Dead Man's Tales: HSOTD

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Rika's mind was reeling, struggling to grasp the sheer weight of Shoko's words. This guy was insane. No doubt about that. But insanity could be useful, couldn't it? If she played this right, she could use his delusions to her advantage, to get the information she needed. Maybe even more.

She took a slow breath, steadying herself, and asked, "And what will you guide humanity through?"

He smiled. That smile… it sent a cold shiver down her spine. It wasn't just a smile—it was like he knew something she didn't, something terrible, something unavoidable. His lips curved in a way that made her feel like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the wind to push her over.

"The Apocalypse," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Rika wanted to laugh, but the sound caught in her throat. It was absurd, laughable even, but looking at him—this man with these strange, unexplainable powers, this manipulative charisma, this deeply ingrained madness—it wasn't hard to see why people followed him. No wonder he had been able to create an entire doomsday cult around himself.

But she couldn't let him think he had her. She needed to push, to find the cracks in his delusion. "Is this the lie you tell your followers?" she asked, keeping her tone skeptical, trying to bait him into revealing more.

He took the bait.

"What lie?" he snapped, his voice carrying a sharp edge of indignation. His eyes narrowed, as if the mere suggestion of dishonesty was an insult to the grand narrative he'd built around himself.

"I'm not lying," he continued, his tone defensive now. She could almost see the gears turning in his head. His self-righteousness was palpable.

Rika pressed harder. 

"Any claim without evidence is nothing short of a lie."

"You're such a strange woman," Shoko said, his voice softening again, but it didn't comfort her. "You don't see these powers… these beautiful powers." His eyes gleamed with a kind of fervor that twisted her stomach in knots. "I am a god amongst men, chosen by the Omni."

The Omni? What the hell was that supposed to mean? His words threw her off for a second, but she didn't show it. She kept her expression neutral, skeptical even, forcing herself to maintain the cold logic of someone who wasn't easily swayed by the supernatural theatrics he clearly relied on.

He was used to people falling at his feet, mesmerized by his power. That much was obvious. Most people, after seeing what he could do, probably didn't question him at all. They saw his illusions, his mind games, and they crumbled, worshiping him because they had no other explanation. But what happens when someone doesn't buy into the act? What happens when someone remains unimpressed, skeptical even?

He tries to prove himself.

It was textbook behavior for someone like Shoko—narcissistic, power-hungry, driven by the need to have his "truth" validated. He thrived on the weakness of others, on their willingness to believe anything that made sense of the chaos he created around them. But she wasn't going to give him that satisfaction. If she kept pressing, if she kept doubting, maybe he'd try harder to show her his "truth." And in doing so, he'd reveal more than he intended.

"Would you like to hear a story?" Rika asked, watching Shoko closely as his eyes flickered with curiosity, clearly intrigued by where she was going with this.

He leaned forward slightly, an unspoken invitation to continue.

"Long ago, in the Middle East," she began, keeping her voice even, though the tension was gnawing at her insides, "there was a man known as the Old Man of the Mountain. He founded the Order of Assassins by luring young men with promises of paradise. But it wasn't a paradise in the afterlife he offered them, not really."

Shoko's expression barely shifted, but she could see the gears turning in his head. He knew where she was going with this.

"The Old Man drugged them, made them hallucinate," she continued, her eyes fixed on him, "visions of their paradise—lush gardens, rivers of milk and honey, beautiful women waiting for them. All of it a fabrication to make them believe they were destined for paradise if they followed him. He used their belief, their desire for something more, to control them."

She stretched out her hands, gesturing to the field of reeds that surrounded them. The implication hung heavy between them—this world, this twisted, surreal landscape, was nothing more than a hallucination. Another manipulation, just like the Old Man's promises.

Shoko didn't seem offended. In fact, he seemed… amused. He snorted softly and then, with an almost casual air, said, "1st January 2012, 12:00pm."

Rika blinked. "What?"

