Warning: This chapter contains blood and descriptive violence
Also, please comment about the writing style. I'm a new creative writer and I can't tell if my sentence structure makes sense or if the dialogue feels natural.
-Chapter 2-
Arata exhaled into his hands, futilely trying to warm his digits against the cold air of the night sky. Whatever relief he had gained lasted for mere seconds as his breath began to feel no different than the passing winds.
It was a cold night. One he would have preferred to stay inside.
People often thought of criminals as people who had chosen to take the easy way, a shortcut for some quick cash and gratification. Arata wasn't sure how true that was, but it certainly wasn't for him. Being a criminal was hard work and nowhere near as profitable as fiction made it seem. Even highly successful jobs could only last him a few weeks before he had to be back on the streets, roaming for cash.
The days when cash filled the wallets were long over as the preferred payment method became the card. While there were black markets where stolen goods could be offloaded, such places only offered a pittance pay at best. Trying to sell to individual parties without going through a middleman was more profitable, but such actions brought heat, not just from the cops but from other criminals who "claimed" that territory. Without any way for his fellows to safely sell what they swiped, the bigger and more organized groups could pay what they pleased.
He was experienced enough on the streets that he could have worked with others on more profitable jobs, but in his line of work, people who got too greedy ended up behind bars or worse.
With how competent the police were in this country, it was best to not fly so close to the sun lest he fell crashing down.
With how unprofitable crime was, Arata would never hesitate to abandon his criminal career and go legit if he was given the chance, no matter how small the pay would be. But he would never have a choice as the only people willing to hire him were those in the same line of work. No honest employer would ever consider someone like him in a world where a person's entire life history was recorded.
In days of hardship, he often fantasized about what his life would be like if certain things happened differently. If his father hadn't died of cancer. If his mother hadn't overworked herself to death. If his family wasn't drowning in debt owed to the Yakuza.
Arata did not hate his parents despite his sole inheritance being nothing about debt. They were good people. His father was strict but kind and his mother loving, as all mothers should be. His family was just unlucky. He sometimes wondered how many others shared his story.
He often thought about how many truly chose this life or if it was thrust upon them through misfortune or chance.
Fortunately, Japanese Law allows all inheritors to choose whether to accept or reject their inheritance, including their parents' debt.
Unfortunately, before his mother's body had even cooled, the Yakuza showed up demanding payment. When he couldn't pay, he was given a choice. He could either go through a dietary plan where he would lose the combined weight of a stomach, two kidneys, two eyes, a heart, and five lobes of lung, or he could join them.
One option was far more appealing to him than the other.
If there was something that Arata was truly bitter about, it was that there was no third option.
So, at 15 years of age, Arata Shizuka became a member of the Yakuza.
Although to say he was a "member" was somewhat misleading. He was an… associate? Affiliate? Slave… He was their slave, or whatever you call a person who worked without pay and was threatened with death for disobedience.
While society spat on criminals, it seemed to romanticize the Yakuza, calling them a necessary evil. People placed them under the archetype of the honorable rouge and thought of them as a necessary evil that maintained order in the darkest parts of the criminal underworld.
Considering Arata's time with those "honorable" people, he could say with 100% certainty that it was all bullshit.
The Yakuza liked to create their own justifications and excuses for their crimes. They wanted to think of themselves as anti-heroes, but their fantasy did not hold up against reality. They boasted of even the smallest act of charity while downplaying their vilest acts of cruelty. He lost count of how many times he was told how grateful he should be to them for taking him in. As if not dissecting a child who had not yet finished puberty was something to be proud of. While Arata liked to fantasize to make his life more tolerable, the Yakuza took their fantasies to a new level.
Perhaps their romanization was closer to reality decades ago in the chaos following the aftermath of the war but now? They were just another band of criminals, no different than the rabble they claimed to be above. They were just better organized and more delusional than the rest.
For years, he worked for the Yakuza. For years, he hated every second of it.
When he was finally old enough to smoke, he escaped with nothing but some spare clothes and supplies. He had considered making off with some valuables but dismissed the idea. While they would not care about the desertion of someone like him, they would not be as forgiving if he had wounded their honor, no matter how false it was.
He had left, hoping to avail himself of the third choice he had been denied years ago. But the crimes he had committed had closed it off forever.
With the skills he picked from his time in the Yakuza, he survived in the streets doing petty jobs, stealing, and cheating.
While it was enough to provide him with food and some shelter, he would be lying if he said he did not wish for a better life.
This particular job was different from his usual. It broke his rules of survival, and he wouldn't have touched it with a mile-long pole if not for the man who had proposed it.
