Chapter Text
Painful, painful, painful. Everything is painful: his hands, his feet, and his chest. Too painful, and if he still breathes, every heave would be like inhaling spikes.
It shouldn't be like this; vampires are supposed to be strong, agile, and most of all, immortal. They can't be killed, and they can't be stopped, so why is he in this situation, hands and feet nailed to the ground like some sort of a fucking frog about to be dissected, mouth stuffed with cloth soaked in garlic water and his very being burning?
The lights are out in his suite, but even then, he can see them clear as day: two figures standing guard in front of him, and they both wear stupid fucking costumes like they're in an anime convention. Their smells are so, so sweet; two young adults, one of them a half breed, and he wonders how it would feel like to sink his fangs into a half breed's flesh and suck the life out of them.
Not that a half breed's blood is non-toxic to vampires, though, nor is a vampire's blood, to begin with. When he sets himself free, he'll make do with the human.
He tries to clench his fists, but the wooden stakes wedged into his palms make it too unbearable to even lift a finger. He hisses.
"Aw, shut it, vamp," one of them says---the guy with the skull mask. He's the human, the weakest of them all, but he was the one who hammered the stakes into his palms with his goddamn pipe. "No use strugglin'. Serves you right, asshole."
"It doesn't really matter at this point," the half breed says, a fucking woman. Her red eyes look down at him, and her rounded pupils narrow into slits. She wears a red, cat-shaped mask. Everything she wears is red, and her eyes shine in the dim light. "We're gonna have to remove the gag anyway, if Joker and Queen don't find anything."
You're not gonna find anything, he wants to say, you dumb fucks. Rats.
A few more minutes of quiet agony, and then there are footsteps. A pair, and he knows Joker and Queen have come back empty-handed. Queen is the first to come out from the shadows, her metal mask reflecting the dim light, and then next, Joker.
Joker.
Joker.
Joker.
The leader of the Phantom Thieves, the man who swore to tear down this system that kept Japan alive for three decades, and a fucking knob, just like him.
Fucking hilarious, really.
"There's nothing," Joker announces, and he walks past Queen and towards him. Heels click against the marble floor, pupils narrow into slits as grey eyes focus on him. It's nothing like the obvious disdain the half-breed's eyes bore when she looked at him. There's a hunger in Joker's eyes that he only ever saw in a vampire about to feed; a look he'd seen so many times, but never, ever, ever on him, even when he was human and alive.
Fear. He knows that, of course, but he never thought it would be because he's subjected to the hungry stare of a vampire.
"Sir Kaneshiro Junya," Joker says as he walks towards him, every click of his heels a taunt, the glint of his eyes a promise, "the money devouring sinner of gluttony. In your quest for power, you let yourself be turned and indulge in hunts that took countless children from their families."
The human and the half breed give way to Joker, and he stops in front of him, standing by his feet. "You provided vampires with humans you call pouches," he says, "as if they're objects to empty and discard." His hand pulls out a small, pistol crossbow from his coat, loads it. "We've come to take your distorted desires, and to finally bring you to rest."
Joker points his crossbow at him, and his lips curl into a wide, wide smile. Joker's fangs look too sharp, too deadly, and he thinks he can feel them tear his throat. "This won't kill you again, but we'll get there, when you give us what we want."
--
Café Leblanc is a humble, little shop tucked away in a small corner in the quiet streets of Yongen-jaya. It specialises in coffee and curry, and its atmosphere is known to be one of a kind, where customers can feel at home. Though it doesn't have a huge following, it boasts the most loyal of customers.
A combination of quiet and homey. Anyone can certainly feel at ease here.
Akira Kurusu doesn't yawn anymore; the dead don't yawn, but he thinks that at this point, with how empty Leblanc is, he could yawn himself back to life. Leblanc may have loyal customers, but right now Leblanc is empty, the only thing filling the silence is the news that’s droning on and on about obvious lies. He's not sure if it’s because he's on duty today that no one is coming in.
He eyes a potential customer outside. She catches him staring, then she looks down and hurries away from the café. Okay, it's definitely his fault.
"I think it's best you close up shop today, Akira," Makoto says as she puts down her cup. She sits in the booth closest to the stairs with the rest of his friends, the only loyal customers who actually come regularly, but sometimes their orders are on the house. "I don't think there'll be any customers today as well."
"Boss will tear my head off if there isn't any profits today," Akira reasons, raising a hand to twist the end of his fringe with his fingers, "and then he'll finally kick me out."
