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Those kids were really starting to annoy Fuya.
Just annoy, mind you. Fuya wanted to make that perfectly clear to his teammates, who were starting to get a little rattled by the so-called Wicked Twisters. Yes, they had managed to score more points than predicted. Yes, they had bested the Deep Rivers Society once already, using methods Fuya could only assume were nefarious. But they were still just children - nothing more than blowflies, drifting on the surface of the water. Irritating. But not threatening.
Or - at least - that was what he had to believe.
"We just got word. That Kanade kid's hanging around Shibuya Hikarie," one of his subordinates told him, and Fuya had to stifle a scoff. Shibuya Hikarie? This was the Scramble Slam, and right now, that zone was nothing more than dead weight. Fuya had learned that, after so many hard days of playing the Game. The kid had cornered himself. This should be easy.
"Looks like someone's up the stream without a paddle," he said snidely, to jeers and sniggers. "Alright, so it looks like we have two options. We can leave the kids to claim Shibuya Hikarie (as much good as it does them), and go tackle the big fish. Or, we can wash them out of the water now, and put them out of their misery. Any thoughts?"
"We should go after the Twisters," someone said immediately - a scrawny-looking teen, with a quivering voice and slicked-back hair. Though the Game never allowed any true pain to last, the memory of yesterday's fight kept him slumped against the wall, and the scowl on his face spoke louder than words. "We need to show them we're not pushovers. We can fight back!"
There was a vague, thoughtful murmur at that, and Fuya made a show of nodding. He could understand the desire for revenge - a way to show not only the Wicked Twisters, but the other teams as well, that the Deep Rivers Society were not as weak as they had seemed yesterday.
But he also recognised an emotional response when he saw one, and they had only gotten this far by thinking tactfully - no strong feelings, no obvious grudges. Logic, and logic alone, was the only way to win.
Another team member let out a snort, clearly thinking the same way Fuya was.
"If they went for Shibuya Hikarie first, that means they'll be stuck there a while. That outlet's a dead end. We could go after one of the other teams - maybe even both - in the time it took them to turn back around. Then, when they try to take over a piece of our territory - bam! We swamp 'em, good and proper. That'll teach them how to play the Game."
Another murmur, this one significantly louder. Fuya hummed thoughtfully - it was a good plan. Subdue Motoi and Kanon, the true threats; then go after the Twisters, before they could work their way back up Shibuya. If the Deep Rivers Society timed it just right - managed to push them back into Shibuya Hikarie - then his team could take advantage of the narrow road there, creating a bottle neck ambush.
Fwoosh - all three opponents, dealt with in one fell swoop. He liked it. There was very little risk.
However...
At this point in the Game, he was wary of underestimating the Twisters. Kanade, especially. There was something off about that kid, and Fuya really didn't want to fall behind any more than he already had. Today, although he refused to let his team know it, was going to be uncomfortably close as it was. If he could distract Kanade, just for a little bit...
"I have a plan," he said, the faces around him turning to listen. "What is we used the Twisters for our own benefit? Use them as a paddle, to bring us further upstream?"
Their reaction to this was a bit more dubious. The boy with the limp sent Fuya a skeptical look, "Whaddya mean?"
"I say, we offer them a truce - just offer - just offer," he added quickly, when the team instantly started to bicker. "Not a real truce, of course. They said goodbye to that when they tried to pull us under yesterday. No, I'm just saying that we should pretend to team up - send them after one of the others and let them deal with the big fish. Then, when they've eliminated the threat for us, we strike! We blast open the dam, and let them all get washed away."
There was silence for another moment. Fuya hadn't quite convinced them - it had always been a difficult task for him, trying to get others to go along with what he wanted. In that way, he was far from a natural-born leader. However, he was intelligent. He could pride himself on that. His team had only survived this long because of him - and, judging by the looks on their faces, they knew that.
So, one by one, they slowly came around - nodding vaguely at him, and discussing the plan in more detail. They didn't have much time left. They needed to win today, or else.
