A couple of knocks at the infirmary door made Yosano look up from her work. She wondered absently who it could be- without Dazai amongst them and no active missions ongoing, she really wasn't expecting anyone to need her aid.
"Come on in," she called, deciding that a potential stomach ache was not worth bothering to get up for. Carefully, the door slid open and Atsushi peeked his head in.
"Yosano-sensei?" he asked cautiously. "Can I come in?"
The doctor rolled her eyes. "I just told you to, didn't I?"
Awkwardly, Atsushi staggered inside and carefully closed the door behind him, walking hunched down towards her.
"What can I do for you, Atsushi-kun?" she finally sighed and turned around in her chair.
The fidgety teen opened his mouth several times to speak before he finally was able to find the right words. "Something happened when I was watching Dazai-san at the hospital," he told her lowly and averted his gaze away from the intimidating woman. Yosano snapped back up, dread and wariness creeping up on her. No news about Dazai had been good since they got him back, and something told her that this wasn't an exception.
"What happened?" she inquired, taking on a serious tone and digging her eyes into the teen. She didn't want to scare the kid, but if he deemed what had happened important enough to ask her about it, she was sure it wasn't something insignificant.
"Well," Atsushi drawled, fidgeting uncomfortably with his hands as he was prone to do- Yosano recognized it as a subconscious reaction to being uncomfortable and nervous, which seemed to be all the time. "I was bringing him some food and got tripped up on the doorframe to his room," he stuttered out, scratching the back of uneven white hair.
Yosano released a sigh in momentary relief. "Oh," she breathed heavily. "Where did you hurt yourself?"
Dual-colored eyes widened. Atsushi raised his hands in front of himself and waved her off. "No, no, that's not what I meant! I'm fine, I... I might have a bruised my knee a little, and a shallow cut in my palm, but it's fine!"
Still, Yosano held her hand out, waiting for the teen to show her this supposedly shallow cut. She was the doctor, if a wound was insignificant or not was up to her to decide. Reluctantly, Atsushi placed his hand in her hers, palm up, and watched her as she examined his hand closely.
"I can't see anything."
"Yeah, I... I have a healing ability, remember?"
The deadpanned look on Yosano's face seemed annoyed, but Atsushi figured she was more annoyed with herself than him- at least, he hoped so. He retracted his hand back, grabbing it tightly towards his chest as he finally said what he had come in to say.
He told her about Dazai's reaction when he had stumbled into the room, the desperate look in those bruised eyes that looked like he was seeing a whole different world, the distressed and urgent way his body had jerked off the bed and onto the floor, clawing at the broth and broken glass that gnashed between his teeth when he tried to scoop up as much as he could before he would be removed from it.
Yosano listened wistfully at the boy's recollection of the events earlier that day, only speaking when Atsushi had covered everything up to the point of him knocking on her door.
"I hate to say that I'm not surprised," she stated tightly, the coolness in her voice warming just a fraction before she elaborated. "Unfortunately, what Dazai has been through can affect the brain in a lot of different ways. The starvation, lack of oxygen," she paused, biting the inside of her cheek not to get emotional.
"Torture is a powerful tool, Atsushi-kun. Even if Dazai didn't break, " the last word was said with a venomous disdain, " technically, back then, his brain chemistry is very much affected. Restricted access to food, malnourishment, and excessive weight loss can cause changes to the brain chemistry, so he might have experienced some kind of psychosis, caused by the sound of the platter shattering. When you add that he got his oxygen supply cut repeatedly, we might even talk about a traumatic brain injury."
The last words seemed to trigger something in the tiger-boy. He seemed to jump in his seat, nearly unnoticeably but enough to make his chair scrape on the linoleum floor. "Brain injury?" he asked frightened, the yellow in his eye seeming to brighten sharply.
Again, Yosano sighed and made a motion with her hands to make him calm down. "I've been reluctant to use that term around you guys. It's not necessarily as bad as it sounds. Really, if you analyze some of Dazai's more strange behavior," she stopped herself from adding 'from before', "I actually assume that he already suffers from it to some extent. Who the hell knows what was done to him in the mafia?"
