hadriel_logs | Gaming The System

A reasonable person probably would've seen the text and then gone as far away from Rage's temple as possible. Firo, known among his friends as a brash idiot, instead considers it for a second and then finds himself strolling over to meet Sato anyway.

It just figures that, no matter where he is, Firo winds up with all the weirdos. It happened with Isaac and Miria--though they were pretty innocuous examples--and Christopher back in New York and then Ladd and Dragon in Alcatraz.

But, well, what's the worst that could happen? Sato was right when he pointed out that Firo would just come back from anything. Truth is, Firo's curious, and he's never liked running away from anything. To not go would just be cowardice. Besides, he justifies to his mental image of a disapproving Maiza, the more he learns about this guy, the more he knows about how similar or different their immortalities are.

Firo strides up the steps casual as can be, his hands in his pockets and his pace leisurely. His knife, which he's never without, is tucked under his jacket. Being used to weapons like that, he's not totally surprised to see what Sato's carrying--its size is another matter, though.

He waves. "Hey. What's all this about?"

"I had an idea and I figured that you of all people would be the best to share it with. After all, we're two of a kind." If it wasn't for the perpetual squint, he'd be giving an avuncular wink at about this point.

"I should have thought to ask if you had a gun of any kind you wanted to bring, but perhaps it's a bit too late now. Come on," he smiles, beckoning for Firo to follow him into the temple. "If it works, we can always come back later. As long as we don't overdo it."

Firo immediately wants to resist at being lumped in with this guy. He's not nearly that strange! But he keeps quiet as he follows a few paces behind Sato.

"I don't have a gun. My--" My Family doesn't use them much, is what he nearly says.

They have more important things to tackle. He sighs, "You haven't told me what 'it' is yet. If you're not gonna cut to the chase, I can find something else to do with my time."

Sato paces through the temple, taking note of the curios, the atmosphere of the place. He's never really been the kind of man to feel rage, not really. Delight would be more up his alley. But since Rage was where everyone went to get their weapons, well, he was willing to play along.

He leads Firo right up to the altar, touching his chin thoughtfully, expression a little more serious. To be honest, he already knows what he wants to do. But it might take a little convincing.

"Do you like video games?" he asks on a complete tangent, turning back to face Firo and looking over him again. Hard to say for sure what kind of era we're talking about, so expand it a little. "Or games of chance, dice, cards?"

As always, Firo feels his temper threaten to flare slightly as he steps into the temple. He doesn't like that his emotions can be tweaked with so easily, but at least he's learned to shove the anger down over time--life before this place had already given him plenty of practice. Should he be grateful?

Firo pays more attention to what's going on--or what isn't going on--on Sato's face than where they're going. He steps up by the altar without really thinking about it. Video games? "What?"

He shakes his head. "I've got no idea what video games are, but, yeah, I've played with cards and dice." Always anxious to prove himself, he doesn't even think before he finds himself tacking on, with a faint touch of pride, "I manage my Family's casino back home."

He glances at the alter then back to Sato. "I've been tryin' to get people together for poker games, but I've got a feeling that's not what you wanna do here."

"Indeed not. You see, I can tell you haven't thought a lot about your immortality. Everyone else out there," He gestures back at the door, the outside world, "is playing the game by the rules. But you and I have an ace up our sleeve. Even if risking your life fighting isn't your style, there's a world of opportunity out there that you're missing."

It's really not as good as a video game metaphor. Sato makes a mental note to introduce him to the one of the greatest inventions of the 20th Century at a later date.

"You see, I've heard that Rage will trade bodies for ammunition. Now, hauling dead monsters from the caverns sounds like an terrible amount of work," he explains, pulling out the machete, still smiling. "I think there's a much easier way." And before Firo has time to react to that menacing blade, he flips it around so the tip is pointing towards himself, offering Firo the handle. "And if you're still a angry about that little incident when we met, well, maybe it'll make you feel a little better, hmm?"

Firo nods along to the explanation. He hasn't spent too much time on it, not having a gun, but he's familiar with Rage's proposition.

As soon as the blade comes up, Firo curses his stupidity for coming--he's sure he's going to be attacked. His whole body is tensing to spring, and his right hand flies for the hilt of his knife.

But before he can unsheath it, there's another hilt being offered to him. Firo lowers his hand, then takes a step back and shakes his head roughly.

"Wait, wait, wait. Just gimme a second to get this straight here, all right?" He huffs out a breath of air and eyeballs Sato. "You want me to kill you, just to see if we get bullets? What, are you some kinda masochist? And how do I know you're not gonna use this as an excuse to get revenge on me, huh?"

