Hi! Ok, this is my first No.6 fic, so please be gentle! (Eh? I seem to have come up with my own plot. How did this happen…?)
Right, about the thing you're about to read: some stuff. I'm thinking this will end up long-ish. No idea how long that means though… It's post-series, but I think it's more based on the novels than on the manga or anime, only the person at Nostalgia On 9th Avenue hasn't finished translating it yet, so there might be some things that don't fit with the canon because of it. So sorry in advance for that.
Warning: Contains blood (uh… the title kinda says that…) Yeah I'm going for gore with this one! Sounds like fun! :D (Wow I'm such a sadist sometimes… with not much emphasis on the "sometimes")
Disclaimer: I do not own No.6, or I would be Atsuko Asano, so would be a much better writer than I am, also NEZUMI WOULD NOT HAVE LEFT AT THE END LIKE A MORON!
Ahem.
Onto the prologue!
~Blood-Red-Ruins~
Nezumi found rubble at his feet on returning to No.6.
The city Shion such shining hope for, hope for a better future for all people involved, not just the elite. Hope that the citizens could learn from the past; that monstrosities like the Correctional Facility could now only remain as delusions in the minds of those who were mad, far too ambitious for anyone's good, or both. That city that Shion had fought so hard to save from destroying itself now lay in ruins.
Shion.
Nezumi knelt down and picked up a piece of rubble lying on the ground. Had he survived? Could he have survived? Had he been wrong had he had seen that picture in the newspaper, filled that day with news of nothing but death? The picture that had stopped his pulse then returned it immediately, intense, hammering, agonizing, to his chest. When he saw it, what had he thought? Oh God Shion Don't be dead Don't let that be you Don't let that be your blood Don't be dead Please Shion LiveLiveLiveLiveLive Don't be dead Shion-
But who else could it have been? That bloodstained limb, flopped over the rubble, one end stuck under a rock, the other end bloodied and broken, torn off, making it impossible to tell which limb it had been. The red stripe running along it regardless of the blood half-covering it, the lighter red of the scar standing out from the blood's brighter, vibrant gleam. That red mark that Nezumi knew so well, had seen more often than he could remember, and had traced idly with his fingers so many times; he would not see it where it wasn't, or be blind to it where it was. It couldn't be anyone else.
-Please Shion Even if it is you arm or leg don't let the rest of you be trapped there too Please Shion Don't be dead LiveLiveLive- But Nezumi knew it was in vain. The sheer weight of debris, the amount of blood: Shion couldn't survive that. He hadn't escaped, no-one could have done.
Nezumi's fingers went limp. The rock dropped (1) to the ground. Small creatures moving among the ruins went on with their lives, none caring that the boy's cheeks were wet with salt water again for the first time in years. Three years to be exact. Since he left Shion. That airhead made me go soft. I want to see him.
Nezumi blinked away the tears, letting them fall down his cheeks, as his senses noticed a presence nearby. Old residents of the West Block? Of course. The West Block escaped the fighting largely unscathed, but after the Manhunt of three years ago, what was there left to be scathed? The people who had survived the Manhunt would have been the fittest and cleverest the fastest and sneakiest. They were still the ones left here now.
The presences now surrounding Nezumi closed in softly; working together? He was at a clear disadvantage. He had to get out of the circle they were making now; nothing good would come if he didn't. Even if Shion had died, Nezumi would survive. A pile of rocks to his right shifted, small stones cascading down a slope of rubble; Nezumi's would-be hunters were getting sloppy. He had to take the opportunity when it was here.
He ran; a gap in the circle, out, away from an easy death. Ends of curses reached Nezumi's ears as his pursuers broke their cover to follow him. Having gained a sufficient lead, he searched for cover. Eyes scanning the landscape saw rocks, ruin, disaster, but there, half of a wall still standing! He changed course, earning him more curses from the people following him. He turned and slammed his back against the wall, knife flickering into his hand, sunlight glinting off the blade as firelight does off the grinning fangs of a starving demon, ready for the kill.
However long Nezumi had been away from No.6 and the West Block for, neither he nor his blades had lost their edge.
~Blood-Red-Ruins~
To make it a bit clearer, part of No.6 was destroyed, not all of it, most of the West Block is ok (as ok as it can be), but Chronos has gone, but none of the fanbase really cares about Chronos, so that's fine I guess.~ Stuff should become clearer later on.
(1) When I was writing this bit, I was so tempted to add "like a stone" here, but it would kinda ruin the mood huh.
Just to warn you, I'm horribly slow at updating: I barely ever get internet on my laptop and that's where I write new chapters. So sorry in advance for that too.
I update faster with reviews! (hinthint wow I'm so subtle…)
