The first thing Makishima notices when he opens his eyes is the ceiling – white and plain; boring.
Voices are drifting in and out; there's a murmur of females to his right. A commanding tone on his left. A high pitched beeping from somewhere is a consistent distraction from the human sounds. He doesn't need to look to know he's in a hospital ward.
Makishima turns to the right, where the sun would have stung his eyes had his view of a window not been obscured by the nurses crowding before him.
"Makishima-san, can you hear me? Makishima-san?"
His gaze meets the nurse's eyes before he rolls over, turning away from her. It isn't because he is upset, nor is he incapable of talking and responding – he simply can't be bothered. It is the flooding of emptiness around his soul; the underwhelming failure for his internal screams to pierce his heart.
His eyelids fall close, and he's grateful for the escape as he falls back to sleep.
Makishima drifts in an out of sleep for the next few days. He's unresponsive to his doctor and the nurses. He eats during meal times, but otherwise he simply stares out the window.
The nurses gossip in front of him, as if he cannot hear just because he does not speak. They whisper in urgent, hushed whispers, and Makishima doesn't blame them. Treating patients who wake up to a dangerously high level of crime coefficient as they wake in panic and stress would be normal – getting a zero is unheard of.
Especially for a victim of attempted murder.
It became clear no one knows what he really did when two suited men came in the second day after he first woke. Allegedly from the Public Safety Bureau, they ask a lot of questions ("Makishima-san? Are you aware what had happened to you? Do you know who may have been the one to shoot you? Do you know anyone who has a reason to shoot you? Do you remember anything from the incident? Can you hear us? Do you comprehend anything we're saying? No?") before turning to the doctor and announcing they'd return another day.
Makishima is all too aware, though. He has had too much free time to recollect the events that led to him lying in this dull, white room. Of the dimming night, moonless behind clouds. He had stared up towards the sky, letting a smile grow on his face at the cock of a gun behind him.
And now someone had denied him of his long awaited fate.
Sometimes he bothers to wonder who and why, but he doesn't really care to find out. He only holds contempt for someone who has prolonged his stay in a worthless world. He has a bet with himself on how long it would be before they show themselves.
Other times, he wonders how long it had been since Kogami had chased him past the fields and up the hill. Recovering a head injury shouldn't be easy, and he would expect no less than having been replaced by another individual in this unnatural society to assume his relationship with Kogami Shinya.
Or perhaps Kogami is already dead. But there is no way for Makishima to find out about anything outside his small room, and he doesn't have the incentive to find out, either. He considered killing himself already, but he can't deny his intrigue at the technology able to save his brain from what should have been a fatal gunshot – the metal wrapped around his head that was the only thing keeping it together.
He grows accustomed to the lull of boredom; alone with only doctors and nurses whom he has no regard for. He ignores their stubborn attempts for conversation as he studies the different patterns of bark on the trees outside and learns the faces of those who walk past regularly.
Days pass, and weeks pass. Makishima doesn't keep count – it would be meaningless if these days don't lead up to anything. If the future is just an endless pattern of waking and sleeping, thinking and daydreaming.
He surprises a nurse one day, when he tells her he hates the food she brings for dinner each night. She starts, dropping the plate onto the bed, and an endless bout of apologies parade from her mouth as she calls for other nurses and desperately tries to clean the mess.
Half an hour later, the stain is still visible to Makishima's eyes as he watches them take it away, trading it for a clean one. The doctor comes in soon after, demanding question one after the other – How is he feeling? How is his voice? – Makishima rolls his eyes and answers impatiently, but at least the nurse's reaction was more than worth it.
A small drop of colour in a large black plane of nothingness.
The activity of nurses die down, once the doctor determines that Makishima has recovered his ability of speech. The nurse who had brought dinner that one time never appeared in Makishima's room again, and the other nurses who came always with wary looks.
The way Makishima simply looks them up and down, hiding his thoughts behind a blank expression, doesn't help relieve them of their worries. When he tries to smirk at one, he sees the crease of her eyebrows as she starts back.
