Chapter 9 up. Starring Kawada, Mitsuko, Shuya and the boys, Mizuho and Kaori.

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This chapter carries a warning for sex, but it's Mitsuko, so probably nothing too unexpected. Thanks to an astute reviewer pointing it out, I've tweaked the List so that Hatagami and Takiguchi are now in the right order. I'm sure they're very grateful.

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The four boys were unusually silent for most of the journey. Since Mimura had flagged down the fruit truck on the outskirts of Shiroiwa, and they'd piled in amongst the boxes of apples, each of them seemed to have slipped into his own private thoughts, each contemplating the List, his own place on it, his friends, and whether they would be in time to save Ooki.

They'd run into difficulty after difficulty. Such recent arrivals in the town didn't have a listing in the phone book, so they were obliged to try the school. The office was recalcitrant, unwilling to hand over confidential information to just anyone, and only after a good hour of arguing did they agree to help. Then, finally, they'd arrived at Ooki's house to find it empty, the family gone. The neighbours had supplied the address where they used to live, and presumably had returned. It was getting late in the day and the four of them were tired. The thought of leaving Ooki to his fate and concentrating their efforts on Motobuchi instead crossed a few minds. Still, in the end, they knew what they had to do.

Shinji tapped on the wire mesh separating them from the driver. "Hey, my man," he said, "the apples aren't getting any fresher. Can't you step on it a bit?"

The driver responded with a puff of cigarette smoke in Shinji's direction. "Don't tell me how to do my job, kid. Been doing this twenty years and I never delivered a mouldy apple, not even once – anyway, this road's enough of a death trap without me speeding. Pipe down back there or I'll drop you off in the middle of nowhere."

"Fine." Shinji sagged back against a stack of boxes, extracting an apple with a swift hand movement undetectable from the cab, and took a bite, before tossing it to Yutaka. Dispirited, he couldn't be bothered finishing it.

Yutaka caught the apple. "Thanks," he said, sensing his friend's low mood. Unsure of how to cheer him up, he settled for giving him a friendly kick across the floor of the van. "Hey, we'll get there. We'll find him."

"Yeah," said Shinji, returning the kick with a grateful twinge of the lips. It was what he left unsaid that carried the most meaning. What do we do then?

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Prexia Dikianne Mizuho nudged Lorela Lausasse Kaori, and whispered, "Isn't that Noriko?"

It was. What was unusual was her presence in the minimarket at that time of the evening. The space warriors had gone out to get some more pop and biscuits in the middle of a marathon anime session – since Kaori had more or less moved in with Mizuho, the shopping needed doing – and Mizuho's parents flitted in and out only occasionally, more absorbed with their own spiritual quests than their daughter. Mizuho was trying to decide whether red or green ramen were more auspicious when she caught a glimpse of her classmate Noriko Nakagawa, also browsing the aisles.

It was quiet in town that night, as it was also the inaugural night of the Program, and most state-controlled channels were devoted to indepth coverage and analysis of the pre-release information before the game kicked off at midnight. Mizuho didn't watch it, and wasn't really bothered for the media hysteria of the opening night, but she'd heard the class chosen this time was local. So most good patriotic citizens of Shiroiwa were at home cheering on the little warriors.

"What do you think?" asked Kaori in a low voice. Since Mizuho had declared that the Elder Gods were unhappy with her degree of devotion to the path, she had been at pains to improve her standing with them. Only by winning the war, she knew, could Junya be her warrior-prince consort. Mizuho consulted the manual, and it was clear what needed to be done: recruit another acolyte.

Mizuho nodded solemnly, and returned to choosing ramen. Kaori turned, assuming a more normal expression, and turned to the baking ingredients section, where Noriko was caught between two kinds of cake icing. She sidled up.

"Hi," she said. "Are you making cookies again?"

Noriko turned, startled. "Oh, hi, Kaori."

There was something different about her... her skin had cleared up a bit, perhaps? And, Noriko noticed, she had a different pendant where she usually wore her Junya locket – a crystal, not dissimilar to Mizuho's.

"Why don't you come over?" said Kaori. There was a strange intensity to her voice and she gripped her shopping basket tightly as she spoke. "I'm staying at Mizuho's. We were going to watch a film and stuff. Please come."

