[Fic] Expectations.

Thursday, 22 May 2025 00:22
usononikki: (Default)

It was just as he expected.

Kokichi crouched on the floor of the empty room, examining the floorboard in front of him. He reached out, carefully pushing it down and watching as it lowered into the floor, the other end raising up into the air like a see-saw. As he thought, the loose floorboard under Chabashira hadn't been a coincidence. It was safe to say the third room also had a loose floorboard just like this one, meaning that it was a premeditated setup. That just left the question of how exactly it was relevant to this case.

The floorboard lowered back into place as he retracted his hand, unassuming in its placement. Kokichi stood, eyeing the floorboard warily. You'd never be able to tell if you didn't already know it was there. It'd be so easy to just step right through it and gravity would do the rest—what a nasty way to fall! It was a good thing that Kokichi had already had a sneaking suspicion of its presence.

He stole an apprehensive glance to the door.

No one else was in this room. No one else—besides the culprit, of course—knew that the floorboard was here. More importantly, no one else knew that Kokichi knew the floorboard was here.

He looked down at the floorboard again, a familiar ache in his chest.

He was tired. Tired of trying, tired of dancing around, walking this tightrope to keep everyone safely distant and yet close enough to handle. Tired of how everything he tried backfired, because no one gives the benefit to a lair. And yes, maybe he was a liar, but what was so inherently terrible about that? Why should he have to explain himself? Why was it, whenever people realized you were a liar, it was always the good things, the vulnerable things, that were expected to be lies?

Simple, because it was easier to not care that way.

It was easier to assume he was fine and dandy. It gave them peace of mind to think he would never dare to be vulnerable or honest about his feelings. They couldn't prove it one way or the other, right? So they could go on thinking it was a lie and that they didn't really have to worry about him.

No, Kokichi enjoyed the killing game. He said so himself, and that was the truth. Wanting it to end? Being afraid that he might be the next to die? Missing the people they'd lost? Clearly those were the lies. Even the Ultimate Detective thought so. Who was Kokichi to argue? They'd believe whatever they wanted either way.

But he was still tired, and maybe—just maybe—he wanted something they couldn't just write off. Something that they'd see with their own eyes that was undeniably bad. An excuse for someone to show him just a little bit of concern, just once.

Kokichi tested the board with his shoe again, watching it dip into the floor as the other end rose into the air. No one would know. No one could know.

It would be such an easy, unfortunate accident.

Would it swing up and hit him in the face? There was nothing to stop it, so probably. Maybe it'd break his nose. Maybe it'd bleed. His foot would go down in the hole, would it hit the dirt below? Would he twist his ankle? Would he break his leg? Kokichi shuddered.

Well, it'd be hard to deny the severity of something like that.

What was he thinking? They had cases to investigate. Two cases. There was no way Monokuma would excuse someone with an injury, and even if he did, Kokichi would hardly rest easy putting his faith in everyone to figure it all out without him. It was ludicrous to even entertain the idea, and yet...

He thought about how everyone cried over the victims. The concern and sorrow and compassion at every body discovery. Kokichi didn't want to die, necessarily, but...

It would be nice, just once, for even a fraction of that compassion to be bestowed upon him.

So maybe, as he pondered the case, he started to pace back and forth across the room a little bit. And maybe, after a while, he was so lost in thought that he stopped paying attention to the floor. No one was there to see. No one would know. How was Kokichi to know the floorboard was there?

It was a completely unavoidable accident.

When his foot disappeared into the floor, his entire body pitched forward on reflex to try to catch himself. The board flew up, meeting the crown of his forehead with a loud CRACK! as a sharp pain exploded across his skull. He slumped to the ground, and then there was silence. For just a moment, Kokichi laid there on the floor, assessing the results.

His head was pounding, the sharp, concentrated pain of the initial blow now softened to a more generalized throb. His nose was sore from bumping it as he collapsed face-first, but didn't seem to be broken, and his leg fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—was completely fine.

Damn, that was it...? Kokichi's stomach twisted at the thought. He didn't want to think about what it said about him for that to be his overall reaction to being struck in the head with a floorboard.

Or the fact he deliberately struck himself in the first place.

Something warm and wet dribbled down his face from somewhere near the top of his head. Blearily, he reached up to dab at it, pulling his fingers away to find them stained with blood. Oh. Well, even if it wasn't too bad, that much blood would make it look worse than it was, right? And if he let it keep bleeding, then maybe he could get some extra dizziness out of the deal. That'd really sell it.

What was he thinking?

Kokichi groaned, pushing himself up to his knees and then stumbling to his feet. His vision seemed fine, and his thoughts were starting to precipitate back to something more comprehensible. Normally, that'd be good, right? It was just a bump and nothing would come of it. How lucky.

He continued to let the blood run freely down his face as he stepped out into the hall.

No one was there. He wondered if maybe he should go running and crying to the first person he could find. Then again, they might wave him off if he was walking around and acting fine and energetic as usual, right? Then all of this would have been for nothing. No, maybe he should wait for someone to come to him.

He sank to his knees again in the middle of the hallway, pondering how he should present himself. Just sitting on the floor like this? He would have had to at least make it out of the room okay to be here, so he would have no reason to be on the floor like this. Or maybe...

People can faint after getting a concussion, right? He could do that. Kokichi sprawled out face down on the floor again, letting the blood start to pool from the cut on his head. With this much blood, it might even scare whoever found him into thinking he was dead. He didn't want to scare anyone that badly, especially considering they already had two bodies on their hands, so he'll have to "wake up" before that happens.

God, his head hurt...

Suddenly a door opened into the hall, and Kokichi's breath froze in his lungs. Who was it? He couldn't tell from the footsteps alone. A beat of silence passed where he wondered if they'd even seen him, and for a moment he panicked as he realized he didn't even know how to go about "waking up." If he waited any longer, though, someone might freak out. With no choice but to rip the bandage off, he pushed himself up, defaulting to his tried and true mask.

"It's a lie!" he cried. The sudden shift from flat on the floor to upright made his head spin, and he dizzily processed that it was none other than Saihara and Harukawa before him. He vaguely wondered if maybe he had done some damage as he awkwardly pulled himself to his feet again. "Neeheehee... Did I surprise you? Were you gonna scream and cry in terror?"

"Wh-what are you doing?"

To say Kokichi was taken aback by the reaction would be an understatement. Sure, he'd expected bewilderment, but he'd hoped for something more along the lines of concern. Are you okay? What happened? He was covered in blood, after all.

Saihara's words of choice, however, held less concern and more... frustration? A tired sort of exasperation for Kokichi's antics. Maybe he thought it was just paint?

They were staring at him, waiting for an answer.

"Oh, sorry..." Maybe he should address it? "I'm just a little light-headed from the blood loss. Yeah, this is real blood."

"... Okay, so what are you doing?" The tired repetition of the question sent a pang through Kokichi's chest.

Wow. Tough crowd.

"I got curious about something, so I decided to search the empty room next door. Th-Then, suddenly..." What if he played it up a little? He did have a headache. Maybe it was worse than he thought? It wouldn't be too much harm to lean into that, right? "I-I...stepped through the floorboard."

"You stepped through a floorboard?" Saihara continued to eye him skeptically.

"Geez, that got me good..." A pit began to form in Kokichi's stomach as the two stared him down. He couldn't tell if the nausea building there was from the migraine or the scrutiny. "'Cause of this, I-I tripped and fell pretty hard..."

Please... Please just care. Even just a little bit, please.

"If you're going to lose consciousness, do it after you tell us everything."

"O-Oh..." They really didn't care at all, did they? "Sorry, my bad... I guess... there was no crosspiece supporting this floorboard, so I kinda... stepped through..."

Please all I want is for someone to care if I live or die.

"Ah-haha, what bad luck..."

And then the school bell rang, signaling the end of their investigation time. The moment was over.

He should have expected this result.


usononikki: (Default)

They were still common, even now, the nightmares.

Memories of darkness and pain and a crushing anxiety and loneliness the likes of which he had never thought possible. Of scary monsters lurking in every corner with hundreds of eyes that watched him. Scrutinized him. Of strangers who never knew him and never cared to know him staring him down as he backed into the maw of a mechanical beast, engulfing him with a deafening whir until—

Kokichi woke with a choked, startled gasp on air he shouldn't need.

The hospital room was dark, and eerily quiet with no heart monitor to fill the silence. His lungs were tight as he wheezed through the oxygen mask—a superficial remedy for a deeper, incurable ailment. His entire body ached, and his head was a soupy, discombobulated mess. He whined, blearily pawing at the uncomfortable mask, tears clinging to his eyes.

He sniffled, then coughed when his lungs refused to cooperate, then choked out a stifled sob as the tears spilled over. It was hard to think, it hurt too much, everything was so big and he just a tiny, frail thing. It was lonely. He curled up the best he could, clutching the purple jacket he refused to take off more tightly around him.

It was so cold, being dead.

"Koko...?"

So caught up in his upset, Kokichi hadn't even noticed the presence beside him. Toto-nii groggily reached out to wrap an arm around him, pulling him back against his chest. Kokichi let him, feeling the gentle pressure of the embrace. The tears kept coming, and he shakily tried to wipe them away.

Kokichi tried to ignore that the embrace wasn't as warm as it should be.

"Hey, what's wrong, bud...?" His voice was heavy with sleep. He yawned. "You have a bad dream?"

"U-uh-huh..." Kokichi nodded. Laying on his side like he was, the mask on his face pressed uncomfortably into the pillow. He whined and pawed at it, shoving it off. What'd it matter if it hurt to breathe? He shouldn't need to breathe in the first place. It was dumb. Everything was dumb. And hurt. And wasn't fair.

