Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction ❯ Silk Gloves ❯ Justification ( Chapter 6 )

I OWN NUFINK! (except Kenshio. I'm rather fond of her.)

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Ring, ring…

Ring…ring…

The sound beside her ear insisted that she arise and attend to its source, and, hesitating only a moment, she complied. This was her job, her life. She was a puppet to the STN-J, working late into the night, and jumping for the phone early in the morning.

Ring…Ring…

She opened her eyes, and realized that it was not morning. She had only been in bed for two hours. Grabbing the phone that was still ringing by her bed, she flipped it open, and answered, “Karasuma.”

“Miss Karasuma!” Michael's voice cut through the night, waking her up a little more. “The police just contacted us.”

“Why?”

There was an intake of breath, as if Michael was about to launch into a long explanation, and she abruptly remembered why. After the incident with Single-Eye two weeks ago, Kosaka had cajoled the police into notifying them of any incidents in the neighborhoods that had been sending out the calls. So far, there hadn't been any activity, but it seemed that Single-Eye and his accomplice had gone back to their awakenings. “Never mind,” she said, rubbing her eyes, and swinging her legs off the bed. “Where?”

“Two blocks north of where you and Sakaki were last time.”

“All right, have you gotten through to everyone?”

“Sakaki is on his way. But, Kenshio...” There was a pause. “I tried her three times and then moved on to you.”

Mentally, Karasuma cursed. She didn't trust the replacement as far as she could throw her, although Kenshio had come directly from SOLOMON. Karasuma suspected that the woman was a spy for SOLOMON, much like Doujima had been. But Doujima had been sent to investigate the Orbo. Kenshio, it seemed, was sent to investigate them. “Keep trying, Michael. When you get a hold of her, send her to us. If it's violent, we're going to need as many people as possible.”

“Got it, contact me when you get there.”

“Fine.” She closed the phone, and pulled on her shoes, grabbing her gun on her way out of the living room. Locking the door, she wondered ruefully what her neighbors thought of her. She told them she was an emergency room assistant, to explain the strange hours. It seemed to work and, since she wasn't very close to the people in her complex, there was never any need to explain further. She only saw them during the holidays, anyway; to them, she was probably the odd young woman in Apartment #153, who always dressed in long suit jackets and business skirts, and snuck out of her rooms at one in the morning.

Well, it was better than telling them what she really did, she thought, as she got into her car. From what little she knew of them, she guessed that they would not like to hear that she killed people who had gone mad for a living, even if that madness entailed more than trying to bite one's ear. Even if it included killing people without knowing, or meaning to. She shook her head, as her thoughts began to lead her down paths she knew she shouldn't take, for the sake of her peace of mind.

It had become harder and harder, over the last two weeks, to push those thoughts to the back of her mind. She had done it successfully for almost five years, convincing herself, first, that these people needed to be killed, for their own sake, and other's. Then, she had convinced herself that the Orbo was the more humane way... and then, again, that killing was better. After Robin, and the Factory, it had been more difficult than she expected. After Single-Eye's attack, it had proved nearly impossible. The images in his attack had been very specific; people pleading not to be killed, begging to live, even as power poured from them an!d engulfed their world. And then they screamed. The screams still kept her up at night, making her fear closing her eyes. But, after the screams, there was hope. That was what confused her, kept her up, sitting on the edge of her bed with her chin in her hands. Why so hopeful? Why so happy, thankful? Could it mean that the screams she heard were not the screams of the dying? That the people Single-Eye awoke really were able to return to normal life, without madness, and with control?

If that was so, then how could she justify hunting a person who was still able to function within society? She mulled over it whenever she had a moment to herself; and still had not found an answer. It was not surprising that she was still at a dead end when she reached the address, pulling her car near another and getting out.

Kenshio was standing in the pool of light surrounding a street lamp, leaning up against the post, her arms crossed, and staring at the ground. Karasuma watched her for a moment, trying her best to give her co-worker the benefit of the doubt. She didn't know where Kenshio lived; the woman was probably nearer to the neighborhood than she was. That decided, she walked to her, and found that Kenshio's arms were not merely crossed. One hand was tightly gripping her bicep, as if she was in pain.

