Tommy finds himself stuck in a school with 19 other students, forced into a killing game by the mysterious mastermind. A new era of SMPronpa commences, giving DSMP-era MCYT fans a taste of that one forbidden fanfic.
CCs INCLUDED: Tommyinnit, Wilburs...
Why did you let me die? I'm dead because of you. You should have had the ice cube. Have you forgotten me already? You don't deserve Tubbo. I'll see you in hell, where you should be.
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"Shut up," Tommy mumbled. Tubbo looked up at him, confused as they walked down the hall towards the trial room. "Sorry Tubs... not you,"
Tubbo bit his lip and kept walking. He wasn't in the mood to ask what was wrong-- who Tommy was talking to. A trial was about to begin, someone, if not him was being executed.
Tommy sighed. "We're fucked this time, I'm telling you. We can't always get lucky in trials..."
Techno lightly pushed him. "We have a bit of evidence, we just need others help. Maybe they found something," he suggested as they arrived at the room. He frowned. "But keep your head up, you're the detective. You did well on Minx's case-- and the others, you can do well here,"
"Don't talk about her!" Schlatt hissed from inside the room. As always, the podiums rose. Tommy scowled.
"Why? We talk about Karl, and- and Phil, and Wilbur and--"
"No, you don't! You haven't spoken about Phil since he dropped dead! None of you give a- a shit about any of them! I haven't even heard you mention Ranboo, your fucking... beloved! So shut up about her," he yelled, his fists clenched.
Tommy wanted to yell back, to complain, to tell him it wasn't true. The deaths of everybody else seemed to be affecting him way more than Schlatt, it felt unfair for him to be villainizing them.
But Gure-ga was there, finger over his mouth, whispering "Shhh," and after the previous bombing, Tommy had no intention to annoy him.
...And at the same time, he was starting to wonder how innocent he really was. Over time, he was starting to feel more inclined to hurt people -- he could almost hear a voice in his head, and strangling Schlatt didn't help. It fed the feeling, the voice. And Tommy didn't know how long he had before it got worse.
But, like always, before a trial was never a good time to focus on distractions. New ideas, new thoughts. Unless they related to the murder. Or he'd die. They'd all die.
Everybody got into their positions in front of their podium, some glancing around at all the portraits with X's on them.
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