Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Senku

The young ex-scientist lets out several puffed, panting breaths as he jogs his way across the cracked pavement, limping and wounded. His gloved hand reaches up to cup at his abdomen, which feels wet and hot with growing blood. There's an arrow pierced through his side. Every step pokes his insides with that jagged, sharp tip. He can't stop moving, and he can't wrench the damn thing out either. Not if he wants to be caught by Tsukasa's band of goons, or bleed out like a stuck pig. Glancing back over his shoulder or pondering on what to do next would be a waste of energy.

“Damn it! Which way did that little twig run off to?” A voice echoes from somewhere behind. Senku recognizes it to be Yo, a rather useless pawn.

“Shh! Keep it down,” Nikki tells him, most likely with a finger pressed to her own bee-stung lips. “These empty passageways carry sound much farther out without a crowd. Do you seriously want to summon them here?”

“Shit, sorry. I forget,” Yo says apologetically in a much softer tone.

With some effort, Senku rolls his unusually red eyes.

Even with the combination of all his sufferings- Being stuck with one of Ukyo's arrows, starvation, and just general unwellness, he's at least smart enough to know to keep his damn mouth shut. Especially out here in the cityscape where the undead are much more frequently abound. If it wasn't for Ukyo and his freakishly good hearing, he doubts he'd be in this predicament now. These members of Might have no clue what it's like to survive out here this deep in the city.

If he were the more dramatic type, he's sure he'd be whimpering like a labored dog, as he drags his frail body into the crevice of an imploded building. Senku is beyond skinny enough now to fit through the gap, but the length of the arrow makes things awkward. With rough fingers he breaks off the tip, then proceeds to bury himself in the enclosed space with brick and ash.

He feels no shame in hiding, if it means getting to live to see another day. He has no energy left to run, or to fight, and his mind is too hazy to think up a strategic plan.

He takes the chance to lay back and catch his breath, and process the pain. It's amazing how comfortable a pile of rocks can feel when you're that desperate for a break.

Senku needs to act quickly before an infection has a chance to engulf his system. He's not sure how clean Ukyo's arrows are, or if they're laced with some type of poison or drug. As quietly as he can, he slowly- VERY slowly pulls out his half-empty canteen, along with his beloved bar of soap from his backpack. Sucking in air through his teeth, he dribbles a tiny bit of water onto the soap bar. He massages it with his fingers, then starts gently rubbing the suds around the glistening wound.

He's still thinking logically; he'd rather risk getting caught than risk getting an infection, because that would guarantee a game over.

He tries to wash the suds off with a bit more water, but his hands are beginning to tremble fiercely. The metallic accessories to the strap are rattling along the side of the canister, and with blood still gooey on his fingers, the damn thing slips free and drops onto the rocks, creating a clatter.

Shit!

Senku remains deadly still after that. He can hear a collection of muffled footsteps approaching up ahead. “Wait. I definitely heard something.” Senku recognizes the soft-spoken words of Ukyo, one of Tsukasa's right hand generals. He likely has his hand stretched out, signaling the group to stop running.

“Well, what is it?” Nikki asks.

“A metallic thud of some kind. It's not organic, so he's definitely close,” Ukyo relays, turning to the group. “Let's split up in pairs. Each pair can take turns searching and acting as a look out. I'm going to scour the perimeter." The group nods in understanding, and they all split up, with Ukyo closing in on that thud he heard prior.

Senku can feel his consciousness fading then, as he hears Ukyo walking right past his hiding hole with those ugly-ass elf shoes he always wears.

Horribly drained and exhausted, he lets his eyes close, and everything fades away to black, before quickly being replaced with a reoccurring nightmare. A memory that's haunted him for multiple years, resurfacing into a flashback:

He was only seventeen years old then, but despite still being classified as a highschooler, he was already taking classes at Stone University, a rather prestigious college with an emphasis in the sciences. He had taken a job there as a lab assistant during the summer, to earn some extra cash and, more importantly, to gain lab experience.

His tasks were no different from any other manual labor job. Mostly he was just a washer boy. He'd clean and sterilize all of the equipment; dry them and put them back on their racks in the cupboards. He'd wipe down the lab stations and refill gas into the bunsen burners. He'd clean smudges off the white boards and disinfect the PPE equipment like the eyewear and machine wash everyone's lab coats. Otherwise, apart from a multitude of tedious tasks, every day brought about some new idea or scientific endeavor.

The adults were more than happy to include a bright mind like Senku into their experiments and research. God only knows that he wouldn't stop pestering them or correcting their mistakes otherwise.

“Senku, come over here. I want to show you something,” one of his professors at the time said to him from across the laboratory. Dr. Xeno was an incredible man, and one Senku greatly respected. Though, despite having a background in NASA and the JSC in the States, Senku still regarded him with that same blunt way of speaking he talked with everyone else.

“Cool it, you old fart. I'm still cleaning off this bit of substrate,” he says from the wash basin in the back. The pressure washer is ridiculously hot, and a bit strong for Senku's delicate fingers.

“You'll want to see this. I think you will find this sample most elegant. Or… I suppose, to put it in your own words, most exhilarating."

“I'm almost done,” Senku says, and puts the dripping beaker onto the drying rack, before stepping back out into the main lab.

Senku is dressed up like a total nerd. He's wearing a lab coat that's much too long for him, with the sleeves tucked into elbow length gloves and a blue eye mask over his eyes. His hair is tied back into a bun, since anyone with long hair must have it tied back due to lab safety protocol. Seeing Xeno near the microscope, he takes off the goggles and gloves. His face was a little flushed from the steam in the wash room.

Xeno turns and offers him a half smile. He's dressed much the same. With a tie and a white collared shirt and sweater vest. “Dr. XENO” is plastered to his enamel pin name tag across his chest.

“Is the eyeshield really necessary for washing the beakers and flasks?”

“Depends. Do you care if boiling water hits you in the face?”

“Touché,” Xeno says, and guides Senku over to the microscope across one of the lab stations by the small of his back.

Senku peers down at the scope with curiosity. There's a case laying open next to it with various slots for a multitude of different slides inside. All categorized and labeled, except for one empty slot, presumably occupied by the microscope. He recognizes it immediately, and grins up at Xeno with that look of pure excitement, “No way. Is this-?”

“That's right. Shipped straight from the Amazon's this morning,” he said, referring to their field team in Brazil. A summer expedition, led by field researchers Max and Carlos, Brody the Mechanic, and Senku's “totally-offical-super-real” girlfriend Luna Wright, among others.

“There's a note for you in the box,” Xeno claims, referring to the small box of slides. Senku picks it up with vague interest, and reads in swoopy calligraphy, “Love and miss you soooooo much! -Luna ♡” written inside the lid in pink sharpie.

Senku rolls his eyes and puts the box aside, before peering down into the eyepiece. Xeno chuckles, a hand on his hip, “You seem so thrilled.”

“Shut up. You know I don't have time for that sappy shit,” he says with disinterest.

“You know, when she asked you to be her boyfriend before she left, no one expected you to say yes,” Xeno pointed out, peering over the top of the younger’s spiky hair.

“I only said yes to get her off my back, and now you're making me think I'm regretting my decision. Hush! I need to see this,” Senku says, holding his hand up to get Xeno to pause in speaking again.

Senku is grinning madly at what he sees, one eye pinched shut, as he twists the lens adjuster knob to bring the slide into focus. The sample is of a variety of eukaryotic cells from a fungus. “Cordyceps,” Senku says, recognizing its thick cell wall and budding head. The specimen has been stained and frozen inside its mount in isopropyl alcohol. Luna loves the pink stain element in particular. “I'll be damned. She actually managed to capture the fungal cell while ingesting a bacterium. Look at that capsule unraveling! Unbelievable!” He laughs.

Xeno chuckles and shakes his head. “You're not even a biologist, and yet you get so excited over a couple of cells.”

Senku stares a little while longer, before lifting his head up to grin at Xeno happily. “I may be an astrophysicist at heart, but I take our lab very seriously.” Their research in particular was about the biochemical signaling of a variety of fungal species in hopes of developing organic based medicines.

However, after hearing from the field team that they had stumbled upon a rather interesting mutation within the Cordyceps fungus, they easily became sidetracked.

“Clearly,” Xeno agrees, amused.

Senku sighs forlornly and peers into the eyepiece again, switching between macro-viewing and micro, “If only I could be there to view this in person.”

“In half a year you'll be old enough to go on your own expeditions.”

“I'd already be there if you hadn't stuck your guard dog on me,” he retorts, referring to the campus chief of police Stanley Snyder. A rather cunning individual with a background in military operations, a lust for cigarettes and Dr. Xeno's lifelong “friend.” Senku's quite confident he's smelled cigarettes on Xeno's breath more than once, and the professor doesn't smoke.

“After that stunt you pulled in Africa? Please,” Xeno huffs, crossing his arms. He's referring to the time a young teen Senku had swiped his NASA credit card to book a flight to Africa to join a research team on studying ebola. Never again…

“What's that phrase Luna says sometimes? Hashtag material girl goals?” Senku grins.

“Do you honestly fancy yourself funny?”

“I'm hilarious.”

Xeno scoffs, before letting out a mischievous smirk. He sighs like he's disappointed and spins around on the heel of his shiny leather loafer, “And here I thought you were actually a professional scientist,” he says, which distracts Senku enough to raise a curious dark eyebrow. “I was going to show you the other sample the field team sent over. With real living mutated Cordyceps, but clearly I was wrong. My mistake~”

“Wha-” Senku lifts his head like a cat seeing a treat dangled above his nose.

“Oh well. Have fun with your slides,” Xeno says with a half-hearted wave of his hand.

“Wait, wait-!” The young scientist scrambles away from the microscope to charge after the retreating senior. “I wanna see!”

“Too bad. I don't entertain smug brats.”

Senku turns Xeno around by his shoulders, grabs the man by the lapels of his white lab coat, before thrusting him up against the wall. Lined with scientific diagrams and promotional financial aid papers. He's scowling up at him with that spicy kitten look. “Old man, if you don't show me the stupid mushrooms I swear I'm going to report you for- for..” he was about to say ‘sexual harassment’ but even that notion left a bad taste in his mouth. The whole thing seemed ridiculous to his adolescent mind.

Xeno just stares at him, unaffected, before he dislocates Senku's grip from his coat and pushes his hands away. “Crass, as usual,” he says, like he's amazed Senku actually bit his tongue for a change.

Senku swallows, and releases his grip. Ah- he gets it now. This wasn't just a joke, this was conditional.

“...What do I have to do?”

“I need a small favor,” Xeno says vaguely, as he smooths down his lab coat and brushes at his chest like he's dirty. “I'm a bit busy today, so I need someone to deliver the samples for me. They're being sent to another laboratory for a clinical trial.”

Senku blinks at him. That makes sense. Their original research was intended for medicinal and pharmaceutical purposes. It was important to make sure the new strain of Cordyceps was non-toxic upon exposure. “I can do that.”

Xeno nods, then moves past Senku to go to the lab's storage closet. An unusual place to store such a sample, though Senku supposed that the room was dark and humid enough, and watches in amazement as Xeno retrieves a semi-large storage container with an impressive looking hatch on the top. "Seems a bit overkill for mushrooms, don't you think?” Senku asks as he moves in to take a better look, while Xeno moves the case onto another lab station.

“Weren't you just scolding me earlier about getting boiling water on my face?”

“Touché, grandpa.”

“I'm thirty seven. I hardly think myself old.”

“That forehead begs to differ.”

“Look who's talking.”

“Shut up and open it already!” Senku says, bouncing on his heels with excited energy, hardly able to contain himself.

Xeno smiles at him fondly, before taking out a set of keys and unlocking the hatch. Using a heavy hand, he grunts as he turns the thick handle counter clockwise. There's an audible click, the mechanisms unlocking, as the lid pops off. He sets the thing aside, before pulling on a mask and thick looking gloves. He hands Senku an identical set, giving him a look that says “put these on,” and Senku does so without question. It makes him feel so cool and legit. Xeno then reaches inside the container with the gloves, and pulls out another smaller container made of glass. It's packed with rich Amazonian soil, and inside is the most unusual mushroom's Senku has ever seen. They're tube shaped and small like children's fingers, and practically glowing with a vibrant yellow-orange color.

Senku's eyes are wide around the face mask. Xeno sets the sample onto the lab station. “Unbelievable. They're bigger than regular cordyceps,” Senku mutters.

“You haven't seen anything yet.” Xeno's eyes crinkle, making the crows feet more prominent. “Want to do a little observational test?”

“Absolutely.”

Xeno retreats to go and find the lab's cryogenic storage containers. These are meant for long term organic storage, keeping the temperature low enough to preserve materials safely. He comes back with a bag of frozen mice, meant for the herpetology lab in the neighboring hall. Senku watches with slight horror as Xeno drops a mouse into the container, and is very careful to keep everything properly quarantined. For a long time, nothing happened.

Senku frowned. “Wow. Impressive. A dead rodent.”

Xeno says nothing, and his furrowing brow expresses his seriousness. Senku notices the mood shift, and decides to keep watching. Eventually, his eyes blow wide open in horror and awe as he watches a lumpy texture beginning to speckle the mouse's backside. It's slow at first, then the growth accelerates, and the Cordyceps push their way up into the air. Then, the mouse begins to writhe as it defrosts. It twitches and curls its little paws, before it pushes itself up and actually starts walking towards Senku. It lazily bumps its nose against the glass, hissing and foam leaching from its mouth.

“No way…”

Xeno moves his eyes onto Senku, calculated and observant, watching his reactions.

Senku peers in close, staring at the mouse with those brilliant red eyes, truly fascinated. He moves his finger across the glass, and the mouse actually scrambles after it in desperation. The thing was clearly dead, and somehow, the Cordyceps had actually taken over its neurological pathways to make it move. “Unbelievable,” he removes his hand to look up at Xeno. “I had heard about flesh eating cordyceps taking over the brains of insects, but I never thought it could corrupt a mammal. Much less a dead one.”

Xeno picks up the glass container and places it back into the mechanical storage tub. “Now you see why it can't stay here,” he says, and replaces the lid, locking the hatch.

“Yeah, no kidding.”

If that thing had the ability to take over and transform rodents, he could only imagine what it could do to people. He shudders to think about it. The odds didn't seem very likely, but then again, it only takes one outbreak for a disease to transform into a lock down situation. He swallows, and looks up at Xeno's serious expression with growing uneasiness. “Xeno…”

Xeno's expression visibly softens, and he removes the gloves and mask to let out a soft smile. Senku removes his as well, and tries to put on a brave facade by crossing his arms. “Are Luna… and Carlos…”

“They're perfectly safe, rest assured. How else would she be able to write you that sweet note if she wasn't?” Xeno teased, and Senku glanced back over across the lab at the box of slides.

“That's true… but…”

Xeno presses his lips together for a moment. “I can see why you feel uneasy. Do not worry. The Cordyceps are incapable of affecting humans, but just in case, it needs to go through clinical trials. We cannot be reckless and continue experimentation here at the university.”

Senku lets out a breath, then sucks in air through his teeth, before he chuckles and shakes his head. “I see. That's why you need good ol’ Dr. Ishigami Senku here to be your young delivery boy, am I wrong?”

“Right, as per usual,” Xeno chirps.

Xeno's phone begins to ring suddenly. He puts his hand into the pocket of his slacks. “Pardon me, Senku, but I need to take this call. I've been waiting on it all day, you see. Would you please do me the courtesy of stepping out into the hallway?”

Senku just shrugs, acting nonchalant, and waves a dismissive hand behind him before jamming his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Whatever. Have fun with your booty call, pervert.”

“Thank you. I will,” Xeno calls after him. Senku kicks the door to the lab open, before strolling out into the hallway.

—

Senku waits out in the hallway for an ungodly amount of time. He's almost tempted to listen in on the conversation with his ear to the door several times, but decides against it every time. Because knowing him, this would be the one time Xeno actually was making a booty call, and that was the last thing he wanted to listen in on.

Eventually, he kicks off the wall and meanders down into a little alcove lounge area with cushioned chairs, a few couches and a couple of vending machines with snacks and sodas. He scrounges his pockets for loose change and various crumpled dollar bills. He steps up to the machine, and eyes a green energy drink. ‘It's too late in the day for all that caffeine,’ he thinks, and decides on a candy bar with peanuts and a caffeine-free soda instead. He blames his uneasiness on low blood sugar, and not the mildly disconcerting zombie-mouse he had just paid witness to.

The snack and drink hit the bottom of the machine at an awkward angle. Senku has to finger the damn things out of the flap, getting some various stares from students buried in their notes and textbooks. He really couldn't give less of a crap about people staring. He chugs the lemony soda and takes a small bite out of his sugary treat.

His chewing slows as he mildly dissociates, half of his mind counting away the seconds, the other half imagining those raised bumps all over his skin. Before pushing their way out, and burying their chemical network into his nerves, transforming his body into a disembodied puppet.

Senku sits down in the last available chair, practically falling back into it, before fishing his phone out of his lab coat pocket to check any new notifications to distract himself from his own visceral thoughts. He smiles at the only notification from his step father. It's a picture of the astronaut team together, playing with water in zero gravity. His step mom Lillian has managed to shape the water into a heart. Byakuya is chucking a water ball at his totally-not-side-piece-boyfriend Shamil in the side of the head. Senku laughs out loud at the ridiculous face he's making. “You're an idiot,” he texts back, like he wasn't still giggling and picking at his ear for dust with a pinky. Shamil looks SO offended and betrayed.

It would be a while before Byakuya has time to text him back.

He opens discord next, finding the server belonging to himself and his two best friends, Taiju and Yuzuriha. He sends them a quick text on a whim: ‘Want to go to Pho Noodles and Co. For dinner? I'll buy,’ he offers. He promised them at the start of the summer that he'd make an effort to hang out with them and not just busy himself senselessly with science work, which he has yet to fulfill.

“YESSSS-!!!” Taiju replies almost immediately. Senku can practically hear that big oaf screaming through his phone screen. He blows a piece of dust off his finger.

“Yes! ♡” Yuzuriha replies a minute later. “8 o'clock okay?”

Senku loves her ability to make plans and keep to a timed schedule. He grins and reacts with a simple thumbs up emoji to her text.

He's almost forgotten the incident with the zombie-mouse, scrolling through social media, when his attention gets redirected to Xeno emerging in the entrance way and quietly gesturing with a hand for him to follow him back into the laboratory. Senku nods and gets up, then dumps his half eaten snacks into the nearby trash bin, that uneasy feeling returning to the pit of his stomach.

He could always buy another one another day.

Senku follows Xeno back into the lab, and the older scientist closes the door softly with his back. He sighs, “Sorry about that, but it couldn't be helped. Now-” he says, and moves back over to the lab station with the mechanical tub still on top of it. He picks it up and brings it back over to Senku to take. Senku grabs it, and is startled by how heavy the thing actually is. He almost crumpled beneath it, not expecting the overwhelming weight, but Xeno makes sure he has a good grip on the thing before letting go. “Listen to me carefully, because this is important.”

Senku grimaces, straining to keep the thing upright. He's always been the biggest wimp on campus, and perhaps the entire world. He looks up at Xeno expectantly.

Xeno watches him struggle, making sure he's paying attention, and folds his arms behind his back in a dignified manner, “There's going to be a white van located outside the campus police station. Take this crate there immediately without distraction. If anyone asks, you tell them that this is for the local blood drive,” he says.

Senku gives him a confused look at the lie, and Xeno chuckles, “What, do you really think I want people to know I hired a teenager to carry my work around? I could lose my credibility as a professional.”

“I guess…” Senku says in a strained voice. Xeno patting him on the shoulder doesn't help matters.

“Good boy. Now, I really must be going,” he says, and moves to grab his briefcase and scarf off the nearby lab station. He pushes past Senku with quick haste and without so much as a goodbye on his lips before he's gone like a swift breeze. Senku, panting, trails after him down the hallway with buckling knees and achy fingers.

“Wait, isn't campus police all the way across campus?!” He whines, startling some nearby students passing by on their way to class. He's seriously reconsidering owing anyone any favors ever again, as he staggers out into the open through the life sciences entryway.

—

The dream is interrupted by the sensation of something cold and leathery poking Senku in the cheek, and he peels his eyes open to focus on Yo standing over him, pressing a worn nightstick into his face. He taps him with it several times, like the way Byakuya would prod at him as a child to get up for school. Senku grimaces, and tilts his head up to focus his eyes on Yo's face grinning down at him. "Wakey, wakey, little grasshopper,” he cooes down at him mockingly, before he steps on his chest with a heavy foot, and violently smacks the side of the nightstick into the bone of his cheek.

Senku gasps, his head whipping to the side, and grits his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache. Even now, he refuses to utter a sound in excess.

Reality comes flying back to him at full force, and Senku doesn't bother trying to get up. The group must have found him while he was lying unconscious. Ukyo isn't around, so it wasn't because he made a sound. Senku can see the blurred faces of Nikki, and Hyoga and Homura approaching from a distance. He's always had the most shitty luck imaginable. Being caught by this butch lesbian and psychopathic narcissist was proof enough of that.

Yo straightens up and twists his upper torso around to wave back at Hyoga and Homura, while Nikki brushes away the remaining dust and stone, before picking at his pockets and shoes for weapons of any kind. “Yo! We fuckin’ caught ‘em!” He says proudly, always such a show off.

Nikki elbows him in the shin while crouched down over Senku's delicate frame, "Shh!”

“Well done. You've actually managed to do a proper job for a change,” Hyoga says as he approaches the group, with Homura trailing quietly from behind with her usual silent footfall. It's really hard to hear anything he says correctly behind that black mask he always wears.

“Ahh, it was nothing! Nothing the great Yo can't handle!” He laughs, pounding his chest with a fist.

Nikki's brow twitches with growing irritation, “Yo, may I remind you that I am within perfect striking distance with your nuts, and I was the top of my class on the wrestling team in high school,” she growls at him, and Yo squeaks and retreats in response.

Senku breaths in relief at the pressure being taken off his chest. He's sure that stupid ex-cop has left more than a few bruises on his upper ribs. He reaches up to instinctively wipe the blood off his cheek, but is stopped by Hyoga pointing the tip of his kudayari at his throat. He pauses, and meets Hyoga's half-lidded eyes with disdain.

“Don't make any sudden movements, or I'll take that as an invitation to skewer you alive,” he threatens in that cool tone of voice.

Senku chuckles weakly, his breath coming in and out hard, “So what now?” he smirks up at him mischievously, his eyelids dark with bags and fluttering long lashes, “You gonna force me to walk back to your fortress? Good luck getting me to stand up.” Senku rolls his head back dramatically, "Oh! I feel so faint! You're going to have to carry me! Pity,” he says, and pouts up at Hyoga, who's brow twitches and tips his chin down in annoyance, “Baby so hungry~ Momma Tsukasa is just going to have to breastfeed me~” he snorts a laugh. God, he's really reaching his mental breaking point now, huh? At least Hyoga looks pissed, as best he can anyways with that mask and the fact that his eyes are always squinted shut.

“You're truly disgusting,” he says, and presses the tip of the kudayari into the base of his throat. Senku resists the urge to swallow from the pressure, which would send his adams apple right into the thing. “Look at you now. It's pitiful. To think I actually once regarded you with respect.”

“Whatever.”

Nikki removes the majority of the items Senku had on hand with him. His backpack, strapped to a sleeping bag, his pouches of assorted miscellaneous minerals and tools, a saddle bag he keeps over the hip full of tinder and firewood, and the only weapon he had, an iron hatchet.

“That's everything,” Nikki says, looking up at the others.

“Not quite. Check his clothes again,” Homura interjects. She would know, and Hyoga trusts her with his life.

“Strip him,” Hyoga commands. Nikki sputters a bit and blushes at the order, and Senku whistles.

“Kinky.”

“Just stop it. Strip him, now,” he repeats, and reluctantly, Nikki leans down to remove his clothes.

“A-alright. I guess I should start from the top down,” she agrees, and reaches with slightly trembling hands for his popped collar. Despite her rugged appearance, she's actually quite bashful at heart, and it takes her a while to work up the nerve to take his top off bit by bit. She works at a strap here, and pad of armor there, until finally she reaches the softer shirt underneath. She works the buttons off their loops one at a time, and by now her face is absolutely burning red with embarrassment. Senku just watches her, his stoney expression not giving away anything to suggest the inner turmoil swirling in his thoughts like a vicious maelstrom.

The shirt comes loose, and instead of a bare chest like everyone expects, the cloth gives way to a thick padded strap wound tightly around his bony ribs and stomach, lined with row after row of circular looking batteries. Alarmed, Hyoga moves to drive the kudayari into his throat, only to pause when Senku grapples a detonator with a red button along its tip, with his thumb along the top of it, ready to press at any given moment.

“Ah-ah-ah! Not so fast, Hyoga,” Senku grins, and Hyoga shudders to look at it. Senku has always been told growing up that he has an extremely expressive face, and could look pretty creepy and evil at times. He's sure the one he's making right now is downright sinister, to make a proper warrior like Hyoga react like that.

“No way. Is that-!” Yo exclaims, and Nikki has to rush to cover his mouth before he has a chance to scream anything he'd regret.

Somewhere in the distance, standing on top of the ruins of a crumbled shop, Ukyo stands on the edge of the slatted roof, and is quick to point one of his arrows directly at Senku's head. He's panting like he had been rushing back onto the scene, but couldn't quite make it back fast enough.

“Well,” Senku says, glancing around between his opponents with a slightly crazed look in his eyes. “Things are definitely getting exciting.”

Chapter Text

Kohaku

Kohaku takes long strides up the slope of the mountain, enjoying the burning sensation in her thighs, and the wind picking up to blow through her bangs. She's hardly breaking a sweat, panting mildly, and only moderately uncomfortable as she moves. The thick layers of clothes- sweaters and long cargo pants and boots, are something that she's had to grow used to over the years. You'd be a fool not to cover up out here in the Wilds, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss the freeing mobility of a sleeveless summer dress and heeled sandals.

She pauses halfway up the slope, currently walking up a narrow dirt trail surrounded by grassy plains, boulders and young trees, to look back at her friend and ally Chrome. He seems less thrilled to be on the hike, and is struggling not to express his discomfort.

Kohaku jogs back down the lane and places a gloved hand onto his shoulder. She gives him a look that says, “We need to keep moving,” and Chrome replies with his own irritated expression, as if to say, “I get it already, quit nagging me, lioness.”

Even though he didn't say the word “lioness,” Kohaku knows he's thinking it just by his deadpan face, and her brow twitches. She's almost tempted to punch him. Almost.

Out here, in this day in age, you don't speak unless you absolutely have to. Even then, talk is cheap. You learn to communicate with your eyes, or signal with your hands. Someone like Chrome, who's always so boisterous and loud, struggles with that a lot.

Kohaku can see that he is breathing heavily, and in need of a break. She pats him on the shoulder, proud of him for keeping quiet as they traveled through the forest and into the valley. His eyes visibly soften, and they keep walking.

They travel up the trail a little longer, Kohaku forcing herself to go at a slower pace, until they reach a rather tall tree. The forest is waning behind them, and they have to cross over these hills if they want to make it to the city before daybreak.

Kohaku taps Chrome on the shoulder to get his attention, and points up at the tree. Suggesting that she was going up to take a look at their surroundings. He nods, then removes his backpack, only to sit down on it at the base of the trunk. It's a good opportunity for him to rest while she recalibrates her senses.

She leaps up onto the closest tree branch, then jumps to grab ahold of another, and another, and another, until she reaches the treetop in no time at all and pushes her face through the dried foliage. She blinks, then looks around with her sharp-eyed vision.

She smiles her cat-like smile at what she sees; they're definitely getting close. This was the tallest mountain they had encountered, and after that, there's only a few more low hanging hills until they reached the outskirts of the city. Her eyes then dart back and forth, looking for any sign of movement or danger, whether they be dead or alive.

Chrome is chewing on some sour grass when she hops down quietly into a patch of grass like a cat landing on all fours, before straightening out and turning to look at her companion. “Looks like we're in the clear,” she says softly, and crouches down on one knee to take off her own much larger backpack. “There's nothing in a thirty meter radius. A couple Walkers, but they're super slow moving. Guess they haven't found anything to eat in a while.”

Chrome sighs with relief, “Thank God,” he says, and leans back into a more casual position. “I'm starving. Let's have lunch.”

“Way ahead of you, as usual.” She unties a skillet from the side of her pack, and holds it out to him. “I'll clean if you cook.”

“Deal.”

Chrome moves to sit down on his knees across from her as they prepare lunch together. It's fish again, with assorted gathered veggies and lemon pepper seasoning. They cook the ingredients using an electric stove, run on batteries and an oil-based fuel. The oil doesn't come cheap at the Dragon market, but it's difficult to find nowadays anywhere else. Besides, starting a campfire is always a risk because of the smoke trails.

They eat together in uncomfortable silence. They've grown used to each other's company, so there's not much to talk about even when they get the chance to speak again.

After a bit of rest and a filling yet not very satisfying meal, they pick up their individual packs and get moving again. Chrome's energy has perked up some, and he's able to get over the last of the hills without much rigor. It's much smoother walking when the trail ends and merges into a long stretch of highway that leads into the innermost city.

Kohaku and Chrome exchange mutual glances of surprise at how much things have changed over the years.

Abandoned cars are everywhere, the asphalt is cracked but not worn with use, and wildlife is creeping in bit by bit. After navigating their way around cars, they start to pass by a series of buildings. Cracked glass is all over the ground, so it's important to avoid the piles clustered near the walls.

As if by some underhanded deity with a love for irony, Chrome accidentally steps on a piece of stray glass, making it crack and let out a loud crunching sound. Kohaku twists around to glare at him, and he holds his hands up in vain apology.

Turning back to the path ahead, she takes in a deep breath through her nose, forcing herself to relax and concentrate. This is the city, and you have to play by a different set of rules out here. The place is an absolute treasure trove of materials, but with that always came an increasing amount of risk. Previously populated areas like this always had more Walkers, or dangerous survivors not looking to get friendly with sharing resources.

The two are after something much, much more valuable to them than amenities like food and better clothes or gasoline. So really, they didn't have a choice but to come here alone.

As they get deeper into the city- the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, suggesting the oncoming evening, they reach the town square area with a four way intersection. Something glints in her peripheral vision, and by pure instinct, she reaches back to grab Chrome by the wrist, before yanking him back with her into the shade of a nearby wall. She covers his mouth, just in case, and the two remain deadly still for a moment, their hearts pounding in their ears as the only notable sound.

In a few moments, a figure appears in the reflection of the window from the building across the street. Kohaku can see it clearly- there's a white-haired man dressed in yellow and pointed shoes, and carrying a massive bow. He's craning his neck, he must have heard Chrome stepping on that glass earlier. He seems more concentrated on listening than seeing, and doesn't see them.

He's getting awfully close though, and Kohaku lets her other hand travel down slowly to her thigh where she keeps her daggers attached to a strap. If he gets any closer and spots them, she'll have no choice but to attack.

Her eyes narrow, and her fingertips brush along the hilt.

Suddenly, they all hear an obvious sounding, “Yo! We fuckin’ caught ‘em!” Coming from somewhere further out. The man turns around like a startled rabbit, before running off in the direction he came in.

Kohaku waits for a short while, making sure that the man was completely out of range, before Chrome is shoving her hand away from his mouth. “That was close,” he whispers, and peers around the corner to see if he can catch a glimpse of the man, but he's already effectively run off.

Kohaku relaxes her shoulders, and moves her hand away from her thigh.

She presses her lips together in suspicion. She recognizes the furs the man was wearing, although she wasn't completely sure if that was a coincidence or not. She needs to make sure. “...Let's follow him,” she decides.

Chrome looks startled, “Huh? Why?”

“I wonder if they are here.”

“Who's they?”

“Tsukasa's men.” They both go quiet for a moment. “If they find us, they'll try to capture us and force us to join their group, or we'll be turned into Cordyceps.” Kohaku's eyes narrow protectively, “I'm going.”

“You'll be putting us at risk if you do. Don't do anything rash,” Chrome says, referring to her bad habit of jumping head first into action. She never really bothered to think these things through.

“I won't engage with the enemy.”

“Yeah, where have I heard that one before,” Chrome says, rolling his eyes.

“If they are Tsukasa's men, I need to see who we're up against in case we're discovered. We can't turn back now, so maybe I can see which direction they're heading.”

Chrome wants to argue some more, but she doesn't want to hear it. She pushes ahead, and tells him, “Follow my lead, and don't get spotted,” before she heads in the direction of the white-haired man. She runs fast, and leaps off different rocks from crumbled buildings or swinging herself from road signs. She's especially careful to stay quiet but swift in her movements.

Just as she arrives, the man has rejoined his group by the remains of an imploded building. It looks like this building in particular had once been set on fire, and was now mostly just a cave in of rocks and ash. Kohaku moves in just a bit closer, and tucks herself behind the length of a rusted red truck. Carefully, she turns the passenger mirror a little bit to the side so she can see the situation without revealing herself. The archer is deliberately pointing an arrow at a young man's head and- wow, this guy has just about the craziest head of hair she's ever seen.

She blinks, a little taken aback by it. His blood red eyes are also mildly disconcerting. She wonders if he has albinism, but dyes his hair tips green for an added flare. Does it just stick up in spikes like that on its own, or with gel maybe?

She shakes her head, internally scolding herself. Now was definitely not the time for that!

It's hard to tell exactly what's going on from over here, but if she had to guess, then these are Tsukasa's band, and bok choy boy is another one of their victims. They've recoiled in shock. Does he have a weapon or something? That expression he's making is truly heinous.

“What is that?” The tall man in a black mask barks. He's tensed up, she can see his arm muscles flexing, as he adjusts the grip on his unusually large spear. Ready to skewer him like a kebab.

Fearless, the man on the ground chuckles, holding something small and threatening in his hand. The whole group is staring at it with various levels of anxiety. “Hehehe. What does it look like? It's a bomb, with over ten billion megajoules of power!” A man in a battered cop uniform and orange hair squeaks in fear, practically getting strangled by the woman in braids.

Kohaku feels her heart lurch with fear also. A bomb? That idiot! Would he seriously threaten suicide just to avoid Tsukasa? Then again, he does look pretty creepy, and perhaps a bit insane.

The man is cackling, “So you better run along now back to Tsukasa-land, or I'll press it!”

Kohaku feels her body tense with the urge to run. If he presses that detonator, then her top priority has to be getting Chrome out of here immediately. An explosion would draw out the Cordyceps like bees to a hive.

“Do you honestly think I would believe such an obvious lie?” The tall man asks, making Kohaku linger in her half-step to a sprinting position. She keeps listening. “I know your strategy. You've got nothing left, so your only choice now is to bluff. Those are so obviously fake. You're no craftsman. It's not even convincing.”

Everyone around him visibly relaxes, letting go of their breaths, and steps in closer to look. The tilt of his head is the only indicator that the man is smirking, “Besides, I also know that you're not the type to threaten suicide. You may be a loser now, but you're not stupid.”

He lowers his hand, and frowns deeply at him, “You don't know anything about me.”

“Oh? Did I perhaps strike a nerve?”

He grimaces, before forcibly smoothing out his expression. He huffs, “Fine, I lied. It's not a bomb, but these are real batteries. Batteries strong enough to power up a super charged signal to a bomb hidden in a discreet nearby location.”

Kohaku flinches hard when she feels something touch her shoulder, and she whips around to see Chrome, panting and sweaty, and perhaps more than a little annoyed with her running off like that. His expression says, “What the hell?!?!” She blinks her apology, and gestures to her view in the mirror. She pulls him in close to get a good look.

Chrome suddenly slams a hand over his mouth to keep himself from gasping out loud in surprise. Kohaku blinks again, confused.

“What do we do then, Hyoga?” The woman with braids asks, “If he's telling the truth, he'll lure the Cordyceps out right to us.”

Hyoga's already pinched eyes narrowed harder, “He's not. Let's grab him. We'll make camp in the forest after sundown.” He side eyes the woman in the pink coat and flowery hairdo, unsure, and she returns the tiniest nod, which seems to bolster his confidence.

After staring for a moment with the most wide-eyed expression she's ever seen Chrome make, he turns back to her and starts frantically signing out letters in sign language. They had learned the alphabet together, among various other hand gestures and signals when being quiet was crucial to their survival.

H-E-I-S He is… S-E-N-K-U Senku… wait-

Kohaku's eyes go wide with realization, and she peers in closer to the mirror for a better look. No way… He couldn't mean the Ishigami Senku!

Ishigami Senku… The man who had started the pandemic. A vicious terrorist and a violent threat to humanity. A lunatic scientist that had been broadcasted all over the country of Japan that sent the whole world into a permanent lock down. Kohaku had never seen the man before. She had been inside the student gym when the broadcast occurred, but she had heard stories from Chrome. Mostly because her partner had always felt particularly sore about this man. They used to be well acquainted; she could only imagine how bitter he must feel now.

The expression Chrome is making is a complicated one. Anger, betrayal, and confusion are interlaced with his face, among other things. He looks like he might just about explode.

“D-don't come any closer!” Senku squeaks, and scrambles backwards like a crab through the jagged rocks and piles of ash. “I mean it! I'll press it!”

Kohaku moves to get up, ready to intervene, but it's Chrome that beats her to it. Suddenly, he gets up and takes off in the opposite direction. Chrome makes a little sound as he scrambles to get behind another building, and Ukyo turns his head sharply in their direction. His grip on his bow and arrow loosens, and while swapping his gaze between the group and the car, he slides off the slatted roof and starts creeping his way towards her.

It's hard not to cuss under her breath at this new turn of events. Usually she's the one to jump into action, but she doesn't think Chrome is running off with reckless abandon. Taking out her daggers, she clutches them close, and takes a fighting stance.

None of that matters, however, because as soon as Ukyo approaches the truck with his bow and arrow, they're both startled by the sound of crackling. Then, just a couple buildings away, there's a series of brilliant flashes of light- purple, green and yellow, followed by several powerful booms- explosions.

Hyoga had scooped up the young scientist into his arms, and threw him over a shoulder like one would a sack of potatoes, only to turn around in sudden alarm and shock. His usually downcast eyes open wide, “What? No!”

The sound is like being too close to a pack of fireworks. She can feel the force reverberate through her bones and rattle her teeth, and Kohaku winces as her ears ache. Ukyo lets out an anguished cry and drops his bow in favor of slamming his hands over his ears.

They all watch in awe-struck horror as large plumes of smoke rise up from behind one of the taller buildings. Multi-colored flames lap up the dead vegetation, and climb the walls, feasting on whatever dry material it can find. Then, it's followed up by the most gut wrenching sounds- hissing and mouth clicking. The sounds echo all over the town; there's no doubt about it, it's the high pitched screeching and hungry moaning of the Cordyceps.

Hyoga looks absolutely furious. He pulls Senku off his shoulder by his collar like one would hold a misbehaving kitten by the scruff. “You-!” He seethes. Senku looks just as awestruck, almost flabbergasted, his eyes still on the rainbow fire, until he meets Hyoga's eyes with the most shit-eating grin. Hyoga looks like he's about to throttle him, but instead, he just stares. Then he chuckles with barely contained rage. “I'm truly impressed. You actually were telling the truth,” he says, glaring hard, “You really had me fooled. I played right into your game.”

“Uh… Yeah! What, did you actually think I'd bet everything on a bluff?” He asked, laughing maniacally.

Kohaku makes a deadpan face. He's an absolute shit liar.

