Authors Note: Standard Disclaimer applies. Sometimes craziness just oozes from the cracks we rightfully justify under the guise of creativity and imagination. Written for no reason but that it was inside my head and it was crying to get out.I'm not that mean, so I let it. Blame me. KHR characters belong to Akira Amano. The others belong to me.

I. BOOKING

The life of the law has not been logic; it has been reason.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Any decent precinct runs on a few inviolable precedents. And yet somehow the denizens of Precinct 27 never saw a booking quite like the one they faced that one Monday morning.

The day started unobtrusively enough. There were the usual clients and customers of the precinct—the drunks and cokeheads found loitering in the parks along with the usual hobos and homeless that would be turned over to the respective government agencies, the hookers and pimps being booked for the nth time, juvenile hoodlums that would be picked up by Child's services.

The precinct, along with all the other branches of civil service sector had to face downsizing and so they also had to deal with traffic and parking offenses. This made for a frenetic looking station always filled with people, coming and going, and in various emotional states—from the despondency of repeat offenders to the bewildered looks of first-timers and the irate shouts and belligerent attitudes of those inconvenienced by petty crimes, paperwork, bureaucracy and fees.

But this morning, an event of epic and unprecedented proportions would occur and it would come down as the start of Precinct 27 many legends.

The perpetrator for this memorable day was a unremarkable young man with unruly brown hair, delicate features and soft, apologetic russet eyes. He was brought in by an equally youthful looking female rookie by the name of Rossi who made the arrest somewhere between 11th Avenue near Club Row and promptly brought her prize to the 27th Street Precinct.

For all intents and purposes, the young offender looked no older than perhaps 22 or 23 at most, the average age of a college student just back from spring break. He was soft spoken, did not resist when he was arrested and waited patiently and quietly with his cuffed beringed hands arranged on his lap after he made his one requisite phone call. A prepossessing, well-mannered young man who just happened to be extremely well dressed.

The pinstriped suit he wore, obviously expensive, bore all the signs of being handmade and by an exceptional tailor no doubt, if one would care to ignore the fact that it was slightly wrinkled and gave off the most unusual scent of smoke. His pale amber shirt and black tie were clearly made of the finest linen and silk. An elaborate, bejeweled tie pin engraved with an intricate design held the narrow column of silk in place. His shoes while made with the finest leather had a faint sheen of dust coating them. The silk handkerchief peeking from the breast pocket of his suit was snowy white and impeccably folded.

His entire look and quiet demeanor however called the attention of two seasoned homicide detectives having their coffee break in the nearby bullpen. Detectives Esposito, a veteran of two decades in the force nudged his partner of four years, Detective Costa, a man seven years his junior and gestured with his coffee mug at the sight.

"Check out the rookie's recent collar."

"Which rook?"

"Rossi."

"Whoa. Who's the little prince?"

"Prince is right. Have you seen the duds the boy is wearing? I swear that tie alone must cost more than everything inside my closet put together."

"That's not hard to imagine. All you have are cheap suits and polyester lounge pants."

"Sue me. I try to exist with my hard-earned measly government pay. Who has the time to resurrect the Brooks Brothers for me?"

"Man, you suck. The Brooks Brothers? Really?"

Costa looked at his older and much respected partner and snorted. Esposito merely blinked, smiling and shaking his head and tried again.

"What? Should I have settled for Sy Devore then?"

This time Costa nearly spit his coffee in shock. He glared at his partner and wondered if the older man was teasing him.

"Devore? Gods, you're a retro-freak. Is the Rat-Pack the only style reference you have?"

Esposito tut-tutted and wagged an admonishing finger at the glaring young man.

"Hey boy, don't you go messing with the classics."

"What's that supposed to even mean? What you're wearing isn't classic. It makes you look like a toon-!"

He would've said more but movement in the booking area caught his interest. A distinguished looking man in a blue suit and trench just walked in and was conferring with the day's desk officer. His dark eyes and sharp aquiline features held an intense in look in them—like a predator that caught the tell-tale scent of a favored prey. He held a cellphone to his ear and was rattling off mile-a-minute instructions to whoever it was that was on the other line.

"Hey, isn't that Special Inspector Dominico De Luca? I thought there was some kind of bust going down this week. What's a veteran like him doing here in booking?"

