As you and Mariko clamber over the rubble and into the hallway, it takes some time for your eyes to properly adjust. The light in here is dimmer still than it is outside, the only source being a number of sparsely placed lamps that throw weak splashes of yellow upon the walls. The corridor curves off out of sight in both directions, but you remember the balcony where the Dreamweaver appeared being to your right, so that's the path you choose.

Now that you have a chance to inspect them more closely, each of the doors on the wall to your right bear signs stating the name of an establishment in the Cloud. Most of them you don't recognize, but to your amusement, there are actually a couple that have the same name that they do in real life. Either Hayate doesn't care much about this part of the Cloud to be thorough, or his imagination kinda sucks. Mariko halts abruptly in front of one of them, so much so that you practically run into her.

"What is it?" you ask. She steps aside to let you see.

In the space where a door should be, there's a large hole in the wall more than twice as large as you are. You peer through it to find yourself looking into a place that would be more at home in some red light district somewhere. It looks like someone's put a wrecking ball through here, but you know better.

"So this is how the Enforcer was getting around without us seeing it," Mariko says.

"Unless there's another ten-foot Shadow running around here," you reply. Mariko gives you a slight shove.

"Don't even, Tetsuo!"

"Just kidding, just kidding. Let's keep moving."

As you continue on, you find yourself coming to appreciate the stillness of this part of the Cloud. To this point, Cloud Two's been an excellent reminder of why you hate the typical nightlife culture with its spastic atmosphere and inescapable sense of claustrophobia. But in a way, you're also aware that this is only the eye of the storm, just a brief respite before the real battle begins.

You find yourself wondering what Hayate's Shadow will be like. Personality-wise, you already know that it doesn't seem all that different from the idiot it's based off of. But all things considered, you suppose stupid and narcissistic are better than cruel any day – a quality that Mariko's Shadow had in spades. You don't want to get complacent, but you don't feel the same sense of apprehension about going up against Hayate's Shadow that you did before. It helps to have a capable partner with you, too. So far, Mariko's had a lot more poise during her first time than you did. It's easier to feel confident when you know it's not all on you.

You're then lifted out of your thoughts by the chirping of your earpiece.

"Hey, look up ahead! I think that's it!"

A little ways away on your left is a set of frosted sliding doors that stand out from the rest. They're bracketed by a pair of bright red accent lights that cast an ominous, sanguine glow over the area. Painted across the doors' glass panes are white letters that read "VIP LOUNGE" in big, block font.

When you approach, they slide aside with a faint hiss, beckoning you to step through. Evidently, security must not be considered much of a concern for anything that makes it this far.

"Are you guys going to be ready? The Dreamweaver must be right up there."

"Ready as we'll ever be," you say. "I mean, he's practically inviting us up there to beat the piss out of him. It'd be rude to refuse."

"You sound awfully eager, Tetsuo," Mariko remarks with a hint of disapproval.

"You're not wrong," you say, and step through the threshold.

The room on the other side of the doors is darker still, the only source of light being what little filters in from the fixtures in the hallway. The red velvet-carpeted staircase before you lolls out of the gloom like the tongue of some beast, leading you onwards into the warm wetness of its waiting maw above. However, the darkness isn't total, and within a minute your eyes have adjusted enough to give you a faint idea of where you're stepping.

Mariko switches on the flashlight on her phone and shines it up the stairs, but the beam doesn't reach far enough for either of you to tell what's at the top or how far it goes. She gives you a sideways glance and shrugs. Looks like it's time to start climbing.

Fortunately, the staircase isn't as long as it seems, and the only thing you end up having to be careful about is tripping over the steps. When you reach the second landing, you notice a soft glow leaking from a door left ajar at the top of the next flight.

As you mount the next step, you become aware of a soft ringing at the edges of your hearing. Twisting your pinkies around the inside edges of your ears doesn't do much to help. If anything, the sound is getting louder and clearer, resolving into focus as it morphs from indistinct hum into comprehension.

Voices.

There are two of them, faint, and they cut in and out like a phone conversation held over a weak signal.

"-ave to work…over… we get back…-orth it."

"-st…fun he's…ages."

"-ait until…sees what I…for…-day-"

"STO-"

"Aggh!"

The sudden scream knifes through your brain, sending you to your knees with a grunt of anguish. You slap your hands over your ears and squeeze your eyes shut so tight that the inside of your eyelids turn white, but that awful sound won't stop bouncing off the walls of your skull. Then, there's a hand on your shoulder, and everything ceases.

"Tetsuo?"

You open your eyes to find yourself staring into Mariko's, her face ghostly white in the pale glow of her phone. This is starting to become an embarrassing pattern. Quickly, you pull yourself upright and do your best to ignore the residual pain.

"I'm good, I'm good. Just…stubbed my toe on the step. Can hardly see a damn thing in here."

It's kind of a weak excuse, and it looks like Mariko knows it. But to your relief, she only says, "As long as you say you're okay," and goes on ahead of you.

Thinking back, something like that happened in Cloud One as well. This marks the second time that you've been assaulted like this before confronting a Dreamweaver. It might be some last-ditch attempt to deter intruders, but if that's the case, why isn't Mariko being affected?

You give your head a small shake to clear your thoughts. Some perturbing thoughts are brewing in the back of your mind, but this isn't the time or place to be entertaining them. Climbing the stairs after Mariko, you catch up with her at the top, and throw open the door.

As you step into the room beyond, the soles of your shoes are enveloped in plush, white shag carpeting. Mariko gags.

"Oh, yikes."

"Yikes" is an adept way of putting it – this room is nightmarish. You're sure that everyone has imagined their dream house at one point or another in their lives, and from the looks of things, it appears that Hayate wants to live on a porno set. Tiger-striped furniture, awful black velvet paintings of his own face, a gently bubbling hot tub in the corner across from an impressively-stocked bar…all that's missing is a heart-shaped water bed, which may or may not be behind the bead curtain to your left. On your right is an open archway that leads out onto the balcony you saw earlier. From wall to wretched wall, there isn't a single thing about this place that doesn't make your skin crawl.

"Not real subtle, is he?" you say.

"I don't wanna touch anything," says Mariko. "Let's just find him already and get this over with."

"Well, there's really only one place left," you say with a nod towards the curtain.

The two of you draw your weapons, and cautiously, you step through to the rattle of beads.

Slouching on a broad leather couch, his feet propped up a beer-can strewn table and the two curvy Shadows from earlier still attached to his arms, the Dreamweaver's head lazily draws his eyes up to meet yours upon hearing you enter. The greasy smile on his face flattens out quickly, and he pulls himself upright.

"Uhh, heeeyyy…I don't remember inviting you up here."

His eyes flit to your guitar, and linger on Mariko's gun.

"And I definitely don't like the looks of this. If you're looking for trouble, I think you're making a big mistake."

The two Shadows with him make a high-pitched squeal that sounds like "Yeah!" and squeeze his arms even tighter.

"Unless…"

He cranes his head back and points above him. Your own eyes follow. Hanging in the air near the ceiling is Hayate's body, his arms folded over his chest and trapped in the same kind of spectral coffin that Mariko's was.

"You can't seriously be here for that."

You snort. "Yeah, I can't believe it either, but hey, here we are. So unless you're gonna give us a damn good reason why we should let you take over Hayate's life, we're not putting anything away."

The Dreamweaver heaves an exasperated sigh and leans forward. You and Mariko raise your weapons, but he only reaches for a new beer, putting up his other hand in a disarming gesture. He casually pierces the top with a single finger and takes a deep swig.

"You guys really need to chill out. Why don't you take a seat and have a couple drinks as long as you're here?"

Your stomach churns as you grimace.

"No. No more drinks, and no changing the subject, you little weasel. This party's over."

The Dreamweaver rolls its eyes in a thoroughly irritating way.

"Gimme a break, dude. I'm serious – if you promise to loosen up a little and enjoy yourself, I'll forget this ever even happened. No tricks, no strings attached, no nothing."

"Why?" you ask. His efforts to put you at ease aren't exactly having the intended effect. The Dreamweaver shrugs.

"Why not? I'm not a bad guy once you get to know me. Don't give me a bad rap just 'cause you didn't like him," he says, jerking his thumb towards his motionless figure. The corners of his lips curve into a knowing smirk. "What? You think I didn't know? Hayate wasn't much of a secret keeper. You should've seen how much he wrote in the Book."

"Wait, what does that mean? What book?" Mariko asks, but the Dreamweaver shakes his head and wags his finger.

"Eeehhh, if you don't know, don't worry about it" he says. That's incredibly suspicious, but he's clearly not willing to elaborate. "But the point is, there's no reason to get yourselves all worked up at me when you're just as much to blame." He takes another swallow of beer before going on.

"'I just want to be somebody to someone else.' His words, obviously, not mine. The guy was obviously desperate for attention, but everybody just kinda turned the other way. I get it, though, he wasn't exactly what you'd call a 'smooth operator', you know? You probably thought he came off a little too strong, a little too desperate, right?"

You want to say something, but bite your tongue. He's not wrong, but you can still tell what he's doing. However, next to you, Mariko's expression softens and her eyes fall to the floor. The Dreamweaver notices this and smirks.

"Mmhmm, you know what I'm talking about. You thought he was a creepy, obnoxious loser, too. Well, so did he. He was perfectly aware that nobody liked him, and after a loner like you-" he points in your direction "-made it clear you weren't interested in being friends, he couldn't lie to himself anymore. And then that's where I came in."

That last remark makes you flinch as though you'd been hit in the gut. Even though you'd probably killed Hayate a hundred or so times in your head yesterday, you didn't think you were acting like too much of an asshole. You were at least trying to be amiable. Did he really notice? Were you really the reason why he gave up?

"Although," the Dreamweaver continues, "'blame' probably ain't the right word to use. After all, I bet that little punk must've had the time of his life today! If it wasn't for you, he'd still be trying to convince himself that if he just tries a little harder, he won't die alone. And, of course, I owe you one, too. He might be an idiot, but at least he had his priorities straight. I couldn't believe my luck when I found a human whose dream was to basically drown in panties and booze. I think both of us are better off now, wouldn't you agree?" He finishes off his beer, crushes it against his forehead, tosses it aside, and leans back on the sofa with an expectant grin.

There are a couple choice things you'd like to say in response to that load of horseshit, but Mariko saves you the trouble.

"Ugh! Are you even listening to yourself? How can you say all these things about Hayate-kun when you're no better? He might be a pervert, but you're absolute scum for taking advantage of his loneliness like this! You're just a freeloader creep with no excuse!"

The Dreamweaver's expression sours fast, and his "friends" make agitated tittering noises at Mariko that you can only assume mean something less than flattering.

"Now, now, calm down, girls," he coos. Then, addressing Mariko, he says, "You've got a pretty face, but an ugly attitude, sweetie. Tell me: just what about the way I operate has your undies all in a bunch? I'm not hurting anyone. Worst you can say is that I kept a bunch of human teenagers out past their bedtime. Is that really such a crime?"

"Not really, but I can see where someone might take issue with the 'stealing someone else's body' bit. Don't you think he has the right to pull his own life together?" you say.

The corners of his mouth twist into a scowl – the Dreamweaver seems to be struggling with maintaining his air of nonchalance. Fingers of purple smoke begin to seep from his skin and curl around his frame.

"If humans could do that, they wouldn't come crawling to us. Getting chosen by me was the best thing that coulda happened to him! We're both living the good life now – are you trying to tell me that you got a problem with that? What gives you the right?"

You readjust your grip on the neck of your guitar and swallow the hard lump forming at the back of your throat.

"To be honest? Nothing. But if I had to choose between having Hayate around and having you, I'd pick him. He'll change. I don't know whether it'll be tomorrow or twenty years, but he'll pull his head out of his ass eventually. You'll stay a shallow douchebag for the rest of your miserable existence."

"Well said, Tetsuo!" says Mariko, giving you a thumbs-up.

The Dreamweaver, however, just laughs. The two Shadows let go of his arms and scoot towards the ends of the couch as he doubles over and his cackling grows comically loud.

"Gyehehehe! I get it! I think I understand what's really going on here! You…you're just jealous – jealous of my good looks, jealous of my women, and jealous of my popularity! You just can't stand that someone that looks like him has it better than you! So you wanna take me down a peg, then, huh? You wanna 'restore the natural order'? Well come at me, then!"

The Dreamweaver buries his face in his palms, and smoke streams forth. When he removes them, that ubiquitous blue mask dominates half of his face. His Shadow girls rise to their feet and seductively lean against his shoulders.

"There's no way I'm giving this up!"

"Here they come!" shouts Nisekao, and the two of you brandish your weapons.

"All right, girls, why don't you give the guests some 'special service'?" the Dreamweaver sneers.

"Mmhmm!" they squeal in response, stepping between you and the Dreamweaver.

Mariko groans. "Do we really have to do this? You're not man enough to fight us yourself?"

"Don't insult me like that, sweetie. If I fought the way humans did, I wouldn't last very long, would I? Besides, these ladies have been itching to dance with someone all night. Entertain them for me, will ya?"

With that, the Dreamweaver falls back onto the sofa and the Shadow girls advance on you. They exchange a quick glance between them before turning their sights on you and Mariko. The dark, round eyes of the one on the right bore into yours, and you know you only have a moment to react.

"Launcelot!"

Your Persona appears just in time to heft his shield in between you and the Shadow leaping at your throat. You can't see what happens, but there's a harsh clang, and the Shadow hits the floor, clutching its head in agony. Launcelot lowers his shield, and the two of you regard the writhing creature with a sting of disappointment and pity. You were kind of hoping it would be smarter than that.

You motion to Launcelot, who flips his lance upside down with a nonchalant flick of his wrist and drives it through the Shadow's mask. A tortured cry fills the air as it shatters and the Shadow's body erupts into a column of thick smoke. Out of the corner of your eye, the Dreamweaver flinches and edges towards the other end of the couch.

Meanwhile, Mariko is having a more prolonged struggle with the other Shadow. The air sings with the crackle of electricity, the report of gunshots, and the whistling of razor sharp claws as she and Nyneve exchange blows with it. You're confident that she can take care of it herself, though. You've got your eye on a bigger prize.

Or at least, you had your eye on it. When you turn back to confront the Dreamweaver, the couch is empty with only a faint indention left behind in the cushion. You hear a rattle, and snap your head about just in time to catch the bead curtain swaying back and forth.

"He's making a break for it! Is…is that okay?" says Nisekao.

"Dammit," you mutter under your breath. "Mariko, he's running! Catch up with me later, OK?"

Mariko slides underneath the table and flips it over to block an incoming fireball, sending beer cans scattering everywhere.

"I'll be with you in a minute; just go!" she shouts, popping up over the top to fire a few shots at the Shadow.

That's all you needed to hear. Pivoting about, you dart after the Dreamweaver into the next room with Launcelot at your heels.

There's no sign of him on the other side of curtain, which seems strange to you. You listen for the sound of footfalls nearby, but the only audible sound is the idle frothing of the hot tub in the corner. Something doesn't feel right – he can't have gotten very far. You stride out onto the balcony, but it's empty as well. A thought strikes you, and you walk over to the railing. Down below, the party rages on. Jumping from this height would be insane, but for a Shadow, not necessarily suicidal. You think. At any rate, if he did jump, there'd be no way to find him in that throng of monsters anyways.

You're not ready to admit that you've lost him quite that easily, though, so you double back inside. Trying to remain as casual as possible, you survey the room with your peripheral vision. If the sneaky bastard really is hiding in here somewhere, you don't want to spook him. An anguished squeal sounds from the other side of the curtain followed by the bright blue flash of lightning. Sounds like Mariko's finishing up.

You pretend to have given up looking and walk back towards the inner chamber, all the while keeping your eyes swiveling about in your head searching for some disturbance that might give away the Dreamweaver's hiding place. But if he's in here, he's keeping his composure remarkably well, because as you draw near the edge of the room, you haven't even noticed so much as a rogue cushion or martini glass askew. Panic begins to gnaw at the edges of your mind, and you almost don't notice the sloshing noise behind you as you make to brush the curtain out of your way.

You whirl around, and in a tremendous spray of hot water, the Dreamweaver breaches the surface of the hot tub and leaps high into the air, a vicious smile plastered across his face.

"Ha ha! Gotcha, bitch!"

He extends his right arm, and the droplets of water hanging in the air coalesce and freeze into sharpened icicles the size of your forearm. They soar through air towards you, and before you can react, one of them slams into the center of your chest.

The impact wrenches the air from your lungs, forcing a hoarse gasp past your lips as you stumble backwards. This isn't real. This chunk of ice sticking out of your chest isn't real. The dull throbbing that radiates from the wound, the hot, wet blood seeping across your shirt, none of it could possibly be happening. How could you have been so careless?

The warmth of your blood melts the tip of the icicle, causing the rest of it to fall out and shatter into pieces on the ground. You quickly follow suit, and topple onto your back as your legs wobble and give.

"Tetsuo! Tetsuo! No, no, no, no! Get up! You have to get up!"

Why does Nisekao sound so far away? It's as if you're standing at opposite ends of a chasm with him yelling at you from the other side.

"Tetsuo? What's going on, why is Nisekao-kun freaking ou – Tetsuo!"

Mariko must have arrived. It's getting difficult to tell with the way your sight is clouding. Even her terrified screams sound diminished and segregated from reality now. You close your eyes, and all there is their disembodied conversation.

"Mariko, you have to do something! Please!"

"What? What can I do about this?"

"Can't you fix him with your Persona?"

"Th-That was a hangover, not a chest wound! I don't – sorry, Nisekao, hang on…"

The sound of gunshots and something shattering. Someone grunts.

"You have to try…"

"I know, I know. I think I bought myself a couple seconds, keep an eye for me, Nisekao."

"OK."

Your friends fall silent, and all that permeates the thick fog obscuring your hearing are the pained groans of the Dreamweaver. Then, a greenish-white glow permeates your eyelids.

A cooling sensation flows into you, leeching into your skin at the site of your wound and washing the pain away with it, leaving only a comfortable numbness behind. It reminds you of the airy lightheadedness that accompanies anesthesia, only instead of falling asleep, you're waking up. Strength returns to your body gradually, allowing you to open your eyes to the sight of Nyneve kneeling over you. Her hands hover over a gaping puncture in your chest, emitting a soft, pulsing light as her magic works to heal your wound. Mariko stands beside her, and when she notices that your eyes are open, her expression relaxes.

Feeling in your arms and legs return next, allowing you to prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better idea of what's happening. To your amazement, the wound is shrinking before your very eyes, getting smaller and smaller until all that's left is a red patch of raw skin. Finished, Nyneve returns to Mariko's side.

"Can you stand?"

Mariko extends a hand and helps you up.

"I'm feeling a little lightheaded, but otherwise, I think I'm good to go," you answer. For good measure, you pat the spot where the icicle struck you. It's sore, but at least it's not "put-you-on-your-ass" painful. Your shirt, however, is pretty much ruined. But at the moment, you don't care much about that.

On the other side of the room near the hot tub, the Dreamweaver is doubled over, leaning on one knee and clutching the other, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. Upon seeing you, his visible eye goes wide, then narrows to a golden slit. Wincing, he drags himself to his feet and shakes out his injured leg.

"Oh, come on! Not fair!" His tone is mocking and jocular, like the victim of a prank. "What do you need that kind of handicap for? That's some weak shit, human! Real weak shit!"

He darts towards the bar, tumbling behind the counter to avoid Mariko's pursuing fire. She jumps up to go after him, but Nisekao's voice stops her.

"W-Wait! Don't! He's just trying to bait you! I don't think he's powerful enough to beat you in a fair fight, so he's trying to create situations where he has the upper hand."

"What's he gonna do, break bottles over our heads?" you ask, hushed so that the Dreamweaver can't hear. You're wondering why you and Mariko just can't stomp him with your Personas while he's cornered and call it a day. Nisekao sighs.

"I…I don't know, but do you really want to take a chance with a Shadow that can weaponize a hot tub?"

You exchange troubled glances with Mariko and quickly decide that you don't.

"This is just my take, but why don't you let Agathion smoke him out, so to speak? His magic is ice-based, so wouldn't it make sense to be using him instead of Launcelot anyways?"

Again, Nisekao makes a valid point. You summon Agathion, and point to the bar. Agathion's bug eyes follow your finger with interest.

"Torch that sucker," you say. The imp snickers and breathes a searing stream of fire at the Dreamweaver's hiding place. Bottles burst, scattering shards of glass and splattering liquor all over. The alcohol mixes with the flames, causing a giant, roaring fireball to balloon towards the ceiling. There comes a short yelp, and the Dreamweaver scrabbles up and over the counter, his golden eyes wide and the hem of his shirt alight. He tumbles to the floor and madly rolls back and forth to put himself out. You and Mariko both try - and fail - to suppress your laughter.

"You think this is funny?" he screams. "You think you're clever or some shit, human?"

A frigid blast of air surges outwards from the Dreamweaver's body, extinguishing the flames and coating the room in a thin layer of glittering, crystalline frost. Crystals of ice rake across your face, tearing thin cuts in your cheeks.

"I'll freeze the both of you solid, and then, I'm gonna break off your arms and legs one by one while the other watches! How's that sound to you? That sound funny?"

He brings his arms up over his head, and a massive chunk of ice that used to fill the hot tub rises into the air over his head. With a grunt of exertion, he makes a tossing motion and the massive frozen brick careens your way.

Fortunately for you, Mariko acts quickly. She summons Nyneve, who casts some spell you can't see. The ice chunk slightly decelerates as though someone had thrown the scene unfolding before your eyes into slow motion. That gives you just enough of an opportunity to dive aside to safety. The world resumes its normal speed, and the chunk lands where you were just standing, sliding across the slick floor and crashing into the wall.

"Thanks for that," you tell her.

"You're welcome, but I can't rely on that too much. He's harder to slow down, and doing that kinda wipes me out."

Now that she mentions it, Nyneve does look like she's wilting a bit, and Mariko's breathing is more labored than usual. It's an inconvenient realization, but it seems like even your Personas' strength has limits. Finishing the Dreamweaver will have to be your job.

"Just hang back a little for now – c'mon, don't look at me like that," you say as she puffs out her cheeks. "I don't know what happens if you use your Persona too much, and I don't think either of us wanna find out. I'll at least hold him off while you catch your-"

"Tetsuo…"

"No, I'm not letting you argue with me this time."

"No, Tetsuo, it's-"

"Mariko, just trust me on this one."

"Tetsuo, look at your feet!" Mariko and Nisekao cry out in unison, and your head whips downwards.

You're trapped up to your ankles in solid ice, and only just now do you feel the sting of cold through your socks and shoes.

"Goddamn it, not again."

A few feet away from you, the Dreamweaver starts cackling his head off as his hands rhythmically cycle back and forth, shimmering blue with the aura of magic.

"Maybe you oughta take care of yourself before you start worrying about her, eh? Don't worry, she'll get her turn, too. I'm thinkin' I'll keep her intact, though. I've always wanted some pretty ice sculptures up in here."

"Son of a…" you mutter. You already know there's no chance you'll break free under your own power. Mariko leaps up and starts bashing the ice with the butt of her gun. The Dreamweaver's attention snaps to her, and he raises one hand. A spike of ice juts from the floor in front of her, and she falls backwards away from you.

"You stay where you are. This is between me and my best friend Tetsuo."

The Dreamweaver strides towards you with hands orbited by clouds of crystalline frozen dust.

"Tetsuo, you can free yourself! U-Use your other Persona!" Nisekao sputters.

You let out a frustrated sigh. The cold must be numbing your brain, too, for you to not think of that right off the bat. You're about to summon Agathion to get you out when a much better idea hits you.

Standing up as straight as you can muster, you puff out your chest with as much bravado as possible and call out, "Well, come on then. You gonna hit me, or just talk about it, you friggin' poser?"

The Dreamweaver's eyes appear to flash with anger, and he draws himself up large.

"You shut your mouth, human! I. Am not! A POSER!"

A bestial scream tears its way out of his mouth, and the gap between the two of you closes fast.

"Agathion! Now!"

The Dreamweaver is practically on top of you when Agathion materializes in front of him. The look of panic that flashes across his face as he realizes his mistake is oh, so sweet. He desperately attempts to change direction, but his momentum is too great. The Dreamweaver slides right into a white-hot jet of fire, and the sound of melting ice mixes with his distorted shrieking. The light from the flames refracts through the frost crystals that cling to every surface, transforming the lounge into a steaming, hellish cavern.

"Nice shot, Tetsuo! But…you can't kill him like that; Agathion's magic doesn't look like it's strong enough."

It's true - as entertaining as this is, it's getting you nowhere. As Agathion works on the ice at your feet, you cast your gaze around the room. At first, there's nothing that looks particularly useful insofar as killing Shadows goes. But then, your eyes light on an object lying on its side near the couches. That should do. That should do quite nicely.

While the Dreamweaver's still busy trying to extinguish itself, you make a mad dash for the gas tank that used to heat the hot tub. It must have come dislodged at some point during the fight. Summoning up the remainder of your flagging strength, you lift the tank in the air over your head and toss it in your enemy's direction. The Dreamweaver stops slapping at the burning remains of its shirt just long enough to sidestep it. The tank lands with a clatter and rolls to a halt against his foot. He stares at it dumbly.

"Are you kidding me? What were you thinking this was gonna do, dumbass?"

"This! Mariko!"

"Yeah?"

"Shoot it!"

In one practiced movement, she levels her gun at the tank and pulls the trigger.

*Click*

Her eyes go wide.

*Clickclickclick*

The Dreamweaver doubles over, howling with laughter.

"This is a joke, right? Or maybe you're trying to make me laugh so hard I can't kill you! You might've ruined my night, but damn if you haven't made it entertaining at least."

He takes a moment to get himself under control, and hardens his expression. Your mind searches furiously for some way to make your plan work.

"But I think it's about time I showed you the exit. Persona!"

The air hangs heavy with silence, and the Dreamweaver looks around, bewildered. An idea bubbles to the surface of your brain. You cringe at the thought of what you're about to do, but there's no time to come up with anything better – this is the best opening you're going to get.

"Mariko, get down! Come, Launcelot!"

You and your Persona sprint up to the Dreamweaver, and before he can react, Launcelot punctures the tank with a thrust of his lance and throws up his shield. The Dreamweaver's eyes go from you, to the softly hissing gas tank, and then to the open flames that are still consuming his clothes.

"Well fuck me, then."

An ear-splitting bang rocks the air, and a tremendous force plows into you, driving the breath from your lungs. The blastwave from the explosion sends you and Launcelot flying backwards across the room and tumbling across the floor. You clutch at your chest, moaning. It's like a heavyweight boxer just sucker punched you as hard as he could. Rolling over onto your side hurts even more. It aggravates the spot where the Dreamweaver stabbed you, and there's a new, sharp pain in your ribs. But thanks to Launcelot, you came out a hell of a lot better than the Dreamweaver did.

The damage was extensive. The tiger-striped furniture has been put out of its misery, cushions torn to bits and the upholstery smoldering to a generally more pleasing ashen color. A set of eyes belonging to Mariko peep from behind the overturned table, its underside totally blackened. The velvet paintings are vaporized, as is much of the carpet. And in the center of it all, a perfect ring of scorch marks where the Dreamweaver stood only seconds ago. The only things to suggest that he ever existed are the chunks of black material splattered across the floor and ceiling, and the half-mask he was wearing.

Wincing, you manage to stand up and walk over to it. Just like before, a strong compulsion to touch the thing seizes control of you. Your hand is trembling as you pick it up and bring it closer to your face. There's a flash of white, and suddenly you find yourself in the middle of a vast, white space devoid of definition or landmarks. The darkened silhouette of a hunched over figure lies on the floor some distance away, its knees tucked in tight to its chest. You find yourself opening your mouth to speak, but the voice that emerges isn't yours.

"Thought you could use some company."

And just like that, the vision ends, and you're back in the VIP Lounge. You drop the mask with a start. Another one...but not quite like the one you experienced in Cloud One. This time, it didn't feel as though you were yourself. Rather, you were someone else. But why? Before, it was easy enough to brush off as superstition, but it's becoming harder and harder to deny that the Clouds are doing something to you.

"Tetsuo, shouldn't we check on Hayate-kun?"

Mariko's voice drags you from your reverie.

"Yeah...I guess if we have to."

"At least try to be nice to him, Tetsuo. We went through all this trouble, after all."

You step back through the bead curtain, and sure enough, Hayate has been freed from his shadowy prison and is already sitting upright on the couch, clutching his head. As if on cue, white lines slice across the room, and Cloud Two falls away, leaving the three of you in an empty karaoke booth.

"What the...why am I...huh?" Hayate mumbles to himself, but when he notices you and Mariko, he abruptly stops. He locks eyes with you, studying your face like there's something he hopes to find in it. Then, his expression contorts into a look of unmistakable anger. Before you can say anything, he cocks back his fist and punches you square in the jaw.

"Hayate-kun!" exclaims Mariko. You rub your jaw. He hits quite a bit harder than you'd have figured, but at least nothing's busted.

Hayate leaps to his feet and gets right up in your face.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he yells.

You grimace. "More like what the hell is wrong with you? We just saved your life."

"I-I didn't want to be 'saved'!" he says. With that, he storms past you and out of the booth, leaving the both of you thoroughly bewildered.