Then again, perhaps the lie was just convincing enough to fool this spearman, who was now eyeing Senku with caution, respect, and something like fear mingled in with his wariness. He's definitely spooked, that's for sure. Kohaku takes her chance, and jumps out from behind the truck while they're all distracted. Using the backside of her dagger, she smacks the hilt into the crown of Ukyo's head while he's preoccupied with clutching at his ears, effectively knocked out without so much as a grunt. She catches him before he has a chance to taste the pavement. The best she can do to protect him now is shove him into the truck to help him from the onslaught of the undead. She just can't have such a skilled long-distance fighter distracting her from this impromptu rescue attempt.

Okay, Chrome. I'll follow your lead, she thinks, feeling a little smug about his reckless plan while she quietly closes the driver's door of the truck. His hat hits the ground with a soft oomph.

If this really is the Ishigami Senku, then it's imperative that they capture him, and bring him back to the Sorcerer Society instead of the Might Clan at all costs.

“If you don't let me go right now, I'll trigger another explosion! I have more tricks up my sleeve than you can even count, so don't push your luck, Hyoga!” Senku threatens, feeling more confident in his bluff.

Hyoga growls, and apparently, deciding to take a calculated risk, he hoists Senku up higher into the air. With the tip of his kudayari, he swipes the blade down over the straps to the vest, and the batteries fall to the ground in strips like ribbons and scattered coins. He crunches the thing underneath the rigid sole of the boot, just in case, and Senku lets the detonator drop from his fingers.

He weakly chuckles, and that glimmer of hope is quick to fade from eyes, diminishing like a candle at the end of its wick. “You may be cunning, but did you forget that I'm faster?” Hyoga glances down at Senku's battered torso, and hollow stomach, lined with a matching set of mirrored ribs like ridges rippling his discolored skin. The arrow, now more like a stick, is still dribbling little by little with blood, surrounded by splotches of purple bruises and a thick red patch of skin to indicate internal bleeding. He's wheezing hard, unable to hide his pain entirely. “Even if you do have your tricks, I'll take that risk. We've come too far to let you go in the end.”

Hyoga pulls him onto his shoulder again, and decidedly determined, he turns around and starts walking away from the colorful fire. “You're too special to die here now,” he says more softly.

Senku sighs and relaxes against his shoulder, seemingly about to give up, only to peek his eyes open again when something yellow flashes across his eyes. She's fast, like a bolt of lightning, and appears in front of Hyoga for only a moment in midair before she's swiping her dagger at his neck.

Hyoga, with one hand occupied by Senku, and the other by his beloved weapon, has no choice but to dodge and block her sudden attack with his spear. Rough metal collides with wood and bamboo, and the spear breaks apart from the base to its tip easily.

Kohaku grins to herself with pride. No matter how skilled the warrior, there was no getting around old man Kaseki's lifelong crafting experience!

Stepping back into a backwards stumble, Hyoga looks at his broken weapon in surprise. Clearly this guy had a hard on for talented opponents, and he was about to be even more impressed, because Kohaku snatched his prize away with all the skill of a owl snapping up an unsuspecting mouse from the undergrowth.

She leaps off his free shoulder, with her spare arm just barely sliding its way underneath Senku's arms and chest, before practically flying through the air with him from the powerful force of her thighs. As soon as she lands back on the ground, squatting low to allow the impact to resonate throughout her whole body instead of just her feet and knees, she kicks off the gravel and charges into a sprint towards the sounds of the hungry and crackling of the flames.

“Hyoga!” Homura gasps from the sidelines, catching him in his forward facing stumble, then proceeds to try and charge after her with equally matched speed, but Hyoga yanks her back by the hair. It's the first thing he could grab, and he lets go as soon as she halts her movement. She winces and rubs her head, pouting up at him.

Kohaku glances back with curiosity. It's important to make sure she's not being pursued, and thankfully, they don't follow her. They just stare, standing and watching. They've seen her face, and she gives them her famous cat-like smile. They like challenges? They fucking got one, and she's not afraid to show off her prowess.

The last thing she can hear over the uproar is the woman with braids stating the obvious, “They got away,” and Hyoga replying in tow, “Let them. There's no more time. We've lost this battle, but we will win the war. Let's go.”

It's barely audible, but she can hear their retreating footsteps. She growls and grits her teeth in irritation. They'd seriously leave a comrade behind? How despicable.

As she rounds the building corner where the explosion had originated from, she can hear the distressed cries of Chrome coming from somewhere up ahead. She looks around frantically, her neck aching from the extra weight and the way she whips her head back and forth. There's Zombies everywhere now. Crawling out of windows, many wandering out into the open, some fast and some slow, and even a few falling from the rooftops.

She grimaces. She'll never get used to seeing them, no matter how long this pandemic lasts. They're all covered head to toe in that sickly orange, lumpy texture, with yellow appendages sticking out of their skin and eyes like hands reaching out from their flesh. The way they move is disjointed and entirely unnatural. She can tell which ones are older depending on how many growths they have, and how scrappy their clothing has become. The ones that eat a lot, feasting on fresh flesh, are faster and more heavily mutated. Often growing stronger, with better reflexes, and enhanced vision beyond even her own.

Some can sense heat in the infrared, some can connect with the underground network and hear vibrations in the dirt, some can deafen you with their shrieked wails. All those types are here in the city, which just makes this place all the more dangerous.

Chrome can't help but grunt as he uses his battery powered metal bar to smack into the head of the closest Cordyceps, previously trying to scratch and claw at him without tact. "Ghh-!!" He's not strong or terribly fast, but he is clever. He's invented his own variety of weapons to compensate for this fact. This one in particular, is long ranged, and electrocutes the brain with enough voltage to fry the neurons and disengage the Cordyceps without fully killing it.

Even now, despite everything, they still hold onto the hope that someday, someday they'll reclaim humanity. No casualties is a crucial rule to the Sorcerer Society.

Chrome is about to attack another one, but Kohaku sweeps him up with her remaining arm before he has the chance. He grunts, lying across her shoulder, as she sprints out of the town square as fast as possible. She's not as fast now, and her back aches from the added pressure, but the adrenaline does well to dull the aches and pains of carrying two full grown (and admittedly very scrawny) grown men.

There's a protocol even for running away from a mob with disabled party members: You don't engage the enemy unless you absolutely have no other choice. Escape is regarded as a strategy, and not a defeat. Her only objective now is to seek out shelter, and lay low for a while.

The majority of the Cordyceps are behind her now, and the fastest ones are the only ones able to pursue her. She stays out in the open, and dodges ones coming at her from the front. One tries to swipe at her cheek, and it just barely misses her.

She really should have remembered to put her hood up.

With her feet pounding against the pavement, she looks around frantically for a place to hide. Think, Kohaku, think! What place has the lowest amount of risk of getting swarmed?

Her eyes dart around everywhere. High rise? Too risky. A shop with a broken sliding door? Picked over, and likely to get ambushed. Ghh!! What else is there?!

Just when she's about to give into despair, her eyes land onto an out of place mobile home. It looks like the window had been boarded up with wooden planks and rusty nails, the door effectively shut; it would have to do, and if there were any residents, dead or otherwise, she'd just have to deal with it. Somebody obviously tampered with it to become a fortified shelter, covered in metal sheeting and rebar. She doesn't have time to take in all the grandiose details, of which there were many.

She runs up to the shelter, avoiding the phalanx of spears and trampling her way through the carefully cultivated flower beds, before reaching the window. She jumps onto an outdoor easy chair, the cushion muffling her sound, and hikes the two boys further up onto her shoulder. Chrome is flailing awkwardly, but the scrawnier man is hanging limp and loose off her body. He must have passed out at some point along the way due to all her jostling. She reaches up as high as she can, and with nothing but sheer force of will, she rips the planks free from the frame. Tossing them aside one by one, she then pushes Chrome in first along with his pack.

Chrome looks around inside the space, before gesturing with his hands in a come hither gesture twice; their signal for “the coast is clear,” while simultaneously gesturing for Kohaku to hand him Senku next.

She obliges, and carefully pushes his frail and lifeless body up into the air. Chrome scoops him up from underneath his armpits, and carefully avoiding bumping his head, he drags him up and into the home. Kohaku hands him her own backpack next, until finally, she leaps up and pulls herself inside with trembling arms.

They collapse onto the floor together, both on their knees and their prize laying across the patterned carpet floor between them, panting hard.

Kohaku, paranoid for their safety, was about to push up on a wobbly knee to look out the window and check for any pursuers, only to be startled by the sound of a door opening nearby.

Her eyes go wide on him- at least, she thinks it's a him, she's not completely sure. He's wearing a purple robe, with two-toned black and white hair, and funny shaped eyebrows. He's holding a book under his arm, eyes wide, and seemingly coming out of a bathroom. The toilet is still gurgling, as they stare awkwardly at each other for several long, tense moments.

She's about to reach for her weapon again, when the man pipes up in a rather effeminate voice, eyes pinched shut and short brow twitching, “...Well, while I usually don't mind the company of a cute young thing like yourself, it's usually common courtesy to knock first… At the door.”

Kohaku swallows thickly, and feels sweat beading up at her temple.

I'm sorry, Ruri… I won't be able to get you your medicine for a little while longer.

Chapter Text

Senku

By the time Senku makes it across campus, it's been fifteen minutes, and he's almost completely out of breath. When he sees the black, concrete building of the campus police up ahead, he sets the box down onto the sidewalk between his sneakers, and rests his hands along his knees to catch his breath.

“If only Taiju were here,” he says to himself in vain, and wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his palm.

After a few moments of panting, he lifts his head to take a look around, seeking out this supposed white van waiting for its cargo. The sun is dipping towards the horizon, illuminating the campus in a soft orange glow. He leans to the side to peer behind the length of a tree, and can make out a white vehicle with the back doors popped open.

There are two men sitting along the edge of its interior- a muscular blonde man with an ugly looking face and an even uglier, shorter gremlin of a man with a buzz cut hairdo. They're both dressed in scrubs, sipping at some cans of soda and munching on chips while they wait. What's especially confusing, however, is the obvious logo to the nearby hospital along the side of the van.

Senku blinks, confused. Well, he supposed it wasn't totally unusual for a hospital to loan a van. He shrugs, unsure, then picks up the box again with trembling limbs. Only a few more meters to go.

The blond man chugs his soda, letting the last of the liquid drizzle its way down his throat, before letting out a sigh and a burp, while simultaneously crushing the can in his massive paw of a hand. He wipes his mouth dry on his arm, “If only that Kohaku chick had gotten sick instead of Ruri. I would've been number one in the bodybuilding championship for sure!”

“Aw, yeah!” The scrappy man next to him says in a grimmie voice. Senku finds it entirely unpleasant, unable to help himself but listen in on their talk. “What did she get sick with anyways?”

“Pneumonia, I think,” the blond replies. He crams a few more chips into his mouth before tossing his crushed can into a far away trash bin. It actually manages to go in despite the light breeze. “I'm hoping she'll get sick too, or call out to stay home with her sister,” He chuckles, “Then again, if I smuggle her some antibiotics, perhaps they'll be so overtaken with joy that they'll both want to be my women.”

“Either way, it's still a win for the great Magma!”

“Who the hell names their kid Magma?” Senku asks, barely coming out between his labored breaths. He stops in front of the two men, and lets the box drop down onto the ground again. Instead he favors gripping his knees with his head dipped down while he catches air. “Also, smuggling antibiotics without a prescription is illegal.”

The man supposedly called Magma sputters, “It's just a nickname! Haven't you ever heard of wrestlers having a stage name, dumbass?” He asks, and if Senku could lift his head then, he'd see his cheeks turning red from mild embarrassment.

Magma jumps off the truck and moves to put his hands on his hips, eyeing up the boy in front of him. “What a wimp,” he glances down at the crate and raises an eyebrow. “What's that?”

Senku takes a moment to collect himself, before he chuckles and straightens himself out. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling it out from the confines of its messy bun. Tugging the lapels of his lab coat, he grins, and Magma grimaces at the look of it. “It's-” he was about to get smug and shove his science down this idiot jock's throat, but remembered the look Xeno gave him. He easily let the lie slip past his lips, turning his eyes off to the side, “Err...for the blood drive.”

Magma looks surprised then, and exchanges a glance with his companion behind him, before turning back, “You're the blood guy?” He asks.

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment, both confused but Senku especially as he nods, before Magma just shrugged nonchalantly and picked up the case as if it were made of paper mache, “They'll just send any ‘ol twig these days. I can't stand these smart ass types,” he grumbles, before stepping back up onto the van. Magma sets the box down onto a small counter, before rapping his knuckles along the vans metallic wall. “Let's go! Let's haul ass, Mantle. This guy is gonna make us late!”

Mantle gives Senku a creepy-ass grin as he pulls the back doors closed, before the van takes off out of the parking lot.

Senku sighs and twists around to crack his back. It lets out several audible pops, and his neck cracks especially loudly. He really needs to stop pushing his body to the limit with physical labor.

Thank fuck that's over with.

His eyes glance over to the side on instinct. Through the window, the blinds were peeled back by a gloved finger, and Senku could see an obvious pair of eyes on him. Honey-brown, with purple lips curling around the length of a cigarette. Then all at once he replaces the blinds, disappearing back into the dark room.

Senku rolls his eyes, and takes out his phone to text Xeno: Your pervert boyfriend needs to get a hobby.

Senku then turns around and keeps rubbing at the pains in his neck, as he walks back to the campus main entrance where his bike is chained up to the rack. It's lime green, his favorite color, with a basket in the front for his things. He drops his backpack into it haphazardly, before hopping on and making the short journey back to Xeno's home. He needs to hurry, if he wants to be ready in time for his dinner date with his friends.

—

“Cheers, to Senku!”

“To Senku!”

“To science.”

The three friends tap their glasses of juice together, creating a clinking sound, before they each take a drink. Senku and Yuzuriha take pleasant sips, while Taiju chugs half the drink in one breath. His oafish friend smacks his glass back down onto the wooden table, foam on his upper lip and a happy ‘ahh!’ of approval. The cider here was absolutely delicious. Iced, with a nice blend of bubbles, sweetness and tart flavors. Senku almost wishes it were the alcoholic blend instead, but this wasn't bad at all.

They each wish for a good meal, before picking up their chopsticks and begin eating their noodles together. Senku keeps the utensils in one hand and a soup spoon in the other. He loves to slurp up the noodles and wash it down with the salty broth in equal ratio. It's the one food he really eats with gusto that doesn't make him feel uncomfortably full or sick. Often particularly sensitive to the qualities of food, or he just won't eat hardly at all.

The Pho Noodles and Co. Shop is one of their favorite hangouts, mainly because it doesn't interfere with Senku's sensitivity issues. The lighting is mellow and the place is never really crowded except on holidays. There's a couple TV's on the walls on gentle volume, playing sports like boxing or the news or cartoons. From their experience, the dingier the establishment, the better the food.

“So, how are things going in the lab, Senku?” Yuzuriha asks.

Senku just shrugs, and swallows down a mouth full of noodles, “Good, actually. It's a lot of maintenance, but I'm learning a lot. The studies have all been particularly interesting.”

“Awesome! Anything cool in particular?” Taiju asks.

Senku’s breath hitches when he suddenly remembers the dead mouse. Covered in mushrooms and foam smearing the glass from its gnawing teeth. The hairs on his arms prickle, and a chill shudders through his spine. He goes quiet for a moment or two, lost in thought. Something about this whole Cordyceps endeavor didn't sit right with him, but why, he wasn't entirely sure.

“Senku?”

“Ah, yeah,” he says, taking a breath and forcing himself to sit up taller in the booth. The kind faces of his friends across from him take the forefront of his thoughts, and he feels grounded again in reality. “We're hoping to develop medicines. Luna and the others are in Brazil sending us samples to test on. It's a slow process, but still exciting, I think. We may make something topical that could really help with fungal infections, or reduce inflammation of the skin.”

“Who's Luna?” Taiju asks cluelessly.

“-and Shishio Tsukasa, our Strongest Primate Highschooler, wins with another total knockout!” The TV on the far walls roars, distracting Senku's eyes temporarily.

Yuzuriha leans in to whisper to Taiju, “Luna is Senku's new girlfriend.”

“Say what?!” Taiju all but shrieks, smacking his hands down onto the table and making the two jump in their seats, startled. Senku turns his eyes back onto his friend and frowns. Taiju just leans across the table, looking absolutely gobsmacked, “You have a girlfriend, Senku?! Since when?!”

“Since last month, when Carlos and Brody and the others left the country together. Didn't you listen to me when I was on the livestream? I said, ‘and my new partner, Luna,’ though I suppose that got overlooked considering the circumstances,” Senku sighs, always forgetting he has to be especially specific with Taiju.

“Wow, really? I just thought you meant partner like, research partner. To be honest, I figured you would have gone with them, all things considered.”

“Xeno wouldn't allow it. I'm not old enough, or whatever. But Luna is twenty, and the team needed a field medic, so she decided to take on the opportunity.” He sighs then and rubs at his brow like he's agitated. “I just said yes to her being my girlfriend on a whim really, since she was leaving, but I doubt it'll develop into anything serious,” he shrugs, unaffected.

The looks his friends give him are complicated.
“Twenty? You're with a twenty year old?” Yuzuriha asks in mild shock. She looks concerned, or perhaps mad? He's really not good with faces. Or emotions.

“Yeah?”

“Dude…” Taiju is wincing. Why?

“What?” Senku asks, lowering his soup spoon back into his half eaten pho.

The couple in front of him exchange glances, before Yuzuriha turns back to look at him with a forced smile. “I-it's nothing,” she says before Taiju has time to interject. She squeezes him on the knee, though Senku can't see, making him flush a bit and the words die on his tongue. “I doubt we have anything to worry about, knowing you.”

“Okay…?” He says, even more confused. He suddenly doesn't feel like talking about his lab or science anymore. Given the awkward atmosphere he's almost sure is brewing around them. Not to mention his mind routinely thinking about infectious mushrooms growing out of his skin like hives. He has to actively remind himself not to just spend the whole evening rambling about his science fixations and invest an interest in his friends' lives as well. “So uh… How are things with you two?”

Taiju decides to speak first, a softer smile gracing his tanned face, “Finals are coming up soon. I'm not ready,” he laughs, carefree. “I just need to pass with average grades. I'm content to just go to community College, but lately I've also been curious about farm work. My grandma and I are thinking of plowing the fields and starting up some crops.”

Senku chuckles and shakes his head, “That sounds like you,” he says, and flicks his straw around his drink to circle the circumference of the glass.

“I still haven't heard back from that fashion school I applied for yet,” Yuzuriha said with some disappointment in her tone. Then her round brown eyes lit up in excitement as she remembered something, “Oh, but we did have an exciting new project last week! We were supposed to design and make an article of clothing that best suited our friend's personal style. The point was to learn how to take commissions and get familiar with the styles of our clientele, but I wanted this to be a surprise.”

Yuzuriha then leans over to the side to reach down into the large bag she brought with her. Senku can guess that she designed that as well, along with her entire wardrobe, though he's absolutely shit at recognizing anything stylish. He just didn't have the brain space for any arts and crafts, and often needed help putting outfits together. Otherwise, he's ten billion percent guaranteed to pick out clothes for comfort and practicality above all else.

She then pulls out a long tan coat, and holds it up for him to see. “Ta-da~! So, what do you think?” She asks, giving him a warm smile. Senku's eyes flicker back and forth. It was practical, and stylish all at once. The color is good but not overwhelming, she was right to pick something earthy. The inside is lined with a rich burgundy color like red wine, and the collar is popped for an added flare. There's a belt that goes across the front so he can tie it closed instead of buttons- a smart choice. It would feel similar to his lab coats. What especially makes his heart leap in excitement is the red ‘E=mc²’ insignia across the chest on the right. It was seriously so cool!

She hands it over, and Senku accepts it gratefully. His fingers brush along the stylish letters, and despite himself, a massive, happy grin graces his features, making his eyes shimmer in the dim lighting of the restaurant.

Then Taiju, being the sneaky little rat he was, lifts a polaroid camera out of nowhere and snaps a picture of him at his most vulnerable moment. Senku blinks the flashing spots out of his eyes, and sputters, “H-hey!”

Taiju laughs and hands the camera over to Yuzuriha, who takes the photograph out and waves it a bit in the air to help it develop. “Sorry, Senku,” she says, “but we needed a photograph as proof that you're satisfied with the product.”

“Yeah, and no offense, but you suck at taking pictures,” Taiju laughs.

Senku sighs like he's upset, but he's not, really, and he can't help but chuckle at that. Where was the lie? He could never force himself to smile, it never looked right on camera, and Byakuya was the classic ‘I need a billion and one pictures’ kind of dad. “You guys are the worst,” he says, smiling.

“If you don't like it, I'll destroy the photograph. I don't want to make you uncomfortable,” she said.

Senku shakes his head, “It's alright. Just don't go posting it online and we're fine.”

Taiju leans over to look at the photograph and beams happily, “That looks perfect! Good thing you have such an expressive face, Senku. That's an A+ for sure!”

“You do look really happy and handsome,” Yuzuriha agrees, practically glowing with pride as a fashion designer.

Senku feels his heart swelling, like a bottle of pop that's been shaken up, ready to explode. He shoves it down with logic, a natural defense mechanism to maintain his aloof facade, but deep down, underneath his blunt exterior, he truly does feel a deep sense of love for the two in front of him now. His smile is twitching, as he tries to force it down, but he could never conquer the canvas that was his face into anything else but his true heart. “I accept this gift gratefully,” he says, and places the cloak onto the table away from their food. “This is just the thing I needed. You know I don't keep warm.”

His friends just smile at him in understanding. They don't expect an outpouring of thanks and gratitude. They just go back to eating, and Senku is relieved that they know each other well enough to leave these things unsaid.

He was about to do the same, picking up his spoon, only for all of the TV's to suddenly change into the same channel. There's a busty blond woman on each of the screens, standing on top of a news van like some action shot of a superhero. Her hair is whipping back wildly behind her, as she grips onto the rail guard to keep herself from flying off, “People of Japan! This is an issue of national emergency! I repeat! A national emergency!”

They each look up, the entire restaurant becoming deadly silent, as they all tune in to watch. An employee in the back sets down a colander of noodles in favor of picking up a remote to turn the volume up.

“We come to you live from the Stone Hospital! I am fleeing for my life, as the building has become overrun with a mob of mutated corpses!”

“Wh-what?” Senku says, dropping his spoon back into the uneaten broth with a splash. Suddenly it all becomes clear, within one perfect moment of clarity. That nagging feeling he's been having all day finally surfaces, and he'd laugh at the sheer irony of it all if he wasn't so truly, utterly horrified. He's shaking, and Taiju glances back at him with worry.

“Senku?”

Senku covers his mouth with a hand, tipping his head down, downcasting his eyes in shadow. A wisp of hair falls free from his hair spikes, to hang low in his face.

“This is no mere zombie outbreak! This is a pandemic of epic proportions! I have seen the people for myself. They've become infected with some type of heavily mutated fungus! What started off as a few unfortunate blood transfusions has spiraled into an airborne sickness! Thankfully, due to a few brave young men involved in the delivery, we know who is responsible! Asagiri Gen, please take over, as I fear I may be in danger for my life!” She cries, tears streaming down her face as she moves to get down from the roof. There's a sound of intense snarling and a stampede of footfall before the scene cuts to the young man.

“Thank you so much, miss Minami-chan, we won't forget your sacrifice,” the man says in an aloof tone of voice. This new person has black hair, and is wearing a black suit with a purple bow tie. The background is ambiguous, and most likely a green screen. “People of Japan, today we have been sabotaged, by no one other than the elusive scientist, Ishigami Senku!” He declares, and points to the screen where a snapshot of Senku appears. It was from earlier that day, because he was still wearing his lab coat then, and it just so happens to be one of his more evil looking grins. He knows exactly where the photograph came from because of his side profile- it was the campus police building.

Stanley Snyder had done a perfect job in making him look as maniacal as possible. Who better than a man once involved in secret military ops? He let himself be seen, just to taunt him.

Many eyes turn on him then, and the way Senku is tenting his fingers together and scowling makes him look all the more suspicious. He's no good with faces, but he can at least distinguish glares of hatred and contempt. Taiju slides out of the booth and moves in next to Senku, shielding him away from prying eyes protectively with his much larger body. He moves to put an arm around his shoulders, and another arm leaning over the table.

Senku moves his head down towards Taiju's shoulder, and he grits his teeth hard enough to make the mastiff muscles in his jaw ache horribly. In the privacy of his friend's body-shield, he allows all the emotions to flitter across his face.

Xeno betrayed him. To what end, he's not entirely sure, but he could hypothesize he's seeking the end of the world. He should have seen it coming, but like an incomplete puzzle, he couldn't have seen the bigger picture until the very end. Sometimes science was like that, where the true answer all along was too obvious to see clearly; how could he miss such a massive oversight?

That phone call prior must have been Snyder; a convenient excuse for Senku to leave the lab. Xeno must have been busy clearing away any incriminating evidence against him. He could have easily swapped the Cordyceps mouse with contaminated blood bags from the blood drive. How difficult would it be for someone like Snyder to take out the real blood drive people? That box had been suspiciously heavy, of course it couldn't be as heavy as mushrooms or even a dense case, it was full of blood!

That's why Xeno tempted him with that deal to see the sample. He knew Senku wouldn't risk getting into trouble again, or contaminating himself. He wouldn't have investigated like he usually would have.

Someone taught him how to manipulate using psychology. Was it the TV spokesman making grandiose claims against him? He recognizes this man. Asagiri Gen, a renowned showman in magic tricks and a side passion for psychology. He's definitely been paid off, and Xeno's wealth from NASA knows no end.

“Damn it… How could I… How could I be so…” Senku mutters, the emotions tight in his throat.

Perhaps it wasn't that he couldn't see, but that he didn't want to see the truth.

The man on TV goes on like this for quite a while, showing the pictures of mushrooms in the lab, the slides, the prints, and even more shockingly, the dead bodies of students from the real blood drive.

"My good people, if you so happen to come across this man, do not hesitate to call the authorities!"

The restaurant is now a collection of muttered whispers and scared voices instead of the clinking of silverware and the laughter of friends and family. A few people are picking up their phones, most definitely looking to call the police.

When Taiju notices this, his eyes light up with an idea, and he gets up suddenly. Senku looks up at him, confused, his mind growing hazy, only for his friend to point an accusing finger at him. “You!” He shouts, loud enough for everyone to hear. “How could you do this?! I thought you were our friend!” Senku yelps as he's suddenly scooped up out of his seat, and he has just enough time and sense to pluck up his new treasure with his fingertips, before he's thrown over Taiju's shoulder. Taiju moves towards the door, with Yuzuriha trailing behind with her bag. “Don't worry, folks! I'll see to it that he faces justice!”

Ah... so that was his plan. Who was going to stop a big guy like Taiju? No one follows them as they step back out into the cold of night.

They round the corner, stepping into the darkness of an alleyway and hiding behind the restaurant's dumpster. Taiju puts Senku back down onto the ground, only for him to get shoved roughly against the dirty wall. His friend is staring at him sternly; one of those rare serious looks of his.

“T-Taiju!” Yuzuriha squeaks.

“Senku, be honest with me,” he says. They really don't have time for this - there's a mob forming outside and cars are already beginning to clog the streets - but it couldn't be helped. “...Did you do it?”

They're all silent for a few tense moments, staring at each other underneath the pale light of the waxing moon contrasted with the light of a nearby street lamp. A bead of sweat runs down Senku's temple.

“...Yeah, I did,” he says, and Taiju takes a shuddering breath through his nose. Yuzuriha whimpers, and Senku can see tears building up in her eyes. “...But I was framed. I… I didn't know, didn't want to know… I never killed anyone on purpose,” he tries to say.

“...Okay.” Taiju says after some thought, and releases him from the wall. The trust they share, even now, was unparalleled.

“I promise, I'll explain everything later until we're blue in the face,” Senku promises, and he moves to pull on the new coat. It fits him perfectly, still a little stiff otherwise until he had adequate time to break it in, and he ties it closed in a rather unconventional way: As a large bow in the front, a little off to the side. “But for now, we need to get out of here, before the whole town panics.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Taiju asks, glancing back towards the street where people are running and wailing.

“Isn't it obvious?” Senku asks, and moves back out into the open fearlessly. He walks back over to the lamp post where both Senku's and Taiju's bikes are locked up together, one green and one a much larger red. “We'll head back to Dr. Xeno's mansion.”

It's risky, no doubt, but there's nowhere else Senku can think of to go besides the duplex he shares with Byakuya. Getting a head start is crucial in these types of scenarios, and Xeno has much better supplies. He just hopes Xeno isn't there already, otherwise…

He shakes his head. He thinks too much, he'll just have to figure that out along the way.

Chapter Text

Gen

Asagiri Gen only lives by one mantra: To live for himself, selfishly, and without morality no matter the cost. Even at the expense of the entire world, he will stop at nothing to get his way.

The last thing Gen expected to see when he stepped out of his bathroom was a buff blonde girl, her nerdy sidekick in a dorky headband, and literal fucking Ishigami Senku himself, passed out and bleeding along his patterned carpet.

It’s a lot to process all at once. The situation quickly becomes awkward, and he knows he has to act quickly. First impressions mean everything in these situations. He tosses his book on magic tricks aside and is quick to hold his hands up once he notices the blonde reaching for her daggers.

“Now, now.. Let’s not be too hasty-“ his words end on a high pitched squeak when she charges forward, and is at his throat with her daggers in a cross shape. Gen can feel the cold metal pressing against either side of his neck, threatening to cut him, or sever his head.

“We don’t want any trouble,” she tries to say, and Gen bristles.

Whoever this girl was, she may have a pretty sweet body underneath all that gear she wears, but she was definitely not cute!

“S-Scary!!”

He takes a hasty step back, feeling his back colliding with the bathroom door.

“We just got caught up in the mob of the undead outside, this was the only shelter we could find. Please, let us stay here until the crowd disperses. Any food, water, and shelter you’re willing to share with us would be greatly appreciated. We’ll leave as soon as it’s over,” her eyes soften just a tad then, “The Sorcerer’s Society does not forget any acts of kindness.”

The Sorcerer’s Society? Gen’s ears perk up a bit, and his mentality shifts. He realizes several key components to this endeavor at the same time: One, due to the explosion he heard in the distance, the two survivalists were obviously running away from some type of conflict. No self respecting survivor would ever dare utter a peep out here in the heart of the city. Two, they managed to capture Ishigami Senku as a hostage. In this case, the details don’t matter. And three, if these two are from the Sorcerer’s Society, they intend to bring him back alive. Gen has to fight back the devilish grin that threatens to spread across his lips then. While the Society was a force to be reckoned with, no doubt- they held their fair share of talented warriors within the clan- their reputations proceeded them as ridiculously naive.

These two are hiding from enemies, and not just the Cordyceps. That’s why the girl is trying so hard to be intimidating. She knows she’s at a disadvantage. Gen pushes the blades away from his neck, and she easily lets him.

“Please, there's no need for violence,” Gen says, and takes several steps to the side and offers her a slight bow. He draws his sleeves together in front of him, smiling wryly, “Why don't we start over, shall we? My name is Asagiri Gen. Magician, practicing psychologist- please, just call me your everyday Mentalist.”

The boy on his knees by the scientist perks up at this, surprised, “Wait, Asagiri.. Gen?” He questions, then gasps, before pointing an accusing finger at the Mentalist, “You, you're that guy from the broadcast!”

“Ding-ding-ding! What about it?”

“I didn't recognize you with that new hairdo,” Chrome scoffs and stands up, straightening out his headband. He crosses his arms over his chest in a huff, getting smug, “Don't fall for any of this guy's tricks, Kohaku. He's just a con artist.”

The girl called Kohaku glares at him suspiciously, and raises her weapons again in a fight stance. Gen is convinced that this girl is actively looking for a fight with him. How utterly utal-bray!

Gen peers over her shoulder to glance back down at the scientist. Clearly, he has had a very rough, difficult life ever since that day. He's beaten, scrawny and starving, dirty. By rights alone, he should be dead, and yet somehow his misgivings have led him here right to him. A pang akin to guilt strikes him in his chest, but he's quick to justify it.

“...That man with you, on the floor,” he says slowly, and each of them turns to look back at the pale man, who's panting and breaking out in a cold sweat. “Ishigami Senku, right? He's dying, I can tell,” he covers his mouth with a deft sleeve, moving to stand beside Kohaku in a friendly gesture, “I can help him. I have antibiotics. Penicillin. The good stuff.”

Kohaku turns her head sharply, eyes blown open wide.

Jackpot.

“You.. You do?” She bites her lip. “...Prove it.”

Gen just smiles, and slides past her in the narrow space with all the grace of a black cat. He reaches underneath his folding bed, crouching down, and pulls out a small wooden chest full of oddities and trinkets. A key slides out from the depths of his sleeve, and he unlocks the box, revealing a leather pouch full of syringes. He only has a few left, enough to heal one person from a nasty infection.

Kohaku's eyes tremble at the sight of the case, her body becoming rigid and her mind growing feral. In a moment of haste, she tries to snatch the thing, but somehow the Mentalist is quicker. He hides it within the depths of his purple cloak, “I have one condition, however,” he says, “Once he heals, I want you to take me with you.”

The two look surprised by this request, and they exchange looks.

“Why?” Chrome asks suspiciously.

“I have simply grown weary of my life here in the city,” his tone takes on a sing-song falsetto, “I've been out here, all on my lonesome, running low on supplies and growing weak. Trapped here inside my house with nothing but the clothes on my back. But with you two strong warriors, I might actually stand a chance on the outside!”

“Well, we are pretty strong,” Chrome chuckles, looking smug and rubbing a finger beneath his nose.

Kohaku doesn't look convinced. If anything, his light and feathery words made her all the more suspicious. Gen had a feeling she was the type that was difficult to manipulate, but easy to predict.

“I'm not sure I can trust you,” she says, and moves to put her daggers away. They slide back into their sheath with an audible scrapping of metal and leather. “So let's negotiate a deal. I'll ask my father to let you join the Society, but in exchange, I want you to help us find more of that penicillin. Or at least, antibiotics in general. I must warn you though, we don't tolerate slackers.”

Gen shakes his head, “I'm not looking to join the Society. Hard work is not my style,” he denies. He would much rather laze about with a personal harem of cute girls and an ice cold soda than spend his days doing grunt work, but he doesn't say that out loud.

“Then what do you want?” Chrome asks.

“Why, supplies of course!” He says enthusiastically, getting a gleam in his eye, “What I want more than anything is a generator. Electricity, a new refrigerator, devices, Drago, anything we can find!”

Kohaku gives him a deadpan look.

“So then, do we have a deal?”

“And what is the deal here, exactly?”

“Penicillin, in exchange for any supplies we may happen across on our journey, including a generator. Or at the very least, an ice cold bottle of cola,” he says, and waves a dismissive hand at Kohaku's look, “Now, now, that's definitely fair. Don't forget, we're not in the old world anymore. Medicine like this doesn't come cheap.”

“I'm aware,” she says curtly, and glances back at Senku. “...Alright,” she turns back to him, holding out her gloved hand, “It's a deal.”

They shake, while Gen smirks to himself. Kohaku is glaring at him with suspicion, but at this point he really doesn't care what she thinks. In his mind, he's already won.

With a price on his head like Ishigami Senku's, I could buy a hundred shots of penicillin, and then some!

“You've got yourself a deal,” he agrees, and hands Kohaku the pouch of shots. She accepts it, her hand trembling slightly as she focuses on the syringes with intensity. Chrome comes over and places a hand onto her shoulder, and they exchange knowing glances. Reluctantly, she makes her way back over to Senku, and crouches down on one knee before him. Using an antiseptic wipe, she cleans a spot along his arm, and with a sharp eye, she injects him with the serum. Chrome quickly looks away, clearly a little squeamish around needles. When that's finished, she tapes a piece of gauze to the small wound, and sits back on her knees with a dejected sigh to her lips.

-

Gen had the scientist placed on the futon along the wall, covered in a thick quilted blanket and his head nestled along a colorful throw pillow. With the way he mutters to himself in his sleep, biting at his lip and tossing and turning every now and then, it was clear he was having nightmares. Of what exactly, the others couldn't know for sure, but no one blamed him in his slightest despite his supposed crimes.

“Taiju…” he whimpers, and a whine escapes him then. Like he's scared, or about to cry. The others watch him from the table on the other side of the room, worry written in their eyes and expressions.

“Is it really alright to leave that stick in his belly?” Chrome asks Kohaku sitting beside him. The Mentalist can feel her eyes along his backside as he moves about the space of his small kitchen.

“Unfortunately, we don't really have a choice. If I try to pull it out, even as precisely as possible, he could still bleed out. If it's in his stomach, he'd leech out stomach acid. It would be a very slow, painful death,” she said, shaking her head and resting her cheek against an enclosed fist. “The best we can do is wait to bring him back to base camp, and take him to see the clan doctor,” she said.

“Will he make it until then?”

No one answers the question, which hangs heavy in the air. Gen likes to keep himself occupied by grabbing the different ingredients needed to make them each a cup of noodles. When the teapot whistles from the gas stove, he turns off the heat and pours water into each container. After placing two in front of his guests with disposable chopsticks, he takes a seat across from them with an exasperated sigh.

He looks around the home he has grown intimate with for over several years now. The place is small, and narrow, but quaint. One might call it tacky, but Gen has grown fond of his little knick knacks, the peeling flower wallpaper, the ugly carpet and its stains. There's a bookshelf above his bed on the opposite side of the trailer, filled with well loved books on magic, and old, forgotten textbooks on psychology from college that felt like a lifetime ago.

Gen sighs tiredly and rests his cheek along his palm, watching Chrome drool over the ramen cup. He's rubbing his hands together, and licking his lips like some cartoon, before picking up the chopsticks and pulling them apart with a snap.

“Yes! Perfect try!” He says, admiring his symmetrical chopsticks, before scooping up a bite of noodles and slurping them down enthusiastically. He swallows loudly and sighs happily, “So bad~ Nothing beats instant cup noodles!”

“I'm afraid that's all I really have for a meal. Sometimes I mix it with cheese sauce, to keep things interesting,” Gen just watches the steam rising from his cup without interest.

Kohaku is watching Chrome eat with her eagle eye, looking like she was ready to pounce on him at any second if he showed any sign of choking, or poisoning of any sort. When he doesn't keel over, already halfway through his food, she finally feels comfortable enough to pick up her own chopsticks to pull them apart.

“Oo, uneven. That's a sign of bad luck,” Chrome says around the rim of his cup.

She sticks her tongue out at him and takes a bite. Her pupils blow wide and she's quick to gulp hers down with similar gusto.

Gen feels the corners of his lips pull upwards despite himself, “Good?”

After a moment of gulping, she sets her cup down with a hearty sigh, and clears her throat, “It's tolerable.”

“You can take that stuff off, you know,” Gen remarks, gesturing to all of her gear with a wave of his finger. She glances down at herself, “Those gloves, and that backpack and jacket, I can't imagine that's comfortable for such a wild thing like you.”

She flushes at the nickname, despite the warm light from the dim, overhead lamp. Clearly she doesn't appreciate it, from the way she's pouting at him angrily, like a fiesty cat, “Don't call me some wild thing, I just like to be prepared, that's all.”

“Relax, Kohaku, I doubt a big gorilla ape like you has anything to worry about,” Chrome remarks, and Kohaku shoves him on the shoulder.

“Don't call me that either! You know I hate that!” She snaps, raising her fist like she wanted to punch him over the crown of his head.

