Chapter 2

Nothing else could be heard except the echo of gunshots that had finally wrung themselves out, settling like dust onto the windowsills and broken glass.

Aria stood just near the table, her fingers placed gently on the teacher's shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. But now it was all in vain—the dead did not need comfort.

Holes let themselves into plastic chairs, battered wooden desks, the artwork hung up at the back, and into the artists leaving souls.

Birds perched nearby, peeping onto what had happened. And soon a pitter-patter had followed. The windows no longer glistened.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The rain went into action almost right away. Ashamed it was. Hurt it was. At the humans who wrecked such havoc.

At an attempt to wash away everyone with it—the last bit of curses and muffled sobs from those going under. Or maybe it was not as righteous as people believed, but rather an accomplace to the vicious, helping them hide all their traces and grit footsteps.

Yet it could not, unfortunately, erase the only one living.

Standing.

Alone.

Aria thought to herself that she would be lying if she wasn't startled. But it wasn't really that surprising, in the slightest. People come into this world and go out of it all the time, whether it is through a man or a bear—what did it matter?

In one way or another, she was always alone. And the universe thought it would try up its sleeve and present her with this. This was all too flashy, wasn't it?

 This was exactly the sort of cliché that happened in movies and books. And wasn't there a cool protagonist in the midst of it all? So what was she doing there?

 She prayed it wasn't her. She was an extra after all—the sort of person you'd call an NPC.

Is this some sort of revenge? Because of something that happened a decade ago? A small boy once bullied, abandoned, and treated so cruelly until he grew up and became powerful. Is it that type of story? she thought.

Well, regardless of such. As long as She could exit quietly or at least have a painless death, then she wasn't complaining.

Click.

The sound broke her train of thought, and she turned her gaze away from the corpse of her classmate. Her eyes soon met the gun aimed right at her. And there stood a man.

His eyes trailed her almost boredly—at her still and almost unfazed figure. If anyone looked at her, they'd say she was simply a student still listening to some lecture, except for the blood that dusted her pale skin, completely shattering the illusion.

 It wasn't until she looked back at him—mainly towards the gun he had pointed right at her throat—a thin line between the living and the dead.

His face was hidden behind his blackened gear, but through all that coverage, he was quite the bulky man. But his movements were almost gentle, not aggressive. Perhaps because she wasn't either. He found no need for more violence.

He outstretched his gloved hand and said, "Come on, quietly. If you don't want to go through more than your buddies here." His voice was smooth as velvet, yet his tone held no room for quarrel.

She sighed almost exaggeratedly—in a way you could tell someone was dragging just to annoy someone.

Brat, he thought, his lips quirking up in slight amusement. But he made no move to take back his hand. Eventually, she placed her hand in his without complaint, and he led the way.

The sight outside was of no surprise by then. It's what any could expect. Bodies lay still like statues—broken, battered, and lifeless. As she walked, she heard the cries of children coming from somewhere down below, the lower classes.

Huh? I guess I'm not the only survivor.she mumbled . But when they made their way down the stairs, there was no blood at all, nor broken glass or lifeless bodies. Rather, the masked men were guarding the doors shut.

"Look down if you don't want to lose an eye," he said with a scoff. "But judging by you, you probably wouldn't care." he added

She replied, "No thank you, sir. I prefer my eyes just fine. I've glued them to my face after all."

And he tsked as they began walking more swiftly. Her ears searched for them, and ah—there they were. In class 1 and 4 respectively. She heard her sisters crying amongst the children.

I wonder what will happen to them, she thought. Are they going to kill them off now? Or later?

 It was all too pitiful, wasn't it?

The masked man descended a flight of stairs never loosening his tight grip on her hand though occasionally he would also glance at her noticing she remained as quiet as a doll with nothing but a blank canvas for a face.

She truly was a bit odd in his opinion, the others that had been brought in- screaming, kicking, desperate-nothing short on the break of one's sanity.

Maybe she is the 'fake it till you make it' type, being a tough sport but in reality was as brittle as glass so sooner or later she'd be the first to break like most would.He thought

"Those people really did have the most unusual taste after all huh what a bunch of sickos "he mumbled with a sneer hidden behind his gear.

He had a feeling the answers to his questions would reveal themselves with time but how long would it really take?

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