A/N: I apologise for posting this when the other chapters still haven't been plotted yet. It means a longer wait for the next chapter. On another note, I hope readers out there enjoy this. I'll try to not procrastinate and work on the following chapters as long as my work allows me. (basically going to school and being Asian about it and cramming last minute for highly-important exams. Good times XD)
Disclaimer_ how many times has this been repeated?_ (I don't own KHR, rather obviously, by the way)
warning: ooc-characters; NO OCs (except for nameless goons to use as scapegoats or to kill off)
He was on the run. He was always on the run.
thundering feet, banging on the door, loud as the thunder which boomed ominously in the sky
Faster, faster. His feet slipped and he skidded across the muddy pavements.
"Hide! Tsu-kun!" Frantic hands, soft but chaffed from hours of housework and cooking shoved him into the crammed space beneath the sink.
The teen wrestled for control of his feet and threw himself behind the corner, turning right down the alley lane.
The door burst open, bullets whistling, furniture toppling, objects breaking, the rhythmic fire of the guns drowning out the heavy patter of the storm outside. A woman's scream pierced the air and the young child gasped, sobbing.
He heard shouts and booted feet hitting the ground and frantically cast his eyes about for a route of escape.
The child, so small he could not have been over the age of six, shuddered in fear. Then the cupboard door was flung open, and he found himself face to face with a burly, helmeted soldier. Lightning cackled and illuminated his twisted sneer. A scream ripped out of the child's throat.
In the corner of his eye, a manhole cover glinted. There! Slipping and sloshing, he made his way over as fast as he could.
A hand shot into the dark space and snatched him out, holding him aloft so that he dangled, half choking, in the air. In desperation, the young brunet shot both tiny hands forward and ripped sightlessly at his captor's face
Praying he would be fast enough, the teen pulled at the heavy metal, lithe muscles tensing beneath the long sleeves. 'C'mon, c'mon!'
A roar ripped through the house as small grubby nails met flesh. The child's head was sent snapping back with a bruising punch. Dazedly, he caught the blurry sight of a sprawled, boneless figure laying contorted in a puddle of red and bullets.
The sound of sprinting men snapped his head back around and expressive brown eyes widened further. Shoving the noisy round object to the side, he desperately made to slide through. A hand snatched his ankle.
Rage, pure and unbridled, shoved his fear and panic aside, pooling rapidly in his chest and engulfing his body in its senseless, wild violence. The scream that he let loose this time had the bloody promise of death in it, echoing around the house.
Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! He kicked out wildly, twisting, landing punches left and right, slipping out of their grips like an eel. He determinedly jumped through the open, dark hole, holding out a hand above his head to seal the entrance as he descended rapidly.
Fire erupted from his tiny, weak body, flooding the house until it simply exploded outward, every bit aflame, and getting reduced to ashes. The bodies of the men carrying out the raid collapsed, consumed in the raging inferno of the innocent child's murderous rage.
The teen lay, panting, orange hoodie and black cargo pants picking up dirt as his body twitched and heaved as he tried to level his breath. Then, silently, he got up, grimacing slightly, and walked to where the tunnel curved left.
'Better get going before they break through. My Zero point flames can't maintain themselves yet.'
With an air of paranoia enveloping him, he pulled the dusky orange hood over lightly spiked, gravity-defying hair, reaching out to use his left hand as a guide, fingertips brushing the dusty bricks. He held his other hand and flames crept along its outline.
The teen trudged on wearily, sneakers occasionally squeaking on moss and other slush and muck. The place stank, musty and of rot, and the shadows the flame's light cast danced, serving only to add to his taut nerves.
He traveled in utter silence, stumbling every so often, adrenaline drained, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. Still, he persisted on stubbornly, eyelids drooping lower with each blink.
Eventually, limbs nearly turning to liquid, he dragged his heavy body into a sealed, dusty room.
All six sides were a drab, yellowing white and it had no more than a piece of furniture inside it, and a clutter of objects in a corner.
The tired teen forced his weary muscles to carry him to the torn couch, where he collapsed.
His light breathing filled the room and echoed, and his dreams where filled with blackness, fire, and a tall, imposing figure with a fedora-shadowed face.
'Reborn... where did you go?'
A sharp snap echoed through the air as the thick ice sealing the entrance to the sewer shattered under the dogged persistence of the men. The walkie-talkie of the captain cackled to life and he hastily snatched it off his belt.
"Boss, we just broke through the seal-"
A chuckle from the other side interrupted him. "No use trying to find him, no doubt mist flames have been used to fortify the place."
"Sorry, boss."
"Sawada Tsunayoshi..." the voice let the name linger on his/her tongue, as if relishing the way it sounded. "I'm afraid he has given us the slip! Really, a fourteen year old escaping your team? You disappoint me."
"Sorry boss, it won't happen again."
"You better not screw up next time," the voice purred, static turning it fuzzy, "return to the headquarters."
The line went dead and the men obeyed.
In the other side of Italy, a figure swathed in silk and shadows smiled icily. Long slender fingers tipped a tapered glass filled with dark liquid to chapped pink lips. A pointed red tongue darted out and caught a pearl of liquid from the corner of the owner's mouth and the glass was delicately set down again.
A faceless clock in the corner ticked.
Blue eyes gazed contemptuously down at the silenced walkie-talkie on the desk. With a sudden jerk, the wine glass was emptied onto the black object, successfully ruining it. Then it was refilled from a bottle labeled 'cranberry juice'.
The tiny figure laughed, a cold tinkle of bells. "I'll find you soon, nii-chan!"
He was always on the run, had always been on the run since then.
Running from the future.
Running from the past.
Running from experiments and captivity.
Running, always running.
Running from reality.
Where was Reborn, the one who had left him? The one who had saved him?
On that dark and bloody night.
The clang of his metal pipe on the dirty tarmac was good; sturdy. He'd forgotten where he'd gotten it, but it worked, and that was good enough for him. He lifted it up, towards the foggy, endlessly dark night sky with its sprinkle of bright stars. The moonlight shone down and glinted off the weapon in his hands.
It was long, and one side bent at a ninety-degree angle. The metal, though shiny, bore scratches, dirt and a dulled sort of look that made it appear well-used. Reddish-brown stained it in splotches; he'd made those. Not from himself, no, on the ones that came to intrude and maybe kill. He did not like harming people, but Italy was a dangerous place, with all its Mafia and midnight-events, especially for someone like him.
Mesmerised, he twisted the piece of long, cool metal in his hands so that the bent-bit at the end stuck out toward the ground, and brought it down-
-BANG Reborn surveyed the scene disinterestedly- hole-riddled bodies littered the alley-way, blood seeping in small rivulets caused by minuscule cracks between the pebbles that paved the ground, puddling and pooling together, mixing in with other liquids he'd rather not question.
A panicked presence behind him screamed for his attention and he angled his body away, even as the trigger was pulled, even as the bullet brushed past, so close, that he felt the hairs on his cheek stand up.
Languidly, he turned, to see a silhouetted figure hurl itself around the corner. Blood rushed frenziedly through his veins, as it always did whenever he was on a job. He let blood lust pull his lips into a smirk.
Run, vermin.
He brought his hands down, again, and the metal bounced off the ground noisily, once more. Scuffling of shoes, panicked gasps and thuds of swift footsteps sounded, closer and closer, as a person ran into his alley. Something in the intruder's hands glinted. A gun. His eyes widened. 'No!' But he ran forwards anyway, to defend himself.
He threw his hands up, grip on the pipe so tight his flesh cried, and closed his eyes as he brought it down. When the first hit made contact, he screamed, in pain. Fleshy thunks, metal against skin, bones cracking and warm wetness hitting his cheeks, again and again. He kept screaming, as he brought the pipe down again onto the already-unresponsive body. Thud and squelch. In his mind, he replayed the inhuman yell as the metal hit and ravaged the man's face. He swung the pipe down.
"I'm sorry!" he sobbed. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'msorryI'msorry!"
Panting, shaking, he stopped, releasing his grip on the metal pipe slightly. "It's okay," someone whispered, "It's okay, you're okay."
He sobbed, gulping at the lump in his throat that made it so hard to breathe.
"I'm okay," he repeated obediently, "It's okay now."
He stared hard at the red soaking his shoes and watched the ripples his tears made.
Then he looked up, at the suited man standing at the entrance of the alley with eyes that looked like they were normally narrowed in confidence and power. Those obsidian eyes were now staring at him, widened just a millimeter with shock, curiosity and pity.
There was no one here now to take him home. So he would search.
He would go to Japan.
He would go home; to Namimori.
Eyelids lifting, Tsunayoshi Sawada turned and fell off the couch.
A/N: what do you think of the chapter length? Too long? Too short? Satisfactory? I hope the last. Either way, let me know if you see anything that doesn't seem to flow right with the story. I hope the characters' OOC-ness doesn't bother you too much, they're fun to write and just seem correct in the spur of the moment.