Termites & Sugar

“Yeah, the house and the jewels, the Italian race car They don't make us feel better about who we are I got termites in the framework, so do you”     The next several hours are spent with only himself and the bandaged mackerel. The night is humid, only cooling when a rare breeze drifts around much like the day. It doesn't get any better when they sneak around Port Mafia territory just to get an easy cut through to where Osamu estimates Gelhart Security Service is stationed. It certainly keeps Chuuya awake, muscles protesting every time he tenses in anticipation. Osamu, the little shit, is as cool as a cucumber, not batting his eye at anything.   He doesn't joke around at least. Osamu treats their impromptu mission with a seriousness normally reserved for The Sheep's more dire expeditions.   Then again, Chuuya thinks as they climb over an old fence, this is a pretty shitty situation. And we're working against The Sheep, not…not with them.   Frustrated thoughts pushed aside, transversing around enemy perimeter goes without a hitch. By the time the sun has dawned the sky, the two of them have trecked to the outpost.   Large army vehicles are poorly hidden by thin forestry, practically out in the open. Chuuya's aware Suribachi doesn't have much to offer in terms of coverage but he expected more from ex-militia.   They hadn't bothered planning any tactics during the night. Chuuya's confident in their abilities to do without them—they've improvised many times together before, so at this point having a ‘plan’ is just for the hell of it.   They split up to scout the area, teaming back together in ten minutes.   “No soldiers,” Osamu hums under his breath. His eye holds calculations that he doesn't share just yet.   Chuuya nods. “Should be brief. Left their ammunition n’ shit. Dumbasses.”   Osamu taps his chin. “Makes it easier for us then.”   “Guess so.”   They don't bother tracking down the soldiers, deciding it's not worth the effort when they can just lay still and wait. Time is passed with thrown rocks and dumb impression games.   Chuuya's glad they don't talk about their friends.   Half an hour later, two GSS trucks drive down the clearing to join the rest, armed men jumping out with stacks of paper upon paper. Osamu and Chuuya watch on as they pile the papers near some damp brush and set fire to them. Chuuya raises an eyebrow.   Beside him, Osamu only looks bored.   “Hm, think ‘A Bone of Buffoonery’ would work?” Chuuya murmurs under his breath. The soldiers still haven't messed with their weapons and aren't trying to leave the clearing yet.   Osamu picks up a stick, testing it's flexibility with a couple of quick bends. “I was thinking ‘False Moon’. It works better.”   Chuuya frowns, thinking it over. “Too risky.”   “Mm, but my plans have never failed, have they?”   Scowling, Chuuya turns away. Osamu's right about that if anything. He make act like an imbecile ever hour of the year but he's a genius who's plans have never steered The Sheep wrong.   With that in mind, Chuuya grabs his own stick before finding a good tree to climb. In length, it's an arm's length away from the fire pit the GSS have started, perfect for Osamu's shitty plan. Chuuya makes sure to scout the soldiers close to him, waiting for just the right moment when they've turned away to switch with other soldiers, and then moves.   Legs wrapped around the base of a tree branch, Chuuya leans to the side until he's upside-down, hanging low enough to catch fire to his stick. And just as quickly Chuuya urges his body back up, making at face when his muscles strain uncomfortably. Then he tosses the burning stick into a nearby bush, waiting for it to catch fire before he leaves his perch.   Another fire has sprung up at the base of another close tree, as evidence of Osamu's work. Chuuya smirks, sneaking back into the shadows.   Now, he just needs to wait.   Unlike many of their tactics, ‘False Moon’ is the kind that works over a set amount of time versus their many instantaneous ones. At least today it shouldn't go on for longer than an hour to gain the upper hand.   Chuuya distances himself from the area, deciding too burn through the time by tracking down where the soldiers had been. He knows he doesn't need to inform Osamu of this decision. For all that he knows the bitch likely predicted it.   It turns out to be less than useful, tracking down a now crispy mansion that has scene better days. Smoke trails into the sky above it with entrails of fire still devoring parts of it's foundation. Whatever could have been there Chuuya won't know.   Even spending time going around the wreckage doesn't provide him any fruition, so he heads back to the outpost a good half-hour since leaving.   Chuuya returns to chard trees and grown men running amuck to put out a blazing fire. He watches from afar, leaning against a crumbles statue covered in vines and bird scat. It's pretty fuck'n amusing watching them hurry around as if their contributions to putting out the fire makes a difference to anything. The flames wouldn't have been able to spread far, despite what it seems like. Suribachi might be a dry, dead place, but this foliage is otherwise healthy and thriving. Flames this small couldn't touch them for more than a few hours before dwindling out.   He doesn’t spot Osamu anywhere visible but he’s confident the other teen is loitering around close by. If there’s anyone who loves chaos, it’s that creep.   Chuuya sighs through his nose. Hands still in his jean pockets, he makes his way over to the frey, noting the infighting that’s already begun to pop up amongst the GSS.   There’s a good lookout spot he hides in, just shy of breaching the middle between the fire and the farthest GSS truck. Most of the soldiers are yelling out foreign orders to each other, getting angrier by the minute. It’s almost laughable if not for the fact that this was expected. Sometimes Osamu’s genius feels too accurate.   