a/n: In response to Gummies, a guest user to whom I couldn't reply in a PM: I'm sorry if Hiroaki seemed a little out of character in the last chapter. I didn't mean to glaze over it like that, but thank you for keeping your review positive. :) I'm not a parent, but my thought process was just that it was really late, and he had to do his best to keep it together for both of his sons. Thanks for your input. :)

thank you everyone for all your support! enjoy!

Ch 11 || Two-Way Mirror

The sound of a door creaking tugged Takeru so gently from his slumber that it was so easy to roll back under. Each footstep was accompanied by a new tug, causing his eyelids to flutter and his body to twitch. It wasn't until a hand came down on his shoulder that his eyes finally opened fully, revealing a hazy silhouette.

"Takeru?" his father said. "You have visitors."

"Nn?" He rubbed an eye sleepily with the base of his palm and then turned to his brother. "Nii-san…"

"Mm?"

"We have visitors," he echoed sluggishly. "Time to get up."

Yamato exhaled heavily but did not move. Takeru lazily kicked off his blanket and pushed himself with his elbows, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Murmured, "I'm comin'."

He shuffled toward the door, sliding past his father, and blinked when Hikari peered her head in, her features pulled taut with urgency and worry.

Takeru stopped, blinking back the sleep that still lingered in his mind. "Hikari?"

In moments, the sluggishness in his brain and the world around him became distressingly, chillingly clear. Then he was faced with a puzzle to put together: the puzzle of what had happened to make her so unnervingly anxious.

"Takeru," Hikari murmured, eyes sweeping from him to Yamato.

Takeru looked back at his brother, who was still fighting the call of sleep. Although he couldn't see Yamato's face, he must have been incredibly tired, so Takeru glanced at his father and the two of them stepped silently out of the bedroom.

The door clicked shut. Takeru noticed Taichi standing by the door as well, and figured his father must have let them in.

"What happened?" he asked in a whisper.

Hikari blinked at him, frowning. "Did… you not get any messages?"

Takeru paused. "No, I… I just woke up."

Silence ensued, and Takeru's first instinct was to fill it. Anything to wipe those grim expressions from his friends' faces. But then Taichi said, "...it's noon."

"Is it really?" Takeru breathed out with wide eyes. "But we went to bed at a reasonable time…"

"Yeah," his father said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "You've slept all morning."

"Takeru…" Hikari spoke up again, hesitant and uncertain. "...what happened to your hands?"

Among the wave of emotions that swept through him was confusion. He blinked, and blinked again, and slowly looked down at his hands.

His eyes popped wide when he saw the bandages. His knuckles were swollen and purplish-blue, and he clenched his fingers experimentally, wincing when it stung.

At a loss, he glanced back at his father, who still looked incredibly awkward. His gaze fell back on his hands. "Um…"

On the other side of his and Yamato's bedroom door, there was shuffling. And then footsteps, one after another, and the door opened to reveal a visibly grumpy, sleepy Yamato, followed by two equally tired-looking digimon.

As if not-quite awake, Yamato reached for Takeru's wrist and mumbled, "C'mon, bud, we said we'd go back to bed, didn't we?"

Takeru, confused and a little anxious, took a step back. "But… but it's noon, Nii-san…"

"Yamato," their dad said gruffly, "your friends are here."

Yamato froze and he snapped into alertness as fast as a bolt of lightning coming down to strike the ground. He drew in the faces of Takeru, Hikari, Taichi, and his father, before he asked slowly, "What's going on?"

"That's what we wanted to know," Taichi said.

"Nii-san?" Takeru whispered fretfully, dread pumping through him as he fought to think of a reason as to why all of them looked so troubled. "I don't know what's going on, either."

Yamato cursed under his breath. "I didn't intend to sleep in so late."

"We've been trying to get ahold of you all morning," Taichi said.

"What?" Takeru said. "Why? What happened?"

Hikari, Taichi, and Yamato shared a knowing look that only made Takeru feel worse. Even Patamon and Gabumon hesitated to answer his question, appearing every bit uneasy as the rest of them, and his father cleared his throat again.

"I don't know all the details, but judging by the looks on your faces, and the presence of these"—he gestured to Gabumon and Patamon—"two, I can tell something's not right."

Hikari offered a quick, but respectful bow in response. "We're sorry to drop by so suddenly, Ishida-san. But it is urgent."

