The loud sounds of chalk being scribbled against the hot pavement of a warm Tokyo day could be heard easily over the strange, almost alien noises made by the summer locusts and the cars passing on the nearby street. A long, winding and irregular line of undecipherable equations lay stretched across the dirty, dusty concrete, almost invisible against its grayish surface. At the end of this bizarre collection of odd numbers, letters and symbols that apparently had no significance to any passing by, a man with nearly shoulder-length hair wearing pale blue hospital pajamas continued to scrawl out the remaining figures locked within his mind. His bangs and tresses were prematurely white, a sign of the price that he had to pay to learn the truth; the price he had to pay to stop a menace born of a child's guilt and paranoia.

He stared down blankly at what he was writing, beads of sweat across his forehead, eyes unfocused and dazed. The equation neared its conclusion, knowledge of a past that had to be remembered if it didn't want to be repeated. Knowledge of his past as both the problem and the problem-solver. Deep down, he should have known that facing off against his enemy and using the same tactics would yield nothing but a stalemate. But he had to try. He had to do something. He had to fight. Because no one else did. No one else could.

Without warning, the equation had come to its end. He had drawn out everything that he had remembered. He had carefully scribbled down everything that he had learned, even his mistakes in dealing with the problem. But the answer…the answer…

Maniwa looked up from the ground with a startled expression on his face. How could this be? He had calculated everything as he had known it. What did he forget? What had he not remembered? What had not changed? The answer… The reason… The truth learned… Nothing was adding up as it should. What had he not remembered? Down on the pavement below him, an empty space sat after the equal sign. The hand holding the chalk trembled as it hovered above that vacant spot on the pavement. Realization was dawning in his weary mind. Maniwa's eyes widened.

There…there were two answers?

As the opening chant of Himekami's Kamigami no Uta begins, Maniwa comes to the end of his equation. The chant ends as he looks up with startled eyes, then everything goes white…only to start clearing up as the main music begins and the camera descends through the clouds to an overhead view of Portland, Oregon. The song picks up as we are treated to a typical busy day in downtown Portland – cars at stoplights, buses and lightrails moving to and from, children walking to school; people in general. Then the camera focuses in on a black-haired boy standing alone at a corner gazing down at a small picture in his hand. The light changes and he starts to walk across the street. Then the camera pans down to his shadow to show that it is that of Lil' Slugger. The focus is placed back on the boy as he walks past a dance studio with a Japanese girl bending and stretching inside. The focus goes to her as she continues with her exercises. Her eyes linger on a backpack in the corner, then stops as her mother comes down the stairs. The camera focuses on both their shadows to show that they are those of Lil' Slugger. As the camera pulls back to outside the dance studio, it refocuses on a gay couple as the stride by laughing and holding hands until they get to entrance of the coffee shop they were going to. The camera pans down to their shadows to show two Lil' Sluggers holding hands, then letting go and pulling them away from each other. The camera focuses back on the couple as they enter the coffee shop. The camera then pulls away in a blur of motion and slows to focus on the interior of a classroom were a nun is waving around a ruler menacingly at her students. Her shadow shows Lil' Slugger waving around his crooked bat. The camera pulls up and away from the class and goes through the window to focuses on a car going by and stays with it. Switching to an inside view, we see a woman with close-cropped blond hair talking on a cell phone as she guides the car toward the police precinct. An outside camera view shows the car pulling up in the parking lot of the station and stopping. The camera then focuses on the pavement as the car door opens and we see the shadow of Lil' Slugger as the one under the woman's feet as she gets out. As the music nears its conclusion, the camera recenters on downtown again and shows that everyone walking around has shadows of Lil' Slugger. The camera then pulls back into an overhead view of Portland. The song comes to an end as the camera pulls away even further to reveal that the entire city is covered with a giant shadow of a laughing Lil' Slugger. Everything fades to black and the Japanese Hiragana for PARANOIA AGENT appear and glow red with the words 2ND VISIT under them in English. Then they too fade to black.

This opening montage was done to the music of Himekami's excellent Kamigami no Uta (Song of the Gods) from his 'Best of…' Collection.

E P I S O D E

O N E

A disembodied voice echoed over the empty airwaves of the late night. It was hollow and tinny, full of both madness and despair. It sounded desperate, unhinged. Like it had nothing left to believe in. Like the world had abandoned it.

