shoot to miss

concrete

notes:
chapter tws: kidnapping, torture, graphic descriptions of blood and violence, murder
take care of yourselves!!

knives out ; radiohead
goodbye ; sewerslvt

October 1997

It doesn't take a genius to know that Hirofumi has fucked up. Big time. He wakes up tied to a chair, head throbbing and mouth gagged with a greasy rag. His wrists are tied in a clumsy knot behind his back, the fraying rope rubbing his skin raw. He's sure that it's going to blister to hell and back by the time he gets out of this.

No, it's not the first time this has happened, but he'd certainly hoped the last time that it wouldn't happen again. Clearly, without Denji around, he's gotten careless.

His prison is dark and damp, spots of mold clinging to the peeling drywall. A heavy metallic tang hangs stagnant in the air, the scent sharp and grating on Hirofumi's nerves– he can't tell if it's rust or blood or perhaps a combination of the two. The sound of water dripping down from a crack in the ceiling onto the floor is omnipresent, a steady drip drop that is driving Hirofumi insane. He hasn't even been awake for five minutes and he's already sick of everything to do with this. Can't a kidnapper keep him in a luxury hotel room for once?

Judging by the distant clankings outside the building, Hirofumi is somewhere deep in the industrial district, probably a few blocks from Denji's house where the junkyards– a wasteland filled with semi-demolished buildings and excess waste– are. A far cry from a luxury hotel room, to say the least.

There aren't any windows– the only glimpse outside is through the crack beneath the doorframe on the opposite side of the room. The rest of the place is covered in a combination of drywall and scrappy wallpaper with barren concrete, cracked in more places than not, peeking through just underneath. There are a few empty shelves lying around and a couple of metal bars, presumably for construction, but with his arms tied up like this, they aren't going to be any help.

Hirofumi shifts slightly in his chair to check for injuries– lackeys who do kidnapping jobs are never careful, not unless it's someone important. They handle targets like shipping crates, tossing them around, and dragging them across the floor like objects. It's rare to see a kidnapping where the victim isn't hurt in some way or another.

The kidnapper had knocked him out with a blow to the back of his head. It hurts horribly whenever he thinks about it and the rusty smell in his nose is probably the scent of his own dried blood. It's caked down the back of his neck and into his uniform– he can feel the stiffness of the neckline and, if he strains his eyes while glancing down, he can catch the barest glimpse of muddy brown on off-white. It's likely he's concussed if the aching headache and difficulty focusing is anything to go by.

The back of his shirt is in tatters and his back is scratched as well, probably from where they dragged him across the roof. The joint of his wrist hurts like a little bitch and his face feels swollen and bruised, but his injuries aren't that extensive.

It's okay. Hirofumi can work with this, no doubt, but whether or not he escapes immediately or stays to question the kidnapper is the question.

As he goes through the mental checklist of his vitals (the faint memory of Kishibe drilling the proper kidnapping procedure into him not yet lost), he feels a familiar dig of cold metal on his forearm. His knife.

Those idiots. The dried blood on his face cracks as a genuine grin spreads across his face, as best as it can with a rag stuffed in his mouth. He wiggles his left leg from where it's tied to the leg of the chair. The familiar weight of his handgun against his shin is there as well– small, but comforting nonetheless.