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“Heads up Saihara-chan!” Saihara sits up, just in time for Ouma to toss something that lands hard in his lap. He examines it. Although, he’s never seen one in person, he knows exactly what it is from his time with the Foundation.
“So this is what you were doing yesterday.” He remarks, looking over at Ouma who is brandishing around his own megaphone shaped device, making little ‘pew’ noises at random bits of scenery.
“Wooow, Saihara-chan figured me out! How scary! Aren’t you happy though? These will help keep us alive.” He slips to a more somber expression. And Saihara knows he’s right. If these are functional… they would make traveling much easier if they could actually stop the killer robot bears roaming the land.
“I guess so.” He admits, even if part of him is still a little upset Ouma put himself at risk without saying anything.
“I’ve stolen lots of things from Togami-chan but this is definitely the coolest. Even if it is just a protoype.” Ouma switches back to his cheery façade, aiming the megaphone at Saihara and pretending to aim. “I bet Iruma-chan could make it way better though. Even if she’s a nasty cum-dumpster of a person.”
Saihara says nothing. He knows Ouma's joking is a coping mechanism of sorts at this point. And who is he to deny him that? Nor does he know if his claim about the should have been SHSL Inventor was correct. There’s no way to know if Iruma was even still alive. If she was heading to the same place they were. The Hope’s Peak class that never was and the promise to all meet once more.
They all met soon after they were recruited, something set up by Akamatsu who had been excited to meet other SHSL students. And so the sixteen of them met up, and talked about what it would be like as HPA students. And then they met again, wondering if the weird rumors about the school were true, and then the last time they met… they knew they would never be classmates but still…
Akamatsu made them promise to meet again. Promise that their friendship would make it past whatever weird thing was going on in the world. A promise that even if they wouldn’t get to go to HPA, they would meet up as if they were graduating for real.
Two years later, time to try and protect their families, time for the world to go back to normal. She picked Towa City as the place, recognizable and central.
He wondered if anyone else still remembered that promise. Maybe even Akamatsu had forgot. Not that Saihara would blame her. This past year had changed a lot of things. The world wasn’t safe. He doubted they were the same kids that once hoped to be classmates… friends.
He looks down at the megaphone and remembers a very different sort of firearm. Cold metal. Something a kid should never have to carry. He remembers how he met up with Ouma in the first place.
The cylinder of the gun clangs slightly as his arm shakes, pointing it at the boy in front of him. A boy with a cold smirk and defiant eyes. They should never have given an intern a gun, even if it was just loaded with one bullet. And yet…
“Oh wow, they sent Saihara-chan after me. In his fancy lil suit and everything.” Ouma jeers, “It looks ugly on you.”
“Ouma-kun…”
“Well, go on now. Shoot me. Shoot first, ask questions later, right? That’s how the Future Foundation works, right?” Ouma spits out the words like venom, splattering all over him.
“I don’t want to shoot you….”
“Oooh, are you not a cold-blooded killer now like the rest of your companions?”
Saihara swallows hard. Munakata had demanded they don’t hesitate anymore if they find someone suspected of ties to despair. And Ouma was considered Rank A threat (a tier reserved for any SHSL individual suspected of ties to Despair). “No… I… I just wanted to help.”
“Help?” Ouma breaks into laughter, cold and cruel, “Help what? This shitty, hopeless world? How’s that going for you, Saihara-chan?”
“You… you’re different than I remember,” Saihara remembers a far more different boy. Playful and mischievous. A real smile on his face, not one that looked like shards of glass glued onto to his face in the form of a smile.
“Isn’t everyone?” Ouma mutters, but then he puffs himself and continues, “I mean, I am a Remnant now. That’s why the Foundation is after me. I killed my followers all for the name of Despair, right?” He’s shouting, but his voice cracks. Saihara feels something within him crack alongside it.
“… I don’t think you killed DICE. ” Even if that’s what the Foundation thought, seeing Ouma now. He doesn’t believe it. Not now when he's staring into his eyes, seeing the face that despite all its facades... looked broken.
“Of course I did. I love Despair. Enoshima-chan is sooo amazing.” Saihara can tell how forced those words are, even with the front Ouma is putting on. He used to not be able to tell when Ouma was lying. But this time… this is a lie. He’s sure of it.
“You’re lying.”
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Stop playing games, Saihara-chan, and shoot me already!” Ouma strides over and grabs the hand over the gun, steadying it and forcing the barrel onto his forehead.
Saihara panics, “No!”
“Coward!” Ouma cries out, wild and broken. And the mask slips. Saihara can see the pain in his eyes. The grief. The desire for it all to be over. He’s seen it in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror after seeing his uncle and aunt’s dismembered corpses.
“I won’t kill you,” Saihara whispers.
“Just let me die already!” His warm hand clasps tighter around his, nails digging in. He worries he might accidentally pull the trigger, so he wrests the gun away and throws it as far as he can. A shot rings out as it hits the barren rock around them, echoing through the stagnant air. The only bullet is gone.
