'Mute Massacre' - Film!Kazuo Kiriyama FC

Mit wie vielen Siebenmeilenstiefeln bin ich schon gerannt?
Auf der Flucht vor meinem Leben, das ich selbst nicht recht verstand?
Oft ging ich über Leichen, jetzt geh ich über mich;
Wer noch einmal meinen Weg kreuzt hat 10 kugeln im Gesicht.
Es ist so einfach; und es macht Spaß;
Du willst vor mir verbluten?
Nichts leichteres als das.
Erschießt was euch kaputt macht,
erschießt was euch zerbricht,
Die Lösung aller Fragen ist die Kugel, die Kugel im Gesicht.

geschubst,betrogen, weggezogen,
Von mir durch den Tag geschoben
Baue ich im Meer der Zeit
Ein Trugbild in der Ewigkeit.
Angerempelt, abgestempelt,
Mit gespielter Heiterkeit
Entsteht die Täuschung.
Gott sei Dank Weiß niemand:
ich bin wirklich krank.

Ich nehme irgendeines von den vielen,ganz egal
Ob es eine liebe Seele hat,
ein Mensch ist's allemal.
Es steht mir bis zum Halse,
ob ihrs wollt oder nicht
Hat der, der mir zu nahe kommt 10 Kugeln im Gesicht.
Ich bin kein feiger Mörder,
ich bin ein Soziopath,
Der mit fremdbestimmter Angst
im Nacken seiner Tage harrt;
Der ab und auch lächelt und
auch freundlich zu dir spricht,
Doch hinter seiner Stirn
sieht er nur Kugeln, Kugeln im Gesicht.

geschubst, betrogen, weggezogen,
Von mir durch den Tag geschoben
Baue ich im Meer der Zeit
Ein Trugbild in der Ewigkeit.
Angerempelt, abgestempelt,
Mit gespielter Heiterkeit
Entsteht die Täuschung.
Gott sei Dank Weiß niemand:
ich bin wirklich krank.

ich bin wirklich krank
ich bin wirklich krank
ich bin wirklich krank
ich bin wirklich krank
ich bin wirklich krank

Das heisst einfach selbst längst ein Bulle sein

ich bin wirklich krank
ich bin wirklich krank

Das heisst einfach selbst längst ein Bulle sein

ich bin wirklich krank

eine scheinheilige Sau aus der herrschenden Klasse
Das ist einfach die Selbsterkenntnis

Die Welt, in der ich lebe
ist zu eng und viel zu laut,
Die Gewalt in meinem Kopf
ist mir bis ins Detail vertraut.
Wie eine stille Flamme,
die nimmer mehr erlischt.
Flüstert sie in meinen Ohren:
Schieß die Kugel ins Gesicht!
Mein Körper ist am Ende,
meine Seele ,sie bricht aus;
Ich weiß, aus diesem Kreislauf
komme ich nicht lebend raus.
Ich bin lieber tot und glücklich
als vom Leben kalt erwischt:
Dieser dreckige Planet ist mir die Kugel im Gesicht!


geschubst ,betrogen, weggezogen,
Von mir durch den Tag geschoben
Baue ich im Meer der Zeit
Ein Trugbild in der Ewigkeit.
Angerempelt, abgestempelt,
Mit gespielter Heiterkeit
Entsteht die Täuschung.
Gott sei Dank Weiß niemand:
ich bin wirklich krank.

ich bin wirklich krank

"Well, I am a killjoy from Detroit
I drink from a well of rage
I feed of the weakness with all my love
Well, call up the captain, hey hey
Hey hey hey hey hey
Well, death to the lover that you were dreaming of.

Well, this is a stand off
A Molotov cocktail's on the house
You thought I was a write off
You better think again
Well, call the peacemaker, hey hey
Hey hey hey hey hey
I'm gonna send you back to the place where it all began

Vendetta, sweet vendetta
This Beretta of the night
This fire and the desire
Well, shots ringing out on a holy parasite"

(Posting my own shit since I've ran out of good fanart.)

