Chapter Text
《Just give me a reason
To keep my heart beating
Don't worry, it's safe right here in my arms
As the world falls apart around us
All we can do is hold on, hold on
Take my hand
And bring me back
I'll risk everything if it's for you
A whisper into the night
Telling me it's not my time and don't give up
I've never stood up before this time
でも 譲れないもの
握ったこの手は離さない (But the things I can't give up, I can't let go of my hands.)
So stand up, stand up
Just gotta keep it
I wanna wake up, wake up
Just tell me how I can
Never give up
狂おしいほど刹那の艶麗 (The most painful points come back)
Just tell me why baby
They might call me crazy
For saying I'll fight until there is no more
愁いを含んだ閃光 眼光は感覚的衝動 (The sparkle in your eyes has that sadness of despair, doesn't it?)
Blinded I can't see the end
So where do I begin》
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The scorching heat of the sun caressed the earth with its incandescent rays, warming everything they could reach, which was vast. Because the world had recently been plunged into a fourth world war, which triggered the destruction of the world everyone knew and loved, the earth was no longer the same. Trees were scarce, as was nature itself. Organically grown food from fields or farms was long gone, and what were once lands teeming with flora and fauna were now nothing more than vast hectares of desert.
Isagi covered his face with his cotton scarf. Although the heat made him long to shed every garment, leaving him completely naked, its rays were extremely harmful to human skin, especially to skin as sensitive as his. That's why it wasn't very safe to go out. It had been this way for as long as he could remember. They had to cover up and hide during the day and only go out at night; or at least that's what they had imposed, to conserve as much medical supplies as possible and prevent anyone from getting hurt. But the current situation was too dire to allow them to disregard such a crucial rule.
“And remember,” the boy in front of him pleads. “Don’t talk to anyone, especially if they seem suspicious.”
Isagi rolls his eyes, but manages a small smile. His group always tends to worry excessively when someone has to go out to find supplies, but he understands their attitude perfectly. It’s a dangerous world, after all, but they were born into it; they must learn to adapt to it, because the world won’t adapt to them anymore. Not like it did centuries ago.
"Don't worry, I know," he said, reassuring the boy. The people behind the boy also breathed a sigh of relief.
He waved goodbye to them, promising with a loud shout that he would soon return with everyone, along with a bag of supplies. The group shouted back, assuring him they would wait for him as long as necessary. The metal gate of the immense warehouse closed behind him, and Isagi set off.
The places where humans used to forage for food ceased to exist long ago. A place like a forest or a river used to be just stories his parents told him, and even for them, they were distant things. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard about them, but if anyone heard him asking about them, they'd probably call him a lunatic. Now, all that was left for the world was to find food by stealing, whether from trucks headed to the big cities or from marginalized groups who, according to urban legend, camped somewhere in the desert, hidden from all eyes and radar. Isagi didn't really believe in their existence. If they were real, maybe someone would have come looking for him and his group to help them. Wasn't it true what they said, that the Renegades were always looking for new members? Maybe, but in the meantime, he was the one who had to take charge of his entire group of revolutionary survivors. He was the leader, the most skilled, and the most capable. Or perhaps it has been since the disappearance of the true leader, Ryuunosuke Kira, who hasn't been seen for four hundred and fifty-five nights. He doesn't want to be the one to tell his group that he probably won't be coming back, because it's most likely that God took him long ago.
He stops dead in his tracks, startled by a sudden gust of wind that almost pulls him back. He forces his knees to hold him still until the gust subsides, which it does after a few seconds. He sighs and resumes walking. He's still not entirely sure where he's going. The last time he fulfilled his duty as leader and representative of his group and went out to find food, he ended up finding what had been a gas station several decades ago. Although it was completely abandoned and supplies were scarce, he managed to find some cans of legumes and bags of rice in the back storage areas and the kitchen. He remembers how heartbreaking it was to see it all, as if someone had died there. But the country they live in was like that everywhere: bleak, hot, and desolately deserted. There's no one to interact with for miles around besides his group. The last time he saw a car near him was when Kira was still alive and his group of rebels had barely formed. Despite their attempts to signal for the car to come closer, it never did. It turned and drove off in the opposite direction. But that's how it was; people stopped caring about each other because the world wasn't big enough for everyone and it was too cruel for there to be enough happiness for all.
