Hooooly… 108 followers? I've got 111 people following my story? I just… wow. Wow! You guys are amazing, you know, that? Thank you SO MUCH!

So, about this chapter… the first 900 words of this chapter are really the things that started everything off for me. I wrote that scene long before I'd finished the rest of the backstory, or even before I'd nailed down exactly what I wanted to happen for most of it. All I knew was that I wanted this scene, and it's one of my favorite moments in my story so far, at least from a writer's perspective. (Should I be worried about what this may say about my psyche?) (Nah, I'm sure my love for extreme emotional suffering is perfectly normal).

Um… and also… WARNING: Pretty-major-but-still-a-side-character (mostly...) death ahead. I'm so, so sorry. (Well, kind of, anyway). But… I thought you all deserved a heads up.

Brace yourselves.

Shinichi didn't know how long the kidnappers left the gas mask tightened securely over his mouth and nose. It could have been hours. It could have been days. According to the sticky, foul dryness that clung to his throat when he woke up, it had been an eternity.

That first time he awoke, gasping down a deep breath of air that was finally free from the gas's taint, he was only conscious for a few tiny seconds. It was just long enough for his swirling, sluggish thoughts to register that something was wrong, wrong, wrong, but the instant he tried to sit upright, the effort plunged him into darkness again.

The second time he awoke, it took him even longer to come to himself. Really, he didn't even manage to become fully aware of his surroundings. His heart gave one enormous, painful pulse, and he found himself bolting to his feet, enveloped by the raw feelings left over from watching Kiyomi's death—panic, pain, rage, desperation, and horrible, horrible grief—and then he saw a blur of motion coming toward him and he attacked it without thinking, lunging on drugged, unsteady feet, because something was wrong and he had to get out and why couldn't he think and why did he feel so disgusting and unsteady and helpless and miserable and it was all wrong wrong wrong wrongWRONG! There was a startled yelp, a scuffle of noise, and in moments, Shinichi had been thrown harshly against the floor once again by unknown hands, and the hateful mask had been strapped back over his face.

The third time he woke up, the mask was still in place.

Wakefulness blurred into sleep, and for the next day (week? year?) time blended, as well. He couldn't see the sun, trapped in the bare, windowless office. He wasn't coherent enough to take note of his kidnappers' comings and goings. Life was just an endless stream of churning walls, scattered thoughts, and half-formed dreams. The vertigo made him feel sick to his stomach.

A few times, Shinichi was able to make out partial conversations—usually arguments—coming through the door, but even on the few occasions that he could focus on the words, he was powerless to form the information into anything useful. There was one instance, though, that somehow managed to burn itself into his memory, despite his crippled state.

"…just listen, please! He's been like that for long enough! Can't we at least give him a break?"

"I've already reduced the dose as far as I dare!" came Number One's voice in response. "The brat has proven, beyond any doubt, that we can't leave him at his full capabilities—not even for a matter of hours."

If Shinichi didn't know better, he would have said that when Number Two answered he had a raw mixture of fear and anger in his voice as he pled for the safety of their one remaining hostage. "But we can't just leave him like that for weeks on end! Isn't it dangerous? We've been pumping chemicals into his system for who knows how long!"

Number One chuckled darkly. "Dangerous? Of course it's dangerous. I'm confident enough by now that the gas itself is harmless, of course—it's a scientific masterpiece. The fact that he's breathing in anything with such a low amount of oxygen, though… well. If we keep this up for much longer, he'll be drowning on dry land."

"We can't kill him!" Two insisted. "We can't! You promised me, after Kiyomi-chan! And even if you don't care about him, then just think for a minute! You both know as well as I do that if we're going to get that ransom—…"

"Oh, shut up," One had said, sounding both weary and disgusted. "I'm not about to kill him—not unless he forces me to." At this, his tone changed, turning into a dark, merciless growl. "…But I'm not about to let that brat get the best of me again. And if that means that he goes home with brain damage so bad that he's no longer the brilliant 'Shinichi Kudo,' then so be it!"

A burning sensation rose up in Shinichi's eyes and trickled down the side of his head. He barely even realized that he was crying as his breath hitched in his throat. As his breathing increased, so did his intake of the gas, and he lapsed once again into a nightmarish stupor.

Several times, over the next week, those awful words rang in Shinichi's ears. Sometimes, he wondered if his sluggish, distorted thoughts were really just the result of the drug, or if they were also being amplified by his own terror and imagination. Every breath was an agony. Every moment an eternity. He tried to move his arms, but it felt like they were weighted down with lead, and even though he was lying with his arms unbound, he couldn't raise them enough to pluck the detested object off his face.

