The Worst Game in History

[Ohm]

Slowly, those ropes that were keeping him there were turning looser by the second. Hiroshi was going to bail once he was loose enough to get Numai out of his bind.

It was either that or leaving him behind, and as tempting as it was to leave whatever kind of horror show this had turned into, Hiroshi owed him at least enough to get him out.

Otherwise, he was going to die here, and they couldn't have that, now could they?

[Dogs231]

"Blind faith in your leaders, or in anything, will get you killed."

Those were not the words of Shūya Nanahara. Those were the words of Bruce Springsteen. The first half and the final four words had, indeed, left their mark on the boy: however, the three in the center, it seemed, had flown past him like a misaimed bullet. After all, what had brought him to this point but blind faith? Blind faith in his friends, to not kill; in his words, that they would ring true; in himself and his cause. There is an emphasis in the first part of the phrase—his faith, indeed, was blind. The most critical result was that he could no longer see the truth, no matter how obvious it should have been.

"Such is life," he muttered, erroneously quoting a famous Australian outlaw. "Still, I'm not going to give up. I have a cause to uphold. Something to live for—and later, something I'll die for."

The words still felt like a dream in his head; loose and distant, far-away, echoing on invisible walls, dissonant and harmonious. Almost tangible, as if he could reach out and touch them, yet forever out of his grasp.

[There's only one way out—death.]

[We're already there.]

[It's just—we haven't quite caught up yet.]

He didn't spare a glance at the others. His mind was drifting now, elsewhere, somewhere in the far beyond. When he snapped back into focus, all he did was hew closer to the trigger.

Shūya Nanahara would die on this island—he knew that. It was only a matter of where and when. And, at that moment, he knew another thing—that it wasn't here, and it wasn't now. Not if he had a choice. Not if he took a stand.

He'd take his chances.

[Primrosette]

Chisato pulled the trigger without hesitation.

[ItzToxie]

When the shooting started, Mitsuru didn’t bother to attempt to untie himself. He just dove to the deck and grabbed the revolver.

[Ohm]

Ropes clumped up against the ground as Hiroshi finally untied himself; he was ready to move and do the same for Numai when the idiot dove down for the gun. Instead, Hiroshi crouched down when the shooting began and tried to find cover as quickly as possible.

He'd lost track of where Nanahara went in the chaos, which wasn't good considering how nuts the guy was, but he'd leave that mess for Numai to deal with; he had the gun, after all.

[Dogs231]

Shūya hissed with pain. A deep pain emanated from his left side, and his left hand drew down to his torso, clutching the open wound. Seeking an out, he hobbled away from the center of the chaos.

"Not here, not now, no, not—

[No, no!]

"—not yet."

[I—I can't die like this.]

[It's not—over. Not until it's over.]

Towards the treeline was his sanctuary, an oasis in a flood of gunfire. To it, he fled.

[Primrosette]

Chisato felt frustrated that her aim with the gun hadn't been a bit higher to take Shūya out. She could only watch as he made a dash for cover, and she could worry about him afterwards. First, she needed to deal with Mitsuru and Hiroshi. She focused her eyes back towards the boys.

She froze when she saw that Hiroshi was free from the ropes that were used in a poor manner. This was definitely going to be a disadvantage for her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mitsuru picking up a gun and she swung her gun towards him, firing off another shot.

[ItzToxie]

Obviously, Mitsuru knew what a punch felt like. All the fights he's been in, there was that constant. Past a certain speed, all punches felt the same, the only difference was how much you were pushed back. Well, turns out bullets feel a lot like getting punched. Didn't hurt all that bad, but Mitsuru screamed the same because he knew he was dead already.


Flung to his back, wind knocked out of his lungs, Mitsuru used his strength to roll away from the next shot. He sat up and fired back, both hands clasped around the revolver, wrists still tied together. He screamed again.

He fired again.

[Primrosette]

Chisato shrieked when Mitsuru managed to get a hit on her. It hurt a lot more that she thought it would. She had to get away quickly. Her right shoulder was starting to stain with blood, and she had to make sure that she wasn't about to pass out from shock. She then noticed that Mitsuru was still aiming at her, and she had to move. Move!

She dodged out of the way as Mitsuru fired off another shot and the bullet whizzed pass her head, managing to miss her by an inch or so.

She dived right beside the tree where she left her bag, making sure to pick it up with her free hand and she rolled herself towards some bushes to hide better.

That was a mistake as there was a hill here and she let out a surprised yell, rolling down on a rough surface.

And down she went. Over and over and over-

CRACK!!

[ItzToxie]

Mitsuru fired once more.


He got her, he knew he did. Three shots, and she was down. Mitsuru laid onto his back, taking in a deep breath. There was a sudden jolt of pain in his ribs, and Mitsuru coughed, tasting iron. He rolled to his side and spit. The dirt below him stained red.

"Kuso..."


He looked down and saw his white undershirt turning red on the middle right of his abdomen. A cold chill moved down his back. He was fucked and he knew it. He rolled to his front and curled his elbows underneath him. He screamed.


"Fuck! Fucking shit, fucking shit!" He began to worm himself away from the area, crawling along the ground. He didn't know where Hiroshi was, or Shuya. "Hiroshi! Hiroshi, you there man!? I got her! I... fuck."

"I'm hurt pretty bad here..."

He hoped he was okay. It all couldn't end like this. Not after everything that's happened.

"Hiroshi!"

