Gotcha, little lady.
Akira jolted awake in a half-lit room. Cold. Sunlight hit half the bed, so he shifted towards the warmth. He let out a long exhale he seemed to have held onto for a long time. His mind was still clouded with sleep, but it was unusual for his case not to be immediately aware on waking up. In fact, the next thing he noticed was the aching in his body and a sharp pain in his lower abdomen as he made any attempt to move.
His hand went to his neck, feeling a scabbed-over wound at the side.
Your blood's sweet… overflowing in my mouth.
He flinched at the sudden recollection, and in that moment, his awareness returned to him as his memories replayed back in reverse everything else.
"It would be a waste not to play with you… since I caught you and all."
He recalled struggling, desperately trying to escape the Executioner's grip. But not only did he have no freedom to move, even if he'd broken away, he had nowhere to hide and no means to outrun.
Did you think you could run away?
Good. Fight harder.
Right before he was knocked out, he thought the Executioner might have nearly broken his neck. He'd been hit so hard he passed out.
He curled his body in closer, reflexively, defensively. It was a nightmare. And soon the reasons behind every ache were resolved in the details of his recollections. They were a stark contrast to the sensation of warm sunlight. It snapped him back into the present moment. He lifted his head to a spacious room. Where was he now?
His eyes focused onto unfamiliar surroundings, a large, well-lit room. He sat on a soft, wide bed, and other furnishings included a dresser, table, and a lamp. There were two doors and one large glass window with open curtains that indicated it was likely past late afternoon, if night were not soon approaching.
Where…?
When he shifted, he ground down on his jaw, willing himself to ignore his own body's complaints. In one motion, he moved from a sitting position off the edge of the bed to an upright standing one. Then immediately regretted it. He knew he was in bad shape, but not only did the combination of his fatigue and stress weigh him down, but the pain in lower abdomen was really killing him. And the exact reason he didn't even want to acknowledge.
From this angle, he could better see the view outside the window and recognized it in an instant, dread filling his chest. This was Arbitro's mansion. He had a very clear memory of entering through the gate and through the front door. Back when Keisuke was determined to face the dangers of Igura with him. And face the dangers of Igura Akira did. Running straight into the Executioners themselves.
His eyes caught onto dark bruises at his arms. From how the rest of his body felt, he knew there were more. His arms – from the way he was initially restrained. His shoulders – from constant impact against the concrete wall. His abdomen and legs – from the hard pressure as the Executioner held him down.
A hand went to his neck. No tags. No. He needed those in order to challenge Il-re.
He turned around to face the room, his eyes searching. Where could they be? On a table? In a drawer? His eyes moved to the doors on the opposite side. In a different room?
He made steady progress and was relieved to find that the more he moved, the less he felt his injuries. Not that they completely went away. When he reached the table beside the bed, he noticed something he didn't see when he first woke up. On it was a glass of something that wasn't water. Clouded. And beside that was a sandwich, complete with lettuce, tomatoes, and a slice of some kind of meat inside. Nothing else on top of the table.
He was tempted to ignore it, but there was no other reason for them to be placed there. Waking up in an unknown room. In it, food from some unknown source. They were meant for him to eat. Not that he was going to, even if he were hungry. Questionable situations tended to take away his appetite. Since he'd come to Toshima, he hadn't eaten much, and surely, he wasn't going to eat now.
He moved his search from the bedside to the dresser. Noting that sunlight was starting to fade now, he moved with slightly more urgency.
Scanning the top of the dresser, he found no Igura tags there either. Instead, his eyes caught onto something familiar. His own clothes. They were there, his jacket, shirt, pants. Even his knife in its leather sheath sat beside them. His hands immediately went to the clothes he was wearing at the moment. Even the material felt new to him – a dark long-sleeved shirt and shorts, albeit a bit looser on him. He stood there, confused and unsure how to interpret this new reveal of information.
Then he dismissed it. Just for the moment.
First and foremost, his priority was to find his tags. Without further delay, his hands moved to the topmost drawer and pulled it open. More clothes. And this time, he couldn't dismiss the fact. He recognized them. He'd seen someone wearing this type of outfit out on the streets of Toshima.
The Executioner.
From the last memory he had while conscious until now, it clicked.
What a waste.
