Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Prodigal Daughter ❯ Kapitel 1: A Deeper Shade of Night ( Epilogue )

My third WK fic is classified AU because what takes place after "Mission 8: Raubtier" toss it out the window! This fic contains an OC and has hetero hentai (ware! As much as I wave the yaoi/yuri flag, it just gets a tad redundant in every WK fic archive I hit up), so non-yaoi bashers, minors, and any Takatori relations VERBOTEN!! Save for the OC's all is licensed by Koyasu Takehito-sama, Project Weiß , and Tsuchiya Kyoko. References to any and all pyrokinetic activity can be accredited to Miyabe Miyuki's novel and the film adaptation Kaneko Shusuke's Cross Fire.

Prodigal Daughter

By Ishida Miyako

Kapitel 1: A Deeper Shade of Night

Have you ever wondered if there was a deeper shade of night? A complete color void? I have. Things like that enter the mind when you're clinging to embedded rock and roots, for your life that is. Even after their smiling faces dragged me out of that smoldering hole in the middle of a burning nowhere, all I kept seeing was that bottomless night right under ready to swallow me whole. I knew whatever it was coiled directly to hell, exactly where I belonged. Coming back to Tokyo, I asked myself that question again until I saw that there was. Schwarz. Black.

Looking into all of my nightmares there was only one way to beat the night, because even in the distance burning light can safely lead the way to shore. I remember almost nothing of my mother- my real mother. But this I recall easily, she said once that the fishing fires that glimmer off the coast aren't only for attracting fish. In ancient times, our ancestors secretly rowed out alone at night to release their hatred and anger and spread throughout the world. Later it became known as legend of the Sea Fire. She warned me that wrath can grow in your heart like fire. Once the flame of wrath starts to burn, you can't stop it. It will burn until it consumes you as well….

* * *

"Odyou-sama!" The rapid thudding of stockinged feet pounding smooth wood forced her to turn round. The glass choji rattled as he approached and violently tore them apart. "Odyou-sama!"

"Hai?" She answered placidly as she had been for the last hour on the veranda. Toru gulped air greedily, his head hanging and midnight blue strands sticking to his rosy cheeks. "Nani ka doushite?"

"Odyou-sama… there is… some emergency," she turned back facing the dead wood. "I'm afraid they need you back at the hospital." Elbows on the varnished oak railing, her hands one on top of the other. She breathed in the mist kissing the grass.

"Wakatta." Toru stood to one side to let the mistress pass.

"I already parked your car round front." She nodded appreciatively and both went inside.

~The Magic Bus Hospital….~

The automatic doors were promptly sealed and three guards posted, their attempts failing at blocking the swarming paparazzi and gaggle of reporters from gaining the attention of the three people who sat in the emergency room's lobby. Miyamoto Masako didn't bother wiping the mascara drizzling down her face falling to the crisp cream silk, blotchy violet-blue stains on her cuffs and collar. She sat rocking hypnotically eyes never leaving the wallet-sized photo in her hands, her daughter Kiyome slid Yen coins into the vending machine's slot counting the transparent keys repeatedly waiting for her selection to come tumbling out. Miyamoto Junichi down at the end of the corridor paced barking into his mobile enraged at the white curtain obstructing his view. One of his associates, an post-grad intern in older brother's brown suit jogged over to him and whispered in his ear.

"NANI!!" Masako snapped her head up and looked in her husband's direction.

"I'm sorry, sir," the intern quailed at the thought of the burly 53-year-old politician's fists rather than unemployment. "The detectives would like to speak with you now… they don't believe this is an accident." Junichi's mouth struggled to form words, but his stuttering agitated him further.

"I don't even know what the fuck happed!" He gestured to the curtain. "All I know is that I was pulled from my office when they said my son-" The swinging doors creaked and the surgeon stepped out. Her pea-green scrubs were smeared with blood, it was difficult to read her face since all but her russet eyes were concealed by a white mask. The clicking of Masako's snakeskin pumps and Kiyome's Mary Janes bounced off the fading chalky concrete walls as they clambered to Junichi's side, apprehensive and hungry. "Well, doctor?" The surgeon pulled her lips tight, stripping off her gloves making the latex snap like a whiplash, just as the news they were about to receive was going to feel. Pulling down her cap and mask she felt it appropriate for her to do this if they heard it from a person, not just a pair of eyes that were more acquainted with death than most thought. She took a deep breath and a step back to get the entire family in view.

"Miyamoto-san…." But she failed once again and just shook her head. Junichi was expressionless and Kiyome raised small fists to her mouth.

"Onii-chan!" She tried to run into the OR when the intern restrained her.

"Dame! Kiyome-chan!" Masako's arms fell the way leaves off a flower stem when sheared. Slumping to the floor she threw her head back and shrieked.

"TATSUYA!!!!" Hands on either side of her head her grip slipped and she bawled. Junichi fell to his wife's side, but his efforts to console her proved futile, the doctor out of place but unable to leave concentrated on the checkerboard tiling when she saw what fluttered from Masako's hand earlier. Picking up the photo she pushed the door slightly to see the medics reassemble the crash cart, mop spilt blood from the floor, and roll away soiled surgical tools and monitors. Behind the curtain elongated silhouettes of the nurses pulling the sheet over the body, shadows taking Tatsuya down the river. Looking down at the smiling handsome 17-year-old's headshot, the doctor thought he looked nothing like the thing laying on the table broken and ripped apart.

