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Mikoto had long considered himself to be “just like everyone else.”
Or maybe he insisted that he had to be “just like everyone else.”
That was until MILGRAM shattered that idea completely, starting with his first trial.
He didn't even remember most of the second trial the way others seemed to. In fact, it felt like he remembered less and less every day; but despite only wanting to hide, his body kept moving. Kept talking. Kept rememebering.
It was all too scary.
Unable to remember “being Mikoto” whatsoever, John had to pick up the pieces, and fast. He felt like the world was closing in, especially with endless voices debating their status as a “murderer.” Sometimes, he had to shout internally just to get Mikoto's attention, and would often be told to shut up in return by both Mikoto and another, even quieter part.
John desperately wished he knew what to do. It was his “job” to know what to do, it seemed. Even the warden seemed to think so, in a way. John had agreed to disappear and take Mikoto's misdeeds with him; how laughable. How could he ever keep his promise if Mikoto wasn't even around?
Mikoto, firmly resolving to stay “in” his head, seemed to be the one trying to disappear.
'What will I do if I can't protect you?' John asked internally.
“Maybe we'll finally deal with problems 'normally,'” another part scoffed, quiet and far away. They seemed to have control of the body for now, so John let them. He had to find Mikoto. The prisoner sat in his cell, staring blankly at the wall. John wasn't sure how long they had been like this.
'Mikoto?' John thought, gazing around their. . . mindscape? He never knew what to make of such deep thought – it was like seeing and hearing without seeing and hearing. Remembering without remembering. Knowing without knowing. The void he was traversing was an ominous red color, with what looked like blood covering the floor, but never staining his shoes.
Ahead of him, broken walls and stone tablets of some kind loomed before him. Behind a small coffee table sat a couch, a figure miserably curled up on the cusions.
'Go. Away,' Mikoto spat, hiding his face.
John wished he could imagine a conversation to make it all better, but he couldn't.
Mikoto's words came all on their own, dripping with vitriol. 'I ruined everything. I can't control myself. Why are we even here? What are you, John?' He spat the name with disdain.
'A thoughtform? An unwanted growth? A guardian angel? Take your pick,' John grumbled. 'Would I come all this way if I didn't think it was important? I want to talk.'
'What's there to talk about? I don't remember a thing, and they all still think I'm a murderer. Say we get out of here, but it's true. Then what? Do you really think “I” have any sort of value?' Mikoto was sitting up now, glaring at him.
'You sure seemed to think the others had value when we were paling around during the first trial.'
Mikoto stared at the table, remaining silent.
'May I sit?' John asked, hesitantly closing the gap. He felt like a stranger, despite looking like Mikoto.
'I guess it's your mind too. . . when I'm in here, I seem to remember someone else, but you're not them, are you?'
'Does it matter?' John sighed, not remembering talking directly to Mikoto until now. He had tried, but “GO AWAY” was all he'd ever gotten back before.
'I guess not,' Mikoto said, sliding toward one arm of the mental couch. 'Sit.'
John settled into the couch, relaxing and almost feeling the fabric against his back. 'Weird. . . it's like I can feel everything in here.'
'I always knew I had a vivid imagination, but yeah, this is ridiculous, isn't it?'
'Not really,' John shrugged. Existing “in his head” was all he knew. 'I never get used to it, though.'
'And you wonder why I'm ready to be done with it,' Mikoto sighed.
John hesitated. Because no, he didn't really wonder why. But as long as there was a chance, even a small one, that they could escape this prison. . . 'I want you to keep surviving.'
'And get beat up again?' Mikoto half-laughed, but not the endearing, childlike laugh John had come to love; it was forced, dry and drained of energy.
'First of all, we won that fight,' John shot back. 'You just wanted to stand around while Kotoko acted like a tyrant? Her trial is coming up, though, so we might not have to deal with her much longer.'
'To think I tried to be her friend,' Mikoto sighed.
'Yeah; you see the best in everyone, though, don't you?' John asked.
Mikoto remained silent.
John had long observed the others before he'd been noticed or named. He used to think Kotoko was a lot like Mikoto, really. She put up a tough front, and John always had a sense that she was carefully observing everyone. While Mikoto disguised his suspicion as curiosity (he hadn't wanted to assume the worst but you never know among strangers, right?), perhaps Kotoko disguised her curiosity with careful suspicion.
