Light. All I see is bright light in the unnaturally clear sky. It’s upside down, azure screen spurts from the cloud mass below. I’m flying. From up here, I see myself calmly wave arms to maintain altitude with minimal effort.   “Nice going,” I want to say, but lips won’t move.   Do I have a mouth? From here, I only see my back, so it bothers me. The head clad in a cloud of chaotic auburn hair turns around, and instead of expected fear of an unnatural movement, a single fact pops up in mind: birds’ necks turn further than humans’.   “Sometimes I try to think like a bird too.”   My lips don’t move, my mouth stands shut, my whole face keeps frozen. A feminine face with curious eyes, sadly, quite unattractive.   “But I don’t know where to fly. I don’t have the eyes to see,” I say, even though my green embers look fine.   “There, we’re going straight to that thing,” I try to point to the distant disk, the source of radiance, then realize something important. “We?”   “You’re heading there, but will never reach it, as long as it’s your destination.”   She differentiates between herself and me, and something bursts through the lead walls of memory. One image, two students on the grass of Yamaku lawns under dim stars. Something cracks to my left.   “You don’t have arms!”   For some reason, after shouting it out loud I get a feeling it’s true.   “Of course not,” she confirms while swinging them. “I asked for wings, but they said that then I would be free. Where did you get yours?”   Another loud crack comes from the right, and a burning hot droplet lands on my cheek. I look sideways to find a horrifying sight. Two black wings burst from the place where arms once were. I can’t feel them. They work through the wind on their own. Are these feathers or scales of something midway between metal and plastic? Where have I seen a similar design? As these questions surface, wings tremble and excrete more liquid, viscous and bright. Strangely enough, it looks like wax holds the high-tech construct together.   “Mine flop inside my head, like everybody’s. Did they take yours?”   Who are they, I want to ask, but the question is pointless. I know, and when I understand, liquid wax sprays from every joint. Stretched scales flak off in an instant, and I fall. I get it now. I get it as my body rips through the clouds. The world is fine, it’s me who’s upside-down.   What scares me the most is that I’m not afraid of the fall, only curious what it’s going to end with. Is this what a human being should feel?   ====   Dark. It’s so dark. I can’t see anything. On a second thought, that’s because my eyes are closed. Eyelids, more like eyeleads, huh? I make some effort and lift them.   Ho ho, no-no-no-no-no, let’s not do this for now. Morning light, usually so warm and welcoming, leaves a rectangular burning brand on my retina. That must be a window, so f I just roll to the other side, it’s going to be easier. If only any part of my body had strength in it. What in the world did we do last night to end up like this?   Blinking and squinting proves to be the way to regain sight, and in a minute it becomes clear that I’m facing the underside of a bed. Now to find out whose it is, because the blanket’s warmth implies that someone’s been looking after me. Thanks, stranger.   Pressure lands on my ears, then identifies itself as the door sound and horribly hummed “Put the Record On”.   “Hicchan~.”   Now this voice sounds weirdly quiet, in fact, it doesn’t hurt remotely as much as expected, which means Misha faces the same troubles. What could possibly- oh wait, I do remember.   “So how much did we drink?”   A hoarse whisper is the best available option; producing a real voice would probably blow my head up.   “Too~ much, can’t you tell?”   “Never again much?”   With a heroic effort, my body lifts itself to sit, making me stare at massive hips that end in striped pants. Pink stripe, white stripe, pink stripe, white, ruined brain can’t compile the word “panties” and a relevant set of emotions to go with it today. Fortunately, hips move out of sight on their own in one wide step.   “This you don~’t stare at. Waha, calm down, Hicchan.”   I’m calm like still seas, yet her bottle of cold water is appreciated. Thirst remains in its right, but at least some of the hellish heat inside leaves, and the sickness subsides. It’s now clear that this room is somebody else’s, interior being colorful and glossy and whatnot. Wait, it can’t be. It makes too much sense and therefore should not prove to be true under any circumstances.   “How did we both get to sleep in your room?” voice slowly returns to my throat.   “Can’t recall, wahaha-ow~,” she must suffer at least a fraction of this hell still. “I forgot where yours is.”   “That’s an easy question to ask.”   “Then you should’ve answered~.”   So I was that trashed, huh. Well, no wonder I can’t remember jack then.   “Hicchan~.”   “Huh?”   “Pass the uniform, please.”   