A chill settled into the room, as Chuuya watched the interaction from the floor. As much as he wanted to get up and fight, he knew he couldn't. Such an action would be equivalent to suicide.
"Get away from him, Dostoevsky. It's me you want, not him." The muscles in Dazai's jaw visibly tightened, as he raised his gaze from Chuuya's to meet Dostoevsky's own.
It was silent for a long moment, before Dostoevsky finally spoke, tilting his head thoughtfully. "The Narodniks. Have you ever heard of them?"
"Yes, they were a 19th-century group of Russian socialists who tried to overthrow the government. A phenomenon that was quite popular for that time, but not something I'd deem too important to be talking about right now. You need to get away from Chuuya, Dostoevsky."
Putting his hand in his pocket, Dostoevsky leaned back on the balls of his feet.
"The explanation you've given is a simple one, Dazai. A throwaway line for every one-sided 'historical' textbook ever created. This evil, violent group fought against the rulers of their land and lost. What monsters. The end. Except that's not the full story, the Narodniks were not always violent, as you say. In the beginning, they were actually quite peaceful. There were thousands of them, most of them young students, who traveled to and from numerous rural villages, where they educated the peasants and tried to inspire them towards fighting for a better life, where they could truly be free."
"But you see," Dostoevsky paused, "there was a problem. And this problem didn't even have to do with the dictators they were against- not directly, at least. No, hilariously not at all, because the issue, Dazai, was the people. The peasants who had lived their oppressive ways of life for far too long. Cruel traditions of subjugation hammered into generations upon generations. Too many of the people of that time were brainwashed into believing that the way of life that they had lived for so long was as good as it could get, because what difference could they as one person make? And even if they did join that fight for change, what if it just led to an untimely death and failure? What if they never got to see the promised world, despite being part of the fight for it? After all, if such a thing were even possible, wouldn't it just be better to wait for it on the sidelines, because if it happens then you get to inherit its beauty without charge, and if it doesn't... well at least you're still alive. Of course, such thoughts were not isolated to that time. You still see it everywhere in today's world."
"But still, it's fascinating. As humans, we are all well aware of the utopia that we could live in, but the hatred and greed that rests within the heart of humanity squanders ever truly being able to obtain such a world for everyone. We could have a world that's beautiful and serene, built upon love and acceptance. Yet, instead of reaching out for such beauty, we just shrug it off. After all, world peace and universal comfort are the naïve dreams of a child. We, in the real world, know such a thing is not possible. Not unless you're truly willing to sacrifice everything first. And I mean how many people would truly be willing to do that?"
"In our world full of greed and avarice, change cannot come without violence, because violence always precedes real change. The Americans gained independence by gunning down the British. The French fought numerous bloody revolutionary wars, as they separated heads from bodies at the guillotine to gain their independence. The Haitians fought back against their oppressors in a bloodstained war to gain their independence. The Cubans fought in a bloody revolt to escape their U.S.-backed dictator and gain their independence. And yet, even though all of those countries gained a version of freedom for some, you'll notice that violence, pain, and death are still prevalent in all of them. This is important to remember."
"Getting back to the Narodniks, though. They saw that the peasants of Russia were lost. Lost in a world where they felt like change was impossible. Like they were caught in the rush of a hurricane, swept away into its strong winds at a frightening velocity, and yanked away from any solid earth beneath their feet that might've otherwise grounded them in the belief that they could attain freedom. So, the Narodniks had to show them that it was possible in some other way."
"Talking hadn't done anything, the Narodniks knew that, and so some brave members came together, to carry out those violent acts you mentioned. They assassinated the Tsar, Alexander II, and committed several other acts of so-called terrorism to try and free the minds of their fellow Russians who were still lost in the dark. They tried to show them that the cruel dictators who tried to control their lives were not infallible nor were they Gods. They tried to show them that if they, as Russians, came together to bring about a new world, they could. And yet, despite this, the Narodniks still lost. Sure, the government was hunting them down and there was a bit of infighting between each other and other similar campaigns, but the real reason that they lost was because of everyday people. If the peasants had not had their hope for a free Russia squandered and crushed at birth, if they had joined the Narodniks, then perhaps they would've freed Russia. But they didn't. So the Narodniks fell, because of the scared common citizen, and with it a freer Russia."
"How the fuck is any of that bullshit relevant," Chuuya spat out through gritted teeth, his hands clutching at his wounds in what practically felt like a useless attempt now to stem the bleeding.
"It's not something I'd expect you to know. I mean, are you even truly human?"
"Stop it, Dostoevsky," Dazai said from the other side of the room, as he cautiously began to approach. "I get what you're saying. That shaky or momentary change only comes with violence because those in power need to be forced into submission to bring about any kind of real change. Yet, true lasting change comes from changing everyone's minds about the utopia we could have. I get it, but free will is still fundamental to humanity. I'm sure we can find other ways to make things better that doesn't mean forcing every person on the planet to be something that they're not, because if you do that then is that even life anymore or just a program running at your ideological whims?"
"That's a good question," Dostoevsky replied, pretending to ponder Dazai's words. "Perhaps, you should ask your special little friend. I have a feeling Chuuya knows a lot about programs."
"You motherfuck-" Chuuya's voice cut off with a gasp of pain as he tried once more to get to his feet, before sinking back to the ground, his wounds flaring with ire.
