This story is a derivative fanwork written by GodandMen for the Toaru Majutsu no Index/とある魔術の禁書目録 franchise.
REASONS
-x-
"Urgghhhh…"
I really need to get a new phone.
She had to, like, press each number buttons a bijillion times just to make a simple message. Like seriously, can she stop texting her for like, literally every hour? Her fingers continued to furiously smash the buttons, and with each note the phone sang she grew more irritated.
Currently, she was on:
[i am…]
6. 6. 6.
[i am o…]
8. 8.
[i am ou…]
8. 8. 8.
Wait. What.
(The gud 'ol force-of-habit trap.)
No, no, noooooooo –
[i am ouv…]
The phone almost flew out her hands as her arm impulsively began swinging. But her hands held on to it. Lu-cky! Lucky my ass.
She had to admit, texting on a flip phone was such a paaaaaain.
She always thought that a flip phone was enough.
But then again, it's a chicken-and-egg thing. A smartphone with a touch display is better at texting, yes. But why would she need that? She's not like the type who would text her gurlfriends 200 times a day.
Why would she need something just to do something she didn't want to?
Also, if she got a smartphone then she wouldn't have an excuse anymore…
She realized that GPS on her phone was turned on and hurriedly switched if off. If she managed to get hold of her positon, then the girl will literally teleport into existence right beside her. Like literally. She did not trust her to not install spyware on her phone just to spy on her.
Damn stalkers.
Even if she is a girl…
Why do they have GPS on flip phones anyways? Suddenly her homeroom teacher's words echoed through her head:
'Such is the power of Science!'
She rolled her eyes.
Yeah, like…whatever.
Now that she was worked up by all this stupid crap, she could really use a drink. Luckily for her she was in the right spot. After all, this was her super-duper special park. Here, she was able to quench her thirst whenever she wanted.
Free of cost.
Mwahahaha…
The sun was setting.
In the distance, the last rays of the sun were creeping below the horizon. The entire park was bathed in an orange glow. Glimmers of light glimmered off the glass panes of skyscrapers, twinkling each time the wind brushed against the façade.
The park was quiet. One couldn't even hear the droning noises of driving cars unless they listened very, very carefully. Instead, there was only the sound of glass fluttering in the wind. Somewhere in the branches there was even a hint of chirping birds.
His eyes were closed.
His legs were curled up to his chest as he sat – horizontally – on the bench, leaning his back against the vending machine for rest. The sports bag was underneath the seat. In his chest he hugged her stab vest.
He simply breathed in and out.
Inhale and exhale. One breath after another. One breath at a time.
His fingers gently traced lines on the stab vest, taking in the texture of the fabric and the tough velcro straps. It didn't smell like plastic. Instead, it reminded him of…what? Raspberries? Something sweet. He smirked at the thought – how would he know? It's not like he knew her long enough to know her perfume…
He wasn't searching for it. But his fingers still found it.
On the right side, slightly below torso, close to the end of the rib cage...there was a seam in the fabric. The aramid fiber had been split open – a horizontal cut. The hole had only been superficially patched over with some sewing.
He could almost feel the stain of dried blood on the velcro.
A stab wound.
His bandaged ribs flared up in reminder. Don't worry, he didn't forget. Just ignored it for a while, that's all. As much as he could, anyways.
He shook his head.
That makes two of us I guess.
In roughly the same spot as well…
He just shook his head
He would say something – even if it's only to himself – but at this point he was out of excuses.
There was nothing left. He just accepted it. He realized now that he hadn't always thought that way. When he first got to Academy City, he had thought, hoped even, it wouldn't have to be like this. Or that at least that he could pretend. Sometimes, at least.
But he can't.
I really am just a …
Someone was coming.
Someone was walking over to the vending machine, the very same one that he was leaning on. He wondered whether or not he should get up and sit properly. After all, it was probably unseemly for an Anti-Skill officer to sitting with his boots on the bench.
Oh well.
It'll be good evidence when they dismiss him. Let's make their jobs easier!
Hell, with the way he was sitting, maybe the person wouldn't even see him. If they approached the vending machine from the right angle, that is.
His ears listened to the springy footsteps hopping their way towards the machine. There was no pause or hesitation when they landed in front of the screen.
It seems like he shall remain concealed after all.
There was a slight shuffle as the person looked over the menu options. He decided that it was probably a girl, judging by the tapping sound of her shoes.
She was going to buy a drink from the vending machine.
He smiled sardonically as he remembered what happened when he tried to do the same. The machine had simply swallowed his bank note. An envious part of him wanted to see the same fate befall the girl.
No one can beat the machine.
No one.
Come on, take out your coins…
He waited and waited for the jingle of coins feeding into the slot. Or better, the electronic jitter of bank notes being vacuumed up. He waited and waited.
But he heard none of these things.
Instead, he felt it before he heard it.
What he felt was a frightful tremor from the machine as it was hit by a tremendous force. His head leaning against the side was rattled like an empty kettle. It was followed by a nasty surprise: a jolt of electricity shot up the back of his neck.
And then he heard the sound of the machine being kicked.
Apparently the kick was faster than the speed of sound!
He bit his tongue. Somehow, he did not make even a peep. Why he did that…he will never know. It will be a question that shall haunt him for years to come.
Regardless, he remained silent as the grave.
So he simply sat there, frozen with shock – literally and metaphorically – trying to understand what just happened. The attacker mumbled something under her breath. Then she gave the machine a light tap with her hand.
Then – incredibly, unbelievably, impossibly – the machine whirred to life.
Much whirring and diabolical machinations could be heard from the infernal machine. But in the end, the beast admitted its defeat: with a loud clang, it surrendered several canned drinks to her.
He was shocked.
He was seized suddenly by a burning desire: he needed to learn the identity of this attacker. Even if it was the last thing he did in his life. His pride simply could not allow him to miss this opportunity.
