Madness, as you know, is a lot like gravity. All it takes is a little push. -the Joker

Chapter 1: The Game Begins

"Run, run as fast as you can, you can't catch me, I'm-" the child's lilting voice paused on the last word, a giggle garbling whatever she had to say. It most definitely was not Suzy, the name written on her family register. Actually, whatever the girl had said sounded distinctly English, rank one Akira Mado decided rather grimly. That certainly portended something awful if ghouls from outside Japan were involving themselves with Tokyo affairs.

While possible, Akira was loathe to believe that this was just one child running amuck in the city. Why would someone so young come alone from another country? It was illogical. The parents could not be far away from their precious little ghoul.

Though it begged the question of how the others had slipped through the RC scanner gates at the Tokyo Airport when this one did not. No matter. They would come searching for her when she did not return. Everything would be resolved quickly and efficiently- at least, that was the hope.

With Juuzou, Shinohara, and Amon by her side, Akira knew that this creature would be culled; it was the potential of others that made her wary.

She could see the same thought creeping through Amon's mind as his eyes darted upwards, towards the rooftops, scanning for any signs of overhead pursuit.

Even Shinohara glanced upwards a few times, calm and calculating. It was Juuzou that kept his eyes on the target, either completely unaware or completely indifferent to the possibility of an attack by other ghouls. That was precisely why Akira had placed both men between herself and the unpredictable boy. She didn't trust him anymore than she trusted a tamed wolf. Even domesticated, wolves were liable to bite, especially if someone interfered with their hunt.

The little girl turned a corner, whipping around it so fast that she was just a blur of white- there and then gone. A grin wended its way through Akira's mind as Shinohara motioned for everyone to pause. The girl had turned into a dead end; the hunters had finally cornered their quarry.

Wrong way little dove.

Shinohara made a motion with his hand, Amon and then Akira responding with their own gestures as they planned their maneuvers. There was obvious irritation in Akira's eyes as the youngest member of their team neglected to give any contribution of his own. He merely watched with disinterest, red eyes narrowed with boredom.

Nevertheless, Akira assured herself, even Juuzou knew better than to just run head on into the alley. Surely Shinohara had taught him that predators had to observe their prey before they pounced. Even mice had teeth and claws.

It was unsurprising when Shinohara sidled around the corner first, hands open and palms facing out in false peace. Having the most experience, he had agreed to confront the girl, read her rights, and discern the type and ranking of her kagune- if she could manifest it. Akira knew this wouldn't take long. From what she'd seen so far, the little girl was likely too young to produce her kagune. They'd have her in custody in no time.

But the plan went to Hell in a hand basket as soon as Shinohara abandoned his young charge. It hadn't been two seconds since Shinohara had rounded the corner when Juuzou tried to make his getaway. It was obvious from the twitch of Amon's arm that he had considered grabbing the insolent child and insisting that he stay put. Amon must have thought better of it because he scowled and made a motion for Akira to follow.

Her heart stuttered for a moment as she rounded the corner and sighted the child. The little thing was crouched underneath a rusty fire escape, scraping a rock across the concrete. Another image superimposed itself over the girl, a little black haired waif with dark eyes and a tattered nightgown.

Juuzou's boots crunched the earth's bones a bit testily, prompting Shinohara to start and the child to slowly look up. Her curious green eye dissolved the scene, peering through long, white tresses. They spilled over her shoulders, scraping the dirty ground as she tilted her head innocuously.

The child's attention seemed to narrow in on Akira and Amon. If the setting couldn't get any worse, it did when the girl's pink lips parted in a dark and eerie rendition of "Jack and Jill". Akira cringed, wishing the kid would just shut up already. What a disturbingly weird thing she was.

Yeesh. The little foreigner would have gotten along well with Juuzou.

Amon's face was blanker than a sheet of paper, but Akira could practically feel the nervousness radiating from him. His fingers twitched on the handle of his suitcase, rubbing the button that would release his quinque.

Juuzou emitted a loud groan, making the already-tense investigators tense even worse.

