Survival of the Fittest

7/24/16:

To say I am saddened it has taken me this long to update anything is an understatement. However, I realize that this story is not entirely accurate as I began it before the end of the manga and have taken it upon myself to contemplate the entirety of the story and revise any and everything till it is improved. I hope you like the changes and forgive me for the great wait.

This series truly does mean a lot to me, and I want nothing more than to do it justice.

Chapter 1-Prologue

"Everyone's fighting for their own kind of freedom. It seems small; but in their hearts, nothing is more important. With such hopes, I won't have enough time for revenge or fear, right?"

-Nagi Kengamine

~One mischievous little woodpecker~

An image of shaggy dark hair and determined gray eyes flashed before her crimson eyes-unbidden. Distant memories of a friend turned enemy-an entity that served only to make her weak. Ganta Igarashi.

~Another day, pecking your holes~

A similarly dark haired figure-this time a beautiful woman clad in white-stood over a pale child's frightened, but firmly strapped down form. The tears flashing in her eyes going unnoticed in the child's suffering. Cringing in pain at every slice and injection, 'pecking' her body apart until nothing remained.

Hagire, amused as always, delighted in this part of his job-taking pleasure both from the pain of the child and woman alike. Shiro heard his voice-far away-warning Sorae against her own selfishness, encouraging the operations. Malicious-the angry forest god of Shiro's world.

And Ganta, didn't he realize he was just as much at fault as any? Didn't he realize he, too, pecked at her tortured body?

~Ruining the woods, tree wrecker~

Shiro hated the woman, but also-in time-came to love her. She was the source of her pain, and also, her savior. Ruining her, but simultaneously salvaging what she could. Hagire, on the other hand, remained gleefully ambiguous.

~The angry old forest god turned your poor beak into a poison knife~

One too many pecks, and malice consumed her-made her stronger, made her invincible. The need for blood, the need for vengeance defined her. She called out to Ace Man, and he responded, transforming her into her own Ace Man-an Ace Man strong enough to take away her pain and suffering while simultaneously inflicting it on others.

She called her 'Ace Man'. Ganta called her 'the Red Man'. Hagire called her 'the Original Sin'. And Tamaki dubbed her 'the Wretched Egg'.

Lonely as she was, she needed a suitable playmate. A peck later, implanting the dangerously delicate red diamond into Sorae's son's chest, and the woodpecker was born-trapped just as she was in her cage. If she couldn't have her revenge on Sorae herself for performing these unspeakable horrors, her son would suffice.

~Poor little wood pecker~

Of the original woodpeckers, the female wept and grieved even as she perished by the bullet to her head.

~Your nesting holes are all tainted, your food with toxins rife~

Leaving the Wretched Egg alone with only Hagire for company. The lullaby, her final gift to Shiro, lulling the Wretched Egg into sleep for years and years.

~Touch your friends, and they all will die falling at your feet~

Ganta's classmates decimated. His fellow Deadman jeopardized. Azami's head lolling on the floor. Yes, Ganta's friends would all die-just like Shiro died long ago and the Wretched Egg rose in her place.

~Oh, sad little woodpecker~

'Where's Shiro?' He had asked. Foolish and naive to the very end, Ganta had no inkling his closest friend was also his greatest enemy. Unmasked, Ganta's face of ultimate betrayal evidenced the shattering of his trusting heart.

~Poisonous tears, shining brightly, as they stream down your cheeks~

Ganta's tears. Shiro's tears. Sorae's tears. Remorseful tears. Tears that were useless and weak-unnecessary.

The Wretched Egg stopped singing, her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched in frustration. Even now, without Shiro controlling her, she couldn't forget that damned song. Not only could she not forget it, she couldn't help but wonder what the rest of it was…

She knew the song was about her, of course. But why was it so important to her? Even now, without the innocence and naiveté that withheld Shiro's power, even now, with all the other Deadman gone from Deadman Wonderland.

The song, like many lullabys, was utterly morbid-but fitting for one such as Shiro. How odd that one woman who had known her for so little a time could predict such suffering? And how and why was Ganta involved in all this?

"Still pondering that silly lullaby?" A playful reply came from the doorway.

At this, she shifted in her soft bed to see the one and only Toto Sakigami A.K.A The Mockingbird in all his stitched glory, peering his golden eyes through the concealing curtain of her bed.

At least, at one point it had been Toto Sakigami. Now, he resembled him perfectly, but unlike Shiro, the Wretched Egg knew perfectly well who it really was inside that shell of a boy currently lapping up blood from the palm of his hand. It was the one and only Hagire, the man who aided in bringing this much more powerful version of Shiro forth those many years ago.

She said nothing, but huffed and rolled again so her back was facing him. The bed soon dipped slightly as his weight added to hers. He was either very foolish or very stupid, because he was the only person who dared get close to her, who dared not be consumed by fear at her very presence.

Gentle, but deft fingers reached to slide through her silvery hair, she sighed. It was the Shiro inside her begging for comfort and love that made her sigh in contentment and allow him to continue to stroke her hair.

"Are you happy, My Snowflake?" He murmured softly, his hand ceased stroking her hair and moved down to brush her face, gentle and soft despite the sewing encasing his entire body. The crude stitches felt unnatural and rough-they disgusted her. She hated them, just as she hated the ones marring her own body.

Shiro would have burst into tears and flung herself into his arms, sobbing, most likely. Because, in fact, she was not happy and she wondered if she ever would be. But the Wretched Egg just swallowed hollowly, eyes coldly blank, having no answer to this question.

But she did manage to say something, her voice, now not so irritatingly high and much more mature, "I don't know. Perhaps..."