He should try to remember the address of that gas station. It had been two months since he was last outside, so there are two possibilities:
1) Another group of outcasts found the station and finished looting it completely.
Or
2) The station is now being used as a meeting point for some rebels, and they may have restocked it.
It's most likely the former. Isagi seriously doubts the rebels would be foolish enough to set up a hideout in a place as easily tracked as a gas station, much less share anything with him. Especially since all the rebels are wanted by their country's government, condemned for the greatest crime of all: refusing to belong to the absolute society. The mere thought of submitting his mind and conscience to others makes Isagi's body shudder. How could anyone tolerate such a thing? His philosophy (and that of all the rebels) is: "to live without constraints." A free mind, even if it's tainted in the eyes of the world, is better than a rotten one that's controlled.
Perhaps he should take another route. The provisions he brought consist of little more than a few pieces of yesterday's bread and a bottle of water. He must ration them well if this is going to take time. Though it shouldn't be much, as the group's supplies aren't enough to last much longer than a week. If he doesn't want his group to fall apart from starvation, he must hurry.
The sun moves, dancing across the ground and marking the passage of time. He doesn't have a watch, he never has. He doesn't even really know how they work in the first place, but he doesn't need one because ever since he can remember, time ceased to be important and became a relative concept that no one cares about anymore. Because this world is ruthless, and it's much better not to wait, so you're no longer in it.
As night fell, Isagi finally found the first physical location in the entire desert. It was nothing more than a dilapidated building, or at least that's what it once was. It was falling apart, as was all the rubble surrounding it. It most likely belonged to a farmhouse at some point. He knocked twice, making sure no one was there. If someone was, he wouldn't give them time to hide before entering. It was dark and quite cold—desert nights are usually like this—but it would do, providing him with shelter from the wind and sandstorms.
"Hello…?" he says to the air. Nothing answers but the echo of his voice, and that's for the best.
He shrugs and sets out to find something edible that won't harm him. He finds many cans stacked on a shelf, filled with peas and other legumes, but according to the production date, they haven't expired yet. He smiles at this; it must be the best fortune he's had in a long time. He opens the bag he brought to store as many cans as he can. Now that he's found this place, he's going to bring someone with him so they can carry all the food. With this, they'll be able to live for more than six months without having to leave.
"What good fortune! I'll have to pray after this," he whispers to himself, clearly not expecting a reply.
"Yes, but so that a place will be waiting for you up there, man."
He jumped back, letting out a loud scream from the sudden fright. Turning around, he was met with several faces he'd never seen before. Although, to be honest, he hadn't seen many people besides the members of his group. He quickly dropped the can and raised his arms, showing his vulnerability and vulnerability, hoping they wouldn't hurt him. Or so he thought until he saw the enormous knife one of them was brandishing at him. He paled even more, his body bathed in cold sweat—no, freezing cold in his case, given the low temperature. The faces of the people in front of him didn't look very friendly, though he couldn't make out much in the dim light.
"Quick, identify yourself," one of them ordered.
"What? Identify myself?" he asked quietly. How was he supposed to do that if he didn't even know them? He thought to himself. But with such a knife pointed at him, he wasn't about to question them about that, or much else.
"Shut up!" the one with the knife shouted, and Isagi pressed his lips together, terrified. "He said: Identify yourself. Do it before I kill you."
“Well, I’ve lived a good life,” he thinks. It’s not a lie; at least he won’t die at the hands of the government. But he worries that his comrades will be in trouble without him. They have orders to choose a new leader if he doesn’t return within a week, but even that doesn’t put him at ease.
“Um, my name is Yoichi Isagi. I’m the leader of a rebel group in the western Dead Desert. I’m just looking for food for my group,” he says seriously, but his voice trembles slightly.
The group of serial menacing men exchanged glances, analyzing each other's words. Finally, one of them nodded, and the knife-wielding man moved closer, still holding his weapon.
"Perfect, this is the end," his mind declared.
But the man stopped abruptly and simply inspected him more closely. Isagi recoiled slightly at his sudden proximity and trembled under his probing gaze. His small yellowish eyes were far too unsettling for someone as defenseless as he was. Then, the stranger spoke again.
"May God protect us..." he says, quoting the first part of a sentence. Isagi's face turns serious and his body stops trembling.
"...And may no one break..." he continues.
"...our hearts of gold." they both finish in firm voices.
