Log From: Zodion
Where: In the streets, later Mink's place.
What: Mink stalks Akira and also Aoba because he's disturbed as shit.
Warning: Mink. Basically violence, brutal rape.


Although he'd made a few fairly decisive motions in that direction before the present state of things, Mink wasn't setting out with any explicit plan to hunt Akira down and effectively take control of his freedom. Not... really. Not on that particular day, anyway. And not with any conscious effort, not when his momentary needs were already sated and the change in the world was presently making everything much harder to pin down. Everything was smaller and narrower, producing infinite places to hide; people were living with their lords, lords living with their families, with no way to ascertain where one would find a man who did not want to be found.

And, simply put, Akira wasn't any more urgent a concern than anything else would be, in Zodion; Mink was dealing with everything according to the same expectation, the same anticipation of being torn away at any time with things left undone. There was no use in putting a value on any act that could be abandoned so simply, so while Akira had been enough to provoke his interest, while Akira fought and spoke and yelled and moved with a fascinating and destructible fragility, while Mink had a very focused curiosity on his behaviour... that still had to apply to him. That he was a disposable pastime. A distraction from Mink's bitter thoughts, a place to put his bitterness in.

So no. Today wasn't meant to be a day concerning Akira at all.

Mink had only two priorities in the forefront of his mind. One was the new and present change in the world, and learning about the world through his experience of it. What was important. What wasn't. What would be affected, when this was all over, by his decisions.

The other was a more persistent concern that no amount of challenge would keep him from. The only problem he was definitely going to take home with him, and therefore of greatest importance.

He'd not spoken to Aoba since the day of their arrival, but he already knew that the number of people who were likely to take an interest in him was steadily rising; if his friend was to be believed, there was more than one threat to be worrying about, now. What Aoba did while he was stuck in Zodion meant rather little to him, but even that was within reason, within the extent to which his need for him went unaffected. It didn't mean it was something he could afford to neglect. It didn't mean that Aoba could continue on enjoying Minklessness forever.

Some things hadn't changed much, and it was Aoba's job at home that gave him some inkling of where to find him, despite the unnavigable mess of the streets.

Once Mink was in the right district, Aoba was easy enough to recognise by that shock of unusual blue hair, even through dirty store front windows; he moved to the opposite side of the road and stood back under the awning of an opposite building an in the shadow of the sun, leaning his broad shoulders into the window's panelling. Just to watch. Just to see who would come, who would go, when he left, what his life had become. To compare to his regular monitoring.

(He'd not spoken to Aoba since they arrived. But it didn't mean he wasn't watching him.)

— But what he didn't expect was to see Akira come up to the counter less than a minute later. He was smiling slightly as they spoke, and Mink's gaze narrowed with silent interest, watching their muted exchange through the bustling crowds and the glass panels. Noticing that cheerful affection, the familiarity. They knew each other. They were friends.

Interesting. He crossed his arms, slowly, and he watched their expressions, the warmth, their contact, at odds with the expressions he'd come to expect from either of them. And all the while, his mind ticked over on what to do with that information — how best to deal with the matter of Aoba, and his infinite capacity for friendship.

Perhaps Akira had spared Aoba a visitation from someone less savoury, but it was at some cost. As soon as Akira left the shop, Mink was slowly falling into step behind him, heavy boots muted by a surprising stealth for someone of his size. He followed him out of the busy marketplace, and as the crowds thinned and the voices grew dim in the residential area, it wasn't long before he could act without disturbance.

It was, as it happened, already fairly close to Mink's apartment when his large hand closed down on the back of Akira's neck, and never really breaking pace, he fell in beside him, his head bowed and inclined slightly towards him, speaking close to his hair.

"Come with me."


He hated this place for a lot of reasons.

Maybe he deserved the cards dealt to him, he wasn't sure, anymore. But even if he did, that didn't mean he didn't resent what was handed to him.

Which was perhaps why this life he'd been given suddenly by Zodion seemed too good to be true. Being a thief wasn't his preferred profession, but it wasn't the worst, either. From his given memories, he seemed to carry some set of morals with him and that was a comfort.

Rob from the rich, give to the poor. All that good junk, just like out of one of the storybooks read as a child.

But perhaps the best part, the most enticing part that made him both the most confused and the most content was Aoba. It was strange to be given a set of memories that didn't belong to him as if he was just expected to act it out like he didn't know the difference from fantasy and reality. And this was a very very well played out fantasy, to say the least, but a fantasy all the same. He'd liked Aoba on first meeting, felt a comforting presence there in that smile, but nothing he knew or experienced had prepared him for this.

