Before we begin, as always, there's a quick disclaimer I'd like to put in place. I do not, in any way, shape or form own, or claim ownership of anything within the franchise(s) written and owned by Kamachi Kazuma. This piece is a non-profit fan-made love letter to the wonderful Toaru Majutsu no Index series; though it brings joy to myself, and hopefully to those who read it, this piece will generate no gain, monetary or otherwise, for me in any way, shape or form. ToAru Majutsu no Index, as well as all characters, settings, situations and terminology (save for original creations of my own) are © Kamachi Kazuma and ASCII Media Works.
Author's Note: Well, here we are! By the time you're reading this (assuming anyone actually does, that is!) It will have been a little bit since I've last addressed you directly, my wonderful readers. If you'll recall, I'd mentioned the possibility of writing another fanwork based in the universe of 'A Certain Broken Testament'. That's precisely what this is! Partially inspired by previous, scrapped works that didn't quite pan out the way I'd intended, and those that simply didn't pan out at all, this fanwork will prove interesting, I think. Rather than detracting from the narrative of 'A Certain Broken Testament' with the regaling of this story, I've decided to simply write a side story with it. While the events of this fanwork's narrative won't have a lot to do directly with the overall narrative of 'A Certain Broken Testament', it is set within the same continuity. As well, events and goings-on within A Certain Broken Testament's narrative will be referenced and have considerable impact on this fanwork's own narrative.
Without further preamble, I proudly present, A Certain Scientific Voidwalker!
Academy City.
February 11th, 2004. 4:35 PM.
Though cramped, the homey little café in Academy City's seventh school district offered an off-the-books location for discussion, used by many for many varying reasons. Its sky-blue booths were accentuated by the soft-coloured, tiled flooring and arching ceiling, from which light fixtures mounted within beamed down gentle, golden-white light.
Crammed into one such booth were two old men who'd looked to have seen better days, and Academy City's fourth-ranked level five esper, Voidwalker.
"Introductions. This is Nokleben-san. Nokleben-san will be working with us throughout the foreseeable future. He owes Gladio-Oculus a favour, and we'll leave it that," Dave Horton remarked, stirring an empty cup of coffee with a stirring stick to provide his hands something to fidget with.
"My condolences, go ahead and have all of them," Hamasaki Tsubasa grunted in response, shrugging his shoulders indifferently. "This gig sucks. It's the worst. What kind of dirt do they have on you, Nokleben? If you have clean hands, you don't work for Gladio or the Oculus. That simple."
"Level Six Shift project. Security Supervisor, Hamasaki-san."
"Pfft."
Voidwalker leaned back in his seat; his efforts to veil his nervousness with a false, casual front were failing, and he knew it. Truthfully, he would've rather been in Joseph's Coffee & Restaurant with Saten Ruiko, listening to her talk so passionately about her beloved Urban Legends for as long as she sought to talk about them.
Just the thought of her voice was enough to send a tingle rushing upwards, from his stomach and into his throat. It ceased at a pinnacle, leaving him feeling quite lonesome, indeed. A vulnerable position for a level five esper to be in.
"No matter how many times you wash those hands of yours, Nokleben, you won't get that sort of dirt off."
"I know."
Keitz Nokleben's voice was filled – practically dripping with – his own resignation to his destiny. Whatever dark fate found him, he deserved it. He knew it. He'd always known it. A tall, lanky man, his skin was wrinkled; with his swept-back golden-blonde hair and dull, time-worn green eyes, Nokleben looked like some living relic originating from some lost civilization. Unfortunately, no museums were interested in the likes of him.
"So, what's the jig, then, David? Let me take a wild guess. Alright. Here goes. You're looking for quick transport through the Void, to England. No problem… For me."
Gladio-Oculus operative Dave Horton raised an eyebrow, but didn't immediately respond.
"Void is with me every second of every day. My Personal Reality passively generates it, constantly. I got used to it. You won't. Not interacting with it for the first time, so directly. Plus, when I go walking through there, taking the strolls that I do, I'm expected. You're not. That's the long and short of it. There are only so many deals I can strike at one time before suspicions arise."
"We're looking at a prolonged siege in Wales," Horton remarked then, evidently undeterred. "Gladio agents embedded in the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight have sent word that Birdway is on the move again. Plot's thickening. They've been meeting with the Amakusa Christians in some little backwater shithole. Looks like Tsuchimikado was right. Amakusa may have just gone rogue."
