Well, here we go, requisite author's intrusion into an otherwise smoothly blending tale of mystery, romance, drama, and all that other good shit. Firstly, I do NOT own any of the copyrights to any of the characters. I am not making any money off of this personal little project of mine, and if profits are being made somehow... dammit! Where's MY share? All right. Moving along. This fanfiction has appeared online for a while now at varying locations, but this is now the final incarnation. Chapters have been combined for simpler reading, and some light editing has been done, mostly for my missed spelling errors and various grammatical trespasses. Keep in mind that when I wrote this, I hadn't seen past perhaps the first fifteen episodes of Weiss Kruez, so bits of this don't entirely mesh with the further along episodes. Pretend it's some sort of vaguely AU fic if that makes you feel better. Enjoy!
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I watch his empty, expressionless profile from the corner of my eye as I try to hide my shivering. It is bone chillingly cold out and he acts as if it were just another gentle summer day. It doesn't help me any that in a moment of blinding stupidity I left my coat behind, expecting temperate weather this evening to compliment the day. My glare expands to encompass his warm looking trench coat. It's so much easier to hate inanimate objects.
He somehow catches my resentful gaze and turns amethyst eyes my way. "Your attention needs to be focused on the mission. You should already know that. Act on it." Aya turns his attention back to the ground below, intent on following mission protocol to a T.
Sighing, I tuck a few stray hairs behind my ears and try to follow his example, crossing my arms over my chest for warmth. It's going to be a long night, I can tell that already. Our target has no set time to arrive. While Omi and Ken are staked down at the other end of the street, Mr. Silent and I cool our heels several stories above the ground. And when I say cool, I do mean that literally.
We could be up here for hours more. I'm starting to wonder how I'm going to deal with that. Lying in wait is all part and parcel with being in the assassinations business, but last time I checked, freezing your ass off was NOT included in the job description.
With nothing else to amuse my easily distracted mind I try to occupy myself puzzling out Aya's latest blue funk. It seems to me like he's always in the middle of some fit of either deep depression or intense unfocused hatred. It's not as if there were actually anything for him to be unhappy about. When you refuse to connect with the real world, you find it can do little to touch you.
Fuck, but it's cold. It's times like this I wish for an ounce or two of body fat to help me out... I could almost laugh at the sudden stray thoughts that glide through my mind. Maybe I've found a nice solution for myself. If I can't numb my mind with alcohol and drugs, perhaps I can at least desensitize my body with the frigid weather.
I'm hastily distracted from my thoughts when a sharp jabbing elbow in the ribs almost knocks me from my precarious perch on the ledge of the roof. Shit. "Youji, he's over there." He repeats the message into his wrist unit, alerting our two teammates to the situation.
No time for idle or pointless thoughts now. Our eyes meet; communicating without sound, each of us working out our timing by watching the other. We have little time to spare as we attach anchors to the hooked ledge, fully depending on the metal clamps to support our body weight.
Without thinking, I give into the old familiar pattern, unthinkingly tightening the tension of the garroting wire between my gloved fingers. We four hit him all at once. A crossbow bolt tears through his chest, my wire cutting off his air supply and tipping him off balance for all of his superior weight, Ken slashes his lower stomach while everyone's least favorite red head finishes it by driving his katana into his heart.
Panting from the exertion of attempting to control his struggling, I let his body drop to the ground. More winded than I should be, I lean forward, hands on knees, sucking in breath like there's no tomorrow.
Obviously, killing one man is a job for one assassin, but our sources were unsure of who or how many our target traveled with. Like I always say: be prepared, or be dead. That's the one thing I regret about being under our own management now. Any background information we want, we have to gather completely on our own. Well, not me personally. Omi.
Speaking of Omi, he's looking at me as if he's afraid I'm going to keel over. I feel almost as if I might. I'll be okay. I'm just a little dizzy. I almost say the words aloud to reassure him, but realize that there's no plausible reason for my dizziness, and it would only serve to distress him further.
This is what I get for shunning food in favor of alcohol or nothing at all for days on end. I'm just a little lightheaded, if I act normally no one will notice and I won't wind up getting a pointless lecture from anyone. My health is my concern. Scowling, I try to conceal my lightheadedness, and straighten.
"Well, that's all over with. Can we please get out of here?" I try to tuck non-existent stray hairs behind my ears again. I need to stop doing that. It's becoming a habit.
"What's the matter Youji? You pass up a hot date earlier, and now that this is all over ahead of schedule you want to see if she's still available?" Ken teases me. I shrug and smirk in reply. Based on my usual behavior, that's not an entirely illogical assumption.
Aya's glaring at me again. What have I done this time? Most likely nothing at all. These days all it takes to set him off is making the mistake of breathing in a manner that grates on his nerves. Considering how out of breath I was, that may even be the reason now.
"Don't you ever think about anything else?" he grits out, eyes dark and flashing in the lightless night. Or, he could be mad at me for another reason entirely. If I weren't feeling so out of sorts, my internal running monologue might have provided to be more amusing.
Irrationally a spark of anger flares up and catches. I know how temperamental he is, but does he have to focus all the rage on me. "Yeah, you know me. Incapable of thinking of anything but sex and beer. How is it any of your business?" I straighten up to my full height. If it's a fight he wants, it's a fight he'll get. He'll win; he's got the superior fighting skills, and the body mass, but I'll be damned if I'll go down without causing him a little pain first, maybe bust open that smirking mouth of his.
Standing across from me, his fists clench at his sides, I can see that this is quickly going to turn ugly. His face is blanking out, going into mission mode, preparing for senseless, meaningless violence.
"Aya? Youji?" Omi hesitantly steps forward. "There's no reason to fight each other." My eyes dart his direction, catching a flash of large worried eyes. Aya makes no move and I chance another look at Omi. Knowing the kid, if one of us leaps at the other, he'll be in the middle in an instant. Always the peacemaker. I sigh and back down.
"It's not worth it." Wearily I skirt the corner and head for the car. The sooner we're back home, the sooner I can change and go back out again.
Scowling I hurl myself down on the back seat. What would it take to get him off my back, even for a while? I don't ask anything of him. I don't even bother asking for a little respect or even approval. Obviously I'd never be worthy of either of those in his mind. But tolerance? That shouldn't be too hard for him to wrestle with.
Omi opens the door to my right and I move over to make room for him as the rest of Weiss piles into the car; Aya studiously ignoring me while Ken and Omi chatter back and forth trying to lighten up the atmosphere. Even they eventually give up though, and we all sink into defeated silence.
As soon as the car pulls into the garage I'm outside, striding towards the back door. I start pulling off my gloves and shirt before I'm even up the stairs. I just want to get out of here. I discard my working gear and my clothes, trading them in for something slightly warmer but still skintight, my usual style. Now that that's through with I can be on my way.
I pass through the living room on my way out, all three of them looking up as I walk past. Omi from his computer, Ken from a soccer match on the television, and Aya from some book or another.
"Where are you off to?" Omi asks before I can make a clean escape through the front door.
"Out." I plaster that cocky grin onto my face and give a little wave with one hand, nabbing my coat off the back of a chair with the other, before shutting the door behind me.
I can already breath more freely out of those suffocating confines. I make a quick decision and head for my favorite bar. It's time to drown myself in alcohol and drink myself into oblivion. It's late now; almost two in the morning, and a weekday at that, but the bar is still open. That's what kind of bar it is. One or two of my fellow regular patrons give me a slight nod of greeting or recognition before they go back to their own problems.
This isn't one of those cheerful places you go to "meet new people" or to party it up with friends. This is where the loners, the miserable and the depressed wind up. They show up on their own, drink in bitter, brooding solitude, and leave the same way. It's becoming a familiar pattern for me.
I don't even have to order; they already know my usual. Bring a glass and leave the bottle. From far away I can hear my stomach growling, but it's waited this long, it can hold on a while more. I prop my head up on one hand as I down my first shot of many.
How much longer am I supposed to cope with this? I do my best; I focus on missions, and even though I haven't stopped going out every night, I long ago stopped bringing strange women home with me. What more does he want from me, any of them? I'm tired of seeing so much disappointment from everyone.
Angrily I slam the empty glass down and refill it from the now half-empty bottle. This is what it always comes down to: Me, alone in a bar, moping and drunk. I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them that this is what I really do. The whole womanizing wastrel image I worked so hard for is firmly in place. I suppose I should be happy about that.
By the time I've drained the whole bottle I'm decidedly less concerned. This is the high point of all my drinking binges, the approximately thirty minutes I have of complete numbness before the real depression kicks in. I put up with all of that just for those thirty golden minutes.
I sit for a while, enjoying the quiet in my head, smoking a few cigarettes. At least Aya can't complain about me smoking in the house right now. Sighing, I stub out my last and once again scold myself, tell myself that I need to quit. I doubt I'll get around to it before it kills me, but it's nice to think I've got that sort of will power, the illusion of control.
