Chapter Text
He pried his heavy eyelids open. The world spun, the blurs in his vision refusing to clear. His mind felt like fluff, completely useless and canceling any chance of noise. Everything was silent for the few precious moments before he was dragged back to consciousness.
The first noise he registered was his own voice letting out a soft groan. The tapping of water hit his ears next. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
Even half-asleep, the sound irritated him. With a hiss of annoyance, he tried to swat out at whatever was making that insufferable noise.
It took a moment for him to register that his arms weren't moving as he commanded them too. His right wrist had something cold tightly gripped around it, and no amount of shaking could set him free. Sighing, he swung his head towards the source of his entrapment, his surroundings finally coming into a semi-focus.
Handcuffs.
He had to blink a few times to register them; he couldn't even begin to wonder how they got there and who put them on.
As his surroundings and memory simultaneously grew clearer, his mind began to race. He tugged at the cuffs, hoping they’d break despite his weak pull. But it only snapped his wrist back, and he let out a quiet hiss of pain.
His gaze flickered over to his other hand; luckily, this one was free and moveable. He curled his fingers towards the center of his palm, his eyes narrowing at the gray and black watch still clamped around his wrist. The LED lights taunted him, blinking with numbers with purposes still eluding him at that point.
“What... the...?” It took a moment for him to even recognize the pitiful sound of his own voice. It sounded... foreign. Raspy and quiet were not words normally associated with him; he did recall that he was loud, and confident to a fault.
He had strength, and unbelievable stubbornness. He was not usually so weak.
Drawing in a shaky breath, he spoke again. “Where am I...?” His eyes scanned the room, taking in the pale cyan walls and blurry equipment further away. With his gaze finally clear, he could see a sink next to him, sporting the other half of his pair of handcuffs.
His mind instantly tried to decode what this scene meant. He had one half of the cuffs on him, and the other cuff was around the sink's pipe...
Once more, he yanked at the chain; the sink didn't budge, nor did the cuffs. The truth settled into his stomach like a stone.
He was trapped.
Though he still hadn't the slightest idea of what happened, he began to yell. Screaming brought a new pain to his throat, as if he had swallowed sandpaper. Something warm flecked his lips as he yelled, but he ignored it and kept yelling.
There was nothing sensible that escaped his mouth, and after a few moments, all hints of comprehensible words crumbled into confused snarls and demanding hisses.
As far as he knew, he was alone in the room. Was there anyone else around at all? Had he been left to rot in this place? He couldn't survive long without food or water; did whoever was behind his current situation intend to slowly torture him, or even kill him?
But where was this place? Where was he? No, who was he? What was his name? Panic settled inside him as he realized he couldn't recall right away.
Had he been drugged?
Before he could explore that possibility, his eyes caught on something; golden embroidered text on the inside of his jacket, just below the collar: D-10.
“D...10...” he mumbled, running his free fingers across the thread. The decoding process took longer than it should have for a man his age, but his mind was heavily delayed due to... something. Drugs? Alcohol? A one-night stand?
His heart pounded faster. The memories eluded him still, but he was slowly working towards his name.
“D...i...o...” he slurred, the sounds at least a little familiar. “Dio.”
...yeah. Dio. That's it.
Dio curled his lips to a weak smirk at the triumph. “Dio.” With a nod to confirm it, he worked towards the next question in his mind – what was he doing here?
Before he realized it, the name 'Brother' flashed through his mind.
Broth-
…of course!
His name was Dio. He was on a mission for Brother...! Brother was his leader, his purpose – and despite the name, his father. That man was the reason he still breathed, and was the only way to save his soul.
Every inch of Dio's being believed in this truth. How could he have possibly forgotten? He felt despicable for concentrating on something other than his sacred mission. When he had left base, his mind was focused on his resolve and nothing else. The task was life or death, after all; if he failed, Dio knew he had to die.
Brother had explained it in the simplest terms when he assigned Dio the mission and packed him a cyanide capsule. He didn't even need to say anything (not that he could, being that old), his typed message clear as crystal.
