((Warning in advance that this scene will eventually involve death and implied gore.))
The scene is some sort of cavernous industrial building. It's all metal and machinery, some of it difficult to identify. A series of what look like large robots sit unmoving along one wall. At the center of the space is a huge hydraulic press.
The Ghost of Christmas Present hovers with his guest, shaking his head as if in disappointment. "Nothing even remotely Christmas-like to pick from, it seems," he says. "I suppose this is all there is."
It's otherwise quiet and empty, save for two figures who don't seem to notice the observers. One is a tall teen, a young man with a goatee, who's currently dragging the other person slowly towards the hydraulic press. And the other is Kokichi, dressed all in white, limp and leaving a vibrant trail of blood as he's dragged along the ground. He's pale to begin with, but he seems deathly pale here.
Not quite dead, though. He grimaces as he's dragged across a seam in the metal flooring, hissing a sharp intake of breath. As they reach the press, the taller boy stops and adjusts his grip on Kokichi's arm to move him more gingerly, sitting him up against the machine. Scowling at the suddenly gentle treatment, Kokichi weakly swats his hands away and gestures towards a nearby catwalk and control panel.
"Just go get the camera set up," he snaps between shaky breaths. The other teen rolls his eyes and straightens. He appears injured himself, pressing a hand to a bloody wound on one forearm to keep it from dripping.
"You can just kill yourself if you're gonna be an asshole," he retorts, but there's no heat in it. Shaking his head, he just moves away to do as he was told, fetching a camera and tripod from a corner of the room and carrying them up to the catwalk to set up whatever the fuck is going on here.
PRESENT
The scene is some sort of cavernous industrial building. It's all metal and machinery, some of it difficult to identify. A series of what look like large robots sit unmoving along one wall. At the center of the space is a huge hydraulic press.
The Ghost of Christmas Present hovers with his guest, shaking his head as if in disappointment. "Nothing even remotely Christmas-like to pick from, it seems," he says. "I suppose this is all there is."
It's otherwise quiet and empty, save for two figures who don't seem to notice the observers. One is a tall teen, a young man with a goatee, who's currently dragging the other person slowly towards the hydraulic press. And the other is Kokichi, dressed all in white, limp and leaving a vibrant trail of blood as he's dragged along the ground. He's pale to begin with, but he seems deathly pale here.
Not quite dead, though. He grimaces as he's dragged across a seam in the metal flooring, hissing a sharp intake of breath. As they reach the press, the taller boy stops and adjusts his grip on Kokichi's arm to move him more gingerly, sitting him up against the machine. Scowling at the suddenly gentle treatment, Kokichi weakly swats his hands away and gestures towards a nearby catwalk and control panel.
"Just go get the camera set up," he snaps between shaky breaths. The other teen rolls his eyes and straightens. He appears injured himself, pressing a hand to a bloody wound on one forearm to keep it from dripping.
"You can just kill yourself if you're gonna be an asshole," he retorts, but there's no heat in it. Shaking his head, he just moves away to do as he was told, fetching a camera and tripod from a corner of the room and carrying them up to the catwalk to set up whatever the fuck is going on here.