A few hours had passed since Dostoevsky had fled with Sigma and Gogol.

Chuuya was perched on a kitchen chair, a glass of Château grasped firmly in his grip. Twirling the glass, he stared into the pool of alluring scarlet liquid, while wondering just how much of it he'd have to drink to get drunk.

Probably not that much. Granted, he would never admit it.

Briefly, he'd consider paying Ango back, but it was unlikely that he'd even notice some of it was missing with the bottle having already been opened. Regardless, with the type of person Ango was, he honestly probably deserved it.

Dazai would be waking up soon. Personally, Chuuya was surprised that he hadn't awoken already. Not that that was entirely a bad thing though. He doubted that the inevitable conversation they were sure to soon have would be a good one with what had happened.

At least the wine would keep him from having the conversation sober.

Suddenly, almost as though he had been summoned just by the thought of him running through Chuuya's mind, the bedroom door opened to reveal Dazai.

Shadows cast down his right side and his hands were balled up into fists, as he made his way over to Chuuya.

Simply put, he looked pissed.

Setting the glass of wine down, Chuuya resigned himself to the coming conversation.

Dazai's eyes flitted over to where Dostoevsky, Gogol, and Sigma had once been tied up. An area that was now vacant with torn ropes cast across the floor.

The burning presence of Dazai's cool gaze turned back to Chuuya.

"Where are they?"

Chuuya stiffened, his eyes shifting to the side.

"They're gone."

The temperature seemed to go down several degrees, as a long beat of silence hung in the air.

"They're gone," Dazai repeated with an odd lilt to his voice.

Chuuya took a careful step forward.

"It wasn't my intention-"

Dazai waved Chuuya's words off with a careless flick of his hand.

"No, no. Don't apologize. It's fine. Everything is great actually. You incapacitated me right before I could kill the man who murdered Atsushi and Akutagawa. You did a great job! No, a wonderful one! Seriously! This is great… this is just great!"

"Dazai…" Chuuya took another hesitant step forward.

"What, Chuuya?" Dazai's gaze sharpened, as he too took a step forward. "I already told you. It's fine. I mean Dostoevsky is just so interesting. It really would've been a shame for me to kill him. Honestly, you did the world a favor. You know what? Thank you! Thank you so much, Chuuya. You did so great!"

Guilt wormed its way into Chuuya's heart. He could practically feel Dazai pulling away from him. Meanwhile, the sarcasm dripping from every word left him feeling like a knife was twisting in his gut.

He hated this. He wanted to make this all go away because there was a part of him that truly felt bad. There was a part of him that even agreed with Dazai, despite knowing that Dostoevsky wasn't someone they could just kill.

However, with the way Dazai was talking to him, taunts lying behind every word, he couldn't keep himself calm and centered enough to formulate a healthy response.

The way Dazai was speaking to him was making him anxious, a feeling that only turned him defensive and bitter.

"Look. I didn't mean for them to escape, alright? You were gonna kill Dostoevsky! And we just... we can't just do that. His victims deserve real justice and who knows what kind of fucked up shit he has planned in the event of his death. I just… I didn't have a fucking choice! Alright? Why don't you get that?"

Dazai finally closed the distance between them, forcing Chuuya to look up to meet his gaze.

"You always have a choice. You just chose the wrong one."

"Dazai, we don't even know how far Dostoevsky's network runs, for all we know maybe that's what he wanted. It's like with Mori, you know. He's a fucking bastard, but killing him would only result in worse things to come."

"Look at you actually thinking for once," Dazai mocked, his eyes narrowing. "But you know there's a reason why back in the mafia I did the planning while you did all the heavy work. What you just said carries a whole lot of assumptions. You can't strategize so loosely when it comes to Dostoevsky. It'll only end up with you getting everyone killed."

Chuuya took a step back, hurt shining plainly in his eyes.

"Shut up."

"Oh, so you can't even refute it?" Dazai snapped. "It's no wonder everyone always ends up leaving you with your utter lack of conviction. It sure as hell drove me away."

Chuuya stiffened, his blood turning to ice.

After a moment, Dazai froze too, as though he'd only just realized what he'd said. Immediately, regret began to coat his features. Meanwhile, Chuuya was stumbling backward, images of the Sheep and numerous others from the past flying through his mind's eye in all but a moment.

"Wait, Chuuya. I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean it," Dazai tried in a poor attempt to save the situation.

Chuuya was silent, as made his exit from the room, and headed into the bedroom that Ango had lent him.

The door slammed shut with an air of finality.

Dazai's mind was a whirlwind of barely contained chaos.

He shouldn't have snapped at Chuuya like that and the fact that he did was eating him alive.

There was no way for Chuuya to know that his actions would lead to Dostoevsky's escape. He had simply been going off of what he knew.

If Dazai were in Chuuya's position and if his psyche didn't feel like it was collapsing inwards on itself, he probably would've done the exact same thing.

