_{((PC control approved by Kristin and Shaun. Kenji backhistory agreed with with Laurra. Tagging Shaun. Go!))}



.....Bleep.


Blee Blee Blee Blee Bleep.


Blee Blee Blee Blee Bleep!



BLEE BLEE BLEE BLEE BLEEP.




BLEE BLEE BL--

With a snap, Eizo smacked the buttons of the phone at random. It was not enough to turn the alarm off properly; he needed to do a specific key combination for that. It was, however, enough to buy him some snooze time, which allowed him to come to his senses.

The first thing he had noticed when he moved was the mud. He was aware of how cold and damp it was, yet nowhere near as wet as it had been when he first rested his head. He could smell it, too; stuck fast to his head and bare chest. It was a pleasant smell, not so much dirty as mossy, unsullied by the mountain surroundings. He could hear nothing, and opening his eyes, he was dazzled by the sunbeams permeating through the branches of the cherry trees under which he had sheltered. There was total silence; no wind, no chatter, no animals, no gunfire. If it weren't for the fact he knew his face was smeared in brown sludge, he might have even believed this was heaven.

When the snooze expired, the phone's alarm rang out again. More awake this time, Eizo grabbed the phone and turned off the alarm fully. He sat himself up, fighting the temptation to lie here and succumb once more. He was becoming dimly aware of why he was lying outside, but his mind was clearly blocking those thoughts for now. Ease up, wake up gently.

He wondered if he had dreamed. The sleep, albeit for a few hours, felt incredibly refreshing. He knew kids in the Program would sometimes talk about nightmares. Their conscience catching up with them, regurgitating the trash they couldn't cognize while awake. He felt no such thing, but maybe it was just because he was so exhausted. He knew he had to have a good night of it now, because...

He sat up, as the reality came sliding into focus. He said it to himself, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, as if speaking it would make it more real:

"This is the last day of my life. I am probably going to die in the next twelve hours. This is my last morning on Earth."

Eizo was scared, yet in his time-honoured fashion, he couldn't admit to himself he was scared. he told himself he wasn't frightened, that it was going to be exciting somehow, and he could still win anyway. There would be a report soon, and he had two guns, barely used. He might have a chance, yet. And even if he didn't, what did it matter? A few seconds of pain and it would all be over, right?

He wanted to start count his Lasts by way of private ritual (last sleep, last meal, last poop, last sunset), but realised he had other things to focus on. He looked at his watch: the noon report was imminent. Taking an educated guess on the danger zones, he started walking south right now, putting his old shirt on before he started shivering. Sure, it was the middle of the day, and the sun was out, but he didn't feel like getting the sniffles.

As the lake came into sight, the report crackled over the tannoys, including the one by his resting spot.

He counted the names. Four. First Kana, then...

Kenji?

Kenji Matsuda. There was no mistake. He had heard correctly. Kana, Kotone, Haruki, and fucking Kenji Matsuda.

Kenji was dead, and Eizo wasn't. Eizo didn't bother inhibiting the thrill as he rushed through his body.

Mr Takiguchi was taking the afternoon register one Tuesday. Eizo was tapping a pen on the table arhythmically, passing time. He didn't particularly care for what they were being told (much less was he listening; something about a school inspection, possibly); his mind was on other things. He wouldn't be in class tomorrow anyway, and he had shown a note from his mother to this effect, which all the class teachers had now read, anyway.

The final class of the day was PE; the boys had swimming, while the girls had gym.Eizo wasn't sure why the girls and boys had to take different classes; the pool was plenty big enough for both sexes. Maybe it was just to stop the boys popping boners at the girls' wet, young bodies.

Eizo changed in the locker room quickly, hurriedly wrapping a towel round his waist as he dropped his underwear. He wanted a word with Mr Katsunaga, which was only something he would do if he could have a moment in private. It was not something he wanted to bring up in front of the whole class, after all. It was to show Katsunaga the note; although not scheduled for PE the following day, Eizo had soccer practice, and Katsunaga would want to know why he wasn't showing up, as the team had reached that point in the middle of the year when the novelty was wearing off and attrition rates were sky-high.

Eizo loved soccer, but he loved his family more. He was going to sit in on a day of his dad's trial, at the request of his mother.

Katsunaga took the note. "Hrmm... so you're going to be at a court tomorrow as well, then?"

"I, er.... yes?" Eizo said. The note had made that clear, though didn't mention anything it shouldn't have; his mother was an expert at these things.

"Christ, that's two of you from your class," said the teacher, rolling his eyes. "These things all come at once, don't they, huh?"

"Wait, what?" Eizo was puzzled. Two from his class?

"Oh, you know.... what's-his-face. Baseball kid."

"Kenji Matsuda?"

"Yep, Matsuda. He said he'd be off today and tomorrow because of some court witness thing."

Eizo was looking at his teacher, who shrugged and slurped his cold coffee, before standing on his long legs and towering past Eizo's wiry frame. "Excuse me, I've gotta unlock the pool room."

He had been talking to Fuuka ever since his dad was apprehended. She had apologised, not so much for Eizo's loss, but more because her own father had remained untouched. She admitted she felt like people were watching her all the time, which had been the reason she had avoided speaking to Eizo for a time. Now, Eizo recalled, she had worried that Kenji and Taro overhearing their conversation the week before might have been a factor in the raid. Now, a month down the line, Eizo reviewed the facts and was certain it was so:

Kenji Matsuda was the reason Genta Horiguchi was on trail for money laundering, robbery, and fraud.

This was the day he ever first felt true, pure, enduring hatred for another human being.

Eizo chuckled to himself. Part of him regretted he hadn't been the one to get the little bastard, but the fact remained: Horiguchi outlives Matsuda. Eizo had won a petty war nobody knew he was fighting, and he felt all the better in himself for it.

He spat on the ground, thinking of Kenji for the last time. "Good riddance, you asshole," he growled under his breath, chuckling cruelly as he walked to the south, bag in hand.

It was one more obstacle out of his path. Kenji, Kana and Haruki had joined Kotone on the scrapheap, meaning there were six people remaining, only five more people to die, and...

He recalled how he had met Haruki at the beginning of the game. How he had bumped into Kyoko and stuck with her, when she had been waiting for Haruki, the boy one after him in the class roster... At the time, it had made him furious and upset and hurt, but now? Now they were both dead, and he just didn't feel the same way. It all felt so dumb and pointless now.

Now, the only thing that didn't seem dumb and pointless was survival.

(Last regret.)

Maybe, deep down, he realised the irony. He had always thought himself to be a tough kid. Everyone else seemed to think he was a tough kid. But from the minute he left the bunker, he realised he wasn't. He was insecure, needy and scared, just like everybody else in the game. Maybe he just wouldn't allow himself to see this. Maybe it was this that made him want to hurt other people all the time. Maybe it was this that had made him cruel, and had made him hurt so bad when Kyoko dumped him.

On the other hand, maybe accepting all this would collapse the last of his resolve. Telling himself he stood a chance because every other bloodclot left was useless was probably untrue, but comforting all the same.

Who was there? Emi? Miyako? Miki? He snorted at the thought of any of those girls beating him. The only girl he would have been worried about was...

Akemi again, he accepted with a gulp. But she was gone, now.

(Not really closure, but as good as he would get)

He shuddered. Taro and Kazuhiro were the only boys still standing. If Taro and Emi were travelling together (he could imagine them doing some sort of special handshake, covered in blood, crying Gaywads Unite! or something equally faggoty), that could be a problem, but...

Either Taro or Kazuhiro on his own, Eizo reckoned he had a chance. And chance was all he had left, now.

He had reached the southern side of the lake. There was still no sign of life. He looked down at the still water, and his reflection looked back at him.

He hadn't seen his own face since the schoolhouse two days ago. The sleep had done little to flatter him; his hair was stuck up, tousled on one side from where he had lain on the ground. There was mud on his cheek, and up his chest. His skin was sallow, sunken, as though he hadn't eaten in weeks, even though his last proper meal had been in the school canteen just three days ago...

In short, he looked like a tramp. His eyes were dull and blank, his skin was chapped around his lips, and the frown on his face seemed to be the only facial expression that sat naturally. He could see the grime on his hands, small cuts from God-knows-where, under which his blood was a hardened, scabby red.

In spite of it all, he smiled, and muttered to himself, almost as a joke: "Last bad hair day, too?"

He plumped at it with one clawed hand. He was no longer looking at his reflection, but gazing over the water, to where the shrine sat in the middle of the lake. He felt like swimming there, but knew it would be stupid; you weren't supposed to submerge guns in water, and if someone was waiting on the other side, then...

But even so, the urge to swim was overwhelming. He remember what it was like to be in the water, to be free of every worry and problem and glide without touching the ground....

To any people watching the Program, Eizo Horiguchi's next move would probably have appeared completely idiotic. In a fashion, it was. But in Eizo's mind, there was no way of resisting the urge; it seemed the most natural thing for him to do right now.

He could be dead by midnight. This swim would take his mind off everything. Even if it were for just an hour, it would be an hour's escape, one which nobody else standing in this game had the presence of mind to find.

Eizo hid his bag on the edge of the lake, stripped to his underwear, shamelessly ignoring the cameras gazed on his muddy chest, and dived into the blue.

The water was invigoratingly warm.

Last swim.... and they couldn't have picked a better location.

"I can't believe you punched Kenji Matsuda in the face!"

It was Friday, and the first time Eizo had seen Kenji in class. They had technically been in the same room as one another in the court, though Kenji was behind a screen, his voice distorted for fear of Genta Horiguchi's people finding him and destroying his life. Eizo was sickened to think Kenji could go round destroying other people's lives, and feeling no repurcussions for doing so. This was why Eizo had pummeled him on sight that morning, and took his punishment from Mrs Higa, feeling totally satisfied at the state of Kenji's nose.


"Um.... guys?"

The boys had clambered into the swimming pool. Katsunaga was telling them all to warm up, to do two lengths, not to bang into one another, before they went into groups. Eizo had positioned himself next to Keisuke and Taro, who were goofing around in the water.

"Huh? Hey... what's up?" Taro said, not expecting Eizo to talk to him.

"Yeah..." Eizo replied, deciding not to bother with small talk, and just jump in with the question. "Do you know where Kenji is today?"

"Not really... he just said he had to be somewhere today," Taro shrugged. "I didn't ask. Jury duty, or something."

"Jury duty?" Keisuke scoffed. "Don't think so... we're not really old enough for stuff like that, right?"

"Well, I dunno. Something to do with a jury!" Taro grinned, splashing Keisuke playfully with the water. Eizo said nothing. "I know he couldn't meet with us yesterday because he needed to do a rehearsal of some sort."

"Rehearsal?"

"Dunno what, he hasn't texted me all day," Taro said, while Keisuke wiped chlorine from his face. "He's staying in some fancy hotel in the middle of Tokyo, too. All expenses paid or something."

"Why is he in some fancy hotel?" Eizo looked at Taro and Keisuke, the latter's eyes being red and sore-looking. "He's in Tokyo and hasn't said why?"

"Oh, actually, it was something to do with a--" Keisuke began, before suddenly looking at Eizo as though seeing him for the first time, and suddenly snapping his mouth shut. "Err, no, I think I might have been wrong..."

"What?"

"Hey, you three," Katsunaga called over. "Keep the noise down, okay?"

Keisuke took this as an opportunity to sidle away from Eizo, and Taro, not wanting to be left alone with Eizo when he was in a mood, followed suit shortly after. Eizo was reminded of why he didn't bother talking to this bunch of guys very often; apart from being so involved in their faggoty accessories and hairstyles, they were useless and boring people to talk to. But that was just an observation; and the problem was...

The timing was too much of a coincidence. Kenji was in the middle of Tokyo where the High Criminal Court was, the same week as Eizo's father was on trial... oh, fuck, Eizo couldn't feel any worse. He half-felt like going into the gym next door, grabbing Fuuka by the collar and blaming her for everything that had gone wrong, for having the conversation in the open like that, he didn't even care if he stood in a room of girls in nothing but his swimming trunks, because he needed to blame someone, and fucking Kenji wasn't fucking here!

"Okay, you four," Katsunaga said, jabbing at Eizo with his finger. "Yanagihara, Hanazawa, Horiguchi, and Katsumoto. Come to the edge."

"Huh?" Eizo said, more indignantly than he anticipated. "What're we doing?"

"Well, if you'd been listening instead of gossiping, you might have heard," Mr Katsunaga said sternly.

"Front crawl stroke, one length," Atsuo whispered. "Tumble turn, backstroke one length."

"Thank you, Mister Katsumoto, but I don't remember asking you to repeat my words." Katsunaga put his whistle to his lips.

Atsuo turned his head away from the teacher, toward Eizo, and smirked. "Race you?"

"In your dreams," Eizo smiled.

The whistle blew, and the four pushed themselves into the water.

All the sound of chatter chimed out of mind as his ears rushed full of water and bubbles, Eizo snaking beneath the water's surface as he volleyed himself forth. He found freedom here, all the thoughts and anger and frustrations he had became frozen and forgotten, as he swam through silent blueness, tranqility among chaos, liberation from everything, in a world he could call his own.

The next day, Eizo Horiguchi would be sat in a courtroom in central Tokyo, listening to a boy give evidence against his father. Veils, silhouettes, and fogged screens would not convince him otherwise that it was Kenji Matsuda condeming his father to time in jail. Eizo would swear to himself that Kenji deserved to die in a fire, and would never forgive the faggot for what he was doing to Eizo's family in return for a couple of Brownie points. When Kenji returned to school, Eizo would beat him to the ground, and he wouldn't care about the consequences.

But that was all in the future.

Right now, all Eizo wanted to do was swim.


For some reason, Eizo hadn't imagined blood coming out that thick would be so dark. It sent a shiver down his spine as he remembered it streaming out, with glee.

"You didn't answer my question, though!"

He didn't realise she had even asked him one. "What question?"

"What the hell is wrong with you? You're pissed off all weekend, and then you come in and hit Kenji in the face? What the hell did he ever do to you?"

"It's none of your business," Eizo mumbled, choosing not to reply the story in his head yet again.

"It's my business because you're my boyfriend, Eizo. Maybe you should remember that, okay?"

He grunted, and shrugged. She copied him, adding a scowl.

"Oh, well that's just like you, isn't it?" She rolled her eyes. "Not giving a straight answer again."

"Look, just give me a fucking break, okay?" Eizo winced. "It's not like you even like Kenji, anyway."

"No, but I also don't like being fucked about by someone who won't talk to me! I'm not happy with how you've been speaking to me lately."

"For fuck's sake, Akemi, you're pissing me off now," he growled.

"Yeah, well, that's two of us," Akemi Kasai spat back at her boyfriend. "You're always locking your thoughts away.... I know you've had a tough time lately, but for fuck's sake if it's upsetting you that much you should just admit it!"

"I'm not upset," Eizo lied. Akemi scoffed.

"That stuff with your dad, in court? I get it, it's tough!"

"No, what's tough is someone trying to get her nose into my private life, and rake through stuff that's none of her business!" Eizo barked at her.

"I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU HERE!"

"MAYBE I DON'T WANT YOUR HELP!"

They were screaming at one another now, but neither cared. The two were stood up, circling one another like fighting dogs.

"Then why the hell are you going out with me for then, eh?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Eizo bellowed. "I can't fucking handle this right now!"

"You what?"

"Any of this! The stuff with my dad! The social services! Mom taking her anger out on us! You butting in with your nyap-nyap-nyap," Eizo simulated a nagging mouth using one hand, "and it's everywhere I go! Everywhere I do! And it's fucking doing my head in!"

Silence, for once.

"Why couldn't you tell me any of this stuff?" Akemi asked, suddenly. She didn't let him off that easily; she still soudned pissy. "I am interested in what's happening with you, y'know."

"You could show it once in a while," Eizo mumbled.

"What did you say?" Akemi bellowed. "The fuck does that mean?"

"Oh shut up, already," Eizo said. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Excuse me?"

"You just make me feel worse!"

"Oh, I make you feel bad about yourself, do I?"

"Yeah," Eizo didn't care if she felt hurt."

"Well, if you're that unhappy, why don't you just end it, then?"

"Fine, maybe I will!"

"....."

Silence again. Then, Akemi: "Eh?"

"I can't put up with you right now. Seriously. Shut up and fuck off."

Akemi yelled various cuss words at Eizo as she stormed away from him. He felt no better, but at least it had gotten rid of some of his tension. Of course, he now had another problem to add to his mountain of issues at the minute. But he wasn't worried about it just yet. He couldn't bring himself to give a damn about anything right now.

This was the fatal mistake he made: by going on a break with Akemi, he left himself wide open, and soon, he would have a run-in with Mimiko Hashimoto, which would only make matters worse. There would be no going back from that, and Akemi would have never forgiven him, and finally she would call it quits, cutting her losses and acting like she wasn't hurting, which Eizo didn't detect anyway because he was too busy nursing his own hurt anyway.

Their love was a fire, and he should have put it out, rather than knocking it over. It would burn out of control, and devastate his life for the following year, until someone stabler came along for him to use.

But he couldn't bring himself to think about any of this right now. He wanted to take his mind of everything, just for an hour.

He promised himself he would skip soccer practice after school today, and go for a swim in the pool, instead. It was the only thing he could think of that would ease the stress in his muscles.

The lake was perfect for swimming. He stayed in there much longer than he should have done, not even caring if the ripples on the surface would catch someone's eye, whether the waves he was making would be obvious against the calm, but nobody came. It was him, alone, atop a mountain, on some sort of free holiday by himself. It was easy to forget the electric fence, even the collar, in the oasis he made himself. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this calm...

...or this cold.

He started to shudder after a while, and made his way back to shore. The sunlight plunged down from the sky as the shadows cast themselves lengthier as the afternoon passed. Not Eizo, though; he stepped out of the lake, body covered with a coating of crystal-clear water, making his torso shine like diamonds as the flecks of water diffracted the sunlight, and ran down his abdomen.

He looked down at his arms, which were shining in the same manner. He became aware of himself once more, the reality of his situation coming back to him slowly. He was fascinated at the veins and tendons beneath his skin, which he could just make out in the crook of his elbow. He made his fingers waggle, and noticed the strings pull and slacken obediently, like the mechanics of a car.

His nerves, his brain. This was what it meant to be a human.

In a few hours, one way or another, he will be transformed into something else altogether.

