, throwing his head back as he laughs.

“Oh, I'll be killing you in the shadows if you don't shut the fuck up.” You threaten. If looks could kill, Vigilante would be dead ten times over. Oh, how you wish looks could kill.

“I just don't understand how you could possibly think that ‘Shadow’ is a cooler name than Vigilante.”

You roll your eyes, glancing back down the scope, “I don't understand why you th– Fuck.”

“What is it?”

The men are gone. The car is, to your relief, still parked up outside of the building. You can only assume the woman is in there with them, and their contact has arrived. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking FUCK. The last thing you wanted was for them to move their business inside.

Your job just got a lot harder.

You stand up quickly (your sniper hitting the ground for the third time), sheathing your knife and pointing it at Vigilante. He lets out an ‘oh fuck’ as he scrambles backwards, away from the knife that's currently a mere ten centimetres away from his face.

“I could fucking kill you. Right here, right now.” You hiss, venom laced into your tone. You're seeing red. It's tempting to just plunge the knife right into his skull.

“Me?! Why me?!” He squeaks out, looking up at you from the ground.

“Because you fucking distracted me! If you weren't here then I could've had this whole thing finished by now!” You want to scream in frustration. This is just one of the many reasons why you always work alone. Why you don't see the point or the appeal in having a partner anymore. Alone, you're completely in control. You don't have to look out for anyone else, and there's less opportunity for distraction. “I should've killed you the minute I saw you, because now I'm paying the price for being nice. I should kill you right now…” You pause, your breathing heavy and angry, nostrils flaring as you curse yourself internally for what you're about to say. “But I won't. Because I could use some help.”

He's silent for a moment, then he carefully asks, “You… You want me to help you?”

You roll your eyes and shove your knife back into its holster, “Yes.”

“Y–You need my help?” He stutters over his words, and if you were in any other situation, you might have found it kind of cute. Unfortunately for both of you, you're not.

“I don't need your help. I can handle myself. What I said is that I could use your help. It'd be useful to me.” You pat your body down quickly, accounting for all of your weapons. Gun number one? Check. Gun number two? Check. Knives? Check. Extra ammo? Check. You'll come back for the sniper. “And if you ask me to repeat myself for a third time, I'm gonna change my mind.” And I might just kick you right off the rooftop.

You don't even give him a chance to ask again, because you're already halfway across the rooftop, making your way to the shaky ladders you climbed to get up there earlier in the night. It's only when you turn your body and carefully place your foot on the top step, hands gripping the rusty bars, that you realise he isn't following you. He's just staring at you from where you left him on the hard concrete. “Well? Are you coming?” You demand a final answer.

“Fuck yeah, I am.” He mumbles, picking up his gun before scrambling to his feet and following you.

You both scale down the ladder, quickly descending until your feet hit the ground. That's when you start to panic, just a little bit. You prefer to be on higher ground, to have some kind of territorial advantage over your targets. It's not that you're bad at ground work, you just like to keep your hands as clean as possible. Literally.

Vigilante joins you on the ground, and the two of you get moving. You make your way around the building you'd been perched on only minutes ago, pressing your body against the wall on the corner when you reach the street, hiding yourselves in the shadows.

It's quiet. Buzzing streetlights and Vigilante’s quiet breathing is the only thing you can hear. Your own racing heartbeat, too. But you want to forget about the anxiety that's burrowed itself into the pit of your stomach. You can see the abandoned building. It's directly across the street from you, and the door is closed. You'll have to find your own way in. A window that you can shimmy through or another door around the back with a lock you can quietly pick at. Then you'll have to figure out how to not cause a commotion. You'll have to be stealthy, making a point to not—

“This kinda feels like a date.” Vigilante’s voice throws you off, ruins your concentration. You take your eyes off of the building and glance up at him with narrowed eyes, brows furrowed under your mask. He continues, “The more I think about it, this kinda is a date.”

“How is this a date?” You ask, bewildered because never in your life would you take rescuing a girl from a group of kidnappers to be a date.

“I don't know. I mean, this whole situation is kinda romantic, if you think about it. It could be classed as a date.” He shrugs.

"Romantic? Really?"

"Yeah. When you pulled the knife on me it was, like, the hottest thing I've ever seen. I honestly thought you were gonna kill me, but you didn't. And now I get to think about that moment forever. That's romance."

Vigilante has stunned you into silence. You can only stare up at him, mouth agape as he looks down at you. You're hoping he'll burst into laughter, and tell you that his warped idea of romance is just a joke. That he's just playing around. But he doesn't, so you just tell him, "This is not a date. I don't even know who you are.”

“Uh, yeah. You do. I’m Vigilante.” He tells you, sounding ever so slightly offended that you might have forgotten his name in the twenty minutes you've known him.

“That's not what I meant. I don't know who you really are. And you don't know who I am.”

Vigilante scoffs, “That's so irrelevant. Our alter-egos know each other and they could totally date. Like in those spy movies. The ones where the main characters hate each other but they're forced to work together under their alter-egos and eventually they fall madly in love.” He lets out a sigh that almost sounds… dreamy. As if he believes that this scenario is going to play out exactly that way.

You're hellbent on telling him otherwise. “This isn't a date. There's gonna be no falling madly in love, or whatever. You ruined my plan, and now you're helping me. And when we're finished here, we go our separate ways. That's the end of this story.”

Unfortunately, you and Vigilante make a pretty good team.

You were so hoping he'd be useless. That you had an excuse to never want to see him again after tonight. But you soon found out that he's smart, strategic. Capable. As soon as the two of you entered the building, he was focused and driven. That quirky persona he had before was no more. Vigilante was more than happy to take the lead for you; he snuck up behind the fuckers who kidnapped the woman and drove his knife into their skulls with precision and an alarming amount of stealth, holding his hand over their mouths until he was sure they weren't breathing anymore.

You didn't mind this arrangement, the less literal blood on your hands, the better.

Eventually, the two of you come to a halt outside of a small room right at the back of the building. You press your ear up against the wooden door, cursing when you hear a male voice coming from inside followed by muffled whimpers and cries.

“She's in there. With the contact.” You whisper to Vigilante. The guys you'd been tailing through Evergreen are already dead, lying in a puddle of their own blood near the entrance. You can only assume the fucker they were planning to sell the girl to is the owner of the voice.

“Want me to go in and fuck him up?” He whispers back.

You think about it for a moment. These guys have been pissing you off all night. You've been through a lot of trouble to save this girl. Of course, you don't mind. If it means she's safe, that's all that matters to you. But you would like to get the final blow. So, you reply, “No. I got this.”

Slowly, you take your knife out of your holster, and before you can even think about talking yourself out of it, you kick the door. It swings open violently, hitting the wall with a loud crash and you're sure you broke at least one of the hinges. Who cares? It's not like the building’s going to be used for anything other than criminal activity.

The man inside lets out a loud and confused ‘what the fuc–', but you move too quickly for him. You kick in his knees before he can even think about turning around or creating his own plan of attack. He's on his knees, wide-eyed and panicked, and you have one arm wrapped around his neck to hold him in place while the other holds your knife, pressing against the tender, stubbly skin of his neck.

He's younger than you expected him to be. When you heard the woman was being sold to a contact, you expected him to be some sick freak in his mid 50s. But no, he's probably younger than you; and given the way he's thrashing around in your hold, he's probably more inexperienced than you.

He's working for someone, and you'll find a way to get it out of him.

The woman is in the corner, watching the scene with wide eyes and muffled screams coming from her duct taped mouth. You give her a slow nod, trying to reassure her that you're not here to kill her. That you're on her side and you will get her out of here. She seems to calm down ever so slightly.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. P–Please don't kill me. I–I’ll do anything. Anything you want. You can have the girl. You can have whatever you want. Money? Do you want money? I–I can pay you! Please I— I have kids.” The man begs, his voice shaking.

“Ew. Why would we want your kids?” Vigilante asks from behind you, and the sudden appearance of a second voice only makes him panic more.

You can't help but roll your eyes at his squirming and pleading. “Why did you take her?” You ask.

“I– I don't know. I don't know anything. I swear!” He tells you.

Of course you don't believe that, so you press your knife against his neck harder, nicking at the skin, making sure you draw some blood. He lets out a sob, and in response Vigilante lets out a quiet laugh. “I don't believe you. Why did you take her?” You ask again.

“I– I don't know. I– I was just told to collect her. I think she– She tried to sell us out. Boss wanted to–”

“Boss?” You ask slowly. So he is working for someone.

“Oh fuck. I'm fucking dead. He's gonna kill me. He's gonna fucking KILL ME.”

Vigilante approaches now, kneeling down in front of the man. He places a hand on his shoulder, a reassuring gesture. “Buddy, no. He's not gonna kill you. You don't have to worry about that.” For a moment you're confused. You didn't take Vigilante to be the sympathetic type. But then he says, “Because we're gonna kill you first.”

Ah. That makes more sense.

“Who are you working for?” You tighten your grip on his neck, your knife pressing into his skin harder. If you have to kill him before you find anything out, you will; you'd just prefer to get at least something from him. He stays quiet, only whimpering and sobbing quietly to himself. “Look, you're as good as dead anyway. You might as well tell me which asshole you're working for.”

A moment more of silence. You're just about to drag your knife across his throat when he shouts, “Scorpion! I'm working for Scorpion! The girl– She– The girl was gonna sell us out! She has information on us– I don't– I don't know how she got it! Fuck, I don't even know who she is!”

“Fuck.” You hiss. Of course it's Scorpion.

“Scorpion? Who the fuck is Scorpion?” Vigilante asks, glancing up at you.

You just shake your head and screw your eyes shut, slashing at the man’s throat quickly. It's a deep cut, and the blood flows from the wound like a waterfall. He lets out a strangled yell, gurgling and choking on his own blood before you push his body to the floor. He stills after a few moments.

“Check the body.” You tell Vigilante, and he obliges, reaching into the pockets of the man you just killed. You make your way over to the woman quickly, shoving your knife back into its holster.

She panics as you approach her, pressing her back against the wall. She whimpers and writhes in her restraints, and you can't blame her. If you were a witness to what she just saw, you'd probably be afraid of yourself too. But you kneel down in front of her, and tell her gently, “You're gonna be okay. You're safe now.” You take out your pocket knife slowly, and her eyes widen. “I'm just gonna use this to cut your restraints, okay? Then we’ll get you out of here.”

She seems to calm down a little, and you take the opportunity to cut the duct tape around her mouth, peeling it carefully until she takes a deep, frantic breath through her mouth.

“Hey, Shadow?” Vigilante calls from behind you, and you glance over your shoulder at him as he stands over the body, inspecting the wallet he found. “This guy’s name was Robert Robertson. How fucking lame is that? You know, I think we did him a favour. Who wants to live with a name like Robert Robertson?”

“Oh, his parents hated him.”

You go back to cutting the rope restraints around the her wrists and ankles as she watches you, breathing shakily everytime the metal brushes against her skin. You offer her quiet apologies. Eventually, she's free, and you stand up, offering her a hand.

She doesn't take it. Instead, she asks you in a small, scared voice, “You're not gonna kill me, right?”

“No. Of course not.” You reassure her.

She's not convinced by your words. She looks at you with pleading eyes, and then her gaze flicks behind you, prompting you to turn around. You see Vigilante standing just a few metres away from you, flipping his knife in the air and catching it. You scoff, “Dude, can you put that thing away? You're freaking her out.”

“Sorry.” He mumbled, tucking his knife back into its holster, kicking his feet like a scolded puppy dog.

“We're not gonna kill you. I promise.” You tell her, offering your hand again. This time, she takes it, allowing you to pull her up to her feet. She stumbles almost instantly in her exhaustion, every muscle in her body aching and sore; you catch her, calling out to Vigilante.

