Shogo Kawada (Male Student No. 5) dared not make a sound as he steadied his hands on the collar around Kazuo Kiriyama (Male Student No. 6) in the consultation room of the clinic. He didn't even breathe as he worked with the transistor, the knife, and the screwdriver and finessed with the tools with the deliberateness and care of a brain surgeon. His own collar lay on the desk nearby, discarded like a broken alarm clock left to rot and remain forgotten in a hot garage of a hoarder with dozens of other supposed projects.
Beads of sweat drizzled down his forehead as he stared intently and worked on the collar, only sharing an awkward glance for a moment with Kiriyama as if to say "don't fucking look at me". But he did it once, so there was nothing to worry about.
He could do it again. There was nothing to worry about.
He didn't breathe until the soft tick emanated from the collar and he removed the choker, the two halves clutched in his calloused hands. He fought the urge to slam it on the ground and shatter it into a million pieces, opting instead to simply set it down with the other, right on top of the instructions he wrote out through the night.
"We did it," Shogo said under his breath, not addressing Kiriyama.
Angels' Border
deaths are happening so please be cool
Moderator: BRAU2 Director
Once the collar was removed from him Kazuo Kiriyama rolled his neck around and itched a spot just to the left of his Adam's apple. The pair had been sheltering in the clinic for the past few hours as Shogo had quietly worked under the shroud of shadow and silence. The only outward sign of life had been the soft and careful sound of a tool being picked up or placed down.
Kiriyama had intently watched Kawada go through each step of the process, first upon himself and then once again on him. It was an elaborate process that required complete silence as Shogo had explained it. There were microphones within the collars but no cameras.
It was an interesting detail.
More interesting than the bodies they had passed on their way inside the abandoned clinic.
"What next?" Kiriyama asked as he stood up for the first time in hours.
Kiriyama had intently watched Kawada go through each step of the process, first upon himself and then once again on him. It was an elaborate process that required complete silence as Shogo had explained it. There were microphones within the collars but no cameras.
It was an interesting detail.
More interesting than the bodies they had passed on their way inside the abandoned clinic.
"What next?" Kiriyama asked as he stood up for the first time in hours.
The hood of the truck was slammed shut by Shogo who absentmindedly wiped his hands on an already dirty rag before discarding it.
From where he was sat in the drivers seat Kiriyama saw Shogo give him a thumbs up and leaned down slightly lower to put two bare ends of different wires together. After a few seconds of sputtering the engine growled and awoke. Shogo grinned and slapped his hands on the bonnet.
“That’s it,” Shogo said, letting some excitement make its way into his voice. “We’re ready.”
Kiriyama cast his eyes around the interior of the old beaten up car as he gave a slow nod. He had become familiar with the space during the time he and Shogo had spent getting the vehicle to work. The brown leather upholstery stank of stale cigarettes and some discarded manga magazines sat in the footwell, claiming to retell stories of miraculous victories by the Greater East Asia soccer team in international competitions. Victories both Kiriyama and Shogo knew had never occurred, flipping the reported scores would have in fact been more accurate.
“Okay, so who should drive?” Kiriyama asked. The subject had been somewhat discussed by the pair after Shogo had explained the entirety of his plan, but had fallen to the wayside as the work became harder.
Shogo shrugged and gave a slight grin. “I was thinking we could janken to decide.” He said as he put another of a stream of seemingly endless cigarettes in his mouth and lit it.
Kiriyama’s stare didn’t waver from Shogo for a long time.
With the cigarette lit Shogo inhaled deeply and then breathed out.
“Ok.” Came Kiriyama’s response, hands rising to take up the ready position.
——————
The shotgun rested casually across the open passenger window, occasionally bouncing up and down whenever the car hit a bump. From the drivers seat Shogo flicked his finished cigarette out of the side window. His previous knowing grin had been replaced with a look of determination. The car rocked and bounced over the unpaved country path.
Kiriyama adjusted his foot that rested on the dashboard and looked out over the horizon, waiting until the top of their objective came into view.
“There, on the right.” He said, raising the shotgun to point out at the top of the building that was poking above the trees. Shogo slowed down somewhat and turned the car in the direction Kiriyama had indicated. The trucks engine glumly sputtered as Shogo brought it around on a line that ran parallel to the school building. Kiriyama took his foot off the dash and placed it in the footwell, withdrawing the shotgun from where it had been resting to place it between his legs as well. On the other side is the car Shogo wound down his window.
“In case we need to get out and the door jams.” He explained when he saw Kiriyama watching him. For his own part Kiriyama said nothing.
Once Shogo was happy with the line of attack he had chosen he turned the car to face the school. Putting on the handbrake he fished out and lit another cigarette.
“Weathers nice for it.” He said absentmindedly, gaze fixed on the horizon. Then his hands reached into his pockets to bring out his wallet. Flipping it open Kawada took out a photo and stared at it for a few seconds.
“You ever have someone you loved.” He asked.
Kiriyama was silent for a moment then tutted. “Not that I can remember. My mother?” He didn’t sound certain.
“How do you not know if you loved your mother?” Shogo asked, disbelief tinging his voice.
“I can’t remember her,” Kiriyama explained. “She died years ago.”
“Ahhh,” Was the only response Shogo gave, nodding his head in understanding. “Well now that makes more sense,” They settled into another protracted silence. Neither comfortable but neither uncomfortable enough to speak up. Conversational purgatory. “How’d she die?” Shogo eventually asked from between drags of his cigarette.