Taka was somewhat of a legend in the street. There were rumors that he was some kind of crime lord that was ousted from his throne, but stories on the road were often inflated and not worth the words spoken. But what was important was that he was reputed to have pulled off multiple high-risk heists. Ones that have gotten others killed or arrested, whether they were successful or not. He usually would have dismissed them as rumors if he hadn't been part of some jobs that had made him famous in the streets.
Of course, Arata was not the main force behind these jobs and was merely the backup dancer for the leading group. While being as pessimistic as they come, Arata could admit that Taka was very competent.
So, when the infamous Taka contacted him about a job, Arata was sorely tempted despite the risks.
The key to his survival was laying low, as the weed that grew the tallest was the first one pulled out. That had been his motto and law, and it was how someone like him survived.
But if he succeeded… If he was able to make it big just this once… That third choice that he had so desperately desired may become his.
His fears and cautions clashed with greed and hope. In the end, his dreams won out.
So here he was, hiding behind the trees, watching people who lived completely different lives enter and exit the door that might as well be the pearl gates to someone like him.
The plan was simple: wait for a chance, nab a fat cat coming out from the building, and ransom him to his family for a healthy sum.
Arata's job was to report when such a chance appeared while the rest waited in the van some distance from here.
Even after the plan had begun, he still had reservations. Not just due to the weight of the risks but also the weight on his conscious. Arata was no saint. He was a bloody criminal after all. While never stealing to the point that lives would be ruined, Arata knew his crimes had hurt many. But he typically was never around to face the damage he had caused. Taka had promised that the hostage would not be harmed, but the thought of having to face the fear and panic of his next victim's face filled him with grave discomfort. He must have pondered whether to quit over a dozen times since he had accepted this job.
But the rewards were too big.
This job represented not just a lump of cash but a future. A future where Arata could leave his past behind and start a new life.
So he pushed his conscious aside and staked outside the La Grande Masion apartment. A pretentious name for a pretentious building catering to pretentious people.
This was an apartment that catered specifically to the wealthy elite. Even the most minor units in this apartment cost a ludicrous sum, so anyone who could afford to live there had to be rich.
Unfortunately, while Taka painted a pretty picture, the job was not easy as he made it seem.
The residents of this place possessed their own vehicles, so when they left the apartment premises, they left within the safety of their cars. It was already approaching three hours past midnight, and not a single person exited on foot.
At this point, he was ready to call this off as the chances of a target grew slimmer as more and more people chose the comfort of their beds over the torturous temperatures of the Devil's hour. While he was disappointed, in a way, he was glad that he didn't have to stain his hands any more than they already were.
As he was about to notify the rest, a red-haired woman exited the building. At first, he was caught off guard by her peculiar appearance.
From her bright red hair, she seemed like a foreigner in her early twenties. A very pretty one too. Even at this distance, he could tell she was beautiful.
The odd thing was that her clothing was rather unique.
Typically, the only reason for a woman of her age to be out at this time of hour was to hit the bar or the club. However, she was dressed like a businessman ready for a meeting rather than a young lady going out to have some fun.
But seriously, who wore a tie at this hour? Decked in her trench coat, she looked like an actress filming a Chinese movie in the 1950s.
He never bothered with the latest trends among young women, but even one as fashion illiterate as he could tell that the woman's choice of attire was rather strange.
But despite her exquisite appearance, what was most striking to Arata was her posture.
The stance of her gait, the tilt of her head, and the motions of her arms all exuded an air of elegance and confidence.
Something he found admirable but also unpleasant.
He reached for his number and began to dial Taka, but before he could connect the call, he hesitated. Once he made this call, there was no going back, and he would condemn a woman he had never met to a time of nightmares. Once again, morality was at war with greed.
But once again, greed won out, just like it did all his life.
"Woah! You never said anything about her being a total babe!" Exclaimed Yamamori.
Arata frowned. "I do not see how that is relevant."
"Maybe Yama here wants to have some extra 'fun' with our little damsel," snickered Katsuki.
Arata glared in disgust. "Don't eve-"
"Enough," cut off Taka with a frown. "We stick to the plan. When we get the chance, grab her and if she resists, gag her. Do nothing else. Am I understood?"
Arata smiled. Despite being a crook, Taka had his own rules to follow and limits he didn't cross. Furthermore, the man was one tough bastard that could reign in the others. It was one of the reasons he decided to join the job despite his misgivings. He was confident Taka could keep their colleagues from going too far.
