#or being like what the fuck bell and risking breaking bells programmed reality

[tomialtooth]

Bell's brainwashing was a speed job held together with duct tape so it wouldn't surprise me at all if when they were imprinting Adler as a old friend in bells head they accidentally fucked it up a little bit and now there's some weird psychosexual shit rattling around up there. Like imagine Adler and Bell standing in front of the evidence board and Adlers yapping about Perseus or something but bells not paying attention because he's too busy thinking about the wet dream he had last night where he and Adler took turns sucking each other off in the back of a Humvee in Vietnam and now he's trying to figure out if it was a memory (hah) or a fantasy

[anonthenullifier]

Do you think Tommy and Billy would ever given a tour of Stark Industries? I mean their Dad did technically help run it in a previous life.

Thanks for the ask!  I don’t think this is what you were looking for, but it is the first thing that came to my mind after reading your ask. I do apologize if the characterization is off at all, I don’t usually write from either of the twin’s perspectives but it was the only way to do this story . Hope you enjoy!

“And now we move into what many consider the true heart of the tour,” a peppy smile goes with a peppy wave of her arms and the impressively uniformed pep in the tour guide’s step, “the hall of heroes.”

“Kill me now,” Tommy groans next to him, mood perpetually spiraling downward for the last hour, “please just blink me out of this reality.”

The field trip isn’t that bad. Well, it’s not great, but it could be worse, like the time they went to the wastewater plant and there was a leak. “This is the last room.” It is also, admittedly, the worst room to be in as children of Avengers. Being in a shrine devoted to worshipping your parents and family while surrounded by peers that already view you differently kind of sucks.

“We’re at Stark Industries,” Billy waits for his brother to make some sort of point, shrugging off the aggravation in his voice and inspecting the first generation uniforms of their parents. The plaque has an asterisk that leads the eye down to a note stating all uniforms on display are originals, graciously donated by the heroes except for The Vision’s (Billy frowns at the unneeded The) which is a replica due to the still unexplained power he has to shift molecules.

Tommy begrudgingly joins in staring at the uniforms, “This crap is not what we should be seeing. We’re not fucking tourists.”

“Language.”  

Dad has been trying, and failing miserably, to curb impolite language, so when he is not around, Billy takes joy in turn-coating his allegiance and policing it. “Oh bugger off, traitor.” They both laugh at the loophole they discovered early on. If dad doesn’t realize they’re cussing, then they can do it freely, until mom stares them down, anyway. “I’m serious, I want to see the top secret stuff, not,” he flings his hands out at the post-Thanos uniforms, “this.”

They’ve listened to their grandpa wax poetically about his innovations, sat dumbfounded at the technical questions from both their dad and their other science minded relatives. There is so much more than old Iron Man uniforms and the ten different shields good ole Captain America has used to protect freedom. “Mom and dad are meeting us at the end, we could just ask-“

Tommy recoils at the comment, side-eying him the same way you would a person espousing mind control through frozen corn kernels on the street corner (though that actually ended up partially correct and led to a few months without corn in the house and deep, empty looks on their parents’ faces). “You trying to steal the funkiller crown from dad?” Hands turn Billy toward a small, gray door with a white and red sign stating Authorized Personnel Only. “You know the good stuff is back there.”

“No,” even if they can easily distract the chaperones and slip away from their classmates, it’s not worth it. “In less than a day, I get to go with Teddy on a houseboat.”

Tommy’s unempathetic stare is typical when matters of his relationship come up, “And…?”

“And I’m not risking it.”

Billy moves on to the current day display (all replicas), fingers tapping through the buttons on a screen introducing him to the training rooms and the Stark tech that is changing not just the world but universes too. Unfortunately the twin devil on his shoulder follows. “We won’t get caught.”

“We get caught 91.35% of the time,” a stat so graciously computed by dad three weeks ago when Tommy ran (literally) out and got them Taco Bell for lunch and then proceeded to proudly eat his chalupa in front of the teacher monitoring the lunchroom.

A scoff signals this fight is nowhere near done, “One, even dad admits his computation is flawed,” a margin of error assumed of plus or minus five percent for instances of misconduct that went fully undetected, “and two, that means we have a ten percent shot at success.” This is said as if ten percent is equatable to seventy five.

