TRAITORS TRAITORS“...Sou Hiyori's head is missing,” the former Laughing Doll states. Now that the participants have cleared her floor, Michiru wonders if the title holds much meaning at all anymore.
The information isn't new to her. Of course Sou's head was gone.
Bluntly, Emiri continues, “Would you happen to know anything about that, Namida?”
YTTD; Namida Michiru, Harai Emiri; Death Game (after Banquet (CH3-1b); Written for the Yuri Turn To Die! fanzine.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: thanks to @datastate on tumblr for betareading!! this was a collaboration with @atlas-of-galaxies on tumblr - you can read the comic of this fic here!
Michiru’s laboratory is… quite messy.
It’s the place where she spends most of her time truly working. Not paperwork, but her physical work. Looking at the mess from somewhere in the middle, it’s easy to pinpoint the hours she’s dedicated here, fueled by the promise of what initially led her into its depths. Asunaro certainly keeps to its word, but even she realizes it goes above and beyond to push a promise as far as it can go without breaking.
There’s an ache in her chest. Not because she feels sorry for herself. No, there’s no need to feel remorse for what she’s done. She should not feel any regret for everything she’s worked for, for everything that has come to be this way—it’d simply prove to be a waste of time. Where she lacked in words, she made up for in actions. Every move had a purpose; she was never once found standing around, unless for the sake of keeping up acts.
But… what could possibly be done now?
She pushes up her glasses, eyes wavering at the computer. The AI-Receiver.
How long has it been since those three had found their way inside this room? They were never supposed to find this place. She could have gotten in much trouble for allowing them to wander around, prodding for information and pressing whatever buttons they wanted—specifically, Shinogi as the one doing all that, while his companions followed behind to the best of their ability. Miss Sara was nowhere present at all—instead, with him was an injured Burgerberg, and his counterpart for this floor’s gimmick: Mai Tsurugi.
Cautiously, her gaze flicks up to the doll propped up in the open capsule. It had everything that resembled its once-living version; the suit, the scarf, even the default stance which allowed him to be intimidating without even doing much. All that was missing was…
Sharp, approaching sounds of shoes clacking against the tile floor cause Michiru to nearly jump out of her skin. Ever since things had gotten quiet around here, it seemed any noise was enough to startle her. Michiru stays still at the beeping of the keypad sounds, and as soon as the door clicks open, another woman donning a crimson dress enters the room.
She stands in full Floormaster wear, including the strange hair extensions—although odd, Michiru can't exactly say much, knowing how well her outfit complimented her. Michiru’s own dessert-themed getup was fairly laughable by contrast.
When the other didn't immediately greet her, she settled on staying quiet, allowing her to do what she needed to do. As usual, she stood by the computer, gently placing her hand on the surface. Examining the panel, she's surprised that ex-detective didn't damage it too much; then again, she did design it. Perhaps she had something to pride herself in after all.
Emiri Harai—or, as unfamiliar the name feels to her tongue, Sue Miley —passes by her. She's wordless, unexpected of the one bestowed the title of The Laughing Doll, though this was no situation she had to stay in-character for. Every echoing footstep keeps her on her toes, because like Michiru, Emiri holds purpose in every action. The only difference is in how their determination manifests. Emiri’s motivation glares in her every demonstration, whereas Michiru only has her creations to speak for her.
Michiru's hand hovers over one of the buttons, keeping up her act around Emiri. Not the whole Crying Doll character she's meant to put on around the participants, but the person she always was: someone who kept busy, burying themselves into work as every other Asunaro employee did. Restlessly going over her own actions, for better and worse. Never allowing a moment to be wasted, a moment of uselessness to shine. Michiru won’t be discarded this far into the Game.
Soon enough, the sound of walking stops. Michiru doesn't turn around.
There's silence. Whatever Emiri is looking at, she doesn't immediately look.
