𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 | Inquisitormaster & Zsquad| Danganronpa

🗡𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝟒 🗡|| 𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐍𝐨 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞

DESPAIR ARC

ᛝ🗝 ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ 🗝ᛝ

Trigger Warnings for this Chapter: Light, vague mentions of blood and dead bodies, self-harm (hitting)

ᛝ 🗝⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘🗝 ᛝ

Three Months Later...

~Zach's POV~

We've all died once, and our turn has long passed. That day, that screen, it felt as if it'd taken everything away from me in the span of a few frames. Contortions and twists made endless inside of my skull, sculpted to something anew. No one knew what it was, and I'm sure each of us experienced it to some degree, but what it was worth... I feel better now. The pain that had once overpowered my life, every step I dared to take to bring a state of soothing, was gone. That video, it'd finally taken the ache away. It took everything away. The pain, the anger, the disappointment. Nothing remained.

Nothing except for the ravenous feeling that no other could replicate. The feeling of despair.

The time has blended into red. The skies filled with smoke clouds, the streets covered in the remnants of others, which coated our hands, too. No longer did anyone possess innocence, as if it'd existed. Guilt ran through everyone's veins, and they wanted nothing more than to be rid of it. I stepped out onto the stage, letting the screams rain over me. Applause followed. Their hands waved above their heads, their lips formed words if it wasn't my name. Most eyes are red, and others are bright, glimmering with hope.

Disgusting. That concept was pathetic. Hope has led us nowhere but down. Hope led us down the steps of that sad excuse of an academy, then down those steps. Only then were our eyes opened. This world it's full of nothing but false promises. 'I'll be okay,' his voice rang from the shadows in the back of my thoughts. 'You don't have to worry about me.' I shook my head, drawing my eyes shut. I don't want to think of that ever again. I don't want to think of him ever again.

And shall I never.

Tweaking the knobs of my guitar, my voice boomed through the microphone in front of me. I brought a hand up to the housing of it, taking a glimpse at the rings adorning my fingers just above the ripped gloves. The venue is full. I used to smile at the sight. My voice was cold, a ghost of what I once was.

"Just keep your ears open," I soothed, dragging my gaze over the crowd. "You're in fine hands tonight. Close your eyes, too, if you wish. I'll finally open them for you."

As Junko had for me. It took me much too long to understand the cruciality of it. It was a favor I hadn't asked for, but was ever thankful for. One strum of my guitar, hush befell the structure. I breathe through my nose, iron stinging my senses, and my muscles are no longer mine as music bounced off the walls. I didn't hear a single thing I played, I didn't hear the crowd, and I sure as hell didn't hear my thoughts. Everything shut off as I commanded it to.

When I closed my eyes, I saw everything that had happened. Though my months have been filled with music, pursuing the truth, and spreading it, it hasn't been the case for others. They've found their source of hope through their own methods. Our versions of peace varied throughout the class. As she always had, Jade continued fighting for what was right. Anyone who'd cross her path they were always filled with that empty promise, 'I will win!' She always walked away victorious. It was never enough. Her knuckles would be bruised, her knees scraped, face bearing a new scar to show to the world, and yet it wouldn't suffice. She needed more. 'They need more,' I remember Jade telling me, and I remember the way her hair blew in the wind just above her shoulders. That day, staring in the broken mirror, she brought a blade to the chunk of hair in her grasp. Soon, it was on the floor.