Note: written for a fanfiction contest… the song's Cynical World by Yuki Kajiura. I do not own anything less than my plot.
Pairing: Brad x Schu
Cynical WorldBlood
dripped down a fine reddish-orange eyebrow, as the blue orbs watched hatefully
at the corpses lying on the ground. Everything was still, except his heart,
which was beating frantically with the adrenaline rushing on his veins. Hell be
with them, and he joined them both with terrible ease.
Death reeks, but it is heaven.
Schuldig exhaled in anger, and hastily, he tucked the gun in its holster,
unaware of the danger that might be still lurking around. This was Estet's
order, which supposedly filled him with euphoria, but it did not; it instead
filled him with guilt, regret, and pain. If ever he had pain, for that matter,
yet nevertheless, he felt it. Because of all the places Estet might think of,
they sent them to the cruel capital of Germany - Berlin, where all his memories
lay; the memories he tried to bury, and was again revived.
Tossing the dagger his enemy tried to kill him with, he stepped on the corpses
as a ritual, enjoying the feeling of putting his weight onto the almost frozen
bodies. The frown didn't disappear from the German's face, and even his usually
glinting eyes were fueled with anger, which shadowed it. The act itself, which
usually gave him some amusement, gave him nothing like the previous times - and
would not until they got out from Berlin.
Pressing his feet onto the last corpse, Schuldig looked up, feeling a familiar
presence, and found Crawford standing there, a mask of coldness fixed on him.
Slowly and carelessly, the telepath stepped forward to meet their leader face
to face - and to search in those eyes what he supposed he could relate to, and
possibly could empathize with him...
Search in his eyes for Crawford's own meaning of pain and suffering.
The night sky rumbled, as if reflecting Schuldig's pent-up feelings; and
eventually, the sky poured down rain, first in light drops and then in
thundering beats - like bullets penetrating a human skin. Schuldig remained
fixed on his feet, gazing at their leader's cold glaring eyes as the rain
soaked them both.
+here we stand in ravishing rain+
+joy is like pain+
Schuldig stared at the mask of coldness and found it devoid of anything related
to human emotions - less of stoicity. Feeling that he had acted and thought not
like himself, he let a smirk crawl onto his face, finding his subconscious
reluctant to do what he intended, nevertheless letting his face muscles do what
he was now accustomed to do.
"Bradley." The other man flinched at the word, though kept his
silence. Schuldig stepped closer to their leader, although his subconscious
didnกฆt want it, weaving his mind into the other's, albeit
Crawford's strong mental walls. "Missed me?" Schuldig drew closer,
puddles beneath him splashing on his pants. He didn't mind. All he wanted was
Crawford's emotions... and nothing more.
Something clenched in the telepath's chest, something that reminded him of his
past - when there was nothing to eat, when the streets was his only companion,
and when he remained alone in the highly populated city. The pain became
inexorable, and he wanted to release it, forget it. Perhaps, Crawford - with
his broken soul like the German's, will make him forget, and weave his mind
into his, sharing his pain and suffering, revealing his secrets he long hid
behind the cold mask...
He wanted Crawford's broken soul more than ever. He had taken the chance in
Japan, and here, conceivably, he would get it, for his soul was shattered, and
maybe, worthless.
However, he knew Crawford wouldn't submit to his intentions. He never would.
With his own principles and rules in his head, and perhaps memory also gave
strength to it, he would not submit, less to serve and betray. Pain surged to
his chest.
Schuldig didn't utter a wince as his hand was slapped from landing on
Crawford's face, and then the coldness of Crawford's mask reached out to the
German, chilling him amidst the rain. Words coming from him didnกฆt
matter, for the words itself were printed in their leader's mask; the cold,
dark words of Estet - assassination, betrayal and distance.
The German's smirk faltered, curving into a frown. And softly, he uttered the
words, which he had always wanted to ask the man in front of him. "Why do
you shun me, Crawford? Do you have a reason for your coldness? Why do you
fucking avoid me?" His voice didn't fail him, and anger was slowly
building. The precog stood there unmoving for a moment, the glasses misting and
wetting, making his expression unseen.
