DARK ON ME [O]

It wasn't lost on the boy that Rosaline's speech pattern was more authoritative than not, but it also didn't matter to Masaru if she basically ordered him to sit. He took the chair next to her easily enough, content with her company. If anything, she was a nice change of pace.

Taki, meanwhile, sat down on his rump and gave the tsukaimon an equally simple "Berry," in acknowledgement. They were two very different digimon, but the jitteriness of Berry and the stoicism of Taki had worked out well in the past.

"I haven't been following the tournament much," Masaru admitted. "It's probably the smart idea to scope out the competition. But I only really learn from doing things myself." That weird teacher Mr. Matsuo that he had during his primary years ended up being useful in the way he harped on methods of learning. Watching things just didn't appeal to the barely-under-the-surface zeal of the boy.

"See anything you like yet?" He mostly meant in terms of tamer or digimon styles, but to be honest he had no idea what Rosaline liked. If she even liked things. Maybe she only just tolerated everything.

Rosaline Corzett

"I was about to say—I can't imagine you having a job." She seemed like the trust fund type. But he pictured her standing at some counter somewhere doing customer service with her deadpan stare, and he laughed softly to himself.

Her next words killed the smile though and Masaru just ruminated for a moment. He rummaged in the backpack by his foot and pulled out his skull-themed cap. Placing it on his head, as he did when rustled, the smile came back.

"Always to the point, Rosa. Can't a guy have some mystery?"

Every now and then he thought about using her last name. But after the first time he tried (and botched it) he reserved the complexities of western nomenclature to someone else. And that was more painful than being informal.

Masaru glanced at Taki, who glanced back. Playing with the edge of his hat, Masaru spoke. "I'm just sayin.' There's a lot of people here. Lots of people with different viewpoints. And tempers always flare in a competition. Nothing's ever happened, but..." He shrugged.

Rosaline Corzett

Just as the start of Round Two had been declared, the first two contenders to advance were summoned via Tenno Industries' overhead speaker systems to the arena for combat -- the United States reigning Digi-Modify champion Charlie Eagleheart and his Vemmon, and the Nightmare faction's newest recruit Kenshin Yamishin and his BlackAgumon.

Displayed on the great television monitors stationed throughout Busters Tower, the man in biker's ensemble could clearly be seen present and accounted for, arms folded in confidence and a smug sneer on his face.

But Yamishin or his Digimon are nowhere to be seen. Minutes begin to pass without any sign of progress as everyone who came to partake in the tournament's festivities begin to whisper among one another in confusion. Where was Charlie Eagleheart's opponent? If he kept him waiting any longer, the rules officially dictated that he could be disqualified on the basis of truancy, which would result in a second consecutive upset that would surely disrupt the Shinjuku Busters' standing reputation for grandiosity and flair.

Most of the tournament's avid spectators remained where they were, curious to see how this turn of events unfolded. But it keeps them focused on the moment, occupied in full with the fabricated illusion being projected by Tenno's colorful televisions.

For all intents and purposes, it was a distraction -- but for what?

Perhaps it was best to wash one's hands of the rising tension and collect their thoughts in the restroom, or even ignore the goings-on and return to the humdrum of before? It seemed many had a mind to do exactly the latter.

But those looking to do the former?

They would, upon entering, discover--perhaps even literally stumble over--a scene taken from their worst possible nightmares: a bathroom devastated by an act of violence unlike any one had ever seen before, splattered floor to ceiling in blood, with a savagely-mangled corpse as its macabre centerpiece.

Despite the obvious carnage that had unfolded here, a truly disturbing amount of detail was put into presenting the body for whomever was unfortunate enough to walk in; though the head had been brutally severed with blunt chopping movements, a great deal of care was taken to avoid smearing the face with blood, as if the killer was openly declaring to the witness that this man's life had been taken with certainty that his loss would not be mourned. It had been placed neatly atop the body's groin, facing the bathroom's only point of entry.

There would be no mistaking who this victim was. Caked in nearly all of its own blood, the body was covered from neck to toe in black. At the corpse's feet were the remnant fragments of a black Digivice, shattered into a thousand pieces.

It was a person any member of Nightmare would recognize immediately, one that had--until recently--just been recruited into their fold. That had just participated in the previous round. That had been living not even an hour earlier.

It was the body of Kenshin Yamishin.