Mitsuru brought his legs underneath him. He just... He just had to stand up. If he could do that, he could get Hiroshi to the end. Someone had to go home. He knew it wasn't him. He knew it wasn't gonna be more than one. He knew he had to pay for what he'd done. He knew he owed it to Hiroshi after dragging him through this shit. He knew what he had to do.

[Dogs231]

Shūya threw himself onto the ground into the tangle of the foliage, hitting the dirt with a sudden thud. Around him, the gunshots rocketed out, and little explosions rang across the forest. In the jumble, the Walkman's switch got hit, and the music returned.

The screen door slams, Mary's dress sways,

Like a vision, she dances across the porch as the radio plays.

One, two, three—four? He was losing track. This whole place was starting to feel like a warzone again. There was a crack in the distance, like the snap of a heavy branch. Words, indistinguishable, followed.

Roy Orbison singing for the lonely,

Hey, that's me, and I want you only.

He began to pull himself back up. It wasn't over yet—it was never over until it was over. That's how it went. And, for him, that wasn't until the clock struck zero, and this whole game came to an explosive end.

Don't turn me home again,

I just can't face myself alone again.

[Ohm]

Hiroshi kept his head low; there was a lot of shooting going on, and he had no intention of sticking his head out to check; if the freaks had gotten each other or not, he hoped they did. He only poked out once it stopped, and he could see the damage.

Numai was hurt badly; Hiroshi could hear it in his voice that he was even before his eyes found him in the landscape. He swiftly ran over to him in a crouch- it was supposed to be crouch, but it might have looked more like he had a back problem- and reached out towards his shoulders. The guy was trying to stand up, but he was not doing that on his own.

"Jesus, you should have waited!" He yelled as he got to work on lifting this idiot up; they did not have time to get rid of the ropes; they needed to get out of there now.

"Fuck' sake, I would have gotten you out of those if you just..." He mumbled as he tried to lead him out of this place. He couldn't see Shuya or Chisato around, so this was as clear-cut of an exit as they were going to get.

[ItzToxie]

"She fuckin' shot us man... Lit Shuya up and aimed at me." They had to get out of there. That much was clear, there was nothing but death waiting for him. Maybe he'd have thought about grabbing Shuya, but he'd made his mind up. He'd lost it and he wanted everyone dead. Mitsuru couldn't blame him after all that had happened, but they weren't bringing him with them.

Mitsuru found himself laughing quietly as Hiroshi had dragged him to his feet. "Didja' hear what Chisato said though?"


"...It was for Akamatsu."

Chisato had killed Shinji too. Maybe more. Probably Shuya. All of that happened because-

"...Fucking Ryuhei." Another bout of mirthless laughter followed by a cough. The taste of iron continued. "I'm sorry I fucked up... I'm sorry."


He looked up at Hiroshi. Mitsuru felt so fucking weak to let all of this happen.

"I'm gonna get you out of here if it's the last thing I do."

[Dogs231]

Shūya stood up, swaying like the leaves on the trees. The blood dripped from his left side, where the bullet had struck, staining the crisp white of his shirt a new, crimson red.

Don't run back inside,

He took a step towards them, then another, and so on. He raised the gun and leveled it at Hiroshi. It was the same hand of cards he'd played back at the ruins of Peace Village.

Darling, you know just what I'm here for.

"No—you're not.

"I've said it already. There's only one way out."

So you're scared, and you're thinking,

Shūya shook like a leaf in the wind, from his arms—tremoring, death-grip on the pistol—to his eyes, darting wildly, to his feet, which barely kept their hold on the ground.

It took every last ounce of force in his body to breathe, but he did so anyway.

That maybe we ain't that young anymore.

The courage slowly crept up his throat—or was that the bile? Shūya could no longer tell the difference. It pushed the words from his throat, out of his mouth, and into the air.

Show a little faith, there's magic in the night,

"There's only one winning move," he quoted from an American movie he'd seen on the black market, "and it's not to play.

"Nobody goes home. Everybody loses."

You ain't a beauty, but, hey, you're alright,

He just stood there for a moment, the whole world a cloying haze. And still, his gun was there, pointed at the two as if commanding them to make a choice.

Oh, and that's alright with me.

[ItzToxie]

Mitsuru turned to see Shuya. He should've been happy, would've been, if he hadn't known what he was planning, what he was about to do.

"Shuya... Don't do this." He tried to convince him, or more likely himself. It was just like Ryuhei. Another friend he had to kill himself. Someone he'd saved days ago.

"It's over. This game's already finished. There's no point, man. Just give up. It won't change a thing, everyone's already dead."

He turned, stepping away from Hiroshi, barely able to hold himself up.

"Don't..."





"Don't make me do this."


It wasn't like Ryuhei though. He wasn't pointing his gun at him. Shuya aimed at Hiroshi. Mitsuru aimed at Shuya.


"Please..." He felt sick. Everything he fought for was right there in front of him. It wanted him dead like before. Once again, he had a choice to make. He had to take another life to stop from losing another friend. He had to kill a friend to save the rest again. It was his weakness that led them there, but he learned. Yeah, Mitsuru learned. Always aiming to be hardcore. Always punching up. Always trying to be the bigger man, the strongest.

He extended his arm. His face warped. He wanted to scowl, but he couldn't, his eyes just weren't in it. Mitsuru knew the outcome would be the same. He couldn't hesitate, wouldn't. He screamed, though he couldn't hear it.


His ears were already ringing from the three shots he put into Shuya.