Possibilities
What IF 5: Watchdog Mukuro
3am report: nothing to report. No additional murders, all students sleeping, sans the gothic Lolita wandering the halls, trying to find an exit to hell. Mukuro stretched out to clear out the kink in her shoulders and went straight back to watching the last inhabitants of Hope's Peak. It was a lousy, boring job, but she had to do something to make herself useful. 'Junko Enoshima' had officially been retired from the game via trapdoor, as per the real Junko's plan to allow Mukuro to operate as a disruptive element under her command, a job which so far had consisted of moving Yasuhiro's various knick-knacks about his room to freak him out. That, and watch over the night so that her sister could get her beauty sleep. Leon had been executed for Sayaka's murder, but just rewatching the recordings wasn't enough for Junko, who needed a live feed of despair pumped straight into her veins, the raw reactions of betrayal. As such, Mukuro was posted to watch over the school, ready to wake her when problems arose. She didn't mind too much, as years of army life had rendered her with the need for only four hours of sleep a night, and there were only so many times she could clean weapons that couldn't be used in the game to begin with. But in a way, it felt like the duty was supposed to be a punishment, a nightly reminder of her betrayal against her former classmates and the world. Watching them tear each other apart, with her powerless to stop them. Not that she would, as that would ruin the point of everything. Well, maybe if Makoto was attacked she'd intervene. But only if it happened while Junko was asleep, of course.
Not that any murder attempts were happening tonight. Celeste put herself to bed, and the rest were sleeping in various states of discomfort, each dealing with the first trial in their own way. Byakuya, for example, had lain down and not so much at twitched since. Chihiro had cried himself to sleep. Makoto had yet to settle down. The night had been filled with nothing but the day's events for him, leaving the supposedly lucky student tossing and turning with small moans, and the occasional whispered name. She should have just ignored it, but every so often she would catch him out the corner of her eye, and old instincts would bring her back to his room. It produced an ache in her chest that refused to shift, one that stuck around for no reason. She'd already betrayed him in the worst possible way. The world had ended, his memories stolen and his friends locked into a game of death, all of which she was party to. After all that, what was a simple nightmare by comparison?
She sighed, switched channels to the main hall for some quiet and took a drink of water. When the feeling failed to leave she went to get up and pace, but paused, remembering her sleeping sister. How Junko had managed to squeeze a four-poster bed into their 'headquarters' each night without her noticing was a mystery, but its inclusion meant that the mastermind could sleep soundly and dream of greater despair, which was more important then the fact that it blocked off so much of the room, including Mukuro's access to facilities. But that was no matter. It just made every night a stakeout, shades of her sniper training. With pacing out of the question, Mukuro elected to spin around in her chair instead, which gave the same effect. A nice distraction from Makoto's troubles, a distraction from her lifestyle. That was, until she caught him sitting bolt upright, and she couldn't flick the camera feed over quickly enough. He lay down again and was soon back to his patchy rest, but the damage was done, and now she couldn't turn away, the terrible little spark he'd ignited in her all those years ago was burning now, demanding she do something-anything to protect him. It was stupid, it was unworthy and it could ruin everything. The plan, the element of surprise and the smidgen of pride that Junko possibly had in her. But it was there regardless, calling out an order. And if there was one thing Mukuro knew, it was following orders. But where to go from here?
As a soldier, she was no stranger to PTSD, although she was no sufferer herself. She'd seen a man in Fenrir left out under the desert sun after he'd simply shut down at the loss of his brother, and many others with eyes that could only see the battlefield, and a thousand miles past it. But there had never been a therapist for such men in Fenrir, and so Mukuro had no starting point by which to help Makoto, let alone one that could be implemented from three floors up. Waking him up was out of the equation, as he'd slept little enough as it was, and he might remember who exactly who had woken him up in the first place. Mukuro closed her eyes to focus, falling into her world of ice with each slowed breath as her soldier's mind turned the problem over. First, what helped her to sleep? Answer, nothing in particular, as she just closed her eyes when needed and woke up four hours later ready for the battlefield. Thumbing back through her past shone no further illumination on the question, other than a few nights huddled against Junko for warmth. Physical contact was impossible however, as she had no way of leaving the room with the four-poster bed in the way. And even more impossible as the very idea of slipping into his bed set her heart racing so fast that she was worried she'd suffer a heart attack and die with bright red cheeks. Sending in Monokuma to perform the same task was also an option, but if Makoto fully woke up questions would be asked, and Mukuro was terrible enough at lying without having to impersonate one of her sister's personalities on top of it. She would have continued musing, but her concentration was broken as Makoto's voice floated up to her, calling Sayaka's name. Just like tracing the correct path to an enemy bunker, the plan came to her, and she set about it with the same grim determination.