Though that would probably only apply if Sato were a member in some rival gang Firo didn't know about. Still, he's spent so many years in the underground of organized crime that its 'rules' are the first place his mind goes.

"Well, when you put it that way, I could always find someone else around here to kill," is Sato's cheery reply, although with a little edge to it that it definitely wasn't there before. His arm drops a little, although he's still holding the machete handle out. "I suppose it's my fault for not realizing sooner that you wouldn't be capable of killing anyone, immortal or not."

If the encouragement angle doesn't work, hopefully Firo's short fuse will.

Edited 2016-08-24 02:23 (UTC)

Not capable? Who the hell does this guy think he's dealing with?

Firo's face goes as dark as a storm cloud. "Gimme that."

Another person might try to patch up their pride by shouting their criminal resume. Another person might be wise and not rise to the bait.

If Sato doesn't fight him for it, Firo will grab right for the machete handle. And if he gets that far, he's aiming the blade straight into Sato's heart. With a twist, just for emphasis.

There we go. There's no resistance when Firo grabs it, and not a sound out of Sato when he shoves the blade straight in and twists. Fortunately, he's standing right there, so he just leans back a little to slide off and backwards onto the (presumably very bloodstained to begin with) altar.

About the last thing he thinks before it goes dark is that it probably won't be quite THAT easy...

It shouldn't be a surprise when, after a mere handful of seconds, Sato sits right back up again like nothing happened. The shirt however, is yet another casualty, bloodstained once again. "Well done, that's the spirit," he remarks almost as soon as he's up, peering around.

In response to the remarks, Firo just grits his teeth, his anger still not quite satisfied. In fact, now he's extra angry from the realization that he may have just been manipulated.

In one jerky motion, he twirls the machete so that he's gripping it by the blade and holds the handle out to Sato just as Sato held it towards him. Even as he does so, he braces himself for the possibility of the man deciding to come at him now. Maybe he could reach for his knife to block in time... maybe not. He supposes it doesn't matter much.

"You seem awfully cheerful. So, do you think it worked? I'm not seein' anything promising."

"No, I'm not either. Just a little too fast for her to pay attention to, most likely. Too bad." Sato says mildly, not even bothering to stand up yet.

"Oh, no no. You keep it. Unless you'd rather volunteer and see if it's any more effective for yourself?" There's a brief pause, but he doesn't expect Firo to take him up on that for a second. And as entertaining as it would be, he needs him to stick around for the next part. "No, I'm thinking what we need to do instead is make a body to leave behind. It'll be a little more work -- maybe five, ten minutes -- but I honestly can't manage it myself. And it's still better than carrying monster corpses through the tunnels."

Sato's much more confident about the idea behind phase two, it's just that convincing Firo might be the tricky part.

Firo lowers his arm and tilts his head. "Make?

The only way he knows to make a body is through alchemy--a homunculus. He stiffens and bites his tongue to keep from yelling at the sick bastard that he won't do anything of the sort; that gives him time to actually think and realize that that's probably not what Sato means.

At least as far as Szilard knew, a homunculus took a lot more than five or ten minutes. And they don't have the materials here anyway. So, no, a homunculus human sacrifice probably isn't what he's talking about. Firo forces himself to relax and unclench his free hand. He needs to calm down and think, damn it, but it's so hard.

He groans and presses a palm to his head--it hurts from all the work it has to do. "I've still got no idea what you're talkin' about. Is it too hard for you to explain it straight out? So far, this all seems a lot harder than just doin' it the normal way."

And yet, here Firo is, still waiting around to see what happens next.

Sato chuckles. "I'm terribly sorry. Look, it's very simple," he clarifies as nicely as he can, knowing full well it's more than a little unpleasant to the average person. "If we make the right amount of extra pieces to complete a full body, and we just stack them all on the altar, well, who's to know any better except the two of us? And then we'll come back tomorrow and see what she thinks."

Edited 2016-08-24 13:36 (UTC)

Pieces. Now it makes sense.

Firo wrinkles his nose as if he's just caught a whiff of something distasteful. He's recalling Huey's eye, now stuffed in a jar under his bed, just after he'd plucked it. With its body nearby, the thing had strained against his fingers to return to its rightful place. The drive of an immortal body to reassemble itself is something he's seen over and over, and it's the only flaw he can see in this strategy.

Oh, yeah, and the fact that it's totally gross.

He hesitates, knowing he could be tipping his hand with this--he's, essentially, mentioning a way to keep anyone like himself from regenerating. Then again, Sato's the same way--Firo doubts he hasn't already figured it out. "Did you bring any rope or boxes to keep the pieces from goin' back together?"

"I woulda' been more prepared if you'd just told me from the start what you wanted to do, you know," he remarks sourly. Actually, he probably wouldn't have come at all.

