Hey everyone.

Where to start, where to start? Let's see... Well, I know it's been a while, a little over a year maybe? Give me a break, I've moved, had breakups, fired and hired, and retarded computer problems (the most recent computer problem being that the core thing in my computer burnt out. There's a technical term for it, but don't ask me what it is, because I'm computer-illiterate). Which is why I haven't been able to update From the Future. So, um… Sorry?

Any other authors out there ever start a chapter to a story and then lose it? Lose it when you're half-done writing the chapter? You don't feel much like re-doing it, do you? Because it was SO GOOD, and you know you'll never be able to re-create it so perfectly again, right? Well, that's what happened with From the Future. Once I realized it was gone, I went though all my other stories, read Pretty Kagome again, which had been on hold for well over a few years, and realized that since I've had classes and more experience with writing since then, I just needed to re-write it all together.

So I've decided to revamp it. Spice it up. Change it so it will have a conclusion instead of the writer's block I was inevitably writing myself into. I'm sure you'll all understand.

And thus, Pretty Kagome: Revised is born. I hope you'll like these chapters, as well as the rest of the story that I'll be creating. It will be longer, better written, and have less plot holes than the previous.

-SugarRos

.o0o.

Disclaimer: Inuyasha and Co. Do not belong to me. They all belong to Rumiko Takahashi. But right now they're mine to manipulate. I'm going to have so much fun. XD

Dedication: Chapter one is dedicated to my Beta, Viv, for sticking through it with me.

Chapter written to: Genius and Thieves by Eluvium. I suggest you download and listen to it while you read through this chapter.

.o0o.

Chapter 1: Chance Meeting

.o0o.

Kagome sighed, her pale hand coming up to cup her cheek, her eyebrows drawing together in distress. "This is so disgusting."

"You look hot."

She sniffed at her reflection. "I look like a slut."

"That's the point." Akane, who stood behind her, looking at her reflection over her shoulder, shifted her weight from one foot to the other, looking Kagome up and down in the process. A grin broke out on her thin, ashy face, showing not-so-white teeth as she gave Kagome a thumbs-up sign.

"I know it's the point, but..." Kagome's voice trailed off, fighting back the nausea she knew was coming. "I can't believe it's actually come to this." She muttered, not cheered in the least by her older roommates' assurance. She stood in front of an ageing full-length mirror, frowning at her appearance. Her extremely short, black, leather skirt hugged her hips more than she felt comfortable with, and her boots were almost impossible to walk in, with their tall, spiky heels. And to top it off, nothing matched. The skirt was black and the boots were an unsightly neon green color, and the tube top that seemed to flatten her chest rather than boost it was a deep red.

…Not that any of her customers would really care, as Akane had pointed out to her earlier, and Kagome knew it to be true. The customers would care more about what was under the clothes, not if the clothes themselves clashed terribly.

"One last thing…" Akane took hold of Kagome's chin and smeared a deep red lipstick, the same color of her shirt, thickly onto her lips. She took a step back to admire her work. "Do this:" she said, and rubbed her lips together before popping them open in demonstration. Kagome did the same and looked at herself in the mirror again. The lipstick made her skin look ghastly white.

She didn't recognize the girl that stared back at her through the glass. In fact, she sort of felt as if she were Alice, looking at an entirely different version of herself. One who dared to don seductive – although not very attractive in her opinion – clothing, and flirt dangerously with greasy men who would pay her small amounts of money for sex.

Her stomach churned at the Alice in Wonderland vision, and she felt certain she would heave the contents of her small, under-nourished dinner all over their dingy one-room apartment.

"Oh please, it's not that bad." Akane said, rolling her eyes slightly and sweeping her short bangs from her forehead. "Stop staring at yourself, you look like you're about to be sick."

"I think I might…" She placed her hand to her stomach as a wave of nausea swept through her.

"Stop being so scared. Look at it this way: the pay's better, and you can't ever be fired. How great is that?" Her mouth twisted into a grin that didn't quite reach her deep, brown eyes.

Kagome watched Akane carefully as she walked the three steps to the glass end table by the door. She bent over a hand-held mirror, a razor in her right hand, slowly chopping up a small pile of white powder, grazing it down into a fine substance. She watched Akane's arm tremble as she concentrated on her task, a gleaming look of pure need and desire in her eyes.

Kagome shivered as she looked at the powder, fear slowly creeping into her consciousness. She still wasn't used to being around the drugs. She'd never come across it on the docks, and it hadn't been around the orphanage at all. But she'd known that streetwalkers were keen on using illegal substances, and she told herself again that she should just get used to Akane inhaling the stuff. She would have to be around it for a while.

It still hadn't really hit her, the fact that Kagome agreed to do what she was about to do. In fact, when she first escaped the orphanage at the age of fourteen, she'd sworn to never fall into such a disgustingly sick vocation. Instead, she opted for the hard labor of working the docks.

"Fuck." Akane murmured to her right, cutting into Kagome's thoughts. Apparently, she was having trouble rolling up a dollar bill into a slim tube. "It's getting harder to roll these damn things." She let out a soft laugh, as if Kagome could also find the humor in such a fact.

She forced herself not to shake her head at Akane's actions, and turned her thoughts back to her recent past. Working the docks had taken a toll on her young body back then. She'd been beaten a few times by some boys her age that hadn't taken kindly to a girl working their hours. And then she'd been fired. For an absolutely ridiculous reason, she knew in her mind. And after she'd been working for the docks for years, too. But she hadn't been the only one to get shafted. The year she had turned seventeen were hard years for everyone who lived in the slums, and no one was willing to hire a young girl who had no sort of work experience in anything but lifting and transporting sea creatures.

So homeless, helpless, jobless, and with no way of rescuing the one person who she cared for most in the whole world, she wandered the streets, depressed, desperate, and fell into the clutches of Akane Tendo.

As evil as that had sounded, Akane Tendo was actually one of the most caring people Kagome had ever met. Akane had also been in Kagome's situation, although it was years before. Akane could relate and understand, and helpfully offered a hand in bringing in some cash flow for Kagome.

