(Standard disclaimers apply)

The Wake

First Encounters

His heart hammered against his ribcage in nervous anticipation as he scrutinized his next potential victim, who had every appearance of an easy mark. Granted, the blond teenager was quite tall-- a foot or so taller than himself-- and well-muscled, but any sign of threat he exhibited was diminished considerably by the fluorescent-orange safety traffic cone he was wearing on his head, as well as the tawdry sandwich boards draped across his shoulders. In fact, his victim looked so downright ridiculous that he would be doing the public a great service by removing such an eyesore from the sights of decent folk.

His objective was clear in his mind-- to lure his victims, more often than not by provocation, into a back alley where a small group of Poison gang members would be waiting in ambush. Money was not their objective, but rather, a chance of bloodshed that would serve as an initiation rite for newcomers who wished to join the gang. His long-awaited turn had finally come today. A display of his determination and ruthlessness was a prerequisite to his acceptance into the gang, which was why he had spent the whole morning choosing his target carefully. He had shied away from preys who were too easy; namely, frail old ladies and primary school kids. He believed himself to be better than that. Only people worse than trash would find satisfaction in overpowering those who were not able to fend for themselves. As he was not expected to defeat his victim in single combat (a few gang members were allowed to help out), he decided to choose a somewhat challenging opponent who was most likely a fellow hoodlum as well, if those unruly blond spikes were any indication. Squaring his shoulders resolutely, he sauntered towards his ludicrously dressed victim who was waving a handful of flyers about in an almost comical way and reciting his corny sales pitch. The voice that drifted into his ears sounded even more youthful than its owner appeared to be.

XXXXXX

"We're the Get Backers, and our success rate is almost a hundred percent! If there's someone or something that you wish to 'get back', we promise to… GACK!" A strong gust of wind had seized the flyers advertising the Get Backers' retrieval services into the air in a merry swirl, forcing Ginji to dart and hop around the place in his desperate attempt to salvage whatever he could. His movements were greatly hampered by the sandwich boards and his makeshift attention-grabbing 'hat' tumbled off in the process. If it was in Ginji's nature to cuss and swear, he would have done so then. As it was not, he could only respond to his misfortune with a resigned sigh. "That's twenty-six flyers gone at 12 yen a copy, making that a total of… two sushi rolls. Ban-chan is going to kill me," lamented Ginji wretchedly as he counted the number of flyers in his possession.

He often wished that he was less of a burden and more of a help to his partner. Ban had always been the more knowledgeable and competent member of their two-man team, even if he did tend to lose his temper more easily and display it in much more destructive ways. Most of the debts they had incurred were the results of Ban smashing his fist into Honky Tonk's brick walls, crushing coffee mugs and mobile phones in his infamous 200 kilogram grip and brutalizing his Ladybug on and off the road with his maniacal driving. Their dream of living in an apartment of their own instead of sleeping in the car and showering in the park fountain was forever elusive and distant. However, Ginji had never regretted choosing a life as a Get Backer with Ban, despite having to live in squalor and poverty. Besides, it wasn't as if he had been living in luxury or even comfort during his days as the Thunder Emperor of Mugenjou. It was Ban who had helped him seal away Raitei, the part of him that had earned him his fearsome title, thereby ending the reign of the Volts and its emperor.

Ginji broke out of his reverie when more than a dozen flyers were shoved right under his nose. Snatching the flyers with a cry of joy, Ginji turned towards his kind helper with eyes shining with gratitude. Standing before him was a dark-haired boy who could not have been older than fourteen. What caught Ginji's attention were the pensive eyes, which looked far too old to belong on such a young face. His intuition, uncanny as it was but always accurate, told him that some incident in the past had forced this boy to grow up too quickly. Just like him.

"And you dare call yourself a retrieval specialist? You couldn't even recover all the flyers you've just lost," snorted the boy derisively.

Far from being offended, Ginji smiled gratefully at the boy. "Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it."

His reaction noticeably flustered the boy, who then appeared to be thinking rapidly. When the boy opened his mouth, it was to issue forth caustic words again. "Faugh! I didn't do it to help you! One of your damned flyers blew past my face just now and I've sustained a paper cut from it. See here?" One finger pointed accusatorily at a most un-paper cut-like bruise on his cheek. "You can't deny that those flyers are yours, so how're you gonna compensate me?"