But then the doctor comes in longer intervals, and there are less and less nurses as he cooperates and answer more questions in a monotonous voice.
When the nurse who introduces herself as Tanaka Momoko arrives in Makishima's room for the first time, she's the only one.
"I'll be the one looking after you from now on, Makishima-san," she bows in greeting to her patient. "If you anything, you can come to me."
She says it as if Makishima has any control over where he goes; as if his head wasn't tied down and half buried under large machines that he didn't understand. He narrows his eyes, glancing at her large, innocent eyes and eager smile, and loses all interest. Just another sheep in the system beyond his care.
"I don't need any help," he retorts, turning away to the window almost from habit as much as much as it is to express his disinterest.
She nods, the smile not leaving her face as she shuffles to a corner of the room, settling in a couch prepared for visitors as she picks out a magazine.
Makishima clicks his tongue in discontent. "What I meant," he says slowly, as if spelling it out for a five year old. "Is that you can leave. I don't need you to stay in this room."
If she heard his annoyance, she didn't show it as she shook her head politely. "Oh no, this is going to be my temporary office from now on! You're my exclusive patient so I can be available whenever you need."
Which will be never, he doesn't say, as he glares. "I prefer to be alone, thanks."
"Don't worry! You can just pretend I'm not here. I'm sure you won't even notice or remember me once I settle down." She insists. Makishima decides she is purposely ignorant of the situation; or else he'd probably cry for what humanity has become.
He tries to sleep for a while, but it's around midday and the sun is glaring through the window right into his eye. There are curtains, but that would require calling upon the nurse, and to have another conversation with her over-excited attitude would be worse than anything the sunlight could do.
But there is no alternative to sleeping as he tosses and turns on the bed. He reaches his beside for the television remote, but if he could be entertained by the broadcasting television shows, then he probably wouldn't have been shot in the first place.
"Are you bored?" A head suddenly enters his view at a close distance.
He wills himself not to gasp, but his eyes widen, nevertheless, before he narrows them to glare at Tanaka. "What do you want?"
"You seem bored."
"I thought you were supposed to stay unnoticed so I can forget your presence." He deadpans.
She puts a finger to her chin, tilting her head as if she was seriously considering his statement. "Well," she responds lightly, "As your nurse, I also have to worry about your wellbeing – and that includes your mental wellbeing, and whether or not you could be driven mad by boredom."
Makishima doesn't make a comment as his eyes flicker upwards, accidentally meeting hers. He hadn't noticed how determined they were, nor how her eyes were two separate colours – one a cool gleaming grey, the other a light pale green. He looks away first, glancing at the curtains instead.
"I'll be fine if you pull them close," he mutters after the silence draws a little longer than he desires.
When Tanaka goes to pull them close, Makishima is sure the small frown of disappointment is not something of his own imagination. When he closes his eyes, he dreams of Tsunemori and finally understand why Tanaka's eyes irritates him.
It's dark when he wakes up, only a small desk lamp at Tanaka's room illuminates the room- ¿, and when he finds the clock near where Tanaka sits, it reads 4:30. He looks around, and the movement attracts Tanaka's attention.
"Is it the afternoon?" Makishima asks, cutting through the silence.
Tanaka's eyes widen, her mouth opens and closes for a while, before she shakes her head. "In the morning."
"You're not sleeping?"
"You are my first priority, after all," Tanaka replies. Makishima can't tell whether she's a worse liar when she's tired, or whether she had really meant it in the morning, but her cheeriness falls like shattered glass.
He remains silent, observing Tanaka. He doesn't comment on how she's still reading the same magazine after more than 12 hours, nor the way she stammered through her first few replies. The less he expresses of what he thinks, the harder it will be for her to stay a few steps ahead.
He doesn't remember falling asleep again, but the next thing he knows, he's awaken to something slapping his face.
"Rise and shine, sleepy," an annoying and almost familiar voices chirps. With a creak of worn out metal, the sun breaks through into the room.
Makishima cringes, his fingers wrapping around the object that his head had been hit with.
