Keisuke, holding a guitar and sitting cross legged on her bed strumming at it and clearly completely focussed on what he’s doing, hair in his face so that it can’t be seen by the camera and hunched over the instrument.
The back: ‘Concentrating so hard I can smell his hair burning.’

Three years old, the earliest she can remember. Mummy is out and daddy is at work, so the lady next door looks after her. Emi likes her – she’s kind and lets Emi eat mizuame on a stick, sweet and gummy like honey but clear so she can see through it – but she smells of something like medicine and always carries scissors.

She has a little boy, all stubby fingers and crooked teeth and smiles, but he pushes her down the first time they meet because she broke his little toy guitar by accident. She falls on her backside and, more in surprise than pain, finds herself crying noisily. Standing up, she squeals, ’I hate you!’ and runs away.

They play together every Sunday.

“Oh, God—oh my God–” Emi had Keisuke grabbed by the shoulders, and for a moment shook him as if somehow she could get his eyes to focus, the blood to unbleed back into him, unstick from her fingers and go back into his body where it belonged. “Keisuke, Keisuke—Keisuke, please…”

His eyes focussed vaguely onto hers and then away. Blood dribbled from his lips, along his jaw and toward the floor. Was the horrible moaning sound him – or her?

“Keisuke?” she asked, her voice small and trembling violently. “Kei—“

“What…”

She stopped talking at once, voice died in her throat.

“Why…?” And now he was looking at her, and there was so much hurt on his face and none of it was physical – never seen that look on his face before – and the next sob exploded from her as the tears renewed themselves. She barely even felt the sting of salt on her wounded face anymore.

Tatsutarou had truly been an accident.

She hadn’t known Tatsutarou, not lived next door to him since before she could remember, not hung out with him almost every day, not felt anything for him.

Tatsutarou was nothing compared to this.

“I didn’t know you were there,” she was babbling as soon as she found her voice. “I just saw the door open and I got a fright and I just…. I just…”

Killed you.

“I like you,” she says, blunt as can be, and there’s a moment where Keisuke is staring at her like she’s just announced her imminent sex change before it disappears as she closes her eyes in leaning forward. Their lips bump together briefly – it’s not really a kiss, it’s just their lips touching – neither of them can really do it properly – and she pulls back, eyes opening to see Keisuke still staring at her.

“Uh,” Keisuke says eloquently. It’s all he says for the next half an hour – they go back to watching television like Emi didn’t interrupt it at all. But a couple of minutes after that, he reaches over and grabs her hand.

It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t say it. It’s not like he ever would – and she can read his face fluently, so he doesn’t have to.

Within two days, their whole class knows that they’re going out.

Keisuke wasn’t listening, she could sense it.

“I’m sorry,” she petered out with a gasp, and it sounded so ineffectual – you say sorry when you break a pencil or delete a computer file by accident. It’s not like any of them ever had to learn the vocabulary for this kind of thing.

Keisuke was shuddering, and the tears were trickling along his face sideways and joining the blood spattering the floor.

“It’s…” He took a deep breath – it sounded wet, and Emi cringed from it. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” she wailed, and clutched his shoulder hard, nails digging into the cold, sopping wet fabric and the barely warm skin underneath.

“Is.” Keisuke took another sobbed in breath. “Not like…. Not like I was gonna… win anyway.”

“You—“ Emi cut herself off as she realised what she was really about to say. You could have won.

I would have let you.

She didn’t know if that were true or not. It was one of those things where she could not have known until actually in a position to do it. And now she never would be. She felt a surge – for a second, only an instant – of warm relief. It was drowned immediately by shame and grief.

There was the sound of movement behind her, dragging and sluggish like something from a zombie movie. She ignored it.

Keisuke coughed, wetly and pitifully, and a wound by his chest sputtered blood, blood more black than red. It pattered Emi’s bare, wet thigh, kneeling next to him as she was, leaving a streak along it.

He was quiet after that, simply shaking there on the floor, and Emi stared at him fretfully, knees in pain on the hard floor but ignored, face next to his. The blood draining from him showed no sign of slowing down, trickling from him and his clothes like water from a sponge, and soon they were both surrounded in a pool of red.

At the beginning of the program, she had chosen to pretend, if only for a few hours, that none of this were real. That it was a joke for some other sick TV show just to watch and laugh at their reactions. And now, too, such feeling of such deep, dark calm had stolen over her that this felt like it couldn’t even be real – but this was punctuated instead by rising hysteria.

Keisuke took another breath, wet and laboured, but he seemed almost calm. As if he didn’t have the strength left to panic – or feel anything at all.

“Your…” He smiled wanly. “Your face… is a mess.”

Emi stared. She had almost forgotten in the commotion about the half melted flesh of her right cheek. She opened her mouth to reply, but as Keisuke breathed again, she hushed herself.

“You look gross….”

A little of the dam burst, and Emi’s outburst of laughter – her first in days – was tinged by the sob she gave a moment later.

“You don’t look great yourself,” she sobbed, the smile still on her face. “The red clashes with your hair.”

Keisuke’s smile was more genuine, but his eyes were out of focus. His teeth were stained pink.

“You… You’re gonna stay here, right?” His eyes found hers with what seemed like considerable effort. His face was stark white, and the streaks and dribbles of blood around his chin and nose made it look more so. A sudden movement made her jump, but it was his hand, lifted by what seemed to be a great effort. It bumped against the side of her face, and before it could fall again, she held it there. It was cold – the blood that kept it warm was all over her legs.

“I’m gonna stay here,” she said in return, her voice nothing but a squeak. And then she started to move, making to lie next to him – making herself comfortable although she didn’t think she’d be there long, cheek painfully against his shoulder and her arm trapped underneath her.

And maybe too soon, they're done, and their movement slows, and she can hear Keisuke still panting harshly next to her ear, the sound mixing with the tiny moans still tearing from his throat.

"That.... That okay?" he asks breathlessly, and she nods, unable to form the right words - any words, knowing he'll feel her move. His hand moves away from her, and he's wiping his fingers on the sheets - in any other case, she'd tell him to not be so gross and go find a tissue.

But she's so tired, so overwhelmingly content she can't tell him off.

And then he's pulling minutely away from her - out of her - and flumping half on his side next to her on the bed. She rests her cheek on his hair, and somehow, for some reason, at that moment the sudden rush of emotion at the enormity of what they just did is almost enough to make her cry. But she doesn't, and instead awkwardly wraps her arm around her boyfriend and squeezes hard, presses her face suddenly against the top of his head in a clumsy sort of nuzzle, feels more than hears him grumble wordlessly against her collar bone.

She'll probably never tell him why. That's not the kind of thing they talk about.

She wanted to find something else to say. Wanted him to say something. She didn’t know what, but something meaningful. Something you say to someone on their death bed.

But the words had never come before, and they didn’t come now.

She realised with horrible clarity that Keisuke had slumped completely – that her hand was the only reason his was still on her face, that only the whites of his eyes were visible and his mouth was blue.

It was too late.

When the breath stopped rattling up from Keisuke’s throat, Emi began to sob against him like the world had ended, and only she was left.

Her head was resting against his torso by now. Their two daypacks placed close to them. He carefully held onto the gun with one hand. One of Miyako’s shirts was being used for a blanket; she had refused to take his blazer, claiming she didn’t want him to freeze to death. The camera was facing them. Viewers would most likely assume that their relationship was romantic, while of course, it wasn’t. Kazuhiro closed his eyes as he rubbed his forehead with the back of his free hand, recalling all of the times that people had asked them if they were together. Even in-game, Taro had asked about it. Especially their parents hadn’t stopped whining about it: sometimes, they left the two of them alone together after making a ‘subtle’ excuse to leave the room. It had been tiresome.

He remembered the first time they had met, which had been at a business dinner party. She had been wearing a really beautiful pink dress. While Ayane was being praised by her parents, Miyako had seemed to just tag along. Kazuhiro had hoped to see her get more involved, so after a long dinner that included listening to that sugary-sweet voice from his mother to impress others (he didn’t forget to ‘shyly’ chuckle when being ‘complimented’), he had walked up to her and the two had talked pretty easily.

He had seen her change from the proper little girl who tried to help others by correcting them, into the noisy jokester she was now. And she had seen his transformation, from a rather normal, though slightly cocky and confident teenager, into the withdrawn perfectionist he was now.

He had tried to support her after her sisters’ death. She hadn’t judged him when those rumors about him had gone around. There had been occasions that he had wondered if they shouldn’t be dating anyway. But, he knew he wasn’t too good with relationships—no, it weren’t even relationships—and she didn’t deserve that. Actually, none of the girls had deserved what he did; all the gossip and reputation, he had it in common.  

She was sleeping by now and looked peaceful, at last. Additionally, she looked incredibly pale. The wound just didn’t stop bleeding, it kept on seeping through the bandages. She was right, she was going to die. It was only a matter of time. But he wasn’t going to just sit there and let her. Maybe, if they got to business soon enough, she’d outlive at least a few more classmates.

He had struggled to stay above the game, but had failed. And now he needed to kill some more people, purely for her and Kenji to stay alive. She couldn’t walk, they only had one gun and he had no idea about Kenji. It was a nightmare.

Both of his hands approached his mouth, and then, his frozen fingers touched his burst lips. The habit was controlling him.

Everything was controlling him.

He recalled Yuya dangling from the edge and Miyako being knocked forwards. Her sobs and Yuya’s cries for help, having to pull two people back upwards, the slippery floor, the weight tugging at his arms as if they were about to be ripped from his shoulders. The broken shards of the window scratching his fingers—while he could mentally feel them pierce themselves into his fingers, and touch the bones of his knuckles—and the hot, wet blood from two people sticking to his hands; the coppery taste of blood entering his mouth. He remembered how Yuya fell, grabbing onto air with legs blindly kicking around while his scream impaled Kazuhiro (just like what he had literally done to Akimitchi). He remembered the dominating sound of a sickening crack, time standing still and his sight being blurred. The horrific amount of blood on her – as if he literally saw red when he laid his eyes upon her. He could envision the mass of glass being stuck inside her once more.

