For the span of a moment's time, Hamasaki Tsubasa had believed that her transformation, limited as it was, though both admirable and noticeable, had come to an end, that, at it'd reached its peak, the total affect it could possibly have on the world around it.
Apparently, that conclusion was simply not correct, as the transformation, and the subsequent mutations that wracked Mugino Shizuri's body continued, unabated.
The fourth-ranked level five watched on from within his constructed dome of void energies made physically manifest, as the fifth-ranked level five began to gradually, and perpetually mutate.
From her shoulders, jutting from the sides of her neck like a series of ugly tumours came many bulbous, enormous and perpetually-sparking masses of purplish-white light, most of which were only semi-solid. From her kneecaps, great, stalagmite-like protrusions, seemingly constructed from 'hardened', purplish-white matter of some anomalous origin were forced outward, pointing directly in Tsubasa's direction.
At first, nothing out of the 'ordinary' – whatever 'ordinary' could actually be defined as – occurred. Nothing particularly queer, nothing off-putting. The transformation, and the subsequent mutations continued to occur, yet, these were the only developments, in terms of the Meltdowner's oncoming meltdown.
The truth of the matter, unknown to Hamasaki Tsubasa, the fourth-ranked level five was that the fifth-ranked level five, Mugino Shizuri, the mastermind and commander of ITEM – or what was left of ITEM – was just barely clinging to her slipping sanity as her mind rebelled against her, spurred by pain and its own attempts to understand power it couldn't possibly begin to comprehend.
This desperate, failing clinging alone was solely what prevented the outcome Hamasaki Tsubasa sought to witness.
Paradoxically, it was the witnessing of what she was becoming, the volatile, sparking mutations her body was undergoing that threatened to push her completely and utterly over the edge, and tumbling downward into the proverbial, gaping maw of insanity.
It was looking at him, too.
Him, that cheating, wretch of a ride-along, the damnable brat who'd stolen her thunder, made a fool of her and then again had made a fool of her right in front of her own underlings.
The situation, the unravelling of her higher mind, the volatile, sparking, mindbogglingly painful mutations, they were his fault, all of it was his fault, he'd done everything.
He'd tormented her, tortured her very soul, taken from her the only thing she'd held dear, her status as the fourth-ranked level five, one among the strongest in Academy City – no, not just in Academy City, in all of the world.
First, it'd been that electricity brat, the little princess runt from Tokiwadai Middle School. Then, it'd been the Voidwalker brat.
For all of her strengths, for all of her hardships, Mugino Shizuri was nothing more than a doormat. What did she have to show for her efforts? Failure.
If she, Mugino Shizuri, was going to die, she'd take him with her.
And, so, as she hacked forth a glob of crimson lifeblood, practically vomiting the life-giving liquid from within her throat like it was some amalgamation of saliva and phlegm, Mugino Shizuri's lips curled, upwards, into a crooked, wild grin; one of malice, one of contempt, one of hatred.
The Meltdowner's True Face slipped into reality, as the lingering mask of sanity fell.
Even as lifeblood streamed downward from the corners of her eyes, from within her nostrils, dripping from the corners of her mouth, and from just about every other orifice one both could and couldn't observe, even as her entire body felt as if it was about to implode, Mugino Shizuri focused as best she could.
With a mere gathering of her wits, so many, many glowing, purplish-white spheres formed, seemingly from out of thin air around the level five Meltdowner.
First, there were ten, each appearing around her, circling her, flashing in and out of existence not unlike a flickering and dying light bulb.
Then, following suit within the span of milliseconds, there were a hundred of them. Each blinked into being, and, with each sphere, a burst of lifeblood was ejected from within the Meltdowner.
Unrestrained, each fired a surging, searing Meltdowner beam.
Gathering around her form like so many flies to a rotting, stinking piece of discarded fecal matter, each unleashed its 'payload' in a random direction; some fired upwards, others downwards, others to the left and to the right.
Some spheres fired their respective 'payloads' even as they rapidly spun in place.
Not unlike a symphonic soundtrack played over an action scene in a big-budget action film, the feral, unhinged scream, sounding more akin to something produced by a wild animal suffering from an infection of rabies than a fully-grown human being accented the brutalist light-show.
The void, a largely unknown cosmic power beyond the elements of Earth took the brunt of many hits, many searing and surging high-powered electron cannons. 'Dents', forming in the invisible, deflecting 'field' that hovered mere inches from Hamasaki Tsubasa's body, like an unseen, extra layer of skin became visible. Tendrils, not unlike lavender-coloured smoke in their collective appearances drifted outward, upward and downward from each individual point of impact.
With one final, 'spectacular' flash of purplish-white, overtaking the entirety of the space allocated for movement within the constructed dome of void, all fell silent and all fell dark.
Left within were enormous craters, great, jagged gouges, digging deep even into the Earth beyond the cobbled roadway, most of which had been torn up and tossed around like so many toys whipped around by an ignorant child, or destroyed entirely, unaccounted for.
