It's. The. Nutshack. I really miss those classic memes.
Anyways, on with review responses!
Whwsms: DAYUUUUUUUUUM indeed! It'll be great to have you following along with us, as always, my friend.
Guest: I can't say much about this right now; I suppose I can say that I'm very well aware of 'the One's true capability and am not simply underestimating him/it.
They have matters that need to be discussed. They'll be here, don't you worry.
Yes.
Fortitude501: Ohoho! Yes, yes she would; and she will!
Chris: Hey! You're back! Welcome back!
As I stated above to Guest, just wait on this. I'm very much aware of 'the One's true power.
Ain't that the truth?! She's called 'Beauty-Senpai' for a reason.
If the Judeo-Christian God truly created all things, then, by extension, He also created perversion. So, by that logic, yes, God is in fact a pervert.
As complete as complete can be!
Thank you for your kind words, my friend. They're always appreciated, greatly.
TM: To quote a certain doctor who was very fond of using electricity, "It's alive! IT'S ALLIIIVEEE!" Thank you for your kindness! As always, it's appreciated.
(Another) Guest: Looks like your wish has been granted, friend!
February 11th, 2004. 1:24 AM.
"Is that all of them, Karasuma?"
"Yep."
The empty, abandoned warehouse in Academy City's seventeenth school district was a flimsy thing. Its walls seemed little thicker than mere sheets of paper, and its roof, little more than two sheets of metallic arching and meeting one another at a curved pinnacle was heavily damaged by time and the elements. The concrete floor was cracked in places, and, from some among those cracks, weeds had begun to grow, as if nature was attempting, bit by bit, to reclaim Academy City for herself.
Altogether, the entire warehouse could've been a good science exhibit, demonstrating the prolonged effects of rust eating away at metal.
It wasn't a wonder that this place was left to rot.
Still, for the purposes of the Oculus, this place would do.
Clad, as always, in his cheap two-piece suit, Gladio-Oculus operative Dave Horton couldn't have wanted to simply find a place to curl up and slumber any more than he did presently. A cigarette hung limp from between his cracked, chapped lips. Grease-laden hair slicked back, furrowed brow plastered in sweat, he certainly didn't look the part of an Academy City 'G-Man'.
Karasuma Fran looked little better. In her pink, hooded sweater, simplistic gym shorts, cheap white trainers, with the bobbing, ornamental antennas which protruded from her sweater's hood, she looked as if she simply didn't belong here. Fran looked hardly old enough to even be away from her mother.
All was silent beyond this warehouse. The birds of Academy City had settled in to sleep with their little families in their little nests, as had a vast majority of the beasts, save for those nocturnal night-stalkers who prowled the darkness in search for their prey.
Academy City's seventeenth school district, despite its purpose as a hub of industry and the importing of goods, was hardly active at night. In fact, it might as well have been a ghost district once the night settled and the human labourers left, homeward bound. Beneath the moonlight so much machinery gleamed beneath Pale Luna's silvery light. Cranes, forklifts, and, in abundance above all other forms of cargo transportation, large heavy-set freight trains. Intentional or otherwise, great walls had been formed from metallic transport crates piled atop one another, forming vast, intricate mazes. Winding sections of metallic track wound all throughout the school district, connecting some facilities and making access to others simpler.
This veneer of relative innocence, this illusion of a school district dedicated entirely to Academy City's industrial endeavors, would have been as good as unveiled for any who'd happened upon the sight unfolding within this abandoned, derelict warehouse.
Both Horton and Karasuma wielded semiautomatic pistols. Both had their firearms held aloft, aimed in the direction of ten individuals in total, each of whom had been forced upon their knees. With thick, pitch-dark bags forced over their heads, held in place by plastic ties which were bound around their necks, all ten individuals, too, had their hands tied behind their respective backs.
"If I help with this, I'll get to return to Kakeru-chan…?"
Despite gripping a firearm in his hands with every intention to shoot ten people dead, there and then before him, Dave Horton seemed to offer the girl a sympathetic expression.
"On my word as an Oathkeeper of Gladio-Oculus. Whatever yoke the Intelligence Division has you under, I'll… I'll pull some strings, and get you out. Might not think it, but I have enough clout to make things move. As long as we play by the rules, we make it out."
"Gladio-Oculus… But you're Oculus.
"Right."
"… So, you're the corrupt division."
