Koshirou Aizawa: C7, We Pretended We Still Lived
Even though there was no gust of fresh air from opening the back door to the outside (because there was no back door), the air felt less heavy than it did inside. There was too much going on inside the house, despite it being stripped, from the fleeting ghosts of family members and his own outrageous ideas of what happened. Koshirou had succeeded in exhausting himself on the hypothetical and felt more vulnerable than he did before. He felt less prepared.
He didn't want to hide, so he walked openly. He wanted something to happen. Something to shake him up, get him motivated, something to make him think-think quick for his life, or for someone else's life-and make him feel like he wasn't already dead. Maybe that's what he was, someone shot him in the head on his way home, and he didn't know it, and he was walking dead everywhere and God didn't really exist, so He didn't take him to Heaven or reject him to Hell.
You know that's not true, the back of his mind kept telling him. The voice you ignore when you're being unreasonable, and you just want to seethe in your unreasonableness. Well Koshirou wasn't open to that voice, today. Usually he was, and it made him calm and content, but he just didn't want to be content right now.
He went to the children's playground. If children sinned, then this is where the devil himself came out of him. He never liked coming here. When he walked his little sisters to the playground, he watched memories of himself wreaking havoc and ruining fun. Yanking kids off the swings so he could have a turn. Deliberately sitting on the teeter-totter so his counterpart complained and flailed in the air. Jumping on ankles while children made their way across the monkey bars, just to drag them down to his level. If only it was endearing enthusiasm, but the memory of how much of a brat he was made his stomach muscles tighten.
He dropped his stuff and plopped down on a swing, facing the playground. Maybe he could provoke himself into doing something.
There was nothing "cute" about it. There was no, "You were just a kid," about it. Koshirou was the first to admit it: he was a bully. His troublemaking reputation followed him into junior high school, in which he rejected any kind of communication, good or bad, and just stuck with Benjiro. If he kept his arms crossed and interacted with a straight face, maybe he could start over. But things don't just wash away. You don't fade into invisibility, especially in a town this small. Instead of the wailing jerk, he became the brooding jerk, and in high school he was just brooding. The brooding Bible-thumper.
Koshirou was still ashamed. Maybe he evolved, and maybe people saw that, but his hurtfulness in the past made him who he was today. Maybe he would be more sociable if he'd been sweet and caring, like everyone else.
He stared at the playground and sadly watched himself take shape.
At one point, he heard footsteps. He wondered if they belonged to somebody who was playing the game. He was sitting openly, an easy hit or shot. Maybe he'd luck out, and suddenly this would be over.
Or he could luck out, and be faced with a friend.
The presence wasn't hostile at all. A body filled the empty space next to him. He sat down in the swing next to him, and suddenly the atmosphere felt a little warmer. Koshirou didn't recognize him at first, still not quite used to his shaved head. It was Yukihiko who snapped him out of his self-deprecation with an awkwardly casual, "Hey, man."
Then he found himself sort-of confiding in Yuki. Feeling useless, unmoving, scared-not of what could happen to himself, but finding his friends perished. Yuki was swinging, gaining momentum, and Koshirou half-heartedly started following his lead.
"Maybe they'll find us," Yuki said, referring to their friends. Koshirou couldn't doubt it, because Yuki had certainly found him. It was an accident, though, and he had a feeling his friends weren't looking.
"I wonder."
"Stop wondering," Yuki said abruptly. "Have some faith. You're good with faith, right?" He grinned at him, a grin that felt out of place.
Koshirou parted his lips to clumsily reply, "Uhh," but he was interrupted by a loud, harsh sound that was an unrelenting voice, belonging to the middle-aged woman he had seen six hours before:
"Good morning, class! It's now six o'clock in the morning, and what a lazy one it's been for you!"
The proctor's voice over the intercom startled him. Koshirou suddenly felt more alert as he listened closely to what she had to say. When she dropped Makoto Kokubo's name, he initially thought he had been killed and felt sorry. But he was wrong. Makoto killed Satoshi Nakata.
And that was it.
He couldn't help wondering the circumstances. Koshirou and Makoto were a far cry from friends, but he never saw the capacity to kill in him. He was a raw, like-him-or-don't kind of guy. He wondered if Makoto sought a guy and killed him, or if he acted in self-defense, or what. Satoshi wasn't the most pleasant of characters, either. He was rather touchy, and he was annoying if he didn't get his way. Who acted first? It bothered Koshirou, and to be honest with himself, it distorted his view of Makoto Kokubo. He hoped the proctor wouldn't name more killers like that.
He looked at Yuki to see his reaction. Yuki wasn't swinging anymore. He was still, as if sitting in a four-legged chair instead, returning Koshirou's glance.
