Prologue, Part II: Beneath the Eyeglasses

(Notes below. Also Disclaimer: Characters belong to Atlus, not me.)

Well, Makoto's first day as a third year was not without excitement.

She navigated the forming crowd of concerned passersby to find a boy (in a Shujin uniform no less) with his face on the pavement.

Quite concerning indeed.

She decided to get on her knees to get a better look at this "student." She noticed a scar on the palms of his hands. Interesting; they were old-looking. Not relevant here though. It seemed rude to her, but she thought she'd at least turn him over to see how he was looking. She flipped him over to see his skin looking fleshy and not pale. She also felt better seeing his lungs move. She lent an ear to his chest; his thorax sounded clear. His pulse was normal too. A faint waft of something sharp came from his hair.

Coffee perhaps?

She felt somewhat embarrassed to be close to a stranger's face like this, but she'd rather be safe than sorry.

She moved her eyes to his face. An ear to his mouth. Strong breaths. Thank goodness, she thought.

Despite the fall, his glasses stuck to his nose like glue, due to his bushy, curly hair keeping the arms firmly stuck on his head. Though, they were dusty. Understandable, given the fall.

Suddenly, she was greeted by his greyish irises.

"Are you ok?"

Akira got himself back up.

"I'm fine. Thanks for your concern." His nose could have felt better though.

"So, you're Shujin correct? I don't think I've seen you before."

Akira looked around to see a small crowd hovering over him. "Well, I am actually a transfer student. Akira Kurusu; at your service. Though...I'd prefer Ren myself if you don't mind. Too much cultural references made at my expense." Akira did a bow, almost playfully. Though he stumbled a bit, dazed from his fall.

"Makoto Nijima. At your service." For some reason, Makoto couldn't help but smile, even though she probably should have asked why he was in such a compromising situation to begin with.

So, a transfer student, Makoto wondered. Her intuition (he seemed…out of place) told her this fluffy-haired student was probably not a city boy. Should I ask—

"Sorry," Akira interrupted. "It's probably obvious, but I guess my country self isn't used to the bustle of the city. Clumsy me." Akira did want to make this less awkward, considering how warm she was with him; plus, he could tell by that glitter in the eye she would open a floodgate of questions. "Please, if you don't mind, walk with me and I'll answer your questions. I'm taking the line to Yongen nearby."

She figured it'd be fine; the line to Yongen was on the way towards the school line anyway. For her, he didn't seem like the "aggressive type." "After you."

Walking together normally, she figured it would be ok to start firing away. "So I guess you don't mind if I ask where you're from."

Something told Akira he shouldn't be so open with the details of his move. Name, location, fill in between with lies. Keep it short and sweet as planned.

"Minomiya, near the coast. My parents are away on business in China, so they're having me stay with a friend of the family in Yongen-Jaya. I got roped into wearing the outfit today; my guardian, without sounding so rude, is…'bad' at remembering important dates, so my mom thought wearing the uniform when showing up in person would help.

Well-mannered in speech, she thought. His story makes sense. Something told her though it was well-rehearsed.

Too rehearsed; it made her wonder if being the slightest suspicious of everyone was just a family trait.

Either way...

His glasses are too filthy.

Unacceptably filthy.

She probably is busy, Akira thought; might be pleasant to talk to her more, but I shouldn't be imposing on her time. "So, Ms. Nijima," Akira continued. "I suppose you have-"

Before Akira could finish his question, Makoto seized Akira's glasses with her left hand while furiously rummaging in her leather bag with her right, exposing all of her notebooks. One for each subject/activity by the looks of it, Akira commented. Makoto gave up trying to find something to clean his glasses with and resorted to using the inside part of her shirt arm. "Such a shame; these shirts stain easily."

Akira was startled by how furiously she was buffing his glasses. This was his first day wearing these useless glasses, and she was treating them as if she were excavating an archaeological piece. He was scared they would fall apart due to her "vigor."

Makoto eyeballed the glasses, checking for any remaining smudges. "That's funny; you're wearing glasses, but with no prescriptions."

