'Click'. 'Click.' The small footsteps of his doctor fills the room, while he is drawn back from sitting in a railroad car. Books could transport him anywhere in the world, or even into a fantasy; fighting monsters to save the fair princess from her doom. Amber eyes look towards the sound, while he sees Isa Souma waiting for him in the doorway. "Good evening, Doctor Souma."

"How are you feeling today, Mr. Fujishiro?" The doctor's words were cold and callous, hardly carrying the warmth one would expect from a caretaker. Not even a warm smile for the boy laid up. "A little better. I can walk without feeling faint now," he answers dutifully. The teen wished to get better for his brother's sake more than his own. They only had each other, after the Hatoful House incident. Their entire family, decimated. And yet…Nageki did not feel resentful towards the splinter group who destroyed their family. It was expected during the days of the Dove and Hawk Parties, peace treaties, all the ridiculous nonsense of politics. He was young, but more than aware of what the government desired to do to the remaining population.

"Mr. Fujishiro, did you hear me?" Nageki shakes himself from his thoughts, staring at the doctor. "I apologize. As you were saying?"

"We will be attempting a new treatment within the next few months. Of course, we will be needing your consent to it. As well as your brother's. You have been writing him with updates, correct?"

"Ah, yes. I will write him about it tomorrow. Doctor, I know he insists on visiting me, but…I do not wish for him to see me." Isa nods, making note in the journal he always seemed to carry around with him. "Have you caught up on your schoolwork?"

"Yes, Doctor. I'm feeling rather tired. Would you mind leaving me to rest?"

"No, of course not. I shall check on you tomorrow." Nageki nods, watching the thin man leave the room. Chilled, he wraps the blankets about himself, disliking the air Doctor Souma left. It was always so…terrifying. Similar to the atmosphere of a horror novella. Nageki did not particularly care for them, but he read those books, devouring the plots and remembering every instance of a foil character, perhaps characterization as well. It gave him something to do while he waited for more tests to be run, waiting for results, waiting for anything better to come along.

His life was a waiting game, doctors running test after test, blood drawn, him growing weaker and paler, swallowing pill after pill to see his body's response. On occasion, people would come see him, but they seemed to react negatively to being around him, growing sick just the way those at the Hatoful house did. A seed of self-hatred was growing within him. The boy would never admit it, of course, but it was still there. Hitori seemed desperate to visit, to check on him the way he always did. His brother loved him, and there was nothing wrong with it. The teacher was just too overbearing, making him stay wrapped up when he was feeling sickly.

Hitori was a good brother. Kind and caring, just the way any brother should be. And Nageki knew his brother tried so hard to make their lives better. In dreams, he saw them together, out in the fields of the country. He could almost smell the millet surrounding them. Those were the best dreams of all.

Dreams which would eventually turn to the worst nightmares. Nageki could see everyone, hear the happy chatter of a days long over. Then they would come, slaughter returning night after night. The blood spilling upon the floor, substance almost comical in the light of dusk. Mouths opening and clamping shut, screams of terror echoing around them. Isa Souma appearing with his maddening grin, voice cold. "They are dead. It is your fault, Nageki Fujishiro. It will always be your fault. Even your dear brother blames you. He will never forgive you for your crimes." Those nights, the teen awakens in a cold sweat. Guilt was eating him alive, but he was not guilty of any crime. His amber eyes close, returning to his personal circle of hell. The crimson ichor splattered upon the walls, his name written within the spilled vitality. It once held the life of his precious brothers and sisters, but no more.

Nageki is aware the doctor seemed far too interested in his work than the mental well-being of his patient. There is an air of mystery about the Academy. Stifling, noticeably empty of "normal" students. He attended as many classes as he could without feeling ill. More and more often, he was in his hospital room, curled up with a book. Today he was St. George, slaying the bothersome dragon. "Mr. Fujishiro, are you ready?" Doctor Souma seemed to appear from out of nowhere.

"Yes, I am. What will we be doing today?"

"Some electroshock therapy to help with the pain." The teen nods, tossing the blanket from him. A wheelchair sat by his bed, used more and more often these days. Easing himself down, Nageki winces at the cool interior of the chair. He felt as if he were deteriorating, and quickly. The wheels were squeaky. He hated the sound, it grated on his ears. Thankfully the treatment room was just down the hall. Another researcher helped him out of his chair, laying him upon the hospital bed. "You're a very good patient, Nageki," the woman praised.

The teen nods and closes his eyes, waiting to feel the electrodes pressed to his skin. The electric current was soothing, a lullaby of a charge running through him. It was divine. He slows his breathing while being hooked up to the machine. A soft smile on his lips, heart rate slowed. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." The feeling is barely there, a gentle current going through him. One could say it almost tickled. Nageki begins nodding off, his personal hell beginning to swallow him whole. Almost instantaneously, he was back at the Hatoful House, playing with his brothers and sisters. Even Hitori was smiling. He had to leave for work, and the dove is begging him to stay. "I have to go to work, you know that."

"You don't understand!" His brother shakes his head and walks out the door. Nageki begins watching the clock, waiting for the splinter group to come and slaughter them all. It takes only moments for the glass to shatter around him, the tortured screams of his siblings, the gunshots ringing out. He collapses to the ground, hands shaking. One of his brothers attempts to walk up to him before being mowed down. The bullet shears off half of his head, and Nageki's jaw drops in horror. The greens eyes of his sibling go blank, all vivacity gone. Blood and bits of grey matter splatter upon the floors and walls. "No, no, no, this is all a bad dream, a very bad dream, no, no," the teen murmurs to himself over and over, rocking back and forth. The pool of blood reaches his foot, the liquid dark and shiny. A hand reaches forward to touch it. Warm. It's warm, and he feels so sick and guilty.

Nageki begins to retch, attempting to cough up any food within his system, but nothing comes out but more blood. "Hey, we have a live one!" An unfamiliar voice calls out, likely coming to help him die. The yellow eyes look up to one of the group, waiting for the reaction to kick in. Soon enough, the man is choking and growing blue in the face. His teammates arrive, and they begin coughing on air, trying to swallow and breathe. They fail. The house reeked of the metallic smell of blood, the singing burn of gunpowder. A scream bellows from him, and he's back in the hospital room, the female researcher appearing perturbed, Doctor Souma smiling serenely. His heart monitor races, beeping far too much. His breathing slows, attempting to calm himself. "Mr. Fujishiro, would you care to explain your sudden episode?"

"It was only a nightmare. That's all it was, Doctor." Isa smiles knowingly, making another note in his notebook. The patient seems to relive the Hatoful Incident within his dreams. No changes in the Charon virus quite yet. Lab rats seem to react worse and worse to the exposure. Our efforts are concentrated upon the liver of the patient, where the virus seems to thrive. We may insist on a biopsy for the sake of preserving the tissue. Patient's personalty is changing to become more and more hopeless. His letters show a profound difference from the beginning. Note: If this change worsens, we may have to preform surgery to change his personality.

Mr. Fujishiro will likely end up a vegetable due to it, but it will stop his growing self-hatred. He does not believe me to understand the seed has sprouted. If it is allowed to grow, then he may do something to ruin this project. As a researcher, I cannot allow such meddling. If his hatred grows any more within the next few months, he may be a lost cause.
"May I return to my room?"

"Of course. You may rest now." Nageki slides himself down into his chair once more, allowing his eyes to close. He did not wish to be here. Hitori insisted upon getting him treatment. They argued about it, but eventually he relented to his brother's wishes. In the world, they only had each other. Nothing more, nothing less. "Nageki, do you ever miss being outside?" The woman's voice was warm and comforting.

"Yes, sometimes. That's what books are for, right? I can be anyone, live anywhere. Transported through time and space."

"I suppose you're right. Get some rest."

The next few months, the teen loses faith and hope in getting better. Nageki grows depressed, unwilling to even write his brother. Isa secretly enjoys watching him spiral into sadness. It was only a matter of time before a suicide attempt. He tries to swallow too much medication, but they rush in to pump his stomach. Eventually Doctor Souma is monitoring more and more often. "Do you wish to die, Mr. Fujishiro?"

Nageki does not answer him, instead looking to the floor. "I think we should try a new treatment. Do you know what a lobotomy does?"

"Yes."

"We're going to preform one on you."

"Don't many patients become vegetables after? How can you say you will preform one on me, and pretend everything is alright?! I am not a toy!" Yellow eyes narrow, glaring at the violet hues before him. "You act as if you have a choice, Mr. Fujishiro. Whatever the doctor says, goes. You know this. No, you are not a toy, but you are a patient, and a lab rat, really. All those people died due to a virus you harbor within you. And to keep you alive means keeping the virus alive. Imagine the masses killed because of a biological weapon. All thanks to you."

"You have no right to do any of this! How can you treat people like toys, like lab rats?!"

"They are not people, they are scum who walk the Earth. How can you act as if you do not hate them? They helped kill your family. Can you really say you do not harbor hate towards them?"

"I'm leaving."

"Oh, but you do not have a choice." The Doctor walks over, studying the frail frame. "You are nothing but skin and bones, barely able to stand without help. I highly doubt you will be able to leave of your own volition."

"I can! And I will! Do not think Hitori will not come looking for me. He will." Nageki watches the man twirl a needle with a clear liquid. "I wonder, will you be able to move after I inject this into your veins?" With that, Isa stretches an arm and jabs the tip into his vein. His finger depresses the syringe. "And now I'll just need to extract a part of you from your body, and I will have all I need."

Nageki can feel his body relaxing with the cocktail of drugs in his system. Attempting to lift his arm proved useless. "What have you done?" Came the horrified whisper.

"Only what I was asked to do," the doctor replies. Thinking back to the wish Ryouta had asked of him. Isa Souma would fulfill that wish, as Ryuuji asked him. Of course, no one else had knowledge of the last request, but was it truly necessary? They were dispensable after all. Researchers could be replaced, as could equipment, testing kits, medications, all of it. But, his darling colleague could not be replaced, no matter how similar the son was to the father.

Nageki's eyes shine with anger, but he could not move. Not even his mouth responded to his commands to speak. "Perhaps I shall carve you up. A little art within destruction." The doctor plucks his favorite scalpel from his pocket, admiring its deadly shine. "They say you board a train when you die, visiting all the stars of the Milky Way. Have you heard that story, Mr. Fujishiro? I would not be surprised if you did. Rather ignorant of me to believe otherwise, considering you spend your day reading books. Now, where shall I begin?" Souma places the scalpel on the teen's collar-bone. "Here?" Gently sliding down, he presses the tool just above his navel. "Or perhaps here? We could start slow. Begin at the foot, working my way up. Though, I'm here to give you a lobotomy. I would rather you be on an I.V. drip for the procedure, however. I could kill you with medication, rather than a botched surgery. Either would be believable, don't you think, Mr. Fujishiro?"

The teen glares at the man above him, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his arguments. Grinning, the doctor presses the blade near Nageki's sternum, blood welling up beneath the steel. A gasp could be heard, and a faint laughter falls from Isa's lips. "Let us begin your surgery." As a researcher, he planned this for months, determining just where to place the ice pick, and which eye it would be. In the days of old, they would use both eyes. This would cause two bruised eyes, black and blue due to the force necessary to pierce the muscles. Many of these surgeries were botched, perhaps even completely unnecessary. Thus the procedure became outlawed, considered to be a cruel practice, a barbaric act. The doctor smiles serenely, producing a small ice pick and hammer from his pockets.

"Oh, I am getting ahead of myself. I should get the I.V. in place before even placing the pick. Shameful of me. It shouldn't take long, Mr. Fujishiro. You will be awake the entire time, aware of what I am doing. You will feel pain, plenty of pain. I wonder if the drugs will wear off enough for you to scream, not that anyone can hear you at this hour. It will be our little secret…if you will survive the night. As your physician, it is my duty to make you aware you have a slim chance of survival, near 0.0002%. It's a shame, really. You were a brilliant student. Ah, I sound similar to those villains who wax poetic before they fail in their endeavor. We shall not become a cliché," he chuckles, pulling an I.V. to the bed. Once the needle was securely in place, Isa pulls out his instruments of choice. There was no need to strap the teen down, as the numbing agent helped speed along the other parts of the mixture. The drip was spilling more of the toxic material into his blood stream. His left hand places the sharp pick in to corner of the child's eye, causing his patient to attempt to blink. The doctor's better hand lifted the hammer, his grin widening, relishing this moment for a moment or two. Soon enough, he returns to his stoic manner when driving the hammer home.

Nageki spasms beneath him, panting for breath. A soft whine expresses his distaste of the pain he feels. He was close to blacking out at the image of Doctor Souma above him. Tapping away at the pick, Isa watches the blood rush to the wounded area, mottling the pale skin. Ah, how the body never ceased to amaze. The metal 'clink' was the ringing of the bell, bringing the future. Once the chisel hit its mark, he smiles faintly, twisting the tool, swirling and destroying the white matter beneath it. Carefully extracting the chisel, he begins on the other side, and in a matter of moments, Nageki Fujishiro no longer existed. Not the way he used to be. Instead, the good doctor begins carving out his liver, a smile of triumph on his face. Carefully placed in a cooler, Isa looks over his patient. The teen was still breathing, but barely.

Isa pours some gasoline upon the bed, then carefully lights a match. Tossed into the liquid, flames spring up almost immediately. They lick about Nageki, searching for more fuel. The smell of burnt flesh fills the air, causing the doctor to cough while escaping the fire's wrath. It was done. He could fulfill his promise to Ryuuji, making the world a better place.

Why is everything so white? Wait. This is a leather seat. I see the stars outside, twinkling brightly. I'm on a train? Why? There's the conductor! "Where am I?"

"On the Galactic Railroad. You died within your school."

"I'm not ready. I haven't made enough memories! You can't take me just yet."

"As you wish."

Hot, warm, everywhere burned. Nageki felt dizzy, not quite entirely back to himself, but the heat woke him. He was on fire, but felt no desire to put the flames out. "At least this way, no one can get hurt." Accepting one's fate was a marvel thing. He could hear his brother's voice, begging him to come out. Instead, he curls up on his throne of fire, purifying himself with the flames. A faint memory of stargazing pops into his mind, asking Hitori what he thought of the Scorpion. A flaming savior. "Goodbye, Hitori."

The morning after, Nageki wakes up within the confines of the library, confused. He did not feel whole or entirely existent. Students appeared happy at the cancellations of classes. "Hello?" He calls to them tentatively. No one appears to hear him, or notice he was there at all. A girl walks into him, but she appears unfazed, if not a bit chilly. "What happened to me?" Later that day, he attempts to leave the library to no avail. The teen was nothing more than a ghost of a memory.