Enzai: Falsely Accused belongs to JAST: Usa and it's original Japanese creators. This is a fan-writing piece, if any money was made off of it -- it wasn't given to me and it wasn't with my consent, okay?
Warnings: If you've played Enzai you will know exactly what to be warned about! Please don't read this if you are squimish, even if this part doesn't quite get to you... I am just getting started.
Pairings: (Possible) DurerxGuildias, DurerxOC (one-sided)
Thank you in advance!
Part 1: The Deal
Dark corridors and never-ending halls were the way of his life now; since he'd been found guilty of murder and sentenced to life in jail without parole. The only saving grace he was granted was that he wasn't thrown into 'his' jail. It would have been cruel, stated the judge in court, to send him to the place he once ruled over with a stubborn eye and an unbending rule.
Durer wished he could strangle that old judge until his eyes popped out of his skull and oozed down his face in a bloody trail. He licked his lips to the thought of dismantling the judge slowly and deliberately. But he figured never again would he be in such a position to be fully in control.
"Don't think too much—set your life to the bell. Watch your mates." That's what Durer, as a Head Guard, would tell new inmates to his prison. Would he be able to follow his own advice here? He was number one-hundred-and-two and his cell was third on the left down a long corridor near the cafeteria.
"I fucking miss alcohol." He muttered as he stepped into his cell for the first time, seeing that this jail was far too much of a reminder of his own prison. "I need a fucking drink." –everything right now sounded better when he added 'fucking' to the statement. It expressed his feeling precisely.
He wanted to have nothing to do with any of these people in the jail. Not the guards or his fellow inmates. Not a single reason to meet with anyone of them except to hate them. And hate them Durer was determined to do because he ultimately despised most people. He couldn't recall a single person he longed to be around, unless it was to use them like he did everyone—only for sex or money (occasionally both).
His legs felt heavy so he let himself fall back onto the single bed; the sheet reeked of sweat and semen and stung his nostrils until he felt strangely relaxed at the scent. The only thing he did not like about the smell was that it someone else's body odor and not his own. Durer sat on it anyway—because he couldn't very well stand up for the remainder of the night.
"Hey, aren't ya' that Head Guard that they threw in here 'cu his father was a corrupt political bastard?" Yelled a voice from the cell across from Durer's own. He didn't reply only grumbled and let his head drop down onto the
paper-thin pillow on the bed and pretend to be sleeping. But that didn't fool the curious, chatting neighbor he had, "You aren't the only one from that prison I guess. What the whole lot of you corrupt?"
"Shut the fuck up." Durer grumbled. "Are you a woman? You gossip like one."
The gossiper quieted down; Durer hoped he was finished talking to him all together but then he spoke up much to Durer's annoyance, "That detective said the same thing at first too. I wish I hadn't talked to him though, he's got a screw loose..."
"I said shut up, you cock-licker!" Durer's voice boomed, but it cracked from frustration as he tried to continue, "I don't give a rat's ass—"
He realized the man was talking about Guildias. Guildias was convicted before Durer of the murder of the detective Jared and his 'lover' Myuca. Myuca was a fourteen year old boy that Guildias had the distinct pleasure of controlling and using outside of the prison—it was a common practice of young boys in that day and age to be taken in by the lure of money for their family by selling their body. Durer supposed that was how Guildias met his beloved Myuca. It was laughable, Durer thought, that Myuca could've actually loved the corrupt detective—it was only in Guildias' mind. Perhaps like love in general—a product of the mind.
"That guy…" Durer muttered as he shifted in the bed, pulling up his legs and putting his hands behind his head. The neighbor must have heard him because he clicked his tongue in disgust and grew quiet for a moment, "Which number is he, gossiper?"
"Ninety-four." Came the reply, followed by a curious inquiry, "You know him well, then?"
"Shut your mouth and sleep. It has nothing to do with you." Durer hissed in his normal demeanor, almost acting like his old condescending self.
When the morning bell sounded Durer was still asleep and would have stayed that way if it hadn't been for his neighbor—the one from last night—knocking on the end of his bed. Durer instantly told him to get out but the man did nothing but nod and grumble as he watched Durer. He was young but had silvering, short hair and a gentle face; Durer hated his type. Again the former guard yelled at him to get out of his cell, but the man didn't move, "I have to look out for you, pal, or you'll mess up and end up in penance."
"I could give a fuck." Durer snarled but got up in any case. Straightening his jail-clothes, which consist of nothing but a gray shirt and pants and heading for the door of the cell. "You can leave now. As you can see your annoyance won't allow me anymore sleep."
"Well, fine. Might I suggest you find your friend and tell him goodbye." The prisoner scoffed as he exited the cell, letting a hand linger on the bars of Durer's cell. "He's got seven days."
