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The faint sound of heel against stone ground- tapping, to say the least, echoed throughout the tight chambers of Shibusen's underground levels. The intoxicating smell of tobacco, nicotine, and hell knows what other poisons and chemicals that resided in a cancer stick, lingered in the slim hall ways. Dull, olive eyes examined the small paths carefully, acting like scanners, taking mental notes on these surroundings for future references. The auburn flames that resided upon oak torches- which were kept in place on the rough, stone walls by charcoal metals holding them in their spots- shed little light inside the dusk halls. Each glowing torch aligned the walls, each being 5 feet away from each other, and one between each door.

The sound of footsteps paused, now replaced with a clicking noise. The noise erupted from a large bolt that had been impaled into a man's head- the man himself being none other than Doctor Franken Stein, his pale fingers snaked around the dark object, his grip rather tight as he cranked it. And with such a bizzarre action- the scientist's thoughts were shifted- taking in his surrounding's details, and returning for his purpose for coming down to these lower levels- which were mainly held for dealing with prisoners, and such type of actions.

Interrogation.

The tall Meister recalled the event clearly- he had been working on research- typing up new found studies on his DEENOH computer, as always, comfortably working in his patchwork adorned laboratory- when some of Shibusen's more secretive staff had disrupted his vital studying, and bestowing the task of such upon him. Perhaps they simply did it for how he struck fear into fellow Meisters when around a younger age. Or simply for who he was interrogating.

Jordon Albarn.

Young little Jordon- the son of two Death Scythes- or rather, current Death Scythe, and a traitor. As well as the factor of young Jordon being born from two males- it would be fascinating to study the young red head. Now, now, he shouldn't be thinking of things like that- at least, not now. He had sanity to attempt to keep in line. Stein's pale hand left the bolt as it clicked into place- it being rather hesitant, and returning to his side. It quickly changed from it's current location, to the cigarette that had been familiarly placed between the scientist's tightly clasped lips- smoke still trailing from it as ash fell from its lit tip. Silver smoke was exhaled from the Meister's pursed lips- the substance creativly taking the form a skull. The cancer stick was soon tossed away, and crushed by the gray, stitch-covered boot.

With his cigarette done, Stein continued to follow the trail in front of him- series of doors and lit torches passing by him. They all looked exactly the same- it almost felt as if he wasn't moving at it. He suddenly yielded, arriving at his destination- one of the doors. This room- rather, was Shibusen's interrogation room- the rooms he had passed earlier was probably prisoner's cells- he never wanted, or rather, had the authority to further examine the lower floors of Shibusen. The exact location of this room, however, stayed rather firmly in the doctor's memory banks.

Stein- that was his name, or at least, his last- and that's what was lingering in the doctor's sense of hearing- calling him, attempting to catch his attention. Stein's pale, olive eyes slid over to the slouched figure- whom had been laying against the cool, steel door- that possessed the vocal chords of where his name peered out of. Frankly- he knew the voice very well it's self, hearing it countless of time's, whether a yell, or simply speaking. His ex-weapon Spirit Albarn's.

A silver eyebrow slowly rose up, a fresh question present in his thoughts;

What was he doing here?

The Meister had heard rumors- though being of that category, failed to believe them without knowing for sure- that his former Weapon had been given orders to not be involved with his criminal of an offspring that had supposedly kidnapped a former student- Death the Kid's, very own son, Alex. The scientist's best guess was that they were from the God of Death himself, Shinigami-sama. But- he had to yet learn if such for true.

Or rather- his purpose for being down in the the lower floors of the school- the very organization he worked for as well. A pale hand slowly rose for the glasses that had stayed in place for a fair amount of time. Both index and thumb creating a grasp around the rim of the vision-improving object that adorned the stitched man's physical appearance, labeled as a piece of clothing. Faint lights from the feverishly burning torches had engulfed each circle-shaped portion of glass with white light- giving them a gleam.

As the gleam was present, the grasp of his spectacle's rims was lost- his hand now present- and seeming rather snug,- in his patchwork bordered lab coat pocket, "Ah, hey, Senpai what are you doing here?" He asked, the question flowing from his vocal chords- each word coaxed in perplexity.

A new sound- sounds, to be precise- pierced Stein's hearing, causing his pale, olive eyes to scan over to the door his former Death Scythe stand in front of- as if like a concerned guard dog. The sounds of crying, yelling, struggle- though being more faint when attempted to bypass the solid door. Such gruesome sounds were being spawned by a young, former Shibusen student? It was fascinating, yet at the same time, sickening, in a sense. Was he having a panic attack, of sorts?