Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Reflections ❯ Heat ( Chapter 17 )

Reflections: Heat

Chapter 17

 

A Weiss Kreuz fanfic by L.A. Mason.

Standard disclaimer applies: No copyright infringement intended. No profit being made or sought.

 

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Author's Notes: I have survived my back-to-back trips. It is so unfair of work to cram a year's worth of travel into just a couple of weeks. The second (and nowthird--!) draft of chapter 17 was written in a hotel room in D.C. while I was attending a conference. Since I was internet-less - and so also beta-deprived - any errors or inconsistencies are entirely my doing.

 

For anyone who's interested, chapter six of the Full Metal Alchemist fic, Rain is mostly done, but I plead insufficient coherency at this point to be able to tell if I've dotted my i's and crossed my t's. For some reason, Reflections seems to have gobbled up my capacity for tracking continuity issues. (Gee, I wonder how that could have happened…?)

 

And, lastly, please remember that this is an R-rated fic for a reason. While I don't believe in excesses of sex, gore or violence for their own sake, if it's part of the plot, I write it. The question then becomes why do things happen as they do? I hope you'll have some fun figuring out the clues.

 

I hope that you'll enjoy the story.

 

L.A. Mason (aka LibraryCat)

 

 

*************

 

Guilt. The thing that the brunet's slow wits hadn't been able to remember in his post-sex haze of bliss was pure and simple guilt, and it dragged him back to wakefulness within what seemed like minutes. It was so ironic that in temporarily forgetting, he doubled and even tripled the feeling of gut-wrenching, soul-blackening, utter worthlessness that went with letting down his partners. Okay, perhaps it wasn't his fault that the other two had gotten taken prisoner; he could accept that circumstances the night before had not been suitable for dumb heroics; but that didn't excuse him from sleeping when they needed him. Or for leaving the two blonds in the clutches of God-knew-what evil-hearted kidnappers, suffering unspeakable horrors while he screwed his miserable brain out. Ken groaned, and resisted the temptation to dig his fingers into his scalp and rip his own skull open; he didn't deserve the release that suicide would afford him. Death was too good for a loser like him.

 

Blearily, he dragged himself upright, too limp and sated from after months of celibacy to do more that sit on the edge of the rumpled bed and stare blindly at the gleaming plank floor, slumped forward with his elbows on his knees and his empty hands dangling between his thighs.

 

God, but he was pathetic.

 

The bedding at his back rustled. “What's the matter?” The demand shifted from groggy to lucid in the space of three words - Aya living up to his inhuman reputation, once again - and frustrated by it, Ken swore at him.

 

The measure of contained impatience radiating from the bed got clamped down on - hard - and Ken could almost feel the gears turning as his partner considered and discarded a range of scenarios. Decision made, the red haired assassin neither stalked out the door in a snit, nor went up in a puff of smoke. Rather, he settled behind the compact athlete, one leg to either side, and allowed his cheek to rest against Ken's shoulder blade. That was cruel; the fates weren't even going to allow Ken to brood in peace. Half-heartedly, the younger man growled, but failed to make an impression on the quiet figure leaning against his back. Imperturbably, Aya remarked, “You're being an asshole.”

 

“Say what?” Stung, the ex-soccer player tried to turn around, but found that steel fingers manacled his wrists.

 

“Take a look at the clock, and then you tell me.” Amusement laced with irritation, and beneath that, Ken could have sworn that there was a faint degree of worry.

 

So Ken looked, and blinked. Flooded by sunlight, the alarm clock on his desk said that it was barely 12:30 in the afternoon. Meaning that it had only been three hours since they'd gotten to Villa Weiss? A little less, since he'd fallen asleep with Aya after… whatever that had been? And why did thinking of the handsome assassin and sex at the same time leave him feeling flustered, confused and disjointed, like smoking pot, or reading too much Lewis Carroll? He must have muttered the last thought out loud, because the redhead made an odd, choked noise, like a cat trying to be discrete about hawking up a hairball… or honest laughter. Which thought just went a long way toward proving that Ken was hallucinating.

 

Aya didn't do noises like that.

 

“Come back to bed.” Whatever was going through his head, Aya still managed to deliver the command in something approaching his normal, brusque tone.

 

“No.” The brunet squirmed, trying to wriggle free, before giving up with a rude gesture over his shoulder at his captor. Right at the moment, he was stronger than the other assassin, but he didn't want to hurt him, either. Plus, Aya was cannier; enough so as to make good use of the advantages of leverage and the other Hunter's indecision to choose his battlefield. At the moment, that amounted to flipping them around, ending with Ken sprawled across the bed, with Aya's arm locked around his throat, and a leg similarly locked around Ken's shin. Given that the shorter athlete hadn't gotten around to putting clothes after the first time, it meant that he was stretched out stark naked and vulnerable.

 

So, of course he blushed. Embarrassed, Ken stared at the patch of blue sky visible through the skylight above, and tried to pretend that his arm and bare side weren't pinned by his companion's equally bare chest. His voice shook with the effort to sound nonchalant as he said, “So… care to let go of me?”

 

A hum that felt suspiciously like a muted chuckle vibrated down alongside Ken's ribs. Aya coughed politely, replying, “No. I don't think I would. I like the view just as it is.”

 

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” Judging by the way the air felt suddenly cooler, the tide of red must have passed from his cheeks, down his neck, and onto his chest by now. Why was it that all the guys in Weiss seemed to get a kick out of that sort of teasing? Omi, Ken was used to. Hell, he teased the boyish hacker right back. And he could almost get his brain wrapped around the idea of Yohji tickling him, and sitting on him. But having the aloofly elegant swordsman refusing to let him up was a bit much. Forget the laughing part, Aya just didn't do shit like that.

 

Half convinced that the red head really was some kind of a changeling, Ken forgot his fascination with the sky outside, and turned his head to glare, but with their noses nearly touching, it sort of lost its impact. In fact, he found himself being distracted by the high planes of Aya's cheekbones, and the faint dusting of pink over the translucent white of his skin. With the lids of his remarkable eyes lowered to half-mast, the slanted cat's gaze gave him an exotic, foreign aspect, rather than other-worldly, more like an elite lady of the floating world than an accomplished assassin - or a demon. But Aya could be demonic, as witnessed by his infamous temper tantrums whenever he ran into the Takatori.