They stand still for a few seconds, the only sounds the wind and the sand rattling against the metal of the shed. Then, the man lowers the knife, allowing Isagi to breathe again. At least they won't kill him, or at least not with a knife. He acknowledges that there are other, less... bloody and painful ways to die.
"Wow, you know the Renegades' motto," he says, surprised.
Isagi sighs and says, "Yes, I have to know it if I want to live."
Living as fugitives and potentially as opposition forces to the government, they are constantly sought by it and face one of two fates:
1) life imprisonment with the maximum sentence for the crime of conspiracy against the government. Or
2) being killed by the armed forces.
To that end, the country's largest opposition force, known as the Renegades, who are scattered and hidden throughout the vast desert in unidentified locations, created a motto known only to their group and all other fringe groups unaffiliated with the Renegades who oppose the government regime. This important motto is broadcast daily through interconnected radio networks between the groups (or even alliances) to prevent these kinds of situations from escalating; since they are all on the same side, the goal would never be to eliminate each other, right? That would be ridiculous. Isagi learned this motto from Kira, who had memorized it and written it down in a notebook so as not to forget it should he ever encounter a Renegade.
Therefore, this motto, besides being a philosophy for all who inhabit the desert, serves as a way of identifying with the group of rebels, which is good if you value your life and want to live.
“Well, you’re not with the government,” the guy with the knife says, wincing. His sharp, dagger-like teeth match his weapon.
Isagi isn’t amused, but he’s not about to argue with a guy carrying a bladed weapon. Instead, he takes a closer look at the three men who seem to be holding him. They’re tall and have menacing faces. He wants to show them he’s no threat, but he doubts they’ll listen. He has to resign himself to wanting to get out of there alive.
They may not be government officials, but that doesn't mean they'll show mercy to another rebel. Especially knowing he's there, in the same store as them, stealing food that probably belongs to them.
"No, but you were still going to steal the food we found first," the other one says. His red eyes stare at him as if piercing his soul. It's enough to make Isagi swallow hard and regret everything he's done.
But he shouldn't back down. His friends need him. He's the leader of his community; he's the one who must ensure their safety, and he mustn't yield to anyone else, for his pride and his people.
"I need it," he pleads. "It's for all my people."
The man with red eyes frowns at his declaration.
"How many are there?"
Isagi is surprised by their sudden interest, but he has nothing to lose by telling them.
"We're a small group. Twenty people, to be exact."
The men nod. He has no idea what's going through their minds, but they seem to know each other so well that they already know what the other is thinking. Finally, the three of them sit down on the floor, forming a circle and leaving an empty space, which he assumes is for him. The tallest of the three turns on a flashlight and places it in the center. It's the first time he's been able to see their faces more clearly.
They're taller than their shadows appear. The boy holding the knife has blond hair and a hardened expression; he's probably lived a hard life. The tallest has bleached white hair, though he can see his dark roots. Despite that, he has a kinder look than the others. Finally, the third member, the man with red eyes, is the only one who doesn't sit down, but he still stays close to them. He lights a cigarette and draws on it as if it were a grounding wire. He has long, dark hair like him, perhaps blacker, and a shaved "x" on the middle of his head. His appearance is exactly what he'd expect from a killer.
Perhaps they weren't inviting him to a bonfire, but rather to his death sentence.
Even so, Isagi sat down.
"Alright, what's your name again?" the white-haired man asked. "I'm Ga—"
Suddenly, the red-eyed man clears his throat sharply, silencing the other. The white-haired man closes his mouth, seemingly remembering something he'd been told earlier, and simply observes him. Isagi, noticing the sudden shift from a pleasant atmosphere to a more uncomfortable one, decides to speak.
"I'm Isagi," he introduces himself again, extending his hand toward them. "I'm the leader of the Ichinan community."
None of them answered him. The boys in front of him nodded, and the one with the cigarette was simply enjoying his tobacco. Now Isagi felt uninteresting. If these men planned to let him live and escape with the food, but not reveal their names, he didn't care. But he would like to have someone to talk to, someone he'd never met before. The desert was vast, and so was his city. Surely there were many interesting stories to tell. And if they were part of the Renegades, which was very likely, they not only had good anecdotes to share, but they might also be interested in an alliance.
“I’ve never heard of you,” the white-haired man remarked.