The two stare at her incredulously, and she looks the other way to avoid their gaze. She reaches up to squeeze at the arm straps to her pack for comfort, “I'm the kind of woman that's prepared for any situation, because I look after myself. In an emergency, I can't afford to waste time scrambling to put everything back on.”

Gen waves a dismissive hand her way, “Suit yourself. I'm not exactly one to criticize someone just for the way they dress,” he said, gesturing to his own silk shirt and robe.

“Aren't you gonna’ eat?” Chrome asks.

“Maybe in a bit,” he says with a shake of his head.

The Mentalist can't help himself but reach down to rub a delicate hand along the flat plane of his stomach. If they looked at him more closely, they could probably see the eye-bags, along with his forced smile, gracing his pale exterior. His movements are discreet, for there was much more than cards and flowers he hid beneath his oversized cloak. Most in particular his frail, if not entirely effeminate body.

The truth was, this opportunity couldn't have come at a better time. Gen's health was in rapid decline, for he hardly ever left the trailer except to tend to his flowers. Subsisting off of processed foods, with no sunlight or exercise could only last for so long.

Gen tents his fingers together beneath his chin, lost in thought.

Yes, the spoils earned from the broadcast thanks to Dr. Xeno had been immense. It had been a good fucking three years of isolation. But as such, nothing could last forever. His constant fainting and IBS flare ups were a testament to that. Not to mention his hair turning white from malnutrition.

A new generator could fix that. Money, supplies - anything to keep this lifestyle going.

And Senku was going to bring that luxury right to him.

-

When darkness consumed the landscape, the Mentalist had the survivors put up for bed along the floor. He had a couple of spare sleeping bags, and he watched the two nestle up together along the floor. They do not want for personal space, as Chrome is sprawled out haphazardly along the broad shoulder of the blonde, who still refuses to remove any of her gear from her personal. They look so content, Gen thinks, as he watches them from his own bed, with his chin propped up along a hand. He wonders, vaguely, what it must be like to spend the last three years amongst the wilds with a companion like that.

His eyes wander back over to Senku, barely able to make out his silhouette in the dark. He can hear the man muttering, or perhaps crying? From vicious nightmares.

Gen decidedly rolls over, snuggling down into his cold satin sheets and pillow.

Whatever the ex-scientist was envisioning, it was important that he finished processing that information. He's come to realize then, that you could only spend so long running away before your mind throws you right back in your place.

-

Senku

Chaos is quick to descend, as the three teens take their bikes to the streets, with Senku taking the lead on his own bike, and Taiju and Yuzuriha trailing from behind. His best friend has the girl sitting across his knees, with her arms wrapped around his neck. He has enough strength in his legs to carry them both with ease. While Senku has to double down on his efforts, panting with a sweat breaking out along his forehead, to prevent the athlete from overtaking the lead.

The town around them was giving way to panic. People everywhere were running around, many jumping out of cars creating pile up collisions and roadblocks inside the roadways. They raced past their bikes with reckless abandon. Many of the houses were being locked and boarded up, while rioters pushed their way into public spaces to loot goods and start up fires. Within minutes, the town was alight in flames.

Senku can hear the sirens then, of police officials, firefighters and EMT's, but the sound fades away behind them as Senku gestures with a wave of his hand behind him for Taiju to follow him into one of the backroads. His best friend nods silently behind him, before they take the off-road dirt trail leading up a steep hill. The cover of trees and darkness conceal them from sight, as they make their way up to the mansion on the top of the hill. Guided by their singular headlights and Senku's labored breath.

The mansion of the elder scientist and his partner looks more akin to a Gothic styled church than a house, with its pointed black gate, the elongated stained glass windows and black stonework.

Senku punches in the code, and the electronic gate slides open. They abandon their bikes in the withering garden beds, before Senku is leading them down a long hallway and into the main foyer.

It's hard for his friends not to get distracted by the tall pointed arches and elaborate rows of columns and paintings. Senku ignores all of it, making a beeline for the spiral staircase leading up to the main bedrooms.

“You've been living here all this time?” Taiju asks in awe, as he guides Yuzuriha by the small of her back to reach the base of the stairs.

“Y-Yeah,” Senku pants from halfway up the stairs. “I wasn't kidding when I said Dr. Xeno and Stanley are like, rich-rich. Guess that's what happens when you're a NASA specialist and your boyfriend is a prodigy war hero,” he says, chuckling without humor. They stride down the long corridor together, making their way to the master bedroom at the end of the hall, “Keep your wits about you both, ‘Kay? I don't trust Xeno as far as I can throw him.”

The friends just nod, their expressions turning serious, as they look around with vigilant eyes. They don't understand what's going on, but frankly, they don't have to. They trust Senku with their lives.

It's been six months since Senku moved in with the elder scientist. Originally, he had the option of staying in his father's duplex while the astronaut was on his mission at the ISS. Xeno, however, was quick to offer the boy a room, claiming it was a good opportunity for Senku to learn advanced science with a professional first hand. Like the naive kid he was, he snapped up the opportunity without question.

Senku kicks the bedroom door open. His hunch had been correct, no one's home.

He makes his way over to the massive king sized bed, and reaches underneath to pull out several massive black-leather briefcases. He drops them onto the bed with a soft bounce, undoing their latches with loud clicking sounds, and letting them swing open from their hinges. Yuzuriha gasps and covers her mouth in surprise at what she sees - three large, military grade machine guns, with ammo cartridges and the works.

“Are- Are those real?” She squeaks.

“Oh yeah, they're definitely real. These things have enough kickback power to riffle out twenty rounds per second. You could empty a magazine in less than five seconds,” he laughed, getting an evil glint in his eye then.

“Hey, Senku, we're not really going to use these, are we?” Taiju asks in alarm, stepping forwards.

Senku turns back to smile at him sweetly, “No, of course not,” he assures him, “We'll just carry these around for show, in case anyone decides to mess with us. Machine guns are actually a bitch to maintain and clean, and they overheat easily. Nothing beats practically, which is why we'll be carrying these too,” he said, opening a panel in the floorboards after rolling up the fur rug to reach in and pull out a large pack full of standard handheld, semi-automatic pistols. There's three, one for each of them, with a case full of magazines.

It takes time getting the guns put together. After realizing how heavy they are, Senku decides that they only need two of the machine guns. One to carry on their person, and another to bury in the woods for future use. He's smart but, it's not like he's ever had to put together a whole gun of this magnitude before. He winces and sucks on his fingertips as the gun clipped his hand, locking the mechanism together in place.

They change out of their casual outdoor wear for more practical, sturdy clothing. Taiju flushes and turns around so Yuziriha could slip out of her skirt to change into some cargo pants and a long utility jacket. The boys put on similar attire, lacing up sturdy boots and tugging on some sleeveless biker gloves.

Senku leaves the bedroom to go and find them some gas masks from the lab. “We don't know what could be airborne,” he claims, and helps Taiju put his on around his head, tightening the strap in the back with his fingers lingering to tangle in his hair. “I tried to find us some bulletproof vests, but they're ridiculously heavy. The good ones made of carbon fiber are all missing. In fact, everything in Stan's collection is either locked up or gone.”

'They must all be on their persons, or with the field team,' he thinks regretfully.

Senku tries to pick up the heavy gun from its strap, but Taiju easily scoops it up, carrying each one on opposite shoulders in a crossing shape, with twin nozzles pointing up towards the sky on either side. “Allow me,” he says.

“We're not done yet. We need to pack extra clothes. Provisions like food, water and sleeping gear. Medical supplies, and tinder like matches, gasoline, and-” Senku frets, only to jump in place when Taiju drops a heavy hand onto his shoulder, squeezing tightly.

Senku gulps, blushing and looking up at the taller.

“Just leave the heavy lifting to me. I can handle it,” he says with a sense of finality.

Senku watches him wordlessly for a moment, seeking out the glimmer in his brown eyes beneath the heavy eyeshield. His heart flutters with something he couldn't name with words, and he turns away to keep packing.

Taiju slides the massive pack onto his back, while Senku and Yuzuriha pick up their own, much smaller supply bags. They each have a pistol hidden inside their jackets, with spare magazines clipped to their belts.

Senku catches a glimpse of himself in the standing mirror as he moves to walk out the bedroom. He really does look like a survivalist, like someone out of a video game. It might have felt cool, if reality wasn't so heavy in his heart right now.

They leave the mansion and pick up their bikes. Senku can barely get his up off the ground; he's still sore from Xeno's impromptu errand from earlier. Taiku pushes the bike down back into the dirt, making him raise a pointed brow.

“Taiju?”

The brute shakes his head and jerks a thumb back over to his much larger bike, “Allow me. I have enough strength to carry all of us.”

“I'm more worried about the bike than I am about you,” Senku says, flabbergasted.

“Nothing a little duct tape and WD40 can't fix!” Taiju declares, and laughs to himself. Yuzuriha sighs behind him with a smile gracing her lips, and Senku has to actively suppress his own from emerging - he fails.

“You're such an idiot.”

“Always.”

And that's how the three of them ended up in Taiju's lap, racing down the hill together. Senku on one knee, and Yuzuriha on the other, both clinging tightly to his shoulders.

“So, what's the plan?” Taiju can't help but ask, a little breathless.

They stop at the base of the hill, and venture deeper into the trees, somewhere inconspicuous to their radar machines. Senku takes out a small planter shovel from his pack and crouches down at the foot of a tree to start digging a hole. “That depends. Right now, we have two options,” he says, holding up two fingers for emphasis, “Either the two of you take this opportunity to run away together, or, we take the chance for all three of us to survive on our own.”

“What are you talking about? Of course we'll take the chance to-”

“Think hard about this, Taiju,” Senku insists, and takes the spare machine gun from him to bury in the dirt with its protective case. Senku seals the thing in plastic, to protect it from moisture. “If you go with me, everyone is going to associate you both as my accomplices. You'll become criminals. That is, if Xeno doesn't get to us first.”

“No way! We're no cowards, right Yuzuriha?!” Taiju exclaims, looking back at the girl for support.

She nods heartily, holding her fists up in determination, “No way! We'll help however we can!”

“Guys, I'm serious,” Senku says, trying to get through to them on just how dangerous this endeavor was.

“So are we,” Taiju says.

Senku takes a deep breath through his nose, and exhales deeply. He stamps the dirt down with his shoe, turning around to conceal the big-ass grin on his face. He places his hands against his hip, and chuckles, “Alright then, I suppose I have no choice. We'll proceed with plan A: That is, getting as far away from Xeno's range as possible.”

“Where's that?” Taiju asks, while they walk back to the dirt road.

“No idea, but I suppose a good start would be to make our way towards the hot springs,” Senku says, rubbing his chin in thought.

The two boys push on ahead, while Yuzuriha lags from behind, before stopping altogether. She's trembling, and sniffles, before several streams of tears run down her cheeks.

Taiju whips around in alarm, “Yuzuriha? What's wrong?”

“It's- It's just- my parents,” she says, and hastily drys her eyes along her arm sleeve, “I just remembered that I left them alone together back at the house. They're probably worried sick about me- my father watches the news often- and they're probably out on the streets by now,” she buries her face into her palms, “I accidentally left my phone at the restaurant.”

“Oh, crap! My grandma!” Taiju shouts, slamming his hands against either side of his head as he suddenly remembers, “She's probably looking for me too!”

They both turn to look at Senku then, and the young scientist gulps. A pang of guilt shoots through him then, for he had little to worry about what with Byakuya safe up in space.

Logically, he knows they realistically don't have time for a pit-stop. Their safest bet was to form a renegade trio and high tail it out of there as fast as humanly possible. On the other hand, he's young, and naive, and sentimentality grips his heart with icy talons like daggers. If it were Byakuya, he wouldn't hesitate for a second to go back for him, and it's his humanity that wins out. Like always. He sighs again like he's frustrated, but he's not, not in the least, and picks at his ear out of habit. “Alright. We'll move to plan.. A.2, or.. Something. Let's head back into town; we can take a shortcut if we cross over the bridge.”

The wide smiles his friends offer him is all the motivation he needs to run back into the fire.

Chapter Text

Senku

The three make it to the bridge on the outskirts of town. It curves over a long stretch of river, and Senku can hear the rushing water as they break through the treeline and approach. He's determined to avoid the town as much as possible, and Taiju doesn't mind taking the scenic route. Beyond the bridge is the public park - a wide stretch of grassland with trees and shrubs, benches and tall standing street lamps. Beyond that, the midnight town is alive with the sound of screaming, the orange glow of fires and plumes of smoke trails.

Taiju stops at the base of the bridge, overlooking cobblestone, ground cement and banisters made of dark wood. A line of trees with heavy hanging boughs shadow the bridge. There's a tall figure standing there, silhouetted in the blacks and blues of the night. Their shiny bodysuit reflects an orange rim lighting, tracing their strong form.

Whoever they are, they're blocking the way with a large black van behind them.

Senku's eyes narrow, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple. A hot and cold chill runs down his spine- a bad feeling.

“Pardon us uh.. Sir? We're kind of in a hurry to cross the bridge. Do you mind?” Taiju asks.

Senku looks around, there's no other way to cross over and get into the neighborhood, neatly lined up in rows of houses dotting the horizon. Not without taking the extremely long way around, or going back the way they came. A quick calculation tells him the journey could take a day and a half, if not longer.

The figure doesn't reply. Instead, they step forwards, and to their horror- sending a surge of adrenaline through them- they pull out a massive machine gun from their backside, aiming right at them.

Taiju clutches them both tight, enough to hurt. He turns the bike handles as the urge to flee consumes him, but he's halted by their strong voice, “Don't move, or I'll shoot you dead.”

Senku goes pale. He knows that voice. It sends him right back to the moment he moved into the Wingfield estate. Carrying boxes out of the trunk of Byakuya's ancient looking car, a tall, slender man with platinum-blond hair and purple lipstick- mouth curling around a cigarette comes up and ruffles his hair spikes. Senku had grimaced then, he doesn't like unexpected touch.

“Nice to meet you, kid,” Snyder said, taking a drag off his knotted cigarette, he blew the clouds around his head. Senku coughed and swatted the tendrils away, nearly dropping the box underneath his arm.

“Likewise,” he frowned, “Do you have to smoke that around me?”

“Keeps me cool,” he grunts, looking back at Dr. Wingfield making his way across the gravel lot. Xeno came to collect the box from him, much to the young scientist's relief.

“Senku, allow me to introduce you to Stanley Snyder. My oldest and dearest friend,” he said with a gesture of his hand. The smile he shares with the older man makes him quirk up a dark brow.

“Just friends?”

“For now,” Synder said, unusually calm. “Labels are just a tool, like anything else. Depends on how you use them, and their context.”

“Snyder here is a war hero. He's a military captain- a specialist in sniping, piloting, and special ops missions. There's nothing he can't do,” Xeno says with a gleam in his black eyes, “When he sets his sights on something, there is nothing he won't do to accomplish it.”

“Alright! I think that was the last box,” Byakuya said from behind. He closed the trunk with an audible slam, and came over to pat Senku along his back. Again, the young man shied away from the touch. “I'll be heading out here real soon. Xeno, I trust that you'll take good care of my kid over these next six months. As of now, I'm on my way to becoming an official astronaut!” He laughed.

“I'll do my best,” Xeno agreed, eyeing the boy with fondness, “I'll teach him exactly what it means to be a scientist.”

Senku is flung back to the present in an instant, as Snyder moves into the light of the lantern. He's wearing a white mask that shields his face from view, dressed down in black gear, white combat boots, and thick shoulder pads with long tassels. His preparedness is all the confirmation that Senku needs.

“What do you want, Snyder?” Senku asks, holding his hands up as he slowly steps away from the bike.

Taiju and Yuzuriha follow, letting the bike collapse against the concrete.

“To negotiate. I'll keep things simple and to the point. Senku, we want you to join our entourage,” he stands up taller, “Your reputation precedes you now as a traitor to humanity. There is no possible way you can survive now. Join us, if you wish to live. We are calling ourselves the Evolutionists- an uprising of only the most capable, the most intelligent beings worthy of life.”

“Thanks, but I'll pass. There's no way I would ever join you now,” he spat.

“Do not take my words so lightly,” he says, sliding forwards in slow, patient steps. The way his boots clack against the stone is like a clock, ticking away the seconds to almost certain death. “Xeno sees potential within you, but you are weak. You allow your fragile heart to sway your emotions. Your love for humanity will be your Achilles heel if you allow it. He taught you a valuable lesson; he's turned all of humanity against you purely for this reason, and now, he's willing to give you a second chance.”

Senku eyes the gun with fear, and his hands are beginning to tremble. His heart is screaming in defiance, but what about Taiju and Yuzuriha? He should have never brought them here. He loved them so dearly, but they were a liability. He sees that clear as day now.

“Okay.. Okay, just- just stop,” Senku says, hands outstretched, “I'll join you. Just- p-put the gun down, okay?”

Snyder stops a few paces ahead of him, tilting his head, “Good boy,” he inhales deeply, “Now, prove it.”

“Wh-what?”

“Take that gun of yours- the one in your pocket there,” he says, pointing to his new beige overcoat, “-and shoot your friends with it. Kill them both. Prove to us your loyalty.”

Taiju and Yuzuriha gasp, and Senku takes a step back, eyes wide and shaking, “You're crazy.”

“Do it, or I'll kill all three of you, right here, right now,” Snyder says, pulling back the safety lock on the massive barrel.

Senku glances back at his friends, who have moved to clutch onto one another. Taiju is standing tall, but his expression gives away his fear. Yuzuriha is whimpering and clinging to Taiju, as if any second could be her last.

What does he do? What the fuck could he possibly do?! Think!! Think, God damnit! There's gotta be a way out of this! There's-

“Senku, it's.. It's okay,” Taiju says, swallowing hard, “We tried. That's the best we can do anyways, right? We're not important, but you,” he smiles despite the situation, as if he wasn't about to die a gruesome, cruel death, “You're special. You've always-”

“Enough. Do it,” Snyder interjects.

“W-wait! Wait! You're making a big mistake here!” Senku says in a panic, panting hard, “Let Taiju and Yuzuriha join your group! Taiju is strong, he's got the best endurance I have ever seen. A-and Yuzuriha, she's got insane crafting skills! She can make textiles, ropes- things you need!”

“Oh~? Is that so?” Snyder fiddles with his headset attached to his mask for a moment, and Senku can hear the silent muttering of voices coming from inside. Xeno, no doubt. He points with the gun nozzle at Taiju, “Alright. The strong one can join. There's no shortage of labor. We could do with a loyal pair of hands,” he points to Yuzuriha next, “-but not the girl. We have no shortage of materials. Kill her.”

Taiju gasps and hugs Yuzuriha tighter to his chest, “No! I won't let you!”

“Enough. Your time's up,” he frowns, “What'll it be?”

Senku can no longer think. He takes the only action he's willing to bet everything on, and charges forward. He pushes the nozzle of the gun up into the air, resisting the struggle Snyder is returning, “Both of you! Run! Get out of here, now!”

They both take off in the opposite direction, making a break for the cover of trees. Senku knows he can't overpower Snyder, but he can at least buy them some time. Senku feels his breath knocked out of him then, as Snyder kicks him hard on the chest. He collapses onto his back, watching Snyder take a strong stance, and aim the gun. “A pity, indeed,” he says, and Senku screams ”NOOO-!!!” as the rounds are fired. He rolls over just in time to watch Yuzuriha getting pelted with bullets from her backside, and she collapses down into the dirt. She's dead before she even hits the ground. Taiju turns around, eyes wide, “Yuzuriha!!” He wails, running to her aid.

Taiju is next, his chest getting pelted with rounds of bullets, one after the other, making his body convulse with the impacts. Senku tears his nail beds open as he tries to scramble to his feet, but Snyder is stepping onto his back with a heavy boot. ”TAIJU!! PLEASE, NOO!!” he screams.

The boy stands there, panting, with steam hissing from his wounds. Blood blooms in multiple holes around his shirt, staining the fabric a deep red. He stumbles, falling to his knees before Yuzuriha's body.

Taiju looks up, and they lock eyes. Senku is slack jawed, feeling hot tears welling into the corners of his eyes.

Time slows. His friend tells him one word. One final, soul shattering word, “Live,” before he's shot in the head.

A deep hole in his forehead is formed after his brains are flung out the back of his skull. He falls backwards, and hits the ground with a thud, next to Yuzuriha.

The clouds of dirt settle around their bodies. Senku is frozen in place, paralyzed with grief. He's trembling so badly, unable to tear his gaze away, or do anything at all. He just stares, processing. The moment doesn't last, because Snyder is flipping him over onto his back, and presses the barrel right between his eyes. Senku looks up, utterly terrified.

“Goodbye, Senku,” he says. Senku squeezes his eyes shut tight. He doesn't want his last moment to be encapsulated by Stanley hovering over him, and keeps the memory of his smiling friends at the forefront of his thoughts. The trigger clicks and.. Nothing happens. Snyder looks at the gun with momentary surprise, and Senku gasps, eyes flying open.

The magazine was empty?

Something isn't right. Snyder would never miscount his bullets, ever.

Even the way his arms are growing tired holding the gun doesn't seem right. He's struggling to swap the magazine out with a fresh round. This wasn't Snyder, this was an impostor. A fake out killed his best friends. He wasn't even allowed that luxury, his anger misaligned.

“That's enough, Charlotte. We're nearly there,” a voice mutters into their headset. “Don't kill him.”

A few minutes later, Senku can hear the roaring propellers of a helicopter getting closer. Eventually, the tree boughs are brushed back, and the grass is flattened, with their clothes getting blown back behind them as a helicopter touches down into the flattened plane of the park.

The first person to run out is Luna. She's dyed her hair pink since Senku last saw her. She's wearing her iconic striped dress, white thigh highs, and wrapped up in a black overcoat that doesn't suit her style. She ran across the bridge, her footfall light, and stopped to gage the scene. Senku locks eyes with her momentarily, wheezing under the heel of the imposter, and her eyes wander over to Taiju and Yuzuriha. They fill with tears, and Senku has no pity for her in the least.

Even if their relationship had been brief, it still wounded him to watch her take their side. He can't see her innocence as genuine after what just happened.

“Senku. I'm.. I'm so sorry, I- I didn't know,” she cried. Max and Carlos are trailing behind her, but she pushes through them to get to Stanley stepping down from the helicopter. She slams her fists against his chest, “Stanley, this wasn't part of the deal!” She cried.

Stanley brushes her aside with ease. She collapses into the grass, and cries into her palms with grief.

“Plans changed. Casualties are a part of war. Don't second guess our leader,” he says simply, stepping up onto the bridge behind the imposter.

The woman named Charlotte pulled off her mask, and it was obvious now that she was no Stanley. Even her outfit looked tacky in comparison to the real thing. “Captain,” she says in awe, and steps away from Senku as he approaches. He takes the gun from her, and assembles it with the new magazine in the blink of an eye. “I'm sorry, sir. I failed to kill the target.”

Stanley doesn't pay her any mind. Instead, he plucks a cigarette from his shirt pocket, and twists the butt around his fingers a few times while he scrounge for a lighter. He just watched as Senku scrambled backwards through the dirt, scraping his palms raw in the process. He's just barely holding back a panic attack, eyes wild and crazy.

That's when Xeno emerges, entirely changed. He's dressed down in a long, black cloak with the ends frayed as if he's been clawed at by desperate, grasping hands. His studded leather boots crunch as he walks, leisurely, onto the bridge. The only color he wears is a lavender tie, and long, metallic nail rings. He wears a dark eyeshadow, and smiles down at Senku as if he were his own son.

“Hello, Senku.”

“You bastard,” Senku spat, trying to stand up. His knees were wobbling fiercely, and he clenched his jaw hard enough to hurt, “I'll kill you. I'll kill you!!”

“You'll do no such thing. Not if you're ready to betray humanity.”

Senku bit his tongue at that.

“Shall I kill him, my dear?” Stanley asked.

“No, not yet,” Xeno said with a wave of his hand, meeting Senku's eyes.

“Why?” Senku cried, gripping the ground with his raw, bloody fingers. An explosive went off in the distance, followed by the sound of inhuman screaming. He barely noticed it, as his vision tunneled on Xeno and his crew. “Why?! Why, Xeno?! Why do this?! I looked up to you! You were my teacher! Taiju and Yuzuriha- they didn't deserve this!” He screamed.

“Why?” Xeno scoffed, tilting his head, and spreading his long fingers like claws, “Because humanity is inelegant. In fact, they are downright disgusting. Like pigs racing to be first to catch the slop,” he grimaced, “What's so different now? Instead of being slaves to society, now they are slaves to the Cordyceps. They're nothing but fodder.”

“That's not true!” Senku cried into the dirt and concrete, “Humanity has its weaknesses but.. We are strong when we work together! As one! As equals! A pandemic will solve nothing! NOTHING!!” He yells.

“No, Senku. It is you who is nothing without riding on the backs of others,” Xeno snaps, turning away. “That's exactly why I need to take everything from you. So you can learn exactly what it means to become something greater.” He gestures to Stanley with a nod, and Stanley in turn turns back to Maya and Leonard from inside the truck. Maya is chowing down on a drumstick and Leonard is yawning from boredom. All Stanley needs to do is gesture with his hand, and the two are pressing buttons and pushing levers. The top of the boxy looking van opens like a hatch with a mechanical whir, and Senku can only watch in stunned horror as a set of missles push their way up from the top.

“Wh-what are you-”

“Do you remember when I first told you about rockets, Senku?” Xeno asked, watching, “Originally, they were designed to be aerodynamic missiles. They're basically identical.”

“I've got a lock, captain,” Maya chirps with her mouth full.

“Excellent. Prepare to launch.”

Senku can't even describe the depth of despair he feels when he realizes what's about to happen, “Byakuya!!”

“3…”

“Don't-”

“2…”

“Stop professor, please!!”

“1, launch!”

Xeno's long cloak is blown back as the missiles are fired with some of the strongest ignition and rocket fuel in existence. The force is so strong the back of the van collapses, and Maya and Leonard only have just a few seconds to escape the vehicle before the thing explodes. Stanley comes right up to Xeno with a riot shield to protect him from the blast of shrapnel. Which, miraculously, doesn't hit Senku as he's scrambling after them in panic. Max and Carlos throw their arms around Luna to protect the girl, getting burned and banged up in the process. “Don't worry, miss Luna! We'll protect you!” Max declares, while Carlos cries out in agony as the flames lick up his back.

Xeno grins triumphantly, watching Senku run at them, “We'll meet again, Senku!”

There's no time left, because Snyder uses his spare arm to smack Senku along the temple with the butt of the gun. He's sent onto his back and watches the stars roll in linear white lines in the sky, before hitting the ground cold and effectively knocked out.

—

He has no idea how long he's been unconscious, swimming in the darkness of purple static. He just knows this: When he awakes, he's got an agonizing headache, and his eyes are stinging from the smog- his vision filled with flashes of orange light.

His body hurts, but he forces himself to sit up. Blood drips down from his temple and fills his eye with the stuff. He hastily wipes it away, trying to process.

The entire park is on fire. The only reason Senku himself isn't on fire is because the flames struggle to reach the concrete of the bridge, and the mask kept him from breathing in the CO2 emissions. For once in his life, he got lucky- if you can even call this luck.

There's no sign of Xeno, or Stanley, or the others. Just the remains of a destroyed van, the town alight like the pits of hell, and the corpses of his two best friends behind him.

That's when he sees it: The trails of falling debris in the atmosphere, with long tails of brilliant lights in an array of colors. To a passing observer, the scene was utterly beautiful, like fireworks, but to Senku, it's the most gut-wrenching thing he's ever felt. It's what's left of the space station, falling and burning away until there was nothing left.

They murdered his father and the rest of the astronaut team, just to teach him a lesson.

He's then crawling on his hands and knees to get to his friends. They haven't moved since they fell. Crouching over them both, he chokes on his own sobs at the sight. They're stiff and cold, and pale from the blood being drained out of them, seeped into their clothes and the dirt. Senku takes off their masks; he has to peel Taiju's off his face from the blood coagulating around its rim. His shocked, half-lidded expression is what sends Senku over the edge. Senku screams with all the grief and rage a person could muster, as he gathers up their bodies into his arms. He squeezes them tight to his chest, as hard as he dares, and sobs into their forms until his throat is hoarse and raw with all his emotion.

The wall of fire keeps back the horde for now, allowing him this moment to grieve. It's the last time he's ever cried, before the world is sent into a perpetual silence.

—

The sequence of nightmares have passed, allowing Senku to finally wake back up into the current day. His eyes are met with a low hanging ceiling, with a small, dusty ceiling fan oscillating in lazy circles above his head, and a tacky looking flowery wallpaper peeling like dead skin. It's utterly despondent.

His eyes flit around. He's in a trailer home of some sorts. The space is narrow like a long hallway, and stuffed to the brim with odd looking trinkets and decorations like a magician's fun house. He's lying on a futon, dressed up with ugly looking throw pillows and a handmade quilt blanket in patchwork colors. It's tossed awkwardly around his abdomen, where that fucking stick was still poking out of him. Then it all comes rushing back to him and he rolls over onto his good side to groan.

That's when he sees her. The girl with hair like rays of sunlight, fast like a bolt of lightning, sleeping against the wall on the floor and dressed down in survivalist gear. She picks her head up to open her eyes onto him, and they're a magnificent shade of ocean blue. She reminds him, all too specifically, of the lions that stalked his hut in the African planes.

“You're awake.”

“You rescued me. Why?”

“You don't know a thing about tact, do you?” She scoffed, and stood up with ease. She did some light stretching, and bounced on her toes to warm up her muscles. The sunlight streaming in through the cracks in the window illuminated her presence.

Senku wasn't sure why, but he had the feeling that this mysterious woman was no threat to him.

That's when he sees him- his old lab partner Chrome. He was looking through his collection of rocks and herbs, sitting on the floor with his pack when their eyes met. Chrome scowls at him unpleasantly. He's grown more frail and baggy-eyed than Senku remembers him.

“Yo.”

“Save it. I don't want to talk to someone like you,” Chrome snaps, and Senku falls silent again.

A few minutes later, there's a familiar feminine voice with a specific lilt to it that sends a flash of anger through him. Senku cranes his head back to look at Gen in the liminal kitchen space, who currently wears an apron over his robes. He sighs and dabs a bit of sweat off his forehead, holding a spatula and hovering over a stove top, “Breakfast is ready. Just instant pancakes with chocolate chips.”

“You-!” Senku seethes, and he rolls out of bed to collapse onto his knees on the floor. Kohaku gasps and tries to usher him back onto the futon, “What are you doing?! You need rest!” She snaps, but Senku pulls himself free from her grip to stumble up onto his feet. He takes a haunty step towards the Mentalist, only to collapse again onto the floor. He has just enough strength to land on his good side, and cries out in pain.

The Mentalist just watches, unamused, and smiles another one of his false smiles, “Who wants maple syrup? I also have blueberry syrup~”

Eventually Kohaku manages to get Senku back onto the futon. He's got his arms crossed over his chest, and scowling at nothing. He's pouting, like the stubborn bastard he is.

The situation is… Awkward, to say the least. Everyone is minding their own business while Gen whips up some hash browns to go with breakfast. Kohaku offered up the last of her potatoes, to give their meal some sense of variety.

Senku turns his eyes back onto Kohaku, who's busy sharpening her daggers on a whetstone.

“How long have I been out?”

“A few days.” She glances up, then back down, “You should consider yourself lucky. Gen offered you antibiotics in exchange for our help.”

“I'm so grateful,” Senku said sarcastically. Kohaku doesn't reply, so Senku prods her further, “What's your name?”

“..It's Kohaku.”

“Amber.”

“Pardon?”

“Your name means amber in English. It suits you,” he says, and her gaze softens just a tad. She keeps sharpening. “Kohaku, I need you to do me a favor.”

“What do you want?”

“I need you to bring me medical supplies. The kind of supplies meant for surgery- Scissors, forceps, pliers, a needle and some type of strong threading; even just some of your hair will do in a pinch, some gauze and bandages, whatever you can find.”

“Now? You want to do surgery right now?” She asked, flabbergasted, “Shouldn't you wait until you've recovered some more first? You're practically skin and bones already.”

“There's a risk when it comes to any surgery, but you'd be amazed at just how adaptive the human body is. Sometimes it works against you. If I leave the arrow in my gut, my fascia and connective tissues will form nets around it, which will create even more scar tissue later, and make the extraction much harder. My blood will work to dissolve the stone, which will break it up into smaller pieces if left unattended.” He smirks, “Also, it's super uncomfortable and I'd like to put my clothes back on.”

Kohaku lets out a singular laugh, and stands up. She puts her tools away, “Alright. Hang on,” she says, and goes around the house trying to find things. She ignores Gen's weak protesting, and comes back ten minutes later with the requested items.

Senku sits up taller against the pillows, and looks through the box Kohaku placed in his lap. She did an excellent job- there's metal tongs for forceps, a pair of pliers, a white shirt cut up into strips for makeshift bandages and gauze, and plain dental floss for the stitches.

Kohaku crouched over him, making his brow raise curiously. She's reaching for his open shirt when he stops her with a hand, “What are you doing?”

She looks up innocently, “I've done this a few times before in the past. I'm no doctor but- I can try,” she offered, and Senku shook his head, “I appreciate the offer, but that won't be necessary. I learned from.. An old friend of mine,” he said, thinking back to old memories of Luna joining him on their field expedition to Congo. How they sat in the military hut together, wearing breathable excavation gear and laboring over emergency surgical procedures for field medics on stacks of papers. How she guided his hands then, over the silicone training dummy, teaching him the secret technique for a perfect lattice stitch.

“You're going to perform surgery on yourself? Are you crazy?! You'll pass out, or tear something!”

“...I can't do it alone,” he said, giving her pause. “You're fast, and precise. You snatched me away from Hyoga at the perfect time. Can you do that again?”

She blinked, then laughed, crossing her arms, “Who do you think you're talking to? Of course I can.”

“Good. When I open the wound, I need you to pull the arrow out. As swiftly and with as minimal damage as you can.”

“H-Hold on! You're going to rip that thing out in my living room?! Are you azy-cray?!” Gen squeaks, carrying a platter of pancakes and hashbrowns to the table, his handling alluding to a past of food service work from a time akin to a second, much younger life.

Senku grins at him sinister, making him gulp. “Yeah~ You wanna watch?”

Gen trembles, drawing his sleeves together, “N-no thank you. I'd like to keep my food down, if it's all the same to you.”

Chrome has pulled his attention away from his collection to watch, his interest peaked. Always curious and open minded enough to learn something new.

Kohaku wraps her hands around the stick, and Senku takes a deep breath, hovering the forceps over the wound.

“On three. One.. Two.. Three!”

He pulls the wound open, and Kohaku wrenches the arrow out of his gut in one swift, bloody movement. Blood splatters onto his cheek, and he groans in agony at the sensation of being cut by the arrow once again. He underestimated just how fast the fascia moved to lace around the arrow. A stream of blood runs down his side, and Kohaku is quick to catch it with the gauze patches before it makes a mess.

With a shaky hand, Senku grabs the arrow from her to take a look at it, and growls when he realizes a piece of the arrowhead is missing. He's shaking with pain, and a feeling like he was going to throw up stomach bile rises, but he forces it down with sheer willpower. Senku is not the kind of guy who likes to leave a job half finished. He grabs the pliers next, and as precisely as he can, he wedges the tip into the open wound, searching for that bit of stone. Come on… Come on! He thinks, until a few moments later, he finally finds that bit of stone. He grabs onto it tight, refusing to let it go, until he's pulling it out and drops it onto the tray with a clatter.

He wishes they had a surgical stapler, or even better, some wound closing glue, but there's no time for that. He'd have to do this the old fashioned way.

Bit by bit, he's sewing himself back together again. It doesn't have to look beautiful, it just needs to get done. It's no wonder regular sewing needles and floss really aren't used for this task. The way he has to force it through his flesh and tug on the binding is sheer agony, but he refuses to give up.

This… Is… Nothing! He internally screams as he works on the final stitch, barely hanging on, Compared to the pain Taiju and Yuzuriha felt in their last moments, this is nothing! I don't deserve to complain for one millisecond!

He tugs the last stitch tight, and laughs with relief. Then his head rolls back and he promptly passes out.

Gen is watching from the table, completely slack-jawed, “Jesus Christ…”

Kohaku says nothing. She just wordlessly tosses the blanket over his form, and tosses the arrow into the trash bin. She then moves to sit down next to Chrome, and lets out a small sigh.

“Was he always this.. Stubborn?”

“...Yeah, but… This guy is on another level of crazy,” Chrome says with a shake of his head.

They'd just have to wait a little longer.

Chapter Text

Senku

If Senku had been in his right mind that day, he would have realized that burying his friends had been a terrible, terrible idea. Every day he regrets not tossing their bodies into that fire, but the idea of losing their remains had left a gaping hole in heart.

When dawn began to rise on the second day of the Fall, the flames began to die down, and Senku had no tears left to cry- replaced with a cold numbness that left him in a dissociated, apathetic state.

That morning, he took a spade to the dirt, and shoveled out a deep hole big enough to fit two bodies underneath a tall oak beyond the treeline. His body moved in mechanical, methodical movements- his mind and body as if they were separate entities. As if he were watching a horror movie through his own eyes, and his real self was trapped in some otherworldly, liminal space. He ignored the way his muscles screamed in protest, when he dragged their bodies one by one through the shade of trees.

He gently laid Taiju down onto his back, then Yuzuriha next to him. When he scooped up his hand, he held it for a very long time, just staring at his frozen face. Leaning over his strong form, he gently closed his eyes for him. He did the same for Yuziriha, so they lay as if sleeping, and moved his hand down into hers.

It wasn't much, in fact, it was downright cruel just how pitiful this makeshift ceremony was, but Senku took his time gathering wildflowers to place alongside them. His friends deserved proper funerals, full of music and bouquets of the finest flowers and dressed down in Yuzuriha's best works, years into the future after living a long, full life. Not.. Whatever this pathetic thing Senku was trying to pull.

Why.. Why am I doing this? He wonders, as he begins to cover them in dirt. They're dead. They're fucking dead. Gone. Never to return. This is useless. This is a waste of energy. I'm.. Useless…

He stills in his efforts. The words of Xeno echoing in his mind:

You are nothing without humanity. Without riding on the backs of others.

His logic and his humanity were at war with each other within himself, and selfishly, he let his humanity- his most vulnerable instincts- get the best of him, all this time. So in a way… He was the one who killed them.

When the bodies are covered, he tamps down the dirt with his boots, and steps back, panting hard as he gauge's his efforts.

He then finds two shiny looking rocks from the riverbank, and brings them back to place as a headstone, which he decorates with crowns of flowers and scatters petals over the dirt. Using a sharp stone, he carves their names into the tree, and the date of their dying- the day of the Fall.

That's when he hears that shrill mouth clicking for the first time, echoing from somewhere behind him. Senku freezes, feeling his blood run cold, and he turns to see a figure stalking towards him between the trunks of narrow trees.

It was the remains of a man. Some kind of office worker, dressed down in a white collared shirt and tie, and khaki slacks, all slashed up with deep lacerations along his chest and abdomen. Somewhat disemboweled, a strand of intestines hang out from his lower stomach. The corpse is still fresh, Senku can smell the pungent stink of blood and death radiating from the thing, but its head and face are entirely covered in those orange mushrooms. They've dug their chemical network into his brain seemingly overnight, and now they're controlling the man like some kind of human puppet.

Senku tries to stay as still as possible, but it's no use. The thing can see his heat signature, and after a curious head tilt, it charges at him chaotically with a loud howl.

