Work Text:
Kokichi knows how this must go.
He switches on the camera, starting the hydraulic press and watching as it slowly lowers. It’s time, and he’s not ready, but he never will be. It’s not about being ready.
It’s about ending this sick game.
This disgusting cycle of violence, this merchandisable hell.
He stops the recording and stops the press—a handful of inches from Kaito’s body—leaving plenty of room for the man in question to slide out from under it.
“Man, I almost thought you were gonna let it get me,” Kaito tries to laugh, but he coughs, the poison in his system catching up to him a little.
Kokichi can feel his own systems starting to wilt from it.
Silently, he slips into the small gap between the press and the base.
Every step Kaito takes is another one toward Kokichi’s death, and his heart thumps twice as fast as the heavy footfalls.
Kaito glances one last time toward Kokichi. “You sure?”
Kokichi says something. He’s not sure what. Probably some lie in that persona of his, telling the man that he’s fine, that he wants out of this circus of shitclowns.
Kokichi hears as the hydraulics start up again, sees the press slowly moving closer. He tries to breathe, but it’s shaky, strained. Kaito must hear the way he holds back tears.
It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s alright. Kokichi- he’s fine, he’s just- he’s ending the game. He’s giving his life for good, and Monokuma and the audience will lose, and he will win. DICE will hear about his sacrifice and continue their work in his honor, and there will never be another killing game.
Still, the last thing he feels is a tear rolling down his cheek before the press comes down—quickly enough to almost be merciful.