#rasubosu

the militant couldn't make out the silhouette that appeared in front of him. and, to be honest, he didn't want to. he was ready to accept death, finally standing on his doorstep, with honor. he didn't give up, but was defeated in an equal fight with melee weapons. so why should he resist?

— hey! you're still alive?

the annoying voice didn't subside, but only echoed louder in the takatora's head. he seemed to have heard it somewhere before. familiar nasty vibes associated with the beach.

— i can see you're breathing, idiot.

a massive body slumped to the ground beside a nearby car, leaning back against the rusted hood. it seemed that not so long ago he had been also injured. samura didn't know how to react to the destroyer of his peaceful doom. he dreamed of accepting death alone, but sharing it with someone wasn't such a bad idea, actually. especially if that someone seemed to have once been very close.

— it’s not that sad to die together, boss. aren't you happy?

last boss had to repeat each phrase to himself at least several times so that a clear picture of the meaning of what had been said appeared in his clouded mind. and only at this moment he understood. niragi.

— i thought you were dead, — samura was able to speak, even moving so far wasn't as hard as it could be. he just didn't want to, — not at all.

despite the tragedy of the situation, suguru couldn't help smiling. he was glad that his friend had waited for him and hadn't passed away yet. they were children of war. born from violence. violence against freedom and weakness. the thought of the beginning of their own battle, the battle on the side of cruelty and enslavement, became more and more fixed in their hearts, day by day living in that world.

there was one game left until all figure cards were defeated. it seemed that the bald spade asshole finally kicked the bucket. but what's next? was their entire journey worth going through, or was it easier to give up at the start? certainly worth it. neither niragi, nor takatora could imagine a better world for themselves. only here they felt free, only here they weren't humiliated, but humiliating. and that meant a lot to those who had never really lived.

— if this is death, then what is life? — samura closed his eyes, enjoying every moment of his marvelous agony. — in this country, even on the verge of death, i feel more alive than ever.

between each last sentence last boss needed to do small pauses to draw more air into his still working lungs and to be able to continue talking, but even though niragi didn't tried to interrupt him. dark, like a starry sky, eyes that hadn't lost their crazy spark yet rose to the darkness that had descended on the city while their owner was comprehending the words of the interlocutor.

— people who don't face death will never understand the desire for it. it inspires, opens up new frontiers, expands knowledge. only by looking into its eyes, you can realize how beautiful it is.

a heavy chest cough escaped from samura's chest, accompanied by bloody saliva that splashed almost all over his face. the internal bleeding increased — this guy had very little left. compared to him, suguru was still full of energy. his chest was shot-up by someone's shotgun shell, but somehow he was more alive than all living things. what a miracle? however, both were on their deathbeds.

— if we meet in the next life, i'll never be your friend, nerd, — the last joke came out from niragi's mouth before last boss let out his final breath, — but we can always give it a try anyway, you know.

— hey?

there was no answer. it seemed that an old friend of him nevertheless met with the one that he had been waiting for a long time. with deadly anguish in his heart, with horror in his chest, niragi sat and felt that something in him was dying with each subsequent minute of silence. nothing was happening, he seemed to be rotting alive, looking at takatora corpse which still seemed so alive, as if the man was simply tired and decided to sleep. suguru's eyelids gradually became heavier, it seemed that he would do well to take a nap too...

‹‹ congratulations, you have completed all currently available games. you have two choices: accept the citizenship of this country or refuse. ››

niragi thought that he was already one step away from death, but this phrase seemed to awaken him from eternal sleep. lying near his deceased friend for about half an hour, sorting through all possible thoughts in his head and trying not to succumb to emotions at least before his death, suguru actually rethought a lot. he wanted to live, he really wanted to get out of this damn hellhole, even if it once gave him what he craved. no power, no freedom will ever cost a life.

