Quick A/N: I generally update about once a week. I go for quality over quantity. I like to make sure I put out consistently good stuff rather than consistently mediocre stuff, regardless of how long that takes.

Yō adjusted the plate on his wrist, tightening the straps around his forearm. He'd made it back inside G Block, killed a guard and taken his armor, and now had made it to the locker room for more gear. One of the officers asked if he was new around here while rummaging through "his" belongings. Not new enough, he thought. Thankfully, he was able to pass himself off as merely forgetful.

A pair of guards held idle conversation at the end of the row of lockers.. "You hear about the poor guys they found dead in the outer halls?"

"Yeah. One of them was stark naked! They said he was running around after lunch, had lost his mind or something."

Yō chuckled beneath his breath. Guess they found the guy I jacked this armor from.

"What about the guy who had his tongue ripped out? Crushed ribcage, punctured lungs, huddled dead in a puddle of blood... like something out of a nightmare."

Wait... that sounds familiar. Memories of his father flashed before his eyes. He remembered jumping the man with a boxcutter knife, the only weapon he had on hand. He remembered succumbing to his rage, obscuring his vision. All this time, he'd been sure that he was the murderer. He'd killed the bastard... shattered his ribs, made him suffocate and bleed out. Now here was a similar case, and the only other one there was... Could it be?

"Welcome to Wonderland. Probably a Deadman who got loose."

"So then why aren't we hunting them down?"

"You think they didn't already check the cameras? The guy was found in a little nook. Killer found a blind spot and took his chances."

"Hell of a blind spot to not be caught at all. They not look to see if anyone suspicious was running around?"

"There was the new kid and some girl running around, but neither of them is strong enough to take down a guard. It had to have been one of the older guys. Maybe the one who went on a killing spree a few years back?"

"Could be. Scary shit. Think maybe they've gotten a little too big for their own good?"

"I'm not worried. The Undertakers'll come in and clean up if it comes to that."

Undertakers? Yō shut his new locker. What is he talking about?

"And until then? We're sitting ducks!"

The one guard headed for the exit. "So make the most of it and keep them under control." He placed his hand on the door, nudging it open. "Until then, not much we can do."

His partner sighed, strapping a blade to his hip. Yō remembered the one on his own suit. How does a knife help me against people like Ganta? I've seen what they can do. That one guy cut the Necro Macro to shreds! He unsheathed the knife, turning it over in his hand as he examined the edge. It looked perfectly normal, like any ordinary knife. "Guess I'll try to stay out of any fights, then," he said to himself. At least he was good at that.

He pulled the helmet over his head and picked up a rifle from the rack. He brought it up to his shoulder, gazing down the sight. A smack on the barrel proved it to be a sturdy enough weapon for his taste. "Not exactly discrete, but it's good enough for the part." He sheathed the rifle on his back and adjusted his gloves one last time. As far as he was concerned, now was as good of a time to roll out as any.

Another guard shoved him in the shoulder as he walked toward the exit. "Hey! Out of the way!"

Yō recoiled, gripping his shoulder tightly. "Watch it!" The guard simply stepped past him, a grunt his only response. Yō caught a glimpse of the plate on his arm. That number... that voice... it's him! It's gotta be! The bastard who stole my Cast!

The guard rounded the corner into his section of lockers. Yō followed, barely leaning past the end of his row. The guard was just in sight, and he wouldn't be spotted if he was lucky. His target turned out his pockets, stuffing a few of his belongings into the personal safe: a small gold chain, a digital handheld, a pocket watch... there! He pulled out a short stack of yellow and purple cards.

Yō could practically taste freedom, but not just his own. There was another life waiting for him outside, not to mention his little sister still trapped in this madhouse. "I can just wait for him to leave and break in," he muttered. "Easy as..."

The guard slammed his locker door shut. Yō scrambled behind his row, kneeling to make himself virtually guard walked past him, removing his helmet and heading to the officers' quarters off to the side. Yō breathed a sigh of relief. "Well," he said, "looks like I get the last laugh this time." He rose to his feet with a groan. "Then again, I always do."

He traced back to the locker in question. If he remembered correctly, it was on the left side, second row from the top. It amazed him how, despite all the technology at their disposal, they still kept these ancient combination locks. He wasn't going to complain about making his job easier, though.

