He's back again—that boy, the one with weirdly colored Digivice, but no Digimon partner. The boy who inexplicably hates you, and all the other kids who came here with you from summer camp to the Digital World.

"Hello, everyone," Throat says, smiling. You all freeze. He's deceptively relaxed, with his arms folded standing on the forest path. Nothing in his calm demeanor betrays the very worrying threat his presence actually brings.

'Throat.' That's what he calls himself, not giving any explanation for the bizarre nickname. Even when he says it, you can hear the arrogance dripping plainly off the word. He makes no secret of the fact that he thinks you're all the scum on the earth. It's only been a few days, but already you find Throat's smile faintly disturbing: manic, almost, like he'd enjoy nothing more than seeing you skinned alive.

At the sight of him, you suppress a shudder, and start to edge your way toward the back of the group. Suddenly, shame curls in your gut and forces you to remain in place. Being twelve, you are the oldest in the group, and that technically means you're also solely responsible for protecting everyone else. It doesn't, shouldn't matter at all, that Throat is still several years older than you, probably at least fifteen.

Or that he's leagues more dangerous, even without a Digimon.

"Oh no," cries Mimi, pointing at him and not even attempting to keep her voice down, "it's HIM!"

Privately, you agree wholeheartedly with her sentiments, although you'd never dare to voice it aloud. Throat is exactly the last person you had hoped to see today, after the fiasco at Toy Town—you've all barely put a kilometer between yourselves the childish wonderland, where mayor Monzaemon had apologized to everyone for the black gear incident with a Lovely Attack that made you all incredibly lighthearted and happy. The last of that joy sinks and fades from your chest now, as the whole group tenses at the new encounter.

As if sensing your distress, Gomamon immediately presses up against your leg, glaring over at Throat with his orange fur standing on end. You and your so-called Digimon partner haven't exactly gotten along great these past few days since you've met, but despite that you still do your best to watch out for him, and you like to think that he'd willingly return the favor if given the chance. You'd sort of like to say something to reassure him now, or maybe yourself, but angry voices interrupt your worried thoughts before you can speak.

"You again?" demands Yamato from the front of the group, taking an aggressive step forward. Already he's completely livid, which is no surprise, considering what that creep pulled with Takeru the last time he showed up. "You've got some serious nerve, following us all the way out here! What the hell do you want?"

Throat smiles. You think he's ordinary-looking enough at first glance, with tanned skin and choppy, uneven dark hair pulled into a ponytail at the back of his head. His clothes, though visibly worn, are nothing special, especially not for a kid who's a few years older than your group. You noticed a number of long, faded white scars running down the length of his right arm during the last encounter, but that's only thanks to your unique sensitivity to medical issues, a result of your first-aid training and family history. At least it's been good for something since you got here.

The thing that really gets you is Throat's eyes. You suppose that they're somewhat unusual in appearance, ice-blue in color, with irises that are just shy of oblique in shape...but the unsettling gleam behind them is what always sends chills running down your spine. Every single time, like clockwork, when he turns those blue eyes on you, something at your mind just raises an automatic alarm—every nerve beneath your skin screaming at you to run.

Something is just not right in that kid's mind. You don't need to be a doctor to see that. And, though some of the other kids might not be ready to admit it yet, Throat's behavior toward your group as a whole is really beginning to frighten all of you. He might act like it to unnerve you, but he's definitely not playing around.

He spreads his arms out toward Yamato in a seemingly conciliatory gesture, stepping forward. "Why do you sound so pissed at me, Yama-kun~?" he asks, teasingly. "Come on, don't be angry! I only came here to talk."

"That's a lie!" shouts Takeru, bravely stepping out a bit from behind Yamato's legs. "That's what you said to us last time, and you were lying!"

Throat's casual, lazy expression freezes at this accusation, halting mid-step to look at the younger boy. Takeru, suddenly frightened, retreats back into his brother's shadow.

Slowly, Throat relaxes. The motion looks rather forced, judging by his posture, but then, you were never exactly great at reading people. In fact, when you'd first met Throat—just a few kilometers out from that beach with the inexplicable trolley, where Gabumon had fought Seadramon the evening before—your first reaction was actually joy. You were such an idiot. The sight of another human alone elated you; you'd been immediately, absolutely convinced that this smiling stranger was the answer to all your prayers. You thought he was there to deliver you all from this bizarre, frightening new world.