At this point, Akira was more amused than annoyed. He probably should have hustled more to get to his guardian, he thought, but it was almost funny to see her being so enthusiastic about something as small as glasses. Much like a tourist laughs at local idiosyncrasies.

Didn't help that she was looking...the way she was looking. She was making a boring-ass, standardized Shujin uniform seem more appealing, maybe even...

Dignified? Regal perhaps?

Makoto started to get self-conscious; she did take his glasses after all, and he was giving her a rather long, incredulous stare. "Sorry; here are your glasses. I was surprised you were able to see past all of the dirt."

"What can I say? I have a third eye. Well, you should get going. You still should have class right? Knowing you, you'll probably one of those...Student Council overachievers."

Makoto eyes lighted up. "Wait, how did you-"

"Sorry. A bit rude to guess, but I wouldn't be surprised if you were a try-hard, student-council girl."

She didn't prefer to be typecasted without concrete evidence...even if it was true.

"That, and I noticed you have a separate notebook for all of your subjects, and one for your Student Council duties."

She took that thought back. "Well...you're forward. Maybe a bit too blunt for your good. But, I can't say you're wrong. You win this time."

"Well, forgive me for putting you on the spot, but I must be going."

She was about to apologize for not offering anything like water or such, but he started to walk off before she could utter anything else.

Something made him want to turn around and say something. While playing with his curls, he cracked a smile, glasses slightly down:

"Sorry, I know I'm being a bit standoffish, but I hope we'll see each other around again if Student Council gives you any free time. Well, see you!"

He parted way with her by disappearing into another crowd. At least when he left, it looked like she had a genuine smile on his face. He thought more people like her would make the prospect of being a Shujin student easier to swallow.

For him, though, it sucked he had to lie to her like that. She probably would have found out anyway about his record.

Still, he didn't want to make it awkward during the very first meeting.

"Only thing I can do now is to head to Yongen. Schoolboy-and-schoolgirl pleasantries can happen later." Going to his GPS though, he couldn't help but notice the red, pulsing icon of an eye on his phone. He didn't download this before. Matter of fact, this icon filled his screen before he had his…"episode."

Nah, it is a coincidence. Should just be a coincidence. He dragged the app to the trash icon on his phone.

Then, a drop of blood fell on his phone screen.

…I didn't fall that hard on the ground, did I?

At last, one bloody-nose worth of tissues and another line switch later, Akira finally arrived in Yongen-Jaya, west of where he showed off his illustrious charm and poise. It was nearing noon, and the overcast from earlier this morning fully covered the sky. That made an already large set of grey, acid-rain stained concrete buildings seem even grayer. For all Akira knew, he was still in juvie in a cell.

His nose was starting to bleed a bit again.

"Well then…." Akira was dabbing his nose once again and looked at his freshly stained tissue. "Well...at least I know I haven't turned colorblind."

This whole "wandering aimlessly through Yongen alleyways thing" was becoming grating. He still remembered the plan: depart to Shibuya, transfer to Yongen, and find Sojiro Sakura's house. But the lack of hits on his GPS made it seem like this Sojiro character didn't want to be found.

At the end, Akira swallowed his pride and asked a nearby cop. If they weren't going to protect the innocent with distinction, Akira thought, they better at least direct him to the right place.

"Excuse me, officer," Akira asked politely.

This young, rookie officer didn't look like he went through socialization classes in the academy.

"Huh? What do you want? And why are you wearing a school uniform on a school day, huh?" The policeman inched closer to him; Akira could only guess this rookie wanted to flash his police emblem, just to make it clear who he was talking to. "I swear, if you are ditching class…"

"Then call my school and waste your time," Akira quipped. "I'll even write down the name and number of the place. And I do have a good memory."

Akira couldn't help but form a small smirk on the left side of his face as he took off his glasses.

"Now, officer, do you know where Sojiro Sakura lives? I would like to know where my guardian is staying. For obvious reasons of course."

