I'm publishing the first chapter before I edit it for the 100th time. Darned obsessive compulsion.

AU Time~

Disclaimer I: Neither the characters nor their personalities are the product of my imagination. Although they are slightly... different. Oh well, you'll see shortly.

Disclaimer II: This fanfiction contains elements of satire.

Disclaimer III: This fanfiction contains sexuality suitable for teenage audiences.

Disclaimer IV: This story is my weirdest.

Death of a Flower

CHAPTER ONE

Within the International section of Monday's newspaper, an article which seemed a mutant of the National, Local, Editorial, and Comics sections read:

"Beika citizens enjoy a day of celebration after The Meridian magazine proclaims Beika as 'The World's Best City.' The title was carefully granted after years of rankings consistently placed Beika among the cities most technologically advanced, economically gifted, culturally vibrant, and with the most stable of infrastructural systems.

"Despite its relatively small population when compared to the other twenty-three wards of Tokyo, Beika possesses the highest GDP of all wards and one of the highest among cities worldwide. Unemployment rates in the city have also been reported at an all-time low, while minimum wages have reached an all-time high. Most attribute these economic advancements to the numerous corporations agglomerated in the city, most of which opened their branches in Beika since the early 1980's.

"Such financial stability has granted Beika City an Infrastructure score of 99 out of 100 possible points. Citizens openly express contentment with their hometown, in matters monetary and even educational.

" 'No economic problems. Beika has no such things,' a businessman stated on his way to work, who requested his name not be released.

" 'There are so many good colleges here, and there's wide access to internships in really big corporations,' expressed Toutou student Kosugi Rika, who graduated in Marketing last fall. 'So many organizations and companies are willing to give students voluntary work experience. And one really needs that to enhance job opportunities.'

"Indeed, the seventy-two international corporations located in Beika City provide a wide variety of mostly unpaid internships for students. These companies also implement environmentally-friendly policies. Such corporate responsibility has permitted Beika's high GDP as well as its commendable Environment grade of 100. The city's Education score was also reported at 100; an unusual yet also expected percentage from a ward with some of the lowest high school dropout rates in the na—"

"Kudou…"

"Hm?"

"What's the answer to number four?"

"Number four?" His eyebrows rose involuntarily. He'd finished the thirty questions some minutes ago.

"I don't know how you understand this stupid language. It makes no sense."

A thoughtful grunt rolled in his throat. "Most people think of it that way." The young man extracted his homework, completed and containing English more eloquently expressed than that of his teacher, and passed it to the other's desk. "Just go ahead."

"Thanks!"

Immediately did his classmate incline his head, overcome with a sudden wave of meticulousness and dedication previously unseen, as he duplicated the work word for word. The paper's author seemed perturbed. "Er, wait. You can't just make a carbon copy. Can't you paraphrase?"

He received a blank stare. "Can't I what?"

"Write the answers out differently. Just read what it says, get the meaning, and then express that same meaning in your own words."

He stared at the paper blankly, before slowly gaping back at him. "I don't understand the meaning. And I can't write it in my own words."

"Listen, if you don't, then we'll both get—"

"That's why I'm asking you for help."

"I'll give you help. What I won't do is sit here and just let you…" His words rolled away and ceased, as he brooded, and frowned. Silence ensued between the two high school classmates for an awkwardly long moment. Eventually did the linguistically gifted young man sigh, before he resumed his reading. "Just copy those if you'd like."

His dark blue gaze desperately sought the printed article. "—Education score was also reported at 100; an unusual yet also expected percentage from a ward with some of the lowest high school dropout rates—"

"So I can use your answers?"

The young Kudou glowered at his goggle-eyed companion. "Yes, you can."

Impatiently did he skip the section he'd been perusing, jumping ahead to the next paragraph.