~The Jigen Party Building….~

He fancied them ants. Looking down at them scuttling in all directions, lugging giant crumbs on their backs. The corners of his mouth twitched, it was the next best thing to a laugh from the morose teen. Lounging on the sofa was the German, his shocking tangerine mane splayed on the headrest amusing himself by poking Prodigy's shields. /Otou kei./ Naoe Nagi mentally snarled contrary to his unchanging outward docility. /Or I swear I'll lock up your treasured native brew with Farfarello in the vault, Shulderich!/

/Tch!/ Mastermind scoffed. /You're no fun Nagi-chan…./ He smirked and lazily looked over to observe the Berserker aforementioned sitting adjacent of him caressing his Bora. He retracted and fired the blade in all its lengths with pleasure. Swinging his leg crossed over his left knee, Shulderich jostled his cyan duster dumped in a heap on the armchair across from him with his Italian leather white boot, gliding his catty azure eyes to the desk where their employer sat at by the picture windows. Takatori Reiji scrawled his signature on the last of the pile of documents, arranged them in the correct order and banged them briskly on his desk evening them out before enclosing them in a file folder. "Gentlemen," he handed the file to Oracle as always standing behind him. "Shall we check out the local news?" He clicked the remote, a floor panel slid open and up rose the big screen.

Shulderich lolled his head from side to side, drumming the cushions. "No movie of the week?"

"Pay attention Nagi," Crawford remarked pushing his glasses up. "Your lessons don't stop when the bell rings at three." Prodigy turned round and leaned against the glass, folding his arms sleepily. They had missed the first five minutes, the two reporters behind the desk chatted with the sports commentator about the Osaka Dragons stunning victory.

'…In a late breaking story it was announced that Miyamoto Tatsuya, son of the Nisei Party's Prime Ministerial candidate Miyamoto Junichi was murdered just outside the gates of the prestigious Jonan Gakuen. It happened late this afternoon, after 4:30 when the 17-year-old track team captain had left classes, was cornered savagely beaten and stabbed, then shot in the throat.

Investigating Detective Harada Shun had confirmed that the southwest entrance where Tatsuya-san was found mangled in a pool of blood is relatively deserted but according to the medical examiner's report the given the angle at which the bullet that entered his body the trajectory suggests that it came from a car. Those closest to the Miyamoto family and Nisei Party members scream foul play, that Tatsuya-san's slaughter was politically motivated. Miyamoto family spokesperson, Hikawa Yo, stated that funeral services will be held in Harajuku on Saturday.' Takatori clicked off the set, Crawford smirked expectantly.

"I am a man of few words," Takatori said rising from his deep leather chair. "I give neither praise or criticism." Shulderich grinned at Takatori's smooth lie. "But you will note my approval when you receive your bank statements." Crawford bowed deeply and Takatori paused with his fist round the doorknob. "I know this is last minute, but show up early on Saturday. We have a funeral to attend," he glared in Mastermind's direction, "so dress appropriately. Oyasumi nasai minna-san."

"Sleep well, Mr. Takatori." Nagi went into the closet to retrieve his bag, Crawford locked the file into his briefcase.

"I love funerals," Shulderich sighed flipping his cerulean shirt collar over the duster. "All the praying that's done by people that have yet to acknowledge God, but all they're concerned about is whether or not there'll be a buffet at the bereaved's home."

"Shulderich hidoi." Nagi exited the office with Farfarello silently in tow. Shulderich looked archly at his field leader watching him polish his lenses with deliberate torpor, he jammed his hands into his pockets.

/What's on your mind, mein Fü hrer?/

Crawford breathed on his left lens. /Nothing that need concern you./ The German tapped his iron shields as he did prior with Nagi.

/You can't lie to me, Bradley./ Shudlerich knew he detested being referred to by his given name, but it was the only way to scratch the surface of his mental defenses. /Another vision? You don't act like this when you have one./

/You're right I don't. But it doesn't necessarily mean I had a vision./ Crawford brushed past him mentally ordering him to help Nagi put Farfarello down for the night when they got home and that no one was to disturb him whilst in his study.

"Oretachi no leader, did you schedule in your midlife crisis early? Or is it the fact that pushing 30 makes you feel more powerless than usual?"

* * *

She heard his noiseless feet skim his bedroom's wine colored carpeting long before he reached the second floor landing. The Old Man supported his weight on the ebony and silver walking stick, hammering with each step like fists smashing and rupturing organs following every plunge.

"Muse!" She sat on the step in the foyer, elbows on knees her shoes thrown in a corner somewhere. "What happened today?" She emptied the saké bottle into her tumbler. "Don't lie to me, you touched the boy. What did you see?" He punctuated his last words jabbing the heavy air with his stick. Muse tossed back the saké , offering no reply just resting her forehead on the back on her limp wrist. Her looped ponytail spiraled tightly by a red ribbon slithered across her black blazer when she faced her master.

"A black Mercedes."

~Koneko no Sumu Ie, the following Saturday….~

Tsukiyono Omi cursed hurling the wire clippers nursing his bleeding index finger. "Chikushou!" Ken tutted him.

"Oy Omi, don't rush or you'll lop it off completely. Yoji!" The playboy hunkered over a white porcelain pot of glittering lilies.

"Nan da, Ken?!" His patience was thinning as the black ribbon refused to agree with the knot he was pulling round the stems.

"Get the kit, Omi cut himself."

"'Taku! I'm busy here, get it yourself." The former soccer star was about to engage him in another verbal spar when Aya walked in from loading the van.

"Hurry it up, we have to have these ready by one." He tossed an envelope on the table where Yoji sat atop his newspaper. Omi returned from the back room, his finger swathed in an antibacterial salve and a bit of gauze with no help from his bickering teammates.

"No matter how long I've been at this," he went back to the black and white carnation wreath up against the wall he was arranging, "funerals depress me." Yoji lit a cigarette.

"Depends on which shift we're on you're referring to, Omi." He opened up the envelope which contained the name and message tags and shuffled them briefly. In Loving Memory, Miyamoto Tatsuya. "Miyamoto… Tatsuya!" Wildly he pushed aside the pot, crinkling through the newspaper, pissed that Ken had it folded to the funnies. "ORA!" The three other members of Weiß startled by Yoji's outburst couldn't help but crowd round him.

