A/N:

My apologies for the late update! What's that? You didn't know it's late? Why, I have a very exact formula for updates. Can you figure it out?

I've actually have this finished for quite some time, but... my update day was busy, so I had to wait until the next one. I'm nearly done with Chapter 6 (which Freya and Tangram would be happy with). Whoa, I'm talking of the future! Make the insanity stop!

Anyways, did you know I love/hate Wilhelm? I do. Same with chaos. I also love/hate the pairing of Wilhelm/chaos! Hahah... but, ah, they'll subtle pairing if any, in this story. I ramble, per usual.

I'm sorry if this chapter's a bit slow, too... but, after drought, there's rain!

Per usual, please review! Even a small comment means the world to me.


Chapter 4
Omnipotent Knowledge


"No," the smooth, monotone voice of Wilhelm rung in his ears. That terrible, horrible tone always managed to pull him out of his U-DO and fear-induced insanity, to get smacked with a face full of reality. He hated him. So much. But, it was rather common to hate divinities; they either didn't help enough or controlled too many aspects of your life. This particular divinity posed as human, though; cyborg, more accurately. How else to describe hundreds, thousands of years of life? "I cannot allow that," again, that flat voice like sandpaper against his ears, his mind. There was never anything behind that voice: no rage, no sorrow, no stress, no fear, not even superiority! He wanted to shake him, scare him, force some reaction or tremor from those blank vocal cords. But, alas; it would be to no avail.

"Why?" was about all the reply he could muster. Insanity didn't exist here. Nothing existed here; just two wills, both trying to consume and manipulate the other. Unfortunately, one had infinite more experience, despite the other's skill.

"Simple. Because you are here. Living, breathing before me. Not much of a Romeo when you've yet to take the poison," always in terms of actors; that kind of 'insanity' was very easy to deal with.

"I think I'd be a much better Hamlet; he knew of the poison; though still fought, nearly hoping for it in his descent to madness and depression," and Rubedo, dear Rubedo, he would be his Ophelia; begging him to come back to sanity. But, Rubedo wasn't suicidal… no, perhaps Rubedo would play a far better Hamlet, him the loyal Ophelia instead.

"You do not have much of an Ophelia…" he tardily reminded him.

"Nor a Juliet," he countered; no one would accompany him gladly to death.

"Your followers would all die for you," ah, the Kirschwassers.

"I wouldn't die for all of them," he remarked with a small smirk. They were disposable, so terribly and wonderfully disposable. At one point, he cared for their company and comfort, but now…

"So very cold. Where are they?" enraged amethyst eyes glared at cold fiery ones. If Virgil didn't report it, he'd have looked at his half-broken, still all-knowing compass. It sat so uselessly on his desk, as if it were a paper weight. If he just knew how to read it, he'd steal it in an instant for himself, use it to manipulate his Rubedo more efficiently. It's not like it took much thought to find out what happened to his fake little women, anyways. They would die if he merely asked them to! But, he never asked them to; he just killed them. One by one, with the last sitting safely absorbed into his dear Simeon. Speaking of which…

"Your E.S.'s reconstruction is complete. However…" Albedo mentally cringed, keeping a mask of uninterested indifference. Wilehlm's 'howevers' were often followed with orders or terms, some sort of catch. The man turned to his compass with a small, almost tired sigh. But only almost.

"My Compass merely predicts what is likely to happen; and I cannot account for U-DO. The space-time anomaly you created was of U-DO origin, and in the end… your manipulation of the stage and its players was poor. I didn't expect you to come back alive," that was the plan, after all. His dragon's flames were to consume even his phoenix ashes.

"I can't control what my brother does or doesn't do!" he was not going to lose his E.S. He went through hard work to obtain its Anima from Vector's little high-security vault. It was actually how he and Wilhelm met in the first place… apparently, he felt he could trust the URTV with his secrets. Who would believe a ranting, insane, U-DO infected psychopath, anyways?

