(no subject)

[digitalemperor]

It'd been over a decade since the epidemic that wiped out a third of the earth's population, and the wars and political struggles that had risen in the following, chaotic years had down in for another half of what remained, if not more if one counted the death toll to disease and crime, the lack of modern medicine, the tainted environment and water in most urban areas and the general set back in civilization.

Mikado had been fifteen when it started. He was twenty-seven now. And like any of the survivors of the years between the end of the world and now... He was changed. One of the lucky ones to survive disease and war, right? Lucky... Survival came at a cost, and when the streets of Ikebukuro, once bustling with commerce and tourists, became a dead zone of gang warfare and violence, Mikado had been right in the middle of it. And powerless.

He'd learned just how powerless, painfully, and often. Until his hatred and anger had warped and tempered him into something cold and precise as a scalpel. He wasn't strong in the way the thugs and the fighters were, but amateurish inexperience could only last so long and Mikado was a fast learner. He rose to power on three things; his wits, his force of personality, and ruthlessness. Ambushing his enemies and using clever traps and guises to get him where brute strength couldn't, and using those connections that were drawn to his innate charisma to get him where only brute strength could. Even after disaster and damage, he had a certain ability to charm people with his personality, and those that followed him now were, by and large, either incredibly loyal or too useful to be rid of. In turn his mind and vision was too useful for even the less loyal followers to risk trying to be rid of, and so a balance was struck somewhere along the line. He'd lost the charming uncertainty and idealism but he'd gained a quiet, iron confidence that others were drawn to.

He had a game, a way to control the territory he'd wrested from lawlessness. Preventing fighting on the streets of the ruined city was impossible, but he could enforce it. Give it incentive. Only registered combatants would be suffered to be found fighting, and they could tear at each other as they wished, when they wished, wherever they wished. The incentive; tags given to everyone who registered, that could be ripped from a defeated opponent. They could be traded in for anything based on their number value. Better accommodations, whores, drugs, weapons, though guns were banned from the fights. The most skilled could, in theory, attempt for the specific poker hand of tags that would allow them to challenge the organization's mysterious and shadow'd leader, though none had ever reached that goal. In turn, anyone unregistered caught fighting would be summarily executed by the enforcers--unless the enforcers decided they were good looking enough to serve another purpose.

In that way, Ikebukuro stabilized a little. Non-combatants still feared the streets at night but thugs feared the enforcers more, and some semblance of life continuing grew a little, under the watchful laws of the lawless Dollars.

For Mikado this wasn't his end ambition but it was a start. But he hadn't expected, months ago, that one of the new combatants to register would have been Kida himself. The registration took place in the mansion the main members of Dollars called home, and with all registrations Mikado had been watching the newcomers put on their masks, his own in place before he revealed himself to meet them, explain the rules, and ask if they wanted to participate.

His heart had near stopped when he'd seen Kida. He almost hadn't recognized him, both their faces and voices had changed with age and trauma, and Mikado was sure Kida hadn't even had a remote moment of recognition when Mikado explained the purpose and perks of fighters. Mikado's own role in the world he'd created was the secretary to the shadowy and terrifying Dollar's boss, with none but the highest ranking aware that the quiet and no-nonsense, rather popular secretary-san was the shadowy Boss himself. That he dealt in everything from drugs to slavery and black market items, well, that was just a means of further acquiring power. Distasteful as it was, it was effective, and he left the more sadistic parts to those that most enjoyed it, usually.

But seeing Kida had shaken him, worried him in a way he wasn't aware he could still worry. Fighters died daily, defeat could mean anything from humiliation and rape to outright murder, anything was allowed in the laws of the game, but only within the game. A victor had complete freedom to deal with a loser as they saw fit, and after seeing Kida's face for the first time in years, Mikado had had his first nightmare in years; that same face dead and staring, lifeless and accusatory. For days afterwards he'd been grumpy and out of sorts, a state he couldn't afford to maintain.

