Warnings: violent situations, drug use.

Note: chapter eight, polished.

The Bodyguard and the Client

They think they're so sneaky, ha!

On the computer screen, Tomoe Mami paced back and forth in front of a store, apparently pretending to be impatiently waiting for someone, if the constant checking of her phone was any indication.

The anxious glances she cast about certainly fit in with her cover story. Every now and then she would stop pacing and simply cross her arms, scowling as her foot tapped against the sidewalk—in short, she looked like any random woman waiting for her habitually late friend.

Casually dressed in blue jeans and a loose sweater, no one would guess that her real aim, however, was to provide cover for her partner in crime.

Still, they cannot help that their human nature is inferior.

The outside cameras swiveled, one keeping the blonde in sight and the other following the progress of one Sakura Kyouko.

The redhead discreetly prowled around the frankly second-rate hotel, her usual smirk replaced by a tense frown.

She had plenty of experience in staking out hotels as a bodyguard, but she no longer had any of the magical girl-endowed stealth and strength of her teenage years. Her movements, therefore, were doubly cautious and slow, uncomfortably dependent on her companion as a second set of eyes and for protection.

Had she accepted my offer she would have had that power once again. Foolish girl, but admittedly lucky.

Mami and Kyouko had managed to come this far by analyzing Security Firm records of the growing magical girl contracts—most of the magical residue left over was centered, not surprisingly, in the red-light district of Mitakihara.

It was safe, then, to assume that Kyubey had a hideout in the area, though Sayaka had had doubts (Homura hadn't said anything).

At any rate, the four bodyguards had combed the red-light district meticulously for a painful week, only to stumble onto the location by sheer luck. Kyouko had gotten frustrated and resorted to asking people if they had seen an albino in the area—to her surprise, someone actually had. The man had pointed out the second-rate hotel and told her that he had seen a dressed-up albino go in and out of the hotel on multiple occasions.

But mere luck is not enough. The chances that luck will offset the disadvantage you have are negligible.

Once they had located the hotel, Kyouko took charge in examining the immediate surroundings and then proceeded to examine the hotel itself. Yesterday, Sayaka had accompanied her; today, Mami.

Homura was kept at Madoka's house, however, under the pretense of developing a counter-invasion strategy and the influence of mild tranquilizers. Mami, the de facto leader, did not want to risk anyone's safety with an imbalanced Homura, so she kept the ex-time-traveler out of the way.

You play a dangerous game, Tomoe Mami. Drug measurements are imprecise—you could potentially damage or kill Madoka's precious Homura-chan, and you need all the help you can get. But I'm sure you know that.

No one knew if Madoka was in the hotel with the Incubator, and it was fraying their already tense nerves, but a faint lead was better than nothing at all.

They didn't dare to think too far ahead.

Even if you thought ahead, your minds are so easily deceived.

"Incubator Kyubey."

Startled, Kyubey slammed shut his laptop, plunging his office into darkness. His eyes, however, immediately adjusted, zeroing in on the dark-suited man in front of him.

He scowled in recognition and in frustration at not having noticed the man before he had spoken.

"Incubator Kei. I was not expecting a visit so soon after the last one," Kyubey carefully addressed his superior, backing up his swivel chair ever so slowly (he appeared to flicker like a bad television channel, but surely it was just his stupid emotions playing tricks on his mind).

Kei blandly replied, "Of course not." His gaze wandered around the bare room without any real interest as he spoke. "Incubator Kyubey, we are watching you, as you know.

"Your new form has not increased your efficiency in collecting energy, especially the quintets'. Your emotions, however," Kei stepped closer, brown eyes deceptively normal, "have surpassed the activation threshold."

In our culture, the phenomenon known as emotion is considered a mental disorder. That is why, when we found humans and their infinite capacity to feel, we were surprised.

Kyubey abruptly stood up. "The activation threshold, you say?" An uneasy sensation constricted his chest (these ridiculous feelings, he inwardly snarled).

Of course, you already know that, Incubator Kyubey; every Incubator on Earth knows. We do not like to dabble in emotions too much. They are illogical—you understand that, yes? You remember your training under Incubator Kyubey Hiro.

Kei's lips were moving, he was speaking… "Yes, Incubator Kyubey Tacitus."

There is more, however, to the story. Recall your history lessons. Incubator Kyubey—that is, the namesake of all Incubator Kyubey who hold jurisdiction over Earth—changed the Hierarchy.

Generations of men have attempted to recreate Kyubey's flawless coup d'état, his perfect police state.

We planted that ideal in their weak little minds, for strife breeds such strong emotions.

Shaking his head, cursing his condition for muddling his logic, Kyubey backed away from Kei.

The other Incubator, however, only smiled. A smile without emotion, designed to reassure yet utterly failing to fulfill its purpose.

The blank stillness of Kei unnerved Kyubey; he was as motionless as a statue, quite unlike the ever-moving Incubator Kyubey that made contracts with girls (but the very fact that he felt unnerved bothered him even more).

"I… don't understand…," Kyubey floundered for words as his back hit the door. He was forgetting how to breathe. (Wrong, so utterly wrong—the anxiety that suffocated him was unnatural, belonging to animals, not to an advanced being such as himself!)

A gesture from Kei had Kyubey looking upwards.

He gaped at red eyes so like his own (yet so, so different) staring back at him. Floating individually, not in pairs, the oversized eye disks had appeared without his notice. He could not look away. His heavy breathing broke the silence.

The whispering continued in his mind. Memory bled into reality (wrong, something had gone utterly wrong).

Most Incubators stationed on Earth do not know more than vague basics of where they come from. It does not bother them, for they understand that everything has a place and a reason; eventually, new Incubator Kyubey assimilate completely into the collective "Kyubey" conscience and spend the rest of their lives as simple contractors that have lost their individuality.

"Incubator Kyubey, instead of disposing of you when you did not fulfill your quota, we rewired you, gave you the capacity to feel and new exterior hardware. That increased your efficiency, but not enough to offset the cost of recreating a human-like system for an alien."

Kyubey closed his eyes. He listened to his superior but did not understand.

"Now, however, the emotions rolling off of you are more than enough to surpass the activation energy required to give an Incubator feeling in the first place. The recent fluctuations of your emotions have drawn our attention, Incubator Tacitus."

The given name is thereafter only used when a superior wishes to address a specific Incubator. Sometimes, initiates protest—anomalies, born with a natural ability to feel, have attempted to disrupt the system but never managed. Proper programming usually prevents these glitches, though we let them happen every now and then for research and as gauges of the state of our society.

He refused to open his eyes. It wasn't happening; it couldn't be happening, not to him, a fellow Incubator.

"H-how may I be of use?" Kyubey ground out with his jaw clenched in an effort to keep his teeth from chattering.

The elder simply replied, "I am not telling you this for your health." The eyes moved closer.

I am not telling you this for your health.

No, Kyubey Tacitus; this is for the health of the universe. Incubators born with feeling are creatures of disease—but what of Incubators rewired to be able to feel?

Let us see how efficient you are once we install the new program.

Kyubey's hands became sweaty.

Kei smiled at him.

Blood pounded through his temples.

Kei took a step forward.

Shudders wracked his body.

Kei wore a dark grey suit a black suit his shirt was also dark grey was white he wasn't wearing a tie was wearing a tie no wait slow down—

"Do not be afraid. I am a fellow Incubator."

Kyubey crumpled to the floor.

／人 ◕‿‿◕ 人＼

Outside, Kyouko returned to Mami and gravely reported, "I don't like this. There's definitely a suspicious vibe 'round here, but then again, this is the red light district." They left.

／人 ◕‿‿◕ 人＼

"This, Madoka, is why you should let me take care of things."

Her scratchy voice sounded loud in the otherwise silent room.

Within the recesses of her mind, a sobbing Madoka with ill-defined edges only shuddered in response.

"Oh, come on, stop crying! Screaming for Homura and your friends clearly didn't do anything other than give us a sore throat." …No response from the other.

Madoka sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Least you could do is stop crying and save me the headache," she grumbled to herself—literally.

Her neck ached from the awkward sitting position she had fallen asleep in and her throat ached from all the screaming she had done before she had passed out; a headache on top of that was no picnic.

All the screaming that her alternate self had done.

A sort of melancholy settled into her heart then. She resumed in a lower voice, "We've learned a lot recently, haven't we? But, Madoka, we can't let this compound our own problems, we just can't."

The Madoka in her mind only pulled her knees closer to her chest, tears still streaming silently down her cheeks.

"You're lucky that nice is an inherent part of our very being, or else I would've just forced my way out—or worse, I would've crushed your half out of existence, what with your weakening," Madoka continued, rolling her shoulders and neck to ease the pain. She disregarded the guilt that threatened to fester (it wouldn't have power over her if she didn't acknowledge it).

