Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Convince Me ( Chapter 82 )
[ 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: 05.14.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.2K | Visits: 230 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 05.14.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.2K | Visits: 230 | Status: Work In Progress
Notes: Thank you all for reading, and especially for your reviews! They really encourage me to keep at this.
Chapter Eighty-Two: Convince Me
They closed down shop together. It was quiet save the soft sweep of the broom across the floor and the occasional shuffling of this or that. No one felt like chatting, each lost in his own thoughts.
Dragging the rag off the edge of the table, Yohji brushed the leftover clippings into his hand and looked up.
Omi was by the register, counting the change before placing it into the yellow deposit bag. His face was clam, and Yohji wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Ken was easier to read. His brows were drawn together as he went across the shop carrying a bucket of mismatched flowers, and he frowned as he sorted them to restock the cooler. Ken was worried, probably debating what was or wasn’t going to happen once Manx arrived.
Yohji wondered if Aya was thinking the same thing. There was no trace of emotion on the boy’s face, and he seemed to be concentrating solely on sweeping the floor, cornering the dirt and bringing it into pristine submission. The blonde was struck by the way he looked, the way he fit the scene. With his green apron tied carefully over his dark jeans and white sweater, a broom in his hand and a tiny leaf stuck in his hair, he looked like he belonged there.
He must have felt Yohji’s stare, because purple eyes came up to stare at him. His expression didn’t change, but Yohji thought that was just habit; Aya’s eyes said he was curious about Yohji’s scrutiny.
Ditching the clipping into a nearby trashcan, the blonde walked over to pluck the little leaf from the other’s hair.
“Souvenir?” he questioned lightly, the word loud in the quiet shop.
Slowly, Aya reached for it, their fingers brushing as he took it from Yohji’s hand.
Then the door opened.
~*~
Yohji reached to untie Aya’s apron, helping the boy get it over his head before hanging it up beside his own. Omi and Ken had gone ahead, letting Manx lead the way as they headed down to the mission room.
He turned back to look at the redhead. Aya appeared a bit shaky, a little too pale. He looked like he didn’t want to do this.
“Aya,” Yohji started as he stepped close, not sure what he wanted to say. He brushed back the ragged bangs and looked the other in the eye.
“I don’t know what to do,” Aya whispered.
“You’ll be fine Just stick with me,” Yohji answered, trying to put as much confidence as possible into his voice. Aya didn’t seem terribly comforted, but he nodded and fell into step behind the older man as they descended the stairs, Yohji wanted to grab his hand, but it probably wouldn’t look goof if Weiss’s newest assassin needed literally hand-holding , so he contented himself with a last, encouraging look as they reached the bottom.
The mission room was still dimly lit, and it was obvious Manx had some housekeeping to do before launching in. She stood impatiently, red suit matching the painted fingernail that tapped on side of the television, keeping time for their delay. For all her restrained aggravation, Yohji was relieved to have a few minutes t settle Aya before delving into the dark beasts and gory slideshows.
Anticipating the rearrangement of their usual seating, Omi was sitting in the low armchair and Ken had dragged over the gray computer chair. The brunette had borrowed a page from Yohji’s book and was sitting backwards in his seat, arms crossed and chin resting on them. That left the couch. Sure, it was comfortable, but Yohji wasn’t exactly keen on someone sitting too close to him when he tried not to react to these grotesque home movies, but all of this was of passing notice. He was more concerned about Aya for the time being.
So he plopped down on the end of the couch closest to Manx. Aya hesitated, but at Yohji’s small motion, took a seat in the center. The boy reached to adjust his collar, making it lay better around his neck and drawing the blonde’s attention. The silver ring was badly mismatched against the scoopneck of the white, cashmere sweater, and the incongruity ate at Yohji. Forget it, he told himself, there were other, bigger problems to worry about.
“Manx,” he grinned, forcing his attention away from Aya. “All done with our lover’s spat? Let’s kiss and—”
“Kudou,” she replied coolly. Yohji backed off, but it was nice to be on a real-name basis. Manx calling him Balinese was like his mother middle-naming him. Lucky thing the redhead didn’t know that trick.
