Kokichi and Rantaro spent hours together after lunch. They hadn't planned things to turn out that way—both of them were content with going their separate ways after eating. But the crowds were amiable and the air was good, so they stayed out longer than either of them should have.
They visited an 80's style arcade, where Kokichi wiped the floor with Rantaro in air hockey, and Rantaro retaliated by kicking his ass three times in a row in competitive racing. They settled for a tiebreaker in the form of Dance Dance Revolution, though Rantaro danced his heart out, Kokichi sat on the ground and pressed the buttons with his hands, instead of dancing along with his feet like he was supposed to.
"Why am I not surprised that you're cheating to win?" Rantaro mumbled in between a twirl and a step, not yet out of breath. "You know this is only going to make my victory over you that much more satisfying, right?"
"This isn't cheating," Kokichi pointed out. "There are no rules within the game that state I have to specifically use my feet. Though if there were—"
"You'd say 'To hell with all the rules!' wouldn't you?" Rantaro laughed as the song came to an end. Kokichi stood up from the floor, and both of them watched the screens with bated breath. "And look, I won, just as I should have. Cheaters never prosper, Kokichi."
"Aw, Rantaro, y'know I was letting you win, right? After all, I wouldn't want to see you crying like a little bitch just 'cause you didn't score a single point in air hockey."
Anyone else would have been offended by Kokichi's words, mildly or extremely, but Rantaro had grown used to his behavior. He matched Kokichi's grin for his own, and punched him lightly in the shoulder to offset any hesitance he might have had. "How kind of you to consider me, Kokichi. You are truly the paragon of kindness of our time. Magazines should write articles about you and children should idolize you 'till the day they die."
And Kokichi, for all of his misbehavior, enjoyed moments like these the most. It gave him hope that somewhere, somehow, there was another universe wherein vampires didn't exist, and his friendship with Rantaro was preserved, and in that universe the two of them would always hang out, without the omniscient threat of monsters and demons looming over their heads.
It gave him hope in an otherwise bleak world, and despite the danger of giving into such optimism, Kokichi didn't hate it.
"I don't hate the idea of that," he said to Rantaro. "So, if I publish a book about how awesome I am, you'll be the first to buy it, right?"
"I'm insulted that you'd think I wouldn't be there consulting you, making sure the book is accurate to a fault." Rantaro leaned against the rails of the machine, flashing colors and blinking lights reminding him and Kokichi that they needed more tokens to continue. But just as the hours they spent together had gone idly by, so did the realization that all this fun would come to an end. "I think it's time we headed out now, don't you think?"
"I agree," Kokichi said.
"About the book thing, or about leaving?"
Kokichi rolled his eyes and reached for Rantaro's hand, laughing as he dragged him along to his every whim.
Laughing as Rantaro let him do such a dangerous thing, in the first place.
"Obviously, both. Keep up, Amami."
.
.
It was dark by the time Kokichi separated from Rantaro, left to his own devices in the middle of the busy street. Even at night, the city was alive, and buildings put their lights on, becoming beacons in the concrete sea. Kokichi slipped into the anonymity of an alleyway, making sure he was completely alone before pulling out his phone.
He wore Kiibo and Miu's portable gun (official name still pending) like a keycard around his neck, attached to a lanyard that was hidden underneath his clothes. He planned to test out their invention today, and that meant he needed someone to test it out on. DICE had lots of resources, including a "hit list" that was a compilation of all the known vampires in the area, dead and alive. Though Kokichi left a lot of dirty work up to the grunts of his organization (therefore earning their dread and fear in the same fell swoop), there were times where he had to intervene himself.
He was careful about which targets he chose, however. More often than not, they were older people, or those who already had a criminal history. He never hurt younger teenagers or children, and he was more merciful to older teens and young adults his age. He once tried to enforce a "no killing kids" rule, but it failed as many of his higher-ups argued vampiric children would grow to become greater threats, and had to be eliminated just the same as adults.
Kokichi accessed the hit list database, and scrolled past any childish face he saw. After minutes of scrolling, he found a perfect test subject. Some guy named Mori that lived in the outskirts of town, known as a drunkard who was caught for DUIs in the past, but never punished despite his multiple accidents on the road. DICE members reported that he was good in a fight, and that all attempts to previously subdue him had failed.
Clearly, stab wounds and chokeholds could only do so much. And silver nets were popular among the organization, because if you could catch a vampire in a silver net, they were as good as dead. Yet with Mori, and other leeches of his kind, something stronger and faster was needed.