"I know," of course he knew; he knew everything. It got on his nerves. "And so I've arrived at two options which you can pick," stood up from his desk, walking over to look out the window. The Dämmerung was huge; that's all there was to it. It was bigger than the Durandal, possibly bigger than the whole Kukai Foundation. Just one, giant, floating company; complete with CEO nestled on the inside, with the best view. There was silence for what seemed like hours as the variant awaited his options. Silently. Always silently; Wilhelm liked the silence, and to stay on his 'good side,' one needed to stay quiet. He honestly doubted it had been more than a few minutes since they last spoke, but in space, time is a bit hard to tell. Finally, with the quietest clearing of his throat, he began to speak. "Either you can take the remodeled E.S., weaponless, and modify it yourself, or… we can reconstruct your old E.S. with everything you left on it," both options didn't seem too bad; and it made him giddy with how powerful the weapons were to be on his future E.S., if he ever managed to make it to Testamenthood.

"How about…" a smirk rose on his lips, "I take the remodeled version, and you give me the old version's old parts. Then, I'll integrate them together. Hm?"

"That sounds acceptable… though, most of the parts are not compatible. I was planning on selling them, and giving you the profit in order to buy new parts, but…" he always thought every damn thing through. It sickened him; and also impressed him, if only a little.

"Fine. I'll take Option 1," the albino bit his lip to lessen the urge to roll his eyes.

"I'm glad you agree with me," a forced smirk returned in order to try and counter the force of the other's blank, emotionless smile. It didn't work, and he was soon glaring.

"Well?" the variant finally barked out.

"Hm?" was the mock-confused reply.

"When do I get Simeon back?" he nearly growled, sickened by his own sanity.

"Soon," was the soft reply, but before the white-head could jump at the other and rip out his jugular, he continued. "First, there's something I'd like to talk to you about…"


"He hasn't done anything in days, chaos," the ancient boy humbly listened, leaving a soft, melancholic smile on his face. He got to hear this a few times a day, but didn't mind; it was almost sweet, the concern. Well, not exactly concern, per se… "He's gotta be plannin' somethin'! Somethin' bad… you sure MOMO's okay?"

"I contacted Ziggy this morning, Jr. Besides, Albedo has nothing to gain from MOMO anymore. He stole the Y-Data, remember?" he let the logic set in for a moment before continuing. "You didn't see him for fourteen years, Jr. Then he comes out of nowhere for a few days to do U-TIC's dirty work… and now he's gone back to nowhere. I believe that seeing you was just a benefit of his now-completed mission…"

"But… but I…" chaos placed a gloved hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him.

"I know, Jr.," of course he knew; he knew everything. It was kind of reassuring. "But you may have to accept you won't see him again for a very long time," the softness of his voice stopped his rage before it could start, depressing him instead. He was probably right. He might never get to see him again; and he still couldn't make amends after all these years!

"I've been cooped up in this little ship forever! Are we near a spaceport? I'm getting cabin fever! And I really need to stretch my legs…" the angel laughed lightly at his currently-standing friend, acting like they were in a cramped little mech or transport. The Elsa was a luxury cruise ship; there was more than enough room to travel about.

"We are planning on landing on one today. Most of the crew is coming down with a case of 'cabin fever', having to deal with one another for so long. Hammer has too many bruises on the back of his head, and Tony's out of adrenaline from all his crazy stunts. We may be staying for a few days, to relax and get away from one another. I vouched to let you stay with me, instead of one of the others… if that's okay with you," he didn't have much better options, and he definitely wasn't going to leave his friend alone.

"Sure thing, chaos. …but, uh, who do you usually stay with?" he was so relaxed, it could be anyone. But, the other two were so hot-headed, they couldn't be with anyone.

"I usually stay with Hammer, since he gets abused pretty bad by the other two. …unintentionally, of course. They're just too rough, especially when… well, drunk," the thought of a drunk anyone was disturbing, but a drunk Tony was terrifying. He'd already done crazy as hell stunts (that they somehow managed to survive), and a drunk Tony would be even worse! He would have been piloting the Elsa through the halls on the Song of Nephilim. Though, that might have made things easier…

"When'll we get there?" the boy questioned, wanting off as fast as possible.

"Soon," the redhead opened his mouth to object to the vagueness before he heard a faint chuckle. "Some time after lunch, Jr. We're already out of the UMN Column, but there's still a little ways to go before we reach the space port," It was their subtle defense against Gnosis and enemy gate-outs, though it made it a bit more tedious to reach.

"Alright, alright… man. I'm not hungry. I think I'll go take a nap. Wake me before we get there, okay?"

"I'll do my best. Rest well…" the redhead grumbled a bit with a wave, covering his yawn with the free hand. Sleep would do him good: hopefully.


The spaceport was a surprisingly big one. There was enough room for dozens of ships and mechs, with AMWS and AGWS lining the docks. The Elsa fit in just fine, though a bit more, well, blue, then the more old, color-worn ships. The area seemed up-and-up enough, but Tony insisted on staying behind none the less. He was quite fond of the Elsa, after all; and Hammer was the one that knew what all repair parts they needed.

Captain Matthews mumbled something about needing a 'real' drink, and went careening off to find a bar. No doubt they had one somewhere. Hammer and chaos spoke of who should get what, when, what quality, and from where. They ended up deciding they should find the cheapest hotel around, and that they could discuss the exacts latter. Window shopping tended to reminded one of what they needed, anyhow. The link master sighed, already bored. He couldn't just go running off until they checked into the hotel, and browsing food or furniture or whatever stores definitely wasn't interesting. There wasn't much he could do about it, though, so just quietly followed the other two, lost in his thoughts.

Like, Albedo: was he really never going to see him again? It felt nice to have his other heart so close, it felt normal. Sure, he hated what he did. But, he didn't hate him. Well, no real hate: just brotherly hate. And they weren't much different than regular brothers; they fought all the time, picked at one another. Just, their fighting was more fatal, their picking more painful. He honestly thought, after all this time, he'd found some way to die. Or that he'd gone so insane that he forgot his life, U-DO induced amnesia. He never thought his brother would come back, with painfully perfect memory; all grown up, all powerful, but only mostly insane. He saw glimpses of sanity when he was tired, when U-DO was low, when he got mad. All three occurrences were so rare, though… unless he was trying to kill him with his anti-U-DO shift. Then, he was happy. Was that it? Had he gone off the deep-end so much that other's deaths were boring, and only the possibility of his own brought him happiness? It was just wrong, sick… but made way too much sense for comfort.

"Jr.?" that soft voice broke his train of thought, jolting a bit.

"Y-yeah?" concern found its way into those aquamarine-turquoise eyes, coupled with a small frown.

"…I asked if you were hungry. If not, we're going to go on to the hotel, and relax for the day…"

"Oh! Well, uh. I'm not really hungry. After we check in, I'll probably do some explorin'. This place is huge! It's like a mini Fifth Jerusalem," opened up his arms for emphasis, smiling ear-to-ear. He was fine. Everything was fine. Everything was always fine.

"Well, then I think we're staying here," he gestured towards a rather low-end looking inn, rather blandly named 'Portside'. The variant stared at the name, his expression reading 'Really? We're staying here?' but didn't say anything. They walked in, and chaos smoothly talked to the clerk, getting them a room for four people along with four keys.

"Hey, chaos. There's five of us, you know," the boy pointed out, only seeing four keys—and all to the same room, at that.

"I do," the angel handed Jr. one of the four keys, a soft smile on his face. "One of us will stay on the Elsa to guard it. Probably Matthews or Tony, Hammer isn't exactly…"

"Hey!" the navigator interrupted. "I could-I could take care of the Elsa just fine! I'd just rather stay in the inn is all. I need my sleep so I can go get all the stuff for everybody—if I was tired, I might forget something, and then everyone would be upset," nodded a few times, absently adjusting his glasses.

"Of course. I was just going to say that you weren't as willing to fight as Tony or Matthews; I have no doubt of your defensive abilities," a small bow of his head, to which the blond stuttered a bit then showed an appreciative smile.

"Right! Exactly! You know me so well, chaos…" the redhead scoffed lightly, rolling his eyes. The only thing Hammer could do for the Elsa was protect it with his glass jaw. The boy glanced at his card key, seeing the proud number '021' printed across the bottom.

"Hey, chaos? I got my room and everything… I think I'm going to go check out the dock, alright?" there was a short pause for emphasis—but not enough for reply, "See ya later!" showed his classic grin, running out of the inn with child-like excitement.


There really wasn't shit to do on the colony. There was a pool, which was pretty cool… but, one glance inside indicated it was mostly full of toddlers, pre-teens, and seniors. While he may had been pre-teen in body, his mind was more teen-orientated. Squirt guns and splashing weren't really on his agenda.

So, continued down his path, ending up back at the actual dock area. The Elsa was easy to spot with its brilliant blue, but he was more interested in the various A.G.W.S. and A.M.W.S. lining the stations. Most weren't really made for self-sustained travel, so seeing so many was kind of interesting. One stood out in particular, being significantly taller than the rest. Most were made as more-or-less robotic armor, but this one was built more like an E.S.—but it sure as hell didn't look like one he'd ever seen. And the body just didn't seem very combat-ready! Hell, there weren't even legs; its stabilizer would have to be extremely precise.

"Isn't it pretty?" the redhead just about jumped out of his skin as he heard a small, feminine voice mere feet from him; golden orbs locks onto his cerulean, nearly empty despite the smile set on her lips blue-silver lips. Blue-silver hair matched her lips perfectly, put up in ponytails with a standard green outfit. A 100-Series?

"Uh, y-yeah, it is," the sheer size had him baffled before, but a closer look revealed it was indeed 'pretty'. It was a basic white, pristine as new; orange streets highlighted this area and that. The top had several 'heads', and the redhead couldn't help but think of the story of Hercules with the hydra. His attention returned to the silent, nearly unblinking Realian beside him. "So, uh… where's your…" he hated the term, "…master?"

"He's on a shopping spree with the money he got from pawning off his old weapons system, as well as from previous jobs…"

"Oh. And what're you doin'? Are you alright? You don't… look very good," her eyes looked soulless, so unlike the 100-Series on the Durandal. But, he hadn't really seen any other Realians than his, MOMO's, and Canaan's… maybe this is what most Realians looked like?

"I was sent to get nutritious objects and red souvenirs. …and, my personality layer is barely on a functional level. The only thing that is 'wrong' is that I do not have an abundance of false emotions to distract me from my assigned duties," she said it so blank, almost monotone, as if quoting another.

"O-oh…" chose to ignore most of what she said, "Why red?"

"Red is his favorite color," a nod from the boy, starting to worry who her master might be.

"Is… is your master's name 'Albedo Piazzolla'?"

"No," an audible sigh of relief, running a hand through those crimson locks. Thank god. Thank god, thank god, thank god. The last thing he needed was some sort of space battle with his brother. "He hasn't bought any weaponry for his E.S. in a long time. I'm sure he'd appreciate your advice, if you have some to offer," wait, whoa whoa, wait. An E.S.? U-TIC and Vector had most of the E.S., so it was probably stolen from one of them and-and…

"I'll… go talk to the guy. Where's he at?" she pointed, her silver-blue nails matching her lips and hair flawlessly. Whoever owned her at least cared a lot about her appearance.

"I believe he's in the 'Gnasty Guns and Gnosis Guts,' E.S. shop," what a name. What a ridiculous though probably fitting name for a weapons shop. "He's wearing long, sheer scarf; that should be hard to miss," Shook his head and flashed the girl his classic smile; to which she returned with those lightless eyes.


The shop wasn't that hard to find—Gnasty Guns and Gnosis Guts was even hard to miss when it had an holographic picture of a gun shooting out the non-existent guts of a holographic gnosis. It was actually a pretty big shop, and he was surprised he missed it earlier; there was an alley way behind the shop where it looked like a basic mech could fit in without trouble, and turn on/off bridge to allow people or mechs through. Instead of a bell when he came in, there was the shot of a gun played rather loudly from some speakers beside the door. Well, now, the shot-through, fizzling speakers beside the door; never pull a gun, even the recording of one, on a URTV. Luckily, his own shooting wasn't noticed, due to the sound similarity between the recording and his own Makarovs.

Now, what did the girl say he looked like? Something about a scarf, right? There were several shelves with a variety of smaller mech parts; Cockpit Guard, Guard Recovery, Tune Circuit, B-MAX Circuit... But, guns, missiles, swords and the like were nowhere to be seen; probably had to ask for them up front, and they'd install them for a fee or something. E.S. were always extra expensive, since they weren't as familiar with the models. While searching through each aisle for a scarfed man, he found himself wondering why he was willing to help a stranger. That little Realian girl had convinced him somehow, her soullessness all the more incentive to help her master. Frowned, huffing a bit. This guy didn't seem to be in any of the aisles, unless he missed him somehow. Groaned, irritated with himself for even caring.

Suddenly saw something out of the corner of his eye, freezing up and taking a few backwards steps. There! A scarf! A red, long, sheer scarf covered a black-clad figure, hood up and kept in place by the scarf; he seemed almost like a statue, not moving in the least, just staring at all the different parts.

"H-hey! Is that your E.S. out there, with all the heads, and the little 100-Series guarding it?"

"Mhmm," it was a blunt, uncaring reply. There was no bitterness, shock, or even interest; just acknowledgement that he was heard.

"Well, uh… she said you didn't know what the hell to get, and I've had an E.S. for a while, now… so I know what parts work best with them, and what aren't compatible and… hey! Are you even listening?" the hooded figure was walking down perpendicular to the boy, went a few feet, then stopped, staring at the next clump of parts. "Hey, I said—"

"Mhmm," the redhead let out a frustrated 'ugh', stomping over closer to the other.

"Where the hell did you even get the E.S.? I know there's not many!" no reply. "Damnit! I'm talking to you!" grabbed the figure's scarf, jerking it back a little. "It'd be wise to listen!" the scarf was ripped from him, the being whipping around and grabbing him by his hair, amethyst eyes nearly gleaming with rage, double the color due to violet-tinted sunglasses lying over them.

"Look, kid, I am fully capable of—" that rage melted to mild shock then again to pleasant surprise. "Ah, Rubedo…" that hand let go, sliding to his hood to let it fall down. The front was more 'Albedo' like, with splotches of white here and there, outlining his zipper, pockets, and formed in an hour-glass shape on his chest.

"Al… Albedo?" the shock was evident, but easily overwhelmed by his suspicion.

"Yo, Rubedo! So glad you came to seek me out…" that was unlikely, but… well, this wasn't exactly a planned reunion. He wasn't even wearing the proper outfit! He wore red to remind him of Rubedo; unnecessary when he was planning on seeing the boy.

"Like hell I did!" so, definitely not planned. Oh, fate: what an… interesting mistress.

"Oh?" a small reply, kindling to a self-sustaining fire.

"Why the hell do you have a 100-Series? And-and what happened to your E.S.?"

"Oh-oh, you've seen Simeon? Isn't he just beautiful? His form is like a dragon, this time around! A large, powerful chest, thin, lithe lower body… last time, he was more like a lion, if you ask me," definitely Albedo. The sunglasses didn't really suit him, but they were so shapely they looked more like a mask than glasses. And, well, maybe that was the intention in the first place; he was no doubt wanted, after all… though, he hardly answered his questions.

"And… the 100-Series? What about your Kirschwasser obsession?" getting answers from him was like stabbing yourself in the leg repeatedly, until you bleed just enough to clean out the wound, but not enough to die from blood loss.

"Why, Rubedo… you saw all the corpses. Did you think that was but an act? They're all dead. The last Kirschwasser known to mankind no longer has a body; she's merely an immortal consciousness worming around inside Simeon. But, there is still a missing seat in there. One filled by that… 100-Series," he inwardly cursed himself for not having a witty nickname for them, yet. But, he'd have to use it forever, if he spoke it to the ears of his dearest dragon! It needed to be good; Kirschwassers? That was excellent. Kirschwasser—cherry brandy—decayed cherries—decayed Sakura! It was so, so very perfect. And the pêche/péché thing always amused him. He wanted to throw in pêche for fishing, but… he feared he'd completely lose his audience, then.

"That's… what did you do to that Realian? She acts like… like…"

"What? A doll?" a deep, rumbling laugh that was cut short when he realized it drew quit the curious crowd. Psychotic laughing wasn't very common, after all. "Rubedo, she is but bits and bytes of programming; I simply tuned down her personality layer, so I wouldn't have to deal with it. I don't want fake emotions making me worry about their possible love in devotion… so I remove those terrible fake emotions from them. It's a burden on me and themselves… why have emotions when all you feel is misery?" there was a sigh in his tone, looking down in to those cerulean eyes that were looking for a fight, looking for some reason why he wasn't right.