 

And, apparently, he did have it in him to tease, as his free hand traced a leisurely path along pectorals and abdominals. Each ridge and hollow was defined as his younger partner strained to avoid the languid caresses, while a blush the color and temperature of a house on fire followed every touch. But unlike Yohji or Omi's efforts, Aya's was in deadly earnest. The pitiless violet eyes narrowed, becoming calculating, and Ken's heart skipped a beat; there were reasons - good ones - as to why someone high-class like Fujimiya was Weiss. It didn't do to forget them, or to underestimate him.

 

Even if he had sworn off doing that sort of stuff ever again.

 

“It seems that I didn't do a very good job of distracting you, earlier.” The statement's deadpan delivery shocked the shorter brunet, and for a long minute, Ken forgot to breathe. Then a slow exhalation stirred the strands of dark hair falling across anxious brown eyes, and Ken's toes curled involuntarily as a tremor slid right down his spine. Oh, Jesus in Heaven… Aya… and Ken's brain shut down, locking out any hope of thinking through what had happened between them, even as a pleasant tightening around his balls told him that his body remembered very well what it felt like to come at Aya's bidding. And that it wanted to do it again. Soon.

 

“I'll have to remedy that.” A low whisper above Ken's ear let him know that the increased pace of his breathing, and the shiver of tension had registered on his bed mate. Panicked, the brunet froze; Aya was going to fetch that wicked, razor sharp katana to cut off the offending bits of Ken's anatomy. The idea was so overwhelming that when the heavy weight of the hand that had been lying quiescent on the younger man's belly began to move, Ken jerked, and when the fingers lazily combed through the tight curls on their way south, he choked off a piteous whimper.

 

Possibly that was why it took a good minute for Aya's quiet laugh to penetrate, and when it finally did, Ken felt a slow burn of anger laid over top of the mortification. What the fuck-?! The red haired prick had a lot of nerve laughing at him when— He opened his mouth to say something stupid about it, but lost the thought when a slow, sensual rub of thin cotton flannel traveled up Ken from knee to thigh.

 

The worn fabric did absolutely nothing to camouflage the ripple of muscles in the leg that wrapped around the soccer player's like a python, or to hide the deliberate pressure of Aya's hard-on against the younger Weiss' hip. “Since I didn't do a very good job,” the quiet monotone repeated, and Ken tensed for a different reason as Aya softly added another, deliberate statement, “It seems we have some unfinished business.”

 

Oh, my God. Was Aya actually propositioning him?

 

No. Ken couldn't. Okay, yes, it was one thing to take a short break and regroup; the chagrined Hunter could see now that his behavior had been getting seriously off-balance, and that the loss of rationality represented a threat to their goals, but Omi and Yohji were waiting. It was wrong to let himself get distracted.

 

But then the callused pads of two long fingers were pressing intimately as the imprisoning leg rode up over top of Aya's own wrist, wringing a frantic gasp from the wiry brunet, even as his libido crowed Hell, yes! and did a little victory dance, drop-kicking the guilty thoughts about how wrong it was to enjoy his own little slice of Heaven when God only knew what might be happening to the other two members of Weiss. Before Ken knew what was happening, Aya was shifting onto his back, and that leg that held so tightly was guiding the shorter Hunter up on top of his partner. It positioned him so that his own erection was being stroked by the teasing touch of fragile cotton and the occasional electric shock of aroused flesh striking flesh, while the hand trapped between their bodies did obscenely wonderful things. Ken wasn't sure exactly what Aya was doing, but it couldn't be legal, not and feel so unbelievably good. When the fingers massaged their way around his opening, his teeth clamped down onto his lower lip until a bitter salt and iron taste told the shaking athlete that he'd broken through the skin, to the blood within. Aya murmured something that Ken couldn't understand, then licked carefully at the seeping bruise until the younger man relented, opening his mouth.

 

The hesitant permission was obviously all that the red haired assassin had been waiting for, a signal for him to brace himself against the bed and lift, giving those elegant fingers a chance to wrap around both their cocks together, and squeeze. The sharp/sweet sensation jolted Ken's eyes open wide: Christ, that's incredible… Hot velvet over steel, and every other corny, romance novel cliché, and a few that the hack writers couldn't even conceive of - like the taste of the color scarlet, or the scent of a solar eclipse - hot and intense and too immediate to endure.

 

He was still swearing, raggedly and in a high, unnatural whisper when his stuttering heartbeat had slowed down enough that the spots and shadows receded from his vision. Aya was silently panting, sweat running in tiny rivulets down his ribs and leaving darker patches on the pillow and sheets as it dripped from his ear-lobes and short strands of nearly burgundy hair.

 

Lying stretched between Aya's thighs, resting his weight on a ridged belly and smooth chest was odd, but nice. Every measured inhalation from that body beneath his was like riding a boat across slow ocean swells, arousing and soothing at the same time. And distracting too, but in a good way, as the sensitive skin of Ken's reviving erection brushed lightly against the cotton of the red head's pajama bottoms. Anticipation tightened first his abs, then spread in a warming tingle to other muscles, deeper inside. When Aya's eyes opened lazily half-way to meet the younger man's gaze, the pleasant anticipatory buzz became a hard throb of want, and Ken rocked forward, thrusting against the barrier of soft fabric.

 

He couldn't let go of the hold, mutually binding, that those twilight gray eyes had on him. The way Aya's pupils dilated, inky night swallowing the shadow-flecked rim of color, made his heart beat a tiny bit faster, a little bit harder… Half concealed behind the fragile, violet tinted skin of their lids and filtered past the delicate bars of long lashes, the steady gaze challenged. Maybe it was a subtle change in the rhythm of the slow movements, or the whisper of thin cotton against the back of his calf, as one of the redhead's long legs slowly stroked past his, but Ken had no doubt that he was wanted. No matter how much he wanted to be where he was, Aya felt the same, in return.

 

Heart thumping from the exertion, Ken sagged into the resilient hardness beneath him, savoring the way their bodies meshed, breath matching breath. A sense of rightness stole over him, soothing away the burden of failure that weighed him down whenever he thought of not being there for Omi - or for Yohji - and with it came a surge of intense tenderness. He kissed the corner of his partner's mouth, barely brushing the smooth skin, then more hungrily each of his eyelids and over into the cool silk of close-cropped hair at his temples. A shiver ran through the body pinned beneath the ball player, together with a delicate thrust of the hips that unexpectedly made Ken choke. In a subtle hint, Aya was reminding him that he hadn't found his release, that he was still waiting for Ken to follow up on the permission that had been granted to explore and satisfy the both of them. The brunet gasped out a short laugh when slim, persistent hands stroked down his flanks and ended by cupping his buttocks, drawing the smaller man up and positioning him.

