A/N: Welp, I did the thing. I started another story without finishing the others. Hate me all you want, but I'm going to go ahead and blame my intense fandom-hopping tendency because hell, here's a story for one of the most unlike-me animes on the planet.
So in case you don't know, this is based on the fake movie trailer shown in the Namassuka! segment of episode 26 of the Idolmaster! anime. Now that I think about it, there probably already is a fic based on this AU, but given that I didn't search for/find one, I'm hoping my fic is 100% my concoction. Well, mine and Idolmaster's, but that goes without saying.
Anyway, yeah, I really don't have a structured plot in mind, so I apologize if it seems slow at first. But seriously, if you watch that fake trailer, they pretty much spoil the ending so I don't think it'll be that exciting, but whatever man.
Fire away!
Oh, and a disclaimer because Idolmaster ain't mine.
And rated T because language? and possible violence?
The sun was just shy of the horizon when the police cruiser pulled up beside the warehouse, its tires crunching along the unpaved road with a gritty sound. Had it not been for the five additional cruisers and two ambulance trucks following closely behind, the car would have looked lost in such an empty, forlorn neighborhood. The driver-side door opened as soon as the cruiser screeched to a halt, the engine left running as the driver dashed out.
"Is this the one?" she asked breathlessly as she met up with several other officers at the door of the warehouse. Her words turned to mist before her eyes, the cold air eating them up before the light drizzle could.
"Aye, detective. According to the tip," an officer replied tersely.
With a grim nod and a few nonverbal signals to her squad, she gripped the rusty door handle in one hand while adjusting her hold on her weapon with the other. In one swift motion, she barreled through the door, crouched down low, and swept her eyes across the room, the gun tailing her gaze closely. The rest of the platoon was hot on her heels, forming ranks behind her with weapons raised and ready to fire.
Seeing no sign of threat other than a misshapen bundle in the far corner of the spacious warehouse, the detective motioned for half of the men to check it out while urging the other half to follow her to the side door.
It was locked, but a few kicks from a couple of iron-clad sergeants loosened the decaying frame and brittle bolt until the entire door fell inwards with a blast that echoed around the entire building. Inside was a small room the size of an average bedroom, littered with loose paper and cluttered with broken furniture. There were no other doors or windows.
"Clear!"
The call cut through the cold, oppressive silence like a gunshot. The attention was now on the unidentified bundle in the corner, covered clumsily with plastic blue tarp. Everyone in the vicinity already knew what was underneath, as if the vague outline and the stray sneaker wasn't enough of a giveaway. But it was the detective that received the honor of unveiling it.
The tarp fell away, and two dozen curses were uttered simultaneously, some whispered, others growled. There were three bodies, leaning haphazardly against each other in such a way that could be mistaken for peaceful slumber, had it not been for the bloodstained clothes and pained expressions. They were young girls — the oldest couldn't be any more than fifteen.
"D-detective, isn't that…your cousin?"
Her expression did not change at her subordinate's question, but she motioned for the ambulance team before reaching into her jacket to pull out three photos.
"Ai Hidaka." She tossed a photo at the feet of one of the bodies. "Eri Mizutani. And…" She frowned at the last picture before throwing it down. "Ryo Akizuki."
The tension in the room increased tenfold as the last photo slid to a stop. All three reflected happy, smiling images of their now motionless subjects.
"Reported missing since last Friday, found dead three days later. Beaten and tortured, by the looks of it," she sighed.
"Detective, are these the members of that branch you were talking about?"
Adjusting her glasses to hide the brief pain that flashed across her face, Detective Ritsuko Akizuki straightened and faced the surrounding officers with narrowed eyes.
"Listen carefully. You may think that these are harmless girls at the consequence of misfortune, but don't be fooled. These are highly dangerous, organized criminals associated with the most ruthless gangs in the city. These three —" she jabbed a finger at the slumped bodies "— are part of the 876 gang, a small branch of the Miuragumi."
There were several sounds of disbelief.
"These girls?" an officer asked, clearly uncomfortable with their deceitful innocence. "Part of that Miuragumi?"
"Those bodies we pulled from the river last week were also part of the gang." Ritsuko turned on her heel and headed for the door. "Despite their appearance, they're considered trained killers. Get used to stuff like this." Her order would have seemed harsh and uncaring if it weren't for the slight break in her voice. She passed the ambulance team on her way out, wheeling in gurneys that would serve no purpose but as first-class seats to the morgue.
Her phone rang as she stepped back outside, and she unclipped it from her belt, vaguely observing the seemingly distant activity of the police checking surrounding warehouses for more leads.
"Hello?"
"Ah, Ritsuko-kun. Was the tip true?"
"Chief," she greeted morosely. "It was, but we were too late."
"Any leads on the suspect?"
"None, sir." She could feel a headache growing, and she rested her hand on top of her head to find that her clipped bun was falling into a mess of stray brown hair. "At least, not an individual."
There was a grunt of understanding on the other end. "For now, return to headquarters. We need you on a different case immediately."
"Right away, sir."
She ended the call before he could hear her shuddering sigh. She looked up into the drizzling sky, searching the gray clouds for an answer she was not sure she wanted to find.
