Imprudence ( impertinence! ) is motion’s fuel; feet skulking around high walls ( full of dust, a finger’s tip runs across and takes off its very own part. ). Nagito has no real idea in mind, his steps skip— light in weight— and he would try to edge the building’s outline right beneath his scalp, past sturdy bone, where his sickened brain lies. His entrance has been denied at an earlier time— but as a child will only find more curiousity in places, which access has been refused— so finds he desire to return; in recent moments, now, still-- it repeats, does not cease. At night, his lithe figure will draw him to where they have their established nest, residing in there, and having all this— excitement ( ? Amusement! ) to themselves. ( selfish. ). He shakes his head, whilst a sigh escapes with heavy breath—
「 De—-! 」
—He is caught— stumbles— his ears discerning fluttering movement, like he’d notice the sudden spark aflame after addition of gas. A voice rising, demanding him to stop; his breath gets caught in his lungs and lets shallow coughs burst from an irritated throat. Irritated, is what he is himself, he had accounted his undisturbed wanderings as favours of his luck. But he swallows down whatever surprise entangles him in the current moment, raises arms whilst spreading a smile on deft facial features.
「 Ah, seems I have been caught— right on time— care to help a lost soul on its way? The outside is chaos, you see, I’m sure you’ll agree— 」
[ The gun trembles in unsteady fingertips. This is certainly an unusual circumstance, and he’s left with a couple of choices. The first choice is that he can stick with his instinct, and let this lonesome traveler go. That’s what he’d do in any other circumstance; he’d play the part of the hero and save them, advise them against coming to this hideout ever again. Unfortunately, he’s not the only one out on patrol, and it’s really only a matter of time before a comrade finds him.
The second choice–and it’s a disgusting, immoral, cowardly choice–is to kill him right here. Albeit it would technically be sparing him from the monstrousities of the people within, it would still be murder, and the blood on his hands would never fade. Makoto is silent for another minute, gun trembling ever more violently…
before he lowers it. It’s only slightly, though, and his finger’s turning white pressed up against the trigger. ]
“Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want? I can’t help you, you know; you’re stuck here.”
[ The four sentences come out so quickly it sounds like one giant mesh of words. Despite his growing fear and nausea in the pit of his stomach, impatience rings out through dulcet tones like a bell, sounding grating against the brick walls that surround the two.]