“Or we don’t and I have a hundred percent shot at a weekend without mom and dad.”

“Traitor.” Tommy shoves him out of the way, taking over control of the interactive display. “Yo display lady.”

A pleasant, lightly accented voice streams from the luminescent screen, “How may I help you?”

“Where are these rooms?”

A three second lag exists between the question and response, “Official training rooms are located at the Avengers compound, while beta-testing and highly complex simulations are housed here at Stark industries.”

Tommy stares at him, assuming this is somehow convincing. “No.”

“How many records are held by Vision?”

More silence and then the screen displays a table of dates and times, “Vision,” no The this time, likely because it was programmed by grandpa, “has eight time trial records across the two facilities.”

Another look from his brother implies this is all they need to know. Billy shakes his head. “And Scarlet Witch?”

The screen dissolves before providing new information. “Scarlet Witch has five records for time and three for amount of damage caused.”

“Go, mom!” Tommy is always more impressed by damage than time, something Steve has issues handling in their own training with the Young Avenger Initiative. “What about as a team?”

It’s to the credit of Tony’s programming that the AI understands the request in relation to the prior two questions. “Scarlet Witch and Vision, as a team, hold ten time records and eight damage records, including a combined record on training course Twenty Three, level of difficulty Wish You Were Never Born that has gone unchallenged for over eleven years.”

“Unchallenged.”

A smarmy confidence rests in Tommy’s eyes and finally the logic of his questioning clicks.  “No way.”

Tommy glares at him before returning to the screen, “Where’s that course?”

“Course Twenty Three is located here at Stark Industries.”

There’s something infuriatingly infectious about his brother’s need to rebel as a means of satisfying his drive to surpass others. It’s so tempting to say yes, but Billy digs his heels in, refusing to go along yet again with one of Tommy’s plans that, though always fun, never have fun consequences and dammit, he wants to spend the weekend with Teddy. “Not a chance.”

Exasperation fills every inch of Tommy’s flail. They move on and the silence is nice, if not a bit unsettling. “Question.”

Billy makes sure his annoyance is firmly on display. “What?”

“Would you rather try and break their record or,” a lightning fast push spins Billy around, “watch Cody manhandle mom?” Mortification gnaws at his resolve, their classmate groping the mannequin from the brief time the Scarlet Witch wore a leotard and tights. It’s when Cody makes direct eye contact with them and starts pantomiming his intentions that Billy’s hands snap shut, blue energy tingling under his skin. “You take him down, guarantee that houseboat is gone.” An arm loops amicably around his shoulder, pivoting him towards the authorized access door. “We go see the good stuff and you have slightly better odds.” Billy is turned back to Cody, who has only grown more vigorous in his lewd gesticulating, “No houseboat,” and then back to the door as if there are only two options, “or a shit ton of fun and possibly a houseboat.”

Billy sighs and Tommy’s mouth tips into a beaming smile. “Fine.” Immediately his mind starts justifying the decision, an 8.65% chance not the worst odds in the world, plus, if they aren’t in the room when the prototype of the next-gen Iron Man happens to fall on Cody, then no one can point at him as the culprit.

Wordlessly they carry out the escape, Billy always taking on the role of distraction through subtle manipulations of perceived reality and Tommy gleefully vibrating his molecules to slip through the wall and open the door. “Let’s go.”

For some reason, he had assumed walking through the door would be like that one movie they watched, with the oompa-loompas, a door opening and a world beyond imagination appearing before them -flying suits, disappearing materials, explosions, scientists in white coats and blue gloves. Instead it’s just a hallway with beige walls and linoleum floors and doors lining the way. “So, what’s the plan?”

A thrilled, unconcerned lift of his brother’s shoulders drops their chances of success at least a percent, “Walk like we own the place and see what we find.” It’s sadly not his worst plan.

And walk they do, Tommy’s chest puffed out and arms swinging in casual authority. Technically, they sort of own some of the place, via dad’s stake in the company, so it’s not like they are being overly deceptive. Each hallway looks the same, making it difficult to track exactly where they are going, until they find another door stating Credentials Required and a face scanner affixed to the wall. Tommy doesn’t even hesitate in shimmying through the wall, so Billy follows, hands parting the space in front of him so he can walk through, closing reality behind him with some hesitation, certain there have to be cameras somewhere tracking them.

