#i said i would finish this in a week. i lied

[nevadancitizen]

“like the tiptop tournée”

synopsis: what would kim kitsuragi be like in the m:pn self-aware au?

word count: 2.7k

characters: kim kitsuragi, sanford, deimos, 2bdamned, hank, player! reader

trigger warnings: canon-typical violence, deimos being a menace

notes: i finally got a free day because everything’s frozen over and got to finish this 😭😭

Nevada really isn’t anything new to Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi. He doesn’t consider himself the finest of Precinct 57, but he’s pretty damn notorious for his detective abilities – and he’s been in strenuous situations like this before. 

But, honestly? In his many cases, he’s never met anyone like you. The only god he’s met is Evrart Claire: a man masquerading as the god of the dock worker union’s corruption. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t revere you in the same way the others do – you carry somewhat supranatural power, you have an unnatural warmth about you, and others worship you – but Kim’s never been one to believe in gods, and he’s not about to start now. 

Sure, he felt your presence while in Revachol: some entity looking over his and Harry’s shoulders. Harry described you as “maybe some type of Dolores Dei,” but Kim knew you were more than a political figure somehow dubbed an Innocence.

(Kim looked down at the pinball machine. It was themed after the Dolorian Age – a time of early airships and beautiful, sad, pearl-laden women. He was glad it was broken. 

“How about we fire one of these bad boys up and play some ball?” Harry du Bois asked. He was the partner assigned to him by Kim and Harry’s competing precincts (the 41st and 57th, respectively).

“We can’t ‘fire them up,’ they’re broken,” Kim said. “Only that one machine in the main hall works. The Royalist Pinball.” his voice was ever-so-slightly laced with disgust at the name.

Harry laughed through his nose. “Sounds like you don’t enjoy pinball, Kim.”

Kim was almost too ready to reply. “No, I love it – I love pinball. Who doesn’t love pinball? Let’s move on.”

Their heads turned to the damp ceiling as they heard a quiet laugh. It wasn’t an actual laugh, mind you, not one they could really hear, but one they could feel resonate within themselves.

Kim and Harry looked at each other. They both decided, unspoken, that it was just the wind or the city or the rattling of this old brothel-hotel. But really, deep down, they both knew it was you.)

He’s always known everyone has the capability to murder, but the ease at which it’s committed here almost astounds him. He still keeps his cool, and (before you discover your powers) even defends you.

(It happens fast. You can do nothing but look down the barrel of the rifle. You can almost see the grooves on the inside. Its scope looks like a camera lens, focusing on you. It will take a picture of absolute destruction when the trigger is pulled. 

You hear Kim quickly whisper “God, please.” 

A shot rings out. It takes a moment to realize you’re not dead. Smoke rises from the barrel of his Kiejl A9 Armistice. Kim stands from his semi-crouched position. Your hands shake. His do not.)

It’s a shock when you find the grunts. Deimos and Sanford found you in a – what they thought was – an abandoned warehouse. They were clearing it out, trying to hide. You were too.

(You grip the handle of the broom closet door and try to keep your breath steady. Kim has his gun pointed at the door. You both know that if it opens, you’ll have nowhere to run.

“We know you’re here, bozo!” a voice rings out. They talk lowly to another person. You’re so pumped full of adrenaline you can’t recognize who it belongs to. 

Kim pulls the hammer of his gun back slowly, and it lets out a soft click. The conversation stops.

You’re good as dead.

An axe head crashes through the wooden door. You crumple into the corner. Kim backs into the wall. A hand reaches through and unlocks the door. Kim exhales sharply and shoots it. 

The owner of the arm screams. The next bullet clicks into place. Another arm, belonging to someone else, shoots through and flicks the door handle down. The door opens.

“Stop!” Kim shouts. He grips the gun harder. “I am an officer of the RCM, and have been permitted to use deadly force.”

They laugh and step closer to him. 

You look up to see two grey men. Through the shadows, you can see the one closer to you is wearing a durag and sunglasses. He has a natural pout that’s turned into a twisted smile.

“Sanford?”)

To say they’re overjoyed to see you would be an understatement. They could almost feel you in Nevada, and the wanted posters plastered with your face didn’t help with your poor attempt at stealth. But they were wary of the man you had brought with you, and made it very apparent.

(You barely managed to calm your nerves when you were sitting in the back of a pickup truck. Sanford immediately started the engine and drove. 

Deimos’ breathing was labored, and he clenched his bicep where he had been shot. And yet, he still talked. Some things never change.

“So.” You could hear him gritting his teeth. “Who’s the crackshot?”

