A/N: A re-telling of the events of Persona 3, with content from FES and P3P, but the main character has a fascination with death. They want to see it, they want to cause it, they want to feel it. Maybe their allies will be able to help them heal and grow, but that's only if they let them in. This may be a long-haul, with (hopefully) some interesting twists, updated as I get the opportunity because this idea will not leave my head.

Hi there! Firstly, thanks for taking a look at the fic! Author's notes can be found at the end of each chapter, if you want to read some of my thoughts.

Please be warned that there will be references to death throughout (as with the Persona 3 canon), and also conversations around suicide and suicidal ideation. The content within may be harmful to some readers. Please know that you are safe, and loved, and that this work in no way aims to glorify suicidal thoughts, which are a very real issue.

If you have any questions, or comments, or critique, please feel free to leave a review! It's been... a hot minute since I've posted a work, so I apologise for any wonkiness.

Thanks again!

Avalon 3

Chapter One: Dance with the Darkness

Ca-chak, ca-chak. Ca-chak, ca-chak.

The sounds of the train running along the tracks is barely heard by Makoto Yuki, who sits in his booth seat with the volume on his MP3 player turned up almost as far as it can go. He props his chin up on a palm and leans against the train's window, brushing some blue locks out of his eyes to watch the world pass him by. Pinpricks of light in the darkness of night-time denote the homes of happy families which have been together for all their lives. Makoto scowls, his thoughts bouncing around with the beat of the music. Another packed bag, another train-ride and another batch of faces to get used to seeing for a few years before he is inevitably shipped off somewhere else.

It wasn't even his fault the last few times. It didn't take long for the few family members of his to shunt him to another family friend or associate. Always a collection of excuses to help carry him to his destination. "Sorry Koto, we've got to fly overseas for work." "The school doesn't have any room, but there's another a couple of hours away. We know some people out there!" "We can't afford to have you here." "Get the hell out, you creepy piece of-"

And so on.

He had tried it all. Keep quiet and they let you fade into the background and forget you. Speak your mind and they look at you like a mad person. Talk about the past and they would try to avoid you. Talk about your feelings and they'd pity you. He'd seen such expressions on family, guardians, therapists and teachers all throughout his life. Even more so if they had heard about his past.

But that all said… maybe this time would be different. Makoto sits back in his seat and unwraps a packaged sweet bun, beginning to chew on it. In the past, he had always been shoved into any spare room a family may have had. Often, he would have to share with their own children. Now he's old enough to have his own room in, according to the pamphlet shoved into his pocket, a student dormitory. No more having to deal with awkward conversations with guardians trying to connect with him. His own space to relax and call his own.

At least, for now.

The faintest bong manages to bleed its way past the music rocketing into Makoto's ears. He thumbs the MP3 player, taking the volume down a few notches so that he could listen to the announcement. Maybe it would be a cancellation of service, and everyone would be told to get off the train. Maybe he would have to head off into the Japanese countryside and fight for survival, trying to find the nearest village. Maybe he'd die out there, attacked by some wild animal or another passenger gone feral. He glances to the window again and sees a cluster of lights not too far away. Maybe not, then. Ah well.

"Attention, passengers. We sincerely apologise for any inconvenience caused by the delay. The next stop is Iwatodai. Iwatodai."

Makoto lets out a sigh. The train had been stuck at one of the earlier stations for hours, reportedly due to a suicide on the track further down the line. He wonders if they had already passed over the point where the person threw themselves into the clattering jaws of death. Tch. Some people have all the luck. If this dorm had some sort of benefactor, Makoto was sure he could look forward to a scolding for being late. What a wonderful start.

Iwatodai, huh? Connected to Port Island, both are names that Makoto remembers with a mix of emotions. Happy days wandering in the sunlight around the shiny city. Laughter and good food, smiling people on the streets. Sweet treats bought from stalls, the sand in his toes, and the gentle wash of the waves, the agonised screams and the searing flames and the blood trickling into his eyes and the grinding tear of metal-

Makoto turns the music up again. The memories are muzzled, fading back to wherever they came from. Never truly gone, but away for now.