The Gladio-Oculus agent rubbed his temples with his fingers, muttering under his breath. Hamasaki Tsubasa moved his glance between both Keitz Nokleben and Dave Horton. Still, he said nothing. Instead, he waited for Horton to begin again, and he did, as expected.
"That's why we need to get this thing under control, immediately. Fucking immediately. Get one of those gates of yours open through your Void, wide enough for Academy City tech to fit through. We can have stealth bombers in the air, enough siege vehicles to knock all of Europe out of the game in twenty-four hours if need be. Tanks, Maser Cannons, we've got the HsPS-14 prototype Powered Armour rolling off the assembly lines. They won't know what hit them."
"Or…"
Tsubasa took a sip from his cheap soda, before setting the bottle down on the rickety little table before him. Still clad in the tight-fitting uniform of Sakugawa High School, he certainly wasn't dressed the part of a scheming Academy City 'G-Man'.
"You could let me handle Birdway. Not all that concerned about the Saint, either… It's the vamp that bothers me. Deep Blood is still off-limits?"
"Yes! Deep Blood was, is, and always will be off-limits!" It took all of Dave Horton's mental might – much of which had already been spent simply trying to dredge himself out of bed – to keep from slamming his fist directly into the rickety table. "Deep Blood is far too valuable to him. If a…"
Horton looked over both of his shoulders repeatedly, cautiously. As if expecting to have someone listening in on the conversation, the Gladio-Oculus agent quietly coughed into the sleeve of his cheap, pressed suit jacket.
"… Vampire ever decided to waltz into Academy City, Deep Blood needs to be right here to attract it."
"Checks out. Sorry, David. I'm off the ball this afternoon. Lots going on."
"It's that schoolyard crush of yours again, isn't it, Hamasaki? Get it TOGETHER!"
Keitz Nokleben became the voice of reason. Swiftly grabbing Horton's wrist mid-air, he forced the arm downward. Nokleben's gaze locked with that of his fellow operative's own.
"The boy is barely old enough to be away from the schoolyard. Have some compassion. You had a wife, before you blew it, Horton. Try to remember what it was like, being young and in love. It's not easy."
"I know plenty about being old and divorced," Horton grumbled, calming himself with a deep, drawn-out inhalation. "You're going soft, Mr. Security Supervisor."
"Soft? No. I have a family to feed. I've never enjoyed this."
Nokleben leaned back, relaxing, in an effort to promote a sense of calm around the table. At the very least, Academy City's fourth-ranked level five esper seemed to be keeping his proverbial hat on straight. If Dave Horton had been laying out bait, Tsubasa hadn't risen to take it.
Finally, Academy City's fourth strongest responded to the original inquiry as best as he could.
"I can get it done, David. I'll need exact dimensions for my calculations, and, I'll need a relatively up-to-date representation of the designation for the other side. Otherwise, the rest is on you. So don't screw it up. You get all of that for me, forward it to me, and I'll take care of it all. Can I trust you to handle the tech without blowing a valve?"
"Only if I can trust you to keep your head on straight until we blow Birdway's off," Horton grumbled, extending a hand outwards.
Hamasaki Tsubasa briefly thought on it, then took the hand into his own, and offered it a firm, confident shake.
"We've settled on it then, David. Before all that, I have business to attend to. It won't keep me for too long."
Rising, Academy City's fourth-ranked level five esper departed from the cramped little café, leaving Gladio-Oculus operative Dave Horton and former Security Supervisor of the Level Six Shift Project Keitz Nokleben to their respective devices. They didn't protest, nor did they attempt to stop Voidwalker from departing.
The glass door, enwrapped within its cool, silver-coloured metallic frame – Academy City should have rightly been called 'Silver City', according to Tsubasa's higher mind – closed shut of its own accord as he stepped away, moving, quickly, from the café. Repeatedly, Voidwalker peered over either of his shoulders, as if expecting to be trailed, or otherwise observed.
"They want me to lead a forward command into a sovereign state. Interesting proposal. How many innocent casualties would come about from such an invasion? This is an intriguing position to be placed in. Academy City isn't fond of betrayals."
Rooting around in the pocket of his uniform's pants, Hamasaki Tsubasa produced his smartphone. Flipping the device open, fingertips soon falling upon the device's physical keypad, he clicked and clacked a text message together, occasionally looking up from the device's screen to observe the path before him.