For whatever reason, Mikoto had been drawn to the woman, constantly inviting her to discussions and activities. Sometimes Kotoko had even begrudingly participated, before the first trial had ended. Mikoto's desire to be friends with everyone irked John even before he took over, but it seemed to mirror Kotoko's determination to separate “ally” from “enemy.”
Frankly, it pissed all of Mikoto off how the woman had let MILGRAM's verdicts make that decision for her.
They had fought twice; Mikoto barely remembered any of it, but remembered being frightened. John had tasted blood when Kotoko punched him. The bruises remained on his arms and face, reminding him it wasn't a dream. Her seemingly-sudden violent streak sickened Mikoto; hadn't it barely been a day since she was helping a child do math homework?
Ridiculous. Though John supposed Mikoto wasn't all that different, in a way; being so friendly with people his whole life, while apparently doing awful things?
Even John, who had taken the blame for all of it, couldn't wrap his mind around such a life.
Hot liquid filled Mikoto's mouth once again, and John awoke with a start in the prison's kitchen. The bitter taste of coffee filled his senses, and he quickly swallowed before he choked from surprise.
'Where did you come from?' a hushed voice asked internally. It sounded like Mikoto, but their tone was completely different, with an almost feminine sound to it.
“I don't know. . .” John muttered, leaning against the counter and setting the mug down. His hands were shaking. “How much coffee did we drink?”
Before he got an answer, Amane calmly approached him. Although he hoped she didn't hear him talking to himself, John sighed with relief. Drawing from memories of Mikoto's younger sister would allow him to interact comfortably, he figured.
After all, how dangerous could a child be?
“Mikoto, how are your wounds? Would you like to pray with us?”
Okay, not what he expected, but John supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Her childish insistence on faith was annoying to Mikoto, but John supposed it wasn't so different from Mikoto's routine insistence on how they were “supposed” to live. Not that any of that mattered in here, which was probably why Mikoto was so lost and confused.
Oh shit, where did Mikoto go? John looked at his hands, suddenly terrified.
“Why aren't you avoiding me like everyone else?” He found himself asking, dodging the girl's question. His tone was much calmer than he felt.
“We are all equal in God's eyes, and have been placed here for a reason,” Amane said, as if simply explaining the weather. “Is it not you who have been avoiding the rest of us, stranger?”
John found himself deciding that a prayer couldn't hurt. Surely it couldn't break him more than he already felt. Amane prayed with him, and forgave Kotoko in her prayers. John bowed his head and hid his face, prentending not to taste a salty tear brushing Mikoto's lips. After a moment, he felt his breathing pick up. “Sorry I– I have to go.”
“Forgiveness is found in God. Goodbye for now,” Amane replied, leaving the kitchen.
Quickly wiping the tears from Mikoto's eyes, John hoped Amane didn't think she'd made him cry; though John didn't quite understand why he was crying to begin with. Amane's persistence reminded him of watching Mikoto trying to befriend Kotoko. Ridiculous. He shook his head, topped off his cup of coffee, and sought out a place to sit.
Many of the tables were empty, but John saw Muu helping Haruka read as he crossed the room.
Mikoto was always surprised by how tender Muu acted in these moments. He and John had often considered Muu to be selfish, silently disapproving when they saw her shove her prison chores onto Haruka. When the two learned together, all of that changed; Muu seemed to take on a selfless quality, and Mikoto saw glimmers of confidence in Haruka despite everything.
Today was no different. Like a small child learning to read, he watched Haruka's smile bloom as Muu praised his correct pronunciation; though it wasn't like every child got that experience. Mikoto forced a smile, happiness for the younger man pushing down his jealousy.
It wasn't like he'd had it half as bad as Haruka, he thought. Truthfully, though, things got very difficult sometimes. Even when he got the courage to request help, Mikoto remembered being berated for even asking; he wondered if Haruka went through the same. It was probably worse for the younger man, so Mikoto felt bad even thinking about his own troubles.
