Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Reze sat at the window, still as death. The miles of grey, monolithic city sweeping by reflected dully in her blank, green eyes. To the outside observer, she would have appeared meditative, in a trance-like calm. This was not so. 

For Reze had decided to board that fateful train. It was to become the greatest regret of her life. Each passing minute towards her destination brought a greater intensity of chest-crushing dread, and yet, also, a greater clarity to her plan. It was not so simple as to just turn around now — her handler was waiting for her at the extraction point, near Kansai Airport. Disappear, and he would hunt her down. That’s what the handlers were, really: bloodhounds. Ammunition kids in the big, wide world had a history of being a little flighty. He needed to be dealt with, and fast.

The train rolled to a stop. Rinkū-town Station, plastered on every wall, now lit in surgical white against the growing twilight. Reze alighted robotically. All of her movements were robotic, as she slipped quietly away, towards the nearby beach. That’s what she needed now: precision. Calculated ruthlessness. In one hand, she held (carefully, as if it still held liquid) an empty can of Coke. Reze allowed herself to run a thumb back-and-forth over the rim, her single sign of unease.

Standing there, leaning ever-so casually behind a dune of white marble stones, was…him. Names had never been given freely in Reze’s life. ‘Handler’ or ‘Sir’ had always sufficed. His gaze lifting to hers, he tossed his cigarette down and crushed it underfoot. The pebbles crackled with the movement.

“Report.” Toneless, not the slightest intonation. 

“Jane still walks, but now in the eyes of all.” Reze paused, and, with a practiced hand, mimed drinking from the empty can. “Let the other children play and sleep at her side.”

A vague noise, a grunt in response. Not the answer he wanted, perhaps, but no matter. The handler approached her, hands unveiling a metal cuff. As always, Reze assumed the position: both hands behind her back, neck held high and forward. Just as he came within arms’ reach, she let her eyes go wide, and drank in every detail:

> Target: The Handler. A long-range communication device connected to his shoulder via plastic cord. At least one more likely hidden within his uniform. A belt across his waist, holding two each of: vial of mist from the Drowning Devil, dagger of the Infection Devil, needle of the Coma Devil, on opposite sides for access by either hand. Has become dull and careless due to years of her excellent behaviour, visibly relieved when collar seals with a click. The can, foolishly, not remarked upon and likely forgotten.

Quick as a whip, Reze held that can in both hands and twisted, rewarding her with two halves of jagged, wickedly sharp metal. She swung one around, aimed across the softness of his throat. He reacted, only just, bringing the razor, wild and brutal, across his mouth, jawbone, under his chin. An inarticulate, enraged scream, a gush of blood. Drop that half, grab the radio, pull the cord taut, swing the second hand, sever the cord clean, drop the radio, crush it with three stomps, kick the bleeding man backwards.

The handler, face now weeping and ugly with blood, staggered, but did not fall. Then his eyes met Reze, apoplectic. Good. He would not reach for his second communication device. Nor would he opt for the detachment of the Drowning mist or the Coma needle — he would want the gore, the retribution of the dagger. As the handler went to withdraw the knife from its sheath, charging back towards her, Reze struggled to suppress a smile. It was always nice to be right. 

He’s going for the dagger on the left, and he’ll unsheathe it with a horizontal slash…lean back. The knife sailed by in a futile arc. Now, he will bring it down diagonally in an overhand stab…pivot to the side. As the knife missed its target, Reze darted forward and placed her hand on the hilt, guiding it, almost tenderly, into the thigh of her opponent. Use a larger target’s own force against them. It sank neatly into his flesh.

The man stumbled, but quickly caught himself. Makes sense. Getting stabbed never hurt as much as you thought it would — filled with adrenaline, he probably barely felt it at all. He was not so stupid as to remove the knife and bleed out, but the Infection would soon take its course. Reze need only stall until then. The weapon had been meant for her, with any oozing wounds it inflicted being slow to heal, even with her enhanced regeneration. What would it do to a human? She had half a mind to watch and find out.

Which item would the handler choose now? He was now badly wounded, anger surely being replaced by panic — he would choose the quickest end. His hand found the needle of the Coma Devil. Reze was really smiling now. She couldn’t help it: a big, cheesy, creepy grin. She loved the fight, loved the danger. The whirlwind of it was starting to take her. 

Flying towards her, the needle glinted in the last of the setting sun. Such a simple strike. She would duck under it, elbow him in the ribs, then —

Bang. A fist collided with Reze’s temple. The needle had been a feint. She reeled, head swimming, moving just fast enough to dodge another jab, but not the boot that planted into her stomach and sent her careening onto her back. She was winded, still hacking and wheezing when the handler straddled her. The mess of his face dripped blood onto her blouse. Instinctually, she went to the pin at her neck, just to meet the cool metal of the collar. Ah. The attacker readied the needle. Game over.

Silly girl, you’ve done it again, she thought, in the seconds before the needle would pierce her skin. Reze was almost the perfect agent, but she had one, crucial defect. Her minders used different words for it: willful, vivid and lively were some of the kinder ones. Reze felt everything. Each and every emotion ran deep and strong, and seized her in the moment, overcoming the cold logic demanded of her. It was the jealous frustration that made her bite off a tongue, then the bittersweet hunger to follow with a kiss. The joyous battle-lust that made her put this great, big smile on her face when should be afraid, should be paying attention…

And the irresistible idea of an escape with that boy…it was ridiculous and fanciful, but it didn’t matter. The dream of it had already taken her, and she’d danced and sang with it, all the way here to her early grave. Or hybrid equivalent. Reze closed her eyes. 

A sound, like the swipe of a sword, then a nasty, wet thud by her ear. Reze opened her eyes, just to be greeted by the freshly decapitated stump of the handler’s neck. It gushed several spurts of dark, red blood, soaking her face and chest in hot liquid. The metallic stench coated her. Reze willed herself to stay very still, the headless corpse still crouched above her. Or it was, until a long, slender leg kicked it aside, and it fell with a graceless thump.

In the soft darkness, it was difficult to make out her tall saviour. Then she, too, lit a cigarette, and a handsome, eyepatched face, wreathed in white hair, emerged in the orange light. Reze’s jaw fell, just a little.

> Object: Quanxi. Chinese operative. Reports indicate unparalleled strength, speed, physical and combat prowess — do not antagonise under any circumstance. Multiple Dao swords sheathed at her back. Typically accompanied, such as now, by a group of female Fiends. May be vulnerable to female distress or sexual persuasion.

Reze tried the former now. Sputtering, daintily wiping blood from her mouth, she croaked, “Thank you, I’m lucky you came by. What’s your name?” Translation: I’m sure I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here.

Quanxi just glared at her. “No coincidence, girl. My women smelt you at the station, so strong they got off the train. Gunpowder and lilies”, she said, taking a long drag. Translation: cut the shit, I know you aren’t human. “Pingtsi”, she called, beckoning a Fiend over. 

Slow as she dared, Reze sat up. There was no option other than playing nice. The sight of her, drenched in blood from the waist up, made the short Fiend grimace. Nonetheless, the girl made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, and peered at Reze through it. 

“Oh!” She exclaimed. Pingtsi turned to her mistress, visibly excited. “Lady Quanxi, she’s just like —!”

Quanxi’s arm shot out and grabbed the Fiend above the elbow, forcefully. Whatever Pingtsi was about to say died with a squeak. Interesting. The girl scampered off to rejoin the gaggle of Fiends, standing a little ways away. 

Kneeling, Quanxi reached for the collar at Reze’s neck. Reze just tensed and braced herself to react. Then, with unthinkable strength, she crushed the metal within the palm of her hand. Opening her fist, the ruined thing fell haphazardly into Reze’s lap. But the hand at her throat did not move. Reze met this monster’s eye and waited.

“If anyone tries to put this on you again, kill them.” Now, that was really interesting. The display of force, the hand, the indifference towards her now usable pin, were all clearly threats, but that comment was kinship. Kinship, and its immediate rejection. That accursed little smile was starting to creep onto Reze’s face again. For all Quanxi’s fierceness, she was clearly not trained in espionage’s more subtle arts.

Standing back up, Quanxi continued: “I know where you’re going. Turn around and go back the way you came”, she gestured her head towards the airport, floating in the bay. “You’ve got a head start on abandoning your mission”, she said, eye returning to the still-bleeding corpse. “I don’t want to have to kill a pretty, young girl like you.” Without a backwards glance, Quanxi turned and sauntered off, Fiends in tow, into the night. 

Reze sat on the beach for a while, mulling this over. Quanxi really didn’t know who she was — she’d assumed Reze was on the same mission as her, sent to kill Denji now that he had been exposed. It mattered little; the warning was the same. Reze let her eyes wander to the airport, floating on the ocean like a fantastical island. Its lights were starting to wink on, little jewels reflecting against the dark water and into the sky. There was nothing stopping her from using the little money she had left, getting a cheap flight to a neighbouring country, and melting away forever.

That wasn’t true. There was one, lingering feeling stopping her. Stupid little boy.

With a flash of inspiration, she walked back to the remains of her handler. Rummaging about in his uniform, she found the second communication device. If the Chinese were sending their best, so too, hopefully, would Germany. Frohe Weihnachten, she typed into the machine: Merry Christmas. If she kept a low profile, perhaps the Soviets would think she had been killed. Reze doubted she was so important as to be worth a war.

As for the handler’s weapons — the one in the corpse’s leg had come free with a squelch — she tossed them into the sea. Reze would rely only on herself. She turned her back to the glittering island, and headed back into the city, following Quanxi’s wake.

Chapter Text

It had been quite an effort, finding the will to wash the blood away. This man had been her keeper, her tormentor —Reze licked her lips, then her hands and arms, savouring the flavour. She could still taste his fear. After so many years of his tyranny, that was a pure rush to the head. Blood had certainly been an acquired taste: she'd been served it soon after her successful, so-called ‘conversion’, food withheld until it was finished. It was the fastest way for a Devil to recover, after all. At first, she’d gagged and retched. But sooner or later, the threat became unnecessary: she’d come to crave it, and the idiosyncrasies in taste according to the life it had contained. That is how she knew the handler had died afraid. It made her want to run into the road and howl.

Reze did no such thing. Instead, she walked slowly, following the sound of cars. The first thing she needed was a guise, one no-one would look twice at, lest they notice the blood. That was easy enough. She undid her hair, messing it until it fell limp over her face. Next, she found a dusty bank by the side of the round, then dropped and rolled in it without hesitation. The icing on the cake was a hideous, old blanket she found lying on the wayside. Some tiny, long-dying human part of her balked at the germs, but she wrapped it about herself all the same. Reze never got sick anymore.

The second thing she needed was a motorway. Reze stood still for a moment, absorbing the sounds of the night. The buzzing of cicadas had died down hours ago, leaving just the faint hush of the sea, the occasional bird, and the distant rush of cars. She walked on, tracing the largest roads she could find.

It had taken a while — it was difficult to judge how long, as the darkness remained unchanging, and Reze’s feet never tired — but she reached a main road, and better yet: a truckstop. Shedding the blanket and her blood-drenched blouse, she walked towards the shower house. Several plausible excuses for her state swirled around her mind as she crossed into the artificial light, but she was in luck: few people were here, all of which were already in their own shower.

Paying a small fee, she entered a cubicle, got her very own towel (Well, isn’t that nice) and watched as the gore drained away. It became a cloudy pink beneath her feet. That blood had tasted good; Denji’s had been better. The pleasant heat of the water went to her very bones.

Her shorts were salvageable, but the blouse was not. Reze threw it down, letting the water shape it into a contorted, red lump, like a hunk of wet flesh. She watched the watery blossoms of blood that bloomed from it. A plan continued to percolate through her mind.

Trains were the fastest way back, but she couldn’t risk it. Reze needed to remain dead for as long as possible. When her handler failed to arrive, her minders would first check the cameras of the trainlines. Probably the buses too. She needed a cautious combination of walking, taxis, and hitchhiking. Irritating, but not difficult. Pulling the lost child routine always had motherly types willing to drive her halfway across the country. 

Drying and changing back into her shorts and bra, she wandered the showers and changing rooms until she found a t-shirt vaguely her size and swiped it. Matches my eyes, she thought, despite herself, looking at the faded forest green. 

Leaving the building, she returned to the embrace of the night. She threw the ruined blouse in the first dumpster she found, then made for the taxi rank. 

Thus it went. The next few days, Reze walked as long as she dared, hitchhiked with any older woman she could find, turning on the tears with anyone who needed persuasion. When no suitable mark was available, she spent her precious remaining money on taxis, and stayed in the cheapest hostels she could find. It was slow going, but she made it to Tokyo. 

Finding her apartment, and not least the clean clothes within it, was a great relief, but still a hollow one: the rent ran out at the end of the week, and she could not afford to renew it. That was her mission, then — extract Denji within the next 3 days. She repeated it to herself several times in Russian, imagined herself receiving it on one of those stark documents they always gave her, half the words blackened out. It grounded her. I still have a mission. 

Denji did not come by the café. Nor did he emerge from Public Safety, the building lying still and quiet as a tomb. Something was wrong. Reze had developed a sense for such things; purely by some texture of the air, she knew violence was near. She followed that strange atmosphere, then, once closer, the unmistakable sound of bloodshed. Now, it was so loud as to be on the next street over. The night sky here was blushed orange with the light of a fire, and a layer of smoke had started to creep along the ground. Reze climbed the building in front of her, shimmying up drainpipes and leaping between window sills with feline agility. She reached the roof, and peered over to behold the carnage.

Small fires abounded, adding their shifting smoke to the great clouds of dust that drifted in and out of view. A number of corpses about the ground become visible and invisible accordingly. They had already become ghosts. But some of these ghosts were alive, and all at once, Reze recognised Quanxi, arms held in surrender. And worse, the beast bearing down on her.

> Object: Makima. Beg for mercy.

A strike, faster than the eye could follow, and three heads lay on the ground. It brought a gasp to even Reze’s throat. The indomitable Quanxi, dead in a split-second. 

…Or was she? Oh dear. Reze could feel a hunch forming. Just a hunch, but it formed an urge, itching in her stomach and up her spine, seizing and burning along her arms and into her hands, which rose, unbidden, to the pin at her neck. Logic told her to run away. She cared not for returning Quanxi’s favour, and throwing herself in front of Makima was practically suicide. But she had an idea, and she couldn’t help herself. She never could. Her body pitched forwards, yearning for the dance, and she let it fall with a boom.

The idea whizzed around her head, even as it burst into flames. Lady Quanxi, she’s just like —!, unparalleled strength, if anyone tries to put this on you again, kill them…

Quanxi was just like her. And if she was just like her, then Quanxi’s body was more than capable of regenerating a working eye. So why wear an eyepatch? There was surely only one answer: to conceal something.

She hit the concrete, rolled, grabbed a fistful of Quanxi’s hair in one hand, and blasted back up with the other, aiming for a passing smoke cloud in which to disappear. Too fast, she hoped desperately, for the demon to react. 

A fraction of a second, an infinitesimal moment, where Reze met Makima’s eyes. It was like missing a step and falling, the air rushing clean from your lungs. Sickly, piercing yellow. Then she was gone, and away into the darkness.

Makima watched the space that the Bomb Hybrid had just vanished from. “My, my”, she said to herself. “Bomb-chan has returned to us.” A small smile played about her lips. “Kishibe, Yoshida, you may remove your blindfolds now. I will need some assistance in transporting these bodies.”

Reze risked her Bomb form for only a minute, putting as much distance between her and Makima as possible. She prayed that whatever had happened in that square was a bigger news story than a sighting of herself. Soon, she felt her inhuman form melt away, and she was running through the thankfully deserted streets, severed head in tow.

Muscle memory carried her feet through the dark. Quite by accident, she found herself on familiar ground: the overpass where they had watched the fireworks. Ah. So this was where her body had looked for safety.

Chest heaving, Reze placed Quanxi’s head at her feet. The blood that dribbled from her neck had ruined Reze’s clothes once more. Regardless, her mind was elsewhere. The memory of Makima’s eyes still turned her stomach, and now she was to find out whether or not it had all been for nothing. 

Her fingers found the edge of the black fabric and delicately pulled it aside. Vindication. A bolt of satisfaction ran down Reze’s spine. What lay beneath was not an eye, but a strange, branching protrusion from an empty socket. Perhaps it was unwise, but there was only one thing to do.

Reze took the arrow in her hand and pulled.

Chapter Text

The being that sprang from Quanxi’s corpse was almost beyond description. Its head was like the warped skull of a horse, beset with huge, curved horns, shining like burnished brass. Beneath was a fearsome lion’s mane of golden spines, and the twisted flesh of its arms, contorted into spiraling crossbows. The rest of the body was nude and lean with muscle. So beautiful… 

It strode towards Reze and caught her by the neck, lifting her several feet off of the ground with a single arm. Inhuman fingers, cool as steel, covered Reze’s pull-pin and windpipe. Reze swung her legs forward and encircled her captor’s arm, trying to topple it with her bodyweight, but it was like grappling a marble statue. She had gotten it wrong: Quanxi was not like her, or even Denji. Quanxi was alone on this earth.

“I told you I’d kill you, girl.” Reze had expected the gravelly, pained voice of a monster, but it was Quanxi’s regular tone, even and cold. “Just another dog.”

Reze’s vision was starting to blur. Biting, scratching, kicking, nothing had any effect.

“No”, she wheezed, froth running from the corner of her mouth. “Not for her. Never.”

Quanxi considered the girl for a moment, then unceremoniously let her drop. Reze hit the ground, shins buckling and falling in a heap. Coughing, she touched at her throat. Bruises were already starting to form, like ink into water. Looking up, she saw Quanxi’s hybrid form sloughing off. She was completely naked, and apparently entirely unbothered about it, leaning on the railing and staring at the city she’d left behind. 

“That was a bit rude, I just saved your life”, Reze croaked out, hoarse. To make this investment worthwhile, they’d need to build up some kind of rapport. Aggravating though it was, she’d have to excuse a little attempted murder.

Not taking her eye off the horizon for a moment, Quanxi replied, “We’re even. And you didn’t save me. You just took me from my women.” Her voice betrayed nothing, but grief clung to her like a veil. Reze realised Quanxi’s fury hadn’t been directed at her at all. 

“Makima took someone from me, too.”

That did make Quanxi face her. Even naked, she held herself with such conviction that Reze felt she was the one who ought to be embarrassed. This was quickly earning Reze’s begrudging respect. 

“This is no revenge mission, girl. I’m not going to play hero with you. I’ll do anything she asks to get my ladies’ bodies back, then I’m leaving her the hell alone. You should do the same.”

“I can’t. My person’s still alive”, Reze said. Let’s pique her curiosity. “It’s Denji.”

Quanxi’s face wrinkled in confusion. Wasn’t this girl here to kill Denji? Then she remembered she didn’t care in the slightest, and the thought flew peacefully from her head like a dove. 

The silence stretched out. Reze frowned at her foiled attempt at intrigue. Let’s try something else. She sat up and drew her knees to her chest, then wrapped her arms around them as if huddling for warmth. Turning her head shyly away, she said, softly, “I’ve never met another girl like myself before. It’s…nice.” Almost entirely a lie. 

Quanxi sighed. “Sweetheart, I’m not like you.”

“My name’s Reze. What’s yours?”

The police sirens in the distance could now be heard in the quiet that followed. Quanxi ruminated for quite a while, clearly weighing up the pros and cons of this tiny surrender to human connection. Reze just had to wait her out. She could do this all night.

“Quanxi”, she finally responded.

Reze smiled. “Quanxi, I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Understatement of the year. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to do anything that stops you all from reuniting! You must really love them…” She trailed off in a way that she hoped seemed endearing and a little sad. “Temporary truce?”

Quanxi seemed close to frustration. “What is it that you want from me?”

“I…don’t have anywhere to go.” A truth. Reze continued rubbing a hand up and down her upper arm. Look at me, I’m so cold and vulnerable. “Do you have any extra room at your place?” Think of all the empty space you have now, so lonely. “I’m useful. You say I’m not like you, but…I know things. I’ll help you any way I can.”

Some internal battle in Quanxi’s head was being lost — Reze could sense it. She tilted her head to the side, letting her dark hair fall in her face, and batted her eyelashes just a little bit. Quanxi had called her pretty, right?

Letting out a huff, Quanxi paced off along the road. “Temporary truce”, she said over her shoulder, the emphasis firmly on the first word. She jerked her wrist in a come here sort-of motion. That was the best Reze was going to get, for now. The Bow Hybrid was an extraordinary ally to have, no matter how tenuous. Getting to her feet, she revised the plan in her head: mission, extract Denji, timeline indefinite. 

The city slowly began to thrum with life once more, as the Doll Devil’s rampage was cleared away. That meant people were returning to the street just in time to see a 6-foot, silver-haired, butt-naked woman march past with military determination. Reze scuttled along behind her, trying not to be noticed, which was pretty easy. Most people just open-mouth gawked at Quanxi. One man, in what was to be the last moment of his life, approached her with a whistle and sleazy comment — Quanxi pivoted and punched him so hard in the stomach he was literally bisected. She didn’t even break her stride. People generally left her alone after that.

They came to the façade of a rather fancy-looking hotel. Quanxi turned abruptly up the stairs and within. Practically running to keep up, Reze followed, before being struck dumb by the building’s interior. She’d been in a couple of nice buildings, exclusively whilst working jobs with the more higher-society marks, but this was certainly up there. Almost everything — the floors, the pillars, the great arches of the ceiling — were made of light marble, dappled with patterns like sunlight on seawater. The Chinese minders let their agents have this?  

Some unpleasant emotion was bubbling up within Reze. Jealousy? Anger? Quanxi wasn’t helping: the immaculately dressed staff smiled and greeted her, as if she wasn’t bare as a baby. Reze was hardly shy when it came to her own body — she showed it off when she needed to, but made efforts to cover herself when she did not. This was something else entirely. She was starting to feel out of her depth: her training was designed to work on normal human behaviours, something Quanxi was displaying precious little evidence of. 

The ride on the lift up to Quanxi’s suite was filled with nothing but stony silence. Reze let it be; there should be plenty of conversation-starters within the room, though she was starting to worry about the possibility that Quanxi preferred to live in some bare white cube.

Thankfully, she was proven wrong. The orderly hotel room did betray signs of life: a truly impressive number of swords were on display, lined neatly in their scabbards against the wall, stacked on the cabinet, and peeking out of the open wardrobe. The woman really liked swords. But there were other things too; what stood out the most to Reze was a small stack of encyclopedias tucked against a corner. The History of Ancient Mesopotamia, read the spine of one. Ecology of Lepisosteidae, Vol. II, said another. 

Reze turned to attempt some small-talk with her host, but Quanxi was already halfway across the room and closing the bedroom door with a slam. Fine. Guess she’d have to have a little snoop around. Reze longed to change out of the blood-stained shirt, but the clothes in the wardrobe looked like they belonged to the Fiends. It was hard to imagine Quanxi in the button-up dress or knitted turtleneck. Wearing one of those would certainly not be tolerated. Also, a quick glance around revealed the suite only had one bedroom. Weren’t five people staying here? 

Having reached the end of her rope, Reze turned on the TV and flopped onto the couch. It might be nice not to use her brain for once. The little box hummed and whirred until the news channel flickered on.

“As you can see, people who have lost their ability to speak, save for the word “Halloween”, have appeared all over the world. Is it the power of a Devil? Or —”

A pale hand shot down and plunged the TV back into darkness. Quanxi, now clothed in a grey tank top and jeans, fixed Reze with a fearsome glare. She threw something at Reze rather ungently, then traipsed to the mini-fridge to grab a beer. Reze unfolded the parcel at her chest: it was a clean, black tank top. She wordlessly changed shirts where she sat. Any shyness about her own body would now be an unacceptable display of weakness. 

Quanxi sat at the other side of the couch. Her face was as inexpressive as ever, but she had an air of resignation. She’s grieving, Reze remembered. 

“Are the books yours?” She asked, cautiously.

Whilst she didn’t exactly smile, Quanxi’s features softened. “No. Those are Pingtsi’s. She's the shortest Fiend.”

Reze noted the use of present tense. “Oh! Is she a big reader?”

“No — she can learn things just by looking at them. I don’t know why she couldn’t just ‘read’ them at the store, but she insists it’s better to take them home and do it page by page. Said something like how it feels better, like chewing your food for longer.”

Amazing, how much easier her words flowed when talking about the Fiends. “I think I get it! It’s like savouring each individual taste for longer. But why those weird topics?”

Quanxi shrugged. “She knows everything. She needs obscure crap like that to learn anything new.”

“Wow, I can’t imagine what it’s like fitting all that stuff in your head. How did you all meet?”

That was a much riskier line of questioning. Reze wasn’t sure if that was crossing a line too soon. Quanxi took a long, slow swig from her beer can, looking as if she was trying to decide the same thing. She placed the can back in her lap and ran her fingers over the condensation, a strangely human gesture from her.

“Some facility in China”, Quanxi eventually said. “Back when they still thought I’d need a partner. The way those girls were treated didn’t sit right with me, so I took them.” As simple as that.

The words weighed heavy on Reze, a painful lump forming at the back of her throat. What Quanxi described had been her deepest, darkest, most shameful desire at her greatest moments of weakness: lying in bed, praying for some caring, powerful stranger to whisk her away. In the morning after, she would get up and get over it. The truth was that, most of the time, she liked what she did. She was good at it. But the more time she spent outside, the more she came to realise — I have been treated badly. It was an absolutely humiliating realisation to have. I am a victim. She railed against the thought. And for those Fiends, that unspeakable dream had come true. Quanxi was all their imagined childhood saviours come to life, but those girls had died all the same.

Overwhelmed, Reze stood up from the couch, body jittering with nervous energy. Quanxi misinterpreted the movement. “Spare futon bed’s in that cupboard”, she said, monotone, unaware of the effect of her words.

“Is that why you saved me, too? At the beach?” Reze breathed, attempting to keep her voice light.

“An older man attacked a young girl. Who cares about context”, Quanxi replied. She drained the last of her beer and walked to the bedroom door. “It’s late. Sleep.”

Reze realised that she didn’t want her to leave. Standing in the middle of that room felt like being lost at sea. But she would have to bear it. She could bear anything.

“Goodnight, Quanxi”, she murmured.

“Mhmm”, was the reply, as Quanxi turned away. Then, a few seconds later, as if an afterthought, “‘Night, girl.”

Chapter Text

Makima was sitting at her desk, deep in thought. The sun at her back warmed her clothes, her hair, cast her shadow upon the worn wood. That shadow had slowly circled from her left to right, like the hand of a clock, so long had she been sat there, motionless. What was she to do, about their new little guest?

Reze’s return was an irritant. Makima’s plan for Denji, infinitely slow and patient, was soon to come to a head. It was difficult to contain a shiver at the thought. But the Bomb Hybrid had the potential to ruin it all — what would it mean to Denji, if he caught sight of her? That the people who had abandoned him could one-day return? Those who betrayed him could still become allies?

It would give him hope. Makima pulled a drawer open and retrieved her letter-writing equipment. Because hope wouldn’t do, it wouldn’t do at all.

If she’d had more time, she would have loved to hunt the pair herself; Quanxi was certainly a sore loss from her collection. But events she had set into motion years ago were now hurtling near. No matter — she would obtain the full set soon enough.

As Makima wrote in neat cursive, she let her mind clear and roam over the city, the ears of her faithful vermin delivering a huge choir of voices. So much of it, despair, anger, fear… Do not worry, my dear humans. It will not be long before I give you salvation.

The two Hybrids had come to an odd sort-of stalemate. Reze longed to seek out Denji, but he never returned to the café, and she didn’t know where he lived. Besides, too long spent roaming in the wrong places ran the risk of alerting Makima to her whereabouts. She didn’t actually know the extent of the witch’s powers, but her reputation preceded her: without Quanxi, Reze would be mincemeat if the fight ever came.

So, she stalled for time. She gradually moved her few belongings from her old apartment to Quanxi’s suite, putting them in bags and pretending they’d just been bought. She carefully walked the area around the hotel, hood over her face, learning her escape routes. Her and Quanxi ate meals that room service brought up three times a day; money seemed to be no object. 

Quanxi did very little of anything. She watched TV, drank beer, kept up a punishing exercise regime, then slept. Reze would often return to find her holding some improbable calisthenics position for the best part of an hour. She didn’t even seem to sweat. Was her strength a result of her contract? Or could Reze one-day become the same inhuman beast?

They spoke little, other than when Reze’s restlessness overcame her.

“What exactly are we waiting for, Quanxi?” she said, trying not to sound irritated. They were sat across from each other, over a table of Dim Sum. 

“Makima will make her move.” Quanxi ate strangely, taking tiny nibbles and chewing thoughtfully. Reze, when not putting on an act, ate like a wolf. 

“Are you sure, though? She doesn’t know where we are, so what if she’s just waiting for us? That’ll be a lot of boring waiting.”

“She knows where we are.”

The floor dropped away from under Reze’s feet. “What?”

Quanxi looked up from her plate, nonplussed. “Of course she knows where we are.”

“How? Did you tell her?” Reze felt her back suddenly up against the wall — composure left her. 

“Easy, girl,” Quanxi sighed, putting her chopsticks down. “Your handlers have failed you. They should’ve given you a real warning. Here’s the shorthand: there is nowhere in this country where Makima couldn’t find you. Did you have some dream of running away? I’m telling you to give it up. She’ll find you, and she can’t die. I’ve seen her get blown into pieces, and stand right back up in the pile of her own flesh. What could you do against that, Reze?”

It had been a while since Reze had heard the sound of her own name. That snapped her back into reality. Despondent, she stuffed a whole Dim Sum in her mouth and tried to focus on eating. Despite her fear, she couldn’t suppress a sliver of joy at the taste. Reze had not felt the frantic pain of starvation in an awfully long time, but it was difficult to forget; the removal of food was a punishment for the less important children, the experimental cannon-fodder who could live or die. Not for one of the high-ranking successes that she eventually became. Why risk the atrophy of a body that had been conditioned into perfection, and waste all of her physical training? They were treated like racehorses: certainly not people, but highly valuable animals. She’d lived on a meticulously tailored, vitamin-rich diet of meat, fish, nuts and vegetables for years. Not to mention the blood. Seasoning and taste had been of no priority whatsoever, of course. She relished the fatty pork between her teeth. 

Their uneasy silence was interrupted by a knock at the door. A truly terrifying glare settled over Quanxi’s face. She crossed to the door and opened it firmly.

“Which part of ‘Do Not Disturb’ are you struggling to read”, she hissed, in a tone that would make a faint-hearted man take off sprinting. The poor hotel worker quivered and shrank, but bravely held his ground. He muttered something about a letter, foisted it into Quanxi’s hands, then fled. Quanxi’s body language was immediately different: she became very still.

“What’s wrong?” Reze asked, quickly getting to her feet. Walking over to meet her, Reze saw the manila envelope, complete with a blood-red wax seal. There was no writing on the cover. Quanxi closed the door very gently, and walked slowly back to the table, as if in a dream. She set the envelope down and sank to her knees. Looking up at Reze, there was a sorrowful weight in her eye. 

Following her lead, Reze sat beside her. Neither daring to breathe a word, they shared a final look before Quanxi broke the seal and withdrew the letter. Her fingers were steady and careful. She smoothed the piece of paper down on the table, exposing the fastidiously neat cursive within. It read:

Dear Ms. Quanxi and Miss Reze,

I hope that you are both well. I was disheartened to see your departure a few days prior; I had such plans for the two of you. Were my schedule not so demanding, I would have come to greet you myself. Regardless, I imagine that you, Quanxi, will be most cooperative concerning my following request: you are to not to leave your hotel suite for the rest of the day. I’m sure I need not remind you that your lovers’ bodies are being kept safely within Public Safety’s possession. I also trust that you can convince young Reze to comply in this matter.

Yours sincerely, 

Ms. Makima.

“We need to leave”, Reze breathed, already getting up to grab a bag and some clothes.

“You can’t read either?” 

Reze met Quanxi’s eye. The air had suddenly become thick and tense.

“Something bad is going to happen if we stay, Quanxi. She’s going to send something to come here and kill us, or much worse.” The queasy feeling from looking into Makima’s eyes had returned full-force. 

Quanxi stood up to her full height — she towered over Reze. “You’re gonna get in-between me and my women?” Her tone was not threatening. There was no need, as the promise of violence went without saying.

Reze ran all the options in her head and came up empty. She cursed the brilliance of Makima’s letter: she had the two of them right under her thumb without lifting a finger. Face Quanxi’s wrath here or Makima’s outside. Rock and a hard place.

“Of course I don’t want to do that, but we can’t just do what Makima wants.” Her mind raced for some sort of compromise.

“There’s no other option. Following orders should be nothing new to you.”

Ouch. The jab stung. There was no chance of convincing her opponent here. Reze relented, defeated. Perhaps she could sneak out whilst Quanxi slept…?

The following hours were unpleasant. Reze tried to avoid Quanxi as much as was possible within a small hotel apartment. Quanxi didn’t care, of course, and continued her exercises in the living room. Restless and fearful, Reze paced between the few rooms for what must have been hours. Finally, desperate to release some energy, Reze went to Quanxi’s side and copied her movements, rolling into a handstand. Strong as she was, Reze couldn’t help but wobble a little. Quanxi was still as stone.

“You really are something else, you know”, Reze groaned.

“Mhmm.”

“I’m still angry at you.”

“Mhmm.” Reze swore there was a tinge of humour in her voice.

Quanxi rocked onto her feet and strolled to the window, stretching — then suddenly went rigid, whipping around and grabbing two of the nearest swords. She opened her mouth to yell something at Reze, but —

The room exploded. The outer wall caved inwards with an almighty bang, plaster and shrapnel flying all directions. Reze managed to duck under a huge chunk at the last moment. Quanxi was blown forwards, but rolled on the landing and whipped back around, swords raised.

Their aggressors came into view, wordlessly crawling over the wreckage like insects. Hybrids. Reze’s jaw dropped. No fewer than five Hybrids, grotesque, were scuttling towards her. She went to pull her pin, but no. A battle like this, especially in the heart of Tokyo, would be recorded and broadcast, and she was supposed to be dead. But that wouldn’t much matter if she really did become dead. 

As if sensing her indecision, Quanxi sprinted towards Reze and, sheathing one sword, scooped her up and threw her over her shoulder, fireman style. Reze had just enough time to let out a little 'oof' of surprise before Quanxi sprinted for the ruined wall, leaving their slow-to-react attackers in her wake. 

“Pull the arrow!” she shouted, and then they were free-falling. Wind rushed past their ears deafeningly. Every nerve in Reze’s body screamed at the sensation. She was beginning to smile. 