Isagi wasn’t surprised. Since they were a peaceful group, the only reason they’d be targeted was because they weren’t affiliated with the government. Beyond that, there was nothing about them that made them stand out.
“Well, actually, we are peaceful,” Isagi said, shrugging. “We don’t hijack trucks or anything like that. The only way we get supplies is by looting abandoned places.”
He might be giving away a lot of information, but perhaps it will help him forge a partnership with them. If only he could make them see him as trustworthy, the supposed Renegades might trust him and he could bring more supplies to their hideout.
The trio of strangers just stare at each other. The one with the cigarette has been motionless for quite some time, lost in thought as he stares at the ground. The cigarette in his hand is slowly disintegrating from the heat. He doesn't notice until the one with the gun points it out. The man apologizes and walks over to them, sitting down opposite him and offering the cigarette to the other, who smokes it with decorum.
Isagi thinks again how strange they are. They barely speak to each other, yet they seem to know each other incredibly well. Not even he, who has lived with his entire group his whole life, could manage that.
They look at each other, communicating with their eyes once more. Isagi feels out of place again, and it's unbelievable that this is happening to him in a conversation where no one is even speaking. If no one says anything soon, he'll go crazy.
Finally, the red-eyed man sighs and looks at him again. He's not stupid, so he notices the hatred burning in his pupils. It seems venomous, and he doesn't understand why he's furious with him when he did nothing more than look out for his comrades. If he's a Renegade, he should understand.
"Look," he begins firmly, "we're not interested in forming any kind of alliance with weaklings like you who only hide in our shadow."
He frowned at their statement. He clenched his fists and stood up abruptly, glaring angrily at the three of them, but mainly at the man who had spoken to him. Those idiots had done nothing but intimidate him the whole time they'd been there, and now they spoke to him like that, belittling his entire group and him as their leader. It's absurd.
"Hey, don't talk about us like that!" he protested, on the verge of leaning forward and punching the guy to wipe the bored expression off his face.
But the man raised his hand to silence him.
"However," he continued, "we're all in this together."
The dark-haired man is surprised by this. Everything is more confusing than before. Are they planning to help him and his community? And to what end? He just said he wasn't interested in forming an alliance with his people.
Nothing in this life is free; everyone learned that the hard way.
He narrows his eyes in their direction, and seeing his distrust, they resume their conversation.
"I'll give you an address if you ever need help."
The boy with the peculiar fangs reaches into his pants, pulls something out, scribbles something on the paper, and hands it to Isagi. It's a small piece of paper with a few instructions for what appears to be a hideout, indicated by cardinal directions. Isagi exchanges confused glances between the men and the piece of paper, but no one explains anything further. It doesn't take him long to realize that he's been given a piece of paper with the address of the Renegades' hideout.
He's speechless. In fact, he's even more confused than before by such a kind gesture from guys who, less than fifteen minutes ago, were threatening him with a knife.
When they see him raise an eyebrow in silent question, the man with the knife speaks again.
"Unlike them," he mutters angrily, referring to his enemies, the members of the government, "we are not monsters. We care about people."
Isagi nods in agreement. He's not as much of an idiot as he seems, or as they think he is. He tucks the paper into his pocket and looks at them purposefully, thanking them for their kindness.
They don't speak much more, simply telling him to take only what his group needs and to camp with them until dawn, as the desert night is far too cold to walk. Besides, he's probably exhausted from walking all day. They would do the same, so after turning off their flashlight, they all lie down on the ground to rest. After such a busy day, Isagi falls asleep almost instantly.
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The next day, they wake up to the light filtering through the windows. At least Isagi and the red-eyed one do. The other two take a little longer, but nothing a little smack from their partner can't fix.
Isagi bids farewell to the peculiar trio, who also wave back, hoping to see him again after the pleasure of meeting him. Or so the white-haired one says; the other two simply raise their chins and turn away. As they leave the shed, Isagi sees a vehicle up close for the first time in his life. The car has no doors and is quite small, but functional for three people like them. Even though he knows nothing about cars, he can appreciate such a beauty.
"Wow," he exclaims in surprise.
The boy with the odd teeth smiles proudly and throws his arm over his shoulder, showing off his possession.
"Jealous?" he asks arrogantly.