"What happened?" Takeru repeated, starting to become frustrated. "Someone… please tell me. I'm really lost."

Yamato peered into Takeru's eyes, searching. Searching. An indecisive expression crawled onto his face, and then his gaze drifted down to Takeru's bandaged hands. Desperate and helpless, Takeru looked pleadingly at Gabumon and Patamon for an answer, but right as Patamon met his eyes, Yamato finally spoke up.

"What'd you dream about last night, kiddo?"

Takeru blinked puzzledly at the random change of subject, and Yamato's voice was so soothing, so gentle, that he couldn't even be upset that he'd avoided his question. Instead, he thought for a moment, but… all he could remember was a dark, dreamless night.

There had been a few moments where Yamato's voice cut into his slumbering mind, but that could have been part of a distant dream that he couldn't recall. But still…

"I didn't," he said after a few moments.

A long, dreadful pause followed his words, and the seconds ticked by so slowly. Yet his heart was pounding already.

"Nothing at all?" Patamon asked.

"Nothing that I remember, at least," Takeru answered, suddenly feeling like he's failed a test. "Why?"

Yamato turned his attention to Hikari. "What's so urgent?"

"Koushiro says that Tailmon found more digimon," she said. "In that tunnel."

Once again, Takeru's eyes blew wide, and suddenly he felt as though he'd been locked inside his body. Like he was watching something drastic unfold behind a two-way mirror: reflective on one side and transparent on the other, where he couldn't be heard or seen, but he could hear and see everything.

He felt as though he was being excluded. Like he was an outcast, with no place to belong, and it was devastatingly lonely.

"—that."

Takeru blinked and he was back in control, thrust back down to Earth. His dad stared at him like he was some kind of alien, and both Hikari and Taichi shared the same grim, nervous expression. And Yamato…

Yamato cupped his cheeks and gazed deeply into his eyes for a second time. Searching. Digging. Digging. Trying to unearth something that Takeru didn't even know was buried.

"It's gone now," he murmured abruptly and released him.

"Nii-san, what're you talking about?"

Frustrated, hurt, and so very confused, Takeru wanted to know what the heck was happening and why everyone was acting so… so weird. His family was acting weird, and at least half of the Chosen were, too. Somewhere between on-edge, afraid, suspicious, and mystified.

"Yamato," his dad said in this strange voice, like he was giving a warning of some kind.

"We won't know much about what's happening unless we talk about it and fill everyone in," Taichi said. "And I do mean everyone."

Takeru's heart thumped and thumped. Hikari was oddly quiet, and the two digimon didn't speak up either, which did nothing to soothe Takeru's frustration.

"Taichi," Yamato said eventually. "Are we meeting somewhere? I haven't checked my phone yet."

"Back at Koushiro's," Taichi said. "We took a cab here, but everyone else is waiting. We couldn't get ahold of either of you, so we came to get you."

"I can drive you there," his dad offered.

Yamato glanced at Takeru then, as if he had the final say. Sheepishly, Takeru's eyes dropped to his feet, chewing away at the inside of his cheek as though the pain would be enough to calm his nerves. His legs still ached from the strain of yesterday's activities, and it'd take a while to reach Koushiro's. He didn't want to force his friends to overexert themselves because he was too afraid of a simple car ride.

Quietly, hesitantly, Takeru asked, "Will the windows stay up?"

"Yeah, Teek," Yamato said. "We'll keep them up."

"...alright then." Much louder: "Sure. We can go in the van."

"Thank you for the offer, Ishida-san," Hikari said with another polite, grateful bow.

Yamato and Takeru still had to get dressed in day clothes—though both of them were wearing what could be considered sleepwear, he didn't want to show up at Koushiro's in what he'd slept in—and Takeru knew that they didn't exactly have time to waste. Before they made it very far, though, Yamato reached for his wrist, careful of his bruises.

"Nii-san?"

"...I'll explain at Koushiro's," his brother told him quietly but solemnly, almost like a vow. "Ok?"

Takeru nodded, simultaneously relieved and unnerved by Yamato's words. Despite this, he simply echoed, "Ok."

And their quest to solve the puzzle that had now become their life continued.

Takeru kept his gaze on his lap for the entire ride, and he didn't look up until after his father had parked the van. As promised, the windows were kept rolled up, but Takeru remained twitchy and nervous. He couldn't hear the wind, but he knew it was there. He knew they were still moving, and at a fast pace.