Why was he so impatient? Akira rolled her eyes. Did he not realize that they wouldn't even get to kill the ghoul? If she was a ghoul. The whites of her eyes were still visible. Her humanity had yet to be completely disproven.

The child gave them all a sly grin and sang rather sweetly, "~I won the race, soooo what's my prize~?"

There was movement to Akira's left and a small gasp escaped from the little girl's lips. Red, so much red, dripped from her arm to the ground. For an instant, Akira considered running to her aid, remembering yet again another little girl.

But then a slow smile broke across the girl's face as she dissolved into a fit of giggles. "~Thank you! It's lovely!~"

She wrenched the knife from her arm, not showing an ounce of discomfort. In fact, she completely ignored the dark liquid, simply brandishing the knife like it was her shiny new toy.

Shinohara put an arm in front of Juuzou, staying him from another attack. They were all thinking the same thing. Her accent was definitely not from Japan; they could be up to their necks in lawsuits if they didn't do this the right way. Even if she was clearly a ghoul- Akira had no doubts now- and therefore completely without rights.

Shinohara finally began his spiel, absolving them of any legal ramifications as he said, "We are with the CCG. You are under the suspicion of being a ghoul. Submit to questioning-"

As if she hadn't heard him speak, the girl tilted her head back towards the dark sky. Akira did the same, noticing a tinge of pink slowly painting the edges. Dawn was coming. They were definitely going to be tired tomorrow.

"I have to be home soon," the child stated thoughtfully. With a powerful kick, she grabbed onto the fire escape, hauling herself up and over without any thought to her injury.

Akira and Amon whipped their quinques out simultaneously, but the child had already leapt to the top of the building, far out of reach. From her perch she called quite fearlessly, "~I'll come back and play later, 'kay?~"

Juuzou ducked under his superior's outstretched hand, ready to pursue, ready to draw the game out a little longer.

"Finally, someone I can have fun with," he giggled breathlessly, giving Akira another chill.

But the weight of Shinohara's hand on his shoulder gave him pause- just enough for the girl to escape. Disappointment emanated from the young man in waves.

Akira could see the look Amon was giving Shinohara and Juuzou. Relief that he wasn't the one holding the kid back. Everyone knew what that boy was capable of. Shinohara was the only one who didn't really seem to care.

Curiosity drew the Akira further into the alley to inspect whatever the child had drawn in the dirt. Akira knew it could help with this case, so she went closer, mulling things over in her head. "We'll have to report that the ghoul is almost certainly American. It will change the way we handle the case, especially if she moves into another ward."

Shinohara nodded sagely, though the motion was wasted as Akira was facing away from him, crouched under the fire escape. Her brow furrowed as she tried to understand the drawing. It looked like nonsense…

"Now is not the time to start a war with America over just one little girl," Amon added his piece, unaware that Akira had stiffened as the girl's drawing finally became clear.

She stood up suddenly, turning to face the other investigators with a coldness that looked all too familiar on her. She wore it like a cloak, and they thought nothing more of it.

Shinohara jumped in, trying to disperse the oppressive mood and somehow making it far worse. "She'll be classified as a C~ for now- pretty much harmless; she probably doesn't have a kagune. It won't be too hard to trace her. She is just one child."

Juuzou, blithely unaware of the group's darkening mood, seemed to be intrigued by this, which was a first. "Why didn't she have a kagune if she is a ghoul? I can still kill her, right?"

Shinohara placed his hand on Juuzou's shoulder as they walked away from the alley, apparently finding comfort in the action. His voice was warm as he educated his mentee. "Young ghouls usually can't produce their kagune, though it is odd that she did not have a kakugan."

"That's the black thing in their eyes!" Juuzou was especially excited that he remembered this, but was obviously just as confused as his mentor. "But why didn't she have that?"

The question seemed to be difficult for Shinohara to answer. His brow furrowed as he ran through explanations. "Well, it is practically impossible for a ghoul to control their kakugan during high-stress situations… Unless she was simply unfazed… But she was injured…"

Akira finally piped in, seeming to come from her darkened thoughts and interrupting Shinohara's confused mumblings. She had thought the situation through as well. The answer was not that she was human. No human that small could ever leap as high as that child did. So it must be that...