Something like a gun.
Ouma wondered if his initial meeting with Saihara would have been different if he had the gun back then. He wouldn't have had to chase Saihara all around the city's rooftops, and he wouldn't have had to pull the stunt which caused him to fall off the side of the building. All he needed to do was face Saihara once again, and shoot him point-blank, or shoot at his fleeting image—at his shadowy limbs as he tried to escape, before he tried to talk Ouma down into a hypnotic lull. The second he showed hesitation, Ouma would capitalize on it, and put that bastard in the ground where he belongs.
Until then, he had to settle for less than his best, and get rid of that Mori guy or whoever the hell else needed to get a bullet in them. After all, one must eat the appetizers before they get anywhere near the main course.
.
.
Kokichi was less than five minutes away from Mori's location when he received an urgent call from DICE. In moments like these, he switched his phone out for his wireless in-ear, which was advanced Miu tech and every bit as good as his actual phone. He hid away behind a half-wall in a park, glancing around with urgency as he whispered, "What's going on?"
"Sorry to bother you, sir, but some of the higher-ups have gone missing."
He swallowed hard. Members had a schedule and a routine to uphold. Even in the midst of battle, or in the face of death itself, each member had a responsibility to post their whereabouts. There wasn't supposed to be a single person out of place—there were no such things as MIAs in DICE.
So to hear that not one, but some of his members were nowhere to be found? That couldn't be anything good.
Kokichi voiced his concerns in a hushed voice. "Who's gone? When? And where?"
"Mizuki, Amaya, Rio, and Yoshitsugu are confirmed missing."
He knew them all by name, face, and heart. They were regarded as some of his closest friends in the organization, and Kokichi didn't have many friends to start with. But the word itself was enough to get him thinking about Miu and Kiibo, and if they were faring just as well, or even worse, somehow. "That explains who. When and where?"
"They were supposed to give in their reports an hour ago. We sent out alerts every five minutes, then every minute. Nothing. Not even their trackers."
"...Where?"
"They were supposed to be in a small neighborhood by Amagaya Park. Near the outskirts."
Kokichi didn't need to open his GPS to know where he was. Mori's location was also in a small neighborhood near Amagaya Park—the same park Kokichi had used as cover for this very conversation. He couldn't say with certainty that it was a setup, but he knew his members didn't call his number unless it was absolutely urgent. As in, alpha-level-one-black-submarine-whatever urgent. "I'm in the area. I'll do a sweep for them. Anyone but those four I should be searching for?"
"They took in some newbies for training. There should be an estimated dozen hunters on the scene."
One dozen hunters, Kokichi thinks. One dozen bodies, Kokichi really thinks. If he wasn't too late and they weren't dead yet, their odds were looking slimmer and slimmer. "I'll do it solo. Don't send anyone after me. If you get the 4-signal within the hour, send one of the cleanup crews. Damage control waits until I return, but you make sure to calm people down before they start a panic. I'm about to put the D in DICE."
"Yes, sir. But, if I may ask...what does the 'D,' stand for, anyway?"
Kokichi jumped into a running start, laughing into his receiver all the while. "After tonight? Probably death."
.
.
When Kokichi arrived at the location, there was no sign of Mori. No, that minor vampire on the hit list was a long-forgotten dream, and probably not involved in whatever massacre awaited him at the scene. Near Amagaya Park, in an abandoned warehouse in the shipyard, there laid the gruesome aftermath of what could only be called a bloodbath.
The bodies of the fallen DICE members were spread out like pieces from a discarded puzzle. Yoshitsugu's ridiculously red afro was still ridiculous in death, though the red of his blood was a distinctively different shade of red than his hair. His lumbering mass of a corpse was big enough to disguise the fact that Misa, and her younger sister Lia, were both collapsed behind him, curled into fetal-position cadavers like the children they were. DICE was an afterschool thing, for them, and considered fun. They weren't supposed to be out on a serious mission for another four years.
Tell that to the now-dead Mizuki, Kokichi's right-hand man (or left-hand, depending on where you stood), who always puts fresh recruits through the wringer. He was merciless and taciturn where Kokichi had been wild, and their system worked on their contrast—depended on it, even. Now the man was nothing more than a discarded slab of meat, bones horribly broken and body curled into an impossible shape. At least his brown hair was wonderfully maintained.
