"This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."
- Winston Churchill, 1942
It was six pm, and the evening was very, very empty.
The litter that blew lazily through the streets at this hour was not alone; it carried with it a stench, choked by dust and a fetid warmth that spoke of garbage abandoned for many days - not something normally found in Tokyo's center city.
Any visible, unbroken windows were filthy; barely enough remained whole to give more than a grudging acknowledgement to the sun, and in apparent rebellion to that, the light had decided instead to play in the street, sharply pronouncing the existence of every piece of smashed glass and ruined metal as if dancing over midwinter snow.
Subaru thought that perhaps, if he looked hard enough, he could almost make out the remains of the Rainbow Plaza shopping mall. Maybe.
Once upon a time, Saturday nights had filled this place with throngs of inebriated people, drunken with fellowship and eager to prove themselves alive. It had been an innocent time, at least for him - regardless of cliche - and Subaru reflected morbidly that the only similarity between then and now was that the thoroughfare could still be termed one of the most exciting places to be in all of Tokyo. Well. If one did not mind defining "exciting" as containing painful and certain death.
Really, no one dared come here anymore; really, no one should. But Subaru did, because he had an appointment, and it was one he intended to keep.
He had not gone far when he found it; the spot farthest from anyone still living in this city, epicenter of Tokyo and source of all the "earthquakes" that were supposedly resposible for its ruin. Content, he climbed onto a fallen pillar that pointed like a judge's finger and sat, relieved by the amount of privacy it afforded.
And then, he waited.
He waited, while the sun continued to set and not so much as a rat passed beneath his feet; he waited, while his shadow grew long and melted silently into a kind of nighttime darkness likened to death. He waited, patient, because leaving never crossed his mind, for no matter how much he insisted he had changed, he really had not. Pain had made him unrecognizable to himself; but he was still who he was, and Subaru Sumeragi never ran out on a promise.
Fuuma came to him before the moon had fully set, and the deal they made was dark and terrible. Subaru wept, and Fuuma smiled, because weeping was part of that bargain. The moon disappeared, and stillness covered their sin; and no one knew what they had done.
The End had finally begun.