On recommence encore le lendemain

Prologue: A Lotus in the Mud

Together with a restless heart devoid of peace,
A searching need took me out into the world.
Because of the foolishness of that endeavor,
The driving that was locked within.
And now the battered bark of this tree, in all its misery is blown to the skies,
And this heart sinks without end into regret.
While I fidget in my utter idleness,
A meek sycophant who in the end,
Is a bumbling fool with nothing to claim.
-Nakahara Chuuya, "Poem of the Guilty One" from Poems of the Goat

A singular shot rings out, snuffing out the suffocating silence. High pitched whining resonates in his skull; it's impossible to think. Chuuya curses and throws his hands over his ringing ears. Before he can regain his senses, an intense white light washes over the grimy walls of the nondescript alley, bright and cold and blinding. Chuuya scrambles backwards and curls into himself, in time for the telltale clap of a gunshot. The bitter tang of gunpowder coats his tongue, each labored breath is tainted with the burning hot taste of iron.

Distantly, he hears a muffled scream. Struggling to gather his bearings, Chuuya lets out a groan in pain. He listens as a hoarse voice is begging and pleading with someone to stay with them. Telling himself he has to get up, Chuuya mutters obscenities under his breath.

His stomach lurches at the thought of rising to his feet, but Chuuya steels himself anyways, bracing his weight on unsteady hands. Vertigo claims him before he can stand and suddenly the ground is slipping from beneath him; his shoulders crash against a crumbling brick wall and his skull cracks against it like a whip. Letting out a low hiss, Chuuya struggles to peel his eyes open. Rubbing the back of his head, he ignores the blood glistening on his gloves. Another heart wrenching scream tears through the alley and Chuuya forces himself to look up.

Bathed in moonlight, he makes out the blurry silhouette of his subordinate several paces away, cradling a still-warm body in his arms. Akutagawa looks so small with his posture slumped forward protectively, as if such an exercise in futility would shield his sister from the shots that already wormed their way through flesh and bone. Akutagawa's shoulders quake with sobs that rattle his slight frame.

They're too young for this. They'll never be old enough for this shit.

Late, his mind supplies unhelpfully, it's already too late to save them from a violent death and an unmarked grave. If he's lucky maybe there won't be a god to condemn him to hell for his transgressions.

If Chuuya had the time or presence of mind, he might feel bad about how fast things fell to pieces. As much as he wants to join his subordinate in mourning the loss of the brave woman, he squashes the grief taking root in his chest. Whatever he's feeling must hurt his subordinate tenfold, but their lives are on the line. He won't let Gin's sacrifice be in vain. He grimaces and redoubles his attempt at standing on unsteady feet.

Somewhere outside of his field of vision, a low chuckle sends shivers down his spine.

"We don't have time! Get up!" Chuuya shouts, marching his way through a veritable puddle of blood spilled by his fallen comrades. Even as he tries his best to step over their remains, he can still feel them beneath his shoes. Their blood stains the hem of his tailored pants and bespoke oxfords. With strength he didn't know he possessed, Chuuya yanks the other man up by his collar. "In case you forgot, we're still under attack!"

"No! We can't leave her behind," his subordinate gasps out, writhing in his chokehold. His voice comes out in quiet rasps, already ruined by his screaming for Gin. Akutagawa continues to struggle in his iron grip but Chuuya's grasp is as tight as a vice. After a moment's hesitation, Chuuya relents, letting go of his subordinate out of pity and regret for losing his patience. His heart truly goes out to the Akutagawa siblings but now is not the time to mourn the dead.