I crumple the empty cardboard box, disliking the sound of cellophane crinkling. I could certainly drink more, I've built up quite an alcohol tolerance over the years, but I'm walking home. I don't fancy taking a tumble or two into the gutter. It's one thing to come home drunk as hell; it's another to come home drunk and covered with dirt like one of the cities many scumbag alcoholics. Which isn't that far off base either way.
I throw my money down on the counter on my way out, the exact price already engraved in my mind, a tip for the bartender for leaving me alone. Only weaving slightly, I head for home. Well, not home. The place I sleep. I don't have a home; I don't think I ever have. I've never had a place I've felt safe and completely comfortable, somewhere that's I've belonged to as wholly as it belonged to me.
Everyone is asleep. Not a surprise really, it's late and they're tired. I can't help thinking it would be nice to find someone waiting up for me, just to see if I'm okay. I'm being ridiculous. Even I know that. I head for my room, hoping to sleep through my melancholy stage when it finally hits. My thirty minutes are up and I have nothing left to keep me going.
I peek in on Ken, and then Omi, making sure they're asleep. Playing daddy, I guess you could say. Aya's door is shut, and I leave it that way. He certainly doesn't need me looking out for him. He's too busy attacking every little thing the rest of the world does to irk him.
Still battling collapse, I kick my boots off, forgetting every promise I'd made to my stomach. It can keep on waiting. My eyes close as soon as my head hits the pillow. Sleep is the only other escape known to me, barring intoxication, of course.
I slowly regain awareness to the sound of arguing. Cracking one eye open I'm blinded by a beam of sunlight from the window above my bed. Growling, I stretch and drag myself out of bed, prepared to cause whoever disturbed my sleep some serious hurt. It isn't anywhere near noon, and my regular morning hangover is egging on my decision to maim and kill.
Grimacing at the foul taste in my mouth and the pounding in my head I stomp down the stairs without even a look in the mirror. Abandoning vanity for irritation I prepare to engage in one hell of a shouting match.
Aya and Ken clam up the second I burst into the kitchen. They look at each other and then me, not saying anything. Shit, this bodes no good. Were they talking about something involving me? My eyes dart back and forth between the two.
"What are you yelling about that requires enough volume to wake me at this time of day?" I growl, reverting to my original problem. I'm not even going to worry about what they were saying. If it's important enough they'll bring it up later. I have no energy for curiosity in the mornings.
Giving me his infamous "death glare", Aya leaves. Cute. Ken blushes and busies himself putting away dishes.
"What was that all about?" I ask, not really expecting an honest answer.
Ken mumbles something intelligible in reply. What? "You want to run that by me again? I didn't catch a single word of that."
"Aya and I were having a not so friendly discussion." He refuses to meet my eyes. "He wants to take you off the team for a while, send you on an enforced vacation. Maybe forever if he has his way."
My mind blanks. I may not have a lot going for me, but this way of life, this career is one of the very few things I can count on always being there. "Why?"
Turning an even odder shade of red, he explains. "Aya believes you're falling apart, that you will be a liability in a fight, or in any spot of importance on a job. He was mentioning how out of shape you seem to be getting, and how little care you're taking of yourself." He puts a stack of plates away in the cupboard before turning around.
"I was trying to convince him otherwise, but he did have a point. You seemed pretty winded yesterday, and I can't even think of the last time I saw you eat. You didn't even go out on a date last night, did you? You just went out and got drunk by yourself." He shakes his head. How did he know that?
"And what if I did?" I shrug, upset for some reason. Why would any of this warrant my removal from Weiss? It's not like this is something new.
Ken looks even more embarrassed if humanly possible. "I didn't say I agreed with him, I trust you to know when you can and cannot do something. I guess you'll have to take it up with Aya. Don't feel as if you have to change his opinion for the security of your job. We're still a team here." He quickly shoves the clean silverware in its proper drawer and hustles out of the kitchen.
I ponder what I've heard while I swallow some Excedrin. Maybe I should go speak to Aya. I'd certainly like to know what's going on here. If he has a problem with me, he needs to take it up with ME.
I wait for a little while for the painkillers to take the edge off of my headache before I go after Aya. It really isn't any of his business how I'm functioning off the job. As long as I show up when I'm needed, don't fuck up, and still manage to work my shifts in the flower shop during the day then he shouldn't have a problem.
I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth it into some semblance of order. It would be better for negotiating purposes if I don't look like a maniac while I try to convince him that I'm all right. Still wearing my rumpled clothing from the night before and feeling more than just a tad grungy, I start a thorough search for the elusive red head.
I finally spot him in the storage room behind the flower shop downstairs. Lucky for me, the store isn't open yet, or I might scare away all the fan girls with my slightly wild appearance. He ignores me when I storm into the cold, dark room, merely moving from flowerbed to flowerbed, watering each equally; an obsessive compulsive hummingbird.
"You want me off the team?" The words are flat, much calmer than I feel. Deceptively so. I could knock him down and strangle him right now. This is the one thing I'm good at. I'm a good assassin, a damned good one. I can't believe he'd deliberately belittle the one thing I have left that I'm worthy of and capable of doing. Scratch that. I can believe he'd do that.
He finally looks up and nods. Discarding me for the flowers he's tending to he pays no attention to my presence. Normally I'd take that as a dismissal and walk off, but not now. Not while this is on the line, not while the only thing holding me together is in danger, while one of the three people left I can really count on wants me gone.
I tear the watering can out of his hand and whirl him around. "You can't just go around talking shit without even mentioning this to me, or telling me a reason why! I'm a part of this team, and you fucking need to understand that!" I grab the front of his shirt.
"You have two options Aya, you either explain to me why it is you're doing this and we'll try to figure out a solution, or you continue to be a stubborn son of a bitch, and I'll continue to be a part of Weiss no matter how much you may despise me." I release the fabric of his shirt and stand back for the verdict.
Glaring at me, Aya picks up the watering can. Fine, he wants to be that way. Growling low in my throat I turn to leave. I stop when he only puts the can away on a shelf. How like him, can't even postpone making things look his way long enough to have a short discussion, and believe you me, I will keep this short.
"You have to ask why I want you gone? You put us all at risk with your careless behavior. You can't even take care of your own body, so why should we trust you to hold up your end when things get tight. How can we expect you to watch our backs when you're running on nothing but liquor and air?"
He tries to push past me out of the room.
"That was part one. Now I know why you want me out, now, what are we going to do about it?" I block him with my body. He managed to talk to me without dying a horrible slow death, let's see if he can do it again.
I narrow my eyes, starting in whether he's ready or not. "What makes you think I can't take care of myself? I've certainly managed to survive this long; I'm certainly not going to die off this far into the game."
I jab him in the chest with my index finger. "Why won't you admit that? Do you dislike not being able to control every aspect of this unit? Are you going to attack Ken next because he spends most afternoons playing soccer with the kids instead of paying homage to the greatness that is Weiss Kruez? Is that now a liability somehow too?"
"How are those two related?" he explodes. "There's a unbridgeable gap between drinking yourself into a stupor each night and playing soccer with children in the afternoon after your shift. And speaking of shifts, when was the last time you showed up for work on time?"
I splutter, "I show up on time! That's another thing you honestly have no right to accuse me of!"
"Yeah, after Ken or Omi come pounding at your door ten minutes before you're due to show up downstairs?" he shoots back coolly, arms crossed over his chest defensively.
Here we go again. A repeat of last night. Next he'll get angry at me about non-existent dates I supposedly go on. How the hell would he know if I were running on alcohol or not? He certainly lacks Ken and Omi's perceptions, and it's not like he follows me around, keeping track of when I do or don't eat. Who cares if he's right? It's the principal that matters. Innocent until proven guilty.
"What is it you want me to do? You seem to feel you can dictate my life, so what is it you think I should do? What would get you off my back?" I raise one eyebrow, trying to reign in my anger. I haven't been this irritable since I last ran out of conditioner and had to use Ken's cheap shit from a drug store.
"I doubt you'd listen if I told you." He pushes past me, this time using his extra weight to his advantage.
I scowl after him, unable to think of a reason to chase after him and give him a piece of my mind. I already said that if he didn't work to meet me halfway then I'd go right on doing the things that so enraged him. He refused, and rather ineloquently at that, so it's back in my hands.
Glancing at my watch I try to calm down and decide whether or not to go back to sleep. Maybe he was right about my not showing up on time. I try to push that thought out of my head. He can't be right about that, because if he's correct in one area, the same might apply to the others as well, and what does he know? Antisocial bastard.
I find myself absently trying to untangle my hair. Maybe I'll just stay up long enough for a shower. I feel so unkempt right now. That's not something I'll ever tolerate. I guess that stems from my ladies-man days when I actually cared who I might bump into at any time. These days my only companions really couldn't give a shit whether or not I stink of expensive cologne.
Trudging up stairs I can already tell I'm going to have to wait. The air is muggy from the steam spiraling out under the door, the air resonating with the annoying patter of shower water connecting with the tub bottom. I bang on the door.
"Who is it?" Omi's voice calls out, muffled by the door and the sound of running water.