"Corrupt? Well… Only a little. Compared to the rest of this shithole City? Far below average. There's only one way to join the big leagues. Don't have the heart for it. Karasuma, just… Stand by. We're probably not going to need you for this. Only if anyone tries to run."
With empty eyes offering a glimpse into the soul of a girl who was completely and utterly disinterested in her present situation, Karasuma Fran nodded. With absolutely nothing to sit herself on, the 'Kamisato Faction' member merely looked about, bored. She casually folded her arms behind her back – as if mocking those she literally looked down upon – and interlocked her hands' fingers with each other. She rocked backwards and forwards upon her heels and toes.
Taking a few steps forward, Horton took aim at the first bagged target. Their mouths had all been gagged, stuffed full with dirtied, greasy old rags.
The screaming, pleading and bargaining always made it just that much harder. At the very least, he would be spared that aspect of this grisly business.
"Hardly a wonder why they all love Hamasaki."
Clearing his throat, the Gladio-Oculus operative spoke, firmly. He wasn't an animal. He was going to speak to these people, and inform them of just why their lives were being taken from them.
"I have some idea of what you all must be thinking. From where you're kneeling, this probably feels like the worst day of your life; believe it or not, this isn't it. Could've been much worse. For what it's worth, I really am sorry. You've found yourselves on the wrong side of a difficult balancing act.
"As active practitioners of 'magic', and as active members of a magical cabal, you knew the risks. The Magic-Science Treaty exists for a reason. Your subversive efforts brought you here. It's nothing personal. Just business. This might seem like bad luck, but… This isn't it. Operatives of the subversive magical cabal, 'Sons of Taured', I, with the full authority of Gladio-Oculus, hereby sentence you all to… Death."
Approaching the first – the first in 'line', so to speak, and the first to begin desperately squirming – then trailing behind, Dave Horton put him to death with a single, well-placed shot to the back of the head. A sudden, unimaginable burst of pain, unlike anything the bagged victim had ever experienced before; but it was all over in less than a second. The bullet ripped through flesh and bone; it emerged, clean, through the front of the pitch-dark bag. Lifeless, the corpse, once a living human being hit the unfeeling concrete with a thud.
Several more followed. Each faceless, unspeaking, bound and gagged Sons of Taured operative – arrests made during the bust in the Occult Market, a clear violation of the Magic-Science Treaty – were put to an exceedingly swift, but extremely, unfathomably painful death.
One threw herself to the floor, and attempted to wriggle away.
Without hesitation Karasuma Fran unloaded the content of her firearm's clip into the target; Dave Horton finished her with a single, well-placed shot to the back of the head.
"Don't be so messy. They don't deserve it, Karasuma."
The final would-be victim seemed to have a thought none among his now-deceased bedfellows had; fighting back. Despite his inability to see, despite the fact that his mouth was stuffed with rags and covered with several pieces of thick, durable duct tape, he rose, and charged in the direction of the last sound he'd heard; Karasuma Fran's gunshots.
Two shots from Dave Horton's firearm to his back put him on the ground; a third, to the back of his head, ended him.
"It never does get easier, Karasuma. When I was training to join Anti-Skill, before Oculus brought me in, they always said the same thing. "It gets easier". That's horse shit." Tsuchimikado and Hamasaki make it look easy, because, at the end of the day, they're pure business."
The operative shrugged. To Fran, he seemed even more tired than usual.
"Easy pickings to perpetuate that lie, though. We had a young guy with us, recent recruit to the Oculus. Showed plenty of potential, dedicated to preserving the Treaty and keeping the Oath as any of us…"
He took another drag from his cigarette, the dangling, limp thing that hadn't left his lips once. Dave Horton spoke through it, his teeth and lips maneuvering around it.
"… He didn't like the furnaces so much. Burning the bodies. Smell made him lose his dinner, probably a bit of his lunch, too. I told him the same thing. "It gets easier." Knew damn well I was lying. Can't blame the boy. The smell… It's not something you ever forget, Karasuma. He's doing much better as the office janitor."
Silently, she'd listened on. In response, she merely tilted her head, as if curious.
"That's that, then. Show's over. I'll take care of the stiffs, get them in the van. You… You go and do whatever you want, now. I'll pull some strings and get them off your back. Good work, Karasuma. Keep the Oath."
"Keep the Oath," Karasuma Fran quietly responded as she turned on her heel, and casually departed from the bloodstained warehouse. Squeezing herself through the pried-open, metallic doors which she'd partially closed after Horton had herded their targets in, the fake gemstone disappeared into the darkness of the night, leaving Dave Horton to clean up after himself.
"The Gladio operatives get to have fun every night toppling South American socialist regimes… And the Oculus gets stuck with this."
It was then, deep in his contemplations, that the Gladio-Oculus operative's decades of intensive training betrayed him; the vibrations of his smartphone in the pocket of his dirtied, blood-soaked suit pants sent the chills of panic rushing through him; instinctual, leftover residue from a time when humankind had been little more than savages in loincloths.
Retrieving the device, flipping it open and practically shoving it up to his ear, Horton spoke in a feverish tone, "what?"
"You're not going to like this, Davey."
The voice on the other end of the call was one he certainly hadn't wanted to hear; it was that of Tsuchimikado Motoharu, the Backstabbing Blade. That voice was one of uncertainty. Without a direct dumping of exposition, intentional or otherwise, Motoharu spoke countless words through it.
"No, you're right. I'm not going to like this. But you called me, so, let's hear it. What colossal fuckup has happened, now?"
"Suspicious that the Amakusa have gone rogue. Suspicious that they're trying to pull Kamijou and his clingers-on down with them… Saint Lessar isn't acting right. Accelerator, Etzali and little ol' me are totally left in the dark. Too convenient."
"SHIT!"
Horton nearly threw his smartphone to the concrete floor below.
"SHIT! Shit, shit, SHIT!"
"Calm down, Davey. Accelerator's around here, somewhere, with the two-faced prick. Should he go in for the kill order? He won't accept anything from me. But you? You're his direct superior. Threaten his loli, if you have to."
"Certainly, Tsuchimikado. I'll threaten the Accelerator's little friend. Sure! No problem! Not a problem at all. I've always wanted to be reduced to a pile of meat. Don't be ridiculous. Get him, and give him over to me. I'll handle the Accelerator. Don't you mention a WORD about Last Order. That little shit's his leash. We're not cutting it."
There was prolonged silence, mostly; save for rustling and the tone of crackling interference brought about by the gusting of wind.
After several proclamations of "fuck off" and rhetorical inquiries lobbed at Tsuchimikado Motoharu regarding potential suicidal tendencies, manifesting in the repeated uttering of "do you want to fucking die?" Dave Horton finally managed to get a hold of Academy City's 'top dog'.
"What the fuck do you want? I'm going to smear that fucking snitch Tsuchimikado against the wall for this shit. I don't have time for this. If this is the kind of stunts you're going to be pulling, I'm out."
"No, Accelerator, you are certainly not "out". As your direct superior in Gladio-Oculus, I'm officially, on the record, issuing onto you a kill order. Failure to carry this order out… Let's not discuss the price of failure. Get it done. Now."
"This is about that fucking hero, isn't it? No. I don't give a shit. I won't do it."
"Is that so?"
Despite the visage of confidence that he projected through his cellular communication with the strongest esper on the entire planet, Dave Horton silently hoped that the crimson-eyed, pale, white-haired personification of Hell walking on Earth would simply bend over without further issue. Truthfully, this was the absolute last sort of conversation Horton wished to be having with someone like the Accelerator.
"Academy City provides you with a generous stipend; not that you care. You don't need it, do you? But those clones you're so fond of…"
"Tch… Fuck. You. Don't you fucking DARE bring those brats into this!"
"Academy City's restaurants are always hiring, aren't they, Accelerator? They might not hire you if, say, confidential information was to get out regarding your involvement with the Level Six Shift Experiments, now, would they?
"Twist the narrative, paint you as the mastermind… Gladio-Oculus controls Academy City's media, Accelerator. What we want them to say, the newscasters say it. The journalists parrot it. The guinea pigs believe it. As long as we keep the General Superintendent and Board of Directors out of it…"
"I can't fucking believe you. They're innocent. They're kids, you fucking dickhead!"
Truthfully, Dave Horton couldn't believe himself, either; even as his heart beat rapidly, to the point that he believed its repetition to be vastly in excess of that which was healthy, that visage remained steadfast. A missed opportunity for a career in Hollywood?
"Yes, Accelerator. Yes, you can."
"Tch."
"Is that a yes?"
"… Yeah. It is."
"Good. Keep the Oath."
"… Keep the Oath."
It wasn't going to be that simple; as Accelerator, Academy City's 'top dog' ended the call and pocketed his phone, he shoved either of his hands into his pockets and cursed under his breath. Accelerator wasn't about to hurry himself off to delve back into that endless abyss of darkness, nor end the one who had helped him surface from its depths.
No matter how much that boy had, supposedly, changed.
"That fucking hero… There's no way I can do this. Not now… Not fucking ever. There's got to be something. I need to fucking think of some shit, and quick."
Turning, the strongest one nearly snarled. Biting down onto nothing, gnashing his teeth against one another with such force that his jaw audibly creaked aloud, the pale, crimson-eyed boy stared directly into the darkened sunglasses of Tsuchimikado Motoharu.
"Why the fuck are you so eager to off that damn hero? I thought you two were all buddy-buddy together. What changed?"
"That's none of your business."
Tsuchimikado Motoharu's words were sharp, like so many daggers. When discussing the matter of Kamijou Touma, the normally wily young man seemed to suddenly, uncharacteristically harden.
The Aztec magician, Etzali, kept his distance. Quietly, he observed all, took mental notes, and paid close attention to the Backstabbing Blade's words. He wondered where that odd girl who'd looked quite a lot like Misaka Mikoto had gotten off to; she'd disappeared, seemingly. Perhaps she'd returned to the aircraft they'd flown here in?
The Accelerator took a single step forward. A vein seemed to twitch in his head. White hair, white as freshly fallen snow on a crisp winter's morning. Pale, sickly skin. Like a corpse. Piercing, blood red eyes, like those of some demon that had dredged itself up from the blackened depths of Hell. Skinnier than a survivor pulled from a death camp. His lips, having curled downwards into a deep-set frown seemed to physically crack as Academy City's strongest clicked his tongue, aggravated.
"So, this is where we fucking stand with each other, Tsuchimikado? I'm your goddamn attack dog now? I don't think so. Not now, not ever. I'm no one's lackey."
It all happened in the time it took the silent, observative Etzali to blink; Accelerator, unburdened by brain damage unlike in so many other possible realities, merely tapped the tip of his cheap, dirt-caked trainer against the grass beneath him.
The Earth itself rumbled as colossal chunks of solid, earthen matter were ejected into the air; forced from their places of rest like a miniature collision of continents during a world-breaking cataclysmic, Tsuchimikado Motoharu found himself tossed along with them.
In a mere moment's time, the Accelerator was upon him. A pallid hand wrapped around the Backstabbing Blade's throat, and a set of fiery, wrathful crimson eyes stared into the blonde-haired spy's sunglasses.
"You think you can fuck me around, Tsuchimikado?! Did you forget?! I'm still the TOP DOG!"
What was he to do? What could he have done? Tsuchimikado was nothing compared to this monster. Academy City's strongest remained a horrific sight to behold, even for one who was already well-acquainted with the less reputable aspects of both Magic and Science.
Colossal, whipping tornadoes had come, rushing out from Accelerator's back. There were four of them, and each seemed to tear at reality itself; the very air around the two distorted. Accelerator's chokehold tightened.
"You have ten minutes to call your black ops buddies back before I fucking kill you, and then turn Academy City into a pile of smoking ash. Are we understanding one another, Tsuchimikado?! As soon as that goddamn idiot buddy of yours brought those fucking brats into this, you all…"
The 'number one's' lips curled into a wide, hideous, shit-eating grin. It stretched from one ear and to the other, exposing rows of gleaming teeth.
"… You started on your journey down the One-Way Road!"
Like a flash of lightning following the monstrous clapping of rolling thunder, Accelerator landed upon his feet with such force that minor quakes wracked all of Europe, from England to Russia. Fissures tore through the world's crust, deep beneath the landscapes of the surface as the Earth itself seemed to rage alongside him.
Tsuchimikado Motoharu, still held aloft, struggled against Accelerator's grip.
With an unceremonious toss, the Backstabbing Blade found himself on his own back. Humiliated, utterly bested, but very much alive.
"Ha. That felt really fucking good, you know? Sometimes, it really doesn't hurt to let loose… Don't forget, Tsuchimikado. Ten minutes."
The Backstabbing Blade merely chuckled, rising to his feet upon his shuddering legs with some effort. Altogether, aside from being thoroughly shaken, the double agent seemed no worse for wear.
"You seem to be forgetting something, 'main plan'. I'm not the one who calls the shots. You know that, Accelerator. The one who does call the shots is well beyond you or me. That's just the way it is. If you start rampaging around Academy City, Anti-Skill isn't going to be your primary concern. He will be."
"… Tch."
"See my point? Yeah. You do. Otherwise, you wouldn't be resigning yourself to your fate right now. The kill order still applies, Accelerator. Go get it done. Kamijou isn't the 'hero' you remember. He's a problem. Put him down. Now."
Accelerator seemed to have some sort of internal debate with himself; this wouldn't be the first time he'd be facing "that goddamn hero". First, there was the showdown in Academy City's seventeenth school district. Then, there was that brawl in Russia. Then, the show of opposing forces in Denmark, when Kamijou Touma had thrown his lot in with a terrorist organization's leader, and pitted himself against the entire world's nations.
It really wouldn't be all that difficult, would it?
Academy City's 'top dog' sneered. Several veins throbbed in his forehead as he looked directly into Tsuchimikado's eyes, past his darkened shades. Shoving either of his pallid, boney hands into his cheap pants' loose pockets, that white-haired, pale-skinned monster turned on his heel, seemingly without a care in the world.
"All right, Hero… Here we fucking go again!"
February 10th, 2004. 4:45 PM.
The repeated bumping jostled the limousine's passengers about, this way and that way; such was the result of attempting to drive through a vast, open field with absolutely no paved roads in sight for what might've seemed like miles to a casual observer. Aside from the odd tree which rose, high and mighty, each healthier and livelier than the last if one were to judge by appearances alone, there was very little. These fields hadn't even been used for farmland. There were only endless expanses of tall, bright green grass in all directions.
"So, Kamijou-kun. Tell onee-san all about the adventures you've been getting up to~! It's certainly been far too long, hasn't it?"
With little in the way of objects which could lead to any sort of vehicular accident, Oriana Thomson was free to turn from the wheel, even as her hands gripped it tightly, and face back to rest her gaze upon those passengers she ferried.
She was absolutely, positively stunning. A tight-fitting, exceedingly undersized tanktop clung to her upper body, exposing almost the entirety of her developed, ample bosom. Bound around her curvy, sumptuous waist was an orange cloth, trimmed with light-coloured material which almost resembled thick strands of fur. Dangling from this cloth were long, marble-coloured straps of cloth, together resembling the lower half of a dress which had been perfectly cut in so many places. Golden-coloured, high-heeled gladiator sandals encased her delicate feet.
With Index cuddling tightly against him, taking up one of his arms, and the other wrapped tightly, protectively against an intensely-blushing Misaka Mikoto's shoulders, Kamijou Touma shrugged in what could only be described as abject indifference. Saint Lessar remained seated on his lap, facing him; her own arms were cast around the boy's chilly shoulders. Repeatedly, Lessar rubbed her bosom against the boy's pecs.
"A lot of changes to adjust to. Otherwise, nothing out of the ordinary, Oriana. Or, should I say, Ms. Thomson? Please don't tell me it's 'Mrs.' and break my heart.
Of course, Kamijou Touma had no trouble admitted to himself that, beyond a shadow of any doubt, he wanted this woman. He wanted Oriana Thomson.
And he would have her, in the end.
After a single glance spared to the road – and a subsequent confirmation that there was, still, absolutely nothing to be concerned about – the sorcerous freelancer tossed her head back and laughed heartily; her ample bosom vibrated as she did so, rising and falling almost rhythmically.
"Aren't you just a suave little thing, Kamijou-kun! What changed, hmm? You can tell onee-san. I still remember you reeling, blushing like a proper little gentleman when you accidentally bumped right into my chest~!"
"That was a weak, sad little piece of trash. He's gone."
That was what Kamijou Touma wanted to say. Instead, he considered his words, and spoke them after careful contemplation. Repeated influxes of perhaps omniscient incoming data informed Touma that a calculated response would serve best in this situation.
"I guess it was a phase I grew out of."
Kamijou Touma's gaze met the Railgun's own. Hers was a sympathetic one. It offered only a glimpse into the pity she felt for this boy. A boy who'd always been throwing himself to the proverbial wolves for everyone else's sake.
A boy who, despite his heroic actions, was denied a saviour of his own in his time of need.
She could've been there. Misaka Mikoto should've been there. She should've torn that laboratory, or whatever it might have been apart, piece by piece, searching for him. Slaughtering anyone who got in her way.
"Stop that! Stop it, Mikoto. These thoughts aren't helping anyone."
Another conversation with him could wait. Instead of attempting to start one, Mikoto placed a gentle, affectionate kiss to the boy's cold-feeling cheek; still, even after all they'd been through together, after all they'd yet discussed about the world, about one another, about their situation… She still blushed. Every drop of blood in Mikoto's body seemed to rush immediately, headlong into her cheeks.
"THAT makes you blush, zapper-girl?! You've got a lot to learn if you want to pull your weight in the harem. Here, let Lessar-mama show you how it's done."
Forcefully, the 'Saint' ground her lower body against Kamijou Touma's own, took his face into her soft, surprisingly delicate hands, and looked deeply into his cold, lifeless eyes, perhaps for the first, true time.
There wasn't much to speak of in there. They seemed human enough; yet, they lacked a certain human gleam. It was almost as if Lessar stared so deeply into a set of glass eyes which somehow managed to move about of their own accord within their sockets.
Lessar tilted her head to one side, then sized Kamijou up for a brief few moments.
Leaning in – clearly able to read the figurative room as well as anyone else – Lessar pressed her lips to Touma's ear, and gently kissed it; it felt like flesh, like a normal person's earlobe. Yet, it was so unnaturally cold that the 'Saint' might as well have been kissing a hunk of metal.
"What happened, Kamijou…?"
Her whisper was soft. Uncharacteristically, Lessar's words were tender and gentle, like those of a reassuring older sister. This was in spite of the fact that Lessar herself was, in truth, younger than Kamijou.
Touma kissed her back, in kind.
"Didn't we have this conversation, Lessar? Don't ask questions that have answers you're not going to like."
"You're being difficult."
"So are you. I like you better when you're dumb, horny bimbo Lessar. Can we get some of that going on again?"
"Not until you tell me what's going on with you, Kamijou."
He produced the human approximation of a sigh; of course, he wasn't truly capable of producing an actual sigh. That required the inhalation of oxygen, an act which would have ultimately been unnecessary for a higher being such as himself.
He'd been meaning to respond; but another did so in his stead.
"Back off."
Mikoto's words brought with them several passing moments of silence. The Railgun girl's grip on the object of her affections tightened; for a moment her fingertips brushed against those of the little nun girl, Index, who always seemed to be with him.
"He'll tell you when he's ready. H-How about that, huh? Try respecting people's personal space."
Sensing the tension rising in the air, the former Magic God, Othinus – who, up until this point, had been occupied in her physical explorations of both Kumokawa Seria and Musujime Awaki – proposed a solution.
"Imagine Breaker, would you prefer to sit with me? It would seem that the Railgun will have to take extra measures in order to ensure that this so-called Saint behaves herself."
Kamijou Touma had no difficulty in freeing himself; with a smirk, he simply fell apart. Disassembling into a flowing, swarm-like mass of dark, grey-coloured buzzing nanorobotic machine phase-matter, he surged backward, forming several twisting arcs, then resettling between Kumokawa Seria and Othinus; the former welcomed him with a warm, loving embrace. The latter took hold of him possessively.
Lessar was, to say the least, utterly taken aback.
"Sorry, Mikoto, Index. I'll make it up to you, I promise."
The Railgun girl shrugged, even as currents of electricity rose from her body. Crossing one leg over the other's thigh with the sort of elegance and class befitting a student of Tokiwadai Middle School, Mikoto merely shot Lessar an aggressive glare, then settled.
"It's fine. I'm not mad… At you."
Index, for her part, took to looking out the window; though visibly disappointed, the little nun would surely live another day.
"Welcome back, my little kohai~!" Seria excitedly proclaimed, joining the once-Magic God Othinus in making manifest her protectiveness. "You'll always be safe with your senpai~."
"Hey," Awaki greeted casually, offering a gentle wave.
"Ahem."
Oriana Thomson quickly took control of the situation; as the adult, she would be expected to lay down the law, for the moment.