Ginji, who used to head a gang of his own, was no stranger to the art of picking a fight with imagined affronts or contrived excuses. What he could not figure out was why the boy was so eager to provoke someone who was obviously larger and stronger than him. It had always been the practice of prudent gangsters to start fights only with opponents they were confident of defeating. This boy was either very brave or very stupid, and Ginji was inclined to believe that it was the former. "Would you like me to tend that wound for you?" asked Ginji, a polite smile still gracing his lips. "Ban-chan and I had gotten into some really nasty near-death situations in the past and I'm more or less adept at bandaging superficial wounds by now. We just couldn't afford hospital care, you see…"

The boy cut him off rudely. "No way am I letting your grubby hands anywhere near my face. It's money I want! I should be getting at least fifty thousand yen for the pain and suffering you've just inflicted on me!"

Ginji scratched the back of his head abashedly. "I'm afraid we're dead broke at the moment. The police just impounded Ban-chan's car yesterday, and we even had to borrow cash from Natsumi to… What's wrong?"

The boy was studying him with a mixture of wonder and exasperation on his face. "Why are you willing to put up with me?" asked the boy after a moment of silence. "We both know that I'm being unreasonable. Why aren't you getting angry? Don't you have any pride at all?"

Ginji tried to suppress a grin. "That's because you made a critical mistake right at the beginning."

A puzzled frown creased the boy's forehead. "Mistake?"

"You shouldn't have helped me pick those flyers up. How can I possibly get mad at you after that?" Ginji chortled and reached out to ruffle the dark bangs of the boy playfully. The boy tensed and swiftly jerked his head back, his glaring eyes laden with wariness and suspicion. Ginji removed the sandwich boards he was wearing and placed them on the pavement. "I might not have fifty thousand yen, but I do have enough to buy you an ice-cream. Would you care to join me?"

The boy's face flushed with outrage. "I'm not some… kid," he spat the word as if it tasted foul in his mouth. "… whom you can buy off with ice-cream!!"

"You don't like ice-cream?" asked Ginji mildly.

"That's not the point!" hollered the boy in what was close to a tantrum.

XXXXXX

For the umpteenth time, he asked himself just what the hell he was doing at the ice-cream parlour. He was not supposed to be there. If everything had gone according to plan, his carefully chosen victim would have been spitting blood and writhing in agony at this moment, instead of ordering…

"That's one scoop of vanilla and one scoop of pita… pitaco ice-cream, please."

"It's pistachio ice-cream, you idiot," he snapped truculently.

"Pistachio," amended the spiky-haired blond in cheerful tones.

It was unbelievable. He still could not detect the slightest hint of irritation after all the abusive language he had used. All the insults, taunts and expletives that he had aimed at the older youth just seemed to ricochet off harmlessly. He never had to work so hard to piss someone off before, and never before this had he failed so miserably. Almost all the people he knew had a couple of raw spots or half-healed wounds in their souls which could be chafed to set them off in a rage. You just need to know which buttons to push.

"And don't forget the crushed almond toppings," he added petulantly.

"Hai."

As he watched the youth beside him empty every pocket in his sleeveless jacket to come up with sufficient coins to pay for the ice-cream, he curiously wondered what were the buttons he would need to push in this youth in order to shatter his good humour. Even as he contemplated this, an image of the youth's gentle smile and kindly face flashed in his mind, and he suddenly found that he was no longer curious.

"Here you go."

He took the proffered waffle cone with double scoops of ice-cream and made a conscious effort not to mutter a 'thank you'. "Aren't you having any yourself?" he asked. He had noticed how hungrily the youth had gazed at the tantalizing flavours when they first entered the parlour. One would almost think that he had been starving for days.

The youth shook his head stoically. "I don't wish to spoil my appetite for dinner."

Liar. Most probably the youth could not afford another cone after having spent the last of his meagre savings on the one he had just given to him. Apparently, the youth was not exaggerating much when he claimed to be dead broke. He really is an idiot.