After all, the vending machine had beaten him already. He needed to know how this master managed to command its submission.
Thus, he peeked his head around the edge.
He saw a girl.
Girl. Short brunette hair. Bobcut. Young. Probably a middle-schooler. He saw that she was wearing some kind of a fancy uniform. Wait, this was the same uniform Judgment wore. Rich schoolgirl.
She was holding several cans in her arms – all of them trophies surrendered by the machine.
The Master of the Machines…
He recognized her.
She was the esper girl he had seen on the bridge. She was the one who shot some sort of laser beam out of her hand and toppled the capture van.
It was the Laser Girl.
"What in the fuckity fuck are you doing?" he muttered.
Now, that was a legit jumps scare.
What the hell was that?
She let out a legit scream at the voice and jumped away, both feet floating in the air. It also caused her to spill the orange juice onto her uniform. Her mind immediately went into full defensive mode.
An entire storm of sparks came rippling out from her body. For purely defensive purposes, of course.
Without a second thought she instantly began looking for the source of the voice. Is it a stalker? Is it her? She hadn't seen anyone when she was walking towards the vending machine. Who could it possibly be?
Did she t-teleport –
All she found was a floating head sticking out from the side of the vending machine.
She narrowed her eyes carefully to get a better picture of ghost's head. After all, it was late in the afternoon. The sun was setting, so everything was basically either dark shadows or a bright shade of red.
The face was all ugly and bloodied with bruises. It was even half-blind, like a real pirate, where the folds of the eyelids dropped over the eyeball.
She remembered that movie she saw last week, the ghost movie with a…floating head. This's it. This has got to be the same thing! It's a ghost head! Yokai!
"You're talking…you're a talking head!"
"Why, ever seen a talking hand? No? Well if you do, be sure to tell me and we can split the Nobel Prize eh!? Anyways…I was asking you. Did you just kick that machine?"
She knew what to do.
In the movie, the main character – some big-shot teen actor from Academy City – shot some fire thingy at the ghost. Well, he had to go through a lot of boring filler with a training montage at the shrine. Also he had to like pray or something.
(She wasn't not religious tho).
But she did believe in the power of Science. Same thing, basically!
She raised her hands and shot out small bolt of electricity. It hit the ghost head right in the face.
Take that!
This is the Power of Science!
Nothing happened.
His jaws dropped open.
The shock –literally and metaphorically – of what just happened left him speechless. His brain simply refused to function: it could not process the logic of events unfolding right before his eyes.
"Did you….did you just fucking shock me? In my face?"
The girl's eyes slowly narrowed and widened as she tried to identify him. Apparently the notion of him being a human being was foreign to her mind. She struggled greatly to accept this fact.
"Ahh, so you're not a ghost," she finally declared.
"It's just your head that is poking out the side of the machine. Your body is behind it. I get it now."
He could not find the words to say…to say what? What exactly was he supposed to say?
On the other hand, the girl did not miss a beat.
"Hey! You made me spill my drink. My uniform! Oh nooo,…the mistress is going to kill me now."
She looked up accusingly at him. And in her eyes burned only vengeance. Threatening sparks of electricity came flying out her hair.
"How are you going to repay me? I'm not letting you off with a simple apology! Why did you have to hide behind the vending machine and surprise me like that? Seriously, what's wrong with you!"
He's had enough.
"Dude, you just kicked that machine and shocked me in the face. And you're here talking about your uniform? Are you serious? How about you fuck off, eh?"
She opened her mouth to say something. But she quickly realized that she couldn't find any good rebuttals. So instead, she settled on the tried-and-trusted avenue: the gud 'ol insult suitable in every occasion for a girl to use against a filthy moid.
"Well, it was your fault! You surprised me! It's not my fault you had to act like such a creep! Why are you sitting around waiting to ambush middle school girls anyways? You creep! Pervert! Lolicon!"
He contested this narrative fiercely.
"So what, you go around zapping people who surprises you? For fun? And pervert? What's perverted about sitting on a bench? I was here first! And your kick shocked me! All I did was say something to you, ask you something, and you shocked me in the face. What's the matter with you?"
She was getting more and more irritated by this annoying logic. Clearly, she did not want argue with him about such facts. Now the static electricity was causing her hair to rise menacingly.
His left arm began quivering.
She stepped forwards aggressively, filled with purpose. He couldn't help but groan about what was going to happen. But then she stopped.
She stared at his face. Recognition flashed in her eyes.
"Hey, I've met you!"
He broke into a sarcastic smile.
"Oh gee! I wonder where? Where could we have possibly met before?"
"The bridge! You were the criminal on the bridge!"
"Dude, I've told you that I'm Anti-Skill. Do I look like a criminal to you?"
She looked at his face.
Even in the fading sunlight she could still make out enough of his face. He honestly had the most generic face humanly possible, absolutely unmemorable. His hair was so criminally uninteresting that it was borderline offensive.
The only distinguishing features he had were his ugly croaked nose. And also that terrible drooping eyebrow – maybe he's not blind?! – on his right eye. That made him look extra stupid in the head.
He was literally like the most generic NPC thug ever.
"Yeah…you're a thug. For sure. I'm, like, 200% certain."
He rolled his eyes.
"That's really rude, you know."
Instead it only seemed to energize her. She flipped her hair backwards and laughed maniacally. He felt like he was witnessing someone's dark side rearing its ugly head.
"Oh, I was going to walk away because I thought you were a normal person…but thank god you're a thug. I am going to have so much fun beating your ass! Now stop hiding behind the vending machine and come out!"
She menacingly cracked her knuckles.
(No sound came out – she had cracked it too much earlier in the day.)
"Unless you're a coward, come out and face me!"
He sighed loudly.
Then he got up from the bench – making a big show being oh-so-tired! – and walked out from behind the machine.