By all means, she should be happy. She had finally been set free-free to unleash her devastating power upon the world, free to exact her revenge. She had been allowed the bloodbath the Wretched Egg so desperately craved at every waking moment-and yet, she still was not satisfied.

I guess it was difficult to truly be happy, when all you knew was pain and suffering and all you brought forth was hate and death.

"Chan, En-can I ask you something?" Toto-or rather Hagire-mused, pale stitched fingers tracing a photo's frame slowly, lovingly. Golden eyes focused upon the subjects of the photo, glinting with part longing, part glee.

"Of course, anything." Came the monotone unison reply.

His fingers stilled. He paused for a beat.

"Do you love me?"

A moment's hesitation. Then, "Unconditionally."

"Perfect." Hagire hummed contently, "You are dismissed."

"Yes, Director." Perfectly timed footsteps, one door opening and closing signaled their departure. Alone within the ruins of Tamaki's old office, Toto breathed a sigh, once again absentmindedly tracing the dust ridden photo once more. A beautiful dark haired woman, Sorae, and her identical offspring-The Woodpecker Ganta alongside the innocent beginnings of the Wretched Egg.

"Sorae...How I miss you."

Hagire did not understand this feeling of longing that remained following Sorae's death. Hagire, if he was being honest, would admit he did not understand many things. Love, for example. He understood it was a powerful emotion, but little else. He did not know how to classify it, or how it felt to experience it.

In the case of Chan and En, he knew with 100% certainty that earning their love was necessary-if not crucial. Love, for them, equaled loyalty. It was what made them such good henchmen and the subsequent reason he was still alive today. In their case, 'love' was a tool to Hagire-a bargaining chip for their unwavering devotion.

No, Hagire did not understand 'love' personally-and never would. The closest, he believed, to have ever come to experiencing 'love' was with his beloved Wretched Egg-whom he has infinite interest in. His obsession is undeniable, but is that the full essence of 'love'?

Sorae Igarashi understood love. She had a love for science, a love for experiments. At first, it was the same sadistic love and flair he, too, shared. Later, once her offspring emerged, she loved again-differently, softer.

"Damn that brat for turning you soft." He whispered, tapping the glass over the small dark haired child's form. Would things have ended differently had her maternal instincts not corrupted her wickedness?

After the birth of Ganta, she began crying over experimentations she once enjoyed immensely. She began singing and remorsefully playing the piano, scrawling in her absurd diary, and crafting children's things. Eventually she began spending more and more time with her 'children' and less and less in the labs. She let love consume her.

And then, love killed her.

'Why have I...created such an awful creature?'

Hagire still remembered the way her delicate, precisioned hands delved deep into the depths of her white lab coat-searching for a weapon he couldn't see. Blinded by his anger even as he was, he recalled her uttering those very words under her breath, sucking in air harshly as her shaking form stilled into a eerie, dead calm.

'This is my responsibility.'

Before he could speak, move, or blink-he heard the gunshot. An ear splitting sound followed by her heavy form thudding to the floor. He exhaled after a long moment, not realizing he had been holding his breath the entire time. His eyes fixed on her body unblinkingly, he was calm-but disappointed. Disappointed that she let her love consume her into taking her own life, the fool.

Maybe he did not want to understand 'love' after all.

"Ganta, would you like a cookie?" An elderly woman-one of the many hostesses at the local orphanage- asked gently, holding out his favorite kind tenderly. Though her voice was leveled with effortless kindness, her eyes betrayed her true fears. She wanted nothing to do with him.

Cookies once brought a mouth watering desire into him, but now it left a bitter and repulsing taste in his mouth-everything did these days. The gesture was kind, but brought no happiness to the troubled teen. The only other person who had offered him cookies was Shiro-who was now little more than a stranger to him since the events of Deadman Wonderland.

'"Shiro" is dead.'

"No, thanks." He murmured, and the woman nodded respectively before resuming her daily chores at the orphanage. He chose to ignore her relieved expression, but noted she calmed considerably. How sickening.

It had been almost a month since his release from Deadman Wonderland, a day he had envisioned for all his time within said prison. But that image was a much happier one than reality made it out to be, one with a certain white haired companion at his side.

'Oh, hey Mimi! I was just thinking, the class trip is kinda dumb. I mean, not even over seas, but a prison?'

But now, he was all alone. His cell phone was beyond pointless now, all his contacts were now the numbers of the deceased, and he doubted his cell could reach beyond the living. He threw it away almost immediately upon arriving.

'Well, it doesn't matter where we go for the trip, really.'

Mimi and Yamakatsu.

'If I can go and mess around with my friends before studying kicks in, I don't think that it matters where we go.'

He had taken his friends for granted when they were alive, and now that they were dead, he held only regrets. Within that prison he had met new friends-Azami and Shiro-all murdered by that monster that consumed his best friend's body. Those that survived now hated him because of that monster.

The Wretched Egg.

Thinking about it made his fists clench angrily. The one person that caused all his pain and suffering, the one person that ruined his whole life had been hiding right under his nose the whole time, masquerading as his long lost friend.

He'd had his chance to kill her, to kill the so called 'Red Man', and he blew it, he simply couldn't do it. Not while he knew the killer had also been his friend once upon a time.

Senji Kyomasa held his head in his hands as he sat on the park bench, wallowing in his last attempt and failure at getting a normal job.

His hair was now back in its usual disarray of spikes from his hands intentionally ruffling it out of its slicked back state and he squirmed uncomfortably in his suit. All these layers were suffocating him, and his tie felt more like a noose.

How he wished he were back in Deadman Wonderland, where he could roam freely with his sleeves rolled up and his chest bare, where he could utilize his Branch of Sin at his leisure. It was exactly how he knew it'd be if he ever got out of Deadman Wonderland. It was exactly how he had explained it to Ganta, where 'survival of the fittest' kicked in.

