Yukine couldn’t hear Ishtar’s cry over the dull roar of his own quirk and the villain’s… couldn’t see anything but the entombed violet glow that he now embraced, at least until he closed his luminous eyes against it. His body shuddered against the whips of purple that spiraled out, rocked by pain as he fought to contain them.

The power was too great– it rended Yukine from the inside out, patches of purple tearing through the black until it was no more. It was like a sun burning through fog from within. He didn’t even think to scream as his electric body was doused in pain hot and sizzling, which dulled to a throbbing numbness before fading into nothing. Yukine compressed inwards against is undoing and then sank into oblivion once again.

Yet, somehow, he opened his eyes, staring at the pebbles that comprised the concrete.

He... was still here?

Where was the villain?

The dome receded, Yukine once again rearranging himself into distinct head and limbs, shrinking as he released the energy he had borrowed back into the grid of the city.

His eyes searched the crater below it, then inspected his spectral hands. He hadn’t been alive to begin with, not in the conventional sense– not anymore– but he was glad to not be entirely dead. The realization bewildered him.

The ghost furled and unfurled its fingers. As he shrank, his tether grew shorter, and so the ghost bobbed like an old balloon towards the place where the meter had been blown from its wall, to the wires that he currently clung to. When he was about the size of a small child, he sank to the ground, sitting atop the tail that currently bound him. The energy that crowned his head– his “hair”, so to speak– whipped in an unseen wind. He continued to study his hands.

The dark-haired hero cheered jubilantly, ecstatic that they had triumphed and survived. The ghost huffed, a surge of static rolling off of it. He’d lost his body, the one that Jackie had given him. It had been a spare piece of machinery, and… god knew how long it would take for her to build another. Until then…

The dark-haired hero was busy giving a speech, lauding their teamwork as the source of their success.

Truth be, Yukine was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And he’d only really helped because of Ishtar. She was a friend of Jackie’s, and Jackie would probably be sad if anything bad happened to her.
“Why would I need to get out of here, hn?” the ghost said petulantly, an agitated crackle rolling off of it, “All I did was help!”

Yukine did not fully grasp the situation, truth be– though Ishtar had mentioned multiple times that she was not only a villain, but the Queen of them, the specter had not heard a single one of such proclamations. Or, if he had, he’d plumb forgotten so. And he... he was guilty by association, despite his innocence. Yukine, unaware of all of this, thought that the dark-haired hero was seeming mighty ungrateful for the help that he and Ishtar had offered– and thus Yukine felt completely justified in the vitriol with which he spoke.

The ghost turned his attention towards the pale-haired woman, bobbling a bit higher. When he spoke, the venom in his tone had faded, laying bare the true emotions underneath.

“Ishtar-” Yukine quavered, “I can’t- I can’t leave without a body. That’s why- that’s why Jackie gave me the suit… I was trapped in my old home… and she found me…”

Had he tear-ducts, he may have cried. His voice sounded like he was going to. He couldn't leave, even if it was in his best interest to do so. If Ishtar left, he was going to be truly alone again. And this time, he would be truly trapped– for though the circuitry of his house was a small, familiar scope, he would never be able to navigate the city’s power grid. He would really, truly be a lost soul. And everyone would forget about him again.

This realization flooded Yukine with despair so great that the fact Ishtar had been the one to put him in this situation in the first place seemed of little consequence.

“You should go…” Yukine murmured, his voice little more than a buzz, “I’ll… figure something out.”

He had just been trying to help, in the only way he knew how– if he couldn’t hit hard, and couldn’t protect others, he had to be enough of a distraction for the heavy-hitters and the defenders– a green light overtook him, and his limbs ceased moving beneath him. It was like those dreams where you ran with all of your might, and went nowhere–

Shit.

One moment, he was immobile on the sidelines– the next, he was aloft midair, directly ahead of Ishtar–

Shitshitshi-

A single moment in time dilated into an eternity– he saw the whites of Ishtar’s eyes as she realized the inevitable– Yukine reached towards her, a reflexive plea. Her fist tore through him like a hand through wet paper.

Not again…

The world went dark.

The bits of metal that went spiraling out from the impact were carried by a wave of electricity, which would set any bystanders' hairs on end. As the ripple of electricity faded, it would seem that the robot had truly been snapped from existence.


Darkness…

…Darkness and silence…

…Was this really what death was like…? Dark, quiet and comfortable? It was like easing into a bed you’d slept in for decades, plush and cozy. Whoever had called it the “eternal slumber” was onto something. Yukine repositioned his arms, twisting his body into something that was more suitable for sleep.