Not too far from the train's destination, a young woman sits on the floor of a bathroom, desperately drawing in breath. The sink behind her is slowly filling with water from the open faucet, the sound almost like static, white noise against the panic she feels. One hand is pressed against the floor, fingers digging in as though trying to grasp it and tear it open. The other hand shakes as it closes around the grip of the source of her fear, a sleek pistol.

"I… just lift it to my head… a-and pull the trigger."

Her breath begins to stick in her throat as her hand raises the weapon far too slowly. She should be able to do it now, right? Her eyes track the barrel as it begins to pass in front of her. In her mind she knows she will not die and yet her heart and body scream at her to throw the weapon aside. She sees the barrel twitch and grits her teeth, breath seeping out from within as she begs herself to stop shaking.

If the others can do it, so can she.

Right?

Her jaw unlocks as she gasps, feeling the weapon's cold tip press to her forehead, a promise of death and nothingness at its touch. A finger rests ever so gently against the trigger. One more movement. One simple twitch of the finger and she's done. And yet her hand continues to shake, refusing to lessen its grip, as though the gun was a final lifeline above the void.

Just pull the trigger. Just pull the trigger. Pull it. Pull the trigger. PULL THE DAMNED TRIGGER.

Her eyes squeeze themselves shut, no longer able to bear the sight of her finger on the trigger. All she hears is the rattling gasps of her breath, her heartbeat in her ears and the scream of the water running into the sink.

For the barest moment she feels a hand ruffle her hair, the sounds in her ears dimmed by a warm and familiar laugh. A wet sob escapes her, taking all the strength in her body with it. The icy cold of the gun's barrel leaves its ghost behind on her skin as it falls out of her hand and clatters against the floor. She pulls her knees to her chest and clutches them, pressing her face against them.

Her whole body shakes, with tears rather than terror. Between sobs she curses her weakness and cowardice. Inside, something ugly tells her that those traits will be the death of her.

A man in a rumpled business suit lets out a loud snore. Makoto glances at his slumped form across the aisle and sneers. The gift of life ground down at an office, working on the same thing day in and day out. What a worthwhile existence. Now the businessman would probably miss his stop. He would then take a taxi back home, drag himself through the door, have a reheated meal and slump into bed to do it all again the next day. And the next day, and the next. And that would be his life.

What a waste. No wonder people were throwing themselves in front of trains.

Makoto's eyes slide down the carriage to see a cluster of high schoolers apparently out on the town. They were all dressed casually but with flair and even though he couldn't hear them, Makoto could tell they were having fun together. Smiles on their faces, laughter on their lips. Something within him stirs, some coiled mass of envy. Had he ever laughed like that with people his own age?

Once upon a time, perhaps. He knots the snake within him and turns his eyes back to the window. What would happen if one of them just dropped dead right now? There'd probably be screams, tears, calls for help. The businessman would wake up and feel torn between helping or turning a blind eye. The police would come and start asking questions after the body was wrapped up and tossed into a coroner's office somewhere.

In any case, they would all probably get to where they were going even later. Makoto glances at the time display on the train's digital destination banner. Almost midnight. He frowns. What if the dorm was locked? Hadn't considered that… The pamphlet has a contact number written on it, so that's an option. As he mulls it over, the train begins to slow.

Bong. "We are now approaching Iwatodai Station. Once again, we apologise for the delay to this service, and we thank you for your patience. Now approaching: Iwatodai Station."

Makoto stands and rolls his shoulders, before reaching down to heft his bag onto one of them. All it contains are a few changes of clothing, a few personal possessions, some charging cables, his laptop, some snacks. Enough to see him through the journey at least. The rest of his belongings were picked up by a moving company a week ago and should be waiting for him at the dorm. Hopefully. Man, it'd be really easy to just pretend to have a moving service and steal a couple things when moving it all. No-one'd notice. He tosses the empty bun wrapper onto the seat behind him and makes his way to the train doors, passing the businessman as he goes. Wake him up? He watches a little drool make its way down the man's chin. Nah.