Akane was older by three years. At twenty, Kagome looked up to her as an older sister, someone who had taken her under a protective wing and brought her in from the cold. The apartment Akane lived out of was small, but there was a roof. The air was stale, and stank faintly of urine, but there were walls. The cockroaches were large, the water tainted, and the neighbors dangerous, but there was a place she could finally go to rest her tired body, and Kagome had happily accepted the girl's friendship.

She was slightly shorter than Kagome, and much thinner, short dark hair and sunken eyes, although she had an air of superiority about her. Not in a way that she thought she was better than others, she was in no way full of herself, but she'd explained it as a result of growing up in a martial artist's family, a dojo at her disposal, and many years of Kempo ingrained into her body.

Kagome was awed at the stories she would tell about her family. The handsome fiancé she'd had, the adventures they'd gotten into and, although she was absolutely sure Akane had been making it up, tales of absurd curses that had seemed to plague her life, or at least the life of her betrothed.

And though Akane had been more than willing to share stories of her past, she never once talked about how she had come to the city, why she started selling herself at what seemed like pocket change for such a reward. She never explained about her addiction to cocaine either, and Kagome never braved to ask.

The usual fear crept over Kagome again as she watched Akane dip her head down. One end of the tightly rolled dollar was in her right nostril, the other placed, tilted, against the mirror's surface. Akane inhaled sharply and quickly moved the makeshift tube down the line of powder, breathing in the drug in one swift motion. Slowly, she lifted her head back up, and Kagome watched as her entire body seemed to relax. A blissful smile spread across her face.

For the hundredth time Kagome wondered how it felt. Did it really feel so good to Akane, sucking it up through her nose? It didn't burn? It wasn't irritating? How could such a thing make her feel better? How could snorting help Akane relax? Help her do her job?

Akane stood up abruptly, suddenly energized, ready to go out into the dusk streets of the slum, ready to introduce Kagome into her line of work.

Again, intense nauseating fear spread through Kagome, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding.

She didn't want to do it, yet she had to, for Souta's sake. 'Just enough to get him out.' She chanted quietly to herself. 'Just a little touching and I can see him again. She shuddered at the thought of strange men touching her, and swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. She didn't want to be touched. She wasn't ready.

It wasn't fair that this was her last option. It wasn't fair that she would be doing something unthinkable.

…She'd never even had the chance to be in love.

Kagome inhaled a deep breath to calm herself, pushing the self-destructive thoughts away. 'Think of it as Akane does.' She told herself, liking the way her inner voice sounded strong and confident and sure. 'It's just another job, and it means nothing. Touching means nothing.'

She repeated those words over and over until Akane interrupted.

"Alright, let's get you set up." She chattered, upbeat and hyper now that the cocaine had finally taken full effect. "Common, if we don't hurry the corner will already be taken."

Kagome followed Akane through the door and out into the streets of the slums, still chanting her silent mantra.

.o0o.

"Quite frankly, it is the task of outside analysts and activists to call for a consistent policy while recognizing that the activities of our government will inevitably be far from coherent, and will reflect much interest."

Inuyasha sighed, trying to look as bored as he possibly could. He knew his father would have it out with him later for not at least pretending to be an upstanding, decent son, but he just didn't care. He wanted to be out of here as soon as possible. So, hoping that his father would soon cave in and let him leave, he slacked his posture, let a frown overtake his features, and began to loosen the tie that he suspected was trying to choke him to death on purpose. He had to loosen it carefully so as not to rip it to shreds like he really wanted to do.

The hairy man his father was conversing with gave a curt nod, bringing his overgrown eyebrows together in an impression of deep thought. "Yes, I could agree." He replied, his voice stiff and haughty. "However, democracy promotion is most likely to have the central role it merits if we advocate for it rather than accepting the inevitability of compromise."

Oh Gods, what the fuck were they even talking about? Why did everyone his father blather with use such big, complex words? Why bother when the shorter, easier versions would be just fine and dandy? His teeth ground together as he forcefully stopped himself from letting out a low, emanate growl. 'Don't scare him off, don't scare him off.' He chanted to himself in his head. He was in enough trouble as it was, and he didn't need another lecture from his old man.

"Yes, well," his father continued, giving Inuyasha a rather stern glance at his now-unkempt appearance. "The United States does need to be careful about the verbal support it gives to those struggling for democracy. This is why here, as in other matters, we should be guided largely by the desires of the local civil society. Egyptians fighting for free - excuse me - Inuyasha! Stop yawning like a dimwit and place some input into the conversation! –so sorry, where was I?"

"Egyptians, Senator Kobun."

"Ah yes. Egyptians fighting for free elections and an independent judiciary are pleading for our support and urging us not to give the Egyptian government good marks." He glanced up at Inuyasha, who was a good foot taller than him, and folded his arms. "And what do you think, oh ever-so-willing son of mine?"

Inuyasha stuck his nose in the air and folded his arms like his father, just to piss him off more.

"Yes, Inuyasha, please, what do you think of the matter?" His father's friend asked eagerly, his hands clasped together as if he were genuinely interested instead of just kissing rich ass.

Inuyasha took in a deep breath and glared down at his father, debating to himself whether or not using cuss words in his reply would benefit him by his father kicking him out, or hurt him in the long run. Really, he didn't want to wake up the next morning to find his car missing, sold to some charity because he'd embarrassed his father.

Finally coming to his conclusion, a huge grin broke out on his handsome face. "We should oblige, of course. Iranian democrats, on the other hand, have quietly made it clear that our rhetoric about regime change is not helpful, and we should listen to those requests as well." He couldn't wipe the smirk off his face at the look his father gave him. Oh yeah, it was a surprise, alright. He'd made his father out to be an ass. Score one for him, zero for his uppity dad.

"I certainly agree." The other man rambled on, sweating more with each moment. Gods, why the hell did everyone want to kiss his father's ass? Sure, he was a big, mean canine demon, but all he had was money. And power. And strength. Inuyasha snorted down at the fully-human man and, with a rushed 'excuse me,' turned on his heel and headed over to the exit. Maybe he could sneak away and watch some television up in his bedroom.

But of course, he wasn't so lucky.

"Hello stranger." A low, raspy, yet feminine voice purred out to him. He froze in his tracks. Strange how that voice instantly made him seethe in absolute fury. He turned, managing to plaster on the most polite smile he could muster before he caught her eyes.

"Kikyou."