He picks her up, and the three of you make your way out of the building and into the street.

It doesn't take long for your contact, Erica, to arrive. The woman is reluctant to leave you, insisting that you should come with her for protection. It takes around ten minutes for you to convince her that she'll be safe without you; that you trust Erica and she'll be taken somewhere safe.

You wave her off, and not long after you find yourself back on the rooftop with Vigilante.

“So… Scorpion. Who's that?” He asks, sitting down beside you as you pack your rifle and other miscellaneous weapons into your grey duffel bag.

“How long have you been doing… this? Like, how long have you been Vigilante?”

He shrugs, “Maybe five or six years.”

“And you've never had any run-ins with Scorpion or his men?” You ask, and he shakes his head in response. Lucky bastard. “He runs the biggest underground black market for illegal weapons in Washington. He chose Evergreen as his base for operations because it's relatively quiet. I mean, who would expect something like that to be happening here? He's been on my radar for… a while. And I’m on his.”

“You've met him?”

You take a deep breath, a few moments decide your course of action. You could tell the truth, or you could lie. Lying seems like to be the most appealing option. "No. I haven't met him. But I've made sure to be a pain in his ass, for sure. He probably knows about me."

You stand up and sling your bag over your shoulder before he can respond, making it clear that you're not interested in carrying on this conversation. You barely know him, and you don't feel it's necessary to reveal everything to him. “Anyway. Thanks for tonight. For helping me out. Even though it was kinda your fault that I needed help. It was… fun. I guess.” Fun? Did you seriously just say that?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” He apologises, sheepish. "I had fun too. Just in case you were wondering."

A silence falls over the two of you, allowing some time for you to collect your thoughts. You meant it when you said that it'd be fun, and that freaks you out. It's been a while since you've spent time with anyone outside of your workplace. Having friends means having baggage, something that others can use as leverage; that's something you can't really afford to have.

“So… Is there any way that I could, like… contact you?” He asks, kicking his leg back and forth nervously, his shoe scuffing against the concrete.

“You… You want to contact me?”

Vigilante shrugs, “Yeah. I don't know about you, but I think we made a pretty good team. Unless you disagree. Then I think it was awful and we should go our separate ways and never do it again.”

“N-no. I think… Yeah. I agree.” You stutter. You fucking STUTTERED. How dare your voice betray you like this? You want to grab your own shoulders and shake yourself. Scream ‘THIS ISN’T YOU’. You've proven to yourself time and time again that you're ruthless. That you don't need anyone's help, or anyone to look out for you. Yet here you are, agreeing that you and Vigilante did make a pretty awesome team, and that maybe you'd be open to meeting with him again. What the fuck is wrong with you? You're truly fucked.

Still, you pull out your burner phone and hand it over to Vigilante, “You can just… y’know, put your number into there.”

So he does just that, handing your phone back to you. “So, you'll text me? Or.. call me? Whichever you prefer. I know some people prefer to text because it's less pressure–...”

“I'll text you.” You assure him, giving him a quick nod before making your way to the ladders, wondering what the fuck just happened and when you'd decided to start being friendly with random Vigilante’s. Especially Vigilante’s that are literally called Vigilante.

You still think it's a dumb name, but that does nothing to wipe the stupid grin off your lips as you make your way home.

#vigilante x reader #adrian chase x reader #adrian chase x you #vigilante x you #adrian chase #peacemaker #vigilante #hbo peacemaker #adrian chase x y/n #vigilante x y/n

311 notes · View notes

odekiisu · 4 years ago

Text

Basic Guide to Clone Trooper Armour

I don’t know about you guys, but I have a hard time keeping the terms for various parts of clone armour straight in my mind. So, I decided to make this Guide To Armour, to make my life easier for those times I’m drawing or writing stuff and need to reference what this, that or the other piece is called, how it’s put on or taken off. (I’ve also tried to include/come up with some casual or slang terms for some parts because you cannot seriously expect these guys to use the Right Proper Terminology for everything all of the time.)

This is based on the Clone Wars cartoons, because that’s what I know best. Also, this is just the standard armour of regular troopers; if y’all want something about the possible additions/variations that you could have then lmk and I’ll see what I can put together I guess?

Note: a lot of this terminology is taken from medieval knights’ armour. Many terms are originally French; alternative names provided where possible. I did do a bit of research on medieval plate armour, which is the closest thing I can think of to clone armour, but I am by no means an expert so if you have any input or corrections feel free to @ me. Likewise, if you’ve cosplayed as a clone trooper or stormtrooper, I’d very much like to hear about your experience wearing this stuff, how it moves and how it might be similar or different to the “real thing” so to speak.

Figure 1: Clone trooper armour, front view. Kix got chosen for this because he’s a vain little bastard and loves to be painted. (ETA: this diagram now comes with a second, funnier version.)

(long post under cut)

Figure 2: Back view of armour.

According to Wookieepedia: The armour is produced on Kamino and has UV spectrum markings visible to Kaminoans. It is made of plastoid-alloy composite, and the plates are attached to the bodysuit via magnatomic gription panels. In general, Phase II armour is lighter, stronger and more ergonomic than Phase I, which has been described as heavy and uncomfortable (Wookieepedia also says that it weighs ‘just under forty kilograms’ which sounds like way too much but eh, I’ll roll with it.)

Body glove/bodysuit – the stuff worn under the armour. Provides thermoregulation, some level of protection from things like blasterfire, vacuum, etc. AKA: blacks.

Helmet – The Bucket. Stuffed full of various tech: tracking device, display screen, comlink… Phase I helmets also have life support capabilities, while Phase II helmets do not, requiring an external oxygen supply*. Helmet crest contains comlink antenna. AKA: bucket, I think Rex once called them sun-bonnets, etc… this is the piece likely to have the most slang terms associated with it. Go wild.

* this is according to Wookieepedia; I’m a bit sceptical but I haven’t yet seen the episode it refers to. I headcanon that Phase II is capable of limited life support for emergency situations, but extended missions require external respirators.

Cuirass – there is some conflicting information on whether this refers to just the front chest armour or both front and back. If both, it consists of breastplate and backplate, joined at the sides and shoulders. Shoulder connections appear to be different for Phase I and Phase II: Phase I has a separate piece covering the shoulder seam, implying that it can be opened, whereas Phase II looks like it has an integrated flexible band; it may or may not be possible to disconnect. Either way, the front and back pieces must be able to separate in order to get the whole thing on.

Plackart – belly piece, wraps around the back to protect kidneys as well. Probably flexible to some extent, has been seen to slide down under belt, as demonstrated by Jesse in Figure 3. Might also have to have at least one open-able seam in it in order for troopers to get into it efficiently.

Figure 3: I have no idea how the lower edge of this isn’t stabbing him in the crotch, but *shrug*.

Spaulder/shoulder bell – also known as pauldrons irl, but that term refers to a different item this context (the pauldrons that commanders, captains and ARC troopers wear), so I feel like it might be better to differentiate between them with different terms to avoid confusion. That’s just my opinion though, you feel free to do as you wish.

Rerebrace – bicep plate. Phase I has cutouts in the back to fit pointy elbows (see below); Phase II does not.

Couter – elbow plate. Pointy elbows in Phase I, unpointy elbows in Phase II, as shown on Figure 4. In Phase I appear to be attached to vambraces in the animated version, Phase II is more mobile. I admit, I’m not a huge fan of this word, I kinda prefer elbow plates.

Figure 4: Phase I and II elbows. Am I getting way too into this that it’s gotten to the point of studying clone elbows? *shrug* who knows.

Vambrace – forearm armour. Has wrist-mounted comlink (see below).

Gauntlet plate – covers back of hand. The 212th absolutely calls these “droid-punchers”, no you cannot convince me otherwise. I think I’ve seen fanon that some troopers sharpen the front edge of this plate to do more damage when punching. Decide for yourself if plastoid alloy would do more damage to the metal of a droid’s chassis if sharpened or unsharpened (and therefore sturdier).

Codpiece/crotch plate – covers the front hip and crotch area. Possible slang term, courtesy of @mockingjay34: cockblock

Skidplate – covers butt and back hip. A lot of troopers probably just call this piece their shebs, and once again you cannot convince me otherwise. Note that in the clone wars cartoon, Phase I armour is triangular in the back and has a sort of erm… diaper shape, in that the codpiece and skidplate are connected in the crotch (I cannot imagine that being comfortable in any situation, but then again, I have Thicc™ Thighs. Do clones have thigh gaps? Also, I would not want to get pinched by the armour joint between crotch and thigh plates).

Figure 5: Sniper Butts! (Featuring Echo and Fives in quite possibly the only comfortable position in this armour.)

In Phase II the crotch and butt pieces are separated, which sounds a lot more sensible, as well as having better butt coverage – think cheeky panties vs full briefs.

Figure 6: Hardcase kindly demonstrating the new crotch plate alongside some significant gaps in his armour… please get yourself some bigger shoulder bells my dude!

I’d imagine that, given the amount of time these guys spend fully armoured, there should be some way of conveniently opening some of this up or removing individual plates for practical reasons (and if any particular trooper wanted to use this feature for… other things, well, that’s their own business).

Cuisse/Thigh plate – covers thighs. Phase I and II have different shapes in the back to account for skidplate shape, with Phase II having significantly less coverage in the upper thigh/butt area, but I guess better range of motion.

Figure 7: Troopers Hardcase and Dogma demonstrating the Butt Cutouts, or Buttouts.

Poleyn/knee plate/knee pad – important for maintaining kneecap integrity. Like elbow plates, appears to be integrated into greaves in Phase I, but moving freely in Phase II.

Greaves – cover shins, nothing fancy.

Boots – boots. Do not appear to be armoured, are soft enough to bend your toes for walking/kneeling/whatever you need bendy toes for.

Belt pouches/boxes/compartments – A place to keep your stuff when out & about. I’m assuming this is a Pocket Substitute. Clones deserve pockets too!

Comlink – Generally four large square buttons and one smaller one (live action has more buttons). They also have comlinks in their helmets. Wookieepedia mentioned that they used wrist comms in the show so that the audience could clearly see when characters were talking to each other. Possibly used for long-range communication, whereas the ones in the buckets could be for shorter range?

Life support/those box things on their back – I have no idea what they’re actually called but these also have different designs for Phase I and II. On stormtroopers they contain a power pack and a small oxygen supply, and I guess it’s reasonable to assume that they have the same life support function for clone troopers. Also read somewhere that they have comlink scanner for long-range communication?

Thermal detonator – why would they all have bombs on their back? Seems unsafe. Also I don’t think I’ve ever seen one used? Idk. These things confuse me.