"Nani yo, Yoji-kun!" Omi huffed, arms akimbo. Kudou gnawed on the Marlboro studying the front page.

"You know that funeral we're doing today," he threw the paper down, "looks like we might have to stop and pose for the cameras." A black and white blown up shot of Tatsuya in his track team uniform doctored to look streaked in blood with crosshairs superimposed on his face, the headline read: 'A POLITICAL MACHINE'S LATEST TARGET'.

Ken gasped sharply and picked up the paper. "You don't think-"

"Ohayou gozaimasu!" A familiar redhead in a matching miniskirt suit slinked in.

"Manx." Aya nodded in greeting.

"That answered my question," Ken was clearly deflated. Weiß and Manx gathered in the basement Omi busied himself pouring the coffee.

"Well beautiful," Yoji drawled hooking a leanly muscled arm round Persia's secretary, "come for breakfast in bed?" She grinned and balanced his Ray Bans atop his bangs.

"Maybe next time," she quipped fingering the tip of his nose. Aya spotted her only carrying her clutch bag, noting the absence of a video.

"Mission da?" Aya asked. Manx shook her head, boisterous curls swaying.

"Not exactly. The word from Persia is this: we might be speeding things up as of this afternoon." She tapped the newspaper with a scarlet nail and relaxed into the sofa. "You're on surveillance today, so keep out of sight."

"Manx, what kind of muscle are we looking at?" Ken looked dubious.

"You'll see when you get there. Mostly private personnel, on duty police officers, and the investigation team will be present." She got up and snatched her purse from the desk and sighed. "Come armed," Weiß followed her up the spiral staircase but stopped short when she lingered at the door. "You'll know why."

"Manx…." Omi whispered.

~Funakoshi Funeral Parlour….~

3:15 P.M. She slid the sleeve of her black bolero over her watch and caught her breath. Flushed, Muse ran all the way from the metro and stood across the street from the funeral home, hesitant, realizing what danger she was in because she wasn't just taking orders by coming here. White press tents were pitched on either side of the main entrance, wooden barricades erected to prevent reporters and onlookers from intrusion. A black and white overhang flew banners of the Miyamoto family, floral tributes festooned the walk, a good many of them from Jonan Gakuen, students and faculty alike. Chuo Gakuen, where Kiyome presently attended sent their floral commiseration was just being delivered. Some were arranged outside and others the funerary attendants took into the viewing room and lobby.

Muse dashed to the corner to join with the throngs of mourners lining the pavement awaiting access. From a distance she heard TV cameras whir and flashbulbs burst, grateful she was bringing up the rear. Peering over a middle-aged man's shoulder Muse squinted just able to make out something sailing down the street. A burgundy Lincoln Towncar parked in front of the entrance, simultaneously all four doors opened. From the rear surfaced Farfarello and Nagi. Prodigy seemed almost normal dressed in white khakis, a black zipper shirt and black sports jacket. An onyx stick pendant dangled from his silver chain. The Berserker was in his usual attire. From the driver's side, Oracle buttoned his blazer, a black three-piece suit and royal blue dress shirt. Replacing his spectacles were prescription sunglasses. Mastermind made his appearance from the passenger side, lazily stretching like a tabby under the high noon sun. His red tinted shades over his yellow headband, he smirked when cameras aimed in their direction. Shulderich wiggled his fingers at them hoping that the reporters enjoyed the way his black trench coat hung on him as much as he did. Muse glowered, ever the attention-seeker shining in the most morbid venues. Farfarello stepped out of the way to let Takatori Reiji out of the vehicle and all hell broke loose.

Takatori-san! Takatori-san! Takatori-san! A tidal wave of reporters tried to crash through security, their shouts nonsensical because their requests for comments and questions came all at once. The seasoned politician surrounded by Schwarz floated into the lobby. Muse's fists tensed round her handbag straps, her pearline nails cutting her palms. The cool clacking of her jade prayer beads provided little comfort and the line began to move. When she got inside Muse took a seat on the sofa farthest from the viewing room giving her a fair vantage point, Takatori or Schwarz were nowhere in sight. Scuttling through the assembly of mourners was the intern that Muse had seen with Miyamoto Junichi before she broke the news amble into the viewing room. Miyamoto shot up from his seat beside his wife roughly grasping the intern by the crook of his left arm and lead him up the aisle intentionally distancing themselves from the rest of the family.

"What do you mean he is here?" Miyamoto hissed. The intern's chin trembled before deciding what was wise enough to answer him.

"S-suimasen," he bowed, "but Takatori-san just simply said he would like to express his condolences- sir." Junichi looked off into the middle distance doubtless that the press conference he held Thursday influenced this. He loosed his intern.

"Show them in." And walked back to his family. Visibly shaken, the intern adjusted his tie and nodded to the funeral director who, with his wife, showed Takatori and Schwarz inside. Muse pushed herself deeper into the sofa's backrest obstructing herself behind the ficus, but in midstep Shulderich stopped, turned and scanned the lobby.

"Doushite no?" Nagi queried.

The telepath shook his head. "It's nothing… probably," he trailed off. Muse blanched and forced herself to breathe. If she were discovered now….

Kiyome had slept a total of ten hours the entire week attributed to the moaning coming from her mother's bedroom, her father spinelessly secluded in the library with a bottle of scotch. She hung her head lower acutely aware of the orange-haired man ogling her.

/Cut it out, Shulderich./

/Let me ask you something Crawford, do you have anything between your legs?/ The American cracked his knuckles in his lap. /She's cute./

/She's fifteen./

/Your point?/ Takatori bowed to the Miyamotos, only Junichi returned the gesture.

"I must admit Reiji-san, I did not expect any of my former opponents to be in attendance."

