Hello! This is Gheloured. I'd like to first, thank you for deciding to read my story- I hope I tell it well. Secondly, to plug my ao3 account which is under the same name and has more frequent updates but the chalters are shorter. This mega chapter is actually 5 crammed into one, as seen by the chapter titles in parentheses. This is a very heavy story, so please be advised to read this if you are in a safe headspace! Other than that, I won't keep you longer.
Enjoy :)
( I wonder about the trees. )
Tanjirou was-
Tanjirou was somewhere new.
Unfamiliar air settled onto familiar ragged lungs and skin of paper and paste. It smelled- bloody, broken -different from the flowers that had filled his room when he was sick. Everyone he knew had brought him flowers at least once during that time. Zenitsu with irises, Inosuke with whatever handful of grass he ripped out of the ground that day, and Nezuko with beautiful arrangements from the garden she liked to keep.
Wait- Nezuko-
Chains jingled against the table, snaking after his wrists when he strained against the weight of the metal. He was a demon slayer, Sun Pillar, Hinokami Kagura user- and yet when he tried to sit up his strength was leeched away by the heavy manacles on his wrists. Where was Nezuko, where was everyone?
He heard a small noise.
Snapping open his eyes to a cold gray ceiling, he turned his head and was met with a little girl. She shuffled back at his sharp gaze, but his eyes quickly softened and so did the smell of her fear. He held her gaze, a smile wrinkling his face from where it could be seen under whatever cloth was in his mouth. She stepped back, eyes breaking contact to dart around but her body still facing him.
"Eri-chan, back away from the man," said a different voice. It was deep and carried authority on the wings of a gentle tone. Tanjirou turned his head and blinked at the man in the mask, who had continued. "Are you Tanjirou Kamado-san? Of the Demon-Slayers?"
Tanjirou cautiously nodded as well as he could from the table. The man's eyes wrinkled like he was smiling, but his eyes were cold, calculating. He gathered the little girl- Eri-chan? -He gathered Eri to his side, an oppressive arm tight around her shoulders. She was being careful not to cower, but everything in her body language screamed fear. There was a horn on her head, just short enough to be unobtrusive. Was she a demon?
"Then our little venture was a success. Good job Eri-chan, I'll get you a treat later." The man bowed slightly to introduce himself. "I'm Overhaul, and this is my daughter. Our records say you are from around the Taisho period. It is now the year 21XX. Welcome back."
Surely he hadn't heard that correctly. That would mean that everyone he knew was- No. He couldn't get lost in his grief now. How was he alive? What had happened to the rest of his family?
...Where were their graves?
"I see you're a bit overwhelmed." Overhaul blinked. "There is no need to be. You will not be harmed during your new life here."
Tanjirou didn't dare to show fear.
"You see, the legendary demon-slayers didn't have quirks. So how is it exactly that they were able to kill something as powerful as demons were? And why is it that we cannot do this today?" Overhaul's voice was whispered, enraptured in his quest for knowledge. "These are the things you are helpful for figuring out. This is why you are here."
Eri was breathing quickly- too quickly. With each word Overhaul spoke, her expression fell deeper into despair and guilt. Tanjirou wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but all he could do was watch her spiral.
"Now now Eri-chan, you've been ever so good today. I'll get you a new toy. Now." His grip tightened and she inhaled sharply. Overhaul turned to look down at her. "Calm down."
Eri was shuddering slightly with each breath. She didn't move.
His voice growled in his throat. "I said calm down."
The girl's horn began to spark and glow, the whites of Overhaul's eyes flashing in the sudden light as the man moved to escape something-
Wham!
Eri flew across the room and crashed into the side of a cart, knocking off several scalpels and other concerning medical equipment. She quickly looked up at Overhaul through the arms she had raised to protect her. He was staring at her, his eyes sparkling in anger and his scent full of fear, breathing heavily as he returned to a still-standing position. She didn't dare whimper.
"Now look at what you've done, Eri-chan." The man let out a breath, crouched, and tilted his head, staring at Eri with an unnatural emotion between mania and sympathy in his eyes. "Looks like we'll have to have another session tomorrow. Clean this up before then, or we'll make it another one after dinner."
Giving one last sickeningly simpering look over his shoulder, Overhaul slammed the door shut and locked it, leaving Eri on the floor with her arms trembling and surrounded by tiny metal knives that glinted in the dim light cast from outside of the room. The only sound in the room was Tanjirou's breathing and the small almost-cries that Eri was suppressing.
She sat up with her hands balled on her lap, sniffed twice, and began to reach for the nearest pair of forceps. The cart, or what had been a cart, was crumpled in the corner. Her hands were shaking slightly every few moments.
Tanjirou's throat stung. He swallowed, hard, and wished for water and the ability to rub his eyes. They were itchy. The cloth in his mouth was disgustingly damp, and he coughed but barely felt it make a difference. Eri flinched at the noise. Her fingers shook a little harder, her lips pressing against each other in the effort not to make a noise. Tanjirou attempted a small smile, both in understanding and trying to reassure her. Tanjiro was reminded of Takeo, always trying to look strong in front of him, and more importantly never speaking when he was about to cry, though his eyes would always grow shiny and wet.
Eri's eyes were a beautiful shade of red.
Tanjirou blinked back to where he was. On a cold table, bare naked, and without a nichirin blade in sight. His pickings, as they were, were pretty slim. He didn't know anything about the modern era, so he didn't know his options, but a few things struck him harder than Inosuke coming to tackle-hug him after a long mission. He needed information, and a plan to escape, and both of those things before the last dose of medicine Kanao had given him wore off. Tanjirou wasn't getting any healthier by wasting time and knew it would only get harder to breathe the longer he was trapped.
Tanjirou definitely knew his time was short, he could feel it in the way his lungs tingle with each breath, but if he could just save one more life with this second chance he had been given, then he'd do it.
Miazuma tapped their fingers against the table. Their boss was standing eerily still except for the occasional twitching of his right hand, and the too slow blink of his eyes. Miazuma pointedly didn't look at Overhaul's face, or the three other assistants sitting with them and kept the rhythm of their fingers quiet and steady. Overhaul took some form of happiness in the pain of making people wait, it seemed.
Then, he spoke:
"We have a new subject to work with as of today." He finally turned to them, measuring their reactions. "It is a very valuable subject, so don't play with it without my express permission. The subject shows signs of hereditary sickness, so we must be careful and show restraint"
Funny, coming from a man like Overhaul. A brilliant man, a medical genius, but utterly unnerving in his fascination. Whatever he worked on, Overhaul saw no need to consider consent or if he was harming the subject without cause, as long as it was in pursuit of knowledge, he would do it. Overhaul watched them, a hint of that fervor in his eyes, the tips of his fingers trembling. "It is a remnant of times past, of times purer than we could taste. It is…" Overhaul raised his arms, looking up to a vision only he could see. "It is the pinnacle of the human race."