Kikyou wasn't grinning, she was glaring. Which didn't necessarily mean that she was angry or annoyed, she just tended to look that way all the time. Most would explain her look as 'regal' or 'high class' when in reality, she was just stiff and emotionless. Okay, scratch that. The girl wasn't emotionless, really. He'd actually seen a couple emotions in the three years that they'd dated. One rage, one upset, and one, just one small smile that had done him in in the first place. Of course, she'd never shown him that damn smile again.

Manipulative bitch. He was just never able to read her.

"Where are you going." It wasn't really a question. Kikyou had a way of staying everything as a statement. It made it really hard to argue with her at times. Or reply to anything. It was like she already knew the answer to everything she asked. It used to be sort of a turn on for Inuyasha. Now it just pissed him off.

"Just, ah... upstairs." Inuyasha mumbled out, suddenly fidgety. It wasn't that he didn't like being around her, it was that he complete hated being around her. Just the simple thought of her betrayal boiled the blood in his veins. He bit back his urge to grab her by the throat. There were too many people around, and it would be pointless, really. The bitch knew he wouldn't kill her.

Damn him and his compassion.

"Might I join you? I'm actually rather bored." Her right eyebrow rose up onto her forehead, daring him in her own nonchalant way to decline her request.

He had to think quickly. He didn't want to be alone with her. He was someone else entirely when he was, and he was trying to separate his life from hers as much as possible. "Ah, well…" He muttered, his head running with excuses. "I was just going up to change and then I'll be out with Miroku. I think he wants to hit the pub..."

It was a lame excuse, but he could tell by the way her delicate nose wrinkled that it had worked. She despised Miroku. It had been one of their dating issues, his best friend being who he was, and Kikyou being... well... Kikyou.

"I'll, ah... see you around." He added lamely as he turned and left the room, feeling her steely gaze burn into the back of his neck. God's, it had been over a year now, and she still gave him the creeps. That sort of sinister feeling had been another turn on when they had first gotten together. She'd been so different from every other girl that came knocking on his door to court. He'd actually welcomed the change, was glad for it, and drank in as much of her as he could.

...Until he found out what she was truly like, that is.

Not that it was a big slap in the face for him, it was just a realization that had sort of moved into his subconscious slowly, until he just knew. He'd probably known all along. It wasn't as if it was easy being one of the most eligible bachelors in his country. For one thing, he had all these fake, air-headed, although beautiful, women trying to snag him left and right. It was like a sick game, they way they all vied for his attention. Games like the one Kikyou was now playing, with her deep-waterish-smelling perfume, and her hair all fluffy and kept, her light pink, glossy lips, and that damn perfect body of hers that, he had to admit, drove him absolutely crazy in bed.

The girl was actually someone who really, truly didn't believe that showing some skin and offering all sorts of forbidden pleasure would get her money in the end. His house along with a few nice cars and a large pool and a set income for life. She'd gone about seducing him in a completely different way. Plunging into his mind, getting him to open up and confide in her.

Sex, on the other hand, had been something absolutely, completely different to him.

And was the sex ever great. Full of hard, powerful thrusting, and hot-and-heavy breathing, and slick skin-on-skin.

He always got turned on just being around her. Which was very, very dangerous. Because right before they'd broken it off, she'd already begun to talk about marriage, something that scared Inuyasha out of his skin.

And something he'd considered with all his heart.

Inuyasha set his jaw at the memories. Never again would he allow that to happen.

He wasn't going to marry anyone.

He liked being single. Of course, the reason behind such a feeling could easily just be because he had yet to find a woman other than Kikyou with an intelligence level higher than a five-year-old. How sad was that? He'd courted girls before, of course, but he'd never found anyone that he'd had a connection to like he'd connected to Kikyou. He didn't deny that he wanted to feel like that again; he just wanted to feel it with someone who wasn't out to steal his very soul.

Love...

That emotion, he had come to find out, barely existed at all. Sure he'd experienced it himself, but it had been all wrong, and nothing like the relationship his parents had. He wanted something of what they had, although he'd never admit it to anyone. It hurt knowing there were people out there, even people so close to him that experienced love as a good thing and not something to fear.

And what was with his father? Pressuring Inuyasha to find a fiancé at the ripe age of twenty-two and all so the public didn't think he was gay or had testicular cancer or something equally as ridiculous that had to do with his father being re-elected.

His dad was a jackass. Inuyasha was nowhere near being gay. But his father insisted that if he even seemed to be gay it would ruin his reputation. Apparently, testicular cancer would do the same.

Inuyasha disagreed, of course. He believed, in fact, that his father's numbers in popularity would grow, since being gay seemed to be plenty okay with the public these days.

But whatever. He wasn't gay, and he could assure anyone that he did not have testicular cancer.

Anyway, the point was he didn't like women crawling all over him because he happened to look good in spandex. (Or so they'd announced in the July issue of CosmoGirl.) Playgirl had actually approached him with the idea of being a centerfold in their magazine. Thankfully, that was one thing both he and his father agreed was a bad idea.

Not that Inuyasha was the shy type. He wasn't really a flirt, either. He liked to think of himself as being direct, which is why games like the one Kikyou was pulling at the moment did not catch his interest.

Anymore than it already had, anyway.

No, a flirt he was not. If he wanted sex, he got it. And it was satisfying to a point. A bit since he'd gotten over the first hit of puberty. Man, had that been a killer, especially with Miroku going through it at the same time. They both had been caught spying on the younger maids in the bath one time, he remembered, and that had cost his father a lot of dough through a very public and very unnecessary, Inuyasha thought, law suite.

He was much more able to control his urges now, which he was thankful for, especially because Miroku never seemed to grow out of it.

Inuyasha hurriedly climbed the stairs, relieved at having dodged what would have been a horrible, mistaken, hot tumble in the sheets with Kikyou – had he been swept away – and sprinted to his room. Once inside, he threw off his penguin suit, grabbed his favorite pair of jeans and his Hollister t-shirt, pulled it over his head and stretched out, feeling much more comfortable now that he was out of his formal wear. He slipped on his sneakers and tied them swiftly before heading out the bedroom door, feeling the urge to just get away from the stuffy music and his stuffy father and the stuffy business men and his stuffy ex-girlfriend. He just wanted to drive. And drink. And then have Miroku drive.

.o0o.