"Hey now, don't do that," Toto-nii gently chastised him. More awake now, he propped himself up on one elbow to reach around and fix the mask. "You need that for your lungs."

"Don' wan' it, Toto-nii!" Kokichi bawled. Stuck with his back to Toto-nii, he couldn't even hide away in his chest. He had no strength to turn himself around. Instead, he pushed Toto-nii's hand with the mask away and curled up more, burying his face in his hands. "Don' wan' it, don' wan' it, don' wan' it!"

He couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't take the hurt and the fog in his head and the cold and it was dark and scary and everyone kept trying to give him medicine to make it hurt less but it made the foggy head more so he didn't wanna and he could barely move and he couldn't breathe and he couldn't think and the itchy mask was just the last straw!

And then Toto-nii's arms were securely around his trembling shoulders again, and Kokichi could feel the faint puff of his breath in his hair.

"You wanna go stargazing?" he asked softly.

Kokichi wiped his tears again and nodded.

The hospital was nearly empty, practically for show, so sneaking out wasn't the most difficult thing in the world. Kokichi couldn't walk, but that was little issue for the great Luminary of the Stars, who made sure the small boy was securely bundled up in his jacket before hoisting him onto his back. Kokichi draped his arms over Toto-nii's shoulders, sleepily resting his cheek against his back as they snuck through the dim halls.

It was cold, just like Kokichi was, and lacked the gentle tempo of a heart, just like Kokichi did. But that was okay, because it was Toto-nii, and if Kokichi closed his eyes, the sway and pace of his steps felt almost like a heartbeat.

A kind lie.

The sky was clear and the grassy hill the hospital was on was soft. Toto-nii gently lowered Kokichi to the ground so he could sprawl out on his jacket, then sat down to join him a moment later. Together they looked at the stars and Toto-nii told Kokichi stories about how they were formed and the ways they gathered in sweeping galaxies. The stars here were different than the ones they knew, but a lot more real than the projected screen of that dark, scary place.

Toto-nii talked about how, when they got better enough to leave the hospital, he wanted to study the new stars here. Kokichi wanted to hear the stories Toto-nii would tell about them, too.

For better or for worse, they were out of there. They were here now, and if nothing else, they were together.

Kokichi could doze off again with Toto-nii's words reassuring him of that.

usononikki: (Default)

Kokichi didn't trust Momota as far as he could throw him. That hadn't changed in forty-seven loops. (Or maybe it had. Sometimes. Maybe?) Kokichi didn't have the time to examine his feelings on the matter. Whatever happened between them ended up getting wiped clean every time he ended up back in the locker. It never happened. This was the first time all over again. Kokichi made a point to forget his attachments each and every time. (Didn't he?) It made things easier. (He didn't, not really.)

No, it was Taro-kun who had gone cozying up to Momota this time, and behind Kokichi's back no less.

That's how he'd found himself dragged along for the ride when Momota bound up to them like an excited puppy one day, exclaiming to Taro-kun that "it" was ready. It? What it? Kokichi looked between the two of them blankly. Taro-kun didn't usually go off scheming with other people. He wasn't about to turn down the invitation to tag along, though.

And so now here he was, crammed into Momota's dorm closet, knees pulled up to his chest and making his already small frame even smaller so his two much taller companions would fit. Tin foil crinkled beneath him, running all up the walls and over the ceiling. Every surface of the closet was covered in it, like a room version of a conspirator's foil hat. Momota shut the door behind them, briefly plunging the three of them into darkness before clicking on a flashlight and joining them on the floor.

"So what's all this, then?" Kokichi finally asked.

"What do you mean?" Momota seemed genuinely surprised at Kokichi's question. "It's a Faraday cage!"

"I... took it upon myself to bring up the cameras you told me about to Momota," Taro-kun explained. "He said this could get us some privacy."

Kokichi's gaze flicked between the two of them. Something unpleasant twisted in his stomach. He had told Taro-kun about the cameras in confidence. Or had he? He didn't remember.

But that's a lie.

"Okay," Kokichi said carefully. Better to stay civil for now. "So then what's the plan from here?"

"Well, no one can listen in on us in here. It's isolated in my room, and the foil keeps signals from getting through."

"So we can talk freely."

"Isn't that foil stuff just whacko TV shit?" Kokichi asked skeptically. Nothing on TV could be taken at face value, he knew that well.

"No, actually!" Momota insisted. "See, the foil makes it more difficult for electromagnetic signals to—"

The conversation dragged on after that. Or maybe it jumped ahead jarringly quickly. Back and forth of cameras and masterminds and things Kokichi already knew, but didn't know. Not really. How could he? He didn't divulge the time loops to Momota this time (or any time), because he'd only know this boy for three days (eighteen days) (one thousand two hundred seventy-three days), after all. Time loops? There were no time loops. That was on a need-to-know basis, and it was the first Kokichi was hearing of it.

"I don't get why we can't just tell everybody about all this." Momota rubbed the back of his head with a disgruntled furrow in his brow. "Communication is gonna be key here, right? We want everyone on the same page."

"Kokki told you already," Taro-kun snapped. "If everyone knows, then the Mastermind will know, and that will just ruin things."

"But you guys trusted me, right?" Wrong. Taro-kun trusted you, for some reason.

Why'd Taro-kun have to drag Momota into this, anyway? He was such a blabbermouth and believed in everyone unconditionally and it frankly made Kokichi nauseous. How could Taro-kun be so sure that Momota wouldn't tell anyone? Akamatsu? Saihara?

A shiver skittered up Kokichi's spine.

He was gonna go insane in this dark, cramped space. He swore he could hear the press in the background. (Press? What press?) He dug the flick blade he started nabbing from the warehouse out of his pocket, mindlessly flipping it open and shut just for something to do.

Fwip, click. Fwip, click. God, he was always so on-edge. Why was that?

"It'd be kind of funny if we had the same thing," Momota laughed, and Kokichi hazily realized he had no idea what he was talking about. He must have dropped part of the conversation along the way. Did he?

Fwip, click. Fwip, click.

No, he remembered exactly what they were talking about, or at least he could guess. He barked a bitter laugh at Momota's naiveté. Taro-kun gave a wary chuckle as he glanced apprehensively at Kokichi.

"No, Momota-kun," he muttered, "I can guarantee we don't."

So he guessed right. Of course he did, because he knew exactly what was going on.

"Oh, yeah? Well let's see!" Bless his heart. Fwip, click.

They didn't have the same thing, suffice to say. They bantered so well, though. Kokichi didn't understand it. Or maybe he did. Taro-kun was just infectious like that, when he finally let loose and felt comfortable around someone. Was he really that comfortable around Momota?

Would Momota steal Taro-kun away from him?

Fwip, click. Fwip, click.

There was a sudden lull in the conversation as Taro-kun and Momota turned to regard him. Did he miss something again?

"Kokki, you okay?" Stupid question. Fwip, click.

"Peachy." Fwip, click. A lie of a lie if only in how vitriolic the lie's lie was.

"Woah, what's your deal all of a sudden, man?"

Fwip, click. Fwip,click. Why was it so hard to think? Something was weird. Kokichi's head was starting to feel like static. He wasn't concussed yet this run (he'd never had a concussion before in his life), so what was it? Kokichi could barely follow the conversation anymore. No, he had an acute awareness of every word either of them said. It was frustrating.

Fwip, click. Fwip, click.

"Momota," Taro-kun prompted suddenly, "do you take medication for your ADHD?"

Kokichi and Momota both looked at him quizzically.

"Yeah? Why?"

"Well, you haven't been since you've been here, right?" Wait.

"Uh, no, I guess I haven't." No.

"Have you felt any different?" No no no no no.

Horror dawned on Momota's face as he realized no, as a matter of fact, he hadn't felt any different.

Drugs. Stimulants. That was it. They were being drugged. Momota already took stimulants to function, so he hadn't noticed. Taro-kun already took stimulants to entertain himself, so the meager dose wasn't enough to affect him much. Kokichi, on the other hand...

How? The food? The air?

Only one person came to Kokichi's mind with a potential expertise in chemical substances like that. Someone with a cabinet full of them hidden away in his yet unrevealed Ultimate Lab. The lab Kokichi knew nothing about, of course.

Kokichi was suddenly very aware of how goopy his thoughts had become since they'd holed up in this dumb closet. The longer they'd been there, the hard it had become to follow along with the conversation. Even now, he could see Taro-kun and Momota bickering, but the words weren't penetrating his consciousness. He was so, so sleepy, which was a marked difference from his usual high-strung thoughts. That made no sense.

Taro-kun had said stimulants, hadn't he?

Suddenly he was being shaken awake again. He looked up blearily at Taro-kun's worried face—that expression never suited him. Momota was just behind him, ripping the closet door open. Why? They weren't done talking yet, were they?

When Kokichi came to again hours later, Taro-kun and Momota would explain how the Mastermind must have seen them hide away in the closet and figured out their Faraday cage strategy. They must have smoked them out, pumping in some kind of cocktail of drugs through the vents. The other two hadn't noticed the change at first, being much larger and needing a heavier dose to feel any effects, but Kokichi? For Kokichi, so small and lithe, it had been almost instant lights-out.

A tiny canary in the coal mine.

usononikki: (Default)

When Kokichi stepped into the elevator at the Shrine of Judgement, he tucked his arms behind his head like he always did, cradling his throbbing skull. He'd cleaned up the blood, stopped the active bleeding, and he was fortunate enough that his bangs hid the mark the board had left behind. To anyone else, he looked fine, and only Saihara and Harukawa had seen him on his way out—he vaguely remembered finding himself on the floor when they stumbled across him.