He was breathless in his passion, dragging the rest of them with him. Overhaul had found it easy to pull new people into his circle, subordinates falling into his mania, but none as deep as himself. Miazuma sometimes found themself being dragged in as well, there was no reason not to be except for-
No. They were loyal.
Overhaul faced them sharply. "Our procedures are as follows- look at the lungs, and the muscles. We collect a tissue sample for analysis by the residents of Lab 3. Do not cut any nerves, we may need it to demonstrate its powers, and it will need to be mobile enough to do so.
"The subject's schedule is as follows: let it exercise for two hours each day, the rest of the time keep it restrained." Overhaul walked, looking into space as he recalled the ways that the subject should be treated. "Do not treat it if it gets wounded, we must know its healing rate. If it speaks out of turn, burn its tongue. It has no need to do so, as it would not benefit the project right now."
Beside Miazuma, Kouun was nodding. Next to Kouun was Kurushimi, but Kurushimi was shaking where he sat.
"I won't do it," he said, his voice small and shaky, but defiant. The room froze. Miazuma grit their teeth. This wouldn't end well. Overhaul turned slowly, slowly, to face Kurushimi.
"Oh sorry, I must not have heard you correctly." Miazuma gripped their hands together in their lap, knowing exactly what was about to happen. "You're forgiven, of course. Everyone makes their little… mistakes. Even you, I guess."
"It wasn't a mistake," Kurushimi said, more boldly this time. He didn't look at Overhaul or any of them. Overhaul blinked slowly, the excitement in his eyes warping to something cold and dark. "I won't be a part of your disgusting experiments any longer. Who gave you the right to treat a human being this way? Who let you get your hands near an innocent little girl? I won't be a part of your sick games and your even sicker brain."
"That's an interesting thing to say Kuru-chan," Overhaul said in that awful cutesy tone of when he was very, very angry. Kurushimi swallowed audibly. "Too bad we won't be hearing anything else from you."
Kurushimi flinched but he was too late. Overhaul had gripped his face in a terrifyingly strong grip. It ripped the edges of the skin where his fingers touched it, but Overhaul didn't use his quirk. "It's okay that you feel that way, Kuru-chan." Overhaul looked like he would've been smiling without the mask obscuring his face. His fingers dug into Kurushimi's face, who was taking quick, panicked breaths. "But you don't need to. What makes you so much better than anyone else at this table, huh? That's awfully arrogant of you, to say a thing like that. Are you saying we're disgusting? That we're lower than than the maggots in the earth? That you want us to die in a dirty ditch like the savages we are? Hm?"
Kurushimi's eyes spoke for themselves, burning with tears and indignation.
Overhaul's expression slumped, and he leaned forward. "I see."
There was a horrible noise.
A droplet of blood landed on Miazuma's eyelash, another on their left cheekbone. There was a glistening shard of bone on the table in front of them. Overhaul leaned back, his face painted red. His yellow eyes stood out in relief against the mask of gore around them. He huffed, his eyebrows knotted together.
"That ruined the whole mood, now there's no point in getting excited about the new experiment." Another thought occurred to Overhaul. "And now every time I use this room I'll have to look at the stains he left on the chair." He slid back over the table to stand back up and dust his clothes off. "Anyway, you are all dismissed. Leave to do whatever it is you do in your free time."
Miazuma stood, bowing slightly at Overhaul before hiding their arms in their cloak and leaving. They heard Kouun stand behind him, before hurrying to catch up with them. The hallway was well lit but deserted, the sound of footsteps slightly echoing against the walls. Kouun matched their pace, bringing the new member of the medical council behind her. Miazuma knew Kouun was responsible for his training.
"Miazuma-hakase, have you met Kaiyo-Kun?" Kouun's voice was as cheerful as ever. "He's my new protege."
"No, Kouun-san, I have not met Kaiyo-san." Miazuma turned their head to look past Kouun to the young man walking slightly behind her. Kaiyo had a patterned mask on much like Kouun's, though the color of his was a fitting dark blue rather than the striking red of his teacher's. "I am Miazuma, one of the medical staff here."
"Don't dismiss yourself like that, Hakase," Kouun turned to her student. "Miazuma-hakase is the foremost medical expert in the Shie Hassaikai, excepting Overhaul himself."
Kaiyo's eyes widened under the slits in his mask "Oh! My apologies Miazuma-hakase! It is an honor to meet you." He paused before remembering something. "Oh, um, I'm Kaiyo, I'm new here. Well, uh, I guess you already knew that, from Sensei telling you. Anyway, please take care of me!"
Miazuma said nothing, processing what they now knew as the excitable young Kaiyo had said. He spoke rather quickly. "It is nice to meet you, Kaiyo-san. I hope you have not been driven off by what has happened to poor Kurushimi-san."
"No! Never!" Kaiyo looked aghast.
"Bah. He deserved it. Questioning Overhaul like that, who did he think he was?" Kouun seethed, her fists tightening at her sides.
"It is still not a pleasant way to die, and he was young and hotheaded," Maizuma admonished softly.
Kouun sighed. "You've always been kind, Hakase. One day that'll get you killed."
"If I die of kindness, I will welcome death when it comes." Miazuma turned back forward after their somewhat cheeky reply. Kouun exhaled a laugh. "I am going to go speak with my staff. They must know their orders."
"Have fun, Hakase! Oh, and by the way, Overhaul has a new assistant for you!," Kouun called as she and Kaiyo slowed down to talk to each other.
Miazuma would take time later to honor the unfortunate death of one of their longtime colleagues. For now, they would do what they had to get by. And hopefully not ruin the life of whatever young assistant they would get.
( Why do we wish to bear )
The next thing Tanjirou learned was that the room was cold.
Of course, he didn't know if it was simply winter, or if night had fallen, but more likely it was because his captors didn't want to. His period of neglect had begun after someone had come to escort Eri out of the room and hastily drape a sheet over his body. He didn't know how many hours he had been there. Eight? Nine? It could've been more, or less, but Tanjirou only had the growing ache in his shoulders and the vague sensation of growing hunger to time him.
When Tanjirou was young there had been a poor harvest. The winter that followed was brutally cold and though there should've been more of a demand for the charcoal they would sell, the village below the mountain had suffered and there simply weren't enough people to buy it.
Tanjirou spent that time watching his mother struggle to get up and move for the lack of energy in her body, but a smile on her face and gentle diligence to the work she could barely do. Even though Kamado Kie staved off her hunger to save food for her children and sickly husband, that year had left a hunger Tanjirou would never forget and gauntness in their father's cheeks that had never gone away. It had shattered whatever childhood innocence Tanjirou had left.
It struck Tanjirou, alone in a hostile place, that he had never known his parents. They were a constant in his life, a warm smile like the sun rising, the hand-sewn clothes they always wore, and the cold, tight grasp of their fingers around their children in death. This, of course, was thrown into a different perspective when Tanjirou became an adult himself. Kamado Tanjuro and Kie had been constants- until they weren't -but who had they been as people?