"She has excellent control over her kakugan. Different ghouls have different strengths. Hearing, healing, smell; hers is obviously control."

Akira paused and then decided not to go into why Juuzou wouldn't be allowed to kill the ghoul. That would be for another time.

"Oh," Juuzou nodded. "As long as I can kill her. Can we go to bed now? I'm sleepy."

Shinohara laughed, a deep belly one that split his mouth into a genuine smile, "We've still got a lot of work to do before that."

Amon and Akira both sighed in agreement. That they did.

~...*...~

About a hundred feet up, on the rooftop of an apartment complex, Light was bursting with curiosity. She wanted to climb back down and slice at them with her new weapon until they told her exactly what she wanted to know.

What would they name her? Everyone knew that the ghoul hunters always had a name for wanted ghouls. It was on every TV show back in the States- cool, superhero-esque names. The Black Lightning. Silver Bear. Red Death. She liked Red Death best, but that was already taken.

Whatever the case, she needed to get off the streets and get home because after they named her, they would plaster an inept rendition of her face everywhere, reward tagged at the bottom as an afterthought. She wouldn't be worth much, but it might be enough for someone. And she didn't come all this way just to get caught.

She leapt across her fourth and then fifth rooftop of the morning, wide-eyed, watching, finally finding the perfect place to descend. Speed was now the name of the game. If she wasn't quick enough, she'd be caught and then it would be game over. This was different than the games she used to play; if she lost, she couldn't just restart, try again. Not anymore. Dying was an annoyingly permanent state of being.

Quietly, her shadow darted from the mouth of an alley onto a dark and vacant street. Not in her favor. Not that any of this was. The location of the airport had been working against her from the very start.

The only airport in Tokyo was in the eleventh ward, which was, quite unfortunately, also the only ward in Tokyo under a level four travel warning. According to the U.S. government, she was taking her life into her own hands just by flying into Japan. But those had been expected obstacles, ones she and her friends had planned for.

They hadn't planned for the hunters.

Now the plan was well and truly derailed. Light was going to have to improvise and she knew where that would lead. For now, she would do her best not to think about it. Instead, she tried to work out why the ghoul hunters had been so close at hand in the first place. Ever since the huge catastrophe with that big ghoul organization, she and her friends had figured both hunters and ghouls would be keen to avoid the ward. Had it been planned, a warning sent by the Academy itself?

No. It was too soon for that.

But, then why?

"How many idiot ghouls actually try to fly into Japan anyways?" she wondered aloud as she crept through the shadows, whispered voice barely a vapor in the otherwise still dawn.

A plan began to slowly form in Light's mind the further she progressed down the street. It was as flawed as it was stupid. Her chances of failure were at least ninety percent, and that may have just been her being optimistic. But what was life without a little risk?

Clearly someone else's.

Another block and she stood across from a set of modest, ramshackle apartments. It was clear by the way she paused and evaluated each shoddy stoop that she was at least being methodical about her choice.

"Eeny meenie miny mo," she sang under her breath. "Catch a ghoulie by her toe, don't be s'prised if she bites, eenie meenie miny… mo!"

She beamed, quite pleased with her decision. It couldn't have been more perfect. A blue bicycle- training wheels still attached- was chained to the iron railing of the steps right beside a much larger pink version. A faded action figure and a toy phone were left discarded on the door's stoop, dutifully awaiting the return of their owner.

Pain lanced up her uninjured arm as she used her new knife to carve a matching wound. She cleaned it off on the bottom of her shirt before stowing it away in her backpack.

She focused on the pain, the fire coursing through both her arms. Salty tears poured down her face almost at once, as if a pipe had finally burst from the pressure placed on it. She slunk towards the door, fingering the rusty bike chains as she ascended the steps. Yes, this was the right one.