"Th-they're your friends, too."

Eyebrows rose up slightly at the unexpected response. "Technically, but not really, you know." She closed her eyes and Madoka's form became clearer.

The other had not moved from her previous position, but at least her tears had stopped and the pounding lessened.

"I… I'm honestly surprised that you didn't take over."

"Madoka, I'm not evil or anything like that. I'm just the braver part of us—a lot braver," Madoka rolled her eyes, "but it's not like I'm out to get you or something. Besides, we both know that you're the self-destructive personality; I've only ever tried to combine our personalities, but you keep pushing me away and then refusing my help whenever you go on one of your self-hate binges."

She scrubbed her face, weariness sinking into her bones. "Seeing each other so clearly isn't a good sign."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so weak…."

"Ack, don't mope, you're giving me a headache again," Madoka groaned. "And who left the light on?"

Her other self gave a watery smile, shaking her head.

"We should turn it off. Just because we don't like Kyubey doesn't mean we should contribute to global warming."

Her hand shifted as if to get up, but Madoka remained slumped against the wall. "Yeah, but I'm tired… the light is comforting."

They fell silent for a while before inner Madoka piped up, "What does the room look like? I didn't get a chance to really see it earlier… and maybe there's a way out."

Outer Madoka snorted but opened her itchy eyes. "There's no point in trying to escape—it would be foolish to do so without any sort of knowledge of what's beyond the door. Anyway, we're on a bed; it's a decent bed, as far as beds go, with boring brown blankets and a single pillow. There's a nightstand with a digital clock on it, so we're not going to go crazy wondering what time it is. We have a desk, a small bookshelf, and a trashcan by the door. The walls are a greyish color… that's it; the cell's rather plain." She closed her eyes again, resisting the urge to rub them.

"It s-sounds more like a room than a cell."

"No matter how golden the cage is, it's still a cage, so this isn't a room, it's a cell," outer Madoka countered. Her fingers drummed against the mattress and one of her feet swayed back and forth on the bed, the nervousness that inner Madoka felt needing a physical outlet. "I don't like this either, you know. It's too quiet."

"W-we've been k-kidnapped, haven't we?"

This time, Madoka rolled her eyes at the silly question, but she refrained from mocking her inner self more. "Yes, we're in quite the situation. If you had just listened to me instead of looking into his eyes, I think things would've been much better. Still… it wasn't entirely your fault, and on the bright side I can at least keep your panic in control."

"Do you think… do you think they will find us?"

Focusing on her other half, Madoka hugged her knees to her chest and murmured, "Homura-chan's not well, and the Incubators aren't fools, but… they'll rescue us. Sayaka-chan, Homura-chan, and Mami-san will come barging in to rescue us, you'll see." And even though the Madoka in control was so different from her other half, both shared the same infallible hope.

"Such strong hope is admirable, I'm sure, but a complete waste of time," a cheery voice interjected.

Madoka bolted upright and her eyes shot open, darting around the room trying to find the source of the voice, but she did not dare respond. She instinctively pressed herself into the corner of the bed and the wall (okay, she took back what she said earlier about panic and control).

Nothing in the room had changed.

Madoka strained her ears to hear any sign of footsteps or movement—nothing. Her hands clenched and unclenched against her pajama pants. She forcefully stilled herself. Only now did she really acknowledge the fact that this room was a prison.

Her chest tightened, she couldn't remember how to breathe—but no, she was confident Madoka, not cowardly Madoka and certainly not a step away from falling apart. Her breathing eased. In her mind, inner Madoka whimpered a little but had faith in… in herself, who had reassuringly regained control.

"I apologize for startling you," the same cheery voice piped up again (she doubted it was truly sorry).

This time, Madoka glared at the room entire, trying to pin down the voice; it seemed to come from everywhere.

"Is the voice coming from behind the door?" inner Madoka tentatively asked.

Outer Madoka shook her head minutely.

"Incubator Kyubey is currently indisposed, so I am to keep watch on you. Now, now, do not work yourself up attempting to locate me, because I am invisible to human eyes," the voice continued.

"The ceiling…."

Looking up, there was nothing, but the voice seemed to originate from there.

"I am…," the voice paused briefly before continuing, "surprised to see you functioning reasonably well after Incubator Kyubey's rough treatment of you the evening before."

Inner Madoka hunched her shoulders, but outer Madoka only scowled, refusing to answer what she assumed was another Incubator.

A few minutes passed in utter silence—whoever the other Incubator was, it certainly seemed to like messing with Madoka's head.

