Mateotis

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

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It was a far cry, Daimyon realised as much. He hoped that his acknowledgement of the explosive would abate the debate, for if Thomas truly possessed a powerful-enough substance, he could simply knock Marianne's door down during the Night of Carnage. Neither the poet nor anyone else would be able to stop him. There would be no reason for thinly-veiled threats, no reason to involve and risk making the better part of the group distrust him. Distrust meant lack of allies, lack of allies meant constant paranoia which lead clearly into a paralysing fear of death.

Thomas was a smart and devious man—that much was certain for the poet. One needed not to be a scientist to reach the conclusions he had just reached in the uneasy seconds of silence, which made him believe that the biomechanic had also reached at least this far in his thought process. Perhaps Daimyon was wrong in his initial assumption: perhaps Thomas needed the e-handbook for entirely different reasons. Before he had any time to ponder about other possibilities, however, the young man pressed the vial against Faith's chest, effectively trapping her. The Infinites could but watch. Daimyon, snapped out of his thoughts, let out an exasperated sigh: could Thomas just do whatever he pleased while they sat powerless?

The ultimatum was issued. If the poet did not deliver the late botanist's e-handbook, Thomas would hold Faith hostage until the Night of Carnage. As with any decent hostage situation, attempting to free her meant only a quicker and surer death by the explosive vial. The cherry on top was Monokuma's—who very audibly enjoyed the unfolding conflict—declaration that the person causing the substance to be released would be responsible for the destruction it caused.

Whereas before this he was an important part, now Daimyon became the linchpin of the whole situation. He was the only one with access to what Thomas, who had transformed into a villain before their eyes, coveted. The vault creature and Jezebel wasted no time in trying to convince him of their truth. Others, as he looked around, were all looking at him, some with dread, some with detachment. Either way, the ball was in the poet's court. The buck stopped here. Grave responsibility weighed on his shoulders for the first time, as he would have assuredly wrote down any similar occasion that had happened before.

It was a heightened feeling, but not the heroic kind he had imagined it to be. He had to make a decision where there was a lot he did not know: most crucially, just what were Thomas' reasons? What was he planning? How did he procure an explosive in this hospital; was it even an explosive? What if this was all...a bluff, or a test? All Daimyon had were bits and pieces of scattered information, with gaping voids of unknown dispersed between.

Familiar ground, one could call it.

“Very well, Thomas.” He broke the silence at last, making a step forward. The jitter in his legs was gone. He spoke slowly and articulated every word. “No one needs to be hurt. I will bring the notebook here. It is...not here with me now, as you can see. I will need to get to my room for it.”
After the first, uncertain step, he got into a brisk walk, heading straight for the exit. No one moved to intercept him, at least for now. He glanced back from the door, his gaze pointed at Denis.
“And I will do this myself. Worry not.”

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

So I wrote a little poem-slash-song after being inspired by this piece, similar to what I wrote for Til enda. I'm not sure what it would be called, as it's the exact opposite of a cover—the lyrics are changed, not the instrumentals. Either way, the intended way of reading it is to the rhythm of the original song. I recommend listening to this karaoke version, as it has doots for guidance.



You could also listen to White Room with its actual lyrics (it's a great song!) to get a feeling for how it's sung. As for a general structure, the verses are each made up of 4 lines in a 4-4-4 syllable scheme per line. Between the verses are two-line intermissions, which have a more varied scheme.

Enjoy, everyone!

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

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(instructions on reading the poem are in this post!)

Dear, you leave me stunned and smitten, well-hypnotised
As I stand here and look into your amber eyes.
Silky shadows fall down your back, swirling darkly.
Gazing upon such bright beauty, I smile widely.

I'd wait in this place where it's just you and I.
Wait in this place where our love is not just a lie.

I'm so sorry, but no strings can secure me here.
I shall embark on a journey and disappear.
Lone wanderer, that is my share; heavy burden.
My then is lost, my now is you, next uncertain.