“Here,” she said, handing a manila folder to Aya. “These are your details. Memorize them and then burn it.”
Just like in the movies, Yohji thought. He kept his mouth shut, though, trying his best not to look over Aya’s shoulder as he read. Besides, he could get the boy to show it to him later.
“Your code name will be Abyssinian,” Manx informed him in a perfunctory way, sort of like Aya was wasting her time. Yohji’s mind finally caught on to the attitude. Used to pissing her off and having a full repertoire of ways to do so, he couldn’t help but wonder what Aya had done to raise her hackles so early on. Usually a person had to be irresponsible, drunk, or perverted for that to happen, these qualities having the greatest effect when used in combination.
“Ab-ab-what?” Ken questioned, head lifted to sort it out.
“Abyssinian,” she repeated, slowly, like she had suddenly realized Ken was indeed very dull. The soccer player nodded but didn’t try it again. They would all have to work on it later.
“How about the other codes?” Omi wondered. He tended to use these more than the others, especially when digging into Kritiker’s databases; the organization didn’t exactly use first names.
“It’s all there,” Manx answered, gesturing to the folder with one manicured nail. She held a DVD in her other hand, obviously anxious to get started. “Flower code’s rose, number’s 099, and so forth. Fujimiya, until you choose to set up an account with Kritiker, you will be paid in cash; the amount depends on the mission as we discussed. Do you understand?”
Still looking at the folder, Aya just nodded.
“Good. Please put that away and pay attention,” she said tersely. Before Aya could react to the slight reprimand, Yohji took the folder and set it on the coffee table. Nodding, Manx put in the DVD and turned off the lights
The room fell into familiar darkness, lit only by the television’s blue screen and quiet save the dull clicks of the DVD paler. Rarely distracted from the screen, this time Yohji was trying to divide his attention and caught Manx as she moved out of the way. Silent even in her heels, she stepped to the side, just out of the light, arms crossed and eyes focused on Aya. Yohji didn’t have much time to think about it as the screen went dark, and then it started again.
Disgust and revulsion hit him hard in the pit of his stomach, making him want to physically pull away. He had the same reaction every fucking time they did it, every time Kritiker tried to psych them up by showing them the mutilated bodies of women. No matter how they died, for the first terrifying seconds, they were always her.
Pushing his shades up closer to his eyes, Yohji swallowed hard and continued to watch. He wouldn’t let the others see him look away.
The scenes came and went in silence.
A teenager’s thin body hanging naked from shackles on a wall, head tipped forward and long, dark hair caked with blood as it hung over her shoulders. Her arms and legs were nearly blue, a sick combination of bruises and death as her entrails drooped towards the floor from a long slit across her abdomen.
A blonde, face down on the filthy ground, organs spilled out beside her in a congealing puddle, her thin limbs twisted at unnatural angles. There were whip marks on her bare back. She couldn’t have been eighteen.
Another, stretched out on a rusted table, sprawled in some parody of sex, obviously on display even in death. Her split, bloody mouth was open, and her dead eyes stared upwards; her stomach was slit open, her insides drawn outwards, just below the hem of her Hello Kitty t-shirt.
Persia’s digitized voice cut across the horrified silence.
“Girls are being abducted from local high schools. They are detained at an unknown location for period of time varying from two weeks to a month with no obvious pattern. Their corpses are left at abandoned facilities around the city, tending towards Shinjuku.
“All the victims show signs of severe physical brutality and repeated sexual abuse, and it is clear they remained alive for the duration of their captivity.”
The screen finally changed, pulling up two pictures. The smaller one on the right was a face-on shot of a man with wide shoulders and a square face half-hidden behind long bangs of jet black hair. He wore a gray suit and crooked tie, a look that screamed disorganized middle management, not psychopath. Then again, it was usually all in the eyes, and Yohji couldn’t see his.
“Tezushi Masumoto,” Persia informed, “former Vice President of Sadako Shipping.”
Again the screen changed, this time showing a grainy picture of a group of suited men. One of them was probably Tezushi (here Yohji paused to sarcastically congratulate himself on that bit of deduction) but it was difficult to make out the faces.
