Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Demon Angelic- rewrite ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I don't own the men of Schwarz or Weiss and will make absolutely no profit off of the events that take place within the framework of this story. All recognizable characters belong to their creators and FunAnimation.

Demon Angelic

+Chapter 1+
I stood on the crumbling precipice of the warehouse roof, staring out across the bay at the garish neon-lights of downtown Tokyo with a sigh; the come-hither appeal of the whore has not dimmed in my heart during all my short life. Yet, I wonder… what would my life have been if I had stayed that night? Innocence? Freedom? America? But I hadn't stayed, had I? I had run like a slit vein, fearful of being ripped from the fickle heart of the wanton slut…
My cowardice had served to trap me in her polluted, rotting womb forever. A non-entity among a world of nameless victims…

I came back to myself with a self-derisive huff and slunk deeper into the shadows at the top of the desolate warehouse. My melancholia could wait; the mission was all that mattered. The Takatori Corporation was beginning to put a real damper on the Yakuza trades and the organization was not happy. They required the situation be dealt with by any means necessary, hence my involvement. Time to crash the party, I thought as I made my way to the roof access, intent on bringing the arms deal to a bloody and decisive close.

The muted crunch of gravel assaulted my ears out of the stillness and I froze, hugging the exterior of the building. The monochrome black of my uniform and mask afforded me some comfort, but the crunching continued to grow more insistent as it neared. There is no way that someone could know I'm here, I reassured myself as I stilled my breathing. Only moments later did I hear the sultry tones of a young man's voice, “Come out, come out wherever you are. We've come to play, Teniawai!”

We? I wasn't allotted time to think before I heard the soft hiss of cloth on cement block as a second figure materialized behind me in the shadows. I ducked low and pitched forward into the moon's pale light to avoid being skewered by the poniard that the shadow sent flashing toward my skull. I ran toward the now visible first man and drew my Kodachi short sword from its sheath with my gauntleted right hand. I would save my bugnuks for up close and personal if it came to that, I decided as I launched myself into the air above my target. The young man stood unabashed before the fury of my sword and actually offered me a smirk before arresting the motion of my blade with his bare hands. I had heard of people who were able to do this, but I had never met one. I was too startled to do more than keep from face vaulting onto the crumbling tarmac of the roof before my primary weapon was wrenched unceremoniously from my grasp and flung several feet away, coming to rest before the raised housing of one of several skylights.

The silvery blue streak of steel demanded my attention as the momentarily forgotten kage (shadow) warrior cut into the dance. I rolled just in time to avoid all but a thin slice across the arm. I leapt to my feet to catch a right hook to the jaw just behind the rim of my public face, a kanji lined, Kabuki-style mask. The force of the blow snapped my head around and caused me to stagger backward. Quicker than thought, the comforting SHINK of my pressure-released bugnuks sounded through the moon kissed air, Shall we dance? was my last thought before a smug smile of my own erupted secretly behind the mask.

I swung without looking just to back the body away from me; I wasn't too surprised when all I accomplished was slicing the atmosphere. The sinister chuckle that issued from my opponent was well-deserved and in its own way encouraging-- arrogance is the trained fighter's best friend after all. Lull your opponent into a false sense of security and then shatter the illusion with a well placed blow… oldest trick in the book. Too bad it sometimes backfires.
I was unprepared for the blow to the back of my neck that sent a nearly nauseating wave of pain down my spine to the pit of my stomach. I didn't realize I had cried out until I heard the satiny purr of the sword snatcher abrade my ears, “Such a lovely voice.”

I did the only thing I could do, as I was outmaneuvered and outnumbered, I ran. I felt the kage warrior pacing me as I drew near the edge of the roof, but remained calm until the second man suddenly appeared in front of me, forcing me to change directions. They were herding me like an errant steer, the thought was unflattering to say the least, but truth hurts. The gleam of the Kodachi lifted my spirits minutely… if I can get a distance weapon I might stand a chance, these two are so fast. Feeling the long-boned fingers that scrabbled at my shoulder, I put on a burst of speed before erupting into a torrent of back flips, hoping to deter anymore unwanted contact. I kept my direction by fixating on the pale shine of the sword before me.

My fingers grazed the blade. I hissed softly from the shock of the contact as I scooped the length onto the backs of my hands and sent the blade hurtling skyward before forcing an extra burst of strength from my heated muscles to land crouched atop the planked over housing of the skylight. I spun on the balls of my feet, still in a crouch, and snatched the hilt from the night sky before leveling it at the two men before me with my best Shi-ne glare.

