When he awoke, he was met with a ceiling fan that looked ready to fall on him, and possibly take his head.
He'd appreciate that offing him than what was to come, but it is what it is.
The metal table on which he lay was cold, meaning he was just put there. And so were the cuffs which bound him at the ankles and at the wrists, each going to a corner to the table. His body was bare, save his light-green boxers, leaving him splayed on the table, exposed and in an uncomfortable manner. The place smelt of a dentist's office- that is, clean, and of sterilized metal ready to prod at you when the doctor walks in. Plus a bit of blood, but he couldn't exactly tell (so maybe it wasn't as clean as he thought).
Despite being in a confused and extremely dazed state, he remained silent, calm, and collected. He pulled at the chains, to see how tight they were ('they're too god damn tight if you ask me….').He then looked around the room at what he could, ready to interrogate his captor to the best of his ability; to the best the situation allowed.
Thinking back to where he remember he'd been last, he found himself unable to. He probably struggled, unless they knocked him out immediately, but where and when? Who the hell snuck up on him? Trying to remember only brought blackness to his mind, and it was almost comparable to flat-lining in his head. It was really annoying, and whoever wanted him here, really didn't want him to know who they were.
"Good morning honey bunches of oats." A voice-disturbingly cheery- came from the door behind him, carrying a case of who knows what. The brunet had to blink twice (a double take was hard in his situation, and rubbing his eyes was impossible at this point and time). The man looked like he was ready to treat a case of the bubonic plague, wearing the long-beaked mask which was famous at the time the illness spread, and a large dark coat that covered the man, as far as he could tell, from neck to toe. And latex gloves. None of this sat right in his stomach, and it was only going to get worse.
"Alright, what the hell do you want-." Kadota snarled, his brows furrowed and teeth barred, in an attempt to look somewhat able to fight and just a tad menacing, even though he's probably been put in the most unable position he's ever been in.
"You're a smart man, Kyohei. I'll let you figure it out. Hey what blood type are you? Any known diseases that you've got? Been sick in the last couple of months? Even if you don't tell me, I either already know, or I'll find out." He hummed. "These are more so… hints, if you will." Kyohei could sense the smile the other was wearing behind his mask- almost comparable to Izaya's (Izaya's was still creepier, but that's beside the point). This wasn't anyone he knew- least the unfamiliar sound of the voice told him that much. But witch doctor over there knew his name, meaning this wasn't just random, so why…? He was going to get hurt today, he knew that; he'd be fucked up real bad.
While in his thoughts, the 'plague doctor' had set his case on the table behind Kadota's head (and so he could not see it all that well, but he did hear metal clinking and clanking around, very little of it though). Then the audible pop of a marker cap. And then he was being… Drawn on? Black, felt-tip marker ran along his skin- his stomach, his arms, his boxers were moved so witch doctor could draw a line on his upper inner right thigh. It really was uncomfortable, having the stranger brush up against him, but why did he need to do that…? More hints….? What was there- what was at all those spots.
"Didjya figure it out yet…? No….? Oh well, either way you're dead." The masquerade attendee then got a bag- a blood bag- a rather large needle and a tube connecting the two.
'What is this-? The Red Cross….?' He thought as he looked to the other, who had pulled up the right pant leg of his boxers, and wiped his thigh with some cold, wet fabric (probably just rubbing alcohol or something to clean his skin), around the same spot where the marker was, and the needle was put into him.
"…Doesn't that usually go into the arm?" He rose a brow quizzically, as the plague doctor taped the needle down and set the bag under the table.
"Ah, well. The 'Great' or 'long' saphenous vein here is directly connected to your heart, see? Yes, normally it does go into your arm, however since you won't have arms, it's easiest to get blood from there, see?"
"….." He remained silent, however, a thought ran through his head. 'Oh….Oh shit.'
And that's when the chain on his left hand was slackened, just a bit. Kadota would try and hit the other, if he knew he could. Losing limbs was a bad thing. Losing limbs was a very very bad thing. But making the guy who has you held down angry is even fucking worse. The chain was only slackened a little- no way he could punch the guy well enough to do anything, if even hit him at all.
"Hm. What's with the obedience here? People usually start flailing around like a damned fish on land at this point." Kadota just shrugged at the other, and the masked other shrugged back. "Makes my job easier—". The plague doctor then pulled the brunet's hand up towards the table with the case on it, and pushed his shoulder down, twisting the arm all the while. A loud yell found its way out of the captive's mouth, however before it could become a roar, it got strangled, as he grit his teeth and bore the pain as best he could. He was no Shizuo, but his pain tolerance was above average (even if most of the tolerance came out of will to not let himself succumb to that pain). Having dislocated his shoulder before, the cartilage slipped out of the socket much easier than if he hadn't (he never thought he'd be this thankful for such an injury, but here he was anyway), but that didn't mean it didn't hurt any less. His eyes even watered, just a bit, from the stinging and from how hard his eyes were being squeezed shut.
'I'll be damned if I go down screaming….' He goes down with some dignity, let this asshole and whatever deity that cares be his witness.
Once the witch doctor felt the cartilage pop out of place, he massaged the other's arm, trying to find a place where he wouldn't damage the bone. A small smile and another quick line on Kadota's arm. Then a ruffle of a plastic bag, (or maybe there were multiple- Kyohei couldn't tell) and a loud buzz. And then a very loud but choked roar erupted from his throat, because the buzz got too close to his ear and way too close to where the plague doctor made that line. He couldn't tell if it was better to have his shoulder dislocated or his arm gone in general—no, wait, yes he did. He'd like his fucking arm attached to his body where it should be, dammit. The stub where his arm used to be bled. It bled a lot, but the witch doctor made sure to tie one of those bags around the stub to catch the blood. A low growl from the brunette, as he choke out some semi-coherent speech;
"I'll bite…." He inhales sharply and painfully. "What the hell is this all for….?"
"Well, see, I was hired to kill you but since they only said to kill you, and they didn't care how, and wanted me to dispose of your body, I figured I'd make some nice cash off of a healthy body like yours." Kadota felt another smile was behind that mask, as a bloody finger drew a circle on his chest- his eyes were shut, so he couldn't tell if it was his captor's finger or his own.
The captor unlocked the cuff that was around his wrist (more like his ex-wrist), shoved the arm into another bag, tied said bag, and put it under the table. (He heard the closing of a container, so he assume this lunatic had an ice box down there). While there he heard a quiet pop and felt some pressure in his leg, before it stopped and he felt the blood leaving from his thigh again (amazing that he could feel that despite the distraction of the immense pain from his shoulder and arm (rather the lack-there-of)). He heard the what-he-assumed-to-be an ice box close, so it was possible his murderer-to-be switched the first blood bag for a new one.
He was losing blood. He was losing blood very. Fast. And it made him hurt in his head. He was going to die. The same procedure was taken on his other arm, and there was a small groan his time- no yelling, he'd already done that and the one time was enough. He was distracted by pain- by the pain in where he had already lost an arm, and a pain in his heart.
'Corny as fuck, really….' As much as he knew he was going to die, as much as he accepted it at this point, he truly did not want to die- he didn't not want to die like this. But here he was, forced to. He wasn't very content dying with a scowl on his face. And in losing his consciousness and losing his blood, his pain numbed. Everything numbed. So he smiled- he'd be damned if he didn't do this much to ease his own suffering. He smiled just a little, to those who would worry. If his head or his face or his lips were ever found.
Then he died with the lips that would say one. Last. Thing.
'Please don't worry about me, I'm fine.'