A/N: I do not own Soul Eater or 'Eyes Wide Open' by Gotye.

The cover image for this story is taken from the Soul Eater manga, and is therefore owned by Atsushi Ohkubo and Gangan.

This story is rated M for swearing, violence, gore and sexual references. It will also contain spoilers for the manga, as it is set almost a year after Chapter 113.

The pairing for this story is dominantly SoMa, but allusions to Tsu*Star will likely be used as well, and mentions of other relationships may be included.

Enjoy.

EYES WIDE OPEN

by Lisp.

-
But it was like to stop consuming is to stop being human,
And why would I make a change if you won't?
We're all in the same boat, staying afloat for the moment.
- 'Eyes Wide Open', Gotye.

I – A Thickening Plot and a Man in a Coat

Maka Albarn does not define a normal day in the same way that other girls her age are likely to. She does not factor in trivial things such as shopping trips with her friends or television shows that run at a particular time slot, and the regular concerns that a girl of seventeen holds are not in her mind when she goes through her almost-daily routine.

For Maka, it is a normal day as she runs down a different dark street, glancing over her shoulder with narrowed green eyes as if her acidic glare will be enough to take down the monstrous, loping obscenity behind her. Maybe she shouldn't say day – she's been taking it in turns between hunting and being the hunted by this particular tainted soul since the afternoon began, and the panting sun has long since given up maintaining any sense of pride, slipping well beneath the horizon. The moon has risen to take its place, although this does not do anybody much good and is barely worth noticing anymore. The madly grinning face that used to occupy the night skies has been nothing but a mass of Black Blood for just under a year now, and the world is still trying to become accustomed to relying on nothing but street lights or the perpetual blackness of the night air when taking an evening stroll.

Not that the dark is hindering Maka at the moment – if anything it's helping; she has her Soul Perception to guide her way while the walking deformity on her heels is going off of scent and sound alone. She's leading the idiotic being towards a dead-end street to ensure that it will be far away from any late-wandering civilians at the time of its demise. They're so close now, she can practically taste it; the way her blade will arc gracefully through the purpled and oozing flesh of this demonic thing, shearing away all forms of life, until it comes free and the body becomes nothing more than a floating blue light before a bricked-up wall. An easy victory is as tangible as an upcoming one.

There is the street she needs to turn onto, and as her bright eyes land on it, they seem to spark even more with the thrill of the chase. She would not exchange this life for any other, no matter how much her own lacks most of the usual teenage necessities – social experiences, family life, romance. Not when her opponent is letting out a low growl and taking the bait as easily as she'd wished and her scythe is thrumming warmly in her hands to the beat of her wavelength. He is rather quiet at this particular moment, and it takes Maka a moment to figure out why. He must still be affecting the audio of the tainted soul to throw it off from attacking them. Sure enough, if she focuses hard enough, she can hear the light tinkle of piano keys and a gravelly, impatient Oni at the back of her head like a memory playing behind her eyes. With a smile, Maka expertly jumps from the cobblestone road to the pavement. The charging monstrosity continues running forward before turning to face her, a sharp grin on its grotesque mimicry of a face.

It is a particularly ugly one, this time – almost too far gone to be recognisable as a human being. What must once have been brown, waved hair is now a collective bunch of rotting and knotted strands plastered either side of a round head. A nose that might have been Roman and strong once juts out like a snout, the end drooping in a curl to block the view of the mouth. Not the teeth though; those poke out of flaked and far-too-stretched-out lips like miniature tombstones, some crooked and a large majority permanently stained with the pinkish hue left behind by blood. The eyes are black pits, glossed like a shark's, dwelling too deeply in the pouches of skin that swell like a parody of eye-sockets. Everything about the tainted soul's head is swollen or disproportionate, like a Picasso painting. The colour palette only exacerbates things. The skin of the creature has taken on the appearance associated with asphyxiation or drowning – a mottled bluish purple that draws the eye and repulses the senses. What was once probably a full-chested and well-sculpted torso is now compact and horizontal rather than vertical, and the two arms are down like a dog's front paws to support the small body and gigantic head. The two back legs seem to have sprouted sharp bones which can be used to slice at things with a well-placed kick. As the tainted soul lets its gruesome lips part to reveal that sickening smile, Maka feels her stomach roll and her eyes narrow.