Under the cover of wolfing down his favourite dessert, he quietly reconsidered his next course of action. He could no longer find it in his heart to carry out his original plan on his blissfully oblivious victim. That was the troublesome consequence of getting too involved with his victims-- a foolish act akin to getting emotionally attached to the chicken that was about to be slaughtered and dunked into the stew pot. He knew better, but that knowledge did not stop him from taking up the youth's offer of ice-cream. As much as he hated to admit it, his decision was partly due to the fact that he felt an inexplicable sense of peace in the youth's presence. He had not felt so relaxed and at ease for a long time. It was as if a load that he was not even aware of carrying had been lifted away just by being near this youth, and it was a feeling that he was reluctant to part with.

While he was absorbed in his own thoughts, they had both wandered back to the park where the youth was distributing his flyers earlier. He quickly scanned the area and was relieved to find that none of the Poison gang members were around to spot him. He harboured no illusions about the gang's general opinion of him, and the last thing he wanted to do was to give them an excuse to destroy him. He fully understood the risks he was taking by insinuating himself into the gang.

"By the way, my name's Amano Ginji," said the youth chirpily. "All my friends call me Ginji. What's yours?"

Amano Ginji. The name had a familiar ring to it, but he could not quite recall where he had heard it before. "Why do you wanna know?"

The youth-- Amano-- replied seriously, "So that I know what to call you, of course."

His lips curled into a mocking smile. "You may call me Ryuji-sama. Or… what's so funny?" he demanded indignantly, as Amano's shoulders had started shaking with barely contained laughter.

"Ah, forgive me... it's just that you remind me a lot of someone I know," said Amano, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Ban-chan says the same thing when he's in one of his more conceited moods. Nobody ever calls him the way he wants to be called, not surprisingly, but he never stops trying to get people to do so."

Ryuji noticed how Amano's face lit up upon mentioning this mysterious 'Ban-chan'. Modulating his tone into one of disinterest, he asked, "Who's this guy you keep on talking about? This is the third time today you've brought up his name."

"Who? Ban-chan?" At his nod, Amano continued, "He's my work partner, and also my dearest friend."

Amano's open honesty took him aback. "Friend…" Ryuji felt something squeeze tightly in his chest. For years, he had endured the harsh life on the streets of Shinjuku, where it was a matter of survival to view everyone as an enemy until proven otherwise. He had learnt to discard his laughably naïve ideas of friendship and to regard mutual interest as a stronger bond than mutual trust. To trust was to invite the danger of betrayal, and he was not so foolish as to be burnt by the same flame twice. Yet, he found himself wanting to trust Amano, against all logic. This want-- this need-- of having someone whom he could trust was a sign of weakness, and it filled him with disgust. "Let me give you a piece of good advice, Amano…" he began.

"Call me Ginji."

Ryuji's expression darkened. All my friends call me Ginji. "You presume too much, Amano," he said coldly. "Be thankful that I'm not calling you nitwit, numbskull, pea-brain or blockhead instead; even though I'm sorely tempted to do so."

Amano looked suitably chastised. "I won't press the issue then."

"You're entirely too gullible. Do you actually believe that your so-called friend gives a rat's ass about you once you're of no use to him? Friends are merely hypocrites who are bidding their time to stab you in the back. It's best that you learn to expect it, so that you won't be taken by surprise when the knife sinks in."

"That's not true," disagreed Amano. From the way he spoke, Ryuji could tell that he was speaking from strong conviction. "You're only saying that because you've never experienced true friendship. And you'll never experience true friendship if you guard your heart so tightly."

"Don't talk as if you know me," snarled Ryuji. "If you wish to set yourself up to be duped, by all means, go ahead. I wash my hands of you." He got up from the park bench he was sitting on and prepared to leave. He had wasted too much time already. The longer he stayed, the more likely he was of being discovered. If he worked fast enough, he might be able to procure another victim for the initiation rite.

"Is there something you want?" asked Amano suddenly.

The question was a complete non sequitur. "What?"

"You came to me because you wanted something, didn't you?"

Evidently, Amano was not as oblivious as he appeared to be. "You're mistaken," he lied.

Amano was watching his face closely. "Do you need help?"

"Wha… What makes you think that I need any help?!" Ryuji countered with a question of his own. He felt the urge to terminate their conversation before Amano could read anything more from his countenance. "And what's with all these questions anyway?" he asked angrily.

"It's just that you kept glancing about ever since we came to the park. Are you in some sort of trouble?" Concern was etched on Amano's features.