“It is likely these men assist him with the kidnappings, but Tezushi’s purpose is largely unknown to them. They are peripheral only.
“Hunters of Weiss, deny these black beasts their tomorrows!”
Somewhere along the way, Yohji had forgotten to watch Aya. When this last dramatic line released him from habitual rapt attention, he turned anxiously towards the redhead. Aya’s expression was flat as he looked at the blank television, and Yohji’s couldn’t see his eyes in the dark. Manx flipped the light switch, but by the time Yohji’s eyes flicked to her and back, Aya was staring at his lap.
“Aya?” the blonde questioned, rubbing his hand lightly down the other’s back and feeling him shiver slightly. The boy said something, but it was so quiet that Yohji couldn’t understand.
“What?” he asked, keeping his hand on Aya’s back as he leaned forward to listen.
“He…hurt them…like that? He killed them? Really?”
“Yeah,” the blonde answered quietly. Before he could continue, Manx interrupted.
“That’s your target,” she said, clearly addressing Aya. There were more folders in her hands now, and she held the first one out to the redhead. It took a second, but Yohji was relieved that he moved to take it. Shifting away from him, the blonde reached for his own dossier.
“Tezushi Masumoto,” Manx began, “age thirty-seven. He has others kidnap the girls, paying outrageous sums for them. He makes the transaction at multiple neutral points, but the majority of the captivity takes place at a nightclub downtown.”
There were more details in the folders: time schedules, maps, and pictures. It was a hell of a lot more than they usually got.
“He engages in torture and ultimately murder. The police have been restrained in their investigation because Harata Genjo, CEO of Sadako, doesn’t want to shed any negative light on his company. While the majority of Tezushi’s victims are from middleclass families, they also include Harata Aki and her younger sister Akane. Harata is still blocking the police; Kritiker is looking into it. You will eliminate the current problem. I trust you’re all in?”
Yohji nodded, as did Omi.
“I’m in,” Ken confirmed.
All of them were staring at Aya, who looked resolutely at his own knees.
“Fujimiya?” Manx questioned.
“I…yes,” he answered.
“Good. One more thing,” she gave them all a rather grim look, “Abyssinian will make the kill.”
~tbc~
Converting /tmp/phpmghrlu to /dev/stdout
Chapter Eighty-Two: Convince Me
They closed down shop together. It was quiet save the soft sweep of the broom across the floor and the occasional shuffling of this or that. No one felt like chatting, each lost in his own thoughts.
Dragging the rag off the edge of the table, Yohji brushed the leftover clippings into his hand and looked up.
Omi was by the register, counting the change before placing it into the yellow deposit bag. His face was clam, and Yohji wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Ken was easier to read. His brows were drawn together as he went across the shop carrying a bucket of mismatched flowers, and he frowned as he sorted them to restock the cooler. Ken was worried, probably debating what was or wasn’t going to happen once Manx arrived.
Yohji wondered if Aya was thinking the same thing. There was no trace of emotion on the boy’s face, and he seemed to be concentrating solely on sweeping the floor, cornering the dirt and bringing it into pristine submission. The blonde was struck by the way he looked, the way he fit the scene. With his green apron tied carefully over his dark jeans and white sweater, a broom in his hand and a tiny leaf stuck in his hair, he looked like he belonged there.
He must have felt Yohji’s stare, because purple eyes came up to stare at him. His expression didn’t change, but Yohji thought that was just habit; Aya’s eyes said he was curious about Yohji’s scrutiny.
Ditching the clipping into a nearby trashcan, the blonde walked over to pluck the little leaf from the other’s hair.
“Souvenir?” he questioned lightly, the word loud in the quiet shop.
Slowly, Aya reached for it, their fingers brushing as he took it from Yohji’s hand.
Then the door opened.
~*~
Yohji reached to untie Aya’s apron, helping the boy get it over his head before hanging it up beside his own. Omi and Ken had gone ahead, letting Manx lead the way as they headed down to the mission room.
He turned back to look at the redhead. Aya appeared a bit shaky, a little too pale. He looked like he didn’t want to do this.
“Aya,” Yohji started as he stepped close, not sure what he wanted to say. He brushed back the ragged bangs and looked the other in the eye.