"Alright, alright, I was just joking. Jeez, get that stick out of your ass man," replied Katsuki with a roll of his eyes
"Although if she resists, it's not my fault if I 'accidentally' cope a feel, right?" Said Yamamori with a wink
Arata sighed. "Have some class you two."
"If everything goes well, you will have more than enough money for a hooker or two. But for now, keep it in your pants," ordered Taka.
"Yessir."
"Taka, what do you intend to do if she doesn't comply?" Asked Arata with concern. "What if their family goes to the police? Are we really goi-."
"Arata, look at me," commanded Taka. "I promised you that we will not harm the hostage, and I intend to honor that promise. If their family refuses to pay the ransom and goes to the police, we will release her. We are not monsters to torture some slip of a girl, and I don't plan on escalating this."
Arata nodded, satisfied with the answer.
"Let's go over the plan one more time."
"Oh, come on man, we've been over this a hundred times. It's not even that hard of a plan," whined Katsuki but quieted down immediately at Taka's glare. "Going over the plan again, understood," said Katsuki with both hands in the air placatingly.
"Yamamori and Katsuki, you two will tail her on foot. Arata and I will remain in the van. Kachi, turn off the tail lights and drive at a comfortable distance behind the target. Don't want to spook her. At the next crossroad, we will flank her. You two will grab and shove her into the van while we pull her in. Most importantly, do not let her scream. Is that understood?"
"Roger, you got it, boss man."
"Then get moving."
It was said that there was no honor between thieves. While Arata would not consider his partners friends, they had worked together in the past enough times to form a sense of camaraderie and trust.
While they were no law-abiding citizens, honestly they were assholes, they weren't the worst the streets had to offer. He could at least trust them to do their job and have his back when things went awry.
While the plan itself was simple, it was well-planned. This area of the street was rarely ever used and was poorly lit. Furthermore, the entire path was linear. They would see any approaching vehicles a mile away. Arata had not seen a single soul for the past 20 minutes. By all rights, there should be no complications.
Even the skies seemed to be on their side. Rain began to pour and thunder deafened the skies so loudly that it could drown out even the loudest of commotions.
The team was well prepared, and God himself seemed to be helping them. But for some reason, he could not shake the sense of foreboding.
"Fuck!" Kachi swore.
"What is it?" Asked Taka
"The target just went off-road, and we can't follow her with the van."
"Shit, do you think she noticed?"
"I'm not sure. She stopped suddenly and switched directions, so I thought we'd been had, but she doesn't seem to be in any hurry," replied their driver.
"Should we call this off?" Asked Arata.
"No, we still have a chance. Arata, follow me; we'll join the others. Kachi, stay with the van and follow behind. If you see any interlopers, call us," ordered Taka as he ran out of the van.
Arata hesitated for a moment before following.
When the two reached Yamamori and Katsuki, the rain poured harder than ever. They were all soaked to their very bones, and the rain made it challenging to transverse through the terrain, but they continued to pursue their target.
The thunder and the rainfall were so loud they had to yell to be heard.
"Shit, where did she go?"
"Just follow me; there is only one path she can take."
"Fuck, why couldn't she just stay still. My balls are fucking freezing," complained Katsuki.
"Maybe you two should have been more careful like I told you to," snapped Taka.
"It wasn't us; she didn't look back or anything. I don't know what spooked her."
"Can we all just shut up and keep running? She's going to hear us even with the rain if you guys keep yelling," said Arata before nearly crashing into Taka.
"There she is!" Yelled their leader.
The group came to a halt. The red-haired woman stood alone, staring at them with a wall to her back.
Is she smiling? Thought Arata, before dismissing it as a trick in the light.
It seemed absurd for anyone to smile when surrounded with no escape, but Arata thought he could see the ghost of a smile on the woman's lips.
"Holy shit, she's hotter up close," muttered Yamaori.
Surprisingly, Taka grunted in agreement.
"Hey there pretty lady, you lost? Why don't you co-," started Katsuki before a slap from Taka on the back of his head cut him off.
"Miss, please come with us. There is nowhere to run to and no one who can help you. It might not mean much to you, but I swear we will not hurt you," promised Taka.
The red-haired woman did not reply. Arata would have thought she was a statue if they had not been following her for the past hour.
"Uh, boss? I think she's scared stiff."
Lighting streaked across the skies, lighting the darkness as thunder followed, ringing the air. In that brief moment of flashing lighting, Arata saw.
"Approach her slowly, no sudden movements," ordered Taka.
It didn't seem anyone else noticed, and Arata briefly wondered if he imagined it.
No, he was certain despite the absurdity.
The woman was smiling.
It was not a smile of happiness but one of amusement.
