It was already hard to breathe from the contaminated atmosphere. The heavy demonic odor was also manageable. However, when the dizzying, acrid fragrance of a chemical that she inhaled and injected every day trickled down her trachea and lungs, she couldn't hold back.
Shinobu coughed, much harsher than she expected, into her fist. Sanemi jolted and looked over in worry.
"You okay?"
Shinobu stifled the cough, and the itch bubbled inside her throat. Swallowing, the young woman waved her hand, dismissing her colleague's concern.
"Yes. More importantly..." Despite her voice being hoarse, Shinobu found enough self-discipline to imitate firmness. "That's how you keep the demons subdued?"
"You're correct," Zou answered calmly. While she coughed, the masked man had not moved, but at the sound of her question, he turned around. "The conditioning in this room processes about six hundred thousand gallons of wisteria. That's just shy of an Olympic swimming pool."
A knock rang out behind their backs, and a door creaked open.
"Zou-san?"
Shinobu glanced over her shoulder, and saw a tall man propping the door with his foot. Toki, the young woman remembered. Toki scanned over warily at the hashiras, before glimpsing at Zou. He jerked his arm, and the gas masks dangled by the straps. "Gingko brought these, sir."
"Right in time," Sanemi grumbled and, stepping up unceremoniously to the man, yanked the masks out of his hand. Turning around, he tossed one of them to Shinobu. She caught it nimbly. Fastening the latch behind her hair clip, she couldn't help but suck in. The inside of the mask stank of sweat and rotting eggs, but the air was light.
"You have fascinating abilities."
Lowering her hands from her bun, Shinobu raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Zou-san."
The man turned back to the phantasmagoric landscape. "Your lung capacity. You were able to delay the atmospheric toxins, even with irritants such as wisteria and demonic flesh odor present."
"Wanna buy our lungs? I can give a discount," Sanemi commented sarcastically, walking up to the masked man and resting his elbows on the railing. Shinobu followed him quietly. Zou-san laughed heartily.
"No, of course not," he replied softly. Shinobu glimpsed at him, before shifting her eyes to the grotesque scenery below the balcony.
There were about forty rows and forty columns. Those demons who didn't have arms were latched by whatever limbs they had. Metal rods were shoved in between their fangs, and thick, unhealthy-colored saliva slimed out of the corners of their lips. Shackle-like collars clasped wings, tentacles, or any other appendages firmly to shriveled bodies.
"How are you planning to get away with this?" Shinobu asked quietly without looking away from the grotesque scenery. It wasn't even disgust — she was just at loss. All her life was dedicated to demon extermination, and here was someone collecting them like a lepidopterist. The idea didn't sit straight in her head. Next to her, Zou observed the demons with a similar thoughtfulness.
"I don't need to get away with this."
"You are hoarding hundreds of demons and selling their organs." The bewilderment nearly slipped out into her intonation. Shinobu paused, choosing her words.
"Please don't tell me that you won't face any consequences for this."
She was aware, this was a stereotypical threat meant to fill the air. However, she had nothing better to say.
"As far as I remember, our society doesn't have any laws regarding demons."
The gas mask turned to regard the young woman. Shinobu noticed it, but almost as if in defiance, she kept her gaze on the demons. That didn't seem to bother the man.
"The government's only contribution to public safety was the Wisteria District - which also serves as a convenient divider between societal groups. In fact, the Demon Slayer Corps," at these words, Zou lowered his head slightly, as if in acknowledgement of his companions, "are the only faction taking any sort of administrative action towards the demons."
Shinobu's eyes slid towards him. "Condemnation from society is enough to attract government intervention."
Zou slightly shifted his shoulders, the tube of the gas mask swinging out of his coat. A glint of humour rang in his voice. "Some advice from personal experience?"
Shinobu flinched in discomfort. She didn't expect the jab.
"Watch your words," Sanemi growled behind the man's back. Zou was quiet for a moment, before starting towards the staircase.
"Let's continue."
That was the last thing she wanted. Shinobu met Sanemi's eyes when he walked past her after the man. They shimmered with frustration at his inability to do anything. Sighing, Shinobu placed her wrist on the hilt of her sword and followed the man down the stairs. Sanemi was probably right. The most they could do at the moment was simply listen to Zou and get a grasp on the situation.
Her heels tapped gingerly on the stained, uneven concrete foundation. Long shadows loomed over the silent humans and the limp bodies swung lazily above their heads. Label tags on rubber, elastic strings dangled off the dehydrated toes.