~...*...~

Not thirty minutes later, an older woman, Mrs. Watanabe, was rushing around her small kitchen, cleaning all sorts of instruments as she waited anxiously for the little girl to come out of the restroom. Never mind the fact that she hadn't used a single one of them to tend the child's wounds.

When the girl- Suzi, she thought she had said- came out of the restroom, Mrs. Watanabe felt marginally better. Cleaned up, the injuries did not look nearly as severe. In fact, the gauze wasn't even visible beneath the long white sleeves of the shirt the child had been given. One would hardly assume she had ever been injured at all.

The silence between the two as Light shifted nervously from one foot to another. She knew it was best to break the silence with a shy question, and not complain about the strong scent of rubbing alcohol or the lack of femininity in her clothes. How ashamed her mother would be of her, but not as ashamed as she would be if Light botched her mission. Years of training down the drain for nothing but pride.

"Are you sure that I can have this?" her voice was quiet, almost unintelligible under her thick American accent, but Light knew that Mrs. Watanabe wouldn't ask her to repeat her question. The woman was too frightened of overwhelming her. So, Light deliberately tugged at her shirt, making it appear obvious that she was uncomfortable taking someone else's clothes.

The older woman merely gave a wobbly, reassuring smile and nodded. "It was given to my family after a CCG raid. My boy never had the chance to… Well… I… I mean… I don't have any use for them anymore."

The fabric of the shirt suddenly felt impossibly scratchy and stiff on Light's skin as the weight of the aging woman's words sank in. These were the clothes of the dead, possibly ripped from some child's corpse simply because he had one more organ than everyone else. The ghoul hunters' had given this child's clothes away as if they actually had any authority to do so. Disgust and anger roiled in her blood, but she was a lady. Ladies did not show disgust or anger in the presence of others.

"Will you, um, stay and have some breakfast? I went to an American cooking class once, long ago. They taught us to make pancakes. I think I can find the recipe and, and I can boil some eggs," she offered offhandedly.

It was meant to seem casual, not a big deal, but Light could sense the eagerness rolling off the woman in waves. A part of her wanted to reject the offer purely because of that. She would relish the woman's poor attempt at hiding her disappointment. Unfortunately, she didn't give in to her fleeting desire. A cursory glance outside told Light that the sun was still on its way over the horizon, giving her the perfect excuse to give in to a second, hidden desire.

Light told herself she couldn't leave because it was too early to be caught on the streets. It was not because this woman reminded her of a distant mother, one that had come to her only in dreams and visions. She was not staying so she could play house.

Nevertheless, her acquiescing nod almost felt like a sin, as did settling down in one of the rickety kitchen chairs. This guilt was forgotten by the redirecting of her attention. Her focus was immediately drawn to the few drops of blood staining the yellowing laminate, the last bit of evidence she had ever been wounded- all but forgotten by the woman who had recommenced her rushing about.

At least Light had been right. Her plan had gone even better than expected. The old fool had taken one look at her pitiful appearance and ushered her inside without so much as a peep. How the crone had survived this long in the most dangerous ward of Tokyo was beyond Light's comprehension. Obviously, she thought ruefully, by sheer dumb luck. Her offspring, being as dimwitted as their mother, couldn't claim the same. They'd gone and gotten themselves killed early on.

However it had happened, Light was just fortunate that immeasurable loss tended to make human mothers even more kindhearted and senseless than they already were. Of course, it could have gone the other way. The old fool could have still had one of her children, or her husband, and then- Light stopped herself mid-thought.

There was no room for could haves, would haves, should haves. Such thinking would get her nowhere fast.

Metal clattering against linoleum nearly startled Light out of her chair and into a fighting stance. But it was just a pan that had fallen from the shelf over the fridge. After picking up the pan, Mrs. Watanabe made a remark about her clumsiness and opened the fridge slightly, retrieving a carton of milk. Though Light only caught a glimpse of the fridge's contents, an odd feeling suddenly fluttered in her intuition.

Pride cometh before the fall. She shouldn't be applauding herself so quickly. This was enemy territory and vigilance was key. Mrs. Watanabe may very well not be as kindhearted as she first appeared.