It was the first chance I really had to take them in. The sword snatcher was a tall, svelte man with fine-boned angular features. He wore a finely tailored white suit that made his orange-red hair burn. His eyes were narrowed to slits of glittering grey-green and his mouth was still set in that irritating smirk I had glimpsed earlier.
The kage was a dazzling contrast of dark and light. His skin was bisque, marred only by the flat shine of scars down the lengths of his arms and across his face which was expressionless, save for his single brandy colored eye that shone with a manic glee. The other socket was covered with a black leather patch that gave way to a slightly raised scar that trailed down his cheek and disappeared beneath his jawline. His short, spiked hair appeared silvery blue in the moonlight-- the sun must bleach it white, I mused before taking in the remainder of his appearance. He was dressed in black leather from head to toe, an imperfect slice of darkness. The poniard was dangled loosely in his right hand, while the left stroked across the blade holsters that draped crisscross about his chest.

The sound of splintering wood brought me back to reality as I felt the planks beneath my feet give way. I swallowed a terrified shriek as I felt myself dropping. Reflexes saved me, barely; my left shoulder protested as it was wrenched about in the socket by the sudden stop. I dangled from a precarious hold on the concrete sill of the shattered skylight, fighting my pulse down from my throat. My night couldn't get much worse if I tried.

I looked heavenward thinking to send a silent prayer to any power that would hear me, but all I saw were two smirking faces before my head began to pound as if several rock bands were waging war behind my eyes. :: Nobody is listening.:: a voice very much like that of the sword snatcher's whispered inside my head.

The last clear memories I had were of strong fingers prying my hand from the sill and then the grip of what seemed like many powerful hands about my leadened body. All light and thought faded away into a red tinged darkness. I was no more.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++

“Took you two long enough,” the blue-eyed Japanese youth grumbled as he lowered the masked form to the floor using his telekinesis.

“What's wrong, Naggles,” the lanky German purred, wrapping an arm playfully around the boy's shoulders, “got a hot date tonight or something?”

Ignoring the older man's idiotic banter, the boy turned to the boneless puddle of black cloth and pale skin stretching across the floor. “Farf, could you collect our acquisition? Crawford-san is waiting in the car and you know how much he detests waiting…” Without another word the boy shrugged off the red-head's arm, turned on his heels and slipped out of the warehouse.

Farfarello stooped down and hefted the body onto his muscular shoulders. “Torch it,” the voice was raspy but soft as it fell from the scarred youth's lips. He said no more as he strode from the dilapidated warehouse to the waiting Jaguar outside.

The lone figure tamped out a cigarette, lit it and took in a long, satisfying drag of smoke, before flicking the still glowing cancer stick into a nearby pile of kerosene soaked rubble. Schuldig pattered along behind his Irish comrade on lithe feet, chortling softly at the impending mayhem he would never be credited for.

Inside the car, awaited a man slightly older than the others, but no less striking. The American was dressed much like his German companion in a white linen suit that fitted his tall, solid frame nicely. His hair was well-kempt and dark as onyx, bangs hanging pell-mell around the frames of wire-rimmed glasses that kept his murky brown eyes obscured from causal scrutiny. When all the team was present and accounted for, he put the sleek automobile in gear and crawled out of the alley beside the condemned warehouse. :: Schuldig, what took you so long?::

::This kid was determined not to be caught. Took us a while to pin down, finally had to force the little punk through the skylight.::

The American caught a glimpse of the satisfied smirk that his comrade flashed down at their prize which, after disarming, Schu had bound with copper wire and stuffed in the floorboard. The kid was an acquisition for Eszet, a sleeper of immense potential even though the elders claimed not to have a clue as to what abilities actually lay dormant inside the minute form. The task had fallen to Schwarz to acquire and train the newest operative. The kid, said to be a Yakuza assassin of considerable skill, had quite a reputation in the underworld-- a blade dancer wielder of both the Kodachi short sword and a set of well-bloodied bugnuks. Crawford was less than impressed.

::So, Crawford-san, why exactly are we taking him to Takatori? We can't let the Prime Minister do anything to harm him, so why bother?:: Nagi inquired through the open channel that the German telepath provided between the four members of Schwarz.

::To humor him. He thinks we are on this assignment just to protect his interests.::

The answer must have satisfied the teen because he didn't offer a reply, just settled back into the leather upholstery of the front passenger's seat and stared at the fast shifting scenery outside his window. The rest of the journey was made in silence.

