REVISED 12/17/15
Survival of the Fittest
...
Chapter 2-Undertakers
Rukuro scanned the computer screen boredly, his eyes long exhausted from the sheer brightness of the monitor screen. Oh, how he missed the lovely up-to-date technology of Deadman Wonderland-Tamaki namely-had provided him.
Tamaki-now that was a man who appreciated the digital arts and all its gadgetry.
Normally, this sort of task would take mere minutes, possibly an hour tops. But this outdated technology and even worse wireless internet connection plus the countless viruses and other unidentifiable problems led to long and complicated setbacks.
Not that he was not capable of solving these 'complications'-quite the opposite actually. The Ex-Chief of Intelligence for Scar Chain could easily disarm any virus or decode any sort of coding it may have had, it was just the technology itself bringing him problems with its slow system.
He hated to admit to it, but he feared he'd rather be stuck with Scar Chain again-doing stupid favors at Nagi's command as opposed to the tedious hacker work outside of Deadman Wonderland. Everyone on the outside was a complete imbecile. Not to mention they seemed to severely lack any up-to-date technology.
Sure, the outside had its perks, but he couldn't simply waltz right into a high-tech company and get a job in a moment's notice, especially not with his criminal record as ghastly as it was. So for the moment, he was stuck with an ancient computer, doing tedious and boring hacker work for whoever desired it.
It had crossed his mind once or twice that he could easily steal the technology from them. He knew he could easily disarm the security and he was certain his Branch of Sin could easily take out the remaining guards. However, he dismissed the thought as something one of a much smaller intellect would do and he would not stoop to their level of idiocy.
Besides, who knew what dangers lurked inside now that that...thing was loose.
Irritably, he drummed his fingers on the desk, tearing his sore eyes away from the monitor if only for a moment as he rested. Absentmindedly, his hand found its way to his neck, where he jerked and heard the unmistakable crack of his neck popping back into place.
He sighed, the action was becoming less and less frequent as the boring days dragged on, and yet, he still did it. Perhaps it was out of habit or discomfort, but he really knew it was more like a strange memory of his-bringing back all the times he had done that very same thing in Deadman Wonderland.
'Don't fuck with the human calculator!'
He hated himself, but he missed the thrill. He missed being so clever and devious that he actually spied on Scar Chain for the enemy-the Undertakers-and betrayed them when they needed him most. He missed seeing their idiotic faces twist with horror and rage for not seeing this earlier. He missed how helpless they all looked as he revealed his true alliances.
'You see, Nagi, it's my job to make sure your chances are zero.'
Even now, he really couldn't place why he betrayed them for the Undertakers, perhaps it was simply to test if he could, or perhaps he felt his chance of survival was greatly increased if he sided with the Undertakers.
Whatever the reason, he regretted nothing. If only he could go back, and put his genius back to where it was most useful-Deadman Wonderland. He was 99.9% certain his satisfaction rating would increase then.
Of course, the golden question was, how did he get proclaimed innocent when Deadman Wonderland shut down? It should have been impossible considering how many crimes he committed both in and out of that prison. But that wasn't a problem for long, not when he was completely capable of hacking into legal systems and changing his own records.
He wasn't stupid-he had seen the downfall of the Undertakers and the imminent collapse of Deadman Wonderland itself long before it had actually happened. Tamaki's foolishness confirmed it. So, he had wisely done what anyone would have done-he cleared his records and made it as if he literally 'disappeared' from the Undertaker HQ, conveniently just day before he was set free again. Of course, no one did a thing to stop him.
Sometimes, being a super genius was just too easy.
Also, it turned out to be a huge bore.
"Genkaku, Genkaku, Genkaku!" The audience roared as the pronounced 'uber' monk strummed wildly on his guitar.
He smirked slightly, relishing how they adored his ability of rock and roll and truly appreciated his talents. The joy was short lived though, as his smile faltered, he suddenly was reminded of his other great talent. The talent he could never share again.
Oh, how he missed using his gift of salvation.
After the events of Nagi's demise, Genkaku found himself hospitalized for over six months-four of those six months in which he was unconscious and in critical condition. The recovering two months was then used to regain functionality through rigorous physical therapy sessions.
Due to being out of commission for such an extended period of time, Genkaku was stripped of his Undertaker title-something he was not pleased with. But once again, Buddha rewarded him-his loyal Uber monk-by sending the crazy albino girl free and causing the mass evacuation from Wonderland.
Months later, Genkaku found himself bumming around-living with whomever and wherever he pleased, playing his guitar to earn cash in small venues until a talent scout heard his riffs and decided to sponsor him. A few gigs later, the self-proclaimed Uber monk found himself as the target of millions of people's adoration from all across the world.
They exploded into a fresh wave of screaming, cheering, and clapping as he ended the song with one last powerful sweep of his hand against the metal wires of his guitar.
"Thank you, thank you!" He replied as they jumped and shouted, each vying for his attention as they elbowed and bumped into one another. Even as the curtain fell and his view was obscured from them, he still heard the seemingly never ending roar of their cheers and joy.
He supposed he should be happy. After all, this was what he'd always wanted out of his life. Fame, fortune, and all the women and bragging that went with it.
