Chapter Text
Two years, four months, ten days, six hours, three minutes and twenty two seconds since the summary execution of Haiji Towa
“What’s wrong, fearless leader?”
Hajime Hinata glances up from the document on his desk with the same impervious frown, focusing his attention on Soda standing in the doorway. Soda, to his credit, doesn’t flinch, even when Hajime remembers belatedly that he ought to be blinking more regularly and not strictly according to physical necessity.
“You’re gonna glare a hole right through the paper,” Soda says lightly. He steps a little further inside the room. It had seemed like a waste of resources to set aside an area strictly for Hajime’s use as an office when they had first proposed it, but he must admit there had been merit to the idea after all. When his door is closed, no one enters- useful for times when Hajime must focus on delicate matters, special projects, or just to gaze at the jagged scar on his right forearm. When it is open, the other Remnants check in on a regular rotation to make sure he does not forget to human. It is a useful system, and is probably most helpful for them to segregate their powerful and disturbing mascot from the general population.
“I have concerns over the stability of the Future Foundation,” Hajime admits. “These reports indicate disturbing trends. The immediate projections are suboptimal.”
“Plain English, my guy,” Soda requests, sliding into the chair on the other side of the desk, flipping it around so he can rest his arms against the backrest as he looks Hajime over easily. Time has been good to Soda. He has grown into himself- hair still shaggy but dark and natural, trimmed more neatly to fall just below his ears, glasses replacing the contacts that caused irritation via punctal occlusion. His jumpsuits are even clean now, most days. Hajime wonders passingly what he must look like to Soda. He's the same slim-broad build in servicable suits, the same impervious gaze, even if it flickers sometimes red to green- residual instability from the Towa experiments. His hair grows faster now, tied back serviceably from his face while he works. Is he more Hajime Hinata or Izuru Kamukura?
Or...
“The EM-Faction is attempting a coup,” Hajime says. “Or they will shortly. Naegi has never been particularly hands-on with Future Foundation politics and resentment over his preoccupation with New Hope Academy is reaching a turning point.”
Soda whistles, long and low. “What’s the most likely projection?”
“I don’t have every variable, but from what I can tell the Board is being forced into a vote of no confidence to replace Naegi, though I can’t find a specific EM-Faction candidate behind the proposal- not without an agent on the ground.”
Soda’s eyes flicker then, but he doesn’t comment. He doesn’t need to. Hajime knows and Soda knows he knows and so they continue on, blissfully not talking about it.
“What’s Naegi doing about it?”
“Nothing,” Hajime says, smiling briefly. “Seems to be leaving it to luck.” Soda manages to hide his reaction to that a little better… but only a little.
“That’s gotta be annoying for Kirigiri and them.”
“Increasingly so,” Hajime agrees. “Most of the organization seems to trust in Naegi’s leadership still, but I am certain Togami has his own machinations in progress.”
“He’s a pretty resourceful dude,” Soda agrees. “Think it’ll go his way?”
“Highly improbable,” Hajime says, amused. “Less than three percent, I would think.”
“Poor guy,” Soda says, losing interest. This too amuses Hajime, though he decides not to elaborate further. It would be immensely boring to explain.
Hinata, you can’t even stomach a little conversation with your ‘soul friend?’ You really must make more of an effort, unless you expect them to do all the work for you? Great and powerful Hajime Hinata, certainly the others with their inferior talents are tedious as a twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a dull man-
“Komaru,” Hajime says abruptly as Soda stands to leave. “Is she well?”
“Uh… yeah.” Soda drops back into the seat, a little pink in the face. “The kids are giving her hell, but that’s nothing new.”
“Does…” Hajime hesitates and that makes Soda sit up straight and pay attention. “Does the lack of physical proximity trouble your relationship?” The question makes him nervous and he fights against the urge to pull his ever lengthening hair free from where it is tied back… a useless, tiresome habit.
Soda hums. “I guess it should,” he says finally. “Is it a relationship even? I feel like, uh, you know… one of those Victorian types in a Austen James novel. It’s all… implied.”
“If you loved her less, you might be able to talk about it more.” Hajime says automatically.
