[Told from Joshua's POV. I really shouldn't write in second person, but too late. Enjoy!]


Life's little crossroads are often as simple as the pull of a trigger.

You could be the god of this city, but I know you wouldn't want that kind of responsibility. I realize that now. I was selfish. I was cracking, I needed someone to help me, to help shoulder my burden... I chose you. I thought, maybe, by the end of the game - your three long games - you would want this.

You say the games were hard on you, but there weren't hard enough. I wanted the games to leave you broken, so when you got to this point - I've planned it all all along - you would understand what being the Composer meant, and you would be ready for it.

But instead of hardening you, the games made you soft, made you open up... You learned to care - and I guess that's a good thing. Just not what I was expecting, and not what I needed.

So now we're down to this. If you pull the trigger, you win. You're done. And I... go back to running the UG. Deciding who lives and who dies. Do you think I like this? Your glare tells me that you do, and so much more. You hate me for playing god, for choosing who deserves to have a second chance and who gets to die for good. But you hate me for so much more than that. You hate me for making you trust me. That was your choice, not mine. At least that isn't my fault.

The thought makes me laugh in the most terrible of ways; amused by your stupidity and disgusted with myself. It's at this moment that you look up, brought from your thoughts - hateful and angry thoughts, I can see them in your eyes - by the sound of my laugh.

Your face is priceless. I allow myself a second to admire your expression - sad, angry, hurt - and then tell myself to focus, back to business.

Through these very few, but very long seconds, my gun has not faltered, not once. Yours is shaking. Your arm is shaking. Your entire body is shaking.

My hand is steady, finger curled around the finger.

Your hand falls.

Just as simple as the pull of a trigger... Do that for me, please? Shoot me, Neku. Shoot me! I'm counting on you. The game isn't over yet, and I'm counting on you to see it through.

I can see tears falling. Are you crying for me, Neku? Or are you crying because I hurt you?

It makes me want to cry. You're so beautiful, electric blue and orange and you cried for me. But instead of crying, I laugh; smug rather than sad; powerful rather than weak. But I allow myself this final moment of weakness.

"Goodbye, Neku..."