In Deadman Wonderland, survival of the fittest meant using your Branch of Sin wisely in the Carnival Corpse matches to overcome your foe-simple and straight forward.

Out here though, it was hell. Survival of the fittest was getting educated in order to succeed later on or stoop to illegal acts just to stay afloat. The strong survived, while the weak became homeless and poor, doomed to die starving and shelter less in the concrete jungle.

Right now, Senji hated to admit he was verging on the 'weak' side.

That was a very frightening thought. In Deadman Wonderland he'd been one of the strongest Deadman, with enough Cast Points and Candy to support him for life. Everyone knew him and respected him; everyone admired him and talked about him.

Out here, he was lowest of the low. He had little to no experience with non-Deadman people and frankly, he despised it. He had no education outside of fighting and he certainly wasn't the most approachable person ever.

In Deadman Wonderland he had reveled in his power and quite enjoyed a good fight, even if it meant sacrificing some sort of body part to make up for losing. The eyepatch currently decorating his face was testament to that-though out in the real world it did not mean much. Now here he was, sitting by himself in a park, completely useless.

He groaned, his bronzed hand coming up to trace the tattoo lining his brow-DMSK. Then, almost tentatively, his fingers traced the eyepatch concealing the gaping hole that was now his eye-socket. If this was the 'normal' life, he didn't want it. He'd trade his other eye to be top dog again- if that old geezer Idaki Hitara managed fine without sight, so could Senji.

'Loser's pay the price.'

In Wonderland, his eyepatch had been more of a trophy to him than a burden. It was proof that he'd finally met his match in an all out brawl-proof that he gave his everything and it wasn't enough. It showed him his weakness, but also inspired his strength. He wasn't gonna let Ganta beat him next time, that was for damn sure. Here, it hindered his already slim chances of survival-employment.

'That's how it goes, both in here...and on the outside.'

Wonderland had been Hell, but it was paradise for 'abnormal' people. In Deadman, he was the winner. Out here, he was the loser. If his own dejected heart wasn't enough proof, his empty wallet certainly proved his ranking. The outside was no place for a fight addicted bodybuilder, this was a world for the intelligent, soft bodied people. At this rate, he'd be forced to call this park bench home and sleep on it-homeless.

Of course, his first choice was the police force. But it seemed they did not like the idea of having another Deadman on their squad. Not after his little 'incident'.

Even after being proved innocent with no charges against him, even after he proved how useful he'd be, they still wouldn't take him. Why? Because people are afraid of what they do not understand. Deadman topping the list of misunderstood.

It was an unspoken rule to hide your Branch of Sin at all costs. If someone were to see you using it, they were bound to find a way to twist what really happened-at the very least a panic induced riot would start. At the worst, execution.

It was all such bullshit.

It wasn't their fault they were infected in the first place. It wasn't their fault Tamaki created the Ninben Deadman to frighten the public and rationalize their deaths. Yet they treated them all the same-as monsters out for blood.

They didn't choose to be Deadman, after all.

Of course, he knew some Deadman really were bad. In fact, he'd seen some roaming around as gang members, utilizing their Branches of Sin to mug and rob people. They had every right to be afraid, but why wouldn't they at least give him a chance?

It was the eye patch, he later decided. No one wanted to trust a guy with an eye patch-let alone hire him.

Karako Koshio stood at the front of a grave, the slick mud coating her bare feet and the wind gently tousling her long yellow cloak. She heard of Deadman Wonderland's indefinite close, and briefly wondered how long it would be before she ran into Ganta and the others again. It brought her joy to know her efforts paid off, and-for some-their sacrifices.

"Well, Nagi, looks like Scar Chain pulled through in the end."

'From Scarred to Freed:
Nagi the Owl

A tribute to the life of Nagi Kengamine'

Such a fitting description she thought as she read it, she had memorized the phrase many times over, yet it still brought a spark of energy flowing through her veins. Even as a tear slid down her face she smiled. Her bell jingling slightly as it rang at her chest. The tone was somehow comforting, knowing how much he'd enjoyed it.

'It is the sound of a precious friend.'

She would miss him she knew, she already did. But she knew he would be happier where he was, with his family-whose remains had been recovered from the facility and buried at his side. She sighed, she had always envisioned her freedom being spent by his side, perhaps just as friends at first, but then she hoped to one day become something more to him, for him to love her just as she loved him.

'When you hear the chime, you know that you have a companion nearby.'

She hoped to have a family with him and grow old together, to spend each day of that freedom together, cherishing every moment.

'When I hear your bell, I get the feeling that even in this place the sun can shine.'

But it seemed fate had another path woven for her, one very different, and much more tragic.

'I'll see you in Hell, you monster.'

More tears fell, but she didn't wipe them away, she let them fall to the ground below her and seep down into the Earth.

His funeral had been unbelievably short, it seemed he had little remaining relatives, and there was not much to be said. Not that it mattered much anyway, his relatives had refused to attend now that he was a pronounced Deadman. Typical behavior from non-Deadman since the broadcast of their footage just a scant few months ago.

She knew this, because she had been the only one to speak at his funeral. She told the empty air how noble he was, and how many hardships he suffered in the prison, she told a nonexistent audience how he died honorably.

The Priest merely shuddered and prayed aloud that his tainted blood shall one day be cleansed and then he turned to her and wished her the same.

She remembered how she had gawked at him, how she had been torn between furious and heartbroken. These people viewed her as an impurity. They viewed her as if she were some sort of demon in need of exorcism. A stain on the canvas of the world.

Weeks after the funeral, she was somewhat relieved to find that though his family refused to attend his funeral, they did on occasion visit his grave. She did this daily, and every so often she would appear only to find the occasional person or two standing sentiently at his grave-heads bowed and silent. Mostly adults, apart from the occasional small child.

