Fantasy New Oasis: Four Heavenly Kings — The B-Sides

[Kameron Esters-]

Musai

CS Link

SCENE:

Young Blood

LOCATION:

South District

PARTICIPANTS:

Charlie, Hitoshi, Christina

Young Blood

Musai slowed to a stop, a bit out of breath but still managing to flash a grin as he caught up to the scene. His eyes narrowed slightly as he assessed the situation. The little thief lay on the ground, clutching his nose, his bag of stolen candy scattered around him. The sight of Christina, who had unknowingly stopped the kid, brought a chuckle to his lips.

"Yo, Christian, perfect timing," Musai said, his voice carrying that familiar mix of casual confidence and underlying intensity. He walked over to the kid and crouched down, his gaze steady but not unkind. "Seems like this little guy here decided to get handsy with shit that wasn’t his. But, hey, he’s got guts—I’ll give him that."

He glanced at the kid, who was trying his best not to cry, and his tone softened just a bit. "Listen, kid, stealing from the Phoenixes? Not your best idea. But you’re fast—I’ll give you that too. Now, how about we make a deal? You give back what you snatched, and we won't beat your ass until you're twenty. Maybe even get you something to eat, yeah? Or drink caaaauuusee, I'm parched as all hell right now." He let out a laugh, though he kept a watchful eye on the kid, ready to react if the boy tried to bolt again.

Musai knew all too well what it was like to scrape by, doing whatever it took to survive. But he also knew the importance of loyalty and respect, especially within the Phoenixes. The kid might have made a mistake, but Musai could see a bit of himself in the boy. He wasn't about to let this turn into something ugly if it didn't have to.

Roda the Red joshuadim Infab

 

[Breadman]

Stratsimir Kolev

CS Link

SCENE:

Blading [30 November 2018]

LOCATION:

West District

PARTICIPANTS:

Stratsimir ,Ryutaro, Robin

Blading

Stratsimir looked at the map as his boss was explaining the layout of the businesses they were going to invade. None of them sounded like they would pose a serious problem, save for the ones with more money than the others. But again, Robin was with them and Ryutaro wouldn't have her tag along if the job didn't have the potential to get serious.

"Lets go over the basics then. Do you expect a lot of trouble from them and what kind? Are they going to bring in their own security or source from the local rabble?" He eyed the map again, noting some of the details. "How much of the offices do you want to remain intact?"

joshuadim Infab

 

[simj26]

Elise Cutter

CS Link

SCENE:

Any Way You Want It

TIME:

Post-Arc 3

LOCATION:

Amestrian Roads

PARTICIPANTS:

Elise, Passeri

ANY WAY YOU WANT IT

She didn’t deserve her. Every word out of her lips were tailored well, meant to soothe her worries and her doubts. And what was she doing? This was so much of a hassle, having to pick the right words, having to try to be normal. How could she be normal? She never was normal, not even before being caught in this never-ending spiral of events and emotions she thought she'd have thrown away. Surely, the Princess would try to tell her that it was fine, that she understood and knew what she was saying, under all the inadvertent bitterness.

But that wasn't enough, was it? She wanted to be better, she wanted to be more human, if only for the Princess. The hair, the occasional smile, the fading eyebags, the many, many things that she was trying to change, to be someone at least half worthy of the Princess. The conclusion: blood, death, and weapon maintenance were easy. Trying to be better, extremely hard work.

But she wanted to do it. She wanted to be the one who deserved her, the one who deserved her trust. One step at a time.


She fiddled with the GPS on the dashboard. She wanted to get to those places as soon as possible. At the same time, she wanted the next few days to last forever, if it was even possible. Away from New Oasis, away from all the weight that bore down on the Princess’ shoulders, as if she had truly managed to whisk her away from the curse of the hellhole. No powers, no power play, no secret machinations, no skulduggery, no one to hurt the Princess. If she could drag Grandmother out of there as well, then there would be nothing else to worry about from that place.

Those were thoughts for the future. A future she wasn’t even sure she was going to see. By God’s grace, she wanted to see it, she wanted to live it, she wanted the Princess to be free and happy.

“It’ll be a bit more, ‘Seri.” An understatement. They were going to have to make a stop for the night. She could drive on through the night, get there as early as possible but she dearly wanted to spend some time with the Princess. The GPS indicated there was a RV park about a few more hours drive onwards. They could stop there for the night. They didn’t even need to make good time. Could even stop for lunch on the way. “Don’t worry about falling asleep.” One hand lifted from the wheel, and reached over to the Princess’, holding it tight, as if she was trying to remember the touch of her hand, cherishing every second she could spend with her. “I think…as long as you’re here, with me, I’m fine with it.” She could protect her, she could hold her, she could see her. That was fine enough for her.

The One Eyed Bandit

 

[joshuadim]

RYUTARO HASHIMOTO

CS Link

SCENE:

Blading [November 30, 2018]

LOCATION:

West District

PARTICIPANTS:

Ryutaro, Robin, Stratsimir

BLADING

"Honestly, I'm in the dark as to who they've hired to scare off my employees." Ryu commented to Stratsimir with a faint undertone of annoyance towards the situation, "If I had to guess, they hired professional rather than some bums off the street. That would explain their undue confidence... not to mention that considering they owe considerably large sums to me, it wouldn't surprise me that they spent their war chests on finding the best that they could afford for such work." Ryu let out a faint sigh, looking out the tinted windows onto the streets beyond as they drove towards their destination. "Truly ridiculous this all is."

He then turned back to Stratsimir: "At this point, I care little for how much damage is done to the property. That can be rebuilt. A reputation, however, suffers no such slights." the mogul stated in a blunt manner. "So as far as you're concerned..." he then spoke, turning a look to Robin, "You have a blank check for property damage."

Breadman Infab

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

Passeri Park

SCENE:

Any Way You Want It

TIME:

Post-Arc 3

LOCATION:

Amestrian Roads

PARTICIPANTS:

Passeri, Elise

Any Way You Want It

Before they'd kissed, before Elise had held her so tenderly in her arms as she did, this had been the first Passeri had known of the other woman's warmth. Thinking back to that day they'd spent at the flower shop, Passeri realized that it had been the first time that Elise had caused her heart to flutter as it now so often did. At the time, she'd thought of her seizure of her now-lover's hand as little more than an accident, an embarrassing moment of the airheadedness she thought she'd left well behind her in her teenage years.

Now, she cursed herself for being as blind as she had been. How many days had she, in her ignorance, wasted? Every day that she'd allowed her feeling to go unrecognized, unconfronted and unspoken was one less that she was able to spend with her like this.

Even now, of all the people in the world, the biggest stranger to Passeri Park was herself.

Never, she thought, did she ever realized what mattered until it was too late. Even now as her hand sat so warmly within Elise's, she knew that if it hadn't been for that morning, she would have remained witless. What longing she felt for her touch would have went unspoken and entirely unrealized until it was too late. She almost wanted to thank her parents for driving her so close to the edge. It was only as she'd cracked, as she'd seen such pain in Elise's heart over her own aches that her blindness had been dispelled.

But she didn't thank them. Even she was not so much of a fool. She banished all thought of them the moment they crawled into her mind, and instead set her eyes to the horizon, which sat crested by the setting sun.

"Me too." Passeri replied, surprisingly simply. For all of the dour thoughts swirling about in her head, there was only resolve in her words. She'd wasted so much time, so many days and so many minutes, but that only meant that she had to treasure these ones all the more.

"This, right now..." Passeri squeezed Elise's hand from within. "This is all I need."

Always so coarse, and yet always so tender too.

"So make sure to hold on tight, okay? And just because I feel asleep, don't think you can let go. I'll wake up for sure if you do." She gave Elise a coy smile. Obviously she wouldn't actually be upset if she did, but waking up hand-in-hand with her sounded like a rather nice way to finish an evening nap.

simj26

 

[thebigfella]

Shishido Takakazu

CS Link

SCENE:

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

LOCATION:

West District, Tak's Apartment

DATE:

July 21st || Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Hiachi miki Dante Haze-

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

The groan of a sofa. The accompanying wail of pain. The cushion shifted under altering weight, a hairy leg draped over the side. Arms wrapped in bandages extended up to hands that rubbed across a scruffy face. The moisture of sweat clung to the skin, and the burning pain still coursed through the body. Fingers could only twitch, knuckles could barely bend, and the lack of feeling persisted even as the days passed.

It was dark; only the faint television light illuminated anything. The soft blue bounced off the reflective plastic of wrappers, giving glimpses of the mess of clothes and other debris strewn across the floor, leaving little clear walking space. Empty cans of lagers and pilsners scattered across the table, along with napkins and empty greasy fast food bags.

Eyes carried heavy bags, weighing them down. Featureless grayish green, it absorbed all light, and synonymously, it absorbed the surroundings. They hadn’t changed, the same sight they always welcomed in the morning, but it felt like it was within a dream he would soon wake up from.

Slowly, the awareness of his body, the adhesive of bandages against his face that pulled as his eyebrows moved, and the accompanying yawn let him fill the faint soreness in his chest. He coughed to clear his throat, rubbing his chest in the pain as he realized how dry his mouth was.

His body lopsidedly rose from the couch, recentering its gravity. It was a rough first step, a moment to let the feeling of coarse carpet against his soles reside before he stepped off towards the kitchen and onto the tile.

He bumped his shoulder against the light switch, the flickering that came before it fully came to life, the faint buzzing from the loose bulb. The dull light cast a shadow from the two tiny moths that had flown in, both of them perched on the underside, spurred into flying as the orange hue swallowed the room.

