Meta-summary info: This is NOT a novelization of the original 9 Hours, 9 Persons, 9 Doors game. All the characters and many key plot points and concepts have been carried over, but have been either modified or omitted in lieu of the new story. This is classified as AU and is rated M for language, sexual humor/situations, and blood/gore.

Disclaimer: I did not create, and have no ownership of, the awesome game 9 Hours, 9 Persons, 9 Doors. All characters and ideas are the property of Aksys Games.

Warning :P - Chapter 1 is very slow moving and is essentially one inner monologue from Junpei. Subsequent chapters will generally move faster in pace, but chapter 1 is a necessary establishing point for the story. WALL OF TEXT.

Also, for extra atmosphere, play "Quietus" from the 999 soundtrack near the end of the chapter ^_~.

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When diluted and purified down to the barest of concepts, teenagers can be divided into one of two different groups. The first group holds an opinion tinted by nostalgia; they view high school as a permanently locked safe of memories and abstain from opening that safe for fear of those memories escaping. The second group is a little more complicated; they aren't sure whether high school is four years of pointless trials designed to test their patience or a necessary education. To these individuals, college is when their lives will truly begin. Crushed and preserved like consolidated essence, both these opinions harbor credibility. That is, until whatever opinion has chosen to defend is tossed a nine-faced Rubik's cube worth of contradictions.

Junpei had always been positive that was a follower of the latter camp, but being faced with two ten-page research papers on the literary significance of W. B. Yeats and the (completely unrelated) subjective boundaries that define a protagonist, he was beginning to question the sanity of his choice.

Nestled comfortably into one of the firm, cushioned chairs stationed throughout the lounge, Junpei reached for the scattered pages of notes and references laid out before him. Flashes of heat trickled through his forehead from the abrupt movement and Junpei could feel every one of his vertebrae snap into place as he feebly grabbed at the textbook. Clapping the book closed with a light twist of his wrist, Junpei immediately exhaled a long sigh of relief and decided to call it a day.

If Junpei had to contemplate even one more verse of cryptic poetry he probably would have smashed his head through the flat screen TV. Being an adult pushed Junpei to become more independent and complete as a person; however, it was times like these where days of tending to rabbit cages and getting into pointless brawls with bullies shined much brighter than long, crusty months of studying. Junpei supposed it was his own fault in the first place for putting effort into being a studious undergraduate. The benignly clever boy desired only one future at the moment: to be a celebrated author. Unfortunately, it was a major that required-what a shock-its assignments to be lengthy, well planned, and up to critical expectations. Junpei was already strict enough as his own critic; being trapped under the tutelage of critics with nine times his experience was like hanging a medieval axe over the cowlicks on his head. Speaking of cowlicks, Junpei slicked a large hand through his hair and deduced that a shower was first in order when he got home.

Wordlessly, Junpei gathered his things and stuffed them into his backpack. Flicking his neck to clear away greasy hair, the brunette trotted to the lounge exit. Junpei tugged open the glass door, about to leave, before he caught the sound of shifting sneakers behind him.

"Hey Junpei!" a male voice called.

Junpei paused, his mind halfway to the clouds, and looked over his right shoulder. "Oh, hey. What's going on?"

The fellow classmate who had been so kind as to yank Junpei out of his reverie was a junior by the name of Tenma. Fairly familiar with the acquaintance's square-rimmed glasses and unremarkable height, Junpei couldn't exactly consider Tenma a friend, but they certainly got along well enough.

Followed by two seniors Junpei couldn't be damned to recall the names of, Tenma waved in a friendly manner.

"There's a huge party going on at Mika's apartment tonight. We thought, you know, it would be cool if you could go." A tad unnerved by Junpei's lack of a reaction, Tenma forced out an awkward laugh. Junpei didn't think there was anything funny about what he said.

"Some girls from southern university will be there, and from what I heard, Mika's got surround sound plus a full keg of Heineken to entertain us," Tenma said, before lowering his voice and leaning in.

"Be a tango for two in wonderland, if you catch my drift?" Turning a whisper of a grin on his last word, Junpei could see the short boy's glasses slide down the ridge of his nose.

Fiddling with his vest, Junpei did nothing more than raise an eyebrow.

"No thanks dude, I'm already feeling tired enough as it is. I'll probably crash the moment I get home," Junpei stated in firm indifference. Uninterested in any hijinks that would ensue at such a gathering, Junpei slouched into the wall for extra emphasis.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Tenma's face in he shrugged. "Suit yourself," he replied. "Sleep. Partying. It's all good in the long run." Tenma offered Junpei one last polite smile and the group disappeared out the door.

The board of Junpei's thoughts erased itself until it was a pure, blank slate. Attempting the keep himself from nodding off, Junpei walked to his car.

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A navy blue Chevrolet pulled in front of a downtown complex, the engine calming to a low mumble that dissipated into the night sky. Patiently waiting streetlights dotted the edge of the parking lot, bathing the solitary car in a gentle glow. The apartment building loomed overhead at an impressive nine stories, standing beside a congregation of hardwood trees. Tonight was a pleasant wash of shadows with no underlying motives; it was a night that hid no mystery, no suspicion that something prowled behind an empty stairwell. Whoever decided the well-being and fate of the world was in a benevolent mood.

