I was trying to get a screenshot of the photo of the four Cradle executives with 999 iOS (I wanted and HD version). But I got a little trigger happy and this happened.
how do you figure musashidou would convince Kubota to go with that version?
(I know this is technically not a prompt but I couldn’t resist. Here’s what it refers to. Set after Cat’s Cradle, kind of a companion piece to this.)
(Also, mentions of depression and a suicide attempt.)
***
He heard the boy crying before he was even close enough to the cabin’s door to open it.
Musashidou hadn’t had many occasions in his life to listen to crying children, but he couldn’t help but think that this one’s harsh, broken sobs and whiny blubbering sounded even more unpleasant than he’d expect them to. Still, what made him scowl was the voice that rang out just as he reached for the doorknob - that of a grown and clearly aggravated man.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake - stop bawling and listen! If you want to live you’ll feed the police this shit, or else–”
“No! P-please, d-d-don’t make–!”
“I said shut up!”
Well, now that wouldn’t do at all. The boy was one of their winners, and a guest. And that, Musashidou thought, was certainly no way to treat a guest. He opened the door to step in, and apparently his timing couldn’t be more perfect: a man of the crew was standing over the terrified boy, a hand raised to strike while the child is huddled in a corner, his own arms up to shield himself from the blow.
A blow that would never happen.
“Strike the boy, and I’ll make sure that hand is removed from your wrist.”
The man winced, and immediately dropped his arm. He turned to look at him, all anger fading in a look of something that was not too far away form terror.
Coward.
“Sir! I’m sorry, I just… he’s not cooperating at all, and I–”
“Hasn’t the thought of speaking like a civilized human being crossed your mind?” Musashidou asked, a cold edge in his otherwise friendly tone. Still, to be absolutely fair, he didn’t think speaking as calmly as humanly possible would have made much of a difference. The tale they were giving this boy to explain his week-long disappearance to the police was a remarkably well-crafted one, but still one that would obviously be met with resistance.
After all, they were asking him to claim someone whose death he recently witnessed - someone who cared for him and tried to protect him through what little of the Game she lived through - was the one to kidnap him in the first place.
Unaware of his musings, the man stammered over his own excuses. “I… he’s not listening, and I have been instructed to tell him–”
“Leave,” Musashidou cut him off, his gaze shifting on the child. He was still shaking and crying in the corner, and he was obviously terrified of him as well. “You clearly aren’t cut out for this. Wait outside.”
“Sir–”
“Now.”
Once the door closed, leaving them alone in the cabin, Musashidou gave a long sigh. He sat at the small desk near the cabin’s door and finally turned his attention back on the child, chin resting on his hand. He was weeping, not moving from the corner, but the sobs and blubbering had subsided. He made Musashidou think of a small wounded animal, quivering and trying to keep silent not to catch a predator’s attention.
“I frighten you, don’t I, my boy?”
The child sniffled, reaching up to uselessly dry his cheeks with the back of his hands, and looked back at him in silence, glasses askew on his face. Oh yes, he was terrified. Fair enough.
“I have no intention to harm you. Actually, I mean to help you.”
“You put me in th-there,” the child choked out. “You p-p-put us in there, a-and… she d-d-d-died, a-and now… I-I… I won’t tell the p-police that it was her t-to… I won’t…!”
The attempt at being defiant was rather short-lived, for the next moment a sob made the boy’s thin frame shudder, and his voice broke.
He won’t recover, Number 5 had said no more than a few hours ago. You’ve ruined him. You’re an idiot if you think otherwise.
Of course, Musashidou was no idiot. He could tell that the boy was never going to be alright again. He was too young, too frail before the Game even happened. Still, no reason to let him get himself killed… which was precisely what would happen if he didn’t cave in, accept to tell the story they cooked up for the police, and stick to it for the rest of his life.
There was no other option for him but death.
Ignoring the thought that death may be a mercy for someone so deeply damaged, Musashidou spoke calmly.
