A/N: RIP Carrie Fisher. Princess Leia was one of my role models as a little girl, and you were an amazing woman. You will be much missed :(

Ramix: I think the sky's red because of the pollution, though I can't remember where I read that. And yes, Chiaki really needed to get some backstory in the anime. There's stuff you can gather for yourself, but getting it properly expanded on would have done wonders.

"What she deserves" is some of that Ultimate Hope *wink wink nudge nudge*

ElfCollaborator: I find it hilarious too :P Have I mentioned I love writing Izuru? Having emotionally-repressed people learning to deal with emotions is fun for me. He can handle most of them since some, like anger, are pretty cause-and-effect, but something as irrational as love? He has no idea what to do with that. There's no logic in it.

Here's a question that would thoroughly stump him: Is Chiaki interesting to him because he likes her, or does he like her because she's interesting to him?

The next several weeks trickled by in idleness. Chiaki's condition continued to slowly improve; she left her wheelchair behind permanently, and with her cane her mobility was nearly as good as before. Her fine-motor skills reached the point that she could mostly dress herself, though she still struggled with buttons. Stairs were still her bane, and video games sessions continued even though Kamukura-kun proclaimed none of them to be interesting. All in all, there was a surreal normality about her current life.

Her dreams, however, just became more confusing. A haphazard collection of rain, gray hallways, and familiar faces plagued her sleep. Every time the dreams ended with her running from some kind of danger, and right at the very end it would always catch her. Then she would wake with tears clinging to her lashes, able to recall only a little. She never told Kamukura-kun about them; it just seemed like a trivial thing to bother him with, when he'd already done so much for her.

November was just dawning when things first shifted.

It began with Chiaki helping Kamukura-kun in the kitchen—she wasn't allowed near knives, her hands weren't steady enough for that. But she could try to make rice balls, and though her hands shook throughout and it took her twice as long as usual, she was reasonably pleased with the end result. With her cane's help, she made her way over to the fridge for the filling, and that was when she noticed they were running low on food.

"I will obtain more tomorrow," Kamukura-kun droned when she told him.

Though he must have done it several times already, the mental image of her aloof, above-it-all friend doing something as mundane as grocery shopping was oddly amusing to Chiaki. But the thought of going to town, seeing other people, was at the forefront of her mind—she'd ventured outside a few more times, but hadn't yet left the sanctuary of the retreat. "Can I go with you?"

He was silent for a bit, likely weighing the pros and cons. But finally his head lifted up in a small incline, and she squealed in delight.

The next day they prepared to leave, dressing warmly. The temperature was chill with the first breath of winter, and a light snow had fallen, though it was tinted gray from pollution. They got in an ambulance, which Chiaki privately thought was a rather odd vehicle for Kamukura-kun to have, and drove to the town.

Chiaki pressed her face to the window and peered around with unbridled curiosity. There was a leanness to the citizens that hadn't existed last year, a steely-eyed wariness that had them moving with glances over their shoulders and bodies tensed for a fight. Rather than running about as bundles of energy, the few children visible clung to their mothers' hands, young faces grim and scared. In the shadows of alleys and on the sides of buildings, she could catch glimpses of spray paint and graffiti, some denouncing the Future Foundation, others messages of encouragement. But there was still a sense of normality about things. There were still people entering shops, eating food at outside tables, and chatting with their friends. It could have been as ordinary a day as ever, in a town as ordinary as any other, if she didn't look up at the sky.

They parked, entering a supermarket. The grungy automatic doors slid open; dim lighting flickered overhead, a few missing bulbs hinting at to the effects of the Tragedy. While there were also many people inside doing their shopping, they were subdued; even the bright colors of the interior decorating seemed dimmer. Everyone was giving each other measured glances, even the store personnel, and nobody was offering customer service. As Chiaki followed Kamukura-kun, looking this way and that, her eyes happened to catch one of the banners describing prices. She stopped, staring with her mouth gaping. "Huh?!"

"I informed you inflation had occurred," Kamukura-kun said in his bland voice. He reached past her and selected a loaf of bread, placing it into the basket and moving on with complete indifference to the fact he was paying twice as much as normal.