And that piece of misery, curled up into a ball in the corner afterwards had been his friend. And she’d stay his friend. He wasn’t too sure about it, but he could try and lie to himself that Harumi’s and Yuya’s deaths were accidents. Which meant that she hadn’t lost it, unlike him, and that it was worth it to cover her until the bitter end.

His sight started to blur. He glanced at Miyako, who was still asleep as he looked down. His shoulders jolted repeatedly and heavily as the tears came. He partially shielded his face in a—once again—weak attempt to keep his personal space. It took about fifteen minutes before he finally managed to pack himself up again.

He wanted to say something to her. She had made a few difficult, but so touching confessions. He couldn’t stay behind. If he waited any longer, it could be too late.

He then grabbed his bag and started to run through it until he found what he had been looking for. The notebook was folded; the pages stuck together and were soaked by rainwater. The ink on the first few pages had been faded into a big blue hazy, absorbed by the paper. He put the gun down right next to him, ready for a quick use if needed. He placed the notebook on his thigh to write on, and screened it with one hand, away from the camera. Because Miyako was lying against him, he couldn’t move his arm as much as he would’ve wanted to, and it affected his handwriting.

It surprised him how easily he got the message across, with little need for correcting any words.  Occasionally, he peeked towards the door or the window, carefully listening if he could hear anyone approaching.

Hey, Miyako

I’m writing this to you as I can’t say what I want to say in person. There’s so much I still want to tell you, but we’re running out of time. I just wanted to say that you’ve been an amazing friend. There haven’t been many people who were willing to look past my demeanor and accepted me for who I really was. Do you remember when everyone thought we were dating? It was terrible, but sometimes I did consider the possibility of going along with it. The reason that I didn’t is because I respected you too much. I’m not that good with girlfriends and if we’d break up, I would’ve lost a really good friend and I didn’t want to take that risk. It didn’t have anything to do with you.

What I’m going to miss the most about you is how you always knew how to cheer me up. For instance, after the class representative elections (although I was a bit relieved about not getting more work onto my plate, as you know) or each time a girl and I broke up. You didn’t judge me. Okay, apart from a few jokes, you didn’t (like with Kiku, whom I ignored for a while after what happened because everything was just so awkward). I know I’ve said it before but I always thought the lunches you made for me (or others) were delicious. You would’ve made a really good cook. 

And now, we’re going to split up. Frankly, I’m scared, Miyako, really scared. I’m trying to go on, and I’ll stick to my guns about playing, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying. I’m mostly doing this for you and Kenji, because I’m slightly lost by now. I’m not innocent anymore, Miyako. I killed Akimitchi while I could’ve ran away. Yuya and Harumi could’ve been seen as accidents. You’re no worse then I am. And I don’t think that I’ll be accepted back home; even if I would, things wouldn’t be the same again.

 I’m g—

He scratched the last part. His hand trembled as he frantically scribbled with his pencil over the character until it was just a big block of grey. He wanted to protect her, and wouldn’t be able to do that with a hole in his throat from a collar, detonated by Toriumi.

In his head, he continued the letter with what he wanted to write down.

I’m gay, Miyako. It’s the reason I dated all of those girls, I just wanted to be sure that nobody would suspect it. I like Kenji Matsuda. I have liked him for almost two years now. As I know it’s incredibly dangerous to be this way in this country, I kept this to myself. I don’t know if you’d accept it, though there have been so many moments that I wanted to tell you so badly as this secret is killing me.

Have you ever had the feeling about someone that they wouldn’t have to do anything special, that just that him or her being there would make you feel glad? I have that when you’re there, but to much more of an extreme when he is. I’ve been repressing and excusing it, or reassuring myself that nothing was wrong for too long already. What makes him so special? I’ve seen him play some of his baseball games sometimes and I don’t know, but when he’s at strike, he just obviously seems to enjoy playing. He’s easy to talk to, he makes me feel welcome. I know I’m no match for Taro, Keisuke or Emi, but it’s just nice to think that someone cares about my opinion. He’s got so much going on for him that I kind of wish I could be more like him. I don’t think it’s envy, more like admiration.

He bit his lip. He’d never be able to write this.

 

It’s a little too personal to me. But you probably have stuff you’d like to keep to yourself too, Miyako, and I respect that. Wow, we’ve shared so many memories together and I hate that this is all coming to an end. Even when you poked fun at my excessive studying, or showed your dislike for Akemi whenever she was around too, you probably meant well. We argued a few times, mostly when you joked about my grades (to me, 80% is a bad one) or my will to please my parents.

Now that I’m thinking of it, you might’ve been right. I didn’t want to believe it because I was so focused on being viewed by my parents in a positive light. So much that I didn’t listen to any advice given from someone whose intentions were good. Maybe you wanted to warn me not to get too much into it, I don’t know, but I hope you did. Thanks for your concern, anyway. I guess I thought you didn’t think I deserved those grades or something. You’re a lot smarter then you give yourself credit for, Miyako.

While you were sleeping, I’ve actually cried. Yeah, you can laugh at me. I just felt so helpless after all that had happened. I don’t even know why I need so many words to say something so small.

Thank you for having been my friend. I saw you as my closest one.

 Love, greetings, love,

Kazuhiro

 

He placed the letter into his bag, and smiled sadly to himself when thinking of the irony of it all. He leaned backwards against the wall as he waited, his fingers closing around the cold metal gun again. It was pitchblack outside by now. He had gotten used to the sound of the hammering rain outside to some extend, it was just something that was by now. And as long as there weren’t any other noises coming from outside, it meant they were safe.

He was ripped out of his thought process by the sudden and shrill sound of that now so familiar horn. It made Miyako jolt, stirring her awake.

She whispered, groggily and hoarsely, “H-hey…what was that?”

“The next report...”

Miyako shifted away from him a little, which enabled him to move again. He breathed through his nose in an uncontrolled and anxious way, as he knew two of the names that would be up. One of them he really didn’t want to hear. Miyako was shivering as well—but that could be from both fear and blood loss. Kazuhiro let his hand rest on top of hers and squeezed it.

“I don’t want to hear…” he whispered lightly, in a childlike manner. Miayko just nodded, as all color appeared to drain from her face within seconds.

"We've just reached the end of Day Two! Do you know what that means?”

Kazuhiro’s whole body was tensed, his teeth sunk inside his fingertips. He didn’t want to hear those two names. Or Kenji’s.

“And you'll also be pleased to hear you've all reached the Top Ten. Give yourselves a round of applause!"

“T-ten?” Kazuhiro mouthed to her, “There are just ten of us left?”

It was cruel to think of it in that way, but that actually made the situation a little better. Just six more left to beat—

“Boy #12: Akimitchi Tsurikan!”

He muttered, “No…”

Miyako’s hand squeezed his.

“Girl #2: Seira Asagiri!
Boy #17: Akio Hayakawa!
Girl #13: Kyoko Nozaki!

And just in the nick of time, Boy #22, Yuya Murakami!"

Miyako looked like she was going to throw up when that last name was mentioned. Kazuhiro just sat up straight, feeling numb as he wrote down each danger zone.

“For the boys: Kazuhiro Tsukino!”

And then, something happened that was so misplaced that it made him fume. The instructor was setting of fireworks. For what? For having just a day more to live? For having killed? After every name, a loud bang followed, painting the sky in several colors for a few seconds. Sure it was nice to have someone cheering him on, but it felt all so phony, so fake, so like he didn’t want to feel like because it was his true opinion about himself.

Taro, Eizo, Haruki and Kenji were the other boys left alive. Other then Miyako, the other girls left standing were Emi, Kotone, Miki and Kana. Nobody important, he told himself, other then her and him. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want any of his classmates dead, yet, here he was trying to view them as unimportant (because it was the only way). He whimpered each time the noise pierced through his heads (they resembled gunshots), in contrast to Miyako, who, while leaning against him, seemed to look at the fireworks in awe.

After that, Toriumi threw in a horrible twist: depending on the winner’s gender, one teacher would survive. No, ‘get a special prize’. That man was insane.

Kazuhiro moped out loud, “Wow, I really can’t believe it.” He stared into the camera in front of him, daring the audience.

“What?”

“The fireworks. It’s just—it’s not even funny. It’s lame.”

“Hey! I think they’re really pretty. At least it’s something. They’re counting on us.”

Kazuhiro sniffed, ready to say something back, but then decided against it.  

After a short silence, she spoke up. “Do you think it’s true?”

“What?”

“The whole ‘if a boy wins, Mr Takiguchi—l-lives, and if a girl wins, Mrs Hamaguchi will?’”

“I don’t know. It’s terrible they let their lives depend on ours. It’s just sick, it’s—”

“Yeah, it really is.”

There was another awkward silence.

He switched the subject. “Hey, do you still want to sleep for a bit?”

“No,” she cautiously replied, “I’m fine. I can’t sleep anymore.”

“Because of the report?”

“Yes.” Her reply was abrupt. “So, maybe you should. You look really beat.”

He sighed. “Alright. But wake me up in two hours or so.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and if anyone enters, shoot. Don’t try waking me up first, just shoot. The noise will wake me up anyway.”

“Sure, I will—”

“Oh, and one more thing…” he said in one breath as he pulled the notebook from his bag. “Read this when I’m asleep. No earlier, okay?”

“Why do I have to wait?”

He pleaded, “Please? I’m really tired; it won’t take long before I’m gone.”

“O-okay…” she sounded like she had no idea what was going on.

“Only what’s written in pencil is important, by the way.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t know how she’d respond. The anticipation of seeing her smile because of what was in that letter was killing him (it would be nice to read, right?), but he had no idea how the situation would be once he’d wake up. It was another ‘just in case’.

He lied down, using his daypack for a pillow and then the shirt for a blanket. He shifted a few times and occasionally glanced through the corner of his eye to see if she really wasn’t reading it yet. Eventually, he dozed off.







OOC: PC approval by Lili, checked some Kenji stuff with Laurra as well.