"Falsehoods spoken out loud. Our media. Faceless conversation. Impersonal responses. Untrue affections. Voiceless meetings in the iridescent glow of chatrooms. Lies. Deceit. Blame. Apathy. Excuses. Avoidance. Beginning or end. Which is it?"

The bodiless voice paused in its mad ranting. The silence was eerie and static laced. The radio transmission was weak and did not carry as well as it should have. It seemed on the verge of dying. The wattage of carrier signal was getting lower and lower. The static was growing steadily quieter and quieter. But something else could be heard, barely over the static. A voice. The same voice as before. Low and whispering, its ghostly presence echoed out only three words into the silence of the night.

"The Cycle Ends?"

The static rose and began to mask out the words.

"The Cycle Repeats?"

The voice was disappearing, being steadily drawn again into the blackness of a noiseless night.

"The Cycle Ends?"

The static suddenly rose louder, and a high-pitched whine could be heard in the place of the message. But it had been delivered. The warning had been declared. The words still echoed distantly in the static. The beginning or the end. Which would it be?

"The Cycle Repeats...?"

oOo

THE TELEVISION

"Hello, I'm Alicia Warren and this is the KATU 2 News at Ten. Our Top Story Tonight…"

THE RADIO

"…The youth was brought in on suspicions of attempted breaking and entering. When questioned by authorities, the only answer he would give was, 'I needed it for the festival'. Local police are still determining whether to release the teen into his parent's custody or hold him until charges are pressed. On another note…"

THE POLICE PRECINT

"…Total whackjob."

"Who?"

"That nut they brought in earlier, that's who!"

"Think so?"

"Jeez, are you fucking stupid or what! You didn't see him twitching and talking to himself? If nothing else, his ass is going straight to the loony bin!"

"He was the one that government man was…oh shit, here they come…"

THE NEWSPAPER

The Asian Reporter Headline: Shinjitsu No Kinen Has Arrived! Celebrate the Second Year Anniversary this month with quiet prayers and silent memories of those loved ones who were lost…

THE COFFEE SHOP

"…Is really hard to believe. I mean two years since it supposedly 'happened' and the Japanese living here are still going through with this ridiculous shit! They need to just get over it and move on…"

THE INTERNET CHATROOM

UNSEEN510: hey! didja hear?

maromi's right hand: what?

UNSEEN510: satoshi was arrested! can't believe u hadn't heard…

maromi's right hand: what a idiot! he say anything?

UNSEEN510: nothin we hafta worry bout! sides what could teh police do?

maromi's right hand: true dat. so u goin to do it or not? aint gonna puss out are ya?

UNSEEN510: u just throw me a punk card?

maromi's right hand: yup!

UNSEEN510: jus gotta pick up some other things an i'll be ready ;)

maromi's right hand: LMAO! u better make sure :)

THE MAGAZINE COVER

FINALLY! The Mary Bennett novel, 'Reverie Hill' has been released! See how we rate it inside!

THE HOLDING CELL

"…Ends. The Cycle Repeats. The Cycle Ends. The Cycle Repeats. The Cycle Ends. The Cycle Repeats. The Cycle Ends. The Cycle Repeats. The Cycle Ends. The Cycle…"

oOo

"Jason! Jason, get down here! Your breakfast is getting cold! Jason! I'm not going to tell you again! Hurry up, or you'll be late for school!"

His father was on the verge of screaming. He could tell. His voice had been steadily rising in tone and volume. Each time he called from downstairs for him to eat his breakfast or to hurry up, it was louder than the last. Obviously, his father's patience was wearing thin. Very thin.

"What the hell are you doing up there! It doesn't take all morning to get your damned clothes on, Jason! Get a move on! I don't want to get another call at my office about you being late again! So hurry up and get your ass dressed and be quick about it!"

