February 11th, 2004. 8:26 PM.
Even if he couldn't see it within the cabin of the armoured Anti Skill vehicle, which had come to function as a makeshift ambulance, Hamasaki Tsubasa simply knew that the planet's sky was utterly at peace, unconcerned with the events unfolding below.
For all of the concern it offered, the entire planet's parasitic infection of humans could've been wiped from existence, by their own hand or by the hand of some greater species, and, without a doubt, the Earth would not have cared at all.
At least the section of sky hovering above Academy City seemed to hold that sort of grim outlook, even as its colours faded in preparation for dusk, bright and blue. The fourth-ranked level five esper was all too aware that the world didn't give two shits, or even a singular fuck about what, exactly, took place on the landmasses beneath it.
Planet Earth was infested.
"Hama… augh! Mm, unf, this… this popcorn is… really great, feels like my taste buds are getting… pleasured. The wonders of science, eh, organically grown and harvested! Hamasaki-sama, are you currently on the same planet that I am? Seems like your head's in the clouds. It'd also seem that you've decided to go and zone out on me? Hoohoo, are you there? Are you ignoring me on purpose? What I have I done to receive this cold shoulder treatment from you? Why are you stabbing me right in the heart like this? Now you've gone and hurt my feelings."
"Shush for a minute, Sugou. I'm thinking."
"Don't go and give yourself a headache, Hamasaki-sama… kidding, kidding. I was a teenager once, too, Hamasaki-sama. Take your time."
The fourth-ranked level five sighed, resting his left leg over his right knee. Standing by the stretcher, which acted a place of refuge for an injured Saten Ruiko, Hamasaki Tsubasa blinked.
As he turned his gaze to her, she offered him a grin, and, with her right hand's index and middle fingers, produced a small 'V' sign.
Ruiko performed these in actions in spite of the grim thoughts that drifted throughout her mind's winding, never-ending corridors, through the passageways which had long ago fallen into disrepair, plastered with cobwebs woven by invisible spiders, conjured by the shadowy, unknown recesses of her mind.
She could never stop impressing him with her tenacity. Her seemingly endless fortitude and drive to simply survive.
For example, the fact that Saten Ruiko may not ever learn of Frenda Seivelun's true fate; would she survive the wounds inflicted upon her? Would she die, instead? Was that what the petite blonde deserved, for her obvious lack of concern regarding human lives?
For example, the fact Misaka Mikoto, someone Saten Ruiko had long considered to be one of her closest friends, practically someone she considered to be her sister, as close to her as her own brother and her own parents had been cloned well twenty thousand times, and that well over half of those clones had been mowed down by the strongest esper in Academy City, the fact that Misaka Mikoto had faced the throes of suffering and trauma alone.
Of course, Hamasaki Tsubasa had no means of knowing about Saten Ruiko's contemplation. At the very least, among others there was one less subject for him to worry himself half to death over; Saten Ruiko would be well taken care of. If Academy City was good at even one thing, it was good at keeping people from dying.
So long as she could keep her lips sealed, regarding what she'd been told, and, presumably, what she'd seen, everything for her would go back to normal.
Hamasaki Tsubasa would make sure that everything for her would go back to normal, or he'd die trying.
Having inquired as to which (presumed) medical facility his friend was being carted off to, the information he'd received from the Anti Skill operatives tending to her, within the cold, unfeeling, sterile cabin of that vehicle, the same vehicle that'd likely carted off criminals, society's failures didn't strike Hamasaki Tsubasa as particularly friendly.
The fact that Saten Ruiko would be cared for in Hasegawa Hospital, a medical facility conveniently (and understandably) located right in the heart of school district seven was relevant enough to his concerns.
The level zero middle schooler girl who'd thrown her own well-being in the path of a very real, very lethal threat for the sake of another.
With a simple flash of his badge, he'd been able to find himself aboard the makeshift ambulance, something the Anti-Skill officers-turned-paramedics apparently hadn't been too fond of.
That was simply too bad for them, wasn't it? Gladio were the top dogs, higher in authority than even the Board of Directors, and there was nothing that any of them, any of those who existed 'below' could do about it.
"So— Hamasaki-sama, is something bothering you? There's that cold shoulder again. You know, you ought to try and limit just how much you use that technique on people. You're bound to catch cold, or, worse… BECOME FROSTBIT!"