Rumble.

Grumble.

Whiiiiiiiiiine.

Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.

Junpei winced and glared unappreciatively at his stomach as he shifted the car into park. The tanned brunette couldn't understand why his body craved food when he felt like he would just deliver it into the 'porcelain throne' a few minutes later. Pulling the key out of the ignition, Junpei decided he wasn't up to lugging his backpack inside and made to step out of the car.

Immediately, a migraine assaulted Junpei's skull and he fumbled to grab the steering wheel to prevent his face from kissing the pavement. Senses elevated to uncomfortable levels, blood pounded through the college student's eardrums in a steady rhythm that screamed "You're sick dumbass!" Junpei managed to drag himself to the lobby, cursing his bad luck the whole way.

"Well, at least I know why I've been so miserable all day," he mused.

Reaching the entrace hall, Junpei noted that nobody seemed to be around. Empty couches watched a blockbuster horror movie on the TV hanging over the coffee table. Mildly creeped out, Junpei averted his eyes.

No university students, huh? Understandable, considering it was about nine o'clock Monday, a rather detrimental time to be out if you had classes to wake up for. He grimaced again in response to the flaming pains in his chest and hastened his march to the elevator.

On the ride up, the college student listened into the grating elevator music in an effort to ignore the lurching noises coming from his belly. Elevator music was... odd, though not exactly in a good way. It certainly had that addictive element of catchiness to it that Junpei couldn't resist, but it was also cheesy and irritating to listen to. Junpei was more into ska and alternative rock, as were most people, so why weren't elevators graced with such basic attitudes in musical taste? Honestly, elevators needed to get out more.

Junpei traced his fingers over the numbered buttons, looking up at the ding of the door sliding open. A red five insistently blinked overhead as Junpei edged into the hall. By now, molotov cocktails were being tossed back and forth inside Junpei's chest, prompting him to pick up his pace down the corridor.

Before he could even comprehend any signs of life in the hallway, Junpei reached the door to his apartment. He unlocked it and trundled inside, holding his head tight with one hand and turning on the light with the other.

Cold perspiration clung to his fingers in a steady stream. Breathing deep pants through his mouth, Junpei loped from the entranceway to the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator. An instant breeze of relief wafted out of the appliance, caressing the heat radiating off of Junpei. The college student scanned the inner confines before grabbing the beverage that his inner organs—and psyche—desired so desperately.

Plopping the carton of milk next to the stove, Junpei rummaged through the cabinet below.

"A-hah! There you are, Mr. Cooking Pot. Must have been pretty stuffy down there all day with only Senior Toaster for company," Junpei said cheerfully, sliding the old pot onto the burner. Popping open the top of the carton, he poured a fifth of the milk into the pot and turned the knob for the lower left burner. Flames burst out and engulfed the reliable tool of steel.

Humming the tune to "Battlecry", the weary young adult pulled a chair from the kitchen table. A rattling screech joined the sound of Junpei's sizzling abdomen; his arms shivering from the nearly unbearable noise, Junpei fell backwards onto the chair and slouched, elbows folded on the table.

He rested his chin on his knuckles. "Tch..." Curling his fingers into his cheeks, the brunette stared at the steaming pot atop the stove.

How old was he? Four? Warm cups of milk were for kids snacking on teddy grams after riding their tricycle a couple laps around the driveway. Junpei had no explanation for his actions; on instinct, the twenty-one year old man had simply gravitated towards the lonely container of milk. The dairy product was a last resort many years ago, nothing but calming agent to lull little Junpei to sleep. A drawn-out yawn pried itself out of Junpei's mouth and laid his ear against the table. His eyelids flittered, but Junpei mentally commanded them to stay open.

Perhaps he was being driven by memories. Memories. It was an innocent word to the average ear, but to Junpei, memories were what drove him to move on, to be... Junpei. Not that that made any basic sense. Junpei was himself, he never pretended differently, so why didn't the aspiring author have anybody to be himself with?

Tapping his fingernails on the tablecloth, Junpei thought back to what Tenma had said to him earlier. Why hadn't Junpei accepted his invitation? The brunette snorted through his teeth, knowing already that one question answered the previous.

When Tenma had mentioned those girls, Junpei's muscles had seized up, his heart pumping into overdrive. Not a good overdrive; it had been a warning. A warning that it would be wrong to accept.

Wrong, just wrong. Wrong without remorse. Wrong as in morally, spiritually, mentally, and physically. Wrong beyond epic fail. Wronger than... well, you get the idea.

Junpei was a fucking pussy.

What was so bad about hanging out and enjoying himself with other people? What the hell! Junpei had the right to just go to the party and leave anytime he wanted. Booze, babes, and everything in-between were options on the menu—pick one or order the vegetarian dish. Was that so hard?

Apparently for Junpei, it was.

Junpei got up to check on the stove. Tiny bubbles were gurgling over the surface of the milk. Reaching for the pot handle, the brunette turned off the stove and swirled the white liquid for a few seconds. His pupils watched the rippling swing of the milk, admiring how gently it raced around the rim. Round and round, like a clock accelerating into the future.

