Threshold Fever

by SecondLieutenant

It took a week's worth of nightmares to make Kuroko realize that one thing held her entire world together. It took the loss of that one simple thing to make Kuroko realize that her world could crumble asunder in little time... and with little warning. Enfeebled, Kuroko is forced to abandon her most intimate passions, and her dependence upon Misaka grows all the more dire.

9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Hello, everybody. I have risen from the dead.

I feel like I owe a big apology for some reason. You may not feel that way, but I certainly do. This chapter is dreadfully late with nearly half a year gone by since the last one. Luckily, here I am with the final chapter.

For those of you who care, a whole bunch of crap has occurred in my personal life. A big move, telling my mother and father that I plan to undergo a sex change and being threatened to be kicked out of the house because of it... You could say I've gone through a little episode of depression. I've wanted to do nothing but rot in front of video games in my free time for several months, and it wasn't healthy. Putting all of that on top of scrapping nearly 13,000 words on this chapter alone really quenched my desire to write. Sorry if that sounded like I was grappling at your sympathy, it's just what's been going on. It's a little therapeutic to get it all out there, so I can leave it behind me now.

Without further ado, I present to you the final chapter. Enjoy.

---

Many would always stand up for Tokiwadai's own Ace, Mikoto Misaka. She was known for her humbleness, power, and justice; the world's only presentable Level Five, for she had not yet collapsed under the weight of gruesome knowledge. Once, she almost fell into the a trap, but she had a reputation at stake. An image. A pristine image of which all knew, of which all had seen, of which many admired. Like selling her soul to a figurative devil, most of her life was not her own. Popularity, and profoundness, reduced her existence to nothing more than a grim effigy on display.

In very few instances, that picture needed to be torn to shreds, and she intended to see every fragment catch a ride with the passing wind. It would be long before she recollected each piece, and no matter how much glue or tape she applied, it would never return to the way it was before. Never again to be whole. Never again to be pure. Never again to be clean.

Was this worth tearing up that newly-repaired picture again?

Yes, she had decided; it was.

When the moon spread across the land, Misaka departed from the dormitory, contrary to the curfew that was to come into play in no more than an hour. Kuroko had yet to return from work, so avoiding her did not stand as a problem. That did not mean she had no problems at all: the dorm matron would be a pain in her side. If she cut the power for a moment, though, that woman would be too distracted to take notice of her departure. As Misaka planned, she waltzed right out the front door, cloaked in darkness and free as a chipper lark. Fresh air met her outside, where she went to work.

The administration building was clothed in eyes, all of which she easily shut while steadily prowling nearer. Not a single witness was hers once arriving, and the door became subject to a feisty kick. One did not do the trick. Neither did two. Her magic number, however, was three. The front doors gave way at last, granting her entrance within the darkness of the building. Each room received her prejudice, for she had not made intricate memorizations as to where eyes had been positioned and hidden. Her caution would force her to barely peek within each, and her wrath would follow a brief while of study. Working off the rough map scratched within her head, Misaka guided herself down various halls of the main office. Onward she would continue until reaching her intended destination: Tokiwadai's counselor office, into which she took leery steps.

A flick of the light switch granted her improved vision, so, after locking the door tight in her wake, she immediately went to work. Each innocent drawer found its insides subject to violent pillaging, for Misaka gave cleanliness no regard. If a file did not cater to her interests, she carelessly tossed it over her shoulder, where it would be forgotten on the rug. The desk did not yield what she sought, but she was not disheartened. The desk was not all that occupied the room; in addition to a computer, many filing cabinets lingered to keep her company. Due to an inherent bias as an electromaster, she targeted the computer next.

The PDA resting within her pocket proved handy; when she conjoined it with the desktop, all she had to do was search for keywords her designated files were most likely to contain.

Kuroko was a reasonable word.

Shirai.

Threshold Fever.

Level Five.

She found multiple matches, which ignited a flame within her chest and belly. Frown deepening, her eyes slowly wandered back up to the screen. After taking hold of the mouse, she followed the specific path within the filing system that would lead her to a certain folder she did not like. The folder did not contain much, nor was it named much: "Shirai Kuroko". Inside the file, each text file's name was only differentiated by a number. To make matters worse, they too were guarded by a password.

Well, such a thing was not exactly a problem for Misaka; a simple return to her PDA, and the punching in of a few buttons, granted her all the access she needed. The computer yielded the files that demanded such intense protection. When her eyes darted to skim over each digital letter, she could then see why it required a password. The words she read were words she did not like, and they only worsened the flames and churns bellowing in her stomach. The more she scrolled down the text file, the more she grit her teeth out of both fury and concern.

Before her appeared two options: she could simply throw the files in the recycling bin and delete them into oblivion, or she could take the more extreme road. The extreme road would assure that her current goal, the disposal of any evidence, would be closer to completion.

Being a thorough girl, Misaka walked the extreme road.

Threads of blue electricity eased out her finger tips, and they played along the keyboard until the screen started to flicker between black and blue. The more voltage she injected, the more the computer reacted. Speakers turned on and off repeatedly, windows and tabs opened and closed on a whim, and the power button blinked rapidly. Finally, a certain degree of volts penetrated the machine's capacity. In just one moment, with the accompaniment of the computer's final scream, everything became still. A steady stream of black smoke slowly arose from a black monitor, befriending a timid sizzle.

"Glad that's out of the way." Misaka leaned back in the swivel chair. She had to confess: it was quite the comfy chair, which invited her to rest. But her comfort was born to die pitifully young; not long into her relaxation, Misaka's eyes opened again, their coldness renewed. "But I'd be an idiot to think they didn't make copies."

Her search continued, this time entertaining the company of the filing cabinets. Akin to those in the desk drawers, the files possessed a strange organizing pattern (if it were an organized "pattern" at all) that stretched beyond her understanding. If the counselor, or whoever managed the files, stored anything to the likes of Judgment, she would have been able to find what she wanted far sooner. Convenience was not entirely on her side, for she was reduced to throwing more folders behind her, adding to an unmissable mountain of papers in the center of the floor.

Her prize hid itself in the back of the very bottom drawer. When she found it, her face scrunched, for she had her share of difficulty when it came to deciphering the counselor's nigh illegible handwriting. What few words she could recognize formed into a paragraph that did not tickle her fancy, which led her to frown. As Misaki swore, Kuroko did indeed pay a visit to the counselor, and the records of the session rested within her hands. Misaka discriminated the anger she felt toward that roommate of hers; after all, Kuroko did the right thing with what little knowledge of her issue she possessed. She did not know any better at the time. Even so, though... Misaka did feel quite enticed by the idea of smacking that girl upside the jaw for all the extra work she added to her load by visiting that damned counselor. Growling, she channeled her frustration into folding the small packet of papers, which she neatly stuffed into her shirt.

She left the counselor's office without even bothering to clean up after herself; the longer she remained in the building, the more likely she was to be caught. If ever she were discovered by security, it would be impossible to save herself from imminent defamation. She was Railgun, Ace of Tokiwadai. Not a soul within Academy City would fail to recognize her youthful face and frightening power. The press would surely cannibalize itself ravaging for details on such a bombshell: Railgun, Tokiwadai's squeaky-clean pride and joy, ransacked the school's administration office? What for? If ever her reasons became public, her entire endeavor would be destroyed. Never would she forgive herself.

Kuroko did not deserve what would surely happen if such a reality came into being.

As full as she happened to be, Misaka's plate was not yet empty. More of the meal awaited her attention, and more courses loomed in the near future. Complaining, as she had long learned, would not deliver her to her goals, so she slapped on a game face and continued to get down to business.

Her lecherous PDA consummated with more than the desktop that night, for it too found itself connected to the behemoth printer within the break room. She requested the device of the printer's history, and, as expected, received an extensive queue from computers all around the building. Some jobs had been completed, while others were scheduled for the following day or later. She was able to narrow her search by adding a criteria: jobs only requested from computer number three hundred fourteen, also known as the smoldering heap of metal sitting at the counselor's desk.

To her horror, the list contained a busy command schedule, particularly of documents that bore a similar name to those that drove her to destroy that computer in the first place. Multiple copies of each document contained in that dreaded "Shirai Kuroko" folder had been made at least two weeks prior. The further down the list she traveled, the more she found herself sick to her stomach. Perhaps she actually was sick; those papers, those documents with such harmful information, were nothing short of a virus. That virus had been replicated many times, and she failed to even fathom to what places it could had spread.

Her large meal suddenly turned into a seemingly endless buffet.

The spectacle before her stole her strength, so she sought friendship from the same printer she had violated. Quivering, she found structure from that firm machine, but it did not remedy the queasiness knocking at the back of her throat. She was frightened, but that was not the reason for her tears. So great had the pain in her abdomen blossomed she could not dam the flood any longer.

"I'm too late," she hissed to herself. "You were late, Railgun! Don't think an apology will ever fix this." No longer did she have options, for there only remained one. It was ultimately up to her if she would make that decision. It was permanent, and it would surely ruin her forever if something were to go wrong. She pondered heavily while solemnly lifting her head. "Those papers have to be circulating the entire building by now, and they've surely gotten to the outside too... I can't get ahead of myself. Just small bites for now, Railgun. All you should worry about tonight is here: Tokiwadai's administration building." Her eyes cautiously wandered to the ceiling. "I can search through each room if I want, but who knows how long it'll take me. That sort of project would span multiple nights at the least. There's only one of me, so I don't have that sort of time to waste. Besides, even if I did search each room, I'll miss something. I always do. Overlooking even the most minuscule detail can ruin everything..." Downhearted, she faced her single option. Hesitation branded her heavy expression. "Guess I don't have much room to make too many choices, now, do I? This isn't a question of if I can... But if I should."