But he wasn't, at least, not when he wasn't performing. He missed it too much-the screams of terror, the sound of one taking their last breath, the glazed look of eyes that saw no more, and the nonexistent heartbeat of one who was saved.
'We don't think twice about putting down an injured animal-why should humans be any different?'
Most of all, he missed Nagi-his demon. Since his venture into the outside, one thing became all too clear-people were just plain boring. Everyone, even the wildest of his fans, couldn't compare to the overwhelming perfection that was Nagi's destructive self. Not even one single individual had sparked even a fraction of the interest he held in the Owl.
''You were beautiful when you were crazy. When you were killing you were lovely.'
Sure, Nagi had let him down in the end-not that it mattered much anyway, he was saved. Besides, Genkaku knew he was simply too good to be true.
''If you're going to go back to being a fucking hypocrite...Then I'll have to save you myself.'
He only wished he could save all these miserable fools just as he had saved Nagi. Alas, it was not meant to be. Uber monks simply were frowned upon in this day and age. Saving someone would just put him in jail-these ignorant people would undoubtedly mistake his gift of salvation as a heinous crime. Jail simply wasn't an option-Deadman Wonderland had been his only exception.
No more salvation, no more peace, no more savior.
Just Genkaku, the rejected Buddhist monk turned famous guitarist. No more Undertaker battalion to command, no more authority.
Just him. Him and an endless silence that drove him up the wall and back again.
He sighed sadly as he wiped sweat from his brow and began to pack up the various instruments and equipment he'd brought along. After calling a quick goodbye to the rest of his band members, he'd piled into the car and began his trip home-if he could even call it that.
His 'home' was a modest dojo looking house, complete with its own pond and perfectly sculpted Buddha statue with various candles casting its light around the statue. Not so long ago, this lifestyle would have fit him perfectly, but that Genkaku was long gone and dead, just like that little kitten who perished in the great earthquake.
'It seems you've gotten into a fight again, Genkaku-evil only breeds evil.'
He heard it again, as he often did. The sound of his master's voice-berating him for things Genkaku had no control over. It felt odd to be here. It brought back the painful memories of the past, when he was constantly bullied and abused by his former Buddhist monks-in-training. Hatred begets hatred, or so it seemed. Maybe the bullies had always known of Genkaku's demonic side-and merely sought to bring it forth.
'I do not hate them...Tell me, master, is there a way to save mankind?'
It also reminded him of the glorious salvation he once brought to them the day of the great Tokyo earthquake. Their dismembered limbs artistically arranged upon the wall, joining their blood in a mural of salvation.
'Ah, Chief Priest, I figured out how to save mankind.'
As he entered he sat on the comfortable black sofa, feeling out of place without his usual shrine of his victims' limbs. He huffed yet again as his fingers absentmindedly toyed with the strings of his guitar, the notes pouring out with each strum. Without the thrill of command and torturing Deadman alike he was now haunted by boredom. Boredom and silence.
Absentmindedly, he lit a cigarette and inhaled its fumes-he was not happy. Sure, he had gotten off easy and was way better off here-where he was a legend of the guitar, but still, he missed it too much. He missed his crazy comrades and the delight of someone else's suffering being put to an end.
Wearily, his fingers continued to strum rapidly, but it was fairly depressing when even the sweet sound of rock and roll couldn't cheer him up.
The Wretched Egg peered down below, floating within the air, hovering just above the small boy that walked the streets down below. Silvery snowflake hair whipped about her as she debated unleashing a hurricane of bloodshed upon him, but somehow decided against it.
'You're pretty!'
He wasn't worth it anyway.
'Way prettier than my collection of dragonfly wings!'
She turned to head back into her nest known as Deadman Wonderland but found herself still following the boy again, tailing him secretly all the way to a large and worn building. An orphanage. She clutched her fist tightly, fingernails biting crescent moons into her skin as she recalled the small boy from her past.
'Hey, your hand! Give me your hand!'
The building itself looked awful-seeming to match the boy's mood well with it's chipped paintjob, cracked and broken windows covered by small rotten boards, and a overall less than savory appearance. Her stomach lurched, suddenly feeling disgusted. She hissed, forcing her hands to unclench so she could look at their blankness.
'That symbol means your mine!'
The tree log. A fitting symbol for a Woodpecker.
'Starting today...You're gonna be my treasure!'
Well, he lied. There was no mark on her hand to signify their bond-no wooden log decorating the paleness of her palm. Instead, only canvas white greeted her-the occasional darkened mismatched stitching marring her skin like a child had scrawled all over it. She stared at it for an unnecessarily long period of time-as if willing the mark to surface.
It didn't.
Tearing her crimson eyes away, they instead focused on the source of her woe-Ganta Igarashi as he entered a neglected, shabby excuse for a room. This was a bad idea, she knew. But she simply couldn't help but let her curiosity get the better of her. Perhaps it was that being called Shiro that called out to her, but for whatever reason the Wretched Egg lowered herself to the window that led into Ganta Igarashi's room-going undetected by the all, even the Woodpecker himself.
The mention of Shiro caused her to scowl slightly. Shiro was nothing but a weak, helpless little girl who lay crying within the deepest levels of her mind. It was odd, they were much like what the humans called 'Identical Twins', alike in appearance yet oh-so different in personality.
Certainly not like Chan and En.