Tak didn’t pay them much attention as he stepped in front of the sink piled with dirty dishes as usual. He leaned forward, arm shakily raising as the torn muscles struggled to even rise to pull a small plastic cup out from the heap. He poured out whatever was left inside it, letting it soak into a pot with leftover tomato sauce as he turned on the tap.

The weak water pressure slowly filled the cup, leaving him to stare mindlessly as the thin transparent ribbon weaved downwards. He found himself staring at his growing reflection, distorted and cracked within the clear plastic. Worn down over time, stress fractures and overall neglect showed all over his face.

…

He turned the tap off, and slowly, he brought the cup to his cracked lips. He tilted his head back slightly to take gulps. He had gotten mostly through the whole cup until he abruptly froze, the cup rim pulled away from his lips.

Slowly, his head turned, the slight shift in his hair from the movement as his eyes stared directly at the lightbulb hanging from exposed wiring, and the two moths bashed themselves into it.

“When did those get in here?” He questioned, they hadn’t been there last night. And he hadn’t opened either the door or window. Had there been some other way they got in? A crack or something he wasn’t aware of.

His brows furrowed, a cold sweat went down his forehead, and chill traveled through his spine like pins and needles. He suddenly felt the breath in his lungs, holding it in as the world around him suddenly became tense. His ears focused on the sounds around him, beyond the television speakers and the electronic hum of appliances.

He could feel someone’s presence.

His eyes darted around the kitchen before turning back to the living room. He didn’t dare to move, his toes curling and digging into the tiles as he stood in apprehension. Fight or flight both played in his head, but in his current state, all he was left with was freezing.

He audibly swallowed.

 

[miki]

Hiachi Ito

CS Link

SCENE:

R B A C P Y D O I L H A S

LOCATION:

July 21, 2022 || Post-Outbreak

DATE:

West District, Tak's Apartment

PARTICIPANTS:

Hiachi, Tak, Dante

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

A continuous dripping sound filled her ears. It wasn’t the faucet; that was hollow as it hit the bottom of the sink. It wasn’t the lingering rain; the outside world was blocked out by boards she had nailed up a long time ago.

The darkness gently tucked over her eyes. It would have been like a blindfold if not for those eyes. Every crevice, every sliver of light, every jagged edge. Revealed.

That pitch black creeping; seeping into the boards.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The taste of repugnant poison lingered on the tip of her tongue. Her mouth was dry. She breathed and she could feel her rough flesh groan in response. Rough, airless scratching. Nothing to wash it all down with; nothing to do.

She lay flat on her back and watched. Eyes darted to the window, to the door, to the bathroom, to the sink, to any entrance and exit she could imagine.

This sensation, this moment caught between the heights of misfortune, was the worst of it. There was no escaping, there was no negotiating, there was no fighting back. It was all waiting.

When everything was said and done, she came back here. Waiting.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

She couldn’t forget it, either. The smell of burning blood so acrid she wanted to turn her stomach inside out. The pressure of pollution expanded in her lungs, coughed out, and then flooded again. The flash of the hammer, one, two, three, four, ten times.

For what? For it to all slip through her fingers.

Her head reeled back. That vision burned into her retinas so blindingly, she saw it wherever she turned. The delicate clumps of gray matter, which held those sick thoughts, drenched and splattered with red.

She glanced at the gun in her hand.

Did it hurt?

It must have.

Did it hurt?

This was pointless. This was aimless. That was lying to herself. Her very existence was a whirlpool, and it dragged people under. No matter how long it took.

No matter how fast she ran, fate caught up with her. Again. Again. Again.

She turned her head away to glance at her cell phone: quiet as ever.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

That was it.

She sat up.

It was too quiet.

---

The door was locked.

She already knew that. So what next?

Well, she could break it. But the landlady wouldn’t be too happy about that. And Hiachi already hated that dog to death.

Her breaths grew rapid and heavy.

So what next?

She could pick the lock. It might take a minute. Thy taught her how, many years ago. If she got caught, it would look bad. If she failed, it would look worse.

Think, think, think.

Her eyes got caught on the apartment across the way: the one with the cheap and creaky windows.

This is a bad idea, Hiachi thought as she scaled the opposite side of the building.

Maybe going to the landlady’s room was a better initial course of action.

And steal the master key? What kind of sane person does that?

She held her grip firm on the rain pipe as she swung one leg up.

Like this is more sane.

With a wince, her hand lost balance and almost sent her crashing right into the concrete. She scowled.

SHUT THE FUCK UP! I’m trying to focus.

When she pulled her upper body to the windowsill, she peered in. It was a complete mess, with trash and bottles everywhere; it was his.

If she shook the window horizontally, it would slowly budge upwards, to the point that she could lift it open. There was no alarm, because this apartment complex was shit. Hiachi frowned. She had to warn him about this kind of stuff. That is, if he was even here.

That was a bad thought. She dismissed it, for now.

She stuck her head in. And then followed her torso, and then her arms, which clawed the rest of her body through the rectangular opening. She twisted over the counter and levied herself over the clutter like a contortionist.

Once she was all the way in, she landed on the tiles gently and dusted off her shirt.

Good job. Now what?

Something clawed at her as she scanned the kitchen. Signs of life, but from how long ago? All this stuff looked old. Some rotten, some stale. Did she need to be worried? Had everything finally caught up with him?

A sound. She slipped into a shadow behind one of the end counters and crouched down.

Tak walked into the kitchen.

She wanted to sigh with relief. There he was, more-or-less intact.

But it was the less part that concerned her. He was wrapped in bandages like a mummy. She might have had trouble recognizing him if she hadn’t known exactly where those wounds came from.

When he walked away, Hiachi emerged from her hiding spot; out of the shadow and into the dull illumination from the lightbulb. She turned to face the living room, only to find Tak frozen as he faced the other direction.

Ah, he was standing still. Perfect.

Over his shoulder, two hollow black dots angled into his face.

“Hi.”

Spoiler

Haze- thebigfella

 

[thebigfella]

Shishido Takakazu

CS Link

SCENE:

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

LOCATION:

West District, Tak's Apartment

DATE:

July 21st || Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Hiachi miki Dante Haze-

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

All of a sudden, seconds felt so long. The world and its gravity felt so heavy, and all the parts of his body working to carry all the meat, skin, and various excrement that made him up suddenly felt so palpable.

He knew something was looking at him; he could feel the eyes burning into the back of his skull. Yet despite knowing this, all the instincts that screamed at him to go on the defense, he could only feel the lodged air in his throat. He could feel the air shifting around him as a shadow slowly appeared in the corner of his vision, eyes bulging, pulsing with bright red veins; they slowly looked over, meeting the vast blackness of a void that swallowed all of his vision.

And then it came.

“KYEAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!~”

A girlish scream came from a terrified man. His mouth opened wide, and his skin went pale as all the color faded from him, his skin went leathery and clutched tightly to his skull as if he had aged thousands of years in that one moment, tongue sticking out of his mouth and twirling like the shell of a slug.

He stumbled backward, tripping over his own legs, his body fell backward, and his head slammed directly into the corner of a countertop as he fell onto his ass. His eyes rolled back into his skull, leaving only the bloodshot whites. A fountain of crimson spurted out of the back of his head, flying freely through the air as his hairline was soaked with vicious red. The corners of his lips twitched in the faintest glimmers of life. For a moment, it might have seemed like Hiachi had killed him right then and there.

“You….”

His fingers, formerly unable to move, clenched tightly, the sounds of the stiff bones cracking and snapping, the heavy sounds of labored breathing that came with condensed huffs, slowly started to transform into growls. His pupils did not return, but blood poured down his face, his body slowly lagging back to his feet, his body slouched. It almost seemed like he would turn into a monster, the whole room encased in fire as his skin turned red as a demon’s, tusks growing from his lips as he stared towards Hiachi in all his fury.

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” An enraged shout caused the nearby curtains to ruffle. If it wasn’t for the pain he was feeling, he probably could have kept up the intensity, but a few shaky breaths came with the pain through his body and the weakening of his stance, the snuffing of his flames as he coughed harshly, reaching over to grab a dirty towel and place it on the back of his head, soaking up the blood as he glared at Hiachi from the corner of his eyes, “How did you even get in?! Did I forget to lock the door? You could have knocked, you know!” He complained, resting his arm against the counter to keep himself from toppling over.

He realized how hard his heart was pounding. It hadn’t settled. Each thrum and pump was so loud he could hear it in his ears. He turned away from Hiachi, instead focusing on her hands.

They had gotten rough.

His focus turned towards the floor. This was the first time he had seen her since the last time, and he felt sick. He still didn’t want to talk to her, and he still didn’t want to look at her. He wanted her to look away. He didn’t want to be seen like this.

He didn’t say anything as he slunk away, using the wall to carry his weight. He just wanted some distance.

 

[miki]

Hiachi Ito

CS Link

SCENE:

R B A C P Y D O I L H A S

LOCATION:

July 21, 2022 || Post-Outbreak

DATE:

West District, Tak's Apartment

PARTICIPANTS:

Hiachi, Tak, Dante

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

His shrill scream made her put hands to her ears. With a wince, she backed off slightly, giving him enough space to move.

She hadn’t meant to scare him, really. She wasn’t thinking at the time. But then he stumbled back and fell, with the back of his head aimed right for the sharp corner of the counter.

After the thunk, his neck went limp and his eyes white.

