Akira's stomach lurches as the world warps, but his sailing experience serves him well. In no time, his nausea calms, his legs adjust, and he finds himself in an even stranger world than the subway. It feels like the aorta of some great, malignant beast, warm and red and dangerously alive. Fascinated, he crouches down to touch the floor, almost surprised to find it doesn't feel wet.

"I see why this is hard to describe," he says, looking up at Ren. His eyebrows rise at the sight of the new outfit, but he gives it a grin of approval. "Very stylish. I've always been fond of black myself."