Aching in her neck and shoulders, Shinobu walked stiffly after Sanemi. This wasn't right. Walking through a horde of demons, no matter how narcotized - it's insane. A loose bolt, a stronger resistance to wisteria, and a demon's fangs will sink right into her nape.
There was a rustle of murmurs, echoing as if in a well. Shinobu's eyes raced upwards, and the dark silhouettes stretched out indefinitely into the ceiling. Wide-eyed, Shinobu stared at them, and the treacherous, paralyzing fear of being small and powerless crawled into her heart.
"The hell are they talking about?" Sanemi's voice was quiet and suspicious. Something up there twitched, and Shinobu instinctually moved closer to him. It became stuffed inside her turtleneck from embarrassment. The young woman shifted slightly.
"They're sensing your blood," Zou replied without looking around. "They're drugged enough, though."
"Yeah, right." The comeback was a bit muffled as Sanemi sucked on the wound. The man in the front seemed to decide not to dissuade the young man.
Zou stopped and turned around to the hashiras.
"I'd like to demonstrate how we do business."
Anxiety prickled down her spine, and her temples dampened with the heating skin. All her instincts - the ones she subdued, the ones she trained, and the ones that were more or less unnecessary - combined together telling her to run. As she rooted the ground, Sanemi rested weight on one leg and crossed his arms demonstratively.
"Knock yourself out." His tone was coated in disdain. Although he always spoke out whatever he felt, Shinobu knew that Sanemi would never reveal his fear. At this moment, the possibility that he wasn't afraid simply didn't exist.
"Thank you." Zou reached and read one of the tags. "We always have a sentinel watching this room from a compartiment outside." As he spoke, the man fished out a transmitter from his pocket. He pressed the button, and a young, clear voice broke the air.
"Yes, sir!"
Shinobu winced, while Sanemi's face contorted in uneasiness and displeasure. The voice was too loud for a dangerous place like this.
"Descend product AB-36."
"Yes, sir!"
Thr ceiling shuddered. One of the silhouettes jerked, and under the monotonous, metallic hum of the machines, the conveyor lowered one of the demons until it was eye-level with the humans. Shinobu felt sick in the stomach.
His pupils gazed blankly at the ground through half-lidded eyes. With every single breath, the skin pulled taut around the colorful, ballpoint needles sticking out of his chest.
"If I remember correctly, this one has a suitable thymus." Zou plucked one of the needles and inspected it in mild boredom.
"Aren't all demonic organs the same?" Shinobu challenged him. She noticed how the lifeless pupils traveled her way, but kept her eyes steadfast on the man. Acknowledging the demon wouldn't bring any good.
"The dissections prove otherwise." Zou drove the needle delicately back in and, the young woman noted, with inhuman accuracy. "Certain organs are more developed in some demons than others. Their state seems to be dictated by a combination of genes and use. I'm not fully sure." He lifted the transmitter to the mask. "You can raise it back up."
"Yes, sir!"
As the conveyor grumbled back up, the man turned around to the hashiras. His mask was even darker from the shadows cast by the swinging bodies.
"Because demons regenerate, you can reuse them several times before regeneration and quality drops. It's profitable."
Shinobu remained silent, eyes trailing after the rising demon. Getting an organ carved out continuously while regenerating… she didn't pity the creature, but she couldn't agree with the man either. Demons were meant to be killed, not scattered around like unfitting puzzle pieces inside human organisms.
"Who would even agree to a demonic limb?" Shinobu finally asked, lowering her head to regard Zou.
"You underestimate people." The man walked in between the hashiras, his shoulder brushing hers. Intentionally or not, Shinobu did not know. "Not everyone wants to be augmented. They're afraid of becoming artificial, non-human."
Shinobu couldn't hold back the grimace. Absurd.
"Don't give me that bullshit," she heard Sanemi snarl behind her back. "Nothing is farther from a human than a demon."
"At the end of the day, humans and demons are both made of flesh." Zou's pace remained unchanged. The coat beat his ankles peeking from lacquered shoes.
"I figured some would prefer to substitute muscle-and-fat to muscle-and-fat rather than fabricated rubber, especially since demons originate from humans."
"Speaking from personal experience?" Sanemi jeered bitterly. Shinobu glanced at him, before transferring her gaze at the man in the mask. True, did he have any demonic implants in him?
Hand on the staircase railing, Zou paused. He turned around, and Shinobu understood that he wasn't looking at them.
"No." There was a certain light-heartedness in his voice. "I just know humans."
Rubbing his wrist, Genya leaned back absently on the chair. His arm was still aching from the blood test, but otherwise he was okay.