The streets of Academy City's seventh school district were open, wide, and belied that which laid just beneath the squeaky-clean surfaces. Cobbled walkways, ornately-paved roadways, so many towering structures which almost seemed to form colossal walls that glimmered and gleamed beneath the sun's rays, this was, at first glance, the very concept of utopia. Shops, offices, student dormitories, restaurants… Ornated streets were accentuated by public parks, small and large, some intended for small groups to sit and engage in conversations, others intended for higher amounts of foot traffic.
It was all the sort of thing a futurist would have dreamed of while attempting to describe the 'community of tomorrow'. Indeed, a certain animator-turned-mogul would have blushed at the sight that was Academy City, the 'City of Science', the city where anyone could dream. Where anyone could live, and develop supernatural powers, the next, natural step in human evolution.
Of course, the vast number of 'defective' level zeroes, a majority of whom turned to violent crime as a result of their pitiful turnouts in life, inspired by exceedingly low City-provided stipends was proof that the idea of 'anyone developing supernatural powers in Academy City' was little more than a corporate slogan. Hamasaki Tsubasa knew that. Anyone who took a bit of effort and dug beneath the shiny surfaces could figure that out.
"Horse shit, and a very competent PR department."
With only his own mind to accommodate him, Hamasaki Tsubasa engaged in a conversation with himself, mentally, exchanging one thought for the other, as if he had some other, living being in his mind with whom he could commune. Of course, Voidwalker knew he simply thought into the abyss.
"Academy City… Forget about what you've heard. Send your children here if you want to put a permanent cap on their lives. If something seems too good to be true, it probably is. Board of Directors can bake all the bread and host all the circuses they could ever want. It doesn't change what Academy City is."
Tsubasa's surroundings seemed to dictate that the truth was altogether quite the opposite. Commuting students, personal vehicles rushing past on the ornate, brickwork roadway. Professional individuals taking calls or otherwise working through their collective lunchbreaks on the patios of cafes. Young couples walking hand-in-hand.
It would have been an uplifting sight, if he didn't know what lurked below. The insidious truth behind Academy City's very purpose that every Gladio-Oculus operative was very much aware of. To uphold the Magic-Science Treaty, one had to be aware of 'the other Side'. To be aware of 'the other Side' was to be intimately familiar with the Science Side. To be intimately familiar with the Science Side was to be intimately familiar with its underbelly.
The Level Six Shift Project. Dark May. Agitate Halation. The Anti-Art Attachment. Clone Dolly. Orphans effectively trafficked into Academy City by Gladio-Oculus' shell adoption agencies from war-torn and poverty-stricken countries in the third world, branded 'Child Errors', dehumanized. Reduced to lab rats.
The mere tip of a proverbial iceberg.
"Academy City is Hell."
Tsubasa peered down at his smartphone once more; the message he'd hastily typed up was ready to go, sent on invisible waves to be received by the intended recipient.
"Mind if I come over in a bit? It's important."
It was innocuous enough. The intended recipient wasn't one who was all that orderly. Tsubasa knew well enough that her spunky, outgoing attitude negated any need for a true schedule. She flew by the seat of her pants, doing as she pleased, when she pleased how she pleased. She didn't let this place, and what horrors she'd witnessed during her time here keep her down. Despite being a 'defective' level zero, she somehow kept her head up, prideful, carrying on, trudging forward.
Voidwalker couldn't stop admiring her, even if he'd wanted to.
With the press of the smartphone's physical 'enter' key, the message was sent to Saten Ruiko.
As soon as Hamasaki Tsubasa received confirmation that the message had been successfully delivered, he put his Personal Reality to work. Performing the necessary calculations, pitting weight, height and spatial dimensions against one another as part of the complex formula, he imagined, willed it into existence.
Sprouting from his own hand's palm was another hand, attached to another wrist. Arcing, crackling tendrils lashed at the air, as if offended by the presence of reality. These tendrils occasionally broke away from their main mass, dissipating into the air, leaving behind only soft half-whispers. Maddening nonsense.
The protruding, third hand, attached to a third wrist was pitch-dark, as black as a clear night's sky. Masses of lavender, resembling light plumes of billowing smoke more than physical matter danced across the hand's fingers and thumb. It was like a hand-shaped slice in reality had been made, revealing some darker dimension beneath the outer layer.
A gripping, wriggling hand formed from pure, void energies. Fifth of the most important Eastern elements, that which existed between the lines.
With his opposite, organic hand, Tsubasa dropped the smartphone into the void-hand.
