The Kiriyama Experiment

The night was cool. Enough that it wasn't entirely unpleasant being dressed in a suit, though the jacket at least might easily be discarded once inside a crowded gymnasium for too long.

His fingers twitched restlessly at his sides. It was not like Kazuo Kiriyama to be nervous - certainly not about killing. But truth be told, crowds and social gatherings made him rather anxious. He knew he was different. And most of all, in this instance, he knew nobody wanted him at this dance. Nobody besides his 'date', at least: his own counterpart, Kazuo Kiriyama, the Kiriyama originating from the Program's novel. Sometimes said to be the original Kiriyama, but the Kazuo originating from the Program's film detested looking at it that way.

He still didn't understand why his counterpart had wanted him at the dance, anyways. Novel-verse Kiriyama was supposed to be something like a genius. Surely, he was smart enough to know his movie counterpart was a constant threat to others' - especially Class B's - lives. But then... novel-verse Kiriyama had even agreed to allow the deaths of three students at the dance. His sense of morals appeared to fluctuate at times. It was perplexing, to say the least. Then again, maybe those three deaths didn't matter that much because nearly all of the dance's attendee's were, technically, already dead anyways.

But they mattered to movie-verse Kazuo. They mattered more than he tried to let on, even through his blatant hatred of boy #19, Shinji Mimura, and boy #5, Shogo Kawada. Mitsuko Souma, though less significant, was still another life he would look forward to taking.

When the Kiriyama pair exited their vehicle - a sleek, black car driven by his counterpart's chauffeur - the line to get into the school was visible ahead. Being a transfer, Kazuo had never actually been to Shiroiwa Junior High School. The thought vaguely worried him that he didn't know his way around as well as the others here. But hopefully it wouldn't matter... If he was quick enough in the gymnasium where the dance was held, his select three targets wouldn't be going anywhere else.

He felt a familiar itch under his skin as he eyed the line of students; a kind of ache akin to hunger, but Kazuo was not hungry for food. Gaze sweeping the line for his targets, he moved to step forward, but his counterpart brought an arm against his chest to lightly but nonetheless sternly stop him.
"You're forgetting something," novel-verse Kiriyama stated as emptily as ever, still facing ahead with his typical deadpan stare.
Kazuo paused, brows knitting somewhat, but then recalled what his counterpart meant. His gaze flickered for the line of kids again, but he turned to his counterpart and nodded. ".... The experiment..." He murmured, sighing almost defeatedly. They had agreed it would be better conducted in private so none of their classmates would see the results... If they turned out for the worst, nobody had to know. The wild-haired youth took a quick glance around before turning to stride toward the left of the school's entrance, then around the corner where they would be in shadow. Inevitably, he eyed the line of students again as he passed, but was at enough of a distance he didn't think any of them noticed. His counterpart followed behind, keeping up with ease considering his slightly taller stature.

Once around the corner, Kazuo presented his hand with a grasping motion, dark eyes meeting his counterpart's. "Give it."
Novel-verse Kiriyama appeared to reach for something at his belt, but paused. "... I could do it just as well."
"Shut up and hand it over," snapped his 'date', impatience seeping into his features. He could feel his heart stuttering with excitement at the idea of a weapon in hand. His counterpart was holding the weapons since he was not the Kiriyama who was going to be searched upon entry.
"I think it would be safer if I did it."
His counterpart was so relentlessly monotonous and blank-faced, Kazuo could not tell if the other boy was teasing, but was not going to let up either way. "I told you I would be careful," he insisted quietly.
"I'm not sure I trust you to exercise the precision I requested, Mr. Kiriyama."
"Shut the fuck up and give me the knife."
A pause, before novel-verse Kiriyama finally removed a switchblade from his belt, probably something borrowed from one of his 'family' members. He offered it to his 'date', who snatched it from his grip immediately and flicked the blade out.

Kazuo appeared to give a small shudder, as if he had been holding his breath until that moment. When his gaze lifted to meet his counterpart's, a darkness seemed to have billowed into his eyes, a certain intensity taking the place of what was usually a mixture of boredom and drowsiness. The other Kiriyama looked no different for whatever danger he had just created in handing over the blade. When Kazuo suddenly grabbed his arm and tugged down his sleeve, he gave no reaction despite all he was capable of in the ways of self-defense. Another second, and the wild-haired youth had made a thin slice into his counterpart's pale forearm. He exhaled again as if he had been holding his breath, gaze glued at first to the tiny trail of red along the edge of the knife before shifting to where blood crept out of his counterpart's arm. He remained focused intently there... until his grip hardened and he moved to lower the knife again.

At which point novel-verse Kiriyama grabbed his knife-wielding wrist to more or less harmlessly twist it at an odd angle and expertly pull the knife from his hand, all in seemingly one, swift movement, calm expression never changing.

Immediately Kazuo lunged forward to wrestle for the blade, dark eyes wide in alarm as if his counterpart had taken some precious family heirloom from him. But the other Kiriyama suddenly delivered a whack to the side of his wild-haired head with just the side edge of his fingers, free hand held out flat. Kazuo flinched for a moment only to rush forward again, this time with a fist - which was promptly grabbed and twisted around to his back, where his counterpart was able to shove his front against the school's wall, all one-handed and nearly in the blink of an eye.
"You lost track of the point of our experiment, Mr. Kiriyama. As I anticipated." His voice remained cool enough to almost sound bored, though it carried no hint of either smugness or disappointment.
At first Kazuo's breathing was as panicked as a captured animal's, but after a second it calmed, and he shut his eyes before opening them with a regained look of weary disinterest. ".... Yeah... Yeah. Get off," he more or less muttered, attempting to jerk free of his counterpart's grip and meeting with success rather easily since novel-verse Kiriyama released him and stepped back.
"Your arm."
A faint scowl hovering over his face, Kazuo continued to eye the switchblade still in his counterpart's hand, but lifted his own arm - the same as the one he had cut on his counterpart - to steadily pull down his sleeve.

Despite the notion being at the back of his mind, the boy still flinched upon finding exactly what he did not want to see. An identical cut rested on his arm precisely in the place it had been inflicted on his novel-verse counterpart. Its modest amount of blood had been smeared by his sleeve, but it was obviously the same wound... when the blade had never touched his own arm.

The other Kiriyama did not flinch. No hint of alarm, or anything else for that matter, so much as threatened to graze his features. His eyes stuck to the injury just as his counterpart's did, nonetheless. There was a short silence before he spoke again. ".... Oh." Though the word was normally some form of exclamation, novel-verse Kiriyama uttered it without any particular tone that might suggest what he meant by it whatsoever.

Kazuo's expression, meanwhile, grew increasingly troubled. His brow was deeply furrowed by the time his gaze lifted to meet his counterpart's. "... We're not telling anybody." Half-murmured, but no less stern. Movie-verse Kiriyama moved briskly past his counterpart without another word regarding the experiment, making his way for the line into the dance, which had, thankfully enough, shrank somewhat. Novel-verse Kiriyama stared off for a moment, perhaps looking as thoughtful as he was capable of, before glancing down to tug his sleeve back into place and turning to trail after his 'date'.