He stripped his helmet and pressed his ear against the steel door, listening to the falling tumblers. The lock clicked with each subtle movement, but some numbers responded with a dull thud. He took note of their sounds, which ones were deeper and higher, piecing them together into the proper combination.

"13 to left, 18 to the right, 9 to the left."

The lock clicked open, granting him access to the cabinet's contents. He looked around inside, noticing the same stack of cards from earlier. He grabbed the stack, shoving it in his pocket. Some poor bastard was about to be out of luck. "Eye for an eye," he whispered. "Just call it karma and suck it up."

Yō slid the helmet back onto his head and picked up his rifle. "Might as well play the part. Now... where could Minatsuki be?"

Minatsuki held the hem of her dress clumped in one hand, her shoes dangling at her side from the other. Her feet trudged through the sewage water, a slimy mush oozing between her toes. A foul odor drifted through the air. "Remind me to never let you lead the way again," she said, retching as the scent wafted into her mouth.

Ganta wasn't nearly as disturbed, or at least not from what she could see. His fingertips constantly traced along the curvature of the wall. "You can still turn around, if you want." He looked back and flashed a smirk. "It'd save your dress."

Sarcasm wasn't something she expected from a kid like him. "You must have a death wish."

"Well... we are kind of trying to escape, aren't we?"

A giggle escaped her throat, a surprisingly girly touch to her otherwise vicious demeanor. "Point taken. Any clue where we are?"

"Not a one."

"Figures I'd trust a man with directions."

He turned and glared at her.

"Sorry, didn't mean to offend you. I trusted a boy with directions." She cackled, laughter turning from feminine to hysterical. His gaze didn't waver. "Oh, please, don't shit yourself. A bleeding heart like you leaving a girl like me down here?"

He sighed. She was right, but he didn't have to like it. "Better than being a liar."

She put her wrist on her hip. "A liar? Me? Never."

Ganta turned his nose up in the air and spun around. Even though he'd only known her for hours, she had changed before his very eyes. The flower girl she had introduced herself as was nothing more than a mask, an act he was certain was meant to lead him into the lion's den. What reason did he have to trust her?

She wasn't sure what to think of his reaction. It was something she expected from a child, not someone like Ganta. "Oh, come the fuck on, you're not still pissed that I killed the bastard, are you?"

He folded his arms across his chest. "Maybe I am," he answered. "What about it?"

"Because without me, you'd be in that chair at that bitch of a doctor's mercy, losing God only knows what. Maybe even dead, if the guards didn't want to turn you over." She let her dress fall, putting her now free hand on his shoulder. It was a simple gesture, nothing more than her wanting to give him a little reassurance. If they were going to get out alive, they had to trust each other. "Look, I know what you saw was a little fucked up, but... can we get over it?"

Ganta turned back around, holding his arms out at his sides. "But it's not just what happened, it's that you lied to me. What's stopping you from doing it again?"

She folded her arms across her chest, lips slanted in a frown. "You really think I'd still be here if I wanted to lie to you?"

He hung his head. "No, well... maybe... I... I don't know."

"Exactly. So suck it up and keep moving." She started walking, back straight and shoulders stiff. "It's the only way you survive in a place like this." Her footsteps echoed down the cylindrical hallway. Water splashed up onto the hem of her dress with each stride. At this point, she had stopped caring about her appearance. She just wanted to get out.

Ganta trudged behind her slowly. "Hey, Minatsuki."

She stopped, turning her head slightly to the side. "Yeah?"

He frowned, his eyebrows slanted downward. "Did you mean to trick me?" he asked.

She sighed heavily. He took that as a yes.

"Were you gonna turn on me, too, in the fight tomorrow?" His voice turned stern, adamant even. He was sick of being kept in the dark. "Was it just a sick game to you?"

She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. She really didn't want to mess up at this point. "Why are we talking about this now? Can we just focus on getting out of here?" As he tried to intensify his words, she softened, edging closer to the voice she used when they had met.

"Because it's important to me." He clenched his fist, out of her sight. "And I want answers."

Fine, she thought. He wants to be serious? I can play that game, too. "No, you really don't."

"And why the hell wouldn't I?"

