This chapter is certainty an interesting one! I would have to say it's one of my favorites, on par with the first few chapters. I feel like it really returns to the unreliable narrator tag.

I hope you enjoy!

—

"sickening spindles of fear twist through my body, but nothing remnant of betrayal"

Akira jolts awake on the train, the world spinning. Cotton filled his head, dulling his thoughts and slowing them to a crawl. He had this distinct feeling that there was something that he should know. That he should remember.

But there was nothing that he could grasp, other than this thick, layered sensation of deja vu.

He's been on this train before, he just can't remember when. It doesn't make any sense because this is his first time in Tokyo, the first time he's ridden this train. But there's a sensation deep within his gut that he's been here before; sitting on this speeding train with his head in his hands from an echo of a headache that he doesn't remember having.

This is unusual for him. He's good at remembering things and keeping them straight. He doesn't forget times that are this ingrained into him that he can feel like he's lost something. It tears him open, exposing the dark emptiness hidden beneath the surface of his skin. It's so cold it burns, biting into his hands as he tries to press everything back together.

It's far less successful than it should be. He can usually keep everything together but it's all spilling out faster than he can stop it. His fingers are stained with thick, shiny blood and he's not sure whose it is. He wonders who he had to hurt—kill a part of him that feels so familiar he doesn't recognize whispers, crawling out of the emptiness splattered out before him.

He wonders if it was his.

His phone buzzes and he lifts his head from his hands. He fishes it out and frowns, a strange twinge settling in his chest. There's only one message from a number that he doesn't recognize but feels that he should.

He ends up staring at the message for longer than he intended, almost missing his stop on the train. He weaves in between people at the station with ease that he didn't know he possesses and makes it out to the station square. He takes a moment to catch his breath, watching all the people wandering around. At home, not even the central plaza had been this busy.

People around him start to slow and stop and his blinks. The air is thick, pressing down on his chest and reducing his breathing to short gasps. He spins around, trying to find a reason for this. Part of him wonders if he's going insane.

A figure stood across the crowd of unmoving pedestrians, one that Akira could make out despite the distance between them. It was a mirror of him, with mocking golden eyes and a grin that was too sharp to be friendly. Blue fire burns behind him and he can see something rising out of it.

Pain laced through Akira's head. He couched, pressing his hands to his head. None of this was making any sense. He's never seen anything like this but he can't shake the feeling that he has. It's ingrained into his bones, resting heavy in his limbs. He digs his fingers into his scalp, screwing his eyes shut. He needed everything to go away.

"Hey kid, are you okay?" Someone's voice filtered in through the haze of pain in Akira's voice. They place a hand on his voice and he flinches away.

"I'm fine." Akira's voice wavers as he chokes out the words. He removes his hands from his head. They were trembling.

"Are you sure?" The woman asks, keeping a hand hovering by his shoulder but not touching it. Hesitation was creeping into her voice.

Akira uncurled himself, rising up. "I'm certain." He picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. He gives the women a smile, letting it curve with hints of embarrassment. "Thank you for the concern but I'll be alright."

He walks away before she can try to stop him, weaving into the crowd and ducking his head. When he glances back, he can't see her.

Akira keeps his head down the rest of the way to LeBlanc Yogen Jaya, unable to fight the sense of unease that's settled over him. He starts to second guess his decisions, doubting even his choices to go to the address written on the slip of paper in his hand rather than the small cafe he saw down a side street.

No one responds—not that no one's home—when he rings the doorbell. A delivery man points out that Sojiro works during the day and can be found in LeBlanc. Akira shakes the feeling that he should've gone there first and makes his way to the cafe.

He stops just in the building, the door slamming shut behind him. He's reeling from the smell of coffee and curry that permeates through the building, familiar and stifling. It takes everything that he has to stay up right and wipe the pain from his expression. Sojiro looks up from the paper in his hand, his expression darkening when it falls onto Akira. "That's right, you're coming today."

Sojiro drops his paper onto the table with enough force for Akira to hear it from where he was standing. Akira tries not to flinch at the pain that spikes in his head. All he had to do was grit his teeth, smile and hope that the rest of the year will go better.

He ignores the indescribable feeling of a bullet piercing his skull, a memory that he has but shouldn't.

Everything goes pretty well, at least as well as it can when eyes rest heavy on his back with barely concealed glares, until he stumbles upon a castle instead of a school. Ryuji is with him—how does he know that? How does he know that's his name?—anger simmering beneath his skin and hidden in his gaze. They are dragged to a cell in the castle twisting bowels and adorned with stone covered in a thin layer of moss.

Akira's left with this inexpiable sense that everything is following the script, that everything is happening correctly. He can't shake this feeling, not even with fear coursing through him at the sight of the armored Shadows.

But with the blade at this neck, anger sparks and burns within him and the only thing he can feel is rage. He tears off the mask resting on his face, unable to bear the weight of everything he's done to make himself someone he's not.

For a moment, when starting down Kamoshida with a power that he didn't know he possessed—but you knew, the part of him that is still resting in the emptiness inside, emptiness that he thought has been devoured. You've known this entire time—everything fits into place. But he doesn't get to see the full picture. Pain floods into his brain with a ringing roaring in his ears. He drops and darkness follows.