She had to.

The printer suffered her wrath first. With far more exuberance than her attack on the computer, she struck the appliance with fabrics of lightening. Almost immediately, the smoke that arose from the machine evolved into a burdensome flame that lit darkness out of the room. The fire alarm caught on to her schemes sooner than she anticipated, for it began wailing within seconds. It was for the better; if any innocents remained within the building, she could rest well knowing they had been given a fair warning to evacuate.

How she craved for fire like a demon, so not a single room found itself spared from her malice. Each contained at least one sort of electronic. If it could plug into the wall, it was fried to the point of bursting from the heat. Only she knew what she was doing: she was stalling, giving people the time they needed to leave before exacting her most devastating blow.

Contrary to what many would assume, Misaka's most devastating blow was not her signature Railgun. Not in this situation. It would instead be her intimate knowledge of a building's anatomy.

The modern building was no different than an organic body, she had come to learn. It had organs brought to life by veins. Life-giving currents flowed through those veins, and its supply stemmed from one key source: the heart, which was located in a sacred room deep within the building's core. Too much blood, and the heart would be overwhelmed; flooded, in a sense. Misaka did not have to do much but set her hand on one intimidated organ: a lamp that sat at the receptionist's desk. Through that lamp she implemented her all, feeling and sending ferocious currents.

At last, she found the path to her target, and every ounce of her power bore its fangs and tore its way through the circuit. Every vein unfortunate enough to guide a force so powerful would find the task to be their last; the sheer power overwhelmed them in its passing, leaving them as nothing more than steaming black ash, a mere shadow of their former glory. The heart did not stand a chance once the barge arrived.

Wherever that breaker happened to hide, Misaka did not have to find it to know of its death. The ground trembled to imply an unforgiving burst, and just seconds later, some ceramic gave way. As if the earth itself had opened to vomit creatures from the deep, hungry flames rose and consumed all it could fit in its grimy hands. Misaka, as a result of underestimating the size of the explosion, almost fell victim to its ferocity.

What fury indeed circulated in the air that night. It fueled the aching fire that desolated the largest building on campus. It danced along the azure threads spreading across her body, sparking at the peaks of her itching fingers. It reigned tyrant within her caramel gaze, which pressed against her felled target across the dormitory hall: the charred man at the end of the trench dug out by her devastating Railgun.

The fury found company within another gaze, however. It mingled with betrayal. Disappointment dwelled within Kuroko's face as she ebbed out of the room that once kept her safe. Her cautious feet delivered her to the center of the ditch that used to be a hall in the dormitory. As if she gazed at a goddess of lightening, the girl remained still, utterly baffled and stricken by awe. Never had Misaka seen such an expression so tense with emotion, so conflicted at every twist and turn. The war within Kuroko's eyes shed so much blood it drowned any remaining respect, understanding, and relief. Tense was all she had become, and she would not release a single muscle.

How the rage loved to consume their every waking thought. To indulge in the inability to understand. To devour each and every thing string composing the threads that bound them together. Kuroko broke her stunned trance to nervously step nearer, fearful, yet curious. Misaka watched in anticipation. Who would be the first to speak? It was possible the two would stand as they were forever, never daring to speak it all.

Kuroko's lips started to part.

Joy's archenemy, rage, had close company: horror. It manifested itself in the form of a sharp pain in Misaka's thigh. It was a pain she had never felt before. A pain so great it brought her, a powerful Level Five, to her knees. The roar that so brashly assaulted her ears, she would conclude not even a second later, was mournfully late.

Shock flooded into Kuroko's eyes. It buried the rage that nestled in her bosom. Her feet selflessly sprinted to Misaka's side, reaching her the moment the girl's plummet delivered her to the blackened floorboards. Kuroko handled Misaka in hopes of replacing the sturdy she lost far too quickly.

The late bang left Misaka's ears unresponsive. The most that came through was ringing. She found it irritating. To worsen the irritation, waves of pain coursed through the twists and turns of her body. It left her confused. So very confused. So confused, in fact, she failed to register Kuroko's every distressed call. Or how her tormented eyes attempted to peer into the glassiness of her own. Or how she shook her with vigor. Misaka, as if left in solitude, settled with burying her teeth into her bottom lip, hoping to create a pain powerful enough to distract her from what could be crowned the truest misery. Strands of her electricity, once vibrantly whisking around her form, deadened until they barely clung to life. Her breath felt rationed. Her heart married a daunting tempo. It became work just to suspend the structure of her head, which shredded her resistance to the invitation of Kuroko's humble shoulder. Against her, she allowed herself to rest.

It felt as though she had slept for hours, but then she began recollecting herself. Where she was. Who she was. What was happening.

A pain so great could not have come out of nowhere.

No.

It was impossible.

Slowly, at a pace equal to her hospitable keeper's, Misaka pivoted her head. The fabric of Kuroko's uniform obstructed half of her hazed vision. Luckily, she did not need the other half. She needed only one. It insistently devoted its attention to her enemy: a man. He stood in the back of their room, facing the doorway. Dark clothing masked his body. What he did not bother to conceal, however, was his menacing handgun. He flaunted it proudly, out for all the world to see as a steady stream of thick, black smoke spilled from its mouth. His thumb, like a newly-wedded lover, caressed the firearm's hammer to prepare a second shot.

Instead of dissipating completely, the rage, once buried, broke free from the cage in which Kuroko attempted to house it. It whirred and span with freedom. It eased her lower jaw into protrusion, lessened the diameter of her angered pupils. A thin-shafted needle halted the man before he fired his second shot, for it lodged itself into his palm. Mortified, he unleashed the gun. It landed on the ground as he stumbled away from the pair, terror building in his breath as he observed his wound. Lucky for him, he would not have to fret long; a newspaper vendor set him out of his panic once and for all.

Decibel by decibel, Misaka freed herself from the shock. Her ears opened, but her return was greeted by an era of still, untainted silence. The silence dissolved with the introduction of finer sounds to the likes of shouting from desperate firemen as they scrambled and screamed outside the building. To the likes of her breath, which was just as labored as the girl that maintained her sturdy. To the likes of a whisper.

"Sissy..."

She found not the strength to acknowledge the speaker, for strength eloped with the miserable pain pulsating through her thigh.

"Sissy, please..."

In attempt to soothe her, Misaka mustered enough determination to raise a hand. She cupped her holder's cheek, and, as she rhythmically stroked her soft skin, she attempted to use that same determination to unleash her voice. A hand placed itself over her own to keep weakness from robbing her of such a gentle, assuring touch.

"No need... to worry..." she muttered. Getting out something, even if it were something simple, gave her all the confidence she needed. Teeth gritting, her muscles awakened, working to set her back on her feet. Kuroko's actions protested. Hardheaded, Misaka thought otherwise. Ultimately, however, her zealous confidence only set her up for disappointment; the sting that erupted in her thigh submitted her back to her knees, but Kuroko spared her from the heavy landing.

"You've been shot. Don't move so much!" the girl warned.

Instead, Misaka's eyes widened.

Shot? She, the proud, nigh undefeated Level Five, shot by a mere gun? She almost could not believe the claim until her tired eyes trailed down to the floor, once shiny and polished. It had been ruined by a small puddle of her own blood. She whitened, winced, and proceeded to pant.

"Dammit. Not now," she hissed, distressed. A bundle of sparks gathered around her form in anger. Their aura brushed against Kuroko, who reacted with a shiver. Long accustomed had she been to such a sensation, so crisp. It hit her like peppermint. Cold, yet searing. It foreshadowed an outburst for which Kuroko braced. Sure enough, an outburst indeed followed. With it came a fearsome, but fleeting, storm. "I don't need this, dammit!"

Kuroko did not flee from the source of the roar, though it was impulse to break for shelter. The moment the flurry settled, she relieved her arms from shielding her face, and they immediately worked to extract her vest from her body. What seemed like a fairly quick action was not quick enough; Misaka had risen again by the time she slipped her head through the vest's collar. It was true that Misaka could not stand on her own, but mobility was still hers. It came as a gift from the wall, against which she leaned while trudging down the hallway. It was effortless for Kuroko to trot to her side, vest in hand.

"What did I just-"

"I heard you the first time." She fished in her pocket for another token, then positioned it between her fingers. A pause for breath became mandatory. "If you're angry with me, I won't blame you... I won't hate you for it either... But I've got some things I need to take care of."

Violent things, it would appear. Shortly after she finished speaking, the coin departed from her hand, propelled by a tremendous beam of light. To an untrained eye, the spectacle danced between frightening and beautiful, but to a trained eye, Kuroko's specifically, it obviously lacked in strength, just as the strings of blue that sparked around Misaka's body. The moment the aches and moans induced by the building's newest injury died, Kuroko timidly stepped closer.

"I'm trying to be concerned for you, but you're making that difficult! People are in here!"

"Damn right there's people here!" The firing of another coin resulted in a mightier beam. Its performance, enhanced when compared to its predecessor, would imply that Misaka rapidly recovered her strength. Her gains were not natural, though; Misaka forged power artificially, fueled by sheer rage. "Just you, me, and these damned insects. These damned bastards! I'll kill them all!"

Blue threads bolted to and spread across the ceiling, crawling in search of food. It feasted upon the lights, damning the hall to a world of darkness. Luckily, it would not stay dark for long; innocent appliances, some in random rooms, some in the hall, burst into flames. At an alarming rate, the fire consumed its host and began searching for more. Quivering, Kuroko's eyes departed from what was gold and returned to the perpetrator.

"Are you trying to tear this place apart?" she growled.

Before Misaka could answer, her plan, once plotted in silence, came into fruition. The brand new flames gagged each room, and they spewed within seconds. Just as Misaka expected, the vomit comprised itself of men. Each dressed themselves in dark clothing, armed with guns; the same breed as the man who fired a bullet into her leg. Eyes hardening, she focused on them, watching as they crowded together in the midst of the confusion. Blue sparks flickered in the dark. Her fingers cracked in anticipation as they eagerly dove into her pocket.

"If it gets rid of them, I'll turn this whole building into a pile of ashes." Again, she fired, but with far more exuberance than her previous attacks. Seeing her target so ripe for picking reawakened every ounce of energy, and the group, unsuspecting as bowling pins, stood no chance against a force so powerful. Within moments, the violence ended, leaving not a single survivor. The moon peeked through the wall's newest hole, glossing over both of their bodies. Basking in the paleness, Misaka's eyes wandered to the ground. The satisfaction she found in ridding the floor of her enemies was fleeting, for she knew that more awaited her. She wondered if the wound in her thigh, the same wound that drenched her entire leg in red, would allow her to scout them all out. While burying her somber forehead into a palm, she pressed further against the wall.

As if a subject to royalty, perhaps a goddess, Kuroko seized the moment to kneel before her friend. A series of pleading convinced Misaka to keep still as a vest, Kuroko's vest, snaked around her bloodied leg. Though it posed as a crude patch, it was the most at their disposal, and it accomplished its intended purpose with decency. As Kuroko began to press on the wound, Misaka rewarded her with a subtle pat on the head.

"I need to get you to a hospital," Kuroko announced sternly.

"I'm not done here." Before Kuroko could protest, Misaka staggered onward. Effortlessly, Her junior, like usual, followed.

"Whatever you're doing, you won't get it done. You can hardly walk."

Misaka paused.

"You're almost right..." She tried to continue again, only to stumble. Her savior caught her beneath the arm just before she could hit the ground. She relaxed for only a moment, which was a mistake. Relaxing felt too good. She wanted nothing more than rest. Thus, her departure from relaxation brought unnecessary pain. "There's still one option left."

Kuroko's expression became grim. Eyes dulling, she gazed down at her slouching friend,

"What you've done to the administration building," she deduced.

Misaka purposefully stalled when it came to concocting an answer.

It truly did sound awful.

"Do you still trust me?" she asked, breaking the silence. Such a question served as an answer. It was an answer to which Kuroko took little pleasure. She turned her head toward the gaping hole at the end of the hall, momentarily losing herself to the destruction that stretched before them. Even in a weakened state, Misaka could easily pulverize more.

"This is our home," she attempted to reason with her, but with little influence.

"Do you trust me or not, Kuroko?"

Oh, she did. She wanted to so very badly. For as long as she could remember, she had always trusted Misaka, even when the odds were at their grimmest. It felt wonderful to trust her, for she always prevailed. Everything was always okay when she trusted Misaka. She was a girl worth trusting...

But what about now, with their livelihood up in flames, dying more with every second? The ultimate trial stood before her, gazing with menacing eyes. She refused to falter.

She did not know why she felt compelled to embrace Misaka, regardless of her dirtiness. Then again, she, being Kuroko Shirai, always felt the need to embrace her... But not to such a powerful extent. She did not care if she buried her face into the soot caked over her clothes. So long as she could calm herself against Misaka, her dear, she could properly gather her thoughts. Into the stitches of Misaka's vest, she heaved a sigh, and they sank to the ground.

"Always."

Peering over the shoulder of her friend, Misaka's eyes narrowed and cautiously watched for those who would want to intrude. Had she cultivated the strength, she would have returned the warmth of her embrace with the warmth of her own.

"In that case, I need a favor of you." She felt Kuroko nod against her. It alone was enough to spread the slightest of smiles across her lips. "Attagirl," she sighed. Her breath hitched the moment another wave of pain rushed up her body. When she began quivering in response to a chill, she knew better than to waste time. "These people have come here for you. They want to take you away." With Kuroko's help, she returned to her wobbling feet, grunting and hissing the entire time. "I won't forgive a single one of them for that, but this damned bullet in my leg isn't going to let me hunt them all down... Not unless I just go ahead and do away with the entire building. Of course, blowing up a giant dormitory would take a lot of energy on my end, so..." She paused to stumble. "I can't be sure I'd have anything left to get out in time once I'm done."

After hoisting Misaka back onto her feet for the umpteenth time, Kuroko nodded.

"Of course, Sissy."

---

Misaki Shokuhou, as if it were a talent, blended in perfectly amongst a crowd of scrambling firefighters. They had other things on their mind, such as the beam of light that just soared out of the northern dormitory, so they could not possibly bother with her. With a boom did that beam sound, and it stole their attention from the colossal bonfire that was the administration building. Uneasy shouts became more uneasy. Many retreated to the fire chief in hopes of receiving rational orders. To Misaki's luck (or plan; she seemed peculiarly anticipatory), she happened to be standing near enough to catch wind of their exchange:

"Sir! There's been a second explosion at the dormitory! The suspect's still in close proximity!"

"And seems to be after the entire campus. My god, and that's where the administrators instructed all the students to go..."

"I need your permission to assemble a rescue squad, sir!"

Misaki, while scoffing at their ignorance, pranced onto the scene at last, where she decided to finally play her part.

"That's the northern dorm. The administrators sent students to the western dorm. You know, since it's further away from that little slice of Hell." Her head, glossy hair and all, nodded toward the burning administration building.

The officers glanced at her simultaneously. Though they spoke not a word to each other, they shared the exact same thoughts.

"In that case, little miss, what're you doing out of the western dorm? Isn't that a Tokiwadai uniform you've got on?"

"I am a student, yes. I'm here because I happen to be a powerful esper, and I'm interested in tracking down the little prick that's trashing up my campus. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get started on my business." She made movements toward the nearest dormitory. As a municipal officer would likely do as a small girl waltzed in the direction of danger, the fire chief rushed after her and cleared his throat.

"Hang on, now, wait-"

The ground trembled before he could finish, which stilled the entire crowd. As they braced for structure, eyes darted to the dormitory. Only the blind would pay it no mind, for it was the dormitory that lit the night into submission. Every window fought to contain a shining light. Ultimately, they shattered. With an ear-piercing bang, fire blasted out of the building's guts, spewing fragments of brick and wood into the sky. The moment the debris began to pelt the ground, the officers rushed for safety. After abducting the lightweight Misaki, the fire chief made a beeline for one of the many fire engines. Into it, he climbed to join his brothers in hopes of avoiding treacherous raindrops.

Misaki, unlike her neighbors, was not worried at all. With glowing eyes, she watched the edifice burn with a vengeance that competed with its sibling. One of her fingers tapped on her chin. Then the other finger. Then the next. The next. The last. At an unheard decibel, her throat yielded an unsteady chuckle.

"Dear Railgun..." she muttered. "The extremes you'll go to for that girl... You must really like her."

---

That girl, Kuroko Shirai, landed inside the hospital, the nearest one she could find from Tokiwadai's campus. It did not come as a surprise to find many eyes glued to her. Not that she did not deserve the attention; she spontaneously appeared in the middle of the lobby with a bleeding girl slung over her back. It was natural that a sickling stopped his coughing to stare. It was natural that a child with a cut on her leg finally halted her wailing.

Though the room was packed with curious eyes, Kuroko hardly paid notice to anyone... save for one individual: the receptionist, to whom she sprinted the moment her toes touched the floor.

"I have an emergency," she announced.

The receptionist raised a brow; understandable, since the two, especially Kuroko's passenger, were caked in chalky soot. The woman clearly could not sympathize with the urgency in Kuroko's voice, for the front of her desk concealed the blanket of blood ruining Misaka's thigh and skirt. With her legs wrapped around Kuroko's hips, that same crimson began to claim a second skirt victim.

After bickering (and bringing up her affiliation with Judgment an unnecessary amount of times), Kuroko eventually had her way and snagged a spot in line, one far more ahead than those loafing around the lobby. While waiting, Kuroko did not sit, for she had been promised to be taken to the emergency room the soonest a professional became available. Unfortunately, the arrival of help was not as near as she hoped. Past the five minute mark, Kuroko started to tremble, and her eyes glued themselves to the floor. Misaka's weight became too much for her weakened, panicked state. Her arms threatened to give way, but Kuroko refused to allow it. The mere thought of dropping her, especially with a bullet through her leg, filled her with the strength she needed to carry on for just a few seconds more. The cycle repeated.

Misaka, whose head rested in the crook of her neck, shifted.

"Hey," she muttered, sluggish from blood loss. "Ever thought about calming down?"

"Some men are after me. My home just got blown up. If I lose you on top of all that..." She failed to finish, for a door swung open, and its entrance was penetrated by a swiveling cot. The only one who did not push the cot, a stubby old man whose face resembled a frog, glanced at his clipboard and cleared his throat.

"Miss Misaka Mikoto?" he announced into the room. His eyes stopped searching the moment a girl, Kuroko, appeared at his side. She made use of her powers to set her patient in the bed, and she left the fine-tuning, such as settling her head upon the most comfortable patch of the pillow, to her hands. In the meantime, the doctor briefly studied his newest patient to create a proper verdict. "Hm. Gunshot wound in the thigh. Judging by the amount of blood she's lost, the bullet must've gotten close to the femoral artery. Get her to a room the quickest you can."

Without even a nod, the nurses swiveled Misaka deeper into the building. Kuroko, unsurprisingly, planned to follow, but she, particularly her nose, met rejection when the door to the hall collided with her face. While withdrawing, she hunched and nursed her face with a scowl.

"No visitors in the emergency room," grumbled the receptionist, which coaxed Kuroko into squinting her eyes. She considered teleporting beyond the door to follow, but she feared breaking the rules would have her, or even Misaka, kicked out.

"Fine." She marched to the other side of the waiting room, where she settled herself into a chair. Quite a number of people filled the waiting room, so she did not have the luxury of choosing a seat that was segregated from the crowd. Personal space was not a privilege either.

At least half an hour passed, Kuroko was sure. Each time she checked the clock on her phone, though, it seemed as if no time passed at all. When neighbors asked for her wellbeing, she barely replied. If she had enough consideration to speak more, she lied, and it was mumbled. With time, being asked if she was okay became an expectation, and she knew how to prepare for it. That made the whiplash all the more painful, for there came a point in which not a soul said a word to her, much less ask any questions. She found such a thing strange, especially when a brand new batch of patients now sat with her in the waiting room.

The mystery did not live for long, for an elderly woman with a cough suddenly spoke.

"How terrible."

Kuroko glanced up from her twiddling thumbs, where she caught eye of her fellow waiters. Their eyes were glued to the television perched in the corner of the room, supervising them all like a hawk. On the screen, a local news helicopter observed a woeful sight: Tokiwadai's campus, which continued to burn with fury. By now, it may have burned with even more. No wonder they did not ask anymore: the television screen, in addition to the singed fabric of her distinct Tokiwadai uniform (minus the vest), told her story to any onlooker.

Again, Kuroko whitened. The stacks upon stacks of stress weighing on her shoulders surely made her forget about that fire. She began to consider the reminder a curse.

Before she could ponder upon her predicament again, the pocket in her skirt vibrated. From it, she retrieved the buzzing's source: her phone. In hopes of securing privacy, and the ability to hear the other end, she abandoned her seat, which was immediately stolen by an eager patient. Beside the doors to the bathrooms, segregated from the crowd, Kuroko finally humored the call. A loud, and worried, tone greeted her, so her ear fled from the speaker until the screaming resolved its volume.

"Hello? Shirai? Oh, thank goodness you picked up!"

Kuroko recognized the feminine voice of the caller, but at the same time she did not. It was a voice she knew she should not have forgotten, which slapped her with guilt. The shock of current affairs left the banks of her memory empty. After squinting curiously, she lowered her phone to check the caller ID. Saten Ruiko, it read. She quickly returned to the conversation.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"While my friends might be on fire? Fat chance! I've been trying to get ahold of Misaka ever since I saw everything on the news, but she wouldn't answer me. Are you two okay?"

The fact that Kuroko stood in the hospital's waiting room should have been enough of an honest response. The situation... how very complicated it had become, and the thought of passing that burden to Saten was unpleasant. What was Saten ultimately wanting to know? She ultimately wanted to know if Kuroko and Misaka weren't burning up. Neither of them were on fire. That was a good enough excuse to lie, so Kuroko allowed herself to clear her throat.

"Sissy and I are fine. The administration building and the northern dorm are a different story, though, if that's also a concern of yours..."

"Thank god... Thank god! I don't" -beep beep- "I've ever been this worried in" -beep beep- "life."

A second call? It had been a while since she last had someone else call her while she was already on the phone. Again, with haste, she checked the caller ID. This time, though, the screen of her phone did not want to come on until she shook it profusely. In the end, it was a useless effort; neither she or her phone could recognize the second caller's number. Since she had Uiharu's number also saved in her phone, the idea of it being her, likely with concerns similar to Saten's, was out of the question. Kuroko considered ignoring it, but in the midst of so much drama, it seemed unwise to ignore even the slightest abnormality.

"Saten. I'm sorry, but I need to let you go. We're fine. I'll call you back soon."

"W-Wait! Shirai-"

Kuroko hung up and rushed to answer the pending call. Unfortunately, she was too late, for the phone stopped ringing. Left alone, Kuroko thought to herself pensively, brows furrowing and face scrunching. After thorough contemplation, she settled on trudging through her call log to renew their contact. Luckily, she would not have to search for long; just seconds after she made the decision, the number made a return to her screen, wishing again to be answered. Recognizing its urgency, she immediately granted its wish.

"Kuroko Shirai. May I ask who this is?" she announced foremost.

"It's Shokuhou Misaki."

She frowned.

"Hm. I'm shocked to not be hearing any sassy remarks from you. What do you want?"

"I want to know where you and Railgun are."

"Why do you care?"

"Just tell me. It's for your own good."

A huff of air fled from both of her nostrils, which were stained by the scent of smoke. Anything that was not talking to Misaki seemed appealing all of a sudden, having built a sort of distrust in the girl. Was finally looking at everyone in the waiting room not talking to Misaki? Yep, it sure was, and that's what Kuroko decided to start doing, even when she remained on the line. Those poor people in that room; they looked miserable. Granted, nowhere near as miserable as her dear Misaka, who had a piece of metal fired into her thigh. A man dressed in business casual spread out in his seat, mouth guarded by a fresh face mask. The man next to him, who hacked up a storm, seemed less considerate of others. A visibly ill mother attempted to keep her two children in line as they ran amok in the lobby. A nurse departed from the hallway and summoned a bruised and bloodied man.

Someone caught her eye, and she wondered how he did not earlier. It was a tall man dressed completely in black, including the dark sunglasses over his eyes. Though he should have stood out like a sore thumb, he blended in mysteriously; an ominous chameleon, that man. He stood in the corner, facing her direction, but the tinted shades of his glasses refused to let her know if he watched her. Like she, he too chatted on his cellphone.

Hair raising, Kuroko returned to the phone uneasily.

"We're at the hospital on the fourteenth block." She felt unnerved enough to surrender her information.

"So the two of you didn't go far from the campus. How long have you been there?"

"I don't know... Forty-five minutes?"

When the snappiness of their exchanges slowed, Kuroko's eyes darted back over to the portentous man in the corner. He had not moved since she took her eye off of him, but he multiplied. Once, there was only one man clad in black. Now, there were three, segregated from one another. They all looked at her.

"If you're ever going to listen to me, listen to me this once: get out of there. Find someplace you can hide the soonest you can."

Kuroko took the hint. Her thumb mashed the button that would cut their communication, and she immediately went to work. The amount of civilians in the lobby gave her the comfort she needed to let her guard down as she thought; the men dressed in black would not do a thing so long as they were surrounded by the public, but the moment she took a dive into the hallway that once forbad her entrance, she knew she swam in unfamiliar, and likely unfriendly, territory.

She needed to retrieve Misaka the soonest she could, but there was no telling how long it would take to find her. Not knowing what room to which she had been taken set her up for a disadvantage, and a bad one at that. If she knew, the mere thought of summoning her would have solved her problem. On the bright side, she happened to have another power up her sleeve: deduction, which she used to narrow her search. The emergency branch was obviously the best place to start, but it disheartened her to discover that the emergency branch housed a plethora of rooms waiting to be gutted. She used her second, but less desirable, option when she caught eye of a rushing nurse.

"Hey, you!" she announced to the nurse. In the meantime, she dug out a verdant Judgment sash from her pocket and proceeded to pin it to her sleeve. Half of it suffered from an unsavory splotch of Misaka's blood. "This is Judgment business: I need to know which room contains a Mikoto Misa-"

"I'm sorry, officer! I'm in a hurry! Sorry!" The woman rushed right past her, leaving a scowl on the girl's face. As she turned back to the hall, she scoffed, chewed on a lip, and carried onward. Fearing that dallying would prove to be expensive, she rushed the fastest she could.

The hospitals she had visited in the past happened to be vigilant when it came to labeling rooms with the names of their occupants, but this hospital in particular... She could not boast familiarity with this one. The hospital with whom she was the most acquainted happened to be deeper into the city's interior, a place she once did not want to take the time to go to while carrying a bleeding passenger. Who knew how quickly this hospital organized things. She feared it would ultimately disservice her; what if, in the heat of her frantic searching, she accidentally passed Misaka's room? She had no choice but to check with the branch's front desk; it was sure to constantly be in the loop.

Unfortunately, the secretary there was similar to the waiting room's; she did not seem willing to help. Not much, anyhow. She grimaced the moment she and Kuroko, a budding teenager that had no place in the emergency wing, made eye contact.

"No visitors," she grunted.

"This is an emergency," She flashed her sash. "I'll need to get some information from you."

"Yeah? Where's your permit?"

"My... What?"

"Every officer's got a permit."

"I don't- no! This alone should be enough!" Once again, she brought her sash to attention. "I need to know where a Mikoto Misaka is being treated. I'm pressed on time."

The woman shrugged and raised her eyebrows before returning to her computer. Her apathetic expression scrunched the face of her observer.

"Sorry, little miss. No permit, no help. Get back in the waiting room before I call security."

Kuroko's hands slammed themselves on the desk.