Every time he woke up enough to be at least semi-coherent, he felt desperation pulling at him to get up, to do something, to think, but every time he tried, he started breathing deeper, struggling to get more air, and as a result he only inhaled more of the noxious gas.

For the first time in his life, something inside of Shinichi shattered—something that he wasn't sure could ever be repaired.

.*.*.*.

Each jolt that went through Shinichi's limp body made his heart pound and his head spin. His face had been free of that dreaded gas mask for a few minutes—as was usual whenever Number Two carried him outside to relieve himself—so he was more coherent than he usually was. It had been either early dawn or late sunset outside. Working at full capacity, it would have been child's play to deduce which, but he was decidedly not in his top form right now. All he knew was that it was barely light outside, which meant that the interior of the warehouse was even darker than usual, lit only by the flashlights and lanterns that the kidnappers had brought to the warehouse after a week or so of staying there. Not that it mattered, anyhow. He only had a minute or two before he would be hooked back up to the drug that had infected his every waking moment like a disease.

Oddly enough, he wasn't nearly as upset by that thought as he had been for the first bit of his drugged imprisonment. Although Shinichi relished the feel of cool, fresh air on his mouth and nose, he had come to loathe the sick, tangled, half-alert sensation of coming off the gas nearly as much as he detested the dense fog that came whenever he was on it. He was numb to most of his surroundings, but at the same time, there was a small part of his brain that seemed to be set on overdrive. Loud sounds and sudden movements were agonizing in their intensity.

For no reason other than sheer force of habit, he still made himself focus on observing what he was able to through his partially clouded senses—the rough fabric of Number Two's shirt sleeves underneath him, the reek of body odor that had built up over months of time, the deep shadows on the walls of the familiar hallway.

Number Two stumbled over a rough spot in the floor, and Shinichi hissed, feeling sweat bead on his face. Two paused for a minute, allowing Shinichi to recover from the unexpected jolt before he continued. A low rumble spread through Two's chest as the man let out a small growl of frustration.

"You couldn't have just stayed put, kid," he murmured at the helpless form in his arms. His voice was resentful and wistful, and he spoke almost as if Shinichi wasn't there. "You couldn't have just waited for us to work things out with your parents. No… you had to play the hero… And now look what's happened to you. To all of us."

Shinichi wasn't even able to muster up the emotional energy to do more than blink in response. It was like someone had carved an enormous hole into his chest, leaving nothing but a numb, aching emptiness. More and more, he found himself not really caring what happened to him now.

Another jolt went through Shinichi's body as Number Two froze in his tracks without warning. He groaned a little, wondering what on earth had made the man stop, but then a muffled sound reached his ears. Yelling. From the main warehouse area, just down the hallway in front of them, came the sound of someone shouting.

Two took off at a run, hoisting Shinichi a little higher as he did. From ahead and a little to their right, Shinichi heard the sounds of somebody else pounding down the stairs in response to the yells. When they reached the main area of the warehouse, Shinichi saw number One racing out ahead of them as he rushed forward to answer Three's cries. The sound of a loud, heavy banging was echoing through the room.

Number Two had only made it about three-fourths of the way across the room when Number One reached the small open area in front of the entrance to the warehouse lobby. Tensing in shock, One skidded to an abrupt halt. Seeing his leader's reaction, Number Two did the same, hanging back from the source of the commotion. Shinichi was just barely able to see Number Three through the aisle that led up to the front, and at the scene that met his eyes, Shinichi felt his heart skip a beat in the first surge of real emotion he'd felt in days. Number Three was pressed firmly against the door, his feet braced against the cement floor. Someone—probably multiple people—were attempting to force their way in.

"Don't just stand there!" Three screamed in an almost hysterical tone. "Help me!"

Before Number One or anyone else could react, a deep, male voice sounded from the other side of the doorway. "This is your final warning—stand down! Now!" the voice ordered. "If you don't open this door, we'll be forced to take more drastic measures!"

Shinichi's heart gave a leap. It was the police. Finally, after months of waiting, they had finally, finally found him. A deep feeling of anxiety twisted in his gut, though, and Shinichi tensed in Number Two's arms. The most dangerous moment of a kidnapping was when the hostage was being taken, but the second most dangerous was during a rescue attempt. Even though he'd been found, there was still a horrible chance that things could go badly wrong.

Another loud banging sound came from the door, and the leader of the men on the other side shouted out another warning. "We're armed, and if we need to, we will not hesitate to shoot! This is your last chance—open this door immediately!" Internally, Shinichi shook his head. He knew a bluff when he heard one. The policemen wouldn't dare try shooting blindly through the door. They knew that the kidnappers still had hostages (one hostage now, Shinichi thought dimly), and they had no clue where Shinichi might be in the building. Number Three, however, seemed to hesitate at the threat, his eyes widening beneath his ski mask as he seemed to assess the risk.