His forehead was pounding as the elevator started its descent. It was a miracle he didn't stumble. Or did he? He looked around. No one was looking at him, so he must not have. His vision kept swimming—that probably wasn't good.

He couldn't exactly ask Monokuma to be excused from the trial, though, could he? That was stupid.

Were they at the bottom yet? This trip was taking longer than Kokichi remembered.

Or maybe not because they were already spilling out onto the trial grounds.

God, Kokichi had no idea what was going on. The lights on the grounds were blinding, bright neons and varying shades of blue from the podiums and the stained glass windows. He resisted the urge to shut his eyes, rub his head, anything to alleviate the pain as he stepped on his podium. Why was there a deceased photo stand on his—

Wait, no, that wasn't his podium, was it?

Or he must have found his way to it at some point because the trial was suddenly starting. Monokuma blathering on the same rules they've heard three times now. Kokichi's mind was spinning, trying to organize his thoughts. The discussion started without him and he struggled to keep up.

If his head throbbed, no it didn't.

If he clung to his podium with a white-knuckle grip as it shifted and spun, no he didn't.

He plastered on a smile and dropped whatever comment made sense to push the discussion forward.

Who's death were they talking about again? Yonaga's? The lock, right. Well, only student council members could get in.

Wait, no that wasn't right, was it?

Everyone was staring at him all of a sudden. The lock. The lock, what was it about the lock?

Oh, fuck, he'd picked that in front of everything, hadn't he? Son of a—

No, maybe he could work with this. There had to be something. He was thinking about something during the investigation, before the whole seance thing happened. There was something wonky about the door. Kokichi couldn't remember what it was. He was in no condition to come up with a witty lie. What was something obviously false that Saihara could sink his teeth into for a second?

People were talking to him. He had to say something.

It was the first lie that popped into his head, and what a goddamn mess of a lie it was.

No it wasn't. He could make it work, he always did.

His podium lurched to the center as he was put under everyone's scrutiny. His vision nearly blacked out for a second as the whole room spun. He was gonna throw up. Come on, hold it. Once Saihara finds whatever it is Kokichi knew had to be there, he could rest his eyes for a bit.

How did he lock the door again? What a dumb question—

The back door. It was the back door, right. He remembered now. Actually, if he'd forgotten, no he hadn't.

It was over before Kokichi could even really comprehend where the discussion was going, but that was fine with him. Of course he wasn't banking on Saihara to do all the work. If that's what he'd been doing, no it wasn't. He'd never admit that was what he was baiting for, he was doing what he always did—boggle everyone's mind with his stupid games. Luring the culprit out with a blatantly stupid lie.

If his stomach was churning from vertigo and delirium, no it wasn't.

If his head was throbbing through the base of his skull, no it wasn't.

They were moving on, they were moving on without him again. What were they talking about now?

He just wanted this trial to be over. Would it kill them all to just be a little quieter? Just... just a little quieter. Turn off the lights. Iruma shut up, just shut the fuck up it doesn't matter who locked the back door, they had to get in first. And now Yumeno was yelling, lovely.

He couldn't let them know. It'd paint a target on his back.

He was fine. Everything was normal.

Focus on Yumeno instead. She's been putting herself through the wringer this go-round.

Take the spotlight off yourself.

And it worked. So they're talking about Chabashira now. Kokichi nodded along, making some kind of remark here and there just to appear engaged. Some dumb idea that it had been Yonaga's ghost. Suicide? No, that was dumb. Let's act like it's not though because Yumeno's being weird again.

Pure...? Him...?

Pure...

Him? Pure...?

Next question. The floorboard was used as a see-saw. Kokichi knew that painfully, painfully well.

Next question. Ugh, they're accusing Yumeno again? She's not even arguing this time!?

It's been hours at this point. When will it be over? He was going to black out again at this rate. No he wasn't. It was so, so bright. He took the opportunity in a lull to rest his eyes, ease the splitting ache behind them, just for a moment...

He nearly collapsed over the railing of the podium when he zonked out, and the vertigo over falling nearly made him puke.

Saihara was talking to him. What? The floorboards again?

Oh.

Kokichi tried not to go into too much detail. It's not like the severity of his injury was relevant to the case.

No one batted an eye. If his heart clenched a little at the simple dismissal, no it didn't.

Next question. Who got to the floorboards? If the pain from Kiibo flashing his stupid high beams for the gajillionth time that trial nearly made Kokichi break down in tears, no it didn't. Saihara and Shinguuji were arguing. Everything was spinning, everything was so big, he just wanted to go to bed and cry and sleep forever, and finally he could. Finally, it was over.

What a pitiful lie for him to tell himself, with the double-murder rule looming over him.

God, and they hadn't even gotten to the debate scrum yet. The podiums lifting into the air and spinning around like they did, as if he wasn't nauseous and disoriented enough already.

Kokichi was dreading the debate scrum.

Maybe, though, if everyone stayed on the same page, they wouldn't have to have one at all. That's all he could hope for. He resisted the urge to cradle his throbbing head as the topic shifted back to Yonaga's murder...

Wait.

Why were so many people insisting that they vote now?

usononikki: (Default)

This couldn't be happening.

He'd seen the tapes. The archived historic documentation. Explain in detail what was happening. How the killing game worked. Kokichi knew from beginning to end what they were in for the moment the body discovery announcement had played. From the moment he'd come face to face with the first casualty of this nightmare scenario.

History repeating itself in the form of Ran crumpled in a pool of his own blood and the crushing dread that it had been one of his closest friends who had done it.

And yet as the collar descended from the ceiling to whisk Kei away—Kei, Kokichi still couldn't comprehend—it only now struck him how truly screwed they all were.

That's right. The executions of the Blackened were publicized.

The piano rose from the ground in the execution chamber with a rumble, and despite her acceptance, Kei's confused scream reverberated out as she was dumped unceremoniously on the comically large keys. Kokichi looked apprehensively around at the others, gauging their reactions. Of course they all didn't remember a thing. This would all be completely unexpected to them.

They were meant to watch.

Watch as the shining beacon of the group was made an example of.

A hush fell over the chamber as Monokuma lifted his arms in a mocking pantomime of a conductor. The Monokubz flanked the piano with ropes and pulleys. The rope on the collar was pulled taught, yanking Kei to her feet and leaving her to balance precariously on her tip-toes on the keys.

Kei, the cheer and music of their group.

Monokuma waved his arms, and the recital began. Kokichi and the others could do nothing but watch.

Kei, the heart and soul.

Watch as she was lifted and dragged by her neck across the keys, choking and grasping at the collar to alleviate the pressure any way she could.

Kei, who was first to check in on you after a mission.

Watch as she was plunked down on key after key, the briefest respite as she was allowed a gasp or cough of air.

Kei, who'd laid with Ran on the floor, talking out his frustrations after he'd destroyed the kitchen in a fit of rage.

Watch as her feet scrabbled at the keys for purchase as she was lifted again and again, pressing them at random in a garish, off-key mash of notes.

Kei, who'd shined through to everyone even after forgetting, bringing them all together again.

Watch in abject horror as the minutes dragged on into hours, as her gasps turned into wheezes, her face turning red and then blue and the purple, each note only giving her just enough air to barely take her to the next, as it slowly dawned on them all that piano recitals typically last for up to two hours.

Kei... Who was no longer Kei but Akamatsu.

A stranger wearing Kokichi's dear friend's face.

Just like a real recital, there was a cruel fifteen-minute intermission. Nobody could actually leave, the execution chamber eerily quiet save for the choked wheezes of Akamatsu tip-toeing helplessly on the keys, unable to speak without wasting precious air, only able to look down at them with pleading eyes. Kokichi averted his gaze. No one said a word, dumbstruck and horrified at the cruelty. What could they have possibly said in this situation?

Some had dispersed throughout the chamber—Yumeno, Chabashira, Shirogane, Kiibo, Hoshi—huddled in the corner, not wanting to humiliate Akamatsu further by watching the pathetic display.

And some—Saihara, Harukawa, Shinguuji, Toujou, Momota—maybe because it was the only thing they could do, maybe because it felt cruel to let her die alone, with no one acknowledging the horror, forced themselves to keep watching.

And then it began all over again, faster.

Kokichi continued to watch with them. For Kei's sake. For Akamatsu's sake.

Akamatsu, who didn't listen to a word Kokichi had said.

Continued to watch as her eyes rolled back in her head, the light finally starting to leave them as her raw, bloody fingers slipped from the collar.

Akamatsu, who just assumed she'd known best because she had everyone's best interests at heart.

Continued to watch as they continued to play for another forty minutes after her body went still, swinging her lifeless corpse across the keys.

Akamatsu, who took the stupid risk to take down the Mastermind herself. To kill, and now Ran was dead, and now she was, too.

Continued to watch as by the end, as if that hadn't been enough, the lid slowly swung closed, snapping down on her like the jaw of a monster, reducing her body to an unrecognizable, dehumanized splatter of blood and gore sent spraying all over the remaining members.

Akamatsu, the Blackened, no more.

But still, at least to Kokichi, undeniably Kei.

Stubborn, overoptimistic Kei, whom Kokichi had failed to protect from herself.

How could he, their true leader, the only one who knew who they all were, have been so useless...?

usononikki: (Default)

"Ouma-kun..."

Amami approached him suddenly as he was curled up on the couch with a book and a stuffed dog. There was an urgency in his voice, and concern in his expression. Kokichi blinked up at him in confusion. Was something the matter? He was just about to voice this question when Amami reached down without a word to tug down his loose checkered scarf.

The scarf that was supposed to be hiding the bandages that ran halfway up his neck.

"I thought I saw something poking out," Amami huffed, pulling away as Kokichi hastily yanked the fabric back up again. "What is that? When did you get hurt?"

