A/N: So this became monstrous. Oh well, more to read, I guess. Since The Distance We Carry covered pre-series and season one, I thought I'd continue and write another piece for the gap between seasons and season two. I was originally just going to write an accompanying piece for the movie, but I didn't want to skip over so much of Ginoza's development and the growth in the relationship between him and Tsunemori, so here we are. So much Kougami without Kougami!

Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

Ginoza could see little pieces of Kougami within her, especially when the smoke began to waft off of her after long hours and hard nights. The determination and passion that he used to see sparking within Kougami's eyes now flared within hers. That obsessive need to solve, to fix, to protect now ran through her veins as it had his. That restlessness that used to keep him awake at night now stirred within her as she refused to leave the office until well into the next morning. That recklessness that Kougami used to live by was sucking her in, and she accepted it like it was meant to be.

Tsunemori had adopted Kougami's beliefs, his skills, his views. She was becoming the detective that Ginoza thought he had lost…

She was the one that came for him at the center, eyes bright and sympathetic, smile present, but a ghost of its former radiance. He had rejected her offer, at first. He couldn't go back there, to that place that held nothing but bitterness and regret. He had failed his team. Failed his father. Failed Kougami.

Failed himself.

No, he wasn't suitable for the MWPSB. Not as an inspector, not as a hound. He deserved to rot away, isolated from the clear hues of society. There wasn't anything left for him in his old life, anyway.

The second time, she placed her hand on the barrier between them, wouldn't leave until he did the same. With a sigh, he connected their hands, glared through his glasses in the hopes of shooing her away faster. It had worked for most of his life. She just needed to see that he wasn't worth it, as everyone else had.

"You're still my partner, Ginoza."

The glare faded as the words settled into his mind and a new wave of nausea washed over him. He left quickly after that, didn't allow Tsunemori to make her offer again, didn't listen to her pleas for him to wait. He didn't want this. The ache that came from someone needing him, someone believing in him. It was such a human feeling, but he wasn't human anymore. He was a criminal. He'd allowed himself to fall into the dark voids of corruption and it had welcomed him like family. It was his destiny to sink into this status, but he wasn't going to drag anyone else down with him. He couldn't disappoint anyone else.

He couldn't lose anyone else.

His arm ached when she came for him the third time. He rubbed at the prosthetic, as if the foreign weight of metal was to blame and not the echoes of what was once in its place.

Brown eyes were dull with exhaustion and a heavy weight of sorrow sat upon her expression. She frowned as he sat down. "There is a world out there. A world that needs you. You were a good detective and I need you on my team."

"Dad and Kougami were the good detectives," Ginoza muttered. He prepared himself to leave as Tsunemori rushed him with more words he didn't wish to hear.

"Can you accept it, Ginoza? Can you accept that they're gone?"

Loneliness resonated within her question and he could see it then. Even if she always had the clearest hue in the room, she still felt the weight of loss, of failure. She was still broken, like him.

Ginoza laid in his bed after she left, torn between two worlds. He had finally become everything he abhorred. He had resigned himself to a life of solitude. So why did he feel that sharp sting of hope? Could he really return to that old life he had so carelessly tossed away? Could he manage to make himself useful? Could he learn to accept what had happened?

She didn't need to say anything when she came the next time. He sat before her, calmer than he'd felt in weeks, and folded his hands on the table, organic hand locked with his metal one. "Can you?"

It didn't feel like the cage he had always seen them as. He stood in the middle of the room, light with the loss of his freedom and so much more. But he didn't necessarily hate it, as he thought he would. The walls were an oppressive and sickly green and the sparse furniture accentuated what little space the place had to offer, but the smell that was imbedded into the air around him was so distinctly his father's that he found, for the first time in years, that he'd missed it. It felt more like home than the center had. Hell, even more than his apartment had.