The report sounded over the mountain at six o'clock sharp, with a disgruntled Toriumi at the helm:

"Good morning one and all! I'm hoping you had a chance to watch the sun rise.... because for many of you, it will be the last you ever see, and unless you pick up the pace, that applies to all of you. Now, let's see how many kills you guys managed in the past six hours, eh?"

There was a purposefully long shuffling of papers, with the occasional clicking of the tongue away from the mics. He drew the silence out as long as he could, before saying: "Oh yeah, that's right. Zero. Work harder, morons."

"I'm guessing you want some danger zones, right?" Toriumi said, gripping another sheet of paper, and wondering exactly why the staff couldn't save on printinig resources by fitting the minimal information onto a single page. "Well, they won't hurt, I suppose.... unless you get caught in them, ho ho!"

"Yeah, avoid: E3, I6, F2 and C3 if you know what's good for you."

"On the upside, the weather's picking up... no more rain predicted for another five days! How's that for a newsflash, eh? The world will still be around five days from now. You probably won't be. Prove me wrong."

He cleared his throat pleghmatically. "Because you seem to need the motivation, let me remind you all what's at stake here. A warm bed, treatment for those wounds and as many hot cooked meals you can eat. Not to mention a signed photo of the Dictator, which I'm holding right now!"

A chorus of "Ooooooooh!!!"s played over the tannoys.

"And because you might want a little reminder... here's some words of encouragement from your teachers!"

The voice shifted to one from several hours ago; a man, voice reedy and exhausted, spoke huskily from the cassette:
"Class... this is Mr Takiguchi here. I... I don't know how you're feeling out there, but I want you all to do your best.... in the name of the Republic. I'm in this bunker... I shouldn't complain, knowing what you're all going through... but we've been here two... two days now. I've not slept, I've not eaten... please, class. Help us out! Get us out of here! Do your best! I'm sorry... this isn't what i wanted to.... but it's all I can say."

The machine clicked, and another voice began talking: a woman's, tired and weak, but the voice was much more dynamic then any of the remaining students could ever remember:
"This is a message to Class 2-B from your history teacher, Mrs Hamaguchi. I feel so guilty for you all being here, because I helped organise the trip, and it's breaking my heart... Mr Takiguchi tells me it's not my fault, but I might have sealed his fate as well? Please, I want you all to understand! Please fight, please try to win, but don't let your friends suffer! You're representing your school; please don't do us a dishonour on television. In the end, you have to do what's right.


The tapes clicked off, and Toriumi hugged the mic in his hand. "Wasn't that a treat for you all, eh? I was saving that for when you all made some progress, but I can't wait until eleven o'clock tonight. I'll see you at noon, and don't forget the clock is ticking. Eighteen hours to go; time to stop messing around.



10 students remaining.

[DANGER ZONES]
[CORPSE MAP]
[CLASS ROSTER]

Ayane Kitagawa’s funeral was the first one Kazuhiro attended, of someone he knew.

And when the opportunity to express condolences arose, he walked towards the three of them while a bad taste formed into his mouth from nerves. How was he in a position to just state ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ like he knew what they were going through? He hadn’t lost a relative! Yet, he wanted to say something different, something personal to her; something that indicated how good of a pair of friends they really were. Obviously, if anyone would be able to say something that would actually make her feel better, then it had to be him.

He felt scornful towards whoever came here, only because they were ‘supposed to’, as if they’d care. ‘I’ll never be like them,’ he swore to himself as he could hear another stranger expressing sympathies. He was convinced that he was above those people. Kazuhiro was fourteen years old; clearly ignorant and naïve. However, as nerves got the best of him, he found himself repeating that general, impersonal sentence in his head. It was better to at least say something then nothing at all. Maybe those others suffered from the same problem.

First, he showed condolences to her parents. Then, he was facing her. Her face looked a bit strained, but not so much that she was struggling to keep it together. In fact, she seemed quite calm under all of it. He barely managed to hold his breath–as if it would reveal how dumb he felt—and shake her hand.

“I’m…I’m sorry for your loss. I feel really bad for you,” he said in a voice much more stable then he was.

For a moment, he was afraid she expected him to do better then that lame line.

“Thank you,” she replied in a stale voice.

The two didn’t seem as young as they were; they were shaking hands for crying out loud!

‘I don’t know what else to say’ popped up in his head, as some sort of explanation why he wasn’t speaking up. That it wasn’t because of her, that he just felt stupid because he had no experience in this. He had to move along now, couldn’t keep anyone waiting.

And then, he let one hand rest on her shoulder and whispered: “if you ever feel the need to talk about it…”

“It’s fine…” she said, nodding. It could’ve been his hopes being held up but he could sense the beginning of a faint smile appearing on her face. It was as if a large burden was released from his shoulders, yet, his throat felt like it was swelling up.

He should’ve said more.

+++++++++++

Yuya was sprawled out in front of him. The right side of his head had been completely bashed in, and his neck was twisted in an unusual angle. Bones stuck through his skin and flesh. There wasn’t even the tiniest bit left of him that pointed out that Yuya had once been a real person. Instead, he was just another memory fading away from class 2B, which was decreasing in numbers in a high speed. His dead eyes stared back at the tower, as if he had wanted to say something with it. Kazuhiro winced and gagged, all the way from down the aching muscles in his side.

For a moment, he cursed himself for never having bothered to get to know Yuya, for never having started a conversation with him back in school. And had it been that difficult to treat Akimitchi like a human being instead of pretending he was air to him? Not having joined in when they made fun of the guy with the burnt face hadn’t made him any less responsible. And one could only assure them for so long that they were above Mimiko, the girl who slept with someone’s boyfriend, or Eizo the cheater.

He was just like anyone he didn’t want to be. Criticized them all for the things he did as well. (Hypocrite!) Why would his life be worth more then anyone else’s? And he was going to tell his best friend what a pathetic little loser he was—but hey, at least this time, he’d have the balls to admit it!

He got back upstairs with lead in his shoes. It was as if two hands clasped themselves around his throat and squeezed any air—and self esteem—he had left, directly out of him. No-one liked to hear bad news.

***

He helped her to fix her bandages. As if the metallic, scarlet fluid would let anything stop itself from seeping through to prove its point. Miyako had talked about the possibility of dying, and the thought of that was starting to get so real—even though he wanted to deny it with everything he had. It had been after having seen Kiku transform from a real girl, into just an empty shell. He choked up when thinking of her again—or Akemi, who had been mentioned as just another number, just another one who hadn’t made it. Miyako and Kenji could meet a similar fate. At least one of them would.

His hands trembled as he refused to give into thinking of it. Miyako explained that she only wanted to disarm Yuya, to make him shut up. He didn’t know why he did it, but he let the frustration about thinking he had it under control out. And despite of her injury, she still had quite some spunk and a verbal fight in her as she kept on trying to get through him, constantly highlighting that she had been aiming for the window instead. Gradually, the tone of their voices softened up as they talked. And if she was still capable of listing so many things she appreciated about him, then it wasn’t too late yet.

Like a kid receiving a present he’d always wanted, he listened to it, with his jaw being dropped lightly. So many things he had been craving to hear—yet, had never thought that they could matter so much to someone else. They were so minor. It wasn’t even a valid judgment, she didn’t know the truth.

"I wanted to hit Miki to make her stop, but I missed and shot Harumi. I killed her. I watched her fall, did you know that?”

Those words, and those that followed, dizzied him completely. If there was any moment to confess about Akimitchi, it was now, everything had hit rock bottom anyway. If he delayed it even longer, he’d only grow sicker and more scared at the thought of her respond.

His voice trembled, “I killed someone, too.”

She gasped in terror. “W-who?”

“Akimitchi.” Kazuhiro shuddered as he recalled everything. “H-he lost it completely, after she died. He said he wanted to search all over this place, purely to find Taro, and kill him.”

Miyako seemed frozen.

“It was no use talking to him,” Kazuhiro explained as he trembled, “At first, he didn’t even want to leave.” Kazuhiro barely registered the tightening grip on her shoulder. “I didn’t want to leave her either but—I didn’t want to give up. She wouldn’t have wanted me to.”

“Yeah, I know.” It sounded comforting.

“I nearly dragged him along, I-I mean—you don’t just leave someone there to die—”

He gulped firmly and stuffed his shaking hands inside his pockets, ignoring the sensation going through his hands.

“Eventually, it went wrong. Apparently, he had gotten the idea that I wanted to help him with—doing something to Taro,” Kazuhiro’s voice wavered uncontrollably when he said this, “I tried to explain, but then he called me selfish and stuff. I-I think it all added up together…”

He let out some big, tired gasps. His hands—he was depending on that habit. He looked down as he continued to speak.

“It went black in front of my eyes—like—like with a blackout. Like that time on my birthday, you know?”

She just stared at him.

“A-and then the next thing I knew was—was—” he hoarsely yelped the rest. “Next thing I realized was that—oh God—that thing was inside him, a-and I just froze.” He wailed, “A-and then I ran. I removed that thing from him—and I just fled.”

Just like that time with Akemi, he desperately needed someone to support him.

“I’ve played, Miyako!”

“No—no, I’m sure you didn’t—”

“Yes, I have! So why—why shouldn’t I do it again?” It was a rasp whisper.

“Kaz—no—”

“You and Kenji…you were friends too, right?” She densely nodded at him. “—you’re the only ones left that I still trust…” he whimpered.

“Bu—”

“You don’t have to join me if you don’t want to,” he voice rose. “Though I can cover you, I’m not that injured—”

“How do you see this happening?” she seemed stunned.

“Attacking everyone we run into, e-except for Kenji.”

“You do have a lot of faith in him.”

Kazuhiro breathlessly spoke, “I just don’t want to think of—of what if he’s playing. If I’d have to choose between two friends…”

Please, let me find him too—

She sighed and clicked her tongue in disapproval.

“Hey, listen, I don’t want to be annoying, but—” she let out a groggy and pained sigh, “Kenji, well, I don’t think you should put all of your trust in him.”

Kazuhiro sneered back, “why not?!”