After Kafka scanned him in the cold radiographic room, he was led into a lobby. Metal booths were built into the walls, most likely for confidentiality. The room was empty, and the nurse unceremoniously pointed him to the fourth booth. At least he was allowed to change.
Clutching the edge of the desk in front of him, Genya rocked backwards and stared at the ceiling. The examination seemed complete, so all that was left was waiting. It was an uneasy situation.
Genya picked his teeth nervously with his tongue. There seemed to be a piece of squashed rice stuck somewhere in the back.
They probably won't strap him to the surgery table against his will. The question was how to make a run for it before that. The rice wiggled out onto his tongue, and he instinctively chewed on it. Tell them that he changed his mind? Tell them that he needs to reschedule? The idea of having a record suspended indefinitely in a shady organization sounded miserable. He already had a yarn ball of loose ends with no good resolution—
Geny grimaced. What the hell was he eating? The young man spat out the tasteless rice, and with a heavy sigh, knocked forward on the chair. Folding his arms on the desk, he propped his chin and stared at the wall beyond the glass partition. It reminded him of juvenile prisons.
The door banged in the background, and Kafka appeared behind the glass. She was pulling a rolling tray. The sealed jars set on top tinkled slightly with the movement. Unbothered to sit up, Genya followed her with his eyes. The nurse sat down across from him behind the glass.
"Your blood test will be ready any minute," she commented off-handedly as she fixed the mask around her jaw. The demon slayer hummed in agreement. He still had no idea how to break it to her.
Sighing, Kafka scooted forward in the chair and dragged the rolling tray up to her.
"I brought some samples. I don't have your blood type yet, so don't get too attached."
She slid one jar through the small opening in the glass. Genya instantly shifted upwards and examined the 'gift'.
Floating in pinkish liquid, the lungs were plump and red, just like the ones from the anti-smoking holograms. Genya touched the jar delicately with his fingertips and rotated it. He couldn't even tell these came from a demon.
"Sick," he admitted. His eyes darted at the woman beyond the glass. "And they can live all on their own?"
"Pretty much if they're always connected to a blood source." Kafka smirked and, folding her hands in front of her, leaned forward. She looked at the jar with the demon slayer.
"You'd expect the implantation to be hard, right?" The woman smiled softly. "But it's almost the same as with humans. Blood compatibility, tissue cross-matching… nothing new." She reached back and picked up another jar. "Here, take a look at this one."
Setting the first jar aside, Genya took the one she pushed towards him. Peering inside, he noticed a tumor-like blob at the side of the right lung. It had a familiar shape.
"Is that…"
"Yes, a third lung," Kafka confirmed, reclining back in the chair and placing her right leg on her knee. "So if you feel like chain-smoking again, you might consider this version."
Genya glanced at her. "Will that kill 'em? I mean.. they're demons right? Shouldn't they regenerate?"
Her smile became condescending. "Are you planning to damage them?"
"Not on purpose," the demon slayer instantly retaliated. He placed down the jar and glared at the woman. "If they don't, I might as well find a normal dealership."
"At thrice the price," the nurse snorted. However, her expression soon became serious, and the demon slayers saw her gaze wander to the jar.
"They do regenerate," Kafka confessed after a short silence. "That's their purpose. Humans… need regenerative limbs as much as demons."
Genya lowered his eyes. He understood the woman. While some could obviously use a demonic liver to drink themselves senseless, others may not have the money for an augmentation. More so, he knew the terror of being eaten in the Lower Level. If you could recover just one part of your body, just one, that knowledge could summon enough courage to walk outside the door every day.
"What about the demon slayers?" The words slipped out of his mouth on an impulse, without any thought attached to them. Face reclining into her palm, the nurse regarded him thoughtfully from her spot.
"What about them?"
Genya swallowed. Really, what about them? "Can't they detect demonic limbs, you know… with their special equipment, or whatever?"
"Like that watch on your hand?"
It must have been the stress that accumulated in his subconscious. But at these words, his hand jerked automatically to his holsters, only to find that nothing was there. Suddenly, it became really, really quiet.
"Let me say this, before you do anything else." Her eyes were piercing, but not malicious. Fingers poised above the holster, Genya held her gaze. Will she threaten him? Or will she offer something else? He felt something warm trickle behind his ears and gritted his teeth.
"Do you want to continue the operation?"
Genya felt frustration mixed with fear bubbling inside him. The woman was fucking cornering him. Even though she remained calm, she'd yet to state what would happen if he refused.
"Is there a reason why I shouldn't?" He made out through clenched teeth. Kafka raised her eyebrows and, using her hands, scooted her leg higher up the knee.