All too soon, the thick smell of overcooked meat and grease filled the air. It made Light feel dizzy, woozy even. Her stomach turned over queasily as the woman plopped a plate filled with food directly in front of her.

She couldn't recall ever seeing this much human food on one plate. Bacon, boiled eggs, pancakes, and fruit. She knew all of the names, but had only ever eaten the items a few times. Surely she wasn't expected to eat all of this.

But Mrs. Watanabe's plate was just as full, and the woman wasted no time digging into her meal. "Go on, eat," was her encouragement between hearty bites. Light's intuition had to be wrong; no ghoul ever ate human food like that- not even the most skilled ones.

Light's continued hesitance seemed to spark a knowing look in the old woman's eyes. Mrs. Watanabe was definitely suspicious of her now. Or perhaps that was worry. Worry that Light wouldn't like it or that she was sick. Either way, she needed to silence that emotion.

Mechanically, Light took up a thick strip of bacon and popped it into her mouth first. She tried not to think of the texture, like a piece of playdough set to dry for ten hours too long, or the taste, like burnt hair and molten pennies. She swallowed then chewed, swallowed then chewed. Just like Mother had taught her.

The pancakes were next, carefully pieced apart. The viscous syrup they were drenched in was like battery acid and the dough like ripping her teeth into a sponge. Her gag reflex almost went through on that one, but she kept it down. The consequences would be fatal if she failed. For Mrs. Watanabe that was.

The worst was the egg, slick like silicone on the outside and drier than sand on the inside. It was nearly impossible to swallow, so she used water to choke it down faster.

"Wow, you have quite the appetite for such a young girl!" the woman was obviously impressed.

Light nodded, shy smile painted on her face even as her stomach gurgled and twisted. She was going to keep it down. She had to.

After a moment of chewing, the woman added, "Your parents are probably missing you. What happened? Do you need to go to the police?"

Questions. Always questions. Adults were always meddling, prying. They never quite understood her because they never grew up like this.

She guessed she had suffered through that meal for nothing. Her time at playing house had already come to a very destitute end. Now how would she stop the game?

Inspiration came to Light in an instant. Tears were the solution. She was thankful that Mother had taught her to cry on command. The tears would stop the woman's incessant questions. They came readily, slipping down her face like twin streams. Her crying was quiet, delicate, as if there was a time when she had to cry without being heard.

As expected, Mrs. Watanabe dropped her fork, quickly ushering to Light's side. "Oh, sweetheart. It's alright. Nobody's going to hurt you."

Light was far too old to be held, but Mrs. Watanabe picked her up like she was weightless. Light clung to her big neck with all she had, savoring the feeling of unconditional love for as long as she possibly could. But everything ended and this did too. The stupid woman had played right into Light's hand.

There wasn't even a struggle. Just a gasp and glassy, wide-eyes that rolled all the way back. The old fool's grip went slack and Light landed on her backside, followed by the woman herself.

"Finally," she groaned as she picked herself up off the floor. She barely glanced at the crumpled body as she stepped over it and began rifling through the drawers. A low groan echoed a few moments later, telling her that, somehow, someway, Mrs. Watanabe was already waking up. She guessed her intuition may have been right, but then again the woman would have already tried to kill her if she were a ghoul. Why would she pretend to pass out?

"I'll be out of your hair soon, old woman," Light's voice was casual as she finally found the kitchen scissors.

"W-why?" the whispered question was so quiet, she almost didn't understand it amidst the woman's heavy panting. Mrs. Watanabe was scrabbling against the linoleum now, trying to find purchase, get herself off the floor and run. Unfortunately, her leg was bent at an angle that made it pretty clear that the fall had just about clean snapped her leg in two. Light had little doubt the woman would feel it soon, but the adrenaline numbed her wound for the moment.

Pointedly ignoring the woman's efforts, Light grabbed the backpack she had left on the back of her chair and rifled through it until she found exactly what she was looking for. Even though she was fairly certain that the woman was human, she couldn't take any chances; not with this.