Takatori squared his shoulders to keep up his front of control, he couldn't be more desperate for Shulderich at the moment unsure at how to take his one-time classmate's response. "I'm also a family man, Junichi-kun. I have a little experience with loss myself." Junichi's brow creased and briefly backtracked to Kikuno-san's memorial. He bowed his head.

"I am sorry."

Takatori shook his head. "It doesn't matter, I must commend you for what you did on Thursday. A lesser man would have would've continued with 'business as usual'."

"My family needs me right now."

"We'll talk more at the house." Takatori clapped Junichi on the shoulder. Masako lifted her head, her eyes glassy. What right did that monster have?! She brought her forehead to her clinched hands once again. Draped in saffron and red muslin the priest sidled in and commenced the sutras.

"Na-Mu-Ami-Da-Butsu… Na-Mu-Ami-Da-Butsu…Na-Mu-Ami-Da-Butsu…."

Guests were let in a few at a time, Muse made it past the threshold when she stopped dead seeing the third row on the left. Takatori sat between Crawford and Shulderich, Crawford taking the aisle seat. Schulderich was dozing, Nagi studied his fingernails and Farfarello on the end stared ahead.

"Excuse me miss," grunted an irate voice from behind, "you're holding up the line."

"Suimasen," Muse murmured and proceeded down the aisle. Pushing one foot in front of the other, she strided like a dancer in delayed strokes, she slowed her pace since there were several others in front of her paying their respects. Esumi and Sawada, two of the investigators sat on a long wooden bench against the wall with other police officers

"Oy," Sawada nudged Esumi.

"Nan da?"

"Don't say anything but…" Esumi leaned his shoulder towards his partner.

"But what?" Sawada folded his arms and kept his eyes down.

"They're going to shut down the investigation on Monday," he whooshed. Muse stopped moving. Esumi clamped his hands around his knees stupefied.

"What the hell for? How did you find out?"

Sawada shook his head. "Y'know Chief Shimizu's new secretary, Makiko?" The left side of Esumi's face tweaked forming a momentary sneer.

"It figures…."

"A messenger delivered it last night just as she was swiping out. The orders came from the top." An elderly couple stopped to exchange sympathies with Junichi so the line halted again, Muse surreptitiously stepped closer to the two detectives. "The legalese mumbo-jumbo the judge put down is a shitty smokescreen. If the department pressed the Miyamoto case, there'd be a huge political stink." Sawada gestured in Takatori's direction with his eyes, Muse exhaled unevenly and the room shrank.

"They say that justice is insanity," Esumi sighed. The room temperature jumped fifteen degrees unexpectedly and the guests began to squirm in their seats, fanning themselves, pulling at collars and loosening ties.

"Chotto, it's getting a little hot in here." Sawada swabbed his receding hairline.

"Ah," Esumi opened his jacket. Muse couldn't stifle a low gasp and turned in her toes. Crawford was forced to take off his sunglasses, the sweat hazed his vision but refused go any further, his teammates were not faring as well as he'd hoped. Nagi had dropped his jacket over the back of his seat and pulled the zipper on his shirt lower, Farfarello's bare arms and face glossed with sweat, and Shulderich reluctantly tied back his hair with contracting fingers, aching for his gun. Takatori dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief.

"What the hell is up with his place?" Takatori groused. Muse bent her head lower concealing her face with her hair daring to take passing glances at Crawford's stony profile as she walked by.

"Oy, oy," Shulderich growled catching the attention of a funerary attendant. "If you haven't looked at the calendar lately, it's May. So why don't you turn off the heat and put on the fucking A.C.!" The attendant blubbered some indistinct apology and squirreled away. Kiyome drew her fingers down the silky white tassles hanging from her beads rapt with the dusty, dull green carpet.

"Such pretty shoes…."she whispered. Silver buckles glinted on a pair of black loafers. Kiyome knit her brows when she looked up and saw the doctor from the Magic Bus Hospital coming up to her. "Sensei," Kiyome shied when she felt her Aunt Shoko, shoot lasers into the back of her head. On the worst day of her life, Kiyome allowed herself to be enchanted by the beautiful woman who did everything humanly possible to save her brother. Muse approached the Miyamotos and bowed. Kiyome looked dead herself but nevertheless grinned bravely. A stricken Masako could not stand meeting eyes with anyone, and Junichi's expression softened. Muse bowed to the altar, the perfume of carnations and incense was consuming though she did not want to shame herself by gagging. She also knew it was not the display alone that was making her ill. A black marble tablet bore Tatsuya's name in gold, bowls of fruit and Tatsuya's favourite snacks provided by friends were laid out as offerings.

Shulderich kicked back basking in the icy breath from the A.C. duct above. He was enjoying himself on the merry-go-round that was Masako's mind. ~Who killed my son? Who killed my son? Who killed my son? Who killed my son?~

/Why, we did. And we're not even fifty feet away from you. I feel sorry for you Masako-san, not because I shot your son it's because you actually believe-/ The telepath's chest seized when unfamiliar images pounded his fragile psyche, a thousand frames a second, a million voices converged.

~This power you have…~

FLASH!

~…it can't help anyone.~

FLASH!

FLASH!

~Okaa-san, atashi nigen ja nai no?~

FLASH!

FLASH!

FLASH!

FLASH!

FLASH!

Oxygen was sucked from the black waters birthing an inferno… a child screamed and a branding iron turned to ash before hitting the ground… a woman's hand scraping down a cracked, steamy mirror, the finger trails dripped blood… the lid of a gold pocket watch glowed red drenched in flames then liquefied in the blazing coals….

Nagi turned to Shulderich sitting rigidly, fists balled on his thighs. "Shulderich…." Farfarello rolled one amber eye in his direction. Muse took her time at the altar, the color photo of a smiling Tatsuya in his Jonan Gakuen uniform draped with black and white bunting on the upper right and left hand corners placed in front of the urn which contained his ashes.

