[sekkowi]

First post yeey haha

Haven't got tumbler before, so...kinda new start

[blyavod]

since this blog is apparently my shitpost... ugh the trip is weird. not horrible just awkward. tbh idk what i expected

[blyavod]

i have a nirashiya piece based on a mizisua scene from karma... hopefully one day i’ll actually finish coloring it…

[blyavod]

recently i refreshed my blonde and after 6 years of bleaching my hair i found out i’m allergic to it

so now i hc Chishiya as someone who’s allergic but still keeps bleaching/dyeing his hair and just casually takes antihistamines because apparently maintaining the blonde is more important

[blyavod]

yk the reference

[voidnira]

Closed starter for @blyavod

The moment the first burst of bullets hits the concrete wall behind him and the loser out in the open on the street stares back at him for a hot half second before his brain catches up on the piece of concrete lodged in his abdomen, Niragi knows he won’t find him here.

It’s loud. Messy. People screaming, dying, running in fucking circles like live target practice, not stopping at all for anyone, least of all some brat trying to talk them into catching a bullet for him.

Which is good.

Tokyo is huge, but the Spades Arena cuts a big chunk out of the space he has to comb through for him - or some white hoodie, blood-drenched in the dirt. Hopefully not, because that would mean there’s no smart little brain left for him to put a bullet through, watch the lights go out, make him look like the corpse he acts like.

Trouble is, Tokyo really is huge.

It takes Niragi less time to change the bandages every day. He bites down less hard on the bullet he is saving for the brat, still trying to muffle the sounds as much as possible because if he has to hear himself fucking scream again like he did at the hospital when he was tearing his shirt off his body together with his skin, he’d rather shoot himself.

What aren’t really scars yet pull whenever he moves. Pill bottles rattle in his pocket. Enough morphine to kill the brat several times over. Enough to keep him moving, mouth dry, dizzy in the sun, so he sticks to early mornings and late afternoons, huddling away in whatever corner he can find at noon and midnight.

It’s gonna be the last thing he does. Maybe. Probably.

He’s seen people die in games from broken wrists, twisted ankles, a simple cut because they never bothered to keep up their shots back in the real world.

And then there’s him, or whatever shadow he can spot in broken shop windows, the rare mirror that’s still intact somewhere, never looking at it for more than a single breath.

He’s gonna die.

But he’ll do it after Chishiya. On his terms, and not when some self-important shit feels like playing justice with a lighter instead of just throwing himself off the roof like any self-respecting person that hates themselves that fucking much.

So he keeps moving.

Looking.

Squinting through the scope of the rifle, eyeing his visa, dreading the day the number runs down to zero. No energy to waste on clubs. Or spades. No diamonds with his head this foggy from the morphine.

So he ends up at hearts again, in front of thick prison walls and some decorative little iron gate set between round, two-tone towers as if pretty architecture ever made rotting away more pleasant.

At least the inside is honest. Bare walls, grey on grey on grey, easy to hide the dirt. Everything a fucking drag just like the corridor to the registration area.

Niragi hitches the rifle higher on his shoulder before he steps into the room, grabbing the last collar off the table while every eye around him goes straight to the gun.

Works every time.

He glares at the girl in a stupid doll’s dress smiling back at him like that would help her at all, then clicks the collar shut around his neck.

Registration complete.

The screen on the wall comes to life almost immediately.

Difficulty label: Jack of Hearts

Guess the card suit that appears on the back of your collar. However, you may not look at the symbol yourself. The time limit is one hour per round. In the final five minutes, enter your cell and disclose your symbol.

The lights in the hallways leading away from the room light up and it’s the same fucking routine as always: people staring, wide-eyed, sweating already, first at whatever gets revealed, then back at the useless idiot next to them like trust and charity conquer all when it’s just another iteration of the survival of the fittest.

If you do not answer with the correct symbol, it is game over. The collar will explode, and you will die. Additionally, when the time limit reaches zero, the symbol on the collar will reset and change for each round.

And right on cue, the mandatory village idiot starts promoting exactly that – help each other. Hallelujah.

Niragi huffs, one sharp exhale, before he catches on to who the idiot is talking to through the haze.

Short. White. Answering in that voice that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand to attention.

The voice overhead keeps on rambling, but he isn’t listening anymore. Chishiya’s right over there, against the wall, hood up, non-smile in place.

And all Niragi does is stare.

[blyavod]

Chishiya walks at an unhurried pace through the empty streets of Tokyo. The Beach is behind him now, along with the familiar hum of voices, the smell of chlorine and alcohol. The night has dragged on too long. It wasn't the mystery behind the corpse that exhausted him, but the endless crowd of faces, the panic, the screams, the collective madness. More exhausting than any game.

The Witch's bonfire has burned out, but the games are far from over. It was only the beginning of the second stage, one no one has experienced before. Nothing lies ahead except the face cards, and beyond them... who knows? There hasn't been time to think about it. Somewhere out in the city, the King of Spades is already roaming the streets, turning Tokyo into a live shooting range. Chishiya survived the massacre by sheer luck. No wonder – luck has saved his life more than once.

After escaping, he split up from his reluctant allies. Teaming up with Kuina and the others had been practical, but searching for them across a whole metropolis while being hunted isn't worth the risk. So he does what he always does.

He turns to face the massive brick prison, surrounded by iron fences topped with barbed wire. A giant airship hovers directly above it. A fitting decoration for the second stage. Starting with a Jack makes sense. If there's any way to learn what the face cards are really like, this is probably it.

The air inside is damp and cold. Dozens of people stand in scattered groups, speaking in hushed voices that echo off the walls. Nearly everyone already has a metal collar fastened around their neck. Chishiya approaches a nearby counter where other devices are neatly arranged. He picks one up, examines the mechanism and then, without hesitation, places it around his own neck.

If the rules require you to put on a leash willingly, then it's already too late to resist.

A familiar female voice begins explaining the rules. Chishiya only half listens. His attention shifts to the other players, studying them until movement at the far end of the prison corridor catches his eye.

Out of the darkness, where the light doesn't reach, a figure emerges. Too tall. Too thin. Slightly stooped. Walking with a slight limp. From a distance, the man looks either badly injured or hopelessly drunk. Then he steps into the light. Burned skin. Messy dark hair. A body wrapped in filthy bandages. Looking straight at him.

Niragi.

Of everyone who could have survived that fire, Niragi would be stubborn enough to do it. Chishiya immediately starts calculating all the complications this will bring. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

Well. This is going to be inconvenient.

For a brief moment, the room falls completely silent as everyone processes what they’ve heard. Then the crowd begins to move. Simple as they are, the rules are cruel enough that no one wants to be left alone. Pairs form almost immediately, quickly followed by small groups. Some rush to team up with complete strangers, while others cling to familiar faces.

A short, timid-looking boy approaches Chishiya. He hesitates, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, as if already expecting rejection. For the moment, though, he seems like the only reasonable option. Chishiya gives him a small nod. This is enough to forge a temporary alliance.

Only a few meters away, the first fight has already broken out. A large man punches a younger player while everyone else either watches or pretends not to notice. Nearby, a young woman gathers more and more people around her, insisting they'll have better odds if they stick together. Several others watch from the side, already paired up, making it clear they have no intention of letting anyone else join them.

Across the room, Niragi continues staring at Chishiya with open hostility. Chishiya does the only sensible thing he can: he keeps as much distance from him as possible. At this point, attracting Niragi's attention would cause far more trouble than any game.

[voidnira]

He could say hi at least. Give him a nod, a wave, a pointed little glare. Instead, he gives him absolutely nothing. Doesn’t even look at him properly, his attention back on the room so fast that anyone else would have made Niragi doubt they’d spotted him in the first place.

But Chishiya’s seen him. Chishiya’s decided he’s not worth looking back at. Chishiya sacrificed those precious hands he likes to hide away so much to cobble together some makeshift flamethrower, stalk him on a rooftop like that’s the sensible thing to do during some mass panic that has people do what they do best: kill, accuse, torture, and bring all of that to him specifically. Pretty much the longest conversation he’d ever had with the little fuck. He didn’t ask for it, he didn’t get in his way, he might not even have aimed for a white hood had it turned up in the courtyard below, but Chishiya had deemed him worthy of all that, all the effort, clever little speech, running at a loaded sniper rifle just to set him on fire, and now he’s not even worth a flinch.

Like he actually did die. Like Chishiya doesn’t understand he’s gonna die now.

His fingers find the selector blindly when the rifle slides off his shoulder and he can move again, the familiar shift dulled by the bandages, enhanced in other places by the tight pull of raw skin.

“You can’t use that here. Rules,” someone says next to him and Niragi doesn’t turn his head till he’s raised the rifle halfway, till there are several pale faces staring right at him, some girl stumbling sideways into the wall when some tool dodges a fist swung at him. It would be laughably easy, just flick from semi to burst, cut all that precious worry short, but the voice is calm and level when it comes again, and Chishiya isn’t even looking at him.

So he stops, barrel sinking an inch, looking back at a man in a blue work shirt and a bowl cut. No pale face. A bit too interested, if anything.

“Mind your fucking business,” Niragi hisses, turning back to his own business, only to spot that Chishiya has found someone worth reacting to in the meantime. Some sorry fucking kid, timid, shy, just the right kind of person for the brat to say yes to, lie to. Use. Because apparently that’s what gets you the normal kind of attention, the one where you get stabbed in the back instead of openly attacked and then ignored.

Niragi slides the strap of the rifle back over his shoulder, fingers clenching when they won’t stop shaking once they’re off the trigger. One sharp inhale, then he moves over to the group forming around Doll Girl. She liked him. Her kind always does – as long as there’s the rifle, at least.

“Gonna let me play with you?” he asks, the lilt hurting the corner of his mouth when he tries the smile that has to come with that.

She smiles back, not as bright or coy as they used to be before the brat fucked up his face, but good enough. He shoulders his way into the inner circle, jerking his chin toward Chishiya and his little alliance, raising his voice just enough.

“That one’s a cheat.”

[blyavod]

Jack of Hearts is one of those games where the outcome won't become clear anytime soon. As expected, the first round decides nothing: nothing truly begins and nothing truly ends. Everyone survives. Some are helped by their partners, some by strangers, and some, like the brute, by intimidation. Oh, this is going to take a long time.

Fortunately, the prison has a massive stockpile of water and food. Shitty stuff, of course, but Chishiya has already spotted a few biscuits and a pack of cookies for himself. He watches the others, who are still just testing the waters. Each of them is slowly building their own strategy for finding the Jack. He should start searching too, but there's one problem. Niragi has already declared him a cheater. In front of the entire group, in fact. And that girl, despite her harmless appearance, could very well turn out to be one of the most unpleasant opponents he's faced in any game. Her group immediately grew wary and now keeps glancing sideways at Chishiya. But he makes no move.

“What's the point of cheating in the early rounds?” Chishiya says lazily, not bothering to step closer. “I'm pretty sure the rules made it clear my head would explode if I tried to see my own suit through a reflective surface.” He tilts his head slightly. “As you can see, I'm still alive. Besides, I have a partner who won’t let me down. Right, Ippei?”

Chishiya turns, watching as the guy nervously shakes his head from side to side in that funny way of his. A few people exchange glances, but no one dares to continue the argument. Niragi's accusations hang in the air, unconfirmed. Chishiya just shrugs indifferently.

“Call me when you've got proof.”

Still, he knows that he and Ippei are keeping too much to themselves. That will inevitably draw suspicion. Those who believe he's cheating will stick to that belief regardless. Niragi, on the other hand, doesn't seem at all afraid of ending up without allies one day. In fact, he doesn't really have to worry about that. For the first few rounds, he'll stick with that girl and her cronies, and when their little harmony falls apart – well. Murders and outright lies are probably still a ways off, but intimidating the weakest ones, forcing them to stay close to him? That he's more than capable of. Chishiya knows: Niragi is no fool. Impulsive. Vile. Devoid of any moral principles. But far from stupid. It's no coincidence that back on the Beach they considered him a strong Diamonds player. In that, they're alike.

Chishiya constantly feels that gaze, full of anticipation. Niragi isn't looking at him with suspicion. He's looking at him with hunger. He's waiting for their eyes to meet, for the silent standoff to grow into something more. Chishiya understands: sooner or later, they'll clash for real. And no simple avoidance will delay or prevent that moment.

But for now, Chishiya continues to observe the others, who are growing restless as the next round approaches. One of the players, a skinny guy with shifty eyes, sidles up to that same brute after another scuffle, and tells him his symbol. Except instead of clubs, the picture on his collar is a diamond. The brute, slow on the uptake, nods, accepting the lie. Ippei, catching the discrepancy, jerks forward and opens his mouth to intervene – the guy's suit is wrong! But Chishiya shushes him, freezing him in place and forcing him to stay silent.

The second round begins. A deafening blast fills the room. An explosion echoes from one of the prison cells – the first victim of this endless day.

The echo hasn't even died away before Chishiya has moved. Not toward the cell, like some of the terrified players, but toward the center of the common room, where the view is clearest.

The skinny guy pales, but his expression isn't one of surprise. It's the realization that his lie just killed someone. The girl with the harmless smile doesn't even blink. She's already whispering something to the woman next to her. Ippei's hand trembles at his side.

“That guy… he lied. He told him the wrong suit. I could’ve-”

“You could’ve painted a target on your back,” Chishiya murmurs, not looking at him. “He chose to trust the wrong person. That’s his failure, not yours.”

“But someone died.”

“Someone was always going to die.”

He leaves Ippei to wrestle with that and drifts toward the edge of the room, where a narrow corridor leads to the adjacent wing.

[voidnira]

Chishiya eats. Chishiya hoards biscuits. Chishiya wanders around with that kid trailing after him like a lost puppy. He looks at people, furniture, the screen in the room they started in. He does fucking everything except acknowledge Niragi exists.

Which is quite the achievement, considering Niragi is staring him down hard enough that people start making sure they do not cross his line of sight anymore, while Chishiya sits casually at the far end of it, chewing, breathing, talking to thin air and the kid only, as far as Niragi can tell. No one likes cheaters, and in a game like this, no one is taking chances. Except for the kid, apparently, but that is an issue Niragi can take care of when it becomes one. The little sod looks like he is about to cry at any given moment, so making him run for the hills will not take much.

It’s still a fucking drag. The little tell me mine, I’ll tell you yours dance in Doll Girl’s brand-new gang is done quick, but of course people cannot just take that information and shut up until they need it. There is confirmation after confirmation, hushed little promises of I’d never and you’d never, and Doll Girl passes snacks around like this is some team-building event and she read the HR manual on her way in.

But it works. He knows his suit. He survives. Everyone else does too.

Nothing gained, nothing won. Just more sitting around, more grumbling while some run-down woman fusses over his bandages like he needs help, more Chishiya not looking at him.

The second round starts with an explosion. Disappointingly, only one.

But it is not Chishiya, which is good, and it is not anyone from Doll Girl’s circle, which is also good. Just when Niragi is about to give his eyes a break from the damn white and look at some blood and brain matter instead, that white moves past him toward the common room, the kid at his heels, and Niragi turns and follows.

Of course the brat has to investigate, whether he instigated the shit himself or just wants to know who to point his finger at. Not that anyone will listen much, cheat and all, but he is fucking stubborn, so who knows what he is going to try to pull.

Niragi curses under his breath when his leg complains the second he walks faster. It’s not broken. He tested that. But there is a dull ache that set in a day after he fell off that damn roof, and while it does not hurt nearly as much as the burns, it is as stubborn as the one who caused it.

He digs into his pocket for the pill bottle, fingers closing tight around it. He should not take too much, too often. The last thing he needs is to rifle through abandoned hospitals and pharmacies like a mangled dog, desperate for the next fix that will not do shit. He already needs more when he should need less.

In the common room, Chishiya is feeding the kid some lies about something, all hushed and secretive, then turns and walks off, leaving the kid stranded. All alone.

One little unattended apple, waiting to be plucked by whoever happens to pass by.

He could do just that.

Niragi narrows his eyes, following the white hoodie along the edge of the room until it disappears around a corner. Not back toward all the food, all the people. Away from it.

