[To all those who get uncomfortable easy, be very, very wary of this chapter.]
He woke up cold. Freezing, with the residue of heavy groggy fog that sat in his mind. He always woke up cold. Maybe it was because he wore shorts and a thin short-sleeved shirt.
His arms still felt broken, each muscle felt stretched and snapped. Using them to sit himself up was nearly as accurate as watching a fawn's legs tremble after standing for the first time. He wished he had a blanket or even a pillow to nibble away at the cramps he gets behind his neck.
He rubbed at the kink in his shoulder and tried to wipe away the soft burning in his eyes. It simmered a bit from the original wake-up scorching, which was good. He looked up slowly to the dark ceiling, he wasn't afraid of the dark, since there were much better things to be afraid of.
No, it wasn't fear, but some part about waking up in a nearly pitch-black room, with only the fuzzy dim brown light from the hall leaking in through the painfully large viewing glass irked him. Perhaps it was more so something he vexed above anything else.
The buzz of the heater became annoying over time too since the heater never did much anyway. He felt occasional warm breezes here and there but hardly enough to made him stop shivering.
He looked up to the clock implanted into the wall above the heavily locked door. Naturally, he would pick the lock, but when there is no visible lock to pick, then he's stuck.
5:18 am. It said.
He frowned. He'd have to wait forever until the nerve twitching alarm went off. And Kokichi Ouma doesn't do well with pointless waiting.
He curled up on his stiff mattress. Still feeling tired and thoroughly beat. He hugged himself as he tried to warm up and maybe slip off into a nap before the alarm goes off. He knew he wouldn't, his heart always sped up if he thought about turning his back to the door, but flipping to face the door was just as disturbing.
Despite sleeping in the same place for nearly five years, he couldn't get used to it. At least he behaved well enough to not sleep with straps crossing over his stomach, forcing him to lie down and stay there. It was unbelievably uncomfortable and dug into his easily bruisable skin all night long. He couldn't even get up and use the bathroom or something.
Which, to his surprise, the bathroom was a room of privacy. If you ignore the obvious camera in two corners, the small cramped boxed off section was a nice getaway from the world if he squished himself between the toilet and sink.
It was the closest thing he could get to an embrace. Where in his faded mind he pictured warm arms protecting him from the men in black and white. Where their lips were felt against his forehead, whispering that he was truly cared for and their heart beat just for him. He was a hopeless romantic with a hurting body that's been starved from a gentle touch.
It was a comfort. Since he had no blanket to squeeze himself in. He was so utterly lonely that he found himself using his hand to caress his cheek as if someone was there, holding him through the feats of pain and ache that crippled his limbs into a constant scream of agony. He hasn't gone too far as to kiss his palm and imagine someone else was on the other end, not yet anyway.
He rolled over onto his side, then back, then to his stomach. No amount of shifting would make the rock he laid on suddenly squishy. Kokichi huffed out a sad sigh and got up to plant his feet on the frigid floor. Oh, how he missed the heated house of his childhood. It always reminded him of the warm Kotatsu's he slept under with a friend he invited over on a winter night.
The thought was bittersweet. He stumbled over to the bathroom to shut himself inside. Crawling on the chilled floors to push himself in the small gap he learned to comfort himself with. It was uncomfortable, with his head bent forward and his knees digging into his chest with the familiar rub of the sink pipe against his shins, he sighed. He's been taking what he could get. Since at this point he's a dead man anyway.
Living in the Detention Center wasn't always luxurious. By that, he means not at all.
Needles, rough hands, sick stomachs, and swirling rooms, were all he learned to know. For bad behavior always came a punishment, but the new world took it to the extreme. Now, if he didn't breath right in the presence of a higher-up, he was smacked upside the head for it. He wasn't exaggerating either, he's seen kids have panic attacks where they start hyperventilating and all any adult ever did was yell at them to stop it.
Like that did much.
Kokichi just closed his eyes, he never crawled out to look at the time. He'd sit there until someone dragged him out.
When he heard the door open, his heart jumped into his throat on reflex. Flinching back to hard and hitting his head on the rim of the toilet seat. Ow.