"It's nothing, really." Kokichi fiddled with the hem of his scarf, worrying the already fraying edges. "It's old."

He hadn't been living here very long. Barely a week, and Kokichi had been so careful to not let Amami see him uncovered. Be it his scarf and hoodie, or his gakuran, or whatever, he made sure his arms, legs, and neck were properly hidden. He must have gotten careless, and the scarf had slouched just enough for him to catch a glimpse.

"Old?" Amami crossed his arms incredulously. "From what? Something old wouldn't need dressing that heavy, would it?"

The wound on the juncture between Kokichi's neck and his shoulder throbbed, as if to prove Amami's point.

The room was dark. It always was, save the light of the TV casting distorted shadows across the room. At least he'd had the decency to mute it this time. It was much easier for Kokichi to ignore that way.

Not that he'd ever admit that he was ignoring it. That would probably just upset him.

Kokichi couldn't deny the sick thrill he himself got when the knives came out. It wasn't exactly arousal, no. He couldn't quite place what it was. Some visceral feeling that tightened around his lungs and made him want to throw up, but somehow still managed to be satisfying in how real it was.

It wasn't as if he hadn't known going in what Saihara had wanted to try today. He said he wanted to hear Kokichi's noises, and that would be fine. He stretched out on the bed, all hooded gazes masking the twisting of disdain and dread in his gut in the face of the look of manic obsession that was mirrored back at him.

Kokichi had never felt anything so real in his life. He loved it. He hated it. He didn't really know what to feel about it.

He'd told Saihara that he wanted this, but truth be told he really wasn't sure if he did. He wanted to not want it. That was a big part of it. He didn't want it, but he did it anyway, and that was the price he paid.

The price to feel the whatever it was that made him fall apart into a mess of terrified tears and mangled cries as some creep had his way with him.

And then, when it was all over, Kokichi was still breathing, so that meant it was fine, right?

"We should have a doctor check it over if it still needs to be bandaged up like even now." Amami's words and the phone already in his hand snapped Kokichi back to the present like a rubber band.

"N-no! No doctors!" He sprung to his feet in a panic. The bandages pulled at the cuts and the bites, but Kokichi had gotten good at moving like the scabs weren't ripping open under the wrappings. Doctors meant explaining himself, meant calling his parents, meant this waking dream of living with beautiful Amami in his beautiful apartment coming to an end and finally facing the consequences for all of his actions. "See, I'm fine! Really. If you only just noticed, that means it must not be that bad, right?"

Amami didn't look convinced.

"If it really hurt that much," Kokichi insisted, "or was infected or anything like that, I would have said something, wouldn't I?"

"How do I know you would, Ouma-kun?" Amami pressed. "You've hid them from me for this long. Why didn't you tell me from the start?"

"I..." Kokichi fiddled with his scarf again, his gaze turning shamefully to the floor. He stooped down to pick up the stuffed dog from where it'd fallen on the floor, then looked back up at Amami with the most pitiful expression he could manage. "I just didn't want to worry you... I was... I was scared that you..."

His stomach twisted in knots. Scared that he what? Would find the scars shameful? Would find Kokichi shameful if he explained what had happened? What would Amami think if he knew?

He didn't want Amami not to love him anymore.

"Please, Ranr—" He averted his gaze. "Ran-chan..."

Amami blinked in surprise, and then his expression softened. He sighed, slipping his phone back in his pocket. "Will you at least let me see them? I can help you take care of them if nothing else."

"It's okay. I don't want to trouble you more than I already have."

Amami didn't seem entirely pleased with the answer, but let it be after that, excusing himself to go start making dinner for the two of them. Kokichi slumped back onto the couch with a relieved sigh, pulling his scarf more securely around his neck. It was sweet that Amami seemed to care so much, it really was.

But this was his mistake. He could handle it. He was handling it. It would be fine. Sure, the wounds didn't seem to want to stay closed, and Kokichi had read horror stories about human bites online, but he was keeping them clean.

His neck throbbed again.

Honest.

usononikki: (Default)

It wasn't apparent. There was no change. Kokichi had at least expected everything to stop eventually when he died. But no, even as his vision went dark and he lost track of his body in space, the pain was excruciating. Bones cracking, his skull splitting open like a bug underfoot, his veins on fire and his brain melting from poison, the only thoughts remaining within it being I'm sorry, it hurts, I'm sorry, make it stop, I'm sorry, please—

There was a clatter and a thud in the distance. Or something. It was hard to tell from the ringing in his ears. Was there supposed to be sound after death?

"Hey! Are you alright?"

His head was splitting, his vision wasn't registering what it was seeing. It was dark, wasn't it? No, that's a lie. There was something. He could see, but his brain couldn't process it. The visual information just wasn't computing. He threw his arms over his face to block it out and return to the less overwhelming darkness.

He still had arms?

"What is the matter? Can you speak?" Now that he was a little more aware of himself, Kokichi recognized the voice. Kiibo? Where was Momota? Kiibo wasn't dead.

Where was he?

He coughed out a wheeze with lungs that were supposed to be mush.

Everything hurt.

Was this his punishment? The momentary pain of death wasn't enough? He would have to bare it for eternity?

"Hello?" Oh for fuck's sake.

Kokichi let his leaden arms fall from his face, squinting as his surroundings finally came into focus. An overgrown classroom. Kiibo standing over him with a... frankly ridiculous look of concern on his face. A look Kokichi would expect him to give anyone else... not him.

What was going on?

"What are we doing here?" he croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper. He could barely breathe. He swore the poison was still there, eating away at him from the inside. He could barely feel his limbs, which for all intents and purposes should not be there. His head was pounding hard enough that it left spots in his vision.

"Ah, so you can speak!" Kiibo brightened at the question, only to wither again when he gave his answer. "I'm sorry to say, I do not know. I woke up in the locker beside yours. I was inspecting the room when you suddenly collapsed out of it onto the floor!"

They were in the lockers again? What kind of sense did that make? Kokichi's stomach churned, and he rolled over to clutch it with a groan as the anxiety aggravated the sharp pain that was already there. Was he still poisoned? Was he still on the press? Was his life flashing before his eyes? Is that what this was? Were life flashes supposed to deviate like this?

"Are you okay?"

Or was this purgatory? Hell? Was he being punished or something? After everything he'd done, he wouldn't be surprised.

The regret ached like poison of its own in his veins.

He was eventually able to get up with Kiibo's help, and from there things only continued on as one would expect. The pieces fell into place that he was living the same thing over, or having some sort of psychotic mid-death dream, or... something. Akamatsu was back, then Hoshi, then... him. Taro-kun. And Kokichi would have bound into his arms if it hadn't been for how much his body ached.

If it hadn't been for that cordial gaze devoid of any recognition Taro-kun gave him.

Well, even if it was just a death-dream, the least Kokichi could do was save them this time, for his own peace of mind. To soothe at least one of the poisons that plagued him. That's what he told himself. He would give himself this.

Even as one loop turned into two turned into twenty. Even as that ache and poison continued to plague him.

It was his first time, every time, a new lease.

He would just get used to the pain. Keep going. Find the happy ending. It was the least he could do, righting wrongs in his own little purgatory.

His own final lie to himself before laying down and letting go.

usononikki: (Kuro Neutral)

It was nearly 9 pm by the time Kokichi stumbled through the door to his apartment. What a grueling day—nonstop meetings, public appearances, a late night at the office going through proposals, the usual. He didn't bother turning on the light as he kicked off his shoes and shuffled his way to the kitchen, pulling off his stuffy tie and tossing it in the vague direction of the couch. Politics were such a headache. If Kokichi had the choice, he would have been content to stick with his one nonprofit, and yet the government had gotten in the way of his vision time and time again.

At least things might go a little more smoothly if he managed to get his hands on that seat on the Diet. That would make it all worth it.

The light of the refrigerator blared in Kokichi's face as he sought out something to eat. He stared at the typical assortment of quick and prepackaged options he kept stocked. Nothing particularly thrilling. He was too tired to wait for delivery, too. He sighed, settling on some leftover rice and a pack of natto. Better than nothing, just something to put in his stomach.

Waiting on the rice in the microwave, he fumbled with the natto package more than one might expect. The styrofoam lid didn't seem to want to come off, so he picked at it a little harder and—

The whole container split open, spilling the contents in a sticky wad onto the floor.

Kokichi stared at the mess, his mind almost drawing a blank. What was he doing again?

The microwave beeped. Kokichi blinked.

Ah, right. It was dark. Dinner.

Well, he supposed just rice was fine. Clearly he couldn't be trusted opening packages right now. Kokichi scooped up the mess with a paper towel, dumping it in the trash before retrieving the rice. He collapsed into the stool at the counter, he tried to bring himself of levity by swinging his feet, but stopped just as quickly. He wasn't really in the mood. The silence in his barely-lit apartment was swallowing him. He didn't feel like turning on a show or game like he usually did. The chopsticks felt awkward in his hand. Everything was too big. Frustrating as it was, he stubbornly refused to opt for a spoon.

What was he, a child?

He needed to stop entertaining this.

He had responsibilities.

Work to do.

Changes to make.

He was the Ultimate Supreme Leader, wasn't he?

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He dug it out, finding a text from one of his nonprofit subordinates—his friends—checking in that he got home safely. Did he forget to message her like usual? That was happening more often, wasn't it?

He was probably just tired from the election.

He sent a quick text back, something casual and cheery. It was so easy, almost automatic, like he'd just hit pause on whatever soul-sucking nonsense was going on in his chest. It was surreal how easy it was to forget it was even there when other people came up. And then the screen went dark again, and with it came all the bigness of the world, bearing back down like it was just waiting for him to be alone again.