She bit the bottom of her lip. “Look, he’s y—our friend but—Taro and Emi are still out there—”

His stomach heaved. “Yes and those two are his best friends, so he’ll pick them over us?” it was said mechanically.

She bowed her head. “S-sorry, but, yeah…”

It was painful, and it burned through him, more then anything else, because it was true. He had been aware of it, latently. It had been his reassurance, because Kenji probably wouldn’t care that much. At school, he had always felt like the literate fifth wheel as soon as those three appeared.

“No, it’s fine. I-I know that,” he replied. “A-and, I guess he won’t believe us if we tell him the truth.” Kazuhiro stopped to fold his hands together, as if it would make it easier to tell and to accept. “If it had been about you, I wouldn’t have.”

No, he would’ve ignored that person, too offended at the fact that someone could even insinuate she’d be capable of something that horrible. And now she was. Why—as much as he wanted to think differently of him—would Kenji be an exception?

“Yes, you would.”

“Argh…” he growled as he got up and ran two hands through his hair, combined with some rapid and heavy breaths exiting his mouth.

“I just don’t want to just leave him out there…” He chuckled when he realized how naïve that sounded. “Oh God…this is bad. Err, yeah, well; do you mind that I want to think of him as my friend? If I’m going to wonder about him—kill-, then—then I won’t come anywhere, you know?”

“No…” It was weak and cautious.

“That’s why I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me that about you. Because worrying—”

“…would’ve only made things worse, yeah…” she filled in the last part of his sentence.

“Besides, neither teaming up nor running works—I’ve noticed.” He gulped as his voice got tearful. “I think, you—or Kiku—wouldn’t have wanted me to but—but I see no other choice.”

Miyako appeared to be taken aback.

“I don’t want to die…” he stated, “but I don’t want to live while you guys are, either.” he shook his head, and then a sob escaped from his mouth.

He had wanted to be sure to be able to say a goodbye to them. Back at the lodge, he’d figured out he’d play if they were all gone. Back at the visitor’s center, he’d told himself to play to defend the group at all costs. Back outside, he had been frightened by himself. About how everything he had persistently kept inside him, just slipped through his fingers and aimed itself at Akimitchi.

It had been inevitable. Something else was, too.

He cleared his throat. “I want either you or Kenji to win.”

She gawked at him.

Only one person would leave. And it wasn’t going to be him—maybe for the best. He’d never have to worry about being ‘cursed’ again. He would’ve saved one of them – the thought of that awakened a little bit of faith back inside him. Moreover: he’d have control about how he’d die.

Was it that cruel to lean towards his friends, over anyone else?

“I want to make sure that the three of us are the last ones left.” He took a very deep breath. Confidence and determination seeped through his voice again, “You two would give me the death that I want: quick, and painless. Then, I’d die peacefully, as one of you would be safe.”

He bit his lip as he heard her make some sort of endeared noise. “It’s nothing great or anything. I’m just doing what feels right,” he swallowed the knot in his throat, “as it comes from here.” He patted the left side of his chest.

Miyako seemed too stunned to say anything. It was overwhelming him too. He knew how low his chances were, but it just felt good to have an ideal, just like when Taro had found him—(which worked out greatly, didn’t it?)

“Dangerous? Yes—”

“I’m dying,” Miyako butted in.

The glowing sensation grew bigger.

“So, I want you to be safe,” Miyako replied as she grabbed one of his arms and tried to make the words get through him. She moaned in pain because of her hip.

Now, Kazuhiro couldn’t bring out anything.

“Kaz?”

“Sorry, I don’t rea—you’re not dying!”

She sniffed, as if she had already made up her mind. “What do you achieve—with saving me?”

He yelped, “Why do you want to know?”

“I…”

“When…when Kiku d-died…” he clutched some of his blazer and winced slightly, “I knew I couldn’t help her anymore. She was bleeding so much,” he nearly sobbed. “I felt so powerless...”

“I’m so sorry.” She grabbed one of his hands. It rested limp in hers. His eyes were swelling up by now. He purposely looked down while covering his face with his other hand.

She talked breathlessly, “Kaz? I’ll help.”

He looked up.

“If it’s our only choice—” she faintly muttered.

He just pressed his lips together to fight the upcoming emotion. “Don’t—don’t do that just for me.”

“It’s not just that…” she whispered back, as if she was fighting it as well, “Kaz, I’m injured. I’m bleeding—it doesn’t matter how much you’d change that bandage because I’m—”

“Miyako,” he exclaimed as he grabbed hold of her shoulders, “what did we just decide?”

“Just look at me,” she shouted, pointing at the fresh bandage that was already soaked in blood again.

Kazuhiro sighed as he felt the tears returning - from frustration, the lack of sleep and the general hopelessness of it all. Then, she stumbled and was sent flying forwards; Kazuhiro barely had the time to grab her by one arm and yank her back to her feet.

“Okay, this isn’t working. Sit down again,” he said, with so many conflicting thoughts racing through his head again. They couldn’t play if she wasn’t capable of keeping to her feet, he wouldn’t be able to focus on eliminating students—
(Eliminating, as if they don’t matter. But it’s her only chance.)

“No, I can do this. Just give me that staff thingy, I could lean onto it—”

“No, no, no. It’s not going to work, you’re way too injured.”

“Come on, just give me the—”

Kazuhiro dropped the Naginata behind him. She started to whimper. He placed a hand on her shoulder but she shielded herself with one arm.

“No, don’t…”

“Miyako?”

She howled, “I’m ruining everything!”

“No, no you’re not—”

“D-do you know…do you know how messed up this is? I-I can’t even walk—I can’t help you, I’m weak—I’m a burden—” she exclaimed before her voice was drowned in sobs.

The desperation shining through her voice said enough. That would’ve been how Kiku had felt as well. Being dependant on someone; being seen as weak. If she would’ve had to take care of him, it would’ve gone against his pride.

“You’re not a burden, not at all,” he started, as his voice clearly softened up, “I’d rather have you being in here where I know you’re safe, then going outside with me just for me, I mean, with that wound...” His shoulders shook a little. “If something would happen—”

She looked glassily at him while letting out a few heart-tearing cries. “But you just said that you wanted to find Kenji—”

“I do, but it shouldn’t be at your expense.” He stopped to rub his watering eyes. “It…” he nearly choked on the words, “it breaks my heart to see you like this. So sorry for—”

Miyako slumped down and Kazuhiro followed suit.

He sighed. “Listen, you’re not weak,” he shook his head and forced a smile onto his face, “you’ve been shot. You’ve lost a lot of blood; you’ve been through so much, seriously.”

She nodded.

“And yet, you’ve managed to come over here. Th-that’s not weak at all,” the smile changed into a slight grin as he smoothed some hair out of her face.

“You’re lying.” It sounded like a half-laugh, half-complain.

“No, I’m not. Not everyone would’ve been able to do that.”

She vaguely smiled for a reply.

“I guess we still have some time before we—you know. If you want to, you can try to catch some sleep.”

“No, I’ll stay awake.”

“You sure? You look really tired. I can wake you up with the next report.”

“Hmm,” she thought out loud, “I’ll just lie down for a while.” It sounded very distant and indistinct.

She let her head rest on his shoulder as her eyes shut for a moment. She opened them again. “I guess…I could sleep,” she muttered, “But wake me up soon, okay?”

“Sure. Just give me the gun.”

Miyako looked at the gun, at him, and back.

“I must guard you. So, I need the best weapon.”

Hesitantly, she handed it to him. Kazuhiro felt both safe and anxious when he closed his fingers around it. He had seen what it could do.

“Miyako?” he asked in a small voice, “What’s it like to shoot this? D-does it hurt?”

++++++++++++

“And do you know what’s the stupidest about this?” Kazuhiro complained, “With Eiji, if he breaks up with a girl, they do stay friends.”

“Maybe it’s for the best.” She seemed unsure about how to react.

He sighed. “I don’t know. We were pretty good together.”

“Eiji?” Miyako joked.

Simultaneously, Kazuhiro corrected himself. “Kiku and me. Ew, no, not him!”

Miyako playfully pushed him. “You’re being a sour grape because you got du-umped!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Why would you want to stay friends with her anyway?”

Kazuhiro sighed deeper, his hands fumbling with his shirt. “Well, she’s avoiding me,” he explained, “and it’s obvious to the rest of the class, everyone’s talking about it. It’s so annoying—and embarrassing,” he whined.

“Well,” Miyako suggested, “maybe she can’t deal with it after all.”

“Yeah, well—gahh—Eiji keeps rubbing it in.”

“Why are you jealous of him anyway?”

“I’m not!”

Miyako gave him a ‘yeah right’ look. “You should, just for once, stop comparing yourself to others.”

Kazuhiro sighed once more. “I know, it’s just—he’s good at everything. He’s got the girls, the grades and lots of people like him.”

“Plus, he’s cute.”

Kazuhiro was taken aback for a moment, nervously shifting in his chair. “Uh, so you like him?”

“Wait, can you tell?”

“Oh, wow, err,” he lowered his voice, “he has a girlfriend—”

“Kidding!” Miyako cheered, “You fell for it.”

Kazuhiro groaned at first but then grinned. “God, not those jokes again.”

“Just try to think of something else,” Miyako chirped, “you’re no fun when you’re grumpy!”

“I don’t feel like—”

She tapped him on the arm again. “Come on!”

“Well, one more thing.”

He didn’t want to do this—talking bad behind a friend’s back was something he despised, yet, in this case a good friend was involved. Judging by the way Eiji talked about girls and by the ease that he ditched a girl whenever he got tired of her, Kazuhiro felt compelled to step in. It wasn’t jealousy, it was more like feeling responsible. He could do that to any girl he pleased, but not one that Kazuhiro was this close to. No way. Warning seemed so silly, so childish, yet, what else could he do?

He should’ve realized at this point that the relationship between him and the guy he admired so much was getting very unstable.

“Okay.”

“Even if you and he got together, he’d probably break up with you just a week later,” he explained, “Eiji really is a good guy, but I know what he does; I don’t want that to happen to you.”