“… We’re going to talk about this when you calm down, alright?” he said, reaching to pull a tissue out of his breast pocket and handing it out to him. “Here, take this.”
The child didn’t move to take it: he stayed where he was, holding his knees, and shut his eyes tightly. His back kept shuddering with barely restrained sobs.
Musashidou sighed, still holding up the tissue. “Boy, listen to me. You need to calm yourself. I am your best ally on this ship, believe me. You have no reason to be afraid. I–”
“I-I want to see G-G-Gentarou and N-Nagisa,” he choked out. “P-plase. Where are they?”
Well, all things considered, perhaps he should have expected that reply. “I’m afraid that is not possible. Number 3 was already released, with his own story to tell. As for Number 5, he has his own issues to deal with right now, don’t you think? Don’t be selfish,” he added, a scolding note in his voice, and put the tissue back in his pocket. “But perhaps you’d like to come outside for a while. Some fresh air would do you good,” he added, and stood, holding out his hand. If he wanted to get anywhere with that wreck of a child, he needed to make him calm down.
From his part, the boy stared at his hand as though it was a snake ready to bite and made no move. Musashidou sighed, raking his brain to remember. What was Number 6′s name again…?
“Teruaki,” he called out, and the boy winced. Yes, definitely the right name. “There is no reason to be scared of me. But if you wish me to leave you alone, tell me to and I will. Although, if last night was anything to go by, you may not wish that,” he added. He knew that the previous night had been hell for the boy, that he was awakened by nightmares and began screaming, only to stop after being given a sedative that may be relatively mild, but was still enough to knock out that poor runt.
The reaction was precisely what he expected.
“No! Don’t leave me in here!” he managed, breathing hard and clearly trying not to start crying again. He stood, although he didn’t move one step closer to Musashidou. “I-I d-don’t want to s-stay here!”
Musashidou smiled. “Then come with me. As I said, some fresh air will do you good. Food, too - I know you haven’t eaten at all today. Come,” he added, holding out his hand once again. There was a moment of hesitation, then, slowly, the child reached to take it. His skin was cold, and the hand itself felt fragile as a bird’s paw in his much larger one. He wondered, not for the first time, whether the boy was ever properly fed. “Good boy. Follow me.”
He opened the cabin’s door to lead the boy outside and, he had to admit, the expression on the face of the idiot he had told off earlier was rather amusing.
“Sir, none of them is supposed to leave their–”
“I will be taking him outside. I hardly need your permission,” Musashidou cut him off, stepping past him. “Make yourself useful and get something for him to eat - we’ll be at the stern, second deck,” he added. At that time most of the other members of their club were likely in the lounge, and it would be best to avoid them. It was true that he was not supposed to take the boy outside, and he didn’t truly feel like having to argue. The poor thing needed all his attention now. “Is that clear?”
“I… of course, sir.”
Well. He may be a slow learner, that one, but he did learn. Eventually.
***
“Are you sure you don’t want anything more? You’ve got to be hungrier than that!”
Musashidou’s comment got the boy to reach out and take another tart, if anything, but he could tell he was only doing so because he felt he had to. With a sigh, Musashidou fell quiet and just watched as the boy ate the caviar tart with small bites, clearly getting no enjoyment out of it at all. He sat rigidly, gaze unfocused and fixed off board.
Before them, the sun was beginning to set. It looked as though the sky was bleeding into the sea, and for a moment Musashidou could have sworn he smelled blood again, like he did on the Gigantic. He reached for his pocket, where he usually kept a cigar or his pipe, and realized he had forgotten both in his cabin. He scowled, willing himself to ignore the smell that, he knew, was only in his head. He sighed.
“Does the sun simply have to set red?” he muttered. He hadn’t truly meant to speak - he had simply been thinking aloud - and therefore he was slightly taken aback when the child spoke up for the first time in several minutes.
