Dazai Osamu first met Mori Ōgai when he was thirteen years old and breaking into a Port Mafia facility storing medical pills. Dazai's fascination with suicide had started long before that, and encouraged by his parents' dismissal of the self-inflicted wounds on their son's body, it had grown into an unhealthy obsession.

In his young years, Dazai had tried various forms of suicide, but his choices were limited to the most common methods, like holding a knife to his wrists or taking a swim in the river with heavy rocks inside deep pockets.

While those tries sated his urges for some time, they always left Dazai a mess, leaving him feeling worse than he did before. Splitting open his skin and flesh hurt like hell and the feeling of water invading his lungs burned as though he was being scorched alive.

Dazai wanted to die, yes, but he didn't want to hurt.

With that realization came the challenge of acquiring alcohol and pills.

His age wouldn't permit him to buy the good stuff, and the illegal booze he had snagged from run-down liquor stores only pushed him to the edge, never over it.

His parents kept neither drinks nor pills in their home, which left Dazai with only one way to obtain the relief he so desperately craved.

Breaking into storage units and pharmacies was a joke for the genius thirteen-year-old.

Bypassing security systems and occasional guards was easy enough, as were the mechanical keypads, not to mention the old-fashioned locks. It had taken him twenty minutes of planning to figure out how to outsmart the cameras, avoid triggering any alarms, and where to find empty bottles to replace the ones he had stolen with. That way, the theft would only be discovered days, sometimes weeks later, and by then, Dazai had destroyed any evidence that he was ever there.

In the end, he supposed, it was his own arrogance that got the better of him.

The first time he stole from one of Yokohama's smaller gangs, his heart had been beating out of his chest, terrified of what would happen to him should he be discovered. But they hadn't even noticed the missing drugs until a month later.

The kick it had given him was almost as satisfying as the suicide attempt itself, so he did it again, and again, and again.

He never took from the same group, of course, and always little enough amounts for it to go unnoticed, slowly working himself up to the more prominent and dangerous gangs.

The better their security got, the bigger the challenge, and the more satisfying the feeling when he left their bases undiscovered and victorious. It was exhilarating, the knowledge that he had outsmarted whole gangs without even really trying.

But after weeks of getting away with his crimes undetected, the thrill slowly started to lose its intensity, dulling until he was left feeling numb and empty again, longing for that sense of liveliness.

Which was how he ended up sneaking into a medical facility under the Port Mafia's protection in the middle of the night.

Their defenses against intruders were surprisingly hard to work around, taking Dazai more than forty minutes to disable. The rush of victory brought a wide grin to his face. This was what he did this for, the feeling of accomplishment.

With the cameras turned off, he quickly and quietly made his way to the cabinets holding the medication, shuffling through the bottles of pills. His eyes flashed over labels, widening in triumph as he held up one marked as paracetamol. He stuffed two more bottles of the drug into his ripped jacket.

The sound of slow clapping forced his insides to freeze, his breath stuck in his throat, suddenly tight with terror.

Pills clattered to the floor, and Dazai winced at the echoing sound. Heart beating wildly, he turned around, hands shaking.

Blocking the exit stood a tall man, black hair slicked back, purple eyes glinting dangerously in the dim light. He had a white coat wrapped around slim shoulders, reminding Dazai of those coats the doctors his parents sometimes dragged him to wore. It gave the man a manic appearance, his pale complexion giving off vibes of the dead.

Fear crushing Dazai's heart in a vice-like grip, he stumbled back into the cabinet, more bottles falling to the floor.

"When I heard there had been a series of robberies, I did not expect the culprit to be a ten-year-old child," mused the strange man, voice surprisingly smooth, gliding through the air like butter.

Dazai bristled, fear momentarily pushed to the back of his mind. "I'm thirteen!"

The man raised an amused eyebrow, and Dazai snapped his mouth shut.

"My name is Mori Ōgai and I am with the Port Mafia. Do you know what we do to those who steal from the Port Mafia?"

Dazai shook his head mutely. The sinister-looking man, Mori-san, took a threatening step forward. Dazai's back was already flush with the cabinet, leaving no room for escape.

Would he die now? Would Mori-san make it painful? Dazai felt a sudden flash of absolute terror, tears building behind his eyes. He didn't like this man's wicked smile, nor the greedy look in his eyes.

How could one man evoke such strong feelings inside of him? The terror chased away all remnants of the cold emptiness that usually dominated his heart. No other person had ever managed something like this before. It was intriguing, captivating, addicting. Terrifying.