Kagome shifted uncomfortably and tugged at her skirt, trying to pull the hem down a little lower against her thigh. If Akane had been standing next to her, she would have slapped her hands away in annoyance, but Akane had gotten into a car an hour ago and had yet to return. Fear overtook Kagome's thoughts, and she wondered if she'd ever see her roommate again.

But it was something she couldn't think about right now. Right now she had to make the money she needed to pay her part of the rent, bust her brother out of the orphanage and move to a better place. A place where she could get a respectable job and support her brother, as she should. A place where drugs and sex was not a necessity.

So, gritting her teeth, she jutted her leg out a bit more, twisting so she was on the ball of her foot and leaned up against the rough, jaded cement of the corner liquor store. The pose made her uncomfortable and awkward, and she felt foolish for trying to look 'sexy' as Akane had put it.

She sighed and shivered, goosebumps rising and spreading across the top layer of her skin. She wished she had worn something that would keep her from the harsh winds blowing along with the cooling season, but Akane probably wouldn't have allowed it anyway. She was so frustrated, and the cold wasn't making her feel better.

It wasn't like she ever wanted her life to be like this. She never wanted to end up where she was, on the streets, fighting for her life, or for the life of her younger brother. And it's not like she ever wanted to do what she was about to do. Never in her wildest nightmares did she want to be as dirty as she was about to become, her clothes too tight, her lipstick too red... She was absolutely disgusted at herself.

Gods, she could still remember when life was so much simpler. Like around the time she was nine and her brother was four, and she didn't have to worry about feeding the both of them or worry about money or shelter. She could remember so clearly what it was like to have it all just there for her. Just right there. Right there.

She remembered when she actually went to school and did homework and chores and went to the movies and met up at the park with friends... And now when she looked back on those memories, she couldn't help but laugh. Laugh because she was so naive and innocent and had absolutely no idea how the world really, truly worked.

Oh, but now she did. Now she could see nothing but the real world. Nothing but what was truly there, right in front of her. She was hit head-on with reality. And it bit her in the ass every chance it got.

Reality reminded her every day of her helpless brother, who was stuck in a terrible, terrible place. She wished more than anything that she could pick up her baby brother from the orphanage where she had to leave him so many years ago and carry him back to a good, safe home and lay him down in a nice, warm bed and tell him reassuringly that everything would forevermore be okay. That he'd no longer be hungry and feel pain. That he'd have a place with an actual non-leaky roof and walls to live in, and a fireplace to warm himself by, and a microwave to heat up as many cans of chicken-broth soup as he wanted. That the headmistress of the orphanage would never mistreat him again.

But again, reality was there, and it was hard to imagine that what she dreamt would ever happen. Sure, determination drove her on, but she knew deep down that the chances were slim, and it would be a long time before she could save the money to spring her brother. The urge to simply take him from the place under the cover of night swelled up within her many times a day, but she wouldn't give into it. An eleven-year-old shouldn't have to watch his seventeen-year-old sister step into a limo or a fancy sports car and drive off, only to come back a half hour later with a fist full of cash and a broken spirit.

Not to mention, possibly, a broken body, as Akane had come home showing signs of more than Kagome liked to admit. No, Souta was better off at the orphanage rather than seeing this. It didn't matter that the Headmistress liked to slap the kids around. A slap in the face was better than the uncertain life Kagome would give him.

Still, she would continue to work at it until her brother was free.

That single thought gave her strength, and she knew she'd stay on that damned corner, and wait for her first customer, a possible chance to feed herself. A possible bruise, a possible cut, and a very possible death.

Yet through it all, Souta stayed as bright and smiling as ever in her mind. She would get him out of that horrible place if it was the last thing she did. She would get him to a place where he'd never have to worry or stress or get slapped around or feel hungry. To a far away land that Kagome remembered existing, that she remembered living in. To safety.

It had been hours now, and no one had yet to make her an offer. Was she that transparent? Or was she not appealing to the perverts? She knew for a fact she wasn't ugly, she'd been told so various times by different people, Akane included, who never wasted any time letting her know how much she could make on her looks alone.

She sighed and looked down at the pavement, bored and getting tired of being on edge and nervous, and tilted her head when she noticed the front page of a city paper trapped around her boot, it's tattered edges blowing softly in the breeze. She leaned down and snatched it up, looking over the headline and large colored picture of two rather handsome men glaring up at her. One looked to be in his mid-fifties, the other in his early twenties. Both with a look of importance, and, Kagome noted from the younger, boredom. The headline read: "Senator Kobun to Host Campaign Party: Moves Up in Polls"

She knew of Senator Kobun. He was in the news most of the time, and she'd followed reportings of him as best she could. He seemed to be a good man, although she wished he'd do something about the jobs in the slums. The economy needed a good looking-over.

Times had changed since she'd lost her parents. The fact that demons roamed the earth wasn't the big deal people had made of it a decade ago, and when Senator Kobun had revealed himself as such it swept the country into controversy.

But Senator Kobun had always been a good and decent man, and his son, who was actually a half demon, his mother being human, was as much a celebrity as a movie star. The tabloids loved him and his exploits, whether it be regarding his latest fling with a model or actress or a rough-and tumble fist-fight he seemed to get into with the rest of the upper-class famous, young crowd. Dubbed a playboy and the country's most eligible bachelor at the same time was a feat he had achieved, and held it with what seemed like pride and slight arrogance, Kagome had always thought.

Sighing out loud, Kagome lowered the paper and stifled a yawn, trying to keep her eyes open. She was tired and it was cold out, which really wasn't such a good combination. She just wanted to make her money and go home, where she wouldn't be warm exactly, but would be warmer.

A car came slowly rolling up to the pavement, and a tinted window rolled down, showing a youthful, yet rather unattractive male face. He smiled a lustful smile, and looked Kagome up and down, his eyes undressing. She fought the urge to cover herself. Blah. She absolutely hated this. Again, she pressured her mind into forcing a smile, although she knew she couldn't hide the disgust in her eyes. "May I help you?" She strained to keep her voice calm, low, seductive, yet to her it sounded gravely and tired. She prayed that he'd accept and that he'd decline, all at once.

Acceptance won, and she mused that if the Gods truly did exist, they were purposely punishing her for some sort of evil thing she'd done in her past.

