One Last Concoction Pt. 1
Fic under cut. Trigger warning: S*cide attempt
Jiro had not left the lab since the day he lost his brother. He didn't even attend the memorial service Horatubi held for him. He was invited, of course. The resident ghouls knew how close the brothers were. He had received message, after message, after call, after call, after message - all left unanswered. The rumors were already spreading. Those who bore witness to that gruesome night saw just what kind of malice the first year was capable of. Of all who participated, it is said that Jiro Kirisaki of Mortkranken was responsible for the most blood shed that night. He couldn't refute that. After what happened to Taro, he... He shook those thoughts out of his head. He had to focus. He was so close. He had to finish this. Tonight. He had no idea what would be in store for him. Rumors spread about the Monster from Mortkranken. Some claimed he started the fight. Others claimed he was the one who killed Taro. Ridiculous. He would never. The truth didn't matter to them, however. That much became painfully clear. He saw how his housemates avoided him. He couldn't hear what was being said, but he could hear the whispers. He noticed how quiet and still the other students became when they saw him. That was of little consequence. He simply moved his schedule around. He stopped attending classes. He stopped taking calls. He stopped responding to messages, even from friends. He moved his workstation to the back of the lab. He couldn't afford any more distractions. Jiro spent many sleepless nights pouring over books on anomalous plants. He reviewed every file they had on the anomalies they studied here. He only had one shot at this. There was no room for mistakes. The haggard ghoul looked over his notes one more time before gathering the necessary ingredients. It was a gamble. Something like this couldn't be tested first. He couldn't be caught before he had the chance to act. He mixed each of the ingredients, carefully cultivated over the days? - Weeks? - that he spent down here.
He was so tired. He barely slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the events of that night.
Even in the waking world, he couldn't escape the awful reality of what happened.
He just wanted it to end
As he swirls the contents of the test tube, he smiles for the first time since that night. With this, he will finally be able to sleep. If everything goes according to plan, no one will be able to save him. Death won't come immediately, but a deep sleep will. Putting himself in a medically induced coma will keep him from alerting others. For all they know, he's still working, locked in this little office he's claimed for himself. Over time, his organs will shut down. Cutting into him too soon will release toxins into the air, making it too dangerous to operate. According to his calculations, the damage done to his internal organs will be extensive. Only corrective surgery and a miraculous hand would be able to save him. If found in time, they might keep him hooked up to machines long enough for it to be safe to operate, but the damage will be done by then. Besides, after what happened that bloody night, it was unlikely anyone would try to save him. It was better this way. Whispering an apology to his brother, he drinks down the substance. It tastes foul, so keeping it down takes some work, but he manages. The room begins to spin. This was it. This would be the end. A weak laugh escapes his lips as he collapses to his knees. He doesn't even try to hold himself up. He barely registers hitting the floor. Everything is black. The last thing he hears is the fading of his own laughter as he surrenders to the dark.
