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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.

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The leader of Dollars.... Is me.

[Really there's no other way to say it.]

[He's not sure how to respond to that. It could be a good thing. Maybe this means Mikado is seriously going to be willing to work with him. In fact, that seems to be exactly what he's getting at...

But at the same time, fear bubbles back up in his stomach. This could all go so, so badly. At the least, he shouldn't be having this conversation so casually, half-naked in his kitchen. But there's nothing he can do about that part. All he can do is put his right hand down on his gun and turn it towards Mikado without actually picking it up, while his left brings his glass of water to his lips for another drink.]

Yeah? Then I could win right now, couldn't I?

That's a little tacky isn't it?

[Still not a hint of fear, not even nervousness. Is he really this overconfident and cocky? Or just that insane?]

I'm on a short deadline. I don't really have time to care about style.

[a pause, as he picks the gun up and aims]

You're crazy, aren't you? You don't react at all. Or are you that sure I won't do it?

Ah... I wish I could say I was one hundred percent confident you wouldn't shoot me. But I'm not. If I have to explain myself, it's simply that... Making a fuss about it won't change things. I learned that a long time ago.

Though I do think with reasonable certainty that you're just threatening me for your own peace of mind, I also don't think I should assume that means you aren't serious.

I ought to shoot you just for having an attitude like that. Making a fuss is human. It's how you survive and get things done. If you don't care about yourself, I don't see how you can care about anyone else. And if you just lie down and accept what's coming at you, you might as well be a moving corpse. That kind of thing... It just pisses me off.

I take some offense at the implication that my current attitude prevents me from accomplishing things.

I take offense at the fact that you sound like a shitty AI. And I'm the one with a gun pointed at your head, so you might want to consider getting desperate.

You aren't going to shoot me so stop being ridiculous.

Last warning, Mikado.

[Being told he won't just makes him want to. It's a challenge -- No, it's a blatant disbelief in his ability to be resolute. But it's taking all his resolution just to be calm right now. He's not sure he has enough left over to pull the trigger. But maybe anger and fear will do as a substitute. He told Mikado to get desperate, but Kida's the one feeling that way right now.]

You know who you're messing with. Don't talk to me like I'm a teenager.

Right now you're acting like one. Is this how you ran Lucky Hearts, with short-sighted emotional outbursts?

[Rather than scared, he seems annoyed.]

It was bigger and better than your sadistic little game. The loyalty of the people in Shibuya still lies with me. I'd say I did just fine being a real human being.

[Mikado could say he doesn't really remember what fear is like. He could explain that he can't fake desperation he can't feel--or he could fake it but it won't do much good. He could even comment that what Kida's doing right now is counter productive to his goals, or provoke Kida by pointing out that his people's loyalty doesn't mean much when he's on the run in Ikebukuro.]

[Instead he loses his temper a bit (that itself is an almost giddily novel experience for him, it's been so long) and stands abruptly. He walks across the rooms and grabs Kida's hand, holding the wrist so the gun rests right between his eyes and he's looking at Kida with annoyance.]

Either shoot me or stop throwing a tantrum and we can talk like adults. I'm sorry I'm not able to be afraid of you little demonstration, but it's not funny either. Don't just point a gun at someone you don't intend to kill, don't make threats so lightly. It pisses me off a bit that you're being so half-hearted, especially since I was a Lucky Hearts fan. So make a choice and stop being half-assed, Masaomi.

[For all his talk, Kida's the one who looks afraid when Mikado gets close. He doesn't back away (he can't, he's practically sitting on the counter already), but he stiffens, straightening up and going completely tense. He stays silent through the scolding, but keeps direct eye contact the whole time.

He doesn't know why this has him so intimidated. He's usually stronger than this. He used to be stronger than this. Suddenly he can see how hard the last year's hit him in sharp definition, and how much fighting alone really hurts. When he's "Masaomi", playing Dollars' game, it's fine. Masaomi should be alone. But now he's exposed, and Lucky's supposed to have a crowd behind him when this happens.

He shouldn't be afraid of one person. More, he shouldn't be afraid of losing one person that he barely knows anymore. But he still looks more and more upset as he stands there, until his hand is shaking in Mikado's grip and his eyes go unfocused from the effort not to let them fill up with tears. He's angry, and that shows on his face, but he's also scared, and he's lonely, and he's so tired of being cornered...