"Get out." They said soullessly. Kokichi glanced up at them from his nook. The alarm hadn't even gone off. Unless it had, and he was just going deaf to the world. No other words were spoken as the burly man went over to grab his arm and drag him out and throw him forward. Where Kokichi pushed himself up to sit on his knees to crane his neck up to look at the man.
"Could have said please." He replied uselessly. The man's hand grabbed at the back of his shirt and pulled him roughly to his feet.
Of course, his words went ignored. When he was dragged back out into the room, Kokichi saw the lights were still off and the hall still dim. The clock had thirty more minutes before 6 o'clock. "Hey, what gives?" Kokichi whined as the guy pushed him out into the hallway. "I still have time to sulk!"
Again, he's left unanswered. When he was younger, he used to get some sort of reply, but now, he's just another inconvenience. Human being? Not really. The funny part was that the scientist that wanted to test things on him, and all the delinquent, they turned into punching bags, to be correlated back to how a human might react to the same thing. Correlated.
Kokichi huffed out a frustrated sigh. This man had long strides and he was going to enter a paced jog just to keep up with the hand still clenching the back of his shirt. The hallway was long and always seemed endless. Kokichi stared at all the other delinquents within their box of a room as he passed them.
They all slept, beaten and bruised much like him. Only a few were sitting up and watching them pass. Others remained empty, perhaps in the same place he was going to.
They turned a corner, and once the guy pushed him into the room. He groaned. "What? Did schedules change this time? I could be sleeping now." He complained. The guy only turned and left.
Kokichi sighed. The hard tiled white floors and walls marked the Wash Room. Normally he doesn't have to deal with his space bubble being popped until he gets to the school building. Where everyone has to go to the Wash Center and get all hair on your body ripped off. In this Wash Room, it was more public than it was at school.
Since all wash centers were separated by a clear glass pane wall. You're on display for the world to see while they strip you of all clothing and power wash your grim riddled skin until you feel like you've been pelted with too many pebbles to still be alive.
A woman wearing waterproof scrubs, to what seems like dishwashing gloves, and a medical looking mask to complete the look, came up to him. "Follow me." She said quickly.
They set up this place so you are as miserable as possible, so they assign opposite genders to clean a child of whatever opposing sex. But personally, for Kokichi, he'll take the woman.
He followed after her, mouthing her nasally clipped "Follow me." In mocking.
She led him into a showering cubical and pulled the transparent curtain closed. He didn't need to be told what to do, he'd done this for years and years. He pulled off his shirt and kicked off his shorts where the woman grabbed them and tossed them into a hamper just outside the curtain.
Once naked, the woman picked up a thin choker attached to the wall and clicked it around his neck. Since, you know, in case anyone got desperate enough to streak across the room unclothed to escape, they have to have some means of leashing.
He flinched when the water was turned on cold, cold water. It felt like tiny sharpened toothpicks digging into his skin, and the first time this happened when he was eleven, he remembered shrieking out of sudden frigidness. Which faded into laughter because it was such an absurd reaction to chilled water.
Kokichi shivered as the water soaked him through. The hands that roamed over his skin had been tuned out with the ice that turned his fingers red. Surely his face was just as colorless. Occasionally there was a sharp pull that forced a grimace across his face. The blade of the razor even swiped across his arms. No patch of skin was left untouched. Nothing.
After the razor, came the power washer. Or, in proper words, the showerhead that was twisted to a max. Condensing all the water to shoot out one hole with all the power it could have. It was piercing with its jet stream of ice-cold water, with no soap to make anything slippery. He swears their number one principle was; "If you scrub hard enough, soap is useless."
Ugh. He just closed his eyes and turned when told, just to get this part over with. Eventually, the water was shut off and torture was over, along with every pore feeling raw and assaulted with cleanliness. He once, years ago, he thought they'd let him dry himself, but all they do is bring out a power-blower thing. It looks like a hairdryer but takes two hands to hold and the vent where the air comes out is larger.
It was designed to insta-dry a wet person. It was overwhelmingly hot and did it's 'insta' job quite well. Within minutes he was bone dry. Even his lips felt chapped and moisture-less. Making him wonder what would happen if he stuck out his tongue, would it become a fat dried chip? Probably.