She spun around, arms spread at her sides. Her hair flared wildly, eyes wide open and filled with rage. "Don't you fucking get it?" Her voice bellowed down the sewer shaft. "Because the truth is ugly! It's filthy and disgusting and... and..."

"And what?" He grit his teeth together. "What's the damn point of all this? Why even act the way you did when we met?"

Her eyes softened, and she looked off to the side. She held her arm across her waist, grabbing her elbow. Why was he doing this? Some kind of shining-knight complex? It sickened her. Yet something in her core almost appreciated it. What was this feeling? She hadn't felt anything like this since... not since she last saw her brother.

Ganta didn't let up his assault, oblivious to her body language. "What else was a lie?" he berated. "Your dad's abuse? Did you kill him just like you did that guard, for the fun of it?"

A string snapped in her head. "Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth! You don't know me!" A trickle of blood still oozed out of her earlobe. She pulled it free, lengthening her hair into the same set of tentacles. Her hair extended, laced with lines of crimson. She bared her teeth in a bloodthirsty smile. "You want to pretend like you know shit about me, then why wait for tomorrow? We can just fight here. I could kill you now and get along just fine by myself."

Ganta bit the scab off his thumb, summoning a swirling orb of crimson into his palm. "I think I know enough."

She growled, throwing a single whip around each of his wrists. She drew the tendrils taut, forcing his arms forward and threatening to tear them out of his shoulders. "You're wrong," she said flatly. "You don't know anything. Now... down, pig." She threw another strand, sweeping out his feet. He fell to his knees face first, taking in a mouthful of sewer water. The gauze's adhesive dissolved in the solution and began to peel off the wounds on his face.

Minatsuki approached him, her mind a torrent of thoughts.

Why are we killing him?

Because he's full of bullshit, just like all of them. Just like your mom. Just like your dad. They're all the same.

But he didn't do anything wrong! He just wanted to know. He just wanted to help...

And he called you a fucking liar for it!

She gripped a handful of her foe's matted hair, pulling his head up and squatting to his eye level. The hem of her dress fell across the water's surface. Her fingertips traced along his battered cheeks. His skin responded to the warmth of her touch, peppering itself with goosebumps. He struggled to open his eyes, weakened and defeated. "Such a poor little boy," she muttered. "You're not in Kansas anymore. Or even Oz. Welcome to the wastelands. To Hell itself."

No, you can't do this!

Watch me.

I won't let you.

So do something about it. Or are you forgetting about our deal?

"Such a shame," she continued. "Talented, caring... cute, even. Too bad I can't let Minatsuki have you." A glint flickered in Ganta's eyes, much to her amusement. "There it is! That look! The little spark of hope that's so fun to snuff out. Pity that I won't get to see it from you again." She walked her fingers up his chest. "Just promise me you'll be a fun little plaything, dear?"

He didn't answer. Fear dominated his eyes. The same terror from that day in Nagano crept through his veins. Helpless before a murderer. He was so close... and now this hellhole would be his grave. But there was a tinge of... something in her eyes. Doubt? Regret? Something told him that the Minatsuki he met was somewhere beneath the surface. "Minatsuki...," he said weakly. "Please... don't."

She sneered at him. "Oh, now you see where you went wrong. Just like a man to think with the head on his dick and not on his shoulders." She spat on his face. "Too bad. Minatsuki can't save you. It's just you and me, and I'm going to rip you the fuck apart."

She wrapped a strand of hair around his neck. He closed his eyes, resigned to his fate. This was how it would end. It just didn't feel right, though. He was just a kid, with so much potential and life to live.

"Oh, one more thing." His eyes snapped open at her voice. She lifted his chin, holding it steady between her index finger and thumb. "A parting gift from Little Miss Softie." She pressed her lips to his, forcing her tongue into his mouth. She writhed around inside him, the ball of her piercing rolling across his taste buds and between his teeth. He felt the fear start to melt away, almost as if he were relaxing.

Then she pulled back, and he saw the contraction of her irises, the bloodshot in her eyes. And the fear returned with it. "There," she whispered. "Now you can die properly."

Nothing disgusted some of the guards of G Block more than the Deadmen. These people were different, they were special. They had a gift that none of them could fathom, and it was the guards' duty to keep them under control, to look for anything suspicious and make sure that they were "properly" taken care of. The tools they'd been given were more than sufficient to get the job done: weapons infused with something the higher ups called Worm Eater. They didn't know how it worked, of course. That wasn't their place. All that mattered was that it neutralized a Deadman's blood on contact.

