Misaka, when your colour is plastered upon the wall. When they take everything away. What then?

"I got us both outfits," Kuroko announced.

"I don't see the point of this festival," Misaka replied.

Kuroko huffed in her fashion, and began her brief lecture. "It's a Renaissance fair! Celebrating all that European culture has done for civilization and brought to Japan."

"Didn't Japan bar them in the 1800's..."

"No matter."

In their dorm room, they contemplated the afternoon's festivities. Between fabric and frills, and also with non-effective flourish, Kuroko drew out her purchases.

"Here," she exclaimed, "These are our outfits! Our dorm is doing the Europeans. Just remember, we're on the side of the immigrants when the demonstration starts. We're the flag girls, and we have to hold our colours."

"This is wonderful," Uiharu said, "They even have rock candy!"

Both me and Kuroko were part of the European guard, and I tried to talk to my friends, but Kuroko insisted I stay in-character. Saten kept poking my ribs regardless. Parents and teachers and students and family all filled the grounds.

"So many," Misaka muttered to Kuroko.

"Just stand still and proud," she replied.

"This bodice is tight. It puffs out my chest too much."

Kuroko simply giggled.

Then the soldiers came. Part of the male dorms, Misaka thought, but they were all dressed to a tee. Two-hundred strong with royal blue coats and flashing muskets. Their costumes were immaculate.

And none of them Misaka recognized.

Two-hundred strong in a battle line, the spectators cheered until the men leveled muzzles at them. Misaka turned to see the shift fall over Kuroko's face. Kuroko stared at the barrels pressed to them both. A man dressed as commander grinned.

There was a shriek.

Then the sound of thunder.

Bodies became abundant. A haze of smoke and fire burned Misaka's eyes. Her flag dropped. A musket ball ripped through Kuroko's shoulder, spitting cloth clouds and foul spray upon her face. Kuroko grimaced, pointed Misaka to their commander, and in retort sent knives flying.

The commander collapsed, and Misaka bolted for him.

"Surprise. Cultural festival. Two hundred to hit one." He coughed, and held up his spent rifle, "A musket meant for one."

Blood let though his navy coat for the knife in him. "Things may stay the same after we are gone," he said, "but they will not remain so. Level fives are gods, and all gods must fall. You were to be the first to kiss the ground."

The two hundred's guns rang, and though the terror and pain with their 'commander' in hand Misaka mouthed, "Why?"

"Misaka Mikoto, the Electric Goddess," he spat. A sick red upon the dirt. "Those upon the top will always be hunted. There are many more to follow me. See a life past school, you will never rest easy. All that was given will be taken."

He took her hand, and drew it to Kuroko's knife, half buried in his chest, and cursed her.

"Push in the knife," he screamed, "Bitch, open your eyes."