Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ When Blood Soils One's Hands ❯ The Highway's Jammed with Broken Heroes ( Chapter 7 )

Disclaimers : Sniff… Why? Oh why can't I own Weiss Kreuz? Just for one day, an hour, a minute… Pweez!!! Alright, alright! I don't own it and never will. *goes of pouting*.

Title: When Blood Soils One's Hands

Author: Black Mirror (stone_devil_666@hotmail.com)

Pairings : Just wait and see! I'm not gonna spoil the fun.

Summary: A mission goes wrong, teenagers from a certain school start missing, love is refused… welcome to Weiss!

Type: Angst and Romance

Rating: PG-13

Status: Work in progress

Warnings: YAOI!!! Partial child-rape, blood, murder… All those lovely things we like. Don't say I haven't warned you! Oh! And there might be bad language. Yes, I've made Ken swear. }:p Oh, Raven is mine and I would beg you not to steal him. If you like him enough to steal him, I'll let you borrow him. I also add that some of the torture will be referring to the catholic religion. I hope no one sees that as an inconvenience. Now, stop reading this and stroll down to the fic. }:)

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When Blood Soils One's Hands

Chapter VII

The Highway's JammedWith Broken Heroes

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// Empty spaces - what are we living for

Abandoned places - I guess we know the score

On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for...

Another hero, another mindless crime

Behind the curtain, in the pantomime //

The Show Must Go On / Queen

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When I awoke, I could clearly see the sun coming through the only window of my room. I couldn't remember a single thing. Yesterday -or was it the day before that- was nothing but fog and mist. I tried to focus my sight on something -anything at all- but soon found out I couldn't. My head was pounding as if it had been used as a carpet who'd witnessed the too many visits of an elephant stampede -if there were any in Japan. Well, the pain was good for one thing: it proved I was still alive. Didn't know why I should think myself as being dead, but I had to remain optimistic.

Both of my hands reached for my head and massaged my temples, somewhat relaxing me but not quite fast enough. My nerves were on the edge. My entire body seemed to be tense, sore. I stretched out, ignoring the deafening cries of my body and slowly managed to sit up in bed. My hands wandered over my forehead and I sighed: what the hell had happened?

I tentatively stood up and walked towards the door. I noticed my legs weren't aching as much as my arms and back and wondered why. Though I happily accept the fact that I could still walk around, every time one of my feet hit the floor, a surge of throbbing stroked at my head. I felt like this great karate sensei had entered my scull and was practicing his martial arts on my brain. I swear, it really felt like someone was squeezing it, trying to turn it inside out -that last thought was gruesome.

At a snails pace, I change my trajectoir and walk towards the kitchen. All this aching and sleeping was making me hungry and thirsty. I passed by Yohji who was sitting on the couch with a `you-don't-want-to-know-what-it's-about' magazine without granting him a single word and stepped into the kitchen. The first thing I spotted on the table is a bottle of painkillers. Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! Just like giving a tender bone to the brave puppy, I was practically drooling at the sight. As I got closer and picked up the bottle, I noticed I'd seen wrong when I found out the label said `Tylenol'. Oh well, that would do also. I opened it and popped out two tablets -three for caution. It was all gone with a small glass of fresh and cool water. I turned around and took note of the time which was displayed in illuminated red on the microwave: 11:34 am. Oh man! I was suppose to be working. But then, why was I still asleep. Somebody would have awoken me at this point. Usually Omi would when he'd leave for sch. . . Omi-

It all came back to me. Everything: like a great big wave of hidden memories. Down to the last whisper and niggling movement. The subsiding pounding in my head attacked once more with a crushing blow. For a moment, everything was blurred and I felt nauseous. I pulled up a chair and sat down -more like slumped down.

Scenes of Omi nailed to that god-be-damned cross came back to me and how that Raven guy had simply affirmed they had run out of rope. Sick bastards. What were they? A demonic cult. All hail Belzebuth! All hail Mephisto! All hail Shinigami! Long life to that already dead god of death. Man, that was pathetic. Actually, we didn't know for sure if we were really dealing with more than one individual since we had seen no other. In fact, how were we to know that he wasn't alone. He could have placed the camera on a desk and shoot everything from there. It could have all been set up with a remote control for the movements. Could be. . . maybe to discourage us from trying to follow his trace.

No, that didn't make sense since he had mentioned that this `experience' wouldn't be `fun' if we didn't try to find him. But, still. . . I had my doubts on all of this.

Anyway, we'd seen two hooded-caped boys bring in the cross. Hypothesis marked incorrect.

My poor head. . .

"Kenken! How's the head?" a mocking tone asked me. That irritating voice wasn't helping it, that was for sure.

"Well, how's the jaw?" I replied vehemently with a second question.

"Betcha it's better than the head" he, alone, laughed at his own comment. How degrading.