Try as he might to put it from mind, he couldn't help but be drawn to Kida's progress in the fights. And Kida's presence brought with it other trouble. Members of a gang from a territory Mikado didn't control (not yet, but that was an eventual goal, they were strong enough to pose a problem for now though) had started showing up in Dollar's territory. They weren't registered fighters and they mostly respected the game's laws (those who didn't met bad ends, even rival gangs feared the consequences of violating Dollar's law) but they were still a concerning presence, trouble tracking Kida.

And Mikado was tracking them. He knew, after a few weeks of his underlings keeping tabs, that the gang was after Kida, and so he kept watch himself or through an underling.

So when Kida found himself being backed into a corner by the thugs of that group Mikado had been watching, Mikado happened to be there. If Mikado were an enforcer he'd have dealt with them ruthlessly, but he was only the Dollar's "secretary" and so he made a note of each face before he darted out of the shadow of one doorway, grabbed Kida's arm with a shouted "This way!" and ran.

No one knew the streets and back alleys like Mikado did, like he'd made a point to, and but still he kept them navigating the maze of abandoned and derelict buildings for twenty minutes to be safe, before coming to a stop in one mostly intact old apartment building, a little winded, letting go of Kida to glance cautiously out a broken window. The streets were empty, there wasn't a sound or feeling of anyone but the two of them.

Comments

hi i still had this tab open all this time

[concretejungles]

[He did pretty well, right after the epidemic. At first his ability to charm and to organize under pressure (and the echoes of his middle school reputation) made it easy -- he started out traveling from district to district, helping where he could. He picked people up as he went along, and when he recognised the pattern of followers growing around him like ripples, he'd grabbed onto it with all the practice he had and none of the fear he couldn't afford. He'd settled in Shibuya when it got too big to move around with, and let his people throw their weight underground while politics moved up above. "Kida Masaomi" and his "Yellow Flag Orchestra" had been a messy tumble of children. "Lucky Hearts" was a grand success, the poster of a group of noble rogues, helping those who couldn't help themselves and eventually pushing back against those remaining upper crust who tried to take advantage of the war and ensuing lawlessness to dig their corrupt claws in. Their leader was well known, too -- kind and charismatic, but ruthlessly fierce when needed, his youth didn't stop him from making his mark -- and he had no shame in talking up his naive, romantic ideals. Even the silly nickname "Lucky" was a spit in the face of the people he didn't like -- a challenge, and a joke, that a kid whose real name was long ago exchanged for something so juvenile didn't come up with something "better" once his gang became something. Rumor was he told anyone who asked that he thought "Lucky" was flashy and cool, and keeping it proved the gang was his life. Anybody who needed a name just to be scary could never be a hero.

A hero. For awhile -- for ten years, "Lucky" was a hero, in a world where heroes aren't supposed to exist. The fact that he could continue that way, that such a person could create and head an organization that controlled Shibuya and had roots all through Tokyo, seemed to fly in the face of logic and reason and reality. So it was somehow fitting that those very qualities were exactly what brought him down. For all those who loved him, there were as many who resented it, who believed it must be a lie, or that he was too weak to rule, or who simply hated seeing such a bright spark exist at all. And the group was big. It was open. They wanted to help. Lucky Hearts were bleeding hearts, and it wasn't all that difficult for someone to create a slowly creeping infection.

It's been a year now, since the coup. Since Lucky Hearts was taken over and consumed by "Fate", a name the man took as a statement of the inevitability of his triumph over something as fleeting and childish as "Luck". With the very public announcement of "Lucky"'s death, what was a gang with honor among thieves became yet another symbol of power and fear. But even the power of "Fate" couldn't entirely crush the rumors -- the ones that everyone's "hero" wasn't dead after all. The ones that loyalty and the sacrifice of a few other lives -- a neighbor's coworker's brother, some host's girlfriend -- kept luck alive, just barely. But of course, there's always that kind of rumor when a beloved figure goes, right? There's always a conspiracy. No one can ever find the source of the rumor. There might not be a body on display, but if he's alive, where did he go? What's he been doing for a year, letting his territory come to this? It must be bogus... right?