His father's voice quivered just on the edge of outright screaming. It brought an uncharacteristic grin to Jason's lithe face. Any amount of grief that he could heap upon his father did that to him. Brought out that Cheshire Cat-like grin that wouldn't fade for hours. But eventually, the weight and burden of the world and his existence in it would come crashing down on him; burying the grin under layer upon layer of angst-ridden depression. How strange was it then that the man whom he so loathed just happened to also be his only source of joy and happiness in the cruel joke that was his life. God, it seemed, was not without a warped sense of humor. Casting a glance over to his computer desk, Jason's eyes fell indifferently upon an oblong and brownish object propped there. Leaning against his rickety old chair was a wooden bat, it's blunt end resting heavily atop the carpeted floor of his room.

"JASON!"

That was it. That's what he had been waiting for. That oh so obvious crack in his father's parental omniscience which granted him such pleasure to expose. Afterall, the man prided himself on being a model of calm and reserve. Jason hated that about him. He hated that his father was such a patient man. It was that patience; that calm and reserve that had driven his mother into the arms of another man. His father's composure and logic-minded thinking had created a rift between them, which led her to sleep around and in turn led to a very bitter divorce about twenty-two years down the road. Jason had only been thirteen then. Just two years ago. And from that day forward, he had felt completely dead on the inside. All because of his father's inability to truly allow himself to live in a world of warmth and emotion. All because his father thought it better to hide his feelings behind a wall of diffidence and reason instead of expressing them to the woman he was supposed to love. It was for that reason Jason enjoyed pushing his father to his limits of patience and tolerance. It was payback. As simple as that.

The sound of dull, muted footsteps on the carpeted stairs signaled the complete end of his father's almost limitless resolve.

"Dammit Jason," Kenneth Bennett said forcefully as he pushed the half closed bedroom door open fully. "I thought I told you to get a move on! Why in the hell are you just lying there on the bed! You know you've got school in less than fifteen minutes?"

Jason shrugged his slim shoulders indifferently.

"So."

His father gazed down at him with cold, analytical eyes. Not the eyes of a warm and caring individual who wondered why his son acted or dressed like he was going to his own funeral, not the eyes of a man who really questioned why Jason had no friends and spent all of his time locked up in his room, not the eyes of a father but the eyes of a man weighing and measuring him; reading into what his next words or actions were going to be. No, not the eyes of a father who gave a damn; just the eyes of a cold man who had as much compassion and love as a grocery store price scanner.

"'So'? Is that all you have to say for yourself? 'So'?"

Jason brushed a few strands of black-dyed hair from his face and looked over at his father with dull, hazel eyes.

"Why Dad, is there something else that I'm supposed to say?"

Kenneth Bennett raised a hand up to his wired-rimmed glasses and pulled them off. Rubbing at the bridge of his slender nose with a forefinger and thumb, he shook his head with that damnable composure he was all too well known for.

"No," he said stiffly, placing the glasses back on his worn and weighty face. "I think that you've already said enough. Do what you want. I don't have the time to deal with this right now."

Jason snorted out a bitter laugh as he pushed himself up from the bed.

"That's just it Dad, you never have the time to deal with anything."

Rising to his feet, he grabbed up his backpack from the computer chair where it had been carelessly draped and walked past his father without saying another word. The wooden bat that had been leaning there fell noiselessly to the carpeted floor, its blunt and now bent end pointed squarely in the direction of Jason's father.

oOo

Jason walked down the cracked pavement of the sidewalk unhurriedly. The euphoric feeling of angering his father had come and went a lot quicker than he was used to. And in turn, had left him feeling even emptier than usual. Just why did his father not give a damn about anything he did? Did the man not care? What would he have to do to get his goddamned attention? Kill someone? Would that finally make him show some kind – any kind – of emotion? A long time ago, Jason realized that he didn't care what feelings his father showed, just as long as he showed them. Hate, anger, laughter, sadness, love…anything to prove to him that he cared about his son's life and the things he did with it. Something other than that cold, logic-laced reason he was prone to draping himself in.

Eyes locked onto the sidewalk beneath his feet, Jason Bennett didn't try to hold back the feelings of loneliness and despair that had washed over him. Questioning his father's seeming lack of concern for his well being always changed his mood to something more befitting of his outward appearance. Black on black clothing, pierced ears, eyebrow and tongue, dyed jet-black hair that hung limply down to his somewhat frail-looking shoulders and no hint of happiness on his pasty, thin face. Jason was his father's complete opposite – thin where he was fat, delicate where he was robust, light-colored eyes where his were dark, and full of conflicting emotions of abandonment where his father show none. There was nothing that he shared in common with the man. Even their appearance didn't match up. There was much more of his mother in him than his father. Her smooth and lissome features definitely showed up more on his face than his dad's strong and rugged ones. He was more a part of her than he was of that man who called himself his father.