"Can I come in? I just need to use the sink."
I can't understand a word of his reply, so I just decide that it must mean 'yes' in some odd language. Smothering foggy air rushes out into the cooler air of the hallway immediately condensing on my skin.
Unbearably bright morning sunlight streaks in through the pebbled glass of the window. I've never understood what would bring a person to put a big window in their bathroom. I guess it's just me. I go for the entire exhibitionist dog-and-pony-show shit, yeah, but not in bathrooms. Bathrooms just seem sort of 'private' to me, vulgar almost.
"Who is it?" Omi repeats.
"Just me. I need to use the sink." I dampen my hands and slick them through my hair before following their path with a comb, fixing up the worst of it.
"Have you talked to Aya yet?" He sounds suddenly apprehensive. Oh damn, are they all in this?
"About what?" I hurl my tube of toothpaste down on the counter, thoughts of murder in my head. I wonder if you could stab someone to death with a toothbrush. If Aya were in the room right this very moment I think I honestly would give it a try. Put out his eye with the handle at least...
"Oh, I'm not sure. He just said he had something to talk to you about." The hollow clunk of him dropping the shampoo bottle startles me. "Ow!"
"You okay Omi?" I hope he dropped it and broke his fucking toe. Well, no, I don't wish that. It's not his fault. I swipe my sleeve across the fogged up mirror, peering into my own bloodshot eyes. Confused, exhausted, pea green eyes glare back through a film of water.
"Yeah." He grunts back, a very un-Omi like sound. "I just banged up my foot." The water pattern changed, most likely as he's bending to pick up the bottle. Several non-sensical yet still amusing 'don't drop the soap' jokes flit through my mind. Damn, but I'm perverted, even mornings can't dampen that.
I brush my teeth, trying to eliminate the horrible taste left in my mouth by my recent drinking binge, while ordering my thoughts and eliminating my anger. I try not to act in an illogical manner, driven by emotions. It's hard sometimes, but I do try.
I rinse out my mouth and open the door. "Thanks."
"No problem, oh, and please make sure you talk to Aya, it's seemed important." Omi's back to his old cheerful care-taking self. I wonder what he'd say if I showed up five minutes later and booted him out of the shower so I could wash Aya's lifeblood off of me.
I bite my lip and clamp down on my murderous thoughts. I can't react this way. I just need to calm down and get over it. It doesn't MATTER what he thinks. It hasn't before, why should it now?
I bump into him coming up the stairs as I'm headed down. He looks somewhat startled to see me up and about still. Well, he does for all of three seconds before he goes back to playing Wax Museum Man, my newest favorite superhero.
"I'm supposed to ask you if you'll trade the end of Ken's afternoon shift for your morning tomorrow." He bites off every word with enough force to kill a hundred targets, consonants crisp and concise. Gee, he doesn't have to sound so gleeful about everything.
He wants to push me down the stairs; when I walk past him I can see it in his eyes. Of all the churlish, immature things to do...
Knowing what he wants to do, I can't help but jerk back when his hand comes to rest on my shoulder. "Go EAT something. Ken can hold down shop on his own for a while. It's slow in the mornings."
His shoulders draw together as he trudges up the stairs, feeling my eyes following him all the way up. That was odd. I expected to be hurled down the stairs. I wonder if my limbs would have snapped like twigs by the time I hit the bottom. I wonder if anyone would notice if I didn't directly block up the stairwell.
I see very little I'd ever consider eating in the fridge. Shrugging, I trudge over to the cabinets, looking for anything even vaguely edible. Well, we have bread. The factory made sort, white and spongy. I tear the crust off of a slice and ball up the malleable center.
It tastes odd in my mouth, the flavor lingering in my mouth long afterwards. I drink water until I feel sick, but I can't get the taste off my tongue. I think I was happier with the toothpaste.
"You're looking particularly well-groomed today, Youji. So, can you take over my extended shift in the afternoon?" Ken asks as he flips over the Open/Close sign.
"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Kenken. Sure, no problem." I ruffle on his hair, laughing at his miffed expression. He's such an wholesome young thing. He and Omi even out my jaded attitude and Aya's complete lack of compassion perfectly. What a well-rounded team we are. I snort to myself.
The day goes much as I expected it to. Long, tiring, and full of me avoiding Aya and vice versa. None of my fan girls seem deterred by my grizzled appearance, or my lethargic, cantankerous attitude.
When my double shift is finally over around dinnertime I head for bed for an unheralded nap. My energy levels are flagging well below a healthy level. I just want to rest for a little while. Scrubbing at my eyes, I bump into Omi.
He's reading from a stack of papers. Fortunately, his grip on the sheets of computer paper is tight, or I'd be busy scrambling around now, trying to scoop them all back up.
"Information on a new job for tonight." He looks up, blowing blond bangs out of his eyes.
"Shit." What else can I say? I'm coming to dread missions; for all that they have become a much-needed part of my life. I dread the exhaustion, the pointless deaths, and the routine actions. But I also crave them. I don't have to think. I hear the right command and I'm nothing but pure instinct. Shielded in the complete anonymity of the night.
"How many needed for this hit?" I query, trying to decide whether or not I want in on this.
"All of us." His voice implies that this should have been obvious from the start.
"Am I actually required to read the files, or can someone give me a 'Reader's Digest' condensed version later?" Lazily I twitch the corner of a paper, thinking of my poor aching head and the strife to come if he says 'no' to my latter request.
"I can explain it all later," he offers helpfully.
"That would be greatly appreciated. You're going to take over my shift now, right?" I pause to make sure before leaving. One less thing for Aya to jump on me about.
His nod is all I need; I head back to the comforting cushion of my bed. I'm just a little dizzy, nothing to worry about. Sleep now, fight later, and then I can go get drunk. I'm falling into a bit of rut, but at least it's predictable, and offers escape every now and then.
Another cold night, another kill to complete. The only differences are; this time I at least have my coat, and we're inside. Granted, the whir of machinery all around causes quite the breeze, impairing our hearing as well. We'll just have to cope.
We're supposed to wind up with a disk containing vital information. After we kill several well-guarded businessmen, of course. I'm wondering what our targets are doing hanging around in a factory in the middle of the night. There's no understanding these rich fanatics anymore.
Ours is not to reason why, but to kill without thought or mercy. The click of heels on cement alerts us to the patrolling security guards' where abouts. Us meaning Omi and I. I don't exactly look forward to going up against the well muscled, obviously capably trained watchmen. They aren't the overweight, aging, run of the mill regulars you'd expect to see in any regular place of business or manufacturing. One would have to assume that something exists within the premise that actually needs guarding.
The kid's nervous, hand on his crossbow at all times. I can relate. There's nowhere to go here, confined to the building as we are. My eyes follow the light beam of the security guards. He won't see us up on the catwalk. If we're lucky we won't do anything he can hear either.
"I've located the targets." Ken's voice crackles in my ear; the communication units we use aren't audible to the outside world. "North-West corner, small office sector. Well lit. You'll see it." He's whispering into the receiving end of the device to avoid detection.
Omi and I silently glide towards the west side of the darkened factory. The catwalks canvas the whole of the factory, massive as it may be. They, for the most part, hang only a story or two above the ground. We can safely jump down at any point as long as we take care in landing.
I almost trip over Aya's crouching form. He glares up even as he steadies me. One finger rises up in front of his lips in the universally known sign for silence. No shit, Aya, what does he think I'm going to do, start singing pop songs at the top of my lungs. I haven't been in this business for all these years only to blow it now by being too loud.
I kneel next to him. "Why aren't you moving in closer?" I whisper against his ear, barely breathing. It's an art I've practiced for a long while, speaking without over emphasizing any consonants, yet still making my words completely intelligibly.
"I'm to be the distraction." He replies just as noiselessly. "Did you even bother to read the notes on tonight?"
The guilty grin that steals across my face is met with a disgusted looking sneer. He mouths, "Why am I not surprised." I don't know Aya, is it because you should know by now that I won't waste my time with trivialities? Is it because you're such an asshole you automatically assume the worst about everyone regardless of whether it is true or not?
I give him a hard blow to the shoulder, disguised as a pat of camaraderie. He scowls at me as I pass, the illumination from above glinting off his slitted eyes, the only visible part of him in this darkness. Omi smiles at us, not understanding. He's naïve like that, always believing the best of everyone and being shocked when he finds he's misread someone's not so honorable intentions.
I motion forward, trusting the blonde assassin to follow behind. After years of working together we've got the body language based communications down pat. We don't make a single sound as we scurry across the metal worked plating under our feet, the hard soles of our shoes muffled with cork fittings.
The oasis of illumination is visible even from a distance. These businessmen sure like their lights. For all that their dealings are dark, they don't do so well without their day vision. It's one of those odd ironies I get caught pondering when I'm drunk out of my mind and don't have any other topics readily available.
Ken's voice comes to life in my ear again, startling me. "Guard coming your way, big guy, armed with a gun, be careful. He's actually checking the catwalks, smarter than the rest. Almost saw me. Careful." He cautions before cutting communications again.