Kokichi stared at the phone in his hand, and in the quiet, his old classmates came to mind. Ultimate Talent was such a heavy pressure, it was hard to really explain to anyone who wasn't Talented. Some part of him considered opening up his contacts. A part of him he didn't really understand. Everyone was busy with their own Talents.

Who knew where in the world Amami was, or if it was a good time to talk.

Saihara was probably exhausted himself with all the cases he was swamped with.

Momota was on the ISS, for god's sake.

Besides, what could they do that wouldn't just hit that pause button all over again? He could chat them up, catch up, have a little fun with that effortless, reflexive mask just like he did with anyone else. It felt good in the moment, but after? Nothing ever changed, did it? What was he supposed to do? Talk about his problems?

Kokichi wasn't sure he could. Whenever he talked to anyone, it was like they just disappeared from his mind. He couldn't fathom being bothered, and it made appearing as put-together as he was easy. It made it so, so easy. He didn't know how to stop. And then, when it was over, it all came right back, and suddenly whatever happy interaction he had just had disappeared from his mind instead. He couldn't fathom not being bothered.

The world was so big when he was alone.

Why? Things were going well. Why did he have to feel this way?

He abandoned his chopsticks, the rice cooled enough to scoop into his hands. Clumsily, he fashioned it into an obnoxiously large onigiri. He vaguely remembered showing the younger kids how to do this when they got frustrated with their own chopsticks. Leftover rice wasn't the best medium for it, though, the grains having lost their stick in the fridge. When he tried to eat it, it just fell apart into a crumbly mess.

But wasn't that just how the world felt right now?

The rest of dinner was a mess, but at this point, who cared? He'll just clean it up tomorrow, when he was feeling more himself again. He wanted his scarf. He wanted to go to bed. He just left the bowl and crumbs on the counter where they were for tomorrow him. For responsible him.

If the world was gonna feel this big, then he could stand to be a little irresponsible in the comfort of his own home, right?

He still had to take care of himself, but that was fine. He was a big boy.

He didn't fumble with the buttons of his shirt.

He didn't forget half the steps to his bath.

He didn't get tangled up in his pajamas.

He didn't accidentally squirt a gob of toothpaste onto the counter.

He didn't curl up under the blanket, the top of his head barely poking out, clinging to his checkered scarf like a security blanket and chewing on the pad of his thumb.

He was a big boy. He would have to be again tomorrow, whether he liked it or not.

And he would be.

usononikki: (Default)

"Because... you've forgotten about me."

None of them remembered. Not Kai, not Shu, not even Kii.

"Huh? Forgotten!?" Not Kei, either.

Kokichi stood there outside his dorm room door, a stranger standing in front of him wearing his dear friend's face.

"I can't bear it anymore! I haven't forgotten! I've been thinking about you this whole time!"

How did they do it? Why was he the only one who remembered? Just to twist the knife?

"Are you lying again?"

Kokichi's chest tightened, and he choked down the urge to agree.

Breathe in... Breathe out...

"No," he muscled out around the lie lodged in his throat. "I wish I was...but even I'm not that good at lying."

Kei—Akamatsu—did not look convinced. Kokichi stuttered out an awkward laugh.

"Ah-haha... I may be an evil supreme leader, but even my lies have standards."

She stared at him for a moment, gauging the validity of his words. He'd never seen such a careful, suspicious look on Kei's face before. Not directed at him, at least. Darkness and static started to tease at the corners of his vision the longer Akamatsu scrutinized him.

Stop it, stop looking at me like that with her face.

Kokichi was going to throw up.

"O-Okay," she finally conceded, "then if you're not lying, can you help me jog my memory so I can remember? Like, where we met or what was going on when we met... Stuff like that."

"Hmmm, let's see." Don't lie. Don't lie. "We met..."

It's Kei. He trusted her.

"... under hostile circumstances similar to this." A piano performance in a rundown bar three years ago. A young girl trying to bring the drunken adults some levity in the depths of No Man's Land.

Akamatsu blinked in surprise. "Huh?"

"You sheltered me while I was on the run from my enemies." Kokichi ducking into the crowd to wait out a tail. A convenient hiding place in plain sight.

Breathe in... Breathe out...

"With your piano skills, you managed to raise enough money to fund my escape..." Years of performances around the world, years of spreading hope through the arts and collecting donations to fund their projects, years of a growing group with an aspiration to save the world.

There was no recollection on Akamatsu's face. She didn't understand at all. Couldn't understand. The vague description—Kokichi's way of waltzing around the details in a well-spun lie—was entirely lost on her. Of course it was, she was just a stranger now. A stranger with no experience in deciphering Kokichi's codes, and as such was blocked off from the sensitive information hidden within. Kokichi felt her disbelieving eyes burning into him, eyes that could no longer be trusted.

The eyes of the Foundation watching carefully for him to spill all their secrets and their plans.

Ah, it made sense now.

This wasn't Kei anymore. She was little more than a vessel through which they could probe him. A stranger. An imposter. They all were. It's not like it mattered anymore. Those plans had gone up in smoke the moment of their capture.

The moment Kokichi had gotten too comfortable risking the lives of his friends.

"But then I betrayed you! I sold you out to my enemies and you were swiftly killed!" His stomach churned. He couldn't bear the sight as Akamatsu's expression slowly morphed from one of confusion to one of frustration.

His world was ending.

"That was all a lie!"

No, it had already ended.

"Yup, it sure was! We met each other here!" He retracted it all, the lie waiting in his throat rolling easily off his tongue. "I can't believe you fell for that, Akamatsu-chan. You're such a sucker."

When she finally left, Kokichi shut the door and slumped against it.

Breathe in... Breathe out...

Breathe in... Breathe out...

How did you breathe again? Kokichi couldn't fathom it. His chest was moving, but the oxygen didn't seem to make it to his head. He couldn't feel his body as it slid down to the floor. His scalp stung. When had his hands tangled in his hair? The static chased the thought away. What did it matter? What was he supposed to do, really? All he could feel was the weight of everyone he ever loved, gone, replaced with complete strangers.

Breathe in... Breathe... in...? Breathe...!

In the back of his mind, familiar gazes all tore into him with distrust.

usononikki: (Default)

This first time it happened really was unplanned. He swore it to himself up and down.

Kokichi had stared in disbelief at the blood spattered across the bookcase, pooling on the floor beneath a head of green hair. They'd eaten lunch together. He'd chased Kokichi around his room after he'd swiped the notepad from his back pocket during their final planning session. Kokichi still had that notepad squirreled away in his bathroom.

That was before Kokichi knew what he knew now.

Or maybe it wasn't.

He'd changed the outcome the second time. (Or was it the third?) Every time, Kokichi changed it. Kept his Taro-kun safe. Every time, he'd cling to Taro-kun, feel the weight of his body, the rise and fall of his chest as the seconds counted down to Nighttime the same as they always had.

Kokichi woke up the next morning in a cold bed. Had he made it to bed this time? That was rare. (It wasn't that rare, was it?) He still wasn't used to the routine of the morning announcements. He staggered groggily to the mirror to fix up his clothes and make himself presentable. Out of the corner of his eye, two portraits had been moved to the corner of the whiteboard.

Out the door, it was a quick jaunt down the stairs until he halted in front of his door. He was taking his sweet time, wasn't he? That was fine. Kokichi could wait.

He waited.

And waited and waited and waited.

He checked a nonexistent watch on his wrist. Tapped his shoe impatiently. Somewhere in the background, the morning announcement played.

He kept waiting. What was he waiting for again? 

"Ouma-kun?"

"Hm?" Maybe Kokichi should pick the lock open and wake him himself.

"Ouma-kun, what are you waiting for?" Kokichi started, turning to gaze at Saihara over his shoulder. He smiled awkwardly, sympathy in his gaze—his shielded gaze—nodding towards Amami's door. "He's... He's not going to come out, you know."

Ah.

Saihara had ditched his emo hat.

"Oh, I know!" Kokichi threw his arms behind his head with an easy grin. "I was just testing you, silly!"

That's right.

"Right... Are you coming to breakfast?"

Blood spattered on the bookcase.

"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute."

Pooling on the floor.

"If you say so."

Warm hands turned cold.

"Yeah, yeah."

A chest that will never rise and fall again.

But that's a lie. He'd be back soon enough. Kokichi just had to keep telling himself that. It was only temporary.

Temporary.

"Just don't go breaking in, okay? I don't think he'd want that."

Bold of him to assume he knew what Taro-kun would want. As if he hadn't been the one to spend every night in Kokichi's room, pouring over notes and plans and god knows what.

He really was thinking about telling him this time. Honest.

"I won't! But that could be a lie!"

But Kokichi needed a solo run, just to scope some things out. A prospective month or so to weed out discrepancies in how the dominoes fell. He knew this.

It was only temporary, he knew this.

How many times would it have to be temporary, though? How many times would Kokichi have to see that blood staining pretty green hair? How many nights would he wake up on the floor just to avoid his cold bed? He needed to figure this out. This time he would figure this out.

But this was the first time he'd ever done this, right? Taro-kun was gone. He wouldn't be coming back.

That was a cruel lie, but it lessened the itch for the press.

Just a bit. Just enough to see things through.

Don't have to wait if there's nothing to wait for.

Kokichi put the though of Taro-kun's warm hands out of his mind. He'd only known him for four days. He'd never met him before in his life. It was only four days. That's what Kokichi always told himself.

"Hey..."

He stiffened. Hadn't Saihara gone on ahead? That's usually what happened, wasn't it? Had Kokichi done something to change that this time? He must have. It was difficult to keep track of everything. (It wasn't. He kept track of everything perfectly. Remembered everything just so.) There wasn't much to keep track of, though, since there wasn't a "usually" to happen.