"A traumatic brain injury can cause cognitive difficulties, affecting things like your ability to concentrate, make decisions, taking unnecessary risks, completing tasks."
"Huh," Atsushi hummed, almost humorously in realization. Yosano smirked lightly before she continued her list.
"Your personality may change, becoming more irritable or temperamental, getting easily frustrated... Your expressions might seem unfit to the situation..." Yosano went silent for a short while after that. Atsushi seemed to think the same thing.
Finally, the doctor cleared her throat. "A-anyway, some more tests would need to be made to diagnose that. And as long as everything is as fresh as it is right now, none of us can really expect him to be okay yet. But, if it turns out that he does, in fact, suffer from TBI, just know that people can recover from it. It might take a while, it varies from person to person, but just because things aren't too good now, doesn't mean that it won't be. Okay?"
Thoughtfully, Atsushi bobbed his head faintly. "Okay," he agreed, barely above a whisper.
The rest of their conversation was cut short by an urgent knock on the infirmary door, and it opened before any of them could answer.
Fukuzawa had isolated himself in his office since they went back to work after the rescue mission. It was difficult to focus on anything but the occurrences from the past weeks, but the pile of paperwork stacked on his desk was close to reaching his own respectable height of 6'1- at least, that's what it felt like, and it didn't seem to diminish no matter how many late nights he pulled.
His arms moved automatically as he made his way, skimming through documents and signing his name in increasingly incomprehensible chicken-scratches.
Burying himself in his work was one thing the seasoned assassin new how to do expertly. Yet, it still wasn't enough to keep the images of one of his precious people in a bloody heap on that ice-cold stone floor, gasping weakly for his next breath. Those bastards didn't even allow him the simple right of oxygen.
He didn't know how long he had zoned out when his phone rang. Picking it up and looking at the display, the silver-haired man grimaced. Usually, he would be delighted to see any of his old friend's names on the caller ID, but the last time he had spoken with General Chiba Kano hadn't actually been a joyous occasion.
With a heavy lump forming in his stomach, he accepted the call and placed the phone against his ear.
"Yukichi Fukuzawa," he introduced himself firmly, waiting anxiously for the other man to explain his reason for calling.
"Good day, Fukuzawa-sama, I hope I don't catch you at a bad time?" the ragged baritone crackled at the other end.
"Not at all, General. But I have to admit that I became quite anxious to receive a call from you." The silence on the other end drew out for a moment longer than what Fukuzawa would have liked.
"So, I take it that you haven't received my parcel yet?" the military official eventually asked hesitantly.
"Which parcel?" Fukuzawa inquired, a bit more urgent than he had meant to, and started rearranging the stacks of mail on his desk, looking for something matching his description.
"It's something we found in the basement of our facility a week ago. I was going to call you about it when I sent it, but between the situation at your end and the investigations into my own team, I haven't been able to get to it until now. Hopefully, I'll be able to get you a thorough report before the weekend. With Saito, or Gavigan, or whatever his name is gone, it hasn't been difficult to get them to talk."
"Good, good," Fukuzawa muttered mindlessly, still looking through his papers. Finally, he found a brown padded envelope with a military postage stamp and quickly ripped it open.
"I think I found it," he announced into the receiver as he emptied the partridge onto his desk. A small USB port bounced out with a small clack. Something horribly foreboding made it go cold up the director's spine.
"What is on this?" he asked grimly, holding the small blue object between his thumb and index, inspecting it closely.
"I'm not sure how to explain," the general said earnestly. "Honestly, I wasn't sure if I should give it to you or not. Its content is quite distressing. But... it might give you some answers."
Fukuzawa swallowed thickly, holding onto the small tech-piece tightly enough to make the dull edges jab into his palm.