"The bust tanked. Or so I've heard from the grapevine. Something big went down but no one in Organized Crime is talking. Anyways, apparently the little princeling over there is generating some kind of interest. Enough to have someone as big as De Luca come in and take a gander at him, at the very least."

"Why is that? Rich boy's family must be well connected. De Luca doesn't go all the way down here unless it's something big or something involving the old families."

"Well, he doesn't seem to be involved in the Famiglias, I mean he looks too—"

"Too nice and normal to be a wise-guy or a low level stooge."

"So I guess he's the other kind of family-connected. The money kind."

"Must be. They haven't even processed him."

"No shit. Why is he in a holding cell then?"

"He must've committed some offense or something. Rossi wouldn't have brought him for nothing. But when I got coffee I head that Dominico called booking right away when he heard the young man's name and told them to hold off. Won't even allow them to print the guy."

"Huh. Why is that? Any idea?"

The older detective only shook his head but his eyes never strayed from the young man and the well-known inspector hovering just outside the room where their current source of interest resides. His fingers started tapping the rim of his cup absently as he tried to figure out the puzzle of the holding cell's latest, and at the moment, sole occupant.

"Nope. Told the Chief he's waiting to see who would come to claim him. The boys in booking made some complaints about it creating a loophole earlier with the young man's lawyer but then a call came through here a few minutes ago and now they're all hunky dory."

"Who made the call?"

"No idea, but I'm pretty sure they mentioned that the call came from the Italian and Japanese embassy."

"Two embassies called for him? That's pretty quick. Diplomatic status or dual citizenship?"

"Maybe. Who knows? But since we're on break, no one would blame us if we just sit here and graze, right?"

The younger detective gave a wicked grin that revealed a heretofore unknown dimple on his cheek and saluted his partner with his own cup.

"Right you are, Boss."

The first guy to arrive on the scene was a dark haired, handsome and imperially slim built Eurasian looking man that looked only a bit older than their current perp. Dressed in a superbly tailored elegantly understated black suit, purple linen shirt and plum colored silk tie he carried himself off with an air of a visiting dignitary—or an irate general. His sharp, unusual colored eyes scanned the room before landing on the young man sitting quietly in the holding cell. Without further ado, he marched straight into the room and lifted the cuffed wrist before turning a malevolent glare at the officer standing next to the man, startled by how quickly the young man gained access to their prisoner.

'Hey! You can't do that."

"You. Remove it at once."

The words were spoken in precise, uninflected and heavily accented English. Clearly a foreigner, the man's word took on a curt, undeniable edge. The officer in charge of the young offender was clearly affronted by being dismissed so casually and his tone had the slightest bit of edge.

"Sir, please remove your hands from our perp."

"You dare to issue me an order, herbivore?"

"Sir, I don't know who you are or who you're calling a herbivore but you can't just walk in here and talk to one of our collars. Are you his lawyer?"

"Do I really look like hired help to you?"

"Step away from the prisoner, Sir."

"I must be hallucinating. You really are issuing me a direct order?"

"Please stop."

The voice that spoke possessed a soft, mellifluous lilt that immediately silenced the growing tension inside the room. His eyes, lambent twin pools of fathomless chocolate gazed at the coldly furious Eurasian by his side and touched the clenched fist with his bound hands. The harsh jingle of links caught their attention and the anger welling in his purple grey eyes blazed anew.

"Why have you allowed yourself this indignity?" he grated.

"I couldn't disrupt the peace of the town. I broke a rule. The handcuffs are just a precaution since I'm being held in an open area."

"You need not adhere to the rules in this godforsaken land."

"You would've demanded the same from me if we had been at home."

"I would've punished you myself if you had, but you are not that foolish."

"It will be alright. I already made a call."

"They haven't responded quickly enough."

"Then I shall let you reprimand them when we return. I am sure our legal department would benefit greatly from your methodologies."

The smile that graced the thin lips could only be described as bloodthirsty and the young policeman that came to reprimand him took an involuntary step back. Gathering what remained of his rattled dignity, the cop reminded him that if he was not the young man's lawyer (and obviously he wasn't being so young and all), that he must wait outside.

"Sir, as I said if you are not his law-!"

"I'm head of security."

"You're his bodyguard?"

"No. I guard everyone else from him."