“I-it’s because of the R-Rayleigh scattering.”
Well, Musashidou thought, glancing down at the boy, if anything he could still speak. He still held the half-eaten tart in his hand, eyes fixed on the horizon, but he seemed at least slightly calmer.
“Oh? And how does that work?”
The boy didn’t reply at first: he just popped what was left of the tart in his mouth and frowned in thought for a few moments. Musashidou realized he was thinking of a simple way to put it for the big idiot beside him, and had just a moment to be amused before the boy swallowed the tart and pointed up at the setting sun. He looked almost in control, like when he had calmed himself down by reciting the periodic table of elements, or when he had explained Number 3 and 5 how the Fibonacci series of numbers worked.
Suddenly, he was in his element and barely even stuttered anymore.
“it’s also c-called selective scattering. P-particles in the atmosphere s-scatter the white light and split it into its individual c-components,” he explained. “D-during sunset or sunrise, the s-sun is the farthest away. The light has to travel a longer path, a-and the red light is the one that t-travels the farthest.”
Musashidou laughed. “My, that’s pretty impressive for a boy your age.”
A shrug. “T-that’s simple, really,” he said, and, honest to God, he sounded even a touch smug.
“Not as much as you make it sound. Your teacher sure taught you a lot.”
It was like the flip of a switch: the bare hint of pride on the child’s expression immediately vanished, as thought he had just now remembered what had happened, who he was talking to.
“I-I…” he stammered, but Musashidou had seen the opening he needed. The boy was calmer, and he knew he had to drive the point home now.
“The knife you used on Pluto – she gave it to you in the kitchen, didn’t she?” he asked. “I saw that. She also told you something, but she was speaking too low for the microphones to catch her words. May I ask what she told you?”
The child blinked for a moment, then he looked away. He stared off at the setting sun like he could see something at the horizon that Musashidou could not, which was hardly surprising. Everyone in that ship had their own demons, known to no one else.
“S-she t-told me to keep it. T-t-to stay s-safe,” he said, and his voice shook. “S-she should have k-kept it. Then, maybe… then–”
Musashidou’s reached to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He didn’t try to get it off him, didn’t even tense up. It was as though he was too lost in his grief to feel the weight. “She chose not to. Your safety came first.”
“S-she shouldn’t… s-she was there b-b-b-because of me, Pluto said she was, a-and… and s-she died and I m-m-made it out and… and…” the boy’s voice broke and he let out a choking noise. “T-this is wrong. It’s all wrong!”
Musashidou sighed, and once again he felt some pity for the poor boy. While everyone who made it through Gordain’s Game had quite an impressive amount of issues left to deal with, such crushing grief and survivor’s guilt were not usually on the menu; Musashidou could hardly feel any guilt for being still alive after fighting so hard to make it, after having to kill not to burn alive.
But then again, no one before was ever put through Gordain’s Game with someone they knew from outside, someone they cared about. His teacher’s presence was meant to give him an advantage, and it certainly had a hand in his survival, but the scars her death left on him would never fade. For the rest of his life, Number 6 – Teruaki Kubota – would feel like her life was traded for his, and would never think of it as a fair deal.
And now they were telling him he was going to have to tell everyone that it had been her to kidnap him before committing suicide.
Far too young for the Game, Musashidou thought. So were the other two, truth be told, but Musashidou knew they would both recover, to some level, like he had. They were both fighters; Number 5 especially, Gentarou Hongou, had a ruthlessness to him Musahsidou found rather fascinating in one so young. They would never be the same again, but they would cope. But this one… this one never truly stood a chance.
He made it out of the Gigantic alive, but he did not truly survive it.
“… How old are you again, my boy?” Musashidou found himself asking, his hand still firm on the child’s shoulder.
He sniffled, but when he replied his voice was not trembling too badly. “N-Nine,” he murmured.
