Chapter Text
In the snow's midst floating down to the Earth, Kirumi unfurled her umbrella and held it rigid in front of her. She was out of her element.
Like it or not, the Future Foundation had spoiled—even catered—to her. She was incognito, dressed not in her usual Future Foundation uniform, but in a dark overcoat that gave her the appearance of someone going to a funeral. It was not unlike her current mood. Kirumi had made a choice, and it was one she was going to have to live with. It was a choice that unsettled her stomach, made her weak-kneed and terrified behind her composure.
Calm, Kirumi set off at a brisk pace, her footsteps muffled by the snow, as if the surrounding city wasn’t in ruins and she was on an evening walk. In the fire’s aftermath, a tense silence had settled over Tokyo and at the end of the street, she came to a sudden halt as if she sensed something was about to break it. On cue, the familiar pop-pop-pop of nearby gunfire shattered the stillness. Her shoulders rose and fell with a large intake of breath. Snowflakes erased her footprints in the snow.
Momentarily, Maki leapt down from somewhere above. There wasn’t a scratch on her except for the ones she’d already had when the day began.
“Three hostile targets neutralized,” Maki informed her.
Kirumi tugged at her glove. “Humans or robots?”
“Robots. Military grade.”
“Hm. She has less security than I was expecting her to have. The path is clear, then?”
“Yes, except for the door. It’s steel—must be two feet thick.”
“Well, we’ll just have to knock, then.”
Kirumi set off down the road at a light, unhurried pace. Maki fell in step beside her.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Maki asked. “We don’t know what Munakata told her.”
“I’m sure he has our wanted posters, but Miaya has always marched to the beat of her own drum. She will be cautious around us. However, she may hear us out.”
“Are you going to tell me why we’re here yet?”
“You will see.”
“I don’t like going in blind, Kirumi,” Maki snapped. “We’re working together. I want to know why we’re not scouring the city for Oma.”
“It would be near impossible to search the city with the limited resources we have. That’s why we’re here.”
“To make allies? With Miaya? That doesn’t seem productive. From what I hear about her, she isn’t the social type.”
“We’re not here for Miaya.”
“Then why—”
“I know I’m asking for blind trust,” said Kirumi. “You have to give it to me now.”
“Keeping secrets from one another doesn’t go towards our goal, it only fosters distrust,” Maki argued. “You said we need to work together. Are you going to tell me why we’re here or not?”
“I will. You will see shortly. Then perhaps you will understand.”
Kirumi kept her composure as still as the surrounding night. She walked away.
Maki had no choice but to follow Kirumi, but she let out an irritated huff as they ascended the stairs into an abandoned building. Kirumi furled up her umbrella and stepped inside, the air bitterly cold. At the end of the hall was a thick steel door, not unlike one she would expect to find in a vault or a bunker. There was a camera mounted above it, and the twisted remains of destroyed security robots between them. That was all. No humans.
Miaya probably preferred it that way.
Kirumi stepped over the destroyed robots, still sparking with electricity, and politely knocked on the door. The cameras twisted to look at her.
“Miaya?” Kirumi looked up at them. “We haven’t met, but I believe we have a mutual friend. My name is Kirumi Tojo, and this is my colleague, Maki Harukawa. I would like to speak to you about an urgent matter.”
The lens on the cameras extended.
“We are not here to harm to you,” Kirumi assured her. “I apologize for your robots, we had to destroy them in case they tried to harm us before we had the chance to speak. Is it possible that we may come in?”
Maki cracked her knuckles. Given enough time, Kirumi wouldn’t put it past her to break down the door. Maybe Miaya knew that, however, as the seal released with a rush of air and swung ajar.
Maki took point and stepped over the threshold. The space beyond the sealed door was not unlike a comfortable apartment. Save for a few sparse lights, it was dark save for the glow of computer screens and electronic lights blinking in and out of existence. Most of them came from a corner where an enormous desk and several computer monitors dominated the room. And sitting at that desk was Miaya.
Miaya twisted in her chair, avoiding eye contact, glancing at a point to the right of Kirumi before she turned back to her computers. Her typing didn’t even stop. One glance told Kirumi that she was working on coding—top secret, most likely. Something Munakata didn’t want anyone to find out about. Munakata always had everyone working on something he wanted to keep quiet.