He savored the sight of her jaw dropping to the floor when she saw his uniform. His blue Anti-Skill utility uniform, that is. And he really did wear it quite well, if he had to say so himself. A true Anti-Skill officer in his state of nature!
He cleared his throat solemnly and facetiously brushed some imaginary dirt off his Anti-Skill shoulder patch. Then he ceremoniously straightened his uniform collar and adjusted his belt.
Laser Girl was at a loss for words.
"Let's see then…what do we have here? Destruction of public property, threatening an Anti-Skill officer, assaulting an Anti-Skill officer. Oh, also petty stealing. Petty thievery? Armed robbery? Who knows! Anyways, those are your charges! Your potential charges, that is…"
He saw the color quickly draining from her face. The girl stepped backwards. The wheels were already turning in her head – trying to figure what direction she should be running from him.
Unfortunately for her, he's been playing this game for a, a long time.
He saw her "sudden" jerk of movement coming from a mile away.
It was so obvious: the pivot of her left ankle, her calve muscles tensing, her eyes subconsciously tilting to the right. But most of all, her hands protectively – and quite greedily, he thought = holding the cans and her school bag close to her chest…
She bolted!
…for about two meters.
He caught her. To be specific, his left hand caught her hand and locked it in a death grip.
She screamed.
And then his left arm screamed as well.
The surge of power coursing through his left arm shot jets of pain up his neck. He realized what was happening.
She was actually shocking him. With electricity. With her power.
His left arm was...
No.
This is pointless.
He let go.
The moment his left hand completely broke contact with her hand, a bright flash engulfed the two. He turned his head away as best he could, but he was still momentarily blinded by the light. It seems like her electricity was no joke.
When the flash finally faded away, there were only the two of them left staring at each other.
The panic was gone from her. Instead, she was glancing at him with a curios glint in her eyes. The girl was no longer in any hurry to run away from the Anti-Skill officer.
He could feel small spasms slowly working their way up his left arm. He said nothing. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged at the girl.
"Look," he said simply, "no need to get violent. I was just kidding."
When she heard this, a small smile danced on the edges of her lips. The girl flung her short brunette hair back with her hand as the curiosity in her eyes grew hungrier.
The sun was on its last legs now. With every passing moment, the brilliant orange glow was steadily fading away. A hint of darkness crept in at the edges of the sky. The park remained empty, save for the two of them.
Night was coming.
A gentle breeze blew its way between the two.
Neither of them blinked.
"Who are you?" the girl finally asked.
He just shrugged.
"Just a random Anti-Skill officer. Cadet, to be exact."
She felt a tingle in her fingers as she looked over him. Despite the blur of motion and few seconds that everything had taken place within…she was pretty sure about what happened. A spark of electricity crept through her hair.
How did he…
Could she be mistaken?
Before she could say anything, he began walking away from her. The officer simply walked back to the vending machine and propped himself down on the bench. For a moment, she observed him from a distance.
The nervous excitement had evaporated from the air. The frenzied energy that had burst into existence when she tried to run for it was gone. Only silence remained. No more Anti-Skill-officer-chasing-delinquent-girl shenanigans.
Now there was only two…things quietly assessing each other.
She slowly made her way back to the vending machine.
He observed her movements with dull interest. He pointed his finger out when she walked past of the cans lying on the gerund.
"Like I was asking," he said slowly, "how did you get the cans from the machine?"
She picked up the cans and dusted them off. Then she tossed one over to him, which he caught in the air without looking.
She popped open one of them – strawberry juice – and took a deep gulp. She allowed the stream of juice to roll down her neck. After all, the uniform already. When she was done, she looked up with a satisfactory gulp.
"I kicked it!" she declared triumphantly.
He raised his eyebrows at her words. She realized that his right eye was not blind. Instead, the drooping eyelid only gave cover to a calm, steady gaze. The can in his hand remained unopen.
He was unimpressed.
"So kicking it…makes the machine spit out drinks?"
"Yeah, basically."
He took a moment to consider this.
"So…basically theft."
"…"
He glanced at the vending machine.
"Then I guess you already know that this thing takes money but doesn't give anything back?"
She nodded.
He glanced back her, his eyes slowly examining the cans she cradled in her arms. Then he sighed quietly. He shook his head.
He popped opened the can of tomato juice that she had tossed him.
"Well, it's not theft if we technically paid for it, in advance…right?"
She broke out into a wide grin and gave him a bright thumbs up, which he responded with a nod in agreement. Then he raised his can in salute.
The two shared the honor.
Well, to be exact she shared the honor with him. That is, she allowed him to share her – um…wait, that doesn't sound right. He shared her honor? She shared her honor with his? His honor with her…? What is exactly going on here?
Uhhh…whatever!
Who cares!
"To the Master of the Machines!" toasted Jim.
"To the Electromaster!" toasted Misaka Mikoto.
"What are you doing out here anyways?" asked Jim.
Both of them were sitting on the bench. In the middle was a small pile of canned drinks that they had liberated from the authoritarian grasp of the evil machine. The two brave liberators were sharing their fruits of victory.
Misaka took a sip from her can and stretched her neck.
"What do you mean? This is a public park, you know."
He stared down at the can in his hands. The tomato juice glimmered faintly in the light of the setting sun. One could almost mistake it for being something else; something that was thick and tasted metallic on the tongue…
"Haven't you heard? There's a serial killer roaming around the city."
She scoffed.
"So? Is that supposed to mean something?"
His eyes tiredly looked up from the can and rested on the girl. Indeed, she was just a middle schooler. But she did not carry herself like one.
She was not some helpless schoolgirl.
The tingle of electricity dancing through his muscles confirmed this. He took another sip. Strangely enough, the tomato juice tasted quite full of flavor. Full-bodied. Energetic. There was no artificial lameness that he had expected.
"So…what is it that you do exactly, Laser Girl? You a part of Judgment as well?"