 

Of course, Aya couldn't just ask that he move. No-o-o… It required finesse and persuasion. Not that Ken objected to being persuaded. The light, grazing touch of the splint's cool metal contrasted with the sudden heat of the redhead's clever fingers, and in that moment, Ken would have rolled over on his back like a dog wanting his belly scratched - anything - just so long as the gentle pressing and stroking didn't stop. Dimly, he was aware that Aya was using the same acupressure points that Ken had employed during their abortive massage/seduction session, and doing it with unexpected skill. His shoulder blade rotated, landing his abruptly limp weight fully on top of his companion, and the brunet felt a twinge of apprehension: what if he was too heavy for the still-healing man? But before he could pull away, planting his elbows to take up the load, the silent Hunter was kissing Ken with bruising force, even as he shifted muscular legs just that tiny bit to again allow his shorter partner to settle completely between them.

 

Ken stopped breathing, stunned by the sticky hotness of semen-soaked flannel. It ought to have been disgusting, but heated by their bodies, the wet caress was unbelievably erotic. It said, You've been here before… now, this time, finish the job. Go all the way… and he rocked eagerly, shaking with the force of his desire to be obedient. Stupid with desire, and overcome by the weird sense of tenderness, he choked out, “God, Aya… So long as I've got you, I know I'm gonna be okay.”

 

And, judging by the flinch, and recoil under him, it was the worst possible thing he could have said.

 

Wide-eyed terror froze Aya as comprehension swept over him. Something hard to define was happening inside the swordsman's convoluted brain, and whatever it was, it was enough to send him gracelessly scrambling out of the bed, nearly dumping Ken on the floor in the process. Ghostly white, Aya's mouth opened, but nothing came out; he simply stared with drowning eyes until the confused athlete struggled into a sitting position, and then he fled. Down the hall, Ken heard the emphatic slam of the redhead's bedroom door.

 

For a long moment, there was nothing that he could do but sit with his jaw dropping in mute astonishment, until finally, “Jesus. Fuckin.' Christ.” Ken muttered angrily as he flopped onto his back. Well, obviously, something he'd said had been the wrong thing. And trust Aya to over-react and storm off, rather than just giving him a swift kick. Of all the times to pick to flip out, to remind Ken that Aya had been traumatized and mentally wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders, this had to be the worst.

 

The inescapable conclusion was that Ken was going to have to figure out what he'd done, and fix it. Again.

 

 

**************

 

The combination of sex and the emotional tsunami had left Ken with a kind of exhausted calm that probably wasn't really that bad of an idea, given what they would have to do that coming night, if they were to rescue their teammates. In fact, he thought wryly, anything that would make it possible for him to partner with Aya without the stern redhead wringing his neck or running him through with that length of gleaming steel was all for the better… Or sending the man running for cover.

 

Troubled, the younger man flopped onto the tangled mess of his bed and frowned at the fluffy clouds flitting across the rectangle of his skylight. Just as the boundaries of the window frame cut off all but a tiny slice of sky, leaving him to guess at what was happening beyond that limited field of view, his interactions with Aya only let him glimpse a small part of what was going on inside. Too used to keeping his own secrets, hardly anything escaped from the taciturn Hunter. It reminded Ken of a TV program he'd watched about black holes, and how even light couldn't pass beyond the event horizon created by the sucking gravity well.

 

Aya was like that, too. Except in his case it was vulnerability and openness that got cut off sharp… Maybe, once Omi and Yohji were safely home, the thing to do would be to ask Aya to join him on a road trip? Ken always did his best thinking when the dashed lines of the open freeways were racing past the tires of his bike, mostly because it was one of the few times when he wasn't thinking at all.

 

Whatever. Sighing, he rolled off the bed; it was going to have to wait until later.

 

He padded down the open staircase, automatically avoiding the treads that squeaked even under bare feet, and swung around the corner into the kitchen. Seated at the table, Aya's familiar head of dark claret hair nodded silently toward the stove and the big pot simmering on it, without even bothering to turn around to see if the presence at the door was friend or foe. Ken shook his head, muttering, “Hi, yourself.”

 

Without pausing the rapid scrolling of Manx's laptop, the other assassin replied dryly, “It's been less than half an hour since I left your bed. Don't expect a big fuss.”

 

Unseen, Ken shook his head. Obviously his guess had been right; whatever had upset Aya had gotten sucked into that black hole, and was not going to be spoken of. Body-language-wise, the older Hunter was practically screaming Mention what happened, and you will die. Painfully. Annoyed, the brunet huffed, but resisted the temptation to make a smart-ass remark about just who was making the fuss. Instead, he ladled noodles and broth into a deep bowl and sat down across the table's corner from his companion.

 

Veiled by long lashes a shade darker than that astonishing hair, Aya's violet eyes flickered quickly across the display as his fingertip tapped on the touch pad, opening and closing windows. Growing increasingly curious, Ken finally scooted his chair over to where he could see. “What are you looking for?”

 

In response, Aya brought up a screen that had been minimized and turned the small computer a little so that the brunet could more easily see. “The small electrical sub-station that was my first choice for cutting power to the neighborhood is inaccessible. Now I'm looking for a list of pole transformer locations, and what blocks each serves.”

 

“Okay…” Ken pulled the laptop a little closer, studying the columns of data. There were lists of numbers, presumably corresponding to poles lining the streets and alleys of Tanagawa, but with so few of them matched to actual street names, he could see why it was a problem. It would be next to impossible for a stranger to the electrical utility's database to guess which one served the Hot Body. “Uh, so why is the substation out?”

 

Aya swung the laptop back around, a faint crease between his brows suggesting that he considered it personally responsible for the set-back. Absently, he answered, “Most substations are simple, fenced enclosures, with the larger transformers sitting out on a concrete pad, and glass fuses and high tension cables feeding in from above. In this instance, however, the only approach is through a small monitoring facility.” A rapid swoop of the mouse and a click opened a document that gave brief specs for the station.

 

“Does the place have windows?” Noodles forgotten, Ken skimmed the text, scooting his chair closer to Aya's, craning his neck for a better view.

 

“None except on the main street. The rear of the place sets against a concrete block wall belonging to a city services garage.” A small schematic of the cluster of government properties popped onto the screen. “The front entrance is also not acceptable. While there are no staff on the premises at night, there is too much street traffic to allow a B and E. Therefore, we will have to find a way to disable several of the pole transformers.”

