A Means to an End | Katsuki Bakugou x Male Reader

Chapter 27

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In the stunned reaction that followed, (M/N) was aware of one sound. Nezu's laughter. (M/N) saw him bend forward, blood spewing from his mouth until the guards blocked him from his sight.

As the grey uniforms began to converge on (M/N), he thought of what his brief future as the assassin of Panem's new president held. The interrogation, probably torture, certain public execution. Having, yet again, to say his final goodbyes to a handful of people who still maintained a hold on his heart. The prospect of facing his mother, who would now be entirely left alone in the world, decided it.

"Goodnight," he whispered to the bow in his hand and felt it go still. He raised his left arm and twisted his neck down to rip off the pill on his sleeve. Instead his teeth sank into flesh. (M/N) yanked his head back in confusion to find himself looking into Katsuki's eyes, only now they held his gaze. Blood ran from the teeth marks on the hand he clamped over the nightlock. "Let me go!" (M/N) snarled at him, trying to wrestle his arm free from Katsuki's grasp.

"I can't," he said. As they pulled (M/N) away, he felt the pocket ripped from his sleeve, saw the deep violet pill fall to the ground, and watched Keigo's final gift get crunched under a guard's boot. (M/N) transformed into a wild animal, kicking, clawing, biting, doing whatever he could to free himself from this web of hands as the crowd pushed in. The guards lifted him up above the fray, where he continued to thrash as he was conveyed over the crush of people.

In the mansion, they handcuffed and blindfolded him. He was half dragged, half carried down long passages, up and down lifts, and deposited on a carpeted floor. The cuffs were removed and a door slammed closed behind him. When he pushed the blindfold up, he found himself in his old room at the Training Centre. The one where he lived during those last precious days before his first Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell. The bed was stripped to the mattress, the closet gaped open, showing the emptiness inside, but (M/N) would know this room anywhere.

He peeled off his Mockingjay suit and curled up on the mattress. Jumping to death wasn't an option - the window glass had to be at least half a metre thick. He could make an excellent noose, but there was nothing to hang himself from. Taking his life was the Capitol's privilege. Again.

What he could do was give up. He spent his time singing. At the window, in the shower, in his sleep. All the songs his father taught him before he died, since there had certainly been very little music in his life since. Days passed, weeks. His meals appeared from the mysterious kitchen. He would watch the snow fall on the ledge outside his window. And in all that time, his voice was the only one he heard.

What were they doing, anyway? What was the holdup out there? How difficult could it be to arrange the execution of one murderous boy? Then a terrible thought hit him: what if they weren't going to kill him? What if they had more plans for him? A new way to remake, train, and use him?

He wouldn't do it. If he couldn't kill himself in this room, he would take the first opportunity outside of it to finish the job. They could feed him. They could give him a full body polish, dress him up and make him amazing again. They could design dream weapons that came to life in his hands, but they would never again brainwash him into the necessity of helping them. He no longer felt any allegiance to the monsters called human beings, despite being one himself. He began to think Katsuki was onto something about them destroying one another and letting some decent species take over. Because something was significantly wrong with a creature that sacrificed its children's lives to settle its differences. Nezu thought the Hunger Games were an efficient means of control. Kaina thought the parachutes would end the war. But in the end, who did it benefit? No one. The truth was, it benefitted no one to live in a world where those things happened.