How had Kie been raised? What was her favorite color to wear? And- when she went outside, waking before the dawn to watch the sunrise and wash their clothes, her hands roughening with the difference of temperature between the hot water and the cold winter air, what did she think about?
He had missed that part of his life, the one where you realize your parents aren't gods and you ask them in the quiet moments between happiness: 'What was it like?' Except you don't really know what 'it' was. And he would never know.
Nezuko would've been 26 when he died. Nezuko herself was now dead. It had been years since she was dead. Did she ever want to know what they were like? Even though there was nothing but the quiet buzz of dim fluorescent lights in the room, her voice, the first words she had said when they saw each other after Muzan died, repeated inside his head.
"I love you, Tanjirou."
The immense sense of loss that he would carry had not yet sunk into either of them, the blood still fresh and a smog of ashes in the air from Muzan's body. They stood together in an embrace that Tanjirou would remember for the rest of his life. Even now he could feel the phantom sensations of her tattered kimono against his sallow skin.
He pretended he was still there, that there would be a chance to go back to a time when he was still alive. Tanjirou took a breath on reflex, imagining the scent of Nezuko's hair before realizing the acute lack of pain that had been present in the later onset of his illness.
Coming back into existence had some advantages after all. But still, Tanjirou was tentative with his newfound health.
He took a deep breath in, held it, and pushed it out. There was no pain.
Then he began the slow process of changing his breaths to that of ones with purpose, tentatively at first, for he did not know how well his body would hold, but then more strongly until Tanjirou found himself using a familiar technique. Total Concentration Breathing: Constant. Already he could feel warmth spiking in his muscles and strength that he hadn't had for years.
A small flame burned behind his ribs, a visceral feeling so strong it gripped his entire chest. The spark of hope in his heart that was always there now had something preciously rare to fuel it: a way out. With breath came power, and this power meant that he could make a plan.
"How interesting," someone breathed from the doorway. Tanjirou froze but didn't let his breathing slip. He couldn't tell who the voice was, it was one he hadn't heard before. "Now, what were you doing there?"
Miazuma walked into the quiet of their apartment and their entire frame relaxed. It was warm and the floors were cool under their feet when they went to put on their house slippers. The halls of the Shie Hassakai were always freezing, a sharp contrast to the blood that flowed through its halls- no. Miazuma was not there right now and was free to tap their hand against their thigh while they made themself a cup of tea.
The kettle boiled with a soft noise, steam billowing in a steady stream from the mouth. Distant echoes of unease panged them when they glanced at the stove, the piercing whistle of a traditional kettle screaming in their mind before the real, electric one clicked. They poured the tea, Gyokuro, and went to sit at the table in the study.
There was a book open on the table, and a coaster to prevent the wood from staining. Miazuma felt something rub against his legs, rumbling softly. It was Meepers, their cat, looking up at them with plaintive eyes. Miazuma patted their lap, allowing him to hop up. They ran their fingers through his fur over and over while attempting to read a biography of Zenitsu Agatsuma.
The sentences were meandering, and even when they ended Miazuma was unsatisfied. It was simply not a good book, the author brushing past the most interesting parts in favor of hero worship- it left a bad taste in their mouth, and failed to capture Miazuma's normally rapturous interest in anything relating to history. The storytelling was subpar and- they were focusing on the writing more than the actual content of the book.
Not to say that Zenitsu wasn't a fascinating man- and a symbol for overcoming fear, but each mention of Tanjirou's name pushed Miazuma's focus away from the book and towards their work.
A long time ago, Miazuma had promised to keep their home free of Overhaul's rotting influence, but certain details were stabbing at their mind and they could not ignore it.
Kouun had mentioned a new apprentice. Overhaul probably had them in his eye for a very long time- Kurishimi wasn't exactly the most willing of participants, though Miazuma had no idea how Kurushimi had gotten into Overhaul's clutches without the stomach to do the work they did. Of course, none of the researchers started off by mutilating innocents, but in one way or another it was where you ended up.
What a morbid thought that was.
They had always been a hypocrite or failing that, a psychopath. Anyone who did what they did was something less than human, more alike to a monster than any real person at all. Miazuma couldn't say they didn't wish it had turned out different, that somehow they would be able to live a happier life, somehow live at all, but that didn't matter in the scheme of things- the benefits were not for them, and they far outweighed their doubts.
"This isn't exactly what I expected from meeting the legendary demon slayer Tanjirou. I've always thought about our meeting on… well, more equal terms. With you strapped to a table and all that," The person behind Tanjirou intoned, frustratingly out of sight. "The stories always said you were strong and violent. Cutting down demons without a second thought."
She paused as if awaiting a reply.
"You know, I'm not supposed to be here," She said flatly, "It's very late in the night- well, morning now I think. But I just wanted to meet you so, so, so badly."
She moved around to his side, leaning over his face. When Sutekina spoke, her scent brushed his nose, bringing the disturbing smell of decay. Not the normal smell of any person Tanjirou had faced before, but genuine rot, like a daylily left in the sun had made its home nestled beneath her skin. "But then again, we haven't met. You don't even know my name. Its Sutekina."
She studied him, her eyes flickering as if reading a book. "You're so much more…. Soft than I thought you'd be. Disappointing, I've heard the ferocity in which you hunted Muzan. These scars tell a story. One of pain and hardship. I bet you deserved it." She blinked, the coldness that had begun to sink into her eyes clearing away. "I mean, earned it."
Sutekina trailed the familiar edge of a cold blade lightly across his stomach, just below his ribs. "If I cut right here, your intestines would spill out. I'd love to see the pain splay across your face like how your organs would across the floor. That'd be a scar for your collection."
A chill ran through Tanjirou, right up his spine. The light cast through her eyes reflected the rapture she held in her bloody vision.
"I suppose that's a strange topic to bring up, but you see," Sutekina's voice was scathing. "It would be so easy. And that's annoying, to see you so pathetic lying here. What would your family think? The first son not even able to take care of himself, his ribs poking out in a clear line to break. His eyes wide to be stabbed out with anything. Would you be able to save anyone in this state? Would you be able to save yourself?"
She looked into his face once again, trying to glean something from it. The curve of her eyelids was wide and hungry. But apparently Sutekina didn't find what she was looking for, sighed, and leaned back out of his line of vision. "I'll find out eventually. I always do."
Sutekina walked away, pausing momentarily. "We'll be seeing each other more often. I hope you aren't any
( Forever the noise of these )
Tanjirou was half-asleep when the door to his cell opened with the thunking of locks and a subsequent creak. Three sets of footsteps briskly walked in, and Tanjirou was suddenly greeted with a seamless mask in shades of white and red looming over him.
She spoke, her voice frigid but calm. "I will be taking care of you from now on. You are expected to be obedient and respectful."