Arata began to panic. Is she a cop?
It was the only explanation that he could think of. Anyone would be panicking if they were in her shoes, yet there was not a trace of fear across her visage. The only reason why she would look so confident was if she had a gun. Even at this distance, she could gun them all down before they could reach her.
Before he could warn the others, the woman raised her arm.
Arata flinched, thinking his fears were confirmed.
Laughter rang out.
"What the hell is that," laughed Katsuki.
"Truly a terrifying weapon," Yamaori said mockingly.
The woman had indeed raised a gun. But not one of metal but a… finger gun?
Arata was dumbfounded. Had she been scared stupid?
He supposed it was possible. Hell, it was even relatable.
"Now let's put that dangerous thing down an-," began Yamamori with a sneer on his face.
"Bang."
And fell to the ground.
"Huh?" Grunted Yamaori, with a look of confusion on his face, unable to understand why he was suddenly staring at the sky.
Blinking away the rain that irritated his eyes, he tried to stand but found that he could not.
"What the fuck guys, help me up!"
Nobody responded.
Despite the thunder and pouring rain, Arata heard nothing but silence.
Yamamori's lower half… was gone.
There was no other way to describe it. One moment, Yamamori stood tall, and the next, he had fallen with half his body disappearing.
Yamamori continued to flail, trying to stand, oblivious to what was missing. "Shit guys… Fucking help! Somethings wrong with my le-."
Yamamori looked down.
After a pause of disbelief, the screams began. Panicked, he turned left and right as if searching for what was missing while he shoved back his spilling guts. His movements only aggravated his injuries and the frantic disorganized return of his intestines resulted in them becoming a tangled mess. The soil was already saturated from the heavy rain and could not absorb the gushing blood that quickly formed a pool of dark red.
His screams were only silenced when a feminine hand clamped the half-man's mouth shut.
"Shhh… People are resting. Please have some consideration," whispered the Demon with a finger crossing her lips as if gently scolding a toddler.
Terrified, Arata could only watch.
Yamamori flailed, his eyes were filled with dread as he drowned in terror as much as the rain itself and continued to scream, heedless of the Demon's wish.
With a sigh as if dealing with a petulant child, the Demon squeezed…
And crushed Yamamori's jaw and tongue.
She smiled. "That's better."
To Arata's horror, Yamamori still thrashed even when missing half his body and face. His struggles became even more erratic and the loss of his oral orifice did nothing to discourage his desire to scream. But no matter how desperately he wished to let out a sound, Yamamori could only manage a gurgle as he drowned in his own blood.
"Humans are such marvelous creatures, aren't they? Defying expectations and going beyond their limits, just like this man. He should have died a while ago, yet he lives. He should know that he is doomed, yet he struggles," said the Demon in morbid fascination.
"Run," muttered Taka.
"What?" Arata asked stupidly.
"I'll buy you guys some time, so RUN!" Screamed Taka, brandishing a knife as he charged the Demon.
The Demon did not move, too engrossed in drinking in the dying man's fear to heed the knife plunging toward her eye.
For a moment, Arata dared to hope that they would be saved.
"Bang."
Taka's arm vanished like Yamamori's legs; the knife flying and striking dirt with his hand still gripping the handle.
To his credit, Taka did not scream.
Taka did not falter even with the sudden shift in balance and with nothing more than a grunt, he changed his lunge into a tackle, his one remaining arm spreading out for a grapple.
Taka flew, giving his name justice.
Not towards the Demon but into the sky like a soaring hawk.
And crashed in front of Arata, his face caved in and resembling a mangled steak with the head's vertex touching the back of his spine.
Paralyzed by fear, Arata did not move even as the Demon came closer step by step.
"Shit Arata, come on!" Screamed Katsuki, grabbing his arm and dragging him away from the Demon.
Paralyzing fear was overwhelmed by a flood of adrenaline and Arata ran for his life.
"The van, we need to get to the van!" Gasped Katsuki.
Arata could not remember how long he had run. He wasn't even aware of where he was going as all thoughts of reason were replaced by instincts for survival.
He slipped, he fell, but nothing slowed him down.
"What the hell happened to you guys? Where are the others?!" Asked Kachi from the driver's seat, alarmed by their apparent panic.
"Just open the fucking door and drive!" Screamed Katsuki
"The others! We can't leave without them!" Insisted Kachi.
"For the love of god, just do as he fucking says!" Arata howled, frustration bleeding into his voice.
"Bang."
With a deafening scream of metal, the van flew sideways, flipping across the ground with one side caved in as if struck by a wrecking ball before coming to a stand.