Senku dodges underneath its arm to avoid getting slashed at, and takes off towards the bridge. It's apparent that the Cordyceps have yet to learn control over humanity properly. The thing stumbles on its own undone shoelaces multiple times, giving Senku the advantage.

Panting, Senku has just enough time to pick up the supplies he pulled from Taiju and Yuzuriha, and hop onto the large bike to take off in the opposite direction of the town.

The bike rolls over uneven dirt mounds and rocks, creating a bumpy ride. Senku can feel his teeth rattling from the forces as he snakes his way between trees. With the way the forest slopes, he has no choice but to roll downhill, and it's a steep incline. Ohhh my god!! Senku is practically flying in a downward descent now. The overgrown shrubs whip his body and scratch up any of his exposed skin, like his forehead. It takes a lot of restraint not to scream. Especially when the front wheel gets caught in the grooves of a gnarled tree root, and Senku takes off flying.

He rolls and rolls down that slope, getting covered in mud and dead weeds, until he lands inside a ravine made of mud and dead planet foliage. Landing hard on his upper arm, he feels his shoulder dislocate with a sickening pop. His eyes fly open wide, feeling a whine escape the back of his throat, and pain tears stinging his eyes.

Scared, he scrambles backwards underneath a large tree root, which has created an enclosure of mud and plant fibers. He hides there, cradling his shoulder, as he listens to the sound of inhuman wailing and mouth rattling from above.

He waits, and waits, until the sounds are gone.

Shaking, he climbs his way out of the hole, and stands on wobbly knees. His arm is twisted back wrong, and he knows he needs to do something about it. Now.

Before the adrenaline has a chance to fade away completely, Senku runs at the neighboring tree, and smashes his shoulder into the trunk. He feels the bone slip back into its socket, and collapses into the dirt afterwards. He bites his sleeve near his wrist to keep himself from screaming in agony. It's amazing his teeth didn't crack.

He pants, spit sticky on his lips and his eyes red and watering.

Get up, you fucking pathetic coward. Get up!!

Senku staggers back onto his feet, and turns to climb back up the slope to gather his things.

His body is sore and hurting, but it'll feel worse tomorrow. He has to keep moving, and find shelter before nightfall.

The bike was totaled. Its front wheel is bent awkwardly, and Senku doesn't have the strength to fix the thing. He gathers the packs, the spare magazines, and the singular machine gun, before continuing onwards into the heart of the forest. The gear is heavy on his good shoulder, but he doesn't have a choice but to carry them alone.

‘If I can at least make it to the neighboring town before the hoard, I'll have the chance to resupply. I need to come up with a realistic survival plan. I have to survive… I have to! Taiju.. Wanted me to live…’

But live on to do… What?

—

Gen

A few weeks have gone by in silence as Senku recovers from his impromptu surgery, and several years of physical stress. They subsist off of the Mentalist's remaining supply of processed foods and water from the sink, and occupy their minds with his books and trinkets. Privacy was.. Scarce, and they all had to learn to grown comfortable with each other really fucking fast. Gen, having spent three years in complete isolation, really fucking hated this situation.

What he especially hates is the way Senku follows him around with those unnatural, expressive eyes of his. As if he were up to no good. Well… He wasn't, but still.

One day, (a particularly hot and miserable day, he might add!), he walks up to the group- his usual purple robe tied around his waist, revealing his skinny frame laced with his sleeveless silk shirt- and claps his hands together with forced enthusiasm. Kohaku looks up from where she's been sharpening her knife for the hundredth time that week, and Senku with his stack of psychology books on the futon, and Chrome uh.. Fiddling with whatever that mechanical looking weapon was!

The Mentalist smiles at them, eyes tightly closed, “Attention everyone! It has come to my attention that- you're all a bunch of lousy freeloaders, and I've had enough!” He says, pointing dramatically to the mostly empty cabinet with only a couple packs of ramen left inside, and some expired bottles of seasoning and soy sauce. “We are officially out of supplies, my supplies, I'd like to add! Basically, this is an eviction notice. AKA- please leave.” He begged.

Senku looks back at him with that cold gaze, but a huff escapes through his nose, as if he's amused.

The man looks much healthier now, surprisingly. Gen half expected the man to just.. Wither away, and give up, but he stubbornly refused. He ate every meal, even when he wasn't hungry, and forced it down despite the nausea. He put some weight back on, and he was diligent about taking his antibiotic, and changing his wound dressings. He had washed all his clothes in the bathroom by hand, and bathed regularly, so he didn't stink. It was actually incredibly impressive. He kept busy by reading, or offering a helping hand to the others, and kept after himself nicely. In fact, there really wasn't anything the man did that didn't leave the Mentalist completely awestruck, or flabbergasted in some way. A budding respect had grown within him, like a tightly closed flower, but naturally, the feeling wasn't mutual. This was probably the only time they shared a glance that didn't leave the ex-scientist glaring at him, like he had tasted something sour.

“I couldn't agree more,” Senku says, and closes the book on sociology that he had already read twice. He stands up, “It's time to move on from here,” and he yawns and does a stretch while standing on his toes, “I appreciate the hospitality, and all that other sentimental crap. ‘Kay, bye,” he says, and turns to leave while picking up his beloved jacket and hatchet.

Kohaku jumps in front of him, blocking the doorway. “You're not going anywhere,” she snaps, and he frowns.

“Stand aside, lioness.”

“Don't call me lioness!” She snaps, and puts her hand onto her daggers, “You're coming with us to the Society. This is non-negotiable.”

“I'm leaving. I travel alone.”

“You're coming with us, or I'll be forced to take drastic measures,” she snapped, as she moved to unsheathe her weapon.

“Heh, oh yeah? Well I'd rather be struck by lightning.”

And that's when Chrome comes up behind him with that metallic device and electrocutes the shit out of him. His body convulses and his teeth rattles, before he hits the floor of the trailer with a groan.

“That's for the apocalypse, you jerk!” Chrome snaps triumphantly.

Gen's eyes travel downwards to the smoldering man, who's groaning with his hair frizzed out every which way, and now the air smells metallic like copper pennies. “Oh dear…”

Kohaku snatches the thing from Chrome, “You idiot! How is he supposed to walk with us now?!” She yells, and punches him in the head, making him hiss and rub at his scalp, “Ow! Oh, whatever! He had it coming, right? He's fineee~”

Gen would argue that the ex-scientist was most definitely not fine. He just turns his face away and whistles innocently.

—

Kohaku

Kohaku opens the door to the trailer with a soft click, and peeks her head outside to look around. The afternoon breeze blows through her bangs, and the sunshine feels good against her face. It's a beautiful day, like the sun after a fresh rain, and there's not a zombie in sight.

“The coast is clear,” she tells them quietly, and steps down the makeshift cinder block steps to reach ground level. She spins around on her toes, sighing happily for the first chance of fresh air in days. Walking in a straight shot from the Village had been an exhausting hurdle, but now she was entirely antsy from sitting around all week. She was ready to get back out there; to exercise and reimerse herself with Nature and all her blessings.

The boys are not sharing her enthusiasm for adventure. They're lined up in the doorway and grumbling like a pack of gophers getting flushed out of their hiding hole. Well, except Senku, who's busy nursing his burn wound with a cold pack.

“Come on out! It's a beautiful day~ We could go foraging!” She says brightly. When they don't reply, just shrinking in on themselves further, she reaches inside and snatches Chrome by the ear, “Get out now!!” She snaps angrily, and he's whining- “Ow, ow, ow~!!” While hopping out the door on one foot. “Okay, okay! Let me go, you she-beast!” That in turn, earns him another punch to the head, and he hits the walkway with a thud and a wound blooming on his forehead.

Gen is next to step out- well, almost. He's hovering on the first step with obvious trepidation, looking extremely uncomfortable, “Nngh.. Do I really have to?” He whines, looking back at her, “Can't I just stay here and you guys bring me back whatever materials you find along the way?”

“Are you being for real right now?”

“No, not really… It was just wishful thinking, I suppose,” he sighs.

Kohaku's expression softens. She realizes that this wasn't just another one of his taunts. The man must be battling some pretty aggressive agoraphobia right now. Those same bad habits belong to her sister too. He's-

Her pity vanishes when he gasps dramatically and runs out the house to stand over his flower beds in horror, “My nightshade! My peonies! My petunias!” He cries.

“Oh, uh.. Sorry. I kind of had to step through those to get to the window,” Kohaku says, itching her cheek with a finger.

Gen points an accusing finger her way, “You trampled on them?! There's a perfectly good stone path right there!” He shrieks, pointing to it right next to the flower beds- what's left of the flower beds. Kohaku just looks down at it mindlessly, and the Mentalist sighs, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose, “Actually, no. It’s fine, it’s fine~ Now there’s nothing tying me to this place, right? It’s time to be moving on,” he says, mostly to himself, as he begins to walk down the stone path to follow in her footsteps.

She glances off towards his bare feet, surprised, “Where are your shoes?”

“Don’t need ‘em.”

“You don’t wear shoes?” She asks in surprise, watching him pick the remaining flowers from the beds to tuck away within the recesses of his deep sleeves, “What if you step on something sharp?”

He offers her a small half-smile, one of the few genuine looks he has, “You don’t have to trouble yourself with little ‘ol me,” he waves a pink hibiscus her way, “The soles of my feet are extremely tough. Used to run around outside barefooted all the time as a kid, back at the orphanage in the gardens… I really can’t stand to wear shoes unless I absolutely have to. It’s a sensory thing, I suppose? Never felt quite well balanced wearing them. I like to feel the Earth and the environment, so to speak…” He rambles despite himself, and a flash of vulnerability flitters across his face just then. She can see Senku perking up a bit at this in her periphery. Then Gen laughs and forces a smile onto his face, “We all have our weird little quirks, you know? Like you, ignoring your natural femininity. I think you’d look a whole lot better if you stopped resisting so much.” Kohaku is about to snap at him for such a backhanded compliment, opening her mouth to yell, only to give pause when the Mentalist slides the flower into her hair, tucked away safely behind her ear. For some reason, the gesture makes her mouth go dry, and her words die on her tongue.

She reaches up and gently touches the soft petals with her fingertips. It brings her back to a moment in her childhood where her deceased mother would do the same thing. She pouts, and looks away, a little bashfully.

There are energies swirling within her gut she doesn’t yet know how to tame. She channels that energy by turning back towards the house and grabbing Senku by the scruff, “Quit sitting around, we’re losing morning light!”

Senku squeaks as he’s tossed onto her shoulder, and the group abandons the empty trailer in search of something greater beyond the narrow walls of safety.

—-

“I’m ten billion percent certain this isn’t necessary…” Senku says as he trails behind Kohaku along the abandoned road. Currently, he’s wrapped up in a rope Kohaku found on the ground, and is now dragging him by a tether to ensure that he doesn’t run away. Kohaku is trotting happily, with Gen and Chrome following on either side of her.

“I think it’s doing a pretty good job of keeping you in check,” Kohaku chirps.

“What if we get attacked?”

“Well then I guess you’re screwed, aren’t you?” She laughs.

Senku just pouts, continuing to walk for a short while, until he seems to light up with a mischievous idea. Suddenly he collapses onto the crumbling gravel road, laying down on his back. The group pauses to look back at him, surprised, “Oh nooo~ It appears that the electric shock did more damage than I thought! Suddenly I can’t move~” He groans, rolling his head back.

“Seriously?” Gen chuckles.

“Wow,” Chrome adds.

Kohaku scowls at him, her brow twitching. Then she smirks with her cat-like features when she gets an equally mischievous idea. She crosses her arms, “Well then, I guess you’re right! There’s no way you can walk right now with that injury,” she agreed, and Senku lifts his head up to grin at her, “I couldn’t agree more! You’ll just have to go on without me-“ he’s then quirking a brow when he watches her remove her pack, and taking off her travel blanket secured by a couple straps from the top, “What are you doing?”

She grins, and unfurls the blanket with a few tugs. The look is truly heinous, making him gulp nervously. What follows is all the evidence he needs to realize that she’s not a woman to be messed with.

—-

“Okay, now this is really unnecessary! Have you gone off the deep end here?!… Hey! I’m serious, put me down!” He yells from her backside.

Kohaku is humming a happy tune to herself to drown out the noise of whining from her cargo. Said cargo is Senku swaddled up tightly in her travel blanket like a baby sling, and the previous rope is now being used like a makeshift backpack to keep him together. Only his head now sticks out from the top of the thing, and the way Chrome and Gen are giggling into their palms makes him roil with embarrassment.

“For a supposed scientist, you’d think you’d have learned by now to keep your damn mouth shut,” she grins, “Shall I put a muzzle on you next?”

Senku pouts and looks away. He falls silent for a short while as she moves, “…I may have severely underestimated my calculations,” he mutters, and looks to Chrome for answers. Chrome returns an unfriendly look, but always the young chatterbox, he can’t help but make small talk, “..Kohaku’s older sister is really sick. She’s always bringing her water from the hot springs, so she keeps in good shape. She used to be a competitive athlete in high school,” he mutters.

“I see. No wonder she kicked my ass,” Senku chuckles.

“I had a feeling,” Gen adds, “I used to see her hanging around the tournaments to watch the fights. I had already graduated, but she definitely has the skills of a martial artist. It’s too bad her attitude sucks.”

“Less talking, more walking,” she says.

“It’s alright,” Senku assures, “We're in a safe area for now. A little chitchat won’t gather the hoard, or even a few Walkers.”

“How can you tell?”

“I just can.” An awkward silence follows. “Also, don’t call me a scientist. I want nothing to do with that title anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s nothing but a damn hypocrite,” Chrome answers for him, a foul look on his face then, “First he brings about the apocalypse with one of his twisted experiments, and then he sits back and watches while the world burns, laughing at us while he indulges in the spoils of war. Using science for his own personal, selfish gain!”

“Yup. Really having the time of my life up here,” Senku grunts, making Kohaku laugh. Senku smiles despite himself, “..I quit science because of a certain.. Enemy of mine. Decided I.. Would rather be off alone.” That’s the best answer he can give to a group of people he barely knew.

“Did you really start the apocalypse?” Kohaku asks. Her voice holds no resentment, or malice. Just honest curiosity. Then Senku turns his eyes sharply onto the Mentalist and he dodges his gaze, “Ask our friend the master manipulator here. He was the one who gave the report, after all,” he says, eyes narrowing, “Go on. Tell them all about it. Who gave your news crew the report?”

Gen curls in on himself, obviously sweating, “Err… H-Hey, where are we going anyways?” He asks, changing the subject.

“What are you hiding, Gen? How does a Magician end up here, someone like you?”

Gen scowls, and Kohaku is quick to intervene, “Enough, now is not the time for this,” she jostles her cargo, making Senku wince, “We’re headed into the innermost city. To resupply, and for me to find my main objective, which is more antibiotics to help cure my sister.”

“If that's the case, then we really only have two options, don't we?” Gen asks, and moves to slip his way at the front of the group. They stop walking to pay him attention; lingering along the sidewalk at a crossroad of decaying granite and overgrown plants. The junked, piled up cars and the tipped-over telephone pole with lines that snake through the dirt and grass speak to the times. In this more rural area, there are only a few crumbled buildings scattered about, and the occasional house or two. Gen raises two fingers, “One- we either risk pillaging in the heart of the city, and probably get eaten in the process, or two- we find whatever valuables we can safely in the outskirts, and bring the profits to the Dragon Market for trade.”

“The Dragon Market? Doesn't that place have a bad reputation for underhanded marketing schemes and shady business tactics?” Chrome asks.

“I've heard they practice embezzlement.”

“Who's going to stop them from ripping us off? It's not like anyone follows the law anymore. We'll get scammed, big time.”

“Maybe, but you'd be a fool to go with option A,” Senku adds. They pause.

“What do you mean?” Kohaku asks.

“It's simple. I can deduce it using logic: During the Fall, who's the most vulnerable to attack? It's the elderly, kids, and the sick- but the Cordyceps want fresh hosts, so a hospital is the perfect environment to cultivate bodies. Combined with a humid environment and a dark, enclosed space, it's also the perfect environment to cultivate young spores. Think of it like- a Cordyceps nursery,” he chuckled, and gestured to the air with a flick of his nose, “Think about it. We've been sweating our asses off all week, and why? Because the Mentalist doesn't live in a humid area. It's totally dry, and fungus hate arid environments.”

“I think I understood about half of that,” Kohaku deadpans, “What's your point?”

“My point is- while the hospital definitely has the items you're after, it'll be completely overrun with the undead. Also, every pharmacy in town is bound to be picked over by now. You'd be more likely to find antibiotics stuffed away in shelters or on the bodies of unfortunate casualties than there.”

“We won't know unless we try,” Kohaku says, continuing to walk. “Also, there's something I have to check on before we head back to the Village.”

“And what's that?”

“That archer in the yellow hat. He's still out there. His team abandoned him to the swarm, and I doubt they came back for him. It's not likely but.. I have to be sure that he's not there anymore.”

“Archer? You mean Ukyo?”

“If that's his name, then yeah.”

“And you realize that he's the one who shot me, right?”

“Yeah, I'm well aware,” she grumbled.

“And also has like, crazy good hearing? And will probably skewer us like a kebab if we even so much as move one pebble out of place?”

“I know!” She snapped, jostling him again and making him whine, “God, are you always this much of a smart ass?”

“You're the one that won't let me go!”

“That's besides the point!”

The group continues to squabble, as they make their way towards the innermost city. Kohaku wonders if she'll make it to the Village without killing one of these idiot guys first. Especially the not-scientist who moves his mouth more than his body, and makes her stomach tickle in a funny way any time he talks back to her in that sarcastic tone. Actually- scratch that, she'll probably be dead by dusk if she doesn't find a way to control her temper. Not that she'll ever admit verbally that she has one.

Chapter Text

Ukyo

Learning to make arrowheads from scratch had been fun for about a week, before it became an arduous task. Ukyo is whittling away at another arrow base, gliding a sharp knife down the length of a stick to remove the husk. He's gathered foxtail reeds for string, and wild bird feathers to make the ends more aerodynamic. All of this he does while sitting on the hood of the red truck the blond girl had shoved him into. He had grown fond of the old thing- it had saved his life.

He spent the first few days totally concussed, lying unconscious in the backseat of the truck while the hoard scoured the city. Even lost in the darkness, Ukyo knew what to listen for, and how to keep quiet. When he awoke, the swarm had vanished, and he had a killer headache.

Years of survival training and boot camp had taught him well. He fed off the land, and made use of Nature and her hidden tools. He'd spearfish in the river, and feed off wild greens and berries for nutrition. Fat from rabbits and ducks filled his stomach. Anything he found in the surrounding cityscape offered him the comforts of an old life- a pillow and blankets, bandages, a battery powered electric heater, and about a million other nifty inventions humanity created to starve off reality and boredom. He had wrapped up his head where the girl had struck him, put on his familiar yellow cap, and got to work.

He lingered in the area.. far longer than he knew he should have. Perhaps it was his naturally kind heart that was his unbecoming- somehow, he still expected Hyoga and the others to return for him. If not him, then at least Nikki, a girl he had grown to like, and would blush any time she drew near.

Several weeks later, he still sat there, waiting. The truck had become a temporary shelter. Whenever he heard the slightest stirring of unnatural movement- the propagation of dead matter that had no business existing in a living world- he'd hide within the recesses of the red truck and wait out his luck.

He sighs despite himself, and looks up at the afternoon sun, with his cap shadowing his eyes in a sharp, cresting line. Today was hot. Probably one of the hottest of the year.

He decidedly takes off his yellow windbreaker- lined with rabbit fur- and moves to tie the thing around his waist. The white shirt underneath clings to his chest and back, wet with glistening sweat. He removed his quiver as well, and put it around his waist like a belt.

Munching on some cookies he found inside an old aluminum can, he perks up when he hears something new for the first time in ages- human footsteps approaching from afar.

It was amazing just how much better his hearing had become ever since the Fall. Without much outside interference, sounds were louder, traveled farther, and his ears grew more sensitive to the miniscule changes.

Growing up autistic with a particular sound sensitivity issue had become his golden goose egg, and his military and sonar training/experience had made him a particular asset. He thought the Might Clan considered him a formidable, valuable ally. He was sorely mistaken.

Ukyo stands up, and takes his bow off from his backside to hold in a strong, bandaged hand. He grips the handle with calloused fingers, and frowns to himself while he listens:

There are three- no.. Four people walking together in total. One is definitely a male by the way he blunders about, the other an abrasive female, and at least two others with softer footing that Ukyo can't quite place. It doesn't take him long to realize that it's the girl that struck him, so that must mean…

The archer springs into action, running with his bow and the new arrow he's made with long strides. Even as he sprints, his feet hardly make a sound. Breathing heavy, he stops at the face of a building and presses his back against the cool, shaded wall. He's wedged in the crevice of another building, concealing himself from view. He peeks around the corner, and watches the group approaching from a distance.

They've reached some sort of public school system- a college, he thinks, or a prestigious high school with elaborate, double story buildings with long scaffolding, stairs and walkways, all covered in overgrown plants, grass, and the grounds are covered in trash and debris.

At the forefront, Ukyo clearly sees Senku taking the lead, alive and well. He's not starving anymore, and his cheeks have a healthy blush to their otherwise pale complexion. Then he reaches a deep crevice in the building across the way where several old vending machines are placed along the bricked wall, meant to entice students as they travel from class to class. Then, to his stunned disbelief, Senku actually starts kicking the thing along the screen. ‘Is he crazy?! He'll draw in the hoard!’ Ukyo thinks in a panic. The girl he's with is thinking the same thing, because she's yanking him back by the hair, “What are you doing?! Be quiet!”

“Would you please stop it with the aggressive approach already?!” Senku complains, rubbing his scalp after she lets go. “Relax~ Like I told you, there's nothing to worry about. We won't get attacked today even if we tried.” After another good, solid kick, the plastic screen over the machine came loose, and fell to the ground with a clatter. Senku cackles with glee, and reaches inside to grab a couple energy drinks and candy bars.

Ukyo's eyes widened again when he recognized another man within their party: Asagiri Gen, the man with monochromatic hair that took on the occasional assignment within the Might Clan. Was he undercover as a spy? Or perhaps switched sides?

Gen reaches inside for a bottle of cola, and an excited look blooms on his face, “These are cold!” He exclaimed with delight, grinning at Senku with excitement. “How is that possible?!”

Senku returns a soft huff and a smile, “They're run on solar panels. This school used to prioritize clean energy- they're all on the roof up there,” he said, pointing upwards.

“Really? How can you tell?”

“Because I used to go here,” Senku shrugs, and pops the can open with an audible hiss and click. “I made them.”

“You made them?! And they've lasted all this time?”

“Of course. I maintain them when I need a reliable power source.”

Then they're both gulping down their drinks with much needed fervor. The blond woman shakes her head and sighs to herself, “You two have the most absolute garbage diet I have ever seen, I swear. That's got to change.”

“Phew~!! Oh my God, this is the best thing i've ever-” Gen says, his eyes sparkling and mouth watering, as he goes back in for another deep chug. He laughs and wipes his mouth dry with a handkerchief he pulled out of uh.. Somewhere on his person's. “I have got to take one of those solar panels home with me.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that,” Senku huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Hey- you owe me, remember?”

“We're not even remotely even after what you did, you snake.”

“Hey, first of all, you-” Gen's words are then cut off by the sudden sound of that familiar, bone-chilling mouth rattling and high pitched chirping. Everyone except Senku freezes and whips around to look off towards the shadows of the neighboring buildings. Senku just yawns into his palm, bored. Ukyo estimates it's about ten meters away from their current location. There are several Walkers there- a family of three- one man, a woman and a young child. The mother walks with her hand fused to the hand of her child, and as if on autopilot, the father stalks after them from behind. It's a tragic display, where unconsciousness lingers in the minds of the dead. Ukyo had seen it more than once, and it left a gut wrenching ache in his soul.

Ukyo moves entirely on instinct. He slides out into the open, with the sun beating down on his slender, strong form. He pulls two more arrows from his quiver, and draws them back along the length of the bow's draw string. He only has to aim for a moment, before the three are flying through the air with a slight whistle sound.

The arrows met their mark, skewering the necks of each of the Walkers. They hiss and writhe momentarily, as if struggling to maintain control of the bodies motor functions, before they each collapse onto the shaded ground. Twitching and squeaking.

Ukyo stands up tall again, and puts his bow away. Gen is whipping his head back and forth between him and the Walkers. “Wha- Wha- What just happened?!”

“This guy killed them,” Chrome adds in awe.

“Not killed. Just paralyzed,” Senku corrects, and moves to stand along the edge of the building's shadow. He peers down at the three Walkers, watching them tremble. They're snarling at the scent coming from the body, but still, they don't attack. Senku nudges them with his foot idly, “It's the classic signature kill shot of the Might Clan, to aim for the cervical nerve in the neck.” Senku inspected a little closer, “The only difference is- our archer here doesn't aim to kill. That's clearly evident, seeing as I'm still alive,” he said, grinning back at Ukyo with a knowing look.

Ukyo takes off his cap to wipe away some sweat on his forehead, and replaces it quickly, “You're a wanted suspect. Tsukasa asked to bring you back alive. It's just business.”

“Oh?”

“Senku, move!” Kohaku pulls Senku back by the shoulder to avoid him getting nipped at along the ankles.

“I'm alright,” he assured, “On a day this hot, and arid, the Cordyceps know better than to go into direct sunlight.”

“Oh,” Gen breathed with relief, moving in closer, “No wonder you seemed so nonchalant.”

“Mm.”

Kohaku and Ukyo then exchange glances, and they each immediately become tense.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” she replies, and looks up at the bandage still around his head.

That's when they both draw their weapons- Ukyo points an arrow at her, and she has her daggers out, ready to slash.

“You saved my life that day. Why?” He asked pointedly.

“I wouldn't exactly call hitting you in the head a mercy.”

“Still though, you put me in that truck. You could have easily left me to the hoard. I want to know why.”

“Don't think about it like that. Just consider it me growing weary of watching another person die,” she said, a hint of exhaustion in her bright blue eyes, “It you're looking for a more technical answer, then just consider it an act of good business. The Society honors the no kill policy. That still stands, even with neighboring Clans.”

Ukyo's expression is hardened, but his face softens a little at this, “Shall we call a temporary truce then?”

Kohaku glanced back at her other members and gave him a short nod, then slowly moved to put her daggers away. Ukyo did the same, and everyone relaxed.

Except Senku, who just cracked open another energy drink and took several deep gulps, walking over. He took a big bite out of an old candy bar- something with peanuts- and sighed with deep relief, “Phew-! Man, I missed these,” he said, licking his lips.

“You seem awfully laid back, considering I was the one who shot you,” Ukyo said, turning his eyes to the man.

Senku shrugged, “I'm alive. Your shot was a mercy. It led me to this trajectory, which otherwise wouldn't have happened at all.”

“It might not have.”

“But it did. So who gives a crap about everything else?” He shrugged, “The real question is- what now? Are you going to run off and tell Tsukasa I'm still alive? That could start a war, right? I doubt these renegades are going to let me go anytime soon,” he looked at Kohaku, and she nodded in confirmation.

“We won't allow Senku to run free. Also-” she tried to snatch the junk food from Senku, who easily dodged her, “-Your diets are absolutely atrocious! You too, Gen,” she said, pointing at the man by the machine snacking away on a wafer bar and chugging another coke, “We're stopping for lunch- a real lunch- and I want to see you two eat some vegetables with some real protein.”

“Whatever, mom,” Senku yawned, tired. He moved the candy bar into his pocket for later. He wouldn’t dare throw these leftovers away now.

Kohaku's brow twitched in irritation, but for some reason, she felt no urge to strike at Senku- the man with the most rational common sense amongst them. She looked to Ukyo, “Let's settle our dispute over lunch. Would you care to join us?”

Ukyo was not so quick to trust, though the idea of a peaceful negotiation was tempting. In a world that was so quick to violence, it was easy to give in with his own pacifist heart. He looked at the others. The girl could easily overpower him in a fight, and the three others were convenient backup, though they were obviously physically weak.

He caught Gen's gaze, and he just stared back, his expression unwavering. ’He's hiding something,’ Ukyo thinks. It was obvious to anyone with intellect that Gen was a notorious double-crosser, and the fact that he was here at all meant he was up to no good. Ukyo wonders if he could play both sides as well, and he nods to Kohaku with a sly smile, “Yes, that sounds delightful.”

—

Chrome

Chrome had always been a naturally curious guy. That hadn't changed even as the world got turned on its side. He always kept an open mind, and didn't allow his own bias to get the better of him (most of the time). As a scavenger of raw materials, he never let his spirit of exploration dwindle in the face of adversity.

That being said, he would be lying if he said the apocalypse didn't have an effect on his mentality, and he had his own share of secrets. One incredibly large one, in fact, that could turn the world back on its head if it ever slipped out, but he was sworn to secrecy, as follows:

”Chrome… Can you keep a secret?” Ruri had asked him one early fall morning. This had been a year after the Fall, back when the Society was first getting established as a legitimate Clan. Chrome had come into her private quarters to bring her some special commodities - a few blankets, some warm socks one of the elders had knit for her that morning, and some medicinal herbs he had gathered that same day for freshness. All of which he had carefully packed together into a care package on his back. The soon to be Priestess was standing in the corner, clutching her arm strangely.

“Of course. Is that really something you need to ask a guy like me?” He asked, trying to keep enthusiasm in his tone of voice. He was sure in her sickness she was growing weary of people tiptoeing around her, like a fragile vase. He drops the package onto her bed, pulling out the blankets and things, then turns to her with the herb remedy with a smile. “I brought you some medicine. I’ve noticed that if you boil the herbs for a few minutes, it takes some of the bitterness out. I was thinking we could make it into some hot tea? I managed to wrestle some biscuits from Ganen too. We could share.”

“Chrome, I’m being serious,” she said, and turned around to face him with a grim look. He glances down at her long gloves, then back up to her eyes. “There’s something I have to tell you. Something important, but you have to promise me you’ll keep it a secret. Not even my sister is allowed to know, or my father, okay?”

“What is it?”

“You have to promise me first.”

“Okay, okay! I promise,” she looks at him for a moment, and he returns a sincere smile, stepping forwards, “I promise I won’t tell a single soul. I swear on.. I swear on my life! I swear on.. My legitimacy as a true scientist!”

She gives him a tiny smile, but quickly returns to the grim look she can’t help but wear. Chrome thinks the look doesn’t suit her well. Especially when he knows that deep down, she has a very childlike spirit, the same as he. She glances towards the drawn curtains acting as a door, and a barrier to the cold. The lanterns flicker orange light along the drapery, casting dark shadows. They can hear the slight shuffling of Kinro and Ginro, the Village guardsmen, coming from outside nearby. Ginro let’s out an audible yawn.

She grabs him by the wrist, and pulls him down to sit along the edge of the bed in the far corner of the room. As far away from the entranceway as possible. Chrome swallows nervously. Sitting so close to her makes him feel especially nervous, and warm around the collar. It might have felt intimate if her words hadn’t struck a chord of fear within him. She looks away, struggling to meet his eyes as something akin to shame comes over her. “Chrome…”

She’s silent for a long, tense moment.

“This is hard for me to say, especially when I really don’t understand it myself, but I need to tell someone I know I can trust, before I feel myself go insane from isolation. The truth is that I.. I don’t actually have pneumonia.”

“What?”

“I mean, I did have pneumonia, back when the pandemic first began. I might still have it in a way, I.. I don’t really know for sure. I suppose a more accurate way of putting it would be that I.. I would still have pneumonia, if I was still technically alive…”

“Ruri, what are you talking about?” Chrome asked. It was obvious she was trying to dance around the subject, but Chrome wasn’t very intuitive when it came to reading people like that. He needed her to be direct with her words.

That’s when she decides to sit up taller, and begins to slowly peel back the glove along her left arm. Randomly she began to wear them every day for the past year; Chrome just thought it might be a fad of some sort, that is, until he sees the truth laying bare underneath. He gasps and can’t help himself but stand up suddenly in alarm - there’s a bite mark deep inside her skin, puffy and red in the shape of a man’s teeth marks, with sickly veins in purple colors that run along in raised grooves underneath the skin like a sprawling spider web. The arm itself looks decayed, rotten even, with pale skin like white marble, like a frozen corpse.

“Ruri, you're-!” He was about to exclaim. Ruri responds by tackling him, clamping her hand over his mouth to stop him. They collapsed onto the bed together, with her on top of him, but it was too late.

“What's going on in there?!” Kinro barks, and Ruri only has a split second to react. She moves to kiss him along his neck, hiding her arm by tucking it around his backside. “Oh-” Chrome breaths, gasping slightly.

That's when he looks back to see Kinro yanking the curtain open, and he grimaces at the sight of them. “Oh, eugh..”

“This- this isn't what it looks like!” Chrome stammers. Kinro looks away and covers his eyes with a hand, clearly grossed out. Chrome is sputtering out his excuses but the guardsman doesn't want to hear it, “Look- It's not my place to get involved with the Priestess and her affairs,” he says, blushing, “But it is my job to check in on loud noises.”

“Are you going to tell my father?”

“No, my lady…” he turns around. “Kissing is not against the rules, but underage sex is, as you are both still seventeen. If I hear anything.. unsavory.. I will have no choice but to report it.”

“We're not-!” Chrome shrieks, and Ruri silences him with her good palm again.

“I understand. Thank you, Kinro. We'll try to be more quiet,” she said, and Kinro let the curtain go. Ginro is shouting something like, “I wanna see~!!” And Kinro is shoving him away with a, “There's nothing to see! Get back to your post, Ginro!” Followed by more squabbling.

They both sit up, and breathe out sighs of relief. Ruri scoots away from him, looking around and flushed around the ears. Chrome is a similar shade of red, as they sit away from each other. “I'm- I'm sorry,” she stammers, speaking much more softly now, “I panicked.”

“It's okay.”

Another moment of silence follows, as the seriousness of the situation hits him.

“Ruri, when did you get bit?”

“It was about seven months ago.”

“What?” He looks at her in shock. “That's not possible.”

“It's the truth,” she says, and hugs her arm to her chest. She's shaking, like she's about to cry. Chrome tries to touch her along the shoulder, but she flinches away from his touch. “It was the day I was announced to become the Priestess. Magma was insanely jealous. He rounded up a gang of lackeys to plan a coup against me. One night, they chased me out of my hut while Kohaku was out retrieving hot spring water. They attacked me. Magma wanted to murder me, but the others convinced him to leave me for dead to prevent an investigation for murder. They left me in a ditch, and I was attacked by a Cordyceps. He bit me, and I thought I was about to die. I waited, and waited, but the infection slowed, until suddenly, it stopped spreading altogether. I made it back home before anyone noticed I was gone. Blamed my scuffle on falling down some stairs due to my sickness. They upped my security, and Magma was stunned for sure, but he hasn't made a move on me since. I told Kohaku to keep an eye on him, just in case.”

She shakes her head. The traumatic words still haunt her, even now.

”Muahaha! After today, you'll be dead and gone, little girl, and I, the great and glorious Magma, will become the new village Chief!”

“You are a fool, Magma. Wisdom does not fall from the fist,” she had said, as she was backed up against a tree. She tried to turn and run, but he yanked her back hard by the hair, and she screamed.

“We aren't in the Modern Age anymore, kid.” He leaned in to breathe against her ear, pressing his large knife to her breast, and she shuddered, “No one will question your death, you sick little thing. They'll blame the pneumonia, and you won't be remembered as anything else.”

Those words had rattled her to the core, and she gasped as she accidentally triggered a panic attack. Tears stung in her eyes, and she breathed as if she couldn't catch her breath.

“Ruri!” Chrome tried to reach her. Tried to put her arms around her to bring her some sort of comfort, but that had been a mistake. She screamed and shoved him back, confused, “Don't touch me!”

“Ruri-!” He grabbed her and hugged her tight, and her eyes flew wide open in shock.

Kinro rushes in unannounced, and yanks Chrome back by the scruff hard. Before he even realizes what happened, he's thrown out through the front entrance, and flies down the stairs. He rolls down them chaotically, until he hits the ground hard. He skidded his elbows, and the breath got knocked out of him then. He tries to get up and charge up the stairs again, but Kinro comes out and kicks him back down along the chest. The guardsman stands along the stairway, strong and with his bare chest puffed out, while he points his iconic golden spear down at him in a threatening manner. “I expected better from you, Chrome. You disappoint me.”

“What's going on over here?!” Turquoise yells, as both her and Jasper come running up the lane. They stop in front of Chrome, blocking the stairway, while he sits up in a grimace.

“I will brief you both on the situation later. I dare not say it aloud, for fear of tarnishing Chrome's reputation any further.”

That's when Chrome realized that all the surrounding villagers were staring at him. Many with confused looks, and something like resentment.

’No… No, no, no! You've got it all wrong!’ He seeks out Magma in the crowd, and the big bully is grinning at him from afar. It's an evil, sinister expression. Chrome feels himself grow pale. Has he caught on to her secret? Damn him! It seemed the apocalypse had only made him grow more violent. Chrome wishes he could just tell him off, but unfortunately, fate hadn't gifted him with big muscles or a scary demeanor. No, he would have to win based on tenacity alone.

Chrome stands up slowly, and readjusting his headband, he looks up to see Ruri peeking out of him from behind the silk curtain. She's flushed, and perhaps crying? Chrome can't say for sure this far down. It's an apologetic look.

“Ruri!” He shouts suddenly, and slams a fist against his chest, “I promise, I will find a way to cure you!”

He then takes off running in the other direction, before anyone else has a chance to confront him about what just happened.

___

Chrome is sitting along the ground, hugging his knees to his chest and lost in thought as he dwells on older memories. He jolts when Kohaku starts waving her hand in front of his eyes, and they move up to see the familiar face that parallels her sisters. “Hey, you okay?” She asks, and Chrome readjusts his position as he's brought back to the present, “Oh, yeah. I'm alright,” he said, the heavy weight of the secret weighing in the back of his mind. “Just.. Lost in thought, I suppose.”

She holds out a bag full of gathered veggies and a knife, “Think you can cut these up for us? We'll need enough for a party of five,” she asks, and he returns a small nod with an, “Of course,” on his lips. He does as she asks, while the rest of the group is chattering around him about their plans.

He feels an insane amount of guilt agreeing to come out here with Kohaku, when he knows that this mission is futile. Still though, he agreed to come along, in the hopes that he would find something that could help Ruri. He doesn't care that the Village looks at him as something of an outcast. The only one who trusted him now was Kohaku, and he knew that fragile thread would snap as soon as she learned the truth.

He just never imagined the one that could truly help Ruri was the one person he despised the most.

Chrome is cutting up a carrot stalk when his eyes wander over to Senku, chatting with Ukyo.

Out of everyone here, he seems to have undergone changes the most. He's still as stubborn as ever, that's an inherent trait they both share. Yet the way he moves and talks is as if he's entirely on autopilot. Going through the motions of things, concentrated on survival and nothing else. That familiar drive and ambition is entirely misplaced. He almost seems… Depressed? The smile he shares with them is hollow; it has no real depth of emotion to it like he remembers.

’If he's regretting the apocalypse, then he deserves it,’ he thinks stubbornly, scowling.

Perhaps the reason he's so angry is because Ruri wouldn't have been in this predicament in the first place if it weren't for him. He hasn't seen her in months. She's often locked away in her quarters, hiding from the world. Senku is easy to blame while he feels so bitter, and lonely.