His eyes flick back to the kid before he pulls out the pill container and swallows two pills down. Will not do much right now, but they still help. Still get him moving faster, better, when he leaves the kid be and follows Chishiya round the corner into a long, bare corridor, hitching the strap of the rifle higher so it doesn't get in the way.

Chishiya walks ahead. Does not look back when Niragi gets closer.

Maybe he really does not hear him. Maybe he’s just pretending.

Doesn’t matter.

Niragi gets close enough to reach out, grabs the hood, and yanks hard enough to throw Chishiya off balance, getting one tiny little sound out of him. Hopefully from the neckline biting into his throat, because he fucking deserves it.

From there, it is one practiced movement. Niragi sidesteps as Chishiya comes back at him and drives him chest-first into the wall, crowds in right after, chest to back, leaving no room to turn when he catches Chishiya’s wrists as they come up on instinct to brace against the concrete. He pushes in even closer until Chishiya has to turn his head, cheek to wall, because there is no space left. Not wedged between Niragi’s body and the concrete like that.

Niragi can feel the fucking soft warmth of him all the way down his front when he wrangles Chishiya’s wrists into the tight space at the small of his back, forcing his spine into a curve rather than giving up an inch himself.

“Missed me, clever boy?” he hisses into his ear, already breathless from the effort, but that is fine, because there is no need to move now.

He forces Chishiya’s hands together until he can pin them with one hand, scrawny little wrists, nails digging into the skin for good measure, while he pats down Chishiya’s side frantically, shoving his hand into the pocket of the hoodie. A dry huff leaves him when his fingers close around something hard, roughly square.

He leans all his weight against Chishiya’s wrists as he pulls it out, pressing him to the wall like a bug pinned in a display case, a needle down the middle, and lets it dangle beside Chishiya’s face with glee.

“That yours?” he coos sweetly, biting down a cough, eyeing the makeshift stun gun before hurling it down the corridor, farther from the common room and anyone who might come take pity on a fucking lying little bastard.

It is not even done skidding across the floor when Niragi closes his free hand around Chishiya’s right wrist, separating his hands and twisting the arm up his back until he has him pinned there. He leaves the other arm free to flail around helplessly while he pats down the other side, rough, turns the hoodie pocket inside out, shoves his fingers under the hoodie and around the waistband of Chishiya’s shorts.

Nothing there.

Just smooth skin. No scabs. No burns.

Niragi grits his teeth, pressing in the rest of the way now that he does not need any room to search anymore.

“Gonna explain why you’re so fucking impolite?”

[blyavod]

Chishiya only manages to come to his senses when he realizes he’s pinned against a cold concrete wall. The impact knocks all the air out of his lungs. Rough hands grip his wrists, pressing him into the surface, and heavy breathing sounds right next to his ear. A quiet noise slips from him, more from surprise than actual pain.

Chishiya tries to turn his head, but he can only look at his attacker from the corner of his eye. The hands gripping him are rough, hastily bandaged, dark spots seeping through the gauze here and there. The smell of burnt skin and medical ointment. Of course, it’s none other than Niragi. Who else would think of ambushing him in the dark corridor of the prison block, when the game hasn’t even truly begun yet?

Chishiya attempts to break free, but can’t. Not that he’s putting much effort into it. And Niragi’s condition is incomparably worse: the burns are still fresh, his movements stiff, yet there’s something desperate about it.

Niragi leans closer and whispers into his ear. The hot breath brushes against skin, and shivers run down the back of his neck, not from fear, no, but from how ticklish it feels. Chishiya barely restrains himself from jerking his shoulder. Then Niragi releases one of his wrists and starts touching his side: bandaged fingers slide across the fabric of his hoodie, lift the hem, touch bare skin.

And, of course, Niragi finds his trusty stun gun in the hoodie pocket, assembled back when he first arrived at the Beach from scraps of wire and parts found in abandoned electronics stores. Chishiya never had much luck with firearms. And the stun gun was practically his only means of defense in this world that he could use without much trouble. Small, silent, almost like a toy, but it had saved him more than once.

Niragi pulls out the stun gun and tosses it aside. The metallic clatter echoes off the corridor walls. Chishiya follows it with his eyes, as much as his position allows, and hopes it doesn’t break completely. In the prison conditions, repairing it would be nearly impossible. Even worse if Niragi decides to take it for himself when he’s finished with it.

Niragi frees one hand again and returns to what he was doing, his fingers continuing their search. He slips his hand under the T-shirt, drags it up along the ribs, reaches lower, toward the waistband of his shorts.

“If you needed an excuse to touch me,” Chishiya’s voice sounds quiet, “you could’ve just asked.”

But Niragi just questions why Chishiya is being so impolite. He merely arches an eyebrow. Is Niragi really bothered that Chishiya isn’t trying to get rid of him, but simply keeps his distance? A laugh almost escapes his lips. He ignores previous question.

“Niragi, be a dear, remind me. What’s the symbol on my collar?”

He knows the answer. He has known it from the very beginning – Ippei, of course, told him right away, and Chishiya preferred to believe him. Hearts, of course, hearts. But he’s curious about something else: how many seconds Niragi will hesitate, whether he’ll tell the truth or try to lie. And whatever the reaction turns out to be, Chishiya already knows it will amuse him.

[voidnira]

Chishiya struggles. Weakly. Badly. Not as much as he could, because Niragi knows what it feels like when they struggle, really struggle, fueled by adrenaline and knowing what will come next, and Chishiya doesn’t even come close. So that’s another thing Chishiya apparently thinks is too good for Niragi. No hi, no panic, just eyes for his little toy skidding down the hallway. He must like that piece of trash. If it still works now. If he gets it back.

He continues his search, fingers slipping over the waistband, underneath, looking for anything tucked in when the little brat finally graces him with some fucking audio.

Getting the wrong idea.

As if he needed a dim corridor away from the group if he wanted to feel anyone up. As if he wanted to feel up the brat of all people, like that was the proper way to go about this - insult Niragi every chance there is, set him on fire, get fucked against a wall before everyone’s necks explode. In his fucking dreams.

The elastic snaps against Chishiya’s skin when he pulls his hand back, bandages catching on the hem of the hoodie, and he hisses as he shakes his wrist free, only to catch a single raised brow and that cheap version of a laugh of his that doesn’t even come with a sound. Because again, why bother with fucking anything other than killing him and then not even bothering enough to make sure he ends up dead all the way at least.

Niragi twists Chishiya’s wrist a little more against his back, just until there’s that telltale little lock. Two degrees more and something breaks, snaps, hurts like the little bitch he is.

Not that Chishiya bothers, of course. Right on theme.

He asks about his symbol instead, as if he deserved a reward for the long-winded and very thorough explanation he did not fucking give, and Niragi shoves him forward by his wrist, movement stopped short by the wall before it can even start properly.

“Fallout with your little friend already?” Niragi asks, tone still mockingly sweet, already chipping at the edges.

He would’ve seen that. He’s seen nothing but Chishiya since he walked in, so this is not a question, it’s a neat little test wrapped up badly on the spot, just like that toy he took off him.

Niragi shoves his free hand into Chishiya’s hair, grabs a fistful at the back, and yanks his head down until the collar gives up its answer.

“Hearts,” he says. “And don’t get too worked up about it. You don’t get to die unless I say so.”

His fingers curl tighter in the dry strands as he takes half a step back, straightening only when he turns, yanking, pulling, shoving Chishiya with him, away from him, hard enough to send him flying if he doesn’t fucking bother with reflexes. Down the corridor, towards the group. Niragi between him and the stun gun. He rolls his shoulders, stance wide and even.

“Your friend’s waiting. Wouldn’t want him to think you’d rather hang out here with me, huh?”

[blyavod]

Chishiya feels his wrist twisted to its absolute limit. Another second and the bone will almost certainly crack. When Niragi’s fingers dig into his hair, wrenching his head back into a humiliating arc, he doesn’t resist. His neck bends obediently, baring the collar around it and the symbol glowing on the screen.

Out of the corner of his eye, Chishiya takes in the ornate burns scarring Niragi’s face, the mask he now wears whether he wants to or not.

So Niragi has decided to tell the truth. And, as always, he turned even this into a deliberate display of superiority.

A rough shove lands between his shoulder blades. Chishiya stumbles a step forward, then calmly straightens his hoodie. At this distance he catches other details without much effort: the fresh burns, the clumsy bandages, a rage that has nothing to do with the game. Niragi is settling personal scores. Even the remark about Ippei sounds like a thinly veiled glimmer of some kind of twisted jealousy.

“If I wanted to be somewhere else, I’d already be there.”

The stun gun stays where it fell, swallowed by the shadows of the corridor, while Niragi lingers between them like a guard standing watch over a trophy. There’s no need to rush. Let him keep his toy, if he wants it that badly. Chishiya will find a way to get it back later.

The corridor opens into the main hall. Ippei sits with his back against the wall and nervously adjusts his overalls. The moment he spots Chishiya, he starts to rise, ready to rush toward him, but freezes when he notices Niragi looming behind.

Chishiya crosses the room and crouches beside him, meeting the fear in his eyes. He bends his head closer and barely audibly speaks words intended only for him:

“Stay away from this one.”

Now Chishiya sits with his back against the cold wall, watching Niragi’s group with dull, half-interested eyes. They gathered at the far end of the room, whispering among themselves and sizing up the other players. Niragi stands a little apart, arms crossed. No longer the unquestioned leader of a pack of obedient strays the way he was back at the Beach.

Boredom presses down on Chishiya, worse somehow than any game.

His attention drifts to one of the former Beach girls. He can’t recall her name, only scattered fragments of her face. She’s the only one in Niragi’s group standing close enough to be useful, filling the silence with aimless chatter with other players. Perfect.

He rises, careful not to startle her, and speaks in the confiding tone people instinctively lean in to hear.

“You’ve heard about the man who shot dozens of people at that hotel, haven’t you? The one that burned down.”

He steps forward slightly, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“They say he had a rifle. And burns… horrific ones, all over. Doesn’t that remind you of someone?”

The girl’s mouth falls half open. The people around her go quiet too. Wary glances start sliding toward Niragi. Chishiya never looks at him, not once. His whole attention stays fixed on the girl, as if she were the most fascinating person in the room.

“Can you imagine what happens if that lunatic survives this game?” he says at last, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “After all, we’re all locked in here with him.”

[voidnira]

Of course, Chishiya has to frame it like he’s planned almost getting his wrist broken all along. Like he’s been waiting for this. He didn’t. There would have been a glance in his direction before - at least one. There’s not much in that lifeless little face, but there’s something sometimes, usually mocking, insulting, arrogant, bored, any variation of condescension watered down to such a homeopathic dose he cannot get called out for it, but absolutely zero is not it. He’s been avoiding him, and avoidance doesn’t go with Niragi breathing down his neck.

So it’s on now.

Good.

Niragi watches him stroll down the corridor back to the group, round the corner with his hands already back in his pockets, before he turns and picks up the stun gun. Carefully, because who knows how the brat rigged it. Some of the tape is rubbed off, a cable ripped out of place, but the thing’s still working fine when Niragi pushes it back in. Not reliably secured, but enough to get a good two seconds of contact in, and the electric jolt jumps between the contacts when he tries it.

The brat’s going all in right away.

Figures.

Niragi slides it into his pocket and makes his way back to the main area as well. Chishiya’s back with his little apple, hunched over, all close and careful like a concerned parent telling their kid to be good when visiting grandma, and Niragi snorts. Like the brat was ever capable of something even remotely close to care. He flashes the kid a grin and walks past the touching little display back to the rest of the group.

They’ve moved to an established corner now, Doll Girl still herding them around her like the most popular girl in class, and she looks up at him with something like a smile when he sits down nearby, so all good on that front.

They’re not discussing less now, though. More. Hushed, spread out. There are low voices dying down completely when an especially twitchy expendable walks past, only to rise up again loud and giggly as soon as his back is turned and he’s part of Doll Girl’s circle.

Not good.

“What’s my symbol?” he asks the run-down woman that’s not fussing anymore, and she tells him right away. It’s the same one the group confirms during the official suit exchange, the same as the twitchy guy stutters when he corners him later near the bathrooms, but still.

Not good.

The morphine starts kicking in slowly, but he still has no nerve for petty bullshit when Chishiya starts looking in Doll Girl’s direction more than he did before. So it’s not nothing anymore. It’s something, and it will come out sooner or later.

It comes out when the round is almost over and Niragi’s sitting hunched over at one of the tables in Doll Girl’s corner, chewing on a strip of jerky. Chishiya gets up from the spot he’s been sitting in since Niragi started the bag that’s almost empty now, casually strolling a few steps until he’s near some girl.

From his group.

Of fucking course.

Sit lazy like the little pussy he is and then, instead of sharpening his claws on the couch or anything subtle, he goes for knocking the fine china off the sideboard right away.

Niragi can’t hear what he says and he doesn’t try to strain his ears. He shoves the bag away, gets up and moves over to where Chishiya isn’t right now, which is right next to the kid, leaning in close till the little sod wishes the wall at his back would swallow him up whole.

His throat is working hard when Niragi reaches into his pocket, eyes going all white and round when he pulls out the stun gun and dangles it in front of his face.

“Here,” he says, turning it so the kid can see where the button is. Can work out where to press even when he’s probably about to piss his little big-boy pants. “Your friend dropped this. In case he tries something.”

He shoves the stun gun into his hand, straightens, ruffling his hair before he turns back to the group. The girl next to Chishiya eyes him up all funny.

Doesn’t matter.

“He tell you a story?” Niragi asks, head tilting, as he walks toward them. “Something cute, huh?”

His voice gets louder the closer he gets, back straight, faces turning, eyes looking up at him just like they should. Wary. Jaws tight. The usual.

Niragi stops a few feet away, not threatening at all, keeping a very polite, considerate distance when he points back at the kid by the wall, turning the stun gun over in his hands, thumb hooked underneath the rifle strap.

“He also tell you he smuggled a weapon in here?”

He waits till they’ve all gotten a good look at Chishiya, at the kid, at his pointed finger, before he drops his arm and moves in closer.

“Not lethal,” he continues, glance flicking to Blue Shirt with the bowl cut. “Would be against the rules to use it. But that thing.”

He stops close to Chishiya, just behind his back.

“One run-in with that and you’re knocked out cold before you can announce your suit.”

[blyavod]

Chishiya turns around and freezes. A stun gun is resting in Ippei’s trembling, sweat-soaked hands. His stun gun. The boy looks completely confused, as if he has no idea how it ended up there or what he’s supposed to do with it. Chishiya, however, already understands what’s happening.

He turns his gaze to Niragi. His scarred face lacks the usual rage. Instead, there’s something colder. Even calculating. This time, he didn’t choose brute force. Instead, he decided to play it smart.

Chishiya doesn’t even get the chance to step toward the boy. Niragi raises his voice so everyone in the room can hear. The message is simple: Chishiya smuggled in a weapon. His little friend is holding it. There’s your proof.

The room falls quiet. Every pair of eyes turns to Ippei, then to the stun gun and finally to Chishiya. Anxious whispers spread throughout the room.

Ippei goes pale. Under the weight of everyone’s attention, his fingers finally give way. The stun gun slips from his hand and falls to the floor with a dull clatter.

Chishiya waits until the whispers grow louder. Only then he steps forward, placing himself between Ippei and the rest of the group. He raises both hands slightly.

“Yes,” he says calmly. “It’s mine.”

A few more whispers ripple through the crowd.

“I’ve been carrying it since before this game. Most people who have survived here for more than a week have something to defend themselves. Mine happens to be a stun gun. I kept it hidden because not everyone here can be trusted.”

His eyes settle on Niragi.

“The only person who had a chance to take it was Niragi. He shoved me against a wall a few minutes ago and searched my pockets. If anyone wants to know why, I’d like to hear the answer too.”

Several people glance toward Niragi. No one says anything. Chishiya looks around the room, making sure everyone is listening before he continues.

“There’s a difference between carrying a stun gun in case someone attacks you and shooting dozens of people in a hotel. They weren’t armed. They were hiding. That wasn’t self-defense.”

