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Volume 5 Trouble File First Second Half Part 1

Trouble File Second Half

What could be said to be true embodiment of the expression 「hell on earth」? Young Sakamaki Izayoi often found himself pondering on that peculiar question, and if there was ever a scene that could present a perfect answer to it, then it would have to be the one he was gazing at right now.

「. . . . . 」

An underground breeding ground build in the middle of a certain conflict’s megafronts.

It was during that time when Izayoi ended up getting himself right in the middle of an incident that he and Canaria caught wind of when a certain radical religious group was trying to obtain the funds for their experiments on the black people afflicted with Albinism, and for that purpose they were kidnapping the black Albino boys and girls they came across while raiding the local villages.

He did not know how much money went into the process of funding and building the underground research and breeding facility they were in right now after tracking it down and forcing their way in, but one thing was painfully obvious about it: this facility, build so deep under the earth’s surface so as to not allow even a single ray of sunlight to reach that place, was the size of a small city, and the most of its space has been occupied with the cells where the bred black Albinos were being held captive and forced to breed and reproduce over and over again against their will.

At least, that is how it was about ten minutes ago. Because right now. . .

. . . . the facility has become an even more reminiscent of a picture of hell, although for a drastically different reason.

The owners of the facility, the people who were catching the black Albinos and treated them in the same way as a zookeeper would do the animals in their cages, were not killed. They have been destroyed so utterly and completely that their bloodied corpses, which now barely resembled those of the human beings, have been littering every corner of the facility, filling the premises with the river of blood and viscera and the foul stench of guts and excrements that would have been enough to cause almost every normal human being to fall to their knees and throw up everything they have eaten throughout the last few days.

Trampling over the remains of those who did not deserve to be called humans anymore, Izayoi was slowly making his way towards the part of the facility that has been labeled as 「The Dismantling Site」. There were no typical feeling in his mind. He was not feeling afraid when looking around at the massacre that he has caused, and he was certainly not feeling any guilt or immorality over taking the life of so many people and snuffing them out with his own hands. Because to him. . . . . .. those people who ran the facility were no longer people. They were something even simpler and more disgusting than mere beasts. They were vermin disguised in human clothing, and therefore the only thing that needed to be done. . . . . . . . was to crush and obliterate them so that they would not be able to ever recover from it.

That is right. The only things that were filling the young Izayoi’s heart. . . were indiscriminate anger and unrestrained hatred which exploded inside of him and surfaced up in an unstoppable flood when he realized that what the owners of this place were doing here went far beyond simply killing the members of an ethnic minority group for profit. Izayoi was actually quite smart for his young age, so even as a kid he quickly understood that the place where he was now was not a simple research facility. . . . . . . . . . . but a human processing plant. A man made hell where the black Albinos have been breed, cultivated and then killed just so that other people could eat them because of the superstition that consuming the flesh of an Albino person was supposed to grant various boons and benefits to the one who has partook of it, and he came here after Canaria brought him here when he told her that he would like to see and experience the heights of human depravity. As soon as he realized that, it was as if a certain switch has been flipped inside of him: a switch that kept on recognizing those who worked in this human processing plant as proper human beings. Right now, that switch has been violently turned off, because to his understanding, no sane human being would be willing to work in a place like that, helping with that barbaric procedure that has been carried out there. And if they wanted to do so, then they were not human, but human shaped monsters. The same kind of monsters who put all of the harvested black Albino organs into airtight packages and placed them in the freezers, including the detailed instructions for safe cooking methods and the possible benefits that every organ was supposed to be granting when consumed along with the lables with shipping destinations and the codenames of the clients who ordered them.

「. . . . .. Raising humans like cattle just so that they could process their organs and ship them to whoever paid the most? Is that really how low they have stooped?」

Izayoi assessed the situation with a dried-up throat and even dryer smile on his face.

「I want to see the most horrific battlefield in the world!」Those were the exact words that he used when he told Canaria that he would like to change the destination of their next trip, during which Canaria was focusing on showing him various wonders of the world and the marvelous things that humanity managed to achieve throughout its history. So now, if we assume that that this man-made hell that humans created for their fellow humans is also a kind of a battlefield, then his request has most certainly been fulfilled. However, this. . . . . this is infinitely worse than an actual battlefield. On the battlefield, people who die fighting against the other warriors or armies die as proper human being who get to keep their dignity, and depending on the mythology or culture they might even earn themselves glory and a place in the afterlife, knowing that their names are going to live forever, immortalized in legends and the memories of others. Even in the present day and age where wars have become much more mechanized and less personal, with the invention and implementation of dog tags, the names of those who have died on the battlefield could always be recorded and kept as a proof that these people were here and lived.

But here, in this place, things were altogether different. In this processing plant, in this hell on earth. . . . . there was no memory. There was nothing and no one to document the lives and deaths of all the people who were being born here. It was just a nightmarish hellhole where humans, who are supposed to all be equal to one another, were not allowed to have even the most basic of the human rights, and their pride and dignity was being trampled upon and crushed under the iron boots of their oppressors from the moment they were being brought into the world in the most horrible of ways until the moment they were meant to lose it in an even more gruesome manner that was void of any kind of reason or purpose behind it. It was probably that realization that caused the young Izayoi, who was usually calm and composed to start waving his fists around killing everything and everyone that came within his line of sight.

So there he was now, going through the now empty, desolate facility with his whole body covered in blood and his fists tightly clenched and grief gnawing on his heart.