She wore the same school uniform as the pig-tailed Judgment officer. And he had seen her that night on the bridge with Judgment as well…but no armband.
Misaka bit her lips awkwardly and scratched her head.
"So I guess you've met Shirai-san?"
Shirai Kuroko. The twin pig-tailed girl. Yes, that was the Judgment Officer that Yomikawa was working with.
Jim nodded.
"Well…she's my new roommate. She moved in before the school year started. Also, I study at Tokiwadai Academy, btw. I guess you've heard of it?"
He nodded again.
She drained the last drops of strawberry juice from her can and continued.
"Well, I'm not technically in Judgment…but I help them sometimes, you know. After all, I'm a Level-5 esper, so they could definitely use the help. Well, Shirai-san is a little bit w-weird sometimes, but still…"
"Is she? Judgment seems pretty normal to me."
Her jaw dropped open at his comment.
"W-what? How could you say that? Have you actually met her?"
He shrugged.
"She's enthusiastic. You could call her smug, but that's normal for rich kids. And she's an esper to boot. That's as square as they come."
"Well…not to me. She's a bit…arghh…never mind."
She chuckled awkwardly and opened another can. Meanwhile, his mind was digesting the new piece of information. A Level-5 esper, huh…
"Hey, you said you're Level-5?"
" Um-hum," she confirmed nonchalantly.
"Isn't that…" he paused, "…a really high level? Among espers, I mean."
Misaka almost spit out her drink at his words. For a moment she simply stared at him, unable to believe what he had just said.
In the end she just started laughing.
"Duh! Yes! Level-5 is the highest esper level in Academy City, you know! Jeez, have you been living under a rock all this time? How can you be in Anti-Skill without knowing such a basic thing? Are you actually stupid?"
He shrugged it off like rain. Difficult to get offended when you don't care in the first place.
"I just got transferred in from overseas. Not really used to all this esper level stuff."
"Oh. That kinda makes sense, I guess…"
Academy City was unique in its Esper Program.
Sure, there were "gemstones" all over the world – talented individuals with extrasensory powers – but Academy City was the only place where an institutional program existed to cultivate such abilities. A public program, anyways – every powerful country with a self-respecting intelligence agency also had one.
As such, the whole Level system was unique to the scientific city state.
Jim never cared much for esper levels. The only that mattered was whether or not it could kill him. And how much it would hurt to take it with his left arm.
"Anyways, I'll have you know that I'm the Number 3 Level-5 esper in Academy City!"
Misaka rubbed her chin proudly and glanced at the Anti-Skill officer. Now he will know his place! Trying to arrest a Level-5 esper? What was he thinking!
(A part of her also wondered what exactly she was thinking, attacking an Anti-Skill member and then trying to make a run for it. Everyone in AC knew her face.)
He just yawned.
"Okay."
Her cheeks puffed up with indignity.
"That's all you have to say?"
What is this…t-this…disrespect! How could he…grrr…
"Why? Does being a Level-5 make you a special citizen? Nobility now, are you?"
"Yes! It does! And I am!"
"Yeah, sure."
(He wasn't sure.)
"…"
(She wasn't either!)
In the end the two of them just waved it away. It was a pointless hill to die on. Really, both of them were just jockeying for the position just to make the other look bad. Neither of them really cared much for it.
She remembered something.
"Oh hey...you're in Anti-Skill, right? How's the investigation going with the serial killer?" she asked quietly.
The can in his hand crumbled under his grip. He could feel the ragged aluminum edges cutting edges into the palm of his hand. Incidentally, he was holding the can in his left hand.
The bandages on his hand began to redden again.
"We haven't caught him," he replied curtly.
She finished her can in one long gulp and threw the empty can towards the trash bin. Her aim fell short. The can bounced once against the edge, falling unceremoniously onto the grass. Misaka hissed in annoyance. But she didn't get up.
The sky was darkened with the coming night.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked again.
"I told you."
"No, you didn't."
She furrowed her eyebrows.
"First you show up at the bridge with Judgment, blowing up cars with your laser beam for fun. Now here you are, wandering around on your own."
"This is just my route back from school."
"Your magic-tree-house-school, Tokiwadai or whatever, is located in the School Garden, with dorms and a shopping district or something. There is no need for you rich ladies to step out. And it's a far ways off from this public park."
"Tsk."
"So what is it that are you doing here, and this time of day at that?"
Jim had done his homework.
Misaka just grunted again.
"First of all, it's not a laser beam, okay? It's a Railgun."
"Railgun? Isn't that like a….artillery on a train or something?"
She shot him a judgmental sideways glance.
"Umm, no. No! Where did you get that idea? A rail gun is a linear motor device that uses electromagnetic force to launch high velocity projectiles."
Words, words, words.
"Tell me, do you shot a beam of light from your hands?"
Misaka's face contorted into a strange expression of pain.
"Uhh…"
"Do you, or do you not, shoot a beam of light from your hands?"
"I…I guess? Sure?"
Jim threw his hands up.
"Laserbeam."
She face palmed so hard that she completely lost hope in humanity. How can someone be this stupid? If this is the future of Anti-Skill, then AC is surely doomed for sure. How can someone be this dumb and still become a part of Anti-Skill?
"Listen okay? For real…a railgun is not a laser beam, okay? Like seriously. A laser is like…like a kind of light that is amplified through optical amplification. You can think of it as beam of energy. It uses electromagnetic radiation to…"
Jim let her keep talking for a solid five minutes. He did not interrupt her. But he also not listening to her either.
"…and that is why a railgun is different from a laser beam, do you understand? It's simple, really."
Now the punchline.
"Sure, whatever you say…LASER GIRL."
Misaka's face grew so red that he thought it must be from the tomato juice. Then Jim realized that there was only one can of tomato juice in the pile and it was his. So this really was just her expression.
Misaka realized that he was simply messing with her.
