Key:

(Things in ( ) are the author's notes or jokes,)

Things in italics are thoughts, dreams or flashbacks

Things underlined are direct quotes from the manga


Train ran through an all too familiar hallway. He didn't know where he was but he knew he'd been there before. The world seemed to reek of déjà vu. He was running but never moving.

He didn't even know why he was running to begin with. But he couldn't stop. There was something he had to do. Something, someone he had to reach.

BANG! BANG!

The shots rang clearly through the air, echoing along the hallways. All of a sudden he knew what he was running too. He tried to run faster but his normal speed and strength was gone.

He was moving this time, actually getting closer. The door was at the end of the hall. He could reach it.

As soon as he opened the door, he suddenly knew where he was. The familiar smell of blood and death reached him and so did the sight of their newest victims, or should he say …his oldest.

He couldn't move, he couldn't speak. An unfamiliar feeling kept him frozen in place: fear! Why was he afraid? He hadn't felt fear in years. And even if he did he'd learn to swallow it. Never show fear to the enemy, or anyone else for that matter.

Yet here he was, shaking in fear like a weak fool or…child. Suddenly it all made sense. Why his strength and speed was gone, why he ran in blindly, why he was afraid, why he hadn't bothered to draw a gun or even come in with caution. Somehow he had been reduced to the form of a child; the little brat he used to be, untrained, undisciplined and weak.

He stood there completely paralyzed staring at the still bleeding corpses of his parents... and their murderer: Zagine.

The man turned his attention to the small boy before him. Train still couldn't build up the courage to speak or move. The assassins stared at him. His black bloodstains coats seem to blow in the nonexistent wind, much like Train's own.

"Well, what do you know... they had a kid." He began to approach.

Train could only manage to uttera small "ah" as he approached. He still couldn't rip his eyes away from the corpses that were once his parents.

Suddenly he was staring face-to-face at the muzzle of a gun. "Do you want to live? Kid...?" The assassin asked. Train couldn't help but shake with fear.

But something was off. His voice. Sounded so familiar. More familiar than it had already been.

Suddenly he was afraid to look up, more than he had been before. The man before him was no longer Zagine! Train shook as the man dressed in bloody black fabric approached him. Train looked up to see his own face! His own cold yellow eyes staring back at him, a bit of blood dripped down the side of his face like he had just finished an assignment.

"Life or death... I'll let you choose." His own voice said.


"AAHHH!" Train screamed as he fell off the couch, catching himself awkwardly on his already injured hand. "Arww! Shit! Ow!" Train groaned as he sat up. "Argh. Fuck, that hurt. What the hell was up with that dream? Sheesh." He got up and noticed his black coat, still covered in blood from tonight's mission, lying on the floor. He picked it up. He was about to put it on but then for some reason it suddenly disgusted him. He chucked it across the room into a chair. He stared at it coldly. Its black fabric covered in dried blood, a reminder of what he'd done and where he learned it.

"Bastard, bet you're real proud."


((A/n: yes, this is Train of the past having the dream about the past. As confusing as that may sound. Another note if you ever see this chapter again and it looks familiar that is because I like to reuse one shots in the full stories. Eventually I plan to put this chapter with a couple minor details added in Partners. I'm not sure if I should delete this one shot when I put it in partners. What happened to his hand has to do with something that happens in Partners and while it is relevant to the plot in that, it isn't to this.))