Soda grins. “Yeah, like that. Anyway, she’s got to do the askin’. I can’t drag her away from the world to our little Alcatraz and I ain’t going into Future Foundation territory without a invitation in writin’.”
Hajime finds this extraordinarily reasonable. Though he does not consciously change his facial expression to reflect his opinion, Soda seems to note this anyway, looking cheered.
“You’ll be the first in line to know when it goes anywhere. If it goes anywhere,” Soda amends.
“When it goes anywhere,” Hajime corrects him. Soda beams. At his hip, his personal datapad chirrups with an incoming message. Soda raises it up, swiping at the screen to bring up the transmission.
“Speak of the devil,” Soda says with glee. As he looks it over, though, his expression changes. His posture shifts and his mouth turns down. Hajime is already out of his seat and walking to his side by the time Soda looks up.
“Look at this,” Soda says, expression tight. Hajime scans over the message briefly, already calculating the necessary responses and more or less ignoring the lengthy explanation tumbling from Soda in the meantime. Trivial and redundant.
“-so I know it’s last minute, and it’s gonna be an allocation of resources, but I gotta go-”
Hajime taps the corner of the pad, pinging on the emergency frequency.
“Kuzuryu,” a voice says gruffly on the line.
“Third tier protocol engagement,” Hajime says, cutting Soda off mid-word.
“How big of a team?” Kuzuryu demands. There’s a soft scrabbling in the background of the call- a soft voice asking daddy, who’s that and Peko’s gentle tones shushing her out of frame.
“Two,” Hajime says. He’s calling on Soda’s datapad, that will be explanation enough.
“Could be three,” Kuzuryu offers.
“Better not, daddy,” Soda cuts in. “You and Peko gotta take point here, Mioda and Sonia can take over any essential repairs meantime and the kids can give ‘em a hand if they need it- Jataro's pretty handy with a soldering iron.”
“A two man team is optimal for this exercise,” Hajime elaborates. “It has the highest chance of success for an effective, stealthy infiltration.”
“Do I even wanna know what you chuckle-fucks are getting up to?” Kuzuryu asks, resigned.
“No,” Soda says frankly. “But I’ll send you the deets anyway.”
After they log off the call, Soda turns to Hajime, his expression serious.
“You ain’t gotta,” Soda says.
Hajime places Soda’s effectiveness at 45.3%, higher than the average Future Foundation agent, particularly with his skill set. There is a 68% chance he will be able to reach Komaru’s location alone. Fatality calculation hovers near 72%. Better odds if only one of them were to survive: 52% for Komaru, 58% for Soda.
Say something hopeful, Hinata. That was always a favorite topic of mine. Oh, something I would say? Can’t you choose for yourself? How arrogant, to suppose that a wretch like me would have any effect whatsoever on the Ultimate-
“I’m choosing to,” Hajime says simply. It must be the correct option; Soda looks marginally less distressed.
“Think we can leave within the hour?” Soda asks.
“That should suffice,” Hajime agrees. “It is not important to be the first, only that we are ourselves able to effectively assist when we arrive.”
“You don’t think we’ll be the first ones there?” Soda asks, surprised. “Komaru only sent that emergency call to me, it was linked to the Aurora Protocol distress alert.”
“I doubt we’d be so lucky,” Hajime says darkly.
~~
Two Hours Previous
The man in the black suit and sunglasses waits outside the ruins of city hall with a nervous sort of energy, the kind that even in stillness is a dead giveaway for wrongdoing. It’s in the hunch of his shoulders, the tightness in his forearm where he clutches the briefcase, the way he glances too often up and to the left where his sniper is perched.
Amateur.
Nagito steps out into the street, smile easy and arms out to the side, hands empty and expression welcoming beneath the hooded suit jacket.
“Password?” The man demands.
“11037,” Nagito guesses carelessly and as good luck would have it, the man nods, satisfied.
“Where’s your second?” The man asks warily.
“Where’s yours?” Nagito asks, feigning ignorance.
The man’s expression goes tight. He’s not a young man, in his late thirties perhaps. Really, he should know better… but what could Nagito expect from such a background character?