“I don’t know what to do,” Aya whispered.
“You’ll be fine Just stick with me,” Yohji answered, trying to put as much confidence as possible into his voice. Aya didn’t seem terribly comforted, but he nodded and fell into step behind the older man as they descended the stairs, Yohji wanted to grab his hand, but it probably wouldn’t look goof if Weiss’s newest assassin needed literally hand-holding , so he contented himself with a last, encouraging look as they reached the bottom.
The mission room was still dimly lit, and it was obvious Manx had some housekeeping to do before launching in. She stood impatiently, red suit matching the painted fingernail that tapped on side of the television, keeping time for their delay. For all her restrained aggravation, Yohji was relieved to have a few minutes t settle Aya before delving into the dark beasts and gory slideshows.
Anticipating the rearrangement of their usual seating, Omi was sitting in the low armchair and Ken had dragged over the gray computer chair. The brunette had borrowed a page from Yohji’s book and was sitting backwards in his seat, arms crossed and chin resting on them. That left the couch. Sure, it was comfortable, but Yohji wasn’t exactly keen on someone sitting too close to him when he tried not to react to these grotesque home movies, but all of this was of passing notice. He was more concerned about Aya for the time being.
So he plopped down on the end of the couch closest to Manx. Aya hesitated, but at Yohji’s small motion, took a seat in the center. The boy reached to adjust his collar, making it lay better around his neck and drawing the blonde’s attention. The silver ring was badly mismatched against the scoopneck of the white, cashmere sweater, and the incongruity ate at Yohji. Forget it, he told himself, there were other, bigger problems to worry about.
“Manx,” he grinned, forcing his attention away from Aya. “All done with our lover’s spat? Let’s kiss and—”
“Kudou,” she replied coolly. Yohji backed off, but it was nice to be on a real-name basis. Manx calling him Balinese was like his mother middle-naming him. Lucky thing the redhead didn’t know that trick.
“Here,” she said, handing a manila folder to Aya. “These are your details. Memorize them and then burn it.”
Just like in the movies, Yohji thought. He kept his mouth shut, though, trying his best not to look over Aya’s shoulder as he read. Besides, he could get the boy to show it to him later.
“Your code name will be Abyssinian,” Manx informed him in a perfunctory way, sort of like Aya was wasting her time. Yohji’s mind finally caught on to the attitude. Used to pissing her off and having a full repertoire of ways to do so, he couldn’t help but wonder what Aya had done to raise her hackles so early on. Usually a person had to be irresponsible, drunk, or perverted for that to happen, these qualities having the greatest effect when used in combination.
“Ab-ab-what?” Ken questioned, head lifted to sort it out.
“Abyssinian,” she repeated, slowly, like she had suddenly realized Ken was indeed very dull. The soccer player nodded but didn’t try it again. They would all have to work on it later.
“How about the other codes?” Omi wondered. He tended to use these more than the others, especially when digging into Kritiker’s databases; the organization didn’t exactly use first names.
“It’s all there,” Manx answered, gesturing to the folder with one manicured nail. She held a DVD in her other hand, obviously anxious to get started. “Flower code’s rose, number’s 099, and so forth. Fujimiya, until you choose to set up an account with Kritiker, you will be paid in cash; the amount depends on the mission as we discussed. Do you understand?”
Still looking at the folder, Aya just nodded.
“Good. Please put that away and pay attention,” she said tersely. Before Aya could react to the slight reprimand, Yohji took the folder and set it on the coffee table. Nodding, Manx put in the DVD and turned off the lights
The room fell into familiar darkness, lit only by the television’s blue screen and quiet save the dull clicks of the DVD paler. Rarely distracted from the screen, this time Yohji was trying to divide his attention and caught Manx as she moved out of the way. Silent even in her heels, she stepped to the side, just out of the light, arms crossed and eyes focused on Aya. Yohji didn’t have much time to think about it as the screen went dark, and then it started again.
Disgust and revulsion hit him hard in the pit of his stomach, making him want to physically pull away. He had the same reaction every fucking time they did it, every time Kritiker tried to psych them up by showing them the mutilated bodies of women. No matter how they died, for the first terrifying seconds, they were always her.