Ryuji bridled at the implication that he was too weak to take care of himself. "It's none of your goddamned business!"

Amano smiled sadly at his rebuff. "You're right. Sorry, I didn't mean to be nosy."

Ashamed by his earlier outburst, Ryuji was about to apologize when he caught sight of a figure leaning against a tree thirty feet away. He could recognize that scarred cheek and malevolent smile anywhere. Shiki. He groaned inwardly. Of all the gang members who could have been assigned to keep an eye on him, it had to be that snake. Shiki had never forgiven him for marring his pretty face with that scar. Not that Shiki ever needed a reason to make other peoples' lives a living hell…

It was definitely time to leave. "May we never meet again, Amano."

"Wait…"

Ryuji moved quickly and the rest of what Amano was about to say fell out of earshot. He made a beeline for the spot where he had glimpsed Shiki, only to arrive and find that the snake had slithered away and disappeared into the crowd. "Damn it!" Shiki must be making his way to the rest of the gang at the back alley to squeal on him. Ryuji had no choice but to return to confront them all. If he was lucky, they would let him off without too many permanent injuries.

XXXXXX

Ginji sighed as the dark-haired kid disappeared from view. He had wanted to help and Ryuji's eyes had, for the briefest of moments, begged for it; but his offer of aid was rejected in no uncertain terms. He still had no idea what was troubling Ryuji, and it would be disastrous if he plunged headlong into the situation blindly. The two years he had spent working with Ban had taught him a small degree of caution, if nothing else. Ginji slowly walked towards the place where he had placed the sandwich boards and placards. He had a task to do after all, and Ban would not be pleased if he returned from the police station with his Ladybug to find their post deserted.

But Ryuji might be in grave danger…As Ginji was deliberating about what to do next, a boy not much older than Ryuji had planted himself in his path. The boy's wavy-brown hair was tied neatly in a pony-tail and his piercing black eyes were observing him from head to toe. There was a horizontal streak of pale scar tissue not far below his left eye, likely caused by a knife cut. "Are you Ryuji's friend?" asked the boy in a lilting voice.

"Not really…" Ginji felt a certain reticence about sharing any information with the shifty-eyed boy before him.

"I've come to ask for your help. Ryuji's in trouble."

XXXXXX

"You're late, Mikaido Ryuji," grated the stern-faced group leader, who was also the most senior Poison gang member present. There were seven other gruff-looking members lurking behind him. "Do you intend to keep us waiting the whole day?"

Ryuji had expected the gang to come at him with flailing fists and flashing knives, hungry for his blood. Instead, he discovered that none of them were aware of his refusal to bring in his victim. He did not see Shiki among the group, so he concluded that Shiki had not revealed his misdemeanor to the gang yet. However, this fact increased rather than lessened his anxiety. Shiki was not one to let such a chance slip past, and he had a gut feeling that whatever plot Shiki was hatching would put him in an even worse position.

Seeing that he had come to the alley alone, the group leader scowled fiercely. "And where is your victim? Have you totally forgotten your duty?"

Ryuji shrugged his shoulders. "I couldn't find anyone suitable. Believe me, I've tried." He tried to sound apologetic, though he knew that it would not make one iota of difference to the group leader's reaction.

There was an audible gritting of teeth. "How dare you make a mockery of these proceedings!"

"I didn't mean any disrespect," Ryuji spoke calmly. "I'm more than happy to go now and pick any Tom, Dick or Harry on the streets, if that is what's required of me. I just thought that it would be more… interesting… if we're more discriminating in our choice of victims."

Ryuji was relieved to see that the group leader was giving his suggestion serious thought. However, his relief was short-lived.

"I don't believe that's necessary." Shiki's lilting voice echoed off the dank surrounding walls. "We have a perfect sacrificial lamb right here."

Ryuji whirled and nearly cursed aloud. Amano was darting a perplexed look at Shiki and then at him, clearly at a loss as to what was happening. The idiot! The bloody idiot! He did not have to ask how Amano came to be there. Shiki's self-satisfied smile already gave him the answer.

"Ryu…" said Amano, taking a step towards him.

Ryuji shut Amano up effectively with a sharp toss of his head. The idiot was at least smart enough to stop in his tracks. Ryuji cast a hot glare at Shiki. "I don't need your help in finding my own victims, Shiki."