I couldn't believe he wasn't replacing me at the Koneko. What a lazy-ass! Well, lazy-ass or not, I'd have to ask him for news since Aya was no where to be seen, probably working his ass of because this couch-potato didn't feel like working. And don't you even think of asking why I used three times ass in two sentences. From now on, to be less vulgar, I'll use posterior.

"What the hell happened? How long have I been out?" I questioned reluctantly.

"Now, now Kenken. Didn't your mother ever teach you to say please?" Again, that lone laugh.

Grasping my anger with both hands clasped solidly around it, I smiled and repeat my question in a more proper `please' language, but my tone is deadly and poisonous:

"Dear Yohji, would you please -add accent on the please- tell me what happened and how long I was out?"

My very plastic-fake smile stayed plastered on my face, from ear to ear. I had almost added `before I shred you to pieces with my claws' to my last comment.

"Now, let me think. We learned about that sadomasochist and then you passed out from shock and hit your head on the side of the coffee table. Pretty good collision to, poor coffee table. Then we sent you to bed -or dragged you- and tried to contact Manx who doesn't seem to be answering." He paused from a moment and then added, "oh, and next time remember to say please."

Arrogant blond freak.

I had no time to ponder on those last comments since I was impolitely cut by Aya's monotonous voice.

"We've got a mission from Persia."

Sulking only a little, I crossed my arms over my chest and followed Aya's lead, slowly imitated by Yohji. I couldn't believe we had another mission so soon. Well, one thing was good about this reunion, we would get to tell Manx about Omi. Maybe they would know something about this Raven person.

As I entered the dark room where the only source of light was provided by the static television screen, I noticed Aya was already in his usual position leaning against the wall. I walked towards the couch and bent forward, resting my entire body weight on its pillowed back. Yohji passed in front of me and sat on the couch with both feet outspread and arms acting as a support for his head. It was odd how, for a moment, I could only think of my anger towards that blond playboy and completely forgot about Omi. Shows how much I can approve of him sometimes.

Persia appeared on the screen.

"Men, you have been assigned a new mission. These" the voice claimed showing the dead body of a young boy, "iare the remains of Hirashi Tokiori, a young high-school student. He is also the fourteenth teenage boy to have succumbed in the hands of a cult named `The Charred Dove'. There does not seem to be a similar pattern between each victim's cause of death, otherwise the torture. All the victims have been found dead in ancient settings."

There was a brief pause where several pictures were displayed. Fourteen bodies appeared on the screen: lifeless shells inhabited by emptiness. Or should I say uninhabited by emptiness, though their eyes still contained the fright, the pain, the grief, the distress. All where laid across the screen like insignificant, worthless, valueless memories of the past that could not be undone. How many have died for us to find each and every killer. How many have suffered needlessly. How many were no more than pictures in the daily paper? How many were merely brushed aside? How many have we claimed to have fulfilled their vengeance by imprisoning their assassin? I wouldn't dare count. I would never dare. Too many… there were too many.

A different picture appeared on the screen. I recognized the face. I knew…

"This is your primary target: the Raven. You have a green light on this mission. Kill as many of this cult's members as you can for it will not go down with the loss of only it's leader. It is impossible to state the number of associates inside the sect, but we do know their purpose: they assert that God requires a new playmate every three months and so, the three months over, we think they will begin their hunt anew."

Another pause left us pondering. Persia's news was over dated. The hunt was concluded and the cruelty was on. Omi was the victim. Omi was the sacrifice, the new playmate.

"Hunters of the night, deny these evil beast their tomorrow."

It seemed so easy -almost elementary- when he said it, but it wasn't so. This man he spoke of was a mystery. He wouldn't let himself be caught that easily. So, what if we did have a few leads, those weren't merely enough to investigate. Our best shot, was hacking into the police system and look through the files for a matching picture. They had to be in Tokyo because if not the tapes would have to be sent by mail and it would take more than a day to arrive here. At least that proved they still had to be in Tokyo or at its borders.

Manx stepped up and spoke:

"The reason we were able to relate these victims together was mostly because of tapes. This sect is known to send tapes to exhibit their actions. In one of them, the Raven claims: `We are on a mission for God. Well now, doesn't that make you helpless'. These aren't ordinary killers, they say God sends them images of how he wants the victims to be tortured. They also have precise descriptions of the boy they have to look for."

I was just sitting there, wondering when someone would actually dare to tell her. Tell her everything. The rain, the tape, the angst, the wounds, the tattoos… everything. I sat there, wondering if I would be the lucky one: the one who had to say it all. The ill-fated storyteller.

Fortunately, Yohji spoke in my place, the lump in my throat would probably not have permitted me to speak anyway:

"We are already aware of these tapes."

Manx turned to him both eyebrows linked together, frowning. We didn't need to say a thing, she had already caught on to the train of ideas. Omi's absence certified her thoughts.

