Dazai was beyond saving. His soul was far too tainted, and his blood was as dark as tar — that viscous liquid coursing through the veins of the steady hand he uses to hold the firearm.

One gunshot rings intensely throughout the empty warehouse. Then another one, and another one; the beginning to a morose pattern of spurious mercy, parallel to his growing flagitious grin and frenzied eyes.

He could feel your disappointed gaze, he knew it all too well by now. Once the magazine was empty, trigger clicking dryly, and the blood of the recently deceased began to seep, that’s when he spoke his repeated phrase. “I had to put them out of their misery.”

Even Dazai knew every human could be saved. His methods to that meaning may have differed from your own, yet the sentiment was all the same.

Every human could be saved, and with his previous display of mankind’s truest behaviour, the fifteen year old was perfectly human. He had been misled severely, but as his guardian Angel, it was not an option to give up on the boy just yet.