Arima thought that whatever has taken over the lab was a failed experiment, yet once he reached the surface reality had dawned on him. His plan was set in motion, howbeit not without destructive results. There was a moment in which he found himself fixed in place, contemplating whether or not this labor would bear any fruit… But in spite of that, he tucked the thoughts away for he had to run and make his escape.
His pale body glistened with the fluids he lived in within his glass tank, the stray rays of sunshine creating beads of rainbows on his skin. Barefoot he marched through the rubble of the next few buildings, the debris uncomfortable on his soles but none of it injured his feet. It had to do with his ghoulification, he knew, but it was not a thing he could simply get used to.
It aided in his quest to create as much distance between his captors and himself, but with the starvation inflicted on him by Furuta, there was no much choice but to stop and rest. Recollect his breath. Just for a little… Just for now. He’ll continue his attempts of running away soon enough.
All he required is this short reprieve. To lay on pavement of the empty road, his white skin contrasting the blackness he laid upon, warm from the kind sun to bless him after so long. Arima sucked in the fresh air, basking in the sun and indulging in the first time he truly ever felt free.
Nude beneath the daylight, wet from the waters of the “womb”. He might have been more ghoul than human now…
Even if it came at a cost. The cost of the humanity he never felt he never even possessed. He was pushed past the point of no return and now his body matched the mind. Curling to a fetal position, Arima crossed his arms in an X shape over his chest, tracing elegant fingers across slick shoulders. He was weak… oh so weak. And as tempting it was, to lay there and rot on his own terms, he knew the threat was far from over.
V were still out there, Furuta a large menace he could help to beat if he had ever gotten better and joined the ghouls in forced. Yet which one of them would agree to accept him, when he orphaned so many children and and massacred generations of ghouls with just his hands alone? Everyone by now should’ve known that he was defeated and very-much dead as per Ken’s declaration.
Perhaps, he should look for Ken if this were the case. Go to the leader, the One-Eyed King. He was ignorant to the fact that the mass of kagune that had broken him out of his prison was what had become out of the artificial one-eyed ghoul, or perhaps he was in denial. After all, it would deem all his valiant efforts in vain, if Kaneki had wound up going berserk and destroying Tokyo after the sacrifice Arima had made for him.
He wouldn’t fail him… He wouldn’t disappoint him. Would he?
Spending all that time pondering the past, present and future had made him somewhat uncomfortable, enough to exclaim to himself that the time to continue his march away from the lab had come. Sucking in the fresh, cold air soothed the agitated windpipe that had only known intubation since his body had been recovered. This was all the motivation he had needed.
To get up, debris and dirt sticking to bare skin and trailing down with the discoloured waters that dripped off his body. Arima walked again, keeping his head low, slightly crouched as he move forward. His nose taking in the new scents to guide him to and away from what he could deem as possible danger, all until a fresh sweetness stuck in his lungs.
He exhaled, and though knowing the most likely source of the delicious smell still rushed towards it. Whoever this person was, they had to have died from the mass of kagune tearing them apart. They had to be dead, haven’t they? His instincts rarely wrong about matters of life and death, having carried its stench with him for most his life.
Yet, it was not the kagune that had killed the man. It was another ghoul… a ghoul he had heard about and from, during his reign as the One-Eyed King. One that was candidate at some point to joined the others in the warm seat of leadership, yet Arima never came to know of how that developed, and if it did at all. Arima could only sit crouched and stare with mismatching eyes at the taller form as the body dropped cold and very much dead, at long last. The smell of the excessive bleeding almost made his mouth water, and reluctantly the paler man had forced himself to swallow.
“Kakuzu?” He blurted in a sprout of confusion, strained. Immediately his fingers came to rest on his lips, as if late to hush them. Ragdoll. Kakuzu should’ve been the Ragdoll ghoul to him, nothing more, nothing that would indicate he knew of his true identity.
Not only that, he also brought attention to himself in a vulnerable state. Arima knew not how to use his kagune yet, nor how to deactivate his kakugan which shot up to stare at the elder’s hardened features, clenching his jaw. Showing any concern to the situation at hand would only serve in affirming to “Ragdoll” that he was in a position of power.
His eyes were slightly widened, nothing more.
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