 

“Wait, wait… There's nobody at the garage at night, either, right? So, we could punch through the wall without anyone noticing.”

 

“If we had the means.” There was an acid undercurrent of exasperation that made Ken want to flatten his ears and slink away like a threatened dog. If Aya noticed, he gave no indication, continuing in his precise voice, “The wall is too substantial. We have no explosives, neither in the van Manx gave us, nor here at Villa Weiss. It's too risky to try to pick any up in the city since we cannot use our Kritiker connections.”

 

“Hold on - I'll be right back.” Affronted, the handsome redhead reared back when the athlete snapped his fingers right under his nose and bolted out of his chair. Ken had to fight back a snicker; seeing Aya baffled, with the elegant lines of his entire body radiating confusion and displeasure, was a rarity. But worth it, just like it would be when he saw what the younger assassin had.

 

The stuff that had come out of his pants pockets when they had arrived at the cabin was in the top drawer of his dresser, right where he remembered dumping it. And in the middle of the jumble was the handful of loot that he had pilfered from one of the dead assailants back at the mansion, including four ready-to-use explosive charges. It struck him as oddly appropriate - in an ironic sort of way - that they were going to be used in an assault against their original owners.

 

Aya hadn't moved by the time Ken galloped back down the stairs two at a time. But his expression was priceless when the smug brunet carefully laid the small bombs out in a row on the worn kitchen table. The smoky purple eyes widened impossibly, then narrowed in consideration. He made no move to touch the rectangular blocks with their neatly taped-up wires and digital counters, tilting his head to one side and staring intently for a long moment, until he stated, “Omi didn't build these. You took them off of the people who attacked us.”

 

Ken nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I did. The design is pretty straight-forward. They're not Omi's but I figure I can use `em okay.” A tiny, evil smile quirked his partner's mouth, and Aya chuckled darkly.

 

“Perfect. Four should be sufficient.”

 

A happy grin stretched the athlete's face, but he shrugged silently and picked up his neglected bowl of noodles. He had no idea what four was enough for, but he figured he'd find out soon in due time. If anything, Ken trusted the older Weiss. Aya was a superior tactician, and more importantly, he'd said that he would help Ken get the missing pair back. And that was good enough.

 

“Call Honey.” A cell phone dropped onto the table. Ken hiked an eyebrow questioningly and was rewarded with a terse explanation. “This is her phone. Apparently she lives in an apartment with another employee of the whorehouse. The number is on the speed dial list under `home.' ”

 

“Oh.” Ken laid his chopsticks on the tabletop and picked up the cell. “So what do I say to her?”

 

“Pick a place close to the Hot Body and have her meet us there at eight. Use money or threats, whatever it takes, but get her there.” Impatient, Aya tossed the reply over his shoulder as he rose, intent on the house's back door and the white van parked in the shelter of the generator shed.

 

Self-restraint had never been Ken's strong suit, either; opening his mouth and sticking his foot in, on the other hand, was something he could count on. The words were out before he had a chance to so much as groan over the poor timing: “Wait, Aya! About earlier. What did I do that upset you so much?”

 

Ouch. The laser-intense glare that Aya raked the seated brunet with as he swiveled back to the table was furious. The redhead might as well have screamed, `Die, Hidaka!' out loud, the way he used to lose it and rage at the sight of Takatori Reiji. But, perversely stubborn, Ken refused to cringe. Instead, he shoved back his chair and stood, clenched fists ready at his sides.

 

The face-off held for all of two seconds, until Aya spun about and reached for the knob of the closed door.

 

“Aya! What the fuck is going on inside that head of yours?!” Ken yelled in desperation. If the older assassin kept walking away, so help him God, he'd flatten the man. But no, Aya paused, his back still turned resolutely toward the frantic brunet. It didn't guarantee an answer by any stretch of the imagination, but at least Ken could tell himself that there was a chance that the lunatic would explain at least some of what was going on.

 

“That book. The one about the Choshu assassin, during the Meiji Restoration. Did you read it?” A tremor was barely perceptible in the seemingly level voice, belying its calm. Baffled, Ken shrugged.

 

“Nah, not all of it. Why?”

 

“Then don't expect me to be able to explain to you.” Aya snapped. He stalked away, slamming the door behind him so that the glass rattled in its frame.

 

Startled, the brunet sketched a salute that involved a raised middle finger at the other man's oblivious back. But he also pressed the buttons on the phone. It was answered on the second ring, and the hooker's unmistakable, cigarette-hoarse voice came from the tiny speaker: “Damn, but you got a hell of a lot of nerve, calling me on my own phone, you know that?"

 

Shaking, Ken cleared his throat. “Um, hi, Honey. I've got a deal I want to discuss with you….”

 

**************

 

 

“No. No, no, NO. I won't do it, and nothing you can say is going to make me. You are out of your ever-loving mind if you think I'm helping you against those people. I swear, I am so regretting that I ever got mixed up in this. There is not enough money in the world--”

 

Ken pinched the bridge of his nose, and groaned. The woman - it was Honey, actually, despite the fact that her frizzy blond curls were covered by a sleek black wig in a pageboy cut - was backing away from him with surprising alacrity, considering that she was teetering on the highest spike heeled shoes that the assassin had ever seen. In a few more steps, she would be out of the seclusion of the alley that she had agreed to meet in, and back into the hectic neon and traffic lights of the main street. Worse, her increasingly strident voice was going to start attracting attention long before her phosphorescent-lime green mini dress did. Ken held up both hands in an attitude of supplication and tried begging. “Look, Honey-chan, you don't have to do anything other than get us inside--”

 

“US! Oh, don't tell me that that cute kid is back with you. You're nuts getting a little boy involved in all this crap--” Her apparently aimless, wild gestures succeeded in smacking Ken's hands away every time he reached for her, and he seriously considered kicking her feet out from under her. If he took her down, and dragged her deeper in the alley, maybe he could get her to listen to reason. For all of about thirty seconds, the frustrated brunet wondered if telling her that it was the `cute kid' that he was trying to rescue would do any good, but it seemed like a particularly bad plan, given her current attitude. With the way his luck was going, she would screech about any involvement of Omi, past, present or future. How was he supposed to have known that the hooker had a maternal streak where little blonds were concerned? Although, given the weirdly incestuous nature of the family business… The Hunter shook his head to try and dislodge the bad ideas that were attempting to set up housekeeping in there.

