damned_institute | Nightshift 42: The Bookworm

Sanzo's eyes flicked down as Takasugi's fingers tightening on the knife handle. Instinctively, he shifted the grip on the gun. His gaze went back up to Takasugi's face. That mask was slipping again. Once again he was seeing more proof what he'd initially suspected was underneath. He wasn't about to forget the way Takasugi had looked when he'd mentioned that Vice Commander earlier, the way he spoke of him. Takasugi'd had that mask on, that casual air about him, but something in his eyes and voice'd changed.

There'd been hatred there, bitterness, and something else. It'd bordered on obsession. He was seeing glimpses of it even now.

"You aren't hard to understand," the monk said dismissively. Sanzo wasn't pleasant to the people he fought alongside. He saw no reason to show any special treatment to someone who was no better than some of the scum they'd seen on the way West.

"Tell me, if we weren't in this shit hole, if the Vice Commander were to die tonight, what would you do? Go home peacefully?"

Did he think it was so easy? That his vengeance boiled down to one sole target. The Shinsengumi were mere icing on a larger force. The Amanto were the ones who had come into Edo and had taken everything from him. They'd banned their swords, took their lands, murdered their people. Murdered Shoyou-sensei.

These things he couldn't easily forgive.

He didn't care how many he had to kill to finally redeem all their deaths, he would live just long enough to see their faces frozen in pain and fear just before he delivered the final blow with his own hands. The blade remained at his side, but there was tension in his body, like a predator ready to swing its claws outwards and ensnare whatever creature happened to wander into its path.

"The Vice Commander is not the only man whose blood I wish to see spilled. Were he to die tonight, either here or back in Edo, it would make no difference to me. There are still plenty of others whom I wish to see suffer."

Sanzo snorted. Of course. There'd always be more. The Vice Commander was a figurehead. That made things convienant for that blood lust of his.

"Fine, he's just one in a group. Where does it stop for you? When do you put the sword down and go home?"

Even as he spoke, Sanzo doubted there was an end for Takasugi. The man was the type to thrive off the violence and chaos. Giving it up seemed unlikely.Maybe (and that was a big if right there) there'd been some driving event years back, and he hadn't always been twisted.

Or maybe he had. It didn't matter at this point. Sanzo'd been growing more and more apprehensive about Takasugi the more he saw of the man earlier, and each moment with him only confirmed his suspicions.

"I've said it before. You're full of shit. But maybe you don't even want it to end."

There was never an end to the carnage. His ambitions were too great -to destroy all of Edo. Some claimed it impossible, but he wasn't the kind of person who would claim to do something he wasn't entirely capable of.If he wanted to destroy Edo, he would, no matter the amount of sacrifices.

And yes, that included himself.

He wasn't naive enough to think he would survive the aftermath. He knew he would end up being caught in the crossfire and would inevitably have to sacrifice his own life to finally reach his goal, something he had few qualms about. After all, his life had already ended with that man's death.

"It'll end when I die."

So he had no intention of stopping, no real answer to when it'd end. Even if Takasugi somehow survived that conflict back home, if he didn't get hunted down in the process, it sounded like he'd just intend to keep on going with the bloodshed anyway. The monk gave him a scathing look. He'd never respected throwing your life away, no more than he respected killing just to kill.

Sanzo folded his arms.

"You just proved me right. You're a sham. It's just an excuse for you."

His eye remained narrow, still radiating displeasure. He wasn't sure what the monk was continuing to insinuate, but he excused as it a matter of cultural and temporal difference. For him, to die in battle was the greatest honor. That much hadn't changed. Every samurai believed this, and those that didn't were the ones who had diverged from their path.

What Sanzo saw as a waste of his life was contrary to him. There was no better way to use his life than to accomplish his goal. Sacrifices had to be made in war for the greater good.