As if hungry, the digits closed around the smartphone's tough, metallic outer shell. Almost instantaneously, the exterior camera was cracked, shattered into countless pieces. The tougher material of the shell proved more difficult, but not by much.
Voidwalker looked to the tallest structure in Academy City's seventh school district, as his protruding void-hand crushed his smartphone. Gladio-Oculus issued technology, exceedingly advanced, and exceedingly costly to produce.
This was a symbolic act. Tsubasa's gaze locked with that tall structure, that inane-seeming, silver-coloured tower which rose into the sky above, as if mocking God in Heaven. It lacked a single window upon its surfaces. It lacked even a single door.
The Windowless Building offered no resistance to Hamasaki Tsubasa's meager act of defiance; a part of him had believed that the Building would rise up in protest, perhaps fire a cluster of missiles at him.
No such thing happened.
But Voidwalker knew well enough that in Academy City, that Windowless Building's most important, influential resident had eyes everywhere. Floating on the breeze, settled within blades of grass, attached to the legs of buzzing insects and to the wings of chirping birds.
The Windowless Building's most important, influential resident had very much witnessed the act of overt defiance, but couldn't have cared any less. Aleister Crowley, floating upside-down, bound within his life preservation chamber, bobbing, slightly, in the orange-white liquid that encased his androgynous body did not start, nor did his eyelids widen.
For as much attention as Aleister paid to the defiant act, he looked down upon Hamasaki Tsubasa, the Voidwalker as if he was little more than a scurrying rodent who had become self-aware, realizing that it was entrapped within a maze. Despite its scurrying, 'the Worst Magician' knew that this little rodent would never get far. It couldn't climb this maze's walls. The maze was all this rodent had.
Aleister couldn't even be bothered to shrug at the act. It simply wasn't worth the effort.
He wouldn't address this situation himself; instead, he'd hand the matter down to his Board of Directors. They could deal with it as they saw fit. The parallel processing device and artificial intelligence networked not merely into his Windowless Building, but into all of Academy City, Reading Thoth Seventy-Eight could deal with the details and dictate what needed to be dictated. Crowley was in no mood to deal with those suited sycophants.
"Right away, Aleister-sama!"
Voidwalker's void-hand retracted, 'slipping' back beneath the level five esper's flesh. As inconspicuously as he could, the 'number four' made his way through the lively streets of Academy City's seventh school district, with a destination in mind; his student dorm.
A short trip brought him there. It couldn't have taken him any longer than twenty minutes, after departing from that dinky little café. The dormitory wasn't particularly impressive by any stretch of the imagination. It looked quite like any other dormitory in Academy City's seventh school district, though, it was taller, with more dorms to each of the twelve floors. Each dorm had its own small, if private balcony; individual floors were traversed through the use of elevator cars, or alternatively, staircases held within dank, stuffy stairwells.
The ascent to the sixth floor was hardly eventful. The elevator car didn't stall, and no oddly-dressed strangers boarded the car with Tsubasa at any point. No explosive devices awaited him, stuck to the metallic door leading into his dorm.
Somehow, for some odd reason unknown even to him, Voidwalker had expected all of the above. Aleister Crowley had 'ways' of making things happen, yes. But did he even matter, in the grand scheme of things?
Level five espers were not merely ranked by the scale of their vast power, but, by their usefulness to Academy City, and, by extension, Aleister. If even the third-string Misaka Mikoto was considered expendable, then, where did that leave him?
Accelerator, Academy City's 'top dog' – the Main Plan – and whatever chunks of Kakine Teitoku, Academy City's second-strongest level five – the Spare Plan – remained, stuffed away in a sterile refrigerator somewhere, in some dark room, in some dank, stinking subterranean facility, were the only espers who truly 'mattered'. All others were disposable.
A tough pill to swallow. Voidwalker found himself choking on it.
It was a thought Hamasaki Tsubasa sought not to dwell on. He tossed the thought aside, burying it within his subconscious mind as he turned his key in both of his door's locking mechanisms, then opening it. Somehow, going over the motions as he made them, not merely through them made the task of discarding unwanted, intrusive thoughts just a bit easier.
He must've forgotten the television on; the afternoon's news bulletin was playing. White, shades of red and yellow repeatedly flashed against the nearby wall adjacent the wall-mounted television.
"It's Mental Health Awareness Day in Academy City!" The newscaster happily chirped. "Today is when we recognize that, sometimes, we need to reach out to friends and family for help. Mental health is just as important as physical health. We—"
The television flickered off. The remote was thrown at it, and it crashed against the glass screen, leaving an unsightly mark behind before falling to the hardwood floor with a series of clangs.