Tanjirou stared.
The woman suddenly hissed with anger. "I said respectful, and you dare look a superior in the eye?"
Her mood had flipped like quicksilver, and her tone was so harsh that Tanjirou instantly looked away without meaning to. He didn't know what she would do if provoked, and there was no sense in trying to find out. He still didn't have enough information, the only thing he was given was scraps of food and gossip of the people outside his door- and he would still have to figure out how the door was secured.
Tanjirou blinked at his feet, restrained by metal that merged directly with the table. The woman nodded.
"Well, at least it has good instincts," the woman mused. "I guess some dogs can come trained after all."
She tapped her foot and the other two sets of footsteps approached the table. "For this operation, the subject will need to be placed on its stomach to allow access to the muscles of it's back. The Hasake is going to be here soon. They will make the operation easier."
Tanjirou noticed how she hadn't said who it would be easier for. The tension in the room ran through his bones.
The woman gave another quiet order. Her assistants promptly unlocked his manacles and directed him to stand, but Tanjirou's legs wobbled and gave out. The assistants prevented him from bashing his head against the floor while touching him as little as possible. The woman stepped back when they brought him upright, never even coming close to touching him.
"Now hold still, this won't hurt." A buzzing object came frighteningly close to his ear. Clumps of red hair fell onto the floor in front of him. A pang of grief hit Tanjirou so deep he was almost scared. It was a silly thing to be sad about. His hair would grow back. At the same time, it felt like a part of him was stripped away.
He wasn't given any time to dwell on what had just happened. In another handful of seconds, he was on his stomach and couldn't concentrate on anything over the shifting shapes in his vision. Another person was approaching. Their footsteps were quick and sure. "Kouun-san. You are already here. I did not expect that."
"Hakase! Welcome!" Tanjirou glanced to the side, straining to see the new arrival. The woman- Kouun's voice was warmer towards the 'Hakase' than towards anyone else. They were tall, with everything of their body covered but the lower half of their face. Their clothing was immaculate, not a stain to be seen on the pale blue fabric.
"I see you have prepared the operating table already. Thank you Kouun-san, Himejima-san, Suzuki-san." They turned their head to each of them in turn. "That was kind of you."
"No, Miazuma-Hakase, thank you for coming," an assistant said. Kouun looked at her sharply but returned her gaze to Miazuma. After seeing them smile, the tension leached from her shoulders.
"It is my job Suzuki-san," Their voice was soft and they turned to look down at Tanjirou. "Who is this young man?"
"It is our subject, Hakase, nothing more, it doesn't deserve to know our names," Kouun protested.
"But he has a name?" Miazuma asked again, their voice holding an undercurrent of admonishment. Kouun's movements were stiff as she forced herself to look at Tanjirou. She nodded. "Then this is the young Kamado Tanjirou-san?"
"Yes, Hakase."
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Kamado-san. I am known as Miazuma-san. I will not pretend that this will be comfortable for you, Kamado-san. Stay calm."
Ironically, Miazuma's words only fueled Tanjirou's internal panic. Miazuma didn't quite smile, but the corners of their lips set themselves in a pronouncement of understanding. In a way, it was more reassuring than any comfort would've been.
Almost immediately afterwards, Tanjirou smelled something he never had before- it was refreshing, like eating fruit in the summer or washing his face after coming home from selling coal down the mountain. His lungs tingled, and the surface of his eyes itched, and he promptly lost the feeling in his face.
One more thing struck him before he lost his internal composure altogether. The smell, it was gentle. And it was kind. Tanjirou's reverie was broken when he began to lose sensation in his limbs, spreading, spreading throughout his entire body. His eyes were wide with either shock or fear. Miazuma put a bare hand on Tanjirou's back.
"Hakase, is that sanitary?" Kouun asked, the inflection in her voice revealing her distaste.
"Am I not clean?" Miazuma returned quietly. Kouun almost choked trying to refute her statement.
"No! Hakase I didn't- Well, ah, that is to say, the subject-"
"Then is the subject not clean? I thought he should be clean according to procedure."
"No, of course, it is! I was merely wondering if the difference in centuries of pathogenic evolution would get you sick, Miazuma-hakase," Kouun finished finding something to say, letting out the air in her mouth in one large breath, the haste of her words making the rhythm of her breathing uneven. Miazuma hummed, looking back at Tanjirou.
"Hm. More likely that I would get him sick. I have immunities he would not have." Miazuma chided firmly, but not unkindly.
Tanjirou's eyes were wide, unmoving. Then Miazuma's hand, indicative by the blue sleeve of their arm, shut Tanjirou's eyes. He could do nothing but wait. There was a sheet draped around his body but for one area, the sensation of cold on his back, the murmured discussion of the Hakase, and their assistants above him.
Then the chilling feeling of skin being pulled apart on his back.
It wasn't painful as it should've been, but the pressure of it let him know what was happening even without the sensations he would normally expect. Tanjirou began to panic. He knew it went against his training, but these weren't demons, these were people, people who were cutting him open in a perversion of Tamayo's legacy of medicine. Tanjirou couldn't take a breath deeper than the bare minimum needed to survive. He couldn't move from his position in any way. And a tingling started from his wound.
"Incision made."
"Begin the other."
The tingling sensation increased almost painfully. Blood was making a muted trail down the pool of his spine. He could feel the pressure of his prominent joints pressing into the metal and knew they would leave bruises. The table chased away whatever warmth he had managed to gather. A knife scraped further into his flesh. The tingle began to burn against the rest of his body. Why were they doing this? What could they possibly do this for? Cold metal slid in the slits they had made in his body.
And then his body exploded into fire. The blood art or ability broke whatever hold it had on him with the intensity of the burning. His pulse throbbed in his shoulder, in his head so loudly he could barely hear what was said next.
"Procedure complete. Sew it up." Kouun's cold voice came from above him.
A calmer voice spoke, Miazuma: "Please take the sample to Laboratory 3."
Tanjirou heard the footsteps of people walking away, the clatter of metal. The light filtering red through his eyelids was cut off. He was alone in the dark. He couldn't stay here. There was a commotion outside, faint enough that Tanjirou had to strain to hear it.
"..Don't ever do that again you wretched scum!" Kouun was ranting. "Speak out of turn one more time and you won't ever be able to speak again! I didn't pull you off of the dirty streets so you could pour shit out of your mouth in front of the Hakase! Do you know who they are? Do you know how long it took me to get important enough to meet them?"
"S-sorry miss," a second voice whimpered. It was probably Suzuki.
The sound of a slap rang out.
"That's for talking back," Kouun seethed. "Get out of my sight and…" a pause. "Clean yourself up."
The rush of fearful footsteps. A sigh.
"Oh dear. What a silly little girl she is. You see what I have to deal with?"
"Yes miss."
More movement, away from Tanjirou's cell.