Why was he losing his nerve?

Why was he so selfish?

Why did he always hurt the only people who cared?

He had to go in there and apologize.

Forcing himself to relax, Dazai cautiously approached the door. Gently, he tapped his knuckles against the frame.

"Chuuya?"

Silence.

"Chuuya, I'm sorry. I just… can I come in?"

Again, only silence met him. However, instead of giving up and just walking away like he once would have, Dazai forced himself to open the door.

He stepped inside.

Chuuya was sitting on the bed, fiddling with a Rubik's Cube that Ango must've left on one of the numerous shelves in the room.

Despite Dazai beginning to move closer, Chuuya's eyes never left the Cube as he continued to fruitlessly spin the pieces , Dazai took a seat next to Chuuya on the bed, his eyes bearing into his hands which fiddled in his lap.

"I shouldn't have said the things I did. I'm sorry."

Chuuya's eyes still didn't raise from the Cube as he just continued to spin the pieces around, a vibrant array of colors shifting in all directions.

"Chuuya, please talk to me. I'm sorry."Chuuya tensed next to him, the first sign of acknowledgment he'd given Dazai since he'd entered the room.

"What do you want me to say, Dazai?" Chuuya finally spoke. "It's alright? No worries? Why does it even matter? I mean if I'm lacking conviction as you said, then my words are fucking obsolete anyway, aren't they? You don't give a fuck about apologizing. You just want to be absolved. You always do."

"Chuuya, that's not-."

Finally setting down the Rubik's Cube, Chuuya raised his gaze to meet Dazai's.

"I get that I fucked up, but I can't keep doing this. I can't keep giving you second chances upon second chances only for you to just fuck me over every goddamn time. It's just… it's just not okay, alright? I get that I can be a bit of a dick too sometimes, but at least I don't intentionally screw people over time and time again. At least I don't constantly dig into their deepest insecurities only to come up with some cheap-ass apology. And look, as much as I don't want to and even though I said I won't, I'm going to give you another chance because if I don't I'm going to end up alone and I can't… I can't… because I care about you and I just…" Chuuya's shoulders tensed, an anxious breath escaping him, "look Dazai, it's okay. I know… I know you didn't mean what you said, but just… please try. Please try to stop doing this, because I don't know how much longer I'll be able to take it."

"Okay."

Chuuya's eyes widened as though he was surprised that Dazai wasn't putting up a fight.

"I'll try harder. I promise. I really am sorry."

"Thanks..."

A bout of silence stretched between the two before Dazai finally spoke up once more, his voice lighter this time.

"You know, you didn't have to strangle me though. You could've just-"

"Dazai, shut up. You deserved it with all the shit you put me through."

Dazai laughed and then so did Chuuya.

"Yeah, I guess I did."

Sigma warily kept pace with Dostoevsky and Gogol as they headed back to the flat that Gogol had managed to acquire by some unknown means. At this point, Sigma knew better than to ask.

Every step he took sent a jolt of pain stabbing through his shoulder. He knew Chuuya had a gravity ability and that it was pointless to shoot him, but Dostoevsky had taken them there on the premise of purposefully getting caught and of course, so they had to make it believable. Sigma's ability wasn't exactly meant for combat, so the bullets fired from his gun were mostly meant to be used as a distraction. He just didn't expect Chuuya to redirect one of his bullets right back at him. That was just dirty.

Looking back though, he probably should've.

A black eye was beginning to blossom across Dostoevsky's face, as blood dripped from his forehead. However, he was grinning as though he'd just won the lottery.

In his hands, he was clenching a red and white book. It was the reason for his pride and why they'd all sought to be captured in the first place.

Dostoevsky had needed to find its location and being captured had given him time to figure all that out before they made their escape.

Still, despite being relieved their plan had worked, the unnatural glimmer in Dostoevsky's eyes unnerved Sigma.

He wanted to break free of this life and the chaos that followed it. However, Dostoevsky had made a deal that was impossible for both him and Gogol to refuse. So it seemed only time would tell until he could break free from the fold.

Although, he did suppose that being stuck with Dostoevsky was a bit better than being stuck with Dazai like he had been for a while back at Meursault. While both were delusional geniuses, at least Dostoevsky had a code. That was something that Dazai seemed to lack, in Sigma's opinion. So as much as he found himself loathing Dostoevsky more and more with every interaction that they had, Sigma had concluded that he was the lesser of two evils in this fight.

Then again, if Dostoevsky used The Book to rid the world of all abilities like he claimed he wanted to, would that erase Sigma as well?

Still, maybe after all that he'd done that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.

At least that way he'd finally have a purpose.

The purpose of sacrificing himself so that the world could bask in the new world that Dostoevsky claimed would be beyond the most charming of masterpieces.

Sigma returned to reality, as the three made their way into the flat.

Dostoevsky set the book on the quaint kitchen table. Then, with a single finger, he began to trace over the title, as though the mere lettering of the book was precious.