"Has Saint Lessar debriefed you, Kamijou-kun? Do you actually have any idea of what's happening here? It's all a bit complicated, I admit. I haven't quite gotten everything down-pat myself. At the least, I'm at liberty to say that onee-san is a freelancer no longer~! I'll be working with the Amakusa Christians for the long-haul."
"What about Necessarius?"
Index's inquiry had come as something of a surprise; thus far, the silver-haired girl who held within her mind one hundred and three thousand Grimoires had, for the most part, kept to herself.
"That's tricky," Oriana spoke in English, a language which, like Japanese, the silver-haired nun comprehended fluently. "Necessarius is experiencing something of a schism, see. We, the Amakusa Christians, are going one way. Necessarius, for the most part, isn't going anywhere. Some smaller groups are beginning to form splinter factions, still beneath the Archbishop's grip. Needless to say, whatever those who represent Academy City's interests have told you… Well, that's not quite what's happening."
Musujime Awaki and Misaka Mikoto were entirely lost. For their own reasons these 'Science Side' girls were simply along for the ride upon the proverbial waves as they arrived and receded. Even Kumokawa Seria, despite her 'special brain' and considerable knowledge of the 'Other Side' felt out of her element.
The level zero woman spoke.
"From what I've gleaned – which, admittedly, isn't all that much – Necessarius has been at odds with the Church of England ever since a certain incident occurring in July of this year… A crack formed in Necessarius' foundation, and now, that crack spreads."
"Right you are, you beautiful creature," Oriana responded with a flirtatious grin and a seductive lick of her pink-coloured lips.
"More protests in Academy City," Awaki pointed out, showing off her smartphone, which had a news app opened – an app originating from beyond Academy City – and within there was an article present there, detailing particularly violent clashes between students in the City of Science and its military police force, Anti-Skill.
"ACADEMY CITY AFFECTED BY GLOBAL UNREST; DEATH TOLL CLIMBS TO TWO THOUSAND"
Masked rioters, some armed, some not stood divided against one another as depicted in several images accompanying the news article. Some among those rioters were, in fact, peaceful demonstrators; they didn't mask themselves, nor did they wield weapons. Masked, hooded rioters, however, were depicted clearly engaging Anti-Skill personnel.
Those demonstrators who didn't flee the depicted violence held some very interesting signs aloft, indeed.
"SORCERERS CAN SAVE THE WORLD – STOP THE LIES, PROPAGANDA AND OPPRESSION"
"SCIENCE KILLS"
"GIVE US SUFFRAGE OR GIVE US DEATH"
"CROOKED ACADEMY CITY NO! MAGIC YES!"
Unable to quite see from the limousine's driver's seat, Oriana Thomson seemed to struggle silently with herself as Kumokawa Seria clearly and concisely narrated the article's contents, describing its included images all the while.
"Onee-san thanks you deeply! But… they won't be able to keep the lid on this for much longer. The Sons of Taured have effectively won, already. In concept, it's not a bad thing… But I fear for the future. The Magic-Science Treaty might not be enough to prevent an all-out Magic-Science conflict."
"Wait. "Sons of Taured"? Aren't we supposed to be AGAINST them?" Kamijou Touma expressed some surprise, even as he felt none.
Just as Othinus was about to begin a lengthy explanation, there was an intense, sudden quaking; with swiftness that Kamijou Touma hadn't seen exuded by her in some time, Oriana Thomson slammed a foot down upon the limousine's breaks.
Still, there was no road, paved or otherwise. The fields seemed to stretch on forever; unless those who knew of it considered the One-Way Road which had presented itself before them.
"N-No…" Mikoto promptly seized up like a malfunctioning machine. Her eyelids widened at the mere sight of him. The Railgun girl's pupils dilated. A cold, intense sweat formed upon her brow, even as a deathly chill overtook her with such force that she thought she might lose her yet-tenuous grip on her consciousness. "No… N-N… No…"
A familiar darkness settled, there, only for the Railgun. The same blackened shroud which had enveloped her when she'd fought, fruitlessly, to save her Sisters from this monstrous animal.
Kamijou Touma saw him, too. His brow furrowed. His lips twisted upon themselves, forming an aggressive scowl.
Then, disassembling himself, falling into that flowing, darkened mist of surging nanorobotic machine phase-matter, his arms were around her; Mikoto accepted the embrace. Anything to keep her sight turned from that pale, white-haired, crimson-eyed monster.
"… Rest easy, Mikoto. He won't be hurting anyone again. Ever."