Complete this mission, or we will no longer have a purpose for you.
And that one sentence made everything that much more important. Dio had never forgotten the terms as he played through the Nonary Game, keeping his poker face and claiming his innocence just as he had practiced. The other idiots went along with most of his ludicrous declarations; after so long, it became a game. How far could Dio stretch the truth before someone questioned him?
As it turned out... a lot farther than one would think.
Thinking about the Nonary Game brought about perhaps the most important question in his mind: how did he get here? Judging from the pastel blue walls and smell of antiseptic, he guessed he was in the infirmary.
Did he succeed in his mission? Judging by the handcuffs, he assumed not, but...
His sluggish thoughts dissolved as he heard footsteps approaching. Perking his ears, he worked through the molasses of his mind and estimated that they were already in the room. He was unable to see them, but he could tell they were there.
“H-he..llo?” he ground out, his throat throbbing from the yells. “Who's there? What's... what's going on?” Speaking had taken its toll on him; he hacked as the bits of blood caught in his mouth choked him.
No answer. He pulled at the cuffs yet again, grunting a bit at how much strength that simple action took. Whoever was there was quickly approaching, their quiet steps growing just slightly louder. He gave one last effort to escape, struggling against the silver chain binding him to the sink, but his groans died down to pained whimpers as he realized whoever was nearby was standing over him.
He lifted his head, gazing over the tip of his hat, to meet the bright blue eyes of a young woman staring down at him. Though his mind's mechanisms still felt like a snail riding on top of a tortoise, he was able to identify her in seconds.
“Luna...” he murmured, his voice cracking weakly at the end.
The girl sighed, folding her hands together in a nervous gesture and breaking eye contact with him. His head snapped further up to glare towards her, a growl forming in his throat. At the threatening sound, she threw up her hands in surprise.
It was then that he noticed the injection gun in her hand. A pink fluid, churning in a glass container, was set at the top of the gun.
“Dio, please don't hurt yourself...” she whispered, glancing back towards the door for a moment and taking a step towards him.
Her soft voice and gentle gestures only angered him further, setting off a rage embedded within him. His teeth gnashed together, his hands balling into fists, and he threw his head towards her and spat at her feet. He couldn't see himself, but he was almost positive he looked downright feral.
She bent down, her soft eyes only meters away from his. A disgusting look washed over her face; it was a look he didn't often see, but one that set him off all the same. Her eyes practically radiated pity, her lips drawn in a thin line of sorrow and regret.
His fury only escalated from there.
“What the hell!?” he yelled, yanking on the cuff chains violently. Though his throat burned from the overuse, he was blinded by wrath. “What the fuck did you do to me, Luna? Let me go! Let me the fuck go!” He howled and writhed, trying so desperately to be free, or to strike her, or at least make contact...!
Feeling a sharp sting, his gaze snapped back to his hand. The cuff around him had been rubbed too roughly against his skin, it seemed; a thin line of red was beginning to hover above the thin blue veins of his wrist.
The more he struggled, the thicker the line grew. Sticky blood bubbled under the cut and began to trickle down his arm. He stared at it for a moment but, similar to a desperate beast's mindset, the sight of it only made him angrier.
“You better have a good fucking reason I’m stuck like this,” he warned Luna, “or I swear I'll snap your fucking neck!”
Luna had stood up and was waving her hands in defense, shuffling back a bit. “Dio, calm down, please... you're... you're bleeding...”
At that point, Dio was little more than a caged animal. His instincts were set off by the situation; he was trapped, and he needed to do whatever was necessary to escape. If he couldn't get the cuffs off, he might be desperate enough to gnaw his hand off.
“Who the hell chained me to this fucking sink!?” he demanded, trying to remember the circumstances that led up to this moment. He had probably been drugged by that fucking injection gun. But... there had to be a purpose – they weren't as ruthless as he was, right? Out of the whole bunch, Alice was probably the closest to his level of focus, but even she wouldn't put someone under anesthesia without valid reasoning...