Blood pooled on the ground.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

This image: it stabbed deep and burrowed itself into her brain. Again. Haha, again. Another doomed body for her rapidly expanding list of misfortunes.

She almost laughed. Or cried. She couldn’t tell; her lip twitched as her throat tightened up.

It wasn’t funny, not in the slightest. She could feel herself on the precipice of something; the edge that led right into the abyss of the rabid monster she was trying to lock away.

But right as her eyes darkened, his voice croaked out his throat. His bones snapped because they were moving.

As he shouted at her with the rage of one million flames, she felt nothing short of peaceful. This was the Tak she knew: reckless, loud. Everything was in its place, as it should be.

She frowned as he weakly coughed that flame away. It couldn’t last. He was hurt, he was broken.

Her mouth shriveled up as he grilled her about her surprise entrance. Her eyes darted to the side to avert his gaze. She felt almost bashful about it.

“No... I came through the window.” She pointed back at the opened entrance, which was now blowing a draft into the kitchen. “You should fix those before something bad happens. Someone could break in.”

‘Something bad’ didn’t refer to her, apparently.

But he was probably expecting an explanation. Luckily, she had a perfect one. “Mmm. I had to bring you something.”

She fished through her pocket. Concern that she dropped them during her climb washed away as she felt the distinct shape with her fingertips.

She held out two cylindrical pills in the palm of her hand. “These are for you.”

Painkillers; the 24-7 convenience store brand. After a fight that intense, he needed something to soothe the pain from his wounds. He wouldn’t go and get anything himself, she figured. And she had some. She had considered giving him the whole bottle at first. But what if he took all of them? She could never forgive herself. So she dumped out two and headed over.

She held them out, but he averted his gaze. Couldn’t even look at her hands.

It made her fingers twitch.

Hah. HAAAAH.

Could he see the blood on her hands? She looked down at them, reeling as she tried to discern if they were drenched in dark red or not.

As Tak stepped back, Hiachi stepped forward.

“Where are you going?” She asked quietly.

Another question prodded at her throat. She didn’t want to acknowledge that it even crossed her thoughts, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Why… Why do you hate me?”

Spoiler

Haze- thebigfella

 

[thebigfella]

Shishido Takakazu

CS Link

SCENE:

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

LOCATION:

West District, Tak's Apartment

DATE:

July 21st || Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Hiachi miki Dante Haze-

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

He could feel the cold breeze nipping at his neck. Hiachi had really had broken into his house, all just to give him painkillers. He should be more mad at her. What was wrong with her? At any other time, he would have let her have it, told her how fucked she was in the head, a little gremlin with no social skills, bad behavior, and bad posture to boot, but he couldn’t muster up the usual bitterness, the weakness of his body has also infiltrated his mind.

“...I’ll tell my landlord to get that fixed,” that was a lie. He was used to lying; he was lying all the time. Why did this one, so small and insignificant, feel so hard to get out of his mouth, his tongue felt like it had gone black, rotted lungs. His hands gripped the corner, and his eyes bore into the back of the sofa.

He didn’t want those painkillers. He didn’t want to numb the burn, the agony, he welcomed it. He always did. Marks across his flesh, the scars of remembrance, each day he suffered, let what he had done sit in his mind, be seared into his vision. Each of his failures, every time he was left weak, every time he was left powerless. He needed to be stronger; he was still pitiful, couldn’t prove anything, his purpose, and couldn’t protect anything. He had joined this gang to find purpose, but all that defined him was failure.

He didn’t even realize he was spiraling until he heard Hiachi’s voice. He could feel it, that intense pressure, it hadn’t gone anywhere. “I couldn't hate you,” Tak responded softly, something that seemed impossible for him, but still, he didn’t look back; he couldn’t look back.

He hated what Hiachi represented.

He stood around, playing gang, acting like everything was fun and games, wasting his life and time. He thought he had gotten blood on his hands, that he had gotten himself into the muck and mire. He had nothing but time on his hands; recovery left him in silence with his own head and a long time to stare at his hands, in all their dryness, with cracked skin and ashy palms.

They hadn’t yet seen a drop of blood. They had touched, they had felt, they had rubbed it between their fingers. But the pores hadn’t tasted it; the stench soaked into the flesh.

It should have been him before her. He was so self-centered that, in the face of all of this, he couldn’t help but bear all the sins upon his own back, leaving him slouched.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Tak said, pushing himself off the wall to stand straight again. He bent down to pick up a shirt, not caring for all the crumbs and stains on it as he slipped it on to cover his bruised body. "Stayin’ around me is nothin’ but bad luck. You have seen it firsthand already.”

He felt out of place in his own home. His hand reached towards the remote to turn the television off, and the only thing to come through the darkness was the dim kitchen light.

He dropped back onto the couch, letting his body slump as he was swallowed into the cushions with only the faintest hint of discomfort.

“You can leave the painkillers on the counter. Go home.”

 

[miki]

Hiachi Ito

CS Link

SCENE:

R B A C P Y D O I L H A S

LOCATION:

July 21, 2022 || Post-Outbreak

DATE:

West District, Tak's Apartment

PARTICIPANTS:

Hiachi, Tak, Dante

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

I couldn’t hate you. And plenty of others could; and did. Anyone outside of the tigers, for starters. She was a little mouse who wormed her way through holes in the walls between districts. A helpless little rodent that wasn’t much more than a nuisance. And within them, too. She had been on the receiving end of so many hard glares that she was surprised she hadn’t been killed yet. And even those outside the gangs. Even her classmates could see it then: she was nothing but vermin. Something to be strung up and made an example of. And with a tone like that, so vindictive and final and honest—Get the hell out of my house—how could her own mother feel any other way?

I couldn’t hate you. Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t. Or wouldn’t, if he could. What was she to Tak? Nothing good, probably. Nothing more than his useless coworker that didn’t fit cleanly into the machine.

I couldn’t hate you. Perhaps it wasn’t as strong as that. But dislike was on the table. A desire to never see her again, not because of any strong reason but because she was like the bug bite in his friendships. Because she didn’t matter that much.

I couldn’t hate you.

…It was a lie. It was all a lie. She knew his lying tone, right? Even if she wanted to believe him, she knew that the tone that seemed sincere was a trick. If the lilt in his voice was firm and comforting, it was fake.

She clutched her head. She didn’t know what was real anymore.

Hiachi’s breath halted. His sentiment was a sucker punch to the gut. Because at some point, she had surely thought it herself. Every second she spent around him was a dice roll for chaos. Even when they met, he had somehow blown up a check-in to a full day of bullshit that almost got her killed, arrested, or generally distressed.

It was different now. She hadn't rolled her eyes at his requests for her as a tag-along for a while. Every time she picked up a quarter from underneath a vending machine, she felt something other than the dread that droned on ad infinitum.

Hiachi felt a pang of shame. Since when had she become so codependent? Since when had she been so reliant on him?

Because despite it all, she wanted to be weak. She was so flooded with despair that she could only think to fall to her knees and beg him not to leave her alone.

As she stood in the doorway, the light from the kitchen cast a shadow over the front of her frame. There was nothing for her to do but twitch, glance, listen.

I’m a fool, I’m a fool, I’m a fool.

She felt small and helpless again. Unable to assert her terms; not even able to lurch forward. So unlike that night, and so much like it, in a lot of ways. But she thought of that moment, when she emptied a barrel into a man’s head: it unleashed a part of herself she hadn’t even known existed. In a sick sort of way, she wanted that force back. For just a moment. So she could speak. So she could make herself known.

Go home. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to leave it at this. She had known it the second she left, and she knew it now. If she left it now, she was killing herself.

That shameful feeling writhed again. Even if he hated her, could she leave?

No.

It was dark.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The memory assaulted her brain, even then. She could never escape it, could she? Her dull nerves on her burned flesh sparked, like they were alive again. Pure darkness, pure pain, pure cowardice. Bodies hung on her conscience. A monster, in the purest sense of the word, tried to drown her out with scalding black tar.

No one was coming to save her.

So she had to save herself.

Hiachi refused to move.

Spoiler

Haze- thebigfella

 

[thebigfella]

Shishido Takakazu

CS Link

SCENE:

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

LOCATION:

West District, Tak's Apartment

DATE:

July 21st || Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Hiachi miki Dante Haze-

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

She didn’t move. Tak didn’t ask why. He had known this was going to happen. A part of him hoped he could push it away, give it another day, give it another week, that nothing would change or move except his mind so he could try to figure something out, for once in his life, know what he was doing, to know how to really help someone.

Of course, that wasn’t reality. The only reality was that the only thing not moving was him and Hiachi. Time still flowed, and their brains still pulsed with neurons, the signals of electricity that stimulated the chemicals. Tak’s hands came to run through his hair. Of course, he couldn’t just send her away.

He thought of all the times, the numerous moments he had pulled her in, almost forcing her to be the second actor in his ridiculous ploys. Sometimes, he needed her help; other times, he needed a scapegoat; most of the time, he just wanted the company. He had her scrounge for change with her, leave stores with pockets packed full just the same, and commit all types of things as if he attempted to live through her vicariously.

How could he have a toy with her like that? Bring her along when it benefited him? Dispose of her when it becomes too much of a hassle? Was that his protection? Was that his kindness?

Was that how he was supposed to treat someone he--

“I’m a fuckin’ idiot. The fuck am I doing?” Tak’s thoughts came with a knuckle slammed into his skull, the blood still around his forehead leaked onto the back of his hand. He took the rag he was holding against the back of his head and wiped himself clean, he pushed himself back up. He turned to look at Hiachi, and he met her gaze.