“Kim Kitsuragi, Lieutenant of Precinct 57 of the RCM.” Kim answered for you. “And I apologize for shooting you. But I will not hesitate to do it again, if you present yourself as a danger.”

Deimos barked a laugh that was cut off by coughing. “Yeah, right.”

Kim opts to look out the window at the desolate landscape. The wind rolls in through a prominent crack, causing his orange aerostatic pilot jacket to ripple like water. 

Tension clouds the air like humidity.

“The, um,” you stutter. Deimos looks back at you. “RCM stands for the Revachol Citizen’s Militia. Kim knows how to shoot a gun, but he still knows how to holster it: he’s useful both as an officer and as a man. He is useful to us.”

Deimos turns forward. Sanford glances at you through the rearview mirror. If you say so…)

When you get back to base, it’s much of the same. Hank greets him as he does anyone else – with violence. Doc is more formal, of course. 

(“Lieutenant Kitsuragi.” Doc tries the name out on his tongue. It tastes like an old motorpool and authority – an authority he’ll barely respect, surely. “Just call me Doc, or 2B, if you like.”

“So you are the medic?” Kim asks. “What are your qualifications? If you don’t mind my asking.”

You shoot him a glance. There’s no strong-arming someone in Nevada unless you’re waterboarding them. This place doesn’t recognize your authority. Kim, we’re foreigners here – please, don’t do anything too rash.

Doc is curt. “I’m qualified enough.” 

“Yes, of course,” Kim says. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Now, if you’ll excuse us…” 

Kim starts to reach a hand towards your shoulder, but a hand shoots forward and grabs it. You look up. 

It’s Hank… the one man you were dreading introducing to Kim. You’re excited to see him nonetheless, but…

“Hank!” you exclaimed. His red goggles shined in the low light, glaring at Kim. He still held his wrist in a crushing grip. You eased his hand away, so he opted to hold yours instead. 

Kim glanced down at your hands. You could tell he was itching to ask many questions – probably about how you were able to ease the wrath of a psycho.)

Kim tries not to discuss the grunts to their faces. He does his best to keep up his professional persona, as draining as it may be. 

(It should’ve been night by now, but there was no sun in Nevada. You could only tell because of the moon rising in the sky and your biological day/night cycle. 

You sat on the steps leading up to the base. There were footsteps behind you. 

“I thought I told you, I’m gonna be okay. I’m just a few steps outside –”

“You did not tell me anything.”

Kim sits down on the steps beside you, but keeps a healthy distance. He has a feeling someone would know if he was too close, and promptly eviscerate him. 

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. It’s just that… this day…” you sigh.

Kim looks out at the horizon. “Yes, I understand. If I have too many more days like this, I may die prematurely. If I do not die in the line of fire first.”

He reaches into his jacket to pull out a single cigarette and a lighter. You smelt chestnuts when he lit it. He takes a deep pull and lets it settle in his lungs before breathing it out.

You watch the smoke dissipate. “So, what do you think? You like organizing your thoughts on paper. You written anything interesting?”

He brings out his blue Mnemotechnique notebook. Two fat, shiny pens hang from the binder like large caliber bullets hanging from an ammo belt. He flips through it, stopping on a page of importance. 

“Hm. Well, your men are very protective of you. I suppose that connection can only come with being one of your – how do you describe it? – ah, vessels. I understand the basics, but I don’t understand why it would inspire the need to revere you as they do.”

“It sounds freaky, but I can control them. I controlled Lieutenant du Bois. I protect them, and I guess that would deserve worship. Not that I want it, or anything.”

Kim scribbles something down in his journal. 

“So you were with us throughout everything?”

“Yeah. I remember most everything, too… especially standoff-style eyebrow raising matches.”

There was barely a crack of a smile on his face. That was the most you could ask for. 

“Still – those men are guard dogs. Be sure to keep them on a short leash, lest they do anything… unsavory.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Yessir, Lieutenant.”)

The grunts honestly don’t understand why you regard Kim as you do: why do you feel the need to have a man that’s practically an intruder in the base when you have them?

(“Yes, Lieutenant du Bois is… an interesting man,” you laugh. “But he’s Harry, and what more can you ask for?”

“A man with his memory intact would be a nice start,” Kim jokes, deadpan. You laugh harder and agree. 

Deimos cuts into the conversation. “So, what about you, Kim? What’s your background?”

He chose Kim’s first name on purpose, you think, so Kim knows he doesn’t respect his lieutenancy. But he has no interest in Kim’s personal life. Why does he ask?

“Well… I’m half-Seolite. Or – quarter. My father’s father was from Seol – so was my grandmother, but from my mother’s side…” he shakes his head. “But I’m still just a regular, garden-variety Revacholiere. I’m not an interesting topic.”