"On a similar subject, the city was granted a Health Care score of 100. Such news offer no surprise after Toutou University medical graduates were attributed with discovering a cure to the HIV virus earlier this year, overcoming a giant stepping stone in the field of medicine and science, as well as improving humankind's immunological advancement. Plans to produce a preventative HIV shot have been announced by medical agencies such as Komatsu Biological Research and others in the greater Tokyo area.

"Additional data on Beika City, though not officially scored nor categorized by The Meridian, was published in conjunction with their report in the attempt to provide a thorough depiction of the city. Among these statistical 'Extras' were included Beika's violence rates, which were reported at a remarkably low 5%, with last year's numbers revealing merely twelve suicides and two gun-related murders having taken place."

The words revived a three-month-old case. An image swayed back into his mind, the face of a primary school child, his eyes prematurely carrying that hideous gloss he knew too well. Cyanide had stiffened his muscles and glazed his eyes; his expression held a tragic level of maturity. The boy had reminded him of himself—his yearlong personality as a child—and of the outcome he'd escaped.

That boy wasn't included in the article, apparently.

With a grimace, the adolescent raked his fingers through his hair, his appearance now exhausted and unruly.

"Both of these murders, eight of the suicides, and a staggering number of criminal cases have been handled by the eighteen year-old high school detective Kudou Shinichi, a Beika native and resident, popularly dubbed 'The Sherlock Holmes of the Modern Era.' The adolescent prodigy with a proficiency in comprehending all matters criminal has too, along with a considerable number of intellectuals and cultural icons, budded from this respectable, responsible and pleasant blah, blah, blah…"

Kudou Shinichi tossed the newspaper onto his desk, leaning against his palm with a bitter taste in his tongue and mind-numbing weariness. The English teacher continued speaking at the front of the class (tediously… very tediously), explaining pronunciation patterns within the least phonetically logical language for students to scrawl, memorize and repeat monotonously.

"In these nouns, the second to last syllable must be emphasized. To convert them into verbs, stress the final syllable instead. Let's use this word as an example: 'Present.' If you want it to be a noun, you must emphasize the second to last syllable—the word shall then be pronounced present. When it's a verb, emphasize the last syllable—present. Present: noun. Present: verb. How about this one…"

Shinichi decided he would give the newspaper an opportunity to redeem itself, and rapidly flipped the pages to the section he'd been reading. An article caught his eye. "HIV Cure Causes Dangerous Side-effects."

With a scornful toss, Kudou Shinichi abandoned the paper. More articles on so-called modern society would make him explode.

"Cut it the hell out!"

The hiss emerged from a few meters beyond. A girl snarled at a grinning male, the latter who wiggled a pencil which he'd used in prodding her waist. Shinichi glared perspicaciously. Phallic objects to poke a girl with. Typical primeval behavior.

She resumed a whispered conversation with her friends, her face growing somber as she muttered, her companions becoming unblinkingly attentive. For a moment in her monologue, she glanced at Shinichi—not longer than a mere moment—before she swiftly looked away. Her face reddened instantly and after sharing a whisper with her friends, her cheeks flushed even further as they giggled excitedly.

Shinichi, however, remained immutable as he sat in his desk, his cheek aloofly resting on his palm.

"Kudou Shinichi-san."

The teacher's stentorian voice woke him with a jolt. He'd been caught looking at girls instead of the board. He possessed a Japanese newspaper on his desk while sitting in an English class. He was gaping instead of answering. The forty-something year-old woman spoke strictly. "See you after class."

Once the teacher was gone, Shinichi grumbled and bumped his forehead against the wooden desk.

"Lucky bastard…" muttered his cheating classmate with a sly grin. Shinichi frowned at him.

"Lucky? I'm getting scolded. Not to mention Tanaka-sensei must hate me by now." He'd corrected her English pronunciation at the beginning of the year, suggested a more efficient way of phrasing a sentence she'd written herself, and repeatedly skipped her class to instead attend cases with the metropolitan police. It seemed sensical to say he had enough troubles with this lady already.