"Omi?" she uttered even so.

Yohji nodded. I did also, but since her back was turned to me, I did so more to myself than to her. Nobody dared talk. Aya was being his regular sulky self while I stood silently in the corner where I had retreated after Persia's message and Yohji had even forgotten to flirt with fiery-haired woman. The room was silent: silent as the grave. The television had been turned off and everyone remained motionless.

Manx was the first one the move and speak, breaking the silence with these exact words:

"Seems like the highway's jammed with broken heroes…"

Huh! What heroes? I had never thought about it, but even heroes have their place in hell. Think Batman's going to heaven? Think again! His place is right between the Joker's and the Penguin's. Even Superman must have his place down there. It's not like I believe in hell and heaven, but I do believe in eternal punishment for your crimes and I do believe in tormented souls. I've killed many to know so.

That silence again. The one that would be broken very soon. The one that seemed to last forever: the never-ending story. Silence that weights more than air and crushes the atmosphere. The silence of the deaf.

"Do you still possess the tape?" Manx asked turning to me for no reason.

I nodded and headed over to the living room. There, I found the tape had remained in the VCR. Nothing had been touched, not even slightly moved. Nothing but the table where I had supposedly hit my head. From the bruising bump on my forehead, I could only guessed how hard the collision had been. Hard enough to push it back against the couch, of that I was certain.

"Here" I said throwing it to her. I didn't want to have to touch it more than I had to. I didn't even want to get near it.

"I'll bring it and we'll scan it over for clues. Have you had enough time to view it over a few times? Have you found anything yet?"

The question embarrassed me. What could I tell her. That I had fallen over from shock and sent myself in a dreamless sleep after hitting my head on the coffee table? Did that even seem professional? Yes, I know, I'm ridiculous at times. Ridiculous and clumsy. I didn't know how I would get out of this little mess without passing for a jerk.

"We have a few things marked down" a cold and dull voice answered in my place. Aya to the rescue. My hero!

"Might I suggested you take a pillow in case you drift off lik-"

Why, that little blond idiot! I never gave him enough time to finish that sentence. I jumped on him, both hands reaching for his mouth and miraculously clasping in shut. I think his mouth was never shut for such a long time -note that he snores open-mouthed at night. I even managed to forget about my headache.

I smiled up at Manx who looked at us with a quizzical expression on her face. I didn't bother to answer in words and simply pointed to the door with my chin, politely showing her the way out so I could pound on that idiotic-sunglass-freak. All this time, Aya kept his composure. I sometimes wonder if he's not some type of cyber-organism. A new generation of `us's, but, of course, the Takatori incident proves that hypothesis wrong. It was a good guess after all. My first behind the scene shot a `why is Aya so boring?'.

Manx turned around and left as fast as she could, not forgetting the polite salutation. When I was sure she had left, after I heard her car back up for the parking space, I let Yohji go and refrained myself from yelling my lungs out. Breathing in, breathing out. Breathing in, breathing out. In case you're wondering, that's the ticket to the perfect relaxation. Breathing in, breathing out. Breathing in, breathing out.

Before I could do anything. Aya interrupted my future actions:

"Here's the few leads we have up to now. First of all, unless someone amongst his famous cult of `The Charred Dove' possesses the proper instruments to draw tattoos, he probably has some links with a shop. Secondly, we know he is very meticulous in what he does: he was never found, he speaks as though his sentences were written in advance, he does not give out any unnecessary clues… Thirdly, he might have some links with the army if you consider the military salute and the `signing out' at the end of the tape."

Yohji was the one who finished the thought:

"They practice the occult in ancient settings. They foolishly think they're on a mission for God, must be too much `Blues Brothers'. They have a very bad fashion taste. There have been fourteen other victims up to now. And that's about all the information we have gathered."

I added my little two bit:

"We're screwed."

Glares from Yohji. I know, I'm becoming pessimistic again. This was going to be one hard chase and so I proposed my first idea:

"We have to break in the police's computer records. Maybe we can find a matching picture or something. With Omi absent, it'll take me some time, but I should be able to crack it after a while."

"That'll be good for now" Aya answered. "Yohji and I will search some of the tattoo shops, we might find something there. Might as well also check out the other crime locations. That may gives us clues as to what to look for."

Yohji and I both nodded.

"Then, we've got our mission."

Aya distributed the files Manx had left on the table and exited the room leaving only me and Yohji. This time I could not think of our fights, only of Omi who would still have to wait. Did he even know of these tapes? When would we be receiving another one? How much time was this going to last? I wondered. . . Was Omi going to die?

No, I couldn't think like that. I chased the thought away. We would find Omi even if I had to give everything I possessed to do so. I would gladly abandon everything. As Manx had stated: Seems like a highway of broken heroes.

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