The teens all fall quieter as he passes them, shifting in their seats to give him some more room. Makoto doesn't even seem to notice. The train stops, and the doors rattle open. A voice comes over the station PA, "Iwatodai, Iwatodai. This is the last train bound for Tatsumi Port Island. Please make sure you board in time for departure."

Last train, huh? Hope this isn't that business guy's stop. Makoto exits the train and wanders over to the ticket gate and taps his rail pass onto the reader. The gate opens and he steps through, returning the pass to his pocket and withdrawing the dorm pamphlet. 'Iwatodai Dormitory Move-In Guide' is written on the front in bold text, over a picture of the dorm itself. It seems like the same kind of non-descript brownstone building you would see all over the place. At least it looks clean.

Underneath the picture is a barebones map of the surrounding area, including a small box which is noted as 'Iwatodai Station.' Makoto chuckles, You Are Here. He looks up from the pamphlet to search for the exit to the station, eyes passing over a large clock which hangs from the station ceiling.

And here comes midnight. His heart beats just a little faster. I wonder…

Makoto watches as the second hand tick tick ticks its way to twelve. The moment that all three clock hands line up, the music pumping into his ears is abruptly cut off. He winces and takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. In the same moment, all the lights in the station blink out, leaving the arrival hall lit only by an eerie green light from the moon. A clammy and oppressive atmosphere descends upon the boy, sending shivers along his skin. He hears nothing but the hollow wail of the wind, and the drip, drip of something crimson dripping from the clock and onto the floor.

An all too wide grin works its way onto Makoto's face. Ah, the more things change… He stretches, spreading his arms wide. The air resists him just a little more than usual, enough that it wouldn't be noticeable at first, but Makoto had gotten used to walking through it. It does still take its toll if he's out for too long, but that's a small price to pay for his own space. Unfortunately, it had already been a long day and Makoto feels the weight of sleep resting on his brow. Places to be, I suppose. He glances at the pamphlet again, then folds it haphazardly and stuffs it back into his pocket. A sign near the clock reads 'exit.' "That'll do," he mutters, heading in that direction. The green light seems to only exaggerate the darkness around him, and someone more paranoid might fear over what could be hiding within such voids. Thoughts for later.

After a while, he finds himself wandering down an open street, flanked by tall buildings and storefronts. His step is light and a little jaunty as he hums the song that was previously playing on his MP3, his fingers drumming the beat on the air around him. The buildings all cast deep shadows, red liquid seeps from the windows, streaming down the bricks. It collects in growing pools on the streets, on the roads, flowing into the drains.

Somewhere in the distance, an agonised scream tears through the air. Makoto pauses, looking over in that direction. Unlucky. Something cold starts to seep around his left foot. He looks down and sees his shoe half-immersed in a pool of the viscous red liquid. Tch. Guess whoever that is isn't the only unlucky one. The red liquid stains the shoe as Makoto pulls it out with a scowl. He tries to scrub it off with his hand, only managing to smear it into the material, and leave his hand equally stained.

Hmm… The grin returns to his face as Makoto lifts one of his fingers to his mouth to touch his tongue to the remnants of the red liquid on it. Oh, ew, still gross. He gags and tries to spit the liquid out. The flavour is an insipid blend of salty and metallic, as foul as he remembered. It coated his taste buds, clinging to them like a film. It could be described as blood-like but only if the blood had congealed, spoiled and then melted again, leaving the taste exaggerated and rancid.

As the taste beat his mouth into submission, Makoto screws up his face and searches for some reprieve. Wild-Duck Burger? It'll do. He goes to rush into the store, but the automatic door doesn't sweep open to allow him entry. Ugh. Makoto rolls his eyes and grips one of the doors to brute force it open. I can still taste it, gah!

