The constant pitter-patter of rain pelting the canvas of the tent went unheard as it was drowned out by a cacophony of more dominant noises. People were rushing to and fro as they tried their best to accomplish their jobs in as efficient a manner as possible while still maintaining the standards required of them -which was important considering the fate of someone's life was dependent on their performance-, all while a lone woman stood over a makeshift operating table, doing her best to preserve the life of the man who was laid out in front of her. A thunderous roar momentarily deafened all those in the tent, forcing the woman to utilize hand-signals to direct her assistants, much to her aggravation. While she was skilled enough to get by reading lips, her companions were considerably less so, and every second she spent on non-verbal communication was another second that could have been used to care for her patient. Another powerful soundwave assaulted their ears once more, though the source of the thunder was in no way tied to the weather. Each echoing *boom* was the result of cannon-fire from the nearby battlefield, with the frontlines being just over a couple hundred meters away from their current position.
She was not used to being this close to the action, always keeping to the rear in order to better utilize her skills, but circumstances had forced her hand. These soldiers were in need of immediate medical attention and would likely perish long before reaching the safety of the primary medical facilities.
"M-momma! It hurt's momma!"
"You are going to be alright soldier!" she shouted, grabbing a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a bit of wood. "Bite down on this and try to hold still!"
After placing the bit in-between the man's teeth, the nurse began washing the wound with the burning substance, causing the man to convulse in pain even as he fiercely crushed the wood with his teeth.
"You're going to be fine!" the nurse assured him before snapping at one of the assistants. "I need another tourniquet!"
"We're all out of clean ones!" came a panicked response. "Bedford said he'd be back in ten minutes with more supplies!"
Shaking her head, the nurse knew the soldier she was attending to would bleed out before the runner returned. Using a dirty cloth was an absolute last resort, as the man would instead die slow and painfully from an infection. Racking her brain to try and come up with a solution, she realized there was one relatively clean bit of cloth on her that she could improvise into a tourniquet. She proceeded to undo the top buttons of her uniform and reach under her clothing. After a bit of struggling and awkward positioning, she managed to pull free her undergarments. Some discomfort from having her breasts lack the necessary support was a small price to pay for the sake of her patient.
"Are the sutures sterilized yet?!" she yelled as she tied the cloth around the bleeding limb.
"Right here ma'am!" one of the medics responded as he carried over a metal tray with various surgical tools laid out.
As she began the process of sewing the wound closed, she idly noted several more injured soldiers had been carried inside the tent. Even as she continued the procedure on the soldier in front of her, the woman still managed to perform visual triage on the newcomers.
'Gunshot wound to the forearm, already has arm tied-off, minimal blood-loss; low-priority. Lacerations and burns on left foot, most likely resulted from near-miss explosion; wash surface clean and keep covered to prevent infection. Wooden debris impaled in lower abdomen, high probability that the liver has been pierced, check for confirmation, if so; code black. Traces of bile around lips and chin, no observable injuries otherwise; he only threw up, get him out of here.'
Putting the finishing touches on her current patient, the nurse gently caressed his head and informed him it was over.
"I told you I would take care of you." she calmly assured the man with a surprisingly serene expression.
"Doc?" the man muttered in confusion. "You mean it?"
She nodded her head. "Yes, this is not your day to die."
The man practically broke down in tears at the reassuring words from his savior. "T-thank you doc! I can't thank you enough!"
"There is no need for thanks, we still need to get you-"
/
Her head felt as if she had been hit with a cricket bat, her vision was swimming as everything she saw was a blur, her limbs felt as if they were being weighed downed by cannonballs, and she could feel a warm liquid dripping down the side of her face.
'Diagnosis; minor lacerations to forward scalp, head trauma resulting in mild concussion. Primary faculty recovery estimated at sixty seconds.'
She was confused as to what had happened. Feeling around with her hands, she tried to find something to grab hold of to help her reorientate herself. Something was pressing down on her, and after a moment of thought she realized it was the cloth that their tent had been comprised of. The fabric was now covering her with the likeness of a large blanket. Wildly struggling to escape would only worsen the situation, so she kept to the ground and began crawling in a singular direction. As long as she kept moving forward, it would not be long before she reached the edge of her prison. Her chest was rapidly getting caked in the mud and grime that had built up due to the rain as she remained prone, serving to frustrate the woman immensely. Sound soon reached her ears once more; the panicked shouts of men and the loud rapport of their rifles.