'It's ok to need help sometimes, isn't it?' John thought, feeling Mikoto physically flinch at the memories.
'Not like I needed it,' Mikoto hastily clarified. 'Not someone like me. I'm not like that.' He quietly huffed, turning away from the pair.
'As if it's his fault,' John said, sitting alone at a table near the hallway door. 'I don't think he'd be here if he had someone like that on the outside from the start. And maybe if you'd had some help with your stress–'
“Enough,” Mikoto mumbled aloud, sipping his coffee. Muu's kind and patient tone filled him with a remorse he couldn't quite place. He was glad Haruka was less lonely right now, but if he thought about it too hard, an ugly resentment began to grow.
After all, John was kind of right, but it wasn't something that could be helped, was it?
'Well, maybe with the right people around, it could,' another train of thought chimed in.
Mikoto sighed, rubbing his temples.
Before he could think about it more, John heard Yuno and Fuuta arguing in the hallway. He couldn't make out the words, but Yuno was desperately trying to get a word in over Fuuta's shouting.
'Great, more fighting.' John felt Mikoto's heart rate spike, and yet found his feet taking him toward the sound. Wrapping his arms around himself and leaving his coffee on the table, he ventured into the hallway.
Mikoto, much to his own chagrin, wanted to see if he could help the two. How pitiful. He was a good listener, though; so he thought, anyway.
The two didn't seem to notice him approaching. Yuno's back was turned to Mikoto, her hand on Fuuta's shoulder. Oh, they weren't arguing at all – Fuuta had been crying out in pain, and Yuno was calming him down. Fuuta's hand hovered over his new eyepatch, and he cowered against the wall, barely able to stand. Mikoto still couldn't make out what they were saying. Fuuta's cries filled his head with pressure, and even Yuno's attempts to comfort him felt much too loud.
Even though he'd wanted to help, he only found himself staring blankly.
“What are you- oh,” Yuno was confused. Mikoto seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, two cups of water in his hands. She gently handed one to Fuuta, taking the other for herself. “Thanks...” she averted her eyes uncomfortably.
John really couldn't blame her. He mumbled something along the lines of “don't worry about it,” gave a meek bow, and left them to their conversation. Mikoto's nerves were screaming for relief, but John knew that was a tall order unless he could somehow solve the agony surrounding them.
Unless Mikoto knew those around him were at peace, it seemed that he couldn't be at peace either. How irritating. In the back of Mikoto's mind, he heard more crying. Instinctively, John began walking toward the one place that always seemed to quiet the noises in his head.
Already smelling the familiar, grossly comforting scent of cigarettes, he headed for the smoking area.
Kazui and Shidou were somberly discussing the current situation. John felt Mikoto's heart twist, remembering how their amicable “smoking group” had fallen apart; because of him, so it seemed.
The older men occupying the smoking area looked as dead on their feet as Mikoto felt. The ashtray, which they emptied each time, already had six cigarette butts inside, a seventh in each of their hands. Kazui was recounting a violent struggle he'd witnessed alongside his late partner; Shidou was listening intently. Kazui's hands shook as he smoked, but Shidou's were steady as ever.
John leaned against the wall a ways away and lit his own cigarette, hoping the two wouldn't notice him. 'Mikoto?' he silently called.
No answer.
“Ah. Mikoto,” Kazui interrupted his story, hesitantly greeting the younger man. Shidou turned to look at him as well. So much for not being noticed.
John blew a puff of smoke. “Good afternoon. . .”
“Why don't you join us?” Shidou asked gently. “It's been difficult lately, hasn't it?”
John nodded, walking over to the men. He stared at the floor, hoping they wouldn't notice his bruised face. 'Not like everyone didn't see your little dog-fight,' a hushed voice within commented.
'MY dog-fight?!' John demanded internally.
Mikoto woke up. Cigarette in hand, he looked around in confusion.
Kazui was finishing up his story. Mikoto put out his half-smoked cigarette, trying to listen but feeling completely outside himself. When did he get here? What was Kazui talking about? Did something else happen? No, he seemed to be talking about the past. But he didn't think the smoker group was meeting anymore? Why was- how-?
'Shidou invited us,' John interrupted, re-lighting the cigarette.
