I'm moving in a week, so this will probably be the last update for a little while! But, who knows? I am the Major of the procrastination nation, so I might find myself impossibly inspired right in the middle of the cleanout of the apartment. Knowing myself, I probably will.

Õgai Mori, a former doctor and now the boss of the Port Mafia, was seated by his grand mahogany desk in his office. By his side, stood Elise, a young girl in a pretty red dress and the manifestation of his ability.

His eyes were focused at a faint stain on the polished wood after a coffee cup had been sat there without a coster on the unnecessarily expensive desk. It wasn't that it bothered him. If he could choose, it wouldn't be there, but right now, it was somewhere to concentrate his gaze while he thought through the events that had occurred the last few days.

Somehow, that incompetent old man had made his way into his office, two days ago. He was sure he had rid himself of that pest over ten years ago.

He had left him to bleed out on his own altar after a very unfortunate accident with his Glock the same day he had taken in his half-dead son. So clumsy of him.

Something inside his head had snapped at the sight of the young body falling through the air. After he had decided that he wanted the boy, he already thought of him as his and the preacher had no right to damage anything of his.

Before leaving the HQ, he had every intention of paying the preacher. When the old man delivered damaged goods- the old man had to pay instead. That was how it worked when doing business with the Port Mafia.

And after all this time, the preacher had returned. The preacher had returned to kill him. He was going to kill Mori and take Dazai back.

Mori had obviously laughed in the old man's face and told him that the Port Mafia didn't have a fucking return policy (and even if they did, he was too late. The kid was an expired ware).

He had been playing with the thought of offering him Elise, just to taunt him. But, he knew from the preacher's obvious self-hatred and the damages that had been done to his son's body, that the old man didn't lean that way.

He felt sick just thinking about it.

With that, his thoughts drifted back to the first time he treated Dazai. It was that same day. If the kid didn't survive, he swore that he would go back there and kill the preacher one more time (which he now knew he should have done anyway).

Even though Mori had known that a fall from that hight was not enough to ensure fatality, there was no way to know for sure when Dazai was so young and had suffered much physical abuse prior to his suicide attempt.

The blood loss was not compatible with the fall. Also, the head trauma didn't fit the way he had landed. Mori was there to witness when Dazai hit the ground, and he had clearly landed with his feet first. That wouldn't cause his skull to fracture. And it certainly wouldn't leave burn marks all over his abdomen, back, and neck.

The broken legs, pelvis, spine and elbow- yes. Maybe the shoulder too. But carvings of fucking bible verses into the skin was not common fucking injuries after failed suicide attempts. It was the cause of them.

When the prior boss had found out everything, he had ordered Mori to continue down the path that was started by the preacher.

He wanted the boy tortured to the point that pain was all he knew. Tortured to the point where pain and suffering were more familiar than love and comfort. To the point where the boy didn't know anything else.

The Boss wanted an unfeeling human weapon. So that's what Mori gave him.

Learning about the boy's ability to nullify all other abilities had been quite the bonus. Obviously, it was a bit annoying under his training when they had realized and their entire training plan had to be changed- but it proved to be very helpful never the less.

Also, it was his only mean of protection. They had taught him martial arts and self-defense, but his body was weak from malnourishment and frail from all the injuries he had sustained through his life.

So, they ran with it. If Dazai was going to be fragile, he had to learn to work with it, make it his strength- and he had.

And now, out of the blue- two days ago; that weak, stupid and useless preacher was standing in front of this very coffee-stained desk, demanding to get back Mori's single greatest creation- and- disappointment.

The man who had started it all.

'The man whos powers worked on Dazai', he had realized. With everything that had happened while trying to save Dazai's life, making sure he was even able to walk again and then starting the training and realizing that the boy had his ability- Mori had never even realized that Dazai had been the victim of his father's ability for all of those years.

That was why the preacher had gotten Mori's attention that day. The only reason Mori had not killed him right then and there. Obviously, Mori was not going to ask the preacher about it yet, that would make him think he had the upper hand.

He would see this through. After all, they did have a common interest.

Either, Dazai needed to be on their side, or, they needed him to be dead.

Chuuya looked at the full tray of food that had been pushed aside from Dazai's bed.

"Do you eat?"

Chuuya looked suspiciously at Dazai in the hospital bed. His body had always been a bit frail, but sometimes it looked weaker than others. Thinner.

"You just can't help yourself, can you, carrot top?" Dazai spat back, more amused than annoyed.

Chuuya shot back a stare he hoped might prove deadly.

"I've seen chicken legs with more fat on them than you."

Dazai reached his tongue out. He slumped down in the bed and pouted.