Fuya's voice shook as he gave out his orders. But it was fine. And as long as this plan went well, then... everything would stay fine.
They were just kids, after all.
***
Those Wicked Twisters really were quite amusing.
Guter Gott, they were just so ignorant. Motoi liked to think he hadn't been quite so naive, back when he was starting the Game. The look on their faces, when Shiba dispatched with Fuya! As if they hadn't even known what was going to happen.
Maybe they hadn't. Motoi would need to file that away for later.
Of course, he was hoping there wouldn't be much of a later.
"I dolci piccoli Twisters are looking for Shoka Sakurane," one of the teammates announced loudly, holding a phone up to his ear. The Purehearts had one of the most comprehensive spy networks in the Game; nothing happened in Shibuya without Motoi hearing about it. "So far, they've already cleared... the Scramble, 104 and Dogenzaka. Heading East now."
Motoi whistled, "Not bad, for such sciocco little enfants. But no matter - Shoka will lead them on a merry chase, and we'll be lying in wait to snatch up the points. Let them exhaust themselves. With any luck, fighting her will take them out entirely - and then we'll be in prime position to strike."
It was a good plan. Motoi had been waiting weeks for this, for some kind of curveball to turn the Game in his favour, and Shiba turning on Shoka was the perfect opportunity. It was, however, kind of a shame. Motoi didn't really want to do this to Rindo. The boy was so young, and the way he fawned over Motoi was almost adorable. But, this was the way the dice had rolled, and Motoi was done waiting.
He'd served his time in the Game. It was time to move on. And, if it meant stepping on a bunch of children to do it... that was something Motoi thought he could live with.
After all, he was already planning to betray his team.
He already knew where Shoka was. The plan was to lead the Twisters there, slowly - letting them wear themselves out on the way, before luring them to Shibuya River under the guise of distress. They were so hopelessly heroic, they wouldn't think twice about coming to his aid. Then, Motoi would feign death or injury - he was a dramatic soul at heart, so he was leaning towards the former - and allow the Twisters to fight Shoka properly, in a blaze of self-righteous anger.
Shoka would win, of course. Then, when she was tired, and thought she was alone, Motoi would rise from the ground and strike again.
Et voila - Shoka would be dispatched, the points would be his, his deal with Shiba would be fulfilled. Motoi tried not to get too excited, but it was hard. In just a few hours, he would be out of this Game, and into the life of a Reaper.
Just him, however. His team would... just have to figure things out for themselves.
***
Those Wicked Twisters sure were something.
Kanon remembered being... unimpressed, was probably the most favourable word... when the boys first showed up. Cute and eager as puppies, with no real idea about what was really going on. They had both seemed so very, very young - and that was the first moment she realised how long she'd been stuck here. They could only be a few years younger than her, and yet her weeks - months - years? - in the Game stretched between them like a chasm.
It made her feel... tired. A bone-deep, chilling exhaustion, which had been hard to shake off.
Then, everyone else started dying. First Fuya. Then Motoi. Experienced players, who had been in the Game with her so long, she could just barely remember a time before them. In another world, she might have mourned them. But in the UG, she had neither the time nor the inclination. After all, with them gone, she was another step close to getting out of here.
...Later. She would mourn them later.
It did mean, however, that she was stuck with the Wicked Twisters, who had proven surprisingly resilient so far. In the beginning, she toyed with the idea of betraying them - it had been the teams' preferred strategy so far, anyway, and her teammates were more than a little sore about being kicked around week after week.
But, with every move the Wicked Twisters made, it was becoming increasingly clear that this was a rigged game. Shiba, intervening on the Ruinbringer's behalf? Shiba, the leader of the Ruinbringers? And so, Kanon decided to upend the board, so to speak, and implement a new strategy.
An alliance. With the children. Who would've thought?
In all honesty, Kanon fully expected to take over, take them under her wing and assimilate them into her team. But the kids ended up being - did she even dare say it - competent. Kanade, although shy and uncertain, was deeply perceptive, and regularly spotted things she herself had missed. Sakurane, although surly, had valuable insight and information. And Fret... oh, Fret. Where to begin with Fret?
