Shizune Alpha Route sequel

>As soon as I learned about the accident I rushed to the hospital.

>I didn't stay by her side like I should have - I couldn't.

>I had to go and see for myself.

>I had only stayed with Shizune for a few moments before leaving. Her glasses were crooked, tears streaming down her face. Her hands shaking to the point her signing became unintelligible.

>I had to ask the police officer who had brought Shizune back to the dorms what had happened. All he told me was that there had been an incident in town several hours earlier, and that Shiina Mikado had been killed. Struck by a moving van.

>The bus ride to the hospital was short, I hardly had time to collect myself before having to step through the front doors.

>It took some convincing, but I managed to get a staff member to let me see her - to let me see her body. I told him that this girl had been my friend, and I wanted to see her one last time.

>The morgue technician gestured to me to follow, and we walked into the climate controlled room in which the recent arrivals were held. In a single taciturn motion he unzipped a long black bag, revealing what was left of Misha.

>Her face and collar were a red pulp, her once jovial features nearly impossible to make out. The only way I could tell it was her were her pink locks of hair, partially matted with blood.

>I turned to the morgue technician and asked him for a moment alone. A moment to say good-bye.

>He nodded and skulked away, closing the thick steel door behind him.

>Now was my chance.


>I grabbed at the body bag pulling it open wider, the zipper screaming as it traveled the length of its track.

>Her color had faded almost entirely. What was once peach and rosy was now a pallor of white and light blue. If there had been any warmth left to her, the cold metal of the table she was on had stolen it.

>I ran my fingers across her breast, my thumb stopping to gently circle her nipple. They were wide and pale, almost white. Inverted, but soft as silk.

>It was hard not to imagine what they must've been like she she as alive. I imagine what it would've been like to feel them harden in my mouth, and felt my heart begin to pound in my chest.

>I worked my hands down into her arm pits, they were cleanly shaved and scented, gently kneading my thumbs into the soft tissue on either side of her breasts.

>I traced the contour of her body, down to her wide hips, and across to feel the stiffness of her pubic mound.

>It was hairless, just as I had always suspected.

>I began to explore her vulva with the index few finger of my right hand. It was clammy and stuck slightly to my touch.
>Without realizing it, my left hand had found its way up my shirt and was squeezing, pinching, and pulling at my left nipple.

>I gently inserted a finger - there was no resistance. Then another, and another. I had begun to breathe heavily, sweat beginning to form on my brow.


>I slid my fourth finger it, and began to press in. Almost instantly my hand was enveloped to the crease of my thumb. I massaged her insides in an attempt to relieve and residual tension there might have been - though deep down I knew there would be none.

>She had been able to go this far, I had no doubt she would be able to go all the way.

>My hand retreated, damp and sticky. I thrust it over my face, painting it like a Scottish brave would with woad.

>The scent intoxicated me as I ran my tongue wildly across my lips and as far onto my cheeks as its length would allow.

>I drew my right hand into a tight fist - my hands were bigger than hers, and despite the practice she had obviously had I needed to be careful during this critical phase.

>It slid in to the final joint of my thumb before catching, but I pressed on. Before I knew it, Misha had enveloped me to the wrist. I moved my hand a bit, like I was knocking lightly on a door deep within her, and soon enough I would be.

>The end of my hand reached its destination, the wall of her cervix was taught and firm. Muscular and strong. I pressed into it, plying it, searching for a weak point by which the journey of my fist could continue.

>It did not avail itself. I grew impatient, my patient prodding turned into a frenzied hunt; Misha's body violently lurching after each of my assaults. Her arms fell free of the table, her pristine pink manicured finger nails glistening under the halogen lights.

>In my fervor I hadn't noticed the door of the morgue open.

>A small girl stood across from me in the doorway, white tiles under her black shoes, each trimmed with a single rose.

>My face slick with sweat and Misha's essence, I grinned at her in my lunacy before my eyes returned to my work and my hands continued in their endeavors.

>A look of abject terror spread wide across her silent face.

>I am Hisao Nakai. Master of dead romance.