OOC: PC approval by Lili, of course!

((OOC: Goes without saying...PC control approved by the awesome Rianne. *happy face*))

The shattering glass and the fateful crash - she hadn't meant to do it. His hands clutching the ledge for dear life - she hadn't meant to pull the trigger and hurt him for real. It was supposed to make him shut up and stop making all of his useless excuses - he lied to her - but now - Miyako, closer to him than Kazuhiro, leaped forward, her gun flying to the floor somewhere behind them. She grabbed his hands to drag him back inside, back through the window she destroyed and back into their tower.

Near deafened, she heard nothing beyond their terrible screams, the air strangled in their terror. Her wet shoes skidded against the floor, scrambling to stand tall. In the corner of her eye, she could see Kaz, moving forward to help with Yuya, then, indecision, and him going back again to grab her as she tipped forward. Forward, forward, closer to falling until WHAM she slammed against the window, the painful impact blinding her.

Below, Yuya's frantic face stared up at her, and she felt more than heard him begging for her not to let go. Holding her from behind, Kazuhiro started taking steps backwards, pulling her back along with him. But, moving like that was impossible for her. The way she was, she was trapped between them. Yuya's weight, too much to bear, dragged her further out the window, so far that her stomach scraped the glass shards lining the window. His hands crushed into hers with enough pressure she swore her fingers would burst.

Kazuhiro stepped back again and she felt her gauze - torn in two different directions - splitting to pieces. They were ripping her apart at the seams. Backwards and forwards. A stream of blood jetted from her side, released from beneath the bandages. Everything she saw flashed and turned red - the smells, the sights, the sounds. The clouds, the raining sky. The glass shooting into her. The fright in Yuya's eyes. Kaz's labored breaths. Her heart pounding in her chest. Churning crimson burned outwards and within. And the screams, enveloping everyone and everything; they turned red, too.

She let go. She dropped Yuya Murakami and let him fall, tumble, splatter to the ground.

Kazuhiro released her that same instant and rushed over to the window, to see what she had done. Miyako crumpled to the floor, her eyes fluttering. The existence of air barely registered to her, her whole body hurt so much. Through her haze, she slid herself so that she sat with her back against the wall, as if such a small comfort could save her from herself.

"Miyako, you shot him." Hearing the fear in his voice brought in a new level of horror to fall over her head. Although his words were spoken evenly, Kazuhiro was shaking. "Why'd you do that?" He didn't even look at her, didn't even notice that she needed to have him on her side more than ever.

"I just wanted him t-to stop talking - I didn't m-mean to...oh, God..." Absolutely sick, she cradled her ruined side, not knowing what to say.

"What did you do?!"

"The window, I shot the window not him. W-wanted to scare him to make him shut up," she reasoned. "I...I had to make him stop."

"No, you didn't." She expected him to say more, but as soon as he turned and saw her, all the color drained from his face. "No, not you, too..." Kazuhiro leaned down over her, his wide eyes taking in her damaged form. He reached for her.

"I'm fine, stop," Miyako batted his hands away. With her sleeve, she brushed off the few bits of bloody glass still clinging to her stomach. It made her look a little less pathetic, but not by much. She was pathetic by nature, after all, and if no one had known it before (how couldn't they?), they definitely knew it now. "Go check on Yuya."

"But, you're---"

"I'll be okay. Just come back." She gave him a weak smile. "Just don't forget to come back." Miyako didn't know why she had to tell him that. He already knew how much she relied on him, before this game, during this game, and maybe, even afterward, if they were going to the same place once this was over. She doubted that. Odds were, she'd be staring up at him in the sky from far below, waiting for her wings that would never grow.

He didn't say anything. He just nodded his head and raced down the stairs to check what shattered parts of Yuya Murakami were still breathing. They both knew the answer to that, but checking seemed to be the right thing to do; more right than leaving him there, all broken and forgotten like an old toy they no longer needed. Miyako found enough strength to stand and peer out of the tower, her eyes squinting to see in the narrowing rain.

His head was bent at an inhuman angle. Bones had cracked through his skin, jutting through his arms, probably from him trying to catch himself. Miyako couldn't look - look at what you've done - anymore, so she backed up against the wall and slid to the floor, back into her original position. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Her hands moved to her side, the gauze ripped from trying to hold onto him for so long. Beneath, she was sure her skin was ripped even worse.

They'd pulled her wide open again, gaping her wound. She hadn't looked down at it in a long while. Feeling it smolder was enough for her, but her curiousity drove her fingers to slip under the bandages and lift up to unravel them all the way. She used some of the discarded gauze to sop up what blood she could. It wasn't much, just enough that she could see all the damage.

There were three holes about an inch apart from one another, full to the brim with dark blood. They were deep enough for her to wiggle her middle finger into, deep enough to plunge into her soft tissuey insides. Dimly, she thought she could see one of the bullets mocking her from its place in its tunnel - laughing and laughing as it poisoned her.

Along her side, there was a yawning chunk missing from her. Blood drooled from the mouth, thick and heavy. She touched it, trying to pinch it closed but her fingers slipped into it and she spasmed, thrashing so hard the back of her head smacked the wall behind her. She saw stars in front of her eyes, the nighttime sky, and tried to find a shooting star to wish everything away.

She couldn't find one damn shooting star. The pain remained, twisting into her until it became her. She was the pain, the poison, the fear, the laughter. Her entire mind threatened to shut down; she couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Miyako clutched her shirt to stay awake. Ears ringing, she rode through the torturous wave, before it crashed down on her again.

Miyako convulsed, her eyes emptying. Her weakness that she desperately wanted to hide was on display for everyone to see. Everyone knew she was messed up. There was no denying it or pretending it wasn't there. Miyako couldn't even walk on her own, that's how bad it was. Weak, scared little girl. So useless and stupid.

Neither of them had deserved to die, but the monster she was, she killed them anyway. Harumi, so happy and innocent. She was a good girl. She didn't do anything wrong. She wasn't bad, like Miyako was. Did Harumi know that it was Miyako who shot her? Yuya, he knew. He saw her arm taking aim and he saw her eyes filled with nothing but anger. He betrayed her, he let her bring a killer near Kazuhiro. What was going through his head before she broke it?

Out of everyone, she was the worst. Miyako masqueraded as a nice girl, when in truth...

Kazuhiro rushed back into the room, except, maybe, he didn't. She liked thinking that he was rushing back in to rescue her. It made the room brighter, somehow. She smiled even though he wasn't smiling in the slightest. His gaze jumped from her to the bandages next to her, then back to her.

"Th-they came off," Miyako tried to explain as he left to get more. When he came back, he sat in front of her, ready to fix her. "I'm sorry." Feeling his gentle hands carefully applying the bandages relaxed her enough to numb most of her agony. Him being there gave her something else to focus on. "You're shaking, Kaz."

"Of course I am," he replied. "You're hurt pretty bad."

"What, you think I'm going to die like this?"

"Don't say that. I'm not going to let you die." Kazuhiro stared right into her eyes when he said that.

"You love telling me what to do, don't you?"

"Well, it's not like you listen." He sighed. "You shouldn't have done what you did."

Miyako didn't need him to tell her that. "I know. I told you I wanted him to stop talking, that's all. Don't get mad at me."

"Didn't you see me? I could have had it all under control, but then you...you went and shot him."

"I didn't shoot him. You have to believe me." Her heart shook. "I shot the window, I swear." Tears pooled in her eyes, on the brink of streaming. "C'mon, you can't be mad at me. You really can't be."

"Why not? I should've been able to stop you." Kazuhiro shook his head. "This whole game has been mistake after mistake after mistake. Nothing turns out the right way." As he closed his eyes, it looked like he was going through a list in his mind. "I'm sick of it."

"At least you're still a good person," she offered. "Me, I don't think I ever was one. Look at me. Kaz. There's nothing good about me."

"Yes, there is." He said. "I'm not as good as you think, Miyako."

"Oh, yeah, you are. I can name so many things that I like about you. Listen. I like the way your eyes light up when you're talking about something you're really into, like the piano. I like how you try so hard to make sure I'm not going to fail math. I like how when I text everyone, you've always got the longest and best replies. I like how you and me, we have our own special place in the park. I don't have anything that important with anyone else.

"I love how you complain about the stupidest things and yet, you never annoy me. I love how you can always cheer me up when I'm feeling sad. Even having you near me makes me feel a little better. I love stealing your glasses off your face when we're in class and the face that you make until I give them back. I like how you hate gossiping about other people because you're too good for that. I like how, even if you're telling someone what to do, you never say it in a mean way. You're just trying to help.

"But the thing that I love most of all about you is that you're not a bad guy. You never were, you aren't now, and you won't ever be. You're my best friend, okay? I care about you. You're...an amazing person."

He was all she had left and her main reason that she kept going. Miyako knew that someone as messed up as her shouldn't be around someone like him because it might put him at risk, but, being selfish, she wanted to stay constantly by his side. She wanted to take all of the shots for him, so that he wouldn't ever have to be a killer as bad as she was. Miyako could be that bad person for him as long as it meant that he wouldn't have to be one too. It felt like the natural thing to do.

Miyako quickly continued, "don't bother with a speech for me. I don't want you to have to lie. Seriously, there's nothing good about me."

"...Miyako, that's not even true." Kazuhiro said.

"Yeah, yeah, it's true." Great. She could feel all of her tears falling down now. "Kaz, that wasn't the first time I used that gun. Once you hear what else I did, you're not going to like me anymore."

"What else happened?" His voice was as strong as a whisper. Kazuhiro put his hands on her shoulders to calm her down. It wasn't enough to help.

"Miki happened. I was so scared." When she closed her eyes, she saw it all happening again. "I wanted to hit Miki to make her stop, but I missed and shot Harumi. I killed her. I watched her fall, did you know that? She wasn't doing anything wrong, but I...I killed her. I should've died, not her. I'm glad I didn't, though, because now I've found you." Miyako reached up and took his hands off of her shoulders, deciding to hold them in hers with their fingers interlocked for support.

