red is the color of your blood.
Kamishiro Rize watches as a gun is pointed at her.
She's not surprised it turned out like this―really. She's killed far too many people to be ignored, and no matter how many times she's changed her name, somebody always finds her. Not to mention the number of times she'd changed her appearance.
Dyed her hair. Gotten contact lenses to change the color of her eyes. Cut her hair. Changed everything.
At the moment, her hair isn't dyed. Her eyes are their usual color, and her glasses are about to fall off her face. She sighs and glances over at where the unconscious boy is, leaned against the wall. There's blood everywhere, and if he survives, then he's going to need an organ transplant.
Or two.
Or three.
She had told him she'd gently scramble his insides, and it'd nearly happened. Nearly. But then she'd heard the sound of a gunshot, and she was probably going to die anyways. More than likely, there were several bullets lodged in her abdomen, and who ever survived from that?
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rize hopes she survives.
(Why?)
(To murder more people?)
(No, maybe she'd stop murdering people.)
(Change her name, her everything. Take some money from Tsukiyama Shuu and move to Europe. He did owe her a favor, after all.)
(Yes, she'd do that if she survives.)
The pain begins to set in. It's like something that's slowly heating up, but there are better ways to describe it. Rize has always had a high tolerance for pain. It's no surprise that it takes a while for her to notice that the pain is reducing her amazing performance.
As if firing, stabbing, and kicking her opponent could be described as a performance.
Aogiri's been after her for quite a long time. Rize wipes some blood off her cheek. And, of course, they send a hitman. Honestly. A hitman, to get rid of her―Kamishiro Rize, the infamous Binge Eater of Tokyo.
Why the authorities decided to call her the Binge Eater, she has no idea. Possibly because of the appearance of her targets? She doesn't intend to make it look like their insides have been gently scrambled.
Wait.
Yes, she does.
Rize straightens, staring at the man who she is, quite literally, stepping on. With some dismay, she notes that she's going to need to burn her clothing and dye her hair, and places all her weight on the man's nose.
There's a squish, and she turns away, already contemplating the best way to get the bullets out of her abdomen.
There's probably going to be DNA all over the scene, but she's going to try and make it look like the boy she nearly killed managed to smash the hitman's nose into his face. Bending down, she begins the fun process of kicking the hitman's corpse a few feet away from the boy.
What was his name?
Rize hums. Kaneki Ken.
By the time she manages to call the manager of Anteiku―Yoshimura―the authorities are already on their way, and she's wrapped in her jacket. Happy that she discarded it and unhappy that the bullets in her abdomen are becoming extremely aggravating.
She's lying if she says that it doesn't bother her.
Rize is far, far away from the construction area when a car pulls up as she's walking, desperately trying to walk as normally as possible. Her abdomen is screaming in pain with every step she takes, and she nearly sobs with relief as she sinks into the seat.
(But she doesn't sob with relief because she's stronger than that.)
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rize is glad that the people at Anteiku know how to remove bullets. She supposes it's a useful skill, and it's especially useful to be able to be knocked out while it's happening. Who wants to be awake while bullets are being pulled out of their abdomen? Not her.
But, after that incident, a few clothes were thrown at her by a girl with purple hair―Kirishima Touka―and she was stretched out on the couch, bandages tightly woven around her waist. Every time she moved, pain shot through her, and all she could do was grit her teeth and lie there.
Ugh.
Eventually, Yoshimura sat down in a chair, holding a cup of coffee. He smiles placidly at her and Rize moves her head so that she couldn't see him.
"Nothing to say, Rize-san?"
Her nose twitches. "Not at the moment, but thank you for picking me up." And removing those bullets from my waist, even though we are working together and it's part of our agreement.
But Yoshimura can't hear her thoughts and he just says, "Of course, Rize-san."
Rize hears a soft chink and then the sound of liquid filling a cup.
"How do you like your coffee, Rize-san?" Yoshimura asks her after a minute.
"Two spoons of sugar, or just two sugar cubes." She ignores the pain, or tries to, as she props herself up. The manager hands her a cup of coffee and she blows on it. "Thank you," Rize says after a moment.
Yoshimura nods, pushes the pot of coffee closer to her, along with the cup of sugar, and then leaves.
She is left in silence.
Rize opens her eyes to feel fingers ghosting over her skin, and she's surprised she even fell asleep in the first place. Unless―
She exhales slowly. She couldn't see him, which means he probably slipped something into her drink that made her sleep so they could change her bandages or something. Rize shifts slightly, watching the purple-haired girl work with deft fingers.
She looks away for a moment and feels burning. Icy burning. It feels cold, but it burns. Rize's lips turn down into a frown. Was there even a way to describe it?
(There is. She doesn't bother trying.)
The purple-haired girl―Kirishima Touka―rewraps Rize's waist in bandages. Tightly enough that they won't unwind themselves.
Touka moves away after tying off the knot, glances at Rize with a cold expression, and is gone.
With a small sliver of annoyance, Rize notes that there's a cup of coffee on the table. It's steaming, so Touka must've brought it in. More than likely, it's laced with sleep-poison-stuff―
She gulps it down. The bitter liquid runs down her throat, scorching. Of course, Touka wouldn't add sugar.
Rize sighs as everything becomes dreary. There's no point in staying awake.
disclaimer ― disclaimed.