With Dime at his side and his father's paintings in front of him, Ginoza allowed himself to settle - mixed in the old with the new. He had taken his father's place on the team and he was okay with that, oddly enough. He had seen this coming. His fate had been thrown in his face so often over the years that it would have been impossible to ignore this inevitability.

The sudden shift was still a shock to his system, of course.

His glasses sat in a drawer at his bedside and he stared at them every once in a while, wondered why he had once thought them necessary. He had been so desperate to hide, to keep those little similarities between himself and his father locked away behind thick frames, that he had forgotten what it was like to be himself. Was there even anything left of the Ginoza Nobuchika from before? Was that person still there? Or had he hidden himself so well that even his own eyes could never find him?

The office was quiet when he returned, although both of his former team were present. There was a mutual silence amongst them, purposeful in its respect for the time that had passed and the people along with it. Tsunemori gave him a smile, Kunizuka a nod. He sat at his new desk and ignored the chill that slid down his spine as he stared at the screen. The office, which had once been his second home, was now only a graveyard. Instead of his three enforcers working around him, there were ghosts playing with his vision. Kagari who ignored his reports as he hummed to the tune of the game he was playing. Masaoka who didn't care to hide his concerned glances and gave out advice like it was candy. Kougami who…

He didn't sit there for long before a sudden spike in an area stress level had them out of their chairs and out the door. He was grateful for the distraction, even if sitting in the back of the wagon was odd, to say the least. It was at that moment that it finally hit him. It wasn't his team anymore. He wasn't observing from behind the barrier of his enforcers. He was on the front lines, following Tsunemori's lead.

He bit his tongue more than once, stopping himself from issuing an order that wasn't his to give. It was hard falling into his place as an enforcer, a lot harder than he had imagined. An inspector was all he was, all he knew to be. But as time passed, as he observed the new Shepherd One in action, saw how she handled their team effortlessly and with such compassion, Ginoza realized that he had never truly earned his place as an inspector. And Tsunemori more than made up for his absence.

When the work was done and the day was out, he found himself actively avoiding his desk. Their desks. The air was cold, unforgiving on his nerves, so he took to spending more time in his home than he ever had as an inspector.

After spending an inordinate amount of time petting Dime and polishing his chambers into a shine, Ginoza found himself at a loss of what to do. He worked out to pass the time, realizing that Kougami's long, frequent work outs had been for more than just keeping his body as sharp as his mind. It was cathartic, an easy way to relieve stress and let loose all of his tightly wound frustrations. Each hit set his mind free from its usual tortures. Each set took more pain away, kept those heady feelings of abandonment and the betrayal clenching his heart at bay.

When he grew sore and tired, he tried painting. The canvas was there beside its tools, collecting dust in its neglect. What was supposed to be the sea, simple in its beauty, but complex in its depths, was nothing but a mass of blue and green, some patches of black here and there. He sat it down beside some old paintings of his father's, finding that it in no way compared. His father, he decided, had the gift that hadn't quite made it into his own genes.

He stared at the painting of his mother, took note of the detail, the love in every stroke, and realized that he really hadn't known his father at all. The portrait was old, yellowed with time, but with the way it was set, in the corner of the room amongst paintings of the flowers his mother used to grow and nurture, Ginoza knew it was cherished.

Nights were particularly difficult to endure. His bed felt cold and empty, despite having spent years sleeping alone. It was like the agony of losing Kougami to the Specimen Case was renewed somehow and Ginoza couldn't stand it. He could feel the man's presence at his back, hear that dulcet tone singing praises in his ear, all as tangible as it had been years before. But he willed the illusions away, like all the others. He couldn't handle any more heartache. And with Kougami, even in his memories, that was all he got.

Every time.

Tsunemori hesitated, hand fisted at the door, poised to knock, withholding the door's automatic announcement system. She stood there for a long while, giving away time she probably couldn't afford. She just wasn't sure what to say, what to do. Ginoza had come back to their team and she was grateful, so very grateful, but there was something different about him. He was there, always following her commands dutifully and respectfully, but when they weren't in the field, or concentrating on a case, it was like his mind wasn't present, his thoughts far away. It wasn't something she was used to from the usually strict and composed Ginoza, always focused on the target at hand.

