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Ranmaru could still hear it in his head. The video feed ran without sound, but he had seen the way Reko’s body had hit the ceiling and the impact, the way she’d jerked when she felt the tightening of her collar. He guessed his mind had filled in the blanks - so very sophisticated for what amounted to nothing more than coding, ones and zeroes echoing real human emotions - and provided him with a solid thud.
It repeats in his head as he watches her writhe, legs trembling and hands clawing at the ceiling, her collar, anything that might save her. The thudding climbs in tempo, beating maddeningly in his ears as she lets out one last struggle, then goes limp. Her hands drop to her sides, swaying a little with lost momentum. He allows himself a small smile of relief. One down. Nine to go.
He’d thought he might feel bad about it, at least a little. He knew he wouldn’t regret it - his goal is far too noble for that - but this electrical system of his has proven itself talented at recreating human experiences. Guilt was expected, even if only tiny fragments of it could surface. But instead he feels nothing. Just a burning desire to continue and earn his and Sara’s freedom.
Sara must have seen it in his eyes as she stared up at him, Reko’s lifeless legs dangling behind her. She looks like a puppet with its strings cut, collapsed with limbs crooked at odd angles. The legs above frame Sara’s head and it’s oddly beautiful, like one of the twisted paintings Midori keeps in his gallery. Ranmaru is struck breathless by how pretty she is, how much she means to him. She’s a bolt from the blue, drawing something completely new and bizarre from his chest.
Love, he realises.
He’s never cared this much about anyone - his life before he was dragged into the Death Game was day after day of boring, grey monotony in comparison to the technicolour she sends sparkling across his world. He’ll do this over and over, if it means they’ll be free. He’ll kill every friend and ally they’ve ever had without regret.
She sees it then, the ardent devotion and joy on his face, completely devoid of remorse.
“Ranmaru...” Her voice is scratchy and uneven with disbelief. Part of her still can’t believe he’d do this.
He spreads his arms triumphantly, as if to embrace her.
“We’re going to win, right?”
He watches the horror dawn on her face as it registers what she’d said and how she’d asked for his help; but she shouldn’t feel sorry, she should be celebrating with him. This is the first step on the path to their victory.
For one unbalanced second, he wants to kiss her, right here under his first casualty and in front of the trembling survivors. His feet move of their own, and he finds himself stepping towards her, before Kuramada lurches towards him, shoving him backwards. Ranmaru regards him with distaste as he moves in front of Sara, watching how he’s clutching at his exposed insides.
He’s hit with a vague sense of déjà vu, as he recalls his first trial - the weak pulsing of his own guts against his hands, and watching the blood spread across his white bandages like Rorschach inkblots.
At that time, his death had hardly registered with him. As pathetic as it was, Ranmaru hadn’t had any particular motivations to live. But now...
He’s different now. He’s stronger. If you cut him open, you’d find nothing but metal and cables.
His mind drifts and he pictures Sara seeing him like that, unspooling the wiring within himself before her. He’d allow it, if she asked, without question. He’d allow anything; such is the incredible power she wields over him. He has chained himself at her feet and willingly handed her the key, and he doesn’t regret a single thing.
He contents himself with the memory of her smile, even as the Sara before him gapes with abject terror. He has to believe that she’ll understand, once she has processed how much this benefits her.
Kurumada must see the satisfaction in his expression because he lunges for him again, incensed. “We’re supposed to be working together, you sick freak!”
Ranmaru sidesteps the attack easily. He’s still chastising himself for getting caught so soon, but Kurumada is beginning to make him wish he’d also chosen a different first victim. The boxer would be a lot easier to deal with if he was in Reko’s place right now.
No matter. Kurumada will be dead soon anyway, from his stomach wounds. Still, Ranmaru can’t help wishing something would speed up the process.
As if answering his prayers, Maple totters out from the hole in the lockers. Or at least, it looks like Maple... In a warped, misshapen kind of way. It seems that someone has ripped her head off and replaced it with three screens, each displaying a different horrified face. The poor creature staggers forward, weapon whirring. The sweet robot they met in the Discussion Room is unrecognisable. She’s barely sentient anymore, consciousness pulled thin between three AIs and close to tearing.
The others ready themselves to fight, Kurumada heaving himself into a boxer’s stance. An idea flashes through Ranmaru’s mind, quick and murderous. He smiles and waits for Maple to slash at Kurumada’s raised fists. Then he slides forward, sticking his foot out in front of the larger man.
Kurumada goes crashing to the ground, avoiding Maple’s chainsaw by scant inches. He lets out a horrible gurgle when he hits the floor, smearing blood from his open wound across the tiles. Maple shudders to a stop, turning towards her downed prey.
“Sara, stop him!” Anzu shrieks, voice shaking with dread. Ranmaru smiles at her placidly, unbothered by the thump of panicked footsteps around him. The other dolls try and haul Kurumada to his feet, to get him out of Maple’s murderous path.
Ranmaru almost pities them. It’s all a little pathetic, watching them fight so desperately to delay the inevitable. If Sara is to live, then they’ll all be killed eventually. It’s foolish to pretend otherwise.
“Sara, please!” Someone yells.
Vaguely, Ranmaru hears manic laughter echoing in his head. The Mishima AI is howling with sadistic amusement and the sound bounces around the tiny metal room. Everything seems amplified. Ranmaru feels like he’s on a hair-trigger, ready to snap. He turns to grin at Sara, eyes full of hope.
Then something happens that he never could’ve predicted. Sara crashes her lips against his.
It’s clumsy and so, so incredibly unexpected, but it sends heat roaring through Ranmaru’s body. He feels dizzy and light-headed all at once, unable to believe this is reality.
Again, he doubts whether he’s a doll. Could a machine feel this?
Sara’s hands are shaking where they rest upon his shoulders. Is she as nervous as he is? God, he loves her an impossible amount.
He moves closer, trying to take her hands in his and deepen the kiss, adrenaline making him far more daring than he’d usually be. He never, ever wants this moment to end. Sara’s hands travel upwards, moving across his jaw.
Then, through the delirious fog of exhilaration, he feels something click on the back of his neck.
His limbs go numb, hands falling away from Sara’s body.
It’s like he’s falling into a deep sleep. Power off, his mind provides, as it grinds to a sluggish stop. She switched him off.
There’s no emergency power supply. She won’t be able to turn him back on. This is it. Is the terrified stabbing in his chest the fear he felt when he first died? He can’t remember. His thoughts are engulfed in panic.
How will Sara survive without him? She asked him to kill the others; had he failed her somehow?
With the final scraps of his energy, he cracks his lips open. “Sara, I…”
But his consciousness is fading too fast. He never gets to finish his sentence.
The last thing he sees before his vision turns to black is Sara’s tears.