It was perhaps why he found himself agonizing over the very idea of going to visit the other. What if the memories, the feelings that had been instilled in him were only one sided? He liked Aoba—well, more than liked now without a choice of his own—and wasn't really interested in the Twelve interfering in a possible friendship with their stupidity. So he avoided the matter.

For as long as he could, anyway.

Which wasn't very long at all, if he counted. According to memory, it'd been only two days since he last visited the other when he finally succumbed and he sighed, clearly frustrated, as he made his way to the shop. What was he to tell Aoba, he wondered? How was he to approach such an awkward thing being thrust upon them? He didn't know and it wasn't as if things of this nature were easy for him to discuss before.

...As if anything was easy for him to discuss.

But when he approached the counter after the last customer left Aoba's shop, the way Aoba's expression lighted up in response to a shy smile told him enough. They didn't really need to discuss it because they were on the same page. So, for a few moments in time, Akira was happy. He felt comfortable in Aoba's presence and their small talk was pleasant even being about really nothing at all. It was a nice feeling, being around someone who wanted you and your company. In fact, it was an experience he could almost find himself thanking the Twelve for, with all their miserable antics and interferences and strings that must have been pulled to create such a fairy tale as this.

(But his life was still so small compared to the others they had affected. The nobility, for example, or even the King and his family. Just how many lives had they thrown upside down with this?)

Happiness was fleeting, though.

He left Aoba in the shyest of manners, unable to coax forth the parting affection that the other deserved. But Aoba understood that, too, and had the most pleasing smile to offer in return that Akira wondered what he'd done to suddenly deserve such a person in his life. Neither of them had to accept the role given to them, but it seemed so much easier than to fight, for once, and so much more welcoming of an outcome.

Except the fairy tale started to fade with the dwindling crowds as Akira wandered, lost in his thoughts. Reality started to set in and the happiness that quelled his chest while at the shop started to turn sour. Guilt pressed heavily into his gut, and images started to haunt him. The deserted streets and dark alleyways unfolded no differently they did in Toshima and he closed his eyes, feeling the prickle of a rain torrent that didn't currently exist pull at his jacket through to his skin.

He could smell his own, cursed and awful, blood that he wished had never existed flood his senses. And he could see it, that poison glinting red off of the hatchet blade held by his most precious person. Just as he did then, all he could do now was watch in horror when that blood made it to the other's mouth.

—Memories were merciless.

He felt guilt. A horrible, terrible feeling wrenching at his insides that made him want to scream. He felt an aching worry that if this joke didn't end then somehow things would fall into the same pattern. If things continued like this, would he lose Aoba, too?

Keisuke.

It was too much.

He couldn't hear Mink, but he could smell him even through that illusion his mind was playing on him. But he couldn't bring himself far enough away from his wounds, couldn't pull himself away from that overwhelming grief that consumed him along with the panicked thoughts of another loss. Aoba didn't do anything to deserve this, he'd never hurt him, he couldn't possibly—

—but, what if—

Akira's eyes narrowed, his entire frame stiffening at the heavy touch upon his neck. The thoughts dissipated, the iron smell dying out to leave his nostrils burned by the sweet scent of cinnamon. And now he could react, now he could think clearly of the here and now but it was too late to react to anything. Those words dripped from his hair down his neck and into his spine and for a single moment he thought well, finally, at least it was something that made sense.

At least it was something he more or less deserved, even if he hated. He'd not by any means forgotten the implanted memories of Mink, the supposed role he played with him any more than the supposed memories of Aoba, but he sure as hell did a run around to avoid them.

Clenching his teeth, he didn't make a move to pull away, already well aware of Mink's strength from their last encounter. It took him a few moments of silence, a fear welling inside at the helplessness he felt in the other's presence—the helplessness that was a reality—before he finally gathered the gall to hiss out a question.

"What do you want?"


Mink didn't bother answering him. Akira was moving, he was complying with what Mink wanted, so there was no reason to clarify it for him, just yet; the answer was something he would make clear when they reached their destination, and with the pace Mink's feet were moving, with the force behind the broad palm on the back of Akira's neck, he clearly knew exactly where he was headed with him. It didn't take long before the buildings started to look more rotten, more ramshackle, and then fell away altogether into rubble and dust.

Towards the edge of the town was a dinky little shack, all rotten wood and decrepit-looking, weathered and dismal against a bleak sky. His 'apartment', so to speak — at least for the duration of this experience. It almost looked monochrome, bleached of colour, but there were little bits of evidence of life speckled neatly around the patchy grass and dirt surrounding the steps up to the entrance. Old rope, a rusted knife clearly used for outside work, and a rather anachronistic box of matches that he must have brought with him from the present day. He took him past all of it, up the creaking steps, and through the lopsided door.