"Would you look at that? It almost makes Black*Star in the early morning look like a Calvin-Klein guy."

The warm metal in her palms seems to throb for a moment, almost like it is chuckling. Which it probably is as a cool voice echoes in her mind, right by her temple. "Nothing could ever make his early-morning look okay, Maka. Trust me – you haven't stayed over at Kilik's place and had the job of waking him up at six-thirty."

She shudders, imagining the woes he must have gone through on that particular adventure. "I wouldn't be able to stomach that. Don't give me mental images," she adds as she feels her partner preparing to make another comment.

"Damn," he mutters, "am I that predictable?"

Her witty response is cut off as the tainted soul tips its head back and lets out a loud noise somewhere between a wail and a roar. Maka winces slightly, her ears ringing, and realises that the sounds of the piano must be enraging it. This is good – angry enemies make for stupid enemies most of the time. Just as the creature begins to lurch towards her on its horrible spindly legs, she duck-rolls towards a set of crates up against the bricks and it follows her idiotically, trying to throw in a few good swipes while it's at it. She tsks at the sloppy move before she hears that metallic voice again, telling her to hurry up and get her ass into gear so they can end this.

Honestly, Maka thinks as she closes her eyes and welcomes his soul wavelength into hers, seeing a bright burst of light from behind her lids as she starts her swing off of pure muscle memory, she could not agree more.

The body is separated in one graceful swing, with the Warlock Hunter carving straight through flesh and bulbous facial features. She does not look too closely at the reddish-brown splattered goo that has accumulated on the bricks; the smell is enough to tell her exactly what it is. She is more preoccupied with the white-blue orb, glowing somewhat innocently now in the dark night air. It is the brightest spot in her line of vision until the scythe in her palm gives one last shudder and flies from her grip, as if it has turned into water or heavy gas. This transition is coupled by a brighter bolt, and the light quickly gathers and forms a shape that she's very familiar with.

Soul stretches out his arms, rotating his shoulders as his form solidifies instantly, and yawns. He follows up the motion by the characteristic tousle of his white hair, pushing it away from crimson eyes as he glances over at Maka with his sharp-toothed grin.

"Took you long enough," he teases.

She bristles. "Shut up! You aren't the one who had to chase after the stupid thing for the entire evening."

"That's because," Soul replies with a roll of the eyes and a flick to her arm, "I'm the pretty one, so I can't get all sweaty and gross from running."

"Whatever. Just grab the soul, will you?"

"I miss easy missions, you know?" he says as he plucks the soul out of the air, regarding it for a minute before placing it into his pocket gingerly. "It seems like all we do is help out with the regulation of rogue witches and territory skirmishes nowadays."

Maka smiles, reminiscing of their old work and the way everything seemed so simple when they were younger. "The good times, huh?"

"I wonder why Kid decided to change it up this time and send us on an actual mission, considering it wasn't difficult in the slightest."

She ponders, feeling satisfied with their quick and efficient work. "Well, someone has to do the dirty work, right? And it sure isn't going to be Kid – he'd throw a fit if any type of dirt got on that cloak of his."

"True. Speaking of, do you reckon that keeping this thing in here," - he gestures to the iridescent orb in his leather jacket – "is going to leave any residue or crap in my pocket? Because if so, I'm gonna' kill that Shinigami."

"It won't. You're worse than a woman when it comes to your clothes, I swear. Besides, I'm sure there's a good reason why Kid asked us to preserve this soul rather than allowing you to devour it."

"Hmm."

"You're pissed off that you can't eat it, aren't you? Well, maybe it's a good thing – eating too many of those things just can't be good for a person's diet, and you'll need to keep in tip-top shape if you're supposed to be the pretty one."

"Funny," he retorts drily, but the smirk does not fade. "So can we go home?"

