She gripped the gun tighter, desperately, understanding that it would do nothing but tire her out first. Dazai looked just barely bothered by having a gun pointed at him with the person on the other end hating him to the tips of his fingers. Matsukata's expression wasn't convoluted. She couldn't use Tanizaki's presence for any leverage. That look of pure hatred and willingness to go far was unmistakable. The moment Tolstoy caught wind they weren't alone, he'd go berserk.

"It's a simple equation, really," he said, teeth clenched. "I shoot him, you shoot me."

"Shooting him is a favor," Saskia replied hastily. It was a provocation. It worked. It was an instinct kicking in, taking control first, but the conscious part kicked in already, and she didn't lower the gun. Dazai had sold her off for information, he must have found value in it. Otherwise, he was simply selling her cheap. And whatever information he obtained, she doubted he had yet had the chance to share it.

"Maybe it's because I wasn't born as Matsukata Satoru," Tolstoy said, never losing his grip, "or because I didn't truly live as him."

"Are you still on about it?"

"I simply wonder where consciousness lies. Our conscience. Where does out identity originate? You take a hair out of my head and run a test on it, it will have Matsukata's DNA. And yet your ability is triggered. Maybe it's because I know I am not him. I don't have his memories, the experiences of living as Mastukata Satoru. Just a body. Trust me, we are born with an affinity to our bodies. Once I lost mine, it was a whole identity crisis. The face I was so used to seeing in the mirror was gone, forever. And now I don't even remember it, just know it was there."

"I'll shoot you simply because you keep talking," Blok warned.

"A body is born first. Our perfect limitation. But not for me. Tall or short, young or old, man or woman. It didn't matter. And I must say, that part of my identity that was stripped away with the absence of my form, well, I compensated for it with this freedom to become anyone. But that too was taken away. You want to give me to them, but I won't go down without a fight."

"Lower the gun. You want to die; he wants to die. I think it really is a simple equation."

"No, I refuse to die by his hand or with him," Tolstoy replied.

"I was suggesting suicide." Saskia saw how her hand was trembling, suspended in the air, holding on to the gun. If the rear sight wasn't fixed, she wondered how amusing it was for Tolstoy to watch the muzzle sway like a leaf in the wind.

"You think it's easy?" the man smiled, lowering his gun. "If I'm honest, death doesn't appeal to me. As someone who has taken lives, I know just how ugly a lonely death is. But I am dying anyway. What more do I have to lose? I'd prefer to keep the little dignity I have left. The body is born first," Lev continued to speak, "I think we can all agree on it. Intelligence is formed later. I can't take someone's intelligence. If only our brains could survive outside the body. Then maybe no one would have to die because of me."

"Interesting," Dazai spoke without a glint of curiosity or intrigue. She could finally lower her aim. She wouldn't' be able to shoot anyone even if her life depended on it once her hand was starting to shake so violently. The rush of blood to the tense muscles felt almost exhilarating. Almost. Tolstoy was cutting corners. He was trying to get her to kill him. And he insisted on talking too. That's what it was. He wasn't talking because he wanted someone to know. He needed her to know. It was a confession, a memoir, and a suicide note.

"You know, Saskia, what I learned in the Mafia?" Matsukata asked rhetorically. "They talk. The man you decided to be close to is a traitor to the mafia, an underboss, Dazai Osamu."

"I heard," she shrugged. If she recalled correctly, Dazai Osamu was the youngest underboss in Port Mafia's history. Which, if you think about it, made them only more questions rather than scary and impressive. Dazai doesn't look a day over... Oh. He is young.

Lev chocked on a laugh or cry stepping backward twice as the shock was painted all over his face. "You know?" he asked in disbelief.

"Don't act so high and mighty, please. It's repulsive." Blok scoffed.

"That's not what trust is, Alexandra," Lev moralized.

"Probably."

"He is a murderer. Legally, semantically, philosophically, however you wish to understand it!"

"He's right, you know," Osamu spoke eerily calm for someone who was very close to getting shot in the head. Whatever he meant by that; she didn't care. She knew what he was before.

"I am well aware," she scoffed at two men, tapping her head. If Tolstoy said a word he didn't mean, she'd know it. They both know how it worked. "Stop trying to get into my head. Either of you."

