Conflict.

Strife.

Love.

Grief.

Misery.

Happiness.

Friendship.

Loss.

These feelings were not monopolised by the 77th Class. These emotions were swirling around in a storm that surrounded the five islands of Jabberwock. Within each person, these emotions emanated and corrupted the psyche of those around.

"Hey, did you hear that Kuzuryu guy actually killed someone back at Hope's Peak?"

"What about the ginger chick, didn't she cover up a murder?"

"Well, I heard one of them tried to blow up an auditorium."

"They must all be psychos!"

Words corrupt. Words tear apart. Words are malleable and may contort. Fact or fiction. Rumours or absolute truths. These conflicting states of being can exist paradoxically in the minds of different hosts. One might find a truth, another fiction. This paradox is acceptable because words only exist as a concept and nothing more.

Yet with all this power to manipulate. Words are powerless without action.

A word, a thought, is a spark. An action; the resulting explosion.

The storm seethed with these words. Emotions of rage and misery. Thoughts of jealousy and the need for revenge. The psyche of the islands was beginning to boil over. Riots had already started on the second and the fourth islands. A worker's strike was planned to commence on the fifth once the storm had passed.

Sour words of scientific truths were no longer satisfactory. Embellishments were first, then exaggerations, gross over approximations until…

"Dude's a Yakuza. He's been killing since he was four!"

"That fucking bitch. She was actually a serial killer working with Genocider Cho!"

"I'm telling you they have always been fucked. I heard they sacrificed that one gamer girl in their class to Satan. Fucking blood ritual Mayan bullshit! I'm serious!"

If something wasn't done, anarchy was bound to come. The shared consciousness that spanned over the islands was split. Separated from friends, loved one, colleagues, neighbours. Those that remained, in their already hostile state were squished into a hall not much bigger than a basketball court. The comfort of a picnic rug, a pop-up tent, porta potties that eternally reeked of shit, five-year-old M.R.E. for breakfast, nothing for lunch, three-year-old M.R.E. for supper.

That was their lives for the coming days. What would those people do if not discuss their dissatisfaction?

The murders.

The devil worshippers.

The psychos.

The enemy.

They had their own island.

They were happy.

They don't want to die.

Words. Words. Words.

Words are but a spark.

"I'm telling you. They're living the good life right now. The Future Foundation needs them. They don't care about us!"

"Fucking prisoners my ass! They have their own goddamn tropical island! Bet that Naegi guy spouted of some bullshit and got them off scot-free."

"I swear, I can make that swim. Fucking go over there and gut them whole."

Too many sparks and a fire would be bound to start. The Future Foundation knew this, everyone with half a brain knew this. But what was there to be done? Except give them precisely what they wanted. A chance. A fire. A lightning strike to call down the flames. Or put simply; hope.

"You hear, dudes got a boat. He's going over there to kill them all! You want in?"

"It's a myth! They're just trying to placate us until the storm's done."

"Mysterious type. Only appears at a certain place and time."

"You heard what they call this dude? He's named after a serial killer."

…

A conduit for the storm had been found. A symbol had morphed into being.

Through him – a truth. A hope. A proposition. An action.

Discourse of revolution decreased; discussion was now focused on this mysterious figure. This figures prominence only grew as a symbol as more and more people seeking revenge were recruited. Those that had a presence, history or just seemed desperate enough would find a whisper in their ear with a name and meeting time.

Even though this concept of a masked hero of justice enamoured the few hundred citizens left on Jabberwock. Only five were selected for this raid. Yet even with all the secrecy six still showed.

…

The first was a bear who dared to live in the woods, even though it couldn't see through the trees.

The second was a fox that wanted to be worshipped. Even if they were a worshipper themselves.

The third was a sounder of swine who wanted to fill their gullets. Even if they had to steal it.

The fourth was a wounded lion that wished to be whole and took solace in denying it.

The fifth was a panda who searched for answers in the savanna.

The sixth was a boy who lost himself in the void.

The first agreed.

Juro Owari had decided to kill his only living sister.

But this isn't about him.

This is the story of the second.

Sparkling Justice

"The hell are you?" Sparkling Justice growled at the looming figure.

A woman approached. Mid 30's was his best guess at a glance, although everyone had gained a few years from the stress of the world ending so she could have easily been in her late 20's. The lady carried herself with confidence as she approached. "The name's Akira, are you the one they call; Sparkling Justice?"

"Who's asking?"