However, even when Shiro somehow managed to control the Wretched Egg, she was never completely gone. It showed each time she brutally attacked whoever hurt her friends and called it 'protection', when really, it was the Wretched Egg's maliciousness kicking in.
Shiro would never fully shake the Wretched Egg from her consciousness, so why fight it?
Shiro was foolish, why risk her own life for the sake of someone else? More importantly, why even care about other people's lives? Regular humans perished everyday with their ridiculously weak immune systems unable to handle the daily sicknesses of their fickle lives and their complete inability to fend for themselves.
The Wretched Egg was no regular human, she was far superior in every way, and she made damn sure the other weaklings knew it. Sure, she endured lots of pain to get thus far, but as the popular saying goes, 'No pain, no gain' right?
And even if she hated humanity for doing these things for her, she was still grateful for them regardless, they made her into this beautiful creature of bloodshed after all. However, she already made up her mind; she would bring nothing but pain and suffering to all human life-Deadman or no.
At the memory of the helpless humans, she smiled as she remembered their eyes widening in terror and their screams cut short by her own blood slicing through them, ending their pathetic lives in mere seconds.
She smile only grew wider and wider as the memories filled her. It was obvious she enjoyed the prospect of ending another's life as painfully and horrifying as possible but she wasn't quite as pleasured by it as Hummingbird had been. It was more of a satisfaction-like feeling of triumph rather than a surge of sexual pleasure.
Yet she couldn't help but admire Hummingbird's technique and viciousness, perhaps she would be a formidable foe in the future. Even Mockingbird's own bloodlust was matched by Minatsuki's.
Now she watched as Ganta readied himself for bed, noticing how much taller and more muscular he was becoming even within this short time since she'd last saw him. He paced around his small, pathetic excuse for a room relentlessly-kicking a small piece of trash effortlessly. Perhaps he had been a soccer player at one point?
And there it was, in the center of all the slightly muscled skin of his torso-a bloodred crystal. Sitting in his chest cavity, just mocking her. Taunting her. The Wretched Egg eyed it carefully, observing how the jaded crystal scarred his chest permanently, no doubt-raw, red skin snaking out from it's body as if it was attempting to swallow it's vessel.
Had she really implanted such a large shard into his body? Why would she grant such a creature such power? What deemed him worthy of equaling her in power?
She watched him from afar, staring into his windowsill unnoticed until she lost track of time. Doing nothing more than soaking him in, this boy that had somehow transformed into a man without her knowledge. She hummed, noting how he clutched his chest in a brief spell of agony-causing him to glance around suspiciously.
So, the shard still reacted to her presence. Like a baby chick calling out to it's returning mother.
Before he noticed her presence lurking outside his window, she slinked away into the night. Returning back to her cage turned nest-Deadman Wonderland. The impression of Ganta still fresh in her mind as she lay in her bed, blowing off Hagire's foolish attempts at small talk.
Perhaps someday soon he would also make a formidable foe.
Mockingbird frowned slightly when he opened the large double doors of the Wretched Egg's chambers only to find them empty. Where, oh where, had his Snowflake gone? Yet he didn't have long to worry as a sudden gust of wind blew the through the room, revealing the one person he'd longed to see hovering just outside, the crisp air tossing her silvery locks around wildly.
He grinned as he clapped, "There you are, my Snowflake! Where, oh where, have you been? I certainly hope you weren't terrorizing any more humans!" He teased playfully.
At this, her eyes pierced through his, her feet carrying her body gracefully to the floor of the balcony as she made her way into her chambers.
"None of your business." She answered shortly, not in the mood to deal with the overly joyous teal haired teen tonight.
This was strange for her; she normally enjoyed his company very much, even if she found it annoying. Shiro immensely loved Hagire for the way he spoiled her, but the Wretched Egg respected him for his cunning nature and his intelligence. That very intelligence which allowed him to transfer bodies until it brought him to this current vessel-Toto Sakigami.
Perhaps her midnight visit to Ganta unnerved her; after all he was the bane of her existence.
Mockingbird just smirked, but it came off as a more crazed and maniac like grin of a blood lusting killer rather than the innocent, playful teen he was supposed to be. This actually fit him quite well, seeing as that is precisely what he was. A mad scientist trapped in the body of a teenage boy.
"No, I suppose not." He hummed as he made himself comfortable among the plush blankets of her bed he'd thrown himself onto, stretching out his stiff limbs momentarily as he did so.
He sighed contently and gestured her to move closer. Giving him a tense glare, she obliged, crossing the room to rest just in front of him. He couldn't help but smile as his eyes drank her in-his beautiful creation, his snowflake.
Carefully, he ran his hands over the tight bodysuit fabric, noticing every blood splatter, each dip and curve of her body. Eventually, she sighed and sat down on the bedside and watched as he reached for her lovely silver hair, taking a lock and running his fingers through it lovingly as he made a habit of doing.
Little did his Snowflake know she was not the only one who had been out that night, reminiscing of old memories, though his memories were not even his own, but that of Toto Sakigami's.
Because that night, he too had observed his one connection to the human race. Just as his Snowflake had been investigating her own Ganta Igarashi, he too, had visited his own Yosuga Mitsuzaki. The pink haired, klutzy, pathetic young woman who had the luxury of attending midnight carnivals outside of Deadman Wonderland.