 

Gathering his determination, Ken tried again, wheedling shamelessly. “Come on, Honey… All I need is some help getting inside the building. You know your way around in there, and those guys, they won't think anything of it if you turn up to get some of your stuff, right?”

 

“Fuck off, Achira, or whatever your name really is.” she spat. Confused, Ken blinked until it hit him that `Achira' was the fake name he'd used on his first visit to Tanagawa. He was impressed that the whore had even remembered it; it had been pretty much gone from his brain, and he'd spent hours in that persona. Honey evaded Ken's last, desperate grab and spun about, ready to dash out into Shinzuku Street.

 

And smacked headlong into Aya, instead.

 

The slim man had had the advantage of knowing that she was coming, and had been able to brace himself for the impact, causing Honey to totter backwards as she bounced off of the immovable object. She steadied herself quickly, shooting a glare at the brunet behind her, and snarling, “Out of my way, asshole!” at the obstruction blocking her escape. There was no fear in the woman's face as her chin came up and a small can of pepper spray appeared in her fist.

 

Completely engulfed in the black hooded sweatshirt and his leather jacket, Aya was just a tall, anonymous figure, and Ken had to admire her guts. It made him feel almost guilty about coercing her into helping, but the thought that it was his friends' lives that were on the line helped to harden his heart. He shook his head sadly, then, aware that she couldn't have seen the gesture, added, “Sorry. No can do. We really do need the help.” At the same moment, Aya pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt, revealing the shining, dark crimson hair that it had concealed.

 

With a metallic clank, the pepper spray hit the cracked concrete, bounced, and rolled out of sight under an oozing dumpster. Shaking until her tight, vinyl mini-dress squeaked in protest, Honey backed away from Aya, hardly noticing that her retreat bumped her into Ken in turn. “N- no… Not you!” she moaned. “Don't make me do this.”

 

In the poorly lit alleyway, the swordsman's face was a ghostly pale, blurred oval, a fact that made his low, intense voice seem more inhuman and spooky as he said firmly, “You will help us.” The hooker flinched and shook her head violently.

 

“Look, I'm really sorry you got beat up, and everything, but you don't get it. Those people are killers. You guys are seriously out of your depth, so just forget whatever stupid ideas you've got about revenge, or whatever, and go home--” Whatever else she had been about to say got lost in a thin shriek of pain as Aya slammed her into the wall. Ken jerked, half minded to intervene, but a furious growl warned him off.

 

A faint, silver gleam changed his mind, however, and he darted in, catching the woman's wrist and giving it a sharp twist. The switchblade that had somehow materialized out of her close-fitting clothes clattered to the pavement. Ken scooped it up, flipped the knife closed, and tucked it into a pocket of his own black cargo pants. He resisted the temptation to retort `And so are we,' settling instead for reproving mildly, “Bad idea, that knife. And as for those guys being killers, you just let us worry about it. We have to get inside the club, and it would be a big help if you could give us a hand.”

 

Calculation narrowed her eyes to glittering slits, and she examined Ken and Aya closely. “So…” Honey demanded thoughtfully, “Where are the other two?”

 

Both of the Weiss Hunters stiffened. Automatically, the brunet opened his mouth to deny everything, but his partner beat him to it, saying swiftly, “Inside. They're inside the Hot Body.”

 

“Oh, crap.” The fight went out of the whore, and she sagged a little, trapped between the dark mass that was the taller assassin, and the grimy brick wall. “How'd they get your friends? No, on second thought, don't answer that; I really don't want to know.” She looked past Aya's shoulder and addressed Ken: “Okay, fine. What do you need me to do?”

 

“Um…” Caught off guard by the sudden capitulation, the brunet scratched the back of his neck. “Like I said before, go up to the front door, and tell `em you came to get some of your stuff. They should recognize you. Then, when the power goes out, you let me in, and run like hell.”

 

Honey sighed. “Fine. That's almost simple enough to work. Everybody in the neighborhood knows that they've set up house in there, so it shouldn't surprise them too much if I tell them I came to get one of the working girl's things…” She hesitated, then coughed apologetically. “I'd suggest the back door, if I was you. I was there a couple of days ago, and they still had the same old lock on it.”

 

“What kind?” Aya demanded.

 

As much as she was able to while pinned, the woman shrugged, saying, “I don't know the brand - just that it's old and basic. There's a touch pad just inside the door. You can open it from the outside with a key, and then you've got ninety seconds to punch in the code before an alarm sounds. As far as I know, they haven't bothered to change the numbers, because you need a master code, or something, and my cousin Mishakawa's got it.”

 

The two men exchanged glances over her head, and Ken nodded encouragingly. “Tell us the code?”

 

“Sure. It's the moron's birthday: 270369.”

 

The quick answer left him in a quandary: if the hooker was telling the truth, there would be no need to drag her into the whole mess. But, if on the other hand, she was lying, or intended to run straight to the opposition with the news that Weiss was making its move, they were screwed. The conflict must have been evident in his posture, because it became Honey's turn to coax.

 

“Come on, boys. I said I'd do this. Don't go getting cold feet on me now.” Her confident tone was at odds with the uncertainty in how she reacted toward the man holding her against the wall, but still, it must have satisfied Aya on some level, because he released her. Honey took a deep, relieved breath and straightened her rumpled clothes. “When are we doing this?”

 

“The sooner, the better.” the brunet answered. He flicked a worried glance at Aya, who gave a single, emphatic nod, and Ken cleared his throat. “It's 8:30, now. We'll hit the power in an hour.”

 

“Right. I go in by 9:00, then. Far enough ahead that they'll be bored with watching me pack, but not so much that they'll have tossed me back outside. Okay, see you at the back door, a couple minutes after 9:30.”

 

Nodding, Ken waved her on her way. Neither he, nor the redhead spoke until the rapid clicking of her heels had disappeared into the sounds of traffic coming from the street out front. Then the younger man groaned and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Do you really think we can trust her?” he demanded urgently. Aya paused in the act of tugging his hood up over the tell-tale scarlet of his hair, and shrugged silently. Ken had to admit that he was right; it was a little late to start worrying about that, now. All he could do was hope that Honey would stick to the game plan, hope that no one would expect them to move so early in the evening, and hope that the enemy hadn't given up and killed his friends. Because if they had, not even slaughtering the strangers in turn would be enough to make up for losing Omi and Yohji.

 

Oblivious to Ken's worries, Aya signaled the all clear, and they moved out. The two Hunters headed back down the alley in the opposite direction from Shinzuku Street, back into the labyrinthine tangle of dirty side streets and passages between their meeting place and where they had parked the van. As part one of mission, one of the bombs was already in place inside the electrical substation, ready to bring down service to the whole area. Getting in had gone smooth as silk: Ken had slipped inside the garage before the last government employee had left for the day, waiting patiently in a dark corner, behind a pile of no-longer necessary snow removal equipment. Blowing a hole into the next building had come down to enlarging a massive crack in the concrete block wall until a small section tumbled down, making a gap big enough for him to squirm through.

 

In the days before Weiss, he probably would have planted the second plastic explosive on one of the huge transformers - assuming he'd ever thought about blowing one up, that is. But now he knew that while the big, green painted cube was an obvious target, being filled with highly flammable oil it was also the worst. Instead, the soccer player had selected an array of glass and sand fuses. The resulting mess would take hours to clear away, yet in the long run, really wouldn't do any major damage. With luck, the power company crew would determine that the outage was due to equipment failure, maybe brought on by target number two.

 

Because while Ken had been busy at the electrical substation, Aya had disappeared with the third of their scavenged bombs, having come up with a diversionary site a few blocks farther west. With a little luck, any emergency response teams would be deflected to there, leaving the largely boarded-up neighborhood around the Hot Body free of official interference. If their opponents inside the whorehouse checked the news, or even just went outside to have a look, the column of smoke and fire from the abandoned chemical warehouse ought to keep them from suspecting an attack on their own position.

 

After all, local do-gooders had been complaining about how dangerous the warehouse was for months. Ken had enjoyed a good laugh at the idea that by setting a fire, Aya was actually doing the work of a band of guerrilla environmentalists - who would presumably get the blame for the blaze.

 

And, as for bomb number four, the surly man had only shaken his head and refused to let his partner in on what he was planning.

 

Part two of the operation involved the cameras at the brothel. One of the times they'd brazenly cruised past the shuttered building in Manx's unobtrusive, grungy van Aya had given a triumphant grunt from his seat in the back with all the equipment, and declared that the new occupants were using wireless. Which meant that he could possibly hack their security.

 

Compared to the average salary man on the street, yes, Ken did know a lot more about that sort of thing. But next to Omi and Aya, he was a poor and distant third. Sure, he understood that the kidnappers wouldn't waste the time or energy to run cables for a physically contained security system; wireless was both cheaper and easier to set up. The former soccer player also understood that the equipment was most likely shielded and its data encrypted to prevent any outside force from breaking in. What he didn't get was how Aya figured that he could circumvent those precautions. But after the bedroom fiasco, the brunet was loath to push too hard. Aya had reverted to his pre-kidnapping, stony demeanor, yet the younger man was convinced that the whole mess was seething just below the surface, ready to lash out at anyone stupid enough to lift the lid from the pressure cooker. That stupid person had been him once already, and thank you very much, he didn't feel like giving it another shot.

 

Not that crouching on the corrugated metal floor of the van, watching Aya work was doing a whole lot for his self-esteem, either. After parting from Honey, they'd moved the vehicle to a pre-selected spot about a half a block from the back exit of the whorehouse, which was pretty much the outer limit of wireless range, and settled in to wait. Or rather, Ken was waiting after he'd gone over the collection of weapons scrounged from Villa Weiss one last time, and his partner was still working on the borrowed laptop. Then, much to the athlete's surprise, Aya spoke up, “Those video tapes that you got from Honey - Omi already did most of the work where they're concerned. He converted everything to digital and uploaded it onto his laptop so that he could separate the cameras and concentrate on them one at a time.”

 

Ken nodded slowly. He recalled how annoying it had been trying to watch the surveillance tapes as they cycled from vantage point to vantage point. Not to mention the embarrassment inherent in watching what amounted to low-grade porn. Yes, he understood why Omi had filtered out half of the content on the videos, and it was a relief that it worked to their advantage now. Engrossed in his typing, the redhead continued absently, “The view from the new camera nearest to the back door corresponds very closely to the corridor footage on the tapes Omi has been working with. The reason that this is important to us now is that very likely the alarms and cameras that our opponents are using have battery back-up. I won't be able to override their equipment, but it should be possible for us to fool one camera, allowing you to penetrate that much farther into the club without being seen after Honey apparently has had enough and departs.”

 

“Oh, I get it. The alarm on the back door'll go off, and they'll see her leave after the power outage hits, but not me coming in. Good idea.” Grinning, Ken made himself comfortable, using his wadded up jacket as a pillow on the hard floor. It really was a good plan, representing the kind of attention to detail that he was used to from his teammates. While Aya might not be ready for a Kritiker mission - especially one that involved murder as well as mayhem - it was very, very good to have him back in other ways. It didn't feel completely right, not having Omi around to handle the technical aspects, but at least the stand-offish swordsman was there to put together the field operation. And that was enough to pull an involuntary murmur of contentment from the brunet.

 

At the quiet sound, Aya glanced down, the thin line of one brow raised curiously. “You're happy?”

 

“Yeah, I like having you back, and doing stuff like this. It's good.” Lazily, he waved at the van's racks of surveillance equipment, and by extension, the city outside. “Yohji would die laughing, `cause it's not exactly a romantic date, or anything, but all I'm saying is that I like working with you.”

 

“Is this that `we're a team because we were designed to be' business, again?” The slender fingers slowed, finally halting on the keyboard, and Aya turned fully to stare down at the reclining man. Ken shrugged carelessly.

 

“Maybe. Sometimes, I think Yohji gets a thrill out of making things more complicated than they really are. But you can't argue with results, so yeah, I do think the four of us belong together.”

 

The pale, handsome face grew troubled, the angular eyebrows shifting from curious to an uneasy frown. Slowly, Aya began, “Ken, I--” but much to the younger man's relief, whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the steady beeping of the computer's clock. Instantly, Ken was up off of the floor, snatching up his communications headset.

 

“Five minutes to show time, buddy. Do a sound check for me, okay?”

 

“Ken, wait. Please--” Desperation tinged the low demand, and Ken's conscience gave a regretful twinge. A few hours earlier, he'd have done anything to get that reaction out of the stubborn redhead, and here he was running away when it finally happened. But first things first: Omi and Yohji were waiting.