Wide blue eyes look at mine, both of us having received the same transmission. He looks around, obviously wondering where we're going to go to avoid being seen. I have a pretty good idea. I grab a hold of one of the ceiling support cables coming down and start to shimmy upwards. Omi catches on in a matter of seconds, picking a second one and making his way up. The ceiling is one of those conveniently criss-crossed with enormous solid metal beams. It's a good enough roost for a short while.
I hit the talk button on my wrist unit that will send my words directly to Ken and Ken alone. "Safe for now. Keep us posted on any further dangers. Make sure Aya knows, he's further down." I settle down, it's not fun to sit on hard metal when you're as bony as I am. Every sharp ridge of your bones is met with resistance, pinching your skin in a most uncomfortable manner.
I can see the flashlight playing about the catwalks as he comes by. I cannot see the man himself. He's behind the light, shielded from my view, as I am from his. He walks briskly; this is a routine check for him. He doesn't expect to actually find anyone lurking around. As all good employees must, he's catering to the whims of his employers.
"Should we drop him now. One less worry if we can manage without alerting others." I cannot see Omi, but I know he'll hear the words through the com link.
"Yes." The reply is brisk. It's never fun when the kid's in business mode. It makes me feel less professional somehow, me being years older and caring infinitely less than he does. I figure, why should I get uptight and worry about events to come. I've proven to myself time and time again that I can look out for not only myself, but the rest of Weiss as well, if that's what's required.
I drop to the ground level on silent, undetected feet. Omi comes at him from the side; I do my usual 'come up behind and choke with garroting wire' routine. He doesn't have a chance to get word out. We're still safe, so are Aya and Ken. Now that one of the few intelligent people around here is out, it makes it all that much easier.
"The guard is taken care of. Wherever you went to avoid being seen, you're safe now. Any sightings of our primary objective?" I contact Ken, speaking of the disk we're really here for.
"Yes, I know who has it. It's time for the distraction to start. You two pick up the pace and get over here." There's that tinny ring behind his words signally that it's an open broadcast to the three of us.
Almost immediately a loud crash resonates throughout the building. Good luck Aya, hopefully you won't need it. The pattering of footsteps dashing to find the source of the noise is our signal. It's easier now that we don't have to stay up on the catwalks, trying to be dead silent. Whatever the hell Aya is doing is causing so much noise it easily drowns out our running feet.
Ken's in trouble. Well, he's in trouble if you count being backed into a corner with ten guns trained on you 'trouble'. Omi loosens a couple of arrows into the few remaining guards.
"Get the target!" He yells to me, preparing for another round. Ken's slashing like mad at the remaining defenders. More are showing up every second. Time to work, find the targets. They're in the glass walled office, watching the events with nonchalant faces and cowardly eyes. How typical.
My booted foot lashes out, kicking the door open. I'm met with looks of astonishment. My long coat swirls around my legs; I don't know how I look, but I feel like some sort of damned caped crusader. Not exactly a glorious image, but since they're playing along, I might just be nice and kill them quickly.
Of course, they're not just going to stand still to let me strangle them, the inconvenience of my chosen weapon. I've got to subdue them first and then cut off their air at my leisure. Hopefully, I'll knock a few skulls open during the soon to ensue struggle.
In a wave they rush for the door, somehow thinking I'll just step to the side and let them through. Six flabby out of shape, unarmed people don't make that effective of a wave. My feet connecting with their heads and stomachs does a much better job of turning the tide.
Four down on the ground, two to go, they're the smart ones who stayed in the back and are now retreating. I'm so intent on what I'm doing that I don't even see the blur of human flesh coming at me until it slams me into a wall full force. I can internally hear my ribs sounding like snapped twigs.
For a moment I cannot breath, the very air crushed out of my lungs. A fist grips my hair, pulling my head around in time to be met by the other fist in a mind-jarring blow. Gathering up my wits with a painful shake of my head, I wrench out of the man's grasp, ignoring his heavy scowling face and concentrating on getting the gun away from him before he thinks to use it.
Taking the first thoughts that enter my head and just running with what they tell me, I let him think he has the upper hand, let his next blow to my face connect, while I lean to the side and grab the weapon out of his holster. He takes a second to think it over, but decides that a gun pointed at his head is a good enough reason to back off.
He holds up his hands, trying to look wronged, and bereft of harmful thoughts. Asking for mercy. Mercy isn't something I do so well with. His blood splatters across my face; shooting him at such a close range was a stupid idea.
Figuring it's a lot easier to off someone with a loaded pistol, rather than garroting wire, I fire on the two conscious targets, and then the four down ones. Being the efficient little assassin that I am, I check all of them for a pulse, satisfying myself that they are in fact dead.
"That one has the information we need." Ken stands in the doorway, pointing to one of the downed businessmen. "In his briefcase." The clarification doesn't help any. There are several leather briefcases lying scattered on the floor. Sighing, Ken pushes me aside, pausing to wipe his claws on some random dead person's clothing. Cute. He grabs up one of the now slightly dinged cases. He simply rips it apart when the locked catches won't give. I catch the jewel case as it flies through the air towards my head. After checking to make sure the CD really is inside, I slip it into my pocket.
Taking a deep breath, I push the last bit of pain into the back of my mind, trying to bring on the feel of a numbing alcohol binge. It's almost enough to make me scream, every indrawn breath, but if I can just distance myself from that... My eyes squeeze shut as I concentrate on not feeling anything.
"You alright Youji?" Ken hesitantly steps a little closer. My eyes open, too wide for normality, I know, but I'm pretty sure none of the pain shows through.
"Yeah. I'm fine. And what do you know. I didn't fuck up here, did I? Won't Aya be horrendously upset?" I take a deep breath and stomp out of the room, fueling myself with raw self-righteousness and anger. Omi and Aya stand, waiting for the mission to be over. We have the information; we've killed the necessary people, nothing more to do really.
"Let's go." I flatly spit out, the anger actually rising when I see the blank expression on Aya's face. You'd think he could at least have the decency to be visibly disappointed that I didn't fall in battle, or at least wind up completely battered and broken to prove him right.
As a unit we head for the side entrance we used to sneak in here to begin with. I don't hear the cocking of the gun so much as see the glint of phosphorous lighting from below on the barrel of his gun. Without thinking I hurl myself sideways, knocking down Aya and Omi in the process. I can actually feel the rush of air following in the bullets wake across my cheek.
I start to roll to the side, only to feel something in my ribs give; I muffle the harsh cry of agony against my sleeve. Oh fuck, fuck, FUCK! Now that hurt. More than hurt.
Careless hands grab me under the elbows, yanking me to my feet and dragging my reeling body behind the relative shielding of a story high metal vat. My vision is blurring with pain tears that I try desperately to dash away.
"What have you done to yourself this time?" Flat, not caring, just looking for an argument. Aya, of course. I don't think anyone else in the world could master that tone so well.
"My day was just lacking that special something, so I decided to go and smash up my own ribs." I gasp for breath as my sides warn me in the only way they know how to that my rolling about on the ground isn't an agreeable action for them. The smooth cool leather of my gloves feels excessively rough as I scrub at my still watering eyes. So much for pretending it all away.
"Broken?" He reaches for the seal of my jacket much to my vexation. Do I look like a child? Does he think I don't know how my ribs feel when they're broken? A second shot rings out, what if he got Ken or Omi!?
I push myself up, gritting my teeth as I go. My eyes squinch up against the dark, trying to pick out the paleness of blond hair, or the shine off of goggles. Neither. Another shot. Two of them. I can hear a loud yelp of pain before the hollow thump of a body connecting with concrete.
"You guys all okay?" Omi. Breathless, unnerved.
"Yeah, okay here. I've got Aya with me." I call back, just as shaky. That was just plain careless of us. It's folly to assume that all your enemies are down until you've actually gone out and taken a damned body count. Where's Ken.
"What happened?" There he is.
"He was up there waiting for us. I fixed in on the shots and got him." Omi and Ken suddenly appear right next to me, Omi's shouldering his crossbow. "That was careless of us." He adds, restating my thoughts.
I nod, not that anyone can see that much in the darkness. "Everyone alright then? No one hurt?" Two affirmative replies and one vaguely positive sounding grunt from Aya. "Let's get out of here before anything else bad happens!" I rake shaking fingers through my hair.
Keeping my posture rigid, I slowly begin to fall behind. The quiet and peace is nice, no one shooting at us, trying to repay our previous actions to their employers. For all that every step makes my breath catch and my muscles tense up, it's almost nice in a creepy sort of way. Until Aya drops back to walk next to me.
"You need to get your ribs taken care of when we get back." He states. "Even if it interferes with your plans to go out and get drunk." The scorn is there, as if he's positive that I'd put my own alcohol dependencies ahead of my physical health. Maybe I would, but who is he to judge? He puts his job before his emotions and his own life not to mention the lives of his teammates.
I say as much but receive no answer. What can he really say though? There isn't much you can say to counter the accusation that you're a heartless bastard when you know that you are one.
