Now, you can’t move at all even if the giggling puppeteers has relinquished control of your limbs. Strapped down tightly with chains and manacles, it’s impossible to do more than wiggle your toes. Well...you can move your eyes but you’re not sure you dare to.

Before you stands the dis-proportioned figure of Dr. Giovanni. The tall hat’s brim and his collar are cradling darkness behind the freaky mask – you can’t see his face, but you’re sure his smiling.

“Isn’t this better, hmm?” His voice crackles despite minimal intonation, “waiting...on the precipice to your destiny!”

“Mmrmmmglllm!” Shut the fuck up!

He gets the gist even with the gag impeding your speech. “Now, my dear, there’s no need to be so angry. I’m merely going to help you seize the power waiting for you. Wait and see.”

Giovanni strides over and opens a door and in comes yet another person dressed in white with a red cross. This one is big and muscly and his face is hidden behind a shroud but to be honest you’re paying more attention to what he’s dragging along: a girl, maybe ten years old, is trotting behind (her upper arm is engulfed by the man’s fist). Dressed in the same type of clothes as you and barefoot...that’s where the likeness ends because she’s dirty, skinny, her hair is a mop of matted strands managing to shield most of the face but not hiding the dried-up streaks from tears and snot.

“There’s good.” You’re only vaguely aware that Giovanni had gone to the lab and come back before hearing his order.

The muscle man parks the child in the appointed spot in front of you and then steps behind you. Out of sight. You want the girl to run, to show some sign of desire to get out of this hellhole...but her eyes are unseeing and she simply stands with a hanging head.

“[Y/N],” Giovanni’s voice crackles with delight, “let me show you what I’ve been working on.”

...  Benimaru  ...

“No,” Benimaru easily shuts down the conversation, “you’re not coming with me.”

He knows Konro wants to protest – his oldest friend might even go behind his back somehow in an effort to be of help – but there’s no doubt in the captain’s heart. No one else. Information is scant about the Netherworld and the White-Clad who seem to cherish the relics of a burned world, so going there won’t be a stroll in the park. While Benimaru is confident in his own powers (sometimes looking for a challenge, actually), he doesn’t know what waits underground and can’t guarantee the safety of others.

Pausing at the heavy cloth marking the entrance/exit of the fire station, Benimaru looks back briefly at his friend. “Keep Asakusa safe.”

...

The only person who might be willing to share any information of use is Joker. Of course, he’s not the kind of guy that’s easily found when he doesn’t want to be, but somehow it makes sense to see the slender figure waiting in the dark. Only the pulsing glow of his cigarette is occasionally enough to illuminate the man’s maniacal grin as Benimaru jumps off the matoï.

“You remembered, good,” Joker greets him.

Remembered what? Scratching his head, the captain walks over to the wall of metal and concrete that’s blocking the way below ground. Judging by partially overgrown grooves along the edges, it must be supposed to open outwards, but there’s no handle or lock and there are patches of rust wherever water has had a chance to linger.

“Netherworld...nether means below, so I figured this was an easy place to start,” he shrugs and bangs on the gate.

There’s a faint sound of echoing from the other side but, naturally, nothing else happens.

“Huh...” smoke accompanies Joker’s words, “no one’s home?”