#star wars #the clone wars #swtcw #clone troopers #clone armor #clone wars meta #wow this got long #also damn I've missed just... sitting down with a mug of tea and going down a research rabbit hole or three #star wars meta

5K notes · View notes

tiltingheartand · 2 years ago

Note

"so a professor and a sniper walk into a gay bar in florida"

I need to know.

ahahaha. so, actually, counting the dreamling fic i posted in november (which came third) and the jack/daniel fic i posted yesterday, at one point i had three separate “so these two people bump into each other in a gay bar” WIPs. the jack/daniel one came first; this one came second, so the name was mostly me making a joke at my own expense.

this one is for numb3rs, and i have no idea if you’ve ever watched that! the professor in question is charlie eppes, the main character, and the sniper in question is ian edgerton, the fourth-best sniper in … the country? i wanna say the country. (another character, at one point, calls him “one of the best snipers in the known universe”.) the show takes place in LA and LA-adjacent areas, which is why the florida part is relevant.

i find the dynamic between charlie and ian fascinating. the first time they meet there’s so much friction, but as the series progresses you can visibly see them thawing toward each other. when ian is trying to clear his name in “ultimatum” one of his initial demands is charlie, on a video call, in 20 minutes; when charlie gets there, ian apologizes for getting him involved, and you can see he genuinely means it. and in the last episode, ian’s “i cannot believe your brother didn’t invite me to his wedding!” is something he never would’ve said after their first meeting. neither of them probably would’ve believed they’d get to that point, after their first meeting.

this also stems from my general dissatisfaction with the charlie/amita relationship — don’t get me wrong, i absolutely loved amita as a character, but the will-they-won’t-they got so, so, so old. and even after they finally settled down together it … i don’t know. sometimes when i’m watching a tv show two characters will get together and my thought is “awwww, finally!” or something like that, and sometimes two characters will get together and it feels like they’re only getting together because the writers thought it was a good idea. which, like … i realize the inherent nonsense of that statement, don’t worry, but i can’t think of a better way to put it. it felt very forced, to me.

so that’s where this picks up: a year or so after the season finale, charlie in florida because he’s been at loose ends for a few months since the visiting professorship and his marriage both ended and he figured, hey, why not? and ian in florida because his last assignment was in florida and his bosses have been Strongly Hinting that maybe he should take some of his vacation days, perhaps, please.

also, here, a snippet:

“Well well well,” he hears, a second and a half later, and turns his head despite himself, because that sounded an awful lot like Ian Edgerton, which is ridiculous. Except when he looks, Ian just raises his eyebrows a little, looking like he’s trying very hard not to smirk.

“Ian,” he says. “Hi.”

“Professor,” Ian replies, nodding slightly, letting a bit more of the smirk out. “What’s a nice young man like you doing in a place like this?”

“Well,” Charlie says, “I’m guessing you’re looking for a more detailed answer than drinking, even though it would be accurate?” He holds up his half-empty glass as proof.

“Good guess, although you don’t actually have to answer,” Ian says. Then, after a pause, “Also, what is that you’re drinking?”

Um. “Hmm,” he says out loud, looking down into the glass thoughtfully. No drink name written on the underside of the glass; that would be too easy. Also too complicated, probably, in the long run. “I don’t remember what it’s called, actually, but it tastes like pineapple and coconut and blue.”

“Blue is a flavor?”

“Absolutely.” Probably.

(ask me about any of my WIPs, if you would like!)

#asks answered #ask meme #my fic lives here #numb3rs #in retrospect probably more rambling than you expected

10 notes · View notes

starwarstbbfan · 2 years ago

Text

THE BAD BATCH: THE RUNAWAY

Chapter 53 - Forgiveness and a Promotion

Hope ya'll like this chapter!! The beginning and ending are kinda sad, but there's some happy moments in between and funny moments as well!

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

When Tech, Hunter, and Wrecker got back, they didn't expect to find Crosshair brooding in the cockpit, waiting impatiently for his brothers to come back and Callista nowhere in sight. Hunter didn't bother hiding his exasperation.

"How on earth did you get out?" Hunter demanded, flabbergasted that his master plan had failed. It was foolproof, he'd been sure of it. Now the Sergeant was embarrassed. But if Crosshair thought Hunter was an idiot, it wasn't for the half-baked plan of his, it was for what being locked in a dark room did to Calli and despite being frustrated with the teen, he was more furious with his brothers for putting her through that. He hated seeing his siblings suffer and had an especially soft spot for Calli (though if anyone said as much, he'd deny it).

Standing up, Crosshair took two large steps that put him right in front of Hunter and Crosshair was thankful he had a few inches on his brother which allowed him to slightly tower ober the Sergeant, who's shoulder he shoved harshly while half yelling "You're all di'kuts!". Hunter sighed and nodded, expecting a reaction like this from his brother, and also still being annoyed that it didn't work.

"Yeah, I guess it was too much to hope that locking you two in a room would solve everything." He said and Crosshair snarled.

"That's not what I'm angry about." Crosshair said, visibly shaking with rage. Hunter noticed this, along with Tech and Wrecker, and the atmosphere changed instantly as they took Crosshair's behavior more seriously. This wasn't the normal cranky Crosshair; something was obviously wrong. The Sergeant's eyes did a quick search of the room before landing back on his brother, his expression serious.

"Where's Calli?" For a brief moment Hunter feared that his brother had actually committed homicide. Crosshair wasn't capable of killing someone in cold blood, was he? At least not one of their own? Crosshair jabbed his thumb in the direction of the bunks.

"In the room, recovering from the anxiety attack you caused by locking us in the dark and then leaving!" Recognition dawned on Tech's features, his quick and brilliant mind able to put two and two together about what Crosshair said, and then guilt was quick to follow as he looked away in shame, while Hunter and Wrecker remained confused. The former was also relieved to know that his brother hadn't murdered Calli - honestly, he felt that Calli would have a better chance at murdering the sniper as opposed to the other way around. But he'd of course never say that to Crosshair. Still, it didn't quite register what the sniper was saying.

"I don't... I don't understand how that could have made Calli panic." Hunter said flatly and Crosshair folded his arms and gave Hunter a cryptic look.

"Think. Think real hard, Hunter." Crosshair watched as the cogs turned in the Sergeant's head, but after a few tense seconds his brother merely shook his head, not coming up with anything. Crosshair was merciful enough to give him a hint to jog his memory, "Where did we rescue Calli - the second time?" Eyebrows drawing together, Hunter still didn't understand... at first. But when it hit him, his face then mirrored Tech's reaction only a minute before that, then his eyes closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, becoming guilt-ridden.

"Kriff." He swore under his breath, yet everyone heard, and Crosshair let out a harsh scoff, also nodding.

"Kriff is right! How could it not have occurred to you -" Crosshair chastised, then his heated gaze was directed to Tech, who stood behind the Sergeant, on his right. "-or you! You're supposed to be the smartest one here!" Tech tried to defend himself.

"I apologize that it did not occur to me-"

"Oh, shut it!" Tech's mouth clamped shut, and his lips were now pressed into a thin line as he again felt shame for hurting Calli. As did Wrecker. Hunter did too, but when Crosshair snapped at Tech, he felt the need to defend his youngest brother.

"Hey, he made a mistake - " Hunter paused, then sighed and corrected himself, "-no, I did. It was my idea and I made Tech and Wrecker follow along with it. It was a spur of the moment decision, and I didn't think it through all the way. But how was I supposed to know it would backfire? Calli never talks about her time on Kamino, so none of us have an exact list of what might trigger her and what won't." Crosshair was now glaring daggers at Hunter as a fresh wave of anger overtook him.

"If you're putting the blame on Calli-"

"I'm not." Hunter asserted, his temper becoming short, and he matched Crosshair's glare with a hard stare of his own while saying the next couple sentences, "You need to calm down and stop putting words in my mouth. I'll talk to Calli and fix this."

"You better. Because if the long necks get even the slightest suspicion that Calli is unstable, they'll put her out of commission. She might not be experimented on, but we all know she'd be miserable being a maintenance clone like 99 was or something equally as demeaning. It'll kill her, maybe not physically but her spirit will. Do you want that for her?" Up until now Hunter had been cool and collected, but Crosshair's insinuation that he didn't care about Calli's well being struck a nerve and his hands tightened into fists.

"Do you really think I'd let her go back to Kamino? I'd do everything in my power to keep her here with us. Quit jumping to conclusions." Hunter was on the verge of shouting and drew in a long breath to calm himself, "I understand you're upset but turning on us won't help the situation. This conversation is over." Hunter turned to the two clones behind him, "Tech, Wrecker, get this ship flying so we can make it to the rendezvous on time." The pair nodded and Hunter then faced Crosshair once more, "You go find somewhere to cool off. I'll go talk to Calli." Crosshair was still beyond furious, but he stiffly nodded, wanting to be away from his brothers for the time being.

"Yes, Sergeant." Crosshair spat out, wanting to get the last word in and he harshly bumped shoulders with Hunter on his way out of the room, not even bothering to ask what Hunter had meant by making it to a rendezvous

Unbeknownst to the four bickering brothers, Calli had been eavesdropping on the conversation, Crosshair's yelling drawing her out of the room. She remained hidden in the hallway and heard the last ¾ of the conversation, which included Crosshair defending her. Hearing him talk so emotionally and passionately about how being shipped back to Kamino would ruin her life and challenging Hunter - it basically screamed 'I care about this girl so much and don't want her to be taken away'. It was touching yet made Calli feel conflicted. A part of her wanted to push his harsh comments away and forgive Crosshair, but there was still a small part that wanted to continue being mad at him. But her internal war was cut short when Hunter ended the conversation and she darted back to the bunk room she shared with Hunter and Crosshair, not wanting to be caught.

Truth be told, Calli didn't feel like talking so upon reaching the room she dashed for her bed, slipping under the thin scratchy blanket and pulling it over her body while getting on her left side that allowed her to face away from the door. Her eyes barely closed when Hunter's footsteps entered the room, and she leveled her breathing so as to give the impression that she was sleeping and hoping that the Sergeant would leave her be.

"I know you're awake. Your heart's beating like you just ran a marathon." Curse his enhanced senses. Opening her eyes, Calli rolled them in annoyance and shifted to where she was laying on her back, yet she refused to look at Hunter, instead opting to stare at the roof of her bunk. She heard Hunter sigh and knew he was having trouble coming up with something to say. Secretly Calli enjoyed it, as a sort of pay back for putting her through what they did, though she also wished Cross hadn't said anything.

Hunter hesitated at first to talk, his eyes dadting this way and that as he wracked his brain for the right words to say. When they landed briefly on his bunk, a scowl made its way to his face when he saw a certain feline currently conked out on his bed, splayed out on his back and a faint snoring could be heard coming from the small creature. The poor thing must have been wiped out after the long hike, even if for the final hour or so he hung out on Wrecker's shoulder, taking in the sights. Hunter had been the one to suggest they bring him along, if anything to try and spend some time with the little monster and they could get to know each other because frankly he was tired of being hissed at everytime he dared be in the same room as the tooka. He was made to feel like an imposter when in fact it was Scruffy who imposed! The sheer entitlement baffled Hunter, but for Calli's sake he set his feelings aside and the cat and the Sergeant had seemed to reach a mutual understanding that for the foreseeable future they'd be roommates. Yet here was the result. Hunter bristled at the thought of cat fur being all over his sheets and blanket, and had to physically restrain himself from shouting at the cat to get off.

Focus on something else Hunter told himself and that brought him back to the other problem. Calli had yet to say anything so Hunter guessed he'd have to do the talking.

"Look, I know you heard all that. Let's just get this all out in the open." Hunter started, and he ran a tired hand down his face as he tried to think of the most diplomatic way to say the next part. He decided that point blank would probably be the only way to do it, "I'm tired of all the drama. I thought that locking the two of you up was the only way to get things back to normal. I didn't know it'd trigger you and cause you to have an anxiety attack. The was stupid on my part and I'm sorry - really really really sorry." Calli hummed.

"Three really's? Wow, I didn't even get one from Crosshair. You must feel pretty bad." Calli finally looked at Hunter and his guilty expression and nod backed up that statement. The corner of her mouth quirked up, showing that she wasn't angry at the Sergeant and silently telling him that it was ok and she wasn't mad at him. He'd been right in saying she never disclosed much info about those few weeks she was held captive and experimented on by the Kaminoans. It gave off the impression that maybe she wasn't as affected by what had happened, when in reality it kept her up on nights, either by nightmares or the anxious voice in her head that never seemed to shut up and it was harder to ignore at night when it was quiet. Hunter had no way of knowing, therefore Calli couldn't stay mad at him or Tech or Wrecker. She just wished the anxiety would go away. What Crosshair said about her being shipped back hit close to home, as it was one of her biggest fears. Hunter could sense something was still on her mind and took a tentative step closer to her bunk, and she looked up at him with an expression that was hard to read.