 

The same thoughts had obviously crossed the older Hunter's mind, because Aya gave a short, unhappy nod, and spun his chair back to the narrow counter. Tinted by the underwater lighting inside the van, graceful, pale blue fingers flew across the laptop, scarcely hampered by the broken pinkie in its splint. As Aya checked their communications link, the brunet patted down the rest of his gear one last time, mentally counting off by touch the narrow diamonds of throwing knives at his belt, and inside the collar of his hooded sweatshirt. The thin fan-shape tucked against his belly under the hem of his shirt held a set of Omi's needles - without narcotics or poisons because Ken didn't trust his luck to not end up drugging himself. A large combat knife was sheathed at his hip, and a smaller version with a wickedly serrated blade was tucked into the top of his tightly laced boots. A flash light, wire cutters, a spool of cord, lock picks, and everything else he'd been able to find were tucked into his belt, or the cargo pockets of his pants.

 

And, hidden at the small of his back, where Aya couldn't see it, was Yohji's backup, a SIG-Sauer 9mm semi-automatic.

 

Ken had nearly put the gun back where he'd found it, when they'd been packing up to leave Villa Weiss. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to give up a weapon that might make all the difference between success and failure, between survival, and death. No matter how valid Aya's feelings might be, as a professional, Ken couldn't accept giving up the kind of advantage the 9mm represented. But that didn't mean that he was comfortable with the potential to kill from a distance, either. If he had to think out the reasons, he supposed that being a hand-to-hand combat specialist was his own way of making sure that he never took the lives that he claimed for granted, that a target's death never became too easy. The nightmares of catching his claws in bone and viscera were a part of Ken's penance for sitting in judgement on another, and having judged, for cutting short that life.

 

Outside the van, every single light for blocks around abruptly winked out.

 

Aya doused the blue overhead light, leaving only the laptop's glow to illuminate the van's interior. Neither he, nor Ken wished each other luck, unwilling to jinx the mission. Instead, the redhead silently gave a thumbs up when the van's cameras showed the street to be clear and, focused and intent, the other Hunter slipped out into the dense shadows.

 

 

***********

 

Sometimes, time seemed to stretch out to infinity, becoming a royal pain in the ass for anyone who hated to wait. Grumbling irritably, Ken shoved back the cuff of his sweatshirt for the five-millionth-time, and glowered at the dim luminescence of his wristwatch.

 

It had been nearly ten minutes since the neighborhood had gone dark; more than enough time for Honey to have gotten to the back door. Unless, of course, she'd been caught, or had switched sides yet again to double cross them. Frustrated, he carefully pounded his closed fist against the shadowy angle in the wall where he'd taken shelter.

 

Maybe she'd just been delayed. All it would have taken was some goon hovering in the hallway.

 

The problem lay in not knowing, while precious minutes ticked away. Ken's instincts were good, and just then, his gut was telling him to abort, to withdraw and try to approach some other time. Except, they didn't have that luxury. This was a one-shot, do-or-die mission, and they had no choice but to succeed. Muttering a curse under his breath, Siberian thumbed the send button on his mic, and hissed, “Abyssinian, status?”

 

“Nothing.” came the prompt reply in his ear. “I'm not picking up any alarms, but keep in mind that most of their system is a closed book.”

 

Closed book… Shit. Ken thought unhappily. And he was outside, trying to peek in. “I'm going to have to do it on my own.” he said firmly. “From here, the lock on the back door looks like a cheap, easy one. I should have no trouble beating the ninety second delay before the alarm goes off.”

 

Aya was silent. He knew as well as his partner did that there was no point in arguing; like Ken, he was very well aware that there would be no second chances. But it still didn't mean that he had to like it. From his vantage point in the parked vehicle, he would be unable to offer much in the way of support, should trouble arise. The hum in Ken's ear told him that Aya was still there, and was probably struggling to come up with a way around going in blind, but the truth of the matter was that without Honey, they had no eyes on the other side of that blank, battered steel door. At last the curt baritone said, “I'm taking down the camera in the hallway just inside. Proceed when you're ready.” Ken scanned the skyline once more in case there were watchers, and dashed silently across the street.

 

Unlike Yohji, he'd never claimed to be able to pick a lock blind, and so he gripped the mini mag light in his teeth while both hands were occupied with the picks. Not that it was a tough lock; if he hadn't been so busy, Ken would have snorted with contempt. Only five pins, in a cylinder that was so old and sloppy that it took virtually nothing for him to jiggle each one up out of the way… And then the knob was turning, letting him into a barely lit corridor that reeked of spoiled food and sweat.

 

Panic squeezed down tight on Ken's chest; he didn't see any sign of guards - but neither did he see the promised keypad. The horrified brunet spun around, ready to run, just as the door creaked shut.

 

Glowing faintly green, the number pad was right there, where the open door would have hidden it. Disgusted, Ken rolled his eyes and punched in the numbers Honey had provided. A tiny display promptly returned to blinking `ready.'

 

With the power off, no sounds that would normally be associated with ventilation were audible. In point of fact, nothing could be heard, at all. And that was more disturbing. The flashlight was switched off and slid back into a loop on his belt as Ken cautiously took a couple of steps to the side, ensuring that he wouldn't be silhouetted against the fading red light of a battery-powered emergency exit sign.

 

Nothing.

 

Granted, the Hot Body was essentially nothing more than a whorehouse; the public fiction that it was a club being completely inadequate to hide the reality of their business; and as a whorehouse, it had some soundproofing. But it was just a second-rate brothel, and there was no way that its owners would have spent that much on privacy. The silence was eerie. He found himself taking a deep breath, and holding it, and had to force himself to exhale when it struck him just how stupid that that was. Paranoid much, Kenken? he asked himself, and stifled a nervous snicker.

 

The answer was obviously that the interlopers had holed themselves up in one part of the building, playing their own version of the paranoid waiting game. Which would go a long way toward explaining why Honey hadn't been able to slip away and get the door for him, if she was stuck waiting with them. The trick was going to be figuring out how to get the drop on the targets. As the problem claimed Ken's attention, his heart settled into a steadier rhythm, and a tingle of anticipation tightened his muscles. He ran a reassuring hand over his assortment of weapons and eased deeper into the darkness.

 

One thing that the former soccer player had excelled at during his brief career had been spatial relationships. On the field it had guaranteed a status as Most Valuable Player, and now it meant moving confidently through a mental floor plan of the building. The rubber soles of his boots were noiseless on the ratty carpet as he slipped down the hallway, fingertips of his left hand just grazing the wall, letting him count doors as they passed by. After the third one, Ken paused alertly at a cross-corridor. The dim light at his back marked the end of the area covered by the lone camera Aya had been able to subvert. If the enemy was reliant on regular equipment, they were just as blind as the Hunter was from here on. But, if they had invested in something a little higher end, that registered body heat, he was - pun intended - toast. Ken cocked his head and listened intently.