The water droplets shimmied down his body, as goosebumps appeared over his flesh. Another shiver of cold. Eizo, finally taking this as a cue to put on his shirt, snapped out of his reverie. Grabbing a towel out of his bag, he rubbed himself down, drying his body, while looking over the water. He knew it was stupid to keep his back turned on people with guns, but the tranquility of the scenery was enough to assuage his nerves. If he died here, now, instantaneously, he doubted he would mind all that much.

In truth, he was certain he wouldn't mind at all, because he'd be dead.

He became aware of a camera, for the first time in a while. It was trained patiently upon him, attached to a tree trunk, just out of reach. He wondered how long it had been watching him swim. The whole time? There weren't many people to watch any more, though, so maybe a million eyes were staring at him dry himself down right now?

He grinned a juvenile grin, flipping the camera off with his middle finger. Then turning away from it, lowered his wet boxers to the ground, deliberately mooning the people at home. As he dried himself at the front, letting the towel drape casually down his front, he walked over to hisbag to pick out his final set of underwear. (Last change of clothes). He walked to the bag with a slight swagger, playing to the audience, who were surely either having a coronary, or pleasuring themselves. Maybe it would make someone think about the sick game they were watching. All the more to those fucking freaks who watched this shit with their pants round their ankles.

Deciding enough was enough, he hiked fresh, dry clothes over himself, and straightened up. Flipping the camera off once more, he turned to face it. It was a white shirt, one of his school ones. He considered changing to something darker, which might not show up blood as much, but...

Akemi used to laugh at him for never being able to pick his clothes properly. Yesterday, Eizo had nagged Kyoko for wearing stupid shoes, in a deathmatch. He thought about the dead girls once more, but between the swim and the sleep, the pangs didn't hurt as badly as they might have done.

He would be okay. He just had to clean up the rest of the mess.

Picking a location to wait for the remaining report, he chose the waterfall. Someone might be there, amidst the water, and water was what Eizo was good at. He might spend some more time grooming (brush his hair, brush his teeth, put on some deodorant; he didn't want to face death stinking of sweat and blood and puke and halitosis...), but only if he felt it safe. He felt safe around water, so he would stay by the lake for as long as he could.

The final report was approaching. Genta Horiguchi couldn't watch his son's progress, but a guard did tell him Eizo would surely survive until six o'clock, for nobody else was around.

Yoshimi Horiguchi had arrived back at home, and now sat at her TV alone. She had called her other son a few hours ago, to make sure he was paying his little brother due respects. She felt bad for mentally comparing the two boys, and wondered privately what Eizo could have accomplished in his life.

Arayoshi and Tatsuji Horiguchi were in their flat, watching the six o'clock report draw ever closer. Aside from Tatsuji paying off some kids for telling him about a potential attack on their territory from a rival clan, neither cousin had left the building all day. Foil cartons sat cooling on a table, from where the two had ordered Thai food, yet lost the will to eat any. Arayoshi didn't dare pee unless his missed his kid brother's downfall. Tatsuji was munching on a cold piece of meat, reflecting quietly on his family's lot, until the thought depressed him and he blotted it from his mind in that very Horiguchi fashion.

Fujiko Horiguchi was in her room. She knew her little cousin was sat alone in front of the TV downstairs, but she couldn't bring herself to keep her company. The room was full of bad memories, and Fujiko wasn't strong like the rest of her family. She remembered once how Eizo had had his friends down to watch baseball, and how the house shook when the Giants crushed the Swallows. It had been a big game, she remembered how the boys from her school had been hollering and gloating at the rival team. The two boys, both tall and fit with dark hair, had laughed as she walked past, blushing, to get to the kitchen for some cola. Fujiko had seen no more than twenty minutes of the Program on the first night when one of these boys, along with his sister (she remembered her; she was nice), killed the other boy in cold blood, only to be horrifically murdered on-screen by a third boy and girl. That had been enough, because she imagined her cousin's head being bashed in with a mace like that nice girl, and it made her cry to think of Eizo winding up that way. She had run away in tears, and hadn't ventured into the lounge once since. She wasn't strong like her family, so she pretended it wasn't happening, turning her computer on and making a valiant effort to do some homework, but finding herself staring into space with a green pencil twirling between her fingers.

Mitsumi Horiguchi was sat in her uncle's lounge, sitting in front of the TV while the house lay silent. A practical girl, he had boiled a hot water bottle, and wrapped it in some shirts out of her brother's dirty laundry. The bundle of shirts sat at her feet, which she had curled up onto the sofa, and wrapped underneath a blanket. She was barely watching the show, still young enough to buy into the Education Authorities' propaganda that every child had a duty to watch their fellows face adversity, but old enough to feel anguish and torn loyalties. Young enough to cry, and old enough to feel ashamed of crying. Her brother always sat on this sofa. It was simply his spot, and she couldn't bring herself to sit where he sat; instead she had lain the hot water bottle there, just to keep his seat warm. She could smell Eizo upon his old clothes, and they were warm and present, and somehow it made her feel like he was there with her. She didn't feel so alone, and she didn't feel like a little girl quite so much.

Teruki Horiguchi was the only member of the family clan who wasn't behaving submissively from his nephew's predicament, but that was because he was full of alcohol and watching the game in a bookmakers'. He had placed a ten-thousand yen bet on the Program; many people there were doing the same thing, though Teruki felt like he had some sort of negative aura around him, as people were reluctant to go near him, as though he was infected with bad luck. When the place had opened at ten o'clock that morning, he had placed a Top Three bet based on the people remaining in the game. He had wagered everything on Honda, Hanazawa and Sekiyama to be the final three, irrespective of position. The young man behind the counter, who knew Teruki by face, had been reluctant to accept the bet, for he knew the man was betting against his own nephew. Teruki had growled some profanity at him, and said there was simply no point in backing Eizo, as the payoff was poor. As more students died, and the final five came was being announced, Teruki knew he was in a position to win big, but even with all the alcohol, he was struggling to convince himself the pangs in his stomach were all about the payoff.

The sun set, the waterfall thundered nearby, and Eizo Horiguchi, sharp-minded, and determined, listened to the evening report with predatory focus as the light burst into fire on the rippled surface of the lake.

The last sunset.


And the last stand.

Emi and her pet pug, Pigpen, during what was clearly the falling of the cherry blossoms at a park. The little dog is licking her face happily, Emi cringing and laughing – the camera is slightly off-kilter.
On the back: ‘Me and Pigpen go on a cherry blossom viewing. Happy April!’.

Two-on-two street ball for girls’ PE, and in Ms Asari’s frantic jabbing of fingers and calls of, ‘you, go with… you!’, Emi finds herself paired up with Fuuka Kuroki, something that leaves her distinctly unimpressed and the girls they end up opposing first, Kana and Aimi, in this state of pitying amusement. Like they want to laugh at the two of them, but it would be like kicking a puppy. That was already dead.

Emi consoles herself with the thought that paired with anyone else, she’d slaughter them. Whether that was true or not doesn’t matter.

Fuuka, exempt from the usual girls’ PE kit of bloomers and vest top, presumably for her own dignity, is decked in the biggest, baggiest tracksuit she could presumably find, and Emi feels hot with second-hand embarrassment just looking at the poor girl’s already tinged-pink face.

Emi usually finds herself feeling more sorry for Fuuka than anything else, but at the same time, going jogging once in a while can’t be too much effort. She herself manages, after all. Fuuka, she sometimes thinks, must just be kind of weak willed and lazy. And that’s not the kind of person she can see herself being close with.

“Okay, so do you guys want possession first…?” Kana proffers the basketball, holding up in her hand and letting it fall out, bounce toward them and be caught up by Fuuka. Emi shrugs her assent and smiles at her teammate, who has the worried look on her face that’s somewhat customary in these situations.

Emi hates feeling bad for people.

“Okay, Fuuka, if you go over there, I’ll…”

In the end, they manage to win against the unfortunate team of Hana and Nobuko, but that’s about all they manage, and the girls with functioning braincells and less than 10% body fat collectively beat them into the ground, leaving Emi with the sorest pride she’s ever had.

“Sorry,” Fuuka offers as she moves to help a surprised Emi pick up the discarded basketballs after.

“Don’t worry about it.” Emi shrugs it off, and the motion kind of hurts, but there’s a little bit of a good feeling right afterward. “It’s just PE.”

There’s silence as they throw the last of the balls into the trolley, and then Emi, with a sudden surge of charitable pity she had no idea she possessed, turns to Fuuka.

“You know…” She fumbles for a moment. “I dunno, if you want, you could come walking with me or whatever sometime? Or we could play tennis or something. You… wouldn’t have to say sorry anymore…?”

Fuuka looks completely taken aback, and as her face flushes a moment later, Emi realises painfully that what she just said could be easily translated into, ‘You’re fat and you need to change’, repeated a few times over. Granted, it is something the girl needs to hear, but it probably isn’t nice to hear.

“You don’t need to,” she adds quickly. “Just for fun.”

“Thanks,” Fuuka says quietly. “Maybe we can sometime.”

Emi somehow thinks that means ‘never’ – and she can’t say she minds that too much.

The zone D1 was where she finally found water in the form of a river, and that was where she set about cleaning herself. The soap from her toiletries bag finally found use as she used it to gently scrub her face and hands; her school uniform was stripped from her body quickly and dumped in the river to float away from sight; her change of clothes, jeans and a blouse, thrown on over damp skin, scrubbed by her washcloth till it glowed red raw.

It wasn’t vanity or even hygiene; it was purification.

Scrubbing away Tatsutarou, Mimiko, Aiko, Keisuke. Even Harumi, Miyako, Yuya. People who were gone because of her.

She hadn’t even looked at Mimiko or Aiko. Had barely acknowledged them.

But then, if she acknowledged them all, really thought about them, she’d break apart from the inside. Buckle under the gravity of everything she’d done. And she couldn’t afford to.

It was one of the most beautiful parks in the city, all greens and blues and pinks, with old temples, a zoo and a lake, and even though the done thing was to come and look at the falling cherry blossoms in a massive group, today Emi had come alone but for her pet pug.

It was far better to come alone for taking photographs. If she went with anyone else, it would turn into a day of photos for her scrap wall (like a scrapbook, only an entire wall of her bedroom) and she didn’t really want that. Not today, anyway.

She enjoyed creating things that you could call beautiful – and she wasn’t good at art or music, but photography was something she could really say she did well. She took pride in it – and her camera was as well cared for as the pudgy, wet-nosed little dog skipping along beside her, yapping at cats and pigeons and taking scraps from the groups having picnics under the trees.

Sometimes she didn’t know what to do when she was alone. In a group, she could make decisions for them, or be led by them. Dominate a conversation or sit back and let it play out with only passive participation. On her own, she often felt almost lost. As though everything she was was defined and built up by those around her, and without people to bolster her, she was like a paper tower barely standing, swaying in the wind. A day to herself with no plans was a rare one, and often she would lounge around the house playing video games in her pyjamas with Pigpen on her lap.

She stopped to snap a picture of a tree just as a gust of wind caught the blossoms, sending a shower of pink falling like snow into a nearby group, who promptly began toasting one another with wine. Squatting on the ground to pet Pigpen as he came rushing over to her with a stick, Emi examined the picture she had just taken and grinned down at it.

It was a fantastic shot.

This was the kind of thing she was even more proud of than schoolwork, than her being class rep, than all that stuff.

Keisuke could make amazing music. She could take good photographs.

Just for good measure, she grabbed Pigpen and stood up, and, cradling him to her front with one arm, took a picture – one which ended up being of her making a grossed out-cum-amused expression as he started to lick her face – and put him back down, laughing as he immediately rolled over onto his back for a belly rub.

She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to show anyone her good pictures – only the camwhore ones with Pigpen or her friends. Maybe it was just that everyone else was so much better at something else than she was at this that it didn’t seem worth it.

It wasn’t like she didn’t have other things to be proud of, anyway.

The report came as she was leaving the river bank, wet and cold and yet with a raw, numb sort of feeling all over her. The pain in her hands and cheek had been numbed by the cold, and only throbbed uncomfortably, a niggle in the back of her mind now.

“Girl number twenty, Kana Minamino!”

A slight stab of horror now. Nothing compared to what it was two days ago.

“Boy number twenty, Kenji Matsuda!”

She wasn’t prepared. Not at all.

“Girl number sixteen, Kotone Fujino!”

There was no physical reaction she could make to express it, so there was a moment where she did nothing but stand stock still, her mind frozen, pain to her chest, eyes, stomach, head like consecutive punches, like a migraine, like nothing she’d ever felt.

The only physical response she could muster was nausea.

She hadn’t realised until then that she had been hoping to see them again, one last time.

Not even to tell them anything – she had nothing she wanted to tell them, anyway. Just to see them, talk to them, touch them, comfort them – take comfort from the people closest to her.

She didn’t even have any energy left to cry for them. Just to stand there in silent horror as the people who had bolstered her up, who had shaped her very personality, disappeared all around her.

Taking her right along with them.

Did it even matter if she survived? If everything that defined her was going to be lost, what use was it going back home.

Her mother. Yuu. Pigpen. Even her dad, wherever he might be. They were all reasons to live. To go back and make them happy. Even if she herself never would be.

She didn’t want to die. But the end of the Programme and the idea of going back to a world that would watch and revel in their agony – even if that were the height of hypocrisy coming from her – gave her chills.

Back to a world where some of the most important people in her life would have been snuffed out by her hand.

She didn’t know what to do anymore, but hug herself and shiver in what was no longer cold.

((OOC: This takes place before the last report, obviously, and before the FTD. I'm playing a game of 'catch up in bite sized chunks'.))

((Hey guys, sorry about the delay. Anything needs changing, blah blah let me know. 83))

Miki was surprised when the boy she had shot didn’t fall down. She knew she had hit him, because he was running awkwardly, clutching at his stomach and trying his hardest to run. He dropped his pack, the contents spilling out over the grass. It took Miki a minute to realize what was happening, that he was getting away. Adrenaline pounded through her body as she ran just as awkwardly after him, stomping past the body of the girl who she had shot just before. Miki didn’t spare her a glance.

The boy had a head start, but Miki closed in. She raised her gun again and fired wildly, still squinting as the sunrise stung her eyes. The gun went off, though she barely registered the deafening bursts that were exiting the chamber.

This time, he fell. She saw him start to reach for his back when he toppled over in a disheveled heap about forty feet away. She stopped running, her breath returning in deep, frantic gasps. Everything just seemed like it had happened so fast. She stood there for a moment, catching her breath and trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened.

The girl… she sounded like Kana, but it was impossible to see. But what if- no, Miki didn’t want to think right now. She just wanted to get out of here. She didn’t want to reason anything, didn’t want to try and outsmart the system anymore. She wanted to finish the damn thing.
The boy groaned and tried to sit up. Had she not been shaking so bad, Miki might have fired the gun again. Instead she dazedly stumbled toward him, still gasping for air in a manic way.

“If you move…” she managed to wheeze, “I’ll kill you.” 

Such a stupid thing to say. She could see that he wouldn’t be alive much longer, anyway. His shirt was stained with several spots of blood which were growing steadily. He too was feebly gasping for air, though she could hear how wet and shallow they were. He couldn’t support his weight anymore and collapsed back onto the ground, looking at her with pained and miserably exhausted eyes. She knew that face. She had known it for years.

Kenji Matsuda lay dying in front of her. Miki’s gun fell to the ground with a dull thud.

It's been a month since Seita has broken up with Miki. She feels relief at the thought of that brief chapter of her life ending; her life is back to normal, almost. School is as dull and unsatisfying as ever, her parents still piss her off, and everything else in the world is back to being uninteresting and not worth the attention. The only noticeable change is in her artwork. Ms. Kadotani is thrilled that Miki's subject matter isn't shocking and political anymore. Mostly, Miki just paints normal, everyday stuff, like horses and landscapes. They're still good paintings, but Miki just doesn't have the energy or the passion anymore to be "out there".  

The only thing that she feels strongly about anymore is herself, even though there’s not much to be proud of. And it doesn't bother her if she doesn't think about it.

School is over today. The afternoon brings a light drizzle, something Miki hasn't thought about. She shakes off an embarrassed-looking Masakichi, who has been trying to talk to her a lot lately. She leaves him behind by the shoe lockers, where he had offered to share his umbrella with her. She doesn't want to talk to anyone today, least of all him. She strides confidently into the school grounds, her hair sticking to her forehead and getting in her eyes. Cars speed past on the busy road in front of the school, but she needs to cross. She's left with no choice but to wait at the corner with the other students.

She's the only one without an umbrella. The chivalrous thing would be for someone to offer to share one, but Miki knows that a lot of the kids are intimidated or otherwise not interested in helping her. Even if her personality and artwork is less abrasive lately, she still looks like a freak.

Miki also knows that it's her fault for doing it to herself.

Suddenly, someone standing behind her moves an umbrella over her head, stopping the rain hitting her. Turning around, she sees Kenji Matsuda standing there, looking wary, but encouraging.

"You, uh... looked cold," he says, undoubtedly waiting for Miki to scoff at his generosity.

"Oh... thanks."

The crossing signal turns green, and everyone begins to walk across. Miki and Kenji go together, staying close so they can both fit under the umbrella. Kenji is smiling slightly to himself.

"I thought you were going to yell or... make fun of me or something."

Miki doesn't say anything to this. It kind of makes her feel bad, even though that's what she's done to Kenji since they were kids. Even when they were little, Kenji and Miki weren't alike. After all their squabbles and eye-rollings over the years, they've never said that they hated each other. Between them, there was just awkwardness and neutrality, and they dealt with it as best they could for two such different people.

After an awkward pause, Miki looks at Kenji, sighing. "Kenji, do you think I fight with people too much?"

Kenji looks back at Miki, a confused and anxious expression on his face. "What?"

"Answer the question."

"I dunno."

"Oh, come on. Don't just say 'I dunno'. Tell me what you think."

It takes Kenji a few minutes before he answers. "Well... yeah, sometimes. I mean, some of the things you fight about are..." He looks apologetically at her, "... not really worth it."

"Sometimes I think the same thing." Miki sighs again, looking downcast.

"Really? Then... why do you do it all the time?"

Miki doesn't answer. She doesn't really know. The only thing she can think of is that she craves the attention. That's what Seita had said she was; just an attention-seeking poser. But that couldn't be the real reason... right?

"Is this something that guy said to you? That guy you were dating?"