Something in Musashidou’s stomach clenched, a sense of loss he had not felt in quite some time. Nine years ago, it was him to go through Gordain’s Game. He was not broken, but he did come out a changed man… and, to some degree, a dangerous one to be close to. Dangerous enough to lead him to end his marriage for his wife’s own safety, before… before he did something he would regret.
Or, worse yet, before doing something irreparable only to realize he could no longer even regret it.
We were thinking of trying for children when it happened, Musashidou thought. Despite his still unsolved gambling addiction, they truly had a serious talk or two about it. They even discussed the names, once – Yaso for a boy and Sango for a girl, he remembered. Would that have happened, had he not been forced to play the Game for his life? Perhaps it would, and they would be around the same age as this poor child now: he must have been born around the time Lord Gordain, near the end of his life, changed that of Kagechika Musashidou for good.
The old bastard.
Musashidou suppressed a grimace and looked down at the boy. He ignored the sudden throbbing in his head, the sensation of smelling blood once again, the urge to go get some brandy, and made an effort to smile.
“Well. The way I see it, no one who comes out of the Gigantic alive is undeserving of making it. You were at disadvantage, all three of you were, and you still made it out.”
“B-but… M-Miss Murakami–”
“Did you know that your teacher realized from the start you wouldn’t all make it out?” Musashidou cut him off, causing the boy to recoil and peer up at him. Of course he did not know: Musashidou knew he was not there when she stated as much. “She spoke to Number 3 and 5 about it. She asked them to take you out, no matter what happened to her. Leave her behind if that was what it took, and drag you out with them if necessary. She was ready to die for your sake from the beginning. She was ready to make other people stay behind if it meant you could make it out safe. You must know she was fond on you. I don’t think you even realize quite how much she cared for you,” he added, tilting his head on one side. Number 6’s eyes were widened, like he was having trouble taking in the notion.
If anything, Musashidou thought, surprise kept him from crying again. He spoke again before that could happen. “We do some research on everyone’s background before they’re put through the game. Did you know that your teacher used to me married?”
That caused the child to blink, taken aback, and he shook his head. “I… n-no.”
“It didn’t last too long. Maybe some five years. But through those years, she had several miscarriages. Eventually, it became clear that her chances of carrying a pregnancy to term were slim to none,” he added. That was true, of course – he wouldn’t lie to one of the winners – but there was some more truth to it that he’d sooner keep from the boy. The fact she fell into a severe depression, to say one, made worse by the end of the marriage. A suicide attempt before she began getting better. All things that would make their own tale of kidnapping and suicide seem all the more likely, an easy tale to sell the police, better yet if bribed not to ask too many questions.
All things the boy was better off not knowing.
For several moments, the boy said nothing: he only stared up at him, something akin to horror mixing with his surprise. “I… I d-didn’t know,” he finally said, his voice shaking. “S-s-she never t-told me…”
“Oh, that was years before she met you. She was doing better by the time she became your private teacher,” Musahsidou reassured him. “Still, it does explain why she was so attached to you, doesn’t it? As if you were her own. The son she may have had. Now,” he added, and crouched, so that he’d be on the boy’s same eye level. His eyes were still widened, and filled with tears he was not yet shedding, but Musashidou couldn’t relent: the child’s life was at stake, after all, for failing to tell the story they wanted him to tell and to stick to it for the rest of his life would be a death sentence. “I truly am your best ally here. I need you to pay close attention to what I say. For her sake, if anything. Will you?”
Tears fell down the boy’s cheeks and his shoulders trembled, but this time his grief stayed silent enough: he just drew in a trembling breath and nodded.
Good boy.
“You know what story you need to tell. You must do it. You must tell it and stick to it. They will kill you if you refuse to or slip up – don’t you doubt that for one moment. They will,” Musashidou said slowly. He had already used that argument when they first met, but he had been perhaps too harsh, and the boy still too distraught. Now he had to make him listen, and understand. “And she would never wish you to die. Never. She wished you to live, don’t you think?”
