#dhplot

Shackled round the neck, a chain dragged Azaki through a set of dense black curtains and into a cemetery thick with fog. Tightly packed headstones were tipped and crumbling, the grass around them as dead as the bodies six feet below.

He had claimed the lives of many. Each time they had grieved together, cursing the monster with the gall to put them through this—but now it was his turn to go. Perhaps, the counselor hoped, his loss would eclipse their anger. They would grow from this, he was certain, and in his last few moments, maybe so would he. They were his friends, after all, and Azaki would miss them sorely.

Beams of sunlight cut between the trees and through the mist. It was a fitting place to go, he thought, at peace as he careened through the graveyard. But the chain's pull began to slow, and Azaki craned his neck to view his destination. When he saw what awaited, the implications of his dying place began to dawn on him.

The counselor clawed at the shackle as it pulled him into a casket—a fine thing, richly decorated with plush red velvet, but its quality was lost on the counselor. He wanted to go out grieving, but in a dark casket he could only lose his mind.

The ritual was attended by grieving black-clad monomothers comforting wailing monochildren. Monofathers, ever stoic, stood by and fought back their own tears. When the monopriest began his piece the casket was lowered and, slowly, the lid began to close. Azaki hurriedly straightened his rumpled blazer. If he could control nothing else, he would make sure he was neat. Then the casket shut, and the counselor was wrapped in darkness.

"Get me out," he breathed.

He could hear shovelfuls of dirt hitting the lid and he writhed. There was no space to bend or turn, but he could feel something down by his waist. Azaki investigated it with his hands—small, smooth, maybe metallic. It was distantly familiar, but when he discovered a button he knew exactly what it was. The counselor smiled. He hadn't expected such kindness from his mascot.

The flashlight lit the casket from end to end, but his relief only lasted as long as it took for his eyes to adjust. Before he could think, Azaki had flung the light to his feet and was wrapped in darkness once again. The lid had been a mirror all along.

"Get me out!" he shrieked. Azaki struck his head against the glass. "Get me out!"

Over and over, he slammed his forehead into the mirror, into the afterimage of his—of his father’s—face. Above ground and almost in sync, Monokumas were shovelling dirt onto the casket.

"Getmeoutgetmeoutgetmeoutgetmeoutgetmeout!"

All he could hear was his heartbeat in his ears and cracking glass, then the mirror shattered, the lid collapsed, and the grief counselor was crushed by earth.

Sekai’s classmates assembled before a wide, empty stage accompanied by the classic red curtains of theatre. As the lights dimmed, the rich sound of strings and brass rose up from below—if the students were to approach the gold rails in front of them, they would see the symphony stationed beneath the stage, all dutifully playing their part. It would have been an almost comforting sight if not for the fact that each and every member of the symphony was a black and white bear. In one corner was a Monoviolinist, in the other a Monotrumpet player, and at the centre, Monokuma himself raised his little arms to conduct the concerto.

With a clap, the lights were off. A metal whirring filled the dark room where the captive audience stood blind and waiting, the symphony playing its disarmingly calming piece all the while.

A spotlight snapped on. From high up above, a colossal hand hovered with strings dangling from its robotic digits. At the end of those strings was its living puppet, Sekai, the childish boy who had taken the life of a Hope’s Peak student with such unexpected brutality.

Beneath the inhuman palm, Sekai looked comically small. Dangling there in his yellow raincoat and mismatched shoes, he looked out at the audience with the bright smile of a true showman. At his right side, Felix the puppet was slipped from Sekai’s hand and made the long drop down to the stage. It was almost chilling to see the puppet—who always had so much to say—become a shapeless heap on the floor. The cold ease with which Sekai had discarded him was just as unpleasant.

At his left side, Maximilian came to life, straightening up to give an eyeless stare at the audience. For the first time, the puppet spoke:

“C͓̘̳̖̙ẖ̼̤o̭̖k͎̩̜̳ͅe͉͔̼̝ o̙̘̯̮̩̜̖n̼͈  ͙̭̥ͅḏͅe͉̙̳̝̰s͈p̩̞͓a͇̙͎̮͕̻͓i̩̻͍̱ͅͅr̯̬̲̲.̬͕͚̭̬̠͖ N̳o̫͖ ͈͓̬̫̪̪o̝̫̞̜̯̲n̞̮͇e̝̙̩̥̜ ̥̩̠̙is͚̤̟ ̳͇s͈͎̤͍̳af̲͔̣e̯̰̠̤̯ͅ.̼̝̱̪̟͔͇”

It was then that the music began to swell. The strings lurched Sekai upwards, and he was powerless to resist as his arms began to flail and sway to the symphony’s song. Unabashed laughter flew from Sekai’s mouth as he was made to dance around the stage, stopping short as his own hand flew up to slap him in the face. With a stunned smile, Sekai peered out at the dark theatre, barely able to make out the faces of his classmates. He did not even notice the knife, slowly lowering down  on its own clear thread a few feet away.

Sekai’s arm was pulled along, his hand made to open and close around the knife’s handle. His other arm shot up into the air, and a second knife dropped into his grip. With hands that had learned expert dexterity, he made a show of twirling the blades—but this was not his show.

As all the strings tugged upwards on his arms, he knew in an instant how this would end. Beads of sweat began to form at his temples and arms quaked with resistance, but still Sekai smiled wide. He drew in a breath and cried out:

“Everyone . . .THANK YOU ♪ ~ !!”

The knives in his hands began their rapid-fire assault against Sekai’s torso. He was made to deliver the stabs so quickly that the knives became a blur, showing only glimpses of the gruesome, steadily growing stain that marred his shirt. The room filled with the sounds of blaring instruments, the conductor’s arms gesturing wildly as the enormous mechanical hand puppeted its subject to its death.

When the music stopped, so did everything else. Casting a grisly silhouette, Sekai dangled lifeless from the strings. An errant trickle of blood began to drip from the tip of his shoe onto the stage.