"What is it?" Hunter asked with a soft tone that surprised him, wondering if she'd confide in him or just clam up. It was always uncertain as to what she'd do. Sometimes she talked, other times not.

"Do you really think the Kaminoans would have me shipped back if they think I'm unstable or unfit for duty?" Calli asked in a small voice, and just saying that sent a chill down her spine. Hunter immediately shook his head.

"No, because I won't let that happen." Calli smiled wryly at him.

"What, are you gonna fight all the Kaminoans by yourself?" She joked and Hunter nodded, completely serious as he answered.

"If it comes down to it, yeah." Calli was taken aback by his determination to protect her, even more so as he continued. "No one is ever going to take you away from this squad. You belong here, don't ever let anyone make you think otherwise." Calli almost smiled at this declaration, but that stupid anxiety voice still put doubt in her mind.

"Even though I refuse to kill another living being?" She asked and Hunter's anger briefly flared - not at Calli but at Crosshair - and he went over and sat on the edge of Calli's bunk, looking at her with the gentlest expression he could muster himself to put on his face.

"Others might think it's a weakness, but I think you're stronger than everyone - even us - because of that." Callis head tilted, wondering how Hunter could possibly see it as that way and the Sergeant explained, "It's easy to blindly kill the enemy and forget them, in fact it's expected of us. But the fact that you don't, it makes you more unique than you already are. It gives you the upper hand in a way, because you think differently and do the unexpected. It's definitely given us the element of surprise, and you've really changed this squad's way of doing things - for the better. Our 100% success rate wouldn't be possible without you, and I'm not the only one who thinks that." Calli's eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"You'll find out in a few hours." Hunter said mysteriously, making Calli squint her eyes at the man, but he didn't say anything else on the subject save for that she needed to be wearing her armor and looking presentable when they landed, which only furthered her curiosity.

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

A few hours later...

Calli walked into the lounge, fully donned with her gear, helmet tucked under her right arm. Her hair was parted and put into two neat braids that were pinned up around the crown of her head.

She'd been perplexed when on finding her armor in the storage room, it had apparently been scrubbed and polished. It didn't take Calli long to figure out who had done it. Crosshair. The others didn't bother to clean their armor, the sniper being the only one who cared enough about his appearance to do it and a couple times he'd offered to do hers. Calli had never taken him up on the offer, but apparently, he felt guilty enough to do it as a surprise for her. It also might have something to do with whatever Hunter had planned. He hasn't given her any hints as to what it was, save for that it required them to leave the planet they were on.

Hunter met Calli in the middle of the room and made sure her posture was right and watched with puzzlement as the Sergeant did a once over of her appearance while tapping his chin. He then reached his other hand out and brushed an imaginary spot of dirt off her right shoulder pad. Calli knew it had to be in Hunter's imagination because Crosshair would never miss a spot.

"What are you doing?" Calli questioned, being slightly creeped out by the man's peculiar behavior.

"Just making sure your armor is clean." Hunter said simply, not really offering a good explanation and keeping Calli in the dark. Once the imaginary stain was gone and after finding no other invisible blemishes Hunter nodded with approval and patted both her shoulders while Calli remained in her spot, unable to comprehend what was going on. Since when did he care whether or not her armor was spotless? It was armor for force's sake and supposed to be dirty- a symbol of the hard work they did. By now Calli was far beyond being a simple "shiny", and each new dent or scratch was proof of that. It could go for a fresh coat of paint though; the stripes and other decals being scraped off little by little from normal wear and tear.

"You're kinda scaring me." Calli told him, finally finding her voice. Hunter frowned and tried to look innocent.

"Why? Can't a big brother make sure his little sister is looking her best?" He asked and Calli blinked.

"I guess... but the big brother is being weirdly vague about what is going on and it's really irritating the little sister."

"I don't want to spoil the surprise."

"I don't like surprises though." Calli countered.

"Well..." Hunter shrugged, "... tough." Calli clicked her tongue, begrudgingly accepting that she wasn't going to get anything out of Hunter, and she spun on her heels and headed for the cockpit where the others were.

Crosshair immediately was on edge when Calli entered the room and she hesitated at the threshold but decided that she'd had enough of the drama as well. So, she squared her shoulders and walked the rest of the way in, stopping beside the chair the sniper occupied and looking down at him expectantly.

Sensing her presence, Crosshair turned and looked up at the female clone with a raised eyebrow, and he was surprisingly nervous. He half expected her to strangle him.

"Get up." Calli ordered, and at first Crosshair wasn't going to, but he figured what the heck and did as tell. If he got punched or slapped, well worse things could happen. Without any warning Calli wrapped her arms around his middle (she couldn't quite reach his shoulders) in a hug. Much like when Calli hugged him after her emotional reunion with Boba, Crosshair tensed up from the contact, mostly because he wasn't expecting it. Last time they talked, Calli made it obvious she was still very much angry with him and now a few hours later she's hugging him? Is this what Tech calls 'mood swings'? "Thanks for cleaning my armor." Calli said just loud enough for him to hear.

Despite his confusion, Crosshair's demeanor softened as he came to the conclusion that this was Calli's way of saying she forgave him and he patted her back a few times and then Calli backed away, knowing that he wasn't a big fan of contact, but she just felt the need to hug him. Secretly she felt Crosshair's hugs were the best out of the four boys.

Calli gave Crosshair a small smile while tucking a loose piece of her hair behind her ear and Crosshair narrowed his eyes at the small spot that had been hidden behind the wisp of hair. Crosshair tittered and licked his thumb and much to Calli's horror he tried to rub off the spot on her face like a mother would. She dodged his hand with wide eyes and asked what the heck he was doing.

"Were you eating space waffles while getting ready?" he asked, ignoring her question and Calli - still very much horrified by what Crosshair tried to do - nodded reluctantly and he clicked his tongue again and shook his head in disapproval, "Don't you look in the mirror when you get ready? You've got a spot of syrup on your face." Crosshair tried again to wipe the spot off, but Calli caught his wrist.

"Ok, now you're acting weird like Hunter!" With a roll of his eyes, Crosshair freed his wrist and backed off, but suggested she go wipe the syrup off. Calli scoffed, then subtly grabbed her helmet and used the visor as a mirror as she cleaned her face.

What the heck is going on? Calli wondered.

A little while later they came out of hyperspace and through the viewport Calli saw that they were approaching a group of Republic Cruisers. Calli looked at her brothers, and she noticed that all of them had small smirks on their faces. The mystery was driving her crazy!

Despite the many questions she fired at the group while the ship landed and when they exited the vessel into the hangar, all she got were cryptic replies that offered little information.

The group got the usual stares as they made their way through the hanger - never leaving it Calli noticed. Calli was practically bursting with curiosity as to what was going on!

After going past a LAAT Gunship that had blast marks all over it, obviously it had recently been used in battle, the group stopped and from her spot Calli couldn't see what was in front of them that made them stop. The boys parted so Calli could make her way so she could, and she stopped short upon seeing two rows of clones about a hundred feet ahead, ten on each side, standing at attention with their helmets tucked under their arms.

At the end of the row facing the path created by the clones are General's Skywalker and Kenobi, and on either side their respective superiors were Captain Rex and Commander Cody. All of them had small smiles on their faces and when Calli looked back at her team she saw that they too had similar expressions, even Crosshair, though his was almost nonexistent but you could see more of the emotion in his eyes. They were all looking at her with... pride?

"What-What's going on?" Calli asked, glancing back at the group of regs and Jedi, and a pit of anxiety forming in her stomach. She had no idea what was happening and why all these people were here.

"Why don't you go find out?" Hunter told her, gently nudging her in that direction. Calli looked wide eyed at the Sergeant, resembling a small child looking fearfully at a parent when they were asked to do something that was out of their comfort zone. She almost asked if they'd come with her but knew it would be silly so with all the courage she could muster Calli left the comfort of having her squad at her side and began walking to the awaiting party of soldiers.

Calli kept her head lowered as she passed all the regs, doing her best to keep her nerves in check. But as she grew closer to the Jedi and high-ranking clones, she couldn't help but be slightly ill at ease, as she didn't know what this whole situation was about.

After what felt like an eternity, Calli stopped ten feet in front of the Jedi, Cody, and Rex, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't shaking in her boots a little bit. She was too anxious to even acknowledge the fact that this is the first time she'd seen Obi-Wan since becoming a soldier, the last time they met being after the Bad Batch had rescued her from Kamino. Glancing over her shoulder at her squadmates she saw Wrecker give her an encouraging thumbs up (it did little to soothe her nerves though).

She turns back to the front when someone clears their throat. Skywalker stepped forward and Calli sensed that he was nervous, but she wasn't sure why.

"Scar, we were informed of your brave actions on Naboo that included saving Senator Amidala's life. She brought it to our attention, and we all agree that such sacrifice deserves to be rewarded. We present to you the Medallion of Honor for your bravery." Rex opened the box he'd been holding, revealing a small, shiny golden colored medal. Anakin removed it from the case and walked up to Calli, who remained stiff and rigid as Anakin put the metal on her chest plate. After giving her a kind smile and pat on the shoulder, Skywalker stepped back in line with the others. Snapping out of the shocked state she'd been in, Calli felt it was her turn to say something.

"T-Thank you, sir. I'm honored."

"You earned it." Cody told her and then Obi-Wan spoke up.

"Scar, you've shown great skill and have accomplished much in your short career in this army. It is with pleasure that we also promote you to ARC Trooper." Calli's mouth opened, closed, then opened again, and said the first thing that came to her mind.

"Shut the hanger door." Calli exclaimed, and immediately she regretted it after from the raised eyebrows her superiors gave her and some amused snickering from some of the regs behind her. Her face was now burning, and she fidgeted in her spot, internally yelling at herself for blurting such a thing out. "Uh, I - I mean, thank you, again. I'll try and live up to the title." She said, hoping to retain some of her dignity. Fortunately, she seemed to say the right thing as the men all smiled with approval and then began clapping along with all the regs and the Bad Batch. Wrecker of course added in some whooping and hollering before bounding over and plucking Calli off the ground and setting her on his shoulder, chanting her name over and over and some of the regs even joined in.

Wrecker declared that a celebration was in order, which resulted in them going to the cafeteria as they didn't have much in the way of celebratory food and beverages on the Havoc Marauder. Of course, there wasn't a lot that the cafeteria had to offer either, but there was a hidden stash of alcohol that was saved for special occasions such as this - hey the clones liked to party when it was possible.

At first Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair weren't going to go as they didn't feel comfortable being around the regs, but Wrecker guilted them into going, saying that they didn't have too many occasions to celebrate, and this was a big deal for their youngest squadmate. Only when they heard the promise of alcohol did they finally cave in and go. They mainly hung out at a table in the far corner of the room, Wrecker and Calli being the only one's brave enough to mingle with the other clones and Jedi.

Like the last time she hung out with regs, Calli eventually roped a few of them into a little arm-wrestling competition. She loved seeing their faces when she beat them thanks to her enhanced strength which of course no one but her squad knew about. After beating reg number five, Calli took a break to go find Rex, the competition reminding her of when she did it with Fives at 79's. Calli wanted to see him again, remembering the fun time they had together. Well, the few fuzzy memories she had were pleasant, as she'd been drunk but that's not important.

She found him out in the hallway, taking a breather from all the festivities.

"Rex!" Calli called out, then she quickly corrected herself, "Uh, I mean Captain Rex sorry." The blond clone gave her a small smile and nodded in greeting.

"Enjoying the party?" He asked. Calli chuckled and nodded.

"Yeah. Um, I was wondering, I haven't seen Fives around. Was he transferred to another battalion or...?" Rex's expression fell at the mention of him, which didn't sit well with Calli. When he hesitated to respond and didn't meet her eyes, it made Calli nervous.

