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Go easy on me, this is literally my first fanfiction, and the first I've written in years. Obviously incomplete, for now. Enjoy.

Part 1: Mutou, scene 1
Part 2: Kenji, scene 1
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The office door closed behind the investigator. The local police station was dark, dingy, and smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. The station seemed to exist only to clash with this perfect night. Nearly perfect, I reminded myself; how could I forget? The boy's blood, still damp, coated the front of my blazer; it had even soaked through to my shirt in a few places. I felt unclean, even after being allowed to scrub my arms and chest; even in a new shirt provided by a sympathetic officer, my skin crawled. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying not to think of what had transpired not long ago.

The investigator cleared his throat. Startled from my reverie, I met his gaze, unsure of what to say. Thankfully, he broke the silence first. "Good evening, Mr. Mutou," he said in a even, professional manner. "I'm the investigator assigned to the Nakai case." His demeanor conveyed a sense of manufactured apathy, as if he was trying to separate himself from everything emotionally. I couldn't blame him; death was death, no matter how many times you encountered it in your career. I felt a small kinship with him; after teaching class after class, year after year of students, all with various disabilities, I had to distance myself from it the same way.

The investigator ran a hand through his wavy, graying hair and stated, "As I understand, you were first on the scene when the boy... met his untimely end."

"Yes sir," I replied weakly. "I was close enough to see it happen clearly."

Apparently satisfied with my short response, the investigator continued speaking. "Before I question you about what happened earlier tonight, I'd like to ask you to recount your experiences with Mr. Nakai," he explained. "We're not entirely sure what happened yet, but we'd like to get an idea of why it happened. I feel you would be able to offer unique insight into his general demeanor, and his interactions with the other students."

His reasoning was sound; I had taught the boy six days out of the week, and observed him elsewhere before and after school. Forcing the images of the boy's final moments out of mind, I opened my mouth to speak; it was then that I realized I was shivering. No, not shivering; shaking like a dead leaf in the autumn wind. My mind craved a cigarette; surely, the nicotine would calm my nerves?

I met the investigator's gaze again. "Do you mind if I smoke? Nerves, y'know," I exhaled with a small, forced chuckle. He nodded, and I quickly walked over to where my blazer hung on the wall. Reaching into the right pocket and removing the pack, I immediately noticed a dampness. My heart sunk; I didn't need to look inside to know what was lurking within. I let the pack slide from my hand, almost without thinking. It hit the floor with a damp thud. I turned to the investigator with a weak smile. "Can you spare one?" I inquired with a heaviness in my voice. I had meant for the words to come out in a joking manner, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

I briefly excused myself from the room to clean my hands and try to compose myself. As I walked back towards the investigator's office, I heard a commotion being raised. Voices approached rapidly, and before I knew it, two large officers passed. Between them, they were dragging a familiar-looking young man, clad in a dirty, disheveled Yamaku school uniform. He was busy ranting and raving about something that sounded like... feminists? World domination? Something had clearly agitated him greatly; I briefly wondered what part he had in the investigation.

I heard a throat clear to my left; the investigator had caught me staring. He motioned me back into the office, a freshly-lit cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. "Here," he said, placing a pack of cigarettes in front of me as I sat down. "It's nearly full. I hate to encourage a bad habit, but you look as if you need it right now." I smiled wanly and thanked him, my hands shaking slightly as I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. After a few long drags, I could feel myself calming down. Not my usual brand, but still quite smooth. The investigator briefly left the room, then returned with an ashtray. I tapped the end of the cigarette in it, taking a moment to stop and collect my thoughts.

After another long drag, I sighed and inquired, "What would you like to know, investigator?"

Never title your story "untitled". It drives people away from your story before they even read it. If the writer can't be bothered to come up with a title, why should anybody bother to read it?

At the very very least, if you can't think up anything to call your story, call it "A (insert character's name here) Story" or "(character)'s Story.

This isn't bad writing. You did a fairly decent job. The story deserves to have at least some kind of name.

Alright, I think I'll probably go with "Death of a Student", for now. Thank you for the feedback.

Pretty good. Let's see how it goes.

I like it. No, in fact I REALLY like it! Can't wait for part 2.

One short chapter isn't much to go one thus far, but depending on how this plays out, 'Post Mortem' might be an appropriate title. It's a lot more... subtle than the current title, and much more intriguing than simply untitled.

Now, I noticed at several points in your first post, that series of sentences would begin with the word 'the'. It is generally not good practice to begin more than one sentence in a row with the same word, much less so three. It serves to reduce immersion in a story and reeks of lazy writing. If I were you, I'd look into rephrasing some of the affected sentences. You could start by having 'the investigator' introduce himself; a name is much better than 'the investigator'.

That being said, you seem to have a good handle on spelling and grammar everywhere else in your piece thus far. Keeping in mind my advice, and maintaining your current stanard of writing, you should do well in your literary endeavours.
Cheers, BlackWaltz.

BlackWaltzTheThird wrote:One short chapter isn't much to go one thus far, but depending on how this plays out, 'Post Mortem' might be an appropriate title. It's a lot more... subtle than the current title, and much more intriguing than simply untitled.

Aww, making fun of Wednesday.

I am interested in seeing in how this pans out.

I will start writing again one of these nights when I'm not coming back from a wedding reception.

Sorry for the long delay, just got a lot of confidence issues that I need to work through before I can get any serious work done. Just afraid I won't be able to keep up the same level of quality.

Mate, you have nothing to worry about. That's what we're here for; not simply to read, but to support, encourage, and criticise where appropriate. If there's something amiss, we'll let you know, and you can choose whether or not to act on that. But in the end, just remember; this is your story, and when it comes down to it your feelings on it are the only ones that matter. Good luck.
Cheers, BlackWaltz.