"You can help me." The man replied, and opened the car door.

Kagome hesitated before she walked over, unsteady in her heels, but stopped suddenly as the man slipped out of his seat and grabbed her arm, squeezing so she let out a soft cry of surprise and pain.

And then, to her horror, the front seat pushed forward, and another man stepped out. Then another, and a third after him.

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

She saw it happening in slow motion, and she knew what was coming. She started to struggle, tried to pull away with all her might, but his grip was tight, and the other three had surrounded her, leading her as a pack towards the alley on her right, behind the convenience store. Kagome's throat tightened as her heart started to thud loudly in her chest. Her lips parted and a strangled sort of whimper came out. "Wait." Her voice just wouldn't come out right, wouldn't rise above a choked whisper. "Wait, no! Stop it!"

They laughed nervously, excitedly, eyes scanning the surrounding area to catch witnesses, but it was cold out, and no one was paying much attention to what was going on around them. They were more interested in getting home and warming up instead of helping to them what seemed a not-so-innocent sex-seller.

Once far enough back from the busy street, she was taken by her throat and slammed up against the brick wall. White exploded behind her eyes, a searing pain shooting through her head as she struggled to keep upright. Her mind raced, thinking desperately of what she could use to her advantage. There was a small razorblade in her boot that Akane had given her for warding off unwanted advances, but could she get to it without raising suspicion? As she reached down to grab it, she heard a dull thud, and her stomach heaved as the fist that had been planted firmly into her side dug in, sending even more pain shooting through her body.

She sagged, falling onto her right thigh, trembling, heaving, trying desperately to think of a way out of the situation she'd gotten herself into. A few seconds later, she felt cool metal against her fingertips, and realized that her hand was still inside her boot, fingering the small razor blade. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and in a panic, swiped out the blade and swung, eyes closed, hoping against hope that it would hit its mark.

It did, and the man who was bearing down to give a vicious slap drew back, shrieking, holding his hand which now sported a large, bloody gash. With a rush of hope and defiance, Kagome spun as best she could on her heels and ran – only to be tackled to the cement, the air squeezing painfully from her lungs. She turned and gave the man sitting on her back a terrified, wide-eyed look as he cocked his fist, ready to strike her again.

And then Kagome's world went black.

When she opened her eyes she was staring into the crotch of a pair of jeans. For a few seconds she was confused, wondering where she was, and why she couldn't move her head away from the rough material. Then she realized a hand was holding the back of her head, pressing her cheek against someone's lust. She was on her knees, forced into such a position by two men, both grabbing a wrist with one hand and pressing the other into her shoulder blades, keeping her down. She couldn't see past the jean fabric in her face and she jerked back as best she could as fingers that seemed giant so up close slowly pulled down the zipper in front of her, and a dank, musky smell drifted out of confinement and up into her delicate nose. She willed her body to struggle, but the pain in her head overpowered any sort of thought, any sort of movement. Her mouth felt sticky and she was sure the liquid that kept flooding into her mouth and down her throat was blood. Her tooth was gone in the back, a molar, she could feel the gaping hole with her tongue.

Now she remembered. She'd been trying to get someone to feel her up. And she was about to be raped because of it. This was it. She was done for. The worst was about to happen.

And then, she wasn't quite sure, but someone was shouting?

At first she thought the yelling was directed at her, but the voices weren't close enough. They were further away, arguing with each other. She struggled to push past the roaring in her ears, which had undoubtedly come from a punch to the side of her head, and tried to focus on what was happening behind her, towards the front of the ally.

"-do we have here?" The voice was saying. It was male, but Kagome couldn't tell if it was a friend of her attackers or someone else. "A gang-bang?" He added, smugness dripping from his voice.

The man who'd pulled down his zipper swiped it back up and turned away from her, distracted by the voice, and Kagome sucked in a lungful of air that smelled like urine, which she actually welcomed after the stench of the man's crotch. The two men holding her down loosened their grip, but didn't let go. Kagome didn't struggle yet. She was still too confused.

"Who the fuck are you?" One of the attackers asked, his voice low and threatening.

"No one you know." The voice answered nonchalantly. "Or at least, I'm sure I don't know you." She could hear his tone change, deepen, challenge.

Now, Kagome wasn't what one would call a crier. In fact, she'd promised herself she'd never let anyone see her cry, especially now – in her new line of work that was going oh-so-well – those who thrived off her services. She'd been lucky enough in her life to get away without running into incidences such as these. But it would have happened sooner or later, what with streetwalking and all. So why not her first time out? No matter how much she'd promised herself she would not show her weakness through tears, they pooled under her lids, and she felt the salty substance drip over and down her cheek. With all her strength Kagome opened her mouth and called out through her tightened throat: "Please..." Her voice wobbled with pain. "Please help me..."

Another tear.

And again the pain overwhelmed her, and she passed out, slumped over her knees, still dangling in her captive's hands.

She could only hope whoever had interrupted was as tough as he sounded.

.o0o.

City lights flashed by, blurring into some strange sort of neon pattern in Inuyasha's eyes. The wind that blew in through his window rushed through his hair, which he'd pulled back into a leather thong, and numbed his ears, which were currently pressed flat against his head.

He was thoroughly enjoying the quiet ride, relishing in the fact that he'd gotten away from his father's house successfully. The event his father had thrown was just like every other one he held. It-

"Well, that party sucked."

Leave it to Miroku to be blunt. Not that Inuyasha minded. Actually, it was one thing he could really count on, which was why he had been drawn to Miroku in the first place. It helped that he worked for Inuyasha's father, too. One of their favorite past times was to rag on the old man.

"Such a waste." Miroku continued from the passenger seat of Inuyasha's Nissan Skyline GTR, an eighteenth birthday present from daddy-dearest. "I mean, think about the parties you could be throwing." He shook his head to give a disappointed effect.

"I don't throw parties." Was Inuyasha's curt reply, as he sped towards a u-bend in the road. Miroku's hands clasped onto the handle up by the window and let out a small 'eep' as Inuyasha turned the wheel and made the bend perfectly.

"I'm just saying you should." Miroku shot back as soon as he was relaxed enough to do so. "Your. House. Is. Huge." He emphasized, and waved his hands in the air erratically. "We could easily throw a sophisticated soiree of our own."

"Soirée my ass." He mumbled back. "You'd only invite a bunch of annoying, giggling, girls with big boobs and tight skirts."

"One of them could teach you how to dance." He added thoughtfully.

"I don't dance."

"You ought to. I get quite a few of the ladies that way." He hesitated. "Although, you really don't need much help in that area anyway."

Inuyasha smirked, knowing what his friend said was true, and turned another corner, racing towards the slum area of the city.

"Where are we off to this time?" Miroku asked nonchalantly, not really caring much.

Inuyasha shrugged in the same nonchalant way. "I just want a beer. All they had at the party was Champaign." He added at the end with a grumble.

"Ah, the bar, then."

"Yeah," Inuyasha agreed, "but not the one around here, I was thinking we find a bar where no one will try to talk me up."

Miroku frowned this time. "Well, that's no fun." He complained. "That's how I meet the ladies, Inuyasha. They hit on you, you brush them off in you obviously sexy-yet-horribly-rude way, and then I pick up the pieces and sweep them up with my gentle and charming demeanor." He grinned.

"Shut up." Inuyasha replied. "We're going to a dive bar. Some place in the slums, I think." He added, and made a swift lane change to hop onto the freeway.

Miroku slapped his hands against the dashboard, something he had to do often to steady himself when in the car with Inuyasha.

"And then," Inuyasha continued, "I want some ramen. Some greasy ramen."

"There was plenty of food at your place."

"No, there was plenty of escargot at my place. Not even an ounce of fatty calories. Why would I want that when I can have stuff that actually has a taste to it?" He swiftly changed lanes and hopped off the freeway.

Miroku glanced down at the speedometer, wondering how they'd arrived at their destination so fast. It read one hundred and ten MPH. No wonder. He signed, deciding not to comment on his friend's reckless speed. "Because we have to drive to the middle of bum city to get it. The air down here doesn't do well with my skin." He flipped down the sun visor and opened the mirror, rubbing his cheek as if he were wiping off dirt.

Inuyasha glanced over. "I see a pimple."

"No you don't, I'm flawless." Miroku shut the mirror and grinned back, not in the least bit falling for his friend's eager pry to get him to worry.

"Here we are." Inuyasha stated, as they pulled up behind a dirt-red beamer, the license plate was crooked, and the left back tire was about to go flat. His car definitely stuck out in these parts, compared to the one that seemed to blend into the background in front of them.

They both opened their respective doors and slipped out, Miroku stretching and looking slightly relieved that they were over Inuyasha's speedy driving. Inuyasha inhaled a deep, relaxing breath. Visiting the slums always seemed to calm him down. Probably because it tended to remind him that even though he couldn't stand his father's way of life, he still had a nice, warm bed to sleep in. He knew that well over half the people living in the slums didn't. Plus, no one would ever kiss his ass down here. In fact, people plain ignored him. That's what he liked best.

He glanced up into the sky and noticed that he couldn't see the stars. The streets were lined with lamps that flickered on and off, as well as neon sighs for pubs and strip clubs and fast food joints. They blocked out the natural light of the sky, one thing that Inuyasha actually liked about living in such an upper-class suburban area.

"We going in, or what?" Miroku's voice pierced through his thoughts, and he nodded at his friend, stepping up onto the sidewalk and walking in his usual stride towards his favorite run-down bar.

Inuyasha would realize later that he probably should have stayed at home. It would have been a whole heck of a lot less complicated to go along with Kikyou's strange, slightly creepy seduction. He should've just fucked her then and there instead of running off on some lower-class adventure to fill his stomach. He could have never expected what came next.

"Stop it! Please, just leave me alone!"

Inuyasha's ears perked up. They twitched towards the sound as his head turned to follow and he squinted down a dark alley they were passing. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed Miroku's shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

"What the- What?" His friend demanded, turning to face him. He rubbed at his neck and grumbled about hanyou strength.

The voice of the young girl who was being hassled wavered and she let out a sob. "Please!" But the four men who were surrounding her laughed off her plea of desperation and the leader of the pack cocked back his fist and hit her hard. Inuyasha winced as his sensitive hearing picked up the sickening sound of bone-on-bone.

"Jesus!" Miroku breathed beside him, having caught on to the scene that was playing out before their eyes.

"Fucking bitch cut my mouth!" One guy was shouting, sounding absolutely outraged. He motioned to his buddies and they picked up her limp body, and positioned her on her knees, getting ready to do the very deed in a way that made Inuyasha's blood boil.

He watched as the girl came-to and started struggling, spitting up blood. The leader of the little gang pulled down his zipper and laughed in a menacing sort of way.

Well, fuck.

Inuyasha was normally one to stay out of other people's business. He didn't like getting his hands dirty over strangers. And of course, the girl was obviously just a prostitute, which was evident by the way she dressed. He probably would have been better off just walking by and letting the guys have their fun. More than likely she was a drug-addict anyway, and was going to die in a few years whether she was raped and killed or not.

"Are we just going to stand here?" Miroku asked in a whispered tone, his eyes locked on the scene in front of them.

"Fuck." Inuyasha growled out in reply. No, he couldn't just stand there. Fuck me and my conscience. He berated himself, stepping into the ally and sucking in a deep breath, steeling himself. Not that he was scared. He didn't scare easy. But this situation was just such a pain. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?" He threw out at the group of attackers, puffing out his chest yet looking as calm as he could possibly could. He saw the girl tense and lift her head up towards his voice. "A local gang-bang?"

All four men snapped their heads around, eyes wide, looking as if they were little kids caught steeling candy. They definitely hadn't counted on anyone caring enough to interrupt.

"Who the fuck are you?!" One of them asked – the lookout, most likely, he wasn't touching the girl.

Inuyasha let his face form a menacing grin, one that was meant to place fear in their minds, rather than make them feel welcome. "No one you know." He replied, then – for good measure – added: "Or at least, I'm sure I don't know you." He could feel the growl forming in his throat, the sound reverberating his vocal chords as his lips shifted slightly into a sneer. The usual adrenaline rush that flushed through his veins made his vision sharper, his hearing more acute, and the hairs on the back of his neck under his ponytail stand on end. He cracked his fingers as he let his posture do the rest of the talking for him. He heard Miroku shuffling his feet to his left and knew his friend had his back. Miroku was actually a pretty valuable asset to have in a fight, as he'd proved many times before when hanging around Inuyasha.