I'd wait for you, dear, I would wait forever.
Stay with you where our ties would never be severed.

My heart shatters to tell you that we will part soon.
One last embrace, one stolen glance under the moon.
It's better to have it this way; you'll be set free.
I am unfit for your sweet love; I was carefree.

Don't fret, my darling! The problem is in me.
When the sun comes, you'll be but a lost memory.

—Daimyon Londe: Parting at Night

---

Daimyon shuffled in his chair for a moment as Thomas approached him. Perhaps he had said something wrong? As far as his notes were accurate, his words were the truth. Yet, he was unable to shake an impending sense of dread, further exacerbated by the biomechanic's ominous words. The poet had few records of the green-haired man, precious little aside from what was written in his e-handbook entry. Thus he instinctively judged him on the information readily available: his posture, with hands behind his back and the slightest hunch, and demeanour, with his measured steps and cold, calculated words. If Daimyon was to draw a parallel, he would have likened Thomas to an interrogator. He almost felt tied to his seat—only released when the attention shifted to a new arrival.

Said arrival was Denis, Denis Orlov, another name Daimyon only knew from the e-handbook. The poet recalled what he had read about him in his head—Infinite Spy, age 17, Russian—and felt relieved. His daily memory still held, at least, even after being put to the test numerous times. Refocusing on the current scene, he watched as Thomas handed a white-haired, crimson-eyed Infinite—Faith Lambert, Infinite Matchmaker, age 27, went his quick mental recall—a thick and dusty book, compelling her to read an excerpt. His curiosity piqued, Daimyon listened intently, but much to his dismay, the topic turned out to be something utterly unfamiliar to him. This resulted in a few phrases sounding especially threatening to the laic: explosive properties, non-freezing dynamites. He connected the dots soon enough and realised that the substance in the vial that accompanied the book had to be dinitroglycerin, a substance used to create explosives. The implication was clear, but the escalation seemed even more imminent as Faith drew a blade and accused Thomas of murderous intentions.

Daimyon's whole body tensed. The vault creature smashing against the wall of its cell almost made him jump out of the chair. This was a living nightmare, he thought. Only such a horrible dream can be so absurd. Jezebel's out-of-place snickering did nothing to assuage his fears, and though she did not believe the situation to be as grave as Faith did, her explanation set off different alarms in the poet. Did Thomas truly want to enter Marianne's room so much that he was willing to blow up the door? What could he have sought after there? The poet had already been there. He believed that the only valuable item was her letter, in which the late Infinite professed her love to him, and what he kept in his notebook ever since. Regardless, there had to be a reason, one that he could not figure out. The uncertainty propelled him to act.

“It appears to me that you have the means of entry regardless of my decision.” He stood up, clutching his notebook, and turned to Thomas. His agitation was masked by verbosity. “Which renders my role almost moot, doesn't it? Out of moral principles, I shall still decline, make no mistake. Despite that, I hope you do not mind explaining yourself in front of myself and the others.”

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

---

Entering the break room, Daimyon found it...empty. Surprised, he checked the time—it was still very much the morning and, at least according to him, still breakfast time. He took a look at his e-handbook again, scouring the map and eventually finding another potential place for the first meal of the day: the dining room in the second floor resort. That must have been where the others headed. Making a note of the break room's desolation, he made his way to the second floor. Right away, he could tell his assumption was correct by the delicious smells wafting out of the dining room. Once he had stepped inside, the pleasant atmosphere only heightened. The few people who were sat at the numerous tables did not make much noise, but they were enough to create the impression of company. A much stronger sensation was the source of the pervading smell, the scent of freshly-made breakfast: eggs, bacon, and all that was treasured by a hungry Infinite. Manning—or rather, handling was the better expression here, the poet thought—the kitchen was Emily. Given her talent, it was evident that she was the group's cook. The well-endowed caretaker gave Daimyon a light meal, complete with a glass of orange juice. After giving her his heartfelt thanks, accompanied by a wide smile, he sat down in solitude. While that might have seemed like a betrayal of his set agenda, he felt uncertain about his knowledge for the day, so he laid his notebook open on the table to rectify that.