Kida wishes it was bogus, sometimes. There are a lot of days he'd rather be dead than where he is now. At the very least, he'd like to find a quiet place to hole up and suffer and die from the damage done to his body and his heart, even if takes fifty years to kill him. It won't, of course. He was saved, but only because there's something inside him that's a ticking time bomb, counting down to his "fated" end. If it weren't for that -- if he wasn't captured for the sake of that -- the people who died to rescue him wouldn't have found anything but a corpse. But he can put it off for awhile, thanks to the spider in Shinjuku he's never quite let go of. It's that same spider that helped him hide long enough to recover from the injuries of his defeat and the resulting torture. The problem is, Fate won't let him go. And even if he would, no matter how much he wants to lie down and die, Kida can't allow himself to sit by and watch what happens to his home and his people.

So he's playing in Dollars' game. There was a draw in approaching something so nostalgic -- the place he made his first reputation in. The place he was first a leader in. The place he first fought in. The place he left his friends in. The gang he'd heard rumors of and told those friends about, before things fell apart, now as big and scary as his own, but much more structured, strict, and self-contained. Ikebukuro sees to Ikebukuro. Everyone says so. It's like a world cut off from the outside. He thought, maybe, if he went there, Fate wouldn't be able to reach him. But it did, and in the four months or so that he's been playing, the agents of Lucky Hearts have gotten more and more aggressive about tracking him down. In a way it's an ego boost. It means Fate is still a little bit afraid of luck, and the Lucky who might come back to claim his throne. But it also means he's having a hell of a time keeping his nose down and his identity unknown. It helps that he's gone back to blonde, after displaying a flamboyant cherry red as Lucky. It also helps that he's kept his demeanor quiet and his clothing conservative and baggy, and his "time bomb" have given him dark circles under his eyes to help the tired look. But if a gang that doesn't belong here keeps poking around, eventually someone's going to start asking the wrong questions. He's going to be targeted by other players, too.

He was thinking about that as much as the guys after him when he was cornered. He knew he could probably beat them, but who would be watching? Did he want to display that level of competence this early in the game? He was considering throwing the fight a little and trying to make an injured escape when he suddenly found himself pulled into a doorway. Then they were running, too fast for him to register who had rescued him or why until they stopped. But once they did, it wasn't hard to remember the secretary. He's a person it wouldn't do to forget.]

...Why did you do that?

[He's not as worn out as Mikado when they stop, and he shows instant suspicion. Just because he was helped doesn't mean he's safe. He learned that a long, long, time ago. Idealistic hero he might have been, but it wasn't an easy or pleasant climb to a place where he could be one.]

bwahahah all mine

[digitalemperor]

[There are so many unofficial reasons Mikado stepped in, but "I was scared for you" is just not an option, neither is "I wanted to protect you". Honesty really isn't his forte these days and vulnerability is even less so. Even if it's Kida. Everyone's changed since those innocent days. Mikado knows that best of all. There's not even the faintest urge to be honest, instead glancing at Kida calmly after he ensures they're not being pursued.]

[It's strange how it actually hurts to see his friend like this, gaunt and tired and suspicious, without even a hint of recognition for Mikado. It's been a long time since he felt this kind of pang of worry and anger for anything not involving the operation of Dollars.]

Ah? Leaving you to them would leave me without someone to give the Enforcers an eye witness account of the rules violation that just occurred. Of course you'll be compensated for your time and cooperation.

[He smiles a little, calm and unruffled.] You see, I can't let an infraction like that go without consequences. So your help will be most valuable.

[There's only one "consequence" for violating Dollars law; having the ability to violate it a second time completely removed. Death is only the sentence about half the time, each individual Enforcer is allowed to make their own judgment and carry out their own sentence, but the result is always the same end goal, the person caught violating the rules of the game never commits the same infraction. Death is probably the most merciful result.]

[Yet Mikado comments on the need to involve the Enforcers as if it's the most natural thing, a minor concern. He looks Masaomi in the eye, smiles politely.]

Would you mind escorting me back, Masaomi-san? Of course if you're not busy, we can have you give your own account to an Enforcer immediately. Don't worry, you're not in trouble. Though I'd like to hear what that was about.

[It's not a bad excuse if he says so himself, even cross-examined with the Ikebukuro locals the Dollars' secretary is known to be, considering the organization, fairly humanitarian and invested in order. Sticking his neck out for someone might not be entirely typical, but it's not unheard of either. A certain amount of appearing sympathetic is good for popularity (whether that's an excuse to cover his own desire to help others is a thing Mikado has never cared to examine).]

