#keiichi

You aren't left to your thoughts for long as the shade is yanked abruptly from your head, allowing bright white light to infiltrate your vision. You squeeze your watering eyes shut tightly in response, the sudden intrusion of the sun's rays doing no favors to your pounding headache. Your hand instictively comes up to massage a tender bump on your head, likely where your kidnappers had hit you to knock you out. You should sue for damages.

"Good morning!" a woman's cheerful voice chirps from a couple of feet in front of you. It probably would be a good morning, if you hadn't been assaulted for simply looking for answers in a world that seemed to have none.

And then a voice fills your ears, the low tone immediately soothing your frayed nerves like a balm. A voice that you'd been certain you'd never have the privilege of hearing again, "I'm sorry that we were so rough. We heard that there were some people sneaking around the place." You finally lift your head up as he finishes his apology, eyes meeting his framed behind distinctive wire glasses. You notice his breath catches in his throat, eyes widening, as your reality seems to shift beneath you. How could this possibly be?

Your father was presumed to be dead, missing for more than six months in the old world. His disappearance the catalyst for the fiery collapse of the life you'd known for 24 years. But now? Here he was standing in front of you dressed in a short-sleeved collared shirt and board shorts. At a place dubbed The Beach. A place whose citizens had assaulted you and your friends, leaving you unconscious and bewildered. The sight of him filled you with rage, only adding to the pressure currently threatening to crack your skull in half. Your pulse pounded obscenely in your ears, making it nearly impossible to hear anything over the thunderous beat. You lowered your gaze to the dirty tan carpet at your feet, you'd be sick if you had to keep looking at the man.

You're instantly grateful that Arisu and Usagi are, in fact, on either side of you and can function well enough to converse with the wild haired man that has come parading ceremoniously into the room. You make a half-hearted attempt to listen to the man, spewing all sorts of propaganda about what the cards mean, what collecting them will do, and how the citizens of The Beach have pledged themselves to him. To live for him, to die for him. What an absolute lunatic; you kind of like him.

It's then that the two muscular men that had accompanied Hatter - that's what he called himself - into the conference room push the thin pocket wall dividing the room out of the way. Your eyes are met with a colorful wall coated thickly in spray painted playing cards. This must be their way of keeping track of which cards they still needed, and from the looks of things, they weren't too far off from the goal. Impressive.

Hatter paces back and forth in front of your group, animatedly describing that most things are allowed and encouraged in his self proclaimed utopia - drinking, drugs, sex, you name it. There are, however, a few limitations. "Rule one, swimwear is mandatory," he says, grandly gesturing towards a pretty woman with a bob cut. When the three of you presumably look at him questioningly, he gladly elaborates, "Well you can't very well hide weapons in swimwear, right?! It's genius!"

Ah, so no weapons then. That's disappointing. A quick glance to your right confirms your suspicions - they'd already confiscated your pistol and homemade bombs. They were sitting innocently among your groups' other possessions on a desk by the window, likely never to be seen by you again. Hatter re-enters your line of vision as he strides toward the desk, gracefully scooping up the stack of playing cards adorning it. Your playing cards, to be more specific.

"Rule two, all cards belong to The Beach. We work together to collect all the cards, sending one person back at a time as we form complete decks." You can see through your periphery that your friends are a little distressed by this particular rule, and the fact that Hatter now has your cards pressed in his hands. You on the other hand, couldn't care less. You aren't trying to get out of here anyway.

Arisu and Usagi launch into another back and forth with Hatter, and you won't lie, you're starting to get bored. Everything feels inconsequential to you at this point, and you'd prefer to just get on with it. And away from your father. You take this moment to quickly analyze the people stationed around the room. You don't, however, dare look to your left; actively avoiding your father's constant gaze burning a hole through you. So all of these people have truly bought into this man's insanity? Your incredibly intelligent father included. You briefly wonder if he's lost his mind. But no, Hatter must really be that charismatic, that convincing. Or maybe people finding themselves in this new place are really just that desperate for something to find hope in? You can't relate.

You tune listlessly back into the conversation just as Arisu asks what would happen if the three of you refused Hatter's offer. You had a feeling that you already knew the answer to that, the long-haired man in front of you looking like he'd never accepted no as an answer in his life. He turns ominously around from where he'd been ogling the cards painted carefully on the wall to face the three of you once more.

"Rule three, this is the last rule," he articulates in a low tone, holding three fingers up to you. "Death to the traitors." His oddly distant eyes stare daggers at the three of you over the top of his aviator glasses, making it clear that this was not a joke. Finally, something exciting. So you would be forced to live here and serve this man's whims - him blackmailing you into staying with the cold threat of death. Your eyes sparkled, you could have a good time here. You smirk, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair as Hatter makes his grand exit. There is nothing more that needs to be said, the three of you would be locked in here until the end - whatever that might look like.