Quick as she could, Reze propped herself up with one arm on Quanxi’s shoulder and yanked the arrow free with the other. Mere metres from the ground, Quanxi erupted with a burst of spines, her own Hybrid form unleashed. Curling around Reze, Quanxi’s body absorbed the brunt of the impact, shattering the concrete beneath. She rose, unharmed. Reze, shaken but uninjured, hobbled to her feet and watched the sky. The Hybrids were beginning to descend towards them, but that wasn’t what caught her eye.

Words failed to describe the thing leaping after the Hybrids, rooftop to rooftop. Huge, hulking, black, utterly evil. Reze had no idea what it was, but the Devil part of her knew. The sight of it alone made her want to fall to her knees and vomit, far, far worse than Makima. Her very soul recoiled. 

Reze took off running, Quanxi following her lead. She thanked any God that would listen that she had taken the time to memorise her winding alleyways of escape. Just before rounding the corner, she glanced back — the creature hadn’t followed then, instead opting to maul the Hybrids, goring them as easily as a hot knife through butter, limbs and viscera splattering through the air. It was only after she’d turned away and continued fleeing that she had the realisation:

Were those chainsaws?

Chapter Text

The solution to Makima’s problem was so simple as to be a little embarrassing. It didn’t matter that Bow and Bomb weren’t under her direct control: she’d located them, manipulated them, and guided them into her battle. Those two were just as much her pawns as the other Hybrids, and they would fight alongside them. Bomb’s refusal to enter her true form was annoying, but apparently trivial, given the obliteration of her other Hybrids by Chainsaw Man — it seemed none of them would be any match for him.

Oh well…within her mind, she ran a hand over the myriad chains bound to herself, each thrumming with power. Punishment, Zombie, Angel, each she could summon at a moment’s notice. The up-coming broadcast would render Chainsaw Man weakened, then she, not the Hybrids, would land that long-awaited final blow. Makima waited there, on a rooftop, listening through the ears of terrified rats and pigeons, as Reze and Quanxi fled through the winding alleyways, the Hero of Hell in close pursuit.

It wasn’t like Reze to run from a fight. The indignity of it stung, even beneath her manic terror. But the thing turning concrete to pulp behind her was no opponent: it was an executioner, the actual fucking Grim Reaper. Reze didn’t know how much of this hysterical fear belonged to her or to the Bomb Devil, but she ran desperately for her life anyway. 

She could hear it gaining on her. There was no time to turn around, no time to call for Quanxi, wherever she was. Reze went for her pin, then —

Too late. The Hero’s chainsaw came down and splattered Reze’s leg. She fell hard, face-down, nose shattering on impact. Her leg was broken, but she felt only the sensation, not the pain, high out of her mind on adrenaline as she was. There was no training for this, no training in the world for this, and all at once she was that little girl again, running, falling, strange men far stronger than her holding her down, taking her away…

Turning, propped on one shaky arm, she looked up at Death itself. The great thing was on all-fours above her, staring straight through her despite its lack of eyes. Black, rippling muscle. A noose of intestine about its neck, pink and foul like a putrid snake. A mouthful of needle-teeth, dripping spittle onto her ruined face. And chainsaws, everywhere, chainsaws.

“D-denji…?” Reze whispered. What had they done to him?

They stayed like that for no more than a few seconds. It felt infinitely longer. Then, one of the regenerated Hybrids launched at the side of his head. The Hero swung one of his many limbs, decapitating it once more, but that was all the opening Reze needed. Her head exploded with a deafening boom. It wasn’t enough to topple him, but his slight recoil shifted his weight enough for her to roll free, leg regenerated. Then, graceful as an Olympian hurdler, Quanxi leapt over the Hero and kicked him in the head, landing in a crouch beside Reze. Quanxi picked her up by the scruff of her neck like a kitten, and threw her down the alleyway. Reze landed in a clumsy heap. 

“Not your fight. Run.”

Quanxi turned back to the Hero, who was now facing the whole horde of regenerated Hybrids. She had slipped back to revive the lot of them; the enemy of her enemy was her friend. They made to do battle once more, and Hero raised his many arms, then — tilted his head to the side, as if listening to a far-away song. He leapt upwards, disappearing into the sky. A moment’s confusion, then the Hybrids followed. Quanxi gave Reze one last look, then went the same way, now dedicated to Makima’s wishes. None of them would know it, or even fathom it, but the thought that had just passed through the Hero’s head was, let’s get back to that date.

Rattled, Reze stood at the end of the alleyway, alone. Her ears rang with the sudden emptiness. She had nothing. Her apartment was abandoned, the hotel room destroyed. She owned nothing more than the shirt on her back, and her only ally had deserted her. Despair loomed. 

No. She had herself. That was ally enough. Reze chose a route towards the heart of the city and marched. She would find a temple, a police station, a homeless shelter, anything, and cry and beg her way in. After lodgings were secured, she’d proceed with reconnaissance to learn more about Denji’s condition, and how to reverse it. That was her new mission; she allowed herself to think of nothing else. Mission, mission, mission. Ми́ссия, ми́ссия, ми́ссия.

So lost was she in her determination, that Reze almost missed the gravelled voice that called to her, only minutes into her search. 

“Soviet.”

Reze pivoted. A tall man stood in the alleyway she’d just passed. Where the hell had he come from?

“You all made a hell of a lot of noise. I’d do less of that if I wanted to keep a low profile.”

> Target: Old Man. In his 50s or 60s and reeking of booze — dulled senses and physical ability? However, still powerfully built, and his extensive scarring and advanced age suggest some enhanced survivorship capability. Especially so if the uniform is indicative of Public Safety affiliation and not coincidental. Unlikely, given his apparent knowledge of classified information. Do not attempt a bluff. Display assertion before aggression.

“You’re right. I guess it would be better for the both of us if I didn’t get into any more fights”, Reze said, lacing her words with careful threat.

“None of that, kid. Enough people have died today. Don’t go thinking I can’t deal with your kind either, I’ve killed your blonde friend plenty of times.” He took a long drink from the flask in his overcoat pocket.

Tactics be damned, Reze growled, “What did you do to Den—?”

“The monster? Fuck if I know. That’ll be her doing.” As the man spoke, he took a pad of paper from his pocket and started writing. He held it out towards her:

Makima can hear us. I’ll take you somewhere she can’t.

Attack whilst my back is turned and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.

My name is Kishibe.

A trap? Surely not — Makima had clearly demonstrated her complete strategic dominance over Reze and Quanxi without any trickery at all. This seemed like the best lead she was ever going to get, and it wasn’t like she had much in the way of other options, as what always seemed to be the case these days. If it came to it, cocky as this bastard was, Reze knew she was stronger. What human could rival her?

“You’re lying, old man. Go find some other little girl to bother, since that’s what you’re into.” Despite the words, she walked towards Kishibe slowly, arms raised, palms outwards.

There was a flicker of approval on his face. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll swing by that kiddies’ school the other street over.” He strolled off, hands in his pockets, and inclined his head for Reze to follow. The familiarity of this situation was not lost on her; Reze was tired of feeling like the idiot kid traipsing after the grown-ups. She walked behind him, keeping her footsteps very quiet whilst Kishibe stomped loudly to cover her. Staring at the back of his grey head, she repeatedly imagined it blowing up into little pieces. That made her feel a bit better.

“You can talk freely here.”

Kishibe had taken Reze on a bizarre, circuitous route through hidden doors and underground passageways. She suspected he’d made the journey purposely confusing in an effort to make her forget the way down. That was futile, of course — she already had it memorised.

In a small, dank safe-room, presumably one of many, Kishibe drew a chair from under the table and gestured for Reze to sit. The gentlemanly shtick was unexpected. Reze sat, and watched him keenly as he circled the table to sit opposite her, flopping into his chair with an old-man sigh. 

“I’m very interested in what you have to say, Reze.” Kishibe said, tone almost gentle.

That brought an amused hum to Reze’s throat. “I thought you knew everything about me already.”

“Reckon so, mostly. The fact you’re still in Japan, and not in pieces at the bottom of a river, tells me you’ve defected successfully, at least for now. How did you escape your superiors?”

Reze narrowed her eyes. “If you really knew me, you’d know I’d never tell you that for free.”

Kishibe leaned forwards on his elbows. “You’re not in a position to negotiate, Reze. I make one phone call, and some seriously scary Soviet motherfuckers will be on your tail.”

“You’re not in a position to negotiate either, Kishibe. You’re locked in a room with me.”

They held fierce eye-contact for what felt like a whole minute. The strobe light bulbs on the ceiling whined. Finally, Kishibe leaned back into his chair with an exhale.

“You’ve got a couple screws loose. I like that. In another life I might have given you a job. I don’t blame you for not trusting me, since being Public Safety is hardly a badge of honour right now. But”, and he punctuated this with another swig, “but, there’s only one reason why you’d come back, and I can promise you this: I’m about the only person left who wants Denji to live. He’s one of the pups I raised, and I doubt I’ll get many more. The older I get, the less and less I like seeing ‘em put down.”

Reze digested this for a moment. She did not like this man; she could practically smell the soul rotting inside of him. Nothing was a dance to him, anymore — he was everything she was scared of becoming. That said, there was a reluctant fondness when he spoke about Denji, one that was difficult to fake. 

“What happened to him?” Reze said, quietly. 

There was a hint of remorse on Kishibe’s face. “I don’t know the details. Best I can guess, he made a contract with the Chainsaw Devil to become what he was, and Makima managed to break that contract. The thing you met was pure Chainsaw, not Denji.”

With that last comment, Reze wondered if Kishibe sensed that particular uneasy thought of hers. He did not recognise me. He wanted to kill me. She hadn’t considered the possibility that Denji would not want to see her. It seemed improbable, given his forgiveness on the beach, but that violent encounter told a different story. She shifted in her chair.

Kishibe rose. “I need to get back out there and keep an eye on things. You’re free to leave, but I wouldn’t recommend it. You’d be a rogue Devil, and if Public Safety still exists by the end of the day, I’ll probably be tasked with killing you. There’s food in the fridge, and that armchair is real comfy. If I’m not back in three hours, assume I’m dead.” With no further pleasantries, Kishibe left the room, closing the door behind him.

Slowly, Reze went to the fridge and found a convenience-store bao bun. She chewed on it listlessly, before going to the TV and fiddling with the dial until she found a channel of pure, white static. Sinking into the armchair, she learned that Kishibe was right: it was wonderfully comfortable. Reze curled into a little ball. She didn’t know how she felt, or maybe she felt nothing other than drained, completely drained. This whole fucked-up situation was not what she had envisioned for this mission at all. More than anything, she just wanted to see Denji. 

Her body started to become woozy with sleep. She decided to let it happen — Reze was a feather-light sleeper, so she’d wake long before anyone entered the room. The sound of static washed over her, a light, buzzing wave pulling her down. Curled up as she was, she looked all the world like a small child, napping on her parents’ furniture, exhausted after hours of play. 

Chapter Text

Reze woke to the sound of footsteps. A slow, heavy gait, surely Kishibe. She uncurled and attempted to find a more dignified way to sit in the armchair, difficult as that was in her groggy, half-asleep state. She’d only just corrected her posture when Kishibe gradually pushed the door open.

His weathered eyes found her. With a sickening drop of her stomach, Reze realised that whatever he was about to say would change the course of her life. Denji’s dead. Makima’s dead. Public Safety sent me here to kill you. Kishibe’s face betrayed nothing.

“I’ve got Denji in the other room. You want me to bring him in?” 

Disbelief. Incandescent, cruel disbelief. He could not be here, living and breathing mere moments away. It could not be possible. Reze managed only a small nod, completely breathless. Sleep had vanished from her body.

Kishibe accepted her answer but cautioned: “Go easy on ‘im. To say he’s had a rough couple of days would be one hell of an understatement. And if you change your mind and try to kill him again, do me a favour and take it outside.” He then lumbered off with apparently typical nonchalance. 

Rising from her chair, Reze went to the centre of the room, practically vibrating. By force of habit, her hand crept towards her neck. Because that couldn’t be Denji’s footsteps coming down the hall. There would be some trick, some trap, some last-second attack that would take it all away —

The door opened, and there he was. Just as she remembered, as if he had walked out of a dream.

> Mark: Denji. Scruffy, dirty-blonde hair falling over light brown eyes, gently protruding cheekbones and a sharp, narrow jaw. And this terrible slouch, really terrible, that she’d always fought the urge to correct. 

That last observation brought a sudden swell of fondness, and it took all that she was to not throw her arms around him. But she couldn’t do that…how she must look from his perspective. The liar, the traitor, stone-cold bitch. Much as it went against her instincts, this meeting would have to be on his terms. She waited for him to speak.

All the while, Denji had been staring at her too, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. But he seemed to be carefully avoiding her eyes.

“Hey, Reze”, he said at long last. “That top looks nice on ya.”

What? Reze looked down at herself: she was wearing the t-shirt she’d stolen from the truckstop. Faded forest green. “Thanks, it’s nice, right? Matches my eyes”, she said, sadly. Translation: please look me in the eye, Denji. 

He finally looked up. His eyes, above purple dark circles, were red-rimmed. He had been crying. “Why are you here? It’s nice to see you and all, but…” he trailed off. There was an awful lot left unspoken.

“I came back for you. Sorry, I’m pretty late for our café date, aren’t I?”

Despite everything, he smiled. And also started crying again, a couple of tears brimming across his glassy eyes and slipping down his cheek. “Oh. Yeah, that’s nice. Not many people comin’ back for me now, so, yeah. I bought you some flowers too, but I kinda ate them.”

Also despite everything, Reze laughed. “Oh my God, what is it with you and eating flowers?” She felt the very unfamiliar sensation of being a little choked-up.

“Hey, they’ve got like, vitamins like vegetables, right? Scientifically and stuff.” They were two kids, just two normal kids, laughing about nothing. Then they stopped laughing, and the gloom crept back in. 

“What happened to you, Denji?” Reze murmured. She had to know. It must never happen again. 

Denji winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s…a massive bummer. Makima had this whole plan to make me really happy then…ruin all of it. I guess I was broken for a bit — I don’t really remember any of it. Turns out I was some dumb dog being used all along.” Then he looked right at Reze, and ripped her heart in two. “I was your dumb dog as well, wasn’t I?”

No. “Yes”, Reze admitted, Shame, guilt, self-loathing. “I’m sorry Denji. It’s just…who I am.”

He nodded, apparently taking the insult in his stride. “It’s okay. It’s my fault for being such a big, dumb idiot.” Taking a deep breath, he seemed to shake himself off. “M‘kay. I’m gonna go kill Makima.”

Nothing could have prepared Reze for such a ridiculous set of words. “What? Denji, that’s…what are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a great plan.” He actually had the audacity to grin, nevermind the tear-stained face.

“Let me come with you”, Reze blurted out. God, at least they would die together. 

Denji tilted his head to the side, then replied, “Nah, it’s the kinda thing I have to do alone.”

Becoming increasingly desperate, Reze stammered, “At least — at least do it tomorrow? You need sleep, it's been a terrible day.”

After staring at her gormlessly for a couple of seconds, Denji suddenly perked up. “Oh, yeah, I was gonna say, it is tomorrow. I mean, Master Kishibe came to check on you last night and you were totally passed out. I slept pretty good as well.”

Reze’s understanding of herself and the world as she knew it was rapidly falling away. She’d slept the whole night? What the fuck was wrong with her?

“Oh”, was all she managed.

“Yeah. So, I’m gonna go now. See you later. Or, I dunno, maybe not.” 

He hovered at the doorway, unsure at how best he should leave her. Reze did the work for him, crossing the gap and laying her forehead gently on his shoulder. Denji’s breath caught for a second. The boy she knew from two weeks ago — only two weeks ago — would have flushed red and flinched away. But this Denji leaned his head into hers, touching at the temples. Neither of them had the courage to raise their arms. Reze could smell his sweat, feel his coarse hair slide over hers. Everything had been for this. Denji was the first to pull away, and they locked eyes, saying nothing. What could they possibly say to each other now? Then he melted away into the darkness of the corridor, his gaze staying on her until the very last moment.

Reze was adrift now, a lone island in a dark, unmapped sea. She stared into the space Denji had left, her mind fogged and distant, aside from that one thought. It echoed over and over, bouncing off the walls of her skull. I guess I was broken for a bit.

Makima had sat long in her office, contemplating ways to break Denji. Unbeknownst to her, years earlier, a panel in Moscow had asked much the same question: how do you control a subject that fears neither death nor pain? Their experiments were progressing well — semi-Hybrids, highly intelligent Fiends — but their magnum opus, Reze, was scheduled for conversion in a week’s time. How could her obedience be guaranteed? Beatings would mean nothing to the pain receptors of one who routinely set herself on fire. Starvation would compromise her performance. So few were the luxuries of her life that there was little to threaten to destroy. Eventually, they came to much the same conclusion as Makima:

You give, and you take away.

As a reward for her high performance, Reze had been given a small, private room, away from the huge communal bunk containing the less important ammunition kids. A week or so after the conversion, she had returned from her drills to find a small hutch placed in a corner. Opening one of the little doors, she discovered three, healthy little rabbits. Reze had fallen in love at once; never before had she been so near a still-living animal. 

After a hard day’s work, Reze would let the bunnies roam free around her room. They were so skittish, startling and dashing under the bed at too sudden a movement. Reze would then have to crawl underneath besides them, and coax them back out with cooing and pellets. Being around things smaller, more scared and more vulnerable than herself made her feel stronger — she had to be strong and calm for them. 

She had named them Tatiana, Maria and Anastasia. Not the most creative, but those lyrical, old names from her history sessions had always stayed with her. Many an hour was spent with those little creatures, brushing Tatiana’s chocolate-brown coat or nuzzling the friendly Maria into her chest.

It happened after a botched mission. Reze was to sneak into an estate house to obtain some documents; her instructions had been to kill the guard dog. She’d killed dozens of people at that point, but never an animal. The big, wrinkly beast was laid on the lawn, black eyes and wet nose glistening under the security lights. For the first time in her life, Reze refused an order: she tried to sneak past the dog, but didn’t realise how keen that nose would be. The barking had awoken the entire estate. She’d managed to weasel her way out of getting in trouble, but the mission failed.

When she eventually returned home, weary and defeated, Reze wanted nothing more than to hold her bunnies and cry. The sight she was greeted with would stay with her for life. Suspended from the ceiling by ties around its back legs, was a small carcass. Pink, headless, bloodless, perfectly butchered and slit down the chest cavity. Beneath, folded neatly in a little pile, was Anastasia’s sandy brown coat, expertly skinned. Anastasia had been the most timid of them all, often refusing to leave the hutch, preferring to dig about in the hay. She didn’t much like being held, but every so often, she would approach Reze’s outstretched hand and rub her little furry chin there, leaving a bit of her scent.

Reze cried so hard she had thrown up, hysterical, racking sobs that hurt her whole body. Then she had laid on the floor for hours, silently spasming like a beast in its death-throes. When she’d built up the strength, she went to the hutch, terrified of what she would find. But Tatiana and Maria were still alive, huddled closely together and quivering. 

Like a child hauling around her favourite blankie, Reze had held onto that pelt for a full week, at least when in her room. It stayed in her hand when she slept, and she hid it under the bed when she had to leave. A full week, they let her have it. Then one night, she came back and it was gone. The grief tore its way out of her body once more. You give, and you take away.

One of the first things she had said to Denji was, “your face looks a lot like my dog who passed away.” It was partially true: she’d said ‘dog’ to relate to him better, as the fact that he once had a dog who followed him everywhere was one of the vanishingly few things on Denji’s file. But really, he reminded her of Anastasia, right down to the sandy coat. Yearning for affection, but only timidly reaching for it. He was weaker and more vulnerable than her, too. The care-giving urge had kicked in; I’ll teach you how to write, Denji. I’ll teach you how to swim, Denji. You aren’t applying yourself, Denji.

But that was wrong. He wasn’t one of her bunnies — he’d done something very rare indeed, and surprised her. Outwitted her, at the end. And then, extraordinarily, had forgiven her. Who could fathom it? How many times, in all of her godforsaken life, had she been shown mercy? And more sobering still, how many times had she shown anything mercy? Just that one dog, and she would have done anything to take it back. Maybe he was just some naïve idiot, or maybe he had this pure, selfless goodness that she never would. He might just be the only hope of forgiveness for someone as fucked in the head as she was. 

Tatiana and Maria would be dead now. Yeah, she really was a piece of work — she felt guiltier about that than any human she’d ever killed. But everything had been for this. One day, it might just have been worth it.

Reze stared into the hallway and waited for something to happen to her. It always did. It's okay, Denji. I was broken for a bit too.

Chapter Text

When Quanxi regained consciousness, she found herself in a graveyard. Endless miles of pearly white headstones jutted from the ground like broken teeth. She looked up at them, laid on the ground as she was. What was the last thing she remembered? Ah. The Chainsaw Devil, and being hacked into pieces, over and over again. The muscles in her stomach felt tender as she rose into a seated position. A sudden shiver skittering over her neck told her she was being watched. Slowly, she turned her head, her eye finding a pair of shiny, black shoes. Her gaze rose to a pair of well-tailored work trousers, a smart white shirt, a black tie, a coral-coloured braid resting over one shoulder and, finally, a pair of swirling, golden eyes.

Makima regarded her prize. The First Devil Hunter was really quite the specimen. Despite her humanity — Hybrids really were just humans, much as they might like to think otherwise — Quanxi was so formidable as to earn her respect. Well, almost. Makima considered the temptation to send a chain through Quanxi’s skull; considered, and then disregarded. Her willing compliance was even more delicious.

“We failed”, Quanxi stated, her voice flat and dead. This was the bitch who killed her women. There was acid in her stomach, in her throat, in her fingers, which ached to be gouged into Makima’s flesh. Quanxi remained motionless: nothing could come between her and the bodies. 

“I don’t believe so, Ms. Quanxi. Chainsaw Man is nearby, and quite weakened. I can smell it.” She put a finger to her nose, a bizarrely childlike gesture. “And may I add, it’s an honour for you to be working alongside me.”

It had been a very long time since Quanxi had felt real anger. The unfamiliar warmth pulsed through her inhuman chest. She said nothing. 

A distinctly uncomfortable silence stretched out for several moments.

“Well then,” Makima said, mostly to herself, “let’s start moving, shall we?” Previously unseen, the remaining Hybrids clambered up from their resting places amongst the graves. Their movements were silent, and without the slightest mannerism.

The very air that swept onto Quanxi as Makima strode by was sickening. Quanxi got to her feet, and deployed a well-practiced trick: she slowed her breathing, letting all conscious thought fall from her mind. Her eye became like that of a shark; glassy, black and empty. It was the only way she could traverse these dark waters, carried forward by the scent of blood. 

It wasn’t long before they found the boy. And he was just that: a boy, no longer the blackened beast that had hunted them. He spoke, no-doubt something inane. Quanxi wasn’t listening — it wasn’t important enough to cut through the ocean over her ears.

“Why have you turned back into Denji?” Makima practically growled, wholly uncharacteristic. Well, that was a little different. The sheer venom sliced straight into Quanxi’s thoughtless brain.

With that, she suddenly remembered — Denji was Reze’s person. She beheld him anew: this irritating, scrawny fool. Who knew what Reze saw in him, but then again, Quanxi never knew what anyone saw in men.

Still, it was with a tinge of regret that Quanxi drew her sword. She was going to kill Reze’s person. Although she hadn’t admitted it, Quanxi had also never met another woman like herself. Enough of that — Quanxi swept her mind clean like a chalkboard once more. Alongside the other Hybrids, she sprang forwards and into the blood.

Kishibe leaned against the white van, taking the final few drags of his cigarette, right down to the filter. This pre-rolled shit wasn’t even good, but he’d needed it: he'd been stood there, parked behind the graveyard wall, listening to the almost cartoonishly violent sounds of battle for about 10 minutes. It was quieter now, nothing but the occasional low whirring. Tossing the cigarette stub down, he climbed into the van. Perhaps it would be the last conscious action he would ever take. Perhaps he’d pull up to find Denji dismembered, Quanxi a mindless drone, Makima’s finger pointing between his eyes. Oh, well. Humanity had had a good enough run.

Finding Denji butchering a defeated Makima was the greatest shock of Kishibe’s life. He actually made a somewhat surprised facial expression, a sight which the earth had not witnessed in decades. It was a good thing Denji was too occupied to notice. 

Disembarking, Kishibe walked to Denji and placed his hand on Denji’s shoulder, a very rare display indeed. “Good job, kid.” Denji just nodded. Kishibe saw no reason to tell him, but not for one single moment had he believed that Denji could actually succeed. The boy was capable, but Makima was Makima.

Surveying the scene, Kishibe’s eyes found Quanxi’s body. Or rather, several large pieces of it. He sighed deeply — the sensible thing to do would be to call whatever remnant Public Safety had left, and put all the chopped-up Hybrids into deep storage. He’d do just that, of course. It was a shame then, that one particular Hybrid would not be successfully recovered. Leaving Denji to his grim devices, Kishibe went to Quanxi and got to work. It was funny, really: one of them taking a body apart, the other putting one back together.

Kishibe tried not to notice the contrast between his own hands and Quanxi’s skin — holding her bare arm, an exposed ankle, her severed neck, putting them back into place —  but it was hopeless. His worn, dark, weather-beaten flesh was stark against her youthful paleness. He’d become some old, bitter man, and she was still perfect, as if carved from marble. Her completed, fragmented body lay before him.

Taking a knife from a sheath within his overcoat, Kishibe drew a quick slash over his forearm and crouched by Quanxi’s face. Against his will, a vision bloomed in his mind, and he imagined pressing his arm to Quanxi’s mouth, her lips opening over his wrist, her tongue sliding along the wound…

You old pervert, he scolded himself. He held the wound above her mouth, letting the red droplets trickle down. 

Denji suddenly took notice. “Hey, no way are you —”, Kishibe turned to look at Denji, and the boy abruptly remembered his place. “I mean, are you sure, Master? That chick’s tried to kill me like, 3 or 4 different times.” He looked a little nervous. The experience of being Quanxi’s prey was not soon forgotten.

“This doesn’t concern you, Denji. Start loading Makima into the van, and make sure there are no pieces bigger than your fist. I’ve brought loads of containers.” Denji still looked unconvinced, but he had no mental strength left with which to argue. He shuffled away.

Turning his attention back to Quanxi, Kishibe watched her flesh knit back together, a thousand tiny hands reaching across and closing her injuries. Her eye opened. Incrementally, it travelled towards Kishibe, and she looked at him for a little while, and then it went back up towards the clouded sky. Once again, she said nothing.

“Makima’s dead”, Kishibe offered. Most people would have said that Quanxi did not react to the information, but Kishibe saw her eyebrows lift, just a fraction. Then her nose wrinkled, smelling the air.

“You got any more smokes?” Quanxi said. Kishibe produced the packet and Quanxi hinged upwards at the waist, sitting besides him. She took the offered cigarette in her mouth, and Kishibe lit the lighter. Leaning towards it, her white hair fell over her face, black eyelashes lowered, his hand, protecting the flame, only centimetres from her cheek, her dark eye reflecting the orange light. Stop it, Kishibe commanded himself. Stop it. Quanxi pulled back, and the moment drifted away with the smoke. 

“Why are you still here?” Kishibe asked. He’d heard almost the exact same words echo down a corridor only yesterday. 

“Public Safety has something of mine. Makima knew where it was. Whose dog am I now?” Smoke snaked upwards from her mouth. 

Kishibe had moved the corpses of Quanxi’s lovers into a big Public Safety car at Makima’s request. Then they had been spirited away. He didn’t know where to, or even who Public Safety was now headed by. Kishibe just shook his head. “Looks like we might be working together for a little while, again.”

Quanxi turned away. “You and I both know we aren’t going back to patrols.” She watched Denji load the last of Makima’s body into the van. The boy looked at them for a second, then clearly decided he wanted nothing of it, climbing into the front seat to wait.

“You really thought you could beat him?” Kishibe said, guiding the conversation away.

“Mmm. Maybe. His form is nothing special”, Quanxi replied. That was just like her to say. 

Kishibe huffed. “I’ll excuse the insult. But really, you must never make an enemy of that boy.” Quanxi considered him, then nodded very slightly. At least he still had her respect.

At first, Kishibe was drawn to her beauty. Then her strength, which he had always strived to match. Finally, it was her metal, some unbreakable steel in her soul that all others lacked. When others cried, fled, bitched and moaned, lost their heads and failed, she always held her nerve. The indomitable Quanxi —  there was no one else like her. He’d long ago accepted that she would never see him the same way, though. To her, he was an old friend and occasional ally. Nothing more.

“I can’t get you what you want, but I can get you out of Public Safety accommodation at least. Got this one-bedroom apartment in the city I’ve been saving. Say the word, and it’s yours.”

Quanxi took a moment to think, digging her cigarette into the soil. “No good”, she eventually said. “Need two bedrooms. I’ve got a stray.”

“Anyone I need to know about?” Kishibe was a little surprised. Quanxi had always been prolific, but he wasn’t expecting a new girlfriend so quickly after the Fiends’ deaths.

“Little Bomb girl”, Quanxi replied casually. As if that wasn’t a…Kishibe frowned. Calling that a bombshell in his own mind pissed him off.

“Hmm. She’s a little young for you, don’t you think?”

The look that Quanxi gave him was so disdainful he could feel it starting to bore into his skull. She would not dignify that with a response. Sensing an approaching ass-whopping, Kishibe backpedalled. “I see. So you’re the reason she’s managed to evade the Soviets.”

“No, not really”, Quanxi murmured, eye downcast. “She’s handled herself.” From her, that was glowing praise. 

Kishibe considered that alliance…yeah, that could be powerful. “I’ll see what I can do”, he said, setting into a more comfortable sitting position. His back wasn’t what it used to be.

The two of them sat there, lighting up another cigarette each, staring into the distance. A companionable silence settled, one you can really only have with someone you’ve shared a space with for years. Poor Denji still sat in the van. And he’ll stay there, if he knows what’s good for him, Kishibe thought. He’d let this moment drag out for as long as it could. This was the closest thing to peace he’d felt in a long, long time.

Chapter Text

It had taken hours for something to happen to Reze. She had stood motionless in the same spot for what even she realised was a concerning length of time. Bit by bit, she sank to the floor, eventually even falling asleep in a little crumpled ball. Big mistake — hours later, she woke, her back and thighs aching in protest. Reze took a moment to stretch, her form languid and graceful like a tiger, and went to the fridge to scavenge more convenience-food.

The nap had done her good; misery was starting to be replaced with boredom. Poking her head out into the corridor, she watched the shaft of light from her room ebb into darkness. Dust motes, floating on tiny, unseen currents, swirled upwards before winking out of the light and into nothing. The air smelled stale.

A new mini-mission, she thought to herself, almost seriously. That’s how she’d stay afloat. Not leaving any time for doubt, Reze strode down a corridor at random. She absorbed every detail — a scratch on the wall here, a crack in the ceiling here — and added it all to an unnecessarily precise mental map. Leave no room for anything else. 

Reze had been exploring the dingy, concrete labyrinth for quite a while, flinging open any unlocked door she could find. It was on one particularly aggressive shove, the door colliding with the wall with a thunderous bang, that two occupants within the room startled. One was Kishibe, who sat across from a small, skinny girl with mousy brown hair. Kishibe’s head whipped round to face Reze, but reacted no further. The girl however, screamed. Like, a both hands on her face, blood-curdling, musical theatre scream. In the silence that followed, each party stared at the either in turn, all thinking some variation of, the fuck is going on?

Clearing his throat, Kishibe thankfully tried to steer the situation. “Did you get lost, Reze? I’ll deal with you in a bit.” He turned back to the girl, and continued his interrupted action: pressing a set of keys into her hands. However, Mousy’s attention was solely on Reze. The girl was so sweaty she gleamed all over like a frog.

“R-reze?” She whispered, “you mean…the…Reze?” Her shoulders were drawn up uncomfortably tight, fingers jittering in all directions about her neck, keys chiming musically as she did so. 

Kishibe tried to placate her: “she’s fine, Kobeni. It’s under control.” Reze felt indignation raise its ugly head. I’ll show you who’s under control, she thought, envisioning a spark flying beneath the table and blowing them both to pieces. She resisted — she sensed Kishibe had more use to her yet.

“Go to the address I’ve given you”, he explained to Kobeni. “All the legal documents are on the kitchen counter. This quarter’s rent is already paid, and you’ll get your severance from Public Safety once they’ve gotten their shit together. After that, you’re on your own.”

Kobeni nodded frantically, getting up from her chair in a clumsy fumble. She all but ran past Reze, pressing herself into the doorway to put space between them. But, once she was a safe distance down the corridor, Kobeni stopped and turned back to Reze shyly.

“Um…thank you. For — for not killing me that one time…I don’t know why you didn’t, I…thank you”, she finished, stumbling over her words.

It took a moment for Reze to register this. Then she remembered this pitiful girl, crawling on the floor and begging for her life. It had revolted her. Reze had no qualms about killing people when she needed to, or even when it just made things a lot easier, but she was no sadist. The dance was about the thrill, not squashing harmless bugs like Kobeni.

“It was nothing personal”, Reze replied, icy. Kobeni flinched and took off around a corner and away, keys jangling into the distance. 

Kishibe sighed, gently thumping the table in an invitation for Reze to come and sit. His body language was like that of a tired receptionist. Reze slipped into the chair Kobeni had just vacated, but not before making a show of wiping it down. 

“Anyone I should care about?”, Reze said, cocking her head in the direction Kobeni had gone. Kishibe looked unimpressed with her little display.

“No. There’s plenty of Public Safety strays”, he said dismissively.

“And you give all of them apartments?”

“Only those who ask nicely.”

A stormy glare between them.

“Lucky for you”, Kishibe continued, “your roommate’s already put in a request.”

Reze’s eyes flared with warning. “There is not going to be a roommate.”

“Don’t play stupid with me kid, it doesn’t suit you. I’ve managed to get a two-bedroom for you and Quanxi nearby. It’s a good thing no-one’s keeping a close eye on Public Safety’s finances right now. And you’d better keep it two-bedroom, you hear me? I know what she’s like.” Kishibe knew Quanxi was no threat. Honestly, he was just enjoying winding up this little freak. 

Reze wanted nothing more than to climb onto the table and throttle the old man. Instead, she pressed the piece of information he’d let slip. “You know her, do you? So she’s tried to kill you too?”

Much to her surprise, the corner of Kishibe’s mouth raised upwards slightly. “Something like that.”

Turning the key into the lock, the apartment door gently swung open. The room it revealed was pleasant: walls painted a creamy white, large, airy windows, warm-tinted wooden floorboards and a kotatsu table by the TV. 

Quanxi walked in first. Following Kishibe’s directions, Reze had found her already waiting outside the building, halfway through a cigarette. Neither of them had been quite sure what to say. 