The once-sole source of light within the constructed dome of void energy, the lamppost had been severed, torn apart, not even merely in half, but ripped asunder at more than one point. Torn both horizontally and diagonally, metal had been shredded, and internal wiring had been exposed.
Then, the dome dissipated; fading from existence, it exited the plane inhabited by humans, mortal and immortal alike with a crackle.
Seeing multicoloured spots within his field of vision, and drenched in a thick, grimy layer of sweat, but otherwise unharmed, Hamasaki Tsubasa, the fourth-ranked level five stood alone among the wreckage.
Not even a shred, not even a mere particle, not even a singular cell that'd once belonged to the greater cellular mass of Mugino Shizuri, the once-fourth ranked, and then fifth-ranked level five esper remained.
Just as expected, just as predicted, just as it should've been.
Hopefully, they'd been watching. Hopefully, they'd been paying attention to the proceedings. He wasn't completely unreasonable. He, Hamasaki Tsubasa, was willing to cut a deal, to compromise.
With little else to be done, the fourth-ranked level five began to leap out from within the enormous, asteroid-sized crater produced by the usage of the formerly-living Mugino Shizuri's runaway level five Meltdowner ability, aided by jutting parodies of human limbs, 'constructed' from raw void energies.
It was elsewhere, within his towering, Windowless Building that Aleister Crowley, onlooker, listener and recorder of events, he who was the judge, jury and executioner nodded his head, once, causing the liquid about him to shuffle, and temporarily become disturbed, as ripples were forced outwards, from the point in which the action was taken.
The potential for development of a level six remained. The fourth-ranked level five esper's willingness to compromise was more than what could be said for most of his compatriots.
He, with little bumbling about, without remorse, seemingly with very little trouble at all had dispatched another level five completely.
It was fine. Meltdowner had long ago outlived its usefulness; the trash had simply been taken out. Another name would be added, etched onto the Parameter List, and another would inevitably become the fifth-ranked level five esper.
Most had outlived their collective usefulness, in fact.
Topics aside from the fourth-ranked level five, Voidwalker, topics of interest were limited to the number seven, the Gemstone Attack Crash, simply due to the abstract, absurdist nature of his existence in and of itself, and the number one, the Accelerator, the latter of whom had become utterly useless, without a doubt, following its bond with the Misaka Network Moderator Last Order. That was if the 'Main Plan' even lived. Aleister could find no confirmation of its death, nor of its continued existence.
With the former of the two potentially beyond the capabilities of Academy City's understanding, and the latter of the two an unsuitable candidate for ascension, the Voidwalker reopened doors Aleister Crowley had long thought to be doomed to stay shut.
Even a basic understanding of elements beyond the comprehension of most mortal minds was relevant reasoning for ascension candidacy.
Perhaps, if time would allow it, Aleister Crowley, Academy City's General Superintendent would have to get in touch with the fourth-ranked level five, regarding that 'goal' of his. Indeed, as it turned out, Gladio's Director had the right of things, at least regarding the achieving of SYSTEM.
Voidwalker's name wouldn't have been added to the Parameter List without reason, after all. For a moment, a small, thin smirk etched itself upon the facial features of Aleister Crowley, the world's worst magician.
If anything, working towards the fabled ascension, the achieving of SYSTEM would likely prove an interesting, if convoluted time-waster.
Bang.
Bang.
Clack, clack click, and a clack, apparently tacked on simply for good measure.
Bang.
Ensnared, bound like an animal caught within the rusted, jagged jaws of a game hunter's trap, Saten Ruiko had stalled within the twelfth staircase, leading upward, towards Family Side's thirteenth floor. Nothing physically impeded her progress, and, aside from the stiffening carcass that'd once held a human life, tossed haphazardly, half-way down the second of two staircases, she found herself alone; no criminals, no pseudo-radicals attempted to halt or harm her, for they simply didn't exist.
Saten Ruiko was held back only by her own higher mind's constant, incessant demands to flee, as quickly as she possibly could.
Finding herself without so much as even a blunt weapon to defend her life, if push did come to shove, Ruiko would've, perhaps could've, relied upon the mysterious power she'd only recently stumbled upon.
Yet there were no writing materials to be found, nothing which could be utilized to craft a Magic Circle, nor even draw up some simple runes. A true magician would have come prepared.
Once more, it seemed that she, Ruiko, the middle-schooler girl was powerless, a level zero, just an ordinary girl once more. Then again, that was hardly the truth of the matter. 'Ordinary girls' didn't often, or ever find themselves in the vicinity of what must've been, judging by the repeated, thunderous claps, a gunfight.
Ruiko, gripping the handrail, her right hand's fingers and thumb tightening around the elongated, rounded metallic surface, shuddered. She bit into her lower lip, sinking her teeth into the soft, exposed flesh as the exchanging of gunfire continued.
"MISAKA doesn't… DOESN'T WANT you to go, Kikyou, MISAKA MISAKA exclaims, worried for her beloved friend's safety and well-being in the dangerous situation unfolding before her!"
