The moon and streetlights being the only sources of light left, Dazai and Chuuya slipped onto the darkened Yokohama streets, towards the facility that held Atsushi.

A cold feeling curled in Chuuya's chest and even though he was sure that they would be able to pull this off with Dazai's tact and his physicality, something just felt wrong. Something that he couldn't quite place.

Irritated by his lack of ability to explain why his gut was twisting and his nerves were fraying at the ends, Chuuya forced himself to turn his thoughts away from the matter. They didn't have the time to address his unease. If they didn't get to Atsushi quickly and get him out of there, who knew what could happen?

And sure, Chuuya didn't really know the kid very well, but from the brief interactions that they'd had and how Dazai spoke so highly of him, it seemed like he was someone worth saving.

As much as Chuuya didn't like the way that Atsushi had taken his anger over Akutagawa's death out on Dazai.

However, that aside, there was something that Chuuya needed to talk to Dazai about. It was something that he had found off-putting when Dostoevsky had said it, but with everything else, he'd simply brushed it off to the side.

But now, time had passed and the words were on loop in his head.

He needed to ask.

"Dazai…"

"Yeah?"

"When Dostoevsky asked you to deliver him The Book, what did he mean by that?"

Next to him, Dazai was silent.

The cold surrounding them seemed to close in impossibly closer, as the sleeves of Chuuya's coat wavered in the wind.

"Dazai?" Chuuya prompted again, shooting him a wary look.

"How much do you know about The Book?"

"I've only heard rumors mostly. That it's some kind of device that can rewrite the world or something. Dazai, why does Dostoevsky think you know where it is? Why does he think that you have it?"

Again, Dazai was deathly quiet beside him, as they continued to make their way down the darkened, empty streets,

It was odd because this reaction wasn't like him. Not at all.

Usually, when Dazai had some kind of upper hand against Chuuya like an all-powerful book that essentially held the might of a god, he wouldn't be able to stop talking about it. He'd be bragging and rubbing it in Chuuya's face, even if he couldn't or didn't want to give him all the details. He would at least let Chuuya know that he had one-upped him.

But that was not how Dazai was acting now.

And in all honesty, it was kind of starting to freak Chuuya out a little bit.

"Dammit Dazai, why won't you answer me?" Chuuya side-eyed Dazai, who had his hands in his pockets, pointedly avoiding Chuuya's gaze.

"Look," Dazai sighed, seeming oddly disturbed, "let's just not talk about it anymore, alright? It's… safer that way. Besides, the location of The Book hardly matters anyways, because it's not like I'm actually going to give it to Dostoevsky. We've already got a plan, we head to the facility, I'll distract him, while you grab Atsushi. Then we break out and go on our merry way. I… I promise I'll tell you about The Book later, but just not right now, okay? Please?"

Despite still being perturbed by Dazai's unusual behavior, Chuuya knew that it was best to just let it go. Granted, he would be sure to hold Dazai to his promise that this conversation wasn't over yet. Especially with how weird he was being about it.

"Fine."

The rest of the walk to the facility was fairly quiet with only a few words shared in between.

And then, before they knew it, they were there.

Slipping past a row of vending machines, a pink motorbike caught Chuuya's eye and he momentarily stopped to admire it. Perhaps, if they had time, he couldn't hotwire it and-

"Chuuya," Dazai jerked him forward, much to his disdain as he tore his arm free of Dazai's grip. "You already have one of those, you don't need another one."

"Fuck off," Chuuya snapped back, but without any real weight behind the words as the facility finally loomed before them.

The red door, as had been foretold in the coded message beckoned them to enter.

All it took was one well-placed kick and Chuuya sent the door flying off its hinges into the dark hallways that now lay out before them.

"Wow Chuuya, you're so discreet!"

"Oh shut the hell up."

The walls of the facility were unnervingly sterile as they stepped inside. Above them, a row of automatic lights clung to the ceiling. However, they did not light up upon their entrance. At first, Chuuya wondered if Dostoevsky had cut the power. However, when he recognized the familiar sound and feel of glass crunching under his shoes, he realized that rather than the power being cut, the lights had been blown apart by something.

Or perhaps someone…

He was glad that he and Dazai had studied the layout of the building and knew where the storage unit that they needed to get to was or they would have been shit out of luck. It was so dark that Chuuya now couldn't even see even a few meters ahead of him and what he could see was incredibly hard to make out in detail as they went further and further into the facility.

And then something reached out and grabbed his ankle.

"Holy shit!" Chuuya yelled, jumping back and pulling Dazai with him, as a jolt of fear sent him into high alert.

Squinting into the darkness Chuuya tried to make out who had grabbed him and was only able to make out the faint outline of a person sprawled out on the floor.

A pained moan slipped through their teeth.