“Did you get what you wanted?” Reze said, hesitant.

“No”, Quanxi replied. “Not at all.”

Hands on her hips, Quanxi turned slowly to take the space in. She then marched over to the wall-mounted phone and started dialing.

“Who are you calling?” Reze asked, closing the apartment door behind her.

“Getting a takeaway. I want ramen.”

“Wh— shouldn't we…buy some food?”

Holding the phone away from her ear, Quanxi responded, “Do you know how to cook?”

Reze hesitated for a beat too long. “Well, I’m sure it can’t be too difficult.”

“A takeaway will be better than anything we can make.”

“Quanxi we can’t — we can’t live on fast food! It’s expensive, and it’s bad for you, and…” Reze was aware that she was starting to sound ridiculous, but she couldn’t let this go.

Quanxi rolled her eye and placed the phone down. “Why is this so important to you?”

Reze was beginning to wonder that herself. Cooking is what…normal people do, right? I’m going to live like a normal person now. If I can’t even do this, then how…?

Shaking her head, all Reze could say was, “I just think this is something we need to do.”

Giving her a look which bordered on pity, Quanxi went back to Reze’s side. “Fine. We’ll go to a market. Happy?”

Reze had never been inside a proper, big supermarket. For whatever reason, it had always been expressly forbidden in her briefings. She was given an endless supply of ration packets and the locations of small, permissible corner stores from which to get anything extra. On the journey back from the airport, she had lived off of cheap snacks from petrol stations.

It was only today that she realised why. In the first store she and Quanxi went to, Reze damn near lost her mind. Shelves, endless shelves, down to her feet and above her head, extending for what felt like miles, more food than she had ever seen in all her life. So many strange names she’d never heard before, exotic-looking fruits and vegetables the likes of which she’d never seen. And so much choice! So many different versions of the exact same thing in different, flashy packaging. She counted 7 different bottles of soy sauce on just one shelf. She’d started running, body betraying her, sprinting to find the end. Surely, there could be no more, but there always was, another shelf filled with extraordinary things coming into view. Other shoppers had to jump out of the way to avoid the feral child running up and down the aisles. 

She came to a stop at the seafood aisle, fixed by the glassy eyes of dead fish, all those different fish who had died just for her, all for her convenience. She could choose anything. She could have anything. Complete freedom. Reze bent double and started laughing, and then she couldn’t stop, just laughing hysterically until her stomach hurt and tears formed in her eyes. Having caught up to her, even Quanxi looked nervous. It wasn’t long before an employee came over and asked them both to leave.

Now sat in the street, Reze held her head in her hands. Quanxi stood above her, trying to think of what to do. “We’ll find a smaller store”, she assured. Reze found her concern surprisingly comforting. Getting to her feet and avoiding Quanxi’s eye, Reze let her guide them to a small, local produce store. It was a sweet little place, with fresh vegetables at the front in baskets, shining in the sun. Reze was more calm, but still quiet, so Quanxi took it upon herself to decide their shopping list. It wasn’t like she was a cook, either — she’d had her own chef in China, though now didn’t seem like the time to bring it up. Without much forethought, she put things in the basket that seemed sensible: wheat noodles, eggs, seaweed, bamboo, pre-made broth, pork…and several packets of instant ramen.

Back at the apartment, Reze seemed to have collected herself. She laid all their ingredients out and tried to figure out what to do.

“So…any tips?” Reze asked. Quanxi glanced between the different foodstuffs, secretly feeling similarly lost. 

“You’re going to need to chop the beef, obviously”, Quanxi declared. Nodding, Reze went to find the chopping board and knives that the apartment had come with. There were several different knives, all of different shapes. Her brain happily supplied possible combat usages of each, but not their utility in cooking. Irritated, she opted for the big cleaver. Looking up, she saw Quanxi putting water on to boil.

“Hey, what’s the water for?”

“The instant ramen”, Quanxi responded, taking off the plastic lid of one.

“Oh c’mon, you aren’t even going to try?” Reze groaned.

“Nope.”

Making a loud ugh, Reze approached the pork with her cleaver. She should…bring it down hard, right? She attacked the meat with a downwards slash, leaving a blunt wound. Maybe it was more of a sawing motion…?

Seeing her struggle, Quanxi finished pouring the water and walked over to Reze. “Let me cut it”, she said. Relieved, Reze passed her the cleaver. Quanxi brought the knife down with punishing force, splitting the pork neatly in half with a crack. Reze let out a little celebratory noise. 

“Thanks, I —” Reze went to pick the cleaver back up, but encountered a problem. It refused to move upwards into her hand. Confused, she put the pork aside and found the knife, embedded deeply into the wooden board. She tugged at it vainly. The thing was stuck fast. Not willing to be defeated, Reze kept trying, moving into various different stances to get more leverage. No luck. She stepped back for a moment, catching her breath.

“Quanxi, could you help me get this knife out…?” Quanxi considered the board, then, before Reze could compute what was happening, she grabbed the ends of the board in both hands and broke it sharply over her knee. The cleaver, and many shattered pieces of wood clattered to the floor. Quanxi stooped to pick the knife up and handed it, handle first, to Reze.

Reze looked at the cleaver. Then at the broken board on the floor. Then Quanxi. Then the floor. Then Quanxi again.

“Did you boil enough water for two?”

The pair sat at the kotatsu, instant ramen in hand, watching some silly kids’ anime on the TV. It was the first thing that had played when they turned the TV on, and neither could be bothered to change it. The bright colours reflected on their blank faces,  absorbed in eating their hard-won food.

“We’re just like them, you know,” Reze said, gesturing at the TV. “Like…fake people. Colourful, made-up people.”

Quanxi continued slurping up her ramen. “Think that’s just you.”

Scoffing, Reze retorted, “We couldn’t even make one meal. Between two grown women.”

“You aren’t a grown woman.”

“Ugh, whatever”, Reze grumbled, returning to her food. This instant stuff was way too salty, but she devoured it anyway.

“You know what I think?” Quanxi began, “you’ve been normal for one day. No-one expects a newborn baby to be good at anything.”

Reze opened her mouth to argue, but the words rang true, settling into her chest. If she was lucky, she might just get many more days to practice being normal. Maybe she’d become really good at it, one day. She’d learned lots of other skills during her life, hadn’t she?

“I guess you’re right”, she mumbled. Putting the empty bowl aside, Reze focused more intently on the silly TV show, letting the brightly coloured fiction coat and cover her mind.

Chapter Text

The soft light of morning filtered into Reze’s room, slipping deftly between half-closed blinds to warm her face. Her eyelids flickered, but she fought to keep them closed. Sleep had come easily on the plush futon bed, which was far and away more comfortable than the camp bed she’d spent most of her life on. Just a little longer…as she buried her head into the bedding to avoid the light, her mind continued to recall a conversation from days ago:

“Something like that”, Kishibe had said.

Reze sat back and waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t take the bait.

“I should mention — you’ll be living in the same building as Denji”, he said, nonchalant. 

Shock jolted through her, but Reze didn’t let it show. She glared intently at Kishibe, eyes narrowed like she was studying him under a microscope.

“I’m giving you everything you want and more, and you’re still looking at me like you want me dead. You can’t give an old man one smile?”

Reze pulled her gums up to bare her teeth at him like a dog. That elicited a short, amused scoff from Kishibe. “I know why you’re doing this”, she grumbled. 

“Why am I doing this?”

“Sympathetic treatment of a rogue agent in order to build amicable sentiment towards your own nation, at once weakening a powerful rival government by ensuring her defection and developing an eventual addition to your own armoury.” The response was automatic, the dialect not her own.

Kishibe let out a short whistle. “Wow, nail on the head. Must be one hell of a program they put you kids through. Or maybe”, and he leaned in for this, conspiratorial, “maybe, I’m just going senile, and want to help some young’uns in love.” His absolutely expressionless face really sold the joke.

Reze’s irritation at the memory was pulling her from dozing. Fine. She sat up, wearily running her fingers through her unbound hair, which had coiled itself into a knotty mess overnight. Clear as Kishibe’s ulterior motives were, she was glad to be living near Denji. Of course she was. There was just one detail that gave her pause: Kishibe had mentioned that Denji was about to “have his hands full” and to “leave him be” for a couple of days. Much as she distrusted the man, Reze believed he did have Denji’s best interests at heart. So be it. For the next few days, she would commence Operation Normal.

Normal people have weird and wacky roommates that they ultimately get along with. At least, that seemed to be the case, based on the brainless sit-coms Quanxi would leave running on the TV. Quanxi fit the bill — Reze was more than a little fascinated by her, latching onto any sign of humanity Quanxi would let slip. In some ways, she was very masculine: in the evenings, she could be found leaning against the kotatsu, legs wide apart in a shameless man-spread, cold bottle of beer in hand. Sometimes, she even fell asleep for the night where she sat. Quanxi never wore makeup, rarely wore a bra, and would refuse to turn off even the shittiest movie if it contained a hot-enough actress.

However, in other ways, Quanxi was gracefully feminine. Almost immediately after moving in, she began replenishing her lost wardrobe with military efficiency: she would return from hours of shopping, arms laden with expensive-looking bags. Quanxi liked neutral tones, sharp tailoring, tight skirts and smart jackets. Once, she came back in a brand-new, floor-length, slate grey trench coat lined with real fur. Where was all this money coming from…? She also took it upon herself to be Reze’s personal shopper, throwing any clothes she’d deemed appropriate onto Reze’s lap without a word. Reze didn’t mind. If Quanxi thought it looked good, then it probably did.

Normal people take care of things. Reze had realised what her attempt at normalcy was missing. After having made herself presentable, Reze descended back into the city, carefully avoiding the larger stores. Quanxi’s pocket money jingled in her pockets. After a little aimless wandering, she eventually found what she was looking for: a plant store. I can’t blow up the apartment, or take off running, or stop getting out of bed. Because then no-one would water the plant. 

She meandered between the shelves, their strange-sounding names completely unintelligible to her. Finally, she saw one she recognised: jasmine. That was another thing about Quanxi: she loved perfume, and had also amassed a new collection of bizarre, ornate bottles. Reze had gone through each and every one, whilst Quanxi, apparently happy to have someone showing an interest, explained the notes of each scent. Jasmine had been one of her favourites.

Cradling the little plant pot in her hands, Reze walked carefully back to the apartment. She whispered sweet nothings to it all the way home — which she knew was completely stupid. It wasn’t like the thing could hear her, but it made her feel better for some reason anyway. “You’re going to be safe”, she whispered. 

Reze placed her new roommate on the windowsill, gently brushing the leaves into place. Quanxi lazily turned her head from the TV to watch.

“Good choice”, she said, before returning her attention to the movie. Some fantasy nonsense with lots of half-naked women by the looks of it. Public Safety had yet to contact her, so she spent most of her day doing a whole load of fuck all. Reze didn’t care though, smiling softly to herself. ‘Good choice’ was the Quanxi equivalent of a gold star sticker and a warm hug.

Normal people have…friends? Reze went to the kitchen and unloaded her other purchases: fresh ingredients, far beyond her cooking ability but…hopefully not Denji’s. She’d given him several days, but her self-control was waning. There’d be nothing wrong with saying hello, right? Locating a pen and paper, Reze began to write.

Dear Denji,

Can you believe it? There were times when I never thought I’d see you alive again, and now we’re living in the same building! It doesn’t feel real, does it? Good things don’t really seem to happen to people like us. I hope you think I’m a good thing, anyway.

Reze hesitated, chewing the back of the pen. There was an urge to write on and on, come out with melodrama like I’m sorry, I’m a monster, how could you forgive me, I want you to hate me. But this was not the time nor place. And, if she was really honest with herself, she didn’t regret what she had done. It was her job, and she’d quite enjoyed a lot of it. What bothered her was Denji’s complete forgiveness. Did he realise what she really was? Did he even like her at all, or just the act? Did —?

Shaking her head, Reze wrote on:

I’d like to see you. Why don’t you come around mine later today? I’ve got lots of food that needs cooking. If we can’t go to the café, then let’s bring the café to us :) if you aren’t still too busy with whatever you’re doing.

See ya soon,

Reze

P.S. Please can you bring your chopping board, we don’t have one anymore. Please don’t ask.

Taking a deep breath, Reze walked calmly out of the apartment, down the stairs and along to Denji’s corridor. Not allowing herself to pause for a single moment, she strode right to the door, slipped the letter underneath, turned, and then fled, all in a single motion.

The response came an hour or so later. When the crumpled-up, unruly bit of paper was shoved haphazardly under the door, Reze practically squeaked. Rushing over to it, Reze heard the sound of a hasty retreat echoing away, and smiled. She smoothed the paper down on the kitchen counter. Quanxi’s eye followed her.

Hey Reze

You know what I’m like with writing so I’m sorry in advance for reading my crap handwriting.

His scrawled handwriting was indeed an absolute mess, much of it barely legible, with many kanji replaced with just their hiragana. But it had improved from weeks before. 

Course I’d like to see you. I would have come earlier but weird story, I’ve got this (several characters were scrawled out here, as if he couldn’t decide the right word to use) little kid girl sorta sister living with me now. Shes crazy smart, basically wrote this letter herself even though shes younger than me. Her names Nayuta, shes great but also really intense and strange so (there was another mess here, as if someone had tried to scribble over that) its gonna be a while before shes ready for visitors I think. I’ll visit you later and cook up a storm, it’ll be better than the cafe but thats not difficult (sorry) there food was fine but I only went there for you. Sorry if I smell like dog.

Denji and Nayuta

PS (and the handwriting was a little different here) Denji is mine no touching !!!!!!

Reze ran a hand over her head, taken aback by Denji’s response. How the hell did he end up with a little girl to look after? Then again, Quanxi had randomly acquired her. That sort of thing seemed to happen a lot here. 

Quanxi came over and appraised the letter herself. “I can write better Japanese than this.”

“Hey, he’s — leave him be, it’s been difficult for him”, Reze retorted.

“I can see that”, Quanxi said, dripping with disdain. “So he’s coming here, huh?”

“Have you got a problem with that?”

“Not unless he’s got a problem with me. He’d better be as good a cook as he claims.” Quanxi walked away, slinking into her bedroom. Unexpectedly, she emerged just as fast, and threw a small object at Reze. “Catch.”

Caught off-guard, Reze just about managed to clutch at the item. It was a little perfume bottle. “Quanxi! Why would you throw this? I could have dropped it everywhere!” Reze gasped.

“It’s cheap”, Quanxi replied, unbothered. “Wear it tonight. The main notes are milk and strawberry.”

“Perfumes can smell like milk?”

Quanxi looked at her like she was an idiot. “Just wear it.”

Reze spent a little while getting ready for the ‘date’. Nothing serious — she put her hair up like it had been when she met Denji, and changed into one of the outfits Quanxi had bought her: a lilac tank top and high-waisted, black denim shorts. And yes, she wore the milk perfume. It smelt better than she’d feared.  

There was a great, thumping knock at the door. Making her final adjustments, Reze went to open it.

“Heya”, Denji greeted her, a lopsided grin on his face. He looked positively smart by his standards: a clean, white t-shirt, blue jeans, and hair that may actually have been brushed, unruly though it still was. He did however, unfortunately, smell a bit like dog. “That’s a nice outfit”, he drawled.

“Let me guess, matches my hair?” Reze teased. 

“I dunno about all that stuff. Maybe you just look nice in everything”, he said, easy as anything

Reze stuck her tongue out a little, and put a hand on his arm. “You flirt.”

Walking past her into the room, Denji went a slight dusty pink. “N-nuh uh, I’m just talking with you. ‘Snothing —” he suddenly cut off, leaping out of his skin. One arm shot out in front of Reze, the other pointing at Quanxi, who was sitting at the kotatsu, utterly disinterested. 

“Huh!? The hell is Ice Queen doing here? Reze, quick, we gotta —”

“Ice Queen?” Quanxi monotoned, eyebrow raised.

“Cos you’re freakin’ scary and your hair’s…white…” he spun towards Reze, frustrated by her lack of alarm, and grabbed her wrist. “Seriously, Reze we gotta get outta here! She’s tried to kill me a bunch of times!”

Quanxi still hadn’t stopped watching the TV. “Who hasn’t?” 

That took the urgency out of the room a bit. “Too true”, he mumbled, but he still looked wary.

“I’m sorry, Denji”, Reze conceded. “I should have told you, Quanxi’s my…roommate.” He still hadn’t let go of her wrist. “She’s not going to bother you.”

“Long as you don’t bother me. You were a job, boy, and now the job’s over.” Quanxi drank long from her bottle. 

“...yes ma'am”, Denji said, voice tinged with sarcasm. He still hadn’t let go of her wrist. 

“Well, that’s enough of all that!” Reze beamed. She wrapped her own hand around the forearm Denji held her with, and whirled him around in a circle. Denji made a very amusing yelp, which dissolved into giggles from the both of them, as they spun towards the kitchen. All my life, Reze thought. All my life, for this.

“Okay, Master Chef!” Reze chirped, giving the dizzy boy a gentle shove on his lower back. He tottered a little over the kitchen floor. “Show me what you’ve got.” Regaining his balance, Denji shot her a peace sign and began rummaging through the cupboards. Reze just watched from a distance. There’ll be a time for the talk, for apologies and crying. Telling him what I really am and showing him what I’m really like. Not now, though. Please, not for a long time.

Chapter Text

“M’kay, let’s see what we got.”

Denji rifled through the cupboard and fridge rather roughly. It wasn’t like he was throwing things on the floor, but the neat order Reze had established was rapidly and brutally destroyed. She kept her hands behind her back and tried not to let her face twitch.

“Shiitake…garlic, ginger…Ooo! Sweet! Dumpling wrappers. Then we’d just need…” He opened the fridge, practically sticking his whole head into the bottom drawer to rifle through the vegetables. “Aw, hell yeah, lettuce. You like dumplings, Reze? Not gonna be my best ‘cos there’s no chives, and I’m not feelin’ meat right now, but I’ll make it work. It’ll be extra mushroom-y” 

Reze strolled over to his side. “I’m sure I’ll like anything you make, silly.”

Letting out a bark of a laugh, Denji said, “Don’t say that, you shoulda seen the shit me and — me and this old friend used to make, it made everyone totally barf.”

Oh. “Oh! So this is a trap, Denji? You’ve come here to make me barf?” she said, socking him lightly on the arm.

“Nah, it’s good, there was this guy who taught me since then, and I’ve had a bunch of…practice, recently.” For some reason, he said that with a slight wince, but soon perked up. “You’re gonna be licking the plate, bet.”

Several dirty jokes immediately came to mind, but Reze suppressed them all. It was odd to think, as she watched Denji cut up the vegetables and shiitake on their new chopping board, that they’d kissed. It was like they had been two different people: her a lie, him a child. Grief had aged him. Reze didn’t know who or how, but she could guess why and at whose hand. Neither of them could just jump back to how they were. Somehow though, she suspected it wouldn’t take long for Denji to warm up to her again.

And, honestly, the same was true for vice-versa. As Denji boiled the shiitake and salted the lettuce, distracted and mumbling to himself, she let her eyes wander. Messy hair that fell over his brown eyes. The bony hand that would run through the strands to push them away. The corner of his jaw, curving up towards his ear. The column of muscle that would raise on his neck when his arm moved. The —

“You ain’t listening even a little bit, are you?” Denji sighed, suddenly catching her attention. He had not, apparently, been talking to himself. He plucked a wooden spoon from its pot and knocked it on the counter a couple of times. “Class is in session! You wanted to learn this, didn’t ya?”

Reze tilted her head in such a way she knew would grant instant forgiveness. “So sorry, I was just getting lost in your eyes.” Well, she could have a little fun, couldn’t she?

“Huh? Hell does that mean? They’re right here.” He actually went and pointed at them. Dammit. “Anyway, so, yeah, as I was saying, you gotta boil the shiitake and leave the salted lettuce for about 20 minutes, then we’re gonna put all the shredded shit in the wrappers and cook it in a covered pan with oil and water. Super quick and easy.”

Leaning forwards onto the table, face cradled in one hand, Reze looked up at him. “Don’t you find this kinda funny? I was the one who promised to teach you everything. Now look at me.”

“Heh, okay. I like lookin’ at you.”

From across the room, a guttural noise of disgust emerged from Quanxi’s throat. Given the apartment’s open-plan situation, living room and kitchen separated by just a counter, she was very much within earshot. With pained body language, she crossed to her bedroom and slammed the door resoundingly.

“Why’s she pissed?” Denji asked. 

“She just…doesn’t want to see anything”, which was as delicate as Reze could put it.

“There’s gonna be something to see?” Denji said it in a small voice, looking at Reze from the corner of his eyes like a guilty dog.

Reze couldn’t help but laugh. “Ha! Stop it! I really didn’t think you’d be keen for another kiss.” Her tone was light, but the sore subject needed to be brought up sooner or later.

Denji’s face scrunched up, eyebrows drawing together, as he tended to the boiling pot. “I mean…I wouldn’t say no, but…why did you do that? With the tongue? I never really got it.”

Problem was, Reze didn’t want to lie to Denji anymore, but all of her truths were very bad options. Denji, there is something wrong with my emotions. When they get really strong, I struggle to control myself. I was angry, and frustrated, and quite attracted to you, so I lashed out in this weird way. Okay, nutcase. Denji, I honestly suspect that I’m completely criminally deranged. That one was tempting. There was only one other truth left, and it was still the wrong thing to say.

“This is going to sound a bit weird but, before everything came to an end, I just wanted to know what you tasted like.”

The shade of scarlet that rose to Denji’s cheeks was quite impressive. “Huh!? Dwuh!? Isn’t that too — that’s…” He scrambled for something to say as his brain turned to mush.

Coming on way too strong. “It’s okay, Denji, I’m kidding! It’s like, do you know the phrase, ‘you’re so cute I could just eat you up?’”

Denji was still rather pink, but managed to form a couple of words. “I’m cute?”

“Yep.”

“Cute? Aren’t dudes supposed to be handsome? Rugged and shit?”

“Nope. You’re cute as a button.”

“Damn.” His face was deadly serious, staring into the middle distance like he’d just received terrible news. It took all of Reze’s willpower not to burst out howling. 

“It’s a good thing, you goof! It means you look nice, especially tonight. You got all done up for me?”

That snapped him out of his daze, a pointy grin returning to his face. “Heh, yeah, I even brushed my hair for this. We didn’t have a hairbrush though, so I, uh, might have used the dogs’ one.”

“Oh my God! No wonder you smell like dog!”

His face fell. “Aw shit, I do? I’m sorry, I thought it would be okay.”

Reze took his hand in hers. “Don’t worry, I know what we’ll do.” She led him across the living room; outside, the failing evening light was turning golden, shining between the blinds to cast alternating stripes of light and shadow over their bodies, parts of them glowing, parts of them in the dark. They came to Quanxi’s door, and before Denji could open his mouth to protest, Reze was knocking on it firmly.

A sliver of darkness came into being as Quanxi opened the door, just wide enough to peer at them from one pitch-black eye. “You’re deciding to bother me, then.” Her voice was heavy with doom. Denji flinched, but could not escape from Reze’s grip on his hand. 

“I was just thinking, what scent do you think would suit Denji? I thought it might be something clean and fresh, like pine or…citrus. What do you think?” Reze tried to sound innocent and casual.

Quanxi opened the door a little wider, enough to show the exasperated hand perched on her hip. Her nose crinkled. “To counteract the dog.”

Reze smiled pleasantly. “Yeah, exactly.”

Fixing Denji with one last paralysing glare, Quanxi melted back into the room and promptly emerged with yet another bottle. She pressed it into Reze’s hand. “I don’t care how much you use, as long as you leave me alone for the night. It’s fig and green notes.”

“What, I’m gonna smell like green?” Denji said, despite himself, the beginning of a smirk on his lips.

“Don’t talk to me.” With that, Quanxi closed the door once more.

Denji loosed a relieved breath. “Did I…do something to her? Or…” He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of himself.

“Nope, I think Quanxi’s just like that.”

The two of them stood still for a moment, contemplative. They could hear only the pot of water, boiling away on the stove, and the muffled sounds of the city. Reze inspected the glass bottle in her hand, turning it into the slices of light in a way that, if she held it just so, the whole thing went aglow like a star.

She turned to Denji. The narrow beams of sunset left his eyes in shadow, but his mouth in the orange light.

“Green attack!” Reze leapt towards him, taking full advantage of the lull. Caught by surprise, he was defenceless as Reze spritzed his hair all over. Laughing, he went to push away her forearms, but only half-heartedly. Their hands slid over one another as they play-fought.

“Hey, quit it! I don’t wanna be green!” he giggled, gently pushing her away. The room bloomed with the smell of fresh fig.

Going for her next ‘attack’, Reze went just a little too fast, and Denji dodged just a little too well, and she stumbled slightly, arms going to protect the bottle rather than steadying herself. In a flash, Denji was there. He caught her, both hands flush against where her collarbone met her shoulder joints. Past her tank top, several of his fingers touched the bare, delicate skin over the bones. His hands were hot, scorching hot, and she wondered if they’d brand her, so that he could see the effect he was having on her body.

They met eyes, and he held her steady as all the motion halted. Then, agonisingly slowly, he pulled his hands away, not dropping them at his sides but holding them in the space between their bodies, as if he might soon reach for her again. With his back to the window, his whole form was dark. 

“The food will be ready soon," Reze whispered. They weren’t supposed to do this yet, not before she made him truly understand what she was. She just couldn’t face deceiving him again.

“Okay. Yeah, okay.”

Reze, Denji and Quanxi sat at the kotatsu, tucking into dinner. The two kids sat across from each other, whilst Quanxi was facing the TV, still invested in whatever god-awful fantasy movie this was. God help me, Reze thought, I think it’s a series.

With the promise of food, Quanxi had been tempted from her room to join them. Without compliment nor complaint, she’d gone about eating Denji’s offering in that strange, delicate way she had. 

Okay. Reze prepared herself — she needed to start showing Denji the less appealing aspects of herself. Her weird eating habits would be a gentle start. Picking up her chopsticks, Reze went for her food as she always did, when alone: fast as possible, hardly any room for breath, like a man starved.

Denji watched her with surprise. “Woah, cool. We having an eating competition?” With no further encouragement, he dropped his chopsticks and began shovelling the poor dumplings into his mouth with his hands. That wasn’t exactly the response she’d anticipated.

“Um, no, Denji, it’s fine. This is just how I eat. Weird, right?” Embarrassment was a rare emotion for her. She disliked it intensely.

“Oh. ‘Kay, that’s fine, it’s not like you’re throwing vegetables across the room or anything.”

What the hell does that mean? Reze glanced at Quanxi — she was intently watching the TV screen, looking very much like she wanted to be elsewhere.

“That means you like it though, right? Lick-worthy?” Denji put on his most winning smile. 

Cocking her head to the side, Reze decided to humour him, placing a finger to her lips and wiping it about the plate, picking up a stray piece of shiitake. His eyes never left her finger, especially when it returned to her mouth. “There. An indirect lick.”

Quanxi gripped her chopsticks so hard there was an audible crack. On cue, Denji turned to her and asked, very cautiously, “Err, Quanxi, whadda you think? Any good?”

It took several seconds before she decided to answer. “Had worse, had better. You should have put some meat in ‘em.”

Denji shuddered. “No way.”

Having finished her plate, Reze took it back to the kitchen, leaving Denji to Quanxi’s mercy. She started washing up all the cooking equipment too — she’d done a lot of washing at the café, and had found it oddly enjoyable, losing herself in the trance of a mindless task well-performed. It was a good thing she wasn’t listening closely to Denji and Quanxi’s ‘conversation.’

His interest also turning to the TV, Denji noticed, for the first time, the quantity of scantily clad women on the screen. Nice. Why was Ice Queen watching this, though?

“Woah, what an outfit”, he said, attention now wholly captured. He hadn’t really been talking to Quanxi, but she replied anyway.

“Mhmm. Only reason I’m still watching.”

Huh. Women could like other women — Denji knew that from his…magazines, but he’d never met a real person like that before. Maybe that was something they could both talk about?

“Uh, yeah, I get it, it makes her boobs look totally great.”

Quanxi gave him a quizzical glance. “Hmm? I’m looking at her legs.”

“What?” Denji was flabbergasted. “Why would you look anywhere other than the boobs?” Was this a weird girl thing?

Giving him a disappointed look and a disapproving hum, Quanxi responded, “I suspected you’d have no taste."

“Nah, don’t get me wrong, the female form is beautiful,” — Quanxi scoffed — “but it doesn’t get better than the boobs, that’s like, complete fact.” 

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Nuh uh!”

“What the fuck are you two talking about?” Reze stood behind the kotatsu, having caught the last couple of sentences. They both turned to her, looking a little sheepish.

“N-nothing”, Denji stammered.

“Don’t worry about it”, Quanxi added.

There was a little stretch of silence, filled only by idiotic action sounds from the TV.

“Plus, everyone knows ass is the best anyway”, Reze said, unable to help herself. Denji’s jaw actually dropped, and Quanxi’s eye opened wide. 

“Ha, I knew it”, Quanxi said, her voice filled with uncharacteristic joy. “Here”, she said, pushing her beer bottle into Reze’s hands. “Have a drink to that.”

Chapter Text

Hovering at the doorway, Reze was trying to tell Denji something important before he left. Trying, and failing. Denji would just keep carrying on with some ridiculous conversation, and she couldn’t help but play along. It was all too easy to lose herself with him.

Bringing the apartment door to a gentle close behind her, Reze stepped into the corridor towards him. The removal of the sun’s light cast their surroundings into dimness, and Denji finally stopped talking. Reze waited a moment, letting the silence build.

“Do you remember when you asked me to run away with you?” she whispered.

Denji nodded. 

“Do you ever think about how things might have turned out if we had?”

“No”, he breathed, equally quiet. “I don’t like thinking about depressing things.”

Reze winced. Much as Denji liked her, she didn’t suspect this would go well. 

“Well, I do. I think about it a lot. Denji, I don’t think there’s anything for us here. This whole city is just…tainted, for the both of us. What I’m trying to say is…” And Reze took another step forward, taking one of Denji’s hands in both of hers, and raising it up between them. “Wanna run away with me?”

Denji’s eyes widened and he showed his teeth in a strange grimace. “Now that Makima’s dead, we really stand a chance”, Reze continued, really trying to press some urgency into him. “Who could possibly fight the both of us working together?” However, in the back of her mind, she knew a couple of Soviet assets who could give the two of them a run for their money. The longer she stayed here, the more likely she was to meet them.

Looking like he was in physical pain, Denji carefully retracted his hand from her grip. “Reze, I’d go anywhere with you. But…I gotta take care of Nayuta. I can’t leave her. And there’s all the dogs too, and Meowy. D’you think we could all go together?”

Dogs…? “How many dogs? Are they small?” Reze asked tentatively.

He shook his head glumly. “Seven huskies.”

Reze went pale, head spinning with the logistics. Of course there’d be some bullshit like this. He’d have to leave them — she’d sacrificed as much just to be here, after all, but God knew it wasn’t an easy choice to make. 

“No”, she said, her voice in the gloom like a funeral bell. “No, we couldn’t all go together.”

Tilting his head, suddenly detached from her, Denji’s eyes followed the lines of the corridor. “Guess that’s that, then”, he said, as if from miles away.

There was this foundation within Reze’s mind that held up her sanity, as it was. Now, she felt a hairline fracture begin to form inside of it. Mission extract Denji is a failure. There would be punishment for this. There was always punishment for this. And what would her mission be now? Which, of course, meant: what would her life be now? She let her hands fall to her side limply.

If I hadn’t gotten on that fucking train, she thought, dripping with venom. If I’d left with him then, none of this would have happened.

“It could be good here, though”, Denji said abruptly. She peered back up at him, and his eyes were reaching to connect with her once more. “We’re basically neighbours, and we’re gonna be schoolmates, right? I meant what I said, y’know, about wishing to go to school with you. This is kinda like a dream come to life, right?”

His attempt at cheering her up was really starting to move her. She smiled, mostly for his benefit. “I guess you’re right. How would you feel about writing ‘balls’ under all the desks with me?”

“Heh, that’s what I’m talking about! And, it would be good to have someone who’s been to school before, showing me the ropes and stuff.”

It was a good thing that the hallway was pretty dark; Denji wasn’t able to really see the gut-wrenching expression that passed briefly over Reze’s face. “Yeah. I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

“Okay, yeah”, he rambled, feeling a lot better with himself. “So, I’ll see you soon?” Again, he did his funny little awkward-stand-in-place thing in lieu of a proper goodbye.

Reze, despondent, went to him. On her tiptoes, she recreated the movement from the safehouse, gently rubbing the side of her head against his. Denji nuzzled back. She could practically hear him smiling. “This is cute, Meowy does something like this”, he said. Then Reze lowered her head, and pressed her cheek to his. She was pushing her luck now, but she needed a bit of selfishness. One moment of weakness. His cheek was warm and soft. He made a small, odd little noise and stayed very still. Reluctantly, she pulled away. 

He stood staring at her, stiff as a board and cheeks a rosy pink. “Wait there a second”, Reze said, and dashed back into the apartment. She emerged with a hairbrush and placed it in his hands. “You should learn how to take care of Nayuta’s hair. I don’t want to see you brushing her hair with a dog’s comb, you hear me?”

Still looking a little shy, he murmured, “Yeah, I hear you, ma’am.” He paused, and then said, “I’m not great, but I’m trying, y’know?”

“Yeah”, Reze answered. “I know you are.”

There had been one final part to Kishibe’s conversation, all those days ago.

“Maybe I’m just going senile, and want to help some young’uns in love”, he’d said, bastard that he was. 

He wanted a reaction, that much was obvious. Reze gave him nothing, sat motionless in her chair like a dead thing. They would have loved this guy as an instructor back at base: he was as difficult a mark as she’d ever met. 

“So that’s it?” she said, making an effort to keep her tone disinterested. “Stay in this apartment, pine over Denji, and wait for my enemies to die of old age?” Go on, correct me. Let slip what you really want me for. 

“If you really wanted”, he mused, “but it’d be a waste, since I’ve already gone through the trouble of enrolling you two in school.”

Reze had close to a decade’s worth of professional emotional training, and every last shred of it was now being used to prevent her from flipping the table and biting down on this son-of-a-bitch’s carotid artery. “Oh”, she said instead. Just ‘oh’. She was practically a saint. 

Going on the offensive, she leaned forward, both hands placed on the table. “You seem to be out of practice, Kishibe. A normal conversation goes like this: ‘Hello, Reze. I’ve gotten you an apartment which you’ll share with Quanxi. It’s in the same building as Denji, who you’ll also be going to school with. Any questions?’ The way you keep trying to throw me for a loop is considered rude.”

Kishibe shrugged. “Never much been one for niceties.”