"He uh, he's... gone." All the air left Calli's lungs when Rex uttered these words. Gone? That can't be...

"What?" she whispered, not being able to process this new information. Calli turned away from the reg and pressed a hand to her forehead while taking a few breaths to calm herself down. It didn't help much and when she faced Rex once more the questions spilled out of her mouth, "H-How did he - when did he?" Calli was unable to finish a single sentence and clamped her mouth shut while rubbing a hand down her face. Rex was reluctant to answer, mainly because he didn't have all the answers himself. There were a lot of mysteries surrounding his brother's death and he was still processing it himself. But he couldn't leave Scar hanging since obviously this news affected her greatly.

"Fives was uh, kind of lost it mentally and it ended up getting him killed." He was lying - or at the very least not telling her the full truth. Calli was very good at reading people and thanks to her enhanced senses she could hear Rex's heart rate increase when he told her this.

Before Calli could question the captain further, they were joined by a third person.

"Is everything alright?" Obi-Wan asked, sensing the tension in the air. Rex straightened up while clearing his throat, secretly glad that the Jedi Master interrupted their conversation.

"Perfectly so, General." Rex answered, then he made an excuse to leave. Now it was just Calli and Obi-Wan, the former looking down at her boots as sorrow filled her entire being for the loss of a friend. Sure, she only knew him for a few hours (and quite frankly she didn't remember most of that time), but it had been fun and when you're in the middle of fighting in a war it's rare that you have those fun moments. Point blank, Calli was devastated.

"Are you alright?" Obi-wan asked with concern, and Calli had forgotten he was there. She gave a half shrug in response, the will to speak temporarily gone. Thankfully, she didn't need to explain what had happened because obi-wan had caught the tail end of the conversation and knew they had been talking about Fives. While he didn't know the trooper very well, he had been saddened by the news of his death and knew the strong bond all clones shared so when one of them died it affected the rest greatly. Through the force he could feel all the emotions Calli was experiencing, and he felt bad for the young clone and decided to offer some words of comfort. "I understand your pain. I've lost many friends in this war, and it's painful every time." Calli couldn't help but let out a bitter scoff.

"I thought Jedi didn't have friends. Something about 'no attachments' right?" Obi-Wan wasn't put off by her abrasiveness as he knew she was hurting, and nodded, agreeing with her.

"You are right about that." He said and Calli was surprised that he agreed with her yet remained silent, "But that doesn't mean we don't care about other living beings and when their life is cut short and you can't do anything to save them, it does hurt. Only we don't let our emotions get the better of us. We mourn the loss, but also celebrate them and let their memory live on." Obi-Wan placed a comforting hand on Calli's shoulder and she looked at the hand then up at the Master Jedi, who gave her a kind smile," I suggest you do the same. Fives wouldn't want you to give into despair, he'd want you to continue fighting. And I'm sure he'd be very proud of what you've accomplished."

Calli was still very sad about Fives' death, but she surprisingly found some comfort from the man's words even if she didn't quite agree with all of it. At one point in her life, she'd been all for not forming attachments, believing it to only be a one-way ticket to being betrayed or hurt. But she wasn't like that now, slowly coming out of her shell and allowing others to get close to her.

Despite her quote unquote despair, Calli gave Obi-wan a grateful nod, silently telling him she'd taken his words to heart.

The sounds of people laughing, and such drifted out into the hall and Calli wiped the single tear that had fallen off her cheek and squared her shoulders while drawing in a deep breath to center herself and suppress the negative emotions, at least for the next few hours. She'd probably hide away in her bunk for the next couple days as she properly mourned Fives, but then Calli would do as Obi-Wan said and remember him and the good time they shared.

Fives would forever hold a special place in her heart. Always.

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Oh Fives, you deserved so much better!! 🥲

I'm happy to announce that the next few chapters will be the Bad Batch arc of the clone wars and you know what that means! The Bad Batch is about to get a new member!!!

~B.C.

Link to a pic of Calli's new armor.

15 notes · View notes

redorich · 4 years ago

Note

this is kinda an au of your hermit!tommy au but what if when phil tries to drag tommy back to dreamsmp he succeeded and everyone keeps asking tommy if he was okay after being kidnapped and he’s angry because he just found his hone and it’s being taken from him. then instead of the big battle in hermitcraft the hermits form a rescue mission to save tommy with the help of techno. hopedthat made sense lol -🎧

An admin can't respawn their people outside of their own server. The hermits know this, and invade the Dream SMP anyway, because risking their lives is worth getting Tommy back. With Technoblade on their side, they know the geography of the server, they know who will oppose them and what weapons they'll have.

Their most important fighters are the elytra squad, led by Grian. Dream’s people (soldiers, don’t lie) are stuck on the ground; at best they can take potshots at the elytra squad using riptide tridents or ender pearls.

Next is the bow squad, led by Cub. Cub’s group is to be protected by the ground squad until the bow squad can reach the strategic locations as given to them by Technoblade. In addition to sniping the enemy, Wels will shoot the hermits with arrows tipped in healing potions. Once the snipers are in place, they’ll protect the ground fighters. Led by False, the ground squad is comprised of heavy hitters and tanks, such as Doc and Iskall.

Dream’s men don’t expect an invasion of their home turf so soon after their own successful invasion of Hermitcraft; the hermits take advantage of this. Immediately upon spawning in the Dream SMP, Grian, along with Ren and Keralis, take off into the sky. Joe stands tall and takes off running, followed by a massive pack of dogs. In the distance, they spy the imposing black prison as Dream’s men gather. The battle is on.

---

Impulse and Tango, armed to the teeth with gear all enchanted with the Vanishing Curse, are accosted immediately after they finish escorting the sniper squad to their tower. The man that’s fighting them is absolutely vicious; the black side of his face is hard to read, but the white side of his face is visibly scrunched in anger, but more obviously fear.

“Stop fighting!” Impulse says between breaths, parrying the half-enderman’s axe. “You’re a kid, you shouldn’t have to fight. Just put down your weapons.”

Tango falters, nearly tripping over his own feet. This Ranboo guy is a kid?!

Ranboo’s eyes shutter as he frowns. “Since when do you care about how young your victim is? You stole Tommy. Even if I die, I won’t stop fighting you.”

Stricken, Impulse pulls his sword swing at the last moment, slashing Ranboo across the chest in a skin-deep laceration, instead of the killing blow it would have been. With gritted teeth, Ranboo lashes out. Impulse chokes, breathing wetly as he falls heavily to one knee.

“Impy!” Tango wails, rushing to his side.

Impulse huffs, eyes already hazy. “Sorry,” he says, “I guess I failed.”

When Impulse stills, Tango puts him down on the ground gently. He stands. Even though he’s not as tall as Ranboo, he strikes an intimidating figure with a lava bucket in each hand, ready for immolation.

“Impulse died because he pitied you,” he rasps. “I won’t be so kind.”

Ranboo unconsciously takes a step back when Tango takes a step forward. Lava flies, and Ranboo screams. He tries to teleport, but Tango grabs him by the neck and drags him back into the lava. Ranboo thrashes with weapons and bare hands alike, dealing more damage to Tango than he’d care to admit. When Ranboo finally goes quiet, Tango scoops the lava back into his bucket and lays the child soldier’s corpse out on the ground next to Impulse.

Tango breathes heavily, inhaling the thick scent of blood and charred flesh as he sits down between the two bodies. He places his head in his hands and does not weep.

---

Stress clutches her sword tightly, staring down the blonde woman who’s come to confront her. Her friends had been surprised (and worried, though they tried not to show it) when she’d volunteered herself to be a part of the ground fighters’ squad. They should have known better, she thinks. Like hell am I going to sit pretty in a tower somewhere, shooting people down, when one of my friends is being held hostage. Especially Tommy.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” the blonde woman says quietly as she brandishes her axe. This must be Niki, the soft woman with a spine of steel.

“My name is Stress,” she begins. She has no clue what to say, but she’ll say it regardless. “Tommy’s told me about you. He respects you.”

“So you kidnapped him?” Niki demands.

Stress blinks rapidly, taken aback. “Kidnap ‘im? Wot?!”

Niki frowns. “Dream said you people kidnapped him, and brainwashed him into liking you. That’s why we had to get him back.”

“Yeah, well Tommy told me that Dream abused him and lied to him,” Stress says sardonically, “so forgive me if I call bullshit.”

Niki rears back, then raises her axe again. “How do I know you’re not a liar?”

Biting her lip, Stress thinks as fast as she can. This is big. “... Why do you trust Dream?”

“I don’t,” Niki says stonily.

“Do you trust Tommy?”

Niki snorts. “With my life, but not my items.”

“That’s fair,” Stress laughs, more out of nervousness than humor, before affecting a serious, scary look that she doesn’t feel in the slightest. “You’re trusting Dream’s word over Tommy’s. How is Tommy supposed to prove a negative? By saying that Tommy’s unstable, or compromised, or whatever, Dream has automatically invalidated Tommy’s arguments in his own defense.”

Niki’s spine straightens as she listens. “I want to believe you,” she says.

Stress shrugs. “Then believe me.” She holds out a hand to Niki, offering the proverbial olive branch.

The corners of Niki’s mouth quirk upward. “So, what’s the plan? I’ll follow your lead.”

---

“...So.” Dream says.

“...So.” Technoblade responds, staring him down from across the Prime Path.

“I always knew you were a filthy fucking traitor,” Dream says conversationally.

Techno shrugs. “I never pretended I wasn’t.”

Dream draws his axe; Techno uncaps a potion. The two men walk slowly toward each other, until they’re at most ten paces apart. Dream remembers the last time he was on the Prime Path, taking ten paces.

“This is for my brother, you sick son of a bitch,” Techno mutters. The two burst into action.

---

868 notes · View notes

radramblog · 3 years ago

Text

Halo Through its Guns: Halo CE

I think this is a bit of an experiment, but one I intend to see all the way through. I’ve been thinking a lot about this series recently, not to mention playing a lot of it, so I’ve wanted to find a way to properly discuss it. Perhaps even analyse it.

If there’s one thing people gravitate towards talking about in a first person shooter game, especially a series so long-running as Halo, it’s going to be the guns. They’re taking up a significant portion of the screen a lot of the time, and a lot of development time is going to be spent making sure they all look and sound good and are satisfying to use. As a result, I think the weapons in Halo are a good lens through which to view each entry in the series.

So, I’m going to be using one gun per game as a means to discuss each one. At this point, I’ve lined most of my picks up already (and hoping to have actually played 5 by the time I get to it), so I’m confident most of them are going to provide an interesting discussion.

Therefore, this is: Halo: Combat Evolved, through its iconic gun. No, it’s not the Magnum, it’s the Plasma Pistol.

It’s kind of hard to talk about Halo: CE without talking about all of gaming of the era, because it was kind of a huge shift in the landscape as far as FPS games went. Unfortunately, I’m too young to have actually lived through all this, but the game is kind of to 2000s shooters as Doom was to 90s shooters, and kind of as Seinfeld is to sitcoms. That is, it defined them so utterly that all the future iterations of this kind of gameplay make Combat Evolved feel a little antiquated. I suppose being a 20-year-old game doesn’t help at this point.

Something Halo: CE owes to those 90s games is the concept of the weapon sandbox. It’s the multiplayer style that I believe pretty much just Halo (and Battle Royale games, kind of) has kept going with, where you start with a couple of default, standard equipment choices and have to scrounge together the rest on the map. The majority of engagements are still going to take place using those default pieces of equipment, but either map knowledge or luck can help give you more options and turn the tide in your favour, letting you pull a more powerful weapon out of your pocket as needed.

Part of Halo’s innovation on this design is, ironically, the limitation. Specifically, only carrying two guns at a time means you can’t just run around and grab everything you see- every gun is different, and choosing to pick one up means losing the benefits of one of your others. In Team games, it pays to have different people grab different weapons, such that you’re more versatile depending on game type or what direction and distance your enemies approach from.