Yes he had, but ¥400? For bread? Chiaki continued to stare as they moved from aisle to aisle and the absurd prices flashed by. ¥560 for eggs, ¥100 for tofu, ¥980 for chicken…

As she carefully pulled a bag of rice from its shelf, Kamukura-kun leaned down and breathed in her ear, "We are likely going to be attacked."

She started, almost dropping the bag. "What?"

"There has been a woman following us since we entered the store. Her manner and bearing are that of a delinquent." Automatically she looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of a tattooed woman, several paces behind them. "And near the exit are several others who have been attempting to subtly watch us."

She glanced at the front doors. Amidst the people coming to and fro was a group of about five, leaning against the wall of the store. At a glance they would have seemed like they were casually waiting, perhaps for a friend, but their eyes were fixed solely on them. One of them, a man with a silver mohawk, even gave a jaunty wave when he noticed Chiaki looking in his direction.

Chiaki swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She'd picked up some basic self-defense through her gaming, like her Heaven-Slaying Dragon Fist from Double Dragon II, but she hadn't practiced it in forever. Why hadn't she thought to practice? She didn't even know if she could throw a regular punch right now.

"Do not trouble yourself over them," Kamukura-kun's voice cut through her thoughts, which had started to border on panic. She looked up at him sharply. "They pose no threat so long as I am with you."

…Alright. If he said they'd be fine, she'd believe him. Chiaki nodded and attempted to push the issue from her mind, but it was impossible now that she was aware of the woman trailing their every movement, just on the edge of her peripheral vision.

They paid at a sharp-eyed cashier, tapping a finger against the bat at his belt, and began to walk to the doors. As soon as they reached them, the waiting group closed in around them. Her heart pounded louder and louder in her ears as the gangsters stopped in a rough semi-circle. The mohawked man stepped forward…

Either they were dumb or arrogant, but they were the richest looking marks Mizota Mushi had seen in this damn town, and they were walking around like they weren't inviting people to come mug them.

Kuhara, who'd tailed them, wasn't kidding when she'd texted that they were prime targets. They were just kids, probably barely out of high school. The girl was small and delicate-looking, with hair and eyes a matching shade of pink. Nothing particularly special about her, except for the cane she was leaning on. The guy, though, the guy was interesting. He was tall, with stupidly long hair—seriously, who could afford to keep their hair at their ankles?—and wearing a suit made of material that only high-up places like Hope's Peak could afford. Nancy rich boys like him made the best victims. Not only was the yen sweet, but Mushi'd always hated seeing all those higher-ups prance about as if the world belonged to them, paying no attention to the people their ¥100,000 designer shoes stepped on. Well, now the world had fallen, and those people were suddenly in the same lot as everyone else. He finally had lease to get even.

This new world was great. All that despair propaganda, he didn't care for. What he cared for was that in this new world, a lowly clerk could pick up a knife and suddenly be the most powerful person in the room. No repercussions—in fact, you were more likely to have people join you or praise you for it. And that was exactly what Mushi had done. Formed up his own little gang of ne'er-do-wells. Dyed his hair silver and put it up in a mohawk, just because he could. Going from town to town, taking whatever they pleased. Towns like this, towns away from Future Foundation interference, were the best targets. Oh, there were still mayors and stuff, but they lacked any actual power to back themselves up. And power was all that mattered now. It was a grand life.

He promptly christened the two victims Suit and Cane as he stepped forward. "Afternoon," he said pleasantly. "I just had to say, you two look really nice today. So nice that my buddies and I…" He made a show of tossing his knife in the air and catching it. "got a bit jealous. So: pockets inside out. Wallets, keys, cell phones, toss it all over. Oh, and we'll be taking everything in those bags too. Plus that fancy suit of yours."

Neither moved. Cane was throwing glances around as if beseeching the nearby people for help—the notion made Mushi want to laugh. "No miracle's gonna happen, girl. No one's gonna save you. See? They're all walking away." They were; muggings like this were so common that bystanders didn't even call the police anymore. The authorities were just too swamped with work to help everyone. And no one was going to stick their neck out for a stranger.