It was like he could tell what she was thinking. Miki hesitates, caught off guard. She doesn't want to talk about him. She was supposed to be through with Seita. She doesn't even want to think about him anymore.

"Can we change the subject? Let's not talk about this."

"Oh... sorry." Kenji looks apologetic again and doesn't pursue it, instead waiting for Miki to start up another conversation; but they have nothing to talk about. They walk in silence, not saying anything until they reach Kenji's house, where he stands at his front gate. Miki walks from underneath the umbrella, letting the rain fall on her face again.

"Hey, Miki... if you ever need someone to talk to... I'm around, okay?"

Miki looks back at Kenji, smiling despite herself. Yeah, they’re not alike at all, but she's still glad he's there. She waves to him as she turns around and begins walking toward her house.

 

 “Kenji?”

Miki fell to her knees beside him, not knowing what to do. Thoughts raced around in her head, though she couldn’t make sense of them. Should she try and save him? Could she save him? She just sat there, panic flooding through her. She fucking shot him.

“M-miki…”

She was scared how soft his voice was; it was more of a gurgle, really. He coughed up some blood immediately after and it ran down his cheeks, staining his face bright red. He didn’t have the strength to wipe it off.

“H-hang on… wait, I can… I can…” But there was nothing she could do. How many times had she seen this happen? Harumi had laid there, a bullet through her chest, pale and bleeding copiously. Keisuke, with Emi leaning over him while Miki left to chase Akemi, who had collapsed after trying to run for her life. She told Miki she was already dead.

Miki was told once- or was it from a movie- apply pressure to the injury. The problem was, there were so many, all along his stomach, on his back... it was like some sort of sick joke about swiss cheese. She put her hands gingerly on Kenji’s abdomen. He groaned.

“Come one… come on…” Miki felt tears leaking from her eyes. Kenji’s image became blurry as she blinked them away. Rubbing her eye with a free hand, she could smell the blood on her face, then placed it back on Kenji’s drenched abdomen. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know.

“Hurts…” Kenji moaned, reaching over and placing his hand on top of Miki’s, trying to push it away. Miki let out a strangled sob; she could feel her lip tremble, but she kept her hands there, trying fruitlessly to stop the bleeding. She wasn’t thinking about how they weren’t even really friends, or that they never even hung out at school.

She was thinking about how he was always there in her life. Ever since they were little, he had been there. 

“Hey, Miki,” Kenji says, “have you heard about Yuu’s party tomorrow?” 

Miki looks up uninterestedly from her desk, where she’s trying to get some last-minute sleep before class starts. Kenji gives her his little half-smile, which means he’s sort of uncomfortable.

 
“Um… yeah, I’ve heard about it.”

 

“Are you gonna go?”

 

She considers the idea, then shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t even know if I’m going to know anyone there.”

 

“What? Miki, everyone who’s going to be there is in our class. We’ve been here for nearly a whole year,” Kenji says exasperatedly, sounding much more like his usual self.

 

“Well it’s not like I’ve talked to a lot of people in this class. Some people just seem like jerks. Like Eizo.”

 

Kenji sighs. “You should give people a chance, Miki.” He gives his awkward smile again as he adds “you should come. I bet it’ll be fun.”

 

“I’ll… think about it,” Miki concedes. Kenji looks satisfied as he walks over to his desk. Maybe... he does have a point.

Kenji’s eyes began to flutter after a while. Miki was still in hysterics, holding her hands to his damaged torso, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. The blood was now cold on her hands, congealing rapidly. It was disgusting, but she was afraid to let go. 

“Kenji! Kenji! Wake up! Don’t fall asleep!” she yelled at him over and over, in a constant stream of wails and admonitions. In every movie she had seen, this sign of wanting to sleep meant they were close to death. Miki couldn’t accept that, she wouldn’t accept that. Fuck the movies. Fuck everything.

“I always…” Kenji whispered to her. Miki stopped yelling, through she was still breathing hard, occasionally sniffling. She bent closer.

“Kenji? Come on, please… Just keep talk-”

“Always…”

Then his eyes closed.

“Always? Always what? Kenji?”

He didn’t say anything. She couldn’t feel him move anymore; his shallow breathing had stopped. Miki shook harder than ever, drawing her
face into her knees and dissolving into more wails of misery.

She killed him.

She was so tired of not being able to save anyone.

When the evening report came, Toriumi just turned on the mic, and pointed it at the old clockwork alarm clock, whose little hand was pointed stubbornly at six.

The resonance of the clicking and whirring and ticking echoed around the mountain, while Toriumi waited in silence. After no less than two minutes of the ticking noise, he finally decided he would speak.

"Do you hear that?" he began, for the last time. "That's the sound of your last six hours of life ticking away. And undoubtedly, that's exactly what's going to happen. I should probably congratulate you five for reaching this landmark, but I'd much rather congratulate a winner. Oh, and Boy #11 Kazuhiro Tsukino was the unfortunate runner-up."

"But it's all going to be for nothing! You have about.... five hours, fifty-seven minutes to impress us. Only four more to go, but your time is short, and it's dark! Don't be stumbling into any danger zones! Speaking of which...."

"Your new, and final zones are:

C5,
B5,
B1, and
B3!

"It's only a small little area, so you have no excuses! Finish off this game, or I'll finish you all off personally! And nobody wants that: a collar explosion isn't as amazing as you might think on night-vision cameras."

"Stop wasting time, and I promise I won't waste you! Five hours, fifty-six minutes, and forty seconds. The clock is ticking."

And with that, he pointed the mic back at the alarm clock (it felt so much more authentic than the sound effect he had stored in the sound box), noticing the hour hand had twitched slightly; Toriumi waited for a further minute, before slowly fading the sound out to silence.


5 students remaining.



[MAP]
[CORPSE MAP]
[ROSTER]



((OOC: Final five! Three weeks remaining hfdksdhkl *flail*))

Kazuhiro had been attending this school for a while now, and other then Miyako and Kiku, he knew nobody. There was something about it though, it equaled either being left alone most of the time. And maybe, there were fewer expectations. Unlike at home.

Bam! His textbook slipped out of his hands and flopped against the floor. Kazuhiro rolled his eyes as he picked it up. Some classmate had just rudely pushed past him and made a lame remark, which he had ignored. That guy probably couldn't come up with a decent insult even if he tried to. 

“Hey, you! Don’t worry about Akio.”

Kazuhiro turned around to face a classmate. He nodded to thank him.

He had studied the class roster before, trying to put names to the faces – the ones worth to remember first. His parents had ‘discreetly’ pointed out which ones those were. Kazuhiro realized who he was.

“Wait, you’re Matsuda, right?”

+++++++++

“Kaz?” Miyako’s voice cut in from a distance, “I marked down the danger zones—”

Kazuhiro, still in a flush, rose up.

“Oh, thanks.”

But nothing, not even her presence or that touching gesture could take away the excruciating emotional pain. Kenji was really dead. He hadn’t been given the opportunity to see him one last time, to just talk to him—(come on, you weren’t going to confess, were you?)

One look at the girl being sat right next to him told him that she needed him right now. There was nothing he could do for Kenji anymore – whoever got him had to hope they wouldn’t run into Kazuhiro - and getting mad wouldn’t make a difference. Look what happened to Akimitchi during that one big slipup he had made. Except that he had made a mass of slipups.

A sudden sound snapped through his head.

“Kaz, are you listening? Hey!”

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

She stated, “Kotone and Haruki were on the report as well.”

Kazuhiro nodded and grabbed his map. “T-the first one was Kana, right?”

“Mhm.”

He resolutely crossed out those names. Haruki’s was crossed out with a little hesitation. Then, the tip of Kazuhiro’s pencil stopped dead in its trail right above Kenji’s. The hand holding it was trembling. He drew a shaky, barely visible line through the name that was more then just that, for both the good and the bad.

It had included so much fretting about whether this or that remark was appropriate enough. It had included so much fear about being found out, dropped and reported. It should’ve, in some strange way, felt like a relief. But it didn’t.

Because he remembered what he’d done. He had considered going back but hadn’t, because it would’ve looked bad, pathetic, and dependable to turn back. It hadn’t been because he was that scared. He could’ve done something. He could’ve waited. He’d even left a pregnant girl out to die because he assumed someone else would’ve wanted to help her (bad guess!). He’d left a scared boy (Kenta) alone and injured, and tried to justify his behavior by leaving him his weapon. Things could’ve been so different if he had waited. And that stung.

He could hear Miyako say something but barely understood—

“I, I,” Kazuhiro whispered to himself, “left him. I left them all…”

Miyako craned her head into his direction. She shortly writhed in pain because of her hip. Kazuhiro gave her a quick look of worry, which she ignored.

“I’m sorry about Kenji,” she floundered.

“Thanks.” Kazuhiro hung his head. “But I left him.

“Wh-what?”

“Well, I considered waiting for him… and some others. But instead of turning back to the bunker,” Kazuhiro explained, voice trembling, “I just left. I ran, just like after I—” he whimpered, shuddering, “killed Akimitchi.”

“Waiting would’ve been dangerous!” exclaimed Miyako.

“But I—I would’ve done something – put in effort. Emi left right after me—”

“So?”

“So?! She would’ve been up for it. We could’ve waited somewhere and then picked up the others. Kenji, Kiku, maybe even Taro – if he had been different.”

“But, that—”

He cut her off as he shook his head, gasping to himself, “Oh, God. I left a pregnant girl out to die.”

“Who would’ve wanted to take care of someone like her in a situation like that?” Miyako defensively snapped back.

“So if you had been pregnant, you would’ve been fine with it? You wouldn’t feel betrayed if all of your friends left you out to die just for that?”

“No, that’s not it—”

“Then, what is?”

Miyako panted. “Maybe you were just scared.”

“No,” Kazuhiro muttered, disgruntled. “If I had been scared, it would’ve— then maybe, things would’ve been fine. But I had the chance to turn back and I didn’t because it would’ve made me look stupid. That’s being a bad—” his voice broke. He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Miyako tapped him on the arm. “At least you regret it.”

Kazuhiro stiffened and pressed his trembling lips together. “That won’t bring them back.”

“Wailing about it won’t, either!”

“Why,” Kazuhiro exclaimed, “do I always have to act like what’s expected of me. Being responsible?”

++++++

"Uncle?" Kazuhiro modestly called out after knocking on the door.

"Yes?" 

Kazuhiro entered and caught a quick glimpse of his uncle turning the screen of his laptop away from him.

They locked eyes. “Father wants to talk to you.”

“I’ll be there, soon.”

A hand suspiciously screened the cellphone laid onto the desk. Kazuhiro wanted to ask questions, but didn’t. He was the good son, after all. He kept his nose out of other people's businesses.

+++++++

“Kaz, just stop! Don’t give up now, that’s not like you!”

“Well, someone responsible wouldn’t have dropped a friend for their own safety—”

“Just shut up! If you really were selfish—” Miyako grabbed him by both arms, looking grave and yelling in desperation, “If you were really selfish, you wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving them. Then you wouldn’t have taken care of Kiku until she died, or me.”

Their noses were only centimeters away from touching. He could feel her hot breath in his face.

“You don’t get it,” explained Kazuhiro, calmer now and with more conviction, “I’m just like them.”

“Who?”

“My parents,” it was said coldly and flatly. “They were always willing to stab someone in the back, too, if that could make them seem a little bigger.”

“You aren’t,” she pleaded him to stop.

But he dissented, sniffing repeatedly as the tears came, “They broke with my uncle just because he gave them a bad reputation. They’re horrible people who expected me to grow up and be the same way…”

His heart felt as if it was about to burst when he thought of it. All of the times being ignored to push him to apologize for things he didn’t think he’d done wrong, just to hear something nice from them again. The times he had been tempted to put Ryuhei down just so he could hear for a change that he was worth it. All of the effort put into covering up those blackouts, whishing and praying that his grade average wouldn’t be affected too much and he had to explain something. Their icy looks whenever he had done something wrong.

Miyako had been the only one he’d trusted with all of this because she was truly the only one who believed in him. Who didn’t think of him as a failure.

And then, he cocked his head towards the nearest camera. His flared up eyes stared shamelessly into it. While his earlier ‘conversation’ had been out of grief for failing, a feeble attempt at trying to reason with them, this time he was furious.

“That’s right! You’re horrible people and I hope you’ll feel terrible when I’m gone! I hope you’ll finally understand what you did to your—” his voice died in his throat.

His shoulders shook as if they’d never steady ever again and the tears now streamed freely down his face. “See! I’m yelling! I’m showing emotion! Oh, wow, I’m a bad son!”

Miyako was sobbing – maybe because he was making such a fool out of himself – right next to him. Kazuhiro first grieved inside his cupped hands and then felt how Miyako pulled him towards her. Her arms strapped itself around his shoulders, which he answered this by placing his head onto one of hers, and occasionally, he could feel a hot tear or two dropping onto his forehead. One hand rested against her arm as the other one pressed tightly against her back, fingers burying themselves inside her blazer.

He had often wished he could’ve liked Miyako instead of Kenji, Eiji, or any other guy that made him warm inside, yet scared and repulsive because he wasn’t supposed to like guys. But logic didn’t always rule the game.

And he was grateful that - somewhere in the far distance - other then with his sexuality, he at least didn’t have to go through this alone anymore. And that was why she had to live.

He whimpered, “I always swore to myself I wouldn’t be like them. That I’d be a nice guy. That I’d just stop being so controlling for a change and give others the chance they deserved.”

“I never thought you were…”

“But you’ve known me since we were young. That’s different.”

She sniffed loudly.

“I… I always thought that if I’d ever have kids,” Kazuhiro continued, voice trembling and gloomy, “they would never have to go through what I did. That I’d be a good parent and let them hang out with whoever they wanted to. I would’ve let them get mad if they wanted to and I would’ve…” A sob disrupted his sentence. “I-I would’ve been proud of them, no matter what they did.”

Miyako huddled up against him. Her voice was distressed, “same here.”

+++++++++

“Hey, are you in any clubs?”

“Track team,” Kazuhiro responded. “I think I've seen a few others in there, too.”

“Yeah, Emi’s in it too. Sekiyama. She’s one of my friends.”

“Cool.” Kazuhiro was loosening up a bit already. “What about you?”

“Baseball team.”

“Oh, cool,” Kazuhiro quickly replied to the boy standing in front of him. He had a strange look in his eyes, almost like he was suspicious. Most of all, he looked serious. Mature.

“So what else do you do?”

“Just the usual; shopping, listening to music, playing video games…”

“Oh, great. What type of music do you like?”

“Mostly just pop – all Japanese bands though.”

“Same here,” Kazuhiro responded. He could tell he was going to like talking to Kenji. “Sometimes a little more traditional stuff as well, as my parents listen to it all the time—”

Kenji grinned, “Yeah, parents,” he casually spoke before switching the subject. “So, what are your hobbies other then track?”

“Hmm,” Kazuhiro wondered, “I like to swim, music like said, and I play the piano.”

“Oh! My friend Taro plays that as well. I’ll point him out for you,” Kenji responded before grinning. “He’s hard to miss, though.”

“Okay,” Kazuhiro replied as tried to put the name and face together. “Pointing him out sounds good.”

Kenji then pulled out an impressive type of cellphone from his pocket and then fumbled with it.

“Hey, you should check this out.”

Kazuhiro chuckled. “I think I have a similar type of phone.”

“Really? It’s probably different anyway,” Kenji replied, “because this type came out just a few days ago…”

As the two continued to talk, Kazuhiro could only conclude that attending a new school wasn’t such a bad thing.

++++++++

Then, the sound of light footsteps crunching the pebbles and the dirt filled the silence. Kazuhiro was acutely being alarmed for possible danger, so he spun around and drew his weapon, the tip threateningly pointing at the approaching figure. It was a girl. The wind breezed through her hair as she came closer, her hands closed tightly around a large type of rifle. Kazuhiro neither knew and nor did he care about what exactly it was. The afternoon sunlight reflected onto her face which gave her an eerily pale look. He had seen her before.

Emi Sekiyama didn’t make any attempt to stop in her tracks when she seemed to recognize him or Miyako. And Kazuhiro saw no reason to lower his weapon.

Kazuhiro hoped with everything he had left in him that she wouldn’t bring up Kenji. Even thinking of it felt like a mental stab in the chest. He wanted to know who got him. That at least Kenji hadn’t suffered much. Nothing dishonorable like asphyxiation or drowning—

But Emi’s presence told him that he’d probably never get those answers. Kazuhiro glanced at Miyako and tried to calculate the situation for as far as it was possible, and then had to conclude that everything was just too utterly unpredictable. Trying to snatch Miyako’s gun – or telling her to shoot – could be the sign for Emi to start shooting, and it was obvious that she had the superior weapon. She could take them both out in a heartbeat.

He had expected Miyako to shoot but instead, she just held onto the Naginata.

++++++++

Emi’s voice broke through Kazuhiro’s thoughts, “Hey! Kazuhiro, wait up!”

Kazuhiro wheeled around and give her a polite nod. The girl jogged up to him.

“Yes?” Oh, if this was about—

“Hey, listen. I was just talking to Kotone and apparently, Miyako and Akemi—”

Kazuhiro acutely finished her sentence, “—got into a fight? Yes.”

Emi shrugged. “Just asking you something.”

“Well, I’d rather not—”

Emi crossed her arms and tilted her head as it was now Kazuhiro’s turn to sigh.

“The word goes around that fast, huh?”

Emi nodded as she tapped him on the arm. “Well, Keisuke and Taro think they got into a huge catfight with hair pulling and such,” she explained, “and Kenji says that he doesn’t see Miyako as the type to get into a fight. So…”

As she was obviously pushing him to tell, Kazuhiro let out a groan. “No, it wasn’t a catfight. Akemi just slapped her—”

Emi interrupted with, “Oh, she ‘just slapped her’?”

“No, no of course not!”

“Oh. Well, those three were too scared to ask you so I figured I’d do it.” The latter was said in a witty manner.

Kazuhiro chuckled. “Really?”

“Yeah. So, what happened? Kotone says she saw it all, and that it started with Akemi asking you something.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kazuhiro growled, “I forgot she saw some of it.” He chuckled in embarrassment. “I tried to get the two to stop because of that.”

“Guess that didn’t work.”

“It doesn’t really matter what it was about,” Kazuhiro tried to brush her off.

“Yes it does. Come on, everyone’s talking about it!”