Even missing three years of memories, even after the day's events, Makoto missed Sayaka. Hope's Peak's digital archives housed the entirety of her published works, and Mukuro was in charge of the sum total of knowledge on all talents. Opening a channel to the screen in his room, she uploaded the debut album and set it to play each song automatically on a low volume, just in case a sudden jump in pitch awoke him. It wasn't an instant knock-out, but by the time the group was on the third song, "Shine On, Shooting Star", Makoto had stopped moving about. As the first album moved into the second he was out for the count, resting peacefully with a smile on his face. It settled her as well, and she relaxed into the warm leather, trying to enjoy the bittersweet victory. After all, it wasn't her singing that had helped him, but that of a dead girl. Her own singing would have just added to the list of the dead, regardless if she was any good at it or not. Not that it mattered either way. She didn't deserve him to start with, and by the end of this he was going to be joining Sayaka in the freezers. 5 am. Junko would need awakening in an hour, but for now Mukuro would keep watch over the night as always. It was all she was good for currently, as a soldier without a war. As a traitor to the world but the beloved of her sister. Just another set of eyes watching despair, as helpless as the outside world to interfere.
She was dragged into the waking world in a wave of oily stink, leaving her sputtering as she went for her trusted knife, unshealthed and aimed in counter-attack. But instead of Future Foundation she found Junko, swinging a bucket on one finger.
"Oh good, you're awake. Now get up and make yourself presentable for God's sake, you've got an interview in five minutes. If you don't attend, you'll end up like Celeste two trials from now."
And with that she pulled out a box of matches, rammed bunches between her fingers and struck them alight, throwing them into the air. As Mukuro slashed the lot to pieces, she became very aware that she was doused in patrol. Oh, the ways Junko played with her.
Her sister's comments about her body odour aside, Mukuro was quite adept at washing down in a hurry, a quick sink scrub-down enough to make sure she wasn't flammable anymore, and what little patrol stink that remained was drowned out by a bottle of perfume from Junko's discarded collection. Exactly five minutes after waking and Mukuro arrived in the Headmaster's office to find Junko at Jin Kirigiri's desk, dressed in pinstripe and flanked by matching Monokumas.
"Thank you for coming in Ms Ikusaba. Can't say a flak jacket is the most suitable attire for an interview, but I can't expect much of a war brat can I? Well, better than nothing I suppose. Don't sit down, these are the only good chairs left and I've already got to deal with your smell on the one in my headquarters."
"Sorry Jun- Ms Enoshima."
"Well, whatever. Your terrible dress sense aside, I've brought you here for a very special reason."
She pulled a remote from her chest, the Monokumas pulling down a projector screen behind her to show their former classmates looking terribly worse for wear as they explored the second floor, as was Junko's gift for passing a trial. Each one couldn't stop looking all about them nervously, twitching whenever they came to a corner as if expecting a killer to jump out from around it as they passed. Yasohiro had yet to leave his bedroom, furiously praying to something with five layers of beads on his arms and burning through enough incense that it was a miracle his room hadn't followed. Even Byakuya was on edge, snapping at anyone who came close to the library whenever he wasn't flinching at its creaking shelves. Only Makoto and Kyoko were unaffected, going about the hunt with optimism and stoicism respectively.
"As you might have noticed, everyone's a bit on edge, even Edgy McPlaythegame and Lady Liesabunch. There's bloodshot eyes looking out for surprise attacks and a generally despairing tinge in the air. Now, why is that exactly? I mean, you didn't report anything out of the ordinary last night. I'd almost be miffed at having to through the footage myself if it wasn't for the surprise you left me on the rug, you bad little bitch."
She clicked the remote and Mukuro's blood ran cold as the screen cut into fifteen separate sections, showing the now frantic students sleeping peacefully. The footage from last night, with Sayaka Maizono's voice turning their dreams into nightmares. Some bolted upright in bed, some took Makoto's restlessness onto themselves, but all but two were disturbed in some way or another. Mukuro swallowed heavily, the only fear she knew. Junko's displeasure at her interference in the game could lead anywhere, and certainly nowhere good. So it was to her great surprise when Junko stood up and clapped slowly, the Monokumas joining her in short order.
"I absolutely can't believe that I'm about to say this, but I am super impressed in you Mukuro. It only took eighteen years, but you finally did something of your own volition instead of licking my heels all day! And boy did you knock it out of the park on the very first try!"
How could she have possibly have forgotten to check that she was only piping music through to one room instead of all of them? Now she was going to… wait. What?
"Come on, seriously? Isn't this what you've been waiting for your whole life? The only thing that helps you sleep at night other than fingering it to Makoto? I thought you'd be pulling out guns and firing randomly into the ceiling in happiness! Ooh, unless you're trying to bring me despair by not caring anymore on top of the despair you brought the others by fuelling some dumb ghost idea into their heads? Well I'll show you! I'm going to get fired up and really give them hell today. If they want ghosts, I'm going to go full horror and send them running to their rooms!"
The fire in her eyes winked out as quickly as it had started.
"Okay, yeah, we're done here. Go back to stalking Makoto or whatever it is you think I don't know about while I have some fun."
And with that she flounced out the room, leaving Mukuro alone in the Headmaster's office, listening as a song about monsters mashing started blearing at full volume and Monokumas covered in bedsheets flooded the halls. No longer involved but uttering a small apology to the students for the new attack on their daily lives, Mukuro went to wash up properly, as Junko's perfume did little to cover the smell of Junko's petrol. She was five steps towards the bathroom before reality caught up to her and her legs gave out under her, all the blood in her body rushing to get to her face.
"Junko… actually praised me!"
It was just as well she took the nightshift, as there was no way she'd be sleeping tonight.
