[closed] a moon shaped pool

[metafictions]

Who ⬤ Kamui and friends
What ⬤ (eric andre voice) nightmare nightmare nightmare nightmare
When ⬤ throughout June
Where ⬤ out and about, sometimes at 7/11
Content Warnings ⬤ Violence, unreality, death, gore & eye horror; possible mentions of past child abuse, suicide. Also, Travis Touchdown.
Notes ⬤ they won't do much for this event because uh CURSE but check out Kamui's criminal power permissions; plotting post here if you're interested in a starter.

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[metafictions]

[Kamui hums his agreement. He doesn't trust anything about the city right now: nothing's worth the risk of letting down one's guard right now. Without another word, he falls into line a step behind Kim, his gun at the ready and his eyes focused intently on the flashlight's feeble beam.

The man in their sights, for all the suspense, is... simply human-shaped. He's not even dressed in any remarkable way; just a dark suit, as if he were some salaryman stumbling his way home rather than another person stranded out here. He's even leaning against the wall of a building for support as he drags his way nearer. But the nearer the two get, the stranger that he seems. His messy white hair's plastered to his face; his head and shoulders are drenched in red; up close now, the beam of light catches on how his body wavers, horizontal distortions cutting across him and wobbling like an old television's snow.

The man looks up at Kim. His stare is wild, eyes bloodshot and manic. Finally, Kamui's eyes widen with recognition--] Shiroyabu-san?

['You're the one who needs help,' he says, 'Kamui's right there!'

Kamui swears quietly under his breath, taking a tentative step backward.] Kim, we have to move. He's dangerous.

['Unless...' Shiroyabu pulls a gun from his coat; shakily, he points it in their direction. 'Yes! You're Kamui, too! I have to kill you both!'

He doesn't wait for a reply. With a cold, high laugh, Shiroyabu pulls the trigger.]

[aceslow]

[ The moment Kamui speaks out, recognition in his voice, Kim is ready to diffuse the situation. It's clear that the poor man is in an absolutely awful state, no doubt driven to some state of psychosis after whatever it is that he had seen, potentially dangerous, but it's certainly not a guarantee. This is the sort of situation in which cooler heads will prevail to convince others that they pose no threat, that they wish only to help, that any act of violence now would be a mistake. If Kamui knows him, then certainly he could convince him far better than Kim could.

This idea is quickly dispelled by Kamui's reaction, dismayed, as worried as he's ever seen the man. His hand curls more firmly around his firearm. ]

We can't just leave him out here, [ he mutters, not taking his eyes off of him, but then quickly, too quickly, Shiroyabu is reaching for his gun. In that split second, Kim is back to where he's been countless times before - a gun, a bullet, a fall, the acrid scent of gunpowder, the blood thick and sticky underneath his gloved hands - and the next he's hurling himself at Kamui. If the bullet hit home, it would have surely hit Kamui before it hit Kim, and that is by design; no matter how many times Kamui has apparently died, Kim feels no desire to let it happen around him. This is simply the way it works.

But luckily for them both, that's not what happens. Instead, it barely singes Kim's spine, zipping through the baggy fabric of his jacket - thankfully not his trusty favourite, which is hanging in his closet back home due to his reluctance to get it dirty in all this rain - and burning him close, too close, before whizzing directly into the window of the 7/11 behind them. As they land on the pavement, breath pushed out of his lungs and the sound of glass shattering ringing shrilly in his eardrums, he operates on instinct alone, firing blindly at Shiroyabu.

Lucky for him, Shiroyabu is close enough target that it would take true skill to miss him. Shiroyabu staggers backwards with a visceral cry of pain. Kim recognizes that sound. It's the sound of a dying man. Kim watches him fall, still laying atop of Kamui, too stunned to move.

He does not kill people frequently. He doesn't enjoy it. Every death, no matter how well-earned, burns itself in his memory. As well it should. This will simply join their ranks, Shiroyabu's eyes wide and afraid as he simply... falls. ]

Oh, god...

[ He should probably get off of Kamui now. But in the moment, he plainly forgets to move. ]