Someone from Niragi’s group shifts uncomfortably. The girl Chishiya spoke to earlier lowers her eyes and presses her lips together. Not many people trust him. Then again, not many people trust Niragi either.

“I’d be more concerned about the man carrying the rifle than the one carrying a stun gun. Niragi doesn’t act like someone trying to survive alongside everyone else. He acts like someone who benefits from keeping everyone afraid.”

He pauses. If people had to choose between them, they would not suddenly start believing Chishiya. They would simply start questioning Niragi as well. Doubt is enough.

“So ask yourselves a simple question. Who has actually been a greater danger to everyone here since this game began?”

[voidnira]

Chishiya is giving speeches now. He’s always liked hearing himself talk, but now he’s graduated to full-on group lectures, about the morality of sneaking a weapon in versus carrying one openly, honestly, not because you think people might do something bad, but because you know they do.

But sure, let him talk. Let them listen and whisper amongst themselves. He hasn’t shot anyone in here. He still could. They all know that. Nothing to win with that, but also nothing to lose.

So yeah, let’s have him speed up the process of having everyone walk on eggshells around him, lying to his face, throwing him under the bus, and still getting remarkably truthful with a rifle pressed under their chin. Nothing new, nothing surprising.

“At least when I’m dangerous, you can fucking see it,” he says, loud, and that’s that.

He’s not going to argue with the brat.

He walks back to his place, sits down, coughing. Doll Girl looks at him like she’s still deciding whether to buy it.

Niragi’s next and he knows it.

“He fucked me up like this,” he scoffs, readjusting a bandage that has come loose. “Wasn’t that happy about it.”

He jerks his chin toward Chishiya, still in the middle of the room.

“Still in one piece.”

[blyavod]

Chishiya hears the words, but his expression doesn’t change. Niragi throws out an accusation, maybe hoping for a shocked reaction from the crowd, or maybe for no particular reason at all. But he gets one anyway. Someone gasps. Someone takes a step back, widening the distance between themselves and Chishiya. Behind him, Ippei holds his breath.

Chishiya only looks at Niragi, narrowing his eyes. At his burned face. At the carelessly wrapped bandages. At the dark stains seeping through the gauze. Only one thought crosses his mind.

Not enough.

If the fire had done its job, Niragi wouldn’t be standing here now. He wouldn’t be getting in the way of clearing the game. He simply wouldn’t exist. Everything would be easier for everyone. But reality is what it is: Chishiya miscalculated, and know he has to deal with it.

None of Niragi’s accusations deserve an answer. Chishiya just stands with his hands in his pockets and looks straight through the burned man as if he isn’t there. He has Ippei: scared, shaking, but loyal and alive. Niragi has no one. Only a group led by that cute girl. Chishiya sees devils in her big doe eyes. He’s almost certain she’ll make her move sooner than anyone expects.

Her decision won’t kill Niragi, of course. He’s as hard to kill as a cockroach, and Chishiya has to give him that. Still, watching Niragi struggle to get out of this promises to be entertaining.

Chishiya leans his shoulder against the wall, glances at Ippei and gives him a small nod. Everything is fine. It’s time for another round. Once again, they have to choose a suit. Inside the cell, Chishiya doesn’t hesitate for a second.

“Hearts.”

A moment later, explosions shake the building. The first comes from somewhere to the left, very close. The sound of a body hitting the floor is so distinct it feels like it happens in the same room. The second is farther away. Its echo rolls through the corridors before finally fading.

Two more deaths.

Chishiya glances back at Ippei, making sure he’s unharmed, then walks toward the metal door. Behind it, the losers will stay forever.

He doesn’t recognize the first face. A man frozen in the expression of his final terror. The second is one of the girls from Niragi’s group. Her collar has been blown apart. Her head is bent back at an unnatural angle. A burned wound marks her neck. Chishiya hums as he understands that now the game is finally picking up.

[voidnira]

Ippei has to go. Quite simple. Very simple, in fact.

He’s still hovering behind Chishiya, a scared little shadow, trembling and wide-eyed and fucking pathetic, but still there after people started whispering about Chishiya, too, after Ippei stood there with the stun gun in his hands and watched, lips quivering, until Chishiya went over and consoled the frightened child.

It’s an odd feeling, getting in the cell and knowing that this is probably the last time he’ll be sure of his suit. Just roulette from here on out, unless he gets his fingers in the system. Would have been nice to float on Doll Girl’s overeager friendship-bracelet clique a bit longer, but there’s nothing to win in whatever game is happening there. Someone lied, someone covered that, everyone exchanges ashamed glances when that lie turns into blood and pieces of flesh stuck to walls, or covering for that lie, or knowing they should have said something when they didn’t, and fuck all that bullshit. Niragi’s not gonna wait around for these leeches to grow a spine and tell him they want to see him dead to his face, and he’s not gonna let them practice their newfound little backstabbing skills on him. Not when the master of backstabbing is right there, humming like he’s only now starting to get entertained, kid in tow.

So Niragi waits. More or less. He asks some of his group for a private suit exchange and it’s a mixed bag that leaves him fairly certain it’s neither diamonds nor clubs, but still leaves a gamble. He watches Chishiya, who is back to ignoring him not quite that perfectly as before.

He talks to Ippei when he gets up to get some food, something other than all the sugar the brat is hoarding. Niragi leans against the shelf Ippei is choosing from, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other neatly at his side, rifle slung over his shoulder. Not looming. Not crowding. Just there, and Ippei still goes all tense, shoulders drawn up.

“You still have that gun?” he asks. Friendly. Because he can do friendly. He’s been around enough arse-licking marketers back at work to know what weaseling your way in should sound like, and it kind of works, because Ippei doesn’t just run or faint on the spot. He stays, knuckles white around a bag of crisps that he can’t unclench without the bag crinkling.

“So Chishiya and me,” Niragi continues. “There’s some, uh, history.”

He looks down at himself for a moment, at the bandages, the dirt on his pants, the stains that don’t wash out anymore.

“Not the point. Just, one thing for you.”

He does lean in now, but just a fraction.

“You’re not his friend. No one is. You’re his tool. And every time you help him, whatever he does next is partly on you.”

Ippei doesn’t quite look at him, staring somewhere between the edge of the shelf and a can of fruit. Niragi can see Chishiya from the corner of his eye, not getting up, but he might any moment.

He pushes off the shelf, glances at Ippei’s collar as he walks past him.

“You’ve got clubs,” he says. Not a lie.

And then, as he walks off:

“You think he’d die for you?”

[blyavod]

Chishiya sits at the table next to Ippei, lazily chewing a dry biscuit. Both are silent, neither feels like starting a conversation. It’s already clear: things won’t get better. With each game, the number of deaths only grows, and that trend won’t change, especially now that the cute girl’s group is falling apart piece by piece. He finishes the last bite, tosses the wrapper into the trash and heads toward the shelves to pick something tastier. The selection here is surprisingly good. In the Borderlands, with its endless cans and instant noodles, even a small thing like this is worth its weight in gold.

The cafeteria has long become something like a common hall. People gather here because there’s plenty of space, plenty of food, and you can take your time studying each other. Some are already eyeing a guy who lied to a thug about his suit a couple of rounds ago. Anyone with half a brain knows he’s next.

Chishiya reaches for a pack of chocolate cookies and suddenly feels someone’s gaze. A man with sharp eyes is staring straight at him: not hiding it, not looking away, not even blinking. His stare is cold. He sits crouched against the wall in a relaxed pose. Next to him is a tense boy with long bangs that completely cover his eyes. If Ippei is naturally timid, this one is a caricature, comically nervous. He flinches at every sound and constantly fiddles his sleeve, as if he’d dissolve into thin air without that touch.

A little further away there is a couple. A woman and a man. Chishiya recognizes them right away: the same pair who were loudly getting busy in a cell a couple of hours ago. The man in a suit stands confidently, shoulders squared, looking like he has everything under control. The woman glances around nervously, squinting at everyone who passes, clearly trusting only her lover. But Chishiya notices something odd: she looks at the boy with bangs differently. More warily. Longer than she looks at others, and she jerks her gaze away faster than usual. You don’t look at a stranger like that. You look at someone you already know something about.

Chishiya turns his head the other way and freezes. Niragi is standing next to Ippei. That bastard. He decided to make his move after all, or, more likely, to drip poison while Chishiya wasn’t around. 

Chishiya doesn’t move. He’s not a mama cat to rush to help at the first sign of danger. Instead, he opens the pack of cookies, takes one out and watches from the corner of his eye. Niragi leans toward Ippei, saying something with a polite smile that never means anything good. Chishiya can’t hear the words, but he sees Ippei’s shoulders tense. He hopes Ippei is wary enough. But Niragi sows doubt like no one else. And if Ippei wavers, Chishiya will be in trouble – he still hasn’t found an alternative he can trust.

He touches his collar. Spades. Ippei told him at the start of the round, and two unimportant players confirmed it later. So far, it all checks out.

Niragi finally walks away. Chishiya heads toward the table. He sits down across from Ippei and silently holds out the pack of chocolate cookies. Ippei probably doesn’t feel like eating, but sometimes a small gesture calms better than words.

“Niragi and I have had our differences,” he says, meeting Ippei’s eyes. “But you understand he deserved everything that happened to him, right?”

Chishiya doesn’t wait for an answer, but he doesn’t rush to continue either.

“He’s trying to rewrite history,” he says, taking a cookie from the pack and breaking it in half. “Paint me as the monster. How awful I am, how manipulative, how I’d betray anyone who stops being useful.”

He leans a little closer.

“It doesn’t matter what he said. What matters is finishing this game, preferably with as few losses as possible. I don’t believe you’re the Jack. Am I the Jack? That's for you to decide. But until then, I’m just asking you not to let his words take hold of you completely.”

[voidnira]

Chishiya goes back to him. Of course he does.

Not right away, not running, because god forbid anyone mistakes the little corpse for something with working blood in its veins, but he goes. Sits down across from him. Offers cookies like that does anything. Like sugar and that flat little voice can patch the crack right back up before anyone sees where the seam split.

Niragi watches from Doll Girl’s corner with his cheek propped against his knuckles, another strip of jerky caught between his teeth, jaw working slowly.

The kid doesn’t eat. That’s the first funny part.

He takes one, because Chishiya gives it to him and apparently that still means something in his sad little world, but it just sits there between his fingers, untouched, chocolate crumbs sticking to his thumb while Chishiya talks. Quiet. Calm. Reasonable. All the things people think are safe because they don’t come with shouting.

That’s the second funny part.

The kid nods too quickly.

Not like he believes him. Like he wants to be done needing to believe him. Big difference. Beautiful difference, really, if anyone in here had the taste to appreciate an honest little systems failure when it starts throwing sparks.

Niragi huffs through his nose and looks away before Chishiya can catch him looking. Let him have his little repair job. Let him sit there and hold the kid together with biscuits and bullshit for another ten minutes. Twenty. An hour, if he’s lucky.

Cleanup only matters when something leaked. And something did.

He gets up, walks over to Bowl Cut, and it’s a short little negotiation, crude and quick. Bowl Cut lies when Niragi lies first. Tit for tat. Easy as that. Useful thing is, he knows now it’s diamonds. Not sure enough not to feel the words crawl up his throat with spikes when he says them in the cell, but it works. More explosions down the row of cells, he’s intact, the brat’s intact, the kid looks like he’s about to vomit on his shoes. All fucking peachy.

The cafeteria feels thinner after that, and not only because there are fewer people around with their heads where they should be.

Same number of walls. Same tables. Same shelves stacked with food no one trusts anymore, because even opening a bag too loud makes three people turn and stare like the crisp packet is about to tell them clubs when they’ve got spades. One more death away from tearing somewhere ugly.

Doll Girl’s group is still smiling, technically. Still sweet. Still generous. Still all fluttering lashes and warm hands on arms and we’re all in this together, which is very cute if the person saying it didn’t look ready to sell your liver for a slightly better angle on the board. Someone tells Niragi his suit. Someone else tells him the same thing. A third takes too long before confirming it.

Not good.

Has to be good enough, for now.

He sees the kid leave Chishiya’s side before Chishiya reacts. Maybe. Probably. Hard to tell with the brat, because sometimes he sees everything and sometimes he pretends so hard at seeing nothing Niragi wants to take his head and turn it toward the thing personally. But the kid gets up, stiff and pale, and moves toward the shelves with both hands tucked in close to his stomach like he’s carrying all his organs around loose.

Niragi waits until the kid is reaching for some bottled tea, fingers hovering over three different labels without choosing any of them, before he steps in beside him.

Not close enough to touch, just like last time. Not close enough to make a scene. Just close enough that the kid notices him and stops breathing properly.

“You okay?” Niragi says, friendly again, because that worked so well before. “Thought he glued you to the table.”

The kid  says nothing.

Niragi reaches past him for a packet of something bright and disgusting, turns it over, reads none of the label, puts it back. Gives the kid all the time in the world to move away.

He doesn’t.

“Still helping him?” Niragi asks.

The kid’s fingers close around one bottle. Plastic crackles softly under the pressure.

Niragi smiles down at the shelf. “Relax. Not judging.”

He is. Obviously. But people like that better when you say you aren’t, so there’s that.

“Just asking. Because it’s a lot, isn’t it? Every round. Every answer. Every time he walks into that cell and comes back out because you told him the right thing.”

The kid’s mouth opens, then closes.

Niragi finally looks at him.

“Lying’s hard, right?”

The kid’s eyes flick up for half a second. Not to Niragi’s face. Never that brave. Somewhere around his shoulder, maybe the rifle strap, maybe the bandages. Same difference. All of it part of the package.

Niragi leans his hip against the shelf, easy, casual, blocking nothing except the fastest way out.

“Every time you tell him the truth, you’re choosing what he does next.”

The kid swallows.

“And hey, maybe that’s fine. Maybe he only does good things from here on out. Saves kittens. Holds hands. Bakes you a cake when this is over.”

A breath leaves him, almost a laugh, dead before it becomes one.

“Or maybe he decides someone deserves correcting again.”

The kid goes very still.

Not fear this time. Not the useful kind, anyway.

Recognition.

Niragi doesn’t know what Chishiya said to him exactly. Doesn’t need to. He saw the shape of it on the kid’s face afterward, all that desperate little I understand, I understand, please let understanding make this safe. As if understanding has ever stopped anyone from bleeding out on a floor.

He pushes off the shelf.

“Your suit’s hearts,” he says, glancing at the collar as he passes. Easy. Clean. Not a lie, because lying to the kid now would be sloppy, and Niragi isn’t Chishiya. He doesn’t need to hide the knife in a napkin and call it dinner.

The kid’s hand tightens around the bottle until the plastic dents.

Niragi stops beside him, just long enough to put his mouth close to the kid’s ear without making it look like anything worth interrupting.

“You already know he wouldn’t die for you,” he says, quiet. “So why are you still making sure he lives?”

Then he walks away. No shove. No grab. Nothing for Chishiya to dress up as proof in front of the room, if he’s watching.

And he is watching. Somewhere. Of course he is.

Niragi does not look for him right away. He gives the kid a few steps, a few moments to think, before he glances over this shoulder. The kid is looking back at Chishiya, briefly, not moving.

He’s a cute little tool, used by a cute little brat who burns people alive when he thinks they deserve it.

And he’s got that now.

[blyavod]

Ippei leaves Chishiya again. He looks terrible: pale, trembling, biting his lip over and over. It seems like some thought won’t let him rest for even a second. Chishiya knows: Ippei stays close, but everything Niragi said has poisoned any chance of earning his trust. He won’t be able to hold on to him much longer. The boy won’t lie to him, even if he loses all faith, but Chishiya still risks losing a reliable partner.

Niragi approaches the kid again, leans in, whispers something dubious. Chishiya doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t need to. The meaning is clear without words. Niragi is once again trying to paint him as someone who shouldn’t be trusted with the right suit. He’d be better off finding himself a decent partner instead of wasting time on these pointless whispers. Chishiya breaks off a piece of his cookie and puts it in his mouth. Sweet. There’s nothing else to do right now anyway. The conversation ends, Ippei walks away, and Chishiya doesn’t rush to ask him what happened. Let him think it over and reach his own conclusions.

