Suppressing a cough, Genya examined the scenery in front of him. Not impressive.

"Is this the place?"

The decrepit building loomed over him. Judging by the small staircase leading to the door, they were at the back entrance. The walls were a dirty grey, and the rust was peeling off the tiles of the roof. The demon slayer's eyes hovered at the taped windows before lowering at the woman fiddling at the door.

"Are you deaf?"

Again, the woman didn't answer. Wordless, she slipped out a badge out of the pockets of her hoodie; a snake and a cross flashed in front of Genya's eyes. He bit his lip. It was a medical badge.

The handle gave in easily under her hand. The woman swung the door open and nudged over a brick from the ground to prop it up. Turning around, she walked up to the demon slayer and stared at him. Genya furrowed his eyebrows slightly. Was he expected to do something?

"Yes?"

"Put your hands up. I'll pat you down."

Genya made an irritated, displeased face and lifted his arms. On the inside, though, he was relieved. Everyone carried guns in the Lower Level, so their sight wouldn't bring up questions. On the other hand, a nichirin katana would've busted him right away.

Her hands traveled firmly around his broad shoulders and torso. Genya stared stubbornly above the woman's head as she crouched down to feel his hips. A simple, grey hallway with blinking lights stretched beyond the door. It looked creepy as hell. The guns slid carefully out of his holsters, and the weight pressing on his hips decreased. Straightening out, the woman turned the guns in her hands in mild curiosity. Genya smirked.

"You better give them back at the end." His subterfuge was really living a life of its own; what even is this "end" he implied?

"I will." The woman lifted the hoodie, baring her stomach slightly, and slipped the guns under her belt. She nodded towards the door.

"Come on in."

Genya felt uneasy. He didn't want to expose his back to the woman, especially now that he was unarmed, but he didn't have another option. Without a single word, the demon slayer stepped over the door frame.

His watch screeched so loud, he felt his entire wrist shake. On impulse, Genya slapped it, effectively muting the beeping, but he clearly saw it under his palm: the blood red spilling over the screen. A sharp tide of shock and anxiety struck him as a shiver down his spine. This place was full of demons. However, that wasn't his biggest concern right now.

"What was that?" The door shut with a soft menace behind him.

He didn't allow himself time to think. On pure instincts, Genya glanced over his shoulder and gave an apologetic grin.

"My alarm. Sorry. It goes off like that sometimes."

The woman observed him from under her hood. For the first time, the young man thought that he could see an outline of her eyes from the tinted, dark circles of the gas mask.

"Are you…" she went quiet. Her composure shifted slightly. Genya didn't dare speak for her; it could backfire. In the back of his head, he thought how lame-assed his so-called investigation was. Sure, he was smart enough to leave behind the sword, but what idiot keeps on the —

"Let's go."

Genya felt the hoodie brush his shoulder. Not believing his luck, he whirled around and stared at the walking woman. However, he quickly scoffed to cover up his wild gladness and hurried after the organizer.

He didn't follow her for long. After just a couple of steps, the woman stopped next to a heavy, steel door on one of the sides of the hallway. She knocked, but opened the door almost at the same time.

"C'mon," she beckoned, holding it out for Genya. He obediently walked inside.

The room they entered was large, but sparsely furnished: a steel cabinet next to one of the walls, a metal examination table in the center, and a smaller one to the side. Behind it sat a woman with a low ponytail. She also wore a gas mask, as well as a light blue scrub typical of nurses.

When the demon slayer and his guide walked in, the woman behind the table glanced up from the magazine she was reading.

"Get him ready, Kafka," the other woman said curtly to her as she walked over to the cabinet. Opening it, she fished out a gas mask and looked over her shoulder. "Here."

On numb feet, Genya came up to her and grasped the offered item. He was getting a really bad feeling.

"Kafka will take things from here." The demon slayer forced himself to look at the woman. She held his questioning stare. "I'll catch you back once she finishes."

Without another word, the woman left the room. Genya swallowed, trying to look calm, and tugged the gas mask over his head.