"Oi, Sugou."
"That's Director to yo… oh, I just can't pull off the 'nefarious bad guy who constantly radiates pure evil' shtick. Excuse me, please, just humour an old man trying to recapture his long-lost youth. What's on your mind? I'm going to take a stab at the dark and guess that it has something to do with why you've decided to contact me."
"Yeah… it's about the Experiments."
Hamasaki Tsubasa looked from one side, and then to the other, observing his surroundings, and making mental notes of all activity taking place, unfolding around him.
Beyond the circular, porthole-like windows of the makeshift Anti Skill ambulance, a crowd had gathered, consisting, unsurprisingly, entirely of students, from middle and high schools alike.
Aside from Saten Ruiko, whose facial expression turned from one of neutrality and to one of contemplation, to one of curiosity as soon as the word "experiments" was mentioned in casual conversation, and, aside from the Anti Skill paramedics who didn't pay the mentioning of any sort of experiment or experiments even a second of thought, there were none who desperately needed to be kept out of the proverbial loop.
Those beyond the makeshift ambulance's cabin, those who had gathered to witness the devastation, the fourth-ranked level five assumed that they'd come bearing hope in their hearts of witnessing some gruesome spectacle; they'd more than certainly hoped to find and gawk at the bloodied, shredded remnants of a mangled corpse, maybe produce vocalizations of feigned shock, such as a few "oohs" or, maybe, if the sight was good enough to sate their instinctual cravings for violence, even a few "ayahs".
Humans craved violence, and Hamasaki Tsubasa knew it; he was no exception. The crowds wanted to even spy a few severed limbs scattered about the makeshift battlefield, like pieces of garbage lifted from some proverbial dustbin by figurative, gusting winds.
With no one in the immediate vicinity, the fourth-ranked level five spoke, hogging the bench he sat upon, simply by virtue of no one else apparently deigning to seek out its comfort. Whether there was something about himself, or something about the situation that'd unfolded, which drove potential comfort-seekers away, Tsubasa couldn't have known, no for certain.
"As of late I've been collaborating with Kihara Gensei."
"Oh, is that so? How is that slipper-wearing old-timer? In that case, I can confidently guess he recovered from the cardiac arrest? I'm going to say it, I really didn't think he was going to come back from that. The miracles of OLD AGE!"
"That black heart's still beating for now. When he's not been busy with… something, that is, some sort of "Side Project", we've been collaborating, performing join work regarding the progress of the Experiments, off and on. Apparently something secretive, so secretive that he barely even seems like he knows about it. Then again, that could be Alzheimer's talking."
"Get on with it, then, Hamasaki-sama. I don't have al— oh, of course I do. I can always make time for you. I mean, I've got plenty of time, so don't rush. I'm sitting here at my desk with a half-finished bag of caramel popcorn in my lap and Magical Powered Kanamin reruns are on, what could be better? Kanamin's rival girl is adorable. Hamasaki-Sama, I want you to buy me a dakimakura with her image for Christmas."
Even as the fourth-ranked level five's stomach churned, twisting upon itself within his lower body's protective caress, disgusted by the Gladio Director's attempts at forging some sort of companionship, he continued from where he'd been forcibly halted, made to leave off.
"Uh… huh… no. I'm not going to do that. To make a long story not quite as long, we don't think the continued use of my ability to create clones for summary destruction will be necessary in order to achieve continued development. The topic's been discussed with the researchers, and, with the outcome of our joint studies, they seem to agree, feel free to contact them if you don't believe me."
"But I do, Hamasaki-sama!"
"Kihara Gensei has a different idea, and, so far, it's been working all fairly well. Really, I would've been putting more work in than I am currently, however…"
As Hamasaki Tsubasa's words faded into obscurity, Gladio Director Sugou figuratively picked up the proverbial slack.
"The Sons of Taured, hm, they're the ones who are nonstop FUCKING with Gladio's progress, on a few different projects. Unintentionally, it seems, too, honestly that's the worst kind of bad guy. Tyrannical dictators and evil wizards at least know what they're doing is wrong, these people are simply misguided. How are you supposed to hate a misguided antagonist? I can't! I just want to set them up in a classroom and provide them with a free course, "How to be a Bad Guy One Oh One." Don't allow it to bother you all that much, Hamasaki-sama; magic, magic, what a magical pain in our collective asses."