Durer burst into laughter; it wasn't a sick laugh instead it was like someone watching a comedy play at the local theater. His tobacco-stained teeth showing as he laughed himself into a doubled-over state, Durer managed to choke out, "Seven-n left? And you think he's my friend? You fool!"
The prisoner only left with the same grim expression on his face. Durer continued to laugh all the way to the cafeteria and through the food line. Sitting alone at a table near the back the lanky blonde hunched over his food like a stray dog willing to attack anyone who approached him.
His eyes lurched around the room, catching a glimpse of every inmate in the room. He could see who belonged to who and who was like him—just lurking in the background with the eyes of a tiger. Durer saw him… Guildias. For a moment their eyes met, though Guildias' were glazed over and hazy for some reason. Durer snorted as he watched Guildias' golden eyes fall from him without a shred of interest. Even though Guildias had fallen, like Durer, it was obvious that he was still considering himself above Durer's position. That's something that Durer had always despised out of the detective and on the occasion would wish to find him alone with that smirking man for the sole reason of teaching him a lesson. He wanted to teach Guildias the same lesson that all those under him had to learn, humility and disgrace. But that never happened when Durer had his job; but now it was a tempting thought.
It was a beautiful thought. Durer outwardly smirked to the pleasant thought, feeling a change in his body to the mental images he conjured. But before Durer's state could fully manifest itself he saw Guildias was being approached by several inmates. This peaked the blonde's attention, his eyes grew sharp as he watched them surround the gaunt detective. He couldn't hear their voices, but he began to get the drift once he saw what the inmates were doing. One of them sat beside Guildias and picked up something from another mates lunch-tray and pushed it towards Guildias—as if trying to tempt him to eat.
Come to think of it, Durer thought, where's Guildias' lunch anyhow?
"Coward!" Suddenly yelled one of the inmates, throwing a dinner roll in the general direction of the former detective. The lunchroom became quiet, as those around expected to see some entertainment via a fight. "You can't even live with what you did, can you! Child fucker!"
Durer only smiled to this development and couldn't help but snicker. Yet as he watched no emotion crossed Guildias' face, it was almost as if he didn't hear them at all. But the insults still rained down on the unresponsive Guildias nonetheless, "What's wrong, murderer! Can't you say anything in your defense?"
They continued to try and force the silent man to eat. Guildias' only moment was to knock astray the items they were attempting to feed him.
"You'll eat and stay alive until they come to hang your sorry ass, by God!" Shouted the leader, attempting to grab Guildias by the hair. As soon as his fingers curled in the man's hair, Guildias sprung into action by reaching up to the hand planted on his head. Quickly Guildias' put forth all his efforts on the man's smallest finger, bending it unnaturally until it snapped. The leader stepped back, cursing and holding his injury. Then his mates stepped into action, yelling insults to the former detective and swinging their broad arms at him.Smoothly the attacks were dodged and the men were counterattacked until they backed away like beaten animals.
Durer clicked his tongue; he'd almost forgotten about the monster underneath Guildias' skin… it came into action and was a force to be dealt with when it reared its ugly face. Guildias grabbed the leader, bringing him close to his face, almost intimate Durer noted. Whispering something into the leader of the attacker's ear before slowly lowering one of his hands down the length of the man's body; again it was seductive yet dangerous at the same time. The hand stopped in front of the man's crotch, Guildias short fingernails grazing the cloth of his victim's outfit. The inmate's expression became ill as something else was whispered to him, Guildias' proximity to the man teasing a kiss. Suddenly the affair was over by the interruption of a guard, who'd obviously been tipped off by one of the leader's mates.
Guildias was pulled back by the yelling guard, "I'm sick of this, ninety-four! I don't care if we have to keep you in penance for the remainder of your time here, you won't be hurting anyone else!"
Unlike Durer and most of his guards, this fellow didn't take much pleasure as he took Guildias' arms and bent them behind him. Hauling the prisoner off with a look of sadism to him, the guard was clearly a 'straight-arrow' sort of person. Durer could have retched at the sight; a waste of power was being displayed to him.
It was nearing the end of lunch before Durer began to eat once more and he had to rush to complete the meal. Durer was thinking; though he'd heard others (including his father) pointing out that it wasn't his strongest skill he could still do well enough at thinking up a decent plot. He wanted to see Guildias and to do that he needed to get into trouble—and a decent amount of it at that. It struck him suddenly as a scrawny-looking prisoner passed his table.