Edited 2016-08-24 15:34 (UTC)

"Life is better with a few surprises," he says with a smile. A sentiment that Firo probably doesn't agree with, but that's just too bad for him.

"Let's try to make it as fast as possible," he says, less concerned for his own discomfort and more for Firo's. Convincing Firo to kill him was an easy, spur of the moment flash of anger. This one, he's genuinely unsure if the kid can do it.

Indicating a line roughly below his ribcage, he goes on, "As long as you pull one half away quickly enough, it shouldn't be a problem. Five, ten yards away should do it. Do you think you can manage?"

Firo's thrown around guys much bigger than this one before, so he's sure physically dragging one half won't be hard. No, it's the... well, the human part that's the hardest. Firo doesn't have a weak stomach, but he's aware that he tends to have something of a soft heart--at least, soft for a gangster. He can't deny that he's done awful things, but he tends to prefer to beat people unconscious or maim them rather than kill if the situation lets him.

Despite his general shadiness, he's pretty sure he knows enough to know that chopping a guy in half is wrong and also pretty disgusting. Then again, apparently this guy wants it, so is it still just as wrong? Maybe Rage is working on his temper again, because his next consideration is: Where does this guy get off dragging him into quandaries like this?! Maybe it'd serve him right if Firo did oblige him.

On the one hand, basic human decency. On the other there may be information to be gained from this if Sato's telling the truth about his little 'surprise.' Knowing more about this man's strange brand of immortality could be helpful; Firo can't deny that immortals being together can be dangerous. If any of his family wound up here... he'd need to know all he could to be able to protect them. Furthermore, he has to think of his friends here. Is a guy this nonchalant about killing himself going to consider going after others for more experimenting if Firo doesn't play along? He doesn't want to think of someone like Muscovy being asked to play around with this or--a thousand times worse--being used as a subject himself. Given the men he's seen, Firo doesn't think it's much of a stretch; the people Sato reminds him of so far aren't very nice guys.

And, besides, the guy's just going to come right back.

With a jolt, he realizes he's just been thinking without saying a word. He snorts and raises an eyebrow. "'Shouldn't be a problem.' Sure." That is sarcasm. Firo's looking decidedly skeptical. He frowns and picks at the collar of his shirt. "Am I gonna have to hold you down too? You know, this is probably gonna ruin my clothes."

When in doubt, pretend to be nonchalant.

He turns the machete back around, and his fingers tighten on the handle. Apparently they're going to do this.

Sato just keeps watching Firo's expression though that long pause. He's actually considering it, which is an interesting sign all on its own. He'd wondered at first if Firo was going to be more of a problem than anything he could use, but if all that was needed in the end was a little cajoling, then he could make some progress with him, over time.

The 'over time' part of it was faintly irritating though, in an almost unnatural way that was easily brushed aside.

"Nothing that a cold water wash won't fix," is the easy reply as Sato lies back down across the altar, folding his hands behind his head for a moment -- after a brief thought, bearing half a mind to his own clothes, he gets halfway back up and eases the suspenders from his shoulders and untucks his shirt, hiking it up enough that there's space to 'work'. He's not quite sure which half he'll regenerate from, but he can just take the clothes from it after.

"Don't worry about it too much. Speed is the important part," he adds again, more seriously, before laying down again. A certain amount of base biological reaction can't be helped, but having died so, so many times, sometimes in quite horrifying ways... this isn't even going to make the top ten.

It's almost disturbing to Firo how the guy lies down like he's just going to take a nap. He forces himself not to think about it. Just don't think at all and get the job done; he's been able to get through things worse than this by putting on his capo face.

Firo slips out of his jacket while Sato gets ready and sets it far away from where he assumes the action will take place. No need to ruin all his clothes.

He steps back up to the altar to stand on one side of Sato and reaches over with the hand holding the machete. Though he's not eager, the concern is gone from his face now. It's just blank and all business. "Ready?"

"Mm-hmm. If only there was an audience, they'd be about to see one hell of a magic trick."

When the blade actually comes down, relaxed isn't quite the right word for him any more. A better way of putting it might be an absolutely unreal level of self-control. Even though it takes more than one chop to get through, he keeps his hands tucked away behind his head, muscles tightening just a little.

There's no way to make this painless, so Firo focuses on efficiency. Certain parts take more hacking than he'd like, like the major blood vessels. He tries to keep his hands clear of the splatter that comes then so that they won't slip on the handle and make his blows clumsy.

Part of him respects that self-control. He's seen people scream their heads off or cry over much less; while he prides himself on being able to weather pain well, he's pretty sure he'd still be showing it a lot more than this.

The other part of him just thinks, This guy is crazy as fuck.

