Chapter 1 - The First Attempt?

He stared up at the tiny iron-barred window. There was no moon tonight, so his cell was pitch-black. Nonetheless, he could see. He could see what he was doing. He had propped his bed upright against the wall with the tiny window so that the head was a few feet under the window. He had taken the mattress off and laid it against the foot of the bed, to keep it in place. It wasn't a stable structure, but then, he hadn't intended it to be. He took off his gown and tore at the hem. He ripped a lone about the size of his hand. He then tore horizontally, spiralling so that the whole gown turned into one long rag, much like the wrapper on a roll of mints. He tied one end in a noose and looked at it a second, knowing he was sure, before he put it round his neck. He took a deep breath and carefully climbed up the slats, moving as lightly as he could, praying it wouldn't fall yet. He tied the other end of the rag around one of the iron bars, double-knotting it.

What had brought him to this? Five years of torture, three of them alone, without Sora, without Yoru. Actually, he hadn't been totally alone. Ran had been there with him, but alter egos make poor company since they share their creator's body. It was obvious Sora wasn't going to come back for him. He should have realised it long ago, but when you can't keep count of the days and nights you somehow manage to survive, logic tends to fail. He had lived on hope for a few months after Sora's escape, then false hope for a couple of years, for the last few weeks he had been running on fumes, and now there was nothing to keep him going.

He checked the rag was tightly knotted around the bar and the noose adjusted properly. There were no goodbyes to utter, no more thoughts for him to think. Three lonely years had been ample time to reflect. He pushed down hard on the bed with his feet so that it fell to the floor with a crash that was inaudible over the screech of the cloth as it tightened around his neck. He bounced when the rag had reached its full length and he kicked and struggled out of instinct. He was glad he had made it impossible for him to get down, otherwise he might have thought twice about it. He felt the air trapped in his lungs, desperate to get out while his throat was fighting to get more inside him. It was painful. It was unfortunate that the fall hadn't been long enough to break his neck. That would have made this process much quicker. It felt like an eternity before the blackness started to edge into his eyes and his limbs fell limp. It was a relief. The pain was over. Only good things awaited him.

"Sunao? Sunao Fujimori?"

Who was that? The name was familiar. It sounded like the voice was calling. Was it calling to him?

"Ah, good. You're still breathing…"

Breathing? Couldn't be him.

"That was foolish what you just tried, Sunao."

He felt his chest heaving. He must have been breathing. He saw a light cast over a blurry man leaning over him, speaking to him.

"Sunao… Fujimori…" He gasped. That was his name. It was the first time in three years he had heard it. "Nao…"

"Yes." The man put a hand on his face, and stroked it. As he came into focus, Nao recognised Professor Aizawa.

"No…" Nao tried to raise his arms to push Aizawa away, but he was too weak.

"Now, Sunao… you know that suicide is not the answer… Homicide is better for you."

"What's homicide?"

"Wouldn't you like to get revenge for being abandoned?"

"Yes…"

"Let me help you…"

"You? Help me?"

"This revenge is as much for you as it is for me."

"Revenge…"

"I think you're ready, Sunao."