Chapter Text
The abysmal hallways of humanity always showed themselves best after dark. It seemed the blackness of the sky would envelop the souls of innocent bystanders perusing the streets as if it were a malevolent spirit, ready to reawaken in the form of whatever poor victim it decided to possess next.
Isagi knew that these people were not the victims.
No, they were vile. Cruel beyond any man's wildest dreams. Eagerly ready to drive an innocent life off the edge of the abyss in order to fill the emptiness that ruthlessly nibbled at their soul, any moral compass that they may have had cruelly fading away with the setting of the sun.
Isagi hated these people. But oh, how he loved them. They were the ones he got to play with, after all.
Isagi's heart had been filled with the same malevolence and emptiness as the other monsters since he was a boy.
He, a nonbeliever, prayed for that void to go away. Prayed for God to make him human like everyone else. Prayed for the sight of blood to make him nauseous instead of helplessly exhilarated. Prayed to feel normal.
His prayer was eventually answered.
He realized that he was normal… in the way that everyone else lusts for justice. He did, too. The only difference in his methods was that he removed the people causing the problems instead of lamely waiting around for those people to fix themselves.
Isagi had learned at a very young age that people didn't fix themselves. They took and took until they had what they wanted with no regard for the people they hurt.
So now, Isagi excitedly gripped his steering wheel as he pulled into his apartment complex.
He'd found a new guest to play with.
Currently, the man was in his trunk; but in a matter of minutes, he would be tied up in his darkroom, begging for Isagi to forgive him for his sins as he twisted his little dagger deeper and deeper into…
A grin twitched at his lips. Not yet, he reminded himself.
Isagi had done this so many times before that he seldom felt nervous in his attempts to be inconspicuous while pulling his guests out of his trunk anymore. They were usually enough of cowards that all he needed to do was tell them that he would kill them if they tried to scream.
“I'll fucking kill you if you even think about running or screaming,” Isagi pulled some images of past victims out of his pockets and showed them to the man, verifying his claim. “Got it?”
His guest nodded, rope-burnt hands trembling in terror.
Great, another coward to add to Isagi's list.
Isagi's apartment complex was horrifically maintained and criminally understaffed, but that was how he liked it. He always made sure to keep his guests as normal in appearance as he could in public spaces, but the building's emptiness made it much easier for him to make it to his room without any eyes on him.
ROOM 15.
Isagi hastily shoved his key into the keyhole of the apartment door. He felt the jagged, anxiety-laden breaths of his guest along his neck as the door swung open with a loud creak, allowing the two inside.
Breathing in the comfort of the “normal” side of his apartment: acoustic panels, torn thrifted chair, dark blue circle mat, and small shelf holding all of his favorite cameras, he headed for his favorite part of his favorite room- his darkroom.
In the first months after finding his own place, he struggled finding a place to keep running his little operation. That was, until he realized that the darkroom he installed would be the perfect place. Both of his passions could unite all in one small room…
Isagi dragged his guest with a belligerent force to his darkroom. Once the two were inside, he slammed the door and threw him onto the floor, releasing his grip.
The man immediately squirreled into the farthest corner he could find. Pitiful.
“I'm going to give you a minute and thirty seconds to explain why you did what you did. If I don't like your answer,” Isagi turned around, opened a large black drawer, and pulled out a straight razor. He gestured his forearm outwards before neatly slicing a small line across it, blood hastily dripping down the opening of his injury.
His guest's eyes widened in horror as Isagi took a dab of his own blood and cheerfully swiped the number ‘14’ on the wall. In one swift motion, he turned back and removed the tape from the monster's mouth, allowing it to say it's final peace.
He took Isagi's distance as an opportunity to stand up in defense. “You…you don't understand! I didn't do anything. It was all him. He was a sicko! It's not my fault that he was totally insane and couldn't tolerate a simple joke without ending up shooting himself in the-”
Isagi took a step forward. “Watch it.”
“I mean it though! I…I…he was just… all wrong. Can't you see that?”
