nina

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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?”

♡ 𝖠𝖱𝖨𝖲𝖴 𝖱𝖸𝖮𝖧𝖤𝖨: 𝖠𝖫𝖨𝖢𝖤♡

sorry for the late post, decided to go touch grass and forgot abt art and posting whoopsie… but i’m glad i can finally post the final installment to my aib portraits!!

Let’s play the biggest game of kick the can on the internet.