The low hum of discussion that the poet could shut out without much trouble was suddenly overtaken by a second of shrill static. Following it was an announcement, spoken in a peculiar accent and using words even the seasoned wordsmith did not hear in those contexts before. That alone intrigued him enough, but the content of the message was what convinced him in the end. There was to be a ‘coalition meeting’. Though his notes made no mention of any sort of coalition existing within the group, he had already realised they were not complete. Perhaps he had simply missed its formation. Nevertheless, he deemed the premise to be worth checking out, if nothing else. Finishing his breakfast entirely, he wiped his hands and mouth with the serviette, before taking the empty tray back to where they were gathered. He thanked Emily again for the wonderful food and bid goodbye to the present Infinites, taking his own leave to the study.

Even though he employed the e-handbook's map to navigate, others had made it to the location before him. The study had a pinch of familiarity to the poet—no surprise, as it was where he had found the Ryoshi Membook he had been trying to decode with mixed success. Concerning the diary, he had reached an impasse and did not believe he could proceed without external help. The rearranged composition of the study did not cause him much bewilderment; on the other hand, something else certainly did. Somehow, his notes said precious little about a massive steel vault occupying the whole length of the side of the room and absolutely nothing about the red-eyed creature that it was supposedly guarding.

“W-what is...” he muttered after his customary ‘hello’ to those already gathered, but seeing how everyone else seemed unconcerned about the scene behind them, he decided not to press the issue. Instead, he engaged in some amiable mingling with the Infinites until it was time to begin.
The meeting's organiser was Jezebel, to whom the unique accent also belonged. Shortly after she had introduced their guest of honour—the creature who spoke quite eloquently, fuelling the poet's astonishment even further—, Thomas took the initiative with a question. His mention of a certain name made Daimyon perk up in attention. His notebook was in his hand and he hastily skimmed through a couple lines before answering.

“...I acquired it. Through Monokuma himself,” he said, lowering his head towards his notebook sheepishly. “We were...close. I assume that was why I was bestowed the e-handbook. Marianne is no longer with us, however, so what concern does her empty room have to anyone?”

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

---

Imagine.

You fall asleep.
In the stream of dreams
You float along and
Away drift your memories.

You forget the bad that happened,
You forget what weighed you down,
You forget your doubts and worries,
The reasons why you frowned.

You forget those who wronged you,
You forget what they have done,
You forget what has already ended
And what has just begun.

The stream picks up speed.
You cannot swim ashore.
The flow is unending
As you lose more and more.

You forget those who loved you,
You forget what was before,
You forget who you are and
What you are for.

Then it ends.
You wake up and blink.
There is nothing left anymore.
You don't know what to think.

This is your life.
Every morning you wake,
You start all over again
With a blank slate.

—Daimyon Londe: Tabula Rasa

The morning announcement came abruptly, jolting Daimyon out of a dream. It was so sudden, in fact, that he forgot almost the entirety of his dream right away, only retaining bits and pieces. The centrepiece of it, he could still recall, was a white swallow. As he sat up on the bed and reached for his notebook—reading the first page for a start, as he had done every morning—, he wrote down what he remembered from his interrupted dream. There he could see that the swallow was a reoccurring element and wondered about the bird's significance. Time was short, however, and he knew that he had to address much more important concerns first. Flipping to the most recent pages, he started reading his entries in backwards chronological order.