That concern is tossed aside because now they find the cinematic reveal, an open hangar in front of them with some sort of alien-esque ship on the ground and four floors of glass doored, luminescent laboratories spanning the reach of their eyes. “The good stuff.” This is far better than replica uniforms. “Let’s go find the simulation.”

“But look at this stuff!”

The self-confidence he had admired earlier also goes hand-in-hand with a tendency for fixation. “Yeah, I see it.”

Billy does his best to keep pace with his twin, who has a habit of speeding up his walk when excited while forgetting other people can’t move nearly as fast. That combined with Billy’s desire to peer into every lab space and marvel at the work, makes their trip stream by incomprehensibly. He thinks he saw a phasing suit, maybe a new particle generator, some sort of extraterrestrial looking staff, a portal to a mountain side, what he thinks might be a baby raptor, and also their grandma, who he usually loves seeing but pulled Tommy out of view before she could spot them. “Do you have any idea where you’re going?”

“Nope.”

“Fantastic.”

“Where are you going?”

The voice is instantly recognizable, one they’ve grown up hearing and it’s a little judgmental and a little bit amused. Tommy swings around and puts on the fakest innocent smile the world has ever seen. “Hey, Grandpa!”

Tony smirks, unconvinced by the tone of the greeting, but he isn’t angry, which is a good start. “How are my favorite rebels doing?”

“Great, on a field trip.” Billy is in awe of people like Tommy and Tony who can act so natural, can just ooze bravado and a sense of entitlement on a whim.

There is a nod and a contemplative droop of his goatee. “Seems you got lost.”

Tommy nods along, “Yeah, been trying to find our classmates, have you seen them?”

Now Tony chuckles, slapping his hands together, giddy at the lie but still showing no signs of annoyance or reprimand. “I have not, but I imagine they can’t phase through walls like you two can.” Billy, personally, wilts at the calling out, while Tommy shrugs again, matching Tony’s stance and attitude. “What do you two want to see?”

“What?” It comes out before Billy can catch it, surprised at the quick approval of their misdeeds.

“I asked what you wanted to see,” Tony stares at them, concerned he has somehow slipped into another language, “There has to be a reason you barged through my walls.” Learning to function in both the superhero world and just being a teenager with parents who have rules you don’t agree with, requires an ability to spot entrapment, certain phrases purposely worded as openings for waltzing right into admonishment. When neither of them take the bait, Tony acts hurt, a shake of his head and a pained, expertly acted, clutched chest. “I thought I was the cool, eccentric grandfather,” a smile threatens to wash away Billy’s anxiety as Tony continues in pantomimed betrayal. “Is it Thor? Would you tell Thor what you want? I mean, I don’t blame you, those gorgeous, puppy dog eyes are a killer.” A snigger from Tommy and all apprehension leaves the atmosphere, Tony’s toothy grin absolving all guilt of their sneaking around. “Seriously, what do you want to see? I’ve got a brand spanking new interdimensional travel lab, some Skrull-based camouflage trials, there’s a spaceship downstairs, Helen has an updated, palm-sized cradle.”

All of it, every last one is what Billy wants to see, but Tommy beats him to the request, “We want to do simulation twenty three, Wish You Were Never Born.”

Understanding dawns on Tony’s face, “Want to show the parental units up, huh?”

“Yep.” Tommy is close to vibrating through the floor.

“It’s really dangerous,” the mood darkens until Tony presents them a masterclass, uncaring shrug they’ve seen numerous times in his press conferences and Senate hearings, “but I’m not your parents and so it is my duty to aid and abet your delinquency.”

An ecstatic arm closes around Billy’s shoulder as they follow their grandpa down four different hallways and three staircases, emerging into a vast, utterly empty warehouse. “You all have suits?” Tommy whips off his sweatshirt to reveal the Stark crafted, green and white suit he always wears under his clothes, yanking his goggles from his back pocket and pulling them down over his face. Since this seems to actually be happening, Billy waves his hands, materializing his own caped suit in place of his jeans and t-shirt. “All right then, let me go upstairs real fast.”