What is it that Toto had said again-just before meeting his doom as a result of the Hollow Swallow memory transfusion?
'I won't die! I won't...There's someone important to me!'
Golden eyes warmed upon seeing her-the sole important person in Toto's life-much to Hagire's growing distaste. It seemed Toto's endearance for the girl was not quite squandered when Hagire took over his body-an inconvenient annoyance. After all, he couldn't be sneaking out so candidly on a daily basis-people would identify him and chaos would ensue. As much as the prospect of the ensuing bloodshed thrilled him, he knew it simply was not the time, nor place.
Hell, the very idea that he was feeling this way for anyone other than his beloved Snowflake was absurd regardless. Not even Sorae, who at one point held a decent percentage of interest with him, had caused him this much trouble.
He had tailed her silently the whole night, studying. What was it that Toto had found so...intoxicating about this woman-no, child? Was it the uniqueness of her hair? The softness of her skin? Some scent he was not yet aware of? Of better yet, was her blood so tantalizing even Toto couldn't bare taking just a mere lick-having to have the live vessel as well?
Hours flew by, and though part of him was uplifted just seeing the girl go about her day, the other part was horribly disappointed. She appeared just as any teenager would-average with absolutely zero interest to be found. Playing silly carnival games and eating overly sugared foods.
He despaired at how drab once exciting carnivals appeared to him now that he had realized the beauty of Deadman Wonderland-now that was a amusement park.
However, upon sighting the girl's winnings-Toto laughed, not being able to contain his raucous laughter once he spotted the tender stuffed animal she clutched so protectively in her hands that night. Her spoils of victory-a genuine mockingbird of her very own.
The skinny child stiffen and stopped her trek home as his laughter echoed into the night, and he knew with all certainty she'd heard him. With mixed feelings, he knew it was his cue to leave. With that, he parted ways with this insolent young woman-more of a child really-and ignored the growing pit of despair his stomach held at being separated from her. That woman who Toto revered so highly.
But what really bothered Hagire was exactly why he was so driven to be near her? To think about her? To-dare he admit-care for her?
Now, he was all powerful. He had all humans wrapped around his finger whether they realized this fact or not. All it took was a little bloodshed and good old fashioned carnage every once in awhile. And who else mattered really? The only things he cared about now was himself and, of course, his Snowflake.
After all, he had created the Snowflake. He had made her into this gorgeous perfection, this beautiful woman who currently shared a bed with him-soaking moonlight rays onto already perfectly porcelain skin-so why should he want someone else, when he had her?
It was Toto's doing, he insisted. All Toto's fault. How was Hagire to know once he adopted his body that such strong memories and feelings would seep into his own? Perhaps what Toto had told him that day was true, he really wouldn't die-not so long as Yosuga still lived and breathed.
The thought scared him like nothing else had scared him before. He stared at his own hands, stitched but otherwise unflawed in their perfectly preserved porcelain color. He suddenly felt a sensation, like his body was being shared-split into two personas: Toto and Hagire. Dread overcame him. How long would it be before Toto regained control completely? Who was to tell if Hagire even controlled this body?
As if his frustration had an affect on his body, his stitch tore at his wrist and he hissed in pain, cursing as he was forced to release his beautiful creation and tend to his wounds. His body, still fragile, it seemed. Was this the struggle his Wretched Egg faced with Shiro?
No, he berated himself, if this truly was a battle between the old memories of Toto and his own, he would win. Hagire always, always won-in the end. Soon his Toto memories would be completely overcome by his own memories of Hagire and he would not have to worry about Toto's apparent infatuation with the weak Deadman girl any longer.
And then it would be him and his Snowflake once again…
He sighed as his finally finished his sewing, though the hand was still too tender to move much he settled for sleep and lied down in the lush bed of his Snowflake once again. Tenderly, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and let sleep overcome him as she, too, lay sound asleep next to him.
The first rays of sunlight filtered through the sheer white curtains, casting light on the prone figure sitting with purpose in the darkness of the corner. The previous nights escapade chased away all hopes of sleep for the Wretched Egg, causing her to escape her chambers in the middle of the night to peruse books she'd found scattered about the facility. Desperate for a distraction, she pored over the books late into the night-anything was welcome.
However, never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she'd encountered this particular book. She had just been ready to retire for the night, bored of skimming through Hagire's odd biology texts when a beaten book-handled often and worn unlike the others caught her eye. As she read it's contents, crimson eyes barely registered the changing of time-so focused were they on digesting every bit of information possible from the withered pages of the worn book.
How uncanny that it had even survived the Red Hole at all. Too closely related to the current situation to be a mere coincidence.
Crimson tore itself away from the yellowed pages for a mere moment, just enough to glance at the lonely, untouched grand piano decorating the otherwise bare room. An even closer inspection revealed the innerworkings-hundreds of delicate strings hidden amongst the ebony body. Had Sorae shoved her precious journal into it's body in hopes the book would survive and make it into her hands?
Or was it for Ganta? Were Ganta's hands meant to find this discarded treasure?
The Wretched Egg hissed, her arm flying in a massive sweep as she launched the damned book across the room from it's resting place upon her bodysuited legs. It hit the opposite wall with a satisfying thud, but it was not enough to ease the raging bloodlust inside her. She did not want to think of that annoying woodpecker anymore.