Inside, a few imposing looking coffins stand in the booths, with two more dotted behind the counter. In the corner a strange inflatable super-ero mascot rocks back and forth next to a cluster of balloons with clown designs. The menu behind the counter is hard to read without the back-lights, but Makoto can see such wonderful items as 'The Duck Double,' 'Mallard Meals' and some ungodly monstrosity called the 'Peta-Wac Set.'

Makoto spins around to the nearest table, seizing the to-go cup on top of it. Half-empty. Beggars can't be choosers. He places his lips around the straw and drains the cup of its life-saving sugary nectar. Ah, cheap cola. My hero. Crisis averted, he surveys the store, particularly the table in front of him. Now that the drink is missing, all that is left is a mostly intact burger and a portion of fries. Hello, dinner! He takes up the greasy burger and takes a few bites, nodding in appreciation. Not exactly high cuisine, but it fills the stomach and tastes decent enough going down.

Makoto flops into the empty seat opposite the coffin in the booth, "Hey buddy, this seat free?" He laughs, reaching over to pull the fries in his direction. "Cool."

How long had it been since he left the station? Ten minutes, maybe a little more? "I've got time. Hey, sorry about taking your food by the way." The coffin does not deign to respond. "Aw, no hard feelings? What a gentleman."

He shoves a handful of the fries and chows down, scrutinising the coffin. It looks the same as every other one he had seen during this odd time period. A glossy black surface with silver trim. No differences in terms of shape or size, standing at around six or seven foot. He takes the time to eat most of the food. Better than letting it go to waste.

Leaving his seat, Makoto washes down the fries with the last few dregs of cola. "Hellooo? Anyone in there?" He moves around the table to lean closer to the coffin, almost pressing his cheek to the surface. Intense cold radiates from it, the kind of cold that cuts to the very bone. Makoto raps on the wood once, twice, three times, then listens to the coffin.

C'mon, do something. Let there be a voice, a sound, a knock back, something!

Nothing.

"Tch." Makoto straightens up and yawns, "Boring. Thanks for the meal." He turns to the exit, eating the last of the burger so that he has his hands free to force the door again. Back on the street, he takes out the pamphlet to check his progress. A little further to go. He orients himself and continues on his way, then opens the pamphlet to read through the information on the inside. It reads as expected, all blocks of text about his new life with friends in a 'modern and cosy' dormitory. He does note one paragraph mentioning a curfew after 10pm.

Oops.

The girl in the bathroom takes a deep, shuddering breath, and glances out of the window. The tears have dried on her skin, leaving dry tracks which catch the gloomy green light slipping in from outside.

"The Dark Hour…" She sighs and slowly stands. Mitsuru had put her on guard for the dorm tonight, and here she was, crying in the bathroom like she was still seven. She looks in the mirror, seeing a morose looking girl in a pink sweater with tear tracks on her face. "Ugh, I'm a mess."

She closes the still-running faucet, which was pouring with red liquid rather than clear water, "Guess I can't clean my face…" Bunching her sleeves, she rubs at her skin until the tracks are rubbed away. Unfortunately, there's nothing she can do about the red in her eyes. "At least the others are in their rooms. No-one's gonna see me like this." She lets out a hollow laugh. They probably already knew about her fighting with the weapon but were kind enough to not say anything.

Or perhaps, in the case of one of her seniors, didn't care enough to ask. "Tch." She takes another breath, holding it for a moment as it fills her chest. She lets it all out, picturing her stress and worry floating away with it. "Eeeeeverything is fine. C'mon Yukari. You're good." She gives her reflected image a smile.

Unconvincing.

She pouts and smacks her cheeks with her hands, "Let's go!" She goes to make her way for the door. The Dark Hour shouldn't take too long to end. Once it does, she can go to bed and put this whole day behind her. Just another day. No need to think about dying in a bathroom somewhere. Speaking of… Her foot knocks against something on the floor. She looks down, and sees her Evoker lying on the floor. The barrel reflects the light of the moon, shining in a creepy sort of way. "Ugh. Why'd she leave me on guard?"