He couldn’t hate her. And he wouldn’t give up on her. This wasn’t the time to hope everything would work out, the hope that the monotone days he took for granted would return. Nothing would be the same.

He needed to change, he would need to grow. How? He didn’t yet know.

“Nevermind,” Tak said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand, “Make yourself at home, sorry shits such a mess.” He spoke with his usual brashness as he pulled himself off the sofa, he walked up to Hiachi, snatching the painkillers out of her hand. He didn’t bother reading the instructions, peeling the packaging open and popping open the capsule, taking two out with his fingers, and went ahead and swallowed them dry.

He tossed the bottle over his shoulder, letting it land on the sofa as he shoved his hands into his pockets, “I’m going to use the bathroom. Take a seat or something, and close up my window will ya?”

The more he spoke, the more he felt like all he was doing was putting on a mask, acting like everything was normal. Was it really the right thing to do? He wasn’t sure, but if he could make this mask meld to his skin, then it wouldn’t matter.

He walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t plan on making any phone calls, but something brought him to open it up as he used his other hand to steady his aim.

He mindlessly scrolled through his contacts and saw all types of names that lit up something in his mind. He hovered his finger over Camila’s name for a moment before he continued scrolling. A few letters downward, he found another name he didn’t think of before pressing.


The dull dial tone sounded as he brought the phone to his ear.

 

[Haze-]

Featuring Dante From Devil May Cry

SCENE:

R B A C P Y D O I L H A S

TIME:

July 21st | Post-Outbreak

LOCATION:

West District; Tak's Apartment

PARTICIPANTS:

Takakazu, Hiachi

RETURNING BACK A CHEESE PLATTER YOU DON'T OWN IS LIKE HAVING A SLEEPOVER

116 : 3
"...The cords of Death entangled me,
the anguish of the grave came over me;
I was overcome by distress and sorrow.

Then I called on the name of the Lord:"​

Something went wrong.

Ever since the light came flooding back into his eyes, nothing was right.

It was his eyes. Something about them.

There had been a built-up pressure pushing inward into his skull ever since he’d opened them fully, since the old-man cataracts cleared out from his pupils and the world sharpened from a blur. Burning, yet cold. Like mint toothpaste stuck between his gums, only, splayed across his forehead now.

He watched the moonlight come in from his bedroom’s window, watched it hit the fan swirling above him, the dark shadows it casted like a puppet play. Humming with each spin; glaring at it like he had miles upon kilometers of hate stored for each individual, cheap plastic blade. He would’ve looked at that same fan hanging by a cord in his room with different eyes a couple weeks back.

With an ingenue face, receiving the sight of the world with pale impatiens, a mother’s warmth. That was, until that new voice made itself present. Louder than the others, its shadow stretching longer. The other two quieted down when he came. Never spoke or showed themselves again since, like frightened dogs hurrying back to their holes.

It walked on two legs. It wore a long, black trench coat— always had its hands in its pockets. In place of a human head it had a wolf’s, like a grown man that had gotten trapped in his Halloween costume a handful of All Hallow’s back, orange sunglasses poorly thrown over the peep-holes of the wolf mask.

It had never been quieter in his entire life. It had never been so loud.

“You’ve been starin’ at that fuckin’ ceiling fan for hours now.” — The hound stood cross-armed at the foot of his bed, waiting, shuffling his weight back and forth between his feet. Watching Dante slumped on the bedsheets, taking even, tamed breaths. Watching him hate the feeling behind his eyes — “You have a problem in the head or somethin’, kid? Go to fuckin’ sleep so I can get some rest too, will ya’.”

Barks, complaints. Dante didn’t even flinch. He was afraid of closing his eyes at night now.

His eyes weren’t his anymore. He knew that much. They showed him different nightmares than the ones he could handle, not the one’s where he was at the church. Running from hounds, chained by the ankles, hiding from his father. No, in these ones, he wasn’t even himself.

In some, he walked barefoot in the frail body of his mother, along a sprawling field of thatched grass, completely blind. Bawling his hollowed eyes out. Having to reach down low to even guide himself, crawl along stomped blades of grass. Others, he hid in the skin of all the people he’d killed, hid from himself.

Knees close to his chest, fetal position, in a dark corner where he thought he wouldn’t find himself. Stifling his rushed breath between his hands, feeling tears pour down between his fingers, praying and whimpering that he didn’t want to die. That he didn’t want to be bit by those wolves looking for him. Closing his eyes in prayer.

And when he opened them, he saw the Hanged Man, the Hierophant,

the Reaper. Death. It wore a black trench coat, sunglasses indoors, tailcoats draping and catching on his limp step. One, long skid of a bloody footstep dragging behind his shaky right foot, ankle bent like the broken leg of a fawn caught by wolves. The hounds of Hel chased him wherever he went, the shadows bent, snouts low to the ground and searching. Tongues sharp like razors raking the trails of blood that led to the next poor piggy to be bled. He kept walking, kept searching for more blood.

And he kept going back to those audio-books his sister loved blasting aloud in their old bunk back at the church, back in her grunge phase, freshly drudged out of her emo phase. Like a butterfly weaving and leaving constant cocoons on her wake, flipping through styles— loose jeans, smudged make up, long-sleeves with slits she’d ragged with a fucking fork. He hated those tarot cards she had, those e-books,

Their grim little synopsis’ reading out loud every time she opened them.

“In an endless, restless tale, the dead drag themselves to their coffins and pretend to dream, disguise as corpses. Fleas and prairie rats burrow into their carcasses seeking refuge from the rain. The wind sings a lullaby as it breathes through their hollows, their gnawed bones. They await Death, godless, unfeeling, blind from time passing, arms slung wide.

“When Death comes it will have their eyes. It will show them the sunrise. And they, the fleas, the prairie dogs, will know rest.”

Was he a flea?

Was he a rat chewing the marrow from a dead man’s ribcage?

Did something take his eyes? Would he find them if he sought out Death?

Or did he kill like some psycho on the loose thinking he could become Death himself? Have everyone’s eyes in a little pouch, switch and mix them with his own. Shoving the ones that fit into his sockets. Weave his own cocoons, have his phases.

Dani was into those tarot cards too, those nerdy books, wasn’t she?

Damián always looked like he was daydreaming just eavesdropping on Nina listening through chapters.

“You fucked up, Dante.”

“You fucked up real bad, y’know? You let all of them down.”

“I was you, I’da choked on some damn iron and pulled the trigger where they wouldn’t find me. I’da done it a while ago too.” — The hound wheezed out a cough in-between chuckles, lifted the wolf mask to spit out a thick droplet of black phlegm — “Sure wouldn’t be like you layin’ down all day, wallowin’ like a fuckin’ bitch.”

He finally stirred awake, rolling out of bed to sit against the bedframe, throwing his head back. Wanting to scratch his eyes out. He closed his eyes, sighed. A damn torment, that’s what he was getting — “Can’t you learn to be fucking quiet like the other two?”

“Wan’ me to shut up? Make me.”

You’re not supposed to be tormented before you die, he thought. That whole song and dance was supposed to come after you meet the big man upstairs, so the sisters back at the orphanage had told him. Dante brought an elbow up on the bed, flipped the hound off.

“At’ what I thought.” — The thing only laughed. A sickly, throaty, disgusting cackle.

Then came light flooding in, making him wince and turn at the buzzing sound humming on his nightstand. His phone was dancing on the wood surface, tapping at it off rhythm. He stared at it for one second too long before throwing his head back on the bed, letting the thing dance all it wanted — “Hm? Y’don’t expect me to pick up, do you?”

Silence, long, before his tongue clicked.

“Fair enough…” — There was only one person that would call him this late at night. Wasn’t a good sight for sore eyes like his, either. But he was for sure better company than that damned hound.

“Yo, Takakazu.” — He spat out the words, grumbling. Grogginess still hanging on his throat — “What’s up?”

miki thebigfella

 

[thebigfella]

Shishido Takakazu

CS Link

SCENE:

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

LOCATION:

West District, Tak's Apartment

DATE:

July 21st || Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Hiachi miki Dante Haze-

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

“Shit, I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t pick up,” Tak voice came crusty through the speakers, the faint sound of urine hitting the bowl in the background as Tak spoke over the speakers. His hand came to rub at his forehead, going silent, it was a routine call from him until he had just left empty air for Dante to listen to him piss, the awkwardness he was disturbingly aware of.

“Hey, uh,” he began before realizing he was unsure what to say. This was something he never had an issue with typically; if he was trying to act like things were normal, that was gone and out of the window.

“Shit been kinda fucked lately…” The gurgle of the toilet water came through the speakers, the sound of it being pulled down the gurgling pipes. Tak pulled his shorts back into place before his other hand grasped his phone, keeping it tight to his ear as he sat on the porcelain throne.

He bit his lip; the words were hard to come. He had never spoken in such a way to Dante, it felt alien. Even if he tried to put on a mask, he knew Dante of all people would call him out for it, “I’m all kinda messed up, all bruised, and my shoulders and arms are torn to shit,” the words continued to spill from Tak’s mouth as he leaned forward, his mouth gradually growing dryer as he spoke, “And Hiachi’s over, she isn’t doing much better, she…”


Things went muted to a pregnant pause. Nothing, no answer, came from Tak’s lips even as he heard Dante’s voice over the other side of the line. Eventually, both ends went quiet, and it was then that Tak could hear his own sounds. The choking from his throat, a rumble deep within his diaphragm, his foot tapped rapidly against the bathroom tile. His hand came to cover his eyes, and a shaky breath came through his lips.