The important thing that Halo: CE got right, and that many future entries would struggle with, is that every single weapon in it has a unique niche. There’s only one Sniper Rifle for extreme range, only one Shotgun for unparalleled close-range lethality. The Assault Rifle is a solid medium/close range bullet hose that’s effective against both shields and unshielded players, and the Magnum is, while maybe a little too good, perfect for picking off damaged enemies at medium to long range. And also, close range, because it’s a bit much.

But of course, this is all from the perspective of Multiplayer, and Halo: CE obviously has a Campaign as well. And with the Campaign comes weapons you need to design for your enemies to wield, which brings us to the Plasma Pistol. The most common weapon in the hands of the Covenant’s Grunts and Jackals (and later Drones and Skirmishers), and one of (I believe) only 5 guns to appear in every entry in the series. (The others being the Shotgun, Sniper Rifle, Rocket Launcher, and Needler. I guess you could count the FRG but it’s only kind of in CE, and also the grenades).

A deliberate part of the design for Halo: CE’s Campaign and Multiplayer was an emphasis on player movement. This is kind of interesting, because the Chief actually moves pretty slowly compared to previous Shoot Men, but part of the idea was that every Covenant weapon would shoot visible, slower moving projectiles such that the player would potentially be able to predict and dodge them, allowing for a higher skill cap at higher difficulties. This also helps add a consistent flavour to Covenant weaponry, as bright glowing colours are both easy to distinguish and substantially different enough from the gunmetal of the UNSC equipment to feel alien. There will never be a point where you confuse a Grunt holding a Plasma Pistol from one holding a Needler, or an Elite with an Energy Sword from one with a Plasma Rifle.

The Plasma Pistol is the bread and butter of Halo’s enemy engagement design. Most of the time in enemies’ hands it’s effectively a peashooter, bright and distracting, but not dealing too much damage, just enough to be annoying, and to supplement more dangerous weapons carried by other enemies. It does, however, have the Overcharge mode, which ensures that every one of these little Grunts and Jackals remains a threat, with the ability to entirely strip your shields (or deal significant damage to your health bar) if they wise up and go for it. An Overcharging Plasma Pistol is extremely obvious, though, with a big green glow and an iconic noise making the enemy most threatening you easy to find. It means the enemy fights are never quite the same, and adds a sense of urgency to them as well, especially on early difficulties.

The overcharge is also the core of how the Plasma Pistol functions in Multiplayer as well, as well as taking full advantage of other innovations in Halo’s game design. In Multiplayer, the Plasma Pistol is easily best known for its inclusion in the “noob combo”- that is, Overcharge the shields, kill them with the Magnum. This is a highlight of the specialisation in weapons in Halo: CE- the Plasma Pistol is great against the first half of their health, in the form of the Shields, but it’s practically useless against the actual, well, Health. Because of this, the Plasma Pistol is not a default weapon in Multiplayer like it is in Campaign, it’s niche necessitates a role as a pickup weapon. You’re never going to want it if you already have, say, a Shotgun or Sniper Rifle, since those are such similarly specific weapons that your backup being a Plasma Pistol is not a good idea.

But of course, guns are not your only combat option in Halo. One of the most innovative points of design in this game is the constant access to three attack options at a time. In previous FPS games, the options for Grenades and Melee were usually in the form of separate weapon slots, whereas in Halo you have access to all three at the same time on different buttons. This gives the whole game a more fluid feel, and there’s a reason it’s pretty much now the default for games of this style- it looks cool, it’s less awkward, and it feels slick as hell. The Plasma Pistol gets to lean into this versatility nicely as well, as Melee damage or either Grenade type at close enough range will kill next to an overcharge. You’re never left with no way of hitting people’s health after you dunk their shields, especially since the Pistol works best at close range.

In summation. Halo: Combat Evolved was genre-defining as a first-person shooter, capturing what would become the default for gaming to come for a while. The Plasma Pistol is an excellent example of this, leaning into all the innovations of the overall game’s design and producing an iconic piece of video game firepower. It’s slick, it’s effective, and it looks and sounds extremely cool.

The rest of the series would never quite capture the exact same balance as Halo: CE, but as the games changed and technology improved, so too did the guns. Join me next time, when everything gets a bit more Two.

#ramble #halo #halo combat evolved #plasma pistol #video games

28 notes · View notes

reluctant-mandalore · 4 years ago

Note

may i suggest 52 with fennec shand? 😍🍾

Prompt 52: “Ready for me to drink you under the table?” from this prompt list.

Warnings: Betting, drinking games, alcohol consumption, established relationship, kisses, Fluff and possible implied nsfw depending on how you decide to interpret it, not beta read

Word Count: 1,181

Pairing: Fennec Shand x gn!Reader

a/n: Y’all get to decide what that thing with the throne is. Is it cuddles? or something more spicy? Maybe you just paint a loth cat on it... Who knows! Just know that Boba is not going to be impressed with what ever it is. Also this was only meant to be like 500 words but I just couldn’t stop writing sdfbjhsdbhf My wife fen just has that affect me I guess lol

It had become a common occurrence for you and Fennec to go get a drink at the local Cantina after she had returned from a job. You had always called it a celebration for a job well done, though really it was because you had missed her desperately when she was gone.

She wasn’t going to complain of course. It was well known how she loved to have a good drink, and combined with the fact that she loved spending time with you even more, she knew she was in for a good time. So it was always a win-win situation for her when you insisted on taking her out for one of your little celebrations.

“Oh please!” You had said with a laugh that particular night, “I could definitely out last you in a drinking game.”

Fennec had only quirked a brow at you, as a smirk had begun playing tugging at her lips. “Darling... no one out drinks me. Not even you.”

“You wanna bet on that?” You had said, allowing your fingers to tease with her braided hair playfully, as you had leaned over the table closer to her. Soon watching with delight as Fennec’s eyes had zoned in on your fingers with peaked interest. “If I win you take the day off work tomorrow and spend it with me.”

Fennec had moved to brush her thumb along your lips at your words. Her eyes holding a flirtatious gleam to them that you knew only held trouble for you within their depth. Maybe challenging her wasn’t such a good idea.

“What’s in it for me if I win?” She had asked, removing her hand from your chin, so she could take another sip of the drink she had already gotten for herself. “Better be good if I’m going to end up dragging your drunk self home.”

You had paused and thought for a moment. What could you bet? There wasn’t much you could suggest that would peak her interest enough. Although. There was always that one thing of course. Something you knew she wouldn’t be able to say no too.

“If you win we can do the thing you’re always asking about.”

Fennec had visibly paused at your suggestion, the cup in her hand lowering to the table again with a small jolt as her head had snapped over to look at you. Her eyes holding a skepticism to them, as she tried to gage just exactly what kind of game you were playing at. “That thing?”

“Yes. That thing.” You had rolled your eyes with a grin, knowing there was no way Fennec would be able to resist a bet with that on the table. “So what do you say Fen?”

“You sure?” She had asked, her gaze holding a concern you were beginning to know all too well now. It was the look she would give when she was worried for you, and it was one that had managed to make your heart felt at the sweetness it held.

“Positive.”

Fennec had allowed herself to relax again at your confirmation. The brief tension she had felt quickly easing away, as allowed herself to move closer to you again. Though this time she had let your nose brush with hers before leaving a mock kiss at your lips.

“Boba is going to be so mad once he finds out what we did with that throne of his.”

“Hey that’s only if you win.” You had said, as you pulled back with a grin and motioned for the bartender to get you both some drinks. “Which is definitely not happening.”

Fennec had only rolled her eyes at your claim, watching out of the corner of her eye, as you had gulped your first one down quickly. Letting out a huff as you had almost slammed the empty cup down on the table once finished. “Ready for me to drink you under the table?”

She had only shook her head with a laugh. Soon taking her own drink and downing it before once again giving you that smirk of hers that you adored so much.

“I’d like to see you try.”

After many drinks and laughs later, Fennec had predictably proven you to be wrong. You could in fact not out drink her, and at this point you were convinced no one could.

While you had reached your limit, she hadn’t even appeared to come close to her own. She didn’t even seem to show any signs that she was drunk in the slightest. If you hadn’t seen her drink the same amount as you had, you probably would have been doubtful of her having had any at all.

Instead she had only leaned on the table with a smirk. Watching as you tried to appear unaffected by all the alcohol you had consumed over the past few hours. How she managed to appear normal after all of that you’d never know, and honestly you weren’t even sure you wanted to.

“You alright there love?”

“Hm?” You almost hadn’t heard her. The foggy cloud over your mind due to the alcohol in your system making it hard to keep up with everything around you, though you’d never tell her that. “Ye...Yeah. I’m fine!”

“Really?”

“Yup! I’m do-” You had hiccupped during your reply to her, “I’m doing great Fen.”

Fennec had hummed, though her smirk had softened slightly when you had leaned into her. Your head now resting on her shoulder, as your hands had wound themselves around her arm to hug onto it tightly. She had let you rest against her like that for a moment, though she had soon pressed a kiss to your forehead when you had hiccupped again. A little chuckle leaving her at the pout you had made afterwards.

“I can’t believe we’re gonna do that thing.” You had said with disbelief, though you had still laughed gently to yourself at the thought of it anyway. A new found excitement having found itself embedded within you at the whole idea of it. “Boba will be so mad at us.”

“Boba definitely won’t be impressed—he adores that throne.” Fennec had hummed as she finished her last drink. Setting the cup down and making sure to leave the right amount of credits on the counter with it. “That can wait for another night though—and only if you still feel up for it of course—but right now let’s just focus on getting you home.”

The sniper had stood after that, but you had tugged onto her arm to stop her from completely leaving. She had looked down at you with clear concern when you had, though her worry was quickly eased by the pleading look you wore. “Can we cuddle when we get back?”

A fond smile had spread across her lips at your question, and she had soon pulled you to you to stand on your feet with ease. Now allowing for your unsteady form to use her as a support, while she gave one finally sweet kiss to your cheek.

“Anything for you my love.”

#fennec shand #fennec shand x reader #fennec x reader #the mandalorian #fennec #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars #star wars fanfic #I keep wanting to write fenfic #lmao #gender neutral reader #my fics #this was meant to be like 500 words #whoops

36 notes · View notes

pocket-luv101 · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: After Hanako learns that Touma has adopted Tsurugi, she offers to help him. (Touma and Akira/Mahiru’s mom)

Note: I’m going to put most of this fanfic under a cut because it’s 5.5k words...

“Last spring, I planted flowers for you. I wanted to watch bloom with you bloom in the Summer. Without you now, my sweet child, it’s only Winter. Nothing grows in this mother’s grief.” Akira spoke the spell out loud as she wrote the words on the chalkboard. She was an expert on spells and she recently joined C3. She hoped she would have the opportunity to study the link between Jinn, magic and immortality. In C3’s library, she created an unofficial office where she would work on spells.

The organization had prestigious families with pure blooded sorcerers. Most techniques and unique abilities were passed down through a family but she wanted to create new spells. She returned to her desk and she searched the unorganized pile of books. “Sniper, the ability to reinforce a sorcerer’s magic if they are within the field the caster creates. For my spell to do the opposite…”

Akira would often have a tin of cookies on the corner of her desk and she noticed how one of the cookies move slightly. Most would overlook the movement as simply gravity or the wind but she couldn’t help but be suspicious after facing vampires and sorcerers. She concentrated on the spot next to her desk and she sensed a faint magic next to her. “Toru, are you trying to steal my snack?”

She couldn’t see the person and she guessed that her brother wanted to play a childish prank on her with an invisibility spell. Usually, Toru would give up quickly after she called his name so Akira was confused when she heard rushed footsteps run away from her. The person didn’t run far before they crashed into the chalkboard and dust fell over them. “Are you okay?”