It took a while, but the poet finally felt ready to embark on the day. After showering and getting dressed, he set out, notebook and e-handbook both in hand. His destination was the break room at the other end of the first floor where he could get some breakfast. He was also hoping to meet some of the new arrivals whose profiles had just been added to the system. Other than these vague goals, though, there was not much on his agenda today. As he walked through the hallway in silence, a sort of serenity descended on him. Yesterday's tragedies felt like a distant memory, the concert preparation that had engulfed the previous days even more so. There was nothing good and nothing bad pressing down on him at the moment. It was certainly a strange feeling.

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

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Before Daimyon could set off anywhere, Monokuma appeared to take the spotlight. He could not forget the monochromatic bear—his announcement was the first thing he heard every morning, which ensured that he would always remain on the poet's mind, day after day. At least now his role was not to sow discord as he merely introduced the three new Infinites properly. That is, until he turned to Daimyon himself, mentioning a ‘book with a school girl’ and the carnival. The carnival, he knew about: it was on the third floor; he had checked the map a couple times today to confirm that. In that moment, however, he was unsure what kind of book Monokuma was talking about. When he disappeared, the poet hastily pulled up his notebook. Fortunately, he did not have to search for long, as it featured prominently in his writings from not so long ago.

“The Ryoshi Membook!” he exclaimed, slapping his forehead.
He wrote down clearly how important the partly-deciphered work was to him, which gave Monokuma's comment a new urgency. He turned back to the new Infinites and noticed a fourth unfamiliar face approaching—he did not want to leave the gathered group behind in this state, but he felt like he had to address the concern of the Membook today. And it was getting rather late.
“Well, I must depart now...” he said to the trio. “I would still recommend you head to the break room. And, Noah...” He stepped closer to the biologist, leaning low to address him in a quieter voice. “Please take care of Juliette. She looks...uncomfortable. I shall see you all tomorrow.”

With that and a quick farewell to the rest of the Infinites, Daimyon took off. He walked up two floors and into the resort, keeping his notebook open throughout the whole way—almost tripping on a staircase as a result—, reading more about the Membook. He got himself up to speed on his previous results in the mysterious schoolgirl's diary and on how he was driven by the potential that it could unlock secrets that could help them in their own peril. Making this motivation his own once again, he strode through the third floor resort until he reached the entrance to the carnival. The gate bore Monokuma's black-and-white face, split down in the middle. Alongside these ‘colours’, red also featured prominently on the attractions and tents inside the carnival, evoking the feeling of certain noir films. There was even music, though the poet deemed it more disconcerting than cheery. It did not help his mood that he wandered around the deceptively large area for some time without finding anything—even with his imaginative mind that tried to draw symbolism from everything—that could in any way relate to the Ryoshi Membook.

Frustrated and believing the whole ordeal to be nothing more than a joke played at his expense, Daimyon was about to call it a day before he stumbled upon what seemed to be the end of the carnival. It was not so much an end as it was a closed-off area with a separate entrance which was locked. On it, a sign read ‘The Midnight Carnival is under construction. We have no actual construction workers in this hospital, only nurses, which makes things difficult. Beary sorry!’
That had to be it, the poet thought. That had to be where the secrets of the diary could be found. All he had to do...was wait.

On the way back, he wondered when the Midnight Carnival would open. Was there some sort of event that had to trigger it? He hoped it was not another trial—but if so, the only other event he could think of was the Night of Carnage. And after they had to organise an entire party to raise the spirits following the previous one, Daimyon really did not want another. He hoped that, somehow, some way, history would not repeat itself, just as much as he wanted the murders to end. This day was too much for him: too much hope, crushed by too much despair. When he finally arrived back in his room, he collapsed onto his bed without a second thought. It was time to forget everything.

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

---

Tropes of the four seasons
Used for the wrong reasons
For life is not four distinct blocks
That is my grievance.

If you want a fitting metaphor
Forget all that was said before
And create your own. Make it so
That it says what life is truly for.