"A magazine?" Makishima questions, but it's mostly rhetorical.
Tanaka grins, mischief tingling in her eyes, "So you don't get bored again."
Makishima stares at the front cover, of some Japanese celebrity that he never bothered to know. The large letters on the front cover don't make sense to him; the jumble of letters not correlating to a word in his mind.
He looks up abruptly at Tanaka, on the side, assembling his breakfast onto a tray. Does she like reading magazines in foreign languages?
But it's not English or any of the other four foreign languages he's fluent in, and it almost feels as if she has superior knowledge than him. He puts the magazine aside and adjusts the bed to sit up as she brings him his food.
"Not going to read it?" She asks, and her confusion seems almost genuine.
He keeps his eyes to his breakfast, refusing to acknowledge that she had piqued his interest at all. "You could at least offer Shakespeare – his works are easy to find even in this broken society."
Tanaka seems to ponder at this statement, before raising a question in response – her voice quiet and even. "Is reading... Are these authors and their works important to you?"
"Knowledge is important to me," Makishima replies instantly. There is never any harm in educating others of his beliefs, but to his surprise, Tanaka only laughs and laughs and laughs.
"And without words on a page, will you still be able to gain knowledge?"
Makishima glanced at her, taken by surprise. Most either disregard what he says, or respond in lengthy lectures of their own philosophies. Suddenly more wary of this stranger, he responds more slowly, as if checking every word before he allows it to leave his mouth.
"Reading is definitely my main source of knowledge, but there are other ways too, that are more troublesome or difficult, but that's exactly why I understand the value of books. Is that not obvious?" Makishima replied evenly.
"Hm…. There are other ways, you know," Tanaka begins. She pauses as if for dramatic effect, but Makishima cuts her off.
"If you are so intelligent, I doubt the Sybil System categorised for you to be a nurse."
Tanaka's smile falters, but there is no other response as she stares directly at him, her eyes wide as if innocent and confused. But there is no stopping Makishima's mind when he starts thinking, the gears turning faster and faster as he processes her interactions with him.
At last, he allows himself a small, inviting smile, "I had been wondering when you'd show up, Sybil."
Tanaka giggles, "I don't know what you're talking about!" But she's clearly not trying to convince anyone. Makishima simply waits in stoic silence, before she drops her demeanour completely. "You're quick, Makishima Shogo, but we expected quicker."
Her tone changes; sterner, almost resembling Joshu Kasei. Makishima lets out an involuntary shiver down his spine.
"You slipped up when you starting talking so deeply; so aware in contrast to the rest of the sheep in society. Seeing you know another language," Makishima nods towards the magazine, "that helps."
When Tanaka doesn't reply, silence drawls for what seems minute. Makishima sighs, "What do you want?"
"I can give you many things, Makishima," Tanaka steps closer, towering over Makishima on the bed. "Knowledge, Amusement, Control, Power… and even Kogami Shinya, if you so desire."
Makishima stiffens.
"I know you have a scapel hidden under that pillow, Makishima. You roll your eyes at every little thing, and you hate your second chance at life with so much passion, but you never try to end it. Why do you think that is?" Tanaka sneers.
Makishima stays silent – there is nothing he can say in response, but he croaks out, "You're wrong," anyway. Because that's surely better than nothing. Surely better than admitting she's right.
"For anyone else, I'd call them weak. For you?" Tanaka's lips curl upwards, but there is no friendliness or softness in them. "For you it's stupidity. Stupidity that stops your hand; a stupid hope that believes that Kogami Shinya would even spare a thought for you anymore.
"Luckily for you, Sybil accepts all sorts of people – even fools." Tanaka nods, as if satisfied with her speech. She offers a hand, her pink glossy nails stuffed right in front of Makishima's eyes. "Join us. Come where you belong."
Thanks for reminding me of the scalpel, Makishima replies silently, glint in his eyes as he digs out the blade. There is no sanity behind his grin as he jabs at her hand, but at least it's the first genuine smile since he opened his eyes again.
