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purify-orre-blog · 6 years

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CH 4: Trial Bloopers - Part 2 : The Killer, Hope, and Alibis

... More killer reactions

(junpei

> Michael saw the old him in Junpei. The one Michael never acknowledged. The small, scared, pathetic and directionless Michael that couldn’t survive a broken arm. Junpei made Michael uneasy, all this time, so he stayed away. Michael assumed distance would prevent Junpei from falling like Michael had. But he was wrong. And Junpei had killed 3 people.

(mugman

> Mugman was the good to Cuphead’s bad, plain as anyone could see. Just like how Jovi used the good Michael never let show. In Mugman’s confession, he saw his little sister, and felt his heart ache. He wanted so badly to give Mugman a pat on the arm or a hug, but knew he couldn’t. That would be out-of-place and confuse the poor guy. Michael kept himself quiet. This was Mugman’s moment.

(cuphead - unused

> Cuphead had always reminded Michael of the worst in his father and Uncle Gonzap, the parts he had taken upon himself. And as such, wanted to go over and give the boy a hug. But they had never been close, and never would be. Just like Michael and Wes and Gonzap. Michael’s hands shook and his forced himself still. Better let Cuphead have his last goodbyes.

(ann

> He never expected Ann to be so... violent. He almost didn’t want to believe it. He always assumed she’d go with something refined and practically undetectable, like poisoning.

(yuuto

> After Manami’s final act, Michael had assumed Yuuto changed for the better. Apparently not.

(honoka

> Honoka had never shown such aptitude with equipment or planning before, and it made Michael feel sick. He had trusted she would stay sorely on his Probable Victims list.

(peter

> Michael had never spoken with Peter, but the betrayal hurt all the same. He really thought Peter would survive this.

(shuichi

> Michael prided Shuichi on taking so long to give in, but still felt upset. How could someone that the good Honoka trusted do something this twisted?

(rui

> Michael saw bits and pieces of his mother and sister in Rui, which made her confession all the harder to take. He bit down on the inside of his cheeks hard to keep from saying anything too personal.

(inuyasha

> Michael didn’t... feel much of anything really. Inuyasha had never made much of an impact on Michael.

(neku

> Michael felt bad for Neku. His loneliness must have driven him to desperation.

(hiroki, or rei, or robin

> Michael felt sick. He didn’t want this to happen. He didn’t want his bait to work. He didn’t want responsibility for more death.

… Hope specific

(have you fallen to despair?

> Michael’s eyes seemed to crackle with something powerful. “Have I?” And he smirked. “Or have I embraced the true nature of hope?” Eyes twinkling, like he was in on some big joke, Michael’s smile grew. “To sacrifice one’s own being to create the next generation of heroes is the most hopeful thing one can do.” And his tone takes a patronizing angle. “I was hoping for more conviction and less pathetic sadness, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

(cut the bs.

> Michael’s smile became calm. “Am I really that transparent? That easy to see through? Do you… all not want a villain?”

(we want a friend

> The smile thins. “Friends should be people, and not tools. How about you focus your hope and pity on someone else?”

(we’re serious (or to the effect of that, just has to be a truthful response)

> And the smile is back. “So am I. How about I tell you my thoughts on hope?“

(someone tries to ignore him

> Michael’s smile flickers for a moment, before settling again. “Please give me this, alright? I want to have the chance to speak directly to those at home.”

(if they keep ignoring him

> Michael pulls out a switchblade from the smallest compartment of his backpack and starts filing his nails. “I’ll give my ideals a rest, after this. If you let me speak my piece.“

(if they keep ignoring him

> Michael throws the switchblade fast, with decent accuracy. It digs deep into the center of his own podium. “Please let me speak about hope.”

(how do you really feel about hope?

> Michael’s smile fell as he closed his eyes in thought. “Hope is… something dangerous. It’s good in a pinch, but deadly in overuse. It can blind like faith, and lead one down a road of delusion.” He opens his eyes and they seem clear, like he’s truly here, in this moment. “It’s no end-all be-all, and can’t wade off misfortune or bring in the future through acquiescence.” Then he gives a small sheepish smile. “Ah, right. Big words. Apologies to the hard-of-hearing and those at home. Want to reach the most of you I can…” And he looks up to the ceiling. “It can’t account for anything good or bad,” and he looks over his classmates, “not luck,” he looks to Junpei and Caelum pityingly, “not family background,” from Saturday to Rui to Mugman and Cuphead, “not circumstance or the past,” back to Yori and then to Ann and Yuuto, “not personal feelings or ambitions,” from Peter to Honoka to Shuichi and back to Caelum again, “not loneliness,” to Inuyasha and Neku, “and not even regrets,” at this he closes his eyes. “Hope is… a fantasy. Like a far off dream.” He stares over at Oswald, neutrally. “Just like desperation, it can be useful in beginning to start again.”