The next round brings five loud explosions. Somewhere close, somewhere far and somewhere in between. More deaths than the rounds before. The cute girl has really gone wild. Maybe other players followed her lead too.

Chishiya steps out of his cell. Niragi is already there. The cute girl is alive too. The couple in love, the man with the piercing gaze – all alive. The nervous guy who killed the big man is nowhere to be seen, and a few others from the girl’s group are missing too. Wait. Where is Ippei? Chishiya looks around, there’s no way he came out this early. He walks to his cell: it’s closed. Ippei, poor, sweet Ippei. Through the bars, Chishiya spots the bright yellow striped shirt, stained with blood.

What happened? Did he not believe that Chishiya had told him the right suit? Or did Niragi feed him something else? Could this bastard have given him the wrong suit? Chishiya doesn’t know for sure, but he wants to believe that Niragi was the cause of his death. Because otherwise... otherwise there’s only one answer: Ippei chose to die in this game. He couldn’t take the pressure, couldn’t handle all the moral choices.

Sometimes it’s strange to think how he even made it to the second stage. The games in the first stage were cruel, just as terrible as the ones here. How did he survive them? Maybe he arrived in the Borderlands right before the first stage ended, so he missed all the worst games. Or maybe this game was simply the final straw, the point after which he couldn’t go on.

“You were too kind for this world, Ippei,” he says very quietly and thinks about what to do next. He’s left without a partner. It is only his mistake, the weakest spot. During all the time he spent with Ippei, he overlooked the most important thing: he has no backup plan. Sure, he can ask random people and hope their answers are right, but he won’t last long that way. He needs to find a replacement.

The cute girl’s group – definitely not, the purge has already started there. The couple in love will hardly welcome a third wheel. And the strange man with his nervous teammates doesn’t look promising either. Still, maybe he should exchange a few words with him? Even if it turns out useless, the conversation might be interesting. That leaves only random people. And Niragi. He’s without a partner too. Going over to his side is risky, unsafe. But something inside tells him he won’t regret it, even if he puts himself in serious danger. Besides, this is their own little personal game.

Chishiya walks up to a few players who somehow survived and asks their suits. The first says hearts. The second – hearts again. The third answers spades without hesitation. Yes, the situation isn’t great. Chishiya thanks them politely and heads toward Niragi.

Coming up close to him, he gives a sweet smile and says:

“You’re clubs.” He isn’t lying. “Won’t you tell me my suit?”

[blyavod]

please send me your nirashiya sketch ideas! i can’t promise i’ll draw them but i’d really appreciate any inspiration or prompts 🫶

[voidnira]

Closed starter for @blyavod

The moment the first burst of bullets hits the concrete wall behind him and the loser out in the open on the street stares back at him for a hot half second before his brain catches up on the piece of concrete lodged in his abdomen, Niragi knows he won’t find him here.

It’s loud. Messy. People screaming, dying, running in fucking circles like live target practice, not stopping at all for anyone, least of all some brat trying to talk them into catching a bullet for him.

Which is good.

Tokyo is huge, but the Spades Arena cuts a big chunk out of the space he has to comb through for him - or some white hoodie, blood-drenched in the dirt. Hopefully not, because that would mean there’s no smart little brain left for him to put a bullet through, watch the lights go out, make him look like the corpse he acts like.

Trouble is, Tokyo really is huge.

It takes Niragi less time to change the bandages every day. He bites down less hard on the bullet he is saving for the brat, still trying to muffle the sounds as much as possible because if he has to hear himself fucking scream again like he did at the hospital when he was tearing his shirt off his body together with his skin, he’d rather shoot himself.

What aren’t really scars yet pull whenever he moves. Pill bottles rattle in his pocket. Enough morphine to kill the brat several times over. Enough to keep him moving, mouth dry, dizzy in the sun, so he sticks to early mornings and late afternoons, huddling away in whatever corner he can find at noon and midnight.

It’s gonna be the last thing he does. Maybe. Probably.

He’s seen people die in games from broken wrists, twisted ankles, a simple cut because they never bothered to keep up their shots back in the real world.

And then there’s him, or whatever shadow he can spot in broken shop windows, the rare mirror that’s still intact somewhere, never looking at it for more than a single breath.

He’s gonna die.

But he’ll do it after Chishiya. On his terms, and not when some self-important shit feels like playing justice with a lighter instead of just throwing himself off the roof like any self-respecting person that hates themselves that fucking much.

So he keeps moving.

Looking.

Squinting through the scope of the rifle, eyeing his visa, dreading the day the number runs down to zero. No energy to waste on clubs. Or spades. No diamonds with his head this foggy from the morphine.

So he ends up at hearts again, in front of thick prison walls and some decorative little iron gate set between round, two-tone towers as if pretty architecture ever made rotting away more pleasant.

At least the inside is honest. Bare walls, grey on grey on grey, easy to hide the dirt. Everything a fucking drag just like the corridor to the registration area.

Niragi hitches the rifle higher on his shoulder before he steps into the room, grabbing the last collar off the table while every eye around him goes straight to the gun.

Works every time.

He glares at the girl in a stupid doll’s dress smiling back at him like that would help her at all, then clicks the collar shut around his neck.

Registration complete.

The screen on the wall comes to life almost immediately.

Difficulty label: Jack of Hearts

Guess the card suit that appears on the back of your collar. However, you may not look at the symbol yourself. The time limit is one hour per round. In the final five minutes, enter your cell and disclose your symbol.

The lights in the hallways leading away from the room light up and it’s the same fucking routine as always: people staring, wide-eyed, sweating already, first at whatever gets revealed, then back at the useless idiot next to them like trust and charity conquer all when it’s just another iteration of the survival of the fittest.

If you do not answer with the correct symbol, it is game over. The collar will explode, and you will die. Additionally, when the time limit reaches zero, the symbol on the collar will reset and change for each round.

And right on cue, the mandatory village idiot starts promoting exactly that – help each other. Hallelujah.

Niragi huffs, one sharp exhale, before he catches on to who the idiot is talking to through the haze.

Short. White. Answering in that voice that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand to attention.

The voice overhead keeps on rambling, but he isn’t listening anymore. Chishiya’s right over there, against the wall, hood up, non-smile in place.

And all Niragi does is stare.

[blyavod]

Chishiya walks at an unhurried pace through the empty streets of Tokyo. The Beach is behind him now, along with the familiar hum of voices, the smell of chlorine and alcohol. The night has dragged on too long. It wasn't the mystery behind the corpse that exhausted him, but the endless crowd of faces, the panic, the screams, the collective madness. More exhausting than any game.

The Witch's bonfire has burned out, but the games are far from over. It was only the beginning of the second stage, one no one has experienced before. Nothing lies ahead except the face cards, and beyond them... who knows? There hasn't been time to think about it. Somewhere out in the city, the King of Spades is already roaming the streets, turning Tokyo into a live shooting range. Chishiya survived the massacre by sheer luck. No wonder – luck has saved his life more than once.

After escaping, he split up from his reluctant allies. Teaming up with Kuina and the others had been practical, but searching for them across a whole metropolis while being hunted isn't worth the risk. So he does what he always does.

He turns to face the massive brick prison, surrounded by iron fences topped with barbed wire. A giant airship hovers directly above it. A fitting decoration for the second stage. Starting with a Jack makes sense. If there's any way to learn what the face cards are really like, this is probably it.

The air inside is damp and cold. Dozens of people stand in scattered groups, speaking in hushed voices that echo off the walls. Nearly everyone already has a metal collar fastened around their neck. Chishiya approaches a nearby counter where other devices are neatly arranged. He picks one up, examines the mechanism and then, without hesitation, places it around his own neck.

If the rules require you to put on a leash willingly, then it's already too late to resist.

A familiar female voice begins explaining the rules. Chishiya only half listens. His attention shifts to the other players, studying them until movement at the far end of the prison corridor catches his eye.

Out of the darkness, where the light doesn't reach, a figure emerges. Too tall. Too thin. Slightly stooped. Walking with a slight limp. From a distance, the man looks either badly injured or hopelessly drunk. Then he steps into the light. Burned skin. Messy dark hair. A body wrapped in filthy bandages. Looking straight at him.

Niragi.

Of everyone who could have survived that fire, Niragi would be stubborn enough to do it. Chishiya immediately starts calculating all the complications this will bring. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

Well. This is going to be inconvenient.

For a brief moment, the room falls completely silent as everyone processes what they’ve heard. Then the crowd begins to move. Simple as they are, the rules are cruel enough that no one wants to be left alone. Pairs form almost immediately, quickly followed by small groups. Some rush to team up with complete strangers, while others cling to familiar faces.

A short, timid-looking boy approaches Chishiya. He hesitates, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, as if already expecting rejection. For the moment, though, he seems like the only reasonable option. Chishiya gives him a small nod. This is enough to forge a temporary alliance.

Only a few meters away, the first fight has already broken out. A large man punches a younger player while everyone else either watches or pretends not to notice. Nearby, a young woman gathers more and more people around her, insisting they'll have better odds if they stick together. Several others watch from the side, already paired up, making it clear they have no intention of letting anyone else join them.

Across the room, Niragi continues staring at Chishiya with open hostility. Chishiya does the only sensible thing he can: he keeps as much distance from him as possible. At this point, attracting Niragi's attention would cause far more trouble than any game.

[voidnira]

He could say hi at least. Give him a nod, a wave, a pointed little glare. Instead, he gives him absolutely nothing. Doesn’t even look at him properly, his attention back on the room so fast that anyone else would have made Niragi doubt they’d spotted him in the first place.

But Chishiya’s seen him. Chishiya’s decided he’s not worth looking back at. Chishiya sacrificed those precious hands he likes to hide away so much to cobble together some makeshift flamethrower, stalk him on a rooftop like that’s the sensible thing to do during some mass panic that has people do what they do best: kill, accuse, torture, and bring all of that to him specifically. Pretty much the longest conversation he’d ever had with the little fuck. He didn’t ask for it, he didn’t get in his way, he might not even have aimed for a white hood had it turned up in the courtyard below, but Chishiya had deemed him worthy of all that, all the effort, clever little speech, running at a loaded sniper rifle just to set him on fire, and now he’s not even worth a flinch.

Like he actually did die. Like Chishiya doesn’t understand he’s gonna die now.

His fingers find the selector blindly when the rifle slides off his shoulder and he can move again, the familiar shift dulled by the bandages, enhanced in other places by the tight pull of raw skin.

“You can’t use that here. Rules,” someone says next to him and Niragi doesn’t turn his head till he’s raised the rifle halfway, till there are several pale faces staring right at him, some girl stumbling sideways into the wall when some tool dodges a fist swung at him. It would be laughably easy, just flick from semi to burst, cut all that precious worry short, but the voice is calm and level when it comes again, and Chishiya isn’t even looking at him.

So he stops, barrel sinking an inch, looking back at a man in a blue work shirt and a bowl cut. No pale face. A bit too interested, if anything.

“Mind your fucking business,” Niragi hisses, turning back to his own business, only to spot that Chishiya has found someone worth reacting to in the meantime. Some sorry fucking kid, timid, shy, just the right kind of person for the brat to say yes to, lie to. Use. Because apparently that’s what gets you the normal kind of attention, the one where you get stabbed in the back instead of openly attacked and then ignored.

Niragi slides the strap of the rifle back over his shoulder, fingers clenching when they won’t stop shaking once they’re off the trigger. One sharp inhale, then he moves over to the group forming around Doll Girl. She liked him. Her kind always does – as long as there’s the rifle, at least.

“Gonna let me play with you?” he asks, the lilt hurting the corner of his mouth when he tries the smile that has to come with that.

She smiles back, not as bright or coy as they used to be before the brat fucked up his face, but good enough. He shoulders his way into the inner circle, jerking his chin toward Chishiya and his little alliance, raising his voice just enough.

“That one’s a cheat.”

[blyavod]

Jack of Hearts is one of those games where the outcome won't become clear anytime soon. As expected, the first round decides nothing: nothing truly begins and nothing truly ends. Everyone survives. Some are helped by their partners, some by strangers, and some, like the brute, by intimidation. Oh, this is going to take a long time.

Fortunately, the prison has a massive stockpile of water and food. Shitty stuff, of course, but Chishiya has already spotted a few biscuits and a pack of cookies for himself. He watches the others, who are still just testing the waters. Each of them is slowly building their own strategy for finding the Jack. He should start searching too, but there's one problem. Niragi has already declared him a cheater. In front of the entire group, in fact. And that girl, despite her harmless appearance, could very well turn out to be one of the most unpleasant opponents he's faced in any game. Her group immediately grew wary and now keeps glancing sideways at Chishiya. But he makes no move.

“What's the point of cheating in the early rounds?” Chishiya says lazily, not bothering to step closer. “I'm pretty sure the rules made it clear my head would explode if I tried to see my own suit through a reflective surface.” He tilts his head slightly. “As you can see, I'm still alive. Besides, I have a partner who won’t let me down. Right, Ippei?”

Chishiya turns, watching as the guy nervously shakes his head from side to side in that funny way of his. A few people exchange glances, but no one dares to continue the argument. Niragi's accusations hang in the air, unconfirmed. Chishiya just shrugs indifferently.

“Call me when you've got proof.”

Still, he knows that he and Ippei are keeping too much to themselves. That will inevitably draw suspicion. Those who believe he's cheating will stick to that belief regardless. Niragi, on the other hand, doesn't seem at all afraid of ending up without allies one day. In fact, he doesn't really have to worry about that. For the first few rounds, he'll stick with that girl and her cronies, and when their little harmony falls apart – well. Murders and outright lies are probably still a ways off, but intimidating the weakest ones, forcing them to stay close to him? That he's more than capable of. Chishiya knows: Niragi is no fool. Impulsive. Vile. Devoid of any moral principles. But far from stupid. It's no coincidence that back on the Beach they considered him a strong Diamonds player. In that, they're alike.

Chishiya constantly feels that gaze, full of anticipation. Niragi isn't looking at him with suspicion. He's looking at him with hunger. He's waiting for their eyes to meet, for the silent standoff to grow into something more. Chishiya understands: sooner or later, they'll clash for real. And no simple avoidance will delay or prevent that moment.

But for now, Chishiya continues to observe the others, who are growing restless as the next round approaches. One of the players, a skinny guy with shifty eyes, sidles up to that same brute after another scuffle, and tells him his symbol. Except instead of clubs, the picture on his collar is a diamond. The brute, slow on the uptake, nods, accepting the lie. Ippei, catching the discrepancy, jerks forward and opens his mouth to intervene – the guy's suit is wrong! But Chishiya shushes him, freezing him in place and forcing him to stay silent.

The second round begins. A deafening blast fills the room. An explosion echoes from one of the prison cells – the first victim of this endless day.

The echo hasn't even died away before Chishiya has moved. Not toward the cell, like some of the terrified players, but toward the center of the common room, where the view is clearest.

The skinny guy pales, but his expression isn't one of surprise. It's the realization that his lie just killed someone. The girl with the harmless smile doesn't even blink. She's already whispering something to the woman next to her. Ippei's hand trembles at his side.

“That guy… he lied. He told him the wrong suit. I could’ve-”

“You could’ve painted a target on your back,” Chishiya murmurs, not looking at him. “He chose to trust the wrong person. That’s his failure, not yours.”

“But someone died.”

“Someone was always going to die.”

He leaves Ippei to wrestle with that and drifts toward the edge of the room, where a narrow corridor leads to the adjacent wing.

[voidnira]

Chishiya eats. Chishiya hoards biscuits. Chishiya wanders around with that kid trailing after him like a lost puppy. He looks at people, furniture, the screen in the room they started in. He does fucking everything except acknowledge Niragi exists.

Which is quite the achievement, considering Niragi is staring him down hard enough that people start making sure they do not cross his line of sight anymore, while Chishiya sits casually at the far end of it, chewing, breathing, talking to thin air and the kid only, as far as Niragi can tell. No one likes cheaters, and in a game like this, no one is taking chances. Except for the kid, apparently, but that is an issue Niragi can take care of when it becomes one. The little sod looks like he is about to cry at any given moment, so making him run for the hills will not take much.

