The Worst Game in History
[The end of the road.]
Moderator: BRAU2 Director
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Primrosette
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A timed bomb went flying into the area and it bounced nearby Hiroshi.
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Dogs231
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"It's not over," he said, with a shake of his head, "not until it's over."
Shūya just stood there. As if he knew that the inevitable was coming, he did not try to argue further, dodge, or do much of anything of substance. Instead, he just basked in the dim, fading evening light and the glare of the gunshots as they rang out in a treble sequence.
The first rang and blew away the left side of his headphones, shattering the whole thing into pieces of plastic shrapnel. It tore them right off his head and into the background, and one cable flopped to the ground, decapitated, limp and sad.
"You can hide 'neath your covers and study your pain,"
Still, for Shūya, the music played on—just as it had before, crystal clear, deafening his ears. It always would, regardless. Devoid of a medium, the Walkman still sang, the tape rolling fruitlessly inside its casing. And devoid of a backing track, Shūya Nanahara still hummed the words to the song.
Then, the next shot rang out. It struck the Walkman, blowing it—and the tape inside—to bits. The device exploded, bits of tape and aluminum rocketing outward at eye-watering speeds. It then landed on the ground and ceased to move entirely. It was dead now.
"Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain."
Still, for Shūya, the music played on—just as it had before, crystal clear, deafening his ears. It always would, regardless. The headphones discarded, the Walkman destroyed—his morals and dreams had shared the same fates as the former and the latter, respectively. And he danced to the same tune regardless, not realizing how out-of-step he'd always been.
It was such a pointless life; he told such utterly pointless lies; everyone not alive had so pointlessly died. That's all. That was the whole summation of the past few days. Nothing had mattered, had it? It was just a massive waste. Why? He still didn't know. He'd never really understood it.
"Waste your summer praying in vain,"
He didn't get the message they wanted to send. That was another mistake of his—you've got to know the rules before you break them, after all. But like everything else, he'd failed there too. He hadn't risen above the game—he'd fallen prey to it. He was just like so many other would-be heroes and fair-weather revolutionaries.
The third bullet landed: it struck Shūya's collar. It landed just right—his right—of the center. For a moment, he just looked down at it. Then, a red light bloomed outward, and that sharp beep echoed. He raised the gun again—he'd lowered it just a moment prior—and pointed it back at Mitsuru Numai.
"For a savior to rise from these streets."
Shūya pulled the trigger. Outward roared the loudest sound in the world, a single, empty click—where the others had expected a bang. After all, the gun wasn't loaded. He'd left all the bullets with Yoshitoki Kuninobu, where he'd taken the gun. After all, he never planned to use it: it was the mere act of having it that he thought would be enough to make them all listen.
[Oh, well.]
Then, his collar detonated, and the final bell tolled. It was the last jagged stop, the conclusive lightning strike at the end of Thunder Road. His neck erupted, gore spraying, and then lay open like someone had unzipped the center of it. Inside the ruins of his larynx, through his destroyed vocal cords—which once sang melodies and chants—a sound reverberated, and then it died again.
The gun fell from his hand to the ground below. In the end, it had been just as useless and empty as the boy who sought to wield it. As it has turned out, the one who proclaimed himself with such grand ambitions—revolutionary, hero, martyr—embodied none of those lofty ideals. He did not wield a sword of peace but merely threw an apple of discord.
And then, he began to cant to the side, clutching the open wound on his neck. He did not fall immediately, as if there was something important to do before he did, and ceased to be. As if to spite that idea, Shūya merely flashed a wry smile and mouthed something inaudible.
"Well, now, I'm no hero, that's understood..."
B15: SHŪYA NANAHARA — DECEASED
9 STUDENTS REMAIN
Shūya just stood there. As if he knew that the inevitable was coming, he did not try to argue further, dodge, or do much of anything of substance. Instead, he just basked in the dim, fading evening light and the glare of the gunshots as they rang out in a treble sequence.
The first rang and blew away the left side of his headphones, shattering the whole thing into pieces of plastic shrapnel. It tore them right off his head and into the background, and one cable flopped to the ground, decapitated, limp and sad.
"You can hide 'neath your covers and study your pain,"
Still, for Shūya, the music played on—just as it had before, crystal clear, deafening his ears. It always would, regardless. Devoid of a medium, the Walkman still sang, the tape rolling fruitlessly inside its casing. And devoid of a backing track, Shūya Nanahara still hummed the words to the song.