She had originally written it off. Of course he was different. She wasn't callous enough to expect the man to just spring right back after all he had lost. A deteriorated Pass was hard enough to come back from, let alone the loss of a limb and a loved one. She just wanted to make sure he was okay. As okay as possible, anyway.

Feeling ridiculous for spending twenty straight minutes in front of his door, Tsunemori huffed out a breath and finally knocked, waited a minute and knocked once more. "Ginoza? It's-" The doors slid open to reveal a sweaty Ginoza adorned in a pair of sweats and a an A-shirt, toweling the back of his neck. It drew a wide-eyed gape from the woman as she wasn't used to her former superior in anything but a pressed suit.

"Inspector Tsunemori? What is it?"

"Ah! Um…"

Ginoza glanced down at himself and grimaced, quickly apologizing as he stepped back, inviting her in. "Sorry, I was in the middle of a set. Mind waiting while I change?"

Quickly shaking her head, she stepped inside, the doors closing with a swift click behind her. "Of course not. You don't have to, though. I don't want you to go out of your way. I'm the one barging in during your evening."

"Have a seat. I'll just be a minute."

Ginoza sped into the next room, leaving her to herself. She was happy to have the few moments of quiet, for she still wasn't quite sure what to say. A peppy bark drew her away from her thoughts, however, and she gave the confined Dime a smile.

Ginoza quickly slipped on a sweater and replaced his sweatpants with a pair of jeans. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate attire for a visiting guest; he was in his own place, but he hadn't had any company, aside from Kougami, in years. There was also the issue of what the inspector was visiting him for, especially so late at night.

Returning to the room, Ginoza warmed to the sight of Tsunemori petting a happily panting Dime from just outside of his kennel. It eased his nerves a little. "It seems he's taken a liking to you," he commented from the doorway.

"I always wanted a dog," she responded, longing clear in her voice. "And you are a very beautiful boy." She gave him one final pat before standing back up and turning to the other occupant of the room.

"Was there something you needed, Inspector?"

Tsunemori pulled a face, giving him a small pout. "You don't have to be so formal with me. Tsunemori's fine. Akane is even better."

"Isn't that a bit unprofessional?"

"Not at all. We're colleagues, yes, but we're friends, too."

Ginoza smiled despite himself. "You sound like Risa. Only she told me to get the stick out of my ass before she smacked me with it. Of course, that was when I was still an inspector."

She gave a light laugh, finding that characteristic of her elder inspector. "Seems to have done the trick. Do I have to threaten you too?"

"Can you?"

Tsunemori hummed, feigning considering the idea. "I suppose not."

"I don't think you need to," he paused for a beat, "Akane. What are you doing here, though?"

The young woman smiled brightly in response before taking the previously offered seat upon the worn out sofa. "It's nothing official, really. I just thought I'd stop by before heading home. Catch up, maybe."

Raising a skeptical brow, Ginoza shifted, went to fuss with the glasses he no longer wore. "You don't need to do this, you know? I'm fine."

"Do what?"

He gave her a glance, unconvinced by her innocent tone.

"You ever think that maybe I need this, too?"

He didn't, actually. This all seemed like she was simply checking in on him out of duty, out of some form of obligation or pity that Ginoza himself had never spared on any of his own enforcers. But it was obvious now, the plea in her eyes, the listlessness in their depths. The young, ruthless inspector was lonely, and she was looking to him for companionship. A mistake, if there ever was one, but he supposed that he owed Tsunemori to expend every effort to be the best enforcer he could. If that meant protecting her spirits as well as her life, then maybe he'd just have to get used to his position beside her.

And, really, he found he took comfort in her company. The ghosts seemed to fade in her presence.