The woman pulled open the curtain again. Briefly leaving to soon return with his school uniform. She unlocked his choker-like-leash, then presented the clothes. "Put it on." She ordered, her nerdy voice still bringing Kokichi to chuckle as he took the shirt and slipped it over his head, then took the shorts, suspenders, and that weird school-symbol rag thing that was meant to hang from his belt.
Once semi-dressed, he stepped outside the shower cubical and pulled on his high socks on the dry ground so his feet weren't wet. The woman handed him his shoes and he clipped those on too.
"We're cutting your hair." She said plainly, without an ounce of life.
"What?" He pouted. "but I like my hair long."
"Boys don't wear hair long." She tsked, as she quickly grabbed a hand to his shoulder and guided him to a mirror with a desk and stool in front of it. She pushed him down to sit, and when he did, she plucked up scissors from a drawer.
"Why not? That wasn't a rule before." He muttered. "It doesn't reach my shoulders yet! So- you don't really need to cut it." The order fell on unheard ears as he felt the blades of the scissors snip behind him. Then more, and more. The locks of his purple hair fell to the floor and he hated it. He despised her for believing the lies she was told. Since surely she was an innocent bystander who got caught up in this mess.
"A-At least just cut only the back." Kokichi weakly said. He felt the woman's hands paused, then the next thing he saw was the scissors being set down back in the drawer. He blinked. He didn't expect her to listen. "...Th-...Thanks." He whispered.
She didn't respond to his small spoken voice. "Turn to me. I have your trackers."
He obeyed, turning around and staring at the trackers she had in her hands. Trackers were as they sounded. They tracked his limb movements, his location, and the one that would go around his neck tracked his voice and what he said. The woman placed that one on first.
The Trackers were officially called Mono-Trackers. Named after the nation's mascot. Monokuma, who was the most popularly shown at schools. He lifted his wrist to let her push back his sleeve and clip-on four more trackers, doing the same to his other wrist. These trackers were flat against his skin, completely black with one red light that would beep and glow if he struck out wrong.
The woman knelt and rolled down his socks to lock four more around each his ankles. When he did something wrong, like running too fast, it would give him electric shocks that left him in numbing agony. To the point where he'd be keeling on the ground gasping for air pathetically.
"...I pity the children here." The woman muttered as she finished rolling up his socks. "...Hurt kids just waiting to die. It's pathetic." She grabbed a comb and dug it through his clean hair. "At least those who died don't have to deal with it all."
Kokichi grimaced at her heartless, but heartfelt words. Since he could agree. "...Their deaths are meaningless. The life they lived was pointless and impacted nothing." Two clips scrapped his scalp as the woman snapped them against his head to keep his bangs back.
"Yes. But you're awaiting your death too, aren't you?"
Another sigh. He couldn't answer.
Because he couldn't deny it.
He looked down at the floor as she finished making him neat. The comb was set down, she adjusted his collar, and stood him up. She gestured to a man waiting by the door, signaling that it was time to go back to his cell of a room. He left her wordlessly, succumbing to the rough hand that secured itself around the nape of his neck.
He seemed to blink and was suddenly sitting back on his sheetless matress. Staring at the floor with dull eyes. His chest ached the way it would when he felt violated. All his rights devoided of choice, everything he did was scheduled, predictable, even his feelings.
Kokichi felt sick in a way. His stomach felt hollow with his head heavy and wishing to drop back. Maybe he could sleep, and now, he just might. But the hall lights came on, his room exploded with the white blindingness, so he shielded his eyes with his shaking hands. He pressed his palms into his eyes so hard that it hurt.
It was all hitting now. He's going back to hell, and when he gets back to this lab, they're going to kill him. With one clean injection and his useless life is over. The feeling destroyed him in a silent way that brought the ghost of tears to his heart. He'd never show how he felt. How utterly gone he was inside.
Kokichi looked up to the clock. Oh, it's 6 o'clock.
Hardly a minute ran by as a surge of prickling pain washed over his skin, like fire and ice slamming into his body all at once. He gasped and gritted his teeth together just to last through the pain spike. He hugged himself until the sensation faded into a dull feeling of nails raking against his arms and left through his fingertips.
The bond. The stupid bond made nothing better. His connection forced his whole body to writhe in sudden pain any time his beloved was upset or reacting to an emotion he sent over. Damn it, damn it. Kokichi ran a hand through the unclipped side of his hair. Grabbing a fistful of it and jerking to send radiating pain to his scalp.