"I don't care," he announced, curious to see how far he could push this enigma of a man. What would it take for the calm facade to crack? Dazai had a surprising gift for manipulation. There was no person yet who had defied the expectations Dazai had set for them.

"Oh? You don't care?" There was a mocking lilt to Mori-san's voice. The older man kept his posture relaxed, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, slightly hunched over. His eyes were cold, though, and his smile razor-sharp.

"Tell me, child, what do you think will I do to you?"

Dazai's fingers absentmindedly played with the fraying labels of one of the bottles inside his pocket. He scrutinized the Mafia member, swallowing around the heavy lump in his throat.

Logically, he should end up with a broken jaw and three bullets to the chest. But this man did not emanate the bloodlust of someone who was this close to murdering someone in cold blood. He had no illusion that Mori of the Port Mafia would spare him for being a child, which left very few options.

"Are you going to sell me?" he asked, some of the old numbness creeping back in, now that the immediate shock of being discovered had worn off.

Mori-san's lips quirked, his eyes boring into Dazai's brown ones with fierce intensity. "Why did you rule out death?"

"You don't look like you want to kill me." Dazai shrugged, his bandages rubbing uncomfortably against his skin. "There would be no reason for you to talk to me. You could have already killed me if that were your goal. You seem like the kind of person who enjoys inflicting pain, but right now, your eyes are not those of a man intent on harm."

A series of dark chuckles escape the man's pale lips, a strange sort of pride glimmering in his violet eyes. "I am not going to sell you, precious child, that would be wasted potential." He crowded Dazai against the metal structure, skimming long fingers along the bandages sneaking around Dazai's neck.

The young teenager shuddered, watching with wide eyes.

"Potential?"

Mori-san nodded. "What is your name?"

"Dazai Osamu."

Dazai watched carefully for any kind of negative response, but the man simply lifted the boy's chin with gentle fingers. "Dazai-kun, tell me, why did you steal those pills?"

"Huh?" Dazai's gaze drifted to the side, his fingers twitching. Should he tell this man he wanted to die? There was no doubt in his mind that Mori Ogai was a killer. Would the man grant him a painless death though, if he asked him for it? He had tried to steal from the Port Mafia, there was no way this man would simply fulfill his wish. There was something he wanted from Dazai, and it was not his life.

"I need them," he decided on. "Why else would anyone steal pills?"

The backhand caught him by surprise, his head banging against the metal shelf with a clang, sending numerous bottles to the ground. Dazai yelped in surprise, pain ringing through his skull. He sagged against the metal structure, Mori-san keeping him upright with a tight grip on his arm.

He hiccupped, tears brimming in his eyes. The doctor settled his features into ones of calmness, his lips pulled into a content smile. "Dazai-kun," he chided, "don't ever lie to me again."

His grip tightened, and Dazai grimaced in pain, lips wobbling. "You're hurting me."

"Why did you steal the pills?"

The boy blinked the treacherous tears away, head turned stubbornly to the side. The grip on his arm turned borderline torturous, and Dazai mewled softly. "I took the pills to kill myself!"

Mori-san let go of him, tenderly brushing his fingers through Dazai's unruly curls, as if to make up for the pain previously inflicted. "Now, was that so hard?"

Dazai shook his head silently, curling in on himself.

He hated pain. The numbness was now back full force, only disrupted by small flashes of fear. The discomfort of Mori-san's rough handling registering on another level, painful, but not impacting the coldness that took a hold of his body once again.

"Dazai-kun." The bandaged teenager raised his blank gaze. "Why did you decide to steal from the Mafia?"

"The thrill? I think," he muttered, rubbing the sore spot on his arm. "Stealing from dangerous people, it makes me feel... alive. I guess."

"Is that what you want? To feel alive? A reason not to die?"

Dazai shrugged. "I guess," he repeated. He didn't really care. What did it matter whether he died a painful death, or lived a boring life? He hated both. What he needed was a peaceful death, one Mori-san would never allow him to have if his evaluation of the man was correct.

"Do you want to join the Port Mafia, Dazai-kun?"

Dazai's head snapped up, eyes staring into poisonous purple ones. "What?" Join the Mafia? It made no sense, he had broken into- oh, he realized, eyes widening. I managed to break into a Port Mafia building. I also stole from various other gangs without leaving a trace. I am an asset.