> Then back to his peers. “But it is a crutch, all the same.” And closes his eyes in thought. “I’ve lived without it for a long time.” Then opens them fast, worried. “Not to say crutches can’t be useful!” He almost looks angry at himself for implying anything otherwise. “Any physical therapist worth their salt knows that. I’m not trying to turn you off of what you need to live comfortably!” And then back to worried. “There’s no shame in using tools like hope or myself to further your own happiness. There’s never anything bad about coping the best way you can.” And closes his eyes in thought again. “It’s just… relying only on hope, or optimism, or regret, or feelings of duty, is pointless. Puts too much stress on one thing.”

> He balls his hands into fists and gives a little arm pump into the air, jumping around a bit before settling back in the center of the trial room. “I’ve got it!” And he smiles, truly smiles. “You have to adapt! Update it with your own drive and ambitions- make it your own, and replace the old parts, take care of it, or trade it out for something more suited to you specifically!” And he nods, proud of himself.

(what the hell, michael

> Michael flinches at everyone��s quietness. “Was- was, was this the wrong thing to do?” His breathing quickens and he starts talking faster. “Have you all never been forced to overcome a hurdle like myself before?” And faster. “Did you not understand that I’ve been playing the bad guy since Oswald showed up to get you to act?” And faster. “Isn’t it like this back home for you all too?” And faster. “I made you all hate me to focus your aggressions on someone who deserved it, isn’t that enough?” And his voice starts shaking. “Am I not enough?” And he starts shaking too, his breathing becoming frantic, “What else do I need to do to stop your killing?” And he pinches himself, hard. He yelps, and takes some deep breathes, gasping for air. “I don’t want to die here.”

(neither do we, you’re selfish, this is about you again, what the hell, just stop talking unless you can help, etc.

> Michael looks heartbroken. “I see. I’ll stop trying, then.” And he sits down in the middle of the trial room, and hugs his backpack.

... Alibi specific

> He looks unimpressed. “Just because I have trouble around water rides and large bodies of water doesn’t mean I’m above using it as a crime scene.” And his brows come together in confusion. “Or are you telling me you’d never been willing to go through your nightmares to create some hope?” He smirks. “I guess I can’t expect too much from weakened wills the likes of which you all have.”

> He goes back to looking at everyone ~~except Yori~~ through his own eye level and scoffs. “Cover for them? Please.” He crosses his arms and frowns. “I’m merely confessing to my transgressions.” Then he tilts his head to the right and looks worried. “Unless, of course, you Ultimates *want* to die here.”

> For less than a second, Michael stills. “The layout of... the rides there?” And as soon as the sentence is out, he lets out a dry laugh. “Does that matter? The only one I needed to use was the slide that collapsed!”

> His smile falls, slowly. “Even if I’m merely regurgitating what the case file said, does it matter?” And he scowls. “It’s almost like you don’t want to look further than this case.”

> His expression cracks and for a second, he seems like he might cry, but quickly the smile is back. “You’re right. It was serendipitous of me to assume you all cared for the fates of everyone who died so far. You heroes always think so short term.”

> Michael’s eyes seem to crash and ebb like violent waves at the suggestion for just a moment, but he blinks and it’s gone. He’s back to that calm smile. “If you’re all more content to focus on the meaningless semantics of this case instead of tracking down the mastermind, I’ll stand by your false hope.”

#CH4 #bloopers

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purify-orre-blog · 6 years

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Chapter 4: Post Execution

TL:DR; Michael’s plan is starting to turn out just how he wanted, and he hates it. Also, he wishes Caelum had done a hit during that last trial. He wishes Saturday had pulled out her scythe. He wishes someone had fallen for his latest routine.

Accompanying Music: Sadness (It’s Okay To Grieve And Feel For Yourself, Even If You Never Have Before Now)

His plans weren’t working. No one was acting any different, and he still had no idea who was in-charge.

Best contender was either Ryo or Hiro. (On account of the whole, coding-robotics angle.) And they were both dead.

He felt so powerless.

He didn’t know what to do.

He had hoped egging Saturday and Caelum on during the trial would get something out of them, anything, because they were smart and if he prodded hard enough they’d get his hints to stop focusing on the puzzle pieces and start on the BIG PICTURE, but it didn’t help.

It didn’t help.

Becoming the villain was doing nothing.

More people were going to die, and he was starting to care.

Not just general would-wire-over-all-his-money caring, but specific would-jump-off-a-bridge-if-it-so-pleased caring. For all of them.

Especially Yogi and Yori.

It hurt.

Rui always said his aching heart was genetic, and he thought he understood, but the feelings from everyone h u r t .