The guy scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Shinichi observed him return to a previous task, stretching to a friend's desk in order to sketch an obscene picture of a woman. The detective deadpanned while watching the degeneration of his classmate as his perfectly answered homework still sat on the desk, now completely forgotten. Apparently half of the fourth question had been answered before instinct had gained his favor.

What a crappy drawing… Shinichi concluded while rescuing his work, recalling the female corpses rigidly stored at the city morgue. Some of them had never been claimed.

Fifteen minutes of class time zoomed by and the bell rang, whereupon his teacher made a beeline for the door.

"Tanaka-sensei!" Kudou Shinichi sprinted towards her, finding her already at the doorway, holding her folders. "Didn't you need to speak to me?"

She observed him calmly. "I have no time. Can you stay after school?"

The metropolitan police had requested his presence that afternoon. "As soon as you get out of school," the good old Megure-keibu had said. He could squeeze a reprimand in. "Yes I can, sensei."

"Meet you in your classroom after the bell, then." She nodded before marching away. Shinichi found the usage of the word "meet" instead of "see" unusual, though he couldn't determine why.

Time proceeded naturally and never elongated sadistically, which surprised the young detective, considering he had eagerly anticipated an investigative errand that entire morning. That Monday, an early-March Monday, promised to be busy and engaging.

Deductive reasoning in criminal contexts was Kudou Shinichi's monomania. He lived and breathed forensics; they were the sole subject which piqued his attention and challenged his cognitive processes. If cases failed to emerge, he often studied a variety of texts in the library of his home, from analyses on ballistics to forensic entomology; rarely did he touch his textbooks from school, as he ironically found little intellectual enlightenment or relevancy in them.

If no book drew his attention, lethargy overwhelmed his life. Frequently would he remind himself of Sherlock Holmes, a character which expressed nearly bipolar symptoms, as he grew enraptured by a case and suffered a dolorous depression when void of stimulus. Shinichi thanked his genes for not predisposing him to drug interest and most of all addiction, or else he would've resembled Holmes with disagreeable closeness.

A large cause beneath Kudou Shinichi's desire for intellectual stimulation, and his subsequent restlessness when unoccupied, emerged from the fact he did live alone. Since age fourteen, he'd swiftly developed into a young adult in the absence of his parents; living independently had deepened his maturity, isolation prompted introspection, the autonomy heightened his responsibility, and his exposure to rather Machiavellian crimes had altered his perception of Beika's society and the world as a whole. Oftentimes, when a case was concluded and he walked in silence through the streets of Beika City, watching intoxicated middle-aged men grumpily return from an office party, girls gossiping ruthlessly while wearing Barbie costumes, and the occasional homeless youth stoned in the asphalt, Shinichi grew tired. And morally disillusioned.

He would remember the intricate murder solved—for insurance money, or twisted love—as the house keys collided against the wooden sideboard with a sonorous cling. The sound would harshly irrupt the morbid, pervasive silence of his house. And once the sound concluded just as abruptly, would silence enfold him. At eighteen years of age, world-weariness weighed upon him.

Amidst the hoards of acquaintances who stalked him, Kudou Shinichi had made a friend or two, though they didn't share his same objectives or ethical principles. Haibara Ai, for instance, with whom he'd become acquainted during his most high-profile case (and whose drug had rejuvenated him into Edogawa Conan… though that was another story.) She was intellectually and socially similar to himself, and thus they were good friends. However, her objectives in life differed sharply. Whereas Kudou Shinichi searched for a source of morality and ethics in his life to brighten his grayer days, Haibara Ai merely made them grayer. Her acerbic monologues on the nature of society (which, oddly enough, occasionally reminded him of his coworkers' cynicism) merely exacerbated his apathy and frustrations. He agreed with her on everything she uttered; and yet he didn't wish to hear himself speak; he wanted fresh air.

His parents were no source of support. They lived too distantly. Besides, Shinichi didn't see how a middle-aged couple focused on shopping, traveling from one hotel to another, signing autographs and threatening one another with vengeful cheating would provide any valuable advice on life.

