Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Talking To The Dead ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )

Chapter 5

"What the hell do you mean the office is empty?"

The well-groomed woman in front of him folded her arms, regarding him coolly. "I mean exactly as I said," she spoke slowly, her tone frosty. "That office has been empty since Shuuichi Takatori passed away."

He stared at her in stunned disbelief, mounting anger slowly beginning to overtake his initial shock. "But - it looked just like his office! I swear!"

The woman squinted at him. "I assure you that I speak the truth. If you refuse to believe me, I can summon a janitor to open it as proof."

"Yes," he spoke, feeling as though he was finally getting through to the woman. "Please do that."

She turned her back on him with a hmph, too professional to mutter under her breath, but angry enough to let her glare intimidate a subordinate into allowing her the use of a telephone. Once a janitor had been paged, she joined Ken in the hallway outside of the locked office, leaning against the wall and staring fixedly at her well-manicured fingernails - anything to avoid eye contact with the insistent crazy man to her left.

Ten minutes later a janitor arrived. A brief struggle ensued with the aging lock; after a couple of minutes, a triumphant click heralded eventual success. Ken rushed to step behind the man as the door slowly creaked open.

A gust of musty air forced Ken to halt mid-step. In the dim room, a stray beam of sunlight slipped between a crack in the venetian blinds, refracting off of dust motes scattered floating in the air. A stack of old computer printouts, yellowing with oxidation, rustled atop a desk covered in a fine layer of dust.

Ken stood still in place, staring into the room with a dumbfounded expression. Vaguely he noted the woman pushing past him a moment before the room was flooded in fluorescent light.

"Well?" She tapped her fingers expectantly on her right hip.

Ken took a few cautious steps into the room. He allowed his gaze to travel the length of the walls. The room was almost exactly as he remembered it the last time he had been there, when the first man he had called Persia, Shuuichi Takatori, recruited him into Weiss. The same pictures hung on the walls; the same filing cabinets were still pushed against the back wall. The room had been left for the most part untouched. The empty fish tank to his left testified to the fact that at least someone, probably Manx, had thought to take care of things before the room was mothballed.

A dead end. He clenched his fists in frustration, the bile beginning already to rise in the back of his throat. What the hell? He had been so certain - this had to be the room, the way the light reflected off the walls -

He turned face the woman, struggling to maintain civility in the face of her reluctant assistance. "You were correct," he grudgingly admitted, bowing his head. "I apologize for inconveniencing you."

She pursed her lips. Her eyes drifted down to his balled fists. "Obviously you're not satisfied with this answer."

He swung his head back up to regard her coldly. "I don't exactly have a lot of choice in the matter, do I?"

"No. I imagine not." Reaching up, she palmed off the lights: a clear dismissal.

Ken stomped out of the room, pausing in stride only long enough to hear the door click shut behind him. He assumed it would be locked once he left, the office relegated once again to the dust and shadows.

Another dead end, he thought bitterly. He bowed his head, weaving quickly through the maze of hallways back to the elevator. The better part of his morning was wasted; the sooner he got out of this building, the sooner he could resume his search, the sooner he could twist the answers he needed out of that coward's body...

A sharp jolt of pain lanced his arm as his fist connected solidly with the wall. "Dammit!" He leaned against the elevator doors, panting heavily.

Calm down, he reminded himself fiercely. Anger won't get you the answers you need...

A loud ding made him jump back just in time to avoid getting run over by a flustered accountant. As soon as the elevator was vacated, he got in and rode it in silence down to the lobby. Pushing his way through the milling throngs of people, he breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped outside into the late morning sunlight.

Obviously this endeavor had been a failure. He considered the problem for a moment. How did one find Persia, without the man himself telling you his location?

Spying a familiar blue-haired figure in the distance, the answer smacked him fairly across the face.

Rex.

Rex was Persia's secretary; obviously, the woman had to report to him at some point...

Careful to make certain she did not see him, he followed her at a safe distance, closing the gap slowly as his confidence grew. As he neared her, he began to pick up snippets of conversation; clearly, the woman was too preoccupied with her phone call to notice the man trailing behind her...

"Yes. Yes, I understand."

A pause. Ken leaned forward, curious.

"But can he be trusted?"

What?! Suddenly interested, Ken strained his ears, not daring to follow her any more closely; the last thing he needed right now was Rex catching him eavesdropping...

Ahead of him, Rex sighed. "Fine. But don't forget - six months is a long time. If he gets out of control, you might be better off cutting your losses and removing him from the team. The last thing you need right now is another wildcard."

She has to be talking to Persia! He seethed; it was all he could do to keep calm and hold his cover. That bitch! What gives her the right -

"All right." Rex's clearly displeased voice cut his musings short. "I'll be there in another ten minutes. Rex out." The phone clicked shut and disappeared into the left pocket of her purple blazer.