And suddenly Sigma couldn't stop himself from asking. It was rare to ever see Dostoevsky so intrigued with something. Much less a book.

"What's so special about it?"

Dostoevsky's eyes traversed over to meet his own.

"'The Ultimate Guide to Suicide.' It was written by Wataru Tsurumi and seems to be one of Dazai's favorites. It's ironic though because as much as one might initially think that that makes sense given Dazai's tendencies, Tsurumi while trying to lessen the stigma of suicide despised the concept of double suicide. Essentially, he thought in doing such a thing, you were no longer in control of your life and as such, a despicable being. So, in the manual, there are no mentions of group suicides. It really makes you wonder... why would Dazai have a book written by an author who thinks his so-called dream is worthless? Dazai's vain. He wouldn't obsess over a book written by someone who would despise his mere existence."

Dostoevsky tilted his head as if in thought.

"Even if you put respect aside, Dazai, while despicable, does not hold onto things unless he needs them. This guide… gives him nothing that he doesn't already know. Even still, it has no intention of helping him die by the means he claims to crave. So, it made me think. What if he has the book for another reason? You see, most people would overlook what I know. They wouldn't see the holes. My predictions even were solidified by that decoy he gave me back at the storage facility. He must've thought that using such a thing would turn me away from the truth. Reverse psychology you might call it. Alas, I see through his ruse. This book is a guide yes… but not for suicide. It's a guide to The Book."

Sigma didn't know what to say, as Dostoevsky opened the manual, gesturing for him and Gogol to come closer.

"On the very last page, Dazai took notes. They seem harmless. However, if you use Fibonacci's Sequence as a cipher then you'll see that this book spells out a location."

Dostoevsky opened the book and began to read, his finger pointing out each letter as he spoke.

"Shimmering hues in a pensive moment of pure clarity is what occurred indescribably the first time I thought I could now depart from this miserable life. I thought I'd done it, but such grave hopes only ever lead to disappointment. I'm trapped and beginning to think that there is no escape. Still, it was garish of me to ever think I would be able to sever myself from the rope that is slowly strangling my soul alive.

It won't be shimmering hues of lights I see, but rather complex tenebrosity in the darkness of the hell that is sure to greet me.

However, perhaps someone like me is even unworthy of hell. Maybe that's why every time I try to depart from this corrupted world, I am yanked back, like a child's yo-yo. For my string is held strong by the undeniable weight of my sins.

The darkness shuns me and yet, so does the light. So where am I to go?

That's right. I shall go right back into the hand of the child throwing me back and forth, back and forth. Forever trapped in an infernal loop of madness.

I wonder how Chuuya does it.

I hate the way he clings to life. It's as if his string from the yo-yo snapped and wrapped around the child's finger, refusing to unwind from its tight embrace.

What does he see that ostensibly I can't? Why doesn't he understand that the only true escape is one of forever rest?

I hate how short he is. I hate his taste in wine. I hate his poetry books. I hate his dumb personality. I hate his even dumber hat. I hate that he's making me want to live.

God, I hate him.

Perhaps that's what my life is though. An endless torrent of things I hate being sent to torment me. I take back what I said earlier about not being able to ever go to hell because maybe I'm already there.

Perhaps I really did die that first time I attempted and this is my punishment for the life I've lived.

I've done so many terrible things.

Is it bad I don't feel much of anything about it?

While it is undeniable that I am filled with nothing but loathing towards myself, I do find myself feeling numb when it comes to violence and killing. I wonder if I was always that way or if life has paved me into this person.

I'm honestly not sure I can say.

Sometimes I wish that I was born without the intelligence that I hold. It's funny because so many would claim that they want the opposite. They would want all of the knowledge of the Universe. They would think that it would free them.

In my experience, the more knowledge one has, the more one loses their freedom.

Ignorance is bliss is the reality of the world.

When you know things, you realize simple truths about the idiosyncrasies of life and those truths are often not ones that many would find agreeable. Most bestowed with such knowledge would simply go insane. Many have already..."

Dostoevsky stopped reading, shutting the book with a faint hint of disgust.

"I won't bore you with the rest of Dazai's dramatics, but upon using Fibonacci's Sequence to decode it, the hidden message says 'S Shipping Container.'" Dostoevsky cracked a smile.

Sigma's eyes narrowed in thought, "what does that mean?"

"Back when he was in the Port Mafia, Dazai used to live in a shipping container. Its exact location's mostly unknown, but now we have a radius in how the code indicates the southern side of the Port. It shouldn't take me too long to figure out which one Dazai used to reside in and once we do figure that out, we can claim The Book as ours and bestow freedom upon our new world. I bet he won't even realize we have it until it's too late. He's probably too busy arguing with Nakahara, just as was planned."

Outside rain began to pelt down from the heavens, as Dostoevsky set to work narrowing down the location, with Sigma and Gogol at his side.