“Car crash,” Kiriyama replied, “Same one my father and I were in.”
Shogo shook his head at that, a smile forming on his face as he chuckled. “Well ain’t that some rotten fucking luck you have?”
“I guess so,” Kiriyama said, the corners of his mouth twitching somewhat.
A brief pause.
“Hit the gas.”
—————
In the distance a falcon looked up from its perch on top of a tree in the forest.
There was a loud rumbling going past, and it wanted to keep an eye for predators. It had eggs to protect after all.
Nothing emerged from the brush but it did hear the loud tearing and screaming of a great beast.
Then the entire forest lit up with light and heat.
The bird took up flight in its fright, flying away from its nest. Most undignified for a bird if it’s status. But it hoped to draw the attention of whatever monster was out in forest.
It never saw the beast but it did see the smoking husk of a truck, one wheel torn out and left behind in a ditch that had been sloppily covered over by some thin planks of wood.
The bird could recall watching the farmer cover up the ditch rather than fix it and remembered thinking “That’ll never work.”
From where he was sat in the drivers seat Kiriyama saw Shogo give him a thumbs up and leaned down slightly lower to put two bare ends of different wires together. After a few seconds of sputtering the engine growled and awoke. Shogo grinned and slapped his hands on the bonnet.
“That’s it,” Shogo said, letting some excitement make its way into his voice. “We’re ready.”
Kiriyama cast his eyes around the interior of the old beaten up car as he gave a slow nod. He had become familiar with the space during the time he and Shogo had spent getting the vehicle to work. The brown leather upholstery stank of stale cigarettes and some discarded manga magazines sat in the footwell, claiming to retell stories of miraculous victories by the Greater East Asia soccer team in international competitions. Victories both Kiriyama and Shogo knew had never occurred, flipping the reported scores would have in fact been more accurate.
“Okay, so who should drive?” Kiriyama asked. The subject had been somewhat discussed by the pair after Shogo had explained the entirety of his plan, but had fallen to the wayside as the work became harder.
Shogo shrugged and gave a slight grin. “I was thinking we could janken to decide.” He said as he put another of a stream of seemingly endless cigarettes in his mouth and lit it.
Kiriyama’s stare didn’t waver from Shogo for a long time.
With the cigarette lit Shogo inhaled deeply and then breathed out.
“Ok.” Came Kiriyama’s response, hands rising to take up the ready position.
——————
The shotgun rested casually across the open passenger window, occasionally bouncing up and down whenever the car hit a bump. From the drivers seat Shogo flicked his finished cigarette out of the side window. His previous knowing grin had been replaced with a look of determination. The car rocked and bounced over the unpaved country path.
Kiriyama adjusted his foot that rested on the dashboard and looked out over the horizon, waiting until the top of their objective came into view.
“There, on the right.” He said, raising the shotgun to point out at the top of the building that was poking above the trees. Shogo slowed down somewhat and turned the car in the direction Kiriyama had indicated. The trucks engine glumly sputtered as Shogo brought it around on a line that ran parallel to the school building. Kiriyama took his foot off the dash and placed it in the footwell, withdrawing the shotgun from where it had been resting to place it between his legs as well. On the other side is the car Shogo wound down his window.
“In case we need to get out and the door jams.” He explained when he saw Kiriyama watching him. For his own part Kiriyama said nothing.
Once Shogo was happy with the line of attack he had chosen he turned the car to face the school. Putting on the handbrake he fished out and lit another cigarette.
“Weathers nice for it.” He said absentmindedly, gaze fixed on the horizon. Then his hands reached into his pockets to bring out his wallet. Flipping it open Kawada took out a photo and stared at it for a few seconds.
“You ever have someone you loved.” He asked.
Kiriyama was silent for a moment then tutted. “Not that I can remember. My mother?” He didn’t sound certain.
“How do you not know if you loved your mother?” Shogo asked, disbelief tinging his voice.
“I can’t remember her,” Kiriyama explained. “She died years ago.”
“Ahhh,” Was the only response Shogo gave, nodding his head in understanding. “Well now that makes more sense,” They settled into another protracted silence. Neither comfortable but neither uncomfortable enough to speak up. Conversational purgatory. “How’d she die?” Shogo eventually asked from between drags of his cigarette.
“Car crash,” Kiriyama replied, “Same one my father and I were in.”
Shogo shook his head at that, a smile forming on his face as he chuckled. “Well ain’t that some rotten fucking luck you have?”
“I guess so,” Kiriyama said, the corners of his mouth twitching somewhat.
A brief pause.
“Hit the gas.”
—————
In the distance a falcon looked up from its perch on top of a tree in the forest.
There was a loud rumbling going past, and it wanted to keep an eye for predators. It had eggs to protect after all.
Nothing emerged from the brush but it did hear the loud tearing and screaming of a great beast.
Then the entire forest lit up with light and heat.
The bird took up flight in its fright, flying away from its nest. Most undignified for a bird if it’s status. But it hoped to draw the attention of whatever monster was out in forest.
It never saw the beast but it did see the smoking husk of a truck, one wheel torn out and left behind in a ditch that had been sloppily covered over by some thin planks of wood.
The bird could recall watching the farmer cover up the ditch rather than fix it and remembered thinking “That’ll never work.”