"Shoot him," Tolstoy commanded impatiently. "Or I'll do it."

"Shoot me, Saskia," Dazai said. He was looking at her now and that content smile was gone, "I'd rather die by your hand than his, please."

"I can't," she answered simply. HEr voice wasn't thick with emotion. It was a very easy statement. She simply couldn't. She had ever taken a life when hers or someone else's was at risk. She cannot shoot him as he was standing with his hands cuffed behind his back. Defenseless.

"Ah, but you have to," he said, smile wide on his face. No, it wasn't the one he wore before. This one was far more familiar. Mischievous and devilish. That the smile he wore when something clicked in that wicked brain of his. Saskia looked at the gun. The gun Kunikida gave her using his ability. The ability she could only describe as the purest magic trick. A gun of heavy and cold metal was formed from a page of Kunikida's notebook.

"You see, that would make it almost," he theatrically paused, "ideal. It's not so bad," he continued, "to die at the hands of a friend. Ideal death."

Saskia raised the gun and shot Dazai Osamu between his eyebrows. The body fell on the ground with a loud thud. After, it became awfully quiet. Even the wind had stilled for a moment. Not even Tolstoy had made a sound. She expected him to. To growl, to laugh, to choke on hysteria as he both shouted victoriously and laughed maniacally. But he didn't.

"Don't mind if I do," he said as he pointed his weapon at Dazai's body on the ground. A single shot ruined stilled silence. Blood sprayed. It wasn't a struggle anymore. She shot again, aiming radically this time. Second body fell on the ground with a loud wet thud. With a whimper it is. Saskia walked over the body without sparing it a glance but didn't lower the gun. Dazai slowly raised himself to a sitting position. Three more gunshots were fired. All three bullets vanished into thin air at the moment of impact. Dazai pouted, offended and completely unamused. Saskia groaned with immense relief and bent over, hands on her knees as if the weight of something heavy had been off her shoulders. Or perhaps it was just placed there.

"God, Kunikida has no idea how therapeutic it is," she spoke louder than usual.

"He does," Dazai replied, carrying a grudge. "He simply isn't wasteful. Don't be so generous with his skill, Detective, show some respect."

"I'll say you provoked me, I'm sure he'll be able to sympathize," Blok retorted. She walked over to him and tossed the keys for the handcuffs. In a few moments, Dazai Osamu was free and accepting a helping hand to get up from the ground. Before Saskia could say anything else, Dazai pulled her in a tight embrace.

"I think I'm severely dehydrated," he said quietly, placing his hand on top of her head. "And there's a bleeding wound on the back of my head." A second went by. Then another. One more. Saskia started to pull away from Dazai grasping on the fact that she was holding onto him for dear life.

"Let's get you to the hospital," she spoke, voice hoarse. Before she could pull away completely and turn to take a look at the body, Dazai's hand fell on her eyes.

"Don't look," he said. He wasn't speaking softly and trying to soothe her. His words offered no consolation. It was a calm command. "Don't. Look."

Saskia couldn't' move. She remembered that time Dazai told her to leave Port Mafia territory. How dark his eyes were and how his tone of voice made her understand there was no room for arguing. She couldn't see his eyes now, but the voice matched.

"Let's go," Dazai said soothingly. Saskia nodded. Dazai placed his hand on her shoulders, forcing his weight onto her, stubbornly protecting Saskia from the sight of a dead body.

Kunikida and Atsushi were already standing near her car with Tanizaki unchained. And Kunikida looked positively pissed.

"Would you care to explain?" he demanded rather than asked. Saskia sighed sparing Dazai a quick glance. One of them had to start talking.

"All according to plan, Kunikida," Dazai explained. It wasn't an explanation. Not to Saskia, at least. Her eyes fell on Tanizaki who was constantly rubbing his wrist. The one she handcuffed. Shit. Guilt was not unfamiliar to her. But it was the one she couldn't negate or justify.

"I'm sorry," she said, bowing down low.

"It's okay!" Junichiro replied immediately, startled. He must have been taken aback by the display of reverence and penance. But Saskia didn't straighten her posture knowing that his response was automatic rather than thoughtful. "It's okay," he repeated more thoughtfully now. "I didn't expect you to do that but…"

"All is fair in love and war, right?" Dazai chimed in. Upon hearing that bastardly cheery voice, she stood upright immediately. It couldn't be that she so eagerly played into his hands.

"What do you mean?" Blok spoke through gritted teeth. Those three shots she fired at him were not as therapeutic as she deemed them to be. She needed more. Many more. Perhaps she could pay Kunikida to use his notebook again.

"I — Ugh — We expected you to try and lose me," Junichiro was quick to interrupt.

"And you would follow me anyway," Saskia mumbled. "You knew how to hide from me. He told you."

"That right!" Dazai smiled. He grinned. Victoriously, proudly, whatever. He grinned at her. Saskia was starting to boil with anger. He deceived her. Again. He made her play into his hand. Again. She could never win again him. Ever. "So, we would either catch him with numbers," Dazai dropped the act. The smile dissipated as if it wasn't on his lips mere moments ago. "Or he would see through our plan and start acting recklessly. Either way, there wasn't a chance of him getting away." Dazai spoke almost ruefully. As if he won a game he didn't wish to win. "Not with your help!" he added just as merrily as before. Saskia felt like throwing up. It felt awful — abnormal even — to watch him just through the hoops like this. She felt the nausea, the shiver of her body as if sickly. However, she doubted it was because of Dazai. He was merely adding up to the overwhelming feeling.

"That's not," she mumbled. But her voice died down before she could finish the sentence. Something wasn't right with her. With the situation. She questioned for a moment if all this wasn't just a dream or a hallucination. Or better yet a simple delusion created by some gifted.

"Well, now that's done," Kunikida said, "I'm taking Tanizaki and Atsushi home."

"So, you can take Dazai to the hospital too," Saskia said. Her voice had returned but only at the thought of Dazai leaving her presence for the rest of the night. She truly couldn't account for her next actions towards the person who manipulated her so, who pushed the burden onto her shoulders. He could have taken it. He had done so before. He admitted to it. Dazai Osamu doesn't do kind. The thought she thought to herself so many times, desperately reminding herself to not mistake him for his numerous masks. How hopeful, how foolish.

"What's wrong with her?" Kunikida asked. Blok perked up at the question about her. Only after she realized she'd been soundlessly laughing. Like a psychopath. Talk about normalcy. She needed a moment of complete silence and stillness. She needed the world to stop spinning for just a few seconds so she could regain herself. But the world didn't give a damn. She masked the laughing behind coughing, doubting it could fool anyone here, knowing Dazai would see through her.

"Nothing," the woman answered. "So, will you take him?"

"Of course not," Kunikida shrugged nonchalantly. It wasn't a negotiation to begin with. The two young men bid their farewells albeit awkwardly. At least it seemed that Tanizaki didn't hold a grudge for being handcuffed to a steering wheel. Dazai and Blok watched them go. No talking. No eye contact. Nothing was exchanged. For a moment, they forgot all about each other's existence. Saskia breathed in deeply and closed her eyes. She hoped to see nothing, the darkness behind eyelids, the nothingness it offered. But amidst the lack of imagery she saw a red splash. She gasped. The reality of her action had sunk in too quickly for her liking.

"Saskia," Dazai spoke grimly. The tone matched her feelings perfectly. "Let's go."

"Dazai," Blok said with an edge. It wasn't a warning or an accusation. She just hoped to make his name sound as bitter to him as it was to her. "I killed him. Killed. Forget for a moment about my conscience as if you ever considered it and think about the Contemporary." She couldn't be held accountable for grabbing his collar and pulling him closer to her. She couldn't be blamed for the wrinkled on the coat or the whitening of her knuckles.

"Saskia," Osamu spoke quietly and place his hand on top of hers. He didn't try to pry her finger away or make her loose her grip. "Trust me, you showed him the greatest mercy a human is capable of."

"W-what?"

"The Contemporary already started a war. Don't think about it. Let's go."

If she had any will or strength to fight, she would. She would pry the answers out of him. She would beat them our of Dazai Osamu. But her body felt limp, her fingers loosening and slipping down the sand-coloured coat. And her mind felt heavy and clouded. The weight of guilty conscience.