Ladies, gentlemen, and others, I present to you my offering to the Kill La Kill OC category.

Y'all enjoy

===To Cut===

The child looked upon the scene before them with cold apathy.

Blood, guts, and innards littered the wooden floor, dyeing the surface a deep red.

The child took a deep intake of breath, an iron-like scent wafting into their nostrils. The sight did not frighten the child. In fact, it further propelled them.

They were so close. So, so close.

At the back of the room, his body pressed against a wall, stood a shaking mess of a man. His eyes spoke of fear, most primal and maniac. A fear that had long since crushed any vestige of will which may have once existed.

The child proceeded forward. The man's form shook violently.

Proceed.

Bargaining. Offerings of money, fame, and pleasure. But no answer. Only the light tapping of footsteps.

Proceed.

Pleas of mercy echoed throughout the room. No reply ever echoed back

Proceed.

"I'm sorr—!"

A stroke. The shine of steel reflected the moonlight filtered through a window above.

A dismembered head rolled down to the floor. Blood rained down on the child in grotesque ferocity. It was a shower of sin, one which would eternally paint them in the color of their terrible crime.

The crimson hue of the child's blade only dark—

I press the remote's power button. The screen of the small, blocky TV zipps to black.

…

Hm. Shitty slasher flicks. Too much blood.

I stand up from my sitting position and approach a white chair in my room. It's plastic, and situated next to a small desk.

I sit myself down and feel the cheap material nearly give under my weight. For a moment, I think the whole thing will break, but the chair continues to stand somewhat firm.

I absentmindedly rub my ass. This thing—the chair, that is—has given me way too many bruises. Maybe I ought to get a new one.

…That's what I'd say if I wasn't flat broke. For now and in my immediate future, I can only dream of soft, velvety cushions and wooden legs.

I reach my hand to the old, dirtied computer tower situated on the floor and press the power button. Heat and energy travel through its decrepit frame, then through a multitude of tangled wires, and finally stop at the blocky monitor on my desk.

Well. I make it sound cool, using words like heat and energy. But it takes fucking years for the old thing to power on.

I sink into my seat and look up. The ceiling is claustrophobically low. If I stood at full height and reached up with my arm, the limb would be stopped short.

I feel an itch on my scalp, and run my only hand through my messy black hair.

The computer still hasn't turned on. Figures. I look behind me and absentmindedly stare at my room. It's small. Horrendously small. And dark too—only light I'm getting is from the window outside.

I've got my old CRT on the floor and plugged into a little corner. To its left is my futon. Its mattress is rundown, and blankets stained with what I can only assume to be spilled soda and juice.

I look everywhere else. The floor's littered with dirty clothes, empty fast food containers, and newspapers.

I take a deep intake of air through my nose. The smell I'm hit with isn't what I'd call pleasant.

…When was the last time I cleaned this place? Actually, no, when was the last time I cleaned myself? I grab a fistful of my plain white t-shirt and bring it to my nose.

My face scrunches up in disgust. Ewgh, that's enough of an answer.

I briefly think of hitting the shower, but the thought evaporates as fast as it appeared. Yeah, no, using the apartment complex's public shower is just about the last thing I'd do. My neighbors' hygiene is worse than mine. The things I've seen in there…

A shiver runs through my body. I've been witness to plenty of evil in my life, and that place is high up on that list.

The whirling of the computer's fans grows louder. I continue staring at my room.

Its sheer patheticness seems to stare back at me.

I look down my left shoulder. Starting from it, where there'd normally be an arm instead existed only empty space and a nub.

Looking at this wound…looking at it used to fill me with rage. But now the old thing just makes me feel tired.

"Aaah…god." What am I even doing? What…what is there to do?

My life is just so…boring. Droll. Nothing.

Yes. That's the word. Nothing. Nothing at all.

This is just who I am. Eboshi Shinshun. Sixteen year old highschool dropout with no future to speak of.

Blue light suddenly erupted from behind me, filling the room. The computer must be done booting up.

I turn around in my seat and reach for the keyboard. First thing that catches my attention on the desktop is the large red number next to the mail icon.

"Cli-click." I double click my mouse.

Ah. Same old same old. Ads, scams, and emails from high schools trying to enroll me. I recognize most of these schools too, since it's always the same ones sending the same automated messages.

I continue scrolling down.

Y'know, it sometimes surprises me how militaristic some of these schools come across. Well—no, actually, it doesn't really. Lots of organizations disguise themselves as educational institutions to further the intrusive, hair-brained schemes of way-too-rich control freaks.