— fuck y'all. i refuse, — falling on his side, niragi let out a hoarse groan from the pain in his chest and looked at the motionless body for the last time. — i'd like you to refuse too. but you're a fucking egoist.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ beach. the utopia built on charisma is dead. it shone with the flame of a sacred fire, taking memories with it and erasing people who had stopped fighting from the face of the earth. people who lost to this bitch called fate which discouraged them with a sudden test not for life, but for death. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ along with the hatter's utopia, those, who were once cherished, also disappeared. all in all, it's not possible that a person is forever alone, right? every human being is just a miserable half, imperfect, sometimes vile, but in need of someone special to complete the puzzle. because this is the meaning of life. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ takatora had never believed in this bullshit. he didn't believe in the possibility of finding a person for whom he would replace the world. or at least become a true friend. he was always on his own. a lone samurai wandering gloomily through the back streets and frightening people by his appearance: his pale, bony legs, limping, moved very slowly, his posture had been spoiled by the hobby of its owner and his lips, nervously twitching by themselves, rarely broke into a disgusting smile. can anyone even love this? 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ so was niragi. vile, wild, terrifying and fearful on the beach residents. no one wanted to be his enemy, neither to be his friend. there is only one difference — somewhere deep in his heart he still cherished the thought that, sooner or later, his lost part of the soul would find him, they would reunite in a dance of joy and wouldn't let each other go till the end. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ one of them is already gone. lungs, filled with the smell of burning, eyes watering from caustic smoke, fire covering the whole body in parts, tearing the skin — last boss felt and remembered everything until the last minute of his life. but he didn't cry out in pain because nothing could compare with what he had preached, living in the ‹‹real life››.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ the fire finally died down after a couple of days, and after a week this strong smoke disappeared, leaving behind only an unpleasant aftertaste and ashes everywhere. niragi has been wandering the beach all alone for several days now. there was no one left here — an ideal place for suguru who has hated all humanity in one night. he didn't want to see or hear anyone, didn't want to interact with human beings, didn't want to show himself being weak again. it takes some more time for him to put his thoughts in order and get back in the game. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ niragi didn't know what he wanted to find in the ruins of beach, didn't know why he went around the same places every day in the hope of finding something new in this cemetery, once being full of life. he didn't know why he hadn't died yet, and why fate had once again treated him like shit. rooms, halls, swimming pool, offices, kitchen... he was wandering wherever his eyes looked, and didn't let thoughts visit his mind. but these miserable, miserable thoughts, desire, anxiety... they didn't leave him just like that. they continued to annoy, imposed themselves and didn't let him run away.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — fuck this! — the first phrase came from niragi's mouth for his whole week of living on the beach. a piece of concrete that had fallen away from the wall hit him under the foot, and he, full of sudden aggression, kicked the pebble far away.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ casually following the trajectory of the random traveller flight, suguru wanted to go further but suddenly he saw a rotten, half-burnt body. all the corpses that accidentally had fallen into the sacred fire had burned down to the bones, so it was surprising to see a half like a living body with the same burns as his own in front of him. succumbing to the curiosity and coming closer, the former militant began to examine the mysterious body in an attempt to detect the owner. the face was disfigured, pieces of skin peeled off and lustful flies sat on them. niragi couldn't feel the terrible stench since his receptors had stopped working after the roof accident, so this awful smell didn't bother him at all. a familiar tattoo could be seen on the hand, not yet completely peeled off, and beside the body devoted steel lay. katana.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — last boss?

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ niragi's voice seemed to tremble. he never gave the slack, never let himself to make friends or become attached to anyone, but in spite of everything, there was always some kind of warmth to the samura deep in his soul. cold, cruel, taciturn and, most importantly, loyal militant was probably in the second place in his amorphous list of "the best people on the beach" (in the first place, of course, was himself). 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ squatting next to his once good friend, suguru decided to look into his face, to find some familiar features but it didn't make sense. there was nothing left of the former last boss’ terrible attractiveness. one arm was completely burned, leaving only the outer bone, while the other somehow survived like the entire left side of the body. didn't the fire manage? or was it the fate?

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — life fucked you, buddy.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ niragi's caustic remark was reflected by a sly grin. looking around the whole body of a friend for the last time, suguru was about to get up but he noticed that the survived hand was clenched into a strong fist. who was he not to succumb to his curiosity once again and not to test his intuition for the umpteenth time? what would he lose if he broke the fingers of an already doomed man?

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ the scars from the burns he had received still throbbed unpleasantly, it was impossible to touch anything. but, overcoming the pain, niragi was impatient to find out if there was something in the clenched fist. finger after finger moved away from the palm and a small piece of paper folded five times fell out of the hand.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ «oh, you're motherfucker!» — thought suguru, unfolding the note along the way. he knew that anything could be expected from this hopeless poet. he knew but his heart was still clenching and unclenching from something, itching and hurting uncomfortably, as if he was afraid to read what was written there. but niragi isn't afraid of anything, right? a small piece of paper, folded five times, was torn in half. what did this freak tear off and where is the rest of it?

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ «... in this country i learned what friendship is for the first time, experienced true human feelings. only here i feel freedom and saw no condemnation. i am a freak. but here i am strong. no one called me a weirdo, no one spat in my face and tried to humiliate me. they were afraid of me. and i loved it. but mostly i liked the realization of my importance. niragi, that damn bastard, always needed me. i was his second right hand...»

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — what a jerk... — niragi was interrupted for a couple of minutes and hastily wiped away a tear with his little finger. he hated this damn feeling of pity, hated not only to show his weakness to someone, but basically to see and feel himself in such a position.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ «... but he was never my boss. he was my friend. i couldn't have dreamed of such a friendship in that life. if this letter falls into the right hands, tell everyone that this country is how the world should be. i am grateful to it. now I'm freer than ever.»

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ he was my friend. these words were imprinted in the niragi's consciousness, hit him with a katana in the heart and then left another thousand knives in the solar plexus area, fiercely cracking down on the remnants of cruelty, the mask of which suguru put on himself. tears already wanted to mercilessly roll down his cheeks, but during the months spent in the borderland, he had forgotten how to cry. all he had to do was wipe his watery eyes with a piece of cloth that was wrapped around his head and whisper into nowhere: