Aya had seen a lot of death in the last few years. He decided at that moment that no murder by sharp objects or strangulation could quite compare to the violence of an electrocution. Sato's body stiffened and crackled like bacon on a fryer. The skin turned bright red, swelling and stretching to the point Aya wondered if the man might literally explode. He turned his eyes from the sight, but the sweet-rotten stench of burning flesh saturated the air and invaded his nostrils.

Omi pulled the baton out. The body collapsed into the puddle, bulging eyes vacant with the stare of death.

With the captain destroyed, Omi ran to the knitting needle and syringe, throwing them into the backs of Yohji's remaining two attackers. Yohji kicked off the bodies and stood up, turning a menacing glare on Ikeda, who smartly scrambled for the exit.

Omi beat him to it and dashed out into the hall. Glimmering silver lines whirred around Ikeda's arms; he flailed his limbs wildly, useless against the wire that held him like a marionette.

"Wait, please! Don't do this!"

"Don't?" Yohji repeated, tightening his grip on the wire. "How many of your victims begged like that, I wonder..."

"No, you don't understand! I'm just--!"

"A talking corpse," Aya finished.

Ikeda froze, his eyes darting to Aya. Aya shifted his gaze to the door where Omi stood, Sato's gun in his hand.

-------------------------

Omi ignored the swollen stings throbbing through his body. He looked at his teammates, studying their conditions. Red marks from electrical shocks. Vomit and blood on the floor around their chairs-- tubes and containers on the table from forced feeding. He saw Aya turned into a human pincushion, dried red trickles painting his skin in violence. He saw Ken covered in bloodied welts of broken skin. He saw the earring-- whose it was, and the degradation for which it now stood.

A gaze of diamond-hard intensity looked back at Ikeda. Omi raised his arm, taking aim at Ikeda's head.

Ikeda's grip around the knife tightened. "Don't shoot; we can talk, compromise! You've killed so many tonight; I haven't killed anyone! I'm not the worse one here, am--"

The gun fired; Ikeda screamed, blood spilling down his neck from what remained of his right ear.

"That was for Ken-kun."

Ikeda gaped at Omi in chilled silence for several seconds. "No... Your friends are all alive! See?! You should--"

Another shot, through the hand.

"--be thankful for that!" He wailed.

Another, through the other hand. The knife clattered against the floor; Omi clasped the gun with both hands.

"For Aya-kun."

Fountains of blood from the wounds. Omi never flinched. Another bullet to the right bicep.

"For Yohji-kun!"

Tears and blood and screams and pleas. Omi's hands trembled around the gun, eyes glistening with moisture as they scanned Ikeda's body: where next to inflict pain without risking a lethal hit. Left kneecap. Right collarbone. Bone splintered and shattered. Ikeda dangled in Yohji's strings as a pitiful, sobbing bundle of terror and agony.

Omi dropped the gun; it was out of bullets. He clenched his eyes shut and sucked in a steadying breath. Lime green twirled between his fingers-- his last toxic projectile, saved all night for this one defining moment. His eyes answered Ikeda's petrified stare with remorseless fury. The dart snapped into ready position.

This one was his.

-------------------------

Ken didn't get up after Omi freed everyone; he was still perfectly aware of the dildo inside him, and he really didn't care to let Omi find out about it. He busied himself futzing with the catch to the earring.

"Hold still, Ken-kun." Omi brushed Ken's hand away, his own still trembling faintly as he moved in on the earring himself. "It'll start bleeding again if it's not removed carefully."

"Actually, Omi," Yohji cut in, ushering him unceremoniously towards the door. "It looks like it's going to be up to you to find our clothes. You are the only one of us that's still decent."

"W-wait a minute! Yohji-kun!"

"There's nothing more for you to do here that we can't do for ourselves. And the faster you find our belongings, the faster we can go home."

Omi grimaced and looked back worriedly at Ken and Aya. "I'll be right back, ok? Don't go anywhere!"

"I really wouldn't worry about that..." Ken mumbled through half-lidded eyes.

Once Omi was gone, Yohji turned and leveled a long, serious look at Ken. He lowered his voice. "I'd take that thing out while his back is turned, or it's going to be quite an uncomfortable walk back."

Ken balked. "Yohji!"

Omi returned several minutes later, his eyes barely peeking over the bundle of clothes in his arms; they dressed and returned home in complete silence. Aya shut himself in his room as soon as Yohji had parked. Yohji lingered in the kitchen and started the kettle. Omi did what he could for Ken's injuries, then let the spiced aroma of ginger tea tempt him downstairs to join Yohji. Ken settled himself into bed for sleep, only to hear another knock on the door: Aya.

"...Hey," he said, looking the man up and down. Aya gave a small nod and returned the inspective roving of the eyes. Ken shifted uncomfortably.

"Snapdragon. The trick with the cans... how did you know they all had salt water?"

Aya slowly blinked. "It was a psychological attack. The goal was to force a random choice for a life-or-death matter... then prolong the dread of the outcome. Having them all the same guarantees the pain and fear, and eliminates the risk of killing us both." He paused, expression somewhat apologetic. "I couldn't tell you while we were under watch."

"Yeah. I know. He just would have skipped to killing Yohji." Ken sighed, turning his gaze to the opposite wall. "Look... What happened in there, with--"

"Drop it." Aya warned.

Ken whipped his head back. He stared defiantly, but no words came. Finally, he grumpily cast his eyes away again. "Aa..."

Aya made it two steps before Ken changed his mind.

"About who would bottom...!"

Omi's eyes widened at the monstrous thump from above-- which sounded suspiciously like a pair of bodies colliding with the floor. Yohji sipped from his mug, eyes on the ceiling. He dismissively shrugged and sighed.

"Can't be helped, can it?" A secret smile. "They're probably caught up in another argument."

"They're supposed to be resting!"

Yohji eyed the swollen purple laceration over Omi's cheek. "You know, you could stand to benefit from a little of that yourself. You aren't going to catch any dates looking like that."

"I can't; I still have to write the mission report." Omi cast his eyes down, then smiled hopefully and pulled a videotape from his jacket. "Luckily, I did at least find the security room while I was looking for your clothes. Knowing what happened to them in there should help a lot, don't you think?"

Yohji choked on his tea. "I think I need a cigarette. Good night, Omi."