"An excuse? To die for a cause -- does that hold no worth for your? Or would you rather cling to your life and merely watch those who have taken everything from you continue to rampage through the land and abuse your people?" Takasugi paused, starting to advance on Sanzo and back him into a corner. "You're a benevolent man, even with that mask of indifference. You are the kind that can't stand to see someone innocent suffer. You've expressed consternation at my violent disposition because you fear how I will unleash it, which means, on some level, the worth of a human life is high for you. Therefore, were I to threaten to murder a child in front of you, would you sit there and look me in the eye and do nothing at all?"

Dying for a cause was as good as throwing your life away. A waste. The only way to live was to live for yourself, and that included shedding the other ties that burdened you. There were so many potential ways to fuck with people under the guise of a cause that it wasn't even funny. People became pawns, or worse. Takasugi was a new one. It'd be the first time he'd seen someone operating under a cause like this. It sounded like there was some personal history, outside of that desire for blood. In a way Sanzo could understand wanting to take things into your own hands (hell, he'd been in the middle of doing it on the way West), but there'd be a time when it was over, you had to stop. And Takasugi'd made it clear that there wouldn't be any such end.

"Letting myself be a pawn has no worth to me," Sanzo corrected. Although from what he could see from Takasugi, he was no more a pawn than he was. Instead, he'd made his cause into one for his own personal desires. "I'm talking about the fact that you're hiding behind this 'cause': if you think you're doing it for any noble reasons, that's a load of shit right there. You're saying that even if these people you're going against were to die, you'd keep doing the same shit, even if there wasn't any more need for that cause of yours. You can't go back."

Takasugi was moving. Sanzo'd taken several steps back unconsciously, instinctively; he'd been paying attention to that hypothetical situation he'd posed that he hadn't realized he'd moved in response. Through sheer will, Sanzo stopped himself. His hand shifted on the gun. The man was getting closer, and Sanzo didn't like it. He didn't like the way the man was trying to figure him out.

"Threatening means nothing," he'd seen plenty of threatens, empty ones and real ones. "If you did make a move, I'd have to kill you."

Takasugi's eye didn't miss the way Sanzo had reached for his gun, and he grinned. He was a man who thrived on the power he held over others, that ability to manipulate their every move and action; that ability to predict the way they thought and anticipate their actions. It was already starting to become more definite.

One of them wouldn't walk away alive from this encounter.

He'd already revealed too much of himself, and he knew Sanzo would stand in his way at some point. It was obvious the man's thoughts and desires couldn't be molded into something that would be beneficial to his own cause. He simply refused to be converted, even into fighting against the institution. This man would only kill to defend but not kill for a better purpose.

That was the true waste.

"I keep telling you that nothing will remain after I die. I intend to eradicate it all beforehand."

He advanced again, a strange calm enveloping his body in spite of the monk's threat. He was a man who no longer feared death, where as Sanzo continued to hesitate. That hesitation is what causes the greatest distinction between the two of them. While Sanzo was weighted down by his own moral conscience, Takasugi was entirely absent of it.

A true beast.

Sanzo'd seen that look and change in body language plenty of times to know what it was. The intent to kill. The monk didn't hesitate. The Smith & Wesson was up, leveled right between his cellmate's eyes.

"You've got three seconds to get the hell out of my sight." Anymore than that and he wouldn't wait. He'd put a bullet into him.

Even then, his eyes scanned the room. It wasn't a good place for a gunfight. They were barricaded in, the undead outside moaning and clawing at the walls, and the upstairs wasn't acounted for. There could be either more of those things or other patients. It was also cramped in here. Getting any kind of distance, short of this opening shot, was going to be tough.

His gaze brushed over the window, at the growing mass of undead clawing at it. If he had any luck, he could try and manuever Takasugi into way they'd just come from.

Takasugi's gaze fell on the gun aimed right for his head. He knew one shot would kill him off completely, and that's all it would take. Still... the monk didn't shoot him, even knowing that Takasugi was anything but an innocent.

That was the funny thing about moral obligations, wasn't it? They could prove so detrimental. Men stripped of them always came out on top.

"1..." Takasugi began counting, finishing those last strides.

"...2...," he continued, his face just as steady and unchanging as ever.