[concretejungles]

[He's not in trouble. Right. He can be told that, but it doesn't change the fact that he's very likely to be in trouble, if the reason for the infraction is found out. After all, those gang members wouldn't be here if not for him. And what would Dollars do, knowing who exactly is playing in their game? "Masaomi" is just a sick-looking guy with some skill with a crowbar. "Lucky" is another thing altogether to have running around vying for the possibility of taking over.

But "Masaomi" shouldn't have any reason to be difficult, so he puts on a worn-out smile and tries his best to look only as nervous as he should be.]

Ah... Yeah, okay. I was just going home for the night, anyway. Can you believe the nerve, though? Chasing a guy this far over a debt... What I owe's a drop in the bucket for big guys like them.

[digitalemperor]

[Mikado examines Kida a moment and then heads out to the streets, walking back towards the Dollars headquarters, expecting Kida to keep up. It's not too far from here anyway.]

Ah... That must be a bit of an understatement. I don't think anyone with a small grudge would have the nerve to try anything in Ikebukuro... Well, it's also possible Dollars is being underestimated as well, I suppose.

[He slips his hands into his pockets, posture straight and stride easy as they walk.]

The matter will be corrected. Though it'd be better if you tell me the truth now rather than later. After all, you haven't broken any rules in Ikebukuro, whatever the animosity following you from outside.

[concretejungles]

Mm... Well, I guess it's not really like one drop...

[He laughs a little, quiet and subdued and sheepish. The persona he's wearing now isn't too far from the one he used to have, way back then. He's picked up "Masaomi" where he left off, tacking on the expected wear and tear and trying to make a believable whole out of it. Not that Lucky was all that different, either. Lucky was just a Masaomi who threw away his pride and doubt to become a symbol, and gained a world of bright lights in return. What he is now isn't a huge contrast, it's just tarnished and tattered like the uncertainties and fear he dug back out of the dumpster of his past.]

[digitalemperor]

[It really is strange, because Mikado recognizes him under that wear and tear. It's so easy to see his friend of years ago and to feel unsettled and sick for it. Masaomi looks gaunt, like he hasn't slept, or is ill--not too much but there's that familiar shadow under Masaomi's eyes that Mikado's seen in so many people--the shadow of unhealthiness. It's not really unusual these days but it's still not something he's happy to see in Masaomi. He can't say he's happy to see Masaomi at all, he doesn't know what emotion he feels for it. He almost wants to laugh though, that Kida's so recognizable but can't seem to recognize Mikado at all.]

[I wonder if I've changed that much?]

Well, we can talk about it inside.

[He lets the rest of the walk lapse into silence, contemplating his own thoughts on his companion, as well as the more pressing issues of how to deal with the situation of those daring to violate Ikebukuro's game rules. Before long they're at the headquarters, and Mikado shows them in, leading Kida past the main reception hall after pausing to speak to the man at the entrance, and back through a side door. Up some stairs to a small sitting room, rather luxurious in having nice furniture and working appliances.]

Would you like some coffee, Masoami-san?

[He's already heading over to the little counter to make some for himself. It's instant, but even that's a bit of a treat.]

[concretejungles]

[The luxury reminds him of home. "Home" as far as his base in Shibuya, anyway. It reminds him how shoddy his living conditions are now in comparison, and how far he's fallen in a year. He follows Mikado closely, taking in as much detail as he can in case of trouble.

There's something weird about this. Something about the way this guy says his name... But he can't place it. He must just be on edge.]

Sure. Thank you...

[digitalemperor]

[Mikado nods, amiably, and pours two mugs, bringing them over and setting one down in front of Kida, a polite host, before sitting down across from him on a comfortable sofa. To be honest he doesn't present the picture of someone involved in a gang like Dollars at all. He insists on wearing a suit, his hair is neat, there aren't any visible tattoos or piercings on him at all. He is known as the secretary, not a fighter, but he just doesn't give off any kind of hooligan or tough guy vibe at all.]