Locked within the cage of her mind, Shiro was crying. Sobbing body shaking sobs as tears flowed like a river from her eyes. How had the words inside the book moved her so? Why did Sorae Igarashi leave this journal of hers here? Did she want her to suffer this way? Did she want the world to know her story?
Near the doorway, Hagire smirked, leaning against the frame of the doorway smugly as his now golden eyes raked over his beloved creation from afar. His presence unknown, he watched as her scarred hand formed a fist and swung back only to slam it against her full length mirror. The force of the blow causing the mirror to split in a number of cracks, a few shards of said mirror flying away from the structure as a result.
As she seethed in anger, her fists clenched and unclenched, and he knew it would be only a moment before she burst from this room entirely, seeking people to massacre and momentarily sate her raging bloodlust and soaring rage.
He watched her retreat with a satisfied grin, knowing just how much chaos was about to ensue to the innocent people of Japan yet again. For a moment he was tempted to follow her and take part and enjoy the wreckage that she would cause, but then restrained himself. For there would be another time for him to accompanying her, and his attention lay at the abandoned book on the floor below.
Curious, he bent to pick up the book she had so readily discarded. He hissed when his stitches pulled taught with the effort but persisted-opting to sit against the wall, the book clutched within his now boyish hands as he examined it.
It seemed this book was not so old as it looked-perhaps ten years or so at the maximum. However, years of damage had deteriorated it horribly-the entire cover stained with what appeared to be blood, with some of the pages charred and blackened from some sort of fire. As his deft fingers flipped through the pages blindly, it revealed more strange blackened droplets scattering the pages randomly.
His fingers moved to rub some of the blackened blood from the cover, suddenly desperately curious as to who had wrote such a book, for it seemed it was all hand written in a beautiful, yet clear scrawl. His eyes widened in astonishment as he made out a name: Sorae Igarashi.
And yet, he could not help but smirk. Of course this book had moved The Wretched Egg into action. After all, it was all about her, and her magnificent transformation into her glorious form she took today. Yes. Indeed, a dark tale. One full of pain and terror, but a good tale nonetheless.
It was Hagire's favorite. And he hummed softly to himself with glee as he opened the book and began to read the tale of his most beauteous creation yet again.
Though he did not mean to, fairly soon Toto Sakigami-or rather Hagire-found himself absorbed within the diary of his former colleague Sorae Igarashi.
He sat in wonderment as he flipped through the pages, starting with earliest entries and working his way to the end. He read again and again of her transformation from a crazed, sadistic scientist to the loving and soft mother she died as. His eyes scanned every page, hanging on every word as though his life depended on it. Her words were almost haunting the way they captivated him so.
As he read he could not help but remember the young girl that had eagerly joined him in his dream of enhancing the human being. A visionary she had called him, a true genius. He smirked, remembering his original form that had readily accepted her as his apprentice, and how they had made fantastic breakthroughs together.
Most would've been appalled by his methods, and even more so by the sheer delight he displayed as he did so. For many years he had been forced to continue his research alone, shunned and hated by all other scientists. Scientists that were utterly repulsed by him, scientists that called him 'monster' and 'heartless'. But not her, never her.
Instead she had come to him, young and beautiful and intelligent, and had nearly begged him to accept her aid in his research. Though he had been skeptical of her loyalty towards him at first, he quickly outgrew it once he discovered that she not only wholeheartedly supported him, but shared his pleasure from the vile and cruel experimentation.
And that had ended his period of loneliness, though he still was unsure what 'love' was. Regardless, with each and every day he spent with her, watching as she did each task he assigned her without question and praised him at every possible moment-his loneliness gradually dissolved.
Even when she had revealed that one heated night together had resulted in her pregnancy she still refused to leave his side and went so far as to offer the baby up for their latest subject, and though he was not happy to discover their little 'mistake', he was eager to attempt their latest serum on something that was not an domesticated animal.
And then, somewhere between her water breaking and the birth of her first child, she transformed again. Instead of the sadistic, gore-loving yet intelligent scientist he had partnered with for so many years she became a loving and soft hearted mother. And it was then that she named that baby 'Ganta' and came to his lab for the experiment with a different child. A child of the snowest white-entirely albino aside from innocent crimson eyes.
That was the first time he had truly ever seen her cry, that moment as she begged him to use this child instead of her own. He had been reluctant of course, and yet he seemed unable to refuse her. So he allowed this snow white baby girl to become the subject instead. That child became known as Shiro.
That day was just the beginning it seemed, for day after day he remembered, watching as she became more and more motherly and less and less willing to perform experiments. He watched as she lovingly cuddled her son, and cooed to him, and allowed him to feed from her own breasts.
And Hagire became disgusted. For this woman was becoming weak and blind, just as the other scientists that had refused him were. To his horror he saw that her motherly tendencies were also interfering with Shiro's tests, as if her own child being babied was not enough.
Eventually, she began to plead and beg for him to stop experimenting on the girl who she loved almost as if it had been her own-to the point of tears even. She had offered him anything in return for the child's safety, but it had not been enough, and the experiments continued against her will.