Don't panic. Whatever you do, don't look like a lost, bewildered chicken.

When he snuggled his chin into the mask, he couldn't not let out a stifled gasp; the refreshing taste of oxygen was too sweet. Snapping the clasps shut behind his head, Genya eyed the only other person in the room.

Kafka had tossed her magazine on the table and was now crouching next to the cabinet. From the back, he saw that her ponytail reached below her shoulder blades and was streaked with strands of white.

"What's her name?"

Kafka looked over her shoulder in surprise. "What?"

Genya nodded towards the door where the woman had disappeared. "The girl who brought me here. What's her name?"

Kafka smirked. She took out a tray from the cabinet and stood up.

"J1-U. Jichu, basically." She lowered the tray on the examination table. Genya raised his eyebrows, trying to maintain conversation. It was helping him control his nerves.

"She's a cyborg?"

"Only what's below the pelvic bone." Kafka nimbly plucked two plastic containers from the tray and twirled them in between her fingers. "One for urine, other for stool."

"What?!" The rubber slapped against his lips when he barked involuntarily. Kafka narrowed her eyes. Dammit. He had to quickly think up an excuse for his outburst. It had to be something natural, something a person who knows what's going on would still say…

"Piss I get, back how do you expect me to shit on the spot?"

The woman winced inside her mask. Without saying a word, she lifted the containers and gave them a slight shake. Something shifted inside of them.

"There are tablets in each. Just bite them through, and they'll speed up the process. Got it?"

Not waiting for his reply, she placed the containers on the table. "After you're done, undress." Kafka picked up a gown from the tray and showed it demonstratively to the young man. "Socks and underwear can remain on."

The folded gown landed with a soft plop when she tossed it on the table. The organizer slid her right hand into the pocket of her wide pants and leaned on one leg.

"Any questions?"

"Where's the bathroom?"

The woman stuck her thumb to the right. Genya turned his head in the direction she was pointing and saw that there was another door in the wall. He didn't notice it when he first walked in.

Kafka lowered her hand and tilted her head.

"Anything else?"

"No."

"Then, call me when you're done."

As soon as the door shut behind her, he clawed off his mask. His lungs squeezed instantly, demanding air, but he ignored it. Panting with an open mouth, the young man wiped the dripping sweat off his temples, underneath his chin, and from his cheeks.

Dropping his mask with a ringing thud next to the tray, Genya pressed his palms into the edge of the table and leaned with all his weight. His eyes swam over the floor without seeing it.

He had to think this through. He had to think this fucking nonsense thr—

Not here. The fluorescent, zapping lights above his head. The vast emptiness of the room. The woman standing in the hallway. Genya jerked the mask roughly by a strap and, grabbing the two containers, started towards the door in the wall. He couldn't concentrate, not here in the painful brightness of the room.

The bathroom was much dimmer and cramped, accommodating only a sink, dirty toilet and several inches around it. The foul stench reeked into his nostrils. Knees jammed into the toilet's bowl, Genya felt his shoulders unclenching a little. At least here he didn't feel as if he was being watched.

Placing the containers on the tank, the young man pushed down the toilet lid and sat on top. He reattached his mask, blocking off most of the odor, and rested his elbows on his knees.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't terrified. In a blank motion, Genya passed his hand through his hair. The individual strands clumped against his fingers. In absent frustration, he raked through them.

Judging by the looks, these freaks were some sort of medical group. What Kafka ordered him to do right now was clearly a med test; Genya wouldn't be surprised if she took his blood next. This was bad news. He could at least beat the thugs and low-ring gangsters. There was nothing he could do against meds. The best solution was to make a run for it.

His fingers, still tangled in his hair, bunched into a fist. His scalp flared in pain, giving his brain a sobering signal.

Technically, an escape was possible. All he had to do was jump as quickly as he could out of the room, past Kafka, race outside, and bid his guns good-bye. His fingers twitched, and his arms dropped limply to his side. Genya reclined back, the toilet tank jamming in between his shoulder blades, and threw his hair back. A moth whirled around the single, hanging lightbulb.