"I'm sorry."

Her sudden apology caught him off guard, but effectively pulled him back to their conversation. He stared at her, incredulity bunching up his brows. He didn't understand why she was apologizing to him. He was the one who had failed. He was supposed to have been her mentor, her partner, when she had been thrown into their division so soon.

"I'm sorry for what happened to Masaoka." Dulled brown eyes swept along the room, across the paintings and the ash tray that sat on the coffee table, still full of old smokes, now just as lifeless and cold as their previous owner. Her gaze caught on an old frayed copy of The Running Man sitting on a shelf and she closed her eyes quickly, drew in a stuttered breath. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop Kougami. Maybe if I had, he-"

"I don't blame you." Ginoza measured his words, projected a calm he really didn't possess. "Neither should you. Makishima killed my father, and Kougami left on his own." It was easy to say those words, but the facts did nothing to lift the weight of blame from his own shoulders. "Nothing could have stopped him. Once Kougami had Makishima's scent, nothing was going to get in his way of justice."

"You think that was justice," she asked in a whisper, flashes of Makishima's execution at the hands of her former partner playing behind her tightly closed eyelids.

"…No, but Kougami did."

Tsunemori recalled the words of his letter, every bit of it as familiar to her now as her own heartbeat. That man will continue to kill people. And yet, the law can't judge him. As long as I'm a detective, I can't touch him. This case made me aware... that the law can't protect people. He was an idiot, that much she knew. Makishima didn't have to die. Kougami didn't need to sacrifice his own life to stop him. They could have figured it out. Together.

But even as he had pulled that trigger, even after everyone was gone and all she had was that stupid letter to cling to, she found she could never hate him for it.

She glanced up, took note of the pain etched into emerald eyes, the weariness written in the contours of his face. If there was anyone who could understand the pain that came with the loss of her mentor, it was Ginoza, once his partner and best friend, possibly more, as she understood it. "You… were more than just partners before… weren't you?"

She watched as his tight expression swiftly morphed into a gape. Tsunemori sniffed and gave a small chuckle, amused by his reaction. "He spoke about you, sometimes. About the old days when you both were close. It wouldn't take a detective to notice the affection in his voice." Gazes meeting, she let a soft smile touch her lips, restless hands playing with the hem of her jacket. "There was a great amount of grief there, too. That's why I never asked him."

No one ever questioned him about the coat. He'd found it in the back of his father's closet, slipped it on along with a touch of his demeanor. It was like paying tribute to the man and it felt right, playing the part he was destined for. It was easier than finding himself.

Work became routine and he had to admit that it was nice being back with his team. On the job, Tsunemori trusted him and took his insights to heart while Akane visited him frequently after their shifts, didn't hesitate in escorting him and Dime whenever the dog needed some fresh air. Kunizuka had even warmed up to him, joked that he wore his demotion well.

It was clear that Shimotsuki hated him, as well as all other enforcers. He couldn't fault her for it. The ordeal with Makishima and Ouryou had taken her friends and upset her world. In response, she had abandoned her young naivety and chose to fight the evils within their society. Ginoza took her sharp tongue in stride, recognizing her pain. He had held her views once, had been burned by more criminals than he cared to give thought. He still didn't particularly like her, or agree with one so young becoming an inspector, but no one had to know that.

Their team was small, other enforcers still being sought out, but the wicked didn't rest and they still had a job to do. Prepared or not.

When another serial murder case came and the team found themselves stumped, on the verge of their first stretch of long hard nights together, Ginoza swatted away the pangs of loss that nearly offset him. Things were different now. He needed to get himself to accept that. To understand that he had a new team to rely on now. The ghosts were only holding him back.

It was nearly midnight and Ginoza found himself staring at the crime scene photos once more, eyes roving over every detail as he strained his mind to see, to really see. The killer was here somewhere, his mind and motivation. The killer's desires and fears were all present in front of him, Ginoza just had to see it. If Kougami was there, he would have already noticed it.

