The heavy scent of rotting flesh made Alfred gag, forcing him to cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve until Kiku handed him a mask and gloves, muttering a quiet apology for not preparing him for this sooner. But even with the mask, the stifling odor sickened Alfred.

You never get used it… He thought glumly, bracing himself for the sight he would see when they pulled back the sheet from the body. What would it be this time? A flayed man? Insides spilling from the belly? Missing arms and legs? Alfred had seen it all in the last four years he had been a detective, he had begun to anticipate bodies butchered and torn apart like rag dolls. Homicide wasn't an easy department to work in. But solving cases, catching the 'bad guy', was an almost child-like thrill that Alfred couldn't live without. It was like fuel to Alfred, kept him running even when the job had him sleepless at night.

Kiku pulled back the sheet from the alleyway ground, the putrid smell intensifying. The body hadn't been found for a while, the man's skin sallow and bloated. Alfred spotted the dark pool of dried blood on his abdomen, and was somewhat relieved that this was the only injury the man had suffered. Blood loss was a relatively pleasant death when other, more creative options were available. Alfred shivered a little, and Kiku seemed to notice this.

'Is something wrong?'

'N-no. I'm fine.' Alfred nodded, kneeling down to get a closer look at the stab wound, inspecting the shape of it and trying to gauge the angle at which it had been inflicted. He sighed. 'Name?'

'Randall Bradford. Previously convicted for armed robbery and burglary, but he doesn't normally work alone. He's a member of the Black Phoenix gang.'

'You think this was a gang killing?' Alfred looked up to Kiku's expressionless eyes. He often wondered if Kiku was like that inside, if he looked at a corpse and felt nothing, but he never asked. Kiku was a very private man, even to his closest of friends.

'It's likely. Only…' Kiku cast his eyes back to the corpse.

'It doesn't look like it.' Alfred finished his trailing thought. 'This guy should be full of holes. All he's got is this.' He pointed towards the stab wound. 'Not even fatal unless you let it bleed out.'

'There was a blood trail, too.' Kiku added.

'Show me.' Alfred got up, the rotten scent nothing more than background noise now. His mind was locked onto the dead man, the evidence that had been left behind from his death, and the dissipating trace of his killer. He had a beast to catch.

.

Yao awoke to the faint whir of an engine, distant and muffled from where Yao was curled up beneath the sheets. He groggily opened his eyes, thinking in a haze he must have passed out at the bar and was dragged home by Yong Soo, the previous night nothing but a foggy dream that he couldn't quite recall. He searched his memory, wincing at the thrumming ache in his head as he did so. Then, as if a bucket of scalding hot water had hit him, the image of a bloodied and torn corpse sent his eyes wide awake. The wet, sticky feel of congealing blood on his hands. The sound of flesh ripping. Cold, pale hands cradling his face.

Yao propped himself up, a familiar sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach rising. He looked down at his shirt, finding an oversized white t-shirt instead. A heavy white coat covered his lap. Yao felt a fearful cry escape his throat, high-pitched and broken as reality began to settle. He threw the coat off hastily and stood on the rough floor with his bare feet, nearly losing his balance as he did so.

The room was empty, dark save for the slim streams of light that escaped through the boarded up windows. The door, invitingly left ajar, led Yao to the dim hallway outside. The whirring sound echoed once again, drawing Yao down a flight of stairs, the first step groaning loudly. Yao froze as the whirring sound momentarily stopped, the sound of Yao's pounding heart counting the seconds until the strange sound resumed. He felt his breath release quietly. He gently - ever so carefully - took the next step, afraid that the next creak would give him away. Relieved that no sound had been made, he continued down the stairs.

Having made it to the landing, Yao spotted a door at the end of the hallway, daylight glowing through its hinges. Hope fluttered in his chest. It was his way out, away from the grasp of Ivan's ice cold hands. The man was sick, Yao thought as he softly stepped across the hallway, slowly making his way toward the door. He felt bad for betraying him like this, running away – but Yao didn't want to spend the rest of his likely short life as Ivan's little pet. One he could torment and then shower with affections. One he would eventually grow weary of, and then what? Yao did not want to be the next body he disposes of. He had seen it in those gentle lilac eyes, a child-like glee at the sight of Yao's blood and tear soaked face. There was a monster lurking beneath that gentle smile.