"Well…okay then! Clearly you don't have enough brain cells to understand such a simple concept. I don't care what you think, you Anti-Skill dumbass!" she announced.
The girl promptly folder her arms and turned her back to him. This was a complete severance in diplomatic relations between the two of them.
Jim looked up at the sky.
Night was falling.
The tomato juice can was empty. In fact it had been empty for a long, long time. The fact that had been crushed into an unrecognizable mess in his hand was only secondary to that fact.
Jim threw the flattened can into the trash bin.
"Are you hunting the killer as well?" he asked quietly.
Her back was still turned to him.
"Yes."
The wind stopped.
"…why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you…hunting the killer?"
He saw her shoulders shaking slightly at his words. Misaka slowly turned around to face him. He had expected to a stoic face. Or perhaps one filled with anger. Or disgust.
But instead, she just looked at him. Her eyes were…just blank. There was nothing in them but a blank slate.
Misaka simply did not understand him.
"Why not?" she replied with a question.
He furrowed his eyebrows and his shoulder grew heavy. For some reason, he grew more and more irritated at the blank stare she was giving him. Something inside came close to snapping.
"Well…it's not your job. It's Anti-Skill's job to catch the killer. You're just some random student."
"I'm a Level-5 esper."
"You're a student in middle school."
"And you? You don't seem much older yourself."
A hint of a sarcasm crept into the edges of her lips. She fished out another can from the pile and popped it open.
"Also…has Anti-Skill managed to catch the killer yet?"
He bit his cheeks until they drew blood.
She took a leisurely sip and continued without batting an eye. The smirk on her face grew wider.
"And really, judging by how beat up you look, I don't think you're in any positon to refuse some extra help. Isn't that right, Officer Thug-face?"
His left arm began twitching.
Let her taste it, the little voice in his head whispered, let her taste the void.
Jim pushed it away. Instead, he leaned back into the bench and raised his head to sky. He could see a hint of the stars glimmering already.
She patiently waited for a sharp rebuttal.
Come on now.
"Well, well…we can't all shoot lasers from our hands now…can we? Some of us have to make do with what we have. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Level-5. But don't worry, I'll gladly throw myself into the fire as cannon fodder, if you so desire. Will that be good enough for you to catch the killer?"
Misaka Mikoto noticed the dark circles under his eyes. She noticed the red blot staining his bandaged hands. She noticed the wide array of inconspicuous bruises scattered throughout his face.
But most of all, she noticed the dark stain slowly spreading in the torso region of his blue uniform.
Misaka looked away.
"I didn't mean it that way…"
Now it was his turn to smirk.
"Bah! It doesn't matter what you wanted to mean or not. After all, it's true. We haven't caught the killer yet. Maybe you can do a better job, can't you, Ms. Level-5 vigilante? Of course, you can. You'll be the hidden superhero who steps in when you want to catch the villain. Right? You can do our job in your free time, just for fun, right? Don't worry, we Anti-Skill chumps will obediently watch on by the side-lines and cheer you on. So that we don't obstruct you, of course."
The aluminum can in her hand began to creak. She stared off into the distance at the trash bin and her pervious can lying by the sidewalk.
"Well, someone is salty…"
Jim's tongue was caught in his mouth. A simple truth sunk into his mind. The hypocrisy came on, thick and heavy, and he had no answers.
Really, who is he to be saying such things?
After everything he's done? To Yomikawa? To Tessou? What right does he have to be waving this flag? He was simply wearing the uniform – and even that he did not really earn. Just a cover. What right has he to say so?
Jim – of all people – should be the last person to say such things about Anti-Skill.
Misaka silently got up from the bench and walked over to the trash bin. She picked up her failed attempt and examined the can, as if trying to figure out why her throw was unsuccessful.
"Why are you after the serial killer, Railgun?" he asked again. His voice grew desperate.
She threw the can into the bin at point blank distance.
"Do I need a reason?"
"…"
"Fine, I'll tell you then. You want to know why?"
Misaka turned to face him.
"Because I'm pissed. I'm pissed that there's someone selfish and crazy going around the city making life hard for everyone else, especially new students coming in to Academy City. That makes me angry and salty. It's unfair."
A murmur of electricity sparkled around her hands.
"And I, Misaka Mikoto, beats up people who pisses me off. That's all. That's the only reason I need."
Jim could only smile at her words. After all, he couldn't cry. He couldn't remember how to. So he just smiled and shook his head.
Her eyes quietly glanced at the battered cadet sitting on the bench. Her gaze had softened. There was no more venomous sarcasm on her face.
In fact, Jim hated what had replaced it. It was far, far worse than any spite she could ever throw at him:
It was sympathy.
Or even worse, pity.
Misaka bowed her head.
Oh, for fuck's sake…
"I'm sorry," she apologized, "I didn't mean to make fun of Anti-Skill officers. Everyone in Academy City appreciates their hard work to keep the city safe."
Now Jim was howling with laughter. He just couldn't stop himself.
When his snicker finally died down, he wiped the tears away from his eyes with shaking hands. Her head was still bowed.
"Oh fuck off," he murmured, "don't you dare do that to me. Get your head up, right now."
She looked up slowly.
"I'm just a scumbag cadet. I do jack shit to help with catching the serial killer. I don't deserve any credit to do with anything. Anything. As a matter-of-fact, you can say that I deserve negative credit. If it weren't for me…the serial killer might have been caught a lot earlier. So, no…don't you dare apologize to me. Don't you dare."
She glanced the cadet sitting on the bench. He really was in a terrible shape, bruises and wounds and all. But he didn't talk like someone who was done.
Misaka smiled and walked back to the bench. She sat down again and opened another can from the pile. Once again, silence descended between the two. But this wave was a lot more relaxed than before.
They both understood each other. Better, at least.
