Chikusa noticed the dreary atmosphere smother the town. Little by little, bit by bit, every hour, minute, second; the town was dying.
Not literally, of course.
But this still irked him.
"The grief and bitter accusations. No explanations. No hope."
"It started with one then bombarded more with no warning."
"Doctors are at a loss…"
"After three painstakingly, harsh months, a link has been made!"
"The sickness that has been wreaking havoc seems to only infect a certain group of people. City officials have begun quarantine camps for further researching into this matter."
"A great number of people have been sent to these camps."
It was like the Reaper came by and robbed everyone and everything of their soul. The town was a ghost town. Streets empty, lights off, shops closed. Even school was cut short! Apparently the news about the new findings of the sickness had scared off the citizens of this place.
It's not as if all these people are of that so-called 'race', is it?
Chikusa carelessly kicked a rock, sending it clattering across the pavement. Its clatter echoed rather loudly.
He crushed the dead leaves until they were nothing but chipped fragments. The wind then blew and carried said fragments with it.
He gazed around his surroundings, frowning at the lame site.
Where the hell's Ken?
...
The ground shimmered with its many pieces of glass strewn about. Taking a step closer, Chikusa realized there was a big chunk missing in the low window. Taking an even closer step, he could see light brown dots painted against the cemented ground.
Sighing, he looked around the deserted warehouse where, not too long ago, he had slept in. Looking back to that, Chikusa realized those were much simpler days.
Much, much simpler.
Out of all the buildings in the street market, only one was open.
The Arcobaleno Caf.
Its dark tinted windows remained as is, dark; but smoke would puff out through the high chimney up above every few minutes.
He waited.
And waited.
DING
The bell rang and as expected, the entrance door swung open.
A man clad in black stepped out, his fedora neatly sitting atop his head.
Not waiting any longer, Ken spoke out. "Hey," he stepped forward.
The man, unsurprised, directed his attention to the blond. He either remembered him from their first encounter, or totally forgot about him.
Who cares.
"What do you know about those kids?" Ken asked, getting straight to business.
The man, Reborn (?), simply said, "Enough."
Ken clicked his tongue, annoyed. "Che, I'm serious, you old barf! What the hell's going on with those kids? And why now?"
"It'd be best if you kept your voice down, moron," Reborn snapped.
Ken didn't realize he'd been shouting. He took one deep breath before looking straight at the man, asking once more, "What's going on?"
Reborn slowly looked the blond down and up, saying, "How much does this matter to you?"
Taken aback, Ken spat, "Enough."
A smirk split across Reborn's shadowed face. "Then you'll find out soon enough." With that said, Reborn began walking away.
"H-hey! Wai-" Ken started to follow but halted at the sound of another voice calling him.
"Ken."
The blond turned around, finding his beanie friend standing a meter away. "Kakipi…"
"Who were you talking to?"
"Eh?" Ken quickly spun back, only to find no trace of Reborn's profile. But he was JUST here! Damn it!
"Ken…" But Chikusa needed to say no more. His friend wasn't listening.
The silence was a long one.
Neither spoke.
Neither looked at each other.
Neither wondered what went through the other's head when they sighed.
But once the sky began to darken, one of them finally spoke up.
It was Chikusa.
"Ken, what happened?"
It took a full minute and a half to receive a reply.
"Nothing."
Sighing silently, the spectacled boy stood up from the swing. It was then that he noticed the bruised hand.
Ken's knuckles were a light purple, and even in the dimming light, Chikusa could make out the faint red marks of dried blood.
His memory went back to that of the warehouse early that afternoon.
Sighing once more, Chikusa bid his friend good night and left.
Again.
He was in that place again.
That white place.
Again.
Again…
He was here again.
The beaten park.
With Ken.
Nothing was said, as usual. Not 'till it got darker. When the sky was no longer lit. When the street lamp from meters away flickered on, giving off a bland orangey hue.
It was way before this, that he noticed new markings.
These were definitely cuts.
His fingers were all scabbed.
Scabbed.
That means he bled.
He bled and didn't do anything.
Chikusa shook his head and left.
...
He'd forgotten all about that yo-yo.
It was under his pillow.
UNDER HIS PILLOW.
And he'd forgotten…
"Ken…what the hell's going on?"