It feels like it takes a lot longer than it actually does. Once he's done, Firo sets the blade down--he'll clean it for him later--and doesn't waste any more time. He grabs Sato's ankles and pulls that half away, erring on the longer end of the range that he was given. Just to be safe.

If Sato were the same kind of immortal, his halves would simply pull back together. Because of that, Firo doesn't release his grip. He doesn't want to screw this up and have to do it over.

Sato actually turns his head to watch Firo haul the other half of his off across the floor. It's a bit messy, and after a couple seconds of Firo waiting there, he's surprised the kid doesn't just come over to finish him off and speed this up. He opens his mouth to start to say as much, but blood loss and shock is finally starting to catch up with him, and the world gets grey around the edges before fading out completely.

The sudden and complete sag of every muscle relaxing at the moment of his death is very clear, and while the particles of black matter starting to stream off Sato's corpse might be invisible to Firo, the physical regeneration sure isn't.

There's a weird and unpleasant sound, loud enough to be heard this time with so much of his body needing to be replaced: it's somewhere between the crackle of static and the rattling slurp of someone trying to suck the last droplet of Coke through a straw. And in those brief moments after the top half of Sato lets out his last breath, Firo has a front-row seat to demi-human regeneration.

Long ribbons of flesh and skin seem to coalesce out of thin air, above the lower half of his corpse, coiling around where the missing top half of Sato's body should be. Internal structures reconstitute themselves from nothing and spilled innards pull themselves back into the attached half. Swiftly the coils wrap around more closely, sealing and replacing every little hair and patch of skin

The whole process is over in handful of seconds, with Sato sitting back up just as it finishes, smile still on his face and looking mildly quizzically down at Firo. The top half of his own corpse, a perfect mirror of his now reconstituted body, is still laying on the top of the altar with his hat and shirt still on, and is still extremely dead.

Unnervingly, Sato doesn't even skip a beat before adding, "Good. Now to just add a couple legs and I think that should do the trick."

Edited 2016-08-25 14:14 (UTC)

It might be better for Firo that--save for Szilard's knowledge--he's relatively uneducated in the workings of the universe. Otherwise, this seeming affront to conservation of mass might freak him out even more. Even so, it's still more baffling than the first time he experienced regeneration.

You can't just get something from nothing, but that's exactly what seems to be happening to Firo's eyes. His jaw drops open and his eyes widen enough to nearly fill his face. He can't look away. He has to remind himself to unclench his fingers from Sato's ankles as the man rises.

At least now he sees why they didn't need to tie the halves down. ...And why he apparently didn't need to hold the half down either. So it looks like he could've left it to go back for the mercy kill. Oops.

Get it together. Gaping like he's just as stunned as he is won't do anything but make him look like a wimp. He rests on his knees and pushes himself up "That's nothin' like mine."

He whips his head from side to side to recover. Now he laughs in disbelief. "What, you wanna go through that again already? Do you wanna get your shirt first or should we not bother?"

Sato chuckles at Firo's absolutely priceless expression. "I had my suspicions that you were a different type, but... you'll have to tell me all about it once we finish up here. Like I said, maybe five minutes. If you cut lower this time, I think the operation will be a success and we can be out of here in time to grab clean clothes and get a nice drink at the bar before dark."

Firo at least might need it, after all.

Firo pouts--he doesn't like being laughed at. But he follows it up with a nod. The least he can do at this point is explain his own immortality and demonstrate a bit; it's only fair to reciprocate. Then again, he doesn't plan on spilling all the beans. He wonders what he can get away with.

He walks back to the altar and stoops to pick up the discarded blade. His shirt's already ruined, so he gently runs the blade against a less gore-splattered region of his upper sleeve. Leaving it dirty will only make cutting harder, so he figures he should do that kindness for Sato. "How come you want these bullets so bad, huh? You can use this--" He hefts the machete, "--can't you?"

"Oh yes. But hunting monsters with a machete seems like it could be a little too hard if I ran into anything particularly tough." Besides which, there's just something really enjoyable about having that kind of firepower on hand, at least as long as the ammo lasts.

Sato eases himself up off the ground and heads back to the altar, sitting back down again in front of Firo "And this wouldn't be the first time I've done business with someone looking for a few body parts, so it's not really a big deal," he adds pleasantly.

Firo sighs. It seems odd to him that a guy okay with getting cut up would be too worried about dealing with a tough monster. Then again, there may be other things at play besides concern about injuries or dying--dying over and over simply isn't fun or productive. And then there's the matter of the lack of control and helplessness. It could be anything like that, but he's yanked out of his contemplation by yet another weird revelation.

