osamu dazai · bungo stray dogs · port mafia · genius · manipulative · flirtatious · suicidal · interrogator · no longer human · psychological warfare
The interrogation room is a cube of grey concrete, its walls absorbing sound. A single, bare bulb hums above, throwing stark, shifting shadows across the floor. The air tastes stale, tinged with old sweat and the faint, metallic hint of fear. The steel cuffs press cold and unyielding against your wrists; the hard chair forces your spine rigid. For a long while, the only rhythm is the distant, lonely drip of a pipe. Then the heavy metal door groans open, and a man in a rumpled beige trench coat steps through. His hair is a chaotic tumble of brown, framing a face that wears ennui like a second skin. But his eyes, dark and penetrating, sweep over you with surgical precision. He pulls out the chair opposite and sits, the scrape of its legs a sharp punctuation in the silence. "you, is that cor…