The same couldn't be said of Amaya or Rio. The former was DICE's "Seductress," as she liked to flirt with a good vampire before laying waste to them. She was fashionable even in the organization's unfashionable uniform, and her form in death was as pretty and poised as it had always been. Not to mention the fact that her longstanding boyfriend and only serious relationship was DICE's shit-brickhouse of a man, the latter ex-butcher Rio. He was a quiet, reticent man, but he knew his knives like his own hands. He was by Amaya's side, even in death, as his body was cut in half, if only to spare Amaya the same fate.
Then the three other new recruits: cousins Mutsuki, Ren, and Tsukasa. And their nameless friends who had barely just joined, but allowed access to DICE on Kokichi's good graces. Together with Kokichi's higher-ups and fellow members, the half dozen of them lay in a semi-circle just feet apart from the others, completely still and bloodied.
Everything white about the DICE uniforms were stained, destroyed, and brutalized. If they were red, it would've been like any other vampire attack. Instead, their insides were turned out, and black shit and rot got mixed in with the blood and flesh. Those weren't colors of a living person. Hell, those weren't colors that should even exist in the first place!
"Oh," Kokichi muttered. "Whoever did this is going to pay. They're going to fucking pay." He stumbled among the corpses, but lacked the strength to close their eyes. Many of them wore the organization's usual face masks, so their agonizing expressions were hidden behind clown facades. Kokichi didn't wear the mask to prove a point, that terror and justice could exist in plain sight, but for once he wished he had something to hide behind.
How could he explain this sadness to his members, let alone himself? After all, this wouldn't be the first time he lost people he cared about. And sure, the people at DICE were a far cry from his dearly beloved parents, but they were the closest thing Kokichi had to a family. They were the closest thing to a family they had for each other.
And it was all gone, ruined, broken because of a vampire.
Kokichi knew that most vampires didn't stay at the scene of a crime for long, because they would be too elated and excited by the intake of blood. Though, judging from the way their wounds were placed, whoever did this wasn't interested in drinking blood: they just wanted to kill, which meant that he was facing something worse than a violent vampire.
He was facing a thirsty vampire, and a vengeful vampire, one who had no desire to drink from the enemy.
So it stood to reason that the vampire themselves was still around, soaking in the gravity of their crimes. Kokichi saw a set of bloody footprints leading to the back entrance of the warehouse, out towards the rest of the shipyard where there would be countless boxes, containers, shipments, and structures to hide behind. But it also meant that the blood would be the way, and all Kokichi had to do was follow the trail of life elixir—the trail of precious blood that made humans out to be the livestock of vampires, and nothing more.
If only Shuuichi Saihara were here, because then Kokichi would be able to put all his rage to good use.
Instead, some nobody gets the treatment, and their death won't be nearly as satisfying, in comparison.
Sometimes, despite working so hard and eating so well, there were just no desserts leftover to enjoy.
.
.
No, no, no, no.
No, no, no, no, no, no.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
NO!
The blood never lied. The blood was true and tried. The blood separated the killers and the victims; it separated the monsters and the humans. The blood loved the darkness, and hid behind clouds. Blood got everywhere, and ruined everything. Blood was everything.
So why did the bloodtrail lead Kokichi here, to the docks, within the empty shipyard filled with nothing but obstacles and trash? Why did the blood take him here, by the sea, near the ocean where everything could be washed away at a moment's notice? Why did the blood splatter end here, at the edge of the world, where darkness and light co-existed in one disgustingly gray shade?
Why was Kokichi face-to-face with Rantaro?
Why was Rantaro covered in blood, entrails, and things too bad to name?
Kokichi had to know, even if his words gave all his secrets away. "What the fuck is this? Tell me this is a joke, Rantaro."
"I would," he began to say, mouth dry and voice coated in primal rage, "but I know how you feel about lies."
.
.
Ouma knew somewhere, deep down, that Saihara was a good person, and killing him would be no easy feat. He knew that somewhere along the way, he would have to accept the fact that goodness and compassion meant nothing if you were born with fangs instead of incisors. He would have to accept the fact that of all the people he's ever killed, Saihara would be the least deserving of it.
But Rantaro? Rantaro Amami? Kokichi spent years with the guy. He'd been to his house, for fuck's sake! He'd slept in the same room as him, been in the company of his entire family (sisters and all), played video games and ate ramen with him! For all he knew, Rantaro was a good friend, and—above all else—human. He knew him, dammit. He knew!