Slightly disconcerted, Noriko said, "Um, sorry, Kaori, but I'm only out to buy icing for my mother. She won't know where I've gone. I'd better be going now, actually..."

She was losing Junya. As the acolyte-to-be turned, Kaori heard his voice in her mind getting fainter. Could've been, K-gal. Could've been.

She reached out and grasped Noriko's wrist. Her hands were sweaty, which she hated, as she might inadvertently touch her face and clog the pores. Noriko must have been thinking the same, as she recoiled, shocked.

"Please come," said Kaori. "Just half an hour. They won't mind. Come on." Practically dragging Noriko to the checkouts, Kaori glanced over her shoulder. Mizuho had selected red ramen and looked pleased with herself, and Junya was congratulating her. Things were looking up.

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This road's a death-trap...

This road...

Hiroki Sugimura looked up sharply. Rain was beating down on the tarmac and hammering the metal roof over them, the spray reducing visibility to a matter of metres. And they were entering the worst section of the highway, a narrow stretch banked high on the mountain before dropping down into the city, peppered with hairpin bends and sheer drops.

"Weather's taken a turn," muttered the driver, fiddling with the radio dials in search of a traffic forecast. "You boys are bad luck. Damn my generous nature for agreeing to take you."

"Maybe you're right..." Shinji said laconically. "There's a curse on us. Bad luck follows us around."

He could have been saying anything, as the driver just nodded to himself, puffing away in a manner which probably wasn't very good for the apples. Yutaka looked a bit sick.

"What's this?" said the driver. Through the haze of rain and spray, there were red brake lights ahead, as the traffic ground to a halt. Behind it, a section of the barrier at the edge of the road had been torn from its moorings, and skid marks in the mud could be seen, snaking off down into the woods.

He braked abruptly. The four boys stared. The driver sucked in air through his teeth.

"Looks like someone's gone over the edge. Nasty way to go, just shows what I was saying about this road... hey!"

The rain-laced gust of wind that had extinguished his cigarette came from the back, where Hiroki and Shinji had abruptly opened the doors. Shuya and Yutaka were already racing down the hill, their feet sliding in the mud.

"What do you think you're doing! We're in the middle of nowhere! You can't get out here..."

Hiroki stopped, turning back briefly to rebolt the truck door behind them. "Thanks for the lift," he called to the bemused delivery man, rain coursing down his face, "I think we've got where we wanted to go..."

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In its descent down the valley side, the car had flipped several times, battering the sides and front until the make and model of the vehicle was almost unrecognisable. The windscreen had shattered, apparently from the impact of an autographed baseball bat flying at it from the back seat.

Shuya stared at the mangled wreckage. Vaguely, through the shattered windscreen with its blood-spray pattern, he thought he could make out the bulky shape of Tatsumichi, lying sprawled across the back of his mother's seat, crushed by the force of the impact. "No," he said, a simple statement of disbelief.

"We have to check," uttered Hiroki grimly, trying to force open the bent passenger door. "Have to be sure."

"Already checked," came another voice.

There was a hiss as a lighter was ignited in the rain, and the owner of the new voice lit a cigarette, shielding it with his hand. The brief flare of the lighter-flame illuminated his face in the gloom. "Better you don't look in there. It's not pretty."

Yutaka Seto found his voice.

"Kawada?"

In the rain, his clothes clinging to his muscles, Shogo looked even more menacing than usual. It had the effect of killing some of Shuya's usual friendliness.

"Why are you here?" he demanded without preamble. Kawada, however, didn't seem to mind.

"Same as you, by the look of it," he said. "Voice down. We're not exactly supposed to be here."

"Why?" said Yutaka. It would have seemed an absurd question, but since joining their class, Shogo had never seemed to care about any one of them, projecting the strong, silent tough-guy image. If a faceless malevolent force started killing his classmates one by one, there was no indication in his character up til now that he would do anything but sit on the grass and smoke and watch it happen.

"He was next. The List, right? I didn't think it'd get Sakura and Kazuhiko together, so didn't have time to prepare – and he left town pretty quick, wasn't easy to catch up with him in my rustbucket of a car. I got here just as the car went over the edge. How's that for good timing? It was quite a sight."

