Déjà Vu
Chapter 9: The First Beginning
Denji's body refuses to move. Not out of fear, not even out of pain—just sheer exhaustion.
His muscles remember this too well, the weight of inevitability pressing down on him like an iron cage. He knows what comes next.
Makima tilts her head, watching him with an expression that might almost pass for curiosity. "You always try so hard," she says, reaching out. Her fingers brush against his bloodied cheek, and Denji flinches, but there's nowhere to go.
"And yet, you always end up right back here."
Her hand lingers, deceptively gentle, before she grips his chin and tilts his face toward her. "Tell me, Denji," she hums. "Do you still love me?"
Something cracks inside him.
The words are familiar. He's heard them before. Too many times. He's answered them too many ways.
Yes. No. Silence. Rage.
None of it has ever mattered.
Because no matter what he says, she resets everything. Changes the details. Starts over.
And he forgets.
But not this time.
Denji forces himself to meet her gaze, his breath coming shallow and sharp. His vision is swimming, darkness creeping in at the edges, but he won't let her see the fear this time. He won't let her see that he remembers.
He swallows the bile rising in his throat.
"…Of course," he chokes out.
Makima smiles.
Denji wants to rip his own tongue out.
The night swallows him whole.
The next time he wakes up, it's morning again.
The alarm clock rings.
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 gasps awake.
His hands are shaking.
Because he remembers.
He remembers everything.
And Makima is still watching.
Waiting.
Testing him.
Denji swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face. His skin is damp with sweat. His heartbeat slams against his ribs.
This time, he doesn't sit still.
This time, he gets up.
His legs feel weak, like they haven't been used in days. Maybe they haven't. Maybe Makima only puts him back in play when it's convenient. He doesn't know.
But he does know this:
He can't slip up.
Not again.
Not until he figures out how to break the loop.
Denji forces his face into something neutral, something stupid, something Makima expects. He walks into the kitchen, where Power is shoving half a loaf of bread into her mouth like an animal, and Aki is already pinching the bridge of his nose.
Nothing is different.
Except it is.
Because this time, Denji isn't just surviving.
This time, Denji is watching.
Waiting.
And for the first time, he's going to play the game right.
It starts in darkness.
A familiar, suffocating kind of darkness.
Denji isn't sure if it's a memory or a premonition, but he's here. He's always here. In this place, in this moment, waiting for something—anything—to break the endless loop. The cold asphalt beneath him feels like an old friend, each crack, each groove, a part of his skin now. He knows this place too well.
This alley. The scent of blood, sweat, and despair mixing in the air. His blood. The blood of others.
This time, it's his own.
He doesn't know what happened. He can't remember how the fight started. But he knows the end. He always does.
The chainsaws—his only weapon—scream in his ears, but they aren't cutting. They never do when it matters.
The sounds around him fade, replaced by the familiar rhythm of his own ragged breathing. His chest rises and falls as if it's too tired to keep going, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't have much longer.
Somewhere in the distance, there are footsteps. Slow. Purposeful.
He knows who it is before they even speak.
"Poor thing." The voice is a melody he's come to dread, cold and condescending, yet sweet like poison.
She kneels beside him, her presence like the weight of the world pressing against him. Her red eyes stare at him with a detached amusement, as if he's just another experiment gone wrong.
"Tell me, Denji," she murmurs, her voice like silk. "How many times has it been now?"
Darkness.
Everything is déjà vu.
And it's only just begun.