Something about this mission wasn't quite right. Falcom wished she could say that she'd suspected as much from the start, but she had dived right in with hardly a brow raised. In hindsight, it should've been obvious that this would turn out to be more than a simple reconnaissance mission the instant she learned that both the Duchess of Leanbox and the Oracle of Gamindustri were involved. The questions that were beginning to fill Falcom's head did not bode well for the future of her career.

She ducked into a dark alley – Leanbox sure had a lot of those – as a pair of figures came around the corner. A nervous chuckle met her ears. "I'm at least glad that we're able to talk a little more. It's nice to speak with someone who isn't…well, a total airhead."

"Likewise." A pause. "U-Um…er…Noire."

"Hm? What is it? It's not like you to stumble over your words, you know."

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat. "How are you holding up?"

"Eh?! Th-That's not like you, either!"

"Hey." The voice had a sudden jump in sharpness. "Put those blushing cheeks away. I just want to make sure I don't need to worry about you shattering like a glass vase when push comes to shove."

"'When push comes to shove,' eh? I think I can handle whatever gets thrown at us, if I do say so myself."

"I sure hope so."

Footsteps approached and stopped, the light from a lamp across the street now being obscured. Noire and Blanc. In the flesh. I could call out to them right now, if I wanted. I wonder if they would be glad to see me. Or would they even remember me? Memories of a bygone era flashed through Falcom's mind. This really was too much like ripping open an old scar for her liking – right now, she didn't think she was mentally prepared to step in if she needed to enact "Plan B," as the Duchess had put it.

"I hate to say it, but this place really gives me the creeps. It feels like I'm always being watched."

Falcom flinched, fearing for a moment that she had been spotted. She let out a breath when the figures moved on, filling the alley with a dim neon glow once again.

"How long can one night last, anyway? I'm starting to forget what the sun looks like! And everything is so green!"

"I have gathered that this is a yearly event called the Festival of the…"

"…don't get it. How do they even worship this…"

The voices were beginning to fade away. Luckily for Falcom, the crowd had at least some presence on the less-traveled streets during this part of the Festival, when some began to tire of the festivities and return home, or perhaps explore some other attractions of Leanbox. Not that Falcom had ever been good in crowds. She still missed the days of exploring the wide open wilderness, where one might travel for miles and not see another soul.

"But they don't sell anything! No merchandise – no games, no figurines, no comics, not even anything to decorate a shrine!"

Blanc nodded as she continued forward. "Depictions of the Goddess appear to be rare. Almost like looking at her is frowned upon."

"That doesn't make any sense, though. Won't people forget about her if they don't even know what she looks like? How is she supposed to gather shares like that?"

"It would seem that faith is of a more subtle nature in this world."

"So…in other words, you don't know."

There was a quick inhale from Blanc. "I don't."

Now Noire gave a bratty laugh. "Oh? But you seem to know everything!"

Blanc's eyes grew dangerous for a moment. "You do better when you're the one having fun poked at you. Don't try to take over Neptune's role."

That was enough to kill the bubbly enthusiasm that had put a spring in Noire's step. "You had to bring her up, didn't you?"

"If I hadn't brought her up, you would have started brooding about her anyway."

Noire's head twisted away as she stopped in her tracks, her teeth clenched. When she looked up again, a momentary sense of panic followed before she realized that Blanc had merely continued onward without her. "H-Hey! Wait for me!"

"We have precious little time remaining," Blanc said as her companion caught up. "The end of the Festival will be here soon."

"Eh? If we're so short on time, then why did you suggest we waste it at the fair?"

"It was not a waste." Blanc's gaze was remaining focused directly ahead as if her neck was locked in place. "You had fun with Neptune, didn't you?"

Another flash of hot anger went through Noire. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to take a deep breath to clear her head. "Not exactly."

"Hmph. That's too bad. At least your visit to the Hall was informative."

Noire's eyes narrowed at this. "I'm not so sure that it was." She didn't bother asking how Blanc knew about the Hall – maybe Blanc had been watching her, or maybe Neptune had blabbered on about it. Either way, it hardly mattered.

"I suppose the Keeper there doesn't have all the answers," said Blanc.

"She knew us."

Blanc nodded. "You speak as if she shouldn't recognize one of the old gods."

"Hardly anyone else seems to."

Blanc's response to this was a derisive snort. A moment later, she asked, "How did you answer her question?"

A sense of irritation was beginning to burn at Noire, far more insidious than the sparks of rage occasionally flickering within her. "You already know, don't you?"

Blanc's silence served as a response all on its own.

'Why have you now returned to the Goddess' domain?' A delicious question, is it not?

The truth of the matter was that Noire had been unable to answer the Keeper's query. Thus, the Keeper had had no further answers to trade in turn, insisting that the goddesses leave "Her domain" as quickly as possible, lest they "face Her wrath once again."

Noire had no explanation for her own presence in this world beyond the barest facts – she could give the "how," but not the "why." The goddess of Lastation found herself with such a freedom of choice that it was paralyzing. What was she to do? And what was there to stop her from doing whatever she wished? What punishment would she face for neglecting her duties in this world, so very far away from home?

What if Histoire had made a mistake?

What a terrible mistake freedom would be for the slave of Lastation. How is one to find their way in the world when the shackle has comforted them for so very long?

Noire shook her head to throw away the thoughts that were creeping into her mind. We have a task to complete here. No one said that it would be easy. So inwardly focused was she that a collision was made with Blanc's outstretched arm. "H-Hey! What's the—"

"Shh."

The warning was so sharp and sudden that Noire found herself complying without a second thought. She followed the direction of Blanc's gaze toward an alleyway shrouded in the most impenetrable of shadows. They stood motionless for what must have been several minutes, ready for…something.

Finally, Blanc let out an audible breath. Had she been holding it the entire time? "Go on ahead without me. You remember the directions to get there, right?"

Noire gave her an incredulous look. "What kind of sense does that—"

"Just go."

By now, Noire had learned that arguing with the goddess of Lowee tended to be a fruitless endeavor, either because it would evolve into a rage-fueled battle or because Blanc would prove herself to be as stubborn as she was cryptic. Still, Blanc had so far been a very helpful asset to the gang of CPUs, and her nigh-prophetic intuition had yet to fail them. None of this stopped Noire's sigh from being tinged with frustration. "Fine. But you had better not show up to dinner – or breakfast, or whatever this is – with another set of bruises."

Noire gave a nervous look around, doing her best to avoid meeting anyone's eyes…and avoid looking nervous. She didn't need anyone to tell her that she was doing a poor job of it. She knew that, for all of her bluster, she had lived a sheltered life, cooped up inside her nation's Basilicom with every luxury she could ever buy. It was hard to even remember the last time she had gone out in public by herself back home – and even then, there was always at least a dozen attendants she could call on if she ran into trouble. There was no denying the fear that had yet to cease creeping at the back of her mind since her entry into this land.

Yet, life buzzed all around her, conversation and smiles aplenty. This seemed to be a joyous time for Leanbox, too caught up in its festivities to notice intruders in its midst. Indeed, it would take hardly a glance to realize that Noire was foreign to this land with her harsh, crimson gaze and her ostentatious attire. She could practically feel the stares from those around her – where once she had encouraged others to feast their eyes upon her form, she now wished she could dig a hole and hide forever. Unfortunately, the condiment bottles and napkin holders on the table would have to make do as her barrier from the world.

"E-Excuse me, ma'am."

The goddess nearly jumped out of her skin, not having realized that someone had approached her. Noire's neck felt like the turret of a tank as she turned to view the speaker. Some part of her desperately hoped that Blanc would be standing there – but, of course, luck had never been in her favor. Instead, she was greeted by the sight of a young man in a restaurant uniform, its black, no-frills apron stained with a colorful variety of substances.

The employee shuffled his feet as he waited for an answer. When one didn't come, he continued on anyway. "M-My boss says you have to order something, or you'll have to leave. M-Ma'am."

Noire took a moment to compose herself before giving the most reassuring smile that she could muster…which only seemed to make the employee wring his hands harder. "Sorry. I'm waiting on a friend."

The boy blinked a few times, mouth agape. "O-Okay. B-But my boss says to tell you, um…he said, 'Tell that cosplayer over there that this is a burger joint, not a maid café.' Ma'am."

A hot blush crossed Noire's cheeks. She'd been afraid that her ignorance of Leanbox culture would come to bite her again. Had Vert ever once mentioned what a 'burger joint' was? Still, she dared to hazard a guess. "Should I come up to the register?"

A nod. "Y-Yeah. I'll…I'll take your order. If you want, that is."

Oh. It's fast food. Noire resisted the urge to smack herself in the face – it'd probably just further confuse the poor young man in front of her. What was his problem, anyway? He looked like he was about to jitter hard enough to open a portal to another dimension.

"Uh…can I ask who you're cosplaying as? M-Ma'am."

The question struck Noire as she rose from her seat. She stood there for a moment, hands propped on the table, resisting the sudden urge to burst into laughter. "Eh? Cosplaying?" She gave a coy giggle. "Oh, I just saw the outfit and thought it was cute. Is it someone you recognize?"

"Uh, no." The employee managed a chuckle of his own. "I mean, uh, I thought I did, but…uh, nevermind." He made an audible swallow, his throat contorting from the effort. "Let's go get your order taken."

"Right."

Now Noire faced her next great hurdle in navigating Leanbox's intricate cultural mores – the menu. Her eyes glazed over as she scanned the blocky text behind the counter, her processor-enhanced brain recognizing the patterns as words she knew but failing to glean any meaning from them. And those numbers behind the currency signs were a lot higher than zero than she was comfortable with…

"We'll have two Skimpy Beefenator combos with salads."

Noire flinched when she saw a hand beside her reaching toward the counter. "Blanc?!"

The boy behind the register looked just as surprised, but he entered the transaction as spoken. "Man, it's been a while since anyone's paid in cash. Okay, so, uh, two Skimpy Beefenator combos, coming right up."

The goddess of Lastation was just about to give a polite nod and step away, but she was practically yanked back to the spot by Blanc. Moments later, she understood why when the requested meal was presented on a tray in…cheap paper bags?

After being awkwardly walked through the rest of the fast food ordering process – what do you mean there's only two types of tea?! – Noire could finally breathe a sigh of relief as she sat down with a meal before her. Her stomach gave an obligatory growl, the scent of food almost overpowering.

"Er…why is everything wrapped up? Isn't the bag enough?"

Blanc, who was already in the process of arranging her own meal, answered, "It's for convenience."

It didn't take long for Noire to notice that her hands were becoming greasy just from handling the wrapping. When she finally managed to splay the foil open, she stared at the…thing that lay there in the middle. She lifted up the top bun, her nose wrinkling as she noted the jumbled mess of toppings and condiments. "What is this?"

"A burger."

"And these?"

"Pickles."

Noire continued to scrutinize the strange sandwich for a time before realizing that she had another component to her meal. "And this?" she asked, pointing to a cup included with the salad.

"Ranch dressing."

A sigh followed as the CPU of Lastation pressed her hands to her face, running them through her hair. "This is peasant food, isn't it?"

Blanc paused in the process of lifting her burger. "It's…salaryman food." She punctuated her words by taking a bite. "Hm. Better than expected."

Another sigh. "I guess we can't afford to be choosy anymore," Noire said as she reached for a napkin to wipe away the grease she had inadvertently gotten on her forehead. "You did pick this place because it's cheap, right?"

"Yes."

A few awkward moments passed as Blanc nibbled at her food. Meanwhile, Noire, still not quite sure if she wished to test the mettle of her stomach against her meal, was staring intently at her companion's face.

Time grows short. A goddess may live forever, CPU of Lastation, but opportunities may be lost forever.

Noire nearly jumped in her seat at this sudden thought. How desperate for direction was she that her own inner self was prodding her? "So, ah…I've been wondering…" Noire took a few glances around before leaning in slightly. "Where have you been getting the money to pay for food?"

A pause. "That's…something I can't tell you."

Noire's brow raised, her expression growing catty. "Oh? Just like all those other things you can't tell me? All those terse statements, those measured words? Can we just skip to the part where you finally reveal that you're a time traveler?"

Blanc nearly choked on her food at this, but she managed to swallow after some effort. Still, she gave no answer, her gaze not meeting that of the person across from her.

"You've been stuck in a loop, haven't you? How else do you know everything before it happens? How else are you so calm about all of this? It's because you've seen it all before, dozens, or maybe even hundreds of times, going back in time over and over to fix a mistake. I'm right, aren't I?"

"I wish."

Noire leaned a little closer, studying Blanc's reaction. The girl stared at the burger in her hands for several moments before setting it down…and continuing to stare. Wait – her mouth was tensing up. Was that a sob?!

"I wish I had that kind of power…" Blanc choked out, the words barely more than a murmur. "I wish I could fix everything…and I wish I could let someone else understand. But I can't."

Noire's fear that they were drawing stares now came back with a vengeance. "Why not?"

"Because…" Blanc's eyes rose to meet her companions', but no words escaped her lips. Then she suddenly slammed her hands upon the table with enough force to knock over her cup of tea – was it empty? She hadn't even sipped from it yet, had she? "Dammit! I just wish I could explain!"

Noire jumped back at this outburst, giving a few surprised blinks before setting down her fork. "You don't have to keep secrets from me, Blanc. I mean, we've saved the world together before, haven't we?"

"I'm not—" Blanc cut herself off, giving a glance to the side before returning her gaze to Noire, newfound steel present in the Lowee CPU's face. Something about it gave Noire a surge of…confidence? "Listen. You've played the Floor is Lava before, right?"

"Er…" Noire's incredulous look gave her answer.

"…Let's try another example. How about Minesweeper?"

"Ah! Yes, I have."

"Of course." Blanc gave a nod. "So, you know how in Minesweeper, there are certain tiles you can step on, and others that cause you to…" She paused as if waiting for a response.

"Reset?"

"Exactly."

"Like a time traveler?"

This was promptly followed by Blanc performing the "headdesk" maneuver. "Forget about time travel already. But, speaking of time…" She rose from her seat, placing the empty wrappers of her meal into her bag. "It's getting late. Relatively speaking, that is. I'll grab something for Vert and Neptune on the way out. I will have to apologize for taking so long."

"But it's only been…" Noire's protest trailed off as she noted that her own meal was thoroughly devoured, aside from the two pickles laying in a pool of red and yellow liquid. A look out the window revealed a street still interlaced with the deep shadows of night. "Huh."

Then she saw the flash of red hair.

Falcom had barely managed to duck down fast enough to avoid being spotted when the goddess' gaze had turned toward her position on a nearby low-sitting rooftop. The directional microphone that was a part of an agent's standard kit had sufficed for the job, but she wished she had a better method of staying hidden besides the old fashioned way. What happened to those rumors of agents being able to turn invisible and even become one with the shadows? Or had that been ninjas?

Regardless, she now had more proof than ever that these girls were the real deal. Not that she had been unconvinced before. Some part of her wished that she could simply speak to them, but she understood the need for caution – and the potential consequences of their return. What chance was there of the world welcoming them with open arms? Of the Goddess allowing her nation to once again be divided? What grand plan could Falcom have possibly been swept up within that did not end in violence?

Falcom's mouth wrung into a tight line when she once again remembered how the Duchess had mentioned "Plan B." It was one thing to have uncertainties during a mission, but it was quite another to receive conflicting orders. What would happen when she proved unable to appease everyone?

Thankfully, it hadn't come to that just yet. If it did…

Her eyes were suddenly drawn to movement, zeroing in much like a hawk's. Noire was leaving the restaurant, her pace hurried but measured. The goddess glanced around anxiously as she made her way through the crowd toward what was presumably the CPUs' hideout.

Crap. Falcom knew that look. She'd been spotted, hadn't she? Or, at least, her quarry seemed to think she was being followed. It was understandable, given the circumstances. Falcom was surprised they hadn't invested in disguises by now. Then again, they seemed too busy concentrating on getting food into their bellies to think about much else. It was almost sickening to sit by and watch them live like beggars.

The agent rose gingerly to her feet, noticing that she seemed to be aching all over. How long had she crouched on this roof with her microphone at the ready? She raised a hand, taking a look at her wrist. There was no watch present there – instead, a time readout appeared directly in her vision, along with a variety of other useful information. That had definitely taken some getting used to, but it was way more convenient than any gadget could ever be. Some might be appalled by the idea of having their bodies implanted with machines and devices, but Falcom had to admit that it was pretty cool. And as long as she was an agent of the Guild, all related costs were covered.

Her eyes widened when she saw the time. Had it really been that long? That conversation hadn't seemed to drag on that much.

She brought up the latest log recorded by her microphone. There, on the readout, it clearly displayed that the recording was a grand total of about…an hour and a half. Just as the time on her internal clock had indicated. Making sure that the microphone was still wirelessly connected to the miniscule audio devices embedded within her ears, she pressed play on the recording. Yep – just a few minutes in, she could hear the beginnings of the CPUs' conversation at the restaurant.

Before the agent knew it, she'd listened to the whole thing. She blinked, not quite sure how she'd been so absent-minded. She took another look at her clock – over another hour had passed.

What the hell?

A strange hunch occurred to her as she changed the recording to start from about the halfway mark and pressed play once again, keeping her eyes firmly focused on the time readout.

"Dammit! I just wish I could explain!"

The explosive voice of Blanc rung through Falcom's ears, bringing the agent back to awareness.

Falcom blinked again. Had she begun to drift off? She paused the playback of the recording and checked its time, as well as her clock. Both indicated that she'd been listening for at least thirty minutes. Yet, she struggled to recall a single thing that she had just heard.

Huh. Maybe I'm just tired. At the very least, I think it's about time I get down from this roof before someone thinks I'm trying to break in.