'Us?' Mikoto thought. No way this was happening to him, right?
He turned his gaze to the other men, finding his mind drifting to the past. The smoker gang had been so special to him – they almost felt like family? Could they ever be–? no, definitely not. That would be way too complicated; a mere fantasy.
'No stranger than me being here,' John remarked internally. Mikoto chose to ignore him.
After talking to Shidou a bit longer, Kazui gave a yawn, avoiding Mikoto's gaze. “I really should go,” he sighed, putting his cigarette in the ashtray. “I'll empty this later. Goodbye, you two.”
Shidou and Mikoto nodded. “Please rest well,” Shidou said.
As Kazui walked down the hallway, Shidou turned to Mikoto. “How are your injuries, Mikoto?”
“You look like you haven't been sleeping at all,” John said pointedly.
“Don't dodge the question. You had a rough fight not long ago.”
“That why Kazui left in a bit of a hurry?” John asked, hoping it really was just Mikoto's imagination.
“Don't take it personally,” Shidou assured. “He's just worried, after everything that happened. He doesn't. . . want you to blame him.”
“I wasn't going to,” John sighed. “It makes sense, haha. . . I'm not who anyone thought I was.”
“Well, that's okay with me,” Shidou said “This world is nothing like I thought it was.”
They each lit another cigarette. “How's Mappi doing?” Mikoto found himself asking, suddenly very worried.
“Stronger every day,” Shidou replied. John wasn't sure how genuine he was being. “But your injuries?”
“Haha, you're not gonna let that go. . . I'm healing ok. I don't remember much of the fight, honestly.”
“Amnesia? You didn't hit your head, did you?” Shidou looked alarmed.
“No, no, this is normal for me, haha. . . I've always had a bad memory.”
The surgeon hummed thoughtfully, examining the younger man's face. “Would you like to come see Mahiru when we're done here?”
Mikoto stared at the floor, thinking it over. He didn't want her to see him and worry when she was already struggling to heal, but she was his friend, wasn't she? He wanted to see her. “Sure.”
John really didn't – he wasn't sure he could bare to see even more pain But it was up to Mikoto, he supposed.
As they walked into her cell, Mikoto heard Mahiru groan in pain as she tried to sit up. He hoped the cigarette smell wasn't too much for her. It almost was for him, but it was far from his first unwanted cigarette.
“Mahiru? You have a visitor,” Shidou announced, his voice hushed and gentle.
“Mappi?” Mikoto whispered, looking her over. He had to force himself not to cry. She had bandages all over, and appeared incredibly frail. Just a few weeks ago, she had been happy as ever, but now–
“Mikoto?” Mahiru managed a smile. “Hi. . . I was worried about you.”
Mikoto and John were both taken aback, Here she was, bedridden, and she was concerned for him? “We– I'm ok,” John said in a hushed voice. “I'm sorry. How are you healing?”
“I'm doing better. Please don't worry.” She didn't sound so sure.
Mikoto took a breath to keep from crying. He stared at the floor, unsure of what to say.
“I can't believe it's been so long. . . everything's different now. Everyone's so distant,” Mahiru sighed.
“Mappi. . .”
“You know, when I first met you, I have to confess that I thought you looked like a cheater,” Mahiru said suddenly, as though she were confessing a deep sin. “It's a bit silly, isn't it?”
“Huh– wha–?” Mikoto smiled nervously, chuckling a bit. “That's– I mean, I appreciate the honesty, but why?”
“You just seemed like a person who kept secrets~” the woman replied, a glimmer of mischief in her eye despite her injuries. She slowly turned toward him, trying to hide her wince. “I don't think that anymore, though. You were always kind to me.”
“A-and I'll still be kind! Everyone should be kind to you, Mappi,” Mikoto said, quickly wiping a tear. “Why are you talking like that? Please keep going. We'll all be kind to you.” He couldn't seem to stop himself from pleading like a child.
“Shhhhh. . .” Mahiru reached her right hand out and gently squeezed Mikoto's left. “I'll be okay.”
“Why are you comforting ME?” Mikoto asked, wincing at the touch but not pulling away. “You must be in so much pain.”
“It doesn't matter. You're my friend.” Mahiru squeezed his hand as if holding on for dear life.