"No particular reason. You were dumb enough and I was desperate enough. Now, I think you need to sleep a little longer- maybe forever," Light bent over hapless Mrs. Watanabe and inserted a needle directly into the corner of her eye. RC suppressant. Shock quickly turned to panic as Light rewrapped her small hands around the woman's neck. It was a careful art, one that she had perfected out of necessity, and one that she had just about botched seconds before. This time she did it right, holding on for a few more seconds than necessary. Better dead than kicking was what Mother always said.

Light hadn't really believed that until now.

A peek out the window told Light that the sun was higher up in the sky, just enough to be early morning. Maybe seven or eight. She could definitely leave, but first she had other business to attend to.

The bathroom was dim, one bulb already blown from the overhead fixture and the other on its way. On the chipped porcelain sink, four toothbrushes rested in holders, only one obviously used; the others were just stale memories, waiting, much like the rest of the house, for three people to come back home and resume their lives.

The supplies on the counter- a bottle of bleach, a tiny set of scissors, and a knife- suggested that she was either about to clean up a homicide or cut her hair. She was familiar with procedures for both.

First, she grabbed a ponytail holder from the sink and tied her hair up. That was the easy part. What followed wasn't. It took everything she had in her to make eye contact and pick up the knife. The blade sliced through the base like it was made of little more than air.

The long rope- what little evidence she had left of her old self- was stuffed in the toilet and promptly flushed away. It might cause problems later for the poor old woman- if she was still alive.

The small scissors were next. They snipped and clipped at her bangs and the ragged ends of her hair until it was to her liking. If she were being perfectly honest with herself, it looked like her three year old brother had taken the scissors and gone to town. But at least it was done.

She could safely say that she no longer looked like herself. In fact, what she was seeing was beyond her wildest dreams. Never had she imagined that she would be standing in an apartment in Japan, dressed in a dead boy's clothes with both eyes exposed to the world.

She hadn't seen her injured eye in a long time, preferring to cover it with her hair and avoid mirrors whenever possible. It looked just as grotesque as the day she had received the injury. But she'd anticipated this- or, at least, her friends had.

After a few minutes of digging through her backpack, Light produced a white medical eye-patch and secured it tightly around her left eye. It was rough and itchy, but it would do the job. She was glad they packed it. A right and proper lady was always prepared, and her mother hadn't raised anything but a lady.

Without another glance at the mirror, she tucked the knife in her backpack, shouldered it, and hefted the bleach towards the kitchen. The old crone was still laying prone on her back, but her chest was clearly rising and falling with the peacefulness of sleep.

So she hadn't died after all. How fortunate, Light's lips puckered in thought as she considered finishing the job. It'd be too messy, cause too much attention. The woman just better stay down this time.

Light poured the bleach on the floor, quickly sopping her own blood up with a rag. Next, she wiped down all of the surfaces she may have touched in the house.

When the old crone finally managed to call the police- because what idiot wouldn't? -Light didn't want them to find anything that would potentially identify her.

A few minutes later, the front door banged shut as Light lightly jogged down the steps and towards the nearest metro station. She had to get out of this ward and get home.

~...*...~

It wouldn't be until much later that Mrs. Watanabe would wake up and re-break her leg so it would heal properly. She knew she needed to get rid of the food weighing down her stomach, but first she wanted to take stock of what was missing. The child wouldn't have been foolish enough to leave empty-handed.

A cell phone, three or four pairs of clothes, several knives, and- curiously enough- her dead son's favorite stuffed animal had gone with the girl. After everything the little girl had done, it was strange that Mrs. Watanabe could not muster the strength to be angry with her. It was obvious that she was running from something, and that something had to be scary. Feeling rather helpless, Mrs. Watanabe went to the landline and dialed a number she had memorized by heart.

"Hello, this is the CCG. How may I help you?"

So this is the beginning of my first Tokyo Ghoul fan fiction. Can anyone guess who the mysterious child is? Feel free to give me feedback and tell me if the premise of the story seems good.