Jim tossed the empty tomato juice can into the bin. It went in on his first try. A whisper of an idea suddenly came into his mind, and he was unable to dislodge it. So now it was stuck there forever.
Oh well, why not…
"Hey Misaka-san…can I ask you something?"
She was honestly surprised by his tone and the way he addressed her. After all, he seemed to be older than her by at least a couple years. She quietly took another sip and considered her words.
"It's okay…you can just call me Misaka. Btw what's your name?"
"Jim."
A foreign name. He did say that he had been transferred to Anti-Skill lately…
"Alright…Jim-san."
He chuckled.
"If you're going to –san me, then I'm going to –san you as well."
Misaka rolled her eyes a bit at his comment. But deep down, she did appreciate it. It meant that he didn't treat her like a child. Or did he?
"Alright then, Jim. What were you going to ask?"
Now it was his turn to get his tongue stuck.
What do I say?
Where does he even start? What did he even plan to ask? How does on even begin to explain such matters to someone like her? But most of all, the question was:
What did he expect to receive by asking her such a question?
'And I, Misaka Mikoto, beats up people who pisses me off. That's all. That's the only reason I need.'
Something simple will do. Swap things out.
A hypothetical situation…
"So Misaka, let's say that you're…umm…let's say that you're in a hostage scenario, okay? Tell me, do you have any siblings?"
She casted a strange glance at across the bench as she slowly lowered the can from her lips. Her eyebrows were rising higher and higher every moment.
"Umm…weird question. Kinda sudden to ask someone something like that."
He recognized her concerns.
"It's not a joke or anything. Or a prank. I'm not trying to fuck with you. Just think of it as an…Anti-Skill test. An exam. I was just preparing something similar and I justed wanted your input. Maybe you can help me. Is that alright, Misaka?"
It took her a moment, but once she digested the information she was completely on board. Her eyes shone brightly with excitement.
"Oh! So it's like a…top secret test?! Like an Anti-Skill exam where you have fight the robber in person so that you can graduate? Like in that 007 movie where the last training test is to shoot your friend…"
"…sure. Let's say it's something like that. Anyways, like I was asking, do you have family?"
Misaka had turned around on the bench to face him squarely. She was 100% committed to the scenario. After all, she was a high achiever who accepted no quarter. A perfections – for things she cared about, that is.
"No, I don't have siblings. I'm the only child. Next!"
"U-ummm…okay then. Imagine that you have a…"
The simple word choked up in his throat. A life of fleeting memories flashed before Jim's eyes. He could almost see the small girl right beside him, with his messy short brunette hair and toothless smile.
Jim's chest tightened.
Her hair was darker than Misaka's. She would probably be a bit shorter. But most of all, she would just be like Misaka: snappy, sarcastic and full of mouth. She would just be like…
In fact, if she hadn't…then she would probably be the same age as Misaka right now.
Jim frantically shook his head. He couldn't afford to get caught up in memories now. If he did, then there would be no return.
"...imagine that you have a…sister. A younger sister. A-alright? Okay?"
Misaka nodded enthusiastically.
"Done. Next!"
"Okay then…imagine that one day, a terrorist kidnapped her and –"
"Bastard!"
"Shush! Umm, where was I? Oh right…kidnapped her and held her hostage. Let's say that the terrorist…"
He struggled to find an appropriate scenario. Frankly Jim felt absolutely foolish for even trying. But as strange as it was, this was as close as he's ever gotten to telling another soul about…this. About everything.
Here he was, sitting on a bench in a public park, trying to make up a story to a girl he's met only twenty minutes ago.
"…the terrorist has your little sister hostage."
"You said that already."
"Right. Well, he has a pistol in his hand and it's pointed to her head. So now, you have to pick. Do you let the terrorist go and save your sister? Or do you kill the terrorist and but sacrifice your sister?"
The locket or nothing.
"By the way the terrorist is a murderer. A serial killer. If he gets away he will kill more innocent people. And your sister…well, she's your sister. So yeah, those are you choices."
Misaka took a moment to collect her thoughts. He was sure that she was taking this very seriously. Finally, when she was done with her mental deliberations, she announced her plan of action:
"I will save both!"
He looked at her.
"What?"
"I will save both of them!" Misaka repeated again.
Jim slowly rubbed his temple.
"Are you going save the terrorist? Save him from what? From jail? Are you a terrorist as well?"
"Oh no, no, no," she clarified hastily, "I meant that I will save my sister and arrest the terrorist!"
His frown grew wider.
"You can't do that, Misaka."
"Yes I can! Why not!?"
Now both of his hands were clutching his head. Jim thought he was going to have a headache, but surprisingly there was none. Instead, he was trying to hold back a laugh.
Not a sarcastic laugh. Nor a spiteful laugh. Nor a sad laugh.
It was genuine, real laughter.
"Alright then…fine. Now how exactly are you going to do that?"
Misaka licked her lips and rubbed her hands together, delighted by her own ingenuity. She raised her finger triumphantly in the air.
"I will shock him!"
Jim started laughing.
Misaka was not perturbed his lack of respect. Instead her hands grabbed his shoulders and began frantically shaking him, trying to shake him to his senses. She hasn't finished talking.
"WAIT. LISTEN!"
He couldn't stop laughing.
"NO, SERIOUSLY. LISTEN TO ME!"
Misaka send a slight voltage of electricity through her arms, just to shake him awake. But when the current flowed through her finger tips and onto his arm…she felt something. Something dark and deep.
It was like swimming in a deep well where the water was murky and bottomless. Her electrical current simply disappeared beneath the void and –
"Owww! Okay, okay. No need to shock me."
He pulled his hands off his shoulders. He was still giggling.
"Alright! Alright! Tell me then, Misaka-san, how you're going to do that. Really. How are you going to save your sister and capture the terrorist at the same time?"
She took a deep breath to compose herself.
"I will shock him!" she repeated again.