And with that parting shot the Eurasian man simply turned and walked away. But he didn't go very far. He took precisely four steps away before turning and leaning against the door jamb, his eyes trained on a far corner of the room. He didn't make any other move, none that was in any way provocative or suspicious but some of the older more experience officers noted that with the Eurasian man standing where he was, there were effectively no way to get to the young man without the Eurasian being close enough to intercept them. With a few deft steps he had effectively and efficiently fenced in and guarded the young man from any and all attack. The detectives watching the exchange both gave a low admiring whistle at the smooth moves on the part of the Eurasian. It was Detective Costa who gave the ebony-haired youth another once over and shook his head in disbelief.

"Slick. That right there is one slick young man. I wonder who trained him."

"A bodyguard at that age? Yaikks."

"Hmm…that proves the money angle. Only the super-rich want a bodyguard that blends in with their crowd. It's actually considered gauche to have the burly, gun-toting kind."

"Gauche huh. Mighty fancy word there kid."

"Bite me old man."

The next one to arrive was a silver haired man with a fierce scowl on his classically handsome face and unusually intense teal eyes. He was dressed near as expensively and fashionably as the other two young men who were in the station but his fingers were laden with rings of various shapes and sizes giving him a slightly rebellious air. When he saw the slim, dark haired Eurasian he spoke in rapid fire Italian, all while reaching into his pocket, withdrawing a cigarette and quickly lighting it despite the glaringly huge "NO SMOKING" sign hanging just behind him. When the man in question only stared at him with a bored expression on his face he then switched to rapid fire Japanese. The Eurasian spoke briefly but whatever he said apparently didn't satisfy the silver head.

When neither language could get him any kind of favorable reaction from his companion, he turned to the policeman watching nearby and he switched once more, this time to flawless—still rapid fire—English and demanded that they keep the young man-his boss-somewhere comfortable, quiet and decent. He also demanded to know who the hell had the bright idea of cuffing his boss in 'cheap-ass-stainless-steel' (His words) and why are they being so impolite as to not even offer his boss any tea?

When the booking officer demanded in turn, to know who he was and whether he was the young man's lawyer, the silver head simply snorted and said that the lawyers are on their way and until they arrive he would be there to make sure that his boss is treated right. A hurried conference with Inspector De Luca by one of the officers yielded an accord. With that declaration, he waited for the young man in question to be led to an empty conference room walled in glass, before he appropriated a chair and sat squarely in front of the only door that led to it. When the other police officers demanded that they put someone in there with their perp, he simply waved away their demand and said his boss already had someone with him. The Eurasian, had indeed, accompanied the young man inside the conference room.

The young man ignored them after that. He finished off a cigarette and started on another, a cellphone tucked under his ear and reassured the surrounding police officers that his boss wasn't going anywhere and that he personally couldn't allow any of them near his boss until the lawyer came or someone higher up vetted their worthiness. When they demanded that he tell them who he was he simply shrugged and replied absentmindedly that he was the young man's Executive Assistant.

"Executive Assistant?"

"Yeah."

"You want us to believe that you're that man's Executive Assistant?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? You have a problem with my boss?"

"What need does a young man have for an Executive Assistant?"

"One that manages a huge family holding."

"So you're working for that young man?"

"..."

"What particular business are you involved in?"

"International Security and Finance."

"Would you be more specific?"

"Would you take off those godforsaken shackles off of him?"

"Of course not. Would you be more specific about this business you speak of?"

"Of course not."

Ten minutes after the silverette came, another man came along. This time it was a tall Asian young man with a walk that ate up the earth and an enviable coordinated grace that spoke of impressive athleticism. Slung nonchalantly across his back was a wooden sword favored by those studying ancient martial arts. The young brunette smiled affably at the gathered policemen, hazel eyes twinkling mischievously on his attractive face and politely asked for directions. When he was motioned towards the conference room, his smile slipped a little and his eyes narrowed just the tiniest bit. When he saw the young man inside the glass room, he flashed a genuine smile of relief that vanished quicker than a warm streak in winter when he noticed the slim circles of metal around the young man's wrist. His eyes took on a sharp predatory gleam in them and the police officer, already reeling from the Eurasian's earlier hostility took a further step back and stood behind the heavy oak table in the mistaken belief that it could lessen the killing intent that suddenly swung his way.