He thus relied on criminal cases for escapism. Being presented a new mystery, overcoming its intricacies, and unfolding all facts before a befuddled audience demanded the analysis and dedication his intellectual mind required to ignore his surroundings. While realizing the scientific process, he often forgot the indolence of his classmates, the aloofness of his coworkers, the simplicity of people's minds, and the desolation of his house. He often felt at home.

Kudou Shinichi glanced at his watch, impatient to be scolded by his teacher, leave that silent classroom at once, and begin an apparently "unusual" case.

Just then, Tanaka-sensei slid open the classroom door. He rose politely from the desk he'd been leaning against as she stepped inside.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she excused herself with a small smile, which Shinichi accepted well.

"It's not a problem."

"These final exams are going to be the end of me. A whole month of preparation for them. How are you taking them? Are you studying?"

The detective was surprised by her lighthearted tone and friendly expression. She didn't seem angry or indignant at all. "Yeah. We have a statistics exam coming up in three weeks, and Japanese history is coming up then too. They're making us study, like you said."

"You study harder for those classes than you do for mine?"

Her smile had widened. It was startling. He had to rationalize his way out, swiftly. "I… know a lot of English already, from my parents. So it's not that difficult for me to learn the material. But I… still need to go over your lessons. There's some stuff in there—"

Amicably did she chuckle, stunning him into silence. "Don't worry about it, I'm not chewing you out. I asked genuinely. I know you're very well acquainted with the English language. You're fluent, aren't you?"

"I…" What's going on? "Yes. It's actually my first language. My parents spoke to me in English until I was five; I learned Japanese when I began kindergarten but still spoke English at home. That was their way of ensuring I'd be bilingual."

"Wow, that's a really interesting idea! I'd never heard of that. Obviously it worked pretty well, didn't it? Considering your speech is so fluid now?"

Shinichi failed to comprehend the purpose of the meeting at this point. His bafflement must've been apparent.

"Maybe you can give me a couple lessons… sometime in the afternoons? You sound like a native speaker. The accent is beautiful. I'd like to practice my English. What do you say?" She'd unconsciously elevated the pitch of her voice, yet softened the sound; her lungs had expanded with trapped air, increasing the surface area of the chest; the spine curved to produce a faux round hip. She was feigning youthfulness. Her knuckles were turning anxiously white as they gripped a chair's back.

Shinichi believed he understood the actual inquiry.

And when he did, his eyes widened considerably.

He nearly laughed.

Had their genders been reversed, or had he been younger, he doubted the situation would've struck him as comical.

"I can't."

The teacher's face reddened, though he couldn't decide whether she was nervous, or embarrassed, or angry. Her gaze was impenetrable.

"Why not?"

"I have a case to attend to. The police are requesting my services this afternoon."

"A case?" She raised her eyebrows. "It sounds like the police have got you busy lately…" Her words stated one thing, and yet her gaze, absent and drowsy, thought another as it laid over him.

Shinichi smiled. The movement of his lips seemed to wake her. "Well, there sure is a lot of unlawfulness these days."

His grin sharply contrasted with his teacher's gape. He pulled up his satchel and exited the classroom. "See you tomorrow, sensei," Shinichi called out as he left.

Paralyzed in her stupor, the high school teacher took a long moment to gather her wits before stiffly following after him. "Beika City was named one of the most crime-free cities in the world!"

"Right," he chuckled before marching through the empty hallway and skipping down a set of stairs.

Tanaka-sensei remained inert in the lonely corridor.

She would fail her most intellectual, most bilingual student that trimester.

And Shinichi would frame and display his very honest, triumphant, and well-earned F.

"So! Watcha got for me?"

Kudou Shinichi rubbed his hands swiftly and impatiently, grinning as an eight year-old would during Christmas Day. The inspector of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, clad in a dulled orange overcoat, observed him solemnly. Inside, he couldn't resist chuckling at the boy's rare excitement. Not informing the teen must've fueled his curiosity.