He rolled his eyes.
"Yes, and your sister is dead. Congratulations."
"No, no, no! It won't be like that! You see, that won't happen. She'll be fine."
"Really…and why wouldn't that happen?"
"Because I will shock him in his hand! So he will drop the pistol!…It won't kill him, just enough to paralyze him! But not enough to kill him!"
He narrowed his eyes and glanced at the excited girl in front of him.
"Drop his pistol? Paralyze him? Right…."
She grew indignant at his suspicions. Misaka placed her hands around her waist and raised her head proudly. Once again, the lecture began anew:
"Don't you know that strong electrical currents can cause partial to full paralyzation? In fact, studies have shown that victims of electrical injuries can suffer up to as much 40% paralyzation of their body after being shocked. In fact the damage may even extend to neurological areas such as –"
He snapped his fingers.
"Yes, yes, Ms. Texbook, I'm sure that everything you're vomiting right now is correct. Factually. Well, maybe. I don't care. But unfortunately here in real world, in the field, in real operational conditions, those nice little textbook paragraphs aren't worth much."
Misaka's face turned beet-red. Now he was not only attacking her skill and abilities as an esper, but also the very principles of the scientific methods! How dare he! How dare he question the POWER OF SCEINCE!
(She is a student of AC after all.)
But before she could formulate any well-constructed rebuttal, he cut her off with a simple question:
"Tell me, no…show me. Show me how someone – a terrorist, if you will – would hold a pistol."
She stared incredulously at him.
"Please, Misaka-san. Humor me."
The girl grudgingly raised her hand and formed it into the position of someone holding a pistol. That is to say – three finger back, index finger fowards, and finally the thumb holding the magazine well.
"Good. Now, please tell what your index finger is doing right now."
Misaka blinked and tried to think back to the movies and TV shows she had seen before. The shooter would have their index finger on the…
"That's right, your index finger is your trigger finger. In Soviet times people would cut off their index fingers just to avoid the draft. Anyways, since you're a terrorist, your index finger is probably already on your trigger. Right?"
That made sense to her. After all, if you're going shoot you would want your finger as close to the trigger as possible, right?
Now his smile grew wider.
"Not tell me please, my dear Miten'ka, what is going to happen if someone was shocked with their finger already on the trigger?"
"They will be paralyzed!" she shouted defiantly.
He began to giggle again, his head rolling from side to side with each chuckle. Once again, Misaka grew impatient with his reluctance to take her seriously. But this time he didn't take as long to recover.
"Sure, sure. They get paralyzed. But tell me please, what exactly does paralyzed mean?"
"It means that their muscles contract and relax in such way that they are basically unable to move around. They will be stuck on the floor, stuck in a cycle of contraction and relaxation. So now I can save my sister and arrest him."
He nodded thoughtfully.
"Indeed! Contraction and relaxation of the muscles. Now tell me…"
His hands reached up to grab her mock pistol hand. Misaka stared at his fingers moving up to grab her index finger. She wasn't uncomfortable, per se. Just curious about what he was trying to demonstrate.
"…tell me, Misaka, what happens when the muscles on your index finger contract and relax."
"Well, that's simple! What would happen is that the muscles tendons would make the index finger –"
She stopped.
His smile grew wider.
"Oh please…go on, Misaka-san…"
The girl gritted her teeth when she realized what he meant. Her index finger – the trigger finger – would move backwards and forwards.
"That's right," Jim said quietly, "the trigger finger would jerk on the trigger. Multiple times. If you're lucky it will only jerk once and then clench into a fist. But once is already one too many."
She didn't know what to say.
"Of course, if your terrorist has supreme trigger discipline, then maybe they will have their finger on the trigger guard instead of the trigger itself. But I doubt that would be the case, especially in a hostage scenario."
He leaned back against the bench, and she was left her with her hand squeezing the phantom trigger. Jim looked through the pile of juice cans between them and fished out a can of instant coffee.
"Congratulations, you sister has a hole in her head. Possibly several. Thank god that you don't have any siblings. Remind me not to be your brother."
He popped open the can and took a whiff of the coffee. Not as good as hers, of course. But better than nothing.
"Oh wait. I'm not your brother. Thank god!"
She didn't give up.
"Well, I can still make him drop his pistol! If I hit his hand at the right spot, then maybe his fingers will just jerk open as an instinctive response…and he will drop his pistol!"
"Unless he's an amateur, that won't happen. You'll never get a clear shot on his hand. Sometimes you might be able shoot the gun out of someone's hand, but it very risky."
"Why not?! He'll be holding the pistol like this, right?"
Misaka raised her hand and pointed the pistol an imaginary hostage.
Jim didn't even need to look. He knew that her pistol hand was holding her forearm in parallel with the hostage's shoulders – exposing her entire forearm and hand. Just like how villains in movies held their hostages.
"No. A professional would not do that," he stated simply.
"They would position their pistol behind the hostage's head. They won't show any part of their arm or hand. Instead the terrorist will be hiding behind the victim's body, using it as a shield. No way for you to shock their hand'".
Misaka gnashed her teeth in frustration.
Well, she supposed that Anti-Skill officers did know their stuff. Everything she thought she knew about such a hostage situation turned out to be a nonsensical illusion created by pop culture.
But she didn't give up.
"I'll find a way…" she muttered.
Jim glanced over at the girl.
She was sitting on the bench with her fists curled into balls, staring at the ground. Her teeth were bared. Her fierce, fiery eyes stared at the ground in burning vengeance. Undoubtedly she was directing it towards the hypothetical terrorist.
"Find a way to…?"
She stood up from the bench.
"Save both of them!"
"For the last time, you're not supposed to save the terror –"
"Save my sister. Arrest the terrorist. I won't give up on either of them! I will find a way, whatever it takes!"