Abandonment. That was what he felt whenever he thought of her. His mother. The woman who had left him in the care of a man who didn't. But Jason couldn't hate her. He could never hate her. It wasn't her fault that all of this had happened. It wasn't her fault that his father was so emotionally bottled up that his love for her had waned and flickered away like a dying candle. It wasn't her fault that he became a ghost to his family, spending more time at work than at home. It just wasn't her fault in any way he could think of. It was all his father's doing. All of it. No. Not all of it. There had been something else; something else just as responsible for all of this that he was going through. He barely remembered what had happened on that –

Without warning, something hard hit him from behind. Losing his balance, he stumbled to the ground and landed rigidly on his chest. That familiar feel of having the wind knocked out of him cramped up his stomach and forced quick gasps to escape from his partially open mouth.

"Hey freak, who said you could walk down my street?"

Jason put his hands flat against the warm pavement of the sidewalk and tried to push himself up from the concrete he'd been walking on earlier. But something heavy added itself to the weight of his backpack and roughly shoved him back down. This time, he couldn't prevent his face from smacking against its coarse surface. He could feel his left cheek grinding into the uneven pavement, leaving small but noticeable scrapes on the soft skin there. He thought he felt something thump heavily against his left shoulder as jaw slacken against the warm sidewalk. Doing what he could to look, Jason could only see that one of his books had slipped free of his backpack and bounced out in front of his prone body.

Is…is… It's not… Oh no… It is… It's her book! I have…I have to… I need…

Trying to heft himself up again, that heavy feeling on his back pushed his body rudely back to the harsh ground beneath him. A shallow grunt escaped his lips.

"Did I say that you could get up, fag? Huh? Did I!"

Jason decided not struggle. What was the point anyway? All it would do was get him even more brutalized by these bullies. It wasn't like this didn't happen almost everyday, anyways. It would all be over soon. All he had to do was wait. And then, he could retrieve his book and resume his walk to school.

"Hah! Look at him Chris, ass all up in the air like he wants someone to fuck it! Man, you were right, he is a faggot! Maybe you should be nice and give him what he wants!"

What I…want? What do I want? Do I even know anymore? Do I even care anymore? I want… I want… Book… I want my book back… I need my book back…

"Yeah, I think I will give this freak what he wants. What do you think about that, fag? Huh? Do you want me to give it to you up the ass? Huh? Well, do you! You'd better answer me before you start to piss me off, bitch!"

Am I gay? Is that why I feel so lost and conflicted all the time? Is that why I can't be happy? Will that even make me happy? My book makes me happy…sometimes. It's my only link to her now. Why am I here? What's my reason for being? Why am I here?

A heavy hand wrapped itself around the side of his head and pushed down. Jason could feel the small pebbles on the sidewalk grind deeper and deeper into his cheek. Above him, he could hear both of the older boys laughing. In his right hand, he could feel something. It was cold and hard. It was deliverance from all the pain, all the worry and fear. It was…a way out.

Why do I even bother? What's even the point of living if it's just going to bring more and more pain? Why can't…why can't there just be a way out for me? Why can't I just…escape?

"What's wrong fag? Does it hurt? You gonna cry out for your mommy now? Ain't no one gonna help you, you little shit! No one cares about you! No one gives a damn! You're all fucking alone!"

Is he right? Am I alone? I am. He is right. I don't have anyone to depend on. No one to help me. Even she's gone now. But she had to because of him. I…I need a way out of…of this… Why can't…why can't someone…help…me…?

The feeling in his right hand grew heavier, its weight bringing an odd sense of comfort to him. As it did, a disembodied voice echoed in his head.

The Cycle Repeats…?

Jason's hand twitched. The abuse continued. Chris and Ian laughed at him. He needed a way out. The feeling in his hand grew even heavier. The laughter became a mad roar in his ears. The world paled and discolored before his eyes. The pressure on the side of his head was getting worse. He needed a way out! Something solid fell into the palm of his hand. It felt like…like…like the handle of a bat. Suddenly, another sound touched his ears. It was light at first, barely noticeable, but it seemed to be growing in intensity. He had to find a way out!