Saten Ruiko's eyelids widened, as many, many more than 'a few' questions swirled within the confines of her higher mind.
There was a particular tone about the voice, a certain layer of intensity, raw, flowing emotion; the words were so loudly vocalized, they could apparently pass virtually unabated through solid concrete.
Was that the little girl, Misaka Mikoto's clone apparently named 'Last Order'? Was she the one who was crying out? Who was "Kikyou"?
She sounded like Misaka Mikoto. Her tone of voice, though considerably more shrill, not unlike that of a child's, appropriately enough, was by Ruiko's own standards eerily, chillingly similar.
Why did the little girl, if a little girl was what she indeed was, or was intended to be speak in such a strange manner, in third person as if she was narrating the speech delivered by another person entirely?
For a moment, as the exchanging of gunfire continued above, accompanied by a symphony of screams, and a choir of thumping footfalls, individuals, terrified humans fleeing in all directions, Saten Ruiko considered something.
What she couldn't have known about was the unheard conversation taking place within the higher mind of Last Order, a mind which was not merely connected to, but moderated the hive mind identified as the Misaka Network.
"Where is MISAKA's support, where is Kikyou's support? MISAKA MISAKA inquiries with firm and determined fervour, attempting in vain to rally the layabouts she has been tasked to moderate!"
"Misaka is too busy being in England and laughing at the fact that tou-san got cut up by the Savior to bother with you."
"MISAKA knows you're lying, Malicious One, MISAKA MISAKA exclaims, believing well and truly that Accelerator is alive and well in England!"
"Network serial number ten thousand thirty-two reporting in! Almost on your position, give us a bit of time, Moderator! Network serial number ten thousand twenty-nine is lagging, due to her overindulgence in junk food and Internet video streaming services!"
"Misaka ten thousand and twenty-nine would take more time to debunk Misaka ten thousand and thirty-two's foolish and false claims if current events were not so dire, Misaka elaborates, setting the story straight for all others to hear."
Ironically, in the midst of utter chaos, society and civil order unfolding around her, Saten Ruiko considered something that made absolute sense.
If she hadn't decided to act in another, similar situation, a situation in which the anguished cries of the destitute, the desperate and the wounded rang out around her, what would've happened?
What would've happened if she'd decided to flee, when, in a time that seemed so long ago, the treacherous, merciless, callous and cruel witch who called herself Therestina Kihara Lifeline had her closest friends in her clutches, their abilities disrupted through the use of the Capacity Down frequency?
With a sudden, mental steeling of her senses, of her will and a swift grasp at what confidence she could reach out to, Ruiko rushed forward like a bat straight out of Hell. Up and down she climbed what remaining steps she hadn't ascended, one leg moving upward, then downward as another moved not in unison but out of step, an imperfect balance.
And, so, Saten Ruiko chose not to ascend the subsequent staircase, which would've lead her to Family Side's fourteenth floor. Instead, the level zero middle schooler girl chose to, with all of the physical strength her shuddering, unsure upper body muscles could've managed, throw open the thick, silver-toned metallic door which lead into the apartment complex's twelfth floor, and the individual suites found within.
Her eyelids widened, as she bore witness to the events unfolding before her.
Preventing the door from slamming behind her, by extending her arm, and catching the door with her outstretched hand's palm, then allowing it to silently close with the gradual aid of her arm's muscles, Saten Ruiko's vision became fixed upon a human form, leaning outward, only slightly from within the frame of a doorway, leading into what must've been the thirteenth floor's first suite. A girl, short, even shorter than Ruiko herself and even slimmer was clad in a darkened sailor's uniform with brightened white trim, and accented by a white, pleated skirt. Close by, a beret equally as dark in coloration as her sailor's uniform was cast out upon the carpeted flooring, having apparently rested upon her head's crown.
"S-SEIVELUN-SAN?!"
Only in her thoughts did Saten Ruiko cry out, for she was quickly silenced and forced to the ground; Frenda Seivelun, the informally-dressed girl with the sailor's uniform and the long, curly blonde hair tossed an emptied clip aside, allowing the used goods to tumble to the carpeted flooring, nearby her abandoned beret.
From within the rightmost pocket of her pleated skirt, Frenda Seivelun loaded another clip into her handgun, and, with a click, she took aim once more; she neglected to fire, only because she lacked a visible target.
"Basically," Frenda called out, causing Ruiko to look upward, toward the form of the individual whom she'd known for some time to be her acquaintance, at the very least, "just hand the kid over, and I'll be on my merry way! Nothing's going to happen to her; honestly, the City will probably just give her back when they're done with… whatever it is they want to do. So quit being so unreasonable! What's the clone to you, anyways? Basically, too many people try to play the hero around here… tiring!"
"Your case would be much more trustworthy if you weren't currently attempting to kill both of us, girl."
"Basically, you shot first! Don't try and pin this on me, old lady! In fact, by all rights, I think I have the moral high-ground!"
Something, something within her mind, it proverbially snapped itself into place, like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Saten Ruiko recognized the vocalizations, unique in sound and tone, produced by the unseen individual, lurking within what must've been the thirteenth floor's third suite.