He gave her hands a soft squeeze. "I'm glad, too. I'm not going to let you get hurt like that ever again. I'm here for you." Kazuhiro promised. "But, you're not the only one that's done something wrong."

She trembled. "Don't tell me..."

He nodded slowly and deliberately. What he said next broke her heart -

"I killed someone, too."

Kazuhiro rubbed his arms a little, trying to regain some warmth inside his body. The camera was staring down at him, which made him hold his pulled up knees even closer to his chest. Oh God, he had slipped his tongue and revealed several harsh—though meant—things live. He wouldn’t be able to take those words back. The damage was done.

Possibly, it had been naïve of him to think he could try to work things out with people, even though he had genuinely wanted to. Some people had chosen to play early on. Maybe he was the only one left who cared enough about looking respectful, instead of just worrying about his life.

He sighed to himself for a moment. He still felt selfish. If he had really wanted to find Miyako and Kenji that bad, he would’ve still been out there; even though it was madness to go outdoors with that wind and rain, and the risk of breaking bones. He sunk back to the floor and closed his eyes, his head (which still throbbed) resting on his shoulder. He was tired, and it was slipping in now. His eyelids hadn’t felt this heavy before—

An unknown amount of time later, he shot up, awakening from a small nap. At least this time, it had been safe to fall asleep. The room was twilight-lit by now. It gave the damp building a bit of an ominous feeling, which sent shivers down his spine. He quickly reached around him and smiled when touching the Naginata and his bag. Just in case, he undid the daypack’s zipper and let his fingertips connect with the contents. His smile grew wider.

Suddenly, he heard something through the rain—his head tilted towards the window right away as his grip tightened around his weapon.

It were some faint, indistinct voices—mixed with the howling wind— that joined the flat sounds of feet splashing into the water.

Kazuhiro crawled towards the window. There was a banister behind it—maybe for safety—and while it took away some of his sight, he could see two figures coming up as he peeked through the glass. It was a hazy by now from all of those raindrops; he wiped some of the glass with his sleeve to get a better view.

The boy was of average height with black hair. The girl was rather short and her hair kept on being swung into her face by the wind. Then, that voice. It wasn’t as cheery and bright as it used to be, instead, it was tired and absent.

Now, Kazuhiro only had to ask himself if he wasn’t too frightened of himself right now to meet up with her. What if something happened again? Akimitchi could’ve only been the beginning. He could see the blade piercing his chest again. (Those eyes. Rubbing in that he had failed.)

He wanted to see her though. The duo was probably going to find shelter and thus would find him, anyway. Keeping quiet wouldn’t help. And just the fact that she was alive—

“Miyako? It’s me!” he called out, grabbing his stuff and getting up.

He didn’t know what else to do.

“Kaz!”

He started to make his way down, fast enough to be seen as someone genuinely happy to see her but not fast enough yet to just slip over the steps and chuck his way down. He barely remembered to breathe as he reached the bottom of the staircase.

The warmth and overwhelming feeling of joy by seeing her was quickly cut down by a feeling of shock when he spotted the blood running down her hip—and then Yuya’s arm, hanging beside his body as if it was made of rubber. Blood was oozing through the both of their uniforms and possible bandages. Kazuhiro repressed the urge to gawk and instead rushed towards them. He stopped right in front of Miyako, unsure whether to hug her or not; afraid the embrace would hurt her.

“Oh, wow, w-what happened—who did that to you?” he asked in a voice that was nothing short from being shocked.

“She shot at us…” Miyako replied.

“Who?”

“Miki.”

“Oh…”

After seeing two people die (one by his own hands) and witnessing people he would’ve never expected it from resolving to violence, he figured he’d seen everything.

Wait. He was being all worried for Miyako while Yuya was clearly in pain too. So, maybe he wasn’t thrilled about having another person he hadn’t associated with around—those people seemed to turn against him—he still mentally cursed himself for losing all of his good manners by plain ignoring a friends’ company. He gave Yuya a polite nod in apology.

“Oh, sorry—what happened to the both of you?” he corrected himself.

“My arm…” Yuya’s voice broke.

“Yeah, that’s horrible…” Kazuhiro replied; mostly because it was callous not to respond.

He noticed Miyako was practically faltering on her feet with her bag dangling from her shoulder. Kazuhiro nervously stretched out his hands.

“Can you climb those stairs?” he asked Miyako, “Let me take your bag, it’ll take some weight off you.”

“I can try,” Miyako distantly replied, one hand grasping her hip, “and I’m fine,” she added, her voice hoarse, but a little more determined now.

He tried it once more: “No. I’m taking these upstairs.”

She tiredly shook her head. Kazuhiro sighed, knowing it wouldn’t be able to change her mind.

“Okay, just be careful,” he stressed, “I can follow after you guys, just in case—”

Miyako just proceeded to pull herself up the staircase.

Yuya glared at him and shrugged, then grabbed the banister with his good arm. “What’s this place like?”

“It’s a little better over there. It’s still damp and cold but it’s better then that rain outside,” Kazuhiro explained as if he were reading it out loud.

“How long have you been here?” Miyako asked, and then clasped the banister, dizzily swaying on her feet.

Kazuhiro turned around. “Are you sure you’re—”

“Yes!”

“Okay. I-I’ve been here for—not that long.” His voice wavered slightly when he remembered that ‘not that long’ ago, he had killed someone. “Tried to find shelter earlier, but it’s kind of hard in this weather.”

Against his own will of not wanting her to get her hopes up—he wasn’t innocent, he just felt stuck when looking at her.

It was okay to tell a white lie when it spared someone’s feelings, right? He honestly didn’t have the heart to tell, especially not now. He couldn’t yet.

“You’ve been together since the start?” he changed the subject.

“No. Ai—” She paused shortly. “Aimi a-and I found him after the fourth report—we teamed up right away.” She let out a small whimper after finishing.

“Aimi, huh?” he said out loud while nervously tapping his fingers against the wall. He didn’t like being reminded of her.

“I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s fine, it’s—it’s just—”

Kazuhiro found it hard to continue. Instead, he rubbed his eyes, his head jerking slightly. “I didn’t think of her at all during this thing. Until she died,” he mumbled. He could feel the muscles in his shoulders stiffen. “She probably wouldn’t have cared if I did anyway—but she was still—”

+++++++

+++++++

“Aimi. She—she died right in front of me,” Miyako whispered.

“Did Miki—”

“Yes,” Miyako’s reply was abrupt.

“So what about you?” Yuya asked.

Now, they reached upstairs and while Yuya and Miyako went to sit down, Kazuhiro kept standing.

“First, Kenta. Eventually, he got fed up with me and lost it, then tried to attack me,” he explained in a similar manner as to Akimitchi ages earlier. “I left him.”

Kazuhiro gulped, trying to swallow though his swollen throat. “After that, I was with Miki, Emi and Harumi.”

“Oh…” Miyako whispered.

“We ended up in a danger zone and I just wanted to get us out of there while she wanted to mourn her friends. She nearly killed me there,” Kazuhiro explained, his eyes closed when reliving the memory, “I thought it was just rage—”

“Oh, she’s playing,” Miyako interrupted.

For a moment, he fell silent. Miyako glared at him. Kazuhiro half-smiled, knowing the worst was yet to come.

He explained everything that happened outside and inside the lodge, and visitor’s center.

“Kiku…I was with her when she died,” Kazuhiro frailly whispered while leaning onto his knees. He turned away when his habit kicked in.

“I was holding her hand—”

“Oh my God. No…” Yuya whimpered, “Who?” his voice was small and concerned.

“You won’t believe it.”

“Miki shot at us,” he hinted in a heavy voice.

“Taro.” That one word made his hands tremble again.

“Jesus,” Yuya replied in a half-whisper, “but he was always so happy and cracking jokes and stuff—”

“Not when I saw him.”

“That can’t be—” Miyako fought back.

“That’s what I thought when—he actually—” Kazuhiro stopped to gasp for breath, “Had to sweep me out of the way before getting to her.” Suddenly, he let out a chuckle. “But do you think Akimitchi would do it? You’ve probably seen him stare at her all the time.”

He didn’t mention the ‘in love’ part. Maybe trying to keep that guy’s privacy would make him feel less guilty.

“It’s the game,” Yuya sinisterly stated.

“Oh—” Kazuhiro switched the subject. “I’ll help you guys to treat your wounds. They look very bad.”

“Thanks,” Miyako mumbled.

“Well, I don’t have anything to stop the bleeding with left anymore. How about you guys?”

“Yuya? Do you…?” That was Miyako.

Kazuhiro didn’t bother prying. Instead, he went over towards the bag with the intention of putting it within arm reach of the two others. Then, they could grab any water they needed by themselves. But the bag—of which the zipper was broken—opened. Several things clattered to the floor.

A water bottle and a shirt were the first.

A dagger, stained by thick, dried blood, followed.

Yuya reached for it but Kazuhiro was faster—the rest of the bag fell down. He was panting as he picked it up. However, Miyako was the first to say something.

“Y-Yuya?” she stammered. “Y-you didn’t tell me you had another weapon.”

Kazuhiro’s eyes widened. It pointed out how important honesty was.

The conversation itself went too fast to comprehend everything.

“I couldn’t—” Yuya tried to explain, before Miyako interrupted again.

“You said you only had the sword!” her voice rose, trembling violently.

“Okay! Okay! I played!” Yuya confessed. “But he came at me first! I had to do it!”

“Who was it?”

“J-Junpei Aragaki—”

“But you said you weren’t playing. You said you didn’t want to abandon me—a-and help me instead!”

She clumsily scrambled to her feet—making a pained face, probably due to her wound—and pointed her weapon (a gun) at him.

No! Not again. Not like at the visitor’s center—

“I didn’t want to do it!”

Kazuhiro tried to step in front of Miyako as he drew the Naginata towards Yuya.

He really didn’t like where this was going. Talking had achieved nothing in this horrific game. It was time for action. He’d knock Yuya out or wound him or something; it’d win them time to think of what to do. It was time to confront - or else she could die.