Skitch...skitch...skitch...skitch...

It sounded like…like rollerblades. Was someone else coming up the sidewalk? Above him, the laughter dulled somewhat and the pressure on the back of Jason's head lessened. Instinctively, his right hand tightened around the handle of the bat. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew that its color was golden and that it was bent at a forty-five degree angle near its blunt end.

Skitch...skitch...skitch...skitch...

The sound was growing closer. The sound was getting louder. Jason could feel the weight being pressed against his backpack begin to slacken as the laughter from Chris and Ian stopped abruptly. What was happening? The bat in his hand grew warm, like someone else was gripping it also. A dark smile compressed Jason's lips.

Skitch, skitch...

"Who the hell are – "

Whoosh. Crack. Thud.

"Wait, I'm sorry! I didn't know – "

Whoosh. Crack. Thud.

Skitch, skitch, skitch, skitch, skitch, skiiiiiiiitch...

All at once, Jason knew that Chris and Ian wouldn't be bothering him anymore. In front of his prone and unmoving form, a young boy wearing a pair of golden rollerblades, military green shorts with cargo pockets, a gray hoodie over a long-sleeve black undershirt and a red baseball cap with three pins on it – an upside down peace sign, a yellow smiley face and what looked like a red symbol of radioactivity on a green background – had skidded to a quick halt. Silhouetted in the dull shadow of the boy standing before Jason, his mother's book – his most prized possession – lie just within the opaque outline. The gold inlaid title of the book seemed to glow brightly in the darkness created by the figure standing cockily in front of him. In his right hand, covered with small splotches of blood, was a golden bat that was bent near the middle. Jason stared at the boy strangely as he flexed his own right hand. The weight of the bat was still there. Had he…had he done this? Was he…responsible? No…of course he wasn't. How could he be? He was never at fault. For anything.

The boy wearing the golden rollerblades in front of him smiled broadly, then lifted an empty hand to his wide mouth and extended a finger to press against his lips.

"Shhh."

With that, he raised that same hand to his cap, grabbed the rim, nodded it and his head toward Jason, then turned quickly and skated off down the sidewalk. Lying there on his stomach, surrounded by the unconscious bodies of the bullies, Jason could only stare in confusion at the direction the odd boy wielding the crooked, golden bat had disappeared in. And somewhere deep in his mind, that disembodied voice that he had heard before the boy had shown up echoed loudly.

The Cycle Repeats?

But what did it mean?

oOo

In the darkness of Jason's bedroom, a prone body lay sprawled across the carpeted floor, hand still grasping hold of the portable phone receiver. On the other end was an annoying and loud beep, beep, beep, beep. Blood was slowly oozing out of a wound on the side of his head. The man's breathing was erratic and shallow. The wind from the open window blew the curtains aside heavily, gently stirring his thinning hair. Laying before the near lifeless body of Kenneth Bennett was his son's wooden bat, positioned next to the computer chair where it had fallen earlier in the day and still pointed directly at him.

The constant beeping from the receiver's speaker stopped, replaced by an inert, monotone voice.

"You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please hang up the phone and try your call again."

As the opening chords of Susumu Hirasawa's Sub Usual begins, we can see the faces of all the main characters of PARANOIA AGENT: 2ND VISIT being shown in tune with the music. As the tempo and beat of the music changes, the camera pulls back to show that they are all walking around in a circle with dazed expressions on their faces. They are walking around six chairs. There are seven of them. Apparently, they are involved in a game of Musical Chairs. As the beat of the music changes, the seven of them rush for the chairs. Only one is left standing and Lil' Slugger comes out of nowhere and whacks the person a good one, knocking them out and to the ground. Then like an old movie reel, the scene seems to skip and repeats itself, only this time with five chairs and six people. The same thing keeps happening. They sit when the beat of the song changes and Lil' Slugger takes out the one who is still standing. It goes on like this until there's only one chair and two people left. As the looping musical track comes to an end, the two of them are still circling the last chair with that same dazed expression while an impatient Lil' Slugger stands behind them with a big smile on his face, anxiously tapping his bat on his shoulder. The music stops and the last two characters rush for the chair. But before either of them reaches it, the screen fades to black…

This unsettling closing montage was done to the music of Susumu Hirasawa's very freaky sounding Sub Usual from the Paranoia Agent OST.

