The Wild Geese || DAZAI OSAMU/CHUUYA NAKAHARA

[十七] JUDAS, TRAITOR.

TW: Self harm. Happy reading!

"Excellent work," Mori applauds you the moment you enter the conference room, the footage of your killings on tape. You scoff and lean against the doorframe. "My dear one."

"Don't call me that," You snap, yanking a chair back and smashing yourself against the plush velvet. You cross your arms and glare at the executives staring back at you, your mind still cooling down from the adrenaline running through your veins. You felt like bloodshed incarnate, a monster with blood still streaming down its fangs. You felt like you were capable of murdering everyone in this room. "I'm not dear to anyone."

"Perhaps," Mori purrs, his dulcet tone sounding grainy and rough to your ears. "But you are to me. My creation. Mine."

"I'm not yours no more, old man," You say, angrily. "You've lost me ages ago."

Chuuya stares at you and Mori's conversation with curious eyes, unflinching when you jolt up and smash your palms down on the table and roar at him, going as far as to jab a finger at him. What mysteries remain to be revealed within you, like Neanderthal graves, where corpses were placed in a foetal position, as though for rebirth: the deceased had to take the next step for themselves. It was almost like he was watching a stunted phoenix, unable to rebirth despite its feathers shedding—he was watching failed flight. He was watching a dead bird fluttering around, unable to leave ground.

"Sit down, (first name)," Chuuya snaps back into reality and hears a tone of sternness in Boss's voice. You huff at him.

"Answer my question first."

"What did you ask?" Chuuya pipes up. You turn your fiery gaze onto him.

"Why did you create me? If I was to be replaced so quickly?" Your voice had a shade of agony to it. "You had a fetish for my powers. Now you're abandoning me?"

"I never abandoned you, (First name)," Mori's voice is placid, calm. "You abandoned us. You were the first to leave."

"Well, now I'm back," You say, flopping back onto your chair. "Why am I never good enough for you? Even as a kid I was never good enough."

"You were," Mori says. "You outdid yourself every time. But that is not why we are gathered here today. We're here to speak of the vigilante group that has managed to breach Port Mafia grounds and into headquarters."

"You think they got in from the inside out?" Chuuya asks. That makes Kouyou bring a sleeve up to her mouth.

"Are you insinuating there is a traitor with us?" She asks. Chuuya's thin brows furrow.

"There could be. We don't know," He says. "I say we clamp down on this operation and make it absolutely top secret. Only selected personnel can know about this."

"Yes, that seems like a good plan," Mori agrees. He turns back to you. You're rolling your eyes and clicking your tongue against the corrugated roof of your crude mouth. "I trust (first name) to annihilate anyone who tries to breach this delicate dome."

"Yeah, yeah," You wipe the dried, crusted blood off your face and it flakes off in brown bits. "I'll do all your dirty work. As always."

"This operation cannot reach the public," Mori warns. His voice is dark and filled with authority. There is blood spilt in his voice, singing in the dark shade of his voice. "If it were to, we would be met with protests and general outrage."

"Even the damned Agency might get on our ass for that," Chuuya snorts, leaning back on his chair. "Those bastards."

You exhale out of your nose at the mention of the Agency. How they seemed like heaven compared to this hell you were in. You could never reach heaven; someone like you was damned to purgatory for eternity, forever having to undo their wrongs and unknot their crimes. Your crimes were a thick tangle, a thick bush of thorns and brambles, and any attempt to unravel you would result in bloodied fingers. Blood was always accompanying you no matter the situation. It was simply a given. Which made you very dangerous to come near.