Isagi couldn't take it anymore. This one was no fun. He was annoying, really.
He plunged the straight razor into the pitiful man's abdomen, hoping he hit the right spot.
“Don't ever fucking talk about him like that again, you understand?”
The man screamed, but not out of pain- out of fear. He knew that this was the end for him. Those kinds of screams were Isagi's favorite. “You're even more of a deranged prick than he was.”
“So now we're being brave, huh…” He surgically dug the razor deeper into him, eliciting an ear-splitting scream. “Where was that gall when you had the chance to save yourself?”
The blood had begun gushing from its wound in short, warm spurts. Isagi's fun was almost over… but he wouldn't let his guest die before crushing his spirit first.
While still stabilizing the razor, he reached over the man's head and grabbed an image inverted by the deep red light.
“Do you see this?” Isagi twisted the razor further, but hesitated to rotate it all the way through like he usually did. His humanity was slowly seeping in. That was bad.
Nonetheless, he continued to shove the image into the man's face. “This is an image of the crime scene. Look at him. He didn't deserve what you did to him.”
Isagi's exhilaration was fading.
His hands trembled around his weapon. His eyes began to dart from his own bloodied hands to the tormented face of his victim, confused at how he'd ended up in this position.
Why did he panic at the end of every kill? It wasn't like the people he went after were innocent. They were all monsters that deserved to die. So why… why was he always so afraid of the scenes he created in the end?
Why was there a voice in the back of his head telling him that killing was wrong?
The clamorous sound of his razor falling to the ground filled his sanctuary. He didn't stop to save the man, no. Even before he had dug the razor deeper, he was still calculated enough to ensure it would at least hit his spleen. It was the voice in his head why he stopped.
One side was the urge. The tingling, exhilarating sensation that a kill brought about that he just couldn't ignore. This was something Isagi was incapable of suppressing.
On the other hand was his humanity. The naive part of himself that still believed people could change and do something positive with their lives. The “friendly” one.
The urge to kill was so immeasurable that Isagi never let it pass- but the feeling that came after a kill made him wish he'd been killed instead.
He slowly slid down the wall, fountains of his misery flowing to the ground as he brought his knees to his chest. This was wrong. He was wrong. He was fucked up in the head and deserved to be locked up in a strait jacket.
“Interesting.”
Isagi whipped his head around to face the figure that emerged from the red abyss. Absolute fear, both of himself and the stranger, took over as he pushed himself further back against the wall, brows furrowed in dreadful anticipation.
“Oh don't worry. I'm not here to stop you.” The exorbitantly tall, pale man pulled a business card from his pocket. Blood stained the material as Isagi blankly reached to grab it.
“Think about it. I'll be waiting, Yoichi Isagi.” The man flashed a taunting grin before walking out of the door.
All Isagi could reflect on was his own confusion. Someone had just witnessed his kill and walked out as if he'd seen nothing.
Isagi had just let someone who witnessed his kill walk out to potentially call the police.
Most flooring of all, Isagi could have sworn he'd seen a grin on the man's face before he left.
He glanced down at the front of the card between his fingertips. Blue Lock, it read. Its symbol showed a divided blue pentagon with varying symbols inscribed on each quintant. Isagi flipped it over to see the other side.
Learn to keep them civil.
Those were the only five words written, yet Isagi instantly understood them. This man had to have been an audience to his kills for a long time. There was no other way he knew about his other side.
Wait.
If he knew, then…
Isagi glanced down to the address of this “Blue Lock” scribbled in dark blue pen.
…maybe he would actually be able to help.
Again, there was always the possibility of the man being an agent and killing or apprehending him on sight once he arrived at the building, but… something about this felt too real to be a ruse.
He peered down at the lifeless, bloodied, and wide eyed body of his victim.
He couldn't keep letting the urges take over all his senses of rationality. If he continued this way- letting the other part of him take control, eventually, he would be caught. Or turn himself in. There was only one option left for him.
Isagi was going to Blue Lock.