Then, the next shot rang out. It struck the Walkman, blowing it—and the tape inside—to bits. The device exploded, bits of tape and aluminum rocketing outward at eye-watering speeds. It then landed on the ground and ceased to move entirely. It was dead now.
"Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain."
Still, for Shūya, the music played on—just as it had before, crystal clear, deafening his ears. It always would, regardless. The headphones discarded, the Walkman destroyed—his morals and dreams had shared the same fates as the former and the latter, respectively. And he danced to the same tune regardless, not realizing how out-of-step he'd always been.
It was such a pointless life; he told such utterly pointless lies; everyone not alive had so pointlessly died. That's all. That was the whole summation of the past few days. Nothing had mattered, had it? It was just a massive waste. Why? He still didn't know. He'd never really understood it.
"Waste your summer praying in vain,"
He didn't get the message they wanted to send. That was another mistake of his—you've got to know the rules before you break them, after all. But like everything else, he'd failed there too. He hadn't risen above the game—he'd fallen prey to it. He was just like so many other would-be heroes and fair-weather revolutionaries.
The third bullet landed: it struck Shūya's collar. It landed just right—his right—of the center. For a moment, he just looked down at it. Then, a red light bloomed outward, and that sharp beep echoed. He raised the gun again—he'd lowered it just a moment prior—and pointed it back at Mitsuru Numai.
"For a savior to rise from these streets."
Shūya pulled the trigger. Outward roared the loudest sound in the world, a single, empty click—where the others had expected a bang. After all, the gun wasn't loaded. He'd left all the bullets with Yoshitoki Kuninobu, where he'd taken the gun. After all, he never planned to use it: it was the mere act of having it that he thought would be enough to make them all listen.
[Oh, well.]
Then, his collar detonated, and the final bell tolled. It was the last jagged stop, the conclusive lightning strike at the end of Thunder Road. His neck erupted, gore spraying, and then lay open like someone had unzipped the center of it. Inside the ruins of his larynx, through his destroyed vocal cords—which once sang melodies and chants—a sound reverberated, and then it died again.
The gun fell from his hand to the ground below. In the end, it had been just as useless and empty as the boy who sought to wield it. As it has turned out, the one who proclaimed himself with such grand ambitions—revolutionary, hero, martyr—embodied none of those lofty ideals. He did not wield a sword of peace but merely threw an apple of discord.
And then, he began to cant to the side, clutching the open wound on his neck. He did not fall immediately, as if there was something important to do before he did, and ceased to be. As if to spite that idea, Shūya merely flashed a wry smile and mouthed something inaudible.
"Well, now, I'm no hero, that's understood..."
B15: SHŪYA NANAHARA — DECEASED
9 STUDENTS REMAIN
Mitsuru’s arm dropped and he stared, mouth agape. His gun was empty. Shuya’s gun was fucking empty…
What a waste.
This whole game, all the people who’d died, there was no point, no purpos-
Something flew over his head. Landed with a thud Mitsuru’s ears struggled to hear. He turned his head to look-
Hiroshi’s face was a look of shock and terror-
One.
Mitsuru’s eyes locked on to the olive green pineapple. Looked back up at Hiroshi.
Two.
They didn’t have time to run away, they were as good as dead unless-
Three.
Mitsuru ran. He promised Hiroshi he’d get him out if it was the last thing he was going to do.
Four.
He dived onto the deck. Only now was he starting to comprehend what he’d done. First he killed Shuya in cold blood, and now this. He felt a scream building inside his chest. He opened his mouth- Five.
What remained of Mitsuru was sent cartwheeling ten feet in the air across the clearing.
What a waste.
This whole game, all the people who’d died, there was no point, no purpos-
Something flew over his head. Landed with a thud Mitsuru’s ears struggled to hear. He turned his head to look-
Hiroshi’s face was a look of shock and terror-
One.
Mitsuru’s eyes locked on to the olive green pineapple. Looked back up at Hiroshi.
Two.
They didn’t have time to run away, they were as good as dead unless-
Three.
Mitsuru ran. He promised Hiroshi he’d get him out if it was the last thing he was going to do.
Four.
He dived onto the deck. Only now was he starting to comprehend what he’d done. First he killed Shuya in cold blood, and now this. He felt a scream building inside his chest. He opened his mouth- Five.
What remained of Mitsuru was sent cartwheeling ten feet in the air across the clearing.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
Hiroshi kept a death grip on Numai as he shouldered him close. They needed to get out of there fast and get his shit treated before... before he died, and Hiroshi would be all alone. Without anybody to tell him what to do, without anybody to plan since he's too much of an idiot to do that, without someone to... watch his back and talk to and just not fucking try and kill him.