Even in the darkness of the tent that enswathed her, the nurse was vaguely able to make out shapes and minor details of her surroundings. Reaching out to her left, she grabbed what she believed to be a person's hand outstretched. After a few seconds of holding the limb she released it, having noticed the lack of pulse. A white shape that was flecked with reds and browns became visible as she pushed forward, which she recognized as the heavily stained surgical garb the doctors wore. Unfortunately, they too were lacking in life-signs.
After what felt like minutes of struggling to escape, she finally was able to lift the edge of the tent and escape to the open air. Taking extreme care in her movements so as to not strain anything, the nurse climbed to her knees and cast her gaze skyward, allowing the cleansing rain to wash her face to an acceptable state. Removing her bloodstained and muddied jacket, she utilized the clean -albeit sweaty- inside of the garment to serve as an improvised towel to wipe her face clean of the muck. Taking a few deep breaths to catch her second wind, the nurse noticed that the chaos of the battlefield was continuing to spread around her.
Her educated guess to the current situation was that the enemy forces had suddenly made a push that was strong enough to break through their own defenses, meaning that the tent they were using to perform field surgery had been struck by a wayward artillery shot. The realization was enough to boil her blood and freeze her heart. Even if it was accidental, bringing harm to medics and similar non-combatants was a faux pa of the highest order, as they were present for the sole purpose of preserving life, not ending it.
It wasn't long before rage became the primary fuel to hasten her recovery, though she still managed to temper it enough to prevent herself from acting on any violent impulses. No matter how much she desired to let loose her fury upon the enemy, that was not her job. Her purpose is to save, to rescue, to heal, to deny Death and encourage Life.
It was not in her nature to end lives…
She had sworn an oath that must forever be upheld, lest she destroy her very identity and the ideals she cherished.
Looking down, she noticed the soldier she had been operating on minutes earlier, who she had just saved and assured him that he would live, was now missing the lower half of his torso. His head angled in her direction as his lifeless eyes gazed back at her.
Above all else…
"Enemy charge incoming!" one of the soldiers shouted in warning as his fellows scrambled to fortify their position.
She didn't know when it happened, but at some point, a discarded military saber had found itself in her grip. Taking a deep breath, the nurse stood tall and turned her cold visage in the direction of the enemy. Though it went unheard over the sound of battle, she continued muttering to herself, constantly repeating something akin to a mantra to focus her mind.
"They are not humans. They are disease. They are not humans. They are disease. They are not humans. They are disease. They are not humans. They are disease. They are not humans. They are disease. They are not humans. They are disease. They are not humans. They are disease. They are not humans. They are disease."
Do no harm…
(-)
Eyes that were a particularly unique shade of dull-red slowly opened as the dream came to an end. Nightingale was careful so as to not strain her body during her wakeup routine, following through with precise motions that she had perfectly replicated many times before. The Iron Nurse had long since mastered control of nigh every facet of her body with precision akin to a machine. Her internal clock was accurate down to the minute, which she could adjust with relative ease when needed, allowing her to 'program' a mental alarm-clock. All she had to do was calculate how much sleep was required for her to maintain peak efficiency, meaning she always awoke feeling well-rested. This control over her body also extended to other biological functions, including being able to release precise doses of adrenaline into her bloodstream as needed. Yet for all the physical control she had over her body, being able to manipulate her dreams was beyond her.
Dreams were rarely ever accurate -let alone perfect- depictions of memories and past experiences, but instead a mish-mash of information lacking cohesion. Although with chemical aid one could influence the nature of their dreams, the exact contents still remain outside of human control, something that irked Nightingale on a professional level. She had no idea of whether or not what she experienced during her slumber was an actual memory or an interpretation of it, nor could she be certain that it was even hers to begin with. As a nurse she would never have been that close to the battlefield, nor would she ever have picked up a weapon to join the fight.
One of her companions explained her existence as being a 'potential outcome' or 'misinterpreted'. They further went on referencing a variety of complicated sciences and metaphysical concepts that were outside her own realm of expertise, but she tried her best to understand.
