Chapter 8: Fragments
The alarm clock rings.
Denji gasps awake.
The smell of burnt toast lingers in the air.
Power's voice echoes from the kitchen, loud and obnoxious. "I demand meat, human! Give me sustenance!"
Aki sighs from the other room. "Eat your damn vegetables first."
Denji sits up. His hands are shaking.
Because he remembers.
He remembers everything.
Makima has looped the world again.
And this time, he is the only one who knows.
Denji doesn't move at first. He just sits there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the morning routine play out exactly as it always does.
Aki walks past his room, cigarette in hand. Power knocks over a chair and cackles about it. The smell of eggs burning fills the air.
It's all so normal.
But none of it is real.
Denji's breath shudders.
How many times?
How many times has he lived through this same morning? How many times has Makima reset everything, erased everything—changed everything?
He grips the edge of the blanket, fingers digging in.
This isn't just a loop.
It's a prison.
Denji stands up. His movements are slow, careful, unnatural.
Because now that he knows, everything feels wrong.
Aki notices first.
"You good?" he asks, glancing at Denji from the sink.
Denji stares at him.
Aki's face is clear. His voice is real. His presence is solid.
But Denji knows—he's already gone.
This isn't Aki.
It's a version of him that Makima chose to keep.
Denji forces a laugh. "Yeah, just… weird dream."
Aki doesn't push. He never does. He just shrugs, taking a slow drag of his cigarette before turning back to the stove.
Denji exhales.
He can't say anything.
If he tells Aki the truth—if he tells anyone—Makima will know.
She's always watching.
Denji looks around, heart pounding.
What's different this time?
Because there's always something.
Makima changes things. Removes things. Alters details, just enough to test him. To see if he'll notice.
Denji's eyes flicker over the apartment.
The furniture is the same. The chipped coffee table. The scuffed-up floor.
Then his gaze lands on the counter.
Aki's mug.
He always leaves it in the same spot. Every morning. Black coffee, untouched until his cigarette is done.
Denji's stomach turns.
The mug isn't there.
Aki is still here—but his routine isn't.
Denji swallows.
Makima is watching.
She's waiting.
She wants to see if he'll react.
Denji doesn't.
He forces himself to move, to act normal. He sits at the table, grabs a piece of toast, takes a bite even though his stomach feels like it's full of broken glass.
Power shoves past him, stealing his food.
Everything continues.
But Denji knows the truth.
He's the only one who does.
At HQ, Kishibe is waiting for him.
Denji freezes in the doorway.
The old man watches him with tired,
knowing eyes.
And for the first time, Denji sees it.
Kishibe remembers.
Denji's pulse spikes.
Makima doesn't let people remember. She doesn't let them keep their past selves.
So why is Kishibe different?
Denji approaches carefully. "You know, don't you?" he mutters under his breath.
Kishibe sighs. "Took you long enough, kid."
Denji's fingers curl into fists.
"How do I stop this?"
Kishibe looks at him for a long time. Then he mutters:
"You don't."
Denji's stomach drops.
"There's no way out," Kishibe says, voice low. "Not for us."
Denji's breath stutters. "Then what am I supposed to do? Just—just live like this? Let her keep erasing people?"
Kishibe exhales. "You think this is the first time you've asked me that?"
Denji freezes.
The room suddenly feels too small.
Kishibe looks at him, eyes dull. Tired.
"We've had this conversation before."
Denji's chest tightens.
"I tell you the same thing every time," Kishibe murmurs. "And you always forget."
Denji's pulse pounds.
Because Makima didn't just erase Aki and Power.
She erased past versions of Denji, too.
Kishibe leans back. "You wanna break the cycle?"
Denji nods. Desperately.
Kishibe sighs. "Then don't let her know you remember."
Denji's blood runs cold.
Makima is waiting.
Watching.
And if she realizes Denji still remembers—
She'll reset him, too.