Finger on the trigger— not. His eyes might as well have been the Looking Glass, such tips tops turvy the reality he gazed at was; tremors in his hands were rejections of the gun in he was holding and I can’t do this, he wanted to say. It’s a life with a family and a past and maybe they’re someone’s father and—
He’s becoming exactly who he vowed that he wouldn’t be, couldn’t be; he’s becoming his father’s killer, he is a killer, and he can’t, he can’t—
A familiar voice.
He could literally feel the blood draining out of his face. There was a sharp askance in his ear that he barely comprehended— What was that? What’s happening? You’d better answer me, KID, or your friends and family’s gone by next morning.
His breaths came sharp, quick, and damn it he was hyperventilating; a hand slammed to his mouth to cut off oxygen as thoughts of Aoko and Nakamori and his mother dead flashed by— house blown to bits? Maybe it would seem like a simple car accident— or if they were feeling particularly sadistic, it would be arson and memories of a burning stage and screams for his dad to come back echoed in his mind.
If— if he could ask Hakuba to help— no, he can’t get the detective wound up in this mess. But if he could, if he could, if Hakuba could stop him from doing this, please, please— if he died in action, would his family live at least? He wouldn’t have to kill, and this nightmare would be over, but he couldn’t ask Hakuba to do that.
Not to mention they had thought of everything, he couldn’t ask anyway, the furiously whispering voice in his ear served as a reminder that he was live on air—
Why hadn’t he checked to see if he was being tailed? Stupid stupid stupid stupid!
“It’s nothing. I’ll take care of it.”
Was his answer to the buzzing voice on the other end, his own forced through a twisting stomach and a constricted throat. A cautious shift in position to slowly rise, head swimming as he did so— placing the gun down (thank you) and raising his hands cautiously to show that he was unarmed. And he wanted to say that he was— No uncomfortable pistol hidden in the small of his back or a knife strapped down to his ankle because he was better than that, right?
But he wasn’t.
The hidden hand gun that sat all too comfortably at his waist made him sick.
“Well then, you know what to do.”
The tone that came through the ear phones were anticipatory and taunting, a cat playing with it’s prey. He grit his teeth— Hakuba’s not the annoying classmate you know anymore, Kuroba, Kaito tried to tell himself even as his breath made an attempt to quicken again. Lets see, lets see, there was a camera somewhere that was monitoring him— Earphone guy wasn’t looking at it but Headquarters were.
Hakuba was just too noticeable of a person to pass by as a random intruder— what to do— stupid British teenage detectives who messed everything up.
He can’t fake this, can’t pretend to shoot and cover the other’s mouth, can’t get a silent message across to him and even then he wouldn’t understand. Hakuba was just too good for that, despite his fallacies and annoyances. The stupid idiot would try to save the other and somehow save the day— because that’s what detectives did.
Save lives.
Unlike him.
So unlike him.
But that wasn’t the problem here he had to —
He can’t try any stupid moves. He licked his lips— one toe out of line and bang bang boom. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Syndicate would take it one step further and blow up his whole school.
He would have to play along, then, at this game. If he knew the other as well as he did — the detective wasn’t going to flee anytime soon—or would he? The other was never one to run from danger if what he saw at his heists were any indication but then that was different. Either way, Kaito wanted him here— as soon as the detective got out of sight, the syndicate was going to hunt him down. Trap set. Game over.
He had to checkmate him— them— here.
But how?
All of these thoughts ran by in split seconds, mind working overdrive— he had to get the detective out of this alive.
There was a final decision made at that moment— so many paths pointing to so many directions and he wasn’t sure if he had stepped foot in the right one. Not when all sense of moral “correctness” had gone down the drain.
Right and wrong didn’t apply anymore.
No looking back.
“I’m afraid that doesn’t apply when the person in question isn’t quite thieving at the moment."
Kaito said, slipping into his persona altogether too easily — Hakuba’d approached him as KID, and he’d reciprocate— stick with what’s familiar. He’s not in a rush to get to that sniper anytime soon, the conference would last for a while anyway, all he had to do was—
To do was—
He licked his dry lips again; body language Kaito, stop that, you’ve already given away enough.
The game changed all at once, and Hakuba’s expression hardened a degree in both confusion and concern, gaze trained on his classmate, his thief, flicking only briefly toward the gun set on the concrete of the rooftop, then back again. It wasn’t the card gun; that much was clear, and there was so much wrong with the scene before him that he’d have had to be a fool not to recognize it for what it was, at least in part.
He couldn’t act without more data, though, and a clearer picture on where Kuroba stood in all of it. Theories leapt to his mind in a raging torrent, offering explanation, justification, and warnings, but settling on any would be dangerous to proceed on at the present juncture.
At least there was the string of usual banner. It was safe– the only neutral territory in the face of potential upheaval.
"Not quite?” Hakuba asked, forcing a smirk on his lips. “Honestly, you’d think that you could pick a better place and time to case a heist location than during a busy conference, Kaitou-san.”
The words, so familiar, gave him a chance to breathe, to sort through what he did know. KID wasn’t exactly a pacifist, he knew that, and he had dangerous people on his tail. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that he had access to weapons beside his typical KID gear, especially after everything with Nightmare. But it wasn’t like KID to display so much hesitation, minute and discrete as it was. The fear, the bit of chatter…
Was it Nightmare all over again? Were they being watched? Was Kuroba being controlled?
Typical of his character, the detective shifted his gaze without turning his head to try to get a better feel for their surroundings, scanning for potential exit strategies. It would be such a simple matter to call for backup. He licked the back of his teeth, contemplating. He had cuffs on him. Perhaps he could take KID in– though, no, no, that wouldn’t work. KID couldn’t be caught for a multitude of reasons, and he still needed more information.
“Don’t tell me that you’re losing your touch? Or is it just the thrill that you’re looking for?"