It’s still a fucking drag. The little tell me mine, I’ll tell you yours dance in Doll Girl’s brand-new gang is done quick, but of course people cannot just take that information and shut up until they need it. There is confirmation after confirmation, hushed little promises of I’d never and you’d never, and Doll Girl passes snacks around like this is some team-building event and she read the HR manual on her way in.

But it works. He knows his suit. He survives. Everyone else does too.

Nothing gained, nothing won. Just more sitting around, more grumbling while some run-down woman fusses over his bandages like he needs help, more Chishiya not looking at him.

The second round starts with an explosion. Disappointingly, only one.

But it is not Chishiya, which is good, and it is not anyone from Doll Girl’s circle, which is also good. Just when Niragi is about to give his eyes a break from the damn white and look at some blood and brain matter instead, that white moves past him toward the common room, the kid at his heels, and Niragi turns and follows.

Of course the brat has to investigate, whether he instigated the shit himself or just wants to know who to point his finger at. Not that anyone will listen much, cheat and all, but he is fucking stubborn, so who knows what he is going to try to pull.

Niragi curses under his breath when his leg complains the second he walks faster. It’s not broken. He tested that. But there is a dull ache that set in a day after he fell off that damn roof, and while it does not hurt nearly as much as the burns, it is as stubborn as the one who caused it.

He digs into his pocket for the pill bottle, fingers closing tight around it. He should not take too much, too often. The last thing he needs is to rifle through abandoned hospitals and pharmacies like a mangled dog, desperate for the next fix that will not do shit. He already needs more when he should need less.

In the common room, Chishiya is feeding the kid some lies about something, all hushed and secretive, then turns and walks off, leaving the kid stranded. All alone.

One little unattended apple, waiting to be plucked by whoever happens to pass by.

He could do just that.

Niragi narrows his eyes, following the white hoodie along the edge of the room until it disappears around a corner. Not back toward all the food, all the people. Away from it.

His eyes flick back to the kid before he pulls out the pill container and swallows two pills down. Will not do much right now, but they still help. Still get him moving faster, better, when he leaves the kid be and follows Chishiya round the corner into a long, bare corridor, hitching the strap of the rifle higher so it doesn't get in the way.

Chishiya walks ahead. Does not look back when Niragi gets closer.

Maybe he really does not hear him. Maybe he’s just pretending.

Doesn’t matter.

Niragi gets close enough to reach out, grabs the hood, and yanks hard enough to throw Chishiya off balance, getting one tiny little sound out of him. Hopefully from the neckline biting into his throat, because he fucking deserves it.

From there, it is one practiced movement. Niragi sidesteps as Chishiya comes back at him and drives him chest-first into the wall, crowds in right after, chest to back, leaving no room to turn when he catches Chishiya’s wrists as they come up on instinct to brace against the concrete. He pushes in even closer until Chishiya has to turn his head, cheek to wall, because there is no space left. Not wedged between Niragi’s body and the concrete like that.

Niragi can feel the fucking soft warmth of him all the way down his front when he wrangles Chishiya’s wrists into the tight space at the small of his back, forcing his spine into a curve rather than giving up an inch himself.

“Missed me, clever boy?” he hisses into his ear, already breathless from the effort, but that is fine, because there is no need to move now.

He forces Chishiya’s hands together until he can pin them with one hand, scrawny little wrists, nails digging into the skin for good measure, while he pats down Chishiya’s side frantically, shoving his hand into the pocket of the hoodie. A dry huff leaves him when his fingers close around something hard, roughly square.

He leans all his weight against Chishiya’s wrists as he pulls it out, pressing him to the wall like a bug pinned in a display case, a needle down the middle, and lets it dangle beside Chishiya’s face with glee.

“That yours?” he coos sweetly, biting down a cough, eyeing the makeshift stun gun before hurling it down the corridor, farther from the common room and anyone who might come take pity on a fucking lying little bastard.

It is not even done skidding across the floor when Niragi closes his free hand around Chishiya’s right wrist, separating his hands and twisting the arm up his back until he has him pinned there. He leaves the other arm free to flail around helplessly while he pats down the other side, rough, turns the hoodie pocket inside out, shoves his fingers under the hoodie and around the waistband of Chishiya’s shorts.

Nothing there.

Just smooth skin. No scabs. No burns.

Niragi grits his teeth, pressing in the rest of the way now that he does not need any room to search anymore.

“Gonna explain why you’re so fucking impolite?”

[blyavod]

Chishiya only manages to come to his senses when he realizes he’s pinned against a cold concrete wall. The impact knocks all the air out of his lungs. Rough hands grip his wrists, pressing him into the surface, and heavy breathing sounds right next to his ear. A quiet noise slips from him, more from surprise than actual pain.

Chishiya tries to turn his head, but he can only look at his attacker from the corner of his eye. The hands gripping him are rough, hastily bandaged, dark spots seeping through the gauze here and there. The smell of burnt skin and medical ointment. Of course, it’s none other than Niragi. Who else would think of ambushing him in the dark corridor of the prison block, when the game hasn’t even truly begun yet?

Chishiya attempts to break free, but can’t. Not that he’s putting much effort into it. And Niragi’s condition is incomparably worse: the burns are still fresh, his movements stiff, yet there’s something desperate about it.

Niragi leans closer and whispers into his ear. The hot breath brushes against skin, and shivers run down the back of his neck, not from fear, no, but from how ticklish it feels. Chishiya barely restrains himself from jerking his shoulder. Then Niragi releases one of his wrists and starts touching his side: bandaged fingers slide across the fabric of his hoodie, lift the hem, touch bare skin.

And, of course, Niragi finds his trusty stun gun in the hoodie pocket, assembled back when he first arrived at the Beach from scraps of wire and parts found in abandoned electronics stores. Chishiya never had much luck with firearms. And the stun gun was practically his only means of defense in this world that he could use without much trouble. Small, silent, almost like a toy, but it had saved him more than once.

Niragi pulls out the stun gun and tosses it aside. The metallic clatter echoes off the corridor walls. Chishiya follows it with his eyes, as much as his position allows, and hopes it doesn’t break completely. In the prison conditions, repairing it would be nearly impossible. Even worse if Niragi decides to take it for himself when he’s finished with it.

Niragi frees one hand again and returns to what he was doing, his fingers continuing their search. He slips his hand under the T-shirt, drags it up along the ribs, reaches lower, toward the waistband of his shorts.

“If you needed an excuse to touch me,” Chishiya’s voice sounds quiet, “you could’ve just asked.”

But Niragi just questions why Chishiya is being so impolite. He merely arches an eyebrow. Is Niragi really bothered that Chishiya isn’t trying to get rid of him, but simply keeps his distance? A laugh almost escapes his lips. He ignores previous question.

“Niragi, be a dear, remind me. What’s the symbol on my collar?”

He knows the answer. He has known it from the very beginning – Ippei, of course, told him right away, and Chishiya preferred to believe him. Hearts, of course, hearts. But he’s curious about something else: how many seconds Niragi will hesitate, whether he’ll tell the truth or try to lie. And whatever the reaction turns out to be, Chishiya already knows it will amuse him.

[voidnira]

Chishiya struggles. Weakly. Badly. Not as much as he could, because Niragi knows what it feels like when they struggle, really struggle, fueled by adrenaline and knowing what will come next, and Chishiya doesn’t even come close. So that’s another thing Chishiya apparently thinks is too good for Niragi. No hi, no panic, just eyes for his little toy skidding down the hallway. He must like that piece of trash. If it still works now. If he gets it back.

He continues his search, fingers slipping over the waistband, underneath, looking for anything tucked in when the little brat finally graces him with some fucking audio.

Getting the wrong idea.

As if he needed a dim corridor away from the group if he wanted to feel anyone up. As if he wanted to feel up the brat of all people, like that was the proper way to go about this - insult Niragi every chance there is, set him on fire, get fucked against a wall before everyone’s necks explode. In his fucking dreams.

The elastic snaps against Chishiya’s skin when he pulls his hand back, bandages catching on the hem of the hoodie, and he hisses as he shakes his wrist free, only to catch a single raised brow and that cheap version of a laugh of his that doesn’t even come with a sound. Because again, why bother with fucking anything other than killing him and then not even bothering enough to make sure he ends up dead all the way at least.

Niragi twists Chishiya’s wrist a little more against his back, just until there’s that telltale little lock. Two degrees more and something breaks, snaps, hurts like the little bitch he is.

Not that Chishiya bothers, of course. Right on theme.

He asks about his symbol instead, as if he deserved a reward for the long-winded and very thorough explanation he did not fucking give, and Niragi shoves him forward by his wrist, movement stopped short by the wall before it can even start properly.

“Fallout with your little friend already?” Niragi asks, tone still mockingly sweet, already chipping at the edges.

He would’ve seen that. He’s seen nothing but Chishiya since he walked in, so this is not a question, it’s a neat little test wrapped up badly on the spot, just like that toy he took off him.

Niragi shoves his free hand into Chishiya’s hair, grabs a fistful at the back, and yanks his head down until the collar gives up its answer.

“Hearts,” he says. “And don’t get too worked up about it. You don’t get to die unless I say so.”

His fingers curl tighter in the dry strands as he takes half a step back, straightening only when he turns, yanking, pulling, shoving Chishiya with him, away from him, hard enough to send him flying if he doesn’t fucking bother with reflexes. Down the corridor, towards the group. Niragi between him and the stun gun. He rolls his shoulders, stance wide and even.

“Your friend’s waiting. Wouldn’t want him to think you’d rather hang out here with me, huh?”

[blyavod]

Chishiya feels his wrist twisted to its absolute limit. Another second and the bone will almost certainly crack. When Niragi’s fingers dig into his hair, wrenching his head back into a humiliating arc, he doesn’t resist. His neck bends obediently, baring the collar around it and the symbol glowing on the screen.

Out of the corner of his eye, Chishiya takes in the ornate burns scarring Niragi’s face, the mask he now wears whether he wants to or not.

So Niragi has decided to tell the truth. And, as always, he turned even this into a deliberate display of superiority.

A rough shove lands between his shoulder blades. Chishiya stumbles a step forward, then calmly straightens his hoodie. At this distance he catches other details without much effort: the fresh burns, the clumsy bandages, a rage that has nothing to do with the game. Niragi is settling personal scores. Even the remark about Ippei sounds like a thinly veiled glimmer of some kind of twisted jealousy.

“If I wanted to be somewhere else, I’d already be there.”

The stun gun stays where it fell, swallowed by the shadows of the corridor, while Niragi lingers between them like a guard standing watch over a trophy. There’s no need to rush. Let him keep his toy, if he wants it that badly. Chishiya will find a way to get it back later.

The corridor opens into the main hall. Ippei sits with his back against the wall and nervously adjusts his overalls. The moment he spots Chishiya, he starts to rise, ready to rush toward him, but freezes when he notices Niragi looming behind.

Chishiya crosses the room and crouches beside him, meeting the fear in his eyes. He bends his head closer and barely audibly speaks words intended only for him:

“Stay away from this one.”

Now Chishiya sits with his back against the cold wall, watching Niragi’s group with dull, half-interested eyes. They gathered at the far end of the room, whispering among themselves and sizing up the other players. Niragi stands a little apart, arms crossed. No longer the unquestioned leader of a pack of obedient strays the way he was back at the Beach.

Boredom presses down on Chishiya, worse somehow than any game.

His attention drifts to one of the former Beach girls. He can’t recall her name, only scattered fragments of her face. She’s the only one in Niragi’s group standing close enough to be useful, filling the silence with aimless chatter with other players. Perfect.

He rises, careful not to startle her, and speaks in the confiding tone people instinctively lean in to hear.

“You’ve heard about the man who shot dozens of people at that hotel, haven’t you? The one that burned down.”

He steps forward slightly, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“They say he had a rifle. And burns… horrific ones, all over. Doesn’t that remind you of someone?”

The girl’s mouth falls half open. The people around her go quiet too. Wary glances start sliding toward Niragi. Chishiya never looks at him, not once. His whole attention stays fixed on the girl, as if she were the most fascinating person in the room.

“Can you imagine what happens if that lunatic survives this game?” he says at last, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “After all, we’re all locked in here with him.”

[voidnira]

Of course, Chishiya has to frame it like he’s planned almost getting his wrist broken all along. Like he’s been waiting for this. He didn’t. There would have been a glance in his direction before - at least one. There’s not much in that lifeless little face, but there’s something sometimes, usually mocking, insulting, arrogant, bored, any variation of condescension watered down to such a homeopathic dose he cannot get called out for it, but absolutely zero is not it. He’s been avoiding him, and avoidance doesn’t go with Niragi breathing down his neck.

So it’s on now.

Good.

Niragi watches him stroll down the corridor back to the group, round the corner with his hands already back in his pockets, before he turns and picks up the stun gun. Carefully, because who knows how the brat rigged it. Some of the tape is rubbed off, a cable ripped out of place, but the thing’s still working fine when Niragi pushes it back in. Not reliably secured, but enough to get a good two seconds of contact in, and the electric jolt jumps between the contacts when he tries it.

The brat’s going all in right away.

Figures.

Niragi slides it into his pocket and makes his way back to the main area as well. Chishiya’s back with his little apple, hunched over, all close and careful like a concerned parent telling their kid to be good when visiting grandma, and Niragi snorts. Like the brat was ever capable of something even remotely close to care. He flashes the kid a grin and walks past the touching little display back to the rest of the group.

They’ve moved to an established corner now, Doll Girl still herding them around her like the most popular girl in class, and she looks up at him with something like a smile when he sits down nearby, so all good on that front.

They’re not discussing less now, though. More. Hushed, spread out. There are low voices dying down completely when an especially twitchy expendable walks past, only to rise up again loud and giggly as soon as his back is turned and he’s part of Doll Girl’s circle.

Not good.

“What’s my symbol?” he asks the run-down woman that’s not fussing anymore, and she tells him right away. It’s the same one the group confirms during the official suit exchange, the same as the twitchy guy stutters when he corners him later near the bathrooms, but still.

Not good.

The morphine starts kicking in slowly, but he still has no nerve for petty bullshit when Chishiya starts looking in Doll Girl’s direction more than he did before. So it’s not nothing anymore. It’s something, and it will come out sooner or later.

It comes out when the round is almost over and Niragi’s sitting hunched over at one of the tables in Doll Girl’s corner, chewing on a strip of jerky. Chishiya gets up from the spot he’s been sitting in since Niragi started the bag that’s almost empty now, casually strolling a few steps until he’s near some girl.

From his group.

Of fucking course.

Sit lazy like the little pussy he is and then, instead of sharpening his claws on the couch or anything subtle, he goes for knocking the fine china off the sideboard right away.

Niragi can’t hear what he says and he doesn’t try to strain his ears. He shoves the bag away, gets up and moves over to where Chishiya isn’t right now, which is right next to the kid, leaning in close till the little sod wishes the wall at his back would swallow him up whole.

His throat is working hard when Niragi reaches into his pocket, eyes going all white and round when he pulls out the stun gun and dangles it in front of his face.

“Here,” he says, turning it so the kid can see where the button is. Can work out where to press even when he’s probably about to piss his little big-boy pants. “Your friend dropped this. In case he tries something.”

He shoves the stun gun into his hand, straightens, ruffling his hair before he turns back to the group. The girl next to Chishiya eyes him up all funny.

Doesn’t matter.

“He tell you a story?” Niragi asks, head tilting, as he walks toward them. “Something cute, huh?”

His voice gets louder the closer he gets, back straight, faces turning, eyes looking up at him just like they should. Wary. Jaws tight. The usual.

Niragi stops a few feet away, not threatening at all, keeping a very polite, considerate distance when he points back at the kid by the wall, turning the stun gun over in his hands, thumb hooked underneath the rifle strap.

“He also tell you he smuggled a weapon in here?”