"Hey Kanon, how's it goin'?"
"Hey Kanon, wanna see me juggle these pins?"
"Hey Kanon, love the skirt! Where'd ya get it?"
"Hey, Kanon... you holding up OK?"
That last one had been in the alley in Dogenzaka, not long after their Week Two failure. Kanon had been leaning against the alley wall, half-hidden, staring at the floor and refusing to cry - her makeup had taken her hours, and there was no way she was going to ruin it. The sound of the boy speaking had been the only thing to break through her reverie, and she looked upwards with a start to see him at the entrance of the alley.
"What?" she said, slightly too snappy, before slipping back into her coy persona. "Can't you give a girl a moment to herself, Fret? You know, it's hard to find time to fix your mascara with all these Noise around."
Fret made a pained expression - he clearly wasn't buying it. Kanon watched him trying to find the right words to say, feeling a kind of savage glee at the sight. So, the boy of a thousand words can't find anything to say now? What is the world coming to?
"You know, what happened to Motoi, it... it... sucked," he said finally, and more than a little lamely. Kanon's mouth twitched, just a little. "And if you wanted someone to... to talk to about it, or anything... I would..."
"Aw, Fret," Kanon tilted her head to the side. "This isn't another pick-up line, is it?"
"What? No!" Fret said, horrified. "No, I genuinely -"
"Then I really appreciate it. But we might need to save the heart-to-hearts until the Game is won, don't you think?" Heels clacking, she stalked up to him. Just before she passed, she paused, straightening his scarf. She could practically hear him gulp. "And for the record, people would be more willing to open up to you if you did the same. I don't need any more disingenuous platitudes right now."
She patted him on the shoulder, more than a little patronising. As Fret floundered, she walked away, leaving him open-mouthed and raw in the alley. Not even minutes later, she found herself regretting it. He had been trying to help, in his own way. Kanon just... couldn't right now.
She was tired again.
The sky darkened, and the days passed slowly. Fighting the Noise was harder than ever. There were several close calls, where she had to rely on her teammates, or even the Twisters, to cover for her. Once, Fret sliced into a chameleon moments before it had her. She nodded thankfully in his direction, too winded to speak. He brightened, giving her a jaunty salute, as if that time in the alley had never even happened. Kanon didn't entirely understand him.
There were some moments, like that, which weren't too bad. Moments when Fret genuinely made her laugh, startled and reluctant, from deep in her chest. Where she got drawn into conversation with Nagi, or went into 104 with Shoka, or got to talk strategy with Rindo. In those moments, she could almost forget about the timer on her hand, even if the sluggish feeling in her bones never quite went away.
Then, one day, the Variabeauties woke up in a different part of Shibuya from the Twisters. She was immediately on edge, suspicious. The phrase divide and conquer rose, unbidden, to her mind. This couldn't be good.
One of her teammates got hit first. Wandering through the streets of Shibuya, talking, laughing - then, a flash of pain. He became angry, confused and paranoid, lashing out at Kanon and his friends. Ultimately, they had to subdue him, tying him up with a chain pin - but then it just kept spreading, to every person he'd touched. Kanon ordered them to split up, to keep whatever this new Noise was from targeting the rest of them, before remembering to text the Wicked Twisters as well.
Ducking into an alley, she pulled out her phone, and started typing.
And that was all she remembered.
A fog seemed to settle over her eyes. She saw things, but only in flashes, blurred and distorted - the streets of Shibuya, her crying teammates, the determined faces of the Wicked Twisters. She thought she might have hurt them. But every glimpse she got disappeared with a breath, and she was left writhing, trapped underwater in her own head. That exhaustion kept her down, buried her. Even as her body moved and her voice spoke, she felt herself falling asleep.
And then she saw Fret.
Face pale, skin white. He was shouting, she thought - muffled and vague, as if from underwater. He looked more frightened - and more genuine - than she'd ever seen him. Something inside her seemed to break.
She thought about falling asleep again.
Instead, she chose to wake up for the last time.