Sugimura glared at him. "Quite a sight. Must have been."

Shogo finished his cigarette, letting it fizzle out in the rain and tucking the butt into his pocket. "Last thing we need is to be leaving DNA evidence all over the place," he said, by way of explanation. "The state troops aren't buying this 'curse' theory and they think there's a serial killer in the class, or connected with it. Look what's happened to Kiriyama. Best not to go down that road." There was the sound of sirens in the distance. "Better move ourselves as well."

Shuya stared, stunned.

"Is that all you can say?" he said. "Someone just died, no, three people – the parents too – because we didn't get there in time, and... that's it? Show's over, move on, don't drop your DNA at the scene?"

Shogo had already turned to leave. "Look, we were too late, no amount of crying's going to change that. Nothing more we can do for him, and getting ourselves arrested isn't going to help anyone either."

"Why are you doing this, then?" Hiroki wanted to know. "Are you really trying to save people? You believe there is a curse, then?"

"Yes and no," said Shogo, shouldering his bag. "I'll explain on the way back. I'm parked up a way back on the road. She ain't fast but she'll do the job."

"You would have a car," said Yutaka admiringly.

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"Like the taste, do ya?"

"Mmm." Hard to talk when you're so drunk things are starting to blur, and anyway, when some Yakuza's ramming his tongue down your throat. It has its advantages, she thought. Takes away the need for... verbal communication. She clenched around him, having learned that they liked that. By his hoarse shout as he came, she guessed he did like that.

He surfaced for air for a moment, licking his lips, well-pleased with his conquest. "You're something... thought no schoolkid'd be able to keep up with me, but you're just gagging for it, ain't you? In-fucking-satiable. Pass the cigs."

Mitsuko rolled off him to find the packet of smokes, mentally rolling her eyes that it was her job to wait on him, especially after their marathon session. Still, she'd be well-compensated for her work soon enough.

Drunk, cigarette in hand, warm and comfortable and having a generally pleasant evening, it was easy to talk, and anyway, she was only a stupid kid, she wasn't going to remember any of this shit. He told her about the first guy he rubbed out and even where they put the body, about a guy whose tongue they cut out for using it too much, about internal shiftings and struggles within the family, and about the many, many murders he'd been involved in. She listened only vaguely, trying to direct the conversation towards something useful... bank details, someone else who likes 'em young, someone rich and stupid who she could play. But he was just rambling. Another one, brain half fried with drugs and booze. It's a good thing she already had his PIN number...

Then he said something that hit her deep, something that almost made her sit up.

"...killing's no big deal... done it a lot myself, you have to, you know? It's like, we're all going to get whacked sooner or later, but you take control, get ahead of the game..." He took a draw on his cigarette, sending a puff of smoke spiralling in aimless patterns. "Be the master of your own destiny. 'S true, you know..."

Of course. Mitsuko remembered when she finally figured out how to deal with her stepfather. How old had she been? It seemed like half a lifetime ago. What she learned, after numerous beatings, was to make him think she wanted it. Come to him all sweet and willing and adoring, then he wouldn't make it hurt. You have to give, otherwise they'll only take. And by giving, you take control.

Knocking back another whisky, the yakuza-philosopher continued. "Cos if you don't, if you get sloppy, let it slip just for a minute... they'll come for you. They'll come and get you if you don't get them first. That's the only way you get... fear. That's the only way you get respect from them. And if you've got that... you're immortal."

"Mm?" Mitsuko mumbled sleepily, hoping he'd continue, but instead, he grunted, misinterpreting her. "Immortal, baby. That's me. I go on forever." With a drunken leer – so attractive, he flipped her over, clearly not satisfied for the night. She swallowed her disappointment. He was nothing special in bed, thought that his unusual endurance made him some kind of hero. And his type were never gentle. She was going to be sore tomorrow. But she didn't mind, grinding and rolling and providing all the sound effects he liked, as she turned the flicker of insight over in her head. Master of your own destiny. Get ahead of the game...

...and you're immortal.

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12 eliminated, 30 to go...