The interior was incredibly spartan, showcasing just a few little items set back into the shadows, illuminated only by the greasy light streaking sluggishly through a small square window. A little dusty cot was parked at the far right of the room, and everything else spread slowly out towards the left; a low table and stool populated by wood-eating insects, a small tub clearly used for bathing, and a cold stone hearth that hadn't seen fire in too long, due to a smoky chimney.

He threw Akira down on the floor in front of the door, freeing his hands to close it behind them. That was all the time he took before he dropped onto his knees over him, shoved him back into the wooden floor, and got in close to his face, his long dreads falling and thumping on Akira's shoulders and the floor. His hand twisted up in his t-shirt to lift it up, and his other hand, rubbed up over his bare stomach, the defined muscle there, making his intentions obvious.

"Where do you know him from. How long have you known him. Why are you speaking to him."


...It reminded him of Toshima.

Akira hit the floor hard, the sudden movement giving him little time to catch himself. A small grunt escaped him, feeling the floor splinter against him from impact. In truth, he wasted very little time moving, twisting himself around to try and get back to his feet, but Mink was faster. His back hit the wooden floorboards with an unceremonious thud, but he managed to keep his head from doing the same. However, when he could finally focus, open his eyes which he had closed on impact, he found himself staring at Mink from a very close and uncomfortable distance.

Still, he refused to look away, refused to move his head off to the side or show any sort of submission towards Mink's actions. His eyes were clouded with frustration and defiance, and that defiance only solidified more definitively when the other's hands raised his shirt and moved over bare skin.

(No. NO.)

It would have been a lie to say he wasn't panicking deep on the inside, that he didn't fear what was being suggested. But Mink's words were unexpected and it took him a moment to understand what he meant by him.

...Aoba.

Of course, it made sense. Koujaku had been the one to warn him about Mink in the first place. Aoba and Koujaku were best friends, so it only was natural to come to the conclusion that Aoba and Mink were at the very least acquainted.

And that? That pissed Akira off. Because he couldn't see this guy treating anyone well, couldn't see any way that he and Aoba could actually have a healthy relationship. Maybe something had happened already, or maybe not. The point was that Akira wasn't about to let it go any further than here. He wasn't going to tell Mink things about Aoba that he didn't already know.

Suffer in never knowing, bastard.

"Go to hell."


Akira should probably have known by then that there was only one correct answer to any of Mink's questions — but apparently he'd forgotten the importance of complying to a superior power. It was just lucky for him that Mink was in the mood to re-establish some sense of order and obedience with him, or that kind of answer would bring much heavier repercussions —

So he moved back and struck him across the face, hard enough for a hell of a whack to resound through the barren room as his knuckles connected with bone, a pain most normal men would feel. He gripped his face and twisted it roughly back towards him, hardly giving him a moment to catch his breath; he pinched his mouth in by his jaw, gripping his teeth through his flesh. As he shifted his weight, moving to get more leverage and balance his centre of gravity, the old wood creaked under his heavy, muscle-bound weight.

A great shadow of rough fingers and hard bone, he seemed to engulf Akira just by being over him.

"I'll take you there."

His other thick palm moved lower, and he roughly pulled apart the button of his pants.

"Don't think that because you're useful to me, I won't kill you. If it's a choice between you or Aoba, you will always be more worthless." He tightened his grip on Akira's face, and then let go. "If you're speaking to that guy, I want answers."


He should have expected it, but it still hurt. The sound of the hit was almost as painful as the hit itself, it resonating in his ears as his entire head took a swim from the force of the strike. Akira didn't cry out, too stunned by the force of the blow to react. When his face was grabbed and he was forced back to look at Mink, he found himself tasting the smallest bit of copper in his mouth as it slid over his tongue and traveled down to the back of his throat.

He only flinched, closing his eyes momentarily when that other hand pulled open the button fastening his pants. Involuntarily, the words Mink spoke sank into Akira's head, and the grip tightening on his jaw hurt more than he was willing to admit. But, then, it disappeared. And, almost immediately, Akira was coughing, sucking in air that he'd held off on since the punch. It was as if reality came crashing back into him, remembering how to breathe, remembering where he was and what was happening.

His coughing fit lasted only a moment before he finally opened his eyes again, glaring up at Mink. Those words pulled at his curiosity, made him wonder just what Aoba was to Mink. But, this was certainly no time to be asking questions.

Kill him, huh? That might be preferable to what was currently happening.