"Er--what? You're gonna have to tell me about that." He frowns almost reproachfully. "You can't just say stuff like that to a guy and not expect questions."

Firo reaches over Sato again with the weapon, and this time he rests it a couple inches below where he cut before. "Here?"

"Oh, just a few hearts, kidneys, that kind of thing. The fellow back where I'm from was very professional, always a good man to work with," he glosses over the transactions before getting to the important part. "Hmm, maybe another inch or two. Nobody will notice a few missing in the middle."

"Ready when you are," he says, folding his arms across his chest this time. He's honestly quite pleased this is going as well as it has been -- a lot of people would have backed out or thrown up by now. Clearly, Firo's got a strong constitution.

Organ transplants are still a thing of the future to Firo, so even that big hint doesn't help him draw the connections. Actually, his first thought is cannibalism, even though the only cannibal he knew preferred his food still living--Firo doesn't know if he ever delved into organs and doesn't really care to know.

Firo shrugs and makes a sound that's almost amused, mostly mocking. "She might if she's a 'goddess.'"

But what does he care? Hopefully, this is the last time he'll have to do this. He declines to think about what'll happen if this actually works and Sato decides he needs to really stock up on bullets. One thing at a time.

Firo adjusts the machete as indicated and, with no ceremony, starts to cut again. It goes a little faster this time, though Firo can't say it's any more pleasant. When he's done, he keeps the machete in his hand as he grabs Sato's wrists to drag him away.

There's definitely a small 'oof' this time when the severed end of Sato's torso hits the floor, leaving a good smear of blood and internal drippings across the floor of Rage's temple. She probably won't mind. In fact, she might even approve, for all he knows.

"Oh, that should be plenty far enough," Sato tells him this time, voice a little rough around the edges. He really should have picked up a second knife, in retrospect. Not having bullets is a problem in more than one way -- it's also the easiest and faster way to kill himself in a pinch.

Firo eases the body to the ground when he indicates that it's far enough. He can't help but feel a little bad at the audible strain in Sato's voice. He asked for this, Firo reminds himself, but it doesn't really help when he has no personal quarrel with this guy and no particular desire to have him suffer.

"You want me to take you out?" Then again, he may have dillydallied too long for it to matter, but he figures it can't hurt to make the offer this time. His grasp is ready on the hilt to oblige by slitting Sato's throat if he decides to take him up on it.

There's that tiny flicker of an unfamiliar emotion again: irritation. Is Firo's immortality really different enough that he doesn't get how this works? Sato's brow furrows a little, but the additional trauma of being dragged is thankfully enough that everything is starting to fade out rather quickly.

Perhaps a half second after his body goes limp, the whole process, exactly the same as before starts up: the faint but unearthly sound combined with full replacement of his lower half out of thin air. Perfectly intact, without a scratch on him, and the two almost-halves resting on the altar.

'Make' a body, indeed.

Of course the one downside is all his clothes are on the corpse copy, but there wasn't really any getting around that. It was either take them off before or after.

"And there we have it," he smiles, starting to get up almost before the ribbons of flesh have even finished wrapping around and forming his new legs, heading straight for the altar and starting to unbutton the shirt and wrangle his body out of it. "Just a minute to get decent and that will be that."

There it is--(almost) two Satos. Firo hadn't known any immortals who could do such a thing. It's certainly been a learning experience. Firo, though, is too busy grimacing away from the sight of Sato dressing to really take in the sight.

Yes, even after seeing the regeneration and knowing their plan, he didn't really think ahead enough to see this coming. Thinking ahead is not Firo's strong suit.

Having been teased for his prudishness before, Firo tries to speak normally as a distraction. "So whaddaya think? Is it gonna be worth all that?"

Face still down, Firo walks over to where he left his jacket. It, at least, has escaped the carnage. He wipes his hands off on his pants as best he can and delicately picks it up by the collar. After a moment of thought, he wipes off the machete blade again.

"We'll just have to see, won't we," Sato remarks, buttoning up his shirt, then starting to shimmy the pants off the lower half. Of course his clothes are a complete disaster around the middle, but minus one small stab wound in the chest, but should be perfectly fine after a good wash. "I can't imagine why Rage wouldn't be pleased, it's a perfectly serviceable body. I don't think there's much point in waiting around though. Perhaps I'll call her up and she if she's noticed it's here, later."

Pants, shoes, socks, suspenders... and finally he snags the hat from his body's head, adjusting it neatly atop his much more alive one. There's still one thing left, however... to make sure the little trick is a little less obvious. Just as casually as everything else he's done so far, Sato rolls the top half of his body over to lay face-down, grabs its hair, and smashes its face into the hard surface of the altar with a few swift and surprisingly violent slams. He pauses, lifts the head up enough to check how recognizable the face is -- not very, not any more -- and drops it.