“I’m surprised you made the drop,” Nagito continues when it’s clear the man won’t be answering. “It’s been harder as late to reconnaissance outside Future Foundation territory.”
The man, beginning to stretch out the suitcase toward Nagito for the exchange, pauses. “Really?”
“You hadn’t heard?” Nagito asks, not even bothering to school his expression away from the detached amusement that seems to be his default nowadays. “Seems there’s a precedence for unauthorized patrols to go… missing.”
“We can take care of ourselves,” the man says, relaxing into a patronizing smirk. “The EM-Faction doesn’t believe in ghost stories.”
“Of course,” Nagito agrees. “Silly to think otherwise. The Ghost and the Gray Lady- nothing but childish rumors.”
The man pauses, then jerks back a little stiffly. “Take off your gloves,” he commands.
Nagito raises his arms, palms up. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t believe in ghost stories,” the man says, “but there is intel on a rogue Despair agent with an artificial hand… take off the gloves or else.”
Nagito shrugs. “Whatever you say.”
As he reaches down to tug at the gloves around his left arm, the sniper flips over the railing, falling to the ground below in a crumpled heap directly to their left. In that scant, stunned moment where the man stares and startles, Nagito slams his metal prosthetic into the man’s throat, crushing his windpipe. He looks down at the body thoughtfully as he pulls his glove back into place.
“Not your lucky day, I’m afraid,” Nagito says as the man sputters and goes quiet. He pulls the briefcase from the lax grip of the dead. Another body drops to the ground, this time in complete control on her feet. “My lady,” Nagito greets.
“Quit calling me that,” Toko says, eyes flashing with annoyance behind her red cat-eye framed glasses. She wipes the blood on her throwing daggers off on the body on the ground before tucking one back into the garter knife holster high on her leg beneath the side cut long sleeved dove colored mandarin dress. Her hair is tied up, two plaits neatly wound around her head like a crown. The blood has ceased to disturb her, just as the kill has ceased to thrill her. Neater, in person and emotion, though her foul mouth and strange priorities persist. In being both Toko and Genocide Jill, she is also neither.
Nagito bows shallowly and it is only a little mocking.
“That.” She points a knife tip at him threateningly. “That’s where they’re getting all that Gray Lady Ghost fuckshit from.”
Nagito pulls back his hood. His hair, still pale and riotously curling is schooled into some semblance of order by virtue of its new short length around his ears and the nape of his neck.
“It can be useful, having your reputation precede you,” Nagito says mildly, not reminding Toko of her Genocider fame. She rolls her eyes anyway.
“If this was a book, maybe. Pretty sure spies should be a little more low profile irl.”
Nagito shrugs cheerfully. “That’s more your domain.” He deliberately ignores her caustic follow up glare. While it’s true that her Towa-sponsored recombination led her to a more baseline temperament and stable assasination ability, it had also led to what Toko referred to as a total bitchwhore case of writer’s block. Nagito is sure that eventually her shining talent will prevail in that case also, however.
It always does.
“So what’s in the case?” Toko asks, rolling the bodies together into the corner with one patent leather stiletto.
“Let’s find out.” Nagito sets it on the ruins of a blasted out wall leftover from whenever The Tragedy rolled through this ant speck of a city and cleared out whatever mundane little nothing existed before. He flicks the case open without worrying about the combination, trusting his luck to pop the lock neatly and without fuss.
“Paper,” Toko notes, watching Nagito thumb through the files. “Nothing electronic at all.”
“They must not want to chance a trace on electronic transmission,” Nagito agrees. He hands the file carelessly to Toko before turning back to what remains in the case.
“Smart,” Toko agrees grudgingly. “...this isn’t an external mission briefing.”
“Isn’t it?” Nagito asks, still sifting through the case.
“No… this is intel on New Hope’s Peak. They’ve got diagrams, blueprints of the security systems… this is a profile on the staff-” Toko falls silent when she gets to Komaru’s page, her expression going dark.
