Disclaimer: This is a cross over/rewrite of Country of the Blind with Weiss Kreuz. Weiss Kreuz is not mine. Neither is the fantastic Country of the Blind – that belongs to Christopher Brookmyre, the only crime writer out there whose sense of humour is as unpleasant as mine. Naturally some plot details and characters have been changed to accommodate the boys … I had to get them to Scotland somehow as I can't be arsed to investigate the Japanese legal system when I already know the Scottish.

Warnings: Bad language, lots of it and more than a smattering of violence. Blink and you'll miss it hints of shounen-ai that'll probably get more blatant as the plot progresses. I'll fill you in on the couplings when it gets relevant, but you might work it out for yourselves first.

Blind Justice

Part One: A Dark Day in Hell



"Aya is dead."

Manx had blinked at the sudden intrusion, but that was the only hint of her surprise as she looked up at the young man who stood stiffly in the room. "I'm sorry?"

The young man took a deep breath and looked at the red-haired woman with a gaze of disconcerting intensity. "My sister died in her sleep yesterday. She never woke up. So now Aya is dead."

Manx's features formed a sympathetic expression. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know how much she meant to you."

It was hard to determine any form of emotion on the assassin's face, but Manx knew from experience that didn't mean he wasn't grieving badly. He shook his head. "No, you don't understand. Aya is dead. Both my sister and Aya the assassin. I'm giving her the name back, it shouldn't be tainted with any more blood."

"That's fine, but if you want to revert to Ran surely it's your team-mates you should be informing." Manx paused and felt a frown cross her face. "Unless it's more than just the name of Aya that you're giving up." Ran nodded slightly and the woman sighed. "Crashers don't have any openings at the moment, but I'm sure there's something that doesn't involve assassination."

"No," Ran said firmly, his eyes fixed on the floor in front of him. "I can't do any of this anymore. If you keep me in Kritiker I'm going to end up killing again and I don't want that. I want to leave, get out of Japan."

Manx blinked in surprise. "Leave Japan? And go where, exactly?"

"As far away as possible. Europe possibly, any further and I start to come home again." Ran raised his eyes for a moment. "Schwarz are gone, disbanded and wiped all records of them behind them. The others can cope without me. There's no reason for me to stay anymore."

"It's a shame to lose you Ran, are you sure this is what you want?" Manx asked, sighing when the man nodded. "It'll take some time to organise, but as you said, without Schwarz Weiss can manage just as easily with three." She paused. "Is there any particular identity you'd like?"

Ran considered this. "I'd like to keep my first name, I haven't been Ran in a long time. My surname has to change though. And I figured maybe I could study something like law."

Manx's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Not economics or banking?"

Ran shook his head. "No, Law is the only profession more cold blooded than assassination. At least this time I won't be the one committing the crimes."

Manx watched him leave, then realised that Abyssinian had made a joke. A bleak, misanthropic joke, but what else from the taciturn leader of Weiss?



It had been a bitch of a morning, one of the kind that made his fingers itch for a katana to dispatch his own instant form of justice to the whining, moaning idiots who stumbled into his office with their petty grumbles under the impression that their personal imagined slights were worthy not only of his time but also of not having to pay fees. He missed Persia and Manx at times like this, he'd always known they'd filtered all but the most needy cases from Weiss, but until now he'd never really appreciated just how much excess there was out there. So far this morning, he'd been verbally insulted by every single one of the potential clients he'd sent packing from his office and even had five threats of actual physical violence. It was shaping up to be a busy morning in Glasgow.

Even now, seven years after leaving Japan, he wasn't sure why he ended up working for a law firm in Scotland, possibly because it was the last place he could imagine meeting anyone he knew. Or possibly because the constant rain and drizzle provided the perfect backdrop to brood against. Most likely it was simply because they also drove on the left and as he hadn't given up his love of fast cars, it made sense to stick to a country where his instinctual reactions behind the wheel wouldn't put him into oncoming traffic. Although on mornings like this that seemed like a tempting option.

Ran groaned as he slumped his head on desk after shutting the door on the last grumbling time-waster and contemplated the joys the afternoon would bring. It wasn't supposed to have been like this, he thought. This was supposed to have been a meaningful alternative to killing and fighting for his life every night. Instead he was forced to listen of rants of injured pride and imagined slight that always turned to abuse when the unsmiling redhead curtly announced that particular case would not be making it inside a courtroom any time before hell froze over.

He heard the door open as his next client entered, and then a muted, clinking, sound as a china mug was placed on the desk by his head. The display of thoughtfulness caused Ran to lift his head in surprise and then freeze in place as a very familiar voice spoke up. "I had a feeling you could really use of cup of tea right now. And if you knew what a bitch the afternoon was going to be, you'd be really grateful for that."