"I'm not sure if you could tell by the look on my face, but this is an urgent matter."

"Everyone's matters are urgent nowadays."

Blood boiling, the girl narrowed her searing eyes. Her gaze burned a hole through the woman, whose eyes fixed themselves on the computer screen. As the bridge of her nose wrinkled, her head turned and looked around the room. She found only one of what she searched for: a camera perched in the corner, scrutinizing them both at the front desk. She frowned at it before a toothbrush telefragged the machine's shaft. If she had her way, which she likely did in this case, the camera died the minute it was penetrated. Therefore, the two were now alone, and she could carry out whatever dirty work she pleased.

Unchained from the threat of being seen, Kuroko disappeared, then reappeared on the other side of the desk, where she crept behind the woman's swivel chair. Having noticed the girl's sudden disappearance in the corner of her eye, the secretary eyed back up and allowed her alarmed eyes to wander. She did not turn around fast enough, which gave Kuroko ample time to place a hand on her shoulder and send her elsewhere. Luckily, it was not far; guests in the waiting room would be surprised to have a pudgy woman suddenly land in an unsuspecting gentleman's lap.

While Kuroko searched, Misaka fought to keep her eyes open... or even to move at all. The seducing call of slumber beckoned her nearer, but she refused to cave. Not yet, at least. She should have been rejoicing to feel sleepy, for sleep would let her ignore the pains shooting down her leg. The respirator, the slumber, attached to her face acted as her friend, but it was truly a backstabbing traitor. She knew its dirty secret, and she wanted to do away with its schemes. However, her hands, almost completely numb, refused to move.

The doctor did his work on her. With a bullet evicted from her bandaged leg, she should have had nothing to complain about, especially when privileged with anesthetics to endure the treatment.

There was no reason for her to be grateful. Not at a time like this.

Soon after the frog-faced doctor did his work and left, a nurse followed after him to begin cleaning his mess. Well, Misaka thought it was a nurse at first, but after he comfortably conversed with some visitors, men dressed in black, she knew better than to relax. She wanted to get up. She needed to get up. She needed to satisfy her urge to fry them all, merciless as an infuriated god.

The god had been tamed into submission.

"The Level Five... Sometimes she almost seems inhuman, and yet she's just as human as the rest of us. Making her harmless was surprisingly easy," one man spoke. Though the darkness of his sunglasses would not let her see the eyes behind them, she knew he looked right at her. He chuckled when he noticed her staring. "Just look at her. She's pissed as hell."

"Of course she is," agreed the nurse. "She's the one that's been giving us so much hell. She's close friends with the target."

"A damn good friend to take a bullet for her."

"She blew up their dormitory too. We had some men in there."

"Hm. A thorough one."

"No kidding. The job'll be easier once she's out of the picture," the nurse spoke again. His head nodded toward the door insistently. "Get her out of here. Squadrons Theta and Psi are closing in on the target as we speak, so we need to make sure there's little interference. Teleporters are a pain in the ass to catch."

Her skin began to crawl as the men approached her, gloved hands prepared to grab her. She would have flailed in attempt to free herself from their grasp, but, even after the respirator was gone from her face, she had no choice but to remain motionless. When she pushed herself hard enough, the smallest spark erupted above her head. A faint glint of hope flickered in her eye as she began toying with her handicap.

"Heh. She's trying real hard," one man commented.

"Won't even charge a Tamagotchi with that, girly."

They chuckled, and she chuckled as well. Not with them, but at them. It was never her intention to attempt to harm them with such a minuscule spark. After all, the man was correct; it wasn't enough to be of any use... besides releasing static into the air. The self-proclaimed vanguard of hers happened to be sensitive, always eager to respond to the slightest trace of the one she loved. The moment that static hit her, she'd come running.

"Did the boss have a particular place for us to take her?" inquired the man that carried the limp girl.

"The third facility on the seventh block. It's the only place with resources that can keep her sedated. Make sure she gets a good dose the moment you arrive... unless you feel like getting zapped to death."

"Yes sir."

From the room, the two dark-clothed men departed, making their way down the hall with Misaka in tow. Misaka, slung over the shoulder of her carrier, stared absently down at the ground, but she did not bother paying any attention to the sights passing before her eyes. She focused far too heavily on releasing more charges into the air. With time, her sparks grew, but never to a size worth reckoning. Once or twice, the noise crackling above Misaka's head caught the attention of her other kidnapper. He eased closer to observe her, and he raised a brow.

"Not giving up, are you?" he teased. "I'll bet you're a scary one when you're not drugged."

Misaka broke her concentration to look him in the eye. If she had the energy or control to speak, she would have called him a dead man.

Her efforts did not go in vain; the closer the group drew to the back parking lot, the stronger Misaka's emissions became. They traveled far longer, destined to eventually brush up against a girl whose face was glued intently to a computer screen. The very instant the hairs on her arms and neck perked, she halted her work. In an instant, the swivel chair went from occupied to empty.

The hot, muggy air of the night greeted the trio when they stepped into a dark parking lot. Hastily, they trudged their way to an inconspicuous town car. As inconspicuous as it seemed, plenty of details would drive the observant passerby astray; its every window, with the exception of the windshield, had been tinted, and its navy blue paint loved to masquerade in the night.

With both of his hands, one man rid his forehead of perspiration.

"It's hot as hell out here," he grumbled while opening the back door for his cohort.

"The fire this brat set to her school must be pretty damn big to reach this far." Without inflicting serious injury, the other man tossed Misaka into the backseat. After making sure her feet were not in the way, the door slammed shut.

"You think it's hot because of the fire, you dolt?" she heard outside.

"We're not that far from the campus."

"A fire can't reach this far!"

"Sure it can."

"No it can't!"

After narrowing them, Misaka rolled her irritated eyes and huffed. The crumbling above her head was interrupted by the opening of the two front doors. The man that once carried her took to the driver's seat, and his partner became the passenger. Both neglected to strap themselves in, even after the engine began to purr. Misaka, whose face stared at the back of the passenger seat, could not see what occurred in front of her, but plenty of clues painted a picture for her.

The metal of a lighter clinked, and it was barely louder than Misaka's signals. The driver, even with all the pressure weighing on his shoulders, did not begin to drive. He stared at his passenger as clouds of smoke whisked around them and began to fill the entire car. Having developed a distaste for the scent of cigarettes, the passenger in the backseat worked up a scowl. Apparently, she was not the only one who scowled; minutes after giving his neighbor a cold, hard stare, the driver cleared his throat.

"I thought I told you not to smoke in my car. All that nicotine's a bitch to get off the walls."

"Can't help it. I need something to calm my nerves, know? It's dangerous work getting on the bad side of two Level Fives. I swear to god... If we don't get good dough for this, that old man's head's coming off."

"Damn straight."

"Damn straight..."

Misaka's brow raised, and she threw another attempt at moving. Nothing more than her fingertips seemed eager to respond to her, but she mustered enough breath to spare a few words. If it could stall for time, she would do it.

"Old man? Is he the one that sent you?" she inquired.

Both stopped what they were doing to turn around, surprised at Misaka's premature voice. Both of their eyes darted to one another shortly afterward, pressing one another to respond. The driver, who lost the nonverbal exchange, furrowed his brows and shook his head.

"I'm afraid this doesn't concern you, girly."

"I've been gassed and stuffed in the back of a car. It kinda does."

The passenger set his hand on the driver's shoulder, gripping it tightly. Two fingers clasped the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a subtle breath hid his face with smoke.

"Hold it," he grumbled. "The girl's playing dumb. Squeaky clean celebrities like her don't burn down schools without knowing a detail or two." He grimaced. "What're you trying to get away with now?"

The ground shook slightly before she could answer. The impact of the noise, something large landing on the ground, felt uncomfortably close. Well, uncomfortable for the two men in the front seat. Misaka, on the other hand, felt a wide smile creep across her face. In both parties, heartbeats increased, but for entirely different reasons.

"What the hell?" The driver whipped around and peered out of the back window. Misaka did not know what he saw, but it frightened both him and his partner when he turned around as well.

"What is that?"

"An ambulance."

"Of course it's a damned ambulance! How did it get there?"

It was an ambulance indeed. One that, combined with the other cars parked around them, boxed them into immobility. While watching the two begin to panic, Misaka scoffed at them, which drew their attention.

"What's so funny?" one shouted angrily.

"Think a teleporter put it there?"

"Son of a bitch..." After his teeth clamped down on his cigarette, the man withdrew a handgun from his person. As his partner did the same, sparks began to play around Misaka once more. "Some help Theta and Psi were. Aren't we supposed to be the ones hunting her down?"

Misaka could only sit and watch. She had only seen Kuroko become upset over somewhat petty things, but never had she seen Kuroko become upset because she was in trouble. That was likely the case because Misaka had seldom been in much trouble in the first place. But now, with the norm in shambles, another side of her best friend, her secret admirer, was to be revealed.

Like usual, Kuroko did not fail to disappoint.

A large, wooden pole appeared in the car, impaling the driver before he could even attempt to get away. The roof of the car, through which the pole passed, would not allow it to topple. It remained still, allowing Misaka's second kidnapper to scream in horror as he observed his dead friend. Even Misaka, with wide eyes, felt quite alarmed to witness the degree of violence that was her friend's attack.