“S-She…She killed someone, man.” He choked out, barely above a whisper, “And her dad, he’s…I don’t know what the fuck to do, dude. I’m so-- I-I can't--”

A disgusting sniffle interrupted him, and he removed the phone from his ear to take a moment to compose himself. “Fuck,” he breathed out; he used the sleeve to wipe his moist eyes, taking another breath, from steady to shaky, slowly everything began to rebalance; he looked up towards the ceiling, focusing on the cracks within the foundations before he finally brought the phone back to his ear.

“Think you can come over? I’d really…I’d appreciate it. She would too.”

 

[Infab]

Robin Krantz

CS Link

SCENE:

Blading [November 30th, 2018]

LOCATION:

West District

PARTICIPANTS:

Robin, Ryutaro, Stratsimir

BLADING

As Stratsimir greeted Robin, shortly after settling into the Limo, Robin flashed him a smile and a slight bow of the head. She had heard of his methods. Quite professional, but still able to crack heads with the best of them. He'd likely be interesting to work with, though she didn't really know how he would react to her own methods. Especially the more... intimate ones.

Robin listened quietly to the back and forth between Stratsimir and Ryu, taking in the information that Ryu gave. Property damage didn't matter. Good. Things were going to break. That was a given if you brought someone like Stratsimir. As for her, things would break if they needed to. Sometimes she needed additional tools for her work. Chair legs, window panes, and so on. Though, there was also the danger of falling, as they were going to be operating on the higher floors of an office building. A simple toss, and someone would be falling to their deaths unless they had certain potentialities.

This seemed like it would be quite fun. Its been a while since she had seen anyone go splat.

"I hope its easy to get stains out of that nice suit, Strats." she said, flashing him a smirk. "It may be red, but blood still shows."

She then looked back to Ryu. "Any special parameters, boss?" she then asked. "I figure I should ask now before the violence starts."

joshuadim , Breadman

 

[Infab]

Robin Krantz

CS Link

SCENE:

Fangs on Film [October 16th, 2021]

LOCATION:

West District

PARTICIPANTS:

Robin, Karina

FANGS ON FILM

Few creatures of the night have captured the imagination like vampires. A myriad of legends, through the centuries and millennia. An enduring presence in literature, film, television, and even music. A classic staple of horror (and dark romance), and a common sight when it comes to those particularly special, cool nights in October.

Vampires, in particular, fascinated Robin Krantz. She owned several novels and films centered around them, and often dressed up as one when Halloween came around. It was one of the things she looked forward to near the end of the year, really. Maybe it was the appeal of the cool eyes, fangs, blood drinking, and immortality? Perhaps something deeper? The overtones of lust, power, and control? Those dark, hidden parts of the psyche, aroused and captivated by these creatures?

She didn't really know, but she loved them.

Tonight was the second night of a three night marathon of expertly selected vampire-themed films at the local MondoCinema theater, and the third weekend of the month to feature a different horror theme. People were showing up each weekend in costume to binge watch and enjoy their favorite types of films, and Robin was all in on the idea. She loved to cosplay, and getting to cosplay as her favorite creature? Even Ryu couldn't stop her from this.

Something to stack on top, to get her even more excited? A new vampire film had just recently premiered, and would be showing tonight during the marathon of films. The latest entry in the Blood Ties film series, set in an alternate dark fantasy world over a hundred-and-forty years ago.

She had prepared her costume over the past few hours, dressing up as one of the antagonists of the series, Lady Madalen Von Túslingen. Black coat with a flared, broad collar? Check. Classical hite blouse shirt with a brass flower pendant? Check. Brass colored earrings? Check. Black leather riding pants, and leather riding boots? Check. She even had the crimson gloves that the Countess wore. She had slipped on the prosthetic ears, to give them a pointed look, and even slipped in the false fangs to wear over her real ones. A touch of orange eye shadow was applied, some lipstick, and she soon tied her hair up into a loose ponytail. Just like the Countess.

She was ready to enjoy herself!

As she climbed out of her car, having made a few last minute checks on her appearance as she sat in rather packed parking lot of the theater, she slipped on the coat and gave her key a click. The car locked with a gentle beep, and she was soon on her way. Strolling briskly across the lot, between the cars, on her way to the entrance.

It didn't take too long to get into the theater, but she hung around the lobby for a bit. Taking pictures with bystanders who wanted it. Cosplay attracted a lot of attention. Especially if you pulled it off well enough... or if you did a terrible job at it. After the photo-ops, she moved on. She had pre-purchased the tickets before the weekend had even started. She just needed snacks. Popcorn? Classic. M&Ns? Also tasty. A soda completed the package.

She then made her way through the theater to the correct seating area. She found a nice open seat, towards the back, but squarely in the middle of the row. Perfect! Lots of people preferred seats towards the front. She didn't like having to look up to see a massive screen. She could enjoy it perfectly from where she was.

Breadman

 

[Haze-]

Featuring Dante From Devil May Cry

SCENE:

R B A C P Y D O I L H A S

TIME:

July 21st | Post-Outbreak

LOCATION:

West District; Tak's Apartment

PARTICIPANTS:

Takakazu, Hiachi

RETURNING BACK A CHEESE PLATTER YOU DON'T OWN IS LIKE HAVING A SLEEPOVER

He leaned in, propping an elbow on the nightstand. Pushing back brainworms, thinking about how there really was nothing to do with your free hand during a call anymore. In the old 2000’s, he’d twirl and fiddle with the cords and glare at his grandmother hung on the wall. She’d been, still was, a faded black and white photo ever since he had enough brainpower to count up to ten. He missed having the usual stare downs with the old bitch, and he missed stuttering mid-call over focusing on her.

Maybe he was too asleep to be taking in calls this late.

“Yeah…I was kinda hoping I wouldn’t pick up myself.” — He grumbled out, wiping an eye booger, flicking the crust, pulling down on his face to try and wake himself up a little — “I always do. Sadly.”

The hound sat beside him; one leg crossed over the other. Chafing the sole of his ragged boots on Dante’s bedsheets, wiping a neat line of black mud before seemingly bursting a lung. Hot breath caught on the mask, and there came that vile, grumbling laughter of his scratching at his throat — ‘Like a fuckin’ house wife rushin’ over to the phone when their man calls, eh?’ — He patted Dante on the back, earning a grunt in response.

The shadows that made up the hound snap and unwove into flimsy strings, lashing around and slithering until he re-formed himself in-front of Dante. An old ‘banana phone’, box and string and all, sat in his hand, pitch black. He was no-handing it, pinning the telephone to his shoulder with a lolling head. Twiddling with the tangled spring cord, kicking his feet.

‘How’s work been, sugar?’ — Voice rising in pitch, like his aunt used to talk before her husband left her with a smoking addiction, crackling with static on his ears. Like he were on the other end of the line listening to him. Creative, this one.

The other two hadn’t come up with so many ways to be as annoying as humanly possible. He was starting to miss them, honestly.

“So,” — He sighed, pulling the phone away from his ear as the indistinguishable sound of a piss stream hitting porcelain came through. Of course he’d be calling him from the bathroom…

‘Holy fuck he’s got a bladder on ‘im…How’s he going for so long…?’

“What're you calling for?” — His head hung. He was most definitely a mortal man serving his immortal penance in the land of the living. He’d be shaking hands, patting shoulders with the preaching kids back at the orphanage telling him he’d be going straight down to the pits of sulphur if he got his tats done. Telling them they were right— telling them that hell sounded like urine draining down the bowl and some talkative dog chewing his ear off.

It was then that he felt the first layer of tension tighten up between the static of the phone. Instinct, snapping like a cello played on bolts of sewing strings, the ones he’d pull out of his sweaters. Had him with his eyes wide open and awake. Tak never sounded like this. There was never a pause, never a hanging silence over his head.

Something was wrong.

He frowned, leaning closer into the nightstand — “Everything alright, man?”

“You…what? Hiachi?”

The second layer, his brow twitching. An echoing, thundering banging dashing against his ribs. A scoff from the hound in his ear.

“S-She…She killed someone, man.”​

The third, and he’d never wanted to shatter something in his hand so badly before. The phone case groaned on his hand as he squeezed. The night’s chill air whistled and sliced against his face, grew colder, so still that he’d forgotten how to breathe. He sat there, only watching the floor bug-eyed and dead still. Remembering how Damián cried to him over the phone that night, when the tigers got to him. Holding back the tears, audibly, just like Tak was trying to right now.

Dante didn’t take it seriously back then. No, he never did. He just turned and ran away like always, thinking the problem would solve itself if he gave it some space.

A cackle, disgusting, ringing in his right ear — ‘Well, too fuckin’ bad, no?’

If he could turn back time and beat himself senseless that night, he would. A thousand times, he would.

‘Ain’t our damn problem. They’re all grown already, they should know ‘ow to pick up for ‘emselves; the annoying lil’ fucks.’

His fist tightened by his side, — “Be there in five. Just…” — Feeling the knot on his throat begin to strangle him.

“Everything’s gonna be…” — He swallowed — “Fuck, I’ll...Just wait there, okay?”

He hung up. Not even caring to put his jacket on, just rushing straight to the door and bashing it open. Running, gritting his teeth.

‘What a hero.’