The baby-faced officer attempted to glare Akira into compliance. Akira wasn't fazed.

The police officer forced this out through the spaces of his closed teeth:

"Up the street…make a right after the second bike rack."

A saccharine smile from ear to ear sprouted on Akira's face as he put back on his stylish glasses. "Thank you, officer. You do your badge a great service." He imagined while walking away this rookie would cold-clock him with his baton, considering how the veins in the officer's neck were bulging by the time he got to "service."

Luckily, saner heads prevailed.

"Minako probably would be laughing her ass off," Akira murmured to himself.

Akira finally arrived at Sojiro Sakura's house. Several rings of the doorbell told him he wasn't there. Or that he was asleep. Or that he died while on the way here. All of those options left Akira out of luck, as his parents didn't give Sojiro's number; or rather, he didn't feel like giving his parents their number. Unclear.

The whole arrangement seemed weird to him, even now. Even though the courts didn't give his parents a choice, his dad didn't seem to despair too much on the logistics. His dad wasn't a pauper, but his shop could only make so much money, even before the alimony payments.

Maybe Mom's doing? Mom came from a family of means, but she was only a woman in a family of men, by men, for men. Not much left for her, Akira assumed.

Uncle? Uncle gave his money away, so probably not. He could have lied and have stored some extra change away, but the last time I checked, Uncle mostly subsisted on bean sprouts and green tea.

Either way, he was warned by all three before arriving that Sojiro was not the kind and welcoming type. Unless money's involved.

Just what the hell was-

Akira noticed a presence on the right. A mail deliveryman with what looked like a printer and some hard drives was looking at the place, and then him, with a quizzical expression.

"Huh," he commented. "I've haven't seen you before around Sojiro's place. You new?"

"Well, I'm supposed to be working at Sojiro's shop as a part-timer today. But I guess he's not here, and he didn't bother to say where his shop is."

"Part-timer? That old man is taking on help. Well, I'm surprised. But that's good; maybe you'll give him some breathing room. He's probably at his café, LeBlanc. Down in the alleyway facing the second-hand store."

"Thank you so much," Akira replied. Screw walking, he thought. He was starting to shake from the cold, waiting in front of this man's place. A nice jog there would warm himself up, he desperately thought.

His mother wasn't wrong when she described it eloquently as "the most charming faux-French hole-in-the-wall outside of Paris (maybe she was in Paris at this rate?)." A few planters stood guard in front of a large wood-outlined glass window with the canvas shutter behind it pulled down. Next, to the door, specials for the day on a chalkboard were laid onto a chair. "Featuring….fire curry and Blue Mountain selection?" Akira could have thought more about what the hell Blue Mountain was, but he was tired of the outside.

Plus...he could use some coffee.

Meanwhile, the Shujin Academy banner blazed proudly.

To Makoto, Shujin was where she saw Sae take her high school diploma; Dad was as proud as he could ever be at that moment.

The steps, especially, were loaded with nostalgia:

Sae was already a year in her job as a detective. In the SIU at age 22 no less. Makoto, much to her embarrassment was a bit nervous walking up these steps; Shujin was much larger than her small, private middle school. A larger unknown variable to deal with. So, having Sae with her before she went to work, and Dad as fit as a fiddle and in uniform about to head to Shinjuku for daily patrol, made her feel like that stuff didn't matter as much.

The past two years weren't bad though. She took her sister's words to heart and ignored all distractions. And so far, it was working fine; student council made up for any deficiencies that may have caused. She at the very least could understand people and their problems; that had to count for something.

Or rather, she could do so within faculty guidelines as the second-year class representative. She felt that was all that necessary.

And now, starting today, she would be leading the Student Council; her record and high regard helped to smooth things along.

She almost wished Dad and Sis were here today. But, she wasn't exactly a child either anymore. Better to accept it now rather than later.

As she went up the two sets of stairs and into the school entrance, a familiar face greeted her.

"Nijima-san?"

Makoto turned to see a woman in her mid-20s wearing a long-sleeved, yellow shirt, denim skirt...

...and a veil of exhaustion that betrayed her warm smile.

"Oh, Kawakami-sensei!"

Sadayo Kawakami. Her second-year homeroom teacher. She remembered how much life there was in her face came Japanese literature time. How she would announce the start of the day with such energy, how she stressed the differences in interpretation in a text. Some found her overbearing back then. For Makoto, "overbearing" meant "effective." The feeling, from what she remembered, was mutual; Kawakami did say she gave her a glowing recommendation after all. She was still the youngest teacher at Shujin, though, so it was hard to say whether that carried much weight.

Either way, Shujin could always use more vitality. Shujin needed her. At least, Makoto's Shujin.

Which is why her exhaustion was jarring.

Makoto though didn't feel like being rude. Simple greetings sound appropriate here. "My, Kawakami-sensei! It has been a while. How have you been?"

"Oh, I have been doing ok," Kawakami replied, though with some hoarseness.

"Are you ok? It sounds like you should go to the doctor."

"Oh it's fine," Kawakami replied, now with more energy as if she was now self-conscious. "It's actually been quite a hassle as of late." Kawakami got closer and looked around to make sure nobody was listening. "Listen, congrats on the Student Council Presidency. I think you'll do well; I mean you put so much effort into the school, and I hope it bears fruit this upcoming year. Especially on your college applications. Which is why I'm telling you this early. The faculty was going to brief the Student Council about this….but I guess if you know earlier, the better it will be, given how serious this can be."

Makoto was standing attention, eyes wide. "What is, sensei?"

Kawakami sighed. "So…we're getting a transfer student beginning next Monday. A problem child. A genuine problem child. Assault-level bad. On a random adult, no less. I still don't understand why Shujin would let someone like him in. I'm still probing the principal about it, but you know how difficult he can be. But look: just watch out for a second-year named Akira Kurusu. The faculty is putting me in charge of him…I'll try to keep his history silent, but I might need the Student Council's help at some point to keep tabs on him. Though I think at that point, the principal would just expel him."

Makoto couldn't help but hold her hand in front of her mouth. "Oh my….I'm honestly surprised too."

Why wouldn't she? Having someone guilty of assault bump into her and give her such an innocent expression...Makoto had trouble wrapping her mind around that.

For her, he did seem eager to get going after they met. But still, for some reason, she did feel like her interaction with him was genuine.

That he would be happy to see her again if they happened to meet in the hallway.

Plus...he had the hair of a teddy bear. It almost reminded her of her Buchimaru plush at home.

Still...this was a peculiar case indeed.

Before she could ask further:

"So yeah," Kawakami continued. "I shouldn't keep you here for too long. I apologize; I know Student Council was already busy before all of this. Just do your best ok?" Kawakami punctuated this with her biggest smile and continued on her way.

Makoto though was still somewhat haunted by this fact. That fluffy-haired kid? A criminal…..I shouldn't dwell on this too much, she thought. Class awaits.

Inside were an old man and woman, probably man and wife, in a mahogany leather booth sipping on coffee from fine china cup-and-saucers. They were watching the small flat-screen in the back of the eating area. To their flank was the countertop area, which guarded the small blue fridge and stove in the back. And on one of the bar chairs was a man, in a pink dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a black-pinstriped apron, doing the crossword. He also sported a black goatee-sideburn combo.

This "manager" is hopefully Sojiro, Akira said to himself. Given how he was doing the crossword instead of more 'curry-ing, he thought he probably needed some help.

He pitied him, though; the aroma in this place was something to die for. If only my nose weren't slightly clogged from dried-up blood.

Then, a loud man in front of a neon yellow news background began to speak from the TV:

"A public transit bus was driven down an opposing lane with its customers still in it! Even though no one died because of this reckless act, the citizens of Tokyo can't live in peace if this keeps up!

The elderly husband addressed the general with air:

"How frightening…."

"What could be going on?" responded the wife. "Didn't something similar happen the other day?"

