After the killing game has ended, it's discovered that the sixteen students have been in comas for the past three years. They were put into a virtual world for three years to stimulate their brains, however the killing game was the result of an insi...
I didn't want to leave my room but I decided to go to that place. I needed to see it, take a look at what he left behind.
The elevator descended down to the second floor. As it opened, I looked at the empty halls. I walked to the door and peered inside. I remembered him at the easel drawing away, sipping at his coffee and chuckling. Talking to Sachio about ways to improve his story. The time we spent brain storming the detective and Phantom thief comic.
Then.. The last time in that room.
Blood and an unconscious Eiko. A dead Eiko. Bloody canvas and spilled coffee. And it was my fault.
But now everything was gone. Just a room with easels and art supplies. Completely void of people or the presence of people. A tear crept from my eye, and more followed as I stared at the space. I closed the door and sat on a counter while silent tears fell down my face. Like someone's existence was so easily whipped, just like with Kaito. Just gone. Poof. No matter the memories, there was no tangible way to prove his existence.
But there was.
I suddenly remembered the pages. The one's I'd taken from the scene. I hadn't read them because of everything that I was processing. I wiped my face and made my way back to my room. I needed to read them.
I'd placed them underneath my bed with the blanket. I picked them up and sat on my bed taking a deep breath before looking through them.
It was easy to tell which he had asked me to draw in the first chapter or whatever that's called in a comic.
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The only part I hadn't seen was the ending.
[Insert comic ending]
We'd gotten away to thieve another day, annoying the pesky detective. I wish I could've read through it with him there. A nice story, if only it were real. He would still be drawing things. If only it had been me in that room, he wouldn't have been the one killed.
I set the papers down, and shoved them back under the bed. If I wanted everyone to survive I couldn't dwell on it. Everyone else gets over things fast, and so I had to as well.