Ryo…
Just then the sun rose above the rooftops, bathing the dreary scene with a brief, soft orange glow. The light of a new day. Full of promise and potential.
The morning's drizzle had turned into a steady shower in the evening, and by nighttime, it was a drenching downpour. There was a damp chill in the air, too crisp to be considered winter's breath but too frigid to be a summer breeze.
Two figures stood out in the river of a street, indifferent to the rain and motionless as statues. Their eyes, however, remained sharp and vigilant, scanning the dark street for any sign of movement. One of them held a bright red umbrella — a signal flare in such a dark and dreary environment — while the other held a pitch black one, which blended in so perfectly that at a first glance, the figure appeared headless. Their umbrellas threw shadows over their faces, obscuring their expressions as well as their features.
But Hibiki knew exactly what they were.
A brief wind sent shivers down her soaked figure, and she peeled the drenched shirt away from her body before clawing away the persistent hair from her face. Her breath came out in clouds of white, disappearing as soon as it came. With her back against the telephone pole that served as her hiding place, she drew in several deep breaths to clear her mind.
She had the element of surprise on her side, but she was badly outnumbered. She risked a glance over her shoulder to the grand gates of the estate and the two figures that stood motionless before it. Bodyguards. No doubt there were more inside.
But was she afraid?
Absolutely not.
She was Hibiki Ganaha, known as "The Bullet" on the streets. She was the fastest human being alive, able to outrun cars and weave through bullets like a squirrel jacked with caffeine. Her skills with a blade were legendary, ironically in contrast with her nickname, and she could gut a man before he could even see her approach.
No, there was no need for fear.
Her orders were simple. Kill the boss of the opposing gang, the sworn enemies of the Miuragumi. Hibiki had never seen the boss herself, but finding her would not be difficult, according to her description. How many other mafia leaders have flowing white hair?
Her hands tightened on her weapon at the thought of the news of the murders reported this morning. The numbers of the 876 branch were dwindling, enough for the group to take drastic measures. Hence her assignment.
"Eri…Ryo…Ai…" she whispered, gritting her teeth. "This is for you guys."
She tensed as voices drifted from across the street, from the two guards.
"Ohime-chin's late, huh," one of them asked.
"You think we should check on her?" an identical voice replied.
Hibiki stiffened. Same voices. Twins.
The Futami Twins.
Her tongue clicked softly against her teeth. Not only was she outnumbered, she was also outmatched. Stealth would not work in this case, and her speed would not be enough to take everyone down. The twins were the most loyal and skilled subordinates to the target, and it would be foolish to assume their guard would be down at her presence.
Fear flashed briefly in her heart, but she pushed it away forcefully. No. She was Hibiki Ganaha. Fast as a bullet. She'll dash in, kill off the white-haired princess, and vanish before a single shot could be fired. She was close; there was no way anyone could raise their weapons fast enough to fire at her before she got to the boss.
"I'll go look for her."
Hibiki turned in time to see one of them close an umbrella — the black one — and shake it free of water droplets. But before she could even turn around, her boss was there, a mysterious smile fixed in place.
"Only a moment more," she said quietly to the twins, almost too quietly for Hibiki to hear over the distance and torrent of the rain. She turned around, as graceful as a queen, throwing back her shining silver hair.
This was it.
Her back was turned and her subordinates were distracted, their hands free of weapons and occupied with umbrellas.
Hibiki gripped her blade tight and exhaled once more before sucking in a lungful of cold, damp air. Before she could lose her courage, she jumped out of her hiding spot, knife at the ready.
She didn't even notice she was screaming until she saw the guards look up.
"Gotcha!" she yelled, charging in fast. Faster than anyone.
The twin with the black umbrella reacted first, dropping her umbrella and scrambling for her gun. But Hibiki was way ahead of her.
At this rate I can push past her and go straight to the boss before she could even find her weapon.
Caught on an adrenaline rush and already deluded with her potential victory, she failed to notice the other twin on time. Her gun was in her hands. Her finger was already on the trigger.
Fast…Too fast!
A flash of light.
A gunshot.
A dark shape reeling back from the light.
A red umbrella, flying into the air.
"…Well, Ohime-chin. What d'you make of this?"
Quiet footsteps approached. Hibiki had only enough energy to blearily open her eyes and glare up at the three figures standing over her. Her chest hurt terribly, but everything was smoothly fading away. Even the pain.
Shijou Takane stood as her would-be assassin slumped to the ground with a final breath. She turned to her trusted subordinates with a thin smile.
"Leave her. The police will find her soon enough."
"That's what you get, Miura trash!" a twin said to the unresponsive Hibiki with a triumphant leer.
"Ami…" the other twin warned. "You know, if Mami weren't here to cover for you, this trash would have gotten to Ohime-chin." She bent to pick up her fallen umbrella and picked up her sister's from a puddle.
"Heh…sorry, Mami," she responded, taking the drenched umbrella from her.
"Ami. Mami," Takane called. "Come. We are done here."
She led the way to the car, with the twins fighting over who gets to hold the umbrella over their boss while getting drenched in the process.