Think, you fucking blockhead. That's the only way to save your guts - literally, as well.

Genya stared upwards. He wrinkled his forehead, but the thoughts kept on swirling aimlessly in his head. In frustration, he hit his heel into the toilet bowl. Think, you pathetic piece of shit.

First, these guys were definitely underground and specializing in medical service. Something squirmed meekly inside his stomach, but the demon slayer ordered himself to focus.

Second, there were clearly demons involved. His watch indicated that this building was teeming with them. Genya frowned. Neither of those two ladies looked even distantly concerned that a starving, salivating beast can stalk them up from the corner.

Genya hunched forward and gazed at the floor. The boys said these people gave Niyaniya a demonic hand. Did they also make him go through this ridiculous procedure…

Genya froze. All the pieces fell with frightening simplicity into place.

No way.

His breathing quickened, and the wheezing echoing of the mask became louder.

These people were crazy.

The cold of the toilet seeped through his clothes, sending him into a nervous fever.

What in the world was he supposed to do now?

Running seemed definitely the best option now, but Genya wasn't sure if his legs could handle it; they seemed rooted to the ground. But what else was left? Continue bluffing as he did before? But that would mean… that would mean….

Genya squeezed his eyes shut and bit his tongue, hoping to draw out blood to refresh himself. However, his grip wasn't strong enough, and there was only a weak, prickling sensation and the accumulation of saliva around his teeth.

After several seconds, the young man's frame loosened. Opening his eyes, Genya gave a deep, somewhat shaky sigh.

This was an investigation. He couldn't just ditch it. He'll see how far he could get, and if bad goes to worse, somehow break his way through. But for that, he will actually have to do what was ordered to him.

Standing up, Genya lifted the toilet lid and picked up the first container. He tossed away the tablet; he was so nervous, urinating was not a problem. For the second test, though, he ripped open the wrap and gulped down the medicine.

He felt a little emptied out when he left the bathroom. Setting the filled containers on the table, Genya peeled off his boots and began undressing. His skin instantly peppered with goosebumps. Shivering, the young man pulled on the gown which he twisted over his torso to sloppily tie the ribbons on the back. Smoothing it out, Genya turned around and pushed himself up on the table. The cold metal scorched his ass, and he involuntarily crossed his ankles to quell down the shudder.

Settling down, Genya cleared his throat and pressed a button on the inner side of his watch. It gave a small vibration, letting him know that it's recording. Genya sighed and clasped the edges of the table, hoping that the cold steel will reduce the amount of sweat gathering on his palms. Here it goes.

"Kafka! I'm ready!"

The door opened immediately, and the woman walked in. She gave him a quick glance, and Genya straightened out. However, that turned out to be unnecessary; Kafka only glimpsed at him before walking over to her own table. She grabbed the chair by the top handle and, picking up a clipboard from the desk, rolled it over. Sitting down in front of Genya, the woman balanced the clipboard on her knees and took out a pen.

"So," she clicked it, business-like. "Let's get started."

Genya nodded and somewhat braced himself. Although right now he was virtually at their mercy, it didn't mean he was completely helpless.

His eyes ran quickly across Kafka. Her gas mask was similar to his, covering only the nose and mouth. Her eyes were exposed; there were wrinkles at their tips, but otherwise, the skin was clear. The hair was white at the roots.

Female, uncertain age, occupation - nurse.

"Did you have any surgeries before?"

Very straight to the point.

"Four times." Genya decided not to lie. If these people were medics, he'd be physically better off if they were fully aware of his body. "Popped kneecap, a broken wrist, internal injuries…" he rubbed his nose subconsciously. The last one was kind of funny given his intense surgical history. "… and appendicitis."

"What were those internal injuries specifically?" Kafka inquired without looking up from the clipboard. Genya slanted his eyes down. The handwriting was illegible.

"It was a penetrative trauma. No vital organs were hit, only torn blood vessels and tissue."

"Any familial history?" Kafka gave him a piercing gaze. "Diabetes, glaucoma, arthritis?"