Misaka Mikoto stood steadfastly in front of Jim. Both of her hands had turned into fists. Sparks of electricity came radiating out from her hair, so much so that the static cause them the float upwards in the air.
He didn't want to look up.
He didn't want to see the expression on her face – that expression with her cheeks puffed, her lips pressed thinly together and her eyebrows furrowed comically to look threatening.
It would remind him too much of her.
"So…that's your final answer then?"
It took him a moment, but Jim did look up from the can of coffee in his hand.
There she was, standing with her head held up high. Her chest was puffed full of confidence and determination. A solitary coin danced on her fingers. Static: electrical static everywhere. They emitted out from her body in wide pulses – her own personalized little warning.
Wow.
Here was some girl in middle school standing in front of him, beaming with more confidence than he's probably ever had in his life. He wanted to say many things about it: Blind. Foolish. Naïve. Ridiculous.
But it was still real.
For her anyways.
Blind or not, she has the right.
And she can probably back it up as well.
More than he ever could for himself, that's for sure. He smiled sadly at the fact; his left arm could only mourn in silence. It was true.
Man, I wish I could shoot lasers from my hand.
But deep down, deep down he knew that was not it. It didn't matter. It was just a lie that he repeated to himself. To be honest, he doesn't even why he kept telling himself that nonsense.
What difference did it make?
Perhaps it didn't. Perhaps it did. But it doesn't change that fact that at the of the day, laser beam from his hands or not…Jim was just a coward.
"Hey! Are you listening?"
He blinked again. The guy's been out of it for the last couple minutes, like he was thinking about something deep. Although she kind of doubted that he was the smart type. Probably just thinking about…well, whatever teenage boys think about.
Things like….hmm….oh….ewwwww!
"Yes, Laser Girl?"
Ugh. That name again.
"So? How did I do? Did I pass the exam? What's my score?"
He chuckled and chugged the last bit of coffee from his can. To be honest, the way he laughed was kind of annoying. It's like he think he's some wise sage or something. Seriously? Just cringe, really. Real cringe.
"Well, I'm happy to inform you that you passed the exam with flying colors! I've never seen such an ingenuous way to save the hostage. Congratulations! And report to the station next week Monday, 9:00 AM sharp."
Misaka fist pumped triumphantly and did a small victory lap.
"YES! I knew it! See? The Electromaster never loses! Truly, such is the power of a Level-5!"
While she busy celebrating, he had quietly gotten up from the bench.
He noiselessly readied all of his stuff: he put on his Anti-Skill vest and slung the sports bag over his shoulder. Misaka wouldn't have noticed him walking away if she didn't turn back to the bench to get another drink.
She stared his back silently walking away, like he was some sort of ghost.
I guess he's done?
Misaka didn't know what to say.
"Hey! Jim!" she finally called out.
He paused briefly and glanced back at her.
Misaka looked at his face, but no words came out. What was she going to do again…? She swore that she wanted to talk to him about something, but her brain just couldn't come up with anything. If she didn't, in a few moments he'll be gone.
She needed to come up with something.
"Uh…what about the cans?"
"What about them?"
"…"
He turned around.
"Hey!"
He didn't look back.
"Hey! Hey! I'm talking to you!"
He stretched his neck from side to side as he readjusted the position of his bag. With each step he took, he made an effort to stretch his legs – too much sitting for one day. He needed to wake up.
He mentally took stock of the things he had: burner cellphone, radio, smoke grenades, stab-vest, universal car keys. That's all.
He'll need some extra equipment - knives especially.
Look lively now.
Tonight is going to be a long, long night.
Then Jim realized that the girl was actually catching up to him.
He finally turned around.
"What do you want now, Laser Girl?"
She frowned at the way he looked at her. But Jim wasn't giving her any dirty looks. His face was just blank. There was nothing on it – just his normal game face. That's his face when he's on ops.
"Where are you going?"
"What's it to you?"
She narrowed her eyes.
"Are you trying to catch the serial killer?"
Jim's left arm twitched.
"No."
"…then what are you doing with so much stuff? Your vest and your bag. What's in the bag anyways?"
"Equipment."
She raised her eyebrows.
"Ah-ha…so you are trying to catch the serial killer. Listen, maybe we can –"
"No. I'm not trying to catch the killer. And no, we can not."
Now she was just confused.
"If you're not trying to catch the killer…then what do you need all that stuff for?"
Jim raised his head slightly and glanced at the black canvas stretching over the sky. His nose caught a whiff of the cool wind, rolling through the trees of the park in whispers. Despite the bright lights of city, the moon gracefully bathed the ground with a silver sheen. It was a full moon.
His left arm began to ache.
The night was here.
Jim looked at Misaka.
"I've got a hostage to save."
Misaka's fingers twirled the coin about in her palm.
The girl's eyes slowly examined him, taking in the expression on his face and the way his eyes glinted in the moonlight. He was no longer the lethargic, defeated sloth lounging on the bench. He was no longer just waiting for…something.
She smiled.
This could be fun.
"Need help? I'm free."
She half-expected him to roll his eyes. Or to make a lame joke. Or break out into another of his weird half-smirk, half-smile expression.
He just shook his head slightly.
"It's my exam, Misaka. Not yours."
Her lips twitched.
Jim made eye contact with her for the last time. He gave a slight nod. She replied with an acknowledgment of her own. Then he threw the bag over his back again and walked away.
Misaka stood there and watched him.
Guess not…
"Good luck with the killer!" he called out.
"You too!"
As his figure was swallowed up by the distant shadows, Misaka could hear him whistling a strange tune from his lips. The melody gently haunted its way across the night, slipping between the blades of grass and passing through the tree branches.
It was a strange, strange tune.
But in the end, it too, simply dissolved into silent whispers: another victim lost to the night.
-x-
First uploaded: 11/3/2022
Last modified: 12/3/2022
Word count: 9,508
Changelog:
12/3/2022 – General edits.