That disembodied voice could be linked to an owner, and the owner in question was Anti Skill Lieutenant Yomikawa Aiho, the physical education teacher, first at that dumpy high school and then recently transferred to that that less dumpy middle-high school.
A voice unrecognized by Saten Ruiko cried back in response.
"You won't take her from us, EVER!"
"Basically, we'll just have to see about that. You wouldn't believe how quickly the tide can turn!"
With neither party attempting to gun one another down, it seemed that an impasse had been reached. Yomikawa Aiho didn't slide out from her side of the third suite's door frame – why she didn't simply close the door, and barricade herself and those she co-habituated with inside was a rhetorical question whose answer lurked beyond the corridors of Ruiko's higher mind – and Frenda Seivelun, without a target, had slid back into place, her firearm raised upwards, her right hand's index finger wrapped around its trigger.
An irritated Frenda Seivelun, if her orders hadn't been specifically to take the clone, "Last Order" alive, and unharmed, would've simply brought the entirety of "Family Side" down. She possessed the technological know-how; she possessed the hardware to make it happen.
Without vocalizing a single word, Frenda instead dammed within her higher mind with a passing thought the Darkness' collective army of scientific goonies for being so picky in whose brains it wanted to pick apart in some bleak underground laboratory.
Temporarily distracted, temporarily having taken her leave from the world of the living, the level three esper and mercenary girl Frenda Seivelun never heard the quiet footfalls of Saten Ruiko, the clacking of her loafers' soles muffled by the carpeted flooring beneath them, stalking from behind, inching forward with caution she'd never before exercised.
Her brain, her very mind itself was beginning to throb and cry out for oxygenated air; Saten Ruiko perpetually held her breath, never even taking a moment to inhale slightly. She couldn't risk to make even a peep.
With the firefight having come to a temporary halt, no longer could she afford to breathe. No longer could she afford to make the smallest of noises, anything which could possibly disrupt her cover.
"I don't know anything about all this, but Seivelun-san, but I'm going to stop it... This isn't about being a hero. This is for Misaka-san!"
With her thoughts becoming scattered, her lungs crying out, demanding to be given the chance to take in a great, long inhalation of precious, life-giving oxygen, Saten Ruiko did just that, as she leapt forward, arms held outward, as if she was about to take the mercenary girl into an embrace.
An embrace was most certainly not what'd happened.
With all one hundred and two pounds of her body's weight, Saten Ruiko came crashing down upon a shocked Frenda Seivelun, who produced a vaguely squeal-like shriek as she fell, her face connecting with the carpeted flooring beneath her body.
From the grip of her fingers, which were flung outwards, as instincts took control while her rational, controlling higher mind reeled from the sudden and unexpected blow, Frenda's firearm tumbled to the ground, with a series of clacks.
Swiftly, even as her own heart thudded in her chest, even as sweat began to drip downward, accenting her wrinkled brow, exposing the extend of her body's perspiration beneath the ceiling-mounted lighting fixtures of Family Side's thirteenth floor, Ruiko quickly scavenged the weapon.
Not having even the simplest, singular clue of how to properly hold such a thing, Saten Ruiko awkwardly wrapped both of her hands around the firearm, and pointed its barrel in Frenda's direction.
Awkwardly, it drifted about, as Ruiko's own hands shook violently; if she'd decided to take the shot, the bullet was highly unlikely to make contact with the form of its intended target.
"SEIVELUN-SAN!"
A slight heave, a quick, surprisingly gentle cough and a low grunt preceded Frenda Seivelun's quick rise from the carpeted flooring; with either of her hands she forcibly pushed herself upwards and practically leapt to her feet.
Bending, she casually slipped the pump that adorned her right foot back into place, before her vision's gaze locked with the unsteady gaze of Saten Ruiko, whose open aggression was etched into her facial featured.
Then, Saten Ruiko found herself questioning just what was supposed to be happening, as Frenda began to quietly giggle under her breath. With a shake of her head, the mercenary girl's blonde, curly locks flowed about like the pedals of a flower buffeted by the forceful kisses of an afternoon's breeze.
"Basically, this is just so typical of you, Saten."
Rolling her shoulders, Frenda hopped in place, for a moment, before she continued, from where her previous vocalizations' words had left off.
"If you're not out wandering back allies, searching for monsters, you're stumbling into a situation that's way too dangerous for someone like you to be involved. Basically, you're way beyond just being a person whose movements are completely predictable... but I can acknowledge a good stroke when I see one. You caught me off guard, no way around it. Do you have some kind of… precognition ability? MAYBE you can even see the future! Basically, that'd explain it."
Saten Ruiko thought she might collapse; her heart was beating far, far too quickly for its own good, and she knew it. More than once, it palpitated, and, each time, Ruiko assumed it wouldn't begin beating again, following each palpitation.
It did, of course.
"L-leave these people alone, Seivelun-san. They haven't done anything to you."
Frenda simply shook her head, no, as she placed either of her small hands on her hips.