The conditions she was listing were all over the place. It seemed that she was trying to get the full understanding of his body. At the same time, she never once asked about his name, occupation, or even age, unlike traditional hospitals. It seemed that identity wasn't an issue for her.

"No idea," Genya snapped in the meantime, pretending to look irritated. "I ain't got any family."

Kafka sighed, and the demon slayer saw how her lips curled underneath the mated plastic.

"Any detrimental habits? Do you smoke?"

His logic chain paused as he had to think the question over. Honestly, it was more of a yes than a no.

"Yes."

"How many packs per day? On average."

"It varies. Sometimes none if I'm at work. If I'm free and secluded, then four." Genya watched Kafka scribble the information down. "I used to be a chainsmoker while I was at the orphanage," he said carefully, wondering whether she'll take the bait and ask anything personal.

"Do you do drugs?" Apparently not.

"Nah."

"What about medications? Are you taking any right now?"

Genya shook his head. Kafka stood up from the chair and walked over to the desk. Lowering the clipboard on the desk, she opened a drawer and took out a stethoscope.

Stepping to the young man, the nurse leaned over. Genya flinched when he felt the freezing steel of the stethoscope touch his naked back, but Kafka didn't comment. Her fingers closed carefully around his shoulder.

"Breathe normally."

Genya inhaled unevenly. He was prepared for this. In an instant, he relaxed his muscles and broke out of the total concentration breathing. For a few minutes, it was quiet, save for the wheezing slipping out of the mask. The diaphragm of the stethoscope traveled methodically against his skin, before pausing above his heart.

"Now breathe slowly and deep."

The wheezing became steady and louder as Genya opened his mouth. Kafka listened for several seconds, before taking the stethoscope away and leaning back.

"Alright. Same deal, first normally then deep," she commanded, tugging away the front of the gown and sliding her hand inside. Genya drew in air when the stethoscope connected with his skin, but did what he was told.

A minute passed. Genya continued inhaling deeply. Not constrained in total concentration, his body felt weird. He hoped the nurse wouldn't notice that he was pushing himself to do this 'regular' breathing.

After a moment, Kafka leaned back and, taking the buds out of her ears, swung the stethoscope over her shoulders. Genya watched her make her way to the desk and open up the lowest drawer. She rummaged through it, and soon, a flat tray with a tourniquet, tubes, flask, needles, tape and gauze appeared on her desk.

"Blood test?" Genya said out loud. Kafka hummed and carried the tray over.

She operated very quickly and, surprisingly, without pain. The demon slayer watched in slight awe as the viscous, red liquid streamed down the tube. He'd seen his blood plenty of times during battles, but never so vibrant and rich. It was probably because it was concentrated in this one tube instead of splattered over the asphalt.

"You're not afraid of blood?" Kafka asked, waiting for the flask to fill up. Genya shrugged to the best of his ability, the tourniquet firmly anchored his arm.

"No."

Kafka disconnected the needle and corked up the flask. Blood instantly began pooling in the small wound, but she pressed it tight with a gauze.

"We have just one thing left," the nurse informed him as she fastened his arm with tape. "An X-ray screening."

"Mmm." Genya observed how his skin bunched uncomfortably from the tape. It looked ugly. "Is it a full body type of thing?"

"Well, that depends." Kafka slipped the flask into her breast pocket and stepped away from him. Sliding her hands into her pockets, she tilted her head. "Which organ do you want to transplant?"

Genya stared at her. She fucking said it. Which organ do you want to transplant? His heart skipped in glee, both from the fact that she literally confirmed his hypothesis and that this was all recorded. He was monumentally screwed, of course, but all of that faded with the fact that he was right. He had something he could show the hashiras, to Sanemi.

"My lungs," Genya made out hoarsely. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was anticipating this question and had prepared an answer that a professional nurse like Kafka would believe. "I want to get new lungs."

He couldn't help the wicked, sly grin from forming on his lips.

"I'm sure you have demons with some amazing bronchi, right?"