“...Sou Hiyori's head is missing,” the former Laughing Doll states. Now that the participants have cleared her floor, Michiru wonders if the title holds much meaning at all anymore.
The information isn't new to her. Of course Sou's head was gone.
Bluntly, Emiri continues, “Would you happen to know anything about that, Namida?”
Even with her back turned, she feels the woman's eyes on her. If it were humanly possible, her gaze would have likely burned a hole into her. Michiru swallows, her throat dry, and pulls down her hat. There's nothing to be said—she can't admit what she has done.
She clears her throat and adjusts her glasses. “N–No, I don't know a–anything about it. I… left the laboratory unattended for a little while. P–Perhaps the doll's head was taken in that period…”
“Perhaps?” Emiri repeats, immediately latching onto the doubt behind Michiru's words. It's always been difficult to wrangle a lie past her, but Michiru had more resolve than she let on. Even now, she doesn't flinch, doesn't turn around when footsteps resume behind her in their newfound hunt.
“You seem uncertain—which I suppose is the norm for you, but you aren't as skittish as you usually are.” Like a hawk, Emiri's eyes watch her actions, and her ears listen to every inflection of her voice, like a robot programmed to detect an absolute lie and an absolute truth. Luckily for Michiru, in some way, she is no artificial intelligence of the sort. “Are you sure you know nothing?”
The researcher continues to idly mess with the control panel, occasionally switching to the keyboard right next to it to type something up. By now, Emiri is right behind her. Michiru just doesn’t have the gall to glance back, to confirm or deny for herself. The more she acts like nothing is out of the ordinary, the better.
But of course, Emiri is relentless. Every prolonged moment of silence becomes all the more unbearable. The clacking of the keyboard underneath her fingertips won’t override the sound of Michiru’s pounding heart.
“...O–Of course.” Asunaro is always watching. She cannot falter, she cannot lose focus, cannot slip up or make a mistake, lest she succumb to the walls of this facility, under the hungry eyes that dawned upon them, awaiting any opening.
Like a hawk.
Like Emiri Harai.
“I’m unconvinced,” Emiri puts forth, simply. The taller leans forward, her arms wrung behind her and looming over Michiru’s shoulder—she doesn’t dare make eye contact, doesn’t dare meet those fiery eyes, undoubtedly able to burn through any hopeful facade of hers.
“There is n–nothing to be done, then,” Michiru responds, grasping at her guts to talk back. The difference between Emiri and Asunaro is that she is no higher up. Emiri may as well be on the same level as her, albeit more openly intimidating. Rationally, she has no reason to fear her. “I cannot force you to believe me. I–If your intent is to doubt me, I don’t see the point in questioning me, M–Miss Harai.”
A gloved hand rests on the surface beside the control panel. It moves slowly, carefully, then flatly rests against the metal. Michiru watches it from the corner of her eye, steadying herself.
“I didn't take you as the type to back down in the face of an accusation.” Emiri points out. Michiru doesn’t need to look up to know she’s being studied. She doesn’t need to do anything but look forward and keep working. Keep the act. “Allow me to ask again; do you know something about this, Namida?”
“…It isn’t my place.”
Her eyes widen. That is not what Michiru meant to say. She should have denied, just as she had been this entire time. She should have said: No, I don’t know anything, please leave . She should have said anything else besides that—and there was no taking it back when it came to Emiri. Michiru could already feel her claws digging in at the opportunity, gripping her shoulder in an attempt to break through her skin and gain access to the information that flowed through her blood.
Michiru has allowed Emiri to back her into a corner.
“Isn’t it? As a Floormaster, I think it very much is.” She can hear the grin in her smile, the satisfaction of finally getting something out of her. The confirmation that yes, Michiru knows something, and yes, she is purposely lying to her. “If the secrecy of your act is your concern, it’s worth knowing I could care less for Sou Hiyori. He’s a bastard, anyhow.”