As alert and high-strung as we are now, we don't catch any more signs of survivors. Either we're lucky and they're all dead, or the remaining few were smart enough to run and hide. The car is still where we left it, of course. Time to go home. Then I can get someone to jab their fingers into my broken ribs trying to see how much agony they can cause me before actually doing something to fix up the root of the problem. Or maybe I'm just being optimistic.
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I watch his empty, expressionless profile from the corner of my eye as I try to hide my shivering. It is bone chillingly cold out and he acts as if it were just another gentle summer day. It doesn't help me any that in a moment of blinding stupidity I left my coat behind, expecting temperate weather this evening to compliment the day. My glare expands to encompass his warm looking trench coat. It's so much easier to hate inanimate objects.
He somehow catches my resentful gaze and turns amethyst eyes my way. "Your attention needs to be focused on the mission. You should already know that. Act on it." Aya turns his attention back to the ground below, intent on following mission protocol to a T.
Sighing, I tuck a few stray hairs behind my ears and try to follow his example, crossing my arms over my chest for warmth. It's going to be a long night, I can tell that already. Our target has no set time to arrive. While Omi and Ken are staked down at the other end of the street, Mr. Silent and I cool our heels several stories above the ground. And when I say cool, I do mean that literally.
We could be up here for hours more. I'm starting to wonder how I'm going to deal with that. Lying in wait is all part and parcel with being in the assassinations business, but last time I checked, freezing your ass off was NOT included in the job description.
With nothing else to amuse my easily distracted mind I try to occupy myself puzzling out Aya's latest blue funk. It seems to me like he's always in the middle of some fit of either deep depression or intense unfocused hatred. It's not as if there were actually anything for him to be unhappy about. When you refuse to connect with the real world, you find it can do little to touch you.
Fuck, but it's cold. It's times like this I wish for an ounce or two of body fat to help me out... I could almost laugh at the sudden stray thoughts that glide through my mind. Maybe I've found a nice solution for myself. If I can't numb my mind with alcohol and drugs, perhaps I can at least desensitize my body with the frigid weather.
I'm hastily distracted from my thoughts when a sharp jabbing elbow in the ribs almost knocks me from my precarious perch on the ledge of the roof. Shit. "Youji, he's over there." He repeats the message into his wrist unit, alerting our two teammates to the situation.
No time for idle or pointless thoughts now. Our eyes meet; communicating without sound, each of us working out our timing by watching the other. We have little time to spare as we attach anchors to the hooked ledge, fully depending on the metal clamps to support our body weight.
Without thinking, I give into the old familiar pattern, unthinkingly tightening the tension of the garroting wire between my gloved fingers. We four hit him all at once. A crossbow bolt tears through his chest, my wire cutting off his air supply and tipping him off balance for all of his superior weight, Ken slashes his lower stomach while everyone's least favorite red head finishes it by driving his katana into his heart.
Panting from the exertion of attempting to control his struggling, I let his body drop to the ground. More winded than I should be, I lean forward, hands on knees, sucking in breath like there's no tomorrow.
Obviously, killing one man is a job for one assassin, but our sources were unsure of who or how many our target traveled with. Like I always say: be prepared, or be dead. That's the one thing I regret about being under our own management now. Any background information we want, we have to gather completely on our own. Well, not me personally. Omi.
Speaking of Omi, he's looking at me as if he's afraid I'm going to keel over. I feel almost as if I might. I'll be okay. I'm just a little dizzy. I almost say the words aloud to reassure him, but realize that there's no plausible reason for my dizziness, and it would only serve to distress him further.
This is what I get for shunning food in favor of alcohol or nothing at all for days on end. I'm just a little lightheaded, if I act normally no one will notice and I won't wind up getting a pointless lecture from anyone. My health is my concern. Scowling, I try to conceal my lightheadedness, and straighten.
"Well, that's all over with. Can we please get out of here?" I try to tuck non-existent stray hairs behind my ears again. I need to stop doing that. It's becoming a habit.
"What's the matter Youji? You pass up a hot date earlier, and now that this is all over ahead of schedule you want to see if she's still available?" Ken teases me. I shrug and smirk in reply. Based on my usual behavior, that's not an entirely illogical assumption.
Aya's glaring at me again. What have I done this time? Most likely nothing at all. These days all it takes to set him off is making the mistake of breathing in a manner that grates on his nerves. Considering how out of breath I was, that may even be the reason now.
"Don't you ever think about anything else?" he grits out, eyes dark and flashing in the lightless night. Or, he could be mad at me for another reason entirely. If I weren't feeling so out of sorts, my internal running monologue might have provided to be more amusing.
Irrationally a spark of anger flares up and catches. I know how temperamental he is, but does he have to focus all the rage on me. "Yeah, you know me. Incapable of thinking of anything but sex and beer. How is it any of your business?" I straighten up to my full height. If it's a fight he wants, it's a fight he'll get. He'll win; he's got the superior fighting skills, and the body mass, but I'll be damned if I'll go down without causing him a little pain first, maybe bust open that smirking mouth of his.
Standing across from me, his fists clench at his sides, I can see that this is quickly going to turn ugly. His face is blanking out, going into mission mode, preparing for senseless, meaningless violence.
"Aya? Youji?" Omi hesitantly steps forward. "There's no reason to fight each other." My eyes dart his direction, catching a flash of large worried eyes. Aya makes no move and I chance another look at Omi. Knowing the kid, if one of us leaps at the other, he'll be in the middle in an instant. Always the peacemaker. I sigh and back down.
"It's not worth it." Wearily I skirt the corner and head for the car. The sooner we're back home, the sooner I can change and go back out again.
Scowling I hurl myself down on the back seat. What would it take to get him off my back, even for a while? I don't ask anything of him. I don't even bother asking for a little respect or even approval. Obviously I'd never be worthy of either of those in his mind. But tolerance? That shouldn't be too hard for him to wrestle with.
Omi opens the door to my right and I move over to make room for him as the rest of Weiss piles into the car; Aya studiously ignoring me while Ken and Omi chatter back and forth trying to lighten up the atmosphere. Even they eventually give up though, and we all sink into defeated silence.
As soon as the car pulls into the garage I'm outside, striding towards the back door. I start pulling off my gloves and shirt before I'm even up the stairs. I just want to get out of here. I discard my working gear and my clothes, trading them in for something slightly warmer but still skintight, my usual style. Now that that's through with I can be on my way.
I pass through the living room on my way out, all three of them looking up as I walk past. Omi from his computer, Ken from a soccer match on the television, and Aya from some book or another.
"Where are you off to?" Omi asks before I can make a clean escape through the front door.
"Out." I plaster that cocky grin onto my face and give a little wave with one hand, nabbing my coat off the back of a chair with the other, before shutting the door behind me.
I can already breath more freely out of those suffocating confines. I make a quick decision and head for my favorite bar. It's time to drown myself in alcohol and drink myself into oblivion. It's late now; almost two in the morning, and a weekday at that, but the bar is still open. That's what kind of bar it is. One or two of my fellow regular patrons give me a slight nod of greeting or recognition before they go back to their own problems.
This isn't one of those cheerful places you go to "meet new people" or to party it up with friends. This is where the loners, the miserable and the depressed wind up. They show up on their own, drink in bitter, brooding solitude, and leave the same way. It's becoming a familiar pattern for me.
I don't even have to order; they already know my usual. Bring a glass and leave the bottle. From far away I can hear my stomach growling, but it's waited this long, it can hold on a while more. I prop my head up on one hand as I down my first shot of many.
How much longer am I supposed to cope with this? I do my best; I focus on missions, and even though I haven't stopped going out every night, I long ago stopped bringing strange women home with me. What more does he want from me, any of them? I'm tired of seeing so much disappointment from everyone.
Angrily I slam the empty glass down and refill it from the now half-empty bottle. This is what it always comes down to: Me, alone in a bar, moping and drunk. I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them that this is what I really do. The whole womanizing wastrel image I worked so hard for is firmly in place. I suppose I should be happy about that.
By the time I've drained the whole bottle I'm decidedly less concerned. This is the high point of all my drinking binges, the approximately thirty minutes I have of complete numbness before the real depression kicks in. I put up with all of that just for those thirty golden minutes.
I sit for a while, enjoying the quiet in my head, smoking a few cigarettes. At least Aya can't complain about me smoking in the house right now. Sighing, I stub out my last and once again scold myself, tell myself that I need to quit. I doubt I'll get around to it before it kills me, but it's nice to think I've got that sort of will power, the illusion of control.
I crumple the empty cardboard box, disliking the sound of cellophane crinkling. I could certainly drink more, I've built up quite an alcohol tolerance over the years, but I'm walking home. I don't fancy taking a tumble or two into the gutter. It's one thing to come home drunk as hell; it's another to come home drunk and covered with dirt like one of the cities many scumbag alcoholics. Which isn't that far off base either way.