Mitsuru promised to get them out of there, that was all fine and fucking nice and shit, but they had to get past him.
Shuya was back and as nuts as that fuck could be, waving a gun around. Mitsuru wrenched out of his grasp; the guy barely stood under his own power as the two stood, face to crazy. Talking about nobody getting to leave, win, or whatever. It was all clear this talk was bullshit, and his mind was gone because the Nanahara he had heard from over the years was an incessant fucking preacher. It annoyed him to the core this turn-around.
Despite that, Hiroshi had a blank expression at the proceedings, he had nothing to offer as Shuya was gunned down in front of him, and it was all their fault.
If they had never gone there, maybe Kuninobu would still be alive, and this mess, this whole fucking thing would have never gone this bad. What there was to do now was get Numai out of there before Chisato-
But before Hiroshi could react, something landed close to him. His eyes widened, and his face scrunched up the minute he realized what it was.
Mitsuru dived-
"What the-" Whatever Hiroshi said was drowned out by the explosion, and his boss, his ally... his only friend left, flying by. Hiroshi had fallen over onto his back and struggled to get back up on his feet as Mitsuru landed with a thud.
It was a grizzly sight. So different from the things Hiroshi had seen so far. This wasn't like Akamatsu or Haruka at all. Both of them were gone in an instant. There was blood, yeah, but this... this was something else.
There was so much blood.
He could barely hear himself scream over the ringing in his ears.
"Mitsuru!"
Mitsuru promised to get them out of there, that was all fine and fucking nice and shit, but they had to get past him.
Shuya was back and as nuts as that fuck could be, waving a gun around. Mitsuru wrenched out of his grasp; the guy barely stood under his own power as the two stood, face to crazy. Talking about nobody getting to leave, win, or whatever. It was all clear this talk was bullshit, and his mind was gone because the Nanahara he had heard from over the years was an incessant fucking preacher. It annoyed him to the core this turn-around.
Despite that, Hiroshi had a blank expression at the proceedings, he had nothing to offer as Shuya was gunned down in front of him, and it was all their fault.
If they had never gone there, maybe Kuninobu would still be alive, and this mess, this whole fucking thing would have never gone this bad. What there was to do now was get Numai out of there before Chisato-
But before Hiroshi could react, something landed close to him. His eyes widened, and his face scrunched up the minute he realized what it was.
Mitsuru dived-
"What the-" Whatever Hiroshi said was drowned out by the explosion, and his boss, his ally... his only friend left, flying by. Hiroshi had fallen over onto his back and struggled to get back up on his feet as Mitsuru landed with a thud.
It was a grizzly sight. So different from the things Hiroshi had seen so far. This wasn't like Akamatsu or Haruka at all. Both of them were gone in an instant. There was blood, yeah, but this... this was something else.
There was so much blood.
He could barely hear himself scream over the ringing in his ears.
"Mitsuru!"
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Primrosette
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Chisato slowly came out of a bush, not caring about the leaves that was currently stuck in her tangled mess of hair. Her left leg was limping as she had damaged when she was fell down the hill. Luckily it had not been a big drop.
She had some cuts from the fall, and she could feel her ears ringing a little from the explosion that had torn Mitsuru up badly. The damage that had been done was so freaking brutal. Seeing it up so closely was a shock. She never thought that she would have got the wrong person killed, she had been thinking of saving Mitsuru for last. But well, she messed up on that part and now there was only-
She had been walking towards the scene and she froze when she saw how burnt and bloodied Mitsuru's body looked. It almost made her want to gag and throw up. The smell was awful too.
"Jesus fucking Christ." She murmured in disbelief at her own chaos that she had caused.
She had some cuts from the fall, and she could feel her ears ringing a little from the explosion that had torn Mitsuru up badly. The damage that had been done was so freaking brutal. Seeing it up so closely was a shock. She never thought that she would have got the wrong person killed, she had been thinking of saving Mitsuru for last. But well, she messed up on that part and now there was only-
She had been walking towards the scene and she froze when she saw how burnt and bloodied Mitsuru's body looked. It almost made her want to gag and throw up. The smell was awful too.
"Jesus fucking Christ." She murmured in disbelief at her own chaos that she had caused.
Hiroshi froze where he lay as Chisato walked out from some bushes towards Mitsuru, no doubt to view her handiwork on his friend and make sure he was dead. It boiled his blood to see her approach him the way she did. Nanahara made sense; the man was crazy, but why them? Why now? Akamatsu had been days ago, and they weren't close that was clear.