—

Akira sits on a barstool at a counter that he knows doesn't exist in this world. Akechi sits beside him, drinking a cup of steaming coffee. It's not him, at least it is not him that's in reality. This is his own interpretation, fueled from his desire to be with someone that understands him. It should alarm him, being stuck in this state of half existence, but it doesn't.

He orders a cup of coffee and takes a sip when it's placed before him. A small frown tugs at his lips. It's too sweet. He places back onto the dish and pushes it away. Akechi glances at him but doesn't say anything.

"I don't remember, do I?" Akira asks, unable to stop himself. He wanted to enjoy the moment, drawing out the time in take for him to return. He's not sure that he'll come back if he does.

He's not sure if he wants to.

Akechi runs a finger along the rim of his cup. "It appears that way. Who knew that you could mess up this badly."

"Maybe it's for the better." Akira couldn't keep the shards of longing out of his words, letting them dance in the air. "This could be the end of the cycles."

"I still remember." Akechi's voice turns, accusations resting far enough on the edges that it's almost missable.

"I'm not certain about that." Akira could hear the doubt in his own voice.

"You might've not remembered the number then but you can't tell me you don't now." Akechi looks over to Akira. There's a thin layer of pain clouding his eyes.

"I might be for the best if you forget too." Akira lets the words hang in the air. They're bitter and he can barely stand to look at them. "At least then we wouldn't be stuck fruitlessly looking for the solution when there isn't one."

"I'm not forgetting anything." Akechi's words are harsh, cutting through the ambivalent silence in the room. "And we're not fruitlessly looking, you've already found something."

"I did?" A thick cloud rests in Akira's mind. No matter how hard he tries, he can't clear it. "What did I find?"

Confusion flickers across Akechi's expression but he entertains Akira. "We're looking into Jose's Palace."

"A Palace?" Akira echoes. He knew that Akechi said the ruler's name, he saw Akechi's mouth move, but all he could hear was static.

"Jose's." Exasperation was clear in Akechi's voice, cut only by thin fractures of concern. "You figured out the final keyword."

"What are they?" Akira swallows, trying to ignore the weight pressing against his chest that makes it hard for him to breathe. The ringing echoes in his ears. "The keywords."

Akechi narrowed his eyes. "Pull out your phone, I'll show you." He waited for Akira to retrieve his phone, holding out a hand for Akira to place it in. He opens it and pulls up the MetaNav. He turns the phone so Akira can see it. "Here they are. See, they're even in your history."

All Akira can see are thick, black strips where the keywords would be. "I can't see them." Panic raises Akira's voice and he still can't get his breathing under control. "There's nothing there."

Akechi looks back at the phone, his lips pressed into a thin line. "They're right there: Jose, Hospital, Sanctuary."

Akira wraps his arms around himself, digging his fingers into the flesh of his biceps. "Stop." He chokes out, the words cutting into his throat like jagged glass. "I can't hear it."

Akechi places the phone on the counter, the plastic case clattering against the faux wood. His eyes are narrowed with something dangerous lurking within. "Are you sure that you're not just ignoring what's in front of you because it's easier?"

Something weighs down on his wrists, pulling his hands down from his head. Thick, sticky vines wrap around his arms, something dark coating them. "I'm not." Akira whispers, barely able to force the words out past the weight in his chest.

Disappointment fills Akechi's expression, bitter and sharp. "You still can't escape that Palace, can you? That's why we're meeting here instead of in reality. You're suffering the consequences of your own idiotic decisions."

"No, that's not it." The vines pull tighter, bruising Akira's wrists. The lies twist within him, tearing into him different from any other lie he's told.

"Then prove it to me." Akechi's voice distorts, just enough for Akira to remember that he isn't real. He reaches down and grabs his briefcase. He places it on the counter and opens it. It's unusually empty. He reaches down and removes the false bottom, a grey gun resting there with its ammunition tucked beside it.

Akira stares at the gun, the vines loosening just enough that he's given the illusion of choice. He can feel the weight of Akechi's gaze on his back but he can't bring himself to reach over to the case. The imprint of a gun rests heavy in his hand, icy with the chill of the interrogation room.

Eventually Akechi leaves. Akira isn't certain exactly when he left, but he could feel the stark emptiness after Akechi's departure. It twisted within him, opening him up so the emptiness inside can spill out. It splatters across the counter looking alarmingly like blood.

He raises one of his hands and reaches across the count. The vines twist around his wrists but relent enough to allow for the movement. His hand wraps around the gun and he pulls it out of the case. He loads in a single bullet with fluid, practiced movements. It clicks in the silence, the bullet sliding into place. He presses the gun against his temple.

The vines constrict, reminding him what he's giving up. They drag dark red streaks down his arm, painting a picture he wasn't willing to look at. He breathes in and out and isn't able to pull the trigger.

His finger stiffens and an unfamiliar fear floods through him. It isn't the fear of the uncertain or the fear of losing someone he's close to. It's the fear that he's about to make a mistake that he can't return from. That by drilling a bullet into his skull, he'll force everyone to continue the cycles.

Steps echo behind him with the unmistakable metallic sound of armor clicking. He can feel her presence hovering just out of sight. He swears that she's smiling.

His chest is torn open, the thick end of a vine jutting out of him. It's slick with his blood, dripping off it and onto the counter. He brings a hand up to it and it comes away stained with crimson.

The hand falls limp but the other is still holding the gun up to his head.

He still can't pull the trigger.