Hamasaki Tsubasa simply nodded his head; even if there was not even a single soul, relevant to the conversation at hand, at least to acknowledge the nod, or even comprehend its meaning.
"It's as simple as this. Kihara Gensei and I have been utilizing not leftover, but new batches of high-tier level four voidclones created with my ability. They do have to die, in the end, but…"
"Oh, but, shouldn't you feel some sort of brotherly bond with them? They're you, after all! They're like your little brothers! I never did enjoy seeing them getting carved up by you. The whole bunch of them always looked like they were in… pain."
"Don't be ridiculous. They lack even the most basic levels of consciousness. Through harvesting sections of their frontal lobes, and small portions of each voidclone's cerebral cortex, the required secretions can be obtained, and, henceforth, effectively crystallized. Voidclones can be… difficult, for me to control, but the data they provide is indispensable to the Experiments' endgame. Don't worry yourself about the smaller details."
The fourth-ranked level five had no means of knowing it, but, Gladio's Director's facial features warped, and twisted, his previously neutral facial expression shifting, to form a disapproving frown. With his legs kicked up at his desk, one ankle crossed over the other, his eyes' gaze remained focused almost entirely on the events playing out in the twenty-fourth episode of Magical Powered Kanamin's third season.
"Kihara Gensei's messing around with crystals again? If there's one thing that geezer loves, it's his crystals. Hamasaki-Sama, did I ever tell you about the time his little granddaughter, Thera-something-something-someone-can'trememberthenameoffthetopofmyhead tried to create a…"
"Focus, Sugou. It's the perfect match, specifically for me with my ability, given that at their core, the sequenced DNA samples within each of the individual voidclones are my own."
For the span of a few moments' time, there wasn't an immediate reply, though there were individual sounds which were audible, among the native, expected feedback of the call, consisting of static tones. A sound, not unlike that of a ball point pen tapping, repeatedly upon the surface of a piece of paper could be heard.
Hamasaki Tsubasa would've questioned just why Gladio's Director was utilizing pen and paper, presumably as a means of record-keeping in a place like Academy City which was easily thirty years ahead of the rest of the world's civilizations, in terms of technological advancements, if he hadn't been made aware some time ago of Director Sugou's neurosis, revolving around 'dang dirty hackers'.
"Forgive that silence, wasn't trying to give you the cold shoulder treatment. Just keeping track of all the crazy mambo-jumbo you're hurling at me with your mouth-working muscles. So, just… let me confirm what we've got under our collective belts, Hamasaki-Sama.
"Kihara Gensei, the slipper-wearing geezer and accidentally defecating, diaper-wearing wonder has been playing around with his crystals, again, when he's not up to something else – and I promise you that I have absolutely no idea what THAT could POSSIBLY be – and you've been helping him. You stumbled upon something delicious, and, in a moment of spare time, you want to put it away for later? I'll have some guys, or girls, don't forget that Gladio's not a sexist sausage-fest, look into it, see what sort of data your team's compiled. Al—"
Gladio Director Sugou didn't manage to get another word in, edgewise, before Hamasaki Tsubasa, fourth-ranked level five and Gladio Operative proceeded to forcibly grind his vocalized words to a halt.
"Not quite. Don't tell me you missed it. If you were…"
"Well, that depends on what "IT" is. I don't think I missed "IT". Did you mean how you made Meltdowner explode into million-de-trillion pieces? I saw. I was watching the whole thing, finished an entire bag of caramel popcorn too, great show, you should consider being an entertainer. Maybe an Idol, I could see you dressed up in a miniskirt, with a cute little blouse, dancing arou…"
"Enough."
"Apologies! You know, for the record, Hamasaki-sama, you didn't have to kill her."
The fourth-ranked level five clicked his tongue, as the gaze of his mind's eyes focused on the great crater that, through her self-inflicted demise, Mugino Shizuri had created.
That was the last thing she'd left behind, the final testament bearing her name, and containing her legacy. It would eventually be filled, and corrected, the roadway repaired until it was restored to full functionality.
There would be no further traces of her life.
Likely, very few would remember the name "Mugino Shizuri".
Not a piece of poetry, or a drawing, depicting something relevant to the way she saw the world. Mugino Shizuri didn't even leave behind any friends who could mourn her loss, as far as the fourth-ranked level five knew.
