You dart forward, ignoring the shouts and the screams, focusing your attention single-mindedly on the barrel of Mori’s gun. The timing has to be just right. Too quickly, and he’ll push you aside before you fires. Too slowly, and your finger will not catch up to a speeding bullet, not at that distance. Why? Why not. Do it. It is a bad idea. It is a foolish idea. It is an illogical idea. Do it, you coward. The voices whisper madly in your mind. Mori’s eyes are black and empty. Tears roll down his cheeks as his gun-hand twitches.
It’s now or never.
The tip of your finger presses up against the end of the barrel, the smooth metal cold and unforgiving.
You hear the bang.
Something wet splatters across your face. Your finger goes numb, and then your entire hand, and it is only shortly afterwards that the pain comes rushing in, blotting out all thought in your mind. You release a breath you had no idea you were holding in, letting only a slight hiss of agony escape between clenched teeth. Clutching your forearm, you sink to your knees, breathing heavily as your lungs attempt to draw in more oxygen before you pass out. Everything below your wrist is a screaming, mangled red mess of nerves and muscle and bone and pain. The bullet had struck your finger head-on, split the bone, and deflected down the palm vertically, tearing apart the soft tissue so thoroughly that whatever remains of your hand now hangs limply in two parts, cleaved apart by the trail of destruction in the wake of the projectile’s passage. Your fingers are bent at unnatural angles, twitching beyond your control, while the skin along your digits is curling up and peeling away from the shattered knuckles, scalded off by the hot burst of ignited gases from the pistol’s chamber.
It was a bad idea. It was a foolish idea. It was an illogical idea. You did it. The voices agree silently, and as you stare at the dark red blood pouring from your wound, the faintness overtakes you. You’re bleeding out and going into shock. Someone shouts your name, and you feel hands supporting your back, but you cannot make out who they belong to any more… whether those around you are living or dead. What does it matter? Your eyelids grow heavy, and against your will, they begin to slide shut…
***
A distant bell tinkles.
It is cold. Your cheek is resting against a firm but not entirely uncomfortable surface. For a moment, your brain turns this way and that, attempting to get you your proper orientation. It takes a while before you realize that you are lying down, presumably on a bed. Your awareness of your surroundings begins to return, piece by piece.
You are in a ward of some sort… a hospital. How did I get here? No, that is not right. You were already in a hospital before this, so that should be no surprise. You look down at the shattered remnants of your right hand. It is wrapped up in a swathe of bandages, sending throbbing, painful pulses up your arm intermittently. Red blooms across the white cloth; just the small movements of your awakening was sufficient to reopen the wound. A tourniquet has been tied tightly around your forearm, but not tightly enough, it seems.
You fall back onto the inviting pillow, trying to get to grips with the situation. You shake your head, trying to clear your mind. Your memory is fuzzy and faint, flickering at the edges of your consciousness, taunting you with things unremembered. You remember blocking Mori’s pistol with your finger – he was trying to shoot himself – and you remember the gun firing. You remember the pain, and you remember little else. Unless you managed to stumble into this room while blacked out, someone must have brought you here, and then left you alone. But who?
You get the answer almost immediately, when Maeda re-enters the room. “Ah, you’re awake. How are you feeling?” Though her tone is calm and collected, you can see a strain of unease buried under her cool exterior.
You raise your bandaged hand wordlessly. It goes without saying, doesn’t it?
“Hey, don’t complain,” Maeda shrugs. “None of us were doctors. I could only slap on as much anaesthetic cream as I could to help you out.”
“No… I meant to say, thanks…” you mutter. “For bandaging me up, I mean.”
“T-There’s no need to thank me for such a simple matter. If you really want to show gratitude, then make yourself useful and get better quickly, got it?” she retorts quickly, though there is no anger in her words. Perhaps it is a trick of the light, but there seems to be a faint redness in her cheeks, and Maeda changes the subject in a haste. “Why would you hurt yourself to save others?” she asks softly, thoughtfully, as if reminded of something that had happened in the far past.
“It was probably the only way of stopping the bullet reliably,” you explain. You stretch wildly for an example of things going wrong, and find one. “If I had tried to grab the gun, there was no telling where the bullet could have gone. It… it could have hit you, for example.”
“Oh.”
There is an awkward silence as Maeda looks directly at you. Is that appreciation? Understanding? Affection? You cannot tell. You shy away, averting your eyes – a lie all a lie I you we are all liars – as an intense sensation of guilt fills your heart. You do not know the reason, only that it was provoked by the gaze in her eyes, but it forces you to try and change the subject again. “W-Where are the others, Maeda-san? How is Mori-san now?”
“Mori-san recovered soon after that attack. He told me to convey his apologies for such unsightful behaviour. It appears that he has his reasons which he has yet to share with us, but Mori-san seems convinced that it will not happen a second time.”
“Oh… no, no, I must apologize for getting in his way,” you say reflexively, bowing as you do so.
Maeda giggles childishly at your remark, the years seeming to fall away. “Well, as for where the others are…” In a turnabout from her previous behaviour, her face darkens into a frown. “Shortly after you fainted, we were attacked by dead people behaving similarly to the doctor that came back to life. Uehara was convinced that the research facility in the basement could hold the key to stopping all of this, so they left to investigate the place. They took the keycard you were holding – Dr. Usui’s card.”
That’s right. Checking your belongings, you realize that Maeda is not lying. The keycard is missing.
So is the charm that you picked up at the Juunimon tree.
That bitch has it.
Shizu.
It’s hers. It’s rightfully hers.
Kill the thief.
“So, do you want to go after them, or do you want to rest further?” asks Maeda, interrupting your train of thought.
***
18:00
A. If it is to be done, it is to be done right. Your mangled hand is practically useless at this point. You use a nearby surgical set to amputate the hand properly and seal the wound before moving on.
B. There is no time. You tie the tourniquet more tightly to prevend yourself from bleeding out, but that is about as much as you are willing to spend time doing. You need to go after the others now.
C. You take the time to rest. You are still feeling hurt and tired from getting your hand shot.
***
A. You ask Maeda about the charm that you had, and which you suspect Uehara of taking.
B. You keep quiet about the charm. No point telling her about it.
Maybe we were sent away?