He couldn't remember what he had done – if anything. Something in the back of his mind told him that there was definitely a reason, but he just couldn't find it. As he racked his brain for anything that would spark a memory, he noticed Luna looming over him again.
“Get the fuck away,” he warned, springing back to attention, “Go away, L-!”
A sharp pinch to his arm killed the rest of his words. All at once, his mind grew fuzzy and his vision swayed once more. His limbs, his head, his eyelids... everything felt as though it was weighed down by tons of sand. He couldn't find the strength to lift or move anything, and his eyes shut immediately.
His head drooping was the last thing he registered before his world went dark.
Luna's quiet footsteps were nearly lost in the spacious warehouse. The older woman was standing a ways off from the AB doors, her arms behind her back. She didn't offer a greeting, so Luna approached and folded her hands politely.
“Ma'am,” she said softly, “I administered some more Soporil to Dio…”
“Very good, Luna,” Ms. Kurashiki rasped, turning her head to nod towards her GAULEM. “Was there any trouble?”
Luna nodded, biting her lip. “Y-yes,” she murmured, “he was awake for a few minutes before, and he struggled a bit until I gave him a dosage. Ma'am, how long do you plan on having me do this...?”
Ms. Kurashiki shook her head. “We cannot afford to waste the Soporil. There is a limited supply.”
“Of course, ma'am, but... how can we fix this issue?”
Akane grinned slyly, her old eyes flickering with a rare, youthful mischief. “I suppose we can’t keep Left under anesthesia forever. However, sending him back to his organization would not end well for him.”
“Would they... kill him?”
“Most likely,” the old woman replied, bringing her hands out from behind her, revealing the glistening Myrmidon knife. She polished the blade with her sleeve, emotionless eyes gliding over it from hilt to tip. “The Myrmidons do not tolerate failure.”
The words made Luna's heart – or whatever mechanism was in place of one inside her – grow cold. She nodded, afraid of Ms. Kurashiki's decision. Though Dio probably deserved whatever fate she chose for him, it still saddened Luna. She didn't agree with death, even to those who yearned for it. Being a GAULEM, she wanted nothing more than to be human; she couldn't even begin to imagine anyone wanting to rid themselves of a fleshy body and actual emotions.
Presumably, this was part of her programming, but Luna found herself clinging to any chance of free thought in her circuits.
But, as it was, Dr. Klim designed her this way for a reason.
Regardless, she wasn't sure if Dio was going to try to find his cyanide capsule again, but she made sure to make sure it was flushed away in the infirmary's sink. He couldn't kill himself on her watch, at least.
“Luna, I have an order for you.” Akane's words snapped Luna out of her thoughts. “I have decided what we shall do with Left, for now.”
The android nodded, perking her ears for the instructions.
“I will not allow Left to harm anyone else. But, as I said, our limited inventory of Soporil means we cannot keep him under it for too long. I’ve decided that he shall remain in this facility. Your orders, Luna, are to keep watch over him and attempt to... rehabilitate him.” The woman's foxlike grin fell for a moment, and she tightened her grip on the handle of Dio's knife.
“Should he resist rehabilitation, and wishes to die, you must let him fulfill his desire.”
Luna's breath caught in her throat as she opened her mouth to protest. She chose instead to simply nod, her eyes shining with worry.
With a nod of confirmation, Ms. Kurashiki looked back at the painted words, running her slender fingers across the smooth surface. Luna had always wondered why the anagram “TWO MILKMEN GO COMEDY” was important to the game; clearly, the Nonary Game players understood that this was a 'kingdom' of sorts by Lagomorph's explanation. It didn't have a purpose like the second phrase on the upper floor.
It wasn't her business, though – Ms. Kurashiki told her as much quite frequently. Luna was a GAULEM, and she was to follow the orders given and not ask questions.
And she could never challenge anything Ms. Kurashiki said.
“Yes, ma'am. I will... do my best with Dio,” she murmured, bowing her head in acceptance.