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Stop.
Please, no!
His neck is burning from the tight collar gripped around it, but that is the last of his concerns. The machine in front of him hums to life, and that sick stuffed bear steps up to it.
"Upupupu~!" it chimes, the seemingly ‘adorable’ sound making his blood run cold. A paw extended, it gives him a final sendoff, its black half staring straight at him with the single crimson eye gleaming with sadistic delight. That toothy grin just makes it look even more menacing, though Leon hadn’t ever been so afraid in his short life until now.
Everyone is watching. The rest of his classmates have apprehensive looks on their faces, but they remain mere spectating bystanders. Witnesses. to his execution - execution oh God no - and they aren’t doing a damn thing to help.
He has an urge to cry out to them, to help him somehow, but he knows it’s useless. He’s done the deed, and now he’s paying the ultimate price for it.
The teen gives a hard swallow, his throat dry and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Tears pricked at his eyes, blurring the edges of his vision. His mouth is agape, but no words fall off his tongue. And what would he even say? Would he beg for his life? Would he apologize? Would he damn the bear and the mastermind to the hottest pits of hell?
He’ll never know, because before he can even think anything more, the ball cannon - the same thing he saw his teammates practicing with before games - begins to shoot damn baseballs in his direction. But it’s not even one or five - it’s hundreds at once.
Hundreds.
How can he possibly survive this?
A baseball is made of cork, two layers of rubber, four layers of yarn, and two strips of cowhide. They’re small, but they can and have caused so many injuries. Baseball’s a dangerous sport underneath its ‘pastime’ appeal, and Leon’s no stranger to bruises from them, but he never imagined they would be his end.
Calm down, he tells himself, calm down and focus on breathing. His mind races - I’m going to die help me someone please! - but he tries to keep calm. Eyes narrowed into a defiant glare, he faces his opposition with as much courage as he can muster up. It’s difficult, given his situation, and his fingers curl in as if to instinctively protect himself (as if he could).
His mind tries to escape the situation. Get away from reality, think about something else; unfortunately, he ends up wallowing in anger and sorrow, a horrible despair washing over him.
I never got to learn why we’re here, or who’s behind this. He thinks as another ten baseballs hit his abdomen. His eyes screw shut in an attempt to protect himself, but he knows it’s useless. He could hit a baseball out of the park, but he couldn’t prevent his teammates from tying him to the flagpole after games.
I never got to be a rock star. Another twenty hit his chest, breaking a few ribs, surely. He can hear them crack.
I never got to say sorry for Maizono. They pound mercilessly into his head, bludgeoning him behind his comprehension. Was this what she felt when he sunk the blade into her body? Did she feel her blood run cold as she hastily scribbled his name on the wall?
I’m sorry.
But was he? Or was he just sorry he got caught? He chose to follow her. Chose to lift his shaky hands and press a knife into her side. Maybe he did mean it. Maybe he was just that cruel. Maybe he was a terrible person, and did deserve this.
Stop. Please.
It hurts.
It hurts, and his vision is growing black. His breath is ragged at this point, the copper tang not leaving his tongue as he vomits blood. He can feel the hot tears pouring out of his eyes and down his cheeks, probably smearing the red that’s made its way onto the deadly projectiles.
A fuzzy sensation overcomes his senses as the blood continues to pour out of him, bruises becoming blacker and blacker as they are hit more times than he can count. His body convulses against his will, the only thing he can control anymore - his breathing - begins to slow down.
He chokes on the blood in his throat, his eyes screwing shut. The machine is winding down, and he’s trying to hold on, but the darkness creeping up on him is tempting. Very, very inviting and he almost submits to it.
Just a little longer…
His head goes limp, and then his arms. He’s a puppet with his strings cut, a warning on display for his classmates. Don’t ever try to escape - there is no escape.
Giving one more wheezing gasp, his consciousness finally cuts out like the end of a television program.
Three strikes and he’s out.
"Wait!"
"Is he…?"
The voices around him are muffled - are they even real anymore, or just hallucinations? He sucks in a breath against his will, coughing and choking on what is left of his throat. He struggles, his senses eclipsed by his panic and pain. A terrible burning spreads through him like a fire, from his throat to chest to stomach - everywhere. His head is pounding, and his eyelids feel heavy. His whole body is like a giant weight, pressing down on him and crushing him like an insect.
"Upupupu… it seems that we have a survivor~"
"W-what?"
Who’s speaking? Who’s there? Hadn’t he died?
"How tragic… He didn’t even get to die quickly! But! I have a splendid idea, you bastards!"
…
It’s that bear, isn’t it? Even in this state, Leon recognizes it. So he really didn’t die. Yet.
"How about the lot of you try to save his life and watch as he dies soooo sloooowly~? It bends the rules a bit, but as you know… I’m a veeery flexible bear~"
Bullshit. Leon had tried to defend Maizono’s murder as self-defense, hadn’t he? But the damn thing never even listened. He feels his one support - the chains suspending him on the pole - creak as they retract from his body, allowing him to free fall onto the ground.
He’s so fragile - just breathing uses all of his strength. This short fall will be enough to kill him, surely.
And, at this point, he welcomes death. Anything would be better than living in this hell.
But someone catches him. A warmth holds him up; he can’t move, nor open his eyes to see who it is, but it’s not a threat. Well… he doesn’t think so, anyway. He can barely recall more than his name at this point, but he doesremember Maizono, and why he was getting executed in the first place.
Despite that, they would help him - a murderer? Why?
"Wouldn’t it be just wonderful when he dies after you all try and try and try to help him out? I want to see the despair on your faces when he finally kicks the bucket!"
So that’s the plan. It wasn’t unexpected, honestly; in this prison, it was clear the mastermind behind the stuffed animal would do whatever he could to make them suffer for… some reason.
A voice rings out - clear amongst Leon’s hazy mind.
"You’ve got that wrong!"
Heh. Leon almost laughs at the irony. The same person that convicted him is now trying to defend him? Weird…
There’s more talking, but he can’t hear the others - only the bear again.
"Upupupu… Leon, you’re so lucky~ Your death is prolonged, all thanks to our dear Naegi! Such long, unbearable suffering… it’s the perfect execution for a rotten murderer! Upupupu!"
The grip around him tightens, and he only registers the muffled sounds of his classmates discussing something. Probably what to do with him, or how he’s most likely gonna end up dying, anyway.
But he’d prove that bear wrong. He’d prove ‘em all wrong. Or at least… he’d try.
After all, he had singles to release once he was out of here.