He waits till they’ve all gotten a good look at Chishiya, at the kid, at his pointed finger, before he drops his arm and moves in closer.

“Not lethal,” he continues, glance flicking to Blue Shirt with the bowl cut. “Would be against the rules to use it. But that thing.”

He stops close to Chishiya, just behind his back.

“One run-in with that and you’re knocked out cold before you can announce your suit.”

[blyavod]

Chishiya turns around and freezes. A stun gun is resting in Ippei’s trembling, sweat-soaked hands. His stun gun. The boy looks completely confused, as if he has no idea how it ended up there or what he’s supposed to do with it. Chishiya, however, already understands what’s happening.

He turns his gaze to Niragi. His scarred face lacks the usual rage. Instead, there’s something colder. Even calculating. This time, he didn’t choose brute force. Instead, he decided to play it smart.

Chishiya doesn’t even get the chance to step toward the boy. Niragi raises his voice so everyone in the room can hear. The message is simple: Chishiya smuggled in a weapon. His little friend is holding it. There’s your proof.

The room falls quiet. Every pair of eyes turns to Ippei, then to the stun gun and finally to Chishiya. Anxious whispers spread throughout the room.

Ippei goes pale. Under the weight of everyone’s attention, his fingers finally give way. The stun gun slips from his hand and falls to the floor with a dull clatter.

Chishiya waits until the whispers grow louder. Only then he steps forward, placing himself between Ippei and the rest of the group. He raises both hands slightly.

“Yes,” he says calmly. “It’s mine.”

A few more whispers ripple through the crowd.

“I’ve been carrying it since before this game. Most people who have survived here for more than a week have something to defend themselves. Mine happens to be a stun gun. I kept it hidden because not everyone here can be trusted.”

His eyes settle on Niragi.

“The only person who had a chance to take it was Niragi. He shoved me against a wall a few minutes ago and searched my pockets. If anyone wants to know why, I’d like to hear the answer too.”

Several people glance toward Niragi. No one says anything. Chishiya looks around the room, making sure everyone is listening before he continues.

“There’s a difference between carrying a stun gun in case someone attacks you and shooting dozens of people in a hotel. They weren’t armed. They were hiding. That wasn’t self-defense.”

Someone from Niragi’s group shifts uncomfortably. The girl Chishiya spoke to earlier lowers her eyes and presses her lips together. Not many people trust him. Then again, not many people trust Niragi either.

“I’d be more concerned about the man carrying the rifle than the one carrying a stun gun. Niragi doesn’t act like someone trying to survive alongside everyone else. He acts like someone who benefits from keeping everyone afraid.”

He pauses. If people had to choose between them, they would not suddenly start believing Chishiya. They would simply start questioning Niragi as well. Doubt is enough.

“So ask yourselves a simple question. Who has actually been a greater danger to everyone here since this game began?”

[voidnira]

Chishiya is giving speeches now. He’s always liked hearing himself talk, but now he’s graduated to full-on group lectures, about the morality of sneaking a weapon in versus carrying one openly, honestly, not because you think people might do something bad, but because you know they do.

But sure, let him talk. Let them listen and whisper amongst themselves. He hasn’t shot anyone in here. He still could. They all know that. Nothing to win with that, but also nothing to lose.

So yeah, let’s have him speed up the process of having everyone walk on eggshells around him, lying to his face, throwing him under the bus, and still getting remarkably truthful with a rifle pressed under their chin. Nothing new, nothing surprising.

“At least when I’m dangerous, you can fucking see it,” he says, loud, and that’s that.

He’s not going to argue with the brat.

He walks back to his place, sits down, coughing. Doll Girl looks at him like she’s still deciding whether to buy it.

Niragi’s next and he knows it.

“He fucked me up like this,” he scoffs, readjusting a bandage that has come loose. “Wasn’t that happy about it.”

He jerks his chin toward Chishiya, still in the middle of the room.

“Still in one piece.”

[blyavod]

Chishiya hears the words, but his expression doesn’t change. Niragi throws out an accusation, maybe hoping for a shocked reaction from the crowd, or maybe for no particular reason at all. But he gets one anyway. Someone gasps. Someone takes a step back, widening the distance between themselves and Chishiya. Behind him, Ippei holds his breath.

Chishiya only looks at Niragi, narrowing his eyes. At his burned face. At the carelessly wrapped bandages. At the dark stains seeping through the gauze. Only one thought crosses his mind.

Not enough.

If the fire had done its job, Niragi wouldn’t be standing here now. He wouldn’t be getting in the way of clearing the game. He simply wouldn’t exist. Everything would be easier for everyone. But reality is what it is: Chishiya miscalculated, and know he has to deal with it.

None of Niragi’s accusations deserve an answer. Chishiya just stands with his hands in his pockets and looks straight through the burned man as if he isn’t there. He has Ippei: scared, shaking, but loyal and alive. Niragi has no one. Only a group led by that cute girl. Chishiya sees devils in her big doe eyes. He’s almost certain she’ll make her move sooner than anyone expects.

Her decision won’t kill Niragi, of course. He’s as hard to kill as a cockroach, and Chishiya has to give him that. Still, watching Niragi struggle to get out of this promises to be entertaining.

Chishiya leans his shoulder against the wall, glances at Ippei and gives him a small nod. Everything is fine. It’s time for another round. Once again, they have to choose a suit. Inside the cell, Chishiya doesn’t hesitate for a second.

“Hearts.”

A moment later, explosions shake the building. The first comes from somewhere to the left, very close. The sound of a body hitting the floor is so distinct it feels like it happens in the same room. The second is farther away. Its echo rolls through the corridors before finally fading.

Two more deaths.

Chishiya glances back at Ippei, making sure he’s unharmed, then walks toward the metal door. Behind it, the losers will stay forever.

He doesn’t recognize the first face. A man frozen in the expression of his final terror. The second is one of the girls from Niragi’s group. Her collar has been blown apart. Her head is bent back at an unnatural angle. A burned wound marks her neck. Chishiya hums as he understands that now the game is finally picking up.

[voidnira]

Ippei has to go. Quite simple. Very simple, in fact.

He’s still hovering behind Chishiya, a scared little shadow, trembling and wide-eyed and fucking pathetic, but still there after people started whispering about Chishiya, too, after Ippei stood there with the stun gun in his hands and watched, lips quivering, until Chishiya went over and consoled the frightened child.

It’s an odd feeling, getting in the cell and knowing that this is probably the last time he’ll be sure of his suit. Just roulette from here on out, unless he gets his fingers in the system. Would have been nice to float on Doll Girl’s overeager friendship-bracelet clique a bit longer, but there’s nothing to win in whatever game is happening there. Someone lied, someone covered that, everyone exchanges ashamed glances when that lie turns into blood and pieces of flesh stuck to walls, or covering for that lie, or knowing they should have said something when they didn’t, and fuck all that bullshit. Niragi’s not gonna wait around for these leeches to grow a spine and tell him they want to see him dead to his face, and he’s not gonna let them practice their newfound little backstabbing skills on him. Not when the master of backstabbing is right there, humming like he’s only now starting to get entertained, kid in tow.

So Niragi waits. More or less. He asks some of his group for a private suit exchange and it’s a mixed bag that leaves him fairly certain it’s neither diamonds nor clubs, but still leaves a gamble. He watches Chishiya, who is back to ignoring him not quite that perfectly as before.

He talks to Ippei when he gets up to get some food, something other than all the sugar the brat is hoarding. Niragi leans against the shelf Ippei is choosing from, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other neatly at his side, rifle slung over his shoulder. Not looming. Not crowding. Just there, and Ippei still goes all tense, shoulders drawn up.

“You still have that gun?” he asks. Friendly. Because he can do friendly. He’s been around enough arse-licking marketers back at work to know what weaseling your way in should sound like, and it kind of works, because Ippei doesn’t just run or faint on the spot. He stays, knuckles white around a bag of crisps that he can’t unclench without the bag crinkling.

“So Chishiya and me,” Niragi continues. “There’s some, uh, history.”

He looks down at himself for a moment, at the bandages, the dirt on his pants, the stains that don’t wash out anymore.

“Not the point. Just, one thing for you.”

He does lean in now, but just a fraction.

“You’re not his friend. No one is. You’re his tool. And every time you help him, whatever he does next is partly on you.”

Ippei doesn’t quite look at him, staring somewhere between the edge of the shelf and a can of fruit. Niragi can see Chishiya from the corner of his eye, not getting up, but he might any moment.

He pushes off the shelf, glances at Ippei’s collar as he walks past him.

“You’ve got clubs,” he says. Not a lie.

And then, as he walks off:

“You think he’d die for you?”

[blyavod]

Chishiya sits at the table next to Ippei, lazily chewing a dry biscuit. Both are silent, neither feels like starting a conversation. It’s already clear: things won’t get better. With each game, the number of deaths only grows, and that trend won’t change, especially now that the cute girl’s group is falling apart piece by piece. He finishes the last bite, tosses the wrapper into the trash and heads toward the shelves to pick something tastier. The selection here is surprisingly good. In the Borderlands, with its endless cans and instant noodles, even a small thing like this is worth its weight in gold.

The cafeteria has long become something like a common hall. People gather here because there’s plenty of space, plenty of food, and you can take your time studying each other. Some are already eyeing a guy who lied to a thug about his suit a couple of rounds ago. Anyone with half a brain knows he’s next.

Chishiya reaches for a pack of chocolate cookies and suddenly feels someone’s gaze. A man with sharp eyes is staring straight at him: not hiding it, not looking away, not even blinking. His stare is cold. He sits crouched against the wall in a relaxed pose. Next to him is a tense boy with long bangs that completely cover his eyes. If Ippei is naturally timid, this one is a caricature, comically nervous. He flinches at every sound and constantly fiddles his sleeve, as if he’d dissolve into thin air without that touch.

A little further away there is a couple. A woman and a man. Chishiya recognizes them right away: the same pair who were loudly getting busy in a cell a couple of hours ago. The man in a suit stands confidently, shoulders squared, looking like he has everything under control. The woman glances around nervously, squinting at everyone who passes, clearly trusting only her lover. But Chishiya notices something odd: she looks at the boy with bangs differently. More warily. Longer than she looks at others, and she jerks her gaze away faster than usual. You don’t look at a stranger like that. You look at someone you already know something about.

Chishiya turns his head the other way and freezes. Niragi is standing next to Ippei. That bastard. He decided to make his move after all, or, more likely, to drip poison while Chishiya wasn’t around. 

Chishiya doesn’t move. He’s not a mama cat to rush to help at the first sign of danger. Instead, he opens the pack of cookies, takes one out and watches from the corner of his eye. Niragi leans toward Ippei, saying something with a polite smile that never means anything good. Chishiya can’t hear the words, but he sees Ippei’s shoulders tense. He hopes Ippei is wary enough. But Niragi sows doubt like no one else. And if Ippei wavers, Chishiya will be in trouble – he still hasn’t found an alternative he can trust.

He touches his collar. Spades. Ippei told him at the start of the round, and two unimportant players confirmed it later. So far, it all checks out.

Niragi finally walks away. Chishiya heads toward the table. He sits down across from Ippei and silently holds out the pack of chocolate cookies. Ippei probably doesn’t feel like eating, but sometimes a small gesture calms better than words.

“Niragi and I have had our differences,” he says, meeting Ippei’s eyes. “But you understand he deserved everything that happened to him, right?”

Chishiya doesn’t wait for an answer, but he doesn’t rush to continue either.

“He’s trying to rewrite history,” he says, taking a cookie from the pack and breaking it in half. “Paint me as the monster. How awful I am, how manipulative, how I’d betray anyone who stops being useful.”

He leans a little closer.

“It doesn’t matter what he said. What matters is finishing this game, preferably with as few losses as possible. I don’t believe you’re the Jack. Am I the Jack? That's for you to decide. But until then, I’m just asking you not to let his words take hold of you completely.”

[blyavod]

guys in a couple of days i’m going to another country for a few days with my ex-rp partner who used to play Niragi and we’ve had SO MANY fights over the past year more than i’ve had with anyone else wish me luck ig

[blyavod]

what if one of them was the other’s affair partner? 👀 i’d absolutely read a nirashiya au like that

[morastfrck]

Burned niragi is fun to draw

[blyavod]

i really like hc that Chishiya suffers from frequent migraines. he always has headache pills in his pocket, spends entire days lying in bed when they hit and absolutely hates talking during them. as for the cause… either he never figured it out, or he’s doing what doctors are notoriously good at and ignoring his own health at first, Niragi couldn’t care less and would even make things worse on purpose. over time, though, he learns to keep his voice down and his hands to himself until it’s over. then, the second Chishiya starts feeling better, it’s right back to “you done pretending you’re dying?” as if nothing happened

[voidnira]

Closed starter for @blyavod

The moment the first burst of bullets hits the concrete wall behind him and the loser out in the open on the street stares back at him for a hot half second before his brain catches up on the piece of concrete lodged in his abdomen, Niragi knows he won’t find him here.

It’s loud. Messy. People screaming, dying, running in fucking circles like live target practice, not stopping at all for anyone, least of all some brat trying to talk them into catching a bullet for him.

Which is good.

Tokyo is huge, but the Spades Arena cuts a big chunk out of the space he has to comb through for him - or some white hoodie, blood-drenched in the dirt. Hopefully not, because that would mean there’s no smart little brain left for him to put a bullet through, watch the lights go out, make him look like the corpse he acts like.

Trouble is, Tokyo really is huge.

It takes Niragi less time to change the bandages every day. He bites down less hard on the bullet he is saving for the brat, still trying to muffle the sounds as much as possible because if he has to hear himself fucking scream again like he did at the hospital when he was tearing his shirt off his body together with his skin, he’d rather shoot himself.

What aren’t really scars yet pull whenever he moves. Pill bottles rattle in his pocket. Enough morphine to kill the brat several times over. Enough to keep him moving, mouth dry, dizzy in the sun, so he sticks to early mornings and late afternoons, huddling away in whatever corner he can find at noon and midnight.

It’s gonna be the last thing he does. Maybe. Probably.

He’s seen people die in games from broken wrists, twisted ankles, a simple cut because they never bothered to keep up their shots back in the real world.

And then there’s him, or whatever shadow he can spot in broken shop windows, the rare mirror that’s still intact somewhere, never looking at it for more than a single breath.

He’s gonna die.

But he’ll do it after Chishiya. On his terms, and not when some self-important shit feels like playing justice with a lighter instead of just throwing himself off the roof like any self-respecting person that hates themselves that fucking much.

So he keeps moving.

Looking.

Squinting through the scope of the rifle, eyeing his visa, dreading the day the number runs down to zero. No energy to waste on clubs. Or spades. No diamonds with his head this foggy from the morphine.

So he ends up at hearts again, in front of thick prison walls and some decorative little iron gate set between round, two-tone towers as if pretty architecture ever made rotting away more pleasant.

At least the inside is honest. Bare walls, grey on grey on grey, easy to hide the dirt. Everything a fucking drag just like the corridor to the registration area.

Niragi hitches the rifle higher on his shoulder before he steps into the room, grabbing the last collar off the table while every eye around him goes straight to the gun.

Works every time.

He glares at the girl in a stupid doll’s dress smiling back at him like that would help her at all, then clicks the collar shut around his neck.

Registration complete.

The screen on the wall comes to life almost immediately.

Difficulty label: Jack of Hearts

Guess the card suit that appears on the back of your collar. However, you may not look at the symbol yourself. The time limit is one hour per round. In the final five minutes, enter your cell and disclose your symbol.

The lights in the hallways leading away from the room light up and it’s the same fucking routine as always: people staring, wide-eyed, sweating already, first at whatever gets revealed, then back at the useless idiot next to them like trust and charity conquer all when it’s just another iteration of the survival of the fittest.

If you do not answer with the correct symbol, it is game over. The collar will explode, and you will die. Additionally, when the time limit reaches zero, the symbol on the collar will reset and change for each round.

And right on cue, the mandatory village idiot starts promoting exactly that – help each other. Hallelujah.

Niragi huffs, one sharp exhale, before he catches on to who the idiot is talking to through the haze.

Short. White. Answering in that voice that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand to attention.

