Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 8 Chapter 2 Part 5

Chuuya sat with the sourest of faces. His elbows dug into the table, his eyes only halfway open while he blankly stared at the filthy wall.
Why? Because he had absolutely nothing else to do. It was the only way he could take his mind off the detective sitting across the table from him.
“So I thought to myself…,” began the detective as he leaned over the table. “Everything in life’s just a bunch of udon toppings. Nothing good comes from having too much money at such a young age. You gotta work until you sweat from your brow, earn a little more dough than you did last month. Then it’s like you’ve all of a sudden got chikuwa tempura on your bare udon. See, what I’m trying to say is that all your hard work will finally pay off, and this feeling you get is…”
Chuuya had already given up looking at the clock hands to determine how long he’d been listening to this story.

The chatterbox detective was very preachy—and didn’t even have a point to top it off. Somewhere down the line, his preachy life story suddenly turned into complaints that suddenly turned into stories about his life growing up that suddenly turned into lectures. He talked in circles and repeated the same old anecdotes over and over again. Each time, he was peculiarly elaborate with the fine details. And no matter how many times the detective told these same stories, his eyes lit up with delight as if he were revealing truths that no one this world over had ever heard before.
“So when I was assigned to this station, I thought to myself: That guy uses way too much hair gel. It looks sticky, really.”
Chuuya wasn’t listening. He simply stared at a single point in space and tried to survive. This was a voluntary interrogation session, after all. They didn’t have a warrant for his arrest, so the police couldn’t legally lock him up. Chuuya could have simply gotten to his feet and left. He didn’t care.
But he wouldn’t do that here. He had to buy time until Adam could save Shirase. Therefore, he needed to keep the detective’s eyes on him and him alone. He just had to endure this, telling himself over and over in desperation: I am but a pebble on the side of the road.
“See, back when I was young, it felt like the end of the world,” admitted the detective, nodding with a smug look on his face. “I didn’t have a job. I was hungry. My brother got fed up and landed me a gig as a security guard, but it was rough, let me tell you. You wouldn’t even be able to imagine it, I bet. My coworkers quit almost as fast as they started. It was either that or they ran away. I managed to survive thanks to guts alone. Yeah, that’s what you need: guts.”
“Hey,” said Chuuya, unable to take it anymore. “How much longer do you plan on boring me today?”
The detective raised an eyebrow, then smirked as if he had been impatiently waiting for this moment. “All you need to do is sign here, and you can go. You’re free to take Shirase with you as well.”
He then took out a sheet of paper from his pocket and slid it across the table. Chuuya was silent.
It was a consent form asking for cooperation with evidence collection and prosecution. Specifically, Chuuya and Shirase would be released in return for confidential information. This was a plea deal.
And here, confidential information meant intel Chuuya had on the Port

Mafia.
“You’re asking me to sell out the Mafia?” he asked quietly.
“Well, you don’t wanna leave your friend here, do you?” The detective smiled, but his gaze was sharp. “Your circumstances seem complicated… but don’t worry. There’s only one thing I’m interested in: quashing the Port Mafia’s black market.”
Chuuya stared blankly at the detective before looking down at the document. Then, after thinking for a few moments, he turned his gaze back to the detective.
“Gimme your pen.” “Be my guest.”
After grabbing the pen that was handed to him, Chuuya effortlessly scrawled something within the signature column at the bottom of the document. When the detective leaned forward to check the signature, he was met with the following words:
Eat shit.
Chuuya then tossed the pen on the desk, wrapped his arms behind his head, leaned back in his chair, and put his feet up.
“Sorry for interrupting your li’l story,” he said coolly. “Keep going.”
The detective didn’t respond. His simply glared at Chuuya with eyes akin to a heavily weathered boulder in the desert.

I was heading for the jail while pondering how I was going to help Shirase escape. What I was doing was illegal, so I couldn’t ask my agency for help. Nevertheless, it would not be a problem because I knew about the protocols of investigation agencies around the world.
The corridor leading to the jail was silent. There was almost nothing here, unlike the cluttered mess that was the criminal investigation division. The only traits worth mentioning: spotless cream-colored walls, uniformly placed fluorescent ceiling lights, and their equally uniform glow. There were the occasional dark-blue bulletin boards on the wall with notices of how many traffic accidents had occurred that month and reminders for medical checkups. Otherwise, this was a dull, boring corridor that could be found anywhere in the world.
The holding cells were at the end of the corridor. That was where Shirase was being kept.
“Pardon me.”
I lightly tapped on the glass window into the main security office by the door. The head of security was sitting at the on-duty desk. He was large— muscular to the point that it would not surprise me if he used only his muscles to pass each test to become an officer. The office appeared rather small from what I could see through the window. Inside was a desk, eight screens to monitor the prisoners in their cells, and a computer. Hanging from the wall were the keys to each cell.
