Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Gather Me ( Chapter 74 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.05.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 243 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.05.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 243 | Status: Work In Progress
Chapter Seventy-Four: Gather Me
After a rather serious conversation and slight trade of accusations, Omi had finally left Yohji to his task.
Ten minutes later, he still sat with the unopened folder on the kitchen table in front of him. He didn’t know what was in it, but it felt wrong to look, to dig into stuff that Aya had decided he wasn’t ready to tell them.
No, that wasn’t quite true. Yohji had made a living unearthing the nasty pasts of various people. It was more that it was Aya, and he was realizing how little he knew about the boy, and, maybe that it was better that way.
But he couldn’t put if off forever. Reaching out, Yohji resolutely flipped open the manila folder, exposing the article Omi had read from earlier. Pulling it closer, he began to read.
Late Thursday night, a small explosion set fire to a house in the suburbs of Chiba. The police suspect a gas leak, though there is an ongoing investigation. The owner of the house, Fujimiya Ryota, was unfortunately killed in the explosion along with his wife.
Fujimiya-san was the well-known CEO of the Senda corporation and widely acknowledged as a committed humanitarian. Recently, however, there has been conflict within the company, and many of Senda’s dealing have come to light to cast doubt on the character of Fujimiya-san. While this newspaper had no desire to speak ill of the dead, upon contacting Takatori Reiji, Vice Prime Minister of Japan and close associate of Fujimiya-san, there can be little doubt of Fujimiya’s guilt.
While Takatori-san regrets the unfortunate events that befell Fujimiya and his family . . .
Takatori. Gods, the freaking Vice Prime Minister, fucking impossible.
Not that Yohji believed corruption stopped in the lower ranks; he had personally dealt with a number of dark beasts who got off on putting CEO and President in front of their names. But to associate with that kind of government official, someone who was on TV on a weekly basis, the Fujimiya family was into some big stuff. There was no telling what Fujimiya senior had been dealing under the table; with Takatori backing him, he could have had practical immunity from the law…
But Aya maintained that the man had framed his father. Considering what he knew of politics, Yohji believed it could be true, but he also realized Aya had a pretty heavy stake in maintaining his father’s innocence.
Setting that aside, Yohji picked up the next paper. It was a report card for Fujimiya Aya. He briefly checked the birth date and gender, glancing at classes and grades. Average, he thought, making him think it was the Fujimiya’s prestige or wealth that had gotten the children admitted to the elite school.
This was challenged by the next paper, the marks of Fujimiya Ran. Difficult classes and he was still very near the top of his class. Maybe they had assumed his sister would do just as well?
It was hard to picture Aya in a classroom, being normal, laughing with his friends or stressing over homework.
Yohji put the page aside, promising himself he could come back to it later and examine it in detail. Right now he needed the gist of the folder.
He really hated folders.
Okay, what was this? It looked like a scanned image of some tabloid.
A closer look revealed it to contain an article about Fujimiya’s company, or at least a woman his company had reportedly experimented on.
Senda Killed My Baby!
Inoue Saki, formerly a loyal employee of the Senda corporation, claims that the company is doing horrific experiments on unborn children, and that these experiments killed her baby!
“I never said they could test on me!” she tells reporters. “During my company physical, the doctor injected me with a shot. I’m sure that’s what did it.”
Senda’s PR manager denies Inoue’s claims, but there is sufficient evidence against the company. Inoue has seen pictures of her stillborn child, and it clearly showed signs of deformity.
“Its hair was an odd color, and it was an albino. Its legs too,” she remembers, “there was something really wrong. All of the children in my family are healthy, and in my husband’s family too. They did this!”
Yohji flipped over the page. After two similar, sensationalized reports, he had to get a beer.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Omi was thinking, but all of these children had been stillborn. Admittedly, the links were pretty strong. Pale skin and odd coloring came up in all three reports, touted as a sign of genetic alteration. But why? Why not use willing test subject? It was risky, but with enough money… And whose tests were they?
Would Fujimiya Ryota okay tests on his own wife? The stakes would have to be pretty high, but it wasn’t impossible. Was Aya a result of those tests? What was the purpose? And why the hell was this important? So what if some scientist had fucked with the boy’s appearance? What was Omi thinking?
Yohji ought to see it. It frustrated him that the scheme didn’t jump out at him; it happened often enough. He was good at this shit, if he had a little time for it to sink in.
And time they did not have.
About to turn another page, he was interrupted by a soft voice.
“Yohji?”
Aya stood in the doorway, looking nervous and paler than normal. Yohji nodded for him to continue, silently hoping he staid to that side of the kitchen and didn’t get near enough to see what exactly the blonde was pawing through.