—Daimyon Londe: Quick Lesson #4

What started as a serene scene quickly lost its tranquillity and threatened to devolve into chaos as more and more people gathered around the new arrivals. Calvin rattled the poet with his venomous tone, though he was entirely correct—Daimyon should have known at least this much already. And he did. It merely...slipped through the cracks. The blacksmith was followed by Cyrus who introduced himself politely, and Max who dropped all pretence and did not handle the delicate-seeming duo with kid gloves. The frightened woman protested weakly against the overflow of new faces and new information, before introducing herself as Juliette Bourbon. The small, purple-haired man was a bit more decisive with his actions, approaching the poet with an appeal to help them orient themselves in the new environment. One droplet of information caught his attention the most: that he, Noah Dyer, came from another killing game. Somehow, Daimyon did not think there were other such ‘games’ going on besides theirs and he shuddered to think of what could be going down in them. Before he could answer Noah, another elevator opened and out popped a red-headed, quick-talking man who introduced himself as George Henry.

All this happening so quickly was almost too much for the poet who, on the contrary to his established reputation, did not feel as exuberant as others might have believed. He desperately needed a sleep to reset his mind and to be able to memorise everything again properly for the day. Still, he was the one who chose to come here and he could not get away from it now. He decided to, for once, take charge of the situation.

“Everyone, please, silence,” he spoke up, raising both of his hands in a ‘calm down’ gesture. His tone was firmer than usual, though not nearly as overt as Max's or even Calvin's. Once the group has sufficiently quietened down, he continued. “Let us take this slow. Juliette, Noah, George—welcome. If you can feel the tension and the despair in the air, that is because we have just finished a trial of life and death. If you truly come from another game like ours, you should understand. And though those of us who have been here since the beginning have our numbers dwindling, the group is constantly replenished with new arrivals such as the three of you. I cannot give you an exact time now, but it is late in the evening. If you wish for refreshment, though, the break room is not far away from here. In fact, I recommend we all head there now, for it is also a more fitting environment to get your bearings and for more in-depth discussions.” He adjusted his coat and glanced at the gathered Infinites. “Will you come with us?”

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

---

A fool you are, if you fall and don't rise up to walk again
if you give in to the pain and drop your mighty pen
Sprout wings and move! move! set out on the journey,
let the ditch beckon in vain don't let it get you dirty
and if you ask, why not? I shall tell you,
What awaits you is a better life and death that is true.
Because back home, the people wait for us
to clear the skies of the charred wind and thus
hold up the crumbling walls replant the broken trees
scare away the fear that plagues like a disease.
Oh, you better believe: carry it in your heart
all that is still worth that there is something to impart;
there still is! we can go back to the chilly old porch,
hear the bee of peace buzz under the shade of a birch,
feel the sweet silence of summer through the sleepy gardens,
it would be our domain and we'd be its wardens,
and as another day rises there'd be no warning
the shadows will be written by the slow morning, -
it's in our grasp, I can feel it! keep your head up!
Don't give up, friend, hear my call! and rise up!

——Daimyon Londe: March On

Thus went the poem Daimyon found himself in his notebook as the trial was coming to its conclusion. He needed the encouragement himself, as knowing the truth did not set him free, not in the slightest. The notion that Mercy was only under the influence of her own demons and there truly was no one else involved evoked a flame of vain anger in the poet. It meant that she had had control until the very end, that she, in a better state of mind, could have stopped herself from taking away an innocent life. Whatever she had suffered from was no excuse. It would have been so easy for Daimyon to discard his morals, too, at any given moment. There has not been anything tying him to them for a long time now. Despite that, he always stuck with them, with his identity, with his values—he never descended into madness. It would have been so easy, but he never did. For doing so, he could not forgive the deceased doctor.

His silver lining amid these grim thoughts was the fact that no one else had to die, for one of the robots had offered herself up as a sacrifice. In the end, they were walking out of the court of carnage with two casualties which, as the poet had recorded the previous cases in his notebook, was the least they could afford. He did not note down the fact that there was a new Carnage Sister coming to replace the dead one—he did not need the additional weight on his mind. Another uplifting piece was knowing that Krista's brother was safe and far away from this place. So was the rest of humanity, Daimyon assumed, or at least hoped. He did not wish this experience on his worst enemies; on the other hand, he wondered what would have become of him by now if he was not so...ready to let things go.