Never in his life would he have expected to get an invitation into a gang, much less one so prominent.

"Can you even do that? Ask me to join, I mean," he questioned, curiosity curling in his gut.

Mori-san chuckled, palm pressing against Dazai's cheek. "The Boss already gave his assent. I told him a talented thief was stealing from our competition, and he was quick to agree that such talent should not go to waste."

Dazai closed his eyes. If he said no, he would surely die, there was no doubt. But if he said yes... what would it entail, being a member of the Mafia?

"You are a doctor," he finally murmured, "why would your boss send you to make that offer?"

"Because it was me who asked for you. You would be my subordinate, Dazai-kun, my student."

"I would become a doctor?"

Mori-san chuckled fondly, tracing idle patterns on Dazai's skin. "No, no, Dazai-kun, you would be so much more than that. You would be perfect, I would make you perfect."

He spoke with such wistfulness that goosebumps rose along Dazai's arms and neck.

"Dazai-kun, maybe you will also finally find what you have so desperately been searching for."

Dazai paused, hooked on the words like fish falling for the bait. He would be exposed to death and violence, he supposed, and also... "In the Mafia, people give in to their urges and desires," intoned Mori-san, eyes never leaving Dazai's, who could only listen with bated breath. "You would be able to see the inner nature of humankind firsthand."

Dazai swallowed, leaning forward subconsciously. Was Mori-san telling the truth?

Dazai had manipulated enough people to recognize when someone was doing the same to him, but... a quiet chuckle escaped him, eyes falling closed.

He supposed that was the difference between an amateur like Dazai and a master manipulator from the Mafia. Even knowing he was being manipulated, Dazai could only take the bait dangled so deliciously in from of him. "You think I will find a reason to live amongst all those raw emotions, being exposed to the true core of the human being?"

Mori-san smiled knowingly, leaning in close enough that Dazai could feel his warm breath on his skin. "I promise."

And with that, Dazai sold his soul to the devil. "Okay."

For the following months, Dazai stayed close to Mori-san, watching, observing, learning.

He quickly realized that the man was ambitious and cold-blooded enough to see every plan, manipulation, and double-cross to the end.

In the beginning, Dazai didn't do much to ensure the Port Mafia's success (the Boss still had to evaluate his worth, the Executives didn't care much for some random suicidal child, and Mori, as the Mafia's doctor, did not have the authority to assign him any missions and tasks challenging for his superhuman brain).

He also had the dark suspicion that Mori-san wanted to keep him to himself.

With the waning sanity of the Boss, Mori started teaching Dazai more about the inner workings of the Mafia, asking a senior member, Hirotsu-san, to take the boy on missions with the Black Lizard.

During those days, Dazai slowly started gaining the respect of his elders, his reputation growing with every dead body slain by his hands, every cold-eyed shot to the head. The rumors grew with every failed suicide attempt, the bandages piling on his body like a second and third and fourth skin.

And then the Boss was killed, and Dazai was made Mori-san's - the new Boss's - right-hand man, and with that position came new responsibilities as well as unknown expectations.

The first mission as leader of his own squad was a total disaster.

Dazai didn't have the experience to command a whole group of highly dangerous people, and he put too much responsibility on his own shoulders.

In the end, they did manage to take out the group that had been intruding on their shipments, but the Boss had specifically instructed Dazai to take the two ability users of theirs alive, as well as the traitor giving them information on the Mafia's shipments.

He apparently had not made that clear to his subordinates, though, and the whole ordeal ended in a bloodbath, no one left alive.

With an annoyed scowl, Dazai made his way down the hallway leading to Mori-san's office, fists tight in anger. He hated failing tasks, it always gave Mori reason to take away his drug supply or put him on observation, stealing the only relief this life offered to him: death.

Mori-san's office was a spacy, dark, shadowed room, Elise sitting on a long oak table, waving a red crayon in the air. She giggled when Dazai entered, slipping to the floor to continue her drawing.

The Boss himself sat at the very end of the table, reports sprawled out in front of him. "Dazai-kun," he greeted, closing a thin folder. "How did the mission go?"

Dazai tsked, avoiding eye contact. "The group is eradicated."

Mori's chair scraped softly over the linoleum floor as the man rose to his feet. "I see. And the ability users I asked for?"

Dazai pursed his lips. "Dead. As is the man who gave them the intel."

Mori heaved a theatric sigh, closing the distance between them. Dazai forced himself to meet Mori-san's poisonous eyes.