He could feel Dazai's eyes on him. He could see the fear and vulnerability that he too felt himself, as he looked into those brown eyes.
How had everything gone so wrong so fast?
Then, the next thing he knew, Dazai was quickening his steps until he had finally reached Chuuya and sank to his knees by his side to examine his wounds.
Surprisingly, Dostoevsky let it happen without trying to interfere. Meanwhile, Kunikida stayed where he was on the other side of the room, staying as a silent observer for the moment.
"Did he do this to you?" Dazai asked, his hands slightly shaking as they hovered over Chuuya's wounds.
"Me?" Dostoevsky laughed, "no Dazai, I didn't do that. It was your friends; those Agency freaks, after you left him all alone. If he tried, I'm sure Chuuya could've killed them all, but he held himself back for you and it resulted in this. The things we do for love."
"You still brainwashed them into doing this to him. It's still your fault. Kunikida, I need you to wake up Yosano. He's bleeding out. I'm sure we can convince her to help if it's the both of us."
Chuuya held back a groan of pain, as Dazai's hands finally stilled in their shaking to firmly press down over his own to put more pressure on the wounds.
Kunikida began to approach Yosano, but not before Dostoevsky reached her side first.
"One step closer and she's gone," he warned.
Kunikida stilled, his stance tense.
"Please Dostoevsky," Dazai tried, pushing aside his pride. "Please don't do this."
"You know there was another thing about the Narodniks that I always found interesting. It's a rather intriguing prospect that ties back into that still prevalent violence, pain, and death that remained in all of those countries that went through revolutions for freedom that I mentioned earlier. I told you it was important to remember for a reason. For when the Narodniks killed the Tsar at the time, Alexander II, the aristocrats just replaced him with Alexander III. Terrified of ending up like his father, Tsar Alexander III tightened autocratic control and forcefully dismantled even the smallest signs of potential revolution. You see, that's the other thing about people. You can never truly kill evil, because more evil will always take its place."
"Save the speech asshole," Chuuya said between gritted teeth, "it doesn't make you sound smart. You just sound like you have a giant stick up your ass."
Instead of getting offended, Dostoevsky just laughed, "perhaps I should make what I'm saying easier to understand for the more... simpler-minded among us," his gaze flickered between Chuuya and Kunikida.
"Picture a crazy Uncle, one so many seem to have; a rare guest at family gatherings. He fills the air with his wild musings, a chaotic symphony that makes you question his sanity. Yet, despite it all, he's still family."
"Then one fateful day, amidst laughter and stories, a thunderous roar breaks from the sky above—a bomb descends, and in a heartbeat, chaos reigns. You awaken to silence, surrounded by the stillness of the lost: your eccentric Uncle, along with others, now mere memories."
"So, tell me, when you arise from this nightmare, do you thank the hands that forged such destruction? That caused you such pain? Or does a fire of vengeance burn within you, because you start thinking what if your Uncle was right? I mean, they did silence him after all and took out the others with him to do it."
"The thing is that you can't simply strike down terrorists because just like Hydras from those old Greek myths, you would simply end up only creating more and more to stand in their place. Consequently eradicating all evil would mean extinguishing humanity itself, and what sorrow would lie in such solitude?"
"So, the only path to quelling such darkness is to embrace it, to wear its mantle yourself. Only then can you rewrite the narrative of this world, crafting a tapestry where freedom can bloom for all. For to truly rebuild the world you have to rewrite its narrative entirely."
"For the love of fuck, this isn't fucking poetry night at some dank-ass bar and you're the farthest thing from this fucking martyr you seem to be painting yourself as. Would you just shut the fuck up already?" Chuuya said, rolling his eyes.
A darkness glittered in Dostoevsky's eyes, as he took one step away from Yosano and one step closer to Chuuya.
"You know, you're lucky I've kept you alive this long. I was considering just waiting for you to bleed out, but maybe we should speed up this curtain call."
Chuuya felt Dazai's muscles tense, as he shifted his body to put himself between Chuuya and Dostoevsky.
"Let us wake up Yosano, Dostoevsky. Please, he's going to bleed out, and I'm not going to let that happen."
"Not going to let that happen, huh?" Dostoevsky replied. "It's hilarious that you think you have any say, but fine, I suppose I can wake her up."
Before anyone could react Dostoevsky was at Yosano's side and gently cupping her cheek with his hand.
Her eyes flickered open for a moment, widening in shock and then pain, as her body briefly tensed, before she fell limp and her eyes stared cloudily off into the abyss of death.
Dostoevsky rose to his feet once more.
The room was still. Kunikida was frozen in shock, as Chuuya and Dazai watched Dostoevsky stand there, both in disbelief of what had just happened so quickly.
"There you go, her eyes can be wide open forever now. Wide awake, just like you wanted."
"You- you bastard... you- fuck!" You killed her," Kunikida finally spoke for the first time since entering the room. A trembling hand came up to hover over his mouth that was gaping wide open in shock, as his voice shook over his broken words. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK! You- you killed my friend."
"A small price to pay for the new world."
There was a cry of rage and Kunikida was running at Dostoevsky- a mad look in his eyes.
But Dostoevsky just stood there and smiled.
Like everything was going just how he'd planned.