/Kisama! Where are you? Who are you?!/

In the corner of his eye, Crawford saw the bulging vein in Shulderich's forehead. /Mastermind! Nani yo suru?!/ Muse bowed to the altar then went to do so again to the Miyamotos when she felt a snap and the flames flickering atop the pair of white candles on either side of Tatsuya's photo blazed a foot into the air, wax melted down with stomach-wrenching splutters sliming the floor. There was chaos. Guests fled running each other over for the exits, the priest switched from the sutras to an anti-evil incantation. Police were dispatched and vacated the premises forming a perimeter, Shulderich regained his senses, launching from his seat throwing it to the side. He and Crawford had their side arms drawn, Farfarello lifted his Bora the shadow falling on his face created a deep chasm, Nagi spread his hands out at his sides channeling energy….

Masako fell to the carpet, pulling her hair screaming for her son, and Muse made her escape through a side exit in the scuffle. "Sensei! Sensei!" Kiyome ran from her father.

"Kiyome!"

~The Plaza….~

Parked in the alley behind the defunct Uehara Bank were Yoji's Super 7 and Ken's Kawasaki GPZ. Taking a pull off his cigarette finishing off the pack, Yoji studied the monitor perched on the grimy mold discolored counter.

"Kuso!" Ken crouched under a greasy window readjusting the ocular setting on his binoculars again. "They're running out like rats from a sinking ship! What the fuck is going in there?" Beating his first two fingers on the laptop's keyboard Yoji punched the left arrow button and the image on the screen flipped and zoomed into the walkway of the funeral home. He magnified it stretching his view into the lobby where he could make out the front desk, but the pixels fragmented everything. On his moped, Omi sped into Harajuku earlier than the others and hacked his patented Weiß computerized surveillance system into the few remaining security cameras once owned by the bank that were in working order instead of making the delivery. "Oy, Yoji," Ken said hauling himself to his feet, "what have you got on the monitor?"

"Omoshiroi…" Balinese said more to himself than his teammate.

"Yoji!" Siberian flew to Yoji's side and jostled him to get a better look. The camera panned out displaying Muse bursting out of a fire exit, weakly propping herself on the steel door before flouncing up the street. Ken pushed down the rage he was about to fly into when he saw Yoji's expression, one that wasn't lust while concentrating on the woman. "Anou onna?"

"'Dunno. But something tells me that we shouldn't forget her face." Ken looked to the dead chandeliers and wished he could have taken a crack at the power box. It was better than enduring the monotony of this Kritiker stake-out hell. Aya was against any lighting or air conditioning, it ran the chance of blowing their cover and ordered them to refrain from doing any such activity outside of the assignment. Omi, Yoji, and Ken were impressed and dumbfounded at their field leader's repose despite having seen Takatori and Schwarz enter the building. Ken began to whirl and twist his body performing spin kicks, thrusts, jabbing the air with a gloved fist faking out his invisible opponent and sliced the air in a fury with his bugnuk delivering the death strike. His wanton hope of engaging Farfarello was trampled. Ken took one last swipe at the air watching the dust particles swim then decided to check in. "Siberian to Bombay," he tapped the transmitter in his ear. "Siberian to Bombay, do you read?"

"Loud and clear, Siberian!" Omi's voice chirped. Omi and Aya were stationed at a semi-constructed high-rise setting up shop in one of the completed apartments. The workers had off on weekends, so they moved about more comfortably.

"Anything unusual?" Omi turned quickly in Aya's direction where he was preoccupied on the other computer monitoring the wire taps.

"Just a stampede of people running like bats out of hell-"

"Har har."

"-but if you mean Schwarz, they have yet to make their grand entrance." Omi lazily flicked a poison dart in the air giving Nagi a passing thought. "Abyssinian," Aya cocked his head, "have we got anything from the inside?" The redhead's virulent violet eyes trained on the stroboscopic line that bounced and jumped depicting every sound taking place in the parlor. The digital recorder was activated so no matter how insignificant the chatter Weiß picked up, it would still have to be collected by Manx for Kritiker's analysis.

"Nothing here. Just a lot of shouting, but no weapons firing." Omi stripped off his headset, he normally wouldn't want to classify any mission as pointless but this was beginning to work his last nerve. What went through Persia's head?! Given Takatori's relationships with Sukaruku, Riot, the Creepers, and Krankenhaus, the chances of him behind Tatsuya's death were good. Omi pulled up the latest poll results and according to the majority, Miyamoto thrived on the popular vote. Charismatic and a successful district attorney, he could win over public opinion had he stayed in the race for their first televised debate. But the seats in the Diet were occupied with pro-right Takatori yes men, not all agreed with his Draconian proposals that were centered on the JSSDF and public security measures that could possibly lynch personal freedoms, they herded like cattle out of fear and lucrative gain. But there was something in the air, he felt it riding his moped like heat glaring on his face when one looked directly at the sun redolent of something like incense and red earth. And if he stood still and watched himself escape into the underpass as he did almost nightly, he detected something underlying woven into the dirty, wet asphalt… burning blood.

"What the hell is going on around here?"

* * *

The escalators were just in sight, Muse mentally battered herself for her gross incompetence. Her projections could have been picked up by Mastermind, a telepath of his level that easily. She stopped at the metal platform and weighed the outcome, strategically she had the upper hand because the likelihood of Mastermind knowing her identity was small since he was so caught up with Masako's misery. Getting sidetracked the sensations of the firm fingers cuffing her wrist didn't register until the last second. Her hand dipped into her purse….

"Sensei!" Muse snapped back and saw the Miyamoto girl holding her hand.

"Kiyome!"

"Anou, Kawamata Reika-sensei desu ka?"