For the first time, he saw her smile under the mated plastic.

"Yes, we do."

She turned around and motioned with her hand. "Chest fluoroscopy it is, then. Follow me."

Genya slid off the table and pattered in his socks after her. Of course, there was no real need for him to stay anymore; he had more than enough evidence necessary for an official investigation. However, he wanted to see this through. If he was lucky, he may see other members of this organization and, more importantly, the demons.


The moment the man shoved them courteously, but firmly through the entrance, their watches went crazy. Shrilling at the top of their electronic sensors, their screens poured red. Blood type AB, A, O, AB, B, B, A, O…

"Shinazugawa-san!" He heard Kochou exclaim in worry, but he didn't have time for her. Whirling around, Sanemi grabbed the man by the collar and shoved him against the wall.

"My, my, hashira-dono, what happened to basic manners?" The man chuckled, but that didn't reach Sanemi's ears.

"Don't give me that bullshit," he growled, tightening his fists. Up close, he could tell apart the clear grey eyes and the rectangular glasses that somehow managed to sit on the plump nose. "What the fuck does this mean, fatso?" He hit his wrist against the mask's lenses, and the glass cracked. "What the fuck is this?"

"Shinazugawa-san!" Sanemi felt Shinobu tugging on his arm. "Shinazugawa-san, we won't achieve anything if we threaten him…"

"And I'm sure there's some clause against violence without an order, so I'd listen to the lady if I was you," the man giggled tightly. Instantly, he was pushed even further up the wall, and he gasped for air.

"Don't you dare recite the law, you underground motherfucker," Sanemi snarled, strangling the man.

A shot rang out, and Sanemi felt his hand flare in pain. Blood spurted in hot rivulets against his skin. For a moment, he watched them stream down his hand and drip on the floor, before raising an eyebrow and turning his head.

"Was that supposed to stop me?"

A lanky, average-height teenager no older than seventeen stood in the hallway. The mask reached only up to the bridge of his nose, and his eyes were sparkling with aggression. He was holding a shotgun.

"Let him go," he commanded furiously. Sanemi snorted, while the man's eyes went round like plates.

"Man, your manners suck as well," he said incredulously.

"Shut up, Subaru," the kid barked, giving the man an angry look. Subaru gave an apologetic, feeble titter. Without looking away from the teenager, Sanemi clenched his fingers. The blood poured harder out of the wound, but that got the man to stop laughing and wheeze instead.

"My reflexes are faster than yours," Sanemi said, enunciating his typically slurred syllables. "I'll have no problem using your buddy," he paused, before sliding his lips into a long grin, "what'd you call him, Subaru, as a meat shield. And trust me, I'll get to you before you shoot the second time."

The flexed legs. The slighted tilted face, the braced shoulders for the recoil, and the calculated breathing. If nothing was gonna happen in the next thirty seconds, the kid was gonna—

"Lower the gun immediately, you idiot!"

A tall, muscular man dressed in leather was approaching them quickly from the hallway. Several creases trickled across his forehead in worry and caution.

"Lower the gun, goddamit! They're the hashiras!"

"Toki-chan!" Subaru wheezed happily in the grasp. Fury and irritation flashed in the teenager's eyes, but he clicked his tongue and lowered the gun. Stopping next to him, Toki gave the hashiras a measured glance. He paused warily at Sanemi.

"If you wouldn't mind, please release our employee." Even though there was a clear subsurface threat in his voice, the man overall remained polite. At the very least, he wasn't directly violent - meaning that the only aggressor here was Sanemi. The wind hashira scowled in irritation and released his grip.

"Ooof!"

Subaru plunked onto the floor. For a few seconds, he stayed on all fours, coughing and rubbing his neck.

"Aw man, that was close!" He wiped his forehead, before blinking and giving a sheepish smile. "Ou-la-la? Is everyone staring at me?"

Shoved behind Toki's shoulders, the teenager glared at the wind hashira. Although clearly irked by the kid's glower, Sanemi kept his eyes on Toki. Silent, Shinobu watched them both. Everyone ignored Subaru.