"That's the day of the apocalypse," he said, as if he were telling her the time of a dentist appointment.

She bit the inside of her cheek, hard. Was he serious? Was he really that delusional? "Many cults give dates for the end of the world. You're not any different," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady, though inside she was teetering between disbelief and anger.

Shoko tilted his head, as though he found her skepticism charming. "Well," he began, his tone soft but laced with something unsettling, "let me ask you this… What made humanity rise to the top of the food chain?"

Rika narrowed her eyes, knowing this was going somewhere dark.

"We didn't have claws. We didn't have strength or power. We had nothing," Shoko continued, his voice deepening, taking on a hypnotic cadence. "What we had was our desire. Desire for knowledge, desire for ambition, for land, food, children… Humanity's greatest weapon is its unending desire."

Something in his voice twisted her insides. She could feel it in the air—his words weren't just philosophical musings. They carried weight, an energy that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. And then it happened.

The field of reeds around them started to ripple, the reeds bending, warping, until they were no longer reeds at all. The landscape shifted, twisted, transforming into something horrifyingly familiar. A highway. Not just any highway. 

The highway.

The one where Takashi and she had encountered that thing.

No. No, this couldn't be happening. How… how did he know?

Before she could even process the question, she saw it. The missing truck driver, standing in the middle of the road. But something was wrong—his skin twisted, rippling grotesquely, bones snapping and reforming as he metamorphosed before her eyes. His body contorted, limbs elongating unnaturally, skin turning dark, fur sprouting where flesh had been. His face… God, his face… twisted into something monstrous, inhuman.

She stumbled backward, her hand flying to her mouth as bile rose in her throat. It wasn't possible. This… this couldn't be real. But it felt real. Too real.

The pieces were snapping together, jagged and sharp, cutting through her thoughts. The truck driver. The creature. The transformation. Shoko knew about it all. He knew.

But how? How in God's green earth did Shoko know about this? No one knew. Not even the authorities. She hadn't told a soul outside their circle. And yet… here it was, playing out in front of her like some twisted movie scene.

She glanced at Shoko, who watched her with that same maddening, serene smile. His eyes glimmered with a secret knowledge, a smugness that sent a chill straight to her core. He wasn't just delusional. He knew something. Something far worse than she had imagined.

"You see now," Shoko murmured, his voice a low hum that vibrated through the air, "humanity's desires can twist into something monstrous. Even those who think they're safe can be consumed by it."

Rika wanted to scream, to demand answers, but the words stuck in her throat, lodged by the overwhelming fear and confusion gripping her mind. She could feel her heart pounding, her pulse thrumming in her ears. How do you fight something that seems to know everything? Something that can twist your reality at will?

She forced herself to take a breath, to hold onto something, anything, that could ground her. But as she looked at Shoko, she realized one terrifying truth: she was no longer in control here. Shoko was, and he had just shown her a glimpse of a nightmare far worse than she had imagined.

A high-pitched ringing started in the back of Rika's mind, faint at first, but growing louder, sharper, as though someone was steadily turning up the volume on a silent alarm. She blinked, her vision swimming, trying to stay focused on Shoko's face, his twisted smile still looming over her. But that sound—it was piercing, cutting through the illusion, through his words, through everything.

The ringing increased, swelling to an unbearable pitch, until it was all she could hear. She winced, bringing a hand to her ear, her fingers trembling. 

What the hell is that noise?

It became so intense, so overwhelming that it felt like her skull was about to crack open. Then, suddenly, like a pane of glass shattering, the world around her splintered.

And just like that, she was back.

The field of reeds, the highway, the monster—it all vanished. She found herself standing in the cold, sterile interrogation room. The walls, the fluorescent lights, the bland furniture—it was jarringly real. She exhaled sharply, feeling the ground beneath her again, the weight of the gun in her holster. Her head still throbbed from the ringing, but at least she was back.

Across the table, Shoko looked startled—

Actually startled. His smug expression cracked for the first time since she had entered the room, and she savored that look. That moment of surprise, of confusion on his face, was like sweet, sweet revenge.