[To most normal people his aura is quietly reassuring, to someone as aware as Kida, that kind of lack of intimidation factor in someone as highly placed as Mikado is in Dollars might seem strange or even suspicious.]

[Mikado blows on his coffee and sips it, watching Kida across the table.]

It should be a little while before we're interrupted. Do you mind if I ask you something a little unrelated? I'm sorry if it's somewhat personal.

[concretejungles]

[It's definitely strange. This guy is strange. He's too calm, too unassuming, too ordinary for where he is. Something about it puts Kida on edge, sends a chill down his spine that settles in his gut and keeps him tense. He forces himself to sit back in the chair he's chosen, getting comfy like a poor guy unused to decent furniture or warmth should. Like someone with the criminal stupidity of the mostly un-initiated. He's trying his hardest to project the image of a local boy who got in over his head just recently and hasn't yet learned the ropes of the underworld.

The only thing that betrays his experience is the way he holds that cup of coffee carefully, firmly enough to throw it if he needs to, but doesn't drink.]

I guess it's fine. I can't promise an answer though. A guy's gotta be careful, right?

[concretejungles]

[Another couple of weeks after their drunken encounter, Mikado and Masaomi figured out a plan of attack. Though Kida dances around the events surrounding his fall, he's more than forthcoming with any strategic details he has about Fate. After a long discussion, they determined that the best source of action was to allow Lucky to reappear, allied with Dollars. It'll give the people of Shibuya hope and return fighting spirit to those who still think of themselves as Lucky Hearts. It'll also put Kida himself above a simple kidnapping or assassination.

It's also a declaration of war. That's scary, but it's something that really needs to be done. And it's something that can only be pulled off this early in Fate's rule. It's inspiring a civil war in Shibuya as much as it is calling for war between Fate and Dollars, and it makes the latter war a strange stalemate.

In the meantime, being "Lucky" again has done wonders for Kida's mental state. It's like the confidence and attitude he was famous for came back the moment he dyed his hair back to Lucky's signature red. He pulled his identity back on with his flamboyant clothes, and in the nearly two months since he's become a constant, bright presence in the Dollars base. He's kept up the charade that he's in league with the Dollars boss, even having plenty of fake meetings, but he's made himself known amongst the lessers members as well. He's just like that. "Masaomi" kept to the shadows, but "Lucky" talks to everyone. He makes friends with everyone. He hangs out in the kitchen, the club rooms, flirts with the whores and plays cards with the security guards. The hopeless emptiness with which he'd stared out his apartment window when Mikado discovered him is now replaced with laughter and charming, cheeky grins.

Here is the person Mikado had always wanted to meet. Unfortunately, this boundless energy and complete lack of self-restraint means he's also really obnoxious to anyone who has to put up with him in a professional context or who is particularly straight-laced. Like Mikado, who is currently having to suffer from the terrible fate of going to pee and coming back to find Lucky lying on his back on his desk, in the middle of the papers he'd been working on, playing with his glasses.]

I can't believe you wear these!

[digitalemperor]

[Mikado on the other hand has been more stressed than ever. Running a gang doesn't really require paperwork traditionally but running a city does, and in essence that's exactly what Mikado's job is; he runs Dollars, and Dollars is a governmental body in a weird way. A really twisted, fucked up one in an even more chaotic world, but people need clothes, food, water, goods, supplies, power--Mikado is the administrator that keeps Ikebukuro running, that has this section of Tokyo known for being the closed world it is. For all the violence in Dollars' methods, there's a lot of mundane every day details Mikado quietly oversees or makes sure the right people oversee as well.]

[Which is why declaring war on Fate is an extra headache. It's the best move for Lucky Hearts of course, this support from Dollars comes at the best time it can. It's a risky as hell move for Dollars though, even though Mikado never planned to let Fate remain, he hadn't planned to act this boldly or soon either. Putting Ikebukuro at risk is a move he wouldn't have contemplated for anyone else, and it's something that has him more stressed than he's been in years. This city is all he's lived for, for a long time now, and the semi-peace he's achieved for a lot of people... But Lucky Hearts' territory was also like that, it was a haven. Maybe a better one than Dollars.]

