A quite murmuring resounded throughout the dimly lit chamber. Men and women, mostly older, sat in mahogany wood chairs, dressed in gray striped suits and flowing beige dresses. Attendants wandered up and down the rows, dressed smartly in black vests and bow ties, carrying treys of fine chardonnay and cognac. Through the dim lights, the haze of cigar smoke lingered in the high ceilings, an aromatic reminder of the luxurious environment.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could please have your attention, I would like to resume the bidding on our next item in our Republic of Greater East Asia series. This set of war medals belonged to one of the most revered and decorated generals in the campaign against..."

Jiro Morioka leaned forward in his seat, apprehensive and lost in thought. He was not interested in the silly trinkets of a deluded dead soldier. No, there was something else that brought him to this upscale London auction house. He mentally ran through the auction list in his head once more, as the auctioneer began to rattle off words and numbers like a machine gun rattles off bullets. It was up to bid on next, the security recordings, as well as numerous data files, and other equipment used in one of the installments of the horrendous governmental provision, known as "The Program".

It had been a little under a decade since the collapse of the Republic of Greater East Asia. A U.S. invasion toppled the political hierarchy, and once again a democratic institution was established. Although the U.S and her allies staunchly claimed that the invasion was solely for the purpose of liberation, many saw it as a tool to advance the U.S agenda. Whatever the reason was, the campaign was successful, and the Republic of Greater East Asia was divided into subsidiary states, and relics of its past were sold in auction rooms to fascinated and overly wealthy westerners.

"...Sold! For fifteen thousand pounds to guest number twelve. Congratulations!" The auctioneer firmly grasped either side of the lectern, as two bulky men in suits wheeled the cart with the war medals off the stage. The lights dimmed even further, and a large projection screen descended from above, coming to a rest on the stage a few feet behind the auctioneer. Jiro felt his muscles tighten, and a cold sweat dripped down his back. "We are to begin bidding on a set of items associated with the extremely controversial military exercise known as The Program. Because of the sensitivity of the subject matter, I strongly request all those who are offended by such material to leave the room now. All remaining auction items are associated with the program, so feel free to exit if you are not interested."

Chairs scraped against the tile floor, and once again the dull murmur returned to the room, as people began to leave, talking quietly amongst themselves as they moved towards the exit. Jiro caught quips of some conversations, though it was all the same idle banter. "You've heard about this right? Primary school students were forced to slaughter one another, can you imagine anything so horrible?"

"Absolutely disgusting. I'm glad the Americans finally brought these bastards down. Making children kill each other, it makes me sick just thinking about it!"

Jiro patiently waited, checking his watch anxiously once more. It was extremely expensive. Even in this dark environment, the gold on it seemed to shine brightly. His suit too, was of excellent quality. Pin striped and black, it was tailored to fit his body perfectly. He was getting old, the man was approaching 60, but there was still some muscle definition visible beneath the expensive fabric. His hair line had receded slightly, and his face was much beginning to sag. He wasn't the young man he used to be.

"Okay then, let's begin!" The auctioneer continued, in his refined London accent. His pencil thin mustache quivered as he spoke. "First, we have video footage of the Kobe Program of 1972. This compilation contains almost 200 hours of footage, accompanied by audio feedback, when available. We also have official documents from the event, including profiles on the students, correspondence between the instructor and the central government, and media releases. To assure you the quality of this footage, we will air a brief segment of the final confrontation."

He reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a small remote. He clicked it, and the projection screen became encompassed by a fuzzy video. It took a moment to assess what was on the screen. The colors were faded, the images fuzzy, and the focus laughable. But it became clear the footage was relayed from a camera perched on the street of a small town. The buildings were small and quaint, what one would expect from a fishing village during that time. The door to one of the buildings suddenly opened, and a young Japanese student emerged, cautiously looking both ways as he crossed the threshold of the door.

The boy crouched as he walked, until he was alongside a building closer to the camera, just down the road from the one he exited. Gunshots suddenly erupted from a building across the street, sending the young boy diving for cover behind a pile of crates. He shouted something in Japanese, as he rummaged through his back pack. He pulled out a translucent bottle with a cloth jammed in the opening. The boy lit it on fire and tossed it through the window where the gunshots came from. Flames lept out the window, and licked the roof of the building, sending plumes of black smoke into the sky. Female cries- from what sounded like different voices, resounded from the burning building. The boy slouched against the side of a building, and lowered his head, until the screams had ceased.

Jiro furrowed his brow, and bit into his lip until a warm trickle of blood ran into his mouth, and his whole face seemed wracked with pain. He was staring at himself, and listening to the screams of the classmates he had killed decades ago.

A/N: I'm excited to start writing this, and as always, I appreciate feedback/critiques/whatever. I will hopefully update very soon!