04/20

The Dark Hour

The air in Asphodel is different. Heavy and oppressively hot, it clings to Makoto's brow and body like a weight padding his jacket. He's never been in shape, but he's also prided himself on not being destitute, either. With a sleeved arm, he wipes at his forehead, flicking off the accumulation of sweat and dust that's building up from the exertion.

"You wouldn't be puffin' so hard if you went to the gym with me."

"Shut… up," Makoto grunts as he climbs a bit of rubble. To his left is a storefront filled with clothes and neon signs. It's out of place in such a decrepit crypt, but then again, it used to be a mall. "I'm… I'm coming up on the main palisade. So far, no Shadows. This sucks."

"Cool." Akihiko hops into business mode. No more light jabs fly Makoto's way. "You're looking for Club Escapade. Strega has ties to the owner; this cell works out of the office on the roof. Remember, Asphodel is their territory. Keep your eyes open, Makoto."

"Roger," Makoto responds. He straightens out under Akihiko's advice, forcing the lethargy out of his system and ignoring the oppressive heat. In moments like this, he wishes his MP3 player would work in the Dark Hour. Why does the robot get to work, and his music player doesn't?

One last set of stone stairs stands between Makoto and what used to be the grand fountains that made up Paulownia's 'Waterways.' When he reaches the zenith after a short climb, he cannot wrench his eyes away from what used to be beautiful, handcrafted marble spigots and basins. Now, the maw of a three-headed dog spews flaming magma and… also still water.

Weird. It doesn't look like the water one would put into a regular fountain, especially since water turns to blood in the Dark Hour. Maybe it has something to do with the underworld aesthetic. The rivers of hell and all that.

It's grey, almost milky. Makoto doesn't have the right words to explain what feelings it correctly draws up. Stagnant? It's been flowing for millennia, running against calcium stones through the fixture.

This would be Acheron, then? Maybe Lethe? Makoto never said Greek mythology was his strong suit. Hell, it could be the Styx, for all he knows.

… he pauses, giving his head a shake.

Why is he even thinking about this? It's the Dark Hour, not the Underworld. None of this is important.

"You alright?" Akihiko chimes in. "You stopped."

So now he can track his movements, too? Jeez.

"Yeah, I'm good." He sighs, marching slowly and as quietly as he can toward the fountain. Upon reaching it, he peeks over the stone to where he remembers spying Club Escapade on his escapades to Paulownia during the day. Two men stand outside, one smoking a cigarette and the other standing off to the side, taking a leak. Makoto immediately reports his findings. "I'm at the club. Two guys're outside, and it looks like they're alone. Do I take them out?"

"Depends—"

"Hey, Juni," The one pissing sparks up, echoing through the stone hall. "There's a Shadow over there. It looks like it's getting a little close." He points at an encroaching black mass oozing its way to the Club.

"Akihiko—A Shadow is coming at them." Makoto feels his pulse race. Excitement courses through him. All he needs is the go-ahead. "What do I do? Go in? Jump 'em?"

A second passes, and Makoto waits impatiently for Akihiko's answer. He's almost ready to beg at this point. "Watch what happens. We don't know what they do with Shadows."

"Shit!" Makoto hisses to himself, feeling Thanatos roar within his mind. "Fine."

Juni—The one clad in a simple tank top and shorts—hefts up a metal rod and flicks a switch on the side with a sigh. It ignites with crackling blue lightning. A cattle prod?

"Useless bastard," He grunts, stepping over to the monster with almost spartan-like apathy.

Interesting. Shadows don't scare them. Desensitization, or general gadarene? He reports these findings to Akihiko, who hums in his ear.

"I'm bettin' on desensitization. Wherever there're Shadows, Strega isn't far behind."

"There's a coffin over in the record shop," The pissing man shakes his body, and a zip is heard. "Lead it in there. The girl workin' the register has tits bigger than my head. Having her to pass the time would be great."

Makoto's gaze sharpens, remembering the piercing-covered girl that let him use her employee discount the day before. He doesn't really care, but he likes paying back any accrued debts ASAP.

"They're leading the Shadow into the record shop," Makoto reports. "Something about the girl working the register. I don't like where this is going."

Before Akihiko can respond, the man with the prod scoffs and points it at the man, now standing uselessly with his arms crossed. "You know the rules. Unless she consents, you aren't gonna touch her."

He flicks the prod on threateningly to get the point across.

"...keep watching. Strega's creepy as hell, but they aren't… rapists. If anything gets too crazy, you can hop in. For now, get whatever info you can."

