(video/action)
[Naoki knew there was something off about the house (how couldn’t he know, even just from looking at it? But something drew him. He heard voices. Familiar calls of his name. And he followed them here, to where the slightly opened door seemed foreboding and inviting all at once.
His first steps in are tentative. But when nothing jumps out of the woodwork, he eases up slightly, though his gaze remains sharp. He takes in everything around him-but doesn’t expect the figures, once he gets further in. He doesn’t expect the figures of those dead, who he killed, to come waltzing up closer as though they hadn’t been apart a day, regarding him with an eerie detachment.
Isamu and Chiaki’s voices ring in his ears.
Why’d you do it, Naoki? Why’d you kill us?
Unwavering and unforgiving. As he’d always dreaded they’d be.] I didn’t-
[You couldn’t control yourself. You murdered us. You let everyone else die, too. You may as well have killed them yourself.
Yuko, Hijiri, Futomimi. Familiar figures whose deaths he’d pushed to the back of his mind. The reasonable part of him knows that they can’t possibly be there, but then there’s another part of him that reminds him of the spirits in the Vortex World. But the city-And surely Yuko and Hijiri wouldn’t hate him, would they? He’d tried; he’d tried so hard-
Was it not enough? Had it never been enough?
The feed comes on to the sound of china shattering; the communicator is spinning where it’s been knocked out of a pocket and to the side. Plates are wheeling in the air, cracking and shattering against walls, obviously aiming for something or someone, and for a moment the view of a few ghostly figures is visible, impassive yet threatening.
Then, soft growls. Animalistic and aggressive and altogether inhuman. A hand comes falling down on the communicator with a soft crnch. Fingers covered in markings that glow green. Before the feed cuts out, Naoki’s face appears for a split second, eyes narrowed and glowing red.]
His first steps in are tentative. But when nothing jumps out of the woodwork, he eases up slightly, though his gaze remains sharp. He takes in everything around him-but doesn’t expect the figures, once he gets further in. He doesn’t expect the figures of those dead, who he killed, to come waltzing up closer as though they hadn’t been apart a day, regarding him with an eerie detachment.
Isamu and Chiaki’s voices ring in his ears.
Why’d you do it, Naoki? Why’d you kill us?
Unwavering and unforgiving. As he’d always dreaded they’d be.] I didn’t-
[You couldn’t control yourself. You murdered us. You let everyone else die, too. You may as well have killed them yourself.
Yuko, Hijiri, Futomimi. Familiar figures whose deaths he’d pushed to the back of his mind. The reasonable part of him knows that they can’t possibly be there, but then there’s another part of him that reminds him of the spirits in the Vortex World. But the city-And surely Yuko and Hijiri wouldn’t hate him, would they? He’d tried; he’d tried so hard-
Was it not enough? Had it never been enough?
The feed comes on to the sound of china shattering; the communicator is spinning where it’s been knocked out of a pocket and to the side. Plates are wheeling in the air, cracking and shattering against walls, obviously aiming for something or someone, and for a moment the view of a few ghostly figures is visible, impassive yet threatening.
Then, soft growls. Animalistic and aggressive and altogether inhuman. A hand comes falling down on the communicator with a soft crnch. Fingers covered in markings that glow green. Before the feed cuts out, Naoki’s face appears for a split second, eyes narrowed and glowing red.]