Teachers sprawled lazily in the staff room, the air thick with stale coffee, sweat, and cigarette ash. A breeze slipped through the cracked windows. Ms. Akasuki stood by a cluttered desk, arranged into barricades. Across from her, Mr. Hanson’s scowl deepened through the makeshift fort, his American accent sharp. “Hell no, Akasuki. We’re not dealing with them thugs.” Nearby, Chiyo, a frail elderly teacher with her clothes hanging off her frame, hummed softly, packing a basket with snacks, chocolate bars, rice crackers and a few nutrient pastes.

  Daisuke leaned out a window, cigarette smoke curling from his lips, his voice bitter. “Give it a rest, you old bag. They’re little shits.”

  Akasuki’s jaw tightened. “You haven’t been with the students, Hanson. They’re scared. Takanashi’s gang threatened us!”

  Hanson’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

  Before she could elaborate, Chiyo thrust the basket toward her, smiling. “Take these for the dears, Ms. Akasuki.”

  Daisuke scoffed, shouting over, “Sure, give more of our supplies to them brats. Ain’t like rescue’s coming.”

  With a chirp, Chiyo brushed him off, “I can do whatever with my own food”

  Hanson muttered, “That creep Daisuke almost caused a riot. That girl, the one hanging out with them thugs calling themselves Ridden..” with a few clicks of his fingers he remembered, his hand twitched toward his belt, thumb brushing the holster. His voice dropped. “That girl… Akira. She threatened us.”

  Hanson began to speak, but Akasuki was already drifting, back to the corridor a week ago… At the desk fort barring the staff room, Hanson and Daisuke on one side, Akira leading Ridden goons, wielding baseball bats and pipes glinting on the other.

  Akira leaned on the fort, smirking. “Come on, senseis, not gonna help a pretty girl like me?” Her hand reached through the legs of the stacked desks, her fingers climbed Daisuke’s shirt, finding an opening she playfully teased his chest hair. “Can’t spare a few cigarettes? Just let us in, sensei.”

  Daisuke sweated. “Perhaps…” His eyes flicked from Akira’s chest to Hanson’s hand. A lump rose in his throat. “No… no,” he squeaked, voice cracking. He didn’t know where to look, feeling that something was about to snap.

  Hanson snapped, drawing his Ace of Clubs revolver. “Get back!”

  Akira’s hand ripped back through the barricade, planted her hands on her hips, chest pushed out. “What, you’ll shoot a student?”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Hanson fired upward, the bullet cracking the ceiling brought down dust on top of Akira and her goons, they ran back down the corridor, her voice echoed, “Takanashi will hear about this!”

  Back to reality in the staff room, Akasuki clutched the basket, worried, her forehead betrayed her, a deep crease cut across her brow. “Just be careful, Akasuki dealing with them. I wish you’d stay.” Hanson sighed, pulling a cigarette box from his pocket.

  “All I need’s a few boxes to keep them off the first year's backs, and help me find Reo, he’s still missing.” Akasuki pleas for more.

  Chiyo handed Hanson another box, beaming. “It's for a good cause, dear.”

  Hanson, embarrassed, stuffed both into Akasuki’s basket. “Fine, these things are likely going to kill me anyway,” he smirks looking around at the destruction of the corridor and staff room, “but watch yourself.”

  Akasuki smiled faintly. “Thank you, I knew you cared.”

  Chiyo cooed, “He’s a good boy.”

  Daisuke groaned, “Great, just give away more of our crap.”

  Akasuki stepped out into the corridor, sigh of relief at getting something out of them, the basket cradled tight in her arms. The hallways swallowed sound and light, save for the mechanism of cameras following her, a flickering red light traced every crunch of shattered glass under her shoes.

  Classrooms abandoned, empty, desks overturned like gravestones. She was startled, somewhere distant, from an up level, a scream, quick, cut short. Her grip tightened, but she didn’t stop. She had to return with Takanashi’s smokes.

  The sports hall loomed, its dented doors scarred with Ridden graffiti, skulls, jagged curses. Inside, the air was thick with sweat and burnt rice. Gym mats sprawled as bedding, a fenced-off kitchen smoked, and a hologram display flickered near a stage. Takanashi slouched on a throne of gym benches, revolver at his hip, the Ace of Diamonds glinting. Akira lounged on the steps, painting her nails pink, smirking. Ridden guards circled Akasuki, their makeshift spears poised. Students watched from the shadows, eyes hollow.

  Akasuki climbed the stage steps, basket heavy. “I have your cigarettes. Where’s Reo?”

  Akira’s eyes gleamed. “Look, she brought food, chocolate?”

  Takanashi’s voice was cold. “I never said I’d hand him over. He’s not with us anyway.”

  Akasuki’s heart sank, her breath caught. “You said….” But she saw it in their eyes. These students were done playing fair.

  Takanashi leaned forward. “Listen carefully, One chance. I’ll give you information. Leave the basket and go.”

  Akasuki gripped the basket, defiant. “You think I came all this way to crawl back empty-handed? Give. Me. Reo”

  Akira's eyes narrowed. “He warned you. Do it!”

  A Ridden goon lunged, club cracking against Akasuki’s skull. Pain cracked through her skull like lightning. She dropped, knees buckling. Takanashi’s cold stare and Akira's delight grin, Akira he crouched over her with her girls, hovered like vultures, waiting to pick her clean.

  She didn’t see the swing coming. Just the thud, the crack of pain, and the way her legs folded beneath her like wet paper. Her last thought before the black took her, why?

  “Take her to the ladies’ changing room,” Akira purred, leaning on Takanashi's leg. “You’ve done the right thing, honey.” Darkness swallowed Akasuki, the basket spilling across the stage for Akira’s vulture to loot.