Snake[Izaya X Reader]

Killer puppet

"Tell me Azza. What do you see?" Fragile eyes, fragile like a thin glass through which is light of the sun coming. It makes you concern that you'll break it by slight touch.

"This person was stealing from us" someone pushes the man forwards where he's exposed in front of everyone.

"A traitor" and it seems like hate creates the coldness which begins to raise from the ground filling the lungs of man with fear.

"I-I-I'll return!! I-ll rrtirneverything!!" his eyes are wide, revealing the whiteness around dark spots in midst, which are nervously flicking around.

"I heard you're skilled" Klauss pulls a nice pair of leather gloves from his pocket. The confusion of known scene appears like deja vu. Doesn't it feels like you're unable to recall that power which your body once possessed, a set of mind strong as stone; drop by drop water of conscience corroded its way down to it's roots deep within, making you weak.

"I swear! I-I'll do anything!!" it's harder and harder to breath. Hard pounding makes every part of the skin pounding. It's so strong, it's making you deaf, there is no peace. Fright. Every single breath chokes in throat and slowly is your soul slipping out of this fragile thing called body.

"c'mon Klauss! You've known me for years" akwardly he snickers hopelessly glancing around, but at each person that he looks at, turns its eyes away from him. Without struggle they give him a cold shoulder. Traitors in closer circle of coworkers are killed by the one who is considered as leader. Then why Luke handed over this responsibility to you.

"Traitors aren't forgiven, right?" Without any compassion Klauss transmits cold vibe to others. At moment it seems like it doesn't matter if they were partners, nor friends; all that matters on the end is; are you one of us or you are not. Simple as that.

"Please!! Please!!" as you stand across the person which you know nothing about. Glance back at Klauss for approval, and something squeezes in your chest when he nods. In silence expanding arm, indicating him to give you the gloves.

Ehh...

You're a puppet. Dancing the way Luke wants you to dance. And you'll make your hands dirty if he says so, and you'll do as he says....so this is the task that he wants to be taken care of before midnight.

"Wait-!! Waait!!" Terrible chill overflows down the spine. A step towards, take a deep breath. Your palm clenches into a fist, your gaze drops into a scowl. How did it end up like this...

"No!! Noo!" he tries to escape but he's traped between people; like a headles dear, at first strays around, just to be pushed back into the middle.

"Mercy!! Mercy!!" betraying your own people is the worst and lowest! How can one betray other trust. Put in risk the whole family without a second thought. To smile in their faces and then stab them in the back. Cut them wide open and let the dogs feed with them. How does one dare to ask for forgivness, not that they regret, nor care. Pay, take responsibilty for your actions. But no matter how it is...on the end this isn't your family, your mafia. And yet it feels so familiar, and yet it opens a wound which seems to terribly burn and hurt.

"Traitors are not forgiven" out of the shoulder with force against the face. The aching after taste is nothing compared to pain of man which swings, wailing in pain. With direct kick into stomach kicking him back, creating space. A step forwards, in guard, sway hips, from shoulder. Into the jaw. In lose of balance he expands hands to creat a weak wall to protect himself. It is no good. Somehow stress from before moves its way to the adrenalin. Slapping his hands away, weak. Your hand settles on back of his head, your fingers tingle in his short hair. A direct pounch into the lower part of face. But his head is on the plate of your hand which holds it, so it doesn't bounce back. Direct punch. And again. And again. Again! Something seems to crack, the sound is by its self sore, the pain splits in scream, in redness something drops out. Kick, on the ground and it rattles when the body hits the floor. The blood is dripping from your hand on the cold ground.

"P-please.." quiet words of desperation get eaten by dead silence spreading in dreadful atmosphere. Somehow fog covers mind. Isn't this feeling somehow known to you? The noice of desperation, cracking of insane dread. Music which was once indispensable part of life. It's like going back to the origins; starting from the bottom once again.