She had left behind only devastation, the one thing that she was good at. In and of itself, that alone was almost poetic enough. Of course, the formerly fifth-ranked level five surely wasn't aware of that.
"The higher-ups wouldn't care otherwise and you know it, stop being so sentimental. Meltdowner was the penultimate of useless espers, right up there with the third… but... unrelated, it's all unrelated. It's not important. You're the one who contacted ITEM's employer, and had the three of them sent in, are you not?"
"Well, yes. To be entirely fair to myself, you were treading on Aleister's territory with your rescue mission. You'd be correct, Hamasaki-sama. I still think you could've given her a decent pounding, and left her alive. No hard feelings?"
"Which means more than one cabal of higher-ups was curious to see if I could do it, loosening up Meltdowner and surviving face-to-face. What she did could've easily destroyed the likes of the second in a single blast, even, we've been over this, the calculations and simulations. Omnitron doesn't lie, similarly to how TREE_DIAGRAM didn't lie. I should, by rights, be the second-ranked level five, now. That's proof, Sugou, you owe me this. Development has to continue."
On the other end of the line, Gladio Director Sugou inhaled, deeply, a long breath which brought much oxygenized air to his lungs, which, soon enough, his body forced him to exhale, releasing the absorbed air as carbon dioxide.
"You really think that achieving SYSTEM will bring about the end of Academy City, Hamasaki-Sama? I don't know what I should or shouldn't say to you, after all, you've had your heart set on this. I'm no dream-killer. Also, that's some hard-u-core bullcorn you're speaking. The Spare Plan is beyond you, Hamasaki-sama. Why else would you be trying to 'skip' him?"
"I'm convinced of it, it'll end, unofficially, once SYSTEM is finally achieved, regardless of who it is that achieves SYSTEM. Having the Accelerator ascend is pointless. He's completely declawed, completely and utterly defanged. Moreover, I've been hearing plenty of rumbling lately that he might actually be dead. In which case, there's only the Spare Plan. Aleister's getting sloppy, letting things leak."
"Interesting assertion," Gladio's Director remarked, passingly, "but I don't think that's what Academy City is going for, especially not with the Accelerator. Let me take care of everything, so— Hamasaki-sama. Shrugging off an overloaded Meltdowner's no easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy feat, so, the higher-ups should be convinced easily enough that you can ascend."
"Convincing these skeptical pessimists has been the bane of my existence for the last year. If you can do in an hour what I haven't been able to do in a year's worth of time, then… well, fuck me for trying, I guess."
"Speaking of which," Gladio's Director remarked, with an odd, but fairly characteristic haste in his tone of voice, "I ought to get the word to you, since I've managed to get your attention for more than a few seconds. I'll have your researchers notified, too, of course. We can't have anyone left in the dark, especially when they don't even have flashlights! Your next Calculation Test is scheduled for approximately nine thirty, tonight, sharp, district seventeen, the old switchyard. For some reason, the book-drones really like killing things there. Well, so long, Hamasaki-sama! Happy trails!"
Not offering a greeting of his own, Hamasaki Tsubasa locked his smartphone, which, aside from saving a considerable amount of power that remained stored within the device's internal battery, also immediately terminated the call.
"I'm really confused," Ruiko remarked, once she was certain that the call had, indeed, come to an end; this was established to be a certainty within her mind, when the fourth-ranked level five pocketed his smartphone.
Sitting up, as best as she could manage, resulting in a sharp, sudden panging, aching sensation rushing throughout her right leg, she gritted her teeth, as she forced her body to answer her higher mind's calls to action.
"What's a "voidclone"? Is it something you make with your ability? What's "SYSTEM", and "ascension? Who's "Aleister?"
"I have a question to ask you in response to that."
"Huh?"
"How deep do you want to go, Ruiko? Just how far into the depths of Hell do you really want to travel? There's a very thin line that separates what we, the level fives know and what you in Academy City, those on the "Light Side" know. Two separate realities that are one in the same."
Even still, even as the fourth-ranked level five spoke his cryptic piece, the Anti-Skill paramedics looked as if they couldn't have cared any less.
Regardless, as if the level five esper didn't even exist, they went about their duties; one paramedic in particular, a larger male of dark-skinned descent placed his left hand, both right and left clad in light, cyan-toned rubber gloves upon Ruiko's knee; with the gentle tap of a small instrument, which he'd produced from his vest's upper pocket. He seemed perplexed before he nodded his head, apparently in affirmation.