“Mmm. Waste of time, isn’t it, when everybody goes and dies?”

For one, tiny, fleeting moment, anger flashed in Kishibe’s eyes. Then it was gone. That had been enough, though — Reze filled with triumph. That familiar, ugly smile pulled at her lips.

It seemed like a stalemate. They regarded each other in silence. 

“You want it all laid out for you? Here it is. I have a task for you, at this school. Or maybe you prefer the term ми́ссия.” 

“Nice pronunciation”, she snapped.

Kishibe carried on regardless. “I can’t hire you officially. The Soviets would find you immediately, either through exposure or spies in the ranks. That means you aren’t getting paid much, only so much as I can write off as my own expenses without suspicion.”

Reze stared at him in disbelief. Not once had the idea of being paid ever crossed her mind. Her café salary was the only money she’d ever earned in her life. It wasn’t like he needed to know that, though. “I hope you were planning on really treating yourself for the next couple of months.”

“All you need to do is keep Denji out of trouble. If Devils come after him, kill them. When he tries to reveal his identity, stop him. Your job is to give him a normal life.” That last part had almost sounded sentimental. 

It was a hell of an offer, all things considered. She would have done that for free. She would have done that if it killed her. “I’ll consider it”, she said, pushing away from the table and towards the door. Just before she reached the threshold, she turned, one final thought unanswered. “And Makima…?”

“She’s dead”, Kishibe deadpanned. “Denji killed her.”

The words hit her like a slap to the face. “Wow”, was all Reze could say. 

“Yeah”, Kishibe replied. It was just about the only thing they’d managed to agree upon. 

It was difficult to know what to feel. The boy who she’d once seen as a little rabbit, overpowering the most dangerous creature on the planet. Something about it was funny. “He killed Makima, and you want me to look after him? ”

Kishibe considered that briefly, then came out with the worst thing he’d ever said to her: “You’re right. That might just be the problem, Reze. No-one ever looks after you.”

She’d slammed the door like it was something she could kill.

In the early light of morning, Reze stood before her mirror. She was tying and untying the ribbon at her neck, over and over, until the action became subconscious. The bow was above a long-sleeve, white, button-up shirt, a blue-grey pleated pinafore dress, belted at the waist, and calf-length black socks. Her first and only school uniform. She watched herself in the mirror as if she were a stranger. The mission is to keep Denji safe. You cannot fail again. 

Reze finally dropped her hands at her side, letting her eyes roam this unfamiliar girl. She repeated the play that she’d decided upon to herself: a shy girl, polite and quiet, no accent, moving from a school that was destroyed by Devil attack elsewhere in Tokyo. She would display nothing of interest — vain as it felt, she knew her appearance would be intriguing enough. Aim low, befriend those of the lowest social hierarchy, then slowly climb the ladder, blaming any previous awkwardness on nerves. There was a lower risk of conflict that way, rather than trying to insert herself into the social elite. Little as Reze knew about school, she knew everything about group social dynamics.

Quietly emerging from her room, Reze began to tend to her little jasmine plant, adding more water to its dish and whispering to it. “You’re alright”, she told the unhearing plant. “It’s going to be okay.”

Then she noticed a little pile of items on the kitchen counter that hadn’t been there last night. Going over to investigate, she found school equipment — stationery, notebooks, a lunchbox — all without a single note of explanation. Quanxi had clearly bought them, then left them in a wordless offering like a cat. It brought a painful and alien wrenching in her chest. Reze swept the items into her backpack and left the apartment as briskly as possible.

The next few hours passed in a daze. Walking to the school, crossing that threshold, waiting in receptions, tedious administration as they checked through and submitted Kishibe’s forged paperwork. But eventually, snapping free of her trance, she found herself before a class being introduced as ‘Mori Reze.’ Mori, huh? The kanji for ‘forest’. The old man really did have a sense of humour. 

She let herself look a little shy, head lowered, one hand rubbing her upper arm. She’d left her hair down so that she could hide behind it, having to peek out coquettishly between the locks falling over her face. That’s what she did now, green eyes partially revealed like fireflies from the long grass of night. The result was immediate: girls whispered to one another, boys squirmed in their chairs or ogled her with barely-concealed lust. It meant nothing to her.  She wafted between the desks, delicate as a wisp, finding an empty seat at the back.

Reze knew she was beautiful. It was not a compliment, and it had never been treated as such. Her supervisors had made a note of it, put it on her file, and she’d been sorted into a different category: not with the plain, mousy children, their job to go entirely unnoticed, but an agent of the more involved, dangerous and unsavoury types of mission. Beautiful had never brought her much good. 

Only upon sitting down, now facing the front of the class, that she noticed the…creature sat on the teacher’s desk. It looked remarkably like a headless chicken, a bow tied about its severed throat.

“It’s egg-cellent that you’ll be joining us, Mori-chan! Looks like you’re gonna have a cluckin’ good time!”

Everyone laughed uproariously at this pathetic attempt at a joke. That honourific made Reze’s fingers twitch, but she let out a tiny, demure giggle to fit in. There was one person, however, very noticeably not laughing at all. The girl sat to Reze’s left, her long hair sleek and black like a midnight river, sat with her arms crossed. Intense waves of disdain pulsed from her very being. Interesting.

The class began. To Reze’s disappointment, it was a Japanese class, going over the same grammar and kanji she’d learned when she was twelve. Of all the things she’d imagined school to be, familiar had not been one of them. And she could have done without the Chicken Devil, punctuating the lesson with excruciating puns that continually received borderline standing ovation. 

Letting her interest fade from the chalkboard and her exercise sheet, she tried to tap into the consciousness of the students around her. All the desks were connected by little channels: girls passing notes, boys throwing things at their mates sat at the front, people everywhere turning to communicate. Everywhere, that was, except for the desk of Midnight River. The activities of the other students flowed easily around her, like a boulder in a stream. It looked like Reze had found her loser. Her first victim.

Reaching her foot out, Reze nudged the girl’s desk leg. She turned to face Reze, the expression in her dark blue eyes somewhere between fury and nervousness.

“N-no, you can’t borrow a pencil. Ask somebody else”, Midnight said. Her tone seemed to aim for sternness, but it came out a little flat.

Reze cupped her cheek in her hand, tilting her head in her usual way. “Hey”, she whispered, in the way you’d use for a secret. “That chicken thing is just horrible, isn’t it?” Shyness clearly wasn't the tactic to use with this one.

Midnight’s jaw dropped. “Yes. Yes!” she said, in a hissing whisper. “I knew I was right. It sucks. It’s ridiculous that it’s been kept in our classroom. It —” she suddenly stopped herself, and turned away from Reze, trying to maintain her aloofness. Reze kicked her desk again. Midnight clenched her fist and her jaw, but kept looking stubbornly away.

“What’s your name?” Reze asked sweetly.

“Why?” the girl responded. What a fascinating thing to say. This Midnight girl was really starting to intrigue her. 

“Why not?” Reze continued, unperturbed.

Midnight put her pen down. “I’m not interested in friends, okay? Bother someone else. Please.”

Reze gave her a charming smile “Okay! But I should still get your name. How else am I gonna ask people how to avoid you, hmm?” But as she said that, Reze showed Midnight her most flirtatious wink.

The girl actually flinched, full-body. For a moment, she looked down at her desk, obviously unsure of what to do. 

“Mitaka”, she said, finally, her voice defeated. “Asa Mitaka.”

Chapter Text

> Mark: Asa Mitaka. A girl of contradictions: quiet, but abrasive, self-loathing, but smug, unsociable, but lonely. She doesn’t know what she wants, but she knows she doesn’t have it.

Reze watched, fascinated, as Asa went about her day, raising her hackles at anyone who came too close, then looking forlorn as they walked away. The girl was desperate for friendship — a child could see that — but was also terrified of it. Why? Reze watched Asa now, fidgeting in her sports uniform across the hall. The why didn’t really matter, though: Reze knew all that she needed to. Asa was going to be as easy a mark as Denji.

The boring Japanese class had led into Physical Education. Boys and girls alike wore white cotton shirts and shorts, flitting about under the harsh yellow light of the gymnasium, trainers squeaking all the while. But before that, Reze had learned of the horror that was the “changing room”: a dark, mud-coloured affair, with only one frosted window lending its light to the gloom. One might be mistaken into assuming this darkness meant privacy. Not so.

The Social Elite dressed openly whilst chatting away, only remarking on their states of undress to compliment each others’ underwear. Reze hadn’t expected that from ‘normal’ girls; the ability to show off her own body had been learned, not innate. Those more timid had their faces turned intensely against the wall, whipping their clothes on-and-off as fast as humanly possible. Asa had done just that, hidden in the dankest corner of them all. Others even went away and locked themselves in the toilet cubicles. Reze, of course, imitated the most socially-desirable option, but this also immediately marked her as One Of Them. This was all the incentive the Popular Girls needed to pepper her with their questions.

“Oh, Reze-san, that choker is so cute! How did you convince them to let you wear non-regulation jewellery?” Ideal answer -> “Thank you! It was a gift from my mother before she…oh, forgive me, I shouldn’t go and depress everyone.”

“You’re so pretty! How do you keep yourself so slim?” Ideal answer -> “Oh, goodness, I guess I’m just lucky with genetics, and take lots of walks…”

“Do you like sports and stuff?” Ideal answer -> “I suppose, I used to do some gymnastics, but I’m really nothing special.”

So on, so on, so on. Shy, endearing, self-effacing, feminine, harmless. The play came to her with robotic ease. But really, it bored her senseless. Reze was very glad to have found Asa — she could use a guise similar to Denji’s (minus the immature jokes, Asa wouldn’t appreciate those), which was one she enjoyed much more.

Stalking towards her prey, Reze crossed the squeaky floor to reach Asa, who was sat on a bench and worrying the hems of her gym clothes. This was supposed to be “warm-up time”, but no-one took much heed of their beleaguered sensei. Girls sat about, or nattered away in large circles. Boys jumped on one another and threw foam balls at each others’ heads.

“Heya, Asa.”

Asa’s head bolted upwards, startled. “Hello”, was all she offered. She seemed to always have this guilty, nervous look when Reze approached her, like she’d just been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“What’s the gym class here like? Any fun?” Reze breezed on.

Glowering, Asa responded, “No. Physical Education is like one big humiliation ritual. All the sporty people just stare at you, and everyone smells, and all the boys use it as an excuse to creep on the girls in their shorts. It’s gross.” 

That was true, actually. Reze had also been unprepared for such an intense atmosphere of teenage hormones: the white shirts were ever so slightly see-through, with the more brightly-coloured bras being somewhat visible. The boy’s midriffs would flash as they lifted their arms to throw. There was a distinct atmosphere of lingering gazes; strangely, it reminded Reze of the grown-up parties and clubs she’d once had to slip into, full overhead lighting be damned. She added ‘observant’ to Asa’s list of characteristics. And ‘opinionated’. Reze liked that — it made her job much easier.

“Oh wow, do any of these pigs creep on you?” Reze said, sweetly. Asa furrowed her brow and went to speak, but Reze cut her off. “‘Cuz as your gym partner today, I’ll beat them up, heh!” Her tone switched to that of mischief, her pearly whites flashing and pushing one fist against her palm. 

Asa looked confused, then irritated, as she set her jaw in a scowl. “Look, I know this is a dare or something. You can tell them you won, it's not like I care. Just leave me alone.”

Reze inclined her head. Huh. ‘Victim of bullying’ joined the growing list in her head. She knelt down to Asa’s level, meeting her eyes. Asa didn’t seem to like eye contact, attempting to challenge Reze’s stare but intermittently flitting her eyes away.

“Why’d you say that? Maybe I just want to be your partner, can you believe it?” Reze put a little air of teasing in her words, but kept them gentle. 

“...Really?” Asa responded, her voice quieter than it had ever been.

Pause, let the anticipation build. “I think you’re interesting”, Reze said. It was the first truth she’d told all day.

The expression on Asa’s face could only be described as a gawk. Then, quite suddenly, she got to her feet. Reze rose to meet her. 

“Yeah. Yeah! Correct. I am interesting”, she proclaimed.

“Haha, yeah!

“I’m an interesting woman!”

“You tell ‘em!” Reze yelled back. ‘Compliments go right to her head’ was swiftly placed on Asa’s file.

With her newfound rush of confidence, Asa did a few perfunctory stretches, moving her arms above her head. “Okay. Gymnastics. ” The sheer contempt in that word made Asa’s feelings on the subject quite clear. She pointed at the nearest unoccupied foam mat that their sensei had been thanklessly setting up around the room. “Go sit on that one.”

Reze blinked at her. Is she serious? In a matter of seconds, Asa had gone from a skittish little ball to ordering Reze around. Well, whatever. “Yessir”, Reze responded, holding a sarcastic salute to her forehead.

The two girls sat on the mat facing each other. They were supposed to be practicing some different holds and rolls, at least according to what their sensei was trying to yell over the noise. Reze extended her legs in front of her so that her shoes pressed flat against the soles of Asa’s.

“What are you doing?” Asa asked, looking bemused.

“Helping you stretch. Gimme your hands”, Reze said, holding her own out towards Asa.

Asa was deeply reluctant. “No thanks, I’ve already stretched.”

Smiling warmly, Reze replied, “No, you haven’t. C’mon.” With that, she leaned forward and laced her fingers with Asa’s. Very gently, Reze pulled backwards so that Asa bent towards her toes. The poor girl looked bewildered, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. Then, suddenly —

“Ow!” Asa yelped.

“Haha, no way! Your fingers aren’t even at your toes! You really need to stretch more, Asa.”

Gritting her teeth, Asa shot back, “No, you need to — ow! Ouch, stop it!”

Reze let go of Asa’s hands, letting the girl flop downwards clumsily. Giggling, Reze put her hand over Asa’s shoe and gave it a little wiggle side-to-side. “You okay?” Through the curtain of Asa’s black hair, Reze watched Asa sigh, and then, ever-so gently, smile.

“I’m fine”, she said.

However, their commotion had attracted unwanted attention. Four girls of the Elite variety had noticed that the pretty new girl had somehow gotten stuck with Mitaka. They marched over, rescue mission underway. As soon as Asa noticed them, she underwent a sudden change: it was as if she shrunk, her body collapsing in on itself, as she tried to melt into the floorboards. She stared markedly at the floor.

“Hey Reze-san! Sorry we didn’t see you earlier. Come and join us! I’m sure Teach will let us have a group of three.” They addressed Reze directly, as if Asa wasn’t still within touching distance. As if Asa didn’t exist at all.

Delicate situation, this. Reject them too strongly, and the social climb was a bust. Abandon Asa, and never be able to earn her trust again.

“Oh, it’s alright, I don’t want to cause you any trouble!” Reze replied, her expression warm and sunny.

The girls started to shift around a little more uncomfortably. “Um, it’s no trouble at all, really.” 

Reze pushed the cloying sweetness to the max. “It’s okay, I don’t want anyone to worry about me! If Sensei says it's two people only, then that’s what I’ll do — I wanna make a good first impression, y’know? I’ll keep the rule-breaking for when they get to know me”, (she added a hint of mischief here, lest they think she was a complete teacher’s pet), “but I’ll see you all at lunch, okay?” She batted her eyelashes up at them, between spilling locks of hair, a light blush in her cheeks.

Sensing the battle was lost, the posse retreated with a vague, “Um, okay, see you later…” Reze turned back to Asa, who was staring at her like she’d suddenly started glowing; partially bewildered and upset, partially awestruck.

“I don’t want your pity, and I don’t need your help”, she burst out, standing up abruptly. “I don’t understand you, why didn’t you just go with them?”

Considering her for a moment, Reze reached her arms towards Asa from where she sat. “Okay. You don’t need my help, but I still need yours. I haven’t stretched yet, remember?” To emphasise her point, she tapped all her fingers together several times in Asa’s direction.

Wordlessly, Asa sunk back downwards. She hesitantly took Reze’s hands into her own. “I don’t…how do I do it?”

“It’s easy, just pull back gently.”

Asa certainly pulled back, though the ‘gently’ part was arguable. It was a good thing Reze’s body was practically invincible. Asa pulled Reze’s hands all the way past her toes, before dropping the contact with a little sound of surprise.

“Eugh, freaky”, Asa squeaked.

“Yeah, it’s cool, right?”

Despite Reze’s best efforts, Asa had disappeared from sight during lunch break: the girl had dashed from the changing room the second she was decent, leaving Reze to the horde. Reze wouldn’t look for her — Asa seemed like someone who valued her space, and wouldn’t tolerate the invasion of it. And, whether Asa realised it or not, Reze was sure that the girl would come to seek her out sooner or later.

This meant that Reze had to tackle the cafeteria alone. This seemed to be another ritual: groups of similar social standing all congregated around the same tables. There were the Sporty ones, the Arty ones, the Elite ones, the oddballs…all in their matching styles. Reze was starting to understand now. School was a place of cohesion and fear. If people did have respect for those few who didn’t assimilate, it was kept private.

That wasn’t to say there was no joy, though — here were childhood friends, shrieking with laughter. Here were first loves and revelations. It was overwhelming, but not exactly unpleasant.

Sitting next to the beckoning Elite girls, the ones from class, Reze wondered which group she truly belonged to. Purple hair and striking green eyes were far from normal, but it seemed her beauty allowed this to be tolerated. Maybe she belonged nowhere at all.

“There you are! Bet you’re glad we got you away from Mitaka, huh?” The comment came from the girl sat opposite Reze, one with light brown hair and copious freckles.

Reze decided to weave around the question. “Thank you for inviting me over! I had fun during Physical Education though, it was nice to do some gymnastics again after so long.”

“You don’t have to be so polite about it, y’know?” Freckles said, laced with cruel giggles.

Reze did a silly little shrug, and the conversation moved on. Nothing much of interest was said — boys, fashion, can you believe she did this, TV shows — and Reze chimed in occasionally when needed. You could coast like this for years, she thought. You could get away with barely lifting a finger.

It happened, seemingly at random. The girl at Reze’s side asked her opinion on something or other, and Reze replied with the expected words, when a voice suddenly spoke into her head. Not her own voice — it was loud and emotionless, like an artificial recording overhead at a train station.

I’ve killed people like you.

She didn’t panic. She didn’t react, beyond a shiver that went up and down her arms. But the voice didn’t leave. Another girl made a joke, and everyone laughed, and the inside of Reze’s head went, I’ve ripped you open. And someone else got their phone out, showing everyone a picture, and all Reze could hear was, I’m covered in blood, I’m covered in blood. 

Excusing herself, muttering something about finding the toilet, Reze walked out at a pace just shy of running. She just needed to get a fucking grip. I’m covered in blood.

Finding a door to the outside world, Reze fled into the fresh air. There was a lone tree on the playing field, silently watching over the boys’ football game in the distance. Reze didn’t slow until she was right in front of it. I’m covered in blood. She raised her unsteady hands to the bark, tracing her way over each groove, the bumps of each patch of lichen, into and amongst the moss, up and back. Think of the texture. Notice every tiny pattern. Think of nothing else.

Slowly, the tree calmed her. Her hands repeated their route until she knew it by heart. An old memory, forbidden, started to come to mind…turning away, she suddenly noticed the boy sitting only metres away, on the other side of the tree, eating and watching the skyline. 

It was Denji. Strange, seeing him like this: quiet, contemplative, seemingly deep in thought. Reze walked towards him carefully. When she got close, he looked around at her and smiled, but something on her face made his expression fall. She sat at his side, and for a little while, neither of them spoke. Denji is covered in blood, too. 

“Denji, what do you do when…you think of bad stuff?”

Still chewing on an onigiri, Denji said, “That’s easy. Just don’t think of depressing stuff.”

“Sure, but…does it ever just…come to mind? Like, even if you don’t want it to?”

Denji put the food down. He seemed to bite the inside of his mouth, mulling the question over. “Yeah, that can happen. When your brain just turns to crap and you can’t think normal. Shows you all this shit. That sucks.”

“Well, what do you do then?”

Shifting around to face her, Denji said, “Why do you ask?” Was he avoiding the question?

“I mean…” Reze hugged her knees to her chest. “It’s…weird, right? Being at school? Being with…normal people? It’s like, we go from this world of Devils and violence to…doing homework. You don’t find that…difficult?”

Denji seemed to be recoiling from this conversation. Maybe he coped by not thinking or talking about these things at all. Did he have the voice too? Did he just ignore it, every day of his life?

Finally, he murmured an answer. “I mean, I wanted to be normal, so…I just kinda let it all happen. Get on with it ‘n stuff.” He paused, as if finding that answer unsatisfying. “You gotta…have hope, I think. Like, something to look forward to.”

“What do you look forward to, Denji?”

He fidgeted a bit, suddenly looking uncomfortable, again reaching for the onigiri. “Um…err…kinda…being with you, in the future. Maybe.”

Reze had a feeling she knew what that meant. She laughed softly, resting her head on Denji’s shoulder. Heat immediately rose to his face. “Denji…we’re in school”, she teased. 

“Man, whatever”, Denji said, flustered, cramming more food into his face. They stayed in companionable silence whilst he ate. 

“Hey, what even are you watching?” Reze asked, pointing at the flat expanse of field Denji had been looking at.

“Nothin’.”

“Cool. Let’s look at nothing together, you weirdo”, Reze said, aching with fondness.

It took a full five minutes before Denji worked up the courage to rest his head atop hers.

Chapter Text

Reze didn’t remember much of that day’s remnants. It was sheer force of will that propelled her past that awful lunch: the long-established muscle memory of a smile, a tilted head, a giggle. That, and her time spent with Denji, which had just about given her the energy to go on. All she needed to do was survive until she made it back home. The plant would need a water.

It wasn’t until the day’s end, walking through the school’s gates whilst the final bell sang, that she reentered her body with a sudden snap. And it was because of what was waiting for her on the street — a 6-foot woman with snow-white hair.

Quanxi really couldn’t have been less inconspicuous if she tried. She was wearing her outrageously expensive-looking grey trench coat, a tight, black pencil skirt and a white tank top. No bra. Obviously. The white top left little to the imagination, and male and female students alike gaped at her with boggling eyes. Inhaling her way through what was likely to be her fourth cigarette of the day, she looked like a goddamn off-duty supermodel. And she was waiting just for Reze.

With her recently acquired consciousness, Reze cringed as she trudged towards the other Hybrid. Strangely comforting as Quanxi’s presence was — who could possibly harm you, with Quanxi at your side? — she was not an easy person to explain. Reze could practically feel the interest mounting as more and more students laid eyes on the two of them. She’d have to make up a good story for her.

“Hello! I…wasn’t expecting to see you here, Quanxi”, Reze mumbled. 

Quanxi performed one more luxurious drag of her cigarette before answering. “Mhmm. Wasn’t expecting to be here, either. Public Safety finally got back to me.”

“Oh?” Reze wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. Best say nothing at all.

“Last day of freedom”, Quanxi mused to herself, gaze turning to the sky. There was a note of sarcasm in the words, but only just. Looking back at Reze, she added, “Last day of shopping, too. You’re coming with me.”

That was a bit of a shock. “Oh! Shopping, huh? I’d love to come, but I really have all the things I need, don’t I?”

Quanxi had this extraordinary way of looking at you that made you truly feel like an idiot. It was a gift. “You have half a wardrobe. At best. And not a single perfume, hmm?”

The decadence of it was criminal. Reze felt the urge to argue — Quanxi, I never even got real food, let alone a full wardrobe — but she let it fade away. Normal girls went shopping together. Normal girls could step foot in malls without falling to their knees and weeping. “Alright, you’re the boss”, Reze said, because she knew Quanxi would like it.

“That’s right”, Quanxi replied on cue, smoke leaking from her mouth. It was at that exact moment, horror upon horror, that one of Reze’s classmates began to shyly approach Quanxi. She was almost bent double, and a little pink in the face.

“Um…hello, Miss. My…friend thinks you’re really cute…I mean, beautiful, so…um…” The girl wouldn’t meet either of their eyes, fingers twitching about like a frightened bird.

Reze closed her eyes and waited for the carnage to be over. Quanxi would surely obliterate this poor girl’s dignity beyond any hope of repair. And that was if she didn’t just hit her.

“Sweetheart.” It was unbelievable, that such a gentle tone could be coming from Quanxi’s own mouth. Both Reze and the girl jumped in surprise. “You must be lost. I’m old enough to be your mother.”

Grandmother, more like, Reze thought to herself. Quanxi’s words didn’t seem to have the desired effect; if anything, the girl started fidgeting even more, now distinctly blushing. Seeing that her admirer still hadn’t fled, Quanxi went for the killing blow: she stepped forward, placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder, and said, “Run along now, hmm?”

With a rather embarrassing squeak, the schoolchild took off sprinting behind the nearest corner. 

“You’ve never been that nice to me”, Reze said with a huff. Translation: prove me wrong. Tell me about the school supplies. Why are you trying to take care of me? 

Quanxi didn’t get the hint. “That takes courage”, Quanxi said, unusually contemplative. “You shouldn’t discourage those so young.”

Then, as if hearing that comment, another classmate started swaggering towards Quanxi. It was a boy this time, sauntering forwards like a peacock. He didn’t even get to speak. As soon as Quanxi noticed him, she pulled back her lips and hissed, really hissed, like a cornered feral cat.

“HHSSSSKK!” The boy almost fell over in his attempt to escape, suddenly turning white as a sheet. Reze fell about laughing — Quanxi’s double standards were really something else. 

“Aah! Don’t you think that was a little discouraging?!” Reze said in amongst her own laughter.

Quanxi’s only response was a displeased noise from the back of her throat, before beginning to march in the opposite direction. Shopping it was, then.

Mercifully, Quanxi had elected not to visit some great, sprawling mall. Instead, she seemed to have hand-selected several high-end boutiques that they visited in meticulous order. The amount of money Quanxi spent was absolutely maddening. This was to the delight of the shopping assistants, who would follow in her wake, cooing and fawning and tying themselves in knots just to please her. 

Gifts were rained upon Reze too, in alarming quantity. It is strategically beneficial to accept this generosity. You are gaining extra resources with no expectation of reciprocation. Reze repeated these lines to herself like a mantra, but it did little to quell her growing panic. It was too much choice. It was just too much. 

It was shortly after Quanxi’s purchase of a third ludicrously expensive perfume for Reze, that the latter’s composure finally wore thin. Walking down some trendy, tree-lined street in the sunshine, Reze tugged gently at Quanxi’s coat sleeve. She felt sick.

“Quanxi, don’t…buy me anything else.” Reze muttered. “I don’t need any of this.”

There was a brisk wind blowing down that street. Heavy as it was, Quanxi’s coat rose and swayed with each large gust. Quanxi looked down at Reze’s hand, still gripping firmly at the fabric, rising and swaying with it, as if it were her anchor in a storm. 

“Money’s no concern”, Quanxi replied softly. Was that the girl’s worry? It was an irritating, juvenile one, if so. Like hell if Quanxi needed her spare change.

“How? How can money be of no concern to you? God, it’s not like we’ve had jobs, is it?” There was a mania beginning to bubble up in Reze. Her mouth kept twitching as if she were trying to fight off a smile.

“Our whole lives were jobs, no?” That seemed to knock some hysteria out of the girl; the nervous energy dimmed, and confusion clouded her face. Then, Quanxi realised something. “You were never paid.”

Reze’s confusion melted into shame — she looked away, the hand on Quanxi’s coat becoming limp, maintaining contact only by the fingertips. There were two conflicting desires in Quanxi’s head now: ignorance was, of course, bliss. She could press no further, let the topic fade, and keep little Reze at a comfortable arm’s distance. But, oddly enough, Quanxi didn’t want to. The girl made her feel something she’d almost forgotten the shape of: curiosity. So different from herself, and yet so alike.

Crouching down to eye level, Quanxi came out with it, blunt as anything: “How did they control you?”

The black of Quanxi’s eye was like some yawning pit. Reze could feel it: one wrong move, and she’d go falling in. There were these rabbits… God, it wasn’t like she could tell Quanxi about that. Reze shook her head, momentarily unable to speak.

“Let me tell you something, Reze. They couldn’t control me — they could only appease me. Money, food, companions, anything I asked, and it was mine. Because I had realised something dangerous. I’m a scary bitch.”

That comment was so unexpected that Reze laughed involuntarily, a shaky, breathy sort of bark. 

Quanxi continued. “I’m a scary bitch. I knew it, and so did they. That one day, I could turn around and kill every last one of them. You’re different. You never realised it. And that’s why they could control you. So I’m asking: why didn’t you kill them all? Why didn’t you take what you wanted?”

Reze was floored. The answers that came to mind were so fucking…pathetic. I was good at it. I liked it. I wanted to look after my bunnies. I would get rewards for being good. I wanted to be good.

She was a scary bitch, goddamnit — she knew a hundred different ways of killing a man, a hundred different ways of making him fall in love, too. She always got what she wanted. But…that wasn’t true, was it? It had always been what they wanted. They had just managed to convince her that it was the same thing. Running away was what she wanted — but it was still a mission, wasn’t it? Their way of thinking hadn’t left her at all. 

What do you want? The question struck her so hard in the stomach she almost threw up. What did she actually want? It was too upsetting. It was too much. 

Reze managed to wheeze out a simple reply. “I’m taking it now.”

“Say you’re a scary bitch.” Quanxi didn’t look like she was joking. It was difficult to summon a look of disdain in her current state, but Reze tried.

“Don’t be —”

“Say it.”

Finally letting go of the coat, Reze put her head in her hands. Then she looked back at Quanxi.

“I’m a scary bitch”, she said, utterly without conviction. It seemed to be enough. Quanxi straightened up, hauling her enormous collection of shopping bags with her.

“Don’t forget it. Let’s get out of here.”

The following morning, Quanxi was nowhere to be seen, having risen bright and early for her first Public Safety shift. Reze changed into her uniform once more, the movements now coming easier. She stared at herself unceasingly in the mirror. She wanted to see Denji. She wanted to befriend Asa. She wanted to complete her mission. Any further introspection was nothing but pain.

Most of the day passed without significance. Yes, you could coast your way through this forever, with small laughs and nodding. Reze bothered Asa at every available opportunity, kicking her table leg, passing her notes (which she often ignored, at which case Reze would throw them onto her desk, or failing that, directly at the poor girl) and generally getting Asa accustomed to her presence. She still disappeared during breaks — that was fine. Let her take her time. In the meantime, she ate with Freckles and her gaggle of Elites, carefully cementing her place in the social order.

It wasn’t until the final period that things became interesting. Their teacher sat the glum Chicken devil on his desk, and announced his untimely death. A wave of silent misery swept the classroom — except for Asa, who didn’t even attempt to hide her smug glee. Reze would have loved to join her, if it weren’t for the glaringly obvious:

“The whole class talked it out, and we’ve decided…we won’t eat Bucky!”

Asa jolted like someone had hooked her up to the mains electricity. She watched with despair as the class collectively jumped for joy, laughing and sobbing, before running out into the sunset. 

Only the two girls remained in the classroom now. Asa slumped forwards, her face on the desk and her arms framing her head, hands dangling over the edge. “Are they serious right now…?” Her voice was muffled against the wood.

Reze stood up and placed a hand lightly on Asa’s shoulder blade. “Yep. Looks like Bucky is our new best friend forever.”

Asa curled even further into the table, letting out an urgh of pure anguish. “Don’t worry”, Reze whispered, mischievous. “I’m sure we can make it look like an accident”. 

Huffing out a mirthless laugh, Asa sat back up, her blue eyes scanning the ceiling for divine intervention. “We can’t kill it. Much as I’d like to. It’s…not allowed.”

“Nothing’s not allowed.”

Turning a confused head to look at her, Asa said, “What are you talking about? Most things aren’t allowed. We're in school.”

Honestly, even Reze barely knew what she meant. She was trying something out, rolling a thought around her mouth like a dissolving sweet. The forbidden sugar of it coated her teeth. It was bad for her. She wanted more.

I’m a scary bitch.

“Hey, forget about it. Let’s go outside with the others, okay? Even if we can’t kill him, we can…throw him around a little, heh. D’you think playing Catch The Chicken might cheer you up?”

Asa folded her arms and looked away haughtily. “No.”

…

“Maybe.”

Chapter Text

The lazy afternoon sun was glorious, and it couldn’t have lit a more appropriate scene: schoolchildren, running this way and that, chasing after the football and shrieking cheerfully. Bucky pranced amongst them like a delightful spring lamb; it was like some fond childhood memory come to life. Even Reze had been tempted into the fray, her classmates cheering whenever she tapped the ball with feigned shyness. 

Asa watched it all with a demeanour akin to a funeral mourner. She stood awkwardly against the wall, shoulders hunched over.  The teacher went to her, but whatever she’d snarled at him soon sent him scuttling away. It was sad. Something about Asa, the way she denied herself everything, made Reze so…sad.

What do you want? On the whole, it wasn’t a question that didn’t bear thinking about. But right now, at this precise moment, all Reze wanted was for Asa to play. 

The crowd, following the ball, circled back towards Reze like a murmuration of starlings. Bucky was bouncing along in tow, allowing himself to be caught in Reze’s arms. To Reze’s surprise, he was pleasant to hold: firm, downy and warm. He was a detestable thing, really, and nothing pissed Reze off faster than being patronised. But he was helpless, too. Vulnerable, in a way that teetered between endearing and pathetic. Reze was experiencing more than a little cuteness aggression with this squashable thing in her arms.

She leant down and whispered something near Bucky’s head, assuming there was a hearing organ around there somewhere. His severed neck nodded, so it must have been so. How to get him to Asa? That was an obvious play: walk towards her slowly, head down, present Bucky like a little child holding up a drawing to their parents.

That wasn’t…what she wanted to do, though. There was the impulse, under her skin. The one she’d been punished for all her life. The one that said throw him. Was that who she really was? The laughing, the dance, the impulse, the smile? There was another voice here, too. A new one. It said: why don’t you take what you want.

Yeah. Fuck it. Fuck it! The movement went down Reze’s spine, into her lungs, into her arms, and before she knew it, Reze had yelled, “Hey Asa! Catch!” and the Chicken Devil learned how to fly.

Asa’s jaw dropped open in exaggerated terror, her arms raising inelegantly to flap about in panic. However, Reze’s aim was true, and Bucky collided with Asa’s chest with a soft whump, and her arms wrapped around him reflexively.

Half of the class was now staring, dumbfounded, at Reze. The other half watched Asa with excited dread, like how you’d watch two cars driving towards each other at top speed. Oh my God, Reze thought. Her persona was in ruins. Her play was fucked. Oh my God. 

Reze’s vertiginous downwards spiral was suddenly interrupted by Asa getting to her feet. And she was smiling. A genuine smile, nothing sarcastic or guarded about it. The power of it swept all of Reze’s fear away, and on instinct, she jogged towards Asa, draping her own arm around Bucky too. Her joy seemed to impact their companions in the same way, each now waving and smiling at Asa as if she hadn’t been the social leper only minutes ago.