When the carload of assassins was swallowed into the underbelly of the Takatori Tower, the captive gave a low moan. Farfarello giggled manically as Schuldig reached into the darkness near his feet and cuffed the groggy form none-too gently across the lower portion of that infernal mask. Crawford was always one for well-planned drama and had forbade anyone from removing the accursed thing until they arrived before Takatori, the corrupt politician that Schwarz currently served.

Before the car had even come to a complete stop, the two men in the backseat hoisted their slowly rousing cargo between them, eager to get the mandatory interview with the old goat over with. After parking, the four captors and their straggling victim were in the elevator and well on their way to the confines of Takatori's lavish office before their boneless bundle started to show any real signs of consciousness. They were deposited on the thirty-fourth floor in a garishly decorated reception room where they were ushered, without so much as a raised eyebrow from the young, well-endowed secretary, into Takatori Reiji's office.

Barely in the doors, the body held between them came to life with a vengeance. The figure thrashed out sending the annoyed German staggering.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++

I had been slowly rising through the red haze of unconsciousness since we pulled into a hollow sounding place that I could only assume was an underground parking structure. The elevator ride made my head swim, but I was not going to let that stop me from at least making a show of myself. Perhaps then they will at least award me a quick death. I hung as lifelessly as I could between the kage warrior and sword snatcher and tried to take in as much as possible through barely opened eyes. There were two more men with them now… Well, a boy who appeared to be a little younger than myself and then a rather intriguing looking older man whose gun holster was ill cut for his frame. I could see the bulge of the grip poking just above the crook of his left elbow.

We stopped and they drug me into a brightly lit space with the gaudiest carpeting I have ever laid eyes on-- a flaming orange color, 70's retro-- too bad money couldn't buy taste.

When our little entourage was led into another brightly lit room by a woman reeking of cheap perfume, I waited for the opportune moment. The soft whoosh of the door as it closed sent me into action. I lashed out with a calculated round house to the back of the red-head's knee and smiled foolishly as he stumbled badly, fumbling his hold on me. Without warning, but hardly unexpectedly I felt the wire wrapped about my wrists pulled taut, and the blood began to flow as I was shoved to the hideous carpet. I struggled beneath the weight of the white-haired boy until I heard the `oh so dramatic' click of a hammer being cocked and strained my neck to see the oldest man of the group leveling his 9 mm Beretta at my head. I gave one final thrash before stilling my exhausted body, the cuts on my wrists and forearms stinging. No matter, I will be dead soon enough.

::You have no idea..:: The hissing tone seethed into my mind as the red-head regained his feet and helped the kage warrior wrangle me to my knees . I had not noticed the old man behind the desk during my bid for release, but his weathered features arrested my attention as he rose, adjusting his purple tie. He strode around the desk and drew up beside the gunman as casually as if he were perusing a used car lot.

“So, this is the whelp that has been causing my company so many problems of late. Business becomes steady and then the damnable Yakuza start up. What is a respectable businessman to do, I ask you?” His voice rumbled good naturedly to no one in particular. “Take off that silly mask and let's see what this gangster has to hide.”

To wear my own face when others can see is forbidden me. Before I could try to force my feet under me or turn away, the youth I had first glimpsed in the elevator tangled long fingers in well secured hair and yanked my head to a painful angle. I was glad I decided not to fight him for a moment later a thin bladed knife was pushed between the leather straps securing my mask and the sensitive skin just in front of my ear. I remained silent even though the blade nicked my flesh and let forth a slender rivulet of blood. The mask clattered to the floor and the faces of the two older men before me hardened.

Slowly, Takatori's expression began to change from stern to amused as he knelt down before me, his soft, fleshy fingers clamping like an iron vise about my chin, forcing my neck to stretch even further. “This nothing of a girl is what all the fuss has been about?” His gasping bray of laughter was more painful than the stinging of my lacerated wrists or the denial of a death's release. I hated him, my naked flesh reviled him. I felt the two boys holding me to the floor tense as I did. Hands off, now, roared through my mind as I twitched back, gnashing in the old bastard's hold. His dark brown eyes took on an appalled light as he lowered his face to peer hard into mine. “A jade-eyed Nippon? Must have dirtied blood.”