"You've been living here for almost four years," Makoto points out, "I believe he won't kick you out when it's not your fault you can't make any sale on your own. If it's any comfort for you, everyone will cover for today's sale."
"Hey, hold on," Ryuji cuts in, and he's already standing from his place in their shared booth. "I don't have money right now!"
"So do I," Yusuke says, and Ann gives him a look.
"You don't need to eat," she says, and then, "I'd like two orders of curry, please!"
Ryuji grumbles as he sits back down. "Fine, I'm getting a plate, too. List it down so I can pay for it next time, dude."
Akira has such amazing friends.
As Akira quickly goes to get Ann her two plates of curry, Yusuke speaks up. "Hm," he says, "coffee presents itself to be safe for vampires to drink." Pale, slender fingers tap against his sketchpad. "Very well, a cup of Americano should suffice."
Akira snorts at that. "Mixed with the blood of Americans?" he jokes as he makes his way to their booth and puts down two plates of curry. While Yusuke simply tilts his head at him, everyone else scoffs. Akira deflates. "Sorry. Bad joke."
"We know," Makoto says with a sigh. As Akira returns to the kitchen for Ryuji's plate, everyone's attention returns to the T.V. The news today doesn't report anything new, just a plethora of good news, all because of the vampires' valiant efforts. Just the same, sickening load of bullshit. Leblanc is quiet again, and when Akira serves Ryuji's plate and Yusuke's coffee, Ryuji had already eaten from one of Ann's plates, and she readily snatches Ryuji's supposed plate.
It's Makoto who puts down her debugger.
"There isn't going to be any news about Kaneshiro," she finally says. She looks up at Akira, who nods and goes to lock Leblanc's door. "He's a turned vampire, and we all know how they view turned vampires. He's a puppet, at best."
"A damn loyal one, at that," Ryuji says, scratching his head. "I guess he knows we're gonna off him anyway, considering all of our targets so far."
"Joker confirming it before the interrogation didn't help," Makoto pointedly says when Akira returns to their booth. He shrugs, sitting on the stool by the counter nearest to them and stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"We don't lie," he says. "And we did get a name. Nothing else, but it's enough. Mikoshiba Yuri. Medjed is already working on surveillance in her manor. She's a vampire, obviously. She spearheads the hunts, under the guise of child services."
Akira's gaze sweeps across the group, watching as realisation slowly dawns on them. Ryuji is the first to react.
"What the hell?" he practically bellows, but none in the group flinches at his outburst. "So, what, they find struggling families and take the kids to sell them off to be...fuckin' juice pouches?"
"This confirms that the Yakuza Kaneshiro was heading was to throw off anyone who would come sniffing," Makoto says. "In the end, it's the government who executes the hunts." She shakes her head. "This is awful..."
"If we get rid of her, will the hunts stop?" Ann asks. Her second plate is empty now, and she's simply playing with the leftover grains of rice with her fork. She looks up. "She leads it, but obviously there are lackeys. How will getting rid of her stop the hunts?"
"It won't," Akira says, "but what we need to do isn't to stop it; it's to expose it. Everyone has to find out what the government is doing behind their backs, how they lie to us. That's what we've been doing for years, remember? First with Kamoshida, then Madarame. This isn't the first time we had to pluck out small time vampires, but---"
Akira stops, looking at Yusuke, and everyone follows suit. Yusuke blinks and fishes out his phone from his pocket. It's vibrating, and the phone's screen flashes along with the vibration.
"Ah," Yusuke says, "it's my phone. Apologies for distracting you. I put it on silent, but it seems it didn't do much to avoid distraction."
"Whatever, man," Ryuji says, "who is it?"
"Futaba."
"What? Well, answer her! And put her on loud speaker."
"Of course."
Yusuke answers the call, and he puts his phone down in the middle of the table. Everyone leans forward to the phone, and there's a crackle at first, then Futaba's voice cuts through the air, high pitched and loud. Both Akira and Yusuke flinch at the sound.
"Akira!" Futaba practically screeches, "problem! Problem!" And Akira straightens in his seat.
"What's wrong?"
"Did they find us?!" Ann says, her red eyes wide, and Futaba gasps.
"No!" she cries. "Medjed's too good for that; it's because of us that you guys are still alive and kicking after all this time!"
"Futaba," Akira says, and he walks to the booth and presses his hands against the table. He leans forward, his shadow looming over the phone. "What's going on?"