Maka is about to leave the dead-end block when she feels it. It makes her stop in her tracks, her eyes lightening to a verdant shade of green as she senses the slight spark. Soul is not expecting her to halt, and while he normally would have picked up on her sudden hesitation, he's tired and so he keeps walking, comically running into her back.

"Hey, you good?"

When she doesn't answer immediately, his jokingly irritated tone disappears and he moves to stand in front of her and scope out her face. While she is partly cringing for the instant panic she's causing him – because this is the kind of thing she does whenever a bad situation arises, and Crona is lodged into the back of her brain – most of her attention has been captured by the twinge of the wavelength she can feel nearby. It's almost too close to them; surely, if a soul were to be near the dead-end street while they fought, they would have noticed the sounds of the creature and the Resonance. Yet this particular wavelength . . . it hasn't even stirred in fear at the din. It even sounds intrigued, in some sort of off way. In fact, the entire sound is wrong. It's not a witch or a tainted soul, it's normal. But there's something dark, something excited . . .

She is about to hone in on this troubling soul before her partner gives her a light shake. She can see the transition in his face from joking to starting to freak out, and while her attention is captured by the almost endearing way that his eyebrow arcs towards his hairline more on the right side than it does on the left, the curious soul fades away. Maka blinks twice, using her ability once more, but now the nearest wavelength is two blocks away, in a hotel room and particularly enjoying the company of a woman who has consumed enough alcohol to find him a worthy suitor for the night to come. She cringes before she can look too deeply into their situation and sighs, peeking up at Soul through her bangs.

"Yeah, false alarm," she mutters, and when his hackles drop only slightly, she rolls her eyes and pushes past him. "I thought I sensed something, but it might be a stray cat or something."

The relief shows in his burgundy eyes immediately and he chuckles, running a hand through his long white fringe. "Well, then, we should probably bail before it decides to come home and live with us, hey?"

This draws a laugh out of her and she allows the mysterious feeling in the back of her head to simply dissolve as she grabs Soul's arm and tugs him towards the bright lights of the main street ahead. "Good plan, and let's hurry." When he enquires, she merely shudders and puts a hand over her face. "When you're in the seedy back-lots of a city like this at night, Soul Perception isn't exactly a gift."

It takes a moment for him to comprehend just what she's saying, but when it clicks she can see it on his face and he flinches, patting her sympathetically on the shoulder as he falls into step beside her. "I know you say that we should share everything for the sake of our wavelengths and all that jazz, but sometimes it'd be nicer if you just keep those thoughts up here," he chuckles, his hand lightly brushing her temple. She reddens and swats his touch away, stalking forwards and missing the way that he smiles fondly rather than smirks as he lengthens his stride to keep up with her.

And when they pass the man in the thick coat leaning against the brick wall of the sleazy strip club not two minutes later, they do not even glance at him, too wrapped up in their own world and the familiar and missed high of a successful kill. But the man notices them. He watches them with narrowed eyes as they walk, noting the light flecks of blood on the girl's hemline and the slight bulge in the boy's jacket pocket where an unconsumed soul is surely resting and waiting to be sent to Shinigami-sama for analysis or storage, or something equally sinister. He sees it all, and when the meister and weapon turn the corner with quick steps and light, bickering words, he pulls out his mobile phone and types in a number, his lips quirking at the side. Maybe now that he's got this over and done with, he can finally enter the establishment and enjoy himself a little more pleasurably for the rest of the night. He hates playing scout, but the pay-off for this will be well worth his time.

He doesn't question why his employer has suddenly become so interested in the world of meisters and magical weapons, but as long as he's being paid by the hour to watch out for any Shibusen students in his city, he'll sit out here and play watchdog for as long as the big man wants. When the call goes through, he can't hide the smirk on his face.

"Yeah, sir, no doubt about it – that was definitely a pair of 'em. And guess what? I think your hunch was right, 'coz the guy wasn't eatin' up that glowin' thing like they say they do – he was storin' it in his pockets and it looks like he ain't gonna' be eatin' it any time soon."

The voice on the other end of the line is smooth and obviously pleased. "Excellent. You've done well – your pay will be sent to you directly in the morning, stored in the usual place. I have the mind to add an extra piece of compensation, too, for your observations."

