As Above (So Below)

Chapter Five: Limbo

Satoru stepped off the train to deafening fanfare, the wall of oppressive noise enough to make his head burst into pangs. He smiled his way through it, waving and grinning and generally being a showy douchebag. He wondered, privately, what parts of his presumably spliced-up volunteering had been aired. Had they kept in the bit of him name-dropping his clan? Did they edit out the anguished cries of his kids? How much of his soul had they cut from the broadcasting? Secretly, Satoru was comforted by the prospect - the Capital wasn't stealing everything from him. He'd be pressured to play a part, sure, but that was a little compromise in the wake of the soul-bearing many outlying districts' tributes were about to have to do.

Toji ushered him in front of Takeda, leading him toward the Capital Tribute Affairs building (CTA - so similar to CTS - two sides of the same terrible coin) and the Peacekeepers waiting to take them there. The building was tall, a hulking eyesore with large windows, reaching to the sky like a hand torn from the grave, the corpse of it a reminder of the bodycount to come. The Peacekeepers held out their arms in perfectly straight lines, motioning to a large, armored black car. Satoru looked around, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of any of the other tributes, but all he saw were the pale, garish faces of the Capital crowd. He smiled again, watching them eat it up with a gluttonous look in their eyes that made him nauseated. He wanted to scream - to curse them out, beat them, string them up the way Sukuna had all those years ago. But Sukuna killed Tributes - nobody had ever had the gall to kill anyone in the Capital. Maybe Satoru would be the first. Maybe Satoru would snap like no one else had.

It was a pipe dream, of course.

They'd slaughter the kids the second he made a move.

They'd all be in body bags that very same day.

He got buckled in beside Toji, pressing his face against the cool, tinted glass of the window, looking out at the glamorous, falsely beautiful landscape of the city. It breathed with people, all flocking toward the CTA building, all trying to get their fill of the incoming canon fodder. Satoru's stomach tied itself into knots. Takeda and Shears were in the row behind them, conversing in low tones. The excited bounce in Takeda's voice had started to fade as she realized what she'd gotten herself into. Satoru suddenly understood Toji's insistence on their naivety - to volunteer and not understand you were almost as likely to die as everyone else... it was almost morbidly funny.

"What's the itinerary looking like for our first day?" Satoru asked Mei-Mei, who was seated in the front, beside the clearly avoxxed driver.

"We're going straight up to your floor, where we'll get you introduced to your stylists and all ready for the tribute parade," She smiled, leaning in almost conspiratorially, "You might even get a glimpse of all of the other tributes before the chariot ride begins." That meant peacocking right from the start. Satoru could do that - he was already in the mindset. No career escaped the debasing destruction of their image - the permanent, everlasting arrogant persona sewn onto the skeleton of a terrified, misguided child. He knew what they'd see - an egotistical ass so set on volunteering he disregarded the rules, callous and violent, obsessed with himself. He'd never be anything more than that, even if he won. He'd never escape it.

Satoru Gojo - the real Satoru Gojo - had died the moment he stepped on that podium.

The car turned into a large parking garage, passing several gates manned by armed Peacekeepers. They were dressed differently - flamboyantly, almost, like a falsified, glamorized version of the ones stationed in the districts. Their outfits were pearly, opalescent white instead of the flat, opaque white Satoru was used to. They glimmered in the overhead lights, like pearls plucked fresh from clams - like the consumerism of taking something unneeded from a breathing thing. Luxurious in their violence. Haughty in their cruelty. Satoru smiled at each one of them as the car drove by - there was no telling who was watching him now.