I couldn't stand it any longer; I spat into his tanned face and grinned coolly as my spittle dripped from his graying whiskers as he sprang to his feet. The gun-toting gaijin handed him a handkerchief with which he scrubbed angrily at his face before attempting to backhand the smile off my lips. The blow landed hot against the left side of my face, wrenching my head around with a brain sloshing snap.

:: Remain still.::

I decided it might be in my best interest to take the advice and keep my face averted, eyes cast down. The old man wasn't the type to do the wet-work himself; I could wait a bit to die if it meant not having to stare at this awful orange carpet while doing so. I could feel the blood trickling hot over my lips from where my teeth had clacked together on impact. “Crawford, get her out of here. She's bleeding all over the carpet. Kill her and dump the body.”

The dark-haired man called Crawford holstered his gun, then turned to the figurehead, who was reseating himself behind the desk before I dared to raise my head. “I am afraid that is not possible, Takatori- san. We have other uses for her.” He shot a pointed glare in the direction of my human manacles. “Take her to the car.”

The last comment I heard as I was half-drug, half-carried from the room was, “You keep dangerous pets, Crawford.” The tone was disapproving.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++

I was forced to sit between the two older youths in the back seat while the gaijin gunman and the slight, Japanese teen rode in seeming silence in the front. I decided to reserve my strength until a plausible chance at escape arose; bound in the backseat of a car under armed guard didn't make for favorable odds. Besides, the Yakuza would come for me eventually. All I need do is wait, and bleed.

No one had said a word since the meeting with Takatori and the silence continued as we pulled into the drive of a modest, two-story, Western-style dwelling and waited for one of the two garage doors to slide open. I had pictured their base of operations being a shady, dilapidated building located in the heart of Tokyo's underworld, but this was normal, unassuming.

I was pulled a little more gently from the rear of the car than I had been at our previous locale, but the fingers at the back of my throbbing neck and blood seeping wrists were no less painful. I was forced down on the inner stoop to have my shoes removed before being hoisted up by the white-haired boy, hustled through the living room into what appeared to be a master bedroom and shoved into a glaringly white bathroom that, to my disappointment, had no windows.

“If ya try ta escape, Ah'll flay ya like a fish.” Without another word the boy sliced through the wires and left, locking the door behind him from the outside.

I took a shaky breath and started searching for a weapon. Just as luck would have it not even a mirror was to be found in the bathroom, and I bloody well couldn't soap someone to death. I ran a scalding bath, stripped out of my bloody, grime covered clothes and sank gingerly into the tub. The water was delicious, but soon colored a rusty brown from the blood that crept from my wrists and the shallow gash across my upper arm. My head was throbbing from the blow that the old man had landed and I was certain to have a rather livid bruise to show for my bravado. I scrubbed my skin until it was a ruddy pink, before stepping from the tub and drying off with one of the fluffy white towels I had found stacked on the floor near the toilet.

Rather at a loss as to what to do without any clean clothes to put on, I wrapped a dry towel around my chest, pinning it with my hair claw as I shook out my heavy black tresses. During my searching, I had discovered a rather well supplied first aid kit under the sink. I seated myself on the closed toilet and began to dress my wounds; luckily, most were superficial. Some scrapes and scratches but nothing that wouldn't disappear in a weeks' time. A few Tylenol and I will be as good as new, I told myself, ripping open two of the four available single dose packets and popping the elongated capsules into my mouth, swallowing them dry.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++

Farfarello leaned against the door for a moment with his functional eye closed before he felt Nagi's and Schuldig's presences. “Crawford never said anything about a girl,” the Irishman spat in heavily accented English.

:: Eszet's convinced she's worth the trouble.:: Schu's mental voice replied into both his younger teammates' minds.

“Ah dun't like it. What good could she possibly be? The Yakuza keep their women in the home, bellies full of babies and brains empty, their whores are on a tight leash and their assassins are ignorant, incompetent clods.”

“Enough,” Crawford commanded, finding the three not five feet from his bathroom door carrying on the degenerately heated conversation loudly in English. “Nagi, go gather some clothes. Your pants and one of Schuldig's button-down shirts.”

Nagi wandered off to raid closets in hopes of finding something that would suffice. After the boy disappeared out the bedroom door, Crawford turned with a glare to the remaining men. “We have orders from Eszet and we will follow them. She is not to be harmed any more than her training warrants. Treat her as you would Nagi… firm, fair and consistent. Farfarello control yourself.”

“Eszet be damned…” Crawford struck the white skinned youth harshly across the mouth before he could utter another syllable.