The car door opened, for the remaining man began to flee, cigarette falling from his lips. No longer did he care for the job, nor the money that incentivized him to stay; the most he wanted was his life. After weaving around the ambulance that blocked the back of the car, however, he encountered not life, but his demise. Under one of the lot's only street lamps stood a girl, angered fists clenched at her sides. Blood stained the side of her skirt. An infuriated expression spread across her face.

"You've caused a lot of trouble for me," he heard her breathe. Before he could make pleas for his life, which would likely end in a fate as gruesome as his coworker's, a sharp pain erupted in either of his legs. He wailed in agony as he stumbled onto the uneven asphalt below him, unable to pull himself back onto his feet. His hands shook themselves of the rocks buried in their skin and darted to the source of the pain, where he felt an unnerving wetness and something metal- a small metal needle that drove, no, appeared in the front of his shins, lodged in both bone and muscle. The closer the girl drew to him, the more he attempted to scramble away. His dark clothes, as they scraped across the rocky ground, slowed him.

"S-Stay away from me!" he demanded, but she did not listen. With a grim pair of eyes, she stared down at him, frown arching. The panic distracted him from pulling out his handgun. When the realization dawned upon him, he raced for it and immediately took aim. His aim locked onto her, and he started to wheeze. He had to fight the urge to wipe the sweat dripping down his face. "Step any closer and I'll shoot!"

She continued despite his threats. Fear drove him to remain true to his word; his itching finger pulled the trigger, and the gun erupted in his quivering hand. It quivered so much, in fact, his grip became weak enough to surrender the gun after its recoil. It landed on the ground next to him... Not that it mattered. He did not see the girl anymore, for she likely laid on the ground, dead or weakened from his attack. The threat was tranquilized...

Or so he thought.

A cold circle pressed itself upon his temple. He looked, terrified to discover the girl next to him, crouched and tearing into his eyes with her own. The gun was no longer his, for she had stolen, claimed, and turned it against him. With its chilly metal pressed against him, he decided to remain perfectly still, whimpering and shaking all over. While watching, the girl reached down with her other hand, and her finger pressed against the one of the shades of his sunglasses. Without a trace, those sunglasses disappeared, revealing two frightened eyes that fought to withhold tears. Her throat cleared.

"When the others come around, I want you to tell them what happened. You'll deliver my message to whoever sent you: stay away from me and the people I care about."

He bought her mercy with a quick nod, and he remained perfectly still as she slowly rose back to her feet. The gun disappeared from her hand, but he did not know where it could have gone. Not a word more exchanged between the two as she walked away, heading for the car impaled by a telephone pole.

---

The ocean of the city flowed beneath her as a cool breeze drifted past her hair, loose clothing fluttering. The sights, sounds, and smells would have made for a relaxing journey had the context not been so dire. Though worry consumed her every waking thought, she would not allow the stress to cave her into submission. Mammoth buildings, some large enough to separate the clouds, attempted to reach and swipe at her. They had become her enemy, trying to inhibit her from reaching her goal. With unforgiving hatred did she loathe those buildings... until she discovered her destination, a hotel, happened to be one of those very buildings. It towered over its underlings, including its neighbor: La Mancha, a department store of decent size.

The trip was relatively quick... or it felt quick. Yet, at the same time, Kuroko felt she moved too slowly.

Making an entrance through the front of the hotel would charge her with time, and it would be mighty complicated to explain why a girl with a bullet wound was slung over her back. Emergencies always called for unorthodox measures, many of which Kuroko prepared to undertake.

Upon arriving at the building, she traveled beyond the wall and landed square in the middle of a room. She sighed in relief, eager to bless her aching muscles by setting Misaka someplace more comfortable. Before she could do anything, however, she discovered a hefty surprise upon lifting her head. Before her stood a tall, silky bed that housed two individuals: a man and a woman. She did not recognize the pair, and the pair did not recognize her. Both exchanged miserably awkward stares before Kuroko disappeared from the room in an instant.

One door over, she found more luck, for she was greeted by a second room. It was dark, which implied vacancy. The ignition of a table lamp verified the claim. She gently delivered Misaka to a bed, and her hands meticulously worked to make her comfortable. She would have asked for Misaka's preference, but she seemed abnormally tired... disconnected from reality, almost. For the most part, she seemed unresponsive. Multiple attempts to wake her left Kuroko fruitless, so she piped down to leave her at rest, putting her attention to her leg instead. When she checked, Kuroko happily found many layers of bandages wrapped around her dear's thigh, and it yielded not even the slightest to what was once a heavy flow of blood. Though it had its downsides, their trip to the hospital certainly had its upsides as well.

Alone in a hotel room with a sleeping Misaka... It was one of Kuroko's wildest, most coveted dreams, but she never imagined it would actually happen, much less under such horrific circumstances. Those circumstances, that stress, toned Kuroko down to an appropriate level. The most devious place her lecherous hands wandered was her dear's paling face, where she whisked away the sweat that began to oil her messy bangs. After fetching a wet washcloth from the neighboring washroom, she gently wiped wherever soot smeared across Misaka's skin. With kind, reliable care, her narrow fingers rid Misaka of her shoes, which she cast into banishment. She hesitated before sliding down her bloody socks as well, for she feared hasting would cause an unnecessary mess. Once they were gone as well, the washcloth lovingly caressed both of her shins until they were clean once again. During her chore, she (with no innuendos implied) considered ridding Misaka of her bloodied skirt as well, but she knew that would ultimately earn her a smack in the jaw, no matter how pure her intentions.

However... It felt irresponsible to leave her as she was. She was filthy- an awful condition for resting. She could not leave the idea alone. However, a nervous vein in the back of her head made Kuroko nervous to proceed without any sort of permission, so she looked up to Misaka once again.

"Hey, Sissy..." she started. "You probably haven't looked recently since... you know, it hasn't been the most concerning thing that's happened so far... um... Your skirt doesn't look too good. I don't think you should stay in it, so... um..." Her thumbs began to twiddle when she hit a wall. "I'm not trying at anything. Honest." Misaka still had not awoken enough to answer. Thus, she remained silent, eyes lightly closed. Awkwardly, Kuroko's gaze darted back and forth between her face and wound until she became impatient. "If you don't say anything, I'll take it as a yes. Better speak up soon..."

As expected, Misaka did not speak up. Kuroko knew she wouldn't, but it made her feel better to at least trick herself into believing she had permission. If Misaka had a problem with it later, she would gladly take the punishment. After all, the comfort of reassurance beat physical comfort any day. As she took a seat at the edge of the bed, she began to work.

It did not surprise Kuroko to be met with a pesky pair of shorts once she rid her of the bloodied skirt. Unlike that skirt, the shorts had been spared from crimson... for the most part, at least. Some specks dotted the hem, but they were easily manageable.

That wasn't what surprised Kuroko.

What surprised Kuroko was Misaka's undershirt, which had been tucked into her shorts. Kuroko knew her Misaka better; seldom did she tuck in that shirt. A few minutes of baffled staring eventually turned into an investigation... a modest and careful investigation, since it involved probing Misaka's stomach. She did not rouse from being touched, most likely because it was not her Kuroko touched in the first place. The tip of her finger collided not with the squishiness of flesh, but with something far more taut. Paper, she conjectured, but she would not know for sure until she pinched the shirt and evicted it from her shorts. Without losing control of herself, she reached inside, felt for the mystery object, and quickly yanked it out.

Papers they were indeed, warmed from pressing against Misaka's bare skin. Without a moment's hesitation, her eyes sprinted across nightmarishly sloppy handwriting. Some words were words she could not read, but the rest gave her enough clues to fill in the blanks. Her name, first and last, was scattered all over the paper, packed in the midst of multiple paragraphs. As she read them, her brows started to drop. She knew what these were. They were the counselor's notes from her only appointment a few months ago.

She spent a long while reading the papers over and over again, hoping to decipher some sort of meaning. Misaka would not take those papers for no reason, she was sure, and yet there seemed to be no reason for Misaka to take them at all. They were just ordinary documents! Ordinary observations of an ordinary student recorded by an ordinary counselor. Not a single thing struck her as odd until...

Threshold Fever.

Those two unfamiliar words were slapped across the diagnosis tab on the final page, and they made Kuroko pause and wonder. The counselor, who swore not to know her condition, lied to her. Without even notifying her, she labeled it "Threshold Fever"... Whatever that happened to be. With her teeth grazing across her lips, she perused the papers for additional clues, but they left her empty-handed.

Threshold Fever...

Threshold Fever...

Threshold Fever!

She felt as though she had heard the term before, yet, at the same time, her mind drew blanks as to where it could have possibly been. School, perhaps? No, it would have been on a test if she learned it in school, and it was difficult to forget something after months upon months full of cramming. The more she tried to grasp the memory, the more it slipped away from her. Eventually, it came to the point where she concluded the word was completely foreign to her.

The depths to which her busy, and exhausted, mind wandered almost made her oblivious to Misaka, who started to move. Kuroko caught her just in time, and while she turned to face her, Misaka snatched the papers. Her solemn eyes ran over the front page before her hand padded her stomach. She shot Kuroko a threatening gaze before slapping the packet onto her thighs. All the while, Kuroko modestly laced her fingers together and nestled them upon her lap, anxiously waiting for something to depart from her neighbor's lips.

"Guess you've read through this by now," Misaka presumed, to which Kuroko gently nodded.

"Um... Yeah..." She shook her head and scooted nearer, hands darting to her face. "Forget that. How're you feeling? Your forehead's a bit clammy..." As Kuroko retrieved the damp washcloth from the end table, Misaka's eyes averted from her. They gazed blankly at the ceiling as if puzzled, attempting to piece things together. The washcloth dotted her face delicately as she blinked.