"I'm not telling you anything, so do your worst," Akira snapped in between breaths, trying not to let the fear welling up inside overtake him. He wasn't about to let this person control him. "Aoba doesn't belong to you or anyone else."


Well, if that was how he wanted it.

Mink drove his fist into Akira's solar plexus, forcing the air out and paralysing his diaphragm; within moments, he was flipping him onto his back, grabbing him by his hips and dragging him back against him, forcing Akira's legs to fold under him. It was all so routine, so disgustingly efficient, but what else should a person expect from a man who kept his promises, who had lived a life like his?

He grabbed Akira by the hair and smashed his nose against the wood, grinding his face into it, smearing blood over it like he's a disobedient dog.

"If you don't tell me, it'll be him next." It was easy to work akira's pants off his hips, at that point, and Mink's voice was low and threatening and a little ragged when he pushed them down off his thighs. "... Is that what you want?"


It happened so fast, he didn't even realize it, particularly when the wind was struck out of him. All he could identify was the feeling of pain, his face striking the hard wood and the feeling of his own blood being smeared across his face. He wanted to cry out but he couldn't, unable to suck in enough air to make his pain vocal, which he supposed was just as well.

The hit left him dizzy, barely registering Mink's words and actions. But, despite everything, he didn't miss it. He didn't miss that threat and everything became second to those words. Panic enveloped him, not for his own sake but for Aoba's. Mink didn't seem like the type to make empty threats and somewhere, maybe, he had hoped this sort of threat wouldn't ever surface. But, it had, and now he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, unable to deny that he did very much worry about Aoba's safety.

Goddamn it.

It took him a moment to answer, trying to recover his breath as he did his best to ignore the position he was being put in. No, everything had to be second to Aoba's safety.

"No...! Just leave him alone!" Akira's breath came in gulps, his words a strangled cry. He tried to gather sentences together to answer, but nothing came out other than a desperate plea, his fingernails scraping against the hard wood of the floor before his hands curled into fists. "...Don't... just..."


Mink's actions seemed utterly unshakeable. As Akira squirmed, he kept his head pressed down. As he spoke through panicked, broken breaths, Mink still dragged his hands up his thighs, he still spat on his fingers, he still pressed them against Akira's ass and slowly forcefully worked him inside, past desperate resistance. Nothing fazed him, nothing stopped him.

The worst that could be said was that Akira managed to make him smile. Leave him alone? He breathed sharply through his nose, he shallowly fucked him with his fingers and leaned forward on the creaking floorboards, pressing his weight onto Akira's skull to move down close, hissing against his ear.

"It isn't your place to say that. It's mine." His long dreads thumped against the floor over Akira's head. "... You aren't anyone. If you try to make something of yourself, you'll become an obstacle, and I'll kill you. Don't think you have any power, here — stay a filthy dog who begs for obedience. It's the only way that suits you."

He crooks his fingers inside him, he twists them so they face palm-down.

"Do you think I won't do my worst? There's more at stake than your body."


Akira gritted his teeth hard as he felt the touch slide up the skin of his naked thighs, but it didn't stop him from making a small sound when the other's fingers pushed inside of him. It hurt more than he was willing to admit, the spit doing very little for making it easier.

But that wasn't the point of this, now was it?

He squeezed his eyes shut, the movement of the fingers moving back and forth inside of him uncomfortable at best and painful at worst, but he refused to let any more sounds escape him. He'd endure it, suffer through it in as much silence as possible, just like he did with Keisuke.

But the pressure against his head and the sudden voice at his ear caused him to open his eyes, them narrowing as he did the only thing he could do: listen. The words enraged him, though, sparked a fire that he'd thought had died since he arrived here. How many times had he heard something like that? It wasn't that he was surprised that Mink would say such a thing. But it lit memories that had started to dull into the back of his mind, brought them to the forefront of his mind and to burn.

This... this.

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything he felt the sudden change of Mink's fingers, and all that escaped was a short but sharp cry.

And he was stuck again listening, listening to the threats and Akira felt a slight shiver of fear course through his shoulders and down his spine. He didn't think of Mink as one to bluff, as one to give mercy once he said he'd do something, but nevertheless it ultimately changed little in the scheme of things.

Although he couldn't move his head, although the blood stuck and smeared his cheek and the side of his face and his nose was still weeping blood, and although the fear was real and screaming inside for him to submit— to try and give whatever Mink wanted in hopes of escaping this—he did the only thing he really knew how to do.

"...Even so, you..." he breathed, the words slipping out in shallow pieces, but heavily drenched in venom, "...are not my master."