Whoop whoop, the serial is dead… for now.


Sorry to spring it on ya like this, but for the time being the serial will be a project held off in development. I’ll be quick about this, so here are my reasons:

  1. I have a lot of things on my plate at the moment. Multiple other projects, final school year starting up, and a bunch of other engagements that I’ve gotta sort out.
  2. I’ve joined a writer’s group that’s been an absolute charm in improving my writing. For now, I’m going to study with them for a bit. I’ve already learned loads of new things, and at the moment there’s a big rush to git gud. Both for school and for personal reasons.
  3. I’m also working on another project with them, which is taking up most of my time. It’s my main one, and frankly one I consider of the most importance.

And yeah. The serial was a small project of boredom anyway, and one that I thought I could accomplish on the side. Though now that my main project’s gotten truly kickstarted, I’m really just focusing on that while I become a hermit.

Peace boi. I’mma disappear for a while.


My Super Old Fanfic


Heyo. I’m back again, this time with some possible cringe from days past. 

Y’see, I was super into Danganronpa, once upon a time. The classes and the characters interested me. The focus on these characters were the main hook. I was absolutely infatuated with how unique each character was. I also adored the format of the death-games, and seeing how all these unique dudes and dudettes handled it.

It’s safe to say I was super obsessed. 

So I, uh, ended up making my own set, with my own death-game. And writing about it. Yep. Writing fanfics.

And they were actually okay… I think? Anyways, I wanted to put them in a place where they’d be easy to find. So here. 

Danganronpa: Stage Despair

The Class


CHAPT. 1-1

CHAPT. 1-2

I understand there’s hardly any parts. But I sorta just burned out. 

Who knows though? I might pick it up again.

My apologies!


Yeah. As you know, Cobalt Star's a thing, or will be. It'll start once I've completed the first batch—which is either half or all of season one (likely the former at this point).

But unfortunately, school happened, and I have a ton of things on my plate right now. So uh, it'll be a while before the serial actually begins.

Just a heads up.

The Penguinner(winner!)


Honestly, this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever written. 

“Pardon me, your excellence, but you seem to have a speck of fish on your beak.”

Penguins were relatively simple creatures. For the most part all they did was waddle, squawk, eat, squawk, and waddle. Nothing much to it, except for the mating season, which shook things up, but then again, only a little. All that really changed was that there would be more of them. Squawkers, and all. This one here had done a little too much squawking, so much that he’d let all his feed go to waste.

More for me then.

It’d been long – too long – since Tanner had seen another human, not even a glimpse. He’d been lost in this frozen dimension for months now, living off of raw fish and the hospitality of the penguins. This place was strange, on all accounts. Here, these birds seemed a little… ‘Smarter’ than the average penguin, and nothing seemed to happen despite the sheer amount of raw fish he’d eaten. Sure, it was a hard habit at the start, but once you got past the bones, it was pretty alright.

On top of that, he hadn’t frozen to death yet, for some reason. What a feat! He might as well consider himself a penguin now.

That wouldn’t be too bad, wouldn’t it?

What are you talking about? You vacuous moron.

Ah yes. That’s right. He really wasn’t a penguin. He was human, so that’d be wrong (in a multitude of ways). Such a dream should never be considered, despite the circumstances. When did he ever get so lopsided?

Well, that’s what getting thrown across the fonts of reality will do to ya.

But enough of that! What mattered, first and foremost, was getting home. And obviously, he was right on top of that. Dimensional physics had once been one of his major fields; it shouldn’t have been too much of a hassle to fix up a Wormhole Strangler with the parts he had. The capsule he’d arrived in was coincidentally perfect f0r that.

But then again… emphasis on had.

Yup. Once, so very long ago, he had the chance to prevent his forced assimilation into penguin life. Yet, that chance had gone by in an instant, thanks to the awesome meddling power of gale-force winds and a rock.

He’d be lying if he said that all that was left when he woke up could take him home. That was the very first time this dimension bamboozled him. And of course it wasn’t the most drastic, and just couldn’t be the last.

That very same day, he’d found himself battered, cold and starving at the hands of an elite society of orca jackasses. At the first moment of hearing them speak (English too!) he’d jumped at the chance to converse with some ‘civilized’ locals, who could (somehow) lead him to civilization (if it even existed). Sadly, he learned that one, humans didn’t exist, and two, they hated humans anyway. So at the brink of his stamina, he was forced to flee across the ice in a panicked terror, losing what little supplies he had and any replacement garments.

But hey, it wasn’t my worst experience with foreigners.

Not long after, he’d run into a motley crew of penguins with an attitude. These too could speak perfect English – and, thankfully for him, were much friendlier than the orcas, despite their constant swearing (and lack of any tact whatsoever). They took him in, but not before they made it painfully clear that they had nothing to do with the other penguins. In fact, they were apparently staging a rebellion of some sort, only taking him aboard because a “human” sounded useful.

These penguins were good to him, for a while. They were the ones who’d taught him how to handle the fish; stink, bones and all. The thought of swallowing it whole irked him at first, but a few jaw-loosening techniques conditioned him to the point of being practically as good as the penguins themselves.

If penguins can talk, I can swallow bones. Such optimism was crucial.

Now, there was at least one problem with this group. More than one, actually. Enough that they were problems to be dealt with on a daily basis as a whole. See, one could easily compare them to humans – because, despite their penguin-ness, they were effectively the most hostile, thoughtless, un-empathetic people he’d ever known. Especially to other penguins, which took him by surprise the first time (what species fights their own species?). It wasn’t long before Tanner would realize he was being brought along for guerilla assaults.

When finally asked about it, all they would say to him was that “they picked the better side. The winning side.”

What ‘winning side?’ What the hell was up with this place?

Nothing really made sense. But then again, this was a different realm from ours. And considering that, he was prepared to face the weird truth as often as it came (it wasn’t the last).

So, he continued living with them, for now. It was a pretty good setup, if you actually thought about it. All he needed to do was kick some penguins around, and the ones that made him do it would give him food. Easy-peasy.

Sure, you could say that it was cruel, but who wouldn’t do the same in this state of mind? At least, when you were stuck in an entire world of penguins who wouldn’t stop yapping about last night’s supper, how great the krill was, or how snooty those Emperors were (all in such an irritatingly kick-able voice). He’d officially joined the group as their token human, which was more than enough for him in this situation.

Obviously, things would change. The setup was good for a while, but being on the wrong side of morals was bound to get him sacked sooner or later.

Shortly after taking over a penguin settlement, a few orcas had emerged through the ice, and swallowed the survivors – as well as his crew – whole. Just like that. Saying he was shocked would be an understatement.

Fortunately, he was just outside of the bite-zone. Through snot and tears, he demanded to know why they’d done this.

“We came to win.” they simply said. Altogether, as well. It was a strange thing to see.

“Win?” Tanner meekly said. “What do you mean?”

“Win at life.”

That single quote was a game-changer for him. Well, game-changing for the fact that he’d stopped doing much of anything. The orcas had ended up sparing him, and Tanner, being the not-penguin he was, drifted about the icy tundra for quite a while. During the time, he thought about a lot of things – his penguin ‘friends’, the orcas, food… But most importantly, how it’d all turned out like this.

To think, a single mishap would throw away any chance of him having a normal life. Working a proper career. Having children. Marrying.  

Winning at life.

It’d hit him before, he just… Hadn’t thought about it as much. And what was with all these animals and ‘winning’ anyway? What a skewed logic.

But it’s the only logic that applies here.

That’s when he had a real epiphany. This epiphany would shatter his very understanding of the strange world he’d woken up in, where no logic applied, where penguins spoke English, and a human would not freeze to death.

The only rule that applied in this world was… To win. That’s all. Survive. Grasp for the top with a primal ferocity. Even against your own species. It was simple, yet fitted the retarded ways of this dimension. Win. Do whatever it takes, even if it doesn’t make any sense. That, my friend, was the ultimate, weird truth.

“Yeah. Win.”

And so that’s what he would do, keeping it in his mind as he made off with a penguin’s supper.



Here we are, lads. The fated introduction to the tale of a hero. Hopefully, you’ll find my writing somewhat bearable, and, probably-maybe-unlikely, somewhat enjoyable. 

Anyways, here’s the first installment of Cobalt Star. It’s simply a taster though, so don’t expect a rigid posting schedule until much later.

Life, in all its forms, avenues, and endings, was a nuisance. Just as much as the people were, the scumbags who spur it, and even worse, the preachers that celebrate it. All of them belonged in a dirty ditch, as far as Quince was concerned. There just wasn’t any use in applauding it; this spark that the gods gave us; these sacks of flesh and bone, just for the express fact that it’d all end soon. Who cares about the achievements of man, when man itself is dying and finite?

Quince, horribly disfigured in the terms of morals and thought, pondered this for days on end. Being the grim punk that he was, he couldn’t seem to fathom any sort of excitement, legend, or camaraderie – believing it all irrelevant in the face of eternity, destined to disintegrate along the course of history. We’ll live with the consequences, he’d think, refusing to witness any form of reason.

But as to why will all be eventually forgotten.

The moon’s image quivered across a phantom lake. It sent out ripples of silver across the plane, which looked like glass that shallow evening. It was only here that he smiled; the beauty of the lake was enthralling, leaving him speechless and transporting him to a world where he didn’t have to think. A dream, where he had no reason to act, philosophise, or ever be bothered.

The folds of his uniform danced in the wind. They looked as if they were begging to fly away. He would’ve loved to join them, just so he could leave this horrid place.

This horrid place they call home, he thought.

What a lie.

He turned to face the wind. It was refreshing, enough to cool his head a little. He then realised he’d been breathing heavily, almost frantically.

It must be the thought of escape. he thought. Funny – am I really that obsessed?

Behind him, the chaotic sounds of the party erupted, suddenly fluctuating with the launch of the fireworks. He watched them burst above him, unfazed in the face of its colourful marvels. It wasn’t so impressive. Yet still, it was a perfect metaphor for his philosophy.

Fireworks. The impeccable image of finite beauty. Majestic, yet only for a second.

A second. Like any life, in the course of history. A blip in time.

What was the point in launching them? He could not fathom it.

This is what he thought then. As a misguided youth, unfamiliar with the ways of the world, he still had much to learn.

Though at the moment, this was not his story.


A tale worth telling should be strewn with knowledge. Knowledge of the world: of the past, present, and future, all linked together by a hero. Aze, even with all of his own misguidance, considered himself to be that hero. Or at least, one who could and would become one. A legend, whose name would be remembered for eons. A bloody figure of chivalry. Or figure to be.

Yet, as many other legends, this one began with certainly… not the most humble of origins.

You see, this very same man – the same who would solidify himself in history as a damn hero – now proceeded to con an old lady.


“Ah, curse this luck, eh madam? Shall we roll again?” he tilted his head, grinning from end-to-end. “Perhaps that luck’ll turn up something good the next time.”

The lady eyed him, determined and enthralled, yet not without suspicion. She’d lived for many a year, and could spot a duping from a mile away; even if she was now a half blind old coot on the verge of ninety. Her beady little eyes moved between the man’s and the kindly served dice in the palm of his hand. He seemed like an excellent, polite sort of gentleman, but even she knew that was the worst kind.

Besides, who wouldn’t be suspicious after losing over twenty times in a row? There must’ve been a trick to it.

“So? What do you say?” His cobalt blue eyes shined with opportunity. They looked like a child’s.

She took her time with her decision. “I’ll play,” she said. “on the condition that we use another pair of dice.”

She witnessed his demeanour crack. “A-Another… pair?”

She nodded, with her own expression of joy.

She knows, he thought. Or rather, panicked. Damn damn damn damn damn.

As beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, he tucked the pair of baked dice in his coat pocket. He could’ve sworn somebody in the crowd had also seen through him; he could hear a bunch of them laughing, snootily with their glasses of liquor and extravagant pompadours. He couldn’t stand their upper-class ohohohos.

But still, he had a chance. Lady Luck, famously, was on his side in these times of crisis. Usually. Sometimes.


As he hadn’t had any other pairs prepared, he went over to collect another set, off one of the other tables. But before he could, the old lady grabbed his arm and forcefully sat him down, with a strength that both surprised and scared him.

“No no no. This time, we use my dice.” Still smiling, she produced a set of her own.

The exquisitely carved cubes glistened in the light. They seemed to catch the attention of every passerby. It was as if she held a holy set of jewels, fitting for the head of a prime matriarch.

But Aze could see what really made them special. What sort of man would he be, if he weren’t able to see through his own tricks?


He knew this rhythm.

I get what she’s doing. They’re loaded too!

It was the look in her eyes that gave it away. Hardened, and now confident. She’d resolved to trick the trickster.

Well, he certainly couldn’t have that.

He stood, looking to make a statement.

Unfortunately, he had to show it by slamming his fists on the table.

“Now hang on just a sec-“

“Hold it, bud.”

The world froze. Gripped by fear and a burly hand, he turned to face the casino’s armoured enforcer.

“Y-Yes… sir?”

Aze had faces on him, from all around. He didn’t have to look; he could feel their gazes upon him, judging him, condemning him to the title of lowly old-lady-harasser. And as for that lady, she cowered in her seat – which was obviously a ruse.

”You dirty little mong.”


He apologised to the enforcer, only just managing to quell his rage and the crowd’s suspicion; with a couple of witty comments and alibis. Which, when he thought about it, came out a little more like pleas of pathetic mercy.

And so, he sat down again for the final roll. Obviously, he couldn’t back out of it now; he’d tricked himself into this despicable situation, and there was no escaping the consequences. He might as well pay for it.

“Alright then, roll.” he said, shrugging. “I’m not afraid, you damn trickster.”

“Quite the gentleman, I see?” the lady replied, with a taunting chuckle. “But unlike you, I’m no trickster.”

Aze could only raise his eyebrow at this. No? Then why be so damn confident?

The lady shot him an experienced look, as if she was amused with his lack of understanding; no, she definitely was.

“A winner relies on skill, not tricks,” she said, ending it with a grin. As if to rub in the advice, she demonstrated that skill, in a performance of dexterity like no other. The dice danced through her fingers like a frantic monkey; it was as if someone had cast the dice over her knuckles, rolling them for a combination they were certain to get – she was in total control. The pair never showed any sign of dropping, and even when they did, Aze found himself misled. Her fingers were demonic machines, having finally been oiled in the face of their shallow adversity.

And it wasn’t just him that was amazed; the crowd, once again, was dazzled by the whims of this old lady. They eagerly awaited her roll, the roll that would destroy this feeble, ragged newcomer.

With these fingers, he knew that she could roll for any outcome she wanted. It would be child’s play, for such a legend. He couldn’t do much but be in awe of her skill. Which was foolish on his part, as he was about to get destroyed by it.

“Damn. What a woman,” he said through gritted teeth.

Vulnerable my ass.



Later, Aze found himself trying to fathom how the hell he managed to escape alive.


Following his miserable disarmament of tricks, the old lady he’d been tricking had produced a few tricks of her own; a pair of jewelled dice, and fingers blessed by the gods. Of course, what followed that was his pathetic defeat at the hands of an expertly predicted double seven – which, again of course, constituted in his total loss of funds.

See, that was where he’d bamboozled himself once again, with yet another terrible decision.

Fuming over his loss yet desperate to keep the money, Aze took advantage of the awe of the crowd, using it pocket as many sovereigns as he could before it was transferred. That was when he ran, shooting straight past the enforcer and for the gilded door.

“Sorry, but your efforts remain useless!” he announced, confident in his speedy legs.

Which, from what some told him, were something along the lines of “blessed” as well. In a simple race, they could never catch him, no way, no how.

But of course, they could block him. He stopped before a wall of guards, and a barricade of steel. Shields, with rigid pikes positioned out from behind. Each of the burly men who wielded them looked almost exactly similar to the enforcer from before. In fact, that same enforcer had joined the wall.

Shoot. He tried to keep a grin, but it was fading. Behind him, the old lady was hysterical. Never had anything grated as much on his nerves.

“Hold on, hold on. I’ve got somethin’ for this!” Frantically, he rummaged through the pockets of his coat for anything that would help him.

I’ve got it, I’ve got it!

Suddenly, the entire room filled with smoke. A dark, ashen smoke, that got into the eyes, the teeth, and any orifice a poor sap was ill-fated to have left open. It stung these people – which included anyone not Aze – leaving him with an incredible chance. Those in mention began to cough violently, while he expertly covered his face with goggles and a rag.

Yeah, a smoke bomb’ll make you do that.

His legs pumped with vigour. There was no way he was losing this money; he needed it for the best of reasons – his own, personal gain. But that gain was sorely justified.

Besides, he knew for a fact that he needed it much more than any of these guys did.

He also knew that he wouldn’t get through the front gate at this rate. So, the next best route was the roof, obviously.

The stairs were left wide open. As the smoke began to clear, he was able to navigate his way quickly to the top of them. He checked his pockets for another bomb, just to be safe. He cringed once he realised he’d used the last one.

Down below, the crowd was in a horrible panic, raising their voices, demanding retribution. The powerfully obedient guards acted immediately on their whim, commencing the chase.

Unfortunately, their willingness proved distasteful for such a commotion. Eager to give chase, some tried to wade through the fumes – which obviously didn’t end well. Those who did make it through were dazed by the gases, proving too groggy to even stand, much less climb stairs.

Aze on the other hand was far in the lead. And he wouldn’t stop, in fear of the twisted heel-turn of Lady Luck.

Alright, as long as I make it to the roof, it should be fine!

He had a plan, and, in addition to that, a single firework. In fact, he’d kept it with him specifically in the case of this situation.

Y’know. Just for insurance.

Of course, this escape was not without its difficulties. And considering that they left Aze lucky to be alive, they were terrible, terrible ones.

Such a difficulty awaited him on the roof; in the form of a daft, familiar knight.


“So how’s it goin’, Aze? You living well?” the knight said to him, emptying his canteen. It seemed like a total waste, pouring it all in like that. “Stirrin’ up trouble in your own fashion?”

Aze didn’t listen. He was too busy – as always when he encountered the man – staring at his hair. It was in such a strange shape – like a fin, or a brush, that spiked up from his bald head. Or even a crest. A disastrously blue crest. No, distractingly.

I obviously don’t keep up with the times, he thought to himself.

“Kato.” Aze said. “I made a decent profit,” he added, showing him a sovereign.

They began to circle each other. The knight drew his blade, training it on him. At any second, he could strike, and get it done with.

The very thought made Aze’s heart jump into his throat.

“I see that.” the knight said. “Listen, alright? It’s time to stop. Slow the heck down and return it all to it’s rightful owner.”

His phlegmy voice disgusted him.

“You know I’m not doing that.” he rebutted, reflexively reaching for another smoke bomb. His temperature fell as soon as he grabbed nothing.


Kato thrust out. The tip of his sword shot forward like a bullet. It almost caught him in the throat; he had barely enough time to react. Instead, it sliced the skin on the edge of his cheek. Kato himself followed through the attack and ended up behind him.

From that attack alone, Aze could feel the weight he’d put behind the strike. In addition to that, he made the mistake of allowing him to recuperate.

“You know, you’re pretty famous ’round these parts, Aze.” He cracked his neck, pointing the blade at him once again. “A lot of good guys want you dead. And all ’cause you had to steal their friggin’ sovereigns…”

He made a full turn, facing him completely. “All ’cause you had to murder their friggin’ queen.”

Aze would’ve replied, but he was instantly cut off by the sound of a dozen footsteps, rushing up the stairs and through the corridors. Those footsteps belonged to a dozen or so guards, having recovered from his distraction, brandishing pikes and rage.

Oh for the love of…

“End of the line, eh?” Kato mocked. “Gee, Aze. This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t persist and just stayed still. In the stocks, I mean.”

The tip of his blade inched closer. Aze began to move backwards on reflex, but stopped as he reached the edge of the building. The cold wind of the sea rushed up his back, signalling an imminent fall.

Sooner or later…

“…switch to your flintlocks.” Kato ordered. The ogres behind him did as they were told, dropping their pikes and brandishing pistols. “We’ll execute him here and now. It’s his fault he made such a stupid mistake.”

He listened to the familiar clicks of their armaments. Before long, he had a dozen or so barrels trained on him. He could smell the gunpowder; he could sense the eager twitch of their fingers. It did wonders on his heart rate, as it skyrocketed to shocking levels. He almost couldn’t contain the fierce drumming in his chest.

“Ready? On the third, blast ‘im to bits. One!”


Time seemed to freeze. Everything that happened henceforth was a blur. He’d reached desperately into his coat pocket for the firework that lay there. The guards were more than surprised – they fired upon him, just as he jumped. Which was, of course, only out of reflex; he didn’t mean to jump to his doom. But he did, so he might as well follow through with his action.

Since he had a firework, it only made sense for him to have matches. In the heat of the moment, he produced these matches, lighting them on the rough side of the firework.

He spotted Kato peek over the edge, which was a signal for Aze’s next move. Aiming it at his face, he lighted the fuse. The colourful spark began to sprint down the string.

It was a sad enough ride.


As he plummeted down into the ocean, all he could see was the fanatical spark of his exit. Brilliant, bold, and finite, he took a glimpse of its beauty before he was swallowed up in the abyss.

Hope you enjoyed this installment! Although it’ll be a while, once this serial gets going be sure to tune in every week on Sunday, 7:00 PM AEST. 

Or sometime around then. No promises!

What even is this?


Okay, okay. Now, you may be wondering just what sort of crap I have planned in order to fill up this blog. And, on top of that, why I’ve even created a blog in the first place.

Well, to answer that question, I’ve decided to undertake a project. Purely for my own gain and practice, yes, but it should be somewhat entertaining for you guys. At its core, this blog will be a sort of dumping space for my recent prose, edited and available for you guys to read. Y’know, ’cause why not.

The overlying project that’ll accompany all of that, my friend, will be a web serial. That’s right. A cool, long-running story with installments of 1000-1500 words, every Sunday sometime around 7:00 PM AEST. That serial will be known as Cobalt Star; a prelude to the novel that I wish to write someday. 

So, uh… Stay tuned, I guess.



Here’s a little something I wrote… I don’t know if it’s any good, so I’d like to hear what you think!

Even after fifty years, she still lay there, smiling as if nothing had happened. Oblivious to the ruin.

It was the ideal sort of beauty that collectors like Rampo cherished; untampered, un-toyed with, and untainted. Even if she was missing most of her limbs, her face was all that mattered, and from that you could still innocently guess that she was still in there.

Of course, that was far from true. Her expression now, frozen in content bliss, was only a front. If one looked a little closer, they could see that her eyes were blank, devoid of life — artificial or otherwise. Despite this, her beauty was still evident, yet destined only to crumble here, a rotting snapshot of better times. Rampo couldn’t help but feel sad that they were the ones that survived, and not her. The grief that plagued him for his entire life stung him once again.


But there was no use dwelling over it. The past was in the past, and as much as he’d love to relive it, the present required his attention. Nightfall was a dangerous time, here at the end of the world. He had much to do before then.


The bus here was his best bet for shelter. Finding the strength to leave her for a bit, Rampo stepped back and surveyed the site.

The entire vehicle had been conquered by vines and moss. Plant matter had locked it up good. The street sign that the bus had crashed into sat mangled under its wheels, fodder for nature now too. After all these years, the bus had been reduced to nothing but a vague landmark, inhabited by moths, butterflies and the empty corpse of Marionette. Together they looked like a lonely piece of art.

“…alright. Let’s open this up.”

Setting his pack aside, Rampo set to work. He jammed his walking cane into a gap in the doorway and gave it a gentle twist. The flat end-bit managed to dislodge the door easily, as fatigue had left it fragile. He grunted in satisfaction as he welcomed himself inside.

The interior was stuffy and smelled like canned food past its due date. He had to cough a few times to get used to the atmosphere, but even so, it didn’t quell his optimism about the place. Despite all the insects and plant-life (not to mention the germs), this little slice of history revived fond memories of life within him; life before the end.

One could describe this feeling as cosy.

The body of the driver was the only other in here, a skeleton now, slumped and resting. The rest of the leather-padded seats were empty, giving him a good space to set up camp. So, he did.


Night came, and all was silent, apart from the buzz of Rampo’s two-minute noodles. He ripped the cord, and the built-in stove below the cup activated, heating the water. Most brands came with this nifty extension, he found. It made it so much easier for him to survive out here.

He’d brought Marionette inside, because he’d felt sorry for her having to sit out there all alone. She rested in the seat beside him, her presence giving him a comforting feeling.

“It’s been a long time, hmm?” he said, to lift the mood. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

There was no reply of course. She just stared at him, and it hurt him. He reminded himself that she couldn’t reply anymore. So he set to eating his noodles, as they were done now.

She’s just another shell. Remember that, Rampo.

He looked out the window out of boredom, scanning the skyline and searching for the moon. He couldn’t find it, even as it’s light bathed the bus.

Such a thing would’ve been peculiar, if that wasn’t normal in this world.

The city beyond the forest was even more strange. He’d come through it on his way here, but he’d never noticed how the buildings disappeared.

When he’d originally ventured through, he knew that he had passed a skyscraper, one that should’ve been easily visible from here, as it towered twenty stories above the rest of the buildings. Looking back at it now, it wasn’t there, and the space where it should’ve been looked… blank. As if limbo had spilled into where the sky should’ve been.

Rampo’s realisation of this caused him to panic. The end — the literal, non-figurative end — was catching up to them. It was just on the horizon, close enough by. Threatening to swallow him up as he slept.


This was bad news. Very, very bad news. He needed to get going now, otherwise he would never escape.

Mid-way from finishing his noodles, Rampo prepared to leave. He packed his pack, found his cane, and was about fly through the door — when he eyed Marionette, causing him to freeze. A few moments passed before he said anything.

“…you know I can’t bring you along.” he mumbled. “You’d just be… dead weight.” The last two words stung him.

He stood there for a long while, yet the threat of the end creeped behind him, spurring him to act, and so, he decided to bring her.


You’re an idiot, Rampo.

I know… I get it, I know!

He threw her over his shoulders and began to run, leaving his cane behind instead. The bus was gone from sight within minutes, and the city started to deteriorate too. The end was near, and he didn’t know if he could outrun it.

Just leave her behind! What fool are you, to bring a corpse along?

He ignored these thoughts and continued the futile escape. The end of the forest was nearby, and the rest of the city lay further beyond that. Too far beyond.

You’ll never make it. Do you want to die, too?

He couldn’t respond, and didn’t want to; she felt weightless above him. That’s what he told himself.

I’ll make it with her, or not at all.

I won’t abandon her. Not again.


Despite these facts, he continued on. Despite the challenge, he soldiered ahead, struggling towards the clearing, blindly thinking that he’d be safe if he reached far enough. Soon he’d end up abandoning his pack, only carrying Marionette; she was more important to him than anything else, now that he’d found her. He’d make it to salvation, somehow, and they’d be together again, just like before.

Despite the odds.

But contrary to all of this, he knew deep within that he’d never had a chance to begin with.

Although despite this fact, he was content to be swallowed up by the nothingness, together with her.