 

Still nothing.

 

It was getting damned annoying. Well, experience and instinct said that the peep show rooms to his left were not likely to be the hideout of choice for any except the most stupid of goons. For one thing, those rooms were tiny, and for another, the coin-operated sliding panels over the plastic windows would rob any lurkers of sight lines if they were waiting in ambush. No, if he were the one calling the shots, the place to be would be the bosses' offices. On the layout that Weiss had stolen, Mishakawa and Iida had occupied a two-room suite ahead and to the right. Not only were they more spacious, but the old security system fed into a VCR and monitor set-up in one of the rooms, making it a natural place to wait and watch for incoming trouble. He took a deep, cleaning breath, and slowly let it out. Right. The offices.

 

It was a couple steps farther to the first door than Ken expected, setting his nerves on edge again by the time he reached it. It had a better quality door than those he'd passed earlier, and the carpet was thicker under his feet as well, ruining any hopes he had of hearing stealthy noises from within. Scowling fiercely, the brunet sank down into a crouch to one side, and reached carefully for the knob. It turned easily, allowing the door to swing inward into the darkness. Ken scuttled in, fighting the urge to fling a handful of knives just on the off chance of hitting someone; after all the someone hit could conceivably be one of his own teammates.

 

Hackles rising, the assassin froze barely a half dozen steps into the room. It wasn't a sound, but rather a scent that stopped him in his tracks, a fetid under-current to the cloyingly sweet, stale smell of old incense. Something - or someone - had died, and not too long ago since the smell was confined to the close air of the unventilated office. Chill dread gripped the young man's brain, squeezing off the ability to think past Oh, God. What if it's Omi? just as his lungs fought to avoid drawing in any more of the poisoned air.

 

Please, don't be Ommitchi. Please… Ken prayed. He sensed none of the little give-aways of anyone alive in there but him, and he hastily closed the gaping door as he fumbled for his flashlight.

 

The tiny, focused beam might as well have been a searchlight; everything jumped into stark relief, flooding his dark-adjusted eyes with too much color, too many shapes to initially make any sense of. But there was an overwhelming impression of red, red, red… Ken squeezed his eyes shut.

 

And opened them again almost immediately.

 

Which ever of the owners had originally occupied that office wouldn't be wanting to sit in his cushy leather desk chair ever again. The bloody picture untangled itself, becoming a nauseating riot of pale flesh, scarlet and lime green. Ken winced at the after-images that the wavering beam of the light left behind. The analytical part of his brain busily noted the way the still-liquid blood followed the tiny grooves of the slick vinyl, even as his consciousness tried to block out the fact that this had been a woman that he had talked to only an hour earlier. He raised a trembling hand to touch her throat, half intending to feel for a pulse, when the boneless way she slumped in the chair and the glassiness of her fixed stare sank in, and his hand dropped.

 

Guiltily, he whispered, “Thank you, God. For not taking Omi.”

 

Honey couldn't have been dead for too long; even the smallest spatters of blood still showed a brighter, wetter red at their centers, rather than near black. Ken reached for his mic, and said softly, “Abyssinian? Come in.”

 

“I read you. What have you got?” Even though Aya's professional words were a thin whisper in his ear, the miserable brunet breathed a sigh of relief. So long as his partner could keep it together like that, so could he, no matter that he wanted to cry, or to smash everything in the room to kindling.

 

“I found Honey in the first office. She's dead. Looks like they did a pretty thorough job on her.” Ken murmured. He forced himself to pay attention to details, to focus on the sources of the gore, rather than to fixate on blood itself. “Most severe injury before death seems to be a severed finger on her right hand… but there's lots of little stuff, too. Mainly cuts, and burn marks, probably from a smoldering stick of incense. Place reeks of it.”

 

“Hn. How long ago?” asked the level voice.

 

“Not long. Half an hour, tops. Everything is still fresh.” The younger Hunter hesitated, then added, “Thing is, I haven't seen any sign of anyone. It's like I'm the only person in the place. It just feels… you know. Empty.”

 

Ken listened patiently to the hum of his headset, waiting while Aya digested the report. The answer, when it came, was doubtful. “Something doesn't seem right. Be careful, Siberian.”

 

Even though his back-up couldn't see the motion, Ken nodded. “Yeah. I'm heading for the other office.” Resolutely, he turned away from the hooker's sprawled corpse, switching off the mag light's focused beam. He figured on giving himself a minute for his eyes to adjust to what little illumination there was filtering in around the plywood covering the windows - but no more than that, or he'd start imagining what lay beyond the connecting door.

 

Please, God. Not Omi…

 

“Okay, here I go.” Ken whispered. He stepped carefully to the side, and reached for the knob.

 

“Wait--! Siberian, don't-- ” The rest of Aya's urgent words were drowned out by a roar, and a sheet of burning, white light.

 

 

*************

 

More Author's Notes:

Given how long it takes me to write (in part, I confess, due to me being distracted by other fics), I thought it might be appropriate to list a few of the things that had been set up in earlier chapters:

 

The explosives really were looted from the body of a dead attacker, way back during the first attempt to kill Weiss, at the mansion safe house. At the time, the discovery allowed Ken to warn Omi that the reinforced doors to the underground garage wouldn't hold, leading him to collapse the staircase up to the kitchen. But Ken still had the bombs on him when they arrived at Villa Weiss.

 

Honey had a switchblade, and pulled it, the first time she met Ken, way back in chapter five. Yes, between losing the knife and the can of pepper spray here in chapter seventeen, she really did go into the enemies' lair unarmed.

 

After the second meeting with Honey, when Ken and Omi learned that she had deliberately fed them incorrect information in an effort to set them up, Ken took her cell phone away from her. His intent was to prevent her from promptly calling in a warning that the game was up to the enemy. Like the explosives, however, it also ended up going back to Villa Weiss with Ken, which was how Aya got a hold of it..

 

Modern transformers (at least in the U.S.) are now filled with a synthetic oil because of environmental hazards like PCBs. I have no idea if they are anywhere near as great a fire risk as the older style, but for the sake of the story, let's assume that they are. However, burning the transformers would have attracted attention to the area around the Hot Body from the authorities, and might also have tipped off the opposition. So, yes, the chemical warehouse was what Aya had in mind when he said that fire would serve as a diversion since it wouldn't work to set the brothel itself on fire.

 

More to come…