The Executioner knocked him out with the intent of taking him back to the mansion with him. The large room he'd woken up in belonged to Kiriwar.
In that moment, Akira shut the drawer. For a moment, he was unsure what to do. The tags were important. But his next thought was that escaping took priority – even though where he was exactly was or how he would leave the mansion were unknown to him.
Without paying attention to his complaining body, he made his way to the door farthest from him, guessing that it was the one that led outside the room. Was it locked?
Before that thought could completely form in his mind, the knob he was reaching for turned, and the door opened in one swift motion.
Before him stood a tall, imposing figure. Metal pipe at his side, dark green jacket, scar on his forehead – Kiriwar.
First, those brutal features were taken aback. The Executioner didn't expect a welcoming right as he walked into his room. Then, a grin pulled at the side of his mouth as their eyes met.
"So you're awake, princess?"
"..."
Akira slowly released his grip on the knob, eyes not leaving the Executioner's, unable to say a word. The sudden shock stopped him even from reflexively stepping back. Silence filled the space where he should've answered, but he didn't allow himself to break eye contact.
After the longest second, Kiriwar pushed his hand against the edge of the door and stepped into the room. The metal pipe in his other hand knocked against the entrance with a dull clank, and the wooden floor creaked under his heavy boots. Akira stepped back to make room, but Kiriwar leaned down, following him closely.
"Hey. Slept well? You were knocked out for a while." The door closed behind him. "For two days. Almost thought I killed you back there. Good to see you're still alive and kickin'."
Akira had nothing to say to that. Every fiber in his body wanted him to run, despite its current state of incapability. He snapped back to his senses when the Executioner moved forward again, his metal pipe hitting the ground with a dull clank. A hand closed around Akira's wrist, and the other moved to the sleeve, pushing it up to his elbow. He didn't flinch, his eyes immediately caught onto the contusion on the underside of his forearm. It looked worse than it felt, uneven, dark discoloration spreading from his wrist up his forearm and to light grazes behind his elbow and above it.
An unreadable expression crossed the Executioner's face. He reached for Akira's other arm and pulled the sleeve up there. It was if his injuries were mirrored from either side of his body. Kiriwar's eyes lingered there for a moment then moved up to Akira's neck. Then to his face. Judging something. Akira couldn't tell what was going in his head.
"Seems I was pretty rough with you." Kiriwar tilted his head. His eyes flickered to meet Akira's. "But it could've been worse."
Too close for comfort. But he was neither going to step back nor drop his gaze. It would be a sign that he was intimidated, and as much as possible he didn't want to let Kiriwar in on that fear. After another moment without words, the Executioner finally straightened up, leaving him some breathing room.
With surprising, set seriosity on his face, Kiriwar "There ain't much that can be done 'bout those bruises. Best to leave them alone."
Subconsciously, Akira's hand moved to feel the tender area on his arm. That was right. Neither bandaging nor any form of medicine could do much to remedy his injuries. What unsettled him however was the fact the Executioner was paying any kind of attention to his recovery. Not only that, Kiriwar had begun to move around the room as if Akira's very presence were completely natural. Taking off his jacket, shoes, setting aside his weapon, pulling out a towel from a drawer.
"Gonna knock out for the night. But before that, I gotta shower." Kiriwar pulled out a second towel then turned to him with a mischievous grin. "Wanna join me?"
Akira nearly physically recoiled.
"No."
At the abrupt answer, Kiriwar laughed. "Ah, I'm hurt. First thing I hear you say and it's a no."
He approached again, reminding Akira of the contrasting difference between their statures. He stood no chance, face to face like this.
"I get it, princess. Must be pretty tired too. You aren't in the best shape right now."
The Executioner leaned down again, eyes locking with eyes, grip locking onto arms. This time Akira stepped back. And kept backing away as Kiriwar followed. His eyes briefly flicked to the door across the room a few times, his mind skirting around the idea of escaping. This detail didn't escape Kiriwar's eyes.
"Wouldn't think 'bout it too much if I were you." He spoke. "Unless you wanna run into 'Bitro."
No. He didn't want to do that.
Akira's eyes refocused back on Kiriwar's, just as they reached the edge of the bed. Though not forcefully, Kiriwar firmly guided Akira down to sit on the bed. Then, finally he released him. For a second too long, as if he were contemplating something, he looked down at Akira. These silences were painful.
