blood money || YANDERE!Chuuya Nakahara

Nine: The Blood Letting.

TW: Very explicit references to body horror/violence done onto the body

"I don't need you to prove your worth this time, (first name)."

Mori Ougai's words are sonorously empty, like a flicking claw to a bell.

"I know you made me do that once," Your own voice feels faraway, thin, like it's coming somewhere from behind you, "You made me shoot that pregnant woman."

"Ah, so you remember," He says, "You know, I had some information dug up about her." He procures a folder, a manila file, from a drawer besides his desk and slides it over the smooth mahogany surface of his desk. Your eye twitches involuntarily.

"I don't know if I have it in me to face what I did."

"You do," He says, watching you approach him and opening the file, "I made you that way."

"I'd like to believe I happened, instead of being made."

"Unfortunately for you, it is the latter," He says. He watches you inspect the folder's content with an unreadable expression, unchanging despite the dim murky lighting of the Port Mafia Headquarters. You sigh, closing your eyes and reaching the bottom of the file.

Seven months pregnant. Hikari, the Kanji for light, Hashimoto, was shot dead by a bullet to the back of the head. Suspect is unknown.

"Didn't you say the Port Mafia was to protect the city? Yet there you were, making me shoot a pregnant woman to prove my worth."

"One disposable unit doesn't crumble all of Yokohama away, does it?"

"It certainly would have annihilated that family," You snap the folder shut and hand it back to him, "Why did you make me see that? What purpose does that serve?"

He smiles. His smile is unnerving, a rodent-swarming smile, of abject permanence, as if it had been there in the beginning of time and space; something inherently wrong about the smile, bordering on the Uncanny Valley, "That's a secret."

Your first mission back was to torture a man that been spreading rumours about the Port Mafia. Execute him, torture him, I don't care. Make him suffer. Was what Mori had ordered.

"And you know what? Bring me a souvenir, won't you?"

"What kind. A finger?"

"Anything."

So you do as you're told.

You move quietly, like a panther in the darkness, its pelt sleek and shimmering like a black ocean, before putting a knife across his neck with a hand over his mouth. He had been putting a target on his back by walking into Port Mafia turf, a phone in his hand and the camera app open.

"A word and you're dead," You murmured into his ear. His curved ear trembles under the hotness of your breath, "Get in the car."

He quietly relinquishes all control, letting himself be subjugated by your dominance as you tie him up and slap a piece of duct tape over his mouth. You start driving after smashing his phone under your shoe.

"You know, Boss hasn't been happy with what you've been saying," You look at him through the rear view mirror, "Told me to bring him a souvenir."

He struggles and lashes out in fear. He's squirming like a fresh fish out of the water.

"My friend, if you keep struggling, I will hurt you." That ceases all movement from him. He stares at you with bulging, terrified eyes, tears welling in his waterline as he begs for mercy through the tape. You bring him to a warehouse, the guards watching you as you exited the car.