In a quick motion, Crawford removed his glasses and tucked it in his inner
breast pocket. Caramel eyes bore into Schuldig's, still cold and distant. And
their leader turned his back onto the telepath, and said in a cold, monotonous
voice:
"We're going. The others are waiting."
And he left, leaving him in the rain. Just like that, he ignored and distanced
himself from Schuldig. The pressure of the rain on the German was increasing,
heightening the pain felt in his chest. It was pain, yes, even though his
subconscious told him it was adrenaline, the cause of having too many to kill
in one night. The sky rumbled, and instantly, Schuldig decided, still with the
pain in his chest, to turn his back on Crawford - for once.
+if you feel you've loved me in vain+
+why not relive your guilty love affairs+
Turning, he faced the already frozen corpses once again and walked to where - he
didn't know. Memory would perhaps lead him, or the souls of these corpses.
Either way, it would suffice. The rain broke on his face, building a fa?ade of
nothingness.
He had closed himself from the world, drawing his mental shields up, not
wanting his teammates to communicate with him anymore. The rain was persistent;
still, the sky was pouring rain - crying for him. Then, finally looking up, he
found himself in front of a club, his memory telling him it was the place he
frequented when he was still a teenager, and when he had nothing to live for
but the drugs and the music and the voices in his head. Bitter recollections
pushed itself from its tight pin in his head, and instead of releasing it, he
just let the place do the job to relive his memories.
+no one but me in this cold place+
Paying the bouncer, he entered, and instantly the blasting music and the
indistinguishable smell greeted him. Bodies cramped together and writhing in
the center, the bar on the side with the asshole of a bartender, and the corner
where they got their supply of drugs; only the type of people had been
replaced, but all was basically still the same. Schuldig smirked at this, then
listlessly walked to the corner.
A man with ruffled raven hair in tight-fitting leather with two blondes curled
on his side grinned up at him, gray eyes glazed from the drugs. "Want to
join? As a redhead, you look hot," the man commented, his organ obscenely
sticking out from his pants. One of the blondes giggled and pressed herself more
firmly onto the man. The other one commented in a giddy voice:
"You bastard, don't you notice it's a man? Don't tell me you're already a
homosexual. Just tell me, and I'll gladly leave you."
The man laughed and waved his hands. Schuldig stood on the spot, eyes blank and
staring, but inside, he hated to watch the scene. It reminded him too much of
his past, and he turned to leave, but the man's remark caught him. "I know
he's a man, you airhead. But some kid who used to frequent here resembles him.
You there, what's your name?"
The telepath's mouth parted, and he read the man's thoughts, seeing an image of
him on sixteen years old in the man's head. Then the memory surfaced - he was
Erinn, the drug dealer, the mastermind of the ruckus in the club.
"Erinn," Schuldig mumbled, a smirk appearing on his lips. The man
stared up at him questioningly, then his eyes lighted up from the renewed sense
of memory. Long, raven locks fell to his face when he grinned lopsidedly,
baring his teeth in a sinister look.
"Schuldig," the man named Erinn articulated unbelievably, forgetting
the two blondes who began to scowl and pout at the telepath. He fully stood,
lean frame and long limbs making him taller than Schuldig. "And I thought
you would forever condemn Berlin?"
"That has been my lifetime purpose."
"So why are you here now? Damn, you look like shit," Erinn said,
observing Schuldig up and down. All his clothing had been soaked, including his
hair, now plastered to his face.
"Because of frustration."
"You never gave up, I remember that."
Schuldig chose to reply in silence, standing with a smirk in his face. It
seemed peculiar to have a part of the past that would perhaps lighten him up,
but he opposed to it. Berlin was worse than it been before, yet Erinn seemed
just like the same: natural, stoned, and fucked up.
"What have you been doing in the past?"
"Is this a fucking reunion?" Schuldig snapped, then smirked again in
amusement. "Itกฆs none of your concern."
