Psycho Pass: Redemption (UPDATING)

12 (UPDATED)

As Ryoji Hashida's eyes fluttered open, he was met with an overwhelming brightness that compelled him to squint repeatedly before he could fully take in his surroundings. Stretched out on what appeared to be a rigid and chilling surface, he shivered involuntarily. The lack of even a simple mattress made him wonder why basic comfort was denied. Gradually, his vision adjusted to the harsh light, revealing an environment that hinted at a hospital room.

Determined to hold someone accountable for his discomfort, he silently promised himself that whoever was responsible for his transfer to this facility would face consequences. The room's cold and desolate atmosphere began to seep into him, making him yearn for the oblivion of sleep. Amidst the stillness, an eerie piano melody pervaded the air, its somber notes echoing like a forlorn cry.

As the melody wove its haunting spell, Ryoji felt his heart quicken, his pulse drumming in his ears. Attempting to rise, his brows furrowed in confusion when his body refused to cooperate. Panic surged as he strained against his restraints, only then realizing that he was handcuffed to the frigid metal surface. Adrenaline surged through his veins, a surge of electricity coursing through his system.

"Is anyone there?" his voice wavered, carrying a hint of trepidation.

His body remained unresponsive, a hazy collage of memories flickering in his mind. A whiskey bottle. A young man with brown hair and eyes that held a peculiar softness. Laughter. Amidst the fragments, a sharp sound resonated in the distance, reminiscent of a heavy door shutting. His heart pounded, the echoes reverberating within him.

Footsteps, measured and deliberate, seemed to merge with the melancholic piano, drawing closer. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, despite the chill in the room, as he fumbled his hands across the metal surface in a futile search for an escape. His pleas fell on deaf ears, his surroundings unyielding.

"You've finally awoken," a calm, velvety voice intoned.

Emerging from the glaring light, a young man with brown hair and a distinctive mole beneath his left eye leaned over him. Resting his hands on either side of Ryoji's shoulders, his brown eyes crinkled with a semblance of a smile. Dressed in a crimson dress shirt and dark pants, his presence offered a curious mix of reassurance and disquiet.

"Touma-kun... what's happening?" Ryoji's voice quivered.

Touma's smile waned, his expression taking on a gravity that tugged at Ryoji's unease. Struggling to rise, Ryoji found his efforts thwarted when a firm hand gripped his head and forced it back onto the metal surface. Pain surged from the impact, a sharp ache throbbing at the base of his skull. A groan escaped his lips.

"Where am I? Why won't you let me go?" Ryoji's voice rose, his lips contorted with frustration.

The room seemed to close in, the blinding light intensifying his disorientation. Cold seeped into his bones, a relentless tremor seizing his body. Touma's restlessness added to the tension, his pacing a disquieting counterpoint to Ryoji's growing desperation.

As Touma's shadow loomed nearer, a shiver cascaded down Ryoji's spine. The once-smiling face was now a mask of solemnity, his narrowed gaze scrutinizing Ryoji with unnerving intensity. Touma's head tilted slightly, his presence ominous.

"What are you doing? Help me!" Ryoji jerked on the table as his fingers curled into fists, his voice straining with urgency. "Get me out of here!"

"The fighting is the part I enjoy the most," Touma's lips parted in a smirk for a second.

The room seemed to contract, tension crackling in the air. A metallic sound resonated, footfalls approaching. The plaintive piano notes lingered. In a disconcerting twist, a table bearing surgical instruments was rolled to Ryoji's side. An icy pang shot through him as Touma donned white latex gloves.

"Are you out of your mind? Do you even know who I am? Tell me what you want!" Ryoji's voice trembled, his words a mix of desperation and indignation.

Touma's glove snapped sharply, punctuating the tense silence. The sound lingered, a prelude to Touma's deliberate movements. Blades glinted in the harsh light as they were positioned within reach. A symphony of dread swelled within Ryoji.

"You are more naive than I thought if you think men are primarily driven by money," Touma's words were like a chill breeze, his glove snapping again.

Touma's gloved hands danced with the instruments. The room seemed to close in on Ryoji, the weight of his helplessness crushing. His pleas echoed, met only with silence. As Touma deftly approached his head, Ryoji's gaze shifted from his eyes to his hands. Touma placed the sharp blade over Ryoji's skull, above his short dark hair, causing him to flinch and for several seconds he was unable to breathe or even move his fingers. Until a scream echoed throughout the room and his eyes closed, feeling tears running down his cheeks and blood staining his head.

The room remained awash in dread as Touma worked with his head tilted to one side and eyes narrowed, the room's soundtrack accompanying his slow, precise movements. Blood began to stain the table, a tableau of crimson. With a final flourish, Touma shed his gloves and left the room, leaving Ryoji enveloped in stillness.

"Have you read Othello?" a deep and quiet voice waved through the air. Cloaked in darkness, a figure emerged, closing a book with deliberate care. A black shirt and a dark brown open jacket framed Makishima's smile. "Cassio remarked... it has pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath."