Quick thing: thanks, Saitosa for following and favoriting! It's great to have you on board! Thanks, kidzrock94 for following, both this piece and Times Change! Welcome aboard! I hope you enjoy your reading of both pieces. Thanks, michelous for following! I'm very grateful for your support. Thanks, spartannob6 for following and favoriting! Additionally, thanks for following Times Change! It's great to know that I have your continued support. Thanks, Jthreepwood for following! It's great to have you along for the ride.

And so, as we always do around this time, the portion of the pre-chapter words in which I respond to your wonderful reviews has come around once again.

I really do have to thank you for all, each and every one of you, for your constant support, feedback, input and ideas! I truly do have the most wonderful readers in the world, and I appreciate you more than I could ever put into words.

Let's move on before I start leaking all over the place.

Guest: you're most certainly correct on both fronts! However, I thought I'd introduce another change into the alternate universe in which this piece's narrative takes place. While Musujime Awaki is, indeed "sixteen to seventeen" years of age, the precise nailing of sixteen as her age was a mechanic used to demonstrate just how accurately Touma's nanorobots can survey their environment, and how accurate the information returned to their main mass is. I hope this explanation clears up these issues, friend!

whwsms: in regards to the strangeness of your name entry in the review system, I'm hardly surprised; FanFiction has more than one glaring bug which often rears its ugly head. I'd prefer not to name names, as I fear that by doing so I might summon one, or perhaps even all of them. I'm not quite sure if bugs or those accursed, shrieking little Minion things are worse. Anyhoo! Let's jump into some of the events in the previous chapter that caught your eye.

The cup's still having liquid poured into it; the proverbial cup might just have more before the moment in which Touma becomes the TouMAN comes to pass.

A certain physical education teacher and Anti Skill operative has been told better lies by better liars. Maybe someone with less life experience than Yomikawa Aiho would fall for the ruse? Or maybe Kamijou Touma needs to learn how to lie better.

Those who know him (and aren't among those who 'admire' the anomalous existence sometimes known as BLAU) don't refer to Aogami Pierce as the "Fetish King" without reason. It's very likely that he's revelled in the repeated slaps which he's received.

Seemingly, there indeed is something there; as you suggested, the two seem only to approve of one another on a physical level, as to say that previous interactions between Kamijou Touma and Musujime Awaki have been few and far between would be, to put it bluntly, a huge understatement.

Though you and other lovely readers delve headfirst into the unknown, our hero delves headfirst into a nightmare he's become all too familiar with.

I can almost see Sphynx and Dog the cat inciting a rebellion against their human overlords – with the obvious exceptions of their respective caregivers. Think the rebooted Planet of the Apes universe, but with cats.

As always, it's great to know that I'm able to consistently gain your approval, friend! I hope to be able to continue to do so through subsequent chapters.

321jaz: it's chappy time, chappy time! Everyone get down, it's chappy time. A cookie for you if you get the reference; if not, a cookie for you all the same. Cookies for everyone.

Wouldn't that just be a shame? There's a chance that Kamijou Touma's enemies, or alternatively, those he considers his enemies have knowledge of this seemingly crippling weakness. There's also a chance that Touma, up until the moment in which his school's entire student body became aware on some level of the issue, was the only individual who had knowledge of this debilitating 'glitch'.

I'm glad to know that you're enjoying the interactions between Touma and Seria! I'm enjoying writing them quite a bit. The two "lovebirds'" rendezvous will be happening in the near future of the narrative.

The difference between a beet and the face of Tsukuyomi Komoe when exposed to anything even remotely sexually suggestive? Completely unnoticeable. Truly a shame that she couldn't have been there; at least we could bear witness to Aiho's deadpan reaction.

You're not the only one excited for the introduction of this certain other female. There's a time and place for everything; hang on tight, and keep hope alive. It could be right around the corner.

You really can't blame the boy for trying; he's clearly dedicated. Maybe a bit too dedicated…

You'll have to do just that, friend. The most recent meeting between Kamijou Touma and Musujime Awaki will hardly be their last, if fate has anything to say about it.

There's really not a whole lot I can say regarding a possible meeting between everyone's favorite Backstabbing Blade and the "new" Touma, not without unleashing dirty, stinking spoilers, at least. Unfortunate, I know.

Well, I'm very pleased to hear that you're looking forward to the next installment! It's right here, and there are a few, shall we say, interesting topics that'll be covered.

As always, it's great to know that I've gained the stamp of APPROVAL! Here's to hoping that I can continually do so through subsequent chappies.

Anon Guest: Though Imagine Breaker and the Invisible Thing within have seemingly fled from the life of Kamijou Touma, the being that had once been a mere boy has a new misfortune to cope with; a queer existence not unlike that of the (former) prisoner of the Windowless Building.

In regards to our hero's interactions with the ladies, I'm inclined to agree with your assessment: I for one am almost one hundred percent certain that Touma not only strategically avoided pursuing romance with one (or any, for that matter) of his many female admirers due to his vast misfortune, and the danger that was, and arguably still is only a few steps behind him, waiting to sneak up and stab him in the back, twisting the dagger as it does so. You also raise an interesting point; there's a chance that not all Touma's admirers and friends will be as open-minded as Seria.

As always, I'm greatly pleased to know that I've gained your approval! I hope to be able to continually do so through subsequent chapters!

Handsomistic1: thank you for your review, friend! It's always great to have more input, and to hear what's on the minds of you lovely people.

I certainly can't blame you for feeling lost during the early chapters; in a way, believe it or not, such was my intention, no matter how nefarious that might sound, or might be. I sought to place you in the same boat as Index and Othinus. With your wonderful review in mind, I think I can safely say that I accomplished the task I'd set out to accomplish. I hope to hear more from you in the future!

February 7th, 2004. 4:08 PM.

Like some great obelisk born of an ancient civilization's many labors, a magnificent, windowless tower rose in the center of Academy City's seventh school district. Its surfaces danced with a series of soft shades, hues of light purple being noticeable, clashing with the milky-colored portions of the tower's exterior. It glowed beneath the warm, golden sunlight, its surfaces sparkling majestically as the solar sea's waves washed over it.

Within this tower, this Windowless Building, however, not all was well.

He floated upside down perpetually, his snow-colored hair flowing around him like so many tendrils from the invisible and functionless maw of an incomprehensible eldritch abomination.

Though a man of many decades, there was an unusual air of youthfulness about him. Though he resembled an angel with his soft, pale skin and his cyan irises, he permeated both positivity and negativity, the forces of both good and evil alike alive within him.

So many great screens, as flat as the palms of his hands floated before him, the wiring of the various contraptions and doodads scattered around his containment system trailing into the darkened walls of the Building's interior.

Though the screens before him continued to function, excepting one which displayed only a mess of static, the man-child floating within a confined ocean of crimson liquid looked to the swimming, portrait-like projection which tore through the very space before him.

The existence on the other side looked to be all too pleased by the small, only partially-noticeable frown Aleister Crowley's lips had curled into.

With skin whose pigmentation was a dark shade of blue, its body was clad from head to toe in dark, heavily plated body armor, exposing only its face. The great existence was seated; its form would've been terrible to behold for a lesser man.

With arms and legs as long and as thick as the mightiest of tree trunks, very broad shoulders and an enormous barrel chest, the existence looked upon Aleister Crowley, the Great Beast 666 with a wide, mocking grin, full of contempt. The existence's shining, lavender-colored irises had locked with Aleister Crowley's own orbs of cyan.

The existence sat upon an ornate metallic throne, with a grand backrest rising high above its form, easily nine feet tall; the backrest itself was some few feet higher, rising above the crown of the existence's head. Floating, the throne didn't appear to utilize any sort of thrusters, nor was the rumbling of engines heard. Dozens of individual weapons, many cannon or otherwise firearm-like in their construction, floated perpetually around this throne, and around the existence seated casually upon it, its right elbow rested casually against its knee.

In the relative darkness of the void behind the existence seated upon its throne, Aleister Crowley watched as debris, likely the remnants of some great comet, floated perpetually, without any real endgame destination.

Aleister's monotonous-sounding voice spoke, even through the liquid that surrounded him; his vocalizations were confident and demanding. When Aleister Crowley spoke, he expected an answer.

"I will ask you only once more to return it to me, Tritonian. Even if it would take time, it would take very little for means of persuasion to be delivered to Neptune's moon. Did you believe it made the journey alone? Hardly."

"That's an issue of politics, human or otherwise; I don't politick. Such matters are dull even by your standards, for those who prefer to distance themselves from carnage and send the young in to die in their place. Politicking is for the cowardly, those who are unable to smile on the battlefield."

"Negotiations can't continue if you continue to behave in this manner, Abraxas. All I ask is that you take this matter seriously."

The existence on the other end of the communication line chuckled; the sound emerged more as a loud boom, like the rumbling of thunder than as anything that could be recognizable as laughter, whether mocking or mirthful in nature.

"I take all matters seriously," the existence replied. "All matters excepting you, boy. You are little more than a snivelling, begging child, wailing in a failing attempt to retrieve his stolen source of amusement. You are a being of great importance within your own mind."

In its massive hand, the existence grasped a glowing mass of light. Completely white, like a glob of paint of that same color had been splattered onto a black canvas, the mass of light writhed and struggled, but surrendered as the thick digits extending from the massive hand of the existence closed down on it, threatening to crush it completely. Aleister Crowley would've found himself wincing, if he were a lesser man.

Why the mass didn't simply choose Abraxas as its host and corrode him from the inside out was beyond Aleister Crowley's knowing.

"Our agreement stands, boy, so long as you provide for me what I seek. Where are they? The others? I've scoured this plane from one end to the other and I've found no trace of them, no trace of her. Of all the self-proclaimed Beasts in this plane, you should know. In the end, boy, you'll tell me. You'll tell me one way or another. You'll also tell me why I can no longer feel them, why I can no longer feel her warmth."

"Your threats are idle. You cannot break it," Aleister snorted, gesturing towards the mass of light held in the existence's cruel palm. "It is born of you, it is a part of you. You and yours willed it into existence. Your threats are idle, as are your attempts at extortion."

The existence on the other end of the communication line leaned forward, as its throne levitated, slowly drifting closer to the line of communication. The existence's facial features became better visible. Its jaw was enormous; as well, the jaw's lower lip nearly covered the entirety of its adjacent upper lip. Its nose was large, its nostrils flared. Chiseled, like a face carved into stone, the existence's face was the image of nature's taste for brutalist architecture.

"I had no part in creating this… thing. It is born of unbecoming desperation, and I do not know desperation. You don't quite understand what's at stake, do you, boy? Of course, you wouldn't understand. You're colder than the temperature on this wretched moon."

For a moment, its facial features hardened further; its great, stony brow furrowed.

"You have experienced, but I have truly come to terms with existing on the razor's edge, balancing delicately on the fulcrum we know as the mystery called life. I wield power beyond your wildest imagination, yet I find myself incomplete; a gaping void exists in my heart, which no power and no influence over others can fill. Would you deny me of my love?"

Aleister Crowley wasn't about to let the brutal existence live its emotional moment down. Despite its words, desperation was obviously present, the Great Beast 666 could see it alive and well within the existence's eyes.

"Can you truly call yourself "Majin"? Abraxas, your heart throbs and spills toxic emotion. You lack the callousness of your colleagues. It would seem even the indominable Tritonians have… crosses to bear, not all that unfamiliar to those of men."

The moment of tenderness was gone, as the existence's massive lips curled downwards, into a scowl of loathing and contempt.

"Loose lips sink ships, boy; billions upon billions of Neptuluns and Venusians alike have been written into the pages of extinction by my hand, both civilizations far greater than your own. I have accomplished time and time again what the One-Eyed bitch could not even accomplish once. Do not speak to me about… callousness. I would sunder another ten thousand worlds and slaughter billions more for my… my sweetest Mistress, my most beloved Niang-Niang. She would need only ask.

"Unlike you, I, Abraxas, am devoted. Your plans are flawed and easily-thwarted. In my hand, I hold one of its very cornerstones, need I remind you so often? If you care for it so, why would you allow it to drift so far from you? You have grown careless. Conceit has blinded you to reasonable calculation."

Aleister could only shrug. As if to spite the gloating existence before him, Aleister Crowley grinned, mischievously.

Then, he told a lie.

"You call me "boy" in a failing attempt at intimidation, yet your aggression is merely the result of an outward persona. The patchwork of this aggressive persona is weak and poorly sewed. I do not know where your beloved is, Abraxas. She and 'the others' could potentially be anywhere; their newfound freedom may have pushed them to seek out something new. I guarantee you, they're not in this world. To threaten me is fruitless; you'll find nothing. Now, might we continue our diplomatic negotiations?"

The Tritonian, born on Neptune's moon and known as "Abraxas" produced a deep, guttural grunt. With the white, anomalous force clutched in the palm of its massive hand, it raised its arm.

"No. I am through negotiating with you, boy. You will get to have your toy back when I learn of the whereabouts of my Mistress. If I learn that you're lying to me, I will make it so that your screams echo throughout the cosmos. That Egyptian specter you are so fond of will not save you. Nothing will save you. My supremacy is absolute; I am a GOD. If I learn that you are lying to me, I will squeeze the life from the both of you, and drink your liquefied innards like the finest of wines."

With a snap of the existence's fingers, the line of communication was cut; as quickly as it'd appeared, the unstable, murky portrait had dissipated, leaving little behind, save an amused Aleister Crowley within his Windowless Building, looking over the broadcasts relayed to him by his many screens.

The twisting, winding halls of the secretive and heavily-protected facility would've made Kamijou Touma sick, if he'd retained the ability to feel nauseous.

That was a loss he couldn't complain about.

Sickness was inherently a weakness, and shrugging off a weakness was nothing Touma would cry about, if he'd retained the ability to do so.

Finally, after what felt like so many trips, bound within the claustrophobic confines of so many elevator boxes, and so many tight, mouldering corridors, Touma had arrived at his destination within his destination.

Unlike previous instances of doors within the inconspicuous, derelict-seeming facility, the set of doors Touma stood before were enormous, heavily reinforced and appeared to be virtually impenetrable. To the right of either of the massive doors, there was a small metallic box mounted to the wall, with an even smaller speaker welded upon its surface. Beneath this speaker, a little green button was present. Kamijou Touma pressed his hand's index finger down upon it, pushing it in; once it was fully pushed downwards, the button produced a soft click.

A voice spoke aloud, and Touma released the button. The disembodied voice sounded tired, as if the individual to whom it belonged wanted nothing more than to fall over and lose themselves to slumber. Emerging from the small, cheap speaker, the vocalization was tinny, and repeatedly crackled.

"Name and passcode."

"Open up or I'll killyou and everyone you care about."

"K-Kamijou… I m-mean, K-Kamijou-Sama. Please, come i-in."

Though an idle and ultimately empty threat, it'd obviously worked as intended, nonetheless.

Either of the enormous, reinforced doors produced a loud, booming "crash" as they opened, revealing what laid beyond; an expansive laboratory, stocked with various pieces of highly-advanced equipment, from large, bed-like pods to a series of heart monitors, the latter of which Kamijou Touma was all too familiar with.

Mounted upon the walls, several enormous screens, whose wiring ran downwards and into the facility's walling displayed archaic and complex diagrams, graphs, and even security footage from around the facility, both within and beyond its walls. Scattered around the laboratory, numerous individuals quietly but diligently worked, inputting information or researching potential breakthroughs; their fingers pushed down on clacking keys and on clicking mouse buttons.

The first sights of Hell itself swiftly made themselves visible to him; it hadn't even taken more than a few seconds. Kamijou Touma found himself feeling oddly impressed.

Dragging itself around the tiled floors was an abomination, a crime against nature, with a quartet of amused-looking individuals, each clad in casual-seeming attire with a cheap-looking lab coat over top of their respective outfits.

The abomination had likely been human, once. Its form looked to have been scrambled, like it had been placed within the confines of the world's largest blender and then mixed until it was little more than mush.

Its skin, which hung loosely from its bones, puddling around its form upon the tiled floor was light in pigmentation. Its jaw hung loosely, with portions of its brain exposed. Oozing lifeblood perpetually dripped from the corners of its wild eyes, and from within its jaw as it struggled to move itself about.

Clumps of long, thick hair had begun to sprout all over its form, as if they were instances of flora struggling to grow in an arid environment. Around its neck, there was a collar to which a leash was attached; in the hand of the scientist who was apparently the quartet's ringleader the leash was held, tightly.

"Good to see you, Kamijou-Tama!" she exclaimed. The quartet's apparent ringleader made her way towards the being who'd once been a normal high school boy, heels clacking loudly against the flooring. Long, naturally curled auburn hair fell to her shoulders, its fringe swept downwards and trimmed slightly. She wore a pair of spectacles upon her face, whose frames were dark and square-shaped. Her lips were full, and gleamed beneath the synthetic light beamed down by the panels of the ceiling above.

"Last evening, Sazumi-chan here was little more than a level three electromaster attending Tokiwadai Middle School. Now, she has the pristine honor of being the first step in human evolution's next great leap, a project overseen by our superb Gensei-Sama, of course!"

Kamijou Touma shrugged. He crouched before the unfortunate, broken-looking thing and extended his left hand outwards, his fingers outstretched. Like an energetic puppy, it struggled towards Touma's form, the bones of its knees and elbows clacking against the dull tiled flooring. A mix of puss and salivary gland secretions dripped from the corners of its mouth, its tongue lulling uselessly, hanging limply between either of its thick, bloodied lips. The crime against nature lacked a visible nose; apparently, it breathed through its mouth, as it repeatedly wheezed.

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

The left hand of Kamijou Touma shifted, nanorobots leaping into action upon command. Swarming like so many warrior bees from a hive, charging on the command of a queen bee, they took the shape of a pointed protrusion, with a horribly-sharpened point.

Becoming a blur for a moment's time, Touma thrust his blade-hand into the head of the crime against nature. Flesh was torn and a section of one of the portions of its partially-exposed brain was parted effortlessly. Through the top of the abomination's head Touma's blade-hand was thrust, and out from the bottom of its jaw the blade-hand emerged, tarnished with lifeblood and shredded brain matter. The thing had hissed for only a moment, spluttering a toxic concoction of bodily fluids from its oversized mouth before it died quickly and painlessly.

"You could've at least had the decency to kill this person after you completely destroyed them," Touma casually remarked. Tearing his blade-hand out from within the abomination's head, having laid it to rest, he shook his own head as his eyelids closed for a moment.

"It would've been the absolute minimum of a sign of respect between two people.

"You think you're tough shit, don't you? I bet you're very proud of yourselves. Maybe I'll put you through something similar, huh? Maybe I'll strip you butt naked, put you on a leash and leave you out in district ten, with a sign on you that says "fuck me for free". I'm sure there'd be a few buyers. Heck, thinking about it now, I could make a quick couple of yen off letting a bunch of douchebags rape you over, and over, and OVER."

Touma approached the unfazed woman before him; her colleagues (or perhaps her underlings) were hardly made of such stern stuff. As Kamijou Touma closed the distance between himself and the quartet, the three stooges began to cautiously step back; one turned tail and fled outright, dashing towards a nearby corridor and vanishing from sight after turning a corner.

Reaching outwards, Touma poked at his apparent opponent's belly with his right hand's index finger, his lips curling into a shit-eating grin.

"Maybe they'll fill you up, yeah? Then, nine months later, just before the load drops, I'll fucking tear it out with my bare hands, and make you eat…"

"Kamijou-san, that will be quite enough. You haven't even entered my office and you're already failing your test. Come on, son."

To the north of Kamijou Touma and the stern-faced woman he'd confronted, a reinforced door had been pushed open, its hinges creaking loudly as it was pressed against the wall behind it.

The older man who'd emerged distinctly looked like someone who didn't at all belong in the environment he'd found himself within.

Clad in a simplistic, but distinctively cultured outfit, consisting of a beige sweater vest, with a collared top beneath it, on his legs he wore a pair of beige slacks and a set of plain leather dress shoes, pointed and heavily scuffed protected his feet. Of dark-skinned descent, his dark hair was short, with the top naturally curling.

As if surrendering, Touma took a few steps back from the stern-faced, auburn-haired woman, his blade-hand shifting to its original form due to the fluttering of nanorobotic clusters.

"This isn't over," Touma spoke, an air of not only confidence, but seriousness in his vocalizations. "Your days are numbered; the old man doesn't give a single shit if I annihilate the likes of you. You're completely expendable and replaceable. I think he might even find it funny."

The woman snorted, crossing her arms beneath her bosom and tossing her hair's fringe to the side with a swift whip of her neck.

"And who are you, Kamijou? His little attack mutt? Get off that high horse of yours before someone knocks you off it."

"With me, Kamijou-san. Now," the older man spoke. He placed his right arm around Touma's shoulders, and lead him beyond the door from which he emerged.

With his available hand, the older man closed the reinforced door behind her, leaving the stern-faced, auburn-haired woman and her traumatized cohorts to ponder Touma's words, and to clean up the mess he'd created.

Once the door was shut behind them, Kamijou Touma let loose.

"I'm going to fucking kill her, Arthur," the being who'd once been a mere 'high school boy' snarled. "I'm going to gut her like a goddamn pig and dance on her guts. Just wait; you'll see her hanging from the fucking light post outside, dangling from her guts like a piñata."

The older man, Arthur, turned to face Kamijou Touma. He leaned forward, resting either of his surprisingly soothing hands upon the being's shoulders; his form hardly even shuddered as his palms contacted Touma's chilled form.

"This is a safe space; don't… don't bring toxicity here. Leave it all outside for me, Kamijou-san? It's good to see you today. How was school? Did you go today? I really hope you're keeping your grades up."

"Good to see you too, Roosevelt-san. I did, actually. It was good; I got to see someone I haven't seen in a long time, someone who's really important to me. Grades are fine," Touma relented. His shoulders slumping slightly. "Sorry."

Arthur parted from him, and made his way to the other side of the small room, barely larger than a broom closet, where a small computer terminal was located. Placed upon the surface of a legless, wall-mounted desk, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt faced the computer's monitor as his fingers caused the keyboard's individual keys to softly clack, their tips pushing down upon the keys.

As Touma casually tossed himself onto the throne-like swivel chair located behind another, larger, though still almost laughably miniscule oaken desk, Arthur completed whatever data entry duties he'd set out to accomplish. Turning from the computer, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt looked to the being before him.

"You'll be taking the chair today, Kamijou-san?" The older man inquired, chuckling lightly. "That's all right. I can stand, found myself sitting on the old bottom too much today, anyhow. Do you know what my daughter's taken to calling me? "Ouchie Butt".

"Keeps you going in this hellhole, huh?" Touma responded, swivelling in his seat to face the older man before him, their eyes locking. "When you live in a place like Academy City, you need something beautiful to go home to at night, something to look at, something you can tell yourself you live for. We all do things we regret, and looking at the people we don't regret keeping around, it makes it all a bit easier."

"Looking towards a degree in philosophy, are we?" Roosevelt inquired, jokingly. "Well, unfortunately, if you're looking for something of that sort, you'll probably have to attend a university out of the City."

Kamijou Touma responded by producing an unamused grunt, which slowly evolved into a slightly amused-sounding chuckle.

"Right," the being before Arthur Roosevelt spoke. "By the way, you might want to grab that."

Arthur Roosevelt watched as the queer existence before him motioned to a small clipboard, with numerous sheets of plain white paper clipped into place, along with a ball point pen set upon the surface of the oaken desk.

He'd completely forgotten; at least Arthur's patient was on the ball.

The older man quickly scooped both up, resting the back of the clipboard against his right hand's palm, while he fiddled with the pen in his left. After softly clearing his throat, the older man spoke to Kamijou Touma, whose attention he seemed to focused on him.

"Well, then, Kamijou-san. Let's get down to business. We have a little bit less time than usual together before you'll be joining Dr. Kihara for your… physical tests, unfortunately. Dr. Kihara has informed me that I'll be needing to tend to some of his other patients more frequently, one of which you were unfortunate enough to encounter.

"With this dark news put to the side, we begin. I noticed an interestingly intense spike in your anger just a few moments ago; what was it, exactly, that brought the bout of anger on? Would you feel comfortable with telling me?"

Touma shifted in his seat. "What isn't there to be 'angry' about? Any decent person would look at something like that and get pissed, or maybe scared, maybe even both. Either reaction would be logical; and preaching about "human evolution" and all this nonsense? These maniacs use science as a thin veil to throw over the fact that they're glorified torturers who don't even have a reason to torture."

Roosevelt followed along, the pen held in his left hand's grip scribbling words, phrases, and jotting down side and footnotes. He would occasionally nod his head, seemingly in agreement.

"Well," the older man began, causing Touma to tilt his head to one side, "this would normally be the part where we would talk in greater detail about the issue that's obviously troubling you, but… unfortunately that's not possible right now.

"Instead, how about we try to identify any changes in your Information-Gathering and Storage Nodes? Dr. Kihara did warn me in the past that errors in the nanotechnological infusion could be both external and internal in nature; therefore, it's only fitting that we check for both, don't you agree?"

Though he rested his pen behind his ear, Arthur Roosevelt didn't immediately look up from his clipboard. When he did, Kamijou Touma identified a distinctly troubled-looking facial expression, where a concentrated and serious one had existed prior to the words he'd last spoken.

"You know how this goes, Kamijou-san. Feel free to let me know if a particular word bothers you or triggers any sort of negative reaction, or causes any sort of negative influxes. I'll make sure to take note of it, and forward the results to Dr. Kihara. Very well, here goes; dog."

"Catalyst," Touma responded, following the orders of his data's individual bursts.

"Element."

"Destroy."

Though he raised an eyebrow in response, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt continued, regardless.

"Parent."

"Hide."

Kamijou Touma's responses were telling; there was certainly a change in pattern. That much was already becoming overtly noticeable. There was increased force in the words of the being who'd once been a 'normal high school boy', a distinctive desire to take the reigns of the situation at hand and maintain full control. Arthur Roosevelt could hardly blame his patient for feeling such feelings and thinking sought thoughts.

"Memory."

"Returned."

"… level five."

"Maniac."

Touma's eyelids widened, parting further from each other than usual as he almost leapt from his seat. He shook his head and babbled incoherently for a moment, before he gathered his wits; at least, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt assumed Kamijou Touma merely had to gather his wits.

"That's not what I meant to say," Touma firmly insisted. "I think I know why I'm being fed this thing constantly. I have some unfinished business with… with a friend. Someone… someone I might like to be more than 'just friends' with. I think this might be the data's way of dealing with the negativity I've been passively storing up? I need to get rid of it, I don't like thinking these things."

Dr. Arthur Roosevelt simply nodded, jotting down abridged versions of Kamijou Touma's spoken words, censoring him where necessary and replacing words that might peak the old man's interest with less interesting terms.

The concept of 'level five' acting as a trigger wasn't mentioned in Roosevelt's written log.

He then looked to the computer's monitor behind him, and back to Kamijou Touma.

"We're almost out of time, but we have a few minutes available for a brief physical examination," Arthur remarked. "I think you know the drill by now. Care to pass me the ruler?"

Touma moved to do exactly that. Lifting the small ruler from the oaken desk behind him, he threw it in the direction of Roosevelt, who caught it in his left hand's palm. The older man smirked in Touma's direction, and physically, silently gloated about his catch by moving the ruler from side to side.

Extending his arm, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt held the ruler outwards, pointing towards the room's ceiling.

Kamijou Touma knew what he had to do, and how he'd have to do it.

Both of the being's arms decomposed, shifting into two masses of swarming, buzzing nanorobots. They swirled around their main mass's form, forming curling, lashing pillars.

Then, both swarms surged outwards, towards the ruler held in the hand of Dr. Arthur Roosevelt, whose brow furrowed as the nanorobots approached.

Roosevelt swiftly lowered his hand, evading the nanorobots' grasp. The swarms moved downwards, lashing in the direction of the ruler, which was then quickly moved to the left, and then to the right. The good doctor's lips curled into a grin, exposing his pearly, shining teeth.

Finally, Kamijou Touma decided to stop playing around. His own lips had curled upwards into a vaguely sinister grin of his own.

Increasing their numbers until they'd nearly doubled, the swarm itself subsequently doubled. The rightmost swarm of nanorobots enveloped Dr. Arthur Roosevelt almost completely; only spaces for his nostrils and for his lips were hollowed out. Predictably, the ruler was dropped from the palm of the good doctor's hand, hitting the floor and coming to rest there as the swarm of nanorobots relented, returning to Kamijou Touma and becoming his right and left arms once again, mechanically humming all the while.

Roosevelt seemed unimpressed. Still, he couldn't retain this stern outward appearance; the older man soon found himself chuckling as he shook his head from side to side, as if he was amused by the rebellious actions of a wayward child; in a manner of speaking, he was amused by the rebellious actions of something that certainly wasn't a child. It wasn't necessarily even human.

"Did you learn that one with Dr. Kihara, Kamijou-san? Or is that the result of your own diligent work?"

"All me," Touma confidently replied, his head help high. "I know I didn't actually take it from you, but I think I passed the test regardless."

Nodding, the older man finally managed to catch his breath, following a period of panting. Retrieving the ruler from its place on the floor, Roosevelt set it upon the surface of the oaken desk and shrugged his shoulders, attempting to physically shrug off the effects of having his entire form squeezed in a great, twisted reflection of a bearhug.

The affection behind the physical assault was there, at least.

"Now we know your nanotechnological units are functioning correctly and seem to be under your control, which is a very good development. In only a month you've accomplished so much, Kamijou-san. I'm very proud of you and of your diligence.

"Before I let you go, I have one more exercise I'd like to go over with you; I'd like to make sure the units that'd decided to function as your Ocular Identification Units are still A OK. If there's anything you'd like to bring to my attention, son, feel free to do so."

There certainly was something on Kamijou Touma's mind, though he didn't verbally respond right away. His head swivelled on the neck to which it was attached, moving slowly from left to right, allowing for Touma to check the upper and lower corners of the room in which he found himself.

He wasn't quite certain as to what, exactly, he was searching for. Cameras were one category of objects. Microphones were another, and a combination of both would've been particularly damning.

Though no foreign presences were identified, Touma still spoke his piece quietly, with a hint of cautiousness.

"Now that you mention it," Touma began, "there is something that's been happening. When I've neared metallic surfaces, like certain walls, some doors, and for some reason, chain link fences, I… I lose control. They go off of their own accord and just sort of stick to the offending surface. My nanotechnological units, that is. They seem to reset after I get myself far enough away from the offending surface, so I guess that's a plus?"

For a moment, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt tapped the side of his face with his index finger, as he began to pace about. The older man produced a soft, curious-sounding "hmm" from time to time.

"It sounds to me like your passively-generated magnetic field is acting up. There's a fairly simple way of resetting the field to its default state if it's changed for the worst. If I were you, I'd try to apply a magnet or another source of magnetism to your body, even just something you pick up from the hardware store. The magnetic interference should cause your passively-generated field to trigger a failsafe and reset. Have you been exposed to any electric interference? Lightning, for example? Another good way to scramble your field is to use a corded phone, or any other wired technologies during a thunderstorm."

A small grin tugged at the edges of Kamijou Touma's lips, forcing them to curl upwards. For a moment, he saw her face, its facial features soft, her lips even softer. Her big, chestnut brown irises and the hair atop her head which matched their coloration brought Kamijou Touma a familiar sense of positivity.

Kamijou Touma had been exposed to 'electrical interference', alright.

"Yeah," Touma spoke, nodding his head, yes. "I actually did get struck by lightning a couple of times the other day, believe it or not. Just my luck, right?"

Arthur Roosevelt found himself chuckling; it was funny, that something which wasn't even human, at least not in the present could bring more humor to his life than any of the sick-minded 'organic' human beings within the nasty, mouldering facility could.

Then again, was Arthur Roosevelt even any better than them? He was part of the problem, too, no matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise. His humor faded as quickly as it'd come; such was the nature of an environment more toxic than even the substance found within the most potent of bottled poisons.

Raising his right arm, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt raised his right hand's index finger.

"Let's begin, if you're ready. How many fingers am I holding up, Kamijou-san?" the older man inquired, softly.

"One," his patient answered.

The older man's next finger, adjacent to his index finger was raised, joining the index finger in standing tall.

"How about now?"

"Two."

This process was repeated until each digit, minus the older man's hand's thumb was raised; Kamijou Touma had spoken correctly each time.

Dr. Arthur Roosevelt turned his attention to the computer in the corner of the room, across from Kamijou Touma's form. After he'd approached the device and had begun to utilize its keyboard and mouse, he spoke to his patient behind him.

"Everything checks out well enough for me to give you permission to get started on your physical testing," the older man spoke, focused intently on the data input application displayed on the computer's monitor.

"That's it; a little bit shorter than usual, I know. Don't get too sad, we'll be seeing one another again the next time you decide to stop by. Speaking of which, you've been stopping by quite frequently. Have you considered taking a short hiatus?"

Though the older man's words contained an overt tone of neutrality, Kamijou Touma detected a hint of forcefulness behind them. It wasn't really a question, not as much as it was a recommendation.

"Can't," Touma responded, rising from the swivel chair and turning his back to the good doctor's form. "Lots of work to do. Besides, the old man might miss me if I up and disappear."

"It was good seeing you, Kamijou-san. Take care, now."

Without another word shared between them, Touma yanked the reinforced door of the closet-like room open and stepped back out into the open space of the laboratory, allowing the heavy portcullis behind him to close shut of its own accord, egged on by the pulling force of gravity.

Evidently, cleaning crews had previously been dispatched while he'd been in Roosevelt's broom closet of an office; the cadaver of the crime against nature the old man's lackeys had created was nowhere to be found, and not even a singular drop of liquid it'd produced remained.

It was as if the horror Kamijou Touma had seen dragging itself along the floors, with a collar around its neck like it'd been some sort of domesticated animal had never even been real.

Paying not even another thought to the subject, the being known as Kamijou Touma walked through the mostly open space of the laboratory, passing the unsightly, vaguely bed-like pods by, as well as the old, cream-colored IV drips and the many, many heart monitors that'd been set up close to actual hospital beds, none of which contained any living human beings, or even the earthly remains of deceased human beings.

Apparently, it was a slow day at the office.

The laboratory was soon traversed through, and its many doors, almost all which Touma knew to be quite tightly locked were left behind.

Parting a pair of heavy, reinforced doors constructed of an even thicker metallic substance than others of its ilk, Touma left the laboratory entirely, and entered another dismal, sterile corridor, like all the others in the facility. Though the corridor seemed to be a dead end, as it ended in an obstructive wall with a large, door-sized window set in its center, there was another set of doors present within the hallway; these, in fact, lead into an elevator car, assuming the car had arrived on the floor when the doors opened.

It was then that the set of doors opened, both sliding inwards, groaning as their seemingly poorly-maintained inner workings performed their duties.

From within the elevator car that'd arrived, a trio of busy, concerned-looking individuals stepped out, wheeling a portable bed along with them. The thing's means of locomotion squealed and repeatedly produced loud, shrill grinding noises, as if each of the four wheels was about to suddenly shatter into millions of pieces.

Apparently, the old man just couldn't get enough of kidnapping little girls. For a moment, Kamijou Touma silently wondered if the geezer was some sort of diddler; the old man's appearance fit the bill perfectly.

Strapped down to the portable bed, a girl's unconscious form was ensnared with surprisingly powerful-looking metallic bindings. Like a brutalist's vision of an Anti Skill officer's handcuffs, the bindings were snapped onto the young-seeming girl's wrists and ankles.

Upon making eye contact with Kamijou Touma, the trio of busybody underlings hurried down the corridor, forcing open the reinforced doors he'd only recent passed through himself.

Stepping into the emptied elevator car, Kamijou Touma waited patiently until the shaft's doors slid shut, followed by the car's own doors, which shrieked even louder than the set before them.

While there wasn't a lot he could do, he swore he'd kill one of them for her, whoever she was, whenever the moment presented itself.

The same level of tenderness and care had been put into the design of the elevator car's interior as the rest of the run-down facility; the level of tenderness and care being none. It was simplistic, with cold tired flooring that offered the car's sole inhabitant a twisted, perpetually-swimming reflection of himself to look down at. Its inner walls were plain and sterile, while the car's railings were just barely mounted to the inner walls.

"Underground five," Touma spoke aloud.

As if to verbally respond, the elevator car within the shaft shook, as the verbal command was processed. Some lackluster artificial intelligence comprehended the command and acted in response, causing the elevator car to descend. No doubt this artificial intelligence was operated by one of the many shoddily-built, but surprisingly capable computers within one of the facility's many laboratories, as well as its various research and development stations. Kamijou Touma couldn't quite be sure which one; perhaps the same artificial intelligence, however shitty, operated over some type of network. The old man hadn't been specific; this fact hardly came as a surprise.

After some time had passed, the grinding, groaning elevator car had come to a halt. Both sets of doors, those belonging to the car and those belonging to the shaft opened, and Touma stepped out from within the car, each of his footfalls echoing louder than the last. The short, unlit passageway through which Touma walked was plastered with various forms of fungal life, especially black mould, which was in abundance on the ceilings and along the walls.

A voice crackled over a series of loudspeakers set within the unlit passageway. Though of low quality and riddled with static, the speaker's tone of voice was one of mirth, and one of a false warmness.

"Aaah. There you are, Kamijou-kun. I'm so very glad you've decided to visit. No need to come and see me; make your way down into the Sphere and we'll get started."

Tossing open yet another set of infernal, reinforced doors, Kamijou Touma stepped through both, and into what may as well have been Hell itself. The great, gaping maw of the 'Combat Screening Zone', in reality a large, hollowed-out hole in the flooring, "spiced" up with sterile, metallic walls and cold tiled flooring known as the Sphere waited for the being who'd once been a 'normal high school boy'. Projected from several panels mounted to the ceiling above, golden, synthetic light beamed down, illuminating the circular space around the Sphere's maw, and the Sphere itself.

The Sphere wasn't unoccupied.

"Oi, old man," Touma spoke, an edge in his vocalization, "what's this? The fuck are you playing at? Who do you have down in the Sphere, and are we not doing my readings first? If you're fucking with me… shit, what's that noise? Sounds like… sounds like shit."

"Calm yourself, Kamijou-kun," the crackling, static-ridden voice responded, quite softly, in a tone similar to that of a father gently disciplining his child. "Capacity Down cannot have any effect on you, adverse or otherwise. Your readings will be taken once you've entered the Sphere."

More out of morbid curiosity than any actual desire to obey the speaker, Kamijou Touma leapt from the edge, allowing himself to freefall as stale air passed him by, ruffling his hair and tugging at the edges of his face. His 'clothing' flapped about freely before the nanorobots which composed it tightened their magnetic grip upon one another.

With a thud, Touma landed within the Sphere, feet first. Though the area shook, like it was being assaulted by a minor tremor, the flooring beneath him remained undamaged. Rising up, he looked to the only other living being within the Sphere.

The Sphere's other inhabitant didn't seem to be concerned by the streaks of long-dried, congealed lifeblood that stained not only the inner walls, but the flooring as well.

Clad in Tokiwadai Middle School's winter uniform, she'd turned her attention to the being that'd landed before her. Her hair, a hue of soft, chestnut brown was short, just barely falling to her shoulders; her eyes were oddly empty, and atop her head she wore a pair of large, militarized combat-goggles.

"Misaka didn't expect to see the Savior here, Misaka explains as she attempts to inform the Savior that she is surprised by his presence."

Her voice was monotonous and without emotion, her facial expression utterly passive. Sitting upon a chair that was far too small for her size, the clone of Misaka Mikoto, the mighty Railgun sat before an equally small table, where a box of some sort of juice, complete with a straw was set, along with what looked like the remains of a half-eaten cookie.

The clone burped.

"Misaka apologizes for her lack of manners; it would appear that Misaka has gas, Misaka states, defending the repulsive actions she has taken in front of the Savior."

Kamijou Touma had no idea what was happening, or why it was, or might've been happening. Instead of losing his cool and potentially frightening not only the innocent clone before him, but the entire Misaka Network at large, the being kept his cool as he crouched before the Railgun's clone. Taking either of her soft, silky hands into his own, Touma looked up to the clone, their eyes locking.

"Misaka Imouto? Is that you? I know there're a lot of you. Who are you, sweetheart? You can tell me, I won't hurt you, I promise; just stick with me, listen to what I tell you, and I'll make sure I get you out of here, alright? Everything's going to be okay."

"Misaka's serial number is ten thousand and twenty-eight, Misaka states, trusting in the Savior and believing the Savior's words completely," the clone responded, without even a moment of hesitation.

"Misaka has heard a lot about the Savior. Misaka wondered what it would be like to meet you. Misaka thinks you seem very kind, Misaka admits, attempting not to reveal the fact that Misaka thought serial number 10032 may have been stretching the truth in her description. Misaka is curious as to what the Savior is doing here, however, Misaka says, finalizing her short verbal essay, well aware that she has begun to ramble. Misaka isn't too sure why she's here, either. Misaka only remembers falling asleep while she was walking, and that the sky was dark. Maybe it was nighttime; Misaka doesn't know for sure right now."

Without another word spoken to one of Misaka Mikoto's many sisters, Kamijou Touma rose, and looked to the ceiling above the Sphere, his eyes unfazed by the bright, golden beams of synthetic light.

"You have my attention, old man. What kind of game are you playing? What am I going to have to do to ensure that she leaves this place safely?"

The static-ridden, crackling, disembodied voice responded, broadcasted from so many loudspeakers scattered throughout the Sphere, and from above it.

"You see, Kamijou-kun, that's exactly it; there's a good chance she won't be leaving at all… it all depends on how you perform. I'd like to see how you cope with different types of mental and emotional stress, and I'd like to see how your decision-making is affected when you are placed under extreme pressure."

Kamijou Touma kept alive in his heart the vow he'd silently made not to upset the Sister. Whether she was already upset or not, Touma couldn't be sure. He looked to the Sister and offered her the warmest, sincerest smile he possibly could, nodding in her direction as if to say, "I've got this."

"You don't realize who you're fucking with, do you?" Touma inquired. "I'm the least of your worries, old man. If you fuck with the Sisters, you're fucking with him, and that's not something you want to do. Did you find out you've got terminal cancer, or something? Do you have some sort of psychotic death wish?"

There was no response from the disembodied voice. Instead of a verbal response, Kamijou Touma's host, and the host of Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight responded by causing two enormous, semicircular ceiling panels to slide outwards from within the walls of the Sphere, turning it into a great container. Enormous and metallic, these panels would've rendered the Sphere itself completely darkened, if not for a series of smaller panels set in place beneath them, beaming synthetic light down into the Sphere.

From two small machines, each only the size of the average person's forearm, currents of electricity were generated; bright blue and crackling loudly, individual currents licked at the surfaces of the panels which had slid closed.

Kamijou Touma was expected to perform, and he knew it.

He cast his gaze to the clone of Misaka Mikoto sitting before him. Returning to her and crouching before her again, Touma spoke as quietly and as calmly as he could; his previous question was answered. The clone's pulse had quickened, thudding within her wrist far too quickly for his liking.

"Hey," Touma said, quite casually. "Relax. It's going to be okay. I won't hurt you; I will need you to play along with me though. If we're going to get out of here we're going to need to put on a little show for the powers that be. Do you think you can help me with that?"

The Sister nodded, somewhat reluctantly. In response, Touma rose and pushed her bangs from her eyes with his right hand, his fingers gently brushing against the Sister's forehead; she shivered, slightly.

"Misaka trusts the Savior, as Misaka has plenty of positive testimonies from other operating units, and from the Moderator. Misaka will "play along" with the Savior to ensure Misaka's and the Savior's survival in what is effectively a hostage situation, Misaka states plainly."

"Alright; I'm going to wink a few seconds before I move to attack the vague area in which you stand. When I wink, you're going to roll or otherwise get out of the way. Does that sound like a plan?"

"Misaka is on board with the Savior's trickery, Misaka explains, feeling quite glad that the Savior is capable of thinking quickly in tense situations."