There were three victims, all young women ranging from age seventeen to twenty four. They laid bare on the cold concrete, eyes closed, expressions nearly serene, as if having simply fallen asleep. Their hands were folded on their stomachs, placed cleanly, neatly. They were positioned like their bodies were within the safe confines of a coffin, rather than left vulnerable beside the street. But all of that wasn't what was most significant about the case. No, there was something far stranger within the killer's methodology.

The women had been drained of their blood, and they had been painted in it. In careful strokes and detailed patterns, the women's bodies were veiled in painted flowers. Each woman held different types, but the paintings were all definitely of the same person.

A signature without a name.

The artwork on the bodies was truly beautiful, if Ginoza were to allow himself to admire the work of a murderer, of course. There was a twisted fascination Ginoza felt with this particular set of murders, this killer. The paintings were done with a realistic finesse that his father possessed, and the attention to detail, along with the odd types of flowers, suggested a depth of knowledge like that of his mother's. If Ginoza had been a better son, inherited more of their talents, would he have been able to produce something like this? With his tainted psyche, could he do so now?

He stared at the photos, entranced. There was a message here, somewhere. With these types of killings, there always was, just as Kougami had said all those years ago as he'd let his number run up into oblivion.

They had nothing in common. Their backgrounds were all different, their class statuses and social circles. They never even took the same line on the subway. The only connection the three women held was that they were very attractive. Each woman was blessed with beauty, skin as exquisite as finely crafted porcelain, eyes that glowed with youth and vitality, smiles that spoke of confidence and an enthusiasm for life - as evident mainly by the pictures they had collected from their families, more than their corpses. Although, there was an evangelic glow that seemed to emanate from them, a mystifying radiance that their bodies held even after life.

It was very possible that the victims had been chosen at random, their deaths merely caused by their physical appearances and fate. But they still would have had to have crossed paths with the killer at some point. If there was no common ground for the women, then the killer had trekked a lot of ground for each murder. Ginoza really didn't like the thought of a lack in premeditation. There were quite a few beautiful women out there, depending on the killer's standards, and that meant that there were a lot of potential targets.

He needed to find this guy. Find him and put him away before he could hurt anyone else. But the killer had been good. There were no commonalities between the women to disclose the killer's hunting ground. There were no eyewitnesses to their kidnappings or murders, and the families hadn't reported any change in the victim's personalities before they had gone missing. The cymatic scanners weren't able to detect any suspicious pass activity in any of the surrounding areas of the body dumps, which suggested that the killer had a clear mind or had some way around the system.

It wasn't like they hadn't witnessed such instances before.

Running a tired hand down his face, he stood up and stretched his legs. He was about to go and grab another cup of coffee when a bone-chilling whisper passed through the air.

"The flowers, Gino."

His eyes widened as he jolted back to his chair, ignoring the glare he received from Shimotsuki for his odd actions. He brought up all of the pictures in front of him, all three bodies, and tried to make out all of the different flowers. The flora was important. The killer wouldn't have painted them on their bodies if they weren't significant.

Nearly all were different. Why? Was it simply on a whim? Was it out of artistic inspiration? Did the specific types of flowers hold a meaning with each of the victims?

Ginoza found himself very grateful that he had taken to his mother's and grandmother's love of plants and gardening as he had been growing up. It made recognizing and researching the flowers on the bodies before him much easier.

Tsunemori watched the enforcer's frantic movements, his eyes jittering back and forth between the photos and a book of notes on his desk. At first glance, it seemed like he was just desperate to find a clue, but his eyes gave him away. She knew that look of determination anywhere. He was on to something.