I scroll down.

Among the sea of easily forgettable and repeat schools, one stands out. It's an academy I haven't seen before.

"…Honnōji Academy?" As in, the temple Oda Nobunaga burned and died in…?

Hm.

"Cli-click."

Interesting. Despite its name, it's actually located in Tokyo. The Bay of Tokyo, at the top of Honnō City.

The name Honnō City probes my memory a bit. I think I remember reading about it somewhere…? I mean, I would hope I remember learning about what's apparently an entire artificial island existing in Tokyo Bay.

That's what the email says, at least.

But hey. These days, everything just blends together, so I can't exactly hold myself to too high of a standard in that regard.

I scroll down.

Other than being especially spirited and self-assured in its academy's supposed glory, nothing here really stands out. Familiar phrases like "become a part of something bigger than you", "gain access to new opportunities", and "all of your wants and needs will be catered for" appear as I skimmed through the docu…ment.

…Huh?

I lean forward in my seat. "Based upon your academic standing, a certain percentage of your wants and needs will be catered for…?" That's…not really something schools usually do.

I scroll down and skim some more of the email. There's more. "Reward-based system which promises high quality of life to those who excel in their academics. Job opportunities that'll guarantee your future. No prior level of education required. Free…"

I gulp. "Free housing."

I turn my head to look upon my poor excuse of a home. It's a fucking dump.

Facing forward again, I open the drawer under my desk. Inside it is an opened gum wrapper, a broken mechanical pencil, a paper copy of last month's rent expenses, and the money left to me by my parents.

I take a 100 yen coin out of the drawer, holding it between my fingers. In terms of savings, it's all I have left.

I'm not making it through this month if I stay here.

My hand rests itself back on the mouse, and I scroll down some more.

A final line of text greets me.

"…Admissions are free of charge."

…Do I want to do this? No, better question—is this something I should do?

My whole life has just been one big fucked up tumble down the world's tallest hill, and right now I'm at rock bottom. Well, considering I'm about to get kicked out of my apartment, things can and will get worse for me.

I've made peace with that fact. I hate living like this, but it's fine. This's just the price I must pay.

It's fine. It's fine. But I still hate it.

This school though, it's a chance for me. A chance to get my life back together, rediscover some semblance of…contentedness? Satisfaction? I dunno, something.

Anything would be better than the nothing I have right now.

That, and…well, traveling sounds nice. I've been cooped up in this room for far too long, so just being under the sun or stars might do me some good.

I click on a link in the email. "…Transfer for fall semester. Hm." It's already Fall? Geez. I've been doing a shit job of keeping track of time.

Never mind that though. Guess that means I'll be a transfer student. Hopefully they're welcoming to those.

Before I know it I'm filling out online forms and signatures. Piles and piles of virtual paperwork bombard me as I type out my answers at what can only be described as tortoise-like speeds.

…Yeah, typing things out with one hand is hard.

Most of the stuff here's asking about identification and family stuff, but considering who I am I'm able to leave a good chunk of it blank and speed through it.

It takes me a bit, but I finally get around to hitting the big green submit button. "Cli-click." That should be all.

I lean back in my chair. Not out of exhaustion mind you, I just dunno what to do now. It's…what, the middle of the day? I might just take a nap. I look to my right—where my room's window is.

It's pitch black outside. The lights of other buildings, both near and far, shine like stars.

Hm. It is pointedly not mid-day. This doesn't really change what I want to do, but it's a nice reminder that my sense of time is irrevocably broken.

I get up slowly—because really, I'm not looking forward to finding out how much more abuse this chair can take—and take two steps to reach my futon.

I tuck myself inside. It's rough and dirty—nearly no better than outright sleeping on the floor, really, but it's gotten me through lots of cold nights.

…I wonder if they'll give me a new bed there? Would something more western be too much to ask for? Maybe. I might try asking anyway.

What are they gonna do, flog me?

It takes me a while. It always does, really. But sleep eventually comes.

===STARRY NIGHT===

"Matarō, look! A shooting star!"

"Sis, I'm pretty sure that was the neighbors shooting down a bird with a flare gun."

"I super duper super wish I make a friend at school sometime this week!"

"We've both been watching that same guy snipe l birds down for the past twenty minutes."

"Silly brother, shooting stars can be anything you make 'em' out to be! Oh look, another one! I wish that…!"

===STARRY NIGHT===

What does my painter want, I wonder?

Redemption? Hah! There is no such thing for him.

Happiness? Perhaps. But there is one other thing he must first secure.

A future. A future is what he seeks.