He lowered his shoulders and looked at her. “Akemi came up to me to tell me about an additional track practice, and the next thing I knew, the two were arguing. I broke up the fight.”

++++++++

“Emi,” said Kazuhiro with certainty.  

“Kazuhiro,” she replied, before she pointed the gun right at him. 

His heart pounded so loudly that he thought the girls could hear it. His grip around the Wakazashi firmed to ignore the craving sensation running through his hands.

Those burns were still visible. And then, the urge of bringing something up he hadn’t done earlier to avoid an uncomfortable situation. Now, he just asked. He wanted the facts.

He cleared his throat. “So,” Kazuhiro started, nerves seeping through his voice. “You killed him, didn’t you? Tatsutarou.”

Emi blinked a couple of times and then nodded. “It was an accident. I went for his shoulder…”

“So you’re playing to win,” Kazuhiro concluded, voice unsurprised and – intentionally - unimpressed.

“I want someone to live,” she finally answered. “I don’t care if it’s me or not anymore.” Her voice broke. “I don’t want to live the rest of my life,” it rose hysterically, “knowing what I did.” Pause. “But someone’s got to,” Emi cried out, “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone else either.”

Miyako’s head snapped towards Emi’s, cutting in. “And I bet you all thought Aimi, Yuya and I were easy kills, huh?” she scowled. It sounded like she wanted to rub it in as much as possible. “But I’m still standing!”

And me, he thought. But the question, burning in the back of his ridiculously swollen throat was swallowed back, safely tucked away again. 

"I wasn't thinking anything," she replied at length, voice soft. "If I have to be the bad guy to let someone get out of here safe, fine."

She gave a twisted, almost bitter smile that was more like a grimace. "It's nothing personal."

“I know,” Kazuhiro replied, voice more stable then he’d expected, “that’s why Miyako and I are playing, too.”

The two understood each other.

Kazuhiro took some quick, light breaths as he extended an arm and shielded her with it. It was the only thing he in his power to show Emi that if she wanted to kill the wounded girl—those bullets had to go through him first for her to do so. He could hear Miyako’s breath growing deeper and speeding up. Her two hands holding the Naginata clutched it so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

His chest tightened and the imaginary hands around his swollen throat pressed harder. It was a sword against a gun. He knew what would happen, and he realized it was the only thing left to do. And what could, possibly, make it worthwhile was that Miyako could stand a remote chance at shooting back at Emi to give herself some time to get away. (Would it hurt? Would he have time to say a goodbye to her?)

But if it seemed so logical, and if he felt almost prepared for it… then why did his feet feel as if they were glued to the floor, refusing to do what his head commanded them to do?

You’re scared. Terror-struck. You want to turn back and leave her?

(NO!) Kazuhiro snapped out of it and bolted forwards. As he did this, the fear was being replaced by flurry of adrenaline running through his veins, giving him that necessary mental push. In the far distance, Miyako shrieked in a hysterical frenzy, but Kazuhiro couldn’t stop running anymore.

You let the others down. Don’t let her down, too.

His thoughts and body were fixated on the figure that came nearer and nearer until a loud ‘bang’ echoed through his head. His ears rung again and now, this went accompanied with a flaming pain in his side. A chain of stabs of a sort of pain he had never experienced before shot right through him. Because of – or maybe despite of – this, he kept on moving as his feet skidded and slipped over the pebbles and his arms extended themselves to break his fall.

He literally crashed into Emi, which made her gasp before the both of them tumbled down. Another ‘blam’ filled the air and the butt of something hot scraped past his torso and his face, and flew over the two teenager’s heads before it hit the ground behind them.

The two of them followed with a thud. Something moist, crusty and slimy covered his lips and he instantly spat (dirt? Blood? Saliva?) The pain overcame him. It shot through every part of his body, numbing and dizzying him until the only thing he could do was just scream his head off. His throat felt as if it was being ripped open.

 “I’m not mad at you. I’m just really disappointed.”

And then he blindly reached around him until his shaking hands touched both one of Emi’s and hot metal, before she started to yank to retrieve it. In a flustering hazy, one of his hands closed around it – a hot sensation went through his palm – and pulled. The gun was above their heads as two pairs of hands wrestled for it, wanting to claim it as their own. Another bunch of shots were fired as the gun aimlessly twirled around and bullets lodged themselves into the surroundings.

I – am – not – a – failure!

And then it was right above them once more before the gun went off once again. This time, it had a target.

Please, let me save her.

Him or her.

+++++++++++

Kazuhiro was aware of Kotone and Junpei Aragaki watching and whispering, so he led Miyako away.

“And, what did she say?”

“Well, that you shouldn’t have brought up the Horiguchi thing.”

“Oh, really?” she spat back, voice defensive and confronting, “It surprises her that people are talking about it?”

Kazuhiro brushed her off, “that doesn’t matter.”

“She’s stupid.” 

“Can’t we drop this?” nagged Kazuhiro, “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Sure.”

“How’s your cheek? Does it hurt?”

She growled, “It’s fine.” Miyako rubbed the spot where she had been slapped. “Ugh, why can’t she just take a joke? It was obvious I was joking!”

“Maybe not to her…”

“You’re fine with it,” she replied, voice slightly uncertain.

Kazuhiro grumbled, “Yes, but I’ve learned how to deal with it.”

“So?”

Now, he wanted confirmation, “I’m not picking a side here. I just don’t do that.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Good,” he replied, beaming.

   The both of them knew whom he’d choose, anyway.

+++++++

She believes in me.

 

OOC: That's it, guys! FTD! Vote is open, as Zarrah gave me permission for it because we're running out of time and all. Time's 19.45/7.45 PM GMT +1. Good luck to Zarrah!

So freaking sorry for the huuuuge word length and the flashback onslaught, just really want to wrap things up and all. PC approval granted by Zarrah, Lili and Laurra. The others were mini cameo's so I think that's ok.

The sun was harsh against the back of his neck. Taro was sitting, cross-legged, on some hiking path he’d managed to stumble upon. It was a solace after clambering over rocks for God knows how long. He kept his head down, his eyes only on the gun in his hands.

He massaged his neck with one hand.

Taro had walked away. He’d collected his thoughts, picked up his bag—he scooped up Haruki’s bag without looking at the dead boy, too—and he just left. He didn’t stay long after it happened. It felt wrong, kind of awkward, even. Uncomfortable. He’d mentioned Keitaro like he loved him—no; he had said he loved him.

“Were they gay?” Taro asked nobody, his question becoming suddenly lost. He knew it didn’t matter if they were, they were dead, anyway, but… he felt suddenly sick. He could’ve asked Haruki that when he was alive, but he didn’t. Why did it even matter?

Taro didn’t even know much about his classmates, he realised. And now they were dead. And he’d never know. Their favourite movies or their favourite food or whatever—why was it pissing him off that he didn’t know this shit?

It was small, in his chest, but it hurt. He wanted to ask everybody one last question. And then they could die and float away into nothingness, just like that. He didn’t want them to live; he just wanted to ask them something. Anything.

Like maybe—

Hiroto’s voice cut through him hard. Taro flattened out the roster on the ground, not that it helped, and craned his head upwards like he was having a hard time hearing. The ends up the paper quickly soaked up muddy water.

Taro sat in silence, his pen hovering inches above his homemade roster, until Hiroto had finished reading out the names, and then some. He expected more—he kind of wanted more, just because he knew it would be easier that way. Finally, Hiroto clicked off, and Taro sucked in air.

The report confirmed that Emi wasn’t dead—

(he was happy)

—but it confirmed that Kenji was, one hundred percent, positively, and indefinitely dead. It hit Taro like a punt to the stomach, more so than before, and he cried again, in small, sniffling sobs. He wanted to cry harder. He knew people were watching, and maybe they’d think he was a cold-hearted cunt because he wasn’t crying like the world had ended when his friend’s name was announced on the report.

Then they’d hate him and just want him to die, because bad people deserve to die. And in the end, they usually do.

He just felt like, at that moment, he’d be alone forever. He crushed the hem of his jeans in one hand, holding tightly, tugging at them like he expected them to just disappear. His foot throbbed along with his pulse. It hurt again.

Taro pulled at his jeans until they ripped, only at the bottom. He tossed the fabric in his hands behind him.

He knew he couldn’t feel any worse than he already did, his stomach twisting and turning and telling him that he was going to die, because when you’re alone you die and—

Taro pushed the feelings down.

He stood there, wavering on the spot. He counted in his head. One, two, threefourfivesixseveneightnineten, and then started walking.

He gripped the gun in his hand tighter than ever.

Taro made his way out of the zone quickly (well, he assumed he was out of the zone, anyway) and decided to head further west – to the look-out tower, which he could make out in the distance now, standing tall against the sloped mountain. It didn’t look like anyone was there—no sound of gunfire, at least—as far as he could tell. It’d be the best place to scope out people... considering it’s a look-out tower. That’s what they were used for. Duh.

Everyone else was probably on the left side of the mountain now. It was low, and Taro had to steady himself and grip at rocks to stop from falling and tumbling into some sharp ass rocks. The danger zones mostly covered the right side now – according to Haruki’s map, anyhow.

What if someone was over there, surrounded by danger zones with no where to go?

Taro shuddered at the thought, hunching his shoulders up like he was cold, even though the rain had long gone now. If they were over there and waited until the end, that meant collars for everyone.

Selfish bastard, Taro wanted to say, but then he thought why he’d decided to play. Hypocrite.

There was probably no one stuck over there anyway, and if there was, hopefully Hiroto had the sense to make their zone a danger zone.

Taro’s thoughts kind of sickened him a little. They were still his classmates, but he wanted them to die. He shouldn’t, but he did.

They all need to die. Except Emi. Maybe.

There were only twelve hours to go, and six of them left, including himself. He could count the rest of the on one hand now. And he remembered them all: Miyako, Kazuhiro, Eizo Miki… and Emi.

That was it. It was coming down to the end, and Taro was scared out of his fucking mind. To come this far and to fuck up and die – he just didn’t want that to happen. It couldn’t happen.

The lookout tower came closer into view.

The body was the first thing that caught Taro’s eye. Its mangled body showed no sign of a usual ‘shoot and kill’ kind of death. He obviously fell from the lookout tower—his head must have hit the ground hard because half of it had been squashed down, like someone dropped a fifty pound weight.

The parade of flies congregating around the body, busily snacking (maybe? did they even eat human flesh?) made Taro feel retch against the back of his throat, and he could smell it worse than ever now. He covered his nose and mouth with one hand. He hadn’t smelled a dead body, not really. He’d always moved before they could start smelling… and Yuya had been dead for a while now. Taro couldn’t really remember how long—maybe a day, maybe a little less—but it was long enough. The blazing heat from the sun didn’t help, either.

The sickly feeling in his stomach told him to get the hell away from it right now. He swallowed down hard and made his way into the lookout tower.

He climbed the stairs slowly, biding his time, being careful to make no noise. He didn’t think anyone was up there anymore, but he could be wrong. Yuya had fallen from the top of it anyway—probably pushed, too.

The top room was empty. Glass shards littered the floor, shining like tiny diamonds against the sun. They seemed to find their way into every part of the room. Taro kicked a good lot of the glass away with his good foot and dropped on the ground, pushing against the wall.

He stuffed his knees up against his chest. Like always. How many times had he done this? The gun was in a sweating hand, and even though his palm was itchy he refused to let go. It wasn’t like someone was going to come up here, but—

Just in case. There was only one way up, and once their head pops up: bang. They’d tumbletumbletumble down the stairs, bruising and breaking bones. They’d definitely die.

No one was going to come up here, though. And that’s why Taro needed to move. He couldn’t just wait up here, because that meant everyone would die. And that meant him too, obviously. Most Programs ended before three days—the ones he watched did, anyway. Kids usually ended up freaking out and just playing. They didn’t want to die. They couldn’t just accept that.

And he couldn’t, either. After getting this far, he couldn’t just let himself die. He was so close. So close he felt he could see himself back at home, surrounded by everyone. It was an easy thing to imagine.

But it was even easier to imagine himself dying.

Taro was sitting cross legged on the armchair, balancing his history book—How Japan Conquered in World War II—on the side arm. He flicked through the pages, glancing at quotations and quickly skimming certain paragraphs, but not really reading. He jotted down dates and the names of people; because that’s the stuff he could never remember. Taro knew he wasn’t going to pass anyway, but whatever, at least he was trying.

Sound blasted from the television, and all around. The surround sound was on, and there was a speaker right above his head. He winced when the sound of gunshots broke out overhead.

“Turn it down?” Taro half-clicked (because he just couldn’t do it) with one finger and pointed at the set, and then to Akira, who was completely engrossed it what he was watching.

Akira turned down the sound a couple of notches, not that it helped. Taro chose not to ask again, though and dipped his head back own. He read the same paragraph three times before he noticed. That was his cue to stop. He could always ask Risa to summarise it for him.

“Are you sure, Takara?”

Taro glanced at the television. The screen was dark, but he could make out two people, both of them girls. They were clutching each other and crying. Their sobs carried over more than anything else.

“I’m sure.”

“What are you watching?” Taro asked, even though he knew damn well what it was. He hadn’t watched it—this one was a few years old, maybe ten, but Kenji had told him what happened.

Akira snorted, “What do you think? I thought you and those cunts watched this all the time?”

“We don’t watch it all the time,” Taro said. “And anyway, I haven’t seen this one.”

“I borrowed it from someone,” Akira said, like he was expecting the next thing to come out of Taro’s mouth to be ‘Where did you steal it from, then?’ Their parents thought the Program was a little too… intense for them, so they were banned from buying any of them past Programs on DVD. They could watch it when it aired on television, though.

That kind of made the whole thing pointless, but they didn’t complain.

“Okay.” Taro set his eyes back on the screen, resting his chin in the palm of one hand. The two girls just continued to cry. It was kind of uncomfortable. Thankfully, Akira picked up the remote and skipped to the next scene.

They were sat on the top of a lighthouse now, their feet dangling over the edge. The camera zoomed in as they looked at each other, smiling, but clearly terrified. The camera zoomed out again and watched from a distance. If Taro didn’t already know what happened, he would be expecting them to jump any second now.

“Only a while to go now, huh?”

The door opened halfway and Naoki slid sideways into the room, his digital camera clutched in both hands. He looked up at the two of them, “Hey. What’s for dinner?”

Taro flipped the front cover of his book open with one hand, “I dunno. I’m studying,” he answered.

Naoki shrugged, “Whatever.” And then he looked at the television, “Why are you watching this? It’s the one where—”

“Shut up,” Akira groaned and turned up the volume. “I haven’t seen this one, okay?”

“Will it hurt, Takara?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“It sucks,” Naoki sighed, but he sat on the other side of the sofa anyway.

“Shut up,” Akira said again.

Taro’s interest in the show perked up a little. He wondered why one of them didn’t just shoot the other. The camera kept flashing to a view of a weapon—a machine gun—stored behind the girls. The people watching probably assumed one of them was going to grab it. The strap for the gun was close enough to one of the girls (Taro didn’t remember her name) that her hand was almost touching it. She could probably grab it without the other girl noticing.

But neither of them went for the gun, and the girl even moved her hand so she was gripping the railing instead.

A timestamp flashed up on the screen – 12:00AM –— ENDGAME – and Taro knew what was coming.


“The two of them just sit there,” Kenji almost laughed when he said this. “I mean… one of them had a chance, didn’t they? And they just didn’t do anything.”

“Why?”

Kenji shrugged, “No idea.”


Taro could hear the beeping as soon as the timestamp filtered from the screen, and the two girls definitely noticed it. The camera zoomed in on their faces – strained smiles, like they had a hook attached to each side, and blood shot eyes – and their beeping collars were clearly visible. Taro’s stomach turned, even though he knew what was coming.

The beeping hastened, like a rabbit’s heartbeat. The two girls hugged each other—any last grab for the gun was quickly forgotten—nestling their heads into the other’s hair.

“See you, Takara…”

Her voice was muffled, scared. Taro felt like he should turn away.

“See you, Chiaki.”

The beeps were even closer together now, if that was even possible. They seemed to echo around the room. Taro and his brothers watched the scene, transfixed.


“That’s dumb,” Taro said dully.

Kenji nodded, “I know, right? What’s the point if nobody wins?”

“Yeah.”


The explosion made Taro jump against the back of the chair. They happened together, no more than a tenth of a second apart, and the bodies fell forward, into each other, slowly slumping down against the railing of the lighthouse. The blood seemed to pour like a river. There was a quick shot of the girls—their necks open, heads hanging by hardly a thread—before it went white.

OSAKA MIHARA HIGH SCHOOL
GAME OVER
WINNER: N/A

Whenever Taro thought about dying, he made himself feel crazy. He imagined nothing, and then he thought about reincarnation. He didn’t believe in it, but sometimes he wished he did. And then he imagined nothing again.

And then he thought further on, past his own life, past everybody else’s life, when the sun explodes, expands, or whatever. That scared him more than anything, because he just couldn’t accept that one day, there’d be nothing.

Total darkness—maybe not even that.

It made him feel near ill whenever he thought about it, and then he couldn’t ever stop thinking about it. Everything would be gone forever—himself, his family, his friends, Japan, the earth, the sun, the moon, the universe. Everything.

Everything would be forgotten, like it never existed, and that made him sick to his stomach. He wanted to hit his head against the wall just to stop from thinking about shit like that.

This time, he didn’t think of anything beyond his own death. Not being alive—not existing—it just seemed so unnatural to him… like it couldn’t happen, or that it shouldn’t happen. One day, if not today, he’d be gone.

He wouldn’t be the oldest anymore. He kind of liked being the oldest, too. Naoki and Risa would quickly surpass him, and then eventually, Yuki would too.

Taro started crying before he even realised, and turned away from the camera. He hugged his stomach harder. He didn’t want to die. Even if reincarnation was real, only good people came back.

These past few days showed that he wasn’t as good as he thought he was. Kouji, Masakichi… Kiku, Akio, and every other fucking thing he’d done. Watching Haruki die, hearing Kenji die and not even doing anything, feeling the oddest sense of satisfaction and triumph when somebody’s name was read out on the report… and playing the game.

But if all of that meant he could live for a while longer, he was willing to accept that he wasn’t a good person anymore. Seventeen was too young to die. He wanted to live until he was over ninety, at least. He wanted to be a great granddad. He thought that would be cool.