She came up behind him, glancing over his shoulder to find the pictures of their victims on his screen. Every time she looked at them she was reminded of her former case - of victims that had been left in far worse states and called 'art'. It appeared that she wasn't the only one. "They're all displayed like cruel pieces of art, just like-"

"I know, Tsunemori." Ginoza swallowed, face grim as he leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know." He'd already let that thought linger for too long in his mind, and it left a harsh taste in the back of his throat.

"Did you find something, Ginoza?"

"Since we haven't been able to find any concrete evidence or a motive, I was looking into the artwork on the bodies -"

"You call that artwork," Shimotsuki snarled with a sharp look of disapproval.

Tsunemori ignored her. "What did you find?"

"The paintings on the women could have simply been designs or patterns that he implemented on the bodies, but I think they hold a specific purpose with each of the victims." He hunched back over his desk, eyes scanning back over his notes. It wasn't in his nature to follow gut feelings. Instinct and intuition used to be alien to him, as he would have much preferred to base his thoughts and actions on facts. But something told him that their answer was there, hidden within the blood of their victims. "Aside from one type of flower, they each have two of their own unique types of vegetation. They might have a meaning to the victim, and, more importantly, the killer and lead to why he's murdering people."

The younger inspector scoffed, turning in her chair to face her enforcer. "You think we should waste time gabbing about flowers? We don't need to know why he's killing people. We need to know who and where he is and stop him. You're-"

"No, it's important," Tsunemori spoke, stopping Shimotsuki dead in her tracks. "The meaning behind a murder can be essential. We can figure out who he is through his work."

"As well as who might be targeted next," Ginoza added.

"Assuming they aren't chosen at random," Kunizuka came up beside her former superior, gestured towards the pictures of the victims and lack of evidence, "it's at least a start. Karanomori said that there wasn't anything specific about the type of pancuronium found in their blood. The stuff is definitely medical grade, and in the wrong hands, it's lethal. But apparently it's pretty hot on the black market."

Shimotsuki grimaced. "God knows why."

The female enforcer gave her a brief glance, expression as impassive as ever. "There were no signs of sexual assault on any of them, nor a notice of intent or demands. Figuring out the culprit's motive would be a step. Otherwise we're all just going to be stuck sitting on our asses until more bodies show and he slips up."

"Fine." She obviously didn't care for the idea, but she was out voted. Again. "What do the flowers mean?" Looking towards Ginoza, she sat back, arms crossed, annoyed and impatient.

"The first victim, Akara Shiemi, age nineteen, had what appear to be lilies and vines of passion flowers. The lily holds the meanings of purity, or majesty, and the passion flower is belief or faith, and susceptibility. The second victim, Yagami Rin, age twenty-four, was covered in heliotropes with patches of marigolds. The heliotrope has always been known as the flower of devotion or faithfulness. Marigolds are of grief and pain. Lastly, our third victim, Awashima Kaori, age seventeen, had a large, fully bloomed orchis on her abdomen with what I think is supposed to be nettle surrounding it. Orchis means beauty, or industry, but I think the perpetrator was focusing on the beauty meaning here, and nettle holds the meaning of cruelty or slander."

Ginoza took a breath, looking back over his analysis. It was weird; he felt almost nervous with everyone watching him again, listening to his words. He didn't know why this moment felt so different from all of the others where he'd been leading his team from the front of the room, fully confident and composed. He supposed he really was a different person now, feeling his way through new experiences.

"How can you be so sure about the types of flowers? And their meanings?"

"I used to study this when I was younger. The fact that the paintings are very detailed is a great aid to figuring them out, as well." Shimotski grumbled and turned away with a huff, but didn't comment further.

"What about the third flower," Tsunemori inquired.

He kept himself from flinching at the question and spoke nearly in monotone. "The one flower that is always present. It is a dianthus, a genus of the carnation family. More specifically, I believe it to be D. plumarius, feathered pink. The meaning generally depends on the color, which considering that isn't given, I can only guess. With the streaks on the petals, I would say we're looking at a red, double pink." He looked back down at the beautifully bloomed flower on their most recent victim, suppressing a sneer. He hated this. He hated that this flower was being used in such a way. "Pure and ardent love."