His thoughts of thankfulness for having Miroku at his side were interrupted by a desperate whimper, which came from the girl being forced on the ground.

"Please..." she whispered, the sound floating from her lips and reaching Inuyasha's sensitive ears. He felt them twitch as he became more enraged. A lot of things pissed him off, got on his nerves. But abuse of women, even prostitutes, was the pedestal of his anger, the one nerve hit that set his blood boiling. Even his father couldn't make him feel such acerbity.

Again, her plea found his ears. "Please..." She started to cry, hot, salty tears, he could smell them as they leaked from her eyes and soaked her skin. Her voice grew stronger, more desperate. "Please help me..."

Something in Inuyasha snapped. He wasn't seeing the usual red that flooded his senses when he was about to get into a drunken fight outside of some stupid nightclub. Instead it was as if everything around him slowed down.

"Mister, you've walked into the wrong ally." The leader of the pack threw back at him menacingly. He obviously had not caught onto the fact that Inuyasha was actually a hanyou. Humans today just did not have common sense, what with trying to start a fight with a youkai, half or not, he was about to be shredded. Such a reason, among many others, was why there were so many enforced rules and regulations against street fights. The leader turned to his sidekicks. "Kill him." He ordered simply.

Slowly the three underlings moved towards Inuyasha, dropping the girl onto her hands and knees, but not before giving her another punch to the head, knocking her out cold.

"Watch your manors, men." Miroku threw out a warning, his finger pointed out, although his face rather calm and controlled. "You do not want to lay your hand on that woman again."

They laughed at his attempt to be heroic, surrounding both Inuyasha and Miroku slowly.

Inuyasha could smell that no one in the little gang had any sort of youkai in them, which was actually rather rare. Dumb luck on his part. This would be so easy.

He smirked, half-hidden in the contrasting shadows from a single over-hanging street lamp.

They moved as one, and Inuyasha could tell they had done such a thing before. Probably killed most people who had stepped up and tried to be brave. Boy, were they ever in for a rude awakening. Even so, from the way the gang members attacked, he knew none of them had a killer's instinct like he did, which came quite naturally to someone like Inuyasha. They'd be easy to deal with.

He turned to Miroku and raised an eyebrow, a silent question that asked if he had gathered the same information and came to the same conclusion. Miroku nodded, a sudden grin on his lively face. Fighting is what Inuyasha had lived for, while the peaceful yet protective nature of the Martial Arts was something Miroku had indulged in, and Inuyasha wondered if Miroku was wishing he had his helpful bo-staff in hand. Not that it mattered, Miroku did well enough without the thing. The rush of excitement and the bunching and flexing of muscles used to pound out opponents like hamburgers sent a thrill of excitement up Inuyasha's spine. It was sheer bliss.

In a sudden blur, the gang attacked.

And were unconscious in three seconds flat.

Inuyasha had been tag-teamed, leaving only one for Miroku, who quickly snared his opponent into a headlock and flipped him over his back, slamming him with all his human might into the brick wall; a sickening crack emitting from his back and a gurgling sound from his mouth was all it took to reign him unconscious.

Inuyasha was actually disappointed, having a much easier time with the two that came after him. He was stronger than Miroku of course, but he was at least hoping for more than he got. Both had run at him, heads lowered and fists cocked. Inuyasha grabbed the cuffs of their shirts and rammed their heads together.

That was that. The leader of the gang that wasn't so much of a gang anymore stood, trembling, stuttering as Inuyasha stepped slowly into the light, his canine-like ears and amber-colored eyes showing under no cover.

"W-wait, we didn't – we didn't realize that you were a-"

"A what?" Inuyasha sneered, his eyes throbbing as he struggled to hold onto his human conscious. "A freak?" He suddenly smelled the strong odor of fresh piss. The guy had peed his pants. He had also released the girl, who was now slumped over onto the concrete pavement. Inuyasha swung back and punched the man in the nose with all the might he could muster, literally sending him flying down the ally and up against the wall before sliding down and ending in a heaped mess, blood pooling in his mouth and dripping onto his shirt.

Inuyasha snorted, his vision returning to normal, and he breathed in deeply, holding back a choke from the smell of urine and blood.

Miroku came to his side, clasping his hand onto his friend's shoulder and breathing heavily. They glanced at each other before breaking out into their own respective grins.

"Holly living Gods." Miroku breathed out, laughing a loud, boisterous laugh. "That was intense!"

Inuyasha harrumphed, shrugging off Miroku's hand. "What the hell are you talking about, that was the most pathetic attempt at a jumping I've ever come up against."

"Inuyasha." Miroku stated, his wide grin spreading across his entire face. "We saved this girl's life. Don't you feel elated by that fact?"

He snorted at his friends' obvious display of excitement, but did manage a cocky smirk. It was contagious, that stupid grin of Miroku's. He had to admit that he felt good about himself. Most of the fights he got caught up in centered around arguments regarding disrespect or racist youkai-human issues, and such fights usually commenced around the time everyone involved was plastered drunk. This was indeed different, a rare situation where a life had been saved.

In thought of the girl, Inuyasha realized he should probably check and see if she was breathing, she was still lying unconscious where the men had left her. He turned from Miroku and strutted over, his eyebrows drawn together in an intense sort of way. Kneeling down, he hesitated, then the thought that he might catch something if he touched her fluttered into his mind. He sat there, his elbows on his knees, debating with himself when Miroku came up beside him.

"She alive?" He asked, peeking over his shoulder in the contrasting light.

"I don't know." Inuyasha mumbled his reply.

"Poke her."

"You poke her!"

"No, that's disturbing." Miroku turned his head, searched the alley for something. "Look, a stick." He stated and went to grab it, smiling in an accomplished sort of way as he brought it back and tentatively stretched it out towards the girl.

"What the hell are you doing?" Inuyasha shot his arm out and grabbed the stick, his face twisted into mild humor and slight disgust. "Don't stick her like she's a dead cat!"

"Well, I'm not going to touch her with my bare hands. Are you going to touch her?"