Perhaps, if she does not reply, Emiri will continue to get frustrated. She has messed up once by running her mouth, the least she can do now is stay quiet and make her leave. The sooner this topic is dropped, the sooner she can breathe, and the sooner it can be reported that Michiru doesn’t know anything after all.
Despite Emiri being right behind her, Michiru continues as normal, inputting various findings into the file. A simple list for AI touch-up when the Game is finished. Beside it, she reminds herself to check upon the machinery and ensure power hasn’t fluctuated with the latest gimmicks, submitting it so her superiors know everything is running smoothly—if she gets all the work done, then…
She spares a glance beyond the large pillar, where the remains of Maple were left. Of course, if she turned around entirely, Emiri would surely follow her gaze and find another fracture to press upon. So Michiru simply held her breath and her tongue.
“Your plan isn’t to simply ignore me, is it? This doesn’t exactly help your case.”
Ah, foiled now, isn’t she…
Her silence ironically answers Emiri’s question. The tension continues to wear on, growing heavier by the moment. Michiru knows the other is bound to lose her patience soon. When she wanted something, she’d stop at nothing to get it. Anything that obstructed her path, or wasn’t interested in assisting her, posed as a threat. An obstacle.
And yet, nothing could have prepared her for the sudden thud next to her. Emiri’s fist pounded the table, causing her to recoil—
“M–Miss Harai—”
Michiru finally turns around, raising her voice just a bit more than she would have liked. Now met face-to-face with Emiri. Those shining bloodied- and golden-eyes stared into hers, and although she shouldn’t have been surprised, her heart races, pounding in her chest.
Trust is a fickle thing on the grounds of Asunaro. She should have been more careful before being cornered like this. With Emiri’s arms caging Michiru between her and the computer table, there was no escape from her prying gaze, no taking advantage of not having to look into one’s eyes as she lied—emerald eyes were the window to her soul. One that bore the weight of gifting information to the innocent. Those none the wiser of how extensively Asunaro prepared.
The information didn’t make anything better. In all likelihood, it didn’t save anyone. All it did was dangle hope in front of the participants yet again. As if they could escape the looming, morbid future by Asunaro’s request. To be quite frank, there was nothing wrong with what she had done—she wouldn’t stray from that.
Still, Asunaro’s clutches on its employees ensured they knew that any information spread was an act of betrayal. It was worthy of several different sorts of punishments, none of which would end well—no one could be trusted with the truth, not even a co-worker. Especially not a co-worker.
Especially not Emiri. For both of their sakes, if nothing else.
“ Nothing stays hidden in Asunaro, Namida,” she spits. Michiru’s gut feeling had been correct—she surely was losing her patience. “You know this, yes?”
Michiru stares upward, keeping any further fear from showing itself to an Asunaro agent collecting information. If she had to take a guess, Emiri was likely tasked with finding something out what she had done while she had been on the same floor with the participants. Something had to have happened for there to be so many hiccups. The details of its errors, she didn’t know—and quite honestly, Michiru found the less she knew, the better.
“The truth is going to come out eventually, regardless of how well you are hiding it.” Emiri narrows her eyes, leaning in closer, as if the little distance between them wasn’t close enough. “Now, here’s my offer: you can tell me what you did now, or you can get called in by one of the higher ups and deal with them personally .”
…It was the same, either way. Michiru assumed that word was going to get to those above regardless, and she’d be exposed as a traitor.
And just as every rulebreaker in this facility had been, she’d be punished accordingly.
“In other words,” Emiri says, lowering her voice. It’s still clear, notably louder than a whisper, but if someone else were in the room, they wouldn’t hear this thinly veiled threat: “...Pick your poison, Namida. The choice is yours, and yours alone.”
She was right up in her face, so close that Michiru could feel her breath on her face, tickling her nose and filling the air with the intoxicating scent of fruit and mint (as expected of freshly baked lava cakes), and the faintest scent of smoke. Perhaps, if Emiri hadn’t been talking so much, she’d wound up hearing Michiru’s heart beating her up from the inside, banging on the walls for a moment to breathe. Remaining so tense for so long wasn’t something she could do with ease.