[He believes in what he's doing, he doesn't regret the strategy he and Masaomi worked out. But it's left him anxious ever since.]

[There's also the matter of Kida's illness, and that's something he's been investigating and funding quietly on his own since he learned about it. The fact that results continue to be lackluster, that there's no good news yet... He knows he shouldn't be impatient but it's not really something he can afford to wait years for either. There's a time limit.]

[The good side of things is Lucky is a popular person everywhere. Dollars, the gang, the people of Ikebukuro, they mostly like him, and any dubiousness at the beginning for Dollars' bold move was erased soon enough by Kida's charm. A force of personality Mikado almost envies, and certainly can admire from afar.]

[Close up, however, he's finding it less endearing.]

Don't break those, do you know how difficult it is to get correct prescription lenses now?

[He walks around the desk and sits down, reaching for the glasses Masaomi has. Con to Kida resuming his Lucky identity; he sees Kida less in general. Pro: he sees Lucky less in general.]

Give them back.

[concretejungles]

Of course I know.

[But he doesn't give them back. He just switches which hand is holding them, casually holding the glasses by one end and spinning them as he crosses his legs. He's definitely putting a footprint on a paper or two, but who cares? Papers can be dusted off or reprinted. He never took much care with his own. There were people to do that for him.]

Relax, Mikado. You need a stiff one.

[digitalemperor]

[Mikado debates reaching over him for the glasses, but that feels too juvenile. He holds his hand out instead, impatient.]

What I need is my glasses back.

[concretejungles]

Don't be such a grump! You'll get a wrinkled forehead and no one will take you seriously.

[digitalemperor]

Seriously you're leaving shoeprints on the papers. My desk is not a couch. Some of us don't have all day to flirt and goof off.

[Grumpy. Definitely grumpy and tired.]

[concretejungles]

I'm making connections. The social game is part of the job too, y'know.

[buuuut he gives the glasses back and sits up, at least]

I didn't become a famous hero by paper pushing, y'know! Things were more fun in Shibuya.

[digitalemperor]

[He takes his glasses back, cleans them, puts them on.]

I socialize. [He does, he plays his part as the innocuous secretary. It's exhausting.]

If you're that bored here, I should have given you back when they asked.

[concretejungles]

[Things have been going pretty well, so far. It's been another month or two, and they've made a lot of progress in intelligence gathering and building up their strength. The rebellion in Shibuya is really taking off, and looking like it'll last plenty long enough for them to feed it and take advantage.

At the moment, Lucky and Mikado are in Shinjuku for a very personal kind of information gathering. Of course they didn't do anything as bold as meet Izaya at home, but a nice dinner at a well-known restaurant doesn't seem out of a place for people with their wealth, and if their napkins come with an extra slip of paper that's easily stowed in a pocket without a word. If what they got here pans out, then he'll see them in person.

But their doing well also means that Fate is getting desperate. So just as they're walking out the door, gunshots ring out-- and Kida's first instinct is to duck and cover back inside the door. Mikado should be able to do that all on his own, right?]

[digitalemperor]

[Mikado really should have brought guards. At least one of the crazier ones, the powerful ones. As it is it's not like he's slow or anything, but his instincts and reactions aren't really honed by battle. He rose to the top on intellect and cunning. When he's absolutely had to fight, he's either lost, or had a gun and more luck than the opponent.]

[The first bullet only grazes him, but the second one hits. Impact sends him back against the doorframe, which is handy, because than all he has to do is make a controlled fall back inside, eyes wide as he lifts a hand to the wound. Not stomach, thank god but... Oh trying to raise his hand is hard. Well that's not really surprising he was just shot.]

[He scoots himself the rest of the way to cover, a little numb, and glances around the restaurant. Most people are fleeing out the back. Handy.]

The crowd. Need to get out with the crowd.

[It's risky there might be assassins to knife them with the other customers but it's better than being pinned down in a siege here.]

[concretejungles]

Wh-- Mikado!