"Thank you, Chiba," he replied thickly. In situations like these, formalities seemed so unimportant. There was a small sense of comfort in calling an old friend by his first name. If distancing himself just a little from a reality that seemed to be as cruel as it could get was the best he could do to keep himself from breaking down and help him be strong for his team; then, the simple gesture of calling his friend by his actual name was something he wouldn't deny himself.
A sense of warmth returned to the voice on the phone. "Anytime, old friend. Call me if you need anything, all right?"
The two men ended their call.
Fukuzawa took a moment to relax into his office chair. Apparently, whatever was on this disk would reveal something about what had seemed to be a senseless act of cruelty towards their comrade and friend. They already knew that it had everything to do with the Saito-case that Dazai had been working on, but exactly what? Only two people could possibly answer that. One of them was wanted and the other was too injured and traumatized to talk.
The memory of Dazai clutching desperately onto Yosano as his only life-line to reality still haunted his thoughts every time he let his guard down. It was a position he had vowed to never put any of his allies in. When he had accepted Dazai into the Agency, well aware of his past in the Port Mafia, he had sworn that he would protect the kid from ever having to fight for his life all on his own again. Much like he knew Dazai had done with Atsushi, in his own peculiar way.
He couldn't help but feel like, against all odds, Dazai had succeeded in doing so, so much more than him. Mostly because Dazai had actually done what he had set out to do.
Reluctantly, Fukuzawa opened up his laptop and installed the external harddrive that popped up after he had put it in the USB port. A few clicks later, and a folder with what seemed like an endless supply of video files opened on his dashboard.
Small previews of grizzly scenes appeared one by one as the file loaded. That was all he needed.
Abruptly, the tall man got up from his seat behind the desk and marched out of his office, not bothering to close the door behind him.
"Kunikida," he ordered sternly as he peeked into the joint offices of the rest of his men before he continued towards the infirmary. He walked with long, purposeful strides towards the closed door, giving it a few courtesy knock before barging in.
Atsushi and the doctor looked startlingly at him as he gave Yosano a pointed glare. "Yosano, I need you in my office, right now," he directed sharply, disappearing as quickly as he had entered. The woman sobered instantly, jumping to her feet and ambled after him.
Only when they reached Fukuzawa's office, Kunikida already in place, did Yosano speak.
"Director, what's wrong?"
The silver-haired only pointed to his screen and clicked on a random video file when Yosano and Kunikida were in place behind him, looking over his shoulder.
"What-" Kunikida started, but paused as the media player popped up, showcasing a black screen for several seconds before the screen flickered a few times, and a large, dimly lit room came on display. The edge of the window stated a time and date, about two weeks after Dazai went missing.
The room was sparsely decorated, with a single chair and a long table in the center of the picture. Brown leather straps were attached to both furniture. It was difficult to see on the distorted image, but dark tell-tale patches seemed to be splattered randomly all over the floor.
"Where did you get this?" Yosano spat in surprise. Fukuzawa hushed her abruptly, leaning closer to the computer and increased the volume. It sounded like a door opening out of view. Several footsteps approached, one pair audibly dragging across the floor.
Five men came into view. One tall and broad in a long white coat trailing ahead, followed by three men in standard military issued uniforms. Lastly, was Dazai, half limping, half being dragged between two of the men until he was pushed onto the chair and violently strapped down.
He didn't look like he was fighting at all. The excessive display of force was alarming, not that Dazai's condition now nor on the video made it seem like they had gone easy on him.
A flash of blue light buzzed intimidatingly from a device in one of the men's grip. Fukuzawa paused the video.
"What is that?" he shuddered and pointed towards the flashing lights on the screen.
"Caddle prods," came immediately from Yosano. She had recognized the burns the instant she had seen Dazai's bare chest back when they had found him. The nearly black burn marks were still etched into her memory from her time training under Mori. It was one of his own personal favorites when interrogating, and not all of the scars she had recognized on Dazai's unbandaged form had been new.
Considering the incomprehensible amount that littered his bare flesh, few of them were, actually.
