Higaisha no otōto

A killer broke loose in the hospital. A killer with a passion. A sick, twisted passion. He wanted to see their faces. But no, they weren't alive.
Tomo's sister Touko was admitted to the asylum a week or so before the hideous event reared its ugly head. He had no morals; he had to find her.

But what if that's exactly what the killer wanted?

Because maybe they want Tomo to see to. Maybe, just maybe, this was their plan.


1. Higaisha no otōto.

He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw a frail woman, evidently a laboratory technician, lying dead across the tiled floor, her delicate figure outlined in red. She was sprawled in a distorted position; limbs snapped vigorously like tree branches and hair pulled out with barbaric aggression from her scalp. Her eyes were wide in an expression of unholy terror, forever frozen in the nightmare. Then he saw the note, written on a post-it, pinned to her forehead violently with a ballpoint pen, like the other victims. There was blood trickling down her nose from the base of the incision, almost black from the nk that had poisoned it. He stepped back, noticing his face in the reflection of the vaccination cabinets. It was stained with the blood from victims and the chases down the wards. No expression visible on his face, no light in the eyes the tarnished black hair cloaked.


The killer liked the chase as much as the murder; he wanted Tomo to see the gallery of bloody bodies he was showcasing, postponing his decapitation...that Tomo knew would be awaiting him, if he solved the case or not.


'Doesn't your sister look pretty?'  'Higaisha no otōto'


'These people wouldn't keep quiet, but you will won't you?'  'Higaisha no otōto'


He sharply ripped the post-it note off, too unnerved to remove the pen. The third note read:


'All I want is to see their pretty faces...'  'Higaisha no otōto'


Higaisha no otōto, brother of the victim. Ironically he was feeling more like the victim himself, the further he progressed.First his sister in ward 1, then a man called Katsuma in ward 2, before Motoyo in the basement.The horrible thing was...this woman's death was predicted just as his own was determined, he knew what he would see as he walked down each ward.  These victims...they were not connected in any way he could remember, yet each felt somewhat relevant to him. Touko, especially.

Vengeance was the only thing that urged him on.


It would be a satisfying way to end.


Upon his journey through the Kaginawa Mental institution, Tomo had leads. Clues. Hints that lead him to the assumption that if he didn't manage to avenge Touko, he would die with unfinished business about five seconds later. Those hints...were from the killer himself. He wanted Tomo to know, to find the bodies. He wanted the assurance that he would be too sickened to go on living once he got to the end of this labyrinth of blood, remorse and his own clouded past. Slowly unveiling with each corpse, fallen at his feet.


He wanted Tomo to see their faces.


He wanted...him.


Carefully Tomo surveyed the body, too choked up to utter a remark. Like the others, she had a name tag on her jacket. 'Hi my name is...Motoyo :)'.


It was such a cheery name tag. Ironic for such a dark scene. Such innocence. Gone.

There were broken syringes and scalpels decorating the floor, some bloody. The victim had been dragged across the ward, as smeared blood was trailed across the tiles, the killer's ball of yarn, trailing across the asylum.


The main lead he had was the case itself. A patient of the asylum had been pronounced incurable on the fourth of May, last month. Supposedly he had a sickening addiction, killing animals that found their way into the institution grounds. They had found a drawer full of dead birds in his room. The institution had been performing experiments on him; the legal framework for their practice was outlined vaguely and they got away with almost any crime against nature, it being 'essential' to the mental development of the test subject. Desperate to hide  their convictions, they hid them behind good intentions.


Drugs didn't help, only made him worse, screaming violently, repeatedly. He killed one of the members of staff with a scalpel that tried to perform a routine check-up. Drove it up her eye socket. The drugs the killer's body had been susceptible to had changed him,inducing an obsession with seeing dead faces. This time f people. That he had got from the otes. And evidently the pile of dead bodies.