"Because!" was the mind-blowing comeback, "She deserves to have a heart, or… or at least a choice in whether or not she has emotions!" violet-covered amethyst eyes glared down, really not wanting to have this conversation.

"Realians are tools; nothing more. Really, calling her a 'she' is a bit of an exaggeration. 'She' can't even bear children," rolled his eyes. How did you really define a women? By her double X on her 23rd chromosome? What about sex change? That didn't change genes. And Realians didn't even really have genes, they were meant to be all the same.

"They're working on that technology right now, you asshole!" a pointless rumor, no doubt. You needed genes before you could have children; you needed love, real love, before you would want to bear children.

"Oh? I cannot wait for the genocide to begin…!" a wide smirk, chuckling lightly. If it did succeed, then one or the other would feel threatened and begin killing. It all depended on just how fast a Realian could spit out a fully operational offspring. Nine months? Nine weeks? No one knew! …yet.

"I'm… you… will you fucking behave! I'm going back to my hotel! I don't want to see your damned face a-again!" glared, trying to look strong, despite the subconscious fear of bleeding out… again.

"Stuttering, Rubedo? Oh, my stuttering starling, you just revealed your lie with but a repeated syllable," let out an exaggerated sigh before suddenly grabbing the redhead by the neck, cutting off his air way but not cutting his skin; held off the ground, pressed up against a shelf rather gently. "Now, Rubedo… you're hurting my feelings, you know. Lying like that, telling me to go away," the link master struggled in vain against the gripping arm, clawing at it viciously… only to have the other hand come to join the first. The lack of air burned. It felt like he'd swallowed a piece of coal and it kept running from his lungs to his trachea and back. Albedo was saying something; that sick smirk on his face and the moving of his lips indicated as much. But, he couldn't hear it; his ears were beating loudly, slowly, as if wanting the boy to hear his last heart beats. His vision was spotty, and he was wondering if he'd wake up this time… until his knees stung and he felt a massive headache. He was staring at the tile floor, wheezing in oxygen and coughing out carbon dioxide. Reached up a hand to nurse his aching head wound, pulling his hand back to see a bit of blood. Great, he had a concussion. The pulsing in his ears was quieting down enough to hear the murmur of Albedo's U-DO sick voice, before he lowered himself to one knee and patted the boy on the cheek a few times.

"Yo, Rubedo. Still with me?"

"You…" gasp, "You bastard!" cough, "What the hell was—" cough, gasp, cough, "Was that for?"

"I told you, you were hurting my feelings," a wide, infected smile, patting the other on the head. The redhead jerked away, back slamming into the shelf behind him and giving himself a second concussion. Cursed under his breath, holding his head tightly. "Why don't you meet me later tonight, Rubedo. We have so many issues not yet worked out… and, if we keep running into each other like this, why… one of us might end up dead,"

"Yeah, you will!" didn't even take the time to think that what he was saying was exactly what his twin wanted to hear, "I swear Albedo, if you do shit like this one more time—" his words were cut off by a 'one more time' attempt, the psychopath straddling him and biting his neck hard enough to once again cut off air flow. The boy tried to cry out, but even attempting to use his vocal cords made it hurt worse; so he decided to 'play the victim', staying dead still and trying to bite back a whimper. It seemed to work, his white-headed variant losing interest rather quickly and unclamping those jaws. Didn't get off his lap however, violently violet eyes burning holes into his much more frightened orbs. He seemed mad… and probably was, he liked the fight, hated the submission. Well, usually; really, he was so unstable, god knows what he wanted at any given point. "If-if you kill me… then no one will ever be around to k-kill you," that loud, sickening laugh was muffled by hiding his head under the other's neck, looking to be in a rather uncomfortable position.

"Oh, please. As if I want to kill you. I barely damaged you at all!"

"I have two concussions and it feels like I swallowed fire! My neck is probably black with bruises! If you cared about me, you would be m-more gentle!" the albino giggled lightly, not moving from his position.