If one knew what to look for, they could see the hunger that lingered behind his eye, setting him apart from any normal person. He no longer bore the look of someone rational but an animal that knew only of feeding its own voracious appetite and that bade him to close those last few steps in between.

Edited 2009-07-26 06:48 (UTC)

He hadn't expected Takasugi to take the warning, but he'd at least counted on the man stopping for a second. Instead, the son of a bitch was still walking towards him. He was actually counting, almost tauntingly.

He didn't like this. The suicidal ones were the worst, because since they didn't care if they lived or died, they took risks many people wouldn't take. It made them unpredictable, and in some cases, tougher.

Takasugi was advancing on him, that knife in hand, a hunger practically written on his face.

Sanzo took a step back, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet ripped through his cheek and grazed along the left side of his face, taking some of the bandages and his flesh with it. He'd anticipated its projected path, knowing full well Sanzo would attempt to shoot at him, giving him the slightest advantage, but still, his speed and reflexes couldn't fully compensate.

In spite of the pain that spread over his skin, he didn't stop. Stopping would give Sanzo another chance to shoot, and he could ignore the pain as long as he needed to. His speed suddenly rose in an instant as he pushed his own body right up against Sanzo's, the knife in his hand, sinking hard and deep into the monk's abdomen.

"3."

He twisted it, slowly and deliberately, drawing more blood. It flowed thick and unending down his fingers and along his arms like a warm and pleasant caress that he didn't think he could ever tire of. His lips met Sanzo's ear while he held the blade in place, too close to be shot should Sanzo attempt to retaliate before he died. His voice was nothing more than a deep whisper while he spoke.

"Didn't I tell you when we first met? I will kill anything that stands in my path."

Takasugi was far faster than he'd given him credit for. In hindsight, Sanzo should've just shot him immediately, without the warning. As it was, that warning had given the other man a slight edge, enough to anticipate.

The bullet missed, going rippling through the cheek instead of the brain, when Takasugi was suddenly in his face. Sanzo tried to jerk away, tried to knock him back when the knife was suddenly buried in his stomach. The monk stiffened. For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick. There was a familiar flash of pain: he'd been stabbed before but...

Takasugi twisted the blade. Sanzo choked. The only thing that stopped him from falling was the desk pressed against the back of his legs. Instinctively, his free hand grabbed Takasugi's wrist, tried to pull the knife out.

His cellmate was leaning in, whispering, too close to get a headshot. How fucking ironic. Sanzo coughed. How many times had he said the same line?

"Go fuck yourself." he grit out. "You're already dead."

It was awkward, but Sanzo tried anyway. He jammed the gun against the closest part of Takasugi and fired, unloading the rest of the rounds.

The first bullet had sunk into his side, eating away at his flesh, but it was another thing he had anticipated for. He managed to avoid being critically wounded by moving away quickly, though blood was already pouring out of the wound and sliding down his pant leg. He had to abandon the knife in Sanzo's body, not having enough time pull it out, but the damage had been done.

If organ malfunction didn't kill him then the blood loss would. He doubted Sanzo could get to any safety in his condition, and there was nobody around to save him or even watch him die. The creatures were more than likely to reach him first and finish him off.

His body collided with the wall as he dove away, and he slid down awkwardly, holding his wounded side and waiting for the last bullets to be lost somewhere. He could still hear the zombies clawing fervently at the windows and groaning loudly, but there were none close enough to them to get in the way at the moment, something of which he was thankful for as the pain continued to throb. There he remained for some time, watching Sanzo's body and waiting to see if he'd be able to get up in that state and try to attack him again.

A faint sweat was breaking out over the monk's skin, even as Takasugi smashed against the wall.

Takasugi'd been hit, and in the process, disarmed. He couldn't tell if only one round had hit or if the others had, but he'd put space between them. Breathing hard, Sanzo looked down. The knife was embedded right to the hilt. The wound was ragged, twisted because of Takasugi; the blood wasn't even being stoppered by the weapon.