“Why would someone need that sort of information on a Future Foundation Project?” Nagito asks patiently. The last item remaining in the case is one that he feels drawn to- the luck-sense pulling his fingers down to close on the photo and turn it up, into the light.
Toko swears colorfully and in great detail.
Nagito blanks out a bit, his mind going softly staticcy as he looks down at the picture in his hand. It’s like this, sometimes- his luck sense swells to bursting with preternatural knowledge, felt deeply like bone chilling cold, here and gone again, leaving Nagito to parse out the meaning on his own afterward.
Toko plucks the photo from his hand and gives it a cursory glance.
“That’s them,” she says. “First class of New Hope’s Peak Academy, experimental group Tau-53.”
It’s a standard enough school picture: sixteen fresh faced students, their homeroom teacher Komaru Naegi, Principal Makoto Naegi, Vice Principal Kiyoko Kirigiri, Boys Dorm Monitor Yasuhiro Hagakure and PE Instructor Aoi Asahina. Naegi, Nagito notes, had his eyes closed when the picture was taken. How unlucky.
“I guess we’re going on a field trip.” Toko clicks the case shut with finality.
“Time to give the devil his due,” Nagito agrees.
~~
Day Zero, commencement of The New Hope Peak Nullification Incident (NHPNI)
At the end of a busy day, Komaru Naegi walks into her personal quarters nestled in the Girls Dormitory, falls down flat face-first into the mattress and screams into her pillow, the sound muffled but heartfelt.
“Rough day?” Kirigiri asks, seated at Komaru’s desk, her expression coolly amused.
Komaru freezes. “Kyoko. I… didn’t see you there,” she says, still facedown, voice stifled by the soft bedding decorated in pink shaded rainbows.
Kirigiri nods thoughtfully, though Komaru cannot see her. “I thought it best to wait here to catch you,” she says diplomatically.
Komaru sits up, her hair mussed and cheeks pink, scooping her periwinkle colored unicorn plushie into her lap and squeezing hard for aggressive comfort.
“No. No. That’s not what you were doing, you were hiding. You… you traitor!”
Kirigiri coughs delicately into her gloved hand. “I had thought that to be a private conversation between yourself and Togami.”
“Is that what you call it?” Komaru asks, voice deceptively sweet. “Despite your inferior connections and poor upbringing, I suppose you will do for a conduit of the Togami name,” she parrots back in a passible imitation of the haughty tone. Kirgiri’s stifled cough grows more pronounced. “I mean, get real! What kind of proposal is that even?!”
“Not tempted?” Kirgiri teases.
Komaru throws the unicorn at Kirigiri who dodges serenely. “Who the hell would be? He’s a prissy snob and after what he did to Toko he’d have to be crazy to think I’d ever give him the time of day!”
“To be fair,” Kirigiri says, voice measured as she leans down to pick up the unicorn and smoothing its fluffy ears down with gentle hands. “He’s doing it to help Naegi. Togami is the most likely candidate if the Board does vote no-confidence and having a direct familial connection with your brother would give him a political advantage. All the connections of the Togami with all the heart of Naegi… as it were.”
“So you think I should just go along with it and get engaged to Byakuya Togami?!” Komaru squeaks, voice rising with indignation.
Kirigiri shakes her head. “I don’t recommend it,” she says with a mysterious smile. “And you are a good friend,” she adds.
Komaru shrugs, the fight going out of her. She opens her arms and Kirigiri tosses the unicorn back into her arms from across the room. “If I was a good friend, maybe Toko would write every once in a while.”
“I imagine she worries that you will see her differently now. From what I understand the Towa process is… affecting.”
Komaru squeezes her unicorn. “That’s what I mean, though! I get why she ran off in the first place… Togami using her like a dog to do all the Future Foundation dirty work when he planned all along to throw her away for not being respectable… makes my blood boil. She never would have run back into Haiji Towa if he hadn’t done that. Or if you or my brother had stuck up for her either,” Komaru says grumpily, with the air of old injuries.
Kirigiri holds out her hands, palms up. “You are correct. Naegi and I should have stepped in before Togami took it upon himself to dismiss her. We were slow to act and it is partially our responsibility.”