"I mean, I don't care if you want to have demonic organs. That's between you and your job. That being said," her eyes narrowed. "I don't want to operate on a scout."
Genya stared at her, before curling his lips in a snide scoff. No way was he being let off the hook so easily.
"Awfully chivalrous of you," he said bitterly.
"It's my code of ethics," Kafka retorted coldly. There was a knock on the door. At his edge, Genya jumped off his chair, but the nurse waved it off.
"Relax, it's just your blood test."
Still standing, the young demon slayer watched tensely how a meek girl, also dressed in medical attire, slipped into the room on the other side of the wall. Without a word, she handed Kafka a single piece of paper before disappearing just as noisessly out.
The nurse scanned the document. Her eyebrows creased for a moment, but before Genya could guess what it was, she leaned back in the chair.
"So," Kafka asked him inquisitively, folding her hands on her lap. "Are you a demon slayer with enough brains to request for an implant, or are you suicidal like other members of the Corps?"
"You still haven't told me the consequences of each," Genya sneered. He was still standing.
"Nothing you'll regret. I can provide the services no matter your affiliation." Kafka shrugged. "If not, I'll take you to the boss, and you can talk over the price. By price I mean its direct, monetary definition."
"Like hell you would." Taking a stride forward, the demon slayer slouched down and pressed his hands into the desk. Bringing his face right up to the glass, he glowered at the woman.
"I just got loads of information that's enough to close this fuckshop up," Genya articulated quietly. "Who will guarantee that I won't receive a bullet in the back of my head once I step out of this room?"
Demon slayers died all the time. His death wouldn't be much of a surprise. His eyes pierced hers. If he was in her situation, he would do the same.
The silence stretched. Neither the woman nor the man moved, each studying each other; one with mild incomprehension, and the other with hateful resignation.
"Do you want to die?" Kafka finally asked, quietly, with her head tilted to the side. His fingers tightened on the desk. Although he knew what she was referring to, the question seemed to encompass much more than the one-meter radius of the booth. He deserved death many times, both at the orphanage and at his profession. Did he want to die?
"Of course not." His low voice mixed with the loud echo of the exhale.
After a second, Kafka sighed and stood up. Like a trapped animal, Genya watched her with a hungry, desperate expression up until the door closed behind her. Once she left, he lowered his head down and stared at the floor.
He had to quickly devise something. Genya wrinkled his forehead, but the effort cascaded into a blaring pain at the back of his head. In complete horror, the demon slayer realized that his brain shut off completely. It was too exhausted, run out of stamina. For a moment, Genya was frozen in stupor, before clanking his teeth together. A guttural, terrified hiss escaped his mouth. This was the millionth time when he was too weak.
The door behind him opened, and Genya glanced over his shoulder.
"I have no desire to kill you off." Hand on the door knob, Kafka stood in the entryway. Her eyes were calm. "I'll take you to our leader, and he'll determine the conditions of your release. Let's go?"
The young man gazed at her for several seconds, before relenting. He didn't believe her, but it was useless to argue.
They walked out of the room in silence. The hallways were busier than before; even though they didn't see anyone, there were low murmurings and ringing of metal in the background. Some demon getting his dick lopped off, Genya thought grimly.
The young man glanced up and saw that the nurse was looking over her shoulder. She was steadying herself a bit, and he took the hint. Without a word, Genya caught up to her pace until they stood side by side. Kafka turned away and resumed walking.
They stopped next to a simple door with a built-in window. Genya glimpsed at it, but blinds hung on the other side. Kafka gave a small knock. No one answered. After waiting patiently for about half a second, the nurse knocked again.
"Maybe he's not there," Genya suggested. The absence of the leader made him feel even more unsettled. This was taking too long.
"Kafka?"
A voice called out from the hallway. Never mind. As the nurse turned around, the young man spent the extra two seconds steeling himself. He would lie if he said he wasn't interested in what kind of jerk owned this organization. Not like it mattered, but he felt like satisfying his curiosity before he was done in.
Genya turned around and looked squarely at the people approaching them. Or at least tried to.
In the blur of seconds that followed, he felt heat flushing on his cheeks from embarrassment and confusion, combined simultaneously with the freezing shiver and paralysis. He didn't even notice the man in the gas mask at first.
"Genya… kun?"
A/N: Look at me, three weekly updates in a row! Fingers-crossed, this trend will hold into the future.
By my estimates, we have about one/one-and-a-half chapters in this mini arc, before churning slowly into the second, longer arc.
Thank you for your support! Comments (praise or constructive criticism) are batteries, so feel free to leave them behind :))