The climb into the observation booth is agonizing under Tommy’s uncontainable excitement, his feet a blur as he warms up, running in place. “Quick disclaimer, boys,” they look up at Stark’s face through the window, “there are numerous things that can seriously maim you in this course, kind of why your parents hold the record, the whole made of vibranium slant your dad’s got going makes him uniquely qualified to handle a lot of this and your mom is terrifying as well, so together, magic.” A seed of doubt sprouts in Billy’s mind, yet it is not given time to be nurtured a, “Anyway, best of luck!” and then the room comes alive around them.

To say the difficulty level name is apt is a bit of an understatement. At any given time there are over a dozen different foes, and for each type of challenge, there are at least a dozen individuals within it. It ranges from laser guns, incendiary robots that look an awful lot like Ultron, replicas of the Black Order, phasing, flame wielding alien things, and Billy’s least favorite right now, microscopic, swarming jellyfish that blister the skin on contact. In amongst the chaos of fighting, he can hear Tommy cycle between “Shit, shit, shit,” “Oh my God!”, “What the fuck is that,” and maniacal glee. Slowly, and painfully, they take down the threats, sometimes combining forces to remove a particularly difficult foe, and sometimes splitting up to decimate the weaker challenges.  

Looming over them is a very large clock, ticking away at their time and next to it, is the record of their parents. Their own clock continues, the numbers growing more similar to the goal and Billy assesses the surroundings, only taser faced bear-like creatures and giant bouncing orbs made of some sort of sticky, burning compound left. “Tommy!” His brother skids into view, mouth in a perennial smile and lungs heaving as he waits for the next strategy. “We have ten seconds, I say we vaporize.”

What seemed impossible is proven wrong, Tommy’s lips curving even higher as he fiddles with his goggles. “You hold them steady.”

“Will do.”

It’s a technique they birthed from their mistakes, the possibilities of their powers unknown and often discovered in embarrassing and unintentional ways. Like vaporizing soccer fields during gym class. Billy winds his powers around the last group of adversaries, wincing at the weight of their resistance as he adds more and more force to his hold. While he does this, Tommy runs a large circle around the bound creatures, legs pumping faster and faster with each lap until even Billy can’t track his position. That’s when it happens, a sonic boom that spreads through the warehouse, shoving Billy to the ground, puffs of smoke making the air murky, and then there is a “Hell yeah!” and the telltale sound of the buzzer their own training uses to signal success.

Tommy collapses on the ground next to Billy, “That was amazing.” All Billy can manage is a nod, lungs and body aching. “Do you think we did it?”

“Though impressive, unfortunately you were 8.65 seconds over.” Disappointing, but not bad. Far more worrisome is the unmistakably even English accent informing them of their failure.

Billy strains to sit up, glancing over his shoulder at the deep scowls of disappointment on his parents’ faces, next to the apologetic wince of Tony. “Fuck.”

“Language, William.” Tommy snorts and is met with a jab of blue to his chest. 

Two strikes in less than three seconds and the houseboat is most definitely floating away, “Sorry, dad.”

“What are you two doing here?” This time it’s their mom, her accent thicker when she’s angry and currently it sounds like she just moved here from Sokovia.

A hand pats Billy’s arm, a reassurance that really isn’t helping. “The field trip was just so boring.” Nor is Tommy’s attempt at defending their choice providing any hope of bringing the boat back. “We just wanted to see stuff.”

The intercom clicks and they are presented with a predictably logical alternative, “You could have asked us after the field trip. You had shown interest in a more detailed tour the other night, hence the reason why your mother and I were meeting you here instead of at home.”

Billy flops his head to stare deep into his twin’s goggled eyes, “I suggested that.”

“Shut up.”

Another click and mom is back on the microphone, “We’ve been speaking with the Altman’s,” any last, clinging hope withers away, “they were really looking forward to having you with them this weekend,” the feeling is mutual, “they suggested a nice compromise.” He waits to learn what this is, worried if he asks it will harm any goodwill left. “They invited all of us along on the trip.” 