I throw my money down on the counter on my way out, the exact price already engraved in my mind, a tip for the bartender for leaving me alone. Only weaving slightly, I head for home. Well, not home. The place I sleep. I don't have a home; I don't think I ever have. I've never had a place I've felt safe and completely comfortable, somewhere that's I've belonged to as wholly as it belonged to me.
Everyone is asleep. Not a surprise really, it's late and they're tired. I can't help thinking it would be nice to find someone waiting up for me, just to see if I'm okay. I'm being ridiculous. Even I know that. I head for my room, hoping to sleep through my melancholy stage when it finally hits. My thirty minutes are up and I have nothing left to keep me going.
I peek in on Ken, and then Omi, making sure they're asleep. Playing daddy, I guess you could say. Aya's door is shut, and I leave it that way. He certainly doesn't need me looking out for him. He's too busy attacking every little thing the rest of the world does to irk him.
Still battling collapse, I kick my boots off, forgetting every promise I'd made to my stomach. It can keep on waiting. My eyes close as soon as my head hits the pillow. Sleep is the only other escape known to me, barring intoxication, of course.
I slowly regain awareness to the sound of arguing. Cracking one eye open I'm blinded by a beam of sunlight from the window above my bed. Growling, I stretch and drag myself out of bed, prepared to cause whoever disturbed my sleep some serious hurt. It isn't anywhere near noon, and my regular morning hangover is egging on my decision to maim and kill.
Grimacing at the foul taste in my mouth and the pounding in my head I stomp down the stairs without even a look in the mirror. Abandoning vanity for irritation I prepare to engage in one hell of a shouting match.
Aya and Ken clam up the second I burst into the kitchen. They look at each other and then me, not saying anything. Shit, this bodes no good. Were they talking about something involving me? My eyes dart back and forth between the two.
"What are you yelling about that requires enough volume to wake me at this time of day?" I growl, reverting to my original problem. I'm not even going to worry about what they were saying. If it's important enough they'll bring it up later. I have no energy for curiosity in the mornings.
Giving me his infamous "death glare", Aya leaves. Cute. Ken blushes and busies himself putting away dishes.
"What was that all about?" I ask, not really expecting an honest answer.
Ken mumbles something intelligible in reply. What? "You want to run that by me again? I didn't catch a single word of that."
"Aya and I were having a not so friendly discussion." He refuses to meet my eyes. "He wants to take you off the team for a while, send you on an enforced vacation. Maybe forever if he has his way."
My mind blanks. I may not have a lot going for me, but this way of life, this career is one of the very few things I can count on always being there. "Why?"
Turning an even odder shade of red, he explains. "Aya believes you're falling apart, that you will be a liability in a fight, or in any spot of importance on a job. He was mentioning how out of shape you seem to be getting, and how little care you're taking of yourself." He puts a stack of plates away in the cupboard before turning around.
"I was trying to convince him otherwise, but he did have a point. You seemed pretty winded yesterday, and I can't even think of the last time I saw you eat. You didn't even go out on a date last night, did you? You just went out and got drunk by yourself." He shakes his head. How did he know that?
"And what if I did?" I shrug, upset for some reason. Why would any of this warrant my removal from Weiss? It's not like this is something new.
Ken looks even more embarrassed if humanly possible. "I didn't say I agreed with him, I trust you to know when you can and cannot do something. I guess you'll have to take it up with Aya. Don't feel as if you have to change his opinion for the security of your job. We're still a team here." He quickly shoves the clean silverware in its proper drawer and hustles out of the kitchen.
I ponder what I've heard while I swallow some Excedrin. Maybe I should go speak to Aya. I'd certainly like to know what's going on here. If he has a problem with me, he needs to take it up with ME.
I wait for a little while for the painkillers to take the edge off of my headache before I go after Aya. It really isn't any of his business how I'm functioning off the job. As long as I show up when I'm needed, don't fuck up, and still manage to work my shifts in the flower shop during the day then he shouldn't have a problem.
I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth it into some semblance of order. It would be better for negotiating purposes if I don't look like a maniac while I try to convince him that I'm all right. Still wearing my rumpled clothing from the night before and feeling more than just a tad grungy, I start a thorough search for the elusive red head.
I finally spot him in the storage room behind the flower shop downstairs. Lucky for me, the store isn't open yet, or I might scare away all the fan girls with my slightly wild appearance. He ignores me when I storm into the cold, dark room, merely moving from flowerbed to flowerbed, watering each equally; an obsessive compulsive hummingbird.
"You want me off the team?" The words are flat, much calmer than I feel. Deceptively so. I could knock him down and strangle him right now. This is the one thing I'm good at. I'm a good assassin, a damned good one. I can't believe he'd deliberately belittle the one thing I have left that I'm worthy of and capable of doing. Scratch that. I can believe he'd do that.
He finally looks up and nods. Discarding me for the flowers he's tending to he pays no attention to my presence. Normally I'd take that as a dismissal and walk off, but not now. Not while this is on the line, not while the only thing holding me together is in danger, while one of the three people left I can really count on wants me gone.
I tear the watering can out of his hand and whirl him around. "You can't just go around talking shit without even mentioning this to me, or telling me a reason why! I'm a part of this team, and you fucking need to understand that!" I grab the front of his shirt.
"You have two options Aya, you either explain to me why it is you're doing this and we'll try to figure out a solution, or you continue to be a stubborn son of a bitch, and I'll continue to be a part of Weiss no matter how much you may despise me." I release the fabric of his shirt and stand back for the verdict.
Glaring at me, Aya picks up the watering can. Fine, he wants to be that way. Growling low in my throat I turn to leave. I stop when he only puts the can away on a shelf. How like him, can't even postpone making things look his way long enough to have a short discussion, and believe you me, I will keep this short.
"You have to ask why I want you gone? You put us all at risk with your careless behavior. You can't even take care of your own body, so why should we trust you to hold up your end when things get tight. How can we expect you to watch our backs when you're running on nothing but liquor and air?"
He tries to push past me out of the room.
"That was part one. Now I know why you want me out, now, what are we going to do about it?" I block him with my body. He managed to talk to me without dying a horrible slow death, let's see if he can do it again.
I narrow my eyes, starting in whether he's ready or not. "What makes you think I can't take care of myself? I've certainly managed to survive this long; I'm certainly not going to die off this far into the game."
I jab him in the chest with my index finger. "Why won't you admit that? Do you dislike not being able to control every aspect of this unit? Are you going to attack Ken next because he spends most afternoons playing soccer with the kids instead of paying homage to the greatness that is Weiss Kruez? Is that now a liability somehow too?"
"How are those two related?" he explodes. "There's a unbridgeable gap between drinking yourself into a stupor each night and playing soccer with children in the afternoon after your shift. And speaking of shifts, when was the last time you showed up for work on time?"
I splutter, "I show up on time! That's another thing you honestly have no right to accuse me of!"
"Yeah, after Ken or Omi come pounding at your door ten minutes before you're due to show up downstairs?" he shoots back coolly, arms crossed over his chest defensively.
Here we go again. A repeat of last night. Next he'll get angry at me about non-existent dates I supposedly go on. How the hell would he know if I were running on alcohol or not? He certainly lacks Ken and Omi's perceptions, and it's not like he follows me around, keeping track of when I do or don't eat. Who cares if he's right? It's the principal that matters. Innocent until proven guilty.
"What is it you want me to do? You seem to feel you can dictate my life, so what is it you think I should do? What would get you off my back?" I raise one eyebrow, trying to reign in my anger. I haven't been this irritable since I last ran out of conditioner and had to use Ken's cheap shit from a drug store.
"I doubt you'd listen if I told you." He pushes past me, this time using his extra weight to his advantage.
I scowl after him, unable to think of a reason to chase after him and give him a piece of my mind. I already said that if he didn't work to meet me halfway then I'd go right on doing the things that so enraged him. He refused, and rather ineloquently at that, so it's back in my hands.
Glancing at my watch I try to calm down and decide whether or not to go back to sleep. Maybe he was right about my not showing up on time. I try to push that thought out of my head. He can't be right about that, because if he's correct in one area, the same might apply to the others as well, and what does he know? Antisocial bastard.
I find myself absently trying to untangle my hair. Maybe I'll just stay up long enough for a shower. I feel so unkempt right now. That's not something I'll ever tolerate. I guess that stems from my ladies-man days when I actually cared who I might bump into at any time. These days my only companions really couldn't give a shit whether or not I stink of expensive cologne.
Trudging up stairs I can already tell I'm going to have to wait. The air is muggy from the steam spiraling out under the door, the air resonating with the annoying patter of shower water connecting with the tub bottom. I bang on the door.
"Who is it?" Omi's voice calls out, muffled by the door and the sound of running water.
"Can I come in? I just need to use the sink."
I can't understand a word of his reply, so I just decide that it must mean 'yes' in some odd language. Smothering foggy air rushes out into the cooler air of the hallway immediately condensing on my skin.
Unbearably bright morning sunlight streaks in through the pebbled glass of the window. I've never understood what would bring a person to put a big window in their bathroom. I guess it's just me. I go for the entire exhibitionist dog-and-pony-show shit, yeah, but not in bathrooms. Bathrooms just seem sort of 'private' to me, vulgar almost.