The spell dissolved and she found a young child sitting in front of her. The boy couldn’t be more than eight years old and she wondered why he was in C3. He had golden eyes so she knew that he wasn’t a vampire. Akira knelt in front of him so they were eye leveled. “Did you hit your head hard?”

“No.” His voice was frail and she became more concerned about his presence in C3. He was far too young to be in an organization that fought vampires. He also knew how to use a spell to make himself invisible. Spells relied on the emotions of its caster and they could take a toll on them. How could someone so young summon strong emotions? Akira thought it was best to return him to his parents so they could take him home.

“My name is Miss. Akira.” She spoke in a soft voice. She looked closer at the boy and she thought he appeared familiar. “You look just like Mr. Kamiya from the recruitment department. I never knew he had a son. Did you wander away from him? You shouldn’t do that or else you’ll get lost. I’ll take you back to your father.”

“No!” He cried and she was surprised by the fear in the boy’s voice. He jumped forward and gripped her shirt in his trembling hand, as if he wanted to stop her from going to his father. A pit formed in her stomach at the thought of what could’ve made him afraid of his parents. Akira lifted her hand to soothe him but she saw how he flinched back from her. Slowly, she placed her hand back onto her knee.

“Okay, I won’t take you to your father.” She promised and he visibly relaxed. Akira took the box of cookies from her desk and held it out to him. “What’s your name?”

“Tsurugi.” He gave her his name and he took a cookie in exchange. After a bite, his brows furrowed and she could easily guess that he didn’t like the taste. Akira knew how to cook well but her baking wasn’t the best. Her brother would insist that her baking tasted good but she could see he was forcing himself to eat them. She didn’t want to waste the cookies so she brought them to work and ate them herself.

“Well, Tsurugi, do you want to help me write magic spells?” Akira held out her hand to him. He laid his tiny hand on her palm and she brought him back to her desk. She placed him on the chair and then she pointed to the books on the table. “I like to write spells using fairy tales and myths. They can help you concentrate on the emotion and imagery a spell needs. Can you read a book and tell me how it makes you feel? Let’s start with a simple book like Peter Pan.”

“Homework?” Tsurugi pouted and she giggled in response. She lightly patted his head before she walked to the corner of the room. Akira planned to keep Tsurugi distracted with reading while she debated over what she should do. She took out her phone to call her brother. Toru joined C3 the year before she did and he knew more about Tsurugi’s father.

He answered her call after a few rings and she could hear voices in the background. He didn’t tell her that he would be on a mission so she reasoned that he was training with his friends. “Sorry to call you so suddenly, Toru, but I wanted to ask you something. This shouldn’t take long either. Do you know anything about Kamiya? What kind of man is he?”

“We’re on a break so I have time to talk, Sis. I haven’t talked to Kamiya before but he seems like a normal guy. Maybe Iori knows— Where are you going Touma?” He was briefly distracted by his friend leaving the training hall. Touma didn’t answer him so Toru continued his conversation with his sister. “Do you want to talk to him because you’re researching spells? Kamiya isn’t a part of the combat team so I don’t know if he has strong spells.”

“I found a child in the library and I think he is Kamiya’s son. He made it very clear that he doesn’t want to go to his father. I don’t know what I should do. I’ll feel guilty if I take him to his parents and something happens. On the other hand, kidnapping is illegal.” She sighed heavily. “I’m going to talk to Tsurugi and see if he has anyone who can take him in. If not, we’ll have dinner for three tonight.”

Akira spoke with her brother a little longer before she ended the call. She glanced back to Tsurugi who was reading the book she gave him. A part of her was reluctant to ask him about why he was afraid of his father because the memories could be difficult for him. On the other hand, she needed to know more about his situation and prepare for a confrontation if his father tried to take him back.

Tsurugi suddenly glanced up from the book and looked past her. She turned around to see what caught his attention. A tall man approached them and she didn’t recognize who he was. From Tsurugi’s reaction, it was clear that he knew him. He threw aside the book and slid off the chair with a wide smile. “Tai-chan! I’m making spells with Miss. Akira.”

“Shouldn’t you be at home, Tsurugi?” He asked and Tsurugi’s expression fell. Touma hadn’t meant for his voice to be so strict and he gently placed his hand on his head. “This place is dangerous and I told you that you can’t be here. How did you get here without anyone seeing you?”

Touma had overheard Toru’s conversation with his sister and he could easily infer that Tsurugi had followed him into C3. Most people would overlook Tsurugi’s father with his mild natured persona. The only reason someone would question him was if they knew that he had abused his son. Toru told him that his sister would work in the library so he went to the room.

“I used the shadow magic you showed me.” Tsurugi confessed in a guilty voice. “It’s boring at home without anyone to talk to.”

“Didn’t your teacher assign you homework for summer vacation? You can work on that.” Touma didn’t want to argue with Tsurugi when he needed to return to the training hall soon. “I have a job so I can’t walk you home. I’ll call you a taxi.”

“You can’t make Tsurugi go home! Tsurugi, you sit there while I speak with Tai-chan. I won’t let him force you to go home to your father.” Akira interrupted their conversation. Before either of them could respond, she gripped Touma’s arm and dragged him into the alley of bookcases. She didn’t want a young boy to overhear their conversation when she had a few choice words for Touma.

At first, Touma didn’t pull away from her because he was surprised by how forceful she was. Most people were intimidated by his height and the scar under his left eye. She pushed him towards the corner of the room and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders and she needed to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Her brown eyes flashed with a determined gleam and his heart had a strange reaction to the sight.

“You can’t send Tsurugi home alone.” Akira told him. “If you’re a family friend of Kamiya, this might be surprising to hear but that boy is terrified of his father! I saw it in his eyes when I spoke with him. Tsurugi had the same expression most people have after they’ve been attacked by a vampire. I don’t know what that asshole of a father did to him but I will not allow him anywhere near Tsurugi.”

“I never said I intended to send him to that man. He’s living with me and we moved away from his father years ago. You have nothing to worry about so you can let me go.” He pointed to her hand on his shoulder. Touma had to question why the Shirota family enjoyed causing him so much trouble with their determination to save people who never asked them to do so.

Akira decided she could trust Touma because Tsurugi appeared happy when he saw Touma. While she dropped her hand from his shoulder, the questions she had never left her brown eyes. “Tsurugi is still a child but he knows a spell that can make him invisible. Were you the one who taught him? You’re wearing the combat uniform so you must know that spells are dangerous.”

She was more observant than he expected. Touma assumed she would be trusting like Toru and allow him to leave after the simple reassurance. He could see that he was wrong and explained: “In a world with vampires, it’s better that he knows how to defend himself. I’m working and I can’t be with him all the time. My parents are gone and most of our family friends are working in C3 as well.”

“He doesn’t have anyone to spend Summer break with?” Sympathy filled her eyes as she glanced back to Tsurugi reading at her desk. “No wonder he followed you here. Japan is safe and Tsurugi is old enough to be home alone but it must be lonely for him. Can you take your paperwork home so you’ll be there for him in the afternoon at least?”

“You shouldn’t involve yourself in a stranger’s life. I’ve been raising Tsurugi ever since he was three and we have managed well enough with you.” He walked past her to Tsurugi. “It’s time to go home.”

“My name is Akira Shirota. For this mission, I’ll be in your care.” Akira introduced herself to the combat team and her gaze met Touma’s. After she met the man, she was curious to know who he was and how he saved Tsurugi. Her brother had told her that they would be investigating a church that might’ve belonged to the Count who created Servamps. She asked if she could join them. “Hello again, Tai-chan.”

“When did we become close for you to call me that?” Touma could feel his friends staring at him and he could only imagine how they would tease him for the nickname. He assumed he would never meet the woman again so he didn’t give her his name. She likely heard Tsurugi call him by the nickname and thought that it was his name. “This mission doesn’t require so many people.”

“I respectfully disagree with you.” She spoke in English and he didn’t understand her at first. He had high scores in every subject except for English. “The Count lived in Europe and we can assume his research was written in his language. I’ve studied English and other languages for my spells. I’ll be able to find important documents of his research much quicker than you three. I already discussed the mission with my brother yesterday.”

“Melancholy’s subclasses are guarding the church and it’s dangerous for someone with little to no combat training to fight them.” He pointed out but she didn’t step back from his argument.

“I may not have trained in combat to the extent you have but I’m not weak either. My goal is to support you with the skills I do have. If anything does happen, I trust that you’ll be there for me. I doubt you three gained a reputation as C3’s strongest trio for nothing.” She retorted. “Let’s go to the church before the sun sets and more vampires can attack us.”

“I’ll drive!” Toru interrupted their conversation. He was surprised that his sister knew Touma because they never spoke of the other before. He walked to the car that C3 provided them. Since he met Touma in high school and learned that his parents had died, he wanted to reach out to him. Touma was a private person and he would keep him at a distance. Akira didn’t appear scared of his glare as she slid into the seat next to Touma. “How long have you two known each other?”

“I met Tai-chan yesterday.” She answered.

“We’ve only talked for ten minutes.” Touma said at the same time. “Let’s focus on the mission.”

“There were less subclasses here than C3 predicted. They didn’t seem to be guarding this place. It’s more like they were hiding here.” Akira mused out loud as she walked through the church. Beside her, Touma stayed silent and she searched his expression for his thoughts. Toru and Iori decided to watch the entrance while she and Touma searched the church for the Count’s research. “It’s lucky that there wasn’t a larger fight. The books might’ve been caught in the crossfire.”

“Why did you ask your brother to join this mission? You’re older than him so you shouldn’t be playing pretend heroes.” He hadn’t spoken with her for long but he had seen how a bright smile could mask a person’s true nature. She could be holding out her hand to him with the intention to deceive him. His own parents didn’t show him kindness so why would a stranger? “Looking down on people like me and Tsurugi must make you feel taller.”

“My brother isn’t a fake hero or playing pretend! He truly wants to protect people.” Her eyes narrowed and she clutched her hands into fists. She didn’t know what caused him to be so suspicious of others but she wouldn’t excuse his insults towards her brother. “I’m only a year older than you so don’t talk about me like an old woman.”

“I don’t want to argue with you while we’re on a mission.” He decided it was best not to anger her when he worked with her brother. “The Count hid his research in various places in Japan and there are records that he visited this church often. The other places we found his research had a hidden room.”

Touma was confused when Akira held out her hand to him. She closed her eyes and said, “People leave impressions on places that have strong emotions connected to them. I have a spell that might lead me to a hidden door. I need to keep my eyes closed for this spell though. Can you hold my hand and keep me from tripping over anything?”

Her spell would help them find the hidden room quicker than blindly searching for it so he wrapped his fingers around hers. Hesitantly, she took a step forward and she whispered a spell beneath her breath. He sensed magic flow throughout the room. Her grip around his hand trembled slightly and he wondered if the spell took a large strain on her body. She almost walked into the altar and he pulled her closer against his side so she wouldn’t be hurt.

She led him to the end of the church while he kept her from being hurt. Akira stopped before a thick carpet and she edged her shoe beneath the fabric. With a kick, she pushed aside the carpet and she opened her eyes to see a hidden door. She released her spell and she almost sank to the ground in exhaustion. Touma’s hand holding her kept her from falling.

“An old building like this church has a lot of intense emotions and it’s tiring to work through so many of them. At least we found the hidden door.” She let go of his hand and then knelt in front of the trap door. The lock sealing the entrance was old and worn away with rust so Touma was able to break it open with a sharp tug. He sat next to her and he pulled the door.

Touma didn’t enter it immediately though. “You’re tired from that spell so I’ll search for the Count’s documents on my own. There aren’t subclasses here but call for me if you’re attacked.”