As he whispered to his compatriot and fellow paramedic of Asian descent, Saten Ruiko, who's damaged knee had apparently been examined, if only briefly, tilted her head to one side, apparently curious, apparently still in a state of wonderment.
Most would've been scared off by the fourth-ranked level five's words alone, no matter how cryptic they might've been.
She really couldn't stop impressing him.
"Think of it in this way," Hamasaki Tsubasa remarked. "You're still standing in the grass, at least with one foot. The other's currently dangling, down, into the rabbit hole. A bit of a tired comparison… but it'll do. You can step out of the rabbit hole, and walk away, figuratively that is, right now; all you have to do is drop the subject, and we can talk about something else."
"And if that's not what I want to do, if I want to learn more?"
His gaze became intense, though Ruiko felt no desire to shrink beneath it.
Lips curling downward and into a frown, Hamasaki Tsubasa folded either of his arms across his chest. The makeshift ambulance, he and Saten Ruiko's unorthodox, twisted chariot turned a corner, and, then, came to a stop, before a set of traffic lights whose trio of illuminated, colour-based signals glowed a bright shade of red.
Untroubled students, presumably on their way home to their dormitories answered Academy City's calls, broadcast over so many loudspeakers, scattered across the cityscapes; the time for City-wide curfew had apparently dawned, a curfew that neither Saten Ruiko nor Hamasaki Tsubasa would be capable of adhering to, for their own respective reasons.
"You don't. But, for the sake of actually answering your question… then, Saten, you're going to have to step all the way in, and let yourself fall down the rabbit hole. For all you know, you may never, ever stop falling."
"That's frightening."
Without another word between them, both fourth strongest level five in Academy City, Voidwalker, and the level zero middle schooler girl, who lacked any sort of esper power at all both continued on their way.
Saten Ruiko eventually came to lay herself back down on her stretcher, which she'd come to feel was quite unnecessary, at least for her, given her situation.
She could've easily seated herself upon one of the nearby, bench-like protrusions. Her knee was injured, yes, but she wasn't bleeding out. She hadn't suffered any sort of series trauma, especially not to her head.
As the heavily-armoured Anti-Skill vehicle, the vehicle utilized as a makeshift ambulance turned another corner, and then pushed forward, travelling down a straightened, narrow section of cobbled roadway, differing thoughts drifted through Hamasaki Tsubasa's higher mind; considerations regarding reality, Academy City, SYSTEM, the "Artificial Heaven" which Aleister Crowley, Academy City's General Superintendent and, effectively its dictator sought to forge, through some method or another – Gladio had never been properly briefed on the subject, something the fourth-ranked level five had always found rather 'fishy', if 'fishy' was the appropriate word to describe the situation.
For another twenty minutes' time Saten Ruiko and Hamasaki Tsubasa held their 'positions' within the Anti-Skill vehicle; having rolled over, to one side, Saten Ruiko observed the world's colours, shades of darkened brown, bright green, and plenty of silver passing her by, through the porthole-like window to her right. So clear, so free of any sort of smudges or blemishes that at first glance she wouldn't have assumed there to have been a pane of glass present at all. All the while her eyelids remained open, only blinking occasionally.
Soon enough, before the entrance to the Anti-Skill vehicle's destination, covered beneath the protective shade of a great, canopy-like section of roofing, helped to rise by two almost absurdly thin, ornate and delicately, mindfully-designed, pillar-like supports.
The following procedures, each part of a greater routine, one practised, rehearsed again, and again, were each carried out with vaguely dull, unenthusiastic attention to detail; each was, if anything notable at all, machinations of two drones in a hive, two mere cogs in a figurative machine much greater than either of them.
With caution, Saten Ruiko's stretcher, and, by extension, Saten Ruiko herself were wheeled through the hospital's doorway. Granting them entrance, either of the ornate sliding doors slipping out of existence, sliding as they did into the inner workings of the walls to accompany the makeshift medical professionals, who in Hamasaki Tsubasa's eyes seemed more like menial labourers transporting a haul of cargo as opposed to two individuals who legitimately cared about the life that was, for the time, in their respective hands.