“Can I . . . Can I sit in here with you?”
Requests from Aya were very rare, and Yohji was not about to deny him anything he got up the nerve to ask for. Hell, the boy could ask for Takatori’s head on a platter and the blonde would be off to get it if he thought would make the boy happy. Yohji wasn’t sure that was a healthy reaction, but he wasn’t going to analyze it either. Not right then, and definitely not with the odds and ends of Aya’s past spread across the kitchen table.
He had intended to talk to Aya eventually, and while he would have preferred at least one night to get his thoughts together, he wasn’t about to send the kid away.
“Yeah, come on in.”
He wanted to hide the papers, but doing so would be more suspicious, and he’d only have to get them out again.
In the end, it wasn’t an issue. Coming slowly into the room, Aya silently knelt close beside Yohji’s chair. Closing his eyes, he let his head tip forward so that his forehead rested gently against Yohji’s thigh.
“Okay?” Yohji asked.
“Yes, Yohji.”
“Alright.”
He didn’t like Aya on the floor, but if it made the boy feel better, Yohji wasn’t going to fight it. Careful not to move his legs and disturb his guest, Yohji went back to the sheets. Thankfully the next few were less exciting: an autopsy report of one of the deceased babies, a brief police report on the explosion, a family tree of Takatori Reiji and some notes on his sons, census records on the Fujimiya family, proof of cremation and location of ashes, an article on a humanitarian award received by Aya’s father, a family picture.
He stared for a long time at printed photo, at the happy family. The father was tall, with a strong face but kind eyes. He held a little girl in his arms, her kimono slightly askew and her hands around his neck. Next to him was the mother, Amiko, Yohji recalled, the picture of the traditional woman with her soft smile and pitch black hair pulled tightly back. She was pretty, probably a knockout in her youth, but nothing like Aya. None of them were.
Standing in the front of his mother was the little boy. He wore the same kind of formal clothes, probably dressed for some dinner or celebration, not every day stuff. He didn’t do anything to draw attention to himself as some boys would, standing perfectly still, hands clasp behind his back, looking all of five but with the sternness of a man.
By no fault of his own, he stood out like a sore thumb, his long hair and odd eyes bright, his skin pale, nothing like the people behind him whose appearance shouted nice, traditional family.
Looking down, Yohji ran his hand through Aya’s hair, letting the scarlet strands slide over his own tanned fingers.
~tbc~
Converting /tmp/phpPu9iq7 to /dev/stdout
After a rather serious conversation and slight trade of accusations, Omi had finally left Yohji to his task.
Ten minutes later, he still sat with the unopened folder on the kitchen table in front of him. He didn’t know what was in it, but it felt wrong to look, to dig into stuff that Aya had decided he wasn’t ready to tell them.
No, that wasn’t quite true. Yohji had made a living unearthing the nasty pasts of various people. It was more that it was Aya, and he was realizing how little he knew about the boy, and, maybe that it was better that way.
But he couldn’t put if off forever. Reaching out, Yohji resolutely flipped open the manila folder, exposing the article Omi had read from earlier. Pulling it closer, he began to read.
Late Thursday night, a small explosion set fire to a house in the suburbs of Chiba. The police suspect a gas leak, though there is an ongoing investigation. The owner of the house, Fujimiya Ryota, was unfortunately killed in the explosion along with his wife.
Fujimiya-san was the well-known CEO of the Senda corporation and widely acknowledged as a committed humanitarian. Recently, however, there has been conflict within the company, and many of Senda’s dealing have come to light to cast doubt on the character of Fujimiya-san. While this newspaper had no desire to speak ill of the dead, upon contacting Takatori Reiji, Vice Prime Minister of Japan and close associate of Fujimiya-san, there can be little doubt of Fujimiya’s guilt.
While Takatori-san regrets the unfortunate events that befell Fujimiya and his family . . .
Takatori. Gods, the freaking Vice Prime Minister, fucking impossible.
Not that Yohji believed corruption stopped in the lower ranks; he had personally dealt with a number of dark beasts who got off on putting CEO and President in front of their names. But to associate with that kind of government official, someone who was on TV on a weekly basis, the Fujimiya family was into some big stuff. There was no telling what Fujimiya senior had been dealing under the table; with Takatori backing him, he could have had practical immunity from the law…
But Aya maintained that the man had framed his father. Considering what he knew of politics, Yohji believed it could be true, but he also realized Aya had a pretty heavy stake in maintaining his father’s innocence.
Setting that aside, Yohji picked up the next paper. It was a report card for Fujimiya Aya. He briefly checked the birth date and gender, glancing at classes and grades. Average, he thought, making him think it was the Fujimiya’s prestige or wealth that had gotten the children admitted to the elite school.