After some time the Wretched Egg finally made itself known, and that is when he had felt what was he had presumed was 'love' for the first time. For this hatred filled creature became his pride and joy, and with each test it only grew just as Sorae Igarashi's disgust and guilt multiplied.
Not even Sorae's brief friendship with him and lover like tendencies were nothing compared to what he felt for his beloved experiment...
And yet, he was still unsure of how the Wretched Egg came to be. Accident, he supposed. For every day he sat and stared as the two children of Sorae played, and it always disgusted him, for the giggly cheerful child before him was only a mere fragment of what his beloved monstrosity had been. He had watched as Sorae pulled Shiro gently away from her son, who was beaten bloody by Shiro's 'playing', and he had shook his head.
Was she so blind that she could not even appreciate what they had created? Shiro was better at everything humans were capable of, truly the perfect specimen. She was stronger, faster, and better-with enhanced healing properties as well. So how could she only look at Shiro with the faraway guilt and disgust? It made no sense. Their years and years of experimentation had finally payed off, a complete success, and she could not even be remotely happy.
Perhaps the blood control would be a bit of a defect, but not necessarily a bad one. In fact, it intrigued him to no end. The idea that one's blood could flow freely with life was one not even Hagire had imagined. And yet here it was, a glorious accident. Even better yet, the blood responded to commands from the brain, how wondrous indeed.
And then, the Red Hole had occurred. And it had truly been the epitome of the glory that was the Wretched Egg-nearly the entire continent blown away by her strength. Though Hagire himself had been injured it had been worth it, for that led to the spread of her ultimate prowess.
To his horror though, it appeared Sorae had been a little too busy when he was injured and healing. For she alone had created the solution to the Wretched Egg's madness. A mere lullaby, yet powerful it was indeed.
Even now, in the form of Toto, he could not help but feel a sense of pride for his old partner. How quickly she had devised her own experiment and performed it flawlessly-her success was just as much of a amazing wonder as it was a frustrating setback to him. Didn't she know what she was doing? She was throwing away all those years of work, and for what? So Shiro could remain a childish little girl for all eternity and never know of her true power?
But that had all ended shortly, for in his outrage he had threatened her death unless she told him how to uncover the Mother Goose System and free his Wretched Egg once again, and in that instant she had shed one last tear. As if she hoped he would've recovered a different man from the one she knew before, and with her last words she pulled out a gun and ended her own life with a bullet to the head-muttering something about her 'resonsibilities'.
He remembered his own outright shock, he remembered that it appeared as though in slow motion, as the sound of the gun echoed in his mind and he saw her fall, the hole in her head bleeding profusely as her limp body fell to the floor with a groundbreaking thud. His partner, his friend, his lover, dead. Just like that.
He didn't realize at the moment, but he had been holding his breath for a long time-staring at her lifeless body as if she-like Shiro-would magically regenerate. He gasped for air after some time, berating himself internally. Of course Sorae could never heal again, only his Snowflake-his beloved Wretched Egg-possessed that ability. Of course Sorae's death was permanent.
Sorae was just a person. Just a regular human with outstanding brilliance and beauty. Only he and his Snowflake could extend their lifespan.
And yet he had still been angry, as he often was since he discovered her final success. He remembered clutching her body with too much force when he went to dispose of it, as if he meant to crush her. He remembered yelling at her body, telling it how much of a fool she had been.
Though he was furious with her for her ultimate betrayal, he couldn't help but feel remorse, that she would not live to see the beautiful result of their creation. And pride, for outwitting him one last time.
"Still reading that damned book?" The Wretched Egg hissed, startling Toto-or rather, Hagire-so much he dropped the book abruptly and it clattered to the floor one last time. Gold met the silver plating concealing the upper half of her face, it was then that Toto saw his own face reflected. A haunted, empty face of regret.
But no, that was wrong. Quickly, he brightened-forcing his limp facial features into a trademark grin as a halfhearted chuckle escaped him.
He thought of an excuse, "Of course my Snowflake, how else am I to figure out how to release you from the Mother Goose System entirely?"
She growled, "Get it out of my sight."
Turning, she discarded her face mask to the corner of the room, the blood splattered metal plating clattered against the wall before landing with a thunk on the ground, matching her blood stained clothing as well. Clearly her carnage had been quite successful, and silently he cursed himself for not moving to see it himself.
But he hesitated as he saw the single photograph that had flown from the interlocking pages of the book. It was of Ganta, Shiro, and Sorae laughing and smiling as they played outside. In that instant he swore he could see her again, black hair shining like night and her eyes sparkling with wondrous beauty and profound intelligence.
He suddenly felt nauseous-not at all like himself. It was the very photo he had recently destroyed, shattering it's frame and distorting the picture entirely. Why did such things have to haunt him so?
He shook his head, rising, leaving the damned book discarded on the tile floor where he'd dropped it. He feared if he touched it again, it would burn like the acid currently turning in his stomach. "As you wish, love."
With that he left, though he felt strangely empty inside, and he hummed quietly to himself as he wandered to his own quarters. The book out of sight, out of mind.
It wasn't until he had laid down for sleep that he realized he had been humming the very song Sorae had created to lull the Wretched Egg to sleep. If memory served, it had been quite a morbid and dark lullaby, as they often were. And quite a lullaby it was, for moments later he was sound asleep as he had not slept in many months.