He still wanted to perfect life.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. And I’d need a big family. A lot of kids, y’know? Six. At least. I don’t think I could I could just have one. I don’t think being an only child is a good thing.”

Even if that was impossible now, he wanted to hope, because everybody’s supposed to have one. He needed to tell himself something like that.

Taro decided to check his bag quickly, just because there was nothing else to do, and he wanted to forget that he’d probably be dead soon. He picked up his bag and felt the weight in his hands. Well, it wasn’t his bag, but he had grown tired of thinking it as Atsuo’s bag. It didn’t even have anything of Atsuo’s in anymore. He thrust his hand in harder than normal.

There was still a loaf of bread in the bag. Taro dug it out and held it with both hands, like it was some kind of foreign object. He examined it, it looked clean enough. He kind of wished they had packed it in something, though. He hadn’t eaten in a long while, but he didn’t really feel hungry, either. Hunger seemed like an afterthought now, because it’d all be over soon. He’d worry about eating then.

Or he wouldn’t have to eat because he’d be dead.

Still, he knew he had to eat something – he needed the energy. His stomach would probably appreciate it after all the vomiting he’d done lately. He could still taste it in the back of his throat.

Taro took his time eating it, ripping it into small pieces, savouring what taste there was to savour, and swallowing it down, usually having to take a swig of water to help the dry bread find its way down. His hands were dirty. Mud – probably some blood, too – stuck under each of his fingernails, and the bread was definitely getting some if it.

But it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t going to die from it or anything.

Most of the water was gone in seconds, the contents dribbling down his chin as he greedily pressed the top to his mouth, his hand still shaking for whatever reason. He caught some of the beads with his finger and lapped at them like a cat.

Taro had really hit rock bottom. He supposed everyone else had too.

His stomach felt bloated after he finished the bread and he had to stop himself from just throwing it all back up again. He downed another bottle of water and threw the empty bottles aside. He still had one left. That would be enough. Probably. Maybe he could find more. There was a river.

And everybody else was probably over there.

Taro stood up from his position and wearily made his way down the tower. He needed to finish this.


((sorry about this post but i wanted to post and my computer has some crazy ass virus and it's being retarded idk. uh, laurra, i'm sorry i didn't get PC control for kenji, but i'm fairly sure he's okay? sorryyyy. oh and i just googled a random school name for the flashback so i hope thass coool. dhkjds k bye.))

_{((aka, This Is An Eizo Horiguchi Walking Post. All PC control approved by Daviid, Shia and Shaun. Kenji's bit fits in with backhistory agreed with Laurra wayback when, and it's a pretty huge part of Eizo's life. Also the Yuu's party flashback was agreed with the relevant parties back in the day, too; I'm posting them now or they never will be X__x Hope that's OK! As ever, any feedback is love ♥))}

It was the second day of the Program, and the rain that had blighted the mountain arena was also coming down heavily on much of the mainland; above a city prison, the skies were grey, as visiting hours began.

A grizzled man sat behind a Plexiglass screen, hands shackled loosely, face emaciated from the months of imprisonment. He found the whole ritual of endless waiting inside prisons to be incredibly bothersome, not unlike a toddler who is bored of being put in Time Out, or an older teenager still scathing at being grounded at his age.

This time, however, it was a little different, as things were happening outside of his control again. A younger man came to see inmate, sitting himself down weightily on the other side of the screen.

“Hey, dad.”

“And about fucking time one of you decided to come here,” Genta Horiguchi said to his son. “I’ve been sat around since yesterday waiting for one of you to get in touch.”

“We’ve had other things going to think about,” Arayoshi said simply, not fuelling his dad’s temper. He sat down, and the two of them gazed down one another’s eyes. “I take it you’ve heard, then?”

“How couldn’t I?” Genta grumbled. “Apparently, two of the guards were talking about the fucking show, and some smart-ass inmate piped up about how one of the favourites to win has the same name as my son. Doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

Arayoshi grimaced. “And they told you?”

“Well, I only got let out of isolation first thing this morning, but never fucking mind me,” Genta said. “What’s happening at home?”

“Mom had to shift something yesterday, and I think she got shafted for the price, but she ain’t talking about it. She didn’t sleep a wink last night, of course.”

“Huh, figures,” Genta said. “Make sure you kids look after her, right? She’s a tough one, your mother, but she will need you lot round her. Get my no-good brother to help if you have to.”

“Teruki?” Arayoshi scoffed. “Chance’d be a fine thing.”

“Why, what’s he doing?” Genta began, rising off his chair, only to re-seat himself following a glower from a guard. “The bastard knows full well he’s supposed to be taking care of—“

“But when’s that ever changed anything?” Arayoshi said, making a snap decision to abridge his uncle’s response to the Program. “According to Mitsuki he’s just been carrying on as normal. But I’m the one who’s feeling guilty here...”

Arayoshi lowered his gaze, and Genta leaned forward. “Say, what?”

“I...” the eldest of Genta’s sons hesitated, hoping for the peace of mind that might follow, “I... I was the one who signed Eizo’s consent slip. The fucking form for the trip, where they took him.”

Genta’s face was frozen in a look of disgust. “What did you say?”

“Uncle Teruki wouldn’t do it, so... Eizo asked me to do it,” Arayoshi confessed. “He said his homeroom teacher can recognise Eizo’s fake signatures by now, and I’m an adult relative, so...”

“So it’s your fault?” Genta snapped. “What do you want: me to give you absolution? Fuck off, I didn’t need to know that.”

Arayoshi’s head was bowed with shame. For a few moments, no words were exchanged, until Genta broke the uneasy silence.

“So? How is he getting on?”

“Huh?”

“Eizo, you little dick,” Genta snapped. “I can’t see it in here, can I?”

“Oh, no...” Arayoshi mumbled. “He was alive the last thing I heard, though he was travelling with some girl.”

“That one he’s dating? Akemi what’s-her-face?”

“He’s not dating Akemi any more,” Arayoshi said, realising his father’s knowledge of his sons’ personal lives became stunted as of a couple of months ago. “No... Akemi was killed a little while ago. And his real girlfriend’s run off now. It’s just... someone else.”

“Another girl?” Genta allowed himself a small smile. “That boy always had a thing for the ladies. So did he kill anyone yet?”

“No,” Arayoshi explained. “Apparently everyone’s surprised at that. I dunno; I haven’t been following the viewer forums. Got better things to do with my time.”

“Yeah, well. Ten packs of cigarettes to say Eizo kills the girl he’s with.”

“Ten?! You don’t even smoke.”

“Oh wake up, Yoshi,” Genta said. “You’ve spent time in prison... it’s not about the ciggies, it’s about the currency.”

“Eh, sure,” Arayoshi said, glad to have ceased his summary of the game, though annoyed he had just agreed to a wager from which he couldn’t gain; after all, there was no way Genta could get ten cigarette packs out of jail. The muscles in Arayoshi’s arms flexed a little. “That other kid’s alive still, too.”

“Who?”

“Kenji Matsuda. The little shit you put you away here in the first place.”

Genta flinched, furious Arayoshi had mentioned the snitch in Eizo’s class. “Well, there’s some consolation: the little shit’s gonna get what’s coming to him, and we don’t even have to try and get our hands dirty.”

Arayoshi nodded silently. He didn’t expect their dad to break down in floods of tears, but the cold pragmatism bothered him a little; it was as though Genta had accepted Eizo was dead already. He had come to make sure his father was okay and to tell him they were all there for him, but in the end, there was nothing much worth saying.

He hadn’t had much patience for Kotone when Junpei Aragaki’s name was read out. For one, Eizo had suffered enough Juns to last him a lifetime (ironically, it probably was going to be a lifetime, right?) but mostly, it was because he didn’t particularly care for Kotone’s inner anguish, owing to him having more than enough of his own.

His thoughts kept flicking back to Kyoko, though they were only brief, dull flashes in his conscience. She had been the one to walk away from him, so if there was somet—

He would dismiss the thoughts at this stage. He was done with worrying about Kyoko, because he finally realised she never really worried about him. When she fled just before Kotone shot Hana Gomi, that could have been the point everything changed; thinking about that moment still filled Eizo with sheer terror. That could have been it; he could have been dead by now. Trying to comprehend what it was like not to exist, what it was like not to see, hear, think, for there to be blackness, and even then it wouldn’t be black as there is no colour or light or dark, or—

The unwelcome thought was shaken away again. He kicked at a rock and slouched onward, weighed down like a pack horse. Fucking bitches.

And it was now his thoughts would fly to Akemi. He forbade himself to think about her, though the prohibition in itself was enticing. He wondered what she was doing, whether she had killed, whether she—

When he dismissed these thoughts, it felt different The thoughts seemed to take on a different nature: They were vivid snapshots, capturing images from his imagination, reminding him of a face he may never see again, and of a body he would never touch.

No.

He was glad Kotone couldn’t see him. His mind was regurgitating all these memories and feelings he had from way back when, perhaps because his brain realised it didn’t have much time left, and to jettison this clutter would soothe him somehow. It meant his face played all sorts of strange shapes, thinking about people he shouldn’t be thinking about, because there was nothing to engage his mind besides putting one foot in front of the other and walking and all he could do is think, but the only thoughts that would form were the girls, and he shook them away time after time, because it didn’t feel right.

It wouldn’t feel right to think about any of these people any more.

The rain was coming down in full, now, and the skies became dark and heavy. The sky opened, greyed, and the two figures walked along folornly an empty mountainside.

Time passed, and the skies got darker still. When nightfall came, Eizo wondered if he could use the cover of dark to run away from Kotone (she couldn’t shoot him if she couldn’t see him, right?) But as time went on, Eizo realised there wasn’t much point in trying this. He really was in a bind, for if he ran away, he was still without a gun, so the first person he met might not be as tolerant as Kotone. It was the Program, after all. People change, and people—

Like Kyoko and—

The thoughts were easier to shake away, now. It was partly through being soaked to the bone by the rain, but also the chill from the wind lowering his core temperature, but he found his mindframe was changing from feeling sorry for himself, and more about getting through this alive. Perhaps it was some sort of innate instinct, forcing him to concentrate on survival. Perhaps it was his body simply getting tired from walking, and his surplus thoughts shutting down. Perhaps he had realised something other people had realised a long time ago: you need to put yourself in this game. The Program, real life.... there wasn’t too much difference between the two.

Then Toriumi spoke. In his mind, he was half-expecting to hear Kyoko’s name be read out. What he heard, however, completely caught him off-guard:

“Girl #04, Akemi Kasai!”

And that was one more mistake he couldn’t rectify.

“Hey, dude.”

“Huh? Oh, hey...”

Eizo was leaning over the sofa, to whisper into Masakichi’s ear. The party at Yuuji’s was coming out of its peak; fatigue starting to disrupt the atmosphere, but not enough to suggest it was anywhere near finishing. Masakichi had retired to the sofa for a while, probably to take the weight off his feet, and finish a drink. “’Sup, Eizo?”

“This is... kinda awkward, but...” her leaned in, close enough to whisper, as Mimiko was stood nearby with her knot of friends. "Have you got a condom I can borrow?"

Masakichi couldn't help himself: he released a very loud guffaw, which was surely heard over the music by everyone in that room. "Sure thing! Who's the lucky girl?"

"It's nobody," he shrugged, though no-one was attending to their conversation any more. "Just some girl. You got one?"

"Sure," Masakichi mumbled, hitching his rear up to pull a small, square foil wrapper from his seat pocket. "I was gonna use it in case I got lucky with--"

"Huh?"

"Oh, no, s'nothing." Masakichi backtracked hastily. "I might have been meeting that girl of mine afterwards."

"Huh. I see." Eizo said, choosing to bite his tongue for now; this wasn't the best time to tell one of his closest friends that he suspected Masa was seeing Akemi on the quiet, and that Eizo was about to have ex-sex with her anyhow. "Look, I better run, don't wanna keep her waiting, y'know?"

Masakichi chuckled, giving half a salute as Eizo attempted to leave the room; Kyoko walked in with Junpei and Yuya, and the last thing Eizo saw as he left the sitting room was Masakichi looking at Kyoko, puzzled.

He skipped over the grass behind the house; the smokers were mostly stood out front at Yuu's request, meaning he and Akemi had some privacy. "Got one."

"Where did you get that from?" Akemi mouthed.

He shook his head, the alcohol making the world slush about his head a fraction of a second too slowly. "Don't ask."

"This is a fucking mistake," she growled at him, kissing him aggressively on the lips. "You fucking piss me off."

"Get the hell away from me then, you filthy slut."

"I wouldn't come near you with a barge pole, asshole," she snapped, gazing steadily, coldly in his eyes.

"So why are you, then?"

"Cos I can't get you out of my head, you bastard," she admitted.

"Huh," he mumbled, failing to hide a smirk. He was returning her gaze.

She tilted her head away from him. "Say it."

"Say what?"

"Say you still fucking want me. Tell me you're not with that prissy whore Nozaki."

He spoke quickly, but chose his words carefully, as though hopping over a causeway of stones. "Heh... you're fucking hot, and I want you so bad."

"And Nozaki?"

"I thought she was seeing Junpei?" Eizo asked, feigning innocence, though deliberately avoiding belabouring it.

"Huh, figures you'd say that," she whispered, edging closer; he could smell her hair. "It's bad form sleeping with girls behind one another's backs, y'know."

"I'm not sleeping with anybody right now," Eizo said, still locked in a casual staring contest with his old flame. "What about you?"

She scoffed. "I'm not the one who's a love rat."

Eizo's eyebrows flickered unintentionally. "Love?"

She fell silent for a few seconds, glanced up and down to his lip, then came in for a long kiss which he didn't refuse.

In one hand, he fumbled with the lock of the shed; in the other, he grabbed at the small of Akemi's back, feeling the contours he had almost forgotten.

In the background, the party music echoed from the house, but they weren't part of that crowd right now.

The report was just more sound to him. He was shivering, and cold anfd soaked, but Kotone drove him to keep walking. He felt skeletal, like the water had stripped away his flesh; he couldn't feel it any more, and his movements were laboured, painful and increasingly difficult. He wanted a rest, and Kotone surely did, too, right?

The report came that night, and the third worst thing about it was Kyoko's name was on there, plain as day.

The second-to-worst thing about that report was that he didn't actually hear her name. Kotone was speaking to him, saying something about how he should be glad he didn't go with his buddy, and it was only then that the name registered with him. Kyoko Nozaki, as dead as the rest of them.

But the worst part about it was he couldn't bring himself to care. If he hadn't been so sodden, it might have been a different story, but no, that wasn't right... he was sodden when he heard Akemi's name read out, but he didn't feel the same way about his girlfriend?


(Ex-girlfriend)


They're both ex-girlfriends, right?

It wasn't fair that she (Akemi? Kyoko?) was dead, and Kotone was still alive. Another girl giving him grief, and...

That was when he realised enough truly was enough. Kotone had conceded to let them rest under some shelter, and to take their respective towels out of the bags. Eizo was kept out of reach of his ally, naturally, but... She was using him, just like the others.

She was playing him.

She was going to wear him down, and kill him anyway.

Both of them split up with him, and he felt--

Grimacing, he started planning Kotone's murder at that very moment. The trick, as he had found out earlier to his expense, was to make it stick.

It was that time of year when the weather was improving, the air was not yet humid, and the wind blew strongly and consistently. It was also around the time where the Odaiba City Council were due to re-open their nominations for Representatives. Eizo found himself slumped against a wall outside the school gates one Friday afternoon, hanging about a few feet away from the smoking, delinquent kids. Soccer practice had been cancelled due to staff illness, but Eizo had to wait for a while, anyway, not bothering to hold conversation with the juvies; although he couldn't give a fuck what they did with themselves, he knew his parents would kill him if he came back reeking of nicotine.

They did plenty of disgusting things, but smoking wasn't one of them.

A figure hurried down the driveway of the school, cantering on short legs so that the efficiency of the distance covered didn't improve much. She was carrying her school bag, trying to lose the people she had spent her after-school flower arrangment class with.

"H- H- Hello, Eizo," Fuuka huffed as she caught up with him. Eizo glanced over at the delinquent kids; one had spotted Fuuka and was looking at the two of them, as though trying to work out whether they were dating, and if so, why. "Sorry, I couldn't get here any faster than I..."

"Sure, it doesn't matter," Eizo muttered, glancing over at the other kids. "Should we get going to the station?"

She leaned against the wall. "Sorry, I need to get my breath back first."

Eizo waited a couple of moments; the delinquents had probably assumed that as the remaining after-school classes were leaving now, so would be any remaining teachers, hence they made moves to leave before they got caught smoking. Eizo, not too bothered about random kids leaving, started to speak to her quietly. "Your father told you about what he wants mine to do, right?"

"Yeah," she muttered, eyes watery and afraid. Fuuka had never been comfortable with being her daddy's pawn like this, all the more being stood alone with one of the rougher kids in class. "But he can't call your dad directly, as he suspects the Government are monitoring his calls, right?"

"You tell me," Eizo shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time they did it before an election."

"Yeah, but that's the problem..." she gasped between breaths. "He can't... he can't talk to anybody to sort any... problems he's got."

He mumbled assent to the unsubtle euphemism. "Course, that's where we come in, right?"

"He asked for your dad in particular," Fuuka said. "He wouldn't tell me the details, but... something about a job from December before last?"

Eizo thought for a moment. That was around the Christmas when he got his best soccer boots, which meant it was probably something to do with money laundering. "I think I know the one he means. Hold on, lemme write it down."

Eizo grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote disjointed, context-less words in his cramped handwriting, trusting his memory for the rest of the task. "Go on."

"Yeah, and he says he needs it done by midnight next Friday, because they do the first round of votes on Monday," Fuuka reeled off, closing her eyes to ensure she recited her father's words from memory as accurately as possible. "And he wants your dad to sort it out personally."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Fuuka said apologetically. "That's all he told me."

"Hmm, right," Eizo said. "You can't think of any details? Cos dad won't want to have extra bits trickle in while he's planning."

"I think that's everything," Fuuka reaffirmed, looking squarely at Eizo's chest. "I think so, at least."

"Okay, so how about we--" Eizo began, only to overhear a loud voice come from behind the wall against which they were leaning:

"God, Kenji, how long does it take you to tie your shoelaces? C'mon, we should get home before midnight, Keisuke and Emi are already on their way over! Oh... hey, Kuroki, Horiguchi..."

