Near Hope's Peak Academy [Danganronpa]

(This story takes place in a shared Danganronpa universe in which any characters can attend Hope's Peak Academy together and no murders have occured. All characters appearing are over 18. Events can and will be changed from the canon of the original work, but explicit or implied stories for the games and anime will appear.)

In the metropolitan center of Japan, a small, unassuming theater building was nestled in the most discrete of back alleys. Although this theater should have been noteworthy for its distinct antique American design, it seemed just short of condemned, bearing no advertisements for upcoming shows on its marquee and empty frames for its upcoming attractions. No one had a reason to go there, and no one ever seemed to leave. Most good, upstanding folks assumed that shady criminal dealings went on in a place like that and gave it a wide berth. Strangely, nobody could remember how long it had been there, but everyone agreed it would be ideal if the nameless theater could be torn down and renovated as soon as possible. As long as someone else was responsible for doing it.

Needless to say, this story doesn't start in such an unimportant building, occupied by nobody of note, where, surely, nothing noteworthy ever happened.

As one walked smartly away from this eyesore of a structure, the surrounding buildings became quickly more upscale and much, much taller. There, in the center of the center's center, was the focus of this story: Hope's Peak Academy, the famous academic institute that represented nothing less than hope for the nation. The curriculum of this school was responsible for developing "Ultimates," students recruited by invitation for peerless excellence in a particular field, be it programming, artistry, swordsmanship, bike-gang-leading, or even being lucky enough to win a yearly lottery. Graduates from Hope's Peak were expected to go on to become the movers and shakers of their various professions, and each of them looked forward to bright futures full of respect for their individual talents, living more or less as masters of their own destinies.

The school had top-of-the-line facilities for talent development in a recently completed brand-new multistory facility, and boarding facilities right next door within its gated walls. There was only one good reason to leave the Academy: graduating from it. Now, that time was fast approaching for a class of the proven best and brightest. They would be leaving behind their school-appointed titles of Ultimates and going on to the next stages of their lives.

However, that senior class was about to find out they would be heading out into the world at large faster than they had expected.

On a screen in each senior homeroom class, a monitor suspended from the ceiling was flickering to life. This far into their education, nobody was surprised to see the stuffed bear that served as both the school's mascot and a representative for its eccentric, unseen headmaster. The two-toned bear, a robotic puppet moving under its own power, was seated at a desk way too large for it, bearing a nameplate with "MR. MONOKUMA" in self-serious lettering.

Everyone knew from previous morning announcements that whoever was the voice behind the bear apparently loved to hear themselves talk, and nobody expected anything serious from it. This time, however, the bear began in a relatively even keel, folding his hands on the desk and staring straight into the monitor. "Good morning, my beloved students! Gee, how the time flies. Honestly, I expected you guys would drop out or, heck, I dunno, start killing each other by now! But whaddya know? Against all odds, you kids stuck it out. Now you're all full-grown adults, totally in touch with your talents. A new generation that'll change everything, to the extent that anyone can change anything, that is. All thanks to my tutelage and constant surveillance, of course! But you can have some pride, too. Just a little."

The camera followed the bear as he hopped up and walked across his desk, casually stepping over meaningless prop papers. "There's juuust one problem. As I was sitting in my hot tub yesterday, eating salmon caviar and flipping through the pages of Good Living Weekly, I was hit with a wallop of a thought. I've been TOO nice to you punks! Hell, I've fed you, clothed you, bathed you, wiped your asses for years now! When you kids leave the nest, you coddled, egg-shelled babies are gonna break on the sidewalk! I know I said you could take pride in yourselves, but what you fancy-pants Ultimates really need is some humility. That is why I'm sentencing you all to the only way to graduate from Hope's Peak Academy..."

Each of the students in attendance held their breath, trying to imagine what the headmaster had in mind as he held up a menacing clawed paw, red eye glowing.

"... Community service!" He quickly retracted his claws and gave the camera his sunnier half of a smile. "Well, it's not exactly community service. Alternate employment, maybe? Basically, within the upcoming week, I want all of you to go out and find an application where your talents can help in a way that's new to you. Help a person you wouldn't usually meet. Do some work you wouldn't usually do in a place you wouldn't usually go. Like an incinerator, or a hydraulic press! Upupu... That was a joke. Nobody go getting yourselves killed out there. I expect you all to take this assignment seriously and learn a lesson in how to keep yourselves humble, with a report due two weeks from now. I know it might be a pain in the ass, but this is the last assignment I'm gonna give you before I slap you with a diploma and kick you out the front door to live the rest of your lives! So try not to complain about it, okay? Classes dismissed!"

As soon as the screens went off, the classrooms fell into a dissatisfied murmur. For the students who had been pouring their hearts and souls into their talent development for nearly three years, this final assignment seemed like quaint busywork. Gradually, groups began to form as classmates put their heads together to think up what kind of project could satisfy Monokuma's requirements, what kind of project he was even looking for. This left a number of the less social students to figure it out for themselves or otherwise kick the can down the road, to be addressed further in the week.

The one exception to all of this was the pale blonde with the steel blue eyes. Those eyes, which often appeared listless or far away, were now focused not on the classroom's monitor, but on an important message chain on her phone. All of the muscles in her lanky frame had tensed, and she was working hard to calm herself and release that tension. She needed to hold up this twin-tailed valley-girl persona for what she assumed was one last mission.

"Junko Enoshima," the girl was called. A famous fashion model who was never quite what people expected from her magazine covers. A girl with an offbeat style, in a barely-buttoned shirt and short skirt all seemingly designed to show off assets she barely had, wrapped up in a polka dotted tie and garish bows and buttons that could certainly be called a fashion choice. She hadn't managed to connect too closely with her classmates due to her surprisingly standoffish personality, but that was okay. That had never been part of the mission parameters for her. Instead, her mission had been to somehow avoid standing out while embodying the persona of a fashionista in magazine spreads across the globe. Somehow, her sister had pulled the strings to make that happen, and "Junko" had maintained her cover while never having to appear in a single magazine shoot. Meanwhile, the person behind the makeup, the soldier known as Mukuro Ikusaba, had waited for orders. She'd waited, and waited, and waited for years, making conversations and idle friendships just to pass the time. She'd been waiting years for this message.

She felt her decorated nails clutching for a hilt that wasn't at her thigh. She'd never quite gotten used to being without her gear, but she assumed she wouldn't have to be without it much longer. She read the message on her phone again.

"Pick a girl and bring her to the run-down theater west of the academy. Make up an excuse and join her there. Everything else will be taken care of.

Don't fuck this up! *heart emoji*"

This was unexpected. Mukuro considered herself flexible in combat, but not creative. She wasn't used to open-ended assignments. If she considered the prospect of slaughtering an entire classroom of fellow students, she'd hardly bat an eye, but if she had to pick just one, it somehow became difficult. Was she not as detached as she expected?

"No... You're just being an idiot," she berated herself. "Trust her plan. You know what this is leading up to, anyway... there's no hard feelings who goes first and who goes last."

Mukuro was correct in that she was picking a first victim, and she was right that the dominoes set in motion might very well lead to the end of the nearly-graduated senior class of Hope's Peak Academy. As for the mechanism of that end... She was a soldier who'd only known bloodshed, so what she was picturing was a bloodbath. However, there was no level of imagination that could have let her predict the bloodless, preposterous end this class was about to face.