Lost in thought, he accidentally cuts his thumb along the knife. “Youch-!” He drops the knife and shakes his hand out. As he moves to suck the blood off, Senku reaches over to grab his wrist. “Don't do that,” he scolds, frowning. “You could get an infection.”

Chrome yanks his hand back, but Senku stubbornly pulls it back. “This isn't the first time I've been cut, you know. I don't get infections like that.”

“It only takes one bacteria to invade your system. Out here, getting sepsis is a death sentence.” He grabs his canteen from his pack, and pops the top off using his teeth. Then he pours the water over his finger gingerly. “For minor lacerations, you really only need to rinse it with some water. But I'll put some bacitracin on it too, just in case.” He rubs the wound with some ointment, then ties a strip of gauze around the digit into a tiny bow.

Chrome looks at the thing with mixed feelings.

“Why'd you tie it like that?”

He shrugs, “I like bows. My dad.. Used to do it like that.”

Chrome frowns to himself further. He doesn't say thank you, and Senku doesn't expect one. He just goes back to talking, like nothing happened.

That was how he remembered Senku. Straight forward and logical.

His lower lip quivers. He's silent for a long while, tensed up, and he can't contain himself any longer. He's been quiet for so long now, too long. On the one day he was allowed his voice, he had to speak his mind. “...Why?”

The group falls quiet and turns their eyes to him again. He looks up, tears stinging his eyes and his teeth clenched. “Why, Senku?! Tell me, I need to know, before I feel myself going insane!” He pointed an accusing finger towards him, angry, “Why did you do it?! How could you do this to us?! I was your friend! You said you wanted to go to space, to touch the stars and bring humanity towards a scientific civilization!” He stands and gestures with a big sweeping motion of his arms to the surrounding wastelands, “How is this progress?! How is any of this necessary?! Tell me!” He feels the tears cascade down his cheeks, and a trail of snot dripping from his nostril. He sniffles and scrubs at his eyes with his arm, unable to help himself but expel his anguish. He was so tired, and overwrought, just like everyone else too stubborn to die. Kohaku gives him a sympathetic look, relaxing her shoulders, and everyone looks to Senku for answers.

The small bonfire they've made flickers orange light across the ex-scientist's face. The way he's frowning draws dark shadows around his sharp features, like a waxing moon.

“Well?” Chrome steps forwards, “Say something?! Answer me, damn you!”

“Chrome, that's enough,” Kohaku scolds, and he shakes his head, “No, he needs to answer! These are the consequences!”

Senku turns to look away. He looks guilty, or perhaps sad? No… He looks regretful. Like he's consumed with pain. Chrome's empathetic heart can't help but pang at the emotions it draws. He looks utterly destroyed inside.

Senku sucks in a deep breath, and forces out a laugh as he moves to stand. He places his hands along his hips, looking between each of them. “I suppose this was unavoidable. If we're to be traveling together, you deserve to know the truth. That being said…” He points to Gen, and the Mentalist jumps in place with a start, “Let's start with you!”

They all look to Gen, and he withers in place. Chrome sits back down to watch and listen. He was angry, but he was at least willing to hear them out.

Chapter Text

Gen

Gen can remember the day of the Fall with almost perfect clarity. The memories linger within his mind, while everyone has their eyes drawn towards him around their makeshift campfire.

The heat from the fire is uncomfortably hot, but Ukyo is intent on cooking up some hares he had gathered from some nearby traps. Kohaku mentioned something about making stone stew, an old medieval recipe for adding various roughage to a pot. Still, he refuses to take off his robe again, even as the thin fabric clings to his skin with growing sweat. They’re expecting him to speak first, which he stubbornly refuses. “Err… Well, that’s…” A bead of sweat runs down the side of his cheek. He meets Senku’s sharp gaze again, “Is this really necessary to talk about right now? We were in the middle of discussing our plans here.”

“I for one would be interested to know,” Ukyo replied. He had skinned the hares free of their hides and had the furs tanning off to the sides on wire racks. After thoroughly rinsing the meat off in the nearby stream, he's now using a sharp whittling knife to cut them into equal chunks.

“You’re leaving the bones on?” Kohaku asked curiously, and Ukyo smiled at her in a friendly manner, “It will improve the flavor of the meat. There’s also extra protein and collagen within the bone marrow.”

“Quiet. I want to hear what he has to say,” Senku said, gaze unyielding. “You were working with the news station on the first day of the Fall. Who gave you the report? Once the blood-borne pathogen reached the hospital, the outbreak occurred and the city became overrun with Cordyceps and rioters. Yet somehow you put together some half-baked evidence to screw me over just enough before forensics could investigate the matter.” His expression grew bitter, and he dug his nails into the flesh of his palms, “I was never even given a fair trial. The internet was on for about a week before satellite communications went down. Everyone singled me out to blame, like some criminal, or a terrorist. So tell me, what did Dr. Xeno offer you?”

Kohaku glanced between them, confused, “Dr… Xeno?”

“Who’s that?”

Gen pressed his lips together, narrowing his eyes, “…It was nothing personal, dear Senku. It was just business.”

Something in Senku snapped then, and he stepped forward, dangerously brushing up against the lapping flames, “It is personal to me! You’re selfish actions helped slaughter my-“ He took a deep, seething breath to stop himself from lashing out any further. “Just come clean already, Gen. You’ve already won, so what does it matter?”

“Exactly, what does it matter to you, Senku? Is knowing really going to change anything?” He raised his brows pointedly.

“I want to know what you and Xeno discussed that night!”

“And I want to hear it from Senku first,” Chrome snapped.

“All of you need to calm down,” Kohaku snapped back, and she stood up as well to face Senku. Then she reached over and placed a comforting hand along his shoulder, which the outcast looked at with surprise. Something about the vulnerable looks they exchange makes Gen scowl with discontent. “I believe you, Senku. I don’t think you were the sole cause of the apocalypse. Clearly, something so underhanded has to have a story behind it.”

Senku, momentarily spellbound, dodges her gaze and raises a finger to itch along his temple. “…I think… You must be the first person out here to tell me something like that.” He glimpses back, and his anger subsides. “Thank you.”

She nods, and they both move to sit back down. Everyone is quiet for a long, tense moment.

Gen lets out a breath then, and looks up, “…Fine, if you really want to know the truth that badly… I’ll tell you.”

Senku’s scowl returns, “Go on.”

The fire smolders with a gentle crackle, and the shadows below the trees lengthen with the turning of the sun's position. Gen opens his mouth to speak, thinking simultaneously, ’I really hope I don’t live to regret this,’ as he begins his tale. “It happened like this…”

—

Gen only had fifteen minutes before he was supposed to go on the air, but the transaction between him and Dr. Xeno was supposed to be completed before the end of the night. He decided to brush aside the woman who had been applying makeup to his face, and another bothersome person gliding a comb through his hair to suddenly announce, “Pardon me, ladies, but I really must step outside for a smoke.”

“I didn’t know you smoked, mister Asagiri,” one of the girls said with surprise, as Gen stood up gingerly from his seat. He catches his side profile in the vanity mirror lined with white lights - dressed down in that uncomfortable, sparkly suit with the purple bowtie, and formal dress shoes that pinch his toes to match. He can’t help himself but fiddle with the silver watch encircling his wrist, everything he wears on television is just atrociously uncomfortable. Yet still, he has to look his very best, or no one would ever take his act seriously. It was amazing just how easy it was to sway the hearts of many with just a good-looking outfit and a warm smile to match. Gen wishes he could blatantly tell everyone on Live to go fuck themselves, only he would never do that. He flashes one of those fake smiles to the crew girl, making her blush suddenly, “Only when I’m feeling particularly anxious. I promise I’ll be back in time for the show.”

“Hang on, mister Asagiri, just let me add one more finishing touch,” the girl insisted, and she stepped forward to dust some blush along his cheekbones.

In performing arts, something about the stage lights wash out the features of the face. Because of this, the makeup they wear has to be applied very heavily. Especially the eyes, which are lined with black eyeliner on both eyelids. Gen grins and clasps his fingers together. “Thank you, my dear. Now, I really must be off.”

He turns around to leave, and the girls… What were their stage names again? Ah, yes that’s right, they were named after gemstones. Miss Sapphire and young Miss Ruby are waving him off with a “Good luck!” On their pretty lips while he exits the crew trailer and into the station parking lot.

There’s a small porch attached to the door outside of the trailer, which doubles as his dressing room. He sits down on the steps heavily, letting out a groan as he does, and plucks a wax cartridge from his innermost jacket pocket.

He’s not one for addictive substances, but his anxiety is so high right now that he just needs something to take the edge off his frayed nerves. After a few short puffs, and a couple of coughs, his eyes sweep the parking lot for any movement.

With the taste of artificial berry flavor on his tongue, that’s when he sees the sleek black of a stretch limousine entering the parking lot. Gen can see the moon reflecting along its length, and there’s a hood ornament of a swallow mid-flight perched on its front like a statue. A dark figure slides out once the door pops open, and Gen watches the Gothic figure Dr. Xeno step out with a dramatic flourish. Gen sighs, tucks his pot back into his jacket pocket, and stands as the man approaches. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he smiles a coy look, “You’re late.” He glances the man up and down, “New look?”

Xeno smiles, and tugs at the tri-pointed collar, popped for an added flare. “Oh, yes. A new look for the new world, don’t you think? I have a feeling fashion is going to change very dramatically in the coming age.”

“I’m sure.”

Personally, he couldn’t wait for the excuse to wear whatever the fuck he wanted. Something more loose, and flowy, instead of these form-fitting garbs that left a claustrophobic feeling deep beneath his skin like itching hives. And no shoes. Oh yes, Gen was determined to never wear these atrocious things ever again. The nineteen-year-old orphan, now television sensation, and aspiring magician and psychologist was finally getting the life he had always wanted for himself. “So, where’s the money? I’m on air in ten.”

Xeno just continues to smile. He’s definitely in a good mood tonight. The scientist snaps his fingers twice with a click of his tongue - Gen has a feeling those long nail rings are much sharper than they appear - and like beckoning a loyal dog, Gen watches Mr. Snyder sliding out of the passenger seat. The former military-op is smiling around the length of a knotted cigarette. “Fetch,” he says, as he tosses a large briefcase across the lane. Xeno catches the thing easily enough by the handle, and the looks they exchange suggest something more intimate that makes Gen internally cringe.

“Everything is accounted for. Fifty thousand, upfront and in cash, as per your request,” Xeno says and passes over the case. Gen accepts the thing with trepidation and opens the latches with an audible click while he scans the perm-pressed bills bundled together in stacks within. “Feel free to count it and check it for its authenticity if you so desire.” Which he does, scrutinizing their details for any sign of counterfeit. They look perfectly real enough, but… Something about this transaction felt all too easy. It left Gen feeling more uneasy than he otherwise would have with a double-crosser like him. He closes the thing, and lets it dangle from his fingers at the hip, “I see no issues here. Thank you, professor. I look forward to us working together again in the future.”

“As do I,” the old professor nods in agreement and turns around to leave. Gen bristles and takes another step, “Wait, wait! Hang on, that’s it? There are no other special requirements here? How will I know what to say?!”

“You have the evidence to review in your file folder. I imagine it’s in your dressing room, or on your person, yes? Do I really need to tell a professional showman how to act?” Xeno asks incredulously. “If not, then our exchange is done here. I really must be off now. So much to attend to...”

He moves towards the limousine again with slow, deliberate steps, and Gen looks down at the cash with mixed emotions. “…Wait, Dr. Xeno…” The older man looks back at him, unsmiling. “Before you go, I just have to ask… But why this.. Ishigami Senku person? Who is he, exactly? I’d like to hear it from your perspective if you don’t mind.” Gen of course had already read the information file multiple times. He practically knew everything about this kid - at least, everything on a necessary surface level.

“Commander, we need to go,” Snyder urges, and Xeno dismisses him with a wave of his hand, “Hang on. Don’t be so impatient, Snyder, it’s inelegant,” they exchange glances, “Have Miss Charlotte go on the scene in your place. I’m in the middle of a discussion. In fact, send Leonard and Maya as well to the bridge. I have a feeling Senku will be on his way within the hour if things go according to plan.”

Snyder offers him a short nod of obedience and slips back into the car to contact their team members over the radio.

Xeno leans along the hood of the limousine, resting his back with the aches and pains only age can reveal to a person, as he looks up at the moon rising along the horizon. The satellite has taken on a deep, orange hue as if it knows the world is about to turn with an unwieldy sickness. The crescents glimmer along the dark lines of his iris’, as he takes an extra second to think up an answer for the young Mentalist.

“Seventeen years ago I lost two people who were… Very near and dear to my heart,” he starts, and Gen can’t help but deflate a little in place. ‘Oh, brother,’ he thinks, feeling the internal dread young people feel when an older soul feels inclined to pour their heart out on the spot. “They were murdered. Do you want to know why? They held a grudge against them. Just because they were more successful than everyone else. Envy took hold, and now they are gone, forever. Science is elegant, yes, but it can never truly bring back the dead. Death is a realm we can never explore, and yet, everyone is doomed to suffer its grasp eventually. They were Senku’s parents.”

A feral and manic look takes hold of the scientist then, and Gen shudders to look at it, “Senku just so happened to be gone by the time the killer arrived at the house, under the care of Byakuya. Babysitting, you see. He won custody of the boy under a technicality. I was too entrenched in my work to sway the judge's favor. So in a way… Senku is like the son I never had.”

Gen can’t help himself but take a peek at his watch. ‘Under five minutes,’ he thinks worriedly. They’re cutting it awfully close here. “What’s your point? Why do this then to someone you consider a son figure?” Something about this irked Gen considerably. Try as he might, he couldn’t figure out the psychology, nor the motivation behind this man. Labeling him as crazy or senile was improper of a Mentalist to claim, so what was his deal here underneath all the pretenses?

“Isn’t it obvious?” Xeno loses his composure a little, his grin wavering, “Senku was just a baby when this happened. He can’t possibly understand grief like this! I want him to understand, no… I.. I will make him understand. I want him to be just like me, and I want to see.. Just what kind of man he becomes in the end. Will he have the same resolve then, once he sees the true evils of the world? His precious humanity? Will his science remain pure? Only time will reveal the answer to me. Time, and a pandemic of epic proportions.”

He stands tall, and readjusts his tie, regaining his poise, “It’s showtime. Good luck, Asagiri Gen, I look forward to the performance.” With that, he saunters off back to the front seat of the limousine and drives off quietly into the blacks and blues of the night.

Gen stands there for another minute or so, shaken. The parking lot is eerily quiet now, and the evening breeze blows through his jacket, sending a shiver through him. He’s only just now realized just how cold his fingers and toes are. He turns away back into the stale warmth of the trailer, cutting right through the crew members and ignoring their calls, making a beeline for his tiny dressing room before closing and locking the door. He stands there, hovering over a wooden chair and clasping the top of the thing, white-knuckled and breathing heavily like he was about to trigger another one of his tell-tale panic attacks. “Calm down, Gen, just breathe,” he tells himself. As if that has ever truly worked before being expected to perform before an audience. He takes another peek at his watch, “Two minutes.”

Gen takes the time to lock the cash away into an off-to-the-side safe and does a few last-minute touch-ups before he’s called backstage by a red light flickering on and off hanging above his dresser.

He walks with the file folder in his hands, staring down at Senku’s sinister expression. Was this really okay to do to a person? It was a little too late now to be questioning the morality of his decisions. He was so close to tasting the freedom he desired for so many years now - to finally be rid of his sufferings - he would just have to bear with the guilt and process the details after the fact once the night came to a close.

—

The news reporting went off without a hitch. Gen was shocked to realize just how easy it was for people to accept the situation. He supposed that was why Xeno seemed so confident in his shody delivery - fear easily overtook reason as panic began to spread like wildfire.

As soon as the show was over, Gen offered everyone a curt goodbye, before taking off with the trailer. Despite his rampant claustrophobia, he could make do with a trailer for a home. The thing would save him a lot of money, and a home on wheels would make for a quick getaway if needed.

Gen stopped in a town several cities over and went on a frantic shopping spree for anything and everything he could need to survive. He hid in the shadows, to avoid the hoard, and remained a shut-in ever since.

___

“I'm sure I don't need to go on about what came afterward. And… That's all I know about the whereabouts of Dr. Xeno.” Gen looks at Senku pointedly, “Happy?”

“Not even remotely so,” Senku said, then proceeded to drop his head into his hand, like he suddenly came down with a migraine. He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to find the right words. Then he just sighs, utterly dejected, and meets his eyes again. “So… That's what it all came down to in the end, huh? You sold me out, framed me for murder and marked me as a terrorist, for a paltry 50k and a run-down trailer. That's just..”

Gen curls in on himself just a tad, “I did what I had to to survive.”

“You don’t even know what you did to me, did you? Your actions are cause for liability!” Senku snaps, standing up again with a rigid look to his shoulders. Gen braced himself for the inevitable bombardment of whatever expletives would come next. “Your words set the entire globe into chaos.” He’s digging his nails into his palms hard enough to pierce the skin with angry red marks, “Snyder found us after that report. He shot my friends! He murdered my father! I’ve been on the run from them ever since. Banished from every single fortified shelter you can find! Labeled as an outcast, I was beaten so many times, shot at by scavengers and bounty hunters, nearly starved to death!” Blood runs from the crevices of his fingers, dripping onto the dusty ground and surrounding detritus, “I hope it was worth it. Although, seeing you as you are now, I can tell that that hasn’t been the case, has it?”

Gen scowls at that last bit, and his lips curl into a snarl, “Watch it.”

“Or what?” Senku barks.

Gen stands up, and everyone is surprised to see just how tall he actually is. He may be lithe, but he’s still a man after all, and can look pretty intimidating in his own right.

Gen didn’t mean for everything to get so… Personal, but at this point, he might as well lay all his cards on the proverbial table.

“Believe it or not, dear Senku, but I actually know everything about you, down to the last excruciating detail. Something about Xeno’s phrasing had rattled me then, but now I think I’m coming to understand why,” his expression runs cold, with eyes like chipped ice, “You at least had the luxury of a father, and friends. A whole career in science laid out before you! I never had anything remotely akin to that. I was an orphan up until I was eighteen and was forced out on my ass. I’ve always had to work in shadow and scheme to get what I want. Trust me when I say this - throwing you to the wolves was never what I wanted for myself!” Frustration tears prick the corners of his eyes, “Do you have any idea what I would have given to go to college to become a psychologist? Not everyone is some boy-genius-type like you, Senku dear. The world we came from was cruel, and it sucked! Everything has always sucked! It still sucks! The only one you can trust in this world is yourself. I won’t apologize for that. Your whereabouts after-the-fact have nothing to do with me, so don’t you dare try and blame me for your problems! I’ll do whatever I have to to survive, and get my way. So deal with it.”

A stiff breeze blows out the campfire, and the hot coals die slowly before them. No one knows what to say next, or how to react.

Senku turns away, grabbing his saddle bag and tying the thing around his waist. “I’m out of here,” he begins to walk away towards the direction of the river banks. “Do not follow me,” and no one does.

As Senku’s angry footfall disappears, Gen sits back down with a huff, and looks off in a random direction. He can feel the eyes of the others on him, which he stubbornly avoids.

’This is just the way things are for rats like me. I don’t know why I even bother,’ he thinks, only it does bother him. It always has, and no matter how many times he gaslights himself, some small seed deep within him still yearns for a different path.

Something about Senku had enthralled him, excited him in some unique way. Something like deep longing for what might have been if things had been different. ’Whatever might have been is long gone. At least, now I know that for certain. He will never forgive me now.’

He nods quietly to himself, returning to apathetic neutrality. Yes, he might as well put the whole thing out of his mind, because it didn’t matter to begin with. At least, that’s what he tells himself for now, to avoid his own emotions and another predetermined breakdown. One day, Senku will fade away into obscurity, like a forgotten dream, and the others would abandon him as well once he achieved his desires.

Right?

___

Senku

It was nightfall by the time Senku calmed down from their dispute. He had sat along a tall rock that sat above a sloping riverbank, and spent a lot of the time watching the ducks and other animals coexisting in nature. They're gone now, replaced with a deep sense of loneliness and a familiar dark.

He spent that entire time in silence and lost in rampant thought. Occasionally he would graze his fingertips along the emblazoned lettering along his shoulder in a vain attempt to self-soothe. The cloak fits him a lot better now, if not a bit loose around the waist, and was beginning to look worn with use and various scratches from many scrabbling hands. He wears it every single day now. He can’t go without the thing. It’s become his ultimate comfort item.

He watches the water rippling in black and lined with the glowing white of the moon from above.

He’s so damn tired of overthinking all the time, but he can’t help it now. He thinks of Xeno and his ultimate agenda led by the deaths of people he never bothered to know, he thinks of the Mentalist and his sharp words, of the apocalypse and how so fucking badly he’s tempted to give it all up for good, knowing damn well he can’t, so ultimatly, he’s just stuck. Or lost. Some cosmic entity cursed with genius and sent adrift on a course with no real meaning. Utterly random, except it wasn’t. Gen had been right, he wasn’t the one to blame ultimately. Like Kohaku had said, the world was more multifaceted than it appeared. If anyone was to blame, was it even really Xeno? His parents? Himself? He missed Luna, and her scent like fresh bubblegum and her gentle lipstick kiss. He misses the banter and teasing words of his father; the scratch of his stubble along his neck from a tight embrace. Or the gentle ears of his friends willing to listen to his insistent ramblings. Why, why did he ever take these things for granted?

He puts his face into his palm, trembling from the cold and his frayed nerves.

He feels so weary with age, and his body aches so damn badly with pain. Stimming had become a violent habit of picking at his nails or biting until they were raw and bloodied.

Senku doesn't even have to look up to know that Kohaku has come to nestle down beside him. He can smell the scent of her honeysuckle skin, and hears the rustling of her gear as she moves.

“...You're a damn hypocrite, you know that?”

Senku doesn't look up. She takes that as an invitation to invade his personal space, pulling his hands away from his mouth.

She helps him up, and he clings to her stronger arm as she guides him down to the more gentle bank water, lifeless in his footing. His knees lose strength suddenly, almost tripping, and she catches him easily while he lets out a soft grunt.

“You need to eat soon. Your blood sugar is dangerously low, I can tell. Hypoglycemia, anemia, seriously, are you asking to get eaten?”

“You're such a nag.”

“You're lucky I won't kill you.”

She pulls him in close as they crouch down together over the reflective waters. Senku doesn't recognize the older man staring back at him with those ugly-ass eyebags and unruly hair strands. Then Kohaku is rigorously washing his hand wounds with her thumbs. “Honestly, how could you give Chrome a lecture when your own hands are such a mess?”

“I must've forgotten.”

“You didn't forget. You can't forget anything, can you?”

“...If I die from a flesh eating amoeba over this, I'm holding you personally responsible.”

“I'm sure.”

She's wrapped up his hands and wrists with their makeshift bandages, and applies some sort of topical to his fingernails. He won't lie, it does feel a lot better.

They sit together at the banks for a short while. Kohaku passes him her thermos full of the hot rabbit stew from earlier with a spoon. He just pokes at it mindlessly. It does smell good, but his stomach feels like it's twisted itself into knots. It's even worse with Kohaku staring at him expectantly with those big blue eyes of hers. He knows she can tell that he likes to punish himself in unique ways. Like with food, or sleep, or his nails. He takes a reluctant bite, chews and swallows.

“If you want to leave, I won't stop you.” Senku takes another tasteless bite, and another. “But… If you go, nothing will change. At least now we know the truth. Or, at least, part of the truth.”

“There's nothing you can do to protect me now.”

“I can at least try,” she clenched at the cloth of her pant legs, “I'm not the type of girl to give up a fight.”

“If you take me to your Clan, they'll execute me. If not them, then word will get out and the Might Clan will come for me. War will break out and it'll end badly for everyone.”

“The Society doesn't kill.”

“They'll make an exception for me. Everyone does.”

“I won't let them.”

Senku throws her a look, “I don't need your help. I'm better off alone.” His expression turns grim, and he lowers the thermos into his lap.

“My sister has been horribly ill for a long time. To be honest, I think she suffers some greater struggle I can't even begin to understand. If you can help me find a way to cure her, I'll protect you-” she stops him before he has a chance to retort, “My sister is the Village Priestess. If you can cure her, perhaps they'd be willing to find a compromise for you.”

That gives Senku pause, and he taps his chin in thought. “...That might be feasible… I'll have to run a diagnosis.”

“You don't have to decide right away. Just sleep on it, and in the meantime, will you please keep traveling with us?”

Senku is quiet for a long moment, pondering. Then he flashes her one of his grins for show, “I suppose it would be ten billion percent illogical not to take you up on that.”

“So you'll help us?”

“I can't make any promises, but.. I can at least keep traveling alongside you, for now.”

She sighs with something like relief. “Good.” Hesitantly, she moves her head down to rest along his shoulder, only to startle when she hears someone approaching from somewhere behind.

“Hey, Senku,” Chrome says, and Senku glances back over his shoulder to see the familiar boy entering the clearing through the blanket of trees and surrounding boulders. He stands above the precipice with a serious look on his face, “Can I please talk to you? Alone?”

He exchanges a glance with Kohaku. He's almost glad for the distraction, before this situation could become any more intimate than it appeared. “Sure.” He stands up, letting out another soft groan at the way his back creaks, and Kohaku tugs him gently along one of the frayed scraps of his coat, “Please at least try and finish eating, if you can. You need it.”

“Believe me, I'm too much of a stubborn bastard to let something as illogical as starvation get the best of me,” he says, and it's obvious she doesn't believe him. The way she's able to look past his white lies is quickly becoming a bother - she knows he's got anorexia issues and she wasn't going to let them slide. She at least lets it slide for now though, and stands up with ease, “I'll see you both back at camp,” she agrees, and takes off at a swift pace.

Chrome is watching her go with obvious anxiety. He waits until he's absolutely sure she's gone before Senku prompts him, “What do you want, Chrome?”

Chrome moves to sit along the ledge of the precipice, and Senku looks up at him from afar. “There's something I need to tell you.”

“Just spit it out already. It's late.”

“It's about Ruri.” His frown deepens. “I need you to promise me you'll keep this a secret. Especially from Kohaku. I promised the Priestess I wouldn't tell a soul, but I'm in dire straits here.”

“If that's the case then you shouldn't-”

“No! I need to tell you. You're- You're the only one I can trust to know the truth, and now I feel I need to tell you. You owe me at least this much, so I can at least try and break the association I have about you and move on from this petty-”

“Alright, alright. What is it, Chrome?”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Swear on it!”

“Oh, Christ,” Senku sighs and rubs his eyes. “I swear.”

Chrome holds out a fist, and Senku begrudgingly humors him by reaching up and gently tapping his knuckles along the others. That seems to soften Chrome's demeanor, “You might want to sit down for this.”

That's when Chrome tells him his tale. When it's over, Senku has a wide-eyed look to himself. Chrome sighs and drops his face into his hands.

“Chrome… You're serious about all this?”

“I saw it with my own eyes. Now you know the truth. My science isn't strong enough to help her, so I just thought.. If you could help her, she might have a chance…”

Senku feels paralyzed in place. His mouth twitches into a curling smile despite himself, and his heart begins to hammer in that old, familiar way it hasn't felt in a very long time. ’Calm down, just calm down,’ he tells himself, but it's too late. Like a growing spark, his excitement explodes within himself like a roaring fire. It was amazing how a feeling he spent years repressing came flooding back at full force in a single moment. He's grinning, and clenched his fists, ignoring the way they throb. “Chrome, do you have any idea what this means?”

Chrome tilts his head, confused.

Senku looks up, and the way Chrome winces suggests that he probably looks completely manic right now, but he doesn't care. It feels too good to stop, “Ruri has evolved an antibody against Cordyceps. If we can isolate that antibody, we can develop a vaccine.”

Chrome perks up immediately, “Wait, you don't mean-”

“Oh, yes. Yes I do,” he laughs, and Senku scrambles up the ravine to stand alongside Chrome. He grabs him by the shoulders, and they clutch one another like they've been friends for years, “We can develop a cure?!” Chrome asks, smiling wide.

“Hang on, hang on. Let's- let's not get too ahead of ourselves,” Senku laughs, but it's probably too late for that. “This is going to require a lot of extensive testing, and research. We'll need a lab, multiple samples- Not to mention the Cordyceps is constantly mutating. It might just be one in a billion chances but-”

They're laughing so much that Chrome starts crying. Something growling in the distance gets them to shut up immediately.

They begin walking back to camp together in silence, smiling like fools to themselves all-the-while.

Something within Senku was brought back to life that night. A sign, a purpose? Senku wasn't sure. It was the first sign of hope he's had in years, and he knows he has no choice but to pursue it.

“What do we do now?” Chrome whispers.

“We'll make our way to the Dragon Market. We need resources, and I have an old acquaintance there that I might be able to convince to give us a bargain.”

“This is so bad!”

Senku offers his old friend a quiet smile in the dark, and he looks up at the rising moon with the emotions of an old life shimmering in his eyes like stardust. “How exhilarating. I'm starting to get excited.”

He makes sure to finish that rabbit stew before they return to the others, and settle in for the night.

Chapter Text

Gen

The group travels around the perimeter of the city—the commute takes at least three days walking on foot. Largely in silence, to avoid the hoard—everyone feels paritularly awkward over the previous days excursions.

Gen is trailing along the back while the others walk over a random city street, dodging around cars and long, stalky plants, among other obstacles. After making careful sure nobody is watching him, and whistling to himself, he lets a card slip from his long sleeve, which he flicks into the dirt after pressing a small button along the Ace of Hearts—a tracker. The only one who notices is Ukyo, and he glances back at Gen with a suspicious look and narrowed eyes.

Gen just returns the man a soft smile. The frown pursing his lips says ’I’m onto you,’ but he doesn’t call him out on the act. He just returns to walking, and Gen smirks to himself then. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one looking out for himself around here.

Senku

Living in an apocalypse, one has to get used to a lot of physical stress. Senku learned to cope by drinking an exorbitant amount of caffeine. He’s staggering behind the other’s—even Chrome has more stamina than him somehow—he cracks open another energy drink, which he gulped down with fervor. One also had to get used to drinking room temperature drinks. He dries his lips along his sleeve, and kept stumbling about. His feet were aching horribly, along with the rest of his joints —chronic pain, chronic inflammation—you’re either built for it or you’re not, and Senku’s been pushing his limits for years now.

Kohaku on the other hand has been moving swiftly at the head of the pack the entire time. She trots at a happy pace, smiling to herself all the while. Senku finds his gaze lingering along her backside—her bountiful strength reminded him of Taiju.

She suddenly spins around on her heel, and Senku jolted to attention, startled like a wide-eyed rabbit caught along the roadway. Why was he suddenly flustered meeting her eyes?

“Hey, how much farther is it to the Market?”

“Not much longer now,” Senku replies, and he turns his eyes up to the sky to distract himself. The days had been hot, as summer began to draw to a close. Today however is quite cloudy, and a blanket of overcast drew near the longer they move. A small flock of seagulls cawed overhead, and Senku shields his eyes from the light to watch them fly amongst the clouds.

“Seagulls?”

“Wait, don’t tell me–the market is by the ocean?!” Gen squeaks behind him.

Senku threw the Mentalist a withering glare, just to let him know that he's not looking to talk.

“I can hear waves in the distance!” Ukyo said in awe.

“How much farther?”

“At least two miles.”

“We can make that in a sprint!” Kohaku said with a gleam in her eyes.

Senku chuckled at her enthusiasm, and picked at his ear for wax. “You go on ahead. Scope the area and see if things look friendly.”

She threw Senku a bright smile that made him tug at his popped collar to help catch some air. He's noticed how antsy she is to move—he can imagine how stifling that must feel. Chrome is calling after her to be careful as she charges ahead, running at what Senku is convinced to approach the speed of light. He smiles after her until she's gone, and he suddenly feels Chrome nudging him with his elbow.

“Oh~ I know that look.”

“What are you going on about?”

“You like her, don't'cha? You got a thing for the muscley types?”

“She's strong. Intelligent. Intuitive. What's not to like?”

Chrome is grinning at him like an excitable little kid, “I knew it! You do like her!”

“Huh?” He looked to Ukyo to hopefully get some context clues, and the older man sighed, “He thinks you have a crush on Kohaku.”

“Ah–” He bonks Chrome softly on his spikey head with a fist. “You're an idiot. Also, why are you trying to get all buddy–buddy with me about it, anyways? We're not friends.”

Chrome is squabbling some nonsense he doesn't bother paying attention to as he catches Gen's side-eye. What was that look about? The Mentalist quickly looked away, walking with his back slumped when he's trying to actively look smaller.

Senku ignores them both, drinking more of his energy drink. He tosses the empty can on the ground and goes back to staggering along through the grass and dirt with shuffling footsteps.

He grimaced. The bones in his hips are hurting the most today. The way his femur rolls back and forth in its socket along his pelvis is sending sharp pains up his sides. Something in his knee is twisted weird. The fatigue is getting to him; he's looking forward to sitting down with a cold drink and a hot meal, and get some well earned rest.

Ukyo slid up to him then, worried, “Hey, are you doing okay?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want to sit down and take a break? Maybe when Kohaku comes back, she'd be willing to carry you the rest of the way there.”

“That's not... completely illogical,” he said, glancing back at the others. The way they look at him with pleading looks is all the convincing he needs to stop and take a breather. Kohaku came back to them all clustered together along the road, sipping from their canteens while she placed her hands along her hips. “Really? I turn away for fifteen minutes and you're all just taking the excuse to sit around?”

“We can't all be behemoths like you, Kohaku dear,” Gen said, wiping his mouth dry after a long sip. Chrome came trotting back after taking a leak on a cactus. “Senku isn't feeling well, today. Think you can carry him the rest of the way?”

Kohaku chuckled, “Of course.”

That's how Senku ended up along her back in a piggyback ride, with his arms clinging around her neck. He pouted to himself, looking off to the side as his cheek tinted with growing embarrassment. ’This is just the most logical solution to my problem,’ he thought, as his chin found purchase along her buff shoulder. She had a tight grip around his legs, and he couldn't lie, something in her grip is made his inflammation feel better. ’Interesting,’ he thinks, curious about this as he never used to like physical touch.

“Do you want some ibuprofen?” Ukyo asked.

“No thanks. I try not to get dose-dependent on stuff like that. Besides, with how little I eat, it's not worth risking an ulcer.”

“Actually, an old friend of mine from SDF-bootcamp once told me that taking routine acetaminophen can be good for chronic inflammation.”

“That’s usually only a temporary fix,” Gen said, moving in a tad bit closer to the others to add in his two cents, “In our world, constantly triggering our fight or flight rewires our brains and nervous system—chronic pain, anxiety, depression, they’re all precursors to PTSD. In most cases though, it’s just psychological.”

“No one asked you for your commentary, snake.”

“Don't call me a snake!”

“What is inflammation, anyways?” Chrome asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Inflammation is the body's natural response to injury. When it's chronic, scar tissue becomes rampant and can damage organ systems. It encourages cancer and premature aging. It also makes you more prone to injury.”

“That's exactly why I want to change your diets,” Kohaku huffed, hiking Senku up when she feels him slip down a bit. “You're better off eating anti-inflammatory foods, and getting proper sleep. Also, not pushing your limits to such an extreme.”

“Prevention is the best medicine,” Senku yawned. “Then again, without a proper doctor around, there's no way to know if I'm suffering from an autoimmune disease or not. I very well could be. I've never been good at stamina, and unfortunately, a lot of autoimmune diseases are unknown. Not enough research…”

“Maybe you have chronic fatigue syndrome?” Gen suggested, tapping his chin in thought.

“Maybe.” He looked around. “We're getting wildly off topic here. Kohaku, what did you see?”

“I saw a stronghold of some sort past the bluffs,” she said, looking up, “There's two main guards posted along the entrance walled off to intruders—a shirtless man with dreads and a warrior woman with sharp eyeliner and strong legs. Dark skin. Can't tell if they're friendly or not.”

“I don't recall them, so let's approach slowly.”

Standing over the edge of the bluffs, the group is suddenly spellbound over the sight of the ocean up ahead. It had been a long time since any of them had seen the rushing waters. Along the shoreline is a fortified shelter built on top of bricked sandstone and other organic, rocky materials that protect the civilization from the tides. Senku can’t help himself but once again admire the walled off city - the waters help to drown out the noise, the location makes it unlikely to lure in Cordyceps. and the growing tide is additional protection from outsiders as well. As expected, there are two guard posts blocking the entranceway - a large drawbridge acting as a doorway to the innermost city.

“What is this place?” Chrome asked in awe, watching with a hand shielding his eyes.

“The Nanami Society,” Senku said, crossing his arms over Koahku's back. He grins a tad, “At least, that's what it was last time I checked two years ago.”

“Amazing,” Ukyo said, and the two exchange excited looks, “I had heard about survivors banding together to create walled off Society's from Cordyceps, but I have yet to see one up close that isn't the Might Clan.”

“They've expanded since I've seen it last. Let's move in for a closer look.”

They carefully climb down, or slide their way down, in Chrome's case.

Kohaku had been right, there were two intimidating looking guards by the drawbridge. “How do we approach this?” Someone whispered. “I'm not sure,” another replied, “But we better be careful. We have no idea who were dealing w-”

Senku doesn't hear the rest, because he's stepping over the sand to stand before the guardsmen. “Yo,” he waves with a bandaged hand, and perches them along his hips. Immediately the man with dreads is pointing a spear-ax at him, and the other woman takes on a fighting stance wielding a long piece of wire. “We're here on official business, is the market open today?”

“It is,” the man replies in a deep tone. “Who are you?”

“My name? It's uh… Lab. Dr. Lab! And these are my associates,” he says with a wave of his hand, and the others come crawling out from behind the bluffs. “We're from the Sorcerer’s Society. We'd like to have a word with your leader, Mr. Nanami, is he around?”

“Leader?” The man laughs, amused. “Clearly, you lot haven't been around in a long while. He's still head of the Market, that much is still true, but-” the man stabs the stone alongside his feet twice for emphasis. The shells dangling around his neck and through his hair clink together, “We're now called the Treasure Islanders!”

“Great…” Senku grins through grit teeth, “Anyways, mind if we come in?”

“Hm…” The man - which they soon learned goes by Moz and his young colleague, Miss Kirisame - moves to inspect each one of them with scrutiny. The way he grins at Kohaku irks him to some degree, and he points to her with his weapon decidedly. “She can stay, the rest aren’t fit to come through here.”

“Eriously-say?!”

“Man, that’s cold.”

“On what grounds?” Ukyo demands, stepping forward. Moz grins down at him with all the prowess of a panther stalking the jungle for new prey. “On the grounds of ‘what I say goes,’ and that’s that. You missed your window of time to come into the city, so you’re lucky I’m even offering to begin with,” he leans over to Kohaku with a sickly sweet smile, and she takes a shallow step backwards, “What do you say, little lady? Care for a tour by yours truly? It’s almost my lunch break, and after standing around all day I’m looking to let out some.. Excess energy,” he leers her up and down with a swipe of his tongue across his bottom lip.

“No way.”

“Are you refusing me?”

“Yeah, I am,” she snaps back, “What gives you the right to speak to me that way?”

“Oo, you’re a fiery one, aren’t you? You wear a lot of gear but I can tell, you’re a hottie underneath,” he chuckles, and brushes the blade of his weapon along her curves, “I might be into that. If you’re getting angry, I don’t mind a sparring match. Think you can tackle me to the floor?”