The mysterious woman with the bob cut and sunglasses covering her face strides confidently over to your group, offering to show you around and help you get settled in. You are quick to accept, knowing that you didn't have the patience or willpower right now to deal with the man still studying you from across the room. You doubted that you could avoid him forever at this resort, but you would damn well try.

He was, after all, just a ghost to you now.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

You sit comfortably on a wicker barstool in front of the bar, swinging your legs back and forth in a show of indifference. One finger traces the base of your martini glass with a feather light touch, your other hand cradling your chin as you reflect on the last couple of hours. Ann turned out to be super sweet, much less intimidating than she presented herself. You liked that about her.

She had helped you choose a few outfits to stock your new wardrobe with; most pieces were beachwear, of course, but you'd also chosen some sweatshirts, long pants, and shorts for game nights. She'd also shown you to your room, giving you a full rundown of the power dynamic at The Beach as you put away your new clothes and tried to settle in to your new life.

She was quick to tell you about Aguni and the Militants, warning you in no uncertain terms to stay out of their way. Away from them entirely, if possible. A challenge. Then there was, of course, Hatter and his Executive board. You weren't surprised in the slightest to hear your father is ranked number two and has been for some time. You'd scoffed as Ann presented you with that piece of information, catching her attention. "Do you know each other?" she'd implored. You'd laughed drily, feeling no need to lie to her, "He's my Dad. And he's supposed to be dead." You know the look on your face must have been dripping in disdain and probably confused the woman sitting on the edge of your bed. Ann had pursed her cherry red lips, giving a slight nod before smiling encouragingly, "Family can be . . . difficult. Try not to waste an opportunity for a second chance." You'd hummed in acknowledgement, shooting her a half-hearted smile. Did you want to give your father a second chance? You weren't sure.

You didn't stay locked up in your room for long after Ann had rushed off to perform other Executive duties, deciding that you should at least try to take advantage of the amenities. If the people of The Beach were partying, who were you to argue? Bottoms up. You didn't bother to search for Arisu and Usagi either - you knew they'd be safe at the resort and would take care of each other. Honestly, those two were perfect for each other, and you were more of a loner anyway.

At least, you were now. It was better that way - with the way you were these days. You weren't sure how to explain it. It turns out that losing both of your parents in such a short span of time can really take a toll on a person's livelihood. You'd been in a sort of depression since everything had happened, most days you felt like a walking zombie. You still went through the motions of keeping your basic needs met and showing up to work, but you could tell that your will to thrive was not very strong. Coming into this new world was an interesting development to say the least. A positive development?

A different world, with different rules. It was a sort of sick entertainment for you, watching people fear for their lives in the game arenas as you laid your life on the line without concern. It was no concern to you if you lived or died, because you had nothing to live for here, and nothing to return to in the original world.

Whether Hatter's theories were true or not, didn't matter to you. You couldn't care less that he wanted to make all of these people bust their asses to earn cards every night just for him to be the one to return to the original world, yourself included. He could have all of your cards, for the rest of time if he wanted. You had every intention of staying here for as long as you could keep yourself alive. It was at least better than being stuck in a world where everything had been stripped from you.

After a while of soaking up the sun's golden rays and enjoying the rowdy sounds of the players splashing in the pool behind you, a shadow is cast over your form as someone approaches you from behind. You sigh, rolling your eyes as you turn to look at them. To tell them to fuck off. A slender man with sharp black eyes and a rifle slung against his shoulder slips an arm on the back of your chair and lowers himself presumptuously in the one next to you. Niragi. You had wondered when you would get the pleasure.

You raise an eyebrow at him expectantly, taking a delicate sip from your glass and allowing the pink liquid to burn its way down your throat deliciously.

The man studies you, dark eyes roaming all over your body, "What's a pretty thing like you doing over here alone?" You chuckle in disbelief, not really expecting the weakest pickup line of all time to come out of his mouth.

"I choose to be alone, thank you. And is that the best a guy like you has got? You are really underestimating me," you say dangerously, flipping your hair over your shoulder and settling back into your seat. Allowing his arm to brush lightly across your shoulders. Niragi's reputation preceeded him, you already knew he was a walking red flag. A monster. And maybe that's why you felt a little intrigued by him. It couldn't hurt to get to know him a little, right?

At the very least, you knew allowing someone like him within close proximity to you would bother your father, which was something you were highly interested in accomplishing right now. A mischievous grin spreads across your face just at the thought of his reaction to Niragi's arm being wrapped around you.

Niragi smirks, excited to have met someone who could actually hold their own against him. "Really?" he drawls, arching a pierced eyebrow at you, "Are you sure that you aren't the one underestimating me?"