Meanwhile, the man in the pink dress shirt murmured,

"Vertical is…the name of a shellfish used for farming pearls…"

"Oyster," Akira quipped. In his eyes, it was time to ruin this guy's "fun" and get somewhere.

Akira caught this man's attention. Or rather, caught him off-guard. Quite the first impression from someone venerated in serving coffee and curry to old patrons, he mused sardonically.

"Oh right. They did say it was today." The pink shirt man now had some life in his step; he threw his newspaper behind the counter and stood up to present himself. At this point, the elderly couple laid their money on the table.

"We'll be going now," said the husband. "At least this place is in a back alley, so no cars are going to come crashing."

"A What?" the manager said.

"Oh sorry, there's been a string of those rampage accidents, you know. I just hope that none happen around here."

"It's none of my concern," Sojiro deadpanned.

His mom warned him about how unsociable this guy was. Still, how was this man still in business with that customer service, he didn't know.

The elderly man laughed it off and went his way, leaving Akira alone with this boar with sideburns (who just so happens to make good coffee, apparently). As he left, Akira couldn't help but hear this man mumble:

"Four hours for just a single cup of joe, huh?"

And with that, Akira knew the money from his patron WOULD be for a just cause after all.

"So, you're Akira?" he chimed in.

Akira pulled his glasses up before speaking; he did want to make the best first impression after all, and his glasses were the best bet, considering he never bothered to make his hair look "presentable," as his mother called it. "Yes. I assume you're Sakura-san? If so, then treat me kindly." He punctuated his last words with a half-bow."

"Yeah…I'm Sojiro Sakura. You'll be in my custody over the next year. I was wondering what kind of unruly kid would show up, but you're the one, huh?"

"Well, sorry to disappoint you," Akira said with a light expression on his face.

"Well don't worry; you're probably one of those nice guys who turn into loose cannons every so often." He then started to get more solemn. "So, have you been told? A customer of mine and your parents know each other and—"

"Sorry," Akira interrupted. "I actually had a lot of questions about this whole arrangement. I mean, well…I think you probably know my parents aren't poor…but this whole move must have cost quite a lot. Who exactly was this person, and for what purpose did he pay you to be my guardian?"

His face got noticeably sterner. "Sorry, ain't going to tell you. It was part of the deal; your "benefactor," as we'll call it, didn't want you to know who he or she was. I can tell you at the very least that this person paid for the move fully."

"I see…"

"Not like it really matters now at this point. Follow me upstairs."

What greeted Akira was…well…

A fucking mess to put it lightly. He should have expected this, considering his room-to-be was initially an attic, but part of him hoped, at the very least, Sojiro could have gotten rid of the bags of trash and gas containers in the middle of the room.

"This is your room," Sojiro said, without the faintest hint of regret.

Akira was standing back near the attic stairs; all he could think about was how much shit he had to sort through. He also thought about questioning Sojiro's sense of decency. But he was more occupied with keeping his glasses clean amidst a thick cloud of attic dust.

Sojiro then turned to face him. "I'll at least give you sheets for your bed."

Akira couldn't help but give him the biggest look of disbelief.

Sojiro though caught on; and Akira caught on that he caught on, and consequently thought that perhaps he should keep those glasses on more often. The dust would have probably hidden his eyes.

"You look like you wanna say something," Sojiro said, with an even graver tone of a man starting to lose patience with the "insolence of rebellious youth" as Akira's grandpa would say.

Akira was firming up his face a bit; he harnessed his inner mother once more as he decided directness was best in desperate situations like these.

"It's cluttered."

"And?"

"It's big and cluttered…AND I'm surprised that elderly couple didn't catch the haze of dust up here and asphyxiate."

"It's up to you to clean the rest." He smiled smugly afterward.

So, Akira thought. I guess part of the deal is to be the servant on top of living here?

Sojiro then continued with his speech. "You'll be alone at night, but don't do anything stupid. I'll throw you out if you cause any trouble. Got it?"

Akira nodded in agreement…though he wondered if all of this from Sojiro was excessive. Then again, he probably got the worst case bio from his parents so that he wouldn't get into any more trouble.

"I got the gist of your situation. You protected some woman from a man forcing himself on her, he got injured, then sued you. Right? That's what you get for sticking your nose in a matter between two adults. You did injure him, yeah?"

This wasn't the gist at all; did my parents even bother to explain? he wondered.

"…And now because you have a criminal record, you got expelled from your high school. The courts ordered you to transfer and move out here, which your parents also approved. In other words, they got rid of you being a pain in the ass."

Akira replied, still calm despite the verbal barrage. "Well I mean if you put it that way, sure. But that "adult" matter you're referring to-"

"It's best you not talk about anything unnecessary. I am in the restaurant business you know."

…Unbelievable.

"You'll be here until next spring. Cause any problems, and you'll be sent straight to juvie. We'll be going to Shujin tomorrow. We'll introduce ourselves properly there. There's rarely a place that'll accept someone like you, you know. What a waste of my Sunday…"

Well he was right about one thing, Akira thought; being accepted on his record was rare.

Sojiro pointed to the dented box in the middle of the room.

"Your 'luggage' arrived earlier; I left it over there. Sojiro then proceeded to leave.

Akira, seeing no point in wearing this uniform, decided to dress in some normal clothes. Waiting in the box was a blazer, a beige long-sleeved v-neck, some blue jeans, and some leather shoes.

"I can make this work; such a shame about this dust though."

Akira then did a slow 360 around the place.

"Is this place really unsalvageable?... Nah."

Akira then decided not to torch the place and went to work making this place livable.

It was now borderline evening, and Makoto drudged back into her apartment. On the table was a note from Sae:

"At the office. More work to be had. Sorry. Don't worry about food; I'll be eating with a co-worker to discuss case details."

A check of the fridge showed Sae didn't touch the food she made for her in the morning.

"Well, I suppose I am hungry…" Makoto trailed off.

After finishing eating, Makoto was back to today's agenda. Being Student Council President on the first day consisted of so many meetings on top of regular school activities.

First, the one about the student-teacher rally.

Then, the one about training for the prestigious volleyball team.

And then planning around finances for the big school trip to Hawaii for the second years in September.

Oh man, the trip; the amount of paperwork needed to file with the Customs office, the number of funding negotiations with faculty, student guidelines…

And Akira…. she wondered if she was she wrong about him. The questions were in her mind:

Was he the coming of the apocalypse?

Did he have to show off so much his ability to analyze people?

She decided maybe a quick sit on the couch would help her calm down. A grunted sigh followed. Her thoughts drifted her back to her father's belongings. They reeked of mothballs like before. At the bottom of the box: his wallet, his brown leather wallet, his detective notebook, his analog watch, and his badge. The orange sky was bleeding into her room, and the dust hovering over the box began to glitter like cloudy diamonds. The sun drew Makoto to her father's police badge.

Kazuhito Nijima. Lieutenant, Shinjuku District. Tokyo Metropolitan Police.

A long stare at the copper badge somehow cleared her head. Like a firm, comforting hand on her shoulder while hunching over a textbook.

And then...that time flashed again in her mind. The snow was heavy that day...

Makoto had to put down the badge. Besides, a double shift of calculus and social psychology was calling. Dragging some rather heavy reference books out of her bookbag, she studied in her room. She found the school textbooks to be lacking though, especially when her calculus book attempted to discuss Simpson's rule.

With her notebook on her side, she had her ballpoint pen ready. She promised to be the best Student Council President possible...and hopefully, reform that troublemaker student that she expected to be thrust into her lap.

The sun was now gone at this time. The city lights were turning on, flooding her dimly lit bedroom with a faint glow.

It was as if the city was lending a hand while Makoto was working.

It was getting dark back at LeBlanc. Akira didn't even notice the ragtag set of lights above his bed start to light up. Akira was surprised his lungs were still working after inhaling all that dust.

Sojiro then walked up to find Akira, visibly tired.