“Don't be a fool,” the older man hissed, straightening his shirt. “You will be her caretaker while she is here. After she is resigned to her position, we will see her properly outfitted; she'll need clothes and things…”

As if on cue the fourth member of their group appeared with a neatly folded bundle balanced on one arm.

“Farfarello, go to your room and play with your knives.” The youth shrugged and stalked off.

“Schuldig, Nagi, stay with me. I haven't foreseen any mishaps, but she is, as you put it, rather determined not to be detained.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++

No sooner had I replaced the med kit than the door swung open revealing Crawford, dressed now in a pair of dark jeans and a hunter green dress shirt opened at the neck to reveal a neutral colored beaded necklace with a cross pendant dangling from the center. Behind him stood the red-haired youth and the blue-eyed teen, holding a wad of fabric in the crook of his arm. The smaller boy was visibly blushing as I stood to face them, pulling my towel tighter around me.

“Why have I been brought here?” I tried my best to keep my tone even and my voice low, but being in front of strange males, one step from nude has never been my forte.

“Would you care to dress before or after you have your answer?” Crawford asked softly. Not waiting for my response, the red-head snatched the bundle from the other boy, extended the clothes and placed them on the counter to leave half a breath later, dragging the still flustered brunette with him.

“Before… if you wouldn't mind?” I raised my eyebrow to indicate my annoyance, but the man didn't budge. “I have no intention of dressing in front of a complete stranger, now get out!” I felt my body flush with my anger and embarrassment.

“Very well. You have two minutes.” He turned on his heels and left, shutting the door with a muted click.

I hadn't really expected that to work, most men in his position would have forced the issue. `Odd,' I mused, wandering over to the countertop. The clothes they brought consisted of black denim hip huggers and a button-down, long-sleeved, lime green dress shirt that made me appear to have raided a giant's closet. The pants fit well enough, but the shirt swallowed me. They were far less revealing than the towel, but I still felt oddly exposed without the hateful screen of the mask.

With the last button fastened, the door opened to allow Crawford and the red-haired youth to enter.

::Schuldig is my name. Remember it…. You might be screaming it later.::

The sexy smirk on his face made something in my stomach lurch- had to be revulsion, right? Wait—he hadn't spoken aloud…

Smirk widening as my face registered surprise; he posed in the doorway, while the olive-skinned American traversed to the center of the room, stopping only a foot or so away from me.

“To answer your earlier question, you have been acquisitioned for Eszet, an elite international organization that harnesses the talents of unique individuals such as those of my team-- people who have something extra to give in the service of creating a new world order… a world of peace. Of course to achieve peace, they are willing to sacrifice- cause a little madness and mayhem on occasion. However, the end justifies the means; this is the nature of the beast,” Crawford finished without so much as an inflection in his voice. His eyes were hard behind his glasses. I could tell instantly that he would be a cold master to serve… if it came to that.

“What do you mean by something extra? Like superhuman powers?”

“That is exactly what I mean. You have heard Schuldig speaking within the confines of your own mind. You yourself have been embraced by Nagi's telekinesis- had you not your body would be lying broken and cold at that warehouse even now,” the last brought a ghost of a smile to his wan lips.

Yes, a very cold master indeed.

“So, how do I fit into all this? I don't have any something extra to give to your crusade. Even if I did, I wouldn't.” At that moment the battle of the bands roared to life behind my eyes and the sudden pain sent me crashing to my knees on the now agony-grayed tiles. The pain receded as quickly as it came, and I took a sharp breath before raising my swimming gaze to sweep up the tall man's solid frame. “I would rather rot than help you bastards!”

I hadn't seen him move, but large, rough hands tangled in my hair and yanked me painfully to my feet before dragging me to the doorway and flinging me across the room to land in an indignant heap at the feet of the Japanese boy. The impact with the floor sent another shock of pain through my bruised left shoulder. The world tilted crazily before righting itself. I felt gentle, yet insistent hands beneath my right arm-- the boy had knelt to help me up. Looking around startled, I located Crawford across the room coolly pressing the power on the wide screen TV and dialing up the local news station.

Confused, I listened through a daze as the male newscaster with the bad toupee reported a fire that had swept the warehouse district near the riverfront not four hours ago. The blaze had been contained to a small area of mostly condemned buildings. “Investigators are still looking into the cause of the blaze. Only one fatality has been reported. The body of a seventeen-year-old female was discovered burned to death in one of the buildings. Coroners have identified the body as that of Shimazu Kayia who is believed to be tied to the Teniawai branch of the Yakuza here in Tokyo. In other news tonight…” The baritone faded away as my world came crashing down around me. There would be no assistance-- I could wait until I rotted for help from my organization, it would never come. I wished for death and now I have it, without all the fringe benefits.

