AN: This doesn't follow the story as such, as there won't be completely cannon stuff put into here. I mean, Misaka is completely smitten with Touma, she wouldn't fall for my OC. So, I guess some of this is hypothetical. Also, you should take note to take some of this with a pitch of salt; if you're one of those who like everything to be like the anime, and for it to be 'realistic', you will not find that here. As some of the stuff is impossible, even for this anime.

I'm new to fanfiction, and stuffs, and am quite amateur in my writing ways so feel free to pull this to pieces, but be gentle. Hope you enjoy my first Fanfiction and public piece of writing.

Chapter One: Dark times, Dark starts.

The room was small, very small actually. I was surprised they even could fit me and the table in here, never mind the big large man staring at me from the other end of the table.

I couldn't hold eye contact with him for long, he made me nervous. I'd look at him for a few seconds and then look away. He was rather scary. Not only that, but he seemed to be judging me, which increased my anxiety and made me shift an awful lot in my small plastic chair, which gave the expensive room a slightly less expensive feel.

I found myself looking all of the claustrophobic space to avoid his eyes. During that time, I noticed that the table we were placed at was made of some sort of metal. It was cold to the touch and shinny; I could see my reflection in it.

A rough looking expression was staring up at me; a sorry looking fellow he was. The reflection has a medium sized crop of hair that fell down his face, coving the sides of his eyes. His large fringe was held to his forehead, plastered there by the dried blood. A mess of crimson and brown; an auburn colour now taking the place of his original dark chocolate brown, a mess was too small of a word. I was a wreck. I looked down at my hands, they were interlocked with each other's fingers, no sign of unlocking; a padlock with no key.

My watch tapped against the table leg, and I then realised I was shaking.

I laughed slightly, which must have seen unnerving to the people watching, I just found it humorous. I have thought that I wouldn't exhibit the normal symptoms from experiencing a near death situation, I was wrong. Of course I was, there wasn't too much special about me.

I was a college student, first year. I was young and naïve, so of course I think that.

My mind snapped out of it little train ride of despair when the man in the room with me shuffled and coughed slightly. He eyed my intensely.

"Luke… was it?" He asked me. His voice was hard for me to understand, I had to focus to listen. It was a think cockney accent that made him sound like he was from Oliver Twist.

I nodded.

"So, Luke, do you understand why we brought you here?" He asked, he seemed generally curious, as if he didn't know the reasons behind it all. I didn't answer. "Still trying to process it all… huh?"

I didn't respond. I couldn't speak, my mouth felt glued together. As I recalled all that had happened I began to shake more.

"It's okay, kid." He told me, despite his accent, that I found rather too coarse to be soothing in anyway, calmed me down a little. My body stopped vibrating and my hands held still.

"Can, you explain to me what happened?" He asked me in the nicest way I thought he possibly could. "We need to know what exactly happened."

I nodded in acceptance. They did need to know what happened, and I should just be forward with them.

Although, If I do that… what would happen to me? Would they cart me off to jail? I mean, I killed a man…

I began to open my mouth. My lips were dry and pulling them apart from each other felt like I was pulling strips of skin off of them. The back of my throat was rough, like my face, and any sound like it would rip the lining of my trachea.

"I… I killed him…" I said slowly. "He attacked me, and I killed him." I exhaled heavily, it was better that they knew, but who for?

He regarded me no differently.

"He came out from nowhere and attacked me." My voice sounded like sandpaper, and felt like it too. I wasn't too keen on reciting the event that unfolded around me earlier today; it scared me to think back. "I fought back and kicked him… kicked him into the path of a car." I brought my hands to my face, the feeling of tears were trying to overcome my normally calm composure and threatened to wage war against my manly pride.

I felt responsible for the man death, it was my fault. I'd caused him to die – I had killed him.

"It's okay, thank you for telling us." He said. His smile showed an abundance of care and sympathy, but I didn't care.

I looked down at my hands again; I'd stopped shaking, which scared me even more. A part of me didn't what to stop shaking; I didn't want to start to cheer up or anything of the sorts. I didn't want to feel used to killing.

I didn't like killing, I still don't. Although sometimes needed, I don't like it. In a weird way it's like the unwanted vegetable on my plate of life, to use a somewhat strange metaphor. That how I see it.

I guess it was too late now, I'd killed and I'll forget about it eventually.

The problem I was facing was an inner conflict. When I'd killed him, it came to me too easily, and to make it worse, I never used my abilities…