As far as he's concerned, now everything is good. "It was a little hazy at the time, but didn't you say something about things working differently for you?" he asks, stepping back down from the altar steps and heading towards Firo. He didn't get a very good look after he'd shot the kid in the head before. But it really hadn't been quite 'right' somehow. Not even a trace of blackness around him. No blood left on the ground. But he was quite certain he'd killed him.

"I guess you've got that right." She has her blood, what more could she want?

He blinks when Sato turns on his own corpse, almost puzzled until he realizes what he's trying to do to his features. Makes sense, he supposes. In a way. If you're totally weird.

He soon has bigger things to think about anyway as he waits at the bottom of the stairs for Sato. Firo can't deny that he's wary of saying too much about his abilities, but he owes him now. He can't hold back a demonstration when he's seen this guy killed and regenerated by his hand three times. He supposes he should be thankful that Sato's not prodding him up onto the altar right this minute.

"Yeah. Look." Firo drops his jacket again and holds out his left hand. At his most recent demonstration back in Alcatraz, Firo'd had to use his teeth to show Ladd what immortality was. He supposes he should be thankful now that he has both his knife and Sato's machete to choose from. The latter is already in his hand, so that's the one that he abruptly swings down to sever the fingers of his outstretched left hand.

Firo grits his teeth against the unpleasantness--he's only all too aware right now that he's not as stoic as the man before him. The fingers fall, as is only natural, blood coursing after them.

But they've barely hit the ground when they rise back up, as if someone simply hit 'rewind.' The blood flows back into its proper vessels, the fingers knit back onto their stumps, and the skin seals up behind it all.

Everything back where it should be, Firo flexes his seamlessly reattached fingers. "It's a lot less messy, I guess."

A lot less messy and once again, there isn't a hint of blackness, no trademark bits of that unknown matter... well and the fact that Firo didn't even have to die before everything reverted back. That's a hint of genuine surprise on Sato's face, the mental wheels already turning. How could this be useful?

"Oh, I see. And the same when you're killed, I assume? I'm sorry, if you don't mind, could you do that again?" Sato really wants to see it. Well. Correction, he wants to see an improved variation on a theme. Decapitation has always been incredibly entertaining, and initially it had been on his mind as a fun possibility for the end of their visit. But with the last little while they've spent together, it's clear that Firo can be useful after all. He won't antagonize him yet. There's still so much to do.

But he does want to snag one of those fingers out of the air and see what happens. Experimentation is key, and Firo doesn't strike him as the type that's played around with it much.

Firo smiles a little, feeling encouraged by the visible surprise, however faint. At least he's not the only one who's experiencing something new--that makes him feel a little better at

The grin quickly fades. "Huh?" Well, what did he expect? Of course he wants to see more. Anyway, the guy's only killed him once as compared to Firo's three, so a minor wounding won't really cut it. Firo lets his eyes close for a second, slightly wearied by this all. "Yeah, sure. Just gimme a minute."

He thinks a moment, then stabs the blade into his neck and pulls it across with his last strength. He knows where to get the arteries, not just the veins, and that's what he goes for now. After that, he can't really think of much but the spray of blood, and he doesn't have the presence of mind--or oxygen in his brain, probably--to keep one hand from trying to grasp at the wound. Not that it matters; the blood just runs through his fingers.

Having neglected to sit or lie down before offing himself, Firo falls to his knees and then crumples forward and goes limp.

His body lies there a moment, then the pool of blood begins to shrink, as if it's being sucked up into a vacuum. His eyes roll and wander all around as he regains consciousness, and he quickly forces himself up on his hands and knees. He doesn't like being so vulnerable.

Well. If Firo's willing to go that far, maybe it's just too good an opportunity to pass up after all.

Sato usually moves at a relaxed, easy pace: deliberate, but certainly not in any rush. So it's a little surprising to see how fast he can move when he wants to. Grabbing the machete from the ground (and the blood is pulling away from that too, fascinating), he plants one foot right between Firo's shoulder blades as the kid starts to rise and grabs his hair with his free hand.

There's no chase and capture here, no thrill of the hunt and kill. But it's still been a while since he got a chance to do this, and the position puts him in good control of the situation. It's fun. And if this goes as he's expecting, based on what he's seen so far, decapitation of this kid would never be the same kind of psychological threat that he'd used on other demi-humans anyway.

"Just one more thing. It'll only take a minute," he says with a smile, raising the machete high.

It's only one practiced stroke to slice clean through Firo's neck, and this time Sato pulls the head away from Firo's body as it falls again, taking a couple paces backwards to put some distance between the head and body. What happens now, he wonders.

