Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Traum ❯ Traum ( Chapter 1 )

Traum

Brad knew this was going to happen.

I so hate that, his always knowing, his look, no matter how bland and mild, always an "I told you so." Wasn't it Lord Byron who said that was the nastiest phrase in the English language? Something like that. Not a lot of cause for German killers living in Japan to be studying British Romance Poets anyway.

But Brad knew, and he didn't try to stop me, the rat bastard. Not that it would have worked. He'd've known that, too, I guess. Still. A man needs more than a vague, "Be careful" and a gesture at the headlines. Headlines about a serial killer.

I thought it was Farfie!

"I'll keep him close to me, " I told Brad, and the Oracle nodded and he had to know what was going to happen.

And off to the Mall Farfarello and I went, because even double dealing anarchistic mutants need new shoes once in a while. Farf was a good boy, following me from shop to shop and carrying packages, so when he spotted the fancy knives at the Men's World Shop I had to let him browse. I bought lemonade from an embarrassed teenager in a ridiculous hat and parked myself and our loot on the bench to mind surf.

I had just about convinced some dull little housewife that screwing her next-door neighbor would liven up her marriage when a guy sat down next to me. Since my packages and sprawl weren't enough to give him the hint I didn't want to share, I pulled my mind back from Hausfrau and flicked "scram" over his.

He wasn't there.

I sat up and took a good look at the guy. He wasn't all that big, but he gave the impression of weight and strength. His dark brown hair was curly and cut shaggy, in a sort of 80's throwback feather cut. Under his bangs I got a flash of gold, like he was wearing a gold headband elf style.

But there was no mind, no shields. or shields like I'd never encountered before.

"Guilty," he said.

"Oh, sure, but do you introduce yourself?" I pulled my packages closer and glanced at into the shop. Farf had the clerk showing him a nice little hunting knife. He'd be there forever.

"I want you," he said.

I preened. "Get in line. And while you're at it, get a better line. I've heard better from Yohji Kudoh."

He took out one of those inhalers asthmatics use and blew a puff in my face. I managed to get out a protesting, "Hey!" before the drug hit me and my bones went to Jell-O.

It must have been one of those date rape drugs you always hear about that I personally never believed in. I was suddenly just a passenger in my own body. I couldn't even get it together enough to scream for Farfie. It takes will to focus your mind like that. And I had none.

Stranger scooped me up and said, "Walk," and I did, although not well. I leaned on him like a lover and we made our way through the crowd to his car, a nice conservative family car with a large back seat.

He stuffed me in the back seat and I lay there sprawled like a forgotten doll. I noticed, on the floor, a coil of bloody rope and a large butcher knife.

I wondered idly if he'd rape me before he killed me.

He started up the car and was pulling slowly out of the parking lot. When he paused to pull into traffic, the passenger side door opened and Farfarello got it.

I tried to say something, but couldn't. I just lay there, helpless.

He pulled out into traffic, speeding up, and tried to force Farf out of the car. Farf slashed with the hunting knife he'd just bought, snarling in one of his other languages. The Serial Killer reached back between the bucket seats and grabbed his knife, and the Battle of the Psychopaths began.

I wanted to remind them that we were on the freeway and all going to die, but couldn't. Gonna die, I thought, gonna die, going to die. It had a nice little rhythm to it.

Killer took a turn off too fast and I was thrown to the floor. I could smell the old blood in the dark carpet and tried not to retch. A series of sharp bumps and bounces, and the car stopped with a sudden jerk. I was flung against the door and tumbled out onto the grass, too totally relaxed to be hurt.

Killer and Farf rolled out, still trying to kill each other. Killer finally threw Farfarello off him and snarled, "Fool! I am the Angel of Death!"

Not his best choice of monikers, really.

He did back it up. The flashes of gold under his bangs weren't from a headband; they were eyes, yellow and cold like a raptor's. Great black and brown wings unfurled. He looked like a man blended somehow with a great hawk.

Farfarello was supremely unimpressed. He went in fast and was twisting his new knife in Killer's guts before he new quite what happened. I tried to cheer but only managed a wheeze.

Killer fell but the Angel Hawk rose up.

I am the Angel of Random Killing, it said. I was created to maintain the balance of Good and Evil, of Order and Chaos. You have defeated my former host, now I shall share my glory with you, and teach you the ways of Death.

It flew over Farfie and then melted into him. Farf suddenly had an extra set of avian eyes above his own, and large white edged eagle wings.

Then it vanished, and Farf bent to wipe his knife clean on the body of Killer.

"Don't teach your Grandma to suck eggs," Farfarello said, and fished my cell phone out of my pocket to call Crawford.