Successfully blocking a previous attack had sapped a great deal of strength and rendered you powerless to defend yourself. A second was all it took - a second of wavering concentration and Akutagawa's attack broke straight through your wall.
"Agh," you cried, grabbing hold of your shoulder as blood began rolling freely down your arm. "Damn it, Aku, can't you at least give me a break-"
You threw out a hand, tracing a crooked arc mid-air, just in time to stop another attack. You managed to knock Akutagawa briefly off balance as you smashed his Rashomon into the ground, before you doubled over, lungs screaming for breath. So much for a break.
"Hm." He gave a clipped nod, lowering his coat back to his side as he circled around you. "That'll do. Someone's expecting you at the shooting range." He left the room without another word.
Exhaling a long sigh, you slid to the floor with your back against the wall, panting heavily, and wiped the back of your hand along your forehead, whisking away the sweat breaking out across your skin.
You'd been training like this for the past week, alternating between offence and defence, between your ability and firearm practice. Your wounds had healed to some extent, but you were still bruised-up pretty badly, and often missed out on sleep as a result of it.
But Akutagawa had told you to get strong.
And who were you but a pawn under his command?
Alas, all hope was not lost yet, for you had spent the better half of your sleepless nights rooting out any blind spots in the base's security. With your body still on the mend, your time concealed in the shadows was limited, but it had been enough to unearth a number of flaws in the rotation system of the guards.
Now, it was merely a matter of meticulous planning and caution. If you were apprehended during your escape, there was no doubt you'd be killed on the spot.
With your pulse back to its usual rhythm, you bounced back onto your feet and left the room, relying on your vague recollection of the building to navigate the winding corridors.
Passing a door hanging partially ajar, you caught snippets of a hushed conversation that instantly snagged your curiosity. Stealing a glance through the doorway revealed nothing but an empty room, so you assumed whoever was speaking was further inside.
Feeling the floor beneath you tremble with approaching footsteps, you called on your ability under a single breath - "Umbral Disease" - and pressed yourself close to the wall, squeezing your eyes shut as you focused on the conversation.
"What's this about?" A male voice snapped, sounding bored and uninterested. Undoubtedly Akutagawa.
"Who is she to you?"
Your stomach gave a sharp twist as you recognised the second voice too. Akutagawa was talking to Ichiyou Higuchi; his assistant and bodyguard of-sorts. She'd overseen your firearm training once or twice, but you'd never engaged in conversation or anything beyond work-related business.
Was she talking about you?
Akutagawa responded in an infuriatingly calm tone, despite the weight his answer placed on your mind. "Nothing. She's nothing to me."
Your heart gave a lurch, gripping you with sudden nausea.
Nothing? After everything you went through together.
"I don't believe you," the woman accused, her voice sinking into a sour snarl.
Who was she, exactly? Why would she be so bothered about you?
"Why would you let her stay if she's just a nobody?"
You held your breath, anticipating Akutagawa's reply. You had to wonder the same thing.
There was a long stretch of silence, in which you had to stifle an anxious gulp, before he responded. "Because she's useful to us."
And that was it. That's all you were.
A pawn.
If you stayed there, that's all you'd ever be.
Akutagawa Ryūnosuke doesn't give a fuck whether I live or die. Why can't I get my fucking head around that fact?
You bit hard on your lip, your legs starting to wobble.
Just a fucking pawn.
With that statement burrowing into the forefront of your mind, you took off down the corridor in a blind rage.
It was a rage that seemed to fuel the haze in your vision, blinding you beyond rationality.
Now it was just you, lost in an eternal twilight, guided by the bitter need for revenge.
You would show him he had no power over you.
You would snap apart the strings of this twisted fate.
You would not be controlled.
You would not be a pawn.
It was not until you skidded straight into a lamppost did you finally snap out of your frenzy, knocked back a few paces by the force of impact. You blinked, the red haze clearing from your pupils as you noted your surroundings.
The damp air hanging heavy around you. The tremble of tyres against tarmac. The hazy blink of streetlamps. The empty theatre above, its inky curtain drawn across the horizon, illuminated briefly by a path of silver.
You'd made it outside.
You were free.
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