"Basically," the level three mercenary girl began, carefully situating herself, quite snugly within the first suite's door's frame, so that she couldn't become a target as she spoke her piece to the newcomer, "you don't even know half of what's happening here, Saten."
"It's not important! I know enough! I—"
"You're just an ordinary girl, and, you should try to make sure things stay that way."
With a stomp of her loafer-clad foot, Saten Ruiko inched forward, Frenda's pilfered firearm clutched tightly, and beyond awkwardly in the sweat-plastered palms of her shuddering hands.
"I'm so tired of having that said to me! If I wanted to be some ordinary girl who never die anything and never even tried to help the people important to me, I never would've come to Academy City! I never would've tried to develop an ability, Seivelun-san!"
"You've seen the dark part of Academy City more than once, but those were just brushes with it. Every time, you almost died. This isn't going to be any exception, especially because we're on two different sides of the field this time."
"I know the little girl, Last Order, is one of Misaka-san's clones, one of her Sisters. I don't need any other motivation to get involved! Misaka-san is my friend, and her family – it doesn't even matter how they were born – is my family, too!"
"Hm."
Another piece on the board; from within the third suite of Family Side's thirteenth floor, Yomikawa Aiho, Anti Skill Captain and physical education teacher turned mother bear stepped out from the hall, and in through the doorway, leading into the apartment she shared with a certain once-researcher.
From within the pocket of her simple denim slacks, she'd retrieved a small, dark-coloured device, with only a singular button on its physical user interface, one which was circular, located in the centre bottom of the device, beneath its illuminated touchscreen.
It was a smartphone, and the Anti Skill Captain, more than likely, was plotting to utilize its services in order to call out for the aid of backup.
For the mere moments that she'd taken her eyes away from the form of Frenda Seivelun, however, Saten Ruiko paid.
Moving like greased lightning, quickly closing the distance between herself and the level zero middle-schooler girl, Frenda landed a harsh, swiftly-delivered kick; her pump-clad right foot slammed directly into Ruiko's side, effortlessly knocking the wind from her lungs, and, with equal effortlessness, resulted in her tumbling to the carpeted flooring, producing only a soft and otherwise unremarkable gasp, a quick, fruitless attempt by her lungs to fill themselves once more with oxygenated air.
"Basically, I'm not enjoying this. Just crawl off, and that'll be the end of that, Saten. I'm not going to follow you."
"You… seriously believe… that…"
"You can report me to Anti-Skill all you like, they won't do anything about it, probably won't even investigate. Basically, what goes on in the dark stays in the dark, and the light doesn't get involved, ever. If you know so much about the Experiments, you'd probably know that it was someone from the outside who ended the whole thing, some, Kami… Kami-something-or-other."
And, so, as Frenda Seivelun retrieved her firearm, formerly pilfered by Saten Ruiko, from the carpeted flooring, she took a moment to look over the weapon's casing, as she fell back into her 'secure' position, looking over her shoulder only once before she pressed her back to the door frame.
Ruiko herself had managed to stumble to her feet; even this simple action proved to be a daunting task, with her side's constant, incessant throbbing. Had a rib been broken? There was no blood to speak of, though the middle schooler girl didn't quite know for certain whether or not the fleeing of lifeblood could always be reasonably associated with a broken bone, of any sort.
"Seivelun-san…"
"Huh. Basically, make like a fluffy old bumblebee and buzz off, Saten, I'll hang out with you another day. I'm sort of busy. My work's just as important as anyone else's."
"Why?"
"Because it's my job; it's not something that you would get."
Just as Ruiko was about to utter a reply, as best she could, given the fact that the entire right side of her body was beginning to violently ache and throb, like some sort of unseen, ethereal force was tearing away at her, the lights above flickered.
The lights within the pilfered apartment, which Frenda Seivelun had apparently taken as her own place of temporary refuge flickered; once, twice, a third time. And then they died out completely, like a species of animal forced to extinction.
Hamasaki Tsubasa, who had been preparing to level the entire complex, halted the progression of his Personal Reality's scientific, calculation-based conjuring as he saw them ascending the walls of Family Side itself, as if they possessed suction cups beneath the soles of their Tokiwadai Middle School-issues loafers.
He folded his arms across his chest as he watched on, smartphone clutched in the palm of his hand, raised to the side of his face; the cellular device produced a series of dull, droning tones, emanating from within its external speaker.
Through the tall, metallic balcony doors, assembled with great, shining panes of glass, both of which were soon shattered a total of ten Sisters, the clones of Misaka Mikoto came, crashing through not unlike rocks thrown by mischievous children.
"Misaka Imouto", as Kamijou Touma had called her, a nickname which had found itself sticking was the first to commit this act of grievous property damage. A simple, yet effective slamming of both her feet through the pane of glass had done the trick while next to her Misaka Ten Thousand and Twenty-Nine mimed her act, destroying the leftmost pane, shattering it and sending a likely million shards of glass flying forward, each of which soon came to decorate the tilted flooring of the seventh suite's living quarters.
