It was as a dumping ground-a place long forgotten by lay haphazard piles of shipping containers, one onto the other dead bodies. Toxic substances illegally dumped in soil. Even field mice knew to stay away. Dazai didn't live in a house, though. He lived inside one of the shipping containers originally used for exporting cars origned over the rom countries. Inside the large container was a refrigerator, an exhuast fan, desk and chair, a bed, and a small, naked light bulb.

Those who knew Dazai didn't dare come near his homemade Port Mafia subordinates-and not because of how eerie the area was. Rather, nobody knew how Dazai would react when someone invaded his private space. Perhaps he would tear off their limbs and kill you or perhaps he would welcome them with open arms and a cup of tea, no one could understand how Dazai worked.

The black wraith cale of the Port Mafia: That was what people called him there.

It was 1am, he was blankly staring at the ground while sitting on a stool there with just a bit of light, possibly lost in his thoughts. Suddenly, a knock on the door made him turn his head. Who knew how he would react?

"Who is it?" his voice low yet deep as he opens the door, only to find you standing there. Its been only half a year to you here and you're also the same age as him, he does know you well though never interacted much. He just looks at you silently.