A/N: Reposted and re-edited. -And still not finished editing. Hopefully this'll be it though. Had enough of replacing original documents. (:
♣♣♣♣ B l a c k D a h l i a ♣♣♣♣
P r e l u d e
Sounds of desperate shouts and raw gasps for air imprinted Syaoran's mind. Showers of bullets rained down on the passengers of the plane. It was a perfect blending of music that brought out sadistic pleasure in the terrorists. An air rifle suddenly swiveled acutely to the left, in perfect target for where Syaoran's head was. His amber eyes widened and blinked shut. Half a second tops, Syaoran scrambled under his chair, his arms and legs sprawled out in painful angles. The bullets shot out and dug themselves deep into the armchair.
Sometimes when your mind shuts down completely and you're left there to stand completely blank of any thought, your survival instincts kicks in and amazing how fast you can move. The autonomic reflex system, primitive reflexes. Bam, bam, bam, and you happen to live on, take a new course for life.
Meanwhile, the other passengers that didn't happen to have such luck suffered watching other before them get splattered by their neighbor's and their own blood, waiting for their own turn. The crimson color of life was their last farewell.
Syaoran reopened his eyes again to find the bodies of both his parents lying on the red-stained carpet of the plane. Small hand guns were clutched tightly in their hands.
Mixtures of shock, confusion, fear, depression and self blame filled his sanity. A gunner walked past his hiding place, a twenty or so year old man with mousy black hair surveying the damage. His expression was blank but his eyes were dancing with amusement.
Syaoran didn't dare reach his hands toward the guns his parents had with them, and attempt to shoot the man. But he did take notice the badge the man and the rest of the terrorists wore.
It was a red circle, with a black flower on it, which he later found to be a group of Japanese terrorists by the name of Black Dalia.
At that moment, ten year old Syaoran swore to himself, he would grow up, become a respectable CIA agent like his father and mother and seek revenge.
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
In another part of the city
The sky was dimly lit. A greenish glow was lit across the roof tops. Perhaps, it was the spirit of dawn, or the awakening of the death god. Under the pale moon, stood two figures. Their genders which could be scene after walking towards them. A male and a female, hands intertwined.
From the beginning of the night things were determined. Fate decided.
A bloody opening to what was the beginning of a mislead orphan's life. The two figures stood, each facing the eerie darkness. The street lamps were dimly lit, not a sound from humans nor late night prowlers.
In the woman's arms, was a girl, only toddler of age. Her bright green orbs seemed to question the odd behavior of her parents. Again, perhaps everything was already planned. The death of two adults, two lovers, for the life of their child.
All that was heard, were the silent pleads from the woman and the sounds of fighting. At last the sound of a pistol sliced through the atmosphere. Another followed it. No screams came. Simply the cry of the girl being taken away.
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
Present:
Tokyo – November 16 -2 AM
"Who are you?" a cunningly looking man demanded. His black hair was slicked back, his thin lips grimacing. The dining room where the man sat in a buffet table was elegant and furnished with beautiful details. A crystal chandelier hanged in the middle of the large room illuminating each and every corner and edge of the room.
A girl sporting a huge canvas bag stared back with a cold stare. Her auburn hair was pinned back by black hair clips. A black spandex suit clothed her built figure. Covering her hands were a pair of thin combat gloves. The girl didn't so much as flinch to the tone directed towards her. It was figured, she had failed her previous mission.
Sakura looked up at the man in front of her, her jaw clenched. The man stood in front of her was her supposedly step-father.
"Sakura, father." Sakura responded monotonously. Her eyes were downcast and her body position was robotic like; back straight and erect, hands behind her, and eyes strongly averted to the floor.
"Where are you parents?" The man asked again, his eyes closed expecting the usual answer. He let himself sink deeply in the luxurious chair. His blue-black silk robes sunk along with him in ripples.
"They died during archaeology trip on a plane; you are my rightful father now." Sakura responded off the top of her tongue. She didn't feel the cruelty of loosing blood-related parents. She didn't remember them. They weren't part of her life. There was nothing to feel.
"Who do you listen to and what is your purpose?" The man spoke reaching a pale arm towards the china teacup on the mahogany table.
"I only listen to you, father. My purpose is to kill as many of our enemies as possible and destroy all other means of barriers from our plans. Sakura said her tone bitter and malicious.
"Why would you listen to me, little cherry blossom?" The man looked at her, carefully pronouncing the last two words in fluent English. He admired her appearance, she was a beautiful tool. An epitome of perfection. No unneeded feelings.
"There is no other I will obey. My life is given by you, and can be taken any time by you, father. Your enemies are my enemies. Your success is my success. Your death wishes to others are my orders."
"What happens when one day, you decide to let me down? What about the day you decide to betray everyone including me?" With that he gave eye contact, angleing his head 180 degrees, his steel grey eyes penetrating any little comfort brought to Sakura.
"I die."