Tanaka screeches, the blood dripping onto Makishima's bedsheet covers. Makishima presses the button that calls the doctor, and by the time he appears, he's added a few more slashes across Tanaka's wrist.
"There was an accident," Is all he says, before he calls it a night and pulls the covers over his head.
But there is no opportunity to sleep, and he even as he blocks out the voices lingering above his head, he can't ignore the creak of wheels, followed by the wobbling of his mattress as he is wheeled out of his room.
Makishima wants to know where he is going, but that would mean pulling his head out of his blankets. That would risk seeing Tanaka Momoko and just the thought of that disgusts him.
However, when the nurses force his blanket off him, Tanaka Momoko is nowhere to be found. He narrows his eyes, scanning the crowd.
"Where is she?" Makishima growls, his voice dropping an octave. He doesn't need to explain who he's talking about.
"Sent to first aid, thanks to you," The doctor's tone is strict, his anger barely concealed. It's clear there is no love between the two men. "She won't be back, now, she's already requested a resignation form."
"Good," Makishima mutters under his breath, but the doctor doesn't deem a response necessary.
There is a gaping hole of silence for what seems forever. There is no windows in the new room, but at least the walls are painted a pale tint of blue. The doctor scribbles hurriedly on a piece of paper, and Makishima turns to the watch on the doctor's arm, observing each movement of the hands.
Makishima counts fifteen minutes, before the doctor looks up again. "This is the psychiatric ward of the hospital. Technically, your psychopass factors into your admittance, so this is only temporary, but this is for your own protection as much as it is for my staff."
Then he walks away, leaving Makishima alone, with only his bed and four walls surrounding him.
Makishima stares after him, the click of the door closing lingers in the room, the only sign that Makishima was in contact with another person. The room is dark, and almost lonely, and if the thought of turning of the machinery keeping his brain together enters his head, well, that is to be expected.
But Tanaka Momoko is right, there is no satisfaction in a death if not at the hands of Kogami Shinya.
It is impossible to measure time in the psychiatric ward, but it feels like days until the door opens again. A nurse meekly walks in, drops some food in a tray by the door, then makes herself scarce again.
She leaves the door open, and the click of high heels hint to Makishima who his visitor might be before her black dress and grey hair appear into view.
Makishima greets Joshu Kasei with a nod. "Took you long enough."
"You stabbed us; that is a capital offence," Joshu Kasei said in lieu of a greeting, pushing her glasses higher up her nose. "We gave you a second chance, and your response is worse than ungrateful."
"It's not a second chance," Makishima retorts, "You stole me from my liberty."
Joshu Kasei nods, "A worthy punishment, I now see. But joining Sybil will mean another form of liberty."
Makishima glares, "I'd rather stay here. Give me a book, and I'll just pass the time through reading – I will destroy my own brain before I hand it to the likes of you."
Kasei only seems to brighten at Makishima's response. "Reading, you say? I noted what you said earlier, about a magazine in another language. It occurred to me that perhaps the doctors has not completed a full testing of your recovery yet, am I right?"
"So what?"
Wordlessly, Kasei steps forward, handing Makishima a thin book with black bindings. White strokes imprint the cover, but once again, it remains foreign to him. He looks up, unable to hide the confusion in his eyes.
"Is this a secret language only the Sybil System can read? Do you really believe that such a pathetic thing could be incentive?" Makishima doesn't even bother taking the book from Kasei's outstretched hand.
It is Kasei who pushes the button for a doctor this time, whom rushes in with a panic stricken face. He stops, gasping for breath, only when he reaches inside, closing the door behind him.
"Ma'am, is there a problem?"
Even as Kasei turns away, Makishima can already feel the sadistic smile appearing on her lips. "Doctor, my…associate and I are having a dispute;" she steps forward, showing him the black book. "Can you read what it says?"
The Doctor looks up, peering at her with suspicious eyes. "Twelfth Night…. Why? Is there a problem?"
"No, not at all," Kasei's grin is still apparent as she turns back towards Makishima, though she waits until the door closes behind the departing doctor before she continues. "That was simple Japanese, Makishima dear, do you realise your predicament now?"