"Run…"

The unnerving chill that Chuuya had experienced earlier came back, as soon as the words left the person's mouth. They had to be a security guard, judging from the faint outline of a uniform that Chuuya's eyes were finally starting to make out. Along with the uniform, as his eyes finally started to adjust, he noticed that they also seemed to be soaked in their own blood.

Dostoevsky had to have done this. Still, it was odd that he had left this person alive. Such a thing was dangerous and he had to have known that. So why was this person here? A warning? A threat? Something else?

Next to him, Dazai stiffened.

"What do you mean?"

"He has… has a…"

The person broke off into a fit of coughs.

"What does he have?" Dazai asked, crouching down to better hear the person before them.

His initial shock having passed, now that he realized that this person wasn't a threat, Chuuya leaned in closer. He strained his ears, desperately trying to hear what the person was attempting to say.

But the next words that left the person's mouth were far too quiet for either of them to make out.

Before either of them could ask the person to repeat what they had said, they stilled as their final breath left their body. Dead.

Despite the unnerving feelings running through his veins and a traitorous voice in his mind screaming at him to turn around and get the hell out of there, Chuuya forced himself onwards, Dazai walking soundlessly beside him.

A few more bodies littered the floor on their way to the unit, but none of them showed any signs of life like the first had.

These people had died quickly and horrifically. Their bodies were now merely blood-soaked husks of the people that they had once been.

It was unsettling, to say the least.

Rounding a corner they finally found themselves at the storage unit.

Grabbing the handle of the door and tearing it off from its hinges, they came upon the very demon himself.

Fyodor Dostoevsky.

But he wasn't alone.

Behind him, Atsushi was bound and gagged to a chair, as had been predicted. However, there was someone else that Chuuya thought that he'd never see again.

It was the woman that he had murdered back at the prison.

The woman whose daughter he had robbed of a mother.

Camille.

Except, who was that little girl standing at her side? Looking not a day over five.

Unless…

Oh god.

Both stared at him with sightless black eyes that were invoked by none other than Bram's ability.

Chuuya felt his heart sink to his stomach.

This was all his fault.

One week prior

Yuan was starving.

It had been weeks since her mom had come home and while she'd been able to stay hydrated, she hadn't eaten in days. Her hair was matted to her scalp, a migraine pounded behind her eyes, her stomach felt like it was cannibalizing itself and all of her teeth ached.

She missed her mom tucking her into bed. She missed her mom reading her bedtime stories. She missed her mom checking for monsters under her bed. She missed her mom telling her that everything would be alright.

Why had her mom left her? What had she done wrong?

Ever since the passing of her mama, her mom had been so sad. So, Yuan had tried her best to make her laugh and smile, because she didn't like it when her mom's eyes watered while staring at old photographs of her mama. She didn't like it when her mom looked like she was barely able to hold it all together. She didn't like it when her mom's eyes dulled and she seemed to slip away from reality.

Yuan had tried so hard to make her mom feel better.

Maybe it just hadn't been enough.

Curling up in a ball on the floor of the living room, the little girl began to cry.

"I want my mom," she sobbed over and over again.

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer.

The loneliness even made Yuan pray that the monsters under her bed that her mom used to scare away would come back to give her at least some semblance of company. At least then, she would have someone to talk to. Even if they were scary.

Maybe if she hugged them or if she made them laugh at one of her jokes that her mom used to find so funny, then they would love her. Maybe they wouldn't leave. Maybe they would be okay.

Yuan's thoughts immediately disappeared at the sound of the door to the apartment creaking open.

Excitement flooded throughout her entire nervous system, as she jumped up, eyes filling with tears that were now of relief rather than grief.

Her mom was finally home.

As her mom stepped inside the apartment though, the door closing with a resounding thud behind her, something seemed wrong. However, in her exhausted state, the little girl couldn't quite place it.

Regardless, this was the first time that Yuan had seen her mom in weeks and she had missed her so much. So, she ignored the gut feeling in favor of racing toward her mom and enveloping her in a hug, sobbing all the while.

When the hug wasn't returned, a pained feeling pulled at the little girl's heart. Her beliefs that her mom had left because of her resolidified as she stared up into her mom's eyes about to beg her to love her again.

Only, instead of her mom's gentle gaze, she found tenebrous pools, resembling those of the monsters that haunted her room.

This was not her mom.

Jolting backward the little girl's cries began to get louder.

"You're not my mom. You're not my mom! Where's my mommy? I want my mommy!"

The monster raced forward with inhuman speed and the little girl screamed.

She regretted ever praying for even the monsters under her bed to save her from her loneliness.

She just wanted her mom.

Arms wrapped around her and something sharp pricked the side of her neck.

And then…

Well, then there was nothing.