Either way, such tangential thoughts were irrelevant at best and a distraction at worst when it came to carrying out her duties.
Of which she was now twenty-seven seconds behind in starting because of her musings.
"A distraction indeed."
A few days had passed since the shed debacle and the survivors were starting to come to terms with what happened. Though they were physically healthy thanks to her efforts, the same could not be said for their mental health. Some of them had been kept in that shack for weeks, subjected to horrific torture at the hands of the people who lured them in with niceties and friendly smiles. Nightingale was not one for betting, but she'd wager that all of those escapees were now suffering from some form of psychological trauma. Unfortunately, her doctorates were not in psychology, so there was a limit to just how much she could help them heal their mental wounds. That didn't prevent her from being able to identify some of the afflictions that could be observed, though.
Cases of PTSD were expected to manifest, which turned out to be an accurate prediction, with all but one of them showing symptoms to some degree of the affliction. Next to be diagnosed were instances of depression and survivors' guilt. And although she couldn't say for certain until further observation, one of them appeared to be showing signs of Dissociation Identity Disorder. Nightingale was determined to do as best she could to address these afflictions whilst not exacerbating the symptoms with incorrect treatments, which is easier said than done.
What she could and currently is working on at the moment though, was to provide prosthetics to those in need of them. The nurse was somewhat jarred by the development of technology in this land, as the rate and direction of scientific progression went against logic. After giving it some thought however, she could see why things played out in the way they did. Weaponry took precedence over the mundane and commercial forms of scientific applications, as the ever-present threat of the vicious beasts that roam the lands meant that for the inhabitants to survive, they needed effective means to combat the dangers. This eventually led to the production of the most advanced prosthetics that Nightingale had ever seen. The faux limbs were fully articulate, allowing the wearer to manipulate the mechanical replacement as if it were still flesh and blood. A considerably useful tool that could prevent debilitating injuries from rendering a person invalid. Nightingale just wished that such inventions were the product of a different line of scientific intrigue, as many of the replacement limbs were weaponized in one form or another.
Regardless, the method by which the result was reached wasn't enough to overshadow the usefulness of the product, as Nightingale had stopped to rest in the woods outside of the Capital after having procured the required tools and supplies for constructing the prosthetics that her patients needed.
After going through a brief routine of morning stretches, Nightingale gathered up several rucksacks worth of materials and the like before continuing her hike to Night Raid's base.
(-)
It was abundantly clear to Captain Hoyt that he was being avoided by his fellow soldiers, and it wasn't solely due to the intimidating factor of him being a higher rank than all of them. He couldn't really begrudge their decision to treat him as if he were a live bomb waiting to go off at the slightest touch, as he was rightly pissed-off to a degree that tempted him to violently lash out at the first thing to get within arms reach of him. Fortunately, his awareness of that fact was enough to prevent his fury from boiling over and causing the scenario to deteriorate further, as he hoped to salvage what he could from this mess.
It was early morning in the Capital and Hoyt was busy sleeping-off his hangover from the events of the night prior. The celebration they held was of little importance as they just desired an excuse to break out the good booze, but Hoyt recalled it had something to do with saying their farewells to those poor sods who got vaporized in that estate fire. Hoyt couldn't care less about who the men were but was happy he had a legitimate reason for him and his men to get hammered. Kaplan had drawn the short straw and was the designated 'sober soldier' for the evening -they'd be sure to make a toast to his sacrifice at the next party-, with his only job being to turn away any interruptions until they awoke the next morning. There was a small list of exceptions though, for which then -and only then- would Kaplan be allowed to ruin the fun and drag them back to work. As it so happened, one of those 'exceptions' had reared its' ugly head early in the morning, much to Hoyt's immense irritation. Having his sleep interrupted was bad enough already, but the nature of what he had been woken up for only exacerbated his foul mood.
It turned out that the night prior -while they were all getting smashed- someone decided to smash-up a particular business that Hoyt had 'investments' in. The business in question was a medical clinic that specialized in prosthetic surgery and was run by a doctor who went by the name Mengle, who Hoyt did business with on a regular basis. While the doctor was certainly skilled at what he did and earned enough of an income to live comfortably, he wasn't entirely satisfied with simply 'living comfortably'. This is where Mengle's side-business came into play, which allowed him to live a life of luxury, acquire the protection needed to keep it, and maintain the front of a legitimate business.