Yet, she has no choice in mortality.
“...The information you seek is nothing I am aware of,” Michiru manages to say, holding the other woman’s gaze like she has no support to stand otherwise. She reaches one hand up, pushing glasses up the bridge of her nose to focus her sight a little better. “I… I know nothing regarding where Hiyori’s head has gone. Th–There is nothing that I am hiding.”
Emiri’s gaze is practically made of steel. It didn’t shift at all as she spoke. No more than a statue staring into her soul, incapable of blinking, of revealing any vulnerability Michiru once fumbled with. It remained unsaid, but she could still hear it. You are not convincing. You know something. I can’t trust you.
It felt as if time forcibly slowed for the sole purpose of seeing just how long Michiru could withstand the weight of lying through her teeth. Or perhaps it was testing Emiri’s patience instead, seeing how long she was willing to wait to get the desired answer.
…But then, without warning, Emiri drops her arms at her sides, taking a last second to search Michiru’s eyes before she concedes. For the first time in the past fifteen minutes, Michiru felt like her airway opened itself up, though it didn’t slow her pounding heartbeat.
“Fine,” is all she says, at first. “Have it your way.”
Michiru feels like she’s going to be light-headed, but Emiri takes her leave in stride. The room is deafeningly silent otherwise—if Michiru didn’t focus on the rhythmic noise of her steps, all she’d have left is the dreadful presence of what was coming next.
She’s focusing so hard on the slow tap, tap, tap across the room, that she barely even hears Emiri’s next words—they catch onto her ears, like a fishing hook having lured an unsuspecting creature to its trap.
“...I know you, Namida.” These words are dripping with a gruesome slime that trails down her skin, the hairs on her back standing. She feels similar to a deer in the headlights, her eyes wide to pay attention to where this is going.
Emiri is staring straight into her. When she notices the reaction, she doesn’t even attempt to properly hide a triumphant smirk—she knows she’s winning. “You wouldn’t want to go out the way the way the last Satou did, would you?”
Michiru’s heart freezes. The shock short-circuits her brain, hastily answering— No.
“...It’s just something to keep in mind,” Emiri adds with a small hum, keeping their gazes locked on one another as if relishing the spark of unease. Then, she looks away as if she’s given up. Michiru knows better. She’s walking right into her plan, and yet, when Emiri turns again and steps towards the exit—
“W–” The word gets caught on Michiru’s tongue. Desperately, she clears her throat a little louder, if only to hook Emiri’s attention once more, just as she did to her. “Wait.”
The last Satou— Gashu Satou. Perhaps it wasn’t all too surprising she felt her pride crumbling at the comparison. His son had been dear to her, as much of a friend that one could be when raised in the conditions of Asunaro. Gashu’s sin was to preserve the holiness of the Death Game; the purity of its participants. Though to the participants it seemed otherwise, Tia Safalin—no, Michiru Namida —had a different goal.
Though her “hint” could have been worthless in the end, Michiru aimed to lose the war. She aimed for Kai Satou’s sacrifice to never be in vain, for not a single death have been all for a single winner. For Asunaro to fail , for its darkness to crumble and reveal the true light that shone behind it, and not this artificial beam of hope that beamed through the cracks of this wall. There is no hope in Asunaro.
Emiri raises an eyebrow, taking one step forward. She made a small hand gesture— keep going, is what she likely would have said.
“...I suppose I… d–do know something.”
In a futile attempt to steady her pounding heart, she grasped her arm with one hand, slowly rubbing a thumb over her own skin. A comfort to herself that only she could provide, for she trusted no one else to lay a hand on her like this. In the lull, Michiru expected her to say something. Some sort of hint that she was listening, though she doesn’t really know what could be said that wasn’t redundant. That look on her face was all Michiru needed to know, and Emiri likely knew that too.