"Ah, Rubedo… you smell nice. Charred, bleeding dragon is the feast of knights; and so many ancient tribes ate their kings, thinking they could gain their god-like power. Shall I eat you?" the redhead did not like the threatening innuendo there, moving around enough to draw a Makarov and shoot his younger brother in the ribs, glaring daggers to the unmoving figure above him. "So, when shall we meet?" completely ignore the bullet in his side, pink-infused flesh regenerating over it with ease.


"Never! I never want to be alone with you!" the redhead fumed, enraged at the idea of being needy enough to want to be with his psychopathic brother.

"Oh? Then why did you come to the space-time anomaly alone?" or, well, at least attempt to. What a tedious seraph stalker.

"Fine, restatement! I never want to be around you, in any shape, way, or form! The only time I want to see you is restrained and zombiefied by medication to get your fucking head screwed on straight!"

"Would that make you happy? Seeing me trapped both physically and mentally?" sadness worked its way into his tone, showing his all-too-human teeth in a beastly snarl.

"I…!" the redhead started. Did he? He didn't want him miserable, but wanted him sane! Behaving! Tolerable! Not trying to murder or be murdered every minute.

"You?" the mocking tone was gone, an uncommon frown set in his features. There was a pause, before he repeated his question. "You?" the tone had gone from almost sorrowful to just plain bitter. Claws dug into the boy's hips, pressing more of his weight on him.

"Tonight. 3 AM. By your mech. O-okay? Then we can both be ready to fight or talk or whatever the hell you want to do. Fair?"

"Always and never, mon beau bête," stood up, taking a step back and bowing, offering his hand to his precious 'little' brother. It was swat away, of course; he wasn't one to accept help. Dusted himself off, cringing as every fiber of his being seemed to be in some sort of pain. How was he going to explain the blood and bruises to chaos? A small snicker reminded him he wasn't alone. "My, your neck looks beautiful… all that glorious pain, emanating from your very core. Does it hurt?"

"Hell yes it hurts! How the hell am I going to hide thi—" he froze as the much larger figure wrapped that scarf around his neck. Oh, this wasn't good. Hands were one thing, but, he could hang him with this thing! The shelves were high and strong enough to just tie onto and-and…!

"It looks dashing on you, Rubedo. I thought it'd match your hair perfectly, turns out I was right…" the boy started a few times, blinking hard; hand going up to the sheer red fabric that wasn't choking him, but merely wrapped around him gently. "You may want to wrap it a few more times, though; to ensure lack of visibility, as well as so that you don't… trip over it," smirked widely. It was long on him, going nearly to his knees. On his dragon? It was ready to wrap around his legs and trip him. The boy huffed, begrudgingly doing as instructed. "Good boy," the glare he got sent shivers down his spine of anticipation, daring to go so far as to try and pat the other on the head. …only to get his hand shot, naturally. Did he expect any different? Let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Let out a half-dreamy sigh, shoulders cringing up in attempt to protect his neck. Having a bare neck felt so… weird. His precious hatchling was scuttling away out the door, while he finally got around to deciding what parts he wanted. Was he going to fight his dragon anymore? He was so very fond of flames, but hated to use them when fighting his little redhead. After all, it seemed rude to steal his element. Beam was so feminine, ice was so heartless, fire so passionate, and electricity so unstable. Sighed, sliding out some orange connection gear and tapping it on to check the time. 9PM, local time. He had plenty of time to decide, but perhaps some fashionable shopping would be more fitting. After all, Rubedo wouldn't be witnessing the weapons any time soon; and deciding whether or not he was going to be fighting his redhead in the first place would make the choice of weaponry much easier.

With a loud sigh, he informed the clerk he would 'be back tomorrow' and asked to have a list of fire and ice weaponry ready. The clerk was more than happy to agree, especially with a 10000 g tip for doing so.

Being in U-TIC (or, was he anymore? He may want to call and ask…), he did get a salary. Being one of their top mercenaries, it was quite a hefty bit. Besides, if he really needed the money back, he could simply scare it out of the employee. A psychotic laugh, a warrant for arrest, knives, claws

But, now. Now it was time to set up the stage: it was time for a dress rehearsal, since apparently their last act wasn't well-prepared enough.


End Chapter 4