#mandythinks

[mandymorisdraigynss]

Up on the table today is an Izuru Kamukura written execution! This was made a year ago and I only minorly edited it this year, so it might not be the best piece of work...

When you see the cut, that's when the gore kicks in. Feel free to scroll past it.

HOPE’S PEAK'S MONSTER/FRANKENSTEIN OF NORMALITY

Ultimate Hope

Izuru Kamukura’s

Execution: Executed

Izuru is wearing a hospital gown. He walks into a plain white room, filled to the brim with Monokumas. Some are with clipboards, and all with long lab coats. Izuru is on a stage: They are elevated off the ground, towering above the already tiny Monokumas. One Monokuma, leading the bunch, points at Izuru and seemingly commands them to do something. Unbothered, Izuru walks over to an easel, next to them, on the stage. They start painting – and are finished in mere seconds. The Monokumas attempt to write things down, but are quickly pushed down by more Monokumas, with a range of emotions. Some are awestruck; they are amazed. Some are crying tears of happiness, some are yelling and screaming, talking about the painting. It is clear that every Monokuma in the room is genuinely impressed. This is for good reason, of course. The painting is beautiful — Every stroke has been planted carefully, every colour matches and every line goes on to make absolute perfection. Despite how robotic it looks, of course. But surely that can be overlooked.

When the Monokumas calm down (which takes an awfully long time, mind you,) one of them drags a whiteboard onto the stage, handing Izuru a marker. Izuru is still unbothered. They know this is an execution and they are not particularly fond of these last-minute shenanigans. Soon enough, Izuru pops off the marker cap, and starts scribbling things on the board. Complex maths problems that even the mathematicians of today have not figured out.

A loud snap is heard. A Monokuma has pointed something out to Izuru.

Izuru has made a mistake, and it wasn't something the Monokuma made up or edited, or even tricked him into. Izuru had made a genuine mistake, and they knew it. Before they could even start thinking about how this could've happened, several Monokumas had grabbed Izuru and started dragging them away. 

Izuru ends up in a surgical room. The Monokumas are now wearing hair scrubs and masks; They've taped them down to a surgical table.  The table is cross shaped.

Monokumas all around them grab various surgical tools — while they wave them around at Izuru threateningly, other Monokumas bring out trays full of varying body parts.

When all the trays are brought to the surgical table, the Monokumas go ham. They start slicing at Izuru’s body parts. Arms, legs, torso, everything. Bones break, limbs are twisted, and you can hear the cracks in every joint as they're torn from Izuru’s body. Their eye is taken out, their nails are pulled… The chunks of them that have been ripped out are replaced, with the very same organs on the trays. Yet, those are not the only parts being used. No, parts of Izuru themselves are rearranged, in mostly the wrong spot. The ones that are correctly placed get stitched up, but then brutally torn out. Stitched up, torn out. Stitched up, torn out…

Until there's nothing left. Until it's just an assortment of body parts and blood. A twisted Frankenstein of body parts… an incoherent mixture of parts, all harvested from the remains of the Reserve Course long dead, the stem of Izuru’s existence. The reason they exist, the cocoon they emerged from and left behind. How many of the Reserve Course would’ve died to be a part of Izuru? Then again, they already were, and already had. They were finally what they yearned to be the most.

The Reserve Course had died for Izuru’s sins.

The process has been reversed once and for all.

It's hard to tell if there's any Izuru left on the surgery table. Their body had been mutilated so badly, it could read only as a pile of gore in the shape of a cross. How despairing it was to be turned into the very thing they despised, that they used to be. Was the body ever even theirs? They are erased, just like the person who once inhabited it so long ago.

The Monokumas lift the corpse off the table, ready to see how their little experiment fairs in the real world.

It falls to the ground as soon as they let go. 

Splat! Experiment success.