With the fourth-ranked level five not far behind, Saten Ruiko's eyes found themselves, mostly of their own accord gazing up at the silver-tones of the ceiling, remaining safely and less-than-securely upon her stretcher – apparently, the Anti Skill Operatives had forgotten to strap her in at all, let alone strap her in securely – was loaded, flanked by her unenthusiastic short-term wards at her side onto an elevator car.
Three floors the car did travel, up to the fourth.
Though, to all involved, save the 'professionals' if they truly could've been called that, even in name only, it was a randomly-selected decision, chosen perhaps for the sake of convenience, this simply wasn't the truth. The fourth floor of Hasegawa Hospital's nine floors was, in fact, the "Physical Injury Ward".
Passing the second floor by, all of those on board the car heard guttural, feral screams, screams of unadulterated agony, born of the passing, of civilized mannerisms left behind; someone's mind, likely that of a woman's, if the shrillness of the screams were to be taken into account.
"Childbirth," the Anti-Skill Operative of dark-skinned descent remarked, passingly, "my wife made the same banshee shrieks. Nothing for you to worry about, folks in the Maternity Ward know what they're doing."
"A sucker born every second," the other Anti-Skill officer added with a slight chuckle, one which his co-worker didn't return.
Looking down at his smartphone, which he'd produced from the back pocket of his pants, the second officer observed the touchscreen device, as he tapped at its touchscreen interface, scrolling downward, downward, then across, and across once more.
"Red, red, red… all looking red," he murmured.
Soon enough, the unremarkable, chalk-coloured, metallic slabs that served as the doors of the fourth floor's elevator shaft were forcibly pulled open, through numerous electronic mechanisms located beyond the sight of most, save perhaps an electromaster.
Hamasaki Tsubasa produced a low grunt; he was becoming just as grim-minded as Saten Ruiko's temporary wards, who, gripping onto the rails of her stretcher wheeled her along, like she was little more than some object to be transferred, a simple part of some greater quota, a number, a mere statistic.
Everything about the medical treatment facility was almost sickeningly sterile, by the standards of the fourth-ranked level five. A facility tailored to assist the injured and the needy in recovery should've been bright, colourful, lively, a place where growth was encouraged through visual mediums. Even some simple paintings along the walls depicting landscapes, animals most found to be 'cute', anything would've sufficed.
In Tsubasa's mind, the sterile environment served to make a silent statement.
Academy City simply didn't care about those it was supposed to be caring for, developing, and moulding into proper adults, contributing members of a society that, beyond its wretched walls was at least functional, by all definitions.
With a shake of his head, the fourth-ranked level five focused on the eyes of Saten Ruiko for a moment, as if he had to physically cleanse himself.
As she offered her friend a surprisingly warm grin, accentuated with an affirmative nod of her head, Hamasaki Tsubasa grinned back, as best he could manage; the fact that Academy City simply didn't care obviously hadn't been displayed quite enough. If those who lived in Academy City could still smile, that was the ultimate proof.
The fourth-ranked level five's downtrodden contemplation, that which he'd vowed to keep to himself and not infect his few close friends with continued while down one of many halls on the Hasegawa Hospital, the 'journey' pressed on.
Many metallic doors lined the walls, flanking either side of the hall, boxing it in. Above each, there were many small boxes, contained within protective 'nets' of metal, tiny, individual beams crossed over one another; beneath, most of these boxes glowed a bright shade of red.
This indicated that each of the rooms were full to the absolute brim with patients, who through means unknown to Voidwalker had each suffered injuries grievous enough to warrant a trip to the hospital.
To Hamasaki Tsubasa, it was hardly a surprise at all. Obviously, the machinations of the "Sons of Taured" were going perfectly, according to whatever plan they'd concocted. Espers, those who attempted to wield the power of magic while improperly performing whatever strange purification ritual had been outlined in the Taured pamphlets, were dropping like flies, and more than likely, that was the intended purpose of the pamphlets.
While else would such risky endeavours be recommended within the pamphlets' pages?
Soon enough, before the fourth-ranked level five had been given enough time to lose himself within his own mind the cargo that was an injured Saten Ruiko came to a stop.
"There we go… a green, thought we were all out," the second Anti-Skill officer spoke aloud, turning to face the first.
In response, the Anti-Skill officer of dark-skinned descent released a pent-up breath, releasing carbon dioxide, and from the zip-up pocket of his vest produced a small key card. With a swipe, pulling it downward through the rather unwieldy locking mechanism upon which the door's curved handle was mounted, the door opened.