Sanzo's legs buckled, but he pulled himself up, and leaned heavily on the desk. With an unsteady hand, he drew the knife out. The pain shot through his body, right up to his skull. The monk's jaw clenched. For a moment, he thought he'd just pass out right then and there.

The blade was covered in blood. Not just his blood, but blood and tissue from the undead outside.

Sanzo pressed the hand holding the empty gun to it, in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. Each move made him want to gag, but he stood anyway. Knife clenched tightly in hand, he took a step, then another towards Takasugi.

Even if he wanted to run at the moment, it would be impossible. Takasugi had taken too much damage for his body to be of much use at the moment. He could do little more than watch as the monk approached him with each step. He had the advantage in strength and would fight if it came down to that, but whether or not he'd live through another attack... he wasn't even certain any more.

Nevertheless, his eyes showed neither fear nor anxiety. What was done was done, and he would live with whatever consequences came about as a result.

His hand moved to his own wound, pressing against it and feeling the blood leak out too quickly, making his fingers sticky. It was still warm and pouring out incessantly, but the bullet had luckily grazed him and tore a lot of skin with it rather than lodging itself inside. The latter would have been a severe problem since he currently lacked the tools to extract the bullet.

"Are you angry? You shouldn't be. You will die for a worthy cause."

Takasugi hadn't moved, even as the monk drew closer and closer. He finally entered striking rage. Sanzo could feel the blood pooling up against the Smith & Wesson, staining his hand. He was losing blood at an alarming rate. He couldn't keep moving like this for long. Each step was jarring, sending more pain throughout his body, even while at the edge of his senses, he could feel a a hint of numbness starting at his limbs,

Which meant he'd have to try and end it, quickly. And yet, Takasugi was looking at him like that. The fucker actually suggested that this would all fit into his grand plan. Sanzo's eyes flashed angrily at that.

Sanzo lunged, the move driven by sheer adrenaline. He struck out with the knife.

Takasugi's arms went up on their own accord. Years of battle-honed reflexes were the only things that kept him from being stabbed through, but he manages to get a hold of Sanzo's thin wrists and hold them, pushing away with whatever strength he had left.

He had to throw the weight of his own body, knocking Sanzo back and trying to wrestle the knife away. He could feel more blood pouring out of him angrily and incessantly, covering the floor between them and enticing the zombies outside. He couldn't stop here. His will to live was still stronger than what he had suggested.

The bullet wounds were bleeding out but it hadn't been enough to distract him, much less dull his reaction time. Takasugi suddenly lurched forward. There wasn't any time to react: he was suddenly hit with the full brunt of the patient's weight.

Sanzo hit the ground with Takasugi on top of him. The fall'd jostled the knife wound, knocked the breath out of him. It was only instinct that kept his hands right around the knife. Takasugi's hands were straining, fingers digging deep into his wrists to keep them at a distance.

He tried to ignore the sparks swimming across his vision, or how leaden his limbs felt, how much everything fucking hurt. He needed to focus on finishing this off, now. Sanzo's wrists shook, as he tried to break the grip.

There wasn't anyway he was going to pull a throw off. The monk went the other route. He tried driving a knee up into the bullet wound.

The knee connected, sending sparks of pain through his side and making Takasugi's vision blur slightly. It was intense enough to make bile tickle the back of his throat again, and he knew he was going to lose consciousness soon if he didn't take care of his wounds.

Gritting his teeth and trying to breathe through the pain, he kept Sanzo pinned to the ground, increasing the amount of force used to hold down his limbs. His eye went towards the knife, knowing he had to dislodge it from his hand quickly if he planned on keeping himself from being stabbed. He increased the pressure on Sanzo's wrists, attempting to force him to drop it, but there wasn't much strength left in his arms, either. The only thing animating him now was sheer strength of will. He just knew he had to live -live and return to Edo to complete his goals.

He couldn't die here and now. His death wouldn't be wasted on something so meaningless to him.

Edited 2009-07-27 20:42 (UTC)

Sanzo's arms were shaking with the effort to jerk the knife up into him. Even so, he could feel his grip on the Smith & Wesson and knife weakening. Takasugi's fingers were digging into his wrists, drawing blood and putting pressure on the nerves and muscles there.