"You're still the same, Schuldig. You probably might not ask, well... but
I changed. I dumped the drug lord business because of the damned Russians who
bugged me on a daily basis, and because of another high paying job." His
gray eyes shadowed, and he continued, too stoned to notice the other man's
reaction and faltering of attention. Schuldig watched the two blondes talk in
the corner, curled up in each other, and occasionally indulging in lesbian
intimacy, partly hearing Erinn rant about his transformation.
"And that high paying job was very hard to resist. Imagine, one hundred
thousand dollars per... well, you won't care the least about it, right? But I
remember it was our dream then..." This time, Schuldig turned to Erinn,
blue eyes bored and glazed. Scanning Erinn's thoughts and memories, he found
the blank in his words and smirked evilly. There were some things that really
never changed between them...
"You kill for an organization you don't even know the name of. You are
pathetic," Schuldig said, amused to know that his former friend had
submitted himself to someone he didn't even know, only caring for the money
prized for him.
Erinn's face blanked for a second, then lightened again. Raven locks fell on
his eyes, reminding him of Crawford... Oh God, Crawford is such a bastard.
Business, and nothing else; he wanted him, but he hated him. "I know, I
know... but it is inevitable," Erinn cackled forcefully. "You know
how money can be so tempting... It is always tempting. In fact, this night I
have been assigned to kill somebody very important in another rival organization.
A mind-busting one million dollars for it."
"Why are you saying this to me?" Schuldig asked, becoming bored as
hell from the rantings of Erinn. Gray eyes became wide at the question, then
narrowed dangerously.
"I've never told anyone this. Just you. Dunno, cuz you're the only one who
really knew me from the past." It was not a lie. Schuldig dropped his
guard and slumped on the floor from exhaustion. The other man did likewise.
"You should help me, you know," Erinn suggested.
"I could help you put your own dick in your mouth, nothing else."
Erinn chuckled, his laugh like steel hitting another thousand steels. It
reminded Schuldig of the sharp voices in his head when he was still little.
"Well, anyway, you could just help me if you know the man. The stupid boss
said it to me earlier, and it fucking pissed me off because there were no
specific orders on where and when... fucking abstract. So if you might know
somebody by the name of Bradley Crawford, help me, okay?"
The name shocked something inside Schuldig's chest, and at once, his heart
pounded triple time. He said Bradley Crawford... and a direct order of an
assassination. He hadn't traced any name of their leader in Erinn's head
earlier, but now that he'd said it, it was hurting him partly and confusing
him. Perhaps Erinn was in the group that Estet wanted them to terminate.
Chaotic thoughts jumbled in the telepath's head, inducing a headache. There
were so many reasons he wanted Crawford to be dead, but somehow, in this state,
he couldn't help to be a bit protective of their leader. Because of what?
Because of his mere presence? Of his broken soul? Of his coldness? Schuldig
cradled his head on his hands, the beating of his heart hurting his chest. He
doesn't want Crawford to die, because he was the only one who could share with
him the same pain and suffering and brokenness he also had. There was nobody
else.
+it feels like a miracle+
+you can't turn back, you're in chains+
"Another dead soul is worthless, isn't it? Hey man, what's wrong?"
Erinn whispered, watching the telepath cradling his head on his hands, as if
helpless. Slowly, piercing blue eyes appeared from the mass of orange locks,
meeting shadowed grays, and before Erinn knew it, the back of his head was
bleeding, then his ears, also his eyes. Crying of blood, crying of his life.
Schuldig watched in satisfaction and sadistic euphoria the morbid display in
front of him. Erinn's head was drenched in dark gore, and the contrast of black
on the white skin plus the decoration of bloody mess was breathtakingly
beautiful that he smirked naturally, letting a hand caress the cheek of the
dead body.
"Fuck you, and go to hell," Schuldig whispered, releasing his hands
suddenly that the corpse of Erinn fell with a thud on the floor helplessly.
