The only notable objects in the office are a grandfather clock that doesn't work, a dejected and unwatered fern, and a motivational poster that is faded with age and displays the words, 'There is hope!'

The wooden table that the four of them are seated at is long and smooth. Saihara runs his hands along the rounded edges, trying to stay calm. It's a simple distraction, and it doesn't take very much effort. Across the table from him, Himiko is folding and unfolding foil candy wrappers mindlessly, and at the far end of the room, Maki is twirling her hair around her fingers. The repetitive actions are their only peace.

On Saihara's immediate left is their psychologist. She's been conducting the group therapy for the past three weeks, though conducting is a strong word. She's the only one who's been talking during their sessions. She's a young woman, only a year or so their senior, but she too has been hardened with experience.

"I know that you're all still recovering," she says carefully, "But we can't make any real progress until the three of you start to open up."

None of them respond to her, but that's hardly a surprise. They barely speak outside of the meeting room as it is, so why should this be any different? The psychologist wears a bright yellow jacket - possibly to give off the impression that she's all sunshine and rainbows - but her carrot orange hair just makes her look like a mess.

She adds, "I know that you don't like talking about the killing game-"

As if on cue, Himiko flinches, Maki freezes in place, and Saihara grips the underside of the table so tight his knuckles go white. Even the thought of the game makes the three of them instantly feel sick. It's even worse than it used to be, now that they're locked inside the studio compound.

When they first escaped from the game, they wandered for days, before eventually holing up in a tiny house in the middle of nowhere. It had been safer there, as the nightmares filtered out of their systems inbetween card games.

Maki was good at Go Fish. Himiko kicked ass at poker. Saihara could occasionally win at Crazy Eights.

But after Team Dangan Ronpa found them, the three were forced to return to the compound that they had just narrowly escaped from. Saihara tries to think the best of people, but he knows that the executives he sees all around are Shirogane's superiors, and that they too are responsible for the deaths of all his friends.

The psychologist has a cheerful disposition, and insists that she cares deeply about the three of them, and he desperately wants to believe her. But this is the same woman who has a photo of Tsumugi Shirogane in her wallet, the same woman who promised the public that the killing games caused no lasting trauma, a gut punching reminder that she's just another member of the team, hired to lie to the rest of them.

"So… if you don't want to talk about the game, that's fine. What I'd like is for you to talk about something, or someone, that made you happy!" she says with a perky smile.

Saihara fixates on her necklace instead. A chunky bulb hangs down on the end of a cord, and it looks like it would be irritating to wear. He had his own years of wearing uncomfortable jewelry, but those were forced onto him by society, so he doesn't really count the experiences.

The same silence that's been covering the room for nearly a month returns, but it breaks much sooner than usual, and not by the canary on Saihara's left.

"Chabashira," Himiko says slowly, drawing out the syllables, "She was kind. She was… redemption. She made me feel like I had a purpose on this plain."

Himiko's words resonate with Saihara in a way that he can't describe, and it makes his stomach twist. He knew a girl like that, he knew a girl who he would have moved earth and sky for, and he had to watch her die in front of him.

The psychologist scribbles that down on her clipboard, clearly pleased at this development. Once she's done, she casts glances at both Saihara and Maki. The raven haired girl doesn't meet their gaze, and Saihara takes a deep breath.

It takes a few tries before he can get her name out. He stumbles over it, afraid to get it wrong. Fuck, he misses her.

"A-Akamatsu-san was my whole world," Saihara whispers, "She was supportive and thoughtful… and she cared so much about everyone else. I think I might have loved her, and maybe it all meant nothing… but it felt real to me."

Three pairs of eyes move to Maki. She grips her hair tightly in her hands, as she chokes out, "I was close with Momota. Being in love with him is a stretch but… I know I cared deeply for him as a friend. He… he sacrificed himself to save my life, something that I didn't deserve."

Tears begin to roll down her cheeks, but she keeps talking. It's rare to see her so emotional, so vulnerable to the world around her.