Her heart warmed to see them paying their respects, though she dared not approach for fear of ridicule. She attempted that once, but every time she tried to introduce herself or speak to one of his family or friends they would get wide eyed and mutter a response and a quick excuse before they made haste to get away from her.

The only exception was a young woman who came just once, holding a small babe in her arms. The dark hair and eyes confirmed her as being Nagi's sister. No words were spoken between them, but their eyes met from across the fair distance separating them. Her eyes were not remorseful, nor hateful, but saddened and kind-humane. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Now she stared at her own hands, the soft mocha colored hands she had all her life. And she couldn't see them as being tainted or unwanted, it was just her. The same Karako she had always been. Hell, before Deadman Wonderland she'd been a nurse for God'sake-caring and treating the very people who now shunned her.

Even the children cowered in fear behind the legs of their parents as she drew near…

Was she so repulsing? Was she such a bane to the human existence? She didn't think so, and she knew if Nagi were here, he would not have thought so either.

He had been buried by his wife, as Karako insisted, and what a fitting spot it had been. At least he would be happy; though she wasn't so sure she could say the same for herself.

But she smiled slightly, placing the long flower she'd brought for them right in the middle of them, where she knew the daughter would be buried if they had found any of her remains.

"Goodbye, Nagi." She whispered before she turned and forced herself to walk away, back into the free-for-all that was the rest of Japan.

It was times like this that made her wish she really had died along with him.

Chaplin Sukegawa frowned yet again at his reflection in the mirror. The grimy, cracked surface did his visage no justice, and only served to amplify his scrutiny-displeasing him immensely. Was his lipstick smeared? Was his eyeshadow fading? Was that a chipped nail?

Sure, it was bad that even after the release of all Deadman in Wonderland he had been locked up in a different prison for the murder of that whore he killed on accident, but it was worse that he looked like an actual man.

No makeup, no gaudy jewelry, no revealing clothes, even his hair was butchered and buzzed. Just himself and this disgustingly cracked mirror in his cell. What cosmetics he was able to salvage was currently on his face-having applied it just before his reincarceration-just waiting to fade entirely.

He felt so vulnerable and almost naked without his usual attire, he didn't feel like himself at all. In fact, it was like the man staring back at him in that mirror was a complete stranger. An unattractive stranger at that.

'A peacock that wears too much makeup...'

At least in Deadman Wonderland he had been free to choose what he wore and how he looked, regardless if he had to fight in a few Carnival Corpses here and there, at least he had a choice. It was a minor freedom, yes, but at least it was there. Here, they gave inmates these atrocious jumpsuits much like the ones they gave the newest inmates in the Wonderland-only they actually expected you to wear them.

It was unfair; transgender didn't have a place in this day and age of society. They were frowned upon and shunned. It wasn't his fault he looked so much better in women's clothing. Being a Deadman on top of it wasn't helping his popularity any either.

In the distance, he heard the guard groan outside the cell-apparently Masu was at it again. Chaplin cringed, imagining the short, munchkin like man opening his jaw wide, tearing the stitches and devouring whatever lie nearest to him. How revolting. Chaplin did not belong in the men's ward-where men ate through walls like the lecherous creatures they were...

There was a reason he'd turned his back on Masaru Sukegawa all those years ago-and it wasn't just for the fashion.

Men's clothing was overrated anyway. It was so boring and drab, with limited accessories and hairstyles. However, if you were a woman you had so much more options, so many more styles and accessories. A greater chance at beauty.

Chaplin almost smiled at the thought, but it was quickly replaced by a frown again as he caught sight of himself in the mirror once more. The man there he did not recognize, with his stark, buzzed black hair and too skinny of a body-he looked like he was drowning in these man's clothes.

Sometimes, he wished he really would drown.

Idaki Hitara passed a children's' playground unhappily. It had been nearly two months since his re-trial and departure from Deadman Wonderland-his daughter informed him often that things would improve now, if he only gave it a chance. However, this was one of the rare times he did not desire to hear his daughter's words of wisdom-as Senji quite accurately put it one snide comment ago: his daughter was not God.

Didn't she realize the outside was no place for him now?

Aside from being able to visit her grave site, which he did often. The outside was his own living Hell. The air held the constant tinge of smoke and the sun beat down on the Earth mercilessly like a raging fire-sickening, revolting, all of it. It was much too similar to the very atmosphere which killed his daughter.

'Your broken daughter screams energetically, cover your ears,

but you can still hear, cover your eyes,

but she's still broken'

He preferred the dampness of his underground facility to this wickedness any day. Where he wouldn't be reminded of such unpleasantries.

Filling his lonely days by visiting his daughter's grave-pouring water upon it when she got hot, covering it with protective blankets in the rain-Hitara realized he had nothing else nowadays. His daughter chastised him briefly, and he sighed, knowing it was true-things could be worse.

The did attempt putting him in a nursing home upon his release. That, he could never handle. He may be a astonishing seventy seven years old, but he'd be damned before he was placed in a home.

Still unable to find sleep-unsurprising after thirty-two years without it-Hitara used his extensive savings from his previous career to purchase a lavish apartment. Within it, he sat emotionless, feeling the ache of his bones and the tiredness of his age seep into him body. Even so, his eyes refused to close-his mind still quite active.

'Don't look at me with those cold, dead eyes!'

So she had screamed at him, so she gouged out his eye. He took the pain unflinchingly all those years ago, as if it never happened-urging his daughter to eat. Later on, he gouged out his other eye-unable to bear the sight of his daughter's charred corpse flashing into his vision.

He sighed, listening to his daughter's voice twenty-four seven sometimes caused headaches. Drugs were not good for children, his daughter warned him as he popped a few pain killers. He mused over her notion for a while, smirking a bit.