It was Taro, who was exiting through the school gates following his basketball practice, not expecting to see the unlikely duo of Fuuka and Eizo stood outside, amidst freshly-smouldering cigarette butts. Behind him, Kenji Matsuda crept out sheepishly. Taro was still in his shorts, so presumably Kenji had stayed behind to watch him. Taro waved akwardly at Fuuka, avoiding Eizo's gaze. Kenji also slipped by wordlessly, nodding vaguely at the two of them, also making absolutely no eye contact.

Eizo's eyes narrowed suspiciously, as Kenji shuffled off with a forced blank face. Had he been listening?

Apparently, Fuuka was thinking the same thing. Her hands were over her mouth, and she squeaked. "They heard!"

"You think?" Eizo muttered, brow darkening. "I... he might not have."

"Oh, no! How much do you think he heard?"

"Not enough," Eizo shrugged. "I mean, we don't know much. Besides, what's he going to do, call the political police?"

Eizo mimed holding a phone to his ear, and pressing the number "3" with a finger. Fuuka didn't break a smile. "I'm worried, though..."

"Look, it's fine. Kenji's a bit of an asshole, but he's not that much of an asshole. We should get going, anyway. Your dad's gonna get paranoid, and I'm having Thai tonight."

And with that Eizo began walking in the other direction. He had nothing more to hear from Fuuka, and she nothing more to say to him. He was confident she would realise soon that she was being too paranoid, although he knew that if Kenji relayed anything he might have overheard, then...

He wondered if it was worth talking to Matsuda, as hanging around with Fuuka was odd at the best of times, unless he was one of her troupe of losers. Which he wasn't, of course.

Evidently, he decided against it. And that was the moment Eizo and Fuuka faced the same dilemma together, yet ended up choosing different paths.

That evening. Fuuka took no chances, and got home, confessing to her father what had happened, and how worried she was that something bad might become of it.

The same evening, Eizo got home, and decided it wasn't worth risking the wrath of his father. He would take his chances, because there was no gravity attached to things like that, when you have Eizo's sort of mentality.

Five days later, Fuuka's father had made some contingency arrangments. Thanks to his daughter's admission, he worked out an additional method with which to secure his job, and to remove any traces of shady dealings from his office. Fuuka, Mr Kuroki's employers, and the wider town community wouldn't know any better.

Seven days later, Eizo's father was caught red-handed in a police raid. Genta Horiguchi was taken to a cell, and the remaining Horiguchi family formally given a supervision order, which would expose every sordid detail of their family to the authorities, yet absolutely nothing of the Kurokis.

Eizo learned the hard way that if you're trying to undermine the authorities, you can never be too careful, or too thorough.

It was a gamble, but one he felt was absolutely neccessary for him to take. As the morning sun started to rise higher in the sky, Eizo realised the only chance he had to defeat Kotone was to take her by surprise. But she always had her guard up, right?

He would only get one shot at this, he understood. Dispatch would have to be quick and flourish-free. If he failed, he would be meeting his maker.

He felt a little bad about it, which was strange, considering what had happened earlier in the game. He had done all sorts of horrible things to people, told bare-faced lies to those who trusted him, and the whole time he barely batted an eyelid. Maybe it was because he was cold, battered and weary, but he almost felt like he was growing a conscience, and it was happening at the worst time imaginable. And of all the people he had met--

When he started thinking about Jun, the pangs of guilt subsided immediately. Sure, he had tormented the kid, got his hopes up when he had nothing to lose; and then, under the pretense of needing a specific resource from the boy, betrayed him when he was at his most helpless.

But that was just the thing: Kotone was doing that right with him, right now. All the marching, and the shivers, and the raw hatred and fatigue brewing up, she was just waiting for him to explode, to give her an excuse to shoot him, like she did to Ryo, and...

No. Eizo refused to sit in the same category as Ryo Jo.

A flash of his face bubbled up in Eizo's mind, but he dismissed it effortlessly. After all, he wasn't Akemi. There were so many people he had forgotten, because Eizo, like the other survivors, had to focus on the task to hand. Whenever he looked at his list, he saw a sea of scored-out names, names Eizo would purposefully ignore to examine the remaining survivors.

It was a competition, and he didn't want to lose to Kotone Fujino again.

Finally accepting he was delaying the inevitable, Eizo gripped the blade and swore loudly. He pointed at a rock, and then yelled at Kotone. Some bull about having passed it three times already, like in the cartoons. He knew it wasn't true: they had been going steadily down the mountain, and to have doubled back on themselves, they would have had to have climbed, almost surely blowing up their collars.

It didn't matter, though; his heart was thumping against his chest as called her out on something trivial. She looked slightly defensive, and that split-second was the moment to make his move.

"Let me see that map."

He said it firmly, approaching her.

Kotone should have held her gun up right away, but she paused for half a second too long, in which Eizo shortened the distance between them.

"I don't have to give you anything."

She raised her weapon, as a command for him to stop walking. Perhaps unintentionally, she makes a small step toward him, and he approaches her even closer still.

Just one quick thrust into her chest, and...

It found flesh, and his heart stopped beating.

The world was motionless and silent.

Eizo saw the wound below him: the dirk had plunged through Kotone's chest. It was an upward thrust, entering just below her ribcage. There was a dark red line at the seam, glistening slightly. It wasn't bleeding; time stood still for so long and...

Then it began to move. He saw the blood trickle thickly down the shaft of the weapon. Still silent, still no heartbeat, still lifeless and soulless, and...

The blood reached his fingertips, and his heart began beating again. It was warm, caressing his numb fingers, electrifying him back to his senses. He didn't even look at Kotone as she fell. Just at his fingers. At.... at nothing in particular. He grabbed up the bags, and pried the gun from her fingers. He would sort those out once he got away from here. He left the blade in Kotone's body, and ran.

A few miles away, the Program's computers bleeped as Kotone Fujino's picture and stats flushed red. Simultaneously, the big white "0" next to Eizo's name clicked to a "1". In a matter of minutes, the live stream would show it to the public; the cameras in that area already trained on the two companions, poised for the inevitable collapse.

Very soon, the bookmakers would alter their odds, fan forums would spike in activity, men in prisons would gain packs of cigarettes for triumphant wagers, and spectators would inch closer to their television sets, snapping their eyes open in a fresh wave of excitement.

This happened every time a person was killed. One violent act causes a volley of consequences, yet none of them were important.

He could see the electric fence as the steepness of the mountain subsided. If he stayed by that, but looked out for the lake to the south, then...

He was back in the game. And he could actually win this thing.

"Shi... To the lake," he muttered to himself, punctuated with a series of pants. "Get to the... to the lake... fuck.... the lake.... fuck..."

The noon report was going to be in about three or four hours. He hadn't slept since that afternoon in the schoolhouse. He wanted nothing more than a rest, except...

It was too risky. The danger zones were clearly shepherding people to the open ground. Anybody else who had been where he was would, without a doubt, be coming along the same route he was.

But even so....

He probably had no more of sixteen hours of life remaining. If he didn't sleep, he would probably collapse. His muscles were protesting, cramping following the sprint, and now...

If he didn't sleep, death was certain. If he did sleep, death was probable.

But there were nine people left, now. Probably, less. Plus he had guns now...

"This is no good," he said to himself. "Okay, let's.... right."

He dropped his bags down in the most inconspicuous place in the vicinity. To his west, Eizo could make out a plateau; presumably, that was the meditation area marked on the map, and he made a point of not going too close, for fear of straying into a danger zone. He was positioned near a loudspeaker, so he would be woken by the report in the worst-case scenario, but even so...

After drinking some of his (Kotone's?) water, Eizo pulled his phone out. It sat in his pocket, an almost pathetic reminder of the life he had left behind. Its screen showed him a wallpaper of a photograph he could no longer remember taking. Deciding to give it one final use, he set himself an alarm for eleven-thirty, and shuffled himself into some shade.

Just a few hours rest. That was all would need to bring out his A-game.

Taking his chances, Eizo removed his wet shirt, wrapped it around his bag, fashioned himself a pillow, and rested himself on the soft, moist earth, before stealing himself some precious rest.

((OOC: PC Control approved by Rianne. I didn't get approval for the other character in the flashback, though, 'cause she's dead & for the sake of time, so I'm hoping that there aren't any issues with that, yarrrr... Oh, and forgot to add if it wasn't obvious - this post happens before the last Kazuhiro post takes place. XD))

As she watched him drift off to sleep, Miyako let the silence spread throughout the room the same way she'd felt falling asleep in his arms: content, loving, and, although incredibly fragile, absolutely comfortable. She wanted it to stay that way forever, for the lights to just turn black and that would be that - they'd be alone in their park again, but she knew that no one would let her have that kind of peace that easily.

Miyako would have to fight for it, and fight for it she would, with him by her side. His gun, his shield; she would play her role to the best of her ability with all the strength she had left and more. Her resiliency had gotten her this far. And now, with him so close, it was bound to get them both even further.

When Kazuhiro had told her that he wanted either her or Kenji to win, that he would be happiest if it were one of them pulling the trigger on him to finish him off, her shock hit her in waves. There was no way she could do something like that, let alone stand back and watch him die for that scenario to possibly take place. The thought of losing him that way - in any way, for that matter - horrified her more than anything that might happen to her in the waning hours they had left.

To get to him, they'd all have to get through her, as dead as she already seemed. They, meaning the eight people standing between Kaz and her and first and second place. The game runners had equipped her with the Taurus 608 for a reason, she figured, and that reason was sleeping next to her, his chest rising slightly every time he breathed in. Quiet moments like these, with her watching over him, were exactly what she needed to protect.

She held his notebook close to her chest, pressing it up against her pounding heart. Whatever was written within those pages was something so heavily important that he couldn't say out loud. It was amusing to think of him as being too shy to say what he had to say, especially now when their hour glasses were running close to empty.

Maybe, inside the book was some special secret that he was hiding, one that would turn his face bright red if he were to admit it. She could picture him stuttering, all unsure of himself when he shouldn't've been. Miyako, as guarded as she was, was beginning to grow tired of keeping secrets. It wasn't like she had anything to lose when it came to herself. All she had left in this game was him. He was what kept her pushing forward, passed all of the pain, both physical and mental.

All throughout her young life - sixteen years and nothing more, she had had days, weeks, months where she literally just wanted to give up on everything. Whenever she toyed with those haunting thoughts of surrendering, she made sure to think of him to make all of the pressure stop. Here, it wasn't any different, so thinking of him as her only reason to go on wasn't new for her in the slightest. It might have been depressing to have to rely on someone so much, but...it never was for her.
Those feelings that she had for him, they weren't the feelings that best friends were supposed to have, so she tucked them far, far away with everything else that she couldn't show to anyone. When Kiku dumped him sometime after Miyako transferred to their junior highschool, Miyako didn't bother hiding how glad she was. She just masked the reasoning for her all of her sixty second long smiles as being part of her comedic attitude.

Miyako glanced over at Kazuhiro, her eyes resting on his sleeping face for a moment. She still hadn't opened his notebook, her fingers absently tracing the characters to his name on the cover.
The conversation took off from there, and her and Kazuhiro, they just clicked. She didn't know another way to explain it. Talking to him had been so easy and free of the pretentiousness that she was so used to - the same kind that she would later spend part of her life running away from. The trouble with that was that doing something like that was close to impossible when she had spent so long trying to fit herself into such a

(always stay straight-faced, never reveal your emotions, just look away, keep looking away - don't look at ANYONE like THAT)

priceless, respectable image. Whomever that dull-eyed girl was, she seemed so far away in comparison. Miyako could see her, her without any traces of a smile on the other side of the chasm within herself. That girl had fooled herself into thinking she was a grown-up, something special, when she wasn't. And the sad part of it was that she was always vaguely aware of that. She'd just swallow back all of her tears and sinking feelings - she forced herself to sacrifice her own happiness in the process of gaining her parents' approval.

She told them that she was okay with watching all of the other kids on the playground playing in the sandbox. They played while she watched, rolling her eyes whenever one of them ran over to her wanting so badly to be the first ones to put a smile on her face. Miyako created the divide, the distance between her and everyone else. She wasn't one of them, and she made sure of that. She was better, because Kitagawa girls had to be better than grass stains and jeans ripped at the knees.

Placing herself so far above them, she had to wall herself from all of the people around her. Friends were temporary objects. Steel thoughts like those were why she was able to let go of Tsukiko so easily when the girl had truly been her only best friend in junior high. For a while, Miyako had even duped herself into thinking that living that way was worth it. The further away she was from being one of them (idiotic, naive, knowing NOTHING at all), the closer it was supposed to bring her to her parents' arms. Nothing worked out the way it was supposed to.

She thought she could be happy if she pretended to be one of those smiley girls that she'd detested so much. Miyako camouflaged herself among a big laughing group of them, hiding herself away as an annoying loudmouth. As a nice girl, she played her part well. No one seemed to suspect a thing, unless they were digging beneath the surface, and they rarely ever did because she only allowed herself to act as deep as a two inch cup of water.

The more she thought about it, the more her eyes stung, having gone dry from crying so much earlier. No matter who she was or who she became...she couldn't run from herself. Where was she supposed to go when not even her own head was a safe place?

Kazuhiro turned in his sleep, mumbling something.

Miyako sighed to herself, finally deciding to open up the notebook. She flipped through some random pages before she got to the one with his letter. Barely through the first paragraph, she nearly cried again. So much for having no more tears to spend. He was right. In a way, it was a good thing that they hadn't gone out. She would have hated it if they'd broken up. It would have ruined everything. Honestly, if she thought about it, she probably wouldn't have been able to survive through losing him like that.

He tried to explain to her that he wasn't any better than she was, but he couldn't be more wrong. There were too many differences between them for him to say that. No point in arguing, though. She didn't want to fight with him ever again. There wasn't time for that when there was barely enough time for anything else. Miyako moved herself closer to Kazuhiro, setting the notebook aside with trembling hands as soon as she was done reading it.

"Me, too, Kaz." She whispered in response to the last line in his letter. It didn't matter that he couldn't hear her. He didn't have to. Her voice got softer as she went on. "I've always seen you that way, probably since the day we first met. My closest friend, I..."

Miyako leaned down over him, her face so close to his that they were nearly touching noses. She forget how to breathe for a second there, her heart heavily - painfully - hammering in her chest. Never having been this close, she marveled at every detail of his face in quiet agony, from the easy arch to his eyebrow to the count of all of his eyelashes. His eyes beneath closed lids, she had to imagine peering into their dark brown color and their normally serious expression.

She placed her hand on his cheek, waiting to see if he woke up before sliding it upwards and into his soft hair. There was something relaxing about being able to do all of this so discreetly. It was soothing. He was sleeping soundly enough that he'd probably never know, and that calmed her even more, her hand moving back down in a gentle caress. What got her attention the most were his lips, a warm invitation for her to move in if she dared.

There was a stab of wanting that hit her square in the heart, that made her shudder from the shock of it. Confidence; time for a display of it. She mustered up some more and tilted her head a little for smoother access. Slowly, slowly, she brushed her lips across his, unsure of herself. It felt like she had been waiting forever to do this, she needed it that much. The intimacy, the contact. Something spurred her onward from there, her mouth softly pressing into his. Her fears disappeared as she gave him a third kiss, this one she held with him longer than the others so she could commit it to heartwarming memory.

The fourth kiss, she placed on his throat, above the collar that didn't belong there to tell him that whatever happened next, things would turn out okay. She'd watch out for him, she promised. Then, the fifth was directly for his lips again. Barely able to contain herself, this kiss was more forceful than the others - more passionate if he'd been awake to reciprocate - as she ran her tongue over his bottom lip.

She had to stop herself there while she still had some control over herself. Besides, it would have been awkward if he suddenly woke up in the middle of everything. How would she explain it? She slipped and her tongue just happened to get in his mouth. He would have been so surprised, not that she would blame him for it. Miyako laughed to herself, butterflies tickling her stomach as she realized that there was a part of her that might not have minded if he did catch her.

Minutes later, he woke up without her having to shake him, seemingly oblivious to what had just went on. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Seeing him do that made her wish for a future where he was the husband waking up after working all night on business proposals for the restaurant they managed together and she was the doting wife, ready with his morning cup of ginseng tea.

"I read your letter," Miyako said. Instead, in the present, all she was was his best friend, ready with a smile and a giggle. He really did have no idea.

"What's so funny? ...You didn't like it?"

"Of course, I liked it, you idiot." She grinned to show him she was joking about the idiot line. "Just because I'm not crying like a certain person here," she coughed, "doesn't mean I didn't like it. Jeez, sometimes you think too much."

"If you weren't crying, then why is your face so red?" Kazuhiro stared at her quizzically.

"From laughing at you. See, when you sleep, you snore like an elephant," she lied. "I'm glad we never went out. I don't think I'd ever be able to stand how loud you are. You know what? You're not an elephant. You're a freakin' tank engine - underwater. You so should've gotten that checked out." Miyako stuck her tongue out at him. "And crying? Don't get me started on how lame that is."

"Okay, I'm glad you liked it..." He ignored most of what she was saying, for good reason.

"Yeah, I really did." She looked into his eyes. "You have no idea how much I did. You know, you've been my closest friend all along, too. I don't know if I told you that already or not, but I mean it."

"Thanks. I mean everything that I wrote in there. Sorry, I didn't just say it out loud," Kazuhiro said. "I thought it would be better if you just read it."

"Don't worry about it. It's cool." Miyako replied. "Kaz, I think the ninth report's coming up soon."

"I'll write everything down. You don't have to move."

"Thank you."

If that saying about things too easily gained being too easily lost was true, then that put their friendship at risk, something natural and so right and one of the only things in her life she didn't have to pretend to be somebody else for. She could lose that as easily as she had gotten it, and their friendship was all she had left now. Miyako held her arms out to him.

"What are you doing?" Kaz asked.

"A hug. I want one, dummy. Here I was, thinking you were such a smart boy." She laughed.

"Well, I don't want to hurt you." He glanced down at her wound.

She shook her head. "You can't. It's impossible. Nothing you can do or say can hurt me now."

Without saying more, he wrapped her up in his arms and pulled her close, careful not to agitate her injury. She could feel his heart beating as calmed and worried as hers.

The hugs, the joking, the laughter...


she'd miss them the most when she was gone.

            (...have always, always...)

Miyako hugged him back tighter. She swore to herself she wouldn't let him go.

"Did you say something, Miyako?"

"...Nope. Nothing. Must've been your imagination."

