Antagonist

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S H I R O
P R O T A G O N I S T

H A I L
A N T A G O N I S T

R A I L
P R O X Y

C A L I B A N
P R O X Y

N O N E
P R O X Y

B U T L E R
P R O X Y

D I R G E
P R O X Y

M O R T
P R O X Y

L O R I C A
P R O X Y

C Y P H E R
V A R I A B L E

T H E P O L I C E
V A R I A B L E

Some vague scribblings by myself, ostensibly in the guise of some sort of novel. Completely unconnected to Anti-Heroes, though there might be a few similar themes.
If you see a character or event in Antagonist that mirrors one in Anti-Heroes, it's probably because I like the idea so much and felt like experimenting with it. Things like that will probably come into Antagonist before Anti-Heroes.

Basically I want to mess around with the ideas of power play, uneasy alliance, world domination, the internet, cults, aliases, mind games, and so on. Which all sounds like fun. Ish.

Largely inspired by Death Note, but also Lovecraftian ideas, Doctor Who, X-Men, Heroes, Sherlock Holmes, and various other sources I've pulled out from the literary depths of my brainage.

It might be fun, it might not. Read it if you want, but I assure you it's for my own pleasure that I write this. ;)

Chapters may be a little sporadic, and I might forget it entirely. But if I'm bored enough, it will be updated.

O N E

B I R T H

S H I R O
P R O T A G O N I S T

Katō Shichiro flexed his fingers. Then he began to type.
LOGIN - SHIRO
His fingers moved over the keys delicately, but with a harsh firmness when they fell. The little asterixes of the password rattled out, the rattle of death, foreboding. Stark sounds in a stark bedroom. Shichiro finished the password with his one hand just as he finished his maths paper with the other.
The forum blinked as it loaded. He moved one hand to the mouse and hit up the inbox of private messages he'd been sent. He smiled, distantly, as the list grew. He found the one he was looking for.

Re: Shiro
Caliban
I choose both.

There was a pause. For a moment Shichiro's face flickered with uncertainty. Then he smiled again.
Both? Shichiro hadn't expected that. No matter. What it implied was beyond Shichiro's expectations of the online imitator. He sat back in his desk chair.
Both...he clicked on the little folder icon lurking by the edge of his screen. Two images came up, images compiled by the pathetic ants of the forum itself. Names, addresses, likes and dislikes, hobbies and favourite anime. Faces.
Two individuals, so alone in the world, so desparate for anything, for some purpose, some reason...two individuals who had found Shiro.
They had put up their details freely. That was what astounded Shiro. These people knew what he was...what he did...and they gave themselves to him freely. Pathetic ants humbly bowing before the man and his picnic, opening themselves up in the hope of a mere crumb, a fleck of sustanance.

Shichiro leant back and closed his eyes. Began to think. He needed their details, for what he was about to do. What he did every month. Every little facete of these people's lives helped him...find them. He found the woman. Old. Fat. Ugly. American. One of Shiro's many followers.
The woman did not now why Shiro did as he did. Didn't understand.
She lived her dull, monochrome life as she always did. Roadside motel. Boyfriend cheating on her with her cousin. Too many kids and no chance of a future.
She found Shiro online. Found the One who could change things. The One who could give her reason, purpose. Posted her life's details up. Every last word of her existence. A photo. A name. An address. A phone number. Gave her all to Shiro.

Shichiro found her in his mind's eye. Found her sat, folds of fat, folds of waste. She was already dead, Shichiro knew. She had been dead from Day One. Born with no hope, no future. No potential.
Katō Sichiro concentrated. Shiro deleted her.

A breath. A skipped moment in time, of perfect silence. Shichiro convulsed. Coughed. He gulped, taking in air hungrily, exhausted. He had seen it happen. She her obese, morbid self tighten up, choke, fat hands scrabbling at the arms of her tired, grease-stained armchair. Saw her head implode.
He had deleted her. Shiro had deleted her.
He smiled, broadly now, and looked back to the computer. The other, a youth. Limp, lanky hair, styled in broad strokes of black and blue. Eyeliner. Some English adolescent, looking to be different, looking to be unique. Finding Shiro, like the rest did. Shichiro smiled, panting.
He sat back, closed his eyes.
He would delete him, too.

S H I R O
P R O T A G O N I S T

It was dark outside. Darkness had crept into the room. Shichiro hadn't turned the lights on, and shadows played across the floor.
He typed, exhausted, broken, triumphant.

Re: Caliban
Shiro
God has Judged them Both.

He logged off. No need to seem too familiar with his mortals. Shiro had acted for that month.
He sat back and thought, carefully. Then he logged back on.

Re: Caliban
Shiro
Next choice. Man of 83, no family, lives in a care home, logs on to the forum once a week at precisly 12:00AM every Wednesday. Stays online for two hours and then logs off. Post count is 324. Does not understand what Shiro is. Posted his entire details on his first day, out of loneliness.
Child of 9. Lives with a single mother who dotes on him. Post count is 1013. Posted his entire details after a month, after persuasion.
Who do I delete?

He logged off again, and flicked the computer's switch. The moniter faded into nothingness.

Shiro's power spread. Shichiro smiled, and then laughed.

Shiro was giving the world purpose.