Inside, Shiro was crying, sobbing really. Stuck in this cage, trapped while the blood lusting beast inside of her rendered her helpless and roamed the world freely.
Wearily, she blinked her tears away, daring to glance up from her curled position just long enough to peer through the cold metal of the cage and into the winding pathways of her subconscious. A piano's keyboard. Just like the one momma used to play for her and Ganta as children.
Why was she so helpless? Why was Aceman doing such terrible things? And, more importantly, why did that evil control her so?
She hadn't always been like this, she knew. But somewhere along the way the experimentation peaked, it became too much. With so much pain in one being, she snapped. Aceman took away her pain, but at what cost?
Damn it all.
Frustrated and desperate she lashed out at the bars, ignoring the stinging pain as she pummeled them. Each blow denting the metal, distorting it's oval shape. But alas, it did not show any signs of breaking despite her efforts.
"Hey! Let me out!" She screamed, pleading. "Please, someone! Anyone! Save me!"
Disheartened again she sobbed once more, knowing her situation was hopeless as she curled into a small ball, her uncovered scarred hands clutched her head once more, gripping silken snowy locks like a lifeline. She knew it was wrong, she knew it was disgusting and vile...
But even so, there was still a part of her that even she could not deny the existence, the part that wanted only to inflict pain and suffering. The part that murdered and destroyed.
The part of her that was now in control.
Her Aceman.
"Aceman. Ganta." She whimpered.
"Save me."
The Wretched Egg was not sure why she felt compelled to visit Shiro as she slept that night, but then again, she wasn't sure of much of anything these days.
Winding her way down the pathways of her subconscious, down and down and down the rabbit hole until she found the pathetic Shiro-curled into a ball of wracking sobs, apparently in a fitful sleep. She blamed Sorae for this-as she did everything-for securing her book of dirty little secrets away in a lone grand piano, just awaiting for The Wretched Egg's, and therefore Shiro's, notice.
Before Hagire had discovered her and the discarded diary, The Wretched Egg had paged through it carefully-skimming mostly. Words sometimes caught her eye, compelling her to read into the mind of Sorae Igarashi, but most went ignored. It wasn't until she stumbled upon some complicated algorithms that she paused to truly digest the information.
What she found then did not infuriate her, as it did when Toto walked in on her, but rather intrigued her. It was the secret to the Mother Goose System.
'Week 10 of experimentation, and Shiro still disappears during experiments. Not entirely sure what this creature is that takes her place, but the way it stares at me with half-lidded eyes and a lazy, eerie smile unnerves me so. What have I done to Shiro?'
Reading through it, The Wretched Egg risked a small peal of laughter. How ironic Ganta would be the key to her release or salvation-the Woodpecker of her lullaby. It was almost cruel of Sorae, to tie them together so delicately.
'I cannot ignore it any longer. This thing Shiro becomes, it must be stopped. It will be stopped. It is simply too dangerous. The Director chastises me constantly for being selfish, and maybe it's true. I'm sick of inhumanely torturing this girl.'
Page after page. The Wretched Egg poured over all of it. Maybe this is what Hagire meant by 'infinite interest'.
'Ganta and Shiro play together often, and it is bittersweet seeing her smile and laugh. How long until that other thing, the other half of Shiro, takes over entirely? I must do something before it comes to that. But what? Shiro tells Ganta that the shots 'don't hurt anymore, because she calls out to Ace-man'. Is that the demented creature she becomes during experiments? I must hurry and solve this conundrum before it's too late.'
Wretched Egg couldn't help but admire Sorae a bit. Her determination was outstanding. And all in the name of love.
'I have begun salvaging bits of flesh from Shiro during experimentation. Hagire hisses that my precautions are unnecessary, that my concern for the subject is blinding me from reveling in the ultimate human we've created together-a being capable of unlimited regeneration. Maybe he is right. However, I can't shake the feeling that this substance can be of use to me somehow.
Not that it matters much, Hagire is often too absorbed in admiration for this demented creature to notice my actions anymore.'
And so, the Chorus Blocks came to be. How smart of Sorae, broadcasting her alluring tune to ensure hearing-beautiful little music boxes filled to the brim with the fleshy remains of pure evil.
'It is brought to my attention that the lullaby I created for Shiro has a calming effect on that...other half of Shiro. I was humming the tune in a desperate effort to create a distraction for myself during an experiment when the subject stilled-lulled, for the time being. It made me wonder, would the same melody have serious effects on the 'Ace-man' creature? Either way, this could be the key to Shiro's salvation...'
Shiro. Shiro. Shiro. Everyone cared about Shiro...But no one cared for her-The Wretched Egg. The vile beast Sorae dedicated her life to subduing. Didn't Sorae realize she was just as much her child, her creation, as Shiro was?
'With Hagire incapacitated, I realized this was the divine opportunity I'd been awaiting. Seizing the few weeks of time he lay hospitalized and otherwise unaware of my actions, I went to work with Operation Mother Goose-as I'd dubbed it.'
'Mother Goose System'. How ironic. Of all names, not only did she choose something childish-referring to the lullaby itself, but she had also unknowingly fueled Tamaki's obsession with birds. Would that have been Sorae's birdlike moniker all the members of the real Deadman Wonderland had? If so, how fitting. She spawned the Wretched Egg after all.