He’d already died once before, anyways– in a manner of speaking. Dying a second time wasn’t anything worth getting worked-up over.

Something tugged at his elbow, attempting to wrench him from his earthen bed.

…the pull of the afterlife, perhaps? It would be interesting to see which school of faith, if any, had gotten it right. Yukine leaned into it, passively curious, and *ZIP!*

…what his elbow had found was one of the city’s many underground transformers, which thrummed with enough energy to power numerous buildings. Such a wealth of power at his fingertips sent a shiver through Yukine’s body, which sparked with delight. Not death… but a second– no, third– chance at life… but he had to get back to the surface. If they left him… he’d be lost in the labyrinth of wires beneath the city forever… and the family he’d so carefully begun to build would be torn from him.

The ghost surged outward, grasping for any outlet, any ungrounded charge– and what he found was the old stand upon which an electric meter had been mounted– ripped from its post by the force of the blast.

Yukine burbled out of the sputtering wires, building like a bubble of black electricity, bolts of white arcing away from him and lighting upon the ground. Hands formed, then legs, and finally two eyes opened.



The electric specter lingered at the edge of the battlefield, its fathomless white eyes drinking-in the scene before it. The villain, restrained, as all the heroes converged upon it, hitting it with everything they had… it was quite the spectacle to behold. It made the ghost’s form hum with pride, and it wanted so desperately to join in the attack– but the risk of electrocuting and killing those present was too great… particularly in this form. With such a fount of power at its command, friendly fire was practically inevitable.

Yukine emerged from the television, his arm followed shortly by his head, other arm, and torso. Having previously burnt the rug near the television, his hand did not have the same incendiary effect as it had before. And, unlike the last time where his emotions had fueled him to fill the room, he stayed a normal five-foot-tall human-ish size as he emerged. His legs followed the rest of his body, stepping over the shattered screen of the television.

Yukine stood on the burnt rug, his luminous white eyes peering into the dark. Whatever creature he had seen before, it had scurried off out of view. There was a hum of surging electricity, and as it welled, a voice formed in the echo–

“Get out of my house, you rat!” the specter snarled, white-hot electricity arcing off of its shoulders. Truthfully, Yukine had never seen an opossum before– so he didn’t know that he had seen one. To him, an unusually large rat was now trying to turn his former house into its nest, and this was almost as great a crime as humans squatting there, in his opinion. He stalked the length of the living room, watching his footfalls to ensure that he stayed in the burnt areas to prevent further damage to the house.

He would linger at the end of the couch closest to the front door, waiting for a sound to tell him where the creature had skittered off to. Behind him, a tendril of white light danced– it tethered Yukine to the t.v., and kept him from venturing too far. As he walked, the tendril clung to an old outlet, too. It was reminiscent of one of those plasma balls often seen in the kind of stores that sold neon signs and glasswares in support of various adult purposes. Rays of light passively reached-out towards anyone who touched the orb, just as rays of electricity stretched from Yukine towards any avenue he might be able to travel down.

If he heard any indication of the opossum’s location, he would slip right back into the wall through the outlet in the direction of the noise. But, for now, he watched and listened.

The wave of electricity was by no means subtle– and the villain responded with ease, steering the attack away from him and towards the familiar silver-haired woman, and a number of the others in attendance.

Yukine gave a dismayed shout, his vocalizer pitching as if a glitch were befalling him. Apparently, such emotional sounds put a strain on the speakers built-in to his body. Thankfully, his attack was easily weathered– or, at least, no one died.

The silver-haired woman threw a luminous white shield, which protected herself and her miniscule compatriot. And, no sooner had the silver-haired woman endured the attack, was she upon the diminutive quirker.
In an instant, the robot was swept into the woman’s arms and held tightly to her in an embrace. Indecent. Immodest. Plain emasculating–

“Errand running for Jackie-” was the embarrassed response, “I-I-Ishtar-san, i-is now really the… the best time for… for this?!”

He may have been less than a meter tall, but… a man needed to maintain his dignity! A fan began to whir in his chest again, indicative that his mechanical shell had begun to warm. Sure, in the proper contexts, very few would have protested being held by a pretty lady, but right now it was… really uncool! Yukine couldn’t see the villain from this angle, and that meant he couldn’t attack. And that sent a shudder down Yukine’s spine.

