DARK RED ‣ d. osamu

O2.

   THREE GUNSHOTS RANG OUT. the realization of pain shot through her quickly, harsher than the piercing metal of the bullets themselves. right above her "heart"—no, right on her heart, her aorta. the beating organ faltered as blood shot out from her chest; she fell to the floor once again just as she stood up, coughing up blood from her lungs. the cold brunette strolled right in front of her, his leg on her back.

   "remember when you teased and insulted me?" dazai's voice processed into her ears, which were starting to malfunction. "you're going to die now. too bad you got to have freedom before me. oh, and i'll never forgive you. i really took that to heart, you know? funny, because, you won't have one any time sooner after this!"

   he was met with only silence. her coughs had subsided, and she turned her head slowly to face him, on the ground suffering. "maybe you're right. this is freedom."

   more blood began to spill out. dazai would show no mercy, and [name] knew that. if only she had never said those words. if only she had kept her mouth shut the moment she saw him on the streets with his parents and the moment she saw him enter the classroom for the first time.

   a knife was nearly twisted into her wound, but the boy decided against that. he ordered the gunmen to stop.

"let's take her back. i can torture her more after this."

   the men nodded, and she was knocked unconscious with a bat, adding more to her previously healed head wound.

┕━☽【❖】☾━┙

   she woke up. a strange, dry feeling on her cheek. reaching to touch it gently, a shot of hot-red pain was injected into her body. there was a bloody handprint on her cheek. a dead body lay beside her on the floor, while she was in a chair. it was the body of some unknown woman that was most likely tortured or interrogated. there were bandages wrapped around her, her uniform replaced with a long t-shirt and baggy sweats. bandages on her head, chest, and neck. at this point, she'd be dazai osamu's double stunt. after a few minutes of moving, the pain wasn't as intense as before.

   there were chains and ropes on her. from what she guessed, [name] assumed dazai was in some sort of criminal organization, definitely not of low standing: he was commanding an entire squad of gunmen with dangerous weapons.

   speak of the devil. while she was trying to free herself from the binds, he strolled in as if it were a casual tuesday morning. "good evening! i bet you didn't expect this to happen after you got ready for school and sat through a day of boring lessons."

gathering her facade charge, she responded with, "who changed my clothes?"

   a chuckle rang out. "i shot you, knocked you out, and tied you up, yet this is what you're worried about?"

"tell me, would you? i wouldn't have wanted some old man changing them."

   he glared, his piercing eye color boring into hers. "what you want or need isn't my problem or necessity. but if you really wanna know, kouyou changed them."

   she could only nod slowly, before the pain overtook her again. "you must be in a lot of pain. well, since the boss insisted, i should go easy on you, but i think otherwise."

"what organization do you work for?" she attempted to ask. i think i already know this one.

however, his answer was unexpected, yet she expected no less from him.

"port mafia."

   she didn't respond after that. the next moment she knew, the chains and ropes were gone, the bloody weight off her shoulders. her bandages were soaked with dried blood by then. he was terrifying, yet she saw nothing but a lonely, angered child, who was affected by her endless 'torture.'

   dazai started to lead her to the main hall of what seemed to be the port mafia's headquarters. she took time to admire the pillars and mosaic paintings. whoever made this building was intensely skilled and knew how to work with their materials. compared to the rumors she'd heard, the headquarters were ethereal. there was no blood in sight, unlike what she'd seen down at the place she was kept in. the place smelled like fresh lemon and a hint of cedar wood. perhaps i should consider joining myself just for the decorative. nah, they'd make me kill.

   for just a moment, [name] could see why dazai liked architecture so much. his living quarters were surrounded by the art of it. back in school, he would pay attention to history with an amused smile on his face, as the teacher described the ancient buildings made by the greeks, romans, and egyptians. their techniques and old methods were fascinating, and their symmetry was perfect. it was almost unreal compared to those flat, boring modern houses that were popular nowadays. he stopped at a door, and she paused as well. he opened the door and walked in nonchalantly, as she followed behind like a dog in captivity.

"you said you wanted to talk to her, mori."

   dazai's voice alerted the boss, as the man named mori rose from his seat. "hello. i've heard loads about you from my right-hand, and i'd like to propose an offer."

   she listened intently. a guaranteed escape? an order to live here, peacefully? a rule made for the terrifying man to stay away from her?

   all her life, [name] had been curious, and she was curious about everything. this led to many problems, and the one curiosity that she should stroll up to the young boy and start insulting him led to disaster. a hellhole.

   that's what the port mafia was. puppets controlled with a single, thin string by the port mafia boss, as there had been rumors of a future escapee. dazai was free from the puppeteer himself, unable to be controlled, and if mori tried to kill him, that'd be a benefit for the suicidal boy. he walked around with a bomb in his mouth, ready to spill the beans any moment that the port mafia boss couldn't decipher. he was eerie, had no will to live, was replaced with emptiness, and might be hiding his real name and identity somewhere all along. how similar to yozo ouba he was—born into a rich and pleasant family, but somewhere across the sea of time did he screw up, and his life seemingly restarted. he was thrown into a new lifestyle of everyday torture, with anxiety, boredom, and limited moments of happiness. he loved nothing, he believed in nothing. dazai was simply complicated, you couldn't make out anything from his appearance and behavior alone, his facade owing up to what he calls 'clowning,' his last attempt for love directed at humanity. there was nothing inside his body except for pills and pathetic ounces of water.

"join the port mafia, [name]."

what? am i hearing this correctly?

"WHAT?!" both dazai and [name] yelled in harmony.