"Kiyome-chan, what are you doing here?" Kiyome bowed low enough to kiss her knees.

"Gomen. But I had to leave, you understand…." Reika handed her one of the coke cans while resting on a bench, they both took long draughts Kiyome pulled back first. "Ne, whatever happened there was pretty damn scary."

"Ah." Kiyome loosed the aluminum pull tab slowly before freeing it completely from the can, she held it up watching the sun trace its edges gleaming like a knife.

"Sensei… would you mind coming to the house? I mean, others will be there so you don't-"

"Mouchiron desu." Kiyome dropped the pull tab and looked at the doctor squarely. Reika wasn't sure why she accepted the invitation, her assignment required her only to attend the funeral and observe Takatori's movements. Kiyome's involvement with her was to a lesser extent dangerous, as opposed to Reika's poor judgement into allowing their interaction to take place. But this little girl, mint green hair wound in a tight bun in high school uniform could have been herself a few years back. So why dwell on the negative? Reika did look forward to doing a bit of eavesdropping on a pair of former Rosenkreuz classmates of hers.

~The Miyamoto Residence….~

Reika declined Kiyome's offer to ride with the family back to the house because of Masako's state, but she did promise her that she would give her mother an examination when she arrived. The doctor took the metro once more and walked the rest of the way, a maid in a crisp pearl-grey summer uniform greeted her warmly at the door, took her jacket and exchanged her shoes for guest slippers. A number of cars lined either side of the street Reika saw and to her surprise there were twice as many guests than she expected. In the master bedroom Masako lie on her king-sized bed drowsy, but without the energy to speak or move much. Junichi and Kiyome looked on helplessly. Reika took Junichi to the side leaving his wife and daughter together. "It's just exhaustion." Fishing a bottle of clear blue capsules from her medical bag she continued, "These are just a light sedative. I've given her something now, but whenever she needs them just give her two of these."

"And call you in the morning?" Reika had to fight to keep from laughing she simply bowed and left. No surprise that Kiyome was right behind.

"She'll be alright, ne?" Reika grinned and squeezed Kiyome's shoulder. The girl's ears perked and looked at Reika as though she just met her. "Ah! You must be starving." Reika let herself be pulled by the girl down the steps and into another corridor. "Chotto matte," Kiyome winked, "I'll go grab something from the kitchen. My room is right there," she pointed to the nearest open door. "Better hang out up here, or all the old people downstairs will pin you to the wall begging for your vote!" She flashed Reika the victory sign and was gone. Reika sighed jovially, Kiyome's smile and brave front was something to be truly admired. Reika had her hand on Kiyome's doorknob when she saw something move at the end of the corridor.

"Hello? Dare ka?" She stepped back to get a better look. "Koko wa dare?"

"Sensei?" Reika spun round searching for the voice's owner. The voice… it was male, too young to be Junichi's and too deep to be Masako's. "Sensei?" At the end of the corridor stood Tatsuya wearing his Jonan Gakuen uniform, head down.

"Tatsuya…." She started for the apparition, but just as he came he vanished.

"Omakasete!" Reika jumped a foot in the air with a shout, clutching her chest. "Gomen nasai," Kiyome pouted. "Daijoubu sensei?" The doctor shook her head violently and grabbed the girl's arm.

"Kiyome-chan… do us a little favor and give fair warning before you do that." Kiyome nodded contritely, she wanted Kawamata-sensei to feel welcome after all she did. The contents on the tray she carried began to rattle. She couldn't save Tatsuya, no one could and only ones that should be blamed were his murderers. "So what's to eat around here?" Kiyome beamed.

* * *

Schwarz kept to themselves in a corner of the crowded drawing room, Takatori had a sizeable crowd he was sermonizing to. Shulderich had not breathed a word about his experience during the funeral but judging by the sidelong glances Crawford was giving him, he expected his field leader to interrogate him when they returned to the safe house. Nagi, who was seated on a folding chair sipping punch contemplated the morning's events. The psychokinetic knew from firsthand experience whoever pulled that stunt had to possess a great power source, but not a whole lot of emotional or mental control over it. Thus was the nature of his talents as well, it had gotten him into a few rough spots and disciplinary actions, but all of that was incidental. He signaled a maid to refill his glass and for some fried tofu, as he waited Nagi did a quick mental search around the house… it was there, and Schwarz knew.

He brought the porcelian up to his thin lips enjoying the rich, black Blue Mountain blend. Crawford set the cup down on its saucer and idly examined it, periwinkles and gold Greek key patterns. Quaint. "I want a full sweep of the second and third floors," he announced. Then turned to Farfarello slouched against the warm brick of the fireplace, "And the yard. Do it." Schwarz dispersed leaving their leader tending to Takatori.

* * *

Reika pressed down her fingertips to pick up whatever crumbs were left over from their sandwiches. All that remained were a couple of bean buns and half a pitcher of a citrus-aloe juice. Kiyome was giggling at something she pointed at in her album, the doctor smoothed out nonexistent wrinkles on the black cotton that shrouded her thighs.

"Ne?" Kiyome said.

"Hmm?"

"Can I braid your hair?" Reika was hesitant. "Onegai shimassu?" Kiyome folded her hands, touching the sides of her index fingers to her pouty lips.

"Mmm…" Reika shook her head. "Okay." Kiyome applauded triumphantly. Arranging her black tank dress, Reika sat on Kiyome's short vanity stool and whipped out the red ribbon from her ponytail in one tug. Her auburn hair rolled to the floor. The girl gasped fingering the thick tresses that made up the lustrous spill, she looked at her silver brush almost guilty she had to use it.

"Used to do this with my mom when I first learned how. But she cut her hair a couple of years ago, I kinda miss it." Kiyome was careful with her brush strokes parting the hair into sections watching it get sleeker. "I've been thinking about going to college overseas."

Reika tilted her head. "Any reason why?"

