Whoo, back again! Higurashi Month 2019, because it has become one of my lowkey life goals to keep perpetuating this until it becomes a proper tradition for all three-and-a-half people in this graveyard of a fandom. And then keep doing it anyways, because tradition. If you wish to check out the prompt list, its on my tumblr page under the same username.

June 11th, 2019

Hinamizawa is quiet. Not even the cicadas are crying anymore.

Rika kicks her small, sandaled heel against the dirt in the ground, the fluffy, silky brown dust-dirt born from thousands of decayed leaves. A tiny part of her is surprised that a brown puff of dirt particles echos after the movement her heel, and not a slow, soggy welling of blood.

People appreciate the lush growth of Hinamizawa, the rural, bucolic Japanese countryside so beautifully showcased in a vibrant menagerie of green. Its all the tourists ever talk about, though Rika charitably supposes that really, there's not much else in Hinamizawa that's of even the faintest interest for idle conversation.

The tourists fail to appreciate how well plants grow in ground soaked with blood, how healthy it is for them.

Pop-pop-pop-pop.

The heavy silence of the summer night is abruptly broken as there's a static, sporadic burst of pops in the distance. In happier times, Rika might mistake those sounds for fireworks, for celebration. But tonight, she simply hears the sound of gunfire and marvels quietly to herself that someone is still left alive to fight. She would've thought Rena and Keiichi had taken care of all that, certainly taken care of all the people with guns.

Then again, there are 2,000 citizens of Hinamizawa, and someone may have looted the corpses.

A soft, sultry breeze stirs her long midnight-blue hair as Rika walks along the dirt road, proving that the gunfire had been some distance away and the sound merely carried by the wind through the humid night air. She wonders if the others have escaped Hinamizawa yet. She hopes –no, she knows they have. It's simply inconceivable that her friends would find an obstacle they were unable to face. The rest of Hinamizawa is a seething, uncoordinated mass of hornets, flying and stinging at random: her friends have a concrete goal and iron-clad wills, and, moreover, are well-used to working in concert. They can swat the hornets away with less effort than it takes Rika to do the dance offering.

She wonders where Hanyuu has gone, if she has truly given up for the final time.

Hinamizawa is Rika's place, and it is her duty to witness this madness, the bubbling cauldron stirred up by meddling she darkly suspects is from Miyo Takano's unknown backers. A fitting revenge for thwarting their efforts to take over Tokyo, or whatever the secret organization is called.

Rika needs to witness this.

She wishes she could feel something as she trails through Irie Clinic, sees the blood and the scattered bodies of defenders and patients alike. She wishes that she could feel some modicum of sympathy, of sorrow, as she looks on Irie where he's slumped against the wall. It's funny, how he has died in so many worlds (just as many as she had, Takano did not leave loose ends), but always due to sleeping pills slipped into his afternoon tea. To Rika's knowledge, his death was always peaceful, unconscious, the powerful sedatives tugging him away into hazy slumber, leaving Irie unaware as death finally stole over him.

Bright flowers of red are painted all over the front of his pristine labcoat, and even Rika's iron stomach squirms a little as she looks closer and sees the gory orchid of his mouth, shattered teeth and torn throat and a hole in the back of his head. She remembers the hot blood flecking her face as she stood behind the window above him, now shattered, and little grainy bits that were probably part of Irie's so-smart, so-caring brain. She chooses to believe that it was his own terminal symptoms surfacing that drove Irie to squeeze his eyes shut and jam that pistol inside his mouth, the gun that now lies along with his limp hand in his lap, choses to believe that this bright spark of hope and genius, who worked so hard to save so many and had that unnatural obsession with maids, did not give in so thoroughly to despair.

She wants to grieve, to miss him, to miss the kindness he showed her and how much he has helped her and Satoko. But just as she did when Irie blew his brains out before her, Rika can't seem to stir any emotions through the leaden apathy that has blanketed her mind.

She blinks slowly and turns away, continuing her slow stroll through the clinic. A quick tap on the keypad and a swipe of the card she snatched from Irie's bloody lapel gets her through the heavy metal door –they may have changed the codes, but Rika has gone through so many worlds, seen Irie tap out so many different little patterns on the keypad, that they couldn't possibly have devised one she hadn't memorized.

The door slides open, and Rika continues her slow, short-striding pace, her long curtain of hair waving softly over her back as she walks through the slightly cleaner portions of the clinic. Blood stains and smears show that bodies have been dragged away to places unknown, and Rika feels a tingle down her spine as she turns a corner, coming to a slow halt as her sandals clack against the floor.