Despair is far heavier than the physical toll of the course, and isn’t helped at all by the thumbs up next to him and the out-of-breath, “Yes, I love houseboats!”

[magioftheseas]

Day 5 - World Destroyer

Written for @the-hinata-project

Prompt: World Destroyer aka Alter Ego (Kamu?)

Rating: T+

Warnings: Blood and murder.

Notes: I’m...not gonna lie. This is the one I definitely wanted to write the most. I fucking adore the OVA, World Destroyer in particular. His presence and the way he interacts with Komaeda and Komaeda’s dream world are just captivating and I’m really into psychological deep dives like hell to the fuck yeah. Unfortunately barely anyone explores that route if they pay World Destroying Alter Ego-kun any mind at all and that’s just a shame because the possibilities are endless. Soooo yeah. This is heavy on the KomaHina.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

It was to be New Year’s soon in this world. Such was the case for reality, as well, although his master is hardly feeling festive for the occasion.

“Status report on Komaeda Nagito,” was the clipped order.

“Stable but still unreachable. Shall I perform another deep dive? How should I proceed?”

“Urgh...” His master rubs his mismatched eyes with his palms, shoulders hunching. He is not programmed to equip with this, so he merely stays silent as his master sighs. “I...don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on in there, after all.”

“Master, if you wish to know...”

“Don’t,” his master snarls. “Actually tell me. That’s not something I need to know. Only...convey necessary information, Alter Ego.”

“Very well,” he replies.

“Proceed to the Deep Dive. For now, make observations.”

“Very well.”

With that, he slipped away.

--

He shifts through the world with ease, weaving between the seams in a way that goes unnoticed by the denizens, by the subconscious that is Komaeda Nagito’s mental barriers.

“So are we getting together for the festival at the shrine?” The representation of Souda Kazuichi asks. “The others are gonna be there. Even Miss Sonia...! H-How do you think she’ll look in her kimono?”

“She’ll just be in a kimono.” The representation of Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko retorts with an irritated face. “It’s hardly a big deal.”

“H-Hardly...?! This kind of thing only happens once a year!”

“You already know what she looks like in a yukata.”

“Yes and she looked like an absolute angel!”

Komaeda Nagito laughs at that.

“It’s going to be a lot of fun,” he says. “Being with everyone when the New Year starts, I mean. That’s what I’m looking forward to.”

“That’s what matters,” Kuzuryuu says, shooting Souda a sharp look, to which he flinches.

“I-I know that...!”

“Then aaaaact like it!”

“U-Urgh...”

Komaeda Nagito’s smile warms and widens as the two bickers.

“Being with everyone...really will be so nice...”

“But will it really be everyone?” he asks him, murmuring to his ear and earning Komaeda Nagito to freeze up and shiver.

“A-Ah...?!”

“Komaeda?!”

“O-Oi, Komaeda, what’s wrong?!”

“I... Um...” Komaeda is looking around helplessly, blushing as he covers his ear. “Sorry, I...must have imagined it.”

“Jeez, don’t scare us like that, man!” Souda complained. “The way you jumped actually freaked me out a little!”

“Don’t be such a wimp,” Kuzuryuu gripes before turning a gently concerned stare towards Komaeda. “If something’s rubbing ya the wrong way, just stick close, alright?”

“I... Okay, Kuzuryuu-kun...” Komaeda’s hand drops as he nods. “Thank you... Sorry for the trouble. It really is nothing. Nothing at all.”

Alter Ego observes, eyes cold.

--

“Nothing of note,” he informs his master. “Time and events continue to play out within the simulated realm even as his physical form remains in stasis. It is...”

“Boring,” his master finishes tiredly. “It’s so...boring.”

“Yes...”

His master sighs, rubbing at his nape and then stretches out, joints popping from disuse. He leans back, staring blearily at the ceiling.

“For my next deep dive, I can once again attempt to pull him out. If that fails, I can delve even further, into the innermost layer.”

“But that increases the risk of mentally breaking him, right,” His master murmurs before shaking his head. “Everyone else is already awake. And they are recovering at a steady rate. We can afford to be careful with Komaeda.”