It turned out you couldn't have been more wrong. Throat may just be the single most frightening thing you've encountered since you arrived.

After the moment of tense silence passes, the teen finally answers Takeru's accusation, his voice deliberately casual.

"Yeah, I guess I was lying," he admits with a short laugh, shrugging unconcernedly, as if to say These things happen, but what are you gonna do? "I'm really sorry about all that mess from last time, Takeru. You understand, though, right? I mean, if anyone wants to point fingers, it should be at Yamato. If your precious onii-chan and his friends had been a little more willing to hear sense, I would never have had to punish you the way I did..."

Takeru pales. Patamon, hovering over his shoulder, shrilly cries "HEY!" in righteous anger, and Yamato snarls something unintelligible and lunges forward, his whole body shaking in rage. Sora and Koushiro, with twin shouts of warning, scramble forward just in time to seize Yamato by his arms and pull him back toward the rest of the group. Yamato fights them for a good twenty seconds before finally calming down, still scowling at Throat with outright murder in his eyes.

"You're dead for that, do you hear me!" Yamato shouts at him, red in the face with his hands balled into fists. "I don't care WHAT weird powers you have with that fake Digivice of yours, or all the nonsense you've been spouting about us not belonging here—as soon as I get my hands on you, I'm going to beat all that crap out of you until you regret the day you EVER messed with my little brother!"

Taichi, who's been watching the proceedings with rising anger, finally jumps in as well, bursting out, "Yamato's RIGHT, you ugly creep! We're done letting you push us around!"

Taichi spins around to face his partner Digimon, and a second before the goggle-clad boy shouts his command, you know exactly what he's going say.

"Agumon! ATTACK!" Taichi roars, and just like that all hopes for diplomacy disappear.

"Taichi! Wait!" Sora calls out, alarmed, but Agumon is already running forward. The Digimon's jaws part, embers burning dimly at the back of his throat, and involuntarily you pull Gomamon a bit closer to your chest with your eyes cast downward. You don't like the idea of any of the Digimon in your group fighting, especially not your own partner. Especially not a fight you're all destined to lose.

"Baby Flame!" Agumon cries, summoning a ball of fire that erupts from his mouth and races directly towards Throat.

Despite everything you're more than a little anxious about seeing one of the Digimon attack a human, however antagonistic, but you needn't waste your concern: Throat jumps well out of range of the attack before it's even properly launched, and before Agumon can prepare a second blast, the human has already pulled out his own clunky Digivice in preparation.

"That was really rude of you, Taichi-kun!" Throat calls out with a breathless laugh, any friendliness of his tone belied by the unhinged mania shining in his eyes. "Sending your pretender Digimon to attack ME? Hahaha! I don't know where anyone got the idea that a stupid, childish fool like you could ever be a Chosen Child!"

"We still don't even know what that is!" Koushiro says agitatedly, his stance guarded, Tentomon standing at his side. "We've never done anything to you!"

Throat turns to smirk darkly at both of them, and his expression turns your insides quickly to ice.

"And if I have it my way, Koushiro, you never will," Thoat says simply, reaching for a button on his Digivice.

"No! Agumon!" Taichi shouts, starting forward, but with a gutted feeling in your stomach you realize it's already too late.

Grinning savagely, Throat presses his thumb down on one of the buttons of his Digivice: at once it begins to glow in his hand, emitting a bright light not unlike the one that comes from Taichi's, Yamato's, Sora's, Koushiro's, and finally Mimi's, when their Digimon have evolved to Adult level.

Unlike the other Digivices, however, Throat's also changes color when it glows. At his command, it shifts from its usual white to a dark, foreboding shade of gray, emmitting an unpleasantly high-pitched feedback that would make you cringe if you didn't have more pressing problems vying for your attention. Such as, for example, the fact that everyone's Digimon partners have suddenly begun to keel over, dropping one by one like plants wilting under the glare of a heat lamp.

"Soraaaaa," Piyomon moans dizzily, her wings crumpling as she spirals down to crash on the forest floor. Patamon cries out weakly and follows suit a moment later. Both of their small bodies continue to twist and spasm, caused by some unseen pain, much to the horror of their human parners.