Yukari bends and picks up the Evoker gingerly, shoving it back in its holster without looking at it too much. Shadows haven't attacked the dorm before, and even if they do, Akihiko would be out there to fight them the moment he found out they were nearby. So instead she gets to wander around in the creepy middle of the night, waiting for the hour to pass. Her mind relays the few horror stories she had heard from friends or on TV, ensuring that it believes every corner, nook and cranny were potential hiding places for a ghost, ghoul or murderer.

"I need a distraction. I've got that book in my room… I guess I could grab that." She pats herself down, gets the dust off the back of her skirt, and leaves the bathroom to head for her room. Just another night. Just another day. Tomorrow will get here, eventually.

As he rounds a corner, Makoto is surprised to see a building which actually has light coming from the inside. A warm, yellow-toned light that spills out from the windows on the ground floor, pushing back the dull green gloom surrounding it. He turns the pamphlet to the image of the dorm and compares it to the lit building.

Well how about that. Even in the darkness, Makoto could tell the image and the building in front of him are one and the same. He returns the pamphlet to his pocket and wanders over to the dorm, climbing the few steps to the door. This would be his new home for the foreseeable future. Not the best first impression, but hey, who really cares?

As his hand closes around the door handle, something in his mind pipes up. What if they aren't expecting you tonight, now? Huh? Well, what if they think you're coming tomorrow? Maybe there's someone in there who is super paranoid, and will attack the moment someone comes through the door? Would that happen? Someone standing behind the door, seeing him approach… waiting for his guard to be down and for him to walk in, then making sure the back of his head has an intimate meeting with… A baseball bat? Yeah that works.

He grins again. Time will tell. He pushes the door open and steps inside, holding his breath momentarily. To his disappointment, he hears no panicked yell and feels nothing strike him. Instead, he is met with an ordinary, if a little outdated, lobby. The space is lit by two large lamps flanking the doors, and a larger light fixture which hangs above a low table to his right. The table itself is surrounded by well-loved brown leather sofas and seats, with a boxy CRT TV standing not too far away. Makoto tries to peer into the back of the room, but the lights are still out. Past some glass panels, he thinks he can see some sort of long table.

All in all, a perfectly normal space. Modern, huh? Sure. Never trust a pamphlet. Makoto reaches up to remove his headphones and hangs them around his neck. No welcome part-

"You're late."

Speak of the devil. Makoto quickly looks in the direction of the voice. A large reception counter is to his left and on it sits a small boy, likely no older than thirteen. The boy has scruffy, short black hair and is wearing an equally scruffy pyjama-like outfit with large black stripes running across it. On his face is a warm smile, and the most unsettlingly blue eyes Makoto had ever seen. The eyes were unblinking and almost seemed to glow from within, piercing Makoto to his core. "Hello?"

The boy kicks his legs, which dangle off the edge of the counter, "Hello. I've been waiting a long time for you." He watches Makoto expectantly, that smile never wavering. His voice is gentle and smooth, like the flat of a knife.

What is this kid's deal? Does he live here? Does he work here? Maybe this place was more interesting than he originally thought. Still, time to put on the face. Makoto lets his expression soften and allows a small smile to grace his lips. Gentle, ordinary, and uninteresting. That's him. "Oh, of course. I'm sorry you've had to wait for me, there was a delay on the trains." Makoto gives a half bow to the boy, "I'm sorry for any trouble I have caused."

He hears the boy chuckle at that and looks up. The child looks down at him, and his smile seems to have widened, "No trouble at all." They lift a hand and snap their fingers, and suddenly the boy is gone.

