Second chance - O̺͆u̺͆m̺͆a̺͆S̺͆a̺͆i̺͆ - COMPLETE

leftovers 2/2 [FINAL CHAPTER]

To those left behind. 

"-Subject reacted violently to extraction, and equally so to removal. After many failed attempts, we decided to sedate him to protect ourselves against assaults. He seems disturbed and malnourished.... Suffering with mania." The man peered over the pod slowly, his glasses slipping down his nose as he gazed at Kokichi, noting down additional annotations, clicking his voice recorder on and off. 

He took a scalpel off the wall, turning the edge over against his fingertips and returned to Kokichi's body. He lined it up against the back of his neck and pressed in, drawing a certain and pronounced incision just above his shoulder blades. 

Up until ten years ago, humans believed that where the shoulder blades are now is where wings once would've been. Complete boloney, of course, ask any geneticist across the country and they'd clearly say that there is no significant evidence that angels as we perceive them could have ever freely roamed the Earth and we, the survivors, wouldn't have known. 

The scalpel entered the skin easily, slicing through it as if it were tenderised and ready to tuck into. 

He licked his lips and began to fantasise about what he was going to have for dinner. His wife had suggested the idea that they have a loin steak for dinner before he set off that morning and now it was seeming quite tasty. 

"Oh, has he woken up as well? Huh." 

He jerked out of his cannibalistic thoughts and dropped the scalpel to the floor, blood splattering a delightful red over the white tiles. It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last. He turned on his heels, and caught eye of his unexpected guest. "A-Oh. Acting Chief Medical Officer... what are you doing here?"

She clicked the tips of her heels together and tilted her head with a wide, signature grin. He felt butterflies stir deep in his stomach at her expression. The uncanny resemblance of her eyes to her predecessor still haunted him. Ever since it happened... and she was caught in the midst of that machine. Those were her eyes. Pristine and blue. 

They'd... been the only parts of her they'd been able to salvage from between the plates of the press. 

Simply calling them blue was an understatement, it was a lie. Those eyes pierced into people as if medical vectors and injected cruel, twisted thoughts into their cells, bending the very proteins within their cells to start producing something toxic and self-destructive. She'd rot them from the insides-out, guts on the floor, blood on the walls. She loved to watch people disintegrate and watch as they decomposed before her very eyes. She kept their eyes in jars.

Those on the scene at the time had described the horror of her death. It had been recorded live and broadcasted to the nation, the world. 

At the funeral, he sister had told an amusing anecdote about her not wanting to go out any other way.  

"Checking in." She smiled sweetly and peered over the lifeless body, prodding his chest cavity with her long, boney finger. "This is... number three?"

"No, this is number 8, the Ouma boy..." He looked back at the sheet, flicking over a couple of pages, "Kokichi Ouma. Tests suggest his neural pathways rejected our comatose injections. So we've upped the dose and are praying that he stays under when we take out his kidney. When they wake up, they can get pretty confused and lash out so just be careful if you're hanging around the pods, okay?"

She waved him off with a courteous side smile, "This isn't my first rodeo, I think I can handle it, but thanks for the heads up. They've got some new Monokuma plushies in. They were going to put them on the website but we get first pick and I well, I heard your daughter wanted one. They're down in HR. First come, first served." She sheepishly walked up to him, pulling him in close and, "If you wanted to go down and get one real quick, I'll turn the other eye and finish this up."