Standing up, and arranging his hair, he walked away, as if nothing happened,
ignoring the stares of curiosity of the other people. He didn't care. It was
just another body that lost its soul. He was glad that a part of his past had
been killed permanently and would never bug his mind again. And he was glad
that he had done something right for their leader.
When he stepped outside, rain was still pouring, and without hesitating,
Schuldig walked onto it, soaking his body once more. The earlier kill had filled
his emptiness in some way, and he felt rejuvenated with the andrenaline rushing
to his veins. Looking up, he found men in suits barricading the way. Thrilled
with another set to be murdered, he let his mental shields down, accepting the
voices which supposed to make chaos in his head, but when he did, there was
only a hum of nothingness that filled his mind. Caught off guard, a force hit
his side unexpectedly from an unseen fist and he fell on the ground drowning in
puddles, clutching his side. Attempting to get up, he only received a painful
blast in the head, which made him fully collapse and black out from the world.
Swirling clouds in sunset orange and fierce red filled his view, and he longed
to touch it, feel it on his palms. A soft, mellow voice snatched him from the
scene... A voice from the past...
"Schuldig... Guilty..." a man's voice. He couldnกฆt move
his head. Who was it? "You already forgot, didn't you?" a gay
chuckle. The clouds were moving. Why were they moving so fast?
"Youกฆre always careless. A broken soul, hmm?
Youกฆre so twisted, and I doubt you're sane. Now I know why,"
soft voice, lullaby... I wanted to drown in the relaxing tone, but I wanted to
know. Several birds scattered on the sky. Black birds...
"Why are you called guilty? Have you always dwelled in lies, in pain, and
making it seem you're contented? Schuldig..."
กฅWho are you?กฆ he wanted to ask, but his mouth wasn't
moving... He couldn't see his hands, or his body. Where was he?
"Is Bradley Crawford your salvation, your life? Have you seen everything
you wanted in him? Do you know... Do you really know?"
The black birds flew above me, baring its scavenging claws and fangs. A sound
of tearing flesh sounded from behind him. "Schuldig... you sent me in my
salvation, should I send you in yours?"
All in all the scene faded in black, and he wanted to scream to come back, but
he heard another set of voices. This time they were cold, commanding. Scuffling
sounds of shoes on marbled floors were heard, and the random breathing of
approximately five people. And this time, he managed to open his eyes.
Blue eyes met a low ceiling in dull white. He wanted to get his hands out, but
they were tied, as well as his feet. And he was lying down, useless without his
speed and force, but still capable of his power. He surveyed the room with his
telepathy, but met all shielded minds. Confusion set in him, and he wanted
answers.
"He is already awake," monotonous and cold, also unfamiliar. Schuldig
tried to shift his head, and saw a man in a black suit with cold dark eyes. The
telepath already knew from their shielded minds and cold presences that they
were products of Rosenkreuz, and therefore serving Estet. But why was he here,
captured by them?
A new presence came in the room, and it reminded Schuldig of someone. The
shielded mind caught his attention. It was too familiar... Was it Crawford? Or
Nagi?
"Untie him," another cold voice commanded, and two suit-clad men
freed him of the ropes from the waist, the feet, but not the hands. Hastily,
they forcefully let the telepath stand, but he still restricted by the men's
hands on his shoulders and arms. Now, he could clearly see the whole room. A
typical meeting room of Berlin, but low-classed. Was this how they wanted his
life to end? In a cheap meeting room?
Schuldig observed the people in front of him. Two men in black suits stood
behind him, restricting him, and the other three standing before him in the
same color, the tallest one ordering his men. But the last presence was behind
the wall. He was so familiar...
Footsteps echoed in the room as the last person walked towards them. A too
familiar beige suit emerged from the wall, and at last, the person was
revealed, onto Schuldig's shocked mind and eyes. Raven hair, caramel eyes with
the wire-rimmed glasses and well-built body...
"Crawford," Schuldig uttered, staring at the emotionless caramel
eyes.
+that's fate for a criminal good
intentions lost in thin air+
"Yes. Do you recall who we were ordered by to kill here?" Crawford
interrogated distantly, unbuttoning his jacket.