"Basically," Frenda remarked, "sounds like we've got company, Saten. I told you to buzz off, and you should've listened. Oh well, it's a learning experience! I'll be your teacher from this point onward, just call me Seivelun-sensei~! If it's Anti-Skill, keep your head down! If it's Judgment, head for the hills!"
Saten Ruiko offered no verbal response to the pathetic, borderline psychopathic attempt at momentary comic relief, if that was indeed what the petite mercenary girl was trying to achieve. The middle schooler girl couldn't quite be sure.
It was with a pant, a swift, sharp inhalation of oxygenated air that Ruiko forced her body to move, even as her muscles screamed at her to stop. Higher mind pushing them, proverbially whipping them into shape like a series of mistreated soldiers in some dictator's personal military, the level zero middle schooler girl rushed the petite mercenary girl.
A sigh of irritation, and the latter's right first was thrown outward, palm open, fingers held upwards, not forming a fist, but, instead, a flattened surface of some sort.
Frenda Seivelun could've pulled out one of the many butterfly knives she kept on her person at all times. She could've produced her lighter, modified to create a particularly large, if brief burst of flame, attuned more for use in a combat-oriented situation than in a moment in which a cigar or cigarette would've needed to be alight. She could've produced from within her skirt, strapped to her inner thigh, one of her handheld canisters of harmless gas which obviously she would've claimed to be noxious, and highly toxic.
But Frenda Seivelun didn't. She did understand where her acquaintance, the ordinary, powerless middle schooler girl was coming from. It was a kind gesture, and a genuinely warm-hearted goal she sought to accomplish.
As if time had slowed, Saten Ruiko approached, closing he distance as best she could, one loafer-clad foot slapping against the carpeted flooring of the thirteenth floor's hall after the other.
And, so, it was then that Frenda found her right arm's wrist being grabbed onto, with considerable, admittedly surprising force, as, from within the thirteenth floor's seventh suite, swift footfalls echoed.
"Basically, you don't want to do this!"
Like her body knew just what it was supposed to do in such a situation, despite having never found itself in such a situation, not one where it'd actually been made to fight back against attackers at least, Saten Ruiko, with Frenda Seivelun's wrist in hand quickly pulled her in, and forced her right knee into the mercenary girl's stomach, her rage, her disgust, her distaste boiling over, becoming audible as a shrill, unconsciously-vocalized scream.
Her knee, the flesh of it, and the hardened bone beneath didn't connect with Frenda Seivelun's flesh, however; Saten Ruiko's knee instead met a near-literal wall of resistance. There was no way for her to have known precisely what she'd struck, but what she'd struck was in fact a bulletproof vest, constructed with thick multilayered armoured plates; high tensile strength fibres linked each plate together, lurking just beneath her sailor's uniform.
To say that Saten Ruiko's knee took the brunt of the brutal, sudden lashing of pain would be a grand understatement. She certainly hadn't been expecting anything of the sort.
Uttering a loud vocalization, something between a scream and a forceful yell, Saten Ruiko lost balance, her suddenly-useless knee buckling beneath the weight of her upper body. Crawling backward, Ruiko practically dragged her right leg, which had become all but useless.
"Told you so; in the end, you're just as stubborn as ever, Saten. It's charming. Say, once I finish up here, we should grab a bite to eat, my treat!"
At the very least, Ruiko could still feel the limb's presence. It throbbed, it vibrated, and, for a moment, she thought that she wouldn't have minded if the limb was amputated there and then, but, it was still there. That had to have been something of note.
The level zero middle schooler girl seethed, but offered no response to the verbal jabs that'd been thrown her way; Frenda Seivelun seemed all too pleased with herself; etched across her facial features was a toothy, shit-eating sneer.
The door leaning into (or alternatively out from) the thirteenth floor's seventh suite swung open, passing inward.
As such, Frenda's sneer faded.
Head tilting to one side, higher mind seeking to identify the source of the intrusive noise, Frenda's sneer turned to a frustrated pout, accentuated with a sigh.
Ruiko, the level zero middle schooler girl from the "Light Side" crawled further, bewildered, shocked, horrified, and utterly confused all at once merely by the sight of nearly two dozen of the same person, all completely identical, nearly two dozen Misaka Mikotos before her, each dressed identically, clad in Tokiwadai Middle School's winter uniform.
Yet, as Ruiko's gaze focused further, 'identical' was then made an obsolete word, at least when used to describe the sight of the Misaka Mikotos before her.
The only real standout feature any of the Misaka Mikotos possessed was a small, silver pendant, with a hollowed, metallic emblem carved in the shape of a heart, which was worn by the 'squadron's' apparent 'leader', around her neck.
With Misaka Imouto, as she'd been nicknamed leading the charge, ten of the Misaka Network's seven thousand eight hundred and twenty-six units emerged, entering the fray. The barrels of nine firearms, auto-rifles which were easily as lengthy as they were tall were aimed directly at Frenda Seivelun's head, the scopes mounted near the firearm's barrels utilized as a means of heat-based visual tracking.