With a grin playing at his thin lips Durer rose from his seat and grabbed the end of his meal tray like a weapon and swung it at the diminutive inmate and knocked the pitiful man in the base of the skull. He fell like a gunnysack of bricks onto the floor with only a whimper escaping his lips. Durer started yelling obscenities and kicking the man in the skull—if someone had to die for him to get into the same trouble as Guildias so be it. Blood spewed across the floor from the bottom of the victim's skull as well as several other wounds from Durer's kicks. Surprisingly the man was still conscious, he was trying to curl into a ball and avoid the stronger man's strikes.
Durer was taken by the arms by the guards and hauled backwards. The inmate's eyes never left his victim, watching the man spit out his teeth onto the cobblestone floor and scream in pain piteously. He couldn't hear what the
guards were saying to him, he just felt the rush in his body and the ringing sound in his ears. When one of the guard's hold on him slipped Durer wrangled free and started back towards his victim. The fear that was in the bloodied man's eyes was enough to give the head guard an erection.
There it is… fuck seeing Guildias. Anyone will do right now… Durer thought to himself. But a baton struck him on the head before he could reach the man again. His eyes went black for a moment and he could see nothing but a silver haze—he'd lost consciousness. When he woke from his collapse he found himself being drug out of the cafeteria. "W-where am I going?"
"Solitary." Hissed the straight-arrow guard, without looking to Durer's face he sounded as if he understood that the former guard was smiling. "You have something to say to your friend? Don't think about trying to plan anything, of course, because it will fail."
"Of course…" Durer laughed, "Who would want to leave this paradise, angel?"
The straight-arrow guard glanced to him, the man was shorter than Durer and not as muscular (which is perhaps why another guard was accompanying them). He thought it was a good name for him, because he found that despite the guard's rough treatment he felt no malice underneath the grip that held him. Somehow this guard reminded Durer of the silver-haired guard that used to read books at his own prison, corruptible and simple. For both of them this was just a job, just something to put food in their stomachs. 'Angel' shot him another look, shaking his head, "Want to say goodbye to him or something? He's had a terrible time here, not just the other inmates…"
Durer smiled, "Angel, I could care less if he dies. He is no friend of mine."
"I understand, then, rivals it is?"
"Something." Durer pulled at the man's grip on him, playing the other guard no mind when he warned the former guard not to test him. Those hands were gentle but being forced to do something harsh; it wasn't a natural thing for 'Angel' to cause others pain. "Angel…"
"It's Hyatt. And I am not interested in talking to someone like you… I've heard about you. I just wanted to see if you were as heartless as they say." Said 'Angel' as he stopped in front of a door, that most likely lead to solitary. "Here it is."
"So what do you think?" Durer asked him with a smile. "Am I?"
"Yes." Hyatt sighed as he let Durer go and drew his baton. He opened the door and nudged the blonde with the weapon, "Go inside."
Guildias didn't bother to raise his head when the door to solitary was opened and a new prisoner was brought past his confining cell. The other was drug down further into the bowels of the institution and thrown into a cell to sulk in darkness as he was now. He didn't care in any case.
He leaned against the clammy walls of the cell, mumbling his dead lover's name underneath his breath.
Was it an hour before Guildias heard the man from the other cell speaking up? No, he decided, it was less time—perhaps ten minutes.
"I've got a fucking hard-on." The voice said. It was so familiar, yet Guildias lacked the effort to attempt to recognize the person. Another minute went by, "Don't tell me you don't too. Because I know it's a lie..."
Guildias closed his eyes, breathing steadily. "Durer." It wasn't a question, just an observation.
He wanted nothing to do with this man, nor anyone else left in the world. All he occupied his thoughts with anymore was his lost Myuca. Guildias put his head down, not bothering to listen to the former guard in the other ceil, doubtless the sexual addict was 'taking care of himself' in the other cell. Guildias was oblivious to the shifting clothes and muffled sounds the guard made.
"You-u know what?" Durer said, with an audible groan to him, still stroking himself in the other cell. "I-I'd like for just once... to taste of that fucking do-good guard."
Guildias couldn't contain the smirk he felt underneath his skin. No matter what the situation was, Durer only had one thing on his mind. For that Guildias was jealous; he wanted to be so single-minded. He wanted to forget about Myuca forever.
He replied, in a low voice, "I bet you would."
"Fucking-g-..." His voice was choked off by a half-groaning sigh of ecstasy from Durer. He was breathing heavily, his hands probably soiled with his own semen. "Fucking, bitch. He probably sucks the warden's dick every night..."
"Don't become so fixated on one of the guards. It's not just him you're angry with, Durer." Laughed Guildias, not raising his voice from the whisper it was. "You want all of these guards, don't you?"
A moment laughed Guildias heard the raising laughter of the former-guard, it echoed off the empty walls of the jail.
Only six more days remained before Guildias' body would join his heart in death... if he could never forget Myuca—he told himself—than he would make everyone remember the anguish he experienced.