He wanted to get up and choke her out for it, but she had a gun and Mitsuru dove on a grenade for him to live.
He had to do this right.
Nearby, Hiroshi spied a gun in the open. He had no idea whose it was, how it got there, or if any of that mattered anymore as he trudged toward it. In a slow crouch walk over to the gun and grips it firmly with his right hand.
Hiroshi rose as she studied Mitsuru, aimed his gun at her, and pulled the trigger.
He wanted to get up and choke her out for it, but she had a gun and Mitsuru dove on a grenade for him to live.
He had to do this right.
Nearby, Hiroshi spied a gun in the open. He had no idea whose it was, how it got there, or if any of that mattered anymore as he trudged toward it. In a slow crouch walk over to the gun and grips it firmly with his right hand.
Hiroshi rose as she studied Mitsuru, aimed his gun at her, and pulled the trigger.
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Primrosette
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Chisato heard a click.
She spun around quickly.
She stumbled on her bad leg a little and she straightened her balance, aiming the gun right at Hiroshi.
She fired right at him.
She spun around quickly.
She stumbled on her bad leg a little and she straightened her balance, aiming the gun right at Hiroshi.
She fired right at him.
There were a lot of words that could have been said, a lot of them to his fellow brothers-in-arms that were now gone. Words of regret, loneliness, anger, repentance. Hiroshi was not a man of many words, to begin with; he let the talking to the smarter ones, the higher-ups. He did the work; he was a soldier, and he was a good one.
But sometimes he could be good with words, surprise people that he knew with anecdotes and the like. It was good to be underestimated on that front, even if he wasn't that strong there.
Words failed him now as he stared at his gun, widened eyes staring at the infernal thing as he kept clicking. He had a shocked look on his face as his gun kept clicking, which quickly changed into one of fury as Chisato spun around with a stumble and swiftly aimed at him.
"Don't you fucking da-"
The bullet flew into his right eye through his glasses.
His face slackened, his legs hobbled as he stumbled to the side, his feet keeping him up for a few seconds as his arms dangled downwards, swinging away in the breeze. He took a few steps forward before finally mercifully toppling over to his right side.
B09 - Hiroshi Kuronaga: Deceased
But sometimes he could be good with words, surprise people that he knew with anecdotes and the like. It was good to be underestimated on that front, even if he wasn't that strong there.
Words failed him now as he stared at his gun, widened eyes staring at the infernal thing as he kept clicking. He had a shocked look on his face as his gun kept clicking, which quickly changed into one of fury as Chisato spun around with a stumble and swiftly aimed at him.
"Don't you fucking da-"
The bullet flew into his right eye through his glasses.
His face slackened, his legs hobbled as he stumbled to the side, his feet keeping him up for a few seconds as his arms dangled downwards, swinging away in the breeze. He took a few steps forward before finally mercifully toppling over to his right side.
B09 - Hiroshi Kuronaga: Deceased
There was a gasp. A sputter of red spilling out into the dirt.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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Primrosette
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Chisato had done it. She had taken them all out - but not Shuya as he wasn't his real target after all - and now she was all alone. She let out a sharp hiss and she glanced down at her leg, feeling the agony in the lower half. Was her ankle going to get worse?
Now she just had to get away from this area and-
She heard a sudden strange noise behind her. She tensed up for a few seconds.
She turned around slowly, and she stared down at the body on the ground, stepping cautiously closer.
Was he.... alive?
"Mitsuru...?"
Now she just had to get away from this area and-
She heard a sudden strange noise behind her. She tensed up for a few seconds.
She turned around slowly, and she stared down at the body on the ground, stepping cautiously closer.
Was he.... alive?
"Mitsuru...?"
Mitsuru laid there twitching, spewing blood out of his mouth, and the gaping hole that used to be his midsection, and the other half of everything that used to be there below it. The one arm he still had dug it's fingers in the dirt as his head tried to push itself off the ground, his shoulders shaking the entire time. He flattened against the ground again, another jet of blood leaving his mouth.
His head lulled to the side as his eyes-eye locked onto Hiroshi's corpse. It shook, then turned and stared up at Chisato, his head turning slower following his vision. He saw that she spoke, though he couldn't hear any of it, burst ear drums will do that to you.
Mitsuru didn't have much to say either. He let the blood pool in his mouth and used what little bit of lungs he had left to spit it out at Chisato's face.