Mengle ran a human chop-shop out the back of his clinic, harvesting organs, limbs, and whatever else he felt like taking before selling them off to whoever was interested in buying. However, in order to maintain such a 'niche' market, he would require supplies that were not that easy to obtain. The supplies in question were live humans for him to cut up and ship out as requested, and straight up abducting people off the street was highly inefficient as well as costly. It also carried with it several risks, with the most notable threat being put on Night Raid's radar, so Mengle decided to cut a deal with Hoyt. In exchange for a percentage of the profits from the selling of organs, Hoyt was willing to provide a reliable source of 'materials' for the doctor to use. Since Hoyt oversaw the local precinct, he had final say on the fates of damn near anyone who caught his attention, as he could throw them behind bars without any repercussions. Whenever Hoyt brought Mengle down to the lockup to take his pick of the prisoners, he would find it amusing how the doctor treated the situation as one might when shopping for food at the market.
But it appears that their business arrangement has reached its' conclusion, considering that Hoyt was looking at the charred remnants of Mengle's clinic. They have yet to find out when it happened, but at some point in the night there was a fiery explosion that quickly spread through the building, incinerating everything inside. By the time first responders arrived on-scene the whole structure was engulfed in flames and deemed beyond salvaging, so all they could do was prevent the fire from spreading to nearby buildings, one of which was Mengle's home. Seeing as how the doctor was not present and throwing a fit at the sight of his ruined business, it was worth assuming that they wouldn't be finding him alive.
"Fucking hell…" Hoyt grumbled as he attempted to massage away his worsening headache.
He was not in the mood to deal with crap like this, but he had little choice in the matter. While there was very little in the way of a paper-trail to link him to Mengle's criminal dealings, he still needed to make sure none of the investigators come down with a sudden case of 'moral conflicts' and decide to bring this to the attention of the higher-ups.
Stepping across the charred remains of the building interior, Hoyt was struck by a sense of familiarity with the scene around him. The fire had been extremely thorough in reducing the place to naught but cinders, much like the fire that happened at that estate earlier in the week. He had a hunch that they were dealing with the same firebug, given how similar the intensity of the blazes were.
Using his boot to nudge over a charred support beam, the captain managed to uncover the burnt skeletal corpse of some unlucky bastard who was inside the building when it went up in flames, though he noted that the flames weren't what killed him, considering the bullet-hole in his skull. While there was no way for them to identify the body by normal means, they wouldn't need to, as Hoyt recognized the prosthetic hand that was still attached to the skeleton. The body belonged to Pate, one of Mengle's hired muscles whose job it was to keep unwanted visitors from intruding and causing trouble. Despite having connections with both the authorities and influential criminal elements in the city, there would always be some idiot who felt like trying their luck to rob the place.
Reaching into his jacket, Hoyt pulled out a flask for some more hair of the dog to help keep him mellowed-out.
"Captain! You might want to take a look at this!" one of his men called out from the entrance to Mengle's house. Since Mengle was the owner of the building that went up in smoke, and his house was right there, they naturally went about investigating it as well.
Heading through the doorway of Mengle's house, Hoyt observed that there were no signs of forced entry, nor did it appear that anyone had attempted to ransack the house, as the various expensive baubles that Mengle owned were undisturbed. As far as anyone could tell, the residence looked to have been ignored entirely by the culprit. Hoyt rapped his fingers against his leg as he contemplated swiping something shiny, but determined it wouldn't be worth the trouble. He continued down the main hallway where he saw the man who called him over was gazing into a side-room, his face scrunched up in disgust as he partially covered his mouth.
Hoyt was well aware that Mengle was a really sick fuck, that much was abundantly clear. The doctor liked to keep his 'organ donors' alive during the procedure to ensure the harvested parts were as fresh as possible, and rarely used sedatives, saving them for proper operations in his clinic. And although Hoyt had his suspicions, he never saw any reason to confirm them -considering it had nothing to do with their business arrangements-, but taking a single look into the room provided definitive evidence that Mengle was a necrophiliac.