It was a damn good thing he wasn't a child then, wasn't it?

Yosuga Mitsuzaki winced as the screeching crack of a firework sounded nearby, eyes squinting shut to block it's radiance from her gaze. She had no interest in gawking at the beautiful displays anymore. Her caramel eyes lowered to the ground, choosing to believe they were watering due to the overbearing luminescence of the fireworks instead of the heartaching memories they triggered.

In an effort to drown her feelings before anyone noticed, she hurriedly broke off a lump of cotton candy-sticking the sweet sugaryness in her mouth, hoping the normal act would disguise her despair. It didn't. As the cotton candy dissolved, it took all her strength to swallow the treat.

Why? Why did everything taste of the awful bitterness associated with the antidote candies?

In her haste to swallow, she coughed-first softly, then louder, doubling over. A hand touched her back, patting it comfortingly, but the familiar action dizzied her. She smacked the hand away, she didn't want these petty reassurances from these strangers-these classmate of hers.

'Big Sis is such a weakling'

He was right. Absolutely, 100% right. Big sisters were supposed to protect their younger siblings, not let their younger siblings protect them. She had failed him, her brother, her friend, the one person she loved-Toto Sakigami-now Hagire's sick puppet. She didn't bother correcting him on the fact that in all actuality he was the elder and she the younger.

"Yosuga...Yosuga...Hey, are you alright?!"

She heard the voice-one of the many females accompanying her tonight-but did not respond, only nodded. It was the best she could manage. Faking normality, she resumed walking-hurriedly rushing to the nearest mini-game and throwing a few bills down, hoping the game would distract her enough to crush her rising emotions. Her classmates followed, entirely forgetting the brief episode in the prospect of the exciting prizes.

"Aw, that one is so cute! Win that one, Yosuga!" One of them pointed a painted nail at it. Yosuga-refusing to divert her attention even for a moment-took aim at the many balloons lining the wall without even glancing at the prize they had in mind. The object of the game-pop three with these throwing darts. Simple enough, even for a klutzy, nonathletic graced girl like her.

Since her innocent re-trial, Yosuga had been thrown back into the outside society. Having heard nothing from Toto since his match with the Wretched Egg, she reluctantly left Deadman Wonderland behind. Staying with alleged foster homes and their patrons that refused to make eye contact with her and only spoke when absolutely necessary, she faded into the background-a Deadman playing at normality.

Her 'family' had been only so eager to ship her off to a boarding school at the nearest opportunity, where she stayed in a dorm with several roommates that did not acknowledge her existence. She sighed, recalling a time where she would have welcomed the isolation. It was Toto that extinguished that preference, ushering in a longing for human companionship she didn't realize she'd miss once he vanished.

That was why she ended up here-a carnival. How ironic, considering her last penitentiary had been the inner workings of Deadman Wonderland.

Taking aim, she threw the dart with an unnecessary amount of force. Biting her lip, she preyed her supposed 'friends' wouldn't pick up on her anguish. Instead, they burst into a fit of cheering as her first balloon deflated with a pop. Two balloons to go.

In a desperate need to break out of her isolation, she had jumped on the opportunity to accompany some other girls from school-seemingly the only ones around not absolutely piss pants terrified of Deadmen-to the local carnival. However, Yosuga did not consider the buried memories it would unearth. It was almost too much, too soon.

The smell-popcorn, candy-all spoke of Deadman Wonderland, minus the stench of blood, of course. The sounds-laughter, clapping-minus the anguish screams echoing through Deadman Wonderland, of course. Hell, even this damned mini-game surfaced memories-in which Toto had valiantly strived to win his 'big sis' a stuff animal of her choice.

'Are there really people that have a reason to live?'

Picking up another dart with her now shaking hand, she swallowed the bile rising through her throat. Taking a deep breath, willing the game to erase her memories, she threw again. Pop! Two balloons down, one to go.

"Aww, is the Deadman missing her freakshow home?"

Two bulky teens-the juvenile types-mocked her from a few paces away as she readied herself for her final throw. Behind her, her classmates loud cheering silenced. Being a Deadman, she became somewhat of a enigma at her school-known by all and avoided by all. It was really no surprise she was catching grief for her blood status, in fact, it was probably long overdue.

Yosuga spared them a glance, but overall chose to ignore them for now. Try as she might, however, the situations uncanny deja vu washed over her. Forcing memories of her first time in G-block, and her first encounter with Toto, to the surface of her mind.

'Such a frail woman.'

"Hey pinkie, you like games so much-why not play with us a bit?"

'Let's have you play with us before you die in Carnival Corpse.'

"Entertain us with your Branch of Sin-a little fiestyness is refreshing!"

'Oh shit, Mockingbird!'

Toto. Toto radiated power. Even in that brief moment where his golden eyes met her own caramel ones as he casually strolled down the halls-her place of impending demise-she just knew he was in a category of his own. She could've continued to silently amend to her harasser's, but for some reason, courage surged through her-forming words where before she would silently accept death.

'No worries, he isn't interested.'

Maybe in that instance, she was sick of holding her tongue. But for whatever reason, she found her voice. It wasn't powerful, nor loud, nor significant in any way. But it was her voice. Not pleading for help, not reasoning with her attackers, just her final words of embracing death. Or rather, facing the inevitable fact that Yosuga no longer had anything worth living for.

'That man said if I went into G-block, I'd die.'

Those words triggered something unknown in Toto that day. In the blink of an eye, her attackers were no more-mere dismembered body parts scattering the blood splattered ground where before it had been nothing but pristine polished tile.

'And that would've been fine, probably?'