It only landed on her foot.
His head lulled to the side as his eyes-eye locked onto Hiroshi's corpse. It shook, then turned and stared up at Chisato, his head turning slower following his vision. He saw that she spoke, though he couldn't hear any of it, burst ear drums will do that to you.
Mitsuru didn't have much to say either. He let the blood pool in his mouth and used what little bit of lungs he had left to spit it out at Chisato's face.
It only landed on her foot.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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Primrosette
- Posts: 902
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 1:59 pm
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Chisato noticed the splatter of blood that landed on her foot, and she let out a small hum. She had to put Mitsuru out of his misery. Even if she had wanted revenge, she didn't want him to continue to suffer like this.
She stepped right up to him, and she crouched down, letting out a soft sigh.
She pressed her gun against the side of Mitsuru's head, and she pulled the trigger once more.
She stepped right up to him, and she crouched down, letting out a soft sigh.
She pressed her gun against the side of Mitsuru's head, and she pulled the trigger once more.
It's kinda funny but-
No, no it wasn't funny, it was something. Ironic maybe? Mitsuru didn't know. He wasn't much of a thinker. Still, he had an idea about...
All of this.
There's a point of no return in everything. It's exactly what it sounds like, once you cross that threshold, there's nothing you can do to change the course you're on. Maybe that was when Ryuhei poisoned Kuninobu, but honestly, Mitsuru thought it was earlier, way earlier, before the game.
Should've been obvious. Mitsuru spent his entire childhoo- his life, proving himself. He was the strongest. He was the meanest. The most hardcore. Everything he's ever done was done with the express purpose of proving a point, and with it came some extra messages Mitsuru never thought about, that lead to consequences he'd never expect.
"Hey lardass, get the fuck out of my seat." His shoe had planted itself across Akamatsu's ribs, pushing him from the desk. Mitsuru didn't really care where he sat, but of all the places fatboy chose, he chose the one spot that split their gang up, and on testing day too. He wasn't even smart enough to cheat off his paper, so there was only one thing to do.
"Go on bitch! Say my fucking name!" Ryuhei stared up at the one who bested him in their fight. Mitsuru had proven he was the strongest of the freshman class and knocked some well needed sense in the loud-mouthed fucker. "Who's the most hardcore bastard in the school! Me motherfucker!"
"Hey, bookworm." Mitsuru cornered Motobuchi by the lockers. "Got a deal for you. You sit between me and Ryuhei today, let us see your answers on the test, and we won't take take your cash today at lunch?" Mitsuru smiled. He knew Ryuhei had no intention of honoring the deal, but it didn't matter, he didn't like the way Kyoichi was looking at him in the hall today.
“Well Akamatsu, I always wondered how you had so much spare change. Didn’t know you were in the pimping game.” Mitsuru nodded, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. His eyes glanced at Chisato on the way out.
“Enjoy your meal, we’ll see you later.”
His vision was fading, but he kept staring. He wouldn't look away, not from Chisato, not from getting what was coming to him. It didn't matter what he tried to do in the game, he'd passed the point of no return long ago. Even saving Shuya didn't mean anything in the end, he ended up killing him after all. It didn't mean a thing to the people who watched them, he'd made his impressions already. For all they knew, the only reason Mitsuru saved Shuya was to save himself from becoming an example. Nobody knew what he told Akamatsu at the docks, and Akamatsu died believing Numai to be a liar when Ryuhei returned to finish the job. A job Mitsuru never wanted him to do. Ryuhei kept digging the gang deeper and deeper, killing more and more, believing Mitsuru had gone soft.
In a way, he was right. Ryuhei knew how Mitsuru was before the game, it didn't matter why he changed, just that he did.
He never stood a chance because he'd burned all his bridges long before he could even cross them himself. He'd led his friends to their deaths. He tried to buy Hiroshi some time, jumping on that grenade, but it didn't change a thing, he wouldn't have left him to die, he was loyal to a fault, hell, Hiroshi had already followed them through worse.
This was all his fault, and he would take full responsibility for it. All because he wanted to be hardcore.
Yeah, it was funny in the end wasn't it. Mitsuru spent all his life trying to be something he wasn't, and now here he was, about to die for his choices, looking in the eyes of someone truly hardcore.
Seeing the look in Chisato's eyes, Mitsuru realized he was nowhere near as hardcore as her, and he'd never want to be.
Last minute revelations suck...
Chisato taught Mitsuru the real meaning of hardcore. In the end, he understood that.