He was approaching the door, the whirring sound intensifying as he got closer to a doorway. Ivan was in there, doing god-knows-what, and Yao would have to pass by that room to get to his only escape. He swallowed, his mouth drying up as he mustered up the nerve to peek into the room. He pressed his head against the wall and slowly tilted his head into the room.

The room resembled one of a workshop, tools and drills scattered across various shelves and on top of cardboard boxes. A single flickering light was centred above a metal table, illuminating a sight that made Yao's stomach twist and wrench. A limp, sallow body had been laid onto the table, blood dripping off the edges. Its legs had been sawed off, the white bone having been cut through cleanly and precisely. The man's right hand was cut up into small segments, like a doll that had been taken apart, piece by piece. Blood spattered onto the wall as Ivan pressed the chainsaw into the dead man's left forearm. The sound of muscle and sinew being torn made Yao involuntarily whimper, the overwhelming metallic smell making him dizzy.

The whirring stopped, Ivan looking up at Yao. 'Dobroe utro, myshka!' He smiled. 'Just let me finish cutting this arm off and I'll make you some breakfast, da?'

Yao flinched and stumbled back, his legs suddenly feeling numb and heavy. He turned towards the front door and ran, breath ragged and panicked as he tried to fight his light-headedness, willing himself to not collapse. His foot snagged at a large splinter in the floor, his body clumsily falling onto the floor as a stinging sensation seared his foot. A hand clamped down on his back, grabbing his shirt and picking him up.

'N-no!' Yao yelled, punching and kicking Ivan with whatever strength he had left. 'Let me go!'

'Yao…' Ivan glared with a darkened expression, the tender smile long gone. 'I thought we had an understanding…'

'What are you talking about?! You're a murderer! You're a fucking butcher!' Yao screamed, hoping maybe someone might hear, although a sinking feeling in his stomach told him that no one would.

'Did you forget already?' Ivan stood there, Yao's punches doing nothing to him, as if his chest was a stone wall. 'The mess you left in that alleyway. The one I helped you clean up?'

Yao's thrashing subsided, remembering the feel of the knife in his hands and the blind rage that had consumed him when he sliced that man apart.

That wasn't me. It couldn't have been me.

Yao remembered the heavy weight of the scar faced man's body as he dragged him across the gravel. He remembered the feel of Ivan's cold hands as they wiped away the blood splotches from Yao's face, as they guided him into bed. He recalled the warmth of Ivan's coat blanketing over him, the images of gouged out eyes haunting his sleep.

I'm not a murderer… I'm not like him.

But Yao couldn't lie to himself. It was over, he knew that. He had gotten himself involved in something he couldn't get out of, and like a butterfly trapped in the spider's web, there was nothing he could do but wait for his slow death. Wait for Ivan to approach him and sink his fangs into him, wait for the venom to seep into Yao's veins and kill him, leisurely and gradually. He was nothing more than prey now.

Ivan, almost as if having understood this in Yao's teary eyes, loosened his grip on Yao's shirt and offered a weak smile. 'I'm glad you remembered, myshka. Now, why don't we eat some breakfast?'

.

Yao pushed the sausage around on his plate, his empty stomach begging for it, but his mouth threatening to spit it back out in disgust. He couldn't help but wonder if this pig had also been butchered by Ivan, or if perhaps it wasn't a pig at all, but the flesh of his latest kill. What kind of monster would he be living with now? What cruel and painful death was waiting for Yao? How long until then? The questions roamed around uneasily in Yao's head, an acidic taste rising up in his throat.

'You have not touched your food. Is something wrong?'

Yao snapped his eyes up at Ivan fiercely, holding his gaze for a painfully silent moment.

Ivan's smile softened. '… If you are not hungry, that is fine. I can always make something for you later.'

Yao cast his eyes back down to his plate, feeling suddenly very self-conscious as Ivan's eyes watched him carefully. He shifted the food on his plate once more, considering taking a bite, but then deciding against it. He set the fork down.

'Why did you kill that man?' Yao looked back up at Ivan, staring straight into his eyes, although they made Yao nervous and admittedly, quite terrified.

Ivan's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, as if he had forgotten about the severed corpse lying on his work table. 'Ah, him…' His expression became distant, looking as if he was gazing at something far, far away. 'He was a terrible man…' He murmured softly.

'What did he do?'