---

He sat with the engine off, one hand on the wheel, another thumbing the neck of a bottle. Watching the indignant indifference of the West. The monotonous, neon cadence of sign, legends writ in varying tongues— all of them promoting the same cheap-shit car deal and blurring the darkness below. Watching, the mast of a WcDonald’s poking out far in the far-end of the street. Fire-born tendrils of smoke from where the bums made camp, rising from within barrels of burning heap, blackening to a slate in the sky

Sprawling, uncaring— he opened the bottle. Washed the whole thing down in one pull, drinking like he hated his liver. Shouting — “Fuck!” — Then wiping the droplets from his mouth and slamming the damned thing on the passenger seat.

‘Was startin’ to wonder what the liquid courage was for…need to be loose for this one, huh?’

“Shut up…”

‘Y’want me to read you your lines? Take the stage fright off of you?’

“Let’s just go…” — He wouldn’t run, wouldn’t be a coward. Not again.

“’S gonna be a shitshow…”

Running up the stairs, he banged on the door twice once he was there. Not bothering to take a breath to ready himself, knowing he’d freeze up if he did. He didn’t wait, just barged in without even saying it was him.

He stood there; golden eyes gleaming in the dark. Two plastic bags in his hand. Chest rising and falling, breath still shuddering and a sheen of sweat on his brow. Dim and dark for them, clear as day for him. It was one of those days where he hated having the eyes that he had. He stared at Tak bandaged up like a mummy with a pained expression he trusted the dark would hide, for a moment too long, before taking a deep breath.

“I, uh…I brought some— some food.” — He tried smiling, but the more he looked at Tak, the blood, the bruises, the more his brow started to quiver.

‘Real smooth.’

“You could’ve told me you were leaking. I would’ve brought somethin’ from the pharmacy…” — He finally released the breath he was holding in one big, sharp huff. Hunching over and holding his knees, hanging his head, still trying to play it off cool— draw a smile on his face.

It wasn’t until he turned to look at Hiachi that he stopped trying altogether.

“What the hell happened, man…?” — His hands balled into fists over his knees, bags crumpling. Whatever approach he’d planned before barging in was starting to slip his mind already — “Who did it?”

‘And what’re you gonna do, exactly? You’re ‘onna find ‘em, Dante?”

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.


“I’ll fucking kill them.”

‘Course you will…’

“Just give me one name.” — His head was still bowed, trying to block out the cackling of the hound from his mind — “One.”

miki thebigfella

 

[thebigfella]

Shishido Takakazu

CS Link

SCENE:

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

LOCATION:

West District, Tak's Apartment

DATE:

July 21st || Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Hiachi miki Dante Haze-

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

There was no clock. Time felt so palpable. There weren't ticks or anything to measure the distance between then, now, and soon; everything was constant—the unblinking void that almost bore into his skull.

Tak had dropped himself on the opposite end of the small table in his disorganized living room, giving Hiachi the couch. His eyes blinked, they had blinked multiple times. Hers hadn't. Some part of him started to think she didn't need to blink, or that she had somehow timed his blinks with his, or maybe she had painted over her eyelids and was asleep this whole time. The thoughts flowed, and distracted him, the ensuing silence as neither of them spoke a word with neither mouth nor eyes, the faint ambiance of the cheap piping coming through the thin walls was the only sign life was moving around them, the flashes of light from cars passing the nearby street leaving a trail of light across the opposing wall accompanied the distant sounds of engines echoing down empty alleys.

The domineering silence brought Tak's hands to clench into his legs. Words never came to him. Nothing really seemed worth the breath. All he could hope to muster was empty apologies, ones that would not rectify anything that happened.

The knocking didn't even register to him. The only thing that brought him awake to reality was the cold, crisp air. His head was raised towards the entryway. Through the pull of night, there were their unmistakable eyes.

"Yo," Tak offered a weak welcome to his other (and actually invited) guest, grunting as he used his elbow to pull himself up to his feet. He could smell the scent of the fast food, all the grease and salt that would usually tantalize him only left his stomach to lurch. He can't remember the last time he had something proper to eat. His appetite had left him as much as his pride and worth; the lack of life satisfaction had always been able to be submerged underneath the joys of his palate, but now he couldn't even muster the favor to pop open an aluminum can of tomato sauce and pasta.

"...Thanks," words that felt alien came out of his mouth, his lips scrunched up as he let the aftertaste of such blatant behavior on his tongue. "I was hoping you would bring some chicken noodle soup or something," he wryly joked, though the deep chest coughs that came after didn't let him relish in his humor.

"She brought me some painkillers," Tak said, glancing at the bug-eyed girl. For a moment, he considered mentioning her break-in, but the thought still kind of made his skin crawl in a way that he thought she wasn't capable of bringing upon him. He bit his tongue, preferring to move on.

Moving on wasn't an option, though, not tonight, and probably never.

"Who?" Tak responded. The question caught him off guard. He had already forgotten who caused the pain; he hadn't cared who brought him to this state.

No, he kept his eyes on the why—why he was in this sorry state, why had things gone the way he had, and why couldn't he have done more?

"... Don't worry about it," Tak finally replied, after a pose and a close of his eyes, he turned away from Dante. Taking one of the bags out of Dante's hands as he clenched the paper tight. "I won't let anyone else get pulled into my shit."

Het took the bag, and placed it on the table in front of Hiachi, before stepping away from them both as he leaned his wounded body against a nearby wall, keeping himself propped up as he turned away with a creak of the floorboards.

"It's all my fault, I was the one who fell for the trap. I was the one who let her dad go to that fucking warehouse," Tak's hand came up to rub across his forehead, rubbing his bangs against his forehead as he moved them out of the way, the gloss in his eyes reflected off the streetlights in the outside window. His eyes narrowed at the stars for a minute, in all their distance away from the struggles upon earth before his teeth grit, and his body slumped, slowly gliding across the wall until he landed on the ground.

"She might as well have pulled that trigger because of me. It might have been better if I pissed her off enough to have me be on the end of it; it would have been better for someone like me, and the world would have been better off for it. I shoulda been dead in a ditch ages ago."

 

[miki]

Hiachi Ito

CS Link

SCENE:

R B A C P Y D O I L H A S

LOCATION:

July 21, 2022 || Post-Outbreak

DATE:

West District, Tak's Apartment

PARTICIPANTS:

Hiachi, Tak, Dante

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

He surprised her. She had been so ready to fight for it: to stand, static and sentinel to the broken thing within her. To stare hard, force him to see everything within the pools of her eyes.

But she didn’t need to. To say she was shocked didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel wrong, but she hadn’t seen it coming. She relaxed her twitching hands and straightened her posture by a degree. With a blink, the intensity of her eyes was taken down a notch. Instead of swirling with dread—her optical illusion of festering emotion—they were just hollow.

She watched him snatch the medicine out of her hands. Brazen tone, flippant ignorance. Tak, and what she knew of him. She could point at it and say it was so: normal; it was all normal.

It didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t entertain the feeling.

She didn’t respond when Tak spoke, but she watched him shuffle off to the bathroom. Even when he was gone, she stood still for a moment.

And then, without so much as a mental sentiment, she walked into the kitchen and watched the window. The world outside it was dead quiet, with only distant cars in the ambience.

This window was a real problem. If she could pry it open, anyone could pry it open. Was there anything she could use to cover it up? She cracked her knuckles individually.

There was little for her to do without a proper set of tools. Boards were out of the question. Were there even nails in this apartment? She wouldn’t know where to look. It was frustrating: if she had really expected this to work, she would have come prepared. How was she supposed to be safe now? More vulnerable than before?

Hiachi shook her head, as if she was trying to shake off the idea. No need to be overkill. She pushed the window shut and lowered the blinds, leaving the kitchen swathed in a pitch black shadow. She could see easily through it, where others could not. It eased her.

Tak had come back by the time she finished ruminating over the window. He sat opposite to the couch, abandoning his prior spot.

She sat on the floor in front of the couch, knees curled up into her chest and held close by her arms. Her eyes could never meet his; they were always darting between the door and windows. She didn’t feel the need to speak, or the urge to do something. If she really was frozen in time, it would be all the better for her.

Her cyclical watch was disrupted when she heard the knock at the door. Hiachi’s eyes locked on the door, the turning of the knob, and the backdrop of flickering street lights slivering in. Her jaw tightened. Her whole body, mind, soul, locked up.

Yellow eyes drew her attention towards his face.

...Dante.

Her eyes followed Tak as he got up and chatted with him normally. Dante, eyes alert and aware, with bags of fast food in his hands. She could tell by the smell of greasy salt that infected her throat. It invoked a hunger she had been neglecting for a while. When was the last time she ate? At some point, the hunger pangs became another part of her biology. And then nonexistent; a shadow in the corner of her apartment didn’t need to eat, so why did she?

She licked her teeth.

Tak wasn’t surprised, not in the slightest—even though she noticed his entrance first. Potential reasons for Dante’s arrival nibbled at her brain, but she didn’t have enough bandwidth to acknowledge them. She was just relieved it was him, and not anyone else.

She let go of her legs and shifted them so she could sit criss-crossed on the carpet. The rough texture irritated her skin, but with a small amount of adjusting, she was fine.

When he looked at her, his face fell. Her heart fell with it.

What did he see? Limbs dripping with tar? Shoulders sliced open? The mud in her hair? Mydriasis forcing a hare's eyes open? Pens wringing the neck of a scribbled caricature? A cruel joke? A face splattered with the blood of a dearly despised stranger?