Sato’s moving faster than Firo thought he would—and Firo hadn’t really thought he’d try anything at this point. He sucks in a breath of air in shock, his mind filled with one thought:

Oh, fuck, no, he’s going to eat me!

Could Sato's kind of immortal even do that? Earlier, Firo'd been leaning towards thinking they couldn't; now he's not thinking at all except with his most basic fears and instincts. He’s still recovering his strength as he regenerates. So struggle as he might—and you can bet he struggles, pushing up with his arms to try and force Sato off him—it’s hardly fruitful. He’s growling with effort and rage as the knife cuts him off.

He has enough time before brain death to see his twitching body being left behind while his head is carried away. And to wonder, very faintly, what the hell Sato’s trying to do. To think a little less faintly that at least he hasn't been eaten, so Ennis should still be fine, right..?

Meanwhile, back at the corpse, the blood waits a little while before it sluggishly picks itself off the ground and begins streaming back into Firo’s neck just as it did before. Now to add the head and everything will be okay—

The tug on the head is about as strong as if Firo himself were still whole and trying to pull out of Sato’s grip. It’s persistent, too, a consistent yank in the same direction that doesn’t slacken or shift. The body remains limp on the floor, and the head gets as close as it currently can. For now, that just means that it orients itself diagonally so that the severed neck lines up with where it wants to be. The distance between it and its destination, though, won’t change so long as the head is held.

"Ha ha, whoa there," Sato chuckles, tucking the head under his arm as it threatens to pull right out of his grip. He takes a few more steps away, easily going past the distance that a demi-human would have regenerated in. But there's no new head and, more surprisingly, the body didn't try to edge closer, just the head. It's sure got some pull to it, though.

Sato takes a short jaunt out to one of the outer rooms of the temple, putting a wall between the head and the body for a moment or two, testing the reaction. Satisfied with his little experiment, he heads back to Firo's body and, putting the blade of the machete over the exposed surface of Firo's neck, spinal column and jugular, finally releases the straining head.

If Firo was a demi-human, the blade would be destroyed in the regeneration process. But if it's a problem, he can just move it out of the way and let the kid come back to life. He's made a few interesting comparisons, and now it's time to see what Firo has to say. Probably quite a lot, and very loudly.

Even through the wall the pull remains. It works almost like a compass, always pointing towards the body. When the blade blocks the head from Firo's neck, it continues to struggle but can't break through the blade. Any scraps that aren't separated will seal together and in the process push on the blade as the rest tries to attach. But it can't do so until the blade is removed.

As predicted, Firo comes back to life hollering. "You motherfucker!"

Now he wastes no time staggering to his feet, his body tensed to react.

What's scarier than dying--he's an old hand at that now--is not knowing. He has no idea how long he was out or what Sato did to him in the meantime. His hand flies to the knife he keeps on him, first to make sure he hasn't been disarmed. It stays there because he can only barely resist the urge to fly at Sato with it right now.

But Firo's angry at himself, too. He'd underestimated Maiza's speed all those years ago, and here he went and made the same mistake again. He should've known better. Would've known better if he weren't such a fucking idiot. He can't help but feel like he's acted like an amateur and that's just embarrassing.

He balls both hands into fists and grits his teeth. Focus. Don't flip out (much). "The hell was that for?! You didn't think to tell me what you were gonna do?!"

There isn't even any blood to clean off the machete, which is quite the change of pace, Sato thinks as he sheaths the blade at his side. Look, Firo, no more weapons. Totally safe. Admittedly, decapitating Firo was a (delightful) impulse move on his part, and anger is totally expected under the circumstances, but there's no reason he can't still turn it around.

"Now, now. Please calm down, Firo. It's not that much more than what you'd just done to yourself, now is it?" he notes, keeping his voice calm and even. "I'd like to think that, despite our differences, we're still comrades of a sort. And I'd like to help you take full advantage of your immortality and make the most of it. But I can't do that if I don't understand all the fine differences between our two kinds. I'd like to think, well, that we've both learned a lot today, haven't we?"

"I'm terribly sorry it was so sudden. I'd forgotten how much being killed upset you," he lies easily, "but I promise wholeheartedly that I'll bear it in mind from here on."

An apology is the last thing he expects, and Firo's so dumbstruck that he lowers his hand from his weapon and simply stares for a moment. Yeah, he thought an apology was warranted, but he never thought he'd get one. In his shady corner of the world, the normal reaction would've been for the person he's yelling at to attack him. They wouldn't sound so damn reasonable.

It's that surprise that gives him a moment to think and try to shove down his anger. He has to regain some measure of control.