It was dark, and it was cold. The only sound Tanjirou could hear was his own ragged breathing echoing against the frigid metal walls. The sensation of numbness was wearing off in his body. The shock of whatever had just happened had not even begun to sink in.
Tanjirou calmed his breathing. His heart thumped almost painfully hard against his chest as he tried and failed to force it to slow.
I will be fine.
Tanjirou's fingers scrambled for purchase against the flat surface of the table, searching for something to hold on to.
I will be fine.
His eyes, though he could open them, remained close, fighting against the telltale itch of tears.
I will be fine.
Tanjirou wasn't a liar, but right then he wasn't sure how much he believed himself.
(AN: 'It/its' pronouns are here used to dehumanize Tanjirou as an object and not a person. This is not meant to disrespect people who use it/its pronouns, just know that in this case, I'm using it in that context. Additionally, Overhaul does not respect it/its pronouns. Overhaul wouldn't know a neopronoun if it hit him in the face.
Aside from that, don't worry about Tanjirou. He'll be fine. Eventually.)
( More than another noise )
Miazuma was barely listening to what anyone was saying. All they could focus on was the new chair in the place of Kurushimi's. It was nice, they supposed, that this new person wasn't sitting where Kurushimi was supposed to sit, but if Miazuma looked away they would forget the dark curve of the plastic where the old chair's armrest would've been, and that was something that deserved to be remembered. Hence the staring from underneath the veil over their eyes. And the hands tightly clasped together to prevent them from shaking in front of everyone in the room.
It was just a chair. Miazuma shouldn't have been bothered by it that much, but it was wrong to forget who Kurushimi had been, to forget his bright spirit. He was happy once, his happiness corroding into something resembling righteous anger. Unfortunately working for the Shie Hassakai was not for the good: one day you would find yourself too bloodstained to walk among the innocents. It was a trap many had fallen into, starting off just shy of the law in the name of medicine and ending up in the most wretched of chains.
The one who was the filthiest of all held the key to the lock if he hadn't warped it to scrap metal in his hands. Overhaul was warbling about the perfection of "the subject's" genes and the purity of his blood, his words barely registering in their brain. Kurushimi's chair was dark plastic, with the type of foam cushion that huffed out air when he leaned back onto it. The upholstery had been cream until, well. This new chair had no such comforts.
"Hakase?" A faux-concerned voice broke their reverie. Miazuma painfully dragged their gaze away from the chair to just below where Overhaul looked back at him.
"Yes, Overhaul-san?"
"What are you looking at?"
The question was phrased innocently, but his words were by which he meant something more sinister, Miazuma was sure. They hesitated, attempting to construct an answer other than the automatic reply they had ingrained in themself from the first time they met Overhaul. The man himself had a finger childishly pointed at the point of the beak of his mask as if in thought.
"mm," Miazuma tried to speak. They tried again. "I am wondering where you have put the old chair. It is not there anymore."
"Oh? Well, that's not unreasonable, I suppose," Overhaul removed the hand from his face and tucked it in the crook of his elbow. "It was filthy. There's no need for us to keep dirty things."
Their words failed them once again. They nodded, speech blocked by an unknown barrier in their trachea. Overhaul watched to see if they would look back at the new chair, but Miazuma forced their line of sight to remain in front of them.
"Hm. Interesting. You're very observant, Miazuma-Hakase." The person who was sitting in the new chair where Kurushimi's old chair had been now addressed them. Her voice was surprisingly deep for her youthful face, or what parts of it could be seen. "I'm Sutekina, I'll be under your care from now on."
"..." again Miazuma tried to speak. It hurt. "...I am Miazuma, as you seem to know. I am glad to see such an intelligent mind join our ranks."
"I am glad too, Miazuma-hakase, for the opportunity to learn from you," She said. Her tone was thick with tamed excitement, though something in the lines of her posture poisoned her enthusiasm into something darker. "You know so much about surgery and your abilities… Well. I'm just so… happy."
"May I ask you your skills?" Miazuma offered in an escape from speaking for a short moment.
"I'm specializing in surgery, that's why I'm learning from you. I make it my effort to know every tendon, every tissue in my patient." Sutekina said. "There's nothing like hands-on experience, though some get nervous around what needs to be done."
"Mm. I see." They dragged the words out of their chest. Hesitance paused their eyelids from blinking, Miazuma having thought of another question. "And why do you wish to learn?"
"Seeing how the flesh warps when injured gives me faith. The faith that indeed, we are mortal, and it would be so simple, so neatly done to cut one nerve to end the life of another." She started off slowly, her speech paused in places as she thought. Sutekina didn't move at all but as she spoke her words became louder and a spark glittered in the corners of her eyes. "The bone marrow creates the red blood cells, so tiny and minuscule, yet never insignificant. What am I but a collection of particles? And what are they but pieces of meat? They'll lay there atrophying until their muscles slip off as easily as well-cooked pork off the bone. And I, the consumer, whet my appetite each day beginning with bodies under my hands."
Miazuma stared, face impassive, heart not quite racing but the beat out of step. A gaping void opened up in their chest, the edges cold to the touch. "So then you do this for your own curiosity? In some ways that is admirable."
"Thank you Miazuma-hakase." Her stare was intense, almost unblinking. "Or may I call you Miazuma-san?"
"Hakase is a title given to me by others, it is not up to me if you use it," they answered carefully. It would not be good to make enemies of such a person. Sutekina smiled.
Overhaul made a delighted noise, clasping his hands and the corners of his eyes wrinkling up. "You seem to be getting along so well already. That's good. I'll leave you to get acquainted further, I have things to take care of."
With that and a light brush over Sutekina's shoulder as he passed, Overhaul left them alone. There was silence for a few moments, neither one of them moving to stand. The pressure in the room was of a different sort, the air of expectation giving away to unsurety.
Sutekina glanced at them, her mouth opening slightly as if she were about to speak, but she thought better of it and closed it again. She settled for a slight smile, as if figuring something out, and rested her jaw on her curled fingers. Her nails were bare but meticulously taken care of, shining in the reflection of the lights in the ceiling above them. The room they were in was bare, barely furnished, so unlike the rooms Overhaul conducted his business with outsiders in. The fact that Sutekina was introduced to Miazuma in this room meant that Overhaul did not want to put on a show to allure an innocent. She knew exactly what she was walking into, and wasn't that interesting?
That thought deepened the dread in their chest to something like the deepest parts of the ocean.
"Miazuma-san, have you met the subject yet?" The question came slowly, amicably, as if she hadn't proclaimed her zealous rituals of bloody purity. Sutekina was once again staring at them with fascination.
"I have. He is truly an astonishing person, the muscle structure is evenly balanced without the slight increase in tissue development on one side that would indicate his handedness, and the unusual healing of his scar tissue-" They cut themselves off with a quick breath. Sutekina had leaned closer, over the smooth armrest that was so unlike the one previous.