Isagi squints at him and then rolls his eyes. From what little he could glean of his personality from the time they spent together the day before, he notices how arrogant the Renegades can be when showing off their possessions, like that car or even the knife he used to threaten him less than twenty-four hours ago.
"I've never seen one this close," Isagi admits. The man with the knife raises an eyebrow.
"A Jeep?"
"A car."
The white-haired Renegade and the one with the knife exchanged a look of astonishment that Isagi couldn't believe. If he'd already told them his group was a quiet one, why would they expect them to have cars? He wanted to believe they weren't as common as they seemed.
"You're kidding," the boy said again. His eyes widened as he saw him shake his head. "Captain, let us take him for a spin!"
The third man quickly denies his request, saying they should have returned long ago if they weren't loitering. The only information he's been able to glean from this is the title of one of them. He has no idea how the Renegade ranks work, but he's definitely in the presence of a captain.
Reluctantly, the duo bids him farewell, saying they would have liked to meet him and hope to do so again soon. Isagi waves goodbye as the trio gets into the car and drives off, leaving a trail of dust in their wake. Right now, Isagi wishes he had one of those cars, just to save himself the walk back in the blazing sun.
But since he doesn't have it, he has no choice but to resign himself and make his way back to his lair on his own. It will take him hours due to the distance and also the weight of the cans of food he's carrying. But at least once he arrives, he won't have to leave again for a good while.
The sun revolves around him, marking the passage of minutes and hours, which tells him he's getting closer and closer to home. When he spots it, he couldn't be happier. He's dying to let his whole group know that the stories circulating in the desert about the Renegades are true and that he's had the chance to meet some of them.
"I'm here, friends," he called out as he opened the gate.
However, no one answered.
Isagi dropped his lunch bag to the floor in shock. The muffled sound was barely registered by his brain because of the scene before him. The entire hall floor was littered with the bloodied bodies of his classmates, lying lifeless.
"Guys, guys! Are you okay?! What happened to you?!"
No matter how much Yoichi searched among all the bodies, he didn't find a single one who could answer or who was still alive. Whatever had happened, it had happened in his absence, and someone had mercilessly massacred his group.
He screamed with a loud, anguished voice. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his throat tore without him even realizing it. But he didn't care, not when everything he had known and loved had suddenly vanished, and nothing was going to bring it back.
He fell to his knees, trying to process everything, but it was useless. What was he going to do now that he was alone? Everything he knew and everyone he loved was gone. No matter how hard he tried to wake any of his companions, it was impossible. Their frozen bodies were proof that they had stopped breathing long ago, and there was nothing left for them. The last time he saw them, he barely said goodbye to anyone; he simply smiled and never said farewell.
And now, he could never do that again.
He leaned against the wall, weeping inconsolably, utterly desperate and alone. From now on, completely alone.
He stayed there for an unknown amount of time, remembering again and again their faces, their smiles, the songs they almost always sang at dusk to ease the tension, to forget for a moment that they were never children, but fugitives who represented a part of the freedom of a society that had risen up against the government, which tried hard to remind them that their heads were nothing more than a price to pay.
His entire beloved family vanished in a single day.
He raises his head to see the entrance of the shed he once called home, which is now nothing more than a nightmare. It's covered in the blood of his friends and the bullets that took their lives. He frowns and gets up to pick one up; each one is engraved with the symbol of the country's government. Of course, it was obvious that their police system was responsible for this massacre. He presses the bullets tightly against the palm of his hand, the lead digging into his skin, drawing blood, but he doesn't care. His body is filled with so much tension and pent-up anger that it's incapable of processing anything but those feelings.
The government was always searching for them, for them and for all the rebel groups scattered across the vast desert. They put up "wanted" posters with the faces they managed to capture or with drawings of faces that witnesses claimed to have seen. They hunted down every one they found who dared to defy them with their very existence.
They'd never done anything wrong, they'd never killed anyone. The only thing they were responsible for was not thinking like them. And for that alone, they'd earned a death sentence.
He threw the bullets with force, making them shatter against the wall. He gritted his teeth and retrieved the paper they'd given him from his pocket, rereading the instructions.
The government once again took away everything she loved in this life; it was time to put a stop to it.
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It took him many hours, but he managed to get everyone out of the shed so they could be properly buried. He prayed for each of his companions, who from this day forward are nothing more than graves. And, with nothing but his own thoughts for company, Isagi departed for what would be the next stage of his life.