His fingers jerked. With a thunk the weapons fell, hitting the floor with a solid thunk. Sanzo surged again, aiming his knee at the same spot, even as he tried to roll out from under him.

Pain exploded again, nearly blanching his vision completely white, and Takasugi did throw up this time, coughing up whatever was in his stomach on the floor. His fingers dug into the ground below him, and he narrowed his eye, now just angry that Sanzo was still trying to drag him along to hell. His mind kept repeating that it wasn't his time to die, that things wouldn't end for him here. He'd lived through the end of the war before he was even in his twenties. He wasn't someone easily subdued by anyone -not this institution, not this man before him, and certainly not the Amanto.

He couldn't die knowing that the men who had killed his teacher still lived.

Pushing himself from the ground, he grabbed the discarded the knife and hobbled over to Sanzo. His entire body was dripping with blood, both his own and Sanzo's. Some of it also belong to the zombies. The scent of it was overwhelming and even invigorating, driving him those last few steps towards the monk.

Then he grinned maniacally and absent of any pity or mercy as his head cocked to the side and more blood sluiced down the side of his face.

"You remind me of him, you know... the Shiroyasha. He wouldn't have died so easily, either. And just like him, you'll die by my hand."

He moved with all the strength left in his body, pushing his legs and throwing his entire weight into plunging the knife in Sanzo's chest. There was nothing left to do. It was either all or nothing, and Takasugi wouldn't go down without a fight.

Holding his stomach, Sanzo scrambled out from under him, pressing himself against the wall. The distance between them wasn't much. It was better than being pinned.

The monk considered his options. It wasn't easy. Between the wounds and the contaminated blade, he could barely concentrate.

The world was swimming, in a way that Sanzo was pretty damn sure wasn't just due to blood loss. Takasugi's face was shifting, transforming before his eyes. Human one moment, then rippling features of youkai the next. The only thing that didn't change was that twisted smile. He'd seen the look on some of the more feral youkai before, the ones that wanted to eat his flesh to gain immortality. Whether he was alive or not when they started was a moot point.

Takasugi struck. The blade was aimed right for his chest. Sanzo didn't have the strength in him to get out of the way in time, but he tried anyway. Sanzo tried to duck to the side, and at the same time, bring his arm up to knock the blade away. It only partially worked. The blade didn't hit his chest.

Instead, it struck his shoulder. The knife sunk in, grated past bone, ripped through muscle and veins. The blade entered out the other side, and struck the wall, embedding itself there.

Sanzo couldn't speak. For a moment, he forgot how to breath.

More blood leaked onto the floor and pooled beneath his feat, staining the shoes the institute had given him. Takasugi watched as the main twitched and fought for life while it rapidly slipped form his fingers, but he couldn't bring himself to feel elated. This death was as meaningless to him as the next.

The pain continued to lance up his side, and his fingers pressed back to the wound, hunching over slightly as he panted outwards. He knew he was at the end of his tether and at a blatant disadvantage, especially against the creatures that were clawing their way inside. If he hoped to live till morning, he would have to find somewhere to hide and remain there, but there were few options available with them currently surrounded.

His gaze flickered around before landing back on Sanzo, prodding him with the edge of his foot to see if he had any more fight left in him after the dual stab wounds.

The monk was breathing hard. The only thing keeping him half-standing was the knife through his shoulder. Each little move and breath shifted his body around the knife, sending new jagged edges of agony right through him. He couldn't even hear the moaning right now. All he could hear was the the thundering in his head.

Takasugi prodded him with a taloned foot. Sanzo barely even noticed the touch. The limb changed, becoming insect-like before withdrawing.

Sanzo reached up with the other hand. Weakly, the monk tried to pull the knife out. It felt like he was trying to pull a tree from the ground. The blade didn't budge. His limbs felt heavy, even as he tried again. The result wasn't any different.

Nightshift 42: The Bookworm

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