When Kawada at last regained consciousness he wasn't in the room in which he'd fallen into the drug-induced slumber. He brought a cold, moist palm to his forehead and pressed the tips of his thumb and index finger into his eye sockets in a vain attempt to correct his vision and instinctively checked the security of the yellow bandanna tied around the back of his head to conceal a disfiguring scar above his left eye.

Assured that the worn fabric was going to stay in place, he dared to open his eyes which fuzzily registered a pale-coloured ceiling in a badly lit room. He finally gathered enough strength to sit upright and found that he had been lying in the centre of what looked like a classroom, though the only illumination was provided by the slice of moonlight intruding through a gap in the blinds so his actual location was debatable. Kawada stretched his forearms out behind him and his digits met the cold floor tiles as he gradually pushed up from the ground and straightened out to a standing position, a lot of his internal effort focusing on not falling back down again as his leg muscles were still lacking feeling of any description. As soon as his arms were no longer needed to be stuck out horizontally as an aid to balance, he set about straightening his clothing (the last thing he recalled seeing before blacking out - baggy faded blue trousers with a matching jacket, a white shirt with a dark grey vest beneath) - and it was then that he felt the horribly familiar sting of cold metal on his neck.

Whilst re-arranging his collar his wristwatch clicked against a steel choker he had not been wearing several hours earlier. "No... not again" he muttered to himself as he traced around the metallic band with his hand and recognised the smooth face of its detonation device on the front and the unbreakable clasp on the back. He placed two fingers down the gap between it and himself and pulled hard but it was still there. It was still real. The movement of another presence in the supposed classroom broke Kawada's chain of thoughts and he spun around on the heels of his boots to face whoever's shadow was blocking the little form of light in the surroundings. His pupils widened at a mere glimpse of the room's other occupant (this was all he got before the boy had shifted from in front of the window to lean against the opposite wall), and he inched towards the stranger to casually claim a better look. It was only on rare occasions that Kawada felt uncomfortable or awkward around other people but this boy's mere presence was imposing and he felt as though this was someone to treat with extreme caution. The boy had incredibly messy and badly-bleached hair: one half a mixture of orange and light brown, and the other half a deep black where his own natural colour was growing back in. It was arranged around his chiselled jaw line as though he had just received a two-thousand volt electrical shock but he somehow managed to make it look good.... possibly even attractive.... Kawada sharply shook his head to rid his brain of the previous thought, but the object of his attention didn't even glance at him - he just continued staring off into space and snapping the gum he was rolling around in his mouth.

Shogo's eyes travelled downwards now, stopping on the boy's own that were focused on the visible section of window behind the blinds on the opposite wall. He was dressed very differently to his observer - a black dress jacket which hung awkwardly over his very pronounced shoulder joints and half-concealed a white shirt with the top two buttons left undone. He too was wearing the metal necklace. His trousers were also black, but fairly tight in comparison with what he wore on the upper half of his body and showed off the thin legs inside and the blue slip-on shoes with immaculate white socks beneath. The boy was almost dangerously thin, emphasised as he shook one of his bony hands from the over-sized jacket sleeves to scratch the underside of his chin. Kawada himself could never be sincerely described as overweight by any stretch of the imagination, but where he had muscle tissue on his limbs the boy just seemed to have skin. Just as Kawada finished his observation of the room's occupant, their eyes met each other's across the dimly lit space. The light clung to the boy at strange angles, making him look like a stereotypical scarecrow with unruly hay for a hairstyle and sticks for arms and legs. The only hint that this person was alive lay in his dark eyes, for the sockets were lined with deep purple rings of deoxygenated blood and his facial skin was paper-like and just as pale. The connection between the pair lasted a little too long and Kawada was about to say something when the door at the opposite end of the classroom clicked open and somebody new walked in. This man was clearly several decades older than both of them, the lines in his face showed at least forty years and he was clad in what looked like a grey tracksuit and was loosely gripping an A4-sized clipboard in his left hand which was resting at waist height as he traipsed towards the desk in front of the room's chalkboard. He was shortly followed by two men clad in camouflage jumpsuits, the later of the two to enter the room supporting a rifle with the heel of his palm as the barrel lay across his shoulder.