She forced herself to relax. There's no point in getting worked up if we can't even see him, I guess.

"Your friends are suffering so much, Madoka. Do you remember? Remember dear Homura-chan's screams as you forced her to kill you, or Mami-san's heartbroken sobs when she cried herself to sleep, and then Sayaka-chan's—"

"Stop!"

Madoka felt tears welling up in her eyes, fists clenched tightly as she remembered scene after scene of her friends' distraught and crumpled faces, and a burning desire for retribution welled up in her chest.

"How dare you take advantage of them!"

The voice ignored her, though.

"Just think, Madoka. They are in so much pain—compared to them, you have had a very easy time."

"It's not—not my fault. You're the one who manipulated them, leading them with false promises and abandoning them when they were no longer useful!"

Inner Madoka, tears streaking down her face, nodded vigorously in agreement.

The disembodied voice hummed somewhere above them before replying, "You could have saved them. But you did not. Tell me, Madoka, does that not make you worse than us?"

Madoka clapped her hands over her ears and shouted, "Liar, liar, pants on fire!" over and over, drowning out all other sounds. She couldn't help the little twinge of despair, however, that stabbed her heart.

I'm so sorry.

Eventually, her already hoarse throat gave out and left a deafening silence in its wake. The voice did not talk to her again.

"I wish we could be the savior instead of the other way around."

It's not our fault we can't save them but that's alright—we have to accept that.

Silence had never felt so stifling and accusatory.

／人 ◕‿‿◕ 人＼

Homura dreamt.

／人 ◕‿‿◕ 人＼

"Do—do you… remem…ber?" (The slur of her words and hitch of her breath were wrong, so damningly wrong.)

"R-remember?" (She was losing blood, so much blood, why why why!)

"Yes. Fo…forever… and… ever, I… pro…mise…d you."

"Madoka, don't—"

"I'm… sorry… Homura."

"Forever, Madoka. Forever and ever, no matter what!" (I'll save you; I promise I will save you even if it's the last thing I do.)

"I'm… sorry."

"Madoka!"

／人 ◕‿‿◕ 人＼

The setting sun gave everything a bloody color as Homura continued home alone, leaving Madoka by herself to cry over her dead friend and memories and empty promises.

Why did they fight?

Mami-san had liked her in the very beginning, hadn't she?

Sayaka-san, too, but they had always fought and it didn't matter to her. Kyouko-san usually gave her half a chance. Madoka befriended her, each and every time.

Mami, though.

"The next time we meet, Akemi-san, there will be no turning back."

Oh well. No point in wasting energy if the beneficiary refused to cooperate, no matter how well they had gotten along in the past.

Everything was covered in blood and tears.

／人 ◕‿‿◕ 人＼

You wheeze for breath. Rain falling softly, your soaked clothes pressing against your skin, a slight fruity fragrance remaining beside the smell of sweat.

Madoka and all the world is yours.

You lean toward her, closer, closer, so close. Now you are nose to nose, your hands holding hers.

No matter how close you lean in, though, you cannot force warmth back into her cold, cold body.

／人 ◕‿‿◕ 人＼

Kaname-san.

A clock and she was tied to it. Thin strings attached to her body stretched out until one could no longer see them, connecting Madoka to unknown others.

With her arms lifted to shoulder-height, she looked like the very picture of sacrifice and inevitability.

"I'll save you, Kaname-san!"

(Maybe you should just kill yourself.)

Madoka didn't answer. Homura ran, as fast as her frail body let her, but she ran in place. Wheezing, confused, her heart hammered in her chest—"Kaname-san!"

Desperation clawed at her, she couldn't, she couldn't and she kept running but no, no she was drowning in a sea of blood and where was Madoka, Madoka, pink not red—

And then everything dissolved into sand, swallowing Homura.

／人 ◕‿‿◕ 人＼

She didn't know where she was, but she knew she was safe.

Odd. She could barely remember what "safe" was.

Maybe she was dreaming.

The world is quiet here.

Floating.

"The world is such a strange place," she explained aloud to no one.

There were bits of lace, gears, shiny paper cut-outs of carnival creatures, a scythe-like pendulum swinging inexorably, running, running, she was running—but wasn't she safe?

She no longer floated, but she felt so light (but also very warm, too warm).

She fiddled with her braids, not caring that sometimes she was on the banks of a bloody river with lace falling like rain and sometimes she was in a meadow with hundreds of white flowers swaying back and forth in a non-existent breeze.

Meadows are such nice places, especially if there are flowers.

She couldn't move.

Her limbs felt heavy, so heavy, she was drowning now, was no longer safe, the weight of the water crushed her, something spun in circles around her and no one was safe no one believed her she had to save Madoka—

"Are you awake?"

Arms and legs were too heavy, she had to save Madoka, but that voice wasn't Madoka's voice, the stifling warmth made her dizzy… awake?

Perhaps she could still save her (futile, you fool, futile), if only she figured out why everything was so heavy, so heavy, so… heavy.

Her head throbbed.

"I think I might've given you a bit too much this time, but you were flailing around and there wasn't anything else I could—are you okay?"

No longer dreaming…

Silly question. Everything burned as if she had desperately run for hours on end from kami knows what, and kami her dry throat irritated her. She groaned.

Her eyes squinted open, letting a sliver of reality through. The heaviness in her body extended even to her eyelids, however, so they quickly fell shut.

Does it look like I am okay?

Then again, if she was lucid enough to rebuke whomever it was that had dared to bother her, then perhaps she wasn't too bad off. (She had to save Madoka, save Madoka but she ignored the desperate beast trying to claw its way out of her.)

"Water," she managed to rasp out, sending the incompetent fool scrambling out sheepishly. Her eyes cracked open again; she blinked a couple of times before glancing around the room, not yet attempting to move the rest of her body.

Blue came into her line of vision (not pink, why didn't they ever grant her wish goddammit nothing ever went her way and she was sick and tired and she just wanted to scream!). Sayaka hovered above her with a glass of water, a slight frown indicating some emotion or other.

"I know you don't like staying behind, but you've got to accept it before we accidentally give you an overdose trying to calm you down."

Homura ignored her, focusing instead on sitting up by herself, glaring at the hand that reached out to help her.

"Homura-san, please. M-Madoka wouldn't be happy if she saw you beating yourself up like this," Sayaka insisted, clutching the glass tightly in one hand as the other fell by her side, useless.

Breathe. One… two… three… four… five.

The knot in her chest loosened just enough to calm her racing heart (but Madoka was still in the hands of the Incubators and what did this fool know of what Madoka would think?).

Grimacing at the stickiness of her sweaty hands and face, at the cloying taste in her mouth, Homura silently took the glass of water with both hands. Small sips sufficed to sooth her thirst.

Sayaka watched her closely, frowning slightly, and put out her hand once again to help Homura get up.

Again, Homura refused. Instead, she handed the glass back to Sayaka and lay back against the couch (really? They could not be bothered to leave her in a bed, at least? Madoka would—would have taken proper care of her), one hand on her forehead and the other hanging limply off the side.

"Homura-san—"

"Silence," (shut your mouth how dare you, how dare you criticize me) Homura interrupted, her voice tired and lacking bite but commanding nonetheless.

Sayaka, however, was not deterred. She settled on the coffee table, legs stretched out and touching the bottom of the couch.

"I don't agree that keeping you drugged is the best choice," she grimaced, "it isn't right and it definitely isn't professional, but Mami-san's right about one thing: you'll just hurt yourself or be a liability if… if your episodes can't be kept under control," Sayaka explained while intently studying the other woman. "Not that it's your fault or anything," she hastily added, "but still. You know what I mean."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Homura slowly, deliberately breathed in and out.

"Homura-san, we need to talk about this; we're responsible adults, not teenagers scared half out of our minds," Sayaka pointed out.

Homura kept her hand resolutely over her eyes.

Annoyed, Sayaka drummed her fingers against her knees before continuing, "She was my best friend first. I'm not trying to, to demean your friendship, but in this world I am the person she trusts the most, and I have a feeling that it was the same in all the other timelines. My point is, you can't just barge in and claim that you're the only one truly suffering, because Madoka is everyone's friend and she's important to all of us!"

Homura's hands clenched above her face and for one long second she could not shake away the urge to burn the whole damn world Madoka needed her needed to be saved but all this sand kept getting in the way the beast inside her raged she tried to keep it in because Madoka, she had to get to Madoka—

A quiet exhale.

Various aches, along her legs and her back and all over, throbbed in unison with her pulse (and the beast inside her strained against its bonds but that she could bear; she was used to it). In fact, Homura nearly dozed off before an impatient huff from Sayaka dragged her back.

"What would you have me say?" was her terse, belated response. "What would you have me do? I can't forget about—about Kaname-san. That is absurd. Just leave it, Miki-san," she sighed heavily.

To forget… to forget is a nightmare and I have enough of those.

(Not that remembering was any better and she half-wished she could turn back time to a week ago, when she was just a bodyguard and Madoka was just a pretty client.)

"You're not listening," Sayaka flatly stated. She stood up, paced, sat down again, but did not bother trying to reason with Homura again.

Homura ignored her.

Eventually, Sayaka left the room, the scowl on her face not rousing Homura in the slightest.

The ache in her muscles absorbed her attention again—then, a perverse need seized Homura as she poked and prodded at her particularly sore shoulder. The jolt of pain drew a sigh from her (there was blood everywhere and the stupid needle that damn needle and Madoka dead again and fucking hell why couldn't she ever do things right!), but she desisted.

The water on the coffee table across her looked marginally more appealing.

Thirst slackened, there was little else she could do to distract herself from the tightness of her throat and the pressure behind her eyes and the sting in her heart.

She could hear someone—presumably Sayaka—moving around in the kitchen. A bit of light streamed in from a curtained window. Her feet were unreasonably cold, and sweaty. The sickly sweet taste still lingered on her tongue.

Her breathing hitched and she closed her eyes tightly against tears that fell too easily.

I hurt you, Madoka. But you hurt me, too. Shouldn't I hate you for ruining my life?

I can't. I can't, Madoka. You are gone now, and could be out of my life forever if I just give up now—but all I want to do is hold you in my arms and never, ever let you go.

How will we save ourselves?

／人 ◕‿‿◕ 人＼

Kyubey woke up on the floor.

His head and limbs were heavy but for the life of him he could not remember how he had ended up on the floor. The room was dark.

He hoisted himself up slowly, feeling as out-of-place in his human body as he had when he had first gotten it. Looking around, he realized he was in the hotel room he had rented in the seedy area of Mitakihara.

Beyond the walls he could dimly hear the sounds of cars passing by. Perhaps it was the evening rush. The windows had heavy curtains, so he could not tell, but it did not matter.

No, he thought as his eyes lazily took in the deeper shadows of the room, it doesn't matter.

He settled on the floor cross-legged, back perfectly upright. His hands were interlaced and rested in his lap.

The shadows of the room did not stir, did not change, and did not induce the slight uneasiness in him that they usually did.

After a few minutes, he got up fully, but only to sit on the small bed shoved in a corner.

Kyubey did nothing else the rest of the day.

／人 ◕‿‿◕ 人＼

"Y'know, Mami, maybe we should let the Science Division help us. It'd be a lot more effective."

Mami spared Kyouko only a brief glance as she studied the selection of firearms she had stored in a re-purposed room of her apartment.

Kyouko rolled her eyes exasperatedly before repeating, "We shouldn't try t'deal with this on our own. Who knows how big a presence the Incubators have? We're way outta our depth, you gotta admit that."

Mami sighed. She took a basic 9mm handgun from its place and scowled at it.

Nothing like my Magi muskets. Now those were effective weapons. Sure, it took me a while to figure out how to make it work, but recoil and dual-wielding were much simpler. (She found herself yearning for her old weaponry more often lately than she had in the thirteen-odd years she had ceased being a magical girl.)

Kyouko gave a sound of impatience and Mami glanced at her again, tapping the Glock against her palm. Maybe she would be better off with a submachine gun, like the ones Akemi-san had used long ago.

"While the idea has merit, Sakura-san," Mami slowly replied, "I feel that we should prove, once and for all, that we are not to be toyed with. This, this is a matter of establishing human independence!"

"Uh, that's noble and all, but that isn't our battle. You expect us to take on the Incubators?" Kyouko scoffed. "We're relying on sheer luck! I dunno if you forgot or something, but we're all kinda-sorta-really insane and that's not gonna do Madoka any favors and now you want us to rid the Earth of these aliens all by ourselves?!"

Her once-senpai smiled sadly. She clasped her hands behind her back, head inclined forward slightly, and explained, "We are not "taking on" the Incubators, Sakura-san. The simple act of rescuing Madoka-san will be enough to show them that we will not sit idly by while they do as they please with our world. That is what I want. Security Firm can do the rest."

Kyouko shrugged, unconvinced, but did not argue further.

"Someday we will truly be able to rest," Mami said.

/\

A/N: Do tell me how this chap turned out. Any suggestions/feedback/etc. are most welcome.

Many thanks to my beta, yukinagato16.

~Teddy.