And on top of that, he could feel the grips of reality settling on into Yori, the way it had Yogi, and he couldn’t. Do. Anything.

He quite literally, just an hour ago, figured out that maybe, just maybe he was included in the “everyone” that he tended to speak about when he referred to the rest of humanity. That maybe everyone, including him, didn’t deserve to suffer this way? That he could be more than “a useful tool” to someone? That he deserved to feel something other than satisfied in a job well done?

And it was scary. Overwhelming. Made him feel sick. Sicker than when he tried to swim. Sicker than when he was around… firearms. Sicker than when he was around the city limits of Phenac.

And while all he wanted to do was pass out, and finally get some sleep, he decided he’d have to start the next phase of ‘Direct Intense Emotions Only oNto Michael Expressly’ and hope the distraction would be enough to buy some more time.

That it would be enough to distract everyone from what was surely to come. That they would see his antics and focus their hope on hating someone worthy of it, and not each other. That they would take the hidden meanings behind his actions and realize time was running out.

He couldn’t tell anyone outright. After all his progress, after his carefully planned narrative set in motion when Oswald arrived, it’d seem suspicious. He could only take the brunt of their frustrations. He could never show anyone the real Michael.

So he’d be their villain. He’d be their last obstacle. He’d be their stepping-stone to the future. He’d start leaving hints around and lead them on a mystery, stage his own death, set deadly traps, leave bomb-making manuals around, whatever it took.

Whatever it took to be entertaining.

And he would be entertaining.

Hopefully enough for Oswald.

Oswald would only entertain their frustration as long as it was entertaining. (At least, that’s what Michael assumed. He didn’t really know. He was afraid to talk to Oswald after… last time.)

Which is why he created the rat pyramid.

The rats would clue everyone in that someone among them was working to keep the mastermind hidden. Working to keep Oswald operational. It had to be the case. The only contenders Michael could justify were dead. (Or still missing their memories like Michael was, which was troubling.)

There had to be someone among them who knew who was in-charge, and this was a summons.

Unconventional in every matter, sure, but Michael assumed whoever would work with their captor would be into weird paraphernalia… Especially if it related to Disney.

Besides, someone mentioned a “Rickey Rat Fastpass Derriere Smusher” before right? Ann, maybe? That’s what the casts were from, except maybe… Maybe that was another joke by Oswald? Picking up the 15 available casts at the gift shop where Rocky died, Michael felt someone snickering at him. Except when he finally picked them up and started the melting process it was 3 days ago and he still couldn’t sleep. So maybe he was imagining it?

He had to be. (Just like when Oswald in his camera feeds said he was broadcasting Michael’s private feed too. That had to be a joke. Michael had said too much. About his regrets for going through with antagonizing everyone, for slowly driving wedges between them all, for opening their eyes to the truth, for putting up with Oswald… But most currently pressing was about how handsome Yogi and Yori were while assuming he was in the privacy of his own security systems. Michael would quite literally maybe actually die if that got out. No one needed to know that Michael had spent 23 minutes trying to rhyme something with purple. No one.)

He typed in a 19 digit code into his phone to start up his newest program. Automated chat text-dumper. He would use it only if absolutely necessary. (He just hoped he would stick around to push back his goodbye message. So it never posted, because it would make Jovi so very sad.) He couldn’t face anyone, anymore, except Yori and Yogi - for as long as they would tolerate him, for as long as the two of them would let Michael help and protect alongside them - and would be lying if he said the trial made him feel better about that fact. (Especially since he still hadn’t really said more than a few words to Yogi… This whole time.) He just didn’t feel safe anywhere else.

He had made himself a target for the better part of his 19 years of life, and couldn’t afford to skirt the boundaries now. If that meant continuing to get takeout at 4 am only if he was sure no one else was around, or accompanying Yori nearly everywhere for the past week because of his own fear, then that was on him.

It was on him.

And when Caelum finally, finally turned on him, which is what he was expecting, it was on Michael. (And really, Caelum had put up with him for much longer than expected. Michael would have to continue to plan accordingly. Take Caelum off the Possible Coconspirator’s list. Move him to the Possible Desperation Kill list.) But Caelum didn’t punch Michael, didn’t leave Michael the opening he was looking for.

Didn’t give Michael the opportunity to let Caelum finally let out some of his anger. Didn’t accept Michael’s apologies. Didn’t exit Reverse Mode.

Didn’t make things interesting for the viewers.

Didn’t play into what he knew of live entertainment.

Didn’t do anything.

And Saturday ignored him.

He was hoping she’d use her scythe, threaten him, something, anything, ANYTHING to get her out of her rut.

But she just kept spiraling down.

And Michael almost lost himself.

He let his aura flare, let himself take in their hatred and confusion, and acted the way everyone he had ever depised had to him.

