Archive of Our Own ^beta

He lives life like a drowning fish that tries to change the ocean because it cannot change itself.

Kougami Shinya.

He has the gaze of a clever hunter, a hunting-dog true to its name. How rare – delightfully exquisite.

There is kinship, Makishima thinks, between this sharp-eyed man and him. They both like the taste of blood; the way it trickles from skin – droplet by droplet or perhaps in great floods from deep gashes.

But Makishima can already tell.

Kougami Shinya.

He is the worst sort: a predator who hunts predator rather than prey. He has a compass etched within the taut lines of his posture and that resolute, steadfast gaze.

People with compasses are selfish; traveling in directions meant for one alone. What of the rest?

Makishima has never had a compass. He needs no selfish reason to kill; his purpose was always selfless. How could it possibly be otherwise, when he does not even know himself?

(But Makishima understands the world well. It is simple to see – the Sibyl System makes people into machines. He hates it. He hates them. Toys that run on batteries.)

No, Makishima’s murders are in the name of martyrdom: he kills without the acidic tinge of spite. Makishima has no real ill will. The lives he takes are for the sake of awareness. He will make people face the flaws in their society.

And if his own hands are bloodied to save humanity from itself, – to open its eyes – so be it.

(Passing detectors un-noticed, Makishima wonders how it feels to be seen.)

Kougami Shinya.

He’s a man who can see.

In the rafters high above Rikako’s dead body, Choe Gu-sung stands in the shadows, watching Makishima watch Senguji wipe clean the muzzle of his hunting rifle. His hounds prod the girl, then leave to explore the premises. Their metallic footsteps are dulled by the slick squelch of blood.

Mido had been a sore disappointment, and in the end, Rikako fared no better. Such futile investments, the both of them.

Makishima sighs. His hand begins to curl into a fist before he remembers the weight of Choe’s gaze; now, he relaxes his fingers and loosens his posture. Still, he is upset. For all the trouble he took as her sponsor, Rikako managed to provide him the least entertaining of shows.

This MWPSB enforcer, though, will give Makishima exactly what he wants. Makishima can feel it in his bones; taste it on the tip of his tongue with the painful clarity of a glass shard, swallowed. Kougami. The name scratches the back of his throat, begging to be spoken.

What it is that he wants, Makishima couldn’t quite say.

But those clever eyes promise to see right through him; to answer that question for him. And for the briefest moment, Makishima allows that perhaps this is what he has desired all along. Then again, that cannot be possible, for he is a humanist, and humanists cannot be selfish.

Something else, then. Kougami. Kougami will figure him out.

Makishima’s palms are sweaty by the time Choe succumbs to curiosity and asks about his decision to kill Rikako.

“I found a more interesting toy,” Makishima replies, smirking.

But even as he says so, Makishima knows well that the man he will play with next is no mere toy, but a beast. And finally, Makishima will be hunted as much as he will be the hunter. His blood sings.

Perhaps the thrill of the scarred shark’s chase will let him forget the sting of this pain. Endless –

Endless.