The man in the coat nods to himself and his sleazy smile stretches to engulf the rest of his face. An extra amount of pay means he can really enjoy his night when he enters the club. "So, does this mean you were right 'bout all that shit then?" he can't help but ask.

His employer pauses before answering and for a moment he thinks he's just lost his bonus. But the reply sounds more satisfied than last time when it comes. "We can't be sure yet. But I believe that Shibusen is not all that it appears to be, and if you continue your work to this standard . . . the Shinigami may just have some answering to do."

The smooth voice is still chuckling when the line dies and the man decides to head inside, not resisting the allure of the club and its dancers any longer, and unaware of the consequences of his decision to work this kind of job for a little easy cash.

The porcelain mask on his face does not bob at all as Kid nods while he examines the glowing blue sphere in his palm. After a few seconds of turning it over to make an initial hypothesis on it, he nods again in satisfaction and a moment later it has disappeared, likely stored for later speculation.

Maka does her best to stifle a yawn as she rubs out her eyes. The trip back to Death City had not taken long as they had travelled mostly by jet, but there had been a hold-up when she and Soul had come across a mugging going through the Strip in Las Vegas. They'd intervened, of course, but the woman whom they'd saved seemed more frightened of Soul's blade arm than the idea of being shoved against a wall while the dirty thief took her possessions. She'd screamed bloody murder, and of course that had attracted a nearby officer's attention while the mugging had gone completely unnoticed by all but the scythe and meister. The blonde's temples are still aching slightly, the sounds of the uncouth late-night floozy still ringing in her eardrums.

Beside her, Soul is not nearly so patient and willing to conceal his tiredness. He growls and crosses his arms, regarding Kid with the ill temper that his tired persona is renowned for. "Well?" he grinds out, finally drawing the Shinigami's attention. "You call us over here and tell us that you need that soul right away, like we weren't already coming, and then you just look at it instead of telling us what's going on? Come on, Kid, I'm tired. Cut the shit."

Maka is glad that her father is finished duty for the night and not currently taking up his post beside Kid as Shinigami-sama. If he were, an argument would surely be breaking out right now; Spirit Albarn loves four things in life, which are Maka, supposedly her mother, whiling away his time chasing everything with no Y chromosomes, and getting Soul into trouble for anything possible. Insulting their ruler is usually a good choice, although Kid defends that as long as the scythe doesn't start to step out of line, he really couldn't care less.

The Reaper clears his throat and pulls his mask back, revealing his golden eyes and the black hair striped with three solid rings of white. "Suspense is an important element of any drama, idiot. I needed this soul retrieved because it has developed a rather interesting quality – one that interests Mabaa-sama."

"I swear to . . . I don't know, Black*Star, 'coz swearing to you while talking to you is weird," her partner hisses, and the groan is practically audible in his short words, "that I will kill you if you decide to send us on another four-day conference trip with the witches after this."

Kid sighs ruefully. "I told you that I'm sorry about that! I had no other choice – it was an emergency, we needed a Death Scythe, and the current one was too intoxicated to make the journey."

"Don't put too much faith in my Papa," Maka mutters with crossed arms. "Anyway, what's the quality that interests the witches so much? As far as I could sense, this soul wasn't any different to any other tainted wavelengths."

"I see nothing strange with it either, but Mabaa-sama has pointed out that the mission target used to mix in the world of the Occult, and it is always a concern when a human who has become interested in the world of magic suddenly starts to consume human souls. Apparently, before this girl went off the path, she tried to contact witches and discover the secrets to gaining magical abilities and becoming one herself. And that's not all she was up to, either."

"But you can't just become a witch," Soul says in confusion. "You have to be born one. Doesn't everyone know that?"

"You're forgetting that the outside world doesn't exactly receive the Shibusen education on these matters."

Maka nods. "True, but still. It's not possible to become a magic wielder when you're a human. Sure, you can affiliate yourself with magical tools and gain witches as allies. Maybe they can even lend you power. But you can't become a witch, or anything of the kind, unless you're born into it or you're influenced by something extremely strong. And that would probably take your sanity."