The air was heavy as the Infinites got off the rollercoaster. The frantic ride marked the end of a frantic ride, but it came with the promise of more. Normally, the poet would have stuck with the group to try and lift their downtrodden spirits, but his mood was especially sour now for the aforementioned reasons. So he went his own way: checking the map on his e-handbook, he walked out of the resort and into the first floor patient's quarters. His room was marked as the very first one after the resort gate, and he would have stepped inside straight away had he not heard something that caught his attention. An implicit, continuous clanging of metal. Not to mention he also saw two Infinites—Thomas and Ellie, he reminded himself—heading in the sound's direction, almost certainly trying to locate its source.

So he went after them.

Rounding the corner and leaving the rooms behind, the poet finally arrived to a most curious scene. A woman stood—or more accurately, was held up on the stiff stilts that were her legs, looking ready to collapse at any moment—by the elevator. Her hand was held up to its steel frame but she was not banging on it anymore, for she was stopped by a man who seemed almost comically short next to her. Daimyon stayed still for a moment, processing the details. He glanced at the list of Infinites in his e-handbook, then shot a look at Thomas and Ellie before stepping closer to the unfamiliar duo.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “Hello there. You must be new here. Are you also Infinites?”

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

---

After his attempt at a deductive remark, Daimyon was once again relegated to the sidelines. The focal point of the discussion turned to the blood-tipped badge; the Infinites wanted to make the seemingly out-of-place clue fit into the grand narrative. In accordance with that effort, the sword of Damocles mostly hung above Max, though Bliss was not fully cleared of suspicion yet. Despite theories of various possibility swirling in his head, Daimyon decided to remain silent and not point fingers at either of them until something decisive came up and instead try to keep up with the discussion. It was not the most difficult task, for the case seemed to be sputtering ahead at a sluggish pace.

That is, until tragedy struck.

Felix expired right in front of the group's eyes. The free runner who Daimyon had so diligently practised with before the concert and who he had so merrily chatted with at the party collapsed from his podium, falling into a pool of his own blood, his life robbed from him prematurely, horribly. Exactly like Mercy's. The shock kept the word within the poet, which then burst into his mind, sparking twisted inspiration there. He took his pen and gave the words another, better deserved outlet.

Life! How fleeting you are,
One moment you shine
With radiance, in the next
You die, gone in a glance.

Yet, this house of cards
Was knocked over duly
Not by wind but by hand,
Shoved off with cruelty.

What is life that is
Extinguished in its prime?
An unfulfilled promise,
A broken, languished hope.

May your memory live forever
Like a phoenix, may it rise
May we always know who you were
Rest in peace, Felix.

Though the letters and short lines flowed freely onto the paper, when Daimyon was done, he had to realise that he had already missed plenty of new information. The discussion leaders spoke up one after the other as Felix's gruesome death appeared to serve as a jolt to the weary Infinites, pushing them to solve the case and take revenge on the villain responsible for the murders. It was another inspiring scene, but the poet fought off his urge to put it into words, instead taking the effort to collect the missing pieces of information. First, they determined the unlikely murder weapon: an umbrella, which Felix had accidentally rammed into during the dance. The poet shivered as a deathly chill ran down his spine. He was, against his own wishes, already imagining what would have happened if he was the clumsy one. His feeling of terror only intensified when Noel accused Mercy, the other victim, of murderous intent.

“Impossible...” he muttered, trying to convince himself more than anyone else. He could not shake the terrifying idea that he could have been doomed if he simply had chosen a different dance partner until Max's furious roar shook him back to attention. The police officer was the most distraught over Felix's death; Daimyon could see the overpowering grief turn into tears in his eyes. He wondered about the two's dynamic, about all the aspects of the free runner he did not get to know and how he never would get another chance now. It was perhaps the realisation that saddened him the most.