"I feel... dizzy."

"You would be after losing a lot of blood. It's lucky the doctor had the time to patch you up before we had to leave the hospital. I'd have no idea how to treat you properly otherwise..."

Misaka paused. It all came rushing back to her. The hospital. The strangers that followed them there. The things they said. The manner in which one perished... It all made her head spin even more, and she felt sicker within seconds. She pinned the blame on the washcloth dabbing her face because it was the only tangible thing available to her, so she caught Kuroko's wrist threateningly.

She wanted to cope with the stress alone.

"Sugar's supposed to help with this kinda stuff, isn't it?" Thanks to a brief recollection of interning at the school's blood drive, she knew there was no way she could possibly be wrong. All she had to do was ask the question to set Kuroko on her feet and begin toward the door, prepared to obey her command.

"I'll find a vending machine. Don't try anything while I'm gone." She disappeared from the room without using the door.

Left behind, Misaka released a long pent-up sigh, an action she found quite therapeutic, and drug a hand across her forehead. It was still moist from where the washcloth had kissed her, so when wind from the fan beat against her face, she felt refreshingly cool. She did not toy with her face for fear of disturbing her only comfort.

When she groaned and lifted her head slightly, she grimaced at the sight of her shorts, exposed for all the world to see. On the room's other bed, just an end table apart from the one she claimed her own, rested her bloodied skirt. The bridge of her nose crumpled as she slammed her head back onto the pillow, growling in the meantime:

"Damn girl."

Her anger vanished upon realizing that the soot, which once caked over her skin, had disappeared. It had been evicted by the washcloth, who now suffered from the dirtiness that was once hers. She could only assume Kuroko cleaned her, which wasn't exactly something she could be ungrateful for. Torn, Misaka mewled. Remembering the paper that rested upon her thigh made her head spin again. Her mouth began to feel slimy, warning her of an unpleasant nausea. Because she was a rather determined girl, she sucked it up and clicked her tongue.

"You... damn girl..." The second time she uttered such a sentence, it was not Kuroko that came to mind. Instead, it was a certain blonde girl. She was (supposedly) the same age as she, blessed in the chest, and had peculiar, hypnotic eyes. Misaki Shokuhou was her name, and the thought of her face made Misaka's blood boil. "You're probably laughing your butt off right now. Can't wait to hear all the 'I told you so's from your yap."

"You'll slip up eventually, Railgun, so you need someone who'll be there to break your fall," Misaki's words replayed in her head, which strengthened her scowl. She sure slipped up indeed tonight, getting shot by a silly little gun. As Misaki so expertly predicted, the arms of a certain teleporter went out of their way to catch her. They drug her to a place of safety and defended her when she could not. In return, those arms received nothing, not even an explanation.

Beyond the room's only window, whose curtains were drawn aside, an orange spec glowed amongst the chilly blue Academy City. She knew what that orange spec was. After all, it was all her doing in the first place. For what reason would she cause such havoc? It was for those papers sitting on her lap, waiting to be read. Her legs grew sore from all the running, and adrenaline ran dry. Stilled by fatigue, a small tear built in the corner of her eye. One of her fingers wiped it away insistently.

"No more running..." she whispered to herself.

It was the calm in the wake of the storm; Kuroko stood face-to-face with a vending machine she'd found just down their hallway, browsing its not-so-modest selection. One dilemma turned into another, it seemed, for, instead of being chased by strangers, Kuroko was presented with quite the challenge: finding Misaka the ideal snack.

Many would scoff at her for such a trifle, but that many were ultimately fools. If they understood just how much Kuroko valued getting Misaka the best, and only the best, they'd gasp and fret alongside her. This was Misaka she was shopping for, after all! What a task! By some stroke of luck, if it had been, say, Uiharu that burned down her school, got herself shot, and rested in a random hotel room, Kuroko would have grabbed a bag of melon gummies without a second thought.

The traffic of thoughts rushing through her head halted upon the appearance of one thought more: did she even have the money to pay for anything? She checked her pockets, only to turn white upon finding them both empty save for her cell phone and a paperclip. Nervously munching on her bottom lip did not alleviate her financial status. Returning to the room empty-handed was not an option. Not tonight.

Brainstorming left her with two options: the foremost, and prettiest, which would be requesting an item while praying someone accidentally left unspent money in the machine; the nuclear, and ugliest, which would be teleporting the pane of glass out of her way and robbing the machine. The latter was her nuclear option because, if she were caught in the act, it would not look good on a Judgment officer to steal from a vending machine.

After spending an indecent amount of time debating over whether or not she should get Misaka the milk balls (since they had Gekota on the package), Kuroko finally settled on a bag of Pocky, since she saw Misaka munching on a few days earlier. She carefully studied its number before punching the corresponding buttons. Nothing happened, leaving her frazzled. After sucking in a long, painful breath, she checked to make sure she was not being watched.

She froze and reddened at the sight of a man who made his way toward her with a frown on his face. Dressed completely in his pajamas, nothing seemed terribly off about him, which gave her the comfort to release her guard. He did not seem to care much for her either... until their eyes met, during which they both recognized one another. Kuroko had seen this man before; it was the man who rent the room she accidentally intruded. Her guard resurrected the moment she saw him reach into the pocket in his robe. What could he be going for, she wondered. More importantly, why was he staring directly at her as he dug?

The rattling of change made the situation clear, so she migrated from the machine and pressed her back against the wall. He continued to stare at her as if he did not get the message. With no other choice, she reluctantly allowed her lips to part, and her throat cleared.

"I'm still deciding," she announced, which promoted the stranger to shrug and stuff some change into the machine. He seemed to know exactly what he wanted, otherwise he would not have punched in the numbers so quickly. As the coil slowly began to deliver his purchase, the man peeked over his shoulder, studying the girl strangely. His eyes caught the splotches of blood that climbed up the side of her skirt and the hem of her white shirt.

"Everything okay, missy?" he inquired softly, to which Kuroko quickly nodded.

"Just having a rough night's all..." Hopefully, her Judgment sash, which she forgot to remove, would tell a story that would satisfy his curiosity. She could only assume it did, since he didn't ask any further questions... or it might have been because, when he returned to the vending machine, he met an unsavory sight: his vegetable crackers were caught on the coil.

"Isn't that rotten luck..." he mewled, reminiscent of a certain boy she knew (and loathed). She approached his side, studied the situation, and began to brainstorm. She could use that nifty new power of hers... if she had touched the vegetable crackers before, which she hadn't. Strange: a power that seemed so frightening couldn't get her a bag of crackers from a vending machine. She had no choice but to set her fingers across the glass and send it elsewhere. Once inside, she reached for the stubborn bag and handed it to the man. He stared at her strangely before finally accepting her offer, muttering his thanks in return.

Kuroko was more than happy to help if it got rid of him sooner. Thankfully, it did, since he walked away fairly quickly. Once he disappeared beyond eyeshot, her plotting eyes slid back over to the smorgasbord before her, and she took only what she needed: Pocky and lime soda, both in pairs. After placing the glass back in its rightful place, she fled from the scene of the crime without a single witness.

The food was administered to Misaka once she was propped against the bed's headboard, and it pleased Kuroko greatly to see her take well to her selection. The lime soda, being a favorite of Misaka's, was not subject to as much worry as the Pocky, which both gladly munched on in the silence. Their sodas, being two of the same kind, were at risk of being mixed up, sitting right next to one another on the end table. Neither seemed to care if they ended up drinking the other's.

"I'll bet this is all over the news by now..." Misaka mumbled, the first to break the ice between them.

"It was on the T.V. in the hospital."

Misaka finished chewing on her most recent stick before a light string of electricity erected from her head, and it struck the remote beside their soda cans. Like magic, the television on the wall sprung to life with the latest cheesy sitcom. Moments afterward, Kuroko scrambled for that same remote and began to search for local channels. The first news outlet they found surrendered the information they wanted: helicopter footage of a burning Tokiwadai with a menacing banner: one dead, two missing.

Immediately, Kuroko's heart sank. Misaka's face remained unreadable. As Kuroko nervously turned to the girl against the headboard, her eyes widened.

"Looks like they've already noticed we're not there," Kuroko commented.

"We'll need a story for when we go back."

The mere thought of returning to Tokiwadai made Kuroko's neck hurt. Thankfully, the sight of Misaka taking a final sip from her can distracted her. Frowning, she shook the empty can with distaste, but Kuroko quickly appeased her by offering what was left in her own. Gladly, Misaka took her up on the offer.

As Misaka return to her Pocky, Kuroko watched, eyes dulling. Her feet, which dangled over the edge of Misaka's bed, began to draw circles in the air. Then, the backs of her heels beat against the bed's wooden frame. A sigh exited her nose.

"Someone's dead, Sissy." She looked her in the eye. "Because of what you did, someone died."

Misaka's expression still did not change.

"In the end, it might've been for nothing."

"For what?" Kuroko balled the comforter into an uncomfortable grip. "You're starting to think this whole fiasco was for nothing?"

Misaka's fingers held another breadstick to her mouth, and she carefully nibbled on it. Really carefully. Very carefully. So carefully, in fact, it consumed her. She was no longer aware of Kuroko's hardened eyes, nor the orange dot outside their window, nor the flames consuming the television screen. Her mouth opened on its own accord.