Tsunemori hummed, taking a moment to let the new information simmer in her mind. "Assuming that you are correct about this information, then the next step is to figure out why these types of plants are used on those specific victims." She brought up the file on the first victim on the screen and briefly scanned its contents. "We know that Akara Shiemi grew up in a Buddhist household and was very devout herself. That would explain the passion flower. She was definitely one of faith."

"Her friends at the university she went to said she was celibate, too," Kunizuka added from her seat. "Never even looked at another person with any form of intention, sexual, romantic or otherwise."

Ginoza gave a nod of assent. "That would be the lily, then. The purity it's tied to is generally of the sexual and spiritual nature."

Tsunemori then brought up the second woman. "Yagami Rin was a widow. Her husband died in a work related incident at the Yamaguchi Grain factory three years ago. She had been living with her sister, Imichi Baako, ever since. Imichi said that Yagami visited her husband nearly every day. She had also been trying to get her sister to move on and start dating again, but she refused. Grief, pain, and devotion make sense… Awashima Kaori was still a high school student." The third victim's information then swiftly popped up on the screen. Tsunemori paused, tense with frustration. Awashima had still been a child. "All of her peers said that she was self-absorbed and was known for bullying others. She was considered popular within the school, but most said that they either really couldn't stand her, or was charmed by her looks."

Shimotsuki looked at the girl, gritting her teeth as she reminded her a little too much of her past. Interviewing her parents had been a chore and a half. "Even her father said that she was rude and selfish. She had been sent home from school for accosting other students, and she had even been verbally abusive toward her little sister when at home. Her mom stated that they didn't know what to do with her."

"Cruelty and beauty," Tsunemori stated and looked back at Ginoza. "But what of the… feathered pink, was it? What can that mean? Did he think he was in love with the victims? Or was he trying to get them to love him?"

"Maybe it was more of a love for killing them. Or of the flowers he used," Shimotsuki guessed. "But we still don't know if he chose these women because of these characteristics, or if they were just characteristics that the women held and their kidnappings were still random."

"I don't think they were random," Tsunemori interjected before she was alerted to an update on her wristcom. She quietly left the room as Kunizuka followed that thought.

"He knew too much."

The eldest enforcer ran a gloved hand over his face. He had hoped that maybe his findings would lead them somewhere - that he could be useful, for once. But maybe there really was nothing to the flowers. Maybe they were simply a distraction for the CID to waste time on. "Either way, it's obvious that he wants the bodies seen. They were left in high traffic areas. He was careful to avoid being seen or detected, but he wanted his work to be found. With the information that we have, we can assume that he's not finished and that more women covered in flora will continue to appear until he is caught or satisfied."

"Unfortunately," Tsunemori stepped forward, face grim, "your prediction has come true sooner than we were prepared for. Another victim has been found."

The steadily falling rain was the first thing to welcome them to the scene. Ginoza found himself stopping just outside of the vehicle to feel it on his skin. He welcomed the drops; each one caressing his skin like the tender fingers of a lover.

Ginoza had always liked the rain. One minute it could be soft, soothing, gently falling to the tune of the earth's pulse. The next it would pour, the torrent strong and powerful – overwhelming him in a chaos that could easily drown him if he wasn't careful.

The one thing he liked most about it was that it cleansed him, and the world around him. The rain washed his mind from all thought, focusing him on the here and now. The rain cleared the city, the streets, from its dirt, its enemies and monsters. The rain was a force that no one could stop, only yield to in its stead.

Kougami was like the rain.

It was odd to find a body from their culprit out in this weather; the women were always left out on clear nights; they figured it was the killer's way of assuring that his paintings wouldn't get washed away. But the victims had also been left near the street, out in plain sight. This woman had been left on a bus bench, protected by the shelter surrounding it. It was a significant change in M.O, which could either be a good thing, or a serious cause for concern. It wasn't in Ginoza's nature to think the former.