Paying her harassers no mind, Yosuga gripped her final dart with renewed determination. If Toto could single handedly save her from her assailants that long year ago, she could definitely win a damn carnival game on her own. It wouldn't be much of a victory she supposed, but an achievement nonetheless.

'Because Yosuga wants to die! Or rather...she had no reason to live.'

Toto may not be physically with her, but that didn't mean she had no reason to live. If anything, his disappearance only cemented her reason to live even more.

"Hey, we're talking to you, dumbass Deadman!"

With a small grunt of effort, the last dart flew-this time with confidence. Seconds later, a pop was heard. Her third and final balloon. Behind her, the threat of her attackers forgotten, her classmates erupted into cheering once more. Yosuga allowed herself a small smile, reaching for the stuffed animal her friend had pointed out earlier. She didn't notice how the obviously unnerved carnie practically threw it at her.

The ultimate irony appeared in the shape of a plush bird. More specifically, a plush mockingbird. Mint green with sparkling golden eyes of childlike innocence. Clutching the soft stuffed bird in her arms, she christened it Toto-in honor of her big brother, not the monster Hagire.

Later that night, she would clutch that plush mockingbird to her body as she slept. From that night on, her mockingbird never left its place at her bedside-much like the real Toto. Once, her harassers stole the sacred mockingbird from her bedside, hoping to finally lure her into their clutches so they may play with her.

They quickly learned the extent of her Branch of Sin-still largely uncontrolled but nonetheless effective against her attackers. Even after all this time, it still refused to let her die. Swiftly afterwards, her attackers checked into the boarding school's nursery and Yosuga checked herself into her room, clutching the newly recovered mockingbird as if it had never been missing. Blood splattered it's soft coat, and she scrubbed it until it appeared new.

'...So from now on, this will be Big Sis's reason to live.'

Minatsuki examined her nails with a bored look on her face; there was literally nothing to do here. No one to fight, no one to trick, just her and this cell. And her cellmates.

Speaking of cellmates, she took a moment to glance at them from the corner of her eyes, and could just barely see them all hunched in the corner of the cell farthest from where she currently was positioned. Her cellmates were bulky, burly women, all of which had at least ten piercings' and three tattoos. All of whom who were deathly afraid of her.

She rolled her eyes at their cowering and went back to examining her nails, now freshly painted in a lovely flower design. Ex-gang members, the supposed 'hardened criminals' of the outside world-it was absolutely pathetic how weak they were.

Hell, they even made her pathetic, sister-complexed brother look tough.

Sure, they had been all tough and menacing when she arrived, and she had dutifully played the part of an innocent scared little girl. She simply couldn't help but desire to see the looks on their faces when her true personality showed.

'A twisted and abandoned hummingbird...'

She had said the lines as if she had memorized them. Her frightened, innocent schoolgirl acting was spot on-even she was occasionally amazed at how well she acted. Soon enough, they grew confident and surrounded her, unknowingly playing right into her hands.

As they moved to strike her, her best psychotic grin broke unbidden onto her face, her tongue rolling out of her mouth as she ripped her earrings out and watched as the blood spilled out and grasped her harassers' by their arms.

She had been delighted to see the horror that spread on their faces, how they uselessly struggled and screamed; how the pleasure of it all wracked her body.

She took her time, of course. First, she gave them a small taste of her power by cutting thin slashes along their bodies and laughed as they struggled and panicked, and then viciously hacked away at them until the guards apprehended her. One had to be hospitalized instantly, apparently loosing a limb warranted such treatment.

It had been a great time-at first.

However, as time went on, they grew boring. Their looks of terror no longer amused her as they once did, in fact, it was now bordering on ridiculous. Even now, they still cowered and flinched at the most basic of movements, and their eyes still grew wide like startled animals caught in the headlights of a speeding car each time she passed them.

If this is what 'normal' people were like, she wanted no part in it. Even that annoying, 'heart-on-his-sleeve' Ganta was better than this-he at least had balls.

As the days passed and her boredom grew, she realized she could probably break out of here if she truly wanted to; the bars of the cell were rusted and old just like almost everything else was. Unlike the technology used in Wonderland, the humans of the outside lacked the Branch of Sin negating technology yet-leaving her free to use her Whip Wings to her heart's delight.

One good slice and she'd be free. She knew Yoh would aid in her escape too-not that she'd need it.

But regardless, she knew it'd be just as boring on the outside too, if not more so. She gagged at the thought of getting a normal job or the highlight of her weekends being a trip to the mall. She'd probably even have to attend high school-yuck.

At least in Deadman Wonderland she was free to cause all the pain and suffering she wished, she was free to use her Branch of Sin, she was free to be herself. It was true, Deadman Wonderland had been her prison in many ways, but in other ways, it was her refuge, her sanctuary.

Her home.

Yoh hummed softly to himself as he walked throughout the busy city streets of Japan, watching and waiting for the next person who would become his target. He was actually in a particularly good mood today, he had just left Minatsuki and was pleased to see her well and healthy, perhaps even content in her prison life. Strange, as it was.

Yoh was many things-a liar, a thief, maybe even a criminal-but he was still a big brother, and he would stick to that, even if Minatsuki truly didn't want him to.

'No matter what kind of person you are...I'll use whatever means necessary to protect you.'

He knew she wouldn't like it if she ever got out of that prison-she would be ultimately bored. She wouldn't be able to use her Branch of Sin legally, and she wouldn't be able to torture others as she had loved so much in Deadman Wonderland.

Even he could not envision Minatsuki strolling around in the mall, surrounded by numerous girlfriends and gossiping like crazy. It was simply too bizarre, too normal for Minatsuki.

As for Yoh, he really wasn't doing much of anything. In fact, most, if not all of his time had been spent visiting Minatsuki, and the rest of it had been spent thieving from the unsuspecting citizens of Japan.