What should have happened next was that they complied, or maybe begged for their lives. What actually happened was that Suit broke away from the script. "Walk away."

It was such a surprise that Mushi was temporarily at a loss for words. But then he registered how Suit was looking at them, and it made him twitch. The bastard didn't look at them like they were a threat. He looked at them as if they were ants, or gum stuck to his shoe. No—that implied some level of disgust. There wasn't even that. He looked at them like they were tiny, unimportant specks of dust. The way Mushi had always been looked at every damn day at that damn job.

Hate, he reveled in. Condescension? Apathy? Those pissed Mushi off, and he let that seep into his tone as he took a step forward and stabbed the air with his knife. "That's not how it works, pretty boy. You and your girlfriend hand over all your belongings and yen, and maybe we let you walk away. Or else we kill you and take everything off your bodies."

"How boring," was all Suit said. "Your threats are as unsubstantial as the air."

"What did you just—"

He fixed his eyes on them, and Mushi found himself stopping mid-sentence. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. Because those eyes—

There wasn't misplaced confidence in those eyes. There wasn't anger or fear. There was nothing.

"Hey, boss," Kuhara mumbled from his left side, her face a deathly shade of white, "there's something about this guy that's kinda… I dunno, maybe we should just…let these ones go?"

The timid suggestion snapped Mushi out of his stupor, and he glared. "Don't be stupid. Long-haired bastard's just trying to intimidate us, that's all," he snapped, and he would never admit in a million years that his voice trembled a little. It was stupid to take this guy at face value. "He's not going to cooperate, we'll do this the hard way."

And with that he charged, slashing with the knife. Only—a hand rose and casually caught his arm mid-swing, the blade never even coming near Suit. He hadn't even seen the bastard move. For the briefest of moments, Mushi's confused eyes met his blank ones. "What the fu—"

He couldn't have explained what happened next. One moment he was trying to wrench his arm out of Suit's death-grip, the next he was spinning through the air and oh shit he was rushing towards the floor—

He hit it hard, only barely managing to avoid knocking his head against the linoleum. But the impact still sent a fierce jolt through his body, and something around his ribs cracked. Winded and dazed, he watched the fight unfolding before him as if from far away. He could only see a group of people attempting to assault what looked like a black blur, moving almost too fast for his eye to catch. The blur was fending them off with ease; a backhand here, a chop to the neck there. Each blow sent them flying farther than they should, some crashing into shelves of produce to distant, outraged shouts. None of them got up again.

A glint of silver in the blur's left hand caught his eye. A knife. His knife. Reality crashed back with a vengeance. How the hell had the bastard taken his knife right out of his hand without him noticing? Were they really being taken down by someone fighting with just one hand? Humiliation and rage coursed through him, motivating him back onto his feet.

The girl, he thought violently, struggling to breathe. He had to get to the girl. She'd taken a few steps back when the fight had started, and didn't seem able to tear her eyes away. She was clinging to her little cane as though it were all that were holding her up. If he could get to her, take her hostage—

He hadn't taken more than a few stumbling steps in her direction before the figure just on the edge of his vision whirled, arm whipping out in one fluid motion. Mushi howled in pain as his own damn knife flew and sank into his leg. He fell, clutching the injury.

The mohawked man looked up, holding back tears of pain, to see the rest of his gang lying still on the ground and their would-be victim approaching. Through his blurry vision, those red eyes almost seemed to be glowing.

Mizota Mushi had enough time to bitterly reflect on the irony of his situation before the pain in his chest and leg became too much, and the world faded away.

Everything had happened so quickly, Chiaki's brain hadn't yet realized the danger had passed. Adrenaline and fear were pumping through her veins, and even though she knew she was safe, the Ultimate Gamer couldn't stop shaking.

She couldn't stop staring at the bodies, either. The muggers hadn't even known what hit them, hadn't known what they were up against and hadn't paid attention to the warning signs. It was like the bandits in that Western game Skyrim, who would attack the player even if they were twenty levels lower. She'd thought it was funny then, giggling and shaking her head with a wry smile at artificial stupidity before obliterating them.

