DELIRIA - YANDERE!CHUUYA NAKAHARA

Twelve: The damned, falling.

Before you was a line of men, their heads dipped and their hands tied to their backs. Some of them are trembling, some of them are still like stone.

"Is this all?" You ask one of your subordinates. He presses the intercom to his ear for a moment, before nodding.

"Yes ma'am. This is all the police have captured."

The police had taken a bribe from the Port Mafia to have their captured criminals handed over to you, because one must know that the justice system around the world was flimsy at best with good lawyers; and in this case, you would take no lawyers in your execution of these fuckers.

They were all dead meat to you. They were already dead the moment they set their eyes on you.

"I see," You say, pulling out a shotgun from your back pocket and shooting one of them in the back of the head. His head bursts open like a ripe watermelon, blood splattering on the wall before him. The rest start to panic, begging for their lives as they watch their fallen comrade slump to the floor, headless. The woman who you have interviewed before, now in her new tailored suit, watches with her arm over her chest as you mindlessly wipe blood away from your cheek. "Which one was it that raped you?" You ask.

She cannot meet your eyes. Her body walks as if there is no more life in it, and her head is always down, except for when you address her. She shakingly points a finger to a man, then another, then another. Three of them. The bullet shells ricochets off the floor as you point the barrel of the gun to their heads and pull the trigger. They fall like chess pieces disrupted in a game. More blood washes over you. This is reminiscent of the time you were back in your old house, except you had a hunting shotgun back then. Now you had a glock 19 to your hand.

"I don't think you gentlemen understand," You calmly say, reloading your ammunition with bullets located in your pocket. "How much I hate your kind."

"We're sorry! We're sorry!" One begs for his life. There is a wild panic in his eyes; he is like an animal cornered. He has urinated his pants. "We're sorry!"

You blink slowly as though amused, before putting another bullet in his head to stop his rambling. Your cheek is splattered with blood, wiped and smeared, with more droplets dripping down the curve of your face. The echo of a bullet firing off echoing in the dungeon walls. The clattering of bullet shells on the floor. "Stupid pig. Won't you agree?"

"Yes, executive," The victim quietly says as she watches you, with a hint of sad glee in her eyes, at the slumped over figures of the bodies before you. You understood that feeling; knowing that the physical bodies of your fears were extinguished, but the mental anguish would never be quenched, like a fire hungrily consuming everything you fed to your body. Killing one harshly. Sabotaging one softly.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

More bullet shells hit the floor as you take your time executing the remaining members of Machete, the floor now covered in thick, rubbery blood. It pooled and congealed around your shoes, and you scrunch your nose at the prospect of your pant leg getting dirtied by such filth.

At last when the members are all dead except for one and the female subordinate is escorted out of the dungeon rooms, do you walk towards the remaining member. You grab him by the hair and yank his head back.

"How does it feel," Your voice is a whisper, filled with gleeful sadism. "To watch your friends all die?"

"Please spare me," He begs pitifully, drool dripping down the corner of his mouth. "I swear I had no part in this. I was only there for management."

"That's even worse," You throw his head away as if touching his scalp disgusted you. "You micromanaged the kidnapping and rapes like it was just a game to you. An excel sheet, without any regard for who it might hurt." You step in front of him, hand clenched on the handle of the glock, your index finger pressing down a hair-width. "Last words."

A demand.

"Please—"

BLAM!

His body shoots backwards at the force of the bullet, landing on his back as you sighed. You toss the gun to one of your subordinates who are taken aback by your dismissive behaviour, before pulling out your phone.

"Boss, it's been done."

You wipe your cheek with a napkin handed by one of your subordinates, before tossing it back to him. You feel like a weight's been lifted off you at their deaths. You've always been a keen executor after your family's massacre; the slump and wet, sloppy noise of a bloodied body hitting the floor like an orchestra to your ears. You exit the dungeons just as the cleaners walk in.

"They're all been put down," You say. "All of them."

'Meet me in my office, (First name),' He says through the phone, and you remove the phone from your ear to look at the screen. You put it back to your ear. A quizzical look on your face that is quickly wiped out.

"Yes, Boss."

You hang up the phone just as Chuuya turns the corner of the Port Mafia headquarters.

"You finished them off?" He asks. You nod.

"Yes."

"Shame. Woulda loved to have a hand in that," He sighs. "You took my thunder from me."

"I just needed them dead," You say, clenching your fists by your side, before releasing them with a heavy sigh. "Now I can go."

"You're leaving?" He grabs you by the shoulder just as you're passing by him, and you put a hand to his wrist to force it off your skin. But his strength is impressive; it remains gripped to your shoulder like a clawed parasite.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Switzerland," You say, as matter-of-factly. "Money laundering."

"You can't just up and go," He snaps, his grip tightening to the point it is on the verge of pain. "And leave everything behind, like nothing happened?"

"Nothing happened," You say, your face twisting into confusion. "What's it to you?"

"We happened," He says, putting a hand to his chest. On his face is a look of indignant outrage, releasing his hold on you and stepping back. "You can't just...up and leave like that."

"I can," You say. "And I will."

"I won't let you," He says, just as you're walking away from him. "(First name). You can't disappear again. Not on my watch."

"I won't be on your watch soon."

—

"You can't go to Switzerland just yet, I'm afraid."

Your face falls at Boss' words.

"But—"

"I know what I said and promised, but not yet, (First name)," Boss says, his voice smooth and unwavering despite the despair blossoming in your chest. You can feel your hands clenching and unclenching by your sides, fingers numb and cold and palms clammy at the news. Rage grows in your heart, your words prepared to shoot to kill in your throat.

"Why not?"

"Because," He entwines his fingers together. "You're needed in Japan."

"We've eradicated Machete. What else is there for me to do?" You slam a hand on your chest. "This is outrageous, Boss!"

"Perhaps," He unlaces his fingers and uses one hand to lean his cheek against it, while the other drums against the smooth surface of his desk. "But we need you as one of our executives. Quite frankly, I'm tired of one of my precious executives always missing when things happen in Japan. You're always gone, like the last pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Why not stay here?"

You shake your head. "Do you care to dismiss me, Boss? I don't care to have this conversation."

"Will you be staying in Japan, then?" A mockery. Knowing you can't leave. Your teeth grit and you feel like your head's going to turn itself out like a sock from the rage that's slowly beginning to un-repress itself, like a rose regaining all its vigour and fanged, poignant crimson colours after being compressed for years against the weight of pages of a book. 

"Yes Boss."

You slam his door with more force than you should have.