Every day, he found himself thankful that he'd been given such a glorious opportunity: to snuff out sub-human life with no consequences. One single step out of line and their heads came clean off. He'd always been called a psychopath in school for being so fascinated with death. Here, it was just the way things worked. He almost considered it a dream job.

That didn't excuse the fact that he was on postman duty. Delivering mail to these scumbags was the least of his concerns. All he wanted to do was kill each and every one of them, to hear their dying screams of terror as he snuffed out their pathetic existence. But he enjoyed his job a little too much to get fired yet.

He pushed the aluminum cart around the core hallway, its shelves still stacked high with portions of mail. Even though they were prisoners, it wasn't hard to get subscriptions to magazines or letters from their outside lives. As far as the common people knew, these were just some crooks who were screwed by the system. Not the batch in G Block, though. They were a little more special than that.

The guard came upon one of the cells, marked with its identification number: 5580. He rolled his cart to a stop just outside the cell door and knocked three times. "Mail cart!" he announced, his face held close to the slab of metal.

No sound came from beyond the door. Odd, they usually piped up when they weren't expecting anything. He tried again, just to be sure. "You expecting anything, now's your chance!"

Still no answer. Asleep, I guess. Still weird that he wouldn't wake up. The guard reassumed control of his cart and continued along the sequence of rooms. Each cell produced a single Deadman, each of whom collected whatever waited for them, if anything at all. A builder magazine for the muscle man, cooking magazines for some of the ladies... all sorts gathered in the Wonderland.

The next door was labeled 5639. The guard knocked three times, said his line... but no response. He tried once more, but still nothing.

What are the odds? he thought. The chances that two rooms would be completely empty around this time of day were staggering enough. If he was right, this pairing was especially interesting. He produced a small handheld from his pocket and scanned through the records database for G Block. Finally, he came to the residents of these cells: Igarashi "Woodpecker" and Takami "Hummingbird." Curiously, they were the two Deadmen slated for tomorrow's Carnival Corpse.

I wonder...

He turned back to 5580's room and hurriedly knocked on the door. The prisoners almost always kept their doors locked, and he found this one no different. Like before, even after some time had passed, the room sounded empty. He pulled his handheld up to his mouth. "Bird's Nest," he said, "this is officer 2871. Permission to investigate rooms 5580 and 5639."

A few moments later, a static voice returned the call. "You're on mail duty, officer. On what grounds?"

"Sir, I received no answer from either room when prompted. After visiting 5639, I returned to 5580. Still nothing, sir."

"Both asleep? Taking a shower?"

"This early in the afternoon, sir?"

"Unlikely, but I need more than just circumstantial evidence to give you a temporary warrant, officer."

Privacy be damned. Why were they respecting the rights of freaks? Despite all his harbored animosity toward them, 2871 was adept at keeping his cool around superiors. "Sir, I was trained to never assume anything, to always be suspicious. None of these..." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "...people can be trusted."

The line went dead. Seconds passed, enough to make him think that the operator was giving up on him. He sighed and returned to his cart. Something ate away at him inside. These two were both possibly missing, and he was being denied the opportunity to rat them out. There were cameras, but he'd seen how those personnel acted on the job.

His fingers wrapped around the handlebar when the small device buzzed back to life. "Approved, officer. You are free to enter rooms 5580 and 5639."

A glint ignited in his heart. Nothing thrilled him more than catching a sub-human performing out-of-line, because death often followed soon after.

He checked 5580 first, drawing a blade from his hip as the door slid to the side. Once open, he assumed his battle stance, knife turned over in his hand and crossing his chest. The lights were still on, only further raising his suspicions. The sheets were thrown over the bed in a clumped mess. He tossed them around, affirming that no one was in the huddle of cloth. "Just like a kid," he said with a snort, "to not show a little self-discipline and make his bed in the morning."

He headed for the accompanying bathroom next. The door was already open, and the lights dimmed. "Where on earth could this fucker be?"