"Rika, you okay?" Takashi's voice boomed through her earpiece, so loud it felt like someone had punched her in the ear. She winced, bringing her hand to her ear.

"Jesus, Takashi!" she hissed, her heart still racing. "That hurt."

"Sorry, sorry!" Takashi's voice was lower now, almost sheepish. "Didn't mean to blow out your eardrums."

She took a deep breath, shaking off the last remnants of the illusion, her fingers still trembling slightly. "Takashi," she asked, trying to steady her voice, "what the hell did you do?"

"Frequency," he replied, sounding more composed now. "I rigged a sound emitter in the van. The idea is that certain sound waves can disrupt brain patterns enough to pull someone out of hypnosis or altered states of consciousness. I figured, given what you were dealing with, it might help."

She let out a slow exhale, the pieces falling into place. "You basically blasted me out of Shoko's mind tricks with sound?"

"Pretty much," he said, and she could hear the faintest hint of pride in his voice. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Interesting," Shoko's voice cut in, calm once again. His composure had returned as quickly as it had cracked. Rika glanced over at him. His face was back to its usual, serene smugness. But she could tell she had rattled him, even if just for a moment.

She stood up, her legs still feeling a little shaky, but she kept her posture strong. "I'm leaving," she said, more to herself than to him. It was over. This interrogation, this whole twisted mind game—it was over.

As she headed toward the door, she noticed that none of the guards even looked at her. No one moved to stop her, no questions, no protests. They just stood there, expressionless. Shoko's doing, no doubt. He controlled this place far more than she realized when she first walked in.

She paused at the door, one hand on the handle. Something wasn't right. Shoko could've stopped her—he could've tried something. But he hadn't. Why? She turned slightly, not fully facing him but enough to let him know she was still listening.

"I know what you are," she said quietly, her voice more steady now. "So why are you letting me go?"

Shoko shrugged, the movement casual, almost dismissive. "It doesn't matter," he said with that eerie calm. "You're only human, Rika. Your efforts… they won't amount to much."

She felt a flicker of anger at his words, but she didn't let it show. His arrogance wasn't surprising—it was the core of who he was. But still, there was something so infuriating about how easily he dismissed her.

She hesitated for a moment, and then, before she could stop herself, she asked the question that had been clawing at the back of her mind since the start. "Why did you kill the captain?"

Shoko's face remained neutral, almost bored. "I didn't."

That stopped her cold. He said it with such a calm certainty, like he had no reason to lie. This man—this narcissistic, god-complex cult leader—he had no reason to play games with her about this. 

She stared at him, trying to process what that meant. Was this all a waste of time? Had they been chasing the wrong lead all along? Her mind raced, questions piling on top of each other, each more confusing than the last.

This was… pointless. All of it. She had been dragged into Shoko's twisted web, and for what? There were no answers here, just more confusion. More lies. More games.

She turned to leave, her hand gripping the door handle, ready to escape this nightmare. But as she started to pull the door open, Shoko's voice slithered through the air, stopping her dead in her tracks.

"Rika," he said softly, his voice smooth, almost intimate, "why don't you stay? I could make you one of my 100 queens."

Her blood ran cold. The casual way he said it, like he was offering her tea, sent a chill straight down her spine. She felt sick, bile rising in her throat. One of his queens? Was he serious?

She didn't turn to face him. She didn't want to see that twisted smile again, that look in his eyes. "No thanks," she muttered, trying to keep the disgust out of her voice.

As she opened the door, his final words followed her, wrapping around her like a dark cloud, heavy and suffocating. "I always get what I want, Rika," Shoko said, his voice dripping with certainty, with the sick confidence of a man who truly believed the world bent to his will. "Always."

She slammed the door behind her, the sound echoing in the cold, sterile hallway. But no matter how much distance she put between them, those words lingered, sticking to her like a dark stain. 

I always get what I want.