"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Time passed.

Jeremy couldnít really say that heíd seen anything happen during that time.The ceiling was still the same as usual. Maybe some flecks of paint had fallen off without him really noticing, but thatÖ didnít count. He didnít really know why. It just didnít. Nothing had changed, really. The voice from earlier moved closer. StartedÖ doing something. Jeremy didnít really know what. It didnít bother him, though. So long as nothing was happening to him then he didnít really feel fit to intervene. Probably best that he just stayed here. Laid down. Looked at the ceiling and hoped that something would happen to it in the time that he was here.

...He should probably get up, now.

But he didnít really want to. Junko was there. He didnít want to see her. He didnít want to see what he did.

But he knew he had to, at some point. He knew he had to get up. He knew that he had to face the music, at some point.

He laid under the ceiling of the office, breathing, for a little bit.

May as well make it quick.





It hurt, getting up. Ached. His bones and his muscles and his skin screamed as he moved his body up. ThisÖ was how it was going to be from now on, wasnít it?

It probably was.


This was probably karma, for what he did.

His eyes found the corpse fairly quickly. It was laying there. Smiling. There was a grin on her face, as her blood fell out and spread itself all around her. He tried looking at her. Seeing into her eyes.

...He turned his head. Looked away again.

...Her baseball bat was still lying on the floor.

Should he take it?

He wasnít sure. It was there and it didnít really belong to anyone now and there was nothing really wrong with having anything else but should he? He wasnít sure. It was wrong to do so, wasnít it?

But he was a killer now.

And given the types of people out there, given how people would think of him now, he needed what he could get. He needed to protect himself.

Maybe the others. Maybe the people he found.


He supposed that that was a good enough excuse.

The gun went into his pocket. The baseball went into his left hand. The chisel - having fallen out of her body - went into his right.

He didnít look back at anything as he left. Neither Junko, nor the boy searching her bag.

((Jeremy Frasier, continued in Jenny From The Block))
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