You hum, leaning forward with your chin resting in both of your hands now, bright eyes clashing against his dark ones. "I know exactly who you are, Niragi. And I'm not afraid of you, you won't be getting in the way of what I want."

Your eyes narrow at him, waiting patiently for him to try to rebut you. The man standing behind the bar, Tatta you'd learned earlier, sends you a distressed look as he slides another fruity pink drink over to you; you are allowing a snake dangerously close to sinking its fangs into your neck. You smile sweetly at the boy, reassuring. You have Niragi right where you want him.

"And what about what I want, baby?" he asks, piercings glittering in the sun. You are definitely attracted to this man, monster or not. His face has gotten dangerously close too, though you certainly aren't complaining, allowing his nose to nearly touch yours. After a moment of tense silence, you flash Niragi a dazzling grin before turning your head to tip your glass all the way back, finishing off your first drink. You stand abruptly from your seat now, grasping the stem of the martini glass that Tatta just handed you as you go.

Niragi's eyebrows knit in confusion at your sudden departure,and you send a confident wink in his direction. "Guess we'll have to wait and see what you deserve to get from me," you say ardently, tone even but still teasing. Flipping your hair again to fall luxuriously back down your back, you skip off toward the other side of the glistening blue pool and leave the man sitting dumbfoundedly at the bar. You, on the other hand, were hoping to get lost in your second martini and fall asleep in the sun for a few hours.

If Niragi wanted to play cat and mouse with you, you wanted to make sure that he knew you were the cat.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

After spending your entire afternoon and early evening basking in the hot sun and drinking, you were looking forward to drowning yourself in a hot shower. Okay, maybe not drowning yourself, but at least drowning the thoughts that hadn't been sufficiently killed off by the liquor. You turn the brass door handle to enter your room, flinging the door open blindly into the darkness. You nearly jump out of your skin, clasping your hands to your mouth to mask your scream when you find a silhouette already standing by the window waiting for you.

"What the fuck!" You curse at your father, nearly having had a heart attack. You should have been expecting this, of course he wouldn't just leave you to your own devices now that he knew you were here. "Do you have to stand forebodingly in the dark like that? You could have at least turned on the light!" you exclaim again, conflicting emotions seeping out of you like a thick smoke. You indignantly flip the switch to bathe the room in warm light, finally letting your eyes study your father for the first time.

He looks mostly the same as he always has, serious and tired from - what? In the old world you could kind of understand, the man worked tirelessly as a powerful attorney, usually putting his job above his family and often times even being forced to go against his own personal ideals. What's he tired from now? Sitting at The Beach and partying all day? A part of you wants to tell him to fuck off, to leave you alone and let you sleep, but for some reason you don't. He turns to look fully at you now, showing very little emotion on his features, but a brief flicker of concern in his eyes. His arms are crossed characteristically across his chest, standing as though he was holding court. And somehow you're the defendent.

You shuffle further inside the room to be able to push the door shut behind you, stumbling a little bit over your strappy sandals as you do. Whoops, so maybe you'd had a little more fun at the pool than you realized.

Chestnut eyes examine you, his professional poker face giving away nothing about how he was feeling. "You're drunk," he states simply, only stoking the flames of your fury towards him.

You look incredulously up at him from where you've plopped yourself down on the plush couch against the opposing wall; a younger, very different version of yourself would probably have cried. Instead, you laugh. A coarse, mocking sort of sound. "You haven't seen me, your only daughter, in six months and the first thing that comes out of your mouth is a criticism? Just when you think you know a person," you spit venomously.

"Is that all you wanted, then? Worried that I'll tarnish your precious reputation here at this stupid cult resort?" You give him no chance to respond to you, and he doesn't interrupt. Would never interrupt. Because where you are fiery and stubborn, he meets you with calm composure; a perfect counterpoint. "It all makes sense, really. All you've ever cared about was your reputation, isn't it? You've never cared about me. About Mom. No wonder she left you in the dust," you snarl. You realize that you're openly spitting vitriol at your Dad, allowing the liquor flowing through your system to drive the conversation.

He hums calmly, not taking the bait. Not responding back out of anger or hurt. Because if there was one thing your father was actually good at, it was listening to understand, not listening to react. So even though you've just spewed hateful, horrible words at him, you know he isn't hearing that. He's hearing what you aren't saying. I was so scared when you went missing. I've missed you. Why are we here? Didn't you know that I still needed you? Don't you love me anymore? What is going to happen to us here?

The man takes a couple of carefully measured strides to shorten the distance between you, sitting on your bed across from where you're sprawled somewhat drunkenly. "I understand how you must be feeling . . ." he tries to reason, one hand raised and reaching toward you slightly, but you still have shit you need to say and cut him off immediately.