"Yes – and the target didn't seem too sane when you two fought it, I presume?"

She is brought up short by this. Her brain is too addled and her headache too pressing to think of an intelligent reply. Soul says nothing either, but this is likely because he is pondering the information that they have just been given.

"So, what do we do about it, then?" he asks after a sufficient lull in the conversation. "Are we gonna' investigate whether this woman found something Occult-related that made her completely snap while she was trying to gain power? Or are we just going to let the witches deal with it?"

"Mabaa-sama and I have had a consultation prior to the soul's retrieval, and although it needs to be examined before we can do anything serious," Kid replies, and he does not sound too thrilled at the prospect of the long work, "we have decided that one of our best teams should be dispatched immediately to investigate the source of the target's madness, in case it is something that may spread or affect the witch-realm."

"Why, was the target involved in something else suspicious right before she changed?" Maka asks, scratching her head and accidentally pulling hair from her pigtails in her tired state. However, her fatigue cannot curb her growing interest. If what Kid is saying is true, and this woman has been involved in any Occult practices which might have led her to lose her sanity, then this has the potential to become a serious problem.

The Shinigami bobs his head once quickly, turning his back on them to retrieve a file from the low table behind him. From behind, Soul gives him a particularly nasty look that causes her to bite her lip in order to restrain her giggles. The moment is only increased when Kid turns back and her partner has completely schooled his face back to normal.

"Here we are," he says, oblivious to the scythe's antics. "This is the file of Karen Salt, the target. It's not really worth looking at in most aspects, but there was one thing that did particularly draw my attention apart from the mentions of her Occult interests." He passes the manila folder to Maka, who takes it immediately and flicks through photos and copies of birth certificates until she finds a page listing the woman's recent activities.

She is quickly scanning the page for anything useful when it catches her eye – a sidenote made by a friend of the deceased soul about an organisation that she had mentioned before her disappearance and transformation. "The . . . Independence?" she reads out, the name of the group sounding odd on her tongue.

Soul leans over her shoulder to peer at the folder's contents, and she can feel the seizure of interest in his usually neutral wavelength, despite his sleepiness and ire. Kid smiles at her ability to immediately pick up the important words on the page. "Yes, that's what we wanted to make an enquiry about. It seems that this group has been popping up in quite a few unrelated incidents lately, and we're trying to figure out whether they have anything to do with this scenario."

"So, what, you're trying to figure out if it's another Star Clan situation?" she asks, flipping to the next page to try and gather more information and receiving a swat in the arm from the still-reading Soul in reply.

Kid shakes his head. "I don't expect anything that drastic, but as Mabaa-sama wishes to find some leads into this particular case and ensure that the witch realm isn't going to be affected by the turn of events, we've agreed that it is the best idea to send our highly-skilled team in to take a look around."

"Good idea," Maka seconds, but she can feel Soul stiffen simultaneously. When she turns to face him, confused, he is glaring at Kid with narrowed burgundy eyes and his face is set into an irked scowl.

"Oh, man, I fucking hate you right now," he mutters darkly, further confusing her. Kid raises his hands defensively, but there is an apologetic look on his face.

"Really, given the circumstance, it's the most reasonable conclusion and the best fit for the assignment," the Shinigami says, but his tone is repentant already. "And seeing as there aren't any pressing missions at the moment besides this . . ."

She sighs, lost due to her weary brain and headache. "Okay, hold up, what are you two on about?"

Soul just sighs and turns to her, his face unamused, and suddenly it clicks in her brain. "Maka," he says evenly, "correct me if I'm wrong, but this feels an awful lot like a debriefing, doesn't it?"

"Don't tell me . . ."

He nods. "Guess who the highly-skilled team going to check this outis?"

I just thought I should make the note that in the manga, tainted souls don't appear red or have the scaled appearance like a 'Kishin Egg.' They're still blue and normal-looking.

I've never written a story like this or in this style before, so it will be exciting. Enjoy. I will update this within the week of the last chapter, usually quicker, unless extraordinary circumstances ensue.