It was enough. With a solid thud, the policemen crashed into the door and forced it open, sending Number Three stumbling backward.

"FREEZE!"

For one tiny, petrified moment, everyone did just that. Three was trembling, and Shinichi couldn't tell whether it was from rage or fear. One stood still as a statue, his eyes as wide as they could go.

But then, of all people, Number Two drew the attention of everyone in the room as he pulled a gun from his belt and cocked it at Shinichi's head in a quick, jerky motion.

Two's soft voice trembled slightly as he spoke his next few words. "Back off. Let us out of here now, or the boy dies."

There were several tense seconds as the policemen took in the situation in front of them. At least half a dozen had rushed into the room as soon as the door had opened, and it looked like there were several more in the hallway.

One of the officers, near the front of the group, opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, his hands held in front of him in a placating gesture. But then a familiar voice sounded from somewhere near the back of the crowd.

"SHINICHI!"

Shinichi's heart fluttered faintly in his chest.

Dad.

"Put him down," Shinichi's father commanded, staring fiercely at Number Two with fire in his eyes. He shouldered his way to the front of the line of policemen, ignoring the whispered protest from the leader of the group of officers.

"You're only making this harder on yourselves this way," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "You're negotiators, right? Well, here's something to think about. My wife is close friends with an extremely talented lawyer. If you shoot him, then I can guarantee that all three of you will be executed after we capture you."

Number Two didn't respond aloud. Instead, he took in a slow, unsteady breath and pressed the barrel of the gun to Shinichi's head.

This is getting nowhere, Shinichi realized as he felt Two's trembling grip tighten around his weakened form. The kidnappers wouldn't release him. The police wouldn't leave until he had been saved. If things continued the way they were going, then the kidnappers would escape with him as their hostage, and the horrid nightmare of the last few weeks might never come to an end. So with the desperation of someone who had nothing to lose, Shinichi took a risk.

"He won't shoot me."

There was a beat of silence as everyone in the room digested whom it was that had spoken and exactly what he had said.

"He won't shoot me," Shinichi repeated, his voice raspy and weak from disuse. "He's never killed anyone himself. The others have, but not him. He has a wife. He has kids. Just take me. He won't shoot."

Another beat. Then, Shinichi's dad took a quiet step forward, his hands raised gently in front of him as if he were approaching a horse that he was afraid to spook.

"D-don't!" Two grated, taking a step back.

In his arms, Shinichi shifted just enough to turn his head upwards and look into Number Two's eyes. The man was breathing heavily. Swallowing once around the roughness in his throat, Shinichi spoke directly to his captor. "You let Kiyomi-chan die," he whispered. "Her dad is going to find out soon that she'll never be coming home. Please. Please don't do that to my dad too. Not right in front of him."

Two's eyes were wide with a terrible mixture of emotions. For a moment, Shinichi was worried that he'd pushed things too far.

Then, oh-so-slightly, Two lowered his gun.

Seeing the motion, hope lit up in Shinichi's father's eyes, and he stepped forward again, stretching out his arms to take back his son. Then, a shout rang across the room, stabbing into Shinichi's still-distorted senses like a knife.

"NO!" Number One yelled, his voice echoing through the warehouse. "Don't you DARE lower that gun! Don't you DARE!"

Two hesitated, looking over towards the leader of his group. Number One had raised his own weapon, aiming it at the mob of policemen in front of him. Slowly, he began moving over towards Number Two and his hostage.

"Nobody move, or I'll shoot," One said, directing his words to the officers. Then, throwing a glance in Two's direction, he said, "You don't have to kill the kid yourself. If everyone cooperates, all four of us will get out of here safely. And if they don't… well, you can hand the brat to me, and I'll make the threats."

Shinichi could feel Two's heart pounding rapidly in his ribcage. The man didn't press his gun back against Shinichi's temple, but he didn't lower it any further, either. Time slowed to a crawl as Number One came towards them. With every step the man took, Shinichi felt a little bit more of his feeble hope draining away. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do. Number One was desperate, and somehow, Shinichi knew that he wouldn't listen to whatever the police said after this. Shinichi's eyes glazed over as he felt himself resign to the idea that he wasn't going to go home. That the nightmare wasn't going to end.

Then, out of nowhere, a gunshot rang through the silence.

There was a brief pause as time froze, and in that split second, nobody moved. Then, Number One slumped forward, wearing an expression of mild surprise, and then his legs crumpled and he fell to the ground, a bullet hole in his head.

Behind him and slightly to one side was a single police officer, his skin stark white and a shell-shocked expression on his face. He held a smoking gun in his hands.

The room exploded into chaos.