By the time they stepped out of the van, his stomach was clenching and twisting uncomfortably. His legs felt too unstable and wobbly to support him as they stepped out of the vehicle, and he was lucky his friends were there to support him.

He was also unlucky to be surrounded by people whom he deeply admired with the knowledge that throwing up was almost inevitable. Even though his brother steadied him by grabbing his shoulders, Takeru had to use every ounce of willpower not to vomit all over their shoes.

"You alright?" Yamato whispered, voice barely audible.

"Mm-hm." Takeru inhaled deeply through his nose, steeling himself for what was to come. "Let's go."

After bidding goodbye to their father, Takeru and Yamato started walking toward Koushiro's apartment, with Hikari and Taichi falling in step with the two brothers effortlessly. Usually, the walking helped when he was anxious or nauseous, but at the moment, it only seemed to intensify with each step.

He had no idea what his brother was about to tell him, but he knew from their grim expressions that it wasn't going to be positive news.

"They know we're coming, right?" Yamato asked as they ascended the stairs.

"Yeah, I sent a group message on my d-terminal," Taichi said.

Takeru bit his lip nervously. Taichi hadn't meant it that way, but it was an unpleasant reminder that he'd lost his d-terminal with no guarantee that it would be found. He had a mobile phone thanks to his father and brother's generosity, but d-terminals were easy to use when the digital world was involved—especially because they didn't have cell reception in another dimension.

"They told us that we could come right in, as long as we're not too loud," Taichi added. "His mom is home, but she knows we're coming."

"Noted," Yamato said, and then silence flooded over them.

Takeru's relationship with Hikari, Taichi, and his brother was never awkward. In fact, Takeru found that conversing with most of the Chosen was natural and easy. They were a team, and they were all good people.

Yet tension webbed around them, and the longer it went unaddressed, the more intense and painful it became. Maybe that was because things in the group had been tense for a while, and he didn't exactly know why.

Anxiety was a ferocious beast in his chest, wreaking havoc from the inside. Tying his stomach into uncomfortable, sickening knots. Tightening his throat to the point of near-strangulation. Thrashing at his heart like it wanted to see how much force the organ could take.

Taichi knocked to announce their arrival before they stepped in, and Takeru swallowed. They said that walking in was fine, but it still felt intrusive. He still had trouble not knocking on Yamato's apartment—and bedroom, for that matter—door, and he lived there now.

With the encouragement of Koushiro's mother, they slid off their shoes, and Taichi led them to Koushiro's room. Yamato lingered behind him, but Hikari stayed by Takeru's side. She eyed him fretfully and asked, "Are you sure you're ok?"

His chest hurt. His fingers stung and throbbed. He was far from ok. Murmured, "There are more important things than me right now."

Right as they appeared in Koushiro's doorway, Miyako's voice exclaimed, "It's about time! We've been here forever!"

"I'm sorry," Takeru said instantly, guilt shoving its way in, fighting against anxiety for dominance. "I… I should have set an alarm—"

Yamato, however, had no such shame. He glared frostily at Miyako as they closed Koushiro's bedroom door behind them. "Don't be sorry, Teek. It was a rough night."

Takeru frowned as he glanced at him quizzically. "It was?"

Koushiro hummed before Yamato could answer. "Yes, Taichi mentioned your message."

"What message?"

Takeru was suffocating. His body ached with the need to release all of these violent, stagnant emotions, for at least a little relief, but his organs and bones had become a warzone. Anxiety. Confusion. Dread. Guilt.

Iori gasped. "Takeru… your hands."

"I don't know," Takeru said and faced his brother with a look of absolute desperation. "You told me you'd fill me in when we got here."

Yamato had that same torn expression on his face, and it was almost enough to get Takeru to stop pushing, but the mental battle of the beasts inside him said otherwise. He had to know, or he was going to explode.

"Please?" Takeru pressed.

A glance at Patamon. At Gabumon. Then Yamato inspected his hands again—his hands, which he'd picked at anxiously in the van—and sighed.

Finally, slowly: "Can checking on the digimon wait for a little bit? It's… urgent."

That word again. It made Takeru's skin twitch and crawl. Urgency meant he would know by now, right? Takeru swallowed again, throat parched, mouth dry.

"Do you two need to speak privately?" Jou asked tentatively.

