Denji

Conceived as the result of a one-time hookup, Denji’s mother handed him off to his father as soon as she was physically able. She could barely afford to feed herself, let alone a baby, while his father at least had some semblance of a stable income. So, while the last thing he wanted in his life was a newborn baby, and especially her baby, his father agreed to take him in, rather than allow him to flounder in the foster care system. Though, it’s hard to say if his life with his father was any better than it would have been if he had been put in the system.

During his childhood, it seemed as though everyone in his neighborhood had a part in raising him - every day, someone different would be watching him for the day while his father went out to do God-only-knows-what - then, once he could be trusted on his own, he was left home alone. During the tiny amounts of time he and his father spent together, there was a clear divide between them. Denji would try to speak to his father, but he would only respond with one or two words, a sentence at most, with a clear note of disgust in his voice. Sometimes he would ask about his mother, but any mention of the woman would only incur a sharp word.

He eventually learned to stop trying to form a relationship with his dad, as every attempt only earned him a blank stare and a sigh. Having nothing else to turn to, Denji eventually began to form an imaginary image of his mother in his head, what she might have looked like, sounded like, felt like. He would imagine her soothing words whenever he was feeling down, her proud smile when he accomplished something - anything to replace the parent he already had.

When he started middle school, Denji would once again be treated as an outcast, this time by his classmates - rumors had begun to circulate about his mother being a sex worker. All good rumors have some truth to them, for when Denji mentioned something about it in passing to his father, he avoided the subject, and when pressed further, he simply told Denji not to worry about it with the kind of curt tone that said it all. That image of his mom he had been forming in his head all his life came crumbling down, the warm aura he’d been imagining replaced with a cold sense of disgust - and suddenly his father’s resentment of him made too much sense.

Slowly, that feeling of disgust for both of his parents would seep down into his own self worth, with his isolation from his classmates only exacerbating the spread. Though, he was lucky enough to have one friend in his life, a boy a couple grades below named Ezra. Like him, Ezra was another misfit kid, so they naturally stuck together, and actually got on really well. The both of them didn’t have the best home lives, so the two of them formed a family of their own. They would spend their entire teenage years inseparable.

At some point in his high school life, Denji came to the realization that he could get away with anything he wanted without any repercussions from his father, considering the fact that the two barely spoke a single word to each other. Ezra’s family situation was the same way, and the two would begin to spend more and more time together out of the house, most of the time just walking around downtown Hadeus, loitering at corner stores, dining and dashing Chinese food joints, spray painting walls with whatever immature language they wanted.

One particular night, as they were sitting in a little abandoned park, Denji pulled out something he had stolen from his father - a small plastic bag filled with powder. Denji and Ezra had smoked weed together plenty of times, but this was the first time They had ever tried something this strong. He’d been preparing this for a while - sneaking tiny amounts at a time from his father until he’d gotten enough for a dosage for the both of them. While Ezra was scared, he was eager to please - so he didn’t say no to Denji’s request.

As time passed it became clear that the occasional stolen dose from Denji’s father wouldn’t be enough to sustain their new habit, and anyway, he was starting to suspect his thefts. The two of them started to buy their own from some of their fellow students at school, and their little trips out started to become more and more frequent.

As soon as he was able, Denji moved out of his father’s house without so much as a second glance. He moved into a small apartment in downtown Hadeus, attempting to get into a few colleges, but didn’t find himself being accepted to any, so he decided to just work two jobs. He would soon find out that his level of income wouldn’t be enough to fund both his expenses and his growing addiction, so, getting into contact with some of his old high school buddies, he begins to deal drugs at a low level. Soon after this, Ezra would knock on his door one night, carrying a bag of clothes - he had been kicked out of his house and was looking for shelter, just for a little bit. Denji welcomed him with open arms, allowing him to stay for as long as he liked. Finally, their found family was a reality.

As more time passed, both Denji and Ezra became members of Pimeja, with Ezra dropping out of school to do this. The two of them were closer than ever after living and working together, but what brought them together most was the struggle - the struggle of having no one but each other, of almost being unable to afford the rent every month, of having to deal with the asshole higher-ups, of constantly trying to chase a high. It brought them together in a way nothing else could ever hope to. And yet, whenever he caught a glimpse of Ezra coming home from working with a new bruise, whenever he would catch him throwing up in the toilet after they’d gotten high, he’d feel a twinge of guilt - because who had gotten him into this situation other than himself? And while their lives were shitty before, was this really the right answer? To writhe and drown in the filth and never climb out of it?

He didn’t know, and to be honest, he couldn’t force himself to care, because he couldn’t ever change his choices.

He came home one night to Ezra asleep - didn’t think much of it, though normally he’d be waiting for him to come home. He left him be, simply shot up and sat on the chair across from him. Around 45 minutes later, as he drifted in and out of consciousness, he’d notice Ezra twitching and jerking sporadically. He stared at him for a long moment before realizing he was seizing. He sat up to call an ambulance, but hesitated - when they got here and saw all the things they had, what would happen to him? And Ezra? No, he couldn’t get into any more trouble than he needed to - so before he called 911, he stuffed anything that could get them into trouble into a trash bag and threw it out. It couldn’t have taken him any more than five minutes.

And yet, five minutes was all it took.

Over the next few months, Denji would never be truly conscious - whether it was grief or drugs fogging up his mind, he was more of a zombie than a human being - but at some point, the brain fog would clear up, and he would throw himself into his work, until he would climb the ranks, transitioning from petty drug dealer to Viper’s primary getaway driver, as well as a kind of jack of all trades in the field.