"There has to be an explanation," he said.
"Yeah," Koshirou agreed. As simple as the rules of the game were, the players were far too complicated for every murder to come right out of a point-and-shoot, point-and-shoot first-person-shooter game.
For a second, Koshirou thought they might sit there silently, pondering the murder, but Yuki had already made up his mind.
"Koshirou, that's bullshit," he said adamantly. Koshirou kept his mouth shut and let him speak, which was something he was used to. "There has to be an explanation," he repeated, "like self-defense, or I don't know, maybe he got a gun as a weapon and didn't know it was loaded when he pulled the trigger. We're not city kids, it's not like he would be able to tell how guns work. Or he could have tripped, or maybe Satoshi just startled him."
Somehow Koshirou didn't feel right "blaming the victim." Then again, he wasn't really close to either one of them, so he felt a little more neutral about this than Yuki.
"Or maybe that woman randomly picked a name to rile us up and have someone to target. I wouldn't put the directors of this program past manipulation. And he is our class rep, how convenient."
"Yeah," Koshirou said.
Yuki was standing on his feet now. "Makoto. doesn't. kill. people. He just wouldn't."
Koshirou sighed. "I- we don't know."
His input seemed to frustrate Yuki, because it was true. He grimaced, put his hands on his hips and started pacing.
Koshirou added, "Why don't we ask him?"
"Yeah?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "What've we got to lose?" Our lives? To Koshirou, it was a gamble. Seeking the guy who committed the first murder was potentially a bad idea. Yuki seemed confident, though. He had a little more faith than Koshirou did. He got off the swing and started collecting his bags.
"That's solid," Yuki said. "We need to start gathering an entourage, anyway. We'll start with Makoto, or I don't know, whoever else we run into."
"Sure," Koshirou said skeptically. Maybe kills were coming in slow tonight, but there were still 66 hours left in the game. The report had put things into perspective for him. This wasn't a joke.
They gathered their things and got on the path beside the playground. They asked each other where to start, and neither of them knew.
First, they checked their maps. It wasn't to see where anything was located, but to check where the danger zones were. Koshirou hadn't even thunk of unfolding the piece of paper until now.
"Well, those are all the way across the island, so we're safe," Yuki reasoned.
They agreed to stick to familiar places: the marketplace, the park, the school, the beach. They didn't think anyone would still be at their houses, but checking wasn't completely out of the question. Right now they were relying on luck and impulse.
And faith.
[Yuki control approved by Zarrah o/]
He didn't want to hide, so he walked openly. He wanted something to happen. Something to shake him up, get him motivated, something to make him think-think quick for his life, or for someone else's life-and make him feel like he wasn't already dead. Maybe that's what he was, someone shot him in the head on his way home, and he didn't know it, and he was walking dead everywhere and God didn't really exist, so He didn't take him to Heaven or reject him to Hell.
You know that's not true, the back of his mind kept telling him. The voice you ignore when you're being unreasonable, and you just want to seethe in your unreasonableness. Well Koshirou wasn't open to that voice, today. Usually he was, and it made him calm and content, but he just didn't want to be content right now.
He went to the children's playground. If children sinned, then this is where the devil himself came out of him. He never liked coming here. When he walked his little sisters to the playground, he watched memories of himself wreaking havoc and ruining fun. Yanking kids off the swings so he could have a turn. Deliberately sitting on the teeter-totter so his counterpart complained and flailed in the air. Jumping on ankles while children made their way across the monkey bars, just to drag them down to his level. If only it was endearing enthusiasm, but the memory of how much of a brat he was made his stomach muscles tighten.
He dropped his stuff and plopped down on a swing, facing the playground. Maybe he could provoke himself into doing something.
There was nothing "cute" about it. There was no, "You were just a kid," about it. Koshirou was the first to admit it: he was a bully. His troublemaking reputation followed him into junior high school, in which he rejected any kind of communication, good or bad, and just stuck with Benjiro. If he kept his arms crossed and interacted with a straight face, maybe he could start over. But things don't just wash away. You don't fade into invisibility, especially in a town this small. Instead of the wailing jerk, he became the brooding jerk, and in high school he was just brooding. The brooding Bible-thumper.
Koshirou was still ashamed. Maybe he evolved, and maybe people saw that, but his hurtfulness in the past made him who he was today. Maybe he would be more sociable if he'd been sweet and caring, like everyone else.
He stared at the playground and sadly watched himself take shape.
At one point, he heard footsteps. He wondered if they belonged to somebody who was playing the game. He was sitting openly, an easy hit or shot. Maybe he'd luck out, and suddenly this would be over.