"What the heck? I heard you making all sorts of noise up here but I didn't think you were cleaning. Actually, this place doesn't look so half bad. Though it's natural you'd want to keep this place tidy. Why don't you go to bed tonight? You don't have anything better to be doing, right? I'm going to close up shop and get out here myself."

"Yeah sure; I don't need to go wash at a bathhouse after cleaning," Akira replied. "Or maybe a doctor to see if I didn't catch something up here."

Sojiro smiled.

A genuine smile, on top of it. "Smartass. And nice try, but no, no bathhouses. Use the shower in the back. Besides, you'll get sick from staying up more so than inhaling mothballs. So go to bed, you hear me? Good. I'm off."

Akira, after a rather cold shower, changed into his lounge clothes and got onto his couch-bed combo. He hadn't cleaned up the room thoroughly; he still had a pile of things such as a planter, a ladder, and other things in a corner on a blue tarp. And there were more books and technical journals polluting the place; it was more than what he could handle in one day. They seemed interesting to him, if perhaps a tad dry and technical for his tastes. "Patent Office Regulations, Year 1982," "Proceedings on Cognitive Social Psychology." The works. He would have read them to pass the time, but Sojiro was right: he should sleep.

Outside, he could see miles and miles of concrete poking at the sky like guard towers. Watching everyone.

Especially him and every hair creeping on his arms.

A siren in the distance wailed into his room.

Akira's mind couldn't help but wander back to that moment. The one that got him here in the first place. Cries of the incident echoed in his mind. That same bastard with orange glasses popped into his mind:

"This ain't a show kid; get lost….What're you looking at? Get outta my face!"

His mind would have been lost entirely to rage if it wasn't for the bleep from his phone.

He stared down at his phone; once again, it was that damn app with the red-eye. It was starting to get weird, this whole app situation; he thought he deleted it already. He trashed it again.

Calling his mom then came to mind. He had tried this many times since the incident, but her recorded voice always greeted him.

He felt should try to tell her he made it ok. If not out of love, then out of respect.

No response.

Everyone else he knew or cared about was probably asleep at this point. He wondered if he should leave it be.

30 minutes passed.

That siren in the distance was starting to get to him though.

His mind was racing:

A year here huh? And one less family to be a part of.

I couldn't leave that woman be.

Or anyone in trouble.

But tell that to the ones I've "saved" and hurt in the process…

After a while staring at the roof, he went to his box and looked through more of his stuff. His dad remembered to put in all the necessities. Metal wires, printed circuit boards, plenty of scraps. Even the odd transformer.

He wondered at what madness he could come up with this stuff. But that would wait another time.

"Guess I should wait," Akira said dejectedly as he collapsed into his bed.

He stared at the wooden support bars of the roof. They looked like gray, hardened, thick metal bars in the darkness.

His eyes were starting to get sleepy…

A moment later, Akira woke up in a locked cell, in rags that were supposed to pass off as prisoner's clothes. Old-style metal cuffs and chains kept his hands bound. The drone of emptiness crept into his ears again.

Drops of water falling into a polished, metal latrine…A metal sink with a leaky faucet…Chains above him rocking back and forth, clicking like metallic cicadas….the smell of clinical disinfectant….A heavy ball strapped to the chains on his ankles kept his radius of movement extremely limited.

He started to hyperventilate a little. His eyes were wide open now. Two little girls walked up to the cell door to greet him with mischievous smiles. They were twins, both blonde….with eye-patches labeled with the Roman numeral for five. One twin had her hair in a twin bun, the other in pigtails. Both wore these blue outfits, which were something out of the 17th century France section of his history textbooks. And both were next to each other, side-to-side, facing him. They were oriented as if someone split one person down the middle and put what came out on the dividing line.

And the strong velvet coloration of the cell and the background….

In the background was a man sitting in a velvet chair, presiding over a table seated in the middle of a circular arrangement of cells, whose long nose was accompanied by pointy ears, balding, and an otherworldly, toothy, frozen grin.

From the spaces of that man's large smile emanated the following words:

"Trickster. Welcome to my Velvet Room."