“Now, back to my earlier proposition….” the gaijin smirked lightly, again stepping within easy reach of me as if daring me to lash out. The boy at my side withdrew when I refused to rise from my crouched position, viciously tugging my arm from his grasp. “You have no where to go, no one to cry out to. Shimazu Kayia is dead. Eszet if offering you a new life, a chance to make a difference for all of humanity-- not to be the lackey of lower life forms, but a protector of a peaceful world order. What say you?”

“I say you are insane and this world will fall to ruin long before your Eszet guts it of the corruption that pollutes it

Quicksilver laughter rippled across the windswept plains of my mind as the voice that intruded purred, ::You wax poetic with Bradley too often and he might just cut your tongue out. It would be such a waste. Now, sleep.:: That simple command plunged me into darkness with the sickening feeling that the shadows lurking in my subconscious lay in wait to feast upon the fresh, seeping rents in my soul.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++

The lean red-head scooped the girl's unconscious body from the floor before turning to address his leader, “So, what is the plan?”

“She has no choice. Eszet will have her.” Muddy brown eyes meet icy green as the reinforced wall of his mental shields dropped to link them, ::Over the next day or so, you will use your own particular brand of persuasion to influence her decision. Might I remind you that Eszet wants her functional and relatively sane?::

A chagrinned `hnn' was all his reminder earned him.

“Take her to the room that was prepared. Make sure to bolt the door and windows when you leave. I have a phone call to make; I'll be in my office.” Without another word, the elder man glided out the door toward the darkened sanctuary of his study.

Schuldig watched his retreating back for a moment before smirking over his shoulder at the younger boy, “Think I'll go get to know our new playmate on a more intimate level.”

The boy's skin flushed softly. The images conjured were fleeting, locked tightly away behind an iron curtain before the telepath could get more than a glimpse.

Nagi shivered as what felt like hoards of spiders skittered across his brain. He really hated it when Schu laughed inside his head like that. ::My, my…. does Naggles have the hots for the Yakuza?::

The German was leering down maliciously at the rag doll draped across his arms. Without another word, mental or otherwise, he turned and sauntered up the stairs toward the guest room. Nagi followed swiftly on the German man's heels only to stop in the doorway, watching as Schu deposited the teen at the foot of the bed before dragging back the blankets and maneuvering her under them. It was an odd sight, Nagi mused, the German was never gentle.

Schuldig shook his head ruefully, surprised at his own miniscule act of consideration, and stalked out of the room Nagi in front of him, before closing and bolting the door behind him. Now began the no doubt tedious task of stripping down his soon-to-be teammate's resolve to defy Eszet.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++< /div>

“Yes, I understand…. She will accept the offer,” Crawford replied in a tone that brooked no arguments. “Her training will begin as soon as she is resigned to her status in Schwarz……. She seems to respond well to all members of the team………… No, Farfarello will not be a problem… I assure you…… Yes, Nagi will see to the documentation………….. She is secure in our care.” He hung up the phone without a goodbye and stretched back in his plush leather chair before shoving his glasses back up his nose. Ironic that a clairvoyant of his caliber should be reduced to wearing glasses for near sightedness, he mused with a chagrined smirk.

His thoughts shifted to his newest team member as he turned to the softly glowing computer screen to review the mission file concerning her capture. Another point of ire lay in the fact that it was in fact a “her,” the girl had been a thorn in Schwarz side for months. The figure had always been darkened and indistinct in his visions. The little shadow always seemed to strike where least expected, targeting mainly petty arms deals and opium shipments. Not much of a dent in Takatori's vast underground industry, but still an annoyance none-the-less. Crawford had paid little heed to the gnat until an order had come through from Eszet to acquire the assassin for their personal use. Nothing had been known about her except that she was a Teniawai operative whose style was described as blitzkrieg warfare. She appeared out of nowhere and left nothing but gutted corpses in her wake. It had been much easier to deal with the idea of having a fifth member when Crawford had been under the impression that “he” was male. His post cognition had belied that impression, and given him an all new cause for concern. Women were nearly impossible to reason with. The initial introduction to their new member was a small consolation considering all the trouble she was destined to cause him.

