After School Detention (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
detentionroom) wrote2025-07-15 01:32 pm
detentionroom) wrote2025-07-15 01:32 pm
[KIN'UN]
[You needed an escape.
For a moment– however brief, or however not– you longed to get away. Perhaps you envisioned a vacation upon sunny, beachy shores, palm trees at your back and seagulls floating in the air. Perhaps you envisioned nothing at all, and merely accepted that anywhere but here would do. Either way. . .?
You blink. . . and you wake up slouched on a school desk, arms folded with head resting between. You lift your gaze and realize that you've woken up in the middle of a classroom, seated in one of the. . . uh, very few functional desks that remain. The others have been broken into pieces, with legs and splinters of wood scattered across the floor. Deep claw marks decorate the walls, having gouged the sheetrock with jagged, violent gashes. The window curtains are closed, but they too have been torn and ripped to shreds, with holes showing a dark and unidentifiable landscape beyond the four walls which trap you.
And written on the blackboard, in large, white letters that seem to glow in the midst of the dim room lighting, is a warning]
DO NOT GIVE THEM YOUR NAME.
[. . . you are not alone]
[Each and every new arrival awakens dressed in a high school-issued track uniform. The design is up to the players, but each uniform is already color-coded to match the group at large. Somewhere on your body is a new marking: a mysterious floral design shaded the same color as your track uniform. It is glowing very gently. And in your pocket you feel. . . something warm. Further investigation reveals a tiny little omamri, tucked away in your outfit, for safe keeping. Huh! What a nice gift!]
[For now, the front door to the classroom is locked. No matter how hard you try– with physical prowess or otherwise– the door cannot be opened.]
[But hey! You can poke around the area, if you'd like! Maybe get to know your new classmates. . . ? Try not to panic. For now, everything is. . . calm]
For a moment– however brief, or however not– you longed to get away. Perhaps you envisioned a vacation upon sunny, beachy shores, palm trees at your back and seagulls floating in the air. Perhaps you envisioned nothing at all, and merely accepted that anywhere but here would do. Either way. . .?
You blink. . . and you wake up slouched on a school desk, arms folded with head resting between. You lift your gaze and realize that you've woken up in the middle of a classroom, seated in one of the. . . uh, very few functional desks that remain. The others have been broken into pieces, with legs and splinters of wood scattered across the floor. Deep claw marks decorate the walls, having gouged the sheetrock with jagged, violent gashes. The window curtains are closed, but they too have been torn and ripped to shreds, with holes showing a dark and unidentifiable landscape beyond the four walls which trap you.
And written on the blackboard, in large, white letters that seem to glow in the midst of the dim room lighting, is a warning]
DO NOT GIVE THEM YOUR NAME.
[. . . you are not alone]
[Each and every new arrival awakens dressed in a high school-issued track uniform. The design is up to the players, but each uniform is already color-coded to match the group at large. Somewhere on your body is a new marking: a mysterious floral design shaded the same color as your track uniform. It is glowing very gently. And in your pocket you feel. . . something warm. Further investigation reveals a tiny little omamri, tucked away in your outfit, for safe keeping. Huh! What a nice gift!]
[For now, the front door to the classroom is locked. No matter how hard you try– with physical prowess or otherwise– the door cannot be opened.]
[But hey! You can poke around the area, if you'd like! Maybe get to know your new classmates. . . ? Try not to panic. For now, everything is. . . calm]
no subject
Then I'll start with... Warden-san. I like him better but he's usually the one who talks to us, and he's the one who judges us, so he's more important. I think.
Warden-san is both shorter and younger than me, and he's in charge of all ten of us, the prisoners, in Milgram. We're all, uh, murderers, and through the three...trial system he decides whether to forgive us or not for our crimes.
no subject
Trial... system? He is the sole judge in that?
[A prison Warden?]
no subject
I think, umm, there's usually supposed to be more judges? [ he's not well studied on japanese law, but he knows that least. ] But we only have Warden-san. The trial is three rounds, where we each get inter-interrogated and then he does something to us each time. I'm not sure what it is, because it was like my mind went blank...but he looks into our memories and hearts.
After he sees that he decides whether to forgive us or not. So umm, there's three verdicts total.
no subject
And what happens to those who are forgiven? They are… set free?
no subject
Umm, but those that he didn't...they said bad things started to happen to them. They started to have bad dreams? And um, hear things...
no subject
And the second?
[nosy]
no subject
I don't know yet. We go in order, and it was just Mahiru-san's turn for her first round...she didn't get her verdict yet. And umm, after her it's Kazui-san's so that means... [ counting on his fingers, one, two, three, four, five, six- ]
There's four more of us to go before it's my turn again. Because I'm prisoner #01.
[ this is why he said he was number one with childe because he is! but he's always called exactly prisoner #01, so just the number should be an okay nickname. ]
no subject
I see. Such a wait must be very difficult for your nerves.
[Number one, though. He supposes that, too, might count as a true name; and how easily he gives this information away.]
I think you should keep your number to yourself, however. We do not know the true scope of the rules of the place, insofar as names are concerned.
no subject
[ the numbers though... ]
If you think it would be bad, then I'll try to remember not to say it.
no subject
no subject