"Oh! Uh," Futaba clears her throat. "So, our supposed next target?"
"We're listening."
"Yeah. She's dead."
Akira pauses at that. He looks up, at his teammates, and they all share the same surprise and dread that he feels. "Futaba," he says, pupils turning to slits as he looks down at the phone, as if it's the one that took their prey. "Details."
"How 'bout you all go to my place?"
--
When the Phantom Thieves made themselves publicly known after Madarame's death, Futaba resolved to leave the Sakura residence and live somewhere that's a considerable distance from her adoptive father. At least two train rides away from Leblanc. It's for work efficiency, she reasons. Ever since the Phantom Thieves' debut, Medjed has been far more active acting as the Thieves' informant and backup and monetary resource all rolled into one, and Futaba's room in Sojiro's house is starting to prove a nuisance for her growing workstation.
Everyone knows better, though. Medjed is notorious for hacking government servers and leaking information about the vampires' illegal activities, and now that the Phantom Thieves are acting on that information, Medjed has become public enemy number one along with them. If Futaba is caught operating in Sojiro's house, there's no doubt he, too, will get a blade to the neck along with her.
So for Futaba to leave and hole up in a shabby apartment far away from the heart of the city is pretty damn brave of her. Sometimes, Akira worries she'd have to deal with burglars breaking in, with all her expensive equipment. So far, though, with her apartment continually getting stuffed with new equipment along with the growing pile of garbage bags on one side of the apartment, his worries continue to be unfounded.
"It's just you and Makoto?" Futaba says with a sniff, eyeing Akira and Makoto as they both traverse through the mess of cables scattered on the floor. An obstacle course, really. "A turned vampire and a half breed going on a date looks so fishy."
Makoto sighs. "It's not as odd as you think, believe me. Half breeds and turned vampires get along fairly well in a prejudiced society."
Futaba sniffs again. "So you two are dating?"
"No," Akira says. He stops in front of Futaba. Behind her, three monitors are lined in a half circle. Two of the monitors display endless stream of indecipherable text; the last one displays the Phansite. It's not a Japanese website, obviously. The vampires no longer allow the use of the internet in Japan.
The fact that the entire world is watching their next move puts another weight on Akira's shoulders.
"We're not dating," he adds.
Futaba stares at him for a second, then she shrugs, wide eyes sweeping across the room behind him. "Where's everyone else?"
"A group of vampires and a human takes too much attention," Makoto says, "so we decided only Akira and I will come. Are you going to tell us what happened?" She looks around, then she eyes the numerous monitors mounted on the wall to her right. The monitors are practically a window to all of Tokyo; they show every footage currently caught on every CCTV installed around the metropolis. One of the monitors shows two female vampires eyeing a lone human girl. It’s broad daylight right now. She looks back at Futaba. "This is an emergency. She had all the information that Medjed wasn't able to uncover."
Futaba sighs, and she turns her seat to face her workstation. Akira and Makoto huddle in behind her, and they both watch as she minimises the Phansite and pulls up another window filled with video recordings. "Okay, so, right now, Morgana's monitoring the situation in the manor. He'll update us on anything new. Meanwhile..."
She scrolls down to the end of the folder, clicking on one of the videos and opening it. "Here's footage from this morning, when her body was found."
In the video is a long, luxurious hallway, the floor carpeted and the ceiling with small, yet grandiose chandeliers, and two women stand outside a room. Both are dressed as maids. One of them has a hand over her mouth, and they both take a step back as three men walk out of the room in sync, carrying---
Akira blinks. "Pause the video."
"Eugh," Futaba says, but she does as she's told. "What? What do your freaky vampire eyes see that I don't?"
"It's nothing like that," Makoto scolds, and then she frowns at the video. Three men carry a body, two of them holding her hands and one holding her feet. She's naked, caked in her own blood, and she's missing her head. One of the men holding her hand carries a bloody bag in his free hand.
"Do you think she was killed under orders, Akira?" Makoto asks.
"Can't say," Akira admits. "Futaba, can you zoom in? On the neck?"
"You guys are so gross," she comments, but she does it anyway, and she moves out of the way to let Akira and Makoto find what they're looking for. It doesn't take too long to find it, though, as Makoto's finger presses against the monitor, tracing the numerous wounds on her neck.
"Whoever did this hacked at her neck until the head was finally severed," she notes, "the severity of the wounds vary: some deep; some, not at all." She takes back her hand. "Work of an amateur."