"Even though I practically killed him, he did everything in his power to keep me alive," Maki hisses, "And I don't get it! He signed up for the show because he wanted money! Why would he be so selfless?"

Her words leave the room with an earsplitting silence. Saihara applied because he wanted to pull off the perfect crime. Kaede applied because she didn't trust people.

Nobody was the person that they believed they were.

The psychologist scribbles down their words, and says with a smile, "That's good progress. I know it's difficult now, but hey, we got everyone to talk today, and that's a really big step! I'm really proud of you three!"

Saihara wants to believe her, wants to believe that she's not just another cog in the machine, but it doesn't take a detective to see the boredom in her eyes.

"We're out of time now, but I just want to add that you're all doing fantastic!" she says, "You also look much healthier than you were when you arrived here."

Saihara doesn't feel healthy. He feels like death and everyone knows it. The psychologist is just trying to get paid, he reminds himself. Still, it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Himiko and Maki get up at the same time, and Saihara follows them. The psychologist calls out, "See you next week!" but none of them reply to her. They don't need to, it's not like she cares.

Saihara goes back to his assigned quarters, looks at the barren walls a few times, then collapses on the stiff bed and cries.

This is routine. This is the normalcy that he has established for himself.

The sun is setting over the compound, turning the sky a gorgeous orange colour. Saihara looks up at it from the edge of the courtyard, wishing that he could travel with it. Once before, he'd climbed up on the roof before and tried to leave, but the newly established guard towers kept him from getting anywhere.

Saihara loiters around, unsure of what to do with his evening. It's been over a month since the killing game ended, and nothing has really changed.

Sitting on the edge of one of the flowerbeds is Maki. Bored and stressed, Saihara crosses the cobblestone ground to join her. When he sits down, she offers him a cigarette which he instantly turns down.

"You're going to burn your lungs out, Harukawa-san."

Maki scoffs, "What better way to prove that you're alive than to threaten yourself every day?"

It doesn't make any sense to him, but Maki's always been a rather strange person.

Suddenly, she says, "Do you think the doctors were telling the truth?"

Saihara shrugs, "Who knows at this point? For all we know, they're lying just so that they can keep us around for testing."

"Maybe they want the three of us to be on season fifty-four," Maki responds bitterly, taking a long puff of her cigarette.

He rolls his eyes, "What, so you can murder me after the first motive? I wouldn't go back in that game if they gave me a hundred million yen."

"Would you do it for contact with your uncle?" Maki asks.

It feels like a knife to the gut. He hasn't talked to his uncle in god knows how long. There's no contact with the outside world allowed, supposedly for copyright reasons but the truth is obvious. Nobody would want it to be leaked that every survivor was suffering from long lasting psychological damage.

"No," he says at last, "Never again. Never. "

Maki says, "Then you're a better person than me. I'd do it all over again, and it wouldn't take much to persuade me either."

Saihara grimaces, "That's messed up, Harukawa-san."

"I never said that it wasn't."

They sit in the painful silence until the sun goes down, and the moon rises over the complex. From where they sit, they can just barely see into the pod room where twelve other people lie in deep comas.

Maki says, "I hear that Yonaga might wake up soon. And… Akamatsu has a good chance of making it too."

Just hearing her name makes Saihara perk up. He tries to squash the feeling - there's a good chance she could be comatose forever - but he can't make himself.

"I'm scared," Saihara admits, "What if they're even more different than we thought? What if… they hate us?"

Maki shrugs, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

A tightness rises out of his chest and runs up to his throat. He can feel his impulse control withering away, and he looks back at Maki, her face illuminated just barely by the sliver of moonlight above.

"Hand me a cigarette," he says.

She passes him the box and a lighter. He lights the paper, inhales the smoke, and laughs. There are twelve people inside that will probably never see the light of day again, so who the hell is he trying to fool with his optimism?

The scent of death has never been so sweet before.