"Why are you here?" Toki asked coldly. Sanemi gave a wry grin.

"That's kinda rude. After all," he jerked his head towards the plump man crouching on the floor. "Your employee invited us in."

The best way to draw attention away from oneself was to cause the dogs to chew themselves. The man's eyes shifted over to where the wind hashira was pointing.

"Can you explain yourself?"

"Of course!" Subaru scrambled up hurriedly. His hand flew up to fix his glasses, but only bonked against the lenses of the mask. "Eeet!"

The teenager tsked. "Pathetic," he mumbled under his breath.

"I'm waiting, Subaru," Toki raised his voice. The hashiras exchanged a look. This man was definitely the superior of the three, though there was a strange dynamic of camaraderie based on Subaru's light-hearted affection.

"Okay, okay," Subaru huffed and ran his palms over his shirt. "The male hashira-dono saw Yuji catching a demon. Well, Yuji-kun rests in peace now, but these fine people were able to track this place using the transmitter. And since they were here," Subaru looked heartily at his superior, "I decided to invite them in."

There was a long silence. Sanemi waited tensely, uncertain how he was supposed to react. On one hand, he was annoyed and on-the-edge. At the other, he couldn't not find Subaru's words hilarious. He eyed Shinobu and saw by her strained, but somewhat amused face that she was feeling the same thing.

"You fucking bastard!" The teenager flared up and yanked his gun forward. Eyes still locked on Subaru, Toki nimbly caught the barrel. Sanemi smirked internally. It seemed that the lard-ass would get a good socking in the near future.

"And what made you think that inviting them is a good idea?" The tall man inquired, raising his eyebrow. Subaru laughed and waved his hands airily.

"Well, it's not like we'll have anything to lose from them knowing," he giggled. Sanemi stilled. Something was clearly off in these words. He glimpsed at Toki and saw that his composed anger melted into surprise. This wasn't good. Sanemi grit his teeth; all too suddenly, he felt that he was not in the slightest in control of the situation.

There was a quiet chime of high-heels against the floor as Shinobu stepped forward.

"Excuse me, Toki-san?" Stopping in front of the man, Shinobu tried to catch his gaze. The tall man looked down on her.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Regardless of whether or not your employee invited us, we will have to investigate this building," Shinobu said quietly. "Our sensors indicate that there are demons, and a large amount at that, in our vicinity. As demon slayers, it's not something we can overlook."

Although she had muted her watch, it continued blinking red on her wrist. The man gave her a long, thoughtful gaze, and Sanemi involuntarily braced himself. He couldn't say he was fully anxious for her, considering her excellent speed. It was a purely instinctual reaction; she was ten times smaller than the guy, and if he were to hit her, she'd be plastered on the floor like a fly. Sanemi tensed. Although the size of her guts to pull straightforwarders like that were definitely disproportionate to her height…

"Very well." Toki turned around. "Gingko, go grab two masks for the hashiras. Subaru," his voice obtained a sour edge. "Sector H. The shipping's arrived."

"Yes, sir!" Subaru sang happily.

"But, sir!" The teenager protested.

"No questions," the man snapped. He glimpsed over his shoulder. "Follow me. I'll take you to our leader." Without a single word, he started forward.

Sanemi hesitated. At the same time, he sensed small fingers touch him lightly on the elbow and slanted down his eyes.

"What do you think?" Shinobu asked quietly, watching the walking man. Sanemi grimaced and looked away.

"I don't know," he confessed grimly, also fixing his gaze at the man in front of them. In a mechanical movement, he lifted his wrist and switched off the beeping sensor. "Even if several more guys run over with guns, we can still technically break through."

Shinobu nodded, but her eyebrows knitted over the bridge of her nose.

"Yes, but did you hear what Subaru said? They don't have anything to lose if they explain everything to us."

"You really gonna trust what that pissant said?" Sanemi scoffed, catching his voice before it could grow loud. A flicker of annoyance passed over Shinobu's face.