But, she wasn't going to reveal that. Even if she personally felt that it was important for the rest of the agency to know and understand what she now did- what Dazai was actually carrying under his bandages, this wasn't the time. They had all seen him now, but she knew that they didn't quite comprehend the true weight that those old wounds held on their colleague's body. But most importantly, as much as she wanted to tell them about all the pain the ex-mafioso must have been burdened with already before all of this happened, it really wasn't her decision to make.
"I don't think I need to explain to you what those are supposed to be used for," she added bitterly instead, looking at the paling faces of her male coworkers.
Fukuzawa and Kunikia both stared at her. The director's steel grey eyes were filled with horror and sorrow as he uttered a silent, "No," and unwillingly pressed the space bar to continue the video.
The two other lower-ranked officers drew out their own shock-sticks shortly after, hovering intimidatingly, albeit ineffectively, around their stubborn colleague. Despite Dazai's bloodied face, he smiled from ear to ear (that same smile that never had seemed to reach his eyes) and looked between the three men.
The man in the white coat, the one they recognized as Dan Saito from pictures closed the distance between himself and Dazai.
"All these men with glowing sticks. It feels like I'm at a fifth-grade disco," Dazai chirped melodically, wiggling his bound shoulders as if dancing.
Fukuzawa couldn't help but feel a little proud of his subordinate as the annoyed expressions of his captors became noticeable. Despite the gravity of the situation, an amused smile tucked at his lips which he hid by covering his mouth with his hand.
Kunikida sighed dolefully. "It's bittersweet to see him like that." Yosano nodded in agreement.
An exchange of words none of them had perceived clearly resulted in one of the prods being poked at Dazai's side. The man strangled a cry, writhing against the tight straps and heaved for air the moment the stick was pulled away.
Dan Saito was merely inches away from Dazai's face when he shouted loud enough for the sound of Fukuzawas speakers to distort.
"Why did you do it? What the hell had she ever done to you? Huh?"
Dazai twisted his head away from the man, the only thing he could do to create some sort of distance between himself and the gaping hole howling accusations at him, a frown obvious on his face.
"My answer won't change from yesterday, Dan. I did not kill your daughter."
"Niko?" Kunikida asked disbelievingly. "Does he think Dazai had something to do with her drowning?"
"Lies!" Saito roared, His fist connected with Dazai's face. His head was thrown back in a quick, nauseating angle and the chair he was tied to creaked by the sudden motion, tipped and fell back. Dazai hit the ground with a low grunt. For a nerve-wracking moment, Dazai's head kept bobbing back and forth, dazed and half-conscious. The three lower-ranked officers hurdled around the chair and picked them back up.
It was impossible to know if Dazai was all the way awake or not with his head tilted back, dangling limply out of view. After a short while, he was finally able to wrench it back up, but it still fell forward, chin resting on his chest for a moment.
Fukuzawa's hand was moving to close the window, believing the interrogation to be over with the collapse of their coworker, but a quiet eery laugh hummed through the speakers, making him pause. Dazai's upper body was shaking lightly as he slowly rose to look his torturer in the eyes. A thick trail of blood ran from both of his nostrils and a dark, red patch that would unmistakably turn into a bruise in a couple of hours was concentrated around his left eye.
"Maa~" he complained obnoxiously, twisting away to spit out a mouthful of blood. "How do you expect to make me talk if you keep knocking me out? It's a method as ineffective as it is stupid."
Dazai eyed Dan Saito closely with a crooked grin, waiting for his next move. As sure of himself as the bandaged man acted, it was easy for the three onlookers behind the screen to recognize that he was still addled from the hit he had taken. Because, if he had been all there, he wouldn't have forgotten to watch his back.
At the same time, three cattle-prods sparked up behind him and were quickly pressed against the tired man. One on each side of his rib cage, and one on his neck. This time, Dazai couldn't keep himself from cry out in immense pain. His body convulsed violently from the electric shock running through his body. The moment they let go, Dazai was slumped over in his bonds, unmoving.
This time, it was over.