Komaru flops back onto the bed with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “I guess it doesn’t matter,” she admits grudgingly. “Anyway, I guess you didn’t come to say congrats since you knew I was gonna tell him to go to hell. What did you need?”
“I wanted to check in about the girls,” Kirgiri says plainly. “If you’re not overtired.”
Komaru is overtired. New Hopes Peak is a passion project, but it can’t take undue resources from Future Foundation and so they run a tight ship on a skeleton crew. Her morning started at five, when she checked the automated food assembler and had her breakfast with the staff. Then she held home room, got the kids over to their electives and spent what was supposed to be her lunch break knocking off a few of the quick fixes on her maintenance sheet- upkeep on the upcycled golf carts they use for campus transportation and taking a look at the wiring in Makoto’s office which always seems to be going haywire. It had shocked him twice just yesterday so finally she’d had to hook it to a separate power source altogether just to work around. Then she’d had the kids again before free time and a quick faculty meeting with Asahina and Hagakure, and then she’d been accosted by Togami outside the main building and missed dinner altogether. She’s hungry and needs a shower and pretty soon she’ll need to do the rounds to check the girls are all accounted for by curfew.
But something has been bothering her about them too.
Komaru sits up. “Yeah,” she admits. “It’s okay.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Kirigiri says, relaxing minutely- hard to tell at all, if you don’t know where to look. She bends down and picks up a bag from her feet. “I thought we could discuss it over some dinner.”
She lays out a few containers on Komaru’s cluttered desk, gently putting aside some schematics and part of a disassembled 3D printer to make room.
“Is that… sushi?” Komaru asks, brightening. “How? Where?!”
“Your food assembler is a marvelous piece of machinery,” Kirigiri assures her. “It takes care of all the day to day basics, especially for a group of growing teens… but sometimes I think a little fresh treat is in order, especially after the day you’ve had. And I have my ways.”
“I love you,” Komaru says seriously, breaking apart a pair of wooden take-out chopsticks and diving into the spicy tuna roll. “Forget my stupid brother. Marry me instead.”
“Soda will be disappointed to hear that,” Kirigiri says with measured calm and Komaru chokes.
“A-Anyway,” she says, once she can breathe again. “The girls.”
“Have you noticed anything… strange about their dynamic lately?” Kirigiri asks, serving herself a little seaweed salad. The way she holds her chopsticks is refined and delicate.
“Yes,” Komaru admits between bites, fairly inhaling her food. “You see it too?”
“I have a theory,” Kirigiri says cautiously and Komaru snorts. “Yes, I’ll even share it, if you tell me what you’ve noticed first. I want to see if it fits my observations.”
“Once a detective always a detective,” Komaru says whimsically, already feeling one thousand percent better with a few bites of a real meal inside her. “Okay, so I don’t know for sure or anything- I didn’t exactly get a traditional education? But I guess neither did you…. Anyway, I think it’s like… a mean girls thing. There’s a little group of cool girls making life hell for whoever doesn’t fall in line. Maybe that’s normal but I’m starting to think it’s getting out of hand, especially with where they all came from.”
Kirigiri nods. “Describe the group dynamics,” she requests.
“Okay, so like…” Komaru gestures with her chopsticks while she speaks. “There’s one group of girls who call themselves The Girl’s Council and they put themselves in charge of figuring out who should be cleaning the bathroom this week or what time is too early to start practicing kiai screams in the common room Tenko and it seemed pretty harmless. Angie is their ‘president’ and she’s got Tsumugi, Himiko, and Tenko all one hundred percent on board. It wasn’t bad until Angie started dredging up all the weird religious stuff and now...”
There’s a thump overhead and Komaru’s eyes dart down to her watch automatically. No, they’ve still got twenty minutes to lights out at ten pm. It’s probably just Himiko getting overenthusiastic about her magic tricks again.
“How do they interact with the others?” Kirigiri asks.
“Well… mostly the boys ignore them. Gonta and Keebo go along with it, maybe they have a crush on Angie or one of the other girls? Everybody likes Kirumi and loves Kaede so it’s really just the loner crowd Miu and Maki who need to watch out.”