As Maki and Kirumi approached, the monitor directly in front of Miaya went blank, and a curious little avatar sprinted in from the distance. At first, she was a tiny white and pink speck, and then she barrelled right into the screen. Bouncing back, the bunny, dressed like a magical girl—wand, dress, and all—spun around on her heel. Maki’s nose wrinkled a little at the sight of the creature, but Kirumi kept quiet. Seeing Miaya’s avatar in person was an unusual sight. But it only took a moment for her to become accustomed to it, though she kept her attention focused on Miaya, herself, rather than the screen. Miaya’s gaze only flickered in her direction before focusing forward.
“If you’re here for Future Foundation secrets, I’m not talking!” Usami shrieked from the screen. She put up her fists.
“We are not here to fight,” Kirumi reiterated. “It is a pleasure to meet you in person. I have heard nothing but positive things about your work.”
“What do you want?” Usami asked. “If you want money, I don’t have money! The funding’s not that good!”
“I am not here to rob you. I am here to ask for your help.”
“Why should I help you?” Usami demanded. “You broke my robots! You’re probably just here to beat me up.”
“I am not and would never. I understand you are weary of me, but I know you don’t care for Munakata. I would hope that you’d be sympathetic to me.”
“It doesn’t matter if I support Munakata or not,” said Usami. “You turned your back on the Future Foundation. That’s a big no-no! You really should reconsider what you’re doing. I know we don’t know each other, but I got some professional advice...Just give me a sec...”
Usami dove off screen. Several random objects, from a ruler to a pencil to a Monokuma toy, went flying around, until she pulled out a piece of paper. On it was a crudely drawn picture of Kirumi with an angry expression, filled in with blue crayon to her ears.
“This is your badness level,” said Usami. “As you can see, it’s unusually high for someone of your height.”
Kirumi leaned in and squinted at the chart, taking a long moment to consider it. “This chart doesn’t seem scientifically accurate. However, I appreciate the advice.”
“Then have some more of it!” Usami crunched up the paper and threw it over her shoulder. Miaya turned her head away from Kirumi a quarter of an inch. An imperceptible, barely noticeable movement. A movement all the same. “Save yourself the trouble and turn yourself in. Kokichi Oma’s just one guy. I don’t see why you’re bothering with him at this point when there're bigger problems flying around.”
“The other problems do not concern me for the moment. Oma has eluded me. For that, I intend to capture him.”
“Is this a vendetta? That doesn’t seem like you...”
“You do not know me. The personal consequences I will inflict concern no one except myself. You only need to help me.”
“I—I don’t see how I fit into this. I’m just gonna report you. Are you here to kidnap me?!”
“I’m not interested in you. Presently, I am here for K1-B0.”
From across the room, Maki’s head snapped in their direction, eyes thinning, the shock crisp and clean and complete.
“Either you surrender him willingly or I take him by force,” said Kirumi. “Your choice.”
“K1-B0?” Sweat droplets cascaded down Usami’s face. Miaya showed no reaction except for the tightening of a fist. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never heard that name in my life. K1-B0, who’s that?”
“You know who it is.”
Usami swallowed and patted at her head with a handkerchief with her face printed on it. “Boy, is it getting warm in here or is it just me?” She paused. “Theoretically…if I knew a K1-B0…what would you want with him?”
“His assistance. Rest assured, if all goes well, I will return him to the Future Foundation unharmed.” Kirumi tugged at her gloves. “Mostly unharmed.”
Usami fidgeted. “You can’t just take K1-B0! He’s too important! Munakata will kill you!”
“I have already taken the Future Foundation’s greatest assassin. I have no qualms about taking another one of its resources. As for Munakata, simply put I do not care.”
“Well, I won’t let you!”
“That is a shame. But I was not asking permission.”
“Wait—you can’t!”
Kirumi had already turned from the console and marched to a hallway leading deeper into the bunker. Miaya spun in her wheelchair, only stopped from running Kirumi down by Maki’s timely interference. The Ultimate Assassin placed herself between Kirumi and Miaya, backing up down the hall, following her lead.
“You knew where Keebo was the whole time?” Maki asked.
