When she first woke up, all she knew was that she didn’t want this. She didn’t want what was happening. The impulse to run took over and she jumped to her feet, almost stumbling as a wave of dizziness crashes over her. The man that brought her here was clearly taken aback but her sudden jolt to wakefulness. Her bare feet against the cold ground hardly bother her until she almost falls down, her knee colliding with a drawer and leaving a rather painful cut. Fight or flight has kicked in. Her first instinct is to grab the nearest object and throw it in the direction of the insane surgeon. It seemed to be some sort of lamp. and her dizziness made hitting him pretty much impossible. Still, her awful miss must have distracted him enough for her to run.
She ran until she the muggy night air hit her when she went outside. She ran until she didn’t think he could possibly follow her. She didn’t stop until she reached an old run down store. It was obviously some sort of thrift shop at one point. Regardless, she wanted to at least take off this crappy medical robe she had been placed in.
So now she’s standing in the bathroom, looking at the cracked mirror. She doesn’t recognize herself. Well, she DOES. But she doesn’t look like herself. Brief moments of consciousness while imprisoned by that Ultimate Despair guy at least sort of stayed in her memory. He planned on turning her into the late Junko Enoshima. Modifying her appearance to look like her, next was to upload some weird copy of her into her brain. Apparently, the douchebag wasn’t planning on her waking up in the middle. Or… start? Regardless, pulling all the tubes and crap out of her left her with a persistent and terrible headache.
“What the fuck…?” She lets the words out into the air. Anger practically making her blood boil. Sure, the sorrow and all that WILL come… But right now she’s pissed.
She can’t remember… A lot. Faceless people in hazy images. If she tries really hard, she can picture some stuff. But she can’t even recall her own name. She tells herself it’ll come back to her.
Well, she needs to stay positive. As positive as you can be when your body has been totally changed into something else and someone stole your memories. She has to get moving away from that psycho. She turned the sink on, pleased with the fact that it still worked. Using a paper towel, she cleaned off the blood from her leg. After that, she left the bathroom and began digging through the scattered clothes on the ground to find something her size. She finds quite a bit but elects to go for something that doesn’t look like it came off the body of a 90-year-old woman.
Once she changes out of the medical robe, she feels… Well, not much better. Still, it helps to make her feel less exposed. Now that she was fully clothed, she departed. Her plan was to stay away from anyone that might recognize her. Which sadly, was everyone.
And she moves for a long time. Until the sun started to rise, then even after it became the morning. She was tired, hurting, thirsty… But the fear was finally fading. And that left room for the sorrow to start. But that small break from fear was short-lived because she could see people in the distance. This was going to make her change her path. Looking like this, she can’t be sure people won’t just attack her. Or worse, if they were Despair fanatics.
So she tries to stay hidden as she heads toward an ugly abandoned building. Fear was making her heart pound and her breathing quick. She couldn’t shake this feeling that she was being watched. Then again, she had that feeling since she escaped. She just assumed it was because she was scared. The door was barred or something, so her only option was to attempt to force her way in by prying open a window. She could still hear the voices of the nearby people. She had to hurry.
She got it open just barely enough for her to crawl inside. The darkness would surely keep her hidden. The thought that she wasn’t alone in here didn’t cross her mind until she couldn’t exactly go back. She isn’t inside for long before she’s spotted. Her rattled nerves cause her to jump and yelp loudly as a gentle sounding voice asks if she’s lost.
A fearful gaze is cast in his direction. Holy crap, she seriously felt like crying. Was she going to wake up from this nightmare soon? She really hoped so. She can’t make out the details, but it looked like a thin man with messy hair. At least… She thought it did.
“I… I’m a little lost.” She confesses. “I, uh… Didn’t know there was anyone here.” Please don’t kill me.
“What a coincidence! You had all the same assumptions I did.”
Of course that was only partially true. Komaeda was never truly alone ever since he made the Ultimate Despair a part of his being. If he didn’t feel her p u l s e in his veins he might think this person before him was actually Junko Enoshima. The question was, who was trying to fool him? This girl? His own mind? Junko?
He took a careful step onto the stairway, and it creaked under his weight. The whole building would likely collapse in a few weeks. Withered by despair. He understood that feeling. He carried the same weight, after all.
“Hey, have we met somewhere before? You look familiar.”
He had to be sure that her actual appearance matched with his conception of it. It was entirely possible that she just looked like Junko to him. He was beyond the point of trusting his own senses, especially with all the damage that Junko and the disease had done to his faculties. At the base of the stairs now, he took a step toward her. He wanted to touch her, to feel her presence. He knew Junko’s skin well enough to determine whether hers was different. For now, he’d wait for her reaction to his question.
In the meantime, his hand absentmindedly stroked his gloved left hand, almost as though he was trying to reassure her. MAybe to reassure himself that she was still around. He hadn’t truly lost Junko. She was right there at his side, hanging in such a cruel way.
In a way, things were better now than before she died.