Yamato's eyes flicked upward to meet his own, as if to say, "It's up to you."

"Is it bad?" Takeru whispered.

"...it could be," Yamato told him. "The only reason I didn't bring it up before was that I was struggling to figure it out myself."

Takeru quieted. Waited. Waited. His heart was beaten and bruised from anxiety's wrath, and he wasn't sure if he could handle another hit.

Takeru's silence, however, seemed to prompt Yamato to continue, although carefully. Like he was about to bear news which no soul ever wanted to bear. "Do you… still think you didn't run into anything—or I guess, anyone—in the forest that day? Before we found you?"

"I just walked around, looking for a way out," Takeru said. "...I followed the sound of your voices, actually. And the footsteps… Garurumon's footsteps."

"Are you sure?" His voice was so gentle and tentative, but also so very troubled. "Takeru, are you sure?"

"Try thinking back," Taichi prompted. "You didn't see anything… unusual?"

Takeru swallowed again. He pulled at his t-shirt as if that would stop the ache in his chest. Suddenly it felt like he was the object of everyone's attention, and he didn't want to be. He'd rather be invisible.

"We're just covering bases, here," Sora said tenderly. "Not to make you uncomfortable."

"Don't stress too much," Hikari added, placing a hand on his elbow. "Just try to think."

Takeru did. He dove deep into his brain, if only to give them an answer because even with the reassurance of their words, it still felt as if they were expecting one. 'I don't know' wasn't good enough.

He dove deeper. Muted the war raging inside him. Past the foggy memories and aching confusion. Past the anxiety, the dread, the guilt. Past the memories of yesterday, and the day before, and the day before. Deeper and deeper, he descended, searching for whatever it was that Yamato sought.

Rewinding. Double-checking. Replaying. Triple-checking. Ignoring muddled, disconnected thoughts and webs of fear.

Webs… his brain felt like a web. Felt like something had knitted together a silky net in his mind, a barrier designed to keep out memories and disembodied conversations. A barrier that housed and protected something inexplicably, frighteningly sinister: the mastermind, the very culprit of his torment. The spider who spun the web.

The puppeteer who was learning how to flawlessly and masterfully control its puppet.

"I found you."

Takeru didn't know how he ended up on the floor. One moment, he was sifting through the mess in his brain, and when he dove deep enough to see red, his breath caught in his throat, and the red expanded. Consumed. Touched every corner that it could possibly reach.

Those three words echoed endlessly in his head, slithering through sticky red webs. For a few moments, it was the only thing he could hear, but just like a song fading away as it finished, the voice quieted and in its place were the voices of his friends:

"Oh my god, what's wrong with him?"

"Takeru?!"

"Somebody get him some water. Now."

"Buddy. Teek. Hey, can you hear me?"

Gradually, and with great difficulty, Takeru opened his eyes.

The world was a bloody mess of red. Crimson threads hung from the ceiling, all the way to the floor. Attached to his body. Embedded in his skin. Takeru blinked dazedly, but they didn't fade.

With a meek groan, Takeru tried to pull on them. To get them to snap. To break the threads, to take control, to ruin the puppeteer's chance at manipulating his body and his mind.

Except his limbs were so weak. They stung and burned and ached, and pulling only made it worse. If he pulled too hard, would he bleed? Was he already bleeding? Takeru was too disoriented to tell.

"Takeru," came his brother's voice. "Takeru, hey, stop moving, you're going to reopen your wounds… Takeru. Takeru. Shh… stop. Hey. Can you hear me?"

"I can't remember," Takeru mumbled, feeling drugged. "I can't… I tried… I can't… remember… m'sorry… can't… something's wrong…"

He blinked over and over as if trying to dispel tears from his eyes, and finally, finally, the threads retreated into the confines of his mind. Fell from the ceiling and escaped back into the place which they'd come, causing his whole body to slacken bonelessly onto the floor.

Another blink, and another. Eventually, the fuzzy outline of Yamato's mortified face became clear.

"Nii-san?" he murmured. Or maybe he hadn't spoken aloud. Maybe it was a simple, desperate thought. He couldn't be certain.

"It's gone again," Yamato stated in a breathless whisper. Repeated, "Takeru?"

Groggy and dizzy, Takeru gazed up at his brother and attempted to figure out what actually happened. The image of the red threads lingered in his brain like a bad aftertaste, and he couldn't focus on anything else.

