Towa City was supposed to be safe. You sought refuge there, rebuilding your life from the ground up in the restored city. Then the Monokumas attacked. You had ran, stumbling into an alley. Five kids all sat in a circle, giggling and playing with a remote. One ordered a Monokuma to kill you, and you pleaded shamelessly for mercy.

They spared you, clapping a chain that reached from your wrist to your forearm on your arms, the chains hanging uselessly like some cruel jewelry.

So there you were, standing nervously in the entrance of their airship, when you locked eyes with someone you assumed you would never see again.

He was different. His eyes looked tired. His frame was lighter. His left hand hung limply by his side as if it was dead, covered with a mitten. His smile was tainted with despair. But there was no denying, that was the boy you grew up with.