"Piyomon!" Sora screams, rushing over, and Takeru does the same for Patamon. Unable to revive his Digimon immediately with his pleas and shaking, Takeru helplessly looks to Yamato for help several seconds later, but Yamato has his own problems.

"Gabumon?" he asks, face ashen, struggling to lay the limply writhing Digimon down on the forest floor as gently as he can, which is difficult given his size. "Gabumon? Gabumon!"

The others are faring much the same. Glancing quickly around, you see Mimi, Koushiro, and Taichi all struggling to reach their own partners, who seem to be semi-conscious at best and are all crying out in terrible pain. Mimi is sobbing, Taichi's shouting, and Koushiro looks utterly lost, but they're all getting the same nonexistent results.

And it's the same for you. In your arms, Gomamon has gone completely limp, twitching and groaning in response to some phantom agony that you are unable to see. Watching him suffer, you find yourself filled with an icy fear that is somehow worse than all those times when you were attacked by a scary or enormous Digimon since you arrived. You feel utterly useless, mind racing in vain to think of what else you could have done, anything you could have done, to stop this nightmare from repeating itself. This is exactly what happened the last time Throat found your group—he did something with that damned Digivice of his to incapacitate all the Digimon, and you and the other children were helpless to make it better, even with all your medical knowledge.

Equally bad, without your Digimon being able to fight, Throat has you all completely at his mercy, which is exactly the last place any of you want to be. He's older, and stronger, than any of you; this time, you seriously doubt Taichi will be lucky enough to stumble across a second bulldozer in the middle of the forest like the one that was lying around Andromon's factory. And even then, with that bit of good fortune on your parts, Koushiro voiced suspicion that Throat could have beaten you all anyway—that he was really only toying with you. He's too eerily strong and quick for a human, practically impossible to keep trained in your field of vision while in motion unless you're prepared to break your neck from spinning around too fast.

"Gomamon!" you beg your partner heplessly, forcing yourself to loosen your hold on the Digimon so you can look at him properly. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of his spasming limbs, and he only mewls in pain at the sound of your voice. "Gomamon? Gomamon, can you hear me? It's Jou, Jou Kido! Please, Gomamon PLEASE wake up!"

You could stand there wallowing in your anxiety and panic all day, if you had the time, but Throat's not going to give you that chance. Sudden, freezing terror overtakes you, when a powerful hand clamps down onto one of your shoulders from behind. You feel the taller boy standing right behind you, horrifyingly close for your comfort. You didn't even see him move.

"Don't worry, Jou-senpai," Throat's voice purrs mockingly into your ear, using Sora's affectionate nickname for you, even though he should never have been close enough to the group to be able to hear it. "You won't need a false partner like him, where you're going."

You open your mouth to protest, or maybe just to scream, but before you can, crushing fingers wrap themselves around your windpipe. The pressure forces you to let go of Gomamon against your will, so that you can attempt to pry the hand away before you suffocate.

It's no use, however. He's much too strong to pry off, especially for a weakling like you. You're already starting to black out from lack of oxygen before your bitten nails have even drawn his blood. Throat laughs coldly in your ear, the noise tapering off into a nonsense sound as something slimy licks its way across your cheek. You somehow find the strength to shudder in fear, even though you don't understand what's going on.

"You know, I thought at first to myself that it would be a little crybaby like Takeru, who I stole away from the others to have my fun," he murmurs happily, hushed, his lips pressing gently in a smile against your temple; a mockery of affection. "Or maybe, someone so simple and oblivious, like Mimi-chan. But you're somehow even weaker those two, aren't you, Jou-senpai? Even your pretender of a Digimon can't fight. Hide all you want behind the others, Jou, but I can still see it. I can see how very afraid you are..."

Your mind is swimming with panic at his words, frightened and overwhelmed, despite the lack of comprehension stemming from lack of oxygen. But I have to protect them, you can only think helplessly as your eyes roll back, unseeing, into your skull, with Taichi and Sora's renewed shouts of terror ringing in your ears. Everyone. I have to protect everyone. I'm the oldest. I'm responsible for all of them.

Gomamon...

Then, nothing.