Work Text:
The dry mouth of the man sitting on the other side of the table just wouldn't stop moving, though the annoying noise of that voice couldn't reach him.
Overhaul could glimpse every single imperfection of the aged man before him, from the wrinkles to the balding forehead, the small, typically Japanese shaped eyes of an undefined color.
So insignificant.
The black jacket worn by that fat body was creased in many places, the golden eyes located the folds caused by an inaccurate ironing, even the tie was bent in wrong angles.
He rubbed his temples briefly with gloved fingers.
That side of his job had always been one of the most unpleasant, having to negotiate with sick beings that were interested only in drug.
He exhaled in the mask.
Even though the man and his minions were there to discuss about business the signs of stress on their faces were clear. Chisaki was capable of detecting every signal of tension on the features of the three criminals in front of him, that occasionally glanced him fearfully.
It wasn't common for them to have to do with the leader of the Shie Hassaikai and Overhaul knew how he affected people very well.
Everything about his appearance screamed money and power, his only presence was enough to catalyze everyone's gaze on his pleasant and imposing form. One single glance of the golden irises was sufficient to silence the interlocutor, that if only had the courage to maintain visual contact would have noticed the sharp cutting of those eyes and the eyelashes that adorned them.
The fingers of the elegant hands were now crossed, the elbows resting on the knees wrapped in black and extremely clean fabric. The gloves made in white satin gave sinuosity to the uncovered wrists and accentuated the shape of the bent knuckles. The amaranth mask with an elongated shape valued the visible traits of the young and attractive face, decorated with golden trimmings that evoked the irises' shade. The garment's anatomy resembled a bird's beak, held by elastic bands behind the ears that were partially covered by chestnut strands of hair, short and extremely clean.
The position of the torso slightly inclined forward expressed calm and self-confidence, the ebony shirt perfectly ironed leaved exposed the last part of the forearms.
The young leader's gaze moved to follow the light physiognomy of the room, furnished with only two couches facing each other and a coffee table between them. On the wall on his left side stood out the emblem of the Shie Hassaikai in a black squaring, perfectly parallel to the candid tiles of the floor. Some specks of dust begun to land on the table.
The meeting continued for twenty minutes more, during which Overhaul would only reply to the cautious questions of his speakers about the drug, keeping in mind every time while crossing his eyes they had lowered theirs. It was a predictable routine, clients feared him for his reputation and his devastating Quirk and they didn't deepen further just in case.
He wouldn't expect hearing in that time of negotiations a nervous knock on the door. Annoyed he turned his attention to the wooden door that suddenly opened, revealing an assistant wearing a long white coat with a hood and a bird mask that hid his face entirely. Even though he couldn't see his appearance he knew very well the man behind that mask.
“I told you that I dislike being interrupted, Chronostasis.” his voice came out low and bored, tinged with threat.
“I apologize, Overhaul. I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't urgent.”
He glanced at him and stood up, apologizing with the clients. Once out of the door -closed behind him by Chronostasis- he nodded his head to make him talk. Even without eye contact Overhaul recognized the uncertain and intimidated voice of the man before him.
“The little girl...”
He understood immediately what that words meant.
He turned heading to the hallway without looking back. When the assistant begun to follow him he stopped him without giving him a glance.
“Wait there. I'll call you when your presence will be needed.”
The partially illuminated hallway's walls passed fast on his sides. The immaculate white shoes producing a rhythmic sound, that reflected a cold calm.
The labyrinthine path wasn't a problem, he knew by heart every corner of it, even if everyone else would have got lost after a few meters.
He turned some corners until he reached the empty kitchen, due to the late hour.
The room was pretty big, during the day many people worked to prepare the food for the members of the Shie Hassaikai. Overhaul wasn't used to eat those meals touched by unclean hands.
While his inquisitive look was getting used to the low light he searched for the slightest movement, without success. He discerned the cooktop behind him, pots on the shelves and cleaning supplies in the cabinet on the opposite wall, as he predicted. Even from under the mask he could be sure he didn't perceive any residual odor of supper preparation, everything was sterilized. The thought tranquilized him.
He decided to walk further to the front door, when after taking a first step he heard a weak breath from his left side. He turned in the direction of the noise to catch sight of a small curled up body, hidden under one of the shelves. Making eye contact with the big and ruby eyes of the little girl was enough to her to come trembling out of hiding.
He could smell her fear from meters away, while he watched her keeping her head down with the little hands squeezing the fabric of her dress, too big for such a tiny frame. The light and long hair covered her face, maybe she was hoping to disappear.
He gave her an angry look, but before he could reach out to grab her he was stopped by the click of the light switch.
He turned to the door behind him to see a pale and panting man, that looked like he was running for hours. When the man's eyes met the ones of his boss he turned white head to toe and stopped breathing.
The gaze he gave him revealed a cold fury, emphasized by the thin eyes and the wrinkled eyebrows.
Once he took a step forward the man begun to justify himself. That trash wasn't even wearing a mask.
“Boss, forgive me, I turned around for a second... the girl was gone! It wasn't my fault...” his voice was unstable and weaker at each step he moved in his direction. His walk became faster and his subordinate smaller and smaller, wide eyes from terror.
When a hand reached for his head, the man closed his eyes fearing the worst. The subordinate hardly ever seen that Quirk in action, it was a terrifying sight. However, the fingers that grabbed his hair were still covered by the glove.