"Hope they find out why these kids are dropping every second," the first officer spoke, more to himself than to anyone else. "We're going to be full up, soon. Damn shame."
Ruiko's transporters ended their odyssey; having turned a series of corners, weaving throughout the many halls of the hospital's fourth floor, they'd arrived before a metallic door, identical in style, shape, and in decoration to most other doors within school district seven's Hasegawa Hospital, save the sliding panes of glass, bound within metal frames that'd parted to permit entrance to the facility.
Unlike most other doors, those which inevitably lead into hospital rooms – at least, that which had been 'selected' by Saten Ruiko's transporters – had a protected box above it which glowed a bright shade of green.
As the door was pulled open, seemingly of its own accord, but in truth by a series of mechanisms wired and put to work by some faceless engineer within the walls, unseen and unknown by those who were present, what was revealed was a surprisingly spacious area complete with four proper hospital beds, equipment relevant to the treatment of physical injuries including numerous first aid kits, each mounted upon the sterile, beige walls of the area, and a small if comfortable-looking kitchen, complete with a sitting area.
What caught the respective eyes of both Hamasaki Tsubasa and Saten Ruiko, however weren't the room's accommodations, even if those were quite impressive in and of themselves.
It was the automaton nurses who, rolling about on the wheels beneath them that meandered about, tending to the two other patients who'd come to find temporary lodgings in the hospital rooms.
"UNIT ONLINE EXTENDING VERBAL GREETING TO PATIENT, UNIT IDENTIFICATION CODE N DASH ONE NINE EIGHT, EIGHT TWO PREPARING FOR RESTORATION PROCEDURES."
Her mood suddenly performing a swift one-eighty; Saten Ruiko, the level zero middle schooler girl and self-proclaimed "Urban Legend hunter" whipped her head in the direction of the fourth-ranked level five who could only offer her a crooked, if genuinely mirthful smirk.
"O-oh… my… GOSH… ROBOTS ARE HERE! Actual ROBOT NURSES?!"
With 'headbands' atop each of their metallic shells, wide and white in coloration, with bright red crosses in the centre of each, the robotic nurses were approximately four and a half feet tall, mere cylindrical constructs similar in their construction to those which patrolled Academy City's streets, and cleaned up discarded trash.
The real difference, outside of aesthetic appeal, such as the robotic nurses' bands, and their aprons which bore larger crosses similar in shape and colour to those depicted upon their 'headbands' was the fact that unlike janitorial constructs, these automaton medical professionals possessed arms, elongated and slim, with three pudgy, metallic digits jutting from each arm.
Sliding forward from the hospital room's dining area, an automaton medical profession seemingly glared at the Anti-Skill officers, who after exchanging glances with one another left the premises, allowing the door to close behind them with a series of clicks; their respective jobs were finished.
As the automaton approached, Hamasaki Tsubasa observed its movements, ready to strike the thing down at any moment if it so much as touched Saten Ruiko the wrong way. Though his concerns were unfounded, partially due to the gentle treatment of the room's other patients by identical machines, unfounded or otherwise, suspicions were present, and were hardly about to suddenly stop existing within his mind.
"SAFETY VIOLATION IDENTIFIED, CODE SEVEN, ZERO, FOUR, THREE, FIVE, EIGHT, ZERO, SEVEN," the thing rambled off, in the synthetic, machine-produced voice of a nondescript female, quickly, but methodically speaking in Japanese, "PATIENT IMPROPERLY SECURED. RECOMMENDED ACTION, BASED ON ELEMENTS OF LOCATION: MOVE PATIENT TO SUPERIOR PLACE OF TREATMENT."
Accidentally bumping its form against the fourth-ranked level five, the robotic nurse took to the side of the stretcher, upon which Saten Ruiko sat, as best as she could manage given the fact that only one of her legs was operable.
Apparently, the Anti-Skill officers had deigned to leave the stretcher behind completely. Perhaps they'd intentionally done so, for whatever reason? No flesh and blood human in the room could possibly begin to try and predict their machinations, not even the fourth strongest esper in Academy City.
"POSING INQUIRY TO PATIENT: "WHERE DOES IT HURT?" the automaton medical professional questioned, almost looming forward, as its sole, thin eye, lifeless and without so much as a single tone of coloration locked with Saten Ruiko's big, blue eyes.