Ken held his breath, keeping absolutely still in the shadows as Rex increased the distance between them. Now that she was free of distraction, he expected she would be more alert to her surroundings. A confrontation with the woman was inevitable; he preferred that when it occurred, it happen under his terms - if at all possible after he had his little talk with Persia...

Once he had deemed Rex sufficiently far enough ahead, he slipped out of the shadows and began tracking her anew. Two rights and a quick left found him in the business district, weaving through a crowded sidewalk as inconspicuously as possible while continuing to trail his target. He followed her like this for the distance of about a half mile, past cafes and storefronts, and into the thickening crowd of businessmen on their way to an early lunch.

He cursed. Rex was getting harder and harder to follow - he could only barely make her out in the crowd now -

"Pardon me!" He heard the excuse before he felt the impact of a hard shoulder into his chest, stunning him momentarily and knocking the breath from him. He spun angrily in place to scowl at the departing businessman. The man was already long gone, lost in the teeming crowd.

Already long gone... Shit! Where is she? His heart raced as he wildly scanned the vicinity for the distinctive blue head of hair, alternately praying and swearing under his breath that he had not lost her...

No... No... There!

A swinging door to the left caught his eye. He raced over to the building just in time to catch a glimpse of blue hair as it disappeared behind closing elevator doors.

This has to be the place! He threw open the door marked "Office Solutions International" and strode into the lobby, making a beeline for the set of elevators directly in front of him.

A body imposed itself in Ken's path, halting him halfway to his goal.

"Excuse me, sir. I'm going to need to see some ID."

What the hell?!

He smiled thinly, keeping his tone as civil as possible. "I'm sorry, I appear to have left it at home. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend -"

"There are no meetings scheduled this afternoon." An iron grip on his right arm arrested his forward movement. Ken's smile turned cold.

"Well, if that's the case, then I'll just have to schedule one myself."

He drew his left fist back and pivoted forward, slamming it home into the man's jaw. A sickening crack resounded a moment before the man dropped to the floor, unconscious. Ken strolled past the body and punched the elevator button, absently rubbing his knuckles.

The doors opened immediately to admit him. He depressed the fifth floor button, reasonably certain Rex had made the same selection only minutes before.

He scowled at the closed doors as the elevator began to rise.

I'm beginning to get really tired of this shit.

First the sketchy mission plan... then the decoy office...

And now, what was beginning to look like an almost complete cover-up of the previous mission...

Kritiker is hiding something, he seethed. And I'll bet whatever it is has something to do with Omi's death.

He stormed out of the elevator the instant the doors opened, heading straight for the office at the end of the hallway. Approaching the closed door, he began to make out a very familiar voice arguing loudly with the office's occupant.

"It's too much of a risk! You need to pull him out now! You can't -"

A loud bang echoed in the corridor as the door was thrown open violently, flooding the dark office with the harsh fluorescent incident light of the hallway. Ken stood silhouetted in the doorway, fists balled and panting heavily.

Rex was the first to regain her composure. Coolly, she reached into her purse, pulling out a small handgun and aiming it directly at the center of Ken's chest. "Siberian," she barked, ice glinting in her cold gray eyes. "Explain yourself."

Heedless of the danger, Ken rushed blindly forward, desperate to get his hands around the neck of the still-shadowed figure of Persia. The loud click of the safety disengaging stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Another step, and my finger slips." Rex took a step forward to emphasize her words, maintaining her aim as she squinted at him contemptuously. "Weiss has no need for traitors."

Ken seethed, flexing his fingers, wishing desperately for the feeling of cold steel claws between his knuckles. Just a quick lunge - faster than she could fire, he was certain - and she would be out of the way, gone, leaving him free to concentrate on Persia, to grab him by the neck and -

"Stand down."

A soft voice cut through the silence of the room.

"Both of you."

Naked shock washed through Ken's body as the seated figure spun in his chair, finally revealed in the light for the first time.

Sena?

The young man standing in front of him could have easily passed for the boy's twin. Bright blue eyes a shade lighter, maybe, and his voice perhaps a pitch deeper...

That voice...

Persia moved to the left of Rex and placed his right hand on her elbow, gently guiding the barrel to the floor. A simple nod, and she stepped aside.

The weary smile that graced Persia's lips did not extend to light his sad eyes.

"Welcome to Kritiker, Ken-kun."

Stunned beyond comprehension, Ken nodded dumbly, mouth agape, as his mind raced desperately to make sense of the confusing maelstrom of emotions triggered by those four simple words.

He staggered forward, reaching out blindly as if to caress the face in front of him, to reassure himself of what his mind refused to acknowledge. He stopped just short, unwilling or unable to confirm the reality of his absurd vision, of this bizarre fantasy...

That voice... no, it couldn't be! There was only one person with that voice - one person who would dare address him so familiarly - one person, and that person -

"Omi?" He heard the name escape his lips before his mind could act to stop it.

... that person could not possibly be standing in front of him right now.

Persia winced; to his right, Rex frowned and narrowed her eyes. "'Omi?'" she repeated aloud, brows knit together in perplexity. "What do you mean, 'Omi'?"

A jolt of anger burned through him, eradicating all traces of shock from Ken's system. Sensing danger, Persia threw his arm between the two and moved to separate them. Ken was too fast, however; leaning forward dangerously, he put his face so that it was only inches apart from Rex's own. "What do I mean?" he repeated mockingly, glaring evenly into steel-gray eyes. "I mean," he leaned closer, almost nose-to-nose, "Omi, as in Omi Tsukiyono!"

"Siberian!" A strong hand grabbed the fist he had not realized was already raised in the air and forcibly turned him to face the other occupant of the room. "Get a hold of yourself!"

Get a hold of yourself, his mind echoed dimly.

Where had he heard that before?

Censuring blue eyes pinned him in place far more easily and effectively than the strong grasp on his wrist. He met the younger man's stare evenly, unwilling to back down without getting some answers, first.

After a full minute of silence, Persia was the first to relent, releasing the firm grip on Ken's wrist as he turned to address his subordinate. "Rex," his tone was still sharp, "I would ask you to please leave the room. Hidaka-san and I have some things we need to discuss in private."

Rex looked horrified. "But Persia -"

He waved her away with a simple gesture of dismissal. "I will be fine." He turned back and regarded Ken with what could only be hopeful eyes. "It appears that Ken-kun and I have a lot of catching up to do."

Rex scowled at the obvious familiarity. She looked as if she was about to say something, but changed her mind before the words made it to her lips. "Fine," she scoffed, eying Ken disdainfully. "But I will expect a full explanation later, Mamoru."

Her parting shot was not lost on Ken. As soon as she slammed the door shut behind her, he rounded on Persia, fresh anger burning anew.

"Mamoru?" he hissed, already feeling the telltale jump in his heart rate. Suddenly, the air around stifled him; he struggled to draw his breath through the haze of thick emotion. "Mamoru?!"

Persia held his ground firmly as Ken advanced on him. In stark contrast to Ken, he remained completely calm; only his eyes betrayed deep sadness within.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice halting Ken mid-stride. "That is my name." A little louder, he proclaimed without a trace of hesitation in his voice the words Ken never thought he would hear spoken aloud in his entire lifetime.

"I am Mamoru Takatori."

"No!" Ken lunged forward, grabbing Persia by the shoulders and shaking him.

"You are not Mamoru! No! No! No!" He punctuated each denial with a harsh shake. Persia's eyes went wide with shock. "You are not Mamoru. You are Omi Tsukiyono!"

"Ken-kun," Persia whispered sadly, turning pained eyes upon his former comrade.

Ken released him suddenly, pushing him hard back against the desk. He took a shuddering breath, the fire in his veins quickly turning to ice. "Don't call me that," he spoke slowly, glaring daggers at the man in front of him. "Don't you dare call me that, Mamoru."

"If that is your wish, then I will honor it," Persia replied stiffly, holding his head high. Though his voice betrayed no emotion, his eyes shimmered tellingly.

Moving as if to return to his desk, he found his path instead blocked by Ken's body. Persia leveled his gaze at Ken, summoning as much dignity as possible into his posture. "If you are finished, I have a mission to plan."

"Just tell me one thing, Omi." The name slipped from his lips without Ken meaning it. He scowled at the lapse, but continued, pressing himself close into Persia's personal space; he still had a question he needed to ask, and he refused to leave until he had an answer.

"Why did you fake your own death?"

Persia's countenance hardened. "The mission was compromised. Bombay had no choice."

"You and I both know damn well that's not the reason!" Ken glared at Persia contemptuously. "The mission has been compromised countless times and it's never made a difference."

Ken leaned in close to Persia, forehead-to-forehead, forcing the younger man to look into his eyes. Persia met his gaze with equal intensity. "I don't care why Bombay died," Ken whispered huskily.

"I want to know why Omi Tsukiyono had to die as well."

Persia's eyes softened; for a moment, Ken thought he was finally going to get a straight answer from the man. But then Persia closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Ke - Siberian," he corrected himself. He regarded his former best friend with a sad smile. "You're just going to have to trust me."

"Trust you?" Ken's anger flared anew. "Trust you? You can't even answer a single damn question of mine, and you expect me to trust you? What kind of a fool do you take me for?"

Persia glared coldly at Ken. "You are Weiss." He straightened up, not bothering to hide the hurt in his eyes. "And if you will not trust Persia, perhaps at the very least you will trust Omi."

The tension hung thick in the air for an extended moment; finally, Ken pulled away.

"I would," he spat bitterly, his words laced with venom, "but unfortunately, Omi Tsukiyono is dead."

He turned his back on his best friend; his former comrade; the person he cared more for than anyone else in the world, and strode across the room to the exit.

Opening the door, Ken paused only long enough to give a final, parting comment.

"Omi Tsukiyono is dead...

"Because Mamoru Takatori killed him."