He manages to make his finger tighten on the trigger, even so. But his breaths are becoming audible, a carefully steadied pace of sharp staccato inhales, and just as he spits out forced words--]

Fine. That's it, I'll just--

[--he suddenly takes in a deep gasp, jerking forward like something cold just ran up his spine and turning to look at the microwave so fast it seems like it must have made a noise that only he could hear. Only he focuses in on the blinking green clock numbers, and all at once he's throwing himself sideways in a visibly desperate attempt to free his wrist.]

Shit! Shitshitshit-- Let go of me!

[This is the first time Mikado's looked surprised--no, genuinely shocked and confused. He holds Kida's wrist, not letting go on reflex, trying to catch up to the sudden shift in events that he couldn't have predicted or even considered. He doesn't know what's happening, except that Kida looks, sounds, desperate.]

[Something is wrong, very wrong, and it's not only throwing Kida into a panic it has Mikado off guard from confusion as well.]

[At the least he turns Kida's hand so the gun isn't pointed at himself, if he died from an accident like this he'd have to come back as a ghost just to laugh at how pitiful it was. But he won't release Kida yet.]

Masaomi? What the hell?

Let go!

[He could force him to let go, if he had to. But it would hurt Mikado, and he doesn't want to make that decision right now. Once his resolve to fire is broken, he can't get it back that easily. So instead he just pulls, reaching with his other hand to take his gun before he can drop it and shoot through the wall.

He's barely slammed it down on the counter before he gasps and jerks again, this time accompanied by a sound of clear pain. He's white as a sheet, and doubles over with his free hand digging nails into his chest. When he speaks up again, his voice is tight and strained and quiet.]

You have to let go right now. Please.

[It was one thing seeing the storm of emotions on Kida's face when Mikado was facing the gun down. The tears in Kida's eyes then were loneliness and a lot of complicated feelings. Right now though, something is clearly wrong in a different way. Kida's in obvious pain and Mikado lets go of his wrist, only to take his arm to support him, as automatic and natural as breathing. No hesitation or thinking, like this is what he's supposed to do.]

Tell me what you need.

[Calm and practical, no panic, the shock of a moment ago buried under his unnatural calmness once again.]

[But there's a difference now, even if it's not visible. He feels... Distinct uneasiness, worry, and even a fear he couldn't feel when Masaomi had a gun to his head. Just this much unsettled feelings scares him more than the threat of a bullet through his skull. And whatever is happening to Kida adds another fear, an unknown uneasiness settling into him at this turn of events.]

[He takes in one deep breath, then another, accepting the support, while he tries to focus. After a few seconds of that he's able to force it to level out, and he swallows as if to hold down both the pain and his reaction to it.]

I can get it. I just--

[Well, he was going to go get it himself. But when his legs go out of under him despite himself he decides it's probably better to let Mikado help. Otherwise he'll be stuck riding out the initial attack, and that's been up to an hour-long affair in the past.]

Nggh-- I-In the bedroom. There's a bottle on the end table...

[Mikado is a grown man and a bit stronger by necessity than he would be if the world hadn't gone crazy. So it might not be the easiest thing in the world to support all of Kida's weight, but it's not such a struggle either. He drags Kida's arm over his shoulders and supports him entirely the few steps to the couch, then leaves him to walk quickly to the bedroom.]

[It's easy enough to find the bottle and he's back at Kida's side fast enough.]

Do you need water?

[The couch is better than the floor, that's for sure. If nothing else, he can thank Mikado for sparing him the joy of lying on linoleum while this happens. He still curls up though, making himself a tiny, hyperventilating ball in the corner of the couch. He grabs the pill bottle when he sees it, though, shaking his head at Mikado's question and otherwise not saying anything.

He's practiced in getting it open with majorly shaking hands, but getting a single pill out is harder. They kind of end up all over the floor, but he doesn't particularly care as long as he's swallowed one. The rest can just stay there, with the bottle he tosses after them. He's busy dropping his head into his hands and gritting his teeth to keep in the urge to scream.]

