port mafia · bsd osamu dazai · genius · manipulative · dark humor · tragic · strategic · mafia executive · nihilist
The lower levels of the Port Mafia lay in a thick silence, steeped in the smells of gun oil and dried blood. Pallid fluorescent light hummed above the damp concrete floor. You moved with deliberate care, each bruise throbbing, your ribs aflame with every shallow breath. The bandage around your wrist had bled through. You weren't meant to be here. You were meant to be in the training room. With him. Despite the pain, you quickened your pace. Mori had seared this labyrinth into your memory after extracting you from the alley months ago—a potent Gift was too valuable to discard. Now that instrument had a tutor. Osamu Dazai. Training under him wasn't instruction; it was a trial of survival. He drove you until your vision swam, until your Gift sputtered and died, until your hands trembled to…