Running ahead of Asa and turning back around, Reze held her arms open in a throw it here gesture. Gingerly, Asa pushed him back into Reze’s hands. Calling it a throw would have been generous, but Asa was grinning all the same. 

“Not so bad, is it?” Reze giggled, now throwing the squawking Devil towards another classmate, the football now abandoned. 

“I guess…not”, Asa replied, a little breathless. 

Laughter (and Bucky’s funny chicken noises) abounded as he was tossed from schoolchild to schoolchild. Asa was laughing too, a pretty, breathy sound. It was her turn next — she stepped forward, arms wide, and caught Bucky against her chest. And she kept going forward.

And she tripped. And she fell. Face-first.

The sound was terrible. A confused squeal of pain, followed by a loud, wet squelch. Then there was no sound at all.

Gradually, excruciatingly, Asa pushed herself up from the floor. Beneath her lay what remained of Bucky. Mangled, a deflated balloon, guts spilling on the green, green grass.

There were a couple of seconds of complete, shocked stillness. Then one boy fell to his knees. The heavy thump as he hit the earth broke the spell. Suddenly, everyone was crying, gasping, screaming, tearing their hair out and legs giving way. Reze and Asa were the only two oases of inactivity, as all around descended into frenzy. Another boy tried to pick up the body, but failed, emotion overtaking him as his hands came back, slick with blood. It was the Class Prez who rose to the task, holding the corpse with steady hands and walking towards a nearby tree. All the students began to follow her, a wailing funeral procession. Only Asa and Reze were left behind.

Asa had not responded to any external stimuli since she had sat up. She stared at the ground, eyes unfocused, dripping with cold sweat. Reze approached her. Nothing. Reze put her hand on Asa’s shoulder and squeezed. Still nothing.

I’m sorry, Asa. It’s my fault, went the cruel, conditioned voice in Reze’s brain. I acted up, and we were punished. That’s how it’s always been. I won’t do it again.

That wasn’t true, though. Even the voice knew it. Because Reze was very, very good at noticing things. She waited until the crowd was firmly out of earshot, then squeezed Asa’s shoulder again, hard. Hard enough to hurt. Asa finally looked up at her, eyes blank like fog over the sea. 

“Listen, Asa.” Reze whispered, quiet but firm. “This isn’t your fault. The Class President tripped you. I saw it, I swear on my life.” She emphasised her promise with another squeeze.

It took a while for Asa to register the words. “No-one will believe me”, she said, weakly. Then, as if suddenly realising it herself, “I don’t believe you.” Asa stood up, shaky, but managed to meet Reze’s eyes. “I’m fine. I always do something like this.” There was an awful grief in her words. “Thanks, but you don’t have to lie to me. I’m fine.”

“I don’t need you to believe me”, Reze commanded. The forcefulness of it made Asa flinch. Reze took Asa’s wrist, and rolled up her shirt sleeve. There was none of Asa’s usual awkward discomfort at being touched; she stared at her own arm as if it belonged to someone else. Taking a pen from her pocket, Reze wrote the number of her home telephone across Asa’s pale skin.

“I just need you to listen. Prez has got it out for you, so don’t let her get you alone. If you’re in school, come find me. If you’re not, call this number, okay?”

Asa didn’t take her eyes off of the writing. She’d never actually had a contact to put into her mother’s cell phone before.

“Even if you don’t believe me, you don’t wanna be alone with her, right? She might try and take Bucky’s revenge”, Reze joked, tone still gentle, giving Asa’s forearm a small poke.

Exhausted, Asa sighed. “Fine. Whatever. You’d better show up on time.”

“Don’t worry. I always do.”

Darkness had fallen before the call finally came. Reze had been making herself busy, fussing over her plants unnecessarily. An iris now accompanied the jasmine on the windowsill, another mystical-sounding flower she knew by scent alone. Quanxi still hadn’t returned home, the apartment blanketed in uneasy silence. That was until the phone rang, startling Reze from her sacred houseplant vigil.

Maybe it was just the effect of the receiver, but Asa’s voice sounded flat and dull. Half digital. “Prez is here with Mr. Tanaka. They want to go to Bucky’s grave.” There was a difficult pause, then: “Come quickly”, and the line went dead. 

Reze descended into the cold kiss of the night. She’d written Asa’s address on her own arm, a matching tattoo, after badgering it out of her earlier that day. They lived really close to one another; some phantom childhood friend next-door. Wasn’t that something?

The rhythm of Reze’s footsteps punctuated the empty suburban street. Everything felt muted, like a soft pall had been laid over the world. Asa’s building soon came into view, just another grey cube, like so many around it. She climbed up into the building’s skeleton, and walked the corridors towards her destination.

Prez and Mr. Tanaka (that’s what Asa had called him — she should have known that, but had never bothered to commit it to memory. He was just another suit) stood outside Asa’s door. They had been facing each other, whispering urgently, before springing apart at Reze’s presence. A confused mix of unhappy emotions played out on Prez’s face, before deciding on an ingenuine smile. 

An unpleasant tingle rose at the back of Reze’s neck. It wasn’t…normal for a male teacher to be alone with a student like this. Reze had spent much of her life alone with adult men: most were displeasing in the standard way. Others…

There were certain things that young girls knew, without being told. Some instinct in the blood. Reze had felt it then, and she felt it now. Her blood told her something was wrong.

Head held high, no greeting, she walked firmly in between the two of them. They both shuffled further away to regain some personal space. Reze knocked loudly on the door. “I’m here, Asa!” 

It opened at once, revealing a bleary-eyed Asa. She wouldn’t even leave her room without me, Reze thought, with a surge of pride. It was clear that she had started to earn the girl’s respect.

“I’m here now, you”, Reze said, reaching for her. “Hey, let’s get this over with.”

Asa limply accepted Reze’s hand, and followed her lead, walking with her head tilted to the ground.

The cheerless band now walked the streets, dipping into and out of the streetlight’s glow. Prez and Mr. Tanaka talked in hushed tones, whilst Asa remained stubbornly silent, still being pulled along by Reze. It wasn’t until they started crossing the street that Asa suddenly stopped, yanking Reze back a little. Reze immediately dropped her arm, but Asa offered no explanation, staring at the red traffic light. 

When pressed by Prez, Asa answered in a wobbly voice. “It’s just…the crossing signal’s red…”

Reze went to stand before her. “It’s alright, Asa”, she said soothingly. “You’re allowed to do these things. You don’t need permission, okay?” Her comfort didn’t seem to be getting through; Asa looked stricken.

“You always do this”, Prez said. Reze whipped around at once, arm outstretched in front of Asa. She knew that voice: the sound of self-control breaking down. Of barely-veiled hatred. Prez had been willing to kill Bucky just to make Asa’s life worse. What would she do now, alone in the dark? Try to stab them?

But no, no. Before everyone’s horrified eyes, Prez’s body began to shift and pulsate, bulging grotesquely as something tried to squirm free of her own flesh. Reze went cold. Then…a shiver. Excitement. The dance was here.

“Did you know that Mr. Tanaka…” Prez continued, her voice warping and hideous to match her body, “likes YOU even though he’s having sex with me?!”

And there it was. Asa squeaked in fear, the Suit in surprise and horror. The great limb sprouting from Prez’s body, malformed and glistening, lunged at Asa, who was frozen in place. Deftly, Reze tackled Asa out of the way, her hand holding the back of Asa’s head to cushion the fall. The concrete exploded, dust and shrapnel flying. Reze’s hand hit the ground with a grisly crunch. It hurt. It felt so good.

The mission was to let Denji live a normal life. The mission was to let Asa live a normal life. No — that was what Reze wanted. Prez’s existence was now incompatible with her desires. Sorry, girl, Reze thought to herself. I could have ended up just like you.

With inhuman speed, Reze ran beneath the hulking creature, sliding beneath another fearsome strike. Sensing that Reze was more trouble than she was worth, Prez turned her attention back to the undefended Asa — until she heard a sudden cry of pain. 

The thing that had once been a schoolgirl looked to see the Suit, the one she saw as a lover, trembling on the floor. Reze had kicked him savagely in the nuts, and now pressed her shoe hard against his throat, as he whined and convulsed.

“Wha—? Get off of him! This isn’t even about you, new girl! Get out of here, forget about all this, and I might just let you live!” She was barely intelligible, the words roared and full of spittle. 

“Oh, sure”, Reze smirked, giving the Suit a sharp press against his throat, making him wheeze. “I’ll be taking Asa along with me, too.” There was a wicked smile plastered across her face. Yes, this is what she was good at. This was where she finally felt competent.

Prez growled, trying to squash Reze once more, and wholly failing as Reze danced around her clumsy attacks. Howling with frustration, Prez coiled back for one more mighty smack — then stopped abruptly. Her contract had placed an utterly baffling piece of information in her brain.

“What? I don’t understand. You’re…?” Prez actually backed up a couple of steps, suddenly cautious. 

"Yeah, that’s me!” Reze flashed her most brilliant grin, and stalked towards the supine Suit. She’d never know what that man saw in her, then. Maybe it was the fury in her green eyes, like an avenging angel. Maybe it was a hint of inhuman strength, as she calmly knelt and placed her hand around his windpipe, tight. Maybe he could just sense the evil inside of her. Whatever it was, the Suit was suddenly awash with terror, drowning in it, shaking and crying, unable to move.

“No, no, no, no, no…” he stuttered, tears running down his guilty face.

“Oh, yes”, Reze whispered. His fear was delicious. She could feel it running up and down her arm, like the vibration in a tuning fork. It wasn’t his throat he held, but tens of other men, hundreds of them, all their ugly faces blending into one. Every single person who had ever put that vulnerable feeling into her blood. Just another suit. 

Prez, overcoming her uncertainty, made for the final blow. The great, hulking fist above Reze's head would have blotted out the sun.

“Reze?” Asa shouted, having gotten to her feet. Reze locked eyes with her. She couldn’t believe it — the girl hadn’t run away. Okay. Reze would have to time this just right.

Looking back into the Suit’s eyes, devouring his terror, his pleas for mercy, Reze waited until just before the strike would land. Three, two, one.

Boom.

The rush was unlike anything Reze had ever known. Every synapse in her body screamed, alight with pure, searing oblivion. Her vision, her mind, everything, went brilliant white for a second — then the roar, the fire, the incandescent heat. Reze went completely mad, endorphins sending her into the stratosphere. Weeks without this relief, weeks and weeks…

Then, Reze came back to reality. The smoke and clouds of dust gave her valuable seconds, and much as it broke her heart, she let her Hybrid form slip away. There, once the dust had cleared, was Asa. She’d been blown backwards a bit, and bruised from hunks of meat that had splattered her all over, but Prez’s huge body had absorbed much of the blast. Pieces of that body, half-melted, now lay about the road. Mr. Tanaka had been vapourised entirely. A cartoonish quantity of blood covered everything: the girls, the floor, the streetlights, even the windows of the surrounding buildings.

Asa was in total shock. She stood stock-still, mouth open. Reze would have to be very careful now. Slowly, Reze stood, and walked towards her. Feather-light, she placed one hand on Asa’s shoulder, the other on her forearm.

“It’s okay, you’re safe”, she whispered, gently beginning to walk Asa away. “I’m gonna get you to a hospital, okay?”

“I don’t understand”, Asa breathed. “What…” Words failed her.

People hated the unexplained, the nonsensical. When in a state of shock like this, their brain would latch onto the first reasonable explanation, no matter how unlikely. Suggest it to them now, and it would cement in their mind as fact, forever. It was not the first time Reze had done so.

“I don’t know, I guess…she tried to use too much of the Devil’s power? Like, all at once? It was probably new, so…she didn’t know how to control it. That’s what I think, anyway.”

Asa nodded unthinkingly, and Reze knew the job was done.

“Are you hurt?” Reze asked, running a cautious hand over Asa’s uniform to check for injuries.

“I don’t…I don’t feel…”

“I know. You won’t, it’s normal. You’re okay, I’ve got you, I’ll look after you…” Reze kept murmuring sweet nothings to Asa, walking with her, arm in arm. And just like that, Reze had taken them both far, far away from the life that had been waiting. 

Chapter Text

The night’s chill fell away from Reze as she closed the door behind her. Aching for sleep — it was now well into the early hours of morning — she trudged up the stairs towards her apartment door. 

Asa, limping and dazed, had made it to the hospital without passing out, if barely. The staff there accepted the words ‘Devil attack’ without further probing. They even gave Reze a change of clothes from her blood-soaked uniform, which she now hauled in a smelly plastic bag. Asa likely had a bruised rib and a non-zero chance of developing tinnitus, but was largely unharmed. Reze could feel no guilt in it. It had been that, or Asa’s death.

Successfully guiding her key into the lock after two failed attempts, Reze weakly pushed the door open. The sight inside was welcome: Quanxi, sat at the kotatsu. Tossing the bag aside, Reze walked towards her, but the greeting died on her lips. Several seconds too late, Reze began to realise just what she’d walked in on.

Quanxi looked different, for one. She was still dressed in the Public Safety white shirt, black blazer and tie, despite it being the middle of the night. Inexplicably, her eyepatch had changed too, now bearing an intricate lace border. A matching choker was at her neck. 

Scattered about, on the floor and the kotatsu, some empty, some half full and laying in their own spilled puddles, were beer bottles. Reze knew that Quanxi liked to drink. She had at least one bottle almost every night — but never more than two. Nothing like this. 

Finally, though Quanxi was staring at the TV like usual, it…wasn’t turned on. Not a single light in the apartment was on either, the only illumination leaking in between the open blinds. Quanxi’s blank face reflected on the dark, blank screen.

Reze felt woefully ill-equipped to deal with…whatever this was. She’d never been in a situation like it. Booze was dangerous, though. There’d been certain handlers who’d turn grim and cruel at the taste of it. She couldn’t imagine that Quanxi would try to hurt her anymore, but…Reze realised, with a cold, sinking feeling, that there wasn’t much she could do if Quanxi did. 

“Quanxi…?” Her soft whisper became loud in the deathly silence.

The Bow Hybrid raised her head. Her hair gleamed silver in the scarce moonlight. Patting a wobbly hand on the floor at her side, minus her usual elegance, she beckoned Reze to her side. Reze took several steps forward, but stopped short of sitting down beside her.

The black eye that beheld Reze was unfocused and hazy, but the voice was steady as ever. “Sweetheart”, Quanxi said. Reze looked away. It was difficult to watch. Nonetheless, sensing no malice in the word, she sank into a crouch, a foot or so away from her roommate — her childhood saviour.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Reze asked. It felt odd to say; there was never anything wrong with Quanxi. That was basically the whole point of her.

Emitting a drawn-out sigh, Quanxi rolled an empty bottle’s neck between her hands, back and forth. “I saw them. The boxes they’re keeping my women in. Through glass…” The sound of the glass bottle rolling on the floor filled the pause. Back and forth, back and forth. “First thing the bastard showed me in the morning. Full day of work after that. I’ll…!” The bottle stopped abruptly as she snatched at it with her fist, glass straining under the pressure. One moment, and it was over, the thing clattering onto the floor and rolling out of reach. Empty silence again.

Reze didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.” That was the only option, wasn’t it?

“Mmm. Aren’t we all.” Quanxi fumbled about for the nearest bottle still containing liquid.

“Don’t—” Reze began, before thinking better of it. “I mean, do you think you might have had enough? Possibly?”

Even drunk, Quanxi had not lost her mastery of The Look. That was reassuring. “This stuff is poison, Reze. You’ve only got a couple of sessions in you before your body realises it. Then you start to regenerate automatically. Got to drink a hell of a lot to feel anything after that.” Extraordinarily, Quanxi then held out the bottle to Reze, swirling it invitingly. “Care for a first?”

An upsettingly large proportion of Reze’s brain itched to take up the offer. Do it. Let it take you out of your skull. Let’s go mad. Then she remembered the school supplies left on the kitchen counter.

“No, thanks. Not really feeling it.” To her credit, Quanxi discarded the bottle immediately after Reze’s refusal. Quite poorly, though. It spilled even more liquid on their soaked floor. Quanxi watched the rivulets as they ran between the floorboards.

“You shouldn’t worry”, Reze said. Quanxi took her eye from the entertainment to give Reze a curious glance. “I know you’ll get them back.”

The look Quanxi gave her now was nothing short of sardonic. “How.”

“Because you always take what you want.”

The sound Quanxi made — a sharp exhale through her nose — was as close to a laugh as Reze had heard from her. “Crafty little thing”, Quanxi said, but Reze was relieved to hear the humour in it.

Trying to seize upon her improved mood, Reze replied, “It’s true, isn’t it? Also, don’t think I haven’t noticed the new style. You’re totally copying my choker thing, aren’t you?”

It seemed to work. Quanxi ran a couple of fingers across the lace at her throat. “Trendsetter”, she joked.

“I don’t mind. It’s nice to give some fashion back to you.” As the words left Reze’s mouth, she realised that they were truthful.

“You already give back to me”. Quanxi’s response was so quiet and cryptic, Reze almost believed she’d imagined it.

“What do you mean?”

Quanxi leant further over the kotatsu, and Reze knew the jovial air was lost.

“Reze, you’re going to live a real long time. You might think you aren’t human. You might think you can’t die. That’s not true.” Quanxi stared up at the ceiling. “There’s still a human in you. It ages just like anyone else. Then one day, it rolls over and dies. But you’ll keep waking up in the morning.” 

She finally looked back at Reze. The sensation of falling into her abyssal eye had returned; Reze felt dread crawling up and down her spine.

“Or, that might just be me. You…” and she pointed at Reze here, “you’re just a kid, but —”

“I’m sixteen”, Reze interjected, somehow managing to be indignant despite the grim topic.

“You’re a little kid”, Quanxi growled, in a tone that didn’t encourage argument. “But you’re…more alive than I remember being. Hold onto whatever gives you that. My girls…reminded me of what it was. And now, you…” She said nothing more. 

Reze was stunned. She’d come to see Quanxi as this perfect example of self-control: some immovable rock on which you could always rely. In other words, everything that Reze would never be. But now, here she was, saying the Reze’s liveliness was some kind of…strength? Not some terrible defect? Something that she actually desired?

Rather unsure of what she was doing, Reze stood up and brushed the back of her fingers, very gently, against Quanxi’s shoulder. The older woman accepted the gesture without reaction, watching Reze with an intense emotion that neither could name.

“I’m gonna turn the TV on now, ‘cos it’s kinda depressing in here.” Quanxi made an affirmative noise as Reze walked to the boxy thing and started jabbing at the buttons. It fluttered to life — right onto a Tokyo news channel relaying the discovery of a huge, slain Devil in the street downtown. Nope. Reze rapidly mashed the poor machine, jumping channels to find literally anything else.

“Stop”, Quanxi whispered. Reze stepped back to face the screen, only to be bathed in blue. She was greeted by a White Shark, sleek and menacing, gliding through an endless ocean. A soft voice narrated its onward journey.

Obviously, Reze had been taught what a shark was. You wouldn’t blend in much as a member of society if you couldn’t name animals from a children’s book. She’d never seen footage like this, though. Transfixed, she settled back down beside Quanxi.

“I like this”, Quanxi declared, somewhat at random. Did she mean the TV show…?

“I like this, too”, Reze breathed. The pair of them watched the animal swim through unknown waters, mesmerised, until the lull of sleep pulled them down where they sat. The blue light covered them well into dreaming.

School hadn’t even closed to commemorate the deaths of a teacher and student. Bleak as it was, such an event was not uncommon enough to warrant a day off. A vigil was held over that weekend, then things resumed as normal.

Reze — apparently the only contact on Asa’s phone — had been called to pick the girl up the following afternoon. The surgical white waiting room was mind-numbingly boring. Without anything to occupy her time, her mind kept wandering back to Quanxi. 

When she’d woken up that morning, her aching back most unimpressed with her sleeping location, Quanxi was already gone. All traces of spilt beer had vanished, as if the night had only been some odd dream. However, when Reze went to make breakfast (her cooking skills had improved to the point where miso soup was now a viable option) she found a post-it note held to the fridge beneath a magnet. On it, was a simple, cartoon drawing of a shark.

Asa, looking tired but much-improved, emerged into the waiting room. She had a broken rib, and a couple of bruised ones, but was generally on the mend. Launching up from her seat, Reze jogged towards her and, after a slight hesitation, wrapped Asa in a very light hug. Asa was taller by a couple of inches, so Reze’s chin came to rest over one of the girl’s shoulders, the smell of bland hospital shampoo and freshly-laundered clothes enveloping her. 

Making a funny little squeak and going as rigid as a plank of wood, Asa didn’t exactly seem to be enjoying the hug. Underneath the hospital clothes, Asa felt thin and frail. Then, she raised one of her stiff arms and actually patted Reze on the back, bap bap bap, not particularly lightly. Although trying not to, Reze still giggled and pulled away.

“How do you feel?” Reze asked, now walking arm-in-arm with Asa down the street. They’d go to school to pick up their things for the weekend before heading home.

“I’m alright”, Asa shrugged, as if she wasn’t wincing a little at every step. “I don’t really know why, but I feel like you saved me, so…thanks. I guess.”

Reze considered this for a second. “I don’t know why, but you didn’t run. Thanks for not leaving me.” Asa nodded, looking a little embarrassed, and offered no explanation. That was fine. The pair of them walked in companionable silence after that, much to Asa’s relief.

It wasn’t until they reached the school’s locker room that they spoke again. Having kicked off the hospital’s slippers, Asa opened her locker to retrieve her trainers — only to find them ruined, dripping with chunks of raw meat. 

Asa and Reze both gaped at the sight, similarly appalled, until Asa suddenly withdrew into herself. Her expression closed off, her posture becoming fixed and proper. “I’m fine”, she said, without provocation, and began to turn and walk away.

Reze, on the other hand, became incensed. The temper in her blood boiled, and it was an active effort not to punch the nearest wall. If one of the grubs in this school had done this to her, she’d break their nose. No, nose and collarbone, at the very least. But Asa was walking away like it was nothing. What was wrong with her?

“Who the hell did this? Asa?” The girl just kept walking. “Why are you just walking off? Aren’t you going to do something?”

The answer came from over Asa’s shoulder “I’m fine. I don’t care.”

“Well, I care. You seriously aren’t going to get back at them for this?” Reze had jogged to catch up with her, setting a hand on Asa’s shoulder to stop her.

Turning around sharply, Asa’s anger suddenly flared. “No. You don’t get it, because you’re new, but you don’t ‘get back’ at these people. That isn't how it works."

Baring her teeth, Reze retorted, “Oh, then tell me, how does it work? Is ‘don’t stand up for yourself and let everyone walk all over you’ how it works? How’s that going for you?”

Asa’s face screwed up in rage like a paper ball. “You know what? Go to hell!” She spun around and continued marching with increased pace.

“Hey, you go to hell!”

“I said it first!”

“I said it louder!!”

As Asa stormed away, Reze briefly considered letting her go…but she couldn’t. Faced with certain death, Asa hadn’t run from her. Cursing herself, Reze went ran outside; Asa was supposed to just be a stepping stone, the first rung on her ascension through the social hierarchy. How had she let herself get this involved?

“C’mon Asa, you aren’t even wearing any shoes”, Reze groaned, exasperated.

“I told you, I don’t care”, Asa spat, not bothering to look back.

With an irritated moan, Reze ran to Asa and, in one motion, scooped her up, bridal-style. Asa yelped in surprise as Reze’s arms came behind her knees and shoulders. 

“What are you— how the hell are you doing this?” Asa gasped.

Reze glared at Asa, the taller girl now at eye-level in her arms. “This is why you do gymnastics.”

“Urgh! I hate gymnastics!” Asa squirmed weakly against Reze’s hold, her broken rib preventing any strenuous movement. But even uninjured, their difference in strength would have been too great: Reze was a borderline Olympian, and Asa was an undernourished schoolgirl. 

The pair of them earned quite a few concerned glances on the street, as Reze began running with the wriggling Asa still unable to escape her grasp. People very quickly crossed from one side of the road to the other to get away from them. 

“Look, look, Asa”, Reze pleaded. “I can see that group of girls ahead, the ones you hate? Freckles and her gang? Bet it was one of them. What do you say to following them home, huh? And then really getting them back. We could egg them, or something. Sound fun?”

Asa boggled up at her. “Come again? You’re deranged!”

She probably didn’t expect Reze’s response to that: a wild, beaming grin. “Ha ha! Yeah, you said it!”

Still running, Reze was rapidly catching up to that group of Elites. Who knows what she would have done if she’d reached them. But unfortunately, catastrophically, they were interrupted. With an earth-shattering bang,  a huge Devil, tall as two storeys, was slammed into a nearby building. The pedestrians screamed, some running, some falling to their knees. Reze went into a crouch, reflexively shielding Asa’s head against her body.

But even worse, attacking the Devil was — Denji. No, Chainsaw Man. Right there, battling on a busy street. Right in front of Asa and many other classmates, when Reze was supposed to be ensuring his normal life. Supposed to be keeping his identity a secret.

Shit.

Chapter Text

Rubble flew through the air like a snowstorm. Skyscrapers, apartment buildings, offices — all were reduced to dust, nothing more than children’s toys, buckling beneath the cruel hands that toppled them. The Cockroach Devil, immense and hideous, leapt from building to building; Denji, like a foxhound possessed, hunted it mercilessly. Great severed limbs already littered the street, gushing black blood onto the tarmac. The ant-like civilians below scattered in panic.

Reze, crouched and still holding Asa against her chest, was frozen with indecision. Option 1: transform and aid Denji in battle. That was a last resort: her latest use of the Hybrid form had already been desperately risky. The fact that she hadn’t been implicated in Prez’s death meant the girl must have had the wherewithal to attack in a location without security cameras. Reze would have no such luck here, on a busy, main street in broad daylight.

Option 2: run away. No-doubt allowing Denji to do something stupid whilst unsupervised. 

Option 3: hang around and monitor the situation, attempting not to die. But how to protect Asa?

Suddenly, it was Asa who made the choice for her. Finally managing to free herself from Reze, she righted herself and took off running towards the wreckage of a car. 

“Asa! You’re going the wrong way!” Reze yelled, half-ready to grab her by the scruff of the neck and drag her away. Upon reaching the car, though, she saw what Asa had run to: inside, trapped by a harness that connected it to the seatbelt, was a dog. The poor thing was terrified, whimpering and panting, pulling vainly at its restraints. 

Swearing, Reze began to help Asa yank the damaged car door open. She knew damn well that Asa was never going to leave the dog now, even if it killed her. Both of them pulled at the dented metal, grunting with exertion, until it came open with a click. Immediately, Asa threw herself onto the seat and undid the buckle with shaking fingers. Overhead, another huge collision shook the ground and sent plaster-dust raining down. The second it came free, the dog bolted out the open door, the metal harness scratching along the tarmac as it fled. 

Reze grabbed Asa around the waist and pulled her backwards. Manhandling her around, Reze put her hands on Asa’s face to hold her attention. “You need to go. Now.” Asa opened her mouth to speak, but was drowned out by the roaring of a chainsaw, the sick sound of tearing flesh, a demonic scream of pain. Another hand, big as a bus, was now sailing down towards them. 

“Behind the car! Go!” Reze shouted, but the words took too long to register. Asa, seconds too late, started to move — Reze flung herself at her, pushing Asa behind the car's meager shelter. Tucking into a roll, Reze avoided the hunk of meat bearing down on her — just. The impact missed her, but a jagged piece of shrapnel embedded itself deep in her thigh. Fluorescent-red pain bloomed as her leg gave way. 

It was fine. It was fine. Breathing quick and shallow, Reze let her head go light. It isn’t real. The pain isn’t real. She’d had much worse, after all. Trying to get to her feet, though, she realised that pain wasn’t the problem. The nerves in her legs shrieked, the muscles torn and alight with static — it wouldn’t move how she wanted it to, twitching and faltering as she tried to walk.

Crawling from behind the car, dazed but unharmed, Asa noticed the wound with horror. “Oh my God”, she shuddered. “Oh…” She raised her hands as if she was going to touch the shard of concrete, but got no closer.

“It’s okay, Asa. I’m going to be just fine, okay? I need you to go and run back the way we came, can you do that for me?” Reze assured her, calm, like she was speaking to a wild animal. 

Sweating profusely, Asa just stared at her, trying to find the words. All at once, they both became aware of a deep, pained groaning. Looking up, the pair realised, with no small amount of terror, that the building above was starting to lurch downwards. 

“Asa, listen to me. It’s okay. You can go, okay?” It occurred to Reze, quite suddenly, that she might actually die. If she was unable to pull her pin, no-one else would know to do so. The recovery team would bury her remains. The thought sent her wild, every cell in her body screaming to live. No, she’d unleash her Hybrid form before that, consequences be damned. She just needed Asa to leave.

However, much to her dismay, Asa did not leave. Instead, filled with superhuman, adrenaline-induced strength, she hoisted Reze into her arms and started running. With every step, she grimaced, the weight of Reze’s body pushing into her battered ribs. Reze tried to lean away, knowing at any second she might drive Asa’s broken bone into her lungs. That was if Asa hadn’t done it already by diving onto the car seat. Regardless, Asa ran on, the shadow of the looming building above becoming darker and darker still.

“Put me down, Asa! You’re going to die! Don’t you understand?” Reze begged. If she pulled her pin here, Asa wouldn’t survive. Would she sacrifice Asa to save herself? Could she? God. God.

“I don’t care! I’m going to do this!” Asa panted. “I just need to — to do the right thing!” 

Herculean as Asa’s effort was, she was running too slowly. Closing her eyes, Reze placed her hand on the pin and waited. So it had come to this. I’ve killed people like you. But she didn’t pull. And she still didn’t. And she still —

A force, unthinkably strong, hit the two of them. A fraction of a second, and suddenly they were tens of metres away, flying through the air at blistering speed. Denji, Denji, dripping with sweat and gore, extraordinarily, was holding Asa whilst she held Reze, running at an inhuman pace. Moments after they came back into the sunshine, the building hit the ground. The cacophony was dreadful; if Asa didn’t already have tinnitus, she’d surely develop it now. It sounded all the worse knowing that her fragile body had almost borne that impact.

Finding a sheltered patch amongst the rubble, Denji placed the girls down with surprising gentleness, before launching back into the sky. Both now incapable of speech, walking, or really any form of dignity, Reze and Asa curled up together, shivering, and watched Denji fight with wide and unseeing eyes.

Time had passed. That must have been true — it was quiet now, the ground no longer shaking, as people began to repopulate the street. How much time though, neither girl could say: it had felt like an eternity of mute quivering before their bodies realised they had escaped certain death. Self-consciousness regained, they detangled from each other with more than a little embarrassment. With this clarity, however, came pain. Asa, exhausted from her efforts, could barely sit up, her injured chest on fire. Reze’s leg still stubbornly refused to work. There was nothing to do but wait for the emergency responders.

Before that, though, they’d have to contend with someone else. Denji, still in Chainsaw form, shirtless and blood-splattered, began to wander over. In his arms, bizarrely, was a cat. 

“‘Sup. You girls doing good?”

Asa and Reze stared at him with open mouths. The sheer ridiculousness of that question was astounding. Slowly, like an arthritic old man, Asa managed to stand. 

“Give me”, she ground out, “that cat. Now.”

Denji’s head tilted in puzzlement. He held the cat a little closer to his filthy chest. “Uh…why?”

Pointing a finger at him, grim, like she was trying to curse the boy, Asa said, “I am not about to let you eat another cat.”

Reze and Denji both gave her looks of utter bewilderment. It really beggared belief, Reze thought — Asa could run towards a building-sized Devil and tell the Chainsaw Man off to his face, but she was terrified of some highschool girls?

“The hell? I don’t eat cats. I’d never eat a cat!” With that, Denji suddenly raised the apparently unbothered creature above his head, and yelled at no-one in particular, “Hear that? Chainsaw Man loves cats! Not in a food way!” The cat in question mewed quietly.

Her determination unwavering, Asa took another haggard step. “Oh, give it up, people have literally seen you eating cats and dogs. Give it here or…or…” and she grit her teeth, pointing at him even more aggressively, “I’ll get you in big trouble.”

“Geez! Okay, okay…careful with her…” and Denji carefully placed the little furry parcel in Asa’s arms. It purred at once, settling down against Asa’s collarbone. 

It was at that point when Denji seemed to notice Reze, sitting on the ground with her injured leg at an awkward angle. “Oh, hey! You look…kinda familiar. Have I seen you around before? Maybe saved you a couple times?” If his Chainsaw face was capable, he surely would have been smirking like an idiot.

Is he seriously fucking doing this right now? Reze gave him her most ingenuine smile. “Nope, don’t think so, Mr. Chainsaw Man. I must just have one of those faces.”

“Nah, not too many faces like yours, I think”, he replied, shameless. If Reze could stand up, she would have started shaking him by the shoulders.

Change the subject. Resting her chin on her palm, Reze drawled, “Well, anyway, thank you so much for saving us, Mr. Chainsaw Man.”

Asa, her face buried in the cat’s fur, mumbled, “Yeah. Thanks, I guess”, without immediately looking up. Eventually, she did, just in time to catch Chainsaw Man standing with his hands on his hips, power-posing like a dumb, cartoon superhero. Asa regretted her words instantaneously. There was something else that caught her eye, though.

“What’s that?” Asa said, pointing at a little white card at Chainsaw Man’s feet. 

Reze cottoned on faster than anyone else. Denji’s student card. Rolling into an army crawl, Reze clambered towards the offensive article and snatched it up.

“Woah, you can’t walk?” He sounded genuinely concerned. “Lemme help you up.”

Leaning back from him, Reze thrust the card at his face, making an extremely deliberate effort to cover it with both hands. “I think you should worry about yourself, mister. Don’t want anyone to find out your identity, do you?”

“Gya ha ha…sure…don’t want that.” He shifted from foot to foot. “Did you see it, though?”

“No.” Reze glowered at him.

“Not even a little peek?”

“What’s your problem?” Asa snapped, gripping the cat a little harder. 

Denji’s tone became a little more frantic. “What, you aren’t even curious?! You — you don’t wanna know my super secret identity? It’s me, Chainsaw Man!”

Groaning, Reze grabbed him by the trouser and shoved the card into one of his pockets, and bit more forcefully than strictly necessary.

“Weirdo”, Asa scoffed. 

An ambulance’s siren cut through the air, as emergency responders began to arrive. “Ooo, over here!” Denji called, waving an arm. A couple of paramedics soon came to Asa’s side. She tried to insist she was fine, but Reze was having none of it (“She’s got a broken rib, you need to make sure it’s not hurting her lungs, you hear me?). They made for Reze too, visibly injured as she was. She shot a look at Denji, eyes pleading, and this time he managed to get the hint.