"Write better scripts, David."
Dust rose, then resettled. The dorm's cramped living quarters, cluttered with empty takeout boxes, garbage which had yet to be taken down to the curb and piles of filth-encrusted dishes yet to be washed resembled a scene that wouldn't have been out of place in the abandoned, foreclosed home of an evicted hoarder. Dust clung to every surface. Vermin scuttered and scurried. Opportunistic elements of the insect kingdom found safe haven there.
Evidently, Hamasaki Tsubasa didn't live well.
"They want to start a war, and they want my help. They aren't getting it… But they've got me good. I already know what they'll do. They'll threaten her. They'll threaten Ruiko. They'll start leaving their fucking notes again, breaking windows, knocking on the door in the middle of the night again. Assholes."
The television – somehow, the device still worked despite having jagged cracks, almost appearing to form intricate patterns onto themselves snaking all across its screen – reminded Hamasaki Tsubasa as a time not all that long ago. A time when there had been one, single current event.
Tsubasa found himself reminded, again, of the inability to escape it. It had been the trending topic on every social media platform. Broadcasting stations which hadn't ordinarily aired news stories broke their transmissions to report every new development.
World War III. The global conflict which had devoured Russia for just over a week.
The thought made the fourth-ranked level five esper shudder unconsciously.
"This is your war. You won't be getting my help to start it. Not even you, David… I'll put something together."
Quite suddenly, Voidwalker felt himself drained of energy, the mere will to stand upon his own two feet. Stumbling, falling backwards, he landed unceremoniously upon the filth-encrusted couch. Half-empty takeout boxes crumpled beneath his body's weight. Several insects darted away. A scavenging rat, spooked, departed quickly from the scene, abandoning its dried-out ramen noodles and fleeing the towering giant that had just collapsed nearby.
Resting his hand upon his forehead, Hamasaki Tsubasa sighed aloud. The thin layer of invisible void energies which constantly, passively flowed mere inches from his form protected him from bug bites, and from curious rodents.
Where had it all gone so wrong?
Like a mantra, he repeated the words within his higher mind.
"Academy City is Hell."
But, who was he to look down upon them? Who was he to criticize them? Who was he to place himself upon a pedestal and rant and rave about them, and their immoral method to himself? He was no better. He was Hamasaki Tsubasa, a Gladio-Oculus G-man with a rep sheet.
He recalled his own words, recalled his own actions.
"No hero's going to save you from me! Nan, I KILL heroes! I lay them out! I attend their fucking funerals just to fuck with their grieving loved ones, for fun! I piss on the graves of heroes! You'll talk, or you'll die! THAT'S IT! That's our negotiation! Fuck it! You're not in the mood?! Alright! Fine! Next knee! You'll never walk agaaaaaaain! Neeeeeveeeeeerrrrr agaaaaaiiiiinnnnnnnnn! Not even the Frog-Doctor will be able to fix you! Cunt, cunt, cunt, CUNT! Get your pain meds, nan! Here it comes!"
He'd smashed that old woman's knees until they'd been nothing but shattered bone. He'd waterboarded her, simulating her drowning over, and over. He'd snapped her neck, killing her, even after she'd told him everything he'd needed from her.
And what did that make Voidwalker, one among Academy City's level fives?
A monster. Just another mentally ill human monster.
What had come over him? Some dark, oppressive force. Something that had pulled at his innards, wracked his mind, left him incapable of using reason. That old woman who, on some level, had apparently operated that 'Occult Market', a Magic Side infiltration of Academy City and a clear violation of the Magic-Science Treaty had been deleted, effectively. Like a program on a computer dragged and dropped into the recycle bin.
"That… It wasn't me. It wasn't me! I'm not like that! Then… Then, who was it? If it wasn't me, who did it? Who's always done it?"
Rubbing his temples with his hand's index finger and thumb, Hamasaki Tsubasa groaned. Lethargy took hold. He sank, deeper and deeper into surfaces of the ratty couch's cushions. Even as he felt the metallic springs beneath him, Tsubasa hardly felt it. The sensations were distant.
"Academy City has this effect on people. It makes decent people do terrible things. It makes monsters. Academy City… Is Hell."
Moping about as depression set in, the darkened clouds rolling over and downpouring without a moment's hesitation nor thoughts of relenting, he realized that this accomplished nothing. In fact, it accomplished less than nothing.