And she was making it difficult for him by putting her foot down. One pull of that trigger…

“Miyako, put the gun down—”

“No,” Miyako sternly replied; her hand twitching slightly.

“Miyako, let him finish at least…” he told her in a mix of an order and a plea.

He moved away, trying to push Miyako backwards as well. He wanted her to sense his plan. But how she was supposed to realize it in a situation this tense?

“Shut up!”

He backed off even more, ready to strike. It only had to go right once. He could use the blunt side. It was possible to be knocked out by a Naginata. He experienced that, sadly enough. (Damn Taro.) Just like the blade was sharp enough to hurt someone. (Ask Akimitchi!)

“I didn’t want to play anymore—my arm—hurts!” Yuya’s pleading voice came through.

Kazuhiro heard someone limp away from him. He spun his head around just a little to see her. Any kind of emotion had been removed from her face.

He couldn’t save Kiku, so, he slowly rose up his weapon while overhearing the last bit of the conversation.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone, and couldn’t—” Yuya shrieked, before he was being interrupted by a loud bang.

It wasn’t the Naginata cutting through air. The noise was horrible. It was a massive, high-pitched, soaring, monotone, never-ending beep, piercing right through his ears and brains.

Simultaneously, a large crash was heard, followed by several pained and hysterical screams, and a mass of glass spreading over him. He instinctively dropped his weapon and shielded his face with his arms as the shards rained onto his head, and some of them were jabbed through his sleeves. For a moment, he felt like he was being deafened—or maybe it was just his imagination due to fear—as he tried to pick up the courage to lower his arms. He couldn’t even sense being cut. And then, through that beep, some other noises slowly returned again. There were two pairs of screams. One was raw and both in pain and in panic. The other one was utterly frantic.

“M-Miyako? Yuya?” he said in a thin voice.

He was still quivering as he brushed some glass out of his hair, and from his coat, as he noticed the sight in front of him. It forced him to stop what he was doing right away. His head and right arm throbbed. For a moment, he was stupefied again, barely able to shake his head at it. And it was like only then he realized for real that Yuya wasn’t there anymore.

Behind the crashed window, a pair of hands—one bathing in blood—was though, clinging onto the ledge.

++++++







OOC: Ok, PC approval granted by Lili, Josh & Laura, didn't manage to get in touch with Daviid for Fuuka but kept it as brief as possible. The rest is only cameo'd and of course Yuya's an NPC. If any of you is still not happy with how I portrayed your character, just tell me. Yuya isn't dead yet, but I think it's obvious how he's going to die and all. Lili wanted to write the death, so I wrote up to this part. I tried hard to do so but couldn't really write out what the hell caused Yuya's crash without making it sound lame XD, and he had his face covered anyway so that part was technically not able for him to see XD. I had written the Aimi flashback long ago and it was meant to be put when she was on the report but couldn't do it and I really wanted to use it to give that storyline closure, also because I figured it was a bit random for a storyline if I left this thing out. For a funny detail: most of the cameo'd people are sat with someone they met up with sometime in the game haha. Hope you guys like that. Anyway, I hope you guys liked this post and that it wasn't too tl;dr. (of course this ooc note is XD) Oh and if you've got any more questions about something in the post that's a bit vague, just ask!

"That was your cousin on the report, wasn't it?" She asked. "I saw the way you tensed up. I'm sorry. You can cry in front of me if you want. There's nothing to hide anymore."

"No, wrong Junpei. He was on the third report." Yuya looked away. "I found some stuff at the ranger station that might be able to help us, by the way. I put it in my bag."

"Y-you did? When?" She didn't remember him searching around the station.

He hesitantly said, "when...well, I think you were half-asleep. You were twitching and mumbling about rollercoasters and aquariums."

"Oh, I was? That's weird." Miyako was clueless. "I'm sorry about mixing them up, you know, the Junpeis and all. They weren't that much alike. I'm just bad with names and the look on your face and - you guys weren't friends, were you?"

"Don't read so much into it." Yuya said. "Let's keep moving. We're not even close to the clinic yet." He glanced down at her wound. Miyako fought against following his gaze, knowing full well that, beneath the gauze, it was worse than the last time she'd peeked.

And, so they started walking again, towards their save point. "You know, in class you always looked so serious and grown up. I used to look kind of like that. No, I still do, actually. It depends."

"I guess that's because I've had to grow up fast."

"Why's that? C'mon, talk. It gives me something else to focus on other than...this." Miyako didn't bother gesturing to her side. "I'm sure it'll help with your arm."

Yuya considered that for a moment. "Yeah. Because of my mom. She's sick."

"Sick, like she's dying?" Her voice gave out a little.

"Mentally sick. She has her ups and downs - sometimes, she'll act perfectly normal and then, the next day, she's a whole different person, yelling and screaming. She hurts herself." Yuya said. "I'm just hoping that nothing bad happens to her once I'm gone. I think that's what I'm mostly worried about. Who's gonna look after her once I'm gone? Nurses and doctors can only do so much. She needs me."

"You're right. Family's important. It sucks when they're not there." Miyako didn't want to give out her lifestory, so she changed the subject.

They talked. They talked about friends and enemies and how people can think that they know someone and not know them at all. They watched over eachother, making sure neither one of them tripped and stumbled. They took breaks from walking when things felt too impossible and hid behind rock formations, where they shared short stories about work. He told her about the book store near his house and she told him about the restaurant.

His arm started stinging so bad that they had to stop walking for a while. Wearing a brave face, Miyako dressed it with some gauze Yuya gave her from his bag. The flesh was tender around the bullet's entry point, all reddened from being unattended for so long. Yuya flinched the whole time Miyako was putting the bandages on; it had gotten that bad. They decided to watch the sky turn gray before going on. Before they'd realized it, it was time for the sixth report.

With the report, came no deaths and a howling rain. For a while, Miyako heard nothing but the wind whipping around her hair. Yuya buttoned his jacket up all the way. She hated the rain, especially when it fell from every direction. Thunder scared her; she clung to Yuya whenever it struck. It sounded too much like her gun, going off on someone else. The lightning flashes reminded her of muzzle flashes. She hid from them, too. All around her, the scenery matched her inescapable fears.

From time to time, he had to pull her arm to get her to move her feet. The ground was so wet that Yuya almost fell, bringing her down with him. She didn't like that she was beginning to trust him so much that that little slip didn't bother her one bit. Miyako blamed it on how easy it was to act like he was someone else, that it was someone else's arm around her shoulders and someone else's voice warning her that they needed to take it easy because his legs hurt.

His only weapon was his sword and he wasn't playing, that's what he told her. Yuya was a good guy that hadn't killed anyone. Believing in that and knowing in her heart that her best friend hadn't, either, made it even easier to imagine him in Yuya's place. She thought of her best friend's face when he was struggling over some problem that she could solve in two careless seconds. He always took his time to analyze every possibility and fine detail in great lengths, and he wasn't lame about it - he was kind of cool and...meticulous; she liked that word for him. Yuya had a similar look in his eyes as he checked her rain-sodden bandages.

So, Miyako couldn't blame herself when she saw Yuya as Kazuhiro and slowly pressed her lips against his forehead. He jerked back in confusion.

"What was that for?"

"I don't know. You looked like somebody for a second there." Miyako wasn't ashamed. She just wished that when - not if - she reunited with him, she would have the confidence to make it more real than that.

***

Hours later, her hands were shaking uncontrollably. The seventh report had passed without them making it to the clinic. Kiku and her baby were dead and Miyako was the last nice girl left, but that wasn't what was bothering her the most. The way that the dangerzones had been set, the clinic had been blocked off. Everything bad and messed up inside of her was stuck within her. The bullets were poisoning her, she knew it. She was tainted and ruined.

Yuya didn't want to talk after hearing Kiku's name. Miyako didn't want to talk very much, either. They had nothing to suture her with. She was going to bleed to death. "Yuya, I don't feel very good."

"...Keep walking. We can get out of the rain in the tower." They stomped through the mud, kicking up water as they walked. Miyako kept her head down. All the colors were swirling again, growing hazier with each step she took. Any one of them could be her last, she thought to herself. Her survival odds plummeted.

Even if Yuya had to lead her along, she still had one thing over him and that was the fact that she could still carry the bag. It made her feel a little less useless and somewhat better about herself. "Wow, the more we walk, the further away the tower gets." And, the harder it became to lift up her feet. Finally, there was the door.

"Miyako? It's me!" A voice called from the tower. She thought she was hallucinating.

She knew that voice. He was alive. "Kaz!"

Miyako burst into the tower, her heart beating so fast that she forgot most of her pain. It didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was that there was Kazuhiro, alive and okay after what had felt like ages. Every part of her wanted to reach out and hug him, but because of her injury, she was happy with just seeing him again, together like they were meant to be.

Hiroto watched the clock tick to midnight. He had the volume up to max, and an appropriate sound affect ready. All the students were probably all tense and scared, reacting to any sound they heard.

The clock ticked midnight: Bingo.

He blared an obnoxious claxon over the island. On the monitors he could see a few of the students jolt to life. Wearing his favourite polka-dot pyjamas, and a massive shit-eating grin, he flicked on the mic and spoke:

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention!" He began, enthusiastically. "We've just reached the end of Day Two! Do you know what that means? It means there's only twenty-four hours to go in this exciting competition! I assure you that ratings have been astronomical this season!"

"And you'll also be pleased to hear you've all reached the Top Ten. Give yourselves a round of applause!"

Canned clapping echoed around the island like thunder; the volume was still at eleven.

"It's time to reveal the latest dead! Get your pens ready!"

Boy #12, Akimichi Tsurikan!
Girl #02 Seira Asagiri!
Boy #17, Akio Hayakawa!
Girl #13, Kyoko Nozaki!

And just in the nick of time, Boy #22, Yuya Murakami!"

"And you want danger zones too, right?"

"A1!
H1!
D3!
H2! I know it's kinda damp, but don't be getting turned around out there in the dark! You might lose more than your bearings!"

That means our final ten standing are as follows!