"I've always wanted to read Shakespeare in the original text. Our class play before the Christmas holidays was Romeo and Juliet. I played the nurse!" Reika nodded.

"Congratulations."

"Sou ja nai! I thought I was terrible. The way I portrayed her was more like a hen than willing accomplice." Kiyome quieted for a few minutes. "Do you speak any English?"

"'To be or not to be? That is the question'." Reika answered in unaccented English.

"'That is the question.'" Kiyome parroted in Japanese.

"I remember a time when I wanted to die in the water like Ophelia," Reika reminisced. Kiyome roughly grasped her shoulders bending over to look into her eyes.

"But not anymore right?"

Reika shook her head confidently. "I was quite the drama queen at your age."

Kiyome calmed, satisfied with the doctor's answer. "I bet you have a lot of boyfriends."

Reika hooted. "Baka iie! That's the silliest thing I've heard to date. I have 35 hour workdays, having a social life- let alone romance- doesn't fit in the ER."

"Uso!" Kiyome exclaimed.

"Uso ja nai." Reika's tone was matter-of-factly, but Kiyome in all of her school girl naivete refused to back down.

"But you do have… experience." She raised her brows suggestively, Reika goggled and whirled away from Kiyome.

"We shouldn't discuss these things!" Kiyome erupted into peals of laughter, embraced the brush to her breasts and twirled around until she crash landed atop her bed.

"'Hair fanned out all about her, like black angel wings. The elegance of her nudity, he thought, was the only garment suited for her.'" Nagi lurked the empty corridors, wandering into every empty room checking closets and bathrooms. He padded on silent feet certain he had missed something until he heard soft bantering from the only room on that floor that had its door shut. A pink ceramic plate hanging from a peg read in looping, cartoony English 'KIYOME'.

"Ki-yo-me." Nagi drew his finger left to right along the placard. Squatting until he was eye level with the keyhole Nagi saw the room's resident pacing by her bay window picking at her fingernails.

"Demo ii, there must be something you can tell me," she whined to the bathroom door.

"I can image how many of those books you keep under your bed." Reika snickered.

"Too many."

"Then take some good advice: stick to 'em!"

Kiyome stomped like a toddler after being ordered to the time out corner. "Sensei!"

"I should be ignoring you… what would your mother think?"

She leaned against the door rolling her eyes. "'Kaa-san lives in the Showa Era. A mention of the s-word, she'd have a heart attack!" Reika stood in front of the girl's light bulb bordered mirror toying with the braid she did and sighed, Kiyome knew how to play the game.

"It's overrated." The stars and stripes briefly flitted in her mind. She heard Kiyome's whoop from the other side of the room.

"Everybody says that Sensei. Care to elucidate?" Nagi crept closer intrigued to hear her friend's reply.

"It is… exquisite brutality." Kiyome's jaw dropped, Nagi felt the oncoming of a nosebleed.

/Cheating on Nanami-chan?/ The youngest Schwarz stood up and resisted the temptation of flinging the Rodin sculpture sitting on a three-legged glass table at the opposite end of the hall at the telepath.

"Fuck off Shulderich."

"Naughty, naughty Nagi-chan." He shoved Nagi aside and took his place at the keyhole. "Ara-ra-ra-ra-ra, what do we have here?" A silent Kiyome flopped back on her bed facing the door, giving Shulderich a prime view of her panties. He fantasized tracing the edge of his hunting knife in those damp little kiss curls. "Our fearless leader wants a report," he circled his thumb round the doorknob. "Ikzou." Reika exited the bathroom, refreshed when someone knocked.

"Hai?" Kiyome said not bothering with getting up. A maid opened her door.

"Shitsurei shimassu. Anou, Kiyome-sama your aunts are looking for you." Kiyome bolstered herself on both elbows.

"Eh?!"

"Suimasen." The maid bowed and Reika smiled.

Kiyome fell back. "Wakatta." The maid bowed once more and shut the door behind her. Sliding her feet into slippers, Kiyome went to her desk chair and pulled on her peppermint blue Chuo blazer. "This won't take long. They probably want to take turns railing on me for running out on the service." She was halfway out the door when she stopped. "I'm not a bad person," Kiyome stated quite soberly. "But here I am giggling and taking about sex at my brother's funeral…."

"We all have different ways handling grief, Kiyome-chan." Reika offered, Kiyome nodded. Reika waited a few minutes until Kiyome's footfalls faded completely and she went back down the corridor. Rubbing her knuckles together the doctor tentatively approached the last room and noting the lack of ruffles and dolls, she assumed it belonged to Tatsuya. "All right Tatsuya-kun, what did you want to show me?" Track stars, Le Arc en Ciel, and Legolgel posters occupied every inch of wall space. His bed was made, there were Post-Its on his Compaq monitor, a shelf reaching almost to the ceiling housed CDs, CD-ROMs, videos, and DVDs. His textbooks were on his right end table, manga and book collection in shimmering steel crates. A Beyblade alarm clock was on his left end table and a framed photo of his track team in their red and white uniforms. They hoisted a trophy while he had his arm round a spunky, short-haired brunette. "So this was your girlfriend?"

Something clumped to the carpet behind her. Reika put back the photo and saw one of Tatsuya's CDs laying there. She opened up the jewel case to find it empty, she skimmed through the booklet. It was a German punk group she was unfamiliar with, having no trouble with the language she read a few lyrics but was ready to give up. Her attention was diverted to a low-pitched racket coming from the bed. Abandoning the CD she saw Tatsuya's silver Discman by his pillow and tucked the earbuds in.

^…Ich kann es sehn:

Vor siebenhundertdreizehn Jahren

war ich ein Prinz in Agadir.

Ich kann es sehn,

daß wir da schon zusammen waren,

du warst die schönste Sklavin neben mir.