Kasei hands Makishima a pamphlet, her words cruel and taunting, "On it, reads 'Traumatic Brain Injury' – I'd advise you to read it, but it looks like you are in no such position to do it right now."
Makishima stiffens, starring at the pamphlet in his hands. It's true, there is no reason for material in the hospital to be in a foreign language, and the strokes of the characters seem almost familiar, yet they do not form words in Makishima's mind.
He closes his eyes, but he cannot keep them close. Ignorance and denial from the people has always been what he hated most about what society has become. He should end himself right here and then, but he has always been weak in that aspect; not in his inability to kill, but the inevitability that he will surrender to his desires – such as a romanticised death at Kogami's hands.
"Kogami can't kill you, Makishima," Kasei's eyes bear into Makishima's as he opens his own. He doesn't question how she knows what he is thinking. "He's missing, but we're looking for him, too. You wanted an incentive to join Sybil – what about the promise to hunt for him?"
It would be too late for me, then, Makishima doesn't say. It would be pointless, they are both aware of that.
Makishima's face is twisted, distorted with anger and hate as he growls. "I don't want you, Sybil. I hate everything you stand for."
"But," Kasei prompts, and there is a victorious edge to her voice.
Makishima wants to punch her, but he is still confined to the bed. Instead, he grips the bedsheets instead, so tightly that colour bleeds out of his knuckles. "No 'but's. You have nothing I want."
Kasei makes a seat for herself on the bed, leans forward and strokes Makishima's hair. If it was anyone else, the action could almost be motherly. "If only that was so. Have some time to think about it, I'll come back later for your brain."
She smiles, and the temperature could have dropped multiple degrees. Then she pushes herself off the bed, heading back towards the exit.
"If you agree, I'll have them move you back to the normal ward as well." Kasei does not bother to say goodbye.
Makishima watches her leave, then notices the Shakespeare book. He resists the urge to push it away, staring at the cover once more. The kanji for 'Twelfth Night' are ones that the children learn in their early schooling, and there is no way Makishima can forget the Katakana for 'Shakespeare'. But no matter how he squints at the strokes, he cannot identify the words in front of him.
He rips off the cover in a surge of anger, scrunching the paper before he throws the whole book against the wall. There is so much anger and hate, boiling inside his heart, but there is nowhere he can shoot it towards.
When Makishima finally returns to his previous room, he really shouldn't be surprised at the presence of Tanaka Momoko. The doctor places the battered 'Twelfth Night' on his bedside table just before he departs, and two pairs of eyes flicker towards it.
Tanaka's smile almost seems genuinely kind as she opens it, taking a seat beside Makishima. "Do you want me to read for every character? I imagine you have memorised at least half the play already, we could pick a few characters and trade some lines"
Makishima narrows his eyes, "What are you playing at?"
"Well," she tilts her head, her tone makes it seem as if what she is saying is obvious. "Considering it will be at least another year in the hospital while they fix your brain, regardless of whether or not you join Sybil, you're still stuck here. So I may as well try get into your good graces."
Makishima doesn't have a reply to that, staring at the book in the nurse's hands.
"Anyway," she continues on, "I want to assure you that you can just read through android bodies like this one," she points to herself, "But I wonder when the last time someone read to you was. Did your mother even do that, as a child?"
Makishima hates to notice this, but he can't help deny that with Tanaka sitting in front of the window, her back against the sun shining through, it almost looks as if there is a halo surrounding her body.
"Did you say," Makishima croaks at last, "I have a year to consider?"
Tanaka nods, "Take your time to decide. Then, the Sybil Family will welcome you with open arms."
Makishima wants to protest that she already assumes his decision will be the affirmative, but instead, he only says, "Then I'd rather some Homer, to start with. I have a long list I plan to go through in a year; you better keep up."
Tanaka's smile widens, and it's probably as genuine as it will get from an android controlled by 200+ minds. For some reason, Makishima is not as disturbed by it as he should be.
End
Written for a friend, who wanted MakishimaXSybil.