This was bad. Really, really bad.

Fyodor was alive. This was NOT supposed to happen. And, well, Dazai couldn't quite come to terms with the idea that his "brilliant plan" didn't, uh-...work.

To top it off, Fyodor was coming back to murder them all, especially him and Chuuya. Double-trouble.

His mind went haywire with ideas, schemes, plans, anything that could work as he walked through the busy streets of Yokohama. Ironically, his steps were leading him down to the more shady, closed-off alleys, towards a specific place.

"This is a terrible idea..." He muttered under his breath, hands in his pockets as his sharp hazel eyes darted across the dimly lit narrowed street.

Yet, it was a desperate last resort. It could work.

He went left twice, then right, forward a few steps and another right, reaching a foggy back-alley, full of drunkards, druggards aaaaaand- could that be deadly? Oooooooohh, great, I can try-

Dazai. Stay focused. No attempted suicide today. Yet.

Finally, his eyes spotted the one he was after. A skinny kid, same age as Atsushi, probably, maybe older, sitting on a piece of cardboard on the pavement. A box with a few coins and spare money inside.

The kid's face was covered by a black hood, but Dazai knew he had found them. Dostoievski's child, who just so happened to be an illegal weapon trafficker. He approached, dropping a coin in the box, before chuckling mischieviously, uttering the "code".

"Gold is for rich, but diamonds for the snitch."