"Mew, hello, Kasai." she says calmly in her childish voice. Something clicks behind her, and although Rika knows nothing about guns, she knows enough to recognize the sound of the components shifting inside one. "Are Shi and Satoshi alright?"

"Are you alone?"

Fleetingly, Rika thinks of the fretful presence of Hanyuu, always hanging over her shoulders. But she is gone now, and the air is strangely cold and empty.

"Mew, yes sir. Everyone else is gone…"

"Or dead." Kasai helpfully supplies the words for her when Rika trails off, deep voice professional and emotionless. "Mion-san?"

"She's with Keiichi and Rena and Satoko and Keiichi's parents. They're escaping out through the old tunnels in the Sonozaki estate."

Rika feels something cold and round press against the back of her head, cautious and slow. Wise Kasai, who was taking nothing to chance and nothing for granted, not even the apparent harmlessness of a small girl. "And you?"

"I have to stay, sir. I am the Furude miko, the reincarnation of Oyashiro-sama." Rika answers simply. "I need to witness this."

Kasai took the gun away, and Rika turned around to see the gleam of his sunglasses, cold and black.

"Shion-san and Hojo-san are in Hojo-san's room." the Sonozaki retainer answers gravely, not holstering the shotgun she realizes was formerly pressed against the back of her head, but letting it hang limply at his side. Rika nods in acknowledgment of this fact and goes to join them.

The backs of Shion's green eyes flicker ferally, like a cat's, like they did in the worlds where she loses faith in Satoshi's return, like they do towards the end, when there are too many corpses decorating the underground Sonozaki chambers.

They're red-rimmed too, as if she has been crying.

Shion jerks her head up as Rika enters, eyes wide and sharp and ready for an assault, slender hand darting towards the Kalashnikov leaning against the frame of Satoshi's hospital bed. She recognizes Rika, recognizes the calm of her personal guard, and relaxes again, minutely.

Rika walks past her, and sees the unconscious Satoshi, the bear, the machines all beeping calmly away. Everything is as it was, as it has always been, before the world of Hinamizawa was ripped apart. Here, perhaps, she can learn to feel again, crack the stone that has coated her heart and weep for the destruction of her home. This lack of emotion may protect her, but it stings deep to know that she had not shed a tear despite the deaths of so many she had tried to protect.

"Mew, Shi, it's good to see you two are alright." she chirps gravely as she takes a seat on the other plastic chair, on the other side of Satoshi. "I'm here to help."

Green eyes narrow, then relax, and the younger Sonozaki nods slowly, turning her head to look towards Satoshi. "We need to keep him asleep." she says, voice hoarse as if from her weeping. "I –I don't know how long the power will stay up." Tears tremble on the edges of her long lashes. "I-I don't know how to give him his medicine to keep him asleep."

"I know how Irie and his people worked." Rika says. "I know where their things are kept, and what they are. If Kasai can do something to keep the power up, we can definitely keep the clinic running for Satoshi as long as we need it to."

Shion rubs her wrist over her eyes, opening them again as they brimmed with hope instead of tears. "Yes. And with all the other competitors gone, we'll have no problem getting food and water. No one will attack you, you're the reincarnation of Oyashiro-sama, so you can get as much as we need, and when we're the only ones left, it won't matter anymore."

Rika smiles quietly.

Hinamizawa is no more. Onigafuchi has arisen from the depths of legend and ripped apart their peaceful country life in blood and gunfire, and she has no idea of how far the violence and chaos may spread. Perhaps it will cover all of Japan.

It doesn't matter. The name of this place is meaningless. Her friends know the way, the way marked for them in blood and tears and pain, throughout a hundred lifetimes of suffering. Hinamizawa is in their bones, and the name and nature does not matter: they will always, always, find their way back.

Their home may be a burning shell of its former self, a crumbling husk, but, perhaps, now there may be something left over when the ashes blow away, something for her friends to come back to.

AN: In other news, finally got around to watching Outbreak, and that shit fucked me up. That OVA contains trivia about the Higurashi universe that no sane person should ever know. Hinamizawa Syndrome is actually only one of roughly 200 species of the same disease? Fun! 90% of the global population is infected by these viruses? Fun! The spread and diversity of world cultures and religions corresponds almost exactly to the spread and diversity of the separate strains of the virus? Fun! Every one of these 200 strains instigates aggression in the carrier against all the other strains? Fun! After the UN banned research and weaponization of these viruses at a special council, every single last country involved went home and started secret research projects in their own territory? Fun! (One can only imagine how the Cold War went.)

I am still shook. It was some scary scary meta information, Do Not Like. Also, they just kinda ignored the very real questions of what happened to Shion and Satoshi in that mess, hence this little snippet here.

11.04 AM, USA Central Time