"You are smart, Dazai-kun, and you know how to follow orders. So tell me, how come this mission was a failure?"

"I would hardly call the destruction of an enemy gang a failure."

Mori's purple eyes flashed dangerously. "Your objective was not just the gang, now was it?" He sneaked a cool hand up Dazai's wrist, fingers trailing over rough bandages. Dazai suppressed a shiver.

"You are new to the position of a leader," said Mori soothingly, the sweetness dripping from his words sending off alarm bells inside Dazai's head. "But I still am your superior. You will listen to my words, you will follow my commands. Do not forget your place."

Dazai's spine straightened, breath catching in his throat. Mori-san spoke quietly, gently, but his glare promised danger. The fingers encircling Dazai's wrist tightened, pressing harshly into barely healed wounds. The man was the one who had tended to those self-inflicted lacerations, which also meant he knew exactly where to twist his fingers to force a choked-off gasped out of Dazai.

He locked his knees, carefully controlling his breathing as the Boss pulled Dazai impossibly closer, nails breaking through thin cotton. Something warm and sticky welled up beneath those cruel fingers.

"Mori-san," began Dazai, keeping the anger and underlying fear out of his voice. "You knew exactly what you were doing, assigning me a team of men who do not yet respect me." Who were reluctant to listen to a fourteen-year-old's command. "There was nothing I could have done to prevent them from shooting everyone."

"Is that so?" Obviously, Mori-san didn't share his assessment of the situation. "In many ways, your intellect surpasses mine, and still I am able to control you."

Now two hands were on Dazai's wrists, crawling their way up his arms. Mori pushed closer, forcing him to take an unsteady step back to keep at least some sort of distance between them. Before he knew it, Mori-san had crowded him against the wall, Dazai's breath hitching. He didn't like the claustrophobic fear the man could so easily evoke with his mere presence.

Why was any other emotion so hard to come by, no matter how hard Dazai tried, but the Boss could provoke such strong terror inside? It wasn't fair. He barely felt anything most of the time, an abyss of emptiness filling his very being, and the only time he miraculously could feel, it was fear, or pain, or bone-deep terror. And all connected to the man currently clutching his shoulders with spindly fingers.

"I did good work today," Dazai forced out, "I made sure the danger to the Port Mafia is gone, and I did not lose a single of my men."

The disappointment from Mori-san's sigh caused ice to freeze his lungs, the man's hands slowly wrapping around Dazai's bandaged throat.

"Mori-"

"I have to disagree. You see, Dazai-kun, as your boss, I decide if a mission is a success or a failure." The fingers tightened in warning, not yet choking the boy. "I have had enough of your backtalk. It is time you learn when to accept failure and take your punishment in silence."

Dazai's hands flashed up to wrap around Mori's forearms as the Mafia Boss pressed his fingers harshly into the young teenager's throat.

Dazai gasped, pain igniting inside his body, and he desperately tried to pry the man's arms away from him. He gaped, lips hanging open, drool gathering in the corners of his mouth. The pressure on his windpipe was agonizing, the Boss's thumbs pushing further against his Adam's apple.

It hurt.

It was agony, tears escaping his screwed-shut eyes, breathless little gasps filling the silence of the room.

His limbs seized uncontrollably, legs kicking out as he was pressed against the wall.

His lungs squeezed inside his chest, frantically trying to gather air. His knees gave out and the weight on his neck intensified, his chest burning with fire that seemed to consume his whole body.

Agonizing heat licked at his insides, pressure building inside his chest. More tears dripped down his cheeks, mixing with saliva as his fingers slipped from Mori-san's wrist, tingling numbly.

His vision faded and his ears popped.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor, gasping desperately, coughing as his lungs strained to draw in big gulps of air. He was shaking, Dazai faintly realized, throat raw and burning.

There was a fist in his hair and Dazai flinched back against the wall, pathetic whimper falling from his lips. "Dazai-kun, look at me."

He did, shakily and with drool cooling on his chin. "When I say you have failed a mission, you will get on your knees and beg for forgiveness. You do not talk back, you do not try to justify yourself, and you will take any punishment I dole out with a thank you, do you understand?"

He shook the barely conscious boy, eliciting another pained shudder. "Y-yes," Dazai whispered, the word barely louder than a breath.

"Good."

It didn't take long for Dazai to fall into oblivion, curling in on himself even in his sleep.