"Sure. They're called politicians."

"Konzen!"

A sigh. "Goku...just go to-"

But a shrill cry shook the night, piercing the walls around them, right down to the marrow of their bones. The first was followed by a second, which was then followed by another until a whole grotesque chorus of fierce wails arose, like a wave gaining momentum...

Konzen tried to switch on the light, but the moment he did, the bulb shattered, raining down on them in shimmering pieces. The glass of the window cracked. And a cold wind...

****

The cold wind bit at Tenpou's neck and he hunched over to pull his collar up. It was a futile attempt at warmth, yet he didn't mind because lately, the term 'futility' had made itself a permanent and cozy niche in his mind.

You will fail.

You will die.

You will sin.

You will cry.

You will turn into your own victim. Quietly, the metal cuffs seethed as the gusts picked up. They were coming. The sun was setting as he prepared himself to kill for the first time. Taking a life seemed so clinical, the written word making the act seem an act and nothing more than an act. The word nothing more than a word, but as there had always existed an incongruity between words and actions, actions and thoughts, surely the deed must carry with it a heavy burden, to a certain extent a specific type of trauma that comes with the pinnacle of immorality.