Misaka Imouto, the ten thousand and thirty-second clone of Misaka Mikoto raised her hand, however, and shook her head, no.
Misaka ten thousand and twenty-nine shot at the section of carpeted flooring closest to Frenda Seivelun, causing her to start; still, even in the face of what could've easily been certain death, the petite mercenary girl's will didn't waver, not in the slightest.
Instead, she remained tucked in, snugly, her back pressed against the first suite's door frame, handgun clutched tightly, her right hand's fingers wrapped securely around the firearm.
"You got to gun down the rapey guy, serial number ten thousand twenty-nine. This one's mine."
"Misaka would like to state that this is highly unfair."
"Don't kill her, MISAKA MISAKA exclaims, hoping to extend a merciful hand to the villainous blonde bimbo!"
"Heh, the Moderator, calling other people bimbos. Misaka's amused by the irony."
Like a scene ripped straight from the climax of a classic western film, as if they were two cowboys proceeding to quick-draw as the proverbial clock figuratively struck high noon, the outcome of exchange that would inevitably follow came down to timing, instincts, and who possessed the quicker, more capable trigger finger.
In this case, those who took part in the 'duel' were Misaka Imouto and Frenda Seivelun.
Bang, clack, bang, clack.
Frenda had made a tactical error in judgment.
With her higher mind's attention focused utterly on keeping an eye on Saten Ruiko, especially following that 'little' take down stunt of hers, executed earlier, she paid little attention to the clones of the third-ranked level five who, more than likely, were out for her blood.
The petite mercenary girl's left leg poked out ever so slightly from the door frame.
It was more than enough leeway.
Misaka Imouto had fired first, planting a bullet first in Frenda Seivelun's left knee, searing directly through the back of her leg, severing tendons and tearing muscles; then, as the stunned, pain-stricken mercenary girl stumbled outward from her perch, another, single round of ammunition was planted directly into Frenda's right knee, through the front, rushing, and piercing the kneecap, and emerging on from the other side.
With little more than a sudden gasp, a swift attempt at inhalation of oxygenated air by her lungs, Frenda fell like a downed giant, lifeblood leaking; the crimson liquid spewed from her destroyed knees.
"And so ends your reign of terror," Misaka Imouto remarked, approaching the site of the fallen mercenary, whose own lifeblood was quickly pooling around her. "I'd guess this makes me the better shot."
Though no one beyond the Network could hear it, words were thought, mentally vocalized, and broadcast throughout the Misaka Network, even to those who were not immediately present, or involved at all with the situation that'd unfolded, and then come to a close on the thirteenth floor of Family Side.
"Network serial number ten thousand thirty-two reporting, if serial numbers ten thousand twenty-nine and ten thousand forty-three could see Onee-sama's friend from the premises… I would much appreciate it. I'll see to it that this terrorist receives the necessary treatment, both medical and law-oriented."
"Misaka can perform this task, serial number ten thousand and twenty-nine states, clearly displaying her ability to follow simple orders from the considerably more experienced serial number ten thousand and thirty-two."
"Misaka can also see to this, serial number ten thousand and forty-three elaborates, vocalizing her desire to cooperate with her kinswomen."
"You didn't have to do that to her, MISAKA MISAKA exclaims, hoping that the sheer disappointment MISAKA is currently experiencing is felt and understood by MISAKA's underlings!"
"Shut it, brat, Misaka thinks they did the right thing. Misaka would've done worse."
"Your naive nature is quite vexing, I must admit, Control Tower."
"OHOHO! Serial number ten thousand and thirty-two laying down the LAW!"
Saten Ruiko, unaware as to the mental exchange taking place within the heads of the Misaka Mikotos, and, by extension, within the head of the little clown named Last Order, was barely able to figuratively grab a hold of herself and metaphorically slap herself in the proverbial face.
It was an ironic state of mental considerations in which she'd found herself. Being afraid would accomplish very little, and she knew it. If anything at all, it would serve only to offend the clones, who, obviously enough, weren't bad people. Vengeful, perhaps, but who wouldn't have been?
Just how they'd shown up, seemingly from out of the blue was a question which Ruiko didn't have the answer to, and likely never would, unless she asked the clones themselves.
Yet despite this desire not to fear them Ruiko's heart practically leapt into her throat as two of them approached her, walking almost like some sort of lifeless automaton, as if they were synthetic, artificial creations, metallic skeletal structures possessing human tissue stretched over them.
Surely, that wasn't the case.
"I'm sure you have some questions," the Misaka Mikoto who'd gunned down Frenda Seivelun without so much as a moment of hesitation spoke, offering the level zero middle schooler girl a hesitant, if warm, half-crooked grin.
Literally huddled in a corner, closest to the metallic door from which she'd first stepped into the Dark Side incident, Saten Ruiko simply nodded her head, yes, in an act of affirmation.