“Uh, hey! I’ll be helping this one out myself, I'll get her to the hospital real quick.” He kneeled, and delicately helped Reze into a piggyback, one hand under her injured thigh to support it. Reze’s school uniform became covered in blood. Again. But really, she couldn’t bring herself to care — Denji’s bare back was warm, and laced with muscle. When had he gotten so buff? She ran a hand along his trapezius, towards the shoulder blade. Denji shuddered, but pretended not to notice. 

Before she could be led away by the responders, Asa turned back around, her cat now apparently along for the ride. “No way am I leaving Reze with you, you — loser!” Denji winced, sucking at his teeth.

“Don’t you worry, Asa. You think I can’t handle a bozo like him?”

Two responses came at the exact same time: “Ha, true”, and “Bozo?!”

At the paramedics' insistence, Asa allowed herself to be escorted towards an ambulance. Denji hadn’t let the comment go, muttering under his breath. “I ain’t a bozo”, he pouted.

“I know”, Reze said, and she leaned right over his ear, whispering, soft as a ghost, “You’re Denji. Denji, Denji”, she said, in a sing-song voice. The boy got very quiet, all of a sudden. One of his thumbs moved back and forth on Reze’s uninjured (and very bare) thigh.

The pair were startled from their reverie by a small crowd. Alerted to Chainsaw Man’s presence by his yelling, they were pointing and exclaiming excitedly. Denji seemingly couldn’t help but play up to them. 

“Heh, that’s right! Chainsaw Man always helps a lady in need! That’s —” Reze nuzzled her face deep into the crook of his neck, only to hide it from the audience, of course. Her cheek was so soft as it moved against him. “AH! I mean — gya ha ha ha! Ah! Gotta go! Right now!” Without further ado, he took one of his seismic leaps into the air, disappearing across the city skyline. Reze wrapped her arms tightly about his neck, the wind rushing by in a deafening gale, her dark hair rippling. She loved it. She loved this.

Once they’d cleared the area and came to a stop, Reze lifted her head to speak into Denji’s ear. “Denji, take me somewhere quiet so I can heal myself.”

“M’kay. Would you wanna — I mean — would you like to…swing by mine, after? We could, like, watch a movie, or something.”

Reze gave the base of his neck a little squeeze. “I thought you’d never ask. You’re the best taxi ever.”

Denji beamed, or as much as was possible in his Hybrid form. “Heh, yeah. Normally I’d charge, but I’ll make it on the house for ya.”

Smiling, Reze then proceeded to give him a small smack on the head, entirely without warning.

“Wha— hey, what’s the deal?” Denji whined.

“Never do that thing with the student card again. That was bad. Bad Denji!” Reze gave him one more bap for good measure.

“Damn, okay, I got it”, Denji said. He readjusted her on his back. “Is the forest far away enough?”

Ceasing her onslaught, Reze pressed herself once more against his shoulders. “That’ll do. Take it away, Denji-mobile.”

“Yes, ma’am”, he replied, before flying upwards and into the sky.

Chapter Text

As promised, Denji had swept Reze up and taken her far from the city. They’d soared through the air, stomachs dropping with the thrill of falling, until they’d reached that swathe of green. On arrival, the two of them made a right pair: Reze, windswept and interesting, mottled all over with blood, both black and red, like a daringly macabre work of art. Denji was filthy, like a dog who’d rolled in something freshly dead. 

Casual as anything, Denji had swung Reze around from piggyback to bridal-style, taking extra care with her wounded leg. Swiveling her arms about his neck, Reze seized an opportunity for reconnaissance: her fingers splayed up the cords there — odd, slightly rubbery, warm to the touch. Denji shivered, his Chainsaw head moving side to side.

“Quit it, that tickles”, he said, bordering on laughter.

Reze contained her wandering hands. “Sorry. You can put me down so I can heal, you know! I already know you’re big and strong, you don’t need to prove it.”

“Wait, lemme find somewhere nice.” Denji walked on, meandering between the trees with…familiarity? It certainly seemed like he had a destination in mind, despite the lack of path. 

The afternoon began to soften, the dappled light through the canopy becoming dream-like and golden. Reze watched the patterns of sunlight play over her arms, her legs, over Denji’s bare chest. They quivered in the light gusts of wind, the susurrus of the rustling leaves ebbing and flowing like a tide. There was another sound lilting through the air, too; Reze tilted her head to catch it.

“There’s a river nearby”, she remarked.

Apparently lost in thought, Denji jolted slightly at the sound of her voice. “Oh, yeah, it’s up ‘round the corner.”

“How’d you know? Did you go camping here, or something?”

“Nah”, Denji said. He paused, as if turning words over in his mind. “I used to live kinda near here, back when I was a little kid. That river’s good for washing — there’s a shallow bit, and it’s pretty private.”

Reze fell silent at that. Denji’s file had specified a life of poverty, but…she hadn’t expected this kind of severity. It was grimly funny, in a way — she’d sacrificed everything to be here with Denji, but she really didn’t know all that much about him.

“Well, why don’t we go in together? For old time’s sake?” There was a double meaning there: a dirty child in a river, two kids in a swimming pool…she wondered if he’d catch it. 

As Denji failed to respond, Reze turned it up a notch. “‘Cos we’re both really smelly.”

“You don’t smell”, Denji said, laughably tenderly considering the subject matter.

“I stink!” Reze exclaimed. “Look at me!”

“Alright, alright. Bath time it is.”

Following the melody of flowing water, the river unfurled before them. Denji had undersold it somewhat, having failed to mention the yellow water lilies, the long streams of pondweed that twisted in the current like locks of hair, the way the golden light of sunset played upon the rippling water. The willows lining the banks shivered in the breeze.

As Denji set her down a little way from the water, Reze almost felt guilty as she found the pin at her neck. It was the smallest explosion she could muster, no larger than her own skull, but the sound ripped through the forest quiet. Overhead, birds scattered. Relief, like the break of a fever, coursed through Reze as the shrapnel in her leg was expelled, the flesh knitting. 

Human once more, she looked to find Denji — and saw his wet, blonde head already peeking out of the water. Walking to the riverbank (and it felt good, to walk again), pausing only to remove her shoes, Reze waded in, fully clothed, until she was treading water. A murky cloud of blood slid from her as the current ran by.

“You still remember how to swim!” Reze laughed, reaching for him. They found each other’s hands underwater. 

“Not like I would forget”, he said, pulling away to stay afloat. 

For a little while, they swam aimlessly about, washing off the grime, grinning when they caught the other’s eye. Sooner or later, the birds returned, and the dusk chorus floated down from the canopy.

“I love the forest”, Reze blurted out, a little overwhelmed by it all. “It’s my favourite place in the world. It’s just so…” And she struggled to articulate her point, waving an arm around. “...green. It’s so green.”

“Well, duh”, Denji said. Immediately, Reze sent a wave splashing over the boy’s head, leaving him coughing and spluttering.

“Hey, you asked for this”, he threatened, before taking a mouthful of river water and shooting it directly at Reze’s face.

“Ew! Denji, the germs! Gross!” As if either of them were even capable of getting sick.

Denji looked at her a little gormlessly. “The what?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

Floating onto his back, and taking a quick glance at his surroundings, Denji proclaimed, “It’s nice, but the city’s way better.”

Reze groaned at him. “Ugh, you would say that, you city mouse.” Denji smiled in response, fondly recalling the conversation.

“Let’s start going home, okay? I'm clean now, and it’s getting dark.”

“M’kay. The Denji-mobile’s gonna charge this time, though.”

Reze just stuck out her tongue.

After a particularly soggy ride home, Denji and Reze dripped their way across the apartment’s threshold. 

“Come on in”, Denji said, sweeping a magnanimous hand before Reze to welcome her. “I actually vacuumed up all the dog fur earlier.”

It was small, and superficially messy — crayons and colouring sheets littering the floor, books in hastily stacked piles, posters stuck up at slightly haphazard angles — but it was clean. No dust lingered on the shelves. The air smelt fresh, like linen. Two houseplants, just beneath the translucent gauze of the curtains, strained towards where the light would be: one green and plump, one well and truly on its way to death.

Naturally, this caught Reze’s attention first. “Denjiii? Nooo! She’s dying!” Running over to the unfortunate little thing, Reze gently rubbed the leaves, as if that would nurse it back to health. “How could you do such a thing?”

“No way, that’s Nayuta’s. Look how great mine is”. He stooped down to be eye-level with his plant, healthy and vibrant, reveling in his own smugness. “She totally forgets to water it, I keep tellin’ her to do it before she can have dessert, but then she usually threatens to…” He stopped himself from continuing the tangent. “She’s out right now with the dogs”, he said instead. “Should be back soon.”

Reze inclined her head at him. “Isn’t it a bit late?” Outside, the last of the evening’s sun was drowning beneath the horizon.

Giving her a funny sort of look, Denji said, “She’s fine. You don’t need to worry ‘bout that, believe me.”

Mystified by his answer, Reze said nothing, absorbing more details of the apartment. The door to the kitchen, half-ajar to reveal a fridge festooned with magnets. A height chart scrawled on the doorframe to the bedroom — instead of measurements, besides each mark were words like ‘shortass’, and then a bit further up, ‘less shortass’. A poster that read ‘March Farts’. Okay…?

“So!” Denji interrupted, “What d’you want? Movie? Food? Some…other thing?” He added, sounding unsure of himself.

Taking a step towards him, because she wanted to and couldn’t help herself, Reze said, “Like what?”, innocent as a newborn lamb.

“I dunno! Some third thing. Like videogames or…going somewhere, or some shit.” Colour was starting to rise to his face.

“The first thing I want to do”, Reze began, talking slower than what was really necessary, “is get out of these wet clothes.”

Denji looked like he was about to be executed by firing squad. “O-oh…?”

“Yeah, could you get me a spare shirt and some shorts? Please?”

Eyes going wide, Denji exclaimed, “Oh! S-sure thing!” He jogged awkwardly into the bedroom. Much rummaging about inside, and a few muffled curses, made Reze smile to herself. After a short while, he emerged, the garments in hand. He’d also changed into a white tank top and dark, knee-length cargo shorts. Looking somewhat recovered, he thrust the clothes towards Reze, and moved from the doorframe, clearly meaning for her to go in.

Unfortunately for him, Reze took the clothes, turned, and began lifting the wet dress off of herself where she stood. Sorry, Denji. I think I might be completely evil. Behind her, Denji let out a strangled squeak. 

“Huh? Should I— should—” He sounded utterly distressed.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before”, Reze breezed, without turning around. The sodden pinafore dress hit the ground with a thud. 

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t still—” Just then, Reze finished unbuttoning her shirt and pulled it from her shoulders. Denji let out an agonisingly pained groan, as she knelt, clad only in underwear, to pick up his clothes. Reze still did not turn around. I’m a terrible person. I’m completely fucked in the head. 

The space behind her was silent as the oversized shirt came down over her body, and she shimmied into the too-large shorts, pulling the drawstrings within an inch of their life. When she finally faced Denji, he looked wrecked, like he’d been running: red in the face, breathing heavily but trying to hide it, and just a touch sweaty. 

“All done now”, she said, smoothing the shirt down and smiling angelically. Overcome, Denji nodded, but didn’t speak.

“Look”, and she lifted the shirt to show the shorts hanging on for dear life. “These barely fit me. When did you get so big?”

Lifting a hand to rub against the back of his neck, he looked away shyly. “Nah, I dunno, you think?”

“Don’t try and be all modest with me.”

A smirk beginning to form on his lips, Denji said, “Well…I guess if you really think so…” He then started surreptitiously flexing his arms, checking out his biceps from the corner of his eye.

“C’mon, you, I want some food. To answer your question from earlier.” Reze strolled towards the kitchen, the huge black t-shirt swaying. 

The kitchen was small, but colourful: children’s drawings were taped to every cupboard, and all the crockery was mismatched, likely bought piecemeal secondhand. The bare overhead bulb bathed the room in a yellow glow. To Reze’s surprise, a very small balcony was attached to the kitchen, overlooking a sea of dark city. Hey, my apartment doesn’t get a balcony…

“You were learning to cook, weren’t ya? How’s it going?” He’d already started pulling out pots and pans, noisily rifling through the cupboards. He also, briefly, went to the sink and splashed ice-cold water over his face.

“Oh, I get by…soups, simple ramen, instant things…” She didn’t really have the heart to tell him the great struggle it had been, from buying food to the hopeless misery of the cooking itself. Living off of broths had been just fine, thank you very much. Instead, she watched curiously as Denji started pulling ingredients from the fridge, apparently already decided on their meal. “What are we having?”

The boy grinned mischievously. “Secret. You’ll see. Can you start cutting these?” He placed a random assortment of vegetables on the cutting board he’d laid in front of her. Reze picked up the nearby knife (also thankfully chosen for her) and frantically started guesstimating how these wretched things should be prepared.

Absorbed in his own mysterious prepping rituals, and turning on the extractor fan’s mindless whir, Denji said, “So, Nayuta, she’s…” He started chewing his lip, absorbed for a moment in opening the plastic packaging of some chicken breast. Soon giving up, he drove a chopstick through the film. “She’s difficult. Like super weird and extreme. Just gonna warn you in advance.”

“She’s bound to be weird, since you’re the one raising her”, Reze teased, trying to take her mind off of her shoddy prepwork (do carrots need to be peeled? No?). “But I bet we’ll get on. What sorta stuff does she like?”

“Pizza…school…” Abruptly, Denji put the cooking utensils down. Reze glanced over at him — he looked grave.

“Look, she’s not a normal kid. Y’know…in a Devil way. I guess I should tell you that.” The fan droned on in the otherwise silent room.

Readily abandoning the vegetables, Reze turned towards him. “She’s a Devil? Is that what you mean?” Grimacing a little, Denji nodded his head. “Which one?”

It was at this point that Denji began to look really uncomfortable. A hand came up to his temple, rubbing it slowly. “I mean…do you have to know?”

Something was being kept from her. Reze could feel her hackles rising. “Obviously.”

Denji brought both hands to the sides of his head now, thinking so hard it almost looked like it physically hurt. “Urgh…umm…” Eventually, his hands came down to fiddle about with the ingredients again, slicing the chicken into thin slices. “She’s…like…related…to Makima.”

Reze took a step forward, getting right up in his face; Denji tried to suppress his startle. “Define related”, she said, voice cold.

“Well, it’s like how Devils reincra…reencran…come back from the dead. I killed Makima, so she’s dead forever, but the Control Devil still comes back, y’know? But it's totally different.” All the while, he hadn’t stopped cutting the goddamn meat.

Curling a firm hand around Denji’s wrist, Reze forced him to cease. Slowly, he released the knife from his grip and set it down. “You said she was extreme and difficult. How can the literal concept of Control end up being a good person?”

The next words from Denji’s mouth were quiet, but unyielding. “She is a good person.”

Releasing his wrist, Reze took a step back. “Nayuta or Makima?”

Denji looked like he was about to cry. His arms went limp at his sides. “I…” He took a deep, steadying breath. “I guess, in the end, I…forgave her.”

The red mist descending, Reze whirled and reached for the nearest door — the balcony. She threw the thing open with a thoroughly aggressive bang. Stepping into the looming night, the city’s lights winked at her like a crowd of mocking eyes. She stomped towards the railing, latching onto it like she might bend the metal with her bare hands. Hairline fracture.

Coming to follow her — then backtracking with a groan, turning off the hob and fan — Denji also crossed into the night, closing the kitchen’s warmth behind him. He’d walked over like he had purpose, but was now hopelessly silent. 

“You forgave her”, Reze seethed. She watched the dizzying drop below. “After everything. You haven’t told me, but I’m not stupid — I know what she took from you. So why forgive her? How?”

“It’s kinda like what I told you: like a fishbone in my throat. Like — I could carry around this shit feeling forever, ruining all the good stuff I could be enjoying, or I could just…I dunno, let it go.” He started running his hands over his bare arms, trying to find some heat against the chill darkness. “Plus…a lot of it wasn’t her fault. It was me, y’know…being dumb.”

Reze sighed, the breath falling into the chasm below. “Just like me, huh?” She let one finger play, idly, against the pull-pin. “You know, on the beach, when you forgave me? It actually…meant something to me. Like…I’m rotten, and you knew that, you could see it, but you forgave me anyway. And I began thinking…y’know, there’s this chance he’s right. Maybe there’s something good in me, and the good in him sees it, and I could be forgiven, despite…well, my whole life.” Her hand came back to the railing, dragging her nails over it. “Now I know it’s nothing special. You’d forgive anyone.”

It was exactly as she feared: it wasn’t pure, selfless goodness, it was idiocy. He was just some idiot boy. And she was a monster.

“Well, what’s so bad about that? Maybe I just don’t wanna focus on the bad shit. Even with all Makima did…she was still my first hug, right? And there’s you, and all you did, but that’s not how I remembered you. You were the one who taught me how to swim, Reze. I’d think of you and I’d think of, like…coffee. Why do I have to think about the crap stuff? Life has enough crap already.” Denji’s voice had become heavy with emotion, his arms moving to gesticulate as he spoke.

This boy was driving her mad. “Really? ‘Bad shit’? Denji, I killed you. Over and over again, I held your body and decided to obliterate it, countless times. Literally countless. You can just ignore that? What — ‘cos you don’t want to think about it?”

Denji threw his hands up in the air. “I dunno! From my experience, women killing me is pretty normal!”

Reze laughed, actually laughed, the sound horrible and strident. “That isn’t funny!”, she yelled. Which was a ridiculous thing to say whilst still laughing. “And it’s not just about you either! Denji, do you understand how many people I’ve killed? Really understand? Women, children, people begging for their lives, people with their backs turned. And I have all this shame, all this fucking self-hatred, but you know what’s really funny? I don’t feel guilty, not really. I feel bad because it makes me feel bad, does that make sense? If I was sent back in time, I’d do the same again, I just know it. And that’s why I’m fucked. So, since your forgiveness doesn’t mean anything, you can just tell me. It’s okay. Tell me I’m fucked.”

“You’re a good person”, Denji said. 

A sob tore its way from Reze’s throat. She put her face in her hands, bereft. Hairline fracture. Tentatively, Denji took a step towards her.

“Y’know”, he said softly, “I don’t think my forgiveness means shit. Even if I hadn’t forgiven Makima as well. ‘Cos I’m a real piece of crap. Why should what I think matter to you?”

Finally, Reze turned around to face him. “What?”

“Yeah. You think I ain’t done shit I’m not proud of? Like I haven’t killed people? Reze, you were killin’ strangers. I— it’s my fault that…I killed…” The words became strangled as he choked over them. With his back to the light, Reze could only just make out the whites of his eyes — shining, as they were, with tears.

“What, I’m some person who can walk around and pardon sins? Yeah, right.” He was crying openly now, brushing away tears half-heartedly as they fell. “So, maybe you’re right, what I think means jack shit. Not ‘cos of Makima, or you, or whatever, but like — ‘cos I’m just jack shit.”

Every nerve in Reze's body was screaming at her to go to him, comfort him, help him. “Denji? Are we both just jack shit?”

“Complete jack”, he said with a tearstained laugh.

Fighting it no longer, Reze launched herself at his chest. Without a moment’s hesitation, his arms came around her, squeezing her body as if he could meld it into his own. The cold night was repelled at once, warm body heat cocooning them both. One of Denji’s arms was around her shoulders, the other resting with his hand on the back of her head. It coiled through her soft hair.

Her face pressed against his neck, Reze was suddenly overwhelmed: her rage, her loneliness, her affection, her misery. Before she could control it, the impulse ran into her mouth, and she bit him, right on the neck. Anything for some release, some outlet. Denji yelped in surprise, but didn’t pull away. It wasn’t hard enough to pierce the skin, but it wasn’t far away, the flesh yielding beneath her teeth.

Pulling her head back, suddenly mortified, Reze realised what she’d done. She’d lost her control and bitten him. Again. At least this wound was less severe than the first one — the sight of her own bitemark on his neck nearly sent her feral, perhaps in more ways than one.

“I’m sorry”, she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry. Everything, I’m so sorry.” Her throat became tight and painful.

“It’s alright”, he breathed. 

“I’m sorry”, Reze said again, and she leaned her head in close, and kissed the imprint she’d left. Denji gasped, arms tightening around her. That first kiss was just a peck, the lightest touch of her lips. The second one was not. Moving down to the mark left by her molars, she kissed him again, the skin soft and deliciously delicate, fluttering as breaths started to catch in his throat.

“I’m sorry”, she muttered against his skin, her mouth moving to that little transition between shoulder and neck. The kiss she pressed here was open-mouthed, sucking ever-so lightly against it. The sound Denji made could really only be described as a whimper. The hand on the back of her head started to stroke it, only slightly, like the movement was subconscious. “I’m sorry.”

“I…uh, ha…it’s okay”, Denji stuttered. His whole body was trembling gently. “I’m, um, sorry too.”

“It’s okay”, Reze spoke into his collarbone, kissing along the line of it. “You’re good”, as she kissed the tender space above the sternum, the hollow of his throat. Impossibly light, her tongue brushed against it, the hair of her bowed head touching against his neck. 

“You think I’m good?” Denji asked, infinitely fragile. Reze lifted her head to look up into his eyes.

“Yes”, she answered, laying a palm against his cheek. “You’re good.”

The boy immediately started crying again. Reze could feel the tears falling onto her fingers; slowly, she wiped them away, following the curve of his cheekbone. Then, she put the hand to her lips, tasting the salt there. Denji stared at her like she was the answer to life itself.

“Am I good?” Reze said, quiet as death. 

“You’re…really great”, Denji replied. A laugh, a real one this time, bubbled out of Reze. He leaned in, not to kiss her, but to press their temples together once more. Cat-like, they nuzzled together, Denji’s hand more confidently stroking her hair. Reze’s own hand stayed on his cheek, wiping away tears as they came. 

God knows how long they would have stayed like that, each lost in the embrace of the other. The universe supplied them with at least five, beautiful minutes. Then, without warning, the balcony door opened. 

“Thief.”

Chapter Text

Denji sat at the kitchen table, worrying at his index finger with his teeth. The chicken curry — that was the surprise dish, not like it freaking mattered anymore — was cooling rapidly before him. He was hungry, but it just felt kinda wrong to eat without Reze. He could always put it in a bowl for her, but that felt way too demeaning; she’d totally kick his ass if she ever found out.

Nayuta, on the other hand, was quite happily wolfing down her food, curry sauce speckling her little face. At least it wasn’t getting in her hair anymore, since he’d finally cracked how to braid it. That had been one hell of a learning process, with much accidental hair-pulling and tiny fists pounding on his arms. It had been worth it, though. Every morning, he tied it into a fresh braid, after carefully brushing Nayuta’s hair with the comb Reze had given him.

Reze had not joined them at the table. Quite far from it, unfortunately. She did look kinda happy though, curled up in the dogpile as she was — with the few dogs that weren’t yowling for curry and trying to jump onto the table, anyway. Meowy was nuzzled up against her chest, purring joyously. Lucky freaking cat.

It had all happened so quickly: Nayuta, pointing one dread finger, a chain rattling forward, aimed right between Reze’s eyes. “Thief.” But, faster than could be believed, Reze had reacted, ducking beneath the attack and surging forwards. One hand had been reaching for Nayuta. The other had slipped into the pin at her neck.

“Woah! No, no”, Denji had shouted, leaping in front of Reze and stretching an arm out in front of her.  In that moment, Denji hadn’t been quite sure of who he was trying to protect. Reze whirled to face him, looking — shocked? He wasn’t sure. It was like she had been searching his face for something. That split-second distraction, and Nayuta had fired again, this time finding her mark.

“Finish your food and turn her back already. I’m serious”, Denji demanded, trying to infuse his voice with some authority; not that Nayuta took any notice.

“Do you even really want that?” Nayuta replied, in-between spoonfuls. 

“Huh?”

Nayuta looked down her nose at him, like she was explaining something very simple to a small child — nevermind being the small child herself. It was often like this. “She’s just going to try and kill you, right? That’s what every woman does.”

Denji considered the Human Weapon on his floor, currently having her face licked clean by an enthusiastically friendly Tiramisu. “Nah, we’re past that”, he said. “All in the past.” The finger he was chewing on wandered to his neck: he could still feel the imprint of Reze’s teeth. 

The bite should have made him feel bad, right? That probably wasn’t what a normal kiss should be like, but it hadn’t hurt him at all. In fact, it had felt like his heart would burst with… like, with how much he liked her. Maybe all of Reze’s kisses involved teeth; he could get used to that.

Seemingly displeased with his answer, Nayuta hummed, “Hmm…if you say so.” One final spoon of curry made its way to her mouth. “Okay. I’ll turn her back…on two conditions.”

Ice cream every day was a pretty reasonable demand, Denji thought. But then, Nayuta rose from the table and went to sit at Reze’s slumbering side, placing a hand over the girl’s ribs. “Two: no more getting friendly with her.”

“Are you for real?!” Denji yelled, jumping to his feet. “You aren’t gonna let me see her?”

“Nope.” Nayuta laid her head against Reze’s flank. “I don’t like her scent, so she's probably evil. Also, she bit my property.”

“No way”, Denji said, shaking his head. “If she stinks, I stink. We’ve got the same stink.”

Crinkling her noise, Nayuta took a deep sniff. “Wrong. You smell like wet dog.” (“Hey!” “That’s a good smell, dummy!”) Her face wrinkling with disgust, Nayuta said, “She smells like…wilting flowers and…gunpowder.”

“She smells good”, Denji insisted. Nayuta narrowed her eyes. “I can’t stop seeing her, Nayuta. I, like — need her, a bit.”

That wasn’t the right thing to say. Standing up to her full height (which wasn’t much, admittedly) and putting her hands on her hips, Nayuta fumed, “You don’t need anyone, dummy, ‘cos you’ve got me.”

Groaning, Denji responded, “Fine, I don’t need her, ‘cos I got used to thinkin’ I’d never see her again. But I like her, y’know, a whole lot. I guess she makes me happy.” He could feel a headache forming, one hand massaging at his temple.

Nayuta’s hands dropped to her sides. “Do you like her more than me?” There was something slightly frantic, a dangerous edge to the way she said it.

“No”, Denji answered, immediately. He walked over to the little girl, and wrapped her in a hug, one hand petting the top of her head. “There’s no-one I like more than you, goofy.” She gave his midsection a little squeeze. “It’s a different kinda like though, you know what I mean? I don’t like her more than you, just…differently.”

Her golden-ringed eyes peered up at him through her dark bangs. It had taken quite a while to stop flinching at the colour of them. “Why’d she bite you, though? That’s rude.” Her small hand raised to Denji’s neck, but she couldn’t quite reach. He crouched slightly for access; she poked roughly at the marks.

Denji flushed a little. “That’s adult stuff. You wouldn’t get it.”

The girl rolled her eyes, detaching from him. Going back to the table, she placed the plate, still smeared with curry sauce and scraps of rice, onto the floor. The chorus of yowling began anew, as all seven dogs jostled to reach it, fighting like the crumbs were a matter of life-or-death. 

“Plus, I’m my own property”, Denji continued, towards Nayuta’s turned back. “Ain’t no-one’s dog anymore.”

Sighing, Nayuta glanced back at Reze. Only Meowy had remained with her, now attempting to sit directly over her face. Nayuta was clearly still reluctant, her fingers anxiously running over themselves. 

“Hey, what about I don’t bring her ‘round here again? This can be our secret place, just the two of us.” Denji crouched down fully to her eye-level.

Nayuta looked offended. “ And the family”, she said, pointing at the dog swarm.

“Obviously, duh”, Denji countered, ruffling a hand over her hair. 

“But then you’d go to hers, and leave us all alone”, Nayuta complained. 

“Nah, you can come over, if you wanna. They won’t mind, long as you’re good.”

Visibly brightening, Nayuta said, “‘Kay. All of us will come with you.”

Huh? “Woah, everyone? I dunno, the dogs might have to take turns.”

With each passing second, Nayuta looked more and more confident. “We’ll all come. Every single time.”

Denji instantly went a shade or two paler. “Every time? Like, literally? You’re always gonna come with us?” Nayuta shot him a peace sign and grinned. Denji could feel the soul draining from his body and into the floorboards: Nayuta was never gonna let him have sex, with Reze or anyone, for as long as he lived. It was a wonder he didn’t just curl up and die on the spot.

He sighed, loud and dramatic. “You come first, Nayuta”, he surrendered. Appeased, she walked over to Reze’s sleeping body and laid a hand on her head.

“W-wait”, Denji stuttered. Nayuta looked at him with confusion. The plate of curry now empty and abandoned, the dogs had returned to the sleep pile — Reze made a small, contented noise and wriggled closer against the belly of Cream Puff, who let out a happy dog sigh. 

“Bein’ a dog wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but there were times…” Denji trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished. “Just give her a few more minutes.” Nayuta seemed to understand, drifting off to go watch the TV. In the cuddle pile, safe and warm, Reze’s canine mind was as quiet as it had ever been.

Quanxi sat on a grey chair, in a grey room, living a grey life. She’d expected only drudgery from her Public Safety job, and yet it was worse than she’d even imagined: no combat, no haze of battle to take the edge off — just standing at the back of various high-profile meetings she didn’t give a shit about, looking imposing. Public Safety didn’t need her strength, only the threat of her strength. She’d trade an awful lot just to splatter something’s guts against the wall.

Leaning back on the ratty, breakroom sofa, she fished a cigarette from the inside pocket of her blazer; she pitied the poor fool who might come along and tell her she couldn’t smoke inside. One of the few joys the office job offered was the chance to torment her weak-willed coworkers. Whispers had already started to follow her every move, like a buzzing cloud of midges. Good. Maybe they’d get the hint to leave her alone.

There was one exception, though. With his heavy tread rounding the corner, one she’d recognise anywhere, Kishibe swept into the room. Despite her foul mood, Quanxi wordlessly allowed Kishibe to sink into the seat at her side. He did so with a slight groan. Old man.  

He’d been beautiful, once  — or as much as a man could be. They’d been a positively fatal duo years ago, the scourge of female patrons at every dive bar and sleazy night club in the 50-mile radius. A wake of broken hearts and hushed stories had followed them for years, but the trail had run cold long ago. Now, they were old, jaded, generally worn-out  — but still together, in one odd way or another. Quanxi wondered if he found it uncanny to look at her, unaging as she was. She’d never ask.

Silently, she handed him the cigarette. He took it against his mouth, closing his eyes on the inhale. It looked like it had been quite the day for the both of them.

“They’re setting the Hybrids free”, he said, apropos of nothing. 

Disbelieving, Quanxi gave him The Look. “Upper management never fails to disappoint. How do they plan to control five Weapons?”

Kishibe sighed, like he’s been considering that very question. “Bribes, and asking real nicely. They figure there’s a greater chance for them to become usable assets whilst conscious, rather than unconscious. The latter chance being zero.” He looked back at her, almost apologetically. “But all five at once is brash, stupidly so. My guess, they’re banking on you when things go awry.” 

Actually, to Quanxi, that sounded just fine. During that battle, so long ago, their forms had been nothing special either. She took the cigarette back and rolled it around her fingers, thinking things over. 

“I’ve got a file on them, since you’re soon to be acquainted. Have a look.” He produced an officious-looking, spiral-bound folder from his work satchel. Quanxi didn’t give one damn about researching these clowns, but some tiny inflection in Kishibe’s voice made her take it  — she knew him well enough to realise that he was trying to tell her something. 

True to his word, there were files on each of the Hybrids  — Flamethrower, Whip, Katana  — including tediously boring spiels regarding their personal lives. Interspersed between these, though, were pages decidedly not about the Weapons.

“I wasn’t expecting this level of detail”, Quanxi said, carefully. “This is top-clearance information.”

Kishibe returned her gaze, a hint of that fading youthful glimmer in his eyes. “Stick around as long as I have, and you reach high places. That should keep you going for now, but I’ll get the combat analysis to you soon. If you haven’t been bored to death by then.”

Giving him a slight nod, Quanxi ground her cigarette out, directly onto the wood of the small table, just because she could. Without a backwards look, she walked from the room, the folder of floorplans tucked safely under her arm.  

Night had fallen, and Reze still hadn’t returned to the apartment. Quanxi, dressed in a cheongsam nightgown of black silk — which she had ordered from China, at great expense — waited patiently at the window, watching the city’s nighttime bustle. Reze would be in no danger. If she was, half of Tokyo would have been levelled by now. 

Just then, there came a scratching at the door. Quanxi turned, her fingers brushing against the dao she’d left on the windowsill. Even after all these years, Public Safety had kept some in their storage. The scrabbling continued, like somebody trying and failing to use the lock. She took the dao firmly in her hand, now.

Finally, the door creaked open, revealing — Denji, with an unconscious Reze in her arms. To work the key into the lock (albeit, poorly), he’d held Reze’s shoulders with one arm, balancing her lower half on his lifted knee. As he slipped the other arm back under her knees, Reze’s head lolled, falling from its place against his chest. Quickly, he moved his hand to support her neck, carefully repositioning it. That was when he looked up — and clearly stifled a shriek at the sight of Quanxi, melting from the darkness like a Woman in Black. 

“Hmm.” In seconds, her blade was kissing his throat, hard enough to draw a thin sliver of blood. In the dimness, it looked oily black. The only reason she hadn’t chopped his head off altogether was because of a small comment, ringing in her ears. But really, you must never make an enemy of that boy. That, and the fact that she’d cleaned the floorboards thoroughly only a few nights ago. 

“Y-you can have her”, he stammered. “Just, lemme get something from the hallway before you kill me.” Quanxi fixed him with a petrifying glare — then relented, sheathing the sword to take Reze from him. The girl was lighter than she’d expected, and unharmed, at least visually. Quanxi looked down at her face, unguarded and open with sleep. It was at times like these when Quanxi remembered how young Reze was.

Padding softly over to the girl’s bedroom, Quanxi lowered Reze onto her bed. Then, after thinking about it for a moment, raised the blanket to cover her. Reze was an anxious and fitful sleeper, as Quanxi often heard her traipsing about the apartment in the early hours. She’d never seen her like this: dead to the world, like a stone.

Returning to the living room, she found Denji, glancing uncertainly about the place, with what looked like a dying house plant clasped in his hands. 

“What’s that?” Quanxi asked, gesturing her head at it. 

“My roommate’s houseplant”, he said. If Quanxi recalled his letter correctly, he did mention a younger sister. “She’s shit at looking after it though, and Reze seemed kinda bummed about it, so I thought I’d give it to her. She’s always liked flowers.” That last sentence was accompanied by a tiny smile, like he was remembering a private joke.

Immediately, Quanxi trusted him about 30% more. Taking it firmly from his hands, she placed it next to Reze’s jasmine and iris. Their little garden. If anyone could bring this brittle, half-dead thing back to life, it was Reze.

