DAY TWO ; 3:00 A.M.
Nagito Komaeda was having trouble sleeping. After being shot by the Imposter and dragging himself back to the back of the warehouse, he'd passed out from the pain and blood loss. But now it was three in the morning, he felt feverish, and his leg ached something fierce.
He had missed the midnight announcements. He would just have to trust his luck that his zone wasn't a danger zone… and that Hinata hadn't been killed. He didn't know. He hadn't seen anyone he hadn't killed since leaving the school.
Thirsty. He was thirsty.
He shifted a little to get his bag, hissing as his leg was jolted. He shook as he raised the water bottle to his lips. They were cracked and dry; they were sickly, just like him. Dehydrated and dying. He laughed a little at himself, then grimaced. His leg. His leg was bothering him a lot. Blood had soaked through his pants and into the floor, though perhaps that was for the best, as he couldn't really move his leg all that much with his pants crusted to the floor with his own blood.
He hoped that Hinata was doing well. Though Hinata was nothing special, there was something about him that Komaeda… that Komaeda didn't want to like, but did. He wasn't a Super High School Level.
But Komaeda liked him anyway.
Komaeda shook his head free of those thoughts and leaned back. He'd learned that the most comfortable position was to be as limp as he could and not think about it at all. He reviewed all of the deaths in his head; starting with Tanaka and ending with… whoever. He didn't know who had died between six P.M. and twelve A.M., though he could guess. He could guess… Leon Kuwata, and Ibuki Mioda. Maybe Kiyotaka Ishimaru.
Hm… he had a feeling that Sakura Oogami was dead, and perhaps Sayaka Maizono as well.
Then he thought about Hinata.
He thought about Hinata dying, about the shock on his face and about the blood streaking his body. About his skin, normally so tan and smooth and perfect, carved up and leaking blood. Of bone showing and of internal organs strewn about him. Of his hair unnaturally spiked from the blood. Of spots of blood scattered around him like freckles on the concrete of the warehouse. Of his throat gaping open, of his eyes wide open, nearly popping out with the fear, of his mouth twisted in a scream and his tongue gone.
Nagito Komaeda didn't know whether to feel nauseous or aroused. Currently, he was feeling a bit of both.
Hanamura and the Imposter were starting to smell, Hanamura moreso than the Imposter. Komaeda didn't know how long it would be before it became unbearable, but he did think that he would be able to stomach it.
That was, if he wasn't dead by then.
Hinata.
He closed his eyes. If he couldn't fall asleep and dream in earnest, he could sure as hell daydream about it.
Well. Three A.M. dream.
17 STUDENTS REMAINING
because we always need some komaeda to spice things up