The accusing eye turned back towards Bliss, the owner of the deadly umbrella, and she was forced to defend herself once more.
“Yes! She was with me throughout said time, I can vouch for that! I also do not believe she had done anything malicious in the kitchen...” Daimyon tried to back the nanny up, though his conviction was also shaken. Fortunately, Krista managed to clear her name shortly after.

And all of a sudden, they ran out of suspects, leaving only one, distressing explanation: that Mercy planned and carried out the murder all by herself. There was a moment of silence as the group tried to process the idea, in which the poet found it fit to speak up.

“I...don't understand,” he admitted with a frown on his face. “Though it revolts my heart, I am willing to accept the idea that Mercy could have plotted the heinous act that took Felix's life. However, the doctor herself also perished! How could she die if she was the one who set everything up? ‘Live by the sword, die by the sword’, they say...could it have been a mere accident with the fatal weapon? Is there truly no one else involved in this matter...?”

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

---

Bliss seemed to be a dead end, which was almost a relief to Daimyon. He really did not want the caring, protective nanny with whom even cooking was—relatively—enjoyable to be guilty. Personal feelings aside, it also meant that they were unfortunately no closer to the truth than before. The poet racked his brain, but he knew it would not serve with much useful information. Instead, he tried digging into his notebook, looking for something, anything at all that would help them further this case. All the while, a series of negative thoughts clouded his concentration: his usefulness during trials was situational at best—he knew from his notes that he was not particularly effective in previous cases, either—and if he could not even keep murders from occurring again, then what was he good for? The Infinites counted among themselves a politician, a police officer and a metal worker among the people whose talents were instrumental in the group's survival. Others, like Mercy herself, fit the same role before their lives were robbed from them. What could he, the Infinite Poet, say about himself?

He felt like he was just tagging along for the ride while more deserving people died around him. And it made him feel very guilty.

Shrugging these nagging thoughts off, he found a short diary-like portion in his notebook where he described the events leading up to the party. He had written that the cooking had been done ‘after four hours of, hopefully rewarding, toil and sweat’ and that the organisers, including him, had gone out to invite the rest of the Infinites shortly after. Knowing that he had started cooking about an hour after his own lunch at noon, that placed the invitation period after 5 pm. He remembered having a lengthy discussion about the equipment just before, so that placed the exact time at the 5:30-5:45 mark. That was when he, along with Krista, Felix and Faith, visited everyone to bring them along for the party.

As he was ordering the timeline in his head, the topic of contention turned back to Mercy. Thomas mentioned seeing her, apparently fine, at 4:30 and Felix mentioned that her movement was off at the party, which had been long planned to start at 7 pm. Thinking back, Daimyon could also support the free runner's claim...

“Aside from her clumsiness, I believe she was also more...conversational than usual at our table,” he said, following up on Felix. “Admittedly I did not know her too well, but her demeanour seemed different regardless. This might...really mean she was infected...” He paused and raised a hand to his chin, getting a sudden burst of inspiration. “And, Thomas, you said there was nothing wrong with her at 4:30. Are you certain? I was the one who went up to her to invite her to the concert. That must have been around 5:30, or slightly later. Though I was not perceptive enough to notice anything suspicious about her there, I can say that she was in the presence of others from that point. All of us were, for the concert started shortly after. I sincerely doubt anyone could have infected her in the period after 5:30. Which gives us a window for the infection of...one hour? Is that possible?”

Still driven by this thread of logic, he reached for his e-handbook and checked the available truth bullets once again. They confirmed his thoughts.
“And...!” he continued. “I can also assert that the mask, which was found in that area, was not there when I visited her. If everyone was supposed to be taken account of from that point on all the way until the murder, then who could have dropped it? And when?”