Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Let me explain the situation. The reason why you're all here today is to kill each other."

Of course, Shinji Mimura had already come to that realization long before Sakamochi had spoken those words. Even though his brain was still foggy from the potent drugs that they’d been gassed with, from the moment he’d woken and found himself collared like a dog he knew what was going down. The babbling and panicked confusion of most of his classmates showed, however, that they didn’t. For the most part, at least- Shinji’s quick survey of the room had shown that Kazuo and the weird thuggish new kid looked pretty blase about the whole situation. He wasn’t too surprised— he’d always found Kazuo more than a little bit on the creepy side, and Shogo Kawada looked like the type to have a checkered past. And then there was Mitsuko, checking her nails and looking bored. Beauty and danger. Shinji would have been turned on by her if he wasn’t smart enough to be scared shitless. There were some things you looked at but did not touch, and she was one of them.

He had to love Yukie for the way she’d stood up and demanded politely, but with an undercurrent of righteous indignation, to know what was going on. There was a reason that girl was class representative. Shinji wished he didn’t know the answer to her question, but his wide breadth of knowledge from years of research on the government permitted him none of the comfort, however temporary, of ignorance. He would have given anything for those fleeting seconds of false hope. Which was why when Yoshitoki turned to him in angry confusion, he went along with it. He wouldn’t be the one to shatter those last precious moments for him.

After Sakamochi’s announcement, there was a heartbeat of total silence before a scream pierced the air. Whatever innocence had existed was over forever, and the nightmare had truly began. The male class rep was the next to stand up, and Shinji couldn’t help but raise his brows as he listened to his faltering quaver. He really didn’t think Kyoichi was about to come up with something brilliant, but he would be happy for once to be proved wrong. But unsurprisingly, Kyoichi just stammered out something about his dad’s head honcho position. That ain’t gonna help you, buddy, Shinji thought, rolling his eyes. Nothing will.

"You must know what equality means. Listen up. All people are born equal,” Sakamochi lectured in his irritating simper. Shinji could agree with that concept, but this certainly wasn’t the way he wanted Kyoichi to learn that lesson.

Of course, Sakamochi had more than words to hammer home the point that resistance was futile. Mr. Hayashida’s corpse was a more tactile reminder, and Shinji felt the blood drain from his face at the sight. He dug his nails into his palms to keep from crying out when the soldiers pumped rounds of bullets into his teacher’s bloated dead body. He closed his eyes for a moment, did a mental salute of respect to Hayashida for making a stand, no matter how hopeless, and when he opened them he forced himself to remain calm and silent. Not everyone had Shinji’s resolve, however. When Yoshitoki started speaking, Shinji saw Shuya tensing up; he realized his best friend was treading on very thin ice. Shinji was concerned too— he didn’t know Yoshitoki too well but he knew he had a bit of a temper on him, and hoped it wouldn’t be provoked.

Sakamochi continued to prattle on in a sickeningly dulcet tone, saying the ugly word rape like it was nothing. Shuya flew out of his chair at this, and Yoshitoki was a goner. Shinji didn’t have time to close his eyes before Yoshitoki was blown to bits only feet away from him. He was badly shaken, unable to breathe for a moment. Only five minutes ago he’d been commiserating with him, and now they would never speak again, for Yoshitoki had been silenced forever at the whim of an egotistical sadist. And he clearly wouldn’t hesitate to go further, as Fumiyo’s slumped body and the shot to Noriko’s leg proved. There was nothing Shinji could do for Yoshitoki now, he could only pray that his friend Shuya would not do something stupid— brave, but stupid —as well. But Shuya was shellshocked with rage and disbelief, and in no position to be making measured decisions. Shinji forced himself to think. He was just as rattled and furious but he knew that for the sake of Shuya’s life there was no time to lose. The game would be lost forever unless he tried a desperate save.

“Mr. Sakamochi,” he said, raising his hand, and his voice came out calm, even slightly arch, despite the terror and grief gripping his insides. “Noriko looks injured. I was wondering if I could help her get back to her seat.” Once he’d been granted exasperated permission, he took his time walking over to her, putting every effort into making it look like a carefree saunter. Presentation was everything. He pressed a handkerchief to her bleeding wound— hey, the Third Man was never not prepared— and tried to put every ounce of assurance he could into the gesture. Noriko stared numbly ahead, her usually kind eyes blank and empty.

“Stand up, Noriko,” he said, firmly but gently, and with a steady arm under her shaking shoulder they both rose. He saw to his dismay that Shuya was still standing frozen, right in the danger zone of Sakamochi’s ire and his soldier’s hasty guns. The next move was pivotal. Shinji was turned away from Sakamochi, so he dared to raise his brow and shake his chin ever so slightly. Shuya just stared back at him blankly. Shinji felt a flash of panic— the risk of the play would mean nothing if his teammate couldn’t receive it. But then, yes, he understood, and at the last possible moment slid slowly back into his chair. Shinji let out an inaudible sigh of relief, and felt a familiar surge of pride in Shuya, despite the strange scenario they were in.

Once he was back in his seat, perhaps still riding on the adrenaline of his win, Shinji decided to try one last gamble. But when he suggested, with his characteristic audacious flair, that The Program be postponed until Noriko’s injury healed, he’d gone too far. When Sakamochi sweetly proposed they just kill her instead to level the field, Shinji’s heart skipped a beat, and not for the first time he cursed his bravado. He knew he had one chance to make a save and he couldn’t mess it up.

“Come on, I was just kidding,” he said, holding his hands up and making his tone friendly and jokey. Sakamochi burst out laughing and his soldier took his hand away from his rifle. Good one, Mimura.

Shinji stayed silent for the first of Sakamochi’s infuriating explanation of the rules of the game—he’d made himself stand out enough and knew he couldn’t push it any further. His mind was already whirring, trying to grasp onto something that might be their salvation. And yes, it was theirs, not his. Shinji had never been an everyone for themselves kind of guy, and he wasn’t about to start now. He would be the last of his friends to leave the building; he watched Hiroki leave, and then Shuya. When Shuya made his own risky move and dared to request to close Yoshitoki’s eyes, Shinji had to press down a wave of emotion. Any doubts he’d had were silenced, and it even gave him a spark of courage— he had the very highest calibre of friends, and if anyone could beat the system, they could.

For that was exactly what Shinji intended to do. He was used to hopeless situations: on the court, in his personal dramas, and especially in this kamikaze fight against the Republic he’d inherited from his uncle. There was something about an impossible challenge that exhilarated him even as it terrified him. As he walked down the cramped corridor, he tried to hold on to that feeling rather than the fear. After all, he’d spent years trying to chip away at the government from the outside, learning everything he could and making mischief through his hacking. But that was child’s play, this was the real deal. And what better place to take down a system than from the inside? In some ways, you might call this luck, or even providence. Even if it was chance, Shinji Mimura was going to make the most of it.

As he stepped out into the night, he kept his eyes straight ahead. It was game on now, and there was no turning back.