"Ryuji can make a cleaner cut with his pipe," Akira agrees. While it's true beheading a vampire is far easier than taking their heart, it's by no means easy to do. It takes someone as experienced as them to make a clean cut through flesh and bone. No one in their right mind would hire someone who can’t make a clean kill. "So it's not under orders. You'd think they'll take her out before the Phantom Thieves do."
Futaba shifts in her seat. "Uh, I doubt it, too. She died not too long after you guys took care of Kaneshiro," she says, and they both look at her. "And that amateur. I think we have a suspect."
Before Akira or Makoto can remark on that, Futaba wheels her seat back to her workstation, bumping Akira out of the way, and she pulls out the folder again and opens another video. "This is footage from last night, same as the heist," Futaba says, and she fast forwards the video. There's nothing remarkable in the footage; it shows the same hallway, but dark and empty, and Futaba keeps on fast forwarding it until the time in the video says it's 3 A.M. The heist had already concluded by then.
By 3:45, the door to their target's bedroom opens, and Futaba stops fast forwarding the video. The trio watches as a young man emerges from the bedroom, in white button down shirt and boxers. Everything about him is clean: from his neatly combed, shoulder length hair to newly manicured toenails, except for his left hand. It's stained dark with blood, and he holds a butcher's knife, also covered in blood.
He walks down the hallway with quiet, precise steps, then he stops, just by the end of the camera's reach.
He looks straight at the camera.
Makoto gasps, and Akira blinks. The man's eyes are the colour of rust, but no slits, no glint in his eyes that could be the trait of a vampire. There's only one thing that differentiates vampires, turned vampires, and humans apart, and it's always the eyes. There's no doubt on what he is.
"He's human," Makoto says, and Futaba nods.
"Yep. Like me and Ryuji. I ran through the records of all residents in that place; it looks like he's the only human living there. As a houseboy, apparently." She scoffs. "I call bullshit on that one."
"Would've been nice if you showed us this right off the bat," Akira mutters. "Still, good job."
"I do my job well."
"So," Akira says, still staring at the man in the video. Chestnut hair, looking soft and well taken care of; long lashes framing rust coloured eyes; and perfectly shaped lips, parted slightly. He's got nicely sculpted legs, too. From what Akira sees, he's good looking, and he looks to be about Akira's age; he thinks he knows what that man really is in that household. It makes him feel sick. "What's his name?"
Futaba closes the video. "...Goro Akechi," she says. Her fingers start tapping restlessly against the table. It's distracting. "The records say he's an orphan that our would-be target took in at thirteen, but I don't believe that. He's most likely a victim of the hunts, too, but I'm surprised he managed to live this long." Tap tap tap. "Honestly? If Sojiro wasn't able to bust me out, I would've killed myself." She pauses. She stops tapping her fingers, too, and she takes a deep breath.
"Look," she continues, "it's obvious she liked him, too. Seven years, and she didn't accidentally drain him at all. Imagine that restraint. It's the only explanation why he was even able to do this in the first place. It's obvious he had no idea what he was doing." She waves her hand at her monitor, though there’s nothing to see other than her cluttered desktop. "There'll be plenty evidence around, especially with that shit he pulled in the video. There's no doubt they have his scent, too."
Futaba spins her seat around to face them. "They're going to find him, and they're going to kill him."
Akira stares at Futaba, and he realises she's staring at him, her brows furrowed and her lips curled downwards. She's clutching the sides of her seat tightly. Then he realises what she's asking of him.
This is a chance to save a victim of the hunts, when, despite all their efforts, they can't even save a strand of hair.
Truthfully, it isn’t as if he has any plans to leave Akechi alone.
He puts his hands into his pockets. "It's in our best interest to find him," he finally says, and Futaba's grip on her seat loosens. Makoto tilts her head at him. "I think he's our next best shot at information. Futaba, do you have anything else that can help us find him?"
"Yes," she gamely says, turning her chair back to her workstation. "Um, I think so anyway. He took off a little later after the murder. I hacked into the CCTVs outside the manor and took all recordings I can take from the system to find him. The last time any of the cameras saw him would be when he stole some dude's bike, at 4:06 A.M." She plays the recording, and true enough, it shows Akechi in a hooded jacket and black jeans, pointing a loaded pistol crossbow at some guy, a human, and taking off with his bike. "Now, where the hell did he get the stuff for that?"