That boy taught him how good love felt, and then left. He left and turned Kokichi into a mess. His heart pounded at the thought of him. If this emotion brooded any longer, his beloved would feel it and be pained by it. He choked on the feeling and pushed it below his stomach where he couldn't feel it anymore. Numb. He needs to be numb.
Less pain for him, and his beloved. Fewer tears to rub away. Less sore throats to coax. Despite the thoughts, he wanted to scream, his chest was buzzing with everything. Everything was circulating and pulsing under feelings. Its a wonder he gets so sick all the time. He's horribly sick with loveless thoughts but careful hands that capture his dreams.
When his door opens, his private time is up.
"Get up. Follow me." The man said, and Kokichi nodded, slipping off his bed and moving numbly to the door. He let the man grip his shoulder and steer him down the hall, to the front, and outside.
He hasn't been outside in a month. The air felt so nice to breathe, but it was cut short as the van door slid open and he was pushed inside. He was sat down next to others, his seat belt was designed to keep the insane trapped--with very similar buckles to a car seat for babies--and locked against the seat of the van. Which were arranged in a circle on all sides, save for the doors in the back and the one on the side.
He was one of the last ones buckled in, so he had to deal with all the other crazies. Those who cursed at the driver and others who were younger, that thrashed around in their seats, yelling all the things he screamed before.
"This isn't fair!"
"God I hate you!"
"Let me go or I swear or I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"
So full of anger and fear. Full of sorrow and agony that poured through their lips. One girl, who was around his age was just crying. With her head in her hands, muttering quiet words through tears.
Kokichi closed his eyes and tried to ignore it all. All anyone ever wanted was their dead family back, they wanted their sisters and brothers back. They wanted their home, their freedom, the love that was torn from their hands. They were all sobbing children screaming for someone to hold their hand. When in reality they'll die with their palms empty.
However, he can spot a lie from three hundred miles away.
"Stop it," Kokichi growled to the girl who cried sitting across from him. "Crying like that isn't doing anything. So stop it." She must be around 17. Perhaps just getting desperate for attention since she'll die soon.
"B-But...!" She squeaked, staring at him as if he slapped her. And he might as well have. "...You...! I-I..." Then like that, she fell silent. Her eyes fading into empty pods of lost hope. She must have realized it's all pointless to keep up the terrible, unbelievable act. She could cry for hours and her death date would stay the same.
"Hey! Don't tell her that! She has every right to cry, you soulless jerk." The boy next to him, who was previously cursing the driver, spat. The boy must be 15 or so.
Kokichi looked at him as the van started moving. "And don't I have every right to tell her to shut up? We both are going to turn 17 this year or the next. If anything, we're bonding right now." He looked back at her. "Now don't cry another tear, kay? You'll make us all miserable if you do."
"That's not helping anything!" His neighbor complained.
"Right. You tell her something that will."
The boy bit his lip. His eyes drifted into soft realization. "...Yeah, your right. Sorry. I'm... Not used to this." he relaxed a bit, dropping his tense shoulders and sulking in his seat. Kokichi blinked. This boy dropped his ground rather quickly.
"Oh." He understands. "You're new."
The girl balked at them. "Wh-What? You two gonna kiss and... make-up now? L-Leaving the poor damsel in distress t-to cry..." This made Kokichi shoot her an annoyed glare.
"Nevermind. Go back to sobbing. I liked hearing that than your whiney voice." He expected her to trade him a look of hurt. Instead, she blushed and wiggled in her seat, drying her tears and holding a strange face of pleasure and disgust.
"Ew." He said in clear distaste. Ignoring the clear "That's so rude!" from the other kid. "Do you get off on being insulted?" He asked, truly not wanting an answer. "You horny pig." He added, just to see.
"H-Horny pig!?" She shrieked as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
He groaned. "And to think I was feeling pity for you a couple of moments ago." Now that she caught his attention, he took in her features, like her long braided strawberry blonde hair, that looked horrible on her. She eyed him and he got a good look at her blue hues. If he was remotely straight, he might have considered her beautiful.