(OOC: Okay, my final (finally!) post. Approval by Shaun, and I kinda name-dropped people but if any problems with that then yeah, you know what to do. Sorry post is long but because it's a *~death~* post then kinda self-explaintionary really. Of course, I still be reading and I'm just glad I've managed to finish rather then npc or something. So hope you enjoy, sorry if you don't, and good luck guys! :D)

Although the rain was decreasing in it's quantity and power as the hours passed it still did not come to an complete stop. It rained and it rained. So much that the only sensation he could feel anymore was a numbness, followed by the occasional twitches. Either this weather or now his mind was the cause of that. He really couldn't tell anymore.

She could never again be able to tell him either.

Haruki staggered over the tip of a small crevice, nearly tumbling head-first. Somehow he regained himself, continuing on aimlessly like some lifeless ghoul. His skin, now a mix of light blue and pale white made the resemblance seem almost possible.

If he was capable to do so he would have seen the slowly descending globe of the evening sun in the distance. He would of admire and perhaps sense a loss of the way that the sun and rain could be brought together. It was one of those rare moments. The rain drops seem to actually reflect off the beams in a mystical fashion.

And yet did he care anymore?

The urge to scream suppressed him, no distinguishable voice left to support him. Instead he pathetically cradled his head, his trembling fingers running through his wet hair.

-someonehelpme-

Mud and other unidentifiable sludge squashed under his soaked shoes, his thoughts rambled as if in static. Everything, just everything, felt even more surreal then before. He was trapped, forever having to indulge that guilt, that sheer realization. He couldn't hack it, he couldn't contemplate that he had killed someone, that-

She wasn't just someone though.

Violently shaking Haruki collapsed effortlessly onto his knees. His head burrowed over into his lap as if praying, yet his prayers was something never answered. Never no mercy. Just his whole experience here in this other dimension from the real world full of pain and fear and-

"a-haha..."

A gurgled whimper parted his lips. The only other sound he made since he stopped screaming. No-one had managed to locate and kill him bizarrely after he had done just that-ididntmeantodidntmeanto-and yet perhaps a part of him wanted someone to do so. After all there was no-one left alive that he cared about. Or in other words no-one left who cared about him.

So what did he have left to live for?

He knew now that, himself included, there was only ten students of the class left now. From a count of forty-five to ten. That's what the report had said. Something he had barely able to understand as he was screaming and running, as if hoping he reach somewhere where he could eventually be safe.

But here he stayed.

Maybe he wanted to been like one of those fireworks. The ten that had littered and exploded in the sky in some kind of inhumane congratulations for them reaching this far. Soar far into the sky just before disappearing on a high note, into a sparkle of symmetrical colours.

Away from all this.

But all he did was jump at each bang, crying louder then he had ever done before. He was still him, he still stayed as Haruki. A boy with no path. No chance to start over.

Out of the five people that died only one of them truly supported the fact that there was never no way to prevent any of it. You could only play. Win. And even then all the guilt and torment would just follow you like a bad omen. So maybe no, perhaps either way you faced it all. Except dying. Just like her.

Did he... help her then? Did he save her from all those bad trials she would have faced if she was still alive?

Murderer.

Yes. That's what he had become. No forgiveness. No pity or understanding for him. He had killed his best friend. How can there be any sympathy for him?

I didn't mean to though!

Solemnly glancing up, maybe intentionally to look up at the downpour of the sky Haruki could see the large shape of a house not far in the distance. It seemed distinctive from the other buildings he had seen. Grand and seemingly in good condition. The back door was shut. No faces appeared at the numerous windows. There was even a balcony yet as quick as it seemed he concluded that the blurry figure moving indoors was just an figment of his messed-up imagination.

He could of approached the building, perhaps take shelter and rest for a bit inside if he really wanted to. Of course for him now that was out of the question. He deserved no such thing. So there he stayed, sitting under the seemingly endless rain, the ground as much as he wanted it to failing to swallow him up.

"Pl-please... I-I'm so... so-sorry. So... sorry..." Haruki started to cry, his hands bawling up into clenched fists. He was alone again. His fault. Stupid. No more faith. No more comfort or safety or anything. Their faces passed at a steady speed, dwindling into nothingness.

He had almost forgotten that there was cameras installed, spotting one standing neatly on the far corner of the house. It's lens seemed to focus in on him, as if there was something fascinating about watching him.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of people was staring at him now, all in the security of their own homes. And what would they think? Just him as some crazy boy, the one who killed 'that friend of his'.

That other world, as much as this 'game', was just as sickening.

Would his parents be part of that crowd though? Would they be watching him, distraught at what he had unintentionally done? As much as he had wished they wasn't he knew they was. He knew they could see him. But he would never see them again. Never tell them he was sorry for all the wrong things he done to them. Never hug or kiss or cry with them or just being happy. No, no-

Stopping those past memories his brain was transfixed on him now.

Some of his features was now slowly but surely becoming indescribable. Perhaps now he was actually forgetting what he looked like, the effects of time playing on him. Only two days had passed since that final time he clamped eyes with him-

-his hazel pupils widening a little, his mouth started to silently form words-

-and yet with so much other matters eating his senses it was affecting the things he wanted to remember. Only the bad remained with him. The unavoidable.

As simply as it was stated a fraction of his derailed mind remembered an event between them. Something that he thought he had let slip by. But no, it returned.


Yet why? Why only a bad memory?

His bedroom always seemed pretty cool to him. It had a nice mix of dark and light colours, mainly consisting of blue. There was a bit of clutter here and there but basically the bookshelf and his other personal belongings were all fairly organized. At least this was an example of their alikeness.

Haruki sat timidly on the corner of his bed, his fingers fiddling nervously in his lap. Maybe it was because he had never spent this much time in his room before. And perhaps the other, the more secretive of his emotions, was actually the reason why he was here.

The more he thought about it the more agitated he got. He had spent enough time dwindling over it, trying to grab the best opportunity to tell him. And now that he had... he kind of regretted it.

The soft creaking of a door opening behind him detached him from his thoughts, shifting the upper half of his body towards the sound. He smiled weakly as he immediately recognized the person entering, holding a plain-looking tray full of various food.

"Hungry?" Keitaro grinned, closing the door gently behind him with one hand. The tray didn't even shake. "I hope you are otherwise I'm going to eat all this."

Even though he actually had no appetite he found himself agreeing to share some with him as soon as he leant in for a kiss, the warm tingle of his lips against his own.

There was always something daring about doing it, no matter how much privacy they had. Even though Keitaro had a lock on his bedroom door and already giving his mother a story of them 'just playing games and maybe watch some films' it was always a risk. A truthfully fun one but still. He wished it didn't have to feel this way.

Maybe... just maybe it didn't.

"Kei..." Haruki mumbled, hesitant at first if he should disturb him eating his bowl of sushi. He glanced up, his defined facial features looking sweet even now. His intentional question got stuck in his throat, quickly changing to a more neutral one. "So is it just your mum in?"

"Yep," he nodded, shifting to a more relaxed position on his bed, his head resting against one of his pillows. "Didn't I tell you already my brother was staying out this weekend?"

Haruki have never met his brother, supposedly according to Kei that he was 'a bit of a workaholic and a bit of a jerk'. But he had already knew Keitaro's answer anyway. Stop trying to bide time.

"I think so, yeah..."

Keitaro's expression seem to change into curiosity. "You alright? You been acting funny since you've arrive. Told you, don't have to worry."

"No, it's not really that. It's just I-I think..." You know she does. Tell him. "someone... someone knows..."

The clatter of his metal spoon against the bowl rang shivers up his spine. "What? Know what?"

"A-about... no, not about us," Haruki immediately proclaimed, seeing how he his eyes suddenly became larger with worry. "But... but more me."

"Well, what is it?"

About ten minutes quickly passed. He still hadn't moved though. Unbeknownst to him however he was rocking himself now, his stare locking onto nothing but the exploration of that time. He hardly registered the 6 am report, not taking in that there was no deaths to announce or the sounds of Mr. Takiguchi and Mrs. Hamaguchi fearful speeches.

He didn't even hear the squelch of a footstep behind him.

"Haruki..."

Immediately drawing the large knife from the sheath tucked in his belt Haruki faced the person, the blade facing defensively in the direction his head went.

Above him, about a meter away stood a boy. In one of his hands he held a silver revolver. Unlike him his clothes didn't seem as soaked as his, only mildly damp. He barely registered the back entrance door of the grand house was now ajar, obviously from where he's assailant had came from. His ginger fringe seemed almost glued to his forehead, just finishing above his eyesight. They was cold yet large, almost as if he was trying to put on a act of defiance.

The sound of another boy's voice then just his own now actually frightened him. The way it trailed off eerily, the way the vibrations of his deep serious voice made him feel totally vulnerable. And in a sense he was. He was the captured victim.

"Taro?"

Yet never did he imagine it would be by someone like Taro Hanazawa. The knife dropped from his weak grip with a soft splatter.

Taro. The popular guy.

It was him at one point in his previous life he could of considered a friend in some manner of speaking. He was a decent person to talk to at least. But now? Now did it even matter? It all came down to his own life or Taro's life in the end. Only one could get the chance to live. As he looked deep in his glazed eyes he could actually notice he was crying. And it wasn't his own sobbing he could hear. It was his.

Left defenseless he didn't even acknowledge the muzzle now pointed at his head, a trembling finger steadying over the trigger. Haruki blinked.

"Sorry," the boy bluntly spoke. It was still there.

"Huh...?" He didn't even know why he questioned it though. Quick and unbelievable as it was it was obvious what was happening. But he couldn't help but feel betrayed. He had paid hardly any thought to this guy until now. And now that he was here a tiny fraction of his mind wondered that maybe he was still someone he could help.

He wouldn't want it, he would know. No-one wanted his help after all.

Maybe no-one understood him either.

"Are you that stupid!?"

Haruki found himself speechless, mouth agape like a fish out of water. He didn't understand. Wasn't it a good thing? "W-what? I thought-"

"No, you didn't think anything!" Keitaro continued angrily, a vile bitterness in the harsh words that escaped his seemingly uncontrollable mouth, "Not one little thought about it! Don't you understand what could have happened?"

"How can you say that? Of course I thought it over!" he found himself suddenly snapping back, the way Keitaro relentlessly insulted him becoming too much to listen to. "I been thinking it over for months now!"

"You clearly haven't! You don't know how she would have reacted. She could have told your dad or kicked you out or-"

Shut up.

"But she didn't!" Haruki was almost shouting now, the gap between them growing much wider as he edged closer towards the bedroom door. "I-I know my own mum! She wouldn't have done anything like that!" Wouldn't she? No, he was right. They may now talk less but time's a great healer. She just needs time. "She just wants the best for me."

"So being gay in her book be the best thing for you then?" Keitaro instantly answered back, the sarcasm drooling in his words. "No, for any parent it's the last thing they want. Don't you see? People like us are not allowed, they can't just go around telling everyone!"

"...so that's what you want to be? A secret?" He received no immediate answer this time, only a low mutter under his breath. "You want to hide away your true feelings and pretend to be something else?"

People like us. They was that different? He fully knew how the country opposed to them. And that's why it should stop. He didn't want to live his life a lie, he didn't want to have to feel that what he is was wrong. Even it meant leaving the country to do so, he just wanted to be himself. For so long now. And every time he more or less asked Keitaro about it he always noticed he tried to avoid the question, changing the subject as quickly as that. So...

"Y-you're... you're a coward then."

"No," Keitaro whispered, his saddened eyes locking with his. "no, I'm just playing smart. People can't, they just can't find out. It's... how it's gotta be."

"Well, it shouldn't be."

Both their gaze started to drift towards the floor, perhaps now counting the cracks in the floorboard. Or just pondering who really was right.

"I should go," Haruki eventually concluded, hastily picking up his bag off from the floor. "Think it may be for the best if I did."

"Haruki..."

"Goodbye." Water lingering his eyes Haruki placed his hand on the cool doorknob. "I'm sorry you don't feel the same way."

With that said he left, his grasp holding back the tears releasing as he hurried down the stairs.

Time can either appear fast or slow. But right now how long had passed at them staring, just staring, at each other was unknown. He couldn't stand it though. The gun he was holding. Watching him. Just pointing at him, waiting for the right moment to fire, his life ending completely.

But didn't he know? His life as he had knew it had ended long ago. He prepared to stand up.

"Don't move," Taro whispered desperately, the air dragging his child-like voice towards him. He barely noticed it had stopped raining. The muzzle edged closer towards his neck, causing him reflexively to shrink back. "I'll kill you..."

Kill? Was he... capable of that? He didn't know if Taro had played -you've had. You've played- since the game began two days ago. He was frightened, yet he attempts to hide this with some kind of invisible cloak failed. He could see, he could so see the vulnerability in his eyes, leaking trails of sorrowful tears down his dirty cheeks.

"You'd really shoot me?" He could sense the sadness in his own voice.

"I wanna go home," Taro answered, almost resembling a plea. Home. The word sounded so... beautiful to him, yet it was so far out of reach. For him anyway. Taro was still just a boy, a boy. Like him. Just like him. And maybe... maybe the entire class was just children. Lost, desperate children. All wanting to go home to someone they cared about. To someone they loved. "I wanna go home more then anyone else."

Kyoko. Keitaro. All the others who had died. They would have wanted to go home too. 'How can you be so selfish?' he thought of asking. But no, he didn't. Because each one of them individually might have all thought the same thing. That they deserved to survive. That they wanted to go home more then anyone else. But everyone needs someone. Even if you think you don't. You just do.

"I... I love you. B-best friend."

"They need me," he softly spoke, unaware now of Taro's presence and his gun looming over him. All he could see was them. Standing in separate shadows, far away from the light. They needed guidance. Was they alone? Did they need him?

I can't reach you!

"They can't do anything without me." How can I reach you? He could see her though. She was waving, ushering for him to come over. And so was he... but he's too overcome with darkness, only his outline barely making his sight.

Right then Haruki started to cry, his eyes casting into the distance of the sky ahead.

I-I tried looking for you! I wanted to see you, I really did. But I was too late...

"I didn't even get to speak to Keitaro before someone killed him." He didn't know if he was speaking to Taro or himself. His illusions didn't even cross his rambled mind that perhaps they was just some imaginary images he created. He just wanted them to hear him. He wanted to hold them and just forgive him for everything-

"Keitaro killed himself." A voice resonated through his hearing. Slowing bringing his head back up at Taro, his dreary expression piercing into him, his thought slowly disappeared into a blank space at realizing what words had escaped his lips.

No. "...What?"

Perhaps he should have pretended to ignore it. To deny ever hearing it. Because as Taro spoke the more the dreaded realization of what he was actually saying drawn upon him. "I heard Masakichi and Honami talking about him. They said he killed himself."

Ki-killed... himself. Lies. It had to be. Keitaro wouldn't have left him like that. He wouldn't have taken the easy way out. He just wouldn't. He was a fighter, a survivor, a-

"Haruki! Telephone!"

Slowly easing himself down the banister Haruki took the receiver from his father hand, forcing himself to pull a small smile across his face. "Think it's your friend."

"Who?" Haruki questioned curiously. It couldn't have been Kyoko, she was almost like part of the family after all. No way would his dad refer to her so bluntly. And it couldn't have been him... so who else?

"Well speak to him and you'll find out."

Him? Hiding his puzzlement he watched his father, a broad newspaper slung under his arm, leave the hallway completely before speaking himself. "H-hello?"

"Haruki, hi."

"Oh..." So it was him. "Why-"

"Please, let me just say what I need to say first," Keitaro's voice calmly interrupting him, "I'll say it quick."

A week it had been since that time. And a week of depression, guilt and tears. All having to be hid from everyone else. But if there was a chance to resolve then maybe... maybe now was the time. "I'm listening."

"Well I'm... I'm basically sorry, okay? About all that." he spoke sincerely, his whisper a sound that perhaps he had missed. "I... I'm concerned for you. Don't want you to go through any shit because of it. And I'm scared, I admit that. Sacred we're be found out. Scared I be found out. My mom wouldn't take it so easily then yours."

Easily? His mother and him had hardly exchanged words since then, only when it was necessary. But his father remained oblivious. He was hardly around because of work (the only day today he just took a break) so maybe that was why. But that was good, that's how he wanted it to remain. And maybe... maybe he kinda did get now Keitaro's outburst.

"I understand." He found himself now smiling genuinely. "I'm glad you called."

"Look, uh, would you like to come round? We can talk more about it here." Keitaro suggested, an almost plea lingering in his voice. "I've missed you..." A pause ensured.

"Haruki. I... you know I love you."

"L-love?"

Love.

"A-ha... no. Please, please, no..."

-a boy. Just a normal, wonderful boy that he loved. Loved.

"H-he can't have done. He loved me, he said he did!" Haruki was crying, weeping, confessing at Taro. He just stood there. Just stood, unsure what to do with himself. Yet the gun was still pointed at him. A gun shaking carelessly as if it was held by a child with a water pistol.

He didn't care though. Now he would never care. "And I loved him! H-he knew that..."

All this time he believed he had been killed. By one of his former classmates. But deep down he knew Keitaro could never be that easily taken. Not without a fight at least. But the truth-so he believed it was the truth now?-had been revealed to him. He couldn't see any reason why Taro would lie now, despite all this. Perhaps he could never know the answer why. Why the boy he cherished so much would choose to take a way out like that.

Unless...

"Have you... have you ever loved someone so much Taro that... that you would do almost anything for them?" Haruki suddenly asked casually, his tearful eyes gazing into Taro's own scared ones.

He didn't wait for an answer, continuing on relentlessly. "Well. Keitaro, Kyoko. Those were the only, the only, two people I would do as such for... but now there gone. They probably wanted me to live but... no. I-I'm sorry."

I'm so sorry. A tear dripped down his face. Breathing now felt so difficult. "I don't want to live here anymore."

He hardly registered that it had stopped raining. Only a distant wind picking up a single gunshot far from their location could be heard between the minutes of silence that had enveloped them. He didn't jump, not even a flinch. Let them play, he remembered thinking, I've already lost.

"I... I think I get it," Taro muttered, the actual meaning of his words sounding true to him. "But I can't stop now. I still wanna go home."

Smiling sadly Haruki nodded. "You do that then."

Grabbing the discarded knife off the ground without warning he was surprised Taro didn't shoot him. If he had been playing then he would have most likely won between them. One slash, one stab would all of it took. But of course he would have never done so.

