Setting: Canon
Rating: T
Genre: Angst, Tragedy
Characters: Ryouta, Junko, Imposter
Warnings: torture scene, character death
Word Count: 702
A/N: Never let me write anything like this again.
Gloomy Sunday
The screen flickers to life and Sagishi could only hear screaming.
A girl with the devil's smirk fills the entire frame, waving as she adjusts the camera focus, the smirk on her face unwavering.
Moments later, Sagishi feels his throat burning, and only then does he realize he's the one screaming.
The girl's now panning out the camera agonizingly slow, her maniacal laughter filling Sagishi's ears. Frame by frame Sagishi sees the room she's in, recognizing it as the basement room he and the rest of the class passed by just minutes ago, until he notices that she's not alone in it.
There's Ryouta in the background, shackled in the same torture chair the class saw as they passed by the room, his head lolling to the side and bleeding, his lips the same sickening shade of purple they were back when Sagishi found him unconscious in a corridor once upon a time.
"Aw, this won't do at all," the girl says in a sing–song voice, sticking her tongue out as she stomps down on Ryouta's foot and digs her stiletto heel further down, waking Ryouta up with a pained gasp, looking like a deer caught in the headlights as his senses return to him.
"Rise and shine, Mitarai–kun! We have work to do," she tells Ryouta in the same sickly sweet voice. "Say hi to the camera!"
She waves to the camera again, giggling, then forcibly turns Ryouta's head to face it, her talon–like nails digging into the soft flesh and drawing blood. Ryouta's whimpering in pain, tears and snot continuously flowing down his face, diluting the blood already sluggishly flowing there when this whole thing began.
And Sagishi can't do anything but watch.
She drops her act, her face scrunching into a frown, then steps on Ryouta's other foot, but the only reaction Ryouta could give is a choking sound that eventually turns into a weak coughing fit.
"You're no fun, you know," the girl says as she examines the knife in her hands. "I liked it better when you were screaming and begging me not to do this to your friend, too. But you just had to go and fall asleep on me just as I was getting started."
Ryouta's eyes widen as he shakes his head, audibly hyperventilating through his mouth as he opens and closes it like he's a fish dragged out of the water.
"Why won't you scream?!" she growls as she stabs the knife through Ryouta's hand, finally making Ryouta scream until he has to gasp and cough for air again.
His dominant hand, Sagishi realizes with horror. The same hand that gave life to countless sketches that never failed to take Sagishi's breath away.
"Oh?" the girl says in mock concern, her hand covering her mouth. "You can't die now, that's not fair of you to rob me of that honor. But don't worry, I'll make it quick."
She's humming as she trails her hands along his arm starting from the stab wound still copiously bleeding. "Maybe I'll do this to your other friend, the one who's looking for you, after I'm done with you, since you let Tsumiki escape and I need a new toy. Only," she pauses, placing one of her hands on her chin in contemplation as her other hand pulls out the knife from Ryouta's own mangled one. "Did you really think he'd look for some trash like you? He's probably relieved he doesn't have to think of you anymore."
Her hands are already on Ryouta's collar bone, and now she's trailing them with the knife down to his breastbone as Ryouta continues to whimper, his eyes trained on the knife in fear of what she'll do.
She stops when the knife's directly above Ryouta's heart, and smiles innocently. The knife slides in through Ryouta's chest as if it's butter, and Ryouta weakly coughs out blood as his eyes widen once more and start to glaze over, unseeing.
Ryouta slumps on the chair, blood frothing on his mouth, and the camera zooms out to show the rest of his broken body.
Then, nothing.
Sagishi can't look away as he continues to scream.
Ah, so this is despair.
A/N: Okay, so this was born out of a discussion on what if Junko turned Class 77 to despair by making them see a loved one being tortured and killed and we the audience saw Chiaki die because it's the real content of the video and also because we're actually watching it through Izuru's eyes. Meanwhile, Kuzuryuu would see his sister dying all over again, Mahiru would see Satou, Teru would see his mom. You get the point.
Never ask me to write torture again.