Alles schwarz - so schwarz wie meine Wände,

Alles schwarz - wir reichen uns die Hände,

Alles schwarz - nur Kerzenlicht,

Alles schwarz - wenn das Orakel spricht:…^

* * *

On the portico Crawfort sat on a white wicker chair, his index fingers pressed together. Farfarello hopped on the first step. "Well?" The psycho shook his head and resumed slouching on the supporting beam. Shulderich and Nagi joined them. "What took you so long?"

"We're having a nice time too, thank you." Shulderich said.

"We found nothing," Nagi declared.

Shulderich snorted. "Speak for yourself."

"Hmm?" Crawford thinned his eyes.

The telepath put his arm around Nagi's shoulders. "I'm afraid something will have to be done about Nagi-chan."

"Nani?!" Nagi choked.

"Not only is he a two-timer, but a peeping tom as well- ITAI!" One of the psychokinetic's invisible fists cuffed Shulderich on the back of the head. "Kono…." He struck an attack stance while Nagi just stared him down silently. Farfarello watched his two teammates with a mocking bloodthirst.

"Enough." Crawford commanded and regarded Nagi. "Why did you waste your time at the girl's door?"

Nagi shrugged. "I heard voices. Kiyome was talking with her friend."

"Did you see who it was?"

"No, the friend was in the bathroom."

"Did you catch what they were talking about?"

Nagi grunted vaguely, "Shira nai. Whatever women talk about, nonsense I guess."

"I believe," Shulderich interpolated smugly, "I heard something along the lines of 'exquisite brutality'." A violent pink shade smudged the bridge of Nagi's nose.

"I'm going to get something to eat."

"You do that," the telepath replied. Nagi began to remove his loafers when a smashing sound in the distance silenced the assassination team. With Shulderich leading, Schwarz ran round back to the southwest wing, looking up they focused on a second floor window.

"You said you found nothing except the Miaymoto girl and her friend," Craford pulled out his .9 mm addressing Nagi and Shulderich.

"Sou! That's when Mastermind came to get me and I went downstairs." Crawford cocked the gun.

"Something isn't adding up, care to share Shulderich?" The German loaded a fresh clip into his nickel-plated automatic and backtracked.

"A maid came up the other stairway to get the girl and-" he froze. Predictably lust cloyed Shulderich's thought processes, he was so immersed in drooling to see that Kiyome was the only one to leave the room. "She walked out alone."

Nagi's attention was on Farfarello whose eye was glittering, staring at the window.

"Kami-sama," Berserker said in a monotone, "has sent forth His angels. That is the boy's room."

* * *

The Discman crackled, the lid snapped in two and its body split apart exposing the wiring and green boards. The CD was intact. Cradling her head, Reika was angry at herself for reacting this way. Why was she shocked? They were only taught to take orders, damn the world. They had no qualms about executing a high school kid all because his father politically threatened their employer. She spent her professional life rationalizing that those she sacrificed stood in the way of the perfect world. Because they were human? If the organization learned that she were here, they would reprimand then suspend her. But they were in the Old Man's debt. She was not to interfere, per se, but it was a unanimous decision that the situation in Japan was becoming unstable at a rate that went against the timetable.

~The last week of August is the deadline.~

There was movement in the corridor. Getting to her feet Reika searched this way and that for her weapon, when she recalled that her purse was downstairs and her medical bag was in Kiyome's room. Schwarz was in position….

TSUZUKU

(Cue track 42 on WK BGM)

REIKA: I don't underestimate their abilities Mikoto-sama. This is my mission and I have yet to be given a fair chance!

OLD MAN: I will not allow you anywhere near her.

OMI: Pyrokinesis. It refers to a type of psychokinesis that can set things on fire.…

REIKA: Minna, moete shimae.

Profile

Name: Kawamata Reika

Seiyuu: Sakamoto Maaya

Real Name: Unknown

Code Name: Muse

Occupation(s): Assassin/doctor at Magic Bus Hospital

Age: 24

Blood Type: AB-

Birthday: Unknown

Birthplace: Belived to be in Kansai

Weapons: Kung Fu master, pistol

Special Abilities: Pyrokinesis, empathy, postcognition, mental realm

Organizational Associations: Classified

Confidants: "The Old Man", Toru

Image Flower: Iris

Image Song: The One Thing

Hates: Crawford, Shulderich, the male sex in general, weak willed women (esp. Schreient), anything with parsley.

Loves: Crawford, Viennese chocolate mousse Pocky, long walks in the woods.

Mission: Classified

History: Not much is known about Reika. She was the sole survivor of a great fire as a child, consequently ended up in Rozenkreuz where she encountered Bradley Crawford and Shulderich. Later on Estet transferred her to another facility outside of Germany where she completed her education and training. Reika cut her teeth running missions all throughout university and medical school. Was stationed in Hong Kong up until the spring of '97 where her organization received orders that she report to Tokyo for assignment.

Personality: A little bit of Agent Aika, toss in Sailor Mars, a dash of Stray Cat ("Pistol Opera") and Yukishiro Tomoe's hairdresser- VIOLA! Haunted, conflicted, and looking for a way out! Reika has been on the move for the last 11 years for both personal and professional reasons. Her loyalty to the Old Man and Estet is divided- one of them knows the truth as to who is responsible for the fire when she was found. Did she do it? Was she set up? She loses her grip as this emotionally unstable woman begins to lash out using her fantastic flames, her romance with Crawford is laced with violent overtones as to who dominates who in the relationship.

A/N: Don't you just love those cliffhangers? (Don't hate me!) Well I included Reika's profile just to clarify a few things about her- don't worry it will get updated as I spin my yarn. If you don't recognize the song, don't fret, it's a German punk band Der Prinzen and their song "Schwarz". COOL! Now remember, R&R, no flames, and constructive criticism is tolerable.