He would be the first to admit his sole purpose in life was to take care of his sister, regardless if she wanted or needed it. He supposed that his life had always revolved around her since the accident so many years ago and perhaps even before that.

In fact, he was almost scared of what would happen once she got out of that prison. What if she did move on and get married, or started a family? There would be no room for Yoh anymore, she wouldn't need him, wouldn't want him.

So what would he do when that day came? Would he drift aimlessly through life? Would he spiral into the oblivion of insanity? Or would he simply end it with a quick suicide?

He knew it was insane to consider these as options, but the idea of not taking care of Minatsuki was almost heart stopping for him. Would he meet a girl and take care of her just as he had for Minatsuki? Would it be the same?

He doubted it; it was one thing to take care of a sister, but an entirely different thing to take care of a spouse….

Sometimes, even he hated his sister complex….

That very same sister complex which led him to his current situation-theft. He would need a gift, something far better than flowers, to give to Minatsuki tomorrow. His latest target already within his sights as he casually blended into the crowd, taking care not to be too obvious that he was tracking the girl.

The girl was tall and lean, young too. Probably still in high school. He watched as she walked and struggled to carry the heavy burden of her backpack, no doubt filled with all her school supplies, and as Yoh grew closer, he could hear her labored breathing from the immense strain...Perfect.

This was going to be even easier than he thought. Due to her obvious struggle and miniscule frame she would probably be less likely to summon the necessary physical energy to chase him if he ever were to be found out, and her dumbfounded and clumsy walking led him to believe she would be so preoccupied attempting to stay out of everyones way she wouldn't even notice until he was long gone.

Ever so slowly he quickened his pace behind her, being sure to look relaxed and careless, playing the perfect part of a normal teenager prowling the bustling streets of Japan. In moments he was just behind her and a swift glance to either side told him no one was paying enough attention to him to notice a petty theft.

With practiced and talented hands he reached for the lovely silver chain dangling from her leftmost beltloop, a finely crafted bracelet made of precious sterling silver with a crystal heart jangling at it's end. Why the girl kept it strapped to her belt and not her wrist he could care less, all he wanted to know was whether or not Minatsuki would be pleased with his gift for her.

However, his plan shattered the moment his fingertip brushed her hip. For in that moment, she glanced behind her, feeling the graze of his usually undetectable fingertips, and let out a screech.

Yoh's eyes widened, unsure whether he should curse or gawk at the girl as she screeched, the entire street seemed to stop and stare at the pair as time went on. Until finally she collected herself, dashing back away from him before her arm swung up in a mighty blow to his face.

"Pervert!" She hissed, her voice like a whip which stung only half as worse as her slap. Leaving Yoh even more shocked as the pain shot up like a firework all across his body, all from one great slap that radiated from his face. Where it would surely bruise.

Within moments the streets resumed again, as the once exciting scene faded the crowd once again begain moving in that slowly but deliberate pace it always managed to maintain. But to Yoh, the world was still frozen. Since as long as he could remember he had never ever been caught, not to mention backhanded by a young girl, while attempting to steal something. And yet, now it had finally happened, leaving Yoh startled and scared.

What if she called the cops? What if he went to jail? He had already been in Deadman Wonderland once, and he did not wish to go back, not to Deadman Wonderland, and certiantly not to prison ever again. Sister or no, he couldn't possibly live like that.

But to his growing astonishment it was the girl that eventually snapped him out of his thoughts, her short gasp of surprise drawing his attention as he clutched his bruised face and bent his head lower to look at the girl.

"Oh my Gosh! I am so sorry!" She breathed, her hands covering her face in embarrassment.

Yoh blinked, opening his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off by her yet again. "Really! I shouldn't have hit you like that! Oh man, it's bruised! It looks painful...I am so sorry!" She continued, removing her hands from her reddening face to gently prod the swollen cheek.

Was this girl insane?! He had just attempted to steal her most likely priceless bracelet for his psychotic, undeserving sister, which earned him a justifiable slap to the face, and she was sorry?

Swallowing thickly his hand quickly seized hers, "I...I-I'm fine. Really, I deserved to be slapped."

Moments later he walked again, this time carrying a much heavier burden of a fully loaded backpack with a bubbly, carefree girl. Golden hazel eyes, ones shining with innocence and purity that seemed to reach into his soul, and a lovely pale face framed by delicately curled chocolate colored locks that matched the scrawny and weak frame of hers as her clumsy stride led her home. Yoh following at her side.

"Wow, you're sister must be really special to you for you to go to such great lengths for her, huh?" She said after he had spilled his near life story of his time in Deadman Wonderland and his complicated sister Minatsuki.

He sighed, somewhere between her frequent apologizes and his aching cheek he had decided to offer to carry her heavy backpack for her the rest of the way to her home. And she had agreed only after he insisted. Besides, every moment she spent with him was another moment for him to steal her beautiful bracelet at her hip, though the combination of the heavy backpack and her constant yammering was making it somewhat more difficult than he had hoped.

"Special? Yeah...I guess you could say that." If you considered being a psychopathic, sadist, and all around double crossing lying bitch with freakish blood powers special, that is.

Here this girl-his victim-was, still as cheerful and friendly as ever. It was nice, in a odd way considering the only girl that bothered to talk to him since the escape from DW was Minatsuki, and she only barely tolerated his frequent visits.

In a way, it was pleasant. Finally someone he could talk to without the ridicule or distaste that Minatsuki went out of her way to provide. Better yet, he had told her everything and she had not to much as blinked. In addition to that, if he was not mistaken, it seemed she was also enjoying his company-something that had become a rare event indeed.