Pushing his shades up closer to his eyes, Yohji swallowed hard and continued to watch. He wouldn’t let the others see him look away.
The scenes came and went in silence.
A teenager’s thin body hanging naked from shackles on a wall, head tipped forward and long, dark hair caked with blood as it hung over her shoulders. Her arms and legs were nearly blue, a sick combination of bruises and death as her entrails drooped towards the floor from a long slit across her abdomen.
A blonde, face down on the filthy ground, organs spilled out beside her in a congealing puddle, her thin limbs twisted at unnatural angles. There were whip marks on her bare back. She couldn’t have been eighteen.
Another, stretched out on a rusted table, sprawled in some parody of sex, obviously on display even in death. Her split, bloody mouth was open, and her dead eyes stared upwards; her stomach was slit open, her insides drawn outwards, just below the hem of her Hello Kitty t-shirt.
Persia’s digitized voice cut across the horrified silence.
“Girls are being abducted from local high schools. They are detained at an unknown location for period of time varying from two weeks to a month with no obvious pattern. Their corpses are left at abandoned facilities around the city, tending towards Shinjuku.
“All the victims show signs of severe physical brutality and repeated sexual abuse, and it is clear they remained alive for the duration of their captivity.”
The screen finally changed, pulling up two pictures. The smaller one on the right was a face-on shot of a man with wide shoulders and a square face half-hidden behind long bangs of jet black hair. He wore a gray suit and crooked tie, a look that screamed disorganized middle management, not psychopath. Then again, it was usually all in the eyes, and Yohji couldn’t see his.
“Tezushi Masumoto,” Persia informed, “former Vice President of Sadako Shipping.”
Again the screen changed, this time showing a grainy picture of a group of suited men. One of them was probably Tezushi (here Yohji paused to sarcastically congratulate himself on that bit of deduction) but it was difficult to make out the faces.
“It is likely these men assist him with the kidnappings, but Tezushi’s purpose is largely unknown to them. They are peripheral only.
“Hunters of Weiss, deny these black beasts their tomorrows!”
Somewhere along the way, Yohji had forgotten to watch Aya. When this last dramatic line released him from habitual rapt attention, he turned anxiously towards the redhead. Aya’s expression was flat as he looked at the blank television, and Yohji’s couldn’t see his eyes in the dark. Manx flipped the light switch, but by the time Yohji’s eyes flicked to her and back, Aya was staring at his lap.
“Aya?” the blonde questioned, rubbing his hand lightly down the other’s back and feeling him shiver slightly. The boy said something, but it was so quiet that Yohji couldn’t understand.
“What?” he asked, keeping his hand on Aya’s back as he leaned forward to listen.
“He…hurt them…like that? He killed them? Really?”
“Yeah,” the blonde answered quietly. Before he could continue, Manx interrupted.
“That’s your target,” she said, clearly addressing Aya. There were more folders in her hands now, and she held the first one out to the redhead. It took a second, but Yohji was relieved that he moved to take it. Shifting away from him, the blonde reached for his own dossier.
“Tezushi Masumoto,” Manx began, “age thirty-seven. He has others kidnap the girls, paying outrageous sums for them. He makes the transaction at multiple neutral points, but the majority of the captivity takes place at a nightclub downtown.”
There were more details in the folders: time schedules, maps, and pictures. It was a hell of a lot more than they usually got.
“He engages in torture and ultimately murder. The police have been restrained in their investigation because Harata Genjo, CEO of Sadako, doesn’t want to shed any negative light on his company. While the majority of Tezushi’s victims are from middleclass families, they also include Harata Aki and her younger sister Akane. Harata is still blocking the police; Kritiker is looking into it. You will eliminate the current problem. I trust you’re all in?”
Yohji nodded, as did Omi.
“I’m in,” Ken confirmed.
All of them were staring at Aya, who looked resolutely at his own knees.
“Fujimiya?” Manx questioned.
“I…yes,” he answered.
“Good. One more thing,” she gave them all a rather grim look, “Abyssinian will make the kill.”
~tbc~
Converting /tmp/phpmghrlu to /dev/stdout