They didn't stay for long, they were simply muttered to under the grey-tracksuit-wearing-man's breath, handed a clipboard and lightly pushed through the door within ten seconds. Still, the appearance of armoured soldiers set the two boys on edge and it was barely moments before the man sensed their tension. "Boys, number five, Shogo Kawada," he called out as he made his way towards them with a slight limp, "and boys number six, Kazuo Kiriyama. It's a pleasure to have you both with us. I trust that you both understand why you've been brought here," he added and gestured at their collars with the end of a well-chewed biro. He turned to face Kawada "It's not government policy to force students to play more than once but we needed someone to tip the scales and winners like yourself should do so." Instead of the outburst the man seemed prepared for, Kawada simply hissed through his teeth "Then why's he here," titling his head in Kiriyama's direction. The boy in question raised his head at the mention of his own name. "He requested an invitation, you could say," and the man's upper lip curled into what could almost be described as smirk. "You're reacting surprisingly calm, Shogo. Considering what happened to you last time you visited this island. Looking out for another Keiko?"
Kawada clenched his fists so tight towards his legs that his fingernails were beginning to draw blood from his palms, but he forbade himself to rise to the man's taunting. To distract himself, he glanced toward the other boy and received an almost insane smile from him beneath the static mess of hair, a shock in comparison with his former cool behaviour. Realising he wasn't going to get the desired violent response from Kawada, the man cleared his throat and continued speaking. "You will both be participating in this year's Battle Royale, along with the usual fifteen-year-olds whose bus will be here shortly. I assume you both know the drill - three days, danger zones, random weapon selection and so on, but the students will be viewing an instructional video upon arrival to refresh your memories. We can't rig the game to ensure you get anything good to fight with, but I feel confident you'll both be imaginative." The man made his way to the door once more, and just before he clicked it back on its rusted hinges, he peered around the corner. "They'll be here in half an hour," he notified them, before disappearing into the corridor. As soon as he was totally certain they would be free of interruptions, Kawada turned to Kiriyama and slowly made his way towards him. The manic smile remained on his face, not even fading slightly with the growing aggression in Kawada’s stance and the appearance of someone about to tear the whole building down with his bare hands. ”Why the fuck did you volunteer for this? he spat disgustedly at Kiriyama, grabbing his victim by the shoulders and pushing him up against a nearby wall. “Do you have any idea what this is like? Do you? Still Kiriyama said nothing, just continued smiling and looking at Kawada with an facial expression that bordered worryingly on bloodlust. ”I asked you a question, Kawada went on. “Are you insane, or just stupid? His question was cut short by a sharp shiver down his spine, caused by the feeling of one of Kiriyama’s long, thin fingers tracing circles on his stomach through a gap in his shirt buttons and over the thin vest in between the two of them.