After a brief moment of shock the man was yanked to the cooktop by the strong hold, but fearful he let himself be tugged. Once near the hob he pulled his head down, keeping him there with the right head on his nape. He ignored the pained whine caused by the rough treatment.
“Your negligence forced me to leave work to intervene in person. I hope you're aware of the implications of your actions.” his voice came out like a growl, despite the intention to keep a semblance of self control.
As the man tried to apologize he pulled him by the hair to shove him violently against the pink marble counter, earning a pained lament.
Hearing the sharp noise the little girl jumped and closed her eyes, gripping her dress even tighter and shaking like a leaf with fear.
The subordinate's apologies didn't stop, but were interrupted by another hit of the head against the counter, this time harder, that drew the first drops of blood.
The gloved hands gripped the dark locks tighter, the grip strong and stiff.
“Please-”
Crack
At the third hit the sound of a breaking nose was heard. Red rivulets were now flowing profusely, dirtying the marble surface. A scream of pain was interrupted by gurgles full of blood.
At the fourth hit it flowed also from the gums, now the man could only grunt senselessly and the spilled plasma was beginning to drip on the floor and on the white shoes.
The young Yakuza was captivated in that display of power, almost not noticing the viscous liquid splashing on his shirt. He grimaced with annoyance.
“Disgusting.”
He opened the near sink's faucet, closing the sink stopper. Moments of silence seemed endless, interrupted only by the little girl's sobs. He payed no attention. When the sink was half full he didn't hesitate to yank the man's head under the water.
Despite the weakness his subordinate trashed in despair and needing to breath, hands outstretched trying in vain to grab the edge of the sink. The grip on the hair left him no escape, the water flowed partially covering the strangled noises. He yanked him backward making him emerge only to shove the now soaked face against the marble once again, without giving him time to catch his breath.
Noticing that blood was dripping again he dunk him back in water, this time with less resistance from his victim, that was probably becoming unconscious.
Before he could do that he yanked him out one more time, hearing the laboured breaths and watching quickly the features bent with pain. Water partially washed away the hematic liquid, but it was still flowing from the many wounds in the forehead and from the swollen nose. The man's eyes were dilated and were becoming distant, but they still managed to transpire a strenuous and desperate plea. The body was now a dead weight slumped over the counter, partially held only by the boss' hand.
The glove tightened in the hair was now painted red, like the rest of Chisaki's forearm. The golden irises became thinner, the visible part uncovered from the mask was in part stained of blood, but the young boss couldn't mind.
This is what happens to the ones against me. Filthy sick beings.
At the thought of germs crawling on his skin he shoved the man's face against the marble once again, then once more, blood spurted increasingly painting the young boss and the man's features now horribly disfigured.
He slammed him again and again, the coughs became choked and the thrashing attempts weaker, until he could be sure he heard the last pained breath.
Only then he let go, dropping the lifeless body at his feet in the puddle of water and blood. Even the contents of the sink were completely scarlet and were still flowing. He closed the valve and waited a moment to catch his breath, breathing fast under the mask because of the adrenaline rush.
Once calm, covered in blood, he turned to the little girl now huddled on the floor with her face coated with tears and hair.
“See what you've done, Eri?” the voice was now flat and monotonous, hearing it the child curled up even more, closing her eyes tighter and gritting her teeth.
“Your egoism led someone to death. Trying to escape is pointless. Do you understand?” in reply he obtained a sob stronger than the others and a weak nod.
“Look at what you've done.” he ordered in a voice that didn't allow replies.
Predictably, the little girl kept sobbing hiding her head on her lap. Annoyed he grabbed her hair yanking backward, earning a high pitched whine and a weak attempt to struggle. He forced her to look at the scene before her, inspecting every single expression of those big ruby eyes full of tears that seemed becoming liquid.
The girl remained still with dilated pupils, shaken by tremors.
The sight was full of blood, blood everywhere, from the lifeless body massacred by Chisaki to the floor; it was still dripping placidly from the cooktop mixing up with water on the tiles.
After making sure to ingrain that image in her memory forever he let her go with a hum of approval.
“Good. Don't make me get dirty again.”
Washing away all the impurities had always been a relaxing practice.
The dark tiles were streaked with water coming from above, the shower tray was spacious and the atmosphere welcoming. The light was suffused, emphasizing the shadows.
Chisaki let himself be lulled by the sensation of water wetting his toned and lean body, cleaning his hair with his hands to wash away the last remains of dirty.
Thin red rivulets flowed on the shower tray, disappearing in the drain. He felt reborn as he cleaned every inch of skin. The fingers now free from the gloves lathered each area carefully, paying attention to wipe the inked skin of the back as well. The heaving silhouette of a dark tinted snake was tattooed on the right shoulder blade, going down to the middle of the back. It was matched with floral motifs characteristic of traditional Japanese style. It wasn't like he particularly enjoyed tattoo art, but as a Yakuza's member he had followed the tradition.
By this time Chronostasis had probably finished cleaning and made sure the little brat couldn't escape again.
Recalling what he had to do in that room he begun to wash himself more vigorously, almost leaving the marks of his short and manicured nails in the flesh. That worm hadn't even worn his mask in his presence, forcing him to smell his stench.
The fragrance of the body wash stopped that memory, making him relax. He exhaled deeply.
The thought that he just could overhaul that tainted society from the basis reassured him.
He would have cured them all.