But her personality was a major turn off. So even if he was straight, she'd be a major no-go.
"My eyes are up here you perv!" She cackled. "Finally seeing my beauty? I'm gorgeous, aren't I? Take pity on a sobbing single girl and just wanna jump on it? Hungry for personal attention?"
The boy next to him gapped at her. "W-Wait you were faking your tears?"
Kokichi scoffed. She was a terrible actor even then. "Sorry, sweet-cakes." He said flatly, "I was staring right into your eyes. And besides, even if I did find girls remotely attractive, you'd hardly catch my eye. Now stop panting like a needy dog. Beg to noobie over here, I'm sure he'd like your drool all over him."
Blondie shrunk into her seat disappointed. Her eyes looking over at the other boy with little interest. "...F-Fine. Jeez. Could've said you were gay instead of callin' me ugly."
He shrugged. Now that these people were adding color to his sick life, he'd get closer. Maybe just for the ride. "Whatever. There's no fun in that." He turned to the silver-haired boy next to him. "What's your name?" Ignoring thirsty-girl across from him.
"Ah-uh, Kiibo... Kiibo Idabashi." He said weakly. "And you?"
"Kokichi Ouma." He said dully. He would have added flair to his introduction, but he wasn't feeling it. "Hey snot-nosed blonde, you have a name or what?"
She puffed up her chest with dying pride. "Miu Iruma! Better remember it! I'll be famous one day, so breathe my air while you can!" Kiibo stared at her with confused eyes and a mouth that hung open slightly.
"How...could you be so confident for someone whos going to die soon?" Wow. Kokichi stared at him. That was one way to kill the mood. He turned back to Miu who seemed paler than before.
"W-Well don't remind me..." She sulked. Dropping her shoulders and letting them sag. "I'm gonna break free one day... just you watch."
Kokichi sighed at her idiocy. Too many kids died trying to do that, and they weren't even 17. It was their plan that killed them. He's seen the messes that their bodies leave. Such as falling from a high window from desperately jumping out, sneaking into the control room and pointing the machine guns at themselves accidentally.
Once, there was an attempt that caused him nightmares for months. One kid tried running for it. Right through automatic closing metal doors. They were thick slabs of steal that opened with ID. The kid was only 13. Kokichi remembered them running for the doors to escape, and they were so close too, but the doors slammed shut right as they got between them.
The blood-splattered was sickening. The mangled body was tossed, and- Ah. Kokichi closed his eyes, suddenly feeling car sick. Best if he didn't think about it.
He listened to Kiibo and Miu talk for a little longer. Occasionally he jumped in here and there but just tried to block out everything.
Nervous ghostly fingers struck his hands and revolted to ripple through his nerves. He hugged himself a little tighter, his beloved must be feeling tired or scared right now. Kokichi bounced his knee to help cope with the minor burning in his limbs as it settled, backing into a faded thrum.
Eventually, he felt the van stop its hum of movement. He opened his eyes and one of the men was back with them, unlocking their straps and pushing them out of the doors and into the parking lot in front of the school.
Kokichi was one of the last to be set free. He hopped out into the crowd and stared up at the school that whispered torture in return. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. Welcome to another year of migraines, hopelessness and suicidal thoughts.
He waited back until most of the students had scurried into the building. He walked slowly behind the faded group of people, hoping to slip in and find his dorm to sneak a nap in or two. If not, he'd just sleep in class. What's another strike anyway?
However, as he walked up the stone steps. He briefly looked up.
And his heart stopped.
Or more so, it thrust itself against his ribs and jumped into his gagging throat. His whole chest collapsed at the sight of him. His knees left him shaking, practically forcing his hand to grip the railing for support. His head pounded with the abruptness of his stomach-churning so quickly. He swore he would have puked if this numbness was an actual sickness. Since his presence was so blinding it hurt, it hurt so badly and he hated it. He hated all of it.
And when those beautiful eyes turned to him, he melted. His heart beat again and the world returned to turning, but it went from spinning to paused because he couldn't move. When his voice cut across his thick fuzzed over mind, he snapped out of it.
"K...Kokichi?"
He wasn't thinking, everything just shot out of him. He'd regret it later.
But balling his hand into a shaking fist and delivering a jaw slamming punch to his face sat on a different level.