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
Los Angeles –November 17-5 PM
A tall building highlighted the darkening skyline of Los Angeles. As a outsider, a simple glance at it gave off the adress of a posh hotel or apartment, for its many windows that faced toward the South, giving of what most home owners knew in Los Angeles, as a great angle for the sun and a excellent view.
Giving further confirmation, the building had a total of twenty flours, giving another point for its oringinality.
The inside walls were painted a azure blue. Caucasian crown modeling hid the union of the wall and the ceiling. Drop down windows hollowed out the two main sides of the building. All was very well built for comfort, to bad, the people here weren't 'relaxing' nor taking any notice of it, the opposite in that case.
It was only a facade for the temporary headquarters of the CIA.
A room at the end of the corridor on the 8th floor, labeled Agent Syaoran Li, gave off soft vibrating sounds through the sound proof walls. It rung repetitively, but the owner of the cell phone, didn't answer it.
Inside the room was less welcoming. The walls were depressing grey tone, the carpets a slate black. Show case Japanese originated swords hung of the wall, adding bits of color. New advanced technology wounded through the ceiling to the carpets.
Large full length windows gave the owner a well perspective view of the city. A man sat on the leather chair behind his mahogany desk. His eyes were closed shut, tossled chestnut hair covering the most part of them. He gave an impression of being asleep.
The last sound of the vibrating brought the young man's attention back to the present. Cracking a single eye open, he ran a hand through his messy hair, while squinting uncomfortably trying to adjust to the bright light in his office.
He tugged his cell phone out of his suit pocket and glared at it fiercely. The vibrating had stopped; the other end had already set down the phone.
Call Missed…
Number: 714-525-1313
Call back: Yes l No
Syaoran, said man's name, exhaled deeply, frustrated at the cell phone for an unknown reason. Without hesitation he stuffed the small device back in his suit pocket, ignoring the call. It wasn't from someone he knew nor gave his number to. Little did he know, he made a important mistake that second.
His brown eyes wandered back towards the flat-screen TV on the wall. The video was currently on freeze frame. The scene was in a ballroom, where many higher up class people flittered around. Most were either talking among themselves or sitting in a chair drinking a glass of wine. Few danced to the slow symphony music.
The dinner-party was held by a famous fashion designer, Elliot Anderson, a name known by most Americans. It was on November, 14th, three days ago in Los Angeles.
Nothing seemed out of order, until five to 12 pm. A false alarm. A sudden lock down happened seconds after, trapping the guests inside the mansion. The entrance doors were automatically locked and metal slide shutters dropped down, preventing any escapes. Like most cases, electricity was cut off.
Someone had definitely tampered with the security system. Screamings and any other noises of chaos were heard throughout the video.
No one was hurt, but Mr. Anderson was taken hostage by a lady around the ages of 20 with long black hair and green eyes. However, the man had been discovered by a guest knocked out of conscious state in the closet an hour later. Details of the lady was very limited due to…according to the police there, everything. Nice.
Even Anderson, himself was ditsy and couldn't provide any evidence much less details of the exact appearance of the lady.
It didn't follow the usual crime cases. Since no evidence could be provided and no heavily damages were made, the case was called off by Anderson.
Syaoran suspected something went wrong own their mission. Were they trying to steal something? Did Anderson not have it? Or was this all a decoy?
The main evidence was a pink, glass brooch shaped like flowers.
Those flowers were Nadeshikos, Syaoran guessed as he remembered the old flower garden their family used to have.
Fingering the edges and glassy surface, he recalled what the old fortune teller at the end of Sixty four Avenue Roadway had once said to a girl.
"Nadeshiko are usually thought as more feminine and chaste. Traditionally said for woman to look weak, delicate and gentle outside, but is able to cope with house holding, raising kids. This is a good sign, Kiko. Hopefully you lead a good life and have good health…"
Very peculiar for a kidnapper.
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
Los Angeles –November 17- 4:50 PM
A man dressed in a black/grey leather jacket and blue jeans swaggered down the dark alley, a small revolver in his hands. In his other fist was a small cell phone. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he desperately tried to stay hidden in the shadows. Coming to a slight clearing, where his eye sight adjusted to the dark he jammed his fingers at his the cell phone again. The small silver device wasn't his, technically he had stolen it from someone, but this was an emergency.
After three dials, the other end still wouldn't pick up. His chest heaved exaggeratedly, letting out endless strings of curses. Looking toward the garbage littered gravel he clutched the wound on his abdomen. The blood flowing from the bullet had long been dismissed by the young man, but it wouldn't take long for him to pass into a half asleep half dreaming state.
His black hair looked messy and ruffled, along with his entire appearance. Slowly he let himself sunk against the disgusting graffiti covered wall. His eyes grew tired and droopy.
"Pick up the forsaken phone…you knucklehead…" were the last words he murmured before slipping into a long sleep.
I apologize for the constant changing of story-line/well not totally changing anything. I'm just editing and trying to improve what has already been written. Me and a friend are testing this fic with 'the' test run. So, for those that have already read, the next part would be basically a repeat of what you have already read. But please still take a glimpse at it, in case of anything you missed and will have to question later. Thanks for reading, and please review!