A television sitting in a lone circle of light flickers and comes alive with static. A moment later, the image clears to reveal a black-robed Maniwa, with tresses of white hair peeking out from under his hood, sitting behind a black-clothed table smiling. He raises his arms regally into the air and states grandly…

"…THE NEW HOROSCOPES FOR TONIGHT ARE…"

VIRGO! You dance in a dizzying illusion of want and need. A heart beats with lies in a body that is a lie. In your mind, a golden shadow smiles and shatters the castle of eternal dreams. But once awake, you find a ram wearing a black sheet covered with butterflies stamping it's hoof angrily. Books full of zeroes dance joyfully in the air as a scorpion creeps up silently from the darkness. A golden stinger lashes out and the ram falls. The sheet it wore vanishes, leaving it lying naked and unfamiliar before your eyes. What is truth?

SAGITTARIUS! In a moment of weakness, you find love. In a moment of doubt, you find sorrow. In a moment of surprise, you find the path left by a boar. Follow it! Be wary when the trail forks. To the left lies a goat pierced by a golden arrow. To the right, a foreboding shadow obscures the path. And to the left, a dog offers happiness. But remember. Happiness is not safety. And safety is not knowledge…

PIECES! A kingfish falls to the net, leaving you to swim free. But be warned! A crow hovers overhead! And just beyond the sea of tears, a set of scales awaits you. They will offer balance. They will offer comfort. A large water wheel with golden spokes can be seen slowly spinning in the distance. It turns continuously. Never stopping. Always repeating…

The television screen flickers once, twice and then abruptly shuts off.

A New Author's Note (REVISED)But The Same Old Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to the world of Satoshi Kon's excellent Paranoia Agent. Okay. This is the same old chapter with a new coat of paint, so to speak. In retrospect, I suppose the reason I decided to rework and reboot Paranoia Agent: 2nd Visit instead of letting it die was 1) the sheer number of views that the story got after I quit working on it and 2) the comment that TURMOIL made when she reviewed Booster's excellent Paranoia Agent fiction. The question of my whereabouts and the statement that she was still waiting really woke me up and made me reevaluate my decision to continue. And so, with a hand to my heart, I say thank you TURMOIL. As far as why I stopped originally, I came to a horrid realization that my plot simply…sucked. At least, to me it did. The direction that I was going made plenty of sense in the beginning, but the more I worked it out in my head, the less Satoshi Kon it seemed and more Hollywood it became. What I mean is, it was less subtle and more blunt. And that really bothered me, especially with great fanfics like TURMOIL's awesome Unchangeable and Booster's incredible Dream Island Obsessional Park roaming around the site. I just felt…unfulfilled with what I had in mind. So I just stopped and moved on to other projects on Fictionpress that demanded my attention. It wasn't until recently, while I was doing my usual 'story brainstorming' on the way to work that I came up with a new idea that made me want to 'reboot' the series and start it up again. And with that, I have decided to repost all the old chapters again with revised wording, some dialogue changes and new plot elements. These new plot elements are divergent from what was originally intended for this story, most being key changes to make 2nd Visit flow better with a more Satoshi Kon-like feel (I hope). Also, I've decided to ditch the original 'Prophetic Equations' in favor of the '...The New Horoscopes...' chapter previews (helmed, of course, by a delusional Maniwa). With the minor switch in focus for the story, it seemed a bit more fitting especially in light of how difficult it was to actually get one of my 'Prophetic Equations' posted with Fanfiction's strict editing software. Personally, I think that the '...The New Horoscopes...' previews reflect not just the plot change, but the dependence that some within our society have on other sources of information telling them how to live their lives. If you leave a review, please let me know what you think of the switch out. Hopefully, you guys and gals will find them to be just as puzzling as the 'Prophetica Equations' were. That being said, I hope TURMOIL, Booster and Starlight's Delight can forgive me for what I'm about to do. I know you guys liked the first version of Paranoia Agent: 2nd Visit, but I'm hoping you'll like this revised version more…

Thanks for waiting,

Terryll