“You’re disgusting, Mozu,” Kirisame says from behind, and steps forward with her wire between her hands. “Don’t forget, you’re not the only one with jurisdiction here, and while I know you’re quick to taunt, I refuse to let it reach the realm of physical. Just do your job, or I’ll report you to King Soyuz.”

Moz scoffs, “Tch,” but stands down.

“What business do you have with Mr. Nanami?”

“We’re looking to make negotiations, and also a possible trade,” Senku said, crossing his arms over his chest confidently.

Kirisame mutters something into her radio headset, and seems to have come to a conclusion. “Since you’re strangers on business, we can’t allow everyone inside in order to prevent a coop, only one girl and one boy allowed,” she points to Kohaku, “you,” then to Gen, “and you.”

The Mentalist jumps in place, “M-Me?”

“Wait, hang on here just a sec’,” Senku says abruptly, “Gen here doesn’t have any information! Send me in his place.”

She shakes her head, “Those are the terms. It’s either you two, or none at all. Consider yourselves lucky, Mozu doesn’t easily like men,” she said, and Moz is grinning at Gen with something like lust twinkling in his eyes. The Mentalist shudders and draws his sleeves together, “I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to come here!”

Senku frowns between them, then sighs, “Fine,” he agreed reluctantly, and he moves to glance between Gen and Kohaku. He pulls them both in close with his arms into a small innercircle, like a team meeting, “I’m not sure what’s going on around here. To be honest, I’m a little out of my depth. I can’t tell if they’ve recognized me yet, or if they just consider Gen easy pickings-“

“Gen is about as intimidating as a butterfly.”

“You’re not wrong,” Gen withers.

“Let’s just agree to work with what we’ve been dealt. If we’re going to attempt to do this at all, we might as well do this right,” Senku says, and he gives Gen a pointed look, “Gen, can I count on you to handle negotiations?”

Gen returns him a look of tired surprise, then the Mentalist curls in on himself, and develops an evil grin on his pale face. Something that screams mischief of the worst variety, “Just who the hell do you think you’re talking to here? Of course I can.”

Senku nods. Good, he’s got Gen on board. “Let Kohaku be your eyes, and your shield,” Senku unties a small pouch from his belt and slides it towards Gen’s hands. The Magician perks up immediately at this - something is rattling inside the bag - and he swiftly slides the thing up into the depths of his sleeve as if it never existed to begin with. “Use this to trade with.”

“What’s going on over there?!” Kirisame barks, as Moz begins to swivel the massive hand crank that lowers the slow, creaking drawbridge to the sand below. “If you’re up to no good, I swear I’ll-“

“Oh, my sincerest apologies!” Gen declares in that singsong-falsetto voice of his, and Senku feels himself getting pressed up into Kohaku’s side. They exchange sideways glances of surprise, as their cheeks touch suddenly. When Senku realizes what’s going on here it’s already too late, “These two are just completely inseparable, you see! Young lovers~ Can’t get enough of each other! Don’t take their rudeness from earlier as anything personal - she just gets defensive when anyone threatens her boyfriend Mr. Lab here!”

Moz scoffs, tossing his dreads off his shoulder in displeasure, “I see. So that’s what’s been going on here.”

“That’s not-“

“Kohaku here was just wishing her beloved boyfriend goodbye! Weren’t you?” Gen smiles at her sweetly, and Senku gulps in fear.

Oh no.

“Go on, don’t be shy~” Gen’s grin on Senku is pure evil. “Give him a kiss~”

Senku feels his brow twitching in discomfort and irritation, as Kohaku is pushed gingerly into his arms.

He’s almost tempted to bail on the whole situation, when Gen suddenly whispers something into Kohaku’s ear. She perks up, and as if struck by a sudden spell, Senku feels her grabbing his cheeks, before she violently twists him around into a deep dip in her arms. “K-Kohaku—?” He stammers, eyes wide. Her look is stern, if not a bit embarrassed, and she presses both of her thumbs over his lips and kisses them so that it looks like they’re in a deep kiss without actually making contact.

Senku’s eyes lower a tad in realization. Ah, so that was their game. He can see Gen in his periphery giving them both a double thumbs up and a look like, ’Don’t be so stiff! Make it convincing! Put on a show!’ Senku rolls his eyes, and gives in to the Mentalist’s ministrations. He puts his arms around Kohaku’s neck, and presses himself deeper into the not-kiss while closing his eyes. Moz cringes and Kirisame throws her hands over her eyes, shaking her head from side to side rigorously, “Th-That won’t be necessary!” She squeaks, clearly an easy victim to secondhand embarrassment.

___

Kohaku

“Where did you learn a trick like that?” Kohaku asks, gripping the straps to her pack out of habit as she watches the drawbridge close behind them. The last thing she sees is Senku sitting down with a solemn look to his stark complexion before they’re sealed off from the rest of the world.

“It’s an old theatre trick I learned in high school. It’s how kids pretend to kiss one another in a play,” Gen says, lamenting.

“I see,” she says, and focuses on walking. She pulls her hair tie from her hair, letting the frizzy locks fall to her shoulders; the thing was giving her a headache. “It was a good trick. It threw them off their guard.”

“Disgust is a strong emotion, an easy thing to exploit when you’re trying to escape a conflict,” Gen chuckles.

She looks around. The city was massive, and full of more people than she was used to seeing anymore - a lot of grim expressions and hollow stomachs was an everyday norm, but here, the people seemed lively and decently fed. They’re walking through a sandy cobblestone plaza, past rustic little shops like gift shops, commodities like surfboards and bait and tackle; Kohaku narrowly dodges around a group of young kids kicking around a battered soccer ball. They eventually reach a boardwalk - something akin to a waterfront and a harbor fused together to turn into a bustling marketplace - with many tents and stalls lined up in rows on various levels. The ocean itself acts as its own wall of protection, and is clear as far as the eye can see.

“Amazing,” Gen says in awe, looking around, “What a clever little town, using the ocean to their advantage in such a way. One half of the town is for fishing, sport and trade, the other half for artilerary and protection,” he says, looking off towards the far wall in the distance lined with cannons and machine gun turrets.

“That’s not all,” Kohaku says, pointing up to the tall standing palms. There’s ropes suspended in the air, with little huts attached to each one for shelter. She can see lights flickering from within, and the heavenly aroma of cooked food wafting down from above. “Reminds me of home, in a way. Our Village is built on islands surrounded by water but- nothing quite like this.”

They travel side-by-side through the walkways, past each individual stall one after the other.

There’s a lot to work with here - there’s stalls for scrap metal and rubber, ammunition, weapons, clothing and gear, first aid supplies, medicine - it’s almost overwhelming to look at. Kohaku doesn’t appreciate the way salesmen are yelling in her face trying to hound them for attention.

“Where should we look first?” Kohaku asks.

“The real question is, what are we going to eat? I’m famished!” He whines behind her. They stop somewhere less crowded to catch a breather and process. “Oh, that’s right!” Gen says, and plucks the pouch Senku gave him from his sleeve. “I almost forgot about this! This must be an entire sack full of Drago coin! We’ll be able to get anything we want with-“ They both peer inside the pouch after Gen pulls the string, and are immediately brought back down to earth.

“It’s-“

“Rocks?!” Gen shrieks. Sure enough, Kohaku can see the sack full of gems rattling around inside. Well, not really gems. More like geodes and colorful crystals. It’s pretty and all but definitely no longer valuable in their world. “Who in the hell wants a bag of rocks?! We’re so cooked,” Gen cries.

“Well… Maybe they’re more valuable than we think?”

They both don’t look very hopeful. After a few curt discussions with several unfriendly merchants, they both get turned away every time, and nobody is willing to give any handouts to a couple of strangers.

“We’ll just have to eat after we’re done here,” Kohaku adds regretfully.

“I can’t eat another grilled fish with veggies, I’d rather die~” Gen cried.

“Get it together, soldier! We have a mission here - now, if I were this Ryusui Nanami fellow, where would I hide?” She questioned aloud, scanning the crowd with her sharp eyes.

“Excuse me, but did you just say you were looking for Mr. Ryu?” A girl from the sidelines asked. Kohaku turned to look at her with surprise - she was utterly beautiful. The kind of girl that could make any alpha male type fall to their knees and beg. She was standing behind a much smaller stall, selling makeup and different cuts of jewelry, the occasional rare seashell here and there.

“And you are—?”

“My name is Amaryllis,” she replied kindly, overlooking Kohku’s usually abrasive nature. “It seems like you two are in some dire straits. I’d be happy to barter a trade with you both: Information in exchange for some goods.” She’s then pointing to the pouch full of crystal in Gen’s deft hand, “Those are quite lovely. They’d make fine necklaces.”

“Really?” Kohaku glances between the pouch and the girl. She smiles. “Alright! Sounds good to me-“

“Now wait just a second-“ Gen interjects, stepping closer to the stall and leaning over the table with an arm, “These aren’t just any jewels here! These are an assortment of the rarest minerals this world has to offer! You aren’t just paying for a pretty little trinket here, Amaryllis-dear~ Why, any rock collector, geologist geek would know!”

“Oh my- Is that so~?” Amaryllis coos, and leans over the table with equal intent, lowering her eyes and fluttering long lashes at the Mentalist. “Oh, how kind of you! To barter such a treasure with a little peasant girl such as me?” She’s sliding her fingertips along his jaw, and Gen physically shudders with need. Kohaku feels like she’s going to barf.

“Ah-ahh—! Is that so?!” Gen laughs obnoxiously, mirroring her words and melting like a puddle. Clearly his manipulation tactics have backfired.

It takes Kohaku clearing her throat to snap the Mentalist out of her spell of face petting. He clears his throat, blushing, “Well, I’m sure we can come to a fair agreement here. How about information in exchange for the jewels… And maybe a free lunch?” He glances at Amaryllis with hopeful eyes, and she giggles.

“That sounds good to me. Business is slow today anyways,” she straightens out, and turns to an old man lounging in a chair behind her. “Mr. Ibara, think you can watch the stall until I return?”

The old man just grins at her from inside the hut, and waves her off with spindly fingers, “Go on, have fun, be young. I’ve got it from here,” he snickers, as he flips to another page in his battered dirty magazine. Kohaku cringes. Well, at least he has an outlet for.. Whatever gets him going.

___

The three take to lunch along an outdoor table underneath a tall standing umbrella. Kohaku can smell the ocean from here, a familiar scent of salty air, as she eats the last bite of her shrimp-fried rice. Gen drops his spoon and slumps back into his chair with a happy, satisfied sigh. “Ugh- That was so good. I’m stuffed,” he burps into a fist.

“I’m glad you liked it. This is one of my favorite spots,” Amaryllis chirps, as she eats another one of her fried mussels right off the shell with a satisfying slurp.

“It was good. Best meal I've had in ages, actually, thank you,” Kohaku said, then leaned over the table with all her tomboyish nature, “Sorry, but we’re in kind of a time crunch here. What do you know about Nanami Ryusui?”

“He’s the town treasurer. You could probably find him lingering around the town hall area, although over the years, they’ve lost some of their spontaneity. It’s hard to keep up a Market when everyone closes off their borders, and more and more people succumb to the Cordyceps sickness,” she sighs with a shake of her head. Gen slurps some sort of tropical drink with interest, nodding along. “That’s at least where he works the most. Otherwise, he’s all over the place. The beach, on boats or micromanaging assets of each stall. That’s really all I know about his whereabouts. You’re more likely to run into his butler, Francois. They’re something of a people pleaser type, and they run their own stall here in the Market.”

“I see. And.. Where do we find this Francois person?”

Amaryllis points, and Kohaku glances back at the elaborate and popular food stall, only to flinch when she sees a short person with coiling blond hair staring right back at her with sharp intensity. They wear a white apron and matching white gloves, weilding a kitchen knife and holding a massive plate topped with thinly sliced sashimi in the other.

“Goodness!”

“Eep!”

“My apologies. I did not mean to startle you,” they say, and walk around their confections stand, down a few short steps, to reach another table and set down the elaborate plate in front of some customers. They smooth out their apron as they approach, never letting go of that lengthy knife. “I could not help but overhear your conversation about my Master. You see, we’re a bit trepidatious when it comes to outsiders.”

“I-I see, so this was something of a set up then? How clever…” Gen mutters.

They let Amaryllis take her pick of the jewels. That leaves them about less than half to work with.

“Pleasure doing business with you both. Stop by again any time.” Amaryllis bows to them both, and takes her leave to go and shop around. Kohaku smiles after her warmly, she quite liked the girl. Perhaps she’ll come around again someday, if fate allows her the chance.

“If you’re both quite satisfied, I will take you to see my Master.”

“Really? Just like that?” Gen asks with alarm, getting up.

Kohaku looks at her counterpart with wonder. He’s been dragging his feet for the past few days, but today he feels especially spry, like he has a little more energy than before. The difference was slight, but there nonetheless. She smiles and follows, having no trouble keeping up with the butler’s swift pace.

“I had a feeling our dear friend Senku would return some day, so I offered him the sack of geodes in the event to postmark his arrival.”

Kohaku gasped with realization, “Oh, of course!” Senku would never offer her something so absurd. “The rocks were merely an encrypted message!”

“Yes, and since nothing in the Market escapes us, it’s easy to find the source of such a thing.”

___

They've arrived at the town hall. Kohaku finds herself looking up at the tall standing pillars that hold up the triangular archway, framing the entryway to the government building. Brickwork encircles their feet, and she can hear the commotion of the Market behind them in the short distance. The antiquated, marbled walls make her gulp from nerves.

Francois steps forward, placing a heeled foot along the first stone step. “Master Ryu, I have returned,” they say with awe, their eyes shining with glee, “Senku is alive, and has returned to us once again!”

Something moves in the shadows that makes Kohaku’s head turn sharply to the side. Something like billowing cloth in the dark, catching the faintest hint of light. The slow, deliberate movements of the silhouette reminds her, all too vividly, of a dragon slinking its way out of its hoard.

“Senku?” A voice croaks, husky in its litany. She can see the crescent shaped outline of a grin spreading. Then all at once, the man emerges into the light. “So, you finally decided to take me up on my offer, huh?! You cheeky bastard!” He shouts, followed by a boisterous laugh that she can feel reverberate through her entire body.

Her eyes blow wide. She wasn't sure what to expect, but this was far from it.

He stands tall and broad at the top of the short flight of marble stairs. He wears grey utilitarian trousers, a white button up shirt and a long red trench coat with a similar feathered fedora to match. The belts encircling his waist and the blue feathers remind her of a pirate captain's attire, but with a modern twist to the strange aesthetic. He wears dark combat boots with steel-toe embedded in the front, and the silver catches the light in a twinkle as he shifts his footing. She can only imagine just how powerful of a kick those deadly shoes could bring. She can’t help herself but scan the rest of the detail in turn - his long, unruly, tangled blond hair and stubble, the crazed look in his golden-brown eyes, and the many weapons he wields - most notably the massive Zweihändler strapped to his back, along with several knives in sheaths and several pistols all over his person.

What catches her eye lastly, is the incredible burn scar along his left hand, crawling up in the shape of flames to disappear underneath his sleeve. It’s a brutal scar, and there’s definitely a story behind it she’d be curious to know about.

Gen gulps and takes a couple small steps back.

The man scans them with his eyes, and his grin falters just a tad, “Ah, I see. He’s not here,” he says, and takes a couple steps down to meet them up close. “Who are you two?”

Chapter Text

Ryusui

The woman standing before him was perhaps the most beautiful he had ever seen—though, in all fairness, he had seen plenty of beauties strolling through the marketplace every day. But this girl? She was different. A different breed entirely. Her eyes had the sharp, dangerous allure of a storm at sea, the kind of woman who could kick absolute ass in an apocalypse.

“My name is Kohaku,” she introduced herself, reaching out for a handshake.

Ryusui took her hand, holding it just a moment longer than necessary, his grin widening as he felt the strength in her grip.
“And this,” she added, gesturing beside her, “is my associate, Asagiri Gen.”

Ryusui’s gaze flicked to the man at her side—a striking contrast with his lazy smirk and sharp, knowing eyes. There was something dangerously charming about him, something enigmatic that pulled Ryusui in just as much as the warrior woman before him. His heart thrummed with excitement. The world may have been crumbling, but somehow, it had just become far more interesting. “A pleasure,” Ryu remarked, going to shake his illustrious hand as well. “Follow me inside, we can discuss business there.”

They had moved to his makeshift office within the old government building, a relic of a past era now repurposed for his needs. The ornate marble walls stood tall, offering a sense of security and seclusion from the ceaseless bustle of the Treasure Islanders. Lined with towering bookshelves filled with vast tomes, his collection had grown considerably over the years—a silent testament to both his curiosity and his hunger for knowledge. Sunlight filtered through the boarded-up windows in thin, golden slats, casting long, parallel lines across the room. The beams outlined his silhouette as he sat before his grand mahogany desk, a figure of quiet authority in the dim light.

Francois entered with practiced grace, carrying a tray laden with delicate porcelain cups of green tea and a small plate of biscuits, their aroma warm and inviting. With effortless precision, they set the refreshments before each guest, the soft clink of ceramic against wood punctuating the otherwise hushed space. Across from him, his two visitors sat along plush velvet chairs, awaiting the conversation to unfold.

“Thank you, Francois,” he said, and his butler nodded in turn with an, “Of course,” on their pink lips, “I spare no expense when it comes to our guests. A luxury I find to be quite scarce in our new world. Please, enjoy,” they said, and moved to stand back over by the coat rack on standby.

The two before him squirmed uncomfortably in their seats. Clearly they're not used to hospitality in the slightest. It’s utterly adorable, he thought, as he lifted up his tea with his pinky raised for an elegant sip to soothe his parched throat.

“So…” The girl started, ready to talk, “How do you know Senku?”

Ryusui softly closed his eyes with a smile, and lowered his drink back down onto the doily. “Senku is a dear friend of mine, though I doubt he shares my affections in turn. He saved my life once before the Fall, and now,” he smiles wider to himself, completely enamoured with his thoughts about the scientist, “I’m utterly in love with him. I cannot wait to see him again.”

Gen did a comical spit take with his tea. Francois came rushing over with a napkin for him to take. “WHAT—?!”

“You can’t be serious,” she said, eyes wide in equal surprise.

“I am.”

“How?! Why?! We’re talking about THE Ishigami Senku here, right?!” Gen shrieked while he dabbed at his face with the cloth.

“That is correct.”

They stared at him with their mouths agape, utterly shocked. Ryusui laughed out loud at this, highly entertained. “You really don’t know a thing about me, do you? That Senku, always so stoic and secretive—He’s such a little bastard!” He continued to laugh, something like insanity flashing in his eyes then that made his guests shrink back into their seats. Ryusui reminded himself gently to calm down, not wanting to scare off his new lovers so early on in their discussion. He proceeded to lean across the desk with a heavy arm—his good arm—and grinned at them, thoroughly enjoying this, “Let’s do this properly then, shall we? My name is Nanami Ryusui, but you can just call me Ryu for short. I am the second oldest son of the former Mr. and Mrs. Nanami, and I am the second inheritor of what was formerly known as the Nanami Conglomerate—A prestigious academy for sailors and navigators. We were also specialists in the manufacturing of ships as well—yacht’s, sailboats, cruise liners and submarines, we made it all!”

“So, you’re an aristocrat?” Kohaku asked, her eyes narrowing as she fixed him with the same incredulous gaze that seemed to follow him wherever he went, especially when folks learned about his lavish background.

“I like to consider myself more of a philanthropist, or perhaps a benefactor, but yes, I was incredibly wealthy,” he replied, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “My uncle took over the estate when my brother and I were mere children, deemed too young to manage our vast fortune—he was a multi-millionaire himself.”

“Goodness,” Gen breathed, his voice filled with awe as he imagined the world of luxury.

Kohaku let out a sharp laugh, reminiscent of a playful scoff, crossing her arms defiantly over her bosom. “Clearly not anymore, considering your current predicament. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“That, my dear Kohaku, is precisely the mystery I’m about to unveil,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “In simpler terms, I’d classify myself as polyamorous-pansexual; my capacity for love is infinite, and I refuse to hold it back! That love extends to the both of you as well, and there’s absolutely nothing that can stand in my way. I am the greediest man there is!”

“So, you’re just a pervert,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Ryusui burst into laughter, smacking the table with his good hand and causing her to jump. “Oh, how quick you are to pigeonhole me! Labeling me as a mere playboy—how harsh! Surely, you could grant me the courtesy of hearing my story first?”

Kohaku and Gen exchanged knowing glances, sensing the urgency radiating from Ryusui. They both sighed, settling into their seats. How long could they keep Senku and the others waiting outside the borders? “Alright,” Kohaku finally conceded, taking a refined sip of her tea, her curiosity piquing as she licked her lips. “We’ll hear you out.”

With a triumphant smile, Ryu’ leaned forward, ready to unleash his tale. “I met Senku just a week before the Fall. Here’s how it all began…”

Four Years Earlier

The Nanami estate’s grand dining hall was built to impress. Towering mahogany walls were adorned with oil paintings of legendary explorers and naval commanders, their cold, scrutinizing gazes seeming to pierce through the flickering glow of the chandelier. The ceiling itself was a masterpiece—an intricate fresco of storm-tossed waves and gilded ships, their sails forever billowing in an imaginary wind. Beneath it, an impossibly long table of polished ebony stretched nearly the entire length of the room, its tablecloth surface gleaming under the candlelight, set with pristine bone china and gold-rimmed glasses filled with the finest wine.

Every detail in the room screamed wealth, power, and legacy. The embroidered banners hanging from the walls bore the Nanami insignia—an ornate compass rose entwined with an anchor—serving as a constant reminder of the family’s dominion over the seas. Even the air smelled of aged oak, fine brandy, and the lingering brine of saltwater, a scent deeply embedded into the very foundation of the estate.

And yet, for all its splendor, Ryusui felt like he was suffocating.

Dressed in a crisp suit that fit too stiffly against his shoulders, he lounged in his chair with a careless slouch, feigning ease. But his fingers drummed impatiently against the table’s surface, his usual grin faltering as he endured the weight of his uncle’s fury. Along with his right arm wrapped in a stiff cast and hanging from a sling. Around him, his relatives sat in prudish silence, their disapproving expressions barely concealed behind half-raised glasses of wine. The cutlery clinked against fine porcelain, but no amount of luxurious ambiance could soften the sharp edge of the conversation.

“Reckless,” his uncle spat, his voice cutting through the room like a whip. “A Nanami nearly drowns at his own yacht party. Do you have any idea what kind of disgrace you’ve brought to this family?”

Ryusui rolled his shoulders, forcing out a laugh that sounded far too casual for the moment. “Come now, Uncle. It was just a bit of fun. Hardly a scandal worth losing sleep over.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. His uncle’s fingers curled into a fist atop the tablecloth.

“A bit of fun?” The words came like a growl. “This family built an empire on the sea. We train the greatest sailors, command the most advanced ships—our name is synonymous with mastery over the ocean! And you—” He jabbed a finger toward Ryusui. “You nearly died, drunk and floundering like some common fool! Is that how you honor our legacy?”

Ryusui’s jaw clenched. The grandeur of the room felt even heavier now, as if the weight of his family’s name was pressing down on his chest. Every carved figurehead, every golden thread in the tapestries, every gaze from the portraits seemed to judge him. He had spent his entire life craving more—more freedom, more adventure, more of the world beyond these suffocating walls. But here, in this moment, he was simply the family’s greatest disappointment.

He reached for his glass of wine, swirling it lazily before taking a slow sip. If he was going to be scolded like a child, he might as well enjoy himself.

“Legacy, legacy, legacy,” he mused, tapping the rim of his glass. “You’d think you were trying to build a dynasty, not a shipbuilding company.”

His uncle’s expression darkened, and Ryusui knew he was only moments away from being disowned.

And strangely enough—he welcomed it.

His uncle’s fury was more sharp than usual this time—and for good reason. A few too many drinks, a wonderful night spent in indulging and excess, and one reckless misstep had nearly cost him his life. One moment he was dancing with a plethora of supermodels on the deck of his private yacht, laughing and guzzling booze with abandon, the next he was tipping over the railguard, with the world spinning in slow motion in a streak of dark colors as he fell. And then there was his arm—snapping against the hull with a sickening crack, with pain barely registered through the drunken haze as the black sea swallowed his body whole.

Then the screams came next, followed by the sound of splashing as a life ring was tossed overboard, but that hardly mattered. As soon as he was encompassed by the freezing waters, his limbs slowed down, refusing to move.

Now, even within the warmth of the estate, he couldn’t help but wince as he shifted. His right arm throbbed angrily beneath the hard cast, wrapped up tightly within its sling, reminding him of how stupid he had been.

The alcohol had dulled his senses, turning his body sluggish, useless. He couldn’t remember much of that night, but the water—he remembered the water.

The moonlight streaming through fractured as it pierced its surface, scattering the light into twisting ribbons of silver and blue from above. It was beautiful. Utterly incandescent, and a perfect sight to behold before he died.

Not that he wanted to die.

No—his spirit roared within himself like a mighty dragon—there was so much left to do, so much to take, too many reasons to live. Live! Live, damn it all! He wanted to continue on!

So what if his home life was utterly suffocating? Or the fact that his family treated him like nothing more than a reckless playboy, a stain on their name? Not to mention his own brother dodging his every move, with no real friends to speak of. He fought desperately with a clawing, grasping hand for the world above, but his body and mind refused to cooperate in tandem. The pull of the void below was too great to overcome.

He still dreamed of great things. Beautiful things. The world didn’t want him, but he wanted it all.

He couldn’t help himself but allow his eyes to close, and let his breath escape him in a stream of bubbles, sinking deeper into growing dark.

Just when despair threatened to consume him, the urgent rhythm of pounding footsteps thundered across the boardwalk, reverberating into the depths below. A commanding voice pierced the chaos, shouting, “Quit standing around with your mouths open! Taiju, throw me that rope!”

“I’m on it!”

A violent splash followed suit. Then he felt the presence of strong arms grappling around his chest, hoisting him back up to the surface with surprising strength. He was swimming fast—too fast—Ryusui could feel his ears pop from the pressure shift. Then, while his body was being wrenched free from the sea's terrifying grasp, he was unceremoniously dumped onto the boardwalk with all the grace of a dead fish.

A crushing pair of hands collided with his chest, slamming—once, twice—forcing a surge of seawater from his throat. He coughed violently as it came back up, body convulsing with the need for air as he rolled over onto his side, and retched the vile concoction of alcohol and bile that churned in his gut. His limbs were leaden, and his mind a fog of intoxication, desperately catching air—in and out—but the sound of soft footsteps approaching from behind cut through the haze.

Then came that voice—smooth, confident, and edged with amusement.

“Nice work, Taiju. I think we just saved this man's life.”

Ryusui turned to look back, panting and with tears in his reddened eyes, and his breath hitched at the sight.

He forced himself to blink away the salty water lingering in his eyes, blinking against the moonlight that bathed his surroundings in silver. Yet his vision swam insistently as the slender figure leaned over him, effortlessly stealing air from his already struggling lungs. His eyes were met with messy platinum hair, tipped with a teal-green, wild and windswept, framing a sharp, intelligent face, illuminated with the soft glow of the satellite. Eyes like rubies peered down at him with scrutiny, glinting with curiosity and something dangerous laced with amusement.

Beautiful.

“Who… are you?” Ryusui rasped, voice hoarse.

The boy just smirked at him, and reached out to tilt his chin with cool fingers, his subtle touch both clinical, and maddeningly intimate. “I'm just a guy who loves science,” he said casually, the mischievous lilt in his voice making his pulse stutter, “You're lucky I was here, or you'd ten billion percent be swimming with the fishes right about now.”

He gestured behind him with a jerk of his thumb, and Ryusui forced his gaze to follow suit, his sluggish mind working to piece together the image of the telescope set up along the upper levels of the waterfront. They had been observing the moon together, completely unaware that their night of vigilant stargazing would transform into a life–or–death rescue attempt. If not for them—not for him—Ryusui would have been lost forever.

The realization was lost on Ryusui, as his focus became encompassed by the boy before him. Haloed in the moonlight like a celestial vision, and grinning down at him with all the effortless charm of a roguish prince, he felt himself falling for the scientist like all the others, and yet—like never before.

Ryusui's heart stuttered, he forgot how to breathe.

“I love you,” he murmured, breathless and spellbound.

Then his moonlit paradise gave way to fading black, and he promptly passed out.

“Ehh…? What—?”

Ryusui then awoke to the rhythmic swaying of a boat, with his body aching insistently as if he had been overtaken by a stampede, and his head pounding with hangover like a war drum. The scent of saltwater clung to his skin, mixing unpleasantly with the taste of lingering bile on his tongue. He glanced down at his arm, throbbing with sharp, insistent pain, now bound tightly within a makeshift splint and rolls of bandages. He groaned, shifting his uncomfortable position along the—the couch? The details were lost on him in the dark space, but he felt himself freeze at the sound of a familiar chuckle.

My prince.

The boy was seated in a wooden chair across from him, with arms crossed and eyes gleaming with quiet amusement in the dark. He seemed to be entirely unbothered with the previous night's events. “You really went all out, huh? Partying all night, nearly drowned, broke your arm, and somehow you still managed to profess your love right before blacking out. Not bad.”

Ryusui went stiff, embarrassment creeping up his spine. His lips parted, with a dozen or so questions poised along his dry tongue—who was this guy? What were they doing here together? And why did he feel so… so drawn towards this strange boy wrapped in an oversized, white lab coat?

Before his thoughts could catch up to his cracked lips, Taiju's strong voice boomed from over the helm from above, “We're almost to the docks! Hang on tight, Ryusui! Rahhh—!!! I'll get you back home safe and sound, pronto!” He suddenly realized they were within his trawler, on their way back to the Academy.

Senku sighed, standing and stretching his arms over his head in apathy, “Welp, looks like our job here is done. Borrowing your yacht was a hundred percent more efficient than hailing an ambulance,” he cracks his knuckles and turns to walk back up onto the deck, “Time to bounce.”

“Wait—” Ryusui tried, but it was too late. The boy moved with all the urgency of one who never lingered where he wasn't needed.

And just like a fading dream, he was gone.

The next few hours blurred together without meaning. A mess of hazy recollections of being hauled onto dry land, with the estate attendants swarming him, along with the flashing cameras of the press. The whisper of scandal followed him everywhere, but through it all, one figure remained steady at hand.

His beloved Francois.

With practiced efficiency, his ever–composed butler dragged him back into the privacy of the estate, tending to his injuries over a plush bed. Their deft hands moved with meticulous care, “You've outdone yourself this time, Master Ryusui,” they murmured, and he grunted at the feeling of his arm being wrapped into a proper cast, discarding the stint and bandages into a wastebasket. Their voice lacked any resentment, but remained edged with that familiar, quiet knowing.

By the time he was bathed, dressed, and returned to that refined, tailored blue suit, the weight of reality returned to settle heavily upon him. The warmth of the moonlit docks, the teasing lilt of his prince—those fleeting moments had already slipped through his fingers like sand—like a fresh tide, returning to what once was before.

Then all at once he was right back here, seated at the long table beneath the cold glow of the crystal chandelier, and the piercing gaze of his uncle like steel that left him feeling more suffocated than the icy waters themselves. His suit chafed uncomfortably against his skin, as his uncle's gaze bore into him.

His half-brother Sai sits across from him at the table, his every move deliberate and measured, as if he were carefully calculating the space between them. His wavy brown hair, swept off to the side with gel, softens his features. Yet his eyes—dark and doe-like—are anything but gentle. They flicker with nervous energy, betraying his calm exterior, and yet there's something deep within their depths that hint to an intellect far beyond his years. His hands are folded beneath his chin as he watches the chaos unfold. He wears a black turtleneck, with a white blazer that flowed over a slim frame like a gentle tide. He can't help himself but fiddle with the pocket watch dangling from a chain within his shirt pocket—with a subtle glint that spoke to his unassuming, meticulous nature. The crisp lines of his white trousers create an aura of elegance to his attire, as he shifts to cross his legs over a sharp knee.

Sai is anything but fragile. More like a tight string on a violin, threatening to snap. He avoids Ryusui's gaze, along with the palpable nature of the dining room. Somehow, Sai was always one step ahead—silently measuring the weight of every word, every glance, calculating. He holds himself apart from himself, wrapped in an air of elegance like an enigma, subdued from his true passions.

It's a sharp contrast to Ryusui's usual fiery exuberance. The difference does not go unnoticed by his uncle, always compelled to bring their differences to light.

“I have been tolerant of your disobedience for far too long now.” His uncle lets out a sigh through his nose, his hands folding together beneath his chin, gaze unyielding. “With Sai as the inheritor, I let you get away with far too much. Now I see that was a mistake.”

“Don't bring Sai into this!” Ryusui snaps, his voice louder than intended, his frustration spilling out uncontrollably, “You always bring Sai into everything!”

“Unlike you, Sai is a mathematical prodigy!” His great aunt shouts from somewhere down the table, her tone dripping with disdain.

“He doesn't even want to be a mathematician, auntie! Why can't any of you just let us be ourselves?!”

“What do you think about this, Sai?” his older cousin asked, pointing a fork in his direction, causing Sai to jolt in his seat.

“M-Me? Oh… I… That's–” he stammers, visibly uncomfortable underneath the sudden spotlight.

“Come on, Sai! Back me up here!” Ryusui urges, his tone sharp, desperate. “Our futures in the Conglomerate are on the line here!”

The room goes silent for a moment, all eyes turning to Sai. He fidgets in place, sweat beading along his forehead as he looks everywhere but at Ryusui. Ryusui's heart clenched as he watched his older brother, hoping for even the smallest sign of solidarity. But all he receives is a flinch, and a guilty glance that never meets his own gaze.

“...If we're being honest here,” Sai began, his voice soft, almost apologetic in tone, “Ryu, you're… obnoxious,” the words hit him like a slap, “You almost got yourself killed. You don't care about how your actions affect others. You think you can just- just do whatever you want and never face any consequences.”

“I couldn't have put it better myself,” his uncle added.

“Sai…” Ryusui whispered, his voice shaking. He can't help himself but reach out, trying to close the gap between them, but his brother avoided his hand like it burned.

“Ryusui, this is an ultimatum,” his uncle announced, his voice cold and with a sense of finality, “Either stop living in your life of indulgence and fantasy, and start taking your roles here at Nanami Academy seriously, or I'll have no choice but to disown you.”

Ryusui's blood ran cold. “Uncle, you can't be serious… This has to be a joke.”

“Do I look like I'm joking to you?”

The silence that follows is suffocating once again. Sai is the first to break it, “Uncle, what do you mean by ’disown?’” His voice is tentative, as if he's afraid to know the answer.

“Ryusui will lose his inheritance, be expelled from the Academy for disorderly conduct, and be banished from the property.” He gestures with a dramatic wave of his hand to the crystal chandelier hanging above, like a bacon to express his quiet authority, “If he wants independence so badly, well—let him learn to survive on his own then. I'll be generous enough to give him a second chance, but only if he publicly apologizes and learns to act with some level of decency. Even then, I don't want to see your face again for a long while yet.”

“Generous?” Ryusui laughs bitterly, the absurdity of the whole thing weighing him down like a sinking stone in water, “You call that generosity?” His good hand tightens around the armrest of his chair, knuckles turning white. The laughter turned into a choked sob as his chest tightened. He fought back hard to keep the tears at bay, but his anger and frustration are raw and overwhelming.

Before anyone else can speak, Francois comes rushing forward out of the blue, a blur of motion. With startling precision, they dump scalding hot tea straight from the pot into his uncle’s lap. The man screeched in shock, nearly jumping out of his seat.

”YOUCHH~!!!”

“Oh, goodness, my apologies, Head Master,” Francois said, feigning embarrassment, “Just a flare-up of my carpal tunnel, you see.”

His uncle snarled, pointing a trembling finger their way as he held his crotch, “And take your weird butler while you're at it!”

“You don't know a damn thing about generosity,” Ryusui spits, his voice low but seething with bubbling rage.

“Excuse me?!”

“I said—you wouldn't know generosity if it smacked you upside the head, old man!” Ryusui stands suddenly, with the chair scraping violently against the polished floor, sending the thing tipping backwards and hitting the floor with a clamor of noise. “When you look at me, all you see is blatant greed, and you'd be right except for one thing—” he leans over the table, his eyes alight like flames, “—I don't want to hoard everything all to myself! I want everyone to share in my spoils. I love the Nanami name, but not your rigid sense of conformity! It's nothing but a cage. I'm not built for a cage, uncle! I want to have fun, to be free! To live for all the pleasures humanity has to offer me! Your attitude towards life doesn’t encapsulate the free spirit of sailing at all! I won't apologize for that… I'll never apologize for living happily while the rest of you continue to wallow in misery.” He turns his gaze onto Sai, who recoils from the fire within his eyes, “And I'm sorry you can't see it too, Sai,” he says more softly, his heart crying out for him, “But I'll always love you.”

Sai's cold demeanor remained unyielding, remaining silent and stiffly composed. Ryusui's heart broke a little more, causing him to lash out.

“Why… Why do you have to act like I'm some nuisance?!” Ryusui shouted, the years of pent-up emotion pouring out of him, raw and unrefined. “Why can't you at least just look at me? See that I'm trying… Trying to get closer to you!”

“Because you are!” Sai finally snaps, his voice trembling with frustration. Dark shadows encapsulate his face, as he tips his head down in disdain. “I don't want to go where you are, Ryusui. I can't just run away from my problems the way you do. I can't live my life mirroring your reckless attitude towards life!” His words sting, and Ryusui recoils from the table like he's been struck. “I'm- I'm at my wits end with you, brother. I can't take this anymore! Your constant chatter, the way you're always chasing me around the manor, pestering me! Just—” he takes a deep breath to regain the composure he had lost, and finally—finally, his brother meets his gaze with a heartless icy stare, “Just… Go. Go, before you make everything worse, like you always do.”

Ryusui stood there, stunned, gripping a tight fist against his side, “I–I see,” he stammered. When he looked up again, his eyes are filled with a cascade of tears that drip along his cheeks in rapid succession, and yet—he can't help the wobbly grin plastered to his face as he contained barely restrained sobs. “I didn't realize everyone hated me this much… Well then, why don't I just leave right now? Do everyone a favor and just hit the road already?”

“Ryu,” his brother sighs, “that's not–”

“I got your message. Loud and clear,” Ryusui cuts him off. Without uttering another word in excess, he turns and storms out of the dining hall, the tension hanging within the air like a storm cloud threatening a violent rain.

Francois looks after the younger man's retreating form, momentarily heartbroken, emotions flittering across their face, one after the other. They reach out for him hopelessly with a gloved hand. Then with a sudden, uncharacteristic burst of anger, Francois removes their apron with a swift motion of their wrist, then throws the thing over the Head Master's face with a slap.

“I quit.”

Then, without a second glance, they hike up their overcoat and proceed to run after the young Master through the vast expanse of the surrounding manor.

What started as a brisk jog turned into a sprint as he made his way through the familiar, echoing hallways of the Nanami manor. Ryusui's footsteps are uneven, his heart pounding, with every step heavy in its weight. Ryusui can't bring himself to slow down; the memories embedded into these walls are too overwhelming to bear, echoing his former life he's forced to leave behind. He can't stop—he can't look back. He's suddenly at his bedroom door, bursting through it chaotically and nearly colliding with the wall, and collapses into his bed with a strangled sob. He buries his face into his pillow, crying with abandon. Even a confident man like him with all his bravado had his limits. The tears come in waves—he doesn't bother to stop until they're utterly spent, wracked with sobs so deep they entrenched his soul.