Hardcore is cold, dead cold.
B17- Mitsuru Numai: Deceased
No, no it wasn't funny, it was something. Ironic maybe? Mitsuru didn't know. He wasn't much of a thinker. Still, he had an idea about...
All of this.
There's a point of no return in everything. It's exactly what it sounds like, once you cross that threshold, there's nothing you can do to change the course you're on. Maybe that was when Ryuhei poisoned Kuninobu, but honestly, Mitsuru thought it was earlier, way earlier, before the game.
Should've been obvious. Mitsuru spent his entire childhoo- his life, proving himself. He was the strongest. He was the meanest. The most hardcore. Everything he's ever done was done with the express purpose of proving a point, and with it came some extra messages Mitsuru never thought about, that lead to consequences he'd never expect.
"Hey lardass, get the fuck out of my seat." His shoe had planted itself across Akamatsu's ribs, pushing him from the desk. Mitsuru didn't really care where he sat, but of all the places fatboy chose, he chose the one spot that split their gang up, and on testing day too. He wasn't even smart enough to cheat off his paper, so there was only one thing to do.
"Go on bitch! Say my fucking name!" Ryuhei stared up at the one who bested him in their fight. Mitsuru had proven he was the strongest of the freshman class and knocked some well needed sense in the loud-mouthed fucker. "Who's the most hardcore bastard in the school! Me motherfucker!"
"Hey, bookworm." Mitsuru cornered Motobuchi by the lockers. "Got a deal for you. You sit between me and Ryuhei today, let us see your answers on the test, and we won't take take your cash today at lunch?" Mitsuru smiled. He knew Ryuhei had no intention of honoring the deal, but it didn't matter, he didn't like the way Kyoichi was looking at him in the hall today.
“Well Akamatsu, I always wondered how you had so much spare change. Didn’t know you were in the pimping game.” Mitsuru nodded, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. His eyes glanced at Chisato on the way out.
“Enjoy your meal, we’ll see you later.”
His vision was fading, but he kept staring. He wouldn't look away, not from Chisato, not from getting what was coming to him. It didn't matter what he tried to do in the game, he'd passed the point of no return long ago. Even saving Shuya didn't mean anything in the end, he ended up killing him after all. It didn't mean a thing to the people who watched them, he'd made his impressions already. For all they knew, the only reason Mitsuru saved Shuya was to save himself from becoming an example. Nobody knew what he told Akamatsu at the docks, and Akamatsu died believing Numai to be a liar when Ryuhei returned to finish the job. A job Mitsuru never wanted him to do. Ryuhei kept digging the gang deeper and deeper, killing more and more, believing Mitsuru had gone soft.
In a way, he was right. Ryuhei knew how Mitsuru was before the game, it didn't matter why he changed, just that he did.
He never stood a chance because he'd burned all his bridges long before he could even cross them himself. He'd led his friends to their deaths. He tried to buy Hiroshi some time, jumping on that grenade, but it didn't change a thing, he wouldn't have left him to die, he was loyal to a fault, hell, Hiroshi had already followed them through worse.
This was all his fault, and he would take full responsibility for it. All because he wanted to be hardcore.
Yeah, it was funny in the end wasn't it. Mitsuru spent all his life trying to be something he wasn't, and now here he was, about to die for his choices, looking in the eyes of someone truly hardcore.
Seeing the look in Chisato's eyes, Mitsuru realized he was nowhere near as hardcore as her, and he'd never want to be.
Last minute revelations suck...
Chisato taught Mitsuru the real meaning of hardcore. In the end, he understood that.
Hardcore is cold, dead cold.
B17- Mitsuru Numai: Deceased
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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Primrosette
- Posts: 902
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 1:59 pm
- Location: In Her Dark Abyss
Chisato had set out what she wanted to do.
Even if it resulted in a lot of chaos.
Now it was time for her to move on.
She had done what she wanted to do for Yoshio Akamatsu. She hoped that he was finally at peace.
Shūya had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time, but that was how this death game worked.
Now she knew that there was not many of them left.
She had made a decision.
Now she could only live for herself.
((Chisato Matsui continued inSee You At The Crossroads))
Even if it resulted in a lot of chaos.
Now it was time for her to move on.
She had done what she wanted to do for Yoshio Akamatsu. She hoped that he was finally at peace.
Shūya had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time, but that was how this death game worked.
Now she knew that there was not many of them left.
She had made a decision.
Now she could only live for herself.
((Chisato Matsui continued inSee You At The Crossroads))