But, what hope was there? Academy City was set in its ways. There was a status quo, and that status quo could not be damaged nor destroyed. The iron grip of the General Superintendent and his puppets, the Board of Directors, was simply too powerful. Forces at work within this place were beyond the scope and grasp of any, especially an uppity teenager like himself.
To flee the walls was an option. There was no forcefield surrounding the colossal, walled enclave, and no automatons patrolled its borders seeking to bring death to deserters.
At the very least, he could be selfish. He'd always have that going for him.
Rising from the ratty old couch with some reluctance, grunting as he did so, Hamasaki Tsubasa departed from the filthy, disgusting living quarters, and hobbled down the hallway, which held doors leading into the dorm's sole bedroom and lone bathroom. The former was Voidwalker's destination.
Pushing through the door, he stepped into a mostly barren, unfurnished room. Save for a simple bed, intended for use by a single person and a cheap, metal nightstand next to it, with drawers built-in, there was nothing in the way of ornamental intricacy. The room's single window was obscured, veiled by drawn curtains.
He rooted through the nightstand's drawers, encountering empty pill bottles, an unloaded handgun, and, finally… A small, square-shaped box, with an ornamental ribbon tied over its surfaces several times. It looked too pristine to be in this dorm; Hamasaki was aware of that, and chuckled at the thought.
He'd always have his selfishness. He could always reach out to her, be honest, and try to convince her to abandon all of this with him. How did she really feel about him? Saten Ruiko always had been a hard nut to crack. For all of her upbeat, energetic attitude and personality quirks, every single one of which he adored to no end, the level zero girl had been something of an enigma when it came to her own feelings.
"I shouldn't."
His selfishness found itself brutally overpowered by his own logical means of thinking.
"This place is an irredeemable hellhole that deserves to be nuked into oblivion… But she has friends here. Ruiko's trying her best. She always has. She has her little life here, with her little routine and her little hangouts. If anyone should go, it should be me. Alone. Whatever the case, you're not getting your war. Not now, not ever. Not from me."
Was it the 'moral' thing to do? Hamasaki Tsubasa couldn't have known. He'd found himself balancing delicately on a proverbial tightrope, trying to balance himself, somewhere between good and evil. If 'good' was right and 'evil' was left, then, Voidwalker viewed himself as leaning to the left while walking upon this tightrope.
"This is stupid. What the fuck am I doing?"
Preparing himself, Voidwalker stuffed the box he'd collected into his uniform pants' pocket. Trekking to the poorly-maintained, cramped bathroom, with its tiled walls and dirt-encrusted flooring, the fourth-ranked level five esper peered at himself in the dust-covered mirror. He'd need a shower. He'd need to comb his shoulder-length hair, make himself look at all presentable if he was going to visit someone like her, like Saten Ruiko.
Though he couldn't have known it, there were others in Academy City making their moves, egged on by nameless, faceless, shadowy 'liaisons' who dwelled in the darkness, who, in turn, were supplied with their contracts by the Board of Directors. In one of their safehouses, located within an otherwise unremarkable high-rise apartment complex, the eldest of three girls staying there received a phone call. She hadn't been expecting anyone; but such was life as a mercenary working within the darkness. Jobs didn't, couldn't and simply wouldn't pop up conveniently. For someone like her, who killed for coin, jobs came when jobs came.
Mugino Shizuri sat quietly, one leg elegantly crossed over the other's thigh. She listened, her eyelids narrowing with each passing word spoken to her by the gruff-sounding voice emanating from the opposite end of the call. Academy City's fifth-ranked level five esper – dethroned, humiliated and utterly brought low by that void-brat – suddenly found herself smirking a wide, toothy smirk.
"Voidwalker upsets a delicate balance. You of all people would surely want revenge against him, for what he took from you. Deal with it appropriately, and your organization will be financed appropriately. Additionally, your status as fourth-ranked will be reinstated."
Shizuri could barely speak. She'd become so overtly giddy, so filled to the absolute, bubbling brim with a childlike sense of excitement that, for a few passing moments, she'd forgotten she was even talking with anyone at all.
"So, that fucking brat has lost his protection?"
"For the moment."
"Hah!"
How the tables had turned. That idiot boy should've known better. Academy City protected only what was useful to its interests. As soon as one ceased to be useful to the powers at play within this walled enclave, their life was forfeit. Mugino Shizuri had been operating within the 'Dark Side of Academy City' long enough to understand what this meant.
"ITEM would be more than happy to take the job. Consider it done."