"Miazuma-san, your enthusiasm… you knew the evenness of the muscle from an operation scarcely more than an hour long," She said, "Maybe we are more alike than you think."
Those words fizzled static in their ears. Sutekina got up when they did, with a slight incline of the head. Miazuma cleared their throat. "I am glad to have met you, Sutekina-san. I now have duties to attend to. Excuse me."
They left the room on autopilot, flexing their fingers over and over again in the pale blue fabric of their gloves. Sutekina was- She was vicious, uncaring. She did not care for the life of her patients, she was no doctor, no medical professional, she just aimed to rip and tear and kill and-
Miazuma flapped their hands once, angrily. They knew they couldn't speak if they tried, the frustration gnawed away their vocal cords and closed up their throat. Instead of talking to anyone on the way to their office, they walked quickly, interns and people lower down the ladder skipping out of their way, giving concern in flashes of creased eyebrows and parted lips for inquiries. The slight heel of their shoes clicked heavily against the cold stone.
They needed to get their emotions under control, to calm down. It wasn't safe to get angry anywhere near where it could be reported, it would lead to unnecessary questions and implications that 'oh, hakase, perhaps you'd better take a break!' Unfortunately, the soft texture of Meeper's fur was at their apartment and their office was spartan and cold. Still, their office was better than a hallway: it had a door that locked.
When they reached the quiet of the office and the stone gave away to carpet, Miazuma closed the door behind them with relief, sinking to the floor.
There was no reason for them to get so angry. Their emotions were mingling into a muddied mess, the color wheel sloshing over until they all mixed to an ugly brown. They had come in their office to be angry, to clench their fists so tight their nails burst through the thin velvet of their gloves and into their palms, but now they just felt tired.
The surety which they had grown used to was shaken by the new elements they had yet to fit into the system. The equations were unbalanced, the routines they abided by were broken. Miazuma had come into work that morning with a sample of tea intended for Kurushimi until they passed by his office and the only thing in it was a small box of Yu Hua- Rainflower.
Miazuma breathed in deeply, their lungs feeling like they were scraping against their ribcage, and exhaled until they couldn't anymore. They opened their eyes, the veil fluttering slightly in the sharpened air from the fan in the corner. The room was too cold as it was, but that didn't matter. They were done indulging in the tantrums belonging to children.
Slowly, ever slowly, they stood on suddenly aching legs, turned to open the door, and walked back into the Labyrinth. They shouldn't be upset. It was just a chair.
Eri's legs twinged from the new tests done yesterday, but she knew it was useless to say anything. Her caretaker would just shake her head and ask her to be a big girl and walk it off. If she mentioned it again, well. Eri wasn't stupid, she was four, and she had figured it out by now. If she did something That Man didn't like, he'd make sure her legs stung when she walked. Complaining was something he didn't like. She'd take the pain.
She usually didn't see very many people on her walks when she had them, save for the occasional doctor. Any time she wasn't walking she would be sitting in her room, or in the small room where she had her meals. The hall that Eri walked through was cavernous, far wider than any she had seen before, and absolutely teeming with people. They wore clothes that concealed their bodies and masks to conceal their faces, talking quietly with each other, but even that echoed from the top of the ceiling.
She glanced at her caretaker's hand, wanting something to hold onto so she wouldn't be swept away in the crowd. Eri's own hands twitched slightly before grabbing onto the hem of her hospital gown. She willed herself to go faster, but the crowd was too much and her caretaker just kept getting farther away-
Eri saw her caretaker disappear behind a wall of midnight-cloaked students.
Eri stopped where she was, looking for an exit from the people that surrounded her, her eyes flickering over the gaps in the crowd. She didn't know where she was going, and she didn't know how to get back to her room, so she remained there in the hall paralyzed with indecision. She couldn't call for her caretaker- they'd both get in trouble. A spark of fear ignited in her heart when a group of students passed by, following their teacher. If she stayed there much longer she'd be noticed, and the only place to go presented itself after the line had passed. When she saw the opening, she began to run to the wall as quickly as she could until-
"Excuse me, you seem to have bumped into me. Were you going somewhere?"
The person who spoke was tall, taller than anyone she had ever seen. Their clothes stood out against the darkness of the room in a pure blue that looked like the snippets of sky Eri saw sometimes if she passed by the windows during winter. She couldn't see the person's eyes below the cloth covering them, but she felt strangely seen. Realizing the scrutiny she was under, panic rose in her throat.
"U-um, sorry, uh," She began to Sutter before nothing came from her mouth at all.
"Ah. I see. You are lost. You would be Overhaul's child then?" They asked, holding out a hand expectantly for Eri to take. She looked at it, long-fingered and covered in a fuzzy fabric she had never seen before. She hesitated, but their other hand was in sight and the one in the glove didn't have anything on it that she could tell.
"Um yes." The fuzzy fabric was softer than she could've imagined, and she was happily surprised that they didn't let go once they pulled her up. Most people were afraid to touch her, but they gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She wondered if they would mind if she asked a question, but before she could decide the words had already come out of her mouth.
"What's that?" She felt a piece of the reassurance they had given her flake away. What if they thought she was being disrespectful? What if they told Overhaul she had spoken out of turn?
"What do you mean?" They murmured instead, without a hint of irritation.
"I mean your gloves."
"The material my gloves are made out of is velvet. If I turn them so the light catches on them differently, they change their reflection slightly, see?" They held out the hand Eri wasn't holding so she could see how they demonstrated. Eri looked at the glove, then looked at their face. They were smiling slightly, the barest hint of wrinkles peeking out from under their veil. The light behind their head made them look like they had a halo. Like an angel.
"Oh. I appreciate the words, but if anyone is an angel, it would be you with that white hair and innocent face." They replied. Eri must have said that aloud then. She felt her face heat up and she looked at her feet. "Please do not be embarrassed. I hope I did not offend you."
"No, you didn't. Offin- offend me, I mean." There was a short pause in the conversation where they walked in silence, Eri taking the time to look around at her surroundings.
The hallway she was being led down was, thankfully, quieter than the hallway she had been lost in. It was still bigger than the ones in the Labyrinth where she and the subjects were held, and there were people walking through this one. As they passed, they acknowledged them with a nod, which her savior returned.
"Excuse me?" She said, looking back up at them.
"Did you want to say something?" They leaned down slightly. (They really were tall)
Eri wrung her hand in the hem of her gown for a bit. "What's your name?"
"My name is Miazuma. You may call me what you wish."
She thought for a moment about that, the options open for her to consider. It was an important decision, what to call a person. She mused for a few more minutes before deciding on the simple, but elegant 'Zuma-san.' Eri nodded to herself before telling them their new name for them.
Zuma-san nodded sagely and they walked for a few more minutes before they entered a small room. They had Eri sit on the chair behind the desk, which she wasn't sure was right because she wasn't doing work, but when she mentioned this Zuma-san pulled out a piece of white paper and a pencil and said they trusted Eri to use it. Eri nodded fiercely, she was able to get through the hallway so she was able to be big enough to use the pencil.