Slowly, he pulls himself back together again, and eventually he sits up. Sniffling and wiping his face dry with his shirt sleeve.

He can see Francois standing in the doorway, unwavering, a constant presence with a patience that Ryusui could never fully express.

His chest feels tight. His emotions are still a whirlwind. His suit is rumpled and disorderly.

When Francois spoke, their voice was like an anchor amidst the sea of chaos.

“...What do we do now, young Master?”

For the first time in his memory, Francois’ tone carries a weight of vulnerability, a softness he's never heard them use before. The silence that follows hangs heavy over them, thick with the gravity of the situation. Ryusui refused to buckle.

“We'll pack our things. Pack everything we can. We'll make our way to a hotel for the night, and follow up on everything first thing tomorrow morning. Sorry–I can't bear to stay here another minute,” he explained, placing his face down into his palm.

No matter what, he's still Ryusui Nanami—he'll find a way to endure, just like he always had.

Francois bowed deeply, “I understand.”

The two move to the servants quarters, where a handful of staff are waiting for them, brought along by order of the Head Master to help him pack, stacking his things together—his clothes, his books, the treasures he's collected over the years—into two cars, one for him and one for Francois. A moving truck sits from behind, to gather the rest of their belongings they don't immediately need to bring to the hotel, and can't bear to part with.

Once the trunk is packed tight, Ryu slams the door by the handle, his breath coming in and out in sharp bursts.

“I don’t want you to go!” A cry rings out from one of the young servant girls, her eyes brimming with tears. She clutched at a tissue in her hand, as if it might somehow ease the ache she felt within her chest.

Ryusui’s heart ached at the sight of her distress, and without thinking, he pulled her in, pressing her head to his chest with a comforting hand. “Don’t cry for me, my darling,” he murmured, his fingers brushing away the tears from her cheek. “I don’t deserve these tears.” His voice is gentle, but there’s an aching sincerity in every word. “But I promise you—” His thumb caresses her cheek, wiping away a smudge of mascara. “You still look beautiful, even when you cry.”

She buried her face into his shirt, her small frame trembling in his embrace as she clutched the fabric tightly. He held her close, and then a few more of the serving staff came around in turn. Male and female alike, they came to him with warm arms, a comforting touch, and all Ryusui wanted to do was to hold them all, to thank them for everything they’ve done, everything they’ve been to him. But it’s bittersweet, because deep down, he knows this will be the last time. One by one, they press close to him, offering words of comfort, soft embraces, a hand to hold, a kiss to his cheek. His heart clenches, and though his arms are full, it’s still hollow. The warmth of their affection only highlights the emptiness inside him. Only Francois, who has never wavered, truly understands him anymore.

After the last hug, Ryusui pulled back, his gaze falling to his ever-loyal butler. Their eyes meet—silent understanding passing between them, a bond that went beyond words.

“Ready to go?” Ryusui asked, trying to steady his voice.

Francois nodded, looking up at Ryusui in earnest. “If it’s with you, Master Ryusui, then I am prepared for anything. Whatever that may be.”

Ryusui’s hand hovered over the handle of the car door, when suddenly, an odd sound caught his attention. It’s soft at first, a whisper on the air. Then with a growing unease, it became louder—a slow, steady hissing of air. Ryusui’s muscles tensed, his sailors instinct kicking in full. His eyes dart around the estate grounds, his servants confused expressions matching his own.

“What’s that sound…?” he asked, his voice low but tinged with suspicion.

A few of the servants glance around nervously, unsure about what’s happening.
“It’s—”

Before anyone can finish, Ryusui’s stomach drops. His eyes widened in horror. “Gas—!” he gasps, and the realization hits him like a freight train.

The world slows for a single, breathless heartbeat, but then the air itself seems to shift, a sharp pressure building, suffocating everything in its path. Ryusui crouched down low to the ground, sniffing the air, and sure enough—there’s a distinct, acrid stench like rotten eggs.

“Mercaptan,” he mutters to himself, scowling.

Mercaptan is a chemical compound mixed into the gas mains to help detect the presence of gas—a substance that sits heavier than air—to help prevent the gas from accumulating without detection. Naturally, for an industry that relies heavily on gas and oil-based fuel systems, there were fail-safes for these types of situations. Like auto-sealing gas valves and low-hanging detectors. But this—this was too strong, too deliberate. A leak like this shouldn't be possible.

Which meant that it wasn't an accident. This—This was sabotage.

Ryusui's blood turns to ice in his veins.

“An explosion,” Francois gasped.

”Everybody get back—!!!” His voice bellows like a gunshot. There was no time left to think, to hesitate. He lunges backwards, grabbing the servants nearest to him with a sweep of his good arm, diving with them into the nearby hedges. Francois, already moving, pulled back another staff member by the wrist.

Then—

There was a sharp, metallic pop. Then another, and another, the sound turning into a sputter, like an unsteady ignition, before their world erupts into chaos.

A deafening boom tears through the night, splitting the sky into a violent flash of fire and force. The ground lurched from the shockwave, ripping its way through the estate as the entire western wing collapsed in a thundering cascade of stone, glass and steel. The flames burst outwards with energy, swallowing everything in their path. Ryusui barely had time to throw his arms over his head before the blast hurled him backwards into the grass, inadvertently protecting his body from the intense heat. His ears rang loudly like a clamoring bell. Half of the mansion had either collapsed into smoking rubble, or was sent outwards in a circle of flying brickwork, or scraps of shrapnel like shards of wood beams and shattered glass. It rains down upon them, pelting their clothing and skin with burns or smashing into the expensive cars. A brick flies through the windshield, shattering the glass. Ryusui moved quickly to shield the others with his larger body, and groaned at the feeling of hot glass pelting into his backside.

The details don't cohere into meaning for Ryusui anymore, because when he lifts his head up to gage the scene before him, and the flames part just enough to see the wreckage, he can feel his heart stop in his chest.

What was once the dining hall was now a gaping, blackened crater—not just burning, now utterly obliterated—surrounded by the jagged ruins of stone and steel, the walls crumbling inwards, and a thick plume of black smoke billowing up into the night sky. The splintered remains of the ebony table, the flames lapping up the golden tapestries and the shattered remains of fine china—everything was destroyed.
No…

No, no, NO, NO, NO!!!

His stomach twists into knots. His pulse slams like a cacophony of drums, as he staggers back up onto his feet. His breath comes in short, ragged gasps, with the heat curling around his face.

Then his mind falls apart into a discordant mess when he realizes that Sai was still inside. The impact of that notion hit him harder than the explosion itself. His vision tunnels, his body lurching forwards before his brain had the chance to catch up.

”SAI~!!!”

He screams his name until his throat becomes raw, but he doesn't care. His legs are moving against his will, driving him forward, sending him up the stone steps two at a time to reach rubble and flame, his mind screaming to move faster, faster, FASTER!!

Then a gloved hand clamps down onto his wrist, yanking him back hard. He snarls in response, thrashing around, but Francois holds their grip to him tight like iron, eyes wide with urgency, “Young Master, stop! The building is still collapsing! You'll be crushed!”

“I don't care! Sai is still in there!” His voice cracks on his words, his throat raw with his desperation. He can hardly see through the smoke, barely breathes through his own suffocating feelings of panic and surging adrenaline, but Nature does not care about his feelings. The inferno rages despite his desperate cries, turning everything—his home, his legacy, his beloved brother—into a churning storm of spiraling embers.

Ryusui used his teeth to rip his sleeve off, sending Francois to fall back onto the stone steps, and wrenches himself free from their grasp with a slide of fabric.

Then without a second thought, he leaped over stone and right into the mouth of the flames, leaving nothing but a shower of cinders in his wake.

Chapter Text

Francois

Francois watched on in horror as their beloved Master leaped into the fire.

Then they heard the iconic sounds of sirens rolling into the parking lot: Firefighters on red trucks, ambulances and a police brigade circled the lot, rescuers in EMS uniforms ran out the back, running to find any surviving bodies. The heads of their Empire had fallen, but workers in cover-alls towards the Eastern wing were screaming in agony—begging for help. Policemen formed a barrier around the perimeter of the estate, holding back the onlookers to ensure no one unauthorized could breach the scene. A difficult task, as the estate was within the heart of the surrounding Academy. Many students getting out of night class and an onslaught of press were flooding the gate for a desperate look.

How incorrigible, they think.

That’s when they just happened to turn their head at the right moment. A couple of lingering EMT’s got pulled out of the ambulance to take a call over the radio. Probably looking to call in a helicopter to evacuate the survivors.

Francois did not hesitate for a second. They move with all the swiftness of a ghost, passing through the chaos to reach the open vehicle. One by one, they grab the necessary equipment from the oxygenation kit: Oxygen tanks, an oxygen mask with a variety of tubing, attachments like connectors and fittings, a nebulizer, bronchodilators, and an emergency injection syringe of corticosteroids. The sheer audacity of their actions is entirely overlooked by Francois, willing to do whatever selfish act it took to rescue Ryusui.

They deposited these finds deep inside a nearby bombshelter through an open hatch underground. The irony was not lost on Francois, as they ran back with a singular oxygen tank properly connected to a mask. Tossing their sash over their head like a scarf, they carefully crawled back into the labyrinth of hell itself.

Ryusui

The mansion had become unrecognizable.

The mahogany interior walls, now scattered like splinters and wood beams. The tapestries and banners, reduced to ribbons and ash. The golden chandeliers he used to admire as a child, now shattered like crystals around his scrambling footfall, like fallen stars. He ran past all of this; the once-grand hallways now a tunneling nightmare of flame and cinders. The heat was suffocating, pressing against him on all sides as he moved, but he couldn't stop—he wouldn't.

Flames twisted around the ruins like writhing serpents, with smoke billowing around him in thick, churning waves, rising through the open gaps into the night sky. Ryusui barely acknowledges any of it, as he vaults over the fallen debris.

The dining hall was just up ahead. He’s so close. He can already see where the explosion had ripped through the walls, like a gaping wound that exposed the once-opulent room to the surrounding tunnels. The doorway is barely intact, its frame buckling while the flames lick around its edges like teasing, roaming hands. He barrels right through it without thought.

He collapsed inside, moving to sit on a knee, and coughed violently as the smog clogged his nostrils, stinging his eyes.

The ornate room is now entirely unrecognizable. The long banquet table is now scattered in jagged pieces. The chandelier that once bathed the room in golden light had been reduced to melted metal and broken glass. Rubble is piled high from where the ceiling had caved in, now a smoldering mountain of stone, wood, and steel. The walls, the floors, the high arched windows—everything is ruined. All of this encircled by a massive impact crater like one would find on the familiar satellite above.

“Sai—!” He coughs, lungs rejecting the thick smoke curling into his lungs, “Sai, where are you?!”

He stumbled forward, nearly tripping over a column and catching himself before he ran face-first into a broken, gilded chair. It’s amazing how quickly he was feeling dizzy, like he could throw up, or pass out.

That’s when his eyes catch on the corpses.

They’ve been reduced to a twisted heap of bodies, charred beyond recognition, sprawled amongst the wreckage. Their carcasses are frozen in grotesque stillness, their last moments seared into their limbs and expressions like a phantom of horror unfolded before him. Their open mouths exposing teeth to the roots from violent screams. His stomach lurches but nothing comes out; he forces himself to move, to check the bodies one by one.

He doesn’t recognize Sai among any of them.

He turns sharply then, his foot catching on something loose, and suddenly he’s flung onto his back, coughing from the ash he sent up into the air.

That’s when he noticed a charred hand reaching out from the coals beside him. With a single, desperate heave, he drags the body out, only to have his breath catch in his throat at the sight of what comes sliding out. His uncle, barely recognizable except for the fine suit, black and burned away, melted to the skin like scraps. The flesh is a husk like dried earth, with a sickly stench of charred meat and boiling blood—a gush of bubbling organs come sliding out the back of the thing, bones floating in the puddle like a cauldron. For the first time, Ryusui feels his sanity falter, his mind struggling—actively refusing to process what he’s looking at. This isn’t real, it can’t be real! Yet, there was no denying that absolutely wretched stench searing its way into his mind, the image burned within him like a polaroid.

Ryusui screams in terror, scrambling back and away from the thing that used to be his legacy. Then the wreckage shifts—a wood beam snaps inwards and falls down, dropping more brick and stone work onto the bodies and burying them once again—he jerks his head up in alarm, listening to the walls groaning, struggling to remain intact.

Ryusui can feel his sailors' instincts screaming out—the building was about to implode. He ignores it. If his uncle had been here—he turned his eyes to the pile of rubble where Sai must’ve been. He doesn’t hesitate, he lunges forward, dropping to his knees and digging—ripping away the debris with his single hand. His skin blisters as fingers collide with the glowing coals. He keeps searching, sifting through the ash and rock, searing—desperate—screaming out everything he had left within him.

The ground beneath him trembles as somewhere deeper within the manor, another wall gives way, sending up a new burst of heat along his backside. A fresh cloud of embers takes off into the open air, sprawling like dying stars.

He keeps digging, and hears another crack, a deafening one from above.

The world lurches, and something unbelievably heavy shifts above him. He looks up. The remaining beams collapse, topping downwards and burying him in a fresh avalanche of rubble. Only his arm and face stick out, while pain erupts through his body. His breath is driven out from the crushing weight. Struggling, gasping, each inhale like swallowing fire. His hand, ragged like melting plastic, reaches out uselessly, with his strength rapidly slipping away as darkness comes to press inward on his periphery.

Was this what his uncle experienced in his final moments?

His lips curl around Sai’s name, no sound coming out, drowned out by the roar of the flames. His arm gives way, body sinking deeper into ruin.

He keeps the faces of Sai and Francois at the forefront of his memory—a vague recollection of his most treasured moments—as everything gives way to fading black.

Even as darkness lapped up his crestfallen vision—flashes of orange beneath his eyelids—convinced he was about to die, he refused to yield to that familiar pull of the void. He felt himself sinking, as the weight of the ruins pressed down upon him like a grave.

Then—A voice. Steady, precise.

”Young Master—hold on.”

A rush of cold air runs across his face, stirring him from the haze as he feels it lifted from the ash. He could barely make out the silhouette crawling towards him, moving with precision through the smoldering wreckage—a shadow shifting over the glow of the dying lights. His body jolted then, as something firm gripped his arms good and tight.

”I have you.”

He’s moving. He realized that a mask had been secured to his mouth, letting him sip fresh oxygen, keeping him alive, but just barely. They didn’t yank him out carelessly, lest he receive further injury and ensure no further collapse. Their brows are pressed together into a grimace, glistening with sweat. Their coiling hair secured tightly around the sash they always wore on duty, covering their nose and mouth as they moved. Moving a chunk of rock here, and a piece of charcoal there. Then a firm hand is pressed into his side, sliding him out, and securing them with an arm around his chest with startling strength.

“Breathe, Young Master, don’t stop.”

He tried, he really did, but his airways were clogged. A feeling of weightlessness overtakes him—Francois is lifting him, carrying him and running out of the ruins. They leaped out through a gap in the wall, and didn't stop moving until they’re back on the lawn. Then a torrent follows suit as the building finally implodes in its entirety, and the fire’s begin to die down into a slow simmer of lingering heat.

Francois

Francois had Ryusui precariously placed along their shoulder as they climbed down the steel ladder and into the shelter. They close and lock the hatch behind them—they couldn’t afford to be too careful against these raiders. They don’t even register the distant shouting as someone noticed their theft—none of that noise mattered down here.

They drop down painfully with a grunt onto the stone floor, their footfall echoing the enclosed space of titanium walls. The air is cold down here—Francois takes a ragged breath as they deposit Ryusui onto a singular mattress lying along the floor.

Oxygen therapy had to be the first priority. Francois predicted a measurement of (15L/min) of high flow oxygen in order to displace the carbon monoxide in his blood, but this wasn’t enough. As expected, he’s not breathing properly. Breath barely visible.

With precise, almost surgical movements, Francois begins to prime the nebulizer—Ryusui is undergoing bronchospasms, they had to artificially open the airways. Using more tubing and connectors, they pour in the mixture of bronchodilators. A fine mist hisses out through the interior of the mask, curling around his nose and mouth.

“Breathe, Young Master, please,” they begged, but Ryusui didn't stir.

Francois clenched their jaw hard. With a trembling hand, they reach for the syringe of corticosteroids. They tear open his pant-leg, and after a quick swipe of an antiseptic wipe, they aim and plunge the needle deep into his thigh, with nothing but the sound of distant, muffled chaos and a pulse-pounding heartbeat within their ears.

Seconds pass, one after the other. Too long. Way too damn long.

Francois feels the color drain away from their face.

No…

They reach for his open collar, grasping it tightly, nearly hoisting him off the bed with their strong hands, “Don’t—Don’t you dare die on me!” They cry, tears pooling in their eyes, panting hard, “You can’t die! Not you! Anyone—Anyone but you! It should have been me! It should have—“ they sob, a strangled cry escaping the back of their throat as they hunch forward, nearly drowning in their own despair.

“No!” Jumping to their feet and running to some nearby medical crates against the wall, they tear the boards open with their fingers and root around its interior for an IV drip. They loop the bag along a hook against the wall, and with another swipe of an antiseptic wipe, they slide the needle into his arm, closing it with several loops of medical tape. It was the only way the needle would stay intact with third-degree burns along his skin.

Maybe, just maybe, hydrating his body would be a last final push to bring him back to life.

Francois punched the nearby wall in frustration, causing the skin along their knuckles to tear and bleed through the soot-stained gloves.

And then, finally, finally—Ryusui lets out several loud, disgusting coughs, followed by a sharp inhale and ragged, deep breaths, one after the other.

Francois gasped, kneeling by his head with wide eyes, “Yes! Yes, that’s it! Breathe, just breathe. Keep going! Cough it up, don’t stop—“ their desperate words pouring out of them, one after the other as Ryusui mindlessly coughed up that tar.

They let that scarf fall from their head like a ribbon to drape between their bodies, and Francois can’t help but to press their cheek down against his upper chest, just to listen to that wonderful inhalation of air return. A heartbeat stutters, deep within, and growing stronger once again. They laugh, truly laugh, tears streaming down their porcelain cheeks. “You’re alive. My beautiful boy—You’re alive! Oh, thank the stars!”

They sat like that together for quite a long time. Ryusui did not reawaken until early dawn the next day. When he did, he let out a hoarse, “Francois?” The butler had fallen asleep along his chest, dozing off to the sound of their sleeping, quiet breaths. They jolted upright immediately at the sound. “Young Master?”

“Where are we?” He croaked. He groaned with agony as the pain hit him, and Francois got up to retrieve a syringe of morphine.

“The bomb shelter. How are you feeling?” They inject him with the drugs, and he's quick to relax.

“Hah… that's better.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Then out of nowhere, Francois slapped Ryusui across the face.

“NGH-! Francois! What-”

They grab him tightly by the shirt collar, hoisting him up, “Don't you EVER scare me like that again, do you hear me?!” They yelled, and Ryu looked back with wide eyes and a swollen cheek. All he could do was nod, and they let him go.

Francois sat back with a loud sigh, returning to their usual composure. They felt exhausted—there was too much to process mentally.

They both sat in respectable silence for a while. Ryusui looked equally composed—the only sound was his wheezing breath.

“...I can't stay here for long. I can tell. My body was crushed. My ribs are broken, and my legs. My hand—” he lifted up the limb to stare at it. Francois had it bandaged up to the elbow, but they were already oozing with fluids. He dropped it lifelessly; he couldn't move his fingers at all.

“I know.”

“Why—”

“I didn't want to risk sending you to the hospital. In your current state, it would be easy to pay a doctor to have you executed. I couldn't risk it. I've already called out a team of doctors. They'll be here soon.”

“I see.”

Another awkward silence.

“Francois—“

“You don’t have to say anything. Save your breath. I already know what you’re going to say.” They stand up, giving him a stern look of knowing, “You were about to ask me to go and investigate the crime scene, before the police get their hands on everything. Am I wrong?”

Ryusui just grins, “That’s my Francois, always so prepared.”

“It’s nothing of the sort. Not this time,” they say, and move to the back of the shelter where a wardrobe kept in vacuum-sealed plastic remained. In a flash they were in camouflaged clothing, and they tied a green bandana around their head tightly. “Despite your own selfish actions, you are not the only one seeking answers.”

They slipped on some combat boots and moved back towards the ladder. Stepping on the first wrung, they pause momentarily when Ryusui said, “I’m sorry.” They wait. “You were always there, doing everything for me. You’re all I have left now… but… oddly enough, it feels like you were the only one there all along.” A few gruesome coughs escape him. Francois was about to scold him to get some rest but he insisted, “Thank you. For everything. For saving me.”

Francois stepped up a few more wrungs.

“I saw you. In my last moments. When I thought I'd reached my end. Sai too. Just you two. My family…”

Francois’ bottom lip trembled. They thought they were done with crying. They were mistaken.

“...Get some rest, You- Ryu… I'm… too tired for this right now.” They spare him a glance, forming tears in their eyes like dew.

They unlock the shelter with a harsh tug along a massive lever, and push up the hatch door with their shoulder, grunting with effort—they slip out quietly into the early dawn. They easily replace the hatch, locking away their most precious treasure below. A hand lingers along the cool metal, like a gentle caress, they pull away and run into the cover of the hedges.

The Investigation

Outside, the place was a mess of authority. Firefighters were beginning to pack up their hoses after the last of the fire’s were put out, leaving behind a mountain of smoking rubble. A bomb squad was outside as well, investigating for further explosives, and the source of the initial blast. Police swarm the grounds like ants over a ruined colony, sifting through the wreck in search of clues. Francois can tell—they have yet to call in forensics. Hell, they have yet to actually find anything at all. The scale of destruction would be a labor of weeks investigating—time Francois had no intention of wasting. They do not share their vast knowledge of the estate.

Francois adjusted their camo-print coat, and moved towards the estate’s outskirts with purpose, avoiding the main thoroughfares where they were certain to get spotted. There was no illusion of risk in their mind—eventually evidence would be locked away behind closed doors and courtroom bureaucracy. If they were going to gather clues, it would have to be now, before everything disappeared behind file folders and the empty words of lawyers.

Today would be different. One way or another, they would seek justice. For Ryu, for Sai, for themself.

”Ryusui did not find Sai last night, nor was he among the bodies uncovered,” they thought as they moved towards what used to be the back gardens, ”If the boy escaped somehow, it would have to be through here.”

They retraced Sai’s likely steps, and sure enough, there were footprints in the ash. Francois knew those shoes like the back of their palm. Sai had been here. They move from the shattered remains of the grand window, through the courtyard by a few paces. They pause momentarily, but Francois can see evidence of a scuffle up ahead. As if Sai had been blown back by some incredible force. There were larger footprints here as well. Someone much larger and in military grade combat boots, dragging a struggling Sai off and away from the manor.

That’s when Francois see’s something familiar peeking through the dirt. They crouched, and scooped up what used to be Sai’s notebook of coded texts. They brushed off the soot to reveal its fine leather cover. The edges were burned—a black tar glueing some of the pages together—but the contents inside remained intact. They carefully flipped through the pages, sharp eyes scanning the rows of calculations, sequences and hastily scrawled notes. Then, along Sai’s last entry, a single marking stood out—a large, deliberate “X” drawn in blood.

They froze.

Was it a message? A warning? Either way, it was a single digit of code meant for something.

Francois pocketed the notebook into their coat, only to realize Sai’s usual pocket watch was dangling from the thing as well.

The watch was broken—at least, that’s what they thought until they realized the batteries had been dug out. Their eyes widened, realizing the hour and minute handles were both aligned like a compass. It’s coordinates! Moving the watch parallel to north, the arrows pointed straight towards—

The ports. More specifically, the Nanami shipyard.

This was an SOS after an assault and kidnapping!

Francois felt their feet take off running, cutting through the blackened trees and towards the harbor.

Gathering clues at the Scene

Francois pulled out a small flashlight from their pack, following the beam's path as it brushed over splatters of blood. A curling mist like fog surrounded them, and the cold morning air caught in their throat. Following Sai’s direction, Francois found themself stepping through the passage of trees and onto the off-road that led towards the ports. There’s more evidence of a scuffle here. A splash of blood, an indentation in the dirt in the shape of a knee. Someone had knelt here, struggled, perhaps. Francois could predict that a panicked Sai put up a fight before being deposited into some kind of heavy artillery vehicle. Francois brushed back a piece of grass, and sure enough, there was an injection cap left discarded.

Sai had been subdued here.

Francois had seen enough. They needed resources—contacts who could verify vehicle movements, security footage, and the presence of unauthorized trucks.
They pulled out their phone, dialing a secure number.

“I need information on any unregistered cargo vehicles leaving the estate within the last 24 hours. Cross-reference them with known black market transporters and arms dealers. Prioritize those with connections to the ports.”

A pause. Then, a sneaky, amused chuckle on the other end. “Already causing trouble? That didn’t take long. Alright, I’ll see what I can dig up. You owe me, anyways.”

“I always pay my debts, officer Yo.” Francois replied coolly, before ending the call.

Francois arrived at the docks. The authorities had yet to sweep the surrounding property. The docks, however, were a different matter entirely. Normally, high-security checkpoints guarded every entrance, yet no alarms had been raised, and somehow every check-in had been followed through as if the port were still running optimally. These docks in particular weren’t just used for trade or for storing ships—These housed their military-grade vessels, owned by the Nanami family through private contracts. Warships, submarines, cargo freights, landers and equipped with state-of-the-art navigation systems and armed to the teeth with munitions. All of these were gone—Francois could see from their vantage point. Such a feat shouldn’t be possible—

Unless you happened to have a background in secret operatives and military experience, with a mathematical prodigy kept under your thumb. Sai hadn’t been taken for ransom—nothing so ametuer and petty—no, it was for access.

The fence had been cut—clean, precise, almost surgical. Francois slipped through with ease, running towards the security booth that housed the guards that would routinely scan access cards for cars to drive into the lot. When they poked their head into the kiosk, sure enough, there were two dead bodies inside. Both killed by headshots from a sniper rifle. One slumped forward in a chair and another lying across the floor, with blood splattered all over the control panel. Dried blood along the POS tablet.

Outside, the floodlights had been left on overnight, bright beams passing through an opaque mist and over dark waters. Francois could see fresh tire tracks near the loading bay. A transport truck had been here. Following the tracks, they found a maintenance panel pried open—inside, a security system had been overridden. The wiring itself had actually been cut and rewired to loop past surveillance footage and the previous day's check-ins.

Francois’ stomach twisted into knots. Only someone of Sai’s capabilities could decrypt a system of this magnitude in such a short amount of time; creating a new algorithm to bypass all alarms and security cameras.

Running a glove hand along the panel, that’s when they saw it—a symbol scratched into the casing—a large and deliberate ”X”

Sai’s message.

Francois exhaled sharply, pulling away from the box, their pulse hammering. This wasn’t just an abduction, it had been a covert operation. A calculated, military-styled execution carried out by an elite organization. Who, for some unknown reason, needed access to one of the most formidable private-owned fleets in the entire world.

Francois looked out over the empty waters, past the horizon. Somewhere beyond, Sai was being transported alongside a criminal organization.

This was bigger than either of them had imagined.

They needed to act. Now.

Ryusui
Three Weeks Later

The first few days were a blur of agony and frustration. Ryusui had never been one to sit still, but the sheer extent of his injuries forced him into reluctant compliance. His body bore the aftermath—any normal man would have been confined to bed rest for months, but neither of them could afford such a delay.

A tunneling system within the hideout allowed them the private acces of the most elite team of black-market doctors and specialists, with technologies not yet released to the public. Hyperbaric oxygen therapy quickly became a daily routine, flooding his body with concentrated oxygen to encourage healing. Burn dressings with interwoven skin grafts helped to prevent infection and heal the damaged skin faster, while white-plasma injections encouraged his body to regenerate at a rapid pace. Ryusui would scream any time he felt those rows of needles puncture his skin. The worst was when they slid his bones back into their proper placement, fusing them back together again with unconventional methods.

Pain management was another battle entirely, lest his mind give way to insanity. Francois rationed a high dosage of NSAIDs and more corticosteroids to keep inflammation at bay, but not enough to allow him further excretion, or becoming dose-dependent with his addictive personality. “You will not be reckless with your own recovery,” they warned, voice laced with uncharacteristic steel. But Ryusui’s stubbornness was unrelenting. By the end of the week, he was already trying to sit up unassisted. By week two, he was pushing himself to walk again, ignoring Francois’ exasperated sighs as he moved about the liminal space.

“Ryu, you must rest,” they snapped, pushing him back down onto the bed by his shoulders, “You are not ready for this.”

“I can’t afford to waste a single second!” He snapped in turn, curling the fingers of his good hand into the sheets. “Sai doesn’t have weeks! I need to move.”

Francois exhaled slowly as they straddled his legs, letting go to rub at their own temples, trying to ward off a migraine, “Then at least allow me to make the proper arrangements. If you insist on stumbling about, you will do so with the right support—no arguments!” They snapped, interjecting Ryusui from another protest.

By week three, things really began to kick off—he moved with an unnatural speed of recovery, and in some instances, he almost appeared to be growing stronger than he had once been before. The fractures in his ribs still ached horribly—he still couldn’t feel in his left hand—but the bone stimulation therapy had worked marvelous wonders. His burns, still tender, no longer seared with even the most minute of movements. A true wonder of science!

Time had become his sworn enemy, and Ryusui would let the world burn before he let a single thing stop him from finding his brother.

Little did he know, the world outside really was burning. News was slow to reach them of a horrible pandemic sweeping the nation—the world itself submitting to sickness and death.

The low hum of a television—and the slow oscillations of a ceiling fan overhead—filled the dimly lit diner, with a flickering glow casting long shadows along the red vinyl booths. The place smelled of grilled butter and rich coffee, with a warmth from the kitchen area that became a stark contrast to the otherwise cold weight of realty pressing heavily onto his chest. He takes a deep sip of his cappuccino, ignoring the sound of screaming rioters and minor explosives coming from outside—some kind of gang war was occurring; Ryu could hear them smashing windows with crowbars and shouting profanity.

Another week had passed. Ryusui insisted on getting out of the bomb shelter to discuss their plans over a hot meal. Francois reluctantly agreed, but only because he persuaded them over the guise of his dwindling mental health.

Francois sat across from him, posture raised despite their own injuries, with a hand wrapped around a cup of black coffee. A silver tray before them held a lavish spread. An extravagant omelet, a prime-cut steak, delicate pastries—all largely untouched. Ryusui had ordered it out of habit, but his appetite was a ghost of what it once was.

“Alright… Let’s go over it again,” Ryusui said, taking another deep gulp of his drink before smacking it back down onto the table. “From the beginning.”

“I followed the money, just as you suggested,” they began, “These ‘Evolutionists’ have been planning this for months in advance. They paid off port officials, bribed certain dockworkers and shipwrights to look the other way, and used Sai to hack their way into the maritime tracking systems. The data had been manipulated to scramble radar technologies, make decoy signals, using frequency hopping measures, as if the vessels had never left their berths. Not even a single trace of a heat signature. Nothing. Yo couldn’t find a single piece of surveillance, nor any unregistered transporters coming in and out of the estate. It’s as if they never existed to begin with.”

Ryusui tapped his fingers against the rim of his cup, his frustration mounting, “Fine. So they covered their tracks to considerable lengths. What else?”

“Take a look at this,” Francois said, and pulled out a stack of papers from their inner coat-pocket to spread across the table beside their food. “This is the list of missing vessels—several ballistic missile submarines, a couple attack submarines, littoral combat ships, destroyers, about two of each of these, a lander—but look at this,” they said, pointing to a specific blueprint containing the ship anatomy of their logistic transporter ships—“They took every single one of our transport vessels. Cargo ships. Clearly with the intent of smuggling some sort of goods. Drugs perhaps? Perhaps we’ve caught the attention of a drug cartel?”

“…Yeah, that must be it,” Ryu agreed quietly, pressing his lips together as he scanned the pages with his eyes.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“Something about this doesn’t feel right to me. It’s just too high-risk for a drug cartel to make. It would be a lot simpler to do the same thing under the guise of trade ships, not to mention the military vessels…”

He looked up.

“Show me the notebook again.”

Francois did so without complaint. Spreading open the crisp, black pages to reveal the familiar—“X…”

Then the realization clicked into place. “Wait, could it be… Dr. Xeno?”

“Dr. Xeno?”

“And Stanley Snyder.”

Francois’ eyes flickered with recognition.

“You remember him, do you not?”

“Of course.”

“Stan was my piloting instructor. Taught me everything I know about aerial navigation, precision landings, evasion techniques…” He clenched his jaw. “If he’s somehow involved, that means they have air support too. That would explain the need for the lander. Fighter planes, helicopters, maybe even drones too… I remember, back in the day, something had changed with Snyder after that NASA scandal… Something about stealing moon rocks that got swept under the rug… He quit being a piloting instructor after that incident—“

And then it hit him.

He snapped his fingers, eyes wide, “Biological weapons.”

“Biological weapons? To what end?”

“The end of the world. That’s definitely it,” he gripped the edge of the table, turning back to look at the chaos erupting from outside. “No wonder everything fell to shit so quickly. They sent cargo vessels to every corner of the planet, sending out those spores like a plague, infecting the globe with this mutated fungus! The warships are a security measure, and the submarines are a way to lay low to avoid the fallout.”

He couldn’t help but growl to himself. “That’s how they knew so much about our family—the estate, it was all thanks to Stan, and this Dr. Xeno who must be the head of this operation altogether.”

Ryusui felt himself roiling with rage at the thought. How could his old teacher—his mentor—his friend, dare to do such a thing?!

“That…Would explain how they managed to move so quickly.”

The TV in the corner began to flicker incessantly with static. He barely registered the broadcast at first—just another news report about the fallout. But then he saw it—a familiar flicker of white and green, a face, with a name to match:

SENKU ISHIGAMI: THE TERRORIST SCIENTIST BEHIND THE GLOBAL NIGHTMARE, KIDNAPPED BY RAIDERS?

The sound around him—Francois’ measured voice, the chatter of patrons, the faint clinking of silverware—became nothing more than static. The world blurred at the edges, tunneling his focus toward the grainy footage playing out before him.

Senku…

Ryusui shot up from his seat violently, and nearly tripped over himself as he scrambled out of the booth, rushing forward. He chaotically shoved his way past a waitress with a tray full of drinks, threatening to topple over as she yelped. He didn’t care.

His hands slammed against the glass screen, ruined fingers pressing hard enough to turn his knuckles bone-white. His breath fogged up the surface as his wild, disbelieving eyes devoured every detail.

Senku was bound in handcuffs, his wrists raw with how tightly they were fastened. His signature lab coat was missing, now replaced with a beige overcoat—his clothes were torn, dirtied, clinging to a frame that looked thinner than Ryusui remembered. His face, once so smug and self-assured with that perfect pearly smile, was overshadowed with grief and pain. He looked shell-shocked, traumatized, skin covered in bruises and a cut running along his jaw to his cheekbone. The black-clad soldiers hauling him through the mud treated him like a captured beast, yanking him forward, uncaring of his staggering footsteps and winces of pain.

Senku, a war criminal? The genius who once spoke with such reverence, of infinite possibilities? Never. The news anchor detailing a fabricated story about a mastermind orchestrating biochemical warfare was nothing but lies.

His lips parted, breath shaky. ”Senku…”

For weeks he had been drowning in his grief, in fury, in the weight of his losses. But now, staring at the screen, a new feeling erupted inside of him—a burning, all-consuming want.

Senku looked utterly magnificent. Even in chains, even bloodied and beaten, even as the entire world cursed his very existence, he was still Senku. Still unbreakable. Still a man that defied logic and fate itself.

Ryusui’s heart pounded against his ribs, his vision sharpening with a manic sort of clarity.

He had been lost, drifting aimlessly in a storm of loss and vengeance. But now? Now he had a North Star to chase.

His lips curled into a slow, hungry grin. He could feel Francois’ gaze burning into his back, but he didn’t turn away. His entire focus was on the screen, on the man who needed him.

“Don’t worry, Senku.” His voice was hoarse, but steady. “I’ll come for you. I always get what I want.”

And right now, there was nothing—nothing—he wanted more than to steal Senku back from the clutches of the world.

They run out of the diner together, ignoring the chaos around them. Ryusui walked with all of the strength and confidence of a warrior, back towards their shelter so they could get ready. “What do we do now?” Francois asked desperately, and Ryu answered confidently, “We’ll get dressed, pack our essentials, and make our way to that compound. This is a rescue mission! And our first lead towards Dr. Xeno and his crew,” Ryusui laughed, snapping his fingers. It was the only gesture his ruined hand could make. “How exhilarating!”

A fiery explosion of a car blows behind him, and he doesn’t even flinch.

Chapter Text

Ryusui

The two sitting before him returned looks of stunned surprise and horror, like they couldn't believe what they just heard. Gen swallowed thickly, hazel eyes blown wide, “That's… Some story. I'm amazed you survived. Twice.”

“It's hard to believe,” Kohaku agreed, then her brows knit together. “He was kidnapped?”

“And Ryusui of all people was the one who rescued him from that mess? I’m not sure which is more shocking, the fact that Dr. Xeno managed to fuck up not only just one, but two people’s lives, or the kidnapping and dramatic rescue. I had always wondered what happened to Senku after that broadcast…”

Ryusui just laughed, waving a scarred hand dismissively. Somehow, their casual tea and biscuits had transformed into an evening wine—they really lost track of time—too enraptured by his tale to pay the outside world any mind. His cheeks are flushed after his second glass, “Oh, my dear illusionist, you underestimate my brilliance! Lady death is the only darling I dare to spit in the face and run from! This tale is unlike any you have heard yet. It was the most daring, most heroic, most romantic—“

The heavy doors of the hallway suddenly slammed open, cutting Ryusui off mid-sentence. His guests looked around in vague confusion.

Then they heard Senku’s voice rattling the dishware.

“RYUSUI, YOU FUCKING BASTARD—!!!”

All their heads snapped towards the entrance, where the wide, double oak doors burst open with a dramatic flourish. Standing there in the corridor, illuminated by the dim torches lining the walls, was none other than his Senku Ishigami. His tattered overcoat billowed behind him from the sheer force of his entrance, bright red eyes like jewels sparkling in the firelight and burning with barely restrained exasperation. Behind him, the two gentlemen he would later learn to be named Ukyo and Chrome, flanked his sides. They were all covered in soot, like gunpowder, and looked like they narrowly avoided a rough fight.

Ryusui sat up suddenly in his chair, picking up his feet off the desk and setting his wine down with a delicate clink. Then a wild, happy grin spread across his face, his eyes shining, “Well, well~ If it isn’t my star—my favorite scientist, after all this time. Senku! You’re still as beautiful as the day I—“

“Can it,” he snapped, irritated, as he stepped into the room. They all looked particularly grumpy, even Ukyo was wearing a frown.

Gen gathered himself and clapped his hands together with forced enthusiasm, “Senku-chan! We were wondering where you were! Why, how did you ever get in here?! This city is sealed off tighter than a miser’s purse strings!”

“Science,” he deadpanned.

He came up to the desk and reached into his coat to drop a handful of wires connected to some sort of intricate, handmade device, poorly welded together. The thing hit the table with an audible smack.

Ukyo sighed, wiping the soot from his eyes, “He built a mechanism to bypass the drawbridge controls without triggering the alarm. Not really even sure where he got the parts from—“

“—That would be me,” Chrome interjected.