"Officer. Why is he in handcuffs?"

"Ah…he…he hasn't been processed yet—"

"Processed?"

The young officer stumbled through his explanations hurriedly, some atavistic warning inside his head telling him that to do otherwise would be a folly.

"Y-yes. We need to have his prints and they haven't been taken yet because your embassy called and requested that we hold off—the—uhm—p-procedure…"

His words trailed off in a sputter but the tall Asian simply nodded before giving him a dazzlingly amiable smile. It made him blink and wonder if the fear he felt just moments before was a product of an over-active paranoid mind.

"I see. Thank you Officer."

"Y-you're welcome."

The Asian man, turned towards the silver head and raised a hand in greeting, his smile still fixed squarely on his open, friendly countenance.

"Yo! I came as soon as I heard."

"You're fucking late, idiot."

"Maa, maa...I came as fast as I could. I had to leave the Maserati behind when I got your call though. Seemed quicker to just run than wade in traffic."

"The hell did you say? That's great, just fucking great! You just had to leave the fucking car in the middle of fucking nowhere. You did remember to lock it right? You did that much, at least, right?"

"Well...I think I did."

"Did you at least fucking remember to install the godforsaken box that Irie gave you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Then the car would be fine."

"If you say so."

"I just did, idiot."

"So he got here first?" his head nodding towards the Eurasian that still stood behind the seated and cuffed young man.

"Yeah."

"Wonder how he knew."

"I'm wondering the same bloody thing. I think I'm going to have a real heart-to-heart talk to him and that criminally good intelligence network he has when we get back home."

The athletic young man simply laughed aloud and clapped his companion on the back with a huge, long fingered hand.

"Good luck with that. It's your funeral, man."

They watched as the smaller brunette spoke to his taciturn guard for a few minutes before returning to the matter at hand. The smile on the sportsman's eyes froze to cold, gleaming hazel.

"Hey, why is he still in cuffs? You know he doesn't like it. For that matter, I don't like it."

"You think I didn't fucking tell them to take it off? They won't listen to a goddamn thing I say because I'm not his lawyer."

His words trailed off when he noticed the speculative look his newest companion was giving him.

"…"

"What the hell are you staring at me for?"

"You. Him."

"I can't call him that in here. He likes keeping a low profile, remember? It would give away too much and I can't make this any worse than it is. Do me a favor and make yourself useful. Ask them what the hell the forsaken charge is."

"On it. Oh, and yeah, one more thing."

"I don't know about you but maybe you should lessen the swearing too. We can't have them pull stunts on him because you managed to piss them off."

"You freaking-"

"Just saying."

"Fine. Get a goddamn move already."

"Yep."

Inspector Dominico De Luca waylaid the young man when he went in search of the arresting officer. The harried looking booking officer who was desperately trying to catch up to the young man gave the wizened detective a pathetically grateful smile.

"Inspector De Luca! I-I'm sorry sir. Thank you, sir."

"No problem, there. Now, hey, hey! Wait up there, young man. Who are you? And what are you doing here?"

The Asian youth simply pointed an index finger at the brunette sitting quietly inside the mirrored conference room, the smile in his face not reaching the ice-cold edge present in his hazel gaze.

"I'm here for him."

The Inspector's eyes followed where he pointed before swinging back to the young man in front of him.

"I see. And you are?"

"I'm his administrative assistant and troubleshooter."

The inspector made a show of drawing out a small, slim leather bound note book and made no secret that he was noting everything that he was hearing.

"Isn't the young man over there his Executive Assistant?"

The dark-haired man nodded and smiled.

"And that quiet one inside with him his body guard?"

Another smile and nod.

"So you're his admin and what was that—troubleshooter?"

Nod and smile once more. "Yep."

"So what does that mean?"

"I handle personnel and intercompany disputes."

"So you're another body guard?"

The smile the young man gave this time around showed far more teeth than before. The Inspector and officer that hovered near him would've testified in front of God if they had been asked that they heard the young man growl menacingly while still smiling that awfully creepy smile.

"Well I do that too."

"Just how many people work under that kid?"

"At last count? Directly or indirectly, Sir?" he inquired politely.

"Whichever it is that you know, give me a ballpark figure young man."

"Hm…I think somewhere close to a few hundred thousand."