Maybe this was all just her own way of stalling. After all, divulging such a secret—she may as well be playing with her own fate…
But what is Michiru to do on her own? The last time someone of Asunaro took things into their own hands in order to disrupt its perpetual plan, their life was claimed in the process. Kai took his life so he would not succumb to the execution devised for him, resolutely embracing his role as traitor in the end; Gashu took his life so the Game would continue, taking the responsibility upon himself to prohibit any delay in its grand scheme.
How ironic, the duality of two people bound by blood.
Still, Michiru knows if she is to make a lasting impact, her life may be taken, too—it is an unfavorable outcome, but unavoidable, so long as she wants to succeed. Emiri was a woman who never took no for an answer. By gambling, she could very well be claiming an early ticket to guarantee her death.
This is no coward move. Like Kai, she can only hope this further pushes the participants towards their win. Bringing more than just an individual victor to the surface this time.
“...The banquet,” she says, her voice kept low. The emptiness of this sorry excuse of a laboratory carries her voice nonetheless, as well as every expected tremble with the words. “The participants… had no clue what was coming for them.”
Emiri seems taken back. But before she can comment anything, Michiru persists. There’s no going back now.
“It was going to be brutal, with or without the knowledge offered forth; I–I don’t even believe all of them made it out alive. I—”
“And so,” Emiri interrupts, lifting a finger into the air to silence her. Of course, she has no actual power over her, in terms of their standings under Asunaro, but Michiru quickly falls quiet. “You saw no harm in allowing a rogue element to enter the playing field? To better their chances?”
With the much louder emphasis on that last part, Michiru flinches, unable to stop herself. She waits a few seconds, staring at Emiri’s face in her hopeless attempts to read something familiar. How long had it been since she last saw her past these Floormaster disguises?
Her eyes narrow, and Michiru knows she’s about to be pressed further. Her phrasing was much too vague, either direction, but if ever there was a time to make her betrayal clear, this is it. All over again, Michiru would have to plan carefully, and now she wouldn’t have much time to—
Emiri laughs.
She… laughs. It wasn’t any sort of laughter that was filled with joy. In fact, Michiru couldn’t quite tell what had made her laugh—she hadn’t said anything funny in the least, but a smile crosses Emiri’s face. Not the kind that mocked her, but one that, most surprisingly, signified some form of respect. Some kind of understanding. She tilts her head upward and crosses her arms.
“Your secret is safe with me.”
Against her own will, Michiru’s eyebrows knit together in the center. While some part of her had certainly hoped for an outcome such as this, she hadn’t quite expected it to be realistic. She stares for a long while, waiting for her to take it back and laugh at her naïveté. If anything, that would be more reasonable.
But the grin on her face doesn’t falter. She rests a gloved hand on her cheek, tilting her head to the side.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, ehehe! I don’t think the makeup makes me look that pale, does it?” she remarks, dramatically twirling a finger around a strand of hair. From the distance, Michiru can’t tell if its part of the hair extensions, or her actual hair. “Don’t go looking so dubious, though.”
She leans forward, lowering her voice just a little bit. “Surely, there is no point in ratting out one on the same team as I, is there?”
Michiru perks up a little, only further puzzled by the implication of those words—without question, she is a traitor. Yet, by that comment, Emiri couldn’t possibly mean…
Another, louder snickering sounds. Michiru begins to wish she actually had been telling jokes this whole time, though she can’t quite fathom what Emiri could possibly begin to make light of at the moment.
“What? Surprised?” she chuckles. Perhaps the title of The Laughing Doll was more fitting than she had initially assumed, all this time. “You didn’t think I’d be saying anything to anyone, did you?”
The scientist takes a deep breath. “Isn’t it only r–reasonable?”
Those of Asunaro that died… Kai, Gashu, Hiyori… And that said nothing of the artificial lives lost, too.