“Anyways, when that wasn’t enough, he rigged together a pulley system to launch himself over the walls. Landed smack-dab onto a tent, destroyed their produce display, quite literally ran away from the security—“

“That Oarashi guy is fucking ruthless!”

“—and to make a long story short, now we’re here.”

“While you’re all clearly busy, snacking away and drinking,” Senku huffed, placing his hands along his hips. “Care to explain yourselves?”

Kohaku and Gen exchanged wayward glances, looking guilty, “I’m sorry. We were talking and I—well, I suppose we sort of lost track of time,” she apologized. She stood up and easily ushered Senku into her seat so he could catch a rest break. Then brushed a new cut along his jaw with a swipe of her thumb, “Are you alright? You’re filthy.” She grabbed the cloth napkin from the table she had been using, and dipped it into a glass of water so she could gingerly wipe the dirt off his face. His face visibly relaxed from her soft touch, “I’m fine. We’re just a little—“

“—hungry,” Chrome finished for him, his stomach growling, which he hugged pitifully.

That’s when Francois stepped forward, and offered Senku a deep bow before him, “Master Senku… It’s been so long. I was hoping this day would arrive.”

“Francois,” Senku said excitedly, grinning and standing again, ignoring the way Kohaku was pulling on his arm, pouting and trying to get him to sit back down. “Too long. How have you been? I’m sorry… I didn’t expect to be gone for so long. One thing led to another and I—well…”

Francos straightened out, adjusting their bow tie, “No apology necessary. I understand. Sometimes life gets in the way despite our best efforts to move forward.” They smiled warmly, clearly very happy right now despite themself. They took a breath to steady themself, before they had a chance to get misty-eyed, and moved off towards the door to the right, where they brought back a trolley topped with a massive silver pan covered in an equally silver rounded-lid. “I had a feeling you would show up on your own volition, one way or another, so I took the liberty of putting together a well deserved feast.” With that, they lifted up the lid by the handle. And a steaming full-course meal bursting with heat was revealed underneath—Steaks, baked potatoes with cheese, chives and bacon crisps, sour cream, bread rolls, and best of all, wine. More specifically a hard cider made of fermented apples and red grapes, sat chilling inside a pot of ice. Chrome looks enthralled, letting out a cheering whoop and awe as he eyed the feast with greed. Even Senku and Ukyo gulped with want.

Ryusui laughed at this, watching them watch the food. “Don’t just stand there with your mouths open! Eat! Eat to your heart’s content, for tonight is a celebration! In fact—“ He moved to stand on top of the desk, and they all looked up at him with stunned disbelief as he raised his wine to the air for a toast. The liquid caught the light in a dramatic sparkle. “A toast! For your return to the world, and the love of my life, Senku! And everyone else in the room! I love all of you down to my last, dying breath! May your joys be as deep as the ocean, your troubles light as its foam, and may you find peace of mind, wherever you may roam!”

With that, he took a deep drink of his beverage. The others followed suit, caught up in Ryusui’s merriment. How often did they get the excuse to relax and enjoy themselves, free of mind? Their desire for normalcy was stronger than any of them realized, as they sat crowded around the desk to eat and drink, and chat. Francois came around every now and then to top off their drinks, or collect dirty dishes.

“You know, you could have knocked from before,” Kohaku grumbled, chewing on a tough piece of her steak as she pointed at Senku with her fork.

“Not when I had to stop this idiot from running his mouth, spreading misinformation.” Senku returned, jabbing a thumb at Ryusui.

Ryusui, unbothered, took another sip of his third cup of wine. He swirled the half-empty glass aimlessly, watching the liquid spin, “Misinformation? My dear Senku, I was simply recounting a tale of adventure, camaraderie, and my undeniable heroism, not to mention my stunning good looks and charisma!”

Senku groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You told them the story, didn’t you?” His ears were burning with embarrassment and past humiliation.

Ryusui grinned wider, “I was getting to the best part!”

“Do not tell them. It’s humiliating.”

Gen, always enjoying a bit of chaos, leaned forward eagerly, “Well, now you have to tell us, Senku-chan! What really happened back then? I don’t mind a little detour from reality here—I’m dying to know.”

The others nodded in agreement, leaning forward for a good listen, all eyes on Senku. Senku looked over to Ryusui hopelessly, it seemed like he was crossing over into a drunken stupor. So he couldn’t very well tell his side of the story like this. Not to mention he would probably—no, definitely over exaggerate some of the more… intimate details…

Senku exhaled deeply, annoyed. He ran a hand through his unmanageable locks of hair. Despite his irritation, there was a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. Ryusui watched him through the drunken haze like rose-colored goggles, just happy to watch him and listen to his voice, soaking in the details of his presence. All of them here together, like the generals of a mighty kingdom reminiscing a bygone battle.

He decided then, in that moment, that he was determined to get them all to see just how perfect they were together, like this, like how he always wanted things to be. Soaked in the atmosphere of excitement, love and friendship. Something his family never relished before their ultimate demise. An excitable chill ran down his spine. Finally—finally, things were picking up again for them. For him.

“Alright, fine. Just yank my chain, why don’t you?” He chuckled, and folded his hands beneath his chin, cocking his head to the side, looking coy, “I’ll tell you how things really went down.”

Senku
Four Years Earlier, Morning Glory’s Cove

“Hey! Somebody, please—I need help!”

Senku’s voice was hoarse, his fists slamming against the unyielding concrete of yet another Society’s border wall. His fingers curled against the rough surface, trembling from exhaustion and cold. He sank to his knees, staring up at the barbed wire that crowned the entrance, his vision swimming with frustration. No response.

He had known things would fall apart quickly, but not like this. Not this fast. Millions were dead, either choked out by those God-forsaken spores or torn apart by the infected. Nowhere was safe—homes, public buildings, entire cities had crumbled into graveyards. If you weren’t part of a gang or inside the walls of a Society, you were nothing. Just another walking corpse, waiting for your turn.

Survival wasn’t just about avoiding the infected—it was the people. They were worse. Every settlement he approached either chased him off or opened fire without warning. Like now.

The gate creaked open, and before he could utter another word—a shot rang out.

Senku barely had time to throw himself to the ground before bullets tore past him. ”Gahh—!” A hot, searing pain grazed his side, another nicking his cheek. He scrambled up, sprinting before they could adjust their aim.

No matter what he did—covering his hair with a cap, hiding his tattered jacket beneath a cloak—they still recognized him. Or maybe they just didn’t trust outsiders. Either way, the result was always the same. By the time he reached the cover of trees, his legs nearly gave out beneath him. He stumbled onto a boulder, throwing his head back, chest heaving. Breathing hurt. His stomach twisted with hunger like a knife, an agonizing, hollow pain that had long since become a constant ache.

How much longer could he keep this up?

He needed a plan. He needed help.

But from where?

Who even cared if he lived or died anymore?

He couldn’t survive alone.

Senku barely had a second to react before a gloved hand suddenly clamped down over his mouth, an iron grip cutting off his breath. ”Hmph—?!” He thrashed instinctively, but more hands grabbed him, large hands, rough and unrelenting. Then the butt of a rifle slammed into his ribs. He cried out in pain as they wrenched his arms behind his back.
A thick gag was shoved between his teeth, biting into the corners of his mouth. Then the chains followed suit. Heavy, industrial-grade, digging into his wrists and ankles with bruising force. Someone spat at his feet, disgusted.

“Global terrorist my ass. You’re nothing but a scrawny little mouse,” he sneered.

Senku’s vision swam as they forced him to his knees, binding his body so tightly that his circulation burned. All he could do was walk, not run. Not that he had a chance in hell of escaping. Especially after a thick cloth was tied around his head tight, plunging his world-view into darkness. The stifling smell of male sweat and corroded metal filled his nostrils.

They hauled him upright, back onto his feet—too fast, too hard. They were way too rough. His injured shoulder was wrenched painfully as they dragged him forward. He stumbled, nearly collapsing, but they kept him moving despite his trembling steps. “Keep moving! Don’t stop walking, or else!”

His mind was racing, cataloguing every detail he could grasp—the number of footsteps, the clang of metal grates, an engine purring as it idled. He grunted around his gag as someone else kicked him roughly along the back, sending him to land hard inside their transport vehicle. Someone else freed him of his possessions—his pack of supplies, his pistols and their cartridges, and that machine gun he’s brought along all the way from the Wingfield manor.

The man laughed as he turned the weapon around; Senku could hear the metal shifting in his hands. “You won’t be needing all this where you’re going.” Then a heavy set of double doors slammed closed.

A short ride by truck—Senku sat there along the cold floor, waiting. Silently calculating the velocity of the vehicle, its weight. A difficult task. ”Objects at a constant motion do not experience speed…I have no idea how fast we’re going, but I can guesstimate the make of the vehicle. The resistance in the tires, the depth—“ Senku stood up on wobbling knees—those heavy chains pulling down on his body—and forced himself to move. He stumbled around, slamming himself into the walls, or thumping his body against the ground, just to listen to the make of the vehicle rattle with his force.

“Hey! Enough!” A man yelled from up front. “Or we’ll chain you to the walls next!”

Ah—so they were all clustered towards the front, and there’s a surprising amount of space in the back too. He flexed his fingers along the cold, hard floor. The walls are heavily armored; he ran into a lot of supply crates strapped down with cables. Which meant that he wasn’t in a trunk, or some type of covered cargo area like other traditional transporters. The ride was eerily smooth—the breaks were damn good, the air an odor of diesel and oil. Every little bump, the tiniest jolt reverberated through his body into a cadence far too powerful for any standard transporter. The purr of the engine idled like a dream, the structure enveloping the raucous noise of the outside world. “Heavy-duty, highly insulated, and the vibration frequency suggests a large, low-slung engine,” he muttered softly to himself. Even though he couldn’t see, the acoustics and physical sensations painted a picture in his mind. His analytical brain quickly deduced: the vehicle was not just any truck—it had the heft and resilience of an armored personal carrier, an APC designed to withstand heavy fire.

It reminded him, all too specifically, of the transporter that housed the missile that killed the astronauts.

Were these government raiders hired out by Xeno to capture him?

Was this another one of his sick trials; a test of some sort?

The APC finally came to a halt, and rough hands came around to yank him out onto an open, narrow gravel-lined path that he recognized led to the cove. Senku could feel the sunshine along the back of his neck, granules of sand stirred along by the wind around his ankles, the sound of gentle waves lapping in the distance. The beach was to his left, a crowd behind a blockade to his right. The breeze carried the faint, electric whine of cameras charging, and the excited murmurs of voices swelling in the nearby distance.

A press event? He wondered, his mind racing. They’re parading me around like some war criminal.

It was as if this were some sort of public execution! Actually…scratch that, that’s probably exactly what this was.

“Keep moving, let’s go,” the man grunted as he hauled Senku along by his tether. The path was clear, as far as he knew, sloping towards what he remembered to be the pier.

As he walked, his steps slow and deliberate along the boardwalk, that’s when he heard it—dozens, maybe even hundreds of survivors packed together in one place. He could hear it more clearly from here, turning his head, the static hum of handheld mics, the rapid clicks of camera shutters. The occasional cough or shuffled footstep as reporters jostled around each other for a good position. A news drone circled from above, the sound of propellers whirling on the wind like a winged insect.

Idiots! All it took was just one of the infected to slip through, one careless breath too close, and an outbreak could start right here, right now. These weren’t your traditional zombies—no, they were an infestation of air-borne spores like a toxic cloud, ready for just one single inhale—one blink of an eyelash to claim a host! Do they not have any idea what a biological weapon even means?!

Once again, Xeno’s words rang out across his psyche:

Like pigs racing to be first to catch the slop.

Then another voice rang clear. It took a moment for Senku to recognize its feminine lilt.

“Senku!”

Miss Minami, the news host girl.

Guess she survived after all, but how?

He could hear her straining against the fence, probably injuring her arm just to lean over the barbed wire, to get her mic out the farthest. If he could see her, he’d see her unkept, windswept blond hair, and her disheveled appearance with hastily scrawled on makeup.

“Attention everyone! For those of you locked away at home, I am once again reporting to you live from Morning Glory’s Cove, where the accused mastermind behind the Cordyceps pandemic—one mister Ishigami Senku, trained scientist—is now being withheld into government custody! Ghh—!! Officials are stating that he will be transferred to a secret facility overseas, where he will be executed for his crimes!”

Even without seeing her, Senku could picture that determined gleam in her eye, the practiced poise of a seasoned journalist, willing to risk it all for the full scope. If anyone here had the sense to see through the spectacle, he imagined it would be her.

It was a risk he was willing to take.

Senku moved sharply to the right, pulling until he felt the tethers of his chains pull taunt against his wrists and ankles. The raiders holding him shouted at his defiance, trying to yank him back, which he stubbornly refused. He dug his feet into the hard sand, snarling and drool leaching from his mouth against the gag. He could feel the metal of the cuffs digging their way into his skin, cutting him. Blood ran down over his fingers, dripping onto the dusty ground.

Minami gasped, eyes wide. “It—It seems he wishes to speak! Everyone! Please, let’s—“

“Move him forward! Let’s see what this little traitor has to say,” one officer Yo claimed, cutting her off mid-sentence. Wherever the action followed, it seemed like Yo was always there to claim full credit for his credence.

Senku thrashed harder, shimmying his shoulders, trying to spit the gag from his mouth. You’re standing too close! Spread out! Put on masks, for crying out loud, don’t you understand what you’re dealing with?!

Straining against the gag cutting into his mouth, he twisted his jaw, working at the cloth that had loosened just enough during transit. A rough yank to the back of his head from a guard helped—it slipped free, sliding down past his chin.

He took a deep breath—he only had mere seconds before the guards realized and silenced him again—he had to make this count:

“Step back! You’re all too close together, are you trying to die?!”

A murmur of confusion swept through the crowd. Reporters hesitated, glancing between one another. Whatever they were expecting, it wasn’t that. Minami blinked at him with surprise. This wasn’t the desperate pleas of a guilty man, this was something else entirely.

He lifted his chin, straightening out his posture against the restraints. Even whilst blindfolded, his voice rang out with unshakable confidence:

“What you’re doing is wrong. Believe me, I understand what it’s like to feel pressured into a situation just because it's your job—“ he thought back to the days where he was willing do anything for Xeno, and shook the thought away with a shake of his head—“but what you’re actually doing is creating the perfect breeding ground for another outbreak! The Cordyceps don’t care about your news stories, your headlines, whatever bullshit the media has fed you about me. It doesn’t just spread through abrasions, like bites or cuts, it can also spread through spores—airborne spores! You’re packed together like sardines, breathing in each other's exhalations. If even just one—just one of you is infected, this entire beach will become ground zero for another catastrophe!”

A chord of fear rippled through the crowd, their murmurs rising in urgency. Even the guards gripping him loosened their hold in shock.

Minami’s voice cut through the noise like a knife, “Are you saying we’re in immediate danger of an infection here?”

“I am.” He turns his head. The crowd has become silent again; they’re letting him speak his truth. “You’re all smarter than this. Reporters, meant to investigate the truth? Then start acting like it! Is this truly justice?! Or am I just a convenient face to blame, just because you saw one lousy report on TV—while the real culprits sit comfortably while you waste your time parading me around like some show for entertainment!”

The murmurs turn into full-fledged debate. Yo is shouting, “Then why are you the one in chains, huh?! Just look at this guy—onion-haired boy is practically oozing with evil intent!” He points an accusing finger his way, while simultaneously fiddling with a bluetooth in his ear muttering to some third-party: ”He’s here at the cove, can you see what’s going on live?” Yo looks up at the Nanami drone nearby, filming Senku’s dramatic comeuppance. ”I’m stalling for time as long as possible here. Y'all better hurry—I smell violence a mile away.”

”It’s going to take some time. We’ve lost our fastest vessels. Do what you can to protect the boy, and I’ll pay you handsomely.”

Yo is grinning from ear to ear. Yes! Thank you monayyy~ I love this job!

Senku barked out a laugh, his voice scratchy from misuse, “Because the truth isn’t profitable! It’s much easier to blame one man than to admit to an entire system failure! I’m not blameless in this pandemic, I won’t deny that, but I don’t stand to benefit from this disaster. Not like the real kingpins working in the background that truly stand to profit—you’re only standing to prove their point just by being here!”

He steps forward, and the crowd takes two steps back, gasping with fear.

“Please, please, don’t give in to your fears. Don’t surrender your logic to your most basic instincts! It’s—It’s not too late. We can still turn things around if we just try! Try and find a way to—“

A strangled gasp cut through the air, then a wet, gurgling choke.

The air shifted. The tension amongst the crowd snapped into something razor-sharp, instinctual, rigid, as every head turned towards that disgusting sound.

A man in the center of the press corp swayed on his feet, his body suddenly wracked with violent convulsions. His hand slips on his recorder, letting the expensive machinery hit the ground with a shattering crash of plastic and an audible pop as the lense shattered. His eyes rolled back, the whites bulging. Purple veins webbed across his skin like dark, rotten roots, traveling beneath his skin with translucence—he had just died, a death-rattle escaping his throat like a groan. His jaw snapped open, too wide. Then, from the cavern of his throat, the spores came forth.

Like the embers of a dying fire, they spewed from his mouth in a brilliant, eerie cloud, glowing blue with bioluminescence. The microscopic particles shimmered, swirling in the air and spreading, a ghostly mist that carried death in its wake.

This was how the Cordyceps start: The baby spores glow a brilliant blue as they lie dormant, then turn yellow, then orange as they mature along their captured host.

People screamed, others ran, but it was already too late.

The spores adhered to their exposed skin, the moisture in their open mouths, the wetness in their eyes, making their way into pores and lungs. Turning yellow as they grew. The infected man lunged forward, his movements jerky and unnatural, like a marionette severed from its strings and reassembled to the lengthy nails of Xeno’s extended hand, under his influence. Even from here. His teeth tore into the nearest victim—a woman clutching a recording device. Her scream was cut short as his teeth sank deep into her shoulder. Blood spurted, and with it, another burst of spores released from the pulsing fungus growing out of his face.

A chain reaction had begun.

”Shit!” Yo’s panicked voice rang out over the chaos. His gun was plucked from the holster at his waist, hand unsteady as he pointed it towards the writhing crowd.

”Yo, wait—!”

The gunshot cracked through the air. A woman fell to her knees, clutching her gut. Her child ran up to clutch at her hand, her partner hovering from behind. “Momma!”

Yo gasped and dropped the gun, his hand shaking. “No, I.. I’m sorry! I—I didn’t mean to—“

Panic ensued as everyone screamed in terror. Running past each other, pushing, shoving. While more bodies began to convulse and attack the others surrounding them.

”NO–!!” Senku cried, shaking his head violently to try and dislodge the blindfold. It managed to slip past just one of his eyes, resting along the bridge of his nose–he locked eyes with the reporter girl. She stared back with her camera, stunned, desperate to finish her report.

“I–I believe you!” She shouted, and desperately pointed her mic at him again, ignoring the criss-crossing cuts along her arm from the barbs. “Everyone at home, please listen to me! Senku Ishigami is NOT–Ahh!!”

Her words are cut off when a strong man leaps his way down into the crowd from seemingly out of nowhere. A man with all the prowess of a lion, snatching both her and Yo up into his arms.

“Wh-what are you doing?!” Minami cried, pounding her mic against his broad shoulder. “I wasn't–!”

“You have an excellent story to tell. Now live another day to tell it,” he says, looking back at her with soulful brown eyes and tangled hair dangling over his face.

Then he peers at Senku through his curtain of bangs. They meet eyes for a moment–an intense stare down, something like intrigue and respect from the mysterious stranger. Then just as soon as he arrived, he vanished.

Senku blinked, caught off guard. Wasn't that—

His sudden thought is cut off as soon as the raider grabs him by the cuffs, and proceeds to drag him roughly back towards the remaining strip of the boardwalk, “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

Senku’s boots scraped against the uneven planks of the dock as he was hauled forward, with the heavy chains rattling with every uneven step. The scent of salt and damp wood clung to the air—mingled with the acrid stench of rusted metal, Senku can tell that this vessel is not nearly as fortified as a Nanami. No, this was merely a transport vessel, and Senku could take one guess—he was being taken to an island prison not far from the coast. The kind of prison that housed the most ruthless of criminals, where he was surely being sent to be executed.

At the end of the dock, the transport ship loomed overhead, its hulking frame slick with seaspray. The loading ramp groaned underfoot as he was dragged up, past stacks of supply crates and armed guards standing stiff-backed along the perimeter.

A whistle pierced the air as he walked by. “We have you right where we want you.”

“Enough talk! Load up the cargo and let’s get moving.”

The sounds of the outside world, wracked with screams of terror and distant growling, were cut short by the loading bay door closing with a mechanical whirl of machinery.

The men escorting him through the corridors weren’t gentle. A rough hand shoved him between his shoulder blades, nearly sending him to his knees. He grit his teeth behind the replaced gag, stabilizing himself before being yanked forward again. Around him, voices murmured, low and speculative, sizing him up as if he were some forbidden weapon. Senku did not react. He kept his mind sharp, gaze forward, mind cataloguing every detail.

Soon, he was imprisoned within the barracks, somewhere deep in the heart of the ship. The metal floor was damp beneath his body, with the stench of rust thick amongst the stagnant air. With wrists cuffed behind him—skin burning from the heavy iron shackles bolted to the ceiling—he had been positioned onto his knees against the back wall, with even more restraints like a coiling snake around his torso, as if constricting its prey. With his ankles bound just as tight, movement was sparse. The floor beneath him rocked with the gentle swaying of the waves, tossing the light fixture overhead back and forth as it blinkered on and off again incessantly.

Then a new scent emerged, cutting through the metallic tang, something like the rancisidy of unwashed bodies and manly musk, and then footsteps—several pairs, one lighter than the other as their boots clacked against the floor.

Senku tilted his head slightly, with messy tufts of white hair falling over his eyes from the humidity. The blindfold had slipped down to uncover one eye but the gag still pressed tightly against the corners of his mouth. His breathing—though slightly labored—remained steady as he focused, his mind racing, dissecting every detail, every sound, committing even the most unpleasant sensations to memory.

That’s when he heard the clink of a belt buckle unfurling.

A heavy shadow loomed over him—a burly, heavyset looking man with an unkept beard crouched over him, with something vile gleaming in his yellow eyes. A gloved hand reached out to caress his features, from his jaw, down his neck and over the chain links binding his chest, with fingers pressing into the bare skin to feel the rise and fall of his breath.

“You’re really such a scrawny little thing,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. “You’re not exactly what I pictured for the ’terrorist’ everyone’s been losing their minds over. No, you’re almost pretty, like a girl.”

Senku’s jaw clenched, muscles taunt, as a slow exhale escapes through his nose. He didn’t need to see the man clearly to know exactly the kind of people he was dealing with. He’d encountered enough opportunists in the world—people who exploited power, who reveled in control over others who had none. Put simply they were rapists, looking to get their fix of cheap pleasure. However, rationalizing the situation didn’t stop his hands from shaking with anxiety.

A finger ghosted over his collarbone, dragging over the exposed skin of his neck. Senku’s pulse hammered beneath his touch, a wave of nausea curling in his gut.

The man hummed, “No fight in you? How disappointing,” His hand moved lower, much lower, moving over his ribs and past his softer belly, reaching for something deeper between his legs.

Senku did not flinch. He actively refused to react, to submit to this man’s vile touch. Instead, his lips curled into a smirk beneath his gag, eyes burning in the dark, calculating and bloody in appearance. ”You honestly think I don’t know what you’re after?” He thought stubbornly, as he felt that hand roam, ”You’re testing me. Watching to see how far you can push me before I yield to you, but I refuse to break now.”

The man leaned in, breath hot against Senku’s neck. A swipe of his tongue to taste his sweat. He moves in close to rub up against him, sniffing his scent and grinding against a thigh.

And then—

”WAIT, WAIT, SLOW DOWN—!!” Chrome suddenly shrieked from across their makeshift table, slamming his hands down against the surface of the desk. ”They RAPED you?! That’s horrible!!”

The people around him looked horrified. Kohaku was digging her steak knife into the desk, growling with barely restrained composure. Ryusui was fully drunk by now, and half-heartedly listening along while he snoozed with his cheek pressed into the desk.

Gen curled his sleeves up over his mouth, uncomfortable, “Well, that’s certainly…” He didn’t know what to say. No one did.

Senku sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “They didn’t rape me, you idiot. Well… They almost did, but then—“

A sharp whistle came from the hallway, interrupting the men rubbing their half-naked glory over his body. Senku couldn’t help the choked gasp that erupted from him then, and relished in the relief he felt when his attackers pulled themselves off him to hastily secure their clothes back together. Boots came stomping over the metallic floor. The raider peered inside, clicking his tongue with annoyance, “Get your asses back up here. They want the cargo secured for transer—it’s all hands on deck.”

An annoyed scoff followed. He wiped off the sweat built up along his brow, stood, and cast a wayward glance at Senku, “Tch. You got lucky,” he kicked Senku’s leg, frustrated, as they turned heel and made their way back down the corridor with fumbling footfall.

Senku sat with baited breath until he heard the hatch close, and he allowed himself a moment of weakness, panting with relief and sagging dramatically against his restraints.

He didn’t have time to dwell on this—his captors had bigger plans for him, and whatever awaited on the island would make this moment seem trivial.

Minutes passed before the ship jolted as it docked, the groaning of metal and the shifting of chains announcing their arrival. Armed guards hauled him to his feet, legs stiff from the stillness. They marched him back down the ramp, and a stiff breeze of salty sea air hit him as the island compound loomed up ahead—tall fences, elaborate scaffolding, floodlights and multiple watchtowers manned by figures holding rifles.

An electric fence pulled open. Once inside, they led him through sterile gray hallways, with dirty boots scuffing against the stone floors. They didn’t stop moving in a unit until they reached a heavy steel door. A raider punched in a code along the keypad, and the thing swung open on heavy hinges to reveal his fate:

An electric chair sat at the center of the room, bolted to the floor along a pedestal, beneath another dim yellow light that shrouded the thing like a halo of death. It was monstrous in its simplicity—thick with steel plating, with reinforced leather restraints in straps along the arms and legs, and a crown-shaped apparatus hanging above it, waiting to be lowered to the victims head. Thick wires like pythons snake from its base and up into the walls, disappearing beneath a window pane off to the right with a control panel sitting behind it to control the voltage safely.

He knew exactly how this crude machinery worked, down to the last charged ion, how it would rip through his nerves, and cook him from the inside out.

Now he really began to panic. He could break the mechanics down, hypothesize the amperage, he could even calculate how long it would take for each of his organs to fail, one after the other, but none of that changed the fact that he had no real plan of escape.

There was no escape. This was it. He was going to die.

He screamed beneath his gag, trying to pull away but to no avail. They yanked his forward, his heels skidding against the floor. He thrashed, but his limbs were ledden with the weight of his chains. Desperation clawed at him as they forced him down into the chair, with breath coming out in short, frantic bursts.

“Get the straps,” someone ordered as they pushed down along his shoulders, voice detached, clinical.

“MMPHH!! NOPHH!!” Senku shrieked, kicking his legs violently, sending out every last bit of strength he had left within him to break free. For a brief second, he thought he might, but a heavy fist drove into his gut, stealing away what little air he had left. “STAY DOWN!!” He yelled, and just as violently, leather restraints cinched tight around his wrists and legs. Hands wrapped around his neck to pull his head back against the headrest, pain shooting through his skull like a firecracker as he secured a new strap around his jaw. Senku gasped uselessly, eyes rolling back as his vision blurred around the edges, threatening to black out.

The pain was almost unbearable, surging through him in waves, wild and uncontainable. His body rebelled, everything he had screaming at him to fight, to find some unique way to resist, but there was none.

The guards, exasperated, stood tall and moved to exit the room for the safety of the control room to his now left hand side.

Someone turned a dial. The machine hummed to life, warming up. “Go for phase three. In three, two, one—“

The switch was pulled.

Senku braced himself, every muscle in his body seizing, waiting for the white-hot agony to rip through him—but it never came.

Instead, their world exploded.

A deafening BOOM rocketed the compound, and before anyone could react, the wall behind Senku shattered inward from the force of a cannon blast. Jagged pieces of concrete rained down in slabs, the sheer impact sending the glass plane flying in shards as a gush of seawater from the canal rushed in through the breach.

Through the sudden chaos, a sharp crack echoed—a gunshot, precise, deliberate. Something whizzed past his ear, striking the electrode crown and slicing the strap to his jaw in half, in just the most perfect moment before the thing had time to clamp down around his head completely. Sparks erupted as the hunk of metal fell, hurdling, spinning, into the rising flood, where it struck the live wires now exposed from the destruction.

Electricity surged through the water.

White-hot lines jumped every which way, dancing through their bodies, sending his captors to spasm violently as the current overtook them, and their flesh seared as they collapsed, twitching and writhing, into the waist-deep water. The water was barely an inch away from his feet, protecting him from the current. A stench of ozone and burnt flesh filled the air, and charred corpses floated along the surface.

Senku, still strapped to the chair, could do nothing but stare, chest heaving, adrenaline pounding in his ears.

And then, amidst the destruction, a voice rang out—bold, triumphant, and somehow unmistakably familiar. “Haha! Now that’s what I call an entrance!”

Senku turns his head just in time to see Ryusui Nanami striding his way in, practically bandaged from head to toe and wearing an open trench coat half-dangling from his shoulders like a cape, barely tethered together by a golden chain around his collar. He adjusts the perm-pressed fedora along his head, the long, draping fabric around his feet wet with the oceans caress. Golden-brown hair whips in the salty wind that now howls in through the breach. He stood over the boulders, hovering beside him like he belonged there, a cocky grin spread wide, as if breaking into a heavily fortified prison compound was just another Tuesday for him.

Behind him, Francois lowered their rifle with an exhale of air, offering a nod to him of cold efficiency as they swept the area for survivors.

Senku was utterly speechless. Not just from the shock of nearly fucking dying, but from something deeper—something that lodged itself in his chest as he took in the sheer audacity, the impossible timing, the absolute ridiculousness of it all.

But more than that—Ryusui had come for him.

“Sorry for the delay, my darling,” Ryusui continued, stepping over jagged stone, maneuvering around floating corpse with casual disregard as he reached Senku’s side. “As for you lot, I weep for your mothers, your sisters, the women you never deserved… It took me a while to catch up to you and this dump, I am sorry.”

“RYUPHUHY—!!” He cried. His gag was removed with a choking cough and a lingering string of saliva as he breathed in the raw air, unfiltered. Then something dangerously close to a laugh bubbled up past his raw throat, “You… You absolute maniac…”

“Flattery won’t get you out of those straps faster, but I do appreciate it. Francois—“ He snapped, and the butler snapped to attention. “The bolt cutters.”

Francois rushed over with the requested item, and after many metallic snaps later, Senku broke free—the cuffs would have to be removed more precisely later.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Senku laughed as he stood free, feeling lighter than ever as he rubbed his wrists.

Ryusui beamed. “believe it, love. Now, let’s get the hell out of here before this place becomes our watery grave.”

Senku looks around in dismay. “We can’t escape the way you came. The water is still charged with electricity. We’ll be fried if we so much as graze it.”

Ryusui is then pulling Senku up against him before he could protest, steadying him with an arm wrapped around his waist. The moment was fleeting, but Senku had felt it for sure—the warmth in Ryusui’s grip, the steadiness in his stance, the sheer confidence radiating from him like a beacon in a wild storm.

Something in his chest lurched.

It was completely illogical. Ridiculous. Utterly unscientific.

And yet—

He couldn’t help himself but lean into Ryusui under the guise of his weakened footing.

“Right.”

Senku shook off the moment, locking it away for later. “Let’s go.”

The water around them was rising fast. They moved together, hoping over the shattered stones and back into the labyrinth, beyond the destruction, taking their only path to freedom. Together, they ran, side by side. The compound was threatening to collapse around them, with the execution chamber behind them flooding completely as the ceiling caved in and blocked off their view of the outside world.

Everything in Senku was screaming to move, but his knees buckled out from underneath despite himself. He was just too weak. Ryusui noticed immediately and swept a strong arm underneath his legs, lifting him up effortlessly off the ground and holding him in a bridal-style against his chest.

“H-Hey—!” Senku couldn’t help but wrap an arm around Ryusui’s neck, as one hand was placed firmly against his backside, the other supporting the crook of his knees. Senku wasn’t blind, he could see clear as day that Ryusui was horribly injured. He was clearly in no state to be lifting another person, and yet, his body moved with all the strength of a machine, his bones like steel pipes, his muscles flexing with intense power unbecoming of someone maimed.

Had he undergone genetic enhancements? What happened to him? He thought worriedly.

“Relax, love. You’ve been through enough,” Ryusui said, voice steady despite the chaos surrounding them. He barely seemed fazed, eyes locked onto Senku with great intensity. “Let me handle everything.”

Senku bristled on instinct. His pride demanded that he argue, but—damnit, Ryusui felt solid. There was no hesitation in his movements, as he took sharp turns around hallways, dodged obstacles in their wake, no sign that he’d falter underneath the weight—not that he weighed much anyways. If anything, his grip was firm, yet gentle. Caring. As if he’d already calculated exactly how to handle him without causing any further strain.

It was so infuriating.

“Put me down,” Senku grumbled, though he made no effort to resist.

Ryusui only grinned, “Not a chance. Beside’s, we’re on a tight schedule.”

Francois took the lead, guiding them through the collapsing corridors. The water sloshed around Ryusui’s boots, and his coat billowed behind them, caught in the gust.

“…Fine,” he muttered. “But if you drop me, I’m making a note of it in my memoir.”

Ryusui let out a sharp, barking laugh, “Noted. Now, hold on tight, Senku. I’m getting us out of here.”

Sirens blared across the facility, mixing with the panicked screams of guardsmen and prisoners alike as the floodwaters surged through. Gunfire rattled in the distance, bullets ricocheting off crumbling walls as the raiders fought to regain control. Francois moved like a shadow ahead of them, protecting them from every raider raising their weapon at them in defiance. A sharp crack would echo off the walls, and they dropped dead, one by one. Ryusui ducked through the hail of bullets, as he hesitated in his next step when they reached the main lobby area. He looked left, then right.

“Take the west wing,” Senku instructed, “It’s a maintenance route—less resistance, and there should be an emergency exit.”

He didn’t hesitate, and took off, adjusting his course. Running through the hallway, the western corridor was less populated, just as Senku predicted, but they weren’t alone.

At the end of the hall, a line of guards stood blocking off the exit. Guns raised and shouting, “Halt! Don't move, or we'll shoot!”

Ryususi skid to a halt, realizing that there was no way Francois could take on the raiders all at once.

What could they do? Senku looked around, and as if placed by a deity in their favor, he saw his machine gun and pistol-pack lying along the desk of a nearby kiosk where criminal possessions were dropped off. He grinned.

Eureka!

He lunged to snatch the thing up, ignoring the throb in his shoulder, and turned to point the nozzle at the guards. The fucking thing was empty—someone dislodged the magazine, but the guardsmen momentarily shrieked and parted wayward from the line of fire. Ryusui, seeing his chance, didn't hesitate for a second but to take off running again. Senku only had a half-second to snatch up his pistols by the strap before they barred through the door. Another alarm went off, ringing loudly overhead. It took all his strength to cling tightly to his possessions as Ryusui took deep strides into the outside air. The light of the sun was bright, momentarily blinding him. Then he realized Ryusui had quite literally leaped off the scaffolding—Senku felt his stomach drop—and together they fell through the air to the ground several floors below.

”Are you insane?!” Senku shrieked, eyes glued to the ground beneath the cover of trees.

”Absolutely!!” Ryusui laughed. Francois caught his hat as it blew off his head.

Senku squeezed his eyes shut tight, turning his face into Ryusui's shoulder, fully anticipating them to break every bone in their bodies.

Except what actually happened was this—Ryusui landed hard onto his own two feet, crouching low as the impact resonated throughout his body. Senku picked up his head, eyes wide and his hair blown back dramatically. “H-Holy shit… That should have shattered your legs. What did you do to yourself?” He asked in disbelief.

Ryusui smirked down at him, “I have all sorts of access to medical technologies. If you'd like, I'll let you do a proper examination later~”

“Less talking, more running,” Francois urged as they climbed out of the bush they landed in.

“Right,” Ryusui peered around the wall, and sure enough, the raiders were beginning to rally, racing down the elaborate scaffolding to cluster together at the bottom. Across the lot, the electronic gate was beginning to pull closed. There was no way they'd be able to catch up in time. “Tch—Now what?”

Senku looked around, scanning their surroundings with his sharp eyes. He turned up his chin, and pointed up high, “We can make it if we climb up that watchtower. We just need—”

“Understood. I had a feeling these would come in handy,” Francois said, pulling out twin wall climbing hooks from their arsenal. They tossed one to Ryusui, who just laughed.

Senku grinned slightly, and clung even tighter to Ryusui as they began to run.

I'm really starting to like these guys…

Senku glanced behind them, and grit his teeth when he realized they're not going to make the mark. There's just too many of them, and they're already beginning to open fire. Ryusui expertly dodged the line of bullets pelting the dirt beneath their feet—if the enemy got the chance to reload, it would be game over. For a brief moment, their chance of escape seemed futile.

Then in one brilliant moment, Senku caught eye of the rapists who assaulted him earlier. They were gathered next to several massive gas tanks connected to a fuel line, dangerously close to the exposed wiring leading into a massive fuse box, and he felt a twisted, maniacal grin spreading across his face.

“Ryusui, lift me up,” he ordered, and the man did so without question. Senku shifted to put a heavy knee over his broad shoulder—using the top of Ryusui's head as leverage for his arm—and took aim with the machine gun. Ryusui's grip on him was tight—a heavy hand along the back of his thigh, stabilizing his shaking form.

Senku had never felt such a thrill of bloodlust race through him before. Revenge permeated his senses as he caught their wide-blown eyes, loaded a fresh magazine, grinned maniacally, and pulled the trigger.

Then—BOOM!!—the compound exploded with a deafening roar. The men who touched him screamed in agony as the materials tore their bodies to shreds, and then—silence, as the fire consumed them, turning their bodies to ash. A blockade of flame and fallen debris cut off the raiders from cutting through the lot, giving them ample time to escape.

Ryusui let Senku lean over a broad shoulder as he scaled the watchtower.

Then they leap, arm in arm together, making a dive for the ship docked below. Ryusui hooked a line of rope, sliding downwards towards the deck, slowing their descent. He lets go, and they tumble together, rolling chaotically until they reach a stop, with Ryusui on top of Senku, protecting him with his arms.

Senku drops his head along the floor, laughing. Ryusui laughs too, watching him from above with a gleam in his eyes, “Goodness, are you alright, Senku?”

Senku just continues to laugh, tears in his eyes, “You’re fucking crazy! How did you—You’re so—“

Ryusui grins, heart pounding wildly deep in his chest. He can't help himself but lean in and press a chaste kiss to his lips, snapping Senku out of his delirium. It's over before he even realized what happened.

“I love you.”

“I—”

“Enough flirting, this isn't over yet,” Francois said from where they landed with perfect grace. They run across the deck to reach the stern, grabbing hold of the wheel, “Ryusui—anchor up!”

Ryusui rolls off of him into a sit-up position, “Understood!”

He gets up, and raises the anchor with incredible strength. All Senku can do is sit along the deck, watching the island burn and crumble into rubble. The raiders run amuck like ants scattered over a fallen colony, and all Senku can think is:

What are you planning, Dr. Xeno? When will I see you again? Just… Why?

Then he blinked, baffled.

Wait… Did this guy seriously just kiss me??