Numerous bodies preserved with formaldehyde were posed in a variety of sexual stances with barely any clothing adorning the corpses. The noticeable stitches and mismatched skin colors implied that some of them had been put together using different people, a means by which Mengle could create the ideal 'partner' to have fun with.
Hoyt grumbled an obscenity under his breath as he tried to piece together the entire situation.
Someone had broken into Mengle's clinic last night, killed the guards, and after accomplishing whatever else they needed to do, set the place alight in order to destroy all evidence. With how utter the destruction was, they had no way of determining if anything from the clinic was missing aside from Mengle himself. And lastly -provided he was still alive-, Mengle would now be a wanted man, as Hoyt could do nothing to sweep any of this mess under the rug. Thus, he was able to sum up the situation in a succinct manner.
"What a fucking shitshow."
(-)
"What. The hell. Is this?"
Leone felt like tearing out her own hair in frustration. An idle thought wondered whether or not it would grow back normally due to Lionel's healing factor, but was cast aside upon immediately remembering that the mess standing before her was exponentially more important.
"These are the supplies I require for performing prosthetic surgery on my patients." came Nightingale's matter-of-fact response.
Casting her gaze up to the sky, Leone was hoping she'd find an answer to her predicament somewhere in the clouds. Unsurprisingly no answer managed to materialize, so she wound up lowering her gaze back to the woman standing in front of her, mentally wishing this was all just some hallucination. Leone was the one who first pitched the idea of inviting Nightingale to join Night Raid and was the one who put the most effort into performing reconnaissance, eventually reaching the conclusion that the nurse would be an invaluable ally in their fight against the Empire. While this meant that she would earn the most praise for managing to successfully recruit Nightingale, conversely it meant that the blame for any problems that occur would fall squarely on her shoulders.
Of which the current situation was a perfect example of said problems.
"That much I can tell just by looking." Leone said in frustration before pointing at what Nightingale had slung over her shoulder. "But what about him?!"
Aside from the satchels filled with medical supplies and mechanical parts for the replacement limbs, the nurse also had an unconscious man bound, gagged, and blindfolded who she was carrying over her shoulder.
"Ah, him." Nightingale remarked in understanding. "This thing is not a human, merely a tool I intend to make use of."
"Not a human?" Leone uttered in deadpan.
The nurse nodded in confirmation. "Correct. After investigating his clinic, I have come to the conclusion that he lacks even a single scrap of humanity, thus it is impossible for him to be human. I refuse to consider him being the same species as us, as the mere thought of it makes me feel sick."
Pausing to run a hand through her hair, Leone had an inkling as to what Nightingale was implying, but still required verbal confirmation. "I'll need to write up a report about this for the boss, so would you mind telling me what he is guilty of?"
"Unethical medical practices, abduction, illegal harvesting and sale of human organs, as well as a number of other offenses, but I believe I've already provided you with enough."
"And the reason you needed to bring him here alive?" Leone asked as she leaned in and poked the man on the head.
At this, Nightingale looked somewhat aggrieved. "While it pains me to admit so, despite the considerable medical experience under my belt, I have yet to delve into the field of biomechanics. I have thoroughly perused several textbooks on the subject matter, but I will require a visual example of the procedure before I can perform it myself." she explained before nudging her head in the direction of her abductee. "Fortunately, I managed to locate a disposable tool that is an expert in carrying out these surgeries."
Releasing a heavy sigh, Leone could only shrug in response to Nightingale's logic. "Fine. I'll let the rest of the gang know what's going on, but you make sure to keep him secured at all times. I don't care if he's so weak you could break his back like a toothpick, his very presence represents a danger to us."
Nightingale nodded in understanding. "I can assure you, nothing I do is anything less than professional."