The woman groaned as she found a comfortable place on the wall next to him. "I don't have time for this cloak and dagger nonsense. Was told you have a boat going across to their island and I want a place on it."

"Huh…" He patted down his pockets and realised he forgot to get more cigarettes. "You mind? I'm out." Sparkling Justice held out his hand expectantly, and without missing a beat, the woman pulled a fag from her breast pocket and placed it in his palm.

"Cheers." He lit it before taking a long drag and puffing out the resulting smoke into the night.

"I know what you're thinking." The woman's cold statement broke the silence.

"Is that so?" Sparkling justice raised an eyebrow.

"I get I'm not the toughest person out there but believe me when I say this… I want this more than anyone. Do not underestimate me."

The women glared a hole straight through him. He wasn't sure why, but he felt so horribly uneasy around her. He was in charge here, yet he felt like he was being crushed under the weight of her gaze.

Perhaps that was just the way he felt around someone older than him; an authority figure. After all, if it was still the old world, he would be answering to people like her.

"Hey, _ come on the kids are getting restless! We've got to head out now, or we're going to have a riot on our hands!"

He became lost in these warm memories.

"Are you listening to me!? This is serious, _! HEY! Home to _, are you still with me? Oh jeez, don't tell me you're going to leave me here!? Just how many times are you going to leave me to die? Why do you keep letting me get hurt, you piece of shit! You really are terrible; you should have died! You should have died with us!"

_, awoke from his delusions gasping for breath.

"You okay?" Akira asked perplexed by his sudden spasms.

"WHO DO YOU WANT!?" _ shouted in reply.

The woman looked at the ground possibly recalling her own dark trauma's, but he didn't have time for pity. "NOW! Come on!"

"Kazuichi Soda. I need him." Akira stated clearly and confidently, unperturbed by _'s sudden change in behaviour.

_ reached into his pocket with shaky hands until he felt a scrap piece of paper scratch his fingertips. He tossed it from his jacket's pocket toward the women, she quickly caught it before the wind did.

"M-M-Meet there. Paper has the details. Now go!"

Akira was gone as quickly as she came. She sauntered off with a firm grip on the piece of paper. She got what she came for, so there was nothing else to discuss.

_ knelt on the ground and faced the wall. He reached for his flask but remembered it had run dry long ago. He placed his forehead on the bricks and took deep breaths.

"Black, blue, red, silver, bald, blonde… Black, blue, red, silver, bald, blonde." _ repeated the mantra again and again, just as he was taught. Eventually, he would stop shaking, his breathing would come under control, and the dead would stop shouting so loud.

_ sat his back against the brick and looked absently off into the distance. The orange hue of the streetlamp on their island still haunted him, taunted him. The proof that light could still exist within their lives was a thought that disturbed him so intensely that it made him sick.

'It's only a matter of time…' Next to the fishing hooks and pliers, Sparkling Justice pulled a polaroid from a hidden compartment within his jacket. It was faded and had water damage around its right corner, making the picture devolve into a cacophony of colours. But that wasn't important. What was, were the faces within it. Five of them, including his own.

Steph was a bundle of energy who had a habit of getting into trouble. She was smiling and holding up the peace sign on the left side of the picture. Going across; Jeremy was next and being his typical self: chugging a pint while flipping the bird at the camera. Emma, a shy girl who would usually prefer a good book over a good beer, was forced to come out that night. Worst yet, she lost a bet with Steph and had to join them while wearing a maid outfit. She could be seen in the middle of the picture shouting at the cameraman to not take the photo. Robin was next. They were in a fit of laughter, leaning back on the wooden stool and pointing at Steph. Finally; _ was on the right side. A contented smile, staring at these bunch of weirdos he decided to go overseas with. His beer was raised in one hand with his other keeping Robin from falling straight out of their chair.

These five friends. They were family to him. They meant everything to him and yet…

IT

ALL

MEANT

NOTHING

Jeremy was the first to go. He was impaled on a rusty railroad spike while they were escaping the cities.

Emma got cut on the railroad spike while she tried to free Jeremy. She later died from the infection.

Robin committed suicide when they learned Emma wasn't getting any better.

Steph managed to escape with _. It was the two of them for a while until they found a group to join. It didn't work out. She was shot in the head.

Relationships.

Fights.

Feelings.

Dreams.

Experiences.

Nothing mattered. It was gone.

He was alone in the world with no one to care for and no one to care for him.

'Everyone… I promise.' He placed the picture to his forehead. 'I'll let you rest in peace, even if it's the last thing I do. Please… keep waiting for me. Just for a little longer.'