Thankfully, after a brief greeting, Yukine was set down and his dignity was returned to him. He staggered a bit as he regained his balance, quickly scrabbling away as Ishtar ran full-tilt towards the villain. He lacked the raw power to attack like that, and also had no way to defend others, with his size. But… his power had been significant enough to draw the villain’s attention. And… perhaps that was something he could capitalize on.

Yukine stepped over rubble and found his way to a car that had been pushed half onto the curb. He tucked his hand into the space where the spokes of the rim met the center, hoisting himself up. He scaled the tire and hoisted himself onto the hood of the car. He stood there for a moment, feeling prone and frankly terrified. Before cupping his hands near the speaker on his chest.

“H-hey, you o-overblown stoplight!” the robot called, his voice cutting through the din of the fight like the whine of a mosquito, “Yeah, I’m talking to you, glowworm! Th-think you’re so hot, bullying a- a bunch of kids and a- a g-grandma with your light-up powers?!”

O-kay, the hood of the car was starting to feel a little too exposed, so Yukine hopped down, jogging towards the rear of the car before resuming his shit-talking.

“In- in Adachi, no less!! Y-you couldn’t find Tokyo proper if your life depended on it! Pathetic! Sad!”

He couldn’t land a hit. He couldn’t protect anyone else. But maybe he could agitate the villain enough to make him sloppy, and let someone else do something really cool.

Yukine just had to keep moving– he had to keep running, and he had to keep running his mouth.

“I bet- I bet your momma helped you with your terrorist plan!”

He darted in the opposite direction, an absurd little laugh burbling up from within him. This was pure insanity– but in a way, it was kind-of fun.

“I bet it was done-up in construction paper and glitter glue! Not even the good stuff, but the generic stuff that tears if you erase it too hard!”

Yukine planted both of his feet, waving his arms wildly at the villain.

“You hear me, you second-rate nitwit?! Do you understand? At best, you’d get a thirty-second news-spread, and even that’s being generous!”

---

Yukine sat upon the floor of the apartment, his back to the sofa and bulbous head inclined slightly back. From here, the room rose up around him to swallow him up– even the seat of the couch was above the level of his head when he sat. Was this what it meant, to die? To be converted into pure energy and then… reborn as some pale-haired foreigner’s robot-son? It could have been worse, he supposed. He could have been reincarnated as a toaster– or a toilet. That was infinitely worse than having free room-and-board, and an almost-human body. A fan sputtered on in his chest, keeping the inner workings of the armature cool.

There was a lot the young lad still didn’t understand, and much that his mind couldn’t make sense of. And try as he might to pull information together, all he had were specters of what once was, floating around in his mind, without context. Sometimes he forgot who Jackie was– forgot where he was, or how he’d gotten there– or even who he was. That was okay, though. Jackie said it wasn’t surprising, since Yukine had been alone for so long. Maybe things would start to make sense as he rejoined society– at least, as much as one tiny robot could.

His attention waned, slipping into that all-too familiar fuzziness. He supposed it was kind-of like taking a nap, as his mind was still very human… but without eyes to close, he just kinda faded out of awareness instead of totally shutting-down.

A metallic voice jarred the robot from its reverie.

< “I’m here. You have one minute to let me in.” >

Yukine sat-up, optics swimming towards the front door. Funny, he hadn’t heard the doorbell, or knocking– nor did he think Jackie was expecting guests. Well, she could have been. He may have just forgotten. The robot rose stiffly into a standing position, its little rubberized feet squeaking against the floor.

“Coming-!” he called-out, as if by memory, “One moment! I have little legs-”

The diminutive robot ran for the door, looking towards the knob with trepidation. It was just out of reach, even if he jumped. And he definitely couldn’t reach the lock. Yukine retrieved a chair, using all of his might to push it. The feet of the chair groaned with protest against the tile, announcing his route towards the door like heralding trumpets.

Another great feat was scaling the chair to its seat, then striding across it to flick the lock and pull at the handle. Yukine battled briefly with the chair to get it away from the door, dropping to the floor as the door swung open. From his almost-meter off of the ground, he inspected a woman with even paler hair than Jackie’s. Everything about her was pale, except for the vibrant pink eyes that stared back.

“Is… Jackie? Expecting you?” the small robot inquired. His keeper’s name had almost escaped him, but Yukine had held it tight at the last minute, against all odds. Whether or not the woman answered him, Yukine would begin to tug the chair away from the entryway, followed by more protesting squawks of chair legs-against-floor.

“I can’t… let you in… unless Jackie expects you…” Yukine explained, “...regardless of your self-imposed time frame.”