(-)
Elsewhere in the base at the same time, Tatsumi and Ieyasu were visiting Sayo in her isolation room, though the girl in question was currently in the bathroom. Even with the use of crutches, Sayo still had a hard time moving around, as she now had to adjust her balance due to the lack of weight from her missing leg. While this didn't affect her too much since she was being kept isolated for her own safety, it was a considerable problem when she needed to use the toilet. When the issue first arose, Nightingale was quick to provide a solution to the handicapped girl, offering her a bedpan while at the same time explaining how to properly use the object in an exceedingly blunt manner. Both Tatsumi and Ieyasu had been in the room at the time and could only stand silently in something akin to abject horror as Nightingale became increasingly descriptive in her instructions -leading to both boys learning some new words for the female anatomy- to the point where they inadvertently envisioned Sayo performing said act. The girl must have realized what was going through their heads -as no doubt their blushing faces as they glanced at her gave them away- and responded by chucking anything within arms reach at them while screeching that they leave.
Neither teen was privy to how negotiations proceeded, but a compromise was reached in which she would be blindfolded and wheeled down the hall to the bathroom in a wheelchair. Of course, this meant that one of the other women on-base would need to assist her. Nightingale said she would help when needed if she wasn't already busy, but that left only two other options for escorts in order to maintain anonymity for the sake of Sayo's safety. Sheele was immediately turned down, with Leone half-jokingly saying that Sayo was liable to end up in the toilet if she attempted to help. Thus they were left with requesting Akame to be of assistance.
Tatsumi had to admit, he wasn't entirely accurate with his initial assumption of Akame's personality. The girl was quiet -that much was certain-, but that did not equate to her being cold or emotionless like one would expect an assassin to be. Sure, he didn't see her smile a single time during the several days they had spent at the base, however that seemed to stem from her default disposition being neutral. If they were given time to get to know each other, Tatsumi was certain he'd get to see a different side to her.
"Thanks for helping me out, Akame." Sayo said as she was wheeled back into the room by the aforementioned girl. "I hate having to waste your time like this."
"It's not a problem at all." Akame replied as she brought the injured girl towards her bed. "Don't start feeling like it's a bother to help you out."
"Here, let me help you out of that chair." Ieyasu said as he stood beside Sayo, prompting Akame to take her leave.
Watching as the assassin left, Tatsumi felt a bit of nervousness grow inside him as he considered finally approaching the girl for a conversation he had been putting off for some time now. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he decided it was time.
"Ieyasu, Sayo, would you mind if I take care of something real quick?"
"Yeah, no problem, man." Ieyasu answered as he assisted Sayo into a sitting position before grabbing a deck of cards from the nightstand. "I'll give this a good shuffle for when you get back."
"And I'll make sure he doesn't try anything sneaky with the cards." Sayo added as she gave Ieyasu the stink-eye.
"C'mon, it was one time!" the teen groaned at the mention of when he last tried cheating at cards. "And I gave everything back, didn't I?"
Sayo rolled her eyes. "We caught you one time. Who knows how many times you've gotten away with it since then. And don't act like you were going to return your winnings even if you didn't get caught."
"That was four months ago, can't you just let it go?" Ieyasu groaned in complaint.
"Hmph, you be surprised how persistent a woman can be when she feels wronged."
"Persistent pain in my ass, if you ask me." he grumbled under his breath.
"What was that?!" Sayo screeched as she smacked the boy with a pillow. "If I had a foot to spare, I'd show you just how much of a pain I can be!"
"Gah! Stop throwing shit at me!" Ieyasu yelled as Sayo moved on to lobbing whatever else she could reach at him.
Shaking his head in amusement at his friends' antics, Tatsumi made his way down the hall to catch up with Akame, who was walking at a brisk pace. Rounding the corner, he caught sight of her and called out.
"Excuse me, Akame!"
Hearing her name being called, the dark-haired girl paused in her steps. "Hmm? Is there something else Sayo needs?" she asked as she waited for Tatsumi to approach further.
"No, it's just… I was hoping I could have a talk with you, unless now isn't a good time?"
The assassin shook her head in the negative. Things had settled down properly since the base had been turned into a 'bed and breakfast', so she wasn't particularly busy for now. Even if that weren't the case, she was admittedly curious as to why the teen would seek her out for conversation. Akame was well aware of the considerable intimidation factor surrounding her -the fact that she genuinely tried killing Tatsumi certainly didn't help-, so the fact that he was the one to initiate a conversation with her was rather odd. Unless he managed to drum up the courage to chew her out for the whole 'attempted murder' thing and was about to give her an earful.