This was challenged by the next paper, the marks of Fujimiya Ran. Difficult classes and he was still very near the top of his class. Maybe they had assumed his sister would do just as well?
It was hard to picture Aya in a classroom, being normal, laughing with his friends or stressing over homework.
Yohji put the page aside, promising himself he could come back to it later and examine it in detail. Right now he needed the gist of the folder.
He really hated folders.
Okay, what was this? It looked like a scanned image of some tabloid.
A closer look revealed it to contain an article about Fujimiya’s company, or at least a woman his company had reportedly experimented on.
Senda Killed My Baby!
Inoue Saki, formerly a loyal employee of the Senda corporation, claims that the company is doing horrific experiments on unborn children, and that these experiments killed her baby!
“I never said they could test on me!” she tells reporters. “During my company physical, the doctor injected me with a shot. I’m sure that’s what did it.”
Senda’s PR manager denies Inoue’s claims, but there is sufficient evidence against the company. Inoue has seen pictures of her stillborn child, and it clearly showed signs of deformity.
“Its hair was an odd color, and it was an albino. Its legs too,” she remembers, “there was something really wrong. All of the children in my family are healthy, and in my husband’s family too. They did this!”
Yohji flipped over the page. After two similar, sensationalized reports, he had to get a beer.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Omi was thinking, but all of these children had been stillborn. Admittedly, the links were pretty strong. Pale skin and odd coloring came up in all three reports, touted as a sign of genetic alteration. But why? Why not use willing test subject? It was risky, but with enough money… And whose tests were they?
Would Fujimiya Ryota okay tests on his own wife? The stakes would have to be pretty high, but it wasn’t impossible. Was Aya a result of those tests? What was the purpose? And why the hell was this important? So what if some scientist had fucked with the boy’s appearance? What was Omi thinking?
Yohji ought to see it. It frustrated him that the scheme didn’t jump out at him; it happened often enough. He was good at this shit, if he had a little time for it to sink in.
And time they did not have.
About to turn another page, he was interrupted by a soft voice.
“Yohji?”
Aya stood in the doorway, looking nervous and paler than normal. Yohji nodded for him to continue, silently hoping he staid to that side of the kitchen and didn’t get near enough to see what exactly the blonde was pawing through.
“Can I . . . Can I sit in here with you?”
Requests from Aya were very rare, and Yohji was not about to deny him anything he got up the nerve to ask for. Hell, the boy could ask for Takatori’s head on a platter and the blonde would be off to get it if he thought would make the boy happy. Yohji wasn’t sure that was a healthy reaction, but he wasn’t going to analyze it either. Not right then, and definitely not with the odds and ends of Aya’s past spread across the kitchen table.
He had intended to talk to Aya eventually, and while he would have preferred at least one night to get his thoughts together, he wasn’t about to send the kid away.
“Yeah, come on in.”
He wanted to hide the papers, but doing so would be more suspicious, and he’d only have to get them out again.
In the end, it wasn’t an issue. Coming slowly into the room, Aya silently knelt close beside Yohji’s chair. Closing his eyes, he let his head tip forward so that his forehead rested gently against Yohji’s thigh.
“Okay?” Yohji asked.
“Yes, Yohji.”
“Alright.”
He didn’t like Aya on the floor, but if it made the boy feel better, Yohji wasn’t going to fight it. Careful not to move his legs and disturb his guest, Yohji went back to the sheets. Thankfully the next few were less exciting: an autopsy report of one of the deceased babies, a brief police report on the explosion, a family tree of Takatori Reiji and some notes on his sons, census records on the Fujimiya family, proof of cremation and location of ashes, an article on a humanitarian award received by Aya’s father, a family picture.
He stared for a long time at printed photo, at the happy family. The father was tall, with a strong face but kind eyes. He held a little girl in his arms, her kimono slightly askew and her hands around his neck. Next to him was the mother, Amiko, Yohji recalled, the picture of the traditional woman with her soft smile and pitch black hair pulled tightly back. She was pretty, probably a knockout in her youth, but nothing like Aya. None of them were.
Standing in the front of his mother was the little boy. He wore the same kind of formal clothes, probably dressed for some dinner or celebration, not every day stuff. He didn’t do anything to draw attention to himself as some boys would, standing perfectly still, hands clasp behind his back, looking all of five but with the sternness of a man.
By no fault of his own, he stood out like a sore thumb, his long hair and odd eyes bright, his skin pale, nothing like the people behind him whose appearance shouted nice, traditional family.
Looking down, Yohji ran his hand through Aya’s hair, letting the scarlet strands slide over his own tanned fingers.
~tbc~
Converting /tmp/phpPu9iq7 to /dev/stdout