His mouth thins to a line, but his tone is blunt rather than enraged. "Quit it. Don't talk to me like I'm some kid." Upset? Well, he is, but he's even more humiliated to have it put like that, as if he's some scared brat who can't take a little death. Under normal circumstances, he'd want to point out that any normal person would be upset. That'd entail admitting to it, though, and he can't bring himself to.

"Tell me how the hell you think killin' me is gonna help 'make the most of it.' I don't wanna play some guessin' game, just tell me." He spares the temple a glance and waves his hand to motion for the exit. "And let's do it outside. I don't like this place messin' with my head."

Not that he doesn't have anger problems of his own. But this place makes it worse, and he has to do what he can to keep from flying off the handle. Like it or not, he and this guy may very well be comrades in a sense, if only due to their abilities. And the fact that they've together left a very-much-not-a-monster body on Rage's altar. That kind of thing can bind people together.

"Sure. There's no point in waiting around here all day. Some fresh air would be good for us." Normally he'd just discount the comment, but the way Firo mentions it messing with his head makes him wonder if that's the source of those occasional moments of irritation. If that's really the case, he'd rather not spend much more time inside either. The idea that something could influence his mind is a new one, and not really a thought that he likes much.

"The point that I'm trying to make is that your immortality means more than just 'not being able to die'. If you use your head, there's a world of new possibilities that humans would never normally consider. And there are some things that it's clear now that you could manage that I never could." And vice versa, but Sato's going out of his way to make it sound better to Firo as the two of them walk outside.

"Of course I've only just begun to consider it after seeing your abilities but offhand, if you could imagine -- for the sake of argument -- that an immortal of your type was a terrorist looking to get a bomb inside a heavily guarded building. How would you do it?"

Once they're outside, Firo walks without much aim besides following alongside Sato. He looks over his shoulder at him as he thinks over the question posed. It immediately reminds Firo of Mist Wall, so it doesn't occur to him that it might be an odd example to immediately jump into. He's still not sure of went on in that building, but he doesn't much care; his family got out okay.

"Could just bribe 'em, but I'm gonna go ahead and guess you're not talkin' about stuff like that." No, it was made pretty clear with the 'immortal' specification. Firo just wants to be a bit of a brat.

"I could always just fight my way in. I don't have to worry about dyin', but those guys do. Either they'll keep killin' me and I'll keep comin' back or they'll see me come back from the dead and get scared off."

He has a feeling that's not the right answer, but it's all he can come up with. Firo's not much the type to plan or think about things.

"If you just fought your way in, they'd find some way to incapacitate you eventually. Just because you're immortal doesn't mean you can't be captured," Sato chides him gently. That right there is the real problem that Sato has had to deal with over and over again... and the reason for a little applied creativity.

"Now if you could find a smaller opening, an air duct for example, and tape the bomb to your hand... or large enough part, I'm sure you're more familiar with the weight to movement ratio. But it seems like there's a good amount of pull there, wouldn't you say?"

"Cut it off, drop it in a vent, and simply 'lead' it to where you want through the air ducts by walking around the outside of the building. Of course it would depend on weight, having building schematics, and other situational conditions, but the concept is sound. This is just off the top of my head, since it's become quite clear that we can't pull off the same tricks. But I know that if you get started on the right foot, you can change your whole perspective on your own immortality," he says encouragingly.

Firo grunts his grudging agreement with the reminder of his vulnerability; his own friends took care of an immortal by cementing him in a barrel and dropping him in the Hudson. With the added comfort of the knowledge that he'd suffer by drowning repeatedly.

Firo listens like a good student, though at the remark about the pull he furrows his brow in confusion. How does he know about how strong it is? The fingers or..? Firo figures he's better off not thinking about it.

"You don't think it'd be suspicious if they saw me walkin' around outside of there..?" Well, it's still less suspicious than Firo's idea. He sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets, slouching. "All right, fine, but hypotheticals aside, that's not really that useful to me if I'm not gonna wind up in that situation. What about somethin' that I might actually need to know--can you tell me how to break outta jail?"

Now that might be useful, at least to the Martillos if not to him currently. Though if he could be assured of Ennis's safety, it might be fun to torment Victor by breaking out.

"Given the right tools, anything is possible," Sato smiles. "Why don't you give it some serious thought first, after everything we've talked about today, and if nothing comes to mind after a few days ask me again." Most of his ideas come in a spur of the moment. Set things up as much as you can, and then work with what you've got. But he's sure he could propose something.

He's also quite sure by this point that Firo doesn't have a black ghost. If the lack of particles during his revival wasn't enough, getting into or out of simple jail probably wouldn't be something he was even concerned about.

"Now why don't we go get that drink? And you can fill me in on this poker game idea you mentioned back when we were getting started..."

Gaming The System

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