"Good afternoon to you too, Kudou-kun," he responded with a tired grunt.

Shinichi maintained his smile. "That case pile has gained a few additions, from how I recall it last week. I'll gladly snatch a couple cases and ease your burden. You just have to say Yes."

"That case pile?" He gazed at the mounting stack of papers collecting dust, as if it had escaped his field of vision until then. "I don't know."

"You don't even have to say anything, you can just nod. Don't even nod. I'll take them."

He liked the kid. He was always very candid. Personable too.

"I do have a case for you, actually, right over here." The inspector reclined on his desk chair, opening a drawer and extracting a pack of gum along with a file. It was best to satiate the youth before he went on a crime-solving spree. "It can't exactly be called a 'case,' though. It's not a homicide, as I normally throw you." He stood from his chair and led the way out of his office.

"Is it a robbery?"

"It's not a robbery. It's not a crime at all, really. At least not yet." They were walking through passageways, doors to offices and conference rooms approaching and receding from both walls. Megure had given Shinichi the file to inspect.

"It's a girl who was discovered in an alley today around 2:30 AM, I believe. She's still unidentified. We're working on pulling up a file from Missing Person's, though it's difficult without a name."

"She won't identify herself?"

"She hasn't been able to yet, no."

"Is she emotionally disturbed? Or has she got a speech impairment?"

"Most likely both. We've had a psychologist check her up and the girl appears to show severe emotional trauma. Her voice is unknown, though the doctor said she's receptive to language. She isn't very socially receptive, though. Seems numb and won't interact. The doctor said it's most likely a case of mild dissociation, a common effect of emotional trauma. If not that, then her emotional numbness could be caused by a mental deficiency, though that's not known yet and it's for a neurologist to decide. It's not up to us."

"You said her voice is unknown. She hasn't spoken at all then?"

"Not a word. That's—"

"Regarding her identity, what about her fingerprints? Have you checked them?"

"There's no record of her."

"Any labels on her clothes?"

"That's actually an interesting part. She was found wearing a long white shirt with long sleeves. Some underwear, just the lower part. Nothing more. The labels had been discarded."

Shinichi looked up from the files. "Torn off?"

"Cut off. With scissors, most likely."

The young detective's gaze gleamed sharply. "Were her hands cut?"

"No."

"It's likely the one who took the labels off wasn't her. Torn them off, she could have, with enough stress; but not cut them precisely with scissors. The emotional instability would've wounded her while handling a sharp object." His eyes returned to the file. "Somebody made her unidentifiable."

The inspector ruminated such statement as he turned the metal knob of an inconspicuous door. Beside it, two meters away, followed another door with a window.

Both entered a dimly lit room. There stretched a long counter cluttered with notes, clean paper, pens, a phone, a fax machine, and tape recorders. Beside, a shut and locked metal closet contained items of surveillance. Before the counter was a rectangular window which offered a view into the contiguous room, containing a bolted-down table and two chairs. Shinichi witnessed a girl sitting upon one of them, uncomfortably. She scrunched her shoulders defensively; her long brown hair concealed her face.

"I've had six different people question her, she hasn't opened her mouth. She appears to be roughly your age, Kudou-kun. I figured she may talk to you."

"Haven't you tried women? There's more likelihood she'll communicate with—"

"I've had three women attempt to talk with her, including Satou-kun. And she's good. The psychologist was a woman herself." Megure pursed his lips and frowned with frustration, his eyes following him with empathy. "You're our last hope, Kudou-kun."

Shinichi deposited the file on the counter, his fingers remaining on the manilla envelope as his eyes followed the girl. With tensed shoulders and a rigid posture, her head drooped and her hands pressed together, concealed between her thighs. On tiptoes did her feet touch the ground. How sad and defenseless she looked. Her desolation struck him.

Kudou Shinichi turned to his superior. "I'll be back in a while, then."