Ouma collapses onto the ground, wailing and screaming. It’s incomprehensible mostly. Stuff about DICE and not wanting to live without them. Curses against Despair and this awful world. Saihara doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what to say. No words can change the awful truth.
If he leaves Ouma, it’s likely the SHSL Supreme Leader that never was would die. If Saihara goes back to the Foundation… he’ll be in serious trouble for breaking orders. Possibly even executed (it wasn’t unheard of… not anymore).
But what was there to do? He remembers a girl and a bright melody. One who believed they had a future even if they’d never set foot into Hope’s Peak Academy together. Friends... And he makes a decision.
He peels off the black suit jacket and removes his tie—unbuttons the top few buttons of his white shirt and rolls up his sleeves. Saihara reaches a hand out to Ouma, who’s still sobbing on the ground. He doesn’t take it.
“Come with me.”
He growls out a response, still choked up from the tears, “I’d rather die to Monokumas than be killed by your pretentious Foundation. Thank you very much.”
“I’m not going back to the Foundation. I’m going to Towa City.”
Ouma’s eyes widen with recognition before he looks back at the ground, muttering, “Sounds like a stupid plan, Saihara-chan. No one’s actually going to go.”
Saihara shrugs, hand still outstretched, “Maybe. But I don’t have any better ideas.”
Ouma looks back up, his voice devoid of emotion for once, “You… are an interesting person, Saihara-chan.”
He’s not sure what to say to that. Ouma ignores his hand but rises unsteadily to his feet, dusting off his tattered, dirty, and bloodstained white uniform. It doesn’t help much.
Ouma walks towards the abandoned road, looking back over his shoulder, “Let’s get going then before someone finds us.” Saihara realizes that now they will be on the run from both Remnants and Foundation members alike. But… he thinks… this is the right path for him.
“Yeah.”
“Whoooaaa earth to Saihara-chan! If we don’t get moving, the Monokumas will slash us up and take off all our limbs.” Ouma waves his free hand in front of his face, grinning, but he sees violet eyes narrow in concern. Saihara blinks and shakes his head, grounding himself back in the moment.
He looks up at Ouma, looming over him where he sits. He’s different than the boy who once asked him to kill him. There are more moments of sincerity between them, seriousness when his many masks drop (albeit briefly). He’s no longer in his white uniform (they raided a store when their clothes got too messed up). The black hoodie and leggings are quite a different look, but he still has that checkered scarf wrapped around his arm just below his shoulder.
A reminder of DICE. Something they never talk about. But he knows. Saihara hears him cry out their names when he is on watch and Ouma sleeps.
Saihara stands up, stretching his muscles while his joints pop. He misses sleeping in beds, sleeping for longer than a few hours. It’s been so long he can barely remember what it’s like. Months of traveling and running were all he knew now. Close calls where they hid away, breaths away from death at the hands of robotic bears or men in suits.
Strange how they didn’t really know each other at first but now moved in tandem so easily. So much they didn’t even need words at times to maneuver through the endless string of deadly surprises that they encountered constantly.
But they had finally made it. Saihara looked over at the bridge before them, the skyscrapers and lights of Towa city behind it. The dark river below flowing ominously below, like oil creeping across the borderline of the city and barren wasteland behind them.
He wonders if anyone else will come. He wonders if anyone else is alive. Ouma looks over at him. Maybe the same sort of questions were running through his mind.
Questions they were both afraid to ask.
Ouma smiles, it's one he recognizes. Forced. Hiding some other real emotion (likely fear), “Let’s go, Saihara-chan.”
Saihara nods, and they begin to make their way. The bridge is full of debris. Broken down cars, exploded trucks, shipping boxes, garbage, and of course… corpses and blood. He misses the time that sort of thing would feel weird. But he’s used to them now. They both are.
They make their way, both clutching Ouma’s newest acquirements in case something tries to stop them. But it’s eerily quiet and still. Something that should feel like a good sign.
But they’ve lived too long in a world destroyed by Despair to know that’s not the case.
About one-third of the way down the bridge, he hears a rumble. The ground beneath him shakes. Sudden heat scalds his back.
“Explosives.” Ouma hisses.
Saihara stiffens; these megaphones would do nothing to stop an exploding bridge. They made it this far and… now… Any future... any more time with Ouma... There were so many things he wanted to do. Wanted to say...
Ouma grabs his hand, pulls him out of the swirling panic and doom, “Saihara-chan, run!”
And they run, explosions popping up behind them like popcorn. They dodge and weave their way as sparks and embers fall and the ground shudders under their feet. The city grows closer and closer.
He wonders again if they’d make it. Wonders if anyone else is actually there—waiting for them. Or maybe their fate was to die here on this bridge. If so… at least he wouldn’t be alone.
He tightens his grip on Ouma’s hand and keeps running.