"I have some for you, too; but ultimately that's unimportant. I can't answer yours now, I'm afraid, but I do have a suggestion for you. Forget any of this happened. Learning more is just going to hurt you… and, if you'd be so kind try not to mention this to Onee-sa… "Misaka-san", she'll… become concerned. While her concern is appreciated, we can more than handle ourselves. Misaka-san need not worry about us."
"I can tell," was the first thought that rushed into Ruiko's higher mind, demanding to be loosed and vocalized; instead of giving into the temptation, the odd, habitual desire to vocalize those sarcastic-seeming words (they seemed sarcastic in Ruiko's mind, at least), the middle schooler girl without any sort of esper power literally bit into her tongue.
Looking up, Ruiko turned her attention from the Misaka Mikoto who'd spoken to her, and to those who'd come to stand before her, silently, each eyeing her almost warily. They looked to one another, for a moment's time, and then, turned their respective gazes back to Saten Ruiko.
The Misaka Mikoto, or, more accurately, the individual who must've been one of the Sisters clones, on the right leaned forward, extended her hand, and tilted her head one side.
Her eyes were empty, utterly devoid of… everything. Ruiko shuddered, beneath their oppressive gaze. At least the clone with the heart pendant had normal-looking, hazel-toned irises, and proper pupils.
"Misaka has been asked to see you, Onee-sama's acquaintance from the site of this incident, Misaka elaborates, briefly dumping a small amount of exposition in order for Onee-sama's acquaintance to better understand Misaka's innocent intentions.
"Misaka will not harm you, or allow any harm to come to you, Misaka elaborates further, hoping to ease the anxiousness held within the heart of Onee-sama's acquaintance. Unlike Serial Number ten thousand and thirty-two, Misaka cannot communicate with you through means you would deem normal, Misaka admits, slightly envious of Serial Number ten thousand and thirty-two's unprecedented cerebral mutations."
In response, Ruiko could only look on, initially; with a shake of her head, a forceful motion, one which caused her neck to crack repeatedly, a surprisingly comfortable sensation. Forcing her tongue to work, whipping it about within her mouth, the middle schooler girl finally managed to vocalize words, in response to the unimpressed-looking Misaka Mikotos looming over her.
"I-I… c-can't walk. I managed to mess up my knee pretty badly."
"Misaka and serial number ten thousand forty-three will aid Onee-sama's acquaintance in locomotion, then, Misaka elaborates, offering a helping hand in the only way she knows how."
"Misaka suggests that Onee-sama's acquaintance receives medical attention for the injury she has sustained, presumably in the midst of combat, Misaka states, taking a professional stance when compared to that taken by serial number ten thousand twenty-nine."
And, so, without another word, both Misaka ten thousand twenty-eight and Misaka ten thousand forty-three took their places behind Saten Ruiko, whom they then proceeded to lift, wrapping either of the middle schooler girl's arms around their collective shoulders.
With Anti-Skill on their way back to the scene, having originally been turned away by someone who possessed authority far higher than their own, Frenda Seivelun, the bleeding mercenary girl's wounds were treated, to the best of her ability by the clone of Misaka Mikoto, nicknamed "Misaka Imouto", utilizing torn sections of her own Tokiwadai Middle School blazer.
It would at least do until the mercenary could be hauled off to some medical treatment centre.
Perhaps she, clone number ten thousand and thirty-two had gone a bit too far. Perhaps she should've only shot one of the mercenary's legs, or, perhaps, she should've attempted to rush the mercenary, instead. Then again, what use was there in questioning what'd unfolded? There was no way to turn back the ticking hands of time, and undo the actions of even the recent past.
Saten Ruiko, the level zero middle schooler girl, aided by the ten thousand and twenty-ninth and ten thousand and forty-third clones of Misaka Mikoto was, soon enough, attended to by Anti Skill operatives, who'd only just arrived on the scene of the incident some few minutes prior.
Loaded onto a stretcher, despite the lack of bleeding, and despite the fact that she was, aside from the damage she'd unintentionally sustained to her right leg's knee otherwise unharmed, the fourth-ranked level five could only look on, as one among many Anti Skill armoured vehicles pulled away, and soon left the scene entirely.
"So, back to business, then, Hamasaki-Sama. You remarked earlier in our chitchat that you'd formulated an evil plan, of some description. Last evil plan you concocted was… pretty poor, at least in execution – personally, I think the theory itself wasn't all too flawed – let's talk about how you've improved."
The expectant voice of Gladio Director Sugou received no reply, however, not one he could comprehend, given the fact that he was conversing with Hamasaki Tsubasa over a cellular connection.
The fourth-ranked level five, seated upon a bench that'd mysteriously, almost magically managed to survive the near-complete devastation wreaked upon the section of roadway closest to Family Side could only continue to contemplate the surprisingly warm, completely genuine smile that Saten Ruiko had offered him, along with the victorious raising of her left hand's thumb.
With Kinuhata Saiai having come to her senses and with Mugino Shizuri, the formerly fifth-ranked level five no longer walking among the world of the living, there was only one who could've been responsible for Saten Ruiko's injuries.
That culprit would've been Frenda Seivelun; and she would pay very, very dearly for her involvement.