The voice overhead keeps on rambling, but he isn’t listening anymore. Chishiya’s right over there, against the wall, hood up, non-smile in place.

And all Niragi does is stare.

[blyavod]

Chishiya walks at an unhurried pace through the empty streets of Tokyo. The Beach is behind him now, along with the familiar hum of voices, the smell of chlorine and alcohol. The night has dragged on too long. It wasn't the mystery behind the corpse that exhausted him, but the endless crowd of faces, the panic, the screams, the collective madness. More exhausting than any game.

The Witch's bonfire has burned out, but the games are far from over. It was only the beginning of the second stage, one no one has experienced before. Nothing lies ahead except the face cards, and beyond them... who knows? There hasn't been time to think about it. Somewhere out in the city, the King of Spades is already roaming the streets, turning Tokyo into a live shooting range. Chishiya survived the massacre by sheer luck. No wonder – luck has saved his life more than once.

After escaping, he split up from his reluctant allies. Teaming up with Kuina and the others had been practical, but searching for them across a whole metropolis while being hunted isn't worth the risk. So he does what he always does.

He turns to face the massive brick prison, surrounded by iron fences topped with barbed wire. A giant airship hovers directly above it. A fitting decoration for the second stage. Starting with a Jack makes sense. If there's any way to learn what the face cards are really like, this is probably it.

The air inside is damp and cold. Dozens of people stand in scattered groups, speaking in hushed voices that echo off the walls. Nearly everyone already has a metal collar fastened around their neck. Chishiya approaches a nearby counter where other devices are neatly arranged. He picks one up, examines the mechanism and then, without hesitation, places it around his own neck.

If the rules require you to put on a leash willingly, then it's already too late to resist.

A familiar female voice begins explaining the rules. Chishiya only half listens. His attention shifts to the other players, studying them until movement at the far end of the prison corridor catches his eye.

Out of the darkness, where the light doesn't reach, a figure emerges. Too tall. Too thin. Slightly stooped. Walking with a slight limp. From a distance, the man looks either badly injured or hopelessly drunk. Then he steps into the light. Burned skin. Messy dark hair. A body wrapped in filthy bandages. Looking straight at him.

Niragi.

Of everyone who could have survived that fire, Niragi would be stubborn enough to do it. Chishiya immediately starts calculating all the complications this will bring. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

Well. This is going to be inconvenient.

For a brief moment, the room falls completely silent as everyone processes what they’ve heard. Then the crowd begins to move. Simple as they are, the rules are cruel enough that no one wants to be left alone. Pairs form almost immediately, quickly followed by small groups. Some rush to team up with complete strangers, while others cling to familiar faces.

A short, timid-looking boy approaches Chishiya. He hesitates, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, as if already expecting rejection. For the moment, though, he seems like the only reasonable option. Chishiya gives him a small nod. This is enough to forge a temporary alliance.

Only a few meters away, the first fight has already broken out. A large man punches a younger player while everyone else either watches or pretends not to notice. Nearby, a young woman gathers more and more people around her, insisting they'll have better odds if they stick together. Several others watch from the side, already paired up, making it clear they have no intention of letting anyone else join them.

Across the room, Niragi continues staring at Chishiya with open hostility. Chishiya does the only sensible thing he can: he keeps as much distance from him as possible. At this point, attracting Niragi's attention would cause far more trouble than any game.

[voidnira]

He could say hi at least. Give him a nod, a wave, a pointed little glare. Instead, he gives him absolutely nothing. Doesn’t even look at him properly, his attention back on the room so fast that anyone else would have made Niragi doubt they’d spotted him in the first place.

But Chishiya’s seen him. Chishiya’s decided he’s not worth looking back at. Chishiya sacrificed those precious hands he likes to hide away so much to cobble together some makeshift flamethrower, stalk him on a rooftop like that’s the sensible thing to do during some mass panic that has people do what they do best: kill, accuse, torture, and bring all of that to him specifically. Pretty much the longest conversation he’d ever had with the little fuck. He didn’t ask for it, he didn’t get in his way, he might not even have aimed for a white hood had it turned up in the courtyard below, but Chishiya had deemed him worthy of all that, all the effort, clever little speech, running at a loaded sniper rifle just to set him on fire, and now he’s not even worth a flinch.

Like he actually did die. Like Chishiya doesn’t understand he’s gonna die now.

His fingers find the selector blindly when the rifle slides off his shoulder and he can move again, the familiar shift dulled by the bandages, enhanced in other places by the tight pull of raw skin.

“You can’t use that here. Rules,” someone says next to him and Niragi doesn’t turn his head till he’s raised the rifle halfway, till there are several pale faces staring right at him, some girl stumbling sideways into the wall when some tool dodges a fist swung at him. It would be laughably easy, just flick from semi to burst, cut all that precious worry short, but the voice is calm and level when it comes again, and Chishiya isn’t even looking at him.

So he stops, barrel sinking an inch, looking back at a man in a blue work shirt and a bowl cut. No pale face. A bit too interested, if anything.

“Mind your fucking business,” Niragi hisses, turning back to his own business, only to spot that Chishiya has found someone worth reacting to in the meantime. Some sorry fucking kid, timid, shy, just the right kind of person for the brat to say yes to, lie to. Use. Because apparently that’s what gets you the normal kind of attention, the one where you get stabbed in the back instead of openly attacked and then ignored.

Niragi slides the strap of the rifle back over his shoulder, fingers clenching when they won’t stop shaking once they’re off the trigger. One sharp inhale, then he moves over to the group forming around Doll Girl. She liked him. Her kind always does – as long as there’s the rifle, at least.

“Gonna let me play with you?” he asks, the lilt hurting the corner of his mouth when he tries the smile that has to come with that.

She smiles back, not as bright or coy as they used to be before the brat fucked up his face, but good enough. He shoulders his way into the inner circle, jerking his chin toward Chishiya and his little alliance, raising his voice just enough.

“That one’s a cheat.”

[blyavod]

Jack of Hearts is one of those games where the outcome won't become clear anytime soon. As expected, the first round decides nothing: nothing truly begins and nothing truly ends. Everyone survives. Some are helped by their partners, some by strangers, and some, like the brute, by intimidation. Oh, this is going to take a long time.

Fortunately, the prison has a massive stockpile of water and food. Shitty stuff, of course, but Chishiya has already spotted a few biscuits and a pack of cookies for himself. He watches the others, who are still just testing the waters. Each of them is slowly building their own strategy for finding the Jack. He should start searching too, but there's one problem. Niragi has already declared him a cheater. In front of the entire group, in fact. And that girl, despite her harmless appearance, could very well turn out to be one of the most unpleasant opponents he's faced in any game. Her group immediately grew wary and now keeps glancing sideways at Chishiya. But he makes no move.

“What's the point of cheating in the early rounds?” Chishiya says lazily, not bothering to step closer. “I'm pretty sure the rules made it clear my head would explode if I tried to see my own suit through a reflective surface.” He tilts his head slightly. “As you can see, I'm still alive. Besides, I have a partner who won’t let me down. Right, Ippei?”

Chishiya turns, watching as the guy nervously shakes his head from side to side in that funny way of his. A few people exchange glances, but no one dares to continue the argument. Niragi's accusations hang in the air, unconfirmed. Chishiya just shrugs indifferently.

“Call me when you've got proof.”

Still, he knows that he and Ippei are keeping too much to themselves. That will inevitably draw suspicion. Those who believe he's cheating will stick to that belief regardless. Niragi, on the other hand, doesn't seem at all afraid of ending up without allies one day. In fact, he doesn't really have to worry about that. For the first few rounds, he'll stick with that girl and her cronies, and when their little harmony falls apart – well. Murders and outright lies are probably still a ways off, but intimidating the weakest ones, forcing them to stay close to him? That he's more than capable of. Chishiya knows: Niragi is no fool. Impulsive. Vile. Devoid of any moral principles. But far from stupid. It's no coincidence that back on the Beach they considered him a strong Diamonds player. In that, they're alike.

Chishiya constantly feels that gaze, full of anticipation. Niragi isn't looking at him with suspicion. He's looking at him with hunger. He's waiting for their eyes to meet, for the silent standoff to grow into something more. Chishiya understands: sooner or later, they'll clash for real. And no simple avoidance will delay or prevent that moment.

But for now, Chishiya continues to observe the others, who are growing restless as the next round approaches. One of the players, a skinny guy with shifty eyes, sidles up to that same brute after another scuffle, and tells him his symbol. Except instead of clubs, the picture on his collar is a diamond. The brute, slow on the uptake, nods, accepting the lie. Ippei, catching the discrepancy, jerks forward and opens his mouth to intervene – the guy's suit is wrong! But Chishiya shushes him, freezing him in place and forcing him to stay silent.

The second round begins. A deafening blast fills the room. An explosion echoes from one of the prison cells – the first victim of this endless day.

The echo hasn't even died away before Chishiya has moved. Not toward the cell, like some of the terrified players, but toward the center of the common room, where the view is clearest.

The skinny guy pales, but his expression isn't one of surprise. It's the realization that his lie just killed someone. The girl with the harmless smile doesn't even blink. She's already whispering something to the woman next to her. Ippei's hand trembles at his side.

“That guy… he lied. He told him the wrong suit. I could’ve-”

“You could’ve painted a target on your back,” Chishiya murmurs, not looking at him. “He chose to trust the wrong person. That’s his failure, not yours.”

“But someone died.”

“Someone was always going to die.”

He leaves Ippei to wrestle with that and drifts toward the edge of the room, where a narrow corridor leads to the adjacent wing.

[voidnira]

Chishiya eats. Chishiya hoards biscuits. Chishiya wanders around with that kid trailing after him like a lost puppy. He looks at people, furniture, the screen in the room they started in. He does fucking everything except acknowledge Niragi exists.

Which is quite the achievement, considering Niragi is staring him down hard enough that people start making sure they do not cross his line of sight anymore, while Chishiya sits casually at the far end of it, chewing, breathing, talking to thin air and the kid only, as far as Niragi can tell. No one likes cheaters, and in a game like this, no one is taking chances. Except for the kid, apparently, but that is an issue Niragi can take care of when it becomes one. The little sod looks like he is about to cry at any given moment, so making him run for the hills will not take much.

It’s still a fucking drag. The little tell me mine, I’ll tell you yours dance in Doll Girl’s brand-new gang is done quick, but of course people cannot just take that information and shut up until they need it. There is confirmation after confirmation, hushed little promises of I’d never and you’d never, and Doll Girl passes snacks around like this is some team-building event and she read the HR manual on her way in.

But it works. He knows his suit. He survives. Everyone else does too.

Nothing gained, nothing won. Just more sitting around, more grumbling while some run-down woman fusses over his bandages like he needs help, more Chishiya not looking at him.

The second round starts with an explosion. Disappointingly, only one.

But it is not Chishiya, which is good, and it is not anyone from Doll Girl’s circle, which is also good. Just when Niragi is about to give his eyes a break from the damn white and look at some blood and brain matter instead, that white moves past him toward the common room, the kid at his heels, and Niragi turns and follows.

Of course the brat has to investigate, whether he instigated the shit himself or just wants to know who to point his finger at. Not that anyone will listen much, cheat and all, but he is fucking stubborn, so who knows what he is going to try to pull.

Niragi curses under his breath when his leg complains the second he walks faster. It’s not broken. He tested that. But there is a dull ache that set in a day after he fell off that damn roof, and while it does not hurt nearly as much as the burns, it is as stubborn as the one who caused it.

He digs into his pocket for the pill bottle, fingers closing tight around it. He should not take too much, too often. The last thing he needs is to rifle through abandoned hospitals and pharmacies like a mangled dog, desperate for the next fix that will not do shit. He already needs more when he should need less.

In the common room, Chishiya is feeding the kid some lies about something, all hushed and secretive, then turns and walks off, leaving the kid stranded. All alone.

One little unattended apple, waiting to be plucked by whoever happens to pass by.

He could do just that.

Niragi narrows his eyes, following the white hoodie along the edge of the room until it disappears around a corner. Not back toward all the food, all the people. Away from it.

His eyes flick back to the kid before he pulls out the pill container and swallows two pills down. Will not do much right now, but they still help. Still get him moving faster, better, when he leaves the kid be and follows Chishiya round the corner into a long, bare corridor, hitching the strap of the rifle higher so it doesn't get in the way.

Chishiya walks ahead. Does not look back when Niragi gets closer.

Maybe he really does not hear him. Maybe he’s just pretending.

Doesn’t matter.

Niragi gets close enough to reach out, grabs the hood, and yanks hard enough to throw Chishiya off balance, getting one tiny little sound out of him. Hopefully from the neckline biting into his throat, because he fucking deserves it.

From there, it is one practiced movement. Niragi sidesteps as Chishiya comes back at him and drives him chest-first into the wall, crowds in right after, chest to back, leaving no room to turn when he catches Chishiya’s wrists as they come up on instinct to brace against the concrete. He pushes in even closer until Chishiya has to turn his head, cheek to wall, because there is no space left. Not wedged between Niragi’s body and the concrete like that.

Niragi can feel the fucking soft warmth of him all the way down his front when he wrangles Chishiya’s wrists into the tight space at the small of his back, forcing his spine into a curve rather than giving up an inch himself.

“Missed me, clever boy?” he hisses into his ear, already breathless from the effort, but that is fine, because there is no need to move now.

He forces Chishiya’s hands together until he can pin them with one hand, scrawny little wrists, nails digging into the skin for good measure, while he pats down Chishiya’s side frantically, shoving his hand into the pocket of the hoodie. A dry huff leaves him when his fingers close around something hard, roughly square.

He leans all his weight against Chishiya’s wrists as he pulls it out, pressing him to the wall like a bug pinned in a display case, a needle down the middle, and lets it dangle beside Chishiya’s face with glee.

“That yours?” he coos sweetly, biting down a cough, eyeing the makeshift stun gun before hurling it down the corridor, farther from the common room and anyone who might come take pity on a fucking lying little bastard.

It is not even done skidding across the floor when Niragi closes his free hand around Chishiya’s right wrist, separating his hands and twisting the arm up his back until he has him pinned there. He leaves the other arm free to flail around helplessly while he pats down the other side, rough, turns the hoodie pocket inside out, shoves his fingers under the hoodie and around the waistband of Chishiya’s shorts.

Nothing there.

Just smooth skin. No scabs. No burns.

Niragi grits his teeth, pressing in the rest of the way now that he does not need any room to search anymore.

“Gonna explain why you’re so fucking impolite?”

[blyavod]

Chishiya only manages to come to his senses when he realizes he’s pinned against a cold concrete wall. The impact knocks all the air out of his lungs. Rough hands grip his wrists, pressing him into the surface, and heavy breathing sounds right next to his ear. A quiet noise slips from him, more from surprise than actual pain.

Chishiya tries to turn his head, but he can only look at his attacker from the corner of his eye. The hands gripping him are rough, hastily bandaged, dark spots seeping through the gauze here and there. The smell of burnt skin and medical ointment. Of course, it’s none other than Niragi. Who else would think of ambushing him in the dark corridor of the prison block, when the game hasn’t even truly begun yet?

Chishiya attempts to break free, but can’t. Not that he’s putting much effort into it. And Niragi’s condition is incomparably worse: the burns are still fresh, his movements stiff, yet there’s something desperate about it.

Niragi leans closer and whispers into his ear. The hot breath brushes against skin, and shivers run down the back of his neck, not from fear, no, but from how ticklish it feels. Chishiya barely restrains himself from jerking his shoulder. Then Niragi releases one of his wrists and starts touching his side: bandaged fingers slide across the fabric of his hoodie, lift the hem, touch bare skin.

And, of course, Niragi finds his trusty stun gun in the hoodie pocket, assembled back when he first arrived at the Beach from scraps of wire and parts found in abandoned electronics stores. Chishiya never had much luck with firearms. And the stun gun was practically his only means of defense in this world that he could use without much trouble. Small, silent, almost like a toy, but it had saved him more than once.