Makoto grimaces, biting his lip as he forces down the desire to complain about having to sit around. But Akihiko's been very useful so far. Following his orders, for now, is probably in Makoto's best interests.

"Right," He mutters, annoyed at being unable to do anything.

Juni traipses to the Shadow and sidesteps one of its reaching strikes, showing a remarkable reflex, making Makoto again question if it's from desensitization. From what he's seen, Strega is a threat that needs to be taken seriously. They know how to fight Shadows and have a numbers advantage. These two guys are only frontline guards.

SEES doesn't have guards.

The man stabs his cattle prod into the tar-like mass that makes up the Shadow, which elicits an ear-piercing screech of pain upon being electrocuted.

"God!" The lazy guy moans. "Kill it quickly, will ya?! Fuckin' thing hurts my ears."

Juni scoffs. "I could just kill you. I have no idea what Shirato-dono saw when you were recruited."

"Ah, you love me," The other man laughs. "Besides, killing's against the rules; you stick in the mud."

"Hey," Makoto mutters. "You know a 'Shirato?'"

A second passes before he responds. "Yeah, Jin Shirato. Takaya's right hand."

"Shit…" Makoto sighs. "That's not good. Apparently, one of these guys was recruited by him."

"That means the Sabbath is starting soon." Akihiko's voice sounds harsh. "Damn! I thought we had more time."

Before Makoto can question anymore, the guy with the cattle prod seems to change his directive as he angles his body to the left of the Shadow and he leads it off toward the record store. Evidently, he's following the rude one's request regardless of dislike.

Makoto can't let this go. "They're leading it to the record store. I'm going in."

"Makoto, wait—!"

Screw that. Makoto's not one to let emotion rule him, but this girl didn't ask to be a part of this. He didn't either, but his bed's already been made. He gets to fight Shadows.

"Hey!" Makoto calls, unclasping his evoker as the man leading the Shadow jumps at his sudden arrival. "You wanna fight somebody? Fight me!"

"Who the fu—?" Juni, the bigger guy, jerks back when Makoto makes his presence known with a flourish of his sword and brandished gun. "Is that… who's this kid?"

Both men share a look, confusedly glancing at one another as they take in the new information.

"Uh, how'd he even get here?" The crude one asks. "I thought the Dark Hour put everyone in coffins."

Immediately, Juni's eyes widen as a realization sparks through him when he glances at Makoto's armband. "SEES! He's a member of SEES!"

Makoto's evoker flings to his skull, and he summons with a rancorous shout.

"Thanatos!"

"Oh, fuck—!" A sword slams through the vulgar bastard within the second he exclaims his curse. Thanatos pants over the corpse, a bloody mess of guts and bone fragments left behind from the brutal bisection.

Makoto freezes at the sight, the blood enrapturing every synapse of his brain.

"Holy shit!" Juni cries, looking back and forth between the terrifying persona and the boy who summoned it. He doesn't even glance at the corpse of his ally.

Makoto did this. A life snuffed with the ease of blowing out a candle. All that remains is entrails. You did this. He's dead.

You killed him. A human being with a family, a mother—

Pressure builds in Makoto's throat, making it difficult to breathe. He feels it building, growing, threatening to explode—It does.

Puke flings from his mouth onto the floor as he doubles over to catch his breath. Sweat beads on his brow, and he vaguely makes out the sound of screeching and banging something glass.

A door. Juni's running away and banging on the door to Escapade.

Makoto's weak. The vomit saps every bit of his energy. All the coffee he drank in the last hour is on the floor in a black, sour, bubbling mass. He's kinda surprised the water content doesn't turn into blood, and he's a little curious to find out if it does—

Focus. One's down, one more to go. Then, you have no witnesses.

He wipes his mouth, peering through the curtain of hair obscuring his vision. Makoto stumbles forward but can't get to the retreating man fast enough. He can make out Akihiko barking in his ear, brain, or whatever, but Makoto can't understand anything. It's all gibberish.

Through lidded eyes, he stalks his way forward, gripping his evoker tightly. Thanatos must have dematerialized. He isn't nearby. Makoto looks around the vaguely gothic mall spackled with Grecian architecture and stone visages of gorgons, previously pristine and elegant when back in the waking world.

He's unfocused and not paying attention. So when a massive weight slams into Makoto's side, he flies. He lands in a heap in front of one of the stores, an eclectic mystery shop that looks like an antique peddler from the sign alone.

