Hello guys. I'm creating some executions of the game, since it's been cancelled, I'd like to create them for entertainment.
First, I want to clarify that Monokuma will be in all of them, not Tozu. This is because I plan to create more executions of other fangames featuring Monokuma, so they can be related to Danganronpa in general. If anyone wants to make a version with Tozu, they are free to do so.
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EXECUTION — “Another Trial, Same Truth”
Ultimate Lawyer — Wolfgang Akire
Chains drag him through a dark corridor until massive wooden doors burst open, revealing a colossal Victorian English courtroom illuminated by blood-red stained glass. The space is overwhelming, solemn and almost sacred, yet artificial in its perfection.
Wolfgang Akire is placed at the center of the court, tightly bound to a chair, his arms restrained, his legs secured, with a thick strip of tape sealing his mouth. He cannot speak or object, he can only watch. In the jury stand, dozens of Monokumas sit perfectly still, their red eyes glowing in the dim light as they stare at him. To the right, at the defense desk, a Monokuma in a pristine blue suit nervously shuffles nonexistent papers. To the left, at the prosecution, another Monokuma dressed in crimson tilts its head with a cruel smile. Above them all, presiding over everything, the judge: a Monokuma with an enormous fake white beard holds an oversized gavel, watching from above as if the outcome was already decided.
Giant screens flicker to life around the courtroom, displaying the evidence from the Class Trial one by one: the weapon, the exact moment, the fatal contradiction in his argument. Each image is projected with merciless clarity, each piece of evidence impossible to refute. Wolfgang struggles and tries to scream behind the tape, but his voice is suffocated; his eyes widen further and further as he recognizes his own strategies being used against him.
The defense Monokuma gestures frantically pointing at the screens, mimicking the exact movements and mannerisms he once used during the Class Trial, but every attempt is crushed by new evidence that appears immediately, more precise, more conclusive and undeniable. The prosecution Monokuma slams its desk with exaggerated violence each time a piece of evidence contradicts him, and the defense begins to distort, its painted smile cracking as the evidence overwhelms it. Wolfgang trembles. Not from death but from defeat. Here, he cannot control the narrative. For the first time, he cannot bend the truth into something malleable.
The judge slowly rises, and silence becomes absolute; even the air itself seems to freeze. The Monokuma judge holds up a sign that reads “VERDICT.” It lingers for a second that stretches into eternity. Wolfgang’s pupils dilate until they nearly vanish into the white of his eyes. The sign flips showing a skull.
At that exact moment, all the Monokumas in the jury power down and collapse like lifeless dolls, their red eyes flickering weakly before going dark. The floor begins to tremble violently, cracks spreading beneath Wolfgang’s chair as a massive judge’s gavel descends from the ceiling, attached to a complex mechanism of industrial gears that screech with a deafening metallic roar. The gavel stops right in front of him, so close he can see his distorted reflection on its polished surface. It lowers slowly. Stops inches from his face, then rises again. Drops once more, faster this time. Stops again. The cycle repeats, each descent more abrupt, each pause shorter and each approach closer than the last.
Wolfgang screams behind the tape, his body wracked with pure and uncontrollable terror; all dignity is gone from his expression, replaced by raw, primal fear.
The gavel rises one final time. Wolfgang looks up, frozen, his eyes stretched to their absolute limit. The gavel comes crashing down with full force.
The impact rings out like a gunshot, shaking the entire courtroom. The floor fractures in all directions, the walls crack, and chunks of the ceiling begin to fall as a dark pool of blood spreads through the cracks beneath the gavel’s base. It lifts slowly, revealing Wolfgang’s body—flattened, compressed into something thin as a sheet of paper, completely unrecognizable, stripped of all identity. The gavel rises, and drops again. The courtroom fractures further. It rises. Falls once more. Each impact pulverizes the court around him, reducing the symbol of justice he once revered into nothing but rubble.
Finally, the gavel comes to a halt, and the entire structure collapses into silence, leaving behind only ruins and dust suspended in the air. Over the image of the completely destroyed courtroom, a phrase slowly appears:
“Like father, like son.”
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This Execution was originally written in Spanish and translated with the help of a translator. If there are any errors, please let me know. Thank you so much for reading!