Saihara was staring at him. He should say something.

"Yeah?"

"It..." Saihara's gaze was even. Concerned? Skeptical? Knowing?

"It's not your fault. Okay?"

Kokichi bristled.

Without another word, Saihara continued on out the door, leaving Kokichi alone in front of Amami's door. There was no basis at all. Nothing in his tone, or the words themselves, but it itched at the back of Kokichi's mind like the lingering tinges of the poison in his system.

The truth. Kokichi was the only one who knew what would happen. Who hadn't said a word as Taro-kun had gone off to meet with Momota that night. Who'd seen him off with a smile.

There was no clinging. No warm weight around him. No rise and fall of a chest pressed against his. No soft green hair tickling his cheek.

Not this time, and it was like Saihara with his words had ripped the bandaid off the gaping wound Kokichi was pretending desperately wasn't there.

It's your fault. And now you get to starve.

[Fic] Deja Vu

Wednesday, 9 April 2025 18:40
usononikki: (Default)

Something was very, very wrong, but Kokichi couldn't really place what it was.

The dining hall was overtaken with idle chitchat as the "strangers" around him—his supposed classmates—discussed their plans for the day. He sat at the end of the table, with his back to the wall, all three doors in and out of the room and every occupant in clear view. Was there a reason to be this vigilant? Everyone was here. Kokichi had counted. Twice.

Make that three times. Everyone was here.

That he knew of.

He shifted his seat uncomfortably to better see the barricaded door to the deck on his right.

The breakfast Toujou had made sat in front of him, a traditional Japanese breakfast of grilled fish, miso soup, rice, and steamed vegetables, as he'd requested. A cup of tea steamed to the side, also per his request. Kokichi stared at it. Jasmine tea, per his request, brewed fresh by Toujou, which he'd requested. He picked up the cup and gazed into it, a pretty, mild green color that made up for the aroma that was lost on him.

Kokichi swallowed thickly.

His heart stuttered in his chest, and he looked across the room at everyone else. They were happily digging in to their own meals, all made by Toujou, all presented by Toujou, without a care in the world. Two chairs down, Amami caught his eye for a brief moment, and Kokichi anxiously dropped his gaze back to his tea.

"This is amazing, Toujou-san, thank you," Akamatsu said warmly, and a chill ran up Kokichi's spine.

What was going on? There was something, something wrong that Kokichi couldn't for the life of him place. A strange sense of familiarity? A skewed sense of knowledge he felt should be there, but wasn't. It was more than the kidnapping itself. Everything about this place, the faces, the words being spoken were—

"Is the tea not to your liking, Ouma-san?"

Kokichi's head snapped back up to find everyone was staring at him. His blood ran cold as he smiled innocently. "No, it's perfect!"

And then he took a sip to prove his point.

And then suddenly glass was clawing its way down his throat.

Amami, Toujou, and several others jumped to their feet in concern as Kokichi doubled over, choking and sputtering. He could feel it, tearing through his throat, ripping into his lungs and stomach, fine granules of something

And then, just as suddenly, it was gone.

His grasp on the cup trembled as he heaved, trying to collect himself. Everyone was watching. Staring. Expecting him to keel over. Expecting the killing game to start right there at breakfast in front of them all. Slowly, he stood on shaky legs, plastering on a wobbly grin.

"Whoops, I lied!" he rasped. "It's terrible, Toujou-chan! I've never had tea this bad before!"

"How rude! Her tea is great!" Chabashira scoffed, and everyone settled down. "Typical behavior of a degenerate male."

The whole world felt like it was tilted sideways.

"If it was truly not to your liking, I would be happy to brew another pot," Toujou offered. Kokichi's hackles raised.

"No need!" Kokichi quipped. His throat felt like sandpaper. "I wasn't really that thirsty anyway. I'm gonna go clean up."

Most everyone dismissed him after that, and he breezed past them all, cup in hand. Only Amami's gaze continued to burn a hole in Kokichi's back as he disappeared into the kitchen.

He thought it would feel safer there, a moment of respite without everyone's eyes on him, but the moment he entered it was like Death himself had followed him inside. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary—it was your average industrial kitchen, seen in most any school. Despite Toujou's recent use of it, the counters were spotless. The industrial refrigerators hummed and whirred in the background, and something about that noise in particular constricted around Kokichi's lungs like a vice.

Kokichi quickly made his way to the sink with what remained of his cup of tea.

He peered inside of it.

Again, nothing seemed suspicious. And yet, the idea, the memory of it had felt so viscerally real—countless razor-sharp tiny grains ripping and gouging their way down through his insides. He looked into the cup again. If it was crushed finely enough, you still might not notice it in liquid, right?

Kokichi's hand shook as he poured it into the sink.

The whirring of the fridges behind him filled the room. Someone was behind him in the empty kitchen, a target painted on his back.

The tea evenly and innocently ran down the drain without a speck of glass in sight.

usononikki: (Kuro Neutral)

I'm very excited to see that, even if it is just a small handful of members. I know it's mostly from Tumblr, as recently there's been that new scare going around about the possibility of it going down. I don't really know how to feel about it myself, but I hope the community here will continue to grow even if Tumblr doesn't go down. I think it would be nice to have this special little corner and actually have more friends to know this tucked away little corner of myself.

That isn't to say I'm not a little nervous, though.

Since most of these people are coming from Tumblr, they've naturally figured out who I am over there. I don't exactly hide it here, but I very much do not want this place to become public knowledge being circulated on Tumblr. This is primarily because of an ongoing situation I have with a cyberstalker over there. Dreamwidth is the one place that I know for a fact is untainted, because I have never once mentioned I had one in the public sphere.

I have never and will never broadcast my Dreamwidth account on Tumblr, and I want all of my new subscribers here who came from Tumblr to respect that.

Anyone is free to spread the word about [community profile] danganronpa_alumni itself—it is a public community, after all, and I'm happy to see more people join and engage! But please, keep my name out of it if you do. Especially my Tumblrs if you know them. I don't want to have to start restricting Access on all of my personal posts, and feel paranoid about vetting every one of my subscribers to make sure they're safe to grant Access. This place is suppose to be safe for me. I'd like to keep it that way.

Anyway, it's been a hot minute since the last time I took the time to write a personal post. I've been so caught up in trying to keep up with the fic event that it's kind of worn me out and I haven't had the energy to think much—or feel much, for that matter. Under the surface, though, I've been having a whole slew of feelings, and I think it was the primary cause of the crash and burn I had a couple days ago.

Some of it has been Ouma identity issues, to be expected when literally all I've been writing is Ouma whump hell.

I dunno, I've been getting dysphoria lately and even the tiniest things about it bother me. I've been in a hangar mood, and so, so small, for no reason in particular. I'm masking harder because that's the typical knee-jerk Ouma reaction to anything. It's easier even if it hurts, because it prevents more problems from cropping up, y'know? But really I'm just in that mood to lay on the press and stare at the ceiling.

Maybe I should write another installment of that to vent, I dunno.

Part of it might be the DnD campaign I've joined, which isn't to say I don't like it. I really, really do like it. It's been super cathartic, because I've been playing Kokichi in it, and I've built him very much in the same way I operate a lot of the time. It's a horror campaign with age regression at the crux, too, so maybe that's why I've been feeling so small. It's kind of become the thing I've most been waiting for all week at this point.

At the moment, I—Kokichi, that is, but it pretty much is me, so I digress—have gotten myself in a bit of a pinch with a shady character and magical brainwashing with a side of grooming and themes of cult indoctrination, which is frankly terrifying on account I was actually in a cult once. Very scary, very cathartic, I'm here for it, but good god is that scary.

Also I think I've been tapping on accident during sessions on a past life front, which is even scarier. Don't worry about it. I'm not wrestling with the trauma and implications that having this be a past life may present. That's a lie.

I miss Papa...

Who said that?

The DM's worldbuilding and setup is phenomenal. That's all I'm gonna say. The identity euphoria of playing Kokichi there is like heroin.

Kurokichi

usononikki: (Default)

Kokichi stood in the empty hangar, in the silence. Momota was still unconscious in the bathroom. The Exisals had been sent off to guard Monokuma. He was alone. Not for the first time, but...

"You're alone, Ouma-kun, and you always will be."

The faint whir of the idle machinery in the hangar was deafening.

Kokichi plodded over to the stairs leading up to the controls of the press, letting himself slump onto the bottom step. What good would a performance do now? No one was watching.

Well, no one important, anyway.

This was it. This was where he was going to spend the rest of his days.

Stalemate was the only viable move left.

He wondered what they were thinking, wherever they were, whoever they were. He hoped they were panicking. He hoped they would give up. He really couldn't take this for much longer.

He was so, so tired of lying.

How did they manage to do that?

Momota was going to wake up eventually. Kokichi had to prepare for that. His notebook was tucked in his waistband against his back, waiting to be opened, but Kokichi didn't reach back for it. He stared listlessly at some point on the floor in front of him. He had work to do. He had to move.

He had to move.

Move.

Kokichi's head thunked against the stair railing.

When had things gotten so bad? What happened? How did he get here? Was this really okay? Would he really be okay with living out the rest of his days in this hellhole, playing a role just to make it stop? Was there anything else he could do? To make it stop? He just wanted to make it stop! That's all he wanted! He needed some time to think and if this was the only option, then—

This wasn't really stopping, though, was it?

The killings might stop, but the game never would. It would never stop, not as long as they were trapped here. Not as long as everyone was watching him. It would never, ever stop. Things were too far gone. They'd lost too many. He hadn't worked hard enough. Hadn't been quick enough. What good was a Talent for leadership if no one wanted him to lead? What was the point anymore?

The cold air and the chill of the metal stairs were starting to creep through his clothes.