“Your police work,” Sanford says. “He’s asking about your police work.”

“Ah.” Kim thinks for a second. He’s choosing which cards he wants to reveal out of his entire hand. “Well, I was a juvenile officer for around fifteen years. I had a long-haul job, was successful, and moved into the homicide wing.”

Deimos is desperately trying to play nice. “And what was… this long-haul job?”

Kim spares a barely-detectable glance at you. “I’m not telling you that.”

Deimos sighs out a “Right…”)

They’re frustrated at Kim’s investigative nature, and at your willingness to appease it. They ask themselves constantly, what are his ulterior motives?, even though he has none. He never leaves you alone, and they interpret that as more of a “I’m in love with you,” type of way and less of a “You’re the only human I know, and I’m concerned for your safety. I want us both to get home – you to yours, and me to Revachol – but I’m scared we won’t be able to, though I would never admit it. Let’s stick together for now” type of way.

(“Doctor.” Kim greets Doc as he enters the room. 

“Lieutenant.” Doc’s eyes skip over him and fix on you. “Hey, do you have time to come into my office? I want to do a check-up – maybe learn more about the differences between our species.”

“Oh, okay.” you stand up from where you were sitting. “Maybe Lieutenant Kitsuragi can come with? So you can do a cross-examination.”

Doc is quick. “No.”

“It would be wise to do as they say,” Kim says. “You are a man of science, no? Science needs information. If you had twice the subjects, you would have twice the information.” 

Doc screws up his eyes behind his goggles. “Yes, I suppose you can come by later.”

“I’ve been meaning to have a look at your office and supplies. I would like to know what we have at hand.” Kim stands. “I can take a look while you do your examination.”

“I’d rather you not ferret through dangerous weapons and chemicals without direct supervision. I can bring you an organized list later.”

“C’mon, Doc.” you walk forward and turn him towards the door, letting your hand linger on his shoulder. “Lieutenant Kitsuragi knows what he’s doing – how else would he be so high in the RCM? He won’t make some bioweapon while you do a check-up. And he knows drugs: from a purely knowledge-based standpoint, of course.” you look over your shoulder. “What was that one, the – the d-something?”

Kim’s looking at where you touched Doc. His mind is racing with possibilities, taking too many mental notes to remember. “Diamorphine.”

“Yeah, diamorphine,” you look forward and start leading Doc outside. “See? He’s of stable mind, stable health, stable spirit. He even remembered what diamorphine was even though it was taken off the streets years ago!” you pull him closer. “He’s not that bad of a guy. A cop, sure, but he’s more of a detective anyway.”

Doc’s eyes flicker around the room. He’s flustered, yet you can barely tell. “I… alright. But I’ll be keeping my eyes on you. I don’t want you making some type of incurable disease.”)

God, and they get real fucking angry when you defend him. Why do you feel the need to do so? He’s obviously a non-player human, and he’s weak compared to grunts. 

(“Jeez, these are like magnifying glasses.” you say, peering into the lens of Kim’s glasses. “I’m glad you have them, otherwise we would’ve been dead meat when that guy decided to get smart with us.”

You’re just about to hand them back to him when Deimos swipes them from you. He brings them up to his face and laughs.

“God, you’re right!” he exclaims. “What are you, Kim, blind?”

Kim snatches them back and puts them back on. “No. I’m significantly farsighted.”

“Yeah, Deimos,” you say. “They’re just glasses.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know?” Deimos says. “Basically no one wears them here.”

“So you have amazing technology, but no one wears glasses?” Kim asks. 

You can foresee the argument blooming between them. “Almost everyone’s a clone here, Lieutenant. They have identical eyesight, along with identical… well, everything else. Except for personality, tastes, experiences, and the like.”

Kim hummed and wrote something down in his notebook. What you wouldn’t give to be able to take a look inside…  and be able to read his handwriting, of course. 

Deimos notices you staring at Kim. What he wouldn’t give to be able to slaughter him, right then and there… and be able to still build a relationship with you, of course.)

All in all, Kim’s a good companion: understanding, empathetic, and knows damn well how to shoot a gun. But here, he’s a target. He’s used to being one, and has been shot at plenty of times, but sleeping in the same base as four murderers, knowing one of them could knife him quietly in his sleep and blame it on raiders… he’d rather be home. Who wouldn’t?

He contemplates slipping away at night, sneaking out of a window or something like that. But he knows each person has their part to play in the world. His part was to solve crimes, now to stay by your side. He’s under no illusion that his role isn’t a minor one, in the grand scheme of things, but he embraces it because it’s his role. It’s the grunts’ too, whether they accept it or not. This story isn’t about them. It’s about you.