"No, now is fine. What is it that you want to talk about?" Akame asked as she gave Tatsumi her full attention.
Tatsumi's facial expression was somewhat strained and frustrated, appearing as if the teen were struggling to properly express the words he wanted to say.
"Well I… I guess I wanted to… It's just… Urgh, what I'm trying… How do I say… I guess, the other night…"
Akame felt slight amusement from how the boy became tongue-tied as he repeatedly attempted and failed to start the conversation. Though after a few moments of grumbling and scratching his head in frustration, Tatsumi managed to get the words out.
With a loud exhale, Tatsumi threw his arms up in surrender. "Screw it. I want to apologize about the trouble I caused other night."
The assassin raised a brow at his remark. "The other night?"
Finally cobbling together a string of words to properly state his intentions, the boy nodded. "Yes, the other night. When we first met at the estate."
Now Akame was confused even further. What exactly had he done that night that he felt the need to apologize for?
"My ignorance of the situation was a problem for you guys. You and the others were doing the right thing by killing that family, yet I stubbornly stood in your way." Tatsumi explained as he let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Even after you went out of your way to spare my life because I had nothing to do with them…"
Akame shook her head. "No, you were simply doing what you thought was right."
"That doesn't change the fact that I was in the wrong. 'Ignorance of the rules does not make you exempt from them' and all that."
"I suppose that's one way to look at it." the female assassin replied, choosing to concede to Tatsumi's logic rather than argue against it. "But do not forget that it is the fault of the corrupt government for influencing your view of the world."
"True. Like Nightingale told me; learn from the past to prepare for the future." Tatsumi spoke as he gave a slight nod. "I guess I still have a lot to learn."
"Does this mean you are no longer upset about my trying to kill you?"
The brunette's brow twitched slightly as his expression became slightly strained. Apparently, that wasn't entirely the case.
"I'd say I'm not still angry, but I do feel somewhat irritated by it. Though I am willing to admit that my actions played a part in escalating our confrontation."
Akame maintained a blank stare as Tatsumi waited to see if she had any further input for their conversation, but the situation started to grow awkward as the silence between them stretched on.
"So… I guess I'll head back to my friends now… Since I said what I wanted to say."
"Ok." Akame replied as she turned to leave once more. "And for what it's worth… I'm glad I didn't end up killing you."
As the two went their separate ways, the female assassin waited for Tatsumi to be out of earshot before staring at the corner of the hallway to her left.
"Is there something you wanted, Mine?"
Sliding out from behind her cover, the pink-haired teen gave her fellow assassin a look of mild amusement. "What was that about?" Mine asked semi-sarcastically. "The punk trying to make a pass at you?"
Akame shook her head, knowing full well that Mine was eavesdropping on their conversation for the majority of it. "He wanted to apologize for getting in my way the other night."
"Seriously? That can't be the reason he approached you. Only an utter moron would do something as asinine as apologize for trying to get himself killed." Mine said as she shrugged her shoulders. "I bet he's trying to get on your good side, so you don't get the urge to slice him up."
"That wasn't the impression I got from him. He didn't show any signs of unease or fear when in my presence."
"So he's an idiot." the shorter girl said with an exaggerated roll of the eyes before scoffing. "Here's to hoping the bumpkin and our other guests get sent off before we catch his stupidity."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that." Akame spoke up as Mine was turning to leave. "Leone told me she wants to recruit him, as well as Nightingale."
"Please tell me you're joking." the pink-haired girl replied with a look of incredulousness. "Why the hell would she want to bring him on board?"
"He shows great potential." the senior assassin explained as she recalled their first encounter, as well as how he mercilessly cut down that girl. "As well as having a killer's instinct."
"So have plenty of other recruits!" Mine huffed in exasperation and threw her arms up. "That didn't stop them from getting killed on their first mission. Does he have anything else that makes him special enough to warrant attention?"
Nodding, Akame continued. "The most important aspect about him, he possesses the rare trait that is invaluable in our line of work."
"That being?"
At Mine's prodding, Akame recalled how Tatsumi managed to survive what should have been a fatal attack. How a small carving made only of wood managed to stop her sword from piercing his chest, despite the strength of her thrust and the sharpness of her blade.
"He has the Devil's Luck."