With his typical pomp, Toriumi began playing the Program theme music with optimistic cheer, as he released ten fireworks in succession. Or rather, his soldiers did, as no way was Toriumi going outside in weather like that.

For the boys: Kazuhiro Tsukino!

A firework went WHEEEEEE! and exploded in the night sky.

Taro Hanazawa!

WHEEEEEE!

Eizo Horiguchi!

WHEEEEEEE!

Haruki Masato! Kenji Matsuda!

WHEEEEEE! WHEEEEEE!

And for the girls: Miyako Kitagawa!

WHEEEEEEE!

Emi Sekiyama!

WHEEEEEEEEE!

Kotone Fujino! Miki Honda! and Kana Minamino!

WHEEEEE! WHEEEEEEEE! WHEEEEEEEEEEE!


"Wasn't that nice, boys and girls?" Hiroto asked as he played a clip of chidren cheering "Yeyyyy!" in pre-ubescent voices. "Yes, it's crunch time, ladies and gents! And to think that some of you might feel you have nothing to live for, eh? Well, don't worry! We've taken care of that, too!"

He grinned; Toriumi was in his element when showcasing.

"You might remember your lovely homeroom teacher, Mr Takiguchi. And how he and your history teacher, Mrs Hamaguchi, were on the coach as you came here? Well, guess what?"

"We've been keeping them nice and comfortable in our Bunker HQ!! Toriumi cackled. "Those who think they've got no reason to live any more might just want to buck their ideas up! Because depending on how the game ends, one of your teachers will be saved!"

Toriumi looked down the cameras, to see if the kids were paying attention. "If a boy wins this game, Mr Takiguchi will win a special prize! If a girl wins, Mrs Hamaguchi gets it!! Oh yeah, and the loser will have to undergo a forfeit. But that's a surprise."

Hiroto played a chainsaw sound effect, along with a woman screaming. He chuckled under his breath.

"So don't say you don't have any reason to fight! The liberty and happiness of an old person is at stake! And those who feel burdened enough already... well, one more on your conscious can't hurt, right? I'll see you in six hours... make sure you're still around, okay?"


And with that he clicked the mic off. "Heh, that will give the rugrats something else to think about."

10 students remaining.

[[Class Roster]]
[[Danger Zones]]
[[Corpse Map]]


((OOC: Nobody is inactivity swept! Well done guys for reaching Top Ten/Nine!))

"Miyako, are you okay? We have to keep moving," his voice was hurried against the scarlet haze billowing through her side.

Everything was spinning out from under her to the point where she didn't know where the ground stopped and her knees began. It was like she was becoming the soil, her hands scraping the earth for something to hold onto. She was drowning away right where she sat, back to the place underneath the dirt where she should have found home all along.

Yuya reached down and grabbed her shoulder with enough firmness to try to shake her out of her daze. "C'mon, we can't stay here." His sword was tucked away in the duffel strapped over his back.

"I-I...know." She tried to look at him, but her vision kept wandering out of focus, swirling all of his worried features together. There was no telling his nose from his mouth anymore or his ears from his eyes. His hand, easier to see, moved to help pull her up. "No, I can do it. I'm f-fine."

When Miyako went to stand, she crumpled back down in the same second. Again, and again, until she was back where she started, as pathetic as ever. Her bag still hung lamely around her body, shredded from its role as a shield. Feeling a whole lot sicker, she coughed into her sleeve.

Her stuff was everywhere. Bloody puddles that she didn't recognize. Shirts she'd never wear again. Medical supplies, shot to hell. Magnum ammunition, she put the strays back into its box and passed it back up to him. Her fragile cellphone, she scrambled for it and ignored Yuya's protests about taking too long.

It was getting harder to remember the faces in her cell now. Miyako needed their goofy, smiling pictures, their stupid midnight text messages, and, better than that, she needed to feel that way again - so ignorant and buried and hidden amongst them in blissful idiocy. The scent of blood clouding her senses reminded her that that was a cruel impossibility.

"Oh," she held the cellphone up to him, her head at a slight tilt. It was broken, all of the charms swinging listlessly, probably from the sudden fall. She clicked out its mini-SD card, pocketed it, and slammed it down. The cracked screen shattered to pieces.

"Miyako," Yuya took her hand in his this time. "On the count of three, I'm going to help you up. You can't do it by yourself. One, two---"

"Wait!" She wasn't ready.

He forced her up anyway. "We've got to get going. They could turn back at any second." Miyako nearly fell against his chest, unable to stand on her own. Her hip burned in agony. "Easy. I've got you." And it was then that Miyako really didn't know who or what Yuya had exactly.

"Wait, wait." Miyako stuttered. Rushing thoughts in her head exhausted her mind into a series of circles, tightening around her senses and suffocating her where she stood. "She shot Aimi..."

"She's dead." Yuya put his good arm around her, to get her to start moving.

"We can't just leave her! She wasn't bad, we have to do something for her," she pleaded. "Let go of me." Too weak to struggle, she let him lead her further along.

"We can't do anything, I'm sorry." The sorrowful way he shook his head with his suffering eyes closed flipped her stomach over twice. "We're sitting ducks if we stay here."

Miyako was too lightheaded to argue with that. She let him walk her away from the massacre everyone had made, over the rocks and the cracked Tengu mask and the bullet casings and the twigs in the grass. Her shirt dripped red in the places where metal had bit into her.

Steadying her vision, she could see that Yuya wasn't much better. His other arm, the one not holding her, was pinned lax against his side. It hung loose without control, eliciting sharp inhales whenever they had to step over steeper inclines.

Every painful breath he tried to hide from her only deepened her guilt. "You could have been killed." It was her way of asking him why he did what he did, when he didn't have to get himself killed over her. Very few people were worth that much, and she wasn't one of them. "That was -... how could you have been so stupid?"

"Stupid? I practically saved your life and now you're calling me stupid." They stopped in front of a building that reminded her of the one that she first met Aimi in, so many hours ago. "I'm not just going to abandon you, if that's what you want. You're hurt."

"So are you," she meant to motion towards his arm, but doing that made her woozy, so she didn't. "You're crazy. You just r-ran into everything all crazily, and, you're so..."

"Crazy, I know. Miyako, be careful when you open the door." Yuya warned. "I'm letting you go for one second."

She stumbled into it and hit her head before she got it open. Yuya, with his hand on her shoulder, steered her into the dark ranger station. It didn't take him very long to find a chair for her, which she collapsed into painfully. Her gun cradled in her lap, Miyako held onto her wound, flinching from the touch. Where skin should have been, there wasn't. The bleeding hadn't stopped, either; if anything, it was worsening.

"You shouldn't have turned back," Miyako forced herself to talk. "Now look what happened...you let yourself get messed up because of me. Why?" Her voice trembled. "I should've died, too."

He turned his flashlight on, careful to keep it away from their faces. "And what would have happened if I walked? You'd really be dead, wouldn't you?" A touch of silence fell across the room. "You act like it's such a bad thing that I'm helping you."

Miyako still didn't get it. "You're just crazy." What else could she call him?

"You would have done the same for me," Yuya justified. But a part of Miyako knew, deep down, he was wrong. No matter what heroic spin was forced into it, walking into a gunfight with a sword was stupid. "You're like Mimiko, another one of the nice girls. You wouldn't have let me die, so neither did I. Is that a good enough answer for you?"

"Another nice girl, what?" She had stopped listening at his cringe worthy generalization. "Like Mimiko, self-righteous Mimiko, wow." Miyako burst out laughing.

"Why are you laughing? Nothing's funny. Stop."

"Yes, you are. You're hilarious," she couldn't stop. She laughed so hard, her whole body shook and her tortured left side screamed. Between giggles, she said, "I can't see anything. Am I floating? I feel like, like a cloud, you know. All light and airy. Isn't that funny?"

"You have to calm down. Shhh," he traded the flashlight in his hand for a water bottle. With some difficulty, he got it open and held it above her lips. "Stop laughing and drink this. I think you're delirious."

"D-delirious? Big talk. You're not my doctor." He tilted the water bottle enough for her to take a few sips.

"I might as well be. I've got the experience." Yuya put the bottle on the table next to her. She didn't know when the table had gotten there or when he had put his bag on it. Time was whirling by so fast with all sorts of gaps in between. Miyako felt like she was losing herself, except, she knew it was impossible to lose something that was already lost, so she wasn't making any sense. Nothing makes any sense. "Press this against your...your side."

"Why don't you shine a little light on it and tell me how bad it looks?" The question lazed out of her, all slurry and blurry.

"You were shot, what do you think? Just hold it!!" He yelled at her, trying to bring her back to reality. Shaken, Miyako listened, pushing the gauze pad against her wound. There was something wet on it, maybe alcohol or iodine. "Lean up a little. This will stop the bleeding." When she did, Yuya wrapped some roller gauze around her hips over her skirt and up to her waist, the best that he could with their limited light. "Is it too tight?"

She didn't hear him. "They're all stuck in me, Yuya. I can feel them. We have to go somewhere and get them out..."

"Miyako," he snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Look at me."

"We have to get to the clinic. We'll take them out and ev-everything will be okay." Miyako wiped her eyes.

Yuya held the water out to her again. She shook her head. "If you're not going to drink, then you should sleep. I'll stand watch."

"No...it's dark out there and in here and if I fall asleep, I'll die." She looked at the floor. "Whenever people are hurt like this, they close their eyes and they never wake up again. I don't want to be one of those people. I don't want to go out like that. I'm supposed to be better than that.

"Y-you think I'm just another nice girl, that's...exactly what you said and you're wrong. So wrong. I'm not one of them." Miyako clasped her hands together, the metallic smell of blood - her blood - overwhelming her for a moment. "I'm different. Different," she repeated, like it mattered. Like anyone cared who she was. At this rate, she was already dead, right where she sat.

All of her life, she had been dying. Disappearing, actually. She broke slowly and carefully. Piece by piece, Miyako disappeared. She was half past gone already, a sorry case that no doctor could mend, and with her life support fleeting, things would come to an end at any hour. Not years like she thought weeks ago - hours. Bit by bit, she went away.