“Satou is dead… I–I doubt I’ll be monitored as closely as before, but you…”
Emiri pauses, her smug expression faltering for only a moment, though she quickly bounces back.
“If you think I’m afraid of him …” There’s a certain sort of malice in her tone, almost as if she’s stunned by the implication. When she continues, however—
“...You are sorely mistaken. I assure you that is not the case.”
—Emiri sounds calm as ever, almost giggly , despite how unfitting it was for the current topic of the conversation. She’s surely confident, perhaps even too confident. Michiru doesn’t even know the extent of what the other has done to tamper with the higher up’s plans, but even she feels somewhat concerned. No matter how differing their plans are, she cannot bear to imagine the consequences if someone who claimed to hold the same stance as her were so utterly reckless.
But she continues to hear her out, anyway—it is only fair.
“And even if I was,” Emiri adds. “It would not keep me from accomplishing my goal . My life may very well be claimed in the process, as everyone else’s was—”
The woman gestured to the headless Hiyori that stood between the duo. “...and that’s a truth I’ve come to terms with. It’s a must if you plan to get very far.”
…So she does understand.
Emiri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the pillar that Michiru had pointedly avoided looking at throughout this whole time. “You agree, yes?”
To say the least, Michiru is taken back by the action. Her gaze follows Emiri’s hand, and though she can’t see it from this angle, she can recall the clear picture of her beloved creation’s remains scattered on the ground in the middle of the coffin room, and the barely recognizable mess of it once she had brought all the salvageable parts back.
Maple’s dress had been tattered, straight up destroyed. Wires spilled out everywhere, and her limbs were all mangled. Her head wasn’t even there. Perhaps the sight would have only been more disturbing if the cords had been replaced with blood and guts, but she couldn’t forget the ache in her chest. She had never found it in her to scream, but she wished she could have.
Michiru tenses, gripping the panel for support. Her legs shake under her, but she cannot lose her cool in front of Emiri.
“...Yes.”
Emiri looks satisfied.
Desperate to not think about it, Michiru forces herself to look back at Emiri, pushing up her glasses with the back of her wrist. “Is there s–something you’re suggesting we do…?”
At the question, the other pauses, pursing her lips in thought. The distant sound of a hum barely reaches her ears, almost as if she were quickly forming a plan on the spot. It wasn’t very assuring, to say the least.
“...Perhaps,” is all Emiri replies with at first. “We will wait and see what the participants do with your little gift, first. Otherwise, you can do whatever you please, without worrying about me giving you away. How does that sound?”
More time to form a plan. That makes her feel better. They can’t go running around and wreak havoc without strictly adhering to a set of directions, lest they plan on getting caught immediately and disposed of without another thought.
Her life may very well be claimed in the process, but its what she’s willing to risk. That does not mean she wishes to die here.
Michiru must have nodded at some point, because the next time she focuses on Emiri, she’s nearing the exit.
However, when she reaches the door, she pauses. A gloved hand rests against the hatch, holding it halfway open. She doesn’t have to be facing her to know she has something meant to be a reassuring smile dancing across her face.
“...And Namida?”
She perks up, almost dreading the next words. What could she possibly want now?
Emiri’s shoulder slump just a little. “Do be careful,” she warns, simply.
Michiru pauses, taken back by the vaguest bit of concern laced in her voice. Yet, she feels compelled to return the sentiment. “You too, Miss Harai.”
After all, their fates may very well be entwined—if one got caught, then it wouldn’t be long until the other did. Either they got out of here alive, and went about their normal lives after all of this, or they both took this conversation to the grave.
Either way, Michiru aims to have the wall Asunaro built to crumble. Nothing will be in vain.
When Emiri walks out, Michiru’s legs cave underneath her—nonetheless, her eyes flick across the room at the pillar that hid the remains of a project she had cared so deeply for.
…There’s much to be done, in Asunaro.
Published September 25, 2023. (Archived December 28, 2023.)