He couldn't not. It was who he was.

Move!

He didn't move.

He glanced at the hydraulic press, looking it up and down. It was massive, taking up a large corner of the hangar. The base panel came up past his knee, almost like a bed. He wondered how it would feel to lay on it. There wasn't anywhere more comfortable. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if he got a chance to sneak out and snag his pillow or something—no, that'd just draw attention. He didn't want anyone's attention anymore. He'd manage.

He had to. This was it. This was his life now.

He wished it was a lie.

usononikki: (Default)

"Oh man, I'm honored you asked me to meet up with you, Iruma-chan. Is this a booty call...?" Kokichi turned from the brick banister to face Iruma.

"... Or are you here to kill me?"

She took a step back, and if Kokichi saw a flash of fear on the overly simplistic face of her chibified avatar, no he didn't.

He couldn't get cold feet now, and neither could she.

"S-so... you figured it out," she muttered, composing herself. "But there's nothing you can do. You... can't resist me. I made sure of it when I programmed your settings."

Just as he'd anticipated. Damn. Guess it would have to be the nuclear option after all.

"Uh-ooooh!" he gushed sarcastically, making her wince. "Guess I'm in trouble now!"

The cheerful tone fell flat amidst the tense atmosphere. There was no mistaking it or covering it with a lie. No diffusing the situation as she continued to advance on him.

Iruma was serious.

"I-I'm sorry, but... you should just give up. This is... my only chance."

Of course it was. She had been planning this for days. Kokichi was all too aware of that, and what a thorough plan it had been. She really had thought of everything, from the method to the opportunity to the scapegoat to...

To the careful selection of her godforsaken victim.

It stung, really. After all the faith he'd put in her. After all the gadgets he'd commissioned from her. The plans she'd played a crucial part in—

"Ugh, what a pain in my ass. Why do I gotta make this again?"

The tink tink tink of a tiny hammer on a delicate electrical casing echoed through the lab as Kokichi casually fiddled with an unfinished remote in his hands, mashing the useless buttons at random.

"Quit complaining. This is all an unfuckable, ugly bitch like you is good for, anyway."

"Huh? Oh, okay."

For all the hostility, the atmosphere was comfortable between them. Two outliers who didn't let the other's eccentricities bother them. The relaxation for Kokichi somehow managed to loop right back into being unsettling.

If he'd gotten used to these quiet moments with Iruma, no he hadn't.

"But this is so exciting!" He hopped off the table and spun on his heel like an idiot to get some of that nervous energy out. "When this is done, we can probably defeat Monokuma, right? Especially when we all join forces!"

"Don't be stupid... If you're gonna do it... do it yourself."

Kokichi stopped and stared for a moment. Iruma didn't look up from her work.

"Hmmm?" He tucked his arms behind his head, leaning curiously with an inquisitive smile.

"It doesn't matter if we promise to work together... Someone will still betray us..."

If a chill ran up Kokichi's spine, no it didn't.

"Betray us and... kill one of us..."

He dropped his arms, his expression unreadable and Iruma continued to prattle on.

"Besides, this weapon won't make a difference. We'll be killed by an Exisal before we can use it. I just... invented it because I was asked to. I have no intention of defying Monokuma..."

She swapped her hammer for a tiny screwdriver, fingering her way through delicate wiring, entirely focused on her task.

Entirely oblivious to Kokichi watching her.

"There's no way we can beat him... And... I can't afford to die here, anyway... Not when I still need to invent something that's gonna change the world!"

She snapped the casing over the wiring on the newly finished electrohammer with a sense of finality.

"S-so... if you wanna defy Monokuma, do it yourself."

So that was it, huh...?

"But, if it does work out... come help me, okay? I'll do anything—anything—to thank you..."

Well, if he had the opportunity, he knew he would without question.

—but of course, that was a lie.

"I have no choice but to do this."

No, he supposed she didn't.

"My inventions will change the world... They'll make the world a better place!"

And at this point, neither did he. He carefully wiped his expression clean.

If his hand trembled slightly as he gave the signal, no it didn't.

"It's my duty as a genius inventor! S-so I can't afford to die here—"

Gokuhara descended on her immediately, just as they'd planned.

It was surreal, how the thin paper looped around her neck in one smooth motion. Kokichi staggered back as she desperately reached out to him, trying to make contact, to paralyze him, but Gonta held her back.

"S-sorry...! Gonta is so sorry!"

Kokichi sauntered to the door, flipping the lock shut. He took a stuttering breath and pushed the choking gasps behind him out of his mind. Mask on, he had to make sure Gokuhara didn't get cold feet. They were in too deep to turn back now.

"Don't be sorry, Gonta-chan," he reassured calmly. "She was trying to kill me, too."

It was either her or the rest of the class. He had to believe that. If there had been any chance, any at all, that Kokichi could be sure Saihara would have figured things out on his own without him—without the living lie detector to sniff out the shady truth of Iruma's world—then he would have happily bowed his head to her hammer. But he couldn't. He couldn't be sure of anything anymore. Not after what he saw.

"She said it was for the world or whatever, but that was just a poor excuse," he insisted. If a waver managed to worm its way into his voice, no it didn't. "We're doing this to stop the vicious cycle of misery! So you don't need to apologize."

"B-but... but...!" Gokuhara sobbed as Iruma slowly stopped struggling, crumpling in his arms. "Gonta is sorry! Gonta is so sorry, Iruma-san!"

It was a shame Gokuhara would have to go down with them, too, but depending on Monokuma's answer then maybe he could work out a deal.

He was taking Iruma out of this game, so he alone should go with her.

"I already said you don't need to apologize. We had to do this for everyone's sake."

They had to do this. He had to do this. There was no other option. She would have lied. No one would have known. They would have died by her hand.

Besides, it was too late to ask for forgiveness.

usononikki: (Default)

Everything was hot and cold at the same time. The room was dark, but somehow it still managed to spin and Kokichi groaned and tossed in bed. His stomach twisted and his pajamas were sticky, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. Tears streaked flushed, feverish cheeks as he turned again, desperate to find a comfortable position. His wrist itched, but he couldn't scratch it. He got in trouble the last time he tried.

The door clicked open, letting in a stream of light from the hall.

"Kokichi?" came the soft, shy voice. Kokichi immediately stilled as his heart stuttered in his chest.

It was Nee-nee.

She wheeled a small cart into the room, clicking on a soft lamp on the nightstand to illuminate the room. Kokichi whined pathetically as she peered down at him with an unknowable something in her eyes. He wasn't sure why, but something was different about his Nee-nee whenever Kokichi was sick. Or rather, whenever she was taking care of him.

Something like a cat peering down at a helpless mouse.

She smiled sweetly, brushing Kokichi's damp bangs from his face. "Oh me, oh my, has that pesky fever still not broken?"

"It's sticky, Nee-nee," he croaked, tears pricking his eyes. "Make it stop..."

He couldn't tell if her smile changed or if it was the fever playing tricks on him.

"Don't worry, dearest," she tutted, turning to fiddle with whatever was on her little cart. "I'm sure some fluids will help."

Kokichi's stomach rolled at the sight of the IV bag. No, no, he didn't like the fluids! Anything but that, he'd even take Teru-nii's soup at this point. He didn't like how the cloudy contents of that bag made him feel.

She seemed unfazed however, hanging the bag up on the stand affixed to her baby brother's bed as he cowered under the covers.

"Kokichi, I need to attach—" She tried to peek under the blankets to get to the IV port taped to Kokichi's wrist, but he snatched it away, hugging it to his chest.

"Don' wanna, Nee-nee! Feels icky!"

Her momentarily surprised expression melded into another smile. A different one. Kokichi shivered.

That was the bad smile.

"Silly boy," she cooed with a saccharine sigh. "The fluids are what will help you not feel icky anymore!"

For the first time in his life, Kokichi doubted his Nee-nee.

She must have known, because her smile finally fell, leaving an eerily blank stare in its wake.

"Kokichi, you know that you're sick, right?"

Kokichi whimpered.

"You need someone to take care of you. To tend to your fever."

Her tone was so distant. Was she talking to him, or at him?

"You can't do anything like this. You're so small, so ill, completely helpless..."

She took a shuddering, breathy sigh.

"Who better than the Ultimate Nurse to care for you? " she drawled, her gaze sliding off to the side in a daze. "Your Nee-nee, right? Do you not trust me, Kokichi?"

Kokichi's chest tightened. His head hurt. He was dizzy. He wanted it to stop.

Nee-nee knew best, right?

"I-I trust you, Nee-nee," Kokichi stammered. "I just...!"

He eyed the bag warily.

"I'm scared..."

Her smile returned, and she held out her hand for his. "I know, Koko. Let Nee-nee make the scary sickies go away..."

Kokichi stared at her hand, then looked up at her again. A sweet, reassuring smile graced her features, but that... thing in her eyes remained. Kokichi didn't know what it was. It made his skin crawl, but...

Nee-nee knew best.

He gingerly turned over his arm, and she deftly took it in her chilly hands, turning it over to attach the IV to the port. Kokichi buried his face in his pillow, preparing for the burning sensation that would inevitably creep up his arm and through the rest of his body as the fluids entered his veins.

usononikki: (Default)

The timing, the proximity to their hideout, everything, all of it.

Dogs barking in the distance—too close for comfort—haunted the darkness as Kokichi ducked into the crumbling remains of a building. They'd all scattered the moment he'd given the word. It was like clockwork, everyone darting into the night, just like they'd all practiced hundreds and hundreds of times before. The only difference had been the circumstances. Someone had been watching them for a while on their trek home.

This was hardly a drill.