Dumping the milk into a mug with a plaid "O" painted across the front, Junpei returned to his seat. Allowing the steam to sift through his nostrils before lifting the cup to brush his lips, Junpei took a tentative sip.

Essence of contentment saturated the blood of Junpei's veins, imitating the wonders of clarity inducing oxygen. Junpei tilted his head backwards to gaze up at the ceiling. He could feel the banging in his skull fade away—almost akin to radio static dissolving and revealing the clear volume of the song underneath.

Junpei was over generalizing. It wasn't exactly that he had no friends. Specifically, he had no best friends. Inside jokes, secret handshakes, virginity promises, and all that bullshit what have you. Junpei had none of it. At least, he didn't now. His mind cleansed and able to creak to life after hours of agonizing sickness, Junpei had a pretty good idea of the reason why.

The college student's heart was too soft. The world was a cruel place; people frequently disappointed Junpei on a regular basis, whether he consciously made those judgments or naturally associated them. Junpei couldn't help it—when he overheard negative whispers being passed between classmates or saw gangs of douche-faced guys swearing every other syllable about some slut they fucked at her condo, his chest would tighten and constrict into a ball of tense, relentless discouragement. Anger would well up in rolling waves; a distaste that made Junpei's brow furrow into hard bumps and caused him to scowl at the nearest bystander. He would hate those people, rationalize his accusations, then hate them even more. But, greatest of all, Junpei would hate himself for being so weak. People like that weren't necessarily bad or ill natured, and Junpei was certainly far from perfect. The twenty-one year old admitted he was a bit on an idealist. However, that didn't stop Junpei from wishing he could trust them not to thrust his heart to the ground and crush it underfoot.

Junpei gulped back his last drop of milk and left the mug on the table, ready to get to bed. Pushing in his chair, the brunette paced to the bathroom. Too tired to shower or even change into his pajamas, Junpei decided he would just dunk his head in the sink and sleep in his clothes. They were already slightly rank from the sweat pouring out of him earlier, so no issues there.

Junpei's bathroom was small but charming. The walls were painted a navy blue to match the black and white checker pattern of the floor tiles. Of course, to combine his two favorite colors, Junpei coordinated the interior with sunrise red towels and a maroon shower curtain. To the left was the counter, the sink indented into the smooth surface. Behind was the toilet and combination bath and shower, a fuzzy blue carpet resting at the foot of the tub. Junpei turned and adjusted the faucets to a suitable temperature. While waiting for the sink to fill with water, he opened the shower curtain and snatched up a bottle of shampoo.

With no hesitation, the exhausted boy buried his head under the glassy surface of the water and scrubbed a dollop of shampoo through his hair. Making sure all of the foam melded into the sink before reemerging, Junpei unblocked the drain and proceeded to towel off.

The junior author's own reflection blinked thickly back at him in the mirror above the sink. Kneading the towel over his scalp, Junpei studied the deep indentations etched into his cheeks. It stuck him as strange, considering he was feeling much better than before. Junpei chalked it up to stress. Ponder any more that night and his frontal cortex might unravel into mush.

Despite that, Junpei felt a personal memoir from times long gone creep into his system at the vision of his own reflection. Junpei may be, just a smidgen, something of an idealist, but there was one person he used to be close to that had an even greater noble heart than his own.

Akane Kurashiki.

The girl of his twelve-year-old dreams.

A smirk twitching at the edge of his lip, Junpei looked fixedly at the mirror, straight past the mundane image of his own face. Recollections of Akane spilled into his center of focus. Gradually, Junpei drew a picture from his memory, starting with those big blue eyes. Curving inward to the middle of her face, a thin, button nose took shape. Like a rocking boat, Junpei paused to trace an upward crescent moon to mark the placement of her lips. Dusted pink and perked in an adorable smile, Junpei finished his work of art with her wavy tumble of dark hazelnut locks.

She was surely the sweetest thing Junpei had ever seen, but a tinge of sadness burnt Junpei in that he only knew what she looked like as a girl in elementary school. A hopeful idea came to him—though he was fully aware it wouldn't happen anytime soon—Junpei had a fleeting urge to see her again, all grown up. His friend.

His real friend.

Shaggy hair dry enough to be comfortably laid on a pillow, Junpei exited the bathroom, shutting the wooden door behind him. Moving next to the bed stand, Junpei picked up his digital alarm clock. Blearily flashing 10:09 at him, Junpei was about to set the alarm when he caught sight of something in the glare reflecting off the glass.

It was a figure in a gas mask and cloak.

". . ."

". . ."

Junpei's eyes split open wide enough to see crimson rivers of veins lining the outer lid. Heaving in a strangled cross of a gasp and a wail, Junpei realized too late his grave mistake. Sickening, white mist overflowed his lungs, colored splotches screening themselves over his line of vision.

The clock slid from his fingertips and cluttered to the ground, Junpei's body following soon after. With his last, dwindling reserve of willpower, he drew his eyes up to confirm the face of his captor.

And then, there was a void.

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Read and review! Construction criticism is considered and greatly appreciated!

~KlipsyKat