Silence once more drowned out the rain as hopelessness filled Arata.
He collapsed onto his knees and sobbed, begging God for help like he had done so many times in the past. He had prayed when his father died, when his mother died, when the Yakuza came, and when he was starving in the streets.
And like every time, God did not answer.
"What's the hurry?" Asked a pleasant voice.
Arata did not need to lift his head to know who it was.
"Why are you doing this? What do you want from us!" Demanded Katsuki with bravery neither of them could feel.
The red-haired Demon stood in attention, her arms crossed behind her back.
"Shouldn't I be the one asking, or did you corner a lone woman in the alley at this hour out of courtesy," replied the Demon with a smile.
"We weren't going to hurt you; no one would have gotten hurt," pleaded Katsuki.
"I believe you."
"W-what?" Stuttered Kastuki.
"I believe you," said the Demon once again.
"Then let us go… Please… I swear we will never speak of this to anyone."
"Hmmm…" Pondered the Demon, her thumb and index finger gripping the tip of her chin.
"Alright." Answered the Demon, accepting the proposal with a bright smile.
Katsuki said nothing, unable to believe what he was hearing.
"Thank you, thank you so much… We will take what happened to the grave, I swear it," said Katsuki as hope filled his voice
"I will allow one to leave. Only one. While I believe you, I can't take the risk and watching two is harder than watching one."
"What kind of bullshit reason is that!" Hollered Katsuki, outraged. "Just fucking look at this guy. He can't even fucking stand. Do you honestly think he even has the courage to talk?! And even if we do who the hell will belie-"
Arata's hand clamped around his throat.
Katsuki fell to the ground, a sudden weight pressing on his stomach. His eyes bulging as he instinctively tried to rip the suffocating hands off his neck.
Arata squeezed with all his might, disallowing a single molecule to pass through.
Katsuki struggled, punching and clawing, trying to throw his would-be murderer off.
But Arata did not waver, ignoring or unable to feel the pain inflicted on him with a vengeance.
Katsuki plunged his thumb into his eye, crushing the vile jelly. Even then, Arata did not so much as let out a flinch and only tightened his grip.
One minute passed, and the struggle weakened.
Five minutes passed, and Katsuki lay still.
Ten minutes passed, yet Arata still squeezed.
"He's dead."
The voice of the Demon broke Arata out of his trance.
"Huh?" Sputtered Arata, confusion spreading across his face.
Only now did his glazed eye refocus as it stared into Katuski's dead ones and the wretched hands gripping at the throat of the corpse.
He screamed, leaping away from the cooling body, his face contorted in horror.
Blood and tears began to streak down his face, mixing with the falling rain as he clutched his hair with the same hands that had choked the life out of his compatriot and sobbed into his knees as he realized what he had done.
"There, there," said a soothing voice as a soft hand caressed his face.
Arata looked up, his one eye meeting the yellow pupils of the Demon.
"Oh my, that eye does not look good. Come on, let us get that cleaned up."
"W-what?"
"Tsk tsk. I only want to hear a yes or a woof, understood?"
Arata paused, his mind blank.
"Woof."
The Devil smiled, ruffling his hair. "Good boy."
The main point of this chapter was to set the mood as this is a Death Note and Chainsaw man crossovers. Both series have very dark moments and I want to try encapsulating that in this fic.
My second main point was to show why Light's "Justice" was flawed. The whole reason why the legal procedure is so important is because justice isn't blind. The history, motive, and circumstances of the crime are just as important when deciding the punishment as the crime itself. Even two identical crimes can lead to wildly differing sentences once those factors are taken into consideration. The biggest flaw with using the Death Note to carry out vigilante justice is that it's an all-or-nothing solution. With it, the only punishment is death regardless of severity. Murder? Death. Shoplifting? Death. Car Jacking? Death.
The most important thing that Light forgot or never learned was that criminals are human too and that life is not fair to everyone. Being a criminal does not necessarily make you a terrible person. When you compare a person who is born into utter poverty and another person who is born with wealth, who do you think is more likely to commit crimes? If the person who was born poor steals to sustain himself or to have a better life, does that make him a worse person than the person who never had to steal because they had everything they wanted? You cannot call a person evil because he steals a dollar to eat just like you cannot call a billionaire righteous for not stealing that same dollar. Whether a person is good or bad can only be determined when a person's morals are tested against hardship and even then, the color won't be white or black, just grey.
I do not condone crimes nor do I encourage it. My point is that while all crimes are bad, some crimes are more understandable than others but that becomes void when the only punishment in the world is death.