Kunikida reached over Fukuzawa's shoulder and clicked the repulsive video away and pressed the laptop shut in one determent motion.
"I can't watch anymore," he breathed shakily and pulled back with his arms crossed. The image of his partner being tortured and knowing that it would only get worse and extended to a period of six months made him sick.
Standing up, Fukuzawa turned to face his successor solemnly, laying a large callused hand on the detective's shoulder.
"I understand that. But unless Dazai is capable of talking to us soon, or at least make a written statement, this is the only way we can know for sure what happened. Even then, there's no guarantee that we will learn the whole truth. We all know how Dazai tends to downplay these kinds of things. General Kano is interrogating the accomplices, but we don't know if they will be telling the truth of what went down in there either. I really don't see a way around it, at least not if we want to help Dazai the best way possible."
"I'll watch them," Yosano stated impassively, gaining both of their attention. "Don't worry, Kunikida-san. You don't have to watch anymore if you don't want to. Neither do you, chief."
"Are you sure?" Fukuzawa asked warily. He knew that watching such atrocious acts would stir up some very unpleasant memories for her.
"Of course," she murmured simply without missing a beat. "I am a doctor, after all. I can observe violence and injuries more objectively than you can."
The director watched the woman thoughtfully.
"Okay," he agreed reluctantly. "But I will watch them with you. You shouldn't have to take on this burden all by yourself. I don't care how much of this you have seen before. None of us should be alone with this."
Yosano smiled up at the man wistfully. "Thank you."
As expected, the acts committed against their colleague became more and more meticulous. Already in the next video, only a day after the first one they had watched, it seemed like they had taken Dazai's advice about being too aggressive to heart. During the next weeks, the torture became smarter and more, well, torturous. Instead of the massive hits and kicks like the first two weeks of footage showcased, came long, slow sessions. On the first day, his finger and toenails were crushed and slowly ripped away. Small bones would be broken by heavy pressure, and joints dislocated and set back in place. The cattle-prods were still used generously to control Dazai and they would still go overboard with the beatings quite frequently when Dazai was being in a particularly difficult mood. Yosano suspected that he manipulated them into doing that when he felt as if he couldn't take much more, and was tempted to admit to something he didn't do.
It was strange, observing the mental decline of Dan Saito during the first month. General Kano had never experienced the man as expressly unstable or cruel. He had reportedly been an excellent scientist, albeit a bit engrossed in his work. According to other statements, he did display some borderline obsessive involvement with his daughters and talked excessively about their scholar achievements and Niko's swimming career.
Yosano couldn't be sure what they meant by an "obsessive involvement" with his children. At which point did being an attentive and involved parent become borderline obsessive? Many could be over the top, she supposed, but it was the description of 'obsessive' that struck her as odd.
The death of his daughter had been a tragic accident, and he had every right to be crushed. They had all been worked up about it. But where had he gotten the notion of Dazai had something to do with it? It didn't make any sense. There was still a large, significant missing piece to all of this.
"Maybe Ranpo could deduct something from this?" she mused thoughtfully, shifting on the chair Fukuzawa had sat out for her. After the first hour, her legs and back had become tired, and the older man had cursed himself for being too distracted to offer her a seat sooner. Now, after three hours of watching a varied amount of scientists and military officers trying to exercise the sinister parts of their imaginations into new effective methods of torture, her butt was starting to complain too.
The tall man shook his head lightly. "Perhaps, but I don't want him to see this. I chose you and Kunikida because I thought you could handle it. He's… softer." He thought back on that cold basement, at his foster son's distraught and utterly helpless expression after seeing Dazai for the first time on half a year. Ranpo had seen his fair share, they all had, but something shattered that day. A piece of the strong wall built up around the genius detective coming crumbling down into his hands. Ever since; that carefree smile had dulled- and it hurt.
Yosano didn't argue. She knew it too. Instead, she let out and elongated breath and hit the play button on yet another video, containing eight hours of choked cries and new patches of blood on the floor.