As they were handing these things to Eri, Zuma-san asked ad odd question.
"Eri, why are your arms bandaged?"
"Oh! Um. That's because I'm helping people! Overhaul says that all the time" She smiled, though her legs ached. "Can I tell you a secret?"
"Yes, you may."
"Overhaul says I'm helping people, and he never says it, but I bet I'm a hero already."
Zuma-san gave her a small smile and went to go talk to someone in the hallway, their words echoing back into the room, telling someone to go find Uba-san and tell her to come to their office. When they were done, they took a seat by the open door and began to go over something on a clipboard until Uba-san came.
Eri put down the pencil when Uba-san arrived and Miazuma stood to greet her.. Her caretaker- Uba-san was shaking slightly, but Zuma-san must have been nice to her too because she stopped while they spoke. Eventually, Zuma-san nodded and Uba-san came to talk to Eri at the desk.
"It's time to go back to your room," she said, sternly but not unkindly. She leaned closer. "Don't let Overhaul know about this or we'll both get in trouble."
Eri nodded, hopped off the chair, and went around the desk. Unthinkingly, she went to hold Uba-san's hand. Uba-san ripped it out of her reach as soon as she felt the small fingers clasp around her own. They stood there, her caretaker breathing heavily, Eri blinking back the sheen of tears that had suddenly washed over her eyes.
"S-sor-" She began, but she was interrupted.
"It's fine," Uba-san said tersely, though it wasn't fine at all. "You have to remember not to touch people, you don't have any control over your power, and that's why Overhaul's helping you, understand?"
Eri looked at her feet before nodding an affirmative. She followed her silently through the door, giving one last look at Zuma-san before they were completely out of sight. She thought, just for a moment, that the look on their face was full of anger and a sadness deeper than she could understand.
( So close to our dwelling place?)
The pressure of using proper breaths was comforting in most situations, but especially when Tanjirou was in a situation as tense as this one.
It had started that morning, or as close to morning as Tanjirou could guess, when he was taken to a room to exercise for a few hours before being cleaned and returned to his cell. One of his guards was new, and very nervous, so when they undid the shackles around his wrists, Tanjirou slipped away before the door could close.
Tanjirou had been planning his escape as soon as he had calmed down from the mutilation called 'tissue sampling' they had done 6 meal times prior. Day and night were useless, as there were no windows, but there was a period of time in which there were significantly less people to smell in the facility and he was left alone for hours. When his guards came by to give him the first meal, they had left him relatively unrestrained to wander about the room. Something about muscle atrophy and wanting him to be healthy, though his hands were still tied together so he couldn't do any real exercise until they wanted him to. Tanjirou spent that time pacing from wall to wall, 8 steps one way, turn, 8 more steps.
Tanjirou had been held captive once before, when he was 25. His first escape attempt had been disastrous, and his second no better, both were endeavors of desperation that held no thought and were bound to be doomed from the start. After the second one and a beating that left him with an ankle that clicked when he rolled it, he bided his time for the third. He memorized the patterns of meals and rest until he could make his escape unnoticed until the next morning.
This was what Tanjirou was attempting now. Since he had no discernable way of opening the door on his own, and the technology of this future had been strange to figure out (what on earth was an 'ID'?), he went with the option Inosuke usually went with: 'run as fast as you can away from the authorities and hope you don't get caught.' Not his best plan, and not one that would work, but it was worth it regardless of if he got caught.
Information was the most valuable weapon he had right now. He was sure his nichirin blade had rusted, and he wouldn't take the hanafuda earrings from Nezuko's descendants. His body would begin to fail him in a few months, he knew, the first time he had gone through this he had to constantly be on medications by his 23rd birthday. The body he was in right now was younger than 23: on his birthday Zenitsu had perhaps had too much sake and knocked the bookshelf over, catching Tanjirou's hip and leaving a small scar on the ridge of the bone. That bought him time before his strength really began to slip through his fingers, and fueled the need for an escape attempt. The more he found out about the layout of this place the better.
Though the guards outside rarely spoke, Tanjirou heard one of them mention that they were in 'The Labyrinth' with the other subjects, and it certainly was named aptly. There seemed to be no order to the hallways he went through, though there were numbers on the occasional door that he passed. To make things more confusing, every hallway looked the same: every few meters there was a light, the floor was stone and the walls some sort of metal, and the ceiling just tall enough that a cursory tap on the wall echoed slightly.
Tanjirou kept close to the walls and the insides of turns to keep his visibility down, grateful that his feet were bare and quieter than the shoes he normally would've worn. His heart thumped just below his ears, his body coursing with adrenaline. Logically, he wasn't afraid, he had a mission and had what it took to complete it. Physically? His body cringed from the thought of the punishment that would surely happen when he got caught.
He slowed temporarily, never really stopping but taking the time to peer around a corner to see if the adjacent hallway was empty before regaining his speed and slipping across the gap. 'Always be like water,' Urokodaki had told him, 'flow freely.' Tanjirou had taken that advice to heart and formed a rhythm with it. Inhale, exhale, slow down and speed up, step, and pause.
The echoes of speech filtered down a hallway to Tanjirou's left. His eyes widened but he didn't stop moving. The advantage of being in the Labyrinth was that there was always somewhere to go, though the risk was that he didn't know if he was going closer to danger or away. He ducked into a hallway a few feet back from where he was. The lights were even on both sides and he barely cast a shadow. The voices got louder and Tanjirou caught some of the words they were saying.
"Don't - He -" "safe" "ca-" could that have been capture? Catch? It almost didn't matter, if he was caught then his opportunity was gone. It would be a while before he could try to escape again after this. A few nonsensical syllables passed between the three voices he could distinguish from each other, too quiet to understand fully. Tanjirou's hand instinctively went to the hilt of a sword that wasn't there, and he felt a pang of loss.
The voices began to fade and Tanjirou suppressed a sigh. His sword had been with him for over a decade, and though he had hoped to never use it again, Tanjirou was always ready to take it down from the wall where he displayed it to defend his family. The lack of such a familiar weight by his side was jarring, but he pressed his eyelids together and began to move again. He had gone without his sword before and would do so once again.
While Tanjirou moved through the hallways and evaded various groups of people, he tried to piece together a mental map of the labyrinth. The rooms were labeled with the coding belonging to whatever was inside. Most were animals and plants, but he even saw some random objects. Some were familiar and some were completely alien, and Tanjirou could've sworn one of them had shifted while he looked at it.
It was with a growing sense of unease that Tanjirou found himself outside the cell of one little girl, Eri, the only other human subject as far as he could tell. He stopped, the gown fluttering around his legs when his momentum was lost. Standing at the narrow window of the door, Tanjirou peered in on a scene that clutched his ribs with ice.