"Best rest for now, princess."
What was this situation? Despite the intimidation and fear, he was completely thrown for a loop. The way the Executioner was acting and the absurdity of the situation, it was like what had been done to him in the alley was an entirely detached event. He didn't imagine it. That was for sure. He didn't know what would happen when he encountered the Executioner again, but for sure, this was far from what he expected.
"What is this?" Akira spoke, narrowing his eyes.
Kiriwar blinked, surprised at Akira's sharp tone. He met that unwavering glare evenly.
"I don't know what you mean." He tilted his head and grinned. "Wow. You sure are somethin'. No one ever mouths off like that. Not unless they're on somethin'. Or an idiot. …Not drugged up on Line, are you?"
"No."
A curt answer. Kiriwar hummed, amused.
"Is that so?" He closed the distance between them, leaning down so their noses were mere centimeters away. He paused, in thought, trying to best explain himself. "You're mine, now. I took you back with me."
That sadistic grin widened. "So we'd have some more fun."
When the Executioner reached out, instinctively, Akira retreated. A hand landed on the side of neck, inciting a sharp ache that turned his expression into pain. He wanted to flinch, yet at the same time, he wasn't going to let up on what little semblance of strength he had. There was that unreadable expression again, as he studied the injured area.
"Damn, this looks bad. Must've hit you too hard back there." He tilted his head. "Only meant to knock you out. Not scar you."
His eyes flickered back to Akira's face. "So damn pretty. Would be a waste if I…"
Akira knocked that hand aside, staring back defiantly. Don't touch me. The message was clear, even if it wasn't spoken aloud.
"Aw." Kiriwar spoke, making a mock disappointed expression. "That hurts."
There was a silence between them, and it looked as if the Executioner were contemplating something. He stared intently at Akira. Then, he straightened up again, looking aside at the other door in the room – the one that didn't lead into the hall.
"Gonna take a shower now. I'm damn tired." He finally said. "Better knock out too, princess."
Then with a smirk and a slightly more dangerous tone. "Unless you wanna stay up all night."
Taking the prompt seriously, Akira sat down on the bed, and with an amused grin, Kiriwar turned for the bathroom. When the door shut behind him, Akira's body also let out a physical sigh of relief. He laid himself down, scooting on the farthest side of the bed, at the edge. He didn't want to be awake by the time the Executioner came back out. He closed his eyes, glad that his injured body rid itself of its tendency for restlessness.
By the time Kiriwar left the bathroom, the guy was already fast asleep. He stepped out, rubbing the towel over short wet hair. Well, it wasn't like he actually intended to do anything to the guy even if he had still been awake. He didn't want to kill him after all. It had been two entire days of unconsciousness just before. He even played with the idea that he'd done some permanent damage when he knocked him out in the alley. Maybe it was too hard. He should be nicer, if he wanted to keep this new guy alive. Too slight. And fragile. For someone that's survived playing Igura to this point, he expected new guy to be hardier.
On the table beside the bed, the sandwich and bottle was still there. Completely untouched. New guy'll get sick if he doesn't eat.
Throwing the towel aside, Kiriwar sat on the edge on the bed, on the opposite end, not intent on waking the other guy up. Now, he was free to look at him unhindered. Or at least, his back, from this angle.
From experience, he knew for sure that this guy had some kind of head injury. Probably a concussion. Not that he could tell how bad it was. He sighed impatiently. Damn, he'd fucked up a bit. Shouldn't have hit him so hard. He knew this type. The kind that makes it through his own survivability. A fast runner and a versatile fighter, if not physically able to take heavy blows.
He himself wasn't sure exactly why he was keeping close track of this guy's well-being, but he certainly didn't want him to die. This was the most interesting thing that's happened in Toshima for a while. Not only did he want to blow off some steam, but having this kind of pet was new. No Igura player talked or glared like that. If anything, new guy here was a cure for boredom.
It would have been a waste he'd just killed and left behind a corpse. And handing him over to 'Bitro? 'Bitro was sick, no denying that. He would break him, and this guy would lose those defiant eyes. He had no intent whatsoever on sharing his catch.
He was so interesting.