Shiki appeared immensely pleased with his response. "So, am I right to say that you're refusing to carry out the rite on…" Shiki directed an inquiring look at Amano. "It's Ginji, isn't it?"

For some reason, Shiki's use of Amano's name infuriated Ryuji. Before Amano could reply, Ryuji cut in. "He's too much of an idiot to be a worthy opponent. That's why I didn't choose him. Unlike you, I don't delight in beating up hapless weaklings."

Shiki glared back with as much heat in his eyes as his own. "His being an idiot changes nothing! You're only making up feeble excuses not to fight him!"

"I told you I don't want to fight with idiots! Some of his low I.Q. might rub off on me!"

Amano's face took on a pained expression but he mercifully kept quiet throughout the exchange.

"Stop this bickering! Both of you!" commanded the group leader, a trace of annoyance in his voice. He directed his next words at Ryuji. "Idiot or not. Worthy or not. He's your opponent today. As the candidate, you're responsible for drawing blood first."

Ryuji clenched his fists and resisted the strong desire to wipe off the triumphant smile on Shiki's face. Ryuji met Amano's hazel eyes briefly and drew out his switchblade with deliberate slowness. Without warning, he charged, his knife slicing an arc in the space near Amano's head. Amano leapt back to avoid the blow and Ryuji pursued, all the while drawing the fight further away from the gang. Amano did not appear afraid, merely surprised and confused, and Ryuji suspected that the youth had been in more dangerous battles in the past. Confident that Amano would be able to block his attack, Ryuji closed the distance between them and stabbed out without holding back. Amano brought up his right hand and halted the knife's advance with the metal plate lining his glove.

Angling his body so that his back was facing the gang, Ryuji leaned closer towards Amano and whispered harshly, "Leave now if you value your life. I'll create an opportunity for you to escape."

The confusion in Amano's eyes was replaced by understanding. "What will happen to you?" he asked softly.

How is it possible for the idiot to be thinking of other people when his own life is in danger? Ryuji wanted to snarl in frustration. "Just leave-"

"Get down!" Ryuji was pulled out of the path of a knife that was hurtling towards his back. Electrical energy crackled at the tips of Amano's fingers and the trajectory of the knife was deflected to pass harmlessly above his head.

Ryuji gaped at Amano's display of power in disbelief, his jaw slack. That is not humanly possible. He noted with amusement that Shiki, who had thrown the knife, was doing the same thing.

Amano's face had taken on a mask of cold rage. "Why did you do that? Isn't Ryuji one of your companions?" Ryuji then realized what were the buttons in Amano that could be pushed to make him angry.

Shiki recovered his composure with difficulty and declared loudly, "So, I've guessed correctly! The two of you are in cahoots." He retreated to the relative safety of where the other gang members were gathered. "Boss," Shiki addressed the group leader. "Shouldn't we teach this traitor a lesson? All this while he had been pretending…"

"Raitei…" breathed the group leader, staring in awe and fear at Amano. This was soon followed by panic-stricken cries from the rest of the gang.

"The Thunder Emperor of Mugenjou!"

"The Demon of the Infinite Fortress!"

"The Bane of everything that lived!"

Ryuji was shocked by the revelation as well. Amano did not fit the profile of Raitei at all, who had a reputation of levelling buildings and electrocuting enemies instantaneously with his gift of manipulating electricity to do his bidding.

"Are you alright?" Amano had knelt down in front of him and was extending a hand to help him get up from the ground. Ryuji shook off his trepidation and clasped Amano's gloved hand fearlessly. He did not care what the legends say about Amano, or Raitei, or whether the two of them were even the same person. "I'm sorry for getting you into trouble," apologized Amano. "I shouldn't have come, should I?"

Amano sounded so contrite that Ryuji relented. "It's not your fault. Shiki tricked you, didn't he?"

"No." At his quizzical look, Amano explained further. "I came even though I knew that he was deceiving me. He claimed to be your friend; and that, I could tell, was a blatant lie."

"Then why did you still come?" asked Ryuji, already knowing what his answer would be.

"Because I'm worried about you."

The words were simple but they penetrated deeply into Ryuji's heart. He swallowed the lump of emotion stuck in his throat.