“What happened to her?” Quanxi said. Whilst her opinion of Denji had improved, she was not above still beheading him if she disliked his answer.

He cringed a little. “Kinda like…a Devil attack. She’ll be fine, though, once she wakes up in the morning. If she gets any, like…memory issues, tell me about it. I’ll fix her up.”

It was obvious that he was hiding something, but Quanxi truly didn’t care to learn more. Reze seemed alright, and if she wasn’t by the morning — well. She knew where Denji lived. 

Putting the dao away and walking to the kitchen, she started boiling water. “You can stay, if you don’t piss me off. Tea?” Quanxi had been trying to replace her before-bed beers with large cups of green tea; she had no interest in repeating her very embarrassing display from a few nights prior.

“Nah, I promised I wouldn’t stay long”, Denji said. It might have been a lie — Denji was clearly not entirely comfortable around her. Quanxi could hardly blame him, with blood still drying on his neck. She didn’t care either way.

“Mmm. Night”, she said, dismissing him to focus on her tea. 

“Uh, g’night”, he replied, leaving Reze’s key on the kitchen counter, before quietly closing the apartment door. Quanxi sensed that she’d be seeing much more of the boy in the near future.

Taking her green tea and returning to her vigil at the window, Quanxi let the warm steam coil around her face. The heat of it down her throat couldn’t quite match that of booze, but at least it was something. That was the thought that lingered, watching the nighttime world pass by.

It was something.

Chapter Text

Reze felt…odd. There was a sluggishness as she woke, wholly uncharacteristic. Instinctually, she ran the body-check she always did when waking up somewhere unfamiliar: in sequence, all ten of her fingers flexed. Then, all ten of her toes. Nothing missing there. She could wink both eyes. She ran her hands down her chest and abdomen: they came back dry. No blood, no gaping wound. In other words, she was fine. But why did she feel…?

Pushing herself up from the bed — her bed, okay — she scanned the room, slowly, as though not to alert whatever might be waiting in there with her. Nothing looked out of place. The only thing of note was the fog in her head, murky, like she’d been drugged. There was a familiarity to it…where had she felt this sensation before…? What was the last thing she remembered…?

Then it hit her, with a horrid jolt of aggression. One hand was already halfway to her neck, like that would help solve anything. A pair of eyes; sickly, piercing yellow. After that, no memory at all. 

As if possessed, Reze shot up from the bed. Though her limbs felt strong, the connection between them and her muddled brain was weakened — she wobbled, like a fawn on new feet. Yes, there was only one thing from which she knew this haziness. Anaesthesia. Post-operation. 

Her bedroom door collided against the wall with a violence. It made Quanxi’s head jerk up, sat by the kotatsu as she was. 

“Where’zit”, Reze slurred, the words clumsy in her mouth. “I’ll kill it.” With that, her legs failed her, crumpling to the floor. Or, she would have — if Quanxi hadn’t run forwards to catch her. 

Hoisting Reze up into her arms, Quanxi carried her to the kotatsu and laid Reze down beneath the blanket. Reze’s head swam. Almost tenderly, Quanxi brushed back the dark bangs from Reze’s eyes with her fingertips — her pupils were blown wide, unfocused, wandering over the ceiling.

“Denji brought you home last night”, Quanxi whispered, unsure of what exactly she should be doing in this situation. “He said you were attacked by a Devil. He was lying, or not telling the full truth, at least. He was no danger, though. I saw the way he held you.”

Despite her rage, that last part made Reze’s chest hurt. She held an arm up, reaching for…well, she had no idea. It connected with Quanxi’s upper arm, and Quanxi put her own hand over it, almost unthinking. Neither of them spoke. Outside, in the light of morning, the birds were singing.

Slowly, Quanxi stood, their joined hands falling away. “Don’t…” Reze groaned. Don’t what?

“I’m coming back”, Quanxi replied. Reze didn’t turn her head to watch, but heard Quanxi’s footsteps cross into the kitchen, registering the slight change in the sound’s timbre over the different textures of the floor. The fridge opened. Quanxi returned, as she had promised.

Kneeling at Reze’s side, Quanxi set down a tupperware by Reze’s head. Reze rolled on her side to look at it. The box was full of…curry? There was a post-it note on top, which Reze could just about read, despite the terrible handwriting and her pulsating mind: This stuff’s good. Sorry.

“He dropped it off this morning, when you still hadn’t woken up”, Quanxi explained. “I nearly bit his head off”, she added. “Eat. You’ll feel better.”

Feeling quite overwhelmed, not equipped to process either Quanxi or Denji’s kindness, Reze silently complied. Her nails scrabbled against the tupperware’s lid unsuccessfully, before Quanxi popped it off herself. Groping for the spoon Quanxi had left nearby, Reze took no more than two spoonfuls into her mouth, rolled the base of her skull back against the floor, and promptly passed out.

Reze gained consciousness on the hard, wooden floor. Ten fingers. Ten toes. This time, however, her head was clear. On her side, her eyes lifted to the blue sky of noon, drifting in through the blinds. She pushed herself up: nothing wobbled, nothing disobeyed.

Quanxi was sitting next to Reze, her black eye cautiously observing her. On the TV, another documentary about the ocean was playing: a Green Turtle this time, hauling her heavy body across the land. Reze watched it for a little bit. There was a fury in her. She could feel it pulling at the threads of her skin, threatening to burst her open. Anaesthesia — once more, she had been taken away from her body.

Reze looked unceasingly at the turtle. Ungainly thing, out of water. She couldn’t quell her anger — never could — but she could try to reshape it into something more manageable. Focusing on breathing, she pressed it until it was sharp and cold. Reze wanted to go back to Denji’s apartment, but she knew that she never should. There was no telling what she’d do when saw that evil —

No, that was a lie. Reze knew exactly what she’d do. Which was why she must never go there.

Interrupting Reze’s silent battle, Quanxi outstretched an arm and tapped the still-full curry box with a nail, twice. Quite incapable of speech, Reze reached forwards and began to eat, wild and messy. It was good; the sharp thing inside of her lost a little of its edge.

“Does he need to die?” Quanxi asked, like it was a simple, logistical question. 

Loyalty, Reze thought. Almost by accident, she’d managed to earn it. There hadn’t really been a play for Quanxi, since the fellow Hybrid knew exactly what she was from the very first moment — what’s more, Quanxi had even seen the uglier parts, her breakdowns in the supermarket and on the street. Reze’s training dictated that she would have been repelled by this. But still, here she was.

Shaking her head, Reze set the empty tupperware down. “No”, she said, thickly, from her disused throat. “But I can’t see him either. Just for now. I need to…” Reze struggled to find the correct verb to encapsulate the nightmare that was her emotional landscape. “...cool.”

Quanxi nodded, one slight bob of the head, then turned back to the TV, the information absorbed. “Rough week”, she said.

That got a huffed laugh from Reze. “You could say that, yeah.”

“Let’s go somewhere”, Quanxi stated.

“What? Where?” Quanxi didn’t just go somewhere, unless it was shopping. God, please not more shopping.

Pointing a finger at the screen, Quanxi said, with what sounded like forced casualness, “There’s an aquarium nearby. That’ll cool you off. We can bring that odd girl you told me about.”

“Cool off? Quanxi, you know you can’t go swimming in the tanks, right?”

Quanxi beheld her with something like mischief. “No-one could stop you.”

Reze laughed. The sharpness continued to retreat.

“Wait, odd girl? Do you mean Asa?” Quanxi looked at Reze in a way that indicated ‘yes’ (it was a restrained version of The Look). “You’d really like to meet her? Why?” 

“To have full-warning before another runt invades my apartment.”

“Hey, you’d better not be calling me a runt!”

Quanxi said nothing, but there was a softness to her mouth, like she was on the verge of smiling.

“You meanie”, Reze huffed. “And why the aquarium, anyway?”

Looking back at the TV, Quanxi shrugged. “I like this.”

“Okay.”

Asa was not in a good mood. The nurses had insisted on taking the cat away, which made no sense: it wasn’t like she was allergic to it, and she was the only person being treated in this room. Even if someone else came in afterwards, surely it was standard procedure to disinfect the place anyway? The doctors were wearing surgical masks as well, which ought to be just fine for blocking microscopic pathogens, let alone cat fur. All in all, they should have let it stay in the room with her. But they didn’t. 

That was without even mentioning her very-much punctured lung. And the fact they’d had to stick not only one, but two tubes in her (one down her mouth to put oxygen where it was supposed to be, one bored into her chest to take it out from where it wasn’t), and then bandage her up like a B-movie mummy. After that, she’d been discharged with a couple of stern words, an antibiotics bottle the size of her fist, and a pat on the back.

Waiting in the hospital’s car park, head a little airy and her chest stabbing at her with a pain-killed numbness, Asa did the only thing she could: call Reze. 

Eventually, the girl showed — popping out of a taxi. Upon noticing her, Reze smiled and pulled Asa in for a light hug. Asa didn’t dislike hugs, but she didn’t exactly like them, either. The physical contact was very full-on, and she never really knew what to do with her arms. It was fine. Whatever. 

“We’re going to the aquarium”, Reze said, a playful little smile on her mouth. “You wanna come with us? You’d better say yes, since we already bought you the ticket, but it’s up to you.”

Asa blinked at her. “We?” 

Reze’s smile faltered somewhat, but she bravely kept it on her face. Pushing the taxi door further open, another woman became visible inside. She was one of the most absurd-looking people that Asa had ever seen. Why was she in fancy-dress to go to the aquarium? Like really, an eyepatch and all?

“Asa, this is Quanxi. She’s my…” Reze looked suddenly blank.

“Guardian”, the older woman supplied, her voice surprisingly deep. 

Everyone looked shocked at that answer. Especially Quanxi.

“Okay…” Not sensing a way out, and trapped by societal nicety, Asa climbed into the car. Reze was sandwiched in the middle, between her and this strange woman. The car’s engine started with a purr, and they were soon crawling down the streets of Tokyo.

“Are your ribs okay for walking around? I was kidding earlier, we can take you home if you need”, Reze said, amicably. 

“I’m fine”, Asa replied, though the blunt stabbing continued. “Why are we in a taxi? You look old enough to own a car.” That was directed at Quanxi, though it came out harsher than intended. Asa wanted to dislike this woman on principle — purely by virtue of her looking so weird — but she hadn’t meant it as blatantly as that.

Without even coming close to missing a beat, Quanxi said, “You look old enough to have some manners.”

Thoroughly cowed, Asa sat up straight and tried to focus on the road as it swept by. Shit! This was her first ever friend-date and she was already making a mess of it — she’d really have to impress at the aquarium now. But there was no way that was going to happen. Asa didn’t know crap about fish! Other than the fact they were slimy, and their eyes were just so gross.

“Actually, can we stop at my apartment? I need to get my wallet.”

“Oh, it’s alright, we can pay for you! Well, Quanxi can, anyway.” Asa’s heart dropped into her stomach. Typical. I’ve insulted someone who’s trying to do me a favour.

“No, really, you don’t have to do that”, Asa continued, flustered. “I’ll pay for myself, it’s fine.”

“I’m paying”, Quanxi said, with grave finality. 

“Sorry, but I still need to go to my apartment! It’s really important!” 

Quanxi made an irritated noise at the back of her throat, but Reze went, “Alright, Asa. We’ll stop there first.” Reze gave the address to the taxi-driver herself, somehow intuiting that Asa wouldn’t want to. Nor did she ask Asa to elaborate. Some unfamiliar feeling churned in Asa’s chest — probably the lung.

Painfully making her way up the stairs, stopping way more often than she liked to catch her injured breath, Asa eventually made it to her computer. There wasn’t much time; what was the most interesting fish? Starfish were cool, right? They were colourful, well-known, and didn’t have any creepy, glassy eyeballs. In a frenzy, Asa grabbed a small notebook and punched ‘starfish’ into her keyboard. She scrawled over the pages like her life depended on it.

Notebook in hand, Asa returned to the taxi and slotted herself in without a word. If the other two thought she’d taken a suspiciously long amount of time, they didn’t voice their concern.

Finally pulling into the aquarium’s carpark, everyone disembarked. Standing tall in the sunlight, Asa realised just how tall Quanxi was, and — oh my god, that she wasn’t wearing a bra. So inappropriate! Asa didn’t know where to look, a blush rising to her face. She’d intended to argue further about paying, but there was no way she could find the courage now.

Thankfully, Reze saved Asa by grabbing her by the wrist, and pulling her into the aquarium’s glowing, blue darkness. Cynical though she was, Asa couldn’t help but think there was something magical about that atmosphere.

Asa watched the back of Reze’s head, how the soft lighting played off of her purple hair. She didn’t understand Reze. Not in the slightest. Cute girls like Reze (not that Asa wasn’t cute — they were both cute, okay?) didn’t just come over and talk to her. If she was being honest, Asa was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any moment now, Reze would reveal what she had really wanted from Asa all along, and then it would be over. Asa didn’t really feel bitter about it: that was just how things were. In the meantime though, as she watched her own forearm in Reze’s grip, Asa supposed she could live with it.

“What’s in here?” Reze asked, breathless. There was a wildness to her, green eyes wide with more excitement than you’d expect from a girl her age. She looked like she was trying to drink everything in, capture every detail like it was soon to be lost. Behind them, Quanxi’s casual, loping gait drew near.

Peering in, Asa shivered. Her time had come. As sneaky as she could manage, Asa extracted the notebook from her pocket and tried to read it from the corner of her eye:

“Those are starfish. Starfish are echinoderms, relatives of the sea urchin. There are as many as 2,000 starfish species around the world. Not all of them are star-shaped either. There’s even a species with 30 arms. When they get attacked by a predator, they’ll rip off their own arm to get away while the predator eats it. Their arms can regenerate, so —”

At this point, Quanxi simply turned and walked away. Asa gawped at her. “Um, rude much? I’m mid-explanation here!”

“Mhmm”, was Quanxi’s only response, her pace not slowing, hands deep in her pockets. Asa wanted to be furious, but only felt a begrudging jealousy at Quanxi’s ability to just…ignore the trappings of politeness. Reze was still here though, still looking like she was trying to eat the starfish with nothing but her eyeballs. Clearing her throat, Asa went on:

“Anyway, their arms can regenerate, so I guess they’ll regrow later. Starfish can eat almost anything in the ocean. They feed by pushing their stomach out of their mouth and directly digesting their prey. Fun fact —”

“Asa, that’s interesting and all, but I want to go see the sharks now”, Reze said. 

Asa frowned. “We’ll have more fun here. I can explain much more about the starfish. Also, I don’t like sharks. Their eyes freak me out.”

Something devious was starting to creep across Reze’s face. “Oh, that’s okay, Asa. I can protect you from the scary sharks.” With no further preamble, Reze went and did her party-trick: picking Asa up in a bridal-carry.

“No!” Asa said, behind the hands that covered her face, embarrassed. “Put me down, you’re being ridiculous.”

Reze was grinning. “I haven’t forgotten that you’re injured, Asa. You shouldn’t strain yourself by walking too far.” Helpless, Asa could do nothing but wait it out, her arms folded indignantly across her chest. Reze showed no sign of fatigue at any point during her little stunt — what kind of gymnastics was this girl doing?

The pair made it to the shark tank, where Quanxi was standing, watching one of the graceful predators slide past. A Sand Tiger Shark, according to the signage. Mercifully, Reze placed Asa back on her feet. 

“Woah”, Reze breathed, watching the creature’s slow arc before them, floating by with a menacing stillness. “Have you found your White Shark yet, Quanxi?”

“They won’t have any. Nowhere does”, Quanxi said, her eye never leaving the animal. They bore a striking resemblance to each other, Asa thought. “They’ve tried to keep White Sharks in tanks before. They don’t understand that they’re in a cage: the shark runs into the glass, constantly, over-and-over, until it dies.” She’s totally showing me up, Asa thought, teeth gritted.

“Sounds familiar”, Reze murmured. 

“What do you mean?” Asa asked, taken aback by so grim a sentiment.

Reze seemed to startle, jolting to stand a bit straighter. “Oh! Nothing, just being dramatic.” There was a sadness to her smile. “Let’s go on, then. I think there’s penguins at the back.”

The trio carried on, sinking ever-deeper into the water. 

Chapter Text

Reze loved the aquarium.

The average colour of her life had been grey. That felt like a fair assumption — grey walls, grey ceilings, grey floors. So, being suffused in all this blue, glowing outwards from the walls and seeping up between her feet, was otherworldly. Reze wanted to cloak herself in it, carry it everywhere she went.

And the animals…! What a wonder, to see the things she’d only known dead — sea urchins, yellowtail, eel — pulsing with life, swimming with colour. Some though, it must be said, were a little more exciting than others. For some reason that completely defied discernment, Asa seemed very taken with the starfish. Perhaps she had some aspiration towards being a Marine Biologist? Reze cautiously added that piece of trivia to Asa’s ever-stranger file.

It was the sharks that really took Reze’s breath away. Quanxi seemed spellbound by them, too. They’re just like each other, Reze thought, as Quanxi’s dark eye found that of the Sand Tiger. There was something sad about those beautiful predators in their glass cages — Reze swiftly walked on, trying not to linger on it. The symbolism was just too on-the-nose. 

The trio found themselves in the exit gift-shop all too soon. Quanxi pawed through a pile of shark plushies, frowning to herself. Reze giggled when imagining Quanxi’s inner monologue: ‘Am I really going to buy this? It’ll totally ruin my tough-guy persona.’  

Asa was distractedly spinning a wheel of named keychains, scanning the names half-heartedly. “They never have my name on anything. It’s so inconsiderate.”

“You have a better chance than me”, Reze said, trying to spin the wheel in the opposite direction, solely to annoy Asa.

Peering around at her, Asa asked, “Yeah, what kind of name is ‘Reze’ anyway? Is it foreign, or something?”

“It’s a nickname.”

“For what?”

Reze just stuck out her tongue, giving the wheel a rough whirl, catching Asa off-guard. “That’s top secret.” Asa sighed, moving her attention elsewhere. However, the thought continued to play on Reze’s mind. It had been a nickname — if you’d consider a serial number to be a real name, anyway.

It had come from one of her handlers. One of (by their standards) the more pleasant ones. As was typical, Reze never learned his name: he was young, perhaps mid-thirties, with an agreeable but forgettable face, and a habit of clicking his tongue whenever mildly annoyed. That had earned him the nickname of ‘Clicker’, at least in the privacy of Reze’s own mind.

Clicker had been her language tutor. He’d certainly given her plenty of work, over the years. From the little she’d garnered about his other duties, he seemed to be a spy in predominantly English-speaking countries. Reze’s nickname came about during a session about English idioms: ‘to raise hell’. Or alternatively, just to ‘raze.’ 

Given her abilities, Reze was often assigned missions with a high likelihood of shit majorly hitting the fan. ‘Send in the Razer’, Clicker would joke with other minders, and to her. Reze took a wicked flicker of pride in it: hell-bringer, hell-raiser. That was what she was. 

Gradually, passing through various tongues and accents, the word degraded. Long after Clicker had vanished from her life, as handlers often did, she became known as ‘Reze’. Naming ammunition kids was usually strictly forbidden, but Reze, extraordinary, indispensable Reze, was always the exception.

“We’re leaving”, Quanxi announced, distracting Reze from the reverie. She felt dismayed — the mere mention of her own name had been enough to take her away from her surroundings, cast her back into that world of grey violence. Hopeless, she thought to herself. Reze did feel slightly improved when she noticed the shark plushie tucked under Quanxi’s arm, though.

Hailing another cab, Quanxi and Reze took Asa home. Explicitly against the injured girl’s wishes, Reze walked her, painstakingly, up the stairs to her apartment. Whilst Asa didn’t go in for a hug, she did stand at the threshold long enough to allow Reze to initiate one. I’ve got you now, sucker, Reze thought, as pressed the side of Asa’s head to her own, though she felt nothing but delight.

As the taxi rolled homewards, Quanxi and Reze, slowly, started to become aware of a noise. The kind that was quiet only thanks to great distance: a droning, mid-level wall of sound. At first, only the two Weapons tilted their heads towards it, but soon, even the driver seemed concerned. They rounded a corner, and the cacophony heaved into a crescendo. What lay before them — was a riot.

Cautiously slipping by, all inhabitants of the taxi watched the adjacent street. The thronging crowd moved like one, shambling creature, studded with riot signs as though they were spines. The malice that poured from it was near tangible, to Reze — she pressed herself against the window, the threat of violence calling her close. From her vantage point, she could see…Chainsaw Man. Each and every sign was about Chainsaw Man. Before she could glean anything more, the driver turned away at his crossing, sighing quite audibly with relief.

Reze and Quanxi walked up the apartment steps in silence. So much played on their minds — was Denji in danger? Was Quanxi really Reze’s guardian? — that they couldn’t speak it aloud. In fact, each was so lost in their own musings, that they didn’t notice Denji until they’d practically walked over him. 

Even by his standards, Denji looked scruffy. His eyes were unfocused, bleary, the purple beneath them more pronounced than usual. Above all was his posture: slumped, skittish, weird.

“Hey, woah, are you alright?” Whilst Reze wasn’t exactly pleased about his recent events, her concerns could temporarily be put aside. For now, she needed to be of use.

“Yeah”, he gravelled out. Then, “No, kinda. Can you let me in?”

Quanxi and Reze shared a look. “Where’s Nayuta? ” Reze said, between somewhat gritted teeth. The respect of giving the thing a human name was solely for Denji’s benefit. 

“She’s sleeping. It’s been a crap day for her.” Denji frowned to himself with clearly affectionate worry. That inspired all sorts of ugly emotions to twist and churn their way about Reze’s stomach, but the Devil wasn’t here. Which was all that mattered.

Sensing that Reze had relaxed, Quanxi wordlessly unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Nice shark”, Denji remarked, pointing at the plushie tucked beneath Quanxi’s arm. Surely, Reze theorised, the fact that Denji cannot die has eradicated all and any survival instinct he might once have had.

Quanxi ignored him, though she eyed Denji in a way that felt distinctly murderous. Waving a stiff hand, she beckoned him to enter first. Cringing, Denji entered the apartment as Quanxi’s eye tracked his every move. Reze suddenly realised just how little Quanxi had been exaggerating about ‘nearly biting his head off.’

Gracelessly, Denji curled himself around the kotatsu, laying the side of his head against the wood. He really did look like he was on the verge of falling asleep. Reze glided down to sit at his side, waiting for him to speak. Quanxi went to the kitchen and put some water on to boil.

“Have you met the, like, creepy tall dude?” Denji began.

“You might have to be more specific”, Reze said, encouragingly.

“Tall, black hair, creepy”, Denji went on, waving his hand about. “Weirdo. Name’s Yoshi-something, I dunno.” Reze looked blankly at him.

“Yoshida”, Quanxi said, from the kitchen. She'd left her shark on the counter, where it gazed upon Reze and Denji serenely. “Private Devil Hunter. Public Safety, now.” Her eye narrowed menacingly. “We’ve met.”

“You’re friends with that jerk?” Denji said, incredulous.

Quanxi turned her single most acute version of The Look on him. It was a wonder that Denji’s head didn’t spontaneously combust. “You were there. I was trying to kill you. That boy made it…slightly…more difficult.”

Denji looked vacant. “Never happened”, he concluded.

Swiftly abandoning that line of enquiry, Quanxi came over to set her tray of green tea down. Reze worked very hard to suppress a snort: Quanxi had brought one teapot, and only two mugs. The sheer pettiness of it made Reze’s eyes water. So, when the social cue flew completely over Denji’s head, and he began pouring a cup for himself, Reze had to fake a minor coughing fit. Quanxi fixed him with a look that could have melted steel. Not that Denji noticed.

“Anyway”, Denji said, after sipping his ill-gotten tea. His nose wrinkled a little (Oh my God, he doesn’t even like it…!). “I’m falling asleep in class, like usual, and I wake up tied to a chair.” Quanxi and Reze nodded, as if this was an experience within the realm of standard probability. “And this creepy dude’s going off on one, how I can’t be Chainsaw Man anymore. Like, what a dumbass.”

With his indignation, Denji seemed to find a little more energy, sitting up straighter and sipping tea with renewed vigour (not that he seemed to like it one bit more). “It’s all ‘cos these guys are fighting over me. Dunno why that’s my problem. I think bein’ fought over is kinda nice.” He huffed out a breath, like he was getting to the difficult bit. “He said he’d kill Nayuta, though. Jerkbag. Like I’d let that happen.”

“What?” Reze exclaimed. “Denji, he threatened you with that? Explicitly?”

Denji looked at her with confusion. “Yeah, what’s up?”

A cold, creeping certainty snaked its way into Reze’s veins. She knew this story. She’d learned how it always ended. “Denji.” Reze looked at him with such an intensity that his expression became concerned. “I don’t think you understand. A threat, delivered like that, from an organisation like his…” She leaned forwards, took his hand in hers. “They will kill her, Denji. There’s nothing on Earth that can stop it.”

His eyes flew wide. “What? Are you kidding? I’m Chainsaw Man! And Nayuta can take care of herself.” Reze sneered at that, involuntary. 

“You wouldn’t stand a chance. Neither of you.” Quanxi looked grave, like his naivety inspired even her pity. “You aren’t with her right now, are you? She still breathes only because they allow it.”

“You think they know where I live?” Denji sounded less combative, suddenly. He was genuinely asking.

“Of course they know where you are.” Reze shivered: she remembered Quanxi telling her much the same, long ago. “I only hope when they give the call, I’m not the one they send.”

The silence that fell after that was torturous. The green tea, neglected at the kotatsu’s centre, cooled.

Eventually, Denji cleared his throat. “I’m only telling ya in case they try to do anything. To you, I mean”, Denji said, facing Reze. “They didn’t mention you two, but…y’know.”

Reze hurt. Everything about this hurt. “Don’t worry about us”, Quanxi said. “We can’t die. And Public Safety wouldn’t be so stupid as to harm Reze.” Translation: if they did, I’d tear the lot of them apart, limb-from-limb. I’d raise hell. Reze's chest hurt even worse.

“Would it be smarter to all crash together?” Denji asked. “That fight would be monstrous.”

“You aren’t bringing her here, Denji”, Reze said quietly. “Ever.”

“Huh?” It looked like Denji suddenly remembered last night’s incident. “Oh! Shit, I’m sorry about that, Reze. I told Nayuta to shove off about it, but —”

“She drugged me”, Reze stated.

Denji’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? That’s not what —”

“She drugged me!” Everyone at the table recoiled at the raggedness of Reze’s voice. It surprised even herself. Embarrassed herself, really, though she hid it perfectly well. Her hand, still laid atop Denji’s, had begun to claw at him, the nails leaving indented half-moons. She drew back at once. “Sorry”, she mumbled, but only about his hand.

“Okay”, Denji replied, sadly. And that was enough.

“No more of this”, Quanxi announced, standing back up. “I’m hungry. Cook something.” At that, she actually pointed at Denji, like he was some manservant. Despite everything, that still brought a small, amused scoff to Reze’s throat.

“Hey, you can’t boss me around like I’m some dog. I ain’t like that anymore!” Denji retorted, but not as loudly as he might have done to anyone else. He then sat there for a moment, visibly thinking, in that way he had. “I am gonna make something, but just ‘cos I’m hungry. Not ‘cos you told me to.” With that, he got up, and began assembling ingredients with an offended air. Reze watched, and began to make a list of all the things he was gathering. These ingredients must be harmonious together. Experiment at a later date.

Just before he began chopping vegetables, Denji’s head bobbed back up to look at Quanxi. “Hey, does this mean you actually dig my cooking?”

Crossing her arms, Quanxi regarded him for an exceptionally long amount of time. A bead of sweat began to form on Denji’s temple. “Yes”, she offered, at long last. Nothing more.

Denji went back to prepping, but now his lips formed a tiny, smug smile. “Sweet”, he muttered. 

Chapter Text

Of all the things that had been disappointing about school, the food was certainly up there.

Not that Reze was going to complain, of course. Her tolerance for what did and did not count as food was shockingly high. However, she couldn’t help but unfavourably compare the bland, beige-ish meat she placed onto her tray with Denji’s lovingly homemade meals.

Denji hadn’t come to her apartment since the post-kidnapping incident. Apparently, whilst Reze was out — much to the benefit of every living thing in the 5-mile radius — he’d come round with Nayuta in tow. Quanxi hadn’t relayed exactly what she’d done during that confrontation, but suffice to say, the two of them hadn’t tried to visit again. 

To make up for it, Reze had been splitting her time between him, Asa and the Popular girls at lunch break: Denji in the dining hall, Asa in some corner of the playing field, or her rooftop hideaway. Today was Asa's first day in school after taking time off to recover from her injuries. Nonetheless, it was Denji’s turn.

Turning away from the food-bar, Reze made her way to the table that her and Denji would sit at — only to find Asa there, worriedly chewing at a sandwich. Reze had never once seen her eat in here.

“Oh, hey Asa! What’s the occasion?” Reze asked, setting her tray down across from her.

Asa immediately became defensive. “Occasion? I’m dining. In the dining room. That’s just normal”, she concluded, though her eyes flitted around.

“Mhmm”, Reze hummed, good-naturedly. “It’s got nothing to do with this being your first lunch break in a while, right? And wanting to see more of me? Obviously not. That just wouldn’t be like you.” Reze sent Asa a particularly winning smile.

“Yeah”, Asa replied, a bit lamely, before taking another bite of bread. 

Deciding to show some mercy, Reze changed the subject. “So, did you get to keep the cat?”

All at once, Asa sprang to life, throwing the sandwich down to slam her hands on the table. “No! They didn’t let me, even though it made no sense! I’ve been looking through all of the adoption sites in Tokyo, but most of them don’t even let you filter for coat colour, so it’s taking ages. It’s possible that she isn’t a stray, but I really hope not. Like, what kind of irresponsible owner would let their cat out, when —”

Holding her chin in her hand, Reze watched Asa rattle on with both amusement and fondness. This one had certainly been a good investment.

However, the volume at which Asa had been ranting drew unwanted attention. Cutting off dead, Asa started to collapse in on herself when Freckles, flanked by two lackeys, came sauntering over.

“Seriously, Reze-chan? Is this why you’ve been disappearing at lunch? You still go sit with —” Freckles gestured at Asa, not even bothering to speak her name, instead drawing her lips into a sneer.

“It’s bad enough that you sit with Denji”, one of Freckles’ minions added. “Did you think we didn’t notice?”

“Ugh”, Freckles snorted. “I just don’t understand. You could do so much better”, she said. “Come and join us. It’ll be much more fun than whatever you think you’re doing here.”

Asa was nearly face-down on the table, so deeply was she bowing to try and hide away. Reze watched her. Watched what they were doing to her friend — one of the best friends she’d ever had. 

Briefly, Reze tried to consider some way of brushing them off, like she had before. It wouldn’t be easy. Then it occurred to her, quite suddenly, that she didn’t care. Why had she wanted to be part of the Social Elite, anyway? Because it was…advantageous? In regards to what?

It had been nothing more than muscle-memory: the expectation to infiltrate an organisation to its highest order. There was no real desire behind it at all. That realisation was like a weight slipping from her shoulders: Reze suddenly felt so agile and light that she had an absurd impulse to jump atop the table. Instead, she started to laugh. Loudly, deep from her stomach.

Everyone — Asa included — look at her, or one another, in confusion. Conversations nearby abruptly ceased.

“Oh, Freckles”, Reze wheezed, wiping at one of her eyes.

“Um, what did you just call me?” The girl said, an outraged expression taking shape on her face.

“That’s what I call you”, Reze said, still hiccupping with laughter. “I never bothered to learn your name.” Before the girl could respond, Reze brought both of her forearms down, hard, against the tabletop. Cutlery rattled. Everyone in present company flinched.

“Freckles”, Reze began, pointing at her. “It’s my pleasure to inform you: you can get bent. Backwards, forwards, any direction, really. All of them! Why would I want to sit with an ugly loser like yourself?”

Deafening, astonished silence. Four jaws fell open. No-one dared move. Eventually, Freckles’ brain shifted into gear, and she advanced towards Reze.

“How dare —” She spat, but Reze shot from the table in a heartbeat. She lurched towards Freckles’ face, their noses inches apart. The other girl recoiled backwards, but tried to recover herself. Or she did, until she got a good look at Reze’s face.

The smile was back. Reze delighted in the rare opportunity to display it in full force: no shame, no repression. Her creepy, uncanny, toothy grin, like that of a chimpanzee. The one that made every evolutionary urge in your body scream: danger.

“Go on”, she said, low and smiling. “Don’t be shy. I want it to hurt.”

Freckles’ eyes darted around in horror and disgust. She took a step back, muttered, “Freak”, and the trio melted back to their table.

As Reze sat back down, she could still feel all those pairs of eyes on her. Their surprise, their fear; how she used to live for that moment, when the façade shattered. When the prey realised just what they’d let so close to their throat. Reze pulsed with it, bathed in it — until she met Asa’s eyes, and was struck with a sharp panic. 

She’d forgotten. Asa only liked the façade, too. That’s what everyone did. Well, not everyone: two exceptions did come to mind. One blonde, one with hair like snow. Desperately, Reze clutched onto that thought as she waited for Asa to respond. 

“You’re…a complete weirdo”, Asa said.

Reze huffed a small laugh. She’d expected much worse. “I’m afraid so”, she replied. 

“...Thanks”, Asa said. “For making them go away. You didn’t have to do it like that, though! ‘Get bent’? What’s with that?”

Laughing, Reze said, pressing a finger to her cheek, “What do you think? Was I super scary?”

“Way scary”, Asa said. “You’d better not yell at me like that.”

“I won’t”, Reze promised, moving forwards to lay her hand over Asa’s. Keeping her hand still, Asa seemed to accept it. “Well, unless you’re bad”, Reze continued, with a wink.

Asa scoffed. “Whatever. I’m never bad.”

“What’s up?” Came a third voice, from behind Reze’s shoulder. She turned — and there Denji was, holding his own tray of food. “Were you yelling, or somethin’? People are looking at us weird.”

“I was being weird”, Reze responded. “You know how it is.” Denji nodded. Weird was very much in his wheelhouse. Turning back to Asa, who was eyeing the pair with confusion, Reze said, “Oh! Asa, this is my —” Why does no-one in my life have an easy, one-word definition? “My — friend, Denji.”

“Heya”, Denji said.

“Hi”, Asa muttered.

Denji sat between the two of them, at the head of the table. He began eating, and then spoke — to Reze’s relief, with a hand over his mouth — “So, what’s your deal?”

“My deal?” Asa puffed herself up a little. “I’m Reze’s friend.” Reze made a small, strangled laugh at her delivery. Asa was so clearly saying, ‘her real friend, unlike you, vile imposter.’