Wha-

"Now, if you want to proceed, please sign your name there." Makoto turns his head to see the boy now standing in front of him. Oh-kaaay… freaky. Maybe I'm going crazy. He takes half a step back. More crazy. The boy has a hand out, indicating in the direction of the counter. Where the boy had been sitting now lays a slim red leather file, with an inkpot and quill next to it. "Don't worry. All it says is that you'll accept full responsibility for your actions."

Makoto looks at the contract book, which opens of its own accord, as though a breeze had decided to raise the cover itself. Inside is a smaller, formal looking piece of paper. He looks back to the boy, who still has their hand out to the contract. "So, uh…" He clears his throat, regathering himself, "It's just a resident's contract, or something like that?"

Again, the boy chuckles, "Something like that, yes. You know, the usual stuff." The entire time, his eyes have not left Makoto's face. And he still hasn't blinked.

"So, it's not me agreeing to be sold to someone, or kidnapped or something?" The boy tilts his head, the smile not shrinking. Makoto lets out an awkward laugh, which the boy shares with him after a moment.

"My, you have quite the morbid outlook."

Makoto's normal face slips a little at that, his gaze sharpening just a touch. He quickly pastes it back on and shrugs, then moves over to the contract with a yawn. There's a bed with his name on it somewhere in this building, and it looks like he'll have to appease the gatekeeper before seeing it. He looks down at the paper and takes up the quill, quickly scanning the words of the contact.

The contract is only a few sentences long. 'Time never waits. It delivers all equally to the same end. I, the undersigned, hereby agree to this statement and I chooseth this fate of mine own free will. The consequences of such will are mine to bear.' At the bottom, a line for Makoto to sign on. Chooseth? Why is this written like an old playscript? He looks over his shoulder at the stripy-clothed boy. No specific demands or anything. No agreement to being assassinated. The boy in question is watching Makoto intently, and lifts an eyebrow when Makoto turns to look, then gives a cheery wave.

Makoto lifts his hand to wave back, then sighs and touches the quill to the paper. He pauses for a moment, and then signs 'Makoto Yuki' as neat as he can. After doing so, he allows himself a little welling of pride at how natural it felt to do so. Really, if the contract just asks him to accept the consequences of… anything, that includes signing the contract. Or not signing it. So, may as well sign and have somewhere to live.

"Well, there we are then." Makoto starts and looks to his side, where the boy is now standing on tiptoes to look at the contract. His expression remains jovial as he observes Makoto's name on paper, "Thank you very much." The boy reaches out and closes the contract, then lifts it into his hands.

"So… that's it?"

"That's it. Contract signed." The boy nods and presses the contract book to his chest, "Like it says, none of us can escape Time. It delivers us all to the same end." He nods, as though the statement made any sort of sense. His eyes fall on Makoto's headphones, and he lifts the book so that one of his eyes are obscured by it, "Remember, you can't plug your ears and cover your eyes. Just some advice."

As he talks the boy turns the book so that the spine faces Makoto. In doing so, the book seems to fold into the air itself, disappearing entirely. Makoto grins, a ghost of his actual face, "Neat trick."

The boy bows his head and chuckles once more, "You are most kind." As he looks up, his eyes flit over to one of the windows. His smile shrinks, and he looks back to Makoto, "Alas, it seems my time is up."

"Oh?" Thank god.

Wordlessly, the boy lifts a hand towards Makoto, slowly. As it moves, the darkness in the back of the room starts to pull forward and the warm lights in the lobby dim. It continues forward, the green glow of the moon leaking in through the windows. Makoto is locked in place, unable to look away from the bright blue eyes. The darkness seems to consume the boy from behind, until all that Makoto can see are those glowing eyes and the very tips of his hand.

"And so it begins… have fun." With a laugh, the darkness swallows up the eyes, and the lights in the room blink out. Makoto is left standing in the lobby, once again surrounded by the comfortable gloom of the hidden hour. The boy is nowhere to be seen, the inkpot and quill are missing from the counter. It is just Makoto, a collection of houseplants and flowers and the lingering sense of absolute confusion.