Kirigiri smiles briefly. “Miu is quite attached to you,” she points out.
“She’s all bark,” Komaru says a little fondly. Heck, maybe she’s used to foul mouthed girls with poor social skills and a brilliant streak. It’s true that Miu has been a lot less combative since Komaru made her an unofficial apprentice and set her to work on some of the smaller less involved projects around the place. She does wish Miu would at least try making friends her own age at some pint, though- without relying on crude innuendo for attention.
“Tell me about Maki,” Kiyoko requests, and isn’t that just the whole problem in a nutshell?
“She’s getting bullied,” Komaru says frankly. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
Kirgiri nods. “That tallies with my observations.”
“She’s combative,” Komaru admits. “Maki is the only one who hasn’t formed any clear visible attachments to another person, student or staff. When I tried to help, she didn’t take it well. It’s like she thinks she deserves to be punished.”
Kirigiri wipes her mouth with a napkin that she folds neatly into a square and lays on her now-empty plate. “That’s exactly it. You’re much more clever than you give yourself credit for, Komaru.” Komaru waves her hand as though batting the praise away. Kirigiri has to say stuff like that, they’re practically family. “Maki is the only Monokid who doesn’t seem to have completely assimilated the Chibi-P programming after the events at Towa City.”
“Yeah,” Komaru says, putting her own empty containers aside, satisfied. “I was there for the deprogramming protocols when the Jabberwock Remnants came to Towa. Most of them act like it’s a bad memory or dream and hardly any of them talk about what it was like then. Angie says a lot of stuff about God and forgiveness and sinful waters. I dunno, the others like it.”
“But not Maki.”
“Not Maki,” Komaru sighs. “I think her exact words week one were you can pretend all you want but I’m not going to lie to myself about who I am or what I’ve done and what you all did too. She’s not letting them forget and they’re punishing her for it.”
“What exactly are they doing?”
“Well,” Komaru considers. “Little things at first- they ignore her or laugh whenever she talks. She just quit acknowledging it and she really only talks to teachers if they make her. Then they started to take things that belong to her, damage things that she uses… It hasn’t gotten violent yet, but…”
“But it seems to be escalating,” Kirgiri agrees.
“It would be so much easier if she had a friend,” Komaru says plainly. “Someone on her side. But she doesn’t want to let anyone in! Kaede even tried sticking up for her this afternoon before Free Time when someone put bleach in with Maki’s laundry and destroyed her clothes and Maki told her off for interfering.”
“She can’t accept help from Kaede,” Kirigiri explains calmly. “Kaito likes Kaede.”
“Oh!” Komaru leans in, intrigued. “I thought Shuichi liked Kaede.”
“Most of Tau-53 has a crush on Kaede.” Kirigiri answers dryly. “There’s always one per class, isn’t there?"
"They're always the last to know it too," Komaru grins, rolling her eyes fondly as she thinks about Makoto. Kirgiri smiles in appreciation.
“So Maki likes Kaito,” Komaru says thoughtfully after a moment. “And Kaito likes Kaede and Shuichi likes Kaede… I wonder who Kaede likes?”
“I have my theories."
“Ultimate Detective, even about school yard crushes!” Komaru says with admiration. “What about... Tenko? No, that’s too easy, she likes Himeko… Kokichi! Does he like Kaede? He’s always bothering Kaito and Shuichi though…”
“Kokichi likes trouble,” Kirigiri says firmly.
Another louder thudding noise upstairs, as though a heavy piece of furniture was suddenly overturned. Komaru frowns and glances at her watch. Five minutes till curfew. Strange that it seems to be coming directly above, that's Kaede's room. She's usually pretty quiet, preferring to listen to classical music at an alarming volume through headphones before bed.
“Perhaps I will make the rounds with you,” Kirgiri suggests, rising with a concerned expression. They step out into the hall just as the fire alarm on the wall flares to life.
“That’s… not good.” Komaru and Kirigiri exchange glances.
“Go outside and count by the tree like in the drills,” Kirigiri orders. “I’ll go floor by floor.”