"I need to talk to you, Kuroko."

At the remote's command, the television left them to carry their conversation in peace. Shaking, Kuroko waited in silence, watching as Misaka continued with her dinner. Of course, she was bound to eventually get impatient enough to where it showed.

"There were some bad things in the administration building," Misaka started as she lifted the counselor's papers. "Bad things like these."

"This sounds like it has to do with the issue I had a month ago."

"Yep," she agreed. "This entire incident... I want everything about it to disappear."

Kuroko could only guess as to why, and she didn't like to wonder for long. Snatching the papers from Misaka's limp hand was no challenge, and neither was flipping to the packet's final page. Her eyes grazed across it before coming to a stop. They stared directly at the words that puzzled her the most.

"Does it have to do with this 'Threshold Fever' I was diagnosed with?"

"Yep."

"What is it?"

Misaka took the time to slowly nibble on another breadstick. How dreadfully slow did she chew on it. She did it on purpose. Perhaps she was trying to avoid answering, or maybe she was trying to think of the best way to explain.

"It's a type of fever."

"Shocker, that one," Kuroko snarked.

"I'm not in the mood to talk about this, okay? Cut me some slack." But she had to talk about it. No more running, she promised herself, and she would never think well of herself again if she broke that promise. "It's not caused by any germ or whatever... It's not a normal sickness. Sometimes... An esper just gets it, you know? Mostly after they work themselves too hard for too long, I think." This time, she shoved a Pocky into her mouth and downed it with only a few chews. "I had it once, back when I was a Level Four. One day my powers just stopped working, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get them back. It was probably one of the most frightening days of my life... But I had the luxury of having the whole ordeal explained to me, unlike you. The doctors said it was a pivotal point in my progress toward being a Level Five: if I kept on pressing, my powers would eventually come back, and they'd be stronger than ever before... Or, I could rest, and everything would turn back to normal in a month or so. I chose not to rest. I kept working. I got very sick one day, sure enough, and my powers returned. Next thing I knew, I was a Level Five."

A carbon copy of Kuroko's case, it seemed. It disheartened her to have such a similarity, surprisingly enough; during her time of powerlessness, it was Misaka that pushed her to rest. It was Misaka that urged her to do nothing. It was Misaka that proposed they begin a new life... And through it all, it was Misaka that knew the truth.

"You must not want me to be a Level Five." She made extra sure to make the spite in her voice detectable. Misaka was no dummy.

"I don't," she agreed. "And I curse the day I decided to overcome that blasted Threshold Fever... I was naive, not knowing what the hell I was getting myself into... Hell... That's what it was. Being a Level Five is Hell, Kuroko... And I knew it would be worse for you."

When Misaka's palm slapped against her face to hide her eyes, Kuroko knew it was time to move closer.

"S-Sissy...?" She gently removed the package from her other hand and placed it on the nightstand. A sniffle erupted from Misaka's nose, widening her audience's eyes; she wept, Kuroko realized. She dared to open her mouth. "What happened?"

"If you saw even half of the things I've seen... The things this city is willing to do in the name of science..." The things she saw. Things like reports that documented the murders of over one thousand clones of herself. A dismembered leg laying on the rocky ground of a train yard. A live feed in District Twenty-Three, camera lenses blinded by crimson blood. The wicked bloodlust in the eyes of the patriarch of espers. "I want to keep you from those things. They're things... I'd never wish for you to see, no matter how angry you've made me..." One tear escaped the oppression of her palm. "But those things have started to come after you, now. You overcame the Threshold Fever. You're going to be considered a Level Five. It's your turn to be inducted into all this madness... but I swear... I swear that'll only happen over my dead body. I'll destroy... I'll kill... Whatever means I have to take, I'll take them so long as that information never spreads..."

But that information had already spread. It had spread beyond Tokiwadai. It lurked in the many offices of the massive city they called home, available to sinister and harmless eyes alike. The thought of the bloody cycle repeating, for Kuroko of all people, sent Misaka into the youth of a frenzy she fought to control. But then she was reminded of something. It tamed her urge to wail in somber agony. She was not alone. Instead, a familiar specimen of relief washed over her. It was the same relief she found in the face of a seemingly talentless, black-haired boy that once came to her rescue. That relief... how she missed it. It humbly approached her in the arms of her closest friend. Kuroko buried her face in the crook of her neck.

"Sometimes I hate you with all my guts. You think you can get away with anything by yourself, you narcissus. When are you going to finally get it through your thick skull that you can't?"

She never thought she'd find comfort in the arms of the girl that often made her the most uncomfortable. Strangely enough, she'd never felt more comfortable in the world. As her eyes closed, she gladly returned the embrace, holding her the tightest she could. If she let go, she feared Kuroko would disappear.

"I don't know..."

A night of terror and death ended on tranquility, even in the face of unusual circumstances.

In preparation for bed, Kuroko rid herself of her own bloodied skirt. The stale air amongst them did not tolerate for any wanton comments or reactions, even after Kuroko requested companionship in bed. Misaka allowed it, for a peaceful faith in her friend numbed any precautions.

When the lights went out, the two remained quiet, respectfully segregated from one another beneath the covers. The hotel's bed, which was far larger than the twins that once inhabited their dorm, allowed for the two to comfortably stretch themselves out without brushing against the other. Misaka faced the wall. Kuroko faced the window, where the orange dot could still be seen burning in the distance. The sight harbingered unpleasant memories from hours before, memories which spooked her closer to Misaka, who had barely dozed off.

"Sissy?" she heard Kuroko ask. With a painful groan, Misaka flipped herself over, using the least of her injured leg. Her eyes met her companion's.

"Hm?"

"Do you mind if...?"

"If what?"

Kuroko migrated nearer instead of finishing her question. Or, perhaps, the act of migrating nearer was finishing the question. Misaka filled in the blanks before sighing. Her irises softened kindly in the face of her friend, who gazed back longingly.

"Sure," she agreed, allowing Kuroko to do the work. Her junior predictably embraced her with exuberant arms, and her skinny legs wrapped around her only good leg. Against the front of her neck, she nestled her face comfortably. From there, she became still, palms spreading across her back.

"Good night," Kuroko whispered.

"Good night." Now facing the window, Misaka was forced to look at what she had done. The flames continued to burn, refusing to be extinguished. That was their life she looked at, wailing as it blackened into ash. Luckily, that wasn't all that mattered. What ultimately mattered was the girl resting against her, breathing in the softest breaths. She was there, unharmed. In due time, she would learn all the truths of the city she had sworn to protect. Those truths would break her, surely... but those truths weren't urgent... not now, at least. They decided to live in the soft, tender moment that was the present. They cherished it while it was theirs, for it was a fleeting moment bound to disappear in the blinking of an eye.

After planting a slight kiss on her underling's crown, Misaka found sweet, uninterrupted rest.

---

"Oh, Sissy, I've always hated it when you get that look on your face."

Misaka snapped out of her thoughts to fully face her junior, who accompanied her side as they hopped down into the empty pool. Armed with splintery brooms and pails of fresh water, the two had already begun to be buffeted by the ugly summer sun. It was so ugly, in fact, the hypnotic heatwaves dancing across the pavement had temporarily entranced the girl. After blinking, she heaved a sigh and planted her fist on her hip.

"I get like this every time I look at that dump over there."

Both turned to observe the empty lot to their right. Just beyond the fence that guarded the pool area, over the horizon, several trucks and workers crowded the scene, shoveling the remains of ash and brick. After nearly an entire month, that lot, also known as the campus' administration building, was just barely getting clean enough for the beginning of a replacement. Quite a ruckus was being worked up over there. That was how it was every day: clean-up, clean-up, clean-up. The cause of such a mess was unknown to every soul save for three individuals.

"Like you said, you did what you had to do," Kuroko reasoned.

"True, but it just reminds me of what more I have to do..." Misaka dropped her pail onto the ground and dunked her broom inside, prepared for work. "It's sweltering out here, so let's hurry and get it over with."

Kuroko watched Misaka, standing perfectly still as she leaned against her broom. Her eyes narrowed when Misaka turned her back on her.

"Just you?" she echoed distastefully. It was enough to make Misaka pause and cautiously crane her neck back around. She thought for a while before returning to her broom.

"I guess you're coming too."

"That's more like it."

"Are you sure you can handle it? I've stayed out all night before."

"And I've stayed up all night waiting for you to come back."

"It'll be dangerous." She began scrubbing.

"Not with the two of us." Kuroko waltzed to her side and joined her.

"You'll see a side of me you probably haven't seen before."

"And I'll love every bit of it anyways."

As unprovoked as it was, the sound of Misaka chuckling made Kuroko's heart soar. Misaka planted a kiss in the heart of her palm, which smacked her friend in the forehead. Dazed, a furious blush spread across the recipient's cheeks.

"We'll see about that, kiddo."

And the two carried on, lightened by the other's company.

THE END

---

Author's Note: Us Kuroko fans like to think of what-ifs when it comes to Kuroko becoming a Level Five, and this was my take on it. It doesn't sound anywhere near canonical, but hey, I haven't found anything that said this couldn't happen. Oh well, Fanfiction's Fanfiction. That's what this crazy website is for. Thanks for your support!

For those who might be interested, I have a one-shot that is also about Kuroko on my account. If you enjoyed this silly little thing, I highly recommend checking it out. Additionally, I feel I should mention that I plan on adding a humorous bonus chapter on this story in the future. Stayed tuned, and have a great day.