Ivan's lilac eyes snapped back to Yao, glazed over with a kind of sadness he had not seen in Ivan before. 'I made him suffer for it. And now, he can't hurt anyone. Ever again.' Yao felt his blood run cold, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Ivan, having noticed this, blinked and smiled. 'Izvini. I don't like talking about such things.' He got up from his chair. 'Finish your breakfast. There is still much work for me to do. If you like, you can join me and help, da?' He chuckled and left the room, the sound of the chainsaw starting up again after a moment's silence. Yao was left sitting there, staring vacantly into his plate as Ivan's heavily accented words rang in his head, unsure what to do with that voice that lingered.

.

Yao felt his whole body melt as the hot water doused him, and for a moment –if he closed his eyes – he could almost fool himself into thinking he was still back in his apartment, safe and comfortable. His hands unsullied by blood. He could pretend that the wispy streams of red that swirled down the drain as he rinsed his hair was nothing more than coppery dirt. That the whirring sound emanating from downstairs was merely the washing machine, cleaning his shirt for the next interview he may have to attend.

But it was a fleeting and short-lived moment. The water had started to become lukewarm, Yao opening his eyes to turn up the rusty dial for hot water. The shower continued to cool, leaving Yao irritated as his only pleasant moment in this house had become an uncomfortable one. He pressed the dial further, only to be suddenly doused in ice cold water. Yao shrieked in shock and turned off the shower, shivering as he hopped out and wrapped himself in a stale smelling towel – the only one he could find.

Muttering curses at the shower, Yao put on a fresh set of clothes – another oversized t-shirt and sweatpants that hung loosely on his hips. He tugged at the drawstring and clacked his tongue in annoyance as the shirt clung to his wet skin. He tied his hair into a sloppy ponytail, the end of it dripping down his back. Everything was starting to irritate him, and Yao's patience with this jailhouse was beginning to wear thin.

He swung the bathroom door open and made his way downstairs, the rough texture of the floor no longer grating the soles of his hardened feet. It had been four days since he woke up here… or was it five? The days had begun to blur together along the way, and Yao had felt like it had been an eternity since he had last seen the sun. Ivan had made sure there was not a window or door left unboarded or locked. He made sure Yao could not even see the freedom that taunted him. The freedom that Yao could not have even if his captor had dropped dead the next morning.

Yao hurried by the room from which the whirring was coming from, having learnt by now to never look into that room, even when Ivan called out a 'good morning' or 'hello' to him. He only had to hear the sound and his imagination did the rest for him. He walked into the kitchen and yanked open the fridge, trying to ignore the gory images conjured up by the buzzing of the chainsaw as it dug into flesh. Picking up an apple, he bit into it and focused on the pleasant taste of it, its fresh fragrance. But no matter how hard he tried, the taste was tainted by the musty smell of blood in the air.

This whole house reeks of it… Yao thought bitterly, no longer hungry and throwing the half-eaten apple into the bin. It was a waste, but Yao stopped caring by this point. Food was no longer a luxury. It was merely a necessary task to keep himself alive and breathing, although he didn't quite know why he still bothered.

The whirring halted, the house going quiet. It must be around noon, now. He could tell the time just by the noise – or lack of – that emanated from that room. Ivan was always busy in the mornings hacking away at his latest victim, and by the time it was noon, the whirring would stop. Ivan would pop out of the room and ask Yao if he was hungry for lunch. When light no longer streamed from behind the windows, Ivan would leave, heavy bag slung over his shoulder - his tools, perhaps. When Ivan returned a few hours later, it was with a large body bag. Yao never asked who it was or what they did, eating the dinner Ivan had prepared silently and with his eyes cast down.

'Are you hungry, myshka?' Ivan's face peeked out of the work room, flecks of blood dusting his cheeks.

'No.' Yao replied curtly, although his answer didn't matter much. Ivan chuckled.

'Let me go wash up and I'll be down to make something for you, da?'

Yao sat himself begrudgingly at the kitchen table, tapping his fingers against the wooden surface. The days were long and endless here, as if he were trapped in a recurring nightmare that he could never wake up from. He wondered if anyone was looking for him, if they thought he was dead. He was already dead, as far as Yao was concerned. It was just a matter of when. Yao felt his insides twist at the thought. Waiting was perhaps worse than the actual demise.