Shouts joined the barking, closing in, and Kokichi clasped a hand over his mouth to stifle this ragged breaths. Why were there so many? What were they doing here? Where did they come from? They'd chosen their location well—not a settlement nor even a camp for miles, deep in the recesses of No Man's Land, far outside of their jurisdiction. Their priorities. Kokichi couldn't wrap his head around it.

Slowly, carefully, he skulked through the darkness. He needed to get to higher ground—no, that would just be a convenient dead end, wouldn't it? He needed to know where everyone was, though. That they were okay. He could figure out the details later.

More than anything, he needed to find Kai and Kii.

Kokichi peered over the sill of a window, keeping low to the ground, gauging the whereabouts of his pursuers. Out in the street, a trio of people convened, a dog straining on its leash among them. The pressed uniforms were unmistakable.

"Did you see where any of them went?"

"Division C followed several into the forest to the west." That must have been Ran with Go and Kei.

"What about their ringleader?" How did they know about that?

"I think most of them fled deeper into the city—"

Kokichi didn't have the chance to learn any more as the dog lunged in the direction of his hiding place. He ducked before its handler could stop him and escaped deeper into the building. They likely wouldn't expect him to go up, would they? He needed a better vantage point. Besides, he knew Kai wasn't the type to creep enclosed spaces like he did.

There was a crash and bang in the room behind him just as he skirted into the stairwell.

Too late to change course, Kokichi made a break up the stairs. As he turned onto the landing, he spotted the dog barreling in through the door he'd entered not seconds before, barking at his heels. His heart pounded in his chest as he swung onto the second flight. The second floor, he just needed to get through the door and he could slam it closed—

Except there was no door on the second floor, collapsed onto the floor after its hinges had given way to rust.

Okay, third floor it was.

His lungs burned as he scrambled up the next flight. He couldn't tell how close the beast was, the barking echoing up and down the stairwell in an ear-splitting cacophony. He didn't risk looking back to check. Slowing down would be his downfall here. He blew past the landing, tearing up the second flight, and he swore he could feel it snap at his ankles.

He wasn't going to make it.

He would make it.

He wasn't gonna make it.

He had to—

The metal door slammed shut in the mongrel's face, and Kokichi collapsed to the floor, wheezing.

He didn't have time to rest at this point. What the hell was he supposed to do now? The door rattled as the dog scratched and pounded against it. Those damn agents couldn't be far behind. Was it too much to ask for a single moment of respite to catch his breath and think?

He coughed and spat as he dragged himself back to his feet. A look around the room told Kokichi that it was an old office building he'd taken as his poorly-conceived refuge of the night. Desks were littered about the open space in disrupted cubicles. He waste no time lunging for the nearest desk and dragging it to the door as a makeshift barricade. It'd buy him some time at least, but as much as it'd keep those agents out, it kept him in.

The elevator door was closed, blocking access to the shaft. Kokichi opened a window and peered down at the street below. The third floor was too high up to escape out here.

So now what?

A jarring screech sent a jolt up Kokichi's spine as the desk budged ever to slightly. They were trying to ram their way in. He didn't have much time, so he would just have to make time.

It was time to do what he did best.

The desk screeched across the floor as the three agents finally forced the door open into the empty office space, and Kokichi thanked every star in the sky that it didn't tip over. He couldn't see them as they fanned out to search, a hand clasped over his mouth to stifled the sounds of his breathing.

"Where did he go?"

"Hey, the window's open."

"You're telling me he jumped from the third floor?"

"Start checking under desks. The brat has to be hiding here somewhere."

The voices got fainter as they made their way to the farthest parts of the room, just as Kokichi had hoped. He peeked around from beneath the barricade desk, gingerly rubbing the back of his head where it'd hit him as it was pushed by the door. The agents' backs were turned from the door, the thought of their target hiding under the barricade itself lost on them. Ever so quietly, he backed up, back towards the stairwell door.

What he'd neglected to account for, unfortunately, was the Doberman they'd left guarding the exit.


usononikki: (Default)

That's what Kokichi kept telling himself as the group finally split off to their separate rooms for the night, trailing at the back of the group as though he was following everyone else. How he had to fight the urge to interrupt with an answer before anyone had asked a question. How he was at the top of the steps before he fully processed his room was, in fact, upstairs, and right next to the staircase he'd chosen at that.

A coincidence.

He'd never been here before.

That's what he kept telling himself as he swiftly locked the door behind him, kicked off his shoes, and breezed past the bathroom and the closet full of identical uniforms and the key sitting on the table. Nevermind that he knew the door was a bathroom, knew the closet was full of uniforms, knew the key would be on the table. None of that mattered because he didn't know those things. Not really.

That's what he liked to tell himself at the start every time, as he breezed through the tired key explanation with Monodam, like skipping dialogue from an overdone tutorial. The key was for his room's door. Don't lose it. Someone might try to sneak in to kill you if they got their hands on it. Kokichi had long stopped bringing the key with him, instead using his tools to pick the lock of his door open and closed every time—a method he and only he could accomplish.

Except that was a lie, because he'd never seen that key before in his life.

Monodam left, and he was finally, finally alone—except he knew he wasn't. But no, actually he didn't because how would he? It's not like he'd done any of this before. It's not like he knew the ins and outs of the cameras and the viewers and the gas and the pain of death—

Kokichi stared at the key hanging on the stand on the table.

He didn't know anything. Didn't feel anything.

That's what he always, always told himself as he carelessly swatted at the stand, sending the thing careening onto the floor and the key skidding under his bed. A practiced action, like clockwork. He didn't know why he did it every time. (Every time?) There was a purpose, but he's sure he didn't know what it was. (Or did he?)

Neither seemed preferable. None of it was fun. Where was the lie? Did he know or didn't he? Had he been here before or hadn't he? Had his memories been tampered with? By who? Himself? The perpetrator of their current situation? Why did he know every minute detail of this room? He hadn't been here before. He hadn't. Not once, not twice, not seventy-two times.

That's always, always what he told himself, wasn't it?

What good was lying to yourself that you knew everything already?

Was it the control it seemed to give him? To pretend to know what was going to happen before it ever did?

Kokichi stared at the bed, where the Schrodinger's key he stopped using ages ago but simultaneously had never used once in his life had disappeared. He dropped down onto knees, then his hands, then his stomach. Peering under the bed, he spotted the offending key in the back near the wall.

Carefully, he dragged himself under the bed. He kept going, farther and farther until he'd disappeared beneath it entirely. It was surprisingly roomy under there. (It wasn't surprising at all.) Just large enough for him to lay comfortably—to twist around on his side or back, even. The key sat there on the floor, right in front of his face. He picked it up, turning it over in his hand, unassuming in its simplicity.

Unassuming in the scuffed and chipped finish, despite never having been used.

Kokichi turned over onto his back to etch yet another tally in the bottom wood frame of the bed, then tucked it carefully between one of the slats and the mattress for safekeeping.

That's where it belonged. That was its new intended purpose.

usononikki: (Default)
The seconds were ticking by as Kokichi sat idly on his bed, gently swinging the Amami effigy back and forth as he stared blankly across his room. After all the time he'd spent here, this would be the last time he would see any of this junk. The piles of boxes, filled with more fake plans than real. The mountains of hoarded evidence—his fingers grazed softly across Amami's cheek as he brought the swing to a stop.

If a painful twinge struck his heart as those glassy, drooping eyes met his, no it didn't.

Kokichi stood from his bed, wandering over to the whiteboard to go over things one more time. Why? He wasn't sure. It wasn't as if he was planning for anyone to see it. It's not like there was any new information, anyway. Every Blackened and their victims were lined up in neat rows, and the remaining survivors... it didn't matter what he thought of them anymore. It didn't matter who was the mastermind, because it was going to be him now whether they liked it or not.

"But I wouldn't gain anything from writing a message like that, would I? That would just make you guys suspect that I'm the mastermind."

It was over. It was all over. He'd set up his dominoes, and now all he had to do was watch them fall.

"I also... don't want to survive with someone who'd do such a thing to Gonta."

"Wh-what's... wrong with him?
Is he even actually human?"

It was too late to stop them anyhow.

If the finality set Kokichi's teeth on edge, no it didn't.

The others should be about halfway through the escape tunnel by now; he should probably get going soon. Kokichi pulled his notebook out from its spot tucked in the back of his waistband and pulled the envelope out from between the pages. He wouldn't be needing this anymore. Not if he had his way, anyhow. He carelessly tossed it into the pile amongst the useless papers and blueprints.

The notebook was tucked back in his waistband where it belonged as he patted his pockets for the camera he always kept with him. Check. The Exisal remote? Check. It was now or never.

Kokichi locked the door behind him, tucking his key deep into his pocket. The arbitrary brightness of the fake sun cast no warmth on his skin as he broke out into the courtyard, bound for the manhole behind the school. The simple push of a button was met with the whirring march of the Exisals behind him. It was loud, and despite the knowledge that the campus was currently deserted...

If the racket set Kokichi's teeth on edge, not it didn't.

If his heart was hammering in his chest as he scrambled his way down the ladder in isolation, no it wasn't.

They would believe his lie. Of that much, he was certain.

He put all the pieces into place. After his performance after the last trial, he was certain that he would be able to sell it now. As he strolled casually through the tunnel, skirting around the shorting remains of the various traps left in the wake of Saihara's group, Kokichi whistled an idle tune. The mask slipped on easily, it always did.

If that was a lie, no it wasn't.

What was a lie anymore? What wasn't? It didn't matter. He would be living a lie from here on out.

"You're alone, Kokichi, and you always will be."

For the hope of those left, for the memory of those lost, Kokichi was prepared to show Saihara just how right he was.

Who Am I?

usononikki: (Default)
Uso-kun

Tell Me A Lie

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