Plainly speaking, I care not if he finds one. So long as he wields me, I'll be content with the outcome.

I smell blood on the horizon. Don't you too, Shinshun?

I rise up from bed like a rocket.

"Fuck. Fuck." My head hurts like crazy. And that dream. Or—nightmare, actually, it was more of a nightmare.

I'm starting to hear her voice again. And just when I thought I was getting better too…

Memories like that will never disappear. I should've known better.

"You've got mail." Shit, was that the computer…?!

I jump up from my sitting position and throw myself at my desk. The monitor's off, but the computer proper is still on and running.

I wipe my face with my hand. God, I am such a slob, leaving it on for the whole night like that. I probably gutted the poor thing's life by a month.

But nevermind that. According to this thing, I've got mail.

I move the on-screen mouse to the mail icon. Well, I try to. Shit is moving in slow motion. It's like trudging through a pile of bones. Or, uh, snow. Snow's probably a much better example.

After a probably long amount of time wrestling with the mouse to just move, the pointer reaches its destination.

"Cli-click."

Oh, cool. The email's from Honnōji. That saves me a bunch of time.

"Cli-click."

…I stare at the screen a bit. Not to confirm if what I'm looking at is real, or anything like that. My eyes work perfectly fine, thank you.

It's just…just to take it all in.

I…I achieved this. I got off my ass to do something, and something good came out of it.

That doesn't normally happen!

I feel my lips break into a smile as I continue reading the email. "…Classes start at 8:30. Hm." Nice.

I guess I can erase that "high school dropout" bit about me, huh?

Things might just be looking up for—

"BLEEEEEEEE—!" Aaaaand the computer's blue screened. Fuck.

I stand up straight and bring my arm to my head for a salute. "It was nice knowing you, comrade. You've served me well."

===STARRY NIGHT===

I chuck the old thing out the window, monitor and all.

===STARRY NIGHT===

Let me tell you, there's a pep in my step.

I'm running around my room, shoving clothes and other desirables into my big hiker's backpack. In minutes the room is the tidiest it's been in months.

Not touching the trash though. Where I'm going, that won't be my problem anymore.

I go to the back of the room—next to the CRT, which by the way lemme just shove that in here real quick—and open my closet. It's a tiny thing. I'm barely able to fit in here myself, and that's even if the mound of clothes and other shit in here were removed.

I get around to doing just that. I've got just enough room in my backpack to squeeze some more clothes. Oh, and are those some potato chips I see? You'll make for a good breakfast, I'm sure. Oho, and an unopened pack of gum! That'll be my snack for the journey. And—

I freeze.

Now that the closet's been emptied, I can see it. There, on the floor, lies a katana sheathed in a pitch black scabbard. Its handle is wrapped entirely in black cloth, leaving behind no ornate pattern to speak of. Its pommel and tsuba are dark too, though instead were of gray coloring.

"Ahh…" Air leaves my mouth, but I don't have the strength to breathe it back in. Being in this thing's presence is oppressive. Heavy.

I'm not surprised that it is. It's the weight of the world. The weight of everything I did and didn't do.

Fuck. This is why I hate opening the closet. Looking at this sword always gets me feeling like this…!

My one arm inches toward the closet handle. I could just…leave it here. I wouldn't have to worry about looking at this thing ever again, and maybe then I could really, truly, move on with my life.

That'd be nice. That'd be really nice.

…But it wouldn't be right.

I bend down and pick the weapon up. The handle feels comfortable in my hand.

"…I can't run from you like that." If this thing is my weight, then all the more reason to carry it. Throwing it away won't solve any of my problems.

I bring the sheath close to my face. It still smells of blood.

"I'll conquer you yet. I've garnered a bit of hope to think that much, at least."

I shove the blade into my backpack. It fits snugly in the sea of clothing.

===To Cut===

Author's Notes:

If clothing is to be worn by humans, then weapons are to be wielded by them as well, yes? That's the theme I've decided to go with this story. I had a decent amount of fun writing this. It's an idea that's kinda been stewing in the back of my mind, but have hesitated to act on it cause I'm already working on other stories. But then I thought—wait! I write fucking fanfiction! I'll write whatever the fuck I want!

And here we are.

To those waiting on Double Time, don't worry, I'm still writing that. I'll just also be writing down stuff for this.

Lemme know what y'all think. Comments fuel me.

(Btw to those curious I'll give y'all the kanji for Shinshun's name, dw. But first he's gotta prove himself. Give it a bit. But if you happen to be knowledgeable in the subject and wanna guess it yourself, be my guest!)