Ivan returned into the kitchen, humming an unfamiliar tune as he shuffled around the kitchen to prepare lunch. He opened the freezer and pulled out a heavy box, carefully considering before picking out frozen slabs of pink meat. Yao waited with his eyes fixed on the wooden floor, losing himself in the familiar sound of a pan sizzling and the smell of meat frying. It settled his nerves slightly, and found himself digging in straight away when Ivan placed a plate of what Yao could only assume was fried pork onto the table. He scarfed the food down hungrily, not having quite realized until now just how hungry he was. He picked up a strip of meat with his fork, catching Ivan's gaze just as he was about to put it in his mouth. He was watching him. Staring, like hawk focused in on its prey. Yao shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

'You like it?' Ivan's gaze remained fixed on Yao as he spoke, a small smile gracing his lips.

Yao set his fork down, a sudden thought striking him as he looked back at the plate in front of him. Pork, again. Or at least… that's what Yao assumed it was. Ivan had never actually told Yao what exactly he was eating. Yao felt his stomach lurch, a metallic taste in his mouth as an ugly realization began to sink in.

Almost without thinking, the question left his lips. 'This is human meat, isn't it?'

'Hm?' Ivan's lilac eyes lit up in gentle surprise. 'Human meat…?'

'You've been feeding me your victims, haven't you?' Yao continued shakily, not sure just how much more he could take in this house. If the sound of limbs being torn off wasn't enough, then being fed them unknowingly was certainly extreme enough. 'And I'm next, right? I'm your next dinner, you're just waiting until I get fat and tasty enough.' Yao hissed, frustrated that all he was getting in return was a lost expression, ever so innocent looking.

'Myshka…' Ivan's voice spoke sweetly, as if to placate Yao, although it only heightened the hysteria that was overtaking him. Yao exhaled sharply, panic spreading across his chest. It was unnerving, to have such a gentle face smile at you, while you waited and waited for the day they would finally get tired of you. While you waited for the day they would bring a knife to your throat and slit it open. Just like then, wasn't it? The scar of Yao's back itched, reminding him what happened when you no longer served a purpose, no longer filled a role they wanted you to fill. Yao would not wait for it, would not let it happen again.

Yao grabbed the knife and held it to his wrist. 'You want a taste of my blood before you butcher me? A little test to see if I'm ripe enough? Hm?' He pressed the knife onto the delicate skin of his wrist, skin breaking and blood forming. Yao grit his teeth at the searing pain. 'Go on! Have a bite!' He screamed at Ivan, whose brows had begun to furrow slightly. 'Come on! Kill me! Kill me now, you fucking butcher! Or I'll do it myself!'

The deep red blood streamed down his arm, drops splattering and soaking into the wooden floor. His vision started to haze and blur at the edges, his screaming voice disembodied and oh so far away…

A cold hand pressed onto the open wound on his wrist. 'Don't be silly, myshka.' Ivan pulled the knife out of Yao's weakening grasp. He was towering over Yao now, although Yao could not recall him getting up from his seat. 'I would not feed you the meat of the monsters that I slaughter… Who would want to eat them?' A chuckle echoed in the kitchen, ringing in Yao's ears like a bell in the wind. He glanced down at his wrist, throbbing and burning against the pressure of Ivan's ice cold hand.

'Let… go…' He murmured faintly, trying to shake off Ivan's grasp, but finding it hard to even move his fingers. Why couldn't he let him bleed out? Yao could feel it, sleepiness tugging at him, inviting him to close his eyes and fall away into a darkness he couldn't wake up from. He so badly wanted to fall into it, to go away peacefully, but Ivan kept him anchored here in this horrid place.

Ivan tore off a piece of his shirt and wrapped it tightly around Yao's wrist, humming in Russian, the words taunting Yao even though he could not understand them. Ivan would not let him die so easily. No, this wasn't any fun, was it? Yao would have to wait his turn, wait for the special demise Ivan was preparing just for him. Yao would have to wait… and wait…. and...

A black curtain fell over Yao's eyes, but he knew they would rise up again. He would not leave this house of death just yet.


A/N: In case anyone is wondering what myshka means, it's a Russian term of endearment that means 'little mouse'. As for ochi chernye, this means 'dark eyes' and also a reference to a song/poem of the same name - which by the way, is amazing (I suggest you listen to the Red Army Choir version~).