Love, Chaos, Misery and Life.

The Fall

Giyu found himself wandering around the city in a daze, he didn't know where he was going, nor did he care. He stopped outside a parking lot, his eyes fixed on a certain motorbike. It was the one he was going to buy to try and impress the gang, back when he thought he could.

The sound of the motorbike roared through the darkened street, a piercing echo in the still night air. Giyu gripped the handlebars tightly, his knuckles white with the force of his anger. The world around him blurred into streaks of light and shadow as he sped through the city, his mind consumed by a storm of rage, betrayal and despair. The cold wind howled in his ears, but it was nothing compared to the tempest raging within him.

Shinobu's words echoed endlessly in his head: "I love you." They felt like poison now, bitter and mocking. How could she say that, after everything she'd done? How could she expect him to believe it, after using him as a pawn, a mere target in her twisted game? The memories of their time together—the stolen moments of laughter, the shared glances and comforting silences—were now tainted, shattered by the now cruel truth of her deception.

He felt like a fool. He had let himself be drawn into her world, let himself that she cared, that their friendship was real, and could be more. But it was all a lie. The anger twisted in his chest, so intense now, it felt almost unbearable. The more he thought about it, about her, he pushed the bike, its speed climbing recklessly as the engine roared underneath him, almost trying to warn him. But nothing could stop Giyu now, no amount of warning or consoling. His heart pounding in time with the machine, his thoughts a mix of chaos and confusion.

The cities lights, streaks of gold and white as he flew by, a beautiful painting in front of him, but Giyu didn't care anymore, barely registering them. He couldn't focus. He couldn't think properly. His mind was a maelstrom of rage and sorrow, and all he wanted to do was try and outrun it, to escape the suffocating weight of this own emotion, but he couldn't, it didn't matter how hard he pushed that bike, he couldn't outrun his own thoughts, the pain stayed with him, growing heavier with each passing second.

Shinobu's face flashed in his mind—her tears, her desperate plea, "I love you!"—and for a moment, a flicker of doubt crept into his heart, what if she really was telling the truth? What if she really did care? But the doubt was quickly smothered with the overwhelming ache of betrayal. He couldn't trust her. Not after everything.

Without warning, Giyu swerved too hard around a corner, his focus snapping too late. His hands slipped on the handlebars, and the bike lurched violently, its tires screeching against the pavement. Panic shot through him, but before he could react, before he could even try to regain control, the bike skidded out from underneath him, and he was thrown into the air.

The world seemed to slow down in that instant. For a brief, surreal moment, Giyu felt weightless, suspended in the air as the city lights spun above him. Then, with a sickening thud, he crashed to the ground. Pain exploded through his body, a blinding, all-consuming agony that tore through him like fire. He skidded across the asphalt, his body twisting and contorting with the impact, before finally coming to a stop in a crumpled heap.

Silence followed. The one-roaring engine was now nothing more than a distant hum in the night. Giyu lay motionless on the cold pavement, the sharp scent of blood and gasoline filling the air. His vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges. The pain was unbearable, radiating from every bone, every muscle, every inch of his body. He tried to move, tried to cry out, but no sound came. His chest heaved with shallow, ragged breathes as his consciousness flickered, like a candle fighting against the wind.

Then, everything went black.

The hospital was eerily quiet, the sterile white walls and the hum of the machines were the only sounds that filled the room. Giyu lay in the hospital bed, his body battered and broken, tubes and wires connecting him to a myriad of medical devices. His face was pale, bruised and swollen, a far cry from the once composed, stoic expression he usually wore. His chest rose and fell in shallow, steady breaths, but his eyes remained closed, unresponsive to the world around him.