"spare...me-" moaning scratches down the ear. Is it irritating that you'll about to take Gods role and end this persons life? Pathetic. Gates of heaven are firmly shut, clouds of dancing and merrymaking are far above. It's easier to let someone else to take the blame; It's their order, I just obey, I had nothing to do with this person, he was a traitor, he deserved it, it's his own fault. Is that what you'll say when you'll be set in front of your sins. Absent-mindedly your eyes role back to the victim. And as you blink pool of blood appears beneth his body. At once it widened out of the ground and daze feeling of being druged blurs the vision. It's different; the person which is lying on the ground. It's the same; the feeling of terror and distress is the same as it was at that moment which you can not recall. And as you blink the blood's gone. And as you blink it's back there.

"P-please..." unable to separate reality from illusion, unable to stay upright without swinging. Squat down. Running the hand through the puddle of redness, all you can feel is cold harsh floor which is time to time broken by warm puddles of blood. Pool of blood is just an illusion. At once blurred vision becomes clear and sore pain makes its way in back of the head. Thoughts are unable to be created, to be formed and make any sense; the pain, the interference coming from surrounding is taking your focus. No explanation for psychotic disorders, confused senses. Pain in head shows in sour expression when you stand back up. In slow, harsh movement you step on side of face of a man. The boot begins to sink into his skin, mixed with dirty blood. What would people think if they would see such scene. Ugly, monster, murderer. Face is the picture of inside. Lets take a picture? Aaaa!! Then why is it so smooth, young and beautiful. It makes you want to peel the skin off, it makes you sick. Somehow the thoughts are deep, at once unnoticed; they are seeping even deeper into hidden channels of your mind.

"P-" a strong kick into stomach cuts him from words; his body, it feels like a rotten apple, hitting his body feels like touching goo mellowness. Again, kick him again. From side he turns on his back releasing weeping sounds of pain, every moan is weak and it seems even breathing is an intense pain killing his spark. Look. He is struggling. Such a pathetic view. What is he fighting for? Doesn't it look familiar, doesn't it feel familiar. Hh. H-hhe. Hee. hee. Die. Die. Die. Die. Kick him. Stamp him. Smash him. Squeeze him. Suppress him. So. So much blood. The ground is painted with redness, small puddles of blood and sweat smudges in different lines of suffer. Loud wheezing, like the soul is slipping out of his body, every choke of blood makes him less sane, less alive. Glance at Klauss. All eyes are on him, the silence is broken by slight vibes of weeps which are proclaiming death. Fatal nod lightens the last possible way. The blood spurts. Hit him, kick him. Harsh trembling muscles. And it seems like steal hit the body, breaking it. Shatter what there's to be shattered. Squat down, near his head. He's breathing, choking on his own blood, drowning in dirt. Such a sad view. Those pitiful eyes are losing its spark in redness of blood. Death, makes its way over his shivering body. Oh, the agony of defeat. He weeps inconsolably, left alone with no hope. He resigns into his fate, in dread. And your hand settles on his head, twist fingers between wet hair. Slowly you pull it up, to face him. Some weak moans of pain get muted by the blood which is forcing out of his throat. Feeling of sickness, fright begins to absorbe in your body. Like your body is trying to prevent you from what you're about to do. For a moment a blank space expands in front of your eyes. Down! With all force down!! Something seems to terribly crack, the vibration of blow spreads from the ground, up the skull to your hand. Again. Smash it! Unpleasant sound, sickness, dizziness, pressure. Again!! Something warm in drops hits your skin. Again!!! His head is like boiled egg when you break the crust. There above is skin, sticked to the blood and suet like a cheese still hanging to the living face. A deep breath. Bashing it, again, again, again. It shatters like a boiled egg, it's bloody, it's broken, it's finished.

 What do you see?

Broken, shattered eyes. Life is stopped in the moment of terror. Like a broken film. Pale skin, the lines of face. T-This face. It's not the same as before. Daze. Who is this person?

"Clean...." groggy"...this mess" you're walking away, past others.