There she was- four or five, apparently asleep and face scrunched up in phantom pain, but the thing that sparked the rage Tanjirou had always tried to bury beneath kind words and gestures was what lay under the conspicuously absent bandages. His breathing hitched with the force of his anger, something it hadn't done since he had first started training in water breathing, and he fought to keep it steady and calm. Like water.
The entirety of her exposed skin was covered in scars- twisting ugly things that wound across her limbs and pooled into one another. Some of them looked to be even a year or two old, but what he would've expected of an accidental nick or burn from an unsteady toddler was instead a coiling net of repeated abuse.
Disgust boiled deep in his gut for whoever had done this to another living being, let alone a child. Eri stayed asleep.
Tanjirou forced his breaths to slow and his limbs to stop trembling. Adrenaline pulsed ice-cold through his heart and though he was rooted to the stone where he stood, Tanjirou knew he had to leave. He forced himself to move, to break the ice and let the stream begin to flow again, but his mind kept returning to the map of abuse he had burned into his retinas. There was not a step he took without being reminded of the cuts that split her legs into sections, every brush of the cloth against his shoulders feeling like the holes that pockmarked hers.
Still, Tanjirou forced his mind to catalog the signs on the doors to categorize them into meanings later, forced his body to be quiet despite the speed he was moving. He could be angry later, he could grieve later, but for now the only thing he could do was keep going.
Takohashi walked with the cadence of a man resigned to his death. He had already been yelled at by Kouun-san and Overhaul, found out that his partner had been killed for letting the Subject escape, and was now sent to retrieve the Hakase so they could retrieve the Subject in turn. Takohashi knew when he first began to work with Overhaul's medical unit that he would see some awful things, you didn't go to Overhaul if you wanted to take the moral high ground, but as far as the countless disappearances of his colleagues went, this was the worst one. They were only a kid, too poor for medical school, and Overhaul could get them the means to do the thing they loved. Not, of course, without consequences.
Takohashi found himself weary and wished he could get rid of his own consequences. But he was in too deep now. Overhaul wouldn't get rid of him, not after how long he had been there. So now Takohashi had nothing left to do except obey. Funny how things ended up.
Emerging from the public offices into the hallway between those and the private ones, Takohashi found the world to be empty. That would be normal, the beneficiaries doing their own duties, sometimes doing jobs for Overhaul, but nobody would be in the hall. That didn't explain why it felt so desolate. Takohashi found himself crossing his arms in a meaningless form of protection from the hollowness of the world.
The Hakase's office was plainer than he might have imagined, there were no pictures on the wall, no connections to any form of personal life that would suggest anything outside of the organization. If it weren't for the slow, gentle tapping of their fingers against the desk, objects perfectly spaced to let their hand rest upon the surface, Takohashi wouldn't have thought they didn't use the room at all.
"Hakase. The subject escaped," Takohashi said, emotionless. "Overhaul wants you to capture hi- it."
"I see. Will you evacuate the Labyrinth of all staff?" the Hakase stood and walked to the door, pausing for Takohashi to step aside. He didn't. "Excuse me, I must get through the door. Could you please step aside?"
"Why did it end up this way?"
"I do not know what you mean, Takohashi-san?"
"When I first joined, it was out of a sense of superiority- I wasn't one of those sadistic bastards who didn't want to deal with the law, and neither was I too poor and frail to work a job to pay for schooling. So why is it that after years. Years that I find myself still here? And why me, out of all the people to fall into this- this hell? I didn't do anything to deserve this! And here I am, spilling this to a superior who doesn't care what I have to say."
"Takohashi-san. There are no words I have to change your life, though I will always listen to what you feel you must say. We both know that you never intended for your life to become this. But this is how it is and how it will be unless you change it." Miazuma looked down at him, directly into his eyes. "You will never be rid of the things you have done, you can only try to cause as little damage as you can. Now please, step aside."
Takohashi paused for a moment more, but then all the fight that drained out of him in an instant, leaving him to just be tired once again. He moved out of the way before following Miazuma. They walked in silence for a few moments before Miazuma suddenly spoke again.
"You remind me of Kurushimi, former head of pathology. He was also very… passionate about Overhaul's methods. I can't say I disagree with him."
"Huh," Takohashi said, more out of reflex than anything. But Miazuma had given him information: not everyone was happy about Overhaul. And he wasn't alone. Suddenly the empty halls seemed that much more full.
Tanjirou's disquiet only grew with every passing second. Surely there would be someone coming to capture him by now? But he hadn't heard or smelled anyone in a while, and a chilling thought crept into his brain: maybe the section had been abandoned altogether. But that didn't make sense: if there was a new assailant than Tanjirou would know immediately. If anything it would be better to fill the labyrinth with people to confuse his senses.
Tanjirou slowed down to match his caution, quieted his breathing and stood at an angle where his heartbeat wouldn't pulse in his ears. Just as he thought, he couldn't hear a thing. Not the slightest noise, except for a quiet hissing he would've missed if Zenitsu hadn't taught him. "There are layers to noise, and it takes a bit of time to separate them, but if you stand still and separate the noise of your body from the things you want to hear? You open up a whole world." In his memories, Tanjirou had been abysmal at first. But soon after the remnants of Muzan's followers and former family members had begun trying to get back at the former demon slayers, and Tanjirou had been forced to learn quickly.
Soon after he heard the hissing, Tanjirou smelled the hint of something he remembered from very recently: Cool streams in the summer and the sweet perfume of fruit. He took a slow, deep breath before pushing it back out of his lungs. He should hide, but there was nowhere to go. In one of the experiments' cells? Those were locked. There was no convenient corner where he could remain unseen by passersby. His limbs began to grow weak and too heavy for his body, and still Tanjirou slogged on through the molasses the air had become.
What Tanjirou found most terrifying about this demon blood art- or perhaps it was just a regular blood art, considering how all the demons had died -was that his mind remained untouched. It was with perfect clarity that he fell numbly to his knees, that a few minutes later he saw someone spot him from the end of the hall, running towards him. The gambit was up, Tanjirou thought, even as his limp body was secured. The chains put pressure on his hands, not painful, no- never that, but there was a small crackling of bone Tanjirou wished was just the clanking of metal like against each other.
Overhaul stood there, his figure taking up much of the life in the room. Miazuma stood slightly behind him, taller than anyone and yet about as noticeable as a shadow.
"Oh, Kamado Tanjirou-san, trying to leave the party early? That's very rude. It's not like there's anything else for you to do. I'm gonna have to punish you for this, you understand. Is it that you don't like me?" Overhaul crouched in front of his line of sight, head tilted. He sighed. "Well, no matter. You're still mine, and what does it matter if a book is broken? You can always just fix it."
Overhaul shook off a glove. "You know, normally I'd never touch another person, they're always so dirty, but with your purity? I can make an exception."
Then a splayed hand reached out, fingertips landed on Tanjirou's face, and then nothing at all.