“I said the spell was tiring but I’m not so weak that I need to rest after casting it.” She told him before she walked down the spiral staircase. She was stronger than Touma thought she would be because Toru told him that his sister rarely fought and she mainly studied spells instead.

He took out a flashlight from his bag and he pointed it down the stairs. Touma was a cautious man and he searched for any sign of a subclass or traps within the room. He was taken aback when Akira sat on the stair rail and simply allowed gravity to slide her to the bottom. He rushed down the steps after her with the concern that her reckless action would lead to her being hurt.

Akira landed safely on the ground and she studied the dimly lit room. She heard Touma stop behind her and she gestured for him to look up. “The lighting in this room is more modern than the rest of the church. Someone has been maintaining this room long after the time the Count would’ve been alive. Do you know what caused C3 to think that this place belonged to him?”

“They don’t tell the combat team details like that.” She didn’t know whether his answer was honest or not. It was reasonable that C3 wouldn’t divulge sensitive information about the Creator of the Servamps to a sorcerer. Yet, she felt as if he knew more. He ran his finger over a small television and said, “There’s a lot of dust here so the person left it long ago. Let’s hope they left behind something that will help us.”

“C3 has a lot of secrets, don’t they? Toru joined because he wants to protect people but I’m worried C3 has another goal. My family has been working here for generations. It’s the same for other families that I’ve spoken with: the Alicein, Tsukimitsu and Kurumamori...” She listed the prominent families within the organization. “What about you, Tai-chan?”

“I thought it would be a way to have people call my name for once.” He didn’t expand on his reason further.

Touma found the light switch and flipped the light on. The room was mostly barren and he searched for where the documents could be hidden. Akira walked to the bookcase standing against the wall. She pulled down as many books she could and said, “How much time do we have to look through these books to find the best ones to bring back? We can’t carry so many books.”

“I’ll text Iori and see if they’re willing to wait for a few hours.” Touma took out his phone. In the corner of his eyes, he watched Akira shuffle through the bookcase. He noticed how she struggled with a book even though she should be strong enough to pull it free.

Finally, the book gave way and the entire shelf shifted as well. Akira looked up to see heavy books fall towards her. She instinctively wrapped her arms over her head to protect herself from the impact. A warm force pushed her forward slightly but she didn’t feel the pain she expected. She didn’t move until she heard the books stop falling. She opened her eyes and she realized the warmth on her back was Touma. He was standing over her and he used his body to shield her from the books.

“Your brother would’ve annoyed me if you got hurt.” He said before she could question why he had protected her. Touma didn’t know if he was saying the excuse to himself more than anyone. “I’ll text Iori and Toru and tell them to come down to help carry these books back to C3. This place is full of dust and I don’t want to stay here for long.”

“Wait, there’s something more important than books right now!” She grabbed his arm before he could call the others. Akira pointed to the large clock that was hidden behind the bookcase. “This clock has the sins written on it and it must be connected to the Servamps. It’s too large to bring it back to C3. We need to stay here to study it.”

“This is going to be a long night.” Touma sighed to himself but he sat next to Akira to help her investigate the clock.

Akira knocked on the apartment door and she waited for Touma to answer. She shifted her bag to her hands and eased the weight from her shoulder. While they did their best to collect data from the church, there was only so much they could investigate in a day. They decided to take the documents back to the headquarters for the research department. The large clock they found wouldn’t leave her mind and she wanted to discuss it with Touma.

The door opened the slightest amount and she found Tsurugi standing in front of her rather than Touma. She smiled down at him and he seemed to recognize her as he opened the door wider. A door chain kept her from entering though. “Hello, Tsurugi, I’m here to see Tai-chan. Is he home? I forgot to text him to check if he’s free to talk before I drove all the way here. Oh, I brought cookies for you.”

“Cookies like the ones from last time?” He asked with a frown and she chuckled in response.

“I bought these cookies from a bakery.” Akira reassured him and she pulled out a bag of cookies to show him. He closed the door but she could hear him unlock the chain for her to enter.

Tsurugi opened the door for her again and she stepped into the apartment. She couldn’t call it a home. The room only had the barest amount of furniture to provide a sitting area and a place to eat. The sterile walls didn’t hold picture frames or anything else to personalize the room. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve said the house was merely a stage rather than a place where people lived. She expected an apartment with a child to have more.

“Tai-chan is taking a bath right now.” Tsurugi told her as he walked back to the table where he had been working on his summer assignments. There were takeout containers sitting on the corner of the table and they were arranged in a neat square. They likely finished eating shortly before she came to visit them.

“Does Tai-chan buy fast food for you to eat often?” She asked and he nodded. Considering Touma’s busy schedule, she could imagine how difficult it was to cook a proper meal every day but it was unhealthy to eat out so much. The thought of Tsurugi eating alone also made her sympathetic. Her own parents worked often but she had her brother to eat dinner with at least.

She sat next to Tsurugi and glanced at his homework. Akira noticed that Tsurugi had two copies of the assignment placed next to each other. He had copied the answer from the booklet that was already completed. “It’s not good to cheat on your homework, Tsurugi. You won’t learn if you do that. How about I help you with the hard questions?”

“This is my summer journal. I don’t have anything to write about. It’s boring to say I fly paper airplanes by myself. They won’t believe me if I said I wrote a magic spell with Miss. Akira.” He pointed to the neatly printed kanji on the cover of Touma’s old journal. “I already asked Tai-chan for help. He said that he was the same in middle school and he would make something up. That’s hard so I’m copying him.”

She noticed that the name on the cover was different from the name that Tsurugi and Toru would call him. She read the name out loud, “Taishi Touma. Tai-chi is a cute nickname. I don’t know why he didn’t tell me what his name actually was when I called him that.”

“Tai-chan has a lot of names. The people he works with would call him Touma. His parents called him Ashtray.” Akira almost thought she misheard Tsurugi when he told her about Touma’s parents. He was only eight years old and too young to fully understand her shock.

Tsurugi flipped to a blank page of his journal and said, “Tai-chan promised that he would take me outside to play soccer tomorrow so I’ll have something to write about. I hope work won’t make him break his promise again.”

Akira wanted to reassure him that Touma wouldn’t break his promise to spend the day with him but she couldn’t. While she only joined C3 recently, she had seen how much control the organization had over people’s lives. She patted his dark hair and asked, “Do you have friends who live nearby? Maybe you can go to their house and play.”

Tsurugi silently shook his head and her heart squeezed painfully. She thought of advice she could give him. “I was a shy girl when I was your age and it was difficult for me to make friends too. I find that it was easier to approach someone while they’re playing. You can ask to join. Is there something that you like to do that you can play with others?”

“Tai-chan is really great at making paper airplanes that fly super far! He taught me.” Tsurugi began to fold a piece of paper to show her. “He’s smart and good at making things. He bakes cookies too. Tai-chan said that, one day, he’ll make a Serv—”

“Tsurugi, you shouldn’t bother our guest with useless information about me.” Touma interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. “I thought I told you to not let anyone into the house without telling me first.”

He stepped into the room with his hair wet and a towel over his shoulders. His shirt wasn’t buttoned properly because he rushed out of the shower when he heard Tsurugi speaking with someone in the kitchen. Touma and Akira were both surprised to see the other. She couldn’t stop herself from staring at him longer than she intended. He was tall and lean but she was surprised by how toned his body was. She thought of how he had protected her from the falling books earlier that day.

“Is there a reason you’re visiting me? We both work at C3 so you could’ve waited until we saw each other tomorrow.” Touma lifted Tsurugi off the chair and then he placed him on the ground. The child seemed to understand him because he carried his homework into his room. He waited until he heard the door close before he sat across from Akira. “How did you learn where I live?”

“I asked my brother.” Akira placed her bag on the counter and she explained the reason for her visit. “I want to talk to you about the clock we found. I’m really curious about how it could be connected to the Servamps. Since I haven’t been in C3 for long, they won’t let a novice like me handle such a sensitive investigation. I was hoping you’ll help me. You’re smart.”

“Too smart to investigate something connected to the Servamps without C3’s permission.” Touma lied. He had been researching the method to create a Servamp for the past year. “C3 has been visiting places associated with the creator of Servamps, whether it’s to destroy his research or something else. The clock has the sins written on it but I doubt the Count was the one who built it. Most of the books we found were focused on werewolves and the moon.”

He took out a cigarette and lighted it. Before he could take a long drag, Akira reached across the table and she took the cigarette from his fingers. He glared at her and she gave him a stern expression of her own. “You shouldn’t smoke when Tsurugi is living with you. That’s second hand smoke and it’s bad for a kid’s help. You’re twenty one so you shouldn’t be smoking either.”

She walked to the sink and stomped out the cigarette. Akira threw the bud into the garbage and she noticed the pizza box inside. She glanced to the take out containers on the table. “I didn’t expect you to have such a bachelor life style.”

“I hope this makes you think I’m too unreliable to help you with your clock. If that was the only thing you wanted to discuss with me, there’s nothing more to say.” He said but he doubted he could chase her out of his house so easily. She was more stubborn than her brother. Touma watched her lean against the counter and fold her arms over her chest.

“Tsurugi said you bake cookies. Can you teach me?” The sudden change of topic took him by surprise. Touma wondered how much Tsurugi had told her before he interrupted them. “I’m a great cook but my baking skills aren’t that good. I try to follow recipes but my version never turned out that... sweet. If you teach me some recipes, I’ll cook dinner for you and Tsurugi.”

“We’re both busy so it’ll be almost impossible to make time to do that.” He pointed out.

“Well, people would also say that meeting a werewolf is impossible. Think about my offer, for Tsurugi’s sake at least.” She walked back to him and she picked up her bag from the table. “I’ll see tomorrow, Taishi.”

Akira also called to Tsurugi that she was leaving but Touma barely heard her voice through his shock. He hadn’t expected her to call him by his first name. Touma could only stare at the door after she left. After years of his parents’ deafening screams, he had given up on someone calling his name the way Akira did. Most would only call him by his surname or Tai-chan since their death. He had almost forgotten his name.

“I bought everything we need to make curry, Taishi. I can make enough to have leftovers for tomorrow.” Akira called as she let herself into Touma’s apartment. Over the past few months, she would visit him and they would cook a meal for Tsurugi together. She wasn’t able to see him often yet he found himself looking forward to those nights despite himself.

He stood from his desk to help her carry the bags to the kitchen. “Tsurugi is staying over at his friend’s home tonight so you don’t have to cook a meal for us.”

“Then, this will be just dinner for two.” She shrugged as she opened the cupboard that held the pots. Akira had cooked in his apartment so often that she knew the kitchen layout as well as her own home. Touma was surprised by her direct answer. He had assumed that the reason she would cook dinner for them was for Tsurugi’s sake. He wondered if she could read his mind when she added, “I like cooking with you.”

“You’re a woman with strange taste in men.” He muttered to himself. He couldn’t think of a reason she would be interested in him when he didn’t have a powerful name or a high rank in C3. Touma opened a jar of liquorice strings and he chewed on the sweet. After she had lectured him about smoking, she bought the candy for him he to chew on when he felt the need to smoke.

“That better not be a cigarette. I thought I told you that smoking is bad.” He was confused by her words because it was impossible for her to mistake the candy for a cigarette. She grabbed his tie and she gently pulled him closer to him until she could take a bite of the long liquorice. Akira wore a grin as she leaned back. “You like bitter chocolate and liquorice. You’re the one with strange tastes, Taishi.”

She stepped back to finish cooking but Touma wrapped his arms around her waist. He pulled her against his chest and then he cupped her face. As he leaned down, she rose onto her toes to meet his kiss.

#servamp #touma taishi #touma and akira #akira shirota #tsurugi kamiya #fanfiction

37 notes · View notes