But damn it all, her bracelet still enticed him. He eyed the glinting crystal heart that dangled ever so slightly on her side, banging against her hip with every step they took. Tempting his iching fingers with each motion it made, taunting him almost. Meanwhile, the girl rambled on about Deadman Wonderland.

"Who woulda thought the owner was so messed up though? I mean, framing people just to watch them fight to the death, what kind of sick guy does that?" She murmured.

'Tamaki...' Yoh thought bitterly, remembering his horrid time he had spent as his 'little' sister's human sheild with no interferance from Tamaki. He winced, remembering the awful explosion of pain Ganta's Ganta Gun had added to the already excruciatingly painful slices of his own sister's Whip Wing cutting into his skin. Even to this day he still had scars that trailed from his back his arms, with a few more spotting his chest.

"Well, whatever. I'm just glad they finally shut it down. No one should have to suffer like that." She finished, breathing in the cool evenings air refreshingly.

Yoh nodded, thinking rather depressingly of the Director and Shiro, or rather, The Wretched Egg and Hagire, still continuing the mayhem within the birdcage of DW as Toto Sakigami. He sighed, his aching back tired from the heavy backpack he had been carrying and his cheek still swollen decently from her wicked slap.

"Oh, and sorry I slapped you earlier." She added to the silence as they neared her house. It was a plain, boring house, within a plain neighborhood. Strangely, she seemed almost out of place in her bright clothing that matched her even brighter personality with all the dullness of this area.

"Yeah, you said that already, it's fine." He mumbled again, growing tired of her ever so constant apologizes.

"I know, but still, I feel bad. And thanks for carrying my stuff for me and everything, that was nice of you." She complimented again, gently sweeping a stray piece of hair back behind her ear once again.

"I said this at least four times already in the last fifteen minutes, 'You're welcome, it's the least I can do.'" He repeated, handing her the heavy bag as she stopped at the door to her home. To his surprise, she giggled cheerfully.

"Nonsense, and I know, but still I'm grateful. So thanks." She smiled, wrapped his small, fragile arms around him once more in a hug full of graditude. His eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment he stood, frozen as her warm body pressed against his own.

Finally, as his own arms wrapped around her waist, he found his fingertips feeling the chilling silver of the chain around her belt, just mere seconds away from yanking it away from her forever and presenting it to Minatsuki.

He sighed, letting his hand drop to clutch the small girls warm body closer.

Minatsuki could wait for her gift, for now he simply wanted to be held. If only for a moment.

Ex-Chief Makina-Kiwako Makina as she was now known-gulped her wine greedily. She certainly hoped her debriefing officer wouldn't mind the alcohol, Lord knows she needed it after all she witnessed. It burned as it went down, souring her empty stomach.

And damn it all, she couldn't stop her body from trembling terribly. Quickly, she took another swig of wine, but coughed it up just as quickly-it tasted of blood. Frustrated with her own weakness, Makina swiftly brought her fist down upon the table-delighting in the distraction the pain gave her. Even the God forsaken air reeked of blood.

Would she ever stop living this damned nightmare? How ironic, wasn't she the one that had said, 'There was no escaping reality, or Deadman Wonderland'? How true, considering here she was on the outside, and yet she psychology never stepped foot outside the gates.

Ridiculous, she knew. She was Kiwako Makina-Military Defense Force and later Chief Warden of the private prison penitentiary Deadman Wonderland-coldhearted, coldblooded, and, above all else, unfazeable. But, she supposed, even the bloodshed and violence she'd witnessed in her years there was nothing compared to what she saw in that particular instance.

That was absolute carnage. Malicious destruction at it's peak. Brutal. Horrifying. Inhuman.

One Deadman. Just one had been capable of such monstrosities.

And, if that bastard Tamaki was to be believed, that one Deadman had only used a mere fraction of it's power the day Makina witnessed it firsthand. Because that one being had also caused the Great Toyko Earthquake those long years ago. Hell, even her Deadman neutralizing weaprony-Worm Eater-was more than useless against 'The Wretched Egg' as Tamaki had dubbed it.

If anything was clear at this point, it was the fact that the Wretched Egg needed stopped. As much as it terrified her, she knew with absolute certainty that allowing such a threat to survive would result in mass extinction of the human race. And Deadman Wonderland closed or not, she was still the feared and revered Chief Warden-like Hell she'd allow a bloodlusting monster to overpower her.

She would need more wine. Correction, she would need wine that didn't leave the taste of blood in her mouth-if such a thing even existed.

Hadn't that creature-Wretched Egg-levitated as well? She had heard of Deadman's Branches of Sin granting them unusual advantages-copycat, projectile, shielding, even exploding-but never flight, at least, not without some form of blood wings. And what Branch of Sin is so powerful it creates earthquakes-and a record shattering 11.4 one at that?

70% of Japan's Toyko sank that day. 148,000 innocents killed and or missing.

All because of one individual.

She sucked in a calming breath, tipping back her wine bottle yet again only to be disappointed when it proved empty. A crying shame. She hiccuped, tossing the bottle aside and lazily watching it roll along the pristine tiled floor. Even in her inebriated state, she could detect the footsteps approaching her-her debriefing was finally at hand.

And to think, the only highlight of her covert operation had been the look on Tamaki's face as she drove her fist into it. And later, as she heard a distant lone gunshot and knew it was Tamaki-going out by his own means. Ending his game in his own terms.

'This is...how I play the game.'

A bulky man in a suit placed himself across from her, showing brief disgust at the regurgitated wine that soiled the table and the bottle discarded on the floor. Nonetheless, with a heavy sigh, he began recording her-gesturing for her to proceed.

"A'right. I can't guarantee everything I say will be believed. But, I swear. I'll tell you e'erything."

"It all started with prisoner number 5580-also known as Ganta Igarashi."