By the time they stood up, the initial terror that had gripped Shiki and the gang members had died down. The group leader's eyes, which held only fear a moment ago, now held resolution. It was strength, and not merely seniority, that determined the ranks within the gang, and the group leader was not an ordinary ruffian who would cower before an enemy. "You may leave here if you wish, Raitei. None of us are keen to fight against you. But Mikaido Ryuji will have to remain here. He's one of us, or going to be one, and he knows too much already."

"That's up to Ryuji to decide," said Amano defiantly. "Not you."

Ryuji was torn between seeking the refuge of Amano's protection and attempting another go at infiltrating the Poison gang. He had reasons of his own for wanting to become part of the gang, and he had worked so hard to get to this point. "Amano…"

Amano seemed to be able to detect his predicament. "Ryuji, you don't have to stay if you don't want to. I'm here to help you if you need it. You don't have to join this gang."

Ryuji nodded quietly, the last of his doubts washed away.

The group leader made a hand signal and the other gang members, including Shiki, began to draw out identical sheathed daggers. Ryuji's blood ran cold when he saw the inlaid brass serpents on the hilts. "Be careful, Amano," he warned. "The blades of those daggers are laced with poison. Even the smallest cut can be lethal." Ryuji barely had time to give out the warning before all nine members of the gang descended upon them.

Ryuji's memory of what happened in the next few seconds was a blur to him. He recalled trying to fend off Shiki's dagger with his knife whilst intermittent bursts of electricity sent the others flying across the air or convulsing on the floor. He thought he heard Amano calling his name, but he was concentrating too hard on his knife fight with Shiki to pay any attention. Shiki abruptly stopped pressing his attack and stepped back.

And before he knew it, Amano was beside him, shielding him from an incoming dagger that would have sunk into his neck. It dawned on Ryuji that the dagger was never meant for him, but Amano instead. Whoever had thrown it had calculated on Amano receiving the blow on his behalf. Without pausing, Amano sent a bolt streaking towards the group leader, apparently the one who had flung the dagger, and felled him. The sight of the dagger protruding from Amano's right forearm paralyzed Ryuji. "Amano!" he cried, grief threatening to overwhelm him.

Amano gave him a wan smile. "It's a pity that the blade isn't magnetic." His breathing became increasingly laboured. Grimacing, Amano extracted the dagger from his flesh and dropped it onto the ground with a clatter. Bright-red blood flowed from the wound in a steady rivulet.

Only Shiki and two other members remained standing. "You fool! You won't be able to move in thirty seconds once the neurotoxin gets into your system." Shiki laughed with satisfaction. "Once I defeat the invincible Raitei, no one will ever look down on me again!"

"Thirty seconds is enough," stated Amano with icy calm as he clutched his left wrist with his right hand, completing the circle. The blast of raw energy that erupted forth from Amano's palm nearly blinded Ryuji. When his vision returned and the dust settled, Ryuji saw only twitching and scorched bodies all over the alley. He doubted that anyone could have evaded or withstood Amano's final attack. "Damn… I couldn't control…" Amano panted heavily, his expression sorrowful. "… Hope… no one's hurt too badly…"

Ryuji rushed forward to support Amano as he sagged down onto his knees. Tears were rolling down his cheeks uncontrollably. "Why?" Ryuji choked. "You hardly know me. Why should you… Why did you…?"

Amano's arms hung limply at his sides. "But I do know you," he said with a smile. Amano was breathing more normally now, but his face was still too pale. "You are the boy who helped to retrieve my flyers; who likes pistachio ice-cream; who is willing to risk your life for a stranger whom you've just met; and who… is lonely."

Ryuji bowed his head, too anguished to speak. He was unaware that someone else had approached them until it was too late. Ryuji yelped in surprise as he was abruptly lifted by the scruff of his neck and tossed backwards to crash into a garbage can. However, he was back on his feet quickly; ready to gut his assailant with the knife in his hand.

A young man, with long, black locks that stood out like porcupine quills, was cradling Amano's still form. Ryuji had not seen this Poison gang member before; but whoever the punk was, he would not stand by idly and watch Amano come to any further harm. He was about to launch an attack when he heard Porcupine-head exclaim disgustedly, "For crying out loud, Ginji! What have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"Ban-chan!" greeted Amano happily.