"Who knows," Akira says. "We get our stuff from Iwai-san," he adds, as if that will provide insight, "where does that road go?"
"To Shibuya," she says, "I've been going through the cameras there since I found out about the murder and where he'd gone, but he hasn't come up in any footage." She raises her hands in defeat. "Even until now! How can he not show up when the entirety of Tokyo is studded with cameras?"
"We're at a disadvantage," Makoto summarises, "the vampires can track him down with his scent, but we have no lead. It seems he knows how to hide, as well. Can we even find him?"
"We can't if the vampires get to him first," Futaba grumbles, "it won't matter how good you are at hide and seek if they can smell you anyway! You're just gonna make it hard for the good guys to help you!"
"…How about this," Akira slowly says, "let's take this as a good sign. He can take care of himself, and that's good. I think. For now, we have to talk to the others about this. Futaba, copies?"
Futaba loudly sighs. "Aye, a---ye," she drawls, and she picks up a lone USB drive beside her keyboard. She holds it towards him with her forefinger and middle finger the way one would with a card. "Here. It contains footages from yesterday. Inside and outside the manor, and all around it. Should have plenty of footages of him, too. I dunno."
"Thanks." Akira takes the drive and holds it with his thumb and forefinger. It's small, almost paper thin, and Akira worries he might accidentally break it in his pocket if he sits the wrong way on the train ride back to Yongen-jaya.
Makoto reaches over and plucks the drive from his fingers, and she puts it in her purse. "Let's make sure it won't break while we're going home," she says, and Akira grins sheepishly at her.
By the time they left Futaba's apartment, over two hours have already passed, more than what was planned. Both of them carry trash bags that Futaba insisted they throw out. The sun is already halfway through setting, colouring the sky a dark orange with hints of indigo washing over where the sun's light no longer reaches. There's no one around, though it could be because this particular street has always been deserted. There's a reason Futaba chose this place as her hideout, after all.
Makoto looks up, and she frowns. "We have an hour tops before curfew."
Akira dumps the bags he's carrying by the entrance of Futaba's apartment and holds out his hands for the bags Makoto has. "How are you not affected by the smell?" he says instead. "I can't stand it."
Makoto rolls her eyes at him, but she hands the bags to him, nonetheless. "I'd say the smell isn't that bad," she tells Akira, "but I suppose it's because half breeds like me don't have the same sharp senses as vampires, despite their blood running in our veins."
The pair walk down the street in quick strides in a hurry to catch the last train. "Don't need blood, actually alive and breathing..." Akira brushes a finger under his jaw. No pulse. "You guys are more human than you think."
Makoto smiles. "The red eyes and fangs make it that hard to believe."
As they walk down the street to the train station, it's easy to see how quickly the crowds thin out in a hurry to be indoors before curfew. It's not lost to Akira how wide the crowd parts for him and Makoto, but four years as a vampire made Akira aware that they're making way for him instead.
"Sometimes I feel like people are more scared of those who were turned than their makers," Makoto says, taking a step closer to Akira. A satellite van drives down there street, followed by military vans, all filled with vampires with eyes of varying colours. Akira looks straight ahead, hears Makoto turn on her debugger from her purse.
"They're just as scared," is all he says, and soon enough, he and Makoto are in the train station to catch the last train to Yongen-jaya.
--
Two years ago, the Phantom Thieves revealed one of the government's many sins to the people, how the vampires who promised to protect them go behind their backs to bite them in the ass, sometimes literally, but mostly figuratively. Cases of vampire attacks always went under the radar, and victims were always threatened to keep quiet, and if they didn't comply, they're turned, if they weren't dead yet anyway.
Akira was one of them.
It took the deaths of two high profile vampires and the Phantom Thieves' appearance for victims to speak out and for humans to question the vampires that promised protection, but even then, fear ruled them all, and it did well to keep them quiet.
Not enough rage, not enough anger. The Phantom Thieves have more to expose.
The hunts are next.
It's already dark by the time they get back to Leblanc. The curfew is in full effect by then; Akira and Makoto got back safely from sneaking around in the shadows, like actual phantoms. The rest of the team never left the café, all still sitting in the same booth he and Makoto left them, and they look up as the bell chimes and Akira steps in.
"Everyone," he says, as Makoto steps by his side and the door shuts closed. She's holding the drive for everyone to see. Akira brings out his debugger and flips it on. "Change of plans; there's someone to find.
"His name is Goro Akechi."