“I was privy to that information, yes,” said Kirumi.
“What’s he doing here?”
“Miaya was assigned to study his programming. With Professor Idabashi presumed dead, K1-B0 was classified as a valuable asset.”
“But...he’s sentient. He’s not just a regular AI—he’s self-aware. Did he agree to all this?”
Kirumi avoided the question when they came to a set of fire doors at the back of the bunker and swung them open. She stepped into a brightly lit workshop cluttered with electronic equipment, consoles, broken robot parts, an inactive mech, and a single workstation with a dated, bulky computer propped up on top. In every way, it was a junk shop—a haphazard slap of mismatched, jointed thoughts strewn around like the fragments of a genius mind.
It took only a cursory glance to see what she was coming for. Keebo was suspended from the ceiling, inactive, his eyes blank, his limbs hanging like a loose marionette. Kirumi felt the tension bleed off of Maki behind her like a festering wound. She left her by the door and approached the computer.
“Wait!” Usami piped up. “If you detach him incorrectly, you could cause irreparable damage.”
Kirumi stopped on the edge of her heel, peering over her shoulder. Miaya hesitated a second longer, then whirled her wheelchair around the motionless Maki to approach the computer.
“He’s too important to be broken,” said Usami. “I can’t stop you from taking him, but if you’re going to be a mean old kidnapper, I won’t let you hurt him in the process.”
“Thank you,” said Kirumi. “Have the modifications been completed then?”
“Yes, but they haven’t been stress-tested. There’s no telling what kind of software instability it could—”
“Then this will be a splendid opportunity to do just that. Activate him.”
Another voice, one not belonging to Kirumi or Maki or Usami or Keebo, spoke. “Kirumi.”
The voice was fragmentary. A whisper. Hoarse from lack of use. Intense with purpose. Shuddering with nervousness. Muffled by the sweater around her neck. Miaya still didn’t meet Kirumi’s gaze, but the determination in her voice accomplished what a firm stare would have.
“Don’t,” Miaya pleaded.
“Activate him,” Kirumi ordered.
Miaya couldn’t disobey. She hit the key, the screen lit up, and the devices plugged into Keebo detached with a rush of air.
Keebo fell from the ceiling, landing in a kneel. He looked like he was bowing.
“Hello, Keebo,” said Kirumi.
Keebo didn’t respond right away, the whir of his electronics and mechanics and whatever-the-hell-he-was-made-of clicking into place. He pushed off the ground and stood, blinking rapidly.
“W—What?” Keebo stammered. He peered around, analytical, but with simultaneous wide-eyed confusion. “What happened? This location doesn’t line up with my memory banks...”
“I apologize for the gap in your memory,” said Kirumi.
“Kirumi?” Keebo blinked rapidly. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Nagoya.”
“I came back,” said Kirumi. “You’ve been inactive for approximately six months. Please come with me.”
“Wait—six months?” Keebo blinked rapidly. “What for? Was I damaged? I don’t remember any accident...”
Keebo took pause. Squinted. His eyes glazed over in the way Maki was familiar with when he was doing some internal diagnostics.
“I’m detecting some foreign software in my system,” said Keebo. “As well as some...I don’t even know what that is? Could you tell me what’s going on, Kirumi?”
“The Future Foundation determined you would be a greater asset if your full functionalities were unlocked,” Kirumi explained. “The limitations Professor Idabashi put on you were lifted. You should be more useful now.”
“Useful?” Keebo flickered with confusion, wringing his hands nervously. “Wait, hold on. I didn’t agree to any of this. I was happy the way I was.”
“Seriously, Kirumi?” said Maki, finally speaking up. Kirumi wondered what had taken her so long. “This is what you want to do to catch Oma?”
“What’s an Oma?” Keebo asked.
“I wasn’t the one who decided to upgrade him,” said Kirumi.
“But you knew what was going on,” said Maki.
“I was privy to it, yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this? Or anyone?”
“It was privileged information. You do not have a reason to be angry at me. I am just using the Future Foundation’s tools.”
“Talking to me like I’m not here is a serious case of robophobia,” said Keebo.
“But you knew what was happening,” Maki pointed out. “Didn’t you protest it at all?”