"Michael Rifkin, Estet. What the fuck are you asking? And why am I
here?" Schuldig yelled, furious at the unexplained actions of their
leader.
"Who were you talking to a while ago?" the jacket was now opened, and
a gun holster appeared, implying something bad would happen. Schuldig gritted
his teeth angrily, but nevertheless answered.
"Erinn. Damn it, Crawford, what the fuck -" he yelled in pain as one
of the agents twisted his arm from behind. "Answer properly," the
agent behind him hissed into his ear.
"Apparently, Erinn is Estet. Michael Rifkin, who is precognitive, saw it
all and ordered us to terminate you. You betrayed Estet, Schuldig,"
Crawford's words were so cold, and even the pronunciation of his name was
tainted with frost. With the reply, the telepath gasped, eyes wide in shock. It
was so pointless that an Estet agent would terminate another powerful agent in
Estet, who was Crawford. Who would order Erinn to kill their leader? Perhaps it
would be Rifkin, for he was the one concerned with Erinn, so he saw the vision,
or was he already expecting it? Schuldig wanted to shout to Crawford what he
knew, but a telekinetic forcefully shut his mouth.
+in the warm breeze you will cry+
+again and again+
Crawford had pulled out the automatic gun from the holster and loaded it
carefully, then pointed it to the confused telepath. Blue eyes locked onto the
caramel eyes solidly, and for a moment, Schuldig saw Crawford's eyes blinking
several times, and narrowing numerously. And then, he smirked - he knew that
action.
The trigger was pulled, and the agent behind him fell with a loud thud on the
floor, dead. Crawford did the same to the other agent, and likewise to the
other three until they were both the only living in the room. Schuldig tore the
rope that bind him from behind and approached Crawford, standing with a smirk
in front of him. He never would imagine someone so cold to him to save him in a
situation like this. He never thought Crawford did have a soul somewhere...
"Erinn was ordered by Rifkin to murder you, am I right?" Schuldig
asked.
"Yes."
"Then you knew."
"I always know," Crawford answered shortly.
"You fucking bastard," Schuldig's smirk grew wider.
"I know," Crawford smirked, and then turned his back to Schuldig.
"We have to go to Rifkin's office, and terminate him, and then make it
seem that they were terminated by Estet's enemy. We have no time, let's
go."
"Wait," Schuldig stepped closer to Crawford, stepping onto the
corpses, his adrenaline rushing to his veins. "Crawford, you have a soul
somehow," he breathed onto the American's neck. He placed a kiss on the
nape of their leader's neck, surprised that he didn't flinch at the action.
Instead, he even invited the affection of the German. With this, Schuldig
smirked.
+you were craving for an affection+
+and a certain invitation+
"Let's go," Crawford said, speeding to the exit of the meeting room.
In that instance, there was no reason to stop and disobey their leader. He had
shared a part of his soul, a part of his self, and the German loved it and
would abuse it. There was no reason not to drive himself to their leader and
stay with him in his world...
Schuldig followed Crawford; the distance between them not filled with coldness,
but somehow with warmth and a hint of consideration and affection.
"Another dead soul is worthless, isn't it?" a soft voice whispered in
his head. "Yes." Silence... "You have entered me in my
salvation, and freed me from my solitary existence."
The sky turned black, the clouds started to pour down rain.
"And now, have I given you your salvation? Have you tasted the
satisfaction of having it? Or are you still craving for more, because you can't
see it? Can you truly see him?" the soft voice changed into a familiar
tone, one he couldn't forget, from his adolescence and to his return.
"Do you know? Do you really know what your salvation means? Can you call
me Erinn and stay with me for the rest of your life? No, right?" the voice
slowly faded, but these words were still engraved in Schuldig's memory, the
last thoughts of Erinn echoing in his mind. "You gave me my salvation, and
I have found it... in death, with your past in Berlin..."
+I will love you and serve you, criminal+
+that's your final consolation+
+now hang on to me, in the cynical world+
END