"...Nightmare Syndrome…"

A door clicked. Somebody said, "Here."

Takeru couldn't exactly sit up, and if he wasn't so disoriented, he would have been embarrassed of the fact that he needed his brother's help, but at the moment he could only be grateful.

"Nii-san?" Takeru whispered again. "M'sorry… I tried my best…"

"No. Hey, kiddo," Yamato said firmly. "Don't worry about that. Ok? Drink some water."

Something damp and warm touched his face. Takeru glanced hazily to his right, catching a glimpse of Hikari's troubled, distraught face.

"But why…" The cup of water was brought to his lips, and Takeru had never before felt so grateful for something to quench his thirst. For something to drown all the beasts inside him. To wash away the cobwebs in his brain.

As he drank, he was able to reach for the cup all on his own, and his throat stung in protest as he finished off every last drop.

"M'sorry," Takeru repeated. "I…. I don't know what happened…"

Someone took the cup. Koushiro said, "Do you need more?"

Takeru didn't want to be greedy. His intention was to politely decline, but instead, "Please?"

"I'll get it for him," Mimi said.

Takeru watched, still a little dizzy, as Koushiro hummed and handed the cup off to Mimi. As she left the room.

"Why…" He had no idea why his voice was so hoarse. Why his whole body burned, from head to toe. "...why did you need to know about… the forest?"

"Forget that," Yamato said. "I should be taking you home."

"You need to focus on recovering," Gabumon said.

"But you promised," Takeru argued—or, more accurately, croaked—with a feeble, but stubborn look.

"That was before you fainted," Yamato said.

"You dropped so fast…" Patamon trailed off anxiously.

"I think Gabumon's right," Jou said. "You should try to relax."

"If he needs to rest, we can go without you two and update you later," Ken suggested.

"I think that's a good idea," Sora said. "He should rest."

"We can totally send messages to keep you updated," Daisuke said.

"No!"

The word came out before Takeru even knew why he was so persistent, and surprised everyone in the room, himself included. Nonetheless, Takeru gazed back at his brother, feeling achy and weak but still determined to figure out what, exactly, was going on—with his brother, with his friends, with himself.

"My head's… weird," Takeru admitted. "I… I don't know what's going on, but… but I have this feeling… something's wrong, Nii-san, and I can't figure it out unless you talk to me."

A pause. It seemed the group still hadn't recovered from Takeru's outburst because all of them were silent. Reluctant. Uneasy. It wasn't until Mimi returned with a second cup of water—which Takeru readily accepted—that Yamato finally spoke.

"Ok… alright, Teek. Just… just don't do that again." A shaky sigh. "You freaked me out."

I'm freaking me out.

Takeru didn't have the energy to apologize, but he didn't dare say that out loud. Then Yamato went on, "...you know I'd never purposely keep things from you to hurt you, right?"

"And none of us would do that, either," Hikari was hasty to add.

Takeru hummed and nodded. Took a sip of his water and rested a bandaged hand on Hikari's knee in silent comfort.

"Ok," Yamato repeated. "You've been… talking, and doing things at night. Do you remember?"

Takeru lowered his cup and blinked. "...what do you mean, 'talking and doing things'?"

"In… in your sleep." Yamato sighed again, like recalling the memory was an unpleasant—painful, even—experience for him. "It makes sense that you don't remember."

"Like… sleepwalking?"

"Mm-hm."

At first, Takeru was just surprised. And then, slowly, humiliation crept into his body, followed by dread. Whispered in horror, "...I didn't do anything embarrassing, did I?"

A snort. A giggle. Even Hikari looked ready to smile.

"Never mind," Takeru said. "Don't answer that. I don't want to know. I don't need to live with the shame."

"I mean, mood," Miyako said, right as Yamato said, "No, no, Teek. Nothing like that."

Takeru sagged with relief. The dread and humiliation remained. "Then… then what?"

"You tried to run out of the apartment," Yamato told him, swallowing. "And you were… you were screaming. Like something was hurting you. And you said that someone was chasing you in the forest, and… and you kept saying…"

A pause. Shame sat heavy and uncomfortable on his shoulders, and suddenly he wished that he'd accepted Jou's suggestion to talk in private. Not only was this knowledge new to him, but all of his friends were present.

"You told me it wasn't embarrassing," Takeru mumbled.

It was childish. Perhaps that was why Yamato didn't respond to his comment. Or maybe it was because he still looked dreadfully uneasy.