"Who is it?" Omi repeats.
"Just me. I need to use the sink." I dampen my hands and slick them through my hair before following their path with a comb, fixing up the worst of it.
"Have you talked to Aya yet?" He sounds suddenly apprehensive. Oh damn, are they all in this?
"About what?" I hurl my tube of toothpaste down on the counter, thoughts of murder in my head. I wonder if you could stab someone to death with a toothbrush. If Aya were in the room right this very moment I think I honestly would give it a try. Put out his eye with the handle at least...
"Oh, I'm not sure. He just said he had something to talk to you about." The hollow clunk of him dropping the shampoo bottle startles me. "Ow!"
"You okay Omi?" I hope he dropped it and broke his fucking toe. Well, no, I don't wish that. It's not his fault. I swipe my sleeve across the fogged up mirror, peering into my own bloodshot eyes. Confused, exhausted, pea green eyes glare back through a film of water.
"Yeah." He grunts back, a very un-Omi like sound. "I just banged up my foot." The water pattern changed, most likely as he's bending to pick up the bottle. Several non-sensical yet still amusing 'don't drop the soap' jokes flit through my mind. Damn, but I'm perverted, even mornings can't dampen that.
I brush my teeth, trying to eliminate the horrible taste left in my mouth by my recent drinking binge, while ordering my thoughts and eliminating my anger. I try not to act in an illogical manner, driven by emotions. It's hard sometimes, but I do try.
I rinse out my mouth and open the door. "Thanks."
"No problem, oh, and please make sure you talk to Aya, it's seemed important." Omi's back to his old cheerful care-taking self. I wonder what he'd say if I showed up five minutes later and booted him out of the shower so I could wash Aya's lifeblood off of me.
I bite my lip and clamp down on my murderous thoughts. I can't react this way. I just need to calm down and get over it. It doesn't MATTER what he thinks. It hasn't before, why should it now?
I bump into him coming up the stairs as I'm headed down. He looks somewhat startled to see me up and about still. Well, he does for all of three seconds before he goes back to playing Wax Museum Man, my newest favorite superhero.
"I'm supposed to ask you if you'll trade the end of Ken's afternoon shift for your morning tomorrow." He bites off every word with enough force to kill a hundred targets, consonants crisp and concise. Gee, he doesn't have to sound so gleeful about everything.
He wants to push me down the stairs; when I walk past him I can see it in his eyes. Of all the churlish, immature things to do...
Knowing what he wants to do, I can't help but jerk back when his hand comes to rest on my shoulder. "Go EAT something. Ken can hold down shop on his own for a while. It's slow in the mornings."
His shoulders draw together as he trudges up the stairs, feeling my eyes following him all the way up. That was odd. I expected to be hurled down the stairs. I wonder if my limbs would have snapped like twigs by the time I hit the bottom. I wonder if anyone would notice if I didn't directly block up the stairwell.
I see very little I'd ever consider eating in the fridge. Shrugging, I trudge over to the cabinets, looking for anything even vaguely edible. Well, we have bread. The factory made sort, white and spongy. I tear the crust off of a slice and ball up the malleable center.
It tastes odd in my mouth, the flavor lingering in my mouth long afterwards. I drink water until I feel sick, but I can't get the taste off my tongue. I think I was happier with the toothpaste.
"You're looking particularly well-groomed today, Youji. So, can you take over my extended shift in the afternoon?" Ken asks as he flips over the Open/Close sign.
"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Kenken. Sure, no problem." I ruffle on his hair, laughing at his miffed expression. He's such an wholesome young thing. He and Omi even out my jaded attitude and Aya's complete lack of compassion perfectly. What a well-rounded team we are. I snort to myself.
The day goes much as I expected it to. Long, tiring, and full of me avoiding Aya and vice versa. None of my fan girls seem deterred by my grizzled appearance, or my lethargic, cantankerous attitude.
When my double shift is finally over around dinnertime I head for bed for an unheralded nap. My energy levels are flagging well below a healthy level. I just want to rest for a little while. Scrubbing at my eyes, I bump into Omi.
He's reading from a stack of papers. Fortunately, his grip on the sheets of computer paper is tight, or I'd be busy scrambling around now, trying to scoop them all back up.
"Information on a new job for tonight." He looks up, blowing blond bangs out of his eyes.
"Shit." What else can I say? I'm coming to dread missions; for all that they have become a much-needed part of my life. I dread the exhaustion, the pointless deaths, and the routine actions. But I also crave them. I don't have to think. I hear the right command and I'm nothing but pure instinct. Shielded in the complete anonymity of the night.
"How many needed for this hit?" I query, trying to decide whether or not I want in on this.
"All of us." His voice implies that this should have been obvious from the start.
"Am I actually required to read the files, or can someone give me a 'Reader's Digest' condensed version later?" Lazily I twitch the corner of a paper, thinking of my poor aching head and the strife to come if he says 'no' to my latter request.
"I can explain it all later," he offers helpfully.
"That would be greatly appreciated. You're going to take over my shift now, right?" I pause to make sure before leaving. One less thing for Aya to jump on me about.
His nod is all I need; I head back to the comforting cushion of my bed. I'm just a little dizzy, nothing to worry about. Sleep now, fight later, and then I can go get drunk. I'm falling into a bit of rut, but at least it's predictable, and offers escape every now and then.
Another cold night, another kill to complete. The only differences are; this time I at least have my coat, and we're inside. Granted, the whir of machinery all around causes quite the breeze, impairing our hearing as well. We'll just have to cope.
We're supposed to wind up with a disk containing vital information. After we kill several well-guarded businessmen, of course. I'm wondering what our targets are doing hanging around in a factory in the middle of the night. There's no understanding these rich fanatics anymore.
Ours is not to reason why, but to kill without thought or mercy. The click of heels on cement alerts us to the patrolling security guards' where abouts. Us meaning Omi and I. I don't exactly look forward to going up against the well muscled, obviously capably trained watchmen. They aren't the overweight, aging, run of the mill regulars you'd expect to see in any regular place of business or manufacturing. One would have to assume that something exists within the premise that actually needs guarding.
The kid's nervous, hand on his crossbow at all times. I can relate. There's nowhere to go here, confined to the building as we are. My eyes follow the light beam of the security guards. He won't see us up on the catwalk. If we're lucky we won't do anything he can hear either.
"I've located the targets." Ken's voice crackles in my ear; the communication units we use aren't audible to the outside world. "North-West corner, small office sector. Well lit. You'll see it." He's whispering into the receiving end of the device to avoid detection.
Omi and I silently glide towards the west side of the darkened factory. The catwalks canvas the whole of the factory, massive as it may be. They, for the most part, hang only a story or two above the ground. We can safely jump down at any point as long as we take care in landing.
I almost trip over Aya's crouching form. He glares up even as he steadies me. One finger rises up in front of his lips in the universally known sign for silence. No shit, Aya, what does he think I'm going to do, start singing pop songs at the top of my lungs. I haven't been in this business for all these years only to blow it now by being too loud.
I kneel next to him. "Why aren't you moving in closer?" I whisper against his ear, barely breathing. It's an art I've practiced for a long while, speaking without over emphasizing any consonants, yet still making my words completely intelligibly.
"I'm to be the distraction." He replies just as noiselessly. "Did you even bother to read the notes on tonight?"
The guilty grin that steals across my face is met with a disgusted looking sneer. He mouths, "Why am I not surprised." I don't know Aya, is it because you should know by now that I won't waste my time with trivialities? Is it because you're such an asshole you automatically assume the worst about everyone regardless of whether it is true or not?
I give him a hard blow to the shoulder, disguised as a pat of camaraderie. He scowls at me as I pass, the illumination from above glinting off his slitted eyes, the only visible part of him in this darkness. Omi smiles at us, not understanding. He's naïve like that, always believing the best of everyone and being shocked when he finds he's misread someone's not so honorable intentions.
I motion forward, trusting the blonde assassin to follow behind. After years of working together we've got the body language based communications down pat. We don't make a single sound as we scurry across the metal worked plating under our feet, the hard soles of our shoes muffled with cork fittings.
The oasis of illumination is visible even from a distance. These businessmen sure like their lights. For all that their dealings are dark, they don't do so well without their day vision. It's one of those odd ironies I get caught pondering when I'm drunk out of my mind and don't have any other topics readily available.
Ken's voice comes to life in my ear again, startling me. "Guard coming your way, big guy, armed with a gun, be careful. He's actually checking the catwalks, smarter than the rest. Almost saw me. Careful." He cautions before cutting communications again.
Wide blue eyes look at mine, both of us having received the same transmission. He looks around, obviously wondering where we're going to go to avoid being seen. I have a pretty good idea. I grab a hold of one of the ceiling support cables coming down and start to shimmy upwards. Omi catches on in a matter of seconds, picking a second one and making his way up. The ceiling is one of those conveniently criss-crossed with enormous solid metal beams. It's a good enough roost for a short while.