Niragi pulls out the stun gun and tosses it aside. The metallic clatter echoes off the corridor walls. Chishiya follows it with his eyes, as much as his position allows, and hopes it doesn’t break completely. In the prison conditions, repairing it would be nearly impossible. Even worse if Niragi decides to take it for himself when he’s finished with it.

Niragi frees one hand again and returns to what he was doing, his fingers continuing their search. He slips his hand under the T-shirt, drags it up along the ribs, reaches lower, toward the waistband of his shorts.

“If you needed an excuse to touch me,” Chishiya’s voice sounds quiet, “you could’ve just asked.”

But Niragi just questions why Chishiya is being so impolite. He merely arches an eyebrow. Is Niragi really bothered that Chishiya isn’t trying to get rid of him, but simply keeps his distance? A laugh almost escapes his lips. He ignores previous question.

“Niragi, be a dear, remind me. What’s the symbol on my collar?”

He knows the answer. He has known it from the very beginning – Ippei, of course, told him right away, and Chishiya preferred to believe him. Hearts, of course, hearts. But he’s curious about something else: how many seconds Niragi will hesitate, whether he’ll tell the truth or try to lie. And whatever the reaction turns out to be, Chishiya already knows it will amuse him.

[voidnira]

Chishiya struggles. Weakly. Badly. Not as much as he could, because Niragi knows what it feels like when they struggle, really struggle, fueled by adrenaline and knowing what will come next, and Chishiya doesn’t even come close. So that’s another thing Chishiya apparently thinks is too good for Niragi. No hi, no panic, just eyes for his little toy skidding down the hallway. He must like that piece of trash. If it still works now. If he gets it back.

He continues his search, fingers slipping over the waistband, underneath, looking for anything tucked in when the little brat finally graces him with some fucking audio.

Getting the wrong idea.

As if he needed a dim corridor away from the group if he wanted to feel anyone up. As if he wanted to feel up the brat of all people, like that was the proper way to go about this - insult Niragi every chance there is, set him on fire, get fucked against a wall before everyone’s necks explode. In his fucking dreams.

The elastic snaps against Chishiya’s skin when he pulls his hand back, bandages catching on the hem of the hoodie, and he hisses as he shakes his wrist free, only to catch a single raised brow and that cheap version of a laugh of his that doesn’t even come with a sound. Because again, why bother with fucking anything other than killing him and then not even bothering enough to make sure he ends up dead all the way at least.

Niragi twists Chishiya’s wrist a little more against his back, just until there’s that telltale little lock. Two degrees more and something breaks, snaps, hurts like the little bitch he is.

Not that Chishiya bothers, of course. Right on theme.

He asks about his symbol instead, as if he deserved a reward for the long-winded and very thorough explanation he did not fucking give, and Niragi shoves him forward by his wrist, movement stopped short by the wall before it can even start properly.

“Fallout with your little friend already?” Niragi asks, tone still mockingly sweet, already chipping at the edges.

He would’ve seen that. He’s seen nothing but Chishiya since he walked in, so this is not a question, it’s a neat little test wrapped up badly on the spot, just like that toy he took off him.

Niragi shoves his free hand into Chishiya’s hair, grabs a fistful at the back, and yanks his head down until the collar gives up its answer.

“Hearts,” he says. “And don’t get too worked up about it. You don’t get to die unless I say so.”

His fingers curl tighter in the dry strands as he takes half a step back, straightening only when he turns, yanking, pulling, shoving Chishiya with him, away from him, hard enough to send him flying if he doesn’t fucking bother with reflexes. Down the corridor, towards the group. Niragi between him and the stun gun. He rolls his shoulders, stance wide and even.

“Your friend’s waiting. Wouldn’t want him to think you’d rather hang out here with me, huh?”

[blyavod]

Chishiya feels his wrist twisted to its absolute limit. Another second and the bone will almost certainly crack. When Niragi’s fingers dig into his hair, wrenching his head back into a humiliating arc, he doesn’t resist. His neck bends obediently, baring the collar around it and the symbol glowing on the screen.

Out of the corner of his eye, Chishiya takes in the ornate burns scarring Niragi’s face, the mask he now wears whether he wants to or not.

So Niragi has decided to tell the truth. And, as always, he turned even this into a deliberate display of superiority.

A rough shove lands between his shoulder blades. Chishiya stumbles a step forward, then calmly straightens his hoodie. At this distance he catches other details without much effort: the fresh burns, the clumsy bandages, a rage that has nothing to do with the game. Niragi is settling personal scores. Even the remark about Ippei sounds like a thinly veiled glimmer of some kind of twisted jealousy.

“If I wanted to be somewhere else, I’d already be there.”

The stun gun stays where it fell, swallowed by the shadows of the corridor, while Niragi lingers between them like a guard standing watch over a trophy. There’s no need to rush. Let him keep his toy, if he wants it that badly. Chishiya will find a way to get it back later.

The corridor opens into the main hall. Ippei sits with his back against the wall and nervously adjusts his overalls. The moment he spots Chishiya, he starts to rise, ready to rush toward him, but freezes when he notices Niragi looming behind.

Chishiya crosses the room and crouches beside him, meeting the fear in his eyes. He bends his head closer and barely audibly speaks words intended only for him:

“Stay away from this one.”

Now Chishiya sits with his back against the cold wall, watching Niragi’s group with dull, half-interested eyes. They gathered at the far end of the room, whispering among themselves and sizing up the other players. Niragi stands a little apart, arms crossed. No longer the unquestioned leader of a pack of obedient strays the way he was back at the Beach.

Boredom presses down on Chishiya, worse somehow than any game.

His attention drifts to one of the former Beach girls. He can’t recall her name, only scattered fragments of her face. She’s the only one in Niragi’s group standing close enough to be useful, filling the silence with aimless chatter with other players. Perfect.

He rises, careful not to startle her, and speaks in the confiding tone people instinctively lean in to hear.

“You’ve heard about the man who shot dozens of people at that hotel, haven’t you? The one that burned down.”

He steps forward slightly, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“They say he had a rifle. And burns… horrific ones, all over. Doesn’t that remind you of someone?”

The girl’s mouth falls half open. The people around her go quiet too. Wary glances start sliding toward Niragi. Chishiya never looks at him, not once. His whole attention stays fixed on the girl, as if she were the most fascinating person in the room.

“Can you imagine what happens if that lunatic survives this game?” he says at last, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “After all, we’re all locked in here with him.”

[voidnira]

Of course, Chishiya has to frame it like he’s planned almost getting his wrist broken all along. Like he’s been waiting for this. He didn’t. There would have been a glance in his direction before - at least one. There’s not much in that lifeless little face, but there’s something sometimes, usually mocking, insulting, arrogant, bored, any variation of condescension watered down to such a homeopathic dose he cannot get called out for it, but absolutely zero is not it. He’s been avoiding him, and avoidance doesn’t go with Niragi breathing down his neck.

So it’s on now.

Good.

Niragi watches him stroll down the corridor back to the group, round the corner with his hands already back in his pockets, before he turns and picks up the stun gun. Carefully, because who knows how the brat rigged it. Some of the tape is rubbed off, a cable ripped out of place, but the thing’s still working fine when Niragi pushes it back in. Not reliably secured, but enough to get a good two seconds of contact in, and the electric jolt jumps between the contacts when he tries it.

The brat’s going all in right away.

Figures.

Niragi slides it into his pocket and makes his way back to the main area as well. Chishiya’s back with his little apple, hunched over, all close and careful like a concerned parent telling their kid to be good when visiting grandma, and Niragi snorts. Like the brat was ever capable of something even remotely close to care. He flashes the kid a grin and walks past the touching little display back to the rest of the group.

They’ve moved to an established corner now, Doll Girl still herding them around her like the most popular girl in class, and she looks up at him with something like a smile when he sits down nearby, so all good on that front.

They’re not discussing less now, though. More. Hushed, spread out. There are low voices dying down completely when an especially twitchy expendable walks past, only to rise up again loud and giggly as soon as his back is turned and he’s part of Doll Girl’s circle.

Not good.

“What’s my symbol?” he asks the run-down woman that’s not fussing anymore, and she tells him right away. It’s the same one the group confirms during the official suit exchange, the same as the twitchy guy stutters when he corners him later near the bathrooms, but still.

Not good.

The morphine starts kicking in slowly, but he still has no nerve for petty bullshit when Chishiya starts looking in Doll Girl’s direction more than he did before. So it’s not nothing anymore. It’s something, and it will come out sooner or later.

It comes out when the round is almost over and Niragi’s sitting hunched over at one of the tables in Doll Girl’s corner, chewing on a strip of jerky. Chishiya gets up from the spot he’s been sitting in since Niragi started the bag that’s almost empty now, casually strolling a few steps until he’s near some girl.

From his group.

Of fucking course.

Sit lazy like the little pussy he is and then, instead of sharpening his claws on the couch or anything subtle, he goes for knocking the fine china off the sideboard right away.

Niragi can’t hear what he says and he doesn’t try to strain his ears. He shoves the bag away, gets up and moves over to where Chishiya isn’t right now, which is right next to the kid, leaning in close till the little sod wishes the wall at his back would swallow him up whole.

His throat is working hard when Niragi reaches into his pocket, eyes going all white and round when he pulls out the stun gun and dangles it in front of his face.

“Here,” he says, turning it so the kid can see where the button is. Can work out where to press even when he’s probably about to piss his little big-boy pants. “Your friend dropped this. In case he tries something.”

He shoves the stun gun into his hand, straightens, ruffling his hair before he turns back to the group. The girl next to Chishiya eyes him up all funny.

Doesn’t matter.

“He tell you a story?” Niragi asks, head tilting, as he walks toward them. “Something cute, huh?”

His voice gets louder the closer he gets, back straight, faces turning, eyes looking up at him just like they should. Wary. Jaws tight. The usual.

Niragi stops a few feet away, not threatening at all, keeping a very polite, considerate distance when he points back at the kid by the wall, turning the stun gun over in his hands, thumb hooked underneath the rifle strap.

“He also tell you he smuggled a weapon in here?”

He waits till they’ve all gotten a good look at Chishiya, at the kid, at his pointed finger, before he drops his arm and moves in closer.

“Not lethal,” he continues, glance flicking to Blue Shirt with the bowl cut. “Would be against the rules to use it. But that thing.”

He stops close to Chishiya, just behind his back.

“One run-in with that and you’re knocked out cold before you can announce your suit.”

[blyavod]

Chishiya turns around and freezes. A stun gun is resting in Ippei’s trembling, sweat-soaked hands. His stun gun. The boy looks completely confused, as if he has no idea how it ended up there or what he’s supposed to do with it. Chishiya, however, already understands what’s happening.

He turns his gaze to Niragi. His scarred face lacks the usual rage. Instead, there’s something colder. Even calculating. This time, he didn’t choose brute force. Instead, he decided to play it smart.

Chishiya doesn’t even get the chance to step toward the boy. Niragi raises his voice so everyone in the room can hear. The message is simple: Chishiya smuggled in a weapon. His little friend is holding it. There’s your proof.

The room falls quiet. Every pair of eyes turns to Ippei, then to the stun gun and finally to Chishiya. Anxious whispers spread throughout the room.

Ippei goes pale. Under the weight of everyone’s attention, his fingers finally give way. The stun gun slips from his hand and falls to the floor with a dull clatter.

Chishiya waits until the whispers grow louder. Only then he steps forward, placing himself between Ippei and the rest of the group. He raises both hands slightly.

“Yes,” he says calmly. “It’s mine.”

A few more whispers ripple through the crowd.

“I’ve been carrying it since before this game. Most people who have survived here for more than a week have something to defend themselves. Mine happens to be a stun gun. I kept it hidden because not everyone here can be trusted.”

His eyes settle on Niragi.

“The only person who had a chance to take it was Niragi. He shoved me against a wall a few minutes ago and searched my pockets. If anyone wants to know why, I’d like to hear the answer too.”

Several people glance toward Niragi. No one says anything. Chishiya looks around the room, making sure everyone is listening before he continues.

“There’s a difference between carrying a stun gun in case someone attacks you and shooting dozens of people in a hotel. They weren’t armed. They were hiding. That wasn’t self-defense.”

Someone from Niragi’s group shifts uncomfortably. The girl Chishiya spoke to earlier lowers her eyes and presses her lips together. Not many people trust him. Then again, not many people trust Niragi either.

“I’d be more concerned about the man carrying the rifle than the one carrying a stun gun. Niragi doesn’t act like someone trying to survive alongside everyone else. He acts like someone who benefits from keeping everyone afraid.”

He pauses. If people had to choose between them, they would not suddenly start believing Chishiya. They would simply start questioning Niragi as well. Doubt is enough.

“So ask yourselves a simple question. Who has actually been a greater danger to everyone here since this game began?”

[voidnira]

Chishiya is giving speeches now. He’s always liked hearing himself talk, but now he’s graduated to full-on group lectures, about the morality of sneaking a weapon in versus carrying one openly, honestly, not because you think people might do something bad, but because you know they do.

But sure, let him talk. Let them listen and whisper amongst themselves. He hasn’t shot anyone in here. He still could. They all know that. Nothing to win with that, but also nothing to lose.

So yeah, let’s have him speed up the process of having everyone walk on eggshells around him, lying to his face, throwing him under the bus, and still getting remarkably truthful with a rifle pressed under their chin. Nothing new, nothing surprising.

“At least when I’m dangerous, you can fucking see it,” he says, loud, and that’s that.

He’s not going to argue with the brat.

He walks back to his place, sits down, coughing. Doll Girl looks at him like she’s still deciding whether to buy it.

Niragi’s next and he knows it.

“He fucked me up like this,” he scoffs, readjusting a bandage that has come loose. “Wasn’t that happy about it.”

He jerks his chin toward Chishiya, still in the middle of the room.

“Still in one piece.”

[blyavod]

Chishiya hears the words, but his expression doesn’t change. Niragi throws out an accusation, maybe hoping for a shocked reaction from the crowd, or maybe for no particular reason at all. But he gets one anyway. Someone gasps. Someone takes a step back, widening the distance between themselves and Chishiya. Behind him, Ippei holds his breath.

Chishiya only looks at Niragi, narrowing his eyes. At his burned face. At the carelessly wrapped bandages. At the dark stains seeping through the gauze. Only one thought crosses his mind.

Not enough.

If the fire had done its job, Niragi wouldn’t be standing here now. He wouldn’t be getting in the way of clearing the game. He simply wouldn’t exist. Everything would be easier for everyone. But reality is what it is: Chishiya miscalculated, and know he has to deal with it.

None of Niragi’s accusations deserve an answer. Chishiya just stands with his hands in his pockets and looks straight through the burned man as if he isn’t there. He has Ippei: scared, shaking, but loyal and alive. Niragi has no one. Only a group led by that cute girl. Chishiya sees devils in her big doe eyes. He’s almost certain she’ll make her move sooner than anyone expects.

Her decision won’t kill Niragi, of course. He’s as hard to kill as a cockroach, and Chishiya has to give him that. Still, watching Niragi struggle to get out of this promises to be entertaining.

Chishiya leans his shoulder against the wall, glances at Ippei and gives him a small nod. Everything is fine. It’s time for another round. Once again, they have to choose a suit. Inside the cell, Chishiya doesn’t hesitate for a second.

“Hearts.”

A moment later, explosions shake the building. The first comes from somewhere to the left, very close. The sound of a body hitting the floor is so distinct it feels like it happens in the same room. The second is farther away. Its echo rolls through the corridors before finally fading.

Two more deaths.

Chishiya glances back at Ippei, making sure he’s unharmed, then walks toward the metal door. Behind it, the losers will stay forever.

He doesn’t recognize the first face. A man frozen in the expression of his final terror. The second is one of the girls from Niragi’s group. Her collar has been blown apart. Her head is bent back at an unnatural angle. A burned wound marks her neck. Chishiya hums as he understands that now the game is finally picking up.

[blyavod]

one more teen!nirashiya thingie

[blyavod]

even smaller kids. like, half an apple tall

[blyavod]

dumb kids (my ooc-ish nirashiya high school au)

[blyavod]

having time to draw and a million ideas but the brain just says no ugh