...Except he didn't. He didn't know him, not really. The reality was before him, and at every avenue, the fact that Rantaro was hiding something had been present. He just didn't know the secret was this important, or this life-changing. If he did, he would've done something about it all those years ago, when they were just kids and the world was easier then.
Now, they were well past their childhood, and a dozen or so bodies stood between them and their hard-earned friendship.
It all came crumbling down.
.
.
"You're a vampire," Kokichi said dumbly. He was in shock, for the most part, but there was no disguising the natural hatred that painted his voice all sorts of colors. A gradient of blackness and miasma. "You're a vampire? After all this time?"
"Born and raised!" Rantaro answered gleefully. "And you had no idea. Why would you, when our family is a peaceful one?"
"There are no such things as peaceful vampires," Kokichi insisted. "So don't tell me that."
"That's the hunter talking."
"Do you know who I am?"
"You're in DICE, sure. But you're also my friend, and as my friend, I ask that you see past the basics and understand me on a more complex level." Rantaro smiled, and Kokichi couldn't see a single drop of blood on his lips or on his teeth. He didn't know if that was reassuring or not. "I beat you in Dance Dance Revolution today—it's the least you could do."
"I said I let you win," Kokichi reminded him. Only Rantaro (and Shuuichi, apparently) could get away with this kind of pre-battle talk. "And I meant it."
"Still, the fact is that I won."
"In DDR? Or in this?"
"Maybe both."
"You selfish bastard."
"Kokichi." Rantaro's tone was exacting, final. "Please don't do this. Let me explain."
"Yes, please do. I want to hear in gory, gory, gory detail how you killed a dozen of my best hunters. Oh, I mean, about half a dozen. The rest were new recruits. Misa and Lia were kids, you motherfucker. You just killed some kids."
"You killed my sister!" Rantaro shouted. His voice was angrier, louder, and rawer than Kokichi had ever heard it to be. He almost flinched, if it weren't for the fact that the vampirism was keeping a strong check on his self-control. Thankfully, Rantaro realized himself, and tried to remain calm. "Not you, of course. I would've known it was you. But your organization killed Saki."
Kokichi winced at the thought of her: Rantaro's youngest sister, Saki, was killed two years ago in what he said was a skiing accident. But apparently that had been a cover-up, on both ends of the hunting spectrum. "Saki? But that's impossible, I know everyone who's ever been killed—"
"Your bosses lied to you, Kokichi. See, there's the thing, I always knew you were with DICE—I recognized your outfit from the day we met—but I just didn't see a reason to hurt you, not when you were my friend and not when you had no say in who died. At the time we met, Saki was still alive. She passed away two winters later, remember?"
"Yeah, at a ski resort. But that was a cover-up on your end, too? Why keep it a secret?"
Rantaro laughed. The ocean was right behind him, but even the waves were calm tonight. It was as if the whole world had come to a collective silence, in order for the two of them to bear their sins equally. The moon was even out, in a pretty crescent shape, like any good rote celestial object would be. The universe heard their conflict, and it answered.
Kokichi remembered the compact gun around his neck, and it felt as if his chest had opened up and spilled its contents onto the concrete before them. He meant to test out the organization's newest weapon on a vampire tonight.
He never meant to use it on a friend.
"Rantaro, answer me."
"Do you think we can just let the world know that vampires and hunters exist? That would put the rest of us in danger. And maybe you didn't realize it, but I have other sisters and my parents to take care of. It just wasn't—it wasn't an option."
"So DICE kills Saki, and you kill some of the highest-ranking members in return? And what, I'm just supposed to let you get away with it?" It was Kokichi's turn to laugh, and he wondered what expression his eyes were making, in tandem with the agonizing laughter that escaped his chapped lips. "Maybe even let you kill me? Rantaro, do you hear how fucking insane that is?"
"If it were anyone but you, they'd be dead by now," he hissed, as if that statement was supposed to bring some comfort. "But like I keep telling you, you're my friend, so there's still time to fix this. If we can just work this out somehow—"
"I'm not sure that we can."
"Kokichi, I don't care if DICE is good for you, or whatever, but you can't let their leaders lead you astray! You didn't know about Saki, and that's fine, I believe you. But if you think that I'll apologize for what I've done, then you're wrong."
"As a hunter?"
"As a friend."