This wasn't funny at all.

Kamukura-kun had killed six people in as many seconds, with the ease of making a sandwich.

She'd known he had every single talent. Logically, that meant he had skills such as martial arts and blade work. But for the first time, she realized exactly what that meant. For the first time, she realized Kamukura-kun was dangerous.

But that wasn't even the most disturbing part. No, what she couldn't understand was why it had seemed familiar, to see him move and disarm someone like that. Why those words, "no miracle will happen", had a sense of déjà vu about them. A sharp pain throbbed behind her eyes, as if her lost memories were pounding against the inside and trying to break free. Why…why do I feel like I've seen him attack someone before? What could that…

"Nanami," Kamukura-kun stated, appearing before her suddenly. Chiaki jumped, unable to hold back a little gasp. His face was still set in its normal impassive expression, but she heard the silent inquiry as to her well-being in the single word. That more than anything else reassured her. Her racing pulse began to slow.

At the end of the day…he's still Kamukura-kun. He won't hurt me.

She took a deep breath, mentally shook herself, and attempted a smile that came out a grimace. "I'm fine."

She fought very hard to not stare at the…at the bodies. But like magnetism, her eyes slid back towards the prone form of their leader. Chiaki swallowed; she hadn't even noticed him sneaking up on her, worried about Kamukura-kun as she'd been.

Kamukura-kun's eyes followed her line of sight. "They are not dead."

She started, looking back at him wildly. "They aren't?! But…they're lying so still…"

"I did not wish to traumatize you more than necessary, so I checked my blows. They are only unconscious; even their leader's injuries are not fatal."

It felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She wouldn't necessarily say they wouldn't have deserved it—they had attacked first—but she was still relieved. She'd had enough of death. Chiaki tossed the unconscious muggers another hesitant glance. "Should we…call a hospital or something?"

Kamukura-kun had already turned away, picking up the bags, which he'd set down at the start of the confrontation, with one hand. "No. Leave them."

"But…"

"The hospitals are too overworked to assist everyone. If they're fortunate, they'll wake robbed completely blind. If they aren't, they won't wake at all. Either way, their fates are of no concern to us."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she just nodded. Maybe she should have pushed harder get help, to do the right thing, but right now she just wanted to go home. Home—when had she started thinking of that isolated place as home?

They quietly resumed walking. People scrambled to get out of their path as if they carried the plague, staring at Kamukura-kun with fearful eyes. Even the clerks, who'd started to yell angrily when he sent those men into the produce shelves, were quiet, backing away and ducking their heads.

Chiaki still couldn't believe they'd been attacked, just like that, out in the open. Muggings were only supposed to occur at night, or at least in dark alleys, not at the entrance to a store with people standing around and watching. It was only when she'd tried to catch the attention of the lingering bystanders, and seen them turn and hurry away as soon as they met her gaze, that she understood why.

The world was every man and woman for themselves now. No one would step in to help strangers, even ones being attacked right in front of them. Perhaps some had even been hoping to take whatever the muggers left; already she could see a few flocking around their attackers' still bodies, vultures ready to pick apart the still-living corpses.

The reality of it was much starker in that moment, and she suddenly needed something familiar to cling to. Hesitantly, she reached for Kamukura-kun's hand.

He looked at their joined fingers blankly, and Chiaki wondered if she'd been too assuming. Saying Kamukura-kun wasn't a touchy-feely person was like saying the world had had an accident; she got the feeling he didn't even know what ordinary human contact was. But he didn't pull away, and he slowed his pace to match hers. They made the trip back to their mountainside house in silence.

That night, she dreamed they were back at the store, but instead of the gangsters it was her classmates cornering them. The knife Kamukura-kun took morphed into a gun, and he shot them one by one before turning it on her. When he pulled the trigger, she fell backwards into a maze. Traps sprung out at her, and she ran as woman laughed.

That night, she remembered, and she woke up screaming.

A/N: A single yen is approximately equal to .0085 US dollars. So ¥400 is about $3.55. Economics are admittedly not my thing, so the price inflation probably isn't consistent. If any of you happen to be economic experts and spot mistakes, let me know.