To conduct the singing misfortune [Dazai and Reader]

Meursault

"We're going in at cell block one," Chuuya mutters, his breath appearing in the air before us, clouding into nothing. We stood on air, huddled together in the cold of the heights and observing Meursault from above. It's modern architecture mixed with the appearance of a gothic castle. It's as eccentric as an ability user containment facility can get.

Chuuya brings his hand from my shoulder, pointing his gloved finger to one point in the prison, "I go in there, you go in through there. No pizzazz about it. Simple movements that maintain animalistic, hunting characteristics." Chuuya reiterates the act, and his pointer finger drifts to the different openings.

I glance at him, then to the slight distance between where he points, "We go different ways to make it look less organised...?" He nods, "It'll look like a methodical act on the Port Mafia's side to cooperate by going in together. If there's even the slightest chance that news of that suspicion could reach the cells, it's over. We don't interact with each other unless necessary – We're there for Dostoevsky, nothing else."

"Right."

Chuuya slams us both onto the roof, the cement crumbling into a crater around our feet. I yelp, regaining my balance and the chains on my boots rattling, and he releases me from his arms. Chuuya holds his finger over his mouth. It signals going into character, and he makes the floor collapse under us.

We land in the middle of a hallway, cell block one, and swiftly go our separate ways amidst the cacophony of bullets and blaring alarms.

Chuuya sends the bullets back at them whilst I activate my ability. Already, I can tell this will be exhausting, one by one having the armed security fall to their deaths and then bullets skim past my clothes. I had to use both fortune and misfortune simultaneously, which, since it's a new skill, it's an incredible strain. The hallways are never-ending, panic blasting over the systems as personnel are ordered to take armed positions.

I'm in no rush as if taking a stroll and simply looking ahead to the doors. I type randomly onto the panels and get them correct by chance, enter the hall, watch the personnel collapse to their nails, sustain a few cuts, and move on to the next.

Each hallway took about ten seconds, so while I wasn't as efficient as Chuuya, the damage was still enough for our combined efforts to trigger a substantial backup. I meet up with Chuuya again through the winding halls, making no reaction to his presence, and continue individually deciding fortunes.

Bullets fly, red surrounding them, and they soar in the opposite direction to the owner. My fog fills the room, avoiding Chuuya, and the door opens again before we can move on.

A tall, blond man with a rolled cigarette clutched in his grin, a nasty deep scar over the centre of his face. Without issue, Chuuya fights him, swinging his dense fist. I'm thankful the eye contacts don't allow me to see that well, hearing bones crush into metal walls, the groaning of the hallway as it crumples under gravity reverberating.

The man ends up collapsing against a wall, blood running down his face, and he croaks out with an unbothered grin, "Right... Lemme tell you something... Do you know the 'Hundred Hands' Briareus? Strongest special-forces security guard in this prison?" Neither of us responded, and the man's smile lessened as his body gave in, "Well, he's the man right in front of you. You did well.." He gradually tips forward, "Very... well..." He falls to the floor.

Chuuya steps away, and we proceed through the halls.

A set of guards rush somewhere ahead of us, their boots slamming against the tiled floors, and we follow them as they hit and push open the door before them. They point their weapons ahead, "Prisoner D-18! Don't move!" Fyodor's code. A jester disappears into his cloak and happily leaves the room. "Put both your hands up. Resist, and you're dead." None of their weapons fired as my fog entered the room, each jamming, and Chuuya eliminated them.