Mikoto returned the gesture, tears retreating into his eyes as quickly as they appeared. “Mappi, I. . . I'm sorry. You deserve better than this.” His voice was softer than usual.
“We all do. . . we were all just trying to live,” Mahiru let her tears fall, still smiling but shaking her head. “But everything's a cycle, right? Haha. . .”
John felt a pang of guilt as he heard her strained laugh; it was like she was reaching for relief, trying to escape a tightness in her chest or buzzing in her head.
'Familliar, isn't it?' An internal voice whispered.
'Well, laughing does kind of help,' John replied, losing track of the outside conversation.
Mikoto and Mahiru talked for a while, John taking the opportunity to observe.
Mikoto listened as Mahiru talked about love.
John wasn't sure he knew anything about love, but he loved Mikoto. He thought so, anyway. He felt Mikoto calm down the more the two talked, and that made him happy. Was that love? He wasn't sure, but John wished he could hold Mikoto's hand like that. But it was what it was.
Eventually, Mahiru began to fall asleep. Shidou gently tapped Mikoto's shoulder. “We should let her rest,” the older man whispered.
Mikoto nodded, squeezing Mahiru's hand one last time before letting her go. “Sleep well, Mappi.”
“Good night,” Mahiru whispered. She made a small noise of pain as she laid down, gently closing her eyes.
Mikoto closed his eyes too, his head beginning to pound as he turned toward the door.
When he opened his eyes, Mikoto was sitting alone in his cell.
Not alone enough, though.
The presences in his mind were scaring him less, but still he wondered; was this OK? Could anyone care about him? Love him the way he was? If they knew everything? Too late to know now, but he couldn't help but wonder.
John's presence, the other voices, his blackouts; it was all so. . . abnormal.
Although he had to admit that 'normal' went out the window the second MILGRAM began.
Still, he felt that this was too much; too much for his family, for the other prisoners, for anyone.
Could anyone reconcile such a conflicted person? Especially if he really was a murderer?
“Well. . .” John said, his words coming out of Mikoto's mouth in a low whisper. “I love you. The way you are. The good and the bad.” He hoped Mikoto would believe him.
'Well yeah, but–'
Swing and a miss, huh? John persisted, “'but' nothing. Those prisoners out there are finding comfort in each other, even in a place like this. That care is all we can trust. Even when it doesn't feel real.”
'That's all we can trust? That. . . That sucks,' Mikoto laughed pathetically, the sound echoing in his mind.
“Yeah, but,” John sighed, rubbing Mikoto's shoulders. “It sucks less than the alternative.”
'Alone in our apartment or at work, where everyone's too busy doing busy-work to care about anyone?' the other cut in. 'Yeah honestly, despite everything I'd still take the magic jail.'
“Even dealing with all my emotions?” Mikoto sniffed, wiping his tears. He liked it when John massaged him, but it hurt, and it was scary not controlling his body.
He could almost see John rolling his eyes inside his mind. 'We'd have those anyway, Miko. We still want you here. And the others want you here, too.'
'Others?'
“Other prisoners,” John quickly clarified aloud. Not too much now, he warned himself. Not too soon.
Mikoto thought about the nature of desire, and even felt a desire for John tugging at his heart.
For John, for his “other self,” for all of them – Mikoto found himself wanting to live.
A desire to breathe.
To rest.
To trace the blue sky.
With his family, the other prisoners, and with himself.
Had he thrown any chance of that away?
The barren walls, looming ceiling, and the blinking security camera seemed to mock such thoughts.
No matter how much he wanted the others – inside and outside – he appeared completely alone in here.
“I'm so tired of wanting...” Mikoto grumbled, curling into himself.
Others or no others, self or no self, he had only wanted to live. Just like everyone else.
'Isn't trying to be like everyone else how we ended up here?' Mikoto's “other self,” as he'd long called her, asked. He pretended not to hear her.
Mikoto wanted no more of this. He only wished to sleep.
John hugged Mikoto as he curled up on the bed, arms squeezing tightly around his torso.
He hugged Mikoto's body, but in their mind, Mikoto was drifting further away.
Just like everyone else, it seemed.