'Weeks into the operation, I have achieved results. The lullaby does lull the demonic creature into rest! Finally, I know how to subdue it permanently. Even better, I discovered those remains of the 'Ace-man' creature work splendidly within the Chorus Blocks-amplifying the effect more than I could ever calculate.'
Page after page. Planning, experimenting, calculations. More experimenting, more alterations. All tirelessly repeated. Failures being rejected. Failures breaking new avenues for success. Determination at it's finest. Again, all in the name of 'love'.
'It is done-finally. Locked tightly under the ultimate security system, I can only pray Hagire perishes due to his injuries-never to meddle with Shiro again, now that she has returned to us permanently. As a precaution, I have used a specific Nameless Worm virus as a sort of key to the system-I only pray it never comes to having to unlock it.'
Branch of Sin: Ganta Gun. The Woodpecker's beak-as it were. How? How Sorae could you have guessed her son's vital role in the events to come? And why? Why was it so painful knowing Sorae tied the two together so delicately?
'Ganta, you and Shiro were the best of friends and it breaks my heart to have to separate you two. I know it is for the best, your safety is my only concern. Poor Shiro, it seems I have taken yet another joy from your life. Will my cruelty ever end?'
The answer, of course, was 'no'. If Sorae thought death was the way to escape causing more pain upon Shiro and all of humanity-how wrong, so very wrong, she was. Instead, Japan's anarchy and the Wretched Egg she tried so hard to seal has been freed-with only this notebook standing in the way of it's full reign.
'Hagire woke today. I am trying to stall him, but it is futile. He will discover the System soon enough. I have bought a gun, but I hope it does not come to that. I will protect Shiro and her lullaby, even if it means the ultimate sacrifice.'
Protect. How quick Sorae is to use such language. Sorae, who doomed us all, now 'protects' just to spare her sanity-her guilt. Her final act of redemption, atonement-taking her own life. How pathetic, foolish.
'Hagire won't rest until I divulge the secret of the Mother Goose System to him. Something I absolutely refuse to do. I carry the gun in my labcoat now. It is only a matter of time before I must use it.'
If Hagire's haunted eyes everytime he glanced at a gun or any sort of firearm was proof-Sorae used her gun effectively, too effectively perhaps. Who knew a man so sadistic could be emotionally weakened by such gore filled performance?
'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm-'
The rest was unreadable. A mess of bloodstained pages. This, presumably, had been her final thoughts before she had her final confrontation with Hagire which resulted in her taking her own life. Had she stored this book away in that lonely piano, knowing she was mere moments away from ending her life? Had she known that thatwould be her final entry?
And it angered her. No, infuriated her. Blood boiling, rage inducing infuriation.
After everything Sorae had done, all the pain and suffering, all the endless experimentation-all she had to say was 'I'm sorry'. Sorae could have written anything in her final pages before storing the book-a message to Shiro, a suicide note to Ganta, Hell, even a cookie cutter will and testament would've been better than a simple two-word apology!
Sensing Hagire's presence nearby, she berated herself for throwing such a tantrum in front of him-having just chucked the book away. Sick of it's feel. Sick of it's look. Most of all, sick of it's pathetic, overrated words inside.
She was going to slaughter now. She wouldn't apologize for it either.
Shiro struggled with Aceman for a long time, determined. She knew, just for a moment, if she could regain control-she could give Ganta a fighting chance. A fighting chance to undo the wrongs of his mother. A fighting chance to save Shiro and put an end to this madness-all starting and ending with worn book.
Shiro struck late at night, when Aceman was exhausted from her killing spree and lulled into sleep. But even so, it wasn't easy.
The Wretched Egg fought her, slowing her motions as her pale, stitched hands reached for the book. Desperate, each movement fought hard for. Shiro may not have understood absolutely everything Aceman had read, but she knew enough to know this book would be her salvation.
Shiro also knew she did not have the willpower to run the thing straight to Ganta-that was far too risky, especially with the lullaby softening. Aceman could hurt Ganta if she wasn't careful. Instead, with trembling, protesting fingers, she laid the book once again inside the piano's base-shutting the lid tightly.
There, Aceman wouldn't look for it. Aceman hated the book and its contents. Aceman also hated the sweet melody of pianos.
She did not know if Ganta would find it. She didn't even know if Ganta would end up back here. But for some reason, it gave Shiro peace of mind to shield the book from prying eyes-her book of dirty little secrets. And if Hagire found it instead, so be it.
It would be a coin toss to see which would discover it first, and subsequently, the results-her death or freedom. A race to the finish line. Winner take all and the loser perishes. The ultimate Carnival Corpse.
Grandpa would've been proud of her little game she designed herself. Grandpa was dead now though, but Toto wasn't. Toto would be proud.
A/N: I had every intention of uploading this two weeks after the first revision, but alas-real life takes precedence yet again. I think from now on the chapters will shift focus every other chapter from 'heroes' to 'villains'. One chapter with Ganta and the Deadman and the following with Mockingbird and Wretched Egg. This way everyone gets equal coverage.
This chapter was nearly 1,500 words less than REVISED Chapter 1-can you tell the difference? Which length do you prefer?