Part 2. I wrote this at approximately 8 AM after not sleeping for a long time, then I forgot about it, so I haven't actually revised it at all. I'll get around to it eventually. :V

Anyways, taking this in a slightly different direction...

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The Feminists.

Damn Feminists. They had taken down my best man. There we were: the day of their festival, avoiding their poisoned food, their tainted drink, their damned routine. We had the entire roof to ourselves, and with the provisions I procured from a trusted source, lasting the day was a simple task.

Time dragged on; we drank, we discussed their plans. As the day drew on, I could sense their tenuous hold over him slowly being broken; in my haste to escape to safety, I had left my graphs behind. No matter; the shamanistic powers of the manly picnic, combined with my own charm, had swayed his mind. He was ripe for the picking, perfect to be my best man; a willing pawn in the plight of the last sane man in an insane world. The ideal man to have at my side when the Feminists finally made an overt move.

Those Feminists; damn them. My powers alone proved to be insufficient; as the night grew old, his behavior became erratic. He drank nearly all of my whisky, the bastard, and then he had the gall to suggest plans of his own! What the hell did he know? In this war, he was just a babe; a poor, lost soul on the edge of something much, much bigger than he could imagine. I had been fighting this war since I clawed my way, tooth and nail, from my mother's womb. If anyone was going to make the plans, it would be me and me alone.

During my angered musings, he had disappeared. The chain link fence around the roof alerted me to a presence. I called out to him, and when he responded, his tone was different. It was as if something else had begun possessing his mind.

"What's the point of any of this Kenji?" he asked. His voice was like a beacon in the darkness. Oh no, oh no. They were gaining control again! "I'm weak, on the brink of death every day. What's the point of continuing on, knowing I'll be an outcast, knowing I'll have no friends, knowing that everything I've tried to do could be destroyed in a single, random moment?"

I heard the fence rattle again. "Hisao, what are you doing?!" I yelled in the direction of his voice. "Snap out of it! Hakamichi and her pet obviously tortured you and planted misinformation in your mind! Or perhaps it was Satou, word underground says you-"

"No Kenji, you just don't get it!" His voice reached my ears again. "I pushed them all away. Hakamichi, Mikado, Satou, all of them! This is my own decision. Remember that."

More rattling, and he was gone. The Feminists had teleported him away! I silently cursed myself for not checking him for a transmitter when he arrived. They likely knew all my plans; all that hard work and planning, wasted. Hisao had been nothing more than a bug, a plant by the Feminists to gain access to me. I needed to get back to my room… god, my room! That would be the first place they'd look. Good thing I had stashed some supplies in the nearby field.

As I made my way to the staircase door, my inebriated legs betraying me only once, I heard a commotion. Screams, yells… was it starting already? Were my fellow men down below being mercilessly culled?! Dear lord.

When I finally reached the third floor, I heard something even more alarming; sirens in the distance. That was all the confirmation I needed; the war had begun! I had to get out of there before the Feminists pinpointed my position. Thanks to their informant, I didn't have much time.

In my inebriated state, I couldn't move as quickly as I was used to; by the time I reached the first floor, two of them were waiting. The Feminists disguised themselves well; they were dressed as police officers, and were obviously on stilts. No woman is over 6 feet tall.

"Stop right there!" the tall one shouted at me. Damn, pulling out all the stops; they even had voice changers! But it couldn't fool me, I could hear the robotic, insincere edge in "his" voice. "What are you doing inside the school this late at night?"

"YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE, FEMINISTS!" I screamed.

The next thing I remembered is being dragged through a building. I came to immediately, and I shouted at the Feminists; perhaps if I revealed how much of their plan I knew, they would be intimidated by my knowledge and release me? Alas, it was not to be. They were out for blood, and I was the first victim. I was mercilessly thrown in a cell and told to wait for "interrogation".

Damn Feminists.

To be honest, I really can't tell that this is your first bit of fanfiction, apart from the short length. I really like how you drew a connection between Mutou and the police investigator because were both forced to grow detached to a point by their careers. One suggestion I would have though is to mix up your word choice so that you're not constantly using "investigator". Maybe you could try officer, or constable, or just "uniformed man" or something like that, just to add some variety. Some with "cigarette" in the second half.
Really liked the part with the damp pack of cigarettes, that was a very nice touch. Somehow this almost film-noir style of narration suits Mutou's character pretty well.
As I've already told you, I enjoyed the second half as well, and I think you did a good job of getting into Kenji's head, something that can be a pretty big challenge. I'm looking forward to seeing the rest of this story.

Huh, this took an odd turn. Will you be continuing this thought different characters views each chapter or switching between Kenji and Mutou?

Thanks Lunch, I love you. <3 It'll get longer, I promise!

It'll probably switch back and forth between Kenji and Mutou, yeah. It's easy enough to write most of the story from Mutou's POV; he has a lot of interaction with Hisao early on, plus its feasible to consider he's overheard other students talking or talked to other staff members about things (so, for example, Hisao's actions in the Library could be told second-hand by Yuuko). Kenji covers a lot of ground that Mutou doesn't, in ways that I'm not going to elaborate on just yet. You'll see.

Also, you should probably throw most pre-conceived notions about the characters out the window. Hisao may make some of the same decisions he did in the Kenji route, but I'm going to be telling it my way.

I'm reminded of (sane) Frank Miller after reading Mutuo's scene. Very dark, a unique method of inferring the situation. As said above, very noir.

Kenji's head is almost as bizarre as the wonderful little film your avatar originates from.