He became a bully. And nearly, much worse.

He almost said that Caelum was a bad example to Rocky. He almost said that Saturday was just as vile as him for thinking she could help anyone at all. He almost said that Mugman deserved what happened because he wasn’t keeping an eye on his brother. He almost said that Cuphead should’ve come to him so they could work an arrangement out.

He almost became everything he feared in Ardos, that day on the volcano’s peak, not even a foot away from the core.

He could feel the power coursing through him the same way he saw it in that vile man, and felt his potential spike. He could see their situations reversed, except, instead of Eldes there to wrestle the other man away from kicking Michael in, it was just the two of them. And he kicked the other man in. He could taste the momentary high from ending the last threat to his happiness and the crushing weight of directly ending the life of another afterwards.

For the first part of the trial, all he could hear was the voice of Ardos in his brain, searing right into his very core, urging him to do something drastic. Anything to keep the show going. Because he was behind this too, just like he was behind Phenac, and if Michael wasn’t more interesting, he’d end them all just as suddenly as Botan. Just as suddenly as Russell, this time.

If Junpei hadn’t started crying, if Peter hadn’t been skeptical, if Cuphead hadn’t flicked a piece of popcorn at his head, if Saturday and Caelum hadn’t ignored him, if Yori hadn’t called for him, then Michael would have walked right over to Oswald and…

He didn’t want to think about what he would have done.

So later, watching Yori fashion Hiroki’s snurby around some of his rats - the best ones to turn out, actually - he let himself grieve.

Actually, he excused himself to the restroom first for a shower, and let the cold water pierce into his very being. And then he cried.

Cried for what he turned himself into, and for all he had done.

Cried for his family, who were probably all dead, despite everything he said out loud to the contrary.

Cried for letting down everyone at the lab, for Arrow and Bow and his other friends he would never see again.

Cried for turning out just like his father, who had given Jovi and Michael away so Michael wouldn’t join the family business.

Cried for turning out just like his mother, who had the biggest heart he ever saw and cared so deeply that it wore her down.

Cried for turning out twisted like his Uncle Gonzap, who he loved but feared at the same time.

Cried for turning out broken like Uncle Naps, who was the one to tell Michael it was okay to feel like being used was all he was good at because he felt that way too.

Cried for turning out eroded like Uncle Duking, who carried the burden of the world on his shoulders.

Cried for turning out a liability like Uncle Silva, who couldn’t be trusted more than 10 minutes alone because his traumas were too many and measured for such a nice man.

Cried for turning out just like everything his sister ever said he would be without her even if she was always joking because it came true, directionless and a disaster.

Cried for burdening his classmates, for making them feel worse, for acting so against everything he ever wanted to be.

Cried for poisoning Yori with his problems, like he had probably poisoned Yogi, like he knew he had poisoned Saturday before him and Caelum before her and Rocky before anyone else.

But, as he found himself running out of tears, he realized he hadn’t cried for himself.

For willingly and knowingly giving everyone a common threat, a common enemy, a common hurdle to overcome, for trying to get them to see hope the only way he knew to express it, and mostly for ever wishing that first week that he could stay in the theme park with his new peers forever, instead of going to Hope’s Peak to inherit his father’s shame.

And, it wasn’t okay.

But he was out of tears.

And as he got out of the shower and back into his nightgown, he knew it wouldn’t be okay.

As he finally fell asleep that night next to Yori, and let himself have someone to protect and be protected by, he knew it wouldn’t be okay.

No amount of love or hope or happiness or therapy could ever make this okay.

No amount of hatred or disdain or fear like he had received after Phenac, no confusion or sympathy or pity like he was receiving now, no spec of anything could fix what was maybe going on in the outside world.

Nothing could fix everyone left alive either.

And nothing could ever take back anything he said, or did, because on some level he meant it. (And they would never know the difference, even if his personal logs were broadcasting, too.)

And even if he was used to it, even if he knew things could never go back to normal... That things - even though they would get better - would never go back to before… He knew it was killing his classmates.

It was killing Yori and Yogi.

Even if he made himself forgive everyone for falling to what Michael had overcome so long ago, even if forced his regrets away, even if he forced the Michael that was worried away, even if he locked the Michael that felt scared away, even if he had to torture the Michael that wanted to collaborate into submission, even if he had to kill the Michael that hated desperation and hopelessness again another thousand times, even if he reveled in the safeness he felt around Yori, even if he let himself succumb to the love - he now knew it was love - in his heart and his soul, he knew it would never be enough.

His hope would never be enough.

He was just one person.

And he promised Yori he wouldn’t take matters into his own hands anymore.

Michael had to stop.

Michael had to.

But if he stopped, he didn’t know if he could ever start again.

And more than anything, that terrified him.

#CH4

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