TW: Self Harm, Mentions of Nausea, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, Disillusionment with Reality and Self. Read at your own risk.

Ouma's POV:

The trees were dark with an old weathered look, yet appeared as though made of ash if even the slightest breeze struck them. Despite their fragility, the woods still presented a large and omnipotent labyrinth of a twisted creation. The sky had been painted this time in a monotonous color palette as if the moon which now stood as a scarlet fixture had stolen all the color it had left to provide. The stars in the sky shined above as if fireflies with how fleeting and dim they could be at times, yet seemed to observe my struggle.

Cuts stung my legs as I leaned all my weight on one leg trying to find my way out of the pandemonium to the cliffside, the darkness continued to beckon me as I tried to ignore the chorus, paying close attention to the path ahead of me and nearly jumping out of my skin with the slightest noise in the otherwise silent forest. It was too quiet, even.

They screamed.

Rough bark grabbed at my skin, pulling me away from the path as I tried digging my feet into the path and clawed at the trees, yet they only seemed to break off my grip as the branches and leaves cut into me like razor blades. I screamed louder as the branches wrapped around my mouth silencing my cries for help, vines bonded my body tightly, as a dominating group of figures stood out amongst the tree lines...no part of the treelines.

The wrinkles of the trees led into faces, faces of long-gone faces, faces that had begun fading into memory. Their deep-set eyes stared into my own as the shouting of the trees finally made sense, finally became clear. They were the panicked cries they had made before life was taken from them, begging for mercy and their grief every time one of them fell. As my friends stared at me I pleaded as much as I could.

But they didn't seem to care, as their cries only became louder and the noise began making my ears bleed, as the vines finally strengthened their grip on my neck, as I tried to claw at the vines the world faded to black, as the nine trees, nine people began laughing-

I trusted you, I always trusted you, so why...

I gasped waking up as I reached for my throat taking in big breaths of cold air that revived my lungs. Warm sticky sweat beaded from my forehead as I leaned against the bed frame only to be met with a cement wall. I paused confused before I remembered where I was, or the lack of knowing where I was.

I knew this was a mistake.

Water dripped down, a slow crescendo as I leaned my head against the cold walls. Soft plush blankets shielded me from the cold chill of the room as I wrapped myself tighter in hopes I wouldn't have to return to the repeating dream again. Wouldn't have to face him again, wouldn't have to hear his soft tone, wouldn't have to listen to that same voice that once proudly claimed that I was the villain of the world now address me as if I was a pitiful child. Couldn't he just pick one? Could anything in this world try to be consistent for even just one thing?

I give up. I can't fix you.

I dug my fingernails into my skin drawing blood, the stings of the wounds providing brief periods of relief, perhaps there could be consistency after all. I laughed at my own pitiful joke as the sound of the dripping faucet fell methodically. Chasing away any hopes of rest or endless nightmares again, yet kept picking at my agitation and annoyance as I covered my ears and tried to shut out the noise.

How could you?

I bit my lip tighter as I buried myself further, as I felt dry sobs escape me. My stomach was cramped again from the food and drink, it seemed whenever I ate anything I would throw it up, only tiny sips of soup managed to stand the test of time. Soup that always tasted vile, despite the way it seemed to be meant to comfort. Warm soup that had been meant to drive away from the aching chills through my body, had only left me with bitterness and resentment, it felt as if each bite was poison or an act of betrayal. That soup brought up foggy memories of a calm and loving mother, of a mother who never dreamed of hurting her son. Of a father who used to come home, of occasional laughter at dinner. 

You lying little bastard.

I once asked her for soup again, but she never made it. She always got the canned kind, and slowly she never even warmed it up for me. Sometimes she left it in the fridge for me with a small sticky note, one with a cartoonish rushed smile and heart. I always threw that soup cans out, till she stopped buying them altogether. 

Glad destiny isn't making things easy on you, the least you could do after what you did to me.

Part of me wanted to be that petty child, to deny this soup as well. But when I refused to eat... I closed the blanket tighter around me, as a small throb near my abdomen reminded me of how he forcibly held me down as he forced me to eat. There was still a pain in my throat from the time he had forced a tube down there and poured scrambled eggs down. 

I should have taken my way out when I had the chance.

That man. That man was the one who held back my hair when I threw up, even though I hated that. The person who made sure I ate, the one who was there every time I screamed at night with dreams of faraway forests or a dark and rusted-over warehouse. That man who had given me a bed in this room, one I sometimes found myself in, yet I didn't accept. The sole thing I allowed myself to take and use was the pillow and blankets, yet he never reprimanded me for not using that bed though he must have known. 

Did you ever have a heart at all? Or was I just a fool all along?

Part of me wanted him to yell, it would make things easier.  Easier for me to keep on hating the man, despite the way he was taking care of me now. Easier to chase away the part of me that just wanted to give up, to do whatever he wanted me to do, to just behave because there wasn't any immediate danger here. I wanted to hate him with every fiber of my being till my last breath, I owed that at least. To hate the man who took me from hell, only to find me something worse. This had to be worse...

I was doomed no matter what, was I? I shouldn't have met you.

The door unlocked with a soft click.

I shifted closer to the corner of the room, despite knowing it barely made a difference as the door was shut behind the man and with taps against the cold floor they approached me. For what it was worth I kept moving farther from them the best I could, as long as I could though I knew this always annoyed him. The water continued to sound in the distance, as a cold hand finally grabbed my arm.

"Kokichi" he greeted calmly, "look at me" he ordered, when I forced myself to not open my eyes, to keep my head down to the ground and not even acknowledge how he had entered the room. "KOKICHI" he repeated more firm, finally earning him a flinch from me as his grip on my arm tightened. 