"...what else did he say?" Iori prompted gently.

"Yeah, we kind of have to know now," Miyako said, though her voice was quiet as well. "You're leaving us in suspense."

Yamato didn't even roll his eyes. Didn't react to Miyako's jest at all, like she hadn't even spoken. Distantly: "...the door was locked. So when you tried leaving the apartment and couldn't, you were… scratching at the door. Banging on it. And you kept screaming about how dark it was, and that… that you wanted someone to let you out."

He paused, eyes finding one of Takeru's hands. Takeru's fingers twitched underneath the weight of his gaze, and he looked down again in shame.

"That must have been awful," Mimi said sympathetically.

"...are you sure you don't remember?" Hikari murmured hesitantly, face pale as she looked at him with open worry.

"I…" Despite downing to decently-sized cups of water, he felt as though he'd been thirsty for hours with no relief. "...no…"

"It makes sense," Yamato went on quietly. Hollowly. "I read that kids don't remember episodes of sleepwalking."

"I've read about that, too," Jou admitted, just as quietly.

"I'm sorry, Nii-san," Takeru said, and it was as if the beasts inside him hadn't been tamed or dealt with at all. Guilt and anxiety swamped him, and he felt extremely selfish for asking Yamato to talk when it was obviously so difficult for him.

"No, it's not your fault," Yamato said.

"But I must have kept you up," Takeru persisted. "You lost sleep because of me…"

"It really does sound like a rough night," Daisuke said.

"That's not what I'm worried about, Teek," Yamato murmured. "It's just… look at your hands, and… and your eyes…"

Takeru's bruised, beaten heart dropped like somebody jumping from a cliff, and he wasn't sure if it'd survive the fall after taking so much damage. His eyes widened in terror. "...what about my eyes?"

"Were they like…" Hikari trailed off, like she was almost afraid to ask.

"Yeah." It was Patamon who answered, and unlike Yamato—whose gaze had dropped to his lap as he retold his story—his eyes captured Takeru's, brimming with sadness and distress. "They were so red."

Red.

Red, like the threads that hung from the ceiling like tiny nooses. Red, like the bloody tint that had covered the room merely ten minutes ago. Red…

"Like the eyes of Mirrormon's servants when he summons them," Koushiro murmured, half in awe, and half in fear. "...does that mean—?"

"Koushiro, you finish that sentence and I'll kill you," Yamato hissed, so wrathfully and venomously that it didn't sound like his brother at all.

He'd gone stiff like a doll, and Takeru's body reacted in a similar fashion: everything in him froze. His blood. His organs. His muscles. His bones. He felt irrevocably, agonizingly cold, and all the damage that had been inflicted upon him by the war of the beasts was stuck in disrepair with no way to recover.

Who, after all, could fully recover in the bloody aftermath of a war?

The silence was impossibly heavy, and even though Koushiro stopped talking as soon as Yamato's threat came out, it seemed everyone knew what he was about to say.

Everyone, including Takeru.

"Oh," Takeru breathed out faintly. It was a surprise he could speak at all. "I…"

He, what? He didn't know. He didn't remember. He couldn't do anything but sit helplessly as he burdened his brother and his friends.

"Do you think…" Iori hedged abruptly, although hesitantly. "...that you were stuck underground? When you said you were dark and trapped?"

It'd been directed toward Takeru, but he couldn't respond. That same feeling of crippling isolation washed over him again. Like he was staring at his friends from a place where they couldn't see or hear him.

Yamato's body was so tense. Like every muscle was pulled taut and ready to snap. "I thought that, too."

"I wondered as well," Jou admitted softly.

"What does that mean, though?" Daisuke asked, sounding terrified and uncertain. "If… if Mirrormon did something to Takeru?"

Another grim, suffocating silence. No one could provide an answer.

Takeru still didn't say anything. He was frozen but his mind raced still, but the crimson web crafted so carefully in his brain caught every thought. Every possible explanation. Every question. He couldn't think properly. Everything clustered together in knots, growing bigger and bigger until the weight of it threatened to crack his skull.

He couldn't stop, sort, or rationalize anything. Instead, he was forced to wait until the puppeteer came out to deal with the chaos, or until someone else could save him from this awful, excoriating fate.

"I found you."

Mirrormon certainly did find him, and… and Takeru didn't know what he planned to do with him.