"Uh… huh." The face drops from Makoto once more. What the fu-

"Who's there!?" A higher-pitched woman's voice cuts through the silence, sharp and aggressive.

Oh, come on! Can't I get a minute? Makoto turns once more to face the speaker, frustration on his face. A little deeper into the lobby, in the direction of a tall flight of stairs, stands a young woman, likely around his age. She wears a fairly cute pink sweater, with a red ribbon tied around the neck of a white shirt. Makoto lets his eyes trail down. A short skirt, knee-high socks and… Is that a holster? And a gun!? Oh wow, it's actually happening! His eyes dart back up to the woman, hands beginning to raise on instinct, "Uh…" Gotta get the face back on!

The girl seems to flinch as he speaks, and she snaps open the restraint on the holster. Her hand shakes as it hovers above the grip on the gun, bloodshot brown eyes fixed on Makoto. She's either been crying, or she's on something. Either way, unstable. "But… how're… Unless…." Her eyes widen, and her hand closes around the grip. In a sharp movement, the gun leaves its holster and looks to be on its way to pointing at Makoto.

Come on come on come on come on do it, do it, pull the trigger do it! Makoto tries to not let whatever is inside him show on his face as he raises his hands, "Woah, hey, don't shoot! I've got so much to live for!" Gotta put up some sort of defence.

The girl falters, though the gun barrel seems to continue travelling upwards. Her arms bend, as though to turn the gun on herself. Uh… I'm down here? "Wh-What?"

"Takeba, stop!"

Makoto blinks, and glances towards the stairs. The so-called 'Takeba' does the same. Standing on them is another woman, this one wearing a long skirt and a white shirt with a pleated front. Makoto immediately notes a few things. One, another gun and holster at her hip. Someone else to shoot him. Two, what's that armband? For indeed, the woman wears a red armband around her left arm, with some sort of lettering on it. In fact, it looked like 'Takeba' was wearing the same armband. And three… check out that hair! The hair in question being long, red and flowing, obscuring one of her brown-red eyes. She seems more stable at least. And hot. Shut up, me.

The woman looks down at 'Takeba' with a stern expression, who tries to speak out a "But, Mitsu-"

Shaking her head, the woman looks to Makoto and smiles. It's a tight smile, but it seems welcoming enough, "Don't worry. He's just an ordinary transfer student."

"What d'you mean, ordinary?" 'Takeba' mutters, but also looks to Makoto. As she turns, the lights in the room come back on, illuminating the lobby overall. The three of them take a moment to blink until their eyes adjust, and Makoto picks up on the quiet beat of his music. He lets out a relieved sigh, glad that the device hadn't broken. It hadn't so far, but he still worried each time it went out.

Right, let's put the best foot forward. Throw on the face, smile! He drops one hand, leaving the other up to brush his blue hair out of his eyes, then set itself into a little salute, "Hey there! I'm Makoto Yuki, I'm transferring here. Sorry for being so late! I look forward to our time together!"

He looks at the two women in front of him. One looks at him with bemusement on her face. The other with a mixture of concern and confusion. I wonder what they'd look like as they died… He gives them both a sweet liar's smile.

A/N: Hey folks! You made it to the end of the chapter! So, I'll talk a little about the fic, or more accurately, Makoto Yuki themself. This fic will step away from the original canon in a number of places as a result of two changes to the Protagonist. One of them should be obvious: Makoto's deathwish. Omen!Makoto is like Movie Canon Makoto turned up to eleven. However, rather than being uncaring about life, he actively scorns it.

Presently, at least. This ought to cause some more friction between the members of SEES and Makoto, and change how Makoto will behave in particular scenarios.

The second change is a little less obvious for now (though eagle-eyed readers might have picked up on a clue or two). It will probably become a little more obvious within the next few chapters, and I'll talk about it a bit more when we get there.

Hope you're all nice and comfy! I sincerely hope it will be an enjoyable ride.