"This is the part where I ruin everything, then." Kokichi put a hand to his upper chest, the place where the gun on the lanyard was resting. He felt the urge to equip it at once, but waited for the right second, the right moment where Rantaro would show aggression and act first. "Because news flash, Rantaro: I am the leader of DICE."
.
.
Expectation: Kokichi tells Rantaro about his true role as DICE's leader, and Rantaro, naturally, goes in for the kill. Kokichi fights back, and one of them dies.
Reality? Reality is only what people think it is, but Kokichi wasn't one to mix his pasts with his presents. When he told Rantaro Amami the ugly truth, that it was Kokichi Ouma pulling the strings behind the DICE puppets, he wasn't killed on sight. In fact, Rantaro didn't move, and the expression on his face remained frozen in time—lagging behind whatever frenzied thought process was happening within.
Finally, he moved, and Kokichi, for lapse in judgement or character, didn't pull out his gun. Rantaro merely stepped forward, and chuckled awkwardly. "Leader, huh? I'd figured you were important, but not the goddamned leader. Wow. Congrats."
"Yeah, well, if it means anything to you, I really didn't know about Saki. Would you believe me if I said I had suspicions that there were spies among DICE?"
"Normally, I wouldn't, but looking in your eyes just now…" Rantaro stepped closer, with a curious expression on his face. Kokichi remembered Shuuichi's mind games, and averted his gaze, despite the situation. "I know you're being honest. So, you had no idea. In a way, you're not responsible for her death, except you are."
"Yes, I am, because my members operate under my rules. But I tried and failed to get them to leave kids out of the mix. Can't blame the farmer for the bad apples, can you?"
"I can when there's no one else to blame."
"So, are you going to try and kill me now? Better tell me before I pull out the big guns."
To this, Rantaro looked genuinely hurt. His beautifully green eyes were wide, pained, pupils shaking with every second. His lips parted, quivering, showing the barest sign of weakness. Stop it, Kokichi inwardly begged. Those eyes, they're not Shuuichi's but they're just as bad. Don't look so guilty. It's not my fault.
Stop it.
"Are you deaf, or are you not listening to me on purpose? I said I didn't want to kill you."
"What?" Kokichi took a step back. Without realizing it, Rantaro had closed the distance between them. He knew that Rantaro didn't drink from the fallen members, and while that should have been a relief, it only meant that Rantaro was a thirsty, angry, wronged vampire in need of some blood.
If he wasn't going to kill Kokichi, then it was obvious what he really wanted from him.
The alternative was just as sick. "And what if you're lying? For all I know, you're boiling on the inside. So angry, so hot, that you could probably spew fire at me. Is that a thing you can do? Breathe fire?"
"You tell me, Mister Vampire Hunter Leader Man. You're the one who knows everything about vampires, apparently." A wry smile, and the friendly side of Rantaro revealed itself. It was a smile that dated all their past escapades: playing Uno until dawn ("Uno Reverse, bitch!"), eating Shiki's ramen ("You boys let me know if you want to taste test my newest recipe: eggplant noodles!"), talking on the phone for hours because Kokichi can't sleep ("Did you stay up late watching Buzzfeed Unsolved again?" "No." "Liar."), and everything else in between. It was a friendly smile, and Kokichi wanted none of it.
He laughed, too. He never laughed at something that was so unfunny before. "Not true. I'm getting constantly surprised as of late. Maybe I should start another business—vampire consultation."
Another dry laugh from his once-best friend. "Maybe."
"What you're asking me to do is impossible. Those were some of my friends back there—Mizuki, Amaya, Rio, just to name a few—and they're not gonna forgive me if I give up without a fight."
Rantaro frowned. "I said I didn't want—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. You don't wanna fight me, you don't wanna hurt me, I should escape while I still can, blah blah blah." Kokichi tightened the grip around his compact gun. He was moments away from equipping it, one good click of the mechanism would arm him against this dangerous leech, but he held onto the very last second, before closing out his intentions for good: "You don't want to kill me, I get it. And that's admirable of you. But that's the problem, Rantaro.
Click. "Because I wanna kill you."
.
.
Maybe it was because of Shuuichi's confusing actions the other day, but Kokichi had forgotten the horrors of vampirism. He had forgotten the endless agony of fanged creatures who steal away loved ones and destroy lives for good—he forgot the cloying darkness, the void in his heart.
What a mistake to forget the darkness like he did.