Like the other offices here, this one had serviced the station for far more years than it could handle due to an insufficient budget. It looked dreary at best. Everything was dull and lifeless: the walls, the floor, the panels, and even the officer himself.
I put on a friendly smile. “I have received orders to come pick up inmate number twenty-eight, Buichirou Shirase, for transfer.”
The head of security kept his elbows on the desk while turning only his gaze at me. “And you are?”
“I am a comp—ahem. I am Adam Frankenstein, an investigator with Europole,” I stated while holding out my detective badge (which was real) that I kept in my pocket. “Detective Murase has ordered a transfer.”
The man stared apathetically at the badge. “What’s the transfer number?” he asked mindlessly. His voice was even more mechanical than mine.
“Pardon?”
“His transfer number.”
His tone was assertive and dismissive. I rotated my head.
“Oh, his transfer number. Yes… His transfer number. Yes. His transfer number, of course.”
“You don’t have to say it three times, man.”
“His transfer number is 21988126,” I replied with a grin.
The guard then began checking the computer in front of him. I watched from a slight distance and hacked the police station’s network, took control of the e-mail server from a backdoor I had created while in the interrogation room, and copied an e-mail with past transfer instructions inside it. After that, I rewrote the number on the screen, which was displayed the moment the head of security’s computer searched for the requested transfer number.
“21988126… Yep, you’re good to go.”
The head of security seemed none the wiser as he unlocked the jail door for me using the control panel in front of him.
“I appreciate it. Have a good day.”
When I bowed to him, he waved me off as if he could not care less.
This is why you cannot rely on humans. They are flawed. A machine would have never fallen for such a trick. It made absolutely no sense that robots always lost to humans in films before they could completely wipe them out.
Nevertheless, it is because of their defective nature that I was able to continue the mission with ease. I stepped over the threshold and into the jail proper.
The corridor in the cell block reminded me of a circuit board with how the cells and lights were so orderly arranged. There was nothing else here.
The interior was only two tones: pale light green and white, with lines drawn onto the wall to measure a suspect’s height. It was perhaps the loneliest place in the entire police station.
I almost immediately found the cell I was looking for.
“Number twenty-eight. Get out. You’re being transferred,” growled a guard who seemed to have already received the transfer order. He unlocked the cell door and left.
Inside was Shirase sitting on a mattress. A momentary surprise flashed across his face the instant he saw me.
“Wait… You’re the guy who was with Chuuya,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Shirase, it’s time for us to go,” I told him, but Shirase averted his gaze and pouted.
“Hmph. No thanks,” he muttered, staring at the floor. “Chuuya put you up to this, right? Sorry, but I’m only here because I wanna be.”
“That’s a lie,” I argued. “I detected an increase of wrinkles on your nose and upper lip. These are reflexive micro-expressions commonly found in people when exposed to uncomfortable situations. Additionally, humans tend to place a hand on their necks whenever they are feeling uncomfortable or anxious in order to calm themselves. It is a type of appeasement behavior, and it suggests the person is experiencing the opposite of how they claim they feel. Furthermore, the expression you made and how you lowered your gaze suggest that you are experiencing a sense of loneliness, inferiority, and regret. In other words, you are scared.”
“I-I’m not scared!” shouted Shirase.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guard, who was waiting by the entrance, glance this way.
Hmm. We needed to get out of here before the guard grew any more suspicious.
“We do not have time,” I patiently told Shirase. “If you wish to complain about me or Master Chuuya, then I will be glad to listen once we get out of here and are somewhere safe. What you need to do now, though, is stand up and follow me. I don’t believe that should be too difficult a task for a human.”
“I said I’m not coming with you, and that’s that,” hissed Shirase after crossing his arms—another textbook sign of defiance. “I don’t like you. I don’t like what’s happening. I don’t like how all my guns were apparently confiscated! All of this happened because you two showed up, y’know! How are you gonna make it up to me?!”
It was not our fault that his weapons were confiscated, but this was no time to argue over facts.
“Why’d I even have to get dragged into your problem? I didn’t do anything to deserve being assassinated! You need to apologize, damn it! Tell me you’re sorry! And do something about my guns that got taken away! I’m gonna be the king, so show some respect!”
I calmly listened to his ramblings. There was a hole in Shirase’s argument. I could point out the problem with his logic in fine detail, but I am the latest model of autonomous computers, not some out-of-date AI from a past generation. I would never waste my time arguing something so meaningless.
Yes. I was perfectly calm.