“Y-y-yes, but–”
“No buts. You may think it was not fair, but she believed your life was well worth hers. She was willing to die for you, and she did. Her sacrifice cannot be taken back, but it can be honored, don’t you think?”
The boy looked down and choked back a sob. “B-but if I do, e-e-everyone will think she–”
“To hell with what everyone will think,” Musashidou said, and reached to grasp the boy’s chin to tilt his head up, so that he would look at him again. “You will know the truth. You will remember, and that’s all that matters. Do you think she’d care? That someone who’d lay down her life for you would give half a damn about what happens to her reputation if that means you’ll stay alive and safe?”
“I-I…”
“Yes or no, boy. I need an answer and I need you to say it aloud. Would she?”
A sob shook the boy’s frame. He squeezed his eyes shut, and more tears slid down his face. “N-no.”
“Would you want her death to have been for nothing?”
“P-please, I–”
“Would you?”
Another sob. “No,” he managed, and that was the last word he was able to choke out. All he could for a while afterward was crying, and didn’t struggle when Musashidou picked him up. He cried and cried, face burrowed on Musashidou’s shirt, too desperate for comfort to truly care who was the one providing it. It was then that Musashidou knew he would tell the story they needed him to tell, after all, and would never stray from it.
By the time the boy’s weeping began to die down the sun had entirely disappeared beneath the horizon, turning the day in a moonless, starless night.
As far as Teruaki was concerned, that night was going to last until the day his time would be up, with no one there to save him anymore.
((After Cat's Cradle please)) "You're a clever boy. You have to be, to survive Gordain's Game. But you're still a boy," Musashidou said thoughtfully, not lifting his eyes from the pipe he was carefully setting up. "You have killed men to survive. Now you need to kill the boy you were for good. Kill the boy, and let the man be born."
(Anon, I think I love you for the ASoIaF reference.)
***
"You’re a clever boy. You have to be, to survive Gordain’s Game. But you’re still a boy," Musashidou said thoughtfully, not lifting his eyes from the pipe he was carefully setting up. "You have killed men to survive. Now you need to kill the boy you were for good. Kill the boy, and let the man be born."
Still sitting on the bed of the cabin he had been locked into for the past couple of days, as far as way as he could physically be from that man without leaving, Gentarou scowled.
Musashidou chuckled, lifting the pipe to his mouth and producing a box of matches from his pocket. “I did have a chat with number [3] before we released him, yes. Plus a story to tell the police to cover for the time he was missing.”
"You already released him?" Gentarou asked, a sudden coldness in his gut. Even though they had been separated soon after they were picked up from the life boat, each locked in a different cabin, the thought Nagisa was no longer on that ship made him feel as though he had just lost his only ally.
Musashidou took a drag from his pipe before replying. “Early this morning, yes. As for you— oh my. You don’t mind me smoking, do you? I forgot to ask.”
Gentarou glared at him, which didn’t seem to faze the man in the slightest. “That’s one hell of a question to ask someone you put through a deadly game involving an incinerator.”
"Now, now. No need to be so sour. You survived, didn’t you? I’m simply here to give you a few pointers to make sure you keep surviving,” Musashidou said, making a vague gesture with his hand. “You were my bet, after all, all three of you. It rather feels like you’re my responsibility now.”
"Go to hell.”
"I was there, my boy. To hell and back, as you have. But to be fair," he added, leaning back on his chair, "I was already a grown man. You have yet to kill the boy in you. But I’m sure you’ll succeed, both of you."
Both…?
"Not counting Teruaki, I see," Gentarou said flatly, and for the first time he could see Musashidou’s jovial expression darkening.
"As much as I’d like to, I cannot be sure. That child is too young, too frail before this even started. Nine years old. He should have never been among the participants, with or without backup."
Gentarou scoffed. “Cannot be sure? He’s never going to be alright again.”
"Ah, but who knows. The human mind can recover from the unthinkable."