I hit the talk button on my wrist unit that will send my words directly to Ken and Ken alone. "Safe for now. Keep us posted on any further dangers. Make sure Aya knows, he's further down." I settle down, it's not fun to sit on hard metal when you're as bony as I am. Every sharp ridge of your bones is met with resistance, pinching your skin in a most uncomfortable manner.
I can see the flashlight playing about the catwalks as he comes by. I cannot see the man himself. He's behind the light, shielded from my view, as I am from his. He walks briskly; this is a routine check for him. He doesn't expect to actually find anyone lurking around. As all good employees must, he's catering to the whims of his employers.
"Should we drop him now. One less worry if we can manage without alerting others." I cannot see Omi, but I know he'll hear the words through the com link.
"Yes." The reply is brisk. It's never fun when the kid's in business mode. It makes me feel less professional somehow, me being years older and caring infinitely less than he does. I figure, why should I get uptight and worry about events to come. I've proven to myself time and time again that I can look out for not only myself, but the rest of Weiss as well, if that's what's required.
I drop to the ground level on silent, undetected feet. Omi comes at him from the side; I do my usual 'come up behind and choke with garroting wire' routine. He doesn't have a chance to get word out. We're still safe, so are Aya and Ken. Now that one of the few intelligent people around here is out, it makes it all that much easier.
"The guard is taken care of. Wherever you went to avoid being seen, you're safe now. Any sightings of our primary objective?" I contact Ken, speaking of the disk we're really here for.
"Yes, I know who has it. It's time for the distraction to start. You two pick up the pace and get over here." There's that tinny ring behind his words signally that it's an open broadcast to the three of us.
Almost immediately a loud crash resonates throughout the building. Good luck Aya, hopefully you won't need it. The pattering of footsteps dashing to find the source of the noise is our signal. It's easier now that we don't have to stay up on the catwalks, trying to be dead silent. Whatever the hell Aya is doing is causing so much noise it easily drowns out our running feet.
Ken's in trouble. Well, he's in trouble if you count being backed into a corner with ten guns trained on you 'trouble'. Omi loosens a couple of arrows into the few remaining guards.
"Get the target!" He yells to me, preparing for another round. Ken's slashing like mad at the remaining defenders. More are showing up every second. Time to work, find the targets. They're in the glass walled office, watching the events with nonchalant faces and cowardly eyes. How typical.
My booted foot lashes out, kicking the door open. I'm met with looks of astonishment. My long coat swirls around my legs; I don't know how I look, but I feel like some sort of damned caped crusader. Not exactly a glorious image, but since they're playing along, I might just be nice and kill them quickly.
Of course, they're not just going to stand still to let me strangle them, the inconvenience of my chosen weapon. I've got to subdue them first and then cut off their air at my leisure. Hopefully, I'll knock a few skulls open during the soon to ensue struggle.
In a wave they rush for the door, somehow thinking I'll just step to the side and let them through. Six flabby out of shape, unarmed people don't make that effective of a wave. My feet connecting with their heads and stomachs does a much better job of turning the tide.
Four down on the ground, two to go, they're the smart ones who stayed in the back and are now retreating. I'm so intent on what I'm doing that I don't even see the blur of human flesh coming at me until it slams me into a wall full force. I can internally hear my ribs sounding like snapped twigs.
For a moment I cannot breath, the very air crushed out of my lungs. A fist grips my hair, pulling my head around in time to be met by the other fist in a mind-jarring blow. Gathering up my wits with a painful shake of my head, I wrench out of the man's grasp, ignoring his heavy scowling face and concentrating on getting the gun away from him before he thinks to use it.
Taking the first thoughts that enter my head and just running with what they tell me, I let him think he has the upper hand, let his next blow to my face connect, while I lean to the side and grab the weapon out of his holster. He takes a second to think it over, but decides that a gun pointed at his head is a good enough reason to back off.
He holds up his hands, trying to look wronged, and bereft of harmful thoughts. Asking for mercy. Mercy isn't something I do so well with. His blood splatters across my face; shooting him at such a close range was a stupid idea.
Figuring it's a lot easier to off someone with a loaded pistol, rather than garroting wire, I fire on the two conscious targets, and then the four down ones. Being the efficient little assassin that I am, I check all of them for a pulse, satisfying myself that they are in fact dead.
"That one has the information we need." Ken stands in the doorway, pointing to one of the downed businessmen. "In his briefcase." The clarification doesn't help any. There are several leather briefcases lying scattered on the floor. Sighing, Ken pushes me aside, pausing to wipe his claws on some random dead person's clothing. Cute. He grabs up one of the now slightly dinged cases. He simply rips it apart when the locked catches won't give. I catch the jewel case as it flies through the air towards my head. After checking to make sure the CD really is inside, I slip it into my pocket.
Taking a deep breath, I push the last bit of pain into the back of my mind, trying to bring on the feel of a numbing alcohol binge. It's almost enough to make me scream, every indrawn breath, but if I can just distance myself from that... My eyes squeeze shut as I concentrate on not feeling anything.
"You alright Youji?" Ken hesitantly steps a little closer. My eyes open, too wide for normality, I know, but I'm pretty sure none of the pain shows through.
"Yeah. I'm fine. And what do you know. I didn't fuck up here, did I? Won't Aya be horrendously upset?" I take a deep breath and stomp out of the room, fueling myself with raw self-righteousness and anger. Omi and Aya stand, waiting for the mission to be over. We have the information; we've killed the necessary people, nothing more to do really.
"Let's go." I flatly spit out, the anger actually rising when I see the blank expression on Aya's face. You'd think he could at least have the decency to be visibly disappointed that I didn't fall in battle, or at least wind up completely battered and broken to prove him right.
As a unit we head for the side entrance we used to sneak in here to begin with. I don't hear the cocking of the gun so much as see the glint of phosphorous lighting from below on the barrel of his gun. Without thinking I hurl myself sideways, knocking down Aya and Omi in the process. I can actually feel the rush of air following in the bullets wake across my cheek.
I start to roll to the side, only to feel something in my ribs give; I muffle the harsh cry of agony against my sleeve. Oh fuck, fuck, FUCK! Now that hurt. More than hurt.
Careless hands grab me under the elbows, yanking me to my feet and dragging my reeling body behind the relative shielding of a story high metal vat. My vision is blurring with pain tears that I try desperately to dash away.
"What have you done to yourself this time?" Flat, not caring, just looking for an argument. Aya, of course. I don't think anyone else in the world could master that tone so well.
"My day was just lacking that special something, so I decided to go and smash up my own ribs." I gasp for breath as my sides warn me in the only way they know how to that my rolling about on the ground isn't an agreeable action for them. The smooth cool leather of my gloves feels excessively rough as I scrub at my still watering eyes. So much for pretending it all away.
"Broken?" He reaches for the seal of my jacket much to my vexation. Do I look like a child? Does he think I don't know how my ribs feel when they're broken? A second shot rings out, what if he got Ken or Omi!?
I push myself up, gritting my teeth as I go. My eyes squinch up against the dark, trying to pick out the paleness of blond hair, or the shine off of goggles. Neither. Another shot. Two of them. I can hear a loud yelp of pain before the hollow thump of a body connecting with concrete.
"You guys all okay?" Omi. Breathless, unnerved.
"Yeah, okay here. I've got Aya with me." I call back, just as shaky. That was just plain careless of us. It's folly to assume that all your enemies are down until you've actually gone out and taken a damned body count. Where's Ken.
"What happened?" There he is.
"He was up there waiting for us. I fixed in on the shots and got him." Omi and Ken suddenly appear right next to me, Omi's shouldering his crossbow. "That was careless of us." He adds, restating my thoughts.
I nod, not that anyone can see that much in the darkness. "Everyone alright then? No one hurt?" Two affirmative replies and one vaguely positive sounding grunt from Aya. "Let's get out of here before anything else bad happens!" I rake shaking fingers through my hair.
Keeping my posture rigid, I slowly begin to fall behind. The quiet and peace is nice, no one shooting at us, trying to repay our previous actions to their employers. For all that every step makes my breath catch and my muscles tense up, it's almost nice in a creepy sort of way. Until Aya drops back to walk next to me.
"You need to get your ribs taken care of when we get back." He states. "Even if it interferes with your plans to go out and get drunk." The scorn is there, as if he's positive that I'd put my own alcohol dependencies ahead of my physical health. Maybe I would, but who is he to judge? He puts his job before his emotions and his own life not to mention the lives of his teammates.
I say as much but receive no answer. What can he really say though? There isn't much you can say to counter the accusation that you're a heartless bastard when you know that you are one.
As alert and high-strung as we are now, we don't catch any more signs of survivors. Either we're lucky and they're all dead, or the remaining few were smart enough to run and hide. The car is still where we left it, of course. Time to go home. Then I can get someone to jab their fingers into my broken ribs trying to see how much agony they can cause me before actually doing something to fix up the root of the problem. Or maybe I'm just being optimistic.
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