A woman had got out, told the forces immediately. She was the only one to get out. Tomo's sister had been in the Asylum during the events. She had dementia and was admitted to the asylum for some sort of help a year or so  before the attacks. Convinced she was a man.

She freaked everybody out just once...and they sent her away. Just like that.


Once hearing about the case (due to its dark nature, it only became publicised a week ago), followed by the failure of the police department in identifying the killer, Tomo immediately went to find his sister. He had no morals, simply to find Touko. He knew the killer still resided within the bloodstained hallways of that damned institution, waiting. Initially, he'd hoped Touko had hid from the killer, or got out alive. Once he saw her lifeless green eyes and stained auburn hair...needless to say that killed him inside. It extinguished any flame of hope residing within him as he bent over her corpse, sobbing. Her dead face was then forever imprinted in his memory, urging him to find the others, to stop the killer. So he intended to try.


This sick bastard had killed his sister, to ravish his addiction.


He killed her first, strategically. A sick assurance that Tomo would have nothing left to live for. At least it meant no one could take anything away now.

He hung his head in frustration, smashing his fist against a glass cabinet. It shattered weakly under the weight of his aggression. Glass shards flew outwards, some pricked his skin but he brushed it off with little regards.


He sighed deeply, taking in large gulps of air. he couldn't break yet.

For Touko, the killer had to become the victim.


He turned briskly around on the heels of his boots, facing the exit route. He coughed; the wall was smeared in blood. Blood that wasn't there before. Tomo stepped towards it, brushing glass shards from his blazer.




He didn't notice the face behind the glass.

A face he would've recognised, if he'd had the time to look.


That flash of green eyes...


That auburn hair...


But he didn't notice.


Instead, he simply heard.

"Higaisha no otōto""How the tables have turned"


"One has to wonder...There was a lot of blood.Who's to say it wasn't Touko?" A sick, familiar voice echoed. Almost playfully, mocking him as he spluttered fresh blood across the white tiles.


"You didn't notice my face. Like this whole fucking family, if something scary is in your midst, you choose not to look."

She sighed. "Only to look away.''Tomo, still spluttering, tried crawling towards the hallway, but a foot pinned him down, crushing his spine with the same brute force that broke limbs, tore out hair, stabbed again, and again...The same person he once loved. Touko.


It was Touko. Flicking a bloodied switchblade, up and down, the knife flashing in and out of view.

Dressed in bloodstained hospital attire, short matted hair.


Like a man.


Tomo tried to speak, yet the only thing that would escape his lips was blood and saliva.


"You saved yourself the pain of trying. Oh and the dead people? I hope you looked, deeply, into their dead, emotionless faces, their soulless, lifeless eyes. Because that's how I saw my family, every fucking time I asked for help."


"You looked away for two fucking years, you never cared, Tomo. Don't fool yourself."


"Just like you never cared about the victims. Because let me guess, you didn't even recognise their names? I put so much effort into writing their little name tags for you."


She cleared her throat, making a hoarse, violent sound as she did so.


"Motoyo Kaginawa, seventh grade nobody. Pitifully crushing on Tomo Misakusi. Who ignored her. Katsuma Nirashi, ninth grade. Pitifully idolising a certain Tomo Misakusi..."

Aggressively Touko thrust the switchblade into the side of his waist. Tomo flinched horrifically.




Touko grabbed Tomo sharply by the knots of his hair, holding his head up to look directly at him.


"Even when they lie dead before you, you don't even give them what you owe. Recognition. Just like me, hell you didn't even know my gender. It's just what mum and dad wanted you to think. To fit their little dollhouse fantasy. They just wanted a pretty little doll. Didn't give two shits about the boy inside, just like you."


'I didn't...know...' Tomo gasped, silenced quickly as Touko let his head drop, hitting the floor with a thud.


"Anyway. I leave you with this request, dear brother. See things through my eyes. Because guess what, I am the fucking victim."


"You are the one that hurt me."


"And now? Well, it's your turn."

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