[Of course. He probably should have thought to protect him, shouldn't he? Mikado's always been a scrawny nerd, for as long as he's known him. For a second, he stops, pale and shaken. Lucky is better than that. Lucky knows how to keep moving, injured comrade or no. But Masaomi has seen too many people get hurt because he "messed up", and it takes a moment to separate this kind of mistake from the ones that were entire out of his hands. For that moment he's frozen -- but he breaks out of it quickly enough, reaching for Mikado's arm and pulling him along after the crowd. He can feel guilty later. He can shout at himself for ever becoming scared enough that he'd even think to take care of himself before someone else all he wants when they're safe. Right now they need to run.]

Okay. Let's move.

[Of course it's risky. But they can at least get moving and hope to put some distance between them and the people after them. He's pretty sure they have a small advantage, anyway. If this is Fate, they'll try to take him alive. It's only Mikado they'll want to kill.]

[digitalemperor]

[He goes along, not crying out in pain, stumbling with Kida's guidance but not actually leaning on him. Eventually he remembers he needs to put pressure on the wound before he bleeds himself out but lifting his arms is hard. He forces himself to anyway, grimly fitting into the fleeing crowd at Kida's side, not as alert as he wants to be, but doing his best to, if not be useful, then at least not be a hindrance.]

[Judging by another gunshot when they get out, they're going to need more luck than this.]

Do you know somewhere we can get to? [The crowd is scattering they need to act fast, run somewhere.]

[concretejungles]

Ah-- I think so?

[Thank god for the time he spent recovering at Izaya's place. It means he knows this neighborhood more than he would have otherwise, and can start guiding Mikado towards someplace that might be safe.

He keeps them running, turning into an alley -- and right into one of their pursuers. Fortunately he's also pretty resourceful. In a moment his gun's in his hand, and his jacket is over the guy's head. A quick shot and that's done with, and he has no problem just stepping over the body and keeping going. They're not too far. Another few blocks and there's a safe house -- a tiny little basement the Awakusu use for shipment drop-offs and secret meetings with outside agents like, say, very loyal information brokers. He's been there before, running errands as Masaomi to earn his keep. It's usually empty, and he knows the code to the keypad on the door. If they can just make it that far...]

[digitalemperor]

[Mikado tries not to slow them down but he does, cursing under his breath because it hurts but mostly because they're kind of fucked. At one point he has to rest against a wall before he passes out, draws his gun and holds it instead of pressing on the wound. If they meet more enemies his aim shouldn't be too impaired by the pain.]

[They do meet more, only two. One of whom Mikado shoots in the throat (he was aiming for the head, oh well) the other is all Lucky's.]

[But then they're at basement, inside, safe for now, and maybe they've shaken off pursuit. At the least they can hole up in here. Mikado clicks the safety back onto his gun just in time before it drops from numb fingers.]

... Well that... Was a great cock-up...

[He should have prepared better. Better security, better information, fuck, he fucked up.]

[concretejungles]

Hey. At least we're still alive!

[He laughs, but there's no humor in it. It's just nerves, and a nervous attempt to make them both feel a little better. He gets the door locked (all 4 locks on a solid metal door), then leans against it for a moment to catch his breath, glancing around at the contents of the room.

It's as he remembers. A few boxes in the corner, a few thin rolled up futons and folded blankets. Two chairs. Room for the contents of a single van-sized shipment on top of all that, but no current goods. They could have done worse.]

This is supposed to be a safe house just in case. They might have first aid stuff.

[digitalemperor]

[First aid. Right. That's important. While he still has adrenaline it's probably good to... Mikado glances around, he's never been here but the likeliest place to keep a first aid kit.... There. He moves towards it and lo and behold... The kit is right were he thinks it would be, behind the boxes by the futons. He drags it out one-handed, sits on a box and starts undoing his shirt, hissing as he strips it off. There's a lot of blood.]

...Nothing vital I think. I should be okay.

[He uses his shirt to press on the wound, leaning back and breathing deeply.]

Is there an exit wound?

[There isn't. You're going to have to dig a bullet out. And on top of that, you have the privilege of seeing Mikado half naked. He's not really buff but he's not scrawny any more. He's wiry and slim and his torso looks like someone tried to shove him threw a wood chipper on accident, metaphorically speaking. Too many scars, many of them ugly as hell and all of them very old.]