Or he could luck out, and be faced with a friend.
The presence wasn't hostile at all. A body filled the empty space next to him. He sat down in the swing next to him, and suddenly the atmosphere felt a little warmer. Koshirou didn't recognize him at first, still not quite used to his shaved head. It was Yukihiko who snapped him out of his self-deprecation with an awkwardly casual, "Hey, man."
Then he found himself sort-of confiding in Yuki. Feeling useless, unmoving, scared-not of what could happen to himself, but finding his friends perished. Yuki was swinging, gaining momentum, and Koshirou half-heartedly started following his lead.
"Maybe they'll find us," Yuki said, referring to their friends. Koshirou couldn't doubt it, because Yuki had certainly found him. It was an accident, though, and he had a feeling his friends weren't looking.
"I wonder."
"Stop wondering," Yuki said abruptly. "Have some faith. You're good with faith, right?" He grinned at him, a grin that felt out of place.
Koshirou parted his lips to clumsily reply, "Uhh," but he was interrupted by a loud, harsh sound that was an unrelenting voice, belonging to the middle-aged woman he had seen six hours before:
"Good morning, class! It's now six o'clock in the morning, and what a lazy one it's been for you!"
The proctor's voice over the intercom startled him. Koshirou suddenly felt more alert as he listened closely to what she had to say. When she dropped Makoto Kokubo's name, he initially thought he had been killed and felt sorry. But he was wrong. Makoto killed Satoshi Nakata.
And that was it.
He couldn't help wondering the circumstances. Koshirou and Makoto were a far cry from friends, but he never saw the capacity to kill in him. He was a raw, like-him-or-don't kind of guy. He wondered if Makoto sought a guy and killed him, or if he acted in self-defense, or what. Satoshi wasn't the most pleasant of characters, either. He was rather touchy, and he was annoying if he didn't get his way. Who acted first? It bothered Koshirou, and to be honest with himself, it distorted his view of Makoto Kokubo. He hoped the proctor wouldn't name more killers like that.
He looked at Yuki to see his reaction. Yuki wasn't swinging anymore. He was still, as if sitting in a four-legged chair instead, returning Koshirou's glance.
"There has to be an explanation," he said.
"Yeah," Koshirou agreed. As simple as the rules of the game were, the players were far too complicated for every murder to come right out of a point-and-shoot, point-and-shoot first-person-shooter game.
For a second, Koshirou thought they might sit there silently, pondering the murder, but Yuki had already made up his mind.
"Koshirou, that's bullshit," he said adamantly. Koshirou kept his mouth shut and let him speak, which was something he was used to. "There has to be an explanation," he repeated, "like self-defense, or I don't know, maybe he got a gun as a weapon and didn't know it was loaded when he pulled the trigger. We're not city kids, it's not like he would be able to tell how guns work. Or he could have tripped, or maybe Satoshi just startled him."
Somehow Koshirou didn't feel right "blaming the victim." Then again, he wasn't really close to either one of them, so he felt a little more neutral about this than Yuki.
"Or maybe that woman randomly picked a name to rile us up and have someone to target. I wouldn't put the directors of this program past manipulation. And he is our class rep, how convenient."
"Yeah," Koshirou said.
Yuki was standing on his feet now. "Makoto. doesn't. kill. people. He just wouldn't."
Koshirou sighed. "I- we don't know."
His input seemed to frustrate Yuki, because it was true. He grimaced, put his hands on his hips and started pacing.
Koshirou added, "Why don't we ask him?"
"Yeah?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "What've we got to lose?" Our lives? To Koshirou, it was a gamble. Seeking the guy who committed the first murder was potentially a bad idea. Yuki seemed confident, though. He had a little more faith than Koshirou did. He got off the swing and started collecting his bags.
"That's solid," Yuki said. "We need to start gathering an entourage, anyway. We'll start with Makoto, or I don't know, whoever else we run into."
"Sure," Koshirou said skeptically. Maybe kills were coming in slow tonight, but there were still 66 hours left in the game. The report had put things into perspective for him. This wasn't a joke.
They gathered their things and got on the path beside the playground. They asked each other where to start, and neither of them knew.
First, they checked their maps. It wasn't to see where anything was located, but to check where the danger zones were. Koshirou hadn't even thunk of unfolding the piece of paper until now.
"Well, those are all the way across the island, so we're safe," Yuki reasoned.
They agreed to stick to familiar places: the marketplace, the park, the school, the beach. They didn't think anyone would still be at their houses, but checking wasn't completely out of the question. Right now they were relying on luck and impulse.
And faith.
[Yuki control approved by Zarrah o/]