"‘Kay”, Denji said, shovelling more food into his mouth. Reze gave him a poke: he looked up at her, puzzled. What? He mouthed.

“You don’t want to ask anything else? Like…how we met?” Reze’s tone was as leading as she could make it.

With a sigh, Denji repeated, “How did you two meet?” Reze elbowed him, given how monotone his voice was. “Ow.”

Asa narrowed her eyes at Reze. “She kept throwing pieces of paper at me.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Reze laughed. 

“Yeah”, Denji said. “I throw things at plenty of people, but they don’t become my friend.”

"It’s all in the technique”, Reze jested, balling up the paper sheath that her banana-milk straw had come in. “Observe, and learn.” With a light flick of the wrist, the projectile bounced off of Asa’s shoulder. Asa gave Reze a long-suffering glare.

“I think I got it”, Denji said, rapidly assembling a ball before throwing it. The thing bounced off of Asa’s cheek. 

“You can stop that”, Asa said, pointing an aggravated finger at him.

“I don’t think it worked”, Denji said, from the corner of his mouth, to Reze. Then, to Asa: “Hey, would you say you feel more friendly towards me, or what?”

“Or. What.” Asa answered, between gritted teeth. Denji shrugged, before making another wad of paper from a nearby wrapper. The second attempt would surely work.

Frowning in Denji's direction, Asa said, “You know, you seem very familiar.” Reze became quite still.

“Hmm”, Denji pondered. “You might have sat on me before.”

Asa gawped at him. “You — excuse me? I most certainly have not sat — are you crazy?”

“Nah”, Denji responded. “I run a service. I’ll be your chair, ten yen for ten minutes.”

“He’s surprisingly comfortable”, Reze chimed in.

Folding her arms indignantly, Asa fumed, “I have definitely not sat on you, nor will I in future.” Looking at Reze, she asked, “Why the heck do you hang out with this guy?”

“I don’t think you understand how comfortable I’m talking.” Reze said, with a laugh. Asa rolled her eyes. 

Moving her attention to her own slightly underwhelming food, Reze realised: I don’t have to pretend to eat normally anymore. With relish, she threw all restraint aside, and began wolfing down her meal like it was in danger of running away. Next to Denji, who was eating fairly messily himself, the two made a right pair.

Her lip curled with confusion and (probably) some disgust, Asa said, “Geez, no-one’s gonna try and take the food away from you.”

“You never can be sure these days”, Reze retorted, a hand over her mouth. To demonstrate her point, she darted forwards to grab Denji’s banana-milk, pouring most of it down her gullet before he could react. 

“Gimme that back!” Denji yelled, reaching for her. The two of them play-fought, until Reze laughed — and managed to send milk through her nose. The volume of their laughter reached new heights. Asa stared at the both of them like, What the hell have I gotten myself into?

After school, Asa had waved goodbye to go and buy some groceries. Given that they lived in the same building, Reze and Denji often walked home together — when he didn’t have to go pick up his Devil from preschool, at least. This was one of those lucky days. They walked slowly, meandering, laughing about nothing, occasionally shoving one another.

Having barely left school, a wall of posters caught their attention. ‘Chainsaw Man Church Membership’, they read, alongside a photo of Chainsaw Man’s head, glistening in the sunlight. Reze squinted at it: had they really photoshopped him to look more shiny?

“They’ve got your nose all wrong”, Reze said, tapping her finger on the poster. Chainsaw Man, famously, did not have a nose.

“No way, I look great”, Denji said, humble as ever.  “Seriously intimidating. And, like, handsome.”

Reze just snorted. “Who are these people though? The Church? Do you work with them?”

“Nope. Dunno who they are. Guess it’s just a bunch of dudes who are super into me. Can’t complain about that.”

“I will gladly explain.” An unfamiliar voice spoke nearby. Twisting around, Denji and Reze were met with a hooded figure — a boy, a little taller than Denji, wearing their school uniform over his hoodie.

“The Chainsaw Man Church”, the boy carried on. “A glorious organisation, dedicated to returning the favour that Chainsaw Man has granted our society. In his image, we —”

“Do you know this bum?” Denji asked Reze. She shook her head. Something about this guy made her uneasy.

“You don’t know me?” There was a note of upset in his voice. “It’s fine, though. No biggie. I don’t remember you either.” The attempt at hiding his offence was laughable. “Well, Chainsaw Man.” Reze and Denji stiffened. “I guess you could call me…”

Removing his hood, the boy revealed long, black hair, falling in pleasantly dishevelled waves. Beneath long, dark eyelashes, his eyes were strikingly blue. He was handsome. Somehow, that made Reze trust him even less.

“Wait”, Blue said, suddenly. He pointed a finger at Reze. “You should probably make her leave.”

Denji sneered at him. Reze said, her voice deceptively light, “Oh? Why don’t you make me?” Today was a good day — her smile was getting a great amount of usage. 

Blue grimaced away from her. “No, seriously”, he said to Denji, like Reze wasn’t even there. “This is majorly secret stuff. If she found out…” He leaned in, clearly fancying himself some kind of actor. “She could be killed.”

“You aren’t talking to him.” Reze pulled the drawstring of Blue’s hoodie, yanking him in her direction. Blue’s whole body seemed to jolt in surprise. Reze’s unease was rapidly draining away; this boy was nothing but a child. “You’re talking to me. You’re being rude to me. I’d stop that: being rude to me is what could really get you killed.”

Blue’s mouth flapped about for a couple of seconds. When it looked like he had just figured out what to say, Reze let go of the drawstring. Blue stumbled a little, trying to regain his balance. Denji watched it all in silence, his eyes wide. Whilst he claimed to have accepted Reze’s true nature, she sometimes wondered whether he grasped the full extent of it.

“Yikes”, Blue said, patting himself down. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you”, he threatened, scowling at Reze. She glowered back, until he broke eye-contact. Coward.

“If you’re Chainsaw Man, that’d make me…” He paused, for dramatic effect. Reze ruined it, purposefully, by coughing.

“Sword Man”, Blue said. “Let’s go with that.”

Denji groaned. “Seriously, who is this loser?”

Chapter Text

Reze was starting to suspect that Blue didn’t like her. That was good: it meant her efforts at irritating him were working. 

The boy had been desperate to get them somewhere private, so he could fulfil his self-proclaimed role as ‘messenger.’ Denji and Reze were hungry, though. So that was that.

“This is wasting time”, Blue hissed, not exactly under his breath, as Denji and Reze queued for the convenience store checkout. Neither of them paid him any mind whatsoever. At some point, the boy had given his name as Miri Sugo, but Reze didn’t think he’d yet done anything warranting that respect. So, ‘Blue’ it still was.

“If this thing’s so important, I oughta hear it on a full stomach”, Denji said, lazily, not looking up from the notes of small-change he counted for the cashier. “Otherwise I’d probably be distracted, or something.”

“That’s a great point, Denji”, Reze added, just to watch Blue stiffen with rage. 

Once the trio was outside, sandwiches in hand, Blue practically pounced on them. “Okay, now that’s done, I know this rooftop nearby that’s totally covert. Once we’re there, I can —”

“Isn’t it such a nice afternoon?” Reze remarked, nice and innocent. “I think we should go eat in the park, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we can get that, like, sun vitamin”, Denji agreed. 

Blue actually started pulling at his hair when other the two strolled leisurely into the nearby children’s park, but all he could do was follow. Finding a sunny patch of grass, Reze and Denji sat themselves down and started to unwrap the sando they’d bought. 

“This isn’t the level of private I was thinking”, Blue said, frowning deeply at the sounds of shrieking children emanating from the playground, which was very much within eyesight. “But whatever.” He cleared his throat, preparing for his big line. “The weapons walk with the Chainsaw Man Church. Join us, Denji.”

“Hey, which filling did you get?” Reze asked, pointing at Denji’s sandwich.

“Egg”, Denji replied, through a mouthful of said egg. 

“Can I try some? I’ll trade you a bite of this chicken teriyaki.”

“Hmm”, Denji hummed, putting his fingers to his chin in mock consideration. “Okay, you have a deal.” He extended his arm, like a businessman might. Reze shook it professionally, before the pair each held their sandwich out to the other, and bit down simultaneously. Blue looked so frustrated that he might actually have been on the verge of tears.

“This is important!” He wailed. Turning to Denji, beseeching, Blue said, “Denji, we’re a community of people like you! We can all turn into Devils.”

Now that did get the pair’s attention. Reze never did find out what happened to the rest of those Hybrids, the ones she’d run from all that time ago. She’d assumed that Denji had ‘killed’ them alongside Makima, and they’d been rotting away in deep storage ever since. Not so. The fact that Public Safety had not only revived them, but left them completely to their own devices, was preposterous. What the hell were they playing at?

Visibly pleased at their newfound interest, Blue continued. “We want you to join us, Denji. You’ll even get a pretty high position.”

“I don’t even get to be leader of my own Church.” Denji said, dryly. 

“Hey, it’s a pretty good offer!” Blue retorted. “And also, why are you so chill about revealing your identity around this random girl?”

“Reze’s not random”, Denji said, eyes narrowed. 

“You really don’t remember anything from when you were brainwashed, do you?” Reze mused, a little cruelly. She’d intuited correctly: Blue flinched away, looking squarely at her for the first time since they’d sat down. Reze had no intention of giving this guy any free information, but the opportunity to knock him down a peg had been too enticing. 

Blue’s eyes scoured Reze, trying to find anything he might recognise. His gaze began to linger at the pin at her neck. If he’d figured it out, he didn’t admit it aloud; that was the first and only sign of cunning he’d yet to display. 

“You don’t get it”, Blue said, eventually. “Whoever, whatever you are. Have you been brainwashed, or used like a tool your entire damn life? I have. Denji has, too.” The words made Reze’s blood run icy in her veins. Her face betrayed nothing. 

Denji was carefully considering Miri now. “I’m grateful to you, every day”, Miri admitted to Denji, his voice losing that actor’s quality. “You killed Makima, and set me free. Now, whenever I wake up, I know I can spend the whole day using my brain and my body exactly as I like.” Miri raised his head to look straight at Denji, a fanatical spark in his eyes. “Join me in the Chainsaw Man Church, and you can be free, too. That’s what I want.”

It was difficult to read the look on Denji’s face. Reze wondered if he was tempted: was a normal life really what he wanted? Could he stomach the loss of his own power, or never again feeling that battle-high? Not that the Church necessarily offered an alternative. God knew what they really wanted — almost certainly nothing good.

“So, it was a choice?” Reze asked Miri, tentatively. “You chose to join the Church?”

“Yeah!” Miri exclaimed, his eyes still bright. “It’s great! I can turn down jobs I don’t wanna do, I get paid loads, I spend every day —”

“What would have happened if you said no?” Reze continued. “If it was a real choice, you could have just walked away, right?”

Miri opened his mouth, looking cheerful — but no sound came out. His brow furrowed, and he looked downwards, his mouth still slightly open. Finally: “O-of course I could have, I just didn’t want to.” This boy was so easy to read, it almost felt like cheating. 

“I’m happy with my normal life”, Denji said, abruptly. It looked like Reze had guessed correctly at his internal struggle. “A normal life was literally my dream. I don’t wanna join the Church.”

For a moment, Miri just looked sad. Then his expression darkened. “Whatever. Forget it!” In one furious movement, Miri got to his feet. “Just so you know, I did want to be your friend”, he said, though Denji didn’t look particularly moved.

However, from over his shoulder, Miri still had one more thing to say: “It’s too bad. You could have slept with as many as women you wanted to.”

Denji’s jaw dropped, whilst, pre-emptively, Reze had already sent him a frighteningly pointed side-eye. “Denji doesn’t fall for that kind of honey trap anymore”, she said, far more of a command than it was an observation. Slowly, Denji got the hint. He closed his mouth, and pulled some kind of apologetic grimace. Most importantly though, he stayed in place.

Just before Miri left their field of vision, Reze bolted up and seized Denji by the shoulder. He jolted with surprise. “I’m going to go follow him. We need to know more about this Church, ‘cos they seem like bad news. You can go home.”

“Huh?” Denji looked up at her, puzzled, but Reze had already started prowling over Miri’s trail. Hurriedly, Denji got up and jogged after her. “Why’d I have to go home?” Denji whisper-hissed.

"Based on Sword Man back there, all the Weapons know exactly who you are”, Reze explained, patiently, whilst never taking her eyes off of the oblivious Miri. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, as he walked briskly and with obvious annoyance. “You couldn’t do any snooping. Plus, they really want you there, so, you really shouldn’t go.”

“Why’re you even going in there? I don’t care about these jerks!” Denji was speaking at a regular volume now, despite using the whispery tone of voice. This struck Reze as irrational and irritating.

“You can’t just ignore them, Denji! There are five Hybrids working together in an organisation! They have followers, influence — haven’t you seen all the riots? They are dangerous, and sooner or later, they’re going to come and make you do whatever it is they want, whether you like it or not.”

Denji blinked at her a few times, like that thought was just occurring to him. “If they’re so dangerous, I’m comin’ with you”, he said. Reze tried to protest, but he cut her off. “Sword dude will recognise you and get all loud. I can distract him, pretend I’ve changed my mind or whatever, and you can sneak around.”

Reze was honestly a bit taken aback. He has a point. “Fine”, Reze sighed. “But you’re not allowed to talk to any girls.”

Though Denji groaned, he seemed to silently accept that condition. Now, actually being somewhat stealthy, the pair followed Miri as he continued to storm off, lost in his own angry little world.

Soon, though, it became very clear that stalking Miri had been unnecessary. Any preconceptions about some secretive, hidden lair were swiftly destroyed; in front of Reze and Denji, stood an enormous skyscraper, glinting in the setting sun. There was a gaudy, utterly tasteless sculpture of Chainsaw Man’s head slapped onto the side of the building — that thing alone must have been at least two storeys tall. 

 “I really hope I get to blow up this building, some day”, Reze ruminated, wistfully.

“Could ya leave my face?”, Denji replied.

“No way, that’s the worse part.” Reze said, sticking out her tongue. “Wait, look.” In the tree-lined courtyard leading up to the entrance, streams of students meandered into and out of the building. Only students, no older adults at all. And the door’s just open?

“Looks like getting in won’t be too difficult”, Reze said, as she set about taking the choker from her neck, then letting her hair down to hide the pin. The change in appearance obviously wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny, but it might stop Miri noticing her from across the room. “Okay, ladies first”, Reze said, waving Denji forwards. 

He crossed his arms indignantly. “I’m no lady, dude.”

“I’m no dude, lady.” With no further ado, Reze came up behind Denji and gave him a good shove on the shoulders. “Hurry up! Swordy is just about to go through the door!”

With no enthusiasm whatsoever, Denji trudged towards the receding figure of Miri. Reze watched their brief conversation — Miri looking excitable, Denji looking anything but — before the pair disappeared inside. Reze waited for a minute or two, then quietly glided forwards.

The building’s interior was absurd: vast, arching windows bathed the golden hour’s fading light across an extensive entrance hall, flanked on each side by sweeping staircases. Everything cast long, afternoon shadows. In austere grey stone, an elaborate façade had been carved into the far wall. It even had towering pillars, supporting a balconette behind a railing of cold, wrought iron. How on Earth did they afford this? All around, students loitered and tittered, their voices bouncing upwards over the encompassing stone. “Church” was an appropriate title: there was something devout about this place.

Though the clack of her footsteps echoed loudly, no-one paid Reze much attention. There seemed to be a shocking lack of any kind of security or protocol: everywhere, people milled about and flitted into and from doorways. Just what you’d expect from an organisation run by students. At one point, she had to wait, head lowered, as Denji and Miri passed through the corridor she was trying to enter. “Hey, where are those all-you-can-sleep-with girls?” Denji asked his companion. Reze suppressed a sigh — he was just putting on an act, after all. Hopefully.

Nonchalantly walking by, Reze peered into the room they’d be loitering outside. Inside, there was a real church hall, complete with pews, stained-glass windows and an altar — albeit, with another hideously tacky statue of Chainsaw Man looming down on them all, like some vengeful deity. Hold on, do they actually ‘worship’ him?

The more she wandered, the more certain Reze became of two things. 1.) The Church was disorganised, undisciplined and uncoordinated. 2.) They were unhinged. That was an exceptionally dangerous combination.

Reze watched as Denji and Miri came to a fork in the corridor. Just before they turned, a girl approached the two of them, and began speaking to Denji. However, it looked like he was taking his promise very seriously: Reze was overcome with a surge of fondness as she watched Denji theatrically mime sealing his lips, and then throwing the key away. The poor girl looked increasingly confused at his lack of response, before Denji turned and walked away without explanation.

The two boys rounded the right corner, so Reze took the left. Her and Denji could cover more ground that way. Here, those strange halls were much quieter. Reze plastered an anxious look on her face, readying her excuse of ‘being lost’ if anyone took offence to her presence. 

Soon, she happened on a door that caught her interest. There was a nameplate on the door, reading ‘B. Bridge’, and it had been left slightly ajar. Reze didn’t know what to make of that — incompetence? Arrogance? She stood perfectly still for a moment, listening for signs of life inside. Nothing. 

It was a risk, and a particularly ballsy one at that, but Reze’s fingers itched. That familiar itching, the impulse, glittering up and down her nervous system. There would certainly be no cameras in here. If worse came to worst, one well-timed explosion would do. Hybrid or not, Reze could leave any assailant in quite a state. Maybe her dream of blowing up this place would come a little early. So, reckless and shivering with anticipation, Reze crept into the office.

The room was nondescript. Almost alarmingly so — no pictures hung up, no plants, no signs of any personality whatsoever. Just grey walls, a large, wooden desk with nothing on its surface, and a window taking up much of the wall at the desk’s back. Dust motes whirled within its golden light.

Brisk and efficient, Reze paced around the desk and began to open drawers. She wasn’t expecting to find much — so the hefty, shiny revolver was something of a surprise. It sat there, gleaming in pride of place, above a stack of documents. For a few, astonished seconds, Reze could only stare at it. Then, gingerly, she moved the thing aside to clutch at the sheath of paper beneath.

Denji’s face stared back at her. Reze’s breathing became increasingly slow as she read the words beneath: addresses. His school. Nayuta’s school. The apartment where they both lived.

Suddenly, Reze became aware of approaching footsteps. Quick and methodical, Reze rearranged everything back to how it once was, before slamming the drawer shut. She ran to the non-hinged side of the door, which she remembered had opened outwards. Running out now wouldn’t be an option. There was only hoping that the intruder would pass by — or leaping on them the second they entered the room. 

The footprints stopped. The door moved. Plan B it was. 

In an instant, Reze sprang forwards, slipping behind the enemy to wrap her elbow around their throat. Her other hand stayed, taut, at her pin. She’d start by choking them out; if the person made some kind of movement like reaching for a trigger, she’d pull her own first. This person didn’t, at least initially. His mop of dark hair shook, as he writhed and clawed at her arm, panicked. He turned his head to the side, trying to escape the pressure bearing down on his windpipe — and through the waves of black hair, Reze saw his eye.

Piercing, arctic blue. 

Reze released Miri at once — he took a pained, wheezing breath. With the panic receding, he made an odd movement, clasping one hand in the other, like he was about to pull one of them off. Trigger. Advancing forwards, Reze grabbed the wrist of the hand he was trying to remove, and slapped the other hand over his mouth.

“Don’t”, she hissed, so utterly vicious that she felt Miri recoil. “If you do that, I’ll have to kill you. Don’t waste your life by assuming I can’t. I’ll rip your arms off and leave you somewhere no-one will ever find you. Good luck regenerating, then.” 

Reze practically devoured the flushes of anger, fear and confusion that rippled across those striking eyes. Incrementally, Miri let his hands drift apart. In turn, Reze removed her own hand from his wrist with equal slowness, though the hand at his mouth remained.

“Don’t scream”, she instructed, glaring at Miri with fierce intensity. “I just want to talk. You’re lucky I have some pity for you.” As Miri nodded, Reze pulled away. For a moment, he just watched her impassively. Then, his features contorted with animosity.

“Why the hell are you —” Miri began yelling, before Reze punched him hard, right in the solar plexus. Miri cut off with a ragged wheeze, doubling over. Reze’s hand flew to his mouth again.

“Quiet. Maybe winding you will shut you up”, Reze whispered, harshly. For all the quirks of Human Weapons, their anatomy was still human; Miri groaned, snatching at painful breaths against Reze’s palm. As expected, when Reze withdrew for the second time, Miri did not speak. Instead, he let out a series of shallow gasps, unable to properly inhale.

With his silence, as it was, guaranteed, Reze took the opportunity to talk. “Do you like to hurt people, Miri? Is that why you joined the Church?” Eyes watering, Miri shook his sorry head in response. 

Reze continued to press. “That’s what the Church wants to do. They’re going to hurt a lot of people. Is that what you want?” Miri shook his head even more vigorously, clutching at his chest. He was trying to form a word, but all that emerged from his mouth were strangled groans.

“Did you know about this?” Reze went back around the desk — and hit the revolver against the table with a firm thunk. There was a moment of mute horror, as Miri beheld the weapon with (what appeared to be) genuine surprise and revulsion. Then his noisy, laboured breathing kicked off once more.

“There’s a file on Denji and his little sister beneath the gun. What do you think that means? Denji set you free, and this is how you repay him? I thought you wanted to be friends.”

With great effort, Miri managed to push out a single word. “P…pr-prophecy.”

Oh, it’s a doomsday cult. Great. Reze would have to change tack: appealing to Miri’s better nature would be fruitless, given all the crap they’d no-doubt stuffed into his hollow head. Let’s try for his selfish side. 

“You want to be Denji’s friend, but you’re plotting to harm him. You want to think for yourself, but you transfer schools at their beck and call. I wonder, what did you leave behind? People? Places? A café you liked? A park you would walk through?” When Miri didn’t shake his head, Reze knew she was questing in the right direction. “Sounds to me like you’re still doing things you don’t want to, Miri. Is that freedom?”

With the volume of his wheezing decreased, Miri was slowly recovering from the blow. “Just for…a bit…the…greater…good.” His voice was ugly and strained.

Reze came very close to his face. Hunched over as he was, the pair were at eye-level. “Believe me, Miri. There is no greater good, there is no lesser evil, there is no ‘only following orders’ — when it’s just you, at night, trying to fall asleep. There’s nothing but all those faces you killed. The context just melts away with time, but the faces don’t.” 

Though Reze was quite aware that Miri wasn’t really the person she was talking to anymore, she didn’t stop. She reached further, pulling the words up from her guts. From the deepest, darkest depths of her — that way, they’d be true, and he might just hear her. 

“People like us, we have a lot of time. A hell of a lot of sleepless nights ahead of us.” Tilting her head, she drew attention to her pin, running a finger around that metal circle. That reveal was another risk, but he needed to believe in their commonality. Miri watched, breathless. “You might believe the Church now, but will you in one hundred years? Two hundred?” Quanxi’s own grim prophecy flashed vividly across her mind: There’s still a human in you. It ages just like anyone else. Then one day, it rolls over and dies. 

“Imagine all those ghosts with you. All that time. Right the way until the sun burns out of the fucking sky, four billion years from now.” Hell to Miri, the words were affecting her; Reze’s hands were shaking, desperate to claw at him, or claw at anything at all. “Think about that when you sleep tonight. And the next day, try telling the other Weapons you don’t want to do something. Something important. Pay attention to the way they tell you no.”

From the quietness of Miri’s inhales, he seemed to have recovered. Still, he said nothing. Almost tenderly, Reze put a hand against the boy’s cheek, just to see how he’d react. Would he blush? Would he lash out? Neither — he flinched, his expression morphing into a rictus of disgust, though he didn’t pull away. Interesting. 

“You said that they reward you, for the things you do”, Reze said, sadly. “Money. Women?” Rabbits? “A gilded cage is still a cage, Miri. I wish someone would have told me that an awfully long time ago. The second best thing I can get is telling you.”

Like before, Miri’s eyes darted wildly over Reze’s face, desperate to find some recognition. Whatever he found there instead made him pull away, albeit quite slowly. Reze let her hand fall. Did I reach him?

Just then, the office door opened, and something else came inside. 

It was smiling.

Chapter Text

Physicality.

That was the word that rose unbidden to Reze’s mind. The smiling thing had such physicality: it raised its arm to close the door behind it, slow and deliberate, like it was savouring the push and pull of each muscle within its broad shoulder. It then turned back to face them. The way it walked was striking: though only taking a few steps forward, it walked solidly, like the entire world would just part around it. As it moved squarely in Reze’s direction, she had a sudden, panicked vision of it failing to stop — that it would keep walking into and through her, immutable, as if she was nothing more than smoke.

“Hi there!”, it said, several decibels too loud, and smiling. “I have a feeling we know each other, but let’s put ‘er there anyway. I’m Barem.” It extended a large hand in Reze’s direction.

What was it about this thing — man, he’s just a man — that made Reze’s skin crawl? Was it his strength, his body straining at his ill-fitting shirt? She noticed his tie, stuffed bizarrely into his breast pocket. Why? Was he anticipating a fight?

Or was it his eyes? They were jet-black like Quanxi’s…and yet were nothing like hers at all. Quanxi’s eye held depth, like looking down into a dark, teeming sea. Barem’s were blank. The glassy eyes of dead fish on ice. 

Fighting to quell her unease, Reze went to take his hand — only for Barem to snatch it away before she could make contact. He brought his hand to his face, putting his thumb to his nose and splaying the palm out in some ludicrous, childlike gesture. Like there wasn’t a gun only metres away, warming patiently in the light of sunset.

“Too slow!” Barem shouted gleefully, before bursting into loud, fitful laughter. The corners of his eyes became wet with tears.

Reze was completely at a loss. Never in all her life had she felt so unsure of herself or what she should do next. Miri didn’t seem to be faring much better: he stood, a little hunched, trying to figure out where he should put his hands.

Eventually, the laughter died down. Barem put his hands on his hips, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He seemed to be enjoying the excruciating silence.

“So”, Barem said, much softer this time. “There’s a party in my office, hmm? What’s the occasion?” He didn’t look at the gun. No-one looked at the gun — and yet, Reze and Miri could practically feel its warm muzzle pressed against their necks. 

Reze, stood close to Miri, moved her hand surreptitiously to behind his back. Gradually, she pushed her pointer finger harder and harder against the base of his spine. A small, silent threat. “I’m a prospective member. Miri was just showing me around.” Her tone was a masterclass: bright and casual, with just the slightest touch of play along or I’ll kill you.

Miri, hopeless as he was, immediately buckled under the pressure of an authority figure. “Uh — I mean, yeah, standard tour stuff.” His voice was still strained from the earlier winding, though Barem didn’t seem to take any notice.

Instead, Barem beheld the two of them for a moment — before he abruptly began striding across the room, arms swinging. In a few, long strides, he was behind the table. His heavy hand fell upon the wood, right next to the revolver. He made no move to touch it, though. More maddening still, he didn’t even look at it, as if he somehow hadn’t noticed the gun inches from his skin.

“What do you think, then? It seems like you’ve had a pretty good look.” The smile hadn’t slipped, but Barem’s tone had become noticeably darker.

Choosing her words carefully, Reze spoke to Barem like you would to a dangerous animal, keeping her eyes firmly trained on his hands. “You’re powerful. And ambitious. I wonder how far you’ll go.”

Smiling even wider, Barem leaned back with a sigh, taking his hand from the table to place it against his hip. Reze tried not to openly display her relief. Miri didn’t, sagging even further downwards. He kept deathly silent.

“That’s quite the question. If you ask me, I say we’ll stop when we’ve saved the world”, Barem said, matter-of-fact.

“By killing all the Devils?” Reze asked, knowing that wasn’t what he meant.

“Nope!” Barem exclaimed, pointing a finger to the sky condescendingly. “We save the world by bringing Chainsaw Man back. Have you noticed that he hasn’t been fighting Devils lately? Isn’t that mysterious?” 

Without warning, Barem stepped forwards and took the revolver into his hand, barrel-first. The movement was strangely casual, like he was picking up food from a market shelf. He pointed the grip at Reze. “Do you want to know what I think?”

Reze said nothing, nodding her head by a fraction.

“I like to think of Chainsaw Man as a big, delicious omelette”, Barem mused, stalking slowly around the room. “Everyone loves an omelette.” 

Barem was advancing towards Reze now, the world shifting around him. It was like holding your ground against a charging bear. “To get an omelette, we have to break a couple of eggs, don’t we?”

Now within arms’ distance, Barem's face became suddenly, awfully slack. All emotion fell from it at once. He raised the revolver above Reze’s head, as if he was about to bless her with it. Instead, he brought the grip slowly downwards. It touched Reze’s forehead with the lightest tap. At the same time, Barem made a sharp noise from the corner of his mouth: “Crrk.” The sound of a cracking egg.

Pure understanding, cold and complete, rushed through Reze at such an intensity that it almost felt like relief. Barem knew who she was. He knew everything about her: where she lived, where she slept, what she liked to eat. This was all play — he’d been playing with her, all this time.

Reze knew him, too. Barem was a Hybrid, and one of the most dangerous men she’d ever known. She’d have bet her life on it.

It seemed Reze hadn’t hidden her dawning horror very well, as Barem’s dead face split into a cruel, mocking grin.

The fight-or-flight hit Reze with all the strength of a sledge hammer. Her hands spasmed with the effort it took not to launch at him, burn him, kill him. Sheer panic. Whatever remained of Reze’s sanity reminded her desperately that a fight here would be suicide: at least two Hybrids, hundreds of civilians with firearms, in a closed environment with which she wasn’t familiar. She was helpless. That only made the fear worse.

Leave. There was no tactic, nothing to be gained here. Reze kept calm, as much as was possible. With precision, she pivoted on the spot so quickly that even Barem appeared to startle. Swift but controlled, Reze marched to the door and threw it open, all in one uninterrupted movement. 

For a split-second, her eyes met the room’s occupants as she turned to walk away. She sent Miri a look that bordered on pleading. She gave Barem nothing but revulsion. That monster was watching her like he hadn’t quite decided whether to let her go or hunt or down. In that instant, it occurred to Reze that there was something of Makima about him. They had that same, uncanny intensity.

Reze rounded the corner, and they were gone. Still, it wasn’t far enough. She kept up that brisk, barely controlled march all the way down the corridor, through the horrible entrance hall, with all its idiotic students buzzing around like gormless flies, out the door, into the air —

The spill of fresh air into Reze’s lungs was so welcome she almost fell to her knees. It was crisp, dark, the sun having only just dipped beneath the horizon. Even more welcome was the sight of Denji. He was just about visible in the pale darkness, sat beneath one of the nearby trees that lined the street.

The sound of shoes on stone echoed loud as Reze went to him. Denji was messing around in the grass, drawing his fingers through the soil and roots like he was searching for something. He looked up at Reze, standing over him. She looked down. Neither spoke. There was a strange, frantic energy pulsing between the two of them, like prey animals cornered, desperate for the fight they would lose. 

“They’re going to kill me”, Reze said. Her voice sounded so far away, like it was something separate from her.

“Yeah”, Denji replied.

“We should kill them all now.” Turning her back on a threat like this scared her much more than a head-on blaze of glory, stupid though it was.

“Yeah”, Denji said again. “‘Cept, I can’t be Chainsaw Man, ‘cos they’ll kill Nayuta, right?”

“Yeah. And I can’t become Bomb, because my superiors will find me.” Reze thought a little longer. “But soon, one of us will have no choice. When the Church decides to attack our home.”

“Uh-huh.” Both of them were shaking.

“Barem…” Reze began, but the words failed her. Judging by the expression on Denji’s face, he’d also had the displeasure of meeting that monster.

“That guy’s a real bad egg”, Denji grumbled, with a choice of words so poor that a bubble of pained laughter burst out of Reze’s chest.

“No, we’re the eggs!” Reze laughed, feeling the grip on her self-control loosening. 

Denji gave her an odd look, but didn’t respond. Instead, he finally stood up. In his hand, he held a small stone that he’d pried up from the earth. Suddenly, with a burst of speed, he ran towards the building before stopping short, letting the momentum flow into his arm. He threw in that way boys had, his arm swinging sideways and flicking at the final moment. The stone was launched at a blistering pace. It sailed, straight as an arrow —

Smash.

A small window, one of hundreds, exploded in a glittering burst of sound. Then, Denji turned back to look at Reze, grinning like a maniac.

“No-one said nothing about me makin’ a mess in Denji form”, he grinned. Denji was no longer shaking; it was like all that nervous energy had been transmitted through the stone and out. 

With a ferocity that made Denji burst out laughing, Reze fell on all fours and rooted around in the grass and soil until she found her prize. In the darkness, she relied on touch; her hands found that cold, muddy stone like she’d plucked a pearl from the sea. 

Destroying a part of that ugly, stupid building was one of the best things Reze had ever done. One satisfying smash of glass, and the prey animal-buzz lessened. By the time she’d turned around to find Denji, he’d already collected several more stones. Reze laughed again, but this time she meant it.

“In the comics and stuff I used to read”, Denji said, in-between throws, “People would egg places they didn’t like. Seems like a waste of food to me.”

“We could find some rotten ones in the trash. Make this place all stinky.”

“I used to think old eggs weren't that bad. You just gotta ignore the smell.” Denji paused, then said, “Nah, they’re bad. I’ve got good food now. I couldn’t go back.”

“We’ve got good food now”, Reze corrected him. “Let’s eat together, after this.”

“Yeah”, Denji agreed, with a lopsided grin. 

There came a commotion at the doors — clearly, Reze and Denji’s smashing of windows hadn’t gone unnoticed. The pair took off, running like street dogs into the city, disappearing down alleyways and behind chain-link fences. Though the sound of footfall was close behind, it already felt like the danger had passed. It was funny. Everything was funny, and they had dinner to go home to.

Breathless, the pair threw themselves behind a dumpster, hiding from their pursuers like they were just teenage delinquents hiding from the cops. Like they were normal kids. Despite the exertion, both of them were still laughing as they sat against the grimy wall. The ‘cops’ were going to hear them! So, Reze, who had also seen it in comics and movies and stuff, kissed him.

It seemed like Denji would never get used to kissing, no matter how badly he claimed to want it. He froze up, arms awkwardly at his sides, probably not even closing his eyes. Reze didn’t mind. She’d swallowed his laughter, and the sound of their assailants was melting away. 

“What are you so scared for? Scaredy cat”, Reze teased in a whisper, laying her hand on Denji’s cheek to try and pull him in. He made a sort of flustered, humming noise, before working up the courage to…put his hand on her arm. Reze chuckled against his mouth, continuing the rather one-sided kiss. It defied belief, that Denji had retained this shy innocence, despite everything…

They fought off the cold, as long as they could. It was a terrible moment to leave, to face the reality that they weren’t normal teenagers, and that the awful tomorrow was surely soon to come, but…

In the meantime, at least they had food.