"He won’t recover. You’ve ruined him," Gentarou said dryly. While locked in his cabin, he heard next to nothing of what went on outside - but the previous night he had heard screaming, in a voice he had recognized right away. Nightmares, most likely; Teruaki had kept screaming for a while, until there had been footsteps and a few shouts. Gentarou was left assuming they had sedated him. "You’re an idiot if you think otherwise."
For a moment, Musashidou said nothing. Then, just as Gentarou thought he had managed to anger him, he gave an odd smile - a sly one Gentarou didn’t like at all.
"You don’t sound especially upset over it," Musashidou said, bringing the pipe back to his mouth. He studied him like one could study a challenging equation.
Gentarou scoffed. “No more than you are,” he stated. There was no real reason why he should think anything of the child’s state of mind. He was a stranger to him, as everyone else. Aside from Nagisa, who had been his ally from the very start, none of the people on that ship held any meaning at all. Teruaki had been lucky that—
"Is that why you almost let him fall?"
The remark caused Gentarou to fall silent for several moments. Musashidou kept staring at him, and he had the unpleasant sensation he was actually staring through him. “What…?”
Musashidou threw back his head and laughed. “Now, now. No need to deny the obvious. Back in the engine room, when the child was hanging from the catwalk and you pulled him up.”
"I saved him.”
A shrug, another drag from his pipe. “Oh, you did. But there was one moment when it looked like you weren’t going to pull him up after all, when he was hanging on your hand and nothing else. Such a scrawny little boy, makes you wonder if he even gets properly fed - pulling him up was no feat at all. But that one moment of pause, before number [3] called out for you… What was it about?”
Gentarou opened his mouth, then he closed it again without saying anything. He knew, Gentarou thought, he had to know, and there was no point in denying it. “… You know,” he finally said slowly. “Nagisa and I would have had all the key cards we needed to get out, as long as Teruaki was out of the picture. If he fell and died—”
"If you let him fall.”
"Yes. If I let him fall, then we could have made it out," Gentarou snarled. "I was aiming to survive. Isn’t that what the game is about? The strong live and the weak die? Teruaki was weak. He still is, but he just refused to die, and—”
A sudden, booming laugh caused him to trail off. “Hah! Spoken like a real survivor. That’s why I like you, boy. I knew you had what it took - I’m a good judge of character you see,” Musashidou said, and, with a smile that suddenly reminded Gentarou of a shark, he stood. “You know, perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps the boy already died on the Gigantic, after all,” he added, and turned his back to him.
"What are you…?" Gentarou starts, but he receives no reply: the next moment Musashuidou steped out of the cabin and the door closed behind him. There was the sound of a key being turned in the lock, but Gentarou barely heard it; all that echoed in his mind were Musashidou’s words.
Kill the boy, and let the man be born.
Perhaps the boy already died on the Gigantic, after all.
I hate to admit it but Kubota did a fairly good job with everything technical and research that had to be done. Nijisaki was very competent and knew what to say at the right moment. Oh, but Hongou... Hongou knew how to gain your trust, he had great ambition and knew how to be in charge. As for what I thought of the project itself, the worst investment I've ever made.
How about I hire some thugs to kidnap you, drug you, put you in some tight captain uniform and then bring you to me so that I could bury the blade of an axe deep into your chest, and then ask you the same question?
Posting this pic again both because it's awesome and because it's from the fic. Mostly because it's awesome, though. Artist here.
Title: Cat's Cradle
Summary: Gigantic, June 1991. Gentarou Hongou awakens inside a room he's never seen with a [5] written in red on the door. He has a key card, no idea of what's going on, nine hours to get out… and eight people to beat to it. Hours tick by, and the snare of fate tightens around him and his two unlikely allies as they play a Game that will define their lives - and deaths.
Characters: Hongou, Nijisaki, Kubota, Musashidou
Rating: T
Warnings: violence, blood, death, language
Status: in progress