“Very well, Shirase.” I gave him a nod while smiling. “You are free to act as you wish. You are free to pretend to be tough, demand others to apologize, and believe that you are a king. However, I have the same amount of freedom. Therefore, I can choose to leave you here and come up with the next plan while I read in tomorrow’s newspaper about how you were killed in your cell. I’m sure the next assassination target will be much more understanding than you.”
I checked my internal feed. My emotion mimicry module—an entirely irrational module, really—was buzzing with activity and appeared to be influencing my remarks.
“Allow me to be straightforward. I do not care what happens to you,” I declared. “In fact, I find you extremely toxic. According to my risk- evaluation module, I would have a higher chance of success if I left you behind and started looking for the next target instead. Do you know why I’m opting not to do so?”
I ran a self-diagnosis on my emotion mimicry module. Put simply, there seemed to be a shift toward “frustration.” I could have ignored this emotional designation or even severed it since I am not a defective human, but I chose not to.
“There is only one reason why I am not abandoning you. You may mean nothing to me, but you mean something to Master Chuuya.”
“I—I do?”
“Yes.”
Shirase showed signs of fear due to my sudden change of attitude. “Why would Chuuya wanna protect me?”
Master Chuuya had ordered me not to divulge this information, but I felt the urge to tell Shirase. I decided to obey my artificial feelings once more. Perhaps this was what the doctor meant by Follow your heart.
“It is very simple, really. The only reason Master Chuuya joined the Mafia was to protect you all—to protect the Sheep.”
Shirase’s expression conveyed confusion. It appeared as if he could not process the information, so I decided to explain.
One year ago, the Sheep betrayed their leader, Master Chuuya, and joined forces with a band of mercenaries known as the GSS (Gelhart Security Service). This pact between the two groups had the Port Mafia, their enemy organization, on edge. Therefore, the Mafia sent their extermination unit to deal with them before they became too powerful.
The leader of the group was a young man named Dazai. Under normal circumstances, the extermination unit would have left no survivors, and the Sheep would have been slaughtered. However, Master Chuuya made a plea for the Sheep’s safety, and Dazai only agreed to accept it if Master Chuuya was willing to join the Port Mafia.
Master Chuuya agreed to the deal. As a result, the Sheep were simply disbanded, and no one was killed. They were then relocated throughout Japan to prevent anyone from rebuilding the group. The Sheep—Shirase included—owed their lives to Master Chuuya.
That deal was still ongoing. Master Chuuya would never be able to leave the Mafia, or his friends in the Sheep would be killed. The entire reason the Mafia left Shirase within Yokohama was so Master Chuuya would know who would be the first to die if he ever betrayed them.
“To put it simply, you are all being held hostage,” I calmly told him. “Conversely, one might say that Master Chuuya would have one less reason to stay in the Mafia if you were to die. That is why we believe Verlaine is after you.”
Shirase quietly stared hard at me while he listened. He wasn’t even breathing. Perhaps this was the first he had ever heard of all this.
“Nobody told me anything about that… So—so selling us out wasn’t what got Chuuya into the Mafia?”
“Far from it. He had to join the Mafia for your safety.” I allowed my gaze to wander. “Master Chuuya accepted this deal right after he was stabbed in the back, and of course, you remember who was holding that knife, yes?”
Shirase’s expression froze as if time itself had stopped.
“I cannot begin to comprehend the spectrum of human emotion, even a little,” I honestly added. “I can only offer generalizations. Master Chuuya is the kind of person who will never abandon those who have helped him, even if they end up betraying him. That is simply who he is. It would seem that was why he became the Sheep King. You, however, lack what he has. That is why you will never be King.”
Shirase clenched his teeth and growled, “What’d you just say? I… Damn it! Talkin’ shit like you know me! Yeah, I’m pathetic. Wanna rub it in some more?”
His words were not meant for me. Eventually, his voice lost all vigor until those words lifelessly bounced off the floor. His emotions were wandering in circles with nowhere to go.
I, on the other hand, felt very relieved. It was refreshing. Being able to complain to someone without any retort was an extremely wonderful thing.
With my calm and composed mind, I faced Shirase once more.
“Do you understand why your life is in danger now? This is not a joke or an exaggeration. You will be killed if you stay here. The man after your life is the greatest assassin in the entire world. You won’t last another hour helplessly locked away in this cell.”
I scanned Shirase’s heart rate and breathing as I spoke. It appeared his emotional levels were fluctuating. A positive trend.
“Now, I must be going. You are free to do as you wish, but allow me to make another generalization before I go. I do not know what the conditions are to becoming the Sheep King in the future, but I do know the type of person unfit to become a king: the kind of man who did not rely on others and was killed in his cell today.”
After saying that, I began to walk away at a relatively quick pace without looking back. However, my sonar scanner picked up on what was happening behind me. A few seconds went by until I heard footsteps wearily trudging out of the cell. I smiled.
Mission accomplished.