Ryuji froze in mid-spring. Ban-chan?

"Don't you 'Ban-chan' me, you baka! If you aren't injured right now, I'd really knuckle your head in. Can't I even turn my back on you for a second, you oversized toddler?" Porcupine-head was examining Amano's wound worriedly even as he was delivering one scathing remark after another.

Amano did not seem to mind his verbal abuse. "How did you find me?"

"The way I always do, baka," growled Porcupine-head. "And the fact that this area was lighting up like a fireworks display helped somewhat. What have I told you about keeping that power of yours under strict control?"

"I couldn't help it," said Amano. "I think the poison might have disrupted the flow of my electrical impulses or something."

"Poi…" Porcupine-head was horrified. "What?! You're poisoned?! Why didn't you tell me earlier, you moron! How did it happen?"

Ryuji, who was feeling completely ignored up to this point, decided to speak up. "Amano was pierced by a dagger that was tainted with snake venom. He was hurt trying to protect me."

Porcupine-head shot him a smouldering look above his sunglasses. "Figures. I didn't think that Ginji would have lost to a couple of common thugs otherwise."

Ryuji bit his lip, unable to utter a single word to defend himself.

"Ban-chan! It's not Ryuji's fault that I was careless…" protested Amano.

"Don't get me started on you!" fumed Porcupine-head, redirecting his anger at Amano. "We're not running a charity organization here! The next time you feel like trotting off to do your Good Samaritan thingy, don't forget to negotiate the fee first. Now shut up and let me see to that arm."

Ryuji braced himself when Porcupine-head turned to face him.

"Give me your belt," said Porcupine-head in a tone that expected to be obeyed immediately.

Ryuji was dumbfounded by the unusual request. "Huh?"

"Just give it to me, you twerp! We don't have time to waste here!"

Ryuji finally understood when he saw Porcupine-head tying the belt tightly around Amano's upper arm to serve as a tourniquet.

"Brat, go and pick up the dagger that was used on Ginji just now. We might need it later to make some anti-venom."

Ryuji followed Porcupine-head's orders without thinking. He was impressed by the intelligent mind that lay beneath Porcupine-head's churlish exterior.

"Shouldn't we suck the poison out?" asked Ryuji. When Porcupine-head did not even deign to answer him, he flushed. "I saw it done on TV before."

"Don't believe everything you see on TV, kid. I don't particularly want to risk absorbing the venom though my mouth. Do you?"

"If it'll help Amano's condition, I'll do it," said Ryuji determinedly.

Porcupine-head said nothing as he hoisted Amano onto his back, allowing Amano's arms to drape over his shoulders. "Well, it won't help. The best thing to do now is to get some anti-venom into this idiot here before his diaphragm decides to stop working."

"I'm sorry for troubling you again, Ban-chan," said Amano meekly.

Porcupine-head sighed. "I'm more concerned about how we're going to get enough money to pay Himiko. I don't even want to think about how much that vixen would charge us for the antidote."

Ryuji watched the camaraderie between the two retrieval agents with a touch of envy in his eyes. He did not realize that he was staring until Porcupine-head snapped waspishly, "What're you looking at? Is there something on my face?"

"Ah…nothing," said Ryuji, flustered. "It's just that you're not how I've pictured Ban-chan to be."

There was a period of awkward silence, like the deadly calm before a storm. And then… "YEOW!" Pain blossomed on the top of Ryuji's skull. Porcupine-head had struck out so fast that he failed to see how the thwacking had occurred. Ryuji glared furiously at his haughty tormentor.

"That's Mido Ban-sama to you, brat."

"Don't be mean, Ban-chan!" reprimanded Amano from behind.

"What? You're taking this brat's side now?"

Not one to acquiesce defeat without a fight, Ryuji shouted, "Ginji!"

Ginji's hazel eyes widened in surprise upon hearing his first name being called. Only the two of them knew the significance of such an act to him. Ginji beamed. "Ryuji."

"I would like it if you'd call me Ryu-chan instead," said Ryuji sincerely.

The expression on Porcupine-head's face was priceless.

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Author's note: The title of this story doesn't make sense yet, because it was my original intention to write a longer story than this. Whether there will be any more chapters will depend on how much inspiration I get. Writing is tough work. Perhaps I should just content myself with reading other people's stories instead :P