"Look, look around you! Look at the horrible things you have done!"

"Monster, an absolute monster"

"You deserve your fate"

"Look at him! Look at his eyes! He doesn't even have the gall to look guilty!"

Sounds merged into an echoed screech of silence that slowly became the sole noise in the room as I couldn't breathe. All my breath was gone as if something was stealing it from me, I kept gasping and choking for breath my chest burned in agony as I took small gulps of air that quickly escaped me, boiling tears streamed from my eyes as-

"What are five things you can hear?" A voice asked a cold voice. Murder he is going to kill me, butcher me, he wants to pick me apart over and over and over "Kokichi, Kokichi please calm down, focus on the room what can you hear?" The voice asked again, I clung to my body tighter, breaking I was breaking, if I let go I would crumble.

"T-The faucet" I answered trying to listen to the room but the static kept pounding in my ears, "what else?" The voice urged. "Y-You...my voice....t-the door...the air conditioner...p-piano..." I answered as the noise began to quiet down but the ice refused to leave me.

"Good, that's good...what can you smell?" He asked, I paused, "breakfast...cologne..." I answered nervous. He laughed, "are you back with me?" He asked. I paused as I eventually nodded but refused to move from my guarded posture. "How could she do this to you?" He asked, I paused. 'Who?' I asked though I knew my hands were shaking so much, it would be a miracle if he understood me. "Your grandmother, such a cruel cruel woman...they never should have let you go over to her, I'm sorry no one came, sooner," he said pitiful, I didn't answer as I heard him move closer.

"Your arm," he said quietly. I froze, and quickly guarded it with my other arm clutching onto it for dear life, he made no moves to force me to hand it over though he could have easily. "There's blood, let me see it," he asked softly, as if kindly.

He'll hurt us if we give him our arm

It hurts

He'll hurt us if we say no

I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die alone-

"Kichi?"

"Kokichi?" His voice cut through the screaming, "Kokichi, can I see your arm?" He repeated. Nervous, I extended my arm towards him as he took it. I braced myself for when he inevitably twisted and pulled it and broke it and-

A soft sting of pain, and a faint smell of antiseptic as I flinched. "Sorry, I should have warned you" he apologized, though he didn't sound remorseful. I didn't acknowledge his apology, but I did offer my arm again. He hummed in satisfaction as he cleaned the cuts I made on my arm. "You've healed nicely since I found you," he said. I winced remembering the still tightly bound bandages around my chest, and the makeshift cast on my right leg. I knew that by all means, I wasn't at all better, but he almost made me believe it with the amount of force he put into those words.

"Where did all these scars come from?" He curiously asked as he traced over old scars, I flinched as I tried to draw back my arm in shame but he held a firm grip. "Stuff..." I answered, "some of these I recognize as mine...but the rest..." he tsked in disapproval, "the rest are very faded aren't they? A mix of recent ones and the past..." he pondered.

"Glass" he concluded as his thumb brushed one close to the top of my arm, "oh...I remember this one...I'm sorry" he apologized as I paused confused. "That...that wasn't..." I tried to explain but quickly stopped disgusted in myself. I was about to comfort a killer, their killer.

Vile.

"Who let you become so scared?" He asked bitterly, I shook my head and pointed to myself. "Lies" he responded disappointed, "this scar, the one on your upper arm...I know who did this," he asked as he pressed down on the long-faded scar. That scar was what once made me seem like a cool tough guy to DICE, I was the only one back then to show their scars, it made sense to my mind as it made them more willing to follow me, though turns out we all had them. One way or another.

"You were so small back then, at knee height with your mother, your mother who abandoned you, she did this didn't she?" He asked. I froze as the memory resurfaced, it was fuzzy but I still remember that night, when madness claimed her finally, and when I was too naive to realize the mother I used to have was gone.

In her absence, was 'the bad lady'. One who despite her insistent promises always seemed to come back.

"How...how do you...?" I began to ask as a slow realization crept up, he couldn't have known about this scar, he shouldn't have known about my mother- no one knew till...till DICE...

"Your mother was supposed to protect you, but she didn't. She was supposed to stop you from becoming malicious and cold-hearted, she never did. I stepped in too late so I had to use extreme measures to prevent further corruption" he began, his voice cold and monotone as I began shaking my head.

He couldn't be.
He couldn't be the man I forgot all those years ago.
He couldn't be the man my mother always said she regretted meeting.

"You know, don't you?" He asked, I shook my head, lies it had to be lies.

Please be a lie.

"Kokichi, I'm your father. And I'm sorry for what I've done to you, one day when you're older, you'll understand" he said. "My father is dead" I quickly said, "a lie. A lie told to you by your mother, a mother who didn't want you to know you had a real parent, one who wanted to raise you, but couldn't" he argued.

"Dead, he's dead, he's not you," I said, as I retraced the memories of my...as if a veil had been lifted, the foggy face of my father from my memories...him. A man without that scar. That man didn't even have a kind face back then, he was a stranger a person who came in and out as he pleased. A man who used to make my mother cry, so much that I never asked when he would come back, to keep her smiling a little longer. A voice that always lectured me when I did something wrong back then, a voice who yelled at my mother words I didn't understand but knew was bad.

Him. It was him, as much as I wished for a lie.

"No...no..." I said shaking my head as I felt a soft hug, he didn't say anything as slow tears shed.

DICE...

"I'm sorry..." I apologized, to people who would never hear me, he did though. He did but he didn't refute those words, just with a  cool tone hummed a song. I recognized that tune now, and if I wanted to I could have sung along. I forgot their voices in those woods, as I was pulled back to the dark ocean of unconsciousness.