An idea sprung into his head, but he tried to dismiss it, remembering the training he was so fervent about earlier. "Never assume anything." Yet it gnawed at him. The possibility was there. What if he were wrong? He could be labeled an accomplice. Put to death, maybe. God help him if he'd lose his job and die in the same day.

He rushed to 5639's room, keeping his weapon drawn. Another break of protocol, but he couldn't care less with his life on the line. Pressing his ear against the sliding door, he knocked on hers as furiously as 5580's. "Mail cart!" he announced. It wasn't a total lie, given that the cart was still next to her door. "Last chance!"

As he expected, no one answered. He took that as his invitation to exercise his warrant.

When the door opened, his senses were assaulted with an array of floral aromas. The walls had been repainted a light purple, and her cell was undeniably much cleaner than 5580's, covered in dozens of flowers and decor. His eyes wandered around the room, expecting to be assaulted by its resident at any moment.

But there was no sign of her. Not here, not in her bathroom, nothing.

He reached for his handheld. "Bird's Nest, this is officer 2871. We... might have a problem."

There was... a roaring sound. Ganta remembered that sound. He had heard it when his school was attacked. It seemed like he'd lived an entire lifetime since that day. He had almost died a few times, discovered his blood power, found others like him, and even formed something close to a friendly bond with a few of them. But that was over now. He would die at the hands of a girl he'd thought his friend, or at least his ally.

The roar intensified. She raised a tendril above her head, and he glued his eyes shut. He would rather not see it coming if he could help it. Maybe it'll hurt less that way, he thought. For some reason, he was beginning to accept it.

It was rushing now. Like flowing water.

He waited there, on his knees, for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him, and he opened his eyes.

Minatsuki stared past him, her eyes wide with terror. Why would she be the frightened one right now? She was in control, and she was about to kill him. He looked over his shoulder.

A wall of water rocketed toward them. Minatsuki's focus faltered, and her blood retracted back into her ears. His wrists free, Ganta stood up, trying to figure out what they could do. She, on the other hand, was frozen solid. Paralyzed with terror, realizing that her own life could be coming to a very abrupt end.

An idea popped into his head. He turned, gripping her shoulders and shaking her violently. "Minatsuki!" he shouted. "We can follow the water! It'll take us to the way out!"

She didn't respond.

"Minatsuki, listen to me!" He shook her harder, trying to snap her out of whatever trance she was locked in. He looked back over his shoulder. The raging water definitely wasn't slowing down, and they had to act quickly. From the looks of things, she wasn't coming to anytime soon.

He acted on instinct, wrapping his arms around her frame and locking his hands together on the small of her back. She didn't react. He grit his teeth together and waited for the inevitable, swallowing a mouthful of air.

Then the water hit.

It swept them away, pulling them into the brine of water and waste. He struggled to hold onto his passenger, keeping his hand clenched tightly around his wrist. Once he was sure they were fully submerged and moving along with the flow, he started kicking his feet. His head broke the surface, and he lifted her up for air, as well, throwing himself beneath her arm so he could tread.

The waves carried them along the sewers. She remained motionless, resting against his shoulder with eyes closed. Is she really out? he asked himself. I swear, girls. Still, he couldn't help but notice the softness of her features. Even with how crazy she'd proven she could be, she had her feminine side. Why couldn't she just be the flower girl he met earlier today?

Ganta noticed a patch of light up ahead, shimmering off the water's surface. The light intensified, turning from a shallow, iridescent glow into a shining sun. Sure enough, a disposal exit appeared up ahead, covered in a thin grating. He shifted her to his other side and readied a bullet in his right palm. With one well-placed shot, he busted a small hole in the grating, probably big enough for each of them to fit through.

He came up to the grating, holding on to the steel rods. Below, the sewage crashed into the lake that had filled the Tokyo sinkhole over the past ten years. It wasn't a long drop, perhaps a good ten or twelve feet. Certainly not a long drop, but it would hurt a bit at first. A small price to pay for freedom.

He took a deep breath and held onto Minatsuki tightly. "Here goes nothing," he whispered. His fingers slipped from the rails, and he sank beneath the waves as they carried him away. Against his better judgment, he looked down. His stomach jumped, heart caught in his throat mid-descent. The rushing sensation of falling water and passing air ran across his skin. Time slowed, seconds passing like minutes.

Then... impact.