"No the fuck you don't understand!" you roar without second thought of players residing in neighboring rooms. "Mom's dead. It's all your fault. You think I'm just going to throw myself into your arms?" Think again. I'm not your sweet little girl that you left behind. I'm an orphan now." You feel the emotional tide start to turn within you at this point, rage bleeding slowly into despair as you think about all of the horrible catastophes that had led you to this place.

Your father takes his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose, a classic indication that "you've stressed him out". Good. You don't say anything more now, picking lightly at a loose thread that hung from the arm of the couch. Trying to hold back tears. Because you'll be damned if you cry in front of your father today, absolutely the fuck not.

The man says your name quietly when he's certain you're finished with your outburst, "Honey, I didn't ask to come here any more than you did." He sighs, exhausted, always exhausted just like in the old world. It's then that you notice how much older he looks, like he's carrying the weight of an entire world with him. "Tell me what happened with Mom." His voice cracks just a tiny bit at the mention of his ex-wife, a change that would go unrecognized to most people, but you can tell at least that bit of news has hurt him. You turn your head to escape his scrutinizing gaze, fixing your eyes on a spot on the wall.

Eight months ago, two months before the man now sitting in front of you disappeared, your parents announced they'd be getting divorced. You'd thought it was the worst thing that could happen to you at the time. Devastation. No one wants to see the eternal love they've always known and looked up to, be shattered right in front of their eyes. You had been left disillusioned about love at the very least. Was love a real thing? Even if it was, could it last forever?

Just a few days after you had helped your Dad move into a new townhouse about twenty minutes from your childhood home, he left to go on a work trip. You were staying at the new place to help him get settled, and of course to watch Kumo, your father's Akita. It was only supposed to be a three day trip, but as three days turned into five, and then into a week, you'd panicked. Search party after search party was sent out, exhausting every location that he could possibly be.

Though no body was ever uncovered, search efforts were lifted after three weeks. Your father was presumed dead. Some people speculated that he ran away, but you knew. It didn't matter that your Dad often put work ahead of you, you knew that if he was capable of coming back, he would have. But still? There was a lot of fury in you. Your brain desperately wanted - needed - something to blame for the pain.

"She blamed herself for your disappearance. She thought that maybe you'd run away because of everything that happened, and just wanted to start fresh without us." You blink some tears from your eyes, because this was the worst part. The part that you usually left out of the story, because you were not a good daughter. Because though you'd told your Dad it was all his fault that your Mom was gone, it was really your fault. At least that's how you see it.

You let out a shaky breath, pressing your nails deeply into the soft skin of your palms as the gravity of the situation weighs on you. You hazard a brief glance up at your father, finding his face softened, looking at you with as much warmth as someone like him can offer. When he realizes that you're struggling with the next part, he shifts toward you. Slowly, giving you the chance to back away from him if you want. Your father comes to kneel in front of you, carefully unwrapping your fingers from where they are leaving crescent shaped marks in your skin, taking your hands in his. Gently rubbing his thumbs along your knuckles, let me hold the pain for you.

"I-i blamed her too. I told her it was her fault that you left us . . . It was me that put that idea in her head. I-i made sure that she lost both of us and I didn't even get a chance to apologize or see her one last time before it happened," you lament. You hadn't meant it when you said it, you were just so upset. It would always be your greatest regret in life.

Your father closed his eyes, taking in the information you'd given him, processing it all with a deep, painful sigh. He shakes his head slightly, pulling you fully into his arms in a tight hug now. You stiffen initially, still a little bit hesitant, but eventually allow your head to rest on his shoulder. You feel a weight lifted from your chest, one that has been pressing down on you like a boulder for the last eight months.

"It's not your fault, sweetheart. There's so much that you don't know, so much that we didn't want you to have to carry the burden of," your father consoles you, and you lose track of time as you revel in the feeling of being held by the person you thought for sure you'd never see again.

"Dad?" You whisper after a while, as if there were people of The Beach watching or listening, and honestly there probably were. "I know you're a part of this weird organization or whatever and I won't do anything to mess that up. But know this, I don't plan on going back to our world. I want to stay here."

Your statement caught Kuzuryu off guard, and his spine went rigid at hearing it. He was lucky you still had your head rested on his shoulder and weren't looking at his face, because he was certain his usually vacant expression was anything but.

There was so much you didn't know, didn't understand about this place. So much he couldn't reveal to you. The man felt a lump in his throat forming, time was a precious commodity here and he was already running out of it. The Beach had just a few remaining cards to collect before the Ten of Hearts would be revealed, and then, it would be their turn. He had a few days, maybe a week if he was lucky, to spend with you. In that time, he needed to convince you to go home when you were given the choice.

Kuzuryu might not be willing to weigh the value of other peoples' lives against each other, but to him, your life was the most valuable in the world.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

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