Another several minutes go by as the Gelhart Security Service men slowly fall apart, many going as far as to brawl their brethren—Chuuya mentally bets they’ve started blaming one another for this mess. Nothing about it is exciting to watch. Chuuya would much rather go down there himself and deal with them all now but no. He has to wait.   Then.   Finally, after what feels like hours have been waisted in Chuuya’s life, it all comes together.   A shot rings out in clearing: a man screams. Chuuya yawns.   The main artilery is brought out in haste and the soldiers been to drop faster than mayflies, shooting at each other without real targets. Chuuya counts the seconds, as well as the bodies, sticking to his hiding spot with a mild sense of satisfaction. Even when the remaining three men (having started as a decent handful of forty-one) he stays put.   The three of the men cautiously come together, lowering their weapons to instead argue it out. All of it is still foreign but it makes no difference. It says enough when the more stoutly of the three flips the others off and storms back to the vehicles. He ignores the leftover flames licking about, tearing apart sheets of paper as he searches for something.   Chuuya leans forward, a smirk forming on his face.   Just as the soldier reaches for the controls of the radio, Chuuya finally makes his move. At the same time, two quick shots fire out, killing the two men standing off to the side. The third quickly spins around, grabbing for a weapon to defend himself from the threat, but he’s too slow. Chuuya has already crossed the distance and punched the fucker’s old face.   Chuuya hums, his smirk spread wide as he wrings his wrist out, eyeing the now unconscious man slumped in the truck.   “Finally.”   Soft footsteps crunch in the smoky grass, coming to Chuuya’s right. “You’re so impatient, slug.”   Scoffing, Chuuya throws Osamu a glare. “Oh fuck off, it was drawn out and you know it.”   The other boy ignores him. He tapes the tip of a gun he holds loosely on his chin, staring blankly at the GSS man and the radio he’d been ready to fire up.   “You don’t suppose this group has another branch somewhere?”   Chuuya rolls his eyes. “If it wasn’t obvious to you from the start then you would have gone with my tactic.”   “Hu, I’m glad Chuuya sees where he lacks in intellect~” Osamu taps the buttons and switches lining the truck console, faintly pressing at the one   “SHUT IT!”   “Hehe~”   In much quicker time than Chuuya would have guessed Osamu somehow figures out the radio controls and sets up a one-way talk without alerting the enemy. Chuuya keeps guard as the other taps away on the buttons, listening intently when even the smallest sound comes through the walkies. And in just eight minutes Osamu is hopping out of the vehicle, eye brimming with sadistic glee and heading out of the clearing.   “Gonna tell me what's go'n on or do I have to guess?” Chuuya yanks the unconscious GSS soldier out of the truck, carrying him over his shoulder as he follows behind. Osamu never tries to look back at him.   “I suppose I should tell my dog where we're going and why…”   “But?”   “-but it's more fun if you grow a brain, chibi~”   Chuuya kicks a rock at him. Osamu leans to the side, dodging. “Fuck you, ya’ waste of air.”   They banter quietly for the most part as they head out, walking blindly through smelly alleyways and over rickety, old objects. Neither of them have slept for a whole thirty hours at this point, but Chuuya has yet to feel the calls of rest. Osamu isn't bitching about it either, so they can both probably last another day or two.   The easy walking also allows Chuuya to think.   What did Osamu hear on that radio? Messages from other soldier bases obviously.   Why are they—more than likely—going over there? Because Osamu is a reckless piece of shit who can't leave something half-assed. Chuuya would kick his ass if he wasn't the same way.   What will they do when they get there? Easy: kill off the rest of the GSS roaches and be done with ‘em. He could really go for a brawl right now. This will make finding one easy.   Not even an hour later and most of the adults within the vicinity they wandered to are dead. Corpses line the dusty floors of concrete settlements, hanging out of broken walls and caved-in ceilings. Chuuya's knuckles and the soles of his shoes are proudly smeared red with their blood.   It was disappointing, initially, to realize the fuckers couldn't shoot a gun when there lives literally depended on it. But when Osamu lulled the soldiers into a false sense of superiority, Chuuya took his pleasure from their shock and horror. The group put up enough of an fight to satiate Chuuya in the long run at least.   Chuuya squats down and arm's length away from two bodies slumped against a wall. “They sure don't look like much…” he mutters under his breath. Why Osamu is so sure these plain-ass people were worth interrogating is beyond him. Then again, the tidbits of information he could actually understand seemed relevant to multiple party's, including but not limited to The Sheep.   Something loud clicks farther back, a faint curse following.   “Oooowe.”   Chuuya sighs, looking over his shoulder with a frown. “What did ya’ do now?”   Osamu is staring blankly down at a his elbow that is, somehow, caught in what looks to be a rusted bear trap. The metal blades are stabbed through his bandages and skin, blood oozing down the edges and staining the areas around the punctures deep red. Chuuya's eye twitches.   “…”   “Osamu.”   “I'll deal with it.”   “The fuck you will,” Chuuya scoffs, standing up. When he's at Osamu's side he grips both sides of the bear trap and yanks them apart. Osamu's eye droops in boredom. “Really, ya’ get done smoke'n these fucker’s asses, acting like yer’ some scary hell demon, then you turn around an’ get yer’ own ass caught in some shit bear trap!”   The fucker grins ominously, winking up at him. “Getting hurt is part of my charm, Chuuya.”   Chuuya deadpans, giving him a smack on the gushing wounds.   “Ow.”   “Well you're not charming. You're a waste of time and space.”   “You're too blunt, chibi,” Osamu tuts, removing his arm from Chuuya's grasp. He inspects it with disintrest. “No one will ever like you if you're short and rude-”   Osamu dunks under the kick Chuuya throws at his scummy head, face that of a dead-eyed fish. He keeps moving away from each attack following up the first.   Kick! “I'm not short!”   Dodge. “Denial gets you nowhere, Chuuya.”   Jump, kick! “Fuck you, we're the same fuck'n height!”   Skid, dodge. “My words remain the same.”   Time uselessly passes by as Chuuya kicks Osamu's skinny ass. It's embarrassing and childish, and with anyone else Chuuya would be above such displays. But this motherfucker of a brat always knows how to pinch the right nerves, and Chuuya always caves. There's fun in their banter most days too, almost therapeutic.   Heading back to The Sheep base takes less time than the night before, as there's less reason to be careful when half of the nearby enemies are dead. It still takes a few hours, just out of caution (and the constant stops their banter accounts for) with the sun risen high for late noon.   Needless to say, their return is not welcomed.   Chuuya keeps his head high when the uneasy glares of his friends are sent his way, ignoring it all to the best of his ability. Unlike Osamu, who openly sticks his tongue out at anyone that makes eye contact.   “Come crawling back already?” Stepping away from his spot against a wall, Shirase crosses his arms, eyeing them with annoyance. Tominaga, Saya, Akira, and Shougo—the three latter of which were on a mission yesterday yet must have returned to the base while Chuuya and Osamu were out—stand close to him, showing equal amounts of distrust.   Chuuya grits his teeth. “We took care of the problem, actually.”   “Uh huh, and what problem would that be?” Saya pipes up, scrunching her nose when Osamu sends her a vulgar look.   Chuuya turns. He makes eye contact with Osamu. After a second, they both turn away, equally serious.   Osamu gestures toward the base. “First, let's bring out our honored guest. There are some things that need to be confirmed.”   Outrage breaks out between some more vocal teens, gawfing at the nerve of the boy to make demands when everyone's clearly pissed at them. Though are shortly quieted by Tominaga with just a wave of his hand.   “I don't see any reason why we should trust you right now. Either of you,” Tominaga says.   “Because we're all a team,” Chuuya argues. The reason The Sheep have managed to maintain their status for so many years in Suribachi is won from the group's ability to work together so well. Desperate children that work to protect other children, fighting against a common enemy: adults.   “And,” Osamu adds with indifference written all over his face, “if you really use your limited brain capacity then you'd realize trusting your comrades is smarter than trusting the word of an enemy who clearly has a gain from your cooperation.”   His words spark another rise of protests, dragging the disagreement on longer than Chuuya thinks is necessary.   “You can't even give us a good reason why we should do what you say!” Someone shouts.   “No, you're just not listening,” Osamu drones. He's otherwise ignored.   “You said you guys dealt with the problem and that's it! Then you demanded to see the informant!”   On and on The Sheep argue. No matter what Chuuya or Osamu say, the others don't listen. So what do they do?   Without moving from his spot, Chuuya grows louder in his annoyance.   “Why can't you believe us? I'm say'n part of a solution has been found for the better of The Sheep and none of you even wanna try! Have we ever done anything to warrant distrust?” It's painful to be doubted so much by his family but Chuuya pushes on. “It doesn't matter what those asshole Takasekai or soldiers say! We should always be able to trust each other! Otherwise what the fuck even are we?!”   “Trust?! You won't even say what's going on-”   “-getting cocky just because you're called a king-”   “-you and Osamu never share your plans-”   “So what?!” Chuuya yells. Everyone is gathered around him, but there's enough space put between them that when he stops forward he's not touching anyone. “So what if we don't tell you what the fuck we're do'n? None of you are ever left in the dark for long! We make sure of that, damnit! This is one of those times, with the only difference being a living bargaining chip!”   “But if we just take advantage-!” Shirase tries to cut in.   “Then we will be the ones caught in the trap!” Chuuya knows not all the kids of their gang are trusting or intelligent but at this point they're all fighting out of stubborness. “What part of that don't you get?!”   “We haven't even tried it yet!” Another person shouts from the back of the crowd. It sounds like Shougo, but Chuuya can't see.   “There's no need. Everything's been taken care of.”   Chuuya lets out a relieved breath. The other teens turn, staring in pissed silence as Osamu exits the base.   His face has spots of blood stuck to it. His hands are dripping with it.   Osamu smiles, wide as his glassy, dark eye, staring over them all with dark intensity. In this moment, Chuuya can even compare that look to something worse than a demon's.   “If you all just my instructions The Sheep will be guaranteed wealthy within the hour.”