The reactions of his subordinated had been equally entertaining. Schu had looked more than a little miffed; Farfarello had retained his stoic expression, but his tensed body language spoke volumes and Nagi's characteristic blank, doll -like expression had softened around the edges as he had allowed the mask to drop to the carpet. Crawford had to admit the girl was a rare beauty despite the filth and bruises that marred her angular face and slender frame. Her eyes were an odd shade of green, the color of creamy jade. Her lips were full and pale, only a few shades darker than her beige-porcelain skin. Her hair, as he had found out only a few minutes ago, was a thick cascade of satin that tumbled to her mid-back in unruly waves. She no doubt had foreign blood somewhere in her recent past, as Takatori had so crassly speculated.

Despite her heritage or her looks, her integration into the team would require some work. Especially where Farfarello was concerned. The boy had already expressed a great dislike of her. It would take careful managing, but a tolerable working association would be reached one way or another.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++

The Irish youth perched on the edge of his narrow bed grinding one of his many blades along the length of his whetstone before pausing to check its edge. He kept all his equipment honed to razor-sharpness. Besides, it was a good excuse to hide from the new bane of his existence. He could still see her eerie, pale eyes boring into his from behind that mask. Too many emotions had passed behind those eyes when she had looked at him, not the least of which was a fleeting fascination. He sighed in quelling frustration at the possible implications of that gaze and eased his mind back into the distracting rhythm of the blade's manic song.

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Schuldig reclined languidly in his queen-sized bed, reveling at the feel of blue silk sheets on his bath-heated skin. He had been in need of some relaxation before actively tackling his newest challenge-- the girl's subconscious. She was pretty to look at, but the most interesting thing about her from his perspective was the shadows that veiled all but her surface thoughts. The smile that curved his full lips was sensual and cruel… Crawford had given him free reign to play. Besides, the American's hold was tenuous over the German at best, and the mind was Schuldig's playground.
Settling more deeply into the mounds of pillows, the man let his long, lean limbs stretch out from his body as he drew in a deep breath. His exhalation carried with it his probing mental flanges. He felt the quiet whirring of Nagi's thoughts before his mental shield was slammed into place- the boy was already at work replacing the girl's stolen identity with one of his own creation. The next consciousness was a maelstrom of whirling images, the blood-tears of a powerless God, the broken bodies of hundreds of faceless victims, a nun with bleeding hands…. Schuldig shuddered on the bed and hurried his unseen sensor past the violent upheaval and onto quieter territory. Farfarello's subconscious had always been a crowed, turbulent place much to Schu's distaste.

The girl's mind was a silent void- the surface empty as denoted a deep state of unconsciousness. It was easy to slip into the darkness, but it took several attempts to successfully descend onto the deeper levels of her subconscious. For some reason, he kept getting turned around in the sea of black, inky gloom and stumbling back onto the breezy plains of her barren awareness. No matter, it wasn't the first time something like that happened when dealing with a conflicted personality. He had arrived, finally, at his desired destination.

The corridor of her memory was a long, winding avenue lined with innumerable doors in various sizes, shapes, colors and states of repair. Some doors were secured with an inventive array of safeguards. It might be worth my while to pry some of these open one day, lucky for her I don't have the time just at the moment, he mused snidely before moving off down the path at a steady clip. He was brought up short as he rounded a bend and found himself stumbling onto a familiar scene-- the rooftop from earlier that night. He watched in fascination as the whole scene played out for him again as his mind moved in concert with her mental projection. For the first time, he sensed the swift undercurrents of fear he had not been able to detect throughout the reality of the event. The girl was not afraid of death or pain, but of the loss of control she sensed when falling through the skylight and into a state of catatonic suspension only to awaken in the clutches of her enemy, yearning for the one thing she would never attain, petrified her soul.

Schuldig snorted derisively--a childish wish, impossible to achieve. A lamb that has tasted death is twin to the wolf… it cannot return to what it once was. Separating his still questing persona from the pitiable reminiscence, he ambled off into the further recesses of the now shifting mindscape. Several mildly interesting scenes played out before him, none of any real consequence, except for the reoccurring presence of an angelic little blonde chibi with sparkling jade eyes. A name whispered about in the air, reverberating eerily off the multiplying shadows-- Miaka. When the interloper attempted to reach out to the child, a figure sprang from the darkness-- a grotesque humanoid form, little more than a rotting corpse that snatched the cowering girl with a growl and flash of silvery glare, then vanished into a grove of skeletal trees.