And then it hits me. We are two teenagers, a boy and a girl, who spent a night in the same room together, and are now dressed in underwear and T-shirts. It takes some time to process the situation, so I mindlessly go through her stuffed wardrobe. Mom, forget every word said about the amount of clothes you own.   I take a brief pause of doubt, then turn to face her with resolve. Such a cheerful pretty face makes the next question especially hard, although the curves of her chest and other places, as well as juicy thighs and the mysterious relief of the underside of her panties bring in an opposite effect. Uh, brain, now’s a bad time to think in these kinds of terms.   As the silence lingers, she uses an unfair attack, namely starts stretching as if to shake the sleepiness away, and only when my face turns tomato-like, stops and hides her own embarrassment behind crumpled hair.   “Tell me, what exactly did we do yesterday?”   “You don’t remember? Promise?”   “Sure, it’s all fuzzy from the concert on.”   “Then it is a sec~ret!” seeing me weigh her clothes in hand, Misha compromises. “I will, after classes. You have some nerve to ask it on the spot.”   Her face acquires the hair color once again. Jesus, I’m one hell of a dick for not understanding she needs courage to say it out loud.   “Catch. Sorry, I just really need to know if we did anything irreversible.”   “Oh, you were in no condition for that~.”   Uuuuuhh…   “Did you… check?”   Uh-oh. The curly demon charges close and presses her arms against the wall, cutting my possible escape routes on either side.   “What an asshole. Enjoy the show,” she points thumbs towards herself, to where her blouse should be buttoned up for good, and I take a cowardly peek right down her splendid rack pushed upwards by the bra, “laugh what you like, and shut up. Better yet~, find your stuff and leave.”   She lets go, and for a while we’re busy dressing.   “You know-,” I start.   “No, shut up!”   “-sorry. You’re into girls, and I’m just assuming things.”   Surprisingly, she smiles.   “Silly~, I went out with a guy, even kissed him, no matter how hard it was, so appre~ciate it!”   “Well, uh, I do.”   Did she just imply what it sounded like she did?   “A… Wahaha~, you are dumb~.”   Oh, that girl! The only thing to do is swallow my pride and button up.   When it’s time to say goodbye and close the door, something warm and moist presses against my cheek for a second.   “This~ is our handshake,” Misha whispers loudly. Anyone could mistake us for a couple the way we behave.   “They’ll talk.”   “Let them, we won’t fear what Shicchan doesn’t.”   To be honest, few things can frighten during this hell of a hangover, and judging looks are off the list. I leave with head held moderately high, but to my surprise, no one giggles or spreads dirty gossip, except for Kenji in the middle in the male dorm’s hall, who quickly switches to another lecture on the horrors of feminists’ dungeons that I shrug off. One has to look really crappy to shut him up like this. The key to mass disappearance reveals itself in my room, where the clock shows half to ten. Oh well, with morning classes out of the picture, it’s high time to follow routine. Shower? Of course, it helps with head cleaning. Pills, hell yes, Misha’s first aid goes into the cocktail as well. Breakfast, oh sweet heavens, I’m so up for it if it stays inside my system. Nurse? Not so much, he knows how to push a man down the sewers with nice words, more so since I know yesterday was suicidal.   I sneak in class on break before the last period to lunch. Well, “sneak in” is a poor choice of words, as people try to hide their smiles while I stumble to my seat. So they already know, huh; only Shizune watches calmly, if with discouragement. Her desk stands out today due to a stack of thick books on it titled “Effective Planning”, “Leadership Capitalized, volume 2” and other boring stuff. In fact, it looks like she’s paying no attention to the classroom at all, because the table has exactly one study related on it, a pencil. And it’s Misha’s table, even, although this clears up when she passes me her tablet.   [Mikado will be absent until after lunch.]   Wow, no need to call her so formally the second she’s out.   [Did she say why?]   [Needed to think.]   The tablet goes back to its owner, then returns with more words.   [Thanks for the second place, but don’t repeat yesterday’s disgrace without a serious occasion. Student Council needs a clean face.]   And this is the extent of our conversation. I’d ask why she came here at all, but quickly packed books say her business here is over.   [Remind the eight-eyed papercraft team their lectures should be in the Council room by sunset,] is the last thing she shows before leaving.   Papercraft team. I can’t help but smile looking at the newspaper girls, they giggle in response. Better brace ourselves for becoming celebrities by the next Irregular issue.   