dcmk; 10 trials || bullet
Title: 10 Trials: Kaito || bullet
Author:
hattergems
Word Count: 1100
Rating: T
Characters: Kaito Kuroba, Saguru Hakuba, Nakamori-keibuDisclaimer: Detective Conan, Magic Kaito. Gosho Aoyama pwnz dem.
Summary: “Kid,” the blond detective hissed viciously to himself. “Even dead, you still have to be somewhere, you understand?”
Prompt: #6. Never [10_prompts prompt table]
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-10 trials: kaito-
hattergems
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bullet
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Only one door - the one he had come in through. Floor? Four by five metres, wood panelling, over six-metre deep concrete, no trapdoors. Ceiling - steel, no service holes and above it was at least twenty-five metres of limestone between him and the night outside. God. Over his head, the sound of a hundred booted feet down the stairwell was deafening, coming closer - relentlessly closer - to the abandoned office.
Snake had brought quite a few friends to join the party.
Unexpectedly, a sharp smirk quirked his lips - he just couldn’t stop himself: they had the fucking Kaitou Kid cornered. Beautiful. So, this was how it was going to be: he was going down, disguised, no - dressed - in their combat gear as one of them, wearing one of their dog tags, gripping one of their guns in his hands - but then his father hadn’t died in Phantom Thief regalia, so there was no real reason why he should. Unlike his father’s death though, his own would mean the unmasking of the elusive Kaitou Kid at last. Oh and Aoko! Kaito slammed an open palm into the wall, gritting his teeth angrily.
... Ah, the footsteps had stopped. Had the troops given up? - No. They were right outside the door. Hm, one hundred armed black-clad operatives trying to fit into a four- by five-metre office, how would that work? His rambling musings shattered as the door snapped off its hinges.
Everything after that happened to the count of a distorted too-fast clock. Unreal.
A stun grenade was thrown in through the doorway and Kaito caught it in his left hand. Then threw it right back over the operative blocking the passage, and shot him fluidly in the head with his right. (OHGODNO -) Impulse had made the decision for him. The operative slumped forwards uncomplainingly as Kaito squeezed his eyes shut, moments before the grenade detonated.
Like black roses blown over by a gust of wind, the troops outside fell backwards. The blinding shockwave rippled through them, a lethal splash of light.
Kaito hesitated, shaking ever so slightly, then dropped his handgun to the floor with a dead clunk. (Do you see? Do you see what you’ve just done?) He was just hollow, frozen inside, unable to completely process what had just happened. Mindlessly, he strode up to the dead man’s body and, with quick but fumbling fingers, ripped off the dog tags from around the neck of the soldier before getting back into the horrific fray.
The grenade-blinded operatives were pushed forwards in the struggle to get through the door. But when the troops who could still see arrived in the office, it was empty. Kaito had slipped outside among the others.
It was only a moment before a commando noticed that a man dressed like one of his colleagues was pushing in the opposite direction to the rest of them. He opened fire. By the time the soldier’s finger had hit the trigger, Kaito was no longer in front of him. Instead, four other commandos were shot in the back. One was protected by armour, and he turned around, searching for the source of the attack.
“About face,” he roared, seeing Kaito vanish into the crowd. He pulled the trigger and sent a hail of bullets after Kaito. Two soldiers were hit in the legs, and they went down firing. Confusion and fear took over as those who had been blinded or disorientated by the flash started firing too, and soon the air was shredded by gunfire.
Kaito gasped as a few rounds pierced his left thigh. He thrashed his way out of the line of fire, but his movement caught the eye of a commando in front of him, who suddenly levelled his gun. Kaito grabbed the man’s calves and held them together with his arms. The black-clad operative lost his balance as sparks flew off the body armour of soldiers above Kaito’s head. By the time he had hit the floor, the commando was already dead, shot by his comrades. Kaito found himself standing in front of another soldier, who learned from the mistake of the previous one and scurried out of Kaito’s way like a cockroach caught in the light, as the bullets of his colleagues sliced the air around him.
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“What the bloody hell is this, Kid,” Saguru Hakuba breathed shakily. His knuckles were marble-white as he clutched the computer console. The 1412 Taskforce had been tracking Kid with the tracer gel that the gem had coated with, but the thief’s movements had been too quick for the police to follow every step of the way, so they had been planning to intercept him. Tapping into one of the cameras where the jewel and most probably where Kid was, the British detective saw a raging nightmare.
“Get all the squads in the district into the Fukada Complex immediately!” Nakamori bellowed in fiercely heart-wrenching panic. “I will not let Kid die.”
“Too late for that, keibu,” the blond whispered as the on-screen gunfire continued to tear through the black-uniformed crowd, the sound warping through the speakers. Everyone just seemed to be falling over; no one was getting up again. Saguru’s hand came down in a trembling fist.
“Kuroba.”
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Saguru had wandered into a long hallway. The only sound was of neon bulbs humming softly and indifferently. The pale light wreathed heavy shadows everywhere. The police were in the other section of the building now - they had long since seen the massacre aftermath downstairs.
“Kid,” the blond hissed viciously to himself. “Even dead, you still have to be somewhere, you understand?”
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When the detective finally found him, he had five bullets in his body, a shattered femur and a pair of dog tags around his neck. And he was breathing.
One word: miracle.
“Ki - No - Kuroba. Not Kid, not Kid … Damn, you cheated in our game …”
Satoru Iwata. That was what the dog tag said.
“I’ll call baaya to get some transport organized. You’re going to be fine.”
He kept seeing the bullet, his bullet, disappearing into Iwata’s face over and over again. His imagination worked like a slow-motion x-ray - he could see the fatal, perfect shot breaking Iwata’s nose, cracking a hole in his skull, and finally separating his spine from his brain.
Kid never killed, and Hakuba said he wasn’t Kid. Kid - no, Dad - would never do such a thing.
Kaito Kuroba was the one that killed.
“Kuroba, can you open your eyes? Kuroba?”
Inside he was pulling that trigger repeatedly, like a psychopath, with each shot striking him like an accusation.
Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.
He just couldn’t stop.
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Satoru Iwata: caught in the firing line of his own squadron.
Kaito Kuroba crumpled the file and sank to his knees.
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