“Roger that,” Komaru says, reflexively checking her hip for her datapad. It sits heavy, charged and connected, a reassuring lifeline. Probably it’s nothing! Miu’s experiment, Tsumugi’s photography light shorting out, Tenko kicking a sensor by mistake, Angie’s paint fumes triggering the CO2 detector, Himeko’s flash powder for her magic trick-
Outside by the tree Tenko and Himeko already wait obediently, shivering a little in the cool night air. Both are already dressed in their pajamas for the evening and it’s hardly any barrier against the cold. That might not be a problem for long, Komaru notes, seeing the rising smoke and embers glow from inside the building. Miu joins them next, cradling a half-assembled robot head that Komaru staunchly decides not to question. She’s still wearing her day clothes and has clearly been interrupted mid-experiment by the smudge of grease along one cheekbone. Komaru absentmindedly licks her thumb and scrubs it off.
“U-Unsanitary!” Miu shrieks, clawing at her reddening face with her free hand.
“You’re welcome,” Komaru says, glancing around.
There’s someone standing very still too close to the fire. Had she been there the whole time? Angie stands alone, silhouetted by the fire, her wide grassy bright eyes fixed on the flames.
“Are you alright?” Komaru demands, grabbing the girl by the shoulders and turning her away from the destruction. “Are you hurt or burned anywhere?” She scans Angie, who despite the soot and her basically constant half-nudity doesn’t look like she’s been injured. Small miracles.
“Sensei,” Angie says, her voice uncomfortably calm- like being plunged into a tepid bath when you’d been expecting hot water. “Look.”
Komaru turns back to the building. The fire is crackling in earnest now, licking up the sides of the structure. A window breaks- the sharp cracks of glass a glittering shower down.
And there, between the towering, roiling heat Komaru sees her through the second floor dorm window.
Long pale legs under a short pink skirt, slightly askew. One of her brown saddle shoes is dipped in red. She lays in a crumpled heap on the bed, face turned down into the pillow, only the back of her blonde hair visible. As the fire crawls its way up the bedspread to her prone form, she does not move.
Kaede Akamatsu is already dead.
“And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat upon him was Death and Hell followed with him,” Angie says dreamily.
Komaru is stunned, staring- there's no blood or visible injury, it's as though she were sleeping. Kaede's mp3 player and headphones lay on the ground. There's something... off... about the picture, wrong even for the wrongness of someone so young and beautiful lying dead and still...
Komaru shoves Angie a bit roughly away from the fire. “Go back with the others and stay together.” She orders and Angie obeys, though her steps are slow and vague. By now Kirigiri had caught up with her- one glance toward the fire, a slight widening of her pupil- she’d seen too.
“Maki was the last, all the students are accounted for.” Kirigiri says, resolutely not looking back at where Kaede is engulfed in flames. “The only room that was unreachable was on the second floor. The key was snapped off in the lock.”
Kaede’s room. Komaru feels her nausea rise.
The flames that engulf the building have not yet reached the front of the building where the girls huddle together. They whisper urgently to each other, and Komaru can hear Kaede's name...
Suddenly, light appears. A projection on the front of the building, a square of brilliance against the dark night and bright flames.
“Is that Naegi?” Komaru asks hopefully. Perhaps he's activated the emergency broadcast system from his office.
“No.” Kirigiri’s eyes narrow as the image focuses. Strange music starts to burble, seemingly all around them. “Aurora Protocol, Komaru. Now.”
The gleeful grinning face of a black and white bear stares down at them all. “A body has been discovered!” Video Monokuma crows with delight.
Komaru feels herself going cold with horror. With fumbling fingers she swipes through the options on her datapad.
“A body has been discovered!”
Behind them, in their huddle at the base of the tree, seven answering voices chime the same from their student datapads.
“A body has been discovered!”
“Hurry,” Kirigiri urges.
The edges of Komaru’s datapad start to darken. Hurriedly, she types the override command.
Aurora Protocol: Engaged.
Lockdown.
The message, red text on a black background, replaces the looping nightmare. The shrill voice is quiet.
Everything goes dark.