One chemistry lesson later I still can’t believe that we’ve, uh… won the concert competition, yes! That’s definitely awesome, straight out of legends, made possible by Hanako’s alcohol-powered ABS. Come to think of it seriously, she did earn the closest thing to victory for us, but only got a lecture from Lilly and, judging by her absence, a hangover out of it. Don’t I feel guilty now, we should’ve thrown a celebration in her honor at least. Regardless of regrets, ecstasy remains, purely because of that achievement, of course. Shiny stairway rushes past, as does the sun flooded hallway and everyone looking for lunch. One of them gently stops me, though.   “Looking damn fine today, dude!”   “Yeah, thanks,” I wish he’d move out of the way, “every girl wants some.”   “Whatever, that every girl’s out the gates, watches Rin paint.”   “Who?”   “Josuke’s lover,” he frowns in irritation. “You’ve got no clue who she is.”   “We’ve met,” or I think so. Memory scratches at the back of my head.   “Well, gotta go. Time ain’t waiting.”   “To the Council room?” my turn to play mind reader now, big guy.   “Where else.”   There’s going to be enough gossip for months now, who did what to whom and how the council came to this.   “Dude!” he shouts as we part ways. “One last thing. Takashi’s a swell guy, but paranoid, don’t let his crap get to you. Peace.”   “Have fun, conspirators,” I mumble to his back.   Ah, hail the sun! Hail the best lamp in the world, capable of dissimilating heavy mood whenever you get one! Under this light our troubles become light and far compared to the gains. Daigo’s games worked out for the best in the end, as far as the main participants are concerned, so the big reasons to worry are all gone now. Who would’ve known that to taste life at its fullest it may be necessary to become a cripple. Ironic, huh? There, loud voices behind the fence wholeheartedly agree. There’s a piece of paper sitting in my pocket for this occasion. “Call me when you find life,” firefighter said at parting. Hah. Soon, old man, I want to hear her voice first.   On the way to the gate I meet Chiehara, who by expected coincidence is heading the same way. We don’t know each other too well, so the dialogue consists mainly of newspaper business, concert results and the Club of Men Lost to Society, the local name for guys in relationships. He assumes I’m a member, and frankly, there’s no need to correct his heavy confident speech. Word by word, we flow from Lilly’s disappointment with this year’s 3-2 acoustic performance to Naomi’s and Natsume’s conflicting orders for imagery to Rin’s attempts at gory realism. Something clicks in my head again, but I chase it away. Where’d the candy smell come from? I turn dark red at the question.   Talking gets harder the closer we get to the gates, because the noises grow louder. It’s unusual to have a crowd just outside, but if they’re admiring Rin’s art, it explains things. Josuke gets nervous when I voice my opinion and runs ahead while I laugh at his cowardice. Or that thing that sounds like cowardice for ten seconds.   The path goes along the fence richly covered with foliage, so there’s no way to see what’s going on on the other side. Squirting cucumber, someone called it, funny name. I subconsciously quicken my pace, eager to get to the archway that hides the scene from us, but the moment ex-blind photographer reaches it and turns, the change in his face pours a bucket of cold water on me. Then in a mechanic tone, strangely fitting his hoarse voice, he spells simple words.   “You best not see this.”   And with unmistakable rasp and screech the gates burst. What in heavens’ name is going on? An invalid question, as bits and pieces of words reached my ears before. “Disgrace”, “far from human”, “insult to God”. “Keep your eyes peeled,” Takashi said, and right this minute, his words sound perfectly sane. With a heavy heart, I walk the remaining meters, prepared to see Rin in the worst possible condition.   There is no Rin. In fact, few people have made it inside, despite the gates not only opened, but thrown on the ground. Some punks are holding the guards in check, several pumped men close to us are playing a game of stares with Josuke, must be their leaders. Behind the fence raves a mob of ordinary people, some armed with whatever came in handy. Maybe this is a wrong place to be right now, but something else is present, something that keeps me frozen in place.   “This one’s blind, boss.”   “No he’s not, he’s watching us. Another freak.”   They’re talking. What are they saying? I hear sounds, but not words. Words don’t assemble and remain meaningless. It’s because I finally see what’s lying there to the side, and it takes all the processing power to understand it. Eyes see, but the brain shuts it out, doesn’t want to believe, although acidic sense of horror crawls up the spine. It’s colorful, red, white, a little bit of green and pink. At some places colors overlap, staining each other. No, only red makes stains. It can be paint, it must be paint, it should be paint.   “Caesar’s to Caesar!”   “Save your humanity!”   