The rubber handle was wet and clammy under his fingertips. His grasp was now firm though, his pupils forming the image of the long sharp blade. A part of him was frightened. A part of him hoped he do it right and quick, so he wouldn't feel any pain. He could have requested Taro to just pull that trigger right then. It wasn't his burden to do so though. He wanted to save him from the remorse.

"Ha-haruki... I'm sorry." Taro sobbed, just those two words somehow sounding so meaningful. The gun wasn't pointed at him anymore, now dangling uselessly by his side. He wanted to say one last thing to him back. Something to help him. Some reassurance.

"I'm sorry too."

The knife in both of his shaking but controlled hands now had the blade pointed directly towards his chest. "Y-you're a cool guy Taro. Thank you."

He didn't want him to look. Not like this. But before he could ask him to turn away Taro's saddened gaze was already facing in the opposite direction, his hunched back now only showing.

For some reason now he thought of the good people of class 2B. The ones who never deserved to die.

He thought of Kei Aihara as she ran back fearlessly into the bunker, being shot down before bringing the gun to her own head. He thought of Ryo Jo's cold body lying lifeless, a gaping bullet hole situated in the back of his neck. He thought of Fuuka Kuroki and Nobuko Kansui as they jumped from that cliff, their bodies entwined as they fell.

But maybe... maybe everyone actually didn't deserve to die. There had to be some good left in them, the people who turned to playing. After all: they had homes too.

"Remember to bring all belongings necessary for tomorrow please! And don't be late!"

Mr. Takiguchi's last sentence seemed to be swept away by the bustling chatter of Class 2B. Low boyish laughter and shrill girly gasps filled the entire classroom, even making it hard for himself to think straight. Chairs scrapping the floor simultaneously, numerous boys and girls stood up, adjusting their bags or chatting to one another as they headed towards the door.

Haruki took his time, stuffing a piece of paper filled with a list of reminders into his bag. He hadn't, he admit, thought much of the trip up to now. It was the first time though he recalled that there class had gone somewhere further from Odaiba then just to the local museum. So perhaps he could give it some thought at least.

But he had other issues to think about, other typical teenage worries to ponder. A history study trip was the least of his problems.

Looking casually around Haruki spotted the usual group of Taro, Keisuke, and the two class representatives Emi and Kenji standing near the doorway. They was obviously chatting amongst themselves, an occasional gust of laughter escaping from them. Grinning, giving each other a friendly push. They stood out as one of the most obvious group of friends.

Nice...

Then again, ironically, situated in the far corner of the classroom near the window was a group of girls. He could only spot the neutral faces of Mimiko and Kei but he knew who the whole clique was by now, bathing in the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the window pane. Slightly hyper but a friendly group of friends. They was good girls.

Tsukiko walked by him, holding a folder close to her chest. Kiku, her open palm resting on the risen part of her stomach, was giggling nearby at something Yuya had said. Kazuhiro was discussing something with Mr. Takiguchi by the front desk. Yuuji was helping Yuu pick up a pen he dropped off the floor.

Everyday things.

Everyday things he saw these people do. He never took them really into account, even though they have been classmates for about two years now. But he could tell there was some really good people. Good people he never got around to knowing.

Maybe this trip would helped with that. He hoped so.

"You ready?"

Turning towards the husky voice Haruki nodded at Keitaro, who had been talking with Atsuo nearby about something to do with sports. Typical.

"Yeah, let's get going."

Leaving the classroom together, as they entered the corridor Haruki felt a tap on his shoulder, "Hey, you weren't going to forget about me were you?"

"Oh how could I possibly ever!"

Sighing impatiently, Kyoko waved a goodbye oddly to Eizo who stood alone by the lockers. Weird.

As they left the school, neither of them knew that it would be the last time they experience an normal day like today. The same for spoke for the rest of Class 2B. Those everyday things now vanishing from their young lives in a blink of an eye. And they would never see it coming.

They've had lives to live. They just wasn't given enough time to do so.

Haruki couldn't but cry then. A silent sob escaping his mouth, lips trembling.

Simultaneously the knife came up.

"Live Taro." Wait for me. "Live."

With one swift pull Haruki brought the blade back towards him.

The dials of the old grandfather clock was approaching close to 12 pm. It's familiar chime would be the moment they would know if their son was still alive.

Atsuma Masato though had already predicted the outcome. Standing in the doorway, he looked over at his wife. Motionless, Ayumi continued to stare at the television screen. She sat straight up on the sofa, giving almost off her persona of perfection and maturity. But her once usually tidy hair was now an complete mess, wearing clothes that was now crumpled. An shadow almost of her former self.

"You need rest." he spoke, his dreary voice sounding somewhat mystical yet odd in the still surroundings. "You've haven't slept since..."

"No," Ayumi vaguely answered, not turning to look at home. "I don't need it."

"You do, you know you do."

"I said no." The fierceness in her tone was disturbing.

Sitting down next to her Atsuma attempted to take her hand into his own. As soon as he made contact she slapped it away harshly. "Just leave me alone!"

"I care about him too! I'm not the only parent here suffering Ayumi" Atsuma angrily responded, just hoping, praying, that she would just look in his eyes. She didn't.

He could feel tears prick them. Tears he hadn't experienced for a long time. Working so much, he had no need for such emotions. But now when they came he hated it. The weakness. What he would be perceived by others. So he went somewhere alone after hearing the news, kept driving to goodness knows where until he decided to return. Decided to confront the truth that his son was in the program, a place he was most likely to die.

He knew a part of Ayumi had died too. And maybe now, now it was the same for him.

"You don't know him like I know him," she suddenly spoke coldly, as if hoping her words would be daggers to him. "You've never had since you started working... you missed him growing up. You missed experiencing that with me. Being proud of our son. Now..."

"Stop. Please stop."

"...now you will never. You've missed your chance."

Crying frantically the chime of the clock struck twelve.

As much as he hoped it took several minutes for Haruki Masato to die. Blood poured from his now broken heart, seeping over the blade lodged in him, forever stained with red. His last thoughts wasn't of his family, his friends, Taro or Class 2B at all. He was too concentrated on fighting the darkness that had engulfed him, heading boldly towards the light.

If he had managed to reach it no-one would ever know.

Boy #19 Haruki Masato, dead.
6 to go.

  “Whoa. Forgot to take your chill pills?”

It was clearly a joke, but the timing was horrible. Kazuhiro hadn’t been in a good mood to begin with. He hadn’t gotten much sleep as he had stayed up late to study for a test due today. Eventually, he had fallen asleep on top of his desk. It was taking its toll on Kazuhiro and Taro was going to suffer from it.

“Yes, fun is good, Taro,” muttered Kazuhiro, “But that won’t get this thing done. And there’s plenty of time for that when you’re at home, right?”

“No, not really,” Taro began, his voice was starting to rise a little, “Got practice after school and—”

Kazuhiro hissed, “Shh. We’re in a library…”

“—fuck that! I’ve got stuff to do when I get home, too.”

“That’s not my problem,” Kazuhiro growled back.

He realized how bad that came off as Taro moved away and snorted.

“Sorry, shouldn’t have said that.”

“Well, you did.”

“And what I meant was that, well." He thought out loud, “if we manage to get this thing done by today, you won’t have to worry about this anymore.”

Taro clearly breathed a few times deeply through his nose. “Okay.” The sound of Taro clicking on his mouse was heard. “Just one more thing.”

Kazuhiro sighed and leaned towards Taro’s computer, who turned the screen towards him. “Accidents on the catwalk. And of course: someone with broken straps.”

Kazuhiro just shook his head. “That’s too bad for those models.”

“Look, that one couldn’t even cover her rack in time!” Taro grinned as he whispered this.

Kazuhiro looked away from the screen and then changed the subject. “Hey. You know that the librarian can see which websites you’re visiting, right?”

Taro shrugged. “So?”

“Hmm. That model’s skinny, by the way.”

“They all are. But look,” Taro replied, “they look like walking skeletons. Gross, huh?”

Kazuhiro nervously nodded. He turned his own pc screen towards Taro. “This website is really helpful.”

“Send me the url?” Taro said with a smirk on his face.

"Sure. But the teacher will notice it if it's just copied and pasted, you know?" 

“Hey, sorry—can I get through?” Atsuo’s voice cut in. Kazuhiro shoved his chair towards his desk to make room.

Atsuo quickly glanced at Taro’s screen and then blurted out: “What the hell?”

“Accidents on the catwalk. Pretty funny.”

“They’re so skinny,” Atsuo replied.

“Yeah, I know. Kazuhiro said that too!”

“And Kazuhiro is going to do something other then staring at funny articles.” 

“Yeah, hey, we’ve got to do something. Otherwise he’ll get mad,” Taro joked.

“Yeah, good luck,” Atsuo replied, nodding towards his right where Akimitchi was sat.

“Oh,” Taro’s voice lowered to a whisper, “good luck to you as well.”

Kazuhiro agreed – in silence.

++++++++

Miyako’s respond too the notebook was very her. She had poked fun of it as usual, but he hoped it did mean something to her. She had been so sad after Yuya’s death and talked on such a self-destructive way that it he had basically cheered her up for a change. Of course he couldn’t know for sure but he hoped that the letter had helped.

It had helped him to actually fall into a dreamless sleep for a change. A nice one he had planned to have (unlike two days ago and earlier in the tower). He didn’t particularly feel better mentally or physically but emotionally, the fact that he had been able to write most of the things that ate at him down had been such a relief. It had made him stop fretting until he dozed off. He would’ve slept with a smile on his face if the general situation hadn’t been far from anything to smile at.

It was nice to know, however, that she was still her somewhere deep inside. The joking had confirmed it. He didn’t want to go down the naïve path of “still a good person” but he genuinely believed it. A good person had genuinely tried to protect him. (Though he didn’t want to be protected). Only a good person would’ve put so much effort into trying to get him to stop pleasing two overbearing persons.

She cared. And that was enough for him to keep going for her. Maybe it was better if the two of them would die together as best friends but he’d rather have her live. Kazuhiro sniggered to himself – Miyako frowned at him and he shrugged - when he realized that it sounded kind of cool to die for someone. Like a big gesture, something that would enable him to die somewhat happily.

He’d go for it if someone faced him - as a final statement.

Then, then ninth report was up. It announced a few more danger zones and no new deaths.There was something else too; their teachers attempting to sympathize with their situation. Kazuhiro didn’t care whether it was sincere or not. They simply couldn’t know what they were going through.

It was stupid. Most people had already made up their minds, Kazuhiro assumed. He had. Miyako had.

He hated that sorry excuse for an instructor even more now. He hated this whole show. Toriumi was just sat somewhere warm indoors and could point fingers with those soldiers who were all sick enough to have volunteered to give guidance. And people all over the country could be arguing in their cozy living rooms about who would be next to go as if Kazuhiro and his classmates didn’t exist. As if it was just a staged TV show.

That sounded like all of them would just sit up again after the “winner” had been chosen. Even if that were the sickest joke in the world, he’d rather have it that way then this one.

++++++

“Hey, what’s your mark?” Miyako chirped as she approached him.

Kazuhiro hesitantly shifted away from the list for a reply. It wasn’t like nobody was going to see it anyway.

Miyako frowned and then traced the list with her index finger. “Oh! I’ve got 73%! I totally thought I’d blown it!” cheered Miyako in surprise.

Kazuhiro just smiled for her and then shrugged.

Miyako seemed to have reached his name as she exclaimed, “80%? Wow, you fail.”

Kazuhiro bit the bottom of his lip. “Let’s see, you’re going to mope all day because it’s ‘low’?” Miyako continued, giggling loudly as she pushed him. “Wait, are you really my friend?”

“That’s enough! Just—I don’t need you to tell me I’m stupid, okay?” snarled Kazuhiro, his eyes flaring up when he looked into her direction. Bad timing. Miyako was going overboard.

“Aww?” she mocked him, patting him on the back, “daddy’s going to be mad?”

Kazuhiro backed away from her, looking down as he put his hands in his pockets. “Just stop it. 80% is really low and my dad—”

He cut himself off to fight the upcoming words. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve got to get ready for track practice.”

“Hey, wait!”

Kazuhiro spun around and hissed, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Miyako stammered something as he walked away from her. He would feel bad for brushing her off like that later but he just couldn’t deal with it right now. This wasn’t worth to argue about. 

He didn’t think anyone fully understood how important it was for him not to disappoint the family.

++++++++

Miyako’s hip still looked as if someone had ripped it apart. He personally was growing tired of sitting ducks and he would rather go outside but it all depended on her state. He just made sure that she drank as much as possible and they cleaned her wound once more.

The fear of not knowing—

The two of you are practically dead anyway.

The chances were incredibly slim but they still had one. He had to make himself believe they had. How could he support it if he didn’t even believe in it?

You never believed in anything but in whatever people expected from you.

After the two had finally decided to leave—Miyako was still looking incredibly pale—the first thing Kazuhiro did was to grab Yuya’s bag and to take his water bottles. He didn’t bother about stealing if it was for a good cause – they needed it. Reluctantly, he took Yuya’s food, his flashlight (Kaz’ cellphone was useless) and Yuya’s sword as well. Miyako had insisted to keep her gun and she needed the Naginata to lean onto so Kazuhiro logically needed a new weapon. There was no way he’d walk around unarmed at this stage of the game.  

They left the tower. Miyako had a hard time not to tumble down the steps and Kazuhiro could feel his feet get stuck against his soles (splushhh) with every step that he took. It made a sound that resembled removing the Naginata out of Akimitchi’s body and it made him cringe violently.

The fact that he could barely read what was on the map, disorientated from everything that had happened, added to all of the trouble. The two just headed west with no sense of direction.

They could walk until they spotted a couple of cliffs and then could just head south as A1 was a danger zone – that’d make things easier.

Or maybe he’d end up in that danger zone. Humiliating way to go, but at least it was quick and it’d be a fitting ending for all of the mistakes that he’d made in the last three days.

The only way he could see himself pay for them was to just die.

++++++++

Of course he had called her after school and after a few hours of thinking. He had acted incredibly rude so he owed her an apology. He hadn’t expected her to be actually interested in what’d happened.

“Well, I don’t really know what happened,” Kazuhiro admitted in a disappointed voice. “It was so strange. Initially – when I entered the classroom – everything was fine. But then when I received the test paper, it was like…” Kazuhiro paused to snap his finger, “everything I’d learned was just gone.”

“Wow, that’s really weird,” muttered Miyako.

“I know!”

“Yeah. Sounds like you got a blackout or something.”

Kazuhiro frowned upon this as he clutched the phone a little tighter. “A blackout? Isn't that something that alcoholics get?” he said with disdain.

“I don’t know,” Miyako casually said. “It could be just a fear of failure as well.”

The both of them chuckled. She returned to her sarcastic self, “nah, not at all.” She gasped and reassured him, “But you still got 80% right. That’s still far above average.”

“I know,” Kazuhiro replied, swallowing a knot forming inside his throat, “but that’s not enough for those two.”

“Oh,” she replied and then sighed. “Hey, listen, how did you manage to still get 80% if you didn’t know any of the answers?”

“Oh, well, I just wrote some things down and about fifteen minutes before the end of the class a few things came back.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

+++++++++

Dying so either of his two friends left alive could live. How’d he be sure? He’d be dead. He just wished he’d die for something worth dying for. Two reasons worth dying for had been brushed away a long time ago.

And things wouldn’t be the same again if either of them returned. She had ended two lives. He had ended one. They had both seen some corpses and lost some people. Friends.

If being in the Program had been good for anything, it was for him to realize that even if he returned, he’d still feel like a failure.

Like—it felt as if it had happened years ago—with the blackouts.

Kazuhiro had trusted her with this embarrassing secret after she it found out by accident. Why her? Well, Akemi didn’t care for grades and would’ve shrugged things off, Kiku breezed her way through school without all of the stress that came with it – she’d just pity him and he didn’t want to be pitied. And Kenji…he didn’t want to admit to him that he was a failure.

Of course she hadn’t seemed supportive at first, but at least she acknowledged his problem.

+++++++++

Kazuhiro’s fingers rapidly flew across the keyboard. His glare was fixated on the screen showing the search results. He carefully scrolled down with an unsteady hand resting on top of his computer mouse until he found a website that seemed promising.

Atychiphobia – Fear of failure

And while he read it – let the words and the tremendous amount of information given sink in – his breath stuck inside the back of his throat. The hand on top of the mouse trembled as it tightly clutched the object.

He could relate to a dangerously large amount of the symptoms given.

++++++++

And then, report ten was up. The first name was Kana’s. A rebel, so he had stayed clear from her as much as possible.

After that, the unexpected happened. He had hoped and pleaded that it wouldn’t but—

“Boy #20: Kenji Matsuda—”

Kazuhiro didn’t even hear if anyone else was being announced. He didn’t catch the upcoming danger zones at all.

From the moment Kenji’s name had been mentioned, every single sound around him – from Miyako panting heavily, tired, and in pain, or the wind soughing through the leaves of some bushes nearby, to Toriumi’s cheers, or his own breath - all seemed to tune down.

He was gone. Kenji was gone.

The pencil slipped out of his hands and rolled away to somewhere unimportant. The map rustled and flapped into his lap.

Kazuhiro just stared in front of him. Then, the breaths came, short, jagged, high in the chest, and with squeaks. His chest tightened and then shot a stabbing, flaming pain through his body. It indicated a numbing panic attack. The dry air entered his mouth, tearing his throat apart and his head, heavy as led, sunk to his chest. He was being knocked out of reality.

God, he hoped it would occur to Miyako to write everything down. He had to pass the control – over him – to someone else now and it scared him.  

It wasn’t like he had expected to run into Kenji or anything. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been prepared for this to some extend.

Yet, it was funny how you’d never know for sure how you’d respond to it until it happened.

And for what seemed like an eternity, time stood still for Kazuhiro.





OOC: I think I had permission to post this - the flashbacks have all been approved ages ago - and if there's anything that you don't like about the scene, Lili, just tell me and I'll adjust the post a little. Mods told me I could do it as we might run out of time if everyone just waits. I hope that it isn't too tedious to read so many flashbacks in one post but I really wanted to wrap some things up. I also hope that I portrayed the NPC Atsuo well enough lmao. And yay, a short one!!

Also, even though it doesn't really matter much, Miyako now has both the Taurus and the Naginata and Kaz has the Wakazashi (sorry if I spelled it wrong).