She couldn’t read his mind. She needed to know. Was she pitiful? Was she frightening? It would make all the difference in how she would torture herself.

“Who did it?”

You.

A chill went down her spine. This scenario was chillingly similar to a scenario that played and replayed in her head. Whatever stood behind the mangled remains of that body coming for her. Revenge kill. Honor kill. Eight thousand words justified in killing her, kill.

And then she’d shoot back. Two, three, four more times. Until her bullets were wasted.

How many layers deep did it go? Hiachi didn’t know. But they’d find her. All of them.

It all started with the question. Who?

She didn’t move when the food was placed in front of her. She just stared into the null.

Her dad. That warehouse. She pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to be back there. A spectator outside of her own body. Watching as her dad, her flicker of hope, got smashed to bits; snuffed out.

Tak blamed himself, and it was stupid. It was hers. She had buried herself, and kept slamming the shovel when she hit rock bottom. Mallard was his weight, but everything else, her pride, her weakness, her imperfection: it built everything else.

Why couldn’t he see it through her eyes?

And then he said something else.

Better off without him. It encompassed her. She knew that feeling. To choke. To end it. To never have existed at all, so she never felt in the first place.

Thank god she left the painkiller bottle. Good job. Good job.

But not good enough. He kept talking like that.

“Don’t.” Her frown was deeper than her muscles were used to, but that guilt was so heavy that she couldn’t lift it back up. “Stop it.”

But he wouldn’t stop.

“SHUT UP!” From out of nowhere, she exploded. She reached under her shirt and drew the gun she had been concealing. “You don’t get to die!”

She paused. She retracted the gun, inspecting it with horror. It hadn’t even felt like she had pulled it herself. It was horrible; she was horrible. What the fuck was she doing?

She dropped the gun on the table. Quickly and urgently, like the metal had burned her hand. “Ghhhh….” She repeatedly slammed her palm into her head like it was a broken computer.

Reboot. Reboot. Reboot.

Self-fulfilling prophecy.

Shut up.

Spoiler

Haze- thebigfella

 

[joshuadim]

RYUTARO HASHIMOTO

CS Link

SCENE:

Blading [November 30, 2018]

LOCATION:

West District

PARTICIPANTS:

Ryutaro, Robin, Stratsimir

BLADING

A faint smile crossed the edge of Ryu's lips when Robin asked about parameters. There was a palpable anticipation in the air that she couldn't hide, like a child waiting for a present on the night before their birthday. It was a usual part of their relationship, where he would determine just how many lives would be taken. An attack dog needed to follow orders, or it would simply be a rabid one. Blood here and there would help satiate her... needs, but not everything needed to be a massacre. But this case was different. This was a rare opportunity where violence wasn't simply a job, but a necessity.

People needed to die when it served the right purposes. In this instance, it was in the service to his design. A design that would not suffer unruly road bumps on a cleanly paved path. "Keep the ringleaders alive. Aside from that..."

His gaze maintained a stoic outlook, but there was also a tell underneath that demeanour that she had come to know after all this time. "I'm turning you loose."

Breadman Infab

 

[Breadman]

Stratsimir Kolev

CS Link

SCENE:

Blading [30 November 2018]

LOCATION:

West District

PARTICIPANTS:

Stratsimir ,Ryutaro, Robin

Blading

"Don't worry about the suit, Robin." Stratsimir raised his hand slightly above his knee where it was resting "If things are intense enough, I will simply take it off." He spoke with confidence and why wouldn't he? He was in front of his boss and he wouldn't tolerate any bumbling idiots or cowards too afraid to get their hands dirty. Professionals or street rats, it didn't matter. They were going to get swept away.

As for Robin being 'turned loose' on their enemies, that spelled bad news for a number of people. None of them were in this vehicle however. He hadn't seen her in action, but he had heard enough through the grapevine about her exploits. As for the instructions.

"At worst we can rough them up a little before they give up on trying to fight back." Stratsimir shrugged "Will see about their men."

joshuadim Infab

 

[Breadman]

Karina Zemova

CS Link

SCENE:

Fangs on Film

LOCATION:

West District

PARTICIPANTS:

Karina, Robin

Fangs On Film

Ah October, the time of year where everyone was ready to put away those summer clothes that they held on to even through the September rains and turn them in for some nice Autumn clothes, but that was only the start of it. October was also the time for scares and masks. A time for children to don adorable little outfits and to run from home to home to either get some candies or pull a prank. But they were not the only ones to enjoy the festivities. Grown ups took the time of year as an opportunity to dress up and celebrate not as themselves, but as the characters or monsters they want to be. Karina was no different of course. She would always pick out the right outfit for herself and change her demeanor just a little to deliver a that extra fright for the Halloween parties.

Even though the big night was still two weeks away, the MondoTheater was hosting a marathon every weekend with a theme around a specific monster. She had gone the previous two weekends for their werewolf and outer space creature features. Even though the theater has a wide selection of movies, a lot of them just fall short of nailing it, but she still found those standout few worth the wait. Besides, who doesn't enjoy a nice riff or two on mediocre or bad movies?

She scrolled through the listed films for tonight to see what to expect. Last night the program ended with the classic 'The Count'. A movie that starts as a deconstruction of the popular vampire myth, only to take a turn into a full celebration of the genre's most infamous villain. She quite enjoyed it as every two bit hack had tried their hand to pull apart the vampire myth and disenchant its mystique to her. An annoying eye rolling trend that plagued the last few years. So a movie that spat in the eye of such self importance was a welcome sight.

Tonight however the program promised something else. A debut of a brand new film from the long running series, Blood Ties. She didn't take that with much enthusiasm. The first two films were fun to watch, the second to forth were best reserved for background noise, but everything after was unwatchable. Yet they still made money. Karina shrugged at the thought of sitting through another one. Who knows, they might have made another good one. The cast were enthusiastic about it at least. Hopefully Josephine Richter gets to chew the scenery again.

Oh, that's it! The perfect outfit for tonight. Who else, but lady Richter? The white haired enchantress. Karina looked through her wardrobe and some older boxes. She still had that old costume from a few years ago, just needed a little updating. The hat with the veil for instance. Lucky that she bought one a few months ago on a whim. Maybe it was a premonition? Richter was a oracle after all. Tho why did she have so many belts? Two around her waist, one for her little pack that would act as a purse that dangled on her hip. Two more strapped to her left leg? Who in the costume department needed to justify a pay raise? A black dress and a pair of heels to complete the look. Some make up to get that tired look and she was ready to go!

The car that was provided for her pulled up to the theater a short time later and she climbed out of it after giving instructions to the driver when to meet her. She also left him something extra for keeping him busy during these hours. Hired help and all, but these boys would rather relax on the weekend so they should get some extra compensation. As she expected, the theater was already full of people and some were in full cosplay. Same as the night before and the previous weekends. A few chance photo ops here and there and she walked to the food court to pick up something for the night. Popcorn of course. Small container. A bottle of water since the sugary syrup here made her gag. Anything else she would get in the intermission.

Karina entered the theater itself and scanned for a good seat to snag. A lot of people already took the good seats in the middle and the scant few were already being snatched up. There were some in the front, but she already spend one night tilting her head up, so she wouldn't repeat the experience if she could avoid it. Upper seats it is then. A minute later she had shuffled her way towards the middle and sat in her seat ready for the night of vampire films.

Yet something was off. She felt like she glanced something or someone familiar. Karina narrowed her eyes a bit and turned her head to see who exactly was sitting right next to her. 'oh...'

Infab

 

[Beann]

SAMIRA CALRISSIAN

CS Link

SCENE:

A Summer Breeze Scatters Blossoms

LOCATION:

Katōre, Sankai

PARTICIPANTS:

Ryutaro, Samira

A Summer Breeze Scatters Blossoms

Although not as extravagant as her family residence, Samira found the Hashimoto estate to have its own appeal as she wandered the halls. She stopped at each decorative artifact, appreciating them for a few seconds before moving on to the next. They all looked quite interesting but all but the dragon mask seemingly lacked the one trait that would match her taste — gold. She wasn't looking to acquire any of these pieces though as she was quite satisfied with the interior decoration of her penthouse already. Although, if they did have a spare sword or two…she hummed quietly in thought, thinking of a gift to bring back to Jack once she returned.

Finding herself back outside, her eyes followed the lone cherry blossom petal that drifted onto her shoulder. Rather than brush it off, she turned her attention to the unnamed man who was busy tending to the plants. A small smile formed as her presence was noticed, prompting her to take a few extra steps in his direction. “Well, I can't say for sure considering I had only arrived within the hour. Megumi does seem like a nice lady though.” She looked over the bonsai trees for a moment. “I'm Samira Calrissian, and you are?”

joshuadim

 

[Haze-]

Featuring Dante From Devil May Cry

SCENE:

R B A C P Y D O I L H A S

TIME:

July 21st | Post-Outbreak

LOCATION:

West District; Tak's Apartment

PARTICIPANTS:

Takakazu, Hiachi

RETURNING BACK A CHEESE PLATTER YOU DON'T OWN IS LIKE HAVING A SLEEPOVER

His cheeks sunk, chest rose, taking in a sharp inhale before hissing it out hot through his teeth. Watching Tak’s hand come into view from under the draping curtain of hair, his fingers released abruptly, like he’d forgotten he’d been clenching his fists.

‘Pulled into his shit...’