"Gods, I'll do it." He grumbled, annoyed but very aware that Miroku was merely pushing him to do what he would have done anyway. He reached out gingerly, resting his fingertips onto her cold shoulder and nudged her a little roughly, taking his hand back and waiting.

Nothing happened.

Both boys stared down at the girl, each starting to think that she just might be dead. Miroku cleared his throat and pushed against Inuyasha's back, edging him on. "Check her pulse." He emphasized.

Inuyasha shot him another glare over his shoulder. "Would you chill the fuck out? I'll do it, okay?" Again, he moved his attention to the girl, and reached out slowly, grimacing as he touched her neck and felt for a pulse. He let out a sigh of relief when he felt it, surprisingly strong and steady, beating against his thumb. "She's alive." He breathed out, much louder than he'd meant to due to mollification. His fingers stayed where they were as he looked down at the girl, happier than he thought he would have been. And the thought flittered through his mind that she had some pretty damn soft skin considering she was... ah... loose.

Then she moaned, interrupting Miroku's loud shout of relief and rolled over, molding her face into one of pain. "What...?" She mumbled out, her eyes still closed.

Inuyasha stood and glanced at Miroku, his face snapping back into one of seriousness.

"Let's go before she comes-to."

"Shouldn't we see if she's okay?" Miroku asked, his attention still drawn down. "Maybe she'll be thankful and pay us, if you know what I mean." He wiggled his eyebrows.

Inuyasha looked disgustingly at his friend for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. Miroku was a letch, but sometimes he just went too far. "Shut up, you fucking pervert." He answered. "She just got pushed around, it probably happens all the time. Besides," he added, "more likely than not she's drugged up, anyway." The thought sped through his mind, though, that she sure as hell didn't look as if she were on anything. In fact, now that he was getting a better look at her face and body, she looked downright healthy for someone in her line of business.

Her face, first of all, was clean and smooth. Not overly-pimply or scarred in anyway. She could have been in makeup commercials, although her looks were kind of plain. Nothing very stunning. She was a little thin for her length, but she was a streetwalker, so it wasn't all that surprising. He noticed her bright red lips didn't match her skin tone. It made her skin seem almost transparent next to the neon color.

Inuyasha tilted his head as he watched her come to. The more he looked, the more she didn't make sense to him. She didn't smell clean, exactly, but she didn't stink of semen or musk, outside of the four men who had tried to do her in tonight. She smelled more like shrimp, actually. Like the docks he used to visit as a kid, watching the workers as they transported sea creatures.

The girl had rolled onto her side, and he finally got a good view of her age. Slightly taken aback, he kneeled down a bit closer, studying her youthful features. "Gods..." He muttered out, more to himself than to Miroku who was still watching from over his shoulder. "She can't be any older than in her teens..."

It was true; she didn't look a day over twenty at the most. He leaned even closer, as if in a trace, more curious than anything. Wondering how someone her age could ever become what she had. His frown deepened, and he wondered if she even had a place to sleep. Again, he was buried with an onslaught of realization that she just didn't smell or look as if she were homeless.

So lost in his thoughts was he that he didn't notice when her lashes fluttered, or when her lids opened to meet his gaze, and it took him a few seconds before he realized that she was now conscious, and that her blazingly blue-grey eyes were staring right into his.

She seemed dazed, but he was frozen, having been caught red-handed in her personal space. Before he could retreat she sucked in a lung full of air and let out the most agonizing, ear-piercing scream he had ever heard.

Stunned, he didn't hear Miroku shout out a warning, and he definitely didn't see her hand draw back, he just concentrated on flattening his ears to his head. Her scream hurt. His brain caught up with him, however, when her palm connected to his cheek, and he felt a slight stinging sensation spread across the left side of his face.

Her face was wild, scared, and really, he couldn't blame her; she'd probably thought he was one of them. But still, his temper flared, and he shot his head back as if she was on fire, and he glowered down at her. "You bitch, what the hell was that for?!" He yelled, the anger evident in his voice.

"Don't you touch me!" She yelled back, just as furious. "I'll... I'll-" Her voice trailed off and she seemed to fall back into unconsciousness, still rather out of it.

Neither Miroku or Inuyasha spoke for a few seconds, then Miroku's voice broke the silence. "Should we take her to a hospital?"

Inuyasha let out a snort as he stood and brushed gutter grime off his jeans. "Fuck it. The whore slapped me."

"She thought you were about to ravish her."

"I'm not fuckin' like those guys!" He spat, more pissed than he should have been, considering events.

"Yeah, well she doesn't know that." Miroku shot back, his ear-to-ear grin returning. "Dude, she totally bitch-slapped you!"

Inuyasha let out a menacing growl. "Shut up." Then he turned and stalked out of the alleyway. "Let's get the hell out of here. I've worked up an appetite."

"But the girl-"

"Leave her." He cut off his friend and turned the corner, anger rushing through him. Argh! See if he ever helped anyone again. Ungrateful bitch.

Miroku shrugged and followed after his friend, with one last glance back at the girl, then to the guys strewn about her. With a dismissive thought, he turned the corner also, figuring the guys wouldn't be up and around for a few good days anyway.

.o0o.

Only minutes later, Kagome opened her eyes again, weary and in pain. This time no shadowy face loomed over her. Sitting up, she looked around; realization slowly dawning that someone had saved her.

But where had that someone gone?

She turned her aching head towards the opening of the alley, the street sparse, the lamps low, and an image of silver hair and intense, golden eyes floated across her memory. She shook her head, which sent more pain shooting through her, and she reached a tentative hand to her forehead. Ouch.

Slowly she rose to her feet, her ankles wobbling within her boots, now covered in dirt in grime. And blood. Definitely her blood. Her hand moved from her head down to her mouth where she felt dried blood, and she wiped it from her skin.

Her mouth ached, her shoulders ached, her head ached and her stomach ached. She'd been punched and kicked and thrown, but she hadn't been through nearly what those around her had.

She saw the faces of each of her attackers, she saw them and she swallowed back a scream of terror. Bloodied, broken, tortured. She saw them and she turned and ran as best she could back to her home.

The image of her beaten attackers followed her the whole way.

.o0o.

There you are, spiffed up a bit and re-edited on 1/6/09! Hope you enjoyed it!

26 pages of fanfictiony-goodness!

~SugarRos

Next Chapter: Hatched Plans