Looking downward, the middle schooler girl pointed her left hand's index finger at her right kneecap, which, even in a short span of time, had begun to 'glow' a darkened shade of blue, in certain spots.
"My knee," Ruiko remarked, trying her best to keep her line of sight focused on the automaton medical professional before her.
For a moment, the machine didn't respond; it stopped moving completely, and, momentarily, began to awkwardly shudder, from one side and then to the other. On the front of the machine, below its 'eye', two sections of its shell slid inward, revealing portions of the machine's innards. From within, two small funnel-like protrusions suddenly jutted outward, either of which were quickly flanked by its three-'fingered' arms.
From the left section of shell, sliding downward, inside of the left funnel-like protrusion, there were numerous tapping sounds, as if something was bouncing and clacking inside.
Lifting its left arm, the automaton medical professional extended its hand-less arm, flanked with its three digits upward and outward, clasping in its three digits a small, circular and completely white tablet.
"HAVE A PILL. HYPERACETAMINOPHEN WILL HELP TO QUICKLY SOOTHE YOUR PAIN. PLEASE ALLOW UNIT N-ONE NINE EIGHT, EIGHT TWO TO OBTAIN FOR YOU A BEVERAGE WHICH YOU MAY YOU USE TO AID INGESTION."
Hamasaki Tsubasa shook his head; leaning forward, he placed either of his hands upon the soft, surprisingly comfortable, and cushioned surface of the stretcher upon which Saten Ruiko sat. Turning to face her friend, Ruiko blinked, once, twice and then allowed the awkward stare-off to continue.
"You have taken Acetaminophen before? If you haven't, there's always a fair chance that you could be allergic."
"I did, Doc," Ruiko remarked, "I actually got kind of hooked on them when I had tonsillitis a few months ago. I mean I'M NOT AN ADDICT OR ANYTHING! I didn't get high on them! Eheheheheh… Hehehe… I just liked the pain relief, that's all! It helped me sleep! D-Don't take that the wrong way… I've never had "Hyperacetaminophen" before though."
The fourth-ranked level five, initially surprised that Saten Ruiko could somehow continue to be that spunky level zero middle schooler girl she'd always been, even after more than likely facing down an agent of Academy City's underworld soon corrected his way of thinking; of course she'd remain on top of things. That was hardly a surprise.
Quickly, Saten Ruiko, her knee suddenly throbbing, having accidentally and unconsciously attempted to move her right leg as she'd spoken to her friend snatched the tablet from the machine's hand; regardless of the fact that the medication had been produced from within the body of a robot dressed up like a nurse, Ruiko wasn't about to turn the prospect of relief away.
In her mind, the worst potential outcome would be a potentially volatile reaction her body would, or could have, resulting in some brief if profuse and painful vomiting.
"I don't need water, thanks… Mrs… Robot," Ruiko elaborated, as the machine seemed to continually dote over her, just as Hamasaki Tsubasa had stopped doing, following her previous explanation-statement hybrid.
"CORRECTION, PATIENT: UNIT N-ONE NINE EIGHT, EIGHT TWO IS A NON-GENDER AUTOMATON, ROUGHLY PRICED AT ¥82,918," the machine rambled.
As it turned out, "Hyperacetaminophen" was, indeed, rather 'hyper'; within the span of some few seconds, likely less even than thirty, the specially-engineered and heavily modified chemical formula which had been applied in order to augment the relief of the medication had taken effect inside of Saten Ruiko's body; the throbbing pain which had persisted prior was eradicated or, at the very least subdued by the Hyperacetaminophen's fast-acting relief.
Leaning back in her stretcher, resting the back of her head against the surface of the headrest, Saten Ruiko produced a long, soft sigh just before she was effortlessly lifted from the bed by the arms of the robotic medical professional who'd taken to looking after her.
Either, extending from the machine's body and apparently mounted upon metallic beams, which were apparently capable of jutting outward, presumably at will, or, whenever the machine deemed arm extension necessary, Academy City's fourth strongest esper observed cautiously as his close friend was transported from the emptied stretcher and to the nearby hospital bed, a carefree, oddly goofy smile etched onto her facial features. Her eyes had rolled, halfway, into the back of her head, and, occasionally, she suddenly began produce a series of soft giggles.
"Hyperacetaminophen" indeed.