‘Got ourselves ‘nother hero right here…’ — Dante had to poise himself not to say something he didn’t really mean, something shot straight off the chest out of impulse. He straightened up, looking at Tak like a deer caught staggering into the wash of headlights down the interstate, scrambling his thoughts together, before a hand reached up to slick the hair out of his face, wipe the sweat off his forehead. He was frowning, looking around with one hand shoved in his pocket.

Eyeballing the mess of bandages slick with blood on the floor, at the greasy pile of likely week-old plates marinating ecosystems at the bottom of the sink; like he were about to scold him for the state of his apartment — “Don’t just act like you’re solving everything on your own. It’s my fucking problem too.” — He shook his head, sighed. Fingers pulling his glasses up to his forehead as he went to pinch the bridge of his nose — “I ain’t leaving you on your own, man. Whether you like it or not.”

It was the next thing Tak said that broke his cool, feeling like his frown lines would carve themselves so deep into his brow that he’d be seeing them in the mirror for days. It was that senseless, loud anger he felt every time his sister came back home from school with a purple ring over her eye, a bloated bottom lip that looked like a sliced sausage. Angry, at himself. He wasn’t there to stop it from happening. Stop him from hating himself now. Tak didn’t trust him enough to call him at the time. Or maybe he did call, maybe he was just too damn focused moping and feeling sorry for himself to notice.

He grunted, letting the bag of WcDonald’s hanging by his hand to settle on the floor — “Don’t say th—" — The words slung back into his mouth as Hiachi stepped up, yet he didn’t turn away from Tak. Not until her voice rose, and his eyes snapped just in time to see her pulling the iron tucked beneath her shirt. He didn’t flinch, didn’t have any immediate reaction.

Dante just looked on, shaky around the pupils, like it were hard to keep his eyes on her. It pained him seeing her like this, like she were still living through whatever the hell had happened to them.

‘It’s like a fuckin’ movie— one of ‘em noir novels! K—H-HAHAHAHAHA! Nothin’s topping this shit, Dante, I’m tellin’ you!’ — He watched the tall shadow loom behind Hiachi, arms thrown out wide, grandiose in narration. Pulling out his finest accent, twirling a string of whiskers from the snout of his wolf mask.

‘I looked onto the setting sky, a silver slate, like a quiet ache. It wept, and the blasted city was deaf to its cries. I could smell the soiled earth from under the layers of pavement, churning. I entered the apartment and found myself part of a trio of broken, lost souls. Tension, heavy on my shoulders. Silence, shook me like seeing a dead man’s face. Lost, like listening to mumbled words of guidance between shut lips, or resurfacing into some bad old habit. The words hung in my mouth, beneath my dry tongue, I didn’t know what to say. But I had to find out. I needed to. What had gone wrong?’

The only reply that came from Dante was a sharp exhale from his nose, more than un-amused.

Reboot.

Reboot.

Reboot—

At the fourth slam, a shadowy hand came up behind her to hold her wrist still. Clawed fingers, black gloves slit at the knuckles, wrapping around her hand slowly. Carefully, like they were gripping porcelain. Guiding it down, without forcing her, without letting go either. The hound stood tall at her side, hunched over not to tap his head on the ceiling, like a child’s imaginary monster had stepped out of the closet, a boogeyman that’d crawled from under the bed.

Breath buffed from under the mask, wheezing — “Yer’ gonna hurt y’self like that, girl.” — Three voices crackled in her head, warbling, all speaking at once. Finally, he let go of her. Groaning to sit down on the carpet beside her; the floor groaning to his weight alongside him.

‘Tell these fuckin’ chumps to siddown, would’ya? All this drama’s gettin’ me heated up. I’m a sensitive girl, y’know?’ — The hound grumbled, leaning back to prop himself up on one elbow. Dante let out a breath, clenching his jaw, nodding along before he started walking. The wolf followed with his eyes, narrating —

‘I headed for the sink, looking to run the faucet. Worry and a thousand-fold questions clouded my judgement. ‘This asshole can’t clean up this mess with how sorry he is right now’, I thought to myself. ’

Dante tried not to roll his eyes — “It’s not your fault. Neither of you did anything wrong.” — The sound of running water against porcelain came flooding into the still apartment. He already had his sleeves rolled up, foaming the sponge. He’d save him the trouble, knew what it was like to sit with your house turned into a pile of heap after damn near being split in half, having to live with the injuries for months.

How torn, bruised and pathetic Tak must’ve felt every time he woke up, Dante blamed himself for that too — “I know both of you feel like walking-talking dogshit after what went down, blaming yourself because there’s no-one left but you to blame anymore— but it’s the truth. You got cornered, and you acted. It’s what happens. And you did damn good as far as I’m concerned. Would’ve been dead if you hadn’t.”

“If something had fucking happened to you two I…”

He stopped for a moment, setting the sponge down, Leaning into the sink. His hands clammed up — “Listen,” — A golden eye turned to look at them over his shoulder — “I’m here to talk. Get your mind off that shit, off your chest. I know damn well you’ve been losing sleep over it, the two of you. If it’s too hard to talk about then…”

He turned to them, still frowning with a concerned look in his eye — “At least fucking eat something, man.” — He gestured to the plastic bags he’d brought, turning back around to keep swiping at the plates — “I know you’ve been skipping meals over it too. Y’ had me worried sick out of my damn mind since Tak called…”

‘And I kept scrubbing the plates, squeaky clean, like the good househusband I was.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Y’ gonna vacuum the dust off the floor too, Dante?’

The hound cackled, wheezed, coughed and sucked in a breath like his lung had slipped in and out of his mouth. He looked around, setting his sights on the gun still laid out on the table — “Cute.” — He held it between two fingers, slung it around, toying with it. Grabbing Hiachi’s hands and forcing her to hold it, jabbing the barrel at his snout. Pressing it hard against his own skull.

“This makes you feel strong, don’t it? Puffs out y’fuckin’ chest for you.” — He raked a tongue over a fang, the sound came muffled through the mask — “Gives you the courage you think y’don’t have, hm? Has you sayin' n' doin' things y'wouldn't normally...” —

He wheezed out a laugh, cocked the hammer back,

Click!

and pulled the trigger for her.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.



Nothing happened. There was nothing in the chamber. He was holding the bullet up to her between his fingers — “Y’don’t need it, kid.” — The hound let go, clicked his tongue, leaning back again and bumping his head to no tune in particular — “Y’ keep clingin’ to it like it’s yer’ mother’s tit…you’ll start to need it all the time. Real soon, y’will.”

"Don't mind him..."

Spoiler: dante's shadow

View attachment 1189092

miki thebigfella

 

[thebigfella]

Shishido Takakazu

CS Link

SCENE:

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

LOCATION:

West District, Tak's Apartment

DATE:

July 21st || Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Hiachi miki Dante Haze-

Returning Back A Cheese Platter You Don't Own Is Like Having A Sleepover

“It's my fucking problem too,”

Yeah.

He knew.

That was the horrifying part.

It was that comfort that made his skin crawl, that encroaching complacency that made him itch, the one that made his eyes flower on the floor rather than looking at anyone or anything.

Hiachi’s outburst didn't stir him. The gleam of the chrome, even as the weapon waved around. His hand only came to rub through his hair as a dopey smile came to his face, glancing upward as he rubbed a hand through his messy, unkempt mane.

He doesn't get to die; that statement caused him to grab at his bandages and begin pulling them off.

“Yeah, I guess I don't,” he said casually, as layers peeled back to show more blood-soaked rags. The exposed flesh around his shoulders was still visibly missing layers of skin, scabs surrounded by flesh leaking and puffing.


He stopped at the sleeve only because his shirt was in the way. Tossing the bandages to the ground, he exposed the wounds to the air, rubbing a hand across the purple tender spots.

“Everything I did wrong shows on me,” Tak stated as he stood straight. “Scars ain't much different from those tattoos of yours. Dumb shit that you think holds a profound message at the time.”


Tak's posture lost its structure as if his skeleton had been siphoned out of him, leaving only his spine to support him. He looked at Dante with that distorted smirk, as if something in his head had finally changed.

“It must be nice, Dante.” Tak stepped over towards Dante, raising one of his twisted and damaged arms to place it on Dante's shoulder. "When they find your corpse, they'll be able to figure out how to put you back together.” Tak's hand traced from his shoulder to his neck, giving a slight pull to his shirt to show off the tattoos that covered his collar.

“But for me,” Tak's hand reached towards his shirt. With a tight grip, he pulled the collar towards his heart. Slowly, the skin changed. From its usual tan, it turned into a gross red. A pulsing flesh underneath the layers, deep crimson veins as blood flowed through them.

“I haven't even given you the answer to my blueprints. Ain't that fucked up? You got so much faith. You think so much of me. Yet I spit on it every fucking time.”

Tak felt the heat growing in his face. He had brought Dante over, yet he was sitting here doing dishes. Tak knew in his own way that he was trying to help and act as support. And just the same was Hiachi. She had come for comfort, for stability.

“When are you guys going to get a clue? Huh!? How are you going to let this asshole keep wasting your time?!”


Tak let go of Dante, his eyes turning to Hiachi—the girl in her position, with that animalistic shadow. When he usually saw the thread of connection, the link between Dante and the demon clawed into the man's back. Tak raised a finger towards himself, his eyes in a frenzy as he took his stance between the two of them.

“That fucking mutt is going to catch my rabies.”

His bluish green eyes contracted, and his pupils sharpened as his hands fell to his side. His breathing was so heavy that he hadn't even realized it as he stood there.

“Before I let anyone else suffer for me, I'll suffer first. I'll carry all the sins; stripe me like a tiger.”