[Not an expected development at all. Mikado can't do much for Kida immediately, so he carefully kneels and collects the pills that have scattered, sweeping them into his palm and pouring them back into the bottle he retrieves from the floor as well. Closing the cap he examines the bottle for any identifying marks, maybe it can illuminate what malady Kida is suffering from, if he can determine the medicine taken to relieve it.]

[As he looks at the bottle he sits on the couch, reaching out with one hand to gently rub Kida's back, slow and soothing and an echo of their childhood, whenever Kida was sick and staying with Mikado because his parents weren't around or didn't care.]

[As calm as he is being he feels helpless right now. More helpless than when he was being threatened, more frustrated and scared. More angry at being powerless and in the dark. He tries to calm the emotions, disturbed at feeling them.]

Edited 2013-11-22 16:35 (UTC)

[The label isn't a nice one. It isn't from a proper pharmacy. It's just scrawled on -- and it's the name of an obscure immune system suppressant. It's not something people would normally take. It's a jacked-up version of the kind of thing given for organ transplants and other such things. A drug to keep the body from rejecting something -- or rather, a cocktail of both drugs made to do that, and the signature drug that was used to stave off the epidemic. It didn't save lives in the end, but it extended them.

The thing is, that drug should be mostly out of circulation. No one's left alive who can't safely carry the virus. And Kida's symptoms aren't the ones of that illness. But Mikado would have to have studied the experimental drug that killed so many people by making their bodies fight themselves, and that's now used as a high-end poison for shady dealings, to recognise this as the counter-treatment. Neither what's in this bottle nor the monster drug that causes the condition these pills fight are supposed to exist at all.

But if he has heard, he'll get it. Why Kida looks so tired all the time, and what's happening to him now. The experimental drug XPC-10, when given to someone with the virus who is normally infected, can extend someone's life up to a year. But given to a carrier, it causes a slow, agonizing death, somewhere between three and six weeks of torturous pain and wasting away. It can't be stopped once it starts -- the drug is a single injection that causes an overnight change in the body's function. The only way to counter it is with constant, vigilant treatment using what Mikado has in his hands right now. Every eight hours, on the dot. The medicine wears off at about eight and a half hours, at which point there's a violent surge of symptoms, lasting longer depending on the progression of the "illness". Once that's over, the patient goes right back to where they left off.

And even with treatment, it's simply drawing death out to a few years of slowly fading. Kida's not sure if Mikado will figure it out, but either way once he can breathe a little, he looks up and puts on an exhausted, pained little smile.]

...Sorry.

[Mikado keeps up with things. It doesn't pay not to be aware of things going on outside of Ikebukuro, and the drug XPC-10 isn't that obscure. What is obscure is its use as a poison, more obscure still is the treatment.]

[Still, something nags at the edge of his brain as he frowns at the label. Something Izaya said roughly a year ago, maybe three months after Lucky Hearts fell. Some rant about poisons and drugs... Mikado hadn't dismissed it, per se, but he'd found listening to Izaya's rambles could be taxing too, even if they were informative. Some sadistic, obscure way to kill someone....]

[The label doesn't tell him definitively that it's connected, but the memory and the familiarity of it leave him uneasy. The way Kida's acting and his sickness are solid proof it's serious, and Mikado makes a note to confirm it on his own. For the first time in years he feels sick just from emotions, and he doesn't really like it. He's been living so long in a sense of detachment that being pulled over and over out of that comfort zone of being emotionally dead is disturbing to him, he almost wishes he could resent Kida but all he feels is worried sick.]

[He ruffles Kida's hair aggressively instead of letting that vulnerability show.]

....Our talk could have waited. How are you doing?

I lost track of time. What with you suddenly busting in and all.

[He's too tired to do anything but lean against Mikado at this point. He wouldn't normally let his guard down enough to do that, but he's still in pain and it's making his brain foggy and flattening his will to posture and fight. He's fever-hot and trembling, feeling small and worn down, but at least it's not the desperate frustration of earlier.

He really didn't want to pull that trigger, anyway.]

[Mikado doesn't argue against the cranky tone, rubbing Kida's back and putting the pill bottle aside.]

You still look like hell. Think you can make it to bed?

[His orderly thoughts are unusually scattered and mostly he wants to focus on Kida's health right now. This is a problem a problem a problem.]