“What happened, Kenshio?”

She looked up, long hair nearly covering her face. “I was stupid, and tried to go in as soon as I got here.”

“And?”

“He is an earth witch, and I was attacked. It isn't bad.” She lifted her hand to reveal a very shallow gash and a ripped shirt.

Karasuma sighed, hearing Sakaki's motorcycle coming towards them. “Did you see where he went? Can we still track him?”

Kenshio nodded. “Yes.” She sounded oddly hollow, as if she did not want to give up the man's location. “He is still in that alleyway.” She pointed half-heartedly to a dark opening half a block down.

Karasuma nodded, and looked over her shoulder at Sakaki, who was getting off of his bike. He drew his gun and nodded his readiness. Kenshio pushed herself away from the post and shook back her hair, one hand laid on her gun grip. Silent, like black ghosts, the three of them ran to the alley; Karasuma and Kenshio going to one side, and Sakaki taking the other. Karasuma watched as Sakaki leaned his head carefully into the alley, keeping himself as small as possible. They made eye contact, and he nodded. As one, they pivoted to stand in the alley, guns drawn, and peering into the gloom. Kenshio took up a spot between and a little behind them, gun also drawn. For a moment, nothing happened, and Karasuma wondered if perhaps Kenshio had gotten it wrong. Suddenly, an angry yell issued from the darkness, and she could feel a swell of power. She ducked and rolled, but it! proved unnecessary. She saw rock and dirt flying between her and Sakaki, nearly taking off Kenshio's head. As it was, the replacement only just got away.

`What the hell?,' she thought, as another attack went right past her, the one who was closest, and headed for Kenshio. The woman again ducked and rolled, this time coming to her feet and narrowing her eyes. Karasuma held her breath as a wave of cold air swept past her, condensing on the man in front of them.

He did not seem to be aware that anything was happening to him, and continued to breathe hard, hands clenched into fists at his side. Sakaki noticed that he was almost drooling; his eyes had a crazed look about them. As Kenshio advanced, his breathing became more rapid, and his mouth dropped open.

“No,” he said, voice gravelly. “No! Don't touch me! Get away!”

Kenshio continued. Sakaki could see the lacey beginnings of frost curling around his feet, and felt the air going dry as she drew moisture from it to assist her. Her craft could make temperatures drop, but, unlike some, she could not manifest the ice itself. He hoped that she could find enough humidity to do something useful. As she advanced, the man began to scramble back, or try to. His shoes had frozen to the pavement and, instead, he fell hard, his hands cracking with the impact.

Her advance was slow and steady, and Sakaki found himself comparing her style to Robin's. They were polar opposites, it seemed. Robin was quick; battles had never taken long while she was on the team. Her manner had always been intense and alert, even when she had not had her glasses to focus her power through. Kenshio was no less intense, but it was different. It was not anger, exactly, but a certain animosity seemed to radiate from her, as she froze the man's hands to the pavement, while they all watched in a mix of awe and horror. Kenshio's power was slow and creeping, like the cold that took people's hearts in the loss of hope. Then the man began to scream, and it was then that Sakaki realized the biggest difference between Kenshio and Robin's powers.

He had never heard the screams, with Robin. A gasp, a yelp, but never the heart-rending wail that was now coming from the man in front of him. The man struggled against his own frozen body, spitting and yelling, and even though his body was still heaving and writhing, his face reflected that he knew what was coming. He knew what they were here to do. `We are monsters,' Sakaki suddenly thought.

Kenshio stepped back, and Sakaki snapped from his self-induced trance. He almost fancied that Kenshio had frozen his heart when she stepped into the STN-J for the first time - that she had frozen all their hearts. As he looked down the barrel of his gun at the man in front of him, he wondered how else he could justify doing this.

“Higushini Arimato.” Miho's voice suddenly broke in where no words had been before. “Is that your name?”

“Yes! No! There are no names anymore,” the man said, and wriggled, his hands and feet apparently noticing the chill. “I don't know. God, why is the sky so dark?”