“If that is how it shall be,” he replies. “So, then...what do you expect me to do?”

His master hesitates.

“...continue monitoring him. And... See if there is a way to sway him towards us. That will be all for now, Alter Ego.”

“Very well, master.”

--

“Oi, Komaeda, you’re late! Well, thank fucking god you’re still in one piece!”

“Sorry, sorry! I actually did hurt my leg though, haha...”

“Shit, that explains the limping. Tsumiki will be here in a bit and she always carries first aid with her, so just rely on us for now, alright?”

“T-Thank you... Yes, of course, ehe...”

He watches coldly as Komaeda clings to their arms, allowing them to awkwardly steady him as he is lead to the bench to sit down. He’s hobbling, so their arms are wrapped around his back to keep him from toppling over. The two falsehoods are careful with him, with lowering him down, and stand closer than necessary as if meaning to protect him should anything unknown approaches.

It is boring. So boring.

“Please don’t feel the need to wait around with me,” Komaeda says, laughing weakly and quietly, waving his hand. “I’ll be fine on my own, ehe.”

“Are ya sure?” Kuzuryuu asks warily. “Even if nothing happens, you get lonely.”

“I’m not a child, Kuzuryuu-kun.” Komaeda’s eyes are bright, smile serene. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

Kuzuryuu scowls, rubbing at his nape and hesitating. Souda elbows him.

“It’s no big deal,” he says. “We can go get him some snacks or something.”

“...fine.” A sigh before Kuzuryuu waves his finger. “Stay here. Don’t go wandering off.”

“Of course not,” Komaeda chirps cheerily. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Satisfied by that, Kuzuryuu allows himself to be dragged off, even if he still fusses about it. Watching his two ‘friends’ leave with a look of undeniable fondness, Komaeda was rubbing idly at his injured ankle, shifting uncomfortably in his kimono, tugging at the robe in places.

Komaeda sighs, wincing a little now that he’s out of sight.

“Even here, you internalize things.”

Komaeda snaps up, eyes growing large as he perks up. He stands before him and this time, Komaeda seems confused by his appearance. It is likely shifting, almost imperceptible.

“Um...” Komaeda give a puzzled smile. “Who...are you, exactly?”

“What is your wish?”

“E... Excuse me?” That smile of his strains.

“Your wish,” he repeats, lowly and coldly. “What is the wish you plan to make for the New Year? What is it that you hope will happen?”

“I... Um... I’m not sure why you’re asking me that, but... I don’t...really have a wish, except for more happiness, for others.” Komaeda shuffles, deeply unsettled. “It’s the same one I made for Tanabata... But really, I’m just expecting the same fortune as always... It’s never terribly good, but, that’s a good thing. The unluckier I am, the luckier everyone else is. Isn’t that such a wonderful thing?”

“You really are...so self-sacrificing.” Komaeda blinks at him. “Selfless...but also selfish.”

“Do I know you...?”

“No,” he replies. “You do not, even if you may know this appearance. It is his, correct? Even though he has no place in your world—you want to see him more than anyone else.”

“Listen,” Komaeda cuts in, voice shaking a little now. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Is that really true?”

Before Komaeda can answer, someone calls out.

“Oiiii, Komaeda, I just wanted to ask if...” The false Souda Kazuichi skids to a stop, expression morphing into unease and suspicion. “Oi, is this guy giving you trouble?”

“You summoned a barrier,” he observes, unimpressed. “How boring. It looks like words alone really will not do a thing.”

“Look, man,” Souda growls. “I-I don’t know who the hell you are, but you really should leave Komaeda the hell alone.”

“Komaeda Nagito.” Komaeda perks up, shivering a little. “There is much in the way. This is pointless. Boring.”

“...um...?”

“I shall take my leave. Forget all about this. It should not be difficult.”

Before Komaeda can respond, he has already disappeared.

--

“In order to reach Komaeda Nagito, more drastic measures will have to be taken, master.”

His master had his face buried in his arms.

“...how drastic are we talking, Alter Ego?”

“The simulated world is acting as one big barrier,” he says. “To get to Komaeda Nagito, it must be stripped away. Piece by piece if necessary.”