I t ‘ s   b l o o d. The world stops once it sinks in. This strangely big pile of clothes soaked in red juice was Misha just this morning. Ahaha.   Josuke’s lips start moving, very slowly. Judging by his expression, he wants to warn me to do nothing stupid, but there’s no need. In fact, I’m so calm it feels inhuman; the terror is gone, there’s no anger, only absurd humor. Maybe I’m high, that would explain the slow motion around as well. In a gracious movement like levitation my feet lift off the ground, disconnected from any sense of purpose. Instincts. Instincts let me fly. “Every human’s wings flop inside their heads.” Rin knew something, even if it was a dream.   Impact from landing runs up my body in waves, reminding that I’m on the move. Move forward. Forward is closer to these people. Trying to understand the purpose, I realize this feeling of disconnection is a completely other emotion. I’m mad. Oh boy, my blood’s boiling so hard it feels like indifference, but make no mistake, once they get in reach, someone will taste pain. My sense of time reverts to normal, although the thoughts retain their Mach speed.   “-kai!”   Too late, Chiehara. Two more steps, and my fist kisses the first ugly face. Of course, the man brushes it off momentarily, but my open left hand’s already halfway through striking his throat. His face distorts as the punch closes his airways. A crappy move from a cheap show actually buys me a second to deliver a kick to his nuts, and then by some miraculous peripheral vision register another thug coming in from the side. Instinctively, I jump behind my victim, and right that instant a fist swipes through the air with enough speed to hear it whistle. That was too close, I think, and pull on chaotic short hair right in front of me. The man falls hard, becoming an obstacle to slow the fresh one down. His head produces a cracking sound, but now’s now time to bother with it.   My fist hurts. Pain breaks through adrenaline like a hammer through mosaic in a gothic cathedral undergoing demolition. More importantly, the pain comes bundled with familiar stinging in my left arm. Nurse would say “slow your ride” or something similar, as if I was free to choose life. As if I wished for this thug charging forward with bloodied hands. Bloodied means that… Emotions wash the pain away for the instant that takes me to sidestep, only to return it amplified. Not good, a full-on heart attack will render me useless, there are several more uglies to deal with, if no one from the crowd comes to their support, that is.   And then, something like a wrecking ball hits the back of my head. The scenery jumps and hurls away, replaced by rapidly approaching dusty asphalt. Bam. Get up. Get up right this moment or get done. I can’t. It’s like that time all over again, only with merciless summer heat instead of snowflaked. Paralyzing pain and loss, these things haven’t changed at all. “Did they take your wings?” They did, but I won’t have it. Students are here for reasons beyond physical, be it  simple wish to belong somewhere or an appetite for power, and there are no exceptions. I don’t know mine yet, but there definitely is one, I can feel it now. With this, I make a small miracle happen and roll to the side. The raving mob, now into view, has drawn closer, any second now it’s going to spill inside to reap what they came for. To them we’re all freaks, no matter augmented or not, and if you aren’t one, you’re a supporter who ends up like Misha, the convulsing mass in front of my eyes. Someone’s taken a hell of a debt today.   Faster. I need to get up faster. The problem is, my ears ring and eyes darken, and even if I could stand it, I can’t move a single muscle, while human shadows crawl closer. One of them holds a thing awfully akin to a tire iron.   “What is happening, Hanako?” Lilly’s anxious voice comes from far behind. “Hanako? Talk to me!”   Ikezawa screams like a military siren, like a little girl who saw twelve puppies put in a blender together. The crowd roars and steps forward. The iron’s shadow slides down. And among the acoustic chaos, one sequence stands out, light footsteps, one, another, one, another. This can’t be the end, I catch myself thinking, and promptly understand how many died with this on their mind. A sound of glass hitting the asphalt. It can’t end here, there are still things to do. Has my life gained so much altitude for this? A merciless crackle rips through the air, making the shadow shrink, but as the man behind me falls, his weapon lands straight on my ribs. Everything fades to black, and a desperate wheeze comes out. Not again. Not again. Not a   The last image imprinted in my mind is the angry crowd, so scary a minute ago, falling apart between the sirens’ wail outside and the clatter of heavy boots on the Academy territory.   ====   Enter your session ID: ********   Now talking in #mythbusters   Big_Uncle, I’ll need explanations.   We very nearly lost the source, what the hell are you doing?   Contact me.