"So are you really proposing that we fig—"

"I'd love to knock 'em out," Sanemi interrupted. "But it's more worthwhile to see who the hell this leader is."

Shinobu gazed briefly at him, before sighing and giving a quick smile. "Agreed." Something tightened in Sanemi's chest.

Toki was waiting several meters away. It seemed that he realized that the hashiras needed a minute to talk things over and for whatever reason didn't want to intervene. As they neared him, Toki resumed walking, and Sanemi felt frustration simmering up in him. This display of courteousness highlighted the hashiras' ignorance and, consequently, disadvantage. He hated that feeling.

Soon enough, the hallway began splitting into many different corridors. Sanemi slanted his eyes, but all he could see were thousands of doors and internal windows. They've even met several people, all in gas masks, along the way. Some of them had those steel chests that Yuji had. A man in a bloodied apron walked by. Sanemi followed him with his gaze and didn't notice at first how Shinobu tugged him lightly by the sleeve.

"Shinazugawa-san," she whispered. Sanemi glanced at her and saw that she was pointing at her watch. They were clearly headed towards a vast aggregation of blood types. His jaw tightened, and Sanemi lowered his head.

"Be on guard," he said under his breath into her ear. Shinobu nodded and lowered her watch.

The hallway ended with two large, metal doors. Toki halted and pressed the button of a transmitter on the wall. He mumbled something quietly into the speaker; Sanemi caught only something about people and wanting to see Zou-san. He wasn't sure if he heard the last part correctly.

One of the doors pushed open, and a man walked out. Instantly, Sanemi understood that he heard everything correctly.

The gas mask covered his entire head, and the corrugated tube, like an elephant's trunk, slinked down and behind the lapels of the coat.

For a moment, the man was quiet before folding the map he was holding in four and slipping it into his pocket.

"By people you mean the hashiras." His voice was soft. Toki looked straight into the double eyepieces, tinted complete black.

"Yes, sir. They caught one of our men on duty." The man lingered. "Subaru claimed there's nothing wrong in bringing them here."

At these words, the wind hashira's eyes darted at the man. It seemed that Subaru did have some influence despite his pitiful attitude.

"I see."

Zou stepped past the executive and stopped in front of the hashiras.

"I've been curious when the hashiras would pay us a visit," he noted in the same quiet voice. Sanemi clenched his teeth together, but maintained his composure. Shinobu raised her eyebrows.

"And why is that, if I may ask?"

The gas mask tilted slightly down to regard her. Something in that gesture infuriated Sanemi, and he dug his nails into the hilt. Keep your cool. You can kill him later.

"We share hunting grounds," Zou replied, seemingly unaffected by the tension resonating between them. "We tried our best, but a meeting was more or less inevitable."

"Hunting grounds?" Shinobu was quiet for a moment, allowing for the word to hover in the air. "Are you also exterminating demons?"

Zou shook his head. He turned around and beckoned with his fingers.

"I want to show you something. I think it'll answer all your questions."

The man pushed open both doors and walked out to the balcony-like platform. However, both hashiras froze at the entrance, too shocked to move.

Arms anchored above their heads, thousands of demons hung down in never-ending rows from the ceiling. The air trembled with uneven rasping and strangled, wheezing moans.

Walking down the platform, Zou placed his elbows on the railing. His frame relaxed, and when he spoke again, his words had a hint of a satisfied, small smile.

"We're an organ trafficking business."


A/N:
Hi guys! Fanfiction was down on my computer yesterday, which is why I posted later here than on a03.

I finally got a tumblr account! (an ao3 user recommended me to create one back in 2019, but guess who took their darn time?) Anyways, I'm not sure yet how I'll be on the platform since I'm not that big on social media, but I'll give it a shot! I'll def post update notifications there :)

Anyways, I personally love these last few chapters because unlike some other aspects of this story, this arc has been sitting in my head for a very, very long time, and I can't believe I finally got to it!

(Unexciting, content-related note: Zou means elephant in Japanese :)

And as always, a big thank you to everyone who's leaving feedback or simply reading this. I love ya, guys.