Having returned the chair to its table, the robot trotted back to the entryway, ready to halt– or at least hinder– the woman’s advance, should she be uninvited.

A winged orb emerged from the woman, and the woman began to converse with the sprite. Their words fizzled and hummed like static, muffled by the walls, tickling at the specter’s brain. It was like the melody of an old song that you hadn’t heard in years drifting through the doors of a bar. If you could just push open the doors and hear it better, perhaps you would have some revelation or insight into the person you once were–

The spirit of the house was resting just behind the camera, shuddering as the woman ventured further. If it could just make out the words that she was saying, then perhaps it could… get to the root of its own truth. It pressed more emphatically against the confines of the camera, beyond the lens that allowed it to see out, and it felt a small *pop!* as it found the microphone of the found the wiring that connected to the microphone.
Whoa, that was new. In all its years of being trapped here, it had never gotten the microphone to work. Still, the specter lingered, listening to the disembodied voice ridiculing its female counterpart. The excitement was short-lived when the spirit registered that the two seemed to be arguing with one another. It noticed the silence, however, and it returned its attention to the lens– and it was astounded to find that the intruders were watching it back. The lens clicked a few times again, refocusing on the pair. Whatever was watching them wasn’t looking away.
The woman’s address sent a thrill through the ghost– fear, dread– roiling like worms. Most people ignored the spirit, disrespecting its house and invoking its fury. They would taunt it from what had once been its family’s living room, its family’s kitchen and dining area, from its sister’s old bedroom. The spirit had come to expect that kind of disrespect and ignorance, and anticipated doling-out some sort of justice on its family’s behalf.

It did not expect people to address it directly, moreover in such reluctant tones. It– it didn’t– understand-- did all those people, all of those years, know that he was here? Did they even care? Or was this all just a game to them? Let’s go to the house where the boy died and never once pause to think that he might still be there!

The camera light ceased its rhythmical blinking, and instead glowed a resolute red. A fury was roiling in the spirit’s core, knotting itself over and over as fear, and frustration, and confusion added itself to the mix. Why was this lady any different? Why was she trying to talk to him? Was she dangerous? Could she hurt him? Or ruin his house like every other person had done before?
The light on the camera brightened, an audible hum building in the wall, pitching higher and higher. He wouldn’t let her take his house– he wouldn’t let her hurt him–she couldn’t be allowed to destroy the place any more. The hum was unignorable, almost like the cry of an overworked computer-fan– but it ended in a weak little *pop!* when the camera had taken all it could bear. The light fizzled out, and a small tendril of smoke looped and curled from the camera. Whatever the spirit had done, its camera in the living room was fried.

No– she had to go– it had to find a way to make her go–

The spirit followed the same circuit to the plug where the t.v. was, and immediately pressed against it as it had done before. The t.v. flicked on, seemingly on its own volition, painting the darkness in rippling white light of static, the speakers similarly filling the space with the torrent of deafening white-noise. The screen had, at one point, been cracked, sending an iridescent band of light off to one side.

If it could hear and see through the lens of a camera and its built-in microphone… Perhaps a similar logic would hold for the speakers of the t.v. …?

The spirit spilled out the wall, allowing itself to flood the t.v. with its power until it pressed against all edges of the old electronic. Even if it no longer had a body, it still remembered the feeling of speech. All it had to do was open its mouth, and–

The noise thinned out of existence, making way for a single uttered word–

<< Why? >>

The question was plaintive, the voice that cut through the static was breathy but boyish. The static rushed into the silence behind the word, filling the void once again. But the word had clearly been there. The spirit could see her, still, albeit from a lower angle now– and could hear her, too, because of the built-in features of the television. But– time was a funny thing, for a creature that had nothing but time– its attention would wax and wane with little indication as to why, and one moment its lucid mind would ask “why?” while the next it would be blindly fearful of the person before it.

The spirit pressed further against the screen, a smudge of black becoming visible against the screen in sharp contrast to the static around it. The spot grew and grew until it resembled a head and a bust cast in a flat black. Two glowing, white eyes bore into the woman. A hand and arm emerged from the static, too, pressing its palm against the glass.

Little arcs of electricity slithered across the carpet, etching little serpentine burns towards the woman.

<< WHY? >> the spirit repeated, its tone more terse, now. And when it spoke, the silhouette’s mouth formed the word as it was uttered, its inner mouth glowing white.

Another hand joined the first against the glass, palms flat. Its luminous gaze was unblinking, and its face was devoid of most comforting features that one would expect on a human face-- much like the lack of features upon the house that it inhabited--