“Arimato,” Sakaki said slowly, “focus on us.”

“We don't want to do this.” Karasuma added, glancing at Sakaki, and seeing agreement in his eyes.

Arimato raised his head to look at them. He turned his eyes first to Sakaki, then to Karasuma. Finally, he lolled his head to the side, and his eyes rested on Kenshio. “Bitch!,” he cried, eyes swinging back to Karasuma. “You're with her! Oh God,” he screamed, guttural voice echoing in the alley, “you're with her!” He suddenly convulsed, and Sakaki felt the man's power rise up without the use of his hands, focusing on Karasuma.

Without a second thought, he fired. Almost at the same moment, Karasuma followed suit. The only sound following was the wet thump, as the man's body hit the pavement. Sakaki lowered his gun. He had found his answer: how he could justify himself? He and Karasuma had tried; the man had been mad. Then the mad-man had tried to attack Miho. Sakaki wasn't sure why he was suddenly so protective of her, why the thought of her being attacked bothered him more than his own safety. Previously, it would have been his urge to be a hero, his impulsiveness, and his readiness to jump to action on a moment's notice. But, he seriously doubted that he would have acted so quickly if the man had attacked Kenshio. ! Granted, Kenshio had a craft, which she could protect herself with more effectively than Miho. That was beside the point, though; Miho could take care of herself. He cast a sideward glance at her, frowning slightly. `So why do I want to do it?,' he silently asked himself. `I guess this is partnership,' he finally thought, and sighed as Karasuma opened her phone and called Michael.

“Michael? Send in a crew.” She paused, and then sighed. “Yes. He's dead, and Single-Eye got away.” She put the phone away, and glanced at Sakaki. “Thank you.”

He shrugged, shoving his gun in its holster, and placing his hands in his pockets. “You fired at the same time as me. I was just being careful.”

“Well, I'm glad.” She turned, and walked out of the alley, Sakaki following her to the entrance and leaning on the wall next to her. He was surprised that no one was outside, to question them about the noise. It should have worried him, but he didn't care; it just meant less explaining. Kenshio walked out, going straight to her car. She paused only to nod to the two of them, and then got in, and drove away. Something in the way she carried herself suggested that she was weary, as if she had suddenly assumed a large burden.

Sakaki looked after her car, incredulously. “There was something very strange about that.”

“Well, she did use a lot of her power; and it is late,” Karasuma replied, frowning at the ground.

“I meant the hunt, Miho,” he said, gently. “Arimato kept attacking her, specifically, ignoring you and me, until he made a connection between us all.”

She nodded. “You noticed that, too? Good.” She sighed. “I was hoping it was in my imagination. It would make things easier to fathom.”

He hummed his agreement.

“It's funny,” Karasuma said, after a moment, as if she hadn't thought about it before. “Kenshio said that she had already confronted him, but I know that Michael got a hold of her after he called us. Unless she lives very close, wouldn't that be impossible?”

Sakaki shrugged. “Well, I wouldn't be surprised if there was something fishy going on.” He smirked. “Seems like this branch attracts all the trouble.”

Karasuma smiled a bit. “I guess you're right. We can't do much about SOLOMON poking around, anyway. They've done it before.”

He nodded. “They were a lot better at it, last time, though,” he said thoughtfully, “which bothers me.”

“Think they're insulting your intelligence?,” she said, voice nearly deadpan. He looked at her in surprise, and gave a short chuckle.

“That's one way to put it, I guess,” he said, then settled back against the wall. “But it's also that I know SOLOMON is better than that…”

“Which means that something else is going on,” she finished. He nodded, and she sighed. “I know what you mean. I had no idea about Doujima, until the day she came clean. SOLOMON spies are the best.” She frowned. “If Kenshio is a spy from SOLOMON, they want us to know that they're watching.”

“And if she isn't a spy from SOLOMON?,” Sakaki asked. “Who else could it be?”

Her frown deepened. “I don't know. I don't know anyone brave or stupid enough to go against SOLOMON like that.”

Sakaki chuckled. “Yes you do. Several, in fact, and you're included.” He gave her an impish grin.