Ran had turned to face the calm blue gaze of Brad Crawford, one of the last people he ever expected to find in a Glasgow law firm. The American looked thinner and slightly more drawn about the eyes, as he smiled slightly at Ran's look of shock. "Don't worry. You're not the only one who quit the assassin business, I'm not here to kill you."

To cover his shock, Ran reached for his tea and took a tentative sip. It was remarkably good and he felt himself relax slightly. "If you're not here to kill me, then just why are you here?"

The former Schwartz assassin leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "I need your help."

Ran quirked an eyebrow and the American sighed again as he reached inside his jacket. "Look, I just need you to record that I gave you this envelope and keep it until I return on Monday to collect it. If I haven't appeared by then, you can open it and take whatever steps you deem necessary."

Ran accepted the envelope with only the slightest outward sign of his reluctance. "What's in this exactly?"

Brad Crawford smiled thinly. "If we're both lucky, you'll never find out."

Ran glared at the dark haired man in front of him. "That might be more reassuring if one of us wasn't a pre-cog."

Another enigmatic smile as the American got up to leave. "That is why I gave this to you instead of one of your colleagues. Hope to see you on Monday, Ran."

He watched the man leave the room and then turned back to the envelope he now held in his hand. Damn he had a bad feeling about this.



It began with a brief report tacked onto the end of the six o'clock news, it's seriousness reinforced by the note of panic in the BBC reporter's voice as he stated that sketchy reports were coming in of a number of bodies found in an Scottish country house and that, while still unconfirmed by police, the well known media mogul Johannes Fischer and his wife were suspected to have been staying there. By the start of Channel Four's seven o'clock news an undeniably smug-looking news anchor, clearly elated at getting one up on the BBC and their News24, announced that the bodies had indeed been confirmed as those of Fischer, his wife and two bodyguards and that these 'sickeningly brutal and sadistic killings' were being treated as a murder. In addition four men had been arrested leaving the scene, and were being held under the Prevention of Terrorism Act. No real motive had been established, Ran had noted with an amazing degree of detachment considering the sinking sensation he was experiencing in the pit of his stomach, but seeing as one of the quartet was Irish and a Catholic to boot, the government probably felt its use of the act would pass unquestioned by the British public. And the fact that it allowed them to hold their suspects for six days without letting the accused talk to a lawyer was just an unexpected bonus. Or, Ran thought as he fixed the television with a glare of coldest violet, would have been if one of said suspects wasn't able to see the future and hadn't taken precautions against this very event. Precautions which seemed to involve the as yet unopened blank envelope lying on Ran's desk at work and in addition the ex-assassin himself no doubt.

As the evening progressed, more of the cold facts of the case began to come to light and Ran began to find himself feeling more and more confused. While the two bodyguards had been shot in "a highly professional and economical fashion" once through the forehead each, both Fischer and his wife had been tied up and their throats cut. It had been fairly obvious that Fischer had been forced to watch his wife die, but unlike the blustering politicians and fellow media moguls who were baying for blood or at least a return of hanging, Ran found the method of killing strangely wrong. It seemed almost excessively savage for a team of professionally hired assassins. In addition, one Nagi Naoe had been soaked in Fischer's blood when he was caught trying to leave the grounds, which presented itself with problem number two. Since when did Schwartz allow themselves to get caught, let alone get their clothes dirty? It was also clear that the media had absolutely no idea that the group used to do kill people for a living, as the only crime they referred to was a conviction for robbery held by one Brad Crawford. At that point Ran had poured his now cold tea away and headed straight for the bottle of whiskey. Sure he'd guess they'd be out of practise after seven whole years out of the business, but to be caught running away? And why would their ringleader openly approach his old enemy for help? There had seemed to be only one solution involving a twenty minute drive to his office and one currently unopened envelope.

The contents of the oh-so-mysterious envelope had managed to reassure Ran to a certain extent, but as he looked through what he'd found inside, he could hear the questions piling up around him. One thing was for sure, tomorrow morning he had a hell of a drive along the M8 to Edinburgh where Schwartz were being held and the police were not going to be grateful.

It was ironic. No, Ran corrected himself, it was just the sort of sick joke he should expect from the former members of Schwarz. The assassin team had dissolved over seven years ago, but it seemed they hadn't lost their capacity to make his life a living hell. As he flicked over to the extended Newsnight and listened to the outraged cries of the politicians and fat- cats to bring these "vicious dogs to justice" and calls for "this unprecedented outrage to serve as a strong argument for reinstating the death penalty", Ran thought with bleak humour that the last thing any of these blustering suited gasbags expected was for someone to actually speak up for the four. It just sucked that he was one who had to do it.