“I see...” His fingers dig in deep. “Komaeda really can’t help but make matters unnecessarily difficult, huh.”

“I will do whatever it takes to retrieve him, master.”

“Then...” A deep breath. “Do whatever it takes, Alter Ego.”

“Very well, master.”

--

The bell is being rung. Komaeda has received his fortune, foretelling a great disaster. He laughs as Souda whoops over his much more favorable fortune. The bell is being rung.

“Are you sure your foot is feeling better?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!”

“If it’s not, I’m sure someone can just carry him, haha.”

“I-It’s really fine!”

“Ohhh man, look at that! The line for candy-making stand has finally cleared up! Let’s hurry!”

“What are you, a kid?!”

“Ehehehe...”

Komaeda Nagito really does look happy.

“...how boring.”

As if sensing the atmosphere, heads begin to turn in his general direction. More and more of the crowd begins to regard him with suspicion. And then, with disdain.

They are beginning to close in on him as Komaeda continues chatting amicably with his ‘friends’.

There is but a small window of opportunity were his hand forms the shape of a gun, and he takes aim.

“Supposedly this candy-making thing is like, craaaazy popular with the girls,” Souda is saying. “Do you think Miss Sonia would like one?”

“She might’ve already gotten one,” Kuzuryuu is replying. “I think Peko—yama saw her in line earlier.”

“Would Pekoyama like one?”

“W-What the hell are you asking me that for...?”

“They’re really popular with Mioda-san,” Komaeda is musing. “It’s hard to not see why. With the glassy colors and various shapes... They really are quite beautiful, don’t you think? Almost too pretty to eat.”

“Just have Koizumi take a picture, then.”

“It won’t quite be the same thing, Souda-kun.”

Souda snorts, “I mean if you just want to keep it, I guess there’s nothing wrong with—”

Bang.

Blood splatters onto Komaeda’s face and kimono. Someone screams as Souda crumbles.

Chaos follows.

How boring.

--

But what was not boring was—

“What are you doing?”

Komaeda takes a shaky step forward, stepping around one of the various corpses, shivering and holding himself tightly, digging fingers bleeding wrinkles into his kimono.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You did not run,” he observes, and steps forward, reaching for him. “Did you remember...?”

Komaeda smacks his hand away.

“...who are you?”

Komaeda meets his cold stare with a colder glare.

“You aren’t supposed to be here. Y-You...destroyed everything...”

Destroyed, huh?

“This world is one that needs to be destroyed,” he says. “And I am willing to do whatever it takes to achieve my mission.”

Komaeda laughs softly, brokenly.

“This world...? Your mission? What are you even saying?” He’s trembling. “What you’re doing is...so, so cruel...”

He steps forward again, reaching out. This time, Komaeda does nothing as his cheek is touched, as the blood splattered is smeared by a thumb stroking over the delicate curve.

“...I will have to go deeper after all,” he murmurs. “Right now, you are still too shielded.”

Komaeda blankly meets his gaze.

“But you are close,” he goes on. “You are much closer than before. I wonder if this will give my master hope, then. I am closer to fulfilling his wishes. I wonder if that will give him hope.”

“Well...” Komaeda speaks slowly, voice low with only the slightest hint of a quiver. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. What good can come from this? You do realize, right, that my talent takes away everything? Talent really is such a wretched thing.”

Komaeda presses into his touch, sighing.

“But... If anyone could at least do something... It would be that person, right?”

He is quiet. A trembling smile pulls across Komaeda’s lips.

“...keep going, then.”

“I will,” he says quietly and grips Komaeda’s throat.

--

“One more deep dive. It will just take one.”

“One more,” his master echoes. “Whatever it takes. Destroy everything if you have to. Piece by piece, until nothing else remains. Just... Bring him back, Alter Ego.”

“Yes, master.”

“...”

“Is there something else you would like to say?”

“The form you take...when you enter that world...” His master bites the inside of his cheek, no doubt picking at it with his teeth. “What... No.” He shakes his head. “No, it doesn’t matter.”

He does not answer.

“Alter Ego,” his master says, voice and expression hardening. “Proceed to deep dive.”

“Yes, master. Komaeda Nagito will be returned to you very soon.”