Later, Shinichi would only be able to remember the seconds that followed as blurred screenshots of motion and noise. After a confused moment of dizzying commotion, he found himself being dragged behind the nearest shelf by Number Two's rough hands. The sharp sounds of a firefight pierced through the air around them, the smell of gunpowder mixing with the warehouse' s musty scent. Number Three was firing at anything that moved with a scream of terror, rage, and defiance erupting from his throat. The officers had scattered throughout the nearby area, taking cover behind anything they could find. A few were trying to return fire, but if so much as a single hand twitched into Three's line of sight, the man would shoot at it with a feral roar.

Every muscle in Shinichi's body was trembling and tense as he peered around the boxes on the shelf in front of him. Next to him, Number Two was cowering with his hands over his head. The man's gun lay forgotten on the floor. Although Shinichi's instincts were screaming at him to push himself as close to the ground as he could, to make himself a smaller target, to get away from the danger before him, he couldn't force himself to look away. The policemen's flashlights, swinging erratically in the chaos, lit the scene in alternating bursts of darkness and light, painting the room in strobe-light images of violence, anger, and fear.

He wasn't sure what made him shift around to peer to the left side of his hiding place at the particular moment he did. Maybe it was just one more item in his long string of horrible luck. But for whatever reason, he raised himself shakily on his haunches and peered through a gap between the crates he was hiding behind, giving himself a clear view what happened next.

He would spend the next years of his life wishing he hadn't looked.

Forensics would later say that it had probably been an unlucky shot sent from Number Three's gun—a ricochet at an unpredictable angle. The kidnapper had been exchanging rounds with one of the officers at the time, and a stray bullet had apparently hit the back wall or the floor. There were too many marks and holes scattered around from the fight to tell exactly where it had originally hit. Looking to his left, Shinichi didn't see any of that. He didn't see the bullet, or the gun, or the look on the murderer's face as it happened.

But he did see the look on his father's face as the bullet pierced through his father's back.

He did see the scarlet blood seeping slowly from the tiny wound in his father's chest.

He saw when his father's eyes widened in a momentary gasp of pain.

And he saw as his father fell.

A strange ringing filled Shinichi's ears, drowning out all other noise. One moment, his head was pounding from the sounds of gunshots and yelling and footsteps pounding and Number Three's panicked cries. The next, it seemed as if there was no sound at all. A split second ago, things had been moving in slow motion. Now, the world had stopped moving entirely.

Shinichi didn't scream. He didn't cry. His shock eclipsed all other emotion, and the only change in his expression was a slight widening of the eyes and a parting of his lips as he tried to process what had happened. He didn't move. He didn't blink.

And then, Shinichi's vision flashed scarlet.

He wasn't aware of consciously choosing to seize Number Two's gun from the ground beside him. All he knew was that a moment later, he was gripping the cool metal object with both hands. Three wasn't looking their way. His entire focus was on the officers in the front part of the room. So when Shinichi rose to his feet and shifted to move just beyond the cover of the shelves, his weapon raised in front of him, he was unopposed and open to take the shot.

The bullet hit squarely in the center of Three's forearm, shattering bone and forcing Three to release his weapon with a cry of pain. Immediately, the nearest policemen lunged from their hiding spots to grab him. Three stumbled backwards, then turned to run, and Shinichi felt himself lowering his gun with numb hands as he watched.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, Shinichi saw a flash of movement.

Number Two had risen to his feet when he'd realized what Shinichi had done. Now, he was lunging towards him, desperation carved into every line of his body. He was afraid, and irrational, and Shinichi knew without thinking that the man was going to take him hostage again, desperately clinging to the only card he had left. Shinichi stumbled back on unsteady feet, but he knew that he didn't stand a chance of getting away if he tried to run. Heart pounding, Shinichi felt his eyes drift to a spot just behind Number Two. They weren't far from the door to the office where Shinichi had been held for these last unending weeks. And just through the doorway, Shinichi could make out an all-too-familiar collection of gas canisters, glinting dully in the uneven light. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he raised the gun again.

Seven or eight sharp gunshots split the air as Shinichi fired rapidly into the tanks of knockout gas that had been his tormentors for so long. When the bullets pierced the metal, the tanks responded violently, toppling over or shooting into the air as the pressure inside them was released in a rapid stream. Nearly everyone in the room whipped around at the noise, and Shinichi had just enough time to see Number Two stiffen in surprise before a familiar, acrid smell filled his nostrils. The noise of pounding footsteps filled the air as the handful of policemen who were far enough away to hold their breath in time rushed towards them.

Shinichi stumbled as vertigo made the floor spin and buck beneath his feet. Darkness swallowed him, and he collapsed, Number Two dropping in a heap to the ground beside him.