Alfred F. Jones, his country, and the incompatibilities between the two divide them and unite them. Alfred F. Jones despises it, and that sentiment, oddly enough, is not reciprocated. Alfred F. Jones is fracturing from within, and the reflections from the shattered mirror of his soul transcend time. Alfred F. Jones laments that fact.

Beneath the streetlights of Ikebukuro lies an intricate network of obsidian, afire with glimmering tales and vivid people. Though this is not an expansion of the series, rather, an examination, it reveals pathways traced in light, burning in the wake of Ikebukuro's inhabitants.

You are fourteen when it begins. The erosion of your personality continues, until, eight years later, what remains cannot be recognized as you, nor can it be identified as the atrocities pacing behind your eyes. (Psychological horror.)