Tsunemori's face was dark with something Ginoza hadn't quite expected as he'd finally made it to hers and Kunizuka's sides. He glanced down at the woman, wishing that they had all been given a little more common decency after their death. They deserved to at least keep some of their dignity in such a situation.

"It's her," Tsunemori stated as she knelt beside the body.

"Who?"

"The Bureau has been missing one of its officials for two days now. A report was filed, but most of the information was kept quiet." Kasei had been very dispassionate during her debriefing the day prior. It had immediately gotten on her nerves that the woman, or whatever brain she was talking to, didn't give a damn about one of their own. It wasn't right. "I suspected that she might have been another potential victim, but…"

"The chief told you not to jump to conclusions."

Her head snapped in his direction, meeting his steady gaze. She kept forgetting that he had been in her position once as Kasei's right hand. He understood. Not everything, not entirely, but he didn't have to. She really didn't want him to have to know the secrets of the Sybil System too. She didn't want to know what it would do to him. Still, it was nice to have somebody who understood the sort of pressure she was under.

"In any case, it's definitely our guy." Brown eyes swept over the body. Mitzutani Rima had been murdered and left out in the open, naked and covered in a detailed floral painting made with her own blood, just like the rest of their victims. "Ginoza, what flowers did he use this time?"

Hovering over the body, Ginoza took it in, noticing that the D. plumarius was present once again. Moving past that, there was a smooth, skinny tree that had grown tall from its roots on a broken, discarded branch above her womb and climbed up to between her breasts. The leaves were circular with stout shoots on their sides, catkins blooming among them with cottony tufts. It was surrounded by masses of flowers that were almost too easy to interpret. "The tree is a type of poplar and the flowers are a type coneflower, rudbeckia, if I'm not mistaken. It's a genus of the sunflower family. The poplar can mean time, depending on the color of its leaves, but its most popular meaning is courage. Rudbeckia means justice."

Tsunemori bit her lip, staring back down at the body. "She was fairly high up in the Bureau, not very well liked, but that was because she was almost dogged in her pursuit of justice. She handled a lot of the political aftermath of the CID's tough cases. Or so I've heard. Her actual job within the PSB is kept confidential."

"So based on the information, she fits with the purpose of the flowers," Kunizuka spoke. "We're thinking this isn't random, right? But is this his main purpose? Was it his goal to attack the Public Safety Bureau? Make us look weak?"

"Or is it a political statement?"

Tsunemori shook their comments off. "I don't think so. Strip away her title and she's just another beautiful woman with flowers that match her drives and personality. I don't think this is about us at all. She was probably just another victim with that job." Although, he would have to have known that this case would gain a higher priority by taking someone of the Bureau. Maybe he was trying to gain more attention this way. They already knew that he wanted his victims to be seen. He wanted to be known. What better way than to take someone high ranking in the government?

"Have the scanners found the same markers?"

She looked back at Ginoza, nodding. "Every victim suffered from a blow to the back of the head by a blunt object. He then abducts them and keeps them for nearly a day before injecting them with pancuronium to induce paralysis while they are drained of their blood. He then takes their blood and paints them in it, for whatever reason he thinks is necessary."

"So either the culprit is physically incapable of subduing them otherwise," Ginoza began, "he is unable to charm them into coming with him, or he's too afraid to approach them."

"Or he likes catching them off guard," Kunizuka added.

Tsunemori turned away from the body and scanned the streets, seeing a few onlookers blocked by their drones. "But we have a new concern. If she was taken two days ago and we just found Awashima's body yesterday, then he still had Awashima when he abducted Mitzutani."

"That's probably the reason for the change in body dump. He couldn't wait." Ginoza frowned, finding that he had been right. This change wasn't in their favor. "He's escalating."

"And that means… he could already have his next victim."