“Of course not,” said Kirumi. “Do not misunderstand me, I wasn’t happy about the decision, however it was for the greater good. Keebo would do more good with his upgrades than without.”
“But he didn’t ask for it.”
“I feel like I’m being ignored here,” said Keebo.
“Wants are irrelevant,” Kirumi countered. “He was needed as a weapon. He was upgraded to a weapon. It isn’t as though they erased his identity and sense of self.”
“Don’t minimize what happened to him!” Maki snapped with a familiar bite. “Are you insane?! How can you possibly justify using someone a living weapon?!”
Kirumi couldn’t bring herself to meet Maki’s gaze. “I did what was needed. If that meant turning my back on…actions I did not agree with, then so be it.”
“Stop!” Keebo interjected. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on around here, but I’m not a weapon. That’s not why Professor Idabashi created me.”
Kirumi kept her gaze trained on Maki, watching her preferred hand flicker towards her weapon. She turned her head a quarter to the left, then moved her gaze from Maki to Keebo. The fear and shock was written like an expository piece all over his expression.
“You do not have a choice in the matter,” said Kirumi.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Keebo, pointing at her. “I have free will, and I don’t have to do anything without gathering more information about what’s going on around here.”
“That is not what I meant. I am not questioning your free will. I mean that you are incapable of disobeying.”
From her chair, Miaya wrung her hands. Keebo’s accusatory finger curled and lowered.
“Keebo, please knock Miss Gekkogahara unconscious,” Kirumi ordered him. “And try to be gentle. A minor concussion will be sufficient.”
Maki let out a frustrated breath that hissed through her teeth. “He won’t do something just because you tell him—”
Maki was cut off by Keebo’s sudden movement to Miaya’s side, his fist raising, and clobbering her over the head. The movement was so fluid, so smooth, so automatic that not even Kirumi had time to prepare for the blow. Miaya slumped in her chair, hands going limp. The action equally startled Keebo, who jumped back and crashed against the desk. For all the advanced technology, Keebo was not so inhuman that she didn’t catch the quiver of his arm as he looked down at his hands.
“H—How?” Keebo stammered. “How did you do that? What did you do?”
“I did not do anything,” said Kirumi. “You were programmed with a command that makes you incapable of disobeying orders from high-ranking Future Foundation officials. Fortunately, it seems I still qualify.”
Keebo blinked rapidly.
“You can’t disobey me, Keebo,” said Kirumi. “And until further notice, you don’t have a choice but to obey all my commands. Now come, we should leave before someone comes to investigate.”
“Wait—I don’t—” Keebo cut himself short. Grappled with emotions. He blinked once, slowly, then raised to meet Kirumi’s eyes. “Kirumi...don’t do this.”
“I am sorry,” said Kirumi. She wondered if she meant it. Every emotion was so numbed and distant that she couldn’t be sure of her feelings these days. She was in a constant haze, driven only by the need to complete her tasks, to protect the people she loved, to stop Ultimate Despair from taking them. Even if that meant hurting the people she’d once called friends.
In the high-ranking echelons of the Future Foundation, they all knew the stories about an entire Hope’s Peak class that had turned to Ultimate Despair. She wouldn’t let hers become the next tragedy. Friends didn’t do this to friends. But Keebo and Maki weren’t her friends anymore. It was the sacrifice she made.
“I promise once this is resolved, I’ll have the program removed,” Kirumi promised. “Until then…I need to have assurances.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!” Keebo exclaimed.
“Do you expect me to just go along with this?!” Maki demanded.
“Do you want to capture Oma or not?” Kirumi asked. “How long until you think that he puts the others on the line? You saw what happened at the temple. It won’t be long until they’re next. Follow me or don’t, that’s your choice. Keebo, follow me.”
She beckoned to Keebo like he was a dog. He stood still on the spot, clearly resisting whatever string of programming was baiting him. But the programming won out, as they typically did with robots. Keebo let out a frustrated grunt as he followed her out.
Kirumi half-expected Maki to defy her and stay where she was. But after watching Keebo come, after watching him follow her, she also fell in line. She felt her eyes firmly digging into the back of her head and Kirumi made a mental note to keep a close eye on her in the future.
Who knows, maybe after all this was over, she’d let Maki kill her.