Author's Note: Hope you enjoy this chapter - more on the way!

I do not own Puella Magi Madoka Magica nor any of the anime's Affiliates

After school the following day, late afternoon, I receive this message:

'got another witch meet me at the hama rikyu garden in 30 and bring something heavy ;) 3'

I snap my phone shut and do a mental inventory of anything in my house that might constitute as a weapon. There are no firearms to speak of, nor blunt objects to wield (such as a baseball bat or crowbar.) I suppose my tripod is viable, but it's cumbersome and prone to collapsing. There's a spare pipe beneath the kitchen sink, though it's short range; recalling the mannequins, I think it best to proceed with a tool less likely to get me into a hand-to-hand combat scenario.

And then I remember.

Oh yes, that'll do.

The metro ride to Shiodome Station is uneventful - dull, even. I would never have classified it like that before, having always enjoyed going out in any capacity. Still, after bearing witness to the messy demise of a three story tall chimney demon and its horde of animated puppets, I find myself not easily excited by trivial things that would otherwise hold my interest. Am I becoming jaded?

I leave the plaza, escaping from a navy tide of business suits and rushing men, and head in the direction of the bay. The weather is pleasant, negating my scarf and jacket; grey and brown respectively, they give me an air of square-bodied professionalism, something I like too much to remove, regardless of the temperature. Yori greets me halfway between the station and garden, beaming.

We hug, and as she pulls back, asks, "What's this?"

"A duffel bag," I answer, resting it on the ground. "Care to guess as to what lies within, Miss?"

"Old gym clothes, Mister?"

"Nuh-uh."

"A trillion yen?"

"I keep that at home. Speaking of which, you know how my front door jams a bit on the divide when you try to open it, ever so occasionally getting stuck?" Yori nods. "Well my mother, paranoid as she can be, purchased a..." I retrieve the item and brandish it proudly. "In case we have to bolt in an emergency."

"A fire axe." Yori giggles.

A group of nervous passerby give me a wide berth as I reply with a resounding, "Yes!" Interested by her reaction, I inquire, "Should I have chosen something else?"

"No, just wasn't expectin' it - thought you'd get a golf club, or a vase. "

I smack my forehead. "Why didn't I grab a vase? And to think I went with this," I joke, rotating it to inspect both sides. Its stock sits comfortably in my grip.

"Alright, alright." Yori withdraws her soul gem, rolling it in her palm. It gives off a faint glow. "There's a witch nearby - gotta' follow the signal." I nod and she begins to walk, taking the lead as I, having stowed away the axe, follow close behind. As we border the bay adjacent the Hama Rikyu, I establish a repartee.

"It seems kind of public for a witch to be traipsing about, no?"

"They're mostly dormant if an area's too busy. I dunno' that much, but barriers are usually easier ta' find than this." Yori furrows, shaking her color coordinated orb. In the dusky, dying sunlight, it flickers like an orange firefly. We're eventually brought to a secluded nook a little ways from the path, bereft of maintenance. The way her look of frustration turns to smug satisfaction tells me we've hit the mark. The swirling, headache-inducing portal in front of us is a more definite sign.

"Y'ready, Masao?"

"Maybe?" I offer weakly, shrugging. In truth, my heart hasn't slowed since the last excursion. Though I've been largely able to return to daily life after having everything I know about the universe turned on its big neon noggin, a thousand questions prod to be asked; they can wait. "I'm fine. Let's ruin this fucker's day."

"Hell yeah! Can I see your axe for a sec?"

"Sure, uh huh."

Yori kneels to unzip the bag I've absentmindedly dropped, removing my weapon. With a swipe of her hand, it drastically alters in both shape and size. What was once wooden and red is now jewel-embedded silver. I stare, slack jawed. Conservation of mass - what's that? She pulls out an ashen smock as well.

"What's this?"

"I don't want my new coat to get dirty," I explain, taking it from her to slip around my neck. I ignore her exasperated look and give my most enthusiastic, "Let's go!"

We do.

Along with Yori, I am instantly transported to a landscape very unlike the last I experienced. It is not a tunnel, instead appearing as a wide open field surrounded by rolling hills of wheat. Then I notice the seams running like veins across the sky's surface; it's a cavern, tapering off into a doorway opposite of where we're standing some thirty yards back. I find the whole scene's docility suspicious, as does Yori judging by her tense posture.

And she's wearing her purple fighter-girl outfit, scimitar drawn. When did that happen?

Burnt gray clouds, perhaps cursed by some wayward traveler in another life, float listlessly across the fake horizon. The lack of noise is a chilling contrast to our dual breaths.

"C'mon," Yori ushers.

Glinting axe tight in my right hand, we begin to walk side by side. One-dimensional birds flutter and reposition themselves in a faraway tree, a solemn group of sentinels that watch us approach the door. Paper grass folds into origami insects beneath our feet, skittering every which way. Finally arriving at our destination, Yori clutches the brass knob and turns. The suspense that has been building evaporates as we gaze into another room, smaller and considerably more boring than the last, the walls a deeper shade of blue.

We exchange a glance and move on, me fixing my partially tangled apron. The following rooms subscribe to a similar motif, darkening as they progress. As we venture ever inwards, the copy/pasted birds depart, the grass yellows, and a dreadfully unsettling atmosphere washes over me. We are being tailed.

Lanky men stalk a little ways back, their heads replaced with static televisions, the rest of them a contorted mess of singed flesh and live wire. The sparks they give off allow just enough illumination to view them in no great detail, a merciful thing indeed. I nudge Yori, but her knowing grimace is telling of the fact that she's already seen them. How long ago I can only guess, and cringe.

At last we arrive - where I cannot tell with any degree of accuracy. The best I can hope to describe the area is as a spacious courtyard, dusky beneath a moon that wavers as though a reflection on a lake. Scattered haphazardly are three jutting tombstones, half-ovals casting impossibly stretched shadows that mimic arms. Though the door from which we entered is shut firmly behind us, the television men are snaking through, their tendrils pressing knicks in the frame.

I never assumed witches were visually uniform, but the one that stands, or rather hunches, before us is a vast change from the last. It has broad, asymmetrical shoulders, one rocky, the other plated with tan tiles. The 'face' is a sharp-toothed frown, pulling back to where its ears should be, anatomically; replacing them are a mess of metal poles, some copper, some iron. Maroon smoke pours from them, trails of wispy cotton that sink into the faux-night. Its eyes simmer blue like dead coal, aimed at me and Yori. It lets loose a motor-engine growl.

I lift my axe and steel myself for battle, smock swishing to the side action-hero style.

"I think we'll be back b'fore dinner, babe. Teriyaki at my place, how does that sound?"

Yori grins.

"- like a plan, Mazz."

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