No One To Call
Disclaimer: I don't own Future Diary.
Hey. If you liked my last story here's a little something that'll be good to you. Enjoy.
Life was tragedy. Suffering. Want. Emptiness. Numbers.
Numbers. Numbers. Numbers.
Dates. Times. Ticking. So many numbers…
Minutes in the tub. Number of pizza slices left to eat. The countdown until the bomb goes off.
The numbers on her forehead burning; the signal that another diary holder is near.
Minene cocked her gun. The numbers got hotter.
A hail of bullets pelted the concrete pillar in the parking garage she was hiding behind, Jagged chunks crashed to the floor and rang hollow through the empty lot. She coughed a bit as the dust spread, the only sound besides the rattle of the machine gun of her enemy.
The gun clicked once. Twice. Empty. Now! Minene rushed from behind the splintered pillar and strafed to the adjacent covering while popping off. Her opponent was nearly gunned down while fumbling to reload but fell back, literally, just in time and rolled to safety under a parked car.
Forty-seven seconds.
Three bullets. She was half empty.
She couldn't get her under the car, not with her gun. It was a durable shield and she didn't have the sufficient firepower to make it explode. Typical. The one day she didn't pack an explosive and she's up shit creek-
"Where is he?" The edge of the second pillar was reduced to empty space with another hail of bullets.
Three deep breaths. Twenty-three achingly long sprinting steps around the garage, closer to her opponent. Hundreds of heartbeats.
"Where's my Yuki?" One pair of enraged, candy cotton pink eyes. Two long calf-length pigtails of equally pink hair.
One desperate jump. One swivel of the gun. One solid kick to the wrist. One flying gun. Two shots to the abdomen in one fall. One pained, wailing cry. Three rolls away.
Ten seconds.
One reach into the pocket during one increasing sprint.
Seven seconds.
Four button presses. One enraged scream.
One gap through the garage windows, too far away.
Four seconds.
Ten numbers on her forehead, burning like fire.
One second.
One explosion.
One massive burst of sound and burning fury.
One message lost in the flames and screams.
5/17/20XX: I couldn't stop her in time! The blast's caught me too! SHIT!
What do you think? This story was set in the same universe as the original story, but with a slight difference: the player's phone numbers are burned into their foreheads like a brand and burn when in close proximity to another diary holder.