Miroku speeds down the street, thinking of anything to deter him from the image of the Yukan Club glaring at him, judging him, regretting for him. He is going at a speed where everything turns to a blur and no detail can be made out, but a whimper, almost completely and utterly silent, catches his attention. He turns his bike into the curb, parks it just so, and listens once more for the faint sound. He moves towards a dumpster pressed up against the wall of a pharmecy. He can very clearly make out the trademark orange colour of the prescription bottles as they shine, using the light of the street lamp. He takes another small step towards the dumpster. A whimper can be heard. He takes another step. Another whimper, this time desperately muffled. He is now six feet away. He takes two steps. A faint scream blocked by a hand is softly piercing the air, wanting desperately for Miroku to go away. But he cannot. He needs to see the source of the whimpers, if only to help.

He takes steady steps, causing the screams to be more desperate and to be broken apart as the victim hyperventilates in almost a pitch black silence. He is now only two feet away, and can clearly make out the silhouette of... a girl?