Kawada looked down, and then back up at Kiriyama whose expression had changed to that of a madman to one of a nymphomaniac. The pair’s breathing had become shallow and rapid and their combined heartbeats were in danger of being heard in the adjoining room if they became any louder which certainly wasn’t being aided by Kiriyama left index finger working its way towards the fastening of Kawada’s belt as his other palm moved up underneath the obstructing layers of fabric to touch the taut muscular frame beneath. As hard as Kawada tried to resist the urge to take a more active role in what was going on (partly assisted by the fact that he couldn’t believe what was happening) the scent of Kiriyama’s hair and sweat and the sensations the boy’s digits were creating over his abdomen were proving too much for him and both of them were soon locked together at their mouths in a starved kiss. Though Kiriyama may have seemed physically weak due to his incredibly lean figure, he found it easy to overpower Kawada and within seconds the two of them were on the floor, number six pinning number five down with his thighs at either side of the other’s torso and the heels of his palms restricting his partner’s shoulder movements as he arched his back to lean into another passionate kiss. Kawada himself began to tear at the back of Kiriyama’s black jacket and thrust his own forearms into the sleeves to pull it away from its owner. When the offending article of clothing was removed it lay absentmindedly across Kawada’s shoulders which seemed to enrage Kiriyama as he immediately swiped it away with one flick of his bony wrist and went back to his oral assault on the inside of Kawada’s neck. Kawada instead focused his attention of Kiriyama’s back and soon found his hands tracing the joints in his worryingly emphasised vertebrae, which made the recipient moan through a mouthful of hot flesh. Kawada’s hands then started sliding lower until he came to the beginnings of Kiriyama’s black trousers which were clinging to the emaciated body by some strange contradiction of gravity as there was a space between body and material that Kawada’s palm fit easily through and came shortly into contact with what felt like silk boxer shorts. His breathing increasing in speed and decreasing in depth, he slowly slid his hands under the waistband and was being cautious until he received an ardent bite on the chest and he dug his fingernails quite deeply into the skin tissue beneath. More in a state of shock than pain, Kiriyama jerked upwards and gazed down on Kawada who had the traumatised appearance of someone who’d just tripped over a once sleeping male tiger at which he couldn’t help but smirk. ”Jesus, I’m sorry.. Kawada muttered as he pulled his arms back towards his own body and ran the fingers on his right hand through his black spiky hair. He looked upwards, hoping that Kiriyama would finally say something to him. Trying to encourage him, he went on: “just, if you hadn’t bitten me." No response.

Kiriyama just kept the eye contact between them, until his pupils widened and teeth were exposed in his insane grin and he let out a slight laugh. He eventually placed his left index finger over Kawada’s lips, dragging it down past the other boy’s chin, across his prominent Adam’s apple and into the sensitive hollow between larynx and breastbone. His tongue followed the trail soon after, then back up the neck to trace the curve of Kawada’s left ear and back to the mouth for another exploration of the wet recesses therein. It was only then that it struck Kawada that, judging by the way Kiriyama’s left hand was tugging down the zip of his trousers as he undid the remain fastened buttons of his own white shirt, that he was about to be screwed by someone he’d met barely twenty minutes ago and whose voice he hadn’t yet heard form any coherent words. Though the situation alone may have been exciting, he couldn’t help but be reminded of their location and the purpose of their being there as his fingertips met the cold steel of Kazuo’s metal collar as he haphazardly ran his fingers through the mess of orange hair whilst the boy’s head moved lower down his body. Kiriyama must have felt him tense up slightly but even as Shogo raised himself onto his elbows to find his new friend slowly inching down his blue trousers and simultaneously pushing up his navy vest he couldn’t force a word from him Kiriyama just inquisitively raised a dark eyebrow and smiled wryly. Kawada tried to sit up further, but before he knew what had happened he’d been slammed back down onto the hard tile floor again, now with the other boy’s knees restraining his chest as his undressing continued. Though his heart rate began to quicken in pace again, it was in fear instead of arousal; Kiriyama was freakishly strong for his stature and Kawada didn’t think he would have the strength within him to hold him off should the situation get any more out of hand.

As though Shogo had internally jinxed himself, the situation rather speedily got less acceptable as Kiriyama’s skeletal fingers folded around his neck in a fatally strong grip. Strangely, however, they didn’t stay gripped around Kawada’s oesophagus for more than a second or so and instead became focused on the clasp on his metal collar as Kazuo dug the points of his elbows into Kawada’s shoulders to limit struggling. Relieved that he could now breathe but was still in great pain due to the pressure on his torso and abdomen, it took several seconds for enough oxygen to flow into his brain before Kawada finally realised what Kiriyama was doing.

He was trying to remove the collar to trigger the explosion.