Shakily, he pushes himself to his feet, wiping his cheek and feeling a wet stickiness. The boy checks his hand; it's covered in blood. It takes him a second to realize that it isn't his own. He's landed in a pool of the man that used to be a member of Strega, a man Makoto killed.

"You may have to kill them," The memory of Kirijo whispers. The Death doesn't bother him. It was the scumbag or the girl.

Then and there, Makoto realizes he doesn't really care about killing. He puked because he wasn't expecting all of the blood and guts. It's nothing like the movies. Is that… isn't that a bad thing? For once, Makoto doesn't like that he doesn't care.

"That fucker deserved what he got, but do you really think we're gonna let you get away with it?!" Juni cries, aiming a similar cattleprod wielded by the other guy.

Ha.

Makoto finally breaks out of whatever stupor he finds himself in, wobbling from side to side as he shakes his head to clear out any remaining dust. There are six—no, three Strega members. Makoto was just seeing double for a second there. Two men, Juni and some other guy, and a woman covered from head to toe in tattoos.

None of them are big enough to send him flying. How'd that happen? The guy Makoto recognizes is flanked on both sides by the tatted lady armed with a rifle and a man clad in glasses glaring over at him while trying to rock a lime parka while tossing and catching some kind of olive green ball.

Is that… is that a grenade?

"SEES trash," The guy with the explosive sneers at Makoto, who struggles to get back on his feet. "They sent you alone? After what happened to Aragaki?"

"I guess," Makoto groans, cracking the kink out of his neck as he straightens out. Whatever hit him hit hard. "They know I don't need no one else."

Juni and the tatted woman share a look as the new guy steps forward and scoffs. The woman takes aim at Makoto's chest. "Considering you slaughtered one of Takaya's flock without a care, I'll take you at your word. That means I must meet you with the same determination." He takes a stance, squaring his shoulders and glaring with as much hate as he can. Makoto almost wants to ask what he's doing, but the haze of red that overtakes the green guy's form catches the words in his throat. "Get out, Moros!"

A pendulum-shaped being pushes itself out of the young man's psyche through what appears to be sheer force of will alone. Sweat pools at his brow, and a firm glare with a strikingly murderous grin stretch like a wire along the glasses-clad guy's jowls. Makoto panics as more of the Persona comes into view. It's large, mechanical looking—Alien, antediluvian. Comprehending it jostles his brain and makes it pulsate in pain.

"End him," Parka-boy laughs, pointing at the rapidly panicking lone SEES member.

Trying to move quickly, Makoto flings his gun-wielding hand to his temple, only for his sweaty grip to fail him, sending the Evoker flying across the promenade.

The bipedal-robotic Persona fires a beam of energy from its singular left arm, blazing a flash of light straight into Makoto's chest. It's followed closely by the rat-a-tat of a gun. He feels the pain before recognizing it, sending the boy into zero-G for what feels to be an eternity.

Throbbing agony courses through him. It feels like he's been lit on fire, stabbed, and bashed by the heaviest sledgehammer the enemy could find. His consciousness begs him to leave. It fades in and out with the vignette peeking at the corners of his vision. This is how it ends?

At least it was on his own terms. He went out, finally doing something he loved. The colours in his eyes blend together as his head reels back while he flies like an eagle through the air. It's beautiful—what used to be a flaming mausoleum shifts into a bright, enrapturing void, a tunnel with a light at the end. Is this death?

Fitting. It's only fair that the Reaper takes him after snuffing out his first life. Blood for blood, an eye for an eye. Everything in this world is give and take. You can't just kill and not expect repercussions—especially if you can't find any remorse for your actions.

Well, he can't say it's been fun—

Makoto crashes headfirst through a window, surprising himself at the fragility of what he'd expect to be the break-in-proof glass of a mall's pop-up. However, expectations don't always meet one's standards as he smashes through it and lands in a mess of clattering metal and knickknacks, surrounded by shards of razor-like glass.

The boy groans, trying desperately to lift his body from the hardwood floor, using his arm to find someplace that isn't covered in sharp, pointy pieces. He can't move it. He can't find anything. His mind is swimming, his body hurts, and his chest explodes with fiery pain. He raises it a few centimetres with great difficulty, only for his distinct lack of a left-hand start to finally sink in.

He can barely focus on it; the pulsating beat of his heart closes any and all sound whispering and yelling in his ears. A voice begging him to send him a request for a sitrep, then a vaguely feminine one asking for his location. He can't find it in him to respond, only focusing on the missing extremity spurting gore from its gaping wound. Makoto stares at it, watching the blood shoot out with his racing heartbeat. Vaguely, he knows that that isn't a good sign—the longer it continues to bleed at this pace, the less plasma he'll have to stay conscious.

What's the point? The boy groans, falling into a puddle of his own making. Even with all his strength and desire to fight, Makoto knows he won't survive this. Frankly, he's kinda okay with that. A strange calm fills his chest, slowing his beating heart. Still, that vignette around his vision remains, and he can't quite hear anything aside from his own breathing and groaning.

"This…I'm alright with…" He coughs up a glob of something. It's metallic and salty. His lips are dry and cracked, caked with something he can't make out. A brief sigh escapes them, one he finds himself grateful for leaving.

This is it. He's ready. The boy closes his eyes, prepared for the end. He hopes he'll see his mom again.

"That looks painful," Makoto's eyes fly open, shocked by the sudden interruption. Upon reopening, he's face-to-face with the towering form of Thanatos hovering above him. He lost his evoker. How'd it appear?

It's… different this time, however. Instead of the monstrous, almost bestial nature it held before, the Persona seems practically childlike, its voice not dissimilar to the child wearing the prison uniform Makoto met on his arrival at Iwatodai Dorm. The metal helm clad atop its massive shoulders is cocked, held at an angle as it looks down at Makoto's brutalized form. "Are you okay?"

Makoto can only stare at it before finding himself urged to respond. "...Yeah." He replies as honestly as he can, seeing no reason to lie or hide his true feelings.

"You don't look okay. Can I help?" The true personification of death holds out its bleached gloves, offering its assistance with curious askance. "I don't want you to die."

"Why?" He can't help himself from asking.

"I don't know." It replies, just as confused as he is. "Do you want to die?"

Makoto thinks about that for a second. Of course, he does, but that doesn't seem to be what Thanatos is asking. The boy has wanted to die since he understood what happened to his mom and the lack of genuine sympathy from the world around him. However, the question, this time, rocks him to his core.

He thinks about Akihiko for some reason and the knowledge that the boxer has started to open up to him, much to Makoto's chagrin. Kirijo pops in. As much as he dislikes her, she's the only girl he's ever met that's made him truly believe she gives a crap about the people around her—even if she's a colossal prissy-princess about it. Takeba, then Iori. Makoto hasn't had the opportunity to get to know them yet, but here they are, within the recesses of his memories.

Weird.

The robot shows up, too, its weird mannerisms making him shake his head in mirth. Why? He doesn't care. He's never cared.

Can he even care? Is there even anything left within him that'll let him?

Kotone's face lingers in his mind's eye, and Orpheus croons within his psyche.

"I did, but now…" Makoto groans, trying and failing to force himself into a seated position. He's fading fast. Thanatos better do what it needs to quick before he passes out. "I dunno. Do what you want."

The Persona gives a curt nod before raising its large hands and hovering them over Makoto's brutalized chest. The boy stares up at it with interest, finding the action a little strange as Thanatos had never once come off as anything other than cruel and monstrous.

"I am Thou, just as Orpheus is." It responds to his thoughts. "Orpheus has the power to heal, so now I also do. Although my domain is Death, I find myself against the thought of you dying." Its massive palms begin to glow, and Makoto feels a sharp pulling at the wound in his chest. His missing hand begins to burn. He grimaces, biting back a yelp of pain. "Orpheus will have to take over. While I may be stronger than him, healing you is about as much as I can muster before regaining strength."

Makoto grunts, his back arching from the extreme agony coursing across his nerves. The pulling sensation reaches its culmination—three lead balls hover upward, making a shlup-ing sound as they exit the wound before flying off into some hidden corner. Bullets. Makoto really was shot.

"I'm sorry." The Persona takes on a different tone from before, regretful and mourning. "My contract with you has changed from this point onward. As the one who resides over Death, I have done something unfathomable."

Makoto's missing extremity tingles, pins, and needles course through the phantom limb. He lifts the arm, watching the hand grow back. Tiny fingers poke out from the wound, and the blood stops. It's shiny—literally—brand new, and the skin looks slick and wet to the touch. The boy feels sick at the sight of it. He can't feel the limb. It moves just fine, though. Changing his attention from his hand to the Persona, he curiously cocks his head at its statement. "What did you do?"

"I have stolen your death from you." It looks Makoto dead in the eyes from the black depths of its iron helm. "Your mortality is gone. You cannot die anymore."

The boy grimaces, but not out of anger or spite. The strange feeling of having bullets extracted by magic and having his wounds healed hasn't been a great one. He looks up at the Persona incredulously. "How is that a bad thing?" He grunts, forcing himself into a seated position as he tests his now fully-grown hand, opening and closing the unfeeling muscle. Makoto lets out a chuckle—An excited one. It may feel different, but it's better than being handless. "This just means we can take Shadow hunting to the next level. There's nothing to worry about, now."

"...We shall see." Is all it says before dissipating into a cloud of ghostly mist.

Makoto gets to his feet, the pain in his torso continuing to linger, but it's more of a dull throbbing now. With a huff, he takes in the shop's sights, looking at the walls filled with knick-knacks, swords, daggers, axes sharper than razors, and armour that looks sturdy enough to stop a tank shell.

An idea pops into the boy's head, remembering the loss of his evoker. He grins as he steps over to the armoury. He's gotta get it back somehow, after all.

"-Makoto! Respond, goddammit!" Akihiko cries orders into his ear, and worry drips from his trembling voice. "Shit! Aigis, get in there and find him!"

"Understood, I am breaking in."

The skylight outside shatters. Makoto vaguely hears the sound of clanking and fighting. No shouting, though. She—it isn't fighting Strega?

"I'm okay," Makoto finally replies. Akihiko sighs in relief. "I got knocked into the Antique shop. Found a bunch of weapons and armour. I'm gonna strike back."

"What?! What even happened?" The boxer incredulously asks. "You went silent, scared the crap outta me."

He reaches for the old Samurai armour. A demon mask sits below the kabuto helm, roaring with rage and ready to rip out the throat of its foe. The story of a swordsman who died in battle with a horrible empire that sought to enslave his homeland races through Makoto's mind. He returned from the dead and wrought vengeance across the country, slaughtering his enemies and terrifying his foes with an unquenchable bloodlust.

The Yomigaerishi mono.

Now, it's time to test if he's really unkillable. Makoto feels a smile stretch across his cheeks, an unfamiliar expression that looks nothing like a smile.

It's a demon's grin, a Revenant.

"Had a small brush with death," Makoto laughs at the absurdity of it all. On the other side of the call, Akihiko furrows his brow at the sound. "I've never felt so alive. Linking with the robot as soon as I can."

—

04/20

The Dark Hour

The Tower of Demise

21 Days Until the Full Moon

Kotone sprints past a leaping shadow, trying to rake its arms across her exposed forearm. She avoids it easily, continuing along her path toward her fallen compatriot.

"Damn thing!" Junpei cries, on his butt, with a bleeding wound gashed along his side.

"Crap," Kotone curses. Something must have hit his weakness.

The katana he picked out from the police station on the ground next to him. The bearded boy stares in fear at the encroaching shadows, a Cupid and two Cowardly Maya close in on him. "Help!"

"Yukari!" Kotone grunts, throwing her head back at the girl running behind her. "Summon Io and heal him! I'll handle the Shadows!"

The girl responds with an affirmative grunt, immediately setting off toward Junpei. Kotone flings her naginata upwards, carrying its blade downward, and reaches for her blanche holster tightly fastened to her hip. It flies to her temple with a practiced spin, and she pulls the trigger.

"Eurydice!" The redhead roars, glaring in protective rage at the group of shadows. "Destroy!"

A loud bang resounds through the still, dead air and the rapport of the gunshot is followed by glass shattering. The ghostly, ethereal form of her Persona apparates into existence, shielding her eyes with the palms of her hands. The beautiful, porcelain woman frowns—snarls, throwing back her head in rage. The vines crisscrossing along her arms sway with the movement, and she lets out a deafening shriek at the Shadows.

They burst into flames, screeching in pain. It takes a few moments for the black mass of goop and masks to fully dissipate, but Kotone's already moved on. Her hyperfocus is charged on the flying cupid that managed to survive the brunt of the attack, flitting about surreptitiously in a way that pisses the girl off.

It raises its bow, its pink mask pulled back in a jeering grin. With a flick of the diminutive wrist attached to the baby-like body of the Shadow, it reels the bowstring and fires an arrow, jamming itself into Kotone's chest.

Thankfully, SEES combat doctrine emphasizes using body armour beneath the school uniform. It sticks into the stab-resistant kevlar of her vest, poking a hole into her blouse just below the crimson ribbon.

"Guh," She growls, evoker at her temple. "Switch! Come, Nekomata!"

Glass shatters through the empty air of Tartarus, bouncing off the dull blue Escher walls and endless, maze-like corridors. Another gunshot rings, and a new Persona, a cat demon, appears behind Kotone, hissing. Its face is pulled back, eyes wide with rage, just like its master.

A tornado builds up at the dangling feet of the hovering cupid, arrogantly floating still as it gloats over, hitting Kotone in her breast. She hates these things. They're so damn gross. Green wind overtakes the stupid thing, and the arrogance disappears from its body language, replaced by fear and loathing within a second of realization.

Kotone would smile, but her head pounds. She closes her eyes, uncaring toward the death of the dumbass Shadow.

"Holy shit," Junpei mutters. "You can use multiple? How's that fair?"

"Shut up," Yukari huffs, her bow loosely held in her right hand. The massive cow head with a woman inside—as weird as that sounds—Io floats beside her. A green hue, unlike the tornado Nekomata summoned earlier, overtakes Junpei. But instead of killing him, it heals him. "There, all patched up. Stop running ahead, and I won't have to waste my energy healing you."

"Tch. I wouldn't run ahead if I didn't… never mind." The bearded boy sighs, clambering to his feet with the oversized Katana held loosely in his grip. Sloppy, Kotone grimaces, keeping silent to ease her throbbing brain. Maybe Makoto was right; drinking before work is a bad idea.

…Fuck, she wants to drink.

"You didn't answer my question though, Yuka-tan," Junpei grumbles, but it falls back into that falsetto funny-guy vibe he likes to put up. Kotone may be a drunken fool, but she knows how to read people. She's had him pegged from the start as insecure. "How come she can summon multiple, and I only get Hermes?"

Kotone scoffs, pretending she can't hear by collecting the money that appeared where the Shadow's corpse was. Don't ask her why cash comes from dead Shadows; it just does.

"She's special." That is all Yukari says in retaliation. Kotone imagines her shrugging.

"But why? How come she gets to be special and not me—us!"

"I can see right through you, Stupei." The pink girl laughs. "She isn't the only one that can summon multiple. Yuki-senpai can, too."

Kotone feels a small smile spread across her cheeks as she pretends to scrounge money. She finished a few minutes ago, but they don't know that.

She isn't all alone anymore, now that he's here.

"Shit, seriously?" Junpei sighs. It's more like a groan, honestly. "He gets sent on top secret missions and has a special power? How's that fair?!"

That makes Kotone's ears prick up. She can't hide her curiosity anymore. "You know about that? Did you hear anything about what they're getting him to do?"

"Uh," Junpei looks a little sheepish, covering the back of his neck as he avoids her gaze. He must have thought he and Yukari were being quiet. She doesn't care. "N-no, not much. Yuki-senpai said he was excited, and Mitsuru got mad at him."

"Really?" Kotone's eyebrows shoot up as she stands from her crouch. "He must have said something offensive. She's pretty hard to piss off. At least visibly."

"Yeah, well, he sure did a great job of it. Apparently, he's goin' to Paulownia." Junpei explains while Kotone and Yukari share a look of confusion. "I think he went with Sanada-senpai and some blonde chick. Speaking of which, who's she? She single—"

"Paulownia? That was Shinji's…" Kotone trails off.

"Shinji? Aragaki-senpai?" Yukari jumps on her words. "But he left. They said his job was too much."

"The scary third year who never shows up, Aragaki?!" Junpei physically jumps. "He was a part of SEES?!"

"Hey, he's a good guy." Kotone admonishes with a glare. "That's not important, though. The senpai gave Makoto his old job. That's crazy."

"What was his job?" Yukari asks slowly.

Good question.

"No idea," Kotone shrugs. Yukari and Junpei both visibly deflate at her blase answer. "It was kept hush-hush. Same as it is now. All I know, is Shinji was exhausted all the time and then just… dissapeared. I remember how haunted he looked, like he was doing hellish work."

"I sure don't envy Yuki-senpai," Yukari grunts, crossing her arms and looking down at the floor. "At least he isn't completely alone."

A scoff exits Junpei's lips. "Whatever. That guy can do whatever he wants, and I'm stuck taking orders from—"

"Enough chatter," Mitsuru barks into their ears, making all of them jump. "You have two more floors before the tenth. Do not engage the enemy and come back. You will fight it tomorrow night, after a proper rest."

Fuck, Kotone wants a drink.

She sighs, choking up on her naginata and sauntering forward with a jerk of her head to her squadmates. They both move to follow, but not before Yukari stares deadpan at the only boy.

"Taking orders from a what, huh?"