She couldn't stop a small chuckle from escaping her. “I suppose you're right.” There was a short lull in the conversation, and then she shifted to look at him. “Haruto, what if she isn't with SOLOMON? What are we supposed to do?”

Sakaki shrugged, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “I don't know,” he replied honestly. He paused, and his voice dropped, as if worried that someone was eavesdropping on them. “Personally, I'm starting to have trouble justifying myself. Hunting is starting to gnaw on my conscience.”

He heard a heavy sigh from her, and was at first afraid that he had admitted too much, too soon. Then, he realized that it was relief, as she tipped her head to rest against the wall, staring up into the muted night sky. “Me too.” She bit her lip. “I'm so…tired.”

“Tired of pretending that this is the right thing to do?,” Sakaki asked quietly, and she could hear that he felt the same weariness.

“How could it be?,” she asked. “How can we pretend that it's right, after Robin? They said she was dangerous, that she'd lost her mind.”

Sakaki was quiet for a moment. “Sometimes, I think she was the sane one.”

Karasuma felt tears prickling the back of her eyes at the thought of the young craft user, who had collapsed against her shoulder in exhaustion and sadness after killing Zaizen, who had cried as she freed her people from their pain. “Yes,” she said, softly, “I think you're right.” She fell silent.

As they stood there, against the alley, they glanced at each other, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. Neither one would breath a word about their discomfort with hunting. Speaking of their job in such terms would put both their lives on the line, if SOLOMON ever got wind of it. They knew the extent to which they trusted one another had just been elongated, nearly infinitely.

Silence took over completely, until a low hum came to their ears, and a jet black van pulled up to the alley. They stood up, as an older man got out, nodded to them, and headed down the alleyway. Trying to forget what the man was there to do, they began to walk to their vehicles, shoes clicking on the concrete loudly in the quiet night.

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“So. You were hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Did they find him?”

“Yes.”

The man sighed; he didn't need to ask if they had killed Arimato. “You know the reason that we failed, don't you?”

She grimaced, touching her ripped sleeve. “Yes. The man's head had been filled with the evil of witches; he was so frightened of the power driving him mad, that he drove himself mad.”

He snorted. The lie didn't seem to convince even her. “God, you're a stubborn ass.”

“How do you think I got here? By being demure?” She let her hand drop, and growled in frustration. “We should not have tried. We should have let him go, when he mentioned his fright at the other events in the neighborhood.”

“Kasu, just admit it: you failed.” The words hung in the air for a moment, before she answered, voice low and dangerous.

“I am Kenshio, to you. Do not speak to me as if you are a friend.”

“Fine. Kenshio, you failed, and it was because you have a head for fear, and an eye for the delicate workings of the mind, but you do not know emotions.”

“I know emotions just as well as you.”

“Then you know only fear.”

She narrowed his eyes at him, mind working around his insistence. “I know what you are trying to do.”

“Good. I'd be worried if you didn't,” he replied flippantly. “Are you going to take my advice?”

She was silent for a long time, hand almost involuntarily reaching up to finger her ripped sleeve and scabbed over wound. Then she sighed. “I should have left you a babbling maniac.”

He grunted, knowing that this was the closest to a concession that he would have. “Good.”

She turned, unlocking her car. “Only her.”

“Why? They are partners, they will work better together. Surely you can see that.”

She snorted. “She said, `We don't want to do this,' but it was he who shot first.”

He shook his head, not bothering to try and hide his distaste for the woman's choice. “Very well. Eventually you will find that one will not work without the other,” he said, shrugging. “It is more complicated than simply picking and choosing.”

“Everything is more complicated than that. It is always more complicated,” she said, with finality, and dropped from sight. The car door closed, and he watched as she drove away.

Shaking his head, he murmured, “Then why must you simplify it, and disrupt its integrity?”

The pre-dawn light provided no answer and, sighing, he turned his back on the car that made its way back into the city, walking back to the slums that were his home.

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And here we begin the dance of Beta's. Rhiannion Betaed this at three in the morning (one, her time) Thank you!