A cold chill ran down his spine as he allowed his hand to drop, and looked around with the caution of a deer newly alerted to danger. Best to be done with this as soon as possible. He turned, redoubling his search for a possible point of entry into the garden of the girl's personality. As if in response to his barely swallowed unease, a slender ray of light drifted across his face, widening by the second until it framed a rather narrow entryway. Phantom tendrils wrapped about the wrists and throat of his projected form to drag him into the bluish-gray light beyond the threshold. Inside he found himself face to face with a creature made of pure energy, a blaringly bright figure against the hazy background.

:: Welcome:: The voice sent crackles of power snapping into the uncertain light of the chamber.

:: Who are you?::

::Why ask questions to which you already know the answers?:: the pressure on his throat had relaxed considerably, but his wrists were still bound securely.

::So, you are the sleeper?::

::I am, yet I am not.::

::Like to be difficult, do you?::

::Only when it pleases me.:: came the cagey, androgynous reply; a sudden surge of energy pulsed through the restraints. The sensation drew a low hiss from the captive image. ::You have come to demand my servitude if I am not mistaken?::

::Direct, I like that in a …woman?::

::You tread on dangerous ground coming here. I am trying only to protect you. Now, make your demands and leave.:: The voice was firm.

::Fair enough. The blade dancer, we need her… your cooperation.::

::I am only a small part of the whole. A part that is still in denial…::

::So, it was useless to come here?::

::Yes and no.::

::Just like a woman. Could you be a bit more explicit?::

::Bradley is expecting results now. I have no time for riddles and trials of wits. Tell me how to reach ….::

::Time is all that is left to me. Seek and set me free.::

A dazzling pulse of light sent the German tumbling through the twilight zone and slamming back into his own body. The thing had been on the verge of nuking a few too many brain cells to compensate for its catty mode of discourse. The wretched thing was obviously under the impression it was the modern day Sphinx. Not in the least amused, Schuldig climbed from his bed and pulled on the pair of slacks he had discarded earlier. He might as well get his report over with while his aggravation was still freshly spawned.

He passed Nagi and Farfarello's rooms without so much as a glance, but stopped to consider the smooth, natural wood panel concealing the unconscious assassin's domain, before traipsing down the stairs. He passed through the darkened living room and threw the office door open without bothering to knock as was his custom.

The dark-haired man was already facing the door, waiting for the red-head's entrance; he had removed his glasses in an effort to stave off a headache. “Problems?”

“You could say that,” grated the German, “nothing I can't handle though.”

“What did you find out?”

“Eszet was right… I met the sleeper,” the German could feel himself calming under Crawford's unwavering gaze. He moved to the edge of the desk, thrusting aside some papers that were neatly stacked on the corner before his appearance. The skin around the older man's mouth tightened slightly, but his expression otherwise remained unchanged.

“You act as though the `sleeper' is a separate entity from the girl.”

“It is, at least it seems to be. It's powerful, but it's trapped.”

“How?”

“The way the thing talked it was sealed away-- a repressed memory or something of the like.”

“Did it have any suggestions as to its liberation?”

“It wants us to play nursemaid to the kid… `seek beyond the masks,' it said.”

“Interesting…” Not generally their style, but whatever was necessary. The end justifies the means after all, Crawford reminded himself, pushing a hand through his dark-hair absently. “I suppose we could accommodate as long as results are forth coming.”

The German's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What?”

“Simple, we rip the masks off…” a malicious smile stole over the man's lips as he let the words trail off. He could play grand poobah of the dysfunctional Brady bunch if need be to attain his objective. He picked his glasses up from the desk and slipped them on, his stomach giving a startling lurch at the answering smirk his comment had elicited.

“Your wish is my command, poobah,” Schuldig crooned, feigning a bow. Straightening, he rose with catlike grace from the desk and slouched toward the door.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“I have a mask to prize off.”

“Let it be for now,” the American rose to his full height and stretched stiff muscles. He had been poring over files for hours and was ready to retire for the night, but not before he was secure in the fact that the German truly would stick to the plan.

“You are about as much fun as Nagi these days,” his now still form by the door whined vindictively. “I have a chaos to orchestrate. Gute Nacht, Bradley.”

The American frowned as the door shut tightly behind the other man. Schuldig had never been receptive to taking orders. Of all the trained “dogs” of their organization, the German was the most likely to mangle the hand that feeds. Crawford scowled over the possibilities that whirled behind his eyes.