"The hospital food is... Squishy."

"Squishy?"

"Yeah."

Chuuya didn't look completely satisfied with that explanation.

"Come on chibi, it's a perfectly good word," Dazai said determinedly.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "No, and please stop calling me that!"

"What, chibi? Come on, you're 22 years old. You have to realize that you're not still growing, chibi."

Chuuya's cheeks were puffed and flustered with anger.

"See? Just like your cheeks are right now, chibi! Squishy!" Dazai sang happily, reaching out to deflate them with his index fingers as there was a knock on the door.

Both of them immediately looked to the door on high alert.

It slowly opened, revealing a man with long gray hair.

"President," Dazai exclaimed innocently and retracted his hands.

Fukuzawa looked suspiciously at the redhead seated at the bedside and approached.

Chuuya was clearly uncomfortable but got up and wearily reached out a hand to greet the ADA president anyway.

"My name is chib... Fuck! My name is Chuuya! I'm Nakahara Chuuya," he exclaimed as his cheeks turned crimson red and he mumbled curses under his breath while sitting down in the chair in complete disgrace, hanging his face low and covering his face with a gloved hand.

Dazai's grin was wide and victorious.

"I know who you are, Nakahara Chuuya," Fukuzawa said sternly, mostly to establish dominance, before shifting his attention back to Dazai.

"I'd like to speak to you, in private," he added, glaring back at the Port Mafia executive.

Chuuya scoffed, trying to recover from the embarrassment, and folded his arms.

"Great, I have more important things to attend to, than to prevent stickman over here from going fully hangman on our asses anyway," he shrugged, getting up and giving a short wave while walking to the door.

"See you soon, Strawberry Shortcake!" Dazai waved back.

Four of five fingers folded from Chuuya's wave right before he slammed the door shut.

"Redheads are always so feisty," Dazai smirked at his superior. Fukuzawa shook his head in disapproval, before settling on the uncomfortable plastic chair.

Dazai sighed at the lack of response, "So, Ranpo and Kunikida have been tattling?" he asked instead, unconsciously scratching his bandaged neck. As soon as he realized that the notion did not go unnoticed by Fukuzawa, he lowered his hand.

"Yes, they have told me about your feverish ramblings," he stated, "and I have to admit, that I am concerned about you, Dazai."

Dazai's smile didn't budge. "Sunday school, you know."

"And what about the mentions of the Port Mafia boss, Mori?"

Dazai frowned and raised his shoulders, "He is a handsome man. I was never that great of a Sunday school student."

Kunikida slapped his face with his palm. "You are so full of bull-"

"Language, boss," Dazai scolded. "I have sensitive Sunday School ears."

Fukuzawa had never been closer to share Kunikida's desperate annoyance with Dazai. He got back to his feet and took a few laps around the room while trying not to lose his usually- so mild- temper.

"Dazai..."

Dazai wished people would stop saying his name in that tone. As if he had done something wrong. For once in his life, he knew what he was doing was right.

Sure, they would probably not see it that way, but if they'd known... Nothing good would come from that. Which was another thing he couldn't tell them, which they also would probably disagree with.

After Fukuzawa had left, he had finally been left alone for the first time in over a week.

He let the bed lower so he could lay straight, his back thanking him and his head being less grateful. He let the dizzyness settle while breathing deeply, easing the nausea that came with it.

Chuuya already knew too much, but hopefully, Mori didn't know that. In which case, Chuuya was safe(not that he cared or anything). All though, the slug would probably do something stupid anyway...

For the first time in several weeks, he allowed himself to try and make sense of this whole situation.

Mori had told him years ago that his father was killed when he was retrieved from the church. That was obviously not true.

Why was his father back? Where had he been and why the hell (language, Dazai) would he try and find him? He hadn't been of any use for that bastard since the day he first met the Port Mafia, which had been made perfectly clear that same night, before his first... attempt of relief. Of peace, salvation and, just... to be left alone.

'What is happening to me?' Dazai thought while looking out the window to his right. 'Am I finally truly losing my mind?'

No. That had already happened years ago. There was no mind left to lose.

Dazai chuckled at the thought. 'Very well then, no mind left to lose means that there is nothing else left to lose...'

The next day, Kunikida got a call. He